#was like. are you not acutely aware of every single moment you are awake and in motion even if it is excruciatingly boring. and jasper

[writhe]

[timidpumpkin]

Little Light (Stucky x reader)

Part 4: Retribution

Pairing: Dark!Stucky x f!reader

Word count: 5.8k

Summary: While you're left feeling hopelessly confused, it's clear to Steve and Bucky that you have a lot to learn about being their good little girl.

Warnings for this part: Dark!Stucky, Daddy!Stucky, Forced age regression, DDLG themes, Female reader, Manipulation, Violence against reader, Being tied up, Hints to sexual themes, This one's dark folks, Mean Steve and Bucky, 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI

As always, lemme know if I missed any!!

Notes: Thank you to everyone who has supported me since I posted Part 1 many many months ago. I love you all and appreciate your support and kind words more than I can express. I'm super nervous to post this one so i'm really hoping everyone likes it. ^.^

Tagging: @ppatricia34me @canyonmooncreations @haleyhunwritess

(lemme know if you wanna be added to my taglist!)

P.S. Please feel free to comment/ask questions as they are a million times appreciated as I ALWAYS love to read you guy's thoughts!

(pictures are not my own)

Warm. 

The cozy temperature surrounding you beckons you to sink further into its comfortable drowsy feeling. It feels nice–good. It’s comfortable as you pull at the blanket wrapped around you to cover the cold tip of your nose. 

When you do though, adjusting as you move, adrenaline rushes through you. 

All sense of tranquility leaps out of your body to be replaced by standing hairs and cold blood as you realize you’re not napping in your bed. 

No–you’re napping on your capture’s lap. 

Hazy memories from just a bit ago replay in your mind. The picture they paint is fogged up by an overcast of intense emotion. 

Worry. Fear. Shock.

The panic you felt is now an almost disembodied ghost, content with hiding in the closet as it knows you can’t handle its presence anymore. 

Not right now. 

It would be too much. Your body and mind having already fought till every single cell within you is doused with exhaustion. 

The wispy wave of relief you felt–feel–now molds into another feeling. It rips the comfort your body so desperately clings to at this moment of peril and unkindly reminds you that you shouldn’t have let your guard down. 

But you did. 

You–as you see it–involuntarily allowed the very person, no, the very people who have snatched you, took you from your, albeit, unexcitingly ordinary–but otherwise stable–life, to soothe the very predicament they have forced you in.

As you recall their hushed voices anchoring you, steady hands smoothing your trembling ones, and sweet comfort that you somehow found in their pacifying of you, the one emotion you painfully feel now is…embarrassment. It aligns with disgrace you feel within yourself for giving into…this. 

You stiffen, body frozen in place as you become acutely aware of your situation again. Both the larger reality of being held hostage, and the other–ever so slightly smaller issue–that currently places your head nestled right in your captor’s lap. Bucky’s lap.

This is what you found so comforting in your sleep state? 

Head wedged exactly between his legs, resting heavily against his lower half. Your hands curled up. You stare at them. They lay right in front of your view. Almost too close to your vision where you watch them resting, palms nestled down between his thighs.

But it’s not just your position. It’s his too. One of his arms is resting against you, draped over your side, his hand sprawled just at your navel, adding to the welcoming warmth you felt upon waking up. The other, languidly stroking your head with his thumb. 

It’s an intimate position–close–in more ways than one. It’s not one you should be in, it’s not one you’re in voluntarily–despite what your last memories torturously remind you.

“You get enough sleep there, princess?” Bucky’s voice calls. You haven’t spoken a word but he must be able to tell you’re awake. Whether it’s from how your muscles have tensed, or the way you’ve been holding your breath since, is unknown to you.

You can’t see him. Your eyes are too intensely focused on how your hands rest with faux intimacy at his thighs and the realization of how long you’ve been in this position makes your lungs feel as if they don’t work anymore.

“You really scared Dada you know,” he moves his hand from your navel to caress your arm as he lends forward a bit to get a better view of your face. Still, frozen in place, you don't meet his gaze. Your self-preservation response only knows how to freeze now as you don’t move, but keep looking forward, completely unsure of how to tackle the situation you’re in. 

Waves of memory come back to you. It’s blurry as you remember how scared you were. You remember how Steve calmed you. How his voice led you to placidity. How could that be? It’s what led you to the position you're in now.

Vulnerable. Again. And yet, you let it happen. 

But you didn’t, no–you couldn’t–you don't remember exactly with anxiety fogging up your memory. 

You knew one thing for sure; you couldn’t give in. 

“Not going to ignore Daddy now, are you?” Bucky questions, taking his hand to your chin and facing it upwards so you’re looking up to him. Somehow, it’s still shocking how large he looks. You feel as though you've somehow been shrunk down a third of your size when looking at him. His hand is mostly just ghosting your face, guiding it up as he looms over you, one cheek smooshed against his navel now as his hand remains on the other.

“Hmm?” he questions, his pointer finger tapping methodically on your cheek, prompting you to answer. “Don’t tell me you forgot your manners already now, doll.”

“I-I wanna go home,” You try to sit up, not exactly sure why you said that, as recent events have told you already it’s not what he wants to hear. But you’re just not sure about anything at the moment. He looks at you with a displeased look, face dropping into an unkind frown.

His hold on you tightens; his forearm presses down on your chest lightly, silently reminding you that trying to move would be a bad idea. You don’t fight it, knowing you wouldn’t be able to succeed in getting up even if your life depended on it.

“You are home.” he declares curtly, before swiftly picking you up, dizzying you as he turns you around. You feel as though you’ve barely blinked before you’re in the new position. Your back is to his stomach as he situates you on his lap. His right arm wraps snugly around your waist, firmly securing you against his body. His left hand reaches in front and clasps around your cheeks, the cool metal instantly raising goosebumps on your once warm face as he slowly tilts your head back and forth for you, forcing you to look around the room. 

“You see all this?” he lilts with a scolding undertone. “This is your home. All of it.” he pauses before–somehow–squeezing you closer to him. He brings his head to the side of your ear. His chest flush against your back, engulfing your body, and encapsulating your very being with how he maintains his grip on your face. His breath dances lightly against your ear as he speaks, adding to the chilling feeling overtaking your insides.

“Now what would you call a house where two Daddies take care of their little baby?” He speaks in a low, hushed tone. Not a sweet one–like the hushed subdued one Steve used on you just hours ago–No, Bucky’s tone is polar to that. It’s mocking, and sardonic as you can almost feel the smirk gracing his face without even looking at him. It’s as if he’s asking the most rhetorical question known to man. “Hmm?” 

You feel your own breathing pick up. It becomes evident with how every millimeter your chest moves, your lungs have to fight against the pressure of Bucky’s heavy arms around you. Your mind is blank as fright starts to fill it instead. How were you supposed to answer that? 

When you take too long to respond, Bucky promptly pinches at your side and simultaneously squeezes your cheeks harder, causing a retaliatory yelp out of you. 

“Ah! I-I don’t know!” you squirm around at the pain that certainly doesn’t help you think. 

He promptly covers your mouth with a shush, his sizable metallic hand swallowing up your face as you squeak dully now into his solid palm. 

“No yelling now, doll.” He turns your face towards him so he can look at you as he speaks. He glances quickly at the closed bedroom door before looking back at you. “Answer Daddy’s question.” He directs, “I know you’re a smart girl.” he grins at you, and though–in most contexts–that would sound like a compliment, his tone is decidedly condescending as he continues. “But I’ll repeat my question, just in case my silly little girl forgot.” he smiles snidely at you for a brief moment before continuing. “What do you call a house where two Daddies take care of their little girl?” He says the question more slowly this time, eerily calm but just as patronizing as he goes.

You stare at him with wide eyes as he carefully removes his hand from your mouth. He doesn’t have to speak the words as his eyes alone tell you not to yell again. His fingers remain on your face, retaking their previous position of gripping your chin as he looks at you expectantly.

“...home…” you breathe meekly, voice almost cracking as you do, hoping that was the right answer. 

“Good girl,” he roughly pats at your cheek with a slightly more authentic smile. “that’s exactly right.” he praises. You then hear some movement coming from the bedroom. Bucky glances that way before speaking to you again with a stern glare in his eye. “Now when Dada comes in here, you won't say any of those silly little thoughts, will you?” he asks presumptuously. You shake your head agreeably, and when Bucky’s head tilts with a clench of his jaw, you answer promptly out loud.

“Yes, Daddy” you quiver. He smiles at you, and as if on cue, Steve emerges from the door. There's a towel around his neck and he ruffles it around his hair before spotting you, his face lighting up when he does.

“Hi there angel,” he beams and leans down to you, instantly taking in the sight in front of him. 

Your adorable frame sitting atop his partner's lap. You looked so perfect right there. As if you were the last puzzle piece missing his entire life, now fitting together so seamlessly that it just looks like a painting. A beautiful one. Steve isn’t sure how they went without you before. Your soft face still holds a frayed look. His poor girl. He was hoping a little bit of rest would ease your frazzled little mind.

“You feeling a bit better after your nap?” Steve asks with a loving tone as he carefully picks you up from Bucky’s lap. He situates you so that you are on his hip, one arm supporting your bottom with legs wrapped around his side as he guides your arms around his neck. You fit so nicely around him like this. He almost wishes he could stop time and freeze this moment forever. Being able to hold you like this, he’s never felt so whole, so complete. You feel tense in his arms, but he knows one day…that won’t be the case. You’ll lean fully in, wholly relying on and giving yourself to them both. He’s eager for every moment leading to it and each subsequent instant after. 

Steve’s cold and wet hair tickles your arms. Being so close, you can’t help but notice the crisp comforting aroma that emits from his warm skin. 

For some reason, you look to Bucky as if he holds the answer to Steve’s question. He just glares at you with a slight scowl that dares you to misbehave before standing up after too long of silence on your part. 

“She’s still feeling a bit confused.” Bucky caresses you, palm enveloping the side of your face. “Huh, doll?” 

“Awh…” Steve joins in on stroking your face by soothing the back of your head. “well that’s okay angel. Babies get confused so easily.” he says with that underlying patronizing but sweet tone he uses. “Why don’t you let Dada check you, huh?” he asks while looking you up and down. You then feel all blood draining from your face as your eyes go wide, having no idea what he means by that. 

You look between him and Bucky frantically as Steve gently grabs one of your hands from behind his neck. You instinctively try pulling away but his grip tightens before you’re able to. 

“Now now, don’t be scared,” Steve assures sweetly, a stark contrast to the death grip on your hand. “Dada just needs to look at those pesky little marks we had to leave on you last night,” he explains while unraveling you from him and setting you back down on the couch where he kneels in front of you. Your body trembles in anticipation–for what exactly, doesn’t matter. 

You can’t control it as he diligently peels your socks off and rolls your leggings up to look underneath. He takes his time tracing the deformed marks with his fingertips, lifting up your ankles as he goes before making his way to your arms. He tugs on them gently in front of you and repeats his previous examination as if he’s mapping out every little laceration. “You don’t want any more of these…do you, babygirl?” Steve lilts, an ever so slightly threatening tone lacing his otherwise calm voice as he presses his fingers down, digging just harshly enough into where a bruise must be forming and causing you to jolt at the pain.

“Ah!-n-no!” you yelp pitifully quick at the discomfort.

“No…what?” Steve prods with false grace before pressing harder into your skin.

“N-no Dada!…ah!...please.” you shakily breathe the last word with a plea, pathetically pulling on your arms that don’t move an inch under his hold.

“Good girl,” he praises with a mischievous smile, and unclenches his painful grip, but doesn’t let go completely, instead, keeping a firm hold on you. 

He steadily lifts your wrists up…to his lips. They ghost your skin as he glints at you with a soft smirk before placing slow…slow kisses along the marked-up lines. 

Warm lips meet the welts that are painted all across and up your arms from where you were bound–corporal reminders of what disobeying meant–he trails each one of them, dragging his lips and dousing each inch of burning skin with tender kisses, his grip remaining its powerful hold so you remain immobile. 

When he makes his way to your upper arm, you physically resist from full-on screaming. A quick glance to Bucky with your sorrowful eyes reveals no mercy from him. He just glares at you, a deadpan look on his face but a teasing smirk in his eyes that dares you to make a noise. 

Steve lifts his head up to face you after planting his last kiss on your upper arm, just a hair's breadth from your face. Your head has already pushed itself back as far as it’ll go as the rest of your body is ensnared by his that hovers atop yours. Thick air surrounds you as your trembles turn to full-on shaking, watching him as his eyes don’t even meet yours. His blown pupils are intensively fixated on your lips now.

They look so soft.

Time itself seems frozen, all except a slow-motion icy droplet that falls from the tips of his hair. It lands atop soft cotton, dampening the fabric on your chest that ripples chills throughout you. He follows it, dark eyes lowering to where sensitive skin is hidden by the dainty onesie Bucky dressed you in earlier. You feel heat taking over the arctic sensation within you as he looks at your body with what you can only prescribe as desire–want.

But to your–very minuscule–relief he looks back up to your eyes, and gives you a quick smile, before leaning back on his knees again in front of you with a satisfied smile adorning his face.

“Might take a while for those to heal up,” he remarks, “but don’t worry, Daddy and I will give them lots of kisses to help them heal.” he smiles at you. 

“What do you say, doll?” Bucky speaks up, crossing his arms. 

A confused and worried look that causes your eyebrows to furrow comes over your face, unsure of what he wants when you’ve barely gotten your heart to stop pounding from the previous predicament.

Bucky decides–for now–he’ll key you in. Mostly because he doesn’t like seeing his Stevie all upset when you don’t do as you were told. 

He mouths a “thank you” with a cock of his head motioning towards Steve below him. 

“Th-thank you…D-dada” you squeak, voice uncontrollably shaky. 

“Oh, such a good girl. My good little girl,” Steve beams at you before standing up. “Oh…poor thing,” he remarks while looking down at your trembling form. “You must be freezing,” he states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Dada will go get you a sweater. Stay right here,” he instructs before trailing off. 

When he comes back, there's more than just an extra garment in his hand. 

“Now later you can play upstairs all you want, but right now,” he speaks while setting down a few colorful-looking books and a box of crayons on the coffee table. “Daddy and I need to watch you and make sure you stay safe,” He then motions for you to move your arms up so he can put the sweatshirt he brought for you on. He carefully moves your arms and head through the holes and then leads you to the coffee table. “You can color as long as you like, angel, just make sure to tell us if you need anything, like water…or juice, okay?”

You nod your head complacently at him while he holds your hand looking down at you.

“Okay-I mean-I-yes…Dada” you fumble before kneeling down on the carpet yourself in front of the variety of coloring books. 

You don’t want to color. But–genuinely–what choice do you have? You could protest, but it wouldn’t lead anywhere beneficial. 

You scan the playful books in front of you, trying to find some solace in the fact that maybe focusing on this would at least mean less nerve-wracking interactions with…them. 

It shouldn't matter–which picture you settle on–with your brain still rattled from before, only you can’t help but feel choosy about the drawing you pick. You flip through the books, dog-earing the ones that pique your interest before settling on a foresty scene that depicts two large sleeping wolves and a little rabbit nestled right in the middle. 

For some perplexing reason, the crayon box decides it doesn’t want to be opened by your frail fingers. Steve quickly notices your frustrated struggle with it and instructs you to hand it to him so he can open it for you. You groan at the box and mutter something about how you ‘got it.’ 

You don’t see his eye squint and eyebrow raise as he watches you fumble with it for a moment longer, but you do feel him taking the box from your hands. 

“I don’t want you hurting those precious little fingers of yours now,” He smoothly opens the box and hands it back to you with a pet to your head. 

At some point, Bucky notices your tired posture and offers you a pillow to sit on before moving the coffee table closer to the couch so you can rest your back on the cushiony sofa. He moves it effortlessly as if the table wouldn’t break your back if you tried to move it. 

You mumble an assenting “thank you daddy” to which Bucky responds. “You’re welcome, sweet girl” with a wink and you withhold from sticking your tongue out at him.

Either one or both of them remain in the room with you for the rest of the evening, checking on you every so often. You attempt to keep your attention on remaining within the lines when you color, but you can’t help the way your unnerved hands still shake, causing you–to your annoyance–to occasionally strike outside the lines. 

By the time the sun has long set, and the only thing illuminating the paper in front of you is warm artificial light, you find yourself yawning with your head sideways on the table as you color. Whiffs of savory smells dance through your nose as Bucky has been in the kitchen for the last little bit preparing dinner.

“Getting sleepy babygirl?” Steve asks, peering down at you and your drawings. You shrug your shoulders, unsure of which answer would allow you the most leniency. 

“Oh, that one is just perfect,” he remarks while bending over and picking up the forest scene you colored first. It was hidden amongst other drawings that you had shuffled to the side. He holds it up and takes a good look at it. “You did such a good job,” he compliments. “I think this one deserves a place on the fridge” he boasts.

You turn your head back and watch in curiosity as he really does make his way to the kitchen and secures it with a little magnet. He stands back and smiles in satisfaction while you go back to coloring, feigning that you never even noticed the proud expression radiating off his body, and positively pretending that your insides didn’t go soft for a brief moment watching him. 

Steve and Bucky chatter while setting the table. You try to tunnel in on their voices but you can’t exactly make out what they’re saying as they speak quite lowly to each other. 

Steve makes his way to you and takes your hand to guide you to the table. He sets you in the seat furthest away from the door as they both sit rather closely to you–practically trapping you in. You poke at your otherwise appetizing plate as you have little desire to eat with your stomach still turned in tangled knots. 

They both encourage you to eat throughout, but you only manage to get a few bites down. Neither of them look particularly happy with you and your full plate. Nevertheless, they stop pushing after a bit and share a knowing look that you can’t make out the meaning of. 

You huff a quiet sigh of relief when they take your plate and start cleaning the kitchen, silently feeling as though you won this trivial round of control.

Bucky catches you from the corner of his eye as you take it upon yourself to get out of your chair. He tenses, preparing to snatch you before you can move until he realizes you’re only going to the living room, opposite of where the front door is. He decides to just watch you for a few moments as you go back to coloring with criss-crossed legs.   

Innocent little thing. His naive little doll shading away, having not a clue in your pretty little head of how erroneous it was to make your own decisions like that. It really was much too soon for you to truly understand what consequences will come when trying to think for yourself. He can’t exactly blame you though. His poor little baby had to do it for so long before they found you. It’s probably why you’re benignly coloring away with not an idea in your head of what’s really in store for your life here. Such a sweet, sweet little girl they had. All to themselves. Forever now.

He observes how you ferociously analyze and juxtapose the colors before you, even testing them on other miscellaneous paper before choosing the right one for the job. 

He already knows you better than you can even comprehend. He knows you’ve likely already thought you’ve gotten away with it.

“What do you think you’re doing little girl?” Bucky’s scolding voice startles you, causing you to jump a little in your spot. After just a second, he roughly yanks you up by your arm, spinning you around to face him as he holds you. “Did Daddy tell you you could leave the table? Hmm? Did Dada?” he fumes, the sudden escalation in action and tone making you want to just cry. 

“I-I-” you fumble, squirming uncomfortably below him. “I thought-”

“Oh I don’t think you were thinking anything in that silly little head of yours,” he chastises while pinching one of your cheeks harshly with his free hand. “And did you really think you could get away with not eating?”

“Ah!-” you fight, struggling against him, confused and disoriented on why he’s suddenly being so harsh when you thought you were off the hook. 

“Hey-hey, it’s okay,” you hear Steve speaking up behind him. “Let me talk to her Buck,” he says, allowing Bucky to let go of your arm and cheek. You tearfully rub at your hurt cheek while Steve kneels down to your level. “Sweet girl…remember yesterday when daddy gave you apple juice?” he asks, circling his hand behind your ear and gently cupping the cheek that Bucky previously inflicted harshly. You nod smally, glancing away around the room as you recall the unfond memory of being bottle-fed against your will. “Good, then you should know that little girls need their nutrients. And that means no skipping dinner,” he explains with a kind voice that makes you feel as if he's quite literally talking to a child.

“I-okay…Dada” you add, grateful for Steve at least being gracious enough as to not yell at and pinch you like Bucky just was. 

“Good girl,” he smiles at you before telling you to sit tight on the couch while he goes to get your dinner. You sit there, a bit perplexed on how he planned on giving you a meal when you’re pretty sure you saw Bucky scrape the remnants of your food into the trashcan. 

Steve returns with no plate in hand and sits a bit away from you, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion until you see it. 

You watch in horror as he reveals a milky white bottle that he shakes in his hand while speaking to you.

“Come here,” he beckons, patting his spacious thigh. You grimace at the granule liquid that swirls around in the bottle, not unlike the one Bucky used on you yesterday. If you didn't know better–which you don’t–you’d say it quite literally looks like baby formula.

“Uhm…I just…” you trail off, trying to come up with a reason, any reason not to be literally bottle-fed like you were yesterday. “I’m-I’m really not hungry-my-my stomach hurts,” you reason clumsily, but truthfully as well since the only thing filling your stomach right now is queasiness. Most of it coming from your situation, but the grainy texture swirling around in the bottle certainly doesn’t help your appetite either. “And-and I can just eat the other stuff,” you add frantically while looking back to the kitchen and wringing your hands.

“Now this is going to help my sweet girl feel a lot better and sleep real tight,” Steve remarks, completely ignoring your words and requests. 

“I-I said I'm not hungry.” you say a bit louder, but with a mild tone as to not sound too combative. 

“And I said this will help you sleep,” he asserts while dabbing the tip of the bottle on his wrist. “Now come sit on Dada’s lap,” he demands while patting his thigh again. You shake your head while subtly scooting away from him. 

“Mmm-mmm” you hum a no while sliding back even further. “Please, I don’t wan-”

“Did Dada ask what you wanted?” he cuts you off with a cock to his head at you. “No,” he shakes his head, answering his own question patronizingly. “I didn’t. You don’t get to decide what’s good for you. Only Daddy and I know that. Now I won’t ask again. Come here. Now.” he insists sternly. You debate quickly in your head, weighing out your limited options. When you still sit there not moving an inch, Steve sighs and reaches for you. He grabs your arm and pulls you towards him.

“No!” you say in response to the action. He’s not necessarily yanking or being particularly rough, but without thinking, you push back at him, your free hand overshooting and accidentally hitting his shoulder. Of course, it’s like you’ve hit a brick wall, the small action hurting your wrist much more than it likely hurt him at all. But something about it felt…cathartic. And something inside you just…snaps. 

You had played nice all day, letting them hold you, touch you, kiss you. Hell–you even sat on the floor for hours and colored while wearing a onesie. And now he wanted to bottle feed you actual formula. You had to draw the line. 

You couldn’t give in. The silent promise you made to yourself earlier rings in your head. You weren’t going to drink this stupid bottle.

Steve still has you in his grasp and is pulling you closer to him so that you can be in his lap. Only, you take this opportunity to fight. Hard. 

With all the strength you have, you wrench yourself back. Steve quickly encapsulates both your hands, making you feel as though you’ll sooner break your own wrists before you ever successfully free yourself from his grip. You take it upon yourself to switch strategies, maneuvering yourself into a position where you just start kicking at him feverishly. It felt childish. It looked childish. But you didn’t care right now. You weren’t going to play along any longer. 

You realize halfway through your nonsensical thrashing fit that Steve is likely just letting you play this out before he decides he’s had enough. He decisively stands up, dragging your combative form with him as he roughly swings you up to throw you over his shoulder. You still fight him, your flailing is joined with nonsensical shrieks as you lash out on him physically and verbally. Steve holds you down atop him firmly while hauling you upstairs. Before you realize it, you’re roughly tossed down into a mattress. The otherwise compliant spread hurts you on impact from the height you fall from. Your swirling vision from being upside down and lack of oxygen in your lungs from screaming leaves you disoriented until your dazed eyes focus on structured parallel bars. 

Steve’s thrown you into the very crib he showed you just hours ago. 

“That’s just for when you’re feeling extra little,”

You instantly try to stand up only for Steve to effortlessly push you back down, sending you to roughly bounce on your bottom. You clumsily try to regain your balance and breath while Steve reaches for something besides the crib. Before you know it, Steve’s grabbed both your hands and starts heatedly tying them together. Tightly. He ensnares your fingers together and weaves the rope around every inch of your digits up to the middle of your forearm, completely restraining the hands that fought him. 

You try getting up again only to find it’s surprisingly hard to move with your hands bound in front of you. 

He mutters to you something about ‘not moving’ while making his way to the end of the crib. He abrasively yanks both of your legs down to the edge of the caged mattress and begins tying those together too. You flail hopelessly, hurling unkind words at him while he secures your ankles to the bars, completely immobilizing the legs that were just unabashedly kicking at him.

When you finally catch a glimpse of Steve’s face, his expression is unforgiving. Furrowed eyebrows highlight his intense dark focus as veined arms secure you to the crib.

Steve straightens himself up and towers over you from beside the crib. He just watches you until you decide to give up on fighting, realizing you can’t free yourself from your binds. Your anger slowly turns to just pure sorrow, as you find yourself crying hot tears into your already burning face. You murmur pointless cries asking over and over again to just be let go…

“Angel…” Steve says softly, his features appearing less angered now, but still unhappy nonetheless. “I’m going to give you one more chance,” he kneels down, leveling himself with you from outside your confines. He reaches through the bars and caresses your rope-covered hands. “If you do what Dada says, then I might go easy on your punishment,” he slides his hands up, open-palmed, slowly inching his way to your face. He lingers on your throat for a moment too long before laying his hand across your cheek. “But that’s only if you stop being a bad girl…is that what you want?” he asks patronizingly, with a cock to his head, faux sympathy lining his tone. “You want Dada to treat you like a bad girl?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, heavy tears pitifully falling as Steve watches you. He doesn’t catch them as he awaits your answer that doesn’t come. 

He then tries to give you the bottle from before again but you only resist. Shaking your head and crying profusely while mumbling sorrowful nonsense.

Steve sighs, and hangs his head. He doesn’t enjoy seeing you like this. He wants to hear you laugh. The same laugh he heard over anything else the first night he found you. He wants to see you smile. The same way you beamed at him that night he helped you find your way back. He wants to draw you close when you fall asleep next to him. The same way he’s watched you fall asleep all by yourself for months. He wants to replace the teeny little thumb you always stick in your mouth when you think no one is watching with his. He knows you want this. He knows you need this. 

But it’s obvious his poor girl just doesn’t understand that yet. 

Steve knows babies have a hard time listening when throwing tantrums anyway...  

For now, if you won’t listen, he’ll just have to show you. 

“My sweet girl…” Steve grabs your face, turning it towards him. “You just won’t learn unless Dada shows you, huh?” he releases your face dismissively and stands up. 

“If you want to act out…” he speaks while reaching across the crib above you, 

“and think you’re a big girl…” he lifts something weighty that’s attached to the top of the crib, 

“that’s fine,” parallel bars intrude your vision of Steve from above you, 

“But this is what happens when you act like a bad girl.” Steve’s voice turns more ireful with every word he speaks, as he works his way around the crib, latching multiple locks together that you hadn't noticed before with increasingly aggressive force. 

“You get treated like one. Bad girls get left all alone by themselves without Dada. If you really want Dada to let you go. Fine. You’ll stay right here until you understand what it means to listen.” he slams the last latch shut.

You barely have time to process his words while your wobbly vision interprets what’s happening above you. By the time you comprehend that there’s a top to this ‘crib’ that Steve has locked you in, he’s already left the room, truly isolating you.

Anguished sobs that were falling on deaf ears during Steve’s spiel to you now meet the equally deaf silence of the room itself. 

The only sound that accompanies you now is your own cries, echoing back pitifully to you from the horizontal bars above…

[il-predestinato]

Elle!! 🥰❤️

I desperately want to shamelessly beg for a snippet from every fic because choosing one is impossible, a crime against humanity! So if you’re willing… 🥹😂

Counter offer: I love everything your brain ever produces, so how about you pick a scene or a snippet that makes you proudest / happiest / makes you smile! ❤️

Aww thank you so much, darling! 🥰 (You know that I love your writing too!)

Omg, hmm - this is so hard to pick because I edit/rewrite so damn much that a snippet becomes unrecognizable from first draft to final draft. So I'm not sure if this is the scene that makes me the proudest, but since you are such a queen of smut and I am the queen of avoiding writing smut because I have zero talent for it, I'll share this snippet because it was so out of my comfort zone.

title: looking for heaven, found the devil in me

summary: still drivers but also serial killers AU; Max and Charles like to play with their food before devouring. Charles/Max, brief reference to Charles/OMC (poor OMC).

WARNING: NSFW (oral sex, kind of dub-con vibes, exhibitionism, kidnapping and [impending] murder), also major warning for 'writer who never writes smut attempts to write smut'.

You can read previous snippets from this WIP here.

When Hugo regains consciousness, he is acutely aware that his wrists and ankles are tightly bound to the bed posts. His chest is bare - as it had been when Charles had straddled across his hips, teasing toying with him like a predator with its food. And then the blond man arrived - Max, he recalls with a flare of dull dread in his chest -

"So nice of you to join us again."

It takes Hugo some effort to turn his head towards the sound. That lyrical, foreign accent that lured him in at the bar. He wanted to vomit. Maybe it was from whatever drug they pumped into him that made him lethargic but strangely awake. Maybe it was the memory of that cold, cruel laughter, which matched so perfectly with those green eyes that transitioned from vibrant and expressive to frigid and dangerous in the fraction of a second.

Max is now the one on the cold, hard floor. On his knees and gazing up at Hugo's captor his lover. He refuses to spare Hugo a single glance as his hands pull apart the clasp of Charles' belt - the very same one that Charles had stopped Hugo from undoing in the seconds before Max interrupted their interlude.

Charles makes no motion to stop Max now. He stares down beneath his long eyelashes as Max's hands work deftly to push away the belt, the zipper, the offending fabric of the acid-washed jeans - until there is nothing between his erect cock and Max's face but a few inches of stifling air.

"Shall I tell you what he said he would do to me?" whispers Charles. He flicks his gaze towards the bed, and somehow Hugo firmly understands that Charles is mocking him and not the man at his feet. "Perhaps I'll show you," he murmurs instead.

Charles slides a hand into Max's hair, lazily caressing the messy blond locks between his long fingers. But his gentleness does not last; suddenly, the muscles and tendons in his hand tighten and he shoves Max forward - thoughtlessly, almost viciously - forcing the other man to take his cock into his mouth.

"Show him what he will never have," he gasps with a shuddering moan as Max is already working on him.

Hugo wants to turn away, but his body is frozen and overloaded - fighting between the sour bile in his throat and his entrancement at this scene of horror - because it is nothing short of an utter abomination.

Instead, he watches - transfixed, nauseated, and oh so disgustingly aroused - as Max takes the other man all the way down his throat, his nose pressing into the coarse hair at the base of Charles’ cock, and inhales him in. Does he smell like pine wood and citrus down there - the scent that Hugo caught a whiff of when Charles leaned in close and whispered "Shall we get out of here?" The moment that sealed his fate. Or perhaps Charles is now sweaty from their exertions and just smells like Charles. Whatever that may be. Immediately Hugo thinks danger, sweetness, death.

Whatever Max smells seems to make his mouth water, because he rolls his tongue to lather firm licks from the base of Charles' cock all the way down to the tip as he pulls back. Between their quick inhalations and muted sighs, the truncated groans and the high whimpers, Hugo can just catch the soft murmuring of Max's name from Charles' lips. In response, Max reaches up with his own hand and laces their fingers together in his hair. His mouth does not stop, working away on that shaft to leave Charles gasping.

He continues to watch as their rhythm changes, starting from Charles jerking his hips forward, momentarily choking Max on his cock, but the other man refuses to miss a beat - as if mocking Hugo ("Did you think you were worthy of him?" screaming in every bob of his throat), even as Charles squeezes his hand in Max's hair as a silent apology.

Hugo can sense that Charles is close now, and he should turn away - he does not want to see the inevitable climax. But his head is so heavy that his neck cannot turn, forcing him to continue watching this tableau of obscenity.

Max slides one hand up Charles' thigh, lingering over the well-toned muscles. Perhaps he feels the exact moment when those muscles go tight and tremble underneath his palm. He slides further up until he can curl his fingers around the base of Charles' cock and give it a firm squeeze, sucking hard at the same time. Charles makes a sound deep in his throat and when he throws his head back, the gentle thump of his head against the wall resonates through the entire room.

The bile rises further up Hugo's throat; he (finally) squeezes his eyes shut and swallows the awful taste. He is painfully aware that Max, across the room from him and equally under the thrall of this dangerous green-eyed monster, makes the same filthy swallowing noise.

In this moment, Hugo understands. Even before he opens his eyes again and sees Charles kneel down to kiss Max, no doubt tasting himself in the other man's mouth. Even before he hears Charles' next heated whisper:

"And then he promised that he would throw me onto the bed and fuck me."

Even before he hears Max's strangled, hoarse response:

"Then let's show him."

He was going to die tonight.

-

They are nasty, NASTY people and I am a nasty, NASTY writer who should not be allowed to write smut ever again. Honestly the murdering was easier to write.

[eliaskahtri]

TIMING: June 10th LOCATION: The House PARTIES: Elias, Gael (@lithium-argon-wo-l-f), and Ren (@ironheartedfae) SUMMARY: Elias finally meets Ren, the newest addition to the household. Gael mediates, just in case. CONTENT WARNINGS: None

It was early. That was Elias's first thought as he stepped through the house’s threshold after taking his morning run. His hair was a mess and a little sweaty, but dammit if he didn’t need coffee. A quarter after seven, he walked into the kitchen, bringing his shirt up to wipe his forehead, abs still exposed, as he realized he wasn’t alone. Oops. He put his shirt back down, blinking at the two sitting at the kitchen island. “Oh, uh. Didn’t expect anyone to be up yet.” He confessed, brushing the front of his shirt with a sheepish grin. “Didn’t mean to flash.” He turned to the Keurig, his favorite belonging, and took out one of the mugs he’d packed with him. It had been from his mother, a mug with the phrase, ‘Don’t talk to me before I’ve had my coffee,’ scrawled across it. 

After turning on the machine, he turned around to look at both Gael and the newcomer, who he suspected to be Ren. “I’m Elias,” he introduced himself with a bright smile. “You must be the new roommate, Ren!” He then spoke, leaning against the counter behind him. He should have noticed where he was and who was around, accidentally flashing people. Who did he think he was? Nope, no bad thoughts. He wasn’t doing that anymore. “I, uh. Really sorry about that.” He cleared his throat, face reddening a bit. Nothing said we’re roommates quite like showing off his torso. 

Characteristically, Elias was out of the house by the time Gael woke up and rolled out of bed, though he’d been trying to do better about being awake at more reasonable times now with school being a more loose engagement for the summer. He hadn’t learned Ren’s schedule yet so he just started getting up earlier to make her something to eat if she was hungry. Though her ‘fae form’ still burned his mind more often than he’d liked, try as he did to push it out, when it would show up in his brain he just closed his eyes and pictured the Ren that he knew, the Ren with the red hair and the smile. Then every time Gael opened his eyes back up, he saw her. And he wasn’t going to tell a single soul this. Hell, he was having trouble telling HIMSELF that and half the time he still didn’t believe it. But that was for the inside of his mind and nowhere else. For now, he had woken up at a reasonable time and made a grilled ham-and-cheese sandwich for both himself and Ren, putting it on a plate for her when/if she joined them. Happily, she had and after offering her a drink of her choice, he had just sat back down when Elias suddenly came through the door, sweating and lifting his shirt to wipe some of it from his brow. “...Morning,” Gael replied after a pause, blinking and suddenly decided to glance at something else, his eyes wide and lifting one of his own mugs that steamed with coffee. Maybe it would distract from the heat he felt on his cheeks for a moment. “Uh, yeah! Elias, this is Ren,” He introduced gently. “Ren, this is Elias.” He spoke carefully, acutely aware of the energy in the room somehow and ready to run damage control if things took a turn.

If Wicked’s Rest was a challenge for Ren to overcome, finding a morning routine within the confines of an actual house with actual people in it was an olympian trial set by the gods. Not that the young fae knew much of anything about the old Greek mythology. Not that she knew much of anything about well… anything. She’d been raised for hunting, for combat. For finding monsters and relaying information back for someone else to divulge through. A fine course to travel, until it wasn’t. 

Too many things had the nymph questioning the world around her lately. Questioning the words and lessons drilled into her by Darya Adelskold. Ren was a good little soldier though, and she had a duty to perform. If she wanted to be a good person, if she wanted to be a person at all. It was hard to say where all of that past fit in the monumentally tiny space of the present. Despite never having been prompted to, Ren had taken to making as little noise as possible. Entering and leaving with the grace of a cat burglar. To be seen was always a deliberate choice that took ages to make. With how close her bedroom was to the stairs, it was impossible not to know when either of the men were in or out. And Ren often waited until they were both gone before making her way into the shared space. 

Except when Gael would make breakfast. 

When kindness spilled into routine. There was a soft expectation, though that might not have been the right word. Gael never really expected anything of Ren. The polar opposite of the compound back home. She was starting to understand it. Or at least anticipate it. The other man was… a mystery. One that was talking to her now. Was she supposed to respond? She certainly took note of him. Size, stature, any apparent affectations. The way he carried himself, how he interacted with things. Considering each and notating what they might mean. 

Elias. 

A quiet nod was all she managed before subtly trying to duck out of eyesight. Behind Gael as best she could in the wide ‘open concept’ home. 

Noticing the nervousness in the young girl, Elias decided to leave it at that and turn around to focus on his coffee. “I’m glad that you’ve found yourself here!” He chirped, voice upbeat as he put his sugar and a little creamer in his coffee, stirring it up and then turning himself around to face Gael and Ren. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He spoke with a soft smile, not wanting to scare her. “And I’m glad that you’ve found yourself here.” He looked to Gael, giving him a smile before taking a sip from his coffee.

Feeling awkward, he stared into his coffee cup and began to backpedal towards the stairs to retreat to his room. He felt he wasn’t allowed in the shared space, and the last thing he wanted to do was make Ren uncomfortable. He had been warned of her shyness. “Sorry for interrupting.” He muttered, feeling a bit down on himself. “I’ll just go back up to my room then.” He spoke, making for the stairs.

“What– you aren’t interrupting anything,” Gael shook his head as he motioned for Elias to stay, remaining where he was as he provided a safety blanket between Ren’s trepidation and Elias’ boundless energy. These were two very different people he found himself rooming with and he wanted to dance on the line of symbiosis. He knew they could coexist, neither of them wanted to be in the way. He cast a soft glance down at Ren before looking back over at Elias. “She’s studying you. Come on over here! I made you a ham and cheese sandwich.” The professor scooted his plate towards the taller man. “How are you doing this morning, little fern?” He asked quieter, turning his gaze back to Ren. “He’s tall but he’s very friendly.”

Ren wasn't good at this. That much was evident. For all her studying, for all her asking and receiving of tips and tricks on how to make people like you; putting it into practice was an entirely different ball game. Having a buffer, it seemed, helped a lot though. With the Allgoods Ren had Nora. A chance encounter that made quite an impression. With Elias, she'd have Gael. Offering soothing tones and reassuring phrases along with the ham and cheese. 

"Am fine." She mumbled. Averting her gaze after being called out for her habit of memorizing every last detail of anyone she'd met. Affectionately, if his tone was to be believed, but still fully seen all the same. For as good as she was at being a spy, Ren wasn't the best at being subtle. 

The other man was tall. But she'd faced taller. She could take him. Incapacitate the knees and anyone can be at your level. A defiant little streak sparked up inside her until Gael's declaration of friendliness reminded the young nymph that not everything was an immediate threat. Not everyone needed to be fought.  "You are… man I typed with online. Yes? With tips on…. Being nice." Perhaps more evident than ever how direly those tips were needed, as this was her idea of a compliment. "You have interesting…. Socks." 

Upon being called back over with the promise of food, he turned around and stared down at the plate with a sandwich on it. “You made me food?” He questioned, his tone coming across as if he was touched by the gesture. As simple of a sandwich as it was, he still thought about it when it came to making it. “I appreciate it!” He spoke, remembering Regan’s harsh warning to not say thank you. He then narrowed his gaze at Gael at being called tall but didn’t let the expression linger as he turned his attention back to Ren. 

As soon as she mentioned their interaction, his face lit up with a bright smile. “Yes, you remembered!” He spoke, attempting to keep his tone calm and gentle as opposed to his usual loud and excitable. He looked down to his socks, which were little camping scenes; they had a little tent with a campfire, along with a little sasquatch roasting a marshmallow. “Got them from a friend that likes Bigfoot to a degree that rivals even my own excitement.” He explained, remembering Robert in all his glory, his very greasy, very convinced that Bigfoot was real glory… He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present, looking at Gael, then back to Ren. 

“Say,” he began, looking around the very white space around them, “if you could decorate this space in any way you wanted to, what would it be?” He asked Ren, gesturing to the living room behind them. “No offense Gael, but we did talk about decorating it with earth tones and plants and globes.” He took a bite of his sandwich, then put it back down on the plate. He really didn’t like ham, but he felt the need to eat it for Gael’s sake. 

“Of course I did.” That was a small lie; Gael had no idea when Elias would be back or even if he liked what was made but he wasn’t about to sit there in front of him and eat his own food without having made some for the taller man. At the compliment of Elias’ socks followed by his explanation of them, the professor leaned back slightly and craned his head to get a better look at the design of a tent and campfire on the green background. “Those are cute socks.” He agreed quietly, raising his brow. Fortunately, Ren remembered that the two of them had talked online, which made it a little easier for Gael to be a potential bridge to the gap between them; it was a work in progress, he was aware but he made this decision so he could be the one to support them and ideally nurture the bonds between the three of them. Then Elias mentioned how monochrome the environment was and Gael couldn’t help but look around as well. “None taken, it’s pretty boring around here.” He agreed mildly before glancing over at the sandwich. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it.” He remarked mildly. “I didn’t even ask if you like ham and cheese, my bad.” This was good, they needed to have normal conversations to show that they were normal people.

Ren was trying her best to stand still. A feat considering how much her head felt like it was spinning. As she recalled the online conversation she also filtered through every bit of information that she’d soaked up when looking at Elias’ page. He was thirty five. An age the nymph considered old if only because she’d been raised around hunters who barely ever made it past the big 4-0. His last name was Kahtri. His profile said he was a bartender. Whatever that was. Why would a bar need tending? Was he very interested in architectural support? The older man seemed very keen on things like comic books, things that Cass liked a lot as well. Things Ren had never been allowed to interact with. 

Many of his public posts seemed nice enough, though there was a disconcerting thing about crabs and paint. Something she was musing on a bit too intently as she realized that she’d been too wrapped up in her own mind to pay attention to the conversation going on around her. She was being asked something. Her opinion. Quite the running theme in this house. 

“Ah I–” Ren hesitated. Looking to Gael for support. Unsure of what the right thing to say was. Or if there was a right or wrong here. “I think the plants are… nice.” She shuffled a little, feeling far too seen. Far too out in the open. “Could… always have more of them.” Ren wouldn’t have ever called the house boring. It was so much nicer than anything she’d ever been allowed to stay in. But it also wasn’t her place to comment on that. Was it? 

Elias pushed the sandwich back over to Gael, giving him an amused smile before turning his attention back to Ren, who seemed very concentrated on her thoughts. He could relate. He’d constantly felt stuck inside his head, thinking of all the possible scenarios for different things. He’d been itching to decorate, and he wanted everyone to give their involvement as much as possible. Plus, it gave him something to do in his free time instead of going for walks every day to fill the time. Plus, with different people telling him that the woods were dangerous, he wondered if it was true. 

He perked up at the mention of plants. “I love house plants, I agree that we need more.” He looked at Gael with a triumphant smile. He was getting somewhere. Elias quickly dropped the smile when Ren turned his attention back to him. “Do you have a favorite kind of plant?” He then asked, taking another sip from his coffee. He wanted to get out of his jogging clothes and make sure he got to know Ren a little. He also felt bad, as it was clear the girls were nervous. He wished she wouldn’t be, but he knew it wasn’t up to him. 

With both hands around his coffee mug, Elias lost himself in thought. A nice neutral brown on the walls and house plants all over to liven the place up. A nice area rug for the living room as well as some bookshelves. He nodded to himself. Yep, he’d finally get to decorate a place, even if it wasn’t his own. He then blinked a few times, trying to pull himself back to the present. 

As the girl looked at Gael, he offered a gentle smile with a nod and a quirk of his brow. “You heard the lady, we need plants.” He pulled the plate back towards him and took a bite, not at all concerned with the fact that someone else had already eaten off it - life was short and he had siblings. He was hungry. He remembered on several occasions when he’d have food and he’d turn to do something else and when he turned back, a singular bite would be missing with a very mischievous look on one of his sister’s faces. It didn’t take him long, however, to glance from Elias as he asked the question back down to Ren. “Just one more then you’re free to leave, okay?” Gael gave a small smile, knowing that this wasn’t her preferred way to spend her morning, even though he didn’t know where she went otherwise, the way she snuck out of the house. She was an adult and could make her own decisions, though. “It’s okay. You’re doing great.”

Ren scowled. Not that she’d been smiling or anything. Not by a long shot. The term lady was new. Something she’d have to research. It wasn’t something she was sure applied to her. But that was okay. She wasn’t literally a fern, but the nickname was nice. Aspirational in a way. Ferns could grow and thrive in many many conditions. Ren wanted to be like that. She wanted to be someone who could greet a stranger and form a connection. Wanted to be someone that Gael could be proud of. 

Because she knew Darya would never be. 

It was hard. But she had to try. With her stomach in knots, Ren did her best attempt at a smile. Returning her stare upwards, trying the trick of looking between someone’s eyes rather than at them directly. Easier than actual eye contact. Each thing was only held in brief concert with each other. She could smile, or she could keep her head in the right direction, or she could talk. It wasn’t possible for her to do all three at once just yet. “Ficus lyrata, or perhaps hypoestes phyllostachya.” 

Something about Gael reassuring Ren rubbed him the wrong way. Was he really that bad? His face fell at the idea of it all, staring into his now half-full cup of coffee. But at that moment, it felt more like half-empty. He couldn’t stop staring at it, almost embarrassed to look up from it. True, he wasn’t good with people that were nervous. True, he was a lot to handle, but it was hard to be reminded of such. So that’s how he found himself downing the rest of the coffee in his mug and putting it into the dishwasher, expression unreadable. 

Then, Ren smiled at him. He could tell that she was really trying, but he still didn’t want to be a burden on either of them. He took a deep breath, trying to will the thoughts out of his head. It was hard, but he was able to squash them down like he normally did. It was easy to get lost in his own head of self-doubt. He smiled back softly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. Then she mentioned plants. By their scientific names. “I know the first is a fiddle leaf fig,” he began. “Incredible choice, might I add.” He spoke, tone much more subdued. “Don’t know the second one, though. But judging by your first choice, you have excellent taste.” 

He looked between the pair in front of him, finding that he felt out of place once again. “I was planning on ordering plants for the place,” he began slowly and quietly. “I’ll make sure to put them on the list of plants I buy.”

One moment, they were talking about plants and then the next, Elias was finishing his coffee with unusual haste and putting it in the dishwasher. Part of Gael wondered if maybe they were going too fast for the both of them - he liked to think he knew them by now to know their limits or he could at least hold an educated guess on it but he wasn’t infallible. Had he pushed them too hard? Maybe he should have approached this a different way. Then again, this probably wasn’t his first choice for how they were to meet anyway, preferring something a little more controlled and at a different time of day… he wasn’t exactly a morning person, even though the two of them seemed to be. “That’s more than I know about their scientific names,” Gael admitted, trying to smooth things over even if he didn’t know that things weren’t smoothed over to begin with. “Some plants, a little bit of color, some more quality-of-life things.” He glanced around again. “What about you, Elias?” He asked, casting Ren a quick look with a wink. “What would you like aside from plants?”

The taller man knew one of the plants by a different name. Not surprising, Ren had met most flora by reading an old scientific journal. The ones she encountered in the woods had as little names and definitions as she did some days. Someone might have known them, but not her. Common names were a treat to learn. Hearing that another plant she liked also bore the moniker of a fiddle at first confused her, but quickly settled into a pleased little pride. Like the universe was setting itself right. All things where they should be. 

“I could also….” Emboldened by the confirmation of her choice, Ren offered something else. Still technically a plant, but hey, served a different purpose. “Perhaps I could work on vegetables as well? In the outside of here? I am… familiar with what grows well in this climate. Could be used for the cooking of foods?” It was easier, she found, to talk while making eye contact only with the kitchen counter. Or the floor. She could get out almost entire sentences without stumbling or sounding far too foreign to understand. 

Listening though, that came with the stare. Something she couldn’t really help. Mantis didn’t exactly blink, why should her glamour be any different? A curiosity struck Ren, wondering what Elias would choose to add. Also wondering what that wink was supposed to mean. Was Gael implying something hidden? Or was it just another warming tactic? Ah well. 

Elias brightened at the idea of a vegetable garden. “That would be wonderful!” He said in a cheery tone, leaning against the kitchen island. He liked the idea of a vegetable garden in the backyard. “We certainly have the room for it.” He muttered, looking out into the backyard from the window over the sink. “I’ve never tried gardening before,” he spoke as he continued to gaze out in the backyard, picturing a little plot for peppers and tomatoes and whatever else Ren would want to plant. 

He then looked at Gael as he asked what he would want. “Well I’m thinking a neutral brown on the walls,” he began, looking around. “Brass-colored accent pieces and plants all over.” He nodded his head, turning to look into the living room. “A rug to tie the room together, maybe a book corner with a little chair beside it.” He frowned to himself, trying to visualize it all. He then shook his head, coming back to the present moment. 

He made his way to the pantry, pulling out a protein bar. Opening and taking a bite out of it, he looked between his two roommates. “Well I’m glad that you’re here,” he spoke to Ren, nodding his head and looking back out the window, sensing her discomfort with being looked at. 

“A vegetable garden!” Gael’s expression lit up, partially because the idea itself was good but moreso because it seemed like something that Ren wanted to do - she suggested it, to his elation - and Elias agreed. This was good, this was more what he had in mind. “I agree; a vegetable garden would be amazing. Oh, the food we could make; there’s something special about using stuff you grow yourself.” Not that he knew how to cook but they’d figure it out… he did learn how to make potato soup for Ren. As the taller man spoke more about decorations, each one agreed with Gael’s own vision for what the house would look like if he bothered styling it. Admittedly, he didn’t think on it since moving; ever since the attack, the professor’s sometimes-violent sleepwalking wrecked his apartment before and he long since threw everything out in favor of a minimalist aesthetic. If he was just going to destroy things, he didn’t want to keep anything of value around out of preservation for them. …And here he was with two roommates, both of which meant more to him than he anticipated. He took a contemplative sip of his coffee. “I think all of these are great ideas.” Gael nodded, looking around at the sterile environment, his mind creating the color combinations and accents that would fill the house with some care, determination and the combined visions of the people he lived with now. “I’d like a globe.” He said absently accompanied by a bite of his grilled ham and cheese sandwich. “I’m glad you’re both here, too.” He said after a pause; the statement was mild but genuine and he looked between Elias’ tall, handsome figure to Ren’s diminutive, almost childlike visage. He was glad they were there and he was equally as happy that he was there. He never would’ve imagined finding himself in this particular space at this moment in time with two drastically different people that he could care about, learn from and interact with.

This kind of simple softness seemed so far and removed from what Ren had ever expected her life to be. It was scarcely something she believed she even could experience. In one simple act of running out to help someone in the rain, Gael had introduced and opened up a whole world to the young nymph. One where plants and decorations could be openly discussed over morning munchies. Where vegetable gardens wouldn’t just be something necessary for sustenance, but a bonding activity that they could all do together. Something that would bring them closer, rather than something that could be taken away if she hadn’t done enough in her training. 

Finally feeling a little more comfort in the shared space, Ren took to her sandwich. Nibbling contentedly along the corners until it was less of a square and more of a circle. Round things, she found, were more fun to eat. She didn’t say it out loud, not in the way either of the boys had, but she was happy to be here too. As confusing and strange as it was to her, Ren didn’t think she’d trade this for the world. 

[hazbbyhaz]

sleepless || harry styles

twenty six

pairing: harry styles x OC

synopsis: an emotional night

disclaimer: nightmares, child abuse, blood, descriptions of child abuse, kissing

The mind returns in dream

-Amy Bonner

"Did you know that Queen Victoria had a 14 year old stalker who broke into Buckingham Palace at least four times?"

"I didn't know that." Harry mumbles, turning himself on his side to look at Avery. She is lying on her back, eyes trained on the ceiling, saying anything that comes across her mind.

"Apparently he even stole her underwear once!"

"Avery, we’re supposed to sleep." There was a small bat of silence after Harry’s statement. In truth, Avery had been doing everything she could to avoid sleeping, despite agreeing to rest.

"Oh right" She murmurs, closing her eyes before opening them again. "I’m sorry. What time is it? Is it morning yet?"

"It must be around 1am."

"That's not close to morning at all," Her lips start to quiver at the realization. He watches as she takes two deep breaths, shuts her eyes, and turns to face him; the quivering coming to a stop.

"can't we drink a cup of tea? I always sleep better with tea."

Harry can hear the desperation in her voice. He can see her clinging to any possible scenario that will keep her awake. Every possibility that will prolong the inevitable. She needs sleep. At this point, more than anything.

“You’ve had more than enough tea for the night. We can make more in the morning. But first, we have to sleep." Right outside the window streetlights cast ambient light upon Avery's bedroom. The golden rays dance across her face so elegantly; so gently.

Her eyes are trained on something Harry can’t see, but he is acutely aware of her. He can see the three freckles that have made themselves home on her nose, the heart shape of her lips, the cerulean blue hue of her eyes. He’s never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

If only he could take a photograph. Try to capture this moment in its entirety, in all of its beauty. Show them how amazing these small, intimate moments are. Or maybe he didn't want that. Maybe he just wanted to keep her close. Keep this for him, and only him.

"What about my Valerian pills? They help me fall asleep."

"Love, don’t they make it worse?"

"Sometimes, but at least I'll be asleep." Her eyes finally trail up to his own. While his are calm and reassuring, hers are filled with fear. Fear that runs deeper than he could ever imagine.

"What do you dream about, Ave?" His fingers caress her cheek, he can feel her breath hitch as he gently brushes her hair behind her ear.

"I’ve never told anyone," She mutters, her eyes never leaving his own. Not for a second. "not anyone I cared about."

"Then let me be the first" With his hands on her cheeks, his eyes fall to her rosy lips. The familiar urge to kiss her resurfaces, flowing from his head to his toes. But he can’t, he knows he can’t. What they have is too delicate to risk.

From the moment that he had met her, he knew that she was alone. He has never seen her with anyone else, never seen her receive a text message or a phone call. To his knowledge, she doesn’t step foot out of her flat unless something important warrants her to do so.

Deep down, he knows that he is all that she’s got. The only person who is there for her in any true sense. The last thing he wants to do is ruin what they’ve created by giving in to his own urges.

Regardless of Harry's string of thoughts, their eyes meet. Sky blue on forest green. As Avery's eyes trail down to his lips, he slowly leans forward, pressing his lips to her own. The kiss is delicate and soft. With his calloused hands gently cupping her cheeks, Avery feels like that of porcelain. Like a fragile piece of glass someone is terrified to drop.

His hands drop from her face to her hip, pulling her impossibly closer. She grabs at his shirt, heavy breaths escaping as their lips briefly part. They are so close to one another, entangled with each other in every way they could, but it isn’t close enough.

His lips taste like earl grey tea and peppermint gum, a blend Avery didn’t know could be so addictive. Her lips taste of bitter coffee, but he doesn’t mind. They’re hers, that’s all that matters.

A few moments later Harry pulls back. He rests his forehead atop her own, leaving a gentle kiss to her nose as they both regain their breaths. Harry's thoughts diminish as he focuses on what’s happening now. The present. It’s only now that he can really see just how Avery is reacting. Her hands are latched tightly to his shirt, desperately trying to pull him closer. Harry's gentle call of her name does nothing to aid in her growing frustration.

He lets her pull him in once again, their lips reconnecting in a more heated kiss. She bites down on his lower lip, letting him know that he can continue. Harry slowly turns them over, leaning up with his elbows on either side of Avery's head, Avery laying on her back. And they kiss. Averys lips continue locking with his own because this feeling is so different from how numb she has felt. How she has been feeling for far too long.

For the first time that Avery can remember, she feels alive. Feeling Harry's lips on hers, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath her touch, it feels like home. Like comfort and safety, like last minute trips to the beach and drinking tea at house parties. It feels like everything finally coming together.

If only she could stay here for the rest of her life - stay right here, in this moment. Forever. Then everything would be alright. No worries, no mean girls, no nightmares, no sleepless nights. None of it. She would be okay. She could handle every thought spiral, every mean word, every single doubt, if she knew that she could come home to this. Know that she could feel Harry's lips on hers at the end of the day.

The small sounds Avery is emitting make Harry slow his movements down "Ave..." he mumbles in between kisses. “Hey hey hey, it’s okay… slow down, love. It’s okay.”

She can’t look into his eyes, he sees the tears welling up in them. Her whimpers only grow louder once she knows that he is aware of them, worrying him even more. In an effort to calm her, Harry starts trailing kisses down her face.

“I’m not going to hurt you… I am never going to hurt you… I don't ever want to do that.” She hasn’t said a word to him in an alarming amount of time, not letting him know what is going on in her head. His kisses trail down her jaw before pressing softly into her neck, right above her pulse point. “Talk to me, love. Please say something…”

“You will leave…” She says it so quietly that he almost misses it. But when those three words hit his ears his own eyes begin to water. He immediately stops his actions, softly cupping her cheeks in his hands. Her lips quivers once again before she whispers “I don’t want you to leave, Harry.”

"I won’t, Avery. I’m not going to leave." He reassures her, pushing another strand of hair out of her face as a few tears roll down her cheeks. "Look at me, please... I know you’re scared, I know. This is something new for the both of us, and new things are always scary."

"God I'm pathetic," Harry wipes the tears away from her cheeks, looking down at the girl below him with empathetic eyes. "I'm sorry"

“It’s okay. You’re not pathetic. If anyone here is pathetic, it’s me because I am just so smitten by you!”

Avery giggles as Harry presses one final kiss to her lips, both of them smiling into it like lovesick idiots. His arms wrap around her before turning them over, settling into a comfortable silence.

“Are you going to be able to sleep?” Avery nods her head, looking up at Harry.

"Do you promise you’ll wake me?" Her head is lying on his chest, right above his heart, and his arm is tightly wrapped around her petite frame.

"I'll wake you, I promise."

“Mommy!” I cry, hitting the cellar door with my fists. I can see a little bit of light from under the door, it shines on the staircase all the way down to the floor. I’ve been trying to get her to come here for a while, I don’t know if she can hear me.

“Mommy! it’s really cold…” I still don’t hear her. Hitting the door that many times makes both of my hands hurt. I sit up against the wall next to the door, shivering. The wall is just as cold as everything else. The stones in it hurt my back as I sit.

I got to talk to Daddy on the phone a couple days ago, and he said we would go to the park today. I really want to go, but I don’t know where he is. I don’t want to be here anymore, not with Mommy. I just want to go upstairs to my room. Sleep in my bed with all my stuffed animals and my blankie. Maybe I could stay with Daddy after the park.

“Can I please have my blankie?… Please, Mommy. It’s really really cold!” Sheepy is sitting against the wall opposite me. I grab him and hold him close to my chest. “Are you cold, Sheepy?” I pet his fur, but it’s not as soft as it used to be, and he is missing one of his button eyes. It fell off earlier today.

“Don’t worry, Daddy is gonna take us to the park soon. He promised, remember?”

There is a very loud noise and I scream as the door slams open. Before I can move out of the way, I am falling down the stairs. My head hits the wall and all it’s stones many times before I hit the bottom. I open my eyes and see the bottom of the staircase, my eyes all blurry as I cry out to Mommy. She is standing all the way at the door.

“Mommy!” I try to walk towards her, but my head is so dizzy I can barely move. As soon as I stand I fall back down again. “Please let me out… I know i’ve been bad, but Daddy wants to take me to-“

“Your Father isn’t coming today, so be quiet! For god's sake, how many times do I have to tell you to stop screaming!” She starts walking down the stairs.

“But he promised he would…” All of a sudden I can hear a loud slap, Mommy’s hand hitting my cheek really hard. My ears start to ring as my head hits the hard concrete floor. She stands over me as I keep crying. I can see Sheepy laying on his side not far from me.

"Listen! I don't care what your father said, I need you to be quiet. Understood?"

"Yes, mommy. But can you fix Sheepys eye? Please? It fell off earlier and I can’t put it back on." I grab Sheepy and hold him out to her, she takes him out of my hand. I pull his button eye out of my pocket, keeping it in my hand. "Here's his eye."

Mommy huffs, looking at Sheepy but then she turns around and starts walking up the stairs, his eye still in my hand.

"No! NO! Mommy, the button, you have to take his eye to fix him! He can’t see without his eye! Please don't take Sheepy away from me, please!" I stand up super fast, still very dizzy, and try to walk to the stairs. But Mommy is too far away to hear me and I can’t reach her anymore. I can hear the door close; leaving me down here all by myself.

I lay back down on the floor, it feels even colder down here now. My whole body hurts. I am cold and all alone.

Avery wakes up without a sound. Everything is silent; impossibly still. The silhouette of a tree looms over the room, encasing the space in it’s dark, sinister shadow.

Hot, heavy tears stream down her face, her breath beginning to quicken. Every inch of her body hurts, every movement awakening an ache she didn’t know was there. But of course it hurts, the fall just happened yesterday. How couldn’t it hurt? No body could heal after only a few hours time from something like that. She can feel bruises beginning to bloom beneath her skin, no doubt covering most of her body.

Her anxious eyes roam over her surroundings. She is not locked in the cellar, but sitting atop a bed. It is still cold, so very cold, but comfortable and familiar. She can’t quite place it. Only now is the body laying peacefully by her side of notice to her. Harry is still asleep, his head resting mere inches from her thigh. Harry… where did he come from? Has he just arrived? Did he see the bruises?

The sound of a car backfiring rang through the silence, making Avery jump and her head shoot to the window overlooking the London street. her motion startled Harry awake, he began to stir beside her.

His eyes opened slowly, his gaze falling upon her figure. She was visibly shaking, tears streaming down her face. She looked terrified. At this sight, he was wide awake, quickly sitting upwards.

"Oh Avery, I'm sorry I-I didn't hear you-"

"My arm hurts really bad, Harry." She whimpers, cradling her left arm to her chest. "It hurts so much."

"Where does it hurt?" He carefully reaches out to her, his fingers softly brushing over her skin. To the touch, she was ice cold. No wonder she was shivering.

"Everything hurts…" Harry slowly pulls her towards him, encasing her shivering figure in two blankets before settling her body between his outstretched legs, wrapping both of his arms around her. His hands are rubbing up and down the expanse of her back, the motion attempting to soothe all the distress. Her head rests between his neck and shoulder.

"Yesterday... she pushed me down the stairs," Her cries grew to hiccuping sobs, her breath irregular and too fast for her lungs to process. Harry freezes at her words.

Yesterday... she pushed me down the stairs.

"And now everything hurts, Harry. Look at all the bruises." Her words are spoken through heartbreaking sobs. He looks over her, searching for any evidence of the fall, but nothing can be seen. There aren't any bruises on her, no visible ones anyway. Just her cold, pale, flawless skin. She's hallucinating, she thinks her dream happened yesterday.

Yesterday... she pushed me down the stairs.

"It's going to be okay, Ave... just breathe" Harry murmurs into her hair, his hand resting gently on the back of her head, lightly pushing it farther into his neck. And as Avery concentrates on her breathing, tears fill Harry's eyes, quietly running down his cheeks.

Yesterday... she pushed me down the stairs.

"Look... the bruises are already gone." He lifts her blankets ever so slightly, letting his fingertips run over her skin. Harry delicately lifts her arm to his lips, pressing soft kisses to it. Starting at her hands, he trails them all the way up to her shoulder before moving to the other arm. "No more bruises, angel. See?"

Yesterday... she pushed me down the stairs.

She nods slowly, pressing her head against his racing heart, her tears now beginning to dry on her raw cheeks. After a few minutes, Harry can feel her stable breaths against his neck. The small puffs of warm air signalling that she has fallen back asleep.

Yesterday... she pushed me down the stairs.

Harry looks down at her, replaying what has just occurred over in his mind. He leans his head down, Kissing the top of Averys head as all of it catches up with him. He can’t help the sob that escaped his lips, the weight of it shaking his chest, tears falling from his eyes.

At the sudden movement, Avery shoots up. Raising her head to look at him, her eyes meeting his own. A worried expression plastered across her tear stained face.

"What’s happened?" She exclaims, her hands coming up to rest on his cheeks, eyes searching what could have caused him to cry. "Harry, don't cry... is everything alright? Please tell..."

Yesterday... she pushed me down the stairs.

That's enough for him to know that she doesn't remember waking up. Doesn't remember crying to him about all the pain. Telling him what happened. "It's nothing," He manages to let out, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead, then her nose, before leaving a lingering one on her lips. "I'm just so happy that you're here with me. That you’re safe."

"I'm happy too." She smiles softly. She wants to press further about what has happened, but she knows now is not the right time. Harry laces their fingers together before bringing their joined hands to his lips, trying his hardest to push all of this out of his mind.

It takes half an hour for the both of them to get settled into bed again. Harry leaving Avery's side only to steep her a cup of peppermint tea. With time, she fell back asleep, this one being dreamless. With her finally at rest, Harry was left awake, watching over her carefully. His hand rests atop her cheek, his thumb carting over the soft skin, letting her know that he is right by her side.

Yesterday... she pushed me down the stairs.

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Feeling Deeply Chapter 5

Genre: Arranged Marriage Fic. Fluff turning into angst?

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Summary: The story of two deeply feeling nerds who find themselves in an arranged marriage. (Details here). Our OC is called Brishti. It’s a Bengali name meaning rain. Namjoon calls her Rim (short for her pet name, RimJhim which means the pitter-patter of rain). She calls him Joon.

Warnings: NOT THE NAMJOON OF OUR DREAMS. Argument. Fight over tiny discrepancies that turn out to be a huge problem. Domestic violence. Not a happy chapter.

A/N: Have you ever felt this, reader? When you watch something and realise exactly what you need to realise in that moment? I’ve had that so many times - seeing my feelings mirrored in a show. That’s something that I’ve tried to have Brishti feel here. Also, this is how I see the natural progression of this Namjoon, the one who obliged to duty rather than his dreams. It took me a long time to write this but I love what’s come out. Let me know what you think!

Current Chapter: London, late 1963. Love fully blooms between Namjoon and Brishti. And yet, something’s not right. A visit to the ballet and a conversation brings forth realisations. The inklings that Brishti was trying to avoid transform into writing on the wall.

Previously in Feeling Deeply: Preface Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The magic about new love isn’t really in romance or even in true intimacy. It’s in how violent new love is… and just how much time it takes us to feel it’s impact.

In the new love between Namjoon and Brishti, everything had been roses and honey, overflowing, swaying in a gentle breeze. They spent every second possible in each other’s arms. They had to tear themselves away from each other when they had to leave home. And even then, it hurt as though they were part of the same cloth.

Brishti had thought about how they had become woven, their souls an ornate tapestry. Namjoon had told her then about a Japanese tradition of weaving that was a sort of meditation and a kind of worship to a god called ‘Musubi’. The disciples say it is like being part of the cosmic tapestry. Being tied to each other.

“Just like we are… I felt a pull toward you and I followed it. I was scared… so full of doubts about who you were and how this was all going to go… I had promised myself that I would fulfil my duty… whatever happened ” Namjoon had said, petting Brishti’s hand gently, “And I… I still can’t believe it… It… you make me feel like I can… trust myself.” Brishti had looked at her genius then and wondered what a strange world it must be that made a man like Namjoon doubt himself, “Always, always trust yourself, Namjoon-ah.” and settled into the crook of his neck.

It was indeed a strange world that caused Namjoon to build an armour around himself. Because ‘London’ and ‘Lonely’ sounded just the same to him. His years alone in this strange place had been unkind, unrelenting. Brishti had been the only softness he had felt in a long long time. Armours built over years can break in an instant, though. For him, it was the moment when he and his wife had crossed the threshold to becoming lovers. High on the magic of new love, he had not realised it.

Sitting across from each other after that fateful evening, Namjoon and Brishti were both wide awake in the early hours of the next morning. Brishti buttoned up the shirt they never fully took off. Namjoon had tickled her with his toes. They propped their feet against the other’s to see just how vast the difference was (he melted seeing how small her feet were and hadn’t stopped playing with them since). Caressing each toe, he remembered something he wanted to ask -

“How did you know what Saranghae is?”

“Mm…” she stretched her arms, “I know what it means…” Brishti said.

“I know you know… from the way you… after I said it… You asked Yoongi about it?” Namjoon cautiously asked about the only other Korean Brishti knew. To his surprise, she nodded no, still denying him any information. Namjoon had to tickle her foot for the answer.

“Okay! Okay! Wait! Pleeeease!” Namjoon stopped and Brishti bent down to the bureau next to her bed and pulled out a textbook - LEARN HANGUL THROUGH ENGLISH. Namjoon looked more shocked than she had expected. “I asked Yoongi about the book-”

“You don’t need to Rim… I’m not learning Bangla, am I?” Namjoon said. He was touched but he didn’t want his love to do anything he couldn’t reciprocate.

“I would have asked you to learn it… if I wrote poetry in my mothertongue...” Brishti said. Namjoon was shocked. She went on, “You really think I didn’t know?”

Namjoon blushed and smiled and flopped over in Brishti’s lap. She brushed his hair as she explained, “You light up at the mention of lyrics and poetry, you keep a notebook by your side at all times, you’re moved by the things that people usually don’t pay attention to… I know you’re a poet, Joonie.”

Namjoon looked up at her and said, “No one has ever called me that…”

Brishti leaned down and kissed her gorgeous husband. “You are... From what I know, I bet all my books that you are a great one... And… I… I would love nothing more than to be part of your world of words, Joonie… It must be strange… to be understood but in a foreign language. If you would let me, I want to understand you in your language… Do you think that’s something maybe--”

He got up and all but jumped on Brishti, pinning her down to the bed with the cutest puppy-yell she had ever heard. “Yes! Of course, yes!”

They both understood that this was a proposal. The truest kind - a gentle request to explore Namjoon’s universe. They would later joke about how she proposed to him after a month of being married. Namjoon was completely delighted by this person with him, his person… one who really saw him.

He pulled her to him saying, “You’re the best part of my world, Rim...” and kissed her.

Each moment of love flowed through the next. When they had to be separated, they couldn’t wait for the next one, their moment again. On weekends they would visit museums and find their favourite paintings and sculpture or their favourite prehistoric relic and animal. Brishti hated the fact that Namjoon had to work overtime to compensate for these weekends and she often voiced how unfair it was.

In response Namjoon would just give her a peck and say, “As long as I have you, I’m happy.” This pricked her but she was too taken by the man before her to pay heed to it.

Namjoon was just about able to keep a straight face at work but everyone around Brishti was acutely aware of how much she loved Namjoon.

At one point, her colleague and best friend, Min Yoongi had yelled at her, “Yhaaaaa! Stop blushing?! It’s just a clock… what could be romantic about a clock?!” Sayuri-san, and she were hanging around Yoongi’s table when Brishti looked at his new flip clock and started blushing.

Brishti laughed along with everyone else but explained, “It’s involuntary… that’s what happens when you’re married to a poet.”

Sayuri-san corrected, “I know too many wives of poets to know that’s not necessarily true… It is true though, when you’re in love with a poet… Go on… tell us how exactly poet Namjoon makes you blush about a clock...”

Brishti blushed even more at that. Yoongi rubbed his arms and demanded, “Tell us because there’s some really weird things coming to my mind… like you guys have an exact time when...”

Brishti stopped his imagination, “No no no… it’s nothing like that… he loves digital clocks... because he loves to watch the time turn to 00:00… zero o’clock he calls it… and on days he feels sad, it’s like zero o’clock is always there to comfort him… like it’s a point when the whole world holds its breath and he can feel happy again… but these days… with me… he said he wants the clock to keep going after 23:59… he wishes time would stretch on… beyond 24:01…”

Yoongi sighed and sat back down, “You’re making me fall in love with Namjoon… ahhh that is beautiful. He should be published...”

“Imagine him saying this directly to you and you might know how I feel… I can’t stop talking about him...”

“Oh, we know. But honestly none of us care… your poet-librarian romance is getting us through our single-ness.” Yoongi reassured her.

The three of them continued to talk about the ways in which Brishti could repay Namjoon’s wordsmithing in graphic ways.

It was that evening, wasn’t it, when Namjoon had enveloped her back in the warmest hug as soon as he’d entered their flat. Brishti was in the kitchen when she heard him enter but hadn’t expected this. He kissed her neck while telling her the good news, “We got our first Korean client today… because of me… Mmmm… Why do you always smell so amazing?”

Brishti turned around and hugged him again, “That’s amazing! Namjoon-ssi! I’m so proud of you!”

“He’s from a wealthy family… so he can actually afford our firm… its not exactly the work I wanted to do--”

“It is a step toward that idea, right? It’s still good work, fighting for justice?” Brishti asked, stopping him from undermining his own work.

Namjoon nodded, “Yeah… He’s a dancer… Park Jimin. All the posh types know him as one of the best dancers in the Royal Ballet. They call him Jim… as if it’s too difficult to say Jimin?” Namjoon shook his head in disapproval. He began helping Brishti with the chopping and continued, “He was born in the UK and trained since he was 5... He got into the Royal Ballet but he’s been passed up to be a principal over and over even though everyone who has seen him dance apparently knows that he’s far far better… So recently he spoke to the director there... and of course the director made a racist slur and asked not to bother him with this again. He can’t even quit and work at another company because of the contract they have him on. There’s a non compete clause… meaning he won’t be able to dance with any other company. That’s all he wants… to be able to get out of that contract… I’m hoping to convince him to press charges on racial discrimination too. We’re not in the 20s anymore.”

When Brishti didn’t respond, Namjoon looked up at her. “That’s horrible… I’m so so glad you’re taking up the case. But please tell me what you ate when you were alone?” He looked down at the carrot he’d been failing to cut.

Namjoon scrunched his nose and admitted, “Canned food mostly.”

Brishti said, “I’m really really glad you’re getting to do work that you are passionate about, Joonie, you deserve it. Now, you should know how to cut a carrot.”

Namjoon pressed up against Brishti’s back. She reached back up to the nape of his neck and made him moan into her. Then… then Namjoon made her forget how to cut carrots.

He had these ways… Namjoon, with his touch, his voice, his languages both spoken and soundless. He was lighting new paths into her self. She loved learning him. Paths she didn’t know existed, that she’d been longing for.

The scars of the loneliness, emptiness that Namjoon had experienced had turned his longings into a kind of starvation. He needed to be nourished and also devoured. Brishti was just the creature to do it. He could feel her warm fingers trace rows of pleasure onto his skin. He felt them bear down and singe when the two of them had to move away from each other. He felt those ropes tug at him as the end of his workday neared. Namjoon closed his eyes each night at her touch, the feeling and fragrance of her body. He felt blooms of intimacy spring up like seedlings out of the soil of his skin. And deeper. In the earth of his soul. So he did the only thing he could. Reciprocate. Namjoon sowed his love, his desire, his need onto her, into her every night.

There were times, though, when she would feel his absence in the middle of the night and see him working in the dim light of a lamp. She knew he had to work hard to do what he wanted but she also saw he had to continually prove himself to people who weren’t even paying attention. The reason they weren’t paying attention was painfully clear to Brishti but she was yet to experience it’s full stab.

Namjoon wanted to shield her from it. He was counting on an armour that didn’t exist anymore to protect himself and his wife… the reason he liked his life again. Whenever she came out and switched on a brighter light, reprimanding him for straining his gorgeous eyes, he saw that it did prick her - this world and the unfairness he had to endure. She would say something small, an almost-complaint that alerted him… against her for some strange reason. She would say something that would be easy to ignore and yet would prick him, like - “I don’t know why they haven’t promoted you yet.” or “Why haven’t they taken up Jimin’s case yet? You’ve worked so hard on it.” Everytime she did that, he would have to pacify himself.

‘I’ve told her so much about the Jimin case… she’s just really invested’ Namjoon thought to himself. Just so he would avoid thinking, ‘I shouldn’t have told her.’

He would have to calm himself, give her a peck and try to convince her to stop worrying. “As long as I have you, I’m happy.” Namjoon would always say.

Then, Brishti smiled as she always did. While trying to understand why that sentence bothered her so much. After almost five months of exploring this wonderful man, some part of him still felt unfamiliar… like it didn’t fit in with the rest. Still, these things take time, she had heard from so many women over the years. Besides, she was blessed with a man far far above the norms. So, how could she prod? These are things Brishti had told herself - until the night she couldn’t stay silent.

The couple was coming up on their fifth month together and Park Jimin had gifted Namjoon a ticket to the final show of the season as a token of gratitude, for having heard his story.

Brishti was nervous about going to this kind of a gathering and had told her husband to meet her there.

She had enlisted the help of Sayuri-san to look appropriate for the event. Her slightly longer hair was clipped and her eyes were kohled. She wore a burgundy knee length fringe-ended dress that she had received from her gracious host, stylist and make-up artist - an inheritance of her brilliant life tucked into the black pearl beading and deco design. It was a big departure from the usual tie-die or band tees and jeans with her baggy coat. She had carried the coat but felt this strange sort of compulsion to stand in the cold air in the noodle strap dress, for him to see her.

She felt butterflies in her stomach and kept fiddling with the coat she had draped over her arm. It was electric when she saw him.

Namjoon looked gorgeous in a tux. All of Brishti’s nerves were soothed just by looking at him. He had brushed his hair back. Tall and dashing - better than any heathcliffe could ever be. And with his reading glasses, he looked like the lead of a romance novella that would make all the women swoon. Indeed she was swooning. Brishti was suddenly warm in the chilly, windy night. And when Namjoon saw her, blood rushed to her cheeks. Everything inside her was running helter skelter in a panic. Brishti felt everything drop in the few moments it took for Namjoon to reach the top of the stairs. Dolled up like this, outside of her element, she felt like an imposter. Some angel needed to be standing in her place. For the first time, feigning beauty, Brishti felt like she wasn’t worthy of her husband.

She was finally able to keep her feelings aside when he reached her.

Namjoon kissed her palm like a gentleman and whispered in her ear, “Let’s go home… I need a private kind of dance…” Brishti blushed. Namjoon put his arm around her and felt the chill that had settled on her skin. “Aren’t you cold? Why didn’t you wear the coat?” Namjoon asked. Brishti just shook her head no and the two of them walked in.

Brishti assumed that the ballet would be a welcome distraction from the storm that brewed within her. She had read up about the show, the piece they were going to perform -

Tchaikovsky’s venerated Swan Lake. The story of a young girl who falls in love with a prince who promises to save her but fails. Ofcourse there were finer nuances to the story but this was the basic plot. As the lights dimmed, Brishti felt pulled in by the music, the eerie beauty of it’s melody played in perfectly with the questions that were swirling around in Brishti’s mind -

Why do I feel wrong?

Is this what Yoongi was talking about? Anxiety…?

Why does Namjoon look so... different?

Why is he so quiet, so… distant…It’s like he’s keeping himself away from me despite being right next to me, arm in arm, like the true Namjoon is somewhere in a glass case? Deep deep beneath whatever this creature is who is next to me?

I’m thinking too much. No. What is this? Why am I feeling this way?

It’s the music… no its not just the music… something is fucking wrong because all I feel like doing is breaking that glass case that’s locked away My Namjoon and presented this fucking imposter. What the hell is going on?!

Brishti barely managed to keep it together. She kept her eyes on stage…

It was like seeing a moving painting being created by invisible hands and the music was the sound of the brushstrokes, amplified. Park Jimin was playing Rothbart, the owl-like magician who curses Odette into a swan until she finds someone who would promise to love her forever. The questions in her mind and the power of the spectacle before her forced her tears to keep flowing.

Namjoon saw Brishti cry and held on to her. But the more he tried to comfort her, the more uneasy she became, the more she coudln’t contain the tears in her eyes.

The curtain fell at the end of Act three when the prince realises he has been tricked. Brishti, somehow, mirrored his grief. The prince was cheated by Rothbart into believing that his daughter, Odile, was Odette. Rothbart relished his plan so despicably it made Brishti’s stomach turn. The prince had already declared to the ballroom full of people his vow to love and marry the maiden by his side - Odile, not Odette. Park Jimin played Rothbart so skillfully, so beautifully that despite being the villain, despite being covered from head to toe, he was the star. Rothbart giggled delightfully as he revealed to the prince that the girl in his arms wasn’t Odette at all. That Odette was waiting for her prince by the lake. The curtain fell as the prince felt the stab of betrayal and rushed to Odette.

Brishti rushed to where she did not know. She wanted to get away from Namjoon, from this feeling that she couldn’t understand, couldn’t explain. She was angry. She wanted to break something. Tears still flowing down her face, she found a corner that was hidden away in darkness. She went in. Brishti sat on the couch there, for what seemed like eternity, breathing heavily. Nothing made sense. It felt like her insides were twisting into each other. Suddenly, though, a door creaked open and out came an angel. A man, glowing, having just freshened up. He saw her, saw her fear and instead of pulling back in shock, approached with a strange kindness. He held her wrist and stayed silent for a moment.

His beauty was also a kindness to her. In that moment, Brishti could breathe a little bit better. He sat down by her knees, on the floor and when he spoke, his voice flowed like a tonic, “First time at the ballet? It’s overwhelming… I know. You’re okay. You are safe. Rothbart is not here. Talk to me… what are you feeling?”

The tears kept flowing. This man was different, she knew he understood what she was feeling like. She felt safe, but not as if she was with a saviour, rather as though she was with another victim.

“What are you feeling…” Park Jimin repeated. The pieces were falling into place in her head. This is Park Jimin, the man who danced as Rothbart. The man who should have danced the Prince. Who should have played Odette and Odile.

“I feel… rage.” Brishti trembled as she spoke. She could breathe again.

“Yes… Rothbart is… evil… I’m sorry-”

Brishti nodded her head no. “At the prince.”

Jimin was surprised. “Let it out. You can scream in here and no one would know.”

Brishti didn’t need another invitation, but her rage wasn’t a scream, it was a whisper - “I want to hit the prince. How could he not now? He couldn’t see that that girl was not Odette? Is he blind? The way she moved, the way she danced… which only means… it means that the prince knew… somewhere he felt doubt but he… He couldn’t fucking trust himself enough?! I don’t know why this is breaking my heart… Why can’t people trust in themselves?! It’s a pathetic fucking excuse and I can’t buy it… I just can’t. Why did the prince...” Her hands covered her face as she wiped her tears. She composed herself.

Jimin pulled out a kerchief. “May I?” Brishti nodded and he dabbed her face with care.

“The prince trusted his sight more than his soul. And now, Odette will die because of it. As always, the woman pays the price.”

“He dies too, you know.”

“What a waste…”

Jimin smiled, “Thank you… for watching the show, for feeling it so much.”

Brishti managed a weak smile, “Thank you.” Jimin stepped away and sat next to her, at a respectable distance. “I’m being lied to.”

Jimin nodded, “I know what that’s like. I feel that rage against the prince too. And still, we must be kind to our liars.”

Brishti clenched her teeth, “Why? Where’s the fairness in that?”

Jimin moves away, in a dejected kind of daze and pours himself a drink, “That’s the biggest lie, fairness. Cruel joke.”

Brishti walked toward the door. “I should go… Thank you.”

Jimin raised his glass to her.

Brishti wore her coat and walked toward the exit. She found Namjoon in a panic and suddenly felt like she could reach him. He looked so relieved to see her. She couldn’t help but feel awash with love as he crashed into her in the warmest hug. It was as if he was the one who was lost.

“Are you okay? Why were you crying?” Namjoon asked her as he stroked her head and held her in the hug for as long as she needed.

“I need to ask you something.” Brishti whispered as she pulled away. They began walking down the stairs of the theatre.

“Änything.” Namjoon replied.

“Your firm… they refused the Jimin case, right?”

Namjoon froze. His jaw locked up. “Let’s go home.”

The rest of the way, neither of them spoke a word. They entered their home in a cold silence. They washed the night off themselves and entered their bedroom, which was completely devoid of the heat and desire that usually filled it right up to the ceiling. What used to feel like an ocean, now felt like a vacuum.

When Namjoon walked in, Brishti reminded him, as kindly as she could,“I said I need to ask you something. You said, ‘anything’.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about it.” Namjoon was cold again. Unfeeling. Unreachable.

Brishti tried her best to be calm… “When would you want to talk about it?”

Namjoon breathed in - “Why? Am I answerable to you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we disagree. I don’t think I am answerable to you. What would you have done if I wouldn’t have told you about it in the first place?”

“I would still be feeling what I’m feeling… I would be even more furious though.”

“Fu- why would you be furious? I have to work there, I lost the account. I’m feeling hurt and disappointed in myself and instead of helping me, you’re angry?! What the hell could you be angry at?!”

“I’m being lied to. I’m being tricked.”

“What?!” the contempt on Namjoon’s face made her head throb. He was angry now.

“There are two Namjoons here. I’m being told there’s only one and--”

“That is some philosophical trash that you learned from one of your books. Real life doesn’t work that way. But how would you know?! You don’t have a real job. You have a hobby. A hobby of stacking books in order. You’re just plain lucky that someone is paying you for your hobby. That’s not a job. You of all people cannot tell me about the things I have to do to keep my job. I have tried my best to be as honest as I can be--”

“As honest as you can --”

“Listen to me!” Namjoon thundered. His loud voice might as well have been a punch. It rang through her body and rattled her bones. She had tears in her eyes but clenched them down as Namjoon continued yelling, “Enough… enough with the fucking tears. What the fuck are you so sad about?! I don’t need you to pity me. I don’t need anyone to feel sad for me. I have tried to be a good man - do you even know how much other men don’t even mention to their wives?! I told you everything. EVERYTHING. And now I’m being punished for it. Time and time again I tried to console you… even though I was the one hurting… I tried to be there for you and tell you… as long as I have --”

Brishti couldn’t take it anymore “Don’t. Say that.” She didn’t yell. Her voice was just above a whisper and yet it sent a chill down Namjoon’s spine. She wiped her tears. “I didn’t ask to be consoled. I was just… curious. If a few questions from me hurt so much maybe you should ask yourself why. I’m not lucky that someone decided to pay me for my hobby. It’s nice to know what you really think of my job. But whatever you think, I created my job. I created my life. I fought to come to london. I fought for the right to earn--”

“Oh please... spare me the feminist lecture...” scoffed Namjoon.

“Sure. Take up Jimin’s case.”

Namjoon felt the burn of white hot rage. He wanted to strangle her. He was so used to touching her… and she was his… in this bedroom, he had made her his. He wasn’t thinking. Namjoon strode toward her and held one massive palm over her mouth and the other on her neck and pinned her to the wall. “YOU WOULDN’T HAVE KNOWN ABOUT THAT IF I DIDN’T TELL YOU.”

It took him a few moments to realise what he was doing. Brishti was shocked and tried to scream but no voice came out. She was trying to get him out of his daze when he finally saw her, saw his Rim, horrified… by him. Namjoon pulled his hands back instantly. He saw a red bruise bloom where his hands were - on her face and on her neck.

“This is how you make your conscience shut up?” Brishti’s voice was hoarse. “You think this has nothing to do with your conscience? With the best part of you? The part that you made me fall in love with? Are you really telling me you don’t know that this is why you can’t write the way you used to… You’re killing my Joon and asking me to stay silent. I can’t.”

The searing anger still hadn’t died and it burst out of him, “Why are we fighting like this… over Jimin… why don’t you take up his case if you fucking love him so much?”

“What do you think I’m doing right now?”

“You… Why are you fighting for him against me?!” It was here that Namjoon realised his armour was gone. The idea of who he is... suddenly vanished. And the one thing that had made him feel safe, like his true self, was slipping away. “You’re saying… just tell me… you’re saying what I think you’re saying.”

Brishti did him the only kindness she had left in her, she explained, “Jimin wants to leave but can’t. He stays because he needs to dance. He stays because he cannot get out of his contract. You say you want to help people like Jimin, you roll your eyes at white people who can’t pronounce our names, you feel guilty for asians who have much less than we do… but then you also don’t raise an issue when your boss holds meetings in clubs where people of other races and dogs and women are not allowed. You work overtime for the privilege of weekends… You say you are trying but… as far as I know… you don’t have a non-compete clause in your contract, Namjoon.”

That hit him like an iceberg. Namjoon’s legs gave way and he just sat on the bed.

He watched as Brishti put on her coat and left, covering her bruises with a scarf.

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

Chapter 6 - to be posted.

[reiraland]

Two sides of a coin - Leiftan / Lance P.O.V.

Just a short fanfic I wrote after 4th episode was released. I had even forgotten about it.

Leiftan p.o.v 

I melancholically observed the statues of two aengels placed behind the Centenary cherry tree, both of them meant to represent us… Erika and myself. A sad half-smile decorated my face. It seemed to be a bitter mockery. Me… an aengel? I could only see myself as a daemon.

Since I had awakened from my seven-years slumber, the weight of my sins consumed myself. My world felt colorless, tasteless.

“I don’t want to fight anymore… I refuse to hold a weapon… I don’t want to kill again…” That was my inner wish.

I longed to be freed from my chains, but would I ever be able to? The endless darkness had devoured me long ago, corrupting my soul beyond salvation. In my heart, I knew I deserved no compassion or forgiveness.

Every time I frozened with agony or anxiety, it took all my strength to stop myself from breaking apart. Speaking with anyone felt like a torture. Only in solitude could I find a tiny piece of solace. Meditating helped me to release some tensions, but the core of my suffering still remained. My own existence filled me with despair and shame.  

Erika… even a single fleeting memory of her brought me mixed feelings. I had to push her away from me. I couldn't allow her to frequent me, my mere company might taint her. I wished her a bright, happy life, that’s why I would spare no effort along the way to protect her from my darkness.

--

Nevra’s verbal attacks buzzed in my head.

“How's it going, Leiftan? I hope the sound of the battle didn’t bother you at the helm.”, “You’re probably the most skilled fighter on this ship! If you’d used your powers, you could have destroyed those monsters in a matter of seconds. But instead, you let us risk our lives. You let Erika risk her life.”

It infuriated me. How could he be so blind? Did he not realize the monster I could become once more if I unleashed my powers? I was scared… not just scared… I was terrified to death of falling prey to my daemon side. I struggled every day to prevent it from emerging.  

Looking at my reflection in the mirror, my train of thought kept flowing.

“In a hundred years we’ll both feel the same way, but at least I won’t have wasted a century hiding like a coward.” Those were Lance’s words. They had struck me harder than I wished to admit to myself.

“Lance... Do you truly believe your good actions will redeem you? No matter what you do, nothing will erase your crimes… I know it very well…” My sorrow was clear on my dim voice.  I gave a deep sigh.

Sitting in the dark, silent cabin, all alone, I awaited to hear the sound of a door that I once locked opening. I did yearn for salvation, after all, despite being useless in my current state and being a burden to others, especially to her… Would I ever come up with a solution? Would I find a way out the loop?

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

Lance p.o.v. 

As soon as I reached my cabin, I locked the door and rested my back on it.

“Tell me, brother. Did I do well today? Was it enough to consider myself worthy of living one more day?” I said aloud, my voice was flat.

Leiftan’s words still reverberated in my head like banshees' screams.

“You can save as many lives as you want, Lance… but it will never make up for what you did.”

He spoke the truth, yet I could not help myself but to retort.

“We both have to live with guilt. A hundred years from now on, it will probably be the same. A hundred years from now, how many lives will you have saved, Leiftan? What will you have done for this world? We’ll both feel the same way, but at least I won’t have wasted a century hiding like a coward”.

I had spat those words, even though I was acutely aware of Leiftan’s sacrifice when he decided to give up his life, alongside Erika. He might never be fully redeemed for his crimes, but seven years ago he had fought with all his might to put a stop to my devious schemes. However, since his awakening, he seemed like a consumed candle. Had he really given up? 

I did not have the luxury of dwelling in my regrets like he did. I would keep persisting in this path of aiding and protecting this world, which I almost destroyed once, even if I could never be forgiven for my past actions.

I tossed aside my armour and plopped onto the bed. Closing my eyes, I dived into the realm where dreams await. One scene had been repeating in my mind every second of unconsciousness since that ill-fated moment, since I took my brother’s life.

I dug my claws into my brother’s chest. His face reflected his pain. After removing my claws from his body, he collapsed to the ground, lifeless. Blood kept spreading on the floor, like an overflowing sink. I felt my soul shattered beyond repair.  

I gasped for air and I realized I was already awake, sitting on my bed. My breathing was unstable and I was drenched in sweat.

“Brother… I will keep living for the sake of my promise. I will not fail you again. I will safeguard as many people as I am able to. Hey, Valkyon… I have no right to say this, but… I miss you...” I murmured with a cracked voice. Any tears left my eyes, although I felt I was choked with sorrow.

I turned my face toward the window. Dawn hadn’t arrived yet, but I knew there was no use trying to get back asleep. So, I got up as ready as I could be to face a new day in this path of penance.

[maddiewritesstucky]

💕 Silver Steve and Bucky - Intimacy 💕

Your honor, they’re  t O u C H i n G

Rating: Explicit

You wanted it, I wanted it, so here it is - the extremely feelsy and long-winded beginning of Silver Steve and Bucky’s sexual relationship. It’s almost 3k long so I’m not sure what to even call it at this point, it starts as HC and slips into being fic when dialogue made the formatting look messy. 

***

  Bucky is self-aware enough to know that he tends to lead with his heart, is a bit of a romantic and tends to feel things big. It’s both a blessing and a curse - he’s been burned before by his desire to love and be loved, and he knows the sensible thing here would be to take things slow with Steve, but...he doesn’t want to

Every moment he spends with Steve over the weeks following their first date only serves to confirm that Bucky is safe to embrace his vulnerability, to let himself feel this growing connection in its entirety. There’s a patience and sincerity to the way Steve approaches their budding relationship, this underlying sense that something very real is being built here, that makes Bucky want to throw his whole self into it, and his body is very much on board with this idea

A little too on board

Bucky has always been comfortable in his sexual nature, has always enjoyed physical intimacy and considers his drive for it pretty typical for a guy his age. But Steve stirs up something in him that’s not entirely familiar; a deeper, richer shade of want than anything Bucky’s ever felt before

He can’t close his eyes without seeing Steve’s face, his hands, his broad shoulders and tight waist. He finds himself lying awake at night, running his hands over his body, picturing how Steve might touch him, how he’d lay hands and lips and whispered words all over Bucky’s bare skin, pouring his whole being into forging a new kind of connection between them

It’s longing, to put it plainly, and it embeds itself right at Bucky’s core, sending out tendrils that crackle and spark under his skin when Steve gets close

He finds himself creating excuses to touch Steve, putting himself in Steve’s physical space any chance he gets just to feel the magnitude of his presence. He’ll walk close so their hands brush, and choose places to sit that necessitate their thighs pressing together, and lean his weight all the way forward against Steve’s chest when Steve kisses his cheek or chastely pecks him on the lips at the end of a date

And it’s not that Steve doesn't realize what Bucky’s doing, or doesn’t want it - he’s acutely and joyously aware of Bucky’s physical proximity at all times. It’s just...Bucky’s young, comparatively, and Steve wants to be sure they’re developing their relationship as a whole

Steve needs to know for himself that he’s done everything he can to create a culture of respect and trust and security between them, because he knows once they open that door to sexual intimacy, it will be nothing short of consuming

So he tries to hold back. He really does. He succeeds for a while too, but every time Bucky gets in his space, every time he puts his hands on Steve’s chest and sighs against his lips or winds his arms up around Steve’s neck, Steve’s resolves cracks a little more

He kisses Bucky a little deeper, holds on a little tighter and a little longer. He allows his hands to trace the curve of Bucky’s back and squeeze at his hips, lets some of that hunger creep into his touch because he can’t keep pretending he’s not starving for this

It’s one night when he’s driving Bucky home after a dinner date that the current between them shifts in a way that Steve doesn’t have the fortitude to redirect anymore

All night, Bucky’s been different with him, bold and insistent in the way he gets up in Steve’s space; letting his touches linger and looking at Steve with unmistakable intent. His hand has been resting on Steve’s thigh the whole drive home, fingertips tracing steadily higher up the inseam of Steve’s jeans, and there’s not a damn thing Steve can do to hide the effect it’s having on him

They roll to a stop at a red light, and Steve looks over to find Bucky staring at him, bottom lip caught between his teeth and a determination in his gaze that Steve hasn’t seen before

When he speaks, there’s a faint shimmer of nerves in his voice, but he doesn’t let himself break from Steve’s gaze even for a second.

“Steve, when we get back to my place...I’m going to ask you to come inside, and I want you to say yes.”

“Buck--”

“Say yes, Steve. Come home with me...put your hands on me.” 

The light’s changed but Steve can’t move for a minute, can’t make the shift from brake to gas pedal. Bucky’s hand is trembling a little on his thigh and he’s looking at Steve so open and imploring, and what else can Steve do but lean over the console and put his lips against Bucky’s?  

He kisses him fierce and desperate, and when they finally make it back to Bucky’s place, they get all of about two steps in past the front door before the dam breaks and Steve’s catching Bucky’s mouth in a searing kiss, backing him up against the door and slipping his hands up under Bucky’s shirt.

God, his skin is so warm, so soft, just like his lips; just like the push of Bucky’s tongue into his mouth and the sounds catching in Bucky’s throat.

“Can’t stop thinking about you, ‘bout this,” Bucky breathes, says it like a confession he’s been waiting to unload. His hands fumble at Steve’s belt and he's huffing soft frustrated sounds but it’s too soon, too fast - Steve wants to drag this out forever just so he can unravel Bucky one pleasure-thread at a time, wants to touch Bucky in ways that will sink all the way down to his marrow and never leave him for as long as he lives.

He catches Bucky’s hands and pins them up above his head, shushing Bucky’s protests and kissing him slow; stroking his tongue against Bucky’s over and over until the frantic edge to Bucky’s movements has ebbed. 

“God I want you, you got no idea…” he whispers against Bucky’s lips, releasing Bucky’s hands to run his own down Bucky’s sides, squeezing at his waist and his hips. “Wanna give you everything, sweetheart...you gonna let me?” 

...Up to this point, Bucky’s held in his mind a picture of Steve, of the respectful, kind, self-controlled man he’s been dating for the past two months. It’s an accurate picture, one that’s been reaffirmed time and time again. But it’s not until he takes Steve by the hand and leads him to the bedroom that Bucky realizes it’s been an incomplete picture, in ways he couldn’t have imagined.

The Steve who follows Bucky to the bedroom; who slowly strips him of his clothes and leaves not a single inch of exposed skin unkissed, whose gaze drags over him heavy and hot, who whispers things about Bucky’s body that make Bucky’s cheeks go up in flames...this Steve is deeply, unashamedly erotic. 

Bucky feels suddenly like he’s been dating Steve’s soul all this time, and is just now for the first time meeting Steve the flesh-and-blood man, sensual and sexual and hungry in ways that are making Bucky’s head spin.

He strips Bucky down, gently batting Bucky’s hands away when he reaches to try hurry Steve along. He runs his hands and his mouth over Bucky’s skin, tells him how beautiful he is, how soft his skin is, how good he feels under Steve’s hands. 

“I’ve thought about this so many times,” Steve confesses, kissing softly around Bucky’s ear, “I tried not to, but...god, I’ve been dreamin’ about your body, sweetheart…’bout all the things I wanna do to it…” 

“Tell me,” Bucky gasps, “everything, all of it.”

...He asks for it, expects a few heated words or maybe even Steve burying his face in the crook of his neck and running his mouth right there against his skin. What he doesn’t anticipate is Steve pulling back; sinking down to sit at the edge of the bed, taking Bucky’s hands gently in his and pulling him to stand between his spread thighs.

His thumbs stroke across the backs of Bucky’s hands, a soft, mundane gesture, and it’s the only physical contact Steve makes as he looks Bucky dead in the eye, and starts to talk.

“I think about touching you, Bucky. More than holding your hand, or wrapping my arms around you, or kissing your lips...I think about touching you like a lover, in places and in ways no else gets to.  I’ve thought about what you’d taste like, what you’d sound like...if you’d grab onto me or shake in my arms or cry out for me...if you’d need me…” 

“Makes me feel selfish, Buck, the way that I want you...way I want you to want me. Wanna know what it feels like to bury my face between your thighs, feel them wrapping around my head...wanna know what your cock feels like in my hand, and on my tongue, and god Bucky, I...I think about what you’d feel like on the inside. If I just pressed inside you with my fingertip, if I was careful...if I just, stroked you, on the inside..if you’d like it…” 

Steve knows he’s being intense as all hell, but he can’t help it - here’s Bucky standing before him, aroused and vulnerable and looking at him with all the trust in the world, and he couldn’t give him any less than the absolute honest truth even if he tried. He needs Bucky to know not just that he desires him, but that he sees him, and that doing right by Bucky in this way matters to him more than Bucky could ever know.

...It’s the most intense thing Bucky has ever experienced. He stands there naked before Steve, gazes locked and hands joined, listening to Steve unabashedly share his most private fantasies, and Bucky can’t tell if he wants to cry more for how overwhelming it all is, or for the sheer revelation that in spite of that...he’s never felt safer in his life. 

He pulls Steve back to his feet and fumbles his way through tugging Steve’s clothes off his body, hands shaking and heart racing, and it’s a striking contrast to the absolute self-assuredness radiating off of Steve. There’s not an ounce of reservation or self-consciousness in him - he bares himself to Bucky and just lets Bucky look, lets Bucky see him exactly as he is, and Bucky wants to look at this and only this for the rest of his goddamn life.

He knew on some level what he was in for, with Steve’s preference for well-fitting clothes. But it’s a whole other thing, seeing it in the literal flesh - the flush on Steve’s skin, the constellations of freckles over his shoulders; the dusky pink of his peaked nipples and the dark hair that covers the broad spread of his chest and trails all the way down his belly. 

He’s a picture of functional strength, softened by age on the surface but unmistakably powerful at his core, his frame still holding onto the vague curves and dips of muscle that probably would have looked airbrushed 10 years ago. His body is so big, and beautiful, and there’s so much of him to look at, but Bucky’s eyes can’t help but gravitate to one particular spot.

...Bucky hasn’t blushed over a dick since he was a teenager, but Steve is thick, and he’s hard, and he’s leaking from the flushed tip and it’s all because of Bucky, and that knowledge alone almost sends Bucky over the edge.

He steps in close and runs his hands over Steve, presses his palms to all that strength and runs his fingertips through Steve’s body hair, kisses him right over his heart and breathes in the scent of his skin, and Steve just lets him do it all; just lets him touch and explore and wraps his arms around him when Bucky presses in close against him.

Bucky’s shaking by the time Steve lays them both out on the bed, pressed together chest to chest; his hands stroking down Bucky’s back and his lips touching soft kisses to Bucky’s face. It already feels like so much, and they’ve barely even begun to touch yet.

Bucky couldn’t explain even to himself what it is that happens between them that night. Maybe it’s sex, and maybe it’s not, but it’s the best Bucky’s ever had it either way. They kiss deeply and slowly, they hold each other and run hands over each other, and roll and shift their bodies in ways that make their breaths hitch and have them moaning soft sounds against each other's lips.

Steve puts his mouth on Bucky so heartbreakingly tender; touches him inside and out with a reverence Bucky’s never known, and Steve doesn’t have to say a word of it for Bucky to understand with bone-deep clarity that his pleasure matters to Steve.

And Steve, he’s at once buoyed and grounded by the sheer responsibility of it all, of the gift he’s being given. He feels like he’s holding a livewire in his hands, can see and hear and feel that Bucky is so close to being overwhelmed, his young body so much quicker to respond and so much harder to pull back from the precipice.

He just wants to give to Bucky, to make him feel held and desired and known; to see him lean into his own pleasure and feel whatever it is he feels, and to do it open and unashamed.

He finds himself praising Bucky for the sounds he’s letting out, strokes Bucky’s face and tells him he’s so beautiful like this; rubs the rigid line of his own cock into the crease of Bucky’s hip, “see what you do to me, how much you turn me on?”  

Bucky’s gone for it, allows himself to just be wholly in the moment. Steve is pleasuring him, but this is not something that’s being done to him - Steve’s doing this with him, every bit as caught up and aroused and invested as Bucky is, and Bucky thinks maybe he’s never really known true intimacy before, because it’s never been this.

When he finally comes apart in Steve’s arms, it might have been Steve’s hand on him, or the rub of Steve’s body against his, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s surrounded, by Steve’s warmth and his skin and his scent and his voice in Bucky’s ear telling him that he’s safe, that it’s okay to let go, and Bucky’s never believed anything more in all his life.

In the afterglow of his orgasm he’s distantly cognizant of himself asking Steve to come, as good as pleading for it. Steve insists he doesn’t need it tonight, that this was already more than he’d hoped for. But his arousal is broadcast loud across his body and Bucky wants it, needs to know how it feels to be part of Steve falling apart.

He curls himself around Steve’s body and reaches for his cock, kissing him along the line of his jaw, and Steve gives into him with a sigh; wrapping an arm around Bucky and holding him close.

Bucky’s grip is a little weak in his exerted state, so Steve wraps his own hand around Bucky’s and together they stroke him tight and slow, and it’s not long before his body is drawing taut and his breaths start to catch on the inhale. When Steve comes, he does it  quietly - no more than a sigh and a soft sound at the back of his throat, but the vulnerability of it hits Bucky hard.

The emotional aftermath is heady. They’re both breathing hard, pressed close and looking at each other like they’re trying to figure out if this is real, if this happened. Bucky finds himself clinging to Steve in a way that’s not entirely dignified, but Steve doesn’t seem any more willing to let him go, so they just hold each other; kissing soft and slow, just like how they began.

Bucky doesn’t need to ask if Steve intends to stay over - Steve’s looking at him like he might never leave this bed again. They clean up and nestle in under the covers, physically spent and a little emotionally raw in that way it can be when your heart suddenly cracks itself wide open and throws a ‘sold’ sign on itself.

They’ll talk about all of it in the morning, put words to some of the things they’ve both been thinking and feeling and wanting. But for tonight, they fall asleep wrapped around each other; Bucky’s head cradled against Steve’s chest, and neither of them set an alarm because it’s Saturday tomorrow, and they have nowhere they need to be.

More to the point, neither of them have anywhere else they’d want to be. Maybe ever. 

[vegalocity]

So bc everyone's really enjoying that Protag Swap AU with Red Son I've been thinking about it myself quite a bit and so now here i am

Here's a scene from The Beach Car

--

The cat's pod was... minimally challenging to fix. no more complex than his Inferno truck. He knew there was a heavy enough chance that the cat was lying about having connections to the conductor, but if her only payment was fixing up her travel pod for her and a lightning protection charm, then it was worth taking the chance. (Though she had tried to have him sell OneOne to her, it seemed like legitimate magic was far more interesting for her. And it made sense to have a lightning charm, who knew when her pod would malfunction again and electrocute her)

“Tomcat, tell me something-” The cat poked her head into his line of sight and Red Son raised a brow.

“Don't call me that.”

“Why did your parents choose such a... literal... name for you?” The Cat continued as though he hadn't spoken. “out of all the names in the world, why did they look upon their child and say 'ah yes, 'Red Son' will be perfect for our red haired son? Why not something less descriptive? Isn't it also a naming custom to affiliate your child with what you hope of them? Though I admit I wouldn't know.” The cat primly began to groom herself. “Never had any kittens of my own.”

“None of your business.”

“Red Son!” OneOne chimed in rolling up to his work area “How tall are you?”

“172 centimeters, why-”

“What is your hair? Is it fire? Is it hair?” “Is it a reflection of your inner turmoil bubbling to the surface?”

He felt his hair spark to life at the surprisingly pointed commentary. “That's none of your-!”

“Why DID your parents name you after your hair color?” OneOne interrupted again.

“Ugh! Why does that matter?”

“The orb is rather talkative Tomcat, you sure you don't want me to take him off your hands for you?”

“OneOne isn't for sale fleabag.” The cat gasped in mock affront.

“how rude! I was only trying to take such an irritating thing off your hands!” She was enjoying this. He could see the amused glint in her eye as her tail swished back and forth.

A wire darted across his hand and with a prick of pain he was now bleeding. Red Son let out a shout of frustration and rolled out from beneath the pod. He had some small bandages he could use to patch up his hand but he was flustered and it was making his hands shake.

“Fine. You both want a story so bad?”

“Frankly I could care less, Tomcat.”

“Story!” OneOne scurried up and made themself at home in Red Son's lap.

“Well it's not much of one-...” then again father did love to tell it when he was young, every year on his birthday, the exact time right down to the minute. And whenever allies would come over and make some idle comment about his strength, his father would launch into the story with the premise of 'My son has been a fighter from the moment he was born'

He wondered if father would tell it any differently now that Red Son was a disappointment.

“Technically they named me Red Boy, I changed it to Red Son myself when I became of age and thus was no longer a boy. But as my father tells the story, I came out... Early. Very early.”

His hands had stopped shaking, so he began to apply the bandages to the sluggishly bleeding wound. “Back then a premature birth was gravely dangerous for mother, but a death sentence for me. Healers had long since known there was no point in working in favor of the child if it wouldn't last a week let alone the customary month, So they prioritized mother's life instead. Which s it turned out, didn't matter because I was born anyway. And I didn't die. When I'd first come out my hair was black like mothers, though I didn't have much of it. I was alive, but I wouldn't stir. I wouldn't open my eyes or cry or een give the smallest twitch on my own. The healers informed my parents I wouldn't live to see the sun rise.

“Father couldn't stand the idea of any offspring of his perishing without a fight, so he ordered the servants to make the fire in the room burn as hot as they could possibly get it, as he thought I would fight harder if my surroundings better resembled the womb I left too soon. But I don't think he truly believed I would survive, he just wanted me to last longer than the healers predicted. It was a somber affair, So I've been told, the two of them waiting for the end. Mother recovering from her injuries in a sweltering room and my life slowly fading, father the only one in the room whole and hale enough to be acutely aware of the fact that one or both of us would perish."

“Oh my!” “Did you die?”

“No OneOne, I didn't die.”

“Sure enough the sun rose, and I was still breathing. Mother was resting still, and Father was feeling restless. He felt as though he had to stay awake to ensure that should I slip away I would do so with one or both of them there to send me off. And in a state of restlessness took to tending the fire himself.

“At the time even when he was shrunk to the smallest size he was comfortable with I was still small enough to fit in a single hand. Or so he told me.

“So he had me in one hand and tended to the fire with the other. Then the wood gave an unexpected crack, loud as a catapult he told me; cinders and embers went everywhere, and a few landed on me. But when father went to check me for wounds, he saw me do something I had lacked the strength for previously. I stirred. And for just a moment, I'd opened my eyes. “Immediately he shouted for mother to awaken and barked orders to the servants to throw the bassinet into the hearth, Mother thought he'd been thrown into a fit of rage and wanted all of the things they'd set up for me to be destroyed and began to insist that such an action was a waste of furniture, but the bassinet was already burning by the time she did so, and father placed me inside.

“The fire was all around me, and so the story goes, I stirred in the heat, opened my eyes to the warm glow, I breathed in the smoke-” he lit his fist aflame, careful to keep it far enough from OneOne that he wouldn't damage the little guy. “And I screamed. Father considers that the moment I truly was born.” He remembers waking before the sun in his childhood eager to begin his days, and just as the sun began to raise over the horizon on a certain day his father would pull him aside and begin on the story. “They uh- they left me in there chucking more and more bassinets into the fire until they were sure I'd grown strong enough to survive without it. And by the time that had happened a few months later, my hair had turned red like black coal turning to red embers. So they called me Red Boy.”

“That's a mighty ability tomcat.” The cat chimed in, striding forward and leaning as close to the flame as she was willing to risk. “You say your father realized that ability was yours simply on the fact that you weren't burned by the fire?”

“You were a very brave baby. You already knew what you needed to live but since you were a baby nobody listened to you” OneOne chimed, their cheerful voice surprisngly somber, before the dour voice came in “I can relate, Nobody listens to me either.”

“I didn't know what I needed OneOne, I was a baby. I didn't know anything.”

“I bet you were cuuuutteeee” OneOne chimed again, far closer to their normal tone. Red Son felt his hair spark to life again, his face burning in turn. The cat chuckled.

“Settle down Tomcat, don't want you burning my pod up much like your numerous bassinets before you can fix it.”

[m3kuroshirt]

House of Assassins Part Five

Links to Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Word count: 2632

Warnings: coarse language, family disagreements/fighting

The darkness was warm…heavy…firm. Ichigo didn’t want to leave it. But even as he struggled to stay in the comfort of the shadowy realm of sleep, his eyelids fluttered open, beckoned by the day light. With a low groan, Ichigo tried to move. He was unsuccessful. Something was stopping him, wrapped around him, holding him down. His eyes widened and he tensed, completely awake and alert now, ready to face whatever threat he needed to. Scenarios whirled through his head: how to get untied, how to get out from under a crushing weight, who was after him? Was it Aizen??? Did he find out about the assassination plan already?!

Ichigo’s eyes locked on what, or rather, who, was weighing him down. Blue hair was the first thing he saw, short locks splayed across his own chest. A strong jawline. Broad shoulders, with biceps emphasized by the lack of sleeves from the tank top their owner wore. Ichigo blinked once, twice. Then his face erupted in warmth, blood rushing to his cheeks. Grimmjow is on top of me?! When?! How???? Is this a dream????? Ichigo swallowed nervously and shifted. The arms around him loosened and a low grumble came from his companion as he slowly blinked awake. Ichigo just watched with wide eyes. Grimmjow pulled back a bit, his weight shifting uncomfortably onto Ichigo’s midsection, making Ichigo grunt. Grimmjow paused and looked Ichigo up and down, seemingly unsurprised by their position.

“Sleep well?” he asked. Ichigo felt his cheeks flush more. An odd look came across Grimmjow’s face; one that could be described as someone analyzing the pieces of a puzzle.

“M…more or less,” Ichigo managed to get out, shifting uncomfortably. He was acutely aware of every inch of his body that was in contact with Grimmjow’s. And while he didn’t hate the sensation, he wasn’t sure how his friend would react to his feelings. He swallowed. “Um…why…why are you on top of me?” he mumbled. Grimmjow tilted his head.

“Oh. Yeah.” He looked a bit embarrassed now, as he crawled off of Ichigo completely. Ichigo drew his legs up to his chest and the two of them sat on the couch, facing each other. “I was helping you to the couch last night, but when we got here you grabbed onto me and wouldn’t let go. So…I ended up sleeping here. With you.”

Ichigo groaned and closed his eyes. He rested his forehead on his knees. “I’m so sorry,” he replied. He could feel the blush spreading down his neck. He prayed Grimmjow only thought it was from acting out in his sleep and not the fact that he secretly enjoyed having the other man on top of him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Grimmjow replied. “It’s not like you did it on purpose.” Ichigo looked up at him a little glumly but nodded along. Grimmjow shifted awkwardly, eyes shifting toward the kitchen, then back to Ichigo. “Uh. Breakfast?” As if on cue, Ichigo’s stomach growled. He hunched in on himself even more.

“Please,” he agreed. Grimmjow nodded and stood. He walked straight to the kitchen without looking back. Ichigo slowly slid off the couch and followed after him. The mugs from the night before were still out on the table. Grimmjow grabbed them as he passed and casually put them in the dishwasher. He walked over to the fridge.

“What do you wanna eat?” Grimmjow asked over his shoulder. Ichigo shrugged, then realized the other man couldn’t see him.

“Uh, whatever is fine,” Ichigo mumbled. Grimmjow did look at him then, eyebrow raised and expression slightly exasperated. “Ok…uh, eggs?” Ichigo amended.

“Ok.” Grimmjow turned back to the fridge and grabbed a carton of eggs. He started bustling around the kitchen, grabbing a frying pan, various seasonings, and some butter. Ichigo stood awkwardly in the kitchen entrance and just watched. He enjoyed seeing the way Grimmjow’s body moved, confident and strong. The tank top allowed a nice view of his arms and shoulders, and Ichigo couldn’t help remembering that those very arms had been wrapped around him this morning. His blue hair was messy and tangled, and Ichigo flexed his hands, resisting the urge to walk over and comb his fingers through it. It looked soft.

“Good morning!” A soft, sing-song voice called. Ichigo jolted and looked behind him to see a pretty girl with long green hair.

“Oh…hi Nel,” he answered. “Uh. Good morning.” Nel smiled brightly at him.

“It’s nice to see you, Ichigo! I missed you,” she declared, not even questioning why he was there so early. Ichigo was not quite sure what to think of that. He gave her an awkward smile, while Grimmjow huffed.

“We live next door to him, you can literally go and see him any time. The hell do you mean you ‘missed him’,” he muttered. Nel just smiled wider, though her brother couldn’t see, and stepped past Ichigo into the kitchen.

“Ehhhh, Grimmy, are you making us eggs this morning?” she asked as she bumped shoulders with him. Grimmjow narrowed his eyes at her.

“I’m making Ichigo and myself eggs. You are on your own,” he retorted. Nel pouted at him. Grimmjow met her gaze and the two of them stared for a long moment. Finally, Grimmjow sighed and cracked another egg into the pan. “Fine. Whatever. You’re making lunch, then,” he grumbled. Nel cheered and threw her arms around Grimmjow in a hug. Ichigo couldn’t help but smile at the exchange. Then, seemingly satisfied that she’d gotten what she wanted from her brother, Nel whirled around and strode over to Ichigo. She grabbed his hands and led him to the table.

“Come on, Ichi! While Grimmy makes breakfast we can talk! It feels like we haven’t talked in foreeeeveeeer!” Nel all but shoved Ichigo into a chair, and then perched herself in the one directly opposite him. “How have you been? Still busy? How are Rukia and Orihime? Do you know if they’re free anytime soon? I want to go shopping! You would have to come, too, and we could bring Grimmy and make it a day for the group of us! Oh, and there’s a cute little cupcake place I found, that I really, really want to try, but Grimmy won’t go with me, but he’d probably go if you came and…” Ichigo just blinked and nodded along as Nel babbled on and on. He couldn’t quite keep up with every leap her train of thought seemed to make, but he did his best. Her enthusiasm and bright attitude made him feel more at ease, and he really did enjoy spending time around her.

It seemed to be in no time at all that Grimmjow placed the eggs on the table, along with a plate full of toast. Ichigo didn’t even know when he’d prepared that, too caught up in listening to Nel to even realize what the other man was cooking. He ate gratefully and assisted with clean up afterward. Nel gave him a very enthusiastic hug as he left and Ichigo patted her shoulders awkwardly. He did a half wave to Grimmjow, who only grunted and nodded. Then, Ichigo was on his way over to his own home. He braced himself at the door before opening it and stepping inside, tensing at the thought of the comments he knew would be coming his way.

He expected teasing. Jibes. Smirks and grins. Suggestive comments, even.

What Ichigo did not expect was chaos.

“Listen here, if I find out you did anything. Anything to him. If one single hair on his head is out of line, I will fucking end you. Do you hear me, Shunsui?!” Kisuke’s voice was the first thing he heard. It was odd, though, strained and erratic, almost panicky. Ichigo blinked. What’s going on? Who is he talking about? What happened? He wondered. He wandered to the kitchen cautiously.

A map was spread out on the table, held down by various make-shift paperweights; a shoe, a few books, and a…knife? What? Ichigo frowned. Around the map stood Rukia and Yoruichi. “Retsu said there’s a store here and here under Hueco Mundo Pharmaceuticals,” Yoruichi was saying as she pointed to two different places. “And then they have a warehouse where they deal with shipping here.” She pointed to another location. Rukia nodded.

“My brother said he can loan us a few bodyguards…we can have them help as drivers so we can split up and take all the places at once,” she stated matter-of-factly. Yoruichi purse her lips.

“Does he really want his name attached to this? When we go in, it won’t be a quiet operation,” she pointed out. Rukia gave her a firm look.

“This is more important. To me, and to him,” she replied. Ichigo opened his mouth to ask what was going on but was interrupted by a loud thud.

The door to the basement banged open and Jinta entered the kitchen with a large box marked ‘Dangerous: Explosives’. “I’ve got enough here to blow all of the town away,” he announced. “Tell me who needs ‘em.” Ururu followed from behind him, carrying another box, this one unmarked.

She said something, but Ichigo lost it in the sudden outburst from Kisuke.

“I don’t care what time you said he was there! You’re the last one who fucking saw him. That means that as far as I know, you’re next on the list if he’s not with that bastard!” he shouted. Footsteps pounded on the stairs and Ichigo barely turned in time to see Renji race down them, dressed completely in work gear, hair yanked back in a ponytail. He was followed by Chad, who was wolfing down some food as he ran into the kitchen.

“Chad and I are ready!” Renji announced. “’Hime! Where are the first aid kits!” Orihime was in a corner with Tessai, three first aid kits open in front of them on the counter.

“Here! Almost finished, we’re just making sure they’re all fully stocked!” she called, her usual bright tone now direct and sharp. Ururu carried her box over to her, and Orihime said something, but it was lost as more commotion arose.

“I’m ready to go, and I’m not waiting,” Uryuu announced as he ran down the stairs. He took a brief glance at the map on the table. “I’ll be at the warehouse. There’s an apartment complex right next to it; it’s a prime spot to set up my equipment.”

“The first aid kit!” Rukia protested. Uryuu turned away from her.

“I’ve got my own personal one,” he shouted over his shoulder. He almost smacked right into Ichigo as he turned around, and he flinched and stepped around him. “Move out of the way, Ichigo! We need to go find Ichigo!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, there was a pause. Silence descended on the household. Ichigo blinked. He glanced at each member of his household, before looking back at Uryuu.

“Find…me? I’m right here?” he stated finally. Everyone stared at him. Ichigo shifted nervously from foot to foot. “Uh. Is…is everything ok?” No one answered.

“Crisis averted,” Kisuke muttered into the phone, presumably to Shunsui, before he hung up. He pocketed his phone and walked over to Ichigo. He stopped right in front of him and crossed his arms. “So. Where were you?”

Ichigo swallowed. He glanced around at everyone nervously, before answering. “Uh. I was…next door…” Kisuke raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t wearing his hat and his hair looked a complete mess, as if he’d been running his hands through it and tugging at it.

“Next door. This whole time?”

Ichigo shrugged. “Um. Yeah? Since Shunsui dropped me off last night. Grimmjow was up and he…invited me over?”

Yoruichi frowned, hands on her hips. “And you didn’t think to send someone a message? Or at least answer your phone this morning?! We called you at least six times!”

“Wait, so you’re saying that while we were all worried you were fucking found out already and kidnapped by that fucking pharmacy, you were just over there getting laid?!” Renji demanded. Ichigo felt his cheeks heat up.

“What does ‘getting laid’ mean?” Jinta asked. Ichigo’s face reddened even more.

“No one answer that,” he snapped. Rukia glared at him.

“Oh no, you don’t get to make any rules right now,” she told him. Renji opened his mouth, but Rukia turned to him. “And you! You won’t answer Jinta right now, because I said so.” Renji shut his mouth.

“You should have answered your phone,” Chad stated, seemingly the calmest one in the household. Ichigo shook his head.

“It didn’t ring? I would have woken up if it did,” he replied as he fished his phone out of his pocket. “See…” his voice trailed off as he tried, unsuccessfully, to turn it on. “Oh. I…I guess it died.”

“Well, we can’t fault you for that,” Orihime tried to smooth the situation over, but Renji interrupted her. He shoved past Kisuke, grabbed Ichigo by the shoulder and shoved him against the wall. Uryuu protested, but Renji ignored him, focused entirely on Ichigo.

“Are you stupid? Do you just regularly go out on jobs without your phone fully charged? And why the hell would you not come home?! It’s right next door! It’s not like it’s that hard!” he shouted. Ichigo glared at him and shoved him off of himself. He stepped forward, bracing himself, muscles tensed and ready to fight.

“Am I stupid?! Me?! What about you all?!!! You were ready to go in, guns blazing, to destroy our cover, completely wreck our credibility, ruin the entire business we have going, because I was a little late in coming home?!” Ichigo snapped.

“As if you wouldn’t do the exact same thing!” Rukia shot back. She strode over to stand beside Renji, arms crossed.

Ichigo tensed his jaw. “That’s…different…”

“How, exactly?” Uryuu demanded now. Ichigo was starting to feel cornered. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and his eyes darted around, scanning for an exit route.

“I think we all need to calm down,” Yoruichi began. Next to her, Ururu was trembling. She placed a calm hand on the girl’s shoulder and stepped in front of her. “We should talk…”

Uryu ignored her and prompted Ichigo again. “How is it different?”

Ichigo was beyond listening. “Just! Shut up! It’s just different!”

“You can’t keep treating your life like it’s disposable!” Renji shouted at him. He took a step forward into Ichigo’s space again. Ichigo leaned forward and hollered back.

“Shut up! I’m fine!”

A hand slammed against Ichigo’s chest, and one against Renji’s, shoving them both backward two steps and effectively separating them. Between them now stood Yoruichi, eyes blazing.

“I said, calm the fuck down,” she ordered. Her voice was not a decibel above her normal volume, yet the silence that took over the household let her voice carry as if she was in the center of the colosseum. A few seconds passed. No one dared move a muscle. Yoruichi turned her gaze to Ichigo. “Ichigo: go upstairs and take a shower, cool off, then come back to the kitchen. We have some talking to do. I did not like what I was hearing just now.” She turned to Renji. “Renji, go have a glass of water or something. Get your hot head under control. Charging and aggression will get us nowhere.” Renji glared for a moment longer, before turning on his heel and heading to the cupboards. Ichigo thought about defying. He really did. But one look at Yoruichi’s fiery golden eyes told him that wasn’t even an option. With a huff, he stepped back and made his way upstairs. He didn’t look at anyone as he passed by, eyes firmly on his feet, face still heated in anger.

[wulfies-kpop-fanfics]

One Photo → Mark Lee [8]

↳  Pairing: Mark Lee/Reader

↳  AU: Soulmate!AU - The first touch of two soulmates permanently scars their bodies.

↳  Warning: angst if you squint, I guess

↳  Word count: 2,294

↳  Chapters: Prelude | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | You Are Here! | 9

⁙ Summary: For an end of the year photography project, you’re tasked with taking a photograph for your favourite group, NCT127, and coincidentally, discover your soulmate.

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

WEDNESDAY - 8 TWO YEARS LATER

The heart of Toronto would never compare to the magnificence of Times Square in New York, but the mass amount of billboards by the Eaton Center always managed to send you into awe during your nightly trek home from work. 

You looked up toward the billboards with a sigh as you waited for your streetcar, barely managing to squeeze out a smile as you saw Mark’s visage splayed along one of the electronic spaces. The night sky was too polluted with the city’s light to display any real stars, but Mark’s face was more than enough for you. For the past week, you had seen NCT127’s faces sprawled across that billboard, part of promotions for their latest global comeback. It was a brief respite as you waited for your streetcar home every night, to finally know that the day was over and that you could relax.

It had been such a long time since you’ve seen Mark in person. Even though you texted him every day when the two of you were awake at the same time and video chatted whenever he had five minutes to himself, it always felt depressing to be without him. To not kiss or touch or hug at all was torture.

Everyone knew that it was deadly for soulmates to be apart for so long, that depression would set in and even worse physical illnesses were a real risk. It was hard to be so far away and over the past year you had been let go from multiple jobs because you were constantly sick, and therein lies the problem. You simply couldn’t afford the solution to your problem. So, depression and illness it was. It took everything you had to keep your head above water, to keep your dream alive and know that one day your heart wouldn’t ache as much as it does at the present moment.

After a 20 minute ride on the streetcar, you entered your building and took the stairs up to your little hole-in-the-wall apartment, the bare minimum that you could afford after Rhiannon paid her last half of the old place’s rent. A single bed, bath and a tiny kitchen that housed a little chair and round table. Thankfully, there was enough counter space that you could place a tiny TV to watch Netflix on while you ate. You were lucky that the house had a large living room, which doubled as your studio.

The coffee table was one of the only things left from your old apartment, along with the tote of Marvel films you kept hidden below it. Atop the table now rested all of your cameras, a drawing tablet and cards that you got in the mail from Mark from time-to-time, instead of notes, binders and textbooks. Sitting against the wall across from the table was a small bookshelf and an easel with a large frame sitting on it, housing the last portrait you finished the night before, ready to be shipped to the buyer.

After… somewhat enjoying a quick pot of white cheddar mac & cheese and watching a rerun of Supernatural on your little TV, you head into your room and sit at the desk next to your bed. After starting your computer, you opened up discord and sat back in your wheely chair, waiting for Rhiannon’s status to change to green. Wednesday was the day that she had to be up early for her job, so that meant time for a 10-minute call before you went to bed and she went to work. 

Next to your computer was a copy of the photo you took two years ago, of your soulmate and all his friends beneath the shedding cherry trees in High Park. You smiled at it, the memory was fond but now faint in your mind. You reached forward to pick it up, but you stopped yourself. You knew that if you inspected the photo more, you’d only miss Mark and all your friends more. 

There were times where your apartment became so quiet that it reminded you how alone you really were. You had lived with Rhiannon most of your life, and that meant there was at least some noise going on at all times. Whether she had her headset unplugged when she was listening to music or watching youtube videos, she was clattering about when helping you wash and dry the dishes, or if she was walking around and tripped on nothing. She was always talking, laughing, or doing something that always let you know that she was there. Now, you had nothing.  

The silence is broken and you’re startled by the calling sound from discord, Rhiannon’s icon popping up on the top of your screen. You place your hand on your mouse and click the join call button, adjusting the webcam perched on the top of your desktop monitor. 

"Hey," Rhiannon was the first to speak, yawning and reaching back to pull her hair into a perfect, tight ponytail. 

"Hey," you respond, watching her closely and leaning your chin on your right palm. "How are you holding up?"

"I should be asking you that, Jesus, you look like the Hulk if he got the swine flu," she retorts, and even through the grainy quality you can tell she has sympathy written all over her face. "I'm doing great, we've got two cleanings today and a wisdom teeth removal, so that'll be fun." 

You scoff and attempt to smile, "I'm fiiiiine, other than the fact that I'm here and you're there, 13 hours in the future and at least one ocean in between us and an entire continent and a half. I'd say that constitutes abandonment."

"I got the getting while it was good and you know that," she stuck her tongue out at you. "You need to keep saving so that you can fly your ass out here." She squinted at the screen. "You really need to drink like… an entire bottle of nyquil, dude."

"If only it were that easy," you groan. "I don't even have a photographer's position yet. All I get is sitting at a desk and responding to emails… even with my head start, I can't find a good job and I barely make enough to keep living in Toronto." You stick out your tongue back at her for the nyquil comment. "As if I haven't been hiding a bottle of dayquil in my desk for the past week."

Rhiannon stopped what she was doing and leaned toward her camera. "You know why you can't get the jobs you want," her voice is soft, empathetic. "Mark is having trouble, too. He's been doing a lot of half days, so I don't know how they plan to do their tour with him being constantly sick." 

You looked away. "I can't afford to take any more time off… I don't want to lose this job. If I do, I'm not sure that I'll be able to make my rent."

"You're going to need to take time eventually,” Rhiannon stated firmly. "If you don't get at least some of your strength back you're going to end up in the hospital like I did. Remember?" 

You glanced back at your screen, watching Donghyuck wander around in the backdrop. You were beyond jealous that they got to live together. 

"Maybe. I just miss you. More than I miss having a clear passageway in my nose." 

Rhiannon smiled sadly at you. "I miss you too, everyone does. You'll be here soon, I promise. I gotta go, sleep well and drink plenty of water, okay?"

"Okay." 

Rhiannon waved at you before her screen went dark, ending the call. The call was shorter than usual, so you presumed that she had woken up late. You zoned out a little, acutely aware that the apartment had gone silent again. You didn't want to cry, to give up after surviving for so long. You had made it this far without letting everything get to you.

You knew that your deteriorating health was because of your separation from Mark and companies saw that as a liability, even though laws had come into place last year to protect separated soulmates from workplace discrimination. You felt a tiny ping of hope when Rhiannon said you would be able to move soon, but you knew she was lying to make you feel better. 

Feeling lethargic, you stand and make your way to the dresser in the corner of your room, stripping and throwing your clothes about the room. You open up a drawer and pull out a pair of sweatpants and the softest t-shirt you could find and slipped them on, wandering to your bed and slowly climbing in. You slipped off your glasses, placing them on your desk and reached forward to turn off your lamp.

You hugged your polar bear and tried to get comfortable, hoping to fall asleep quickly. You supposed you could call into work when you woke up; at least your manager was nice enough to understand when you needed a day off. You rolled over, tossed and turned, but sleep wouldn't come. Not while your phone was constantly buzzing. 

"What the hell," you mumble to yourself, untangling yourself from the knot of blankets you had tied yourself in to reach for your phone. Your lock screen lit up with a photo of Mark, one you had taken two years ago of him standing in Union Station. 

[Rhiannon (5)] 

She sure knew how to type quickly. 

Rhiannon: I'm on my way to work, I'll let you know when I'm there

Rhiannon: sorry our call was so short, I was running a little late

Rhiannon: I talked to Mark last night, did he say anything? 

Rhiannon: are you asleep already? It's been like 5 minutes 

Rhiannon: ok you're basically just ignoring me at this point

You: calm down bro I was getting in my pyjamas 

Rhiannon: I forgot how slow you get when you're sick, I could die of boredom waiting for you to respond 

You: hardy har 

Rhiannon: so have you talked to mark today? 

You: around lunchtime he woke up from a nightmare but I assume hes busy right now 

Rhiannon: Things have been pretty bad around now, I think you might have guessed that

You: Yeah, things aren’t really that great here either, but I’m more worried about Mark… have they given him time off? 

Rhiannon: Not much besides half days. He’s really been missing you. Maybe you should message him and see if he’s not busy

You: Yeah, maybe. I feel really guilty

Rhiannon: I know. I still could help you buy your plane ticket, you know. You: You know I can’t do that, I can’t take more from you than I have already. I owe you too much.

No response. 

You: Rhiannon I’m sorry 

You: Come on, you can’t have scrubbed in that fast!

You sighed, staring at your screen and still seeing no response from your best friend. You took a deep breath in and immediately regretted it when you began coughing up a lung, but at least you weren't upchucking your dinner. Instead, you decided to send a text to Mark.

You: mark, you there? 

You close your mind for a moment, thinking that maybe going to bed even later than usual would just make you more sick in the end, but you really needed to know what was going on. 

Mark: yeah I'm here babe, what's wrong, can't sleep? 

You: no not really… do you have time to talk for a bit? 

Mark: yeah, my legs gave out during our first practice so I'm taking a break

You: I'm sorry

Mark: it's not your fault (Y/N) 

You: it kind of is, we're both dying because I can't afford to move 

Mark: (Y/N), we're not dying, and it's okay, you'll be able to move soon

You: face it you know that we are… I haven't felt this horrible in a long time and I've thrown up three times today 

Mark didn't respond right away. 

Mark: why are you putting yourself down so much 

You: I just… have a lot of regrets right now 

Mark: what do you mean

You licked your lips and rolled over in bed, wondering if you should tell him.

Mark: are you okay? 

You: no, I feel like this would make you hate me 

Mark: I could never hate you and you know that. Tell me what's been bothering you.

You: For the past while… Rhiannon’s been offering me money. It’s honestly not much because everyone’s struggling nowadays, but it would be enough for me to fly to Korea, and I’ve felt so guilty about it that I kept saying no and she stopped offering

Mark: You mean that you could have been here faster? You: and now I feel that saying no was a really bad idea… and I.. I can’t afford anything, barely even food and now I hear that you’re even more sick than I am and I feel terrible

You: I don’t know what to do

Mark: It’s okay, (Y/N), really. I know how hard it is to take money from someone else, I’m not mad at you

You: Really?

Mark: I’m just disappointed that I have to keep waiting. You’ll be able to move soon, I promise, I promise, I promise

You: Are you going to be okay

Mark: As long as you are. Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll be there for you the second you land. Okay?

You: Okay. I… I should probably get some sleep now. Mark: Rest well, I love you

You: I love you too 

You sighed, placing your phone on your desk and turning over in your bed. It was time.

[breath-of-the-hobbies]

A Return to Darkness Ch. 2

(Chapter 2 of the fan-fic idea I’m playing with. Zelda awakens underground and attempts to find a way out, and Link has a bad day. Chapter 1 here.)

The smell was the first thing to break through Zelda’s unconsciousness. Judging from the acidic yet musty reek and the burning sensation all over her body, she had a bed of malice to thank for cushioning her fall. The darkness was so complete that she had to blink furiously to even be sure that her eyes were open.

She took stock, fumbling at her hip until she found the Sheikah Slate. It lit a soft circle of light at her touch, but the screen fizzed and crackled, displaying only glitched swirls of color. Broken ribs, concussion, sprained knee, she estimated as she maneuvered dizzily to her feet and retrieved her sword from where it lay nearly engulfed in malice some feet away.

“Link?” She whispered, acutely aware of the monsters they had encountered in the past months and unwilling to alert them to her present vulnerability. She swung the slate’s light across the rubble-filled ground, but her companion was nowhere to be seen. Ganon’s corpse was also absent, presumably still lying in the cavern above her.

Recalling her last sight of Link sent a stab of pain through her chest to join the throb of her ribs. The image of his anguished eyes and furrowed brow as he put aside everything to lunge towards her was imprinted indelibly in her mind. Was he still up above? Had the malice— she forced her mind away before she could complete the fatalistic thought. She had watched Link die once already, and the idea of losing him again was enough to make her breath shorten into panicked gasps. Come on Zelda, you held your own against Ganon for one hundred years. You can crawl out of a damn cave. She retrieved and lit her torch, then limped around the perimeter of the hole, leaning heavily on her sword.

It didn’t take long before she was certain that the floor above had collapsed into a nearly exact copy of the one holding Ganon’s body. The geometric carvings on the walls were the same as what she had seen in the moments before everything went wrong, and a single exit led to a path descending away and down. With no clear way up into the abyssal darkness, and no ability to teleport thanks to the malfunctioning slate, she had no choice but to venture into the tunnel, unaware of the eyes observing her retreating form from the darkness beyond her torch’s light.

It was impossible to know exactly how long she spent wandering, but Zelda came to time her rests with the regular shaking of the earth around her. Despite her newfound mistrust of the tunnels’ structural integrity, the walls and ceiling held strong around her. She fell asleep each rumbling with the spirals of the wall etchings spinning behind her eyelids.

After one such rest, she awoke with a sudden revelation dredged from the free association of her dreams. It was a memory, something Impa’s grandmother had told them when they were children. She had spoken of an ancient civilization, the Zonai, that had disappeared mysteriously long ago, leaving only ruins and secrets. Link had already mentioned that the carvings appeared Zonai in origin, resembling places he had seen in his travels, but now Zelda remembered Gran’s words. “The Zonai were not simply to be feared for their fierce prowess in arms. They were also brilliant magicians with technical advances rivaling even our best Sheikah technology. Had they not disappeared, our world would be much changed from how it appears today.” Then Gran had pulled a carved stone out of her sleeve and shown it to the children. She ran her finger along its swirls in a series of swoops, and when she finished, the entire thing began to glow an eye-searing turquoise. The young and bright-eyed Zelda had oohed and aahed, but the rather more battered young woman in the present bared her teeth in a wolfish grin and heaved herself stiffly to her feet, sweeping the light from the sad remains of her torch across the patterns that had haunted her for months.

There! she spotted a central swirl, one that all the others in the area seemed to radiate from. It took a few tries to emulate the pattern she had seen over a century ago, and she began to question herself, her mind inevitably returning to familiar paths of self-doubt. When she was almost ready to give up, the spiral lit. With a flash and a smell of ozone, radiance spread outwards, spilling into every line of the carvings until Zelda was blinded.

The earth began to shake more strongly than ever, knocking her to the ground. She curled into a protective ball as chunks of wall and ceiling crumbled around her, her stomach lurching in equal parts fear and motion sickness. After what felt like an eternity, the world calmed. The bedraggled princess pushed herself to a seated position with a groan, blinking purple afterimages from her sight. The lit carvings had settled into a calmer glow, and because of this it took her a moment to realize that a pinprick of natural light now shone at the far end of the tunnel.

Heart leaping, paying no mind to her shrieking knee, Zelda set off at a run towards freedom, her excited thoughts jumbling with ideas of newly collapsed walls forming impromptu exits. She was so quick that only reflexive bracing of her feet and scraping of her hands on the tunnel walls were able to bring her to a gut-wrenching stop as dislodged stones ricocheted over the edge of an impossible precipice.

Wind whipped her hair as she stared in utter disbelief down, down to the familiar landscape of Hyrule far below. She was in the sky.

***

Link had eaten some pretty terrible food in the past year, but after a week of clumsily cleaned mushrooms boiled with rice, he almost preferred his more dubious gastronomical experiments. At least those had some zest to them.

Although his arm was slowly regaining strength, his dexterity was lagging far behind. Stringing a bow was still out of the question, and the one time he encountered a boar in the woods, he had been mown down in humiliating fashion before he could even swing his blade. The mushrooms and occasional carrot were a far less likely source of embarrassment.

The entire loss of his right arm would almost have been easier to cope with than his present state; the energy pouring into the ancient tech and the rot constantly trying to push onwards through his body made even the shortest climb, swim, or even run into an exhausting task. Swinging a blade with his left hand was one thing: getting knocked out after falling out of a tree was another.

Besides the draining tech and the gnawing corruption, there was a third issue with his arm that Link couldn’t quite piece together yet. He had absolute faith in Purah—despite her eccentricities—and when she told him that she had added the Stasis Rune to his arm, he had no reason to doubt her. However, when he activated the rune to halt the fleeing boar in a last-ditch attempt at meat for dinner, it failed to stop it at all. In fact, the animal actually began running backwards, nearly pummeling a dumbfounded Link a second time.

He wasn’t sure how Purah could have made such a glaring mistake, and he honestly couldn’t picture a time when making his opponent move backwards would help him do more than get a second to breathe. Once he had found Zelda, he would have to go back and ask the scientist about it. Full but not happy about it, Link rolled up in a horse blanket and fell into a fitful sleep.

He was awoken by an agonizing buzzing sensation in his right arm, as though it was being continuously electrocuted. The entire limb, from fingertip to shoulder, was shining turquoise like his own personal monster beacon. His horse whinnied and pranced in distress as Link shook his arm like a man possessed. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied, he would have noticed the ground vibrating beneath him, but by the time the glowing light and electric tingling subsided, everything was calm again.

Now thoroughly awake, the perplexed hero broke camp and led his mount back to the trail in the false dawn. It wasn’t much further to the edge of the Great Plateau, the only thing keeping Link from reaching it the night before being his newly abysmal stamina. But as he trudged up the last rise, he was sure he had gotten turned around in the half-light. Nothing looked right. The ground was churned up and littered with boulders the size of houses, and whole landmarks had shifted and changed.

The sun broke over the horizon as Link crested the hill. He was overlooking the very same vista he had first seen without comprehension or recognition after the healing sleep, yet the view could not have been more different. The plains and forests in front of Hyrule Castle were simply...gone. The ground was carved out as though miners had been hollowing the earth for centuries. After taking in this sight, ice water freezing his heart, Link’s eyes followed the progression of destruction to the foot of the castle itself. At first, the reappearance of malice clouds encircling the base obscured the truly bizarre unreality of the situation.

The entire castle was floating several hundred feet above the ground.

Slowly, unbelievingly, almost unwillingly as though fearing what he would see, Link lifted his gaze to the sky. Far above, higher even than Vah Medoh had flown, floated hulking islands of earth.

He sat down hard, gulping back the frustration that closed his throat. His princess was further out of reach than she had ever been.

[sondepoch]

Chapter 4

Written in the Stars (Lucifer x Angel!Reader)

Four thousand years is a long time. In the absence of your most cherished friend, it feels even longer. But when a certain student exchange program in the Devildom reunites you and Lucifer, things aren't the same. Because four thousand years of separation is a long time. And the love you once felt for Lucifer has changed into something different—something forbidden. But that might not even be your biggest problem, because with each passing day, your holy wings are turning blacker and blacker.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | ✔

MASTERLIST

Your D.D.D has an awful battery life.

That, or you're using it too much.

In fact, the latter is much more likely—given that, over this past weekend, you haven't gone over two hours without video calling one of the brothers—but that's hardly your fault.

The entire Devildom is in a frenzy right now, every demon going wild with anticipation.

The time has finally come for people to properly prepare for school, either mentally or physically, and the countdown has officially begun: not even twenty-four full hours remain before the first bell will ring, and everyone you know is buzzing about doing last-minute shopping. Neither the House of Lamentation nor Purgatory Hall are exempt from that, and the only reason you're not out of the dorm right now is because Simeon took pity on you and sent you home ahead of him, agreeing to buy the last of the items on the school supply list himself.

Such an angel, you think with a giggle, entering your room.

You waste no time in flopping onto your bed and plugging your D.D.D into its charger, flitting to Lucifer's number.

You don't even bother to take your Celestial cloak off, too preoccupied with the device's ringing to do anything other than use the garment as a blanket while you roll onto your stomach and place the device on your pillow.

This isn't quite your best angle, but Lucifer won't mind, right?

A smile blossoms on your face when you see the video call go through.

"MC, how many times have I asked you to text me in advance if you need me?" Lucifer sighs, acting stoic as he speaks. You can tell he doesn't mean the words, though.

"Aw, what kind of best friends are we if I need to set up an appointment to see you?" You laugh, biting back the sick feeling you get when you say that. Best friends. You still haven't forgotten how Lucifer almost kissed you two days ago when you came to him, crying. And you're certain you'll always remember how he chose not to.

Perhaps, if you hadn't been so focused on your own sorrow, you might have noticed the way Lucifer's eyebrows furrowed momentarily at the words, the demon disliking the label as much as you.

"Very well, then. What need have you of me this time, MC?" Lucifer leans back in his chair, angling his own D.D.D on his desk such that he doesn't need to hold it up.

"Um, just wanted to chat?"

Lucifer groans. "You said the same thing this morning, MC. And at four in the morning, when you called me saying you couldn't sleep—"

"Hey!" You protest. "It's not my fault that the Celestial Realm and the Devildom are in different time zones—"

"And the night before that," Lucifer continues, ignoring you entirely. "And in the afternoon before that, when you called me asking if I thought chairs had feelings."

"It's just such a tragic life, you know?" You ask, heart heavy at the thoughts that had run through your head yesterday afternoon. "They spend their entire lives serving, and people just sit on them. No one even says thank you!"

Lucifer massages his temple with one hand, closing his eyes in frustration. "We are not getting into this again."

"Fine, fine," You agree, pouting. "I just wanted to talk. What's up, Luci? Has Mammon caused any trouble for you since we last spoke?"

"Surprisingly, it's been Levi who's been an issue. Apparently, he ordered all his school supplies online, and they've still yet to come, so he's dragged the entire household out with him to buy the required goods in-person."

You laugh lightly. Even in the Celestial Realm, Levi had always preferred the indoors; imagining him braving the demon crowds of last-minute shoppers is quite the picture.

"Moreover, no one has seen Belphie awake since the last time you came over, so we're not sure if he even has everything he needs, but…"

"They'll manage," You say, interrupting Lucifer with a smile. "Don't stress—your brothers can handle themselves better than you think."

"Maybe so," Lucifer murmurs. "But what about you? How are you faring in all of this?"

You sigh.

Every single time you've called Lucifer these past two days, that's been the one question he's never failed to ask. He does it out of love, you know. He cares, and he simply wants to make sure that things haven't gotten worse.

But in truth…

"I haven't even looked at my wings, Luci." You laugh drily, staring at your pillow instead of Lucifer. You can already see the crestfallen look on his face. "I've been bathing in the dark and switching to my human form as often as I can so that I don't need to see them."

"MC…" He murmurs. You know that if he were here right now, he wouldn't hesitate to wrap you in a warm embrace and kiss your forehead between soft whispers that everything is going to be alright.

"No, you don't need to tell me. I know it's not the right thing to do." You put a hand up, halting him from starting whatever lecture is flitting around through his mind. "It's just...easier, this way."

Lucifer sighs.

"Let me see them," He murmurs. "We have to know if it's gotten worse."

"That's…" That's the reason why you don't want to look at them.

You swallow, suddenly acutely aware of how readily your tears had sprung forth the last time you stared at your reflection. The sight of your wings turning black at the root was too much to bear, and you doubt it's gotten any easier. At the same time, though, you don't want to cry to Lucifer. Not again.

"MC," The demon begins, voice gentle. "You don't have to look. But I need to know if it's gotten worse. Satan had some...theories, but I can't be sure about any of them until I look at the pattern of the growth."

It's a moment before you respond, but his words finally win you over in the end. You release some of your magical power, shifting back into the form you were born in. Burying your head face-down into the bed, you don't watch as your wings spread on your back, so great and majestic that they even push your Celestial cloak away as they rise to their full form.

You feel them flap once, then twice, as they stretch.

Staying silent yourself, you wait for Lucifer to make a comment, for him to say something about them. You just want him to look at them, take whatever notes he needs to, and then tell you you're good to shift back into your human form. You don't even care what they look like at this point; you just don't want to see them.

But when the demon continues to remain quiet, you can't deny that your curiosity is piqued.

"Lucifer?" You ask, peeking up with one eye. You avoid looking at the bottom left circle where your own reflection is, opting instead to stare at the shell-shocked expression on Lucifer's face. "What's wrong, Lucifer? Luci?"

You shift, moving your face up so that you can stare at him entirely, fear beginning to set in as you wonder what your wings could look like to have shocked him into such silence. "Are they…" Your voice trembles as you speak, terrified that you might have the truth of it. "Are they completely black?"

Your question startles Lucifer into alertness, and he blinks before a bewildered smile appears on his face. "No!" He responds, almost too quickly. He double taps on the screen, zooming in on your image. "MC, your…" He hesitates, as if he himself doesn't believe what he's seeing. "Your wings are completely white."

Your eyes widen, darting down to the small bubble where your own camera mirrors yourself back at you and, sure enough, the feathers on your back have turned snowy once more—all the places that were once pitch-black now looking as fluffy and pristine as the clouds of your homeland's sky.

"Let me…Let me check," You murmur to Lucifer, stumbling out of bed to your full-length mirror. It's uncomfortable, because your Celestial cloak is still awkwardly bunched around your shoulders, but there's no doubting it: your wings are white.

You hear a relieved sound come from your phone, bordering on laughter as a wide smile spreads across Lucifer's face. And that same smile comes to your own lips as you twist your body around, even the feathers closest to your back turned whiter than the pearls of your teeth: divine, holy, and angelic.

"We have to celebrate," You say, turning to Lucifer with a beaming grin. "I'm coming over, and don't tell me not to! This is amazing!"

Lucifer chuckles, folding his arms in contentment. "I wouldn't dream of it. My brothers will be delighted to hear this news," He taps on the screen, checking the time. "Meet you in ten minutes?"

"Perfect! I'll see you soon!" You exclaim, practically pouncing on the bed to end the call so that you can run over to the House of Lamentation.

Instantly, you revert to your human form, knowing that it'll offend the demons passing by if you leave the house with your holy wings on display, but you don't waste a moment in yanking your D.D.D from its charger and darting out of the doors, giddy with excitement.

All the pain you felt at learning your wings had turned black is converted to excitement, and you feel like you're floating on the clouds as you skip to where you know Lucifer is. You feel like this is what it must be like to be high, to be so unabashedly happy that nothing feels like it can ever compare—as if nothing can turn your mood sour.

But the universe has never been kind, has it?

Rather, the world loves to give you happiness and then steal it; just like it gave you the Morningstar and then banished him, casting your one source of joy out of reach.

You should have known when your D.D.D began ringing that it wouldn't be good news. Heck, if the fact that someone is calling isn't enough to let you know something is up, you should be doubly on edge when you realize that it's Lucifer's contact who's lighting up your screen.

But in the end, it's the utterly defeated voice of Lucifer that brings you down from your high, halting you in your tracks as he tells you to stop.

"What?" You ask, suddenly concerned.

"Stop, MC." His words come out slow, as if it brings him pain each time he speaks. "Don't come over."

"W-why?" You stammer out, not understanding. The House of Lamentation is within eyesight, you can literally see it in the distance. "Lucifer, what's wrong?"

"You can't come over," He mumbles, and you hear a light clanging over the phone—as if the demon kicked something and it came crashing down. "Just…" He almost chokes, voice thick with emotion. With anger. With sadness. And with something else you can't quite place. "Just don't come."

With that, he hangs up the phone, probably expecting that you'll heed his words and return to Purgatory Hall. But when have you been one to mindlessly follow the orders of others, when your heart is screaming to disobey?

Your footsteps as they bring you to the House of Lamentation are a lot of things: slow, concerned, distressed. But they're not hesitant. There's not a single flicker of indecision in your feet as they move forward, growing faster and faster as Lucifer's drained voice replays in your head.

Never have you heard the demon sound so miserable, so upset, so frustrated.

And you're not going to leave him alone.

It takes nearly a minute of banging on the front door before he finally opens it, trying his hardest to maintain a frown as he looks down at you.

"I told you not to come," He mutters, stepping back. It's not an invitation inside, though. You can't help but feel like it's a strange attempt to create distance between the two of you, but enter regardless.

"Well?"

You remain silent, your lack of words a very question in itself. Rather, it's an inquiry that demands a response, and you won't say a thing until Lucifer explains what has caused his sudden mood shift.

It must be an entire minute before he finally speaks, voice low as he stares at the ground.

"It's me."

You gaze at Lucifer in confusion, not quite understanding. "What?"

"It's me," He repeats, crossing his arms. "I'm…" He hesitates, dark red eyes flitting up to yours, two rubies that never fail to leave you entranced. "I'm the reason your wings are turning black."

"What are you talking about, Lucifer? That's nonsense." The words leave your mouth as soon as you process his words, not even waiting a second to contemplate the truth of them. At your blatant denial, Lucifer chuckles, but it's a sad sound.

"MC." He says your name slowly, as if he's holding onto it. "Your wings turned black for the first time when you came to me, and they've returned to being white after a weekend of separation."

You scoff at his words. "That's so circumstantial, Lucifer. You, of all people, should know that—"

"No." Lucifer's voice is firm. Dejected, despondent, and melancholic, but firm. "MC, this is how it's always been. You're the only angel in all the realms who absorbs light instead of giving it off. You're...you're the child of light. Light nurtures you."

Lucifer pauses, waiting for you to say something, but he continues when you're silent. "My light used to be positive. I could always feel you pulling at it in the Celestial Realm—absorbing it, equalizing it. I forgot what it felt like, but you've been doing it here as well. But I'm…" He clenches his fist. "I'm a demon, now. The light I give off is dark, and it's been corrupting you."

"No," You murmur, the same pain painted on Lucifer's face spreading across your own. "You're wrong, Lucifer. You're wrong!"

With a trembling lip, you let your angel form manifest, trying to show him that your wings are white, but he won't even look at you.

"Leave," He whispers, gesturing to the door that's still open. "Leave now, MC. Before I turn your wings black a second time."

"No!" You exclaim, slamming the door with your foot, moving forward. "It's not true. It's not!"

"Stop," Lucifer warns, a flicker of anger lighting in his dark red eyes. Every footstep you take forward is met by himself retreating, desperate to maintain the distance between you two. "Do not come closer," He cautions you, and you can feel the rage building up as you blatantly ignore his words, dead set on marching forward until he's forced to acknowledge you. "This is for your own good—leave me!"

But you keep walking forward, trying to get closer to him, drawing nearer and nearer to his figure until the deep red eyes are lit aflame with wrath and the man has turned into his own true form, wings and horns sprouting in an attempt to intimidate you.

"Get out," He seethes, hands clenched into fists.

But all you do is reach forward for his hand.

"Stop!" He shouts, angling his body away in a desperate attempt to stop you from touching. "Don't you see?" He roars. "Your wings—they're already turning black!"

But you don't care about that anymore. With that single comment, you remember—you have wings—and all it takes is one flap for them to send you flying forward, wrapping your arms tightly around Lucifer as he breaks your fall.

The two of you collapse on the ground on in a tangle of limbs and feathers, Lucifer continuing to try to push you off of him when all your efforts are directed towards holding onto the demon as tight as you can.

"Your wings," He chokes out, watching as the feathers change colors before his very eyes. It was different before, when one of you were always masking your true appearance with your human form. But now that you're both in your natural states?

There's nothing to obstruct the flow of magic as it flows through your bodies, out of your bodies and into each other. You can feel Lucifer's darkness pumping through your veins, tainting everything from your wings to your halo black with his aura.

"I'm ruining you," He hisses, still trying to shrink away.

"I don't care," You whisper, burying your neck in his shoulder. You hold him tighter when he finally gives up on pushing you off, allowing you to cling to him as closely as you want. "I...I thought my wings were turning black because I was turning into a monster. But if I'm not changing, if this is just my body absorbing your light—then I don't care, Lucifer. I don't want to leave you."

"You're a fool," He spits, ignoring the way you laugh his words off. "You're an angel. You—you don't belong here. Go back to Simeon and Luke. Their light is still pure."

"And then what?" You ask, pulling back so that you can look Lucifer in the eye. You hate the troubled gaze, the raw anguish that spreads across his face as he glances behind you to stare at your wings. From your peripheral vision, you can already see the blackness spreading, but you're true to your words.

You don't care.

"I'm surrounded by demons. If I don't absorb your light, then my wings will turn black because of them, all the same."

"MC," Lucifer chuckles mirthlessly. "None of these other demons were born to be harbingers of light. You forget, I'm the Morningstar. The energy I give off is enough to throw an entire realm out of balance. Other demons can't sully your purity, but I...I defile you with my mere presence."

You're quiet, still holding Lucifer tightly as you remain collapsed on top of him. His hands still rest on the floor, unwilling to taint you with his touch any more than is necessary, but you can see the way his fingers twitch.

He wants to hold you the way you're holding him.

"What if I'm okay with that?" You whisper, gazing hesitantly into Lucifer's eyes. They widen briefly before he masks the surprise.

"You're too much of an angel, MC." He glances away, and this time, you notice the way his throat bobs as he swallows thickly. "You do not understand the meaning of your words. A demon hears them differently."

"What if I do?" You repeat, gently cupping Lucifer's cheek and bringing his gaze back to you. "What if I do understand what I'm saying?"

"You do not." You cannot, he means. Lucifer hasn't been in the Celestial Realm for four thousand years. He doesn't know that angels are no longer the sort of beings to innocently go about, unaware of the effect they have on others. Eons ago, you may not have understood the loaded connotation behind everything you're telling the man. But now?

You know exactly what your words mean.

"You're wrong, Lucifer. I know what I'm saying." You let your head lower, bowing low until your lips are mere inches away from Lucifer. You gaze at his lips, making sure he can see the way you're looking at them before you finally lift your eyes to his own. "I'm okay with being corrupted, Lucifer. As long as it's you."

"You…" His voice shifts, the demonic urges he's been trying so long to resist finally surfacing at your words. You can't be any clearer than that, and the demon finally understands that his feelings aren't one-sided. That you don't look at him as a mere brother. That you want this as much as he does. "You don't know what you're asking for," He whispers, but now his own eyes are locked onto the plumpness of your lips, unable to look away.

"Then show me," You whisper.

That's all it takes for the last of his restraint to vanish, the palms that were once pressed against the floor lifting to hold you close as he captures your lips with his own, connecting your bodies in the most intimate way either of you have ever known.

You can feel everything in him, as your lips meet.

The beating of his heart, growing faster when you wrap your arms around his neck.

The tensing of his shoulders as he shifts upward, sitting up and pulling you onto his lap, ever closer to him.

The rhythmic pulse of his light as it floods into you—and despite having your eyes closed, you know that the edges of your wings have turned fully black, filled to the brim with the essence of the Lucifer.

As your body continues to absorb the waves of light and power radiating off his body, you feel your back burst with power, the Celestial cloak you had on breaking and being ripped off your shoulders as your wings spread even wider, shining the richest shade of black you've ever seen.

"Your wings," He mutters against your lips, leaning his forehead against yours as he slides a hand onto your cheek, rubbing soft circles into the skin. "I've corrupted them."

"No," You murmur, smiling softly. For the first time, you don't hate the ebony color of the feathers, smiling as you gaze upon them. "They're beautiful." You let them flap, entranced. Your eyes dart between your wings and his, pulling his body closer until your wings are touching. "They match with yours."

They match with yours.

Those had been your first words of surprise when Lucifer showed you your reflection in a mirror, on your second day alive in the Celestial Realm. You'd spent nearly every waking moment gazing at the six glorious wings on Lucifer's back, vaguely aware that you had feathers to match but never realizing that yours were just as beautiful.

You slide your hand down to Lucifer's, beaming at him as you intertwine your fingers in his. At last, the two of you are matching once more—no longer separated by the visual differences of angel and demon.

"Are you certain you want this, MC?" He asks. He brings a hand to your hair, a gesture of comfort that he doesn't forget even in the heat of this passion. "I don't want you to feel pressured to do anything with me. It's not too late to take back what you've said."

But you shake your head, an assured smile appearing on your lips.

"I told you, didn't I?" You ask, a light giggle slipping out. "I'm okay with being corrupted, as long as it's you."

And this time, you don't just mean your wings. You're truly okay with every demonic thought flitting through Lucifer's mind as he stares at you, mouth agape in awe of your sweet confidence. 

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

For the moment, he doesn't even need any of that. You've given him permission, but all he wants is to continue locking your lips with his own, kissing you over and over again until you're both lost in the sensation of each other.

He can feel you pulling on his light, reveling in it the way he's basking in your affection. It's a feeling so blissful only an angel as perfect as you could ever give him such a sensation, and Lucifer feels that there's nothing he needs from the world but you.

Perfection.

For the first time, you're both perfectly in sync, giving in to the emotions that have been hidden in your heart for millennia. It matters not that your wings are black, that your halo is shrouded in shadow, that you're both making out on the floor, of all places.

If anything, it feels like all those little things are what has made this moment so infinitely perfect: like the stars have finally aligned, and nothing can pull you apart now.

MASTERLIST

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | ✔

Word count: 4.0k

Notes: I was on my run this morning and i saw a deer and i just casually glanced behind me and it was just like. really ominously walking in my direction >.> i screamed and began sprinting away (like holy SHIT i did not know i still had that energy in me, i had already run like 2 miles and i was p tired but that was wild). anyway, looking back, i dont think the deer was actually walking toward me i think it just happened to be vaguely coming in my direction, but still that gave me heart palpitations wow im still a mess over it

Comment & Like

Next Update: 6/02/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[reyescarlos]

24 from the prompt list pleaseeee 😊

god, i love this prompt sfm, thanks, nicole!

#24. “I know it’s the middle of the night, but can you come over, please?” [when you can’t sleep at night- of mice & men; this song never gets old]

It always takes him time to fall asleep but tonight, for some reason, it feels insurmountable. Usually Eddie can relax his tired, overworked mind long enough to trick it into shutting down. That isn’t the case now and it drives him mad the way he can’t get his brain and body to fall in line with each other. It’s one in the morning, a time when he should be like his son down the hall: fast asleep and shut off to the world for a few hours. But he can’t get that now, despite his best efforts.

Every sound outside his window is magnified. The weight of his blanket doesn’t sit right against his skin. The mattress underneath him feels like a stranger’s despite the well-worn groove it has made that fits his shape. Nothing feels right and it’s making the simple task of sleeping impossible.

Eddie reaches a hand to his nightstand, disconnecting his phone from the charger. He squints against the bright light of the screen, his eyes soon adjusting. He knows he shouldn’t reach out now. It’s late. He’s probably asleep by now and yet, Eddie’s finger hoovers over Buck’s name in his contact list, quickly pressing his thumb against the screen to place the call before he loses his nerve.

“Eddie, is everything okay?” Buck asks after three rings, concern clear as day in his voice. Eddie cringes; perhaps he should have sent a text instead. The suddenness of a late night call is more than enough reason to make anyone worry.

“Everything’s fine, everything’s alright,” he insists. “I just...I can’t sleep. I don’t know why I called you, that’s hardly your problem.”

Buck laughs softly. “I don’t mind it though. I was awake, too.”

Eddie wonders at what could be keeping Buck up but he doesn’t press the matter. He’s just grateful he was around to answer the call and is indulging him in conversation. It’s nice to have Buck’s voice in his ear but, admittedly, he would prefer to have his physical company instead. It’s why the next set of words go tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop himself and apply reason to the situation.

“I know it’s the middle of the night, but can you come over, please?”

He hates how desperate the request must make him sound, how childlike or maybe even foolish but he can’t help it. If Buck would even consider the notion for a second, Eddie would count it as a win. But he barely even takes that long; his answer is swift and clear.

“I’ll be there in ten. Hang tight.”

Eddie’s chest feels lighter already and he tries to reel himself in but he can’t help the sense of elation that floods through him. To have a friend like this who would drop everything just because he needed him meant the world. But if he’s being completely honest, at least to himself, he knows that the gesture carries more significant weight than that in his eyes. 

To simply matter counts for a lot. To matter to Buck means everything.

~*~

Ten minutes later Eddie’s phone buzzes against the mattress with a text from Buck saying he’s right outside the front door. Eddie hurries out of bed to let him in. Buck is in sweats and a plain white t-shirt but to Eddie, he may as well be dressed to the nines with how appealing he finds him. The shirt is form fitting, hugging each muscle in his taut frame. Buck’s face looks softer at this hour and it endears the man to Eddie all the more.

“Thanks for coming. You really didn’t have to,” he says as he steps aside to let Buck in.

He’s been over more times than Eddie can even begin to count but never in the middle of the night and certainly never for a reason like this. Still, they move with ease around each other despite the fact that this scenario is a new one for them.

“Maybe not but I wanted to.”

Eddie isn’t sure what to do with that, he isn’t sure if he’s reading too much into it and coming up with a meaning to the words that isn’t truly there. He knows the danger that comes in wishing for impossible things. 

And yet, he hopes anyway.

Eddie’s gaze lowers briefly before pulling back to Buck’s face. For the first time he isn’t able to look into Buck’s eyes and read his thoughts. It’s so unlike them that for a moment Eddie’s brows furrow, as if he can concentrate hard enough to see into Buck’s mind. 

He gives up the effort with a timid smile. Now that he has Buck in front of him at this hour, he isn’t quite sure what to do. In an ideal world they’d rest and wake up in each other’s arms but the idea feels far-fetched. Calls in the middle of the night usually mean something else entirely but that’s not the kind of relationship they have with one another—though Eddie would be lying if he said he had never thought about it.

He figures Buck picks up on his uncertainty because he’s the first one to breach the silence, giving them some clear instruction and something other to do than stand in the foyer looking at one another.

“Why don’t we try actually getting some sleep? Couldn’t hurt, right?”

Eddie nods stiffly and waits to see where Buck thinks this should happen. Buck turns and for a moment, Eddie is so sure he’ll veer off to the living room but he walks right past the opening and down the hall to Eddie’s bedroom. The blinds are somewhat twisted  and there’s enough light coming in from the streetlamps outside to make it easier to see. Buck sinks onto the bed with such familiarity, as if this is a place he rests his head every single night. It makes Eddie’s heart flutter, the ease to which Buck operates inside his home. He always wants this to feel like a safe place for him, too.

Buck settles against a pillow, letting a deep contented sigh escape his lips as Eddie climbs into his side of the bed. Eddie stares up at the ceiling, so acutely aware of the warmth of Buck’s body beside him. At the start of the night this had seemed like a great idea but now that Buck is next to him, sharing his bed no less, Eddie finds his inability to sleep has just increased tenfold. He places his hands against his stomach, still keeping his eyes trained above him, his hands to himself. There’s no telling where he’d let them wander if given the chance.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Buck asks, turning to lay on his side in order to face Eddie. Unable to ignore the question and the shift, Eddie follows suit and faces him in turn.

Eddie shakes his head and sighs. “No, it’s not you. I guess my head is a bigger mess tonight than I thought.”

Buck searches his eyes and Eddie stares openly at him, the striped effect of the light through the blinds casting parts of Buck’s face in shadow. It isn’t enough to downplay the curiosity in his expression and Eddie realizes he’s pushing this conversation to places he isn’t sure he’s ready for it to go.

“I’m just glad you’re here. It’s nice...having someone next to me,” he says. “It’s even better that it’s you.”

This time of night makes his lips loose but he can’t find it within himself to regret the words he’s saying. 

Buck reaches out a hand and strokes his cheek. Eddie’s heart trembles like an aftershock. Surely Buck has to know what a touch like that would do to him. Eddie’s eyes close and he tilts his head just a bit, allowing his lips to rest against the inside of Buck’s wrist. He can feel the man’s pulse quicken against his mouth. The reaction is enough to make Eddie brave enough to look at him again.

Buck’s mouth hangs slightly agape. “Eddie,” he says softly, a plea or prayer Eddie can’t say for certain but in those two syllables there’s a want.

Eddie tips his chin forward and Buck’s mouth is right there, ready and waiting. Eddie starts out slow, tentative as if making sure this is truly what Buck wants. But from the grip of Buck’s hand on his hip and the not so subtle pull he makes to draw Eddie nearer, there’s no doubt this is everything the other man desires as well.

Buck’s mouth is warm and welcoming, inviting Eddie in. He allows himself to get comfortable, sinking into the moment fully. Maybe they’ll both regret this come morning but here in this present moment, Eddie wants to lose himself entirely, give everything he has and lay it at Buck’s feet. Yes, maybe they’ll feel differently in the light of day, but all Eddie can do is focus on the here and now.

He feels drunk off Buck now, so intoxicating is the rush that comes from being this close to Buck. After a few moments he breaks away, trying in vain to settle his racing heart. He looks to Buck, takes in his bashful smile and soft eyes.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been dying to do that,” Buck says. All bets are off at this hour and Eddie appreciates their ability to be candid with each other now.

Eddie buries his face against the side of Buck’s neck, breathing him in and placing a soft kiss there. He feels as Buck swallows thickly, stunned that he’s able to work his way under Buck’s skin, never mind to this degree. He pulls back and looks at him.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to you doing it again,” he replies, surprising himself with boldness.

Buck chuckles, a throaty quiet laugh that reverberates in the pit of Eddie’s stomach. It’s easily his favorite sound. Buck leans in and kisses him deeply. Sleep has gone from being the thing he wanted most tonight  to the absolute last thing he wants now and Eddie couldn’t be more pleased with that.

[writerfromtheshore]

Caravans in the Desert Night

Hearing the growl of his Hapaka hound, Golyo stirred in his sleep. Looking around in the darkness he saw the room was empty except for himself and the hound in the middle of the night. Rising from his cot, the Po-Matoran caught a glimpse of the stars outside his window, glimmering in the black sky.

Yet for as peaceful as the desert looked, something was amiss. Screams of Rahi bleated into the night. Donning a cloak and grabbing a hand sized canister, Golyo headed outside to see what was the matter at this hour. The Hapaka followed closely.

The Mahi pen was a bustle of activity. The steeds jumped around in the wider enclosure, having left their home stalls. They let out bleating yells as they rammed themselves against the rails.

Bashing against the rails they stood on their hind legs and let out bleating yells. Golyo listened with worry as he heard hearing coming from the frantic animals. Reaching into the canister, the Po-Matoran produced a lightstone, raising it above his mask to bathe the Rahi in light. The Mahi, startled even more by the sight of the bright light, screamed louder. Taking a step toward the steeds, Golyo grabbed hold of one and held it against the rail in an attempt to calm it down.

“Shush, Shhhh,” Golyo said, incorporating Mahi-like grunts into the conversation. At his touch its frantic bucking calming somewhat. Golyo continued to pet the one Mahi, letting the soft glow of the lightstone wash over it.

Until the lightstone began to flicker.

The lightstone faded, taking away the light from the pen for just a moment before returning. Golyo had sworn he had only blinked. But it happened again, and then the Po-Matoran grew concerned.

Lightstones never faded. No matter what a lightstone never lost its glow. A campfire would change with the way the wind blew, but a lightstone was always consistent in its glow. Golyo frowned at the stone.

Darkness surrounded him before the lightstone’s glow returned again. Golyo looked around, finding himself in the pen. He had no idea how he had gotten in there— he had certainly not climbed in. All of the Mahi stood at the walls of the pen, looking at him with their own manner of worry.

Another Matoran stood across from Golyo, smiling at him from the dark beyond the stone’s light.

“Mata Nui!” he cried, spooked by the newcomer’s sudden appearance. “Who are you?”

“No one,” they said in a voice that was not a Matoran’s. Golyo’s eyes went wide with shock, before the stone extinguished and darkness engulfed him.

When the light returned to the crystal again, Golyo was no longer in the pen. He stood outside the door to his home, looking out at night before him. His Hapaka cowered beside him.

The screams of the panicked Mahi were gone. The Mahi themselves were gone. The night was quiet.

***

What Aft could not shake was how dirty the Po-Matoran’s masks were. The Kanohi of his caravan escorts— and even some of their armor— were coated in grime, even rusted in some places. As they rode out of Ta-Koro the Ta-Matoran eyed the escorts, wondering how they could be so unbothered by it.

The Ta-Matoran know he could not speak to be better. Lava farming was no clean job— there were many harvesting weeks when the smoke was so thick that it stained black the usual crimson of the Ta-Koran’s crimson armor. There was something about these caravaners’ own armor and masks though that seemed more than dirty to Aft.

Aft had been told many times before his departure by the Ta-Koro Guard to keep his guard up on his trip. The journey was perilous, and it was essential that he get himself—and the tools they were trading to the Po-Matoran for—back to the village of fire safely. The Wahi was a dangerous place, they had reminded him, where a Matoran could easily be ambushed and dragged off into the shadows. Many Rahi lurked outside the gates of the village, deep under the control of the Makuta.

Yet as they went down the road going from Ta-Wahi through Ga-Wahi, Aft found the night rather quiet and peaceful. He looked hard out into the dark, listening for the sound of beasts in the night amongst the wooded area. But he heard and saw nothing but the night, much to his displeasure, and glowered harder into the darkness. He took the word of the Guard seriously. There was definitely something out there, he was certain, just waiting to pounce.

“You seem on edge tonight,” one of the Matoran said to Aft.

“Just keeping a lookout,” the lava farmer replied.

“That is not something you should worry about,” replied the Matoran from atop his Dikapi. “We are not traveling dangerous roads.”

“The Ta-Koro Guard has been ambushed many a night by the beasts in hiding,” said Aft, unsure if he were to believe his host.

The Po-Matoran laughed. “Your Guard’s stories are somewhat exaggerated,” he said. “They tend to be spooked by anything in the shadows beyond their torches.”

Another Po-Matoran came up beside them on his Dikapi. “We night riders have different ways of dealing with Rahi beasts.”

Aft farmed lava all night on a regular basis, so being up at this hour was nothing new to him. However, he could not help but feel tired tonight, almost as if he were weary from a hard shift. Slouching in the caravan, He let his eyes close for a single second as this strange adventure in the night overcame him.

***

It was colder when Aft awoke. It wasn’t cold, but usual Ta-Koro heat which usually surrounded him was gone. The drop in temperature was a shock to his system and had awakened him.

Picking himself up off of the floor of the caravan, he looked outside. He was immediately met with the whipping winds as the cold desert night air blow across his face. Aft wanted to retreat into the shelter of the canvased caravan as the wind whistled through the holes in his mask. But he remained out there, wondering where his Po-Matoran escorts had gone.

The caravan was parked far from any path Aft could identify. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, the Ta-Matoran was able to see an outcropping of rocks. Trees and the usual shrubbery between Ta- and Ga- Wahi were gone. He was somewhere far away from either village, somewhere out in the Motara Desert.

Firelight flickered beyond the caravan and the surrounding rock formation. Climbing down from the shelter of the caravan, Aft began to weave towards the light.

He came into a clearing amongst the rocks, the inside of a ring of boulders where the wind could not reach. A campfire crackled in the center of it. The Po-Matoran escorts were conversing quietly as they sat around the flames.

“Look who is awake, boys,” one of the Matoran called. All eyes went towards Aft. Several of the Matoran grinned as they caught sight of the groggy Ta-Matoran.

“Where are we?” Aft asked.

“Po-Wahi, a few hours above Ga-Koro,” said a Hau-wearing Po-Matoran. We are riding a few more hours north, and then we will cut west toward Po-Koro.”

“Why are we so far north?” asked Aft. “Is there a blockade? What is keeping us from getting through there and getting to the village sooner?”

“More like a living blockade,” said another Matoran. “The route requires us to take the long way to Po-Koro. If you want to walk straight to Po-Wahi and through the Den, be our guest. But I think my night brothers and I will chose this way.”

“So the Ta-Koro Guard isn’t wrong,” Aft said. “There are dangerous Rahi out there.”

“And we have survived every one of them we have come across,” said the Hau-wearing Matoran. “What has got you so scared of Rahi? Come across a nasty Kane-Ra or something?”

“I almost became lava bones after a pack of Husi attacked a lava field once,” told Aft. “Another time I spend two weeks recovering from Kofo Jaga stings. It is part of the job, but the attacks are unexpected and frightening.”

“Reasonable fears,” one of the Po-Matoran agreed.

“Do you come into any close encounters with Rahi out here?” asked Aft.

“We have been upended by sand Tarakava,” said the Pakari wearer of the group. “Stampeded on by Kikinalo. Once I was beat within an inch of my life when I crossed the cave of a Stony Spine Ape.”

“And the mutated Rahi too,” said another Matoran. “They’re quite a treat.”

“…Mutated Rahi?” Aft asked. “You’re just messing with me now.”

The Hau-wearing Matoran shook his head. “Some are twisted versions of Mahi, Tunnelers to name a few. Others are unidentifiable and shoot wheels of energy at you. But there are sick twisted things out there.”

“What could mutate a Rahi?” Aft was equal parts horrified and entranced now.

“No one knows,” said the Hau wearer. “But they are out there.”

“Some believe that they are freaks,” said the second Po-Matoran. “Others think that it is the work of Makuta. He takes the Rahi from their nests, and experiments on them until they are just ugly monsters.”

Aft grew quiet, watching his escorts with skepticism. They stared back at him with small smiles. Firelight and shadows flickered along their masks, and Aft grew uncomfortable. They were not kidding.

“We keep away from them by moving on,” said the Hau- wearing Matoran. “So we better get going, lest we wake any critters around here.”

Aft nodded, breathing a sigh of some relief. The others extinguished the fire, leaving only a small torch alight. The Ta-Matoran hastily led the procession back to the caravan, listening to the dirt crunch under his feet.

It only took him a moment to realize his footsteps were the only ones.

He turned around to see the Po-Matoran behind him, staring stone faced at him. The one whom held the torch gripped it noticably tightly.

“What is the matter?” asked Aft, somewhat worried.

The Po-Matoran’s voice was grave. “Whatever you do, do not make any sudden movements,” he said.

Something tapped Aft on the shoulder. Only then was he aware of the acute movement of somethings crawling up his shoulder. Fear shot through him. He felt something touch his mask.

“They are called Kanohi crackers,” said one Matoran. He pulled a knife out of his belt ever so slowly. “They’re a weird scorpion that like the protodermis in the mask. If you are really really still I can get it off…”

The Matoran was rushing at him, and Aft was on his back. Something hissed in his face, and Aft felt a sharp pain right above his mouth. Another pain on his cheek. Then the other cheek. The rapping pains came again and again, until something moved, and Aft felt a massive drain of energy from his body.

One moment he was seeing everything clearly. The next everything was so fuzzy. He could see the black night of the sky, the fire flickering on the torch. But they were just blurs of color to Aft’s eyes. Around him, he could hear the Po-Matoran cursing and arguing, but he was only comprehending every few words. Aft could not tell where was going or the scene around him.

He felt a dragging. Something was hoisting him up.

“It is only a temporary mask,” a voice said. “One of our spares.” Aft heard, but did not understand. With his mask gone he rapidly into shutting down. “We were planning on getting to this place by morning, but I guess we have to get going and get you a real mask. If we do not get you there you will be spewing gibberish coding by the sunrise.”

***

During the day work on the silent ranch was almost peaceful. Almost.

But when the shadows of twilight began to crawl along the ranch was when Golyo began to feel unsettled.  Dusk would come, and the statues around the establishment seemed to be looking down at him. The blank eyes of the Matoran statues, even the slits of the Mata Nui stones, seemed to become filled with a life of their own, a life that silently watched him. The Po-Matoran would feel a tingling along his spine as the presence surrounded his home, and although he could rarely prove it, he knew he was not alone.

As Golyo coiled up a rope on this afternoon, he could feel the stares begin, and that he was not alone. I need some sort of charm to carve these statues with, Golyo thought to himself. Some new strategy to which he cannot get into the stone.

“What is required of me?” Golyo asked into the air. He could feel the dark presence behind him.

“Visitors,” a growling, rumbling voice said. Golyo did not turn, unwilling to see who was speaking. The voice shook the air around them. “They are on their way from the south, and will be here in the morning. Host them. And give them thissss.”

It was just before midnight when Golyo heard them coming. They knocked on his doorway grinning, knowing something was about to happen. In between two of them was a maskless Ta-Matoran, barely conscious and hardly hanging on to the Po-Matoran that supported him.

“You have the mask?” one of them asked. Reluctantly, Golyo nodded.

They laid the Ta-Matoran down in the center of the room. Candles burnt low, a deep orange flickering around the body. Golyo swore he saw dark fingers in the shadows of the flame, dancing across the lava farmer’s body.

“You are early,” Golyo said to the caravan escorts. “I thought you were coming in the morning.”

“We had a run in,” said one of them. “Our timetable was escalated.”

“A Kanohi Cracker spider got too close to him” said another of the escorts. “It came upon the Ta-Matoran, and we wanted to make no haste in getting here.”

Golyo glowered at the mention of the Rahi. A easy pawn in their game, he knew. Grabbing hold of the mask the caravaners were promised, he raised it above his head as to smash it on his floor.

“Why should I help you?” he asked them. “This villager deserves none of this. Why torture him like this? Why don’t I smash this mask to pieces?”

Golyo felt a sudden burning in his hand. He dropped his arm, feeling a terrible pain rip through the limb. The metal seemed to warp, crushing the muscle underneath and burning in such a way he could hardly scream in agony from…

But an instant later, his hand was normal, as if nothing happened. Golyo shook his head, confused and frightened.

One of the caravan runners, eyes glowing yellow below his dark Mahiki, looked deep into Golyo’s gaze.

“It is much easier to obey,” he said, offering his own hand. Upon close inspection, the hand was mangled, fused and corroded in a seemingly painful fashion. Travelling up the Matoran’s arm were markings and burns of what exactly the Mahi herder was certain the pain of that vision would have ended in. Golyo looked at it astounded. The Po-Matoran nodded, his cohorts looking in unison at the herder.

The Mahi herder stared tight lipped. “Why can’t one of you do it?”

“Our duty is to bring him to you,” said the Hau masked Matoran. “We are simply caravan runners.”

Golyo glowered. There was no getting out of this.

The Ta-Matoran still sat on the floor, barely functioning. Kneeling above his head, Golyo steadied the mask, and set it down upon the Matoran’s face. Mata Nui forgive me, he thought to himself. I am sorry to sentence you to this fate, fire spitter. But I have no choice. As he watched it click on, he fought every urge to rip the thing off and shatter it to pieces. If they were serious, then screwing this up for them would not bode well for him.

Aft opened his eyes. He sat up slowly, feeling the energy flow back into his form as he felt the mask on his face. He last remembered being around the campfire with the Po-Matoran, and now he was here. He had felt utterly awful, but now as he rose, whatever mask on his face now, he felt much better. And looking at the caravaners, whom he felt he could not trust before, he felt as if he were on the same page now.

“How do you feel?” one of the Matoran asked him.

Aft nodded, rising from the floor. He moved with motions that were not his own, as if he were a puppet on strings. A wordless grin grew on his new Kanohi.  

Satusfied with the worrk, the party filed out of Golyo’s hut, leaving Golyo alone.

“Never again,” the Mahi herder swore. “Find someone else to do your disgusting rituals.”

Then you will not see your Mahi herd, a voice growled around him. Golyo jumped, looking around with worry. He did the deeds the shadows and the voices asked of him, yet he could not escape. What was he to do?

“What will you do with him?” Golyo asked into the night.

He was answered by nothing but the whisper of the night wind blowing by.

***

The day at the bazaar was busy, but not busy enough for Ahkmou to not notice Golyo enterinh the the town square. It had been a decent hour’s trek to the village square on a cart pulled by a Mahi. Without his Rahi to pull him the journey had taken the better part of the morning.

Golyo approached the bazaar, pulling his widgets from his pack.

“What is it today?” the stall trader asked him. Golyo pointed to a few trinkets and necessary supplies, to which the bazaar piled for him.

“It looks like you are going out for some wrangling,” said the bazaar. “And by the looks of how you got here I would say you have lost your herd.”

“My Mahi are elsewhere, yes,” said Golyo. He glowered at the bazaar. Ahkmou’s comments on the surface were always sincere, but many Matoran knew under the surface that he liked to deliver cheap jibes.

“Well I wish you best of luck in your wrangling,” Ahkmou said. He then gestured to a nearby pen of Rahi. “If you need some luck though, can I interest you in a lucky Ghekula? They are a Rahi from the jungles of Le-Wahi. The Le-Korans swear up and down their jungle trees they these are helpful in getting luck to manifest. My sales have been through the roof since I started carrying them. Your herd could be back to you before you know it!”

“I sense that my Hapaka would not get along with that thing,” the Mahi herder said, turning away. “I will pass.”

Ahkmou shrugged. “Your loss then,” Ahkmou said. “But… for the price of the Rahi, I can tell you where he took them.”

Golyo paused, then turned back to the trader. Ahkmou simply smiled at him. Golyo looked back with slight concern. Did he know about the dark spirit? If so, what did he know?

Golyo pushed half of the asking price on the table. “If I like what I hear, you get the rest,” he said to Ahkmou.

“There is a canyon,” Ahkmou said. “Which lost things have been known to pass through in the night. You may want to show there tonight. For the rest of the price I can arrange a ride. There is caravan, a good supplier of mine, that can drive you to the canyon. You may have seen them before, they actually pass your way quite frequently.”

Golyo did not like what he heard, the concern in his eyes quickly turning to fear. But he passed over the last remaining widgets anyway, wanting this nightmare to be over.

Ahkmou grinned, ecstatic about the money on his table. “You pass through there and make it out in one piece, and he might even leave you alone,” the bazaar said with a wink.

***

The Hapaka hound started to growl as it sensed something outside the hut that night. Golyo’s hand on its head did little to comfort it. Ever since the Mahi had disappeared and voices started sounding around the ranch, the hound had been on edge. It did not like nightly visits by those weirdly masked Matoran. Something was not right about them, the Hapaka knew.

The Hapaka’s master looked at it, grim faced, and then set off to the door.

The Matoran all grinned wordlessly in the doorway. Golyo looked at them, but they stared back glassy eyed.

“You will take me to my Rahi?” Golyo asked. The Po-Matoran leading the caravan nodded. “And you will leave me alone after this?”

“For a price,” he said in a voice that was not his.

“But I already paid Ahkmou,” Golyo said.

The Matoran shook his head. “There are different prices to pay than widgets,” they said to him.

Golyo pursed his lips, worried about what that could mean.

The Hapaka whimpered as its master went with the ones it did not like.

Golyo knew his Rahi were not tied up to some single post, but he had to know where the night caravan was taking him. There was something in his throat that he had to ask, that had to interrupt the sound of the dirt crunching as the caravan rode in the night.

“Where are we headed?” he asked.

“To get your Rahi,” the Hau masked Matoran said. “Hopefully they haven’t made their way too far into the Den.”

Golyo frowned. “The Den” was the nickname for a series of canyons out in Po-Wahi where numerous dangerous Rahi resided. Many beasts were said to make their dwelling throughout the canyon. Matoran always traded stories over campfires as to what they believed lurked in there. None were ever brave enough to take on a dare to go exploring there though. Some feared the stories were true. Others feared what they would find there was worse than any story they could imagine.

The Mahi herder regretted asking anything. Knowing where he was going now, Golyo sat stone faced, a few creeping thoughts going through his mind. He turned towards the open back of the caravan, taking what he thought might be one last look at the stars.

After a while the caravan came to a halt, having arrived at the entrance to the Den. The canyon mouth yawned before the group of Matoran, with nothing but darkness visible from either side. Hopping down, Golyo paced across the dirt before the entrance, nervous at his path before him.

“If I go through here, he will leave me alone?” he asked. But the caravan was gone, and he was the only one out in the desert. He spun in every direction, looking for the outline of the cart in the night. Not even tracks could be seen in the dirt. It was as if it had never been there.

The sudden disappearance alarmed him. Here Golyo was, in the middle of the desert by himself, wanting to do anything other than go into the dark canyon in front of him. But he knew that the key to his freedom was on the other end of the canyon. Only his two feet would take him there. Mata Nui, Great Spirit, if you can hear me, whatever they have planned for the Ta-Matoran, please keep him safe, he silently prayed.

Golyo was terrified as he stepped toward the darkness. He wanted to go screaming in the other direction. But as he walked, that sensation seemed to silence itself. The feeling of fear faded away as he was drawn to the canyon’s depths, like he was being pulled in. He stared into the darkness, feeling as though he could see something on the other side. His feet seemed to move on their own.

A shadow fell over him, and Golyo realized he could no longer see the stars. A further darkness had come over the canyon, surrounding him in shadow from all sides. Do not think about that, he told himself. Do not panic. Walk steady as far into the night as you can.

The ravine was quiet except for the footsteps of himself. The wind blowing through the desert could not be heard anywhere, even as close to the entrance as he still was. Keeping his breathing steady, he walked, keeping an ear out for anything creeping up on him.

The path narrowed as it went further into the canyon, the ground sloping up towards each enclosing wall. Boulders sat here and there, forcing him to weave his way off and back onto the path. Golyo kept his gaze forward as he walked, not looking at any movement he might catch a glimpse of around the wall.

After a long while, Golyo could spot something in the middle of the path ahead. Whatever it was did not move. He walked steadily toward it, breath baited. Had a Rahi finally come out into the night, sensing the Matoran? Was this it for him?

A pile of mechanical parts and bones littered the path. Golyo looked down on them, seeing the parts of his Mahi strewn about. The animals were strewn to pieces, utterly destroyed by whatever had gotten to them. Golyo kicked them around, a mix of emotions going through his head. He felt a loss for his Rahi, yes. But in his current predicament he was somewhat relieved. Having come through here probably sent the steeds to a far higher level of panic than which he could have controlled them. He could have never calmed down any portion of his herd and led it to safety, not without whatever lurked in these canyons finding them.

Determined to get on with his journey, he stepped forward over the bones. But his foot touched something liquid. Golyo stopped, and looked down to see a dark pool before him. He leaned down to examine it, touching the pool. Blood, most likely from the Mahi. Sitting crouched for a moment, he watched the pool sit in the dirt.

An idea struck him. If he did this, he thought, it might free him all the nonsense that brought him into this mess. Dipping his finger into the liquid, he grabbed a skull with another hand. Although he could not see what he was drawing, Golyo began to paint a symbol on the metal. He did not know what he was doing, but for some reason the symbol seemed to come clearly to him.

He did not stop after one. Grabbing another skull, he painted the symbol again, and again, until he had a number of skulls decorated in blood. He placed the Mahi skulls in a circle, and then painted the symbol in the center of the circle.

As he placed the last skull in the circle, Golyo suddenly felt an unseen pair of eyes staring at him.

“I hope this appeases you,” said Golyo. “And convinces you to leave me and my ranch alone.”

The ground rumbled. Golyo looked up. Well above him, at the top of the canyon, the moonlight shone. Before it a large winged creature flew up into the sky. For a moment he thought it was going to swoop back down and come his way. But it flew elsewhere beyond the canyon, cruising somewhere into the night. Golyo had never seen any Rahi with that hawk-like outline. He was fairly sure he did not want to know what it was.

As his sense of unease lessened, the moon shone brightly along the canyon. Golyo could see his path before him.

He continued to walk, hoping that he would soon find daylight, if not the desert plains outside of the canyon first.

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

Innocence Lost || Michael Gray x reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: “ 2 & 7 from the prompt list. Perhaps for Michael? Don’t worry prompts just are tough since you can’t read anyone’s mind but you’ll come around. Every idea is different. I’ve been writing fan work for about six years and I still suck at prompts.” (Love you so much, thank you for your support, I’m so sorry for being late, hope you don’t hate me) Summary: n.2 & 7 from my prompt list: "He’s driving me crazy” +  “It hurts so bad I can’t breathe”

Warnings: angst, swearing, virgin reader, a little smut

Author’s notes:

First of all, this is awfully long [3967 words], but I really loved writing it, my favourite piece so far, thank you so much for requesting!

Paragraphs written in italics are flashbacks.

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and I spent a whole holiday without Wi-fi, moreover, writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

Let me know what you think and tell me if this is what you expected  ♡

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

“Y/n, please, you can’t keep this up, you need to eat” For the umpteenth time in a row, your best friend’s voice reached your ears from behind the locked door of your room, but, again, you just ignored her and the loud thuds produced by her small fists colliding with the dark wood, your watery eyes remained fixed on the window facing your messy bed, as your attention was totally reduced to the meagre sun rays feebly filtering from the curtains. Your mind somehow managed to isolate itself from the surrounding world, until those deafening screams and noises waned in your numb eardrums and your empty y/e/c irises disappeared behind your heavy eyelids, covered in evident violet veins alarmingly in relief under your deathly pale skin.

Once more, you inexorably drowned in your haunting memories leading your already faint breath to break, while a muffled sigh slightly escaped your bluish lips in desperate need of hydration. In a matter of seconds you fell in a fugue state, still far from sleeping, yet just as far from being awake, and then you saw him again: his piercing green eyes, the sharp features of his wonderful face, his soft lips always contracted in a harsh line; you perfectly remembered every single inch of his glorious figure, to the point that the illusive vision evoked by your exhausted brain looked so real, that you thought to be able to finally touch him, as your hand instinctively lifted from the mattress, agonizingly digging in the stale air, but never coming near to graze the actual object of its fondest desires.

Before you could at least try to avoid it, you found yourself retracing the course of your relationship with Michael for the millionth time, an acute wave of pain spread through your chest, stealing another excruciating moan from your throat.

The familiar ring of the small bell, specifically hung above the door, reverberated in the room, announcing the presence of another person in your mother’s shop.

You raised your head, already smiling at your new customer, and looked in the direction of the entrance, more than ready to help whoever it was find the perfect material for the making of a high-quality suit, still, when you realized who actually walked in your store, your heart skipped a beat and you felt cold drops instantly forming on your forehead.

“Good morning, sir, h-how can I help you?” With a courage you never knew you had, you almost stuttered those words, incapable of taking your eyes off the magnetic ones of none other than Michael Gray; your blood froze on the spot, your mother had always begged you to keep yourself out of the way of the infamous Peaky Blinders, she’d always said they were dangerous people and no good would’ve ever come from getting involved with them in any way, and that terrifying awareness had you panic even more under his penetrating stare, while you kept hearing your mum’s apprehensive tone echoing inside your mind.

“Miss? Is everything alright?”

Only when that unbelievably deep voice rocked the air around your body, you understood you must’ve got lost in your thunderous thoughts, probably looking like a complete fool, so with a simple toss of your head you eventually forced yourself to put aside your fear and smile once more, even though you just wanted to run away from that uncomfortable situation. “Yeah, I’m perfectly fine, thank you. Please, tell me what you need and I’ll do my best to make you leave satisfied” Those words frenetically tumbled out of your mouth as your nervous fingers moved a strand of your hair behind your right ear, where you had previously pinned a graceful white and blue orchid, like you used to do every day. You saw an amused grin forming on his face, his vigilant orbs studied your shape, following each movement you made with flaunted audacity. “You want me to leave that bad?” The earlier trickle of concern in his tone was now replaced by pure irony, and you felt your cheeks wildly burn realizing how wrong that choice of words was.

“Oh my God, no! That’s not what I meant, I-i was... I was-” The young man’s crystal laugh interrupted your humiliating rambling, causing your flushed face to turn literally purple with embarrassment, suddenly the tip of your shoes became the most interesting thing in the world for you, until a solid hand gently gripped your chin, guiding you to lift your gaze, before it left your skin and cautiously reached for the flower held amidst your locks. “Hey, it’s okay, I was just joking” a tender smile still decorated his lips while he toyed with the delicate blossom between his fingers, examining it like it was something he had never seen before “Why do you wear this in your hair?”

Your nose automatically scrunched up at that silly question and you glanced at him almost in disbelief. In the space of a moment your wild heartbeat regularized, suddenly he din’t look like a dangerous gangster anymore, in your eyes, for that brief instant, he became just a weird boy in your workshop. 

“I like flowers” Michael chuckled in amusement again because of your disarming naivety, and his attitude seriously started to get on your nerves, he was pissing you off with his impertinence, plus you didn’t understand what he was laughing at. “Explain to me what's so funny, so I can laugh too” When you comprehended how your tone came out a bit grumpier than you expected, your eyes went wide with dread since you immediately remembered who you were speaking to. Still, nothing bad happened; he simply tried to stop giggling in your face as both his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

“No need to get all worked up, honey, I only think you’re cute”

Pure shock contaminated your features due to those words, your cheeks heated again in distress, yet he didn’t move an inch, continuing to look at you from beneath his full lashes; there was something indecipherable in his gaze, something that made your stomach flinch with an unknown feeling. “You what?” Your voice rose of a few octaves, making you sound like a complete psycho, Michael, on the other hand, simply ignored your hysteric question and took up his absurd speech. “Would you have dinner with me tonight, miss?” Your trembling body unconsciously curled up on your left side, while your pupils berserkly moved under your closed eyelids and your mind kept reliving those bittersweet flashbacks. Actually, that day you had gently declined his first invite, under the pretext of not knowing him well enough, “you don’t even know my name, sir”, you had said, hoping to dissuade him from that odd whim; too bad for you, Michael Gray always knew exactly what he desired and rarely changed his mind nor gave up, especially when it came to intriguing challenges like you were. In fact, after your first encounter, he began to come to the store at least three times each week, on the pretence of ordering all sorts of rich fabrics for he needed new suits, and every morning he made sure that a bouquet of fresh white and blue orchids was dropped off your workplace. With the passing of days, no matter how hard you had tried not to, you fatally started to enjoy his company: he made you laugh like no one else did, and he was so kind and caring, that you soon forgot about his bad reputation, on the contrary, you could hardly believe that he was some vile criminal, since around you he just behaved like a normal boy, full of life and hopes. Eventually, he managed to persuade you to go out with him three weeks later, and after your first date, many and many others came, until one night he took you dancing in a lovely place down town. Needless to say, Michael was an absolute disaster on the dance floor, still he was there with you and kept making a fool of himself only to see you have fun; you perceived it in his stunning eyes, how happy he was from just knowing that you wanted to be right there and then, with him and him alone. And when he first kissed you, that same night in the middle of the ballroom, pulling you closer to his chest after a clumsy pirouette, in that exact moment, you knew, beyond any doubt, you had hopelessly fallen for that man. The mere thought of all those cheerful times brought an involuntary smirk on your face consumed by sorrow, but it was quickly overshadowed by your last memory together, which was for you both the most painful and blissful memory of all. The small lights, emanated from the fireflies Michael had caught for you, literally enchanted you, it was unbelievable how the simplest things could be so dazzling. A few days earlier, he had told you about his previous life, when he was nothing more than an ordinary farmboy with a normal family and a special talent for the mathematics, he had told you about how he loved to spend time with his little brother, playing ball among those endless fields or trapping glow-worms in old jam jars. For this reason, he had finally decided to bring you there, because he wanted you to know who he really was, aside from all his money and power, he needed you to love that part of himself too. So you found yourself comfortably sitting on a large towel in the middle of the green English countryside, your back was pressed against his torso and his arms were vigorously wrapped around your waist.

“What’s on your mind?” Your soft voice broke that unearthly silence first, you heard him giggle from above your shoulder before a quick peck was left on your cheek, followed by the tip of his nose tracing an electric path from your jaw to the bottom of your neck. You felt his face sink in your smooth skin as he took a deep breath, inhaling your fruity scent as much as possible, then a long wet kiss at the height of your throat inflamed your flesh with no mercy, until his libidinous mouth paused its work, in order to give you the sincere answer you were waiting for. “I want to make love to you”

In a single sharp movement you rolled onto your other side, desperately grabbing the edges of the sheets with your hands, almost like that was the only chance you had to keep yourself from falling again into the darkest abysses of your brain, but you couldn’t wake up, that noxious slumber seemed to keep you hostage. Grieving wailings filled the room, and your lungs easily run out of air, when the last lethal recall implacably came.

“So beautiful, so fucking beautiful” Michael groaned, while his dilated pupils greedily drank each drop of your naked shape unsteadily laying under his, he watched in rapture your soft chest frantically raise and lower and your plump lips incapable of holding back uncountable whimpers, due to the lustful stroking of his fingertips inside your core. Your misty gaze never left his, as your foreheads eagerly pressed against each other, he kissed you with unbearable urgency once more, your fingers hungrily entangling his short hair so to keep him close. Yet, when you finally felt his tip rub against your centre, a mindless fear took over you, causing your mouth to abruptly depart from his; your eyes, impregnated with pure dismay, started to ravingly seek the spot where your bodies were about to connect, before Michael lifted your chin with tenderness, driving you to catch his preoccupied stare. “Hey, we don’t have to go further if you’re not feeling like doing it, love” He whispered while making your noses lovingly cress one another, you blinked multiple times in attempt to regain a minimum of lucidity and then placed one of your trembling hands on his cheek. A tremendous amount of chaotic thoughts were wildly dancing in your dizzy head: suddenly, the awareness of the fact that he was involved in nasty affairs struck terror into your heart all over again, moreover, it would’ve been a terrible scandal, if it ever got out that a girl from a good family had slept with someone out of wedlock, especially someone like him. But, more than anything else, you kept wondering how that whole thing was going to end; afterall, you had always heard rumors about him being an absolute womanizer, he seduced only to abandon, that was what everybody said in Birmingham, and you were completely petrified by the idea that he could treat you that way as well. Still, you knew your love for him was strong, and you firmly believed that love was nothing without trust. “I want this, I swear, but...” Embarrassment lead you to look away while pronouncing those last syllables and your voice died in your throat, but, despite that, Michael was able to read you like an open book, so he hurried to cup your face and briefly peck your lips, in order to make you restore your confidence. He wanted you to feel safe in his arms, he wanted you to give yourself to him without any change of heart, since only then you would’ve been truly, completely and utterly his. “Just keep looking at me, okay? It’s me and you, y/n, nothing else matter now. Only me and you” You nodded your head yes, definitely allowing him to go on, and, while you were sinking in the mesmerizing green of his irises, he began to gently thrust into you, always paying attention to all your facial cues. A dull ache soon radiated through your lower abdomen and legs, having you tense up under his weight, as your thighs instinctively tried to shut.  “Relax, babygirl” a shower of small kisses covered your face, his warm tone caressing your ears “I need you to tell me if it gets too much, got it? I’ll stop at any moment”

As soon as you gave him your consent afresh, he entirely drowned inside you at a placid pace, irreversibly taking your innocence; a wrenching whine forcefully rolled down your tongue because of that horrible sensation, inducing Michael to tauten his muscles for a second and then start to pull out right away.

Watching you suffer caused him physical pain, he could actually sense a grievous burden achingly worm its way through his ribs; that’s how he realized he loved you dangerously. “Wait, Michael” Your wavering voice, together with your calves still held around his hips, temporary succeeded in keeping him from breaking that intimate connection, your nails digging in his forearms to prevent you from crying. “Stay with me”  You pleaded again, yet he seemed determined to ignore your prayers, as his head vehemently shook in disapproval and his waist fought your legs’ resistance. “I’m hurting you! I can’t-” Michael was not able to end his sentence for your lips impetuously collided with his, you needed him to stop blaming himself for such a natural thing; sweet caresses enveloped his marked cheekbones in a dire effort to calm his nerves, while you knowingly borrowed his former words. “Please, I want you to make love to me” After that night, without a single word, Michael Gray inexplicably disappeared from your life. A moon passed, yet not once he came to your shop, nor he wrote you a letter in order to explain the reason behind his disgusting behaviour, he just continued to avoid you, always staying away from the places where he knew he would meet you, pretending not to spot you among the crowded streets of the city. It was as if the entire world had fallen on your frail shoulders, you couldn’t quantify the cruel grief tearing your soul apart. “Y/n! Y/n, you have to wake up!” Mary’s screams rudely dragged you back to reality, only then you heard the immoderate sobs and weeps uncontrollably erupting from your throat; you looked up at your best friend, who had somehow managed to pick the lock of your chamber, and you noticed raw terror shining in her orbs, her fists squeezing your arms hard enough to leave a mark. “L-leave me alone” You muttered with hot tears still streaming down your face. Even though you were well conscious of your extreme bad attitude towards her, you couldn’t handle any physical contact in those moments, you only craved loneliness. “No, I fucking won’t! Now, tell me what the hell is going on with you” Her aggressive tone brooked no argument as she showed no signs of letting go of you, at least not until you spat it all out. “I can get no peace, I see him! Every time I close my eyes, I see his damn face, I hear his voice. He’s driving me crazy” You snuggled up, burying your head between your flexed knees, finally allowing your cry to explode altogether.                                                          *****

“Mr. Gray, I’m so sorry, I tried to stop her, but she won’t listen!” From his comfortable armchair, Michael abandoned his work only to glimpse at his assistant with one eyebrow raised in a sceptical expression.  Yet, soon he understood what that poor man was talking about, since Mary furiously broke into his office, bravely sending him eloquent death glares. With his usual arrogance pouring out of every hole, the boy brought a cigarette to his mouth, lighting it in a quick move, before he dropped his secretary a hint so to be left alone with the lady. “I have business, no time to talk” Michael tried his best to sound as unemotional as possible, he kept smoking slowly, savouring every rush of grey smoke, and staring at the girl in front of him with a destabilizing sense of superiority. “You don’t need to talk, you screwed bastard! You just have to listen!” In the blink of an eye, Mary reached for him behind his desk, rabidly gripping his naive shirt collar in order to push him closer to her livid face. She knew perfectly well who she was growling at, he could’ve ruined her at any moment and that was a risky choice, but her dearest friend was going to pieces right beyond her eyes and she had to do something about it. “She’s slowly fading away and there’s nothing anyone can do, ‘cause you fucking destroyed her!” Michael forced himself to bear her gaze, despite the devouring guilt growing inside his stomach. “She at least deserves a bloody logical explanation, so she can finally move on. I swear to God, Michael Gray, if you don’t go there and talk to her, I’ll find a way to fuck up your pathetic life, if it’s the last thing I do”                                                              *****

A light knock on the wooden jamb distracted you from your thoughts again, you simply moaned with annoyance in response, laying on your bed with your back to the open door. “I told you to leave me alone, Mary” You murmured at the limit of your strength, but, half a minute later, you heard someone clear their throat in a very familiar way, and you just couldn’t believe your ears. Without a second thought, your back escaped the control of your mind, hastily leaving the mattress; in the space of a moment, you found yourself standing in front of him. The air around you seemed to freeze on the spot, you stopped breathing, he was there, for the first time after more than a month. Your heart was atrociously split into two: part of you only wanted to throw your arms around his neck and hold him tight, still, your other half hated him for the hell he had deliberately put you through. “Go away.” Your stone-cold remark hit him right in the gut, he looked in horror at the state into which you had fallen, conscious of being the one to blame for all the pain he had caused you; before he could notice, he sensed a salt drop fall from his lashes and directly hit the floor, but he didn’t move, unable to regain control of his paralyzed body. “I said, go away!” This time you couldn’t prevent yourself from hysterically shouting in his face, starting to throw several punches at his chest, both of you were now at the mercy of your own rage. Coming out of his momentary trance, Michael promptly grabbed your wrists, partially interrupting your fierce outburst; feeling the touch of his bare skin on yours inexorably had goosebumps cover every inch of your figure, it was like getting sparked a thousand times in a row, you kept wondering how you were staying on your feet without falling to the ground. “I’m here to talk” That mind-blowing sound filled your ears, causing your craw to painfully close up, he kept his watery irises locked with yours, waiting for you to say something, but your only answer ended up being a forceful shove, which allowed you to free yourself from his grasp. “Talk? Really?!” a bitter laugh left your sternum as you incredulously put your hands through your tousled locks “What exactly did you want to discuss with me? How disgusting you are for mercilessly betraying a person whose only mistake was loving you, eh?” Truth was hard to handle for him, he was aware of what a horrible thing he had done to you, still, he wished he could make you understand he had acted that way for a reason. Michael lowered his gaze in discomfort, until your roaring voice echoed through the walls once more. “Look at me! I want you to see what you’ve done” you took a few steps in his direction, getting riskily close to him, while your mad stare never left his features. “I am shot to pieces because of you” Your index finger roughly hit the middle of his pecs for a brief instant, then you distanced yourself of about three feet, overwhelmed by that terrible mess made of a million contrasting feelings bloodily fighting into your head. “It hurts so bad I can’t breathe” That was nothing more than a whisper, cracking under the weight of your excruciating emotions; for the umpteenth time that day, all the air in your lungs somehow vanished for a few, interminable, seconds, leaving you to tremble before his immovable silhouette. That heartbreaking sight stirred something in Michael, something so strong, that he finally reacted to that unbearable situation. “I fucking did it for you! I did it to protect you from a man like me, y/n! What do I really have to offer you, eh?” Shock took over you while you watched him gesticulate, wildly hitting his own torso multiple times in between his yells. “Blood, death, destruction, that’s what I am. And I can’t drag you down with me, y/n, ‘cause I love you too much to be this selfish!” He fell on his knees, fully depleted by his own sorrow, and he wearily leant his forehead onto your womb, heavy sobbing through the veils of your nightgown. A round minute went by without you exhaling a single sigh, you tried and process what he had just said, swiftly repeating it all to yourself. Eventually, your fingers gently began to caress his hair in attempt to put an end to his loud weeps, never before you had seen him cry, never in a thousand years you had thought that moment would ever come. “I love you too, Michael, and that’s why you can’t decide for me”  Your right hand softly cupped his chin in order to make him look up at your eyes. “You just have to let me stay by your side”

tag list: @namelesslosers, @shadow-of-wonder, @spidey-pal