#this is edging on implying he wished he were a human instead but I don’t think thats true. i think it came up when hu

[supranatra]

Making sparda an overbearing, dominating figure with a soft spot for family and general neutrality on humans is good, but i think super happy funtime guy sparda who is incredibly enamored with his family and outwardly super duper nice (almost appearing and sometimes is naive or gullible) to humans but when alone or pushed in just the right way he morphs into that nearly cruel and dark figure he was considered long ago, is better. :)

[zepskies]

Love, By Any Other Name

Pairing: Castiel x F. Reader

Summary: You want him. Castiel can’t help but crave you. Dean sees both of you and wishes you’d stop being idiots.

AN: This is my first ever commission! Written for @girlsforpjm, who requested "mutual pining" with Castiel. Here you go, lovely! I sincerely hope you enjoy it. 💜

**Also, this is set during season 12.

Song Inspo: “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak

Word Count: 4,500

Tags/Warnings: Mutual pining, angst, blood and injury, (contains events from 12.12), fluff, some spice, implied smut.

“Achooo!!”

Sam grimaces while he watches you wipe your nose against your bare wrist. You shake your head and frown at the dusty tomes piled high beside you. You and Sam have been organizing the library for two hours now.

“That’s it, I can’t do this anymore,” you lament. “I need a break. My sinuses need a break.”

Sam’s lips twitch at a smile. “It’s okay. I got the rest of these.”

You aim a lazy salute at your friend and continue to sniffle as you leave the library. You circle this labyrinth of a bunker for a while, but you can’t seem to find the trench coat-wearing angel that’s supposed to live here too.

You end up in the garage, where Dean is tuning up his Baby. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, and he’s got a grease stain across his cheek.

“Hey, you seen Cas?” you ask.

Dean barely perks up from under Baby’s hood to answer you. “He went out this morning. Haven’t seen him since.”

You pout at that, leaning against the side of the car near where Dean is tinkering.

“Is it too much to ask for him to leave a note or something?” you mutter.

Dean finally glances over at you. His lips edge at a smirk.

“What, miss your little boyfriend?” he teases.

The insinuation manages to take you by surprise. Your face starts to warm in embarrassment, but you cover it with a scoff.

“You should know. He was your boyfriend first,” you volley back. Dean’s expression flattens in annoyance.

“Don’t you have anything better to do right now?” he snarks.

“Nope,” you reply, popping the “P.” But you have mercy on him.

Instead of pestering him further, you just tip over the screwdriver he had balanced on the car’s frame. He makes a sound of protest as it falls somewhere between the gears inside his precious car.

He barks your name, and his angry voice echoes on the walls to magnify his frustration, but you’re already hastening back into the hall and down to the kitchen, trying to stifle your laughter.

You’ve slipped into the kitchen to escape. Yet that’s where you find the bunker’s resident angel, washing his hands of what looks like breadcrumbs in the sink.

“Hey,” you greet him jovially. He treats you with a small smile. “Where were you?”

“Oh, nowhere really. Just stepped out for a bit,” he replies. You get the sense that he’s hiding something. You smile and step closer to him, leaning a hand on the counter.

“Oh, yeah? Where?” you ask. Your eyes gleam with amusement. “Another ‘mission on high?’”

He sends you a droll look. “No.”

You tug on his sleeve. “Come on. Tell me.”

He smiles in return, and he gives you his own version of teasing.

“Childishness doesn’t become you,” he says.

“I’m just curious. You’ve been gone all day,” you reply, tilting your head. Your stare is unyielding, and familiar; Cas knows how stubborn you can be when you want something—especially information. Sometimes he finds it annoying, but in moments like these, it’s tempered by your playful, endearing smile.

“I was on a walk,” he finally admits.

You raise your brows. “A walk? Cas, it’s winter. Like 20 degrees outside.”

“I enjoy nature,” he shrugs. “The cold doesn’t bother me much anyway.”

…Well, he is an angel. You suppose it makes sense that he doesn’t feel the frigid weather like a human would. Your brow quirks with another curious thought.

“So you were washing your hands because…?” you ask.

Castiel’s face becomes a little more bashful. “I was feeding the birds some bread.”

At that, your smile grows. Here he is: Castiel, warrior angel of the Lord, Feeder of Pigeons.

“Well, if you ever want a walking companion, I’d be happy to join you,” you offer.

Castiel gives you a certain look, like he doesn’t quite believe you. 

Your lips purse. “What?”

He sinks his hands into his pockets as he leans his slightly hunched form back on his heels.

“Nothing,” he claims. “It’s only, I seem to remember you forcing Dean to kill a spider in your room. You claimed, and I quote, bastard things that crawl don’t belong indoors.”

You cross your arms and stare back at him narrowly, even though you try to stifle a smile.

“What’s your point? Everyone’s afraid of spiders,” you reason.

He raises a brow. “You also claim to have a vendetta against birds.”

“Pigeons, Castiel. They’re rats with wings.” Even Dean would agree with you on that one.

Castiel gives you a dubious look, however.

“Forgive me if I’m skeptical of your supposed love of nature,” he says drolly.

You want to argue more, but Sam enters the room with Dean on his heels. Both men seem to sense they’ve interrupted something. You clear your throat and turn to them.

“What’s up?” you ask, more nonchalant than you feel whenever you’re near the angel beside you. Castiel glances at you, before he too silently addresses Sam and Dean.

“Uh, we’ve caught a case,” Sam says. “It’s not far. Three dead, all with their hearts, and most of their internal organs ripped out.”

“Ech,” you reply with a grimace. “Sounds kind of like a ghoul. Maybe a werewolf on steroids?”

“Well, they were fresh kills, and it’s a full moon. So more than likely we’re looking at werewolves,” he replies.

You smile thinly. “Great.”

You hate werewolves.

Correction: you really hate werewolves.

The thought hits you yet again as you lay on the floor of a dusty old hunting cabin.

The irony.

Dean hefts you in his arms, after slicing his silver blade through the heart of the yellow-eyed bastard that tore you open with his claws.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” you ask, hating how your voice trembles. Dean doesn’t answer you at first. He holds his hand to the oozing gash in your side.

“Nah, you’ll be okay. Just hang in there,” he says. Blood quickly covers his palm. He curses inside his mind.

“Cas!” he calls out roughly.

The angel had been fighting in the other the room with Sam, but after he burns out the eyes of the last werewolf and its body falls to the ground, he hears the undercurrent of alarm in Dean’s shouting. With Sam on his heels, he returns to the living room to find you and Dean.

Castiel’s steps halt in the doorway when he sees you. His face slackens for a moment, but then he hardens. He moves forward swiftly.

“Move,” he says to Dean in order to come to your side. Dean’s eyes widen, but he does as he’s told after laying you down to the floor. 

Castiel stares down at your face, offering you comfort with his eyes. You stare up at him in pain, but also with hope, and trust. You’re able to curl your fingers around the edge of his trench coat.

Then he presses his hand to your cheek. He closes his eyes in concentration while he heals you. 

Though he expels more power than he should to heal you completely. He knows it when his body sways a little after he’s done. Dean grabs his shoulder to keep him steady.

“You good?” Dean asks.

Castiel nods; he’s more focused on the way you’re catching your breath. You marvel at how your wounds, your pain, and even your blood is gone—completely washed away. He helps you sit up with an arm wrapping around your shoulders. Then he gathers you tight against him, so he can help you stand as well. He wavers again on his feet, just a little, but you’re too perceptive not to catch it. You realize he did too much to save you.

You still chide at him with a frown. “You didn’t have to use up so much of your energy.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Think nothing of it.”

Those are useless words, but you don’t bother arguing with him anymore. You just sigh and hold onto his strong arms while regaining your balance. You know for a fact that you’re blushing when you glance up at him.

Biting your lip, you soon turn away to grab the knife you’d dropped in the fight.

Without you or Cas noticing, Sam and Dean share a knowing glance. It’s subtle, in the way the brothers have perfected. Dean barely curbs a smile as he leads the way back to the car. 

You settle next to Cas in the backseat and try not to glance at him too often. You don’t know that he’s trying not to do the same to you.

Dean glances back at you two in the rearview mirror. He shakes his head.

Idiots.

Mary Winchester has been a welcome return to the family…when she’s here. Ever since Amara brought her back, she’s been distant with her sons. You don’t understand it all that well, but it’s not your place to say anything, you don’t think.

You do think Mary is a badass hunter. You just don’t know her that well.

About a week after the werewolf hunt, Mary drops in with Wally, a fellow hunter in need of assistance with a demon problem. You, Sam, Dean, and Castiel are all game. While you haven’t had to deal with demons too much in the past, you know that they’re…something of a specialty for the Winchesters. 

But of course, it quickly goes to shit.

The demon lives alone, in some shack by a river where he likes to fish. The group of you wait until he’s stepped out of the house before you go inside and case the place, looking for a good spot to spray a Devil’s Trap or two and try to trap him.

When the demon returns, he’s far stronger than any of you anticipated. The Devil’s Trap breaks with little effort (the demon’s just laughing). Then he flashes yellow eyes. You and Castiel share a look of widening shock. Mary takes a preemptive step back.

And when the kitchen door is about to close on the three of you, the angel pushes you into the next room before you can turn and fight. Sam helps you back onto your feet, though you stare at the door in horror. He and Dean try to break the door down, but it’s no use. It’s supernaturally sealed. 

You felt useless standing there. You wrack your brain for a solution, and you glance out one of the windows. Maybe there’s another way into the kitchen!

“Guys! What if we go around?” you suggest.

With that idea taking root in each of you, Sam and Dean follow you outside. Before you guys can even make it around the house, Wally flags you down. 

“We’ve got incoming!” he says. And you realize what he means. A group of black-eyed demons are bounding toward the house.

Aw, shit. You’re grateful to have Sam and Dean beside you, because the demons nearly overtake all of you. You manage to hold your own, along with the brothers. Wally isn’t so fortunate. His body hits the floor after his own blade sinks into his chest.

A pit begins to form in your stomach as you scramble toward the Impala. The plan is to catch up with Mary; thanks to Cas, she’d been able to flee the demon strong enough to snap a Devil’s Trap like a cheap trick. But she’d then taken Cas with her to safety. 

Now, Dean drives the Impala down the road at breakneck speed. 

“Are you okay?” Sam asks his mother through the phone. The car is silent enough for you to hear Mary’s reply.

“…No.”

When you step into the barn, the first thing you have to focus on is Cas covered in his own blood. He’s been stabbed by one of the demon’s strange and powerful weapons, and he lies on an old, dingy couch. You hurry to Cas’s side and take in, your face filled with horror, though you try and fail to mask it. 

You reach out a hand, but you hesitate to touch him. Suffering is written across his face. He tries to stifle sounds of pain out of habit.

Tears are fresh in your eyes as you look down at him in dismay. You chance laying a hand on his shoulder. 

“Can you heal yourself?” you ask.

“No,” he answers eventually. “I think the demon’s spear was poisoned. I think I’m…”

No, your lower lip trembles as you shake your head.

“No,” you repeat aloud. “You just need time.”

You turn to Dean, who’s approached from behind you. But you quickly turn back to Cas, as if you’ll miss out on precious few moments. Castiel’s furrowed gaze tells you he’d rather not have you see him like this, but you don’t care. There’s no way you’re leaving his side. 

The weapon that was able to do this to him was the Lance of Michael, you all discover, when Crowley suddenly appears. He also informs you all that this is no ordinary demon. It’s Ramiel, Prince of Hell. You don’t give a shit about the specifics of how Crowley is wrapped up in this.

All you care about is if there’s a cure to Cas’s wounds. Crowley’s only words of wisdom are to leave the angel behind and run as fast as you can. 

He disappears before you can spit at him. 

“Cas, how bad is it?” Dean asks, after the King of Hell predictably makes a run for it. 

Castiel opened up his shirt collar to reveal a spiderweb of black crackling across his clammy skin, slowly breaking down his vessel. 

“Crowley’s right. You should go.”

Your hand tightens on his shoulder. “Cas—”

“No, listen to me,” he says, staring into your eyes. He continues with difficulty. “Look…thank you. Thank you. Knowing you all, it’s been the best part of my life. The things we’ve shared together, they have changed me… You’re my family, and I love you.”

His gaze had fallen on you, making your breath hitch. But his dark blue eyes travel to Sam and Dean next, and even Mary. 

“I love all of you.” The angel is the closest to tears and heartbreak that you’ve ever seen him. He struggles to hold himself together, in more ways than one. “Just, please, please don’t make my last moments be spent watching you die. Just run, and save yourselves, and I will hold Ramiel off as long as I can.”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes the sentence. Tears pour down your cheeks in silent streams, but you still hold him down when he tries to force his body to sit up. He doesn’t have the strength to resist you encouraging him to lie back down. 

Dean voices what you’re all thinking.

No. None of you would cut and run and leave him to die, no matter what Cas says. 

“Like you said, we’re family. And we don’t leave family behind.”

Ramiel comes for all of you, specifically for his stolen weapon. Killing the rest of you would just be an added bonus.

But while the four of you manage to pin down the demon with holy fire and a good fight, it’s Sam who manages to stab the Prince of Hell with Michael’s Lance, killing him in flash of brilliant light and rendering his body to ash. 

Of course, that’s when Crowley arrives once again, late holding his proverbial Starbucks. In this case, what would’ve been a mocha frappe is actually the Lance—and Crowley breaks it in half. It somehow reverses the curse of the blade, and therefore frees Castiel. 

He’s able to heal himself back to a full recovery. 

But also, rather predictably, Crowley disappears again before you all can recover yourselves. 

Sam and Dean help the angel back onto his feet. His clothes are still covered in blood, but his skin is clear and no longer clammy, his eyes no longer bloodshot. He’s shocked to still be alive, and you can barely contain yourself. Tears stream down your face as you surprise him with a hug.

Cas releases an oof, his body wavering just slightly before he plants his feet and wraps his arms around you. His hold tightens around your smaller frame, and he chances resting his chin on the top of your head.  

“So…you’re good?” Mary asks incredulously. 

Castiel raises his gaze to answer her. “I guess I am.”

You’re quiet for the rest of the drive home. Mary had taken her own car for the hunt, so it leaves you once again in the backseat with Castiel.

He finds your silence perturbing, though he doesn’t have the courage to ask you what’s wrong. Despite his full recovery, you still seem upset somehow. 

Part of him wants to reach out to you…but he stops himself. He also reminds himself not to stare at you. Instead, he turns his head back out the window. You felt his gaze on your profile, but you resolve to keep yours stubbornly out of your own window. 

The only one who notices the exchange, yet again through the rearview mirror, is Dean. His lips firm into a thoughtful frown. 

Home, sweet home, you think wryly when you enter the bunker. 

You give into the urge to beeline straight for your room without even turning your head. 

Sam and Mary follow suit, which leaves Castiel hesitating in the hall. Dean takes pity on him and claps his shoulder. 

“You okay, man?” he asks. Cas is staring after you like a man who’s lost his way.

“She’s…upset,” he replies, both confused and bothered by that fact.  

Dean’s lips twitch humorlessly. “Yeah, well, you almost died.”

“Yes,” Cas gives a wry nod. “But she seems upset at me.”

Dean has to smile for real. It’s plain as day what’s on his friend’s mind, and why. Just like it’s obvious as hell (at least to him) why you’re probably “upset.” As always, Dean takes up the role of wingman. 

“Why don’t you just go talk to her then?” he suggests.

Castiel hesitates. He’s not sure if he’d be intruding on you. The emotions of human women are foreign to him. They always have been, even when he was human, not so long ago. But he trusts Dean’s advice on these things.

So, he eventually nods. He means to follow you, but Dean stops him for a moment with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Maybe after you, uh, wash your clothes. Take a shower. Maybe shave a little,” he says, brushing his fingers over his own chin. “But uh, keep a little scruff. Some chicks dig that.”

“Shave my facial hair, but…keep my facial hair?” Cas tries to clarify. 

Dean blinks at his friend. Christ.

 “Okay, look, just clean yourself up,” he says. “You’ll be fine.”

With one last clap on the back, Dean disappears down the hall to his room. It leaves Castiel feeling somewhat unbalanced, but he treks the other way.

Normally he would restore his clothes with his powers, but he’d used up his reserves just to heal himself. There was a time when his connection to heaven was enough to do more than heal his own injuries. Now, however, both he and heaven itself are in a lesser state. 

Shaking his head, he goes down to the laundry room. He still remembers how to wash his own clothing. 

He unintentionally finds you there in the laundry room. You’ve peeled away your jacket that had been stained with his blood, and you’re tossing it into the machine. It leaves you in a thin shirt and jeans.

Castiel finds himself admiring your form; the familiar curve of your face, the shade of your hair, the outline of your bra through your shirt (which he tries not to notice), and the other curves that he has to often felt guilty for tracing with his eyes…and imagining with his hands.  

You look up when he enters the room.

He knocks himself out of his thoughts and freezes, a bit uncertain.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he offers.

You just shake your head. “It’s okay.”

Your eyes roam over him then, from head to toe. It makes his face feel a bit warm.

“You want me to throw that coat in with mine?” you ask, pointing over to him. Cas examines his bloody trench coat.

“I’m not sure there’s any saving it, but we can try,” he says. He peels off the coat and allows you to throw it into the watching machine along with your bloody clothing.

“Your shirt’s white, so you should wash that separately,” you advise.

“I know,” he says, with a faint smile. “I, uh, I remember.”

You begin to regain some of your normal self, glancing at him with more warmth in your eyes. 

“Do you ever miss being human?” you ask. Cas draws closer to you. He rests a hand near yours, where you lean on the dryer. 

“There were some enjoyable aspects. Food, in particular,” he admits. “Now if I try to take a bite of a sandwich, it’s just…molecules, really.”

You wince in sympathy. “God, I don’t know how I could go through life without being able to enjoy another Snickers bar.”

He nods in agreement. He remembers chocolate well.

“But it wasn’t just the taste. It was the feeling of satiety. Sometimes, being uncomfortably full was quite satisfying,” he says. That makes you smile. 

But it soon drops when you take in the disgusting state of his shirt. Unbidden, it reminds you of every horrific thing that happened tonight. You really can’t bear it. 

“Okay, give me that,” you gesture at the shirt.

You start to unbutton it before he’s really ready for you, but he tries to get over his embarrassment by removing his tie. Meanwhile, you undo the buttons of his shirt while trying not to think too hard about what you’re really doing as you start to see flashes of his skin, from chest to sternum.

He takes a peek at your face. 

“Are you angry?” he asks. 

Your brows are furrowed, but this time more in confusion when you look up at him. 

“No. Why?” 

Cas’s brows furrow. “It feels like you’re angry…at me.”

The hasty motions of your hands calm at that. You consider him with a frown. Maybe you are a little upset at him. It’s not really fair, you know, but it’s how you feel. You blow out a sigh. 

“I just… After everything we’ve been through, everything you’ve done for us, how could you think for one second that we would leave you there alone? Alone to die?” you ask. It renders Castiel a bit stunned into silence. 

Your grip tightens on the now open edges of his shirt.

“Look, that situation was bad enough. But if you ever try to push me away like that again…”

You’re unable to finish that thought. You become waylaid by your own tears as emotion clogs your throat and threatens to choke you. 

Castiel raises a hand to touch your face, tentatively at first, then more comforting. He brushes his thumb across your cheek, catching the tears there. 

“I wasn’t trying to push you away,” he confesses. “I was trying to save you…because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, even as I lay dying.”

You hold onto his hand. Biting your lower lip, you find enough courage to meet his eyes. They’ve lowered to your lips, you realize, though maybe Cas doesn’t. He seems a bit surprised when you lean up towards him.

You go more slowly. Your hand falls on his warm chest. For God’s sake, do something, you tell yourself. 

You don’t know if he can pick up on your thoughts as well with your bodies touching this close, but he seems to have an internal battle of his own. You each make a decision at the same time.

It has you leaning up the rest of the way, and Castiel bending down to meet your kiss.  

He gathers you closer; one hand finds its way into your tangled hair, while the other grasps your hip and brings you flush against him. Your hands move up his chest and wind around his neck. He holds you tightly against him as his lips claim yours, over and over with increasing urgency. 

He turns you in his arms and hefts you up onto the dryer machine. There he gets even more leverage to kiss you the way he has secretly imagined, to touch you the way he’s too often craved, with his hands warming up and down your thighs.

You utter a moan of longing as you hold his face. You like the scrape of his stubble against your palms. You can almost imagine that delightful tingling against otherplaces down your body. Places you’d like him to explore when you have more privacy…

Or maybe here is privacy enough.

You alternatively tangle and tug your fingers through his hair. And it’s his turn to moan when you take his lower lip between your teeth, scraping just hard enough to be both painful and delightful.

He squeezes your thighs in retaliation. It prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him even closer. Your dirty boots cross behind his back.

But soon, his touch gentles, more tender than demanding as he slows the kiss. His lips veer from yours and burn a path across your jawline, down the smooth column of your neck.

It allows you to catch your breath, but the feeling of his gentle lips and rough cheek just turns you on even more. You card your fingers through his hair and close your eyes. 

“Cas,” you breathe in content. 

He hesitates, with his lips on your neck. “Yes?”

You blink for a moment, but then you have to giggle. You twine your arms around his neck and hold him close. 

“Nothing,” you reply. Your smile says it all though. Cas sees it when he pulls away a bit, turning his gaze back to you. He caresses your cheek with the back of his hand. 

“I didn’t think feelings such as this…desires like this, would affect me after I became an angel again.”

Your smile brightens, even as you blush. “Does that make me special?”

“Yes,” he replies, with a soft smile. “But for many more, and far better reasons than that.”

Your eyes begin to sting with unshed tears. You bite the edge of your lower lip, but Cas’s thumb swiping across encourages you to release it.

“When you said that you loved me,” you say, a little shakily, “did you just mean…in the family sense?”

Castiel meets your eyes, and there he finds his courage. 

“Yes,” he says. “And no.”

With another one of those smiles he’s come to love, you bring him back in for a kiss. All too soon, it becomes hungrier, rougher, born of passion and secret desires finally spilling free. 

“Wait,” you pant against his lips, taking his hands in yours. “Come with me.”

Anywhere, his heart says.

But after you jump down from the dryer, you tug him by the hand out of the laundry room. After a quick scan of the hallway, you give him a playful little smile and lead him down to your room.

Castiel can’t help but smile in return. He follows your lead in more ways than one when the door to your bedroom shuts behind you both.

You help him shrug off his tattered shirt, and he helps you out of yours next, followed swiftly by the belt buckle on his slacks. 

In that moment, and many moments after, you’re grateful for door locks. You just hope the Winchesters aren’t dumb enough to interrupt what you have planned next for your angel…

Because it might just take all night.

AN: I haven't written for Castiel in a long time, but I had fun with this. 🥰 I hope you all enjoy it! Let me know what you think. 😘

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[angstyandromanticwriting]

Benjamin X Human!Reader Angsty forbidden love prompt with cute and fluffy moments, and a cute ending

!TW: Implied suffering from depression, implied swearing (‘cursing’), implied mention of suicide/suicidal intentions, mention of pregnancy/someone being pregnant, mention of hunting (not detailed), being suicidal, blood/mention of blood, word ‘bleeding’, implied suicide attempt (not extremely detailed), hospital/mention of hospital, wound/word ‘wound’ (not particularly detailed), stitches/word ‘stitched’, implied nudity (not detailed), nightmare/mention of nightmare, anxiety (not detailed)!

You would be surprised to run into Benjamin before his and Tia’s wedding, and you stammered when you tried to speak to him, worried that you would break down in front of him. “W-What are you doing-”

“Look, I don’t have much time,” Benjamin interrupted gently, a pained expression on his face, “but I wanted to tell you that I love you, and that nothing will ever change that, I promise.” You threw your arms around him as tears invaded your eyes, and he returned the hug, cursing Amun for doing this to you both. Benjamin held you at arm’s length, before he placed his left hand on your left cheek. “Meet me at midnight in the park alone, okay?” Benjamin requested, and you nodded quickly, managing a weak smile up at him.

༺𐦐༻

Benjamin would be surprised to see that you still slept with the little bear teddy that he gave you, and he decided to ask you why. “It made a difference in my life, B,” you answered, smiling down at the little teddy as you picked it up.

“It did?” Benjamin responded, and you nodded. “How?” Benjamin pried, curious.

“It stopped me from taking it,” you stated, “because it made me think of you.” Benjamin smiled weakly, before he wrapped his arms around you, and you returned the smile as you returned the hug.

༺𐦐༻

“It’s all my fault,” you murmured as you sank on the edge of the bed, and Benjamin shook his head as you did. “I should have agreed to marry you, instead,” you mused, “maybe Amun would have let us be together, then-”

“It’s not your fault, Y/n,” Benjamin claimed, and you reluctantly glanced up at him. “You were scared,” he recalled, “you felt as if you weren’t ready to get married, and I told Amun that, but-..” Benjamin sighed heavily, before he sat beside you. “He just - Doesn’t want us to be together,” Benjamin summed up, “and that’s on him, not you, or me. Him.” You nodded slowly, before you threw your arms around him, burying your face into the crook of his neck. Benjamin carefully wrapped his arms around you, wishing he could do more to comfort you as he did.

༺𐦐༻

When you’d first heard from Alice that Benjamin and Tia were having a child, you broke down, and Alice had to comfort you as much as she possibly could; she hated seeing you like this. You grimaced when Benjamin entered the room, and he frowned when he saw that you were crying. “Y/n-”

“Just leave me alone!” You cried, before you buried your face into Alice’s shoulder again, sobbing uncontrollably. Benjamin felt awful, and bowed his head, before he dragged himself out of the room.

Alice then got another vision, one of you, that worried her. “Y/n,” Alice spoke gently, but you wouldn’t dare respond or even look up at her.

“I need to go, Alice-”

“No!” Alice interrupted, holding you at arm’s length; she had seen you going home and attempting to take your life again in the vision. “Just talk to me, please,” she begged, “it will help to talk about your feelings, I promise.”

“What do you want me to say, Alice?” You snapped, and she fell quiet, a pained expression on her face. “Because I don’t feel like lying and saying ‘it could be worse’ right now,” you uttered, and Alice nodded gravely, understanding - it would be only natural for you to believe that things couldn’t improve after everything that had already happened to you.

༺𐦐༻

Benjamin got a bad feeling randomly whilst he was with Tia, and he anxiously fidgeted next to her, until he felt as if he shouldn’t wait and see if the feeling disappeared any longer. “I need to go,” Benjamin stated, standing up before Tia could stop him.

Tia would be disappointed, shuffling closer to him. “Where are you going?” Tia inquired, but Benjamin wouldn’t answer, he just turned and walked out, running in the direction of the Cullens’ and the Hayes’ home; he knew it would be just you home, and that the Cullens’ and Hayes’ must still be out hunting.

Benjamin jumped up to the window of the spare bedroom you were staying in, and he would wince when he noticed that there was a small amount of blood on the floor, and he pried the window open when he caught sight of you curled up in the corner. “B?” You whispered in a weak voice when you noticed him, and began to panic when your vision grew blurry as you couldn’t see if it was him, or a member of the Volturi. “Stay away from me!” You cried, trying to move away, but Benjamin tried to calm you down by wrapping his arms around you, before he eased you closer to him slowly.

“Look at me, Y/n,” Benjamin pleaded, and you looked up at him, whimpering, “just breathe, okay?” You nodded, trying to calm down by breathing. You found that, when you weren’t calming down, you began to panic more and more as you began to cry. Benjamin frowned, lifting his hand to stroke your hair whilst he investigated the source of the bleeding. “It’s okay to cry,” he whispered, trying not to break down himself because of the blood, and because of his suspicions that you’d done this to yourself on purpose. “I’m gonna take you to the hospital, okay? Carlisle probably won’t be back until later,” Benjamin mused, before he carefully picked you up and carried you downstairs. You whined, clinging to his shoulders as you thought he’d drop you. “It’s okay, Y/n,” Benjamin spoke gently, “I’m here for you, okay?” You nodded, pressing your face into the front of his neck.

↯

Benjamin was anxiously waiting for you to wake up after your wound had been stitched up, and when your eyes finally began to open, Benjamin smiled, before he leaned forward to hold your right hand in both of his. “I was worried about you,” he expressed, “I - I thought I’d lost you, at one point.” You shook your head, managing a weak smile up at him. “C-Can I do anything for you? I saw a vending machine in the waiting room,” he mused, “let me buy you a drink, at least.”

You hesitantly agreed, but only because you were thirsty. “Fine,” you gave in, and Benjamin smiled victoriously, before he stood up from his chair and left the room to buy you a bottle of water from the vending machine. When he returned, he looked disappointed, and you wondered what had happened. “Is there a problem with the vending machine?” You inquired, and Benjamin couldn’t hold it back anymore as he started laughing, shaking his head as he did. Benjamin offered you the bottle of water, and you smiled your thanks to him, before you accepted it from him. “You’re too good to me, B,” you remarked, and Benjamin grinned; he clearly agreed with you.

༺𐦐༻

Alice had organised a surprise birthday party for you, and Benjamin was told by Tia’s father that he couldn’t go when he heard about it. You tried to enjoy the party, but the feeling that something was missing made you feel empty; you’d never had a birthday party without Benjamin, before. You snuck outside when everyone appeared distracted, a pained expression on your face; you were trying not to cry. “May I have this dance?” A familiar, warm voice broke the silence, and you looked up, a smile automatically playing on your lips when you noticed Benjamin walking toward you. “Unless there’s someone waiting to dance with you inside-”

“N-No,” you interrupted, holding both of his hands, “I’m free.” Benjamin smiled back, glad. You wrapped your arms around him, and he wrapped his arms around your waist so you could both do what you thought was dancing. “I really thought you weren’t coming, at all,” you admitted, and Benjamin shook his head, a hurt look on his face.

“I couldn’t miss your birthday party for the world, Y/n,” Benjamin stated, “Tia’s father just held me up, and it wasn’t supposed to happen like that; I wasn’t intending to turn up so late.”

“It’s okay, B,” you reassured him, “you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.” You then shyly looked up at him, and he smiled lovingly down at you. “Kiss me,” you requested, and Benjamin nodded, before he leaned down to connect his lips to your’s gently; you loved how he was always so delicate with you.

↯

You smiled softly when you noticed Benjamin laying beside you in the morning, and you shuffled closer to him, before you wrapped your arms around him, admiring his facial features as you did.

↯

Benjamin had gotten out of bed before you, not wanting to disturb you as you had gone back to sleep. When you finally got up, you decided to pull on one of Benjamin’s shirts, too lazy to find your own items of clothing to wear as you dragged yourself down the stairs. “Morning,” you spoke, yawning as you entered the room - Benjamin was making breakfast for you both, and you could smell that he was making pancakes - your favourite.

Benjamin smiled back at you as you sank into the nearest seat, and he couldn’t help, but chuckle when he noticed that you were wearing one of his shirts. “Is there a special reason why you’re wearing my shirt?” Benjamin inquired, and you winced, looking away from him as you were embarrassed. “It looks good on you,” Benjamin complimented, and you expressed relief, smiling shyly up at him. Before Benjamin began to plate the pancakes up, he noticed that you looked tired, and like you hadn’t slept well last night. “Are you okay? Did you have a nightmare again?” Benjamin questioned, and you nodded, staring down at your hands. Benjamin frowned, before he abandoned the plated up pancakes for a brief moment. “Was it about - them, again?” Benjamin pried, hooking an arm around you to comfort you as he lowered himself onto the chair beside your’s. You nodded, beginning to fidget with your hands as you were anxious. “Just remember it was just a dream, Y/n,” he responded, “and even if they really tried to hurt you, I’d fight them, and protect you with my life.”

“B-”

“No, Y/n,” he interrupted; he knew what you were going to say; you didn’t want him to risk his life for your’s. “Look, let’s just - forget about this conversation, okay?” Benjamin compromised, and you reluctantly nodded, forcing a smile at him, and watching as he stood up to bring the plates over.

“Is there - Something you wanted to tell me - about last night?” You asked, and Benjamin smirked, before he shrugged, playing dumb. You giggled, amused by the look on his face.

~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed this prompt! ❤️

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 47.5

➻ pairing: yeosang, wooyoung ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 6.1k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, mxm content ➻ pre a/n: as always, interims are completely optional and made in a way to where you won’t miss out on significant plot if you choose not to read!

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✧✧✧ act six ➻ part 6.5

​​​​

Hand clasped tight in Wooyoung’s, Yeosang knows fairly well how this will play out. It never changes much no matter how many times it happens; in fact, it’s become more of a ritual than a genuine attempt to fix whatever went wrong between them this time, a way of showboating that they can communicate and make up to some odd degree. He lets himself be dragged along almost the way a petulant child would be pulled away by their angered parent, except the circumstances are so vastly different for him and Wooyoung.

They step into Wooyoung’s room, and Yeosang takes a deep inhale of air as soon as he crosses the threshold simply because it has been so long since he had permission to even set foot inside. It’s not as though it has changed at all — still has all the simple decorations and little knick-knacks strewn about with no particular order — and the smell is still warm and comforting as always. Sometimes he wonders if he has been trained like Pavlov’s dog to find peace in everything Wooyoung does, because of all they’ve been through together, but in the same vein, he does not wish to reduce what they are and who they are to something so cruel.

Wooyoung seats himself on the edge of his bed, letting go of Yeosang’s hand to rest both between his slightly spread legs, and the loss of contact leaves the older of the two feeling hopelessly weak.

“Do you feel better?” he asks without blinking.

Yeosang swallows around nothing. Words won’t come out as intended, and his head is so void of an explanation that he truly does feel like a child again. All he knows is that no, he does not feel better at all.

“Are you satisfied?” Again, Wooyoung remains so still that he looks more like a statue than a person.

No, I’m not.

“Did it hurt?”

I had hoped to hurt you, but it backfired. I hurt myself instead.

“It didn’t hurt me. It doesn’t hurt me anymore, Yeosang.” It’s not that Wooyoung gets off on making him miserable but part of Yeosang wonders if he doesn’t feel remorse at all over it.

The apology sits heavy on his tongue but rather than saying it out loud to the air between them, all he can do is let his chin fall to his chest.

“You were cruel,” he whispers as a final line of defense.

“And you were heartless.”

When Yeosang was younger, he cried because the Steward found the small porcelain knight figurine that he had kept hidden underneath his mattress. It had been promptly confiscated and thrown out, the little semblance of childhood he had ripped away without a care in the world from the adults around him, while Yeosang was left to be given a book in place of the toy. Elitists don’t have toys, Elitists don’t play with the other children, Elitists are meant to be strong and intelligent. Being told such a thing while still so young should have been wrong, but Yeosang understood his duties well enough by then.

Until Wooyoung came to him that night with a half-smile and a bright, rambunctious laugh that implied he was up to no good.

He had pulled a poorly-carved wooden figurine out of his pocket and displayed it to Yeosang like it was the most precious gem in the universe. In Yeosang’s eyes, it was. The semblance could barely be distinguished between a human being and an oddly amorphous blob, but it was a gift, a treasure, one meant for Yeosang and Yeosang alone.

“We’ll hide this one better than the last one!” Wooyoung had told him, still smiling and laughing through it all.

Yeosang cried again that night simply because no one had ever bothered to be so kind to him before.

The Wooyoung back then had been so kind and gentle — lively, bright, loving, a brief moment of respite amidst all the horrors they lived day in and day out. What kinds of crimes has Yeosang committed to make the man who sits before him now so starkly different?

Wooyoung does not laugh, does not smile, does not reach for his hand, and when Yeosang desperately stretches his own out to seek some sort of contact, what he gets in response is a scoff.

Again, like a child, his lip quivers, and Yeosang has to bite his cheek to keep the emotion from spilling out.

“But you always are.”

Wooyoung sits back on his hands, pushing his weight onto his wrists and propping himself up to stare up at Yeosang with a pinched stare. His lip is curled into a sneer still, nose crinkled from the effort.

He doesn’t often feel pitiful or inadequate, but Wooyoung has an odd way of drawing out every emotion imaginable. Yeosang sinks to his knees between Wooyoung’s legs like a man possessed, nothing but the desire to please in his bones because he can’t stand the thought of the younger man hating him so much that he looks down at him with true disgust.

“Keep your dirty mouth away from me. You think I want something that’s been used on other people near me?”

It takes every ounce of his willpower not to deny the words in a flash, teeth sinking into his lower lip as his fingers begin to shake.

“Wooyoung, please.”

The man hisses through his teeth like Yeosang has spoken some unreasonable request despite not detailing what he wants in the slightest.

“We keep running in circles, Yeosang. Push and pull, push and pull — one of these days you’re gonna push me over an edge that I can’t pull myself back from.” It feels unfair, in Yeosang’s mind, to have the blame weighed solely on his shoulders, but Wooyoung says the words with such conviction that he finds himself believing that it is indeed all his fault. With a defeated sigh, Yeosang draws back from the man and stands on steady feet again, fists balled at his sides. Quiet conviction shouldn’t go unnoticed either, he thinks. Even if Wooyoung denies it with every breath he has left in his body, this is complete and utter fairness.

“You wish for me to be selfish, yet the moment I am, you tell me that I am being too much. You ask me to be realistic about what we are and what our future holds, and I do as much for the sake of both of us but you call that being pessimistic and hateful. With one breath you tell me that my love for you is something only you’re meant to understand, but then the next you’re asking me to push that love in other people’s faces without thinking of how comfortable I am with such a thing. You say I’ve done nothing more than pretend to be your lover, faking my emotions for your sake because I’m nothing more than a dirty Elitist who isn’t capable of feeling a thing. I ask you, Wooyoung, how many times have I sat at your feet with my heart torn from my chest and laid bare before you — no one else but you? How many more times must I do such a thing for you to understand? One moment fate is on our side, then the next you’re broadcasting to the universe that nothing in this life wants us to be together. Not once have put blind faith into that old crone’s words. It has always been you, and your blind faith, with your reckless ambitions to do something greater than yourself. All I have done in these years is be realistic and honest with you. It shouldn’t matter if that’s the bare minimum if I love you just the same.”

It’s hard to see Wooyoung past the curtain of tears over his eyes, but that doesn’t stop him from pursuing the conversation further. Yeosang’s heart is shaking and trembling in the confines of his chest even if the steadiness of his voice doesn’t show that, even if his expression isn’t contorted with the pain he’s feeling yet.

“How can you sit there and say that I’m not capable of loving you? I have dedicated everything in my life to you, and no matter how many times you shove and kick at me to push me away, no matter how many hurtful words you sling at me or how many times you hit me, I won’t do the same. Is it to hurt you? It is what you ask of me, it is what you tell me to do. You ask me to hurt you over and over, painting new colorful ways every time, and all the while you know that I can’t deny you a thing in this life. It’s my way of coping with the hurt you dealt unto me. Where’s the line? You can tell me to go fuck myself fifteen, twenty times but the moment I seek a bit of pleasure, I’ve become the villain? My class isn’t your excuse to treat me like shit, Wooyoung. My class doesn’t mean that I don’t feel things at all. It doesn’t mean that I can hurt you mindlessly without feeling something myself. If you know that I’m incapable of feeling things as strongly as you do, then I would hope you never have to feel the kind of pain I’m in when I stand before you a broken man reduced to tears and agony at your hands!”

The low jab does make Wooyoung wince, but that wasn’t at all what Yeosang had intended in saying such a thing. Understanding, however, can only come at the cost of pain in some situations. Yeosang imagines that this is one of those moments.

“Do I feel better? Am I satisfied? Did it hurt? Yet I would do it all regardless of the lack of satisfaction or pleasure that comes out of it, regardless of the pain it leaves me with, because it means I don’t come back to you with hatred in my heart. I don’t do it because I want other people, not because I don’t love you and certainly not because wanting to hurt you is the first goal on my mind. If I can hate that and hate myself for doing that, being someone so despicable and debase, then I can come back to you on my hands and knees begging for forgiveness because it means that I don’t hate you and that I don’t love you any less. There is so much fear in my heart, Wooyoung, but amongst my worst nightmares, I fear becoming blind to the pain I may cause you. Even if you hate me, I hope to feel it all.” When he drops to his knees this time, it is with the same amount of pleading as before. “Hate me, if that’s all you think I deserve. I think asking for that alone is a selfish want. But as much as you want me to hurt you… there is only so much I can do, only so much I can take. Pain to you is nothing more than a passing breeze, and even though I hate that that is what is has become to you, I will stand back and let you do what’s best in your eyes. What I ask for in return is that you spare me the same respect and understand that seeing you in any sort of pain is the greatest weight on my heart. Please stop asking me to hurt you. You’re pushing me to an edge as I’m desperately trying to pull you closer, and it’s going to kill us both.”

Wooyoung cries before him, as the shroud of nonchalance and disgust falls away to reveal something more raw than Yeosang can hardly bear to see. His hands curl around his knees, and Yeosang reaches out to cover them with his own. The touch is light, but Wooyoung allows it, and just that much is progress enough.

“Don’t ask me to h-hate you. I can’t hate you, not really, you have — you have to know that.”

“Let me love you in a way that’s beautiful, not this ugly distortion of love that we’ve deluded ourselves into thinking is good for us.”

“All the love I’ve ever seen is like this though. It’s all ugly and full of hate. Only works if something goes wrong, only lasts if pain is interwoven throughout it. If we didn’t fight, would it even still be love?” Wooyoung’s hands shake beneath his, matching the quiver in his tone as he chokes out his words in fragmented sniffles and sobs. “How can you love me if we don’t fight?”

There’s an admission in the almost innocent question, one that Yeosang has tried ignoring for so many years at this point. In Wooyoung’s eyes, their love can’t exist without there being a struggle because that’s all they’ve ever had to suffer over the years. Now, while things are not nearly perfect, they have a chance to love each other peacefully. Of course Wooyoung would view that through the lens of fear because it’s something unknown and undetermined compared to what they’ve grown accustomed to.

“But if we keep this up, Wooyoung, there won’t be any love left between us, can’t you see that?”

“Don’t say that. I can’t bear to hear you say that.”

Something has to give, Yeosang thinks as he squeezes the man in front of him tighter still. We can’t keep repeating the same mistakes expecting a different outcome every time.

“We’ve been at this for so long, Yeo. Isn’t this how our lives are meant to be lived?” Why Wooyoung wishes so adamantly to cling to the way things are should be more concerning, more confusing perhaps, but Yeosang imagines he’s lived at Wooyoung’s side long enough to understand as well as he can. “It’s not gone too far… we still love each other. Right? We still have that?”

Wooyoung needs it to hurt to know that it’s real and not a figment of his imagination, not a paradise that he’s constructed for himself to rest in when his life crumbles down around him.

“We have that so long as we don’t destroy it.”

“But… what if we don’t destroy it? What if things stay the same?”

Yeosang isn’t sure how much clearer he can be when the issue is laid bare before the both of them — that things staying the same is the issue needing to be addressed.

Wooyoung, a man who wishes to change the inner workings of the universe, cannot bear the idea of things changing.

What an odd twist of fate that has turned out to be. Clinging to the words of an old fortune telling who spewed words he didn’t even care about, Wooyoung has constructed this idea of fate around the two of them and trapped them within a steel prison.

Change, and yet he clings to the dead collar around his neck like a lifeline, unable to release the chains he has long since been freed from. Perhaps it would be easier to drag him to a new fortune teller, but Yeosang himself will be first to admit that he fears bad news.

Wooyoung’s hands start to scramble, digging their way into Yeosang’s collar and gripping so tight that the older of the two can feel the strain on the other’s knuckles.

“We always overcome it.”

“So we can learn and grow from it too,” he reasons although he suspects that isn’t what Wooyoung wishes to hear right now.

When he was a teenager, Yeosang found himself in a dark alleyway with rain pouring down around him. Above him stood a savior, crowned in pale lavender with a white halo of artificial lights framing his head. But before that moment, he had been a child lonely and afraid, trapped in a golden palace that did not let him want for anything. As is customary, there was always something more he wanted. A child given everything in the universe, cruelly wanting the one thing he could not have in totality. In a city full of falling darkness, dancing lights, and empty eyes, Yeosang begged for one thing: the chance to feel alive.

It was then that Yeosang realized he could have all he wanted, but the cost would be everything else in his life.

Beaten down and chained in iron, dragged out of a holding cell and through the halls of a musty jail, and finally pulled into the night air with iridescent rain pelting down on him from every angle — the first moment he felt that spark in his chest, the one of freedom and the one of life.

“I would do anything for you,” he had told Wooyoung back then with tears joining the streaks of rain on his cheeks. Now, so many years later that time begins to blur, those words manifest again.

“I would do anything for you,” but it comes from Wooyoung’s lips now. A softly spoken promise that hangs in the blanket of tension around them.

“Make me feel,” Yeosang requests in return. “That is all I could ever ask of you.”

Wooyoung holds him the way a member of the church would grasp something holy, with a sort of reverence that can’t be put to words. Even as his hands move up to clasp around Yeosang’s cheeks, it is so outwardly intimate that Yeosang feels utterly exposed in the room that houses just the two of them.

“Change can be slow,” he murmurs to Wooyoung moments before air is taken from his lungs and lips caress his. Yeosang lets himself be lulled into Wooyoung’s space, cradling the man awkwardly on the edge of the mattress without dropping all of his weight atop the other, and strong hands tug him closer still. They tip over together, like dominos at the end of a line. Wooyoung pulls him down to lay against him, and their legs manage to tangle together within seconds of resituating to be on their sides. The kiss ends, but the touches persist. First with Wooyoung’s fingers tracing the edge of his jaw, then a hand moving down to catch on the neckline of his shirt, and the Elitist finds himself responding in full to the touches. Wooyoung tilts his head back with a sigh, just long enough for Yeosang to take advantage of it and drag a finger over the firm lines of his neck, skating over the firm bop of his adam’s apple.

“Don’t wanna lose you.” Wooyoung rolls into him. “Can’t.” Hands drift lower to catch on fabric, and Yeosang feels his breath stall as the cloth is stirpped off his chest and thrown elsewhere in the room.

When he’s pushed onto his back and laid out over the mattress, firm thighs straddle his hips and Wooyoung’s weight settles atop him like an anchor. Yeosang wishes to drown completely in the man’s touch and embrace, to fill his senses like an ocean and lose himself altogether in everything that Wooyoung encompasses.

“Change doesn’t mean loss,” Yeosang whispers while he’s still fully lucid and attentive to the conversation at hand.

“I don’t wanna lose any part of you,” Wooyoung admits after a brief stint of silence that leaves the air tingling. “Good, bad, ugly, beautiful — every piece of you is precious to me. I wish to have it all.”

“All that I have is in your hands, Wo—ah!” The touch that starts feather-like over his bare torso takes a sharp turn as Wooyoung bares his nails to Yeosang’s skin and drags down with more passion. The blunt crescents scrape over firmly built muscle that stays tucked away from view, leaving little red streaks in their wake as he goes lower and lower with clear intent.

Yeosang is the larger of the two — taller, bulkier in terms of musculature, stockier even compared to Wooyoung’s lean form and toned muscles. But the moment Wooyoung gets his hands around the older’s hips, he lifts Yeosang with such ease that it’s dizzying in a delightful and heady way. Yeosang scrambles to grip the comforter underneath him as his legs are lifted off the bed, taking both hips and lower back with them, and he clings to the fabric for dear life and a searing heat of arousal rampaging through his veins. Wooyoung takes his pants off with some struggle, unable to keep the fabric from catching in some places, and his impatience is so hasty that by the time he has the pants disposed of, Yeosang is dropped back to the mattress like little more than a ragdoll. He pushes himself up to his elbows, legs drawn up awkwardly with nothing more than a cheap pair of socks and boxers keeping him from being nude before Wooyoung. Even that does not last long with Wooyoung nudging between his bent knees and pinning his hips to the bed with a firm, intoxicating grip.

Two fingers dig underneath the band of his underwear on either side of his hips, but the man makes no effort to strip Yeosang of the cloth entirely. He merely tugs down far enough to let the tip of Yeosang’s cock peek out over the fabric. The content little hum that he lets out as his hungry gaze consumes the man beneath him has Yeosang burning with embarrassment. Wooyoung dips his head lower and takes Yeosang’s semi-hard length between his lips without an ounce of hesitation. Yeosang feels his balance falter the second he jerks a hand up to cover his mouth. It’s too late to keep the strangled whine from slipping out, and Wooyoung acts on that sound with a burning passion as he tucks the entire length of Yeosang’s cock into his mouth.

“Y-You…” Yeosang can’t even finish the thought without turning incoherent without a few seconds of having his dick between Wooyoung’s lips. He’s filling out so quickly that it ought to be humiliating, but Wooyoung takes it in stride without any amount of the usual teasing. A groan overtakes him, the feeling of Wooyoung’s throat constricting bit by bit around the head of his cock falling into the territory of overwhelming pleasure with record speed. The touches still feel like worship in a way with how each flick of his tongue feels more deliberate than the last, and the tight swallows take more of his cock in with each passing second. And despite knowing that Wooyoung has done this sort of thing for reasons that are not his own pleasure in the past, Yeosang can’t help but to feel privileged in the fact that the younger man seems to be enjoying himself entirely.

He twists a leg inward, snaking through the gap between Wooyoung’s torso and the bed, and lets his foot settle atop the bulge of fabric at Wooyoung’s crotch. He’s painfully hard through the pants and his underwear, tenting both articles of clothing so hard that it must hurt. When Yeosang angles his heel into that bulge of fabric, Wooyoung sings. The groan carries through Yeosang’s whole body in a vibration so strong that he straightens his leg a little more out of sheer instinct and shoves his foot hard into Wooyoung’s erection. Rather than giving off a moan, Wooyoung gags around the cock in his mouth, and Yeosang gets a pretty eyeful of the man’s fluttering lashes moments before his eyes roll to the back of his head. The sight of Wooyoung overtaken by pleasure is always one to behold, so much so that Yeosang grinds down harder into his erection as the man is pulling off his length. The sound of a full-bodied moan choked by saliva and cock is sweet music on his ears.

But Wooyoung doesn’t seem to want to waste time right now, not quite pushed into the thrill of foreplay that could come, and instead he presses up into Yeosang’s space and overtakes his lips with a wet and messy kiss. Yeosang trembles under him, drawing both hands up to clasp around Wooyoung’s toned biceps before pinching and tugging at the obtrusive fabric stretched around the skin there.

His lover leans back with a huff and presses two fingers to Yeosang’s chest, knocking him back to lay flat on the bed gently. He then draws himself into a kneeling position overtop and makes a show of the way he pulls shirt from body and throws it to the side.

“Do you wish for me to show you all the ways in which I adore you, my angel?” Wooyoung inquires, breathless but oh so adoring even with the lust flaming through his eyes. Yeosang reaches a hand between their bodies just to feel the sweet curves along Wooyoung’s chest and waist.

“Please.”

He doesn’t bat an eye when Wooyoung climbs down from the bed and resituates his position on the mattress; Yeosang simply allows himself to be turned and twisted like a puppet until Wooyoung is satisfied with him being on hands and knees atop the bed with feet dangling over the edge. He remains stock-still in that position as Wooyoung moves about the room. First his pants get discarded then he’s moving for the bedside table before returning to stand at the foot of the bed right behind where Yeosang waits. The tell-tale click of a bottle cap snapping open has Yeosang’s lashes fluttering before the cool sensation of lube dripping down his skin even hits.

Wooyoung skates a single finger through the liquid, bringing it down the line of his ass and circling his rim without delay. Yeosang’s body tenses at the first intrusion even though he’s expecting the contact, and his partner presses his free hand against his curving spine moments later to ease the automatic discomfort. The tension is a little higher than usual as they having partaken in this kind of pleasure in some time, but his body comes to recognize the feeling of the man behind him within the first minute of having Wooyoung’s finger press deeper inside his hole.

When a second digit slides in alongside the first, Yeosang keens against the bed and presses into the touch with a kind of fervor that only Wooyoung draws out of him. The words that are exchanged are far from dirty, which is also a rarity when it comes to Wooyoung since his mouth is usually so filthy that it’s the source of much embarrassment later on once reality comes back to Yeosang. To be told ‘I need you‘, ‘I don’t want to lose you’, ‘I can’t do this without you’ while in the throes of passion with fingers working him open from behind is a surreal experience of its own that Yeosang can’t define well. By the third finger, however, he is well and truly on his way to having an out of body experience as Wooyoung pulls his free hand forward to circle around the base of Yeosang’s dangling cock and squeezes in time with the steady thrusts of his fingers. No amount of clenching at the bed provides any sort of relief from the consuming feeling, and his cock leans strings of precum like that’s all it’s good for.

Bringing an arm forward, he turns his head to bury his face in the crook of his elbow and conceal the flush painting his cheeks as Wooyoung’s ministrations causes more lewd noises to fill the room. There’s no room in his frazzled brain to think of the way an orgasm creeps up on him time and time again only for the coil to unravel with Wooyoung’s fingers squeezing the base of his cock and pulling him down from tasting that high.

The deprivation almost tastes sweet as it comes from Wooyoung’s hands, but the lack of relief hits in full when his lover pulls away entirely and leaves him void of touch altogether.

“Woo…”

“Shh, angel, shh, I’ll take care of you.”

Yeosang peeks over the edge of his arm to look at what Wooyoung is doing, finding the man with the bottle of lube back in his grasp. His cheeks find their heat again when the sound of the squirting emits from the bottle, and the moment he goes to bury his face away, Wooyoung lets out a low chuckle. The moment he has a hand free, he’s running it down Yeosang’s spine with great care.

“My sweet angel, still so shy over these things, hm?” Wooyoung’s body curls overtop his, and light hits Yeosang’s eyes as his arm is pulled away from his face. “Even after all the things we’ve done together?” Yeosang grits his teeth but manages to stare his lover down without wavering in that moment. The blunt tip of Wooyoung’s cock presses into his hole, teasing his rim with little thrusts that aren’t enough to breach his walls. “After I had you atop our captain’s chair, bouncing in my lap so recklessly?”

Wooyoung pins his wrists to the bed to keep him from hiding further. When their hands overlap, the younger of the two presses his fingers between Yeosang’s and wraps them down into his palms. Wooyoung sinks his cock deep into him in the same movement, offering a wholly intimate embrace for arguably the most intimate act two people can join in, and he’s grateful for the added touch because it grounds him through the unholy stretch his body has to make to accommodate his partner’s size.

“I don’t recall you being so virginly when I had you like that, or when I had you bent over in the kitchen while the others were eating in the next room… should I continue, dear? Hm?” Wooyoung’s taunts continue, none carrying heat or spite to their tone, and the humiliation that burns deep in Yeosang’s gut holds more desire than anything else.

“You — you run your mouth too d-damn much,” Yeosang grits out as the member inside him twitches with interest.

“That’s why I use it on you so much. Keeps me nice and docile for you.” Wooyoung leans back a bit as he laughs, but his hold on Yeosang remains firm even as he rolls his cock in and out of the man.

The sensation amplifies to new heights when Wooyoung continues that motion and builds up a steady rhythm to his thrusts. His hold on Yeosang’s wrists shifts only to bring both arms up over the Elitist’s head so he can pin them there. Using the new angle, Wooyoung seeks out his sweet spot, knocking his hips into Yeosang’s ass with such strength that it knocks him further forward on the mattress. He finds what he was after in that same moment, and it sends stars into Yeosang’s vision with the first rub over his prostate. When the feeling continues with this new angle, Yeosang has no choice but to curl his head inwards just to muffle the cries escaping him. Wooyoung himself is loud enough to alert everyone in the general vicinity of their activities; his grunts and growls paint the canvas of their joint pleasure into something almost carnal.

The more it persists, the more Yeosang loses his mind.

“I have never not loved you,” comes Wooyoung’s breathless murmur broken apart by moans. Yeosang wishes to reply but the rocking motion of hips snapping against his ass and Wooyoung’s cock rubbing over his prostate without relent has his brain turned to utter mush. The only noise that leaves his mouth when he opens it is a slurred moan that contains no intelligible words whatsoever. “And there will never be a day where I do not love you.”

With fingers threaded through his, Yeosang clings to Wooyoung tighter and hopes that his emotions can be conveyed with such a simple touch. It isn’t enough, but it likely never will be, and Yeosang is fairly certain that mere words can’t fully encapsulate the feeling well enough either.

Wooyoung fucks into him until they’re both hurdling over the edge of an orgasm together, and it drags a wet sob from Yeosang’s lips as tears color the comforter beneath his head. Wooyoung stays locked inside him, hips laying flush with his ass as he paints his walls white. They don’t part for quite some time either, both because Wooyoung keeps him pressed to the bed with their position and Yeosang feels so emotionally and physically exhausted that he doesn’t want to budge even an inch.

Yeosang cries the whole trip down from his high, for reasons that he can’t even place, but Wooyoung takes care of him all the same like he does when they’ve done much more intense scenes than this one. He realizes what has been bothering him in the heat of those aftershocks

Love is no easy matter, but loving Wooyoung may be the easiest thing Yeosang has ever chosen to do in his life.

…

“I love you.”

Wooyoung jerks at the softly spoken proclamation, head still buried in the box of knick-knacks he’s currently going through when Yeosang speaks at first.

“Yeo…?” His full lips fold into a delicate pout that accentuates the beauty mark sitting atop his lower lip, and Yeosang finds himself too enamored to say anything for several passing seconds. Wooyoung saves him from having to repeat himself, the words already feeling too far away and foreign to be uttered a second time. He breaks into a small bout of laughter that makes him fold in half over the cardboard box in front of him and grins from ear to ear while showering Yeosang with the warmest gaze he’s seen in a long time from the man.

Yeosang trudges over on heavy feet when he’s waved over to join Wooyoung at his side.

“I’m not sure who Hongjoong is friends with or how he managed to do this, but he got this box of collectibles from Eros so that I can decorate my room comfortably.” Wooyoung’s head falls to the side, bumping harshly against Yeosang’s shoulder. They both seem to move in sync as one contorts to fit to the other’s space until Yeosang has a hand wrapped around Wooyoung’s back to rest on his opposite hip while Wooyoung lets his head fall more comfortably into the older’s space. “Lots of this stuff looks like the things we would smuggle into your room. Not exact replicas of course, but… still nostalgic enough.”

Yeosang hums as his gaze falls over the box. He settles on a small figurine, this one made of black metal that is sleek and shiny all over. Not quite as delicate as the first one he owned, but not nearly as precious as the one he received from Wooyoung in the past.

“Ah, that reminds me!” Wooyoung snaps his index finger and thumb together and hurriedly pulls out of the other’s grasp to move off to a different area of the room. Yeosang nearly pursues him but he’s kept firmly in place by Wooyoung lifting a hand and making a stopping motion as he flits around in search of whatever he’s after. “Here it is, I found it!”

The triumphant little cheer Wooyoung lets out when he’s retrieved the item has Yeosang biting at the inside of his lip to keep from smiling too much. He returns to Yeosang in the blink of an eye, still giggling and smiling so hard that his nose scrunches upwards and his eyes crinkle from the effort.

“Here!”

The item that gets passed into Yeosang’s hand just about fits in his palm, something small and nondescript upon first glance, and he almost looks right over it without much care. In the fleeting glance he passes over it on his way to look at Wooyoung’s face though, he’s left to do a double take and blink down at what sits in his hand with nothing but shock filling his veins. That feeling twists and turns as his heart does.

A small figurine, almost like the one sitting in the box right now that is shiny and new and made of high quality material but starkly different in that it is made of cheap wood and poorly carved. Etched into the base lies two sets of initials side by side with nothing more than a diagonal line separating them.

When he manages to look at Wooyoung again, the man rests a hand overtop the one that holds the gift and clasps it tight between their shared grips.

“I love you too, Yeosang.”

✧✧✧

a/n: hello and welcome. now i know i havent answered all the asks about 47 yet... but i have plans to do some things on the weekend so i wanted to get this out first LSKJFL i will consolidate asks soon but in the meantime i decided CHAOS WAS ON THE MENU BABY! but also these two are so near and dear to me i’ve actually had this written since before i finished 47 and was waiting for this chance to post it so im very excited to post it TT i hope you guys enjoy as much as i do <33 hugs n kisses <33

Mists of Celeste is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[teawithkpop]

[M] - PhysCom - Pt 7

pt 1 - pt 2 - pt 3 - bc 1 - pt 4 - pt 5 - pt 6 - pt 7

Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader

Rating: Mature [18+]

Length: 5.4k words

Genre: PhysCom AU - smut with dashes of angst, and a shitload of romance and complicated feelings,, uhuhu (porn with plot??)

Warnings: swearing, a lot of emotional turmoil, talk of pregnancy scares (birth control, contraceptives, etc.), implied discrimination towards sex workers (not by any of the boys dw), mentions of sexual acts

slowly hands you a cake that says "I haven't updated this fic in 14 months and I don't know when the next part is coming but here's an update thanks for being patient" in comic sans

-------

The rush to the hospital goes by in a blur of tears and shouting and panic and questions that you can't bring yourself to answer. The only constant is Min Yoongi's hand, firmly locked in your own throughout the ordeal, tethering you to reality.

You now sit in a private room on a sterile medical table and wait to be seen, too numb inside to feel the sting of the cold metal as it cuts into the backs of your thighs. Yoongi stands beside you, still holding your hand, his fingers are laced through yours and squeezing as if it could sap away the fear that eats away your insides, leaving you hollow and empty.

"It'll be alright. Don't worry about a damn thing, okay?" He shifts his weight anxiously, betraying his own underlying worries.

You barely remember him throwing his jacket over you before being rushed out of the house, and you don't feel deserving of the modest coverage. Though the leather is worn and soft against your skin, all you can feel is the harsh metallic zipper, scratching at your chest as though reminding you of your wrongdoings.

"Yoongi…" you start to say, but he cuts you off, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"Don't you fucking dare. Don't apologize."

You feel tears well up in your eyes. Your chest grows tight with the words he's forbidden you to say.

"I've already called Namjoon, it'll all be fine. Don't worry." He works his jaw and rubs your hand with surprising tenderness, glancing to the little window in the door every other second.

He's been assuring you with those same words for the past half hour, but it feels like it's been an eternity. As you glance at the clock on the wall, watching the hands tick by, you imagine a scene like that of a health documentary. Tiny sperm, swimming up your insides… fertilizing your previously dormant eggs.

Fuck. You've fucked up.

You might be pregnant with Min Yoongi's child. Your Opticon birth control implant could send you into toxic shock at any moment.

You don't see how things can get much worse than this.

The door finally opens, and what appears to be a nurse steps inside. She holds a clipboard, and examines it while she lets the door close behind her. "Let's see now, Miss..." Her shoulders slump marginally as her eyes reach your name. "Oh, right. The PhysCom."

You don't have the energy to ignore the change in her tone from friendly to disinterested, and simply nod. However, you feel Yoongi stiffen beside you.

The nurse lets out a brief sigh and dons a professional expression. "So, what appears to be the problem?" She directs the question to Yoongi.

"We think her birth control implant isn't working." Yoongi explains, his eyes darting furtively between you and the nurse. "She, um… she reached orgasm."

You flush at the memory, ashamed of your failure to adhere to even the most basic of rules set before you.

The nurse makes a noncommittal noise and jots something down. "Says here it’s an Opticon. And you didn't turn it off, sir?"

He shakes his head.

The nurse touches the end of her pen to her mouth, a note of sympathy forming in her eyes. Not for you, but for Yoongi. "How long have you had her?"

"Excuse me?" Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

The nurse tucks the clipboard under her arm, giving him a weary, patient smile. “With PhysComs, we have a list of probable scenarios we’re supposed to check for, to better inform the doctor of the situation, and speed along the treatment process.”

She barely spares you a glance before returning her attention to Yoongi, her voice lowered just a fraction. “It’s not uncommon for newly hired female PhysComs to try and… well, intentionally get pregnant from their clients. Especially if those clients have any amount of wealth or status.”

Yoongi seems lost for words.

She nods as if to agree with his surprise. “It’s some psychosis associated with the job,” she says with a shrug, then straightens her posture once more. “So has she been acting strangely at all? What are her symptoms?”

Your ears burn a bit at being talked about like you’re not in the room, but this isn’t the first time you’ve been in such a position. Oftentimes checkups during training were the same way, the physicians would speak exclusively among themselves and Madame while they examined every inch of you, inside and out.

Yoongi, however, is not used to such an experience.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” He says, in a voice much calmer than you would have expected. But one glance at his face tells you all you need to know. His eyes are burning like hot coals. Molten and dangerous.

The nurse doesn’t pick up on his irritation, and busily flips through the pages on her clipboard. “I need reliable information, sir. If you please,” she prompts him.

You can feel Yoongi’s hand clench around yours, and you turn to quiet him.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, hoping to reassure him enough so he’ll talk to her, but he stands his ground, his eyes glued on the nurse.

“Get out,” Yoongi says.

The nurse does a double take. “Excuse me, sir?”

“I said get the fuck out of here.” He points to the door. “Send us someone who will actually help.”

She fumes silently for a moment, but decides not to argue with him, and heads for the door in a huff.

Yoongi scoffs as you two are left alone once more. “What the fuck kind of bedside manner was that supposed to be?” He mutters, staring at the door.

“It’s okay.” You place a hand on his arm.

“No, it’s not.” He’s adamant, and you sigh wearily. How do you explain that this is only what can be expected?

You pick out a few haphazard words from the maelstrom in your brain, too tired to find the best phrasing. “Medical personnel… they don’t really get it.”

“Get what?” He asks, turning to you in outrage. “Being a fucking decent human being?”

You flinch, withdrawing your hand. You’re too tired to try and get your point across. But he notices you wilt and immediately comes closer, lowering his voice and placing both his hands on your arms. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the edge of anger fading away to gentleness. Kindness. “What do you mean?”

You sigh, looking off to the side. You don’t deserve to have him look at you like that.

You carefully remove his hands, trying to maintain some semblance of a professional distance, even in the face of disaster. “Most hospitals don’t look favorably at PhysComs. We were given a few lectures about it in training. We use up their resources and time that could instead be given to patients who didn’t willingly put themselves at risk.”

You remember how your fellow trainees had reacted after those discussions. Many of them found the treatment to be unfair, but you yourself felt that, in a way, the medical field’s viewpoint was reasonable. Your choices are what landed you here.

“What the- what are you talking about?” He huffs, still seemingly in the dark. “You didn’t ask for this… this scare. It wasn’t your fault.” He tries to meet your eyes, but your gaze is fixed firmly to the linoleum floor.

A mirthless smile paints your lips. “But I chose this life. And these risks along with it.”

Before he can question you further, the door bursts open and Kim Namjoon enters the room, both his dress shirt and his hair are rumpled, and his eyes are frantic. “Sweetheart?” He rushes to your side and crushes you in a hug. “Are you alright?”

You hear Yoongi let out a breath of relief. “She’s okay, for the moment.”

Something about the way Namjoon holds you feels like a lamp being held against your cold skin. You’re too damp inside to light a flame yourself, but his own body warms you from the outside in the meantime. You want to let yourself enjoy it, but the memory of your unresolved questions leaves you limp in his arms, filled with nothing but misery and confusion.

He pulls back after a moment, checking you over for signs of injury. His eyes are wide with concern. “What happened? Tell me everything.”

A flare of shame rises up in you at the notion of telling Namjoon about your rule-breaking and everything that occured since this morning.

Thankfully, Yoongi seems to sense your hesitance, and he fills in most of the pieces for Namjoon. Namjoon’s expression remains stoic as Yoongi recounts what happened - you being brought home unconcious, seducing Yoongi - up until the mention of your orgasm. Namjoon’s jaw slackens slightly at this, and his eyes scan your face, searching for something.

It’s at this moment that the doctor walks in, a different nurse at his side. He’s a slightly older man, a few wrinkles creasing his brow, and a smile that appears kind until it lands on you. His face is then tinged with that same indifference that most medical professionals give you.

You wish it was your usual physician, but since this was an emergency, you didn’t have time to take the trip to your usual practice. Whatever hospital is nearest, that’s what Yoongi had told the driver.

The man turns to Namjoon, who arguably commands more presence than Yoongi, and the kindness returns. “Sorry for the delay. Busy night. From what I understand, your PhysCom has malfunctioned, is that correct?”

“Her Opticon malfunctioned, yes.” Namjoon corrects him. His diplomatic tendencies are a blessing right now. You just want to know if you’re pregnant or not. You want to know if you’re losing your job. You want to go home.

The doctor runs a few physical tests on you, feeling your breasts, peering down your throat, and examining your vaginal canal, checking for any other symptoms of malfunction from your Opticon. “All’s well so far.” He says, pulling his forefingers out of you, snapping off his gloves, and disposing of them. “May I take a look at the ComGear?”

You feel a flash of panic, waking you out of your stupor. Fuck, was it still in the group chat? You pull out the slim device, heart hammering as you check. Nope. Just settings. Thank god.

You hand it over, and then remember with a looming feeling of dread exactly why it might have been left on the settings page...

“You do so much for us, jagiya.” Taehyung keeps his hands braced on your arms, his thumb rubbing gently against your skin. “You’re always there for us. Always giving… Now it’s time for you to receive.”

“I’m sorry! It’s my fault-” Jimin’s eyes fall to your compromising position, Yoongi’s dick still out, your leaking core exposed, and claps a hand over his mouth. He looks like he might cry. “Oh no...”

The pieces fall into place, and there’s no doubt in your mind. They must have switched it off.

But why? Why, why, why…?

The doctor - you’re too frazzled to read his nametag - pulls out a pair of reading glasses and takes a look at your ComGear, poking around the device with his pointer finger. “Hm. Strange.” He squints. “The Opticon does appear to be switched off.”

Namjoon blinks. “That’s impossible.”

“I’m afraid that’s the case.” The doctor shows him the setting, the toggle very much in the off position. Namjoon takes the device and looks at it in shock.

The doctor coughs. “I know that, um… for some individuals, the temptation and the… risk associated with no protection during intercourse can be sexually arousing. It’s not the first time we’ve gotten a case like this.”

He removes his glasses, folding them back into his pocket. “However, I would remind you and anyone else who uses this one’s services that although Physical Companions may be virtually expendable, it can become quite expensive for your own sake to impregnate them on a whim, using and discarding them, what with the standard fees for breaching their contract and-”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Namjoon interrupts him, and you notice the iron grip he now has on Yoongi’s arm. Likely the only thing restraining him from throwing a punch. “We’ll be more careful.” Namjoon glances at you, confusion making a little crease between his brows. “Is there some sort of morning after pill she can take, or…?”

“I’m afraid the lingering effects of the Opticon implant render any outside hormone blockers ineffective.” The doctor says, his smile turning thin. “It’s a bit of a blessing and a curse. The hormone production and ovulation suppressant in the Opticon normally make the chance of fertilization zero percent while in use. After it’s switched off, chances are still fairly low at 30 percent, for up to 24 hours. But the chances of fertilization after taking a morning after pill are significantly lower than that, at only five percent.”

He shrugs. “We’ll just have to wait and see. Chances are, your PhysCom will be right as rain and ready to pleasure clients again in about a week.”

A week.

First a week of suspension on Namjoon’s terms… Now it’s on medical advisement.

“A week? What should we do until then?” Namjoon voices your very thoughts, Yoongi seething silently beside him.

“Well, we won’t have any results until three to five days from now.” The man clarifies. “But I highly recommend you leave the implant switched off and keep her on traditional contraceptives until we know for sure. I strongly recommend utilizing other PhysComs in the meantime, just to be safe.”

You’re finished.

The doctor hands Namjoon a paper bag, most likely containing birth control pills and condoms. “She may be somewhat volatile for the next few days. You can bring her in for another checkup in a week.”

You’re weak.

“Thank you.”

You’re numb.

-------

It was a silent car ride back to the house, and as Namjoon helps you step out of the vehicle, one hand holding yours for stability while the other rests on your lower back, you can’t help feeling utterly useless. Detached from your surroundings.

What’s the point of any of this now? There’s no way they’ll want to use you until this is resolved. You’re of no use to them as a sex toy until at least a week from now, and by then it’ll be far too late to earn their favor back.

“We need to have a meeting. Call the others into the living room.” Namjoon speaks to Yoongi in an undertone, and you feel a small ache of hope. Maybe things will work out if everyone just talks to each other.

But when you enter the house and Namjoon begins to steer you upstairs, you finally find your voice.

“No.” You resist against him, turning around at the base of the stairs. “No, I want to be part of the meeting.”

The surprise quickly fades from his face, instead turning to concern. “You need to rest."

Something about the look on his face, about being told yet again through his actions that this doesn’t concern you, it causes something inside you to snap, your apathy vanishing in the wake of this new beast beginning to rear its ugly head within you.

Your throat closes up and a scream erupts from your aching chest. "You don't know what I need!"

Namjoon matches your desperation with an infuriatingly patient look of sympathy. He approaches you, his hand outstretched, but you stagger back away from him. He smiles sadly and drops his hand. "Stay here. It's what's best for you."

What's best for you.

The words throb in your mind, like the memory of an old wound. They bounce listlessly off the walls of your grandiose prison long after Namjoon shuts the door, sealing you away again.

You don't know what comes over you as you see visions of launching yourself at the door, pounding and scratching at the wood like a wild animal.

You could just open the door and follow him downstairs. Some part of you does register that.

But you want them to hear you. You want them to hear you rip your throat raw as you exorcise your demons.

You blink and you're standing still.

You haven't moved.

Your spacious room feels stifling. Like the walls are closing in on you, suffocating you.

Silken ropes sway in the dusk, catching your eye from beyond the balcony window. Your escape route from earlier that day.

You don't think twice before stuffing a few meager belongings into the long forgotten backpack kicked beneath your bed.

You need to leave this place.

You can't stay here.

-------

It had started drizzling not long after you left the house, and even now as you sit on the damp curbside, waiting for the next bus to take you far away from this place, it strikes you as funny, in a way, that the weather is crying for you, since you can't muster any tears of your own.

It's cold and misty, a foreboding atmosphere, by all accounts. It makes you question if what you're about to do is the right call.

But you shut down the arguments in your head as quickly as they appear.

Second guessing was what had gotten you into this situation. You need to follow your instincts.

And your instincts are telling you to flee.

It won't be so bad, you try to convince yourself. After the first night on the road, you'll eventually find a new town, a new home, a new place for yourself in this fucked up world. You've done it before, you can do it again.

You're considering suitable aliases for your new persona, when you sense another person approaching, their shoes tramping through the wet grass.

You don't look up at them, hoping they'll pass by and leave you alone. But they come to a stop beside you.

You keep your gaze on the road, droplets rippling the puddled potholes.

Then the stranger goes to sit on the curb too, and you can't help but look at them.

You'd recognize those lips anywhere, even beneath a baggy hooded sweatshirt.

"It's a bit late to run errands, don't you think?" Seokjin says, pulling his sleeves down to keep out the chill as he perches beside you.

He glances at you, then looks ahead at the road, the same way you were. You return your gaze forward, too exhausted to make a run for it. Though you don't get the sense that he would chase after you, even if you tried to escape.

Maybe that's exactly why you decide to stay put, but you don't give the suspicion any more thought.

"What do you want?" You finally ask, your voice croaky from being silent for so long.

"Nothing."

"Liar," you mutter, hugging your knees to your chest. "Everyone wants something."

He chuckles. Rests back on his hands. "I guess you're right about that."

Damn right you are. You didn't study the human condition through your years of training to be fooled so easily by pretty words.

"So?" You prompt him, still staring at the dreary horizon.

He takes a moment to respond. The silence is punctuated by the distant noises of traffic, an occasional car passing by, its headlights shimmering in the mist before disappearing down the road.

“The others are all out looking for you, you know,” he says simply. “Why do you think that is?”

If it were anyone else that had run away - their manager, a friend - you know what the answer would be. Because they care about that person. But how can you believe that about yourself, when you know you can never amount to anyone with that level of importance to them?

Ironic, since you’re the person with which they can be most intimate and vulnerable.

“I’m a liability,” you reply halfheartedly.

His silence serves to confirm your suspicions. A runaway PhysCom? Far too risky for a group at their level. You could become one of those anonymous sources like you saw in the news. A firsthand account of the BTS members’ secret sexual urges. Unacceptable. Snatches of words from the NDA you signed buzz around the edges of your mind like stray flies.

But since you're no longer connected to your network, then your tracker is probably disconnected. If the bus had come just a little earlier, you might already have escaped without a trace.

“You really think that’s the only reason?” Seokjin’s voice pulls you back to the moment.

His abysmal attempt to divert from the problem gets a hollow laugh out of you.

“Any other reason has ulterior motives. It’s just business.” You check the time on your ComGear. The bus should be here any minute. “I’m leaving, and I won’t let you stop me.”

“I don’t intend to,” he agrees, to your surprise. “God knows you’ve been put through enough.” He then leans forward, resting his forearms across his legs. “But for what it’s worth, you deserve to know the truth.”

Your ears perk up at this.

Seokjin seems to take your silence as permission to continue. “The reason we decided to suspend you. It wasn’t… entirely selfless.”

You purse your lips in irritation and fix your gaze upon the horizon, settling your chin beneath your crossed arms. “Right. Ulterior motives, like I said.”

He clicks his tongue. “Touche.”

You wait for him to continue, but he doesn't.

Your curiosity gets the better of you.

“So, what… were you planning to replace me?” You ask, trying to sound contemptuous. “I heard you all having your little group meeting in the kitchen. There are plenty of shiny new whores at your disposal, take your pick.”

He still makes no noise.

You wait, preparing to accept a bitter confirmation of all your fears.

But then he finds his voice. “We could never replace you, dear.”

You stop. Look over at him. His eyes are half lidded, his smile bittersweet as he stares off into the distance. After a few moments, he fishes around in his pocket and pulls something out, then hands it to you.

His smartphone.

“Here,” he murmurs, sympathy in the quirk of his lips. “In case you need to call anyone. Those devices they give you don’t have a cell plan, I assume.”

He seems to sense your wariness, and waves the phone a bit in a gesture of insistence. “I can buy a dozen new ones. It’s no trouble.”

You very hesitantly take it. “Thanks.”

Of course, he has no way to know that your ComGear is now jailbroken, for all intents and purposes. But… is this a trap? What if there’s a tracker in the phone? But why would he need to put a tracker in it if he doesn’t know your ComGear is off the grid?

The rumble of an approaching motor pulls you out of your cyclical thoughts, and you get on your feet, slowly coming out of your dissociative sulk.

But you still feel numb. Nothing matters anymore.

Nothing at all.

Jin gets up along with you, slipping his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Stay safe, alright?”

You give a brief nod of acknowledgment, only half in his direction as you shrug your bag onto your shoulder more securely. The hydraulics of the bus screech as the vehicle comes to a stop and lowers slightly, allowing you to step onboard.

You glance back, fully expecting Jin to stop you. But he doesn’t. He blinks raindrops out of his eyes while you board, and gives you a small smile once the doors close behind you. He lifts a hand in farewell, then turns and starts to walk away down the street.

He’s really letting you go.

You pay your fare and find a seat towards the back of the nearly empty bus. Rain pelts at the windows, picking up in earnest, and it feels like yet another layer, another barrier, separating yourself and creating an ever-growing chasm from the life you knew up until yesterday.

You pull out Jin’s phone, staring at the dark screen and wiping away stray raindrops from the surface with your sleeve. Why had he come to find you, if not to stop you?

“But for what it’s worth, you deserve to know the truth.”

Maybe he felt guilty. Or remorseful for the hell you’ve been put through recently. You would normally have felt immense satisfaction at such a thought.

But you can’t feel much of anything right now.

You don’t think you’ll be able to feel properly again. At least not for a long, long time…

Hm? The screen lit up. You must have pressed a button by accident. You swipe at it again, and to your surprise it unlocks. Who doesn’t put a passcode on their phone?

Is it possible… he disabled it before he gave it to you? Maybe. Whatever. You’re so tired of thinking, playing investigator and second guessing people’s motivations.

You scroll over to the phone icon, and tap on it, briefly considering calling your parents. But the wetness on your fingers messes with the touchscreen and you open the messages app instead.

You’re about to wipe the screen and try again, but… the most recent messages are… all about you. You tap on the group chat among the seven of them, currently bustling with activity.

[ Kim Namjoon ]: has anyone found her [ Park Jimin ]: hyung I’m so sorry [ Park Jimin ]: it’s all my fault [ Min Yoongi ]: she’s not at the studio [ Kim Namjoon ]: we’ll talk about it later Jimin [ Kim Namjoon ]: everyone keep looking [Jeon Jungkook]: manager said they can call her network to track her down [Kim Taehyung ]: should we do that? [ Jung Hoseok ]: no! she could get in trouble :( [ Min Yoongi ]: she’s not a stray pet [ Kim Namjoon ]: exactly [ Kim Namjoon ]: we need to keep this quiet for her sake [Kim Taehyung ]: she hasn’t replied to my texts or calls [ Min Yoongi ]: me neither [Jeon Jungkook]: hyung... will she be okay? [ Kim Namjoon ]: everything will be fine don’t worry [ Kim Namjoon ]: we’re going to fix this somehow [ Min Yoongi ]: whatever it takes [ Jung Hoseok ]: where could she have gone... [ Park Jimin ]: what if she doesn’t come back?

You scroll further up, past days and weeks and months of texts between them… not even a day between mentions of you. Wondering if you’re alright. Hoping you’ve eaten enough. Wanting to do more with you.

The thread of texts Jimin sent to Seokjin just yesterday.

Hyung I wish things were different I want to hold her I want to tell her she’s enough I wish I could kiss her… I think I love her Do you ever feel that way?

And Seokjin’s reply.

I do I know just what you mean Why do you think I turned those secondaries away last night, hm? No one can compare She really is special…

He didn’t… fuck the secondaries? After you broke at dinner, he… didn’t...?

You switch to his thread with Namjoon from a few days ago.

I know you’re our leader but I don’t think this is the way to go You need to be more cautious

Namjoon’s reply.

What we need is action, hyung If we work together on this, we could get rid of these unnecessary rules We could all have what we want Including her It’s what’s best for everyone

Seokjin took several minutes to reply.

You’re going to lose her.

Jin knew. He tried to talk Namjoon out of writing that stupid essay, or maybe it was about your suspension.

Either way, he defended you.

You open his thread with Hoseok. Dimly, you recognize that you shouldn’t be snooping, but you’re too absorbed to stop.

Hyung, I think she really wants this All of us ♡ I don’t know how, but we need to show her that it’s okay That we want it just as much

How do you know that’s what she wants?

I can’t say ♡ But I know now She wouldn’t reject us Our feelings She feels something too

The date and time lines up with this morning. The morning after he made love to you.

He didn’t tell them. He kept your secret.

“Our feelings”? What does he mean? Him, Jimin, Taehyung… Seokjin? Do they all…?

Your head spins, the hollowness of your heart filling with a rush of jumbled emotions, like a tide crashing in. All your numbness is washed out with light, just a pinprick at first, that grows rapidly into a ray of warmth as you consider what all this could mean. The chasm starts to narrow, and you get the urge to jump ship, to turn back and figure this shit out. To know once and for all what they want from you. What you mean to them.

But how can you trust this isn’t a trap? How can you be sure?

The answer is as simple as they come.

You can’t.

You can’t be absolutely certain that their intentions are pure… that this is the right thing to do… that you won’t be hurt again.

But maybe... trust isn’t about being infallible. Being right. Being sure.

Maybe it’s built on what ifs. On trying again, even with no guarantees.

Guarantees are only as good as their word, and talk is cheap. Lies are easy. Your Opticon had a 100% guarantee, and look where that got you.

But you remember the way Hoseok held you that night, and made love to you like you’ve never felt in your life... When Jimin kissed his way down your body, with only the best of intentions. Namjoon’s strong arms embracing you when you felt powerless. Yoongi’s hand never leaving yours, even while you waited in the hospital. Jungkook carrying you home after you fainted, breaking your door to make sure you were safe in bed. The look in Taehyung’s eyes when he finally kissed you, breaking the ice you’d been growing around your heart.

How Seokjin let you go.

Maybe...

You get up with a start, rush to the front of the bus, and hastily ask the driver to let you off, much to the old man’s disgruntlement, but the moment the doors whoosh open, you take off at a run.

You want to go home.

You want to try again.

No matter how much you try to bury it, to forget the way they make you feel, you care about them. All of them. On a much deeper level than that of a PhysCom and client. And it scares you.

But you’re done running from fear. From uncertainty.

Now you’re running towards it willingly, as you give chase down the torrential streets, searching for that familiar hooded figure and hoping you’re not too late. You’re embracing the doubt, the fear, the uncertainty, the paranoia... letting their shadowy claws sink into you until they can’t hurt you anymore. Until they fade away, cowering under the glow of your determination.

You’re setting some new rules for yourself, no longer letting fear control your thoughts and actions, barring you from any chance of happiness.

You see Seokjin in the distance, trudging home through the pouring rain. You run faster.

You’re fucking terrified. But you’ve never felt so free in your life.

“Jin!” You shout to get his attention, still a block away. He turns around, and shakes his head, seemingly confused, but a smile starts to appear. You smile too.

Finally, you catch up to him, and without warning, you throw your arms around his shoulders. Damn, he’s always taller than you remember.

He laughs, shocked by your change of heart. “What are you doing?”

“I want to hear you say it.” You reply, looking up at him as rain dashes down your face. You don’t know when you started crying, but you’re grateful to the weather for masking your tears.

“Say what?” He asks, his hands resting on your waist to support you. Thunder rumbles in the distance, rain sliding down his perfect face.

“How you feel about me.” You reply, studying his eyes. “Be honest.”

He seems to sense the gravity in your words. He holds you closer. His eyes soften.

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

For the first time since all of this started, you sense no deception in his words, no double meaning, no hidden agenda.

Because you aren’t searching for reasons to doubt this time.

You’re searching for reasons to trust, and you find them.

You want to kiss him. So you do.

[pocket-luv101]

The Sea In The Sky // Chapter 1

Fandom: Genshin Impact Ship: XiaoAether Characters: Xiao, Aether, Zhongli, Xiao’s previous master

Summary: Aether is a mermaid. He is captured by the Goddess of Dreams who plans to sacrifice him. The goddess orders Xiao to guard Aether and stop him from escaping. (Mermaid AU)

(Ch.1) //

“If you wish to kill me, you will have to enter my domain.” Aether challenged the goddess and he glared up at where she stood at the edge of the ravine. She may have led him into a trap but he was far from helpless. The abyss he was imprisoned in was deep and her soldiers would drown if they tried to reach him. Unfortunately, Aether could do little else. The goddess had sealed the underwater openings of the ravine and he couldn’t swim away.

Aether was a mermaid and he could easily survive in the water but he needed to eat. However, the moment he left the water, he would be killed. They were both well aware of this and they were at a standstill. The first to move from the safety of their domain would lose. He didn’t allow any of those concerns to appear on his face as he levelled his gaze at the goddess. He only needed to bide his time until they fell asleep and he could sneak out of the hole.

“Mermaids are such violent creatures, aren’t they?” She mused to herself and Aether bit his tongue against a retort. Mermaids like him needed to be wary after they were hunted to near extinction. People believed that sacrificing a mermaid to the moon would grant them immortality and power. Aether didn’t know what a goddess would want from the ritual when she already had so much power. She smiled down at him and added: “But you have the same simple hearts as humans. Your sister was stubborn like you.”

“Are you trying to imply that you trapped her here as well? Don’t make me laugh. She’s far too strong for someone like you to capture her.” Aether laughed dryly. He knew that she was likely trying to provoke him yet he couldn’t stop his magic from rushing through his blood. Before he could think better, he channeled his magic into the water around him.

The water burst out of the ravine like a torrent and it was left empty and bare. The goddess evaded his attack by simply stepping backwards but then the water formed into countless swords above their heads. It would be impossible for so many swords to miss. However, the woman remained undaunted by the threat and she didn’t look away from Aether.

“Come, Alatus.”

A green blur darted over her head and it easily parried the countless water swords. A man landed at the rocky edge of the abyss and Aether struggled to see his face hidden behind a yaksha mask. Then, he disappeared. He gasped when he suddenly appeared before him and he barely had the chance to react. The man aimed his spear at him and he moved too quickly for Aether to dodge.

Aether clasped the air in front of him and then he drew his fist to his chest. The water above them followed his motion and it crashed back into the hole. With the rush of water, the man was thrown off balance and his spear struck the floor instead. He grabbed the pole before the man could recover in the water and he kept him from using it again. He held onto the spear to anchor himself and then he slapped the man with his amber tail.

He slammed him into the ground and the impact caused his mask to fly off his face. Aether grabbed the man’s shoulder and he lifted his spear in his other hand. He looked into the man’s face and something in his expression stopped him. His golden eyes appeared lost and resigned to death. Despite his better judgement, he couldn’t help but feel pity and mercy.

Aether created a current that carried the man back to the surface and threw him out of the water. He continued to grip his jade spear though. He decided to spare the man but he wasn’t naive. “I was told that my sister was captured by you. I don’t sense her presence lingering here so that was clearly a lie. Do you know where she is?”

“No.” Her short answer made Aether’s heart sink. His sister disappeared 500 years ago and he didn’t know whether she was still alive. Yet, he continued to search the ocean for her. The goddess’s expression finally changed and the corner of her lips tilted up into a grin. “Mermaids often keep themselves hidden so tales of one exploring the seven seas to find their sister spread quickly. You have your own foolishness to blame for this situation.”

Aether should’ve been angry at her mocking words but, to his surprise, he only felt relieved. The goddess was infamous for her cruelty and he hated the thought of his sister being the one trapped in the ravine. Hopefully, he would be able to escape once it became night. She blocked the underwater passages but he would find another way to escape. The woman stepped away from the ravine and out of his sight.

“Alatus, you are to guard the mermaid and keep him from escaping.” She ordered and he could only nod solemnly. The moment she spoke his name, he was compelled to obey her. Xiao glanced into the hole where the mermaid sat. They were both trapped by the goddess and neither could escape.

Aether swirled the water in front of him and he froze the current until he could form two ice mirrors. He tapped the cold surface and one of the mirrors flew out of the cavern. The two mirrors were connected and they reflected the same image. He intended to use them to be able to see the land above and fully assess his situation. If there were only a few guards, he could fight them and escape. Mermaids were able to perform a spell to gain legs but it was dangerous.

Shockingly, he could only see one man guarding him. He thought there would be more. The guard sat with his back to him but Aether recognized him as the masked man from that morning. He wasn’t sleeping so he would have to fight him. Their brief encounter told him that it would be more difficult to defeat him than an army of regular soldiers. Aether let out a resigned sigh and he picked up the jade spear.

He swam towards the surface and he was able to hear the voices of two people. Aether emerged from the water and he was careful to keep them from noticing them. He squinted against the darkness and he saw the man speaking to a stone dragon. “I apologize for my carelessness, Rex Lapis, I have lost the spear you gifted me. I shouldn’t have underestimated a mermaid.”

“Xiao, you don’t need to apologize for everything.” The dragon spoke with a deep, soothing voice. “I gave you that spear so you could protect yourself until I found a way to free you from your master. I thought I would be able to free you by now. She’s a formidable opponent as the Goddess of Dreams. Merely approaching her is dangerous because she will corrupt one’s heart and mind. However, I will not give up.”

Aether knew that this was the best chance to escape yet he found himself intrigued by their conversation. He heard rumours of the goddess and how she controlled powerful warriors. Even though yaksha was clearly a strong warrior, he didn’t appear to be violent or bloodthirsty.

He shook his head and he reminded himself that the longer he was trapped in the cavern, the more time Lumine was alone in the ocean. They grew up relying on each other to survive despite how humans ruthlessly hunted them for power. He didn’t know why she suddenly disappeared from their river but he would search the seven seas for her.

He gripped the rocky ledge and he pulled himself onto land as quickly as he could. His tail slapped against the water as he sat on the ground and the splash caught Xiao’s attention. He turned around sharply and his eyes narrowed the moment he saw Aether. Xiao summoned his spear and Aether quickly countered his attack by controlling the water. He used the water to create a wall in front of him.

“Bound to the sea. Bound to the earth. To find your true home, release the spirit to the sky.” Aether quickly chanted the spell and he called upon the power of the sun. A warm breeze circled his tail and he had to close his eyes against the bright light. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that he now had legs. He jumped to his feet to flee but he almost immediately stumbled to the ground. He rarely used his human form and he wasn’t accustomed to walking— let alone running.

He couldn’t find his balance and he started to fall again. A hand caught his wrist to keep him from crashing into the hard ground. The brief moment of relief Aether felt disappeared when he realized that it was Xiao who caught him. Xiao tugged on his hand and he fell forward into his chest. He let go of him, only to wrap his arm around his waist and lift his spear.

His heart dropped, thinking that Xiao would take him to the goddess to be sacrificed. However, he couldn’t fight back with his arm keeping him in place. He pressed his face into the man’s chest so he wouldn’t see his attack and he braced himself for the pain. Aether forced himself to focus on anything but the weapon. He held his breath and he counted the sound of water droplets falling from his hair to the stone floor.

After a moment, Aether realized that Xiao stood frozen in front of him. The hand on his bare back was trembling slightly. Aether hesitantly lifted his face from his chest and he looked into Xiao’s golden eyes. He was confused about why he suddenly stopped when it was impossible for him to disobey an order from the goddess. He pushed against Xiao's grip and that seemed to break him out of his trance.

“I don’t want to eat another dream.” He whispered so softly that Aether wouldn’t have heard them if they weren’t standing so close to each other. “I’m sorry. I don’t have another choice.”

“Xiao.” A deep voice interrupted him and they turned to the stone dragon he was speaking with earlier. “What exactly was the order she gave you?”

Xiao’s eyes widened. The slight change in his expression spoke volumes to Aether, portraying the yaksha’s understanding and relief. He dropped his weapon but he didn’t let go of him. Aether gasped as Xiao lifted him into his arms and he instinctively hugged his neck to keep himself from falling. His confusion grew after he realized that he wasn’t taking him to the goddess’s palace.

Instead, Xiao carried him to the ravine. He slowly lowered him into the water and his tail returned once he became wet. He didn’t dive back into the safety of the water though. Aether studied his expression in the moonlight and he searched for the reason behind Xiao’s contradictory behaviour. As if he could read his mind, he explained.

“The goddess only commanded me to keep you from escaping. I am under no obligation to take you to her once I stop you.” Xiao explained. “You can try to run again but I will capture you and take you back to this hole. However, I suggest that you don’t try to escape in front of the goddess. She will order me to kill you and I won’t be able to stop next time.”

“I don’t know whether I should thank you for sparing me when I’m still trapped in this hell.” Aether smiled wearily. He began to sink into the water but then he noticed the conflicted expression Xiao wore. He clearly understood the pain of being trapped because he was serving such a cruel god. Aether could only imagine how long he served her but the torment he experienced was easy to guess. “That man called you Xiao. Is that your name?”

They were both trapped by the goddess and Aether’s heart softened. He should be skeptical of Xiao but he couldn’t bring himself to resent him. Neither of them had a choice in this situation and he didn’t truly want to help her. He fought against his master’s control long enough for him to find a way to disobey her.

“Xiao, may I touch you? I can sense a tension in your mind and I may be able to purify it. This will be my way to thank you.” He slowly moved his hand until it hovered inches over Xiao’s cheek. He was so close that he could feel his warmth but both were hesitant to close the small space between them. Aether thought his silence was a rejection and he started to lower his hand.

Then, Xiao leaned into his palm and he took a shaky breath. Aether gently rubbed his thumb over his cheek and he focused on the dark aura plaguing his mind. His purification magic flowed from his fingers and he watched how Xiao relaxed beneath his touch. His expression softened and Aether hadn’t seen someone appear so beautiful before.

Xiao placed his hand over Aether’s and he lightly guided their linked fingers to the water. He let him go and stood. As wonderful as the spell was, he didn’t want to indulge in something so fleeting. He walked away and he heard Aether’s voice behind him. “Sweet dreams, Xiao.”

Aether sank to the seafloor and he thought over what he learned from the short exchange between Xiao and the stone dragon. The goddess had a way to control him and the dragon was searching for a way to help him. Perhaps, he could also work with them to defeat the goddess.

Together, they could both become free.

A/N: I based Xiao’s master on the description in the beta bow Primordial Jade Vista and headcanon that she is the goddess of dreams or has a way of looking into someone mind/dreams.

[vrishchikawrites]

If you're still taking prompts, how about WWX becoming a god after he dies in the siege? It's hard to slander someone when you have a proof of their benevolence like this. I always loved the concept. He's strong and good enough to ascend, especially since in his last actions he chose to spare those who wronged him and destroy the seal. And now LZ needs to catch up ;)

(we'll need to hand wave some of the genre constants here. apologies!)

It happens in Qinghe. The Nie Clan hosts a Martial Arts conference and Lan Wangji accompanies Lan Xichen even though he's not inclined to. He has just come out of seclusion and socialization is the last thing on his mind.

But his brother insists and Wangji is hesitant to deny. The Unclean Realm is bustling with activity and Wangji feels the strain of it keenly. There's something off in the air.

It isn't until he meets Nie Mingjue that he realizes just what is off.

The man looks furious instead of stern and commanding. Nie Mingjue has always had a temper but Wangji has never seen him quite this unsettled. His eyes seem blood-shot and his expression is almost cruel. There's an odd, dissonant energy around him that alarms Wangji.

Xichen, Jin Guangyao, and Nie Mingjue seem to be arguing in some fashion, Wangji was too far away to understand their conversation but Nie Mingjue's voice was loud and enraged.

"Da-ge," Nie Huaisang's worried voice catches his attention and he turns to look in his direction. His expression conveys his anxiety for his brother clearly. Nie Huaisang is studying the scene before him with furrowed brows and uncharacteristically shrewd eyes, "Wangji-xiong, what do you think of this?"

At first, Wangji is hesitant to comment. This isn't his concern and he is certain Xichen will help if help is needed.

But something in Nie Huaisang's tone makes him hesitate. He is obviously seeking comfort.

Wangji studies the scene once again, noting with concern that even his brother is looking disturbed by Nie Mingjue's rage, "He is dangerously unstable. Xiongzhang's Song of Clarity isn't working?"

Nie Huaisang purses his lips and shakes his head, "San-ge plays it regularly but it doesn't seem to help." He waves his fan in agitation, "Nothing seems to help."

Wangji has nothing else to say. He's not good with casual conversations or comforting words. It is usually his brother who knows how to say the right thing at the right time.

"I wish Wei-xiong was here." Wangji stills at the soft whisper, "He would know what to do- no one knows Resentful Energy like he did."

Wangji takes a deep breath, keeping his gaze fixed on the middle distance. "Mentioning him is forbidden." He has kept Wei Ying's name close to his heart, untainted and loved instead of being tossed around and slandered.

His Wei Ying.

"You don't need to pretend to dislike him," Nie Huaisang says, eyes fixed on his brother, "Unlike everyone else, I knew his true self well enough. Almost as well as you did."

Wangji feels a curl of bitter amusement, "I did not know him."

Nie Huaisang waves his fan and remains silent for a long moment before speaking, "Believe me, Wangji-xiong, you were the only one who knew him."

Wangji has no reply.

--

Unfortunately, the situation does escalate beyond their control. Nie Mingjue has clearly lost control and is on the verge of qi deviation. He swings his sword aimlessly. Neither Wangji's guqin nor Xichen's flute do much to help.

Nie Huaisang is screaming, struggling against Jin Guangyao, trying to reach his increasingly volatile brother.

Nothing is helping. Wangji fears he may be forced to watch his brother's closest friend die.

Later, when questioned, he would say his prayer had been instinctive, coming deep from within him. He would say that he hadn't even thought when he spoke those words. That it hadn't even registered when he opened his mouth and said them out loud.

But in that moment, feeling something very close to panic at the sight of Nie Mingjue teetering close to the edge, he breaths out,

"Wei Ying, help."

The air around them stills the moment the last syllable slips past his lips. Nothing moves, no one speaks, the absence of sound was almost deafening.

Wangji feels the hair on his body stand on end the sound of swishing fabric fills the frozen atmosphere. He turns a little to see a swirl of black robes; rich, intricate, moving over the ground like smoke.

There's a fragrance of freshly dug earth and petrichor in the air, refreshing and earthy, but also strange. He's in the Unclean Realm and it hasn't rained in weeks.

Wangji takes a deep breath as the swish of fabric comes closer and then something as shockingly cold as snowmelt sweeps past him.

He already knows what he's about to see when he looks up.

Everything about him is pitch black. His hair is dark as ebony, falling down to the back of his knees. His robes seem to be made of shadows that suck in light. There are intricate lace and gold patterns on the sleeves. They look like talismans but Wangji cannot tell.

"Wei Ying," He calls softly.

Because Wangji knew it was him even before he saw him.

The air unfreezes and everyone comes to life once again, dazed and bewildered. Wangji hears Nie Huaisang draw in a sharp, shocked breath. He is the first to notice Wei Ying but others follow quickly. There are loud exclamations of surprise and many unsheathe their swords.

Wei Ying doesn't react. He lifts his hand, crooks a pale finger, and a mass of dark energy extracts itself from Nie Mingjue.

It is so quick, so unceremonious, that everyone is stunned.

Wei Ying studies it, condenses it into a small ball, and without pause, crushes it in his fist.

Nie Mingjue stumbles to his feet, clutching onto Baxia and staring at Wei Ying with wide eyes, "Wei Wuxian."

"You were destined to die today," Wei Ying says in a calm, dismissive tone, "The Nie Sect was destined to fade into obscurity." His voice is soft but there are layers to it, like a thousand individuals speaking in perfect harmony.

Nothing about Wei Ying is human. His voice is sonorous, entirely intimidating. His skin is as fair as white jade. His silver eyes are as bright as the moon. He looks regal, with an intricate hair piece holding the sweeping mass of ebony hair in place.

"You..." Xichen begins, looking just as hesitant as Wangji feels. Fortunately, his brother regains his composure quickly and bows, "Wei Wuxian, thank you for saving Nie Mingjue."

"I hold dominion over Justice." Wei Ying declares and Wangji carefully tucks his trembling hands behind his back, "Of course, I will answer the wishes of the most righteous man in Cultivation." He taps his chin with a smirk, an echo of a Wei Ying Wangji knows, loves, misses, "My affections for Lan Zhan play a part too, I suppose."

"Justice?" Nie Huaisang asks, "Because you died for a just cause?"

Wei Wuxian glances over his shoulder and Wangji meets that enchanting silver gaze with a racing heart.

"Perhaps," Wei Ying says teasingly, "I may be a deity, but even I am subject to the whims of fate."

He speaks as thought dominion over something like justice is an easy feat, like it doesn't imply immeasurable power.

"You were killed-" Nie Mingjue growls out, "For your unjust actions."

"Da-ge!" Xichen warns, glancing at Wei Ying warily.

"Don't remind me," Wei Ying says pleasantly, "For that call for justice still weighs heavy. You will all have to pay your dues, even you, Lan Zhan."

Wangji nods briefly, "I understand."

"Forgive me," Jin Guangyao interrupts, "Surely, you must understand our concern and puzzlement. Wei-gongzi, forgive me, you were-"

"You're not forgiven." Wei Ying tilts his head to the side, "I wonder, Jin Guangyao, if you think I am so easy to charm and deceive." Jin Guangyao stills, going worryingly pale, "You cannot kill me, slander me, manipulate others against me, or force me into a corner. I am Justice." Silver eyes sweep over all of them.

Wei Ying's eyes linger over Jin Guangyao's shaken expression before flickering over Xichen and Nie Mingjue.

"No one may escape me."

There's a sweeping wave of energy and everything freezes again.

Wangji remains stiff and silent as Wei Ying appears suddenly before him, leaning close enough that their breaths to mingle. Those eyes look even more otherworldly now, sparkling with the light of a thousand stars.

"Hanguang-jun," Wei Ying croons, "Don't keep your Wei Ying waiting for too long, hm?"

Wangji clenches his shaking hands, the proximity making his heart ache, "My Wei Ying?" He asks because he still remembers 'get lost' spoken in a hysterical, frenetic voice.

Wei Ying's expression softens a little, "Death gives clarity, my dear Lan Zhan. And ascension gives insight into fate and destiny. Wei Ying," He says and spins around cheekily, taking a few dancing steps away from him, "Wei Ying is always destined to be by Hanguang-jun's side." He winks, "Better hurry up! But not too soon! After our a-Yuan is old enough to stand on his own."

"Wei Ying - wait-"

The air starts moving again.

Wangji swallows and spins around, walking towards the gates of the Unclean Realm.

"Wangji-?"

"I must go ahead, xoingzhang, pray excuse me." He has no patience for Sect politics and formalities.

Wei Ying is waiting.

[workofheart]

proof

with whatever happens from here, our names will last far beyond our years

for my armin angst anon :) thank you for the request, i honestly love angst and write it all the time outside of fanfic so idk why i don’t do it more often!

pairing: armin arlert x reader

wc: 1.5k

genre: angst, fluff (happy end)

a/n: takes place somewhere just before the events of season 4. also, hi guys! this is lowkey word vomit and i’m a bit out of practice so if this doesn’t seem like me, that’s why lol

they say that time heals all wounds, but in your case, time does nothing but prolong the constant sting in your throat. it denies the sinking acceptance your weary heart pleads for. because as long as you have time, you don’t have to face the truth.

so what if you love him? so what if it’s been years? so what if no matter what you do, you can’t let him go? it’s not like it’s going to change any time soon. but even if it did, even if you had the choice to move on, you’re not so sure you would. he’s the last bloom of the season left that you pick out of selfishness, the butterfly you’re blessed to catch yet hate to let go. 

because if not him, who else?

armin is everything. he’s your reflection and your opposite, late nights and early mornings, kind and then cruel across his commitment to morality. he’s there on good days and bad days, with a smile or sympathy. if you’re lucky, you get both.

he’s brutally imperfect, perfectly human, and so easy to love.

but when standing against the end of humanity, there’s no room for childish fantasies like yours.

you love him so bad it hurts. he’s at the forefront of your mind at all times, even when he’s standing right in front of you. you think of him visiting that girl in the basement, day after day, frozen in her cowardly crystal as she hides from retribution. he waits, staring, and she occupies his mind when you desperately wish it could be you. what is it about a criminal that intrigues him past rationality?

yet the worst thought is that one day, you might not feel so strong. 

it’s something keeping you around. it’s something to imagine on nights when the sun hangs in the sky as low as your hope for the future. he’s something to bet on and pin your fleeting dreams to. however long this feeling lasts, you hang on with all that you can, because waiting at the end is the inevitable sting of loving someone who doesn’t love you back.

it’s a realization you’re not ready to come to yet. for now, a little voice convinces you that there’s a chance. and a chance is enough, isn’t it?

you’re sitting by the docks, feeling the afternoon sun sear your skin, when gentle footsteps knocking on the wood alert you to his presence. when you crane your neck up to see him, he stretches his arms behind his head before sitting down next to you. it’s not surprising, considering armin makes a point to show he cares for all of his friends, but you still wonder if maybe how hard you were thinking about him somehow drew him in. you try to resist the heat burning at the skin of your cheeks fueled by his mere appearance.

“it’s a really nice night, huh?”

he sighs as he lowers his palm to the edge of the wood and throws his legs over, cementing his place beside you. you cling your knees close to your chest while your head rests upon them for support.

“yeah. i didn’t know it could be this pretty.”

tender rays of sunshine brush over his blond hair, making it shimmer like gold. it’s tentative, as if the great light source that keeps your world turning is even too afraid to touch armin arlert.

“me too, but i think i always hoped for it. expected it, at least,” he says with a nod. nostalgia swims in the pond of color in his eyes as he looks out across the water. “but that’s how it is when you’re a kid.”

you want to laugh. when you were a kid, you certainly weren’t concerned with the existence of an ocean beyond the walls. something tells you armin didn’t just expect it out of naivety.

“oh, please,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “you don’t give yourself enough credit. you practically know what’s going to happen before the rest of us have even started thinking about it.”

he lets out a breath of shy laughter through a smile. he’s too modest. “yeah, maybe.”

the blunt edge of your nail scratches at the fresh, amber wood to your side. you press a little more, digging it out like a miniature canyon while silence fills the air. armin opens his mouth and the proximity allows you to hear a rushed intake of air, like courage, filling his lungs before it hitches in his throat. it pauses there, contemplating, before he lets it out in faltered attempt to seem like it went according to plan.

but he swallows and tries again, because armin knows the world will always give him a second chance.

“speaking of… i wanted to talk to you in the first place because, well,” he cedes, rubbing his eyes, “i kind of get the feeling something big is about to happen.”

he chews at the corner of his lip, eyes darting to the side to gauge your reaction.

your head tilts in curiosity. “really? what makes you say that?”

you watch as he fiddles with his fingers in his lap. his nails run along his cuticles, the natural folds in his palms, gathering his thoughts in preparation to set them all out.

his fingers tug through his bangs to soothe his tired roots. “well, it’s been a long time coming. with eren gone, sending notes, arranging plans. it’s coming to its climax, i think. and once it starts, it’s not gonna stop until it’s over.”

bright locks fall in front of his fact when a light gust of wind blows by. his cheeks are smooth and soft with a slight pink tint from the heat of the day, and his lashes are long and wispy, like the wings of an insect. you have to pry your gaze away though your heart pleads you for a second longer spent admiring.

“i really care about you. i just wanted you to know that.”

you’re not sure you hear it right at first. swept away with his image in the hazy evening, you almost miss that he’s talking to you directly. he cares about you. your pulse stutters.

he cares about you.

you blink, swallowing the apparent dryness in your mouth. “i care about you, too.”

after all this time, you should be used to it. the way how he cares will never be the same as how you care, it shouldn’t hurt you, but you still feel your eyes sting and throat tighten. you can’t help it.

you can’t look him in the eye. instead, you avert your attention to the place in the wood you’ve been indenting your nail. the pressure helps distract from the tears gathering along your lashline. it slowly forms the shape of your initial, a diminutive mark on the expansive docks soon to be walked over by thousands.

“is something wrong?”

your immediate reaction is to dismiss. the words are already slipping off your tongue, excuses that it’s the sun in your eyes and denials that you’re just tired, but they get stuck at the end. is it because the opportunity is here? something pushes them away from the edge as they desperately rock themselves back onto the safety of the cliff with flailing arms and wobbly legs. 

hundreds of scenarios rush through your mind, of him getting up and leaving, of awkwardness, of anger and anguish, and yet it’s not enough to derail you. you can’t sit in your itches any longer. if the world is ending soon like he implies, then so be it, because god knows you’d take his word over anything.

“i’m sorry,” you sniffle, voice frail and barely above a whisper. “i just love you.”

you brace for impact, but it doesn’t come. the only sounds are the sawing of your nail, the squawks of distant birds, the waves crashing gently on the shore how they always do at dusk. then his fingers wrap around your wrist, still moving against the wood, to grasp your attention. his eyes are warm and inviting as you slowly lift your head to find them.

“i love you, too.” 

a sad smile tugs at your lips. he doesn’t get it. honesty has never hurt so much. “no,” you confess with a sorrowed tinge, “like i love you.”

his eyes crinkle up like crescents. the grin adorning his cheeks is like a medallion, glowing and bright and entirely juxtaposed from the ache of yours.  “i love you” he presses, eyebrows raising in emphasis. 

“but…”

“but, what? you really doubt it?” he smiles with a breath, eyes crinkling shyly as he looks away. “i thought it was obvious.”

his thumb presses small circles into the back of your palm before letting go and brushing it away from where your hand covers your mark. his nail is much wider and blunt so it doesn’t take long for a faint ‘A’ to appear beside yours, a shade just lighter than the surface.

“if you think you were being obvious, you should have caught on to me earlier,” you laugh.

a coy smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, pressing a dimple into his skin. “maybe i did.”

“you did not.”

“okay, i didn’t. but,” he pauses, holding up his index finger, “i always hoped!”

it draws an airy, relieved laugh from your chest. armin leans down and blows the dust across the wood and sweeps away the extras with his hands.

your initials sit carved into the docks of your home with love, together. no matter if you are unable to return, they’ll still be here. if no one else is around to remember today, at least these letters will be imprinted with a story.

it’s proof of life, proof you lived, and most notably, proof that it was with armin arlert.

[furiousgoldfish]

Personal post about trauma under the cut, extremely upsetting content, do not read if you had narcissistic parents and don't wanna get triggered, I am very sad and mad and it's hard to talk about this. TW child labor, child torture, brainwashing, death threats, narcissistic abuse.

*

I was a hardworking child, I was happy and excited to work, I wanted to be a part of everything that's being done. I noticed work warranted for people to get respect, food, praise, acceptance, and I wanted to work hard so I too would be a part of that. My family lived in a rural area, they kept animals, grew fields of crops, were always in some sort of construction work, so me always being eager to work was pretty much ideal for them, or you'd think that it was. You'd think that.

I was working eagerly and I realized, that unlike for adults, I don't get respect, praise, acceptance, or sometimes even food. It was for some reason denied to me only. And I was still happy to work because I chased that feeling of personal accomplishment, even if there was no rewards. And again, you'd think this is perfectly convenient and ideal to parents who wanted free labour and to give no recognition or praise in return. You'd think that.

But it wasn't enough for them. Father got this idea to take me out to work with him alone, away from home. I remember the place we went to, only as a place I need burned down to the ground before I could breathe again. It was a demolition-construction of a house, and I don't remember how many time I've been there. All I know is, after first few times, I no longer wanted to go. I begged not to go.

I am guessing my father could not bear the looks of me working happily, or even working silently. Me doing everything I was told was not fun enough for him– so he would give me false instructions. As an easy setup for punishment. I did exactly what I was told, and would get screamed at and beaten up. Then forced to keep working in tears, shaking, terrified, injured, while being further berated. And that was only the start.

Even as a child, I was diligent and responsible about doing work, and I know I was getting things done just fine, because, I was doing the sibling's share of chores too. If siblings were called to work, they would simply mess up on purpose so I would be told to repeat it after them, correctly. Sometimes siblings would have me do it and take the credit, which I didn't mind because working made me feel better about myself. It made me feel useful. My mind was already dissociated from my body to the point where I no longer felt exhaustion, pain, strain, or any physical effect work was having on me. I would get berated and shamed if I showed signs of being tired or strained. So my body disregarded it all.

And yeah, that wasn't enough either. I was still sometimes feeling okay. If I was allowed to work alone, and let my mind wonder, if nobody commented on it I knew it was okay.

So this is where they decided to take a step further and disallow me to feel okay at any point. I was humiliated while working to the point of tears. I'd be ridiculed in front of guests. I could no longer enjoy my own thoughts, but constant criticism, insults, accusations and humiliation was raining down on me at every step. And when I was done, with tremendous effort it took to endure this, I would be told 'It would have been better if you had done nothing.' So my insane effort to endure abuse to get things done, was rendered worthless in a second.

Father kept taking me away to work alone with him, and forced me to listen to his monologues, which I hated, because he was boring, wrong and self-obsessed, but I wasn't allowed to say that, or argue. My silent compliance was never enough. He had to hit me. He had to find something to berate me over. He kept inventing reasons. I would clean his entire garage and he'd move a steel closet I couldn't possibly move and berate me for not cleaning under it.

I had a log thrown into my head, causing a head injury, and I had to keep working. I fell and fractured my shoulder so badly I could barely walk; I was brought to a forest to drag logs around, too heavy for me to lift. I was sometimes orchestrated to get injured; father would start a trailer I was standing on the edge of, and forced me to fall by quickly moving forward just enough. I was still expected to work after that. He hit me with a blunt edge of an axe and berated me for standing there. I was told to 'not expect a lift to the hospital'. I was brought to work while starved, grieving, suicidal. I was lied to about where I was going and what would I be doing, and for how long. I was never allowed to stop working.

And the game of giving me wrong instructions and punishing me for doing it 'wrong' never stopped. I caught on and begged for correct instructions. I would ask to explain, how to do it, to show me, anything. 'HOW OLD are you not to know this? I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO TELL YOU! YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS BY NOW!' And by his rage, I could tell that if I don't do it any way I knew how, I'd be punished instantly. I had no choice but to try – and of course fail, and feel horribly ashamed for 'deserving to get beat up'. Eventually my brain started shortcircuiting at the simplest tasks, I would mess up because I was in terror. I couldn't think.

At this point, I no longer wished to work for people who would inflict violence on me. And that is when I was quckly informed that if I didn't work, I would be killed. Not in those words. It was 'You have to work if you want to live!' followed by 'We can kick you out and you will starve on the street. Nobody will take you in. There is no place for you. Nobody wants someone like you. You don't deserve to eat if you don't work.' My choices were taken away. If I still refused, the result would be to beat me and force me to work injured, shaking and crying.

All this, for what? I would have been HAPPY to work. I would have been chasing my little daydreams and singing the pokemon tune, and if I was ever praised, I'd be the happiest kid on the block. I was a kid who liked to work. I wanted minimal fairness, minimal acknowledgment. To be a part of the family. Only that.

It just wouldn't do for the narcssistic father. Watching a child be broken, terrified and shaking, crying, ashamed, guilty, working past exhaustion, in injuries, was just too tempting for him to pass up. Even free labor wasn't worth to him as much as the pleasure of child torture. He needed that like it was a drug. What kind of a sick high did he experience, breaking a defenseless kid? What kind of pleasure did it entail, getting someone rid of their natural happiness to work? Was it fun, tearing me into pieces, over and over again? Does he remember it as a delicious, satisfying pleasure? Does he daydream about it? He knew it was wrong; he forced me to stop crying and hide the tears before we went home. 'Don't say anything to your mother.' I was told before being stuffed back in his car.

And now... I can't work. I can't even move sometimes. It was torn away from me. My ability to work was ripped away from my child body when I had no way to defend it or to grab it back and protect what is mine. I can't work anymore. It's terrifying. It terrifies me to not work. Because I was made aware working is the only thing keeping me alive, and capitalism confirms this, so I remain to forever fight with myself about how even if everyone says otherwise, I still deserve to live. Heartbroken, abandoned, with my basic human abilities stripped from me. It doesn't make me deserving to die.

I am so angry and sad. If I had my natural ability to work back, I'd be fine. I would be able to live safely. I wouldn't spiral into feeling like an unworthy member of society. I learned to survive very insecurely like this, but I hate every second of it. To know that instead of this insane uncertainty, anxiety, guilt for being bedridden, guilt for existing and not moving, I could have just found a job, have normal income? I can't bear it. I can't bear knowing this was wrenched away from me, because it was pleasurable to do so, because tearing me into pieces was a fun hobby for people who didn't care if what they were doing to me killed me. And I couldn't have done anything to stop it. And I'm like this now. Unable to take any more torture, unable to endure any more of being triggered, wondering if I would die from lack of resources, or would my body fail permanently in attempts to process all the exhaustion and pain I was dissociated from for my entire childhood.

How was this worth it. How it could have been worth it to anyone, destroying someone's ability to work, only because it's pleasurable. I felt the plan was to work me until I no longer could do it, then kill me. It's what they did to animals. And I was told I was more worthless than an animal. I was called lazy and a monstrous name I can't even translate, that implied I was burdening everyone with my existence.

It was even a bigger punch to my face to realize, after I escaped, that he was profiting from everything I did. That it would have taken money – way more than was ever spent on my survival, to get all that labor done. He was profitting while telling me I was worthless and don't deserve to eat or sleep in his house. He is now renting the place I was broken to help build. I was torn apart and he is still benefiting from it. And I have nothing. Not even a functional body to work with anymore.

I know I'm not the only person who was constantly left alone with narcissists as a child and had this, or worse, done to them. They don't care which pieces of children are left over by the time they're done getting their high. We're only a thing to consume, not living beings, not people, not someone whose life matters. Our pain is food to them. My father readily became a predator who snached his own kid away for torture sessions, and felt proud and fulfilled to turn his own child into a creature who cannot work anymore to survive.

Don't leave children alone with narcissists. I am trying so hard to get better, but facing reality, is this a thing a person gets better from? It's not a bodily harm of once or twice, this was happening for the most majority of my lifetime. It makes sense I cannot move. It makes sense I'm terrified to be triggered into this. It makes sense I can barely bear the reality of it. A person tortured hundreds of times wont just get up and walk away. I can't either. I have to lie here and hope that one day it will get better.

If you read thru all this, and you relate to the parts of this story, know that I am so sorry for what you were put thru. It's devastating and horrenous. If this is how you grew up, it would have been better not to have a family. We all should have been protected from this.

[pastelsandpining]

Whumptober Day 3

sticks and stones may break my bones but...

taunting | insults | “who did this to you?”

kingdom come - corrupt!zelda au part 2 | part 1 | part 3

warnings: gaslighting, manipulation, death mention, cursing, survivor’s guilt

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

From what little he could remember, Princess Zelda was nothing short of lovely. She was the sort of kind that came from a genuine place, unlike the fake kind that so many had offered him because he was the one burdened with the sword. Even when she was mean to him in the beginning, he could see the good in her heart, the passion in her voice, the brilliance in her mind. She was a girl willing to do anything for her kingdom and for people who didn’t even bother believing in her. She was so painfully human beneath the crown and the gods and the sealing power that it was impossible not to like her. The only thing she wanted above all else was to save her people.

And now, a century later, she was nothing short of cruel. 

For days, Link could not go outside of the Sanctum for fear of Zelda setting the Calamity loose on him. On Hyrule. 

“You can go,” she’d told him from her seat in the throne, looking every bit the queen she was always meant to be, “but he will follow you, and wouldn’t it be a shame if the Calamity was brought about by the very hero destined to slay it?”

And when she wasn’t in the throne, gazing out at her kingdom with blank eyes, she was toying with him in whatever means she saw fit. She’d long since made him discard the Champion’s Tunic in favor of the Royal Guard’s Uniform, telling him she’d always preferred how formal he looked in it. It disgusted him after that and he fought tooth and nail to keep the last piece of his Zelda he had left, because this was not her. 

“How loyal you are to a girl you remember so little about,” she said, tangling her fingers into his hair. He’d shoved her hand away from him and replied, for the first time since his imprisonment began, “You know nothing about me.”

Zelda smiled then, gripping his chin with enough force to dig her nails into his cheeks, and answered him very simply, “Oh, Link, I know everything about you.”

The worst part was that there was no malice to her. Her skin was pale and soft and did not hurt to touch, and her eyes were green and familiar with no trace of the pink or orange Calamity Ganon made him so familiar with. She was completely, wholly herself, and not herself at all. 

She was not terrible to him, either. She took caution not to hurt him, even when her grip became too tight or her nails caught his skin. It was the things she said, the empty gaze behind her eyes, the twisted smile that made her so unlike the Zelda he hoped to find. He almost rathered she bite him with teeth instead of words, hurt him physically instead of where she knew it would hit closest to home. 

Something had made her particularly agitated today. He didn’t care to know what. As long as she stayed far from him, he could continue his brainstorming of just what he had to do to get out of here without the Calamity or Zelda following him. The Calamity did not sleep. Neither did he–not peacefully, at least. He wondered if it was the same for her, then decided he did not care. Zelda didn’t stay in the Sanctum. Hylia knew where she went, but she would always return to torment him further, looking so much like the girl he’d once worn his heart on his sleeve for. It was painful, and he would be ever frustrated by his inability to grasp the stoic mask he’d mastered all those years ago. Something would always slip. She would always get him, whether it be a flicker of his eyes, a tug of his mouth, a twitch of his hands. She did know him, far better than he wanted to admit, and he needed to get out of there before she learned how to use that against him.

“Link,” she called out, her voice soft enough to float to him in the gentle breeze. “Come here, please.”

He did not move. He turned his back to her instead, continuing his work of cleaning the Master Sword. It wasn’t dirty by any means, but it gave him something to do and he quite liked the way Calamity Ganon reeled back at the sight of it glowing in his hands. 

“Link,” she repeated. He could hear the edge of growing annoyance this time. Link spared her a glance of his eyes in acknowledgement, but nothing more. Then she was in front of him, pulling the sword forcefully from his grasp and holding it out of his reach. “It goes against conduct to be so rude to the princess. Shouldn’t you know that? You’re supposed to serve. Answer when you’re called like the loyal little dog you used to be.”

“You’re not her,” he argued simply. Her laugh was deranged, bitter, and she used the tip of the sword to lift his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes.

“You don’t even remember her,” Zelda taunted, so bitterly cruel, and it twisted his heart just as it always did. “What did she do for you, Link? Left you pictures? Thirteen measly little shots of Hyrule, and they were all about her, weren’t they? So much for the Champions.”

Link pursed his lips in stubborn silence. He would give her no response, no satisfaction, but her eyes glittered as if he already had. He hated when she talked like that, because it solidified that she was not his Zelda, and stoked the flames of the fiery fear that she was long gone before he could ever get to her.

“You’re not the girl I died for,” he spat at last, leaning away from the sword before she could use it to impale him. He wanted a rise from her, to affect her in the way she was affecting him, but as soon as the words left his lips, he wished they hadn’t. Something in her eyes darkened and she tilted her head, regarding him with a frown.

“No,” she agreed quietly. The way her lips curved up into a beautiful smile was cruel. “She died with you.”

With those simple words, she threw the sword onto the ground by his feet, discarding his heart along with it, and turned from him to walk away. The skirts of her blue dress trailed the floor behind her and the sense of anger, of guilt, that washed over him did not want to let her walk away from him. She shouldn’t be able to. She shouldn’t have the right to keep him here, to toy with him, because of an obligation he had a century ago. When he’d agreed to face the Calamity, to find her again and free her of her prison, it was not this Zelda he’d made that promise to. So he did not hold his tongue.

“Who did this to you?” he snapped, standing to follow her. She paused in her stride and he took the opportunity to grab her wrist, but she yanked it from his grasp and spun on him with a sea of anger in her eyes. “Tell me, Zelda.”

“You will know your place, soldier,” she ordered, her voice cold as her hand gripped his chin again. “You will be careful of your tone when questioning my authority.”

“Zelda,” he repeated, softer this time. ���Please. You owe me this-” 

Her grip tightened, her nails digging into his cheeks, and he knew he’d greatly displeased her.

“I owe you nothing,” she said, but her grip loosened and she turned away again. 

“I came here for you,” Link replied, the growing desperation evident in his voice. “Everyone asked me to help you. You asked me to help you. And everything I’ve done– It was all for you, Zelda.”

“It seems I was wrong to call you a loyal dog.” She turned back to him, the smile on her face wicked. “Perhaps the more fitting term is bitch. I called, and you obeyed. But now, the little puppy wants to bite back.” 

She set her hands on his shoulders and shoved before he could do so much as back away. His knees hit the marble floor and he had to stick out a hand to catch himself.

“Your bite always was bigger than your bark,” she taunted, and her expression was suggestive. Whatever she was implying, he couldn’t remember it.

“You’re being cruel.”

“Do you want me to be cruel, Link?” A slender finger lifted his chin. “Because this is nothing.”

“I want to know who did this to you, because this is not the Zelda that I-“

“Remember? Pray, tell, what do you remember? I’m actually rather curious.”

“I remember a girl so bitterly human that she gave everything for her kingdom.”

“And look where that’s gotten me!” Zelda exclaimed, stepping back from him so she could turn away. Link took the opportunity to rise from his embarrassing station, his eyes ever studying the fallen princess before him. Her shoulders did not sit as high as they usually did. Something in his words had stung her. If she wasn’t so mean, maybe he would have apologized.

“Human. Tch. Is that what you see? Perhaps you fail to realize that humans are capable of terrible things. Did you know that, long before our time, the horrid Calamity you see before you was nothing more than a man?”

Link reeled back, looking at her through furrowed brows. 

“Something like that did not come from a man,” he argued–it couldn’t have–but Zelda did not look at him. In fact, she carried on as if she hadn’t heard him at all.

“A simple Gerudo chief, longing for nothing more than to help his people. A people that distrusted him. Hyrule distrusted him. Sentenced him to death because they couldn’t bear the thought of a man who wanted to use power to improve lives. No matter how genuine he was, it was never enough. The Calamity and I are quite alike in that way.”

Calamity Ganon had shuffled closer, bowing to the princess before it, and she extended a hand to run her fingers through the matted, wild mane of red hair on its head. Link wanted to pull her away, to convince her that she was not like that thing at all, but he was too rooted to his spot in surprise to make a move.

“Hyrule tried to have him killed,” she continued, her voice quiet and far away. “As it would turn out, it is not easy to kill someone who holds an ancient power of the gods. You know that already, don’t you, Hero?”

She turned her head, looking at him out of the corner of her eyes, and his breath caught. He shifted, the struggle to maintain his composure getting the best of him, and he took a step backwards. 

“When they could not kill him, Hyrule chose a different route. They took him beneath this very castle and brought forth the Sheikah to pry the energy out of his body. For lifetimes, we have been living off of a dying man’s life force. How else was the Calamity able to possess ancient technology so easily? It is no wonder that Ganondorf harbored enough hatred to transform into malice–into the beast you see now. And Hyrule would expect me to seal him away, bury our sins along with him for another ten thousand years.”

It was all too much to hear. Too much to take in. But Zelda turned to face him and was relentless in her story. She did not give him time to breathe, to process all she’d said, before she was speaking again, backing him into one of the Sanctum pillars. 

“I sat alone, for one hundred years, and the Calamity was my only company. I was surrounded by malice, by whispers of his hatred, echoing in my head until it was all I could hear and I couldn’t breathe, but it was too late for anyone to care because everyone I’d ever held dear to me was already dead by the time I thought about letting it consume me, too. And then, when I thought all hope was lost, when I spent years watching that stupid shrine on the hill, waiting and waiting for your body to show any sign of life, it started to speak to me. And it was sweet. It understood me. It understood how so many of my people doubted me, how I doubted myself. It helped me in those lonely years, Link. I was going mad.”

She brought a hand up to his face, holding his cheek so tenderly that he couldn’t help leaning into it. He could see, now, the tears glittering in her eyes, the pain in her expression. She was familiar, then–just the girl sobbing in his arms as the world burned all around them. 

“I watched you die,” she whispered out, rubbing her thumb over his skin. “How am I supposed to be alright after that?”

Her words wrenched his heart from his chest. How guilty he felt then, for failing her. For selfishly letting her hold him in those final moments. For making her watch as the breath left his body. He would never quite be able to forget the way she looked down at him in such horror. 

“I’m sorry,” he replied, quiet as the wind. For failing. For making her wait so long that she’d been driven mad. Her smile was soft, weak, but genuine. He wondered vaguely if, when he held her in those woods in the midst of the Calamity, he’d wanted to kiss her then, too.

“Do you know who decides right from wrong?” she asked softly. Link shook his head. “The side you’re on. My side has changed, because I’ve decided that I don’t want the help of gods who turned their back on me as I groveled at their feet for the salvation of my kingdom.”

“So you side with the being that brought it to its knees?” he argued, pulling his face away from her touch at last. He felt so empty without it.

“What choice did I have?” Zelda fired back, her voice raising as she crumbled into hysterics. “The Calamity brought down the strongest people I knew. I’m hardly a quarter of what you all were. I did what I could, I sealed it, and then I realized that it was right. Hyrule should be destroyed! And if you think you’re here to slay it, then I suppose you’d better shove your sacred sword through me, first.”

Link stepped backwards, hitting the pillar again, and he felt like crying. 

“I can’t seal the Calamity without you, Zelda,” he tried, reaching a hand for her. She swatted it away, fixing her once vulnerable gaze into an icy glare.

“Then you’re not sealing a thing. You asked who did this to me, but you fail to see the obvious. I did this to myself, Link. You have no idea what it was like.”

She turned away again, filling him with an overwhelming sense of panic. No, he couldn’t let her walk away. This conversation couldn’t be over. There had to be something he could do, something he could say, that would bring her back, keep her from the hands of the Calamity.

“Why do you keep me here?” he asked, stepping after her. “Why do you—“

“I should think that would be obvious,” Zelda replied, pausing to glance back at him. “I loved you, you know, and you’re here on your own accord. You could leave rather easily if you pleased, but you stay. Why? Is it out of fear that Ganon would follow you? No, I don’t think it is.”

Link frowned, feeling sick. He wanted more than anything to ask what she meant by that, to press her further, but she kept walking and only said,

“You should pick up your sword. Wouldn’t want to offend the Goddess.”

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

masterlist | whumptober by day | whumptober by collection | original post

[forthehpfanboys]

I’m Sorry

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him.

Summary: You hate Ron, Ron hates you. Pretty simple. It only becomes complicated when the bloke says something about your cologne in Potions class.

Warnings: Swearing, insults, fighting.

Notes: Requested! Probably my favorite so far? I don't own the gif, I just couldn't find it in the suggestions-

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

-

The rule of thumb that everyone in Gryffindor gets along is far from true when it comes to you and Ronald Bilius Weasley. You guys clashed harder than the titanic and that iceberg. Honestly, no one remembered how it started, but they could remember the insults thrown back and forth. You didn’t exactly hide your hatred for the red-head and he was the same.

The two of you would fight deep into the night, effectively keeping up the whole tower with your insults and burns ringing in the empty common room. When fellow Gryffindors saw you two starting to get in a heated argument, most fled to avoid the damage. Sometimes it came to blows, leading to Fred and George or Hermione and Harry splitting you two apart, but it was mostly the older twins. 

You two don’t even remember why you hate each other, at this point, you just do. At least, that’s what you told yourself every time you caught yourself staring at him from across the library or when you’d shove into him in the hallway. His smile was softer than freshly fallen snow and his eyes could rival the ocean with their beauty. You had absolutely no clue he was battling the same feelings. 

Ron wished you would smile sweetly at him instead of sneering insults that made him want to hex you into next Tuesday. He wanted to hold your hand instead of get hit by it, but he figured this was best. He did start this. He was the one that turned cold toward you on the train one random year to avoid his feelings for you.

Today was one of the tenser days where you and Ron were inches from ending each other's blood lines. Everyone in the tower could already feel it and you weren’t even in the same room yet. You’d woken up a little bit later than usual all because of your Scream Off™ with the short Weasley the night before. You walked down the stairs of the boys dormitory, your hand running through your messy hair. Insults from the night before rang in your head like a bell.

“What did I do to deserve being trapped with the human embodiment of ginger ale?”

“Since when do you know things? I thought your brain was filled with cobwebs and moth balls?”

“We both know your face looks prettier after my fist has kissed it.”

It made your stomach twist with guilt, but the guilt melted into pure hatred when a cocky voice rang through the common room. You wanted to knock his lights out before your foot even hit the last step of the staircase.

“Finally awake, eh, (L/n)? Only took forever, lazy arse.” Ron was snickering on the main couch right in front of the fireplace. The atmosphere in the common room immediately shifted. You rolled your eyes as you walked up to the couch, standing right behind him.

“Shut it, Weasley.” You grabbed his hair, forcing his head back to look at your glare. “I hope you fall off a broom during Quidditch today.” Your voice was laced with a false sweetness. Your glare shifted to a dark smirk before jerking his head forward. After letting go of his hair, you walked past him, flipping him off. “Good morning Granger. Have a good game, Potter!” You smiled and waved goodbye after they said good morning and a quick thanks. 

You got along perfectly with 2/3 of the Golden Trio. They were always polite to you, even if you would throw hands at their best friend. They didn’t play favorites though, which was nice. If one of you started the fight, they’d make it known when they broke it up.

“Oi! Don’t be a basta-!” Ron stood up quickly, going to run after you as you left, but was stopped by Harry’s hand pulling him back down onto the couch. “Ronald! Not today, please!” Hermione spoke up, rubbing her temples. “We already have to deal with Slughorn. I’d rather not also have to deal with your pathetic excuse for flirting.” She sighed out. Poor girl already had a headache and it wasn’t even 10 oclock.

Ron crossed his arms over his chest, his face heating up some. He cringed at the mere thought of finding you romantically attractive… Ok, he would admit you did have a nice ass, but not out loud. 

“I’m not flirting. I hate his guts, Mione.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“I’m serious! How could anyone find that twat even remotely attractive or adorable? He’s the bloody worst!”

Harry and Hermione shared a look before turning back to Ron. Harry and Hermione both knew better than that, this was a classic Enimies-To-Lovers scenario, at least that’s what they hoped, if not.. This was going to be a long, long, long year.

“No one said anything about him being adorable OR attractive, Ron.” 

“Sod off, Harry, I know it was implied. You both know what I mean anyway.” Ron stood up, heading for the portrait hole.

“Where are you going?” Hermione groaned out. Her headache just got worse. “To get payback for the hairs that git ripped out.” 

-

Ron walked down the hallways of the castle. He was so determined to find you he skipped breakfast, leading the remaining additions of the Golden Trio to come hunt him down. With some help from the older Weasley Twins, they managed to catch up with him pretty easily. Getting him to go to class, however, was a lot harder. Ron looked between his friends, then his brothers standing behind them for reinforcement. The keeper wasn’t moving an inch, not without seeing you first.

“No.”

“Ronald-”

“No, don’t Ronald me!”

“Ron! Come on! We have to go to potions in less than 5 minutes!”

“No! I’m just going to end up sitting next to that git and his stupid attitude the entire class! It’s going to be worse torture than seeing Snape everyday.” Ron crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides, my fist has a date with his lips and I’m not going anywhere until that date happens!”

“He was at breakfast, you missed him. You can fight him after potions. Can we go to class now?” Harry tried to reason with the hot-headed idiot, but alas, nothing is ever that easy. He groaned when Ron shook his head no, causing the twins to step into the picture. If anyone could get him to go somewhere, it was them.

“Wow, Hermione, you're right.” Fred started, turning to his twin.

“He’s got it bad and he doesn’t even know it yet.” George finished, while Fred shook his head in dismay and muttered a quick ‘shame’.

“I do not, nor will I ever, like him. Ok? Get that into your thick skulls!” 

“No one believes you, Ickle Ronniekins! In fact, most of Gryffindor Tower has a bet that you two will end up shagging in some broom closet in less than a week!” George stated while he rested his arm on his brother's shoulder.

“What?!” Ron’s face was turning pink again. “No! Ew!” Ron faked a few gags. “No! That would never happen!” 

“Hey, if you don’t want him, can I have him? I’d love to see how he’d look on his kne-” 

“OK! I’LL GO TO CLASS IF YOU SHUT UP-” Ron didn’t hesitate to cover his ears or turn briskly on his heels. The red-head hurried in the direction he came from, his two classmates following after him who both called out a thank you to the mischief masters. “Godric, why’d you ask them for help? Now I have that gross image in my head.” 

“We both knew it’d be the only way to get you to Potions. Now hurry up! I’d rather not be late!” Hermione grabbed her friends wrists and dragged them down the intermixing hallways until they stood right outside the classroom, only then did she let go. Harry handed Ron his potions textbook while Hermione patted down her hair and walked in, trying to act like she didn’t just sprint across the school. 

The two boys looked at each other, one rolling his eyes while the other snickered before walking in after her. The snickering red-head paused when he walked in, getting hit with a strong smell of mixed berries and fruit, almost like shampoo. He actually didn’t hate it, in fact, it made his heart beat a little faster. It was familiar. The idea had Ron lagging behind his friends. 

Once he joined the crowd in the back of the classroom and stood beside his friend at the edge of the crowd, did he notice the scent almost shift. It was your cologne. It made him gag with how powerful it was. Godric, did you pour an entire bottle of cologne on you? It was literally making him feel sick. He was going to lose every marble he had if someone didn’t open a window for him. 

When Slughorn began talking about today's lesson, it went in one of Ron’s ears only to travel out the other side. Your cologne was close to killing him and everyone was acting like it didn’t exist.

“Do you see (L/n)?” Ron whispered to Harry. 

“He’s across the classroom, Ron, why?” Harry whispered back. The two continued to whisper over Slughorn. They’d end up asking Hermione for help anyway. “Worried about him?” Harry grinned until his friend jabbed him in the side with his elbow.

“No, just wondering so I can rag him on his shit cologne.” Ron made eye contact with you across the classroom. He stuck his tongue out when you discretely gave him the bird. “I’m so gonna beat his ass.”

“What? Ron, what cologne?”

“You can’t smell it?” 

Harry was about to answer when he got interrupted by Slughorn abruptly asking everyone to take their seats and start the project. Neither of them noticed that pack of girls staring longingly at the bubbling cauldrons in front of them while they took their seats next to each other. 

See, the thing that sucked the most about this is Slughorn was determined to make you and Ron basically best friends, so he stuck you at the Golden Trio’s table for the whole year, which led to more trouble than good. Luckily, he paired you up with Harry and Ron with Hermione so you didn’t ruin each other's faces or potions. However, today, the bickering began before you sat down. 

“How’s your head feeling, Weasley?” You smirked, walking over with your brown side bag.

“How’s your shin feeling, (L/n)?” Before you could question what he meant, he kicked your leg before sitting down. You let out a grunt and sat down in your own seat before rubbing your now sore and most likely bruised leg. 

“I can’t wait for this class to end so I can rip out more of your stupid ginger hair, Ginger Ale.” You pulled out your textbook and flipping to the page. 

“Don’t bloody call me that, besides, why not just use that horrid cologne as pepper spray. With how much you wore today, it’s already doing the job for you.” Ron scowled at you from across the table, but his demeanor shifted ever so slightly when you dropped your quill and looked at him with wide eyes. He blinked a few times before looking around the room then behind him. “What?”

“Red, I.. You smell my cologne?” Your voice was filled to the brim with turmoil.

“So what if I do?” Ron’s face scrunched up with confusion. 

“Have you heard of a potion called Amortentia?” You spoke up, covering your rapidly heating up face. 

“A-amor- What?”

“Look, Red. Long story short, it’s a love potion. It’s strong enough to change love to obsession. It emits a smell that’s different for everyone and mimics the smell of your crush.” You looked at him between your fingers, seeing his confusion still so clear on his face.

“Ok.” Ron snorted. “What does that have to do with your shitty cheap cologne?” 

“Weasley, mate, I know the cogs in your brain are super rusty, but just try to use ‘em ok?” You slammed your hands against the table as you spoke. “I’m not wearing my cologne today. I ran out last night. Slughorn had an open cauldron filled with Amortentia in class today.” 

“S.. So what your saying is-” Ron’s brain was trying to process everything you’d said. He was still refusing to believe he loved, liked or tolerated you.

“You fancy me, you idiot.” You spoke up, louder than you intended.

Ron stared at you with wide eyes. His pale cheeks turned red, out of anger or embarrassment he wasn’t sure. He looked between Hermione and Harry before looking back at you.

“What? No I don’t. That’s ridiculous, borderline mental!”

“Then why did you smell my cologne?” You questioned, leaning over the table some. Ron went back to glaring at you, his arms crossing over the table.

“Probably because you're lying about having none.”

“Ok, say I was lying, Harry would smell it, yeah?”

“Yeah and I don’t smell anything besides the potions brewing.” Harry shrugged while Ron’s jaw dropped.

“Harry! Don’t encourage him!” Ron slammed his book shut, drawing more attention to the bickering table.

“I’m not encouraging anyone. Just being honest.”

“No, you know what? This is a load of bollocks! I do not like you, (L/n). In fact, I loathe you!” Ron stood up quickly, his stool tumbling to the ground with a bang. “I feel anything, literally anything except affection for you!” 

You watched Ron storm out of the classroom and looked down at the table. You ignored the students and Slughorn staring at your table and, instead, focused on your bruised knuckles. Were you supposed to tell Ron you smelled his own stupid cologne, broom polish from Quidditch, chocolate frogs and hits of firework ash? 

Before you knew it, you were running out of the classroom, ignoring the calls of your name. You spotted a glance of him rounding the corner and sprinted after it. 

“Ron!” You called out, rounding the same corner. He turned around, his eyes narrowed. This was the first time he heard you say his first name and he wasn’t going to let his shock show through.

“What? Here to make fun of me? Well, go on. You’ll end up doing it anyway tonight. Don’t hold back now.” Ron’s hands balled up into fists. 

“I’m not going to make fun of yo-”

“Yeah, and my hair isn’t red. Don’t bloody lie to me!”

“I’m being serio-”

“No, you aren’t!”

“Ok, you know what?” You stepped forward, grabbing a bunch of his shirt and slamming his back into a wall. He raised his fist to throw a punch, but your free hand caught his wrist. Before he could do anything else, your lips slammed against his. 

He froze against the wall, his skull filling with emptiness at the feeling of your soft lips against his chapped ones. He couldn't stop the questions tumbling through his lips when you separated. He managed to stop when you pressed your forehead against his.  The red-head didn’t have to strain his ears to hear your whisper in the empty hallway but shuddered when your hand threaded through his hair, gently massaging where you pulled earlier.

“I’m sorry..” You pulled back a tiny bit to look into his blue eyes, only now noticing the green flecks twinkling like stars in the night sky. “Does it still hurt?” Your voice was so soft it made his heart ache. He would’ve shaken his head, but didn’t want you to pull your hand away.

“No, it never really hurt.” Ron confessed, his shaky hands awkwardly landing on your waist.

“But you said-”

“I said a lot of things I didn’t mean..” Ron chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes dropping to your sneakers.

“Yeah, so did I.” You whispered awkwardly, just staring at the red-head against the wall. It was a good few minutes before you spoke up again. “Broom polish, earth and chocolate frogs..”

“What?” 

“The um- the love potion.. That’s what I.. That’s what I got from it.” 

“I’m co-”

“Ron, please. I smelled your cologne, the stupid sweets and your broom polish. Idiot.” You chuckled a little.

“Well excuse me, I haven't gotten my brain cogs oiled yet.” Ron smiled a little, desperate to hear more of your laugh. He mentally fist pumped the air when you did, in fact, laugh louder. “Seriously, though, I’m sorry.”

“So am I, Red.” 

“Soooo..” Ron dragged out the o as he tapped his fingers along your waist. He gave you a lopsided grin as he continued. ”Should we go on a date or kiss more?” 

“Why not both?” You leaned in again, stopping just before his lips.

“I like both.. We could go swimming in the Black Lake?” The pale boy grinned wider as his fingers tugged your shirt free from your trousers.

“Ron, it’s like 10 degrees outside- you just wanna see me shirtless!” You pecked his lips, chuckling when he faked a gasp, his hands now resting under your shirt..

“That is entirely not true, (L/n)! Where is your sense of adventure?”

“Not here, Weasley. I might’ve left it in the classroom, ya know, with my books since I had to chase your ass out here.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” It was Ron’s turn to kiss you.

“We have a lot to make to each other already. Let's just start at the basics.”

[angstyaches]

hi hi hi so i was reading your fic where felix and elliot are feeding on an animal again and there’s some Hot Vampire Kissing Tm and i was wondering... since it was kinda teensy a little bit (very) hot .... could we have some more vampy- fangy bloody kissing with them please? i know it isn’t emeto or whump related but i figured i could always ask and you can obviously say no if you don’t wanna write it. Thanks!🍄

I honestly can’t tell if this is hot or not but I hope it’s at least nice.

CW: vampire resisting blood, hunger, burps, kissing and more implied spiciness.

Early-Days Felix and Elliott 

Felix didn’t bother sitting down to meals lately. Meaning he didn’t sit down, and he didn’t have meals. Instead, he stood at the kitchen counter and consumed whatever quick snack he managed to rustle up, wanting to dull his sudden cravings before they could set in too deeply.

This is what he was doing at 6am, as the sun cut the white kitchen tiles into slices. He was having toast, because toast felt like a good morning food, and raspberry jam because the visual of something red and sticky entering his mouth was just appealing, it hit upon something in his brain that was begging to be hit upon, but as he chewed it, the illusion gave way, and the jam just tasted like jam.

“There you are.”

Felix looked across the countertop as he chewed, feeling a flicker of affection at the sight of Elliott wandering into the kitchen. His hair was loose and dishevelled, not in its usual ponytail or half-bun. He’d come downstairs in just his boxers and a pinstriped shirt that he hadn’t bothered to button up, clearly not expecting Nancy or Ryan to be up and about yet. And Felix just couldn’t help but gaze at how each inch of fabric sat on Elliott’s body, rustling against his skin with every movement he made.

“Are you alright?” Elliott asked, opening the fridge and carefully selecting a glass bottle from the shelf in the door. Felix swallowed and looked away, unable to bear the sight of the bottle or its contents.

“Yes, I’m okay.”

Elliott glanced over at him, eyeing the toast in his hand, before pouring himself a mugful of the bottle’s contents. It sloshed from glass container to ceramic, and Felix heard every.

Single.

Drop.

He swallowed again, though there was nothing in his mouth but saliva.

“You got hungry again?” Elliott asked, returning the bottle to the fridge door. His surprise was likely due to the fact that they’d both had a large dinner the night before, consisting of fish and chips and lemon cheesecake.

Felix turned his slice of toast over in his hand, feeling grateful for how it had sat nicely in his stomach so far, but also hating it for not being what he really needed. Hating it for its inability to stop the feeling of his teeth being wrenched from deep in his gums.

“Yeah,” he admitted. A half-lie. Dinner hadn’t truly sated him, so technically he was still hungry.

He could see that Elliott was biting the inside of his own lip, and he had a feeling he knew what was going to come next. Elliott’s fingers delicately laid the mug on the countertop, grip lingering on the rim as though poised to move it closer to Felix.

“Felix, I think you should consider –”

“No,” Felix whimpered, backing up.

Elliott’s eyes narrowed. “I wish you would consider drinking a little.”

Felix lifted his food to take a bite, mainly to obscure the shy grin that spread across his face at hearing the concern in Elliott’s voice. It had been two months since Felix had first entered the townhouse and become an official member of the Aldridge clan, and it had been six weeks and two days since he and Elliott had started sharing a bed and kissing and doing the things that often followed kissing. Six weeks in which Felix felt he should have gotten over these silly little moments of incoherent infatuation, and yet he felt as giddy and nervous around Elliott as ever.

Especially when the older man expressed worry over him.

“Please?” Elliott’s voice was low.

Felix placed the remainder of his toast on the plate and licked his lips. “I… I can’t. The idea of it is still rather… repulsive.” Heat shot out to the tips of his ears. “No, no offence…”

“No, I understand what you’re saying.” Elliott pursed his lips, eyes trained on the mug. “The psychological adjustments can be as challenging as the physical ones, if not more challenging.”

As much as Felix appreciated Elliott’s sympathy, it didn’t do much to ease his discomfort. Just because someone else had once felt similarly to how he was feeling now, it didn’t reassure him that he would one day move past it and live like a normal person. A normal vampire, he thought to himself, wondering if he was even allowed to call himself a person anymore.

“You know that it comes from a willing donor, right?” Elliott was referring to the mug’s contents, which Felix was trying hard not to gaze upon. “You’ll probably meet her soon, and hopefully that will ease some of your anxiety.”

Felix gave a heavy shrug. He hoped the same thing, but he also feared that putting a face to the blank, human-shaped blood dispenser in his mind would make the task of consuming all the more difficult. After all, he’d never had any desire to put a name and a face to the cow just before biting into a burger…

“I’m feeling a slight sting myself, and there’s no point in wasting good blood,” Elliott said, his voice becoming deeper and more distant as it did when he was about to feed. “Would it bother you if I drank this?”

Felix shook his head briskly, snatching up the last of his toast. There were three bites’ worth left, but he shoved it all into his mouth at once. The sound of Elliott’s lips sipping on the blood rang loudly through his skull, entering his ears like the incessant humming of a broken street lamp. His own chewing did little to drown it out.

The sipping turned into gulping, and Felix’s eyes widened at the way Elliott tilted his head back under the mug. His free hand gripped the edge of the countertop, as though he might fall over from the force of drinking. Felix’s ears continued to zone in on the sounds of drinking, consuming, guzzling, and he was sure he could hear the liquid being pulled into Elliott’s throat along with tiny pockets of air, the muscles inside his digestive system greedy and eager to get it down as quickly as possible.

Felix had never known it was possible to literally go slack-jawed while watching something, but right then, he couldn’t have closed his mouth if someone had offered to pay him.

“Mm,” Elliott mumbled, gasping softly as he put the mug down, empty, on the countertop again. Hs mouth was smeared in red, a single droplet drawing a line down his stubbled chin.

There was a low rumble in the older vampire’s chest, which Felix only heard because the thirst had heightened his senses, and then a long gurgle as his stomach struggled to settle such a large amount of blood; drinking from a container wasn’t the same as feeding from an animal, so Elliott should probably have drunk it more slowly.

Felix felt his own stomach rumble as though in response to Elliott's, but for the opposite reason; it was making far-too-quick work of the toast and lamenting the lack of what his body truly needed. He still couldn’t manage to close his mouth, despite the saliva gathering around his teeth and wetting his lips.

Elliott frowned and placed a hand on his belly – bare between the unclosed buttons of his shirt – and let out a short, tight belch. “Excuse me.”

“No.”

“No? You won’t excuse me?”

Felix shook his head. He couldn’t stop looking at the red stains on Elliott’s lips and the drip on his chin, which he hadn’t thought to lick or brush away yet. The sudden fullness must have been dulling his instincts; Felix could almost see the bliss in his yellow eyes as warmth flashed through them.

His fingers and lips trembled as he reached for Elliott’s face.

Elliott wore a blank expression as Felix’s thumb dragged up through his beard and over the dip in the corner of his mouth. The thumb came away red and glistening, and Elliott grinned, revealing fangs that were slightly distended from feeding.

“What?” Felix mumbled innocently, as his own thumb entered his mouth.

His lips and tongue began pulling at the liquid, relishing the metallic sweetness. His stomach tightened in anticipation while his head seemed to fill up with butterflies. As he slid his thumb from his mouth, he felt his own fangs reaching down, relieving a little of the pressure in his gums.

“I can’t put my finger on it, Felix,” Elliott whispered, leaning in a little closer, so that Felix could smell even more of the luscious liquid on his breath, “but somehow, you’ve never looked so gorgeous.”

In the end, Felix didn’t know who kissed who first, but what he did know was that Elliott tasted better than any ice cream or strawberry or tuna roll he’d ever eaten. A couple of times, he was worried that he’d sliced his own tongue on a fang – Elliott’s? His own? It was impossible to tell – but even that didn’t slow him down in his search for every last dreg that Elliott hadn’t managed to swallow.

Meanwhile, Elliott’s grip on Felix’s waist tightened, their hips eventually digging into one another’s, Elliott’s back being pressed up against the edge of the countertop. Eventually, their lips parted, thanks to Elliott pulling his head back.

Felix’s eyes fluttered open, lips still bobbing as though they didn’t understand that the kiss had ended. Elliott was pressing a hand to his mouth, frowning as he let out another belch.

“I’m so sorry,” he grumbled, as though annoyed by his own body. “I just drank and you’re pressing quite hard on my stomach...”

Felix tried to shimmy back a little, though he was swiftly drawn back in by Elliott’s arms. Elliott’s eyes scanned Felix’s face, another grin tugging at his mouth.

“What?” Felix asked breathlessly.

“You’ve got, uh… Sorry, that’s my fault.” Elliott lifted a thumb to the corner of Felix’s mouth, dragging it across his lip.

“Am I messy?” Felix’s voice was a little distorted from having his lip tugged at. He batted his eyelashes at the delicious look in Elliott’s eyes.

“You’re positively radiant.” Hands slid around Felix’s neck, cupping his head and drawing him in for one last chaste kiss. “Why don’t I get you a little something to drink, and then we can head back to bed for a bit?”

Felix caught a fingernail between his teeth as Elliott and his lips moved away from him, towards the fridge again. He could feel a full-on blush starting, surprised that his body found enough red blood cells to pull off such a feat.

“Okay, darling.” 

[love-of-fandoms]

Moonflowers (Apollo + OC)

Blood of Zeus Apollo Oneshot, can be read as reader-insert

Pairing: Apollo + OC

Word Count: 4909 words

Prompt: “Do you think the moon is jealous of how pretty you are?” From this prompt list

It was a rare, calm day at the peak of Mount Olympus when Apollo saw it. Nobody was screaming at anyone for cheating, Zeus’ long list of bastards weren’t being harassed for their illegitimate status, and there were no impending threats.

As such, Apollo was able to peacefully stare off the balcony and watch the mortals uninterrupted. He wasn’t watching anything in particular, just observing, eyes flitting from place to place. Occasionally he’d spot one of his many ex-lovers, though to call them ex lovers always sounded wrong. To be someone’s ex implied bad blood between them, but Apollo never created false expectations. He was upfront in the fact that he didn’t do romance, and while he would say pretty words and was always up for sex or cuddling, there wouldn’t be any relationship, not one with commitment, at least. So when he would spot someone he had taken to bed, he would smile slightly, or frown if they weren’t doing well. But he wouldn’t intervene.

It wasn’t a person that caused his gaze to stop on a particular thing, though. Rather a beautiful garden.

There were many beautiful gardens all over the world, many just in Greece alone, but what had stood out at first with this garden was that it wasn’t some palace courtyard, or in the middle of a prosperous city. Neither was it in some rich merchant’s villa. This beautiful, well maintained garden was in the middle of a forest, the Efki Forest to be specific, with not a single town for miles around it. The god’s eyes narrowed in curiosity as he looked at it. There was a small cottage in the garden, and many animals roamed the gardens freely. He admired the beauty, content to look at it from afar, but his contentment to stay on Olympus was disrupted when he caught sight of a specific patch of flowers in the center of the garden.

Moonflowers.

Flowers that bloomed only when the sun was set, or almost set. However, it was midday as Apollo gazed at the widely blooming moonflowers. Apollo barely processed a thought as his feet took him to where his chariot was kept, barely even noticed as he climbed on and allowed the horses to take him to the garden.

Moonflowers blooming during the day wasn’t just rare, it didn’t happen. It didn’t happen unless Artemis blessed them. So that begged the question, why had his twin blessed a random patch of flowers in a random, oddly placed garden? Motivated by his profound curiosity for the occurrence, and perhaps by the ache he felt whenever his sister was gone from Olympus. She had departed on a hunt two weeks ago, and knowing her she could be back today, or in a year.

Apollo stepped off his chariot, allowing the horses to go back to Olympus until he called for them. Looking around, he saw that the garden was even more vibrant up close, and surprisingly the animals were not skittish at all. While most would flee at the very sight of what appeared to be a gigantic human, these animals were calm, and some even approached him and rubbed against his legs. Apollo’s brows furrowed in confusion. He had seen this happen with Demeter and Persephone only a handful of times, Aphrodite once or twice, but most animals were just normal around him. Not particularly frightened, but not particularly inclined to like him either. He crouched down, peering at the moonflowers curiously.

“Oh!” a soft voice exclaimed, and Apollo whipped around, standing as he did so, and the sudden movement caused the rabbit that had been curiously sniffing his toes to bolt off. Standing at the edge of the clearing, where the garden ended and the true forest began, was a human woman. She had long, brown hair, so long in fact that Apollo wasn’t sure it had even been cut, and wore a simple white dress that hung loosely around her pleasantly plump figure. She was short, not just because Apollo himself stood at 10 feet, but even for a human she would be considered short, just barely 5 feet, and in one of her hands she held a basket of what looked like mushrooms.

The two stared at each other for a moment, the human gaping, and Apollo simply studying her with his head tilted slightly to the side.

“Um, h-how may I be o-of serv-vice, Si-ir Apol-Apollo?” she stumbled out, bowing her head meekly, and Apollo’s eyes widened at her easy recognition of him, though beyond that he did not show his surprise.

“I was simply admiring this garden, little one,” he said with a soft smile, gesturing around the area, and the human nodded slowly. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she nodded again.

“Y-yes, I put a lo-a lot of work in-into it,” she stammered, and Apollo’s eyes widened once more, his smile becoming wider as well.

“Oh, this is your garden?” she nodded in confirmation, her hair falling down in front of her eyes as she did so, making her seem even more meek. “Then perhaps you can answer my question,” her face scrunched in worry at the statement.

“Wh-wh-what question?” Apollo chuckled then, the sound soft and sweet, causing the human’s tensed shoulders to relax unknowingly.

“Nothing bad, I assure you,” he said. “I simply wished to know how your moonflowers had come to be blessed by my twin?” he asked, and the woman’s face relaxed.

“Oh,” she sighed in relief. “They’re just such a pretty flower, and only blooming in my garden at night seemed like such a pity, since most only really appreciate it in the day, so I prayed to Artemis to allow them to bloom all the time,” Apollo’s eyes widened.

“And she granted your wish?” the woman nodded. 

“She was… impressed, I suppose,” she was no longer stuttering, Apollo was happy to note, she was clearly in her element talking about her garden, a sort of comfort zone, but her voice was so soft. It was pleasant, melodic even, if Apollo were to be poetic about it, which he always was, but quiet. He stepped closer, wishing to hear her better, and a slight pink came to her cheeks. Apollo thought it contrasted quite prettily with her sea green eyes, which he could see as she timidly rose a hand to brush her long unruly hair out of her face. “I have a-a way with animals,” she explained, gesturing to the animals calmly walking around them, and Apollo’s head tilted in confusion.

“I had wondered why they were so calm,” the woman smiled now, and Apollo’s breath was almost taken from him at the sight. It wasn’t a large smile, only a small quirk of her lips, but her eyes squinted and shone with a joy he couldn’t quite place, and Apollo thought it was one of the most beautiful sights he had seen in his long life.

“I don’t know why,” she began, walking over to a brown rabbit and sinking to sit on her knees in front of it. Instead of scurrying away, the rabbit actually hopped up to her, it’s ears perked happily. She reached down to stroke it across its head softly. “But my presence calms animals, and they make me happy,” her smile widened a bit as another rabbit hopped over, butting its head against the other’s as if fighting for her attention, though it was only an adorably friendly competition. “Call it a nice symbiosis, if you will,” Apollo nodded, approaching her slowly, not wishing to spook the rabbits. She glanced up at him, one corner of her lips quirking further up into a mirthful smirk. “Do you want to pet them?” she asked, gesturing to the rabbits, and Apollo simply nodded. “They’re siblings, Ruo and Dina,” she said, motioning for him to crouch down, he did so, reaching out his hand to stroke them, but he stopped when they flinched away.  The woman giggled a bit, and Apollo felt a pleasant warmth spread through him at the sound. She reached for his own hand, stopping before she touched him, and he nodded his permission. She grabbed the back of his hand, and Apollo found himself in awe of just how… tiny she was. Granted, he wasn’t even in his human, form, and thus was still huge in comparison to all humans, but still. Her fingertips barely met the base of his own fingers as she guided his hand towards the rabbits. They sniffed him cautiously, before one of them hopped forward and rubbed its head against Apollo’s palm.

“Amazing,” he murmured, stroking softly down the rabbit’s neck and back, and the woman grinned.

“Isn’t it?” she exclaimed, allowing the other rabbit to hop up into her lap and snuggle into her soft thighs. Her hand left Apollo’s to stroke the rabbit, and the back of his hand felt suddenly cold without her contact. The woman hummed a nameless tune as they sat there, stroking the rabbits, and after a moment, Apollo realized something in horror.

“How rude of me,” he began, voice quiet as to not spook the animals. The woman’s brows furrowed as she turned her head to look at him. “I have not asked your name,” the woman smiled softly.

“Althaia, my lord,” she answered, and Apollo scowled at the title.

“There is no need to call me such things,” he assured her, hand leaving the rabbit to rest on her shoulder. She flinched in surprise, wide green eyes gazing up at him. For a moment he thought he recognized her eyes, but he ended up attributing it to the forest surrounding them.  “Just Apollo will do,” she nodded shyly, her cheeks pink once more. “Are you alone here, Althaia?” she shivered slightly at the sound of her name in his voice, and Apollo relished in it.

“I-I have the animals,” she answered, gaze darting to the side, and Apollo sighed.

“But there are no other humans? Or perhaps nymphs?” she shook her head.

“I’m the only one,” she said, and Apollo hummed, displeased.

“Well that won’t do,” he said, and Althaia flinched.

“Wh-what do you m-mean?” Apollo was sad to hear her stutter return as she asked him that.

“You can’t be alone for so long, humans aren’t made for it,” he said calmly, but Althaia only seemed to become more distressed.

“B-but my garden! The animals!” she protested, but Apollo held up a hand, stopping her from going on.

“I am not suggesting you leave this wonderful place you’ve curated,” he quickly soothed her, and Althaia’s shoulders slumped in relief. “I simply meant that I would have to visit you, so you don’t get too lonely,” he smiled brightly at her, and Althaia was reminded that he was the sun god as his beautiful grin almost blinded her.

“Oh! You-you don’t need to b-burden yourself with that, my lo-” at Apollo’s look, she cringed. “Apollo,” she amended.

“It’s not at all a burden, I assure you,” his voice was serious as he said this, and he fully turned to her, a huge hand gently grasping her chin to get her to look him in the eyes. “It would be my honor to visit you in such a beautiful place, to be in the company of such a beautiful woman, too” Althaia blushed brightly, trying to avert her eyes, but Apollo simply leaned closer, refusing to allow her to hide. “Would you accept my company?”

“Of course!” she nodded hastily, cheeks a bright red, and Apollo grinned at her.

“Wonderful!” he announced, standing when he realized how much time they had spent in the garden. He had been gone from Olympus for bordering on three hours at this point, and the sun would need to set soon. “Until our next meeting, Althaia,” he bade her, and Althaia bowed her head as he called his chariot, the horses appearing almost instantly before him and allowing him to climb on.

“Goodbye,” Althaia, rose a hand to wave at him as he flew away, going to set the sun. “Apollo,”

Althaia didn’t expect to see Apollo for months, or perhaps he wouldn’t come back at all. But instead, much to her surprise, he came back only two days later.

This time, Althaia was in her cottage preparing a stew with some of the mushrooms she had gathered. Upon realizing this, Apollo shrunk himself to human size, where he stood around 6 foot 3, and knocked on her door. Althaia let out a shout of surprise, dropping a plate in her shock and cursing when it landed on her toe. She stumbled over to the door, whipping it open to reveal Apollo. It was an overcast day, but the sun god still seemed to shine, as if it was him who was emitting pure light, instead of reflecting the sun’s. Her eyes widened.

“A-Apollo!” she greeted, bowing her head. “I di-didn’t expect you to be back so soon!” Apollo smiled softly at her.

“Why wouldn’t I wish to come back as soon as I could?” he countered, and Althaia blushed. She couldn’t be that important. “May I come in?” Althaia’s eyes widened as she stepped aside, allowing him into her small cottage. He found himself having to duck, the cottage more suitable to people around Althaia’s height. A bed was pushed against one wall, with a window just above it, letting light stream in. On the opposite side of the cottage was a table with a shelf where various bowls and pots were placed, and a window above that. A firepit sat in the middle and two chairs next to the fire pit. There were herb racks lining the walls, and Apollo was surprised to see an easel with a beautiful meadow painted across it.

“You paint?” he asked in surprise, and Althaia blushed as she quickly went to cover the painting.

“Um… yes,” she muttered. “Not very well, though,” Apollo’s hand reached out to stop hers without even a glance as she went to throw a sheet over the canvas.

“I would disagree,” he hummed, finally taking his eyes off the painting to look at her, gently taking the sheet from her hand and throwing it back over the chair it had been draped across. “I think this is beautiful,” he told her, eyes flitting away from her to take in the painting, and Althaia simply gaped at him, unsure of what to say. Now that the two were inside the cottage, Althaia could now see that Apollo was in fact glowing, his golden light showing slightly on the walls and her painting. She found herself feeling… dull. Even his eyes were a beautiful golden shade, his blonde flowing hair shining even brighter than a human’s would. She found herself uttering it without really thinking, a stray thought.

“Do you think the moon is jealous of how pretty you are?” she murmured, and Apollo’s eyes widened as he turned away from her painting, fully facing her.

“What?” he had heard her perfectly well, and a small smile was present on his face as he asked her to repeat her question. She blushed, her head ducking down to avoid his gaze.

“I-it’s nothing,” she muttered, and Apollo chuckled, stepping closer to her and hunching his shoulders so he could look her in the eyes. 

“I’m quite sure my twin is prettier than me,” Apollo told her with a soft chuckle, and was pleased to hear Althaia giggle sweetly.

“I’d say you’re both equally pretty,” her voice was still quiet, as if she half-hoped that he wouldn’t hear her, and his smile widened. 

“Why thank you,” he said, accepting her praise. She had met his twin sister, after all. Althaia darted her eyes to the side, avoiding him again. His smile turned down a bit at that, but he tried not to take it personally. She was shy, after spending who knows how long alone with only the animals for company in this forest. Shy and perfect.

Apollo hadn’t realized he was stepping towards her, pulled by an inexplicable force, until Althaia let out a sharp gasp as their chests touched. Her breasts brushed his abdomen as she breathed heavily, and Apollo’s eyes were drawn to a pendant around her neck. It was dull, as if she had worn it for years, but he could still make out the design. It was a half moon, half sun symbol. Apollo’s eyes widened as he lifted his hand to allow his fingers to brush against the pendant. Althaia’s chest stilled as he did so, holding her breath.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, and Althaia smiled shyly.

“You and Artemis gave it to me,” she told him, and Apollo’s hand pulled back as he gasped. That was why her eyes were familiar.

There are only two times a day Apollo and Artemis could see each other when they weren’t on Olympus. Dawn and dusk was their time, when the moon and the sun shared their light over the same place, and the twins could enjoy time together.

Often, they would follow the line across the Earth to spend more time together, making a single dusk or dawn last for hours or days.

It was dusk on this particular occasion. Artemis was trying and failing to improve Apollo’s skills with a bow. While she was the goddess of the hunt, her twin couldn’t use ranged weapons for the life of him. He pulled the string back, breathing in deeply as Artemis had instructed, and focused on the tree he was aiming for. After a moment, he loosed the arrow, and it went flying… a solid 45 degrees to the left of a tree. Artemis began to sigh disappointedly, but they froze at the sound of a startled squeak. Apollo’s head snapped between her and the direction of the squeak.

“Did you-”

“Let’s go,” was all Artemis uttered before she was sprinting through the forest, through the bushes before Apollo felt like he could even blink. He followed her after only a moment.

That was not the squeak of an injured animal. That was a child. A human child. Had he just shot a human child with his sister’s bow?

Apollo burst through the bushes the arrow had gone through, gasping in relief to see a rabbit with an arrow through its side. He was less relieved, however, to see the small child kneeling next to the rabbit, tears welling up in her eyes. Artemis knelt down next to the child, a hand going to her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, little one,” she murmured to the girl, who’s head snapped to gape up at the goddess. “We didn’t mean to scare you,” the girl hiccuped, some tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Did you mean to kill Samis?” she asked accusingly, and Apollo flinched.

“No,” he muttered, kneeling down on the opposite side of the girl as his sister. “That was my mistake, I’m sorry,” the girl looked up at him sadly.

“She has three babies,” the girl said, her eyes narrowed, and Apollo and Artemis exchanged a look. “Are you sure you’re sorry?” Apollo cringed, sighing before nodding.

“I am,” he said to the girl, who turned her bright green eyes to glare directly at him. “How can I prove that to you?” the girl stood suddenly, one hand shooting out to grip Apollo’s finger, unable to even reach his palm to actually grasp his palm. She also reached out to hold Artemis’ skirt. The two gods exchanged awkward glances, before the girl began to lead them further through the forest.

“Where are you taking us, little one?” Apollo asked, and the girl just looked over her shoulder to shoot him an upset glare. His eyes widened, and he shrugged his shoulders.

After a minute or so of walking, the girls hands dropped to her sides, and at first the two gods thought that perhaps her small arms had gotten tired being raised so far above her head, but then the girl crouched down in front of a bush, whispering softly.

“Hey guys,” she murmured, and the gods were stunned when three baby bunnies timidly hopped out of the foliage. “Y-your mom is-isn’t coming back,” she stuttered through some tears, and the baby bunnies seemed to understand her, their ears drooping sadly. “But this guy is gonna take care of you,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder at Apollo, whose eyes widened in shock. Artemis’ hand rose to her mouth to stifle an amused chuckle. 

The girl grabbed the bottom of her skirt, lifting it slightly to make a sort of hammock, and gestured for the bunnies to hop in. They did so without complaint, and she stood, turning to Apollo. 

“Do you know a safe place for them to live?” she asked, and Apollo nodded, a soft smile on his face.

“I do,” he confirmed.

“And you will feed them at least twice a day?” she asked, and Apollo nodded again.

“I will,” he agreed.

Usually, a god of Olympus would be offended at the audacity of a mortal just presuming that a god would do them a favor. Or presume that the mortal could just decide how a god repays them for a slight. But Apollo found himself endeared to this young girl.

“Where will you take them?” she asked, and Apollo smiled.

“I will bring them back to Olympus,” he said, and the girl’s eyes widened.

“O-Olympus?” she gasped. “Are you-” Apollo nodded, cutting her off.

“My name is Apollo, this is my twin sister, Artemis,” the girl gasped, bending at the waist in a low bow.

“I-I’m sorry!” she squeaked, and Artemis sighed, kneeling down next to the girl.

“Don’t apologize, little one,” she soothed, and the girl took in a deep breath. 

“B-but I-I shouldn’t ha-have,” Artemis cut her off.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” she assured the girl, turning to Apollo.

The mortals would just call it “a twin thing”, but their connection went deeper than that. Upon sharing a look, they both knew exactly what they would do. Artemis place a hand on the girl’s small shoulders, standing and leading her to Apollo. The two gods brought their hands together, a burst of deep blue and yellow light came out from their hands. The girl flinched back, her eyes squinting at the assault to her eyes. When the light faded, the gods held a beautiful pendant between them. One half was the sun, the other the moon.

“What is your name, little one?” Artemis asked, and the girl blushed.

“Al-Althaia,” she answered, and Artemis and Apollo smiled. It was the same, radiant smile on their faces, and Althaia couldn’t stop her mouth from falling open in awe.

“Well, Althaia,” Artemis began. “Accept this token from us,”

“As proof that you have done no wrong,” Apollo finished, and the two gods knelt to drape the pendant over her head and around her neck. The girl grinned shyly, and the two gods grinned back. Apollo cupped his hands together, placing them in front of where Althaia held her skirt, and after she nodded, the bunnies hopped into his palms. After a moment, Artemis turned to her brother, whose glow was beginning to fade as night truly began to fall. “Go back to Olympus, I’ll take care of her,” he nodded, calling his chariot to carry him back.

“Althaia,” Apollo breathed, his hand going to her cheek, gently tilting her chin back so he could meet her eyes. He laughed breathlessly. “They’re still alive, you know,” her eyes widened.

“Wh-what?” she gasped, and Apollo chuckled.

“The three rabbits, they’re still alive,” he repeated. “You didn’t tell me their names, so I had to give them new ones, I hope you don’t mind,” Althaia’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“Th-that was t-twenty years ag-ago,” she gasped, and Apollo nodded.

“Olympus is a special place,” he said, and Althaia giggled.

“Really?” she quipped sarcastically, and Apollo grinned at the sass, glad that she was at least coming out of her shell enough to say that.

“-and as such,” he continued, his grin fading to a fond smile. “Aging works differently. For some, it slows, but for others, it stops completely,”

“Wow,” she muttered, and Apollo nodded, his hand finally dropping from her cheek, only to grasp her own.

“Would you like to see them?” he asked, and Althaia’s eyes widened.

“Y-you mean… go to Olympus?” she gasped, and Apollo nodded.

“Of course,” he said, beginning to lead her out of her cottage, calling his chariot. He only stopped when Althaia dug her feet into the ground, eyes wide. “What is it?”

“A-am I even allowed on Olympus?” she asked, and Apollo shrugged.

“Gods are allowed to bring mortals to Olympus, as long as they don’t bring too many,” he told her, eyes warm, and Althaia hesitantly began to follow him once more. She blinked, and suddenly Apollo was 10 feet tall once more, and there was a golden chariot behind him, pulled by beautiful golden horses. His huge hands dropped to her waist, and he raised his brows. “May I?” she nodded, and he lifted her up onto the chariot, stepping on behind her. “Ready?” he asked, and Althaia nodded, this time with more apprehension. 

Apollo clicked his tongue spurring the horses forward, and Althaia screamed when they were suddenly airborne. Apollo laughed, an arm wrapping around her waist and hoisting her higher, so the crown of her head rested just under his chin.

“Relax,” he said in her ear, and Althaia’s hands went down to grasp tightly at his forearm. If he was mortal, Apollo was sure she would’ve scratched his arms deep enough to draw blood. Her looked down, seeing her eyes tightly squeezed shut. “We’re above the clouds, open your eyes,” he told her, and Althaia shook her head.

“It-it’s scary!” she said back, and Apollo’s grip tightened.

“You have no need to be afraid, Althaia,” he said, lips brushing the shell of her ear. Althaia shivered. “I would never let you fall,” he assured her. “Open your eyes, little one, see how beautiful things are from up here,” Althaia nodded this time, taking a deep breath in before opening her eyes. She gasped at the sight that affronted her eyes.

They were above the clouds, indeed, but she could still see through breaks down into the forest. The sun hit the clouds in the most beautiful way, making them shine yellow and orange.

“Wow,” she murmured, and Apollo chuckled.

“Beautiful, right?” he prompted, and Althaia nodded vigorously.

“It’s gorgeous!” she shouted above the wind, and Apollo nodded, tucking his chin against her neck.

“Just like you, little one,” if he had been able to see her face, Apollo would have been both endeared and amused by  the fiery blush that took over Althaia’s cheeks.

They rode to Olympus in silence after that, and it wasn’t long before they were in one of the many gardens. Althaia looked around excitedly, turning to Apollo when she didn’t see any of the bunnies.

“Where are they?” she asked, and Apollo chuckled, leading her further through the garden, softly calling for them as he did so.

“Come out!” he called. “Dusk, Ef, Ki!” he continued, and Althaia looked at him in surprise at the names.

Althaia grinned at the rustling of bushes ahead of them, kneeling down just in time for a large rabbit with a soft auburn coat to dart forwards. Without missing a beat, the rabbit lept into her arms, excitedly snuffling at her neck as she embraced him. Apollo chuckled, amused.

“This is Dusk,” he told her as he knelt down beside her. “He’s the most… exuberant of the three,”

Dusk, when we first met.

Two more equally large rabbits came out after their brother, though more careful with the approach. One, who Althaia remembered had a grey coat last she saw, had a coat of almost pure black, with some brown fur peeking out when the light hit it just right. The other was a light brown color, with a white spot just on his nose. They cautiously sniffed at Althaia’s legs before following their brother into her embrace.

“Ef,” Apollo pointed to the almost-black one. “Ki,” the light brown one.

Efki, my forest.

After a couple of minutes, Althaia finally raised her head from gazing in adoration at the trio of rabbits, who in that time had shuffled off her lap and were contently laying against her. Tears were in her eyes as she smiled brightly at Apollo, who was taken aback by her expression.

“Th-thank you,” she breathed, and Apollo smiled softly, shifting closer and raising his arm, an invitation if she wished for it. She took it, leaning against Apollo’s side with a happy sigh.

“Of course,” Apollo placed a kiss to her temple, a sign of affection so common for him that he didn’t consider how it would affect a girl with little to no contact with people for possibly years. Althaia flinched, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, to find that he was looking at her adoringly, golden eyes shining. “Anything for you,” he said softly, a whisper that Althaia could barely hear. She smiled shyly, relaxing further into Apollo’s side, content for now to snuggle with the rabbits and the sun god.

[impala666]

The One With The Stoned Guy Part Two (Amuse Bouche)

Sorry it took so long! But here is the next part to the Friends Rewrite. I’m just kind of writing when I find time. Enjoy all!!!!!!

Last Part (Part One), Series Masterlist

It was the next morning and the night before was the first night where you actually slept at Bryan’s apartment, you didn’t even go to yours and Ross’s apartment. But no you found yourself walking toward Monica and Rachel’s apartment for early breakfast before everyone went off to work or in your case school and the work. “Good morning,” you cheered with a smile. Everyone in the living room bid you a good morning in return while Joey sat there and stared at you with that same sad dog expression. So Ross must have told him that you never went home. “So, I heard you didn’t make it home last night.” Rachel confirmed your suspicions, but apparently Ross just decided to up and tell everybody.

“Yeah, last night was my first night actually staying there,” you smiled brightly at her when you thought about all of the adventures that you had with Bryan.

“You really like him, don’t you?” Rachel asked as she scrunched up her face and came closer to you to make your conversation a bit more private. You were about to answer her when all of a sudden the apartment door slammed from behind you. 

“Can you see my nipples through this shirt?” Your big brother asked after he entered. He made sure to lift up his suit jacket so that all of you could have a good look. 

“No,” Rachel answered for him as she carefully looked. “But don’t worry I’m sure they’re still there.” You laughed at her harmless joke. 

“Where’re you going Mr. Suity-Man?” Phoebe asked him from her spot in the living room next to Ross.

“Well,” Chandler reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. “I have an appointment to see Dr. Robert Pillman, career counselor a-go-go.” You listened to him as you took a seat on the couch, but realized that you sat too close to Joey like you used to. So you had to awkwardly slide in the opposite direction no matter if it made you a little upset and Joey very. “I added the a-go-go.” Chandler emphasized as all of them ignored the thing that just happened. 

“A career counselor?” Rachel asked him, wondering why he was going to see this guy. 

“Hey, you guys all know what you want to do.” Chandler whined to you all as he started to get defensive. 

“I don’t,” Rachel chimed in. 

“Hey, you guys in the living room all know what you want to do. You have goals, you have dreams. I don’t have a dream!” Chandler declared. But no matter how serious he tried to come across as, you all still found it a little funny. 

“Ah, the lesser-known “I don’t have a dream,” speech.” Ross called Chandler out on his mistake. 

“Y/N/N?” Chandler asked and placed his hand on your shoulder so that you would turn in your seat and look at him. “How did you know you wanted to go to Esthetician school?” He only asked because you had taken such a big leap to follow your dreams even if it made a few other people unhappy.

“I don’t know really. I just never really enjoyed or got into anything that I was learning while I went to college. But I always enjoyed skin and skincare and makeup, so once I actually found a career in it. I just decided to go for it.” You explained. “And even though it was terrifying at first, I know that it was the perfect decision.” Chandler couldn’t find words, he was just so proud and jealous of you. He just wished that he could find something that he was just as passionate about. 

“Oh, I love my life! I love my life!” Monica cheered as she had just gotten back from an interview with that restaurant guy. She was beaming from ear to ear and it looked like it hurt. 

“Oh, Brian’s Song.” Phoebe guessed, thinking that Monica was quoting a song. 

“The meeting with that guy went great?” Rachel asked her after Phoebe’s strange outburst. 

“It was so great. He showed me where the restaurant’s going to be. It’s this cute little place on 10th Street; it’s not too big, it’s not too small. It’s just right.” Monica beamed as she shared her experience for her new job opportunity. 

“Was it formerly owned by by a blonde woman and some bears?” Chandler joked, when Monica accidentally quoted the famous nursery rhyme. 

“So, anyway I’m cooking dinner for him Monday night. You know, kind of like an audition.” Monica continued as she just ignored everything that Chandler just said. “And Phoebe he really wants you to be there,” she explained as she made her way over to the woman in the living room. “Which would be great for me because then you can make oh’s and ah’s and you can make yummy noises.”

“What’re you going to make?” Rachel asked Monica. 

“Yummy noises,” Phoebe answered instead, acting like it was obvious.

“And Monica, what are you gonna make?” You asked, changing the question to one that everyone could understand. 

“I don’t know. It’s just got to be so great.” Monica answered you as she walked over to her shelf of cookbooks to try and come up with some ideas. 

“Oh! I know what you should make.” Phoebe announced as she ran over to join Monica and Rachel in the kitchen. Almost knocking you down in the process as you made your way over to them, as well. “You should make that thing with the stuff.” Phoebe said as she sprinkled imaginary spices into her hand. “You know that...thing.” She just couldn’t think of it. But Phoebe could tell she wasn’t getting through to any of you. “Okay, I don’t know.” She finally gave up. 

“Hey, guys. Does anyone know a good date place in the neighborhood?” Ross asked, changing the subject. 

“Uh, how about Tony’s?” Joey suggested, and seeing as you used to date him you could see where this was going. “If you can finish a 32 ounce steak, it’s free.” Ross looked up at you for confirmation to see if he ever took you there.

“Yeah, no. That was the date from hell.” You felt bad for saying so, but it was true. 

“You said you loved it!” Joey whined. 

“Yeah, but we couldn’t finish because no human can, so you got upset and left, sticking me with the cheque.” He treated you like a queen, but you had to call a spade a spade. That date stunk. 

“Okay, does anyone know a good place if you’re not dating a puma?” Ross asked again as he joked at Joey’s answer. 

“Who are you going out with?” Chandler asked him with a chuckle. 

“Oh! Is this the bug lady?” Phoebe asked Ross. 

“I love you, Ross.” Rachel joked as she started buzzing like a bug and using her fingers as antennas. 

“Her name is Celia. She’s not a bug lady. She’s curator of insects at the museum.” Ross defended. 

“So a bug lady?” You asked since Ross was trying to be technical, but he knew that you were messing around. 

“So, what’re you guys gonna do?” Monica asked as she flipped through a cookbook at the table. 

“I just thought we’d go out to dinner and then bring her back to my place and I’d introduce her to my monkey.” Ross sounded like he was 100% joking but when you looked at him his face was serious. 

“And he’s not speaking metaphorically.” Chandler mumbled to himself. 

“So, back to your place. You’re thinking maybe, heh-heh?” Joey asked Ross as he implied sex. 

“Well, I don’t know heh-heh.” Ross said under his breath to Joey. “I’m hoping heh-heh. So Y/N can you steer clear of the apartment tonight.” You nodded even though you had nowhere to go since Monica had her dinner tonight and you and Joey were broken up. You would have to just go back to Bryan’s, oh well. Too bad. 

“I’m telling you-that monkey is a chick magnet. She’s going to take one look at his furry cute little face and it’ll seal the deal.” Joey promised him. 

*******

It was later in the evening, all of you were back at Monica and Rachel’s while Monica tried out some new recipes to have all of you try. Joey, Phoebe, and Rachel sat at the kitchen table. While you and Bryan sat alone in the living room. You really were surprised at how well everyone was getting along with Bryan, including Joey. They weren’t really best friends because clearly Joey still harbored some feelings, but they were able to be in a room together. That was all you could ask for. The both of you sat on the couch talking with Bryan’s arm wrapped around your shoulders. Bryan was about to continue the fire story that he had been meaning to tell you, but he jumped out of his seat when the apartment door slammed shut from an aggressive force. “Oh, my God. What happened to you?” Rachel asked, you kneeled on the sofa to turn and look who had entered. It was Chandler with his shirt unbuttoned slightly and tie loose, with a stack of folders looking he had had a day. 

“8 and a half hours of aptitude tests, intelligence tests, personality tests and what do I learn?” Chandler also seemed a little on edge. “You are ideally suited for a career in data processing for a large multinational cooperation.” Chandler read off of the test result that he had gotten. 

“That’s so great! Because you already know how to do that!” You cheered him on sarcastically. Bryan chuckling quietly as he looked up at you. 

“Can you believe it? Don’t I seem like somebody who should be doing something really cool?” Chandler asked all of you as he paced along the kitchen, half-heartedly waving to Bryan without looking at him. “I just always pictured myself doing something…something.” Chandler frowned down at the floor as he lightly stomped his foot.  

“Oh, Chandler, I know.” Rachel got up from her seat and half hugged the man as she patted him on his chest. “I know. Oh, hey! You can see your nipples through this shirt.” But Rachel’s realization did not seem to help Chandler as he turned his head and glared down at the woman. 

“Here you go. Maybe this will cheer you up.” Monica tried as she offered Chandler a plate of mini food. 

“Ohh, you know I had a grape about five hours ago. So I better split this with you.” He joked again as he tried to push passed his disappointing day. 

“It’s supposed to be that small, it’s a pre-appetizer. The French called it an Amuse Bouche.” Monica taught all of you. So Chandler took one for the team and popped one into his mouth, when suddenly he wasn’t as upset at the moment. 

“Well, it is amoozing.” Chandler joked even though he couldn’t help but get where Monica was coming from. 

“You’re friends are so weird.” Bryan said quietly to you as he deeply chuckled. 

“I know,” you beamed. “Isn’t it amazing.” You smiled at him in return and Bryan wrapped an arm around your waist as he pecked a kiss to your forehead. 

“Hello?” Monica said as she answered the phone that had started to ring a couple seconds ago. “Oh, hi, Wendy. Yeah 8 o’clock. What did we say, ten dollars an hour? Okay, great. I’ll see you then. Bye.” Monica hung up the quick phone call and you couldn’t help but notice the hurt and surprised look on Rachel’s face. 

“Ten dollars an hour for what?” Phoebe asked, before Rachel could jump to conclusions. 

“Oh, I asked one of the waitress’s at work to help me out.” You couldn’t help but cringe when Monica didn’t even realize her mistake. 

“Waitressing?” Rachel asked in surprise. 

“Uh-oh,” Joey sang as he stood up from his chair. 

“Of course I thought of you, but...but,” Monica couldn’t even think of an excuse. 

“But-but?” Rachel repeated for her, you could tell that she was starting to get a little upset. 

“But you see this night had to go perfect, you know.” Monica’s excuse was already flimsy. “And well, Wendy’s more of a...professional waitress.” She really was just digging herself in deeper. 

“Oh. I see, and I’ve sort of been maintaining my amature status so that I can waitress in the Olympics.” Rachel joked to hide her hurt. 

“You know, I don’t mean to brag, but I waited tables in Innsbruck in ‘76.” You added to try to make the conversation a bit more lighthearted. But Rachel did not find it funny at all when she glared at you, so you shrunk down and hid behind Bryan for protection. 

“Amuse Bouche?” Chandler offered Rachel the plate of food to try and diffuse the situation. You were about to kiss Bryan when he leaned in, but a voice made you jump up.

“Hey, Y/N.” Joey’s voice rang out.

“Yeah?” You asked, wondering what could be so important that he was interrupting your moment with Bryan. 

“We’re still on for hanging out, right?” He asked, you just furrowed your eyebrows at him. What game was he trying to play at? 

“Um, yeah. Sorry must have forgotten,” you tried to play it off. But even you knew that your face just read surprise. 

“Great, see you then,” Joey smiled. So then you tried to play it off with a smile, but you were breaking when you felt Bryan look at you with slight confusion.

Taglist:

@vampiregirl1797

@kellysimagines

 @shizzybarnaclee

[qianoir]

Divine Lies

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Guardian angel!Winwin (WayV) x human fem!reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 13+

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing (censored), lying, stealing, cheating, family problems, mentions of death, mentions of suicide, mentions of self-harm, brief mention of sex, abandonment, blasphemy, reader is an implied only child

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.4K

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: @staysstrays

Preview

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I have worked as a guardian with the style of Lucifer. “Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image,” I have reversed this commandment and given it life to a body of the soul I vowed to protect. Cast upon me a punishment, for I have wandered too far from your holy grail.

Si Cheng Dong, Guardian Angel #1028

Si Cheng knew you from the day you were born. You had marks dangling from your shoulder blades like the torn wings of an angel. He had asked God about the dainty marks, but He said his eyes must be tempted by the Demon of Trickery because no marks appeared to be decorating your back as he said. When he is assigned one of His children to protect, he knows nothing of God’s plan that is unique to every one person. His plan and your decisions were lived through Si Cheng’s eyes as well.

“What is behind your back?” Si Cheng interrogated your five year old self.

“Nothing…” He yanked your hands to unclasp, forcing them to drop the chocolate you had stolen from the convenient store you and your parents had just left.

“Your mother said you could not have this, yet you took it anyway and without paying. That is wrong.” You could only look with deceptively innocent eyes as your guardian took the sweet into the store, placing it back on the shelf you had tip-toed up to.

“Come on, Y/N dear.” Your mother called for you to follow her and your father to the car. There was no sight of Si Cheng, even when you had gotten into the car. Only a couple of miles from the store did he appear in the seat next to you. He looked over to see your closed mouth moving ever so slightly.

“What is in your mouth?” You shook your head and continued to chew slowly, trying to be as unapparent as possible. He continued to stare you down in silence, watching as you finally swallowed what he felt in his heart was something else that you stole. Breaking the intense eye contact, you turned around to look out of the car window. The ride was already silent, but a darkly mixed feel swam in your spine after Si Cheng’s next comment.

“Thou shalt not steal. You will be punished for that sin.”

...

As you blossomed into adulthood, the divine morals you had been taught by your covenant Christian parents seemed to have exited your mind. You were one of the top names of your college's Dean’s list, but the your personal out-of-school extracurriculars could mistake you for a completely different person. Your academic abilities were almost God-given, yet you showed Him no gratitude.

Si Cheng had been by your side to witness each time you strayed away from God. However, it was not his place to direct you back to Him, that choice was wholly your own. Each night since you turned 18, after reading his Bible out loud to you, he left for Heaven. You always told him that you would be in bed through the night, awaiting his return.

Those nights were spent sleeping through the day and partying at different clubs, downing bottles of red wine like a Black Christian. During one night out, you had thrown an empty bottle of Giuseppe Quintarelli into the unknown while walking out of the club; an incident you had forgotten until two police officers showed up on your doorstep with pictures from the club’s security cameras, portraying your indecent act.

Not much of the confrontation could be interpreted or remembered in your hazily hungover brain, but you do remember everything after you shouted a very pathetic “That’s not me!” because your hands were cuffed behind your waist and soon anxiously gripping the bars of the chair behind you at the station.

“What happened?” Si Cheng walked out of the wall when the police left you alone to discuss your charges.

“I forgot to pay for chocolate at the store today It's not—"

“Do not lie to me, Y/N.” You gave him silence. “How could you act in such a way?”

“If you know the answers, then why do you always ask questions?” The light from the interrogation room’s light kindled your eyes when you looked up at him, but you took unusual comfort in the pain.

“I’m trying to help you to understand your sins, but you never learn.”

“You could have stopped me, you’re my guardian ang—” “Yes and I am not you.” Si Cheng gripped the bridge of his nose before speaking again, “I protect you from unrighteous harm. Your actions have consequences with which I cannot interfere.”

Suddenly feeling very nauseous, you wretched forward, your cuffed hands gliding up your spine. A mix of drunken liquids racing from your throat, onto the floor and your distressed jeans. Si Cheng took your hair up, sitting behind you, rubbing your back when you failed to vomit and fearfully gagged.

He was ready to save you when he heard you starting to choke, but took your vulnerable soul into his arms when he realized you had started sobbing.

This was a normal occurrence for you two.

Every day, you would wake up thinking the thoughtless decision you had made the night prior was just a nightmare, but would fall apart when dealing with the consequences. Si Cheng would be there to comfort you and recite something religious that would travel a non-permeable route through your two ears. When you were back to feeling yourself— or what was left of yourself— you would sin again and lie to your guardian about it. Then Si Cheng would read you a bit of The Bible to sleep every night, for when morning comes, your morning s.hit would be on the sacred book once again.

“My back hurts…” You cried out. Si Cheng kept holding you.

“You tempt me.” Si Cheng announces as he waits for you to finish your nightly routine, Bible in hand. He decided to stop sleeping at his home in Heaven and would instead be wherever you were to take away the matches you light your fire with.

“Well I mean we don’t always have to pray when we’re in the bedroom.” The sleeping shirt takes its sweet time to cover your breasts before his angelic eyes.

“Not sexually.” Si Cheng rolls his eyes and chooses his next words carefully for your innuedic mind. “When you lie to me, I want so badly to tell you off. To make certain that no such fibs should ever fall from your lips again.”

“Sounds frustrating. Are you sure you don’t want to just go have sex?”

“The seed falling among the thorns refers to someone who hears the word, but the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth choke the word, making it unfruitful.” Your guardian recited, ignoring your offer.

“The what now?”

“Matthew 13:22. Just because I hear the lies you tell, does not mean I should engorge in them by talking back or forcing you to be something you are not.”

“And what am I not again?”

“Holy.”

“D.amn straight.” Si Cheng huffed in exasperation of his inability to get through to you, opening his Bible once you settled in bed next to him. This was the final part of your nightly routine.

…

Si Cheng ended your nightly prayers. “We send this message to You in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. Amen.”

“I’m an atheist.” You say with your eyes already closed.

“How could you say that when I exist?”

“You’re not real. It’s all in my head because since the day I was born, I was not right. If God were real, he wouldn’t have made me this way.”

“You are not an atheist.” Your eyes open halfway.

“How can you decide what I am and what I am not?”

“You would not be so angry at God if you were an atheist. They are non-believers, not betrayers.”

…

The next morning, you wake up in an empty bed. Finally. There was no sign of Si Cheng along the walk from the bedroom, to the bathroom, to the hallway, down the stairs, or to the kitchen, where you sat down to enviously admire the dying rose bouquet trapped in a blue China vase.

The front door bursts open and in comes Si Cheng with two handfuls of goods you had mostly already bought. He walks to the dining table as soon as he spots you, laying out the groceries in front of you.

Angel Soft toilet paper, Angel food cake mix, a sack of Angelina plums, Victoria’s Secret Angel perfume, and a CD of Chancellor and TaeYeon’s “Angel.”

“What is all of this?”

“To remind you that angels are all around you. And we are sad that you do not wish to accept us.”

“Angels, always looking for human validation huh?” Si Cheng bites back his tongue at your passive comment.

“I also got you this.” Sicheng gingerly places a luxe Bible in your hands, with a grandiose “belonging to Y/N” engraved under “The Bible”, complimenting the gold edges of the dainty pages.

“I don’t want to read it.”

“Liar.”

“Excuse me?”

“I can tell the quality of it catches your eye and entices you to want to read. Humans, always wanting the most or nothing at all.” Si Cheng savors the way you glare at him sideways for his mirrored comeback to your insult.

“Let us read it in the bedroom before starting our day.” And you don’t know if you are too tired or desperate or want him to shut up with this religious nonsense, but you go up to the bedroom with him anyway.

“It doesn’t make any sense, Si Cheng! Why would God make me just to torment me? After everything I have done to d.amn myself and spite Him, how could he ever take me as one of His own children?”

You sat in the bathtub, soaking in a mixture of the darkest red wine and gasoline, the color staining the tub and your skin with the darkest black, the color making the markings on your back more defined than ever.

For the past hour, you had been threatening to end it all and managed to rope the divine being into the most intense argument. His hands gripped your arms to keep you from going under, but could not even begin to think about pulling you out with the ear piercing screams you let out between comebacks.

Despite his greatest efforts, Si Cheng had to admit that he was never able to help you get back on a good path. “I am going to Hell and you can’t save me. He has failed both me and you”

“He has failed neither me nor you. How dare you speak of the Heavenly Father in such vulgar form.” His anger rose and teeth tried not to bare animalistically behind his lips. In a way, you were right and Si Cheng knew this. He had been the cause of such deathly marks to appear on your back in response to the resentment building up in his heart to have to wake and sleep with your sins.

“Then show me! Take me to God and show me that he is real. Let me hear from Him that He wants me for good and not for sport.” Your body weighted his hands down as the stinging in your back made you lightheaded.

“He has told you. Your entire life, He has told you. He speaks through me and I am one of his most trusted children.” Still desperately trying to pull you up, Si Cheng could not focus on saving you and controlling the pain he was unconsciously inflicting on your flesh.

“You are not God. You are just an angel who has disappointed Him, like me.”

“We are not alike.” Si Cheng’s grasp unravelled from your arms, letting them sink back under the black liquid.

“You are a sinful woman.”

“Where are you going?” You screeched at him, trying to fight your back from folding itself. Tears were now falling without control as you realized you had really done it this time.

“Heaven. See you there.”

The pain suddenly halted. Si Cheng left and another angel entered. Upon seeing your body partially submerged in Christ’s Blood and Devil’s fuel, he lifted you from the tub and rid you from the onyx glaze. He never spoke a word to you for the rest of your life by your side.

And you could only assume that it was because “The seed falling among the thorns refers to someone who hears the word, but the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth choke the word, making it unfruitful.” (Matthew 13:22)

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟖. 𝟗𝟖 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫.

“Happy birthday, Number 1028!” A party hat was forced onto Sicheng’s head by Archangel of Love Number 6, poking through his halo like a cloudy mountain.

“Hey! It’s my birthday, too!” Archangel of Birth Number 1028 pouted at being one-upped by his Brother in Christ.

“Yes, but it’s Guardian Angel Number 1028’s birthday.” Number 6 clarifies, using his title to mockingly signify importance.

“Such social hierarchy is hellish! This is Heaven!”

“Right, it is finally the year you are no longer banned from Earth and can be a guardian again!” The angels gather around Si Cheng to "ooh" at his year of redemption.

“It is my loyal duty to serve God with the occupation he gifts me.” He dismisses their awe with words of loyalty to his creator.

“She is ready.” His Heavenly Father calls for His Guardian Angel Number 1028 to meet his valuable assignment.

When he walks into the incubation room, Si Cheng is met with the eery feeling of deja vu. A disheartening sense of nostalgia washes over him as well. Then he sees a design on the fertilized egg in the incubator.

Those marks.

The scarring on the biological sphere are like vents that send the aromas of Giuseppe Quintarelli and Diesel gasoline to his nose.

Si Cheng suddenly could no longer feel the comfort of his halo, fear zapped through him as he could feel evil beings tempting him through all four walls of the incubation room instead. Light burning aches and agonizing pains danced along his back.

His vision went black and his mind regressed to 9 months before this October day, 118 years ago. The Heavenly Father took his body, that was wrapped up in his mother’s egg and his father’s sperm, into His hands and placed him next to yours, both of your fertilized compartments looking like identical twins.

“You have much still to learn, my son.”

*Black Christian = A Christian who betrays God, like Archangel Lucifer betraying Jesus and becoming Satan.

𝘲𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘪𝘳

[amandaoftherosemire]

And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part One

Fandom: Marvel/MCU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, Wanda Maximoff, OMC Joseph

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6,121

Format: Short Series (Complete)

Warnings: Language, violence, references to captivity, implied abuse, angst.

Summary: You meet Bucky Barnes upon your mysterious and deadly escape from a power obsessed cult leader and his followers. Though you carry a secret in addition to the wariness of trauma, you can’t help your attraction to Bucky and his irascible demeanor. As for Bucky, he is drawn to the light he sees in you while he fears the things you’re hiding. Can you trust him with your secrets, and your life? Will you have a choice?

A/N: I haven’t posted anything in five months, so this may be a little on the odd side. I guess I’m working through some stuff? 

This takes place in between Black Panther and Infinity War but is not consistent with MCU canon because I do what I want. 

I used my old taglist, but only as a way to let y’all know I’m posting again. As always, feel free to ignore me. 😊 Heads up, future parts will get smutty.

 Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four

  And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part One

 The first time Bucky saw you, you were literally on fire. Not just a little flame, either, but a full-on conflagration engulfing your entire body and crackling with cheerful menace. You’d turned to him, your eyes blazing white in a face painted in flame, and intoned with a voice that both popped and roared.

“Are you a god?”

Bucky’s eyes widened over the barrel of the gun he continued to keep trained on you despite his uncertainty that it could do any good should you decide to attack. Unsure how to prevent that decision, but wanting to try, he responded slowly. “I have no idea how to answer that.”

From the woods around him, Bucky heard a shout. He stood at the edge of a clearing in which you stood at the center, a scatter of charred bodies surrounding you. He went no closer, not willing to discover the hard way what your range was.

Sam was yelling as he walked closer, “Ray, when someone asks you if you’re a god, you say, ‘Yes!’”

Bucky was fascinated to see blue flames dance along your teeth as you smiled. He couldn’t explain it, but something about the way the flames whipped and whirled around you was unbelievably beautiful. It was also incredibly terrifying, but Bucky had needed to survive horrors best left undefined, so had long since learned to find the beauty in terror. In the next moment, Sam was stepping into view on the other side of the clearing, his own gun out and ready.

You turned, and with a happy, surprised sob, cried, “Sam!?” The next moment, the fire was flickering into nothing and you were just a lovely woman wearing nothing more than the ash from what had once been a long white dress.

Sam immediately holstered his gun and ran forward. “Y/N? We knew there were prisoners but--"

"Sam," you whispered brokenly as you stumbled on knees turned to jelly toward the concerned face of your friend and former colleague. You hadn't seen him since before your abduction, not long after that last doomed mission in Lagos. When he'd gone on the run with Captain America after the fallout over the Accords, you'd been nothing but happy to hear that he was alive and free. His face was one of the last you’d expected to see upon your escape, but the sight of Sam was a joyous relief.

"What are you doing here?" Your teeth chattered on the question, reaction and your own nakedness leaving you freezing and shaking. You didn't see where the silver emergency blanket came from, but Sam was nevertheless wrapping you in it and then in his own arms, to your everlasting gratitude. You'd never been anything more than friends, but he'd always been a true and loyal one, with a giving heart and wicked sense of humor.

You let him comfort you, the bone-shattering terror of your ordeal hitting you now that it was over. Now that someone you knew and trusted held you, the sick horror of what you'd endured sent tears flooding into your throat. The exhaustion of everything you'd done that day turned your muscles to water and so you didn't resist when Sam bent and slid his arm behind your knees to lift and carry you out of the clearing where you'd hurt so many. Instead, you buried your face in the crook where his neck met his shoulder and let the tears fall.

"Do me a favor and tell the others I've found Y/N Y/L/N and that I'm taking her back to the jet."

Bucky had lowered his weapon when the fire had flickered out with your recognition of Sam, but his eyes were still narrowed with a hint of suspicion. He was pretty sure you weren't a danger to Sam, at least, but that didn't mean he thought you harmless. He nodded slowly and lifted his microphone to his lips to report in even as he fell into step behind Sam as he headed back the way they'd came.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Sam said gently as he walked briskly back to the jet, "but do you know who is in charge of all of this?"

"Joseph." Your voice was a rasp with the tears that still shivered out of you, but all of the emotion had left your tone. "I don't think he survived."

Bucky glanced back at the clearing where they'd left a half dozen charred bodies and figured he knew how Joseph had met his end. When he turned back, you were peeking over Sam's shoulder at him, to his admitted consternation.

"I'm sorry about the dumb joke." The emotion was back, remorse in your eyes and tone as you looked at him. "I wanted to either make you laugh or scare you. I just didn't want to hurt anyone else." With that, you buried your face back in Sam's throat and started crying again.

Bucky tried to resist but his heart throbbed in sympathy, with understanding. He knew all about being forced to do things he didn't want to, both by cruelty and circumstance. He'd be the last to blame another for what they'd done to escape. He was concerned about your apparent propensity for bursting into flame, but he understood why you'd done so, since you could.

"He probably hasn't seen Ghostbusters, sweetheart." You lifted your head, a frown on your tear-streaked face to glare with narrow-eyed suspicion at Bucky, who was at a complete loss as to what the two of you were even talking about. Sam laughed when he saw your face and went on. "This is Bucky Barnes."

Your face cleared in understanding and Bucky wondered who you were that you recognized his name so quickly. "Welcome back, Sergeant," you said softly, with a shy smile that Bucky couldn't help but find charming even as he wondered who you were and how you seemed to know so much about him when he'd never heard your name before.

"At least now I know why we're here," Sam called back to Bucky, his voice cheerful as he tramped back towards the jet. "Nat's got a soft spot for this one; I'm willing to bet she had an idea we'd find Y/N."

Bucky murmured as he kept his eyes on yours from where they peeked over Sam's shoulder at him. "I didn't know we were looking for Y/N."

"I was part of the supply chain." You didn't like the wariness with which this man watched you, but you could hardly blame him, considering your introduction. You weren't normally so dramatic, but he couldn't know that. "Natasha would have noticed when I disappeared."

Sam shook his head with a smile and moved toward the edge of the forest, now in sight. "Why am I not surprised? Were you Nat's secret source?"

"Of course." You couldn't seem to stop looking at the man following you and Sam with such deadly grace and aloof readiness. You'd never seen anyone look so dangerously bored. You were damned if you didn't find it sexy as hell. "She asked me if I wanted to help and I said yes. The Accords are a human rights violation."

Bucky's eyes flicked to yours and warmed as the corner of his mouth lifted just a little. Your heart skipped in the first beat of attraction as Sam laughed out loud. The sound had you smiling even as he replied, "Like I said, not surprised." He turned his head to call over his shoulder, "Bucky, this is Y/N. She used to be support staff for the Avengers, was one of the researchers there. She helped me when Steve and I were looking for you."

Bucky bent his head in acknowledgement and smiled fully for the first time. Now that he had more of a handle on things, he could roll with them. And he'd ever been the sort willing to go the extra mile for a pretty woman. "Pleasure to meet you," he rumbled, and sounded like he meant it.

You thought about the sacrificial dress you'd been wearing when the fire had blown through and carried you out of the building, remembered the fear in the eyes of the henchmen sent to recapture you as they'd circled you like a pack of wild dogs. "Believe me. The pleasure's mine."

As Sam broke through the tree line where the quinjet that had brought them sat, the little bottle blonde assassin behind the controls, he turned to catch your eye. "So, Y/N, are you gonna tell me how you're a firestarter now?"

Natasha turned in her chair at the sound of his voice as they mounted the ramp into the jet. "Good, you found her," she said briskly with a gentle smile for you. You smiled weakly back as Sam set you down in one of the chairs. Natasha turned back around and continued, "Strap in. Steve and Wanda are almost back and I want to be in the air five seconds after that."

Bucky's eyes flicked to you in puzzlement at the sound of a soft hiss, like that of a snake, followed by a crackle or a popping noise. He may have looked elsewhere, but you'd made a soft shushing noise that drew his eye.

That shushing sound was followed by a tired sigh when Sam lifted a brow at you as he went about helping you rearrange the blanket so you could strap in but remain covered. "I wish I knew, Sam," you replied to that lifted brow and Bucky wished he knew why he didn't believe you.

You sat in the sand and watched the ocean crash against the shore, letting the sound soothe you. Feeling hot and itchy most days, thanks to your experience at the hands of the weird cult that had abducted you, this was often the only peace you could find. Most days saw you driving down from the house in the mountains to sit here and let the wind and the waves ease your mind and soothe the soul.

Today, however, you couldn’t seem to settle, upset by the conversation you’d had with Steve that morning. He’d wanted to apologize for overstaying their welcome, and assure you they’d be moving on soon.

After your rescue, they had come to stay with you in the house you’d inherited from your uncle. Tucked away in the heavily forested mountains of Oregon’s Coastal Range, it was big, secluded, and ideal for hiding five fugitives. You’d simply been happy to help, to give them a safe place to rest.

Now you were dealing with the fact that you didn’t want them to leave. You were chilled, sick at the thought of rattling around in the big house with nothing for company but your thoughts and the memory of what had happened in a house in upstate New York. You may have traveled three thousand miles to escape what had happened that night, but you couldn't escape what was now yours, whether you'd wanted it or not.

The soft hiss in your ear warned you that someone was approaching, but you were surprised when that someone flopped onto the cool sand next to you with a huff of irritation. "Huh. What a shitty day at the beach."

Damned if you knew why the surly bitch did it for you, but Bucky Barnes had charmed the fuck out of you by not being the least bit charming.

He wasn't mean, or rude, not by a long shot. He was unfailingly kind and polite and genuinely grateful for the shelter. You could see the good man underneath the pissiness, but Bucky was perpetually baffled and annoyed by most of the world around him. He never complained, really, but he regarded everything with a vaguely hostile skepticism. You could not understand why you thought him adorably sexy, the big, grumbly bastard.

"Good thing we’re not at the beach," you replied with a laughing sneer, your habitual attitude towards him as it prompted that ridiculous half-smile. You fucking adored that sly smirk. "We’re on a beach. We’re at the coast."

Bucky gave you his amused disgust face and made you melt. He picked up a handful of sand and held it up to let it run through his fingers in a rather accusatory fashion. You waved him away. "I would think a Broody McBrooderface like yourself would immediately get this."

You gestured at your surroundings, a lonely beach on a winter day in the Pacific Northwest. Clouds covered the sky and boiled over the sea, turning the waves into a stormy bluish gray that reflected in the eyes of the man that watched you with a reluctant fascination. The wind whipped around you both, tumbling his hair around his sculpted face and making you think of the covers of trashy romance novels from an earlier era. Moody and bleak, a cold winter day at the coast was made for Bucky Barnes.

A long, charged pause as he stared at your profile in disgusted astonishment.

"What?"

You couldn't stop the snort at the sound of pure stupified horror in his voice. You didn't know which part of what you said he found objectionable, but the insult of something clearly offended him. You didn't usually get this much reaction out of him, so you had to assume it was the new nickname.

"The beach," you replied snottily, "is where you go to relax in the sun or swim in the ocean." You tilted your head to fix him with an intense stare. "But we’re in the ring of fire, Bucky, and the ocean doesn’t play with the shore here. We’re at the coast, where the sea meets the land with force." You gestured out at the dark waves as they continued to crash and pound on the sand, curls of violent energy breaking upon the shore. "The beach is for fun; the coast is where you go to brood."

With that, you uncrossed your arms and placed your hands at your sides on the cold, dry sand behind you, bracing yourself as you leaned back, a smirk on your lips. You loved informing him of opinions as though you had just bested him with facts. The way his lips tightened when he was holding back laughter made your heart gallop.

Your breathing joined your heart in its race and sped as well when Bucky's eyebrow quirked in addition to the happiness that gathered in the corners of his lips. "Broody McBrooderface?" he asked, doubt collecting in his eyes and his furrowed brow. His voice was still rich with the disgust that had characterized his earlier question. The combination made you sputter with mirth before giving up and dissolving into a fit of laughter. You fell back onto the sand to wrap your hands around your middle and hold on as you cackled and snickered.

When you calmed enough to look at Bucky, he'd shifted so that he was leaning on one arm, turned towards you to grin delighted at your laughter. He was so pretty, white teeth against the dark brown of his beard, thick hair tumbled in the wind around him. You hoped you didn't look as starry eyed as you felt. Some days it was harder than others to not bodily tackle the man, but it seemed tacky, not to mention gross, to accost a houseguest.

His satisfied smirk turned into a look so hot with promise you could feel it in your toes. "So you don't wanna go skinny dipping?"

You laughed even as you cringed, your body tightening at the memory of underestimating the Pacific Ocean's wilder moods on visits to your uncle during your childhood. You shook your head as a chill at the thought ran down your spine. "I double-dog dare you to jump in that water." Bucky crooked another brow and then surprised you by leaping to his feet in a move shockingly graceful in its deadly arc. He was off in a run in the very next second towards the waves. You sat up to shout after him but he was faster than you'd thought possible. "But don’t say I didn’t warn you about the FROSTBITE!"

If he hesitated for a second, you didn't see it. Fully clothed in the athletic wear he’d donned to run down to the beach, he leapt over a terrifying curving beast of a wave into the now dark gray and, you expected, freezing cold water. You got to your feet to follow him to the edge where the sea lapped at the shore, a little wary to find out how the grumpy super-soldier would react to the Pacific's bite.

The two of you argued all the way back to your car.

"The least you could do is give me a ride back to the house." Bucky didn't seem like the water had really fazed him beyond pissing him off. He wasn't shivering, his teeth weren't chattering, but his jaw was set in severe irritation and his eyes blazed with banked anger. He was so fucking hot it made you crazy.

"My seats will get soaked." You couldn't help it; he was so sexy when he looked like he wanted to murder the world. You didn't know what was wrong with you, but the way he was striding up the beach toward the parking lot where you'd left your car made you shudder with lust. You had to fuck with him a little more, irritate him just that little bit extra. Maybe it was because of what had happened to you, but you needed to toss a little more gasoline on the fire. "I only brought a towel for sand, not for swimming. Besides, I told you it was cold as fuck; you jumped in anyway."

"I can't run home like this, I'm fucking freezing." The look Bucky shot you was so vicious, your heart kicked in response, but in desire rather than fear. He was perfectly bristly and annoyed now, his bright blue eyes blazing and his sculpted cheeks flushed with temper. You could eat him alive.

"You should have thought of that before you jumped in an ocean that is obviously not into your shit right now.” You deliberately kept your tone and demeanor casual as you stopped at the water fountain at the top of the beach to rinse the sand off your feet. “It's not like I would have thought less of you if you'd stopped when I warned you about how cold it was."

Mostly clean and aware based on experience that mostly clean was the best you were going to do, you dropped the rubber flip-flops in your hand and slipped your wet feet into them as Bucky glared at you.

“I would have thought less of me,” he replied with a sneer that made you want to lean in and bite his plump lower lip. “I took a dare. I'll finish a dare.”

Unable to help yourself, you burst into delighted laughter, throwing your head back in the pure enjoyment of him as you nearly stumbled down the sidewalk toward your car. Bubbling and cheerful, the warm chuckles poured out of you until Bucky was grinning at you, albeit reluctantly.

You were somewhat calm by the time you got to your car. You turned to Bucky with a sparkling smile, the laughter still trembling on your lips and Bucky’s heart kicked in response this time.

“You’re fun, Bucky.” You leaned against the driver’s side door and grinned at him over the roof of the car. “A little bonkers, but fun.” Shooting him a sassy wink, you opened the door and slid in. “Fine, get in the car."

“I know this is a big ask.”

Bucky was sweating, but he was determined not to let you see that. He was asking a lot of you and he knew it. If he didn’t believe it was important, for you as well as himself, he’d never have had the courage.

“I’m really more confused.” Bucky made himself stop watching the way your lips shaped the words when you spoke, your eyes wary and your brow furrowed. “If you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you want to go with them?”

He didn’t think you’d noticed how he watched you, fascinated by the curving whip of your movements, like flame had become part of you. He couldn’t help but focus on you, obsessed with both the magic and mystery of you. How could he stop himself when he could also hear your mutters under your breath? He was concerned yet intrigued by the admonishments to behave yourself.

He’d had numerous fantasies about misbehaving with you.

Bucky’s attention moved to the way your fingers fidgeted with the book in your lap. He couldn’t explain why, but he loved to watch you move. There was a grace and beauty there that he’d rarely seen and always treasured. He’d seen too much ugly and cruel to take anything as pretty or as kind as you were for granted. He'd made a study of you because it soothed him somehow to do so.

Your hands weren't fidgeting in agitation, concern, or fear; all of which he'd seen and memorized. Through trial and error he'd learned how to distract you from whatever had you picking at your cuticles in anxiety and, sometimes, something that looked perilously close to panic, but he could see that wasn't necessary now. You were fidgeting absently, the same way you had been for the entire conversation, not in response to his request.

Bucky was still a little struck by his daring in asking if he could stay when the others moved on. He hadn't known if he'd have the nerve when he walked to the little library where you often sat in the window seat so you could read with your face to the mountain air coming through the open window. But when you'd looked up with a smile when he'd poked his head in and asked for a minute, he'd known even if you said no, he could trust you to be gentle.

"I don’t want to fight anymore."

By the way your eyebrows flew up and your lips parted before you paused, Bucky could see that you were as surprised by the blunt honesty of his answer as he was. But he was asking a lot of you and he knew it. Harboring an international fugitive was only the least of it. You knew his reputation, and that it was based on fact, yet you'd welcomed him into your home. He had to be honest with you if he was going to ask anything more than that already unimaginable kindness.

He smiled at you, but he couldn't stop the sadness, the exhaustion of a century's worth of years from quivering around his mouth. Your eyes, scanning his face under those expressive eyebrows, softened and your lips twisted with wry sympathy. "Of course you don't. Why would you?"

Bucky relaxed back into the plush little sofa where he'd taken the seat you'd offered when he started this conversation. He now knew it was going to be reasonably painless. Something about you almost always put him at ease within only a few minutes in your company. Maybe it was the way you listened to him, both the things he said, and the things he could only speak around.

Somehow he always ended up saying more than he'd intended.

"I didn’t volunteer, you know." You tilted your head in question, so he continued, not sure where the words were coming from. "Not like Steve, who wanted in so bad he kept trying to get past the physical. I was drafted." Bucky laughed a little and lifted his hands to rub them over his face, dragging them through his hair before threading his fingers together behind his head. "I just wanted to settle down to a normal life and try to keep my best friend from dying from one of the thousand things trying to kill him. Instead…" As he trailed off he shrugged and noticed your eyes drop to his chest in what he would swear was appreciation.

The corner of Bucky's mouth was lifting in a crooked half-smile when your eyes flicked to his. Bright and intense, he felt pinned by your gaze as the still forming grin fell from his face. "Instead you got to be a prisoner of war for sixty-odd years," you said, your voice full of the wry sympathy that still lived in the slight curve to your lips, "only to discover that things are still trying to kill your best friend?" In the next instant, that searing stare was gentle with understanding, your eyes warm with concern. "You're a little fucking tired?"

Bucky huffed out another of those little laughs, the only kind he really had these days. A little fucking tired was an understatement if he'd ever heard one, but the fact that you saw that so easily explained why he was even asking this of you. "You get it," he said, that half-smile coming back in a sweeter form. "That's why I'd like to stay here, actually." Your lips had started to curve in response to the little half-laugh, even that much heard only occasionally, when the warmth in his face sparked an answer in yours, charming you with the little glimpse of sweetness under all the salt.

Bucky's breath caught a little at the look on your face, the way the movement of your hands had smoothed as you absently toyed with the hardback still in your lap. He could see you relax by degree in his presence and wondered if you were as soothed by his company as he was by yours. "I don't want you to think you have to say yes," he heard coming out of his mouth, more honesty he couldn't help, but he didn't want you to feel pressured. "I'd rather stay here in the States, but I'm not homeless if it doesn't work for you. If it's a no, I promise, no hard feelings. I have another option lined up. I understand if you don't want to stay alone with a man you barely know."

He was starting to worry based on the soft, gentle look that remained on your face. You normally smirked and teased him, poking at his gruff exterior with a playfulness that had charmed him completely. You may not have known it, but you had him firmly wrapped around your fingers. This tenderness made him afraid you were about to let him down easy. He braced himself for rejection.

"Alright," you murmured thoughtfully, your eyes kind if shrewd as they rested on his face. He wondered what you saw when you looked at him, how much you saw beneath the surface. "If you wanna stay, we'll have to have a few ground rules, a couple of understandings."

Bucky's face lit up in surprised delight as his heart began to pound. He hadn't really expected you to say yes, and so hadn't prepared for the rush of excitement and satisfaction that ran through him at the prospect of getting to know you without feeling like he was being watched by his friends. His heart speeding a little, a hot shudder of anticipation working through him at the prospect, he shot you a bright and reckless grin. "I was afraid you were gonna say that."

Something dark and hungry moved in a flash over your face. Bucky's heart raced in answer despite his uncertainty that he'd even seen the lightning fast emotion. He wanted to be your friend first, but he couldn't deny he'd found inside himself a well of desire for you so deep he'd yet to find the bottom. He could only hope you felt some fraction of that for him.

"First and most important understanding," as you spoke your eyes flattened and your mouth tightened, your gaze on his face reminding him of the first time he'd seen you, "I am not afraid of you." The words were a warning, not a threat, but the hair on the back of Bucky's neck stood up. "If you're going to live here for the foreseeable," you continued, your face softening again into something lonely and sad, "I need to be clear on this point. I have no reason, whatsoever, to be afraid for my own safety. Not anymore."

The hollow tone to your voice was a chilling counterpoint to the fingers wrapped in white-knuckled terror around your book. Bucky could see you were trying to tell him that you were still dangerous, despite how deceptively harmless you looked when not bathed in flame.

"The fire?" Bucky didn't know he still had that much tenderness inside him for anyone, but he could hear the gentle sympathy in the two words clearly. By the tentative smile teasing the corners of your mouth, you could hear it, too.

"I would tell you if I thought you weren't safe." You looked sick with worry that he'd reject you and Bucky could see that he was right; the two of you needed each other. You went on in a little rush, your eyes dipping to your hands still clutching the book in your lap. You frowned as you spoke and he watched you deliberately uncurl your fingers as though you were carefully calming yourself. "I don't believe you're in any danger here. I will absolutely tell you if that changes."

Bucky always preferred when people were matter of fact in their questions about him and his issues. He figured he should start there and see how you responded. "Can you control it?" he asked, his voice unconcerned, his posture unchanging from his easy sprawl against the corner of the couch.

Apparently, you also liked plain speaking as you smiled a little more, this time with a wry exasperation that piqued his interest. "Some. More persuade."

Bucky's heart throbbed as he asked the question he knew you'd least like to answer. He wished he didn't feel like he had to, but he needed to know how not to incite the blaze. His voice soft as a whisper, as tender as a touch, "What set it off that night?"

The look on your face sent a chill down Bucky's spine, your eyes empty and cold and nothing like the warmth he'd come to expect and adore. Your voice as hollow as he'd ever heard it, you answered with just enough information to somewhat explain. "Joseph was going to hurt me."

Upon your recovery from the forest surrounding the house in upstate New York where you'd been held against your will, it had become clear that you'd been snatched up by one of the occult offshoots that often split from HYDRA. As HYDRA was itself founded as an occult offshoot of the Nazi war machine, it wasn't really a surprise that it so often shed more of the same. The one that had taken you, however, had apparently been particularly weird and cultish, the leader, Joseph, convinced of his own superiority and seeking the power he believed to be his due. You hadn't spoken much of what had happened to you while held captive by them, by him, but Bucky could recognize pain and trauma when they were right in front of him.

"Since I won't be hurting you," he said gently, the words both reassurance and promise, "it shouldn't be a problem." When your eyes, blurred with memory, focused back in on his face, Bucky's lips curved slightly, the smile sweeter than any he'd given you yet.

Your lips curved in response as a soft sigh that didn't come from you whispered at the edge of Bucky's hearing. His ears perked even as he kept his eyes on yours, his expression betraying nothing but the warm appreciation he always had for you. The next moment, however, his attention was caught and held by the grin you flashed, sparkling and friendly. "That's what I was thinking," you chirped and looked happier than he'd ever seen you.

The sight had his body tightening in lust even as his heart squeezed. Bucky had always been a romantic with a love of making a pretty girl smile. Being able to make you smile like this made him feel like he was getting another piece of himself back. Still, he wanted you to know that you could trust him with more than just your physical safety.

"Do you wanna tell me about it?" he offered, his voice gentle again.

"Maybe," you said, and Bucky cursed himself when your smile dimmed. You shrugged and looked back down at your hands where they'd tried to tense around the book. "I might need to. You gonna tell me about you?"

"Some." He answered quickly, without hesitation, though he grinned sheepishly when your eyes lifted to his in suspicion. "Probably."

When your eyes remained narrowed on his even as the corners of your mouth twitched with suppressed humor, Bucky narrowed his eyes back at you. To his surprised delight, that sparkling smile came back. You stretched the denim clad legs you'd had curled under you out and relaxed into the pillow at your back.

"Then rule number one," you said cheerily, an interesting heat in your eyes, "is that you continue to be your usual hostile self. It revs my engine." The cheer on your face took on a darker edge, your smile more like a dare. Bucky's eyes narrowed once again, but this time his gaze glittered with desire, with the urge to take that dare.

"Does it?"

You bit your lower lip as his voice rumbled through the air and into you. Bucky could swear he saw goosebumps erupt over the skin of your arms when he spoke, the desire riding him clear in that quiet question.

You laughed, a little breathless, and grinned at him, a cheeky taunt all over you. He was dazzled by the flash of your smile, the sparkle in your eyes, the whipping movements of your hands as you gestured while you spoke. "Rule number two is that you make yourself at home." You pointed a mock stern finger at him and made him smile. "Don't be a houseguest or stand on ceremony. I want you to be genuinely comfortable. If you have to stay under house arrest for now, you should be able to do so as painlessly as possible."

There you went being sweet and kind in addition to being sexy and adorable. Bucky didn't know if he could take it. He was beginning to think he was in over his head but he couldn't find a thing not to like about it.

"Steve keeps me in line." Bucky smirked as he teased. "Once he's gone I'll make you regret that."

You looked delighted with him and Bucky could have wept with gratitude. Spending time with you was helping him remember parts of himself he'd thought long dead, like the boyish flirt he'd once been, but he was equally grateful that he seemed to be good for you, too.

"Okay," you purred as you smirked back at him, "in case Steve has kept you in line in other ways, rule three is you clean up after yourself. I will be very annoyed if you start leaving dirty dishes or clothes around once he's gone." One eyebrow lifted in mock warning and Bucky could have cuddled you.

"He’s the slob, actually." Bucky huffed out a laugh and shook his head. "You're making this too easy, doll."

He couldn't be sure, but for a moment you looked shy and a little vulnerable. Bucky's heart squeezed again as he quivered with the conflicting desires to both ravage and protect. When you glanced at him from under bashful lashes, he felt torn between.

"Am I?" The murmur of your voice was rich with something dark and exciting, something that lit up his ear and made his stomach tighten.

Bucky's voice was husky on his reply as he offered both clarification and escape route. He wanted everything on the table before the negotiations came to a close. "Any other rules?" His face spread in a hot, almost feral grin, one that left no doubts as to what rules he was asking about. "Any other lines you don’t want crossed?"

The corner of your mouth lifted in a grin equally hungry, equally reckless. "Nothing comes to mind." Your eyes reminded him of sultry whispers, heated words. "I think we can play it by ear from there."

Bucky felt his heart race in exhilaration and wondered what he'd gotten himself into. He couldn't wait to find out. "I’m happy to dance to your tune."

Part Two here >>

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