#this is way longer than I intended it to be and I repeat myself a lot. whatever. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writetheidea · 29 days ago

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Shadows of the past - sad ending

Hello, You are now reading the sad ending of this fan fiction. If you haven’t read the previous parts, I recommend you do so in order to understand the context. “All too well (10 minutes version) (Taylor’s Version)” by Taylor Swift was involved in the writing process of this part.

Part 1 || Part 2 |||| Happy ending

Word count: 2502

Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style - so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though.

I would like to explain that I do not think that Oscar's family would behave this way. This idea came from watching Nicole's interview in which she spoke highly about Lily and an unrelated conversation that day about families still speaking about and with ex girlfriends.

Oscar felt like he was suffocating. It had been weeks since Mia had walked out of their apartment. Her absence was everywhere—in the silence of his apartment that had just started to become their home, in the emptiness of his bed, in the way his days blurred together without her presence grounding him. He had thrown himself into his work, hoping the adrenaline of racing and the demands of his career would drown out the loneliness, but they hadn't. Nothing could.

Each time he returned home, it felt colder, emptier. And worse than that was the lingering guilt—guilt that plagued his every waking and sleeping second. He had let her go. He hadn't fought hard enough to keep her. The moments he could have spoken up, reassured her, held her... he had been too wrapped up in his own head to realize how fragile their love had become.

His family had always been closely involved in his life. At first, it felt like a blessing. He was close to his parents, especially his mother, and he appreciated their support. But in the last year, their involvement had crossed a line. It was as if his family couldn’t let go of the idea of him and Lily, his ex-girlfriend. They had adored her. And even though he and Lily had broken up years ago, it was like they couldn’t fully accept that she was no longer part of his life.

And Mia—his sweet, kind Mia—had endured it all in silence. He hadn’t seen how much it hurt her, how it chipped away at her confidence every time his family mentioned Lily at family dinners or invited her to races.

The confrontation with his family had been a long time coming. The final straw came when his mother, Nicole, casually mentioned that Lily had been in touch, congratulating Oscar on a recent race. It was meant to be a friendly comment, something insignificant, but in that moment, all of the frustration, the guilt, the pain he had been holding in came flooding out.

"Why do you keep bringing her up?" Oscar’s voice cracked as he stood in the middle of the living room, staring at his mother and father.

Nicole looked startled, her smile fading. "I—what do you mean, darling? Lily's just—"

"She’s not part of my life anymore, mum!" Oscar snapped, louder than he intended. "She hasn’t been for years. And yet, every time I’m with you, her name comes up. You talk about her like... like she’s the only one you’ll ever accept for me."

His father cleared his throat, trying to mediate. "Oscar, it’s not like that. We just—Lily was part of our lives for a long time. We liked her, that’s all."

Oscar shook his head, his frustration bubbling over. "You act like you’re still waiting for me to end up with her. Do you even realize how much it hurt Mia every time you talked about Lily like she was still in my life? Every time you brushed her off just to mention something Lily did?"

His mother’s face softened, but her confusion remained. "Oscar, we never meant to hurt Mia. We thought you two were stable, happy."

"We *were* happy!" His voice rose again, the hurt spilling out. "But she couldn’t take it anymore—constantly being compared to someone who wasn’t even in the picture. Do you know how that made her feel?"

Nicole’s eyes widened, and for the first time during that conversation, understanding crossed her face. "Oscar, we didn’t mean—"

"But you did," he interrupted, his voice cracking. "You made her feel like she was second best. And now she’s gone, mum. She’s gone, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get her back."

His father sighed, rubbing his temples, while his mother’s eyes filled with tears. "We never wanted that for you, Oscar," Nicole said quietly. "We just... we saw how happy you were with Lily once, and I guess we couldn’t let that go."

"Well, I did." Oscar’s voice was bitter. "I moved on. Mia wasn’t just some placeholder. She was everything to me. And I let her slip away because I couldn’t see what was happening right in front of me."

Nicole took a shaky breath. "Oscar, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—"

"Neither did I," he admitted, his anger draining into the hollow, aching sadness that he had become so familiar with. "And now it might be too late."

---

The next time Oscar saw Lily, it was by accident. He was at a sponsor event in Monaco, shaking hands and making small talk, when she appeared in the crowd, smiling at him like no time had passed at all.

“Oscar!” she called, moving through the crowd to greet him. Her blonde hair was brushed back into a stylish updo, her dress elegant and simple. She looked exactly like the Lily he remembered—poised, graceful, and completely at ease among the important guests.

For a second, Oscar felt a strange sense of disorientation, like he had stepped back in time. But then reality crashed back in. This wasn’t the life he wanted anymore. He had moved on. Or at least, he thought he had.

“Lily,” he greeted her, his voice neutral, hiding the discomfort twisting in his gut. “It’s been a while.”

“It has,” she said with a soft laugh. “But you look good. Better than ever, actually.”

Oscar forced a smile, feeling the awkwardness settle between them. They exchanged polite conversation, mostly about racing, about her new job, but his mind was elsewhere—on Mia, on the ache in his chest that hadn’t eased since she’d left.

“I heard about you and Mia,” Lily said after a moment, her tone gentle, like she was trying not to pry but couldn’t help herself.

Oscar’s jaw clenched. “Yeah. We’re... taking some time apart.”

Lily’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Oscar. I really am. I always thought the two of you were a great match.”

The irony of her words stung, but Oscar didn’t say anything.

He excused himself soon after, the conversation leaving him more unsettled than ever. Seeing Lily had only reminded him of how much he had lost with Mia. How the future he had imagined—one with her by his side—seemed to slip further out of reach with each passing day.

---

Oscar couldn’t stop thinking about Mia. He knew he had to see her again, to try one last time to make things right. He had given her space, respected her need for distance, but now, the fear of losing her for good was growing in him. He needed to fight for her. He needed to prove to her that he had changed, that he had finally realized what truly mattered.

He showed up at her door on a rainy evening, heart pounding in his chest. It felt like everything was riding on this moment. When she opened the door, she looked surprised to see him, but there was no anger in her eyes, only a quiet sadness.

“Oscar,” she said softly, stepping aside to let him in.

He took a deep breath, his voice heavy with emotion. “Mia, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

She nodded, but didn’t speak, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ve been a blind idiot,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I let my family, my career, everything else come between us, and I didn’t see what it was doing to you. I didn’t see how much you were hurting, and I should have. I should have been there for you.”

Mia’s eyes filled with tears, but she held them back, her expression unreadable.

“I love you, Mia,” Oscar continued, his throat tightening. “I always have. I always will. And I know I haven’t shown it, not in the way you needed me to, but I’m here now. I’m ready to put us first, to fight for us.”

Mia looked down, her hands trembling slightly. “Oscar...”

He stepped closer, desperate to close the distance between them, to make her understand how much he meant it. “Please, Mia. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what I need to do to make this right.”

Mia finally met his eyes, and in that moment, he knew. He could see the answer in her gaze, the finality he had been dreading.

“I love you too, Oscar,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “But... I need to love myself more. And I can’t do that with you.”

His heart shattered in his chest, the weight of her words suffocating him. He had come here hoping to fix everything, but he had been too late. Too late to change what had already been broken.

“I’m so tired, Oscar,” she continued, her voice revealing just how broken she felt. “I’ve spent so long trying to be what everyone else wants me to be—trying to be enough for you, for your family—but I can’t keep doing it. I’ve lost myself, and I don’t know how to find her again while I’m with you."

Her words punctured through the air and hit Oscar like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of him. He wanted to protest, to tell her that she *was* enough—that she always had been. But he could see it now, in her eyes, the exhaustion, the resignation that had been building for months.

"Mia..." His voice broke, his heart shattering as he watched her struggle to hold back tears.

"I’ve been trying so hard," Mia continued, her voice steady but laced with pain. "I’ve been trying to convince myself that things would change. That one day, I wouldn’t feel like I’m in someone else’s shadow. But every time your family brought up Lily, I felt myself slipping further away. And the worst part is, I let it happen. I let myself believe I wasn’t good enough."

Oscar felt a lump form in his throat. He couldn’t deny any of it. He had let his family’s casual remarks, their lingering fondness for Lily, seep into his relationship with Mia. And now, he was paying the price for not standing up for her when she needed it most.

"I never wanted that for you," he whispered, his voice raw with regret. "I never wanted you to feel like you were anything less than perfect for me."

"But I did," she replied softly, shaking her head. "And I can’t keep living in a world where I’m constantly reminded that I’ll never be her."

Oscar took a step forward, desperate to bridge the gap between them, but Mia held up a hand, stopping him. "Please," she said quietly, her voice shaking, "don’t make this harder than it already is."

He felt his heart splinter even more, but he respected her request. He stood still, helpless, watching as the woman he loved slipped further away with every word she spoke.

"I need time," Mia continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to reclaim who I am without all of this—without the pressure of being in your world, without the weight of constantly comparing myself to someone I’ll never be."

Her words struck him like a lightning bolt, and for the first time, he realized how deeply the cracks had run between them.

Oscar wanted to tell her that he understood now, that he would do anything to make it right. But deep down, he knew that understanding didn’t change the damage that had already been done. It didn’t erase the months of doubt and insecurity that had chipped away at Mia’s self-worth.

"I’m sorry," he choked out, his voice breaking as he finally let the tears fall. "I’m so sorry, Mia. For everything. I should’ve been better. I should’ve seen how much you were hurting."

Mia’s own tears spilled over, and she wiped them away quickly, trying to stay strong. "It’s not just your fault, Oscar," she said softly. "I should’ve spoken up sooner. I should’ve told you how much it was affecting me, but I was scared. Scared of losing you, scared of causing problems. And now... I think we’ve both lost."

The truth of her words hit him like a freight train. They had both lost. Mia had lost herself, and Oscar had lost her—the one person who truly understood him, who had loved him and stayed by his side despite the chaos his world entailed.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to accept the reality of the situation. "Is this really it?" he asked quietly, his voice trembling. "Is this goodbye?"

Mia’s eyes filled with sorrow, and she nodded slowly. "I think it has to be," she whispered. "At least for now. I don’t know who I am anymore, Oscar. I need to find that person again. And I can’t do that while I’m with you."

Oscar swallowed hard, his heart breaking into a million pieces. He wanted to fight, wanted to beg her to stay, but he knew deep down that this was what she needed—the space to rediscover herself, to heal from the wounds that had been festering in their relationship for too long.

"I understand," he said quietly, though the words tasted bitter on his tongue. "I don’t want to lose you, Mia, but I understand."

Mia gave him a sad smile, one that was full of love and regret. "You’ll always mean so much to me," she said softly. "But I have to do this. For me."

Oscar nodded, the weight of her decision settling heavily on his shoulders. He had always been so focused on keeping everything in his life perfectly balanced, but now he realized that some things couldn’t be controlled. Some things had to be let go.

"I’ll always love you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "No matter what."

Mia’s eyes glistened with tears as she stepped closer, her hand gently brushing against his cheek. "And I’ll always love you, too," she whispered back. "But love isn’t enough right now."

With that, she leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek—a goodbye wrapped in tenderness and heartache. Oscar closed his eyes, memorizing the feeling of her touch, knowing it would be the last time.

"I hope you find what you’re looking for," Oscar said, his voice thick with emotion.

Mia nodded, eyes filled with tears she couldn’t hold back any longer. "I hope you do too," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

And then, without another word, he turned and walked toward the door. With every step he took Oscar felt another piece of his heart breaking. When the door finally closed behind him, the silence was deafening.

He stood there, frozen, back to the door, willing it to open again. Hoping that she would come out, that she would stop him from leaving. But she didn’t.

Oscar drove back home and sank down onto the couch, his head falling into his hands as the reality of what had just happened crashed over him like a tidal wave. Mia was gone. And this time, he knew in his heart she would never come back.

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kisakis-boyfriend · 1 year ago

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Kinktober Day 6: Cockbulge

Pairings: Inui x male reader

Warnings: Male!reader, top/dom!reader, demon!reader, sub/bottom!Inui, sorcerer!Inui, size difference, teratophilia, overstimulation, mind-breaking, dacryphilia, blood from neck biting briefly

Prompt List by: sakuyaserenitykira 🧡

Author's Note: This ended up being very different from my original concept (and also way longer than intended) but I hope you enjoy what it turned out to be! :D Keep an eye out for this AU in a future kinktober installment 🤫

Inui was well aware of the dangers that this particular ritual held. Sure, any summoning ritual could go awry and become trouble quickly, but this spell was especially fickle. One tiny mistake or missed detail and he could summon something unwanted, possibly some eldritch creature that would destroy every known universe, but to him, the risks were worth it

He had spent so much time meticulously studying the circle that he'd need to draw, which materials you needed to place around said circle, offerings you were supposed to make, and even studying another language to learn how to pronounce the incantation correctly. Everything should be fine, it would all go perfectly and he would get what he wanted with no problems...

...He said to himself, sweating profusely as his arms carrying the backpack full of spellcasting materials trembled... Nevertheless, he marched onwards, deeper into the dark forest where you were supposed to carry out the ritual

Inui found the spot that he needed, a small clearing in the woods where the grass was noticeably softer and the breeze seemed calmer, where the only red flowers grew within the entire forest. This was where he began prepping for the ritual, casting the intricate circle with dried herbs, flowers, and crystals. Fixing several candles around the pattern and lighting them before stepping away to pull out his book of incantations, reading over the lines and practicing in his head. He waited about an hour, just as the instructions mentioned, before standing up and facing the circle. Taking a deep breath, he began the chant, repeating it three times as he walked around the summoning circle

He then put his book away and returned to the circle, stripping off his robes before laying down in the center, announcing his offering to the demon, “In return for your arrival and services, I have brought an offering of... myself. My flesh, my mind, and my soul are yours to do with as you please. Now, come forth!”

Tonight, Inui was uncharacteristically impatient. Normally he had no problems waiting for summoned creatures to appear, or waiting for spells to take effect. Tonight's spell, however, was very special. The being that he was desperately attempting to summon was a demon of lust, not an incubus or succubus, mind you. This was supposed to be leagues above those kinds of demons. And He was rumored to only appear before men that He found exceptionally attractive, which is what made this ritual difficult to find. Most of the sorcerers that committed to this summoning had no results, the demon refusing to come forth for anyone within the last 300 years, give or take...

Many people regarded this spell as nothing more than a hoax, claiming that it had probably become lost in translation somewhere and that was the reason it never worked. Some of the world's most handsome and skilled sorcerers attempted the summoning with no luck, so the magical realms deemed the spell to be fraudulent, because who wouldn't find these men attractive? That's what they all said, anyways. But Inui was tempted by the promises that this spell makes. Promises of "pleasure unlike anything this Earth could ever provide." And, "A love that no other could provide." These were loose translations of course, but Inui was tempted nonetheless. Hoping that if he was the one to finally summon the demon after all of these years, the other sorcerers would have to acknowledge his work, no longer able to poke fun at him or disregard his magic

He had other motivations for this summoning as well. The prospect of demon sex was very tempting...and since it was this demon's specialty, why not dedicate an entire year to studying the ancient books to bring this fantasy to life?

Inui's mind wandered as he awaited the creature's arrival. He closed his eyes, feeling the breeze glide through his hair and brush against his bare skin, his mind conjuring up scenes of what he imagined the demon would do to him. If it has claws, would it use those to scratch his delicate skin, drawing blood and licking it up with it's long tongue? If it has sharp teeth, surely it would sink them into Inui's tender flesh, marking him as it's human toy. And what about it's size, surely the demon would want to shove it's monster cock deep inside of him?

Inui began to squirm, his skin felt impossibly hot, as if he was on fire. His back arched as a single moan slipped out of him, rubbing his thighs together as his cock began hardening from the lewd thoughts. Suddenly, his hips burned, not in a painful way though, in a way that caused him to moan out once again

“My, aren't you an adorable little thing~ ” A low voice purred into Inui's ear, impossibly hot breath hitting his neck as a shiver crawled up his spine. His eyes snapped open to find a large creature hovering over his body, it's hands firmly gripping his hips and haunting yellow eyes boring into his, visibly glowing in the darkness of the forest

Inui wanted to say something, but the words died in the back of his throat, only able to gasp and pant as the demon loomed over his comparably small frame. “What's wrong, little one? Too stunned to speak?” A small noise escaped from Inui involuntarily, unable to process that this was actually happening. “Oh, darling, I hope you're not afraid of me now?”

Inui shook his head, not wanting the demon to leave him. “Good, good. ” It chuckled, brushing it's slender fingers against his cheek, trailing it's touch down the human's neck, smiling when Inui arched his back again, squeaking out some cute response and tilting his head up to expose his neck further

You slowly licked your lips, leaning down and grazing your sharp fangs against Inui's sensitive flesh, causing him to flinch and gasp. Gently kissing his neck, your hands traveling to his stomach and trailing your fingers downwards, stopping at the base of his dick. Inui whined in response, raising his hips up a bit to chase the addictive touch. Desperately wishing you would wrap those hands around his cock and–

“Already excited, are we?” Purring, you tapped his fully erect cock, eliciting a tiny noise from Inui. “Such a horny little thing, I haven't even touched it yet. Are you desperate for this kind of attention, sweet thing? Is that why you summoned me? ” You teased, baring your fangs and growling, just as hungry with lust as the sorcerer was. Depraved from worthy offerings for centuries now

“Take m-me...please...” Inui whispered. Spreading his thighs for you. You cocked an eyebrow at the request, the sorcerer's tone was meek, but you could sense the sincerity behind his words. Humming, you brushed a hand through Inui's hair, and he leaned into the touch, looking up at you through pretty blond lashes

“This is what you want, human? Once we start, I will not stop until you are marked with my seal. Are you certain that you can handle this? ”

Inui swallowed hard, taking a deep breath before his answer, “Yes. I want this, I want y-you...all of you. ” This greatly pleased you, a toothy smile spreading across your face as your slender tail swished from behind

“Very good~ Then let us begin, cutie~ ” You positioned yourself so that your face was hovering over Inui's cock, using your long, forked tongue to wet the member while your hands held the human's thighs apart. Inui moaned loudly when you swallowed his entire length at once, your mouth now flush with his pelvis. He instinctually grabbed your hair, tightening his fist as you bobbed your head up and down, sucking on the tip harshly. Teeth grazing against the bottom of his cock and causing Inui to keen, throwing his head back against the ground and letting out a high-pitched moan

Precum hit the back of your throat, coating your tongue and drawing out a moan when you tasted the familiar salty flavour. You couldn't help but moan around Inui's thick cock, the vibrations causing his dick to twitch inside of your mouth. Which only egged you on more, now bobbing your head faster, wrapping your long tongue around his shaft. Inui was losing his mind, vision blurry as it felt like he was getting a handjob and a blowjob at the same time

He cried out your name, his back arching impossibly high off of the ground, “G-gonna– Aaahhh—!!! ” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the sorcerer's load poured down your throat, greedily swallowing every last drop. You slowly let his cock slide out of your mouth, releasing it with a wet pop sound, tongue lolling out and a bit of cum sticking to it

Already spent, Inui panted heavily. But you were far from finished with this new toy, licking your lips and immediately sticking your tongue into the human's hole, eliciting a scream from him. “Oh– Oooohh fffuuuck~ ”

You continued to lick and slurp Inui's ass, working your tongue deeper inside of him and shoving it against his prostate, making him shout out broken moans. Sobbing as his ass was stretched just from that thick tongue

Retracting your tongue, you quickly replaced the wet muscle with two fingers, pumping them in and out of Inui's wet hole. His head felt fuzzy again as his ass was stretched further, it already felt as if he was at his limit, his arm draped over his eyes and chest heaving. You wrapped your other hand around Inui's dick, giving it a few pumps before rubbing over his slit with your thumb. The poor human hissed, biting his lip and clawing at your arms, his dick still sensitive from the previous orgasm

This did not deter you, however. If anything it only made you move faster and push your fingers in deeper, once again hitting Inui's prostate and leaving your fingers pressed against it. Ripping yet another orgasm out of him as your hand milked more cum from his cock, the thick fluid leaking all down your fingers

Inui slumped against the ground, almost hyperventilating from the overwhelming pleasure. With his strength rapidly leaving him, his hands fell onto the ground, releasing their grip on your large arms. You rubbed your hands over the expanse of Inui's chest, cooing sweet praises into your human's ear. “You're doing so well, sweetie. Releasing all of this lovely fluid just for me~” Inui could feel the rumbling in your chest as you spoke, voice low and gravelly. “But we're just getting started~ ”

Inui's eyes opened in bewilderment. He knew that this would require way more stamina than usual, human sex. What he did not expect was how every single touch from your clawed, calloused hands seemed to drain that stamina immediately and light every last nerve on fire at the same time. It was as if your touch injected him with lust, keeping him constantly horny enough to keep going even if he could no longer hold himself up

The familiar sound of clothing hitting the ground brought his attention back to you, having just removed your trousers. Which allowed your cock to spring free of it's constraints. Inui's mind appeared to go blank at the sight, drool falling from the corners of his mouth as he stared at your fully erect length. Most humans would say something along the lines of, “No way in hell is that thing going to fit!” But Inui Seishu was not most humans. Inui was, to put it crudely, a cockslut and a size king. Always craving the things that would stretch him open enough to shut off his mind, only able to moan and take inch after inch deeper into his body

These thoughts were not unknown to you, as every last kink and preference became known as soon as they laid down in the enchanted circle. Which is exactly why you chose him. Inui would be capable of taking everything that you could give him; he craved an experience such as this one, and you were more than happy to give it to him

As if your body had its own gravitational force, Inui inches closer towards it, beckoning you to slide into his tight hole. So you grabbed his waist, impossibly tiny within your grasp, and lined your demonic dick up with his ass. He gulped, glassy eyes trained on your cock as the tip disappeared inside of him, the stretch already burning in the most delicious way

“Shh, breathe for me, lovely. There's still so much more that needs to go in.” Those soothing words echoed in Inui's mind as another inch slid past that ring of muscles. His eyes rolling into the back of his head and mouth falling open in a silent moan. You soothed the human as best as you could, sliding in further and further until your dick had disappeared entirely. “Ooohh fuuucckk yeeesss~ ” You hissed, panting as his tight walls convulsed around your cock, his hips jerking upwards as cum painted his chest white

A devilish grin spread across your face, slowly thrusting into Inui's twitching body. He came just from feeling you bottom out inside of him. Such a good little pet for you.

A familiar tightening in your core caused you to speed up, chasing your first release of the night while your human was already on his third. Yet, you could sense the passion inside of him, he craved more. And more is exactly what you would give him. Slamming your hips against his roughly, you growled praises against Inui's neck, nipping him with your fangs and flooding his insides with searing hot cum

Still partially recovering from his earlier orgasm, Inui arched his back high off of the ground, wailing as you fucked him and filled him. His body going completely limp in your hands, breathing erratically and making the cutest fucked out noises

You took a second to catch your breath and revel in the sight before you. There was a large bulge in Inui's stomach where he was stretched around your cock, his insides pushed aside to make room for the impossibly large intrusion. His blond hair clung to his forehead, beads of sweat sliding down his skin from the intensity of it all. Your hand brushed some of the wet hair away, nails scratching against his scalp and pulling a soft whine from him

You couldn't stop the smile growing on your features, it'd been far too long since you had felt this way towards a human. Especially one that intentionally offered himself unto you like this one did. Hungry lips met Inui's soft ones, moving together harmoniously as your eyes fluttered closed, enjoying this moment before you gave him another orgasm

Inui moaned into the kiss when he felt your fingers brush against his nipples, playing with them so you could hear more pretty noises from your sweet human, humping into his wet hole as you did so. Inui gasped as your hips snapped into him harshly, pinching his nipples simultaneously. Your thrusts began to speed up again, causing him to throw his head back in total bliss, fucking him at just the right pace

The temptation to mark your cute pet up was far too strong, leaning down to press an open-mouthed kiss to his sensitive neck. Nibbling on the soft flesh as you fucked your previous load deep into his gut, thrusting faster and faster so that you could add more cum to the mess already within his walls, making the bulge in his stomach even larger. Inui whined loudly, tangling his hand in your hair and tugging at the roots, begging for you to cum in him again, “Please– Ah!! More...cum in me more... Fill me with your cock until I can't think of anything else– F-fuuck—!! ”

Cum flooded his insides once again, dick twitching as his gummy walls squeezed it all out of you, your hips surely hitting him hard enough to leave a bruise later on. Blood trickled down Inui's neck as your fangs pierced his delicate skin. Tears ran down his cheeks from the combined intensity of everything

Inui's dick became hard yet again, still glistening from his previous orgasms. “Sweet thing, will you cum with me this time? ” You cooed, wrapping a hand around his length. Slowly pumping it as you peered into his gorgeous green eyes. “Just give me one more, then you can rest. Can you do that, darling? ” Inui nodded languidly, his hips rolling into your fist on their own

You smiled at him in response, taking a deep breath before thrusting into him again. The reaction from him was immediate; his hips jerked forward, head turning to the side as a loud moan erupted from him, hands grasping at your wrist that was gliding up and down his member. But you continued on, cock reaching the deepest places inside of him, rearranging his guts completely as his body molded to your length

Inui clenched around your dick, his fourth climax just within reach, crying out your name while your thrusting became sloppy. One hand continued to jerk him off, twisting your wrist as you stroked upwards and eliciting high-pitched screams from him, while your other hand rubbed at the bulge in his stomach. Effectively jerking yourself off through his body, almost using him as a fleshlight

The way his mind just shut off was instantly noticeable. Inui's eyes became vacant, unable to look away from your lustful gaze. Little “Ah! Ah! Ah! ” noises escaping him with each rhythmic thrust, no longer capable of forming words as he becomes your dumb little doll. Arms and legs completely limp, the only thing really moving is his hips as they thrust into your hand, chasing yet another orgasm even though his mind is unresponsive to the overstimulation

“I really did fuck you stupid, didn't I, little one?” No response, unless you count the slightest change in the pitch of the human's moans as anything. “So good for me. Mm, cum with me now, let us complete this pact~ ”

With that, you fucked into Inui roughly, snapping your hips into his and vigorously pumping his cock. Biting your bottom lip as you grow closer to your release and finally cumming within Inui's tight ass as he squeezes you once more, his own release following only a second behind yours. His body twitched and writhed under your grasp as a glowing red seal was burned onto his stomach, the large mark spanning from just above his bellybutton to right above the base of his dick. The same mark as your summoning circle, a mark of ownership. Telling all manner of demons and other creatures that this one belongs to you

Caressing the newly etched seal, a wave of possessiveness washed over your features for a moment. Your darling human was fast asleep, exhaustion finally taking over after so much excitement. His soft features became illuminated by the moonlight and you couldn't help but smile fondly

You slowly and carefully pulled out of him, so as not to hurt him or rouse him from slumber. Soothing your hands over his body and kissing his pale cheek before lying down next to his side. You pulled him against your chest and spooned his small body, wrapping your tail around his leg. Placing a kiss on the top of his head, you whispered a few more praises and loving words into Inui's ear before drifting off with him

Tagging: @steadybreadbluebird @6kabuki

#my writing #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #tokyo rev smut #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo rev x reader #inui seishu #sub inui #male reader #dom reader #top reader #inui x reader #terato #sorcerer au #oneshot #inui smut

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zahri-melitor · 2 months ago

Note

What can you infer about the editorial meddling Young Justice went through?

Oh god. It’s like the old quote about pornography: you know it when you see it. Spend enough time reading comics and you can just tell.

Notable problems with the Young Justice 2019 run that smack of interference:

You can really tell there was external pressure to include Steph in the run and that she was not originally intended to join the team or appear any further than occasional cameos such as the flashbacks at the Hall of Justice as a link to Tim’s final scene in Tynion’s Tec run. Structurally her story makes no sense whatsoever for how to put a plot together. Steph’s not an original Young Justice character, the run already was supporting two new female characters plus a reboot of Amethyst introducing Amy to a new generation, even before we look at the crossovers from other titles in the imprint. The fact they ended up throwing in a single issue entirely about 'what Steph has been up to and her fight against Cluemaster' in the last section of the run makes it even worse, as that was valuable page time wasted pandering that could and should have been used to give Jinny Hex or Keli Quintela more development.

The entire ‘Drake’ situation, which for a costume change had very little build up, was under-designed, and then disappeared with Tim back in the Robin costume between two panels. It was a test balloon from someone that was comprehensively shot down by some mix of the fandom and editorial, and I remain convinced that DC is gunshy about a new costume and identity for Tim all the way up to the present day because of how badly it was handled.

It was being used as the anchor for Wonder Comics, leading to the required mega crossover (that also spilled over into Bendis’ Action Comics to give it some more space), putting even more pressure on the title to be telling a big crossover story when it was still trying to re-establish “your favourites are back” and suggesting potentially expanding the Young Justice lineup out to around thirteen characters, a massively oversized team that the title was not set up to handle.

Lost in the Multiverse was where the story started to get bogged down by being pulled in too many directions by expectations.

It’s also super telling that the last third of the book got turned over to essentially doing one-shot character pieces about the Core Four, the last defence of a run that can see cancellation coming and doesn’t feel confident launching a new story arc they don’t expect to get to finish. Some of this stuff was clearly background character work they would have preferred to have dripped out over a longer run.

Also I know I’m repeating myself, but having the Tim piece focus on Steph mostly, in the frame of Tim and Steph’s relationship? That’s not where I’d be spending my time when looking at Tim Drake in the focus of Young Justice. How he’s coping with his returned memories of having two or three different lives now? Thinking about what ‘Tell Conner you’re sorry’ means? Discussion about his feelings in terms of moving on from being Robin or not? Nah let’s talk about Steph's problems with her dad instead. That’s not a natural fit compared to what everyone else got and does not follow from any of the preceding story.

Still ropeable that the whole set of storylines about regained memories and alternate timelines doesn’t get to intersect with Lois Lane (which spoilers but also is committed to storytelling about ‘people have memories of other places bleeding through’ prior to the full Infinite Frontier retcon) or explore how those memories change things for Tim, Bart or Cassie (Kon at least does get a story about reconnecting in Action).

And that’s just off the top of my head, ignoring any of the more subtle signs.

I love Young Justice 2019. It is a run that adores Bart, Kon, Cassie and Tim (and particularly Bart. I cannot explain to you how much this story adores Bart if you’ve never read it) and the opening 6 issues make me feel warm and fuzzy every time I read them in terms of how cleverly it works to explain how we get everything back. There are clever subtle moments in the text that give a lot more depth to the story that are implied rather than spelled out: how Cassie suddenly remembers Bart when Bart comes near her, suggesting that her returned memories are a Speed Force side effect from being a lightning rod to Bart; Cassie and Tim sense Kon using TTK and recognise it as familiar, something the new characters cannot; the fakeout in the art where when Tim’s memories are restored, he sees Cissie in his memories, but unless you know the exact YJ98 page being referenced you’d think it was Steph; etc.

But gosh it would have been so much better if it had not been required to devote so much page time to crossovers and to pandering to fans, among other elements.

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chimcess · 7 months ago

Text

Waterlog || pjm (3)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Olympic Swimmer!Jimin, Ex Olympic Swimmer! Reader, Swim Coach!Reader Genre: Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU, Coach!AU, Swimming!AU, HEAVY Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, fluff, eventual smut, I'm so soft for these two it's crazy. Word Count: 12.2k+ Synopsis: After a car accident ends her athletic career, Y/N has slowly started rebuilding her life again as a high school swim coach. That’s until she gets a request from an old friend and finds herself back in the spotlight as the new coach of Olympic swimmer, Park Jimin. Warnings: toxic relationship (not reader and jimin), arguments, cheating (not reader and jimin), talks about previous child abuse, anxiety attack, strong language, crying, emotional abuse (not reader and jimin), talks of bad parental relationships, abandonment issues, some PTSD, prescription medication use, mentions of depression and mental health, lots of angst in this one, finally making some progress though, age insecurity, mutual pining, lots of side character development in this one, they really are so sweet together, jimin just being the nicest boy in the world, so much PDA, physical touch is his love language 👀👀👀, writing this is so comforting even when its angsty lol, i think that's it, let me know if I missed something A/N: Hello hello. Probably my favorite chapter to date. Bad news is that I think this series might be a little longer than originally intended. My inability to just get to the point has things moving a little slow, but I'm trying my best. We'll have to see, though! Hope you enjoy reading :)

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Time went by quickly. Wednesday and Friday morning, Jimin and I met up to train for a few hours and then got breakfast together. When he asked if I wanted to work out with him in the evenings, I agreed. In the beginning, I had given him pointers, but after the second week came to a close, we had started exercising in silence. We spotted one another, made small talk, and went to dinner on the nights he did not go home to be with his parents. We got along and I was happy my overwhelming attraction to him had slowly calmed down.

I was still aware of his presence, the way he smelled, and how often he smiled and laughed, but I had grown used to seeing him walking around in barely anything at all. Hoseok called me a cougar whenever we had time to chat while Andy kept telling me to talk with Jimin about how I felt, but I had gotten very good at deflecting. Things were better and I was taking my wins whenever I could get them. Even if those wins meant I went home sexually frustrated and aching for someone to make it better.

Jimin was packing up for the night and I was getting ready to head out. He had plans with a large group of his friends, so I would have to figure out dinner by myself this time. He invited me but I politely declined. I could vaguely recall how rude his friends from that restaurant had been, and that one girl's mean glare. I had no interest in repeating that.

Giselle waved at me on her way out which I returned with a smile. She was a very sweet, college girl and getting to know her was fun. Her brother moved out here six years ago and was the only reason she left Memphis. In-State tuition and a rent-free bedroom was all it took to convince her to spend some quality time with her big brother and his dog, Lucky.

She and Sam were the closest, but I would often see her eating lunch with Megan when he was with a client. Everyone was making bets on when they would eventually hook up, but I was convinced that had already happened and they were keeping it a secret from the nosy staff.

"See you tomorrow," Yoongi called out from across the room, seemingly appearing out of thin air.

He was out of eyesight before I could reply.

"Bye Yoon," Giselle sing-songed anyway, shoving her ear buds in and leaving before the door could close behind Yoongi. "Night guys!"

As the young woman said, Yoongi and Megan were the two most important people to befriend. Not just for massages either. The both of them were hilarious and kept the back fridge stocked with our favorite snacks. On the mornings I did not have time to eat breakfast, Megan stopped and got me a muffin and coffee from her favorite cafe. If I needed someone to help me out in the pool, Yoongi was always happy to offer himself for the job. It was challenging for me to focus on my swimming when Jimin was around, and I would often come in early to get a quick work out in before he got here.

“You okay getting home?” Jimin asked.

We had come together tonight, and he had offered to drive us in his truck. I had grown very fond of the green machine, which Jimin affectionately called Fiona, and I jumped at the chance to get in his passenger seat. We were usually riding around in my car since it was better on gas.

“Yeah, I’m riding with Sam.”

Sam and I had grown close as well. He was super funny and always down to hang out with me if I showed up by myself. On the odd Sunday I felt like getting out of the house, I found myself at the gym with Sam. I was currently attempting to teach him how to swim and always filled in for Yoongi on the weekends.

Jimin nodded, “Good. See you this weekend?”

I smiled, “Can’t miss your big party.”

Jimin’s 24th birthday was on the 13th and his family liked to go big. Eloise was clearing out an entire section in their restaurant for all of us, and I had found myself teamed up with Taehyung to help with the planning. Na-Yeon put everything in his hands since she was not feeling up to the task this year. I only agreed to help when I realized just how overboard the snowboarder would go if no one was there to reel him back in. So far, I had placed the responsibility of decorating, music, and organizing the gift table on my shoulders. James had pulled me aside and thanked me when he found out. Apparently, he was also worried about Taehyung’s enthusiasm.

“It should be fun,” He nodded. “I’m going to head out.”

“See you tomorrow,” We had finally started coming 5 days a week. "We're working on your turns. Butterflies, too. Be prepared.”

He groaned, “You’re torturing me, coach.”

I laughed, “Is the baby upset?”

“Very,” He winked. My mouth went dry. Sometimes I felt silly for getting nervous around him, especially when I knew he flirted with everyone. I was not special. “See you Saturday.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled as I stared at his retreating back. “See you.”

Jimin’s birthday passed quietly. We had a great time and ate well. Taehyung got drunk enough to suggest karaoke once we cleared out the place for the night, and he and Na-yeon had all of us cracking up. I finally met Jungkook’s girlfriend, a pretty girl who did not talk very much, and I could feel the tension between the two of them. Jimin said that was just how they were and to ignore it.

After Jungkook successfully shoved Jimin's face into his cake, we opened presents. The boys got him tons of workout clothes and gear, Eloise bought him a new blender, and his parents both chipped in to get the new video game he had been talking about picking up.

I gifted him a bottle of his favorite cologne after Na-Yeon mentioned he was out. Jo Malone was the most distracting thing in my life right now, its scent clinging to the passenger side of my car most days and driving me insane if Jimin stood too close. Still, it was something I did not think I could part with now. Jimin was happy with the present and hugged me after opening it. I was positive I had this stupid grin on my face for the rest of the night.

By Halloween we were in the gym every day, save Sunday and the occasional Saturday when Jimin needed some time to rest. We both kept our word, our conversation at the restaurant we went to with Jungkook and Taehyung sticking better than I thought it would. Overtime he got more confident when asking for a break and I was a professional at picking up on his body language. We were a good team, and I was confident he would be in great shape for the Olympics.

It was mid-November now and Taehyung had finally gotten around to getting us together for the sushi date in Detroit. I had just gotten out of the shower when Jimin messaged he was going to come along. His mom had a rough Sunday and could not go to their usual dance class, so he had stayed with her instead. He looked worn out when he walked inside the pool room Monday morning so instead of training, I just sent him home. We were meeting back up on Wednesday to get back to work, but it seemed Jungkook’s nagging finally convinced him to come out with the rest of us.

My relationships with his friends had also started to improve. Taehyung had added me to their group chat a few weeks back and I had tried to keep up with them as often as I could remember to. It was not difficult. They text so often I had to silence notifications for the chat, but I had to admit they were really funny. Jungkook especially.

I was happy to spend time with everyone and getting out of the house sounded nice. Violet and Calvin were great, and I did enjoy eating dinner with them sometimes, but I would be lying if I said they would be my first choice to spend time with.

I had grown close enough with Taehyung during the partying planning that his bubbly, over the top personality had become more endearing than overwhelming. We had gone to lunch a few times together, his boldness only increasing with each meet up, and he could hold me hostage for hours if I let him. Milo was typically my saving grace, and Taehyung would leave with a wet kiss to my cheek and promises of the same time next week.

Tae: Y/N should pick you up

Jimin: Why???

Kookie: Your truck is ass

I chuckled and sent off a text of my own before going to my dresser to find something warm to wear.

Me: I don’t mind driving

Me: Don’t hate on the truck. I like it.

My phone chimed a few times but I ignored it for now. I knew I wanted to wear a pair of dark, navy jeans. It was freezing outside so a long sleeve was a must, but I could get away with just two layers. My hands found a mustard-yellow turtleneck and I smiled. I could wear my brown boots with it. Happy with my outfit, I checked on the chat.

Jimin: U sure?

Tae: The truck is GREEN

Tae: Already a crime

Kookie: It can’t go over 60

Darcy: omg stop blowing my phone up

Darcy: just ride with her dude

Jimin: Y/N?

I rolled my eyes. I hated when he did that. Jimin had the habit of double and triple checking in with someone. It was sweet but it also drove me insane. There was nothing more I disliked than repeating myself, especially if I already agreed to something.

Me: I’ll pick you up in 30, k?

Jimin: Thanks

Darcy: Was that so hard?

I frowned. So, Darcy was in a bad mood then. Shouldn't take it out on Jimin, I thought. Even if she was having a bad day, something that seemed to be a reoccurring theme with her, it doesn't mean she can just talk to people like that. Fighting the urge to give into my annoyance and call her out, I tossed my phone on my bed and made myself finish getting ready.

Walking into the living room, I went on a hunt for the jacket I wanted to wear. It was the same color as my leather boots with sherpa trim. It would tie everything together and, I hoped, would keep Taehyung from complaining too much about the “offensive” color of my shirt. He had a hard time accepting anything in the yellow or green family. Finding it on the sofa, I nodded and left it be. I would grab it on my way out.

It took me more time to get my hair figured out than anything, but once I gave up and did the same thing that I did every day, it worked itself. After that, I put on a little bit of makeup since I figured it would not take me very long. This was a casual outing with friends and the dim lights of the sushi place would give me some grace if things were not perfect. A nice base, simple eye look, and a layer of mascara already had me looking more awake than I had in months. After applying a layer of lip gloss and a misting of setting spray, I was out of the door, jacket keeping me warm, and purse tucked under my arm.

I drove in silence, like I always did, and pulled onto the curb of Jimin’s house. Sending a text to the chat, I waited for him to come out. I was a few minutes later than I said I would be, but Jimin found a way to be late for everything, so I did not feel that bad about it. Taehyung and Milo were already on leaving Ann Arbor, and Jungkook and Darcy riding with them. They would only beat us there by fifteen minutes or so, but I hoped he would hurry up and come outside. Taehyung worked hard for those reservations.

My phone vibrated and I stared at the little device in my cup holder. It was weird how my anxiety fluctuated on a daily basis. Back home, I could talk on the phone and hold a conversation behind the wheel, but ever since I came to Michigan it felt like I had taken three massive steps back. Taking a few deep breaths, I told myself that I was safe. I was parked, completely stationary, and no one was around. No traffic meant no accidents. Sucking in a harsh breath, I picked it up.

Jimin: Be out in a sec

Jimin: Just making sure mom is okay

He had not left his mother’s house in days. I was worried about Na-Yeon, but I had to believe that Jimin would tell me if something was seriously wrong with her. I had truly started to feel connected with the woman. We joked over dinner and I found myself helping her out more and more each time I came by. It would devastate me if she passed away without me knowing how bad it had gotten.

Me: Take your time

He came out only two minutes later. Wearing a heavy, black puffy jacket and tight pants, Jimin leisurely walked over and got into the car. His cologne hit me as soon as the door opened, and I bit my lip, trying to hide the deep inhale I took. Jo fucking Malone.

He smiled at me but otherwise kept quiet as I drove. He knew I had a difficult time behind the wheel and tried his best to keep conversation light. While I normally appreciated the sentiment, I did not want to make him sit in silence for 45 minutes. Opening and closing my mouth a few times, I struggled to come up with a good conversation topic.

We often bounced from idea to idea, mostly sticking to swimming and music, and I always found our little talks to be very insightful. Movies and tv shows had been fun to bond over, a small generational gap introducing us to shit we had never heard of before. There were so many things I could bring up, things that Jimin would jump at the idea to talk about. Still, I could not find my voice.

“So,” I started, awkwardly, trying to push past the blockade of anxiety. “Is this place as good as Tae says or is he going off on one of his rants again?”

Jimin chuckled softly. “It’s pretty good, but it’s still just sushi. Taehyung finds a way to make everything sound extravagant.”

We shared a quiet laugh.

“It was nice of him to invite me,” My hands gripped the wheel tighter. We were starting to approach more populated areas. “He didn’t have to do that.”

Jimin snorted childishly, the sound relaxing me ever so slightly. If there was one thing I hated was driving at night. I was lucky the snow had stopped falling yesterday afternoon and the roads were clear, but a part of me wished I had asked Jimin to drive.

Traffic in Saline was lighter than any town back in Colorado, and driving around was a breeze in comparison. At home, you were lucky if there was only one accident a day, but more times than not I had been stuck on the interstate for hours because of multiple car crashes. Michigan felt less hectic; safer. Not safe enough to let my guard down, but safe enough to listen to Jimin when he spoke.

“Taehyung is just that kind of guy.”

I nodded; eyes glued to the road. I wanted to say something and keep our conversation flowing, but the more cars around us the more I tuned him out. My eyes flickered between my rearview mirror, side mirrors, and windshield rapidly as I drove. Once we were out of Saline and on I-94, I loosened my grip on the wheel. We would not hit much traffic until we were closer to Detroit.

Jimin stayed quiet and looked out the window. I wanted to thank him for being so understanding, but I knew he would not want me to. I kept my thoughts to myself and focused on the road. Jimin began to hum an unfamiliar tune.

My hands were shaking when we pulled up to the restaurant. Traffic had gotten pretty bad coming into the city, but we had picked a good day to come out. Jimin hummed and sang underneath his breath for most of the car ride, and we had a few small sporadic conversations when I felt the knots in my stomach loosen for a few brief moments.

"It's been forever since I've come here," Jimin said to himself, going to unbuckle his seat belt. "It looks pretty filled up."

Bash was a sushi place across from Wayne State University's football field and was one Taehyung’s favorite restaurants. He bragged about how delicious their food was for weeks before finally wearing me down with the promise of picking up the tab. He made reservations for their omakase, or “chef’s choice,” and promised I would get his obsession.

When I talked to Megan about it, she had said it was an expensive meal, so I was going to try and force myself to enjoy it regardless of my own personal feelings. Jimin seemed to like it here, and we usually enjoyed a lot of the same foods, so it made me feel a bit better about things.

I had to park down the street and spotted Taehyung’s Mazda a few cars away. Instead of getting out, I took a few moments to gather my composure. Jimin sat beside me patiently. He had grown used to my traffic anxiety. We had driven together so many times now, and he had gotten a taste of the worst of it a handful of times.

He had only asked about it the first time we rode to the gym together, completely frazzled and unsure of himself as I hyperventilated in the driver's seat. My hands trembled violently as my palms sweat profusely, and I let myself shed a few tears once we were parked. He reached out, placing a hand on my back, and quietly asked me what was bothering me.

“Red light,” I managed to wheeze out. They were doing some construction on the main road and things started piling up. I had gotten stuck in the intersection for just a few seconds, but it was long enough to send me into a blind panic. “Anxiety. Sorry. Need a minute.”

He helped me calm down, calming down to help me through my panic attack. We played a game of I-Spy, Jimin picking out the most obvious shit and saying the most random things to point out in order to make me laugh. When I felt a little better, he got out of the car to help me get out. After that he kept quiet about my obvious driving discomforts, but stuck close just in case I needed the support, and always offered to drive.

“Ready?” He asked when I grabbed my phone out of the cup holder.

“Yeah.”

We walked inside and the hostess made light conversation while she walked us to the back. Taehyung's laugh could be heard from the other side of the room, and his bright blue hair and vibrant eyeshadow stuck out like a sore thumb in this place. Milo was dressed in all black, his arm draped around his fiancé's shoulder, and a smile on his face. Jungkook was beside him scrolling through his phone, but Darcy was nowhere in sight. Glancing at Jimin, he seemed exasperated.

“Trouble in paradise,” He murmured, leaning down so I could hear him. I had to imagine their relationship was very exhausting and took its toll on their friend group. I knew how much it sucked being caught between Tilly and Hobi back in the day. “Here we fucking go.”

Taehyung jumped out of the booth when he caught sight of us, his fluffy, white cropped top riding up, revealing even more of his tanned skin. The snowboarder wrapped his arms around my waist and snuggled my hairline, showering me in compliments. Gold hoop earrings tapped my forehead, and his belly button ring was cold against my ribcage. He was happy to see me “dolled up” for once and forgave how ugly my shirt was since I looked “so cute.”

Milo gave me a slight wave, eyes never leaving Taehyung's bouncing body as he embraced Jimin, and Jungkook put his phone down to greet us. Darcy had gone to the bathroom and from the look on Milo’s face, Jimin’s was right about trouble in paradise. Whatever was going on, we were all about to fall witness. It made my stomach churn just thinking about it.

Our waitress brought a new pot of tea, asking us if we needed anything, before leaving with the promise of the first course coming out soon. Darcy almost slammed into the poor woman on her way back to our booth, her annoyed huff making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. When she sat down beside her boyfriend her entire body was rigged and face pulled together tightly. She did not spare us a glance as she sulked.

Darcy was a very beautiful girl and it made sense why Jungkook liked her so much. Tanned skin, green eyes, and black hair, the girl had one of those bodies most women would pay thousands of dollars for. Like Taehyung had said, she was a pleasant enough person, and we did not along well enough to hold a conversation, but there was no hiding the fact that Darcy was not a nice girl. In fact, I would venture to say she was very, very mean.

I saw it firsthand at Jimin’s birthday party. I had a moment where I felt myself panicking. Overwhelmed with all of the noise and people, I excused myself and called Andy to get my head back on straight. The women's restroom was tucked away in a small hallway and allowed me the space to shed a few tears. I was just starting to calm down, Andy's words of encouragement getting back to some sort of baseline, while I rubbed cold water on my neck. That was when I heard Jungkook on the other side of the door.

He was angry and when I told Andy I needed to go, I had every intention of going out there to talk to him, but another voice beat me to it. Darcy had been in a bad mood since she walked through the front door, her shitty attitude bringing down the party every time she opened her mouth. At first, I just brushed it off as an off night, something I could feel empathy towards, but then she opened her mouth and stopped those thoughts in their tracks.

The two of them were serial cheaters, and Jimin had alluded to that being their main issue when I asked about her attitude problem earlier that night. Eloise was the person who gave me the whole story and was not afraid to voice her dislike for the older girl. This was different from Milo, a guy who she clashed with due to their night and day personalities. Darcy had actively picked on and made fun of her growing up, and bullied her older sister while they were in school together.

Darcy, according to Eloise, started the back-and-forth cheating when they were in college. Instead of going their separate ways, something I doubt anyone would have blamed Jungkook for doing, he chose to get even. After fucking one of her sorority sisters, Jungkook made his way through the entire house within the span of three months. In retaliation, Darcy slept with a couple of guys from the NHL, something she still did to this day.

On the night of the party, she was still fuming over catching him with another woman a few days prior. Trapped in the bathroom and too afraid to let them know I could hear them; I suffered through five minutes of a couple’s quarrel I had no business being in the middle of. It was an eye opener for sure and made me avoid getting too close to either of them.

Darcy was very mean and spiteful, her words meant to cut him deeply with little care about how it would make him feel in the long run. She even brought up screwing one of his rivals to get back at him, something she had done on numerous occasions, and went as far as to compare the two men in bed. It helped to explain why Jungkook hated Jackson Wang so much.

Jungkook, despite how much I enjoyed him as an individual, was just as awful. He spent most of the argument defending his bad behavior by bringing up her own and took no accountability for his actions. He could have sex with all of Michigan and it would be justified because she cheated on him first. It was all very juvenile, and I tried my best to avoid them for the rest of the night.

“Bet they can’t go ten minutes without fighting,” Jimin mumbled in my ear.

I fought back a smile, leaning into his side. Physical touch was the swimmer’s love language and I had slowly grown accustomed to small touches here and there. So, it did not catch me off guard when his arm came around my shoulders, resting just above my head, hand gently brushing against my neck. The voice in my head often wished he would do it more often.

“She won’t start something before the food gets here,” I reasoned, stealing a look at the couple. Jungkook seemed fine, but from the look on Darcy’s face that might change soon. “I’ll say twenty.”

“What are we bargaining for?”

I laughed awkwardly, “Whatever you want.”

Taking a second to think, Jimin eyed the couple across the table. Taehyung and Milo were obviously extremely aware of the couple's awkward tension and tactfully ignored them, instead giggling about some inside joke. They were a very sweet pair. My weariness about Milo had dissipated over the last few weeks, but I could understand why he and Eloise could not get along.

Lou herself had admitted to being a bit of a stuck-up teenager back in the day, and Milo was the typical small-town stoner. They constantly butt heads when they were in high school, and just drifted apart with age. Taehyung and Jimin's friendship were the only reason they were in the same circle anymore, and the two just never spoke to avoid pressing buttons.

“I want to do something together,” Jimin finally said, I smiled, trying to ignore the snarky comments Darcy was making. The arguing was starting, and I felt my neck growing hot. Did they have to do this in public? “Get dinner or something.”

“We do that all the time,” I countered, half-heartedly paying attention to him.

“Denny’s doesn’t count," He mumbled.

The waitress finally came back with a large tray of sushi in her hand. That seemed to break up the argument momentarily, but Darcy did not seem pleased to be interrupted. Stuffing a large piece of ahi sashimi in my mouth, I sparked up a conversation with Taehyung to keep myself from having another meltdown. Beside him, Milo sent me a grateful look.

The rest of the table was silent, waiting for the fight to resume. Taehyung kept smiling painfully, but I could see the panic bubbling in his eyes, and for once I saw a small crack in his otherwise well-crafted facade.

“I didn’t mean just getting food,” Jimin finally continued when we hit a lull, and it took me a few seconds to remember what he was talking about. “I meant… going out.”

I looked at him, eyebrow raised. His cheeks were puffed with scallops and I wished we were alone. This was not a conversation I wanted to have in front of the others, especially if he was insinuating what I thought he was. I did not want to jump to conclusions, but I was sure he was asking me out on a date. Even if it made me feel jittery thinking about it, I had a difficult time finding the voice to say yes. Saying no felt just as impossible, though, and I wished he would have picked a better time to bring this up. Whatever the hell this was.

“What are you asking me?” I whispered, taking another piece of fish off my plate, sneaking a look at Taehyung and Milo.

They were too wrapped up in one another to being listening in on us. I did not even bother checking in with the other two. I knew for a fact they did not care about anybody else but themselves.

“You know,” He replied.

Dating was not off the table, and I was more than happy to indulge myself, but I was worried about crossing this invisible line I had drawn. What would people say if they found out? A coach and her trainee, and even worse, the older woman and her much younger man. I could see the headlines now and it made my palms sticky. That would not be a good look for either one of us, and I did not want our personal relationship to affect Jimin’s career.

Putting my chopsticks down, I leaned away from him. “Can we talk about this later?”

He nodded, meeting my eyes, and I was relieved to see he was not upset. I had seen him angry a few times now, and he wore it on his sleeve with pride. Jimin was not afraid of his emotions, something I found extremely attractive, and it was nice that all I could see right now was understanding. Whatever happened he would hear me out, and I had to hope he would be understanding. I just had to be sure I did not fuck anything up.

Across the table the bickering had started again. Our waitress brought out the rest of our meal, sans desert, and seemed happy we were enjoying the food. She eyed Darcy wearily and left our table in a hurry. I felt horrible for the wait staff who had come to our table. They were all getting the nastiest looks from the dark haired beauty.

“Do we really have to do this now?” Jungkook sighed, running a hand through his hair roughly. His face was red and expression tight. “In front of my friends, dude? Are you serious?”

I cleared my throat, grabbed my tea and took a long sip before sinking into the booth and praying no one could see me. Jimin’s arm dropped, and he squeezed my shoulder in comfort. I let myself melt under his touch. It always felt nice when his hands were on me, his warmth burning hot like a furnace even in below freezing temperatures. Taehyung’s eyes were bulging out of his head now, his bottom lip trembling as he tried his best to keep the conversation between the four of us light. He had stopped trying to include the other two.

“You two seem close,” He gritted, fakeness coming from him that I had never encountered before. “Glad you were able to sort that out.”

I looked over at Jimin and saw his cheeks had gone pink. So, Taehyung knew something I didn’t. It would make sense for the childhood best friend to get the scoop before the chick he’s known for two months, I had definitely vented to my friends on more than one occasion, and my curiosity was peaked.

“I'm working on it,” Jimin replied, taking a big gulp of water. “Thanks, Tae," He breathed, rolling his eyes.

I stifled a laugh. He was so cute when he was embarrassed. I made a mental note to ask Tae to explain what he meant when we had a chance to get lunch. I had a feeling the snowboarder would be more than happy to divulge that little piece of information.

“Talking about me to your friends?” I teased, trying my best to ignore the ever-growing argument across from me. The butterflies in my stomach were a helpful distraction. “Good things, I hope.”

He cracked a smile, face and neck flushed. “The best things.”

Such a flirt.

I bit my lip and looked away. Eating was a nice way to interrupt the electricity that was enveloping us, and I gorged myself on octopus and tuna. Whatever the hell these dishes were, I had to admit the sushi here was the best I had ever had. I would never doubt a recommendation from Taehyung again.

The conversation started flowing easily after that. Jungkook and Darcy were at a stalemate and were relatively quiet on their side of the booth. With the atmosphere lightening, Milo felt good enough to start telling us his latest work stories. He was a firefighter along with all three of his brothers. His father was promoted to chief about five years ago but was coming up to his retirement. The only one of his siblings to avoid the fireman fate was his baby sister, but had still managed to find a job at the station.

"You guys must be close," I laughed in disbelief.

“It’s the family business,” He joked. "Rosie is our new EMT."

Taehyung spoke excitedly about his upcoming competitions and was really hopeful he would win enough to qualify for the Olympics this year. Milo and Jimin both reassured him multiple times while I tried my best to keep up with everything he was talking about. I had very little knowledge of snowboarding, so I was having to constantly interrupt and ask for clarification. No one seemed to mind, and eventually Jungkook joined in to talk about his upcoming hockey games.

The Red Wings were having a good year, and he was proud of his team for working as hard as they did. As a goalie, he did not do a lot of skating, but his job was one of the hardest on the team. From what I knew after watching a few games on tv with Jimin's family, Jungkook was one of the best goalies in the NHL who was highly sought after. He had been offered millions to transfer to the New York Rangers, but out of loyalty he turned them down.

“I’ll take you to a few matches if you want,” Jimin offered. “Kook can get us tickets whenever.”

I smiled, “That sounds like fun.”

“Milo and I go all of the time so we can sit together,” Taehyung interjected, his shoulders relaxed for the first time since we got here.

Darcy was quiet and stayed on her phone. Jungkook was pretending she was not here, and it helped keep the arguing from starting again. I was not sure how long the truce would last, but I hoped they could hold it together long enough for us to finish eating.

“So Y/N,” Milo mused, taking a piece of fish from Taehyung’s plate. “Have you ever thought about competing again?”

I laughed nervously, “For a time, maybe. My injuries make it hard for me to swim the way I used to so I decided to keep it as a hobby.”

It was not a complete lie, but I knew I might be able to get back into competitions if I put in the time and effort. I hated the thought of being back in the spotlight, cameras shoved in my face, only to lose and give them more to talk about. I was still recovering from the trauma they inflicted on me after the accident. My leg injuries just gave me the perfect excuse to keep my distance.

He nodded, eyebrows knitted, “I didn’t know you had medical leave. What happened?”

Jimin tensed up beside me.

“I was in a car accident,” I replied. Talking about what happened did not bother me as much as it used to, and Milo seemed genuinely interested in the answer. “I had to get a full knee replacement on my left side, and a full hip replacement. I should have lost my leg, but the doctor on staff recognized me and brought up my profession.”

Milo whistled, giving me a sympathetic look. “Leg? You could have died.”

“Well,” I breathed, finishing off my last piece of fish. “I pulled through though, so it wasn’t all bad.” I fiddled with my shirt, pretending to smooth it down as I played it cool. "Anyway, I have nerve damage in my leg that makes me get really horrible cramps and twitching if I overwork my muscles. It sucks but coaching is really fun, so I can't complain."

Blatantly lying wasn't something I did often, but I truly hated reliving the months of physical therapy. Unable to walk or talk, I was stuck in that hospital bed for weeks and then got sent home to watch my closest friends wait on me hand-and-foot. When I wasn’t in physical therapy, I was with my SLP. When I wasn’t with her then I was in bed, crying into my pillow, and wishing I had never woken up. It was an extremely dark time in my life, one filled with chronic pain and overwhelming depression, and talking about it made me emotional.

“Anyway,” Taehyung sent his fiancé a pointed look. “Kookie’s next home game is in two weeks.”

Happy to be out of the spotlight, I began to talk with Jimin about changing our schedule around so we could attend the game. Taehyung was excited to get me some Red Wing merchandise, and Jungkook quickly began to boast about his prowess on the ice. Darcy scoffed beside him and I felt the group tense up.

“You’re so cocky, Ian,” She taunted, eyes glued to her phone. “I heard Avalanche was doing really well this season.”

I knew from the group chat that the Red Wings and the Colorado Avalanche had a long-standing rivalry. It had started all the way back in the mid-90’s and reached its peak in 2002. While the intensity had dissipated over the years, it had recently spiked up again due to Jungkook and Jackson Wang’s ongoing feud. The only reason Darcy would bring that up would be to piss her boyfriend off.

“Hm,” Jungkook smirked, chuckling darkly. “Who told you that?”

I held my breath, already guessing where this was going. The tension from earlier was thicker than ever as we fell silent. Darcy put her phone on the table, flipped her hair over her shoulder, and looked Jungkook in the face as she replied.

“Jackson.”

It was dead silent for a few seconds. Then, without waiting for a response, Darcy kept digging the knife in and twisting. She called him ugly, said he sucked in bed, brought up all of the ways Jackson was better than he was, and went as far as to bring up his father's affair. Jungkook could not get a word in as her silky voice dropped lower and lower, words cutting deeper and deeper, and eyes growing brighter as she watched his expression fall. I learned something tonight. Darcy enjoyed hurting Jungkook.

"Why are you doing this, dude?" Jungkook's voice was thick with emotion. "You're acting like a fucking child. It's embarrassing."

“Holy shit,” Milo groaned as their voices got louder. “Are they being forreal right now?”

“Babe,” Taehyung scolded, the forced smile still plastered on his face. “Language.”

“You weren’t embarrassed when you fucked that girl” Darcy screamed and I felt my stomach twist uncomfortably. “Why should I feel bad about airing out my dirty laundry? Everyone here knows how much of a whore I am anyway, isn’t that right, Ian?”

“Keep your voice down,” Jungkook hissed, eyes glassy. “You’re causing a scene.”

Taehyung and Milo looked as mortified as I felt, both of them staring at Darcy in horror. The entire restaurant had gone silent. Eyes were glued to our table as they argued. She shouted about him getting his dick sucked in their bed, and Jungkook was just angry she was acting like this in public. It was Jimin’s birthday all over again only this time they knew people were watching and did not care. Taehyung’s smile was finally gone and replaced by trembling lips and fidgeting hands.

“Take that shit outside,” Jimin cut in, voice cold and hard. Darcy glared daggers in our direction. “You’re going to get us kicked out.”

Darcy opened her mouth to argue but was interrupted by the waitress coming back and demanding our party leave. Taehyung began to apologize profusely while Darcy stormed out of the restaurant, bumping into numerous people roughly without looking back. Jungkook was hot on her heels, breathing heavily, and eyes glossed over with unshed tears. She shouted that Jackson was outside and for Jungkook to go fuck himself. Jungkook didn’t reply but I knew he was not expecting the other man to be here. I sure the fuck wasn't.

An arm wrapped around my shoulders, “Hey, calm down. Breathe.”

I had not realized I had been holding my breath. Turning my head, I was taken aback by how close Jimin was. Our noses brushed together, his breath hot against my cheek, and I jerked away, heart racing. The butterflies were swarming now, and a shiver went down my spine. His arm dropped and I immediately missed its warmth. Flustered, I scooted out of the booth and kept my head hung low. I was so embarrassed, and I could hear Taehyung’s voice starting to wobble as he handed over some cash to the waitress for the trouble. No one was going home happy tonight.

“I’m so fucking pissed off,” Jimin grunted, keeping in step with me. Milo was attempting to get a now hysterical Taehyung calmed as they followed behind us. “I don’t know why Tae invites the two of them anywhere.”

I shook my head, “It’s not his fault. She needs to get some self-control, though. That was so rude and uncalled for, and for what?"

“They both owe him a fucking apology,” He sighed harshly.

The guests of honor were already in a very heated screaming match when we finally made it outside. Whatever had been brewing inside had clearly reached its peak, and neither one of them was willing to back down. Jimin’s arm was back around my shoulders as he tried his best to shelter me from the strong winds that were kicking up. Looking at Darcy and Jungkook all I could see were my parents and it caused me great discomfort. Maybe I should try to call my dad again and make sure he was alright? He rarely answered but at least it would cut some of the edge off of my anxiety.

“Why are you acting like this?” Jungkook shouted, pulling at his hair. “What the fuck is wrong with you, dude?”

“You!” Darcy shrieked. “You! You! YOU! You’re the problem. This is all your fault!”

Jungkook called her a crazy bitch and Darcy slapped him across the face before stomping off. A sleek red convertible was waiting for her on the curb, a well-groomed man behind the steering wheel. He smiled and waved at Jungkook before speeding off, Darcy already attaching her lips to his neck and not sparing any of us a second glance.

“What the fuck!” Taehyung shouted, sobbing and clinging to Milo.

I was surprised he was able to hold himself back for that long. He seemed hellbent on strangling Jungkook as soon as he was able. I stepped to the side watching a man I had never seen upset shove Jungkook backwards. Any resemblance of a smile was gone now, replaced with a snot-nosed, red eyed man with bared teeth. Jungkook stumbled, barely keeping his footing before shoving the other man back. Milo was quick to defend his fiancé, pushing Jungkook so hard he stumbled, fell on his ass, and cried out in pain.

Jimin’s arm gripped me tighter as he stared at the scene unfold in silence. His clenched jaw, however, told me how angry he was. I briefly wondered what he would be doing if he was not so focused on keeping me warm.

“That was so fucked up,” Taehyung cried, wiping his face roughly. “I told you both to keep that shit at home or don’t come!”

“She started it! It’s not my fault-”

“Dude,” Milo shook his head, wrapping his arms around Taehyung. “It doesn’t fucking matter. That’s your girl.”

As the three of them argued, I tried to decipher the look on Jimin’s face. He was angry, that was very apparent, and I felt my own anger finally start to rise. He had been dealing with so much shit and on his first night out in ages this happens? It was unfair and ridiculous, my frustration over the entire situation making me want to go over and push Jungkook around, too. However, I knew that was not the way to handle this. Truth was, he was not the only person to blame for how badly the night had ended. Darcy was the main instigator.

“Are you okay?” I asked Jimin, stepping away from his tight embrace. His arm was still around my shoulders with no sign of moving. “I’m sorry everything got so shitty.”

He nodded, face softening when he looked at me. “Just worried about Taehyung. He was really excited about tonight.”

The yelling was finally starting to calm down and I was happy that they were talking things out. I did not think I could handle the screaming for any longer. I had been a bundle of nerves since I left my house, and my fingers trembled at my sides. I could hear my mother’s voice echoing in my head, though I was positive it was distorted after so many years. Sometimes when her and dad fought, she would find me hiding in my closet and pull me out, hands leaving my skin tender from the harsh grip she had on my arms, before telling me to clean up the broken dishes from off the floor.

“Come here you little shit!”

She hated me; hated being a mother. I could remember how much I wished she would hold me like the other kids' moms held them but was too afraid to ask. One time I drew a picture of her at school and she never even looked at it. Instead, she smoked her cigarettes at the dinner table and watched Law and Order. If I really thought about it, she threw the drawing away. It was too dirty. Just like I was too dirty.

Mom had germaphobia and considered me one of the dirtiest things she had ever seen. I was not allowed in their bedroom because of it. Dad went along with it like he did everything else. When he wasn’t drinking, he was sleeping or in the garage. I hoped he was doing okay. Danielle seemed to be just as controlling as mom had been.

“Where’d you go?”

I startled, whipping around to find Jimin staring at me. His expression was gentle and calm, and I was suddenly aware of the harsh chill nipping at my wet cheeks. I had not noticed I was starting to cry. Strange. It had been a long time since those memories had been brought up.

“Are you okay?” He asked, rubbing my arm. “You looked lost.”

I nodded, quickly reaching up to pat the tears away. It was a good thing my mascara was smudge proof or else I might look even more pathetic. I am 31 now and it felt stupid to cry over things so far in the past. Things I had not had to deal with in well over 20 years. Dr.Wolfe would disagree with me, but she wasn't here.

“Yeah,” I nodded, voice thick. “Just zoned out for a second. Eyes must have dried out.”

It was a bad lie, but a lie he accepted. Squeezing my arm one last time, he finally moved away to give me a bit of breathing room. That was another thing that I always appreciated about the guy. He never overstayed his welcome, even if he wanted to. Taking a second to compose myself, I mindlessly fixed my hair and adjusted my clothes. Nervous habit.

“I think everyone’s heading home for the night,” Jimin said, nodding his head toward the other three men. “They seem cool. You ready to leave?”

I shrugged, “If you are.”

He nodded and walked over to the ground. I gave myself another moment to gather my thoughts. The worst of it was over and I doubted those memories would make themselves known again. With the screaming over it would not take long for my head to get itself straightened out. I might ask Jimin to drive us back, though. I was exhausted, and frankly, I did not think we would be safe if I was behind the wheel. Nothing worse than an anxious driver.

Jungkook was ashamed of their behavior tonight, and when I joined the others, he was quick to throw a million apologies in my direction. I accepted them all easily but knew it would take me a few days to fully forgive him. Tonight was a lot. Hopefully I could speak with Taehyung privately and ask him not to invite the couple out with us. If I never had to see Darcy again it would make my stay that much easier.

“I think we’re going to go home,” Milo said once Jungkook walked away. He was planning on calling an Uber so Tae could have a bit of space. “My little flower is burned out for the night.”

I smiled sadly, “Are you sure? We can always try something else.”

Taehyung’s head snapped in my direction and I wanted to scoop him up in my arms. His face was puffy from crying and eyes still misty. He was quick to nod his head and reached out to take hold of my hands.

“You still want to hang out with me?” He whimpered.

I had only said it to cheer him up not thinking that he would actually go for the idea. I had never seen him so distraught before and Milo seemed convinced that he was over having fun. Stealing a look at the blonde, he gave me a grateful smile but otherwise kept a watchful eye on Taehyung.

“Of course I do,” I finally replied, squeezing his large hands. “Tonight wasn’t your fault.”

His lower lip started to wobble again and next thing I knew I was in a very tight, warm hug. Taehyung cried into the crook of my neck. He was worried I would not like him anymore because of the fight. I awkwardly hugged him back, hoping my calm reassurances would soothe him. We really needed to get from outside the front of this restaurant before they called the cops.

“It’s alright,” I said, trying to gently remove his arms from my waist. “We’re still friends, I promise.”

After another minute of crying, Taehyung was back in Milo’s arms. His face was red, and his nose was running, but the sobs had stopped. Jimin placed a hand on my lower back and started to bounce a few ideas off of Milo. It was late, but from the sound of things, our get together was not over. I could not say for certain if this was a good thing or not, I did need to have that talk with Jimin. If we were out too late there was no way for me to promise I would not pass out in the car.

“Uh,” Jimin thought for a second. “If we’re still hungry there’s Pie Sci and Woodbridge is right down the street. There's also that park a few blocks away."

I shrugged, “Whatever’s the best?” Looking at Taehyung, I made sure that he was feeling well enough to hang out. “I won’t be upset if you want to go home. It was a rough night for all of us.”

He sniffled and nodded. “I’m just really tired.”

Jimin and I said our goodbyes and I promised the blue haired boy I would call him in the morning to set up another meet up. He called it a group date, something neither Jimin nor I disagreed with, but it did make me feel queasy. Depending on how our conversation goes, we may never spend time together outside of training. I felt like I was going to vomit.

“Let me drive?” Jimin murmured as we parted ways with the couple.

I nodded, digging in my purse to find them. “Mind reader, I swear. Get out of my head, kid.”

He snickered, “Who says you weren’t in mine, granny”

The queasiness dissipated and I felt like I could breathe a little bit easier now. Being alone with Jimin had never felt this nerve wracking before, not even the first time we met, and it was hard to explain all of the thoughts and feelings going through my head. We were finally having the talk, but I had never imagined it going this way. Handing him the keys, I elbowed him in the ribs.

“Whoops,” I mocked. “You know me and my bad eyesight, kiddo.”

“Watch it,” He hissed, rubbing the spot. “Don’t want you breaking anything. You know you have frail bones.”

I laughed, “Don’t make me give you a knuckle sandwich, punk.”

Sliding into the passenger seat felt less daunting after the light hearted exchange. Still, my blood was pumping as Jimin clicked his seatbelt in place. I had no idea when the conversation would shift into murkier waters, but I needed to start thinking about what to say to him.

Denying my feelings would only make things worse, and I did not think the younger man would believe me. In fact, he would be offended that I thought he was dumb enough to get bamboozled in the first place. Lying did not seem like the right call anyway. My feelings were not something to feel ashamed about, but they were very frightening.

“When is later?”

I gasped, startled out of my thoughts. We had been driving for over ten minutes already. Time seemed to slip by when I was lost in my own head. Jimin apologized for scaring me but repeated the question once I reassured him that I was fine.

“Now,” I mumbled. “I guess later is now.”

Turning on the blinker, Jimin switched lanes smoothly. He was probably the best driver that I knew and always made sure to keep my little quirks in mind during our rides. He had even gotten used to leaving the radio off when I was around, something that I appreciated more than words could ever say. Recognizing that I was stalling, I cleared my throat and tried my best to get my jumbled thoughts across.

“As much as I would like to go on that date,” I started, voice weak, “I’m just a bit concerned with how that might affect our ability to work together.”

There we go, I thought to myself mentally patting myself on the back. That was not as hard as I thought it would be. Leaving out a few details would not hurt anybody, and it was the main cause of concern for me. My age was definitely up there, but I doubted Jimin would understand my perspective. To him I was just older, but to the rest of the world I was this cougar on the prowl for young men to help me relive my glory days. Even my own friends thought it was funny to make fun of the age gap.

“Is it only because of that?” Jimin pressed, his voice telling me that he was still reacting positively to whatever was coming out of my mouth. I was refusing to look at him, fearful that he would see through me. “Or is there something else bothering you?”

“W-w-well-” I stammered, “There is the media frenzy to think about. Sejin is already dealing with the press and your ‘out of character’ seclusion this season. Then there’s the age gap. I just-” I struggled to find the right words. Having let my insecurity slip out, I lost my flow and scrambled to get back on track. “Look, I haven’t done this whole dating thing in a really long time, and I don’t want that to get in the way of being a good coach. Ozzie put me in charge of you, and my reputation is on the line.”

I could hear my heart beating in my ears. Mouth dry and palms sweaty, I forced myself to look out of the window as I spoke. Anxiety had been something I dealt with for as long as I could remember, and it only got worse the older I got. My hands and fingers trembled in my lap as I tried to steady my breathing.

In all of the dreams I had about Jimin, and there had been quite a few at this point, this moment had never felt so real and raw. We were always in these picture perfect pieces of heaven, sunshine beaming down on us, and the words I desperately wanted to say fell from my lips with ease. It was simple and sweet, and yet profound and beautiful. I could wax poetics and put myself thoughts together so eloquently he had no choice but to say yes to me.

Reality was different. Here I was stumbling over my sentences and stuttering my way through words. Instead of taking his hand with mine, I was fidgeting with shaking fingers and desperately hoping he could not see just how uncomfortable I was. I knew he did. He always noticed. My heart was racing so fast I was afraid it would burst. Had he turned the heart up? It was boiling.

“I just want to know how you feel about me.”

“Hm?” I squeaked, unable to form any real words. My mouth was too dry.

“I’ve thought about all of the same shit,” Jimin continued, voice as smooth and calming as ever. “I don’t care about any of that. All I want to know is how you feel about me.”

“You know,” I replied, wheezing. Talking felt impossible. “You know.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Taking in a deep breath, I squeezed my eyes shut and began the mental countdown. My therapist taught me the technique years ago and I always found it to be helpful. I did this a few times until I felt calm enough to open my eyes.

“Are you alright?” Jimin asked.

“Yeah,” I nodded, finally feeling my heart rate slowing. “A little anxious.”

“Don’t be,” He placed a hand on my knee. “It’s just me.”

And he was right. It was just Jimin and I in my car, but that was also the reason I felt so suffocated. There was nowhere to run or hide in here, and if things went south I was stuck with him for half an hour. Trying not to let those pessimistic thoughts send me back into a panic, I began to mentally point out things in my car.

Air freshener. It's green. It smells like pine and lemons. I want a new scent. Jimin likes to buy this coconut and mango one that smells like candy. I will buy one like his. I love the smell.

I let out a heavy breath. Everything was fine. He was not upset. He just wanted to know how I felt about him. Nothing more nothing less. My heart was settling, and my fingers were no longer shaking.

“I like you,” I choked out, placing my hand over his. “But you already knew that.”

He gently laughed, flipping his hand up to intertwine our fingers.

“Yeah, you’re a terrible actress.”

I groaned, leaning my head against the window. As much as I tried kidding myself, there was absolutely no way he did not see the way I looked at him. I always knew when his flirting took on a more serious edge, like when he called me beautiful after seeing the scar on my leg for the first time, so it should not have been surprising that he picked up on a thing or two. Still, it did not make it any less embarrassing.

“How long have you known?” I asked, peeking at him through my lashes.

“I mean, I had a feeling when you first got to town, but I wasn’t completely sure until that first training day.”

He laughed at my embarrassed groan, holding my hand tighter. I knew I wasn't subtle enough. Poker face champion, my ass.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” He cooed. “You’ve been my dream girl since I was, like, 15.”

“That's not helping the age gap thing,” I tittered as I played with his fingers. Then, because I could not help myself. “Dream girl, huh?”

Picking up on the teasing tone in my voice, Jimin chortled.

“Okay, big head. Calm down.”

“Big head?” I guffawed, pulling my hand out of his grasp. “Who are you calling big head, shortstop?”

“You, big head,” Taking back my hand, Jimin pinned it down and kept a tight grip. “No take backs.”

I always loved it when Jimin was in a good mood. He was so playful and full of energy, and all signs of those dark days were in the deepest parts of his mind. It was impossible to keep myself from playing along which only served to egg him on.

“You never said yes or no.”

“Yes or no to what?” I questioned.

Jimin started rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb.

“To that date.”

Saying yes felt wrong, but saying no felt impossible. No matter what I said someone would be upset, and I had to decide who that would be: Jimin or America? I turned my own hand around this time and put my fingers through his. They fit together awkwardly, his hands just a bit too large, but I still found it perfect all the same.

“Do you have any ideas?”

His shiteating grin was contagious and a burst of butterflies began to flutter in my stomach. Hands clasped, Jimin started to list off all of the places we could go, but I was not fully listening. I had a date with this guy. I was going on a date with my trainee.

“What do you think?”

I blinked rapidly, hoping he could not tell that I had zoned out.

“You pick,” I breathed. “Surprise me.”

The rest of the drive back home was spent making small talk and discussing food preferences. Jimin was a dinner and a movie kind of guy, while I would rather do some sort of activity. What type of conversation could we have in a theater? Jimin seemed excited to plan out a fun night and I was just happy he was this into me. The feeling was most definitely mutual.

“Do you mind if I go to my house tonight? Mom needs some space and I know my dad is tired of having me breathing down their necks.”

I had yet to go over to his house. The days that we drove together were when he spent the evening with his parents. When Na-yeon and I talked about it, she was more upfront about her health situation than the men of the house. James spent most of his time taking care of his wife and their son enjoyed giving him a break every now and then. James would go on a fishing trip with his friends while Jimin stayed back to keep an eye on his mother.

“Is it closer to town?” I asked, nibbling on my lower lip.

I had yet to drive through downtown Ann Arbor. The Park house, and by proxy the Anderson’s, was a thirty minute drive from the bustling city. Nestled in the smaller town of Saline going towards Manchester, I had rarely had to leave the small town. This trip to Detroit was the farthest I had gone since arriving in Michigan, but I had a feeling the traffic in downtown Ann Arbor would be a bit much for me to drive through alone.

“Yeah,” I felt even more nervous by his nonchalant tone. “I used to live downtown, but I got tired of the noise. I bought my house in Eberwhite last summer, so there’s a little less foot traffic.”

“How’s the drive back to Saline?” Even I could hear the hesitation in my voice.

“Less than twenty,” Rubbing the back of my hand, his voice took on a sweeter tone. “We don’t have to. My truck’s at my parent’s place anyway.”

“Maybe some other time?” I forced myself to laugh, hoping to make the awkward tension leave. “Preferably when it’s not dark outside.”

I relaxed into my seat once I started seeing familiar landmarks. Saline was a very small town with a little over 2,000 residents, but downtown still had a way of attracting a relatively large crowd. Stoney Creek Brewery was packed and Jimin pointed out Sam’s car as we pass by.

“Looks like he came out with Otis and Skye,” He murmured.

Otis was another personal trainer at the gym, and Skye was responsible for marketing. They had been going out for a while now and made plan to move to Ann Arbor once Otis graduated from school. He was getting his masters in movement science at the University of Michigan. They had planned on moving out there when he graduated last year, but neither of them could find a job that could pay their bills. Otis was hoping the master’s would give him a competitive edge while Skye saved up enough money to start her own advertising firm.

“Think Gigi is with them?” I wondered.

“Probably not. She’s busy studying for an exam. I saw that she requested time off tomorrow and the day after, so I don’t think she has the time to go out for drinks.”

Giselle was getting her bachelor’s in dental hygiene at UM, and everytime I spoke to her she was swamped with work. I had no idea she needed to request time off, though. Must be an intense program.

“Did you ever go to college?” I asked Jimin.

He nodded, “I got my bachelor’s in psychology.”

Well, I had not been expecting that.

“Really?”

“Yeah, but I never went back to get my master’s,” We turned onto the long road that led to his parent’s house. “I might after the Olympics.”

It was interesting to hear about his goals post-swimming. I never had those. My entire life was going to be swimming, and then, once I could no longer compete, I was opening my own swim school. After a couple of years of coaching under my belt, the plan was to start training professional athletes until I could join the Olympic coaching team. The accident was a very traumatic and eye-opening experience for me, so most of those plans ended up getting changed and modified over the years.

“What about you?” Jimin asked, pulling up to the curb.

“I went through an accelerated program at UCCS. Just graduated with my Masters in Athletic Training back in April.”

Neither one of us seemed to be ready to break the bubble we created. Even if we were just talking about school, it felt too intimate to leave. Holding hands in my car was new and I was worried if I opened the car door all of this would turn out to be a dream. The date, the confession; all of it.

“I should get going,” Jimin sighed, still not moving his hand from mine. “It’s late and I have to drive home.”

I was the first one to move away. He was right. It was almost midnight and I had a really difficult time tonight. All of that yelling really took a toll on me. Jimin did not move until he heard the click of my seatbelt unfastening.

“See you tomorrow?” He asked when I rounded the car. Getting out of the car, he held the door open as I slid inside. “I know we were out later than we thought we’d be.”

I nodded, “We can have a late morning. 8:30 instead of 6.”

“Sounds good. See you then.”

He closed my car door and jogged to his truck. It was parked in the driveway today. I pressed the button to roll my window down.

“Drive safe!” I called out.

Looking over his shoulder, Jimin grinned and threw a hand up. I watched him climb into Fiona and tried to keep myself from worrying too much. It was so dark outside and he could be exhausted behind the wheel. Who knows what could happen to him.

He caught me staring and waved at me again. I returned it with a small smile. The truck stopped for a second and his phone was his hand. My cell phone vibrated in the cupholder.

Jimin: I’ll be okay

Jimin: Text you when I get home, k?

Looking back at the truck, I found him already looking at me. I nodded my response. He smiled at me again, waved, before finally backing out of the driveway. I did not move until I could no longer see his truck in my rearview. My phone buzzed one more time.

Jimin: At the stop sign on Woodland and Ann Arbor-Saline

Jimin: Go home. I’m here. I’m fine.

I hesitated texting him back when I knew he was driving, but decided that I would just have to trust he would not open it until it was safe.

Me: Get out of my head, kid

Finally putting my car in drive, I threw my phone back in its spot and made the ten minute drive down the road to the Anderson house. All of the lights were off when I pulled up and I was as quiet as a mouse walking to the backyard.

I was beyond tired but still needed to get my nighttime routine done. Stripping out of my clothes, I turned on the shower and took off my makeup. Tonight wasn’t a wash night, so I was not in the shower for long. I heard my phone vibrating as I put on lotion and I quickly threw on a night shirt and went to my bedroom.

Jimin: Who says you aren’t in mine, meemaw

Jimin: I’m home now so you can get some sleep

Jimin: Night, geezer

I snorted. That was a new one. Crawling into bed, I got comfortable under my blankets and thought about a good comeback.

Me: Thank you

Me: Geezer? That’s such an geriatric thing to say, you whippersnapper

Jimin: LOL night 🫰🏼

Me: Night 🌜

I quick sent Taehyung a text to make sure he and Milo go home safely before putting my phone on the charger. Jungkook sent a text to our group chat an hour ago to let us know he was in his apartment back in Detroit. He was in Ann Arbor so often since Darcy lived out here, but he had bought a multi-million dollar home in Corktown when was first signed to the Red Wings in 2019. Milo was the one to reply to my text, signing his name at the bottom, since Taehyung passed out in the car on their way back home.

I took my medications and started up a game of solitaire while I waited for them to kick in. My psychologist had sent me to Michigan with a three month supply. I was planning my first trip back next week so I could see the boys in time for their first big competition of the season. While I was in town, I would pick up another three month supply. We were making the arrangements work as best as we could, and I was lucky I had a large group of people willing to support me during this transition.

Finally I felt the sleeping pills kicking in and I went to my white noise app. I hated falling asleep in silence and Emery had suggested the app while we were in a session. I paid for a yearly subscription and never regretted the fifty bucks. It had been a huge help in lulling me to bed.

Lights out and blankets wrapped snugly around my body, I closed my eyes and thought about everything that had happened. Jimin liked me back, asked me on a date, and told all of his friends about his infatuation with me before I even realized something else was going on. I was his dream girl. That put a lazy smile on my face. Then, I could no longer think about anything and was plunged into a dreamless sleep.

Taglist: @ownthesunshine @screamertannie @lovelytaes-blog @pernesianparapio @tae-with-some-suga @sumzysworld @chimmisbae @adventures-in-bookland

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wingedcat13 · 1 year ago

Text

Princess in a Tower

[Note: this one is *not* Synovus, or any particular prompt. First person, implications of violence and familial abuse, and a one-off for real I promise!]

They have not yet mopped up all the blood, when I enter the throne room.

It is not the first time I have seen the room itself, but it is the first time I’ve had a chance to inspect it. Earlier, it was still filled with the chaos of our siege; the screams of mortal men and metal against metal enough to distract from the pretty mosaics on the walls.

I ignore the remaining smears of viscera. The bodies have been removed, which is the most important bit. They will all be identified, and depending on how well the people they died to defend behave, may even see proper burials. Loyalty is a virtue, even when it is to the wrong people.

Of course, to the people bound and kneeling in this room, I am the wrong people.

As I stalk through them I hear whispers between the sharp footfalls of my sabaton’d boots. Some are muttered prayers, or incoherent cries. The rest are my names and monikers: Domine of the Northern Reach, the Wyvern-Wraith, Death-in-Red. Some get the title wrong, translating it into the local customs, and I am named both ‘Prince’ and ‘Princess’ in an air of confusion. My soldiers will correct them later.

By the time I reach the dais, only one person has been brave enough to utter my given name.

“Elith Frenaye.” Four syllables, but an infinite amount of venom. That’s to be expected. At least the pronunciation is correct.

“Archinard Holbrooke.” I greet the man who was King here only a few hours ago with quiet grace and decorum. As he has dropped my titles, I am under no obligation to grant him his - particularly not when the titles he would expect are no longer his to claim.

The now-former King of Kescil is shorter than I expected, even granting the fact that he’s on his knees. He’s doing his best to keep a straight back, and his chin up, balancing as though he still has to account for the weight of a crown he’s already been relieved of. At nearly sixty, he looks remarkably fit for both his age and status; most nobles are showing their excess by now in unpleasant ways.

Archinard is balding, but he’s taken to it with grace. He isn’t the most muscled man I’ve ever faced down, but he seems to still care for himself. Still has most of his teeth, from what I can see of his sneer. Good. It’s always pathetic to execute someone people can’t even recognize as a king without their robes and jewels.

Archinard also isn’t stupid - he knows that’s his fate. He raises his chin again, and the mental image of him doing that on the headsman’s block is all that keeps me from punching him when he demands, “What have you done with my wife and daughter?”

Steadfast. I remind myself, simply staring at him while I take the time to put myself in order. The fight is over, but my nerves will take days to settle properly. Steadfast. Sure. Serene.

“Nothing yet.” I answer, politely casual as I walk past Archinard. My cape swings into him as I pass, and I swear for a moment he wanted to bite it. Perfect. “Though pretending ignorance won’t help any of you here. Yes, yes, you managed to hide them away from me.”

I turn to face the crowd again, and settle myself into the throne. My voice is steady, unhurried, and unworried, as I add, “For now.”

I don’t clarify that I will find them, or make threats. I don’t need to. There’s a moment where none of the Kescilians even breathe, and saying more would only tarnish that moment of fear. Even Archinard has paled, though his bluster will return in a moment.

Only if he’s given the chance, though, and I don’t intend to grant him that mercy.

I lean back in the throne - my throne, now - and as plush as it is, the thing is damned uncomfortable. Maybe that’s part of why Archinard is the way he is. I’ll never ask. There’s more important things at hand.

“Archinard Holbrooke.” I repeat, and where before my voice was quiet and polite, now it is pitched to carry. I was not born to inherit this throne room, but I was born and raised to a crown. All of that training is evident in the seemingly effortless diction in my voice, a layer of fraying velvet over steel. “You are relieved of the duties of Monarch of Kescil. Your life has been remanded into my care. As I am merciful, I will grant you a choice.”

‘Merciful’ is stretching it, in this instance. The crowd likely expects me to give him a choice of how he’d like to die, or perhaps a chance to try and claim mercy for his Queen and the Princess.

“You may accept these changes with dignity, and retire as Ledan - Lord - Holbrooke, with a moderate compensation from your people, in recognition of your service. Or you may be executed as the last King of Kescil.”

The first offer is tempting, but this isn’t as much of a choice as it appears. Demoting the King to a noble may allow him to think he can reclaim his crown later, but it also opens him to punishment for years of mistreatment by his now-fellow nobles, who do not need to fear a crown’s reprisal. Compensating him from his own treasury makes him complicit, and the common folk won’t forget that he took the chance to run with the gold. Recognition of his service is a joke.

Whether it’s in a rebellion, at the hands of his own vassals, in a common folk mob, or by an assassin, I will see this man dead. It’s only a matter of how long he wants to live, and in what comfort, before the axe - metaphorical or literal - falls. Perhaps I am only offering him a choice of deaths.

“I am a King.” Archinard declares, “So I was ordained, and so I will die.”

The smile I give him in return is bloodless. “As you wish.”

—-

I do not execute Archinard immediately.

If conquest was my true reason for being in Kescil, I would have. My armor was still bloodstained, I had my sword, and the man was already bound and on his knees - it would have been incredibly simple to just end it then and there. But I have promised his death to another, if she wants it, and I will stand by that promise.

My excuse to the masses is that I want to make a ‘proper’ example of him. There are speculations that I want to execute the entire royal family at once, to ensure there are no mistakes, no accidental inheritances. Others think I’m torturing the man for fun behind closed doors.

I have a few retainers who know the truth of my purpose here in Kescil - I keep at least one of them with me, always, as a guard for both my body and my sanity. That first night, the four of us share a room, prepared to sleep in shifts in the parlor of a suite, all piled in the center of the floor.

“Better than camping.” Chirps Valentine, setting up his bedroll on the plush carpet.

“Worse than camping.” Counters Ames, who distrusts the textiles and would prefer a carpet of leaves to sleep on.

Ash doesn’t bother to chime in on that debate, just exchanges looks with me over their heads.

“It is camping.” I tell them both, shoving one end of a couch - there were four of them in this room, four. Not to mention the chairs and cushions and footstools and, ugh - further against the wall. If there were hidden passages, no one would be creeping in easily.

“You know,” Valentine muses from the floor, his head propped on his chin, “I can’t wait to hear the rumors after tonight. What about the rest of you? Fan favorites? Particular conspiracies?”

Ash folds her legs beneath her, and starts stripping off her gloves and boots. “That’s not fair to Elith.” She protests around a mouthful of leather as she struggles with a strap. No one tries to help her; we’ve all learned better. She’ll ask if she needs it. “Given she knows what’s supposed to be spreading.”

“Girl-Prince invades castle, hosts wild orgy in celebration.” Ames announces.

While I’m still wrinkling my nose at that, Valentine smacks Ames with a pillow, “It’s ‘Princess,’ you foghorn, not girl-Prince.”

Ames allows the blow to knock them flat, even though I’ve seen them take much worse without so much as a twitch. “I just repeat what I’ve heard.”

“There’s no way they’re already speculating about her sex life.” Ash disagrees, “We just got here.”

“People always speculate about my sex life.” I correct her wearily. “They call me girl-Prince as an insult, Ames, you know Kescil’s weird about these things. And I were to have a celebratory orgy, I would have invited far nicer company than you three.”

“Ah,” says Valentine, smug, “But would they have accepted? Or would you have been dropping trou with just us-“

“Thank you, Ash.” I say mildly, over the sounds of Valentine being smothered.

“We’ll find her, Elith.” Ames tells me, suddenly serious. The other two stop as well. “You know we will.”

The sudden focus of their attention is more than I can bear right now, even benevolent as it is. I exhale slowly. Steadfast. Sure. Serene.

I manage a smile. “I know we will.”

None of them stop me as I roll my shoulders, checking the fit of my armor is still right. I haven’t taken it off yet, though we did clean the worst of the day’s stains off of it earlier - the rest won’t come out without sanding the chain and plate, and that takes longer than I want to be without it, right now.

“I think I’d like to see more of my new castle.” I remark, purposefully light. “I’m going to go for a walk.”

Ash moves to start replacing her boots and gauntlets, and Ames opens their mouth, but it’s Valentine who’s quickest to his feet.

“I’ll go with you.” He says, cutting off the other two’s chance to claim escort duty. If I let them, they’d still come along, but four people in the halls will have everyone still in the castle up and trying to spy. I’m not certain Valentine and I will avoid that outcome either, but at least we have a better chance.

We walk the halls of the Royal residence, avoiding one particular room. It turns out to be a quiet night.

I don’t sleep at all.

—-

They find the Queen on day three.

We’re taking an early meal in the banquet hall when word comes, carried by a page who’s had to learn the castle’s floorplan faster than anyone else. She skids into the hall, nearly flipping over a bench that’s been left askew by its last inhabitants. When she spots me, she all but climbs over the tables to get to me.

Ames, my companion for the next few hours, is halfway out of their seat with a bread knife before I recognize the page, and settle them with a hand. Even then, they don’t sit, but scan the crowd behind the page, in case she’s being chased.

“Domine!” The page pants, almost throwing herself flat at my feet. “Ser Thorrun sent me, an urgent message. Immediately there and back with a reply, Domine, he seemed sure you’d send one.”

“Peace.” I tell the page, holding out my hand for the message. My food is forgotten - Thorrun is the one in charge of sweeping the castle for any hideaways who are still here. I have four others, each tasked with a different cardinal direction, leading searches in the areas around the castle for those who fled. So far, those searches have only turned up a few servants, and the odd nobleman.

While I read Thorrun’s note, I pass the page a goblet of water. It’s brief -

Q in Weave, A+U.

Rather than send a reply, I rise. The page spills half her water down her front, and looks up at me, gasping. Ames pats her on the back.

“Take me to the Weaver’s quarters, please.” I say. I can only hope it comes across as calm.

—-

A castle goes through a truly preposterous amount of linens. Back home, the weavers and the seamstresses share a compound building, but have separate work spaces they’re free to use as they wish. It leads to arguments and lost items of clothing on occasion, but the Textiline - like a housekeeper, but head of weavers, sewers, spinners, and launderers in the Royal employ - has never complained.

I would be ashamed to show them this place.

Part of it is our fault, yes - hanging curtains are a good place to hide someone with a sword if your opponent is in a hurry, or a moron who doesn’t know to look for boots. The simplest way to avoid that is to prod them with your sword as you pass by, and that leaves a lot of holes. A lot of baskets overturned to ensure no one is crammed inside one.

But there are no windows here, meaning the whole room is lit only by candles, leaving the entire room stuffy and reeking of tallow and lye. The weaver and the seamstress must sit back to back if they hope to have any room at all. There are all sorts of cabinets around, yes, but the doors can’t all be opened at once, and it must be a headache to get anything sorted in here.

But part of the reason for that is evidently because some of these compartments have layers. And behind a second layer rack where garments can be hung, there is another false back, and there is where they found the no-longer-Queen of Kescil.

By the time I arrive, Ser Thorrun has cleared the workers from the area, and has the woman bound, sitting on the weavers’ bench.

“Tabithica.” I greet her flatly. She looks offended to hear her given name. She cannot reply, given the gag. “I presume she still has her tongue.”

The last is directed towards Ser Thorrun, a wiry man who has crammed himself into a corner to give me the space I am due. He glares at Tabithica.

“Wasn’t mine to take.” He grumbles, one hand on his sword hilt. There’s no room to really swing in here, let alone draw, but I appreciate the gesture. And that his other hand is where he can reach a knife.

“So it isn’t.” I agree coolly. A quiet request, denied. This woman is not mine to kill either, but I am holding the privilege for the one who does have that honor.

Thorrun just nods, and takes the hand off his sword hilt to point out where Tabithica was hiding. “I’ve been having some boys pace out the corridors and rooms.” He explained. “Dimensions didn’t add up. None of the mortar looked fresh, so figured there was a hidden something or other back here. Found it.”

I step forward to inspect the place that has been a Royal bolt hole for the past three days. It is rank with ammonia - evidently she did not have anyone to empty the chamber pot, even if they did bring her food. There is a bed, and a quilt, and no one else here.

I knew that. Thorrun would’ve searched the room already, would’ve told me if there were signs of her. But I could not help but look.

“Wait in the corridor.” I tell Thorrun tonelessly. He manages to kneel in the small space, bowing his head to me. He asks no questions.

When Thorrun has left, and Ames has entered in his place - the wrinkle of their nose is brief, and shows they share my opinion of the place - I straddle the end of the bench Tabithica is sitting on.

For a moment, I simply stare at her.

Will she be more likely to give me answers if she thinks I won’t understand them? If I’ve threatened her? Or, like her husband, will she want to gloat and bluster and threaten me in turn?

Something about the gleam in her eyes reminds me of iron.

I reach up one hand, and she remains still rather than flinch away. Her breath quickens a fraction, but she keeps her eyes on me, not my hand. Not fearing or cowering from a blow. Pride? Stubbornness?

The gag comes loose with a simple gesture, and I let it fall as it will, sitting back again to examine this woman who once was Queen.

For a moment, we sit in silence. I will break it eventually, if I must, but for now I am content to study her, as she is studying me in return.

She takes the offensive: “Fighting over scraps now, are you?”

It’s a reference to how my parents had referred to Kescil - a kingdom of scraps, not worth the taking. Economically, they were right. Kescil was never going to have the forces necessary to pose a threat, but they also didn’t have anything our people needed or even wanted. So for years, we let them be, and simply didn’t care whether they lived or died.

“I do not need a reason.” I say softly, and as far as she knows, it’s true. I’ve certainly seemed to kill for less. But an answer like that is still to put myself on the back foot, even with a backhanded threat woven in.

Tabithica bares her teeth, “Thorns and horses, Domine.”

My title is spat with derision, but it is the words that are the insult. Ames stirs behind me, showing the anger that I cannot.

When I was yet young, my father went riding. This was not unusual. He forged through a thicket. This was not unusual. Shortly thereafter, his horse shuddered, and died. And the unhorsed consort found himself set upon by bandits shortly thereafter.

That part was unusual.

Investigations had determined the thicket had been doused in poison it did not naturally produce. Had he taken any scratch from a thorn himself, he would have met the same fate as his horse. Instead, it was a bandit’s dagger that took his life. But the thorns are still what killed him - had the horse lived, he could have outrun them easily.

It’s unlikely the event was arranged by Kescil, but I can’t fault Tabithica for trying to take credit.

“I’m not going to kill you.” I tell her calmly.

She laughs, a thoroughly unhappy sound. “Not yet?”

“No.” I seem to agree. She expects me to threaten her with torture and fates worse than death. “I haven’t killed Archinard yet either.”

I could’ve kept that bit of information from her, but I want to know instead.

There isn’t even a flicker of relief. If anything, Tabithica seems annoyed. Interesting.

“So be it.” She sighs, “I suppose he’s gone and committed us both to dying anyway, then.”

“Where is Galatea?”

Stupid of me, really. But I don’t have time to play games with this woman - I don’t care for or about her, or her husband, and only tangentially about her country. I could’ve tried to come around to it another way, but that would’ve taken time and effort I wasn’t willing to spend on a gamble.

Tabithica looks taken aback for a moment. Her head cocks slightly, considering. Then her expression becomes decidedly vindictive. “Dead.”

Ames stiffens. I do not react.

“That’s a shame.” I inform her, as though I’ve been told the last of a wine vintage has been consumed. “As she is the only one who may bargain for your release.”

Tabithica raises her chin, but I ignore her. Instead, I rise, turning to Ames, and putting my back to the fallen royal.

“Toss the room. Ensure there are no more hidden doors.”

“And her?” Ames asks quietly.

I look over my shoulder, and think again of how small this space is, how lightless, and airless. I meet Tabithica’s gaze.

“Put her back.”

—-

On the fifth day, my inner circle is restless.

We, all of us, know exactly how long a human can survive in depravation, and we are reaching the limits of what an ill-prepared hiding place would provide the missing Princess. With provisions, she could likely last quite some time, but…

None of us have faith that such a hiding place was arranged.

I have stalked the rows of the dead thrice, made a point of speaking to every survivor and servant. My searchers have been cautioned to not be blinded by assumptions of gender, of hair color or cut.

Thorrun’s men have paced out the entirety of the castle. They’ve found a few other hidden holes, but no one within them - living, anyway, one did contain a skeleton from either some long ago siege or murder - and there are fewer and fewer places to look. Younger, agile folk have taken to exploring the rooftops. Every barrel in the storage rooms has been opened, even those that have spoiled fermenting wine or beer.

And I am unspeakably proud of her.

—-

On the seventh day, I finally enter the Princess’s quarters myself.

They’re at the top of the eastern tower, windows facing the dawn. Its light cuts through in thin stripes, divided by the protective bars and slats that prevent any enterprising climber from coming in. Or any desperate princess from throwing herself out.

The stairs are narrow and winding. The walls are only now taking on a hint of dust after a week without tending. There is a dumbwaiter, built into the middle of the tower, but it is at the base level, and empty besides.

I have been avoiding this place. I came through it once, during the initial siege, hoping to find her here - and when we found it empty instead, I’d restricted all access to it. I could say it felt intrusive to walk through her bedroom, to search through her things for clues as to where she might have gone.

But in truth, it makes me furious to see this prison.

Every step feels like a purposeful insult. Every sign of care taken with the carpets and cleaning is another reminder that she must never have been alone. The light of the dawn rising every day to tell her she was still here, could go nowhere else, couldn’t even sleep in-

Enough. There will be recompense.

But the watch heard noises here an hour ago, and that means someone has broken my edict. Possibly, it is a bird that got past the bars, but if it is a person, I’ll at least have a target for my increasingly frantic rage. Because I have not found her. I promised I would. I will.

So yes, my steps grow heavier at the top of the stairs. I am somewhat distracted, scowling, when I open the door and stride into the room.

I pay for my distraction immediately.

The rugs are decorative, lavish, and layered across the stone floor atop the rushes. One of them had been moved, and I had not noticed until it was yanked out from under my feet. My stride is long enough, and I had been moving quickly enough, to avoid being sent back down the stairwell, but even still I lost my footing.

The fall stole my breath. The collision of my head with the floor briefly stole my sight. But I could still feel it when hands grabbed at my legs, pulling the knife from my boot and climbing up my body until its blade could be pressed to my chin.

“Move and I’ll carve out your heart.”

It was a growl more than a sentence. Sounds forced through gritted teeth. My vision was returning, blurry yet, and I could not discern one feature from another. Instinctively, my hand had risen to catch the wrist of the knifehand, and by that grace alone I still had a throat capable of speech.

“My heart is claimed.” I rasped in reply. There was clattering, a shout, from lower down the stairwell - someone must have heard my fall. “The neck you’ve earned, if you’re quick.”

Another growl of frustration - my captor did not wish to be caught, it seemed - and the weight on my chest was briefly removed. I flung myself to the side before it could come back down, knife point first.

Twisting away, I blinked the last of the blurriness from my eyes, and came up on my knees. I found myself looking down at my attacker, who was still sprawled on the rugs she’d used to force me down. Long hair in a messy, ratted braid, a dress with wide skirts that hung oddly, the fear and fury in her voice -

The determination in the wild swing she took for my legs, torquing to move, dragging her legs behind her.

“My heart is claimed by a girl of stone.” I gasp, barely avoiding the knife’s edge. “I’ve come to bring her a fine carriage.”

The woman stops, panting from exertion. When was the last time she ate? Truly slept?

She wavers for several long heartbeats, not dropping the knife. Her voice is watery when she corrects me, “the finest carriage, you idiot. I told you the passphrase was too long.”

—-

I insist on making sure Gal eats and has a chance to bathe before we talk. She insists we speak before she’ll sleep.

Arranged in her wheeled chair, she looks like a portrait half-come to life. The skirts of her dress are tailor made to hide the atrophied legs, to lay nicely in the chair’s confines. Her spine is straight, hands folded, and she does not fidget. She looks more regal than either of her parents ever will, wherever they’ve gotten off to. I’ve stopped caring.

(Ames and Ash are on guard duty, while Valentine runs the word that the Princess has been found. My orders were the inverse, but they decided it was better to have two on guard - this would be the time to kill me, after all.)

“You should’ve told me it was you.” Gal scolds me, picking off a piece of bread to throw at me.

“Like you told me you were the Princess of Kescil?” I retort, blinking involuntarily as it nearly finds its mark.

Gal turns up her nose. “I had to be sure you did not covet my title.”

“And I to be sure you did not wish to trap me.” I reply dryly. There is no sting in my words, though, no true animosity. Nor in hers.

The situation is far from ideal, and I am very aware that I am, in essence at this moment, her captor. But the reality of it all has faded away, because she is here. My Gal is safe.

Maybe my friends were wise to leave two on guard.

She drops the offended act, instead staring at the tablecloth. Her expression turns drawn, and tired. I’m on the verge of trying to convince her to sleep again when she asks,

“How many are dead?”

The thought of lying to her is barely a flicker - I can’t. “Seven hundred and twelve.” I say quietly. “Excluding pending executions, and those who may yet die from their wounds.”

She looks up at me, “And how many of those were your soldiers?”

“Two hundred and five.”

Her gaze drifts away from me, and she is quiet for a moment longer. This time, I leave her to it.

“I killed them.” She says flatly.

“No. I am the one who declared war.”

“Because of me.”

“It was hardly something you asked for.”

“But I am the root cause, am I not?” She glares at me, her tone challenging even as her shoulders start to curl inwards.

“Absolutely not.” My voice is firm. I’ve taken my share of blame for deaths before, and I will consider the two hundred soldiers who died under my command my burden to bear - but the dead of Kescil are not on her head. “If you insist on a root cause, it is the King and Queen who failed Kescil - in ordering their people to fight, in not ensuring they were adequately trained and armed, and-“ my voice gentles, “-in failing their daughter.”

“I put the pen to paper.” She says quietly.

“And I swung the sword. As did they.”

I know it isn’t enough. She’ll wonder how many of their men went to fight in the name of their Golden Princess - the delicate beauty they were taught to treasure and protect. She may never be free of the memories of constant haranguing, that she was helpless and failing her family and nation for faults that were not her own, and the substitutions her mind will make about how she was, in the end, the downfall of her country.

But Galatea Holbrooke was not theirs to keep.

“Well.” She says, after a few more heartbeats of silence. Her voice is brittle at first, but smooths out just as she smooths the tablecloth. “Then I suppose we should discuss terms, Domine Hawk.”

The addition of my title to the pen name I used to write her - chosen after one of my hunting hawks nearly took down her messenger pigeon - is a needling I quite deserve.

“Whatever you desire, Galatea of Kescil.”

She raises her brows at that, “Such trust, Domine. What if I desire your title instead?”

I smile, leaning forward on the table, and for once, I don’t clink. My armor has finally been doffed, and sent for a good proper scrubbing. “Then that can be arranged, though you’ll have to be more specific. I have several.”

“And if I want them all?” She’s leaned forward too, her eyes narrowing.

“In the traditions of the Northern Reach,” I say carefully, suddenly unable to look her in the eyes, “I cannot bequeath my titles to another, nor can they be taken from me by anyone but my Liege. But… they can be shared. With a spouse.”

When I glance back at Galatea again, she’s wrinkled her nose. My hands flex, curling inward as my stomach sinks.

“You just had to go and beat me to it.” She complains, slumping back into her chair. “Six months - six! - to get you to tell me your hair color, but sure, propose within the first three hours we meet in person.”

She groans dramatically, pressing a hand over her eyes, as I slowly straighten. “That’s - not quite an answer.” I hedge, “though I understand if you wish time to consider, of course, circumstances -“

“Circumstances!” Gal snorts, giving up the last of her propriety. “My bird, you cannot possibly have earned your titles by being this shy.”

But there’s a laugh in her voice, and when she uncovers her face, I can see a sparkle in her eyes.

“Do you know what I thought, when I was hiding from your soldiers, not knowing it was you and that I was safe the entire time?”

“About that-“ We still didn’t know how she’d been hidden.

“Oh.” She waved a hand, “There’s a closed off landing about halfway down the shaft, there’s still a ledge inside just large enough for me to fit. I climbed down and back up again.”

Gal shrugs, as though she hasn’t just told me she’s done that with only the strength of her arms, and alone.

“I thought it was a shame I couldn’t even live long enough to tell you to your face that grey is spelled with an e, not an a.”

“It can be either-“ I start, before cutting myself off with a sigh. We’d been over the topic at length before, in previous letters. I’d cut a page out of a dictionary to include it and nearly been banned from my own library.

Gal just tilts her head, and waits. Her hair is loose now, mostly. She’s mentioned wanting to cut it before - I can’t wait to see how short she’ll choose to go.

“It was much less complicated, when I was simply your Hawk.” I admit quietly.

“And when I was a simple village Gal? Neither of us were exactly spy material, you know. Where would I have learned to read as a village child? Where would you have found paper and books as a hunter’s child?”

I can’t help but laugh, “Some things we just wanted to believe. But there is a difference, between a noble and the heir to a country. I promised you my help when you thought I had little more than a bow and a hunting bird - and I meant it.”

She sighs, “And I just wanted you to know who I was, before I disappeared.”

Her final letter to me had been written in haste, explaining that she could no longer lead me on, and that all contact between us had to end. She’d signed it with her full name - the first she’d ever used it. When word came that the King of Kescil had decided on a suitor for his daughter, I understood.

But then, from Gal’s letters, I knew a lot more about the King than I suspected most of his subjects had.

“I knew who you were, Gal.” I assure her, and watch her eyes widen before she catches my meaning. “I just didn’t know your full name.”

“As I knew you.” She agrees, “Enough to know you’d be foolish enough to show up if I asked you to.”

“It seemed… prudent.” I say, tracing a pattern on the tablecloth. “And if you want, I will leave. I can’t bring back your army, but I can leave a contingent of soldiers-“

“Elith.” She says, exasperated, and the sound of her voice saying my name freezes me in place. “You promised me the world, little bird. Did you mean that too?”

“I did.”

“Then I do.”

“…what?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “I’ll marry you, Death-in-Red, Wraith-Wyrven, and whatever else it is you call yourself. Because my heart was claimed by a hunting bird, and I’ll not let it fly away.”

Her half of the phrase to identify ourselves to each other, if we ever did meet.

“After all.” She says, picking at her bread again, “You did fight a war for me.”

—-

[Thank you for reading! If you’ve enjoyed, consider checking out my other writing, both here on tumblr and on Ao3! You’ll find links in my pinned post on my blog, if I haven’t come back to update them here.]

#original work #Elith Frenaye #Galatea Holbrooke #This is a one off for funsies #I don’t remember how long ago I started it but it’s been in progress for a WHILE #oh the tag says November 2022 #ONE YEAR LATER

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siconetribal · 5 months ago

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Beyond the Bookshelves (4)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: When you want to read but the universe won't allow it, Loki is deep in the delulu and that's ok, Thor's golden retriever energy to Loki's prickly cat vibes, work stress, how to meet with royalty, tiny midgardian vs giant asgardians,

Summary: You’re a Resource Management Specialist at S.H.I.E.L.D. normally referred to as “The Librarian”. You’ve been assigned the nightmarish task of digitizing all the physical resources currently owned by the agency, with a few new computers and one extra helper.

A/N: The power of acetaminophen, water, proper food, and actual oxygen to my brain is what made this chapter possible! Thank you for patiently waiting, I hope you enjoy it!

Please comment/like/reblog. If you’d like to be tagged moving forward, please let me know! (If I missed ant tags, please let me know, I'll add you right away!)

The lovely banners used in this fic are from @cafekitsune.

If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters.

Agent Pruyn is not so fond of me, much like many of the others. The bird and spider were quick to support my plan, though. I was not expecting help from anyone, but I suppose they’re wise enough to see that I know my strengths and have proven myself to be an asset in more ways than one. Loki walked into the library as per usual, ready to welcome the silent comfort it would bring. Sadly, that silence was not to be had with the sound of not one, but two voices. It’s that blasted chatty Captain Star. He is bound to try to strike up conversation again and ask unnecessary questions pertaining to how I feel and how I am adjusting. Loki quickly looked around for a potential escape route that would avoid meeting him and get him quickly to his usual corner. He knew he could easily teleport himself from one spot to the next. However, he already had been given an earful by said star-spangled leader about how it was ‘rude to vanish in the middle of a conversation’ and how ‘he should minimize his magic use to me more approachable’. To avoid a repeat of that, Loki simply avoided using it whenever Captain Lectures was not around.

It was the second voice that surprised him. A familiar voice that reminded him of a subtle force and scattered papers. The very same voice that said the owner thought he was a mute for never speaking to her. Which is utterly preposterous. I have spoken plenty of times between invading the Earth, addressing the public, and working with S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers. It’s not as if she’s gone out of her way to greet me either, where would she even begin to conceive such a notion on her own? He frowned, trying to recall all the times he had been to the library. She only ever interacted with him in a professional capacity. Watching the two walk in the opposite direction of his intended destination, he breathed a small sigh of relief and quickly made his way to the table that always had a book waiting for him to read. The Metal-Man’s technology is quite fascinating. He marveled at the new book that awaited his arrival. Picking it up, he sat back into the plush seating and began to read.

At least, he tried to read. The loud voices of the other two kept interrupting, and he was unable to properly get into the mindset of losing himself in the text. Each time he thought they were done, it seemed to start back up, which irked him. The first two times were mere chance, but for it to happen repeatedly had to be intentional. The only problem was proof. They could not see him, nor could he see them.

You are overthinking, Loki. It’s because of that petty agent that you’re now thinking everyone is out to trouble you. You’ve never had trouble in the library before, why would it start now? If anything, that woman’s chatter is keeping Commander Shield busy and away from you. It’s a blessing in disguise. He reminded himself. He listened to the two prattle on for a little longer, not really paying the content any mind; he simply was waiting for the conversation to end so he could peacefully begin to read. And just it did, he wiggled back into his seat and opened the book once more. He snapped it shut and sat up in his seat. She is the librarian?! “That woman is the one Agent Hill was referring? Why would they assume I’m acquainted with someone like her? We’ve hardly ever spoken to one another, but clearly that is not my fault. She’s perfectly chatty with Officer Gabby over there.” He muttered to himself. There was a slight sting in his chest at this fact. Even in his sanctuary, he was facing prejudice. Why should her lack of conversing with me matter otherwise? Thor has the ability of AllSpeak, he can assist her. I have my mission to attend to, tomo-, he frowned. His mission was postponed while Thor was still set to go. That meant that he was the only available translator. “No matter, she is to approach us first, as per Agent Hill. Why should I go out my way for her when she has done little for me?” He continued to grumble to himself, propping an elbow on one of the arms of the chair and resting his cheek into the hand as he resumed the book once more.

The chime of his phone was the one to shatter the moment this time around. He closed the book once more and returned to the table. Taking a few deep breaths, he pulled the horrid device from his pocket and glared at it.

How anyone finds having such a thing with you at all times as practical or essential is beyond me. It’s a metal leash where anyone and everyone can disturb you at their whim without a care of whether you are available to be bothered. Though he found the various things it could do fascinating, in the end it was still a means to dealing with people around the clock, and he disliked the idea greatly. The device lit up and chimed again, as if it knew he was looking at it. Frustrated, he tapped the screen awake and used his fingerprint to unlock it. Now where are these notifications, again, ah, yes, up here! He carefully navigated his way towards an email thread which looked to be between himself, Thor, Agent Hill, and Director Fury in reference to the translation project. “So she isn’t as scatterbrained as she seemed. She looked into our schedules to make sure we had time to meet and made it a time both could be present instead of having multiple meetings.” He mumbled. He scrolled lower to see Thor’s reply, agreeing to the time. Loki quickly responded as well, agreeing as well, but also requesting where she intended for them to meet. Satisfied, he tossed the phone lightly onto the table and picked up the book once more. Now everything was set and he could finally read in peace.

Y/N was surprised to see a response from either of the princes so soon, but was all the more grateful for it since their meeting was last minute. Leaning back in her computer chair, it tilted back silently, as she swiveled side-to-side The location to meet had to be easier for them to reach and still make it to their next appointments.

The cafeteria will be pretty busy around then and to head up to their lounge area is a bit much. Plus, the Avengers might be there, and I don’t want to impede on their downtime by talking about work things. They might have too many questions or the topic might get lost through distraction. I can’t really leave the library for too long, either. The daily meetings are one thing, but trying to get to some place and back would be a waste of time. I suppose the only proper place would be here at the library. I can close it for about thirty or so minutes for my lunch. She hummed to herself, trying to see if this was a beneficial spot for everyone. “Loki already comes here, so I doubt he’ll be against it. Thor has been here from time to time as well, so he’s not completely unaware of this location. The training hall is not too far from here either, so neither of them will be late for that. Alright, sounds good!” She sat up in her seat, the chair springing up and rolling forward into her desk. She quickly sent out the reply of time and location, with a small sign-off stating that she looked forward to speaking with them. Now that that’s done, one teensy weensy problem, how do I talk to alien princes?! Royal etiquette training was not including in my onboarding training! “And one of them hates me, so the brother is obviously going to hate me by defaults, right? Sibling solidarity and all that good stuff?” She lightly slammed her head on to her desk. “I didn’t expect ‘hated by alien princes’ on this year’s bingo card, let alone checking it off!” She let out a heavy sigh of defeat. “It won’t be that bad, right?”

It was that bad. It was straight up awkward from the moment the two of them walked into the library, together. Both were tall, handsome, and very intimidating in their own ways. She knew all this, and yet seeing them together made her feel like a Lilliputian in front of not one, but two, Gullivers!

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, please, let’s take a seat over here.” She pointed towards some tables to her right and led them over. She motioned for them to take their seats and waited for them to sit before taking her own seat. Those of higher status are usually seated first, I’m sure this will help ease the tension, right? “Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Y/N Y/LN. I am the director of the Resource Management department of S.H.I.E.L.D. As per my email, I’ve asked for your time to discuss how to best work together on the task of translation.” See, you got this! Play it cool, like any other board of directors meeting!

“Yes, Agent Hill spoke with us about this matter. We would love to be of assistance to you in any way we can.” Thor smiled, the brightness comforting Y/N to feel less tense. He certainly had the charisma to be a well liked leader, if his smile was enough to ease up the tension. “But as you’re aware, we are Avengers and are sent off on missions globally for many days at a time.”

“Yes, I am aware, and I can’t thank you enough for allotting some of your free time to assist me in this matter. The archives are one of the greatest things we have. There are texts here from all around the universe that are still unknown to many of our agents. The goal is to have all of them scanned into digital copies and have translated copies as well to allow easier access between all of our locations and even allow access to the Avengers while on their missions. It’s a very difficult task that requires many people, but S.H.I.E.L.D. does not have the means to hire so many for such a task and risk someone leaking the information, nor can it sacrifice the agents on staff who are needed for the missions and risk the safety of the people because they pulled people. I, and my department, along with your help, will be working on this task.”

“We are both due to depart by week’s end, but once we return, we will gladly assist you, right brother?” Thor turned to Loki, who had been silent throughout this entire time.

I’m guessing Mr. Thor doesn’t hate me? But Mr. Loki clearly does? What did I do to be hated by him?! Did I step on his foot one time, or maybe I whacked him with a book unknowingly? I would’ve definitely noticed if I hit someone like that, right?! She racked her brain for any inkling of a clue as to why she was disliked so much by the younger prince. Is it because I called him mister? Is that not okay? I mean, I don’t see anyone else calling him ‘His Highness’ or ‘His Grace’ or ‘Lord’. Oh no, did I call him that one time and did he think I was mocking him?!

His blue eyes were trained on the Librarian the entire time. She was poised and cordial, nothing like the rushing mess he encountered days ago. She was articulate, but she was nervous. Though her face gave away nothing, her fingers were interlaced tightly with one another. There was a slight tremble in them. Thor was happily giving away his blessings and promises, while Loki was not sure, not yet. Though, the promise of secret text was rather enticing. He wondered if they had anything from the other realms.

“I am no longer due to depart, my mission has been temporarily suspended.” The words came out before the younger prince realized. Why was he given such unnecessary information? He had no intention of being roped into this useless charity work. His eyes narrowed at the genuine surprise on the Librarian, who looked hopeful, too hopeful.

“That is rare, were there complications?” Thor frowned.

“It’s not something to discuss in present company.” Loki cut the conversation short, seeing her flinch at the sharp words.

“You’re right, it’s not wise to speak so freely about such information with unauthorized people.” She readily agreed. “But if you’re no longer due to leave, would you be willing to work with me on setting up a plan on how to best work with your ability?”

“Very well,” he sighed. “We can coordinate a time for here. Perhaps later today after my training.”

“Excellent,” Thor grinned and roughly smacked Loki on the back, earning a scowl from his younger brother. “You may not know this, but my brother is one of the greatest strategists in the nine realms! He is well-educated and far more scholarly than myself. He is the best person to work with on creating a plan, and I will follow along with what you’ve decided. I will do my best to keep up with him and not drag you down.”

“You will be just as helpful, Mr. Thor. You are able to translate like he is, which is exactly what we need.” Y/N was quick to assure his easily excitable brother, earning an eye roll from the raven haired younger prince.

“Please, Director Y/LN, call us by our names. We are the ones who will be under your care throughout this undertaking. There is no need for such formalities between us.” Loki stared at his brother as he completely lost his mind.

How are we under her care if she needs us? She should be respectful of us taking the time to assist her in something the organization as a whole deems to be of the least importance!

“You don’t need to call me by title when it’s just us. Y/N or Y/LN is fine. Some just call me ‘Librarian’ as well. In official meetings with other directors you’ll need to abide by rules, but between us, I’m not all that strict with it. I mean, you’re the ones doing the dangerous work. I think that alone deserves respect.” Her words stunned Loki.

“Even me?” The words slipped from his lips in a low whisper. She turned to face him with a questioning look, but he made no attempt to repeat or clarify himself. “Very well, Librarian. I will return some time after my training session. We can discuss more than.” Loki stood from his seat and quickly left the room. It was getting too chummy, and he was not comfortable with it.

"My apologies, Y/LN. He’s not the most easy to get along with at first, but he really is one of the best.” Thor slowly stood from his seat, while Y/N watched Loki disappear behind the door. She quickly tore her gaze away and looked up at Thor.

“Why are you apologizing? He didn’t do anything wrong. I was going to end the meeting anyway, since it’s about time you both left for your training sessions.” She raised an eyebrow at how quick Thor was to apologize and try to assuage her. He’s trying to help Loki fit in, but if he’s always apologizing, that’s not helpful. But then again, I’ve never really interacted with either of them. I’ll wait before I say anything. This could be a one time thing. She stood from her chair and extended a hand to the stunned God of Thunder. “I look forward to working with both of you.” She smiled and he happily to her hand in his, kissing the back of it.

“We are in your care.” He smiled and left a surprised and slightly flushed Y/N.

Tags: @vbecker10 @huntress-artemiss @softestqueeen @thegodofnotknowing @princess-ofthe-pages @firedrakegirl @rcailleachcola @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lotrefcp @lwtannie @jainaeatsstars @msdjsg7 @tom-hlover @kneelingformyloki @gruftiela @gigglingtiggerv2 @kats72 @mischief2sarawr

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xclowniex · 1 month ago

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I laugh a little whenever someone comments on a social media post of mine saying "Free Palestine!!!" or any version of that. Like, yes, thank you. Now that you commented, I will personally call Bibi and ask him nicely to end the war and let Israel be destroyed by terrorist groups. You'd think Palestine would be free by now with all the times they comment it.

Like seriously what do these people think it's gonna do?

If I put myself in their shoes, doing that does nothing for the end goal of garnering more support for Palestine or ending the war and Israel dismantled.

Firstly just saying "free Palestine" won't change someone's mind. No one will go "ah yes now that I have seen free Palestine for the millionth time, I suddenly want israel to no longer exist"

Some people do go further and try to make posts explaining things but very rarely do they reach out in good faith. They will usually just make posts with the most radical words, which doesn't do much to change someone's mind. If people actually want to do anything to change a person's mind, they have to meet them where they are, explain things to them there, and after they have progressed towards your viewpoint a bit, you meet them where they are now and repeat until they've changed their views. Doesn't work all the time but it's more effective than just going full ham radical. There is nothing wrong with making posts not intended to change peoples mind or to come off as sugar coated or light, I make those posts too, but I also make posts where I avoid calling anti israel xenophobia, antisemitic, as I know that not doing that helps people start to see where I am coming from.

And if they're commenting free Palestine as a way to "make zionists uncomfortable", well at least in my experience it is super easy to block and move on or just not engage. I will engage sometimes if they comment something proper, but there isn't this "omg I'm so uncomfortable or angry about this". Usually it's a "fuck, this person is stupid" and I carry on with my life. The only time it does make me uncomfortable at all, is when the line crosses from support for Palestine into blatent antisemitism like when I'm called slurs by strangers irl, who do not know my opinion but see that I'm visibly Jewish. Or online when someone will engage in holocaust minimization or denial for example. And that's not making me uncomfortable because I'm a zionist, it's making me uncomfortable because I'm jewish.

#antisemitism #jumblr #israel #i/p #palestine #gaza #i/p war #jewblr #ask clownie

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thefrogdalorian · 6 months ago

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Weather The Storm Together

Din Djarin x Neurodivergent GN!Reader

Summary: Despite repeated reassurances that Din loves you regardless of your struggles, you find it difficult to believe him. But when you are engulfed by a particularly strong wave of emotions and fail at your latest attempt to avoid letting him in, it only serves to strengthen your bond.

Word Count: 1.6k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: Reader has a panic attack/meltdown, physical symptoms described, negative thoughts (but with Din's help, these emotions are resolved!). ✯ Author's Note: Well it really has been one thing after another for me this week, so I really needed to write this for myself. Very cathartic to write your fave character being understanding of struggles, but I do think it fits Din so well. He spends his entire life wearing a literal mask, he would be very compassionate and gentle. Hope you enjoy this one!

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

As you lay face-down, sobbing your heart out on your bunk, your senses were too overwhelmed to hear him approaching. It was too late to turn away when your drained brain finally perceived the sound of his familiar heavy footsteps.

Your stomach drops when the rhythmic sounds stop.

Now, there is nowhere to hide.

You never intended for him to catch you in such a state. You remain convinced you look repulsive, with your swollen eyes burning from the endless tears shed. You fret about your messy hair that surely sticks out at all ends.

How will he retain his attraction to you after seeing you this dishevelled? How could anyone love someone capable of getting into such a distressed state?

The pain from such realisations will come later.

For now, you are too preoccupied with the way your chest aches from the exertion of the sobs which wracked your entire body until only moments ago.

As you roll over, you wipe your eyes to get a better look at him, but the sniffling continues. Once your eyes are suitably clear of tears, your stomach churns with unease as you stare up at him, suddenly feeling pathetic and tiny in his presence.

Somehow, he appears unfazed by your distressed appearance. As comfortable before his distressed cyare, as he would be encountering a band of mercenaries with deadly intentions.

“I’m here,” Din’s familiar deep voice cuts through the anguish, and you start to feel the clouds lift.

He moves to sit on the edge of your bunk. Instinctively, you cover your face with your arms, nuzzling into the soft material of the clothes you wear to sleep in.

Now that the shock is beginning to wear off, the equally unwelcome emotion of embarrassment begins to rear its ugly head, ready to add to your distress.

As he sits there gazing at you, his ordinarily warm brown eyes cooler and widened with concern, you think of recent events from Din’s perspective.

You blamed stomach ache for your abrupt retirement to your bunk. Despite his immediate concern for you, you successfully convinced him not to worry. Insisting it was a rogue ration pack, rather than an impending tidal wave of distress.

When you hurried to your bunk, you left Din engaged in one of his favourite ways he soothes his soul and self-regulates. He would have remained there for a while longer, meticulously cleaning his armour, were he not abruptly interrupted by the unmistakable, gut-wrenching sounds of your sobs.

You feel terrible that it struck at that moment, during such an unassuming afternoon. The constant storm that brews within you does not discriminate with timing. Sometimes, like today, there is a little warning, but just enough for you to get away and fall apart in peace. Things were perfectly fine, until they weren’t. A combination of the way the cloth Din was using squeaked against his armour and the seemingly endless monotony of hyperspace had caused you to tip over the edge.

Din has reminded you time and time again that he is by your side every step of the way. But after an entire life spent keeping this side of you hidden, believing it is far easier said than done. It will take more than his supportive words to undo the years of damage inflicted by the repeated negative reinforcements that breaking down like this was due to poor behaviour rather than being a natural, unavoidable response to feeling overwhelmed.

Still, Din is your anchor, something to cling to during the ferocious storm. You reach for his hand, relieved that he has forgone his gloves, as you lace his thick, callused fingers with yours. To your relief, some of the familiar warmth returns to his eyes, matched by the heat radiating from his skin.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Din tentatively questions.

You nod your head, taking shaky breaths to compose yourself so you can let him into your anguished state of mind rather than keeping him locked out.

“It was just all too much. The noise of the cloth against the armour and being stuck in this ship for another day. I couldn’t take it. I hate that I have to go through this,” you murmur.

“I know, cyare,” Din squeezes your hand as he shakes his head, “I wish you didn’t have to suffer. But we’ll be landing soon. By the time you wake up tomorrow, we’ll be back on solid ground.”

You nod. You know that Din is reminding you of your impending return to Nevarro as a reason to stay optimistic, not berating you for being unable to last just one more day. He understands how frustrated you are that you could not see this journey through without being overwhelmed. Still, the shame does not dissipate entirely.

“I hate that you have to see me like this. I feel so embarrassed,” you confess shakily, deciding there is no point in hiding your true feelings from him.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing,” Din reassures you, “No one would choose to get themselves into such a state. I hate to see you like this.”

“You’re not mad at me?” you clarify, optimistic that he does not appear annoyed that you attempted to hide your acute distress from him.

Din shakes his head, “I could never be mad at you. I wish you didn’t feel the need to hide this from me, but I understand why you do, and I hope that one day you will no longer feel a need to.”

You nod, relieved that Din does not berate and lecture you like others in your past have. His words fill you with optimism for the future, too.

But the dread lingers. Now that you have discovered your fear that Din was angry with you was unfounded, your anguished, racing mind turns to the future. Feeling even marginally less distressed than you do at the moment seems unthinkable.

“Will it ever get better?” you pathetically ask, picking at the threadbare blanket with your free hand as you avoid his gaze.

“Of course, it will,” Din responds immediately, his tone so firm that you dare to look up at him, “Right now, it’s hard to imagine not feeling this awful. I promise you, this won’t last forever. I will help you through this.”

“But how long can you go through this, Din, before it’s too much?” you pose the question which makes your heart constrict.

“You will never be too much,” Din shakes his hand, incredulous at the notion he would ever leave; unwavering in his devotion to you.

Your bottom lip trembles at his words, a few stray tears leaking from your eyes and trailing down your cheeks. You are about to move to rub your cheeks with your sleeves when, in an achingly tender gesture, Din gently uses his thumb to wipe them away.

The caring gesture and adoration apparent across his handsome features make you feel as though a Wookiee has taken a seat on your chest. It is difficult to breathe in the face of such unconditional love, especially at such a vulnerable moment.

"There will be better days and I'll be standing by your side through all of them," Din whispers as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, before leaning his head against the very spot he just brushed his lips against.

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep, steadying breath. You will yourself to believe Din's encouraging words, though you remain powerless to help the lingering doubt that gnaws somewhere deep inside. The two of you spend a few moments drawing strength from the closeness. You cannot resist how your lips curve upwards slightly at the way Din strokes the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Do you believe me?” Din finally asks, his breath hot against your face.

You pause for a few moments, considering your response. Then, you bring your free hand up to Din’s stubbly cheek and run your thumb along his surprisingly soft skin. You wordlessly answer his question by meeting his lips with yours softly, pressing your lips so faintly against his that it is a ghost of a gesture.

Din pulls away, his expressive face overcome with emotion. You can see the hope, relief and devotion in his eyes.

“With you by my side, Din Djarin, I believe that Mustafar could freeze over,” you smirk, then grow serious, “You make me feel like anything is possible.”

Din closes his eyes in gratitude, nodding as he swallows thickly. Relieved that he has, once again, pulled you back from the abyss with the patient, gentle way he loves you.

“Why don’t we get some rest?” Din offers, knowing the impact such distressing episodes have on your energy reserves.

You eagerly nod. Din quickly moves to shed his outer layers of clothing. He is already back before your side before you can truly mourn the loss of contact, pulling you into his strong arms so tightly that you believe he will never let you go.

As you lie back on the bunk together, you come to rest in your favourite position; with your cheek on Din’s strong, firm chest as his hands settle on your waist, rubbing soothing circles across your back.

You are so exhausted that it appears sleep will come easily to you, as your eyelids are already growing leaden while your breathing becomes heavy. Safe in the arms you love, the distress of before seems almost a distant memory.

Before falling into sleep’s warm embrace entirely, you hear Din whisper a final reminder:

“We’ll weather the storm together,” his deep voice vibrates underneath you.

You nod in agreement, reassured that Din’s affection for you will never diminish, no matter the severity of your distress.

The strong man whose arms you lie in will always be your anchor.

Follow @thefrogdalorianfics for updates on my latest fics!

#din djarin fic #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fluff #pedro pascal characters #neurodivergent reader #head so fried but had to finish this #now time to sleep lets manifest i dream of tin can man bringing as much comfort as he does in this fic PLS

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beauttifullife · 14 days ago

Text

The silence between them was thick, teetering between familiar and unsettling.

"Goodnight, Agatha."

It was a simple farewell, delivered without warmth or edge.

Flat.

Detached.

But for reasons Agatha couldn’t begin to untangle, those words burrowed deeper inside her than any smirk, taunt, or glance Rio had ever given her.

The neutrality of it twisted within her, winding tighter and tighter, until it felt like something inside her snap.

"Wait."

Agatha’s voice cut through the quiet, and she looked up and watched as her words landed.

Rio stopped, turning back, her expression blank, unreadable, as if she were just… waiting.

Waiting, watching with that calm detachment that felt like an insult.

Agatha’s jaw clenched.

She hated that look.

Hated the emptiness in it.

Hated the way Rio could stand there as if she hadn’t the very person who dismantled everything Agatha thought she knew about herself, forcing her onto this twisting, relentless journey of self-discovery with no end in sight.

How could she just step back now, as if she hadn’t taken a hammer to Agatha’s sense of self?

Just walk away?

That simmering anger rose, propelling her next words.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she snapped, her voice laced with an intensity she could barely contain.

Rio didn’t so much as blink, her composure as steady as ever.

“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice maddeningly calm. “Did I do something to offend you?”

Agatha’s fingers tightened around the edge of her desk. Every part of her wanted to scream, to demand an answer, but the words lodged in her throat, caught between frustration and vulnerability.

“Yes, actually,” Agatha snapped instead, her voice slicing through the air sharper than intended.

Rio’s brow arched, a glimmer of something in her eyes—curiosity, maybe surprise—before it quickly vanished. She tilted her head slightly, her tone gentler than Agatha could stand.

“What did I do?”

A hollow laugh escaped Agatha, cold and brittle, she stood up, needing to level the playing field—needing to look her in the eye.

“What haven’t you done?” she bit out, each word dripping with barely contained frustration. “You’ve completely ruined me. Do you even realize that?”

Rio held her gaze, the weight of her own silence enough to stoke the embers of Agatha’s anger.

Rio’s face softened, but she didn’t look away.

Instead, she stepped closer, her gaze steady, unflinching.

“Ruined you?” she echoed, her voice low, a touch of sadness laced within her usual calm. “How exactly have I ruined you, Agatha?”

Agatha’s throat tightened, and her fingers curled, grasping for control she no longer had.

“You made me question everything I thought I knew about myself,” she whispered, almost to herself. “You’ve made me want things I can’t have, things I never even thought I’d want.”

Rio’s gaze remained unwavering, a quiet intensity simmering in her eyes.

“Why can’t you have them?” she asked, her voice barely a murmur. “I told you Agatha, all you had to is ask?”

The simplicity of it—just asking—sent a surge of frustration through Agatha, mingling with a longing so strong it felt like a physical ache.

She let out a bitter, breathless laugh.

“Just ask?” she repeated, a tremor in her voice. “What exactly would I even ask for?”

Rio’s gaze softened, her lips curving into a faint smile, one that held a thousand unspoken promises.

“That depends. What do you want, Agatha?”

The question hit her like a wave, crashing into the carefully built walls she’d surrounded herself with. And in that moment, the weight of her own vulnerability was almost too much to bear.

She felt a sting in her eyes—tears, actual fucking tears—and she swallowed hard, willing them away.

The silence thickened, and Rio stepped closer again, closer than they’ve been in days.

“Tell me what you want,” she whispered, her voice a quiet invitation, filled with a tenderness Agatha hadn’t expected.

Agatha’s pulse thundered in her ears as she stood there, feeling the weight of Rio’s words settle over her, wrapping around her like a tether both binding and freeing.

This was it.

She knew it, felt it in every nerve, every tremor of her racing heart.

It was that precipice—the moment before a jump, the second a skydiver teeters on the edge of the open door, staring down at the dizzying drop, caught between two choices: retreat back into the safety of the plane or leap forward into the unknown, letting gravity pull them into a freefall they couldn’t control.

Her mind spun, half-tempted to pull herself back, to escape the raw vulnerability of the moment.

But her body—the way it leaned ever so slightly closer to Rio, her breath quickening in anticipation—betrayed her.

She wanted this.

Needed it.

All she had to do was say the words.

Rio’s gaze remained steady, unwavering, her patience a quiet, unspoken invitation that dared Agatha to step forward.

Agatha felt a tremor roll through her as she stood there, feeling each of her defenses fall away, piece by piece, under the weight of that stare. Her lips parted, words struggling to surface, but they caught, hesitating on the edge.

“I want…” She started, her voice barely a whisper, her hands twitching at her sides as if searching for something to anchor her.

The words evaded her, slipping through her grasp, and she gritted her teeth in frustration, fighting against everything she had always known herself to be—controlled, precise, unshakable.

She looked away, drawing a breath to calm herself, but the admission clawed its way out before she could stop it.

“I want…” Her voice broke, and with it, the walls she had carefully built around herself cracked.

And then, with a certainty that both terrified and thrilled her, she turned back and met Rio’s gaze, feeling something snap inside her—a release, raw and undeniable.

“I want you.”

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starchaserwrites · 8 months ago

Text

@jegulus-microfic / march 14: choice / word count: 558

Stab it, strangle it, scoop out its gut, throw it off a cliff... it repeats over and over in his mind.

Four chains, three double crochet, three chains, repeat four times...

The first few times Pandora tried to teach him how to crochet were a total failure. The wool got tangled, the stitches were either too loose or too tight and picking up the crochet hook was a problem on its own. But since he learned to crochet, Regulus takes his knitting wherever he goes.

Today in particular, he has taken it upon himself to bring extra balls of wool, as he intends to be productive in the nearly three hours it will take him to travel by train from Liverpool to London to visit his estranged brother after nearly five years. And no, of course Regulus isn't nervous. That he's gripping his crochet needle tighter than necessary and knitting furiously has nothing to do with it. He doesn't even notice when the seat next to him is taken.

One, two, three... nine double crochets, his hands move skilfully creating new rows.

He has been trying to finish this tote bag for an eternity and... What the hell is that?

There are no mistakes in knitting, only design variations, the voice of his best friend echoes in his head.

Well, clearly Regulus made a mistake several rows back that's making his granny square look more like a rectangle, and there is no way to make it look intentional. With a huff, he has no choice but to start pulling the wool to undo his failed progress.

"No!" an urgent voice protests from his right side, leaving him confused.

Regulus turns his head slowly, scowling and ready for a confrontation, which is quickly forgotten when a pair of warm, honey-brown eyes open wide and stare back at him. Regulus frowns even more deeply.

"I'm sorry! I swear I didn't mean to intrude, but it's just that you were doing something beautiful and you took it apart so fast I couldn't help myself and-" the man continues speaking hurriedly but Regulus is more focused on the way a lone curl of brown hair covers part of his forehead, and his hands itch eagerly to touch it to find out if it's as soft as it looks.

"Yeah, never mind," is all the answer he gives before resuming his knitting slightly flushed.

Three chains, three double crochets-

"Where did you learn how to do that? I mean, crocheting. It's really cool, you got me hooked, you know what I mean?"

Regulus stares at him for a long moment refusing to let the ridiculous phrase have any effect on him.

The right corner of his lips betrays him and rises against his will.

"My name is James. Oh, and I need your surname to know-" Regulus merely covers James' mouth with one hand and his own face with the other.

"We'll see about the last name. I'm Regulus, and please stop saying all those embarrassing things."

It's safe to say that Regulus invested his nearly three hour journey very well getting to know this now not-longer-stranger... but once again he didn't finish the bag.

And well, big is their surprise when they find out that they are going to the same place to see the same person, but that's a different story.

In case you are wondering about the crocheting chant

#ode to my own uncompleted tote bag #jegulus #regulus black #james potter #starchaser #sunseeker #james x regulus #jegulus microfic #microfics #marauders #len writes

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set-phasers-to-whump · 19 days ago

Text

decisions

prompt: forced choice

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hi this one got a bit longer than intended but such is. it's pre-ship and features a bit of whump for napoleon as well. hope you like!

Napoleon wakes up and before he so much as opens his eyes he ascertains that he’s tied up, quite severely, to a chair which is bolted to the floor. His bindings are rope, scratchy and thick. At least his shoes are still on and there is no water surrounding his feet. Small victories.

He opens his eyes and discovers that he’s not alone.

Illya’s sitting across from him, similarly tied up. He’s sweaty from effort, but his bonds appear unaffected, and it is at this point that Napoleon realizes that they’re not going to be getting out of this easily.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and Illya nods.

“You?”

He nods as well. Wonders what fate holds for them, knows it can hardly be pleasant.

The man who enters the room just then is not someone Napoleon knows. Nor Illya, from the looks of it. He smiles, quite friendly, and Napoleon is put deeply on edge.

The man stands directly in front of him. “Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Solo,” he says smoothly, which is another bad sign.

“Now. Let’s get straight into it. Left or right?”

“What?” This is decidedly not the sort of question he’d been expecting, and he can’t make heads or tails of it. The man’s hands are loose, so he’s hardly hiding any kind of nasty surprise, and there’s nothing in the room that makes this question make sense.

“You heard me. Left or right?”

“In regards to what, exactly?”

The man grins again. “Just choose.”

Napoleon shrugs as much as the bindings will allow. “Left, I suppose.”

The man whistles sharply, and a door at the back of the room opens. Another man enters, looking considerably more physically imposing. So he’s got minions, Napoleon thinks. Great.

“He wants the left,” reports the man in charge. His goon nods, slipping a length of metal pipe from out of his sleeve. Shit, Napoleon thinks, and braces himself for a hit.

Except it never comes. The minion, as Napoleon has already begun calling him, approaches Illya, and so suddenly that Napoleon cannot so much as cry out, he swings the pipe directly into Illya’s left ankle.

There’s an audible crunching sound, and Illya lets out a sharp breath. Napoleon just stares at him, shocked.

“What the hell?”

“Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” says the man in charge. His voice is flippant and yet belies an enormous amount of power.

Napoleon shuts up.

“Now then. Let’s let the real fun begin, shall we, Mr. Solo?”

“What do you want?”

Another unnervingly placid smile. “Only to hurt you.”

“Funny way of doing that, hitting him instead of me.”

The smile widens. “Oh, trust me. You’ll hurt plenty.”

Napoleon elects to ignore him, for the time being. He focuses instead on Illya, who is breathing heavily in the way he does when he’s trying to control a rather immense amount of pain. I’m sorry, Napoleon thinks, as if Illya will hear. I didn’t know that would happen.

“My next question, Mr. Solo, is this: waterboarding, or whipping?”

Napoleon blinks. Doesn’t answer. What the hell?

“I won’t repeat myself next time, and he’ll just end up getting both. Choose, for his sake.”

“You’re not—why not me?”

“I’m sure you’ll work it out. Now choose.”

Napoleon locks eyes with Illya, who looks back, unflinching. He blinks once, very deliberately, and Napoleon speaks before he can question it.

“Waterboarding.”

He knows Illya’s trained for this. They both have, in their time. This does absolutely nothing now. Napoleon’s heart beats wildly in his chest and there’s a sense of rage threatening to consume him as the minion approaches Illya with a towel and a bucket.

Watching his partner be waterboarded is one of the most painful things that Napoleon has ever experienced. The way he fights, absolutely futilely, as the towel is placed over his face, as the water is poured over. The way his body thrashes against the restraints. The way he coughs and gasps when the towel is pulled away, only to be replaced mere seconds later.

Waterboarding is supposed to make the victim want to speak, to share every secret they’ve got, but at the moment Illya isn’t so much as making a peep, while Napoleon feels like he’d spill everything he knows if they’d only stop.

“Stop!” he shouts, though he knows that they won’t listen.

“Shut up. Every time you speak without me telling you to, I’ll hurt him just that little bit more.”

To prove his point, the towel is replaced once more. Illya gasps for breath and it turns into a horrible coughing and spluttering as the water—the last of it, it looks like—is once again poured over his face.

When the towel is removed this time, it’s placed neatly onto a table, and the bucket is set onto the floor. Napoleon observes these things out of the corner of his eye, the bulk of his attention focused on Illya's coughing, shivering body across from him.

When the coughing at last subsides, the man approaches Napoleon again. He is so angry he can barely hear the words spoken to him over the pounding of blood in his head.

“Hammer or pliers?”

“Leave him. The fuck. Alone.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’d like to see you suffer a bit more, first.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Bigger men than you have tried. Choose, or shall I remind you of the rules again?”

Brief eye contact with Illya, another single blink. Napoleon hopes to god he’s reading this right, that Illya isn’t simply doing this coincidentally, that he’s at least allowing his partner the freedom to choose.

Choose. Right. He feels sick. Wishes, above all else, that it was him in Illya’s position, making decisions about his own fate.

“Hammer,” he says, and his voice sounds alien to his ears.

“I do hate to repeat a question, but needs must. Left or right?”

Another single blink.

“Left.”

He doesn’t want to watch. But he has to.

The hammer comes crashing down onto Illya’s left hand and there’s a sickening cracking noise and Illya makes this completely involuntary sound of pain and shock and Napoleon feels like his entire being is getting ripped in two.

“Stomach or chest?”

The single blink again. Napoleon cannot wrench his attention away from the tear that travels its way down Illya’s cheek.

That metal pipe makes a reappearance, slams into Illya’s stomach. There’s a loud exhale as the air is forced out of Illya’s lungs, and he gags harshly.

God, Napoleon is going to be sick. He’s sitting here watching and making decisions and Illya is getting tortured and he can’t do fucking anything about it.

He can feel blood trickling down his wrists from where he’s been straining against the ropes with every action taken against his partner. He focuses his attention on this infinitesimally small pain, hates himself for losing focus on Illya for even a second, but—

He wants nothing more than to break free of these restraints and kill this guy. Brutally, if necessary.

“Fingers or toes?”

He forces his attention back to Illya. Two blinks.

“Toes.”

The minion places his entire weight onto Illya’s left foot, the same one he’d previously smashed with the pipe, and Illya groans. Napoleon struggles harder against the ropes, without making it obvious what he’s doing.

When the minion at last steps off of Illya’s foot, his partner is crying. It’s involuntary, a pain response, and Napoleon knows this, and god, he understands. What the man had meant earlier, when he’d asked, why not me?

This is more painful than anything else they could do to him, by far.

“What you want?” Illya asks. It’s the first time he’s spoken and his voice is wrecked, all small and shaky and wrong.

The minion steps back and to the left, faces Illya, and the man in charge gets up into his space. They’re not looking, and Napoleon fights frantically against the ropes in this window of opportunity.

“Don’t speak.” There’s the sound of a slap, but Napoleon isn’t paying attention. He’s got the ropes off his wrists, and he’s untying the ones around his ankles as quickly as he can.

“Or else what?” Illya asks, and Napoleon knows he’s seen him, knows he’s doing what he needs to do so that they can get out of this.

There’s a dull thud and a wince.

“I suggest you don’t try to find out.”

He’s done it. The ropes are gone. He just has to get up, while their backs are still turned—

They’re turning back around. Fuck!

There’s no time to do anything, but then Illya says, “fuck you,” which takes Napoleon completely by surprise—he can count on one hand the number of times he’s heard Illya curse in English—and it takes the other men by surprise, too, because they both turn back around just before their eyes would’ve landed on Napoleon.

The hammer is picked back up and just as it’s being brought down onto Illya’s already destroyed hand, Napoleon flings himself out of the chair.

He tackles the minion first, not quite stopping the hammer but at least preventing it from doing maximum damage. He wrests the implement from its wielder’s grasp, smashes it into the man’s head. He goes limp immediately.

One down.

The other man, the mastermind of this horrific torture scheme, is standing above him with the metal pipe in his hands. He swings it down, and Napoleon just barely rolls out of the way. The pipe hits the body of the minion instead, adding insult to injury.

Napoleon leaps to his feet. The fight is harder than he would’ve expected, given the relatively small size of his opponent and his apparent unwillingness to do any of the truly nasty work.

Still, he gets there in the end. He sacrifices himself to a couple strong hits from the pipe, but then the hammer connects with the man’s skull and this wave of pure anger and adrenaline overtakes him.

He loses himself for a second. And then Illya’s saying, “it’s enough, Cowboy, stop,” and he opens his eyes and finds himself straddling a body which is only vaguely recognizable as Illya’s torturer.

He drops the hammer to the ground with a deafening clatter and then gets to his feet. His hands are covered in blood and he can taste it in his mouth.

He’s gone, is the first thing Napoleon thinks, untying Illya with trembling hands. He can’t hurt him anymore. Illya’s safe.

“I’m so sorry,” he says quietly, as he unties the ropes around Illya’s ankles. “God, Illya, I’m so sorry.”

“You did not hurt me,” Illya responds, wincing as Napoleon inadvertently brushes a hand against his injured ankle. “No reason to apologize.”

“He hurt you because of me.”

“No, he did this because of him. Come, we should leave.”

Napoleon wants to argue. Wants to apologize for the rest of his life, wants Illya to yell at him and tell him to go to hell, wants—

He wants to hold onto Illya forever and protect him, even though he knows Illya’s more than capable of protecting himself. He wants to be around Illya always, to threaten those that would come near him, try and harm him like they had today.

He doesn’t know what he wants, in short, and his heart is still pounding and he feels dizzy with relief and guilt and about a million other things he can only guess at.

Their getaway is slow-going. Illya can barely walk on his destroyed ankle, although he does his best. They limp out of the building, Napoleon with the hammer in hand lest anyone else should come crawling out of the woodwork.

But they meet no one. The path to their car is mercifully short, and Napoleon drives them back to their safehouse with his hands clenched firmly around the wheel so that they’ll stop shaking.

“It’s okay,” Illya says, quiet and sudden, when they’re about a mile away from their destination. “I know…I know you will blame yourself about this. But you did not do anything. It is not your fault.”

Napoleon suddenly finds himself blinking back tears. Get it together, he tells himself. It’s not you who was just tortured. At least not physically.

“I just sat there,” he all but whispers, after a beat. “They were torturing you, and I just sat there and gave them directions.”

“They made this decision. And you told them to do what I chose.”

“He said—he said he was hurting you to hurt me.”

“And?”

“That makes it my fault, Illya,” Napoleon says, and he can’t quite stop his voice from breaking.

“It is his fault,” Illya says, and there’s the familiar sureness in his voice that has heretofore been missing. “He wanted to hurt us. You did not make this decision.”

“But—”

“No. Not your fault. I do not blame you, you cannot blame you.”

Napoleon does not know how to argue against this. Even though the guilt feels like it is going to eat him alive.

They arrive back at the safehouse, and he helps Illya through the door. There’s about a million things that they need to do. Tend to Illya’s injuries. Contact Waverly. Pack and prepare for an evac.

Illya collapses immediately onto the couch. He’s damp with water and sweat and blood, his hand is swelling something awful, and his ankle must be faring similarly. He looks absolutely exhausted and pained, and Napoleon is about to start bustling around, gathering ice and bandages and alcohol and cotton balls, but then Illya lightly taps the space beside him.

“Sit with me?” he asks, and Napoleon thinks he’d do absolutely anything Illya asked of him right now.

He sits, looks at his partner. Illya is looking back at him, terribly vulnerable beneath the tiredness and hurt, and Napoleon feels himself begin to properly cry.

He shouldn’t be crying. He’s not even hurt, besides the scrapes around his wrists and the bruises from the pipe. But there’s nothing for it and no way of stopping now that he’s started.

“Napoleon,” Illya begins, but Napoleon cuts him off.

“Just—I don’t want to hurt you any more, but can I—can I touch you?”

It sounds pathetic and stupid but he just wants a physical reassurance that Illya’s here, still alive despite the torture and not even upset with him, after everything. That protective feeling is back, hot in his chest.

“Okay.”

He carefully pulls Illya towards him, gentle as he can be, attentive to any indication of discomfort.

He doesn’t get any. Quite the opposite, actually. Illya leans into him, warm and still trembling a bit, and Napoleon wraps an arm around him and just holds on.

thanks for reading! hope you liked <3

#whumptober2024 #no.23 #forced choice #fic #the man from uncle #torture #tied up #emotional whump #comfort #my writing #i say things #illya kuryakin #ough. still a bit sick and so mad about it.#also lazy about it and i need to not be. i got shit to do man! but instead i'm lying around rewatching slow horses lol #such is life. tomorrow i'll do real work. i must.

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cirilla-fiona-riannon · 10 months ago

Text

Heart, Exposed by an Aphrodisiac Epilogue

This is simply a fan translation and is not intended as a replacement for the game. Expect grammatical errors. Not 100% accurate.

Mitsuki: "You're really beautiful."

Galileo: "You've been repeating the same thing over and over again."

Mitsuki: "But I really can't help but think that way."

I expressed my true feelings, and he spoke while keeping me reflected in his eyes.

Galileo: "Your eyes appear to shine like stars to me."

Mitsuki: "Huh?"

His unexpected words made my heart flutter.

At the same time, one of his hands, which had been around my back, gently touched my cheek.

His long fingers traced the corners of my eyes, evoking a sweet, ticklish sensation.

(What's this sensation I'm feeling?)

Mitsuki: "Mmm."

Though I twitched in response to his gentle touch, he didn't release his hand.

Galileo: "I'm just observing. Stay still."

He gazed into my eyes as if observing the stars.

Galileo: "Your eyes seem to hold hope. They are as clear as the stars in the night sky."

(Is he really talking about my eyes like that?)

My chest tightened as I was overwhelmed with happiness.

Then, I sensed even more warmth from where he was touching me.

Galileo: "Your cheeks are turning red, and your eyes are getting moist."

His hand, which had been on my face, gradually moved down to my neck, and the supple, warm touch of his fingers made my heart beat so loudly that it felt like it might break.

He observed my unsettled state with keen interest.

Galileo: "I can feel your heartbeat getting faster."

Galileo: “You seem like you’re about to break down soon.”

His accurate assessment made my face flush with embarrassment.

Mitsuki: “It’s because of you.”

Galileo: “It’s probably because of the aphrodisiac.”

Mitsuki: “It’s not just that.”

(Even Galileo took it.)

(It's a little frustrating that I’m much more emotionally distraught than he is.)

Feeling dizzy and intoxicated, I realized that I’d lost my usual clear-headedness.

Despite being aware of it, I couldn’t help myself and ended up blurting out things I usually wouldn’t say.

Mitsuki: “What about you? Don’t you feel anything when we’re like this?”

I gently placed my hand on his chest, and he twitched slightly in response.

(I wouldn’t usually do these kinds of actions.)

It was as if my rationality had melted away with the aphrodisiac, and I couldn’t stop myself anymore.

Galileo: “..........”

Mitsuki: “Am I the only one feeling nervous?”

To confirm his heartbeat, I slid my palm over his chest, but he grabbed my hand.

Galileo: “..........”

(More...)

Suddenly, my vision flipped, and before I knew it, he had pushed me down.

Galileo: “Haa…”

His warm breath escaping between his lips made my body hot.

Confused, I shifted my gaze and suddenly felt his touch tracing slowly along my neck.

Mitsuki: "Ah..."

(Somehow, it feels even more...)

Although his touch felt the same, his hand's movement felt more enchanting, stirring up sweet desires inside me.

Perhaps because of that, heat continued to well up from the depths of my body unceasingly. His fingers then traced my collarbone and moved down to my chest.

(No way.)

In that moment of faint anticipation, he withdrew his hand swiftly and sighed as if reining himself in.

Galileo: "You seem out of sorts. Until the effects of the potion wear off, we should maintain an appropriate distance."

(He's right.)

Even though I think so myself, feeling his warmth slip away brought about a sense of loneliness.

(Is this also because of the aphrodisiac? I don't want to be away from him.)

Driven by the surging emotions, I sat up and tightly embraced him.

Galileo: "Didn't you just hear what I said?"

Though he seized my arms to pull himself from my embrace, his grip feels oddly gentle, as if he's not entirely rejecting me.

That's why I find it even harder to let go.

Mitsuki: "I heard it, but I just want to stay like this a little longer."

Mitsuki: "Just a little longer, please."

I gazed up at his beautiful eyes, pleading silently.

Galileo: ".........."

Then he quietly lowered his hand.

Galileo: "Just for now."

Mitsuki: "Okay."

As I held onto his body, I felt his warmth and racing heartbeat.

(I probably won't be forgiven for this.)

By tomorrow, Galileo will probably return to his usual self.

As I think about it, my chest tightens painfully, and I hear a faint voice from above.

Galileo: "I have no intention of seeking anyone's warmth."

His voice, which seemed like it might disappear, sounded somewhat pained.

(Still, I want to know more about him.)

(I want to get closer to him.)

Will there ever be a day when I can understand him without the influence of the aphrodisiac?

Thinking about the day when I might be able to get closer to his heart, I gently close my eyes.

Part 1 ╎ Part 2 ╎ Premium

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp jp #ikevamp galileo #ikevamp translations #cybird

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fumifooms · 3 months ago

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Don't really reblog or leave comments all that often, but I've been reading your Delicious in Dungeon deep analysis posts for a few days now and honestly I can't wait for that Kabru (& Mickbell) party rundown. They're a fine set of adventurers, if in dire need of people more capable of handling monsters.

Speaking of Mickbell's relationship with Kuro in particular – I think it does generally tend to be perceived from Mickbell's side, whether positively or negatively (which makes sense to some degree, since Kuro's perspective wasn't presented in full until the World Guide), as if Kuro isn't himself a maladjusted adult who spent an unspecified amount of time starving in a cage, his family situation unclear beyond "permanently out of contact", and is yet as overprotective of Mick as Mick is of him. I do recall a panel where he furrows his brows at the sight of Mick sitting on Inutade's shoulders, but other than that he is less aggressively isolating and self-insistent and more... coddling, I'd say, or overtly abiding. Kabru should have found Mickbell some books on kobold language tbh.

This is not intended as a criticism of the earlier webweaving post so I apologize if it does have shades of passive-aggressiveness – it's an incredibly on-point assessment of Mickbell's relationship with Kuro and his reasoning. Thank goodness Mickbell isn't a master magician, or else he'd make for a rather tasty dungeon lord (and Kuro would probably end up in a cage again, if not worse).

[context: ask sent on april 14th, soon after I posted my Canines web weaving]

Don’t worry, I loved getting your ask and didn’t read in any hostility! I didn’t want to reply before finishing my party masterpost-analysis (🤡 man it’s been too many months) but Kuro fans are begging for scraps and clamoring for Kuro meta and content everywhere I look including my askbox and man. Man yeah I should throw a bone you guys’ way at least in the meantime. The thing though you see is, one does not simply talk about Kuro without trying to cover every ground and every single piece of info we get. I’ll end up repeating myself a lot on this in my longer upcoming post but that’s just how analysis tends to be, so flash Kuro segment focusing on the Mickbell-Kuro dynamic

In a way I talk less about Kuro because compared to Mickbell his situation feels more straightforward to me somehow, the abused is usually the one who gets empathized with and liked more over the abuser so I don’t feel the same need to explore and explain. But… Kuro is not only generally hard to read but has so many layers. Kuro is both a self-effacing follower who’s communicative but polite & behaved and somewhat stoic, making it hard to gauge how much he’s voicing himself or even repressing, and functionally devoid of the ability to speak most of the time. He emotes in doglike ways but mostly because, lacking words universal body langue and cues like growling are the only way he can emote and communicate, not unlike how tone of voice is what’s important when talking to say, a pet dog. Kuro’s extra where he talks with Kabru is truly the Kuro bible, without it we’d have a much kess clear vision of how he lives his situation with Mickbell. And… It’s whiplash inducing and disconcerting when we see then that Kuro has everything rationalized, that Mickbell is still an angel in his mind and this is normal, just a guy who’s a little insecure that he must bend every which way for if needed.

Mickbell & Kuro’s relationship is fascinating because they each have a totally different view of the relationship. Mickbell thinks he holds the reigns, he’s the employer, the master, he’s manipulating Kuro consciously to some degree and withholds things like salary or permission to talk with others from him, and he thinks this is how he gets Kuro to not leave him. Kuro has seen through the matrix and pinpointed Mickbell’s insecurities and has decided he must do everything in his power to never make him anxious or upset and be his emotional support, EXCEPT that hilariously he seems to genuinely think Mickbell is a kid. He’s 22. Like, tallman equivalent of 27. Kuro is 18. Kuro has chosen to stay consciously and keeps choosing to stay because he wants to, because he’s chosen to devote himself to Mickbell’s wellbeing. In Kuro’s eyes, before being employer and employee, Kuro is the guardian and protector of this sensitive kid that he must follow and protect at all costs. What everyone is seeing as wage slavery doesn’t even register to Kuro because he’s never really thinking about the money, he dgaf. Kuro could choose to snap Mickbell in half with his jaw at any second and is more emotionally mature than Mickbell, but otherwise the power imbalance both financially and manipulation wise and using whatever he can to keep Kuro where he wants him is 100% tipping the scale towards Mickbell.

The amount of miscommunication they have for being each other’s most important person + person they spend most time with is insane, but tbh I think part of it is that Mickbell is terrified of what would happen when Kuro becomes fluent in common. Not only because Kuro would have the whole world of opportunities open up to him then (and in Mickbell’s mind, who would pick him over the world?), but because then the relationship would inevitably shift, Mickbell would lose some of that power imbalance, he would have to do more listening and both of them would have to learn to know each other better, and rectify wrong assumptions. It’d remind Mickbell that Kuro is truly his own person with a lot of thoughts and it’d make him feel less safe in being able to keep the relationship secure…

This all is why I’m less into mickuro in general, because unless Kuro puts his foot down one day for both their sakes, the status quo would just… Keep going, on and on. Canon supports this too, since Kuro’s profile in the complete adventurer’s bible in the post-canon blurb mentions very pointedly he’s still being worked for peanuts by Mickbell. Kuro being able to speak fully would make it a bit healthier I think like I talked, but Kuro would still be complacent to Mickbell’s unhealthy obsessive needs and man… Man……. Mickbell feels safe only when taking and Kuro wants nothing more than to give, if that makes sense, and that might be a shaky decent enough way to live for them but it also is far from healthy the way it is. I also don’t think getting that house he wants would fix Mickbell. Could even be a huge breakoff point if Kuro mentions his dreams is travelling around.

So yes I definitely agree with your assessment of Kuro being coddling and overly abiding. Both of them are very protective of each other like you said, the difference being that Kuro is selfless and even self-sacrificing with it meanwhile Mickbell is more selfish and possessive. (Although his overcontrolling nature does to some degree come from a protective place. Which would especially if he sees Kuro as helpless because of his language barrier or the way they met. But moments that go towards this is him being worried for Kuro after the chimera fight, after being stung by an aquatic monster in a monster tidbit, Mickbell often mentioning being worried the union or Kabru will steal Kuro away in a borderline trafficking undertone. Beyond just the care he shows him on the regular like washing and brushing him for hours ofc. Mickbell is not uncaring, his worrying and insecurities just bring his worst instincts out of him. Ehem Mickbell tangent over, my apologies.)

I know Kuro also being possessive is a common reading, but I don’t think I really agree 🤔 The support for this is the way he frowns at Mickbell being on Inutade’s shoulders, but I think that and the other hostile over Mickbell behavior he shows fall more in live with being protective. From Kuro’s perspective, Mickbell (the kid who must be protected who might fall and break his neck at any moment or something) is now on the shoulders of this very tall stranger he just witnessed pull off a sneak attack Laios’ party with ease, not something considered particularly honorable or trustworthy, and now she’s handling Kuro’s most precious thing in the world? Yeah better watch them like a hawk. Also remember, this is on top of his language barrier meaning he hasn’t had the same opportunity as others to converse with them and understand what they’ve been saying and thus form bonds outside of "my party trusts you for now so I’ll follow their lead." He also explicitely distrusts Izutsumi. I’ll also say though, I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say Kuro doesn’t know what to do with himself when he’s not looking after Mickbell, there’s the secret studies sure, but his whole life is always centered on him otherwise, so I can definitely imagine this being out of a restless feeling as well, though if that qualifies as possessiveness depends on the behavior it causes imo.

Other times where he growls or such is also defensive in nature. If anything, Kuro unlike Mickbell with him seems very alright with Mickbell making friends with the party and forming relationships outside of him. This does go in line with his "Mickbell is just a sensitive young lad I must do my best to protect until he feels safer and better, I want him to be happy and healthy" mentality. Near the end, we even see Kuro encouraging Mickbell to go towards other half-foots and implicitly join the half-foot union, the very same that Mickbell has told him would take Kuro away from Mickbell. So if it’s for Mickbell’s sake, even if Kuro might feel afraid of change or losing him to some degree (I don’t think he feels threatened bc he doesn’t think Mick would leave him), Kuro is even willing to endanger his situation/relationship/status quo with Mickbell.

Kuro is peak guardian angel……… 🥺😭

You’re also right Kuro is very maladjusted, with his past it feels very unsurprising Kuro would end up like this. Having a language barrier alone is extremely isolating: not being able to really communicate with others is his default with or without Mickbell, so it isn’t innately alarming or anormal to him, even when someone actively tries to make it harder for him. This is of course without mentioning the experience of being taken away from your homeland suddenly, and brougth against your will to a country you know nothing of and have no resources or knowledge to live in. Who knows how long he’s been in a cage— and as we see the living conditions were awful, similar to Izutsumi’s when she was part of a freak show. He was visibly starved and food was all the payment he could have wished for and that + following this guy who got him out of his chains were all the motivations he needed. And this makes sense for the overprotectiveness on both ends, Mickbell is all too aware of how particularly vulnerable kobolds are as targets and Kuro’s second interaction was mauling a guy who was trying to hurt Mickbell. Mickbell did "hire" Kuro as a bodyguard first and foremost, after all. Mickbell was scared of Kuro at first, echoing how he reminds Kuro during canon that his snarling is scary and not to do it. Even at first, the professional aspect to their relationship is a very shaky facade, it’s always been more like mutual aid that evolved into life partnership. Kuro was used to being alone, Kuro was used to having nothing and being starved and beaten, Kuro was used to having everyone dismiss him as a beast that’s not worth even trying to talk to, so of course Mickbell seems heavensent.

Man. The fandom has been so scary esp with the anime wave, Mickbell discourse is something I never expected would be so divisive 😭 Sometimes I hear things about Kuro like "he’s too smart to be abused" which is not only as a broad statement untrue but also harmful and vile. Abuse is complicated!!! You are bending over backwards to justify literal Mother Gothel behavior!!! No one is telling you you can’t sob over Mickbell and want mickbell & kuro fluff oh my god let’s just not normalize well known abuse tactics such as isolating them and controlling their finances and social circle.

Ok fun last ending note, it’s also interesting to note their dreams for the future and directly contridactory. When they have some money saved up, Mickbell wants to settle down with a house with Kuro, and Kuro wants to travel the world with Mickbell. Ohh to be a guy who’s been denied ressources all your life and has lived in constant danger who now wants nothing more than to have the ideal of a stable peaceful life, vs being a guy who’s been kidnapped and traded around and denied your freedom for so long who wants to see the world you’ve always been kept away from…. They’re each other’s world but they’re not a place they can live in, not sustainably not while thriving…….

Ahh, mickuro, mickuro, the ouroboros of codependence…

#OOOOH KURO MY KURO MICKBELL MY MICKBELL…..#Kuro #kuro dungeon meshi #yodan dungeon meshi #Mickbell tomas #mickuro #analysis #Dungeon meshi #spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #Ask #Am i the only one who had never noticed Kuro’s face and sparkles in that last panel oh my god they’re sending me #Truly them summarized #Kuro is so noble… Dog best friend of man but is man best friend of dog is the question……….#Btw when i say mickuro flip a coin on if i mean it platonically or romantically. I used to think it was a messier mix but now i generally #see it as queerplatonic. With familial undertones as adventurer’s bible suggests #I’d like to talk more about that and a romantic mckuro take one of these days but man this got long #I’ve been dedicating my month to mickbell plush. Embroidering is going decently well. His hair color is so fcking hard to find fabric for #To other kuro anon askers: I see you!! You have no idea how many thousands of words have been brainstormed on discord idk how to present #all the mickrin timelines coherently snd decently concisely

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