#the urge to make a story behind her design is RIPPING me apart

[sillylittleguy86]

in honor of it being october, i’ve been drawing my favorite halloween prop.. face ripper bride !!!!

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Epilogue)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 3498 Warnings: fluff

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: This is it 🥺🥺 I’m so sad we’re at the end but I couldn’t be happier by all of your reactions, even when things weren’t at their best I loved hearing your screams. Now we can all cry together as we say goodbye. Thank you so much for reading their story. Btw I started a Patreon for those who would like to support me. 

HEY NEIGHBOR PART 25 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Breath fogs the window as you stare out of it, a grey haze has rolled over the city, the sky a sunless landscape of thick clouds and cold winds. It snowed the other day and what remains on the streets has become soot covered or murky slush. It’s nicer to stare at the white dusting on the branches of the trees below, taking in the soft peace of the afternoon.

The world has grown quieter over the past few weeks, your world at least. You can’t say the same for the hoards of people in Times Square, packed like sardines as they count down the hours for the ball to drop.

Graduation was behind you. Nearly two weeks ago you finally crossed that stage to receive your diploma. Technically the real one was still coming in the mail but it’s the symbolism that counted. All of your friends cheered as your name was called, tears of joy and relief welling up in your eyes as you did it– you finally did it!

Wanda hugged you tight afterwards, both of you letting your tears fall. She adjusted your graduation cap, decorated with a lightning bolt for Pietro. It was the first thing you did when you received your garments, to make sure a part of him was with you on such an important day. You left her arms for Peggy and Steve’s, then Sam, Natasha and Clint and then there was Bucky.

He grabbed his crutches, lifting himself up from the chair though you didn’t make him walk. A few steps closed the gap between you and you held him, your arms securing around him as a precaution as he balanced on one leg.

His smile was so beautiful as he murmured, “I’m so proud of you,” holding his gaze before you kissed tenderly, humming against his lips.

You’ve been dating ever since that day in the hospital and life couldn’t be better, especially since you and Bucky laid out some terms. From now on you would always be honest with each other, never holding back your feelings. You were a team who loved and respected each other to talk and more importantly listen.

Bucky managed well on crutches but there were still things he couldn’t do, taking for granted days he could have gone outside for a walk. Sure he had muscles, but his arms were killing him, especially on the days he had to go to the doctor for a checkup. He started physical therapy too, to keep up with strength and flexibility for the rest of his body.

It was exhausting but you were there to help him almost every step of the way. Showering was a pain though Bucky insisted on some independence, wrapping up his cast as he sat on a cold plastic chair that extended over the tub. It made him feel like he had aged 80 years but he got over it.

You did what you could to help him heal but the greatest comfort Bucky found was when you were cuddling together. He cherished those moments the most, when you held him, resting your head against his chest, or when his head was in your lap as he stretched across his couch, your fingers lazily combing through his hair.

It was the quiet moments together, crossing the threshold of intimacy in new ways. This was the slowest Bucky has ever gone since he was in middle school, swallowing a nervous gulp before asking if it was okay to hold a girl’s hand.

Life after had been a blur; his guard up, women in and out, no chance to settle, in and out, no connection, faces blend together, names are nothing more than letters on his phone for a good time, in and out. It was all noise, a constant buzzing in his head until you came into his life.

You’ve opened Bucky’s ears and the noise became sweet music. You’ve opened his heart, the melody it sings is a love song and he’s soaring. He doesn’t waste time on regrets, instead he spends each and every day getting to know you and love you in new ways.  

You celebrated Thanksgiving together, with his parents coming to your apartment so Bucky didn’t have to travel. George brought most of the food over, it wasn’t barbecue but it was just as delicious. And this year you had the time to bake a pumpkin pie.

Your days were spent working at The September Foundation up until graduation. Elena hired you for Metro-General and you start there on the first Monday of the new year. Ideally, you’d like to still volunteer when you can and knowing Tony it’s something he fully supported. Things couldn’t be better.

“Doll, are you ready?”

Bucky’s voice pulled you away from the window and you climb off his bed and into his waiting arms. The basketball shorts he wears reveals his skinny left leg, paler than the other thanks to the dry flakiness he’s still working on remedying. He was in a cast for almost three months and just got it off a few days ago. You went with him, holding his hand as he beared weight on his weak muscle after so long.

He just finished the strengthening exercises he was supposed to do every day and now he needed to shower. You both did actually since tonight was Natasha and Clint’s annual New Year’s Eve party. You pull your shirt off, tossing it somewhere behind you and Bucky follows you to the bathroom. He can shower without his seat now but it doesn’t mean he didn’t want help and you happily obliged. The water ran cold by the time you actually finished and you really didn’t mind at all. Now that Bucky’s cast was off you were looking forward to getting even more physical again.

Though you showered at his place you finished getting ready at yours since you could. Living next door to your boyfriend was obviously convenient. You were able to be together and still have the space you needed. For now it worked though you can see yourself moving in together. A smile stretches across your face when you think of it, Bucky playing his music, no walls in between, a far cry from how things began.

You open your closet to find a dress that would work for the theme of this year’s party which they claimed was winter except they asked all their guests to wear either red or green. You bit your tongue, thinking that sounded more Christmas than winter but you didn’t argue, it wasn’t your party. You pulled out a crimson colored dress that had a beautiful lace overlay. The back was sheer and though it was a little short you felt it was seasonally appropriate with its long sleeves. You finished your hair and makeup, finishing off with gold chandelier earrings and peep-toe heels.

A rhythmic knock rapped at your door and you knew it was Bucky. Opening the door your jaw dropped. Maybe it was the fact that you had mostly seen him in shorts and sweatpants over the last three months, and not that he didn’t make those look good, but the outfit he was wearing now looked incredible. He looked sharp in a juniper green suit with a soft tartan design, a brighter green patterned tie stood out against his light shirt. His shoes were dark brown with a hint of mahogany that reflected in the light and even though he looked amazing you were surprised he didn’t opt for sneakers to be more comfortable with his leg.

“Fuck, you look beautiful,” he spoke first, biting his lip as he looked at you up and down.

He shaved since you left him and your hands went to cup the smooth skin of his cheek. “Not more beautiful than you.”

You pressed your lips to Bucky’s, deepening the kiss with your tongue which was probably a bad idea since it only increased your urge to rip Bucky’s suit off and take him right there. You forced yourself back from him, walking towards your couch to grab your bag.

Bucky followed you as quickly as he could considering walking still felt a little strange. His arms went around your waist pulling you closer to him as his lips began to kiss your cheek, trailing down your neck. You hummed in delight, exhaling stuttered breaths, almost losing yourself to his touch before you pulled yourself out of it.

“We can’t,” you stressed, reluctantly. “We’re gonna be late, come on.”

He sighed acceptingly, waiting for you to unplug your phone and grab your keys. Just before you were ready to leave his arms wrapped around your waist one more time and Bucky spoke before you could say anything.

“I love you, Y/N.”

The swell of your heart reached your lips as you gazed into Bucky’s eyes repeating the same words you’ve known and felt for so long. After another sweet kiss you locked up your place to take the long trip up one flight.

Clint greeted you at the door, his arms pulling you and Bucky into warm welcoming hugs. Unlike his guests, Clint was dressed in a white suit jacket, with black pants and a matching bow tie. He welcomed you into the apartment that was not filled with as many people as you expected.

There were familiar faces in your friends, including Sam who was able to take off this year. Right away Bucky teased him about his red suit calling him Elmo.

“Yeah whatever Kermit. And what about this one?” Sam teased, pointing at Steve. “That’s all you had?”

Steve blushed pink, feeling insecure about his outfit choice, a cozy forest green cable-knit sweater. “Like I’m supposed to have a fruit punch suit in my closet?”

“It’s cranberry and I look good,” Sam declared, smoothing his hands down the front of his jacket.

You let the boys continue to have fun as you said hello to Wanda and Peggy, both looking beautiful in their dresses. “Where’s Natasha?”

They shook their heads. “Haven’t seen her,” Wanda said, heading towards their marble island to grab a drink.

It was decorated with a row of mason jars, each filled a quarter of the way with coarse sugar mimicking crystal snow, with a candle in every other one and a chunk of bright red cranberries and sprays of cedar leaves sticking out of the others.

“But we just got here, so I dunno,” she finished.

You were looking around for familiar guests, surely the partners of her law firm would be coming again. An older woman sat on the couch talking to another unfamiliar face, the back of their heads glowing thanks to the curtain of twinkle lights that decorated the large walls of the living room. In the corner was their Christmas tree, a tall spruce decorated with frosted pine cone garland, matte red ornaments and thick burlap ribbon.

Clint brushed passed you, kneeling in front of the older woman who looked curiously familiar. Nervous energy was pouring off of him, from the way he kept chewing his nails to the constant tremble of his leg. He smiled as he passed you again standing near the door. With Natasha still not in sight you decided to do a little digging, by way of introducing yourself.

You walked over to the woman Clint had been speaking to, standing in front of her and the two people she was mid-conversation with. The man was big, his Santa-like belly was testing the buttons of his red shirt as it stretched across the material. His eyebrows were bushy and his brown hair was long in the front, looking a little messy as if it had been brushed through with only his fingers. He had a long beard that matched the color of his hair though it had a lot more grey in it.

The woman was beautiful. The emerald top she wore brought out the green flecks of her hazel eyes and her red lips drew you right into her beautiful smile. Her dark hair was braided with a crown, the rest of the locks falling onto her shoulders.

You caught their attention, extending your hand with a smile as you introduced yourself. The older woman spoke first, her voice as soft as a songbird as she told you her name, Edith, followed by the fact that she was Clint’s mother. Well, that explains it. You see the similarities now, the glasses she wore didn’t hide the fact that they shared the same eyes. Even her mouth was the same, thin lips that grew into the same beaming smile.

“I’m Melina,” the beautiful woman said with a Russian accent. “This is Alexei.” She pointed to the man who smiled at you. His grip was strong as he took your hand in his meaty paw. “We’re like family to Natalia,” he grinned proudly.

“It’s so nice to meet you all!” you said, sitting beside them to talk all while in the back of your mind your brain was working to put together why they were here. Sure it’s a holiday but family members have never come to Clint and Natasha’s for New Years before. In fact, Natasha doesn’t even have family. The only “family” you knew of would have to come from Russia to–

Holy shit.

You find an acceptable way out of the conversation, rushing over to Bucky and pulling him away from his conversation. Your hands are jittering with excited energy, eyes as wide as your mouth is open.

“Bucky, don’t you see what this is?!”

He looks confused for a moment before his attention is diverted. Bucky looks past you to another unfamiliar person that walked in. It’s a man with brown skin dressed in all black. A dark goatee framed his face and the straps of an eye patch secure comfortably around his hairless head. Though Bucky tried not to stare he couldn’t help but notice the veining of scars stretching out across his temple and cheek. He stands tall and silent with his arms clasped behind his back waiting.

Clint cleared his throat, a nervous smile settling on his face. “Now that everyone’s here I’d like to welcome you to… our wedding.”

Gasps of surprise fill the room with everyone rushing up towards Clint as he tries to field questions, hoping no one was truly mad at the abrupt announcement. “I knew it,” you whispered under your breath, gently slapping at Bucky’s arm.

The man in black walked towards the front of the living room, clearly the officiate who asked everyone to get settled as they were about to begin. Clint knocked once on his bedroom door, before taking his place beside the man who introduced himself as Nick.

A young woman with blonde hair slipped out of the door. She nodded to him, cracking a hint of a smile before she settled next to Melina. A moment later everyone’s eyes were drawn to the sound of the bedroom door creaking open again.

Natasha stepped out looking like a dream, in a floor length shimmering ivory gown that showed off her well sculpted shoulders with its high halter neckline, embellished with beautiful beading. She clutched a delicate bouquet of white roses and winter greens with cranberry sprigs woven throughout. Natasha walked up to Clint without fanfare, just the audible sighs of those around her admiring the back of her dress, dazzling and tasteful cut outs that showed off more of her toned body. The fabric cinched above the small of her back, a small train sweeping around her feet.

She handed her bouquet off to the blonde girl, her “sister” you presumed, remembering an old conversation with Clint. Brushing back a loose tendril from her face, Natasha smiled widely as she stared at Clint, bringing her hands forward to connect with his.

Nick began speaking and you took out your phone to capture a quick picture as the impromptu ceremony began. Bucky’s hand found yours, lacing your fingers together as you watched your friends exchange their vows.

Clint’s hands communicated his words in sync as he spoke them. “Natasha, what more can I say to the person that knows me better than I know myself. Because of you the sun shines a little brighter each day, flowers have a sweeter fragrance and my heart is filled with treasured memories. Even the not so great ones like that time in Budapest that I know we remember very differently.”

A chuckle simmers amongst the small crowd and Natasha dips her head down to laugh.

“Because of you my heart found a home, and like my stomach, it will never be empty...” Clint smiled, taking Natasha’s hands in his. “...because it will always be filled with your love, a love that I promise you I will never let go.”

Natasha sniffs, brushing aside a tear as she gathers her thoughts. “Clint, you’ve given me a second chance in life, you’ve shown me what friendship and love truly mean. I promise to trust and respect you and give you the best of myself. I promise to always fight for you, never against you, to be by your side through whatever life brings. I promise to make sure we always have snacks in the house and to clean up all the stains from your shirts when you drop food on them.”

Clint’s shoulders shrugged with acceptance as he chuckled under his breath, “It happens a lot.”

“Yes it does,” Natasha repeated, smiling wider. She exhaled a deep breath before continuing. “I promise to love you through the good times and bad and to choose our love every single day. You are my best friend, my soulmate and I'm the luckiest person on Earth to be able to call you mine.”

You felt Bucky press a kiss to your temple, leaning his head against you as the ceremony continued. When it was time Alexei dug into his pocket, pulling out the rings. With Nick’s concluding words Natasha wrapped her arms around Clint’s neck, and his held her waist; their love sealed with a kiss as everyone cheered in celebration.

They pulled back from each other, Clint resting his forehead against Natasha’s. He brought his hand up, bending his middle and ring finger into his palm. Natasha did the same, their fingertips touching as they signed “I love you” before turning to face their friends and family.

Edith was the first to hug the newly married couple who made their way through everyone until they got to you. Bucky and Clint hugged as he congratulated them. “I can’t believe this.”

“I can.” Natasha laughed, pressing her cheek to Bucky’s as they hugged. She moved to you and you wrapped your arms around her tightly. “We’ve been planning this wedding for so long it was never going to happen unless we did it this way.”

“It was perfect,” you said, pulling back from your hug with a huge smile. “Congratulations, I’m so happy for you both.”

As the night went on you formally met Yelena, the blonde who Natasha grew up with, and learned about her exciting work. You were in similar fields as she worked to free people of human trafficking, mostly young girls that were to be indoctrinated into radical terrorist groups for forced marriage or even espionage.

Her work was more hands-on as she physically raided underground bunkers or warehouses. It made you feel like you weren’t doing enough even though you knew that wasn’t true. All the years spent working towards your goal reaffirmed that, and in just a few days you’ll officially move into your office in Metro-General, across from Elena’s as you begin doing what you’ve always wanted to do, help people.

You’re lost in a comfortable stare as you look at the Christmas tree, realizing the countdown to midnight had begun.

Ten! Nine! Eight! ...

You turn around, looking for Bucky in the small room that was crowded with everyone standing so close together, huddled around the TV that showed the view from Times Square.

Seven! Six ...

The shimmering ball was descending and you were alone until….

Five! Four! ...

“Hey neighbor…” A voice called and you spun around relieved. Bucky smiled, bringing you close into his arms.

Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!

He leaned in, his lips hovering above yours, pausing as you spoke above the roar of cheers. “Have I ever told you how happy I am that you moved in here?” you purred.

“Every day. It’s like music to my ears.”

Bucky smiled tenderly, sealing the small gap between you, kissing you softly as he poured all the love from his heart out and into yours. Your hearts beat to the rhythm of your own symphony, a song that had a rocky beginning of notes that stretched high and low, but now it was a steady ballad you would continue to create together with your love.

[writeblrfantasy]

born from the prologue of the way of kings, some old school supernatural inspiration, and my entry into the hannibal fandom, i give you cyril's hell! all the characters in this are gods of actium state and urkon, and this happens well before acogs takes place. nikolai and katya tell this story over the fire over the course of the book. it's a mythology story.

cw blood, very vague descriptions of pain and torture and injuries, everything you can think of about someone being tortured in hell basically

word count about 7000

thank you guys for all the love on the summer of seret ashling, it definitely inspired me to write another short. i love writing shorts--you get the serotonin from finishing a wip and seeing people's reactions to it much faster. lower stakes. i have plans to write many more :)

enjoy! <3

Cyril wakes to burning pinpricks of agony seared into his arms. Unfortunately, this is perfectly normal.

The ghost of Alabaster’s laugh echoes in his ears, slowly fading out, but never completely. He never leaves Cyril alone, whether he’s sleeping—if you can call it that—or widely, excruciatingly awake. He’s dropped Cyril back in what has become his home, a room brightly lit with distant fire and a musical background consisting of the screams of the damned.

This place, out of all, is probably the safest for him, despite the metal piercing his arms, the chains connecting him to the ceiling. His arms went numb from the angle minutes ago. He tries not to jostle them, as well as his collection of new wounds, only healed enough not to kill him.

What does Cyril have to do to prove he knows he can't escape?

It’s not about that, he knows.

Alabaster's hell is more than pain, more than agony. It transcends anything Cyril has ever experienced, and yet every week Alabaster finds ways to show him something else new.

How long has it been?

Does it matter?

Alabaster’s cologne lingers on Cyril’s skin, one more layer of invisible pain. The worst thing is perhaps how he’s unable to wipe away the sweat dripping into his eyes. It only takes minutes after Alabaster deposits him back in here for his whole body to become soaked again.

Cyril naively thought, when Alabaster first brought him here, that it wouldn’t be so bad. That everything he’d be made to endure would be softened or cushioned in some way, more about drama than actual pain.

How wrong he was.

Alabaster, or perhaps just his own mind, has trained him to be relieved when he comes to unlock Cyril’s door every week. Freedom, he thinks, respite from the endless heat and sweat and reprieve for his aching arms. For the first few seconds, Alabaster’s smile looks pleasant. He’s undoubtedly excited to see Cyril, but Cyril somehow manages to forget every single time that smile means nothing good for him.

“Hello, beautiful,” Alabaster always says, in such a familiar tone it’s imprinted in Cyril’s dreams. “Let’s go.”

Reprieve turns into regret quickly.

Cyril has learned how to manage this, somewhat. Stay very still, don’t trigger anything, don’t tense up, try to sleep. Doing nothing but sleep for the whole week until Alabaster comes still won’t do enough, but in sleep, he has relief for a bit longer, a chance to see Damokles’ face again.

Tonight, when he closes his eyes, it’s not just Damokles’ kind eyes waiting for him, it’s Thea’s dark ones, clearer than usual, almost like they’re calling out for him.

He opens them and jostles himself a bit by accident, groaning in agony. He searches the shadows in the corner of the room for her face, and he could’ve sworn—

There’s nothing there but the sweat in his eyes.

***

As he drifts through sleep and wakefulness, Thea’s dark eyes return to him. He sees flashes of her through the haze of flames and screams, a striking dark clarity and a sense of peace.

The days just before Alabaster collects him are the worst. He finally has his strength back, or as he much as is possible down here, and it’s a new kind of agony to feel so glorious the day before his feet will be knocked out from under him. In the early days, when he still believed he could sway Alabaster by repetition alone, that if he begged just enough, Alabaster might listen, he pled to be left alone for just one more week.

“Not this time,” he’d sob, back when he still sobbed, when he gave Alabaster the pleasure of savoring his carefully crafted creation. Let him see, let him have it, he once thought. If he gave Alabaster what he wanted, he’d get a reward, because that’s how fair people work. All it did was make Alabaster hungry for more of his tears.

“Thea?” he whispers, low, as he swears her face appears in the shadows again. She’s exquisite, and she’s not real. if he’s not just seeing things, she’s one of Alabaster’s new experiments designed to drive him out of his mind.

Cyril will not fall for it.

“Thea?” he asks, still, hopeful and naïve despite everything.

The darkness in the corner moves, too clear to be a product of the shadows cast by the flames. Cyril stands straight so that his feet are supporting his weight instead of his arms, alleviating the perpetual ache in his back for a precious moment.

Theadora, in all her glory, walks out of the corner, dripping darkness and shade. Her long dark hair flows behind her, and her skin shines under the straps of her long dress. She doesn’t seem to walk on solid ground—her feet and the bottom of her black dress melt into shadows before his eyes.

Cyril loses his breath. She’s just as beautiful as he remembers. Most wonderfully of all, she’s clean, her face free of sweat and her arms free of blood and age old wounds.

She rushes over to him immediately, cupping his pale, ashen face in her dark hands. “Cyril,” she whispers, perhaps afraid of disturbing nonexistent peace. Cyril would be more afraid of drawing Alabaster’s attention.

“You’re not real,” he murmurs as she presses their foreheads together. She smells like their garden in the clouds, sweet and fresh, not a trace of smoke anywhere on her. She kisses him, and Cyril melts into it like liquid, imagining he can sip freezing water from her lips. She’s so refreshingly cold. Her heart is the only part of her that’s warm, and pleasantly so. It burns for him.

“He fabricated you to taunt me with for his pleasure. You’ll be gone in a moment, and I’ll be screaming for you because I still haven’t learned after all this time, and in a few days he’ll come in to see the results.”

“No. Cyril, I am real.” She touches one of his hands, clearly resisting the urge to squeeze it but knowing the ramifications. The way she stares at the chains holding him to the ceiling makes him shiver. He’s almost forgotten any type of power existed other than hot, burning, prodding pain.

How he’s missed the icy power of the moon.

“I am here to get you out,” she insists. He closes his eyes—they’re the words he’s dreamed of thousands of times, exactly in her sweet, desperate voice, but it’s too good. If he concentrates hard enough, he can see Alabaster’s grin in Thea’s eyes.

“You can only open the door from the inside, and he sure as hell wouldn’t let you in,” he argues. Anything else pleasant would tear him apart when it inevitably crumbles down on him. “You—you wouldn’t happen to have any water, would you?”

“Of course.” She brings out a jug and raises it to his lips. He drinks eagerly, the water sweet and cold, probably from the Pelia, her favorite. He doesn't care if it's poisoned.

Her silver bracelets sparkle in the firelight, and his eyes follow her fingers as she wipes the swipe off his face with a velvet cloth. He jerks his hands towards her as she begins to pull away on instinct, remembering his chains with a sigh. She’s still close enough for him to press his lips to her dark wrist, light as a feather.

He jerks again when something wet hits him, but his heart lurches when he looks up and sees that it’s her tears. For a moment, the only sound is the crackle of the fire lining the walls and the distant screams of Alabaster’s victims.

Cyril has never wanted his hands back as much as he does now. He wants to wrap his arms around her, whisper assurances in her ear like he used to when she grew worried. Instead, she wraps her arms around his torso and buries her face in the hollow his neck, crying quietly. The slight twinge of pain her salty tears bring to his hundreds of wounds old and new is more than worth it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, closing his eyes.

She gathers herself enough to say, “What? Why?”

“I’m sorry for getting caught. I never should’ve left you. I should’ve been smarter, shouldn’t have let him anywhere near me, I knew what would happen—”

For a moment he's back in that seedy human tavern with both of them, intrigued but not alarmed by Alabaster's sudden presence and mischievous grin. What a fool he was to let Alabaster take him outside. Before he knew it, he was here.

“I would slap you," Thea says. "This is no one’s fault but Alabaster’s.”

He raises his eyes and smiles at her through his lashes. Thea makes him feel young again, as free and painless as if he’d never been dragged down here.

She pulls back, dries her eyes, and says steadily, “Me and Damokles have been waiting outside the door every night. Alabaster has been greedy, going out more often to collect new victims. He’s been careless. He leaves the door open enough for me to slip in through the darkness. He’s bright enough to take up all the light, he doesn’t notice me.”

Cyril’s heart pounds. Damokles. He resists temptation to ask about him—Thea would tell him if something was amiss with him—and instead asks, “How long have you been trying to get in here?”

“Too long. I’ve only been able to set foot inside some of his maze before he comes back or locks the door. This place is convoluted.” She swallows. “Do you even know where you are?”

He doesn’t care about where he is, he cares that she is actually starting to sound real, which is the worse option. If she’s just Alabaster’s creation, she’ll be ripped away from him. if she’s real, she’ll be ripped away from him when Alabaster discovers them together, and that will hurt ten times as much.

“Yes,” he says, smiling. “The eighth ring of hell. I’ve been through them all. The misconception is that each gets worse the further up you go, but that’s not true. Each sector of hell is just as bad as the last, just in different ways.” He licks his lips.

“Alabaster has spared nothing spared nothing in my tour of his domain. He’s shown me every piece of what he calls art. I have become so intimately familiar with the beauty of hell, the beauty of pain, the purity of it. He says it reduces us to our most basic needs again, tears down our walls and erases our dignity. He loves watching the change.”

Her mouth drops open. “He—” A distant creak draws her eye, whipping her hair into his eyes.

“That’s nothing,” he says. “I hear that ten times a day.”

“Nothing for you, maybe. That’s the sound of Alabaster opening the door.”

“Really? It’s that quiet? That’s a bit anti-climactic.”

She hasn’t taken her eyes off the door. “I need to go.”

“No,” he says, rattling his chains, which is more likely to draw Alabaster than their voices. He seems to have a sense for when Cyril is struggling or in pain more than when he’s talking to himself. “Please. Don’t leave. I won’t survive it.”

I won’t survive it? He’s survived far more corporeal pain than Thea’s absence. Moreover, where is this panic coming from?

“I’m sorry,” she echoes—now she’s the one with nothing to apologize for. The last thing he wants is her getting trapped down here too. He’d sooner endure everything Alabaster has done to him again than let him touch her. “I’ll be back, I swear. Damokles and I miss you more than you know.” She feeds him the rest of the water and kisses him one more time, a break from the endless heat. He takes it greedily. He’ll take everything he can get.

“That one’s from him,” she says, longing eyes raking him over one last time, before disappearing into the shadows of the corner. He knows she’s gone—the flames flicker, almost going out, before returning in full force. The sweat she wiped away from his forehead returns quicker than he would’ve liked, but at least Alabaster doesn’t come running.

***

“Hello, beautiful. Let’s go.”

Alabaster sweeps into the room in a ray of light blocking out the darkness of the hallway behind him. The clank his lantern makes when he sets it on the floor is a noise Cyril hears in his dreams.

Cyril stopped speaking to him long ago, and he ignores Alabaster while he reaches up, spreading his sweet smell everywhere, to free his arms. Through gritted teeth and a stifled shout, he lowers them, resisting the familiar temptation to shake them out.

“You know you don’t have to hide your sounds,” Alabaster says. “They’re like music to me, the finest lutes and cellos all at once.”

“That’s exactly why I do.” It’s the first time he’s spoken in a week, and his voice is hoarse and dry with thirst and underuse. “No water this time?”

“I have something better.”

“Better for you, maybe.”

Alabaster grins, showing sharp white canines, running a hand through white blond hair. He’s always chosen a wickedly tall body with long, pale fingers, skinny as a stick. The sleeves of the crisp white shirt under his brown waistcoat are always rolled up above his elbows, ready at a moment’s notice to get elbow deep. Black trousers are always stainless and black shoes are always shined perfectly.

He never wears a hint of the filth that lives in his mind, the grime that’s often under his fingernails. The only light he gets is that of the flames—he’d never go near Cyril’s sun if he could help it, just in case it might hurt him. He only leaves to draw in more victims, never under Thea’s moonlight. Cyril has been around him long enough to know that he’s not invincible, not mentally, at least. He does have fears.

To be fair, Cyril can’t think of many who wouldn’t be terrified of Theadora.

Alabaster rests a hand on his lower back as he escorts him out of his little room; Cyril jerks out of the way.

Alabaster is a whole head and slim shoulders above him, and Cyril hates having to look up at him, but his power on this place prevents Cyril from changing his own appearance. He’s been stuck with white skin, plain blond hair and sea blue eyes for however long he’s been down here, a short body with a bit of fabricated muscle—Thea liked that. He hasn't seen his own shirt since he got here, and his pants are somehow still clean.

Gods don't need to eat, so Alabaster never feeds him. Just one more pleasure he can deprive Cyril of.

After this, when he gets out, because there will be a when, Thea will come back—he’ll never be able to stomach wearing a toned body again. Perhaps the strength Cyril gave himself improved his endurance a little bit, but he stopped counting his blessings long ago.

He and the others are the ones who give the blessings. They shouldn’t be able to take them from each other, but Alabaster has taught him with not just words that anything can be broken if you try long enough, human or god.

The only thing Alabaster doesn’t have control of down here is his eyes, orange like his flames. Every master of hell has to don them while they’re down here.

The orange glows and dispels all hints of innocent gold. That gold fades every time Alabaster sets foot here in his heaven, and returns when he mingles with normal humans, enticing them with his beauty to follow him to the point of no return.

“So,” Alabaster drawls as they walk out of Cyril’s little prison room into the darkness of the hall together, the screams louder and everything dirtier, “you’re in a rather good mood.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. You’re glowing. I work hard to make sure no one glows except me.”

Cyril rolls his eyes. Let Alabaster psychoanalyze him all he wants, that won’t change the fact that for the first time, Cyril has hope built on fact. Hope is something Alabaster can beat out of him, but not if he doesn’t know why Cyril has it, and he’s already exhausted the Thea-and-Damokles-aren’t-coming-to-save-you angle. It’s a novelty now.

Alabaster shepherds him to a room Cyril could easily find on his own now, hell’s elevator, or as Alabaster likes to call it, the hellevator. The box of iron bars is decorated with skulls. Cyril started naming them a while ago to occupy his mind. Tiana stares down at him from the top corner, Alis from the outside looking in.

He waves at them. Alabaster doesn’t keep him in chains outside his room, since there’s no hope of him escaping hell. Only the master of hell can open the door, and only from the inside.

The elevator takes off with a lurch that knocks Cyril backward. It's nothing more than a cage, and no more stable, but Alabaster is convinced of his own invincibility, that nothing will ever befall him in his own domain. Cyril is determined to prove him wrong.

As the elevator finally stops, he lands with another lurch that ends with him face first in the filthy ground. It’s far from the first time, and he picks himself up with what dignity he has left while Alabaster strides out upright.

Alabaster brings him past room after room, cell after cell of unfortunate people like him who have endured Alabaster’s abuse like him. They stop in front of a pair of bone decorated double doors that stretch up toward the sky, shadows licking at the walls. Screams seem to come from within, or perhaps that’s just Cyril’s mind.

The doors open slowly, apparently triggered by Alabaster’s presence. “Welcome to my newest creation,” Alabaster says with a grin, spreading his arms. The room is large and shiny and new, not yet tainted with bloodstains and misery. Cyril is here to break it in.

Cyril lays on the table where Alabaster asks him to, doesn’t try to run. He’s tried, so many times. It gets him nowhere. It’s easier just to submit.

Alabaster probably likes this best. Not the physical pain, the scars, the blood, but rather watching all the joy and hope fade from Cyril’s eyes.

Alabaster loves nothing more than inflicting pain, but he has too many unwilling participants to get to. He only personally tends to a handful of his favorites, but he’s made it abundantly clear that Cyril is his ultimate favorite. “I’ve managed to capture a god,” he said when Cyril asked. “An equal. How could I not treasure that? I will find time to visit you personally every week however long as I keep interest in you.”

Alabaster will never lose interest.

What gets Cyril through it this day is the memory of Thea’s icy hands on him, her tear filled kiss, her promising words. Hope. Hope will get you killed here, or it can sustain you if you’re lucky. If you hide it well enough.

Hope is the memory of the natural warmth of his sun on his chest instead of the harsh heat of hellfire. He thinks of one day in particular, laying in a field north of Actium, flowers arranged in his hair by Thea, the wind threatening to blow them away while Damokles’ fingers carded mindlessly through it.

They had so few worries, then. They are gods, what do they have to worry about? They are eternal. Nothing can hurt them but themselves and each other.

The irony of that, as Alabaster does what he does best, is striking.

***

The next time Thea visits, she brings Damokles.

Damokles has no control over the shadows, the darkness, hell, and especially not keeping silent, so Cyril doesn’t know how Thea managed to sneak him in, but that’s not the important part. The important part is that in seconds, Cyril has Damokles wrapped around him for the first time in who knows how long.

Thea stands to the side, her eyes brimming with tears but letting a weeping Damokles have his moment. Not much except pain can bring Cyril to tears, but the deep, chest wracking sobs Damokles lets out nearly do. “Oh, Cyril,” he cries, clearly unafraid of drawing Alabaster’s attention the way Thea was. “Sweet, sweet Cyril. My love. What has he done to you? I will rip him apart with my bare hands.”

Cyril smiles. “I’ve always loved your passion, but I think Thea’s iciness will be more lethal. You are nothing but fire, and while it is beautiful, Alabaster revels in it. Is resistant to it.” He looks over Damokles’ shoulder at her, the way she crosses her arms and passively admires them both.

“Fair enough.” Damokles kisses him with salty tears trapped between them, igniting the fresh wounds on Cyril’s face, but it doesn’t matter. His lips stretch his wounded cheeks into a stinging smile.

“Cyril, have you seen yourself?”

His smile fades. “No. Why?”

Damokles slicks back his black hair with his hand, and Cyril gets to admire the way the firelight dances off his olive skin. Cyril has a love hate relationship with the flames and the light they paint onto his lovers’ faces.

“Thea, can you get him a mirror?” Damokles asks, now decidedly not looking at him. Cyril’s heart begins to sink.

“I’m ugly to you now?” he asks quietly.

“No, no,” Damokles predictably says, cupping his cheeks. “Nothing could ever make you ugly in my eyes, or hers.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Damokles.”

Thea passes Damokles a mirror, who holds it up in front of Cyril’s face.

The sight there takes his breath away.

Alabaster never gave him a mirror down here, ever, and for good reason. What has to be months and months, maybe even years of abuse and torture is shown on his face in lines of scars like claw marks. There’s an x over his right eye—he doesn’t even remember that one. What Alabaster does to him sometimes bleeds into mindless waves of pain.

“Tilt it down,” he breaths in a voice deep and full of grief that’s not his own. Thea takes in a sharp breath, and Damokles searches his face uncertainly before complying.

Cyril has never been vain about his looks—how could he when he could just change them anytime? But Alabaster’s hell is different. He can’t just wave away his scars. Anything etched into his skin down here will remain, which is probably why Alabaster has been so thorough in marking him.

The first time Alabaster brought him out of his little prison room, freed him from his chains, Cyril attacked him. Alabaster would’ve hurt him regardless, but the fire in his eyes increased after he pried Cyril’s hands from around his neck. He gave Cyril his first scar, a slash across his palm that cut deep and bled deeper. Before Alabaster put him back in chains, which effectively cut off his powers, Cyril tried to heal himself. Alabaster’s laugh afterwards still haunts him.

“That won’t work,” he said, smiling. “Hell’s scars cut deeper. They can’t be wiped away by anyone but me. I am going to enjoy making a canvas out of you, beautiful.”

Cyril spat in his face, but that didn’t change the outcome. Now, Alabaster’s masterpiece is unveiled to him for the first time. The body looking back at him in the mirror is unrecognizable in its horrors, faded pink lines wrapping around his torso like a rope, a collection of slashes over his heart, one long cut from his jaw to his collarbone.

He remembers that one, remembers wondering how it didn’t kill him. Of course, Alabaster would never let him die. He has utter control of every piece of matter in every circle of hell, from the worst torture rooms at the top, to the sixth ring where Cyril’s prison lies, to the door leading to the outside world at the bottom.

Cyril is strangely fascinated by his new appearance. A wave of panic that he’s stuck with this now washes over him, but he stubbornly pushes it back. He’s survived so much worse than vanity.

“Please, be honest,” he begs, hanging his head, letting his arms hold his weight like he does when he’s alone. “You truly don’t think differently of me?”

Thea and Damokles are silent for a long time, exchanging uncertain glances, which does nothing good for Cyril’s esteem. Finally Damokles turns to him and says, shaky and angry, “Of course I view you differently. I view you as someone who’s gone through pain and horrors I can’t even imagine, with scars he would probably love to get rid of but can’t. Cyril, I’m pissed.”

Cyril swallows. Thea murmurs Damokles’ name and lays a hand on his arm, but he shakes it off. Damokles never hides his emotions. There isn’t enough space within him to contain everything he feels—it’s the reason every human looks to him for guidance with the head and the heart.

“I’m pissed that Alabaster did this, more pissed than I could ever express. I’m a little pissed at you for not being pissed at us, for thinking we’d ever abandon you, that we haven’t been trying to find you. Don’t deny it, I know that look on your face. Most of all, I’m pissed that we took so long to get here. I’m pissed at myself for not doing more.”

He pushes his hair back again, long curls always falling into his eyes, and seems to get some of his sense back. “Thea will attest that she had to hold me back every time we watched Alabaster leave hell. I could barely keep my hands to myself, I wanted them around his pale little throat. His unmarred, unscarred throat.” Damokles’ fists clench. Cyril shivers under the burning rage in both their eyes, boiling—or in Thea’s case, freezing—just under the surface.

“Cyril, you are the bravest thing I’ve known. I love you. Nothing could ever change that. How could I ever be anything but horrified for you?”

“I don’t want you to be horrified,” Cyril says. “I want you to treat me the same way you always have. I just want to go back to how things were before I was abducted.”

Thea’s sad eyes tell him what he already knows: things will never be the same again. But Cyril can shut his eyes and pretend, just for a moment, that they’re back in the field under the sun with Thea’s flowers and Damokles’ fingers in his hair.

“Can you hang in here just one more week?” Damokles asks. “We’ll get you out. I have a plan.”

Cyril’s eyes dart to Thea, raising an eyebrow. She’s staring at Damokles like she’s never seen him before.

Cyril swallows all his questions and nods. “Okay. I trust you.”

Damokles breaks into a blinding white grin and kisses him again, sweet and hot in the way Cyril needs. Thea is wonderful, and sometimes is the break from reality he needs, but Damokles is the dose of truth no one else will tell him.

Thea’s icy kiss comes next, with both of them their arms around him to follow. “When you’re out and completely free of pain,” Damokles says, a promise burning in his eyes, “I’ll show you exactly what I think of your scars.” Thea hits his arm, calls him inappropriate, but Cyril’s grin reassures them both.

They disappear into the shadows, Damokles holding tightly to Thea’s arm. The heat of the flames doesn’t feel so intense, now. When Alabaster comes the following week, Cyril is almost grinning, and no question Alabaster poses in between cuts and bruises can make him give them up.

***

It’s not Alabaster’s abuse or declining sanity that will kill him, it’s the anticipation, the waiting. When Thea and Damokles finally melt out of the shadows, after an eternity of waiting, Cyril’s stomach is in knots. Even stranger, both of them are empty handed.

“How are we going to get me out of here if you have nothing to do so?” Cyril demands before noticing the expressions on their faces. Damokles’ mouth is set in a grim line, and he tries to force a smile that just doesn’t stick. He’s uptight and determined about something, or, more accurately, stubborn.

Thea is furious. She’s perfectly composed and neat as always, but her fists are clenched and the air in the room is more frigid than usual. Cyril isn’t complaining about the latter, but they’re obviously withholding information. “What’s going on?”

“We’re here to get you out, like we promised,” Thea says in a far stiffer tone than he pictured her saying those words, glaring at Damokles’ back. Cyril has tried getting her to budge when she shuts herself off before, and it’s a fruitless effort, so he doesn’t even try now. He’s always been the calm force keeping those two storms from destroying each other. Without him there to separate them, who knows what they’ve gotten up to.

“And how are you going to do that?” Cyril asks again, shaking his chains. “Only Alabaster can get me out of these.”

“Oh, love, is that what he’s been telling you all this time?” Damokles asks with the pain of the heartbroken. “We can’t open the doors of hell, we can’t remove your scars, but gods have more influence in hell than you would think.”

Cyril’s blood begins boiling just under his skin. “Are you telling me I could’ve freed myself somehow this whole time?”

“No, those chains are as anti-god as I’ve ever seen. We didn’t free you before because we didn’t know—we just found this week—but it’s probably a good idea we didn’t. I would’ve hated causing you the pain of replacing them before Alabastard got back.” Damokles closes his eyes and breathes slowly, fists clenched at his sides. The fire flutters in the room, and a pop of air follows.

The breath is knocked out of Cyril as the chains abruptly break and drop his arms from the ceiling. Much like the elevator, he falls to his knees with the force of it. Thea is there immediately to hug him while Damokles deals with the noise of the chains. Cyril leaves the possibility of Alabaster in their hands, they’re not stupid. He allows himself to bury his face in her neck and shake, weak with relief.

“It’s okay now,” she murmurs into his hair. “You’re going to see your sun again soon. My moon.”

He begins quietly sobbing.

He told himself, all the times he foolishly dreamt of freedom only for Alabaster to drive the dream out of him, that he wouldn’t cry. He’d stay strong, he’d pretend he was fine. Damokles and Thea are too perceptive, too sensitive, he didn’t want to upset them any more than he knew they would be.

So much for that.

“Please,” he begs, a word he’s used so much, but never like this. He’s shaking all over, bleeding from his lip, bleeding inside, burning. He’s always burning, always bleeding, always pleading. Alabaster thrives on it. “Help me. Get me out of this place. Can't you just take me out through the shadows?”

“We will get you out,” she says shakily, dodging the question, cradling the back of his sweaty, bloody head against her. She’s on the verge of tears. Damokles drops to the floor to join the pile, wrapping chiseled arms around them both. They sit there in silence for a moment, grieving and celebrating and fearing and hoping. Cyril’s heart is so full of love for both of them he could burst.

“What about Alabaster?” Cyril has to ask at last. They can’t avoid him forever.

Damokles stands and suddenly shouts, “Alabaster! Come out, you bastard. Face us.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Cyril hisses, but Thea holds him down. "Let's just go out through the shadows." He'll leave Alabaster behind, he'll leave it all behind without revenge if it means he can just be safe.

“He’s an idiot,” she says, “but you have to trust him. He has a plan.”

“I know how hell works, Thea. I know the limits of Damokles’ stupidity.”

She just cradles him closer. He should've known Damokles wouldn't be able to leave without revenge.

After a few minutes of nothing, a great rumble begins shaking the room. If Cyril still hides his head in Thea’s neck, who’s to judge?

Alabaster has never made a dramatic entrance like this before, which must mean Damokles is onto something.

Cyril hears the moment Alabaster enters the room, firm boots on stone, Thea’s inhale. Cyril raises his head and sees Damokles standing tall and strong, his favorite handmade sword stashed somewhere else. It wouldn’t do anything against a god—Thea begged him not to include that in the list of things it could slice through like bread, and he loved her enough to agree.

Quick as Thea’s lightning, Damokles lunges forward and wraps his arms around Alabaster from behind. He is the patron of soldiers for a reason, his strength is unmatched, his grip sure. Alabaster struggles to no avail.

Cyril studies the contrast in them with pleasure. Damokles meets his eyes, panting, and smirks. Alabaster isn’t struggling, bucking Damokles off like he did so easily with Cyril. Perhaps it’s Damokles’ natural strength, maybe Alabaster is more afraid of him than Cyril.

“Oh, Alabaster,” Cyril says, smiling. “You spent so long trying to teach me the beauty of your ways, but you never believed I’d start agreeing with you. Well, here you go.” He raises his arms, trying to hide a wince and stifle a groan of pain. Thea’s hands on his waist help steady him—though that might just be her calming powers. “Here is the result of your hard work in all its glory. Are you happy now?”

Alabaster looks at him through long, pale eyelashes. He manages a manic grin through the grimace breaking out on his face, licking the sweat off of his lip. He’s blinking and flicking his hair like that will do anything about the sweat. Cyril is looking forward to watching him realize nothing will work.

“This won’t work,” Alabaster says. “Keep me as long as you want, but you’ll never leave. Only the master of hell can open the door, and from the inside, and I swear I’ll never open it for you as long as I live.”

“Good thing you’re not going to be the master of hell much longer,” Damokles says, lowering Alabaster to his knees in front of him, hands held behind his back. His eyes meet a breathless Cyril’s. “Shall I place him in your hooks?”

Cyril, open mouthed, is speechless even for that question. He can only manage a small shake of the head. “Keep him low, where he belongs. Don’t give him the dignity of meeting your eyes.”

Damokles nods in approval. Thea helps Cyril to his feet to avoid that exact issue, and Damokles ties Alabaster’s hands more securely with some rope. “What the hell do you mean?” Cyril asks.

Damokles meets his eyes without fear, a dark, intense stare. “I mean, I’m going to kill Alabaster and take his place.”

The whole room freezes. Even the fire seems to still.

Cyril looks at Thea for help, but her arms are crossed and her face set in that same muted furious expression she arrived with. He understands the fierce determination in Damokles’ eyes now.

“You’re not.”

“I will. That bastard doesn’t deserve to live, and you two deserve to get out.”

“Why can’t you just take both of us through with your shadows?” Cyril demands of Thea.

She’s crying now, silent and strong, even with her cheeks shiny and wet. “The moment Alabaster places his mark on someone, like a scar, they are bound to this place and its rules. No shadows for you.”

“Not even after his death?”

She shakes her head and squeezes his waist. “I tried so hard to talk him out of it,” she says, gesturing to Damokles. “His mind can’t be changed.”

“Damokles, no,” Cyril says. This can’t be real. “Don’t do this to us. I can’t lose you.”

“I don’t want to lose you, either,” Damokles says, his own eyes shining. He’s smiling, though. “If we could, I would have you kill him.”

Cyril breathes out. “I don’t want you to get trapped down here! At least, uh”—he rubs his forehead— “you be the master only until Thea and I can find someone to take your place. We’ll find a way to do it without you having to be killed.”

“You would involve a human in this mess? An innocent?”

“I won’t lose you.”

“It’ll be preferable to what you went through,” Damokles counters, though Cyril sees his hands trembling. Cyril’s lower lip begins trembling.

“I’m not sure it will be,” he chokes out. “You’ll be without the physical pain. The rest is the same. I never had to manage the eight rings of hell.”

Damokles shakes his head, turning his eyes back to his prey. He sighs, then his hands are moving.

“Damokles, no!” Cyril yells. Thea’s hands hold him back, but it’s too late—rather, Damokles ignores him. He wrenches Alabaster’s head to the side with a crunch as satisfying as it is agonizing to watch. Thea squeezes his hand and lets out a harsh, shuddering breath, as Alabaster’s pale head falls limp.

The room begins shaking again. Thea falls to her knees and presses her forehead to the ground, Cyril is rooted to the spot. Damokles stands tall and breathes in, embracing his new role. When he opens his eyes, they’re bright, flame orange.

“You idiot,” Cyril hisses, shoving him back. “You didn’t give me any time to input. You never think. We could’ve worn him down in one of the hundreds of rooms alone I was sent to. We could’ve gotten our revenge and our freedom. Instead, you decided to become the master of hell instead. We’re split up again.”

“Better me than you.” Damokles yanks open the door of Cyril’s little room and walking with purpose. Cyril follows him. “Tell me where the door to this place is. I don’t know this place from the inside yet.”

“West,” Cyril says automatically, then curses himself. “You can’t just leave with us. Too long away and you’ll start to wither away, and I’m not coming back here if I can help it. This isn’t a solution. Far from it.”

“Hell no you’re not coming back here. Never again, for you.” Damokles takes a deep breath as Cyril guides him to the elevator. Thea is hot on their heels, shadows licking the ground. “Cyril, I did this because I love you and Thea more than I’ve ever loved anything. I would set fire to our Actium in a day if it meant protecting you. I didn’t care what it would take to free you, I just didn’t want you to suffer you anymore.”

“When you described how we’d spend our time when I was free, had you made up your mind then? Were you lying through your teeth?”

“No, dammit,” Damokles growls, turning around and pushing him against the wall. It burns Cyril’s back, but not as much as his kiss. “Don’t worry about me.”

“What if I love you, too?” Cyril yells back. “What if I never wanted us to be apart again? I will find a way to fix this. We will get you out.”

Damokles doesn’t argue.

When they reach the door Cyril tried to break out of so many times, tall, white, and uncharacteristically clean, Damokles kisses Thea goodbye. Tears begin filling Cyril’s eyes again as Damokles presses both hands to the door and murmurs something under his breath. It opens as easily as a human door.

“There you go,” Damokles whispers. Cyril can smell the fresh air, and it almost brings him to his knees, but he doesn’t look yet. He stubbornly looks back at the aching oranges and blacks, the smell of smoke that’s ingrained into his soul now, the blistering heat they’re leaving Damokles behind in. Thea’s hand snakes into his, and Cyril squeezes it like he’ll die if he doesn’t.

“We’ll meet again,” Damokles promises, before the door swings shut and locks with a boom. Cyril misses him immediately in a wave of incredible grief.

He turns around.

The sky is so very black, the stars so very bright, the air so very cool. Cyril closes his eyes and breathes in, long and slow the way he dreamed of for so, so, so long. But his right hand is painfully empty, the pains of hell too fresh. He needs a thousand baths, a thousand days in the sun, but he’ll never stop wishing Damokles was there.

Cyril breathes, closes his eyes, and with barely any effort changes his hair to a dull, mousy brown. It's an immediate relief, enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“I never thought I’d say this,” Cyril says, “but I already want to go back.”

“Yeah,” Thea murmurs, thick with tears. Cyril lets her cry, too in pain and exhausted to do anything but hold her hand and stand in solidarity.

In his mind, he’s in the field with flowers and fingers and laughter in his hair, the sun warming them all.

It's so peaceful at night.

It's wrong.

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog

tag of interest: @aelenko

[jeonsjiddies]

and then came you | pjm (m)

summary - Jimin was having a harder time getting over his unrequited love than he’d like to admit. He was desperate to escape the longing in his chest; he was searching for something to make him feel alive again. Jimin was about to give up hope that he’d ever find anything meaningful to cling to again, and then came you. 

rating- explicit 18+

word count-  7551

pairing- jimin x reader

genre- fluff, smut, angst

Warnings - a little angsty/ a little heartbreak at the beginning, some sexual harassment ( from an ex), mentions of cheating, thigh riding, ice play, creampie, multiple orgasms, slight dom!jimin, Oral (female receiving)

a/n - while this story can stand alone, it is based off the 8 letters AU, which can be found here. :) as usual, all the thanks in the world to @sweetnspicy93​ for all your help and thank you for urging me to give 8 letters Jimin his own happy ending. 

Jimin knew it was a bad idea, but he’d done it anyway. He would’ve done anything for the girl with the soft eyes and the bright smile, the girl who was now Namjoon’s. Jimin thought his crush was small enough that he’d be able to assist in making Namjoon jealous and walk away unscathed. At least she would be happy. That would be enough for Jimin. Or so he thought. 

Jimin’s mind wandered back to the way she looked on top of him, grinding her hips into his. His cock stirred at the memory. Of course, it had all been a show, strategically designed to make her roommate and crush jealous. That didn’t stop Jimin’s heart from slipping a beat when her core ground down onto his member. It didn’t stop Jimin from melting when she’d giggled and covered her face to hide it. Jimin knew it wasn’t real, he’d laughed off his boner, but he let himself enjoy the feeling of her skin under his tongue, the soft noises he drew from her which he knew weren’t completely fake. 

He felt empty, lost. Maybe he was being dramatic, but Jimin felt like he needed purpose. He’d feigned happiness when he saw her tucked into Namjoon’s loving embrace, congratulating the new couple as pieces of his heart chipped away and fell into the black hole of his chest. It seemed like his desire to do anything had faded away as quickly as his grasp on her. Now, he moped about his apartment, listening to the dull roar of the rain outside. It had been weeks since Namjoon had finally cracked and claimed her as his own, and Jimin was tired of feeling so… tired, dejected, lonely. 

Jimin decided he needed a change of scenery. The messy apartment with the dingy walls he had been cooped up in for weeks wasn’t doing anything to help him, he needed a fresh start. He didn’t give himself time to think about it, only packed a bag and scurried out the door, through the pouring rain to his car. He didn’t have a real plan, just decided to hit the open road and let his gut guide him until he found a place to explore. He drove through the rain, letting his excitement seep through his bones as he made random turns and took unplanned exits to get to his unknown adventure. 

Jimin drove for a few hours, deciding no matter where he went he wasn’t going to escape the dastardly rain. He took the next exit he saw, something in his chest guiding  him towards the small town it led to. Near the exit he saw a sign illuminated promising a hotel room for only $35 a night. Jimin, having nothing to lose, pulled into the parking lot. Entering the building and shaking the rain from his dripping hair, he looked around to find the front lobby devoid of any life. 

“Hello?” He called out. 

You didn’t hear him enter the building and couldn't see anything past the stack of boxes you were balancing. He didn’t see you coming around the corner. You tripped over a flipped up rug and went tumbling forward, boxes flying out of your hands and landing haphazardly on the tile floor, contents spilling out and rolling in different directions. You would’ve splattered on the floor much like the contents of the boxes had it not been for the beautiful stranger who currently cradled you in his strong arms. Your palms were pressed flat against his chest, and you could feel the toned muscle under your fingertips. Your gaze traveled up his neck and face until your eyes locked with the deep brown pools of his.  Though they were a dark color, they shone with the intensity of the sun, bright and vivid, so beautiful it almost hurt to look at. Your mouth hung open in shock for a moment at how gorgeous this man was before you came to your senses, stumbling back and out of his grip. 

“I am so so sorry! Are you alright?” You questioned, skimming over his body for any obvious signs of injury. You sighed in relief when you found none.

“I’m fine. Are you okay?” He wondered, eyes searching yours. 

“Yes, thanks to you. Thank you. For catching me.” You giggled nervously. 

“It’s not every day a beautiful girl throws herself into my arms. Couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” He winked playfully.

You blushed and looked down to hide it and squeaked in surprise, scrambling to collect the contents of the boxes. Jimin leaned down to help you, collecting items and tucking them safely in the box before lifting it and following you to the counter where the both of you set them down. 

“Thank you, again.” you smiled, taking your place behind the desk. “Were you looking for a room?”

“Yes, please.” he grinned back at you, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

Your eyes lingered on the action a little longer than was socially acceptable before you shook yourself back to reality and searched the old, worn down computer system for available rooms.

“Okay, I’ve got a double queen and a single king available. Which would you prefer? They’re both non-smoking rooms.” you smiled politely.

“The single king, it’s only me.” Jimin sighed, his sunshine filled eyes dimming a bit.

“Okay!” you tried not to show your concern, but selected the room and input your employee discount.

“How many nights?” you asked, glancing back up at him.

“Ummm…” he trailed off, looking away as he thought carefully. “Let’s go with seven. For now.” 

“Okay, a one week stay…” your fingers tapped at the keys, and you rung up his total. 

“Okay that will be $187.25. Cash or card?” you smiled sweetly. 

“That doesn’t sound right… it’s for 7 nights right? $35 a night?” he confirmed. 

“I, um, put my employee discount in for you…” you admitted shyly, avoiding his gaze. “It made it $25 a night, plus tax. We’re allowed to give the employee price to friends and family and I was thankful for your help.”

Jimin watched you for a moment, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he appraised you.

“Thank you. That’s… really sweet. Probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.” his voice lowered at the end, as if that part was a secret.

“Well, you helped me. I helped you.” you shrugged, trying to play it off and hoping he wouldn’t notice the blaze in your cheeks.

Your hands brushed when he handed over his card and you audibly gasped at the shockwave that shot through you when his skin met yours. His mouth parted in shock as well and you both locked eyes for a moment. One heartbeat passed. Two. The only sound in the lobby was both of you sucking in shaky breaths. 

You gulped, pulling your hand away and swiping his card through the reader. You handed it and a receipt back to him, careful not to touch him again and smiled the most professional smile you could muster. You reached behind you and pulled the corresponding keycard out of its slot and handed it over as well.

“Room 318. If you need anything, you can call me. The front desk number is 0. I’ll be here until 7am, but if you find that Mina is a little too… blunt?..for your taste, I’m actually right down the hall in 338.” you explained.

You weren’t sure why you told him that, you never offered that information to any other customers. Something about him just pulled you in. You wanted to protect him. You wanted to know what was going on in his mind, what could possibly be dimming those glittering eyes. You were enamoured by him, intrigued, fascinated really. 

“Thank you for the heads up…” he trailed off, eyes scanning your shirt for a name badge.

“Y/N. And you?” you offered.

“Jimin.” he beamed at you, causing your heart to skip a beat for probably the 92nd time since you’d laid eyes on him.

“It’s very nice to meet you Jimin. I hope you enjoy your stay.” you told him sincerely.

“I think I will.” he winked, making his way down the hallway towards his room.

*** Jimin couldn’t sleep. He was used to tossing and turning and lying awake until the sun came up, he was no stranger to the way his mind whirled when the silence crept in. He kept himself busy during the day, but when the sun went down, the restlessness set in. Jimin hated the silence. He hated being alone. He glanced at the clock, it was midnight. He sighed and shoved himself out of bed, slipping on his shoes and making his way down to the coffee bar he’d spotted earlier. 

He filled two cups, fixing one the way he liked it and leaving the other black, but grabbing a couple of cream and sugar packets to bring with him. He peered around the corner to see if you were busy before he entered the lobby. You were sat on a stool behind the desk, head leaning on your hand as you struggled to stay awake. Jimin smiled, turning the corner and setting the coffee in front of you.

“Looks like you might need this more than I do.” he grinned, taking a sip of his own. “I wasn’t sure how you liked it so I just brought the extras to you.”

“Oh my gosh. My hero.” you cooed, ripping open the sugar and creamers and dumping them in before taking a sip.

Your head lolled back blissfully and you moaned quietly. Jimin’s eyes widened at the unexpected lewd sound rolling off your pink lips and had to discreetly adjust himself before you noticed the way his sweats got a little tighter. 

“You saved my life. How can I ever repay you?” you giggled. 

“Keep me company? I can’t sleep.” he whined.  

“I’m not going anywhere until 7. You’re welcome to hang out with me here.” you offered.

Jimin hopped up on the desk, swinging his legs back and forth as he peered down at you. You rolled your eyes with a smile.

“Where are you from?” you asked him.

“Just a few hours south of here.” he answered. “I couldn’t get far in the rain.”

“Oh, you aren’t to your destination yet? Why did you book seven days then?” you wondered aloud.

“I didn’t really have a destination in mind. I just wanted to leave for a while. I had nothing holding me there anymore, and I thought a change of scenery would be nice. So I just kinda went where I felt like going and ended up here.” he shrugged.

“Your grand adventure led you to our little town?” you laughed.

“It’s got it’s charms.” he smirked.

You bit your lip and looked down, willing the blush on your cheeks to chill out. Jimin chuckled, the vibrations of his body shaking your desk.

“So what do you plan on doing now that you’re here?” you asked.

“I don’t really have a plan. I just felt kind of suffocated and needed to get out of my dingy apartment and that stupid town.” he left off the part about how SHE was everywhere he went when he did venture outside his apartment, and how every time he saw her hand laced with Namjoons bile rose in his throat.

“Well, on behalf of our tiny town, welcome. I hope you find what you’re searching for.” you smiled.

Jimin stayed perched on your desk for hours, until the sun started streaming through the blinds in the lobby, filling the room with a soft glow. In your opinion, though, the light wafting through the space couldn’t dare compare to the light that came from Jimin. When his head was thrown back and his body shook and his smile reached from ear to ear while giggles and chuckles fell from his pillowy lips, Jimin shone brighter than the sun could ever hope to. 

You both got more comfortable as the night went on, delving into deeper topics, more personal ones. You told each other stories, shared your hopes for the future, It honestly felt like you’d known him your whole life. The conversation flowed easily, there weren’t any awkward pauses or times when neither of you could fill the silence, unsure of what to say. It was easy with Jimin. Being around him made you feel lighter, less broken. Like the light inside of him was seeping out and filling you with hope too. 

You could tell there was something on his mind, something plaguing him. Who else stays up talking to a hotel clerk until the wee hours of the morning? He was running from something when he left without a plan, but he didn’t offer much information on it. Despite the darkness that sometimes threatened to break through his cheery exterior, Jimin was just… bright. It was who he was, a part of him. He was warm, friendly, and welcoming. 

Neither of you had realized the time until the front door of the lobby swung open and Mina shuffled through, her ever-present scowl plastered on her weathered face. She glared at Jimin the moment she saw him. His eyes widened in fear and he slipped his bottom off of the desk, backing away from it. You sent him a look that said ‘I told you so.’

“Shifts over. Go.” she grunted, pointing her disappointed gaze at you.

You nodded quietly, gathering your purse and walking over to Jimin, who was almost cowering in the corner. You nodded for him to follow you out of the lobby and only spoke once you were out of earshot.

“See what I mean?” you giggled.

“She’s terrifying.” he whisper-hissed.

“She’s old and everything hurts. I’d probably be mean if I had to work here at her age too.” you shrugged, “but yeah if you need anything come find me. She definitely didn’t like the way you were sitting on the desk.”

Jimin nodded, covering his mouth as he stifled a yawn. You laughed.

“Did I wear you out talking your ear off?” you teased.

“No, that was the most fun I’ve had in a while to be honest.” he chuckled. 

“Happy to help.” you smiled shyly, pausing in front of his room with him. 

He hovered by the door but made no move to go in. You didn’t make a move to leave either. You both laughed at how ridiculous you were being. You placed your hand on his arm.

“Goodnight Jimin, sleep well.” 

Suddenly, Jimin pulled you towards him, his arms wrapping tightly around your frame, head resting in the crook of your neck. You melted into his embrace, allowing your arms to circle around his body as well. 

“Thank you for keeping me company.” he quietly spoke, warm breath hitting your ear and making you shiver.

“Any time, Jimin.” you answered back just as quietly. 

He pulled back and sent you a smile before he slipped inside his room. You slowly made your way back to yours, every inch of your skin tingling, relishing the way it felt to be held by him, even for just a moment. In the  arms of his stranger was the first time you’d ever felt like you were home. 

You and Jimin had developed a nightly routine. Each night, he’d show up around midnight and perch himself on your desk, gifting you a cup of coffee (which he tailored to your tastes now.) The two of you would talk and laugh and just enjoy each other’s presence throughout the night. Maybe you should’ve gotten bored spending so much time together but you never ran out of things to talk about. 

It felt like he’d always been there and he always would be. Even Mina seemed to get used to seeing Jimin when she arrived. She wasn’t friendly but she’d stopped sending him evil looks, which was quite the compliment from her. You found yourself looking forward to work rather than dreading it.  Your favorite part of each day was the time you got to spend with Jimin. On the 4th night of this routine, Jimin wrapped you up in your nightly hug. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t wait all night for this part, longing to be wrapped up in his embrace, however fleeting the moment may be. 

That night, Jimin surprised you. When he pulled away from your hug you felt his pillowy soft lips rest upon your cheek in a chaste kiss. The moment was over before you had time to process what was happening and Jimin smiled innocently at you.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams.” 

You stood frozen in place, letting your hand come up to touch your cheek where his lips had just been. His lips were so soft, so plush, and you longed to feel them against your own. Your cheek burned in the best way where the lingering heat from his lips stayed. You couldn’t stop the goofy smile from spreading across your face. 

That was until you rounded the corner to get to your room and walked face first into the chest of the man you despised more than anything else. Your ex boyfriend, Stuart, loomed over your like a predator stalking it’s prey, using his large body mass to trap you against the wall. He reeked of alcohol and you rolled your eyes at the familiar scent. 

“What are you doing here? Get off of me.” You hissed. 

“Awww don’t sound so disappointed, Y/N. Don’t you miss me?” He cooed, one finger sliding it’s way up the side of your face. 

“No.” You spit. “Get the fuck off of me.”

“Come on baby… don’t you want to have a little fun?” He smirked and your stomach threatened to release your midnight snack all over his button up shirt. 

“Let me get one thing through your thick ass skull, I will NEVER touch you again. Do you understand?” You hissed through gritted teeth 

“Don’t be like this. Just unlock the door. We can go in your room and play around like we used to. You used to like it when I showed up like this.”

“That was before I found out you were fucking half the town behind my back.” You threw back at him. “If you think I’ll ever get with you again you’re insane.” 

“Quit playing hard to get and open the fucking door.” He growled. 

“I believe she said no.” 

Your gaze snapped to the voice that had just spoken, your eyes landing on Jimin, who was carrying his ice bucket. His eyes were swimming with concern for you but he stood tall and held his ground, refusing to be intimidated by the giant drunk moron who had you pinned to the wall.

“This isn’t any of your business. Fuck off.” Stuart hissed. 

“Actually it kind of is. You’re sexually harassing my friend.” Jimin spoke evenly, keeping a calm persona. 

“You know this clown?” Stuart asked you. 

“Yeah. He’s my friend.” You shrugged.

“You little slut, you’re letting him hit it aren’t you? Bitching at me for having a little fun but you’ll bust it open for anyone huh?” Stuart goaded you.

“Well Stuart, I don’t really think that’s any of your business.” You growled.

“If you’ll put out for him you better put out for me.” He hissed. 

Jimin’s fist connected with Stuart’s jaw before you could reply or react. Stuart stumbled back in surprise and Jimin took the opportunity to grab your hand and sprint down the hallway with you in tow. A roar of rage sounded from behind the two of you which only fueled your legs to move faster. Nearing a T in the hallway, you made a split second decision to shove Jimin into the supply closet and shut the door.

Stuart wasn’t smart enough, especially while drunk, to think of that as an option and you strained your ears to listen as his footsteps clomped past the storage closet, pausing before retreating down the hallway. You let out a sigh of relief, looking up to meet Jimin’s gaze. It was then that you realized how close you were. Your noses almost touching, you could feel his ragged breaths against your skin. You told yourself it was from the running.

“Are you okay?” He whispered. 

“Yes, thanks to you. You keep rescuing me.” You grinned. 

“Well, call me Prince Charming then.” He laughed quietly. “Do you think he’s gone?” 

“I’m not sure. We should probably wait it out.” You sighed.

“Why don’t you call the police?” Jimin wondered.

“His dads the sheriff. He won’t do anything.” You huffed.

Jimin shifted, trying to maneuver around you to set down the ice bucket he was holding. He opted to place it on the floor, bending down to set it beside the two of you. He misjudged the space between your bodies as he stood up, stumbling forward a little, his face ended up in your cleavage, his lips brushing against your cloth covered nipple. He froze in shock, unable to peel himself from your breast. His breath circled your nub, damp and warm. You let out a breathy moan at the feeling and your eyes immediately widened in panic. 

Jimin straightened his posture, eyes locked on yours and lips parted in amazement. Neither of you spoke or dared to move. You could feel his chest rising and falling rapidly, brushing against your own each time in the cramped space. Jimin could feel his cock stirring to attention in his sweats and decided it was time to check if the coast was clear. He cleared his throat and opened the closet door, slipping his head out and checking both directions.

“I don’t see him anymore.” Jimin told you quietly.

You nodded and followed him towards your room. You paused in front of his, shaking with anxiety when he looked at you in confusion. 

“Jimin… I’m scared. Can I… can I stay with you? I’m worried he’s going to come back and I-“ you rambled bit Jimin put you out of your misery. 

“Of course, come on.” He unlocked the door and ushered you inside. 

You followed him inside, thanking him quietly and following him like a lost puppy to the middle of the room.

“Make yourself comfortable. Do you want me to turn on a movie?” He asked. “Are you hungry or thirsty?”

“I’m okay, but I won’t turn down the movie.” You smiled gratefully. 

Jimin flipped on the tv and sat at the opposite side of the bed, careful to give you room and made sure he was under the covers so you couldn’t see his semi. You got under the blankets too, but still shivered in the cold of his room. 

“Are you still cold? I don’t think I have a clean sweater…” he thought out loud, wracking his brain for ideas. 

“It’s fine! I’ll warm up soon.” You assured him. 

Things shifted back to normal for the most part, but there was a lingering tension in the air neither of you were willing to talk about. You fell into easy conversation about the movie, giggling and poking fun at the plot holes together. You continued to shiver despite your best efforts not to show how cold you were. Jimin sighed. 

“Come here.” He instructed. 

“Hmm?” You questioned. 

“Come over here and let me warm you up, you’re making me feel bad.” Jimin motioned for you to join him on his side of the bed. 

“Really I’m fine-“ you began but the look on Jimin’s face had you obeying his command in an instant, crawling your way over to him and snuggling up beside him as he wrapped an arm around you and pulled the blanket up to cover you both, trapping the heat of both of your bodies. 

The hotel mattress was lumpy and uneven, but you’d never been more comfortable in your life. Jimin’s arm wrapped around your shoulder so it wasn’t sandwiched between the two of you and you molded yourself against his side even closer. Your bodies fit perfectly together and it made your heart beat faster than normal. You only hoped Jimin couldn’t hear it. When the movie ended, Jimin switched off the tv and laid down. You followed suit, pressing your body up against his and resting your head on his shoulder, your hand on his chest.

“Tell me something I don’t already know about you.” you requested, voice soft in an attempt not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere.

“What haven’t I told you yet?” Jimin chuckles to himself. 

“What’s the real reason you’re here?” you pondered, bracing yourself for him to close himself off.

Jimin sighed, and you were about to apologize and change the subject when he nodded, glancing over at you.

“Actually, I was kind of running away. I had this friend, and I liked her but she liked her roommate. He likes her too but wasn’t doing anything about it, so we fake dated to make him jealous. I know it’s immature but he needed a push. I wanted her to be happy but didn’t realize how I’d feel seeing them together all the time. It’s actually kind of nice, I haven’t thought about her in days.” Jimin explained.

“I’m sorry Jimin. You’re a wonderful guy and you deserve someone who appreciates you.” You told him, eyes searching his face. 

“Thank you.” He scrunched his nose up in that cute way that made your heart clench. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

You wracked your brain for information you hadn’t already provided to Jimin during your nightly talks. You noticed then that Jimin was shifting beside you, growing antsy with the vulnerability of the conversation, you assumed. In an attempt to lighten the mood, you threw out the first thing you could think of.

“Hmmm… I can touch my nose with my tongue.” you lied with the best straight face you could muster.

“No way. Show me.” Jimin laughed, turning to watch you.

You stuck your tongue out and tried your hardest to push it far enough to touch the tip of your nose, but failed miserably. You refused to give up and kept trying, making silly faces while attempting to reach. Jimin couldn’t control the laughter bubbling from deep in his belly at your ridiculous antics. 

His smile reached both ears, and Jimin watched you make a fool of yourself, realizing that he hadn’t felt so light and carefree in the longest time, even before the incident with Namjoon and his new girlfriend. Something about being near you just made Jimin turn into a version of himself that he actually liked. Being around you made him feel like it might actually be okay. 

The two of you shared hushed whispers for a while, Jimin absentmindedly drawing shapes on the soft flesh of your hand that rest on his chest. The whispers died down and you were left with the quiet humming of the air conditioning kicking on and off periodically and the sound of Jimin’s even breathing. You lifted your head to see if he was asleep and watched his chest move with each inhale. You allowed yourself to study his features up close. You couldn’t help yourself, reaching out and letting your fingers brush against the skin of his jaw, a featherlight touch in the hopes of not waking him. 

Jimin stirred slightly and you held your breath, ceasing all body movements. You watched his eyes flutter before stilling. He snuggled farther into the blanket and sighed happily. You waited a few moments before returning to your exploration. Your fingers danced lightly towards his lips, letting yourself marvel at how full and soft they were. Your thumb brushed against the tender flesh, and Jimin’s tongue darted out to wet them. You removed your fingers from his warm, now wet mouth. 

His eyelashes fanned across his cheeks delicately, and you gently ran a finger along them, watching them flutter under your touch. You sighed, completely in awe of how beautiful the man next to you truly was. He was painfully attractive, that was a given. But he was also smart, funny, kind, open. You found yourself idly wondering how anyone could pass him up, but you were honestly not upset that she had. It was a stupid daydream, you knew that. There was no way he was into you. But you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining what it might be like to show Jimin the kind of love he’d been missing, the kind he was so clearly desperate to find. 

If anyone deserved to feel raw, unconditional love, you had no doubt that Jimin did. He was so sweet and friendly and had so much love to give in return. You wanted to watch those eyes light up, see how brightly he could shine when properly adored. You wanted to be that for him. He shuffled in his sleep, mumbling something under his breath and his arms reached out, seeking your warmth. He brought you flush against him, enveloping you in his warm embrace. You smiled to yourself and carded your fingers through his silky hair. 

You let yourself melt into his hold, feeling welcome and needed and wanted. You began fading in and out of consciousness, the comfort and safety of having Jimin so close putting your mind at ease. You fell asleep to the sound of his strong, steady heartbeat, which sounded a lot like your new favorite song.

You woke up before Jimin, the sunlight finding its way through the thin curtain that covered the large window of his hotel room. You blinked a few times and tried to sit up, but Jimin’s arms instinctively wrapped around you tighter, holding you in place against his firm body. You grinned, snuggling back into his embrace and pressing yourself up against him. That’s when you felt something hard pressing against your backside. You experimentally wiggled your hips against Jimin’s, wondering if it was what you thought it was. His sleepy moan and the friction against your bottom proved your suspicions correct. 

Your eyes widened and you bit your lip as arousal pooled in between your legs. Jimin’s rock hard cock pressed against your backside made your head spin. You attempted to remove yourself from his grasp but that only made him hug you closer, effectively pressing his erection against you more. You whimpered quietly, torn between not disturbing Jimin and relieving the ache between your thighs. You pushed your bottom farther into him, hoping to gain a little friction. Suddenly, his hand gripped down on your hip, stilling your movements. 

“What are you doing?” He questioned, his morning voice raspy and deep. 

“I...uh….” you gulped, heat flooding to your cheeks at having been caught grinding against him.

You tried to flee, but Jimin’s firm grip on your hip didn’t lessen, his fingers dug into your skin deliciously. 

“It looks like you were grinding your pretty little ass on my cock.” He purred, his hand sliding from your hip to grasp the fleshy globe of your bottom, giving it a rough squeeze. 

“Ah, fuck.” You squeaked out at his possessive actions, you leaned into his touch and brought a chuckle from him. 

“Hmmmm… you like that?” He chuckled, “you like when I touch you?”

“Yes.” You gasped as his hands traveled farther up to cup your breast, giving it a light squeeze. 

“So needy. Why don’t you do something about it?” He prodded. 

Your brain was fuzzy, you weren’t even registering his words. You didn’t think about what you were doing, you just let your body take control as you turned around then swung a leg over his lap and straddled him. Jimin’s words died in his throat and his mouth hung open in shock. You didn’t let yourself think or slow down, knowing you’d chicken out if you did. You pressed your lips to his in a needy kiss, which he reciprocated after he processed that it was happening. 

His hands found purchase in your hair, tugging gently as his tongue explored your mouth. You moaned into his mouth when his free hand pinched and rolled your nipple between his fingers. You began to grind your hips down onto his, delighting in the way his cock felt dragging up and down your clothed folds. Jimin groaned, letting his head fall back and hit the headboard with a quiet thud before he lifted it and grabbed your hips, holding them still.

“Wait, wait.” he panted.

“What’s wrong?” your hips stilled, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

“It’s uh, been a while, and if you do that I’m going to cum in my pants.” he admitted sheepishly. 

You bit your lip to hide your giggle when an idea flashed in your mind. You moved your hips so you were straddling his thigh rather than his crotch. You began to rock your hips again and Jimin’s eyes darkened as he stared at the spot where your sex met his thigh. 

“Holy shit, you look so sexy right now…” he hummed thoughtfully, his hands coming to rest on your hips again only to grind you down harder on his toned muscle.

The arousal pooling between your legs was soaking through your clothing, and you were certain Jimin would feel it soaking his flimsy sweats soon. You whimpered at the friction on your clit and when Jimin tensed his thigh it sent a wave of pleasure through you.

His fingers found the edge of your shirt and he glanced at your face to make sure it was okay. When you nodded, he lifted it off of your frame and tossed it aside. He licked his lips as he surveyed your skimpy bra. His lips attached themselves to the tops of your breast while his hands slipped behind you to unclasp the fabric preventing him from seeing all of your upper half. The bra fell off your shoulders and Jimin whisked it away, taking a moment to admire your breasts.

“I think I might have died if I didn’t get a chance to have a proper taste of these.” he hummed, eyes flicking up to yours as a smirk graced his lips.

“Fuck, Jimin.” You whimpered pathetically as electricity shot to your core. 

Almost immediately, his lips were on your nipples.His soft, plump lips sucked at your sensitive nub, his teeth gently scraping along the flesh. Your movements on his thigh stuttered, your mind going blank at the shivers coursing through you. His tongue darted out and swirled around your nipple, before he moved his delicious assault to the other breast. This time, he bit down, pulling the nub between his teeth. You yelped, arching your body closer to him as the sinfully pleasurable pain raced through your veins.

Jimin smirked against your skin, biting and soothing it with the flat of his tongue afterwards. He blew cold air against the red marks on your breasts, and you shivered. Your hips picked up speed the closer you got to letting go and Jimin sensed you were near your high. His fingers dipped past the waistband of your pants and panties, and he began rubbing your clit harshly, until you were just about to fly off the edge, then he ripped his hand away and held you still.

“What the fuck?!” you whined.

“You don’t cum until I say you do.” he growled, “you were a very bad girl, rubbing up against me and teasing me, using me for your own pleasure. So fucking sexy.” 

You whined, trying to rock your hips against him once more, but Jimin was stronger than you. He grabbed your waist and flipped you over so he was hovering above you. The tips of his fingers teasing at your waistband. Your breath caught in your throat, the palpable tension growing thicker with each passing moment. He quickly discarded his own shirt, giving you the most glorious view of his toned chest and stomach. 

You made no attempt to disguise the way you ogled him. You licked your lips seductively as your eyes raked over his body, drinking him in. You reached up to let your hands rake down his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his abs and brushing over his nipples on the way down. His body jerked and you smiled to yourself. Your perusal of his body came to rest at the elastic in his sweats.

“Someone’s eager.” Jimin quipped.

“Someone might not be so eager if she’d been allowed to cum.” you huffed, tugging the sweats and boxers down in one smooth  motion. 

Jimin laughed, standing up and kicking the clothing off of his body before crawling back onto the bed.

“Mouthy little slut. Don’t you know only good girls get to cum?” he shot back, pressing you flat against the mattress and kissing down your neck.

You squirmed under his touch while he worked his way down your body, stopping just above your aching sex. He placed a soft kiss to your clothed folds, making your body react and arch closer, seeking relief. He chuckled to himself and shed you of any remaining clothing. The contrast of the cool air meeting your aching heat caused a shiver to rip through your body. Something lit up in Jimin’s eyes and he removed himself from the bed and walked over to the mini fridge, opening the freezer compartment.  You watched curiously as he returned with the small ice bucket he’d filled before finding you last night.

“Feeling thirsty?” you joked. 

Jimin raised an eyebrow, shooting you a half-smile before taking an icecube and running it over your already hard nipple. You cried out, the stark contrast of his warm hands with the freezing cold of the icecube was divine. You watched as it slowly melted, water droplets rolling off your body and falling onto the bed.

“Jimin…” you whimpered.

“Mmm?” he smirked, repeating the action on the other breast.

Your back arched, seeking more from the man above you. He was playing you like an instrument, and he knew all the right notes. You were putty in his hands, and he knew it. It stroked his ego more than you would’ve cared for but at this point you would’ve done anything to get some attention on your sodden pussy.

Jimin popped an icecube in his mouth and moved up to kiss you. It rolled around between your tongues until it melted between your combined heat. Jimin kissed the tip of your nose before moving his face down between your legs. He pressed his tongue flat against your clit, and the coldness from the icecube that he’d just had in his mouth stunned you. He left your clit to tease along your folds, letting his tongue dart experimentally inside your heat. 

You groaned,writhing underneath his ministrations. He flicked the tip of his tongue against your clit quickly, building the heat in your belly as he moved. He slipped two fingers inside you, curling them and hitting that delicious spot with every pump. He paused for a moment, and suddenly there was something very cold and very wet pressing against your walls. 

You gasped, the ice pressing against you as Jimin moved it in and out with his tongue. The melting liquid joined your slick and spilled out of your hole while Jimin flicked his tongue, and the remaining ice against that spot that drove you wild. Once the ice was gone, and you were panting enough for Jimin’s liking, he doubled down on his efforts, tongue pressing against your walls and fingers working beside it while his other hand worked your clit in small, deliberate circles.

Jimin pulled away abruptly, and you nearly began crying as another orgasm slipped away.You groaned in frustration, reaching down to play with your own clit but Jimin caught your wrists and clicked his tongue.

“Nuh uh, darling. What did I say? You don’t cum unless I tell you to.” he purred, licking a bold stripe along the veins in your wrist, which was strangely erotic.  “I want you to beg for it.” 

“What?” you hissed.

“Beg me to cum. Beg for my cock.” he smirked.

You sighed audibly, and Jimin just watched you, the smirk still pasted on his stupidly handsome face.

“Please…” you mumbled.

“I’m sorry, what was that darling?” Jimin chuckled. “I can’t hear you.”

“Please fuck me, Jimin. I need to cum. Please!” you whined, all of your pride flying out the window as your pussy clenched around nothing.

“That’s my good girl.” he cooed.

“Please hurry.” you whined.

“Shit. I don’t… I don’t have a condom.” Jimin realized out loud, shoulders slumping.

“I have an IUD and I’m clean.” you panted, fingers wrapping around his neck and bringing him to meet your lips. “Are you?”

“I’m clean,” he assured.

“Then fuck me.” you whispered, nibbling on his ear.

Jimin wasted no time obliging your request. He lined himself up with your entrance and slid in smoothly, aided by your dripping arousal, courtesy of your two denied orgasms and the skills of his tongue. Jimin bottomed out, both of you emitting a low groan. Jimin wasn’t super long, but his girth more than made up for it, as well as his ability to move his hips in the most delectable ways. He filled you up perfectly, hitting spots inside you that you were unaware even existed. 

“Jimin.” you moaned, clawing at his back as he thrust in and out of you at a painfully slow pace.

“Say it again.” he whispered, hips picking up speed.

“Jimin.” you repeated.

“Louder.” he growled, snapping his hips in and out of you with vigor.

“Fuck! Jimin!” you cried. 

Jimin pounded in and out of you, causing your body to bounce with each movement of his hips. He loved the way your breasts bounced and the way you bit down harshly on your lip, overwhelmed with pleasure. His head fell into your neck as he pistoned his hips against yours, one hand sneaking between your joined bodies to expertly rub at your clit. You could no longer form a coherent sentence,gibberish falling from your lips as the familiar fire built deep inside you. 

“Jimin.” you warned, your cunt clenching around him.

“Are you gonna cum for me? Cum all over my cock? Do it, baby. Cum for me.” he coaxed.

His teeth sinking into your neck was the last push you needed before you were careening off the edge. Your body trembled at the most intense orgasm you’d ever experienced in your life. White dots clouded your vision and you screamed so loud your throat felt raw. Jimin came soon after you, working you both through your shared euphoria. His thrusts slowed and he stilled inside you, breathing as heavy as your own.

“Holy shit.” he groaned, and you could feel his muscles shaking just as much as your own.

He pulled out of you, watching in awe as his cum seeped out of your beaten hole. He slid a finger along your folds, gathering his seed and bringing it up to your lips. You obediently opened your mouth, wrapping your tongue around his fingers and sucking them clean, the taste of your own slick combined with his cum coating your tongue. Jimin shivered at the sight.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” he sighed breathlessly.

He stood up, walking into the bathroom to dampen a towel with warm water and bring it back to the bed, gently cleaning you up. You bit your lip, suddenly feeling vulnerable under his gaze. He made his way back into the bed, snuggling up next to you and pulling you into his arms. He watched your expressions and you watched him. You both giggled nervously.

“Do you maybe… want to go out sometime?” he asked, teeth raking over his bottom lip nervously.

“I’d like that.” you giggled, hiding your face in his chest.

You both lay there in comfortable silence, holding each other while your breathing returned to normal. You nodded off, spent from the activities of the morning, and it was Jimin’s turn to watch your peaceful face as you slept. His eyes trailed over your features, adoration and a tinge of something more filling him. True, Jimin had arrived in this small town running away from something. He was searching for something to make him feel anything but the jealousy and pain that had settled deep in his chest. Jimin felt like he was running toward something now, a possibility of the two of you. He knew he wasn’t “fixed”, but he felt good with you, whole with you. 

Jimin knew both of you had a lot of learning to do, and a long way to go and a long way to grow, but he couldn’t stop the excitement bubbling in his chest because for the first time in what seemed like forever, Jimin was happy. Truly, unabashedly happy. He’d started this journey of his running. He thought he’d never recover from the darkness that had taken him over. He thought he’d never find joy again. Jimin had gone desperately searching for something to give him hope.

And then came you.

[the-wolf-who-kissed-the-moon]

• Randvi x female reader 💋

a sapphire for your heart, part IV

Morning found you wide awake and restless. Your bedding was a mess on the floor and you were lying on the fresh straw which filled your bed. Nausea threatened to spill with every little movement you made; nausea from lack of sleep, and from overthinking. But with a bit of effort you managed to push yourself to sit and wash down the bile with a jug full of lemon water.

The day was promising. It seemed a lot of passers-by had stopped by the docks to bring news or tend to various local business, and many curious young men and women were flocking around Reda’s tend of exotic wonders. You made a careful selection of your own items and brought them outside for the visitors to see and admire, and eventually purchase. Saxon women were especially interested in your variety of colorful fabrics; bright teal, gold, and crimson shawls which powerfully contrasted their otherwise somber outfits. But it was your natural charms that convinced reluctant men to buy expensive gifts for their wives and daughters, and by noon you nearly sold out everything you’ve selected for that day.

All, but one.

It was an emerald green, pure silk scarf, beautifully ornate with golden threads and precious garnet beads. You were offered a hefty sum for it, but you declined with a smile and neatly packed it in your bag.

There were several locals and guests in the longhouse, chatting and enjoying the first course of their supper. Among them, you spotted a beautiful Viking with bright auburn hair and a jug of mead in her large hand. She was accompanied by several friends whom she chatted and laughed with; perhaps it was not the best of times to speak with her. But before you could take your leave, a dark-haired woman waved her arm and asked you to join them at their table. Randvi turned her head to look and when she saw you, she smiled the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen. Your heart raced like a hummingbird, sending little thrills of excitement through every cell of your being.

God… you were bewitched.

“You must be Sapphire! I’m Petra, it’s nice to meet you.”

The woman who beckoned you grinned as she made room for you to sit next to her, and right across from Randvi. You fiercely battled to keep your emotions hidden, to appear collected as you spoke with the people who would accompany you the next day in your treasure hunt. You’d be a group of five, with Petra helping you explore paths safe from dangerous wild predators, and the other three were warriors meant to protect you. A small, but capable group. You drank in their names, clashed jugs with them, and with Randvi, and promised a good journey tomorrow. However, there was a troubling feeling gnawing at your thoughts – the fact that she wouldn’t be there with you.

Soon, the longhouse was full of people dancing and singing, and enjoying the pleasant company of one another as they feasted. In the overwhelming loudness of cheering and music, you excused yourself and went outside to get a breath of fresh air. The night was crisp, sobering you up and lessening the ache at your temples.

“Were we too much for you?”

Your heart jumped at the sound of a beautiful familiar voice caressing your ears. When you looked back, Randvi was standing right behind you on the wooden porch. The light from within cast a glow upon her tall, godly silhouette, making her appear holy. You tightened the hold on your bag, momentarily deciding to postpone gifting her the shawl.

“Not at all. It was the smoke, it stung my eyes.” You answered with a smile.

She slowly closed the distance between you, and with a kind palm at the small of your back she encouraged you to walk with her further away from the longhouse. It was a simple, ghostly touch which lasted a moment, and yet it set your heart ablaze.

How cruel fate must’ve been to plant the seed of desire so deep into your core, only to watch you twist and struggle against the shackles of sapphic love. The way Randvi seemed to glow beneath the pallid moonlight was enthralling; the whole blanket of shimmering stars reflected in her deep cobalt eyes.

“How do you like Ravensthorpe so far?”

She asked.

You glanced at her briefly; beside the lingering smell of smoke in the longhouse and her anguished cries in the night, everything was perfect! But you wouldn’t dare say that out loud.

“It’s lovely. I’ve never been to a Viking settlement before. Your architecture and clothing designs are breathtaking.”

“Clothing designs?” She echoed, slightly amused; perhaps it was the mead.

“Yes. The fabrics you use, the intricate patterns and choice of color… the carvings in your shields and weapons. It’s beautiful.” You confessed with a smile. The way you spoke of her traditional wear made Randvi’s mirth dissolve into surprise.

There was a knot in your throat and your chest felt heavy, as if you were about to spill all the thoughts and feelings you’ve been silently enduring since the day you’ve been acquainted with her. The sound of the river reminded you of her pained, secret cries; you wanted to ask why. Yet all you could do was stand very still as you slowly lost yourself in the depth of her intense, beckoning gaze.

“What else do you like?” She inquired as she shifted from one foot to the other and crossed her large arms over her bosom. Her authoritative pose caught you off guard – heavens, she was a force you could not resist. Your gaze lingered on her dazzling eyes, and then slowly followed the trail of her sharp cheekbones and perfect jaw, all the way to her full lips.

“Your spirit.” You answered. “How your people fight – courageous, almost reckless, unified and strong. There’s something about you…”

Randvi’s interest slowly seemed to grow as she listened. You locked your eyes with hers again, and this time you couldn’t look away. It was beyond sinful to have certain thoughts about a married woman, and yet her allure was stripping you of all reason. If Sigurd was there, he’d probably raise a fist against you, and you’d be crazy enough to challenge him.

“I want you to join us tomorrow.”

Suddenly, you spoke.

“On the hunt you mean? I’m afraid I cannot. There is work I must tend to, here.” Randvi declined, albeit she was pleasantly surprised.

“Whatever work you have cannot be more important than such a great find – I want you to be there, to see the gold for yourself.” You felt as if you found a small grip on her will, and you weren’t about to let go. Something burned deep within you; a flame which would consume you whole if Randvi would refuse you again. Thankfully, she promised she’d consider it.

Delighted, you turned your head to hide a smile in the crook of your shoulder. All of a sudden, tomorrow seemed like decades away.

The graceful Viking walked you to each and every house of Ravensthorpe, introducing you to their current stores and notable landscapes to admire. The abundance of colorful flowers and their sweet smell was intoxicating, lulling you closer to Mother Nature’s chest. There was a soft bed of moss right beside the pool at the base of a waterfall, and that’s where you sat down to tell each other stories.

“Norway's mountains are quite treacherous. It snows heavily most of the year, and unless you’re an experienced tracker, you’d surely find your demise in those steep valleys.”

She spoke with a smile as she fondly remembered her homeland. You were intrigued, absorbing every word and watching her attentively as you learned about the Aurora Borealis and the myths of Odin and Freya, and ragnarok. How fiercely Asgard battled against Jotunheim, and how humans eventually outlived both gods and Jotuns. It was easy to picture these fables coming to life when Randvi told them in such refined detail and with so much confidence. There must’ve been a grain of truth to her words.

“Ymir's tear… I would die for that stone. I’ve heard stories of that gem scattered all over Asgard.” You sighed as you leaned back to stretch over that soft moss and gaze up at the night sky, in awe. You felt those precious blue eyes on you, yet you didn’t dare look, fearful that you’d lose yourself in them all over again.

“Sapphire is a very beautiful name.” She spoke, and you smiled.

“That’s not my birth name…” You confessed.

“Oh?...”

“When I was six years of age, I had this… feeling, as if I knew something was beneath my feet, pulsing, calling me.” You begun your tale and Randvi lowered herself on her side, watching you.

“I had this uncontrollable urge to dig, to see what lured me in and never let me sleep. I broke four of mother’s spoons trying to tear apart the dry, hard soil.” A brief laugh escaped you as you reminisced.

“At last, my older brother stole a shovel from the neighbor one night, and by morning we dug a hole thrice our size. The neighbor was furious, and mother was about to smack us when she saw what we did to our yard.

But then… beneath the damp, muddy floor of the cavern we dug, I felt it again. That urge, that call; I ripped the soil apart with my bare hands, and out I pulled a little satchel. Inside it were two sapphires. I can see them now… shimmering in the light of dawn… they felt sharp and cold, and fit perfectly into my hands, as if they were made for me.” You bit back a smile as you turned your head and saw Randvi, in all of her beauteous glory, propped on her elbow and watching you in awe. Her eyes were just like the sapphires you fell in love with.

“And then?...” She asked with vivid curiosity.

“Mother sold them to buy a farm. And when I was nine summers old, a cart with two travelers stopped by and took me. They promised mother silver, and that I’d be returned by fall with a bag full of precious stones. But… when we returned… We found the farm abandoned, burnt to the ground.”

Randvi’s gaze seemed to soften with sorrow, yet your grin never faltered as you shook your head.

“I kept on traveling, I saw the world. They called me Sapphire ever since, and I forgot my birth name as the years went by… The world, Randvi… it’s so beautiful…” You pushed yourself to sit, drawing closer as you whispered to her.

“Come with me in the morning, let us explore and travel together...”

Her auburn lashes fluttered, as if she was awoken from a trance. She took a moment to think, to find her words or collect herself; but when she turned to meet your gaze again, she answered with a nod.

“I will. I wish to see you dig for gemstones, to see your blessed hands pull treasures free from the earth.”

Your chest swelled with joy, and all at once you were buzzing with excitement.  

-          To be continued…

*part V.

[anomander-dragnipurake]

Vengeance and Ambition

This was supposed to be a full story with Fawful and King Boo being victorious in the end. I was super excited for it because it's my 2 fav Mario villains teaming up and winning. But then it slowly dawned on me that no one would care in large part because Fawful's not a popular character. And while I have no issues writing solely for myself (I stopped expecting any kind of substantial interaction with my writing a while ago now) how hard Fawful's dialogue is to write (I don't even know if I did it right but I tried my best) makes the fact that virtually no one's gonna read it quite demotivating, killing my enthusiasm. So, because I still really like the idea and worked hard on this part, I decided to just upload this.

~

Fawful came to as if waking from a long sleep, slowly regaining consciousness. Which… wasn’t right. One would expect oblivion on the other side of exploding what was left of the Dark Star’s power within themself. He’d been dying anyway so might as well go out with a bang and bring his enemies down too. But nope, he opened his eyes to see that he was in the courtyard of Peach’s castle, very much still aware. Which included awareness that something was wrong with his body.

A quick look down at himself confirmed his growing suspicions. He was transparent and floating, his body tapered off into a tail instead of legs. He was a ghost; dead but not gone… free of the Dark Star’s power though. Presumably it had dissipated, leaving him here, powerless and defeated again. … Maybe not entirely though; his foes could still be dead, he had to exploded himself right in front of them, there was no possible way they’d escaped… right?

What if they’d also become ghosts though? … He’d deal with that problem if and when it presented itself. He didn’t even know the criteria for when or why someone turned into a ghost upon death.

So, eager to know the full outcome of his last-ditch efforts for at least a partial victory, he started for the castle. Floating along was quite simple, it was just a matter of wanting and choosing to move forward. He could even ascend and descend freely; so much more convenient than his usual means of levitation.

Where the final encounter had gone down, he wasn’t sure, but judging based off the position of the sun in the sky it was late morning. In his last clear memories, it had been past sundown. Meaning he’d lost some time and thus whatever or whoever was left after his explosion would’ve likely been cleared away by now. With no clear leads on where to start looking for what he wanted to know, he’d head for the throne room first.

He was in luck, Peach was there. Along with her elderly Toad advisor and… the red and green plumbers. They were alive and well, seemingly undamaged by Fawful’s explosion. Ugh! Twice now they’d beat him down and took away everything he’d had, coming away unscathed from it. How? He’d worked and planned so hard to get them out of the way while he took over the Mushroom Kingdom. It had been the perfect plan and should’ve worked… it would’ve if Bowser hadn’t far surpassed Fawful’s expectations for him.

And now he was back at square one. Less than that actually because he was dead. He didn’t have even an ounce of the Dark Star’s power anymore.

Holding back the urge to curse and shout, he floated closer, intending to eavesdrop on his enemies’ conversation. He was too late though, they were already getting ready to separate.

“See you later,” Peach said with a smile as the brothers walked away.

They strode right past where Fawful floated invisible. Green slowed down as he looked around, pulling his arms in a little as if he were cold. His eyes slid right over Fawful of course but it couldn’t be a coincidence, he had some sense of Fawful’s presence and possibly of the hate Fawful was glaring at them with too.

“You okay bro?” Red asked.

“Uh… yeah, I’m just tired, I guess. It’s been a long day.”

With that, Fawful turned away from them as they moved on.

The throne room was still a mess from when he’d forcefully taken it over. Many of his statues were still up in here as well as outside. He’d had it in his grasp, he’d been so close. … Too close to just give up. He would take out the plumbers and he would take over the Mushroom Kingdom, he just needed a new plan.

 -

First things first, he went back to his workshop hidden away in the sewers. He got lost for a while phasing through walls and thus eventually settled on following the paths the way a living person would have to. He’d been so sure he’d never have to venture down here again but… ugh. Failure was even worse when he’d been the sole person in charge.

Maybe if he’d still been working with Cackletta things would’ve gone better. Two heads were better than one after all, right? It was impossible to say though and it wasn’t worth dwelling on; she was dead and gone, even her ghost had been destroyed. … He’d have to be careful to ensure he didn’t suffer such a fate.

By the time he reached his hidden workshop behind his mostly failed attempt at a shop – he’d had to settle for sneaking out to steal things instead until he got a bit more clout – he was equal parts anxious and furious again. He’d lost Midbus and his entire robot army that he’d spent so much time and effort building, how was he supposed to rebuild from here? He’d thrown everything he had at his plan and it wasn’t enough. How could he possibly have done anything more? Why did fulfilling his ambitions and getting vengeance have to be so hard?

 -

He may have allowed himself to wallow around in his workshop for a while. He deserved a bit of self-pity at this point though, didn’t he? And it wasn’t like anyone was around to see anyway so who cared? In the process though he found he could no longer sleep which sucked really hard because it meant no more breaks from his thoughts or anything else. It meant he had to get up and get to work sooner than he otherwise would’ve too because lying in bed unable to fall asleep was the worst.

What should he do though? Maybe look for Midbus, it was possible he’d survived and if so trying to patch him up was probably a good idea; he’d been a good minion. And if he was dead, Fawful was a ghost so maybe Midbus would be too and thus the same principle still applied.

 -

If he’d still had blood it would’ve been boiling at the sight of what was left of the Dark Star extractor. A group of Toads was dismantling it with all the technological grace of a particularly stupid mountain goat headbutting a brick wall until it finally broke. All the many, many hours Fawful had put into designing, building, and perfecting it – not to mention everything else that had gone into this plan as a whole – and they were just ripping it apart like it was worthless scrap. And to top it off, there was no sign of whatever had become of Midbus anywhere in the room.

He floated over to grab one of two the spare hammers left on the ground and flung it at the nearest Toad. Unfortunately, it missed, sailing right over his head, but he screamed anyway, drawing the attention of the rest of the Toads. Oops, maybe Fawful shouldn’t have done that. … Oh well, he was too mad to really care.

“The hammer levitated and flew right…” the Toad was saying, cutting off with a small yelp as Fawful lifted the other hammer to throw as well. This one hit the Toad squarely in head. He teetered for second before going limp into the arms of the Toad beside him who, along with the other two, screamed and bolted for the door, dragging the unconscious Toad with them.

Fawful zoomed over to grab the hammer again and throw at them. It hit the door right as they closed it though. Ugh!

He snapped back around to face his invention again. It was almost entirely dismantled, there’d be no saving it. Not that he had any further use for it anyway, the Dark Star had been destroyed and it was all Bowser and the two wretched fink-rat plumbers’ fault.

But… as angry as he was, he should focus on finding Midbus. His help would be nice for whatever Fawful’s next plan would end up being.

 -

After searching the whole castle and the ground surrounding it, there was still no sign of Midbus. He was either dead and gone, a ghost who’d decided not to stick around the way Fawful had, or alive and recovering from his wounds elsewhere. The latter two might be because Midbus had figured Fawful had been completely destroyed or as was more likely the case that he didn’t care enough to even think to look and was choosing to abandon Fawful.

It didn’t really matter though because no matter what Fawful for sure no longer had Midbus. Which was… fine, he didn’t care, why should he? He’d been on his own before and risen so far, he could do it again. And he’d be successful this time, third time’s the charm after all, right? … Hopefully.

***

Being trapped in a portrait was in some ways worse than in a vault and in some ways better. In the vault he could move even if there wasn’t much space to do so, and speak freely even if no one could hear him, but he couldn’t see anything that was going on outside. In a portrait though, while trapped and unable to move, he could see what was going out in front him.

E. Gadd could’ve easily put something over him, depriving him of even that. But he didn’t. Instead he’d hung King Boo up in the front part of his lab. There wasn’t much to see most of the time but it was better than nothing and he could bide his time here. He’d been dead for a long time so time meant little to him. … Except he’d always been impatient compared to how long he’d existed for.

One could only cycle through all the ways he could’ve improved his prior plans to make them more likely to succeed or about possible new plans and what he’d do to his enemies if/when he finally defeated them before even that got old. And now he was just thinking about being bored for the umpteenth time, making it a boring thing to think about too. Truly one could not get any more bored than that. And yet there was nothing else to do but think and think and be bored and hate the people who’d done this to him and be bored some more. If only something would fucking happen.

As if the thought had brought it about, the doorbell rang. It was most likely just Luigi coming for a visit because he did that sometimes or a door-to-door salesperson but it would break the boredom of staring at an empty room for a little bit at least. And if he was really lucky, Luigi might even glance his way with a nervous expression before following E. Gadd into the lab proper.

As was often the case, it took three rings before E. Gadd came out of his lab to answer it. He didn’t spare King Boo a single look as he walked over to open the door. “Oh hello,” he said in a tone that indicated that it wasn’t Luigi at the door. Which could only mean it was someone new. Awesome! Too bad King Boo couldn’t see them from this angle.

“This be the residence of E. Gadd, yes?” The voice had an odd quality to it almost as if it might be coming over a speaker or radio.

“Yes, now might I ask why a…” He cut off as a cloud of thick purple smoke engulfed him, centering on his head. “What is…” Another cloud puffed in from outside. Whatever was going on here was getting more exciting by the second.

Before the smoke had cleared, a little green drone flew into them room. It looked around for a bit before it seemed to freeze looking at King Boo. It zoomed over for a better look.

“Aha!” whoever was controlling it said through it. “I have success! … I think. It could be being a painting that is normal. Hopefully and probably not because why would E. Gadd be having a painting of King Boo if it is not being actual King Boo?”

Weird way of talking or no, whoever this fellow was had just made King Boo’s day. … Assuming he was here to rescue King Boo anyway, it was possible he just wanted to steal the portrait. But even that would be exciting and changing hands would increase the likelihood of his boos being able to come in and free him.

The ghost of a beanish person with swirly eyes, wearing a cape and holding what had to be the drone’s remote control floated through the still open door.  “Stay in corner,” he snapped at E. Gadd who was kind of just standing around now. “Fawful has no time for the gloating yet, in humans mind control spray be wearing off faster than the joy of eating the last cookie in the jar.”

“Yes, right away, Lord Fawful,” E. Gadd said, his cadence almost normal as he moved to obey.

Fawful then looked down at the controller to neatly land the drone on the desk. He placed the controller next to it before zooming over to pull King Boo’s portrait off the wall. He poked and prodded at it a bit before turning it over, presumably do poke and prod at the back too for a few seconds before flipping it back over.

“E. Gadd! How one be freeing King Boo from the frame?”

“Shine a dark light on it.”

“Where is dark light? Fetch it for me, quickly.”

The sound of E. Gadd walking out of the room indicated that he obeyed. He returned a few seconds later to hand one of his flashlights to Fawful. “The switch on the side turns on the dark light.”

“Good, go back to corner.”

King Boo was mentally vibrating with anticipation as Fawful leaned him back against the wall. Next, he floated back to shine the dark light squarely on the portrait. The sensation of being pulled out of it was odd and uncomfortable as always but as soon as he free, he was laughing with exhilaration. Freedom at long last was his!

The very first thing he did with this newfound freedom was levitate the now empty portrait out from behind him and float over to E. Gadd to put him inside it instead. It was harder to do without an enchanted crown to channel his magic through and lacking its stored power to assist him but he got it done. E. Gadd, still affected by the mind control spray didn’t fight it, resulting in a rather calm looking portrait of him. … Expressions of fear were preferable but whatever; King Boo was free and E. Gadd was trapped and that’s all that mattered right now. He might try to fix it later but for now…

Leaning the portrait against the wall to be retrieved later, he snapped back around to face Fawful again. “I appreciate the rescue. I know you didn’t do it for no reason though. What do you want in return?” As long as it was reasonable and within his means, he’d probably grant it. He was that grateful and being generous had gained him many loyal followers in the past and he was always open to more followers.

Fawful grinned wide, even chuckling a little as his ghostly tail curled in visible anticipation or perhaps nerves. “I have the wish to offer an alliance.”

King Boo had been down this road before with Hellen and that had turned out terribly but it didn’t hurt to hear him out. “What kind of alliance?”

“Well… as new ghost, Fawful was wondering around Peach’s castle unseen, hearing many things, seeing many more. Whispers about King Boo were common, your hatred for the red and green plumbers clear as a glass of wine after one has found nothing but sorrow at the bottom of. So the alliance: Fawful will be helping take down plumbers and at the same time, King Boo will be helping in the conquering of the Mushroom Kingdom for my taking.”

“You want to conquer the Mushroom Kingdom, huh?” King Boo wasn’t into kingdom conquering himself, he was perfectly content with the land he had and didn’t desire any more especially if it was infested with living.

“Yes.” Fawful nodded. “I be wanting a kingdom and I don’t be liking the red and green plumbers so I will be taking their kingdom. With our alliance like the icing on the cake, I leave the vengeance of them to you.”

Given how many times Luigi had sucked him up into that wretched vacuum of his, King Boo might actually be willing to go along with this even if to an outsider looking in, Fawful would appear to be getting much more out of it. But really, a good chunk of the work in taking over the Mushroom Kingdom would be done with just taking out Mario and Luigi. If it worked, King Boo desire for vengeance was more than strong enough to make assisting with the rest of it worth it. But… “How do I know you can carry your weight in such a scheme?” No way was he going to be doing everything himself with his supposed ally barely helping.

“Because if was not for a certain spiky snack being much spicier than expected, Fawful’s last plan would’ve been success.” With that, as if eager to share his tale, he launched into it explaining his last plan and how close he’d gotten to succeeding.

Honestly it was a rather entertaining tale, especially the way he told it. King Boo had been around more than long enough to know about the Dark Star so that gave credibility to his tale because few living knew of it by now. He had gotten rather close to succeeding though.

“And so,” Fawful said after his tale had winded down, “I be thinking in terms of evil schemes we are near equals. Our goals don’t align but they be overlapping like multilayered cake of ambition and vengeance. Working together we could perhaps be making a plan that is unstoppable like large boulder made of vengeance and knives rolling down steep cliff crushing any daring to be standing in its path, including nasty plumbers.”

Maybe King Boo should take a bit to think about this, confirm Fawful’s tale of near success over the Mario bros with one of his castle spies, but after spending who even knew how long trapped in a portrait after his third defeat, he was rather eager to set in motion some vengeance. Besides, he was starting to like Fawful, he was odd but in a way that made him interesting, far more so than Hellen – not that that was too difficult to do. And who knows, maybe all King Boo’s plans had been missing was a horde of killer robots. So… “All right, I’ll agree to an alliance.”

With an excited snicker, Fawful extended a hand out of his cloak to shake King Boo’s hand – something that stubby boo arms always made weird but he didn’t say anything about it – sealing the alliance. If this didn’t turn out well then so be it, it wouldn’t be the first plan or even first failed alliance King Boo had attempted. But it was worth a try in case it worked and regardless it should at least make for an interesting time. “First though, I need to free my boos. Then we can go somewhere to discuss the finer details.”

[acerosedrop]

Spring is for the Bees

In the middle of one if their many journeys, Geralt and Jaskier take a moment to just stop and relax, and Geralt is happy to find that there's always something new for him to learn about his Bard. 

Or alternatively, how many different ways can I come up with to describe a bee in a single story. Enjoy some fluff!!

If there was one fact of life that Geralt had never truly been able to grasp until Jaskier had started walking alongside him all those years ago, it was how the average person could have all of these smaller habits and peculiarities that would never be brought up or explained until the most random of moments. And even after almost spending a decade out on the Path together, this was still especially true of both himself and Jaskier.

One such moment came about a spring afternoon, as the rain that had been steadfastly following them the past week had finally begun to subside, with the barest hint of sunlight peeking through the clouds and brightening up the landscape quite nicely. In a rare moment of feeling just a bit at ease (and being ready for an excuse to cast his water-clogged cloak aside), Geralt had decided to pull Roach off the road and give her a few minutes to nibble on the grass, with him and Jaskier settling under a nearby grove of trees as they shuffled through their bags to get a better look at what would need replenishing or replacing soon.

In a series of motions that had become downright domestic over their many weeks and months of travel, Geralt had settled down to give his blades a thorough one-over to ensure the excess rain hadn’t caused any major harm while Jaskier, after similarly checking his lute and it’s case over, set about taking care of the various rips and tears his travel jacket had accumulated (Geralt had finally, finally thrust the bit of dark blue leather into Jaskier’s hands while they’d stopped at a local market a while back after hearing him complain about yet another doublet being ruined thanks to the elements, and between the sparkle in his eyes and the look of surprise on his face even Geralt had had a hard time denying the small smile he felt tug at his face whenever he saw the Bard wearing the jacket).

With Jaskier’s attention being taken up by attempting thread a rather uncooperative needle, Geralt gave himself a moment to turn his face back towards the fields surrounding them, over to where Roach was happily grazing away. He felt that tug again, the tug he often felt in Jaskier’s company to let himself be at peace for a moment, to let his mouth lift up and ease some of the tension off his shoulders. It was a feeling he found himself experiencing more and more these days, thanks to a rather constructive night they’d shared at an inn almost a year ago that had led to Jaskier joining Geralt on Roach’s saddle the next morning and to a much louder night by the fire. Now, leaning against an old tree with no monsters or villagers breathing down their necks or downpours beating at their backs, Geralt could almost say that he was finding himself to be at peace.

Well, that is, until a bit of movement caught his eye, and he spotted a familiar looking bit of black and yellow fuzz making its way over to their little tree grove, and a frown quickly settled back onto his face.

Bees. Off all the creatures in the world, bees and wasps weren’t exactly a Witcher’s best friend, as despite their stings being little more than like tapping a pin with your finger to such hardened skin, having one suddenly go buzzing by your ear was enough to make anyone jump. Add in a Witcher’s sensitive hearing and, in Geralt’s case, you had one of the few things that could still cause his skin to crawl and give him the urge to jump right out of his seat.

In fact, it was thanks to a far-too curious bee exploring their camp one night that had led to Geralt almost spilling a full bowl of rabbit stew all over himself and the fire, and Jaskier almost being thrown into the river for being unable to stop laughing. It took Geralt having to threaten to use his best doublet to wash Roach to finally get the Bard out of his giggling fit, but after a quick explanation that sounded like Geralt would much prefer being stung then admitting anything resembling a weakness, Jaskier had assured his companion that, while he was a bit surprised at his animosity towards a tiny little bee of all things, he wouldn’t make too much of a deal out of it, and they’d since moved on from the admittedly funny moment. Of course, Jaskier would still occasionally throw in a rather sly comment whenever they passed a hive if he was feeling particularly cheeky, but once Geralt had discovered Jaskier’s own disdain for locusts, grasshoppers, and other bugs of a similar design, the bard decided it was time to seek out some newer material for his jests.

This time however, the fat little fellow seemed much more interested in the patch of wildflowers Jaskier was seated by, and was inching closer and closer to the bard as they made their way from blossom to blossom. Jaskier was completely oblivious to the movement, humming one of his newer tunes under his breath as he now went about fixing a tear on the jacket’s sleeve, and continued to be oblivious as the bee finally made its way onto his leg and settled over one of the many embroidered flowers along his thigh. Geralt had long since abandoned the dagger he still had settled in his lap, and was now watching as the insect began the slow ascent up Jaskier leg, onto his shirt and up his torso, before arriving onto the Bard’s shirt collar and remaining there for the time being.

Predicting the utter Hell that could come about if the bee actually did crawl onto Jaskier neck (Gods help them both if Jaskier spooked it to the point of stinging), Geralt pushed his bag aside and leaned over to deliver a hard flick onto his boot. It wasn’t enough to mess up his stitching, but it was enough to jolt Jaskier out of his tune and turn his head to raise a ‘Did you really just do that?’ eyebrow at his companion before saying, “Any reason you’ve decided to test the leather quality of my boot just now?”

The eyeroll Geralt gave his companion’s response felt almost involuntary at this point, before just barely nodding his head towards his neck and answering, “You’ve got a friend who’s about to make its home under your shirt, if you’d stop all that noise your making for a moment.”

“That noise, my dear, is what’s going to get you a damn-well needed bath at the next inn, and me enough ale to forget about the amount of mud in our laundry bag right now.” Only getting a curt “Hmm” in response from the Witcher, Jaskier angled his neck to try and see what he was referring to, but to Geralt surprise instead of yelping at the sight of the bee or trying to swipe it away like he’d done with other bugs, Jaskier actually smiled down at the furry thing and sit his needle down in his lap to carefully bring his hand up. Sticking his index finger out as if it were a perch, he gently tapped the bee’s behind to get it to move to the edge of his collar, before just gently placing it right where it’s front legs were. He leaned his head down, whispering something that to Geralt sounded suspiciously like, “Come my dear, hop up now,” and to his surprise the bee instantly crawled it way onto the bard’s finger, not an ounce of annoyance or anger in its yellow and black-striped body.

“I’ve mentioned my mother’s affinity for beekeeping before, correct?” Geralt gave a gentle ‘Hmm’ Jaskier had come to know a shorthand for yes before continuing, though his eyes were stuck on the bee now perched on his Bard’s finger. Given a gentle but still very playful grin, Jaskier brought up his other index finger to gently rub the top of the bee’s abdomen before continuing, “Well, I daresay she managed to pass down quite a bit of that love to me before I headed off to Oxenfurt, helping her maintain the hives and collect the honey and what-not. Wasn’t always easy, I still remember the one that decided to crawl its way up into my armpit, nearly knocked the whole hive over when it got scared enough to sting, but since then my mothers’ taught me enough tricks to at least get over that particular fear, and a few other bits to boot.”

Indeed, Jaskier had on occasion brought up his life with his mother to Geralt, before the Bard had made his way over to Oxenfurt. They'd left his father's home when he'd been about four, and after a rather disastrous attempt to make a living herding goats Lilianna had gone for beekeeping instead. Nowadays she was the keeper of a pretty popular honey and wax stall in her village's marketplace, and occasionally she found ways to send some of her wares over to her wayward son, especially when allergy season was just around the corner.

He lifted his finger up near his now, and whispered something else to the bee, something so low even Geralt could barely catch it, but the bee must’ve agreed with whatever he said as they slowly picked themselves off of Jaskier’s finger and headed back off into the day, a lazily bobbing bit of fuzz flying off into the surrounding sea of green. Thankfully since it was still just one bee the buzzing wasn’t loud enough to be grating on Geralt’s hearing, but he still just barely angled his head away from that particular spot as it seemed the bee had discovered a very intriguing set of buttercups and it was very intent on sharing this information with the world. Jaskier couldn’t help but gently chuckle at both of them as turned to pick up his sewing once again.

“Of all the things I’d imagine would set us apart my dear, our attitudes towards the insect populace was certainly not the highest on that list.” He said with another chuckle, Jaskier had gotten quite good at reading Geralt’s body language over the years (often the only type of language the Witcher would consistently use), and was especially skilled in knowing when and where he could jab at his lover’s peculiarities.

Geralt, for his part, must’ve been truly relaxed now, or at least his equivalent to such as feeling, as he answered with just a hint of teasing in his tone, “At least my unease comes from one that can do some harm to a human, you on the other hand spy a single grasshopper near the fire and ask to move camp.”

“Well you try catching a good night’s sleep with those beady black eyes staring you down the entire time! Not exactly the most comforting of feelings when you’re out in the middle of the damn woods.”

“You do realize their eyes are practically the same, right?”

“It’s the not just the eyes, Geralt, it’s the intent behind them! A bee just wants to go about his business, ensure his hive is doing alright, meanwhile a damn locust wouldn’t think twice about stripping you to your bones if it had the chance, little bastards that they are.”

“Hmm, now why can’t you have this same kind of survival instinct when I tell you to stay the fuck away from whatever it is I’m hunting?”

“Oh Gods, I am not arguing this one with you again. One, either I come along or you find a way to become a better storyteller beyond two damn sentences, and two, if you ever do find yourself contracted to take care of some man-sized locusts terrorizing a farm, do be assured that I’ll be happily taking refuge about four villages over, with the best bottle of wine an evening of performing can afford me.”

“As opposed to a fucking Kikimora, or pack of ghouls?” Now there was no denying the smile slowly spreading itself across Geralt’s face as he watches Jaskier become more and more animated with his movements, almost knocking his jacket off his lap as he tries to use his hands to get his point across. It’s one of the few positives he found came with conversations nowadays, seeing Jaskier come alive with just the littlest of ribbing.

“You try writing a ballad worthy of traveling across this great continent about a fucking bug, while I stick to the stuff that will actually help get us a bed for the night.”

“Yes well, if it’s a bed you want then you better hurry the fuck up, we’ve still got at least four more hours before we even hit the next set of farms,” Geralt says, now turning his attention back towards getting the rest of his blades and cleaning equipment put back into its bag. Jaskier tsked, but followed along with putting his own supplies away and standing up to get one more good stretch in. Taking a moment to breath had been nice, but the allure of an actual bed and food consisting of anything other than whatever animal they managed to scourge out of the woods was more than enough to get him back on his feet. Finally slinging his lute case back over his shoulder, he leaned down to leave a quick peck on his Witcher’s cheek before making his way back over to where Roach was standing.

Once again he found himself rolling his eyes, but with the ghost of a smile still on his face Geralt didn’t waste any time in catching up to his partner, ready to continue their journey together once more.

[s13e06]

Recuerdos Perdidos

Draco Malfoy / Female Reader

Harry Potter AU

Warnings: mild swearing and mentions of death

Words: 4.2k

Summary: She could see the pictures with her own eyes, right there in her hand. She knew they were real. It was her in them, plain as day. But who was the boy next to her... and why did it hurt so much to try and remember?

Pt 2, Pt 3, Pt 4

-

Chapter 1

The news had hit you like a truck. With just those seven words you felt everything around you stop, you couldn’t even breathe let alone speak. It was like all the sound around you washed out, replaced with the deafening hum of silence.

“It’s your parents…There’s been an accident”

-

Walking up the familiar stone steps to your childhood home you felt a bittersweet smile rise on your face. You recounted a simpler time as you studied the aging wood of the porch. What you wouldn’t give to just relive one of those days. To cherish it in a different way… at this moment it was all you desired.

Stepping into the house you couldn’t help but feel how overwhelming the emptiness was. It’s like the house knew it was empty… but how could it?

Fighting back the urge to cry for the millionth time you were greeted by the comforting sight of your younger brother. He was currently sat on the couch looking through an old family album. The look on his face as he eyed each photo told you all you needed to know. Growing up you weren’t that close, but it wasn’t as though you were on bad terms. The age difference just kept you apart most of the time. However, you knew that he wasn’t one to show when he was sad. At least other people wouldn’t recognize. But his intense gaze and silence told you everything.

“Hey,” you said coming to sit next to him, glancing at the album in his hands. This album, in particular, was of your family's trip to Ecuador. You smiled a little remembering how at the time you were particularly moody. It was a mixture of the fact that you were only 14(your early teen years were particularly angsty) and the fact that the humidity did hell to your hair.

“Hey” was all he replied with as he shut the album quickly, he wasn’t going to show you he was vulnerable… you knew it.

“So… I figured you could start packing up in the kitchen and I’ll start in the attic” you suggested, purposely giving him the kitchen as there weren’t too many tear-jerking memories in there.

He agreed with a silent nod of his head as he stood up and made his way into his designated room.

You watched him disappear around the corner and waited a few more moments before heading into the attic. You figured it wouldn’t be too hard since everything up there was already boxed away. You just had to go through those boxes and deem what was worth keeping really.

As you made your way up the worn-out pull downstairs you chuckled softly at the memory of how terrified you were of the attic as a child. You were convinced that there was some pale girl with long black hair living up there, a rational fear considering your early interest in Japanese horror movies.

As you stood in the dimly lit room you scanned the area calmly. Reaching up you pulled the cord to the uncovered lightbulb, the light coming in from the small window just wasn’t enough. The space lit up significantly more and you hummed in content as you set your eyes on the first box. It was unlabeled so you figured it was a good place to start.

Kneeling down and ripping the box open you were surprised to find that it was full of old Christmas decorations. Tinsel and ornaments shoved into the box completely unorganized, your dad definitely packed this one. Digging a little deeper your hands felt the soft texture of Christmas stockings. A smile grew on your face as you pulled them out. Both yours and your brothers were handmade by your mother and as you hold them in your hands you couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down your face again.

“Fuck” you rasped out while wiping away the tears harshly.

Mentally deciding that this box was an automatic keep you quickly refolded the top and moved it towards the entrance to the attic.

Turning back to the corner you started in you noticed a box with your name on it. You scrunched your face in confusion. Not because you didn’t have any boxes up here but because all the ones that you did were labeled in your mother's handwriting. She was notorious for taking charge when it came to packing and organization. So why would there be a box here labeled with your name… in your handwriting.

You carefully came to sit down beside it, pulling it between your legs.

You noticed that this box was tightly taped shut unlike most of the others. But you had brought a box cutter for just this circumstance. Pulling it from your back pocket you carefully began to open the box. Upon opening it you found the contents rather peculiar. It was full of random things you didn’t quite recognize right away. An old journal, a white envelope that appeared to be quite full, a worn looking hoodie, and a smaller brown box taped securely shut. The longer you studied it the more you became confused.

Picking up the journal you flipped it open to find the first entry to be a short story you had written years ago. Glancing at the date you finally pieced together what this box was. This was a box you sent back home from your summer in England with your grandparents. You were 18 at the time and fresh out of high school.  You remember begging your parents to let you spend the three months before college started with your grandparents in a new country. They had lived there all your life but the only time you saw them before that summer was when they came out to visit your family in the U.S. it was no secret that they were wealthy so their trips were actually quite frequent. However, that summer you insisted on being the one to visit.

It had been five years since that summer so naturally, you didn’t remember much but what you did remember was pleasant. The hoodie was something you were almost daily there as the weather was cloudier than you expected. The smaller box… you were unsure. Same with the envelope.

Deciding to focus on the envelope first you took it in your hands. Carefully ripping it open you peeked inside to discover that it was full of photos. That was… not what you were expecting.

Taking out the bunch you began to flip through them. They were all pictures of your summer in England. You smiled as you recounted the memories behind each one.

Some were of you posing in various places of their house obviously caught mid activity, a grin on your face. A few were of your grandparents, taken by you, smiling cheerfully. You continued to thumb through it. A few scenery shots, your grandparent’s adorable calico cat, and then you saw something you didn’t recognize.

It was a photo of you… and a boy.

This was someone you didn’t recognize. Not one memory came to light as you stared at the photo.

It was taken from a selfie angle, clearly, by you, you were smiling wide and he was smirking slightly as he looked at you and not the camera.

“What the hell” you whispered to yourself starting to grow a little scared at our inability to remember who this was.

You flipped to the next photo and felt your stomach turn.

There he was again.

In this photo though you noticed that you were both holding hands as you threw a peace sign up with your free hand. The strange boy beside you was giving a lopsided smile as his free hand stuck in his dress pant pocket. This photo was either taken with a timer or by someone else.

It was clear by looking at it that this boy, whoever he was, was more than a friend.

So how on earth could you not remember him? Nothing made sense and the more you stared at the photos the more your head began to hurt. Your vision blurred and it felt as though someone was squeezing your brain.

You winced as the pictures fell from your hand and back into the box.

What was happening?

Why was this happening?

You couldn’t make sense of anything.

The pain was becoming so unbearable that held your head and turned over into a fetal position, waiting for it to go away as silent tears streamed down your face.

-

When it seemed like the pain had faded completely you sat back up and peered at the box next to you. Deciding that it was best just to pack it back up and save the headache for later.

You really didn’t want to think about it anymore… not now.

Folding the box closed without much more thought you shoved it to the side by the other box at the entrance.

Eyeing it for only a second more you wiped away the last traces of wetness on your face before turning back to your corner of unopened boxes.

-

By the time you’d gone through the entire attic, you’d noticed that the sun was beginning to set. It had taken a while but you’d made great progress. You felt satisfied overall, all thoughts of the strange forgotten memories shoved to the very back of your mind.

Walking back down the stairs you headed to the living room where you were greeted by the tired-looking sight of your brother.

“Good place to stop for today, yeah?” you asked with a smile.

He only sighed before looking at you with a judging look.

“It took you the whole damn day to sort through the attic. Whereas I completed the kitchen, living room, and garage” he told you clearly unimpressed by your slow pace.

You only laughed in response before shrugging your shoulders.

“Don’t question my methods young one” you smiled before heading towards the door, but something made you stop. You turned slightly to face him again "Say... can I ask you something?" the nervous tone to your voice shifting the mood immediately.

"Sure... go ahead?" he answered, very obviously confused at where this was going.

"Remember that summer I spent at Nana and Papa's five years ago?" you asked slowly.

He raised a curious brow before answering you as slowly as you had asked. "Yes, why?"

Here goes nothing, you thought.

"When I came back... do you remember me mentioning anybody? Someone that I may have met there? A boy maybe?" you asked, scared by your own words.

For a moment your brother said nothing as he stared at you with an expression of worry. He could tell that you were thinking about something unnerving and if his answer was what you feared you could see why it was all the more alarming.

"I don't... remember you bringing anyone up... is something going on?" he questioned taking a step closer.

The situation was seeming to become more serious by the second and for some reason you didn't want him to be involved. This was your mystery to solve. It wouldn't help any to have him worry. "Hmmm, It must have been a different trip then. You know me, I have too many boy toys to keep track of," you said with a grin while wiggling your eyebrows. you hoped that this effort of comedic relief would deter his curiosity.

He rolled his eyes at you dramatically before mumbling something about you being an ass. Well, at least he wasn't suspicious anymore.

"Well I think we've done enough damage for today," you said with a chuckle while shuffling to the door. “same time tomorrow?” you asked.

He looked at you for a moment, seeming to think about something before visibly shaking it off. “You bet” he replied with a chuckle.

-

In the weeks that followed you and your brother successfully managed to sort through and move out the entire house. Taking the few boxes of your own belongs back to your separate places.

After the will reading, you attended a small and neatly organized funeral. Both of your parents were cremated as you knew that would be their wishes.

After everything was said and done your brother was on a plane back to his dorms across. Hopefully the few weeks away from college hadn’t hurt his grades too badly. Luckily for him, he was only a freshman. Without your parents help tuition would be harder but the football scholarship and small inheritance should help him. If need be you wouldn’t mind stepping in to help as well.

-

When you settled back into your apartment you eased onto your small sofa and begrudgingly looked at the small collection of boxes you’d brought back from your parents’ house. You knew you had to unpack and sort them soon or else they’d collect dust there forever.

You stood up and stretched as a yawn escaped your lips. Trudging over to the boxes you began to stack them according to where they should go in makeshift organization. As you did so you were once again faced with the five-year-old box full of mysteries.

You picked it up and set it onto your kitchen counter, eying it warily.

Against your better judgment, you opened it again slowly.

With timid fingers, you grabbed onto the two photos again. Still splayed out messily in the box where you dropped them.

Studying them once again you began to feel the aching in your head as you stared at the mystery boy’s face.

It seemed like the harder you tried to remember him the more your brain tried to stop you.

But why?

Nothing was making sense and you were afraid you were going to go crazy.

You knew you’d never find answers yourself… not when you couldn’t remember a thing.

There was only one place where you could possibly find the answers you were looking for, and thanks to the small fortune your parents left behind in their wills, it would be no skin off your back to make the expense.

-

You shouldn’t have felt as nervous as you were sat in your cramped airplane seat. But you couldn’t help but agonize over what you might find when you got to England. After all… if you didn’t know anything, would your grandparents?

You didn’t know the answer. But this was your best bet.

Besides, if all else fails… at least you’ll get a vacation away from everything going on back home. All the pain that seemed to have settled permanently into your life like a thick gray smog.

Maybe this could be your chance to breathe.

-

When the taxi stopped in front of your grandparent’s large house in Wiltshire, England you felt like there was a weight on your shoulders.

All the uncertainty was weighing on your mind in a way that you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

Making your way up the long narrow path to the house you hadn’t seen in so many years felt partially surreal. The last time felt so long ago now that it hardly seemed real.

When you arrived at the door you gave it three hard knocks; knowing very well that your grandparents were quite hard of hearing at their old age.

You stood there at the doorstep rocking on your heels as you clutched onto your large duffle bag. Considering the visit was so last minute you didn’t really put much thought into what you brought with you. You weren’t even sure how long you were staying seeing as you just bought a one-way ticket there.

Just as you started to get lost in thought the door opened wide in front of you.

“Hello there, dear! Oh, how I’ve missed you! Please come in, come in.” your grandma beckoned you from the doorway, stepping aside to make room for you. “We were so happy to hear that you were coming”.

You walked in with a smile.

“Hi Nana, I’ve missed you too. Things have been well I take it?” you asked politely.

“We’ve been just swell. Although I suppose we can’t say the same for you… I’m so sorry we couldn’t make it to the funeral but it was just such short notice I hope you understand” she spoke to you softly as you saw her eyes water in sadness.

They may have been your parents but it was their daughter and son in law as well. The loss hit them in a way you probably couldn’t even begin to understand.

“I understand, Nana. Don’t worry, it was a small service anyway. Private… like they would’ve wanted” you said with a sad smile.

She simply nodded at you lightly with a forced smile on her face. She was being strong for your sake. The sorrow in her eyes gave it away clear as day.

As you walked through to the living room you couldn’t help but notice that even after five years barely anything had changed. It was almost refreshing to see them living just as they were before. Even down to the same four porcelain frog figurines lined neatly atop the fireplace mantel.

Something about the sight brought a warm feeling to your chest.

-

You had been sat on the all too familiar plastic-covered sofa when the smell of roasted chicken began to waft into the room.

You smiled, knowing that your grandpa made it just for you, he remembered that it was your favorite.

“Something smells good” you commented while walking into the kitchen.

“Ah, there you are dear. Go have a seat in the dining room, I’ll bring it out shortly” your grandpa replied with a toothy grin.

You headed into the dining room to find your grandma already sat at the table, intently reading over a rather hefty looking book.

Taking your seat in your usual place to her right you glanced at the title. It looked to be another Stephen King novel. They were her favorite after all.

You recalled that she owned all the books, gleefully purchasing each one as they were published. It was an interest that she’d passed down to your mother.

The thought was bittersweet now but it would be impossible to count all the times you’d caught your mother, nose deep in a Stephen King novel growing up. She loved them dearly and with an aching in your heart, you realized that she’d never be able to read a new one again.

“Dinner is served!” your grandfather exclaimed while strolling into the dining room with several plates of food all carefully laid out on a platter. Your painful thoughts were easily blown away as you chuckled at the sight. He looked like a personal chef rather than the owner of the house.

Eating with them again after so long felt nice. You’d of course seen them a few times in the five years after your visit but being here in their house felt different of course. It was so uniquely them that the feeling of it all couldn’t really be replicated any other way.

You talked about how they’d been doing, where they’ve traveled to lately, how their garden was coming along, and current events in England. It was always interesting to hear their take on things.

In turn, they, of course, asked you all about how your life was going as well. Asking about work and any potential male suitors (as family tends to do). You laughed with them as you recounted your last failed attempt at love which had lasted all of two months. The guy, to be blunt, was a real bum and you weren’t yet at the age where you felt like mothering something.

The topic of boyfriends being brought up started to get you thinking once again. About the thing, you were so desperately trying to figure out… the whole reason you had come here so abruptly, to begin with.

The boy in those photos… this is where you’d find the answers if there were any.

You decided that after dinner you would confront your grandmother about it casually. Hopefully, she could shed some well-needed light on the situation.

-

Once you heard the sink start to run in the kitchen you knew that now was the time to confront your grandma.

“Hey, Nana need any help with the dishes?” you asked while walking over with a smile, already pulling up your sleeves before she answered.

“Oh, how kind of you to offer. Of course, you can dry.” She said while gesturing to the neatly folded hand towel in the corner.

You picked it up and began to dry the freshly cleaned dinner plates; wondering how exactly you were going to casually ask about this mystery boy.

Well, better to go all-in than dance around the question, right?

“Say, Nana… when I was here five years ago, did I have any friends that you knew about?” you asked, too nervous to turn and face her.

She continued to scrub in silence and for a brief moment, you wondered if she’d heard you at all. But then she spoke.

“No, not that I can remember. You spent most of that summer in the house with us or out exploring around the property.” She said in a curious tone. “Why do you ask?”

Your stomach twisted in knots as you processed this information. Would no one be able to solve this mystery?

“No reason… it’s just been so long a few of my memories are a little fuzzy. I just thought if there had been someone it would be nice to say hello again.” You said quickly realizing that it wasn’t a very good excuse. “But, now that you mention it I really didn’t meet anybody huh? I was very to myself in those days”. You laughed, trying to brush it off.

You turned to her and saw that she was studying your face, clearly questioning something. But to your relief, she didn’t press it further.

-

That night as you lay in bed, pictures in hand you began to feel overly restless. What if this was a dead end after all? Would you just have to go back home as clueless as when you left?

The thought left a scowl on your face.

But that’s when you noticed it.

In the background of one of the photos.

There was a humongous house, dark and gloomy in appearance.

It didn’t look very welcoming and was barely visible in the background of the photo but to your amazement, you had seen this house before.

You were certain of it.

But where?

You didn’t have to think much longer before it came to you.

You had seen it in the cab on the way here. In fact, it was the last house before you reached your grandparents. Meaning that it was the neighbor…

Given how large each property was though, this didn’t mean the house was just a few feet away… but it wasn’t very far.

Glancing out the window you noticed how dark the sky had become, it was sure to be a little chilly as well. But how could you simply forget about it now… not when you finally had a lead.

Quickly throwing on of the few hoodies you had brought with you, you began to quietly make your way through the house. You knew very well that despite your age, you’d be scolded for sneaking around at this time of night.

When you safely made it outside the house with no detection you clutched the small photo in your hands as you began to walk in the direction that you came in the cab, knowing that it would lead you to your destination.

-

After walking for what felt like hours you finally saw the huge building come into full view. Rather than call it a house you would be inclined to say that it was actually a mansion.

Tall, dark, and looming. It stood surrounded by a vast property. Whoever lived here must be wealthy beyond your imagination that much was for sure.

As you stared at the house you brought the picture up in the air. Glancing from the image there to the one in front of you.

This was definitely the same place.

But now what?

You stared at the mansion, studying it closely. It was like you were completely transfixed and before you knew it there was that pain again.

Clutching your arms in an effort to redirect the pain you desperately glanced around. There was no one in sight, no one to see you like this. That was a relief.

Looking back at the picture you saw a flash of something in your mind.

A single white rose.

Your brain felt like it was in agony. Desperately trying to keep you out. But you focused on it harder.

Then came another flash.

A small brown box with beautiful carvings of flowers and swirls decorated all around it.

More pain.

You fell to your knees as the world around you began to blur. No sound could be heard except an ear-piercing buzz that ripped through you like a bullet.

Then you saw something else.

It was a stick of some kind… held in a pale hand. Pointed right at you. The person holding it was completely blurred in your memory. But the object was crystal clear.

But what was it?

The three images flashed through your mind continuously, each time they did so the pain grew worse and before you could even feel it coming… you collapsed completely.

Everything around you going pitch black as you lay on the cold wet ground.

---

AN:// Ahhhh I’m so excited to finally start this one! I’ve got a lot of ideas for it so far and I really hope you all enjoyed this first chapter. So much is going to happen in future updates, I promise!

[hustlebonezzzz]

We need to talk about Courage the Cowardly Dog

In what seems like a stream of relentless plagues, wildfires burn around the world, billions of desert locusts swarm and threaten African crops, and of course, COVID-19. How could we forget about COVID-19? The bright side of a world-wide pandemic is that this quarantine has provided ample time to revisit shows the shaped my childhood. When I was a kid, Courage the Cowardly Dog was my absolute favorite, hands down. 

The title sequence explains the show perfectly:

“We interrupt this program to bring you… Courage the Cowardly Dog Show, starring Courage, the Cowardly Dog! Abandoned as a pup, he was found by Muriel, who lives in the middle of nowhere with her husband, Eustace Bagge! But creepy stuff happens in Nowhere. It's up to Courage to save his new home!”

And that’s it. Crazy stuff happens, and Courage is left to try and save the day. As I watch it now, I can’t ever picture a show like this being aired today. Many times I’d catch myself thinking, “They let this air??” Some of the episodes are straight-up disturbing or tear jerking

An episode that is both disturbing and tearjerking is “The Mask.” This episode tackles subjects such as same-sex relationships, domestic abuse, and sexual assault. These elements are heavily present within the episode, yet are veiled behind a funny children’s show. The veil is lifted when viewing the episode with adult eyes, and it becomes a realistic animated drama.

The beginning of the episode starts with Courage relaxing outside his home and minding his own business. Suddenly, a frightening masked individual walks onto the scene and beats Courage, all while proclaiming a hatred for dogs. This scene is hilarious as a child for the sheer slapstick humor element. 

The masked figure smashes Courage with a sink because “Dogs are evil.”

We later learn that the masked individual is a cat named Kitty. Kitty hates and beats Courage because he is a dog, and she associates all dogs with an evil dog that is keeping her best friend captive in an abusive relationship. Her best friend is a bunny named Bunny, and her abusive boyfriend is called Mad Dog. Mad Dog is a thug. 

Courage, being the gentle and kind soul he is, decides that the best way to get Kitty to leave him alone is to save her best friend Bunny and show that not all dogs are like Mad Dog. So, in the dead of night, Courage sneaks out and goes to the rundown industrial zone where Bunny is being held captive. A car with blaring hip-hop music comes to a screeching halt in front of a building with busted and boarded up windows. Courage watches and cowers behind another car while Mad Dog aggressively pulls Bunny out of the car. Her facial expression is empty and sad. They enter the building and Courage spies through the window. Mad Dog is upset that Bunny is visibly unhappy, and suspects that she’s thinking about her best friend, Kitty. 

Although we don’t see it, Mad Dog decides to beat Bunny up for thinking about Kitty and not being happy with him. We are only left with this frame:

Bunny is shoved into a pot after being beat by Mad Dog.

As I watched this scene, I was in shock. As a kid, you just assume that he throws her around and roughs her up a bit before throwing her into a giant pot with dirt. Hell, this scene might even be funny to a child. Now, this appears to be an obvious metaphor for feeling dirty or soiled after being sexually assaulted. Bunny was not just being beat up. This episode also does a great job of showing the psychological manipulation that is a part of an abusive relationship. While yelling at Bunny, Mad Dog says “I told you to forget her! I take you from a two-bit joint and make you a class act and you want to make me second rate!” It’s incredible how Mad Dog tries to manipulate Bunny into thinking that this life is the best she could ever get as he screams at her in a dirty, run-down apartment.

The emotional manipulation only continues as Mad Dog tries to comfort her afterwards, asking why things can’t be like the good ol’ days when she still loved him. He makes it seem as if it is her fault for being clearly depressed because of this physically, sexually, and emotionally abusive relationship.

Mad Dog tries to comfort Bunny after lashing out on her for thinking about Kitty.

By the end of the episode, Courage the cowardly dog saves the day and breaks Bunny out of her prison. Kitty and Bunny are reunited and run away together by hopping on a train and never looking back. 

Bunny and Kitty embrace each other after finally being reunited

So yes, this series has always maintained a creepy and provocative vibe throughout its duration, and undoubtedly has some dark themes and screwed up moments intertwined. These subverted themes only become more prevalent the older you get. You don’t notice these surreal elements as a child, and I don’t think you’re supposed to. I certainly didn’t see anything wrong with “The Mask” in my youth. Yeah, of course I felt sympathy for Kitty and Bunny, but there was a happy ending and that made it all okay for me. I saw the slapstick humor of it all, which is the kind of humor that really resonates with kids. It is a vital part of most children’s programming. Without it, this show wouldn’t be for kids, that’s for sure. 

“The Mask” of course isn’t the only episode that touches on sexual abuse. In “Freaky Fred,” Muriel’s creepy barber nephew comes for a visit. Fred speaks through child-like rhymes and always ends it with how he’s been very “naaaaauuuughty.” Naughty is said in a way that is all too sexual, uncomfortable, and violating, whether you are a child or an adult. The innuendo behind the uttering of “naughty” becomes more apparent to a mature audience. 

In this episode, Fred the creepy barber corners Courage in the bathroom and forcibly shaves his pink fur, all while confessing to his compulsive urges to force himself upon others and shave off their hair. He recites a poem about his first victim while doing so: “This dripping here, this droopy curl, unfold sweet memories of a girl, whose tresses, oh they’d twist and twirl, and tempt me to be… naughty.” 

To put it bluntly, it seemed like this scene was mirroring sexual assault based on the dialogue and the overall mood portrayed. Fred likes to force his apparent hair shaving fetish onto anyone who is vulnerable that he can get alone. By the end of the episode, we find out that Fred was committed to a mental institution and escaped. The authorities show up to Courage’s home and take him back. 

Fred’s character design alone only points to him being up to no good, and the smile never leaves his face. 

Fred gazes menacingly at Courage before proceeding to forcibly shave his fur off. 

If sexual abuse is on the table for this series, they certainly wouldn’t shy away from covering parental abuse. In the multiple episodes that feature Eustace’s mother, the audience comes to learn why Eustace’s character is a crotchety old man who takes joy in tormenting and scaring Courage. Throughout all of the episodes, Eustace yells “Stupid dog!” at Courage. It’s even a part of the opening title sequence. When Eustace’s mother, Ma Bagge, is introduced, we quickly notice that she is just like Eustace.  She constantly yells “Stupid boy!” at Eustace and berates him at any chance she gets. For the first time ever, we feel sympathy for one of the most hated characters on the show. Eustace’s whole shtick comes from being mean and cranky. It all comes together and we see that Eustace is but a product of his mother’s emotional abuse, a cycle that we often see in the real world. Other episodes detail his painful childhood, showing that deep down, a mean and cruel old man is not who he truly is. Episodes show that throughout his entire life, he constantly tried to win the love and affection from his mother, however, she always found fault in him and he was never good enough. 

Eustace presents gifts to his mother, Ma Bagge, in hopes of winning her approval.

As said previously, many of the episodes aren’t dark and twisted on the surface from a child’s point of view, but an episode that is heartbreaking whether you are a child or an adult is “Remembrance of Courage Past.” This episode details Courage’s origin story. We see that Courage once had loving dog parents that adored him. Courage’s parents take him to the vet, but in a strange turn of events, his parents are locked in a rocket and blasted into space by the sadistic veterinarian. There isn’t really any rhyme or reason, the vet is just plain evil. The vet asks to speak to the parents in private, and Courage is ushered into the waiting room. He later hears his parents crying out for help and he sees them being carried away in a net by the vet. Baby Courage follows them and sees his parents stuffed into a rocket. Baby Courage is unable to save them because the veterinarian notices that he is in the room and begins to chase him. Baby Courage escapes through a shoot that leads to an alleyway. From here, he watches the rocket blast off and waves goodbye as he cries. This is where Muriel finds him all alone and adopts him as her own. 

Left: Courage’s parents cry out for help from inside the rocket.

Right: Muriel finds Courage all alone in the alley and takes him in.

Seriously, this episode is so sad. We learn that Courage wasn’t truly “abandoned as a pup.” Courage deeply fears losing his current family because of how his real parents were ripped away from him. It was a tearjerker then, and it still is now. Now, he simply can’t bear the thought of ever losing his family again. This motivates him throughout the entire series to save his family no matter what the obstacles and no matter how scared he is.

Now all of the episodes that have been covered thus far were terrifying in their own way, yet there is one episode that continues to linger in the minds of its viewers. The episode in question? “King Ramses Curse.”  But why this episode?

First, a quick plot overview: Courage finds an ancient artifact in their yard. It turns out to be a cursed slab that was stolen from a museum. The police were hot on the museum robbers trail, so they ditched it in Courage’s yard. A resurrected King Ramses appears at their home to retrieve it. However, Eustace found out earlier that day that the slab is worth millions and won’t let King Ramses have it back, despite King Ramses threatening to send 3 plagues, each worse than the last.

King Ramses first tries to drown them, and for a kids show, I’ll admit that it’s pretty intense, but expected at this point. I audibly uttered “Now that’s a curse” as I rewatched. The next plague is just forcing them to listen to a really bad song, bringing the humor element back in and giving a break from the horror. Back to the horror, the last plague is a swarm of locusts that destroys everything in its path. In the end, Eustace refuses to relinquish the slab as Ramses menacingly looms over him. The episode concludes with Eustace being trapped in a sarcophagus, crying out for help. But the unfolding of these surely traumatic events isn’t what scared me as a youngin’.

So why did this episode scare so many children including myself? Simply put, the visuals.

King Ramses, was a 3D-animation overlayed on a 2D-background. Frankly, late 90s and early 2000s 3D-animation was a little creepy looking in general. The art of 3D-animation was still a work in progress. Hell, Disney and Pixar were still trying to perfect it with Toy Story. 

King Ramses stands outside the home of Courage.

Courage the Cowardly Dog had a highly experimental animation style considering the time in which it aired, 1996-2002. The animators didn’t stick to only 2D-animation alone, but instead incorporated elements of live-action, claymation, and 3D-computer animation, amongst other things. The show really had a knack for mixing mediums. What made this show so generally creepy was the way the mixed mediums didn’t fit in with the familiar 2D-animation style. It was unexpected and unsettling. 

Left: Example of live-action element

Middle: Example of 3D-computer animation

Right: Example of claymation featured in the show

While revisiting Courage, I can’t help but notice how this series hones in on the feeling of helplessness and life’s unpredictability. These aspects are part of why this show can be a bit traumatizing to young viewers. Yet this series still shows the value of hanging in there no matter what and doing the best you can despite the circumstances, just like Courage the cowardly dog. 

At the end of the day, elements like the underlying adult themes and the visuals made Courage the Cowardly Dog stand out when it first aired, and it's a show that continues to stand out against the ever changing social landscape. Comedy and horror aren’t synonymous in most of today’s cartoons. It’s been nearly 18 years since the last episode of Courage aired, and 18 years since Cartoon Network has aired a new horror cartoon. That alone is telling. Courage the Cowardly Dog was truly a product of its time and still sparks debates today with its gloomy narratives on society. Cartoons like this are so special because there may never be anything like it again. Even the creators were surprised that they got the OK to air the show, and I’m grateful that they did. 

[artzypaw]

Rip Tide (bnha Surf AU)

Relationship: Bakugou Katsuki/ Kirishima Eijirou

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20290699/chapters/48101773 

Word count: 5,029

Additional Tags: 

Bakusquad, Surfing, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Angst, Competition, Beaches, Scars, Crack, Fluff and Crack, Road Trips, Bakugou Katsuki Swears A Lot, Bakugou Katsuki is Bad at Feelings, Insecure Kirishima Eijirou, ashido could be with anyone, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Blood, Drinking, Emotional Constipation, Barbie References, Gay Kirishima Eijirou, Gay Bakugou Katsuki, Inside jokes, Hotel Rooms, surf competition, i'll add more tags when events become more relevant, denki is a dork, sero has no filter, kirishima is the literal embodiment of the sun, Bakugou wears glasses, but dont tell anyone, ashido paints all their nails, Alternate Universe - Mineta Minoru Doesn't Exist, Alternate Universe - No Quirks (My Hero Academia)

Summary:

“You i-idiot, you can’t just do a flip off the board. You’ll end up with face scars like Kiri!” Ashio attempts to yell, but it's interrupted by her fits of laughter. Sero’s no better, clutching his stomach as he paddles out to the next wave off balance.

“Hey! I’ll have you know my scars look cool! They’re little lightning bolts!” Denki, ungracefully, crawls onto his surfboard during his remark. He lifts up a leg and points adamantly, showing off his well known box jelly scars.

“How about you guys stop bitching and surf.” Katsuki calls.

'or'

Bakusquad enters a local surf competition and feelings get messy along the way.

Chapts: 1/?

Notes: I'm so excited to be working on this!! I've already drawn photos showing off their surf swimwear and you can find them over on my Tumblr and Insta (but more so on my insta bc i have an exclusive highlighted story to share more deets before chapters come out ;-D)

There are fancy surfing tricks in this story so if you guys want a deeper look into what's to come, click here to read into them. I'm not entirely sure how many chapters this'll end up being, but i'll have more of an idea once i've posted more :-)

(see end of post for tags! if you want me to tag you in the next chapters let me know!)

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

Chapter 1: In which Bakugou signs a deal with the devil (or the squad)

The summers are always too hot. Hot and humid, hot and sticky, hot and there’s no escape once you leave the AC. If it weren’t for the constant breezes emanating off of the beach’s shoreline, everyone in the city would be walking fries. The concrete burns beneath any shoe worn and skin bakes once under the scorching heat. On days like this, Katsuki finds going to the water helps but rarely gets to it simply because so did everyone else. 

The tide is more forgiving in the morning and afternoon for him when it comes to surfing. Not only is he able to avoid the crowds of tourists, he can also get a decent swim in before having to go to the Marina for work.

In the mornings, Katsuki normally gets a text message around 6am from Krishima asking if he wants to head over and catch some waves. It’s been this way since high school, at least ever since the redhead found out he’d been surfing just as long as he had. Groggily, he’ll respond with either an incoherent mess of letters or a simple “sure”. He’s not a morning person, but shit-for-brains sure was when it came to surfing.

In the mornings, Katsuki normally gets a text message around 6am from Krishima asking if he wants to head over and catch some waves. It’s been this way since high school, at least ever since the redhead found out he’d been surfing just as long as he had. Groggily, he’ll respond with either an incoherent mess of letters or a simple “sure”. He’s not a morning person, but shit-for-brains sure was when it came to surfing.

From what’s Katsuki’s learned, he is constantly on the water. More so than him, and that’s quite a bit considering he goes out whenever available between work and hanging out with his dumbass friends. Kirishima makes sure to wake up at the crack of dawn to catch some slow waves, then leaves once the crowds start to scuffling around the afternoon. Later at night, just when the sunset begins to ripple across the water and the waves start to die down, not entirely, he’ll grab his surfboard and swim until it grows too dark. The waves then are still tall and stocked with power, crashing down onto the shore with loud gushes of wind. Katsuki finds he enjoys surfing at this time of day more so than in the morning. Not because the sunset looks beautiful against the warm hue of his friends skin, not because the red is just as vibrantly blinding as a certain mop of hair, not because of that time of day, the piercing red eyes that smile back at him are the embodiment of the sunset behind them. No, it’s because he’s available. He’s available to ditch life responsibilities and float across the tinted waters with ease and relax the aching muscles on his body. 

 His phone buzzes after walking out of work, arms growing weary from lifting and maneuvering loads of extraneous equipment. He prods at the tough skin on his bicep, feeling the small indents from the scar left there. The Marina isn’t a crazy job, but it gives him enough money to afford a small apartment and food. And, it was located directly in between his house and the sea. Sore arms aren’t too bad if he really squints at the pros of his situation.

Kirishima: I'm heading out now if you want to meet up- the squad’s w me

Of course everyone else would be there. It wasn’t too often that they were able to come together, as of late. Ever since graduating high school, it’s been a struggle of living against the struggle of hanging out and keeping relationships alive. It’s easier for Katsuki to be with Kirishima and Ashido than it is Sero and Denki simply because the two live and work closer.

Katsuki makes way to his old, run down Jeep that he’s used for the past ten years and drives home to pick up his surfboard. They all surfed, it was a known. Him, Kirishima, and Ashido have been since childhood, Sero and Kaminari starting roughly in their teens, but they like to act as if they hadn’t.

He strips out of his clothes and into black swim trunks, grabbing his keys, wallet and surfboard before locking up his front door and hauling the board into the bed. It’s a normal white on the top, but below was a messy splay of oranges, yellows and blacks; reminiscent of explosions upon the bottom of his board. He personally painted it himself back in high school when there wasn’t enough money to professionally have it coated, but the paint and sealant have held well over the years and he’s grown fond of the design. He doesn’t take shit from Kaminari about how “tacky yet sweet” it is that he still has his cringy old design on the board.

Today is just as hot as yesterday, and the day before that, but the increasing breeze drifting onto his glistening skin walking to the beach has him closing his eyes. The sand is warm to the touch, and as his toes sink into the beads they grow cold from the shade. This feeling is one of the few reasons he keeps living in this tourist trap; that and one other. 

His board is propped beneath his arm as he walks to their usual meeting spot. It’s only five, so the sun has a few hours before setting. Many tourists are still perched on the shore, tanning, splashing in the water, etc. It’s disgusting how many of them show up this time of year; leaving their disgusting ass trash all over his beach, having their disgusting ass families crowd his favorite local restaurants. Sure it was warm all year round, but summer was his favorite season and Katsuki didn’t make exceptions for noisy visitors.

“Hey! It’s Bakubro!” The nickname causes his ears to twitch. He spots the four standing amongst one another, boards perched into the sand around them. Kaminari raises his hand after calling out, and the others turn their gaze toward him. 

Katsuki digs the bottom of his board into the soft sand once he’s joined them, and is immediately tackled into a hug by Ashido, pink enveloping his sight. To this date, he has yet to see the girl give up that hair color.

“Get the fuck off me.” He grunts, no malice in his words as he pats her back with a free hand.

“I haven’t seen you in two weeks, suck it up.” She laughs, squeezing his shoulders before hopping off and giving space. She was wearing the same wetsuit she always did; white with grey accents, holding pink and purple patterns along the sides of her frame. The suit cuts off mid thigh, but the sleeves make their way down her arms and her thin wrists. It’s a wonder how Ashido’s been able to fit into the swimwear the past years. “Tapping out, your turn Sero.” She chides and Katsuki watches as the tall lanky man steps forward and cautiously taps his fist along his bicep.

“I’ll pass on the hug, I kinda wanna survive for championships.” Sero chuckles but is cut short by the panicked looks Kirishima and Ashido give him. He’s quickly slapped in the head by Kaminari. 

“Dude! What the hell we haven’t even told him yet why couldn’t you just keep shut!” He whines, jutting out his bottom lip in a pout. Katsuki frowns, confused. What championships?

“What the fuck are you guys squirming about?” He aks, crossing his arms over his bare chest. Kirishima walks between their friends and wraps an arm over Katsuki’s shoulder in a warm gesture he’s grown fond of over the years. The guy has no personal space, no matter how hard he’s complained.

“So remember last summer when our city threw a surfing competition in order to raise money towards ocean conservation? Many other local beaches in the district came up to compete as well,” Kirishima begins , tilting his head to glance at him through wet hair framing his face. Katsuki mentally rolls his eyes. The dork couldn’t even manage to wait a few minutes to get in the water. He can feel excess drops of roll off Kirishima’s arm and onto his nape. He suppresses the urge to shiver from the contact.

“Yeah, and it was a nightmare. There was practically no room to do anything.” He interjects.

“Well, Kami found a poster advertising this upcoming competition and thought maybe we should sign up!” Kirishima’s smile is bright, and Katsuki rips himself out from under the arm to register what was just told to him.

“Wait- you want to join the competition? As in go against other surfers for a chance to win what may be some lame ass medal and cash?”

Ashido chips in this time, balling her hands into fists enthusiastically, “Yes! And it’s all individual scoring, so no one can get in your way of victory.”

“There are district teams though? As in people will be identified from the beach they’re coming from. We’d be the Yuuei Beach.” Sero adds. 

Katsuki blinks. This sounded right up his alley in terms of the activity and competition. Of course he wants to pummel any low ranking surfer out of the water, but-

“What’s the entry fee?” His bank account couldn’t handle another divot. Just this past month alone, his AC has died twice and that pulled entirely too much money out of for his comfort. He has saved money, sure, but it’s for emergencies, not being baked alive.

Ashido works at a retail store, not gaining that much more than him, along with Sero. Kirishima is currently at a surf shop, selling and making boards for probably less than it’s worth. Kaminari’s in and out of jobs practically every month, and while he says he had quit or it wasn’t for him, the guy was only half telling the truth. Katsuki has to keep his friends in check because their dumbasses sometimes forget they’re not made of money.

Kaminari flicks his nose with a thumb, “It’s not too bad, considering it is doubling as a charity event.” Katsuki huffs. So it was expensive.

“About 100 bucks each.” Kirishima says, looking over at him with bright eyes; hopeful and eager to see his reaction. Because yeah, it was a decent price. Cheaper than he was expecting.

He furrows his brows and kicks the sand beneath him in thought. It was maybe too cheap. “That’s how much is it for each of us individually to get in? I feel like there’s supposed to be a twist. Are there equipment fees?”

Ashido laughs, “I was the same, but that’s all we have to pay. It would be more if we didn’t already own surfboards, and swim gear-“

Sero nods when Katsuki flicks his gaze to him. His own wetsuit accentuates his long arms and legs and thinly toned body. He was the skinniest of the group, but to Katsuki’s surprise, that didn’t stop him from being a crazy strong surfer. Sero continues, “Yeah. So what do you say? Wanna try it out?”

He did. More so than he’d openly admit. Katsuki holds back his smile in order to keep composure; the last thing he wants is to jump into something stupid. He’ll have to call work and schedule time off. He’ll have to pack his clothes and his board and go on road trips with his friends and it was both exciting and nerve wracking.

Katsuki sighs, dropping an arm and raising the other to his temple, “If you guys make me regret this I’m shipping your asses to China.”

Their eyes widen and simultaneously loud cheers erupt from their cries. Kirishima runs up and hugs him, wrapping his arms around his waist and lifting his feet off the sand. His cheeks burn from the action and from the full laughs vibrating through Kirishima’s chest. If he could get him to laugh like this everyday he would.

“Hell yeah!” The red head drops Katsuki and fist bumps Kaminari who just got out of a group hug with the other two. All of them are buzzing and Katsuki can’t help but let a smirk form upon his lips.

The sun is growing heavy on the horizon, which means they should probably hop in the water if they want any good waves. He reaches over and pulls his surfboard out of the sand.

“Let’s go you losers.” He barks, smirk never leaving his lips as he marches over to the water. Behind him Kaminari laughs. Foot steps quicken behind him with soft thuds.

“Last one there has to pay for dinner!” He cries, voice shifting into a shriek after sprinting past Katsuki and his grin widens with competition. The fuck does he think he is getting a head start?

Confused and disturbed glances behind them, the four boys push and shove awkwardly with their surfboards in hand to the water, making sure not to trip on one another. Sero lost.

The swells are more tame due to the tidal shift, keeping his distance from the break of waves, Katsuki’s able to lay back on his board and let the water run past his outstretched arms and legs. Kirishima gets the same idea once they’ve drifted further out into the open water and Katsuki can see a small smile still resting on his face.

The others are catching waves up ahead, and from the sounds of it they were running off the high of excitement; Ashido squeals after, Sero he assumes, pulls a bottom turn.

“Thanks for agreeing, Katsuki.” He hears Kirishima say. He hums in response, watching as the sky changes from hues of blue to pinks and oranges. He focuses on that rather than the man beside him, because he knows exactly what will happen if he does; his heart and mind will betray him, and he’ll have to question whether or not going to the competition will be worth his numerous strokes. “How far do you think we’ll get?” the redhead says again, the volume of his question softer, as if he were asking himself.

“We’re going to fucking dominate those amatures, Ei.” Katsuki chuckles airily. If anyone is as good a surfer as him, it was that dork.

“Yeah, we are.” and fuck, he has a weak heart because he tilts his head over to look at Kirishima. He’s giving him the widest smile and Katsuki sucks in air. How can it be legal to smile that way? At him? It does too many things to his emotions that he doesn’t allow. The swells beneath gradually lift them, and they fall down just as gently, as if the water itself were taking a deep breath.

A scream breaks his train of thought and he sits up to see where the noise came from. Ahead, Kaminair is popping his head out of the water with a lopsided grin.

“You i-idiot, you can’t just do a flip off the board. You’ll end up with face scars like Kiri!” Ashio attempts to yell, but it's interrupted by her fits of laughter. Sero’s no better, clutching his stomach as he paddles out to the next wave off balance.

“Hey! I’ll have you know my scars look cool! They’re little lightning bolts!” Denki, ungracefully, crawls onto his surfboard during his remark. He lifts up a leg and points adamantly, showing off his well known box jelly scars.

“How about you guys stop bitching and surf.” Katsuki calls. Kirishima laughs at that, and doesn’t stop until the other three have swam up to swap positions. Kaminari looks at him pointedly.

“Let me see you do a flip off a board then, Bakumaster.” 

“Don’t call me that,” He starts, lowering his arms to push forward and catch the next swell, “the day one of us does a flip off a board, it’ll be your shit eating grin that’ll pay because I'll personally handle that myself.”

“Honestly, Kami,” Kirishima says behind him, he too, preparing his board, “how cool would that be? It’s like parkour, but on water.”

“Exactly!” his friends cackle, and Katsuki smirks to himself. They’re all idiots.

   “Wow, there are a lot more people here from our beach than I thought there’d be.” Kirishima says beside him. The two of them are waiting for the rest of their group at the opening resort for the surf competition. It’s been a month since they all consecutively decided to join, and throughout those weeks have been vigorously practicing the required techniques in order to pass the ranks. Standing there today is surreal to Katsuki; his heart beating a thousand miles a minute as the adrenaline of competition surges through his body. Before them, dozens of tents are littered across the sand advertising foods, surf leagues, selling wetsuits and swimsuits, anything that may grab money from eager buyers. In the middle of the mess is a small makeshift stage that holds a live band. Katsuki can hear their loud pop summer music from where he’s standing and wonders how distracting it may be once he’s out in the water. Sprawling in the crowds of surfers and pedestrians are news reporters catching scoops of information before the oncoming competition begins. 

“More than last year.” He says. It’s the peak of the day, the early noon sun is hot and persistent on his skin. He disregarded his tank top hours ago because it rendered useless being soaked in his sweat. Beside him, Kirishima fairs no better, not even coming with a shirt and just in his red striped swim shorts. His hair is loose today, and Katsuki can’t help but want to drag his fingers through it and out of his face.

While the two showed up early, all tents provided for competitors are slammed full, causing them to have to stand out in the bated sun. Their surfboards stand beside them, growing increasingly warm after each passing minute. 

“I really thought they’d be here by now.” Kirishima says anxiously. His body is stiff, and Katsuki gets the idea he’s nervous for more reasons than one. Elbowing his arm, he speaks up over the blaring music and conversations.

“Relax, Ei, if they’re late we’ll just start without them.” It’s not much of a reassurance, but the redhead's already taking in a deep breath. 

“Sorry we’re late! Kaminari slept in and Sero forgot where his wetsuit was and I had to get gas-!” Ashido cries as her and the other two dorks run up to them. 

“Really, Kami? You slept in?” Kirishima laughs, shaking his head. Katsuki fumes. The idiot had the audacity to sleep in and risk being late to their first opening competitions as well as stress out Kirishima more than he needed to. 

“Don’t fucking do it again, Pikachu.” He barks. 

 There were 28 surfers entering the water today. Only 8 from Yuuei beach are going to able to advance in the official competitions. The news wasn’t surprising to Katsuki. He spent the past couple of nights reading into the scoring and background of these kind of events. Their next match, only 4 from each beach will be able to advance. All they had to do was meet a certain amount of points during their surf. Pass the heats, move to the next round.

Ashido is first to head into the water out of their group. She’s nervous and threatening to throw up but Kaminari shakes her shoulders and tells her that “you’re going to wipe the smug look off of everyone’s faces when they see you surf. Don’t overthink it, you’re practically a fish!” It musters a giggle out of her, and she hops up with determination.

“Yeah I am!” She grabs her surfboard, the bottom displaying various shades of pink along with tacky patterns only she would care to enjoy, and runs out to the water waving a thumbs up behind her.

Katsuki would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little nervous. The past couple of surfers have been good. Their scores ranging from 15 to 17.2 points out of 20. Ashido is accompanied with three other surfers for their heat, and he hopes she catches some good waves in order to boost her general score. Her first wave is smaller than he would’ve hoped, but she’s quick and able to pull in a few carves and cutbacks before doing a roundhouse cutback; her figure eight sharp and stunning. Watching, The allotted thirty minutes given goes by fast, and Katsuki sighs with relief when Ashido sprints out of the water with a solid 18.3. 

“Did you see that??!” She squeals, ramming into their group dripping with ocean water. She ditches her surfboard to the sand before jumping into their open arms. Her cheeks are red from the sun and splays of water, and Katsuki finds he likes this new profound form of excitement. It makes his chest flutter with something unknown. She backs away, though her hand never leaves the small of Sero’s back. “Don’t say a word, I don’t want to jinx anything. I’m looking at you, Hanta.” 

He flushes at the accusation, “I’m not that bad.”

“Sorry man, but you have the worst tendency of blurting what’s on your mind.” Kirishima says, rubbing the back of his nape modestly. They all nod in agreement and he flushed more.

“Okay then. I’ll keep shut.” 

The speakers erupt across the beach announcing the next four names to enter the water. Kirishima and Kaminari are in the same heat this round, which leaves Katsuki to watch from the sand once again. He finds himself biting his nails unconsciously until Ashido slaps his hand with her own, a frown upon her lips.

“Don’t ruin your nails, I don't want to paint a ravaged canvas.” she whines, and he huffs, but eventually caves in and drops his hand. Her gaze softens and she elbows his bicep. He flicks his gaze down irritably. “They’re going to be okay. Kaminari is full of surprises, and you know Kirishima,” she emphasizes the last bit, “he’s amazing. You’re stressing over nothing.”

“I’m not stressing.” Katsuki grumbles. But she was right, he didn’t necessarily have anything to worry about; the two were amazing surfers. He’ll ignore the knowing look Ashido held in her gaze when talking about Kirishima just then because that’s for another time. Ahead, he can spot the mop of red hair contrast with the blues and whites as the figure positions himself for a larger wave swell. Luckily, Kirishima held a top priority and once he claims a wave the other surfers will have to venture off to other ones. 

“That’s a good wave, Kiri should be able to pull some of his trickier stunts on it.” Sero quips, crossing his arms over his chest. Katsuki nods, eyes never wavering from in front of him. The redhead is standing in no seconds after giving himself a boost forward with a thrust of his arms. The water curves, and eventually a beautiful wave begins to crash upon the water just for him. Immediately, Kirishima is wasting no time and pulling his first trick: Nosesirfing. Holding his stance at the tip of his board, he surfs along the crest of the wave for a couple seconds, gaining him a substantial amount of initial points. He slides down the water swiftly and carves, reverses and performs a 360; water splashing around his figure. Ashido cheers beside Katsuki and he smirks, because it was performed fairly perfectly. The wave is coming to a close, and Kirishima lowers his speed to Tube Ride inside the arch of water. It takes skill, not being an intermedial trick, and Katsuki holds his breath waiting to see the splash of red along the water emerge out into the open. After a few seconds, to his and the two dorks beside him’s excitement, Kirishima is able to perform the stunt and glides out past the crashing water, smiling widely. His first wave gives him a 9.8 out of 10 on the scoring board. If he does that again, Katsuki’s sure he’ll pass and move onto the next rounds. 

The other surfers in the heat take their turns catching their points, Kaminari scoring an 8.2 on his first wave and the other two strangers score relatively lower. Their time on the water is winding down, and as Kirishima finishes is second wave with yet another Tube Ride, followed hastily with an Aerial, his points reveal him with a victorious 10 accumulating his complete and final 18.2. His fists are in the air, expression bright as he splashes the water exasperatingly.

“Yes! Way to go Kirshima!” Katsuki can hear Denki shout across the water as he begins his own second wave. Even on his own turn, the blonde finds time to support his friend. He turns his gaze back to Kirishima and smirks when he emerges out of the water, still wearing his widening smile.

Ashido runs forward and hugs him, causing them to wobble from the lack of balance. Thankfully, she lets go just in time for Kirishima to compose himself. His cheeks and body are flush from the adrenaline, and he rubs the back of his nape.

“Thanks! But we gotta watch Kami! He’s on now!” He calls, turning around to watch their friend finish his heat with a 17.9. Not too long after, the electric blonde is running up and joining them in a group hug. 

“You guys were fucking amazing.” Katuski chuckles, clapping his hands together with Kirishima’s after they’ve divided. His face is warm from the sun, from the heat, from the surge of excitement and from the soft, damp hands holding his own tightly. Kirishima’s smile hasn’t wavered since he’s left the water, and Katsuki wonders if his cheeks are sore.

“Thanks man!” he laughs, and from the looks of it, the redhead’s still running off of his incitement.

“I think they just called Sero’s name.” Kaminari says to the side, and they turn their gaze to the large screen towards the center of the beach that holds the scorings and names of surf heats. Sure enough, Hanta Sero appears in bold letters across the screen. 

He gives them a thumbs up as he walks off holding his surfboard by his side. Katsuki knows from watching him practice that he’s been working on the Superman since his longer body physique allows him to maneuver the trick easier, but will he attempt it today and risk losing points? It requires a relatively larger waves to guide the speed and height up and off of the crest. To his surprise, Sero doesn’t end up performing the trick, instead focusing on more longboard derived skills that place him with a score of 17.6. 

That leaves him to enter the water. His name isn’t on the screen yet, but he can feel the sizzling beneath his skin in anticipation. The next heat will begin soon, and the chance his name will show up etched itself into his gut in the form of hunger. Hunger to win, hunger to go out there and compete, hunger to excel above the rest.

“Your name was just called for the next heat, Bakugou.” Ashido says and he smirks wickedly. Finally.

“Oh no, he’s got that creepy look on his face when he gets over competitive. He’s gone from Bakubro to Bakuscary.” Kaminari steps behind his board to shield himself as Katsuki grabs his own firmly. Reassuring chants echo behind him as he surges forward. 

The water is warm when he initially steps in; he paddles further out into the ocean and it shifts cooler to the touch. His ears twitch with the realization that the music from the beach isn’t as deafening from where he sits. He can hear his thoughts more clearly, which normally fairs well but he spots Kirishima back at their spot on be beach jumping, pumping his fists into the air out to him, and his chest flutters. He was too enthusiastic sometimes.

The waves today are good. Better for the completion but even better for him in executing more high level skills. A particular swell catches his eye and he’s immediately taking action, dipping his arms in the water to push himself out to snatch the break. As the form manifests, he Carves and glides up, clutching the surfboard with one as he leans back and does a Alley-Oop. He lands with a slap, and his legs buzz from the impact. Any noise he heard earlier is gone. Mind blank, his breathing is shallow and he hyper focuses on his next trick, doing a Cutback then Snapping against the current. He only has a couple of seconds before the wave dies out, so he bites his lip and thinks screw it; there’s an opportunity and he isn’t going to miss his chance. Engulfed under a bridge of water, he Tube Rides before dashing out and Kickflipping his board. His chest heaves as he exhales sharply, riding out the remaining push of wave. It happened all too quickly and he doesn’t spare a glance at the scoreboard to see what his first wave gave him. He knows it was a higher number.

The second wave, to his luck, is just as powerful. Katsuki spares no time performing the same tricks, give or take a few and his mind is still in a haze once he steps onto the hot sand. 

The wind is knocked out of his lungs, his board flying forward and he plummets back down into the sand with a loud thud. He groans as his chest is squeezed unbelievably tight, and his hands urgently grasp onto warm skin. Opening his eyes, his face heats immensely as he stares up into Kirishima’s. His breathing is rugged, unlike Katsuki’s being held in his chest, and he’s smiling down at him. Bold at first, but it fades into one more fond. Eyes never leave one another’s until it’s cut short, as fast as it came, with three bodies throwing themselves atop of theirs and Katsuki groans once again.

“Jesus- the fuck- I can’t breathe you assholes! G-get off-“ He wheezes, retracting his arms and planting them over Kirishima’s bare chest in an attempt to lift everyone. It fails and he’s left buried under 300 pounds with burning cheeks.

“We did it you guys! We’re going into the next rounds!” Ashido squeals into his ear and he pauses. They made it.

He gapes, “Holy fuck.”

“You topped with a solid 19 points, Bakubro!” Kaminari laughs, making an effort to detach himself from the pile. Ashido slides out beneath him. “We’re going to Shigaraki Beach!” 

Sero extends a hand to help Kirishima off his feet, who then looks back down to a stunned Katsuki laying in the sand. He opens and closes his mouth, failing to conjure any words because holy fuck they’re all advancing to the next set of rounds-

He takes Kirishima’s hand and smirks, turning to face his fervent friends. The sun is still hot beating down on his skin, on the sand beneath his toes, on the hand intertwining into his own, on the smiles and crinked noses displaying between them. But it didn’t matter.

They made it.

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

Tags! 

@mina-ashido-ismywife @hubajoob @christa-mina @kitkat-the-muffin @complete-utter-trash23 @justshipmeoffplease @sedxkid1 @downtherabbitholethatisanime @cooliopumpkin @fuchsiari

[inkribbon796]

Jackieboy Man Origins: Chain Letter

Another Origin story, I did one for Silver a while back and I wanted to do one for Jackie.

Summary: For an Irish web developer, it’s been a long night. A long night that turns into a strange morning when he wakes up in the hospital and no memory of how he got there.

~::~ 25 Years Ago ~::~

   As a young man was dragging himself and his friend back from a haunted, twisted mansion in a half-dead hypnotic stupor, an Irishman was sitting at his computer in the dark early morning. Unseen to him, something in the wires of his computer were waiting, watching him for the slightest mental distraction, a fatigue to help it.

   For the man at the computer, it was late. Later than Sean usually liked to be up. Especially in the cabin he lived in with its thin walls and out in the middle of absolutely nowhere, Ireland.

   At the moment he was getting a call from his old friend, Chase. Both of them worked as coders and web designers for the same company.

   “Look, it’s not that I don’t believe ye,” Sean told him. “It’s just that yer full of shite.”

   “Hey, I did what I could, an’ it’s not workin’,” Chase answered, contacting him over the phone.

   Sean audibly groaned,  “Fine, send it. If it’s because yer wife downloaded another virus again, I will personally come over to Brighton and kill ye and yer computer.”

   “If yer gonna buy me a new computer, then bring it,” Chase dared.

   Sean groaned, “I’ll tell you when I’m done with it. Prolly gonna be done later in the week. I’m tired as shit.”

   With a goodbye and a couple barbed insults, Sean hung up. He was about to shut down his computer and go to bed. Closing up programs until the email from Chase came in.

   “Come on,” the Irish man groaned, and against his better judgement opened up Chase’s email and started reading through some of Chase’s notes.

   Two paragraphs in though his eyes started to get itchy, and his throat began to feel dry.

   “I’m tired,” Sean muttered, not meaning to say it out loud.

   “I’m tired.”

   Sean looked around, trying to find the voice.

   “Tired”

   The Irishman was looking around for his glasses, his eyes tired and having problems focusing. It made it look like the whole monitor was going fuzzy with static.

   “Tried”

   “Ugh,” Sean groaned, scratching at his own throat. “Arrrghhh!”

   “Aren’t you just sooooooo tired?”

   Sean stared at the screen, hazy with static and it seemed to be reflecting his smiling face back at him.

   “Ch—” Sean scrambled for the phone. Something was wrong, as if thousands of strings were being tethered to every muscle in his body. “Chase—”

   The Irishman’s head hit his desk and then . . . like a stiff marionette puppet being suspended by strings . . . he got back up again.

   The next thing Sean became aware of was lying down on a slightly cold surface, with a beeping noise echoing off the walls.

   “Ugh,” Sean coughed out, more and more of his body aching by the second. “Am I dead?”

   “No, but you’ll wish you were when the guards get back in here.”

   Sean startled and saw another of his friends sitting in the chair next to him was one of his friends, and his roommate, Marvin. “Marv, the fook happened to your face.”

   Scored down Marvin’s face were long claw marks, stitched to hold the wound closed. Marvin glared at him, looking like he was about to punch him in the face.

   “Yah get inta a fight with a cat or somethin’,” Sean tried to joke.

   Marvin leaned over him, glaring murderously at the other Irishman, pointing to his own face. “You did this to me?”

   “What?” Sean tried to sit up, but found out that he had both hands closely handcuffed to his hospital bed.

   “Yah scratched up my like a fookin’ demon cat,” Marvin spat at him. “Ye almost tore yer own throat out, an’ then ye tried to take my eyes out.”

   “I didn’t,” Sean tried to defend, but a sinking pit formed in his stomach. As if his body knew what he’d been up to last night, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember a single thing that had happened. The web designer was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep at his desk while working. “I wouldn’t—”

   Suddenly, Sean felt like a lump was forming in his throat, and it itched. The urge to reach up and scratch the skin of his throat was eating at him. His brain spiraled into a panic attack, and it felt like his body was physically spinning out of control.

   It took Marvin, two nurses, and a doctor to calm Sean down again. Now with Sean knocked out, Marvin was left to think. He’d known Sean for a long time, and the last thing he expected the other man to be, was violent. Marvin was pretty sure Sean didn’t actually have a violent bone in his body. He could get loud and belligerent, but never violent.

   But thing Marvin had stumbled upon while entering the cabin, that wasn’t Sean. It had taken everything Marvin had to convince everyone that Sean wouldn’t have purposefully tried to burn the cabin down, or attacked Marvin or the officers. Which got harder when his blood work came back clean as a whistle.

   But everyone was letting Sean rest. Sean was still sleeping while Marvin had to think. Yeah, he’d talked Sean out of getting thrown in a cell for arson and attempted murder. But that wouldn’t stop it from happening again.

   Desperate for anything to help, Marvin ran out to a store he typically got his candles and magic supplies.

   “Hey, Marv,” the girl behind the counter smiled at him, using his stage name since he could count on one hand the people he told his actual name to.

   “Hey, Clara, ye still got those weird doll parts?” Marvin was already running towards the back of the shop.

   She just stared at him, “Yeah, why? You inta puppets now or somethin?”

   Then she got a good look at the scratches on his face, “What the hell, man, what happened ta yer face?”

   “If I told you you’d stop me,” he told her, and handed her the money to walk out with his kit.

   “Be careful,” she warned him.

   “Will do,” he promised, and then rushed back to the hospital, smuggling in his kit back into Sean’s room.

   “Okay,” he took a steadying breath, over Sean’s still unconscious body. “This is such a bad idea, but yah can thank me after it works.”

   Then Marvin began working, trying to make the doll look as close to what he saw in the cabin. The dark, glowing green eyes, the slit throat, the wraith-like form. Once he was done with the life-sized model, he waited for the nurses to make their rounds and check on Sean. Marvin smiling, having the doll hidden from them in the bathroom. Cause a life-sized model of a guy was a sure fire way to get him supervised in the room at least.

   Then Marvin waited for them to leave before setting up the room for his Plan A: exorcise his friend and roommate. If he needed a Plan B, Marvin would burn that bridge when he crossed it.

   “Hey, Jackaboy,” Marvin tried to smile. “You awake?”

   No answer.

   Marvin frowned, then he took out a spellbook, “Good.”

   He uttered a quick summoning spell, standing outside the containment spell he’d drawn on the floor. Sean began to convulse and scream, his skin literally buzzing.

   Sean’s screams were so loud, the door flew open as a passing nurse came in, “What the fook?”

   Then a force of pure static electricity shot out of Sean, as a creature that looked almost exactly like the Irishman still passed out on the hospital bed, except for the gash on his throat. The being of malic and chaos just floated in the air above Sean’s bed.

   “Well, well, looks like I found myself a street magician too big fer his own britches,” the creature cackled. The nurse was still at the door, staring at the creature in horror. It smiled back at her.

   “Hey, you almost got my friend arrested,” Marvin tried not to show any fear.

   “Still got time fer that,” it dismissed.

   “Here’s the deal, ye go into this image I made, and I don’t destroy you,” Marvin threatened.

   The doppelgänger just cackled, sounding like Sean just with a crackling, static-like tone to it. “An what? Let yah rip me apart, I don’t think so Two-Bit Copperfield.”

   “Yer going to do it, or I’ll make yah,” Marvin threatened.

   It just laughed again, the very air charging with static electricity, and the creature lightly touched down on the floor, looking at the symbols and lines that were keeping him in. “Yah pay for those magic tricks?”

   “None of your business,” Marvin finally started actually getting brave.

   It took one of its feet and stubbed out one of the lines, blowing back the power onto Marvin, who flew into the wall.

   “Cause, ye got yerself ripped off,” it cackled and moved closer to stand over Marvin’s pain wracked body, the magician slumped against the wall as muscles in his body shook and trembled with electricity.

   “When you want ta learn some real tricks, call me,” the thing took its claws and scored a name into Marvin’s arm: ANTI. Marvin screamed in pain and watched the cop that had been taking questions early bust in.

   Anti looked back at him, standing up and walking back over to Sean’s bed. Marvin heard Sean make a confused groan. “Well, this place has gotten a bit stale. I’ll be seeing you around Copperfield.”

   Marvin tried to pull himself back up, his arm burning. “Wait,” he growled.

   “Hey, get away from them,” the officer barked, rushing for Anti.

   “No, I don’t think so,” Anti grinned, his head almost glitching. “So, buddy, yah got a gun or a TASER? Cause I’m itching to have some fun.”

   There was a loud grunt, and everyone, even Anti, looked over to see Jack struggling weekly against the cuffs tethering him to the hospital bed.

   In the distraction, the officer grabbed onto Anti, trying to wrestle him onto the ground, and got jolted with visible electricity for his troubles. The officer dropped and convulsed on the ground, screaming in pain. The nurse closest to the door rushed to him.

   “Aww, what’s wrong?” Anti smiled at Sean as he walked over to him.

   “No,” Marvin panicked, trying to weakly scramble with his good arm for anything to make Anti go away.

   “I’ll be with you in a second, Copperfield,” Anti summoned a dagger from almost a violent tear in reality itself and threw it. It perfectly nailed Marvin’s other shoulder. Effectively disabling him. Marvin screamed.

   Another dagger got the mannequin Marvin had made, electricity catching it on fire. “And there we go,” Anti’s smile got wider, “get rid of that eyesore.”

   With another step, Anti was leaning over Sean, barely out of reach as Sean. “Hello, well, it has been fun, but I’m tired of you. So, let’s have a little fun with you and your friends before I go.”

   “Get away from them,” Sean threatened.

   “Oh? Puny little human,” Anti cackled, grabbing the Irishman still cuffed to the hospital bed and started to jolt him. As the glitch demon shocked and coursed electricity through him, his whole body glitched the very air around him. “What ye gonna do about it?”

   Sean screamed and sudden his whole body seemed to move, as if every part of his body was just vibrating and shaking, rattled by the electricity.

   Three things happened almost at the same time, and to Marvin’s perspective they did. Time seemed to slow down as Anti reached for his throat. Sean gave a final tug and the cuffs came free. As quick as he could, Sean hit Anti in the face, what felt like electricity coming off his entire arm, but he didn’t see anything.

   The glitch demon recoiled back, mostly in shock, holding the side of his face and just staring at the Irishman who was struggling to get out of the hospital bed and to get in front of Marvin. Adrenaline was coursing through his body, keeping him upright.

   “Yer goin’ ta regret that,” Anti warned.

   “Get away from him,” Sean told him. “Yer not gonna hurt him again.”

   Anti cackled, his body glitching, “What are yeh goin’ ta do? Bleed on me?”

   Sean took a nervous step back, almost stepping on Marvin’s leg, Marvin was able to pick himself up enough to lean against Sean’s legs, placing a hand on the back of his leg, and starting to draw something, his hand shaking as he screamed out in pain.

   “When I kill you, I’ll enjoy it,” Anti promised.

   “If I hit yah once, I can hit ye again,” Sean threatened, just hoping that his body wasn’t nearly as hurt as he thought it was. The police officer seemed to finally be getting up, coughing and holding his arm. Sean hoped it might help get Anti under control, even if he didn’t think whatever Anti was could even be arrested.

   Anti just walked over, “I will enjoy tearing you apart.”

   Sean winded back for another punch, but when he tried to hit Anti, the glitch just stepped to the side. Giving Sean an amused, chortle.

   “Little fly,” Anti chuckled, the glitch demon’s eyes glowing, the iris of his mostly black eyes green. “Somethin’s never change.”

   Then, Anti scratched Sean across the chest, making him stumble back as Anti floated above him and gave him a smug look. Sean already felt drained, a mix of the painkillers, his throat, and the fact that he’s been mentally out of it for hours. But his body also felt absolutely wired with adrenaline.

   He lifted his arms but Anti froze, jolted by something. His eyes almost crackling with static. “You!” he snarled at Marvin. “What’d yah do ta me?”

   Marvin let out a chuckle. “Plan B, thanks fer jumping outta my friend.”

   With a harsh scream, Anti began to glitch and distort, screaming as he was trying to reach out for Jackie but burst into static and seeming disappeared.

   “Is he dead?” Sean gasped.

   “Prolly not,” Marvin coughed. “Should leave us alone fer a while, though,” Marvin slumped over onto the ground. Sean just sat down as two nurses raised over to them.

   “Well kid, yah off the hook,” the officer said. “I don’t think the boys are gunna take ghosts as an excuse. Sorry I couldn’ta been ‘a useful back there.”

   “No prob,” Sean told him. “I’m tired, can I got ta bed?”

   “Try to stay with me a bit longer,” the nurse told him, checking his eyes and all the deep scratches on him. The nurse that had been treating the police officer was now treating Marvin, calling on the radio for back up. Sean’s tied mind losing the voice in all the medical jargon.

   “What’dya do back there?” The officer asked. “I lost sight of yah and suddenly yah were in front’a yer friend.”

   “I just hit him, think it surprised him,” Sean admitted. “Marv’s got a spellbook or whatever the hell he calls it.”

   Looking over, Sean saw the cheap journal Marvin used to store and record his “notes” lying all the way across the room. “Give me a sec,” Sean said. “Maybe Marve took some notes on the bastard.”

   “Wait, you shouldn’t,” the nurse began but Sean was already up.

   He took a couple steps and faster than his brain could process it, Sean had slammed into the opposite wall, knocking him flat on his back. At the sudden loss of air in his lungs, Sean began coughing, trying to roll over but found that the adrenaline in his body was already starting to drain out. “Ugh,” Sean groaned in pain.

   The room went dead silent.

   Then, the nurse swore. “Did you just?”

   “Ugh, everything hurts,” Sean complained, and then passed out.

   Next thing Sean process was that he was in a new room, about three doctors in the room and sensors monitoring his pain. But at least, he had enough painkiller not to feel how absolutely destroyed his body probably was.

   “Hey, jackaboy,” Marvin greeted, he was sitting next to him, his shoulder and arms bandaged up. “So, quick question, yah have any secret identities I should know about?”

   “No, why?” Sean asked, already feeling pretty loopy.

   “Good, cause I’m pretty sure some suits have been in here, and they walked away with a lot of yer blood,” Marvin told him. “Mine too.”

   “Pretty sure, they can’t do that,” Sean reminded.

   “Well they just did,” Marvin told him, “I tried to fight them, but they were about to arrest me if I didn’t comply.”

   “Fer what? Doin’ magic without a license?” Sean tried to joke.

   “No, cause you went 0 to 15 with just yer feet, before colliding with a wall and took a chunk outta the plaster,” Marvin told him.

   “Huh, yah’d think I’d remember that,” Sean thought out loud. “But hey, if I did, I can maybe become a superhero or somthin’. Wouldn’t that be funny?”

   “He awake?” a woman’s voice got Sean’s attention.

   “An’ drugged ta hell,” Marvin warned.

   “Then this won’t take long,” she said and walked over to where Sean could actually see her.

   “Hey,” Sean smiled.

   “You’re Sean McLoughlin, from Althone, Ireland?” she looked at him, studying him up and down.

   “Yeah?” Sean answered. “Who’s askin’? Is this about the wall I broke?”

   “We’re more concerned with how the wall broke, than who broke it,” she corrected.

   “Shit,” Sean shrugged, immediately regretting it because of how sore he still was, even with the painkillers. “Ow. Why did I do that?”

   “Are you still hurt?” she asked.

   “Nah, it’s just sore,” Sean correct. “What were we talking about?”

   The woman didn’t seem to even be frustrated. “Do you know what happened, Mr. McLoughlin?”

   “Nah,” Sean dismissed. “I think there was some glitchy reject video game character, an’ now everythin’ should hurt, but doesn’t cause’a these awesome drugs.”

   She looked at Marvin, but Marvin shrugged, “Hey, guy’s as high as a kite, what do ye want from me?”

   “Mr. McLoughlin, my name is Agent Laine,” she told him.

   “Kay,” Sean smiled.

   “We’ll let you get back to sleep,” Sara told him. “I’ll be back.”

   “Hopefully with an actually reason to take our blood,” Marvin reminded.

   “Only if we find anything out of the ordinary,” she said and left.

   “Finally,” Marvin growled.

   “She doesn’t seem nice,” Sean commented.

   “Alright, you might not remember this, but last night you moved fast, like superhuman fast, and I did actual magic. It was amazing.” Marvin smiled. “Unfortunately the suits figured out.”

   Sean just laughed, “Yeah right, an’ I’m a superhero.”

   Marvin shrugged, “Sleep it off, I’ll try and keep the suits from locking you in a padded cell.”

   “Yer the best, Marv,” Sean told him, and they just kept talking, more joking than anything else until Sean got tired again.

   In five days Sean would run through town in a colorful, oversized hoodie and an old Halloween mask he’d find in Marvin’s box of things. In five days, Sean would race around the city, testing out his newfound super speed.

   But today there were just two friends in an isolated room, talking and laughing. Both of them enjoying the little bit of peace they had while it lasted.

[eleanor-writes-stuff]

like my heart longs for an ocean [one-shot]

Within minutes of meeting, Rey Niima and Kylo Ren immediately confront each other for having the audacity to be biologically compatible. 

Within weeks, they start exploring that compatibility.

Within months, it turns into something more.

This is the story of them getting their shit together, one step at a time.

Yeah, I did it: I wrote an ABO fic. This is rated M for mild, awkward, embarrassing attempts at smut interspersed with flashbacks to our favorite idiots trying to fight destiny and biology. If you need me, I’ll be in a corner drinking to forget the fact that I decided to share this with the world for some reason.

New content alert, @orkindofamazing @senauma. (If anyone else would like to be tagged whenever I post content, let me know!)

Also available on AO3. (I’m hi_raeth there, in case the link doesn’t work. Thanks, Tumblr.)

The arm tucked under her pillow has gone numb.

Rey lifts her head, stretches out her arm and wiggles her fingers until the unpleasant pins and needles sensation fades. Next time, she thinks, she’ll sprawl out on top of him; it’ll probably be much more comfortable that way. Next time, she thinks, and promptly stops herself.

There can be no next time.

To keep herself grounded in the present she presses closer to him, sighs in contentment as Ben’s arm curls tighter around her in return so that his chest is flush against her back. Liquid heat floods her as he hooks one leg over hers and inadvertently pushes deeper into her, prompting him to muffle a groan against her neck.

“Again?” Rey asks incredulously as more cum trickles down her thigh to join the damp spot pooling underneath them. Ben closes his lips around the tender gland on her neck in response, sucks on it as he does his best to thrust into her with what limited mobility he has. The slow drag of his knot against her sensitive walls draws a low moan out of her as her muscles flutter around him, an instinctive reaction to keep him inside her.

Obviously her body hasn’t gotten the memo, because they’ve been tangled together for a good while now and Rey wants nothing more than for this to be over with so that she can throw his clothes at him, kick him out of her apartment, and pretend that this never happened when they see each other at work tomorrow. Because as great as this has been, as earth-shattering as they are together…

“How long has it been?” she sighs, bats Ben’s hand away when he goes to rub at her clit. That’s how he got her to agree to a second round hours ago – riling her up while they waited for his knot to go down, leaving her wanting as he made himself at home in her kitchen, keeping her on edge as he urged her to refuel. But that was before the sun went down, before she realized how easy it would be to let him stay the night so that they can fall into an endless pattern. 

Ben huffs into her neck, his warm breath ghosting against her gland, and the part of her that only comes to life around him urges her to take his hand, to guide him back to where he wants to be, to make up for upsetting her Alpha. This is exactly why there can be no third round, no next time.

“Longer than ever before,” he admits, presses his palm into her abdomen with enough pressure to make the both of them twitch. God, he’s right there, his hand over the head of his cock with only her stomach between the two, and with heat crawling up her spine and flooding her cheeks she remembers fawning over the fit of him, keening and sobbing and babbling Alpha so big so good oh god I can see you inside me–

He sighs, lips brushing against her temple as he brings up the forbidden topic. “You know what this means, Rey–”

“Don’t,” she warns and pleads in the same breath, inches as far away from him as possible so that she doesn’t have to feel his racing heart against her back. The fact that his body refuses to let go of hers doesn’t have to mean anything. None of it does.

“Just…” Rey closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. She’s upsetting him, hurting him, and her stupid Omega hormones aren’t the only ones unhappy with the notion. As much as she hates him sometimes, she doesn’t actually want to hurt the man who makes her heart race, makes her blood sing, makes her want to give it all up for even the slightest possibility–

But she’s come too far for that, worked too hard to risk it. “Just don’t,” she whispers, and of course that’s the exact moment their bodies decide to finally, finally let go.

“Okay,” Ben murmurs, presses one final kiss to her temple before he wordlessly gets out of bed. Her room feels unusually cold without his warmth curled around her, and when the door clicks shut behind him two minutes later, Rey tells herself the odd feeling in her chest is her lungs shaking, not her heart sinking.

The first time Rey meets Ben Solo, she immediately excuses herself to the bathroom to splash a gallon of cold water on her face and waste a shit ton of tissue dabbing at her inexplicably drenched underwear.

She’s been antsy all morning, just the slightest bit off and on edge and oversensitive, and everything falls into place when Leia emerges from her office with a tall, brooding hulk of an Alpha by her side and introduces the team to their newest addition. Rey is forced to just sit there, pressing her legs together and praying no one can smell her, while Leia and the inconsiderate asshole move ever closer to her cubicle as introductions are made. She jumps out of her seat the minute Leia turns to her, greets her boss and exchanges brief pleasantries with the newbie even as his scent floods her senses, and then promptly announces that she needs to pee before she scurries away.

A ton of cold water and a roll of toilet paper later, Rey emerges from the bathroom with a wince on her face as she relives her awkwardness on a mental loop. Thankfully, she’s quickly snapped out of it by a new distraction. Unfortunately, that new distraction proves to be–

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Ben Solo hisses, nostrils flaring as he crowds into her personal space and forces her to back up until she hits the wall.

“Me?” Rey demands incredulously, shoves at him with both her hands and makes the executive decision to ignore the fact that she can feel herself literally dripping after less than two seconds of physical contact. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What kind of arrogant, selfish Alpha asshole walks around without taking blockers–”

Ben crosses his arms – massive – over his chest – broad – and glares at her. “Very funny. I’m not the one out in public without suppressants, Omega.”

She hates, hates, hates being referred to by her designation, has even gained a reputation for pulling some pretty violent stunts whenever someone dares to reduce her identity to a genetic label. But the utter ridiculousness of his accusation coupled with the low growl in his voice sends Rey reeling, and without a moment’s thought she’s ripping her blouse free from her skirt and holding it up to show him the silvery scar at her hip. “Implant, you fucker. Just because you’re not taking the appropriate precautions–”

“I am,” Ben whispers, sounding miles away as his wide eyes hone in on her implant mark, the one that proves she’s on the strongest suppressants available. It feels like a small eternity before he finally tears his attention away from her bare skin to look up at her again. “I am,” he repeats slowly. “On blockers. Three times a day.”

Oh.

Oh.

Rey knows she’s probably staring and gaping at him like a fool, but wiping the dumb goldfish expression off her face becomes the least of her concerns as his admission rings in her ears and bounces around her skull and settles into her veins.

“But we still…” she gestures vaguely between them, thinks of the slick gathering between her thighs and the way he’s breathing through his mouth as if that’s any better, as if he can’t taste her in the air, as if they aren’t going crazy for each other even with the strongest possible suppressant and a triple dosage of blockers between them. “We can still…”

Ben squeezes his eyes shut, takes a step away from her. “Yeah,” he says on a shaky exhale.

She presses her back to the wall, tries to make herself as small as possible. “That’s… that’s not normal.”

He laughs. It’s curt and bitter and barely even counts, but god does it make her toes curl. “You don’t say, sweetheart.”

And that, oh that seals her fate even as Ben backs away from her, puts enough distance between them that she couldn’t reach for him even if she wanted to. “We should stay away from each other,” he suggests, his voice firm and resolute even as his eyes plead for her to say otherwise.

“Good idea,” Rey forces herself to agree in a breathless voice that sounds nothing like her own.

“Right,” Ben nods, moves away from her a little bit more. “Okay, good,” he mumbles, and promptly turns on his heel to get the fuck away.

Even as a long-dormant part of Rey’s body cries out at his departure, a bigger part of her knows that he won’t be able to stay away for long.

There’s a next time, and a time after that, and a time after that.

The fourth time Ben rolls away from her to get dressed and leave, Rey surprises the both of them by jumping out of bed to wrap her arms around him from behind. Ben stills, his shirt clutched in one hand, and she presses her lips to his spine in a request she’s not ready to voice.

He hears it anyway, drops his shirt and comes back to bed for the rest of the night, and when she wakes up in his arms the next morning Rey finds she’s a little less scared of this thing between them now.

After the tenth time they start leaving things at each other’s places, and on nights when she’s denied herself his company she sneaks a shirt out of the drawer she’s started thinking of as his and goes to sleep drowning in his scent.

The twenty-seventh time marks three months together, as well as the last time Rey allows herself to keep count. A good thing, probably, because after that they spend more time together than apart, and while Ben will never stop being an overwhelming, all-eclipsing, larger-than-life presence, she starts getting used to him, starts learning how to look past the eclipse to see that everything else still exists. The fact that everything else does still exist, that being with him doesn’t automatically cancel out a lifetime without him, allows her to put the last of her lingering fear to rest.

Seven months after she first showed him her implant scar, Rey sighs and presses closer to Ben as his thumb traces circles over the silvery mark. It’s the Alpha in him tugging his lips into a frown against her shoulder, she knows, but still–

“I’m supposed to replace it next month,” she murmurs unthinkingly, warm and content and sore in all the best ways.

Ben’s thumb stills, and moments later is replaced by his hand curling around her hip, fingers applying the slightest bit of pressure to dig into her skin. Rey thinks she can hear an audible gulp as he considers her words, and she closes her eyes to resist the temptation of turning around to gauge his reaction.

“Are you going to?” he asks an eternity later, voice hushed as the pad of his thumb starts moving over her scar again.

Rey shrugs; it’s easier to feign nonchalance when she doesn’t have to look him in the eye. “I don’t know,” she says casually. “They don’t advise getting the implant more than three times, and this is already my second. Something about causing permanent damage if I don’t let my body go through heat, I think.”

Again a hand gripping her hip, almost urgently. “When was the last time you… I mean, do you usually… you know, with someone?” he trails off weakly, the crux of the matter hidden in a barely-audible whisper.

Rey shrugs off his arm, finally turns around and props herself up with an elbow sinking into the mattress. Ben can barely meet her eye, and what little moonlight there is illuminates the barest hint of a flush on his cheeks. She doesn’t blame him for asking, though. People who don’t believe in more, who aren’t interested in more – people like the person she was when they first met – are known to enter long-term arrangements for the sake of convenience. Some arrangements become more, some don’t, but nearly all of them turn personal and meaningful in their own way after a period of time.

At some point between their second and third time, Rey had actually considered asking Ben if he’d be willing to enter such an arrangement with her. Now, she brings her free hand up to his jaw and gently guides his eyes to her.

“Never,” she admits quietly. “I’ve never…” wanted to, with anyone else. Mated Omegas tell her there’s nothing like it, that you don’t truly understand your Alpha’s love for you until they’ve seen you through heat and cared for your every need. Forums for unmated Omegas tell her that it’s transcendent, that nothing else will ever come close. But that kind of vulnerability, that kind of trust… there’s a reason she’s never, ever allowed herself to have a heat since her first one ten years ago, when she presented at the very late age of seventeen.

And yet – “I didn’t have anyone, before,” Rey whispers, puts it out there and immediately hides her face in Ben’s neck under the pretense of nuzzling his gland.

A low, content sound rumbles from deep within his chest, and he cards one hand through her hair until she pulls away from his sensitive skin. Ben gently rolls them over so that he’s looming over her, so that she’s pinned underneath him with nowhere to go.

Rey minds it a lot less than she should, than she would’ve even six months ago.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, and god, the tenderness in his eyes, his voice, his touch – how did she ever think they’d be able to stop after just once? “Are you saying…?”

She loves the way Ben holds her face like the most precious thing in the world cupped in that massive hand of his, but right now it means Rey has to look him in the eye and tell him yes, yes she’s saying she wants him to fuck and feed her through her heat, she wants and trusts him to care for her when she can’t. “I mean,” she licks her dry lips, darts her gaze down to his throat. “You don’t have to–”

Ben laughs, a low huff of amusement that draws her eyes back to him. “Of course I have to, Rey,” he tells her with a smile, shaking his head at her fondly. “It’s an Alpha’s responsibility to care for his ma–”

He catches himself just in time, stares at her with wide, terrified eyes until Rey surges up to kiss his fear away. Some words can never be taken back, and they both know exactly what he was about to say, what he was about to imply. And yet…

Of course Rey isn’t ready, probably won’t be for a good long while yet, but it’s nice to know that it – that he – will be waiting for her when she is. For now, though–

“I’ll get it taken out, then,” she whispers against Ben’s lips, wraps her legs around him as one hand reaches down to guide him into her. “The implant, I mean.”

“Just let me know when,” he says, and it’s the last coherent sentence between them for a while.

It takes two weeks for their luck to run out.

Leia calls a floor-wide meeting, and all twenty-three of them squeeze into Conference Room 2, which is standing room only by the time Ben arrives. Of course Rey, one of the lucky few who’d arrived early enough to snag a seat, is sitting just five feet away from the door. And of course Ben chooses to just close the door behind him and lean against it instead of venturing further into the crowded room.

For the life of her, Rey cannot figure out what the meeting is about. Leia stands on the opposite end of the room, going through slides that Poe dutifully changes for her, but even the big, bold headers on the screen seem to blur together as Rey does her best to hold in the last lungful of clean air she’d gotten right before Ben appeared.

Her throat closes up, her lungs burn, her eyes water – and finally, finally, Rey is forced to inhale.

The effect is instantaneous and devastating, heaven and hell rolled into one as her blood heats up and her skin itches and her toes curl and her stomach cramps. If she were a braver woman, if she were a dumber woman, she might risk a glance at Ben to see how he’s faring, to check if he’s noticed her reaction to his scent. Instead, Rey nods along as she squints at the screen and discreetly presses her thighs together as tightly as she can.

If this keeps up, she might need to start keeping a change of underwear at work.

Mercifully, the meeting is short and to the point as it always is with Leia. She turns her back to the screen, Poe clicks out of the slideshow, and chairs start scraping against the floor as everyone prepares to get back to work.

“One last thing,” Leia says before the first brave soul can ask Ben to stand aside and stop blocking the only exit from this packed room. Oddly enough, he tenses at the sound of Leia’s voice, the only noticeable bit of body language she’s noticed since he walked into the room.

“I’m sure by now you’ve all met our newest addition, my son Ben Solo.”

A round of hushed murmurs sweeps across the room, the cat finally out of the bag for the scant few who hadn’t thought to make the connection between Leia’s husband and the newcomer. Out of the corner of her eye Rey catches Ben crossing his arms over his chest and drawing himself up to his full height, almost as if he’s daring anyone in this room to comment on his parentage.

None of this comes as news to Rey, of course – Finn had informed her of their new addition’s connection to the big boss before she’d even known there was to be a new addition – but for just a second the unexpected reminder slams into her hard enough to take her mind off her current situation. Instead a bolt of horror shoots up her spine at the belated realization that she’s lusting after her boss’s son, and Rey thinks that’s almost as bad as the biological compatibility thing and all that it hints at.

“I’m very happy to finally have Ben with us after all these years of using my motherly guilt-tripping skills against him,” Leia jokes with a raspy laugh, but the joyful twinkle in her eyes is clear for anyone to see as she gives her son a soft, fond smile.

Ben ducks his head almost shyly, a small smile playing on his lips, and Rey’s heart jolts as if someone’s fashioned endearment into a blade and plunged it into her chest. A fresh wave of slick quickly ruins the moment, and she can barely hear Leia’s next words over the faint, panicky ringing in her ears.

“–looks like I brought him aboard to do my dirty work, and I completely understand why some of you feel this way. Unfortunately, the truth is that we’re just long overdue for some serious downsizing, and this would have happened with or without Ben around.”

Panic of an entirely different breed settles into her bones as Rey finally makes sense of Leia’s words and the sudden tension that’s settled over the room. Realistically she knows she’s probably safe – she was promoted just last month and easily does the work of three regular employees – but the part of her that’s never found a home that wasn’t taken from her in some painful way freaks out anyway.

There are times when the light in Leia’s eyes makes her look twenty years younger, and then there are times when her shoulders slump under the weight of the world and she looks ten years older than she really is; this is the latter. “I wish you all the best these next two weeks,” Leia sighs before she plasters on a sincere smile. “And please know that whatever comes next is in no way reflective of your worth as an employee or a person, because I can honestly say that all of you are so, so appreciated here and if it were up to me, I wouldn’t let a single one of you go.”

A faint aww fills the room amidst a smattering of polite claps, and just seconds later Leia ends the meeting with a strained smile and a dismissive wave of her hand. Ben is the first one out, wrenching the door open with such force that it slams into the wall as he leaves. Rey gives him a short head start, counts to ten in her head before she joins the small crowd filing out of the room and shoulders her way past the bottleneck forming at the door. In her haste to get to the nearest bathroom, though, she fails to notice that she’s moving fast enough to catch up to him, and an accidental shove from a colleague who’s in as much of a rush as the rest of them sends her crashing into the one person in this building she really, really can’t afford to touch.

Ben’s hands instinctively wrap around her shoulders to steady her, and even through the fabric of her sleeves his touch burns. She stumbles backwards as a pained hiss escapes her, her inner muscles desperately contracting around thin air, and he emits a matching sharp inhale as his hands drop back down to his sides and his breathing grows heavy.

“Sorry, didn’t see you–”

“This is getting ridiculous,” Ben snarls, more to himself than her, and quickly looks left and right before he practically sprints to the nearest door and opens it. “We need to talk,” he declares, and disappears into the darkened meeting room without waiting for her reply.

Rey does a quick sweep of the hallway – it’s somehow emptied out in the last few seconds, everyone in a rush to get back to work or head out for lunch – and throws caution to the wind. He’s right, after all: this is getting ridiculous, and maybe talking about it will bring them closer to the elusive solution.

There’s always the obvious solution, but as far as Rey’s concerned, that’s not an option – not even as her insides retaliate for the aching emptiness with a vicious cramp.

She closes the door behind her, reaches out to turn on the lights while Ben paces the length of the room with a table between them.

“Look, clearly we can’t work together–” he starts, and the heat his presence fills her with quickly turns to ice. Between Leia’s announcement just minutes ago and the stories Finn’s told her about Ben, about his previous life working for the First Order where he couldn’t play nice with anyone and easily got rid of everyone who displeased him in any way, Rey’s brain is quick to jump to the worst case scenario.

“No,” she snaps, stomps up to the table and slams her palms down on the glass. “I don’t care that this physically hurts me, I don’t care if you can’t get any work done with me around – you are not firing me for this stupid thing I didn’t even ask for, it’s not my fault and there has to be some kind of law protecting me against this, so don’t even think–”

“Rey,” he says quietly, and her rant dies a sudden, undignified death as a whimper fights its way past her lips. It’s the first time he’s ever said her name, and suddenly she wants to collapse against the table and press her whole body to the cool surface of the glass because she’s dying, her blood is boiling in an entirely new way and this is hell, this is the literal ninth circle of hell–

“I’m not firing you,” Ben assures her through gritted teeth, and she fights her way through the haze clouding her mind to realize that he’s stopped pacing and his fingers are now curled so tightly around the table that his knuckles have gone white. Rey swears she can see tiny hairline fractures racing across the surface of the tempered glass from where he’s gripping the table. “Why would you think–?”

She’s flustered and turned on and still a bit uncertain, a bit scared, and oh this is a bad combination because for some godforsaken reason Rey hears herself saying coldly, “Well, it’s what you would have done back in First Order, isn’t it?”

Ben’s eyes narrow as he leans over the table, subconsciously moving towards her. “What do you know about First Order?” he demands in a low voice that signals danger in more than one way.

“Enough,” Rey shrugs, feigns disinterest as she casually moves away from the table, backs up incrementally until she's pressed against the door, as close to the exit as possible.

“You know nothing,” Ben rebuts forcefully, almost defensively, and Rey watches him straighten up and stalk around the table with equal measures of dread and heat pooling low in her belly. He comes to a stop right where she was just a minute ago, leans against the table and crosses his arms, stares at her with a clear challenge flashing in his eyes.

So naturally Rey does the stupidest thing possible and falls for it. “I know all about Kylo Ren,” she spits, all thoughts of a swift exit quickly abandoned. “I know how selfish you were, how you’d get people fired for the smallest, stupidest things, like a petty, spiteful child who–”

In the blink of an eye Ben closes the distance between them, cages her in with both hands on either side of her head. “Could a child do this to you, sweetheart?” he whispers, and everything moves in slow-motion as he brings one shaking hand up to brush her hair back from her neck and ghost a fingertip over her inflamed, desperate skin. “Could a child make you fall apart in my arms with just…” he leans in and Rey wants him closer, “one…” he drops his head and her traitorous hands rise of their own accord, slide into his hair just as his lips find her mating gland, “touch?”

“Ben,” she gasps as a feeling of rightness washes over her, as her hormones demand more, more lips and tongue and teeth. Her fingers instinctively, roughly yank at his hair, and Rey registers a broken moan muffled against her neck in response. Good. Good. Let him be as desperate as she is, let him discover exactly what he’ll be going without–

–because the second she breaks free of this madness, Rey rips her hands out of his hair, shoves at his chest until he stumbles into the table. Ben is slow to look up at her, blinking the haze away, and when he does his eyes are dark with a need that matches the one in her soul.

It’s the kind of thing that could easily consume you whole, and Rey has no plans of letting it. So she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to center herself, ignores the way his scent sets her nerves on fire all over again, and quickly reaches for the doorknob.

“Let’s…” her voice is a barely audible rasp, and she has to clear her throat and try again while Ben continues to beg her with his eyes. “Let’s go back to ignoring each other,” Rey manages in one breath, and quickly steps out of the room.

“I’m not going to work today,” Ben announces blearily when Rey gently shakes him awake at seven in the morning as per their usual weekday wake-up routine.

“What?” Rey yawns and collapses back into bed, undoing what little progress she’d made in pulling herself into a sitting position. “Why not?”

He reaches for her out of habit, pulls her back against him even as his eyes remain closed. “Rut leave,” Ben mumbles into her neck, nosing at her gland in that absentminded, comfortable way that makes her want things they’re not ready for.

Rey struggles in his arms, finally turns around to find him slowly opening his eyes as he frowns at her in confusion. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, hooking one leg over his. “I could’ve given them early notice. Plus we wouldn’t have had to wake up at seven.”

Ben blinks at her for the longest time. “Rey,” he finally says, the sleepiness in his voice replaced by something more awake, more careful. “If you disappear during my rut just weeks after I called in sick during your heat, people will figure it out.”

“So?” she shrugs, because in all honesty a part of her had forgotten that no one else knows, that she’d seen this as some shameful secret to be kept hidden away in the beginning. It’s been a year since then, and there are days when Rey can’t believe how fast time’s flown by but there are also days when she can’t believe they haven’t been together their whole lives. Ben being in her life just… makes sense in a way that nothing else ever has or ever will, and it’s hard to remember that there was a time when she didn’t want this, didn’t want him.

“So,” he echoes, drags himself up to sit against the headboard. “Everyone will know. My mother. Your friends.”

She pulls herself up to mirror him, takes Ben’s hands in her own. “I don’t care,” Rey says softly, offers him a gentle smile when she catches his eye. “You were there for me when I needed you. I want to be here for you.”

“Sweetheart,” Ben sighs, and she knows the battle is won when he leans in and presses his forehead to hers even as he continues to question her. “Are you sure about this? You know what they’ll say about us, what they say about… about Alphas and Omegas.”

He whispers that last bit like it’s something shameful, something not to be brought up in broad daylight. In a way they’ve treated it like that, danced around the foundation of their relationship and never, ever referred to each other by designation outside of bed.

But it’s been a year.

Rey looks at him, at her Ben, and thinks of the way her heart flips when she opens her eyes first thing in the morning and finds him with her, of the way she feels with him and around him, of all the ways they’re perfect for each other that don’t involve him being an Alpha and her being an Omega. She looks at her Ben, and knows that their relationship is so much more than what it started out as.

“Let them say whatever they want,” she decides, presses a quick kiss to his lips and delights in the way a smile instantly blooms on his face. “I don’t care about any of it,” Rey assures him, slipping one hand free from Ben’s to cup his jaw. “I just care about you.”

A part of her does care, but – she cares that she won’t have to hide her smile behind her hand whenever Ben walks past at work, cares that she’ll be able to hold his hand and rest her head on his shoulder when the team goes out for lunch, cares that this moves them into new territory.

All she cares about right now, though, is the way Ben hauls her into his lap in response to her little declaration, pulls her in for a proper kiss and breaks away only to pull her nightshirt over her head.

“When does it start?” Rey asks as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and Ben automatically lifts his hips to help her along. He’d only stopped taking his blockers around the same time she’d traded her suppressant implant for a basic contraceptive shot, but even on blockers he’d gone through yearly ruts, giving him the added advantage of being far more familiar with this process than she’d been with her heat.

“In a few hours, probably,” Ben answers distractedly, holding her in place as he kicks off his boxers. “Honestly, though?” he gives her a grin, the boyish one that she’s only recently grown familiar with and loves with all her soul. “I’ve felt a few hours away since the day we met.”

How does he do that, make something both endearingly sappy and unbearably hot? Rey rolls off his lap and onto her back, hooks her arms around Ben’s neck and pulls him down with her. “That was a ridiculous day,” she huffs, thinking of how negatively they’d both reacted to their instant attraction.

Ben hovers above her, hands on either side of her shoulders as he looks down at her. “If someone had told you then that we’d end up here… how would you have reacted?”

“Not well,” Rey says honestly as she reaches up, slides her fingers into his hair. “I was… god, Ben, I was terrified. And you know why, you were too,” she reminds him. “But… but I’m glad this is how it played out. I’m glad we ended up here.” Her voice has grown soft, and she’s probably wearing the most ridiculous, lovesick smile possible, but that’s okay because he is too.

“Me too, sweetheart,” Ben murmurs right as he lowers himself so that every inch of them is pressed together. She loves it when they’re like this – her Alpha a comfortable, familiar presence above her, reassuring without being suffocating.

Rey uses her hands in his hair to pull him in for a kiss, wraps her legs around him and sighs happily when Ben shifts to balance his weight on one hand while the other snakes between them to part her folds.

“Fuck, Rey–” he mumbles against her lips like he always does, as if after a year together and all the chemistry in the world he’s still awed by the fact that she wants him too, that she exists at all. Rey hums into their kiss, a wordless reassurance and acknowledgement all in one, and is all too happy to lose herself in the moment until the shrill ringing of her phone bursts their bubble.

“Tell me again why we need two alarms?” Ben grumbles lightly as he rolls off her so that Rey can grab her phone from the nightstand and shut off her 7:15.

“Because someone has a habit of getting distracted whenever I try to get us out of bed the first time around,” Rey reminds him teasingly as she unlocks her phone and taps on her email.

Ben turns on his side to grin at her. “Well, maybe if you weren’t so distracting I wouldn’t get so distracted,” he retorts. “What’re you doing? Come back here,” he frowns when Rey doesn’t immediately put her phone away.

“Just a minute,” she assures him. “I need to let work know I’m not coming in either. How many days off did you get?”

“Three,” Ben tells her as he turns to his own nightstand for the bottle of water he keeps there, offering it to Rey after a swig. “That’s the standard amount, usually. What are you going to tell them?”

She could probably call in sick the way he did during her heat, but why waste perfectly good sick days? Rey hands the bottle back to Ben and wraps up her email as he returns it to the nightstand. “That my partner is in rut,” she shrugs, deliberately casual as she puts her phone away and turns back to him.

It’s not quite the m-word, but it’s still something, especially in an email to work. Ben smiles, holds his arms wide open and pulls her on top of him.

“I like the sound of that,” he whispers against her lips.

“Yeah,” Rey smiles, thinking of the future that awaits them. “Me too.”

The final straw comes a month after their confrontation in the meeting room.

“Hey!” Rey calls out when Ben rushes past her, finally giving in to her natural inclination to chase after him rather than run away from him. He turns to her with a carefully guarded mask, feigns disinterest and impatience as if her proximity isn’t setting every cell of his body on fire.

Two can play at that game, Rey decides, and takes a vicious joy in the telling way his Adam’s apple bobs when she steps into his personal space. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she demands before Ben can speak, and his eyes widen in shock for a split second before he catches himself.

“What now, Miss Niima?” he sighs, takes the excuse of crossing his arms to subtly move backwards a step.

“Oh, don’t you Miss Niima me–” she seethes, only to be interrupted by a faint squeak from somewhere behind her. Rey turns just in time to see a Beta colleague make a one-eighty and scurry down the hallway in the direction he came from, and it’s only then that she realizes they’re out in the open.

She gingerly pinches the fabric of Ben’s rolled-up sleeve between her fingers and tugs at him. “This way.”

“All this trouble just to get me alone?” Ben chuckles as he follows her down the hallway, and the smugness in his voice combined with the low rasp of his laugh just–

Rey snaps herself out of it, yanks him into a somewhat secluded corner before she crosses her arms and goes toe to toe with him. “The entire networking department? Really? Are you just that much of an asshole that you’re willing to fire seven people over what is clearly a piss-poor excuse for you to get rid of your father?”

The teasing light in his eyes, the slight curve of his lips – all of it drains away as he draws himself up to his full height and glares down at her. “It’s an obsolete, overpaid department. Maybe the consultancy needed a dedicated networking team when it was first started, but it’s made more than enough connections since. So I can either let go of a department that’s outlived its usefulness, or I can make the cuts somewhere else, from a department that’s actually useful. What would you suggest, sweetheart?” he sneers, and god, she just wants to punch him and knock him down and possibly straddle him.

“Don’t call me that,” Rey snaps, irritated at both herself and him. “And don’t even try to pretend that this was purely a professional decision. You’ve hated your father since the day you got here–”

Ben ducks his head and mumbles something under his breath, and it’s out of character enough for her irritation to be momentarily replaced by confusion.

“What?”

“I said,” he huffs, looks down at his shoes, “I don’t hate him.”

Bewilderment slows her down, softens her enough for her squared shoulders to slump as she tilts her head and considers the unexpected sight in front of her. Ben’s… not relaxed, never that, but certainly nowhere near as tense as he usually is around her. Something about the way his eyes refuse to meet hers, the way he’s the slightest bit curled into himself, screams resignation at her.

It’s not unwarranted, his assumption that nothing he says will change her mind. After all, it’s been six weeks since Ben showed up and ruined her – ruined her life, that is – and she’s proven herself to be remarkably disagreeable since, butting heads with him at every possible occasion because all of that tension has to go somewhere, and she’d rather channel it into bickering with him while Poe and Leia watch them like the world’s most fascinating ping pong match than use it to fuel this thing between them.

But just this once… “Then why?” Rey asks quietly, gently enough for Ben to slowly raise his head and meet her with something like tentative hope in his eyes. “Why all of the…” she thinks of the way he leaves a room the second his father enters it, the way he ignores Han’s attempts at conversations and brushes past him with a little too much force, the way he undermines the older man in every meeting they’re forced to share, and encompasses it with a vague wave of her hand and a furrowed brow.

Ben shakes his head with a sigh. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” she retorts unthinkingly, stupidly, and the second his lips twitch Rey knows she’s fucked up.

“Careful there, sweetheart,” he murmurs with a smirk, and the heat of his gaze sets her skin on fire, raises all of the little hairs on the back of her neck and her arms. “That almost sounds like an offer.”

“God,” Rey huffs, rolls her eyes and takes a step backwards even as her body aches for him. “You’re impossible,” she declares, and makes to turn on her heel and walk away.

It’s their pattern, after all. Creeping closer, and closer, and closer in the world’s most ridiculous game of chicken until one of them realizes the very real danger they’re in and decides to back down.

Lately, she’s been the one doing all the backing down. Something tells her that maybe Ben isn’t quite interested in the game anymore, that he would draw more satisfaction from luring her in than watching her lose.

He still chuckles faintly every time she runs away, though, and oh does it grate on her nerves but for this, for the sake of everything, Rey is willing to swallow her pride and be the chicken every time.

Only this time, Ben doesn’t let her.

One second she’s turning away from him and the next he’s pulled her into his arms, warm fingers curled low on her hip while the other hand slowly, slowly makes it way towards her neck.

“And yet, Rey,” Ben murmurs, staring at her like he can’t quite believe she’s real, like he expects her to disappear into thin air any second now. “And yet,” he sighs, and ducks his head to replace his fingers with his mouth.

One brush of his lips against her gland and she’s gone, she’s tired and she wants and how futile is this, anyway, denying her biology, denying herself, denying him as if he isn’t the only thing she’s ever wanted. Rey gives in with a shuddery exhale, lets her spine melt into a useless puddle and trusts Ben to hold her upright.

“We really need to do something about this,” she whispers with her chin on top of his head, raises one shaky hand to finally tangle itself in his hair only to find that it’s as soft as she dreamed it would be.

Ben scrapes his teeth across her gland, applying only the slightest bit of pressure. “Please,” he mumbles against her skin. “Please, Rey, please.”

Biology and society dictate that she should be the one begging him, that he should’ve thrown her over his shoulder and hauled her off to his home by now, that they should’ve given in to each other the day they met. Biology and society, Rey thinks as she lifts her head and uses the hand in Ben’s hair to pull him away from her neck, are exactly why she didn’t give in.

But Ben, Ben the Alpha who walked away from her when he should’ve done anything but, Ben the Alpha who lets her walk away from him time after time, Ben who looks at her now desperate and pleading but if she were to deny him again he’d let her, he’d take his big, warm hands off her back and watch her leave and never corner her or confront her–

Ben is why she gives in.

“No one can know,” she warns him, heart in her throat as she takes them past the point of no return.

“Of course,” Ben nods quickly, eagerly.

“It’s just a one-time thing,” Rey stipulates even as a voice in the back of her mind chants liar liar liar.

He hesitates for a moment, but then– “If that’s what you want.”

She nods, just once. “It is. Just one time, to get it out of our systems. And then we can put this behind us and move on.”

It’s laughable, it’s ridiculous, it’s sheer idiocy to think she can get this out of her system when it is her system, to think that the universe and the fates and their physiology perfectly aligned so that they could have just one amazing fuck and then go their separate ways.

But then Ben nods again, curls his fingers around her hips and squeezes, and it can’t be that ridiculous if two perfectly sensible and intelligent people are agreeing to it, right?

So she yanks him down to her and finally, finally kisses him, pretends the world isn’t falling to pieces around her as she bites down on his lower lip and eagerly swipes at the bead of blood emerging from her cut, her mark. “My place is ten minutes away,” Rey manages to inform him between kisses.

Ben answers by pulling her back in for one final kiss before he wrenches himself away with a pained groan.

“Lead the way, sweetheart.”

“Please,” Ben whines, his skin clammy with sweat, his hair plastered to his face, his eyes wide and desperate and trusting as she releases him from her mouth with a wet pop. “Please, Rey, need more, need you–”

It’s her favorite thing about his rut – how soft and needy he gets, how he trusts her to take care of him. Her Alpha lies spreadeagled on their bed, fists clenching around the headboard’s slats in desperation, begging and waiting even though rut is supposed to drive him out of his mind, is supposed to drown out all consideration for her wants and needs with his own single-minded purpose.

“You have me, love,” Rey promises him, moves from between his legs to settle her own on either side of his hips and slowly lower herself down. He shakes from the effort of keeping his hips still as she takes him into her, letting her set the pace even now because some part of his brain still remembers that she must be sore after three days of taking his knot more times than she can keep track of.

Ben removes his hands from the headboard, settles them over her hips as she begins to move. “Want you,” he babbles, looking up at her like she hung the moon and the stars and everything in between. “Just you, always you, fuck, Rey, so good, so perfect for me, made for me, I love you I love you I–” he chokes on a desperate sob as she stills, rolls his hips to try and get her to move again.

“Please, sweetheart, please–”

Rey leans forward, stretches over him to push his hair back from his face and press a kiss to his heart. “Just a second,” she assures him, locks her legs around his waist and twines her arms around his neck before she carefully rolls them over.

“I’ve got you,” Rey murmurs as Ben drops his head to her shoulder with a moan and gives an experimental thrust, the last vestiges of his self-control disappearing in light of his newly-acquired control over this, over her. “I’ve got you, Alpha,” she sighs, closes her eyes as Ben begins to move at a frenzied pace she doesn’t even try to keep up with.

She whispers a string of pretty words into his ear instead, digs her nails into his shoulders to anchor herself as he grows closer and closer to the end. “Just like that, love, so good, my Alpha, my mate–”

He comes with a muffled cry against her neck, breath warm on her gland. It’s not lost on her that the word mate was what finally pushed him over the edge, the way it has for the last three days.

But then he’s stretching her in the most delicious way, and all she can focus on is him inside her, his spend filling her up, this is right this is what we’re meant for this is how we start a family–

It’s just harmless Omega babbling, the kind she’s grown familiar with ever since she went off her suppressants, and the birth control shot she got a year ago sets her mind at ease as she comes down from her high to find Ben rolling them onto their sides.

Rey loves him, loves the idea of their life together and the years that await and the family that will come, but one step at a time. And the next step, for them–

“You called me your mate again,” Ben whispers into her hair as Rey curls one leg around his back and takes his knot as deep as it’ll go.

“You liked it,” she mumbles defensively against his bare shoulder, sighing in contentment when the familiar weight of his hand settles on her lower back, pulling her as close as she can possibly be.

Ben huffs a silent laugh against her temple, presses a kiss to her heated skin. “I love it,” he assures her. “But Rey…” God, the way he looks at her, all barely concealed hope as he puts his heart in her hands. “Rey, I need to know.”

The thing is, on the first day of his rut the word had slipped past her lips entirely by accident, just another one of those things she knew would please her Alpha. Rey keeps a careful catalogue of these things, uses it to her advantage whenever he’s in rut; it’s why she finds herself begging him to put a baby in her every three months even though they’ve both decided that kids aren’t in the cards just yet.

So at first… well, at first it was just like the baby thing. But then Rey said it again, and again, and while Ben napped to recover his strength she’d gotten lost inside her own head until she decided that maybe, just maybe, they’re finally ready.

And now here they are.

“I think,” Rey says carefully, reaches out to tuck a lock of hair behind Ben’s ear before she cups his cheek. He instinctively turns into her touch and nuzzles her palm, and his gesture sends a tidal wave of fondness and adoration and warmth washing over her, and Rey, Rey can’t imagine ever living without any of this.

“I think this is something we should discuss when you’re not in rut,” she smiles, an answer in its own way if Ben’s grin is anything to go by.

. . .

When she wakes up the next morning, one arm nestled under her pillow and the other draped around Ben’s waist, the first thing Rey does is sniff at the air.

“It’s over,” Ben informs her quietly, opening his eyes to give her a sleepy smile, the one that makes her want to burrow deeper into her pillow and him and their bed so that she’ll never have to leave.

She hums in acknowledgement, shifts closer to him. “That’s good. I’ve got something to ask you,” Rey announces through a yawn.

Ben’s lips quirk into a knowing grin. “Funny, so do I.”

And she knows, the way she knew he was meant to be hers the second they met, exactly what he’s about to ask. An unfamiliar giddiness takes hold of Rey as she playfully suggests, “On the count of three?”

“All right,” Ben laughs, taken aback by her suggestion but happy to play along all the same. God, she loves his laugh, loves the way it makes his eyes crinkle, loves everything about this man.

They lock eyes, the pair of them grinning like idiots, and count in sync.

“One… two… three–”

“Be my mate?”

“Be my wife?”

Ben lifts the hand between their bodies, holds up a ring he must’ve retrieved before she woke up. It’s not at all the question she was expecting, but Rey–

Rey laughs and nods and kisses him until the ring is lost and forgotten in the tangled mess of their sheets.

It only took me two whole weeks to write this disaster, no big deal.

As usual, this is nowhere near what I originally envisioned and I’m not all that pleased with it, but it’s time to let go. I hope that this was a fun read if nothing else, and I’m sorry if the back-and-forth jumps were jarring; the story just wouldn’t let itself be told any other way. To avoid confusion, I did mess around with some of the usual ABO details, especially re: how suppressants work. It deviates from the norm a bit, but then again this whole fic is one big deviation because ya girl can’t smut to save her life.

As always, thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this or have any thoughts you’d like to share, please don’t hesitate to like/reblog/comment.

[solohux]

Prompt: Snoke punishing Hux and Kylo by taking their clothes and making them work completely naked for a cycle (or longer) the crew can’t touch them but is allowed to say whatever they like. With hurt/comfort please!!

The Walk of Atonement. Ahorror story from Hux’s childhood.

For him, it was bad enoughhearing Brendol, his own father, spit insults at him about his appearance. Hecouldn’t imagine the humiliation and the embarrassment that would come withhaving strangers hurl such vile and insulting words at his naked body.

And as Hux takes the positionfor the first step and Kylo’s Walk, he realises that he couldn’t have possiblycomprehended the shame and terror that would consume him.

Both have taken the blame forStarkiller’s destruction. Therefore, by Snoke’s omnipotent logic, both deservea simultaneous Walk of Atonement from the furthest corner of the Finalizer to their private chambers onthe other side of the ship whilst the hundreds upon hundreds of officers andstormtroopers line the corridors, waiting with their best insults to throw atthe disgraced pair. Captain Phasma and two of her guarding stormtroopers standbehind them, enforcing the rules of the walk, and she nods for it to begin.

“Focus on having me besideyou,” Kylo says quietly whilst the two troopers rip their clothes from them inthe most violent of manners. “Block them out. Their words mean nothing—”

A stun baton is forced intoKylo’s side to silence him and as Hux flinches to hold his fallen comrade, he’sstruck too, falling to his knees, wishing he could stay curled in on himselfhere instead of having to do this. Even withhis clothes on, Hux can feel weak and inferior; he isn’t as well-built asKylo, he isn’t as broad-shouldered as some of his officers. Even his father wasa large man, his belly a sign of gluttony and greed; two things the Imperialspractically worship.

Behind them, Captain Peaveygives a low chuckle.

“Failures come before you,” he announces, standing proudly behind thetwo naked men. “Armitage Hux. General, son of the late General Brendol Hux, thecreator of Starkiller. The base held flaws in its designs and resulted in itsdestruction and the countless deaths of our own people. Beside him, Kylo Ren.Master of the Knights of Ren and apprentice to Supreme Leader Snoke himself.Not only was he bested by a scavenger and a traitor in battle, but theResistance were allowed through our shields as a result of Kylo Ren’snegligence and failure to eliminate what could have saved our Base. They haveconfessed their sins, and begged for forgiveness. To demonstrate theirrepentance, they will cast aside all pride, all artifice, and present themselvesas the gods made them… to you, the good people of this ship. They come beforeyou with a solemn heart, shorn of secrets, naked before the eyes of the godsand you, their subordinates, to make their walk of atonement.”

Huxcloses his eyes for a moment, willing himself to wake up, but thecoldness of his skin is too real, resisting the urge to cover his most intimate area is tooreal. For someone who is ashamed of their body, this walk is a nightmare in reality.

“Walk,pair of good-for-nothing’s,” a Stormtrooper jibes, jabbing them both in theback with his blaster.

Huxfeels Kylo’s gaze on him, and they take their first step together. Hands bytheir sides and with every inch of their flesh on show to all to see, Hux hasnever felt so terrified.

“Son of a whore, Armitage!”

“Bastard child!”

“Fuckin’ losers!”

Huxis ashamed when he flinches at their words, but they keep on coming, slicinghim like real knives. He tries to concentrate on anything but their word; thecoldness of the floor beneath his feet, the tingling in his stomach, the soundof his and Kylo’s footfalls, but Hux can’t.

“Mybrother is dead because of you! Murderers of your own people!”

“No wonder Ren keeps that helmet on!”

“Look at that cock, General!Pathetic, like the rest of you!”

“Your scars are weak, Ren!”

“Brendol should have drownedyou, rat!”

‘Hux,’ Kylo’s warm, soft voiceresonates through Hux’s mind, sending shivers across his already-cold skin.‘I’m here.’

It’sa moment of relief for Hux, feeling Kylo’s presence inside his mind, but likehis clothes, it’s torn away from him when the sneers and jobes get louder.

Heisn’t sure how much time has passed when he becomes conscious enough torecognise that they’re nearing their chambers. It’s another few doors down,another couple of steps and they’re done with this humiliation.

“Thinas a piece of paper, Hux!”

“Useless!”

“Look at Ren’s cocksuckinglips!”

“What good is a leader who doesn’tknow war?”

“Ben Solo lives!”

Hux’sheart sinks at the very last insult. He turns just in time to see the speakerbe threatened by Captain Phasma and her following troopers; even in a situationlike this, that name is forbidden. But Kylo has already seen red, andis turning and growling at the offender, fists clenched and ready to teareveryone apart.

“No,Ren, don’t, don’t,” Hux grabs Kylo’s hand, ignoring the rules about nottouching each other, bringing the Knight back to face him, touching his cheekand forcing their gazes together. “We’re almost home. Let him go. Youknow the truth. Forget him.”

Aftera few shuddering breaths through his gritted teeth, Kylo calms with the help ofHux’s touch, allowing himself to relax for the last agonising length of thewalk.

“Getmoving,” Phasma commands, but the stormtroopers don’t touch them. Hux mentallythanks her.

Huxand Kylo separate slowly of their own accord, pulling away from each other tocontinue their walk…though the rest of the officers are silent. They saynothing as the shamed pair pass them, just staring at them, their gaze roamingacross their bodies with such judgmental stares that Hux finally feels thetears fall down his cheeks. Beside him, Hux has a funny feeling that Kylo iscrying too.

“TheWalk of Atonement is complete,” Phasma says, and Hux is glad that is isn’tPeavey who oversaw their punishment. “These men have paid for their mistakes.Penance has been done, payment has been given. No more shall be said on thematter and their previous errors have been redeemed. Dismissed, andspeak no more.”

Beforeany of the crew can scarper, Kylo is forcing the door to their chambersopen, obviously too impatient and desperate to get inside. Hux steps in andKylo follows, closing the door with a quick swish. Away from all prying eyes,Hux finally gives in and falls to his knees, wrapping his arms around hismiddle and just sobs, feeling as though all the self-esteem he’s builtup over the past few years since his ascension has been demolished, reduced toa pile of ash in front of his eyes; irreversibly destroyed.

Hefeels something drape over his shoulders, and Hux looks up to see Kylo, nowwith his own cape around himself, setting a large blanket over him, coveringhim completely.

“Thatwas…” Hux says, moving to sit on his backside.

“Iknow,” Kylo replies, sitting beside him and opening his arm, letting Hux restagainst his shoulder.

“Areyou…alright, Ren?” Hux says. He rests a hand on Kylo’s leg, hoping thathis touch can calm him like it did before. “What that officer said. That name—”

“It…caughtme off-guard. I haven’t heard that name in years.”

“Snokehas forbidden its use,” Hux says. “That officer will get his comeuppance fromthe Supreme Leader himself.”

“Mm.”Kylo seems lost in thought for a moment, staring intensely at the floor beforesnapping out of it with a huff. “I’ll run us a bath.”

Hestands up abruptly, startling Hux, and Kylo doesn’t see him reach out to try topull him back.

“Kylo?”

Kylostops, freezing in place. Hux never calls him by his first name. Heturns slowly as Hux rises from the ground, making sure his blanket iscompletely wrapped around his cold body.

“Yes,Hux?”

“Asfucked up as this may sound,” Hux says, standing chest-to-chest. “Thank you forbeing beside me. It made it…easier…to endure.”

Huxisn’t sure what he’s expecting Kylo to say in reply, but Kylo chooses to saynothing. Instead, he sets his jaw and casts his gaze downwards, looking asthough he’s growing angry at Hux, but Hux yelps in shock when Kylo opens his armsand pulls Hux into them, hugging him closely and silently for minutes, justholding onto him as though letting go would mean something awful.

Huxsighs and closes his eyes, focussing on the feeling of Kylo’s strong armsaround him.

Somehow,he thinks, the Walk has brought him and Kylo closer together, made them understandeach other more. It definitely wasn’t Snoke’s intention, but Hux promisesthat the Supreme Leader will come to regret making them go through suchan ordeal together.

Butfor now, they have tonight to recover. A bath and then bed; both whilst in eachother’s hold.

[hcrris]

can ….. i come in ????? have been watching unbreakable kimmy schmidt for 3 hours pretending time isnt passing , life isnt real and in fact.. i am dreaming (-: lajdfksl hey <3 im jay im 21 and i love those instagram profiles of hamsters in little clothes ( when they got little purses? ???? dont talk to me im cryin. ) below u will find info about jane harris aka literally the vine of the little kid scribbling hard like his life depended on it. shes a mess ?? but a semi enjoyable mess. a mess with good intentions. if u want to establish some connections, LIKE THIS and i will come annoy u <3 alternatively u can ease my social anxiety and msg me here or through my discord sencha tea#4035 (و ˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و♡

( lily collins, cis female, she/her. ) — jane harris has been a medina complex resident for three years, now. they’re twenty-three years old, and they tend to avoid making eye contact. sometimes when i walk by B06, i hear cherry-coloured funk by cocteau twins playing. lately, i’d say they’re pretty effervescent, but sometimes that’s overwhelmed by the fact that they’re neurotic. i mean, they usually pay their rent on time, though, and that’s most important fact here.

repeatedly fixing the apartment number on the door when it swings down to a nine, a split moment of shadow after the radiance of laughter, carl sagan’s pale blue dot, a life of frequent minor accidents, constant hunger for balance overshadowed by emotional turbulence.

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TW ALCOHOLISM EMOTIONAL ABUSE DEPRESSION & ANXIETY !!!!! ok moving on

her parents met in art school in paris.. her mom is french and studied art history while her dad was an exchange student from california with a skewed artist mentality. it was that saccharine, toxic sort of love. her mom always felt like she needed to be the guardian angel in the relationship who would always hold him up when he was feeling down and he was feeling down….. a lot. because she was putting all that energy to save her relationship, she was drowning too but never enough to walk away. there was a lot of love there but it was twisted and uncomfortable at times

when they found out jane was on the way, it felt like they needed to suddenly grow up. her mom was ready to make changes, adapt to the new lifestyle. her dad, on the other hand, urged they rethink if this is what they want but he didn’t push for abortion.. he understood it was jane’s mothers choice to make and reassured that he would be there for the both of them no. matter. what. 

but ??? the reality was he felt trapped by the idea of a child and he struggled to acknowledge and accept how quickly his life was flipping upside down and how he lost all control of it. he wanted to travel around europe ???? soak in nature, daydream and make art . but jane’s mom wanted to settle. instead of embarking on adventures after graduating, they decided to move to california. 

things just seemed to fall apart like domino from then on. janes mom was lead astray.. thinking that what california would bring them was stability but instead, it was all chaos. they rushed to get married .. turned out janes father wasnt on good terms with his parents. he was irresponsible financially, put both his parents in huge debt, was blinded by his ego to ever realise his mistakes. lied constantly .. convincing janes mom that there’s light going forward. that once he finds a sponsor for his art .... once he sells his first piece ... once they see in him what he always saw in himself , he was going to make it right. and he reassured he would make it right for jane.

janes mom was so pathetically in love that she pushed through .. living in a sort of imagined world, believing that things were better than they actually were. and her dad was good at persuading that narrative. he would come home with a pocketful of cash and the bills paid. oftentimes, it was all an act. his art wasn’t selling and a lot of what he bragged about was borrowed or stolen. behind the curtain, he was absent and unmotivated. he would come home in the evening claiming that the whisky breath was celebratory but in reality, he was complaining to the barman two blocks away about how his life feels monotone .. like a french black and white movie.  

the day of jane’s birth was a whole mess. her father decided to drive her mother to the hospital, knowing he had one too many. they were caught for speeding and while janes dad spent the night at a nearby station for driving under influence, her mom was at the back of a cop car, crying for one too many reasons .. jane decided to hang on for a little while longer and was born at 3am the following night. cradled in her mothers arms and her dads voice humming on the line

jane would only ever hear the romanticised version of this story from her mother. this ??? fucked up sense of security that no matter what, love conquers all. that love means supporting each other, loving each other extra when everything else falls apart. but truth is.. her mother was forced to give up her own dreams, lost all connections to her past, worked days and nights at a nursing home to support her family and pitch in to her husbands alcoholism while she’s at it. making excuses that jane was too young to contradict. all while the only source of happiness for her father was the haziness of his evenings, when he felt like floating and he could barely hold onto to his paintbrush. he was a stranger living in their basement .. more than he was ever a father 

growing up, jane watched her mother mask her depression. carry empty bottles out from the basement, trying to hide it from jane .. it brought her shame. she was doing the same thing to jane that he was doing to her for all these years .. consistently expressing a certain attitude, this unwavering satisfaction for the life they are living and so ... it hardens. you start to believe it. except unlike her mother, jane was observant.. she had other lives around her to compare to her own, voices of reason that pierced through the skewed perception her mother drilled into her skull. when jane grew into her skin, she felt so ... disgusted and angry. she tried to pull her mother out of her fantasy but nothing worked. 

through her high school years, she felt helpless .. her home life was a nightmare and she made every possible attempt to stay out of it for as long as possible. she took on jobs and extracurriculars .. stayed at her friends’ house until she couldn’t. and she would think.. think so hard, she would start crying. pushing her own problems away .. in her head, she would imagine herself in a different skin, a different place. it was the only way she could calm her breathing. only to have to battle the same thoughts the following morning

after graduating high school, jane went to community college for product management got a job offering after her placement at a big company and moved out shortly after ( and MOVED IN to medina... can i get a yee yee ) .. she got insurance for the first time in her life and eats too many of free pizza slices at work to save up on groceries every week <3

she doesn’t visit her parents bc she no longer feels like her mother is on her team. she’s lived a maddening and terribly draining life and living alone has brought her deserving peace.. although she’d rather keep contact with her mother to a minimum, its obvious that jane is her mothers anchor. if she feels as though her daughter is not fighting for her, she breaks down.. as much as jane wants to run away from her past, it always seems to catch up 

if ur still reading literally who are u lafjdkl. ill be done schoon ..... oof 

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if they are friends ... jane. will. talk. ur. ear. off. but probably not for the right reasons lol .. she has never been assessed by a professional, isn’t taking any treatment but she definitely needs it :( shes a chronic overthinker.. the voice in her head keeps chattering away most of the time which gets a little nauseating. she hates silence and feels like she needs to fill it with words. she often says the wrong things .. to the wrong people ... at the WRONG time and she is very aware of it. its the culprit for her self doubt and struggle to open up emotionally to the people shes close to. shes very critical towards herself, she micro analyses everything from the way she acts, the way she looks and what she says. shes also not a fan of confrontation !!!!!!!BUT!!!!!!!!!!!

 she is a FIREBALL when she stands up for others. i dont know how she hasnt gotten into a physical fight yet. she would literally rip ur side mirror off ur car if u didnt wait for an old lady to cross the street. is intense in every possible way. if shes angry, shes angry and impulsive and out of control, when she is in love, she feels it in her bones and simultaneously wants to rip her hair out, when she’s passionate about something, she is persistent until she isn’t and when she loses motivation, everything feels bleak .. theres never any emotional balance, even though she fights so hard for it every day 

likes sci fi movies .. literally when they are Floating in space ???? SIGN! JANE! THE! FUCK! UP! letterboxd is probably her favorite app. sometimes she will post a review, read it over and over, find something wrong with what she said and then delete it. shes very neurotic. she either has good days where she can comfortably be herself or bad days, when it feels like everyone is judging her every move when in reality. ... it is always .. all in her head. 

and she is mostly in her head. she creates fantasies of her life, relationships platonic and romantic and as a result, nothing ever seems to measure up. she feels secure in her fantasies but oftentimes when it hits her that they are just that, fantasies, she ... feels really alone. 

will trip over her own feet . has like 5 bruises from washing the dishes </3

she works as a part of a product design team in a big company.. probably has the knowledge to move up the tier but does not have the courage to stand up for herself . she doesnt believe in herself and is kind of a pessimist .......  

got high one night and decided she wants to start an uber ....... only for women. but doesnt think its a good ide a (its a good idea. id like to think in 10 years time ... bitch made it) 

really weird. likes eating broad beans and frozen strawberries .. will literally eat a lemon. 

she will have different interests every week but never seems to be any good at anything ???????????? makes her sad. 

claims tidying up with marie kondo changed her life LAKJDSKLDJ

*draws curtains* anybody else tired? 

[lalainajanes]

96 & 81. I’m a new fan of your writing! Ugh I love klaroline so much

96 Scars + 81 The Missus and The Ex

She’s known Klaus forabout a year, has recently been out on three excellent dates with him, when shefinds out his deep dark secret.

She'd have beenpissed it but it’s too freaking hilarious for her to work up any righteousindignation.

One quick Google andCaroline gets why he’d kept his mouth shut. She’d made some questionablechoices at nineteen, ones she’s really glad aren’t immortalized on the internetforever.

Klaus Mikaelson, ubersnob about popular culture, prickly unless sufficiently motivated, and scornfulof vast swathes of humanity, had once starred on a reality TV show.

And not just anyreality TV show. He’d been on what had essentially been a Jersey Shore rip-off.Just set in a swanky London apartment and with fancy accents. It had onlylasted one season.

The partying anddrunken fights and hookups appear to be pretty much the same.

Klaus had sportedhighlights and worn baggy t-shirts and baseball caps and belted his pants toshow off his boxers. Teen!Caroline probably would have thought he was hot butpresent day Caroline has a plan to slip some cheap ribbed tanks and self-tannerinto Klaus’ birthday gifts.

His exasperated faceis super cute.

She’d taken thebombshell pretty well and Klaus had endured her giggling over old pictures (toa point but Caroline wasn’t going to complain about him kissing her as adistraction).

When she’d gottenhome it had been impossible to resist pulling out her laptop and looking forclips.

And when it turnedout the series was all online? Well, she’d ordered takeout and settled in for amarathon.

Six episodes in andshe’s kind of obsessed. The version of Klaus on her screen is fascinating. Shesees tiny glimmers of the man she knows but he also seems to be a bit of ajerk. He sneakily leaves little sketches of his roommates on their beds. Thenot so flattering ones cause some drama and the good ones end up pinned in thecommunal kitchen. He oozes cockiness and has a tendency to flex when he’sshirtless, sometimes walks in a way that could only be called a swagger.

He flirts shamelesslybut his interest in one of his housemates seems genuine. Unfortunately, she’salready in a relationship.

Caroline has amillion questions, starting with why in the world had he ever even auditioned,and she’s considering making a list.

Caroline (9:14 PM): I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were involved in AN ACTUAL LOVETRIANGLE!

Caroline (9:14 PM): I’m kinda jealous.

Caroline (9:15 PM): I’m think I’m rooting for Lucien though. Sorry. He’s just so freakinginto her.

Caroline (9:15 PM): Making out with Aurora’s visiting BFF was a dick move, btw.

Klaus (9:17 PM): Sadly, that was far from the worst of my poor decisions.

Caroline (9:18 PM): Oooh, ominous.

Caroline (9:18 PM): I’m excited.

Klaus (9:19 PM): I don’t suppose I could convince you to stop watching?

Caroline (9:20 PM): Are offering me sexual favours? ;)

Klaus (9:20 PM): Obviously.

Caroline (9:21 PM): Sorry, I’ve gotta pass. Something tells me you’re going to be pretty easy.

Caroline (9:22 PM): But don’t worry. I promise not to hold anything you did 9 years agoagainst you.

Klaus (9:23 PM): I appreciate that.

She starts up episodeseven. It opens the morning after Klaus’ attempt to make Aurora jealous, thecamera lingering on him in bed, very naked under a single crumpledsheet.

Is it pervy thatshe’s ogling him? Probably, since he’d been practically a baby.

Klaus is awakenedrudely by Aurora upending a large-ish bucket of water on him, he leaps from thebed, shouting slurred profanities.

Screw it, Carolinethinks, as she turns up the brightness on her screen and leans in, eyeing theareas where the wet sheet now clings. No one has to know about the ogling.

Aurora and BabyKlausengage in a fight that is loud and rambling and Caroline thanks whateverproduction grunt had been tasked with painstakingly subtitling it. Aurora triesto cite friend code, Klaus counters that she has a boyfriend so it really isn’ther business what (or whom) he does. He scoffs at her assertion that he’d beentrying to hurt her, smiling cruelly and informing Aurora that she’s just notthat important.

Caroline winces whenAurora bursts into tears. Klaus’ regret is plain but he storms away withoutapologizing.

She fast forwardsthrough some plot involving other housemates, pauses when she sees Klaus again.He’s at the club they seem to hang out at most, the kind with pumping music andflashing lights. Caroline assumes the venue had some kind of deal with theproducers. He’s slamming back shots, his mood less than festive, and Carolineassumes he’s about to do something dumb.

Approximately thirtyseconds later the camera captures him punching Lucien.

Angry drunk boys, sopredictable.

It’s chaos on herscreen, other people seem to pile on and the cameras are constantly jostled.Caroline can barely make out who is who. Aurora’s red hair is distinct, andshe’s in the corner of the frame, yelling, having climbed on the bar.

When things calm downKlaus is bleeding. His hand clutches his opposite arm and the sleeve of hisshirt saturated and dark red.

Caroline (9:45 PM): No fair. You totally have a way cooler how I got this scar story thanme.

Klaus (9:46 PM): So you’ve never needed a dozen stitches after a bar fight?

Caroline (9:47 PM): Nope. But I guess I’ve still got time.

Klaus (9:48 PM): It’s good to have goals.

She feels a littleanxious watching Klaus get loaded into an ambulance, seeing him in pain andstruggling to answer the EMTs questions. Silly, since he’s perfectly fine andjoking with her via text, only a few blocks away.

The episode ends withthe ambulance door closing, his roommates huddled together for warmth on thesidewalk watching it drive away.

Caroline checks thetime, debates moving on to another episode. She doesn’t actually have to go tobed for another hour so she could watch some more. She knows Klaus andAurora must hook up at some point - Caroline’s watched plenty of reality TV andKlaus’ show was less subtle than most.

She hasn’t feltjealous yet, doubts she will. She’d lose her shit if Klaus were to up and getweird about her high school boyfriends. They weren’t any of his business andCaroline’s not going to make a fuss just because she can see one of Klaus’ pastrelationships with her own two eyes thanks to the magic of technology.

Veering in a more romanticdirection with Klaus has been really good, and he’d made it clear it wassomething he’d wanted for a while. His past has no bearing on their present.

Besides, Carolinekind of likes Aurora, or at least the version the cameras capture. She’s a littledramatic, sucks at any and all forms of housework, but is at least willing tolaugh at herself. Plus, the poor girl’s family seems nuts - a phoneconversation with her parents had been icy and her brother had appearedonscreen only to lecture her about how unbecoming it was to associate withpeople beneath her and how Aurora was shaming the family.

Caroline doesn’t havesiblings but her knee jerk reaction had been a big fat yikes.

Plus, it’s not hardto see the behind the scenes manipulations. Aurora’s confessionals often havingher comparing and contrasting Klaus and Lucien, waffling about her feelings,and Caroline can easily envision the leading questions that she’d had to dealwith.

The results ofshoving young, attractive people together, forcing them to interact, andsupplying copious amounts of booze, are pretty predictable.

See: the bajillionvarieties of Real Housewives.

There’s no wayCaroline’s curiosity will survive not knowing how things end but she can wait abit. She shuts her laptop and stretches out the kinks in her back, grabbing herphone once more.

Caroline (9:56 PM): Do you want to get lunch tomorrow?

Klaus (9:57 PM): So you can interrogate me, I presume?

Caroline (9:58 PM): Yep. You don’t have to answer anything if you don’t want to though. I’mjust super fascinated by how that guy became, well, you.

Klaus (9:59 PM): Not sure how to take that, love.

Caroline (9:59 PM): I meant it in a good way. I like you. The you I know.

Caroline (10:00 PM): Past you seems kind of exhausting and I want to reach into my laptopand shake him sometimes.

Caroline (10:01 PM): Mostly because his commitment to hats is out of control.

Caroline (10:01 PM): Please tell me you got rid of those.

“Oh my god, I need tostop,” Caroline mutters. She closes her eyes, huffs out a laugh. Maybe sheshould have just gone to bed. She resists the urge to apologize for rambling.No need to call attention to it.

Klaus (10:02 PM): The only hats I own are functional, designed for warmth

Klaus (10:02 PM): I like the you that you are now too.

Klaus (10:03 PM): I can meet you at 1. Does that work for you?

She smiles down ather phone, taps out a quick affirmative. Retro trashy reality TV can wait,she’s got a fourth date outfit to put together.

[sher-soc-the-famder]

A Story of Death Chapter 2- Demons for Dummies

Word Count: 4720

Pairings: Slow burn LAMP, Moxiety, Logicality, Logince

Tags: Light cursing only this chapter :D

Notes: We’re starting you guys off slow, as in Slowburn XD Co-Written by the fabulous @wisepuma23!!

READ ON Ao3 :D

Chapter 1

Roman had long since mastered the art of smiling and waving as he walked down the street. Shoulders thrown back, chin tilted just slightly up, and a long confident stride would fool just about anyone into thinking he was fine even when he wasn’t. And at the moment, he really, really wasn’t.

Oh god, Ma was going to kill him. He was a dead man walking and for more than the demon deal he hadn’t meant to make with the demon he hadn’t meant to summon.

Don’t worry Ma, it’s the quietest town in the state. Don’t worry Ma, I’ll lay off the magic and focus on writing. Don’t worry Ma, I’ll be fine.

So much for that. Roman had to kiss the cushy life away from his mother good-bye. He was fairly certain that he was going to be locked in her basement until the end of time, or Ma found a way to break the deal, whichever came first. He was never going to get that best seller done, let alone the series he was doing now, and the thought of that ached. No, it was more of a horrific burn, and Roman didn’t want to think about that.

He’d rather focus on that flipping cute barista that worked at Starbucks and the easy no pressure flirting that was in his future. Maybe he’d actually be able to control his mouth to some extent. Or at least turn the ever flowing waterfall of prose and rush of flowery words to a target that wouldn’t be shredded into ever flowing driftwood like the way his future had just been destroyed. Yeah, like that.

Roman paused when the steady footsteps that had been next to him stopped and he ripped himself from his internal monologue- which in his defense was a beautiful monologue, could use some work but, no focus Roman- to look at the demon.

And Roman could admit that the demon he summoned was a rather tall drink of water, but the whole creature of Hell thing was a turn off. Totally not his thing. As was the inevitable dragging his soul to Hell. And his inevitable death at Ma’s hands--wait, no don’t think about that. There was a lot of inevitables going around lately and it tempted Roman to do something truly stupid just to throw the word off its tracks.

“Uhhhh,” Roman glanced around at the near empty street. He smiled at the girl staring at the two of them and waved, feeling way too happy at the fact that she waved back before hurrying off. He turned his eyes back to Lahash, “So are you planning on moving any time this century, Beelze-bud? Or is just standing there all-” He waggled his fingers in front of his face, “- and doing demon-y things?”

Lahash stared at him for a long moment, before pinching the bridge of his nose. Score one for the witch.

“Do you ever listen to the mess that exits your mouth or is it never ceasing stream of useless, unintelligible dribble?”

Roman wrinkled his nose, and stuck his tongue out at the demon, “Buffy speak is a perfectly acceptable way of communicating the thingies that people do the, you know, the thing with.” He grinned at the way Lahash’s eyes darkened with anger. Aaaaand score two for the witch. If he was going to die at least he could make it amusing.

“But that doesn’t answer my question, La Lahash Land, coffee is that way.” He pointed in the direction of the nearest Starbucks and Lahash raised an eyebrow at him. Bastard. “It’s literally within your line of sight. I know that you’re blind to all the good things in the world, but it’s also an evil evil capitalist business and I’m sure you’d be encouraging some sort of Hell agenda by supporting them. They killed Merry Christmas on their cups last year, that’s like your enemy’s birthday right?”

Roman’s grin grew at look on Lahash’s face. Score three, and he was winning. The demon looked like he was struggling for the right words to say. Probably more big words about Roman’s smarts, and how lacking in them he was. Fine by him, the more people underestimated him the better. Roman had never cared, well actually, that was a lie, but he was master at pretending he didn’t care.

“So do you actually say Hail Satan? Like is that part of the customer experience? Do I need a pamphlet. Are there pamphlets for this?” Roman said as he looked down at his hands, envisioning an actual pamphlet. The front would have a pentagram obviously, maybe with cute little horns and a tail, black and red like an edgy teen had tried to design it. Roman pitched out, “Demons 101: How to Care for a Little Shit.”

“More like Demons for Dummies.” Lahash snapped back, “Chapter One is titled How to Summon Like a Fucking Idiot.”

“I think that title is too long.” Roman said with a cheeky smile and patted him on the back, “But good try, Hot Wings. Someday, you’ll figure it out.”

Roman bit back a laugh at Lahash’s face. Score four, and he pulls ahead! Lahash’s nose wrinkled and his mouth twisted as if he sucked on a lemon. He adjusted his glasses and tightened his tie. Roman only had a moment to process holy shit, oh wait, unholy shit that was hot. Bad Roman, no, don’t lust after the demon, that’s how they get you.

Lahash stepped in front of him and stared him down, “We are walking to Angel’s Coffee if you know what’s good for your entrails,” he growled out and perked an eyebrow, “Is. That. Clear?”

And score one for Lahash.

Roman let out a squeaky, “Okay,” before clearing his throat and trying to back track, “I mean, what the hell, I don’t even know where that is-”

Roman blinked at the small paper that was shoved into his face, going cross-eyed trying to read the tiny script. Lahash sighed and Roman valiantly resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at the demon again. It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t read the paper card or whatever that was literally inches away from his face! He reached up to snatch it out of the demon's hands and ignored the growl it earned him.

Or at least pretended to, the sound made him shiver and he spent a precious moment trying to tap down on the way his magic jumped. Down boy.

The card was professionally done, and Roman could appreciate the clear artistic eye that went into the simple design. Angel’s Coffee, done in elegant script and framed by a pair of wings. He flipped it over, and couldn’t help his snicker.

Not halo amount of Coffee! Visit us at xxxxxx!

“Cute,” he admitted, and went to pocket the card only for Lahash to growl at him again. “Alright, alright, touchy much?” Roman tossed him the card back, “But like, I appreciate the ironic aesthetic and all. But like, it’s half an hour away and have you seen the sky?”

He waved at the dark clouds and ignored the unimpressed look in Lahash’s eyes. Roman almost snapped that he knew rain had never hurt anyone but have you seen his shoes? They didn’t exactly come cheap, before he bit down on his lip. No, that line was too personal.

“Just because you wanna cool down from a stint in Hell, but some of us have delicate complexions and an actual body that gets sick. So excuuuse me if I don’t want to go walking in the rain.”

“What are you talking about?” Lashash said as he looked at the dotted clouds in the sky, “It’s lovely today. You need to get your eyes checked as well if you think,” he spread out his arms in the muted sunniness of the afternoon, “this is going to rain.”

“It’s still half an hour!” Roman said as he followed Lahash down the street, past the Starbucks, “You can’t be serious. Do you even know where it is?”

“Humans have walked for far longer times than a mere thirty minutes only five hundred years ago. And by the alarming number of pizza boxes in your apartment, well,” Lahash turned around to eye him up and down, Roman fought back the blush at the stare, “you need the exercise.”

“We can just call an Uber!” Roman said aghast and pulled his jacket tighter around him, he walked faster to catch up, “It’s only ten minutes of driving.”

“Already out of breath?” Lahash clicked his tongue, “I told you so. We’re walking.”

Roman pulled up into a stop and pointed at the demon. “I,” he declared, “am not out of breath. I am nowhere near what is counted as out of breath- wait! Wait, wait, hold up, set down the bag, and take a lag. I never agreed to this in the first place!”

Lahash clicked his tongue, “Only catching on now? I suppose I should be less surprised. It’s amazing what humans will do with only the slightest suggestion, such as walking in a certain direction. So many arbitrary rules that you give yourselves. Ah, well, more for me to exploit, such as it is.”

“Excuse me?!” Roman said, “I’m not following your manipulations! I’m standing right here and I’m going to call an Uber. And when you arrive at the cafe out of breath then I’ll have the last laugh! Cause I’m not falling for your demonly tricks.”

Roman crossed his arms. Lahash sighed and turned on his heel and kept walking. Roman tapped his foot on the cement as he took out his phone and pulled up the Uber app. He watched Lahash’s back stop at an intersection. He typed in the address. He shifted from foot to foot as the light counted down. The Uber blue route lit up on screen. Then the clamor of the crowd as they crossed the street. He lost sight of Lahash in the masses.

Roman swore.

He took off into a run and crossed the street just as the light turned to red. He heard angry honks behind him as he bent over his knees and panted. He swallowed in wet breathes, he just ran a whole block, fucking shit. Roman looked up from the grey pavement to see two familiar business sensible shoes in front of him. He straightened to see Lahash smugly looking at him. Before Roman could tell him to wipe that irritating smile off his face, he turned around and went back to walking.

“We have to turn right at the next light.” Roman muttered next to him, falling in step, “You do know Google Maps, right?”

“No.”

“You’re insane.” Roman said, “Did you just walk in any direction? Were you planning on asking for directions?”

“Yes. Do humans not do that anymore?”

Roman wasn’t sure what noise escaped his mouth but whatever it was made Lahash’s smirk tick higher upwards. Damn him to Hell- wait, would it be better to bless a demon? Roman wondered vaguely if he should have known that by now, or if someone had told him before and he had just forgotten. He wasn’t used to needing to be the one with the knowledge. Ma would have his hide if she found out- Nope, he was still avoiding thinking about her learning anything about him right now.

Roman tapped at the screen of his phone, squinting to get a better look at the map. “There’s an alley up head that it wants us to take-”

“‘It wants,’” the demon muttered, “As if humanity has the ability to create something with feelings.”

Roman ignored him. Barely a few hours of knowing each other and it seemed they had already fallen into a pattern. Roman didn’t want to know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. He really didn’t want to think about how having someone to talk to was a heady feeling. Or how his plans on breaking the deal were slowing getting pushed back behind showing Lahash that he was in fact an adult. And that humanity was awesome. And that he was intelligent.

And wow, this was such a bad idea. Huge. Oh god.

“- so if we happen to get mugged, you really should refrain from murdering anyone,” Roman continued smoothly. “I haven’t had to hide a body in years.”

That drew Lahash up short and Roman adjusted his scoreboard accordingly. Haha, who’s a loser? Not Roman!

“You haven’t killed anyone,” the demon scoffed, and Roman smirked. The longer the silence stretched on, only the sound of footsteps around him, the more Lahash seemed to waver. “No, no, you haven’t, you don’t have the guts for it.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Roman singsonged, a bounce in his steps.

“You are infuriating,” Lahash said, and Roman winked at him.

“I do try my best. It’s a gift.”

“A gift of idiocy,” Lahash muttered, eyes sweeping the alley. Huh, Roman wouldn’t have thought he’d take the warning seriously. It was unexpected, but not unappreciated. Not that he really thought there was going to be a mugger in the alley, it was a quiet town after all. It never hurt to be prepared though. “Was it from your mother perhaps?”

Roman let out a shriek. No one got to talk like that about Ma.

“You need to cool your jets,” he hissed, flinging his hands out, magic sparking at his fingertips. Wait, no, no, no, he didn’t want sparks! The dumpster just left of Lahash caught fire and Roman yelped at the whoosh that came from the sudden change. That- was not a water spell. Nope.

Silence fell between the two of them, and Roman coughed into his hand. “That will be you if you ever talk about Ma like that again.”

Lahash stared at him for a long moment, turning slowly to look at the (thankfully) quickly dying fire, and then back at Roman. “Well,” he drew out, then deadpan, “That is about an accurate summation of my mood for the day.”

Roman yelped again and almost stumbled trying to follow after the demon. “Like a….” he glanced back, “A dirty dumpster fire?”

“Sure,” Lahash said, waiting at the corner for Roman to take the turn they were supposed to, “As well as being misused by the most incompetent witch I’ve ever had the dishonor to meet.”

Roman bit down on his tongue. It wasn’t exactly a wrong assessment of his skills. Roman had managed to pull a demon from Hell when he had just been trying to craft an assistant.  He rubbed at the sigils around his wrists, and clenched his jaw.

“Oh I can’t have been the worst,” he tried to wave off.

“That’s up for debate,” Lahash said, eyeing him with intelligence that seemed to pierce his soul. Roman grinned and shrugged shameless.

“What can I say?” Roman waggled his eyebrows, “My life is simply an explosion of adventure. I never had time to learn control, and everyone loves a little wildness in their love anyways.” He winked and blew Lahash a cheesy kiss.

“I don’t believe you can handle my sense of wild.” Lahash said, and then pulled a wink. Roman felt his face flush, he just had to summon a cheeky demon, didn’t he? “Whatever is that supposed to mean?”

Lahash said nothing and goddamn his smirk. Roman shoved down the monkey part of his brain. How did this demon already manage to wrap him around his little pinky? Oh god, he was in over his head wasn’t he? Then he saw the exit to the alley was ahead. Roman let out a relieved sigh as he saw the green cafe doors on the other side of the street come into view.

Lahash came to an abrupt stop, “I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself.” he turned to Roman and held out a hand, “My human name is Logan.”

“Logan?” Roman said as he shook his hand, then bit back a yelp as Logan’s hand tightened, “You must never speak my demonic name in front of anyone. If you do, I’ll be forced to kill them on the spot.”

Roman gulped as he saw Logan’s fangs grow in and peek out his lips, “Okay.” he said with a squeak.

“You must never order me around. And don’t you ever use your magic on me, witch.” Logan spat out, his red eyes appearing for moment before fading, “There’s a special torture in Hell for the witches who dare to do so. Even today I can still find pieces of them stuck to my shoes.”

Roman’s eyes widen and his lungs couldn’t take a breath and his heart pounded. He felt the ghost of claws digging into his soft palm. Logan smiled and Roman felt his heart skip a literal beat at the fangs glinting back at him.

“Do you understand, Princey?”

“Crystal clear.” he said with a strangled gasp, and then Logan finally let his grip go, Roman took his hand back with a hiss, “Is that the Orientation to Demon 101? Cause it sucks.”

Logan smirked and then turned his gaze to Angel’s Coffee.

Oh, Ma was going to kill him.  

It was one o’clock and the lunch rush slowed to a trickle. Finally, Virgil’s fingers and feet could rest. He bit back a groan as he leaned against his counter. His feet begged him to take a fifteen minute break two hours ago. He really should’ve bought better shoes on the last shopping trip. He knew this was his dream job but it wasn’t easy on the sensitive sole.

Patton was rubbing off on him. A giggle escaped him. Man, he should tell Pat. He could use the laugh too. Sensitive sole. Comedy gold.

Virgil turned to him. Then frowned, Patton had been adjusting the counter display for the past five minutes. He remembered that call earlier, he knew Patton said he was fine, but he still felt his stomach roil with anxiety. Virgil bit his lip. There were no customers at the moment, so he stepped closer, away from the register.

“Patton,” Virgil said, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Patton startled and turned to him with a smile, “I’ve never been better!” Patton ran his hands down his apron and fiddled with the pens in his apron pockets. He took a breath, “I’m just...jittery. I’m hoping an old friend comes to the cafe. I’m not sure if he will but if he does, well, so much the better!”

Patton’s smile was unrestrained in its brilliance, “Golly, it’s been so long!”

“Must be some friend.” Virgil said teasing, “Do you want to talk about him?”

“...No, not really.” Patton said after a pause, “Not right now. If he shows up, then I’ll let you know who it is. Otherwise, we can eat the cookies I made and talk about him then.” Patton walked over to him and put a hand on his arm, “I promise, dear.”

Virgil knew he shouldn’t press. There were some things in Patton’s past that never failed to make him clam up for one reason or another. It didn’t really matter too much to Virgil, not when Patton was open with him about not wanting to talk. Patton tugged on Virgil’s arm to take his place at the register. Virgil leaned forward to peck his cheek and walked around to pick up the dishes on the tables.

Virgil heard the bell above his door chime with new arrivals. He turned his head to the sound as he picked up plates. The two men made him do a double take. The one in front strided in as if he owned the place, his red letterman jacket making him look like a stuck up jock that never left high school. Already Virgil detected asshole all over the man’s windswept hair and chiseled jawline. He mouthed something off to his friend, a smirk and a wink, and Virgil hated anyone who looked so good effortlessly.

His eyes drew to Adonis Asshole’s friend, who hadn’t followed him inside, and just stood outside. Adonis threw his hands in the air and and stalked back to his friend, the two leaning forward to exchange rapid words under their breath. Well, that wasn’t shady at all. Virgil worried at his thumb as the friend winced walking through the door and let out a shaky breath. Virgil watched him walk to the nearest empty table to the entrance while Adonis sauntered to the counter.

Then the friend’s eyes shot over to him from his table and Virgil felt a sudden clench around his throat. He averted his gaze, focusing on cleaning up his plates. Shit, he hadn’t even realized he was staring. That was so rude. Virgil felt the heavy stare on his back as he stacked dirty plates, making his spine prickle and neck burn with a flush. There was something off about that man. He wasn’t one to judge, money was money, but it made his mind twist in knots.

Virgil hoofed it back to the counter and through the doors to the kitchen in the back. He set the plates down in the sink and pushed his sleeves back up to his elbows. He sucked in a breath. It was okay. Patton’s jitters just made him twitchy too. Nothing was wrong.

He walked back out and watched Patton grab the two finished coffee orders by the machine. Virgil went to the register while Patton walked to the pick-up section. They worked in tandem, a silent rhythm, beneath the perpetual faint music playing overhead.

Patton called out, “Order for a Roman and Logan?”

Adonis blushed as he stumbled out of his seat, “Ah yep! That’s me! Roman, haha.”

“It was nice of you to be roman around here and stop by our cafe!” Patton said delighted, “Enjoy the coffee, sir.”

Roman blinked at Patton and in a heartbeat, the almost endearing nervousness disappeared under a smirk. The asshole leaned forward and Virgil felt his grip on the counter tighten.

“Well with a cutie like you serving it, who wouldn’t?” The asshole had the nerve to wink and Virgil grit his teeth. He glared daggers at the man, wondering if he could set Roman on fire with the force of his gaze alone. At the very least, make the uppity customer uncomfortable. Patton giggled, and Virgil tried to pick out if it was an amused or uncomfortable one.

“Oh thank you!” Patton said, before bringing his hand and ring up to view, “But I’m afraid this cutie pie has already filled that spot in his life.”

Roman squealed, Virgil’s shoulders jumped to his ears at the sudden noise, “Oh my gosh! Congratulations! Who’s the lucky gal? Or guy? How did it happen? Oh I don’t mean to pry but I’m such a sap for weddings!” He bounced on his feet as he leaned forward on the counter, “When’s the date?”

Virgil drifted to Patton’s side, “We haven’t picked a date yet. We’re still debating on a winter or spring wedding.” Virgil narrowed his eyes at Roman, “So take your coffees, sir, and enjoy them.”

Roman took the coffee with a sheepish expression as he slid back to his table. Virgil tracked Roman and his perky ass back to the table and his friend with a glare. Damn it, he was hot. Then Virgil felt Patton grip his arm tightly. He wasn’t that obvious was he? Virgil stumbled as Patton dragged him to the kitchen with a yelp.

Patton let him go and walked into their refrigerator. Moments later, he set down an assortment of cookies. Virgil had seen Patton make them the minute he came back from the latest demon attack. Patton quickly transferred the cookies onto a platter with a lace center. He bent over his work, tongue sticking out in concentration as he lined them up just right.

“What’s up, Pat?” Virgil said, “You’ve been acting weird for the past hour.”

Patton straightened and turned to him, “Oh sorry, honey. I saw my friend out there. I just…” he glanced at the cookies, “wanted to welcome him after so many years.” Patton’s eyes glazed over as he thought about some distant dusty memory. Virgil guided his fiancé to sit down at the table. He pulled up his own chair in front of Patton, and leaned against the table.

“Oh Virgil,” Patton said as he put a hand on Virgil’s face, his smile a little sad like the time Virgil told him he was moving schools, “I was planning on telling you about Lahash after we got married. It’s tradition you know.”

“Lahash?” Virgil said, his tongue awkward around the name, “Who is he?”

“I know I don’t talk about Heaven.” Patton said as he tugged Virgil’s hands into his own, “But I can tell you about him. Lahash was my only angelic husband, he was my first, and we’ve been married for eons. Even before that, we were friends before the first stars were born.”

Virgil felt his mouth grow dry, “What happened?”

Patton’s hands tightened, “Lucifer rebelled. Lahash took his side. We had to fight on opposing sides of the War until God decided to force Lucifer and his Army to Fall.” Patton took a shuddering breath as he looked down at the checkered tiles, “Lahash fell with the Morning Star and his grace corrupted and it made him who he is today. A Demon.”

There was a silence that was heavy with unspoken questions, history, and ultimately, pained sorrow. Virgil knew Patton fought demons and devils daily but he didn’t know his...friend was one. He swallowed thickly.

“Are you two...still..” Virgil said, his shoulders tight to brace for the worst, “Married?”

“No, honey.” Patton told him in a gentle voice, “He divorced me that day. I didn’t ever marry another Angel again. My heart wouldn’t be able to take it.” Patton reached up and rubbed a thumb over Virgil’s cheek, “But humanity and their love is so pure and beautiful. Humanity taught me so much over the eons. And you, Virgil,” Virgil leaned into his palm, “don’t know how much your love has saved me.”

“You’re getting sappy, Pat.” Virgil mumbled, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Patton said, his smile wider at the declaration, “You’re the first human I can ever introduce to Lahash. Oh gee, this is exciting! I made him some cookies to entice him here.” Patton kissed him with a loud mwah, “I can’t believe it! He actually came. I wish he had come after I told you all about him. Oh there’s no use for that now. I can still tell you later.”

Virgil let a smile spread on his face, “You’re really happy about an ex-husband. I won’t mind if you take the bat from upstairs and smack him a few times. It’s the human way.”

Patton burst out with a laugh, “Oh, I’m still really mad. But I’m not batshit insane.”

Virgil hummed a light agreement as Patton poked at the cookies to get them into the perfect arrangement. He knew that Patton had a whole list of ex-lovers, but there was something about the jittery way that Patton approached this one that put him on edge. Maybe Virgil was just bias against goddamned demons, or maybe it was just the quiet sad way that Patton talked about this Lahash. Maybe it was his anxiety coming around to make his life hell as usual. Whatever. He was going to keep an eye on this demon just in case.

He had promised to protect the angel as best he could after all.

Virgil hauled himself to his feet and trailed after Patton, shoving his hands in his apron pockets. He smiled softly at the bounce in his fiance’s step as they exited the kitchen and made a beeline for the table with Asshole and The Ex. Or well, Patton made a beeline, and Virgil dragged his feet to delay the inevitable. It would make Patton happy. Patton was excited. It was fine. It was going to be fine.

Virgil looked up to meet the blistering glare of the demon and fought against swallowing in fear.

Maybe now was the time to panic.

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