#your attention span is still intact :)

[oasisr]

I love nature. It's sad that we're cursed, and nature is designed (or mutated) to harm us.

I want to run through the forest, swim in lakes, go for walks in the rain, enjoy the flowers in the spring, and admire God's creation.

But, unfortunately, pollen makes me sick. Plants release chemicals to harm us. It's their defense mechanism. Algae and bacteria in lakes and other parts of nature also make us sick.

I think that the earth and humans were meant to go together in harmony. It was a world created for us to explore and love one another in.

Now, it has mutated into something else. We don't even have dominion over the animals anymore.

There is a reason why people feel depressed after watching movies like Avatar. Yes, I know it was made by New Age Hollywood. But, there are real truths within the film.

Many cry when they see the huge tree of life being cut down. That may have been based in truth. We see many giant mountains that are flat on top,. resembling tree stumps.

These images provoke an emotion that is deep within our ancestral memories, which is stored deep away, in our DNA.

[fickleminder]

return to sender

Nightbringer AU. Wherein unsent letters are finally delivered to their intended recipients.

Before Lesson 40 dropped in NB, I often wondered where the letters MC wrote when they were about to be kicked out of the Devildom disappeared to. This fic was also inspired by the lesson where the brothers were talking about their pacts with MC and it sounded like they really regretted it :/

Hopefully you found me helpful from time to time?

Don't push yourself too hard, "big brother."

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"SURPRISE!"

The blindfold is pulled away with a flourish, and the first thing that catches your attention is the large banner spanning the entire restaurant with the words "THANK YOU" splashed across in bright colors. Everyone is dressed to the nines, holding party poppers and showering you in confetti, but all you can think about is how tedious the cleanup will be afterwards.

As though reading your mind, Diavolo speaks on behalf of those present. "You are our guest of honor tonight, so please, put all thoughts of work aside and enjoy yourself to the fullest!"

So that's why Asmo has been pestering you about your measurements lately. To his credit, the outfit he personally tailored for you makes you look like you belong in the upper echelon of demon society. Not that there are others around to pass judgement; Ristorante Six is fully booked this evening for the future demon king and his entourage.

"Here, I hope you're hungry." Beel hands you an untouched plate of food, piled high with all the expensive items you can only dream of ordering and then some. Even though half of it is almost gone already, the buffet tables lining the walls feature a generous spread of your favorite dishes.

"A toast," Lucifer announces at one point, raising a glass of blood-red demonus, "to our dutiful attendant."

Everyone follows suit, and a part of you wishes there was actual alcohol in your drink. You're way too sober for an occasion such as this. Still, you smile and laugh along.

"Cheers!"

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Thank you for always thinking of me.

I always had fun when we were together.

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When you finally find the time to visit what's left of Cocytus Hall, all you see is a ring of rubble surrounding a massive sinkhole no one has bothered to clean up yet. Though, in light of recent events, you're not surprised rebuilding isn't on the list of Diavolo's priorities, if it even makes the list to begin with.

The brothers have spared no expense in replacing your personal belongings, furnishing the spare room in the House of Lamentation with all the material comforts to make your residence as cushy as possible. Their personal attendant deserves nothing less, after all. You have everything you could ever need, and yet...

Dirt cakes your skin and wedges under your nails as you start digging with your bare hands, determined to salvage what you can from the remains of your former home. You aren't looking for anything in particular, not that there's much that managed to survive the collapse intact. A crumpled book here, a chipped flowerpot there, scraps of clothing pinned under debris, a thick piece of fabric with 'Kiss The Cook' embroidered on it—

The dam finally bursts. You clutch Solomon's apron to your chest and fall to your knees.

"Come back!" You sob, coughing and choking on dust between desperate gulps of air. "Please, I can't do this without you! Come back! I need you, Sol—"

No one hears you wailing into the night. No one helps you up when your tears run dry at last, when your bones ache with exhaustion and you can't feel your legs anymore.

You have no one to turn to, nowhere else to go, and as you drag your feet back to the House of Lamentation, you pretend you can still feel your mentor’s warmth on the tattered apron wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

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Make sure to take good care of Snake Henry, okay?

I know you'll make an amazing demon.

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"Oi, watch it!"

In the blink of an eye, you find yourself swept off your feet and cradled protectively in Mammon's arms. A shower of rocks and bricks crashes to the ground where you were standing not one second ago.

"Are ya alright? Are ya hurt anywhere?"

"I'm okay! Thanks for the save, Mammon." You gently swat his hands away once you're sure your knees won't buckle. Mammon continues to hover over you, but at least he's stopped checking every inch of your body for injuries.

"This is all Levi's fault," the demon grumbles. "Him and his stupid Envy summoning Lotan—"

"Hey, come on. He wasn't in control and you know it."

"I hate to agree with Mammon, but it totally is when we all have to clean up his mess." Belphie wanders over with a frown, having noticed the commotion. "Why didn't you use your magic to shield yourself?"

"...That's what I have you guys for!" You take a step back to dust yourself off. "Seriously, I owe you one."

"Getting others to do the work for you? Nice." Belphie gives you a thumbs up. You laugh when Mammon tries and fails to ruffle his hair in retaliation.

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Someday we should both go bookstore hopping!

You're fine just the way you are, Satan.

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"Is it just me, or do they seem more tired than usual?"

"Not tired per se, more like defeated?"

"We don't exactly make it easy for them. Plus there's all the stuff happening with the Little D's lately..."

"Maybe they're still upset we didn't make pacts with them."

"Nah, I don't think so. I mean, it's our decision too, and they gotta respect it!"

"They have done a lot for us since becoming our attendant. How about we treat them to a nice dinner? Take them out for a night in town, all expenses paid for."

"A fine idea. I'll run it by Lord Diavolo and see if we can arrange something."

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Looking forward to the next Asmo Night!

I love you! More than words can say!

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There's a chilly breeze in the air tonight, but being bracketed by two demons helps to keep the cold at bay.

"Are you sure you don't want to share my scarf? It's long enough for the both of us~"

"I'm certain you can fit my jacket just fine too."

"Guys, I'm alright!" Their overprotectiveness warms your heart. "We're almost back at Cocytus Hall anyway."

"Already?" Asmo pouts, shifting the bag of groceries to his other arm so that his now-free hand can grab yours. "I told you we should have taken the scenic route! It's so hard to spend time with— Hm?"

The demon lifts your hand and squints at your bare fingers. "No ring today? I noticed you don't wear it anymore."

"Oh, that?" You tug free of his grasp with a small laugh. "I just put it away for safekeeping, that's all. A Celestial item in the Devildom does tend to draw attention..."

"Makes sense. Plus it's Lucifer's, so you shouldn't even be wearing it in the first place," Satan huffs.

Before long, the three of you arrive at the front door of Cocytus Hall. Asmo peers through the dark windows with a curious hum. "Is Solomon not home? Seems like he's never around nowadays..."

"He has some business to take care of in the human world. It's nothing he can't handle by himself, so I'm on my own for a while."

"Why didn't you say so earlier? We could have a sleepover, or you could come stay with us! I'm sure it gets pretty lonely at night—"

"Knowing you and your brothers, I'd never catch a wink of sleep," you deadpan.

"Speaking of, we do need you at the castle early tomorrow." Satan sounds almost apologetic. "Lord Diavolo wants to coordinate efforts for rebuilding after Lotan's flood."

"Understood, I'll be there."

"Get some beauty sleep tonight, okay? See you in the morning!"

Asmo blows you a kiss while Satan hugs you goodbye. Once they leave, you make sure the front door is locked tight behind you before allowing your shoulders to slump.

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Put your name on any treats you put in the fridge.

Keep your brothers safe, okay?

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You love the brothers, you really do, but some days you just want to kick their asses to the Celestial Realm. It never fails to astound you how these centuries-old beings can be so immature.

"—umpteenth time, no brawling in the house!" If it were possible, there would be steam coming out of your ears by now. "What if the fire had spread to the rest of the library?"

"But Mammon ate my—"

"I don't care!" You snarl over Beel's protests, already feeling a headache building at the back of your skull. "If you want to pick a fight with one another, fine! Just take it outside!"

"Ugh, you're not the boss of us!" Belphie snaps back, flicking his tail irritably. "Some of us weren't even involved in this, so leave us out of it!"

The word 'stay' is at the tip of your tongue, ready to put your rowdy demons in their place, and it takes everything in you to hold it in, knowing it won't do any good.

"What the blazes is going on here?!" Lucifer storms in before you can say anything else. "Are you lot not capable of staying out of trouble for one day? And you!"

You flinch as the first-born rounds on you. "I thought I could count on you to have things under control. I'm disappointed to see that I was wrong."

"H-hey, it's not their fault," Levi stammers, looking visibly guilty now that Lucifer has turned his ire towards you. Next to him, the rest of his brothers fidget uncomfortably. "We'll clean this up, okay? So why don't you take it easy on—"

"All of you return to your rooms this instant." Lucifer refuses to budge. "I will supervise to make sure our attendant actually does their job properly this time."

And there goes the rest of your day. You grit your teeth and nod obediently, ignoring the demons filing out of the library one by one, some murmuring apologies as they shuffle past you.

This is fine.

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Someday I'll buy you the ultimate alarm clock.

I love that happy look you have while you sleep.

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"You're the only one who can tell them what happened."

You curl Solomon's fingers over a small stack of letters, written what feels like years ago but never handed to their intended recipients.

If Solomon seemed upset before, he looks downright devastated when you place the Ring of Light on top of the pile, the final nail in the coffin. "We'll find another way," he pleads. "You and me, just— Don't make me do this, please."

"It's too late for me and you know it." You avert your gaze, unable to maintain eye contact with the one person who kept you sane throughout this entire nightmare. "My magic is as good as dead, but you still have enough for a one-way trip."

"I can ask Barbatos for help, I'll do anything he wants—"

"They'll take care of me here, I know it. They may not be the same, but they're still my boys."

Anger and jealousy flash briefly across the sorcerer's face. "If only they knew..."

"All the more they wouldn't let me go," you sigh, rubbing his white knuckles with your thumbs. "They're fresh from the war, strangers in a strange land, and Lucifer just pledged loyalty to Diavolo. Do you really think he'd allow what's left of his family to give their freedom away? To a human no less? I can't use them Sol, not like this."

"You wouldn't hurt them!"

"I know, but they don't. They don't know me here, and by the time they do, we'll both be doomed."

"But Nightbringer—"

"Whatever he’s planning won't work, not without those pacts." Your eyes harden at the thought, determined not to play whatever game this father of demons was trying to pull. "So really, this is for the best. Besides, there's another you running around during this time period. Maybe I'll bump into him someday. Can't have the two of you together, that's too much good food for me."

Despite the weak joke, Solomon cracks a sad smile. "I've never been able to say no to you, my dear apprentice. But before I go, may I?"

You meet Solomon halfway, pressing your lips against his, losing yourself in his arms one last time while trying to imprint the smell of old spell books and spices into your brain.

"Are you sure I can't change your mind?" He whispers, one last-ditch effort even though the answer is clear in your watery eyes.

"Please," you shake your head, "do this last thing for me."

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I always enjoyed the time we spent together.

I hope you never forget me.

Take care of yourselves, okay?

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At the call of your name, you turn around to see a familiar demon rushing through the hallways of RAD towards you, only stopping once you're within arm's reach.

"Hi Barbatos, did you need something?" You frown, noticing his somewhat unkempt state up close. A loose button in one corner, collar not done up all the way— It's as close to disheveled as you've ever seen him, not to mention the tips of his horns and tail are quivering slightly.

The butler doesn't answer. He continues to stare at you with a foreign look in his eyes, which have started to mist over.

"...Hey, are you alright?"

Barbatos breathes your name again, in a tone you haven't heard since Solomon left this timeline altogether, and something buried deep inside your heart sings.

[fioreofthemarch]

repast

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom Pairing: Link/Zelda Words: 880 [✨read the oneshot's two companion pieces: yearnings and kin]

The first thing Link began to wonder about the Light Dragon – once his tears for her ran dry and his grief made room for a growing curiosity – was whether she ever got hungry.

In her previous life, she’d had a utilitarian relationship with food. Link had cooked all manner of dishes for her, and each one she would eat in a straight-forward, disciplined manner, dutifully setting about tidying up once she was done. If he asked what her favourite meal was, she’d say, ‘All of them!’

Now, it was possible that dragons didn’t need to eat. Immortality, its terribleness aside, probably had benefits like that. The question was, would they want to?

Link hadn’t paid the Light Dragon much mind during his travels. Dragons seemed to be ten a rupee these days, arising out of chasms, swimming over villages, winding through canyons and so on. Now that he had learned who the Light Dragon really was – telling himself he’d known for a long time to muffle the anguished guilt he felt at not having known right away – he had begun to track her movements. Occasionally, she would break her kingdom-spanning flight path to spend a few hours circling the skyward Temple of Time. It was there that he waited for her now.

“Zelda, I’ve come to make your favourite,” he called up to the Light Dragon from the roof of the temple, unsure if she’d heard. Undeterred, he set up a cookpot and began, sauteeing a dozen apples in a hefty amount of goat butter – this being the only meal Zelda had ever requested of him, maybe two winters ago on a freezing evening camped somewhere in Hebra. She’d said if she had one wish, it’d be a hot buttered apple, and with pride Link had made that wish come true.

At first, the Light Dragon didn’t seem to notice him. He considered hitting her with an apple-fused arrow to get her attention, but was worried he’d discover, in retaliation, that dragons had a taste for humans. Over the course of an hour however, she circled lower and lower towards the temple and the cookpot, until she gently touched down, her body wound around the outer perimeter of the roof. She rested her head by the cookpot, a huge bright eye fixed directly on Link. He froze, unsure if she was really in there, and also what the proper etiquette would be when dining with a dragon. As if in answer, she sniffed at the pot of apples. Taking one in hand, Link offered it slowly out to her; she sniffed it again and opened her mouth just enough for him to push the apple between her teeth. In astonishment Link watched as the otherworldly creature munched carefully on the apple and opened her toothy jaws for a second.

Half a dozen more he fed her this way and each one she ate faster, opening her mouth wider to demand more. By now the supply of savoury-sweet apples was running low. “I’ve only got a couple left, Zelda, but I can come back—”

Chomp! The Light Dragon snapped its jaws down around the cook pot, sending apples flying in all directions. Link reached up and grabbed the edge of the pot, trying to yank it free. “Stop! You can’t eat this! Let go!”

Then he was falling, relinquished from the Light Dragon’s teeth when she roared, and he landed on the gravel just before the cookpot landed on him. He cried out in pain, and in response the Light Dragon recoiled, drawing up into herself, the roof shingles crunching under her claws. 

Dusting himself off, Link set about collecting the apples, finding them flung across the roof and soiled with gravel. With a sigh, he prepared to throw them into the cooking fire when, at his side, something soft nudged his arm. The Light Dragon, or Zelda, or whatever mix of the two she was, tapped him with the very tip of her snout, having crept back towards him. In Link’s hand was the final apple, mostly intact. The Light Dragon nudged him again, making a low rumbling noise, barely more than a whine. 

“It’s okay, apology accepted,” Link said. “Glad you still like my cooking, old girl.”

Then, the idea coming upon him with a laugh, Link threw the apple as high as he could. There was a tornado of rushing air and dust as the Light Dragon soared upwards, unwrapping herself from temple and launching herself in pursuit of the apple, which she caught with a swift snap of her jaws. Her prize seized, she descended again to fly past Link, so fast he could barely touch her, before rising into the sky and out of reach. Her way of saying thank you, he supposed. 

Later on, returning to the surface and Demon King-shaped task at hand, Link would horde apples by the dozen and spend even his last rupee on goat butter whenever he stopped by a town. From then, he knew that if his grief struck stronger than he could handle, he could return to the Temple of Time with as many apples as he could carry, and dine with Zelda again - just like they once had, in times gone by. 

[taurusdaylight]

[1.48am] attention

in the span of three hours, you finished one episode of the drama that you’ve been watching lately, took a shower, and even managed to take a short nap. you’d thought that jeno would be done with his game by then, but he wasn’t. instead, you re-entered his bedroom and saw him still glued to his desk, just as he was a few hours ago. very much immersed in his game, jeno continued to backface you, seemingly not noticing your presence yet.

you walked over to him and stood next to his chair. after a few seconds, jeno finally looked up at you and smiled. however, the attention was short-lived because his gaze soon returned to his desktop screen. 

you made a face at his behaviour. was his computer game seriously more important than you, his girlfriend? you were used to the long hours that jeno spent on his computer, but he should still know his limits. 

“jeno,” you called out.

“hmm?” he replied, eyes still fixed on his desktop.

your frown deepened. “can you look at me when i’m talking to you?”

“give me five minutes, baby. it’s the last round.”

“that’s what you said just now…” the disappointment in your voice was apparent, but it was seemingly unimportant to jeno, who merely said that it was really the last round and that he would be done soon. he went back to shouting over the headset, giving directions to haechan.

letting out a deep sigh, you gave up trying to get his attention and climbed onto his bed. your patience was running thin, and you were so close to turning off the main switch so that jeno would have no choice but to stop his game. perhaps, that was the only way to get him to finally go to bed with you. thankfully, your rationality was still intact so that didn’t progress to anything further than an intrusive thought in your head. as much as you were upset at him, doing that would most likely trigger the start of an ugly fight that you absolutely did not want to partake in.

you tugged the ends of the blanket and tried to make yourself comfortable on his bed. it was difficult to ignore the empty space beside you when usually you’d be enveloped in jeno’s arms, feeling safe in his embrace. even his polar bear plush toy didn’t offer much comfort to you. a part of you knew that you were being a little dramatic, but if jeno wasn’t going to spend time with you, then he shouldn’t have called you over in the first place. there was not much of a difference between this and staying at home, and you’d much rather opt for the latter if you knew that jeno was going to game all night long. 

you continuously tossed and turned in bed, still unable to fall asleep. you don’t even know how much time had passed until jeno finally said goodbye to haechan. not in the mood to talk with him in fear that you might vent your anger on him, you closed your eyes once you heard jeno shut down the desktop, footsteps gliding across the wooden-tiled floor as he approached the bed.

“baby, are you asleep?” jeno asked. 

you kept quiet, hoping that he wouldn’t catch onto your act of pretence. even though it was a petty move on your part, you thought that he deserved it for prioritising his computer game over you. 

jeno’s side of the bed dipped down as he got under the covers. he inched closer to you until his chest was pressed against your back, wrapping his arm around your comparably smaller frame. 

“are you mad?” jeno’s voice came out rather timidly. he caressed your arm with his thumb before he said, “i’m really sorry i lost track of time.”

if there was one thing that you hated more than jeno choosing his games over you, it would be going to sleep being angry at him. no matter how big or small, your past arguments were always resolved quickly because the both of you couldn’t stay mad at each other for a long time. this time was no exception. so you opened your eyes and stared at the blank wall for a while before you turned to face jeno.

“make it up to me,” you said, looking him straight in the eye.

jeno made a sound of confusion, so you repeated your words. “make it up to me.”

jeno seemed to have gotten the hint the second time as he tenderly grabbed the side of your face with his free hand. he moved his face closer to yours, slowly tilting his head at an angle before sealing your lips together with a mellow kiss. 

soft. jeno’s lips felt so soft brushing against yours, you found yourself leaning in to lessen the already small gap between the both of you. hand placed at the nape of his neck, you hastily pulled him in as though it would help in getting a closer taste of his lips. you could feel the corners of his mouth curl upwards as he slowed down, but he still made sure that his lips never left yours, giving you the attention that he ought to have given you hours ago. 

after a few moments of back and forth, jeno gradually pulled back. he left one final peck on your lips before he stopped completely. 

“am i forgiven?” jeno breathed.

you shot him a smile, “yes.”

jeno’s hands travelled down to your waist as he hugged you. “thanks, baby. i promise i won’t do it next time.”

“next time?” you glared at him. “what do you mean? i won’t let it go so easily if there’s a next time.”

jeno looked at you with a glint of sheepiness in his gaze. “well, yeah… but you know, i would always make it up to you.”

“that’s not going to work,” you deadpanned.

“you don’t want me to kiss you?” jeno asked with a pout.

“i do, but you can’t just kiss me and expect to get away with it every time.”

“why not? i’ll give you even more kisses,” jeno said as he slightly lifted his head up from the pillow to demonstrate it by peppering your face with small kisses, listing all of the possible places that he could kiss you. 

jeno’s sudden display of affection caused you to let out a long breath. there was no way you could argue against that, he always knew exactly how to appease you. pushing him away slightly to coax him to stop because it was too much for your weak heart to handle, you said, “okay, i got it… just go to sleep.” 

jeno laid back down to his original position, his arm returning to hug your body. “i love you, baby. when we wake up, we can do whatever you want. my entire day is yours,” he promised. 

you snuggled into jeno’s chest, taking in his comforting scent. “i love you too.”

[dirtysvthoughts]

𝓟 𝓡 𝓘 𝓥 𝓐 𝓣 𝓔 𝓓 𝓐 𝓝 𝓒 𝓔 𝓡 - CHAPTER THREE

pairing: prospective club owner! joshua x stripper! reader

word count: 2.2k

general tags/warnings: smut, pwp, worldbuilding before the dirty stuff (be patient 😉), female! reader, mildly cocky! shua, dom! shua, power play/brat! reader, full nudity for reader, use of pet names (love, baby, sweetheart), shua tries to get reader to fall for him but to no avail (or yes avail?)

playlist songs: special affair - the internet, give me head - sweet the kid, na na - trey songz

notes: chapter 3 baybeeeee! sorry this took so long, but it’s finally here! i’m gonna start working on chapter 4 and that should be done vv soon! hope you enjoy besties!

taglist: @im-gemmy @enhacolor @hooniewnderland @svtup @kawaiikels @weeevrse @diorsfxck @kyexvly @woozarts @ifuckcheol @marsstarxhwa @haoxiaoba

“and i’m telling you, i don’t need any help, take your service elsewhere,” your boss, mia, says over the phone, curtly hanging it up afterwards. “fucking nuisance,” she mumbles under her breath as you enter her office.

“somethin’ happen?” you say as you shut the door behind you, away from prying eyes and listening ears.

“shouldn’t you be getting ready, sage?” mia says not even looking in your direction, fiddling with whatever paperwork is in front of her.

you roll your eyes, “it’s 5 PM, i only came here early to practice my new routine. plus, i needed to ask you something, but then i overheard you. you know i’m one of the few people you actually trust here. so seriously, what was that all about?”

she stops messing with the papers and finally directs her eyes towards you, breathing a heavy sigh. “okay, so you know the club has a few more debt payments before i can solely own this place right? well, this man i was on the phone with can more than likely wipe away the rest of the debt with a snap of a finger.”

“so if he can do that, why would you tell him to fuck off? i don’t get it.”

“because he wants to own majority of the business! all of the creative decisions, finances, even down to the dancers’ employment would be his decision. i’m not doing that! i’ve worked way too hard to get to where illusion is today. and do you know how many strip club owners are women? not a whole lot. this is my pride.”

you both sit in a minute of silence, her words repeating in your mind. she was right, so much went into this club and those who weren’t on the pole proved that a club could run without a man’s help or approval. and you knew your boss wasn’t desperate enough to give in just yet.

“well no one but you is gonna run club illusion. fuck another owner or a co-owner,” you firmly say as mia shakes her head and smiles, now directing her attention at her desktop, moving her mouse around.

“why do i like you so much, sage?”

“i dunno, i guess i have that effect on people,” you smile as you push your hair back, opening the door so you could start getting ready.

“by the way,” you say with one foot out the door, “what was the guy’s name?”

“somethin’ hong, i kept forgetting the name, why? does it ring a bell?”

“nah, just wanna have a name in mind just in case he shows up, you know they like doing that.”

“well let’s hope not,” she groans as she stretches her arms out. “i really don’t need the extra stress - i can already tell tonight’s gonna be extra for no reason.”

and crazy enough, your boss was right. security had to break up two fights, one of the dancers ended up getting sent home (she was overly drunk), and a bartender ended up quitting - all in the span of four hours.

you look at the clock on the wall, readjusting your bodysuit straps and making sure your makeup was still intact. it was finally midnight, which hopefully meant the rest of the night would be better until it was time for the club to close.

“crazy ass night huh?” your closest friend and fellow dancer, hana (also known as chardonnay) approaches you. she finds her makeup kit and grabs a brush, dolling up her face.

“who are you tellin? and it’s only thursday! if heads into the weekend,” you say but hana finishes your thoughts.

“oh hello no, do not manifest that energy. this weekend can be busy, but not crazy,” she puts her kit back in her corner and checks herself out.

min then walks into the dressing room, hastily scanning the area for one person. “hana!” she calls out, slightly panicking. “you have a whole party waiting for you and you’re talking in the dressing room?”

“i know min, i just had to make sure i was ready, sheesh,” hana rolls her eyes. “gimme five and i’ll be out. they can wait.”

“you better hurry up,” min says walking away, “mia already has had to deal with a lot of shit and i’m pretty sure the last thing she wants to deal with is y’all acting out.” she closes the door behind her and the music becomes muffled again.

“lemme head out there before even more hell gets raised,” hana sighs as she switches her clear heels for her champagne-colored ones. “i guess i’ll see you out there in a bit.” she and a few others leave the room, leaving the space nearly empty.

——

after checking yourself out, you finally head back on to the scene, deciding to walk around and look for clientele since you already performed on the main stage for tonight.

as you get deeper into the center, you notice a figure at one of the small, standing tables. intrigued, you walked closer and your body can’t deny it’s reaction when you see how handsome he is. his dress white shirt had a few buttons opened, his black hair styled to where not all of it was in his face, and his eyes? oh you felt like you could melt in them.

when you finally get close enough, you place your hand on his shoulder and he looks up at you, putting his glass of whiskey down. “hey there,” you smile flirty at him, and he responds by smiling back at you.

“hey beautiful,” he says in the most soft, yet incredibly sexy tone. “i haven’t seen you around before, are you new here?”

“oh, so you’ve been here before,” you say going to the opposite side of the table, your eyes not leaving is. “that’s interesting, considering i’ve never seen you, i practically have a sixth sense when it comes to this place.”

“mmm, different days, different times, maybe,” he picks up his glass and takes a sip and when he puts it down, you reach for his hand and take hold of it.

“well that can’t stop us from getting to know each other better,” you rub his hands softly. “what’s your name?”

“hong. joshua hong, to be more specific,” he says. “and yours?”

you try to keep a poker face, but you fail drastically as your expression changes. “hong?” you think to yourself. “hong.. why does it sound so familiar?”

you mind then recalls the conversation with mia, and you slowly remove your hand from his. “w-wait a minute, hong? are you a club owner or something?”

“actually i am, how did-” you interrupt him by scoffing and shaking your head, not believing what could’ve happened.

“no fucking way.. you’re the man that called my boss earlier today weren’t you? about wanting to own this place?”

“yeah, that was me,” he says with all the pride he can muster and it made you a little annoyed. “this place has so much potential, and it’s becoming one of the most popular clubs in the area. with my help, it can reach that and more! everyone would benefit.”

“look, hong - whoever you are, this club is doing fine. mia didn’t need a savior before and she doesn’t need one now, especially from some cocky motherfucker who he thinks he can change everything just by walking into the room.” you walk away ready to find another customer, but he comes in front of and stops you.

“you’re bold as hell.. i love that in a partner,” joshus says grinning as he begins to kiss the side of your neck teasingly, his lips feeling like a soft pillow. your body and your mind are now drastically confused. yes, he was trying to take over the club and you didn’t want that, but you couldn’t deny your physical attraction to him either.

after a few more seconds, joshua pulls away and smirks at you, clearly enjoying the fact that you were starting to break down your walls. he takes something out of his pocket and slides it into your hand, and when you feel it - it’s a thick wad of cash.

“let’s go upstairs baby,” joshua says as he pulls you towards him, having you lead the way. watching your surroundings, you firmly grab his hand and you lead him to the vip rooms, walking up the steps and then finding the closest, empty room.

unable to hold back anymore (and away from any other eyes), you sharply pull him closer to you and smash your mouth against his, hands roaming his hair as he walks backwards. when he reaches the edge of the couch, joshua gently sits down and pulls you onto his lap, his hands now palming your ass. you lowly moan at the feeling as you begin to roll your hips into him, his touches becoming more firmer as he squeezes your cheeks.

“you couldn’t resist me, could you?” joshua laughs to himself. “just a second ago you were telling me off, and now you’re like putty in my hands.”

“fuck you,” you moan out when he starts playing with the crotch of your bodysuit, dragging two fingers over the cloth. he continues the motion until he can start to feel a familiar dampness.

“awww cute, you wanna fuck me,” he gloats, dragging his fingers into your bodysuit, playing with your inside lips. he continues the motion for a few moments and then you muster every good bone left in your body, to pry his fingers away from your now dripping core.

“fuck, i shouldn’t be doing this.. i really shouldn’t be doing this,” you say hesitantly.

“well why not? we’re already here aren’t we? no one has to know, baby. this’ll be our little secret, m’kay?”

and that was all you needed to hear. this was definitely something you’d be carrying with you to the grave.

“fine. one round and then that’s it-” you can’t even finish your sentence before joshua slams his lips once again on yours, this time with more vigor and fever.

——

for the millionth time tonight, your body and your mind are in two conflicting states. how could something this bad be so incredibly good?

“m-mmm, sh-shua,” you moan into his ear as he thrusts into you, your bodysuit completely off and his pants pooling down at his ankles. “you feel amazing,” you continue to feel him up, pressing down on his shoulders. joshua hisses at the feeling, guiding your hands down to his waist so you can see and feel what he was doing to you.

“that’s all you,” he smiles as you move a bit to match his pace, almost moaning with you at the new intensity you both set. “with me here, you could have this every night, hmmm, maybe even more than that to be real with you.”

he was really trying to get you over, but for your sake - it couldn’t happen.

“and with you here, you’d probably take out 20% of my pay,” you chuckle but it’s immediately cut off when joshua thrusts sharply into you, causing you to hunch over and moan, almost loud enough to where someone could hear you.

“i thought you needed to be quiet? you’re fucking the new potential owner, can’t have everyone finding out, right?”

“fuck, fuck, f-fuck,” you whisper, joshua not sure if that was from the sex or if you were still frustrated that your morals have gone out the window.

you feel a tightening in your core, and you knew any minute that you were about to come. as he continues to thrust into you, the coils in your become smaller and more detailed.

“joshua, shua, i- mmmm, i-!” you call out for him and moments later, you juices leak on him. you relax into his chest, regulating your breathing to a slower pace.

——

“this doesn’t mean anything you know,” your back facing him as he helps you fix the strings on your bodysuit. “i’ve already crossed some lines that i can’t return from.”

“i keep telling you sweetheart, no one has to know. you’re making it seem like you have to tell the whole world.”

several thoughts run through your mind, including ones of him railing you from behind in one of the secluded vip rooms. you try and push them out of your head when you finally speak.

“and if i did want to see you again, how would i go about that?” joshua then hands you a business card and pats your back, signifying that he was done.

“just gimme a call love.”

you both walk out the room, and he turns to face you again, leaving a kiss on your forehead. “see you soon, baby.” he walks away, leaving you dazed and in suspended motion. you almost don’t hear your name being called out.

“sage!” hana calls out to you and you walk over to her.

“who was that? he’s so fucking hot! how’d you bag him?”

you sigh as you lie through your teeth, “he’s no one special. just another customer.”

[dixbolik-lovers]

Short fic time again! o3o Still Pet Au— this time, involving Ruki getting some nice things, for once. This short mentions the old bit of information that his palms were also burned, which... I wish would come up more often in requests, tbh. It's a fun thing to work with.

. . .

Finding a home at all was a miracle with the damage that had been inflicted on him, so Ruki knows he needs to be grateful. Always, always grateful for the human who’d taken him in despite his flaws. 

The burns on his back and hands need frequent attention, and he’s lucky enough that his owner actually keeps up with what will help them heal. Even if they’re distant and strict more often than not, he should consider himself lucky that he has a home to call his own, at all. 

So Ruki does his best to be cooperative. Even though it stings his pride to have to bow his head to someone who barely seems to care about his existence beyond keeping him intact, that’s just how it goes, sometimes. He’s better off than most. There’s nothing he can truly complain about— here especially when he’s never beaten or struck. They’re not violent. 

A lack of pain is the best option Ruki’s ever known... at least, that’s how it is until a friend of his owner comes to visit. 

When his owner lets you inside, your gaze lands on him right away. “Oh, you did get one!” you exclaim. “And he’s so cute, too. What’s his name? Can I get closer, or will that scare him?” The immediate gushing takes Ruki aback, but his owner just laughs and tells you to do as you please. 

His owner goes to finish preparing a meal for the two of you— and leaves you alone with him in the process. Ruki is settled in the living room where he’s expected to keep his owner company during the day, and the sudden invasion of his usual routine feels like something is bound to go wrong. You sit on the floor next to him, just a couple of feet away. 

“Hi there, cutie,” you say, either not noticing how Ruki goes tense at the proximity or just ignoring it well. “Can I pet you? Will you let me?”

The strangeness of the question catches him completely off guard. Pet him? Still, you seem to take his lack of response as permission— and the next thing Ruki knows, your gentle fingers are ruffling his hair. 

A little gasp escapes him at the sudden contact. He almost, almost flinches away, barely restraining himself with the mental reminder that he can’t displease a friend of his owner, and he forces himself to stay still just like that. You keep petting him, though, stroking his hair over and over again as if you simply want to feel the texture under your palm. It doesn’t hurt. Rather, the soft touches feel... like something very different than pain. 

Little by little, Ruki’s body develops a mind of its own. He finds himself leaning ever-so-slightly into your hand within the span of a few minutes, sighing when that just earns the light scrape of nails against his scalp. No contact from a human has ever felt this pleasant. 

Even if he’s horrified with his own responsiveness to this, Ruki finds himself hoping that his owner will take a while to return.

[kindling-of-sorts]

looking for the shapes in the silence

a/n: if you squint hard enough this is the prequel to my kam superpower au that i haven't posted yet,,,, enjoy!

[ao3]

pairing: keefitz

TWs: none

summary:

“I swear that I loved you,” Fitz blurts, words nearly incomprehensible but determined nonetheless. For a moment, Keefe wonders if he’ll crumble. He hesitates a moment longer, and finds himself intact. “I know,” Keefe says, because he does.

Or: Keefe and Fitz are exes and Eternalia's greenhorn superheroes. They go out stargazing with their friends, and talk about their past.

word count: 1.5k

Their eyes meet, and the world does not end. 

Keefe and Fitz pause as the rest of the group stumble out of the van excitedly. The night sky is brilliant and sharp, and half a year ago, it would have reminded them of the other.

They smile at each other, and not at the reflection of themselves in the other’s eyes. If they rip their gaze away quickly enough, the mirror inside is easier to ignore.

Keefe looks away first. It doesn’t feel like victory or defeat, but quiet understanding. Silence is kinder to him, these days.

Biana calls for Fitz’s help on setting up the blankets, and the magic evanesces, if there was any at all. He’s getting better at letting go.

“I’m never trusting any of you ever again,” Stina announces loudly. “Stargazing, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. We literally drove twenty minutes to my backyard.”

“We asked you and you said yes,” Biana calls out, laying down on her back.

“I was playing Candy Crush!”

“No, you were supposed to be doing paperwork.”

“Shut up!”

Sophie sighs wordlessly, head in hands as she pulls Stina and Biana apart. Keefe thinks she might be tired of babysitting in case they start bickering. She’s running on three hours of sleep, which she excitedly told Keefe this morning, much to his chagrin.

“You guys are kind of killing the stargazing vibe right now,” Keefe says, thinly veiling a grin. The city sky is brilliant, but also just as bare as it has been for its very polluted history.

Once everyone settles down, Keefe sees Fitz has been kicked out from Biana’s. Fitz doesn’t fight back, even with Sophie’s equal, if not slightly less, exasperation across his face, though it’s hardly malicious.

Keefe doesn’t hide his smile this time. He’s never stopped being jealous of the Vackers, even after the tense glances and tenser arguments. As one of the rare insiders—if barely—Keefe saw their picture-perfect frame whole, then shattered, and then he realized the fractures were always there.

Still, the jealousy never dissipated. He’s a lot less ashamed of admitting that, now.

Fitz and Biana are a lot happier than they were half a year ago.

He’s proud of them, really. As heroes, as friends, as the closest thing to family he’s ever known.

He’s proud of Fitz. He loves him still.

They never stood together. That’s okay. One day, they will.

Keefe waves Fitz over when he catches him staring. Fitz’s eyes widen, a little, and tilts his head. Keefe recognizes the habit perhaps a moment too quickly.

Yet he doesn’t look away. He shouts, “If you stay there you’re gonna get your ass wet again!”

Fitz huffs, like the huff he always makes when something mildly amuses him. He rolls his eyes, even. Keefe counts it as a win.

Just as Keefe is about to speak again, Fitz stands up and stumbles his way over to Keefe’s blanket. 

“My jeans are already wet,” Fitz almost complains, but his tone is light enough that it sounds like an observation. It’s actually a bit more disconcerting that way. “Biana is ruthless.”

Keefe snorts. “We all know.”

When their laughter fades, they let their friends’ quickly moving attention span entertain them. Their current debate topic is the validity of the artificial cherry flavor. 

“The city’s most promising up-and-coming heroes,” Keefe muses, “arguing over whether cherry flavored Twizzlers actually taste like cherry or not.”

“You would be there waxing poetic about your burning passion for Twizzlers right now if I wasn’t here,” Fitz mutters, head tilted back to observe the spanning, empty night.

“You’re wrong, I hate Twizzlers.” Keefe flashes his teeth unabashedly. “You haven’t left me yet.”

Fitz’s gaze softens, and Keefe might just melt with it. He did, not too long ago, a lifetime before tonight.

“Yeah.” Fitz gulps. “I haven’t.”

The following silence is awkward, but not cruel. It follows, yes, but it doesn’t chase.

They never stopped talking. It’s hard to, when they’re both in every other mission together. Their friends are the same, though that’s kind of inevitable, considering their group is the only heroes around their age.

“Do you remember when we went stargazing in the countryside when we were eight?” Keefe asks. 

Fitz’s expression brightens in recognition. “Of course I do.”

“You were so excited, you fell asleep by the time we could actually see the stars, and I had to wake you up.” Keefe nudges Fitz with his arm. The touch doesn’t spark anymore.

“I lived in Eternalia my entire life and couldn’t leave! Of course I was excited,” Fitz says.

Keefe tilts his head. “You weren’t wrong. It was one of the only interesting things in that town.”

“It’s your hometown.”

“Exactly,” Keefe drawls. “Not my home anymore.”

Fitz offers an indecipherable hum. “It was beautiful. I remember it being beautiful.”

“You went home crying. I think that was, like, a life-altering moment for eight-year-old you.”

Fitz drags his hand across his face, but the sheepish smile is impossible to miss.

“Why do you think I came here today in the first place?”

“Uh, Biana manhandled you across the city?”

“Stina’s house is not across the city.”

“Did I lie?”

Fitz doesn’t dignify that with a response, and shakes his head. That smile hasn’t left. “No, I—I wanted to think, I guess. Just sit down and think.”

“Me too. I guess.” Keefe is at a loss for witty responses. Fitz has a way of making people lose their words.

The reminiscing pauses, and the quiet feels tenser. Keefe fidgets, drawing the blanket closer to himself. He opens his mouth to say something, anything—

“I swear that I loved you,” Fitz blurts, words nearly incomprehensible but determined nonetheless.

For a moment, Keefe wonders if he’ll crumble. He hesitates a moment longer, and finds himself intact.

“I know,” Keefe says, because he does.

“I still think about you.”

At that, Keefe laughs. It sounds more genuine than any he’s shared today. “I know.”

Since they gave up.

Fitz’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek as he studies a particular star, or so Keefe guesses. Keefe is following Fitz’s eyes again. Old habits die hard—but slow.

“I still miss you.” Fitz looks like he musters all of his courage as he fixes his eyes on Keefe’s. There’s resolve in the stare. Strength. Not walls between them.

Keefe opens his mouth, and finds it dry. Still, he speaks. It is the only thing he knows.

“I know.”

“And I know I’ve said it a hundred times, but I’m—I’m sorry.”

The desperate boy in front of Keefe is not Fitzroy Vacker, but something more intimate. Perhaps more than the one he kissed.

He still remembers how Fitz’s lips felt on his own. Everyone marvels over their softness, but Keefe remembers them chapped and trembling.

Keefe has ruined so many secrets. He won’t let this one become one of them.

“You’re an idiot,” Keefe declares, “and I love you.” Now. Present tense. Because it’s true.

Fitz looks at him again. Shit, those eyes. Keefe can’t forget those eyes, burning, hurting, exciting. He doesn’t want to.

“And we’ll be okay.” Keefe grabs Fitz by his shoulders, limbs twisting oddly in the uncomfortable position. “Promise.”

A minute passes, then another, and Keefe has half a mind to start shaking Fitz. He worries he said something wrong. Fuck, did he cross the line? He shouldn’t have—

“I can’t really give you my pinky like this,” Fitz mumbles, and there’s that huff again.

Keefe smiles. “I don’t care. Promise.”

“I promise.” Fitz doesn’t hesitate.

“You’re going to be so good, and I’ll be right there cheering you on,” Keefe says firmly, because it’s easier than, I won’t stare at your back all day anymore, or, I’m sorry I can’t let you go, or, I hope I can love you in a way that matters.

“We’re going to be so good,” Fitz counters, “most promising heroes, and all that.”

“I think I might have heard you say more run-on sentences today than in the past sixteen years.”

Fitz sputters. “You have a way of making people ruin perfectly good grammar.”

“I think you’re just easy to make fun of.”

Fitz laughs, not huffs, vivid and lilting. Keefe breathes, and decides Fitz is the brightest star he could ever gaze at tonight.

“Linh Song, you are a filthy traitor.” Dex seethes, who Keefe finds to be drawing twenty-four. “I cannot believe I ever trusted your innocent act.”

Linh shrugs with a polite smile. Dex continues wallowing as everyone groans and finished their round of Uno. The champion is Linh. Again. For the fourth time in a row.

“Oh, I am going to obliterate everyone,” Keefe says.

“I’m sure you will.”

“You are literally the worst at every board game ever.”

Fitz’s eyes gleam. For all the prim and proper facades he’s managed to plaster, his competitiveness has been left untamed.

“Thank you,” Fitz says, gentle, and the words unsaid are not hidden.

“Me too,” Keefe whispers, and corrects himself: the magic never left.

[unicyclehippo]

One word prompt: postcards

random musings for mfau..

‘What we do… Miss Imogen, I fear it shall land us in the pits of hell.’

She roused at that, lifted her head from where it rested against those battered tomes. It was the only place that she had been able to find any rest at all, that narrow desk, and the phial of blood around her neck. When she saw Orym, her gaze was still half-gone—searching, no doubt, for the ghost again—but her voice was strong and clear.

‘Dear friend, I will never demand a thing from you.’

‘I know that.’

‘Our journey is not one of necessity, and not one that cannot be abandoned. I believe, as you do, that to cease our work would leave some sacred force of the world intact. I believe, as you do, that we are not meant, nor made, to return.’ Imogen did not smile—she had not, since the very moment of Laudna’s death, and Orym would not be surprised to learn that it was another of the things she had abandoned or traded in her quest to resurrect her love—but her countenance lightened when she looked upon her friend. ‘If it is here that our paths diverge, I will not begrudge you nor curse you. I wish you only the best, as I believe you wish for me.’

‘I do.�� He came to crouch beside the desk, taking her hands in his. The fever that he had nursed her through, he was glad to note, had much subsided. ‘Of course I do. You know I share your pain—I would do all of this and more to ease you of it. But what you do - it contorts you, it hurts you. It will ruin you.’

For a brief moment, Orym fell beneath the full attention of his friend. It was as though he stood upon the highest precipice of the world, or at knifepoint, or was the smallest speck of dirt beneath a diamond tipped drill; for the full span of that moment, the whole world seemed to quake and hold its breath, aware that Imogen Faramore observed it and found it lacking in a most unacceptable fashion.

‘It may try to ruin me,’ she told him. ‘But it will find that ruin has already come and I am prepared to do what I must, and turn it upon itself. If there is a god, if there is some sacred force that divides her from me and it will not relent, I will break it. I will rip the veil of the firmament and reach through to the red storm and I will take her back. And if this ignoble path leads me to the deepest pit of hell, and if Laudna awaits me there, I shall spend my eternity in ceaseless joy and you, dear friend, may expect a postcard from that place with my thanks.’

[hnmusings]

MINI WRITING PROJECT: #002

INSPIRATION  - ` ✧ ´ -  A WINTER STORY by SONNET SON (originally by THE ONE)

──────── ──────── ────────

the sun glistens despite the sharp crisp air. yes, it was winter. and he hated it. 

somehow, the blue pavilion shifted into a choate white bed of snow. “what are your plans, oppa?” ahreum mused, prompting the silence. somehow, deep down he thought the quietude had been getting to her. it had been too eerily calm, and the first son had not appreciate that—at all. as if something was there, waylaying for the very specific moment. though, he tried not to indulge in such perception. with a slight bob on the head, soohyuk altered the span of attention towards his younger sibling, “nothing, anastasia.” and proceeded to fidget with the device on his hand. wanting to look that he was busy. “oh, really, now? don’t you have something better to do?” the petite framed girl chimed again. this time, she was unamused by his attempt to which the latter directed his gaze. fixating onto those big brown eyes of hers. trying, (read: aiming) to look dead serious. “you already know well of my schedule, and yet, you’re still asking me?” raising an eyebrow to her, that incited a pout onwards and breathed out her English accent. “geez, I was asking nicely, grayson. no need to let out an attitude”. then she got up and chose to waltz away. “no, ahreum, I have no plans whatsoever!”. he mused, with a grin intact. yes, the twenty two year old had a multitude of tasks to sought out but he felt that he wanted a break. 

and that he missed her, so much that it was beginning to drive him up the wall. 

if there was one thing, ryu soohyuk had this firm love-hate relationship with the winter holidays. yes, he appreciated that it was that one time where all of them could spend some time together. though at the same time, he despised the very fact that it still kept them apart in some way. “it’s winter for bloody sake”, accursing under his breath afore finding the secretary of his father’s gliding nearby. what is it, this time. the staff designated a bow as the boy awaited, finding uttermost curiosity to what had been in store for him. “the president requests for you to be on standby and not leave the premises, at least not until he arrives from his trip.” ah, classic. is that what it is? and he thought worse. the scoff had been almost evident if it weren’t for him masking it with an “alright,” and an act out of formality until the figure departed. 

with a few light and quick steps, he ushered to a corner. a blind spot, some say. no cameras, no nothing and pressed a number. 

“jae, I need you to do something for me,“

bit by bit, time passed. that good friend of his had already graced him with his presence.

”what?”

“cover for me while I’m out”.

“sure—wait, what?”.

“it’ll only take a few hours, they won’t know I’m gone”.

“are you crazy? what if someone asks for you? or worse, ahreum finds out“.

“I’ll just make an excuse that I’m sick and request for privacy, simple as that”.

“dude, what if your doctor checks up on you?”.

“I’ll just say that I’m stressed out and rest, they’ll understand“.

as the friend of his gave him a hesitant look, “I’m not sure, man. won’t you get into trouble for this?”.

“it’s only for a few hours, jae. at most, an hour if you’re that worried. I haven’t seen her in quite a long time“. eyeing his friend, as if soohyuk had was pleading. difference is, they were now engaging in a non-verbal communication.

a sigh was exerted, “alright, alright, you owe me for this one“.

there it was, a grin plastered out for display. “sure thing, and you can request anything if you want to. just make sure to not get caught”.

“cool! I get to be the first son for a few hours“. and that resulted a sudden burst of laughter.

“just try your best to not get caught, and if ahreum knows, let me know. I’ll explain it to her“

“okay, I’ll try my best“

“you better“, as he fished out his cellphone, fingers swiftly typing away.

“what are you doing?“

“informing them to not disturb me for the rest of the day, but if you need something, you can always ask the housekeepers okay? and put on my hoodie or something, at least they won’t notice that much,“ his cellphone chimed, indicating a reply. “looks like I’m good to go“

“goodluck man, I’ll do my best to not get caught“, a chuckled accompanied along that statement.

“thanks! and you better be, bro“ soohyuk moved towards the closet, changing his attire.

“dude, do you have to do this?“

“yeah, you do know that I have to climb to get pass through the gates don’t you?“. it was merely a query, it had been more of an affirmation.

“oh yeah, I kinda forgot about that“.

“well, I’ll be gone in a few hours“.

“goodluck!“

“likewise.“ with that, the taller drifted out into the grounds. unceasingly after years residing at the residence, it didn’t take him much time to be rather accustomed with the layout. as one of the first few things he (also ahreum) done after moving in was pursuing the grounds, within a week, it was etched on the back of his head. including blind spots, of course. seemingly, the blue house had been infamous for its tight security. though, he managed to trace and surpass.

let’s just say it wasn’t his first time.

after surpassing ‘hurdles’, as he had liked to refer them. high walls, surveillance cameras, security guards—you name it, he was already outside the compounds. total estimation: ten minutes, give or take. careful is an surely an understatement.

moments later and soohyuk was on his way, to see her. and only her. the one he longs, the one he cherishes, and most importantly, the one he’s enchanted by. truth be told, in a way, they resembled one another. which served as a strong factor for him to protect her, even if it cost him his life.

no one, and no one could come close to her.

the people there could have sworn they saw him sprint after reaching his stop. “kid must be in a hurry”, they mused. and there he was, actually running towards the one who held the key to his heart. a smile ruptured when she came into view.

soohyuk pulled her into an embrace, “I’m sorry I’m late“. placing a deep smooch on her forehead, “I miss you”.

with just that, he had been home.

[levantea]

I don’t want us to be just friends | h.hj

Pairing: best friend!hyunjin x best friend!y/n

Genre: fluff, very slight angst, happy ending

Rating: PG13

Warning: none (not proofread yet, just a fic that i want to pen down my inspiration)

Word Count: will update later

Synopsis:

“That kiss was never an accident between us”

“If you don’t want to be best friends with me, we can always change another method to interact”

[Tonight]

What the hell just happened?

Repeatedly touching your lips, you just couldn’t get that unerasable scene off your mind.

Your best friend just kissed you.

Yea, kissed you.

It was just a dare to begin with but, why does it feel so different from what it was supposed to mean? The way he approached you slowly with a faint smile stretched his lips, he hovered over you as he leaned down, gently grazing your redden cheeks which you were unsure it was caused by the light alcohol you consumed or the close proximity of his face right infront of you.

The way his fingers gently grazing over the outline of your face, eyes burning with passion and desire for you somehow makes you weak in your stomach and your knees. You were already feeling hazy from the alcohol but then, you just felt like the whole world shutted outside the 2 of you, your eyes only contain him. Your heart told you otherwise that he may mean more than just best friends to you.

No, it can’t be, we have already been best friends for 10 years, how can we possibly go beyond the boundary-

And his soft, plump lips came right intact with yours. It felt wrong but right at the same time, the way how his lips perfectly molded with yours like 2 missing puzzle pieces found their way back with each other. You were only expecting a light one but definitely not how he licked your lips, asking for permission to go deeper and explore your inner mouth that was scented with the strawberry sweet he gave you before the gathering, as always.

He moaned softly against your lips, signifying how he hasn’t get enough of you. Out of shyness, you gently pushed him away as he left in indignant, pout was obvious enough for the rest of your friends to witness. The urge to dig the ground right below your feet was vigorous and you decided to leave prior, giving yourself some air time to digest what you have gone through for the past 10 mins.

You were thankful that Hyunjin didn’t chase after you as you fled, if not you would have blurt some random words that doesn’t filtered through your mind which may end up hurting him.

“Your party ended so early? Why are you here?” Your roommate questioned as she entered, frowning slightly when she saw you snuggling yourself under the sheets and clutching your 2 cheeks that resembles the colour of monkey’s butt.

“I made a mistake… no, we made a mistake…” your eyes squeezed shut as you kept replaying your best friend’s gaze and lips on you, causing your lips still lingering with his affectionate touch and minty scent in your mouth. “What mistake?”

And you explained to her the whole situation, groaning at how her mouth widened as your explanation gets further.

“Heol, you got kissed by the most famous boy in our whole instituition aka your best friend for a decade?! Did you save milky way in your past life?” She grabbed onto your wrists firmly, eyes glowing with sparkles as she stared at your still swollen lips from the kiss earlier.

“Stop staring! I don’t know how to face him anymore…” plopping back on your bed, you covered your eyes with your lower arm as you tried to eliminate that scene off your head, simultaneously thinking on how to face him in the 9am lesson tomorrow.

—

[Next morning]

The night felt endless for you.

Your giddiness has turned into headache as you were not able to fall asleep yesterday night, causing your attention span to be shorter than usual. You were dragging your feets and heavy eyelids into lecture hall.

You couldn’t careless about whoever is sitting beside you, just wanting to get this lesson over and done with. “Are you okay?”

This familiar voice…Hyunjin?

You turned to the right and saw the half-tied blonde ponytail man wearing a black sleeveless top, peeking slightly to observe your facial expression. You were about to reply but the moment you saw his pinkish lips slightly curled up, yesterday’s incident flushed back into your head. You rapidly nodded your head before turning to the other side, face crunching at how among the 100 seats you chose to sit beside him.

He probably noticed how uneasy you were, so he stopped probing further. It definitely hurts him as he saw how you tried to avoid him, but he also understood that yesterday’s dare caused this restraint in you.

Throughout the 3 hours lecture you barely spoke to him, only throwing some gazes to peek and see his reaction. Seems normal for now. You sighed at how you are being a weirdo now, but you are just unsure of how to approach him normally like before — popping by his side anytime, chatting casually and freely, occasional physical touches which can mean differently from now on.

You gave a valid excuse to leave first as you couldn’t stand sitting there any longer. You would rather spend time outside of school to get your brain working again instead of forcing yourself to stay by his side. Dropping by a cafe near your school, you bought a hot mocha for yourself to settle all your mixed emotions and planning how to resume this friendship.

Since you were so indulge in your thoughts, you didn’t even notice the sky gloomed and starting pouring. “What the hell, i didn’t bring my umbrella…” flipping through your tote bag, you letted out n times of sigh as you slouch against the chair.

“It’s now or never,” whispering to yourself, you packed everything into your water resistant bag and decided to run back home before the rain gets heavier. “Miss, do you need an umbrella?” The barista asked as you rejected kindly. “It’s fine, my school is just a few steps away, ill run back, thanks!”

Your turbo is always ready to bring you back to school but you were afraid of slipping since the paveway were spotted with mold. You swiftly raised your palms to cover your head, in hope to avoid the droplets seaping into your scalp which can cause migraine.

“Oh god-“ you letted out a gasp as you found your waist being grabbed by someone firmly and turning you 180 degrees horizontally, leaving you standing upon the step stone as you felt none of the droplets above your head anymore.

“Hyunjin?” You frowned at the sight of him. You glanced up and down quickly, internally praising how his daily outfits never failed to impress you. Small reflection penned in your head as you self consciously looked at your fit, how you never glow since young.

“Why are you here?” It was just a pure curious question that sounded like interrogation, mentally slapping yourself for the ill-mannered you portrayed today. He doesn’t deserve this, he sure doesn’t.

“It’s raining, can’t i come and fetch you?” His eyes burned with the familiar passion that you felt yesterday under the cold night. You were shivering initially, but your body started heating up again because of his 1 gaze.

You are probably hopeless.

“Are you done?!” Frustration started building because of your dilemma, hating how he can spill whatever he thinks and wants so easily while you had trouble sleeping the whole night because of him,

all because of him.

“If you don’t want to be best friends with me, we can always change another method to interact.”

Those doe eyes again, that determined tone again.

“Stop playing word games with me,” you patience has hit its limit and you were about to leave, but got pulled back by his grip again.

“Y/n,” it has been long since he called your actual name. He always go by the nicknames he specially crafted for you, unless in serious situations, like now, where he felt the need to be serious. You have been avoiding his love affections which made him thought that he needed to be more transparent and straightforward.

You placed your palm over your lips as you saw him leaning closer. You thought he would back off, but his words punched you right in your heart, “y/n, That kiss was never an accident between us.”

He swiftly lifted your hands off your lips, pulling you by your waist closer to him as he planted his lips against yours. Once again, that soft, plumpy texture come in contact with yours with a little much more force that before, just to prove that he is serious after all. He didn’t give you chance to retaliate as he circulate his toned arms around you, making you leaned against his chest as he delved deeper into you. You nervously grab onto his black sleeveless top with a quote of “hotter than your ex, better than your next”, resulted your brain frozen as he moved his lips against you.

The irresistable desire he has for you, is endless.

“Hyunjin…” you panted as he left your lips unwillingly, forehead still intact as he letted out a “hmm?” while staring at you. Your cheeks burned, your heart raced, your brain spinned and your ears deafened after what he did to you, and you are pretty sure he knows it. Rubbing soothing circles against your lower back, he tilted the umbrella closer to you, preventing you from further drenched despite his back being wet.

“Y/n, do you like me? Not as your best friend, but as a man,” he asked ever so softly as if you are a porcelein doll held and well taken care of since young, but also holding the fear that you may break, or his heart may break and this friendship will break any seconds ticking from now.

Do i like him?

Do i?

Squeezing your eyes shut, the only thing that pops in your mind is how happy you have felt around him, and the happiness that you never felt among other people. You couldn’t understand why both of you had been best friends for so long when in fact, he has fallen for you long ago, and probably yourself as well.

“Y/n, i will only be repeating one last time. If you don’t like me, i will make sure not to appear infront of you again,” you clearly heard his voice shake and his breath got heavier. It only happens when he is nervous, or insecure about something that matters to his life, and that’s you. The last time you heard was when he became aware you were hospitalised, and this is the second time.

And it is the last thing you want to hear on earth.

“Y/n, do you like me?” His confidence depleted. He thought the chance of him winning your heart was high, but the way you kept quiet for some time makes him feel dejected.

Do i like him y/n?

Do i really like him?

I think i like him.

Yes, i like him.

No wait, i love him.

“Y/n, pleas-“ You shutted him off by placing both of your palms beside his ears, pulling him in for a kiss. The only thing that you care of is him, holding onto you tightly and firmly as if holding his whole world as the rain continues to pour beyond the shared umbrella. What a romantic yet disastrous atmosphere as both of you are almost drenched.

Well, at least it helps you to realise you love him after all.

“Let’s change another method to interact, how about being a couple?”

Giving him a soft eskimo kiss, both of you chuckled under each other’s breath without letting each other go, mentally and physically.

“Of course my girlfriend, i love you for as long as i can remember and as far as the future takes.”

-> hi guys! Omg, it has been quite some time since i wrote a fic and there are a few things that im close to forgetting already, still finding my way back haha. I hope everyone has been doing fine. Just a little update from me, ive been busy with my school work and recently fell ill, was hospitalised and just discharged a few days back. Ive always been an avid hyunjin collector since late april? And ive been spending quite abit on merchs HELP! Nonetheless, ill still pop by when i feel inspired to write something and this is for today! Not proofread yet but just wanna share this story as i got inspired by a chinese drama thats recently aired :)

-> Network: @ficscafe @koffeenet

-> Taglist: @ajxreads @xa21x @reallyloudstarlight @lunaflvms

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© levantea — all rights reserved. No plagarising, editing, claiming as own without permission.

[tomurasprincess]

Kinktober Day 24: Monster (The Asylum)

Day 24: Monster Title: The Asylum Pairing: Mothman Shigaraki x Reader Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Noncon, monster mind control stuff, oviposition, cumflation, belly bulges, breeding, forced orgasms, some slight descriptions of gore and blood, yandere Note: The Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum is a real place, although parts of what I wrote is fake, mostly the part where they close down a second time in the fic. IRL, they’re still open and doing tours. Tagging @ichor-and-symbiosis​ and @kazooli​ as two of the OG Mothura writers 👀

Sequel: The Brood

Kinktober Masterlist

You’ve always loved urban exploring, going to old mental asylums and hospitals to look around and see the decay of places that used to be so bustling with people. You especially liked the places that had tragic pasts, the ones where horrific things occurred. It sounds morbid to anyone you talk to about your interests, but it was the truth. You’ve always believed in monsters and ghosts just out of sight of humanity, lurking in the dark corners of abandoned places.

That’s why you instantly planned a trip to the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum the second you heard about it. It had been abandoned years ago due to extreme abuse of patients. A historical society had moved in later, renovating the place and making a history tour of it that also did ghost tours at night.

But even they ended up abandoning the place due to the fake ghost tours apparently starting to become real ghost tours. People began to see creatures out of the corner of their eyes, something they said was much larger than a human, with wings on its back and piercing red eyes.

It was initially dismissed as overactive imaginations, people who wanted to see ghosts so badly that they were seeing things that weren’t there. Or people who just wanted to start tall tales  for attention and were flat out making things up in order to scare the rest of the group.

But then the disappearances started to happen. It was almost always young women who got separated from the tour group, although a few times it was a boyfriend and girlfriend who got lost together. The tour guides scoured every inch of the asylum looking for the missing people, but they found no trace of them. At first it was dismissed as the people getting scared and running off without telling anybody.

Until one day, a regularly scheduled tour group stumbled across the bodies. Not the bodies of the missing girls, but their partners. They were viciously torn apart, with limbs scattered all over the room. Their blood covered the walls, the floor, even the ceiling of the room. The women were alive but traumatized, rocking back and forth in a corner of the room absolutely covered in blood, none of which was their own.

They told the same tales that the rest of the people did. They were captured by a monster, around 8-9 feet tall, with large moth-like wings and red eyes. The creature was surprisingly gentle to them, they said, at least until they saw that they were with someone. The creature had become enraged, tearing their partner to pieces as they watched. They knew for certain that they would be next, their eyes squeezed tight as they waited for their death.

But the creature did nothing, simply turning away and leaving the room like they were not what the creature wanted.

Although everyone agreed that something horrible had happened to the young women, none of them believed their story. They had stayed in that room for several days, covered in the blood of their loved ones, not knowing if they were ever going to make it out. Of course they were traumatized, thinking they saw monsters. But monsters aren’t believed to exist, and so everyone began to look for a human murderer that was never found.

The asylum tried to recover from the tragedy, but it was never able to. The amount of bad press they got for having lax safety standards and not taking care of their tour groups caused everybody to stay away. Finally, having no other choice in the matter, the asylum had closed.

When you heard this story, you were over the moon excited. Not just a historical landmark, but also a place with a possible real life monster sighting. Nothing was going to stop you from going there and seeing the place for yourself.

And now here you stand, in front of the building with a backpack full of supplies slung over your shoulder. You had your phone, flashlights with spare batteries, a spare change of clothes, matches and lighters, even a rope and various other tools should something happen inside of the building.

And so, with a deep excitement bubbling up in your stomach, you find your way through a hole in the fence and walk through the front door. The first thing you see is the reception desk with various odds and ends left over from the closure. There are even still brochures describing the various types of tours and listing prices.

You walk down the first corridor you see, going past various closed off rooms that look to be basic examination rooms. There is surprisingly little decay, mostly everything still looking rather clean and intact besides a thick layer of dust and cobwebs covering everything. You’re a bit discouraged but decide to continue on to see if things get more interesting.

After all, the murders occured in the basement, and you’re not anywhere close to that yet.

Soon you find yourself in the medical ward where the patients were kept, and you instantly realize one of the reasons this hospital was so nightmarish. The rooms are even smaller than jail cells, leaving barely enough space for patients to lay down in. There are so many rooms of that exact size that you wonder how the staff could accurately take care of the amount of patients there had to be. But you remember your research, remember the fact that they couldn’t.

That was why so many brutal procedures were performed such as lobotomies, in order to keep the peace at the asylum and make things easier for the doctors and nurses. You give a quick shudder and begin to move on, feeling a strange sensation that you desperately want to get away from.

The decay gets worse and worse the closer you get to the basement, rust and decay beginning to cover every surface you see. You walk past some of the surgery rooms and feel horror at the utensils and instruments you see in them. The historical society tried to keep things as accurate as possible, and as such, they had kept most of the equipment that you would see back in those days.

You’re beginning to wonder if this is a good idea, as that strange sensation continues to worsen and worsen. You realize with a start what this feeling actually is.

It feels like someone is watching your every movement. You whirl around, shining your flashlight in every direction as you try to see what’s watching you. But there’s nothing but darkness and the decaying walls of the hospital. You shake your head, laughing quietly at the fact that you’re spooked out by a few weird shadows and an odd feeling.

You’re not going to let it stop you from your goal, however, and you continue forwards until you get to the doors of the basement. The feeling here is overwhelming, simultaneously telling you to run and move forward all at the same time. The conflicting emotions leave you off balance and light headed, and you reach your hand out instinctively when you sway on your feet. You touch a section of the wall and instantly pull your hand back.

The wall is warm, not cold like it should be. A sense of unease crawls up your spine, and you decide then and there that it’s time to go. Making it to the basement is not worth this, whatever it is you’re feeling. But then you hear a soft humming and the flapping of wings, coming from deep within the basement of the hospital.

Instead of being terrified, however, you feel entranced. It’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever heard, and it’s calling you. You open the basement door without even thinking about it, walking down the stairs in a dreamy haze. You don’t even pay attention to how heavy the rot here is, how the walls are entirely blackened by decay that spreads out like veins on a body.

You don’t pay attention when the door slams closed behind you, locking you in with whatever is calling you closer. All you can think about is getting to that beautiful sound, that lonely haunting call that seems to burrow deep into your brain. You walk as if you’re in a trance, turning corridors that you’ve never seen before but somehow know where they’re going.

Finally, you get to a door that is deep within the bowels of the basement, a bright red door that seems to beckon you inside. You push open the door with no hesitation, walking through and letting it close behind you.

And you finally come face to face with the creature. He is about 9 feet tall, towering over your small form. He’s not overly muscular, but he has a thin wiry look to him that says he is deceptively strong. His red eyes bore into you like they’re staring directly into your soul. On his back are two massive wings, spread to their full wing span and utterly gorgeous.

The creature makes a small chittering noise as he motions you towards him, and you follow like he’s a puppeteer holding your strings. He pulls you tightly into his body, burying his nose into your neck and taking a deep whiff of your skin. His hot breath on your sensitive skin pulls a shudder from you. and he tightens his grip as if he’s worried you’ll get away.

A long tongue pokes out of his mouth, licking at the pulse point that is frantically beating. “Mine,” he groans into your skin, sharp teeth grazing you. “Mate.” You’re lifted up off your feet before being laid down on the ground, hips in the air and face down on the floor. He rips your pants off easily, leaving your panties on as he lowers his head down. You feel a flash of embarrassment as he sniffs them like he sniffed your neck, groaning again as his tongue drags across the wet abric. “Fertile,” he whispers as he pulls your panties aside, “fertile mate.”

The haze parts from your mind long enough for you to feel a sharp flash of fear, and then his tongue is lapping at your folds and the fear is quickly chased away again. You dig your nails into the floor as you feel him work his tongue inside of you, using it to fuck you like a cock would. You gasp when he hits your cervix with his tongue and keeps going, wiggling against the barrier like he’s trying to break through it.

Something in his saliva causes your body to heat up and your muscles to loosen enough for him to batter his tongue harder against you and push through. Your scream echoes through the walls of the room, but not of pain. Instead, a fierce pleasure overtakes you as your cervix gives way to the creature’s tongue, allowing him to enter into your womb.

The feeling of this tongue wiggling around in your empty womb causes you to tip over the edge and cum around the creature’s tongue as he eagerly laps at your juices. He withdraws his tongue, causing you to let out a whine of disappointment, only to be surprised when you feel something prodding at your entrance. It doesn’t feel like a human cock at all, with ridges and bumps along the length and much thicker than a human cock would be.

You have a single moment to wonder how it will fit inside of you before it’s pushing in, stretching out your tight outer ring of muscles and causing a sharp burning in your lower stomach. You whine and try to pull away, only for the creature to let out a snarl as claws dig into your hips, causing your blood to drip down onto the pavement.

Even though there is no pain, only more pleasure, you learn your lesson and don’t try to move away as the thick cock slides even further into you. It’s so much thicker than anything you’ve ever taken before, and you’re shaking like a leaf when he finally bottoms out inside. You think he’ll start thrusting like a human male would, except that he doesn’t.

He keeps pushing, humping into you with sharp movements designed to force your cervix open even further. You squeal as the cock makes it past the barrier, burying deep inside of your womb. You glance down and let out a choked sob at the bulge in your stomach where the tip of the creature’s cock is.

“Pretty - pretty mate,” the creature says hesitantly, rolling his hips experimentally into you and drawing a groan from your throat. “Tomura,” he adds, and it takes you a second to realize that’s the creature’s name.

“Tomura,” you murmur, and the creature chitters happily at the sound of your voice saying the name. You try to think of something else to ask, maybe even to beg to be released as the haze seems to clear a bit, but Tomura begins to hum again, and you instantly smile in bliss as all of your concern fades away.

You feel something else pushing into your entrance, and it takes a long moment to realize what it is as you feel it slip up your stretched out tunnel.

Eggs. The creature is filling you with eggs. Instead of being horrified, however, you moan as they continue to move inside of you. There are multiple eggs at once, small and gooey, and they coat your insides with wetness as they make their way to your still stretched out cervix.

You feel them pass through the opening to plop down into your womb, and you cry out and cum hard, pussy wildly fluttering around Tomura’s cock. He lets out a deep grunt of pleasure as he rocks his hips against you, and you feel more eggs pushing into you. This time, a few of them get stuck against a spongy spot inside of you, and you scream out your orgasm, legs shaking and eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Fuck, oh god, shit, Tomura - “ you babble mindlessly as more eggs push into you, “it feels so good, why does it - “

Before those eggs can push fully in, there are already more entering you, and you feel so incredibly full. They drop down into your no longer empty womb, wringing another orgasm from your tired body. The skin of your stomach is stretching, making you look bloated, and Tomura still isn’t done.

You lose track of time completely, only aware of your body twitching and convulsing as more and more eggs push up into you, settling into your womb with the rest of them. Your stomach already looks 9 months pregnant, and you can barely hold yourself up.

Tomura sees this, and he gently picks you up and lays you down on your back. “Pretty mate,” he leans and kisses your forehead, “look so good with my children. Our children.”

“Oh god, no more, please no more, I’m so full Tomura,” you whimper as more eggs push into you. “Please, so full - “

Tomura hums softly at you, and you smile with bliss as the final eggs plop down into your womb.  His movements become more savage, thrusting hard into you as he grunts and groans. The force of his thrusts has you sliding up, breasts bouncing and your belly jiggling. The feeling of the eggs moving around inside of you has you howling out your orgasm, blackness dotting the edge of your vision as you almost lose consciousness.

Finally, Tomura is finished, and his cock begins to twitch inside of you as hot ropes of cum fill you up, shooting directly into your womb where the eggs reside. You sob as you watch your stomach bulge out even more as the creature’s cum fertilizes the eggs inside. You can no longer see the dents and valleys of the eggs along your stomach, and you reach down to gently run your hand over your bloated stomach.

You can feel the eggs through the barrier of skin, and it causes your eyes to roll back at the pleasure. Tomura gives a soft, happy chirp as he places his hand over yours on your belly, rubbing it gently. He pulls out slowly, causing a mixture of your cum and his to gush out of your now gaping pussy.

He reaches down to pick you up as he walks towards a door in the back of the room that you hadn’t noticed before. You’re shocked by what you see when you walk through. It’s an utterly untouched room, still looking brand new and with none of the decay that covers the rest of the basement. There is no bed, but there is a pile of clean blankets and pillows in the corner, piled up high and in a circle.

A nest, you realize. It’s a nest. For you. He tucks you in gently, chirping again as his clawed hand runs over your pregnant belly. “Mate,” he says happily, “my pretty little mate.” He stands up and walks towards the door, turning to you one last time as his gaze narrows and darkens just a bit.

“No running. Don’t want to have to tie mate down.” He continues to gaze at you, as if waiting for something.

“I won’t run,” you say quietly, and the dark look on his face is gone instantly as he beams at you.

“Good mate, good.” And with that, he’s gone.

With his absence, some of the haze lifts and you’re able to realize the horror of the situation you’re in. Nobody knows where you are, and you’re trapped. Even if you wanted to run, you don’t think you could with how large your belly is. No escape and no help coming for you, and the creature already seems so possessive of you that he’s not going to let you easily escape.

If only you had listened to your instincts earlier, if only you hadn’t been so fascinated with the grotesque, if only you had simply chosen to stay home.

You’ve always believed in monsters. You just never thought you would find one.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Kinktober: @thewheezingwyvern​, @vixen-scribbles​, @katsukisprincess​, @hisoknen​, @trafalgar-temptress​, @leeswritingworld, @burnedbyshoto​, @bakugotrashpanda​, @dee-madwriter​, @kittycatkrissa​, @reinawritesbnha​, @yanderart​, @dabilove27​, @anxietyplusultra​, @flutterfalla​, @angmarwitch​, @nereida19​, @babayaga67​, @fromsunnywithlove​, @dabis-kitten​, @bakugos-cumsock​, @yumeneji​, @the-grimm-writer​, @iwaizumi-chan​, @slashersheart​, @bunnyywritings​, @bakarinnie​, @angie-1306​, @lalalemon101​​, @videogameboiwhowins​​, @f4nficbaby​​, @tenkoshimmy​, @baroque-baby​​, @bbyspiiice​​, @thirstyforthem2dmen​​, @blissfulignorance2000​, @bluecookies02-main​

[wearywinchester]

Patience

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean takes care of you after a rough hunt.

Requested by Anonymous: May I please request dean taking care of the reader after she had a surgery after a rough hunt?? I would love to see how he helps her while she's recovering. I can already imagine being overly protective and being adorable and cute and all worried

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: injuries, blood, angst, mild swearing, mentions of alcohol, fluff, kissing

The hunt went rough, not as bad as others had been in your years of hunting, but enough to land you in the hospital with a concussion and the need for stitches not even Dean could handle himself. He was a nervous wreck the two days you’d spent there, he’d never admit it but he was. When you’d first woken up, you were too tired to do more than open your eyes the slightest bit to find your beau with his head resting against his arm, hand heavy in yours as his eyes focused on the tv in the corner of the room. You recalled his leg bouncing the way it does when he’s worked up about something, offering your hand the occasional squeeze.

Once he’d seen you were awake, it had really started to show no matter how he tried to play it off. Dean Winchester was a worrier for everyone but himself. He was too afraid to lay down next to you just in case he might have jostled you around too much, he didn’t want to make anything worse. Despite that, he’d still been brooding a bit, sulking in his seat as he held your hand and thought he’d been the biggest idiot to let that spirit snag you like that. He didn’t even want you on the hunt in the first place, but you were you and you’d insisted on going. He was never one to hold you back on what you wanted to do but he certainly wished he did just that once.

Now, you were spending the next few days at Jodie’s cabin tucked away in the woods. She’d joined in on the case since she was in town, and there was no arguing your way out of staying with her to let you recover for a few days, not that you minded either. Her cabin was always one you were thrilled to stay in whenever there was time to stay, so talking you into doing so was simple as ever.

Dean was tangled up in worry, not ten minutes going by before he asked if you needed anything. The sight of you in pain made his jaw tense and his cheeks to burn a soft shade of pink because it tore him up to see you struggle. It tore him up that it was something he felt could have been prevented had he done something different. But he kept it to himself, having pushed it to the corners of his mind to torment himself with later once you’re comfortable and at ease.

You, on the other hand, were as frustrated as ever. No matter how much you loved and appreciated Dean’s efforts and his concerns, your independence was wearing away at you. It took everything in you not to burst into tears over the simple fact that you couldn’t drive for the time being, let alone take a shower unaided over the risk of you falling and doing more harm than good. The inconveniences were piling up, a new one being discovered seemingly every other minute.

It was building up; the frustration and desire to do things on your own just as they had been before this all happened was picking at you. So much so, the littlest things were rapidly beginning to irritate you, leaving you to be aggravated and on the brink of tears when something so little as dropping something or not being able to reach something had pushed your limits.

It was nothing Dean had done, not even a little. He was being as generous and helpful as he always was despite the way you could be grumpy. The thought alone was enough to calm you some, but not every time.

This time you’d finally done it.

You found yourself in the kitchen, grabbing a couple beers from the fridge after you’d insisted to Dean that you could handle it on your own. Bobby and Donna had been over, followed by Benny and Charlie and Garth. It was a little get together out back by the lake. It was fun, it was relaxing, it was a nice little break from hunting.

Until now.

You spun on your heel just a little faster than your body could keep up with, your balance wavering and leaving you to stumble into the edge of the countertop before you had the chance to catch yourself. You let out a strangled yelp as the unforgiving corner had jabbed into your side, your gasp sharp as you turned away in fear of it happening again. The bottles in your hand clattered to the floor and broke, beer seeping out in a wet puddle of broken glass. The quick steps distinctive to Dean’s boots had sounded as your hands guarded your side, and it wasn’t until Dean had rushed in that you noticed. It wasn’t until his eyes landed on your side, wide and concerned that you’d noticed.

When you looked down your shirt was beginning to stain a fresh and startling shade of scarlet, hands smudging the very same color across your skin in a matter of moments.

“Sweetheart, what happe—”

“I got it, Dean,” you rush, grabbing the towel sitting nearby, frustration simmering in your stomach as you try not to think about the tears pressing behind your eyes.

“Y/n, you’re bleeding. Let me help you.”

“I said I got it!” You say, louder as you push his hands away. His gaze lifts to yours, a bit taken back as he stands a little straighter from his spot in front of you. It wasn’t your anger or your tone that he cared about, what bothered him was the tears glossing over your eyes and the quiver in your lip. It was the way your brows furrowed as those very tears spilled over heated cheeks. The way your words faltered under the pressure of those tears. “I got it. I’m—I’m fine.”

Your voice was fragile and entirely telling of how very not fine you were. You’d let your anger get the better of you and that only made everything worse, your fists clenching as your cheeks burned.

“Sweetheart,” he says, soft as ever as he steals your attention. You look at him after a moment, averting your gaze just as quickly to hide your tears. “Why don’t you let me take a look at that, okay?”

Your jaw tenses as you nod, the towel still clutched ever so tightly within your palm as you dropped your hand to your side, heart pounding in your chest. He was gentle as he peeled back your shirt and the bandage underneath it, the stitches in your side still having been intact though they were angry and they were red, the wound still more than sensitive as it bled lightly from impact. You were embarrassed as you stood there, guilt eating at you for snapping at the man in front of you when your anger should have stayed directed at yourself.

He was gentle as he snagged the towel from your hands, stepping over the mess on the floor to wet the towel at the sink. He grabbed the first aid kit from one of the cupboards too, setting it down and opening it a while.

The heat in your cheeks had continued to burn as you looked away from his gaze, lip quivering as your eyes clouded and blurred once more at the mere thought of everything that just happened in the span of two minutes.

It wasn’t long before you felt the coolness of the towel against your stomach, relief washing over the irritated skin as he wiped away the blood that had formed over it.

“You okay?” He asks, calm and kind as he pauses.

It wasn’t until you nodded that he continued, setting the dirtied towel off to the side as he grabbed a fresh bandage. You let your gaze fall to him in that moment, watching as his tongue poked out in concentration as he smoothed the bandage securely over your stitches. He didn’t look angry at your outburst, he didn’t look annoyed, not even a little bit. You felt you deserved some of that but it never came. He was patient and kind. He may have been a little rough around the edges sometimes, and he may have been a grump others. But he was also tender and caring, and it only made guilt tug at your heart.

He stood upright when he finished, flashing you a smile as he grabbed your hand and tugged you off to the spare bedroom the two of you shared while you stayed there. You watched quietly as he rifled through his duffle bag without much care about everything that spilled out of it in the current moment. He was in search of the one thing that was sure to bring a smile to your face.

“Aha!” He cheered when he caught sight of it, snagging the shirt from the bottom of his bag.

It was an old t shirt of his, tattered and torn in spots, one that always smelled of his cologne even if it’d faded some. It was your favorite shirt of his and that was something he very well knew even if you thought he wasn’t aware of it. Little did you know he brought it in his bag on every hunt no matter what should you need a pick-me-up, should you need an extra push of comfort. He’ll always bring it.

The very corners of your mouth quirked up and the softest grin, his own having widened. “There’s that smile.”

You flash him a look as you fight to stifle the way that very smile was growing, but you couldn’t find it in you to last all of two seconds trying. You snag the shirt from his outstretched hand and move to peel off your own, and no matter how much Dean had wanted to help you, just to keep that wince from appearing on your face, he lets you do it on your own because he knows how much it meant to you to have to be able to do something on your own while you recovered.

Your shoulders slump once you put it on, smile fading once more when you look at him and his brows furrow slightly in a silent question of what’s the matter.

After a moment or two or you mind racing a mile a minute of just how you should apologize, just how you should make it up to him, you finally make up your mind on the only way you know how to do that. And after a moment or two you lean on your toes and press a kiss to his lips, soft and sweet as your hands squeeze his.

“‘M sorry,” you whisper against his lips, the guilt of snapping at him still heavy in your heart.

He chuckles softly, forehead pressed to his as his nose bumps against yours. He steals a few more quick kisses, his smile still very much there.

“Sweetheart, do you know how many times I’ve been a pain in the ass when I was hurt?” He said, pulling back to look at you. He kisses away your frown the moment he sees it, his hand coming up to swipe away the stray tear on your face. “You don’t have to be sorry for bein’ frustrated, and even if you were a pain I’d still take care of you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek but he sees your smile anyway. “You’re terrible at accepting apologies, you know.”

“Or maybe you’re just terrible at givin’ them,” he jests, laughing out when you swat his shoulder. “‘M kidding!”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you are,” you sigh, smiling up at him as you shake your head.

“But seriously, sweetheart, cleaning up a couple of beers ain’t gonna kill me. I promise. Besides, I didn’t like that brand anyway.”

Your eyes roll and a laugh falls past your lips, lips he dipped down to kiss more than a couple times more in that moment. You knew that wasn’t going to be the last of your apologies that day because you still felt bad and he knew that. But for now you’d settle for the smile he’d always put on your face because no matter what, he’d be there in a heartbeat with all the patience in the world.

Through thick and thin, attitude and all, he would be there.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey

[thedeathdoctor]

Saved by the Succ

Thomas Hewitt x Reader

Inspired by this post by @raccoonmonster

NSFW crack under the cut

Fire burned in your chest as your lungs worked overtime to provide oxygen to your aching legs. Running was never your forte, instead, you preferred hiking and long walks; currently you had no choice. Not with the man after you, surprisingly fast for his hulking form at times, swinging a chainsaw wildly at your heels. Nothing in the area looked familiar, just long, brittle grass and waist high briars that seemed to reach out for you, drawing long, red streaks across your exposed skin. 

Up ahead, a long forgotten farmhouse caught your attention, barely visible through the surrounding overgrowth. Perhaps if you could hide and wait...he might keep running. Hide a day or two for him to leave for sure, then try to walk along the roads until you could find someone to flag down. You didn’t have much energy left to keep going. 

Taking a quick glance back, you could no longer see the man behind you, though the chainsaw motor could be heard still moving towards you, loudly clearing the brush you had slipped through moments before. You spurred yourself on, promising your struggling body the rest it demanded when you were safely hidden.

You ran past the house and once you were certain that there was no line of sight between you, circled around to a side entrance. Gingerly, you stepped around the weave of vines and dead growth as silently as you could. Old floorboards creaked under your feet, and you dropped to your hands and knees. As a kid, you’d learned how to sneak out of your parent’s house with its creaky foyer once you were old enough to find you way into more trouble. 

Light filtered down into the house though the holes and broken windows in the walls, dust dancing in the beams. In the hallway of the first floor, you found a mostly intact closet and scrambled inside. Your back pressed into the corner as you hugged your knees to your chest, bringing your forehead to rest on them to stifle your heaving breaths. 

Your ears were on high alert as you scrunched your eyes shut and prayed for help. Outside, you could hear the man searching for you. You wondered when he would look inside the house, tearing though the fragile wood that veiled you. 

Finally, after an eternity had passed, aging you well over a hundred years, the sound dimmed before subsiding completely. And still you did not move. You did not move until the light filtering into the closet had faded entirely, leaving you alone in the dark. 

You were exhausted, but something in the back of your head urged you that you needed to keep going. You needed to find help. 

Tentatively, you emerged from your hiding spot. Soft, cool moonlight faintly illuminated the house, giving you enough confidence to stand up. You hadn’t heard anything of the man for hours. Besides, no one in rural anywhere did much of anything between sunset and sunrise. With the light of the moon, you could start walking and get a decent distance away in the hours of the night. 

You exited the house, leaving through the least overgrown doorway. The faint impression of a private road leading away from the house curved off towards the left. 

You set off towards the road, not looking forward to the journey that lay ahead of you. You didn’t want to think about it, the other dangers that came with the night, coyotes, unseen venomous snakes, hidden holes in the ground that waited to break your ankles. Though the moonlight aided your vision, you remained focused intently on the ground as you walked, searching for the next safe footstep. 

As you rounded the bend in the path, a crashing sound behind you startled you before enormous arms picked you up and tossed you over the person’s shoulder. A scream escaped your lips as you, though upside down and closer than you ever wanted, recognized the blood stained apron of your pursuer. Your body was weak and tired, and you did not have much left in you to struggle to escape. All you could do was rest your head, your cheek smushing up against the man’s belly with his every step. 

Your arms dangled limply, brushing the bottom of the leather apron. The blood rushing to your head gave you a lightheaded sensation and you felt nearly giddy. Thoughts of how to escape him turned into an acute awareness of his powerful thighs as they flexed under the apron. You wondered dumbly to yourself about what size cock such a man like this would hold. 

Whatever the reason, either the exhaustion, terror, or the memento mori of it all, you slid a hand up towards his crotch and began to rub him through the heavy apron. Truly, you weren’t sure if he had noticed it, much less felt it because his gait hadn’t changed. Still, you persisted, feeling a slight bulge form, pressing back against the leather. 

The anticipation of his reaction motivated you to gather up the apron skirt in one hand, moving it aside for your other to slide across the front of his pants. His crotch was warm, even through the rough fabric of his trousers. Still mostly soft, his cock easily spanned from your fingertip to your wrist. Gently, you began to knead it with your palm, feeling it grow and stiffen against your hand.

From behind the grotesque mask, a soft, low moan was the audible feedback you wanted to hear. You didn’t expect it to sound so...husky, deliciously erotic for the voice of a monster. You realized that his breathing had gotten heavier, and his pace began to slow from the brisk powerwalk that it had been. 

He was half hard when he let out another moan. The free hand at his side twitched as if he wanted to readjust himself, but couldn’t bring his hand to touch yours. Certainly very strange for a man who held your thighs tight to keep you over his shoulder. 

The curiosity overwhelmed you, and you slipped your fingers past the waistband of his trousers. Your hand explored where you desperately wanted - but couldn’t - see. Precum dribbled and drooled from the tip; you used the generous fluid to slick your fingers before proceeding further. His foreskin easily retracted to expose the sensitive head, and you reveled in sliding it gently back and forth. 

He now struggled to walk, each step getting slower and slower. Yet he did not stop you, despite his strength. This man had the power to do whatever he wanted with you and still allowed you to continue. A brief thought flickered across your mind. You wondered if anyone had ever touched him like this before.

Your fingers wrapped around the top of his cock as your thumb traced circles around the tip. In your grasp, he grew until the tip of your thumb and middle finger were unable to meet when wrapped around. He had stopped walking, now just standing in the path letting you explore his length. 

You began to stroke him, conservatively at first, your hand sliding over the protruding veins that crisscrossed his shaft. He was impressive, in both length and girth, and you wanted nothing more than to fill yourself up with it. Your body, coursing with arousal, ached with your need, and you were unable to do what you wanted with him from your current position. 

Greedily, you pulled his apron away further, your elbow keeping it in place to free up your other hand. His trousers were easily undone, letting you slip his cock out so you could stroke him with both hands. His head tilted back, ever so slightly as he groaned in pleasure, and slowly, carefully sunk to his knees. The hulking, murderous man was becoming putty in your hands, his hips mindlessly matching the pace you stroked him at. 

The arm holding you over his shoulder relaxed and you took full advantage, swinging your right leg over his head and hooking your calves behind his head, centering your body with his. With your thighs squeezing his head, he had a spectacular view of your ass that he was unable to keep his hands off of. Drooling and throbbing, his cock was mesmerizing, and you held it in both hands as you brought the tip to your lips. 

The sounds he made were exquisite, deep, heady moans over his ragged, desperate panting encouraged you to be more vocal; you let out soft moans in between the wet kisses you lavished his cock with. Your tongue swirled across the tip, lapping up the precum spilling out, your lips coating the shaft with the mix of it with your drool. Your jaw ached to fit as much of him as you could, your hands attending to stroking the remaining length. 

You could feel him nearing his release, frantic and desperate for you to keep going, and you had never felt more powerful in your life. His body shuddered, and you took as much as you could of him into your mouth a moment before the first spurt hit your throat. Upside down, you struggled to swallow as much of it as you could, releasing his spent cock from your lips afterward. 

Uncrossing your legs, you flipped yourself onto the ground, your eyes darting around for an escape while he was still dazed. One of his large hands grabbed you before you had a chance to run; you froze in place. He pinned you down against the earth, towering over you as you looked up at him, his helpless victim. As his fingers hooked around your pants and began to undo them, you realized he wasn’t about to kill you. He was going to return the favor.

[arienai]

People who still write and reblog massive multi-paragraph posts on here are fascinating to me. How did you survive the last ten years with your attention span still intact. I feel like you're a dying breed. an endangered species. I want to put you in an enclosed ecosystem and study you

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 57 (Final)

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You find your relic.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

AO3

You’d only been to the ancient Sanctum a few times, with strict access to the library for your studies and nowhere else, and normally you would be excited to visit the unofficial headquarters of the Mystic Arts.

But now, as you followed Wong to the room of portals that would lead to the Nepal sanctum, your stomach twisted and your heart raced. You couldn’t even enjoy the fact this was where Strange had gone on his near-disastrous pilgrimage. The idea of the Ancient One kicking him out on his ass was an entertaining one, though you were still glad she eventually trained him. As irritated as you were about a lot of things regarding the former surgeon, he and Wong both had taught you nearly everything you knew.

Plus, you’d seen the scars on his hands. As arrogant and egotistical as he appeared, Strange had suffered to get where he was. Not unlike yourself. Not unlike Bucky.

The Orb of Agamotto hung within the circular room where other sorcerers consulted with it, verifying that the magical Earthly shields were still intact. Past them were three doors leading to the other sanctums, including the one in Kathmandu.

You and Bucky followed Wong through, the familiar feeling of displacement shifting your stomach and throwing you off balance for a moment. Neither Wong nor Bucky were as unsteady as you were. It had been something you were embarrassed about, but according to Strange during one of your lessons, it simply meant you were more sensitive to spatial displacement.

As Wong led you both through the ancient stone hallways, past the commons where other sorcerers were in training, doubt crept along your nerves. Someday, possibly sooner than you were prepared, all of these people were going to follow you. Look to you for guidance, for teaching. For protection.

How were you supposed to become the next Ancient One if you couldn’t even walk through a portal without getting dizzy?

This wasn’t going to work. The idea was crazy enough to begin with. The Ancient One had to be wrong. You were going to step into her office and nothing would happen. You would make a fool of yourself; you weren’t any more talented or skilled than any other sorcerer. Just half a year ago, you’d had no idea demons and magic were even real.

And now, you were expected to carry on the mantle as one of the most powerful sorcerers on Earth? How was that even possible? How could you ever be worthy enough to—

Wong opened a door using a complicated series of hand gestures, and as soon as you stepped through, your panicked mind fell silent. Energy thrummed along your skin, setting the hairs upright.

“Here it is.”

Wong’s announcement was unnecessary; you would know this place in your dreams, even though you had never been.

It was a simple room with a single large, circular window pointed towards the mountains over the city. Potted plants perched on most available surfaces that weren’t covered with books, scrolls, and odd knickknacks.

There was only a single writing desk pushed to the side, humble and unobtrusive. The rest of the room was empty space with a single well-worn green rug in the middle. But the plants made everything seem alive and verdant. It felt very much like a place the Ancient One would spend her time. It was a reflection of her, in a way. Quiet, but hidden with secret truths.

“Take a look around,” Wong said, but you were already moving. Slowly and with intense focus, you circled the room, reaching out and feeling, not with your hands but with your mind.

Odd and powerful energy pervaded the room, muted by spells but still apparent to you. They were coming from the artifacts that were laid out, seemingly casually, on the shelves and desks.

Most of them seemed as plain and unimportant as the room itself. A cracked vase with the lip stained red. A golden helmet that was varnished and faded, but two glittering horns jutted from the temples. A knobby staff with a smooth, grey stone fixed at one end, as modest as any walking stick except for the melodic hum that emanated from the stone. You had a feeling neither Wong nor Bucky could hear it.

But despite all the weird, wonderful oddities in your reach, you were drawn elsewhere. You approached one corner of the room where lay a pile of old scrolls and their cloth wrappings, and moved them aside with care to reveal what was hidden underneath.

It was a sword hilt. Just the hilt. There was no blade, not even a piece of broken metal. The metal was dulled with time and flaked with rust, the pommel grey and dirty.

You reached out and hesitated. Fingertips inches away, something stopped you. The knowledge that once you took hold of the relic, everything would change.

You glanced over your shoulder at Bucky.

He was watching you with close attention, as was Wong, but when he caught your eye he gave a small smile of encouragement. He supported you, even though he had to know what this meant, or at least had a good idea of it.

Not every sorcerer found their relic within the Ancient One’s study.

Comfort and warmth, so strong it could only be described as love, flooded across the bond and washed away your fears. You returned his smile, even if it was shaky, and you held on to that feeling as you turned back to the hilt.

You closed the distance, wrapped your fingers around the relic, and lifted it.

It was surprisingly heavy; that was your only observation before it began. The hilt thrummed in your palm, vibrating so fast you nearly dropped it.

The rust flaked away from the metal, leaving it polished and silver. The grey pommel was shaken of its dirt, and you realized it was white bone, the metal wrapping around it to form the grip and crossguard.

The thrumming didn’t stop, but you couldn’t let go even if you wanted to. Your fingers seized around the metal, energy teeming up your hand and arm. When it reached your right shoulder, all the way up to your pentagram, the sigil burned in a way it hadn’t done since the ritual.

Bucky must have sensed your panic because he rushed forward, but you backed away from him fast, instinct screaming at you to put a safe distance between you now.

It was a good thing you had; the energy from your sigil exploded down your arm, through your hand, and into the hilt. A burst of red light shot outward, forcing you to turn away from the blinding beam.

When the light dimmed and you could see again, blinking away the after images, you stared at the sword. That’s what it was now. A glowing red blade, seemingly made entirely of light. The energy that came from it was purely of the demon realm, scorching and sulfuric.

“What…” You choked the words past your dry throat. “What is this?”

There were only a handful of times you’d ever seen Wong shocked. So, that was three powerful sorcerers you’d rendered speechless in the span of a day.

“The blade of Hell, or so it is spoken. None in the history of the order had been able to unlock its powers, rendering it anything more than a broken hilt.” He leveled you with a somber stare. “It is called Daemonio Vexatur. Which means—“

“—to become a demon.”

Wong raised a brow.

“Rough translation, but yes.”

“So, it’s a demon sword?” asked Bucky, eyeing the glowing blade. He was understandably wary, and honestly, was accepting what was happening better than you were. You were still stuck on the fact that you were holding a glowing-freaking-sword in your hand.

“Yes. And no,” Wong said in traditional teaching-fashion. “A demon cannot wield it, but it takes demonic energy to power.”

“Oh. So that’s why my sigil and my entire arm feel like they’re on fire.”

Bucky’s mouth opened and he took a step forward, protectiveness sizzling along the bond, and you gave him a hurried smile.

“Kidding. Sort of.” You smiled wider through your clenched teeth. “It is really uncomfortable.”

Bucky’s dark look told you he didn’t believe you, and with what you imagined was coming from your end of the bond, you didn’t blame him. Holding the sword was like holding on to a live wire that was also burning. There was a molten jolt connecting the hilt to your sigil, and you were just hoping to not get incinerated in the process.

And just like that, the connection was gone, and the relief of your arm no longer being on fire was dimmed by the disappointment as the sword was extinguished, leaving nothing more than a gleaming hilt.

“What happened?” You frowned, eyeing the relic as if searching for an on switch.

“It will take time and training to effectively control your relic.”

“How long?” You looked up when Wong didn’t answer immediately, catching the serious dent in his brow.

“It’s hard to say. No one in living memory has wielded the blade, and it was believed no one ever would.”

Wong gave a heavy sigh.

“So of course, you would be the one to wield it.”

You returned your gaze to the relic and turned over the hilt in your hand, admiring the metal and bone. You wondered if the bone was from a demon, a safe bet considering.

“So.” You carefully put down the hilt and turned to give Bucky your best serious face. “How does it feel to have a wizard girlfriend with a lightsaber?”

Wong rolled his eyes. He knew you well enough by now to know what you were doing, but he didn’t comment on your attempts to over your fear with humor. He muttered something about reporting to Strange as he left the office.

But Bucky…

Worry and fondness conflicted across the bond, struggling to coexist. He stepped forward, the green cloth tunic he’d found in one of the drawers of your room stretched unfairly tight across his chest. It was the largest he could find in a hurry, and it was nearly enough to distract you from your own anxieties.

“I think…” Bucky wrapped his arm around you, drawing you into an embrace that you melted into easily. “That I’m scared for you. I’m confused as hell what this means, and I’m guessing this isn’t going to make your life any easier or less complicated. But… I’m also proud of you.”

You could sense the pride easily, but Bucky was trying to bury the fear that was close to terror. He truly was scared of what this meant. You were too, and the Ancient One’s words weighed heavily on your shoulders.

There was a questioning feeling tugging at your thoughts, and you remembered too late that Bucky could sense the same anxiety, even if he didn’t have all the details. So you smoothed out your tumultuous thoughts and covered them the best way you knew how.

“You say that to all the wizard girlfriends.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“That is what swords do.”

Bucky pulled back far enough to stare at you with narrowed eyes, but when he touched his horns to yours it was with such gentleness that you nearly forgot to breathe. But breathe you did, drinking in his familiar, soothing scent and allowed the tension to drain from your muscle.

“We should head back.” Bucky said after a moment of intimate, comfortable silence in which you finally relaxed. “Got a bastard to catch.”

You reluctantly let go first, knowing he was right and you couldn’t stay here forever. Turning toward the sword hilt, you reached for it and paused. You took a small detour and picked up an old, ratty cloth nearby and carefully wrapped the relic within. Until you had a better grasp of how to wield the sword, it was probably a wiser idea to not handle it directly. You had no idea if it was sentient like Strange’s cloak, and it would be better not to accidentally set it off. Slicing off your own leg was a poor way to convince anyone that you were the next Ancient One.

On your journey back down the halls toward the portal door, Bucky said, “So… what are you going to name it?”

He smiled at your sideways glance.

“All cool swords get a name. It’s kind of a universal rule.”

Maybe you didn’t know Bucky as well as you thought you did, because you had no idea he was such a damn nerd.

“Yeah? You’ll have to bestow all your sword knowledge on me.”

“Is that a sexual innuendo?”

“It is now.”

Bucky’s smile died on his lips when you were no longer at his side. He paused and looked back where you had stopped at the threshold to the portal room.

“What if I can’t do this?” The doorway before you was no longer just a doorway. It was an insurmountable hurdle, and your feet wouldn’t budge from the floor. “What if I fail?”

Bucky approached slow and steady, his expression gentle and fond.

“You won’t. You’re too stubborn to fail.” A warm hand softly cupped your cheek, his human one, and you leaned into it. He laughed silently at your predictable need to be touched, but his expression faded into something more serious. “But on the very slim chance you do, then you get back up and you start again. Just as you always have.”

Your stomach fell. Bucky couldn’t understand what failure meant in your case. You didn’t even know what it meant, but you could guess. If you failed to be the Ancient One everyone needed… then there might not be any second chances.

Bucky wrapped you in his arms one more time, undoubtedly sensing his words of encouragement hadn’t hit as effectively as he’d wanted.

“Whatever this means, you finding that relic… Whatever happens when we find Zemo...” Bucky’s voice was deep in his chest, a rumbling sound that never failed to comfort you. “I’ll be here.”

You returned his embrace, gripping him tightly as you pressed your cheek against his chest.

“I know.”

And you did, too. Bucky would be there for you. Not because he was compelled to be, and not out of a sense of duty or guilt to protect you. He would be by your side by choice.

And that fact made Zemo’s escape, the Ancient One’s words, and your own self-doubt a little easier to bear. Because you and Bucky would weather it.

Together.

“When wounds are healed by love, the scars are beautiful.” –David Bowles

[teacupfulofstarshine]

LOVELY, DARK, AND DEEP CHAPTER 10

PLEASE HEED THE CONTENT WARNINGS!!! this chapter features Evil Scientist Lady and her Fucked Up WorldView a LOT, and there are also some Major Plot Events that involve Violence. i will put a summary in the end notes if you decide at any point that this particular chapter is too much - that's super valid! i will also mention here that no main characters are going to die in this story and no one dies in this chapter either.

huge huge thanks to @flamingfawkes for beta’ing!

CW: extreme disregard for human life, mentioned human and animal cruelty, toxic workplace environment, violence (both imagined and actual, mildly graphic), gun mention, minor blood, death threats, extremely unethical character, unethical science, stalking

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // chapter 6 // chapter 7 // chapter 8 // chapter 9 // read it on ao3!

“This is the same result we’ve gotten the last twenty times -”

“I don’t care, Steven, run it again!”

Steven sighs, punching at the keyboard to run the statistical analysis sequence again. “This is ridiculous! I’ve run this sequence so many times it feels like my eyes are going to bleed. Why can’t we just turn in the results we have and -”

“Because she’ll behead us,” James snaps, “and then she’ll destroy our reputations and our families and they’ll get no severance. I have three young children at home, Steven, I need this money.” Steven softens a little, fingers running smoothly over the keys as he combs the data again. Next to him, James has a computer screen full of frame-by-frame stills of what little data they recovered from the probe before it was destroyed; Penny across the room is surrounded by ancient texts a mile high and at least three laptops.

“Why is she so interested in this, anyway?”

“It’s beyond me. Since when do we question the whims of what we’re told to do?”

Steven squints at the screen, pushing his chair back and rubbing at his eyes. “If I have to stare at these numbers for one more second, my brain is going to explode. I feel like my eyeballs are going to melt out of my skull. I wanna scream.”

James pulls up another image, staring at the blurry image of the merman before him. Steven pushes away from his own screen and squints at James’s. The merman in the photo looks young, not much older than his kid brother, but they don’t know anything about the lifespan of these creatures. He looks confused, squinting at the camera. As James flicks through the stills, the merman transitions from confused to angry to enraged, and then he attacks.

“He’s not happy about the camera.”

“Would you be happy about someone spying on you and your family?” James says, switching to the next still.

“I wouldn’t be happy if I thought someone was doing anything we do in this lab to me or my family.” James elbows Steven, but luckily no one else seems to have heard.

“This lab isn’t the most ethical place I’ve ever worked, but it pays the bills,” James mutters. “And we’re not even in the experimentation lab. We just do data analysis. We’re removed from the situation.”

Are we? Steven wonders. He sees James reach out and touch the framed picture of his daughters, and keeps his mouth shut. He turns back to his computer, watching the little spinning color wheel of his mouse as the program calculates the same numbers again and again. The results come up identical to the previous ones, and Steven clicks “Run Program” again wordlessly.

They work in silence for a while, the three of them, broken only by James’s muttering and the occasional thud of one of Penny’s books and the clicks of keyboards and mice. If they weren’t so reliant on technology, Steven thinks, there would be an enormous corkboard spanning three of the four walls, covered in pushpins and handwriting and red string connecting images. He debates actually building one, if only to increase the levity in the room, but decides against it.

He’s seen people punished or fired or who-knows-what-else for far less, after all.

Instead, after his program tells him for the twenty-third time that his results are the same (and didn’t someone say insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?), Steven scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms and opens the data entry window. Maybe the problem with the results has to do with the entry of the data; did he input something wrong? It’s possible . . .

Here he goes again, he supposes. He stands up, stretches, and leans back to crack some vertebrae. “I’m gonna grab a coffee, take a short screen break, and go back to the beginning. Maybe there’s something in the input that I missed. You want anything?”

James groans, thunking his head against the desk. “I want something with enough caffeine to kill three elephants, please.” Steven nods, looking over at Penny. She shakes her head, and he heads for the shitty coffee machine a few doors down.

Several floors below, a young woman pulls her lab goggles up to rest on top of her head with her perfectly-pinned protocol-compliant bun. “The latest round of tests is completely done, ma’am. I think you’ll find the efficacy . . . striking.”

She takes the clipboard, glossy perfectly-painted nails pinching the sheets of thin paper and flicking between them. “I’m afraid I don’t do so well with the scientific side of things - Kathleen, was it? Explain this to me, would you?”

“Certainly, ma’am. As you know, the kill time for the most effective neurotoxin currently available, tetrodotoxin, varies from thirty minutes to four hours. Average time for symptoms to manifest is seventeen minutes, and from there the symptoms progress through tingling of the lips and tongue, headache, vomiting, muscle weakness, ataxia, et cetera. Death occurs as a result of respiratory or heart failure, and the poison is nearly undetectable if you do not specifically test for it.”

“The untraceability is a plus, but that is far too wide a range of times, and too slow a time even at its fastest.”

“Of course, ma’am, but as far as naturally-occurring marine poisons go - actually, as far as naturally-occurring poisons go, full stop - it is the most effective. Until now, that is.”

“Oh? What are your findings?”

“Which trials would you like to start with, ma’am?”

“The human trials, Kathleen. The only ones that matter. I hardly intend to go around killing mice and hoping that no one traces their deaths to a novel neurotoxin.” She laughs airily, and Kathleen nods along.

“Certainly, ma’am. The most recent data points indicate an average efficacy time of thirteen minutes for our compound neurotoxin, with a full range between nine and seventeen minutes passing before subject death. Subjects began to show symptoms around five minutes, give or take twenty-five seconds.”

“And those symptoms were?”

Kathleen flips through the document. “Seizures, vital organ failure, blindness, painful muscle spasms, suffocation from the inside out.”

She hums, tapping a manicured finger against the report. “Well, Kathleen, that is certainly impressive, especially for a preliminary human subject trial. These results . . . I must say, they are not nearly as disappointing as I anticipated when I came down here.”

“Ma’am?”

“How long have you worked for this company, Kathleen?”

“Almost five years, ma’am, but I’ve always been an assistant. This is my first time as lead researcher and biochemist on a project, ever since you . . . laid off the previous lead researcher.”

“Kathleen, let me be frank. These results are not what I hoped for. The efficacy time and symptom onset times are both far too long for my liking, and the range of efficacy time is too broad. By all accounts, I should consider this a failure.” Kathleen swallows, but remains poised. “However, you’ve managed to shave off a considerable amount of time from the tetrodotoxin readings. The range of symptom onset time is an acceptable breadth, and your results are far beyond anything your predecessor ever accomplished for me. This is truly impressive, all things considered.”

“Thank you, ma’am. How should I proceed?”

“I want the efficacy doubled - tripled - I want it upped by anywhere between four and five hundred percent. I want the pain increased, too. Feel free to increase your requests for test subjects, but get me the results I want. You said the original tetrodotoxin was untraceable?”

“That’s correct, ma’am.”

“Can you keep that feature intact?”

“As of right now, it is intact, ma’am. I will endeavor to keep it so in future experiments.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Welcome to your new position as head of this research division. Don’t let me down.” She holds out a slender hand, and Kathleen takes it, trying not to seem too eager.

“I won’t, ma’am.”

“How soon can you start this experiment up again?”

“The cleaners should be finished by tomorrow morning, ma’am, and I can tweak chemical formulas until then.”

“Excellent.” Her watch beeps, and she lifts it, pursing her bright lips as she examines the message she’s just received. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another matter to attend to. Someone will drop off your master access key for Lab Three within the hour.”

She steps into the elevator and lifts her watch up to her face, swiping through the messages from her secretary. One finger reaches out to press the button for the digital analysis labs floor, and the other taps away at her watch.

When she steps off the elevator, her secretary is waiting. “Ma’am.”

“What do they have for me?”

“Unclear. They said it was something they wanted to report directly to you and you alone, but it seems to be something big.”

“Hopefully it’s a big step in the right direction, or they’ll be taking a big step out of a job.” She relishes in the way the employees she passes all unfailingly flinch and then snap to perfect attention when they hear the sharp echo of her heels against the floor. She lifts her head and walks faster, striking the tiles with her heels like a gavel, sharp and precise against a judge’s desk.

The computer labs are disorganized when she enters, but there is a string of promising-looking numbers on the main display monitor. There is a woman surrounded by books and a man pulling up photos on his computer, and there is a third man standing in front of her like a toy soldier. She focuses on that one.

“I hear you have news for me? Make it swift, and make it good.”

He swallows, hard, and her eyes idly trace the line of his throat. If he disappoints her, perhaps she will drive her heel through it, to make an example of him. That would be far too messy; perhaps his dominant hand will do.

“I have narrowed down the location of the missing net, ma’am. I believe it to have washed up somewhere around these general GPS coordinates.” He fiddles with a remote in his hand, and the image on the screen changes. It shows an aerial satellite view of a secluded strip of beach, framed by rocky cliffs with larger rocks studded out into the open water. “It should have washed up somewhere in this one-point-three-seven-mile strip of beach. The whole area is property of one Doctor Thomas Sanders.”

She snarls. “That man. He won’t let us on that beach willingly until hell freezes over.”

The other man, the one scanning through photo stills and video footage, jumps up, knocking his chair backwards. “I found something!”

She turns towards him, and his excitement freezes and sputters into something much more controlled and terrified. “Show me.” He clicks something and pulls up video footage from one of their surveillance drones, zooming in on a particular patch of ocean along the stretch of Sanders’ beach. Her eyes widen when she sees what he’d noticed - a hump of red-and-white tail arcing above the waves before a pattern of ripples streaks off towards the cliff. He pauses the footage, rewinds it, uses a laser pointer to show an opening concealed in the cliff face.

“There’s some kind of grotto in there, hidden by the cliff. It’s on Sanders’ property, he has to know it’s there. And it looks like the merman from the destroyed drone knows it’s there too. Which means -”

“That must be where he’s keeping them.�� Something burns in her chest, brilliant and terrifying and all-encapsulating, like wildfire. “We’ve found them, at long last.”

“What would you have me do?” her secretary asks. “I can arrange for a recovery squad at your earliest possible convenience, ma’am.”

“Assemble the squad, but do not have them move out. They will wait for my orders. When they go, you are to go with them.” Her secretary nods, once, sharp and sure. “Dispatch a crew to Lab One and clear it out. I want it prepped for containment, vivisection, chemical tests - the works. Get at least three tanks set up and one strap-down human table.”

“A human table, ma’am?”

“Yes. We have to deal with Sanders once and for all to ensure that he does not ruin any future experiments.”

“Will we be taking him as well?”

She hums thoughtfully. “No. Pull up the file we have on his known associate?”

A few swift clicks and flicks and a photo appears on the large screen: a young man with brown-and-purple hair, sleeves rolled up, carefully lowering a perfectly viable specimen into the ocean and letting it go, like some kind of fool. “His doctoral student, ma’am. The longest one he’s ever kept - this one has been with him a few years.”

“Excellent. When you raid the lab, take him.”

“Should we kill Sanders?”

“No. Rough him up a little, but leave him alive. Taking his protégé and leaving him alone, helpless to rescue him, will be the highest form of torture for such an insufferable person. The agony will eat him alive until his dying day.”

Her secretary nods, taking the notes down dutifully. The other employees look vaguely horrified, but she pays them no mind. No sacrifice is too great to be made in the name of progress, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a weakling who will never get anywhere in life.

She refuses to be one of those weaklings.

*~*~*~*~*

Logan wakes up confused.

He’s warm, warmer than he thinks he’s ever been in his whole life. When he stirs, he moves farther than he meant to - he must not be underwater. That’s enough to send a jolt of concern through his sleep-addled brain. Why isn’t he underwater? Why was he sleeping if he was above the surface? There’s no way his dad is here, and Roman hates surfacing, where are they? Where is he? But he’s so comfortable . . .

Someone shifts beside him, an arm draping across his waist, and Logan forces his eyes open. He shifts his lower half, confused when two things move instead of one, and there are layers upon layers of thin, flat, soft things wrapping around him. What is happening?

Slowly, slowly, his mind clears, and he remembers the events of last night. He grew legs - he was a human, once, before he was mer - he couldn’t sleep underwater with Dad and Roman - Virgil was teaching him to walk - Virgil put “clothes” on him - Virgil was embarrassed that he didn’t have those “clothes” on him - Virgil took him out of the lab to sleep - Virgil agreed to cuddle him since his pod couldn’t -

Logan feels the strange burning in his face again as he shifts. He can’t see well in this new human form, but when things are close enough to his face they’re relatively clear. And Virgil, still sleeping, is close enough that Logan can smell him - he smells like salt water mixed with something sharp and something sweet and something else that Logan can’t quite identify but finds addicting nonetheless. Sunlight streams in and pools around Virgil’s face, illuminating the tangled mess of hair spread around him and flopping into his face, the small puddle of water leaking out from his open mouth onto the soft thing he’s resting his head on, the way his chest moves slowly with every breath. His arm is wrapped around Logan, pulling him close. Logan thinks he might explode if he focuses on this any more, so he rolls from his side to his back as carefully as he can, not wanting to wake Virgil. Virgil tightens his arm around Logan and mutters something indecipherable in his sleep, but he doesn’t wake.

Rather than focusing on his very confusing feelings for the very pretty man next to him, Logan focuses on what he can see of the room around him. He makes a list in his mind of things that he plans to ask Virgil about later today, including:

1: There are many draws attached to the small, smooth cliffs surrounding them. How do they stay there?

2: There are lots of “clothes” scattered all around the floor, and there were several on the bed, too. Is that normal for humans?

3: Last night, Virgil did something that made the room light up with trapped sunlight! How did he do that?

4: How did Virgil get ice to stay in those big frozen sheets in such a warm place to let the sunlight in?

5: How did Virgil make ice into that weird shape that he filled with water and drank last night?

6: How did Virgil get the water to come into this place?

7: Do all humans have a specific area set aside for sleeping? Logan and his pod usually just sleep wherever they can, but Virgil seems to have this soft slab set aside with all of these soft things to be comfortable and sleep in every night. Is this a Human Thing or strictly a Virgil Thing?

Logan looks out through the sheet of ice that protects Virgil’s area from the outside and gasps. He can’t see well, but there’s a glittering expanse of blue that shifts and moves and oh, is that the ocean?

He’s spent his whole life (well, his whole remembered life, anyways) in the ocean, and he’s seen some truly wondrous things. He travels around the world with his pod, he knows the ocean is big, but seeing it spread out like this is . . . awe-inspiring. Logan has never seen the ocean like this, and now that he has he doesn’t think he can ever not see it like this again. It’s like a perfect sheet of sea-glass, rippling and unbroken but dynamic in a way that he never really gets a sense of when he’s beneath it.

He knows that there are waves, of course. There are smaller swells out on the open ocean, and larger ones when the Second Goddess dips her fingers down from the Upper Ocean and swirls the storms to a thundering burst. There are waves along the shoreline, ones that he frolics in with Roman and batter him against the shoreline. There are waves created when he or his pod members surface. But watching the movement of the ocean from up here is . . .

Even with his imperfect vision, he is completely at a loss for words as he stares at the ocean.

Eventually, Virgil stirs next to him, and Logan turns away from the ocean to stare at him. Virgil is close to him, arms wrapped tightly around him, face pressed against him. Logan’s eyesight is not great, but Virgil is close enough that he can pick out little details of his face. There are brown face scales scattered all over him, but they seem to cluster on his nose and his cheeks. Logan has wanted to touch them for a substantial amount of time, and he can’t stop himself from gently settling the tips of his fingers over Virgil’s cheek.

His face doesn’t feel like Logan was expecting. The scales don’t give texture to his face the way that Logan’s do; the skin is smooth and flat. There are little bumps all over, but the brown scales aren’t raised off the skin like Logan expected. He lets his fingers trail along Virgil’s face. His bone structure seems to be exceedingly similar to Logan’s, at least in regards to his head. Logan’s finger rests gently on the curve of bone under Virgil’s eye, and Virgil exhales warm breath onto his palm.

Logan wonders what it would be like to have this for longer than just his recovery period. He wonders what it would be like to wake up next to Virgil all the time, to get to run his hands over Virgil’s face and arms and chest and examine the differences between their anatomy. He wonders what it would be like to learn to walk without falling over, and he feels a sharp, unexpected twinge in his chest as he realizes that getting better at walking means no more closeness to Virgil.

His chest feels strange, like there’s a school of small fish swarming around and tickling his insides and making him feel all foamy, like the froth churned up by a windswept sea. He feels like he does when he’s underwater - free, weightless, mobile, limited by nothing except his own imagination. He feels unstoppable.

Virgil makes a sudden, sharp inhale, blinking his eyes open slowly. Logan thinks that, perhaps, he might not appreciate being studied unknowingly - he hadn’t appreciated Virgil doing it, before he understood what was happening, when all he knew was the loss of his pod aching like a scraped-out seashell. As Virgil wakes up, Logan shifts, turning his gaze to the rest of the room.

Virgil makes a sleepy grumbling noise, opening one eye. Logan chances another quick glance at him, and when his eye slides open Logan is struck by its beauty. He doesn’t get much of a chance to admire it, however, before Virgil is jolting backwards like Logan’s struck him with lightning. Logan is confused, reaching out and gently touching his shoulder. “Virgil?”

“Wassat?! Wait . . . L’gan?”

“It is me,” Logan says softly. “Are - are you upset with me?”

Virgil yawns, jaw dropping to his chest, revealing a flash of teeth and a soft pink tongue. (Logan wants to lick it. Why does Logan want to lick it? Why is Logan thinking about Virgil’s tongue licking his tongue - why is Logan thinking about Virgil - what in the Seven Oceans is happening to him.) “Wh - no, no, ‘m okay, I just - woke up, forgot I had you with me, got confused about another person in my bed.” Before Logan can start to feel bad, Virgil adds, “S’okay if it’s you, though,” and the foamy, floaty feeling is back.

“Did you sleep well?”

Virgil laughs, low and rumbling, and Logan can feel it in his fingers where he touches Virgil’s skin. “I never sleep well.” He sits up, and the fabric of his pajamas shifts to let Logan see stretches of soft, supple skin that he usually doesn’t. Logan wants to touch it. He very determinedly keeps his hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Gotta admit, though, last night was . . . better than usual.”

This appears to be the point where Virgil first notices their position - pressed together, arm slung over Logan, basically cuddling the way that Logan normally would with his pod. (No tangle with his pod has ever felt this . . . electric, this charged, this important to Logan before.) His face flares a brilliant red, and he shifts like he wants to move away but -

“I’m sorry,” Virgil says. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No!” Logan blurts out. Virgil blinks at him a little, and maybe he was a little overly enthusiastic, but - “I sleep in a tangle with Dad and Roman all the time. I have extreme difficulty sleeping without contact with someone else. It . . . helped me greatly.”

“Oh,” Virgil says, face turning redder still, smiling shyly. “That - makes me feel better. Thanks, Lo.”

Logan smiles, and Virgil smiles too, reaching up to gently move a piece of hair away from his face. Logan thinks that, as far as deaths go, his chest exploding (which seems to be getting more and more likely every fifteen seconds he spends in Virgil’s presence, only accelerated by all this skin-on-skin contact they’re having right now) seems to be the most pleasurable.

Virgil opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it was is interrupted by a Ping! noise from across the room. “What is that?” Logan asks. Virgil, sadly, untangles himself from Logan and the blankets, sliding out of bed and heading over to one of the other structures in the room (what did he call it last night? Dex?) and picking up a flat glowing rectangle.

“Is everything alright?”

“What? Yeah, yeah, I - Thomas sent me a text, it’s a little weird.”

“What is a text?”

“It’s a kind of human messaging system, it allows us to communicate when we’re far away from each other.”

“Like a pod call?” “Kind of? I’ll explain more later, I promise, I just - I gotta go down to the lab real quick.”

“I’ll come with -”

“No!” Virgil snaps. Logan flinches, and Virgil softens, crossing the room and gently touching his shoulder. “Hey, no, Logan, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just - this message, there’s something off. I think something might be wrong, and I don’t want to put you in any unnecessary danger. Just - wait here, okay? Wait in my room, where it’s safe. It’s probably nothing, he’s probably fine, but on the off chance that he’s not, I want you to stay hidden safely up here.”

Logan isn’t sure why this makes his face heat up slightly, but it does. “Okay. I accept your apology, and I . . . trust you.”

Virgil smiles, soft and heartwarming, and Logan is beginning to give more credence to his “chest explosion is fine, actually” theory. “Wait for me here, okay? I’ll be right back. I promise.”

He leaves, shutting the door firmly behind him, and the foamy feeling in Logan’s chest dissipates a little. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s something . . . off. If Logan didn’t know better, he’d think that he was sensing a predator approaching.

But that can’t be right, he isn’t underwater. His danger senses are likely just overreacting to his disappointment at Virgil’s absence.

. . . Right?

*~*~*~*~*

Thomas is beginning to regret letting Roman and Patton (specifically, Roman) out of the large tank before finishing his first coffee of the morning.

“I want some!” Roman complains.

“Do you even know what it is?” Thomas says. Roman pouts sulkily at him.

“. . . No,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. Thomas gives him the deadpan, no-nonsense, I-am-your-direct-superior-take-the-damn-samples-Virgil stare that he has perfected over the past few years. Roman wilts a little more, and Thomas feels slightly bad.

“It’s called coffee,” he says. “It’s a hot drink that lots of people have in the morning. Some people drink it plain, and some people add things to it to change the way it tastes. It helps me wake up more and get focused to start my day, and sometimes I drink it late at night to help keep me awake.”

Roman looks less like a kicked puppy and more like Logan, eyes wide and curious. “I want some!”

Thomas, taking a sip of his own two-seconds-of-cream-five-cubes-of-sugar coffee, nearly spits it out. He looks at Roman, eyes the very sharp, very detachable, very toxic spines covering his body, and says, “No.”

Roman’s demeanor changes entirely, switching from “curious toddler” to “toddler about to throw a temper tantrum” in a heartbeat. “Why not?!”

“Because when people drink coffee without being used to it, sometimes it makes them a little crazy.”

“I’m not crazy!”

“Do I need to recount to you how many times you’ve threatened me and my assistant since we met you?” Thomas says, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not giving you coffee until I know I can trust you not to stab me with your poisonous spines that cover your entire body and can be fired at people.”

Roman pouts more, dropping under the water and letting out a gratingly harmonious string of mer that Thomas is pretty sure translates to Roman bitching about the coffee situation to his dad. Based on the pattern of Patton’s response, he’s pretty sure Patton is laughing at Roman.

More sulky chalkboard-violin music, and then Roman resurfaces grumpily. “Dad agrees with you and says no consuming strange human foods.”

“Did he laugh at you?”

Roman squints suspiciously at him. “You can’t speak our language.”

“Yeah, but I know what it sounds like when a dad laughs at his kid.” Roman, continuing to pout, sinks back into the tank, presumably to sulk some more. Thomas takes another very long sip of coffee that is definitely too hot for his mouth and turns back to his desk.

Virgil should definitely be awake and in the lab at this point. The samples he’s supposed to be analyzing are sitting in their little tubes, each neatly labelled with locations and dates and times and what, specifically, Virgil is supposed to be looking for. Thomas considers going upstairs and waking up Virgil, who’s almost never been late for work in this way, but he decides against it. Virgil is upstairs with Logan, and Thomas knows that there’s something building between them. He’s not sure how advisable that something is, but he trusts Virgil to make his own decisions.

Besides, he could probably use some practice. His water sample analysis skills are pretty rusty, he’s had Virgil doing them for years. “Virgil, you owe me big time for what I’m doing for you.” He carefully shifts the samples over to his own desk, slides his earbuds in, picks up a pipette, and gets to work analyzing the bacterial and algal concentrations for any abnormalities.

Thomas accomplishes about forty-five minutes’ worth of work before Roman interrupts him by flicking water at him and soaking the back of his neck. “Hey!”

“I tried your name, but your little ear bug things were keeping you from hearing me,” Roman says smugly. Thomas, not for the first time, considers retreating to the closet and throwing beakers until he feels better.

“Can I help you?”

“Dad wants to go hunting and bring back breakfast, but we can’t leave without you.”

“Are you not going hunting?”

“I’m going to stay here and observe you,” Roman says.

Thomas blinks. “Do I . . . need observing?”

“How do I know you won’t sell us out to your little human friends the second you get a chance? If I’m here, I can stop you. Plus, what if you do something to Logan while we’re not here to protect him? No, no, I’m staying right where I am and you can’t make me leave.” His spines ripple; Thomas steps closer to a whiteboard in case he needs to duck.

“I’m not going to do that, and I don’t want you to stab me.”

“Still! I’m staying here! Also, Dad’s bigger than me, and he’s a better hunter cause he’s faster and he’s been hunting longer.

“Does he need something to help him carry all those fish?” Thomas asks. Roman opens his mouth like he’s going to say something snarky, pauses, and stops.

“I . . . usually we just eat what we catch when we catch it. We make a pile of prey and take turns guarding it while the other two hunt. Then we make a sacrifice to the Seven Mother Goddesses and eat what’s left.”

After some debate, Thomas is able to fashion a sling of sorts from some waterproof tarps and leftover anchor rope to tie around Patton’s body. “You can put the fish in this pouch and carry them back here. Will you be able to navigate your way back to the grotto?”

“He will,” Roman says. “Dad knows more about the ocean than any human possibly could.” Another discordant song from the tank, chastising, and Roman huffs. “Dad wants me to reassure you that he’ll be fine.”

Patton settles into the mobile tank easily, and Thomas gets him down to the grotto leading towards the sea. “When you come back, let out one of your pod calls and Virgil or I will come and collect you and your catch. Take as much time as you need, okay?”

Patton reaches up and gently pats Thomas’s arm with one large, damp hand, and Thomas takes that to mean an agreement. “Alright, off you go.” There’s a whoosh and a rush of water as it flows from the tank into the grotto in a clean arc, carrying Patton with it. Thomas waits for a moment, letting Patton disappear into the open ocean, before returning to the laboratory.

Roman, for the most part, ignores Thomas. He asks the occasional question, which Thomas tries to answer in a way that he’ll understand, and leans over the edge of his touch tank, eyes guarded. Every time Thomas sneaks a glance, when he thinks Roman isn’t looking, his expression is wide-eyed and wondrous, like Logan’s usually are, but the moment he realizes Thomas is watching him his entire face closes up like a clamshell.

Thomas wonders what it’ll take to get Roman to trust him, trust Virgil, trust any human. Granted, he doesn’t know Roman’s history with humans, but he and Patton are both fairly scarred, and Thomas might not know the whole story but he’d bet a not-insignificant amount of his monthly income that the giant starburst scar taking up the majority of Patton’s chest isn’t the result of a clash with a marine creature.

He works quietly, fielding the occasional question, keeping one ear on the grotto tunnel for Patton’s return. He’s not sure how long he expected Patton to be gone, but he hears movement in the grotto tunnel far sooner than he’d expected.

“Thomas, what’s -”

“Shhhh,” Thomas says. He stands up, pushing away from his desk, but before he can say anything else, there’s a flood of movement coming from the tunnel. Bodies pour into the lab, swift and strong and carrying weapons that they immediately train on Thomas and Roman.

“What is this?” Roman snaps, bristling. He sounds betrayed, like he thinks Thomas is behind this. Thomas picks up a heavy glass beaker, fully prepared to shatter it upside someone’s skull if necessary, but something heavy and hard strikes the back of his skull and he feels his knees crumple. Roman cries out, and Thomas struggles to push himself up. A hand fists itself in his hair and yanks him upright, sharply. Thomas exhales sharply through his teeth, but before he can start struggling, something cool and round rests against the back of his neck, shutting him up and shutting his brain down.

Roman is puffed up like a hedgehog, apparently fully prepared to defend Thomas despite his strong and inherent mistrust. Before he can begin to attack, Thomas hears the click-click-click of shoes on the hard stone floor. Whoever’s holding his head yanks him back again, and he is forced to watch as a woman walks into his laboratory.

(It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke - a sick, horrible, twisted joke.)

She has black heels, black tights, a black pencil skirt, a black blazer, and a blood-red blouse. Her hair is scraped back into a tight bun, pulled so taut it must hurt, and is held in place with a pitch black stick. She carries a - clipboard? tablet? Unclear - held against her chest, and there’s a sleek silver weapon in her right hand.

“The one from the video?” she asks.

“Affirmative, ma’am,” says the person holding Thomas’s head. The woman nods, lifting her weapon, and fires at Roman. Thomas tries to scream a warning, earning himself another painful yank from his captor, but the projectile lodges itself in Roman’s shoulder anyway.

It isn’t a bullet, but something that looks like a small syringe. Roman swats it out of his shoulder, swaying a little, but it doesn’t stop him from swiping at the - mercenary, they must be - who tries to grab him with his elbow spines. The woman frowns, lifts the weapon - some kind of tranquilizer gun? - and fires again.

Roman screams, inhuman and animal, and tears the newest dart from his arm, throwing himself out of his tank and clinging to the nearest mercenary. His teeth tear into the man’s shoulder, spines piercing through his camouflage clothing and flooding him with neurotoxin. The man collapses against the concrete, alive but unconscious, and Roman snarls at the next man as though daring him to approach. He sways, weakened but awake, and bares his teeth.

“Of course,” the woman says, tapping something on her tablet. “His naturally produced neurotoxin must be providing him with some level of natural resistance. Unexpected, but not a limitation.”

It takes three more tranquilizer darts before Roman finally slumps down into his tank, unconscious. The mercenaries look hesitant to approach him, but the woman reaches for her tablet and they scramble to action at once.

“No - no, stop, let him go, he’s not an animal for you to cart off to your lab -” Thomas starts. The man holding him knees him sharply in the back and he cries out, coughing.

They wrap Roman in thick leather bands, roughly shoving his spines flat and binding them against his skin so that he can’t attack them again. The woman nods, once, short and sharp, and they drag Roman away, letting his head bang mercilessly on the ground. Thomas catches a glimpse of a logo - emblazoned on the back of the jackets, on the back of the woman’s tablet, on the side of her tranquilizer gun - and commits it to memory. He’s going to need it, if he gets out of here alive.

“- your phone,” the woman says, and oh, when did she get in front of him.

“My what?”

His mouth runs dry as she places the tranquilizer gun under his chin, barrel pressing against his throat, and tips his chin up. “I said, give me your phone.”

Thomas blinks. “My - the desk. It’s on the desk.”

She sets her tablet down, picks up his phone, and shoves it in his face. “Open it.”

“I - wh -”

“Unlock your phone, Dr. Sanders. Must I repeat myself a third time?” She rolls her eyes. “Doctorates are wasted on people like you.”

Thomas numbly punches in his passcode, and she swipes through to his messages app, frowning before turning the screen towards his face to reveal a message thread with Virgil. “Is this your assistant?”

Thomas glares at her, he’s not going to give her what she wants, he’s not going to just give her Virgil but then the - gun, it must be a gun, what else would they be holding against his neck like this - pushes into him harder, and it’s probably bruising, and he can’t get himself killed here because then he definitely won’t be able to take care of Virgil and -

“Yes,” Thomas says, hating himself for giving in so easily. “What do you -”

She turns away from him, nails clicking against his phone screen as she sends a text message - to Virgil, presumably, and that makes his heart sink like a stone - before dropping it on the floor and stepping on it to shatter it. “I have a message for you.”

“A - what?”

“Did they really hit you that hard, or were you this stupid before we came here?” she says coldly, picking up the tablet again and tapping at the screen. Thomas groans as the man yanks him to his feet, shoving him onto his chair and pulling a roll of duct tape out of one of his multiple pants pockets. He tapes Thomas’s wrists and ankles to the chair, keeping his weapon trained on Thomas’s temple at all times, before pressing it roughly against his head and gripping his hair again.

The woman sets the tablet on his lab table, and the screen flickers to life, and then there’s a woman in front of a dark black backdrop, smiling at him like a cat who’s caught a canary. “Thomas Sanders. How long I’ve waited for this day.”

Thomas recognizes her. He knows he recognizes her. She used to be his classmate, before . . .

His head hurts, so badly that he can barely keep his eyes open, and the memory slips away. “You . . . why are you doing this?”

“Why? Because I am a real scientist, unlike you. You refuse to do what is necessary, what must be done for the progression of the species. The sacrifice of some worthless animals is necessary for humanity to reach its zenith. You would really hinder the entire human race for the preservation of lower life forms?”

“Wh - I -”

“You think that ‘preserving the ecosystem’ and ‘keeping animals alive’ makes you a good scientist, but it makes you weak. You are weak, Thomas Sanders, and if the world was left in the hands of people like you, the human race as we know it would die out in a few centuries. Fortunately, there are people like me, who understand what must be done.”

“Caring about other people and things - it doesn’t - it doesn’t make you weak,” Thomas says, chest heaving, and the woman just laughs.

“One of many logical fallacies to which you subscribe, Thomas. They really gave you a doctorate? Of course caring makes you weak. All emotions make you weak. They corrupt your data and make your experiments worthless. You must be ruthless. You must be willing to do whatever it takes to pursue your goals and achieve the height of success. But no.” She rolls her eyes, face hardening, twirling a pen in her fingers. “You insist on ethics and principles and letting emotions cloud your judgement, and that makes you a failure as a scientist. It makes you weak. Your attachments will be your downfall.”

Thomas’s eyes slide shut, head pounding, and the man behind him yanks at his hair so sharply that he knows some has been ripped out. He forces his eyes open in time to see a smile slide across the woman’s face like a knife, teeth gleaming white as sun-bleached bone.

“You won’t - get away with this,” Thomas manages. He grinds his teeth together and curls his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms to keep himself awake. “If you leave me alive -” Thomas, stop talking, why are you reminding her that she has the option to fucking kill you “- I will not rest until I find you. I’ll - you can’t -”

“You’ll what, Thomas? If you call the police, you’ll expose those creatures you’re so intent on protecting to the world. Are you really willing to take that chance?” Before Thomas can even begin formulating a response, she steamrolls him. “It doesn’t matter. Even if you were, I’m going to take some . . . insurance, shall we say.”

“Why not just kill me?” Thomas spits. Excellent idea, Doc, poke the murderous lady with a stick like a god damn hornet’s nest, the tiny Virgil in his brain hisses. Her smile, somehow, only widens, and that’s . . . that can’t be good, can it? Smiles are supposed to be good! They’re supposed to make you happy, but all Thomas feels is creeping dread and pain, so much pain, and -

Yeah. He’s . . . pretty sure he has a concussion.

“Because if I kill you, you get to take the easy way out. Your suffering will end. But unlike you, I don’t put limits on my science. I know how to cause you the maximum amount of pain.”

Thomas eyes the toxin gun, but the on-screen woman just laughs. “Not yet, Thomas. We need something from you, first.”

“You already took Roman,” Thomas says. “What more can you possibly take from me?”

“You named it? You’re even weaker than I thought.”

“He told me his name, he’s not an it, he’s not a thing for you to play with and - and I -”

There’s a strange sinking feeling in Thomas’s chest as the woman onscreen laughs. “I knew you were emotional, Thomas, but I can’t believe this! It looks like I’ll have more hanging over your head than you thought.”

“You -”

“Say, Tommy-boy, have you heard from your precious little assistant recently?”

Thomas’s entire body flushes ice-cold and then white-hot, immediately struggling against his duct tape bindings despite the man tearing at his hair and shoving the gun into his neck and snapping at him to shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up before I do something we’re both gonna regret -

“Don’t you touch him!” Thomas snaps. “If you hurt him, I swear to God -”

“You’re not in a position to be making demands, and if you don’t calm down, I’ll paint your boring little lab bright red.” Thomas freezes, holding his entire body tensed like electricity is running through his blood.

There are footsteps on the stairs. “Doc? I got your text, what’s -”

“Virgil, run!” Thomas chokes. Virgil comes around the corner, holding his phone, staring at the screen in confusion. He looks up, eyes widening in horror as he takes in the scene.

“You know what to do,” the woman onscreen says. The other woman lifts her tranquilizer gun, and Thomas is sure that he’s screaming, his mouth is open and sound is coming out but his blood is rushing through his ears and his heart is pounding like waves against a boat in rough sea and he can’t - he can’t -

Virgil turns to run, but the tranquilizer dart hits in him the back of the neck and he collapses like a sack of bricks. The woman lowers her gun and jerks her head at the two remaining conscious, unoccupied mercenaries, who step forward and grab Virgil.

“Let him go!” Thomas screams, and his throat feels raw and his chest feels raw and his wrists are rubbed raw and his soul feels hollow and raw, like he’s been scraped out with a jagged piece of metal and only an empty shell remains. Virgil’s head lolls against his chest as they drag him down the grotto tunnel, and Thomas struggles and screams and stares after them until Virgil is out of sight.

His face is damp, and his eyes are burning, and he isn’t sure if it’s blood from his head wound or tears or some strange, morbid mixture of both.

“The greatest torture of which I can conceive,” the woman onscreen says, and it takes him a moment to realize that oh, she’s talking to me, “is to leave you alive, knowing that your precious little protégé is with me, and that there is nothing you can do about it.” She leans forward, and any trace of a smile is gone. “If you try to come after me, I will kill him. If you call the authorities, I will kill him. I already found you, Thomas. Don’t think I’m not watching. If I catch so much as a whiff of you planning something, his blood will be on your hands. Do you understand me?”

Thomas, numb and shocked, can’t even respond. “Knock him out and bring the specimens back to me,” the woman onscreen says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He doesn’t even feel the tranquilizer dart hit his neck, but he welcomes the sweeping darkness.

(Summary: Evil Scientist Lady has been spying on Thomas and she finds the entrance to the grotto where our mer friends have been hiding. She sends her assistant and several armed thugs to invade the lab, they drug Roman with tranquilizers and kidnap him. Thomas gets knocked around a lot and is mocked for being an ethical scientist and caring about people by Evil Scientist Lady and she gloats at him through Evil Facetime before kidnapping Virgil in the same way they did Roman, knocking Thomas unconscious, and leaving him tied to his lab chair. During this whole scene, Patton is out in the open ocean hunting and Logan is safely hidden in Virgil's room.)