#rocky starts and slow burns I suppose

[anarkhebringer]

I'm not gonna spoil anything about the exchange but uh. Arkhe and Astarion are exuding faggy energy in the Discord chat on this night

#bg3 posting #I went from struggling to get his approval rate up at every turn to these two being fruit salads in my fucking game #all in an instant #rocky starts and slow burns I suppose

[ahundredtimesover]

I Want You to Stay (02) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, prior incidence of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts and business/property devt talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 11.9k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: Hiii really touched with all the love for this story! I don’t know about you but this hits harder with all the boys away and we’re missing them so badly. But we’ve got this! 💕 But thank you thank you for all the messages (sorry I can’t get to each one!) and the interest and excitement. Hope you enjoy this one ☺️

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight  🥰

PS. If I can’t tag you, pls fix your settings!

Despite hoping that he wouldn’t, Jungkook, in fact, pushes you further away on his second day on the job. 

To his defense, it was partly your fault. You smiled at him last night - perhaps due to your delicious dinner that you didn’t even know was from him - and it disarmed him. 

The words you uttered after just flew over his head and he just nodded, too out of it to confirm what you’d said. It probably had something to do about you not coming to his penthouse, because it’s Tuesday morning and you’re still not here. He’d expected that like yesterday, you'd prepare his breakfast, and after all that transpired, debrief after yesterday’s meetings and discuss the next steps. That was his routine with Lucas, and for all the things that you seemed to know and do right - from his room design, the doneness of his eggs, and his coffee - this was a miss. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be assisting me from the start of the day?” Jungkook says over the phone, his tone sounding annoyed. “I’ve been waiting for you since 6:30.”

Your heart drops at his words, the memory from last night of him agreeing to you sticking to the same schedule you had with Hoseok suddenly feeling like some made up scenario. You remember telling Jungkook that you go straight to the office the rest of the week; you’d only go to Hoseok’s house on Mondays to prepare his clothes and brief him because he’s able to manage from Tuesday onwards. Your new boss, for some reason, perhaps misheard your question. And now you’re the one in trouble. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jeon,” you bring yourself to say, your voice in a panic because regardless of who’s in the wrong, making him wait is not a good start to his day nor yours, and especially not to your already rocky relationship. “I can get a cab then head to you.”

“So you want me to wait for you some more?” He chides, his dry laugh making you want to throw your phone just so you won’t hear his voice anymore. “Just stay wherever you are, but I want the meeting minutes from yesterday ready when I get there since you’re not here to go over them with me.”

Jungkook hangs up and your head thumping on your desk is immediate. It’s barely the start of the day and you already want to go back home and probably never come back. 

You left the office at 9 last night, knowing you were too exhausted to continue working on the annotated documents, and then got soaked in the rain on your way home. You planned on coming to work early - given that your boss didn’t require you to go to his penthouse, a claim you stand by - so you can continue, but now he wants the meeting minutes in an hour, and that isn’t usually due until three days later. 

Neglecting the sandwich you planned on eating for breakfast, you work on your notes from the first meeting and then move on to the next. Every footstep you hear makes you anxious, and you breathe a sigh of relief every time you find out it’s not him. Every minute counts and you’re thankful for each one. Until, of course, you run out of it. 

“Send them to me now and meet me in my office,” his voice echoes through the hallway that leads to his room. 

Jungkook walks straight past you and doesn’t even give you a look.

“Yes, sir,” you squeak, quickly sending the email then scurrying to where he is. 

You find him seated on his chair, his leg crossed over the other one as he goes through the notes on his iPad, his furrowed eyebrows making you sweat in worry. He doesn’t seem pleased. But from what you’ve witnessed so far, you doubt there’s much that pleases him.

He encircles words and scribbles on the sides, mumbling “incomplete,” “what does this mean,” and “this is not what I said.”

Jungkook sets the device on his desk and groans. He turns to you with a hard glare, and you clearly see just how displeased he is. Not that you have any defense - it’s your job to do what he asked in a manner that’s up to his standards - but you already felt discouraged in the morning, and your meal skipping caused you to lose focus in the afternoon, resulting in your less than satisfactory documentation of the meeting.

“Ms. Cho, do you know the value of these documents? And why I require them to be comprehensive and done on time?”

“Uh, ye-yes, sir,” you drag out.

“Why?”

It’s too early for this, you think to yourself. Clearly you know why they’re important; you’re just too tired to articulate the reasons to him. But you try, as the words form in your head. You’re about to say them when he stands from his chair and walks towards his desk, leans on the edge and then intently looks at you, as if he’s judging even the way you’re breathing or standing. And you’d probably fail, given how your body seems to cower in his presence. 

“Because decisions are made through them,” he says, drowning out your thoughts with his stern voice. “I attend numerous meetings everyday. Decision points can be buried in the discussions unless they’re documented properly. And even when they are, they’re not actioned upon immediately unless I have access to them and unless they’ve been processed and verified. I don’t leave those conference rooms and forget about what took place. They stay in my head, that’s why I ask you to write them down, and that’s why I require you to meet me first thing in the morning so that I can process them with you, and let those points guide me for the rest of the week.”

His glare continues, so does his voice getting louder. “My job isn’t just to sit around and listen to people. I make decisions. And it’s your job to make sure I have all the correct information to make them.”

“I… I understand, sir. And I… I apologize for the oversight,” you stutter, still unable to look at him. “But about this morning, uh… you, uh last night, I—”

“Was there an explicit statement from me about not having you come in the morning?”

“No, sir.”

He lets the silence draw out, perhaps to let your own words sink in. He does have a point. You stand by your claim that you’d asked, and he nodded, but you should also know that such gestures aren’t clear responses, and that’s on you to make sure that you’re both on the same page. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” you say with conviction. “I made an assumption when I should have clarified. And even then, it’s your first week as Vice President. I should be assisting you in all the ways I can.”

Jungkook watches your form, hands clasped together with your nails sinking into your skin. Your head is bowed down, unable or unwilling to look at him this whole time. He knows he’s at fault, too, but he’d never admit it; he’s not exactly the type to do that. 

You stand there in submission and a part of him wants to apologize, but that’s not the type of weakness he wants to show, not when he needs to establish authority and more importantly, distance.

“I require Lucas to still come every morning because that’s the only time we can debrief about the previous day’s activities,” he says, making his voice calmer now. “We go through the minutes, clarify things, finalize them, and then disseminate so that people don’t forget. Teams collaborate effectively when there’s accountability and when timelines are adhered to. It’s my job to make sure they comply. And that means it’s your job, too. I don’t have to remind you of your roles now do I, Ms. Cho?”

“No, sir,” you respond, finding the strength in you to finally look at him, his hardened stare still unnerving you. 

He uncrosses his arms and walks back to his seat. “My cousin and I work very differently from each other. It’s on you to adjust.” 

“Yes, Mr. Jeon,” you bow in acknowledgment. “I’ll be at your apartment at 6:30 every morning and I’ll do better with my documentation and preparation of all the files.”

Jungkook just hums then proceeds to work on something on his desktop, which you take as your cue to leave. You bow again and excuse yourself, but his voice stops you as you open the door.

“Push back this morning’s meeting to 9:00,” he says. “And make sure you have something to eat. I can’t have you be unfocused again like yesterday.”

You survive the rest of Tuesday. You eat snacks rather than proper meals, and you find that that helps you more with time and focus. The meetings for that day are less intense, but with you still figuring out exactly how Jungkook wants the documents prepared, you stay up after hours and work on them for the next day, with you constantly going over the recording to make sure that you documented everything correctly. 

You arrive at his penthouse at 6:30 every morning during the week. You make his breakfast while he takes a shower, which is really whatever’s in his fridge or pantry. He doesn’t seem to mind what you prepare for him, and you’re glad that he doesn’t find any more severe reasons to dislike you. There’s still the occasional correction of your minutes, but you chalk it up to him just being too particular. There are terms he uses that you’re not familiar with; he’s an architect by training after all.

Perhaps it’s why he’s as specific and detail-oriented as he is, and more visual than anything. Hoseok is a perfectionist like him, but the older man has everything organized in his head and then executes them, whereas Jungkook needs them all laid out before him. Whether it’s about a policy, a process, and especially a design, he makes sure they’re drawn out, and the way they all just make sense to him is immediate. 

You suppose that’s what he’s used to. Plans need representation beyond words; he doesn’t seem to be the type to use much of them, in fact, unless he’s correcting you. But that’s what you’ve noticed. At some points during the meeting, he’d draw something on his iPad and send it to you; you both discuss it the next morning, with you finding the words for it for proper documentation. 

But his mind doesn’t seem to stop, as you catch him on the way to work sometimes doodling some design on this leather notebook that he carries with him everywhere. Whether it’s the Arts Center or something else, you’re not sure, but you know that any moment he pulls it out, he’d spend a good amount of time on it before getting out of the car.

He remains distant and disengaged as you expect him to be. Unlike Hoseok who asks you how your evening went or how the trip to his house was, Jungkook doesn’t talk about anything that doesn’t concern work. And so when he isn’t talking about it, there’s just silence - whether in the car, in the elevator, or the walk to his room. There’s none of the laughter or the questions about how you’re coping with all your tasks, and there’s definitely nothing about his life that he shares. Not that you thought he would, but the difference with your old boss is striking, as you think of the times when Hoseok happily talked about the salsa studio he was at with A-yeong over the weekend or the movie they watched together the night before.

The comparisons remain in your head throughout the week. You try to focus on your responsibilities but you realize that you haven’t properly moved on from the culture and environment that you used to enjoy when Hoseok was still leading the team, and that has affected your work in obvious ways, and especially your approach to it. 

There’s anxiety with every task that Jungkook asks of you, even if they’re things you’ve done so many times in your three years as the VP’s assistant. You find yourself constantly clarifying his instructions, prompting him to question your ability to take them. You feel like he’ll be displeased regardless of what your output is, yet you still end up spending too much time going over files that you forget to eat or clock out too late. You don’t get proper sleep either, nervous about what the next day will bring. You second-guess yourself constantly, and all the confidence you built in all your time here doesn’t seem to have as strong of a foundation as you thought. 

So when you make another mistake the following Tuesday, whatever belief in yourself that you have left dissipates. 

“Ms. Cho, where is the folder?” Jungkook asks, his gaze hardening the longer you look at him without a word. 

You’re currently at a restaurant, given that your boss has a meeting with Mr. Hu, the owner of the company that produces quality materials that Jungkook wants for the Arts Center. This was scheduled just yesterday, which is also when he’d asked you to put together the rough draft plans and design that he worked on last weekend. The project is in its early stages but the plans are clear to Jungkook and he wants to secure this deal early on, especially with Mr. Hu leaving the country for a few weeks. 

You finalized this last night and left it on your desk along with the portfolios that Yoongi and the support team have been taking from your shelf. Given the week you’ve had - lack of sleep and frustration more than anything - you rushed to get ready and mistakenly took a portfolio and not the folder meant for this meeting.

“I… I’m so sorry, sir, but I seem to have taken the wrong files,” you stutter, eyes on the ground as you clutch the portfolio for support. “They… they were on my desk along with others and I left them in the office.”

There’s a long pause before Jungkook speaks, the irritation clear in his voice.

“Do you at least have a soft copy?”

“It’s on a USB, sir,” you reply, nervously raising your head. “I left it as well.”

You try your hardest not to look at him, even if it seems like he wants you to, just so you can see the burning way he does it. Because you feel him huffing, you can see how he’s clenching his fists as he controls what he’s feeling, which is definitely anger towards your stupid mistake. 

Jungkook clears his throat before turning back to the man seated across from him, his voice apologetic as he explains that you weren’t able to bring it. 

“Ah, what a shame,” Mr. Hu says, judgingly glancing at you. “I was really looking forward to seeing your plans, Jungkook. I could’ve advised my people to check on the materials you want this early.”

“I’m really sorry,” Jungkook says. “Perhaps I can email them over to you?”

“Oh don’t bother, I’ll be chasing the Italian sun for the next three weeks,” the older man chuckles. “I’ll see you when I get back. By then, I hope you and your assistant have sorted things out and could give me actual information about what you want.”

“We will, I assure you,” Jungkook says, before saying goodbye to him.

He walks past you and you follow, with no words said as you both wait for the car and enter. 

You can hear him panting, and you know enough that's due to an extreme emotion he can’t express. He won’t look at or say anything to you, and that feels more terrifying. 

His phone rings, and not only does the person on the other line talk about what just happened, you happen to hear it, too.

“Hey, I heard what happened with the big boss,” the man says. “Did you really go to the meeting unprepared?”

“It wasn’t me, but yeah, what a mess,” Jungkook huffs, his head leaning back on the chair, his eyes closed as he calms himself down. “What did he say? Is he angry?”

“Nah. You’re a Jeon; he can’t be. He was just a bit annoyed because he was supposed to have a meeting with another client but he chose to see you.”

“Fuck. What an embarrassment,” Jungkook groans.

“Well, he does have high praises for your father.”

“And this is his first time working with me. My dad’s gonna hear about it and give me shit for it.”

“Just another normal day at the office, right?” The man laughs. “So, was it your assistant that screwed up?”

Jungkook hums his yes, knowing you’re two seats away from him, although he’s unsure if you can hear their conversation. For your sake, he hopes you can’t.

“See? This is why you should’ve taken Lucas! That guy was always two steps ahead of you.”

“That’s what I said, but when are my requests ever granted? Never. Another normal day at the office, huh?”

“If she’s pretty, maybe you can forgive them and just suffer through her incompetence,” the man laughs again. “I mean, she’s got to have some redeeming quality somehow. If she doesn’t, that just sucks for you.”

“You really enjoy making fun of my misfortunes, huh?” Jungkook huffs.

“Just sometimes. Not used to you not having your way, that’s all.”

“Well, nothing is going my way, that's for sure. But whatever, I’ll figure it out. Make sure Mr. Hu holds out for me, okay? I need you to help me this time.”

“Hey, I may laugh at your misfortunes but I always have your back,” the man says. “Good luck, VP. I’ll see you soon.”

Jungkook drops the call and you feel him glance at you but you remain stiff on your seat, unwilling to move nor look anywhere else that isn’t your lap. You’re glad that he decides to close his eyes for the rest of the ride, though, so you take your chance to shift towards the window and watch the buildings fly by, willing your tears not to fall.

You hold out until you arrive at the building. That is, until Jungkook heads straight to his room and asks you to follow. 

“Own up to your mistake and look at me,” he says, his voice seeping with disdain. 

You lift your head and meet his eyes, his gaze piercing right through you and you’re unable to move, to speak. But you try - a futile attempt, really - at appealing to the compassionate side of him, if it even exists. 

“I’m so, so sorry Mr. Jeon,” you plead for forgiveness. “I didn’t mean to forget the folder. It’s been a tough week and—”

“A tough week?” he mocks, his voice getting louder now. “As if you’re the only one who’s had one? I come here and find myself doing your job. I spent the weekend drafting the designs because I need that deal early only for you to screw it up! My father’s been on to me about this project and I need everything done right but I can’t seem to because my assistant, who’s supposed to be assisting me, can’t even get the most basic things done. All you had to do was bring the folder. You didn’t even have a contingency plan of having a soft copy. Were you not trained for this role?” 

You visibly shake but Jungkook doesn’t let up.

“Answer me.”

“I… I was, Mr. Jeon,” you tremble. “I know I’m not the smartest but I work hard and I—”

“You work hard?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In what?”

“In preparing your files and organizing everything for you and…” you try. 

A month ago, you’d be saying these things and more with so much conviction.  But all it took was one Jeon Jungkook to break you down and make you doubt every single skill you’ve developed and been praised for the past few years.

“And I can criticize each of those tasks in just this one week you’ve been my assistant.”

“I… I just needed guidance, sir, because it’s a new—”

“I need guidance. I need assisting,” he sneers. “My father wanted me to keep you because you apparently know how things are supposed to be done but you’re asking for guidance from me?”

There’s silence on your end and you’ve never felt as small as you do right now. The way Mrs. Byun abused her power over you and humiliated you during your first years here continues to be unmatched, but being treated this way by a man whose family you respect somehow hurts you more. 

You want to give up now. You’ll lose everything if you decide to just quit but it’s not like there’s much left of you to go by anyway, given the week that you’ve had. But if there’s anything your mother taught you is that the lowest you can go is when you don’t fight for yourself, so you gather what little dignity you have left and look him in the eyes. 

“You do things very differently from Mr. Jung like you said, and I admire your thoroughness,” you start, trying your hardest to calm the tone of your voice. “You’re adjusting to your new role with a new team and a new assistant that you didn’t choose but somehow you have to trust and that’s unnerving if you’re used to being in control of everything. With all due respect, however, perhaps if you let the people around you adjust as well, we would all find a way to work together effectively and respectfully. A little bit of compassion wouldn’t hurt, and it goes a long way.”

At his silence, you continue, digging your nails deeper into your skin to help you remain stable.

“I apologize for all the mistakes this past week. I know it has been unpleasant for you as well. I’ll do better, that I can promise. But if the way I work is not something that is up to your standard, then there’s only one thing to do. Me quitting would put you in a worse light; you can fire me if you think it is best,” you bravely state. “I can deal with the consequences.”

Jungkook continues to just look at you, unable to say anything this time. Perhaps he isn’t used to someone speaking to him like this. Maybe he’s finding the right words to hit you back and break you even more. The tiniest part of you wants to think you’ve softened him up a bit; hopefully he’ll be less angry at you the next time.

“Is there anything you need me to work on, Mr. Jeon?”

“No,��� he answers. “Just hold off all calls for me for the next hour. I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Understood, Mr. Jeon.” 

You bow and head out the door. 

Jungkook watches you leave, and the farther you become, the more he wishes you’d stay.

He’s unsure why. Perhaps it’s the way you spoke to him, similar to the way you did the first time you met over a week ago - with conviction and grace despite you putting him in his place. Maybe it’s him, trying to find the words to apologize without seeming weak, or to encourage you without being comfortable. The tiniest part of him just wants you around; he doesn’t know what it is about you but he finds himself feeling intense emotions because of you - frustration, fear, and an overwhelming feeling of sadness and regret. 

He returns to his seat and glances through the window, the angle of his chair allowing him to see you outside, although he’s unsure if you’re able to see him. Either way, it’s not like you’ve ever looked his way anyway, so he feels a little safe doing this now. 

You’re seated and turned away from the desk, with your fingers pressing over both your ears, as if you’re blocking out the sounds of the room; perhaps you’re blocking out his voice that’s probably still echoing in your head. He’d seen you do this last week, too, after you failed to show up at his penthouse in the morning. He thinks it’s your way of dealing with stress, a quiet one, in contrast to boxing like what he prefers to do. It’s the only time he’d ever allow himself to express anything, after all, other than getting mad at you apparently. 

You finally turn around, but it’s not long after when Do-hyun arrives and takes your place, leaving him to wonder where you’re off to. He focuses on his work like he meant to do, opting to read and send emails while he calms himself down. His eyes always turn to your desk, though, and when he sees that he’s halfway done but you’re still not back, he decides to head out.

“Mr. Jeon,” Do-hyun stands up and greets him. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Where’s Ms. Cho?”

“She had to go to the washroom so she asked me to cover for her first,” she responds. “But, uh… She’s been gone for half an hour. I… I’m not sure what she’s up to but I can—.”

It’s at that moment when you return, and the way that both Do-hyun and Jungkook look at you that you know they can tell. You can’t exactly cry for 20 minutes and then expect to ease the swelling of your eyes for the next 10. But you act like nothing’s amiss, so you dismiss the younger woman and turn to Jungkook.

“Was there something that you needed from me, Mr. Jeon?” You ask nonchalantly.

“Just, uh…” he stutters now, taken aback by the casual way you speak to him despite your glassy eyes. “I’m meeting the CEO and President tomorrow to discuss the Arts Center. Put the initial plans in presentation format and send it to me first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, sir,” you respond, returning to your seat and not sparing him another glance. 

You work on the presentation in between the other things you need to finish. You draft memos and letters for Jungkook’s approval, and it’s half past 4 when you enter his room to have them signed. 

“I’m heading out at 5 for dinner,” he says as he signs the documents. “I’ve added points on the shared file for the presentation. Make sure to include those.”

“I will, sir.”

There’s a brief moment where you and Jungkook just look at each other, words swimming in your own heads that neither of you wants to say out loud.

You wish he’d offer an apology.

He wishes you’d say that you’re okay.

You want to tell him that the Arts Center already sounds amazing; you hope it turns out the way he imagines.

He wants to tell you that he won’t fire you, that despite how he’s been, he doesn’t want you to go anywhere.

But the moment passes and then it’s gone. You bow once more and then head out the door. 

He leaves at exactly 5, merely nodding at you as he leaves. 

Jungkook sees you again that evening, four hours later as he drives home after having dinner with Seokjin and Taehyung, the brothers he’d grown up with. The office is on the way, and it’s near the bus stop where he spots you, trying to catch a cab that someone always gets to before you do. 

The rain has started to pour, and his anxiety builds; he was never fond of it, given the memory it holds. But it’s you in your thin coat that suspends that for a while. You’re clearly shivering, unable to get a ride, and getting wet from the downpour. You cross the street, seemingly just submitting to the weather, and you disappear amongst the crowd of people just trying to get home. 

He checks his phone as he gets a message and sees the email you sent 20 minutes ago - the presentation he’d asked you to submit in the morning. This is you, making up for today, he guesses. He’s why you’re braving the rain. If he’s being honest, he’s why you’re suffering at all, and he can’t help the way his heart stings at the thought. 

The convenience store is bright and dry unlike the streets outside, and that’s why there’s a substantial amount of people seeking shelter from the downpour that came out of nowhere. 

You welcome the rain. It served as a distraction when you were growing up and your mother’s ex-partner would yell nonstop. You’d hide in your room and cover your ears like your mother taught you to do. When she was able, she’d stay with you and cover your ears with her own hands and tell you that it’s gonna be okay, that even if you can’t stop the scary sounds, you can drown them out enough that they’ll stop bothering you. 

You didn’t think you’d ever do so again but you’ve done that twice in one week, and all it took was one Jeon Jungkook to lecture you about what your job entails. He didn’t yell, but his voice was still piercing, firm and low as if he reserves that intensity for instances of pure frustration. 

That kind of thing takes a lot out of someone. It’s different when a boss is out to abuse their power and take advantage of you. Mrs. Byun made you do her work so she could spend her lunches out and then take credit for outputs without acknowledging you. She sucked up to the directors to overcompensate for not knowing how to answer their questions. And then she had the guts to embarrass you and call you out in front of the team for not being able to do your primary tasks, which was only because you were doing hers. It took a while but her incompetence caught up to her and her departure felt like freedom. But the experience with her was constricting, suffocating, humiliating. It was dehumanizing, too, as you went home to an empty apartment every night, feeling less and less of yourself.

But the way Jungkook treats you hits differently. You’ve survived the worst and ended up in a good spot under Hoseok’s leadership where you built your confidence. During those years, you felt capable, like you were trusted; you felt that your hard work earned you respect. 

Now, you feel all that crumbling. You feel exposed, bare; as if you’re realizing you’re not that good after all. How you’ve been isn’t like you. You’re meticulous, analytical; you’ve sat in so many meetings as an observer and know how things work, how the directors think, and the kinds of outputs expected from you. But recently, you find yourself just lost, questioning everything all the time, and so incapable.

You let yourself feel the burden weigh you down as you eat a small cup of noodles and call it dinner. You walk down the aisles and pick out your favorite snacks, first eating the roasted almonds as you head out the door. 

The rain has let up, with but a drizzle left this late evening. You catch the bus and munch on pepero and chocopie this time. You’re in your neighborhood by the time you tear open the frosted mini donuts. You’ve been mindlessly eating the whole time, but once you get off your stop, you start walking towards the community center. The public library is closed but something about sitting outside the door gives you comfort, just like it used to when you were growing up.

Your mom couldn’t really afford daycare. She’d spend her lunch break picking you up from school then dropping you off at a library where her friend worked; that nice woman always looked after you until your mom came back to pick you up. Some days when she wanted to take you away from the mess that was her partner, she’d take you there, too. 

You read mostly picture books and colored on your coloring book and played with your paper dolls. Even as you grew up, you didn't really read; you just liked that the library was quiet, comfortable, that it made you feel safe. 

Your phone beeps and you see a photo that your mother has just sent of her dry living room floor. 

[From: Mom] it isn’t leaking anymore! 

You smile, imagining her sigh of relief and the way she’s probably humming about the house. You decide to call her; another bit of comfort would definitely help.

“Hi, darling,” she answers after the first ring. “Min-woo went to the hardware store when he arrived in the afternoon so he could fix the roof. What a relief.”

“That’s great, mom,” you reply, wishing you were back home with her. “You can have a good sleep tonight, then.”

“I will. What about you?”

“I hope so.”

“Have you had dinner?”

“Hmm, yeah,” you hum. 

“And where are you now?”

“Outside the library,” you say. 

There’s silence that comes after, a way in which you both say things without words sometimes. Your mom is good at that, and even if you can’t see her, you know there’s love in her eyes. And even if she can’t see you, she knows there’s sadness in yours. 

“So, work has been tough lately, am I right?”

Even without any confirmation, she already knows. She probably knew when you said that everything was fine after she asked how things were going during your visit over the weekend. She probably picked up the faintness of your smile and the way you fell asleep on her lap while you both watched TV and she combed your hair like she always did. 

“The new boss is quite hard on me,” you admit. “He expects too much, asks me to do too much… I’m trying but I keep making mistakes. I’m missing things I normally don’t. I’m not like this, mom. I… I’m better than this.”

“Oh, darling,” she sighs, wishing she’d hugged you a little tighter before you left. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this. Maybe you’re still adjusting. That’s valid, you know? It’s only been a week.”

“Yeah, but he acts like he’s the only one who needs to adjust and that I just magically know how to do things his way,” you groan. “It… it just makes me feel like I’m not good enough. That I… that I shouldn’t be here.”

“___, you didn’t suffer through your first few years there just so you would continue to doubt yourself,” she responds. “You deserve your role, regardless of what he thinks. You work hard and that means everything.”

“Not to him apparently. Even if I work hard, if it’s not up to his standards, it doesn’t mean anything. I can’t even do anything about it because he’s the CEO’s son.” 

“You can quit, you know?” She says after a beat of silence. “You don’t have to stay if it’s too much, and especially if it’s unfair. Just because you know you can handle it, doesn’t mean you should.”

The thought settles in your head. You did just tell Jungkook that you’d rather he fire you, which honestly terrifies you because much as he’s insufferable, you do need this job. Helping your mom over the weekend reminded you of that. From the health insurance to the salary, you don’t have to worry too much because you can finally repay her for all her hard work in raising you, in protecting you, in surviving for you. 

“I know,” you sigh. “Maybe I just let the tough first days get to me.”

“Whatever it is, you shouldn’t suffer. And you definitely shouldn’t suffer alone,” she advises. “I’m glad you came over during the weekend even if for unpleasant reasons. I got to hug you even if I didn’t know you needed it.”

“I always need it, mom,” you admit. “I don’t have to say it. It’s the only one I get anyway.”

“Well, it’s because it’s the only one you accept,” she points out. 

“True,” you laugh. “But I… I’ll do better. I’ll get my head straight tonight and treat tomorrow like my first day and you know, show him I’m capable.”

“That’s good. And you can come over again this weekend if you want. The storm should be gone by then. The girls want to go to the park. I know they’d love to hang out with you. If you don’t have plans of course.”

“You know I only ever have actual weekend plans when Jimin and Soomin visit me. But yes, I can take the trip on Saturday. If Jungkook wants me to do any work… screw him.”

Your mother laughs, only because she knows you don’t mean it. You know it, too. Regardless of how you think of your boss or your job, you know the value of your work, and you’re not one to sacrifice it for any reason. 

“Are you feeling better, darling?”

“Yeah,” you smile. “The rain’s stopped somehow. I needed to be here. And I… I needed to hear your voice.”

“Good. You know you can call whenever. I don’t have to summon you with photos of a roof or grilled makchang or something every time.”

“I know. And I will. I’ll see you soon.”

You drop the call and start walking back home. Talking with your mom is the strength you need to get through such a tough day. It doesn’t change your situation; maybe Jungkook will still be upset with you in the morning but you’ll handle it, just like you handled all the difficult times before. 

Your mother taught you something else - it was grace. You’d fight back if you need to, but you can always do it with gentleness; sometimes that works wonders, especially if you can’t afford to respond with rage. 

You’re quite nervous walking to Jungkook’s penthouse the next morning. 

Before he left last night, you were sporting glassy and swollen eyes, after all; it wouldn’t have taken much for him to know what you were up to by being away from your desk for half an hour. But you’d been too upset to think of what he would think about it, so you acted like it was nothing when you returned to your seat, took note of his instructions, and watched him walk out. No other words were spoken and quite frankly, you don’t know what either of you could have said after what transpired. It’s a new day, though, and like you told your mother, you’ll just focus on your work and try to get that old version of yourself back, the one you’d felt slipped away this past week.

You enter the front door - as he’d told you to just go in so you don’t disrupt his workout - and immediately hear the loud sounds of leather hitting leather. He seems to be aggressively punching the sandbag, with more evidence of it coming in the form of his deep and successive breaths that you can hear as you walk towards the kitchen. You stop on your tracks, though, as a pair of red laced underwear lays crumpled on the floor.

That definitely wasn’t there yesterday morning so it must’ve been from last night. You’re not one to judge; he did have a frustrating day that you caused and releasing all that stress in this way is understandable. You just wish he had the courtesy to clean up, knowing that his assistant would be coming but then again, you also don’t know if that’s too much to ask of him.

You don’t realize that you’ve been staring at the underwear until you hear him, his deep breaths in tandem with his steps. You walk towards the counter and set him a glass of water before he notices what’s got your attention, but he still does, as he stops at the spot where you were and lets out a grunt. 

From your periphery, you see him pick up the piece of lingerie then throw it in the trash. You turn to him and bow in greeting, and Jungkook merely nods, the slightest of head tilts to acknowledge your presence, seemingly avoiding your eyes, even as you ask what he prefers to eat this morning. You’d like to think that in the recesses of his bitter heart, there’s remorse over yesterday at least, if not over the past few days. But you’ll take it; his silence is better than anything at this moment. 

You follow him towards his bedroom, stopping briefly as you look around and make sure you’re not intruding. You’re unsure if the woman is still here, but he picks up on that.

“She’s gone,” he says, walking to his bathroom. “I never make them stay.”

It’s a part of his life that you’ve only heard of. The gossip that Do-hyun hears from the washrooms in the office may be true, considering his weeknight bang and the left-behind underwear on the kitchen floor. He still had some energy based on his morning workout though, and you don’t know why the thought of him fucking someone and then boxing in the morning is making you feel hot all over. 

You snap yourself out of it, knowing it’s inappropriate and definitely not what you should be worrying about. He’s a stressed, obviously attractive, and rich bachelor; you’re not surprised he’d have women at his beck-and-call and be nonchalant about it.

You walk inside his closet and choose the shoes and accessories he’ll wear today before heading back to the kitchen to prepare his breakfast. He walks in 30 minutes later, and you approach him to fix his collar and his tie like you always do, now getting used to his natural scent with hints of jasmine and bergamot. Your eyes focus on the silk necktie, hoping you’re able to control your nervous breathing being this close to him. 

He may still be annoyed at you and you may be invading his space, and the realization makes you step away quickly, taking his plate from the counter and placing it on the dining table. You open your iPad and go through the presentation he asked you to do, surprised that he’s already added a few things.

“Is the presentation final, Mr. Jeon?” You ask. “I see you’ve already looked through it.”

“Sort of,” he responds. “I woke up at 5 and reviewed it before my workout. Let’s go over them now.”

He looks through his iPad as he eats, going over each slide with you as if he’s practicing. The more he speaks, the more you envision the Arts Center and how he wants it done. The way he puts together the ideas into a coherent design is impressive. You almost see it as he does, and much as you thoroughly dislike him right now, for the sake of all the good things that this center will do for people, you really want him to succeed. 

You remind him of a few more things before he finishes his meal, and it’s not long after when you’re in the car, the silence thickening the tension between the two of you once more. This continues until you reach the office, and you breathe a sigh of relief at the distance between the both of you now. 

While you do feel better, the anxiety remains. You don’t want to mess up. And as you enter his room to give him papers to sign and you see him going through his presentation while the leather notebook he was drawing on earlier lays open on the desk, you find yourself also just not wanting to disappoint him. He clearly works hard and despite his treatment of you, you want things to work out for him. 

It’s an hour later when you’re both walking towards the elevator to head to the conference room on the CEO’s floor. It’s just Jungkook with his father and cousin today where he’ll present the initial plans for their comments and their verbal endorsement of the draft budget. 

It’s a massive project that’s working within strict timelines and Jungkook is adamant on getting this ready by mid-next year. You can tell how much he wants to deliver this well - the board of directors would be his next audience and a boost of confidence would be much needed. 

You make him a cup of coffee the way he likes and sit next to him. The distance allows you to keep your eyes away from him; with the pressure he’s under, you don’t exactly want to be close to where you can easily trigger him. 

CEO Jeon and Hoseok arrive, greeting you with their bright smiles, a reprieve from the stoic looks and tight-lipped and furrowed brows you get from Jungkook everyday.

“Hi, Ms. Cho,” CEO Jeon says. “A week has passed, huh? How has it been?”

“Challenging,” you say honestly, “but still good. I’m learning new things, Mr. Jeon.”

“That’s good,” he smiles, glancing at his son whose eyes are focused on his laptop. The elder seems unconvinced by your half smile but he nods, turning back to you. “By the way, I heard on the news that the typhoon hit your hometown pretty badly. How’s your mother and her family? Mr. Ri mentioned that there was an incident over the weekend. Is everything okay?”

You’re used to CEO Jeon asking things like this prior to meetings. He believes it’s a way to release certain feelings and not keep them hidden, and while you don’t really want to talk about it right now, you appreciate the concern. 

“She, uh. A large tree fell over our house last Saturday,” you say, to the surprise of both CEO and President. “I had to travel in the morning to help my mom. A portion of the roof was damaged and she had to call a company to fix it. Min-woo and the girls were away and mom didn’t want to deal with the workers since she was alone so I had to stay over the weekend.”

“That’s unfortunate,” the elder Jeon laments. “How is your house now? And your mom?”

“The roof is sealed. But she slipped on some debris and had to be assisted; she was being stubborn about it. She’s okay, though.”

“Ah, it must’ve been a tough few days. And for you, too,” Hoseok says. “I mean, given all the work and then having to be there for her. I’m sorry, ___.  But I’m glad she’s doing better. Tell her I send my regards, okay?”

“I will, thank you.”

Jungkook tries not to look affected as the older men ask you more details about what happened that he, of course, didn’t know about. There’s that guilt over how he treated you yesterday, learning now what you had to do over the weekend. You don’t seem the type to blame any oversight or mistake on something like that, but he would know that the tiredness and preoccupation could definitely affect things. Even more, he’d implied that you don’t work hard and that you’re being a burden to him, which is far from the truth. 

The conversation ends and he’s unable to look at you, as he stands from his seat to begin his presentation. Everything is set up, including a pointer and a marker and a glass of warm water on his side. He proceeds, presenting his design, the materials, the budget, and the timeline. 

You take note of all his answers to the questions and the ideas he comes up with on the spot, with him repeating things and stating how he wants certain points written down. You’re immersed in your own task, feeling like you’ve found your rhythm because you’ve done this so many times but the fear got ahead of you. This morning, it’s as if you’re in your element again, and there’s relief that fills you this time.  

The meeting is moved to a restaurant after the third hour. There’s an event that the CEO suggests that Jungkook’s team organize as a way to build linkages with the arts and culture networks, making sure that the younger Jeon becomes known in those fields as well. 

You have to go by memory as you listen and eat your meal, but the distance from Jungkook remains. You merely nod at his words and avoid looking at him unless you need to. It’s your way of getting over last night, you think. You still have his look of frustration etched in your mind and it’s still a bit fresh; you’d need at least another day before you can look at him normally again. You hope that other than Jungkook himself, no one notices. 

But you suppose you’ve underestimated Hoseok’s ability to pick up on your behavior; it’s one of his strengths as a leader, after all. He’s always been good at reading people, a skill that Jungkook clearly didn’t develop. 

“Hey.”

“Mr. Jung,” you greet, a wave of nostalgia hitting you because his smile is one you used to see everyday, regardless of how stressed he was. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“No, not really. It’s just been over a week but I’m still getting used to the bigger office and the new secretary but I just wanted to check in,” Hoseok says. “You and Jungkook have been very busy, I rarely catch either of you.”

“Well, he wanted to get all the introductions out of the way so he can focus on the Arts Center,” you reply. “There’s a lot happening with that one so he’s in meetings and calls all the time.”

“Ah, of course. It’s a good design and I’m sure it’ll boost the local arts scene. He got inspired during his travels in the Southeast Asia sites and has been talking about it for years. It’s good he has the freedom to work on this now.”

You merely nod, not having much to say about your boss’ passion project that’s just made him angry and frustrated. Quite frankly, you don’t know how he is when he isn’t working on such high-pressure matters, but you can already tell he isn’t someone you’d want to be around in any other context. 

“But how about you? Are you getting enough rest? All these meetings and then traveling home on the weekend is tiring, ___. I hope you’re looking out for your health.”

“I am,” you try to assure him. “I can handle it.”

You smile before shifting your eyes to your desktop screen, not wanting to look at him any longer because a second more and you’d probably burst into tears. Experiencing Hoseok’s kindness for these few minutes has just reminded you of what you constantly miss - that feeling of safety and care, of someone looking out for you and not holding you back. 

“I’m glad you are,” he smiles again, holding your gaze when you glance at him, and Hoseok hopes that in this short moment of calm, he’s able to give comfort that he just knows you need. “Anyway, I just wanted to drop by. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“I’ll see you, Hoseok.” And as if you knew why he came over in the first place, you add, “and thank you.”

Jungkook sighs in frustration as he watches your fading smile before returning to type away on your desktop. He was about to call you to ask for a project portfolio on the shelf but stopped once he saw you talking to his cousin. You seemed a tad bit lighter than usual; Jungkook could only assume it’s your natural state, even if all he’s seen of you is that of perpetual worry and stress. 

He thinks to himself that a part of that is because of him. Maybe a big part, he admits. He wouldn’t have known about your town in Daegu or that your mother resides there and that you had to go home over the weekend, hence, your oversight yesterday. He’s at least decent enough to acknowledge that he shouldn’t have been so harsh on you in the first place. He’s just not used to things not going his way; he wonders now what the people under him suffered through to make sure of that.

Not wanting to disturb you, he decides to get the portfolio himself, so he exits his room and leans on your desk, his eyebrows scrunched as he reads through the spine labels of the folders. He doesn’t notice you stand up and attempt to ask what he needs but he does find it, reaching over on the third shelf for it. 

“I could’ve gotten that for you,” you huff.

Jungkook spots a small pout as you utter the words, disarming him a little.

“It’s… it’s fine,” he mumbles, willing his mind to go back to what he was thinking about before you said something, which is the other project he wants to look at. 

But you pick up on his words. “Seongbuk, 2021,” you repeat. 

You look up and know exactly where the portfolio for that project is. You drag your stool with your foot and walk up the steps, carefully pulling out the folder and underestimating just how heavy it is. But before it can slip out of your fingers, Jungkook gets a hold of it, his right hand gripping the spine while his left palm supports your back. 

You stiffen when you realize just how close he is to you then step down the stool, somehow nervous to look at him.

“I, uh, sorry. You were about to fall.”

You stiffen again because he didn’t just apologize, did he? Your eyes are glued to the ground and you don’t see Jungkook’s surprised look.

Because he did just that. What felt more alarming than his apology was that it had been a reflex for him to have his hand behind you, his heart leaping a bit because you really were close to falling. An injured version of you isn’t something he wants to deal with, and he convinces himself that it’s because it would look absolutely terrible for his assistant to get hurt on the job, and especially in his presence. 

“Is that all you need, Mr. Jeon?”

“Uh, yes,” he responds. “Be, uh, be careful.”

He takes both folders and heads back to his room, his face buried in the pages as you sneak a glance at him from the window.

“So, how’s the second week as VP going?” Hoseok asks his cousin from across the table of their favorite Japanese restaurant during their Friday lunch. “Worse than the first?”

Jungkook, not keen on answering truthfully, merely shrugs. 

“Well, I can bet you though that ___ is definitely having it worse than last week.”

“Did she say anything? About me specifically?” Jungkook asks, his curious eyes telling Hoseok that it’s more of concern than anger. 

“Of course not. She’s there to protect you, Kook, not tell on you. Is there something to say? About you specifically?”

Jungkook knows how well his cousin can read people, especially him. They’d grown up together after all, and had gotten close because the older man always stayed next to him, knowing how shy little Jungkook used to be. So he narrates what happened - that he’d gotten angry, that he was being too strict, that he wasn’t leaving you room for adjustment. He’d of course excluded his own oversight and need to establish distance and authority, chalking it up to not having the familiarity and conveniences he’d been used to back in Singapore. 

“I feel like working with father even closer now, it’s like I’m under a microscope,” Jungkook continues. “I don’t wanna mess up. I just don’t wanna give him a reason to criticize or question me.”

“Well, if he learns about how it’s been with ___, he’ll do exactly those things,” Hoseok responds. “He cares about his people, you know? I’m sure that’s the one thing he wants you to do right.”

“Can’t say I’d know. It’s not like he’s any more compassionate than I am. We’re talking about a man who yells at the managers who can’t get things done right.”

“They were abusing their power, that’s why,” Hoseok explains. “And I’m not here to defend the man - I’ve been on the receiving end of his anger twice and saw how he’d push people to their near breaking point a few times but he’s not a terrible person. I’ve seen him be understanding and caring to his staff way more; you just haven’t been around that much.”

“It’s not what I saw growing up.”

“Well, we remember what we want, and forget the parts that don’t make sense to us.”

Jungkook stays silent as he munches on his steak.

“He wants to get closer to you, you know?” Hoseok continues. “He hopes that with you being around, he can mentor you, learn from you. All those years that you were home, you felt so far away from him, farther away than Jeong-sik who wasn’t even here, and he doesn’t know why.”

“He can’t expect to be a rich, ambitious businessman and be close to his son,” Jungkook huffs. “All he ever cared about when I was growing up was work. Sure, he had rare good moments, but we all know it was to compensate for always being too busy. He pressured me to do well at school then missed awarding ceremonies. He scheduled some family time then left me and my brother in some cabin in the woods by ourselves. He wants to work with me here then disallows my requests. What does he want from me?”

“Your time, I suppose. Maybe your understanding, too.”

“Did he give those to me when I was younger? He had so many chances these past 30 years and he wants those now?”

“People are complicated, Kook. Sometimes they lose sight of what’s important, of what’s in front of them… doesn’t mean they’re bad people,” Hoseok says. “And it doesn’t mean they don’t deserve a second chance. I mean, don’t we all want that? Don’t we all grow out of our bad habits and just yearn for something good?”

“Not everyone does that.”

“Maybe not, but your father has. And he just wants another chance. And whether or not it was her fault, I’m sure ___ wants that, too.”

“Did you really ask me to treat you to lunch only to advocate for the people I don’t really care much about?” Jungkook laughs bitterly. 

“No,” Hoseok chuckles. “I really wanted to try it here. But also, uncle took me out to drinks before you arrived and was all honest with me, which was a little weird but I guess he thought he could get some perspective from you through me. And ___ was my assistant and I think highly of her. It’s upsetting how things started for you both. I guess I just feel kind of caught in the middle between you and the people you actually care about. So yes, I deserve this free lunch.”

Jungkook doesn’t correct his cousin, more for the fact that Hoseok really does get caught in the middle - always has, even between him and his older brother whom Jungkook never really got along with; it definitely isn’t because he acknowledges that he cares about you. There’s no reason for him to feel that; you’re just his assistant, after all. 

Being beautiful and capable and hardworking doesn’t have anything to do with being cared about. 

“I… I admit being too hard on ___. I get that she’s good and stuff but maybe that fits with your leadership style more,” Jungkook tries to reason. “Maybe she just thrives in a team where she’s led by someone like you, someone who’s good with people and who’s process-oriented and I don’t know, someone who isn’t as tough or meticulous like me.”

“I’m sorry, Kook, but you sound stupid. You clearly don’t know anything about her. She’s experienced all the lows - the disrespect from the men, the abuse of power from the women, all the long hours and ridiculous deadlines, the loudest of yells and the craziest demands,” Hoseok exclaims. “She’s been here for just eight years but it feels more. Sometimes I don’t know why she stayed but I’m glad she did, selfishly, and that’s because she helped me so much. Are you… are you giving her reasons to leave so you can have Lucas with you?”

“No,” Jungkook dismisses the thought, although he does admit it entered his mind before he even started. “I’m just… not used to her. And the mishaps didn’t help. I just wanna be able to do my job and do it right.”

“And you will, if you just loosen up a bit and give her a chance to show you that she can help you. It’s just that I’m not seeing that same joy and energy in her eyes and her smile,” Hoseok explains. “I was thinking last Wednesday that maybe it was because of her mom but during the meeting this morning, it was the same. I’d hate to think that’s because of you. Because if it is and she’s thinking of resigning, I won’t stop her. I might even suggest it to her. “

The thought of you being gone causes a lump in Jungkook’s throat. It’s selfish, really, because despite how he treats you, he still wants you here. It’s just as silly, and stupid, and something he doesn’t have a clear reason for. But other than his cousin not trusting that he could treat you fairly, it’s the possibility that you might just quit yourself, something you seem to be capable and willing to do. And that voluntary departure is something he doesn’t want to deal with. Once you leave, you’ll just be gone; he won’t have a reason to seek you. 

“I’ll do better,” Jungkook finally says. “I’ll stop being such a pain in the ass and be… kinder, I guess.”

“She’ll probably see right through you if you fake it,” Hoseok laughs. “Just be fair. Trust me, that’s what she’d want, too. Correct her if you need to, but do it constructively. And please, try to smile every once in a while. It won’t hurt you. Nor would it ruin whatever tough guy image you have.”

Jungkook playfully rolls his eyes but he lets out a chuckle. His cousin won’t ever let go of the fact that 18-year old Jungkook had his first tattoo because he wanted to look tough. 

“I still have to establish authority, Hoseok. I can’t do it like you do.”

“Well, you’re missing out. Smiling always makes you feel a hundred times better.”

“She’ll probably see right through me if I fake it,” Jungkook repeats his cousin’s words almost mockingly. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows I’m not… cheerful. It’s like, how I’m compared to you.”

The two start walking back and Hoseok takes a jab at the younger man. “Actually, I heard that I’m the handsome one, too, and the stable guy, the family man, the man you’d take home to meet your parents…”

Jungkook laughs along. He agrees, and while it was not Hoseok’s intention at all, it does make Jungkook wonder even hours later - given all the things that characterize him, which are nothing like the older man’s - who would want him? Who would even take a chance on him? Who would even think it’s worth it to be with him?

Chaerin did, and then he self-sabotaged and lost her. Maybe the women he meets at clubs and takes home, but then all they want is a good time anyway, just like him. Maybe it’s someone he’s never met, but he also doesn't know how to be someone that someone else would love. 

Maybe there isn’t any. And maybe that isn’t so bad. Perhaps he’d have to start getting used to that fact; it’s easier than realizing he’s not meant to be with someone after all. 

He pauses the thought and decides that’s for the weekend version of him to lament over. This Friday afternoon, he’s focused on firming up the project details with the design and logistics teams. He’d just finished his meeting with them, with you barely looking his way just like you’ve done throughout the week - which he can’t fault you for because he was doing the same - and he’s back in his room to coordinate with other units. 

You, on the other hand, seem to be fixated on the quarterly reports that you’ll be handing over to him. It’s past 5 and he knows you’ll be staying up late again, given that he’d ordered you at the start of the week to finish the reviews by Friday. He’s given you too much to do, and after everything he’s done, letting you off early is a way for him to apologize without actually apologizing. 

He picks up the phone and calls you.

“How many reports do you have left to review?” He asks.

“Three more, Mr. Jeon,” you answer. “I’ll finish them tonight, please just give me another hour and a half.”

“Are you going home to see your mother tomorrow?” 

“Uh, yes, sir. I leave in the morning,” you say, curious at the question that you never thought he’d ask.

“You should clock out now, then.”

“Oh, but the reports, sir. I—”

“It’s okay,” he says, surprising you. “I’ll be busy with Arts Center details this weekend so I won’t have time to sign off on the reports anyway so you can continue them on Monday.”

You’re too shocked to speak that it doesn’t register that you’re indeed not saying anything.

“Ms. Cho?” Jungkook repeats your name.

“Oh, uh, yes, as long as it’s okay, Mr. Jeon.”

“Yes, that’s what I just said.”

“That’s, uh, thank you,” you mumble, turning on your roller chair to retrieve your bag and start packing, only to look up and see through the window that Jungkook can see you right now, smiling like a giddy child. There’s this movie that’ll show on your favorite local channel and you’re glad that you’ll be able to catch it tonight. 

You’re unsure what Jungkook’s eaten to be dismissing you this early. Maybe it was the lunch he had with Hoseok earlier; maybe it was the older man knocking some sense into him. You don’t have the energy to think about it, given that you now also have time to cook yourself proper dinner and enjoy eating it while watching and curling under your comfy blanket on your tiny couch, just like how you used to enjoy your Fridays. 

You’ll deal with the unreviewed reports and Jungkook returning to his normal, grumpy self on Monday. Tonight is all about you, and the weekend version of you is about being with your mother, her partner, and your stepsisters. There’s nothing like being with the people who make you feel safe; you’ll deal with the stress when a new week rolls by.

Jungkook watches you excitedly leave your desk. He can’t imagine the relief you’re feeling of being relieved this early and then spending your Friday evening the way you want, however that is. He lets himself wonder for a bit how you would spend time by yourself. Yoongi did say your friends aren’t in Seoul and your family obviously isn’t.

But then again, maybe you do have a partner, and maybe that’s why you looked as happy as you did. He’s not quite sure what to do with the slight distress at the thought, but with the absurdity of the amount of times he thinks about you, he decides it shouldn’t matter anyway. 

He has his own plans, too, like watching sports over bottles of beer that night, and then playing video games the next day before going to a bar with Seokjin and Taehyung. 

That Sunday, he works all morning then works out in the afternoon. In the evening, he decides to meet his friends again. 

Entering the club, he spots the table where they are - Seokjin has his arm around a woman and his lips glued to her ear; he pulls her closer as she laughs at his words. Taehyung has one next to him, too; they’re engaged in some serious conversation, it seems, given how passionately they’re talking to each other. That is, until his hand slides inside her dress; maybe it wasn’t that deep. 

Jungkook doesn’t know how his friends can converse with the women they find in these places. Given, Seokjin tends to stick to the same one for months and Taehyung is just naturally flirty and friendly so maybe it’s not that hard. 

For Jungkook, it’s just not something he’s able to fully or even properly do. What does he say? He’d brag about his work and his lifestyle if he was the type, but he isn’t, and there’s nothing else about him that he’d like to share. He’s always straightforward when it comes to these things. He’s picky; he does have a type, after all, but he always knows what they want and so do they. 

So when he spots a woman by the bar - the one who’d bought him a drink last night - he just smirks as she takes her shot and bites her lips when she catches him looking. 

“Hey, I finally caught you sober,” she giggles in his ears after she meets him halfway. 

“And I finally caught you without a man next to you,” he whispers. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah, he was just my plaything last night,” she responds. “I could be yours.”

Jungkook chuckles, enjoying her bluntness. He takes her hand and waves at his friends; they already know he’s taking off and they won’t hear from him for the rest of the night. 

It’s the way most of his evenings go anyway, whether he’s here or in Singapore or elsewhere, really. 

Jungkook likes the thrill, he likes the shallow intimacy he gets from the feelings of ecstasy and carnal desire. He likes that he doesn’t have to share anything about himself apart from his name so they could scream it, likes that there’s nothing about the other person to uncover, and that there’s nothing about himself he has to be honest about. He likes that he’ll remember the pleasure until the next day but nothing else - not her breathing, not her gentle touches on his chest, not her soft whispers of his name. 

There’s nothing much about her he’ll care for other than that she had a good time. And there’s nothing about tonight he’ll regret, except not making sure that she left his apartment like he always asks them to do.

Because it’s Monday morning, and there’s that woman wearing his coat and nothing else. 

And then there’s you, dressed in your skirt and blouse in his living room, with a look of shock on your pretty face. 

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#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x oc #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook series #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #boss jungkook

[celtic-crossbow]

Blood Ties Chapter 11

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; blood; injury; vomiting.

A/N: Another whumpful chapter. My little whumpy heart is happy. But some feely feel good moments too. And then some not so feely feel good. I don’t hate Andrea, I promise.

You couldn’t begin to guess what time it was. Between caring for Daryl and vomiting every drop of water you’d tried to intake, you barely knew where you were anymore. You tossed a few sticks into the fire to keep it burning low before lowering unsteadily to your knees beside the archer. 

Daryl hadn’t regained consciousness since his one-sided conversation earlier in the night. He was restless, quietly groaning; head turning back and forth with a pained grimace etched onto his features. His breaths came in shallow pants while his pulse palpitated wildly. His skin was still cool. You found yourself petting his hair and shushing him gently. Somehow, that felt okay. 

You ran a hand through your hair and exhaled shakily. How were you supposed to get both of you back safely the next morning when you were rapidly weakening and Daryl could hardly stand? What if you couldn’t even get him to rouse? Slapping your palms against the gravel, you forced yourself to your feet and began pacing. 

You were yearning for your father’s advice; missing him to a debilitating degree. For all the mistakes he’d humbly own up to, the man had never steered you wrong. He was never harsh, always finding a way to ensure you were laughing through your tears. 

“Perk up, peanut. Nothing’s that bad! When life gives you lemons—”

“I hate lemonade, daddy.”

“Forget lemonade! Why are you taking food from a stranger?”

“You’re so corny.”

“But you’re laughing. Mission accomplished.”

You wiped away a tear and smiled. You had been so lucky to have a father like him: patient, kind, funny, stern when he needed to be but never cruel. You stilled your steps and turned your gaze toward Daryl. On the surface, the hunter seemed to be the opposite of everything your father had been. But you had been granted the smallest glimpse through a crack in the archer’s self-preserving armor. 

When you were so incredibly sick in the woods, every touch had been gentle. Every syllable had been soft. Daryl was capable of tenderness and—while he may never be like your father—you easily believed the archer would be a wonderful dad in his own Daryl way. 

You sat down with your back against the tree, watching Daryl sleep. Fierce determination settled against your heart, smothering out the panic that always hid away there. You would get you both out. If you had to drag Daryl up the rocky slope tied to your back, you would persevere. You were all three going to survive this. 

You stayed in that spot, absorbing all the courage and strength the universe was offering. It wasn’t a supernatural event, but a personal battle against the weakness you had been allowing yourself to wallow in since the attack on your camp. Daryl was something in your life. More than the father of your baby. A friend? It didn’t matter. You needed him to be okay. 

As the sun began to rise and the fire burned out, you knew it was time to start the literal uphill battle toward getting back to camp. Taking a deep breath, you held it for a heartbeat as you looked at Daryl. The man was anything but weak but he was so pale, pain written plainly on his face. Exhaling, you crawled the short distance to where he lay, unsure how to approach this. 

“Daryl.” A gentle shake to his shoulder. Another whisper of his name with another simultaneous joggle. His eyes clenched, brows drawing together. He was in pain. It was obvious. Still, you had no choice but to insist. “Come on, Daryl. Open your eyes.” 

He did. “Wha’?” The archer immediately tried to sit up, but the wound’s sting held him in place. “Fuck.” You absently brushed your fingertips across his jaw. 

“Do you remember what happened?” You asked sincerely, helping him into a sitting position. It was a slow, painful endeavor but a success nonetheless. With an arm wrapped tightly around his middle, he pinned you down with a look just shy of a glare. 

“Thought I remembered ‘til I saw ya here.” He adjusted how he was sitting with only the slightest hint of discomfort. “But then I knew it couldn’t be real cause ya ain’t dumb enough to come out here alone.” Once he settled, Daryl arched an eyebrow at you. 

“Color me an idiot, then.” You shrugged with a feigned smile. He was clearly unimpressed. 

“Ya gotta stop thinkin’ s’just you anymore.” Your eyes followed his right hand as it moved from his midsection toward yours but pulled back quickly without touching. “I ain’t worth riskin’ our kid.”

Your heart stuttered. It was the first time he had acknowledged the baby as both his and yours. You decided that pointing it out was not in either of your best interests. 

“You’re important too, you know.” You argued instead. A retort was on the tip of his tongue, his mouth opening but you gave him no time to argue. “Here, you need to eat.” You grabbed his left wrist and plopped the apple onto his palm. “You really need more than that. I could reheat the beans from last night?”

“Don’t need to do all that. Just give ‘em here.” The spoon you had used was still in the can when you passed it to him. You sipped water from the canteen as he ate, watching him scrutinize every inch of the area you’d soon be climbing. Using the spoon, he pointed. “That your rope?”

“Well, technically it belongs to a moron that fell into a ravine on top of his own bolt.” Your grin met his deadpan expression. “I swiped it from your tent. Had to cut it to stop you from becoming walker chow though. Sorry.” 

He simply shrugged. “Ya ain’t eatin’?” 

Shit. You were truly hoping he wouldn’t notice. “I ate.” Not a lie. Technically. 

“If you have to say ‘technically’, you’re already in trouble.”

Your father’s voice echoed in your head. Goddamnit. “I can’t eat anything right now. Given all the shit we’re about to do, I shouldn’t have drank anything either.”

“They couldn’t find the meds?” He looked stricken and you found that caused an ache in your chest that you didn’t care to ever feel again. 

“I don’t know. I left before they got back.”

His face morphed into an annoyed scowl. “You’re an idiot.” He grumbled. He continued to eat, though he seemed more hesitant with every bite. Did he feel bad eating in front of you? “So let me wrap my head ‘round this.” That calm tone that was about to build up into his pissed off rampaging. “I can hardly move an’ you’re gonna be upchuckin’ ev’ry ten seconds, but we’re s’posed to climb outta here?”

“More or less.” You shrugged. 

“What could go wrong?” He grimaced at the empty can before tossing it aside. He stared at the canteen you held out to him but eventually took it. 

“I’ve got another, so drink up.” 

Daryl hummed and then drained every drop from the container. 

You stuffed it in your bag and slipped your arms through the straps. “We gotta go. Let’s get you up.” You stood only to crouch behind him, snaking your arms under his to lock your hands on his chest while carefully avoiding the wound. His muscles tensed at the contact. “This is gonna suck but on three?” He mumbled ‘fine’ under his breath and planted his hands on the ground to help push himself. “One, two, three!”

There was a cut off shout on the journey upright. He staggered backward but you planted your feet firmly to stabilize him. He was panting and swaying, both arms wrapped around himself tightly but he was taking most of his weight. 

“You good?” You asked, sliding your hands to hold just above hips, silently giving the bandages a once over for any fresh blood. 

“M’fine.” He managed to breathe. He didn’t sound fine but you’d give him the benefit of the doubt. Very slowly, you pulled your hands away, ensuring he could remain standing. 

Next order of business was strapping his crossbow onto your back. It took some time and maneuvering but you finally managed. 

“I can take that. Ya don’t need to be carryin’ all that shit.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Alright. Walk over here and you can have it.” Your eyes held a challenge, and you were certain he would rise to the bait, even knowing it wouldn’t end the way he wanted. He managed one step before he staggered. “That’s what I thought.” Confident he wouldn’t try again, you pulled and shifted the weapon’s strap while you studied the hill you two were about to tackle. “Jesus, this thing isn’t nice to sore tits.”

“Why your tits sore?”

You found him looking adorably confused. “It’s a pregnancy thing.” His eyebrows raised, his mouth forming a silent ‘o’. “Welp, let’s get started.” Daryl didn’t argue this time when you ducked under his arm. He needed as much strength as he could save for climbing. “Think you can make it to where the rope ends?”

The hunter narrowed his eyes. “Yeah.” He didn’t look any more confident than he sounded. 

“Okay, I’m gonna stay behind you until we get there. Then I’ll go first.” He nodded without argument. He must have felt awful if he wasn’t even trying to suggest something else. He grunted with the first uphill step, right arm encircling his middle while he breathed through the pain. “You okay?”

“Ain’t really got a choice.”

Unfortunately, he was right. You couldn’t leave him to fetch help and couldn’t drag him up the hillside. He managed another step, your hand reaching out to lie against the small of his back as you followed. Hopefully, you’d be able to stop him from falling. 

Halfway to the end of the rope, you barely received any warning before you pitched to the side and vomited all the water you had drank. 

“Oops.” You wiped your mouth on the back of your hand, catching Daryl’s gaze from over his shoulder. “I spilled it.” He rolled his eyes and continued upward while you smirked at his back. Things sucked. Making light of it all wasn’t going to change that. 

After another block of several minutes, Daryl could almost reach out and touch the rope. He gripped a sturdy branch and pulled himself up further, falling short and curling inward with a sound dangerously close to a sob. 

“Daryl?” You grabbed the nearest rock and hauled yourself up beside him. “Are you okay?” He wasn’t. That much was clear from the way he visibly trembled and the tension you could see in his jaw. “Let’s rest here for a minute.”

“M’fine. Keep goin’.” 

“Daryl—”

“Said m’fine!” He snapped, beginning the ascent once again. You glowered at his back for a moment more before deciding it was pointless to argue. Once you made it to the rope, you’d take the lead and control the pace. You’d damn well make him slow down. “What now?” He panted, holding tightly to an unearthed root to keep himself from tumbling. You didn’t answer, but began to tie the rope around his midsection. “What the—ya need this more than me.”

“Shut up.” You finished the knot and reached above to give the rope a firm tug. Without a word, you climbed your way above him and grabbed onto the rope. You were certain you could make it just holding on and climbing. Your stomach was trying to revolt once again but at least you’d have the security of not falling as long as you held on tight. Hopefully, you wouldn’t accidentally puke on his head. 

With concern clearly on your face, you continued to look back. Daryl was taking significantly longer, breaths coming fast and jaw clenched. He was clearly struggling to keep quiet so you wouldn’t stop. Idiot. 

“You doing okay back there?”

“Just go.” He snapped, hissing through his teeth immediately after. If you could make it fast enough, maybe you could pull the rope to give him some support. The thought had no sooner crossed your mind before you bent forward and dry heaved, hardly able to maintain your grip. “Hey. Ya alright?”

You nodded, keeping still for a moment. The world was spinning. You couldn’t risk climbing. Your baby was more important than attempting to race your way to the ledge. If you fell—

A cool hand came to rest on the middle of your back, the vibrations of the tremors his body was suffering were felt clearly through your shirt. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He was worried for you and for the baby. It was a new but not unwelcome feeling to realize you weren’t unimportant to him. He didn’t see you as an incubator. Being friends that happened to share a child wasn’t such a terrible feeling. 

“I’m okay.” You pulled air in through your nose and pushed it out through your mouth. The breathing helped alleviate the nausea and any panic that may have accompanied it. “Let’s keep going. We need to get you back.”

“Need to get you back too.” He argued while removing his hand. He started to climb again before you were ready to move. There was no way you were letting him above you. If he fell, he’d take you with him and you wouldn’t have the rope to slow your descent. You scrambled quickly and carelessly, making it up to at least be beside him. And just in time. 

The rock Daryl placed his left foot on came loose from the soil. He let out a curse as he began to fall but you were quick, twisting at the waist to grab hold of his wrist. The sudden movements irritated his wound, your heart clenching when he cried out and pressed his forehead against the ground. 

“C’mon. Ya done half. Stop bein’ such a pussy.” He muttered to himself. 

You almost let the laughter that bubbled up force its way from your mouth. Almost. It was only slightly difficult not to tease him when he was in such a shape. You kept a keen eye on him as he repositioned and found a solid foothold. When he looked up at you and nodded, you noticed how badly he was sweating and he was growing even more pale. Reluctantly, you released your hold but kept your hand outstretched just in case. 

“You good?” 

There was a look that crossed his face, like he was about to say something snarky, but it faded just as quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, m’good.” Upon turning back to your own climb, you smiled to yourself. 

It was unsurprising that you reached the top first, keeping the rope in hand as you climbed the last several feet to the ledge. Once you had hauled yourself up, you shed your bag and his crossbow before you sat close to the tree and pulled up all the slack. If he were to fall now you’d need to brace your legs against the trunk to be able to hold him without being dragged off yourself. Little by little you pulled as he got closer. From where you were positioned, you couldn’t see him so the rope was the only clue you had as to where he might be. 

“Daryl, are you okay?”

He didn’t answer but was still moving, albeit slower. Until he appeared to stop. Shit. Taking a risk, you let go and crawled to the edge. The archer was just below the tree root. His arms were trembling, his forehead was pressed against the dirt, and worst of all, there was fresh blood spreading across the back of his shirt. 

“Daryl. Daryl, answer me.”

“Just—just need—a minute.” He slurred. Your worry compounded, a sick feeling in your gut that had nothing to do with that hullabaloo word that Hershel had given you. That god awful feeling was constricting your chest, making it hard to form any sort of coherent thought, let alone a plan. Eyes on the archer, you could see his fingers loosening around the limb and rock that were keeping him there. 

“Daryl!” You barked loudly. It had the intended effect. His body visibly jerked and he lifted his head, dazed eyes searching until they found you. You had to make a choice: try to pull him up or go down to get him. Your hands pushed you up and allowed you to spin with your legs over the edge. Leaning forward the slightest bit, you started down as you had the day before, sliding your ass against the ground. 

“Y/N!” Daryl’s voice, though angry, held very little ardor. He was barely hanging on, literally and figuratively. “Don’t—don’t ya dare come—down here.”

“Try and stop me.” You knew it was a risk. Frankly, you were fed up with risking your baby but you told Daryl he was important, too. “You can yell at me later.” Your gaze continued to flit between your path and the hunter. He had rested the side of his face against the ground again and was trying to watch you through eyes that were fighting like hell to close. 

Seconds later, his hand started to fall away from the rock, just for yours to push it back down. His grip instantly tightened. Your other hand moved to grasp his chin.

“Daryl.” His gaze was unfocused but he was still holding himself there. “Daryl, I need you to climb. I’ll help you but I need you to try.” When you had to shake his head a little, you felt a tickle on your cheek just as your lip quivered. “Please.” He remained still, leaving you envisioning him letting go. If he fell, it might not kill him but you would never be able to get him back to this point. You were running out of ideas. Adjusting yourself to reach across him and hold his left hand around the limb, you grabbed the right and pressed his palm against your stomach. “If not for you or me, try for them!”

There was nothing for a moment more, long enough for you to lose hope. You let your head fall forward against the back of his shoulder and cried in earnest, knowing you’d have to climb up eventually. 

His fingers twitched against your belly. He started to move, slowly. Very slowly. Hell, sloths moved faster. You reeled back, observing, ready to do whatever he needed. Right then, you just started whispering encouragement as he reached for something to continue pulling himself upward. 

“That’s it. Keep going. I’m right here.” You climbed beside him, careful of where you put your feet. You would reach out each time you moved up, just placing your palm on his back to assure him you were real and you were there. “Almost, Daryl.” The two of you had passed the root that held the rope when the trembling worsened but he didn’t stop. His teeth were bared, clenching so tightly that you thought they might shatter. 

When he was close enough, you scrambled past him and to the edge. You couldn’t pull his full weight, but you knew he’d rather fall than pull you over. If he couldn’t fight his way up, he’d let go. It was a terrible fact. You reached for him—over his shoulders—grabbing under his arms to give him some support when he dug his fingers into the dirt to drag himself up the rest of the way. 

You both collapsed onto the flat ground beside the tree, panting and staring up at the canopy. You rolled your head and smiled at him, though he seemed to be only halfway present. Your smile was still in place when you looked back up at the cloudless blue sky. 

“Well, that was fun.” You chuckled.

Daryl groaned and weakly lifted the arm closest to you and placed his hand over your face. Somehow, that only made you laugh harder. 

The two of you were worse for wear by a mere hour into the journey back. You were in a violent cycle of drinking water only to vomit it up moments later while Daryl could barely stay on his feet, stumbling and catching himself against a tree if there happened to be one. If not, you’d stagger over and let him use your arm to lever his way back to his feet. 

Neither of you had said a word. You were dehydrated and in desperate need of sleep. Daryl was actively bleeding, growing paler by the moment. You forced him to drink when you did, paying as much attention as possible to the amount left. The next time you doubled over, you found him leaning heavily against a tree, watching you. 

“G’on ahead.” He made a weak gesture and began sliding down until his ass met the dirt. You began shedding your bag and his weapon while shuffling over to him, dropping them both within reach before you mimicked his descent and ended up shoulder to shoulder. 

“I didn’t go through all that shit just to leave you behind now.” The canteen was right on top when you opened the pack. You held it out to him while you grabbed the remaining apple. Daryl struggled with the lid while you took the smallest of bites, praying that what Lori had said about the fruit alleviating nausea was true. You traded after that, but the canteen never made it to your mouth nor did the apple make it to his. His head fell back against the tree and yours to his shoulder. 

“Shouldn’a come—out here in—the first place.” 

You’d never tell him no one else was willing, though he probably suspected it. “Told you. You’re important too.” You sighed and closed your eyes. You wouldn’t sleep. Both of your senses were dulled, which made the two of you a walker buffet if they approached undetected. 

Daryl snorted, though it sounded more like a stunted exhale through his nose. “Yeah. Right.”

You wanted to glare at him but you were comfortable. “Shut up. You are to me.”

“Why?”

“Besides the obvious?” You lifted your head and busied yourself checking his wound. “You just are. When you’re not being a hotheaded jackass, you’re actually pretty good company.” You looked up just in time to see him avert his eyes. He apparently still had enough blood in his body to color his cheeks. Your head found his shoulder again. “Not to mention, you’re a great lay.”

“Stop.”

Your smirk remained while you forced yourself to drink a few sips, hearing him bite into the apple. Aside from dehydrating and slowly bleeding to death, the moment was nice. You couldn’t help but think back to Carol informing you that Daryl didn't like to be touched. Yet here you were using him as a makeshift pillow. Maybe it was a pregnancy perk or maybe he really did consider you a friend. He was slowly making it obvious that he cared. You’d take what you could get as long as the two of you could manage to co-parent. 

When you shifted to put away the canteen and reached for the remainder of the apple, you found his head hanging with the fruit loosely held in his palm. Checking his breathing and pulse, both were not at dangerous levels but he needed help and soon. You took the apple and put it away. 

You would let him rest a while longer before you’d be forced to press on if you were going to make it back before sundown. He became your pillow for a third time while you kept watch and listened to his shallow panting, just content with the fact that he was still breathing. 

“We’re almost there.” You all but groaned, your hand clutching your rolling stomach while Daryl stumbled along beside you. He had taken his crossbow a while ago when you fell to your knees while vomiting. He was holding the strap and dragging it along behind him. 

He grunted in reply, pale face grimacing as if each step was more painful than the last. Probably is. You clutched Sophia’s doll against your hip. They would all probably be so busy fussing over the state the two of you returned in to listen if you told them to check your pack. 

When you walked out of the trees and into the field, the house and camp in view, you could have cried. Well, maybe you couldn’t have. It depended on how dehydrated you were at that point. 

You let your steps slow to stay close to Daryl in case the adrenaline that got him this far suddenly diminished with the relief of being so very close. There was a shout in the distance and you smiled as four of them began running toward you. 

We made it. 

You allowed your steps to slow and then stop as Rick, Shane, T-Dog, and Glen closed in—with guns drawn?!

“Is that Daryl?” Glenn exclaimed. “Y/N?”

“S’the third time ya’ve pointed that thing at my head! Ya gonna pull the trigger or what?”

“Third time?” You asked, beyond confused. Before anyone could say anything else, a shot rang out and Daryl crumpled to the ground. Rick was yelling but you only had eyes for the archer. You stumbled over and fell beside him, holding your breath. When his eyes fluttered open and he reached toward a gash above his temple, you forced out a sob and laid your head against his shoulder. 

Hands encircled your midsection and gently pulled you back, T-Dog’s voice in your ear. “It’s okay. They’ve got him.”

“I’s kiddin’—” Daryl slurred as he was pulled to his feet between Rick and Shane. His weary gaze met yours before his eyes rolled back and he slumped. 

Rick must have seen the look on your face because he was already bringing two fingers to the archer’s neck. He nodded at you and your legs nearly gave out. You gave T-Dog a smile and patted his arm, getting your feet underneath you to follow along beside Rick. Glenn was hovering in your peripheral. Probably a good thing. As soon as Daryl was being seen to, you were sure to collapse yourself. 

“Oh my god! Oh my god, is he dead?”

You turned to find Andrea running toward the group of you, your tired eyes narrowing. She wasn’t a great shot, that much you knew. Surely it wasn’t—

“Unconscious.” Rick answered. “You just grazed him.”

“You?” You hissed, bringing everyone to a stop. “Who the hell is letting you shoot long range?!” 

Clearly offended, Andrea took a step toward you. “It was an accident. It didn’t kill him.” She vaguely gestured toward the man that you had risked your life—your baby—to bring back alive. 

“You bitch.” You sucked on your teeth, digging deep for some semblance of control. 

“Seriously? I went out of my way to be nice to you. I think we’re square here.”

You nodded. “Square. You think we’re square.”

“Come on, Y/N.” Rick lifted his arm away from Daryl’s hand on his shoulder in an attempt to usher you along. Spinning to your right, you snatched Rick’s gun from Glenn, switched off the safety, and had Andrea in your sights before anyone could blink. 

The blonde’s hands raised while voices escalated in panic. All the shocked expressions were meeting one another, clueless as to how to handle the situation. You fully expected to be taken down and locked up somewhere. 

But no one touched you. 

After a very intense moment, you flicked the safety on and held the gun back out to the kid. 

“Square would be grazing your pretty cheek or maybe a little bit of ear. Unlike you, I was raised with a gun. I rarely miss.” You sneered. “Then we’d be square.” Panting from the exertion, you staggered, your own adrenaline running on fumes. 

“What’re you gonna do with her?” Andrea demanded, pulling against Dale’s arm when Rick and Shane dragged Daryl past her. “She aimed a gun at me! What’re you gonna do?”

Lori wrapped an arm around your back, “She didn’t shoot you, Andrea. We can talk about this later. Come on, let’s get you inside.” You saw Maggie approaching, felt her take your other arm as the world tilted. Somewhere past the darkness that was looming you heard:

“Guys! Isn’t this Sophia’s?”

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x you #daryl x y/n #daryl x female reader #daryl x you #daryl x reader #daryl dixon walking dead #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl smut #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x reader smut #the walking dead daryl #daryl angst #daryl dixon angst #daryl #daryl dixon twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #daryl imagines #twd daryl #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x female reader

[coltermorning]

Of Love and Loss Ch. 1 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: You lose your parents while traveling to see your extended family. Through grief and regret, you have to find a way to put the pieces of yourself back together. A stranger comes along and helps you to live again.

Author’s Notes: This piece is written straight from the heart. That entails two things: it is going to be long, and it is going to be dark. With all the death and grief reader is managing, I want to be upfront that this may be a hard one for those going through the same thing to read. Just know it does turn happy eventually, and Arthur helps reader get to that place. As always, don’t read it if it starts to make you uncomfortable.

As an aside, reader does have a relative age—somewhere in her twenties—but I left everything else ambiguous. I had to do that to make the story work. Beyond that I hope you enjoy this one, as it truly is a reflection of the inner workings of my mind. May the healing power of Arthur Morgan save us all :,)

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

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Of Love and Loss

One: The Weight of New Burden

Word count: 5565

The night was dark, and your parents were dead. You sat before them, knelt as if in prayer. There was no praying now.

Flashes of earlier memory bit at you like the chilling air, but you didn’t allow them in. You didn’t allow their pain or their reality. There was a bridge, a cliff, the turn of your stomach as you fell. Then this. Then nothing.

Some animal made its sharp call in the night, but you couldn’t turn to listen. Your eyes were stuck staring. You couldn’t think of what kind of beast made that noise, no matter how many times your father had told you. Your father, nothing but a shell on the ground. Broken in the defeat of death, still warm from blood that had run so thick through his veins mere moments ago. Your blood.

You turned to your mother. She was a hard woman, made harder by the life the three of you had lived so far away and so deep in snow. Her hardness was no match for the rocky ground. For the weight of a wagon bearing all of your belongings crashing down on her. Part of her leg was still trapped beneath it, stuck out at a morbid angle.

You turned back to your father, laid their much more peacefully. He could be sleeping if you didn’t look too closely. He could be climbing into his shared bed in the early evening hours, claiming the morning was more worth his while. You could be climbing in beside him, too old to be doing it but clinging to him anyway, glad for his warmth in the house that somehow always let the cold in.

You moved and laid beside him now. Sleeping. All you wanted was to be sleeping beside him. To drift away with both of them, never to be without them again.

You tangled your gloved fingers in his already too stiff ones. You blamed it on the thick fabric and closed your eyes, imagining the rock sticking into your back to be one of the books in the bed your mother was always reading. Imagining the cold to be seeping in under the walls instead of all around you. Imagining you would all wake up in the morning before the sun rose, happy to live another day together.

The shock of things released like a breath, and you allowed yourself a few silent tears before drifting into darkness, letting the night overtake you too.

~

“Christ.”

The echoing word woke you, but you didn’t open your eyes. Everything was wrong. You remembered the trip to Nebraska you were supposed to be taking, the unfamiliarity of where you were. You remembered the pain curling up your side and why you were sleeping on the ground instead of inside the wagon, all covered in blankets and curled between the wall and your mother.

You opened your eyes. It was morning. Far above you hung the bridge that forced a sob from your chest. On the bridge sat a man atop his horse, looking down at you. You shut your eyes again. Maybe he would think you dead too. Maybe he would kill you and this nightmare would finally end.

You could hardly find the will to listen to your surroundings, but you forced yourself to. It was easier than the thoughts that plagued you. You eventually picked up the tracking of a horse’s hooves against stone, riding not above you but from behind. Likely the man who had seen you all the way down here, no more than a smudge of the earth.

“Easy,” you heard, then the clinging sound of the horse’s bit as it obeyed its rider. Boots hit the earth so close by your eyes flinched, but you kept them closed.

The man approached, rocks crushing against each other beneath his boots, spurs clicking with every step. He spoke, low this time. “Jesus.”

He stopped a moment, likely taking in the view of the wreckage you didn’t want to think about. Then he approached again, heading for the wagon a few feet away. He could take it all, you didn’t care. All the provisions and the blankets, all your belongings and what little money your father brought along. The man could take the whole damn wagon and you wouldn’t so much as open an eye. Your parents were all you needed anyway. To die beside them.

The sound of pilfering hands echoed against the rocky walls of the cliff face. The man’s horse snorted behind you. It made you think of your horses. The horses you loved so much, pulling you through two states. You didn’t have to look last night to know they were dead. The older mare your father favored, the young stallion you had raised yourself. They were both gone. All of them, gone. All but you.

A dragging noise met your ears, something scraping against the ground. Then splitting wood, a grunt made in effort of breaking something. You couldn’t help your curiosity and opened your eyes to watch. You studied the man’s back as he broke the wagon apart to get inside of it. It had landed upside down, its back end crashed so flatly against the earth that there was no way to get to its hidden treasures below. Unless you broke it apart, more so than it already had been. Just as he was.

You watched and watched, let the man take a few select provisions without protest. He even lifted your father’s satchel, the one your mother had insisted he keep in the back of the wagon to avoid wanting eyes. And still, you laid there quietly, letting him do it. Where you were going, you wouldn’t need anything of the sort anyway.

You could hardly stand it, but when the man turned and faced your parents, you shut your eyes and stayed still. You let him pick over your mother’s body like a vulture, let him take everything he wanted. Your father was next, and he lifted him slightly so that his fingers were ripped from yours. You laid there limp. Ignored the dull thud of the body beside you when it met the ground again. Ignored the hands that met you, patted you down. Lifted you to search beneath your coat. Only, something must have been different about you. As soon as he moved you, the man froze. Then, slowly, he sat you up.

“You alive?”

How had he known? He shook you, and you let your limbs flail around like a doll. You did pray this time, that he would realize he had made a mistake, that he would think you already gone.

His gloved hand met your face and tapped against your cheek. “Hey,” he said. “You alive in there?” You weren’t. Hadn’t been for a while now.

You heard the sound of fabric against skin, then felt his bare fingers touching your neck. Looking for a pulse. It would give you away. You held your breath, but it would give you away. That damned little lifeline, ruining this good thing you had.

“Shit,” he muttered as his hand fell away. He knew. “You’re either gonna have to wake up, or I’m taking you with me.”

That should have done it, should have made you look at him at least. But he could be talking to a corpse for all he knew. You remained limp in his arms, refusing to do as he said. That is, until he tried to lift you.

You groaned in pain, the wound against your side pulling. He stopped.

“There you are. Wake up for me.”

You wouldn’t let him take you. Wouldn’t let him leave your parents behind.

He patted against your face again. “Come on. I know it hurts.” You knew what he was likely thinking, that falling from that height and surviving was damn near impossible. So you had to be hurt. You just hoped he didn’t notice whatever pain was burning against your rib cage. You didn’t want to be mended.

“Can you open your eyes for me?” Knowing he would try to take you if you didn’t, you let them open a fraction, seeing a blurred face and a bright white sky overtake your vision.

“There,” he said. “Stay with me.” You couldn’t keep them open. Couldn’t watch this. You just wanted to lay down again.

He took your arm and raised it to get a better hold on you. You knew what came next and pulled back. The movement swallowed your body in pain, making you groan again.

“Let me get you up, then you can rest, okay?”

He pulled on you again to lift you, and you finally managed a word. “No.” It was low and pitiful, and you immediately regretted it. You wanted your last words to be spoken to your parents, not this stranger.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “We got to get you up or you’ll die out here.” You shook your head almost imperceptibly, but he caught it. “Yeah we do. Let’s get you up.” He pulled you again, and you didn’t have the strength to fight him. All you could do was reach out, reach for your father’s hand. Grasp for his help one last time. You met those gloved, stiff fingers before the man could pull you up far enough and immediately knew how he had determined you were alive. Unlike you, your father was as stiff as a board. Cold and dead. Gone. That didn’t stop you from grabbing his hand, holding on tight with what little strength you had left.

The stranger tugged on you and met resistance, stopping and turning.

“I know,” he said lowly. “I know you don’t want to leave him.” You didn’t let go, letting tears fill your eyes at those words.

Caught by your gripping fingers, the man gave up trying to lift you and laid you back down. “Tell you what. I got some folk coming through here soon I was out scouting ahead for. How ‘bout we wait for their wagons so we can take the…take your family too?”

You couldn’t answer. You didn’t want to leave here and didn’t want them to either. You wanted to die here beside them.

When the man waited long enough to know you wouldn’t answer, he took it as compliance enough. “Okay then. You just rest. They’ll be here soon.”

A sob racked your frame. They would be—your parents. They had to be. They would come reach out their hands and lead you to eternity themselves. You couldn’t stand the thought of anything else.

You slowly rolled onto your good side and into your father, burrowing into his warm coat sleeve. It smelled like him. Woodsmoke and snow and horses. You wanted to be between him and your mother, but she was too far. Broken and bent wrong, too far gone for your delusional mind to believe you were laid in bed beside her. So you cradled your father, sobs shaking through you, warm tears spilling across your nose and hitting the ground.

After long enough that you hoped the man had gone away, you cracked your eyes open again. He was still there, watching the bridge above. Waiting. You wanted to tell him to leave. But like earlier, you couldn’t get the words out and didn’t want to. Each word not said to your parents felt wrong.

He turned and saw you looking at him. “Any minute,” he said. Like you were hoping for rescue. You shook your head and turned back to your father, the pain in your side beginning to throb.

You soon heard voices, a few shouted words. You caught one of them echoing down from above: bridge. Be careful, they were likely saying. Narrow bridge ahead. Too narrow for your own father to navigate, to keep a wheel from catching over the side.

The man beside you shouted, his voice so loud you startled. “Hey! Down here!”

“Arthur?” another man shouted back. “You okay down there?”

“I need some help,” he answered. “Send a wagon.”

You reached out and grabbed the man’s arm. He turned to you. You shook your head at him, trying to make him understand. You wouldn’t leave this place. Wouldn’t take your parents away.

“I can’t take all three of you,” he said. You shook your head with more urgency, but he only turned away, looking back up. “I ain’t leaving you here.”

You wanted to tell him, please do. But you couldn’t get the words out.

You tugged on his heavy coat, curling closer to your father when he looked at you again.

“No,” he said, enough of a demand in his voice for you to know he had made up his mind. “You’re coming with us. We’ll bury them proper.”

You felt a tear escape at that. Burying them…here was as proper as anywhere. More so. You didn’t want to take another step of this journey without them. You tugged on his sleeve again.

“Quit it,” he said, shaking your hand off. “I’m not leaving you.”

You gave up, turning back to your father, closing your eyes once more. You tried to let the life leak out of you. But even you knew you were too far from death, too rooted in living to get there. You imagined it instead, imagined what eternity with them would look like.

After a while, the creaking of wagon wheels met your ears. This was no place for a wagon. Not for one standing or one crashed aground.

“You okay, son?” came that same voice from before.

“Fine,” the man beside you answered, standing. “Girl here’s alive.”

Girl. Not woman, despite your age. You always got onto your mother for calling you that. But now it felt proper. Now it felt like daughter, like you belonged to the two laying beside you.

“Alive?” said a voice you hadn’t yet heard.

The man walked toward the others. “She’ll be all right, but her folks…” He walked farther away, dropping his voice. But you could still hear every damning word. “Folks are dead. She won’t leave them.”

“Won’t leave them?” one of them replied.

You wouldn’t look at them. Couldn’t. Their wagon and their passengers so whole, yours so broken.

“I told her we could take them, bury them proper. Ground’s too hard here.”

You knew just how hard the ground was. First hand. How it hadn’t killed you, you couldn’t figure.

One of the newcomers spoke. “We’d have to bring another wagon down, lighten the load a little.”

The load. Like your parents had become nothing but weight. You couldn’t stand it. You lifted your head, eyeing them. The wagon was closer than you thought, your vision still slightly blurry. Maybe you’d hit your head.

“Hello there,” said the one on the right, an older man. “No need to be afraid, we’re here to help you.”

No they weren’t. They were here to take you away.

You gathered your strength and moved, ignoring the pain in your side. It was so much harder to do now than it had been last night. Like the shock of the fall had worn off. You sat up on your knees, looking at the three men. Then, to prove a point, you made them watch as you crawled over your father and laid down right on top of him, never taking your eyes off of them. Speaking would be easier, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“What’s that about?” the man on the left asked.

The one who had come down alone earlier, younger than the other two now that you could see them all, spoke. “She keeps doing that. Doesn’t want to leave.”

“She’ll die,” the other said. You nodded at him. Let him see, let them all see how desperately you wanted that.

“You have any other family?” the older man asked.

You thought of your father’s siblings in Nebraska, of their growing families. Of the reason you had been taking this trip in the first place. You couldn’t face them now, not without your parents.

You shook your head. Maybe it would get them to leave you alone. The older man turned to the others, and they all stared at each other in silent conversation. Finally, the younger man sighed, turning toward the wagon. “You two go back up then. I’ll get this done and let her do what she wants.” He pried a shovel off the wagon, turning and making for you.

“Ground’s too hard here,” the older man assured him.

“I’ll figure it out,” he answered. “Y’all go on, I’ll catch up.”

A small part of you was grateful to him. For helping you and doing as you asked, no matter how senseless.

When the others took the wagon away, leaving only you and the younger man, you looked up at him. He was staring at you, studying you like a wild animal. Maybe you weren’t so different from one.

His face softened some. “Where you want ‘em?”

Your chest caught. You hadn’t thought of it. You hadn’t thought this would be done so quickly, without any sort of ceremony, without all the recognition they deserved. Just you. Just a stranger that had robbed them less than an hour ago.

You would find the strength to do it for them. You wouldn’t leave them laying here like this. As much as you wanted to join them, it was becoming glaringly obvious you wouldn’t die alongside them. It was your duty to do this right, to be there for them when no one else would be.

Ignoring your pain, you backed off of your father and raised up onto your knees, looking to the trees leading up to the cliffside. The nearest was a lumbering pine, its roots reaching through the rocky shale effortlessly. Like it had been here longer than you’d been alive.

You pointed to the tree’s base, drawing the man’s attention. He dropped his head then sighed, picking up the shovel. Heading for it. You watched all the while. Watched him pick a spot and lift his shovel, bringing it down on ground so tough he hardly made a dent. He cursed. He lifted it higher and tried again. The ground didn’t budge any more the second time. He took to running his boot over the ground, checking for places the rock gave way to softer dirt. When he was satisfied, he lifted the shovel. This time, the ground gave.

He raised the shovel and moved to a spot a few feet away, trying again. The ground gave there too. He raised his head, looking over at you. “This’ll do. It’s gonna take me some time, breaking up all these roots.”

“Don’t kill the tree.”

You were as surprised to hear your voice as he was. You just couldn’t stand the tree dying too.

“She speaks,” he said, going back to his shoveling.

You watched him then, watched him a long time. So long that he began to sweat with the work, stopping to shed his huge fur-lined coat. He kept going. He got to the second grave. You debated who should go in which. As much as it pained you to think it, your mother needed to go on the left, your father on the right. Because that was how they had slept around you for over two decades.

You didn’t realize you were crying until a gust of wind shifted the air, making the wetness on your face turn cold. It was too much. You couldn’t do this.

Would the stranger bury you alive if you asked him to?

As soon as you had the thought, he turned to you. “Come look, see if I got this how you want it.”

You stood silently. Your side burned, but it wasn’t unbearable. Remarkably, almost unbelievably, you didn’t think you were hurt anywhere else. You just ached. Though that may not have been from pain.

You eyed your father at your feet then moved, walking toward the trees. Like a child learning to walk, a woman learning to navigate the world, all on her own.

You stepped up to the graves and looked down at them with the man. Roughly cut holes in the ground. A few of the roots from the tree had been preserved, sticking out of the sides. It made you want to smile, but smiling made you want to cry. Instead, you turned and went back for your father. If you didn’t do this now, you never would.

You thought of the pair of them living under this tree forever, the roots twining around them both until they were one. Part of the land and nothing more than memory. It was better than you could have done for them out here, all alone.

You reached your father and smoothed his coat out. Avoiding the pallid look of his skin, you noted his hat was gone. You searched the nearby ground for it.

“What is it?” the man asked, coming up behind you.

You motioned to your head and continued looking, rounding the wagon’s back end. You soon heard a board shift and looked over—he was pulling the hat out from under the wagon.

“This it?”

You nodded, going over to take it from him. He spoke before you could.

“We need to get your momma out from under there.”

Something about him using that word, calling her what you always called her…it crushed you. He didn’t even have to be told these were your parents. Because it was obvious. You had her hair. You had his nose. Your shoulders began to shake, and you were crying again, turning away so the man couldn’t see.

You felt his hand on your shoulder. “I’ll do it. You’re in no state to lift the wagon anyway. Just hold her for me, would you?”

You could hold her. Had wanted to, had been too afraid to touch her in such a fragile state. You nodded and let him lead the way.

Your mother was face down, the only part of her trapped under the wagon her leg. If you ignored that, she looked peaceful too. You were afraid to turn her over, just as you were afraid to move your father. You had a feeling whatever damage had been done was worse on their undersides.

The man set your father’s hat down and stepped up to the wagon side, preparing to lift it. You stepped up to your mother. You crouched and touched her back, the same cold lifelessness meeting your gloved hand as it had when you touched your father. You swallowed your sorrow and steeled yourself. You owed this to her.

With a grunt, the man lifted the wagon and attempted to push her leg out from under it. You couldn’t watch, knowing how wrong it would look, but you could help. You could hold her one last time. You wrapped your arms around your mother as you had so lovingly before and pulled.

“There,” the man said, letting the wagon back down with a crash of more broken wood. You couldn’t stand the sound—you were sobbing again.

“You take whatever time you need. I’ll carry ‘em over when you’re ready.”

You wordlessly thanked him for it. You had been dreading that, wanting to remember them as whole and nothing more. So this would be the last time you looked upon them. You would recall them sleeping, resting. Waiting for you.

You heard the man walk away as you let your mother go. Looking between her and her husband she loved so dearly. The only man to ever soften her.

His hat was resting beside him now, another small kindness from the stranger. You waited until he was far enough away not to overhear you before saying a word. Then you spoke, swearing it would be the last time you ever did so.

“I know why you wanted to take this trip.” You whispered it through a sob and were surprised to hear the words. Their reasons didn’t matter now. But it had mattered enough to you before to act coldly toward them. Now all you wanted was to tell them you understood. They had just been trying to show you love any way they knew how. You wanted to take back all that resentment, show them the love you felt in return. So you said it aloud. No matter that it would fall on unhearing ears.

“And I understand it now, and I forgive you for it…” You broke down, words impossible. How to sum up how deeply you cared for them in so little time? Your father always said it was actions that mattered, not words. Maybe that was all you could stomach anyway.

You bent down and kissed your mother on the side of her face, what little bit of it was showing. You moved and kissed your father on the forehead. You put his hat back on his head. They were too far apart for you to grab both of their hands. So you laid between them, facing the sky.

“Another morning,” you whispered, the cold air stinging your face. The words your father always woke with, repeating like a prayer. And your mother’s constant reply. “May it be as kind as you are.”

Your eyes welled with sadness, so you shut them. Back in the drafty room you had grown up in. Between your sleeping parents.

“I love you both.” You half heartedly wished death had been close by all along, waiting for you to say this to take you. But the pain in your side was too real. And the darkness behind your eyes wasn’t full enough. And your parents were on the wrong sides of the bed.

You laid there and cried for a long time. You weren’t sure how long, only that it didn’t feel right to get up and leave them now. To keep on living. It was unfair.

You heard the same animal from the night before make its loud call, the only thing to stir you. It was an elk. Strong and proud and always afraid. The three of you combined. But if you were the fearful one, when would you ever be allowed to rest?

You sat up, turning toward the sound. It was too far for the animal to be in view. But in that direction was the man from before, the one you had completely forgotten about. He was turned away, watching the sky. Waiting. You thought of his offer to go away from this place and felt that fear clutch you tightly. But what else would you do? Stubbornly stay here, neglect the very thing your parents had wanted for you? It was your refusal to take this trip all over again. You wished with such harsh regret that you had stood firm, made them stay home with you. Then they wouldn’t be lying broken on the ground, and you wouldn’t have to force yourself to do something you could never find the will to do in the first place. But your parents had wanted you to start your own life, one out of the snow and the hardship. Maybe this was the world’s cruel way of forcing you.

You sighed, shaking off your crippling sorrow and rising to your feet. You gave one last look at your parents. As much as you hated it, you would do it for them. Of course you would.

Within the hour, the man had brought them both to their final resting places and married the dirt with the ground it belonged to. He had asked if you wanted to do the honors, to speak over them, anything. You couldn’t even find the will to shake your head at him. You just watched from a distance, knowing you didn’t want to see them like this anyway.

When the deed was done and the man stepped away, wiping his brow with the effort, you turned and walked back to the wagon without a word. It was over. And you were still alive.

The man spoke. “Look, I know it ain’t my place but…you don’t need to be staying out here. There’s bears and wolves and all manner of animal that’ll eat you for the hell of it.”

He didn’t understand it and likely never would—what wanting to die looked like. But as much as you hated it, he was right. You wouldn’t meet your death here because of the same stubbornness your parents had tried so hard to correct.

You refused to respond and got to the wagon, prying through its broken boards and trying your best to ignore the sound. You wanted the keepsake you had been too weak to consider taking until now. You hadn’t truly thought you would find the strength to leave them, to need something like this. But the stranger of a man had come along like your parents’ very own dying wish, and you wouldn’t wrong them again.

You crawled on your belly underneath the wagon, the inside of it nearly unrecognizable—a tangle of ripped canvas and splintered wood. You dug through what the man had left behind after his search for anything valuable, knowing this wasn’t something he would have taken. You lifted a blanket and heard a familiar ruffle of pages as something small fell to the ground. Underneath the blanket lay the leather-clad book your father couldn’t bring himself to get rid of—a ledger. Though it hadn’t started out that way. You recalled growing up and learning your letters from your mother, sitting beside your father as she forced him to do the same. You picked up the ledger and looked through the first few pages, his terrible attempts at words. You knew without having to look further their spelling got better over time, though his handwriting never did. Then how his words turned to numbers, to how much hay and meat and skins he had sold or traded, how much the three of you needed to survive. It was obvious on the pages you had pored over time and again that words were not his specialty. The concern and care he showed his family was, written in determined number after number.

You closed the ledger and clutched it tightly to your chest. It was your father’s essence, your mother’s determination to teach him. You would hold onto it like your life depended on it.

You heard a knock on the wagon side and startled. The man was staring in at you. Maybe he was beginning to understand you better—he didn’t say a word. Didn’t try to convince you to come out. That alone had you feeling a little less uneasy. You were taught not to trust strangers, but this man had done more than most people you knew well would. The least you could do was show some semblance of thankfulness and let him take you somewhere safe enough to please him before you parted ways.

He moved out of the way as you shimmied out from under the wagon, outright ignoring your pain. It was a fickle thing to you now. It came and went, and you couldn’t give much care to it one way or the other. It just was. Just as the state of the wagon was. Just as the newly dug graves were, forever marring the ground now.

You clambered to your feet with ledger in hand and faced the man, unspeaking.

“You coming then?”

You hesitated, knowing how this would shape your life. To live or to die. To do as your parents wanted or to live the way they had—not long enough.

You met the stranger’s eye and nodded at him.

“All right then. Come on,” he said, as simply as if you had just agreed to a warm meal or night’s rest. Not your life. He motioned you to follow and made for his horse. “Name’s Arthur.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. Your name circled through your head, one of the last things your parents had given you that was still yours to hold. He didn’t need to know it anyway.

He soon mounted his horse and helped you up. You settled onto the back of the beast, making it shift with the new weight. Unnecessary weight. An added burden. That’s all you were now. The only purpose you stood lay hundreds of miles away in either direction. So where to go and what to do if not lay underneath the dirt beside your parents? They would have been able to tell you. But that was the very thinking that had warranted this trip.

You gave one last look at the rough-cut graves now covered with earth, noting the tree, the rock face, the bridge you would not forget. You would be back someday. You would not let them lie here forever, unknown and uncared for.

When the newly named stranger spurred his horse forward, you were filled with every ounce of hurt, pain, regret. Determination. You would not let the two people that mattered most to you die thoughtlessly, in vain. You would meet them again with a story to tell. For them, you would live. Crushed beneath the weight of death, you would live.

_________

Chapter two is here.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #high honor arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing

[draco-dormiens]

THE STRANGEST OF PLACES MASTERLIST

draco x fem!ravenclaw reader / postwar au series

"We start to find comfort in the strangest of places."

The war has ended, and life is getting back to normal, or least supposed to be. For returning half-blood Ravenclaw Y/N Y/L/N, her only focus is to finally have a year without fear and uncertainty, until professor Slughorn asks her the question the rest of the room is dreading: "I trust you will be Mr Malfoy's partner?"

Draco Malfoy returns to Hogwarts the same as any other past seventh year student. He wants to complete his education and ensure himself a good future, one better than his previous years, but there is one slight problem: he's Draco Malfoy. For his family's involvement in the war, Draco attends school feeling alienated and resented, spending most of his time alone and suffering his guilt in silence. When Y/N starts coming over to the manor, they begin a rocky work relationship, and often argue

After a small but grand gesture, they decided to become friends. Neither of them realise, however, it was about to get a whole lot more complicated than that.

warnings: enemies/friends/lovers, strong language, sexual themes, mentions of depression, slow burn, implied sex

status: completed

disclaimers: i do not own hp or any of the characters associated with this story

chapters

opening: the first visit

chapter one: amortentia

chapter two: felix felicis

chapter three: christmas

chapter four: draught of the living dead

chapter five: new year

chapter six: slughorn's verdict

chapter seven: just two friends

chapter eight: the astronomy tower

chapter nine: a quiet drink

chapter ten: a misunderstanding

chapter eleven: another motherly visit

chapter twelve: what he wants

chapter thirteen: slytherin vs. hufflepuff

chapter fourteen: i think i love you

chapter fifften: you said yes, right?

chapter sixteen: the night of the ball

chapter seventeen: hope is a heartache

chapter eighteen: the aftermath

chapter nineteen: it’s a purebloods world

chapter twenty: the malfoys, the greengrasses and the girl inbetween

chapter twenty one: the greengrasses come to tea

chapter twenty two: one hell of a dinner party

chapter twenty three: the element of surprise

chapter twenty four: the seventh years graduation

˚✧ *ೃ the end *ೃ ✧ ˚

#draco malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco fanfiction #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco x ravenclaw!reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x female reader #draco malfoy x female reader #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic

[artficlly]

lady of the ghosts [chapter 8]

After a great plague ravages your city, you are looking to marry to secure safety for your people. With a war finally ending, the nearby kingdoms are looking to celebrate. King James "Bucky" Barnes decides to continue his family's tradition of hosting a courting season. A medieval courting marvel AU.

Pairing: king!bucky x lady!reader

Warnings: FLUFF, sexual tension, some angst, mention of sex work, mention of war, mention of funeral, tiny amount of anxiety/doubt, swearing, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 3.5

A/N: i wanted to make this a smaller chapter before shit hits the fan, very dialogue heavy and fluffy. please let me know what you think and reblog/like! sorry for any typos - enjoy!!

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

It was said that Neume once dwelled in the waters surrounding Faliene. As a guardian of the city, she waited beneath the waves. If she detected malice on the ships that entered her waters, she would rise from the ocean floor, her body hulking and blue with seaweed and barnacles entangled across her flesh. She would seize the ships with an iron grip, the wood splintering and cracking under the strain. She would drag the sailors to the bottom of the dark, sandy sea, where they would either drown or perish in her crushing grip. 

She was a protector in more ways than one; her presence wasn’t only to instill fear in those who ventured into the Falienean waters but also to aid those who worshiped her. They claimed she would herd the fish towards the fishermen who sailed off the coast, easing the giant schools into the hand-woven nets. On quiet, empty nights, some claim you could hear her singing. Her hums were reminiscent of whales, eerie and lonesome as they reached across the vast, vacant waters. Her song would lull the creatures to sleep, and only then could she be at peace. 

According to legend, Nemue's deep sleep, brought on by her own song, is what caused Faliene's misfortunes to start. As her children waited for her to return, disease and evil crept into her beloved city and slowly poisoned those who remained. Faliene held her breath, waiting in anticipation for the return of her song. The north had been stuck in a slumber for too long; it was time for her to come alive once more. 

The breeze was stronger than usual up on the rocky cliff of The Fishhook. The slowly rising sun partially melted the snow and ice below, where the waves pounded mercilessly along the exposed coast.  

James squinted his azure eyes against the whipping wind, his hair tousled, and his cheeks pink. The two of you had decided to hike up the southernmost point of Faliene’s coastline before it turned to mountain and sea. You had taken the daunting and winding path upward to the peak of The Fishook, a large curved outlook that had been creatively named due to its shape. Halfway up the path, Steve and Peggy had left you behind in favor of exploring a tiny, frozen cave. You knew it was so they would have a moment alone to continue their activities from the Pass; it was harder to do so with King Harrison’s ever-watching eye. 

“Do you see it?” The winds hurtling along the coast have left your lungs burning, and words are nearly stolen as your breath is ripped from you.

“You might have to point it out to me.” James’ admits sheepishly, eyes darting as he surveys the blue, glacial waters below. You step closer to him, careful and slow on the icy rock below, as the two of you are close to the dangerous edge. If the plummet didn’t kill you, the freezing waves crashing against the rocks certainly would. 

With a gloved hand, you point at a darker patch of water, where presumably the ocean floor is deeper than the rest of the bay. James ducks his head, his eyeline following along to where you point. Your gaze is on the side of his face, watching each emotion cross while studying every twitch of his eyebrow or jaw. 

“It’s supposed to look like a woman curled up on her side.” You explain, watching as he tilts his head ever-so-slightly, as if trying to see from a different perspective. James had been insistent on his prior promise of falling in love with the ghost city. Unlike the other guests, who mainly remained in the warmth of Fort Faliene, drinking and laughing their days away, James required endless exploration. 

Sometimes you wondered if it was somewhat of a ploy to get you alone, as even if Steve and Peggy came along as ‘escorts’, the two of you frequently found yourselves abandoned by the pair. Steve and Peggy had more interest in each other's mouths and bodies than the sights of Faliene, unlike James, who remained enraptured by every story and sight you showed him. 

You had toured him through the docks, the city, and the surrounding areas. The people of Faliene watched on with knowing smiles; even Brannigan seemed chuffed by your apparent familiarity with the King of Galanta. From what you gathered, the Falieneans were secretly pleased and were growing to forgive you for your lack of engagement. Why pester you about marrying a lord when you were actively seducing a king? 

“I see it.” James speaks up from beside you, his confused expression melting into a grin. “Her head is facing the east.”

Your eyes flickered over the now familiar planes of his face, watching as he rubbed the stumble across his jaw out of habit. A small smile plays across your face, words leaving you despite your attention being nowhere near the shape of Neume in the waters below. “I know it’s silly, that it’s just the shape of the seafloor, but Falienean’s have always said it looks like Neume sleeping on her side.” 

“You know, everyone always talks about how superstitious the north is, but I think it’s simply that we Southerners are too boring.” He replies, his eyes abruptly cutting to yours. There is a small smirk across his features as he notices your stare, and you look away, cheeks pink, now not only because of the cold. 

“I don’t think you’re boring.” You hum quietly, your words nearly stolen by the next gust of wind as you look to your feet. 

“We definitely are.”

You sucked on your teeth for a moment, tilting your head so you could see him through your peripherals. A smile crosses your face as you realize he’s been watching you the entire time, gloved fingers reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. You finally pluck up the courage to look back at him. “Tell me a story about Galanta, then. I will be the judge of whether it is boring or not.” 

James lets out a long sigh, looking upwards at the horizon in thought. “They are all stories of war and death, I’m surprised I didn’t die of boredom as a child having to listen to all those tales–”

“You know that I like history.” You cut him off, playfully pushing at his chest. Your cheeks warm up more, realizing that the hard muscle beneath doesn't give under your touch. James chuckles, running a hand through his hair as he looks down at you. “Tell me a story about when you were at war then. Maybe that will be more exciting because you were actually fighting–”

“People who tell their own tales are always bragging.” James grumbles with a hard look, which quickly softens as he catches your pleading look. He shakes his head with a sigh, humming as if in thought. His hands mindlessly come to your cloak, gloved fingers twisting through the fur trimming.

“During the war,” He begins. “Steve and I stumbled upon Prince Micheal in a whorehouse. He was so drunk on ale that he could barely see, let alone walk. The girls were sick of him, so we offered to take him back to camp. The trip was short-lived, though… We grew tired of dealing with him, so we left him passed out in a pig pen. He didn’t return to camp until the next day, it was lunch when he stormed in. He was all covered in filth. He didn’t remember a thing, but he knew Steve and I had something to do with it, we could hardly keep a straight face due to the stench.” 

A laugh bubbles in your chest, and you shake your head at the brunet. Steve had often mentioned how he and James tormented the Prince when they could. Those were tales that Steve would whisper to you over dinner, while Michael bragged and boasted about exaggerated stories further down the table. Though this was not a story you had heard before, you quickly learned that Steve was not as open with you about his secrets as you first assumed – his and Peggy’s affair being just one example. You wondered how many tales from the war were lost to you due to Steve's reluctance to share. This story seemed to have a glaringly obvious reason why.

“You and Steve frequented whorehouses?” You ask innocently, and you hear James suck in a sharp breath, his head tilting to look away guiltily. A teasing smile plays across your lips as you lean closer to him. “The good King James and his knight Sir. Rogers getting their cocks wet? How scandalous.” 

You could imagine the girls in the whorehouses would have loved to be visited by James and Steve – rich, handsome war heroes? They would’ve been snatched away before they even put their foot in the door. You didn’t have envy or malice for the whores, unlike some ladies of court who bickered about the ‘filthy harlots roaming the war fronts’. You imagined James and Steve would’ve been a welcome break from the usual soldiers who would’ve wondered their way. 

Beside you, James swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing, and he looks back at you with surprise in his guarded eyes. You wondered if he had ever heard you speak in such a vulgar way before — Steve definitely had, especially when he schemed and got you a few drinks in. His hands reach out, gripping your waist to tug you even closer to his body, and you oblige with a satisfied sigh. 

“It’s just the way of things during war.” He says, his voice husky and low as he looks down at you. His words hesitate, his tongue wetting his lower lip as he scans your face. “You’re telling me you didn’t bed a knight or two during the war? While you were all alone in Haiford Castle?”

Your smirk spreads. “You think King Harrison would’ve let me stay if he had any inkling that I wasn’t a virgin?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

You allow your eyes to roam over his face as you take your time answering his question. You note the way his pupils have dilated and the subtle strain in his jaw, as if silent worry was clawing behind his cool demeanor. 

“No. I didn’t.” You reply honestly. “You really think I would invite one of your knights into my bed, or even worse, a Haifordian knight?” 

James grins at that, as if secretly pleased by your answer. You could imagine he made assumptions about you, considering your affinity for finding trouble and irritating authority. Even if you often made it your mission to irritate Prince Michael or King Harrison, you had never fallen to the depths of sleeping around with men you despised.

“I must be good then if you’re willing to have me.” He replies, his voice still low and rumbling in his chest.

“And who said you were invited into my bed?” Your eyes flutter upwards as you look at him through your lashes, a coy smile forming in response to his smirk. 

James hums, his hands squeezing tighter as he presses a soft, gentle kiss to one of your exposed collarbones. His grin is cheeky as he raises his head once more, his expression near ravenous as he watches your breath hitch slightly, goosebumps raising across your skin. Everything about his touch and scent is intoxicating, and you nearly forget you are standing on an exposed cliff as you lean heavily into his touch. 

“I am going to speak with King Harrison tonight.”

“About what?” You manage to stutter out. Your mind is hazy and confused as you try to focus on something other than the pattern he is tracing across your ribcage with his thumb.

“Us. Peggy.” James begins, and you stiffen under his touch. “I am going to gift Steve land and make him a lord – maybe a duke or a count. Something high-ranking enough for him to marry Peggy.” 

“I haven’t even agreed to marry you.” You say through narrowed eyes. “Don’t you think this is too early?”

James looks down at you with a frown. “Where else will you go now that the funeral is complete? You can’t return to Haiford… If we settle this issue with King Harrison, you could return to Galanta with me–”

“What if I want to stay here?” You interrupt, and James snaps his mouth shut.

There is a long pause between the two of you, with James sighing slowly through his nose as his grip around your waist eases, his fingers no longer tracing delicate circles.  

“Well…” James begins hesitantly. “Once we are married, you will have to balance your time between Faliene and Galanta, as will I. If you cannot lead Faliene until our marriage, it would be wise that you return to Galanta until the ceremonies–”

“I want to be married in Faliene.” You interrupt once more.

“I thought you said you hadn’t agreed–” He starts with a grin, only for you to cut over him again with a huff.

“Hypothetically. If there were a hypothetical marriage between us, I would want it to be here–”

He is still grinning as he speaks, as if amused. His eyebrows arch as he speaks. “You do realize the Galantaians would riot, right? Robbing them of a wedding celebration–”

“I am only just winning back the trust of my people, they would be insulted if I snubbed them–”

“Well, it is tradition for the wife to be married in the husband's–”

The playful tone that had built through your exchange quickly snaps, and a scowl crosses your face as you take a step back from him. “Please don’t tell me you’re under the assumption that a husband should be the only one in charge simply because he is male–”

“No – Y/N. No.” James gasps, exasperated. His gloved hand raises up, cupping your cheeks as he looks down at you with a frown. “If we are married, Faliene would be run by you and only you. I will sign whatever papers you ask me to, and I will not interfere unless you ask my opinion.”

You blink at him slowly, exhaling sharply out of your nose as you lean into his touch despite the stubborn look across your face. A small part of you is anxious; you have been hesitant and cautious to trust all of your life. What if, like Rumlow, James was trying to fool you into marriage so he could control the seafaring of the continent? 

“Are you telling the truth?” Your voice is quiet, nearly lost to the winds. Thankfully, James doesn’t seem insulted by your wariness.

“Of course I am. I know that if Faliene is to flourish, it can only be under your rule, not mine.” James hums, his thumb gently swiping over the skin of your cheek before he pulls away. “Maybe it is best we leave the talk of weddings until after I deal with King Harrison. Deal?” 

He offers his hand in the small distance between the two of you. You chew on your lip for a moment, nodding your head as the apprehension in your gut eases. You reach out, grasping his forearm near his elbow. The muscle is bulging and swollen in comparison to your small hands. His fingers wrap around your own forearm, engulfing the clothed skin entirely as you both shake hands on this new agreement. 

“Deal.” You mutter back, though you can’t fight back the smile that has formed. 

There is a new feeling growing in your gut. 

Hope.

—

“Does King James always fuck you with his eyes?” Wanda asked from behind you, her nimble hands expertly washing the soap from your hair. Your strands were lazily dangling over the side of the tub, the water trickling off into the bucket below. Your eyes rolled back into your head, a small huff leaving your lips as you leaned harder against the warm metal. 

Once returning from The Fishhook with Steve and Peggy in tow, Wanda managed to sneak you back into your rooms before your presence was requested elsewhere. Tonight there would be one final feast before most of the guests returned home, and it seemed everyone wanted your attention or opinion on the most mundane of subjects. You had been practically assaulted with questions about dining displays and menus, while the Asgardian Princes, Thor and Loki, somehow managed to trick you into showing them the wine cellar. 

As if sensing your rising stress levels, Wanda had pulled you away, declaring she needed to help you bathe and dress for the dinner to follow. 

“You can act all coy, but we’ve all noticed it. Brannigan is biting at the bit to start organizing a wedding.” Wanda continues, and you groan loudly, slipping deeper into the warm water.

“Do not let him organize anything.” You grumble, and the woman chuckles behind you. 

“When you said you knew the Galantian’s well, I didn’t realize it was because you had invited them into your bed–”

“He has not been in my bed.” You protest, sinking even further into the water until it reaches your chin.

“Ah. Matter of time. You can see it on his face that his cock gets hard everytime he looks at you–”

“Wanda.” You cut over her sternly, wrapping your arms across your chest as you turned in the tub to face her with a scowl. The water sloshes around you at your sudden movements, Wanda withdrawing as a small wave departs the tub. “I have already upset King Harrison enough, I can’t upset him more by having rumors spread around.”

“I am sorry.” Wanda sighs, elbows braced against her thighs, as she leans over to look at you. “I am just excited for you.”

You can’t help but let a small smile grace your lips at her words. As much as you wanted to be annoyed, there was always a sincerity and sweetness to Wanda that made you cave. You move forward through the water, your breasts pressed against the metal as you cross your arms over the lip of the tub. 

“I am sorry for keeping secrets… It is just that to keep the peace between Haiford and Galanta, we have to be careful.” You mutter softly. Wanda gives you a sympathetic look, ringing out the damp cloth in her hands. 

“King Harrison is still expecting Princess Peggy to marry King James?” She asks quietly, abandoning the cloth over the lip of the tub. You press your lips together tightly, watching as Wanda fetches you a dry towel. 

“Unfortunately.” You grumble in return, standing. You allow most of the water to cascade off your skin and hair before wrapping yourself in the towel and carefully stepping out of the tub as Wanda readies your dress. 

You quickly dry yourself before the cold sets in, scoffing as Wanda speaks up once more from across the room. “He must be blind if he has not seen the way Princess Peggy and Sir Rogers dance around each other.” 

“I think I may have accidentally helped Peggy by distracting King Harrison.” You admit sheepishly.

Wanda snorts. “He seems to be looking everywhere but at Princess Peggy. Gods, he spends more time enamored with Lord Rumlow than–”

“What do you mean?” You cut over her abruptly.

Wanda arches a brow at you. “King Harrison and Lord Rumlow, they’re always constantly muttering away in the corner, haven’t you noticed?”

“I have.” You say it with a frown. At least you had noticed it more back in Galanta, but these past two weeks between the funeral, James, and organizing, you had barely had time to play spy. It was harder to notice the small things of court when you were now the center of attention rather than a ghost slinking around on the outside of conversation.

“Maybe King Harrison has grown bored of wives – Maeve says that the two of them remain locked up in King Harrison’s rooms most days and nights. She scarcely has time to clean!” Wanda says as she helps you pull on your dress, a thick, dark material with fur trimmings and silver beading around the waist. 

“Does she know what they are doing in there?” You pry cautiously, tugging the sleeves in place and shooing Wanda away as you begin to lace the front. 

“No. They always grow quiet when she knocks, and they send her away. The staff are making bets over what date they’ll announce their affair.”

You don’t reply, instead pondering over this newfound information. Wanda begins muttering about the hairstyle she will craft for you tonight. You are barely listening as you sink into the seat in front of your mother's old vanity. With any hope James’ and King Harrison’s chat goes well tonight, you felt a pit of dread growing in your stomach at the thought of what Rumlow might be scheming.

taglist | @liter4ti @just-someone11 @champagnejoker @scooobies @queerqueenlynn @fanfictionjunkie1112 @themotherof10 @diaries-of-a-hopelessromantic @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @riffstorm

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes series #james bucky barnes #marvel au #marvel fic #marvel #royalty au #medieval au #fantasy au #lady of the ghosts

[mysticarts]

Hello! I know it's late- But I wanna do some infodump or really just rambling instead.

Firstly remember when I said Lucio and Wick are enemies to lovers kinda thing? They are however is not very toxic.. More like few bickering there and that, it's going to be a slow burn it'll take time for them to admit their feeling each other. They respect eachother a little though.

Did they admit? Nope they both deny it in several reasons which I already have explained later older posts. Wick falls first, then Lucio falls harder (More than how Rocky fell down into the stairs poor Rocky my boi-)

While Lucio dislikes Wick and often gets too blunt at him there's time he actually show kindness although he doesn't want to admit that. No he does not want Wick to see that, his unaware the other thinks the same too.

'Funny' enough he was supposed to get rid of Wick because his boss assigned, to prevent Wick being presuade funding the Lackadaisy which failed.. So after few interrogating, the result became unexpected, it happened when Wick treated him kindness.. Not fake kindness but genuine something he no longer had.

Cause how would Wick love a guy working for a crime boss and had done messed up things to a result of destroying through his childhood? As much he wants to never go near to the posh cat it's nearly impossible because every time Wick appears to the more he grew to slowly fell for him..

Wick is a law abiding man. Lucio? Nothing but a huge disgrace.

Wick at first sees Lucio as a company after having no choice but to atleast helped each other (My Au.) Later on he gain feelings to Lucio also and became confuse and questioning his own Sexuality or attraction.

Until months later the two became close friends no longer 'Aqquaintance' the bickering decrease.. The bond grew close where at the point they started hanging out private places talking their interests, hobbies, many more. Laughing like old times like they were good 'friends.' This is when Lucio ditched supposed mission. Wick continued to be nice to him with added helping Lucio like carrying stuffs, trying his best to heal Lucio wound as possible, giving a friendly gift and etc. So is Lucio doing favors/errands/giving 'friendly gifts' for Wick.

Lucio jokingly calls Wick princy then after months of their 'Aqquaintanceship' started calling him 'Hiyas' (Meaning gem cause Wick likes rocks so why not?.) He had accidentally call Wick 'irog' which means love luckily the other doesn't know Tagalog, it proceeded to stirr Lucio more falling into deep pit of so called 'love'.

Wick slowly he soon saw Lucio's true self not the walking snark and sass self but slowly nice self.. This lead him having a denial to out of fear not how will the public think if the info was exposed, how will it effect his image as a businessman think but everyone he cares including Lucio too.

Imagine Wick knew what Lucio's assigned misson earlier when they meet first. Now after few months Wick started to love him dearly. he didn't react negatively to it instead tells Lucio to do it so he won't have to suffer the consequences, shocking Lucio and left two options either kill Wick or leave.. He picked second option realizing coming in a conclusion.

He LOVE Wick.

•••••••••••

End. The angst is beyond levels (Both but mainly effect Wick.)

Sorry I like this trope so much in some angles. Btw you don't really have to like this ship that's fine by me. Feel free to comment what you think about this! ^^

CEANIWEFLN

I would watch a MOVIE on these to fr

Like, whenever Carmen sees Wick and Lucio together, she just starts rambling in Greek language in excitement. No one really knows what Carmen is saying, but who cares? She looks happy!

Buy yea, never be afraid to show me this ship because I live for the angst.

[queen-scribbles]

Sanctuary

Art trade fic for @vexa-legacy! I wrote ssome Toe Beans circa War for Iokath, ~2000 words

---

The meadow was easy to visit.

Its distance from the Jedi temple was no more than an invigorating hike, the solace he found there always more than worth the effort. And it was his. A place where the troubles of the galaxy couldn't reach him, serene, unspoiled. Birdsong and babbling brook a soothing backdrop when he wanted to meditate and cleanse his thoughts.

Pristine.

Quiet.

Paradise.

Through all his training, all his adventures, it was a ready sanctuary when he needed the space to breathe. And he visited it often as he could. After defeating Bengel Morr, after dealing with Darth Angral and mourning Master Orgus, when he was freed from the Emperor's control. Always alone, with only his thoughts and the Force for company--except for the one very special time he shared it with Kira.

It was even easier to reach now--a memory no more than a thought away when he needed to retreat, to breathe, thanks to the Empire's assault on Tython so long ago.

He had needed it a lot. Fighting Arcann was draining, the demands and decisions hung on his shoulders with the mantle of commander a weight to carry, no matter how willingly he assumed the role. Fighting Vaylin was even more arduous--her flame may have burned out faster than her brother's, but it had burned hotter as well, claiming lives with the reckless and voracious hunger of wildfire. And even now, the lull between storms, as his feet tread Odessen's wilderness paths, his mind was in a far-off hideaway on Tython.

Centering himself on the babble of a remembered stream as he passed between trees. Hearing the faint birdsong as his steps finally slowed. Almost able to smell the long-lost flowers as he settled himself on a large boulder.

The picture of it was crystal clear in his mind as he slipped deeper into meditation. The Force whispered around him and made it all the more vivd. He wasn't sure how long he'd been there, aware of the wildlife around him while also visiting the secret place he would never again see in person, before his comm beeped. A couple hours, at least, judging by the sun.

He let the idyllic slip from his mind, returning to reality as he unclipped his comm and answered it. "Yes, Lana, go ahead."

"We've received some information that should be discussed, Commander." The connection feathered static on the edges of her accent. "Information regarding Iokath. How soon do you think you can return?"

He sighed, straightening his legs and pushing off the rocky seat. "Give me an hour, I suppose. Is it really that important?"

"Let's say I believe it should be acted on as quickly as possible, and leave the rest for when you're back."

If she was being this evasive on a private comm channel on the Alliance's own planet, it must be serious. "Of course, I'll be there soon."

Corrus started walking, leaving wilderness real and remembered behind.

---

Lana's news was indeed big--an anonymous tip giving rough coordinates of a superweapon on Iokath. Something you might want to investigate, the source added vaguely.

"Not a lot of detail," Theron muttered, and Corrus had to agree. It sounded almost like a trap; just enough information to catch their attention and make it seem they couldn't pass it up, without specifics to make it more solid.

"Do you think it's credible?" he asked Lana.

"Credible enough to investigate," Lana said with a firm nod. She pulled up a holo of the planet, a small orange marker hovering over a location. "It's rough coordinates, not exact, but if such a weapon truly exists, I don't think we can afford to leave it unclaimed."

She had a point, and both men nodded. Given their previous experience with Iokath technology, a superweapon from there was not the sort of thing to just leave figuratively lying around.

"And the radiation has receded to safe levels," Lana continued. "If we send a small team to investigate, I don't see any real danger." She keyed up the planet's stats and the levels, sure enough, had just dropped below dangerous.

"Alright," Corrus said with a nod. He studied the planetary information still scrolling across the holo. "Who do we send?"

"Oh, I can handle it," Lana said briskly, hands clasped behind her back. "You have quite enough on your plate, Commander."

She wasn't wrong there, either. The saying might be "No rest for the wicked", but the good didn't seem to catch any more of a break.

"Awfully quick to volunteer," Theron drawled in a tone of friendly prodding, leaning back against a console with arms crossed. "Feeling cooped up, Beniko?"

"Perhaps," Lana said, faint smile pulling her lips. "Perhaps I'm curious to see this mysterious superweapon myself."

"Whatever the case may be, I think you can handle it," Corrus said wryly. "Go ahead. I'll want status reports."

"Of course." She nodded, already heading for the exit. "We'll work out how frequent once we see what's waiting for us."

---

What was waiting for them, in the long run, was a clusterfuck. The Republic and Empire had received the same tip, the planet was still rife with homicidally protective droids, and the superweapon was--as Theron so eloquently put it--more akin to the apocalypse than a mere weapon.

"No one should have this," Corrus said grimly, and then set about making it so, even if the Republic's backing in the endeavor was more to keep the Empire from getting it rather than agreeing.

Still, he and Theron fought more droids than Imps as they worked their way across the planet. Scouring droids, like they'd faced on their last (unwanted) visit, caretakers, remotes, they all seemed to still regard any organic life as an infection to cleanse. That would weight less on his conscience than human life, at least.

He wondered what Kira would think of this place--all metal and angles and apocalypse weapons. There'd be some deadpan commentary for sure and he wished she was here to give it. He closed his eyes briefly as the tram whisked along and the image of her face lingered, followed by his meadow; natural beauty in sharp contrast to the mechanical austerity that surrounded him.

He only had a moment to dwell on the person and place he missed most before the tram lurched as it came to a stop and it was time to deal with reality.

"Theron, I've reached the superweapon command..."

Determination and Jedi focus carried him through the initial rush of energy as the throne controls reacted to his presence. Through his confrontation with the machine god Tyth and the revelation of a traitor in the Alliance. But the rush of power unleashed as Tyth's rage boiled over under the Fleet's bombardment proved too much and the world went white.

---

It shouldn't have been a surprised where his mind went when overwhelmed.

He supposed it wasn't.

The meadow, of course, looked exactly the same as the last time he'd visited in meditation. And the time before that, and the time before that. The same as it always would.

"Hey, handsome."

He spun at the familiar voice, heart leaping in his chest. "Kira."

She pushed away from the outcropping she'd been leaning against. "First things first, you know this is a dream, right?"

"Considering this place" --he trailed his fingers gently over flower heads--"is no more than a crater now?" He sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I know." He walked closer, leaning in with a smile to kiss her forehead. "But it's a good one, so let me enjoy it, huh?"

"Oh, fine," Kira(but not really Kira) grinned. "I suppose heroes are allowed occasional breaks. Though it really shouldn't take getting shocked unconscious for you to let yourself have one, you big dummy."

"Hey, that's hardly my preference, either," he protested. "You know how it goes; dangerous business being a hero, and there's only so much I can do to fight an electrical surge," he said with affectionate teasing.

"Yeah, well, do a little better will you?" Kira arched a brow and tugged on the collar of his armor until he bent toward her. "I need you healthy, Toe Beans." She kissed his nose and he laughed.

"You know, no one's called me that in months," Closer to a year, maybe, "Guess they all think it would be too informal a way to address the Commander. Or they just don't know about it."

"All the more reason to have me around," Kira joked, though her tone was just as wistful as it was playful as she traced her fingertips along his markings. "I'd fix both of those in a jiff."

This laugh was a little sad. "I'm working on it. Awful big galaxy to be looking for one person. But I will find you, Kira."

She grinned and winked. "Not if I find you first. Can't expect you to do all the work, handsome."

"Whatever gets us together faster," he said glibly. "I'm happy to let you win that race."

"Aw, come on, Cor, its not fun without a little competition," Kira teased. She let her fingers trail down his jaw as she let him go and turned to survey the meadow. "Y'know, I miss this place a surprising amount for only visiting it once. Can't imagine how it feels for you."

"Why do you think I'm here now? I've accepted the real thing is gone, but the memories are still there to visit when... when I need to."

She cocked her head. "You're not the type to run away."

"Not running away." He tugged her in, back to his chest, his arm loosely around her shoulders. "Call it a strategic retreat. A sanctuary to clear my head and better process my thoughts so I can plan. A lot of people depend on my plans, y'know."

Kira snorted a laugh at the exaggerated gravitas. "I do know, Battlemaster. Speaking of people depending on you..." She reached up and squeezed his arm before stepping away and turning to face him. "Shouldn't you be getting back? If I know the sort of trouble you like getting yourself into, the fun's just starting."

He hummed almost-a-laugh. "I should. Though you don't need to make it sound like I go looking for trouble. It just always finds me."

"You don't hide from it very well, though, love." She traced her fingers down his jaw once more, before putting more space between them.

"Once we're together, I will," he promised, then smirked. "At least for a little bit. Then we'll go find trouble and kick its ass."

Kira grinned. "You do know how to make a girl feel special. I'll hold you to it." She winked, blew him a kiss, and stepped out of sight around the outcropping.

"Kira-" He followed, but she was gone when he swung around the rocks. He should've expected it; he could feel reality imposing itself over his retreat.

He still looked, even as the sun flared brighter, soft beams that had lit the space now dazzlingly harsh, until it was overwhelming--harsh and clinical and washing away the meadow.

---

He was barely given time to miss Kira or the meadow when he woke, barely given time to adjust from almost dying. Pulled into conversation about what happened, who betrayed you, what should we do now? with a headache still banging behind his eyes. He was used to it. Sometimes you had to just keep moving forward to maintain your momentum, deal with problems before they spiraled out of control.

Once they settled things for Iokath and he had a moment for himself, Corrus found himself dwelling on the long lost meadow and Kira's smile in almost equal measure. One was lost forever, but that only increased his determination to see the other again. I'll find you, Kira. Somehow, in all this mess. I will.

He'd almost swear he heard her chuckle. Not if I find you first.

He could find sanctuary enough in that smile. Deal.

#queens fic #toe beans #art trade #he was v fun to write #enjoy!! #swtor #swtor fic

[satashiiwrites]

Snippet Sunday

Tagged by the ever lovely @monsterrae1 for seven sentence snippet sunday. Thanks for the tag! Tagging @quietborderline @tkwritesdumbassassins @whimsyswastry @missanniewhimsy @outtoshatter @alyxmastershipper with no pressure and anyone else who wants to play along.

Since I yeeted the last part of Sleepless in LA and I’m done with this month’s chapter of Mana’olana…. How about a snippet from the upcoming chapter of The First Spectre which was supposed to be out this month but…. Well it’s not looking promising.

Snippet sunday banner by the ever-talented @radio-chatter.

Title: The First Spectre, Chapter 2: Eden Prime

Fandom: 911, 911 Lonestar Mass Effect Trilogy/Universe

Pairing: epically long slow burn Buddie (it’s not going to happen for >100k), assume canon 911 relationships will mostly eventually cross over including some Lonestar ones.

Fic Summary:

Thirty years after the mars ruins were discovered leading to the Charon Relay and twenty since the First Contact War, humanity is still striving to take its place amongst the Citadel Council as equals. Commander Evan “Buck” Buckley, the lone survivor of Akuze is nominated to become the first human Spectre.

When his test mission goes sideways, Buck uncovers a much larger threat against all sentient life. Can he convince the Council to prepare for war or will they ignore the dangers that are closing in?

A new cycle has begun. The Reapers are coming.

Tags/warnings: first draft territory. Science fiction AU, this is not a straight up fusion but if you’ve read anything else I’ve done you probably know what you’re in for. There will be character deaths (canon and NON-canon) but I will say Buddie and Christopher are safe as I don’t do letting them die permanently in stories. Space opera type hijinks including military war environment. This is going to be a very, very long fic.

Buck sees Diaz nod to Jenkins out of the corner of his eye even as Chimney announces they’ve arrived.  “Ground team prepare for insertion.” 

Bobby’s voice comes over the comms.  “Good luck, Buck.  Remember the beacon is your first priority.”

“Roger that. Thank you, Captain,” Buck replies and braces himself. 

The airlock door opens and the pressure of the wind whipping around the Normandy presses against them then equalizes. They’re hovering two meters above the ground so they jump out, the jets in their boots slowing their descent enough that it’s not too rough of a landing but it still jolts Buck’s joints when he hits the ground.   The Normandy pulls away and they get their first look at Eden Prime. 

On the surface, Eden Prime is Earth-like in that there are trees and rock and sparse vegetation that looks like they’re somewhere in the North American Rockies.  A few buildings rise above the tree line in the distance which according to Buck’s helmet HUD is about two kilometers away. They’ve been dropped far enough out from the target to be out of the immediate line of fire. but they’re going in mostly blind other than a map of the colony. 

A quick scan of the LZ shows they are alone so Buck allows his HUD to calibrate to the new environment, getting feedback and intel such as relative direction and environmental feedback. Eden Prime has a breathable atmosphere with a slightly higher percentage level of oxygen to nitrogen but the air pressure difference makes its effects on human physiology negligible.

Wendell, silent until now, starts to head off to the left.  “Where are you going, Spectre?”

“This colony has been hard hit and there’s likely to be hostiles everywhere,” the Turian inclines his head as he checks his rifle.  “It would be best to keep our guard up and I move faster on my own.  I’ll approach from the west and meet you at the beacon.”

Buck knows that he really can’t argue with their appointed babysitter and he’s not against splitting up given they have a lot of ground to cover. “Roger.  We’ll approach the colony from the east.”

“I’ll feed you status updates but let’s keep the radio chatter to a minimum,” the Spectre says as he lopes across the clearing.  With a wave, he disappears into an outcropping of rock. 

“Commander?” Diaz asks, waiting for him to give an order.

“Let’s move out.  PFC Jenkins, stick close—you’re our tour guide.”

“Devon, sir.  It’s Devon.”

Buck doesn’t sigh in frustration but it’s a close call. He can see Diaz’s face though, and the sparkle in his eyes says he’s still laughing at Buck’s predicament. “Move out,” he orders and points to the east. 

#The first spectre #911/mass effect au #buddie space opera #Endgame buddie #epic slow burn #snippet sunday #space opera au #military environment

[coldshrugs]

staring up

pairing: io/estinein word count: 900 note: this wasn't actually supposed to be sad but io's tragic backstory leaked in. inspired by this cute art of cartoon ducks.

Mor Dhona is surprisingly cold tonight; a northern wind blows down from Coerthas and carries the promise of snow. Tataru spent the day decorating the Rising Stones in shining Starlight baubles, and Ephemie mulled enough apple cider to fill even the farthest reaches of their base with the scent of cinnamon.

Winter is around the corner.

The chill in the air does nothing to deter Io's plans. She waits by the aetheryte, wrapped in a thick fleece blanket and holding two steaming mugs of cider. Neither warmth compares to the giddiness burning in her chest.

She's early, impatient to see him. If she has to guess, Estinien will account for this. And maybe she hopes, just a little, he's longed to see her too.

The air before her shimmers and sparks white-blue, and there he is, not at all dressed for the weather but wearing a knowing grin.

Estinien strides the few paces between them, kisses her temple (too far from her lips), and says, "And here I thought you might surprise me, Io."

The retort about the measurability of his own actions is lost as he takes a mug and her free hand. "Now, where are you taking me for this "star watching?""

"Gazing," she corrects. "And there's an overlook not far from here that should be perfect. This meteor shower is expected to be one of the most active Eorzea has seen in some time."

They exit the settlement, carefully balancing their drinks as they climb the rocky ridge. Jagged crystals poke through the soil at odd angles, glowing softly along their path. It's less than arduous, but their hands remain entwined until they reach their destination.

The cliff is unassuming from the main road, secluded enough that they won't be disturbed. Estinien slows as they near the precipice, caught off guard by the view. The land below them, around them, is alight with crystals echoing the same bright blue as the Crystal Tower stretching into a cloudless sky speckled with winter constellations. Silvertear Lake reflects it all like a dark, glittering mirror, marred only by the silhouette of the Agrius and Midgardsormr coiled around it.

Io tears her eyes away from Estinien's surprise in time to catch the tail of a meteor streaking across the sky.

"Come." She tugs his hand. "Let's sit."

They settle down just before the cliff's edge, Io sitting between his legs, her back against Estinien's chest. She's turned slightly to make conversation easier, and one of his knees bends upward to support her. The blanket wraps around their shoulders, not wide enough to fully cocoon them both. Neither complain; the wind whipping across the overlook is an excuse to inch that much closer.

The shower starts slowly, a lone star winking across the heavens here and there, but soon the night sky is radiant with them. They point one out, following its sparkling descent only to miss the next. 

Io sips the last of her cider and places the empty cup next to Estinien’s. Her hand falls to his raised knee. "Do they wish upon stars in Ishgard? Or is it considered blasphemous?"

"Blasphemous? Against what?" Estinien meets her eye, and his confusion is earnest.

"The Holy See's church. Or perhaps the astrologians don't like it. I'm not sure, Estinien, but Ishgard is not exactly whimsical."

His laugh is rough and short as his fingers twist into her hair. "Is Dalmasca?" He watches her watching the sky. The attention is welcome and comfortable.

"More than Ishgard, yes." She nudges him with her elbow. She thinks to tell him about decorating her village in a whirl of color for summer festivals that lasted days, or racing from tree to tree with her siblings, grabbing ripe fruits along the way as a prize for the winner. Perhaps, the evenings when the entire community gathered to eat, sing, and be together because they could?

She goes quiet in his arms, thinking of her last day in her homeland. Loose dirt flying into the air with each explosion. Red all around her, fire and blood. The fear in her younger siblings’ eyes, even as they looked at her with unconditional trust, and the gnawing in her gut that, in the end, their trust was misplaced. That last day makes all the other memories too sore to share. She tries to keep the ache out of her voice. "I can't account for the more recent changes."

“Look at me,” Estinien says, and she does. His expression is serious, his eyes soft. “We are far from that place. Those places. The scars serve as a reminder of what was lost. They prove, too, that wounds do heal. We’ll talk about our first homes someday.”

Io bites her lip to stop her eyes from watering, and she nods. Her face turns to the sky and the beautiful lights cutting across deep blue, but her attention is on Estinien’s arms pulling her into his warmth. His chin is on her shoulder, and he kisses her jaw. She reaches up to stroke his cheek, and he sighs into the touch. They’re quiet for a long time.

So long, in fact, that the meteor shower slows and Io assumes it’s reached its end. One last star bursts to life, brighter than most of the others. This evening's incandescent punctuation.

"You should make a wish before it goes."

He squeezes her tightly.

"Let it go. I have no need."

#azia writes #io laithe #io/estinien #love to post a fic at 1am and run #ANYWAYYYYYYY i'm sick and ill about them #i feel like i'm swinging wildly out of character but like. estinio's whole vibe is comfy domestic softness and a sprinkle of healing #plus it's always that good shit when one of them is sort of grumpy or short with most other people but just. a puddle for their love #and i like to think they're both far more open with each other than they can be around other people #but there are still some things they can't talk about. even if they understand #idk idk I'M JUST SHRUGGING. they're spinning violently in my mind what else am i meant to say #BYE

[crimewriter]

this meme

for updated Ángel/Pat because it's about damn time

how did they meet?

Ángel worked for Pat's father, Javier, since before she was born. The first time he saw her as a newborn baby, fussing in her mother's arms, he didn't pay her much mind. Pat obviously doesn't remember the encounter, he's just always been around.

who flirted with who first?

Pat. When they reunited as adults, Ángel really did see her as off-limits in many ways. He's much older, the alliance they had was rocky at best, and he's put her through a lot in the past. So her flirting was surprising, and although he'd flirt back sometimes, he felt like he was responsible to not let it go any further.

was it love at first sight or a slowburn romance?

Slowish burn. I personally believe a slow burn should take a long time, and with them it didn't, but it definitely wasn't immediate.

did they start dating right away or were they friends before things became romantic?

You could say they were friends, or maybe "frenemies". They clashed hard in the beginning, and although with time they definitely started getting along better and growing closer, they still argued constantly by the time they hooked up.

what was their first date?

It was a dinner date at Ángel's house. They weren't supposed to be seen together, so it wasn't safe to take her anywhere else. They dressed up and had a really fancy dinner. It was a nice evening.

Their first date in public was a weekend trip to St. Barths. They explored the island, holding hands and being affectionate in public just because they could.

what are their favourite things to do on date nights?

They enjoy live music, small intimate concerts and performances so it's not too crowded. Similarly, when they do dates at home they'll play and sing and dance together a lot. They also like going to dinner and to the movies.

do they still go on dates after being together for a while?

That time hasn't come yet, but yes, absolutely. Having time to focus solely on each other is very important to them.

what is their love language?

It's a mixture of all of them, but primarily gift giving and acts of service. Separately, Pat loves physical touch and Ángel loves quality time, so they do a lot of those too.

who kissed who first?

Pat kissed him first, after an argument (which I would say is the most Pat thing to do).

who started the relationship?

In the beginning, it was more of an unofficial thing. They'd fuck, they'd go on dates, they'd spend time together, they'd even talk about having feelings for each other, but they never specified having an actual exclusive relationship.

But of course, Pat would get visibly jealous of any woman within a 5 mile radius of him. His jealousy of her was more subtle, but it definitely existed. He also hated it when she had to return to Juárez, and he didn't know when they'd be able to see each other in person again.

At some point they confronted each other about those things, and it was when they decided to make it official. But it will still be a while before they're able to be open about it.

monogamy or polyamory?

lol we all know Pat's not doing polyamory unless she has a gun to her head. Monogamy all the way.

are they/do they plan on getting married?

They aren't, and they don't typically talk about it when the scenario around their relationship is so unstable. It's like there's a silent agreement between them: wait until the cartel war is over, and if we're both alive we'll think about that.

But there are moments where they mention it casually; talking about what pets they'd have, or how that nice painting they saw the other day will look good in their living room when they live together. Deep down, getting married is something both of them want very badly.

who proposed? was it a yes or no?

In a happy AU, Ángel will propose, in a pretty (and likely public) spot. She'll say yes without hesitation.

do they want kids? who brought it up first?

In this happy AU, they do have children together in the future. Pat really wants kids, and Ángel doesn't not want them, he just doesn't think about it as often because he already has a daughter. For this reason Pat's the one who brings it up first. He's on board though.

do they already have kids, together or from previous relationships?

Pat doesn't. Ángel has a 13 year old daughter named Isabella from his past marriage. Together they'll have some in the happy AU, but I haven't decided how many yet.

how do they take care of each other when they are sick/hurt?

Pat gets moody as hell. Ángel enjoys taking care of her, but it can be so difficult to convince her that working herself to exhaustion won't make the sickness go away. Ángel on the other hand is the kind of person who whines about being sick, but insists it's not that bad when suggested that he takes some meds or goes to the doctor. It annoys the fuck out of Pat. But she thinks of how gentle he is with her when she's sick, so she tries her best to be patient with him. But still, there are definitely days where they snap and argue.

In the case of a serious illness or injury, they'll be spending whole nights awake just to make sure the other is okay and has everything they need. They'll also do the other's chores and make their home quiet and comfortable.

how do they like to spend time together?

They really enjoy each other's company a lot, even if they're just sitting on the couch and talking. They love watching movies, or singing and playing guitar together on lazy days.

what are their favourite non-sexual forms of intimacy?

Bringing each other food and coffee. Hand-holding and cheek kisses. When they look at each other from across the room and they can just tell they're thinking the exact same thing.

what are some of their favourite things about their partner?

They both admire each other's resilience, determination and ambition. Ángel always knew she was going to go far. He also likes that she's bold and argumentative and assertive, and that she has a personality that can't be overlooked.

Pat has seen how gentle he can be, and also how violent if the situation calls for it. She loves both sides of him. She finds him intelligent and slightly intimidating in the sense that impressing him is difficult, but it's a challenge she loves to partake in.

how do they comfort the other when they are upset?

Ángel will spoil her with gifts, offer to draw her a bath or cook for her. Pat will offer a hug or cuddles or a massage. Both will try to coax the other to talk about it, but they're definitely more likely to start off with gestures of emotional support like that.

who buys the other spontaneous gifts?

Both! Pat does it because it's one of her main love languages. Ángel does it because he noticed how happy it makes her when he brings her a gift, even if small. She just likes to know he was thinking about her even when she wasn't there.

what position do they sleep in?

Usually spooning, or with Pat with her head on his chest. In the secret affair stage of their relationship, sleeping together is a rarity, so they'll be in each other's arms whenever they have the opportunity.

do they bathe/shower together?

They love taking a bath together after sex. It's their time to relax, and for Ángel to pamper her with massages and kisses. Showering is more rare, but not off the table.

do they do anything else in the bath/shower other than wash?

They fuck, but not that often. Shower sex is when they have no time for anything else. A second round in the bath is nice, but Ángel is much older and usually needs a longer time to recover in between rounds.

in the bedroom - vanilla, a little spice, or kinky af?

A little spice. They do some light dom/sub stuff and their sex can be quite rough at times, but I wouldn't go as far as calling them super kinky.

for applicable ships - who is more dominant/submissive?

In the day to day, both are equally dominant. In bed, even though Pat is a vers, Ángel is definitely more dominant so most of the time she takes a more submissive role

what is their favourite sex position?

Cowgirl, but with both of them sitting up so she's on his lap.

do either of them enjoy bringing sex toys into the bedroom?

They don't care that much about it tbh. They'd be willing to try it out if the other suggested it, but even then it'd be more of a once in a while kind of thing rather than something they'd like to do regularly.

favourite place to have sex?

Pat enjoys the thrill of having sex somewhere other than the bed, like they were too caught up in the moment to make it to the bedroom. So it's not uncommon for them to fuck on the couch, against the wall, or at whatever available surface. But of course, the bed is a classic. Ángel's office, too.

most adventurous place they’ve had sex?

A pile of cocaine ready to be shipped overseas. A jet plane in the air is a close second.

how often do they fight? what about?

In the beginning they used to fight pretty much everyday. Ángel disliked that she was impulsive and unpredictable. Frankly, he found her immature too. Pat was still extremely hurt over the past (more specifically, Ángel's role in the attack she suffered as a teenager), and she would snap at him constantly. But these fights definitely got better once they began working through the past. Pat realized she could forgive him, because her anger was misdirected. And Ángel realized just how much of his refusal to let himself care about her was because he felt guilty over what happened.

Aside from that, they fight over Pat's irrational jealousy, or Ángel's tendency to shut her out when he's upset, or because they're both hot-headed and end up taking their anger out on each other sometimes.

Serious fights tend to revolve around César, or their arrangement with Pat as his informant. They're more rare, but definitely explosive when they happen.

have they ever broken up?

As an affair, quite a few times, specially after the explosive fights I just talked about. But they had to talk to each other for work at some point, and ended up back together.

messy breakup, amicable split, remain friends, ride or die or til death do us part?

til death do us part :(

#ángel & patricia.

[thephantomchronicles]

what the hell happened to you & just breathe you’re okay i promise just breathe for juke hurt prompt <3

prompt list here

ao3 link here

Julie prided herself in being pretty perceptive. Still, if you asked her right now, she doubted she'd be able to explain how exactly they got there. Last thing she was certain about, they were actually having fun on the beach and now they were suddenly fighting demons on top of the rocks and Julie was pretty sure her ice cream would have melted by the time they were done.

Luke and Reggie were higher up, while she and Flynn were handling the middle ground. Carrie and Alex were over the other side and Julie could mostly hear rather than see them, but no one was screaming, so she was willing to bet everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

There weren’t even that many demons around and they were handling them pretty well. They were mere feet away from the Institute which was working in their favor since demons wouldn’t really get too close, but they’d still come unprepared. This was supposed to be a fun night. Thank the Angel Flynn and Carrie were always prepared to go into fight mode anytime anywhere.

Julie had her whip and everything was going great as far as she was concerned, demons exploding left and right. It wasn't until a couple of seconds later when she heard a yelp and looked up to find Reggie cornered at the edge of the rocks. She was about to climb up when her way was suddenly blocked by another smaller demon.

A knife landed on its head and she didn’t have to turn around to know Flynn had taken care of it. She pushed herself up to reach the guys just when the demon lunged for Reggie.

Luke was faster though as he ran in, grabbed Reggie’s wrist and pulled him back, changing places with him. Just in time to be at the demon’s line of fire that led them both to fall into the ocean.

“Luke!” she shouted, running over to the edge and staring into the water.

“Do you see him?” Reggie was next to her in a second, frantically looking around at the waves.

Before Julie could say anything, something exploded into the water, making it calm again. The demon was dead, Luke should resurface.

Only he didn’t.

“Shit,” she said, already throwing every kind of weapon she held, including her whip on the rocky surface beneath her and diving into the water without a second thought.

The atmosphere was actually pretty pleasant, yet the water was still freaking cold as she swam deeper, looking for Luke. She’d already drawn a Night Vision rune, enough to help her see better, but with the water and the fact that a demon had literally just died there, it was getting harder and harder and she’d have to swim back up soon to take a breath.

Her search was becoming more and more frantic when she finally caught sight of Luke closer to the rocks. She pushed herself in a little deeper, her lungs starting to burn, but Luke was sinking further down and she couldn’t waste any time.

She managed to catch his arm, pulling him up with her until she was finally able to resurface. She breathed heavily as she swam towards the shore, Flynn and Reggie already climbing back down to come help her.

Julie was still panting when she finally found her footing just as the others caught up with her, quickly pulling both her and Luke outside. Julie didn’t really give herself a second to think, seeing as Luke was not breathing, just fell on her knees next to him on the sand.

She leaned over him, giving him mouth to mouth. He couldn’t have been under for more than a few seconds, but it was obviously enough to have nearly drowned him. Every second went by agonizingly slow as Julie kept trying to bring him back when he suddenly spasmed and started coughing, spitting out all the water he’d drunk.

The guys helped her turn him to his side so he wouldn’t choke as he kept coughing out water. And Julie was finally able to breathe again just as Luke did too, although still with some difficulty as he tried to make up for all the lost air.

“Just breathe…” she said softly. “You’re okay, I promise, just breathe,” she added both to Luke and herself.

Luke eventually started to calm down only then for Julie to notice he was shivering. She hadn’t even had the time to realize she felt kind of cold too despite the not too low temperatures. Almost drowning in cold water would probably do that to you.

“Okay, let’s get you both inside before you freeze,” Flynn said while Reggie was drawing runes down Luke’s arm.

Julie wasn’t going to disagree with that, really wanting to change into dry clothes and just lay down for a few seconds, her muscles only now starting to feel the strain. She helped pull Luke up, holding his hand which was ice cold, but she had to remind herself that he was actually okay and she was probably not that warm either right now.

She thanked the Angel the Institute was just a few feet away and was quick to put on new clothes and turn her attention back to Luke. He looked much better and definitely less wet, but he still couldn’t stop coughing every once in a while. Julie threw a couple of blankets over him, patting them all around him to make sure he was warm.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, although still drew them closer with a shiver.

“I know you’re fine, I pulled you out of the water myself,” Julie said as she climbed into the bed too, pulling him closer. “I just want you to be comfortable too.”

Luke leaned into her, still a bit too cold for Julie’s taste, and seemed to be feeding off her warmth. She scooted a bit closer, hugging him tight as he let him adjust to normal body temperatures again.

“What the hell happened to you down there?” she murmured against his temple.

“The blast threw me back,” he mumbled, taking a deep breath. “Hit my head.”

Julie sighed, her hold on him tightening. “I love you so much,” she whispered. “And I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I love you too,” Luke said. “And I’m glad you didn’t let me drown.”

“I just married you, you can’t die,” Julie said, rubbing his arm when she felt another shiver going through him.

“Should I wait a couple of months?” Luke asked, the smile evident in his voice.

“How about many many more years?” Julie said instead.

“Yeah,” Luke said, snuggling in closer to her even though there wasn’t even that much space left anymore. “That sounds better.”

#thank you🥰 #new fic #hurt prompts #the phantom chronicles #jatp #julie and the phantoms #juke #julie molina #luke patterson #shadowhunter AU

[bloodycyrano]

Coming Undone, a WIP BG3 fanfic following the events of the game as well as afterwards. I have big plans for future chapters, so stay tuned.

Pairing: Astarion/Durge

Chapter 2/6, "The Pale Elf"

We don't talk about chapter one, it sucks.

Tumblr edition (I edited it further because apparently three weeks of fine tuning wasn't enough and I wanted to change more)

Tags for the entire fic: Cannon-typical violence, Blood and gore, spoilers, slow burn, family drama, nonbinary durge, mentions of past abuse, found family troupe, mentions of homicide, graphic descriptions of homicide, eventual smut, I like to think I'm funny, fluff and angst, gender dysphoria, group shenanigans, Durge is a licensed therapist, character development, loss of limbs, slightly unhinged main character.

Please don't criticize me, I might throw up.

Disclaimer, I do not own the majority of the characters in this fic, nor do I own 80% of the storyline that is to come. Durge does not have the cannon background 100% because the backstory started writing itself before it even occurred to me the actual bhaalspawn logistics. That being said, it does follow 99% of it.

-

When I awoke, I could feel the fresh ocean waves just barely lapping at my feet, causing shivers to roll up my body despite where I laid out on the warm sand, sun beaming bright overhead..

I shielded my gaze, nose wrinkling in discomfort as my already light sensitive eyes were assaulted by the intense rays of late-spring sunshine..

With a sneer, I picked myself up, off of the sandy ground.. analyzing my surroundings for a moment.. Immediately, my gaze was locked on the wreckage of the nautiloid..

Well.. To my knowledge, not many people could say they crashed an alien ship before, let alone survived one.

I could've almost laughed if it not for the gravity of the situation weighing on my narrow shoulders..

I had half expected my memories to return once I had gained my freedom from the mind flayers ship, but the past few years were still an aching void..

If I didn't find a way to get the parasite out of my brain soon, I knew my future would be wiped clean before I even got a chance to recall any faded memories..

Gritting my teeth, I could feel my chipped nails digging into my palms. An eager feeling flourished in my gut, alongside my usual feeling of anxiety. Eager to fight. To regain my identity..

But first, I'd have to look around. Allies, clues.. Shadowheart and Lae'zel. Maybe find a healer who could remove this horrifying parasite.

I didn't know how long I had left before being transformed, and part of me didn't want to find out.. But still. I needed to know my fate.

I turned around, peering at my surroundings with an inquisitive gaze, hoping to find some sort of clue for how to proceed, or sign of immediate danger..

The wreckage of the nautiloid was all around. I suppose I didn't quite realize how big the ship was until that moment. Seeing the massive thing smashed along the grounds, smoke still rolling off of the partially flaming metal and writhing tentacles. It was somewhat intimidating to look at, I had to admit. But amidst the air of caution, there was a feeling of mystery as well that I couldn't ignore.

My anxious and eager feelings vanished as soon as they rose as I set my eyes on the ashy, rocky planes before me. Rubble and smoke clouding the beach.

When I turned, I could see a mangled fisherman up ahead, no doubt a casualty of the crash.

I felt a pull as I approached. A familiar smile tugging at my lips.

It was a warm feeling. One I had felt before.. Though, to my surprise, I felt perhaps I had become more used to this feeling than what I could merely remember a handful of times in my youth.

I felt a sort of yearning I couldn't yet explain as I stared down at the corpse. But in the back of my head, there was another thought that struck like a lingering miasma. The confused stupor I had found myself in was one that ached violently in my skull. I hated not having my memories, and it weighed heavily on me. What of my family? Had I seen them since I left home? Hurt them..?

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I pushed the thought aside. Allowing myself a few more moments of shameless enjoyment as I stood over the bloody cadaver; before moving forward.

A mere few feet away, I could spot Shadowheart, the cleric I had saved on the Mind Flayer ship..

She lay sprawled out on the ash-covered grounds, sand woven between strands of her long, bound, raven hair..

I took a moment to observe.. allowing my gaze to follow over her unconscious form and intricately patterned armor, before settling on her face.

Shadowhearts armor was similar in style to that of many clerics I had seen before, though the patterns etched and woven into the steel were foreign to me.

I wondered, for a moment, what sort of deity granted her divine powers. I had studied many topics in adolescence, including Clerics and the various cloisters surrounding Faerun, but I couldn't remember anything quite like this.

The armor she wore was heavy, and thick. Steel plate layered atop chainmail.

Despite how bulky most heavy armor was, the half elfs garb remained very feminine and almost sleek.

I never quite understood the need for aesthetically pleasing armor. At the end of the day, it was merely to keep you from sustaining fatal damage.

Regardless of my personal thoughts on the matter, however, I couldn't deny that her armor was not only effective, but also had an air of elegance and beauty.. It suited her.

She had sharper features, though they were softened by a sort of youthful naivety. Despite the shitty attitude she had towards Lae'zel on the ship, there was a kindness about her scarred face.

I took a moment longer to assess her for wounds. Unfortunately, if she had been injured in the crash, she would be of very little use to me.

Under closer inspection, I saw she bore no obvious injury. No blood, bruising, nor swelling of any sort.

Quickening my pace, I drew nearer, and could soon hear her sleep-clouded mumbling.. a sort of pleading.

Another thing is that I noticed she still held the metal object from the ship, clutched tightly in her right hand..

My curiosity spiked. I could've taken the item, simply to see what it was while she was incapacitated..

But no. I knew better than that. An ally is an ally, no matter how secretive they may be.

With a stiff and hesitant breath, I reached forward, giving her shoulder a light jostle..

I did my best to be gentle, though I knew my grip could be firm, and perhaps a bit careless at times.

Not like she'd be able to tell through her thick, metal shoulder guards, though.

Jolting awake, she took a deep breath in.. grip tightening on the relic she held as her vibrant green eyes popped open and scanned our surroundings, like sun stricken orbs of glimmering moldavite.

“You're alive,” she remarked, shock evident in her tone. “I'm alive… How is this possible?”

With a faint jingling of her chainmail, she did her best to covertly slip the mystery object into her pack; though her focus was clearly much more settled upon our surprising survival..

I sighed softly, running a hand through my messy and soot-stained hair.. “Doesn't matter,” I shrugged, “We made it. All we can do now is hope our luck doesn't run out.”

Shadowheart let out a faint hum of approval, nodding simply as she looked around..

“True, I suppose.. it seems we are the lucky ones, judging by all the corpses strewn about.” She mused..

“I remember the ship, I remember falling… Then nothing.”

I didn't see the point in retelling the obvious. Instead, I chose to remain task oriented.

“What happened to Lae'zel?” I asked, though reminding myself that the Warrior actually never introduced herself to Shadowheart.. “Our gith friend.”

She furrowed her brow at my clarification, tilting her head a bit as she gazed down at me. “You might want to reconsider calling her a friend-... Looks like she ran off without us.”

I shrugged, “It's not as though we can guarantee her safety. I know little of githyanki culture, but I know of their history with the mind flayers. She's probably terrified, and seeing as we're all infected..-” My voice trailed off as I caught her gaze- I was not typically silenced by a glare, but I knew when to shut up. Usually.

Shadowheart made no effort to hide her vague irritation at my ramblings, though she did not comment on it.

A soft sigh escaped my chest as I rolled my eyes, “Regardless, we should look for her. She may be injured.”

A very faint huff left her lips, though she seemed nearly amused, “You're more concerned for her than she is for you, clearly. We need to take care of ourselves.” She declared, “Firstly, we need supplies. Shelter. Perhaps most importantly, a healer.”

She spoke with determination, a clear view of what was to come next.

“We might have escaped, but we still have these little monsters in our heads.”

For a split second, I paused. My gut twisted with a sort of hesitance. Internally, I could feel myself pulling back. I guess even despite my intentions to keep my assets close, I still somewhat hoped to deal with this whole debacle on my own. “We?” I asked, masking my discomfort with an idle curiosity, “You intend to stay together?”

She simply nodded, gazing back at me with a sort of expectation. “We need each other, and we both know what's at stake. I can't think of better company.” She mused.

I knew she was right. And perhaps her company wouldn't be so awful, despite my general misanthropy.

“Alright,” I nodded, “let's get moving.”

Holding up a delicate hand, she halted me in place, “One thing, just before we go.” She started. Her voice was softer now, though perhaps there was a very very faint underlying tone of a sort of obligation. “I wanted to thank you again. For freeing me.. It would've been all too easy for you to run right past my pod, but you didn't. I'll remember that.”

Her gaze was unwavering, as well as her tone. Voice smooth and genuine. This was no ploy to gain my trust, but true gratitude.

I met it with a very soft smile, and a nod. “Of course,” I said, “Though you need not thank me. I'll admit, I saved you more for my own benefit than yours.”

She let out a faint chuckle at my honesty and nodded.. “Fair enough. Lead the way.”

A sort of relief washed over me. I didn't feel terribly uncomfortable in her presence, which was new for me. Perhaps she didn't make the greatest of first impressions, but I had to give her the benefit of the doubt, considering our mutual situation.

I navigated my way around the rubble.. glaring through the falling ash as I began to loot the bodies around us in search of supplies and anything else that may have been of use.

As I made my way forward, I noticed the water had changed as I strode upstream a bit. Brackish to fresh water.. Surely, we'd find a settlement nearby.

I knelt at the ruined docks, rifling through the backpack that sat at the edge, left most likely by one of the dead fishermen..

Beneath it sat a book. Leather bound, aged pages.. The smell of river water and old paper lingering on its materials..

‘Shanties of the Bitch Queen’

I didn't need to pick it up. It would only weigh me down over time.. But well, it's only one book. What damage could it really do?

I stuffed it into my pack.. Drow don't sleep anyways, unless persuaded by blunt force or impromptu drugging.. I'll need some reading material.

Shadowheart gave me a questioning glance, but she did not bother to ask. Simply following behind me..

I relished in the silence that befell us. It felt much more comfortable than needless prattle.

Continuing forth, I looted the dead bodies in our wake. Upon one, I found a note.. Nothing of interest, truly. And yet I still read it. A love letter, from a woman named Anna. She was asking the fisherman to run away with her..

I nearly gagged at the sugary words left on the folded paper. It was worn, but not old. The fisherman had read it and reread it over and over again, likely swooning or mulling over his options.

It mattered little now, however.

Despite my frank disrespect to the previous corpses, I decided to leave him with his precious note, along with the rest of his belongings.

I wondered if that's what he had been doing, before the crash. Going to meet Anna in Baldur's Gate..

The thoughts did little for me but to keep my mind occupied, away from any boredom or other distractions that may have crept in.

As I made my way around, I found that the only way forward was to go through the Steaming wreckage..

With a grimace, I made my way forward, alert to any threats that may have been.

Almost immediately, I noticed more of those little brain creatures..

Adorable.

I took a step closer, hoping that perhaps Us hopped among them.. But no. My heart sank a bit as I came to the conclusion that perhaps my squishy friend had perished in the wreck..

It wasn't long before the intellect devourers recognized our arrival near the scene, quickly springing to action..

These creatures were, much to my dismay, not allies.

With a grimace, I jumped back.. I had pause, heart beating quicker as I thought carefully about any possible way I could avoid killing the little creatures.

Regardless of how cute I may have seen them, though, I had to succumb to the inevitable as I dashed to avoid their attacks.

Shadowheart let out a strained grunt as she rose her shield to block a blow from one of the creatures, before swinging her mace back upon its soft and tender flesh

“What are you doing?” She snapped, “Hit the damn things!”

Frustration bubbled within my chest, but I knew she had reason to be irritated with me.

Noticing she was being surrounded, I ran forward.. bringing my left leg around, up, and straight down, driving my heel into the squishy brain-like critter.

It let out a loud, high pitched squeal of pain like nails screeching on a chalkboard as my foot managed to practically shred down the center of it.

Internally, I cringed at the sound. But I couldn't let it hold me back.

Without skipping a beat, I picked up the slimy carcass and threw it, full force, at the remaining intellect devourer.

Shadowheart took advantage of the creature's daze, swiftly shooting fire straight at it to finish the job.

She dropped her mace, bringing her hands together for a moment before fully extending them out as she said the incantation.

“Ignis!” She bellowed.

For a moment, her green eyes glowed a deep, purple tone as the flames shot from her palms.

As expected, the slimy creature fell with another ear-cringing squeal.

We took a moment to regain our breath.

I couldn't help but wonder what had gotten into me.

As a child, I was practiced in empty hand combat. But I was never that good at actually hitting my targets. Particularly not with that amount of instinct and accuracy..

I wondered what had come about in the last few years to cause such an improved technique. Even if I didn't remember further training, it seemed that my body did..

‘Holy shit, that was so badass..’ I thought to myself, though doing my best to maintain a cold and unbothered demeanor.

The cleric narrowed her eyes at me, pointed ears twitching slightly in a vague irritation, “Why did you hesitate?” She asked, taking a breath as she, herself, finally calmed her beating heart.

For a moment, I paused. I wondered if she didn't see what I saw, and how she could ask such a question that I felt was so obvious. Still, I turned to look at her, expression deadpanned. “They're cute,” I insisted, “What do you expect? It's like kicking a puppy.”

Shadowheart was.. Taken aback, to say the least. She made no effort to hide her disgust, wrinkling her nose slightly.

“Not exactly what I would call cute, Wren.” She shot back, “Make sure you don't freeze up like that in the future”

I wanted to come up with some snarky retort or snippy comment. But she was right - I mean, not about the creatures not being cute. For that, I think perhaps she may have hit her head harder than initially thought when she fell from the ship.

Still, I can't afford to hesitate like that when we're being attacked. It could cost us our lives, and I needed to be wary of it.

Regardless, my stubbornness got the better of me, with the help of her (warranted) shitty tone.

Thus, like a literal child, I opted to stick my tongue out at her and stick up my middle finger.

I wasn't particularly rude about it, or at least I hoped it didn't come off that way. It was more of a casual ‘Fuck you.’

She rolled her eyes, wordlessly gesturing for us to keep going on our way.

Tensions were high, and we knew that. There was no point in actually fighting over something so small as an attitude problem.

We carried on with little issue, looting the small area before once again finding ourselves in the sand.

If not for the nautiloid crash, or the startling absence of memories in my skull, perhaps the scenery would've been beautiful. But as sour as I felt, I could find no joy in the glimmering of the sunshine on the crisp, blue waters.

We looted a few crates by the waves, and turned to follow the dirt path uphill..

Upon reaching about halfway up the hill, a voice called out.

An elf, up at the top of the incline, with the complexion of a fucking snowman.

“You there! I need help!” He called out.

His tone was urgent, vaguely panic stricken, but controlled.. and just a smidge pretentious, like some twat nobleman.

Letting out a deep sigh from deep within my chest, I jogged up to meet the man.

I was in no particular hurry, but I figured it best to get it over with..

“Very well. What do you want?” I asked, arching a brow as I approached, Shadowheart following at my heel, though a few paces away still..

He stood in a somewhat crouched, defensive stance, peering off into the shrubbery with his hands readied at his sides.

“Hurry,” he urged. “I've got one of those.. brain things cornered.”

I cocked my head.. sure, he looked a bit like a pretty boy, but I saw no reason he couldn't handle one intellect devourer by himself- He was fully armed, for fucks sake. It's not hard.

Still, I pressed forward, attempting to look into the underbrush, where he was pointing.

The area was obscured with weeds and shrubbery.. tall grass, and a few saplings here and there grew thick at the edge of the short cliff.

“There, in the grass.” He said, “You can kill it, can't you? Like you killed the others.”

This alone was enough to give me pause. This meant he had been watching us, and I didn't know for quite how long since our wake.

I chewed softly at the inside of my cheek, deciding to give the man the benefit of the doubt..

After all, I had Shadowheart behind me, should anything happen.

“Easily,” I said, not bothering to keep the wariness from my voice as I stepped forward, towards the thicket of greenery. “Stand back.”

“There,” he pointed, getting a bit closer behind me as he did his best to show me where the creature was. “Can you see it?”

His voice lowered for a moment.. It was softer, almost mesmerizing. I figured he was just trying to be quieter, so not to startle the creature in the foliage.

I was wrong.

As I leaned over the small cliff, in search of the brain he had spoken about. A few seconds passed, and I could hear a faint rustling in the bushes. Perhaps the elf was being honest, after all. But this feeling of relief was short lived as a young wild boar came barreling out of the bushes, taking off in fear of my advance.

The elf closed in.

In a flash, he had his unexpectedly firm and solid arms around me and a dagger at my throat.

My eyes grew wide, and instinctively, I swept his supporting leg out from beneath him.

This, however, did not help the situation.

Even as we collided with the hard, dirt-covered ground, his grip held unrelentingly. Despite my efforts to escape, I found we had been in the same situation, the only difference being that we were just simply struggling about in the moss now.

I let out a stiff and forced grunt as I fought against his surprisingly strong grip and tried my best to force the dagger away from my throat.

“Shh..” he cooed, “Not a sound. Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.”

His words washed over me like pure silk, sending a fluttering feeling in my stomach. It brought a whole new level of discomfort; Almost lulling me into a sense of calm despite my situation.

“And you-” He snapped out, tone becoming somewhat harsh as he turned to glare at Shadowheart, who stood behind us with her hands up in a somewhat defensive position, ready to draw her weapon should it prove necessary.

“Keep your distance,” He remarked. “No need for this to get messy.”

She met him only with a bitter glare, crossing her arms over her plated chest.

“I need them alive.” She stated, her usually soft voice taking on a sort of forceful tone that reminded me of the attitude she had back on the nautiloid. “Stow that blade, or I'll show you just how messy things can get.”

The pale elf gave out a soft yet sarcastic chuckle, turning his full attention back to me, his annoyingly perfect, stark white hair falling just slightly in his face.

“Promises, promises. But I have other business, I'm afraid.” He mused..

His deep, wine red eyes locked on my own, gaze holding a sort of dominance as a triumphant smirk befell his face. “Now, I saw you on the ship, didn't I? Nod.”

His tone was dark. Commanding. He had me exactly where he wanted me, and it became increasingly obvious that he took a significant measure of pride in it.

My grip tightened around the blade as I tried to force it away from my neck, even still. Allowing it to lightly cut into my skin.. A single drop of my crimson blood trailed down the blade, falling onto my cheek.

I could feel the tips of my pointed ears heating up as he stared down at me, his gaze flickering to the speck of red for a split second- But that mere moment of distraction was all I needed

Despite his effects, I refused to let anyone get the better of me like this. Especially not some pretty boy blue blood with a vitamin D deficiency.

Grinding my teeth, I pushed him as hard as I could while throwing caution to the wind and driving my already aching skull hard against his forehead.

We collided. Hard.

He let out a grunt, putting his hand to his head in pain as we both rolled away from each other.

“Ugh! You wretched little-” His voice came to a higher pitch, a level of almost amusing disgruntlement oozing off of the man in a manner that could've made me laugh if it hadn't been for the pain I was also suffering as consequence of my clever escape.

As he got to his feet, that familiar swirling feeling clouded my brain. The parasite..

In a flash, I was looking through unfamiliar eyes, prowling dark and busy streets.

I did my best to hold the memory, curiosity urging me to see more. But it faded to the worm. The bright lights. The fear that I felt well in my gut, though I knew it was not my own.

The elf felt it, too. Another connection.

He clenched his jaw, sharp eyes widening in a sort of shock and confusion..

“What was that?” He demanded, “What's going on?”

For a second, I wondered if he could see inside my mind as well. I wondered if he could glimpse the same world I saw before being abducted, even if I could not remember it myself. As much as I wanted to know, I pushed it aside. There were more important things to deal with at the moment. Crossing my strong arms over my chest, I glared up at the man, aching a mistrustful brow. “Put the knife away, and I'll tell you everything.”

For a moment, he only broadened his stance, pulling his dagger up so that he was ready to strike, should he need to..

“I'm not an idiot.” He snapped, trying to put it together himself. “It has to be those tentacled monsters. Something they did…”

His voice trailed off, gaze faltering for a moment as he soon saw reason.

“They took you, too. I saw it during.. Whatever just happened,” he admitted, sheathing his blade.

He let out a soft chuckle, tilting his head a bit, “And here I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards,” he mused, gaze analyzing my own battered form for a moment, “Apologies.”

‘I saw it’, was what my brain caught on in the moment. Not only were my suspicions confirmed, but if I asked him, I realized he may be able to give me a clue to my missing past.

Still, as he continued, I couldn't help but to let a wry smile tug at my lips as I peered up at him- I could understand why he took the approach that he did. And even more, I could appreciate his humor.

“Can't blame you,” I said with a shrug, “I was quite looking forward to seeing yours.”

He gave a slightly amused laugh in response, nodding.. “A kindred spirit.. My name's Astarion,” he said, giving the slightest little bow of introduction, “I was in Baldur's Gate when those beasts snatched me.”

“You may call me Wren,” I mirrored, “I uh-.. I actually don't know where I was when I was captured.”

For a moment, he placed his hands on his hips, looking me up and down. “A pleasure,” he assured, “So. Do you know anything about these worms?”

With a grimace, I nodded. “Unfortunately, I do. They'll turn us into mind flayers.”

His brows knit tightly together in almost disbelief at first, eyes widening as it fully sunk in. “Turn us into-.. Ahah..”

His face almost looked mournful. With a bitter chuckle, he continued, briefly pressing his fingers to his temples.. “Of course, it'll turn me into a monster. What else did I expect..?” He muttered to himself. Before his deep eyes came aglow with what I could only assume was hope, just the slightest, faintest spark..

“Although.. It hasn't happened yet. If we can find an expert, someone that can control these things, there might still be time.”

I remained silent, allowing the man a moment to process before I continued, peering over my shoulder at Shadowheart for a moment, who stood with a very bored expression as she waited for me to finish up; though she still paid close attention to our conversation.

I had made up my mind already as I turned back to him, tilting my head as my gaze wandered over him once more.

“You should travel with me for the duration,” I said, “Our odds are better together. Clearly, you're quick with a blade, so I doubt you'd prove useless on our quest.”

He seemed almost surprised for a moment, though not unpleasantly so. And for half a second, he almost seemed to ponder it.

I took this very brief second to take note of his posture. Body language, demeanor. Though already taller than I, he held his head in a way that he would have to look down his nose at me, while it was not inherently disrespectful. It was thoughtful. Calculated. He was sizing me up, as any rational person would when deciding whether to follow a complete stranger or not.

“You know, I was ready to go this alone,” he mused as he took a small step forward, “But maybe sticking with the herd isn't such a bad idea. And you seem like a useful person to know.” He stated, as though thinking out loud before settling entirely on his answer, “Alright. I accept.” He said, giving a very slight bow of his head in respect. “Lead on.”

As he joined at my side, Shadowheart stepped closer, no longer keeping quite a distance..

My eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than I'd like to admit. And while perhaps a slim part of it was his natural charm and magnetism, I found it joined by much more prominent thoughts. Visions of how he might look covered in blood. How his own might taste on my tongue.. The way I would position his dead body, as though a work of art.

I hid my thoughts well. There was no daze, nor excessive staring, no pause of any sort. I didn't know whether this was because I was naturally inexpressive unless I forced a display of emotion, or because I was simply used to such thoughts by now. Perhaps it was even how I had to train my face in my youth not to give off any ill-accepted emotions, for fear of the yelling that would follow. Whatever the reason, I was certainly thankful for it.

While I would've loved to relish in the thoughts a mere moment longer, I forced it to a screeching halt as I turned to face Astarion.

Before even letting me speak, he arched a brow in surprise, as he was expecting us to simply continue on our way.. He gazed down at me with a somewhat amused smirk, “You have a manner of irresistible desperation about you,” he teased.

I opened my mouth to protest, a look of offense dawning my typically blank face- but he didn't allow me a word before finishing his thought. “I like it.”

With a scoff, my eyes narrowed into a glare as I stared up at him. “I merely wanted to ask a bit about you,” I spat. “Peace of mind, considering you nearly slit my throat.” I reminded him.

“Heh.. And what a shame that would've been.” He remarked, almost sarcastically though his tone remained playful and lighthearted.

Letting out a breath, Astarion turned to a more serious - though bored -demeanor. “Ah.. What's to tell, really? I'm a magistrate back in the city. It's all rather tedious,” he explained with a shrug.

I didn't know how much I believed that, if I'm being honest. I did not know what reason he may have to lie to me, but there was something about the man that just seemed somewhat.. Off to me.

Despite this, I had known my gut to be wrong before. Rarely, though it was. Everything gave me an uneasy feeling - a distrust.

I wrote it off as a natural skepticism, not bothering to pry any deeper.

Still, I nodded; giving the man another cursory glance before joining back beside Shadowheart.

I took note of Astarions blade, and the clothes he wore.. The dagger was sharp, though poor quality, and provided him with little range.. His garb, however, was of a much higher refinement. Thick leather, stitched to uphold the standards of the ostentatious finery one would find in noble households, and dyed luxuriously vibrant purple and fuschia. The velvet accents along the chest were embellished with golden embroidery, though if you looked just close enough; you could tell that the stitching on the design patterns were coming loose and slowly unraveling.

The shirt beneath his leathers had a very refined, ruffled white collar with accents of a striking red- which clashed with the rest of his ensemble.

I would've loved to say it suited him, but it didn't. In all honesty, it seemed to be lacking in perhaps one of the most expected qualities one would find in noble garments.

Style.

Perhaps I was biased, though. I didn't particularly care for such colour pallets, and it did little to compliment the most striking part of his distinguished face; His deep and wine red eyes.

Turning to our cleric, I pulled her aside. “Have you picked up any decent blades?” I asked, kneeling before her as I sat down my pack and began to search through it.

She chuckled, tilting her head a bit as she simply watched. “Not really. You've been quick to disarm nearly every cadaver we've come across thus far.” Her comment bore a sort of amusement, rather than any kind of irritation that her wording may have implied.

I merely nodded, not bothering to look back up at her as my eyes were fixed on the various weaponry I had nicked off of the corpses in question.

“Astarion’s an interesting find,” she mused, “Let's hope any future acquaintances don't hold a blade to your throat by way of introduction.”

I found amusement in her statement, chucking slightly as my eyes finally settled on a single blade. A long and slender rapier.

I hadn't the faintest idea as to how to use the weapon adequately in battle. But I had a feeling the pale elf would..

Peering back up at Shadowheart, I cracked half a crooked smile. “I don't know. That approach certainly makes an impression,” I told her.

She rolled her eyes, laughing quietly as she looked off, into the trees up ahead and the forked path we faced. “Just don't tell him that. I doubt he needs the encouragement.”

“You may be right,” I shrugged, pulling the blade out before latching my black, leather satchel shut once again. I eyed the uneven stitching for a moment, a fond memory rolling over my mind. Perhaps one of the most recent memories I could bring forth, though it happened years ago now.

I could remember my brother teaching me how to stitch thick and sturdy leather, without ruining it.. He was the only one who supported my decision to leave the underdark. I wondered how he was doing. If he remained with my family-.. Of course he did. He'd never abandon them. Not like I did.

I felt a twinge of stale, bitter disappointment in myself. I knew the environment I left them in, and still I did not stay.

It mattered little now, though. They were safer without me there and I knew it. And I had other matters to attend.

I rose to my feet, pushing the clouded memories from my mind as I turned back to Astarion, who watched my exchange with Shadowheart closely, though he could not make out our words.

A smile still dawned his face, though there was caution in his eyes. I couldn't blame him.

“Take this,” I instructed him, holding the rapier by the blade just an inch or so below the guard as I held it out to him.

For just a second, his gaze faltered. Flitting down to the weapon with just slightly widened eyes, before taking the handle.

I released the blade into his grasp, blank eyes looking back into his own as I gave him a nod, “It should aid you better than that old dagger.” I commented. “You can't be useful if you're dead.”

He clicked his tongue quietly against his pointed teeth, smirk broadening slightly as he peered back at me. “Hm.. I do suppose you're right.” He chuckled, maintaining his eye contact. His gaze almost seemed to bore into my own, as though he were staring at my very soul.

A sort of heat rose in my throat, though I chalked it up to the smoke from the nearby wreckage. In spite of this, the air was clear where we stood.

The man had an air of mystery about him, and I doubted his little dagger trick would be the last we saw of it.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 durge #astarion #dark urge #baldurs gate tav #gale dekarios #lae'zel #fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #a03 fanfic #fanfic #baldurs gate fanfiction #karlach #shadowheart #wyll ravengard #bg3 withers #don't ask me about chapter one

[monstersandmaw]

Male werewolf x female character - Chapter Two (sfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Thank you so much for all your enthusiasm and feedback on the first chapter! Here’s the teaser/info post, with ‘moodboard’ if you missed it too.

I should probably say this story is a bit of a slow burn, and it’s long. The current wordcount is over 10k, and I know where I want to take the whole thing, plot-wise... Your enthusiasm and reblogs will keep me going to finish it, I’m sure!

Anyway, it’s after midnight here, but I wanted to give you this as soon as I could (please forgive any editing fluffs; it’s been a long day!) as a thank you for your patience regarding Etsy stuff.

Chapter One (sfw)

Hunched at the kitchen table, with a slice of that crusty, locally-made bread dripping with honey the next morning, Odessa perused the leaflets from Tala.

After flipping through a few, she settled on a trail that led straight past the cabin and up into the forested hills behind, promising good views from the top of some densely-packed contour lines. Tala had advised her to check in at the cabin, but on reflection she honestly couldn’t be bothered to drive in and drive back to the cabin again, and she didn’t exactly plan on going far, so she set off after breakfast with her small rucksack and her sturdy boots, and excitement fizzling though her muscles.

Naturally, it started raining as she neared the summit of the trail and, grumbling to herself, she extricated her waterproof and sighed as raindrops spattered down from the rusty autumn leaves onto the hood, turning the coat practically into a drum. Below, mist pooled and shifted in the valley, caressing the rooftops of the town as it blew lazily past in drifts, and steam rose from the trees until the whole place seemed like a living breathing organism. In a way, she supposed it was. Despite the rain, it was still gorgeous, and a feral smile soon split her face, and she shoved back her hood to let the drops patter down, heedless of the way it frizzed her hair to a wild tangle and ran down her cheeks.

For the first time in months, she felt truly alive.

On her way back down the six mile loop though, her skin began to prickle in a way that had nothing at all to do with the damp in the air.

Eventually, she ground to an uneasy halt on the corner of a gritty, switch-back path, listening as the merry rivulet of water that had been accompanying her for the last mile or so seemed to grow almost overwhelmingly loud in the otherwise still air. Apart from the steady patter of raindrops through the dark canopy of pines and deciduous beech, the woods had gone suddenly silent.

Frozen like a deer, she waited, heart pounding with no explanation for it.

After she had stood there for what felt like forever, she thought she saw a shadow move between the trees far away to her right down the steep slope of the hillside. Her head whipped around and she sucked in a panicky breath.

“Don’t be stupid,” she hissed to herself a few seconds later. “There’s nothing there. You’re just fucking jumpy.”

What she thought she’d seen had been big though — as big as, if not bigger than, a bear — but the dark shape had been quick and silent, like a shadow racing along a wall.

“It’s nothing. Just a cloud or something. Stop freaking yourself out,” she muttered, setting off with a stubborn frown, but the peaceful atmosphere of the place had shattered to leave roiling anxiety in her stomach, and she was only too happy to see the outline of the cabin as she crossed the stepping stones in the rocky, fast-flowing stream below the property, and stumped up to the door with her boots caked in mud and her leggings soaked.

Peeling them off wasn’t exactly fun, but the hot shower afterwards was delightful, and when she emerged, the mirror was fogged and her face was flushed.

With nothing in the fridge but milk, and with her supplies from the road the previous day gone, she dressed, twisted her wild, wet hair up into something resembling a bun, and shoved on her old black boots.

Rainy days, it seemed, drew every resident of Pinewatch into town because there was nowhere on the main street to park. With a growl, she did a hasty three-point turn in the forecourt of a tumble-down garage at the southern-most reach of the street, the building’s red, corrugated roof more moss and birds nest than actual metal, and headed back up towards the Information Centre.

Odessa ducked inside to make sure it was alright to park there, and found someone different behind the desk that day. The woman looked older than Tala had, perhaps in her early forties, and she had her dark hair pulled back in a low bun like a policewoman. Her expression was fierce too as she looked up, but it soon softened a little when Odessa smiled.

“Hi,” she said, wiping her boots on the welcome mat. “I spoke to Tala yesterday about trails and stuff, but I thought I’d just ask if it was ok to park here while I go into town?”

The woman barked a laugh and nodded. “No space, huh? Gets busy on days like this. Sure, feel free.”

“Thanks.”

“You been for a hike yet?”

Odessa nodded, pausing on the point of leaving. “Yeah, I went this morning for a little loop from the cabin. It’s beautiful, even when it’s rainy.”

“That it is.”

Before they could exchange any more words, a door opened from the back of the building, and a man who looked to be in his early thirties stepped out, wearing park service gear, comprised of sturdy, dark trousers and boots, and a forest-green shirt with the logo on the chest. And what a chest, she thought, taken off-guard by the thought.

He truly was gorgeous. Easily six foot four or five, the man had weathered, tanned skin and dark, salt-and-pepper hair that was cropped short at the sides and left longer on the top. His was the kind of figure that spoke of long hours of physical activity outdoors, and not of gruelling sessions in the gym. The way the short sleeves of the airtex shirt stretched over his defined biceps though was enough to make her mouth go dry, not to mention his long, lean legs which seemed to go on for miles…

“Hey, Carys,” he said, without looking over. “Have you got the —” he halted and twitched around, obviously not having noticed Odessa, and doing a soft double-take when he saw her goggling at him like a teenager over a film star.

She managed a weak smile, cleared her throat, and croaked, “Hi.”

He inclined his head politely but turned back to the woman behind the counter, Carys.

“I put it in your pigeon hole this morning, Gabe,” Carys chuckled like a doting aunt to a hopeless nephew. “You just need to sign it and return it to me.”

“Thanks,” he said with an easy, self-deprecating smile, and ducked back out the way he had come. The thick stubble along his sharp jaw and around his mouth didn’t hide the dimples in his cheeks, and Odessa’s stomach flipped over. It had been a long time since she’d found anyone attractive.

“That’s Gabe,” Carys chortled, and when she saw the expression on Odessa’s face, she added, “He has that effect on most people.”

Odessa flushed deeply and pursed her lips. “Right, well, I’d better get to the grocery store before it closes. Or gets washed away,” she added with a look at the worsening rain. “Thanks for letting me park here.”

“Any time,” Carys smiled, blue eyes twinkling. “See you around…?” she finished questioningly, and Odessa supplied her name and politely headed out into the rain.

The grocery store was quaint, but well stocked, and by the time she left with two large bags that would probably see her through to the end of her stay, the rain had eased up from a thrashing downpour to a fine mist. From a distance, she glimpsed Gabe entering the veterinary clinic, pausing to hold the door open for an older lady and her ball-of-fluff doggo, who leapt delightedly up at Gabe, yipping and wagging its pompom tail while the owner fawned over him. Over Gabe, that was. Not the dog.

“Oh for God’s sake,” she scolded herself as she readjusted the weight of one of the bags, “You’re not here to hook up with someone on the bloody rebound.”

Of course, he’d actually have to be interested in her for that to work though, and she didn’t think that someone who looked like he spent 98% of his year outdoors would take more than a second glance at a city-dwelling, ex-lawyer like her.

She tried not to let it affect her, but she knew she’d put on a good few pounds since the start of the year — hell, Jake had felt no qualms about pointing it out to her, with a look on his face like he’d chewed on a lime — and she just didn't feel the way she had about herself five years earlier, with the easy confidence of a young woman who’d graduated top of her class and had three jobs lined up from which to choose. She couldn't remember the last time she’d let someone take a photo of her.

“Well, fuck Jake anyway,” she snarled to herself once she’d juggled the bags of shopping into the back of the car back at the Information Centre car park.

The cabin had a DVD player, and she nestled up on the ridiculously comfortable couch that night with a glass of wine and lost herself in a slew of old movies she’d not seen in years, and hadn’t wanted to watch while Jake had been around. The luxury of doing something for only herself was almost enough to make her giddy, and it wasn’t from the wine.

Just before bed, she paused in the stillness of the cabin and then made her way towards the front door. Standing barefoot on the small porch, she inhaled deeply. The rain had stopped, leaving the most wonderful scents in the air, so she slid her boots on and walked a little way out onto the gravel.

It was too dark to go far, the stars just barely glinting out from behind the clouds that sailed over the small clearing around the cabin, so she just stood there and folded her arms in the chill evening and breathed.

Tala had been right; a place like this really could hook its claws into you and never let go.

“Wouldn't be such a bad thing after all,” she whispered aloud, watching the speck of a lofty satellite navigate its way across the stars before disappearing behind a cloud.

On the point of returning to the cabin, she caught a glint of something in the trees across the clearing. Whatever it had been, perhaps a reflection from the porch light on a wet leaf, didn’t gleam again, but she got the strange, uneasy feeling that she was not alone, and bolted back indoors, slamming the lock home and taking a moment to calm down. Peace and solitude in the woods were all very well until you freaked yourself out.

Not ready to go to sleep after scaring herself with shadows and reflections, she picked up a book from the shelf and curled up beneath the blankets to read. Hours later, she startled awake, the book in her lap and a crick in her neck.

Sighing, she turned the light off and snuggled down beneath the cosy duvet, and wondered what to do the next day.

___

Next chapter --->

___

If you enjoyed the second chapter, I hope you’ll consider reblogging as well as leaving a like, and if you’re excited about it, you can always let me know with a comment and/or an ask. Take care, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

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#werewolf #gabe & odessa #male werewolf #werewolf boyfriend #monster boyfriend #exophilia #male werewolf x female character

[iiraven]

Odyssey

Pairing: Poseidon!Armin x Reader

Genre: romance, smut

Warnings: slow-burn, minor character death, manipulation, stalking, possessiveness, Yandere behaviour, puppy play, piss play, body worship, throne sex, implied age-gap, oral(male receiving), hair pulling, collaring (without consent)

Word count: 9.8K

Synopsis: Armin’s quest for revenge leads him to you, daughter of a merchant and object of his infatuation.

Author’s note: thank you @bubbleteaimagines​ for hosting this collab and allowing me to join <3 Also, thank you @onyxoverride​ for teaching me how to write about pee!

Attack on Titan Masterlist

Present day:

If the river could speak, you wonder what it would say.

In the silence that surrounds the rushing of the water, you’re sure you would hear it. Sometimes, you’re sure you can hear it, but then you remember the dangers of trusting unfamiliar voices. Especially unfamiliar voices in a place like this.

No one goes near the river Shiganshina. And you forget the reasons why much too often.

It’s rocky, slippery, there’s no path to walk on, and the nymphs grow sharp teeth when men approach them, hissing and eyes glowing red. But that’s what makes it perfect for you.

Sasha first mentioned the river months ago, recalling the places on the island that her and her father avoided whenever they went hunting. You hadn’t paid much attention to it until days later, when Connie recounted with round eyes how Floch’s body was found beside the river Shiganshina, mouth full of water and eyes gouged out. You knew you needed to go there yourself.

A pearl necklace is what you stole. And under the guise of going to wash clothes at the well, you made your way south of your small island with only Sasha’s vague instructions and your intuition guiding you.

You could hear the ocean as you walked through the untouched woods, your heart hammering in your chest every time the waves crashed against the island’s cliffs. You weren’t allowed to see the ocean- you weren’t allowed to be around any large body of water, for that matter- but you still knew your island well enough to know that a step in the wrong place could lead you tumbling down the cliff.

You would die before you got to feel the water on your skin and that, you thought, would be the most tragic part.

As your feet began to sink into the muddy ground, you could smell the salty water, and a slight metallic scent behind it that only drew you in closer until you reached a clearing. It was small, crowded with foliage with only a few dead plants on the ground where you could only assume people had attempted to step foot.

And there was the river. It was small, its water emerging from underground before the tide pushed it to the edge of the island- to a waterfall. So loud that it could drown out any noise, any screams. You shivered. For a moment, you just stood back and watched. The water was was green, but so clear that you could still see the fish swimming beside the floating objects. Coins, silver, small statues, and whatever else hopefuls had tried to offer. You pulled out your own offering and whispered a short prayer before throwing the necklace in.

It could have been your imagination, but the water calmed. It was quieter. And, like that, you felt as if the river had opened up its arms to you. Strong arms that you have to be cautious not to spend too long within lest you get trapped.

Thankfully, you’ve learned to read the signs. You know when the river wants you to leave, when it wants you to keep your distance, when it wants to keep you close, and even when it wants you to bathe. Those are the special moments. It’s rare the river is calm enough for you to dip your naked body into, but surrounded by the cool water, you feel like you could stay their forever.

If the river could speak now, however, you’re sure it would tell you to fuck off.

Either that or it would tell you to come back when you have something more to offer its god than a single golden bead from your grandmother’s necklace. Only three are left on the thin string, though you think you might keep the last one to honour her death. After that, you’ll have to go back to offering coins and whatever other trinkets that will keep the god of this river sedated long enough for you to dip your feet into the cool water, maybe take a sip, and then return home before your father realises where you’ve been, much less where you’ve been unchaperoned.

The latter is hardly your fault. Sasha and Connie are too scared to step foot in the Shiganshina forest, let alone the river itself. And you can’t trust anyone else to accompany you, especially the servants whose tongue could slip at the drop of a golden coin. Your father would never forgive you for spending time in the territory of the God of the Ocean or- as he liked to call Armin- the destroyer of seas. And thus, being left alone seems to be the only way.

Well, that’s unless Mr Arlert decides to join you.

The owner of the stable who appeared on the island out of nowhere is the last person anyone would expect to be brave enough to spend time at the river Shiganshina. He mostly keeps to himself, only ever seen tending to his horses or immersed in scrolls of literature and poetry. And yet, he’s here almost as often as you are, almost as vulnerable as you are.

Despite his solitary nature, Mr Arlert has been quick to make himself adored. Mothers swoon over his charm, scholars constantly indulge in his curiosity, and sailors are fascinated by his knowledge of the world and its oceans. He’s no warrior, and already in his late twenties, but he’s still without a doubt one of the most eligible bachelors on Paradis. And, yet, to any marriage proposal sent his way, he declines with a polite “A husband is not what I am fated to become”. Even Annie Leonhardt- whose father Mr Arlert would constantly visit- had her heart broken. But no one blames Mr Arlert, of course, who was there to comfort Annie, to make her realise that she just needs to be a better person, that’s all. It’s not his fault her heart broke, Mr Arlert reassured.

Thinking about it now, you’re amongst the handful of women who haven’t been offered to the tall blond. And with that comes a sigh of relief as you drag your fingers through the water.

It’s not like you dislike him- the opposite, actually- but being with Mr Arlert is like taking the hand of an invisible man in the dark and letting him guide you.

His words constantly have your thoughts spiralling in directions that they shouldn’t be. Thoughts about leaving the island, thoughts about going to the ocean, thoughts about becoming a priestess. Thoughts you aren’t allowed to have.

You fate is bound to the home you were born in, a thick rope tied to your ankle, only letting you go as far as this very river. And Mr Arlert sits beside that rope, a knife in his hand, blue eyes staring into your soul, waiting. You’re not sure what he’s waiting for. But what you’re sure of is that to be taken away from the life you know of is an inconceivable fantasy. The unknown is a dangerous thing, after all.

The small island of Paradis may lie far away from the rest of the world, but their core values remain the same. A woman must grow up to either serve her father or her husband. Your fate has already been decided for you. And, frankly, if it means not having to share a bed with an old man who marries you for your dowry, you’re very happy with taking care of your father until the day that he’ll be put into the ground.

But then there’s always the third option. A woman who serves neither her father nor her husband will serve her god. 

You had never been given that option by your god-hating kin. Simply suggesting a future as priestess would earn you at least five lashes, so why… why can’t you stop thinking about it? Your instincts have you blame Mr Arlert, but you know that your fixation began before he arrived on the island; all he’s done is vocalise your thoughts.

As a gust of wind blows the leaves and the salt from the sea gently caresses your cheek, you wonder who your god would be. Do you resonate with Pieck’s beauty, or Zeke’s creativity? Maybe. But as you look into your reflection, you know that your god is no other than Armin, the god of the ocean. The fates must think this is hilarious, but you just want to scream.

“It’s getting late. I wouldn’t want your father worrying about you.”

You jump at the sudden voice, turning around at the familiar face, leaning against a tree with a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Mr Arlert.”

His footsteps are so gentle, as are his apologies.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ve come to invade your space, after all.”

“It’s not my space, it’s Armin’s. The god is only letting me stay here.”

He smiles a knowing smile, one that you would usually find patronising on any other man. But Armin is charming, too charming for you ever to think that of him. “I suppose you’re right.”

He comes to sit down beside you, taking his usual place at your right- the voice of reason. It’s quiet for a moment, before you remember.

“Lemnos,” you say.

The blond smiles. “I’m not named after a place.”

And you roll your eyes, as you’ve done every time he’s given you a useless hint. “That hardly narrows it down.”

“Well, I can’t make it too easy of a game.”

“You can’t make it impossible either!”

“It seems like I already have.” And you’re not sure if you want to wipe the smirk off his face or just stare at it.

“What about Tree?”

Arlert laughs. “No, but you have one guess left.”

“What?!” You sit up straight, eyes wide. Now you really want to wipe the smirk off his face.

“You have seven guesses, and in the eleven months we’ve known each other, you’ve used up six.” His explanation is calm and rational enough for you to almost convince yourself that the rule has been there from the start.

“Wait- wait. I never knew about this!”

“I thought everyone did. It’s traditional wager rules.” Mr Arlert’s tone is sorry, but you know he’s everything but. So, you cross your arms and pout, hoping that staring him down might at least give you the smallest chance of winning your wager.

He leans forward, mirthful and you feel a shiver go down your spine. “What is it, little puppy, sulking because you’re afraid you can’t win?”

You flush at the implication of your loss- “No- no not at all- no”- before registering his actual words are and only then can you feel the heat rise and you’re sure it’s doing you no service. “I know I can win!”

“I know you can too,” he assures you.

You frown. “Are you being sarcastic?”

It’s his turn to flush. “No, not at all! You can win- the water god favours you, after all.”

And although you shrug, his words stick. They always do.

Before you go home, you pass by Armin’s temple and place at the foot of his statue the remainder of your grandmother’s necklace.

A year ago:

Amrin knew how fickle the gods were and he thought that this knowledge made him impervious to those feelings. He watched how Eren jumped from woman to woman daily, how Reiner picked and chose his battles without a care, how every single fixation a deity would have never lasted more than a year. He thought of how stupid it was to spend a life of immortality indulging in such temporary pleasures. And he looked down on his kin for that very reason.

It was only after one argument too many that Armin finally let it slip. The god of the sea was usually quiet, offering soft smiles, casual conversation, and minimal conflict. That was his only rule: keeps quiet before the gods of the pantheon as he takes his anger out on the humans below. But that day, he forgot about his rule.

Maybe it was the years of silence that caused the Eathshaker’s outburst, or maybe it was just Eren’s bored expression as he talked about his mistresses in front of Mikasa. Armin couldn’t take it. Gathered at a marble table beside all the Olympians, he scowled and told them how stupid they all were.

“Don’t you realise? You’re all wasting your immortality by being so idiotic, so fickle! Everything you touch becomes a temporary pleasure, ruined by your inability to act like real gods.”

He should have stopped; he really should have stopped. But the crack in the glass bridge had been there for years, and now the shards of glass were dropping down into the sea. “You might as well be human!”

The room went silent. Eyes went wide, and mouths gaped, but the gods opted for silence. Every deity wanted to speak up, maybe even draw their swords, but they were more intelligent than Armin was in that moment, which was more unusual than one might think. He had never snapped so violently before. Armin may have been aggressive, but he knew his place. Knew when to be docile. Now, he felt like he could crumble Olympus itself with his rage and bury the Olympians with their dead parents.

The king of the gods, however, leaned forward. His emerald eyes were unmoving, devoid of emotion though his lips tilted into a monstrous grin.

“You’re just as fickle as the rest of us, brother,” was all Eren said.

When Armin lunged at him, knocking the fine glass off the table, it was Mikasa who pinned him down. Arms locked behind his back, all Armin could do was watch as mirth flooded Eren’s face, and the god of the sky laughed. The bastard laughed and laughed and licked the small wound on his hand from a shard of glass. It healed immediately. Even their pain was temporary.

And like he had been doing for the past millennia, Armin found solice in his only rule: if he couldn’t take out his rage on his brother, Armin would take out his frustration elsewhere.

His first instinct was to find a woman, but the thought of seeking out temporary pleasure, from a mistress no less, reminded him too much of Eren. So, he descended to earth, trident in one hand as the other gripped the reigns of his horse and they rode for three days and three nights. That’s all it took for the god of the sea to find what he was looking for- someone deserving of his hatred.

There are many humans like the merchant. But most of their hatred is silent. And when it’s not, blasphemy often falls upon deaf ears. The merchant just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time when his drunk rambles led him up on the deck screaming out Armin’s name like it was venom in his throat, until he could scream no more. He was drunk, but the merchant’s hatred for the god of the sea did not cease when he was sober.

And when Armin heard his name, the god wasted no time calling forth a storm to sink the merchant’s ship. He took care to ensure that the arrogant man watched each and every one of his men be swallowed whole, their bodies only resurfacing lifeless, before the storm calmed.

It took five days for the merchant to swim back to his island.

He never returned to the sea.

As the weeks passed, he relocated his home to help him stay away from any body of water and made sure that his family followed suit.

But Armin followed, and the merchant’s father died weeks later with saltwater water found in his lungs.  

Unfortunately, that was not enough to sedate the god of the sea’s need for vengeance. Fortunately, it was not enough to sedate the merchant’s hatred either. The hubris didn’t leave him. Instead, it just grew and grew and grew until the merchant considered himself more of a god than Armin would ever be.

“Oh, oh.” Armin couldn’t help but smile as he watched the man urinate before his temple. “This is perfect, so perfect.”

Armin was going to show his uncaring brother how different he was from the rest of the miserable Olympians. As he stood above the island of Paradis, golden hair blowing in the ocean wind, the god vowed to begin his Odyssey. An eternal Odyssey. A journey that would last longer than the ten fleeting years he had with the Greek hero- a journey that would last longer than the universe itself.

And he knew exactly where to begin. A man’s most valuable possession: his child.

It was only after your grandfather’s death that Armin noticed you. When he first began watching the merchant’s household, under the guise of either a guest or a bird, he had been surprised to learn that the blasphemous man had no wife, nor children. Armin only realised his mistake one night, when you came to lay a blanket on the drunk man’s barely conscious body. The merchant had pulled you towards him, muttering apologies and you had wrinkled your nose before offering him a soft smile. “It’s okay, papa”.

A daughter sheltered from the world, it seemed.

The god had initially thought you were one of the servants. There were only two in the house, and your tasks were all similar. But as Armin began to watch you closer, he saw how you did have a life outside your home with friends, interests, men- a life your father was blissfully unaware of.

The merchant hardly left home- playing the part of the sick man- and you took care of him- playing the part of your dead mother- in a happy sort of agreement.

You didn’t speak about it to your friends, but you detested your doting role. Armin could tell. The way you wrinkled your nose every time your father walked through the door, the eye-roll when you were given a load of laundry. The god couldn’t help by laugh at how pathetic the merchant was that not even his only daughter- his lifeline- cared for him. The merchant didn’t know, of course. Your fake smiles and gentle hands were enough to deceive him, keep him sane. But Armin was going to break that pattern.

The merchant didn’t deserve the care of a woman. He didn’t deserve anything. So, Armin was going to take you away from him.

His initial plan was to kill you. Simple, efficient, quick. And then he thought of dumping your body somewhere far so that the search for you would break your father’s spirit even more. He hesitated, though, he wasn’t sure why, but he did. And then, you changed your routine.

After meeting up with the two individuals you called your friends at the Sunday market- instead of going back home- you carried on walking. Through the houses on the outskirts and into the dense trees, you almost stung your sandal-clad feet twice before reaching a river. The river had no god of itself, but you still threw in an offering and muttered. Stupid human. And then you sat beside the river and- nothing. Your routine was boring, obviously a ritual to let you escape from reality. Yet, he couldn’t tear away from you. The woman at the river Shiganshina was a different one than the woman who served her father. The one here relaxed her shoulders, cursed at the world around her, smiled- albeit randomly but it was real. He decided there that he would kill you tomorrow.

But when, the next day, you led him back to the river, Armin was lost in you again. Lost in your honestly, lost in your need to escape. He wanted to see more, he needed to see more. Metaphorically, of course. But when you began undressing, the pleated robes dropping to reveal soft skin and tender curves, the god of the sea realised that he wouldn’t mind literally seeing more of you. Armin had been with goddesses and nymphs and, hell, even Aphrodite herself, but never had he been this awestruck. He had to hold himself back. Even though the way you were bathing made it seem like you were worshipping him, water dripping from your body, wet hair hiding the swell of your breasts. Armin’s breath stuttered. He couldn’t reveal himself. He couldn’t.

So, he watched, and watched. Trying desperately to take in everything you were from a distance. Armin didn’t count the number of times he visited you before finally decided that killing you was no longer an option. He told himself that his change of mind was progressive. A practical choice to draw out his revenge into the most painful and convoluted Odyssey. To do that, he couldn’t kill you. No. He was going to take you for himself. Armin was going to turn the daughter of the merchant into a servant of the one God he detested.

Putting the thought into your mind was pathetically easy. As you walked past his temple on your way home, an echo of laughter emerged from the marble building. You paused for only a moment, but it was enough for Armin to catch the look in your eyes. It was one of longing, mixed with a curiosity that threatened to pull you in. But you seemed to catch yourself in the act and hastened yourself home.

And so, Armin’s true Odyssey began. 

For his journey to progress, he had to meet you. Not as a bird or a horse or through glances as a guest. He had to meet you properly. This was the only way to draw you in, he told himself. The only way for you to submit completely and willingly.

Armin could have forced you too your knees, but he had to ensure that your father watched has his daughter chose Armin over him. And chose Armin you would. Every piece was in perfect place. The fates seemed to have woven a beautiful cloth of gold for the god of the sea.

What he failed to realise was that the cloth was in fact a snare- a trap which he will never be able to escape from.

Eleven months ago:

A short gust of wind had the pears in your thin basket tumbling down onto the rocky ground. You rushed after the fruit, crouching down to pick it up when a shadow appeared, and a hand reached out to pick it up for you. The sandal-clad feet were pale- paler than anyone living on this warm island and the robes a fine, ironed white. He somehow seemed to glow brighter than his clothes, and you purposefully let your fingers graze his as you picked up the fruit.

“Thank you,” you said, standing up.

You were hoping that he wouldn’t catch your staring. But even if he did, you couldn’t tear your eyes off him. He was lean, taller than you but not intimidatingly so and his eyes were like oceans that you found yourself staring into as he introduced himself as Mr Arlert. Just Mr Arlert. The new owner of the stables with a voice so soft, it took a moment before you remembered to introduce yourself.

“Y/N. And thank you, again.” It isn’t appropriate for an unmarried woman to be talking to a man on her own, but you couldn’t help but ask. “Do you have a first name Mr Arlert?”

His smile was contagious. “I do. But names are a powerful thing. I’m afraid I can’t give mine up freely.”

“Oh.” You scrunched your nose. “Can I pay for it then?”

You were dead serious, but the blond man laughed. How can someone look so pretty when they laugh? You wondered.

“I’m serious! I can pay you; name your price.”

Mr Arlert looked down at you, blue eyes twinkling. “I’ll think about it.”

“So, is that a no?”

“It’s a no, for now. One day I’ll tell you my name.”

He was sweet, so sweet, but you still gave him a sceptical frown, nose scrunching and eyebrows furrowing. Mr Arlert in turn gave you a sorry look before his eyes lit up and he pulled out from his brown satchel a small book of yellowed pages and a dusty blue cover, the gold embossing hardly visible. You nose only scrunched further.

“My name is in this story. It’s mentioned few times, but it’s an important one,” he said to you.

You took the book and flipped through the worn pages, immediately recognising the tale of Aphrodite and Ares. The lovers.

Why the challenge? You wanted to ask Mr Arlert but you knew the answer you your get would be too cryptic. Besides, you think, I like a challenge.

“How long do I have?” You asked instead.

“A year and a day.”

“And what will I get if I figure it out?”

At this, he pondered. But it seemed feigned, and you wondered, just for a split second, if the man had planned this from the beginning. But why? This was another one of your questions that went unanswered that day. Because before you could say anything more, Mr Arlert leaned forward and said, “Your reward will be divine”. And he walked away.

Nine months ago:

Life was well after Armin arrived. There was no other way to put it. Your father was confining himself to his room more often than before, and you were finding more opportunities to visit the river, leave the house and, eventually, you met the handsome baker’s son. Jean was kind, a gentleman, but not the arrogant type like most the men your age. You didn’t even feel too much guilt when you thought that spending a future with Jean- taking care of him and his home- wouldn’t be too bad. It’s quite pathetic that your life had been reduced to not being “too bad”, but the idea of marrying Jean sat on the comfortable line between reality and fantasy. Safety.

And then you were visited at the river.

Mr Arlert wasn’t even surprised to find you there, he had just smiled and sat beside you as you clenched your fists and forced yourself to smile back at him. You had always enjoyed him, his company, his challenges, but now it was like he was provoking you. The river Shiganshina was your river, your special place away from the hellscape that was the town. And now Mr Arlert had brought himself and his ordinary life into it.

You pulled your sandals back on, the crease in your brow evident. He clearly couldn’t get the hint. But before you could stand up, he spoke, and you paused.

“I wish I could jump in and swim away,” he said.

Curiosity got the best of you, as it often did with the man.

“The waterfall would kill you.”

The awkward laugh again. It had an effect on you so that your jaw couldn’t help but unclench. “If it means that I get to touch a waterfall, I wouldn’t mind, you know?”

You knew. You knew exactly what he meant. But you didn’t tell him.

“Didn’t take you as the suicidal type,” you said.

“I might get saved, who knows.”

“If you’re counting on me to jump after you, I’m letting you know I won’t.”

“I know,” he laughed. “I was thinking of more of a divine rescue.”

You finally looked at him, and- unsurprisingly- his blue eyes were glued to yours. What was surprising was his unwavering tone, his straight face. Mr Arlert was being serious. Why was he opening up to you this suddenly? So far, your interactions had consisted of him staring, you trying to guess his name, and him continuing to stare. In that order. You knew there was more to him, but it’s only now that you found yourself wanting to seek that out.

“You think Armin would save you?” You didn’t miss Arlert’s smile.

“I’m hoping I’ve gained his favour- done enough for him to allow me freedom via waterfall.”

It was your turn to smile. “You probably have, You’re at the temple often.”

“Thank you.” He blushed and you quickly pushed down the thought of how cute he looked. Sitting beside you, trousers rolled up and feet in the water, Mr Arlert looked more than cute. He looked like he belonged. You weren’t sure how that made you feel but, in that moment, you didn’t mind him entering your world.

“I think you would also be saved if you jumped into the waterfall,” Mr Arlert said.

You laughed. “Is that your way of saying I’m a nice person?”

“Something like that.” He paused. “I think Armin would appreciate your- uh- honesty. You’re like a priestess.” He laughs nervously at your expression. “You know, they have this personal affinity with the water and such.”

You knew exactly what he meant. How a stranger could read you so perfectly, you weren’t sure. But as you hid your smile between your hands, you wondered whether you were prepared to face the fear of the unknown. Maybe, with Mr Arlert, it would be a bit less unknown.

A few days later, Jean was announced missing. A search party was sent out and even Mr Arlert, on his recently acquired brown horse, couldn’t find him.

Present day:

Armin isn’t sure if he likes playing the part of the nice boy or not. Humans are simple creatures who praise him continuously and, without divine responsibilities, there is no need to take his rage out anywhere. But a god is who he is, and every day, he yearns to be seen as one. To be seen as one by you. He watches as you worship him, but you never look at him- not like you do the statues, or even the small river which you think is your only true connection to the god of the ocean.

You both want more, and you both know that, but you only ever admit it to each other when you sit beside that very river. There, in those moments, Armin feels a bit more like a god. Whenever he’s around you, he feels a bit more like a god.  

He’s told you before, but your perfect honesty has made it easy for him to unravel around you. He wants to unravel around you in other ways, too, and he wants you to unravel around him. Armin can’t count the number of times he’s sat beside you at the riverside and wanted to do nothing more than to kiss those lips of yours, to press the hard cock that he hides inside of you and watch as your eyes roll back, and you call out his name.  

But the God of the Sea is not Eren. Armin will earn you. And he’s very close to doing so. Not Mr Arlert. You have no interest in human men, that much is clear. You yearn for something more powerful. And you’re right. Only a god is worthy enough to stand beside you, lay between your legs, be in your arms. Mr Arlert is simply a means to push you to realising that the god in question is Armin.

In the meantime, he’s been nothing but patient.

It’s only when you come to his door one night, eyes puffy and red, that he lays his hands on you for the first time. He rubs your back as you cry and cry, fat tears refusing stop falling. You tell him about bout your father. About how, since he got better, he’s been refusing to let you out of the house, snapping at every moment and accusing you of being a filthy god-worshipper.

“He s-sai-d- he said we’re ‘gonna move away- said we’re gonna get as far away from the s-sea as possible.” You can hardly speak, though the tears have stopped, your voice still shakes violently. But Armin listens, he holds you close to him and repeats that everything is going to be fine.

You can’t stop thanking him as you leave, and he promises that his door is always open for you. “Whenever you call for me, I’m here,” Armin tells you. “Right beside you, always,” he adds as he watches you walk away.

He’s reached a new chapter of this Odyssey.

Present day:

You suppose your father’s death should have been expected. He was an old man, obviously depressed, and his only lifeline was his daughter who hated him.

You also suppose you should feel guilty. You don’t.

Familiar faces give their condolences and whisper questions of what is to happen to you now. You only pay heed to Sasha and Connie, though, who give you a soft hug before Sasha tells you that her family would be happy to take you in. You reassure her and everyone else that you have a plan, though your best friends are the only ones who seem to believe you.

“I heard Marie has a son who’s single, maybe they can-“

“You’re not actually talking about marriage here are you?”

“Well, the girl is all alone in the world, now! She needs a man to lead her on the right path.”

The old women are wrong, so very wrong. You don’t need a man. You’re fucking sick of men- sick of them all- everything they’ve created and everything they stand for.

What you need is a god.

The head priestess of Armin’s temple in unsurprised when you knock on her door with nothing but a bag and the clothes on your body. Those clothes are burned soon after, along with many of your other things, leaving your old life behind.

She tells you that you’re lucky there’s a place for you. The last priestess left running off with a man, “Which is a cardinal sin”, she makes sure to repeat every-so-often. The head priestess seems to hate men more than you do, sneering whenever Connie comes by.

Sasha and Connie are unsurprisingly shocked at your choice of work and even if they visit almost every day, they always tell you that they miss you. They think you’ve come the temple out of desperation- everyone does- and you let them believe. Because despite cleaning the marble floors or whatever other arduous duty you’ve been given, a smile is never far as you realise that you’re free from man. Indeed, explaining the truth to anyone would be far too difficult.

Well, except one person.

You’ve never missed anyone before. Not with your father keeping you so sheltered for most of your life. But as you push through the Head Priestess’ relentless schedule, you can’t help but miss Mr Arlert. He disappears after your father’s funeral, so you leave him a note at the empty stable with your final guess. You like to think he decided to follow his own path, you also like to think that he too wishes you were beside him, a guide in the unknown.

Present day:

The room is a box of marble, with a throne sat upon a dais at the centre and one fountain at every corner, each one sculped into a horse. The object of your interests, however, is the large bowl of water on the floor in front of the throne.

This is your initiation. You will emerge from this room not as an apprentice, but a Priestess.

You kneel down and lift the pot of clay to your lips. The head priestess kept on repeating how important it is to not put it down until you’re finished. So, you gulp the water down until you can see the image of Armin. You’re the one who selected the pot, with its faded paint depicting Armin and Hange’s fight for patronage of Sina. It’s a powerful image, but when you put the pot down, you come face to face with something very different. Armin is standing in a room-this room, you realise- and crouched down before him is a young woman, looking up in awe. It takes bit longer of a moment for you to realise that the woman is you.

Looking up slowly from the pot, the first thing you see is sandal-clad feet. Golden sandals, just as fine as the robes he wears, draped in perfect waves. The first word you think of to describe him is divine and it’s indeed accurate because-

“Mr Arlert.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

But you know that’s not correct. The man- no, not a man- before you is taller than Mr Arlert, by a foot and a half at least. His muscles are more prominent that the stable boy’s ever were, strong legs visible through the large slit between the layers of fabric draped over the god’s figure. Half of his shoulder-length hair is tied back using a golden pin whilst the rest frames his perfect, perfect face. You can’t help but think that Armin looks nothing like his statues- no medium of art could capture the ocean within his eyes, glowing in the dull light of the room. Then again, the stories didn’t capture the way the god acts either.

“Armin,” you say, this time your voice louder.

Now, you know.

His sad smile is familiar, but there’s something there that never was. “Oh dear,” he says. “I’m afraid you’ve lost out wager.”

Armin can’t help but compare you to a puppy, with large eyes staring up at him from your crouched position and an expression a perfect mix of excitement, curiosity, and shock.

You reach out a hand tentatively, but it hovers in the air between the two of you once you notice Armin’s raised brow. But he doesn’t rebuke you for it. After all, it’s only your first encounter with the god. He can’t expect you to behave perfectly, to adopt the right etiquette- no, he’ll have to train you first. Like he would a baby mutt. The thought makes him smile.

“I’ll accept any consequences, my god,” you say. Your voice sounds so sure of itself, so unlike your usual ramblings, those that Armin could and would listen to for hours. Right now, though, the certainty, it’s laced with desire that sends blood rushing south. You don’t notice. You’re too lost in his eyes to notice anything.

When he places his hand on your chin to hold it up, he can feel you shiver. “Such a perfect little worshipper,” he says. “I couldn’t possibly punish you.”

Armin can swear he sees disappointment in your eyes before he turns around and walks up the dais. The marble of the throne is cold beneath him, but the sight of you looking up at him with such longing is enough to warm him up. Now, Armin is sure you’ve noticed his growing erection because you crawl towards the dais, not yet climbing it, but close enough to see and lick your lips.

“Let me thank you at least, Armin.” He almost groans at the sound of his name. God, he wants to hear you say it over and over.

“Come here.”

And you climb up the dais only to pause before Armin leans forward and grabs your hips. Two lips, as if led by an invisible string, meet. You kiss like you’ve been waiting years for Armin and, in a way, you have. His tongue is inside your mouth quickly and he’s kissing, sucking, letting his teeth gently graze your lips as he revels in the feeling of you. As your bodies lean against each other, you can feel his heart hammering against your own. His chest is stone, but his lips are so soft and your hands find his golden hair. It’s also softer than it looks, and Armin can’t help but let out a moan as you gently tug.

When you pull back, his pupils are blown. “Thank me, then,” Armin says, breathless.

Sitting between his legs, your hand is tiny compared to his cock, and you can’t stop staring at it. Long and somewhat slender, but veiny with a flushed red top- he can see you gulp before you take an experimental lick at him. Armin’s hold on your hair only tightens and you look up at him, doe eyed and seemingly innocent.

“Put it in your mouth, pretty girl,” he says, guiding your head gently. “So obedient- Yes, exactly, just like-ah- just like that.”

But he doesn’t need to push down- no- he lets you set your own pace only because you do it so perfectly, almost as perfect as the wet noises you make. Armin doesn’t have time to be surprised, he’s just able to react fast enough to suppress his own moans so he can hear your wet tongue caress the base of his cock, as your lips create the perfect o-shape to accommodate him. Your drool is everywhere in a matter of seconds- his balls are coated with it, and so is your lap, where the spit seeps through the thin white fabric you call a robe.

“Like a puppy,” he murmurs. And you look up quizzically. “You’re drooling over me like a desperate puppy- a puppy in heat,” he grunts. “You just want to please me, don’t you? ‘S alright, puppy, I’ll let you do that.”

If you could nod your head, you would. Instead, your cheeks burn, and Armin is so lost in the way that you look- not even able to take his entire cock in his mouth- that his hips begin to buck unconsciously. He hits the back of your throat, and you gag at the sudden impact, but he hisses and murmurs “What a good, wet hole. So good, good-”

The earthshaker is afraid that if he speaks any louder, his voice will slur into incomprehensible sultry sounds. But as you struggle to take his cock even deeper into his mouth, he lets out groans that go straight between your own legs. You moan around him, and the reverberations make his head roll back. God, you could stare at him forever. And he would let you.

“Look at me,” he says whenever your eyes go astray. “Look at your god.”

As his hips buck more violently, Armin can feel the pressure in his lower stomach, the impending orgasm and he wants to stop- wants to hold out the way he always has. But he can’t, it’s too much and he just cannot pull out of you. He simply pushes further and further into your tight throat, repeating your name like it’s a blessing. “fuck, puppy, ‘m going to- I’m going to cum down your throat. You want that, do you you’re your god’s cum- ah, fuck, ahhh”-

Pushing your head down to the base, both of his hands at the back of your head, Armin cries out you name and you can feel the warm liquid go down your throat, thick ropes filling up your mouth, some of it dribbling out. Armin reflexively pushes it back in your mouth, ordering you to swallow it all, to show how grateful you are. Of course, you oblige. But before you can even regain your breath, Armin suddenly pulls you off his cock. His pupils are dilated, and he wears an expression- anger? Shock?

“You’re not a virgin,” he hisses, teeth gritting against each other. His breath is frantic, uneven. It’s not a question and you begin to recognise his expression. Rage. “You’ve done this before.”

Fuck.

The God of the sea has his fair share of consorts and mistresses. Some of them virgins- though he never chases them the way Eren does- some of them not, but none have made him cum so fast. He would like to blame it on the year of pining, of restraint, but he knows better. It’s you. You do this him. You make him so wild, so willing, so pliant even. 

In that moment, as he looks your worried face, so desperate to please, he thinks that he’ll never be able to let it go. You’ve consumed Armin and he wants to do nothing more than burn eternally. You must understand that- that you exist as his beacon, that’s where you’ll be your happiest, but those thoughts are too complex for a human. You, in your fragile state, can’t understand. It’s alright, he’ll just have to show you bit by bit that you’re his. But to do so, he must first take on the role he’s familiar with. That of the punisher.

“Who is he?” Armin snaps.

“It was only-“

“Who is he?”

You pause. Memories of nights spent together, huddled close and trying to keep quiet already fading. “Berthrolt Hoover.”

Armin’s shoulders relax, “I see.”

His breathing slowly goes back to normal, and, at the back of your mind, you know you’ve signed the young warrior’s death. But your worry is fleeting as Armin grabs you by the neck and hoists you over his knees, laying you down on your stomach effortlessly. “A priestess who isn’t a virgin?”

You look up as see Armin’s familiar sweet smile, but it’s laced with mirth that makes you forget the Mr Arlert he was before. You cry out at the first slap of his hand on your ass, more out of surprise than pain.

“I don’t think the people of Paradis will be very happy to hear that,” he says. “An unmarried woman giving herself away to a pathetic boy.”

Slap!

“I’m sorry!” you cry out. “It was a mis-”

He slaps you thrice.

“No excuses, dumb little puppy. I’m afraid you’ll have to endure this punishment.” His voice is deceptively soft, as if he is actually sorry. And when you look back up at Armin, his face betrays no malice. But it doesn’t show any cruelty either. Instead, there’s a fascination.

Armin has you sprawled across his lap, at his mercy and he is discovering you bit by bit. As a god. His cock twitches and then suddenly he tugs off the fabric of your robes and they disappear.

The way you squirm is half- hearted, and Armin has to laugh. “Embarrassed? Now of all times? I didn’t know you were such a prude. Or is this all just to compensate for the fact that you’re a whore in my temple?”

You shake your head, “I swear, I’ve never belonged to any man!”

Fingers trace the expanse of your naked body, soft enough to send shivers down your spine. “Oh? Really?”

“Yes yes, I swear, ah!” His fingers find your naked ass and they grab onto the flesh, massaging, groping, feeling you. Armin’s other hand rests on top of your head, stroking it gently and you’re so lost in his touch that you almost forget to speak.

“I belong to no man, I never have. Only you. It’s always been you, Armin.”

The god’s eyes widen, and he gently pulls you up from his lap only to seat you on it, upright and, this time, there’s so much more to admire. “You’re right,” he says. Armin captures your lips and this time, it’s longer, rougher. He doesn’t want to pull back, doesn’t want to lose the feeling of your soft lips against his, but his hands have already found your breasts and soon, his tongue joins them. You moan as he begins to lap at your breasts, leaving hickeys and spit in his wake as his finally finds your nipples and begins sucking them like a child as you whine and lean into him.

“You do belong to me,” he finally says, his voice partially muffled as he loses himself in the worship your breasts. “You’ve always belonged to me.”

And you can do nothing more than nod your head as your fingers tangle in Armin’s hair and you’re pulled into another kiss. His hand goes down your body, squeezing every single mound of flesh as if it needs to be touched so that when he finds your cunt, Armin can’t help but smile at how wet you are.

“Already, but I’ve hardly done anything to you?”

What a liar, but you don’t have a chance to tell him before he plunges a finger inside of you. “Oh, puppy, my puppy,” he groans at the contact the same time you moan, pushing your hips against his digits. “You like my fingers like that inside of you?”

“Yes, yes, I do, I really love them- it feels, oh my god, it feels too good!” you grip his shoulders, unable to do anything but desperately buck your hips at the smiling Armin. He knows what he’s doing, he knows that his fingers are giving you just that satisfaction, but it’s still not enough to bring you over the edge.

“Please Armin, please.” You squeeze his shoulders.

“Tell me what you want, tell me, I’ll give it to you- I swear.”

“I want to feel you, all- ah- all of you. I need to feel you inside of me!”

You’re not sure at which moment Armin removes his robes, but as he moves both of your legs so that you’re straddling him, your hands are on his bare, lean chest. The god’s nipples are flushed pink and pert, practically calling to you and you respond by brushing your fingers over them and watching him twitch ever-so-slightly in response. You withhold the urge to take them into your mouth, even as Armin rubs his cock against your cunt, releasing the sweetest of sounds.

He’s already leaking precum and it mixes with your juices so perfectly, his cock being dragged back and forth, only making you gush even more. “So messy,” he mumbles as he uses his tip to spreads your juices across your thighs. At this point, you can practically feel it throbbing, ready to be sheathed inside of you and the whimpers of your desperation echo against the temple walls.

When Armin slips inside of you, simultaneous gasps escape your lips. The god pulls your body closer to his as you throw your head back, stars in your eyes.

“Look,” he whispers. “Look how easily I slip in- it’s- it’s like your cunt is made for me.”

“Armin,” you whisper back. “Armin, Armin- ah- Armin.”

He sinks you down slowly, the stretch hitting every single spot that leaves your legs practically limp. The god is holding you up, whispering his own mantra that you can’t hear over your bliss. Once inside, your eyes look lock with Armin’s and he’s staring at you in a way he’s never done before. You’ve never seen pupils so dilated and the two of you stay like that as if making up for the moments when you should have been connected in this way. An eternity, it seems, the two of you have needed each other.

“I’m your god,” Armin finally says. “I’m your god and- hng ah-” He begins moving you up and down his shaft. “And I’m going to make you cum all over this cock- okay? All over your god’s cock.”

You nod your head pathetically as he lifts your hips and slams them down against his own. He is strong, ruthless in the way he bucks his hips up every time he lifts you from his cock, as if he can’t bare the empty feeling of not having your tight pussy clamped around him. At this relentless pace, you’re sure that the sound of your connecting bodies could penetrate even these marble walls. And yet, you don’t hold back. Thanks and praises spill from your swollen lips and Armin can’t help but lean forward and push his tongue between your mouth, as if he can absorb all of your word. “So good, so good, it’s- uah- I just want more, more of your cock, you fill me up so good!”

Armin can’t deny you. He pushes your thighs to your chest and picks up your entire body to fuck himself. He manoeuvres your body like a toy and as your tongue rolls out and your eyes become glassy, you begin to look like one too. The only sounds coming out of your mouth are incomprehensible, even as Armin attaches his mouth to one of your bouncing tits, you can only squeal.

“Such a good puppy,” he says between kisses. “Letting me use her holes like this. A god using a puppy’s holes- you should be- you should be grateful! Tell me, tell me you’re grateful!”

“I am!” you cry out. “I am grateful!”

“Good girl, good puppygirl.”

When Armin flips you over, you’re sat on his throne and he fucks into you harder, harder than he was doing before, and you swear his moans are louder too. He’s looking down at the movement of your stomach as if hypnotized by the way his cock disappears into you. And, in a way, he is. The fascination of being inside of you- just the idea even- is enough to make him want to cum.

The sudden position has him hitting new spots and the build-up is so fast, you hardly have the time to warn him. “Armin, Armin I’m cum-“

He grabs your face as you release around his cock, body spasming but unable to look away as Armin’s gaze burns through you. “Good girl,” he says. “Show me, show me how you cum. Just like that, just like that.”

He continues to plough his hips into yours and the spasms of your pussy leave him unable to hold back. “Inside of you,” he practically growls. “I’m going to cum inside of you- yes, yes, yes I am puppy. I’m going to cum inside of you and you’re going to show me how you take it yeah?”

You’re too far gone to even register the implications of what he’s saying, but he buries his cock in your warm walls and releases his cum inside of you with a heavy groan. “Just like that, just like that- I’m going to fill you up with my seed, puppy, my puppy.”

Armin feels like he’s emptied his balls- two powerful orgasms which leave his legs shaking violently. And yet, he pulls out of you slowly and stands back up to his full height, cock in front of your face. Almost instinctively, you rub your cheek against it, giving Armin soft kitten licks and he coos at you, stroking your hair. But he doesn’t push, he just holds his cock there and pumps softly as he stares at your fucked out face. Messy, covered in his spit, his hickeys, his bites, his cum- you look perfect, divine. Only one thing is missing. “I’m going to give you everything I have, puppy. And you’re going to take it, okay?” You nod and open your mouth for him and, immediately, a strong stream of pee emerges.

At the bitter taste on your tongue, your eyes roll back, and you spread your legs even wider, a welcome to the mess he is about to make. Armin accepts and angles his cock to release his pee over your chest, then your stomach, and then your already-throbbing cunt. He lifts a foot to rest on the throne and Armin doesn’t think he’s even seen such a beautiful sight in his life.

As if guided by an implicit will, Armin’s foot hovers on top of you and suddenly, he presses against your lower stomach. Your eyes snap back into focus as you whine out for him to wait, wait just a moment “I just had water,” you cry out. “It’s gonna- It’s gonna come out!”

But Armin simply grins. “Let it come out,” he says and presses his foot down harder. “Pee yourself dumb little mutt, be a good puppy for your owner.” The trickle that emerges is involuntary, but Armin’s grin is wider. “Yes, good girl, just like that. Let me see more, let me see more of you.”

The pressure that was holding the bowl of water back broke and you felt the warm liquid against your thighs before you realise what’s happening. Armin practically moans as he watches you whimper and struggle to hold your pee back as it spreads over the throne, the dais, and even Armin himself. He doesn’t stop until you’ve given it all to him.

You expect Armin to disappear. 

You’ve given him everything. His goal is complete, you think, he has nothing more to do with you. But, as he has done many times before, the god surprises you. Armin’s body is heavy against yours when he collapses on top of you, but the weight is comforting. Despite the malaise of urine and cum rubbing against both of your bodies, you wrap your arms around the god of the ocean and hold him close. 

Even as you close your eyes and lean your head back on the marble throne, Armin doesn’t leave you. Even as you open your eyes back up and see blue ones staring back at you, the look he gives you is so familiar and long hair in such unfamiliar disarray that you can’t help but smile.

He doesn’t ask why. Instead, Armin calls forth a stream of warm water from the adjacent fountain to clean the both of you. It feels like a fever dream the way floating droplets caress your bodies, and when Armin stands you up, his hands not leaving you, the perfume that suddenly envelops you is heavenly.

“Can I give you a last kiss, please?” you ask when your robe appears once again. And Armin leans forward to capture your lips, dragging his tongue on your bottom lip as if to taste you.

It doesn’t feel like a final kiss. You’ve had many of them- Jean, Sasha, Berthrold, your father, and even your mother, though you can’t remember it. This kiss is different. It feels less like a kiss and more like a promise, a vow. a shiver runs down your spine. 

“I am your god,” he says and lifts his both of his hands slowly to wrap around your neck. “And you’re my worshipper.” You gasp as a cold sensation spreads around your neck, just below Armin’s fingers. It’s sudden, and heavy and when he removes his hands, yours fly to your neck and there’s a metal band there where there was none before.

“It’s sculpted from Hephaestus’ gold,” Armin says as he strokes his fingers along the metal. But he’s not looking at his gift, instead he looks at you. 

“Armin- I- this is. But why?”

For the first time, he can’t read your expression. But it doesn’t matter. You belong to him. You always have, but now you know. And if it takes time for you to understand, Armin can wait. He’ll wait right beside you, always, always there to guide you.

“This is not the end of my Odyssey. My Odyssey is eternal,” he says before giving you another short kiss and disappearing, the warmth of his lips still present.

The gods might not all be fickle, you think, so you just smile sadly. But the gods are all selfish, so you touch the collar around your neck.

A/N: This is my first ever collab and I was- as still am- a bit insecure about how this story turned out so I appreciate all of your support ❤️. I would also like to apologise to my fellow history nerds for the historical inaccuracies. 

#armin x reader #armin arlert #armin #armin x you #eren mikasa armin #eren aot #AoT #AOT headcanons #aot levi #aot smut #aot fanfiction #aot fanfic #snk smut #snk fanfiction #snk eren #levi attack on titan #tw piss kink #tw piss play #tw choking #tw collar #yandere armin arlert #tw stalking #throne sex #tw obsessive behavior

[makoodlesarchive]

darling it’s better (down where it’s wetter)

i finally finished it omg lol, genuinely thought this would never be done

thank you so much to everyone for being patient with me and sending me all those cute little asks talking about the fic, that actually really helped with writing it!

For the love of all that is holy, please check out this absolutely incredible art of merbakugou by @crowolina​!

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

word count: 14k

warnings: mentions of drowning, explicit sex, interspecies (?) sex, that merman dick yo

 masterlist | tip jar

The humidity outside is so high that the air is sitting thick and stagnant -- it feels like it could be cut with a knife. It’s uncomfortably hot, and the air feels almost damp and sticks wetly in your throat as you breathe. Sweat pools in all the most uncomfortable crevices, until the desire to get into the water is less of a passing fancy, and more of an all-consuming need. You slip carefully down the hill, over the dry grass, until you hop down into the fine sand that makes up the little beach in the sheltered cove at the bottom of the hill.

The cove is protected by natural cliffs on either side, with the only access point being the hill that your uncle’s house sits on. It’s small, but the stretch of sand is soft and golden and clean, absent of any tourists and the debris that they tend to leave behind. It is, by all accounts, perfect, and a far better option than the significantly more crowded beach fifteen minutes away. Thanks to the hill and the natural caves, the air is cooler and easier to breathe in the cove. You set out your towel and water bottle near the base of the hill and strip down to your bathing suit, hefting your inflatable floaty up and preparing yourself to march into the ocean. After all the time spent inside your uncle’s grody house, the fresh air and fine golden sand feels like heaven.

When you finally work up the nerve to dip your toes into the water, you have to fight not to recoil from the cold. The temperature of the water is cool and chill, a direct contrast to the heavy, hot thickness of the air, and it takes a few minutes of psyching yourself up before you’re able to submerge yourself fully. Despite the chill, the sensation of being surrounded by water is a relief after the oppressive afternoon heat. You wade out further, keeping a mindful eye out for the reefs your uncle had mentioned, until the water comes up to your hips, then your chest, then your collarbones. You let the tension seep out of your shoulders as you float, buoyed gently by the waves. It’s the most peaceful you’ve been since your stay with your uncle began after he broke his leg; you don’t mind taking care of him while he heals, but you didn’t quite realise how much you needed a break until now.

The saltwater is like a balm; it takes some manoeuvring to actually get yourself up on the floaty, but once you’re settled and relaxed you think you could happily float on your back like this for hours, lost to the warmth of the sun on your skin and the waves rocking you back and forth. The fresh smell of the saltwater and the soft swaying of the floaty in the ocean waves lull you into a peaceful doze. 

Naturally, that’s when things start to go wrong.

As you fall into a light sleep you fail to notice the thick grey clouds rolling in and the tide pulling out. The waves creep higher and crash faster, and your floaty bobs rapidly along as you sleep, unaware of just about all of it. 

That changes when the floaty catches on a sharp rock jutting out of the water; awareness comes crashing back to you as the floaty tears right as a wave breaks over you, the acute chill of the water and the weight of the ocean pushing down over your head. The shock of the cold water leaves you momentarily stunned and in the brief moment before you start thrashing against the icy waves, a riptide catches your legs and tears you through the water.

Panic rears up in your chest, sharp and choking. Your chest is already aching from the lack of air since you hadn’t had the chance to get a proper breath before you had gone under, and you’re not able to thrash against the current with as much force as you need to be able to reach the surface again. You kick frantically against the water, muscles burning, but you’re so disoriented that you’re honestly not even sure if you’re swimming in the right direction; the salt burns your eyes when you try to open them, and everything is so dark that you can’t tell which way is up.

Your head crests the surface of the water, and you just manage to suck in a painful breath when another wave crashes down over the top of your head. As you struggle to right yourself and reach the surface again, you find your movements becoming sluggish. You’re panicking and running out of air, but even though you know that you still can’t manage to fight your way to the surface.

For a moment something pale cuts through the water in front of your eyes and you think that you’re about to emerge into the air again but you feel so impossibly tired. Your vision begins to go dark, and your limbs are so heavy that continuing to struggle against the tide is impossible. 

You know that you’re sinking, but there’s not a thing you can do to stop it.

Consciousness returns to you slowly and painfully. 

The first thing to register is the soreness in your chest and ribs -- every inhale is an effort, and it feels as though your lungs are actually bruised. You inhale sharply, which causes a chain reaction of hacking and sputtering and retching. The coughing, in turn, highlights how just about every part of your body feels as though it’s been battered continuously against a rock. When you finally crack open your eyes, you wonder for a moment if you might have gone blind, because your vision stays exactly as dark as when your eyes were closed. When you push yourself up into a seated position, however, you find that you’re sprawled on the wet, rocky floor of a cave. 

You move your head very slowly to take in your surroundings, feeling woozy and nauseous. You wonder if you hit your head, or if the nausea is a side effect of nearly drowning. Panic begins building again in your chest, and you have to make a concentrated effort to push all of your uncle’s warnings about delayed drowning out of your mind so you can focus on taking deep, even breaths.

The rocky floor that you’ve woken up on is a ledge of solid stone that makes up half of the cave; the other half is submerged in a pool of clear seawater, beyond which a large crack in the stone walls leads directly back to the ocean. The entire cavern is dimly illuminated by what seems to be phosphorescent algae growing in the water and along the dampest patches of the walls, glowing a muted, luminous blue. It's pretty, but you can’t concentrate on it because in the dim light provided by both the entrance to the cave and the algae, you can see the bottom of the water is littered with what looks like bones.

You look away quickly, because that is not conducive to staying calm. The bones are probably from some stupid large fish that got stuck in the cave and couldn’t figure out how to escape, and you are absolutely not going to look any closer to confirm that. A flash of colour catches your eye, though, and when you turn to look you find the deflated, torn plastic remains of your floaty hanging from an outcrop of rock. 

Amidst the enormous relief at being alive, there’s a growing sense of unease in the back of your mind -- how had you washed up inside the cave in the first place? The entrance to the cavern is nothing but a slash in the rocks, angled in such a way that it would be nearly hidden if not for the thin slant of light shining through. How had you not been dashed to bits by those viciously sharp rocks like your floaty? Even if you had miraculously been washed through the small gap and into the mouth of the cave, by all rights you should have ended up floating in the saltwater pool. How had you ended up on the ledge?

You cast another slow look around the cavern; if you weren’t so sore and scared, you think you’d be able to appreciate your surroundings a lot more. The cave is actually quite beautiful -- the algae in the water gives the pool an almost other-wordly, luminescent blue hue, and the stone ledge is devoid of slimy seaweed or sharp barnacles which makes for a somewhat comfortable place to sit, despite its dampness. The deep booming of thunder from outside the cave is what forces you to realise that you’re not going to be able to get out of here until the storm dies down, but at the very least you could have been stuck somewhere far worse. Other than the bones sitting at the bottom of the pool, the cavern is oddly clean.

It’s only when you realise that your whole body is trembling that you take the time to check yourself out. The cold has caused your circulation to slow, and your hands and feet are painfully stiff and bloodless. While the cave isn’t as chilly as you might expect, it’s still not exactly warm and you have no idea how you’re supposed to stop your shivering. You know that you’ve read survival advice regarding hypothermia before, but now that it’s actually necessary it seems as though all relevant knowledge has leaked out of your brain. 

Your eyes rove the cavern absentmindedly as you think, wracked with the occasional violent shiver. “Fuck,” you whisper to yourself, exhausted. Your gaze passes smoothly over the outcrop of rocks near the cave’s entrance, the red eyes staring up at you from under the water, the froth churned up by the waves spilling through the entrance and into the cave. Another clap of thunder booms from outside.

It takes a ridiculous amount of time for your brain to catch up to what your eyes had just seen, but when you finally jerk your attention back to the water, whatever you had seen is gone. Your breathing is laboured now and stings in your chest slightly, but you pay it no mind as you shuffle closer to the edge of the pool, staring intently at the now empty spot in the water. Maybe your near-drowning experience had resulted in more oxygen deprivation than you had realised, because you could swear you had just seen a man in the water.

“Hello?” you call. Your teeth are chattering, the tone of your voice both nervous and hopeful in equal measures. The cave echoes your voice back to you in a way that makes you feel distinctly idiotic. “Is s-someone there? Please!”

The surface of the water ripples, but you’re pretty sure that the movement is due to the waves rather than some mysterious man hiding in the pool. Feeling disappointed and a little dumb, you sit back and gaze morosely into the water. Were you really so addled that you were beginning to hallucinate?

Before you can begin to worry too much about your possibly declining mental state, the water ripples again. This time, you snap your head up in time to see something dart behind a large rock sticking up from the water. 

“Hey!” you blurt, sitting up and scooting closer to the edge. “Who are you? I c-can see you, asshole!” 

It occurs to you that it’s highly likely that you’re sitting here shouting at a scared seal or something else much less menacing, or human-like, for that matter. You only have a short moment to feel extremely stupid before whatever is out there moves again, and when a head pops out from behind the rock you fall totally silent.

It is a man! His shock of blond hair is wet and plastered to his head and most of his body remains hidden behind the rock, but there’s no denying that it’s an actual person and you can’t help the immediate relief that washes over you.

“Hey, d-did you get washed up in here too?” As soon as you ask the question, you realise that something isn’t quite… right. How had you missed him on your first glance around? It wasn’t as though there were all that many places within the cavern to hide, and there shouldn’t be any reason to hide in the first place; you had been unconscious, after all. Why was he still in the water?

And why wasn’t he answering you? His head is tilted slightly and his gaze is boring into you, but he makes no move to speak or to come out from behind the rock. It hits you then that you’re all alone in an isolated cave with a total stranger who’s positively glaring at you, and you’re wearing nothing but your bathing suit.

Cold unease settles deep in your belly, and you push yourself carefully away from the edge. His eyes follow the movement; you can’t be sure from this far away, but his irises look an almost unnatural shade of red. The hair on the back of your neck and all up your arms stands on end, and you can’t shake off the feeling that you’re in danger.

“I was just leaving,” you tell him, forcing a nervous smile to your face. “I’m just trying to figure out how to get out of here.”

The man doesn’t reply; in fact, he barely even reacts. He doesn’t even blink.

The smile slides slowly off your face, and your throat makes a dry clicking noise as you try to swallow. “Okay!” you say too loudly; your voice echoes throughout the cave, which only frays your nerves further. “I’m going!” Even as you say it, you realise that there’s no possible way out of the cavern without having to get in the water and swim past the man to get to the crack in the cave wall. Water spills through the crevice as waves crash into the side of the cliff, and another clap of muffled thunder reminds you that there is a storm raging outside. Even if you manage to get around this weirdo and escape the cave, you don’t know how far you’ve drifted from the cove. With the ocean so unsettled, it would be plain stupid to dive back out there without knowing where you are or how deep the water is outside of the cave.

The sound of water rippling catches your attention, and you look back at the man to see that he’s beginning to emerge from behind the rock. Your spine stiffens, alarmed at the sudden movement after so much uninterrupted stillness. He keeps low to the water, his face half-submerged, and as he slides out from the rock and begins to smoothly cut through the water. A flash of colour catches your eye and draws your gaze towards the side of his head. Right over the space where his ears should be is delicate soft orange and black webbing that almost looks like…  fins? They twitch a little in your direction, but otherwise hang limply so that they’re almost hidden by his mass of spiky hair.

The fins are distracting enough that it takes you a truly embarrassing length of time to notice that the man has an even stranger feature that his odd ears. As he gets closer, you finally catch sight of the long, lithe tail.

Your instinct is to draw back in both shock and disbelief, but as soon as you move the man (was this even a man?) lifts his head fully out of the water and bares his teeth at you as he spits out a low, sharp hissing sound. You freeze, overwhelmed; your eyes are darting from his teeth to his fins to the tail, but you’re having some serious trouble actually taking it all in. The oxygen deprivation from nearly drowning must have done more damage than you had first thought if you’re beginning to hallucinate shit like this. The tail is long and serpentine, ending in twin webbed fins and covered in dark scales. Combined with his disturbingly human torso, he must be nearly eight feet long. When he reaches the edge of the rocky platform, one of his hands comes up to grip onto the surface and you’re greeted with the sight of long and dark clawed fingertips. They flash in the low light like a threat, ensuring you keep as still and quiet as possible. From this close, you wonder how you possibly missed the fact that he is most definitely not human. 

Your breathing picks up as you struggle not to panic, and the fins on the sides of his head rotate towards you as the air sticks harshly in your throat. It’s undoubtedly a threat display; the way the fins splay out flat makes him look aggressive and frightening, and you want to cringe away but you’re also afraid to move. You just tense up on the spot and try to make yourself smaller, hoping desperately that he’ll lose interest once he realises that you don’t pose any danger to him.

“I’m just trying to get home.” Your voice comes out croaky and shaking with fear. You seriously doubt that he can understand what you’re saying, but the sound of your voice has his head tilting suspiciously at you. Even if he doesn’t understand your words, maybe your low and pleading tone will assure him that you mean no harm. “I don’t know where I am, I’m cold, and I’m sore, and I just want to go home.”

A translucent second pair of eyelids slide sideways in a blink, and you have to fight to suppress your shiver. From this close, he’s so obviously inhuman that it’s downright unnerving. His skin is smooth and blemishless, almost too perfect. His features, while human, are virtually flawless in a way that’s actually quite overwhelming -- he’s beautiful, once you ignore his fish half. And the blood-red, glaring eyes.

Predictably, he remains silent, though the fins on the side of his head drop low. You really hope that’s a good sign, and decide to keep talking. Hopefully, by familiarising him with your voice you lower the chance of him attacking you. “My uncle is probably so worried about me. He broke his leg a month ago in a boating accident, and I’ve been looking after him since. This is the first time I’ve taken any time to myself -- I don’t even know how long I’ve been gone for. He must know something’s wrong, or else I would have come home as soon as the storm hit.”

The creature just blinks that sideways blink, floating still in the water as he stares at you.

You sigh, and ease back slowly into a more comfortable sitting position. Those orange fins rotate towards you at the movement, but otherwise he doesn’t react. You take the lack of hissing as a sign of progress. 

“This is your cave, huh?” You keep your tone stupidly conversational, as if you’re having a friendly chat with a neighbour or something. “It’s nice. Pretty cosy, as far as caves go. Clean. Except for, you know. The bones.” Now that you’ve mentioned it, you can’t help your gaze from drifting to said bones. To your relief, you see that most of them seem to be the remains of various ocean creatures, though there are a few suspiciously large bones that are almost certainly human. Fear rises up through your chest and lodges in your throat, which makes it difficult to force your words out. “Wow. Yeah. The, uh. The bones are kind of gross.”

The creature follows your gaze, craning his head over his shoulder to see what you’re looking at. He pushes himself away from the ledge and dives in one quick, fluid movement, startling you so badly that you nearly overbalance despite sitting down. His tail is pure muscle, and it ripples as he cuts through the water. It’s only now as you watch him submerged beneath the surface that you realise this is a real mermaid creature that you have somehow found yourself trapped in a cave with. The realisation sends you reeling, but before you can spiral into a flat out panic attack, the creature bursts out of the water again. He pulls himself up onto the ledge and leans on it with his forearms, before slapping down an object right in front of you.

It is, quite unmistakably, a human thigh bone. You recoil in badly disguised horror, “Oh! What the fuck!”

The creature watches you, unblinking. He seems… expectant?

You look down to the thigh bone, then back to the creature. Is he threatening you? Is this his way of letting you know that he’s killed humans before, and is willing to do so again? You cringe away from the yellowing bone. 

“Oh shit. Fuck. Oh my god. Okay. Okay, um… I’m not a threat! I promise! I don’t even want to be here. Please don’t hurt me. Shit, you don’t even know what I’m saying, do you?” Your voice has grown thick with panic, and you try to choke it down. Your hands are trembling, and you run them nervously over your face in an attempt to do something with them. “Look. You, uh. You seem like a very nice… mermaid? Mer… creature. I can tell that you’re, um, very strong. And your claws are very intimidating.” You trail off, because you’ve ended up freaking yourself out and losing your train of thought.

The creature has lifted itself a little further out of the water, and appears to be puffing up slightly. You wonder if it’s another threat display, but he doesn’t seem to be overly aggressive. That is, until a clawed hand reaches out and snatches at your ankle so fast that you can barely follow the movement with your eyes. You yelp with fright a solid moment too late, but the pain that you had been expecting doesn’t come. Instead, those sharp, mottled black claws grip firmly at your ankle without actually piercing the skin; the creature appears to be peering closely at your feet.

“Those are my toes.” You tell him stupidly, as though he has any idea what you’re talking about. “They don’t taste good.” You wiggle your toes, and the creature jerks back and hisses at them. “Whoa! Sorry! They’re harmless, I swear! Please don’t kill me!”

When it becomes clear that your toes don’t present any immediate threat, he pinches your big toe between two fingers and squeezes it experimentally. The fear that had been so paralysing is beginning to steadily fade the longer this little exchange goes on without the creature hurting you. You could almost fool yourself into thinking that maybe he was harmless, but the bone sitting on the ground next to your hips suggests otherwise. Still, aside from his initial display of aggression, he doesn’t appear to be particularly hostile. Just a little… over-curious.

His grip on your legs is strong but gentle enough to not actually be causing you any pain, though that might also be thanks to the fact that your extremities have gone numb from the cold. Your shivering has eased up a bit, but you still feel exposed in your damp bathing suit. You’re a little self-conscious, but you’re pretty sure that the mermaid man is too preoccupied with your feet to even notice the fact that you’re in a state of undress; in fact, you’re not even sure if he has a concept of nudity, considering he’s half fish.

You’re so preoccupied with watching the creature rub at your shins that it takes a while for you to notice how quiet it’s gotten inside the cave. “Sounds like the storm has blown over.” You tell the creature, who just stares at you with his brow furrowed. You’re not entirely sure where to go from here; you have no choice but to start searching for a way out of the cave, but you’re not sure how to go about extracting yourself from the creature’s grasp. You don’t know if he’ll stay as docile with you once you’re actually standing and moving around. “How am I gonna get out of here, huh?” 

The grip on your leg disappears as the creature backs up before plunging back into the water with a quick snap of its tail. You can’t help but marvel at the sheer power hidden in that muscular lower half as he powers through water almost faster than your eye can follow. He disappears from view, and it takes you a few seconds before you realise that he’s darted down a passage that you hadn’t been able to see due to the angle. 

As soon as you realise he’s gone, your stomach clenches. “Hey!” You call, suddenly nervous. It might be stupid, but at least when he was here you weren’t entirely alone. “Hey, wait! Please don’t leave me here!”

There’s no sound but the gentle tinkling of water against rock. You sit back with a gusty sigh and shut your eyes. While he wasn’t the most chatty of companions, there was something slightly reassuring about the fact that you weren’t entirely alone in this cavern. Maybe him leaving was for the best though; if he was the one responsible for the mass amounts of bone littering the bottom of the pool floor, then it would be safer for you now that he’s gone. It looks like you’re going to have to get back into the water and swim to the entrance, and while you fill with dread at the thought of having to return to the cold water, it’s probably significantly safer to do so now that the creature is nowhere to be seen.

You slip off the edge of the ledge and into the saltwater pool, hissing as the cold water hits your skin. It’s deeper than you had initially thought; your feet aren’t even close to touching the bottom. You clutch at the ledge and breathe, even though the deep breaths feel like they’re slicing into your lungs. Your feet feel oddly heavy, as though they’ve been carved from blocks of ice, and you feel doubt stab at you; are you going to be able to swim like this?

The water ripples, signalling movement behind you, and you realise that the creature has returned. You have a split second to panic -- if he decides to attack, you’ve just put yourself right in his path -- but then you catch sight of what he’s pulling behind him. It looks like a surfboard that’s been broken in half.

“Oh, wow!” You gasp, reaching out for it. It’s faded and corroded by time, disuse, and saltwater, and there are several deep gouge marks on it that look like suspiciously like claw and teeth marks, but it’s buoyant and definitely more than enough for you to paddle out on. “Amazing! Oh, you’re such a good boy! Thank you!”

Talking to him like he’s a dog probably isn’t the best idea, but his fins rotate towards you and even though he bares his teeth, he doesn’t look entirely displeased by your tone. He also doesn’t move to try and eat you, though his exceptionally sharp teeth are still pointed in your direction. You hope very much that it’s just posturing and that you’re not misinterpreting his body language; the last thing you need is to get torn apart right when you’re trying to make a break for the exit. He lets you take the surfboard and watches as you attempt to drag yourself up on it. It’s easier said than done, considering it’s been broken jaggedly in half and you can’t touch the ground. You might even be embarrassed by how much you’re struggling if there was anyone else around to see it; as it is, you feel like even the creature is judging your flailing legs as he bobs in one place effortlessly.

Apparently, he gets sick of watching your ineptitude very quickly. “Woah!” You yelp as a sharp, scaly hand lands on the curve of your ass. “What the fuck!” The hand pushes at you, shoving you up on the surfboard from behind. You don’t even have the presence of mind to be surprised at his strength, because you’re too focused on the hand on your ass. “Woah, woah, okay, buddy, no groping please!”

The creature’s tail lashes in the water as he stares blankly at you. His hand doesn’t move.

You try to squirm away, but there’s nowhere to go and he is technically helping. “Fucking hell.” You groan. It’s not as if he understands that he’s groping you; he’s a fish. “Okay. Okay, fine. I will overlook this so long as you help me get out of here.” 

The creature shows no sign that he understands your attempts at bargaining. In fact, as soon as you speak he releases his tight grip on your ass and begins to loop slow, lazy circles around you. You sit up, straddling the broken surfboard as you watch him circle you. Now that you’re next to him, you realise that he really is huge -- his tail is long and practically ripples with powerful muscle, and his human half sports well-defined abdominals and bulging biceps, too. His lazy movements and the way that his gaze never once strays from you, not even to blink, sets your hair standing on end. This creature is a predator, and you’d be naive to let your guard down for even a second.

You swallow, and pray that he can’t smell your fear. When you begin to paddle your way towards the cave entrance, the creature perks up and begins to follow. He keeps up with the circles even as you paddle, and you can’t help but scowl at him. “That’s kind of obnoxious, you know.” you tell him, and receive another toothy grimace. If it weren’t for the way his lips peeled back off his sharp teeth, it might have looked almost like a grin.

Watching him in the water is surreal. He moves through it so fluidly that it’s almost mesmerising, and you have to redirect your attention back to paddling several times after getting distracted. Apparently your progress is too slow for him, because the next time he circles around, he reaches out and curls his claws into the board. Wood splinters under his grip, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he yanksat the board insistently. You sit back as the board is pulled through the water, happy to let him do all the work. 

Maneuvering the makeshift raftthrough the narrow entrance takes some effort, but you mostly allow the creature to work you and the board through the gap. And with that, you’re out of the cavern and into the open ocean. The sky is a dull, purple-tinged grey, the sun having already sunk low beyond the horizon; it’s evening time, which means you must have been in the cave for hours. You twist on the damaged surfboard and crane your head around to look back at the cavern; the entrance is barely noticeable, merely a crack in the face of a towering cliff. 

Your heart jumps as you realise that you recognise this cliff. Your eyes follow the length of it, and sure enough you can see the cove in the distance and the shape of your uncle’s house sitting on the hill. “Ah!” you exclaim in delight, a relieved smile breaking over your face. Home! You’re so close! When you glance down at the creature, you see that he’s followed your gaze. He looks back to you, and his tail lashes the water. You point towards the cove. “There. That’s where I need to go. My home is over there.” You only feel a little stupid for talking to him like he can understand; he might not comprehend your language, but he’s obviously intelligent and he’s brought you this far. It’s not too far-fetched to hope that he might bring you just a little bit further.

Your optimism pays off -- the creature dutifully begins pulling the board in the direction you had pointed. In the twilight, you can see that the scales on his tail are an iridescent black colour, flashing deep orange as light reflects off him as he twists and turns in the water. It’s pretty, and you watch in silent admiration. When he begins pulling you faster and splashing through the waves with unnecessarily large flourishes of his tail, you realise that he’s showing off.

You laugh, delighted with the display and giddy now that most of the danger seems to be behind you. “Yes, yes, very impressive. Your tail is beautiful.” 

Obviously pleased with your admiring tone of voice, the creature preens and flexes as he cuts through the waves. With his speed, what should have been a fifteen minute swim is cut down to barely five, and he releases his grip on the board as you begin to approach the shore. As soon as the water is shallow enough for you to stand, you slip off the board and curl your toes into the sand. You turn to grin at the creature, elated, and see that he’s retreated into the waves so that all you can see of him is his eyes and the top of his head.

“Thank you!” You call, grinning as you stagger out of the sea and back onto dry land. “You’re amazing!”

In a flash of scales, he disappears into the waves. You stand on the beach for several long moments, watching the place he had been and wondering if you had just experienced some kind of extremely advanced auditory and visual hallucination. You stay until you start to shiver again in the cold evening air, then stumble your way back up the hill to your uncle’s house.

Predictably, your uncle is a healthy mixture of angry and terrified. It seems you really worried him, and he had no way to contact anyone since he doesn’t own a cellphone. Despite your exhaustion, it takes the rest of the evening to calm him down and assure him that you’re fine. Eventually, you get to slip away for a warm bath and then to bed. 

Lying in bed staring at the ceiling of your uncle’s guest bedroom, you’re sure that it will take you ages to get to sleep. Your brain replays the events of the day over and over again, until the details become murky and your thoughts slow. The last thing you think before you slip off into sleep is how lucky you are to be alive, whether you were hallucinating or not.

You’re an idiot. A total, complete imbecile.

That’s the only explanation for how you’ve managed to find yourself back at the jagged mouth of the cave yet again. It’s been almost a full two weeks since you washed up here during the storm, and in those two weeks you could swear that you had seen a blond head bobbing in the waves in front of your uncle’s house multiple times. It was pretty hard to convince yourself that the whole mermaid-slash-sea creature thing was a product of your imagination after a scary and traumatic event when the hallucination kept appearing right outside where you live.

So, you had borrowed an old surfboard from your uncle (a full, undamaged one this time), and paddled your way back out to the cliff face. You notice almost immediately that the tide is strong here, and it’s difficult to keep yourself from being dashed right against the jagged surface of the cliff. It does confirm your suspicions, though - there’s no way that you could have washed up inside that cave by chance. It takes a significant amount of effort to pull yourself inside the mouth of the rocky structurecave without being crushed into the sharp stone slabs decorating the outside like some sort of deadly decorrocks, but you manage to do so without hurting yourself. 

Inside, the cave looks exactly the same as last time, though this time it’s empty. You paddle forward, the movement significantly easier now that you have a full-sized surfboard. Peering around, you see no sign at all that anything living might have occupied the cavern. That’s when the doubt starts to come creeping in. You’d had the odd invasive thought over the past two weeks that maybe you had imagined the whole mermaid creature (because it was, admittedly, insane), but then you had seen that blond head floating in the ocean breeze on several occasions. You could have sworn he was watching the house! Now that you’re here and facing the complete absence of evidence, you start to feel a little silly.

You paddle further into the cave, straddling the board so that your legs can kick out through the water. You admire the phosphorescent algae growing up the walls, amazed at the natural glowing light. When you turn your attention back to the bottom of the pool, though, you go still. 

It’s empty. The floor of the pool, previously littered with bones, is totally pristine.

You sit still on the surfboard in the middle of the pool, gazing down into the water. Despite how crazy the whole situation was, you had been sure that you weren’t imagining it. But now, faced with the complete absence of evidence, you’re forced to consider the fact that maybe the whole thing really had been in your head. You have such a vivid memory of the silt-covered bones blanketing the floor of the cave that now seeing them missing has completely thrown you off.

A bark sounds behind you, rough and deep like a seal, and you jerk hard in surprise.

Whirling around, clutching at the board beneath you to keep your balance, you catch sight of the creature floating by the entrance to the cave. He’s watching you intently, having obviously been monitoring you since you first managed to float inside.

The relief that slams into you feels like a physical punch -- the spikey hair, red eyes, and tail are exactly the same as you remember. It’s real. You laugh, and it feels like the sound has been ripped right out of your chest; the situation is almost overwhelmingly surreal, but the endorphin rush of knowing that you’re not delusional has you grinning at the creature, wide and bright.

“Hi!” You say, trying to keep your voice as level as possible despite your elation. You may have been delighted to see him, but you have no idea if he even remembers you from two weeks ago; you can only hope that he doesn’t decide that he’s hungry today. “Wow, look at you! You have no idea how good it is to see your face! And your tail! God, I am so glad to see your tail! It’s real, holy shit.”

One of the creature’s webbed fins twitch on the side of his head, rotating towards you as you ramble. In a single, smooth movement he pushes away from the entrance of the cave until he’s right in front of your surfboard, his face half-submerged in the water. He seems pretty docile today, his movements strong, but relaxed. The aggression he had displayed that had scared you so badly the first time is completely absent, and he begins to loop circles around you in a manner that is almost playful. You don’t bother to hide the awe in your expression as you watch his serpentine lower half undulate through the clear water. 

“Wow.” You breathe, your cheeks stretched wide by your goofy grin. “It’s amazing.”

He must feel your gaze on him, because his lazy looping begins to become more elaborate. The extra flourishes he makes with his tail as he circles you splashes water all over your thighs and stomach. You squeak in surprise, but as you relax again you start to laugh.

“Are you showing off?” You ask with a grin, watching his body roll through the saltwater pool, never straying too far from your surfboard. “You’re just a giant puppy, aren’t you?”

His circling gets faster and faster, until watching him nearly makes you dizzy. It’s a little reminiscent of being stalked by a shark, but you don’t sense any aggression or animosity from him at all. The little hairs standing on end on the back of your neck serve as a reminder that he is, undoubtedly, a predator, but you don’t feel as though he poses any particular threat to you right now. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, treating him like a harmless puppy dog, but you have a feeling that his bark is probably worse than his bite. At least, you hope so.

“Help me get to the ledge?” You ask, beginning to paddle over. He catches on to where you’re trying to get to almost instantly, and pushes the surfboard effortlessly over to the rocky platform. 

Once you climb out of the water and turn to him, he pushes his upper half up onto the ledge and leans on his folded arms. The intensity of his gaze has lessened, or maybe you’ve just gotten used to it, because it doesn’t feel as though he’s trying to eat you alive with his eyes anymore. His tail swishes through the water, creating gentle waves rippling over the surface as he watches you with a sort of attentive stillness reminiscent of a cat.

“You saved me last time, didn’t you? When I was drowning?” You ask absent-mindedly. Your voice subconsciously takes on the same artificially high-pitched tone you use when you’re talking to animals and babies, but judging by the way his fins rotate downward and flatten to the side of his head he doesn’t like that. “Thank you.”

You’re taking a massive chance even making an attempt to touch him, but you take a deep breath and then hold your breath as you reach out to him. He flinches from your outstretched hand and bares his sharp teeth at you, but there’s no animosity behind it and he makes no move to stop you from placing your hand on the top of his head. His hair is coarse with sea salt, which probably explains its spiky texture, and is still dripping wet. As you ruffle his hair, your fingers curl into the chaotic blond spikes -- though you had originally intended to simply give him a pat on the head, you end up playing with his hair and scratching at his scalp.

You weren’t sure how the creature was going to react to your bold decision to give him head scratches, but he seems to like it -- his eyes go half-lidded and droopy, and he presses his head lightly into your touch. You grin, encouraged by his reaction, and let your hand trail cautiously down to one of his fins. It’s soft to the touch and delicate, with an almost silky smooth slippery texture. It twitches beneath your fingers, and you notice for the first time that the soft orange colour is interspersed with milky streaks of black. 

“Pretty.” you murmur to him, stroking a finger down the length of the fin before returning your hand to his messy mop of hair.

A harsh, rumbling growling sound erupts out of the creature’s chest, and you whip your hand back in shock. The creature’s head jerks up to look at you, equally startled by your sudden movement. It takes you a moment to realise that he wasn’t snarling at you, he was purring.

“Oh!” you breathe, surprised. “You like me playing with your hair?”

The creature obviously doesn’t answer; instead, he reaches out and grabs your wrist, his sharp claws cautiously guiding your hand up to plant right back into his hair. You laugh, startled by his sudden boldness, but obediently start scratching at his scalp again. That snarling, chain-saw like purr starts up again, and you can’t help the breathless giggle that bubbles out of you at the sound of it. 

The minutes tick by as you play with his hair, his grumbling purr echoing throughout the cave. His body has gone mostly lax, with his upper half laid out on the ledge in front of you and his lower half floating in the water. It’s kind of exciting being so close to a creature that could probably kill you with a single swipe of his claws but has instead chosen to let you pet him. Like this, lying relaxed by your legs, you could mistake him for a regular man. So long as you didn’t allow your gaze to drift lower, at least.

Your stomach decides to end the moment by letting out a rumbling growl of its own, which surprises even you since you had eaten before you left your uncle’s house. The creature draws back, squinting suspiciously at your torso.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, embarrassed despite yourself, “I’m not actually hungry, my stomach doesn’t know what it’s talking about.”

The creature blinks one of its creepy sideways blinks at you, and then in one quick movement disappears under the water with a flourish of his tail. You catch a streak of colour darting out of the cave and sigh as the water settles, disappointed that the moment has been brought to such an abrupt end by something as stupid as your tummy rumbling when you weren’t even particularly hungry. You settle back and wonder if you should take that as a sign that it’s time to get out of there.

The cave is beautifully peaceful, silent but for the sound of the waves lapping against rock. You could probably stay there for hours, but it doesn’t feel right to be there without the creature; it feels as though you’re infringing on his private territory, somehow, and it makes you feel a little uneasy. In the end, you don’t get much time to overthink -- the creature re-enters the cave nearly soundlessly, and you barely notice his presence until he emerges out of the water and hauls himself up on the rocky platform next to you.

“Oh!” You blurt, startled by the sudden movement. “You’re back!”

The creature doesn’t react to your words at all, instead dropping something in front of your folded legs. You blink at it, bewildered, as it wriggles on the stone platform.

“It’s… a fish.” You point out redundantly, at a loss for anything else to say. When you look back up you find that the creature is watching you carefully, a hint of impatience on his face. He nudges the fish towards you, and you cringe back as the fish flip-flops helplessly. “Gah!”

The creature’s brow drops into a frown, clearly unhappy with your reaction. He pushes the fish towards you more aggressively this time, but when the fish leaps into the air it’s only instinct for you to smack it away in a panic. The fish bounces once and then makes a bid for freedom, jumping straight into the water. The creature snarls and leaps after it.

The poor fish doesn’t stand a chance; the creature snatches it back up within seconds, and then it’s dumped in front of you again. “Uh. I don’t really… want this?” You stare at it, and then lift your head to look at the creature. He’s still frowning, and when you make no move to take the fish he reaches out to pick it up himself with a grunt of obvious irritation. You relax a little once he takes the fish, wondering what the hell that had been about.

Smack.

You screech as the fish slaps into your face, recoiling so violently that you overbalance and fall flat on your back. “What the FUCK!”

The creature rears back, obviously surprised by your reaction and all the yelling. He spits out a hissing sound as the fish makes another escape attempt, and dives after it. You’re too busy scrubbing at your face in disgust to keep track of what the hell he’s doing now, but when something wet and slimy smacks into your arms you realise that he’s just pelted you with the fish again!

“Why would you do that!” You yell, distressed. You would never be able to forget what a fish to the face feels like, now. “Fucking- That’s fucking gross!”

A low grumbling starts in the creature’s chest, but his brow is furrowed and his head is tilted so he doesn’t seem angry. If anything, he just seems confused. The fish is still wriggling where it’s stuck in his clenched, clawed fist, but its movements are getting progressively weaker. 

“Don’t you dare throw that at me again,” you threaten, glaring his way and injecting as much authority into your voice as you can manage, “Or we will have a serious problem.”

Your tone must have been pretty clear, because the creature doesn’t try to launch the fish at your face again. Instead, he lifts the fish up to his own mouth and takes an enormous bite, ripping the head right off and chewing it between his razor-sharp fangs.

You gag at the sight of guts and viscera falling to the cavern floor, and then turn to retch as wet chewing sounds reach you. “Oh fuck, that is nasty. Why? Ah, Jesus-” The creature proffers the chewed up fish carcass, scowling when you turn your face away to gag again. “Stop shoving that at me! I will get sick on you!”

The creature grunts, confused and annoyed by your behaviour. When it becomes clear that you will not be taking the remains of the fish to eat yourself, he tosses the carcass to the side. It lands with a sad little ‘thwunk’ and then lays forgotten as the creature turns back to look at you. Your stomach rolls as he starts to pick raw meat out of his teeth with a clawed fingertip.

“On that note, I think it’s time for me to leave.” You climb to your feet, stubbornly refusing to look at the dead fish. “That’s enough weirdness for me to deal with for one day.” As soon as you make a move for the surfboard, the creature starts making sharp barking noises at you. You turn to scowl at him, irritated, and see that he’s dragged himself after you along the ledge. “What do you want?”

The creature looks almost constipated for a long moment, before he huffs a sharp breath of air out his nose. “Stay.”

It feels like the world stops turning. You think your heart might have actually stopped in your chest. You were surely hallucinating this time. “Did you just speak?”

The creature’s tail lashes impatiently as he scowls up at you from the ground, obviously displeased at your sudden difference in height. “Will you fucking sit down?”

You drop back down to the floor, jaw hanging open. “What the fuck?” You whisper to yourself. It feels as though your brain is functioning several steps behind its usual pace, and all you can do is stare dumbly. “You can fucking talk?”

“Are you an idiot?” The creature snaps at you, scowling. A dusting of light pink blooms high on his cheekbones, “I’m talking right now, aren’t I?”

“I’ve been talking to you this whole time!” You yell, horrified. You cast your mind back desperately, struggling to recall whether you said anything embarrassing at any stage. You definitely have, you just know it. “What the fuck! Why did you never answer?!”

The creature clicks his tongue, and an infuriating little smirk settles over his perfect features. His voice is smug when he speaks next, “I’m a good listener.”

That does it. 

“Oh, fuck you.” You jump to your feet again and march to your surfboard, ignoring the scrabbling sounds against the rock as the creature pulls himself after you.

“Hey! Wait! You said you’d stay, asshole!”

“No, you told me to stay! I never agreed to shit!” You snap, embarrassed and annoyed. You fumble with the board, and the creature takes that moment to shove it away from you. You gasp in outrage as you watch it float out into the middle of the pool, then round on him. “What the hell!”

The creature glares at you, his cheeks stained red. It looks as though he’s seriously struggling with something, until he finally says, “Stay… please.” It sounds as though the word has been forced out of him, like it actually grates him to say it.

You should probably leave. But then again, how many chances in a lifetime are you going to get to meet a fantasy creature (and one that can actually speak to you!). Your curiosity gets the better of you (and the embarrassed but hopeful look on the creature’s face doesn’t help), so you reluctantly sit back down once more. You don’t miss the way he seems to relax a little now that you’re not going anywhere. “Only for a while.” you warn him half-heartedly.

The creature scoffs as if he doesn’t care, as if he didn’t literally just plead with you to stay. “Whatever. Why didn’t you like the fish?”

“The-?” You glance over your shoulder. The fish carcass lies abandoned several paces away, stinking and leaking everywhere. “Uh…”

“I thought you were hungry.” he presses, sounding distinctly as though he’s accusing you of lying.

“You were trying to feed me?” You ask, raising your eyebrows so high they nearly vanish into your hairline. That’s what smacking you in the face with the fish was all about?

The creature’s tail twitches again, sending waves rolling across the surface of the pool. He looks embarrassed, though he’s making a pretty valiant effort at pretending to be unaffected. “Yeah, so what? It’s not my fault that your fingers are all blunt and useless. Can you even kill anything with those?”

You squint down at your fingers, then frown at him. “I don’t know, I’ve never tried! Humans don’t eat raw meat, anyway!”

“Yes, they do!” The creature shoots back, “I’ve heard of sushi!”

That effectively renders you silent as you blink at him. Where had he heard of sushi? “Okay, fine!” You concede grumpily, “Some people eat sushi! That is not the same as catching a fish and eating it live!”

The creature makes a face and lies out on his back, stretching leisurely. “Damn, you’re high maintenance.” He complains, though he doesn’t look all that annoyed. If anything, he looks stupidly pleased with himself. “Whatever. Tell me what you like, then.”

“I don’t know,” You shrug, chewing your lip, “Normal food, I guess. Like, from the store.”

The creature frowns at that, obviously displeased but thinking hard. After a moment he grunts, shrugging. “We’ll work something out.” He says vaguely, then moves on before you can respond. “You’re staying with Aizawa now, right?”

You blink in surprise. “You know my Uncle Shouta?”

“Your uncle?” He asks, avoiding your question.

“Well,” you amend with a shrug, “We’re not blood-related. He’s always been a close family friend. How do you know him?”

The creature shrugs, muscled chest rippling in a way that’s frustratingly distracting. “He’s always hanging around in his stupid little boat.” There’s an underlying current to his voice that sounds like begrudging respect. “He’s helped us out a few times, I guess. He’s alright.”

“‘Us’?” You repeat, eyes wide. “Are there more of… you?” You gesture at his tail, unsure of what to actually refer to him as.

The creature must decide that he’s said too much, because he changes the subject. “What am I supposed to call you, anyway? I can’t keep thinking of you as ‘dumbass’.”

You scoff, slightly offended at that, but tell him your name anyway. “What do I call you?”

“My name is Katsuki,” he grins at you, displaying his rows of very white and very sharp teeth. “But you can call me whatever you like.”

The low, easy rumble of his voice sounds almost flirtatious, and for a long moment all you can do is blink at him. There’s no way you’re reading the situation correctly, you’re sure of it. “Um. Katsuki is fine.”

Katsuki snorts, but doesn’t push the matter. Instead, he rolls onto his side so that he can watch you more closely. His gaze is searingly intense, so much so that you genuinely have difficulty meeting his stare. His attention is overwhelming, and so you find yourself looking around the cavern in an effort to distract yourself. Your surroundings are more or less unchanged from the last time you were here, with one exception -- though the cave was clean before, now it seems to be immaculate. The absence of the bones littering the floor of the pool makes the water seem deeper and clearer, light reflecting off the surface and dancing in ripples along the rocky ceiling. Any seaweed or lichen that had been growing around the rocks or up the walls is gone now, leaving the stone surfaces looking as though they’d been scrubbed clean.

For lack of anything better to say to fill the silence, you say, “Your, uh, cave looks great. Very… tidy.”

Katsuki appears to puff up at that, proud that you noticed. “Yeah? You like it?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.” You nod absently. “It’s… um, cozy.”

“Cozy?” Katsuki repeats. He’s edging closer, almost imperceptibly, but the dragging sound his scaly lower half makes on the ground gives him away. His gaze has sharpened, and you feel distinctly hunted.

“Uh,” You laugh, nerves pitching your voice several octaves higher than normal. “Yeah, I guess. That’s some very nice, uh, algae. It really… pulls the room together.”

The algae, in all its phosphorescent glory, is nice, but Katsuki doesn’t turn to look where you’re pointing. The tip of his tail drags in the water, where it thumps softly from side to side. “Want to see the rest of the place?”

Something about his tone of voice has you hesitating; it sounds pointed, as though his words are heavy with significance that you don’t understand. Still, you don’t want to be rude, so you smile nervously and say, “There’s more? Sure, I’d like to see.”

Katsuki inhales sharply through his nose as an anticipatory grin spreads slowly across his face. His features, handsome anyway, are intimidatingly good looking as his cheeks dimple with his smile, and you only have a moment to wonder what exactly you’ve just agreed to before he pushes himself back into the water in one smooth movement. “Come on.” He says, reaching a hand back up to you and waiting impatiently for you to take it. 

You pause for a moment, before throwing any lingering sense of self-preservation to the wind and taking his outstretched hand. He’s mindful of his claws as he helps you into the water, but it’s impossible to miss the way his palms drag over your arms in a way that can’t be mistaken for casual. 

It’s only when you’re floating in the water next to him that you’re able to fully comprehend the sheer size of him. While his torso is mostly human in both shape and proportion, he’s still built like a damn bodybuilder, with solid abs and rolling biceps. Even without the tail he’s pretty big, but with it? You guess it must be about eight feet long, and it curls around you in the water like a thick, dark snake. He smiles at you as he keeps you afloat, and his teeth glint in the low light. It’s border-line terrifying, and for a long moment you wonder if you’ve just made a very serious mistake.

But then his tail undulates and he’s cutting through the water, dragging you with him. You laugh, startled, and cling onto his neck as he swims through the pool and down the mostly concealed passage he had disappeared through the last time.

The passage is completely submerged in water, and narrows before widening into an even larger cavern area. You gasp quietly as you realise that this is definitely his living space.The layout is pretty similar to the previous cavern, with a shelf of rock jutting out of the wall of the cave just above the height of the water, but unlike the previous cavern this rocky shelf is covered in soft dry moss. You wonder if this is where he sleeps.

The luminescent algae is far more plentiful in this part of the cave; it grows all up the walls and along the ceiling, where it glows in the dark like stars. You crane your head all the way back so that you can gaze open-mouthed at it all, awed by the surreal beauty of it. “Wow,” you breathe in delight, “It’s stunning!”

Katsuki grunts out a pleased rumble in response. In the position you’re in, you can feel it vibrate in his chest. When he reaches the platform, he grips you by the hips and boosts you up onto the rock. The sheer strength takes you by surprise, especially considering the way in which his expression hardly changes as he lifts you with ease.

Once you’re comfortably seated on the moss-covered stone, Katsuki heaves himself up to join you. His tail slaps against the water and coils close to your legs, rubbing gently against the skin of your legs. The sensation of wet scales should feel a little gross or uncomfortable against you, but they feel silky soft as they brush your skin. You lay back against the moss, gazing up at the glowing blue algae painted across the ceiling.

“Your home is beautiful.” You murmur, keeping your voice low. It feels as though the moment is fragile, and you don’t want to break the peaceful atmosphere in this little grotto.

Beside you, Katsuki gives a smug little shrug of his shoulders. He’s sitting way too close to you to be entirely casual (his tail is practically draped over you at this stage), but he doesn’t seem to think anything of the closeness so you write it off as a mermaid thing. “Obviously. What, are you fuckin’ surprised?”

You ignore that, sighing happily as you get comfortable. You can feel Katsuki’s gaze settle like a weight over you, but you simply refuse to look over -- lying comfortably on the cushioned cave floor and gazing up at the fantastical luminescence of the walls and ceiling is a kind of peace that you’ve never experienced before. You feel like you could stay like this forever.

However, Katsuki does not like to be ignored. Your attention has only been directed away from him for a few moments before he starts shifting irritably beside you. You can feel the muscles in his tail moving as it rolls, his clawed fingers tapping impatiently against his abdomen. It seems as though he’s waiting for something in particular, but you have absolutely no idea what this could be. 

After another few moments of impatient shuffling, you finally turn your head to frown at him. “Is something wrong?”

Katsuki frowns back at you, and you see a brief hint of uncertainty flash in his eyes before it’s snuffed out. “No. I’m being fucking patient.”

“Patient?” You parrot, confused. “What are you waiting for?”

For the first time, you notice the flush crawling up the back of his neck and spreading over his cheeks. Swearing quietly, he looks off to the side and shuffles a little on the spot. Eventually he speaks again, though he still doesn’t meet your eye. “Am I reading this wrong?”

“Uh-?”

He continues before you can properly answer, his jaw clenched tight. “I tried to show you that I’m a good hunter and a strong opponent, but you didn’t like any of the bones. I wasn’t sure if you were interested or whatever, but then you showed me where you lived.” The emphasis he places on his words makes you realise that there is some special sort of significance that has gone right over your head, “Then you came back to my cave again, so I figured we were on the same page. But then you refused the fish-”

“I-” you start, bewildered, but Katsuki just keeps going as he works himself up into a mini rant.

“-Even though I know you’re hungry! And you said you liked the changes I made to the place after I got rid of the bones, and you kept calling my tail amazing and beautiful and shit-” He ignores the way you choke a little at that, though he seems to run out of steam, “I just-- fucking, tell me if I’m reading this wrong. I don’t know shit about humans. I thought you were accepting my advances.”

Advances? You inhale so sharply that you nearly choke all over again. There’s no way he means what you think he means. There is no damn way. “Are you- are you coming onto me?”

Katsuki stares back at you, before his face crumples into a scowl. ��Hah? Are you fucking dumb? I brought you to my living space and gave you bones! I tried to feed you fish! Of fucking course I’m coming onto you!” His voice drops then and takes on an uncertain edge to it, “I thought you were accepting my mating advances.”

Your jaw drops, and you honestly can’t find the strength to close your mouth. Mating advances? “I-” you start, then cut yourself off. It feels like the world has tilted just slightly off to the side, throwing you off-kilter. You have absolutely no idea what to say. “Give me a minute.” You blurt, darting to your feet and turning away from him to pace. 

You quickly encounter a problem, in that there’s nowhere to pace to; the ledge is only so large, so all you can really do is march from the edge to the wall. Overall, it’s only about ten paces long, and the whole time you’re focusing on not slipping on the moss. It doesn’t exactly give you a lot of space to think, but your mind still goes into working overtime.

You sneak a peek at Katsuki -- he’s lounging exactly where you left him, but his eyes are sharp and alert as they follow your movements. Not for the first time, you take notice of how unnaturally handsome he is; his features are perfectly formed, his skin clear and flawless where it stretches and swells over his finely muscled form. He looks like a handsome prince from a storybook, and you hate that you’re feeling sparks of attraction towards someone who’s half fish.

Katsuki clearly notices you looking at him, because he stretches out to display his body in a way that’s distinctly suggestive. You look away quickly, embarrassed at having been caught staring. How would that even work?

You can’t believe you’re even entertaining the idea.

“I’m not gonna fuck a fish.” You breathe, eyes clamped shut. “I’m better than that.”

“Who the fuck are you callin’ a fish?” Katsuki snaps. His tone is heated, but the way the split fins at the end of his tail slap a steady rhythm against the ground reveals his excitement. He must have caught on to the fact that you’re actually considering it, because the fins on the side of his head have begun to wiggle a little in anticipation. “Will you stop overthinking it and come over here?”

You hold onto your pride and dignity for another few seconds before abandoning them altogether and padding back over to him. You fold yourself down into a sitting position in front of him so that you’re facing each other. Katsuki sits up quickly, his lips beginning to turn up in a grin. You ignore the anticipation flashing over his face, and ask, “So, how does this, um, work?”

Katsuki inhales sharply, obviously excited. His fins flap softly against the side of his head. “Let me show you.”

“Right, okay. Yeah.” You say stupidly, eyes widening as Katsuki leans in. Any further rambling is cut short as he presses his lips into yours.

The kiss is a little clumsy at first -- Katsuki is careful with his sharp teeth, but the feeling of them pressing against your mouth sends a little frisson of excited fear down your spine. It’s only when he’s pressed up against you like this that you realise there’s a stark difference in your body temperatures; Katsuki’s skin is cool and soft, which feels amazing pressed against your rapidly heating body.

He pulls away from the kiss, leaving you blinking stupidly after him, and then pushes at your shoulders to guide you down onto your back. The moss underneath you acts like a cushion, so it’s significantly more comfortable than you had been expecting. This ends up being a good thing as Katsuki lowers himself down on you, his weight pinning you to the floor.

“You’re so warm.” He murmurs, nuzzling into your throat before nipping softly at it and snickering when you jerk at the sting. His hands skim over your sides, his clawed fingers dragging harmlessly over your vulnerable skin.

You hate to admit it, but there’s something about the danger of the whole thing that’s really getting you going. You recall the bones that had previously cluttered the whole cave floor, and know that Katsuki not only could rip someone apart if he felt like it, but had done so before.  You squirm beneath him, pressing your thighs together as he kisses at the sensitive junction between your throat and ear.

Apparently unhappy with the position, Katsuki leans back a little so he can pry your legs apart. As soon as you drop your knees open he squirms into the gap and presses himself right along the line of your body, dropping aggressively eager kisses all up your chest and throat. “Take this off.” He rumbles, tugging irritably at the strings to your bikini top.

“Um.” You say, thoughts a little hazy. Every time Katsuki moves the muscles in his tail shift and roll, and his tail is pressed right in between your legs. “Off. Right.”

Katsuki watches as you tug the fabric off, his eyes bright and impatient. No sooner have you tossed your bikini top to the side than he’s on you again, thumbs rolling over your nipples as he pushes his face into your breasts. “What the fuck,” he mutters, squeezing curiously at one breast and licking a stripe over your other one, “You’re so soft.”

 Desperate to touch back, you reach up and run your hands through his salt-coarse hair. When you accidentally brush against one of his head fins, his reaction takes you by surprise – his whole body jolts, pressing into you harshly, and he groans a little into your ear. You do it again, grinning as Katsuki’s hands abandon your tits so he can grab you by the hips.

Maybe your own excitement causes you to forget yourself, but you can’t help but grind your hips up into Katsuki where he’s pressed in between your legs. Katsuki laughs a breathless, snarling laugh before grinding back into you, the base of his tail just under where his human half ends pressed flush against your covered pussy. Katsuki, still gripping you by the hips, grinds repeatedly against you – the scales on his tail create an almost ribbed texture, and every time they drag over the front of your bikini bottoms you can’t help but twitch your hips back against them.

It doesn’t escape your notice that you’re virtually dry-humping a merman on the floor of a cave, but you simply push that aside for now; you can feel yourself getting wet, and you know that most of your critical reasoning skill go out the window when you’re horny.

You’re so distracted by the nipping, stinging kisses and the way Katsuki’s tail grinds and wiggles against you that it takes a very long moment to realise that the feeling of his tail pressing against you has… changed, somehow. You pull back, breathing a little heavy, and look down to try and see what’s different, but Katsuki is pressed so closely to you that you can’t see past his chest. You don’t get a chance to look properly, either, because then Katsuki begins to slide down your body until his head is between your legs.

He tugs at your bikini bottoms, but his inexperience with legs becomes clear as he tries and fails to successfully remove them. “Fucking- take these off!”

You snort at his impatience, but obediently wiggle your way out of them. It’s actually a relief to be out of the wet swimwear, but you don’t have much time to appreciate it before Katsuki’s face is in between your legs and pressed right up to your now exposed pussy. He inhales deeply as you squirm, mortified. “Don’t- stop fucking sniffing me there, oh my god!”

“Hah?” he squints up at you, “Why?”

“It’s embarrassing!”

Katsuki frowns, clearly not understanding what the big deal was. “You smell good.”

You’re pretty sure that you don’t, considering virtually nobody’s genitals smell good (especially not after being trapped in a damp swimsuit for hours), but his tone is so matter-of-fact that you can’t bring yourself to argue. He doesn’t wait for a response anyway, burying his face between your thighs again and huffing as he inhales your scent. You cover your face out of sheer embarrassment, but don’t make any effort to pull away.

When his tongue starts to prod at your clit, your whole body jerks in surprise. His tongue is cool, a stark contrast to the heat pooling in your folds, and it feels startlingly good as it squirms against you. Your hips twitch and chase after his touch, but he keeps you firmly in place with his grip on your hipbones.

“Humans are pretty different down here,” Katsuki says conversationally, his words vibrating against your pussy lips. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Oh yeah?” you say absently. Your thighs flex around his head from the effort of not clamping down hard around his skull.

He hums, then licks at your slit unashamedly. He grins, apparently pleased with the taste. “I’ll get used to it.”

“Can you- there’s, um, a spot. Higher up. Could you-?”

Katsuki doesn’t take direction particularly well, and it takes a couple of moments for him to actually locate your clit. When he does find it though, he licks and sucks at it so eagerly that your back actually bows right off the ground.

“Shit!” You gasp, wriggling against Katsuki’s face. “Oh!”

Encouraged by your noises, Katsuki just doubles his efforts. The wet, slurping noises are obscene, and your moans echo around the cavern in a way that sounds distinctly eerie; you’re so thankful that there’s no one else around for miles to hear.

“You’re so warm,” Katsuki murmurs, sounding slightly breathless, “Are you this hot on the inside, too?”

“Oh god.” You whimper, head swimming. Without even really knowing what you’re asking for, you whisper, “Please.”

Katsuki perks up at that, then drags himself back up so that his face is level with yours once more. This close, you can see how shiny his face is after being buried against your wet pussy for so long. When he kisses you, you can taste yourself on his tongue. It makes you whimper again, pressing into him eagerly. Katsuki is breathing pretty hard too, and when he presses his torso against you, he groans long and low.

This time, with the base of his tail pressed against the bare flesh of your cunt, you know for sure what you’re feeling; there’s an honest to god bump that definitely wasn’t there before, right where you might expect a dick on a human male. Katsuki notices where your attention is straying to, and brings one of his own hands down to massage the bump. It’s only then, as you peer closer to get a better look at what he’s doing, that you see what looks like a vertical slit positioned a few inches down from where his human half ends and his tail begins. His clawed fingers dance around it, rubbing at the swollen flesh around it without touching the slit itself.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you reach out your hand to stroke at the same place Katsuki is. The pads of your fingers run over the textured scales, earning a soft grunt as he presses eagerly into your touch. You repeat the same massaging motions Katsuki was doing, and as you watch, the slit seems to open wider.

It happens slowly, then all at once. As you rub at the sides of the opening, the tip of what appears to be Katsuki’s penis begins to slowly distend. You nearly pull back from surprise, but then Katsuki lets out a quiet, soft little moan, and you can’t bring yourself to pull away from him. You run the tip of your index finger around the inside of the slit, and find that it’s soft and almost rubbery, reminiscent of what you imagine sealskin must feel like. At your touch, his penis extends the rest of the way.

 You blink, then sit back. “Oh.” You say stupidly, gazing at his dick.

Katsuki straightens up and sits back smugly, clearly proud of what he was packing. He seems to miss your growing alarm entirely. “Like what you see?”

You purse your lips and take a moment to collect your thoughts. “It… moves.” You say faintly.

Katsuki doesn’t look very impressed with your analysis of his penis. “Yeah. Obviously. C’mere.” 

His dick is significantly pinker than his own skin tone, thick at the base and then narrowing along the length. It’s big, uncreased and smooth, and when you wrap your palm around it (ignoring Katsuki’s desperate thrust into your fist) you find that it has the same almost rubbery texture as the skin around the slit. It’s just a few shades warmer than the rest of his body, though still significantly cooler than a human; it’s odd, holding a dick that feels almost cool to the touch.

Katsuki’s tail lashes agitatedly at the ground behind him, though he doesn’t do much more than press a little harder into your hand. “Done looking?” he grinds out, clearly beginning to run out of patience.

“No.” You say absently, giving his dick a few pumps and watching him hunch over with a choked moan. His dick is practically prehensile, and wriggles in your hand like it has a mind of its own.

It’s completely unnerving and alien and really, really weird, and you hate yourself because all you can do is wonder how it would feel inside of you.

“Y/N,” Katsuki grunts, his tail slapping agitatedly against the floor behind him, “Can I? Please, can I?” The please sounds as though it’s been pulled unwillingly from him, though it seems no less genuine because of that, and he leans down to nip impatiently at your shoulder.

“Yeah.” You breathe, relinquishing your hold on his dick and watching it slap against his abdomen. You lie back onto the moss, breath hitching as Katsuki eagerly drags himself up the length of you.

 The sensation of his thick heavily muscled tail nestling in between your legs and shifting with every one of Katsuki’s little movements has your head swimming, and your knees fall open even wider. His head drops to your chest and his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, humming as your head falls back with a pleased sigh. You can feel the hardness of his cock on the inside of your thigh, can feel the tip of it moving just slightly, tracing the sensitive flesh close to the crease of your hip.

When Katsuki looks up to meet your eyes, you’re not prepared for the level of franticness in his gaze. He looks needy, his proud features twisted in desperation even as his eyes burn. “I’m going to mate you now.”

“Okay.” You say dumbly, clutching weakly at the moss beneath you.

The tip of Katsuki’s dick is unexpectedly soft as it presses into you, and far slicker than you had expected. You peer down at his hips, and notice for the first time that the slit that his penis is protruding from is leaking some sort of membranous fluid. You wonder if maybe you should feel grossed out by that, considering the foreign fluid is being pressed inside of you, but all your brainpower is being diverted to the slow, wet slide of his dick stretching you open.

Katsuki moans, long and low, as he clutches at your hips. “Fuck!” he hisses, baring his rows of sharp teeth. He’s obviously trying very hard to hold himself back and enter you slowly, but he’s practically trembling from the effort.

“Okay, okay, okay.” You chant, breathing heavily. Katsuki’s dick is big, and the pressure of the stretch is just bordering on painful despite the slick slide. You wonder if you’re going to feel the ache of this for days or weeks.

And then he’s all the way in, the rough, textured scales of his tail pressed flush against the backs of your thighs. Both of you have to take a moment, panting. The pain of the stretch begins to fade, and you begin to feel like you’re just on the right side of full.

You want to feel Katsuki move, and so you wrap your thighs around his hips. The scales scratch a little at the delicate skin on the inside of your thighs, but it’s so worth it for the way Katsuki groans, and the way the fins on the side of his head flap minutely. One of his palm’s plants itself firmly in the moss by your head, the other clasped tightly over your hip.

The muscles in his tail ripple and his dark scales flash in the low light as he pulls his hips back only to slide back in, smooth and fast. It’s hard to catch your breath, because the slickness of his cock sliding in and out of you is at once foreign and desperately arousing. Katsuki seems to feel the same way, because his mouth is dropped open and his brow scrunched, eyes half-lidded as he humps into the slippery heat of your pussy.

“You’re so hot,” he groans out with a huff as his hips stutter, “Feels like you’re burnin’ me.”

Dazedly, you sympathise with him; his body is several degrees lower than your own body temperature, and the coolness of his dick inside of you has every one of your nerves hyper-aware and attuned to it. It feels beautifully refreshing against your own heated flesh, the contrast almost overwhelming.

Katsuki pets absently at your hip and thigh as his thrusts begin to come faster and harder; he builds up a steady rhythm, one that seems to seek as deep inside of you as possible and quickly renders you speechless. The only sound filling the cave is the wet slapping sounds from where Katsuki is pounding into you and the grunts and pants and moans that each of you make without shame.

You feel each thrust and slippery slide inside of you so acutely, as if every one of your nerve-endings is straining towards him. The texture of his cock inside you feels so alien, and you could swear you feel it actually aiming for the spot inside of you that makes your limbs turn to jelly. You wonder if your own body feels as strangely foreign to him; you’re guessing it does, judging by the way he pants and humps into you with that wild look in his eyes. Or maybe that’s just how he usually is during sex. It’s not like you have any sort of frame of reference for sex with mermaids.

You reach down to rub at yourself, jolting a little as your warm fingertips come into contact with your heated clit – you’ve become adjusted to the cooler body temperature of Katsuki,  and now your own warmth almost feels like too much. You wonder how the heat of your cunt isn’t completely overwhelming for him, but considering the dark flush overtaking his face and chest and shoulders, and the way that his jaw hangs open and his eyes have gone glassy, you think maybe it is.

He hikes your thighs further up on his waist without pausing his thrusting, the scales scraping oddly along your bare calves. “I’m gonna-” he grunts, pushing his face into your necks as his tail slaps harshly against the ground every time he fucks into you, as if he’s lost control over it.

You rub harder and faster at your clit, gasping as Katsuki bites down on the tender skin of your throat. It’s not hard enough to break the skin, and seems more like he’s trying to keep you in one place, but the threat of his sharp teeth against such a vulnerable part of you sends you hurtling towards the edge.

It only takes a few more strokes, and another twist of his cock against your g-spot, before you come hard and silently, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

“Fuck, yes.” Katsuki groans throatily into your neck, his movements only becoming increasingly intense. It feels as though he’s trying to plow you right through the rock (which is actually an incredible turn-on, though you don’t want to admit it) and you whimper and gasp as you begin to pass into the realm of oversensitivity.

Katsuki’s upper body goes taut as his powerful tail pushes him forward into you one last time, so deep that you swear you feel the tip of his dick moving against your cervix, and then he comes with an honest to god snarl. You sigh as you feel the slick gush of his cum inside of you, thicker than you’d expected, and flop bonelessly once you know he’s done.

“Holy shit,” You breathe, staring wide-eyed at the cave ceiling. The glowing algae twinkles back at you as Katsuki breathes slowly and deeply into your neck, his thick arms winding around your waist and shoulders. As the haze of your orgasm begins to fade and reality starts to set in again, you’re struck with the fact that you’ve just fucked a mythical creature, and his very weird fish dick is still inside of you. “Oh my god.”

Katsuki grunts, clearly not pleased that you’re ruining his afterglow with delayed panic. “Shhh, s’fine.” He mumbles, rubbing at the bitemark on your neck in what he apparently thinks is a reassuring manner, “You’re mine – ain’t nobody gonna hurt you.”

The two of you are clearly on different wavelengths, but you don’t bother to think to much about that particular statement. “I just fucked a fish.” You breathe. It sounds just as ridiculous out loud as it did in your head.

“You liked it, too.” Katsuki says smugly, not denying the fish part this time around.

“Dickhead! Get off me!” You say irritably, embarrassment beginning to sink in.

“No.” Katsuki mumbles childishly, snuggling into your neck and holding you tight so you can’t struggle. His dick shifts inside of you, and he grunts as you automatically clench down around it. “Stay.”

The moss is comfortable, the cave is pretty, and Katsuki’s arms around you feel better than you’d like to admit. You relax, the weight of him laying on you more soothing than you had expected, and close your eyes. “My uncle is gonna kill me.” You say, an afterthought flitting through your mind. He was so worried the last time you disappeared into the sea like that, you can only imagine what he’s going to say once you come home late after doing it again.

Katsuki snorts and kisses the base of your throat, and you feel like you could probably lie in this cave forever, listening to the sound of the ocean ebbing and flowing just outside the rocky walls. “If he’s gonna kill you,” he murmurs, lips dragging over your skin, “I’d hate to see what he’d do to me.”

#am literally gonna post this and run bc i'm embarrassed lmaoooo you'd think i'd have gotten used to posting about weird dicks but i have NOT #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #merbakugou