#was wondering if you did anything different lately with your sharpening ? maybe the high pass ? :0

[hoe-doroki]

passing the night stars

banner by @dymphnasprose​

warning: reader has social anxiety

pairing: shinsou x reader (platonic or romantic)

genre: hurt/comfort

wc: 3.2k

summary: The party was neon and you needed darkness.

a/n: this is a gift for my SiL’s birthday today! To any astronomy nerds: I tried and I’m sorry.

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

There was something to be said about distance.

It was a buffer, quieting every voice, external and internal, until the only one left was that of the crickets singing over the lo-fi spilling out of the house behind you. You’d stepped away from the party long enough ago that the playlist had started over many songs back—you had no clue how many anymore. The distance turned the music’s thrumming into a quiet melody, the lyrics just as indistinguishable up close as here in the backyard, sitting on patio furniture that rocked lopsidedly in the grass.

Any filter would do, though. Anything that could soften the world just a little around its loud, coarse edges. The ice in your peach-flavored hurricane melting so that the drink was a little less saccharine. The rum casting a film over your mood, keeping your loneliness from dropping you into total dolor. The slight late-night breeze blowing the smoke from the fire pit away from you so that the acrid smell was stronger on the hood of your black sweatshirt than the air. It all muddled your emotions, numbing the buzzing overwhelm of the party to an anxious hum. The party had been neon, and out here you had a bit more darkness.

Without these buffers absorbing some of the furor, you might have escaped the party hours ago. Snuck out while the thing was still in full thrall, before social anxiety could hiss over your bones. Got out while you were ahead. Instead, you’d lasted as long as you could before out to the backyard with the near-dead fire, wracked with guilt at the prospect of leaving without saying goodbye, while too nervous to actually draw the attention to yourself necessary to actually say goodbye.

That wasn’t to say you hadn’t held up for a good while, though. You’d hung out with your friends when the fire had just gotten started and then when the party had moved indoors for drinking games and edibles. You’d hovered on the border as your friends grew more interested in dancing in drunken delay to the somniferous lo-fi beat than conversation. Then the itching had started in your brain, and before you knew it, you were out here, social battery drained dry, waiting for an indefinite future in which you could find the energy to escape.

You shivered as footsteps swiped through the grass, crickets chirping at the intruder.

“Did I surprise you?” Shinsou asked, his voice deep from booze or smoke or both. Or, maybe he was just tired, you figured, as the harsh light of the fire sharpened the bags under his eyes into dark creases.

“Breeze,” you mumbled, goosebumps rising on your wrists, standing the fine hairs on end. Only a few licks of heat from the pit were touching your knees, leaving the rest of you cold in your threadbare sweatshirt as the fire shrank smaller and smaller.

Shinsou had a blanket in his arms, ratty and certainly stolen from the back of the living room couch. He blinked at you for a second before he asked, “Can I join you?”

His voice was deadpan. Between the two of you, there was no real vocal inflection to speak of. Still, you shrugged one shoulder and said, “Sure.”

You stiffened when, instead of choosing one of the many other patio chairs or foldable camping chairs forming a friendly circle around the fire, he joined you on your bench, tossing a bit of blanket over your knees. You hardly realized you were staring at him until he said, “You’re cold, right?”

“Oh, yeah, a little,” you said, tucking your knees up to your chin and curling the scrap of blanket around your arms.

The blanket was raggedy in your hands, pilled on the hem, but warm from being indoors with all the dancing bodies. Plus, clinging onto it, running your thumb over the uneven texture gave you something to focus on instead of Shinsou’s body so close to yours.

Your senses were tingling, raw at having someone nearby again. It was too soon—you still didn’t have anything to say, no defense for why you’d dropped off from the party without a word.

But, on the other hand, being alone wasn’t fixing you either. Parts of your brain were still coiled taut as compression springs, and while they weren’t getting any tighter, they weren’t quite loosening yet either. It was rest, not recovery.

Abruptly—was it abrupt, or were you that zoned out?—Shinsou touched the back of his hand to yours, nearly making you flinch as he furrowed his brows at you. “How long have you been out here?” he asked, shifting towards you and pushing more of the blanket into your lap.

“Oh, um—” maybe a half an hour, maybe more, “—not that long.”

For that flash of contact, his skin had been hot against yours, so you could only imagine how cold your hands had felt to him. Your icy drink was probably mostly to blame, but you were also suddenly aware of how your shoulders were hunched nearly to your ears, your arms clenched to your sides like your chest might warm them. You piled the blanket a little more over your knees and one shoulder, only the hand holding your drink poking out.

“Hard being on the fringes,” he mused as he took a sip from a can. Possibly seltzer, probably beer.

You mirrored, tasting your own drink. It was really mostly water by now, though you were sure it was still painting your tongue orange.

Shinsou’s situation wasn’t much different than yours. Everyone in that house was old classmates. Shinsou was too, but he’d come late. Not too late to be friends, but late enough that it mattered. You were even later—not a classmate, but a post-high school roommate. You’d both landed on the side of Kaminari’s friend group, but neither of you were the core of it. The heart of it. That, for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, was Bakugou.

For some reason, you and Shinsou had never talked about this before.

“Hard being in a group big enough for there to be a fringe.”

Because, of course, it wasn’t just the Bakusquad here today. The majority of the old 3-A was here, those who weren’t on duty or suffering with early morning duty tomorrow. Enough people to certainly cause a ruckus and maybe a noise complaint that even pro heroes wouldn’t get out of.

“Touché”

The two of you fell into silence, and you couldn’t help but wonder exactly what had drawn Shinsou from the party. Even if he didn’t feel he was the most popular guy in the room, you’d seen the way he had the ability to talk to everyone. You weren’t sure if it was a product of his quirk or what, but he was able to start a conversation with everyone he met. He didn’t seem shy or anxious in the least.

Then again, that was just what he presented. You knew from that what you put forth in public wasn’t necessarily in line with what you were feeling.

It was hard to be the introvert around a group like yours. Worse—it was noticeable. This wasn’t the first time you’d stumbled away from a party, mind half gone not on alcohol or weed but on the sudden assault of attention, loud voices, and talk of hero work. Being one of the only non-heroes in the room was exhausting, and maybe that’s why you’d had to escape. Or maybe there never was a reason, good or otherwise, and you were just here because of your stupid self.

“Clear night,” Shinsou commented, “Don’t get to see much of the stars in the city.”

You looked up, a bright spot in the center of your vision from where you’d been staring into the fire. Almost everyone in your group lived in the city, not too far from each other, depending on your definition of the word. But those with quirks better suited outside the city, like Tsuyu and Koda, had moved out of town post graduation, granting the rest of you access to a night in the suburbs like this.

The truth was, you hardly looked up at the sky in the city. Tourists were always looking up, eyes glinting off the skyscrapers and billboards. But natives were always looking down, too aware of the fact that other natives didn’t always clean up after their dogs and, with so little grass, the sidewalk often needed a close eye kept to it.

But here, it was pretty. Not the smog-stained brown you were used to, but deep blue and twinkling with infinite pinpricks.

“Mm,” you hummed, taking another sip of your watery drink. “You’re right.”

“There’s Cassiopeia,” he said, pointing just over the tree line.

You followed his finger, unsure quite of what you were looking at. The stars hardly looked like clusters to you, especially on a night like this where you could see so many. It was more a broad network of them, either all connected or all individual. All the stars or just a star.

“You know constellations?” you asked, ears latching onto something that finally wasn’t hero related. Truth be told, you probably knew less about stars than you did about hero work but it was less alienating. You could lean into it.

“Some,” he offered. “Cassiopeia is a basic one.”

“Where is it?”

Shinsou glanced at you, leaning in closer so that his finger could match your gaze. You shoulders knocked and you could feel his wild hair against your own. His finger traced down and up, down and up in a cockeyed W. “Cassiopeia, mother of Andromeda.”

“She’s a woman?”

It was any wonder that ancient people had looked into the night sky and seen things like rams and bulls, creating a whole woman out of a few diagonal lines. Still, you listened to Shinsou, his low voice rumbling into your tired bones as he began.

“A beautiful woman,” he answered. “In Greek myth, she thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Her boastfulness made Poseidon angry, so he created a sea monster that Andromeda was sacrificed to. Andromeda was left to await her fate when Perseus, who had just killed Medusa, used Medusa’s head to turn the sea monster to stone. After saving Andromeda, the two of them got married, and when they died, they both became constellations alongside Cassiopeia.”

Shinsou’s voice was husky and even as he told the story. The cadences were easy drops, landing you softly before he started up again with his next thought. It was a voice you could be rocked by, a voice you could be held by.

“Do you know where they are too?”

“Just below,” Shinsou said. “Probably come up just in time for the sun to make them invisible.”

“That’s too bad,” you said, curling deeper into the blanket, curling so that on shoulder leaned more onto the bench than the other. You head was almost resting on Shinsou’s shoulder and you could feel his warmth radiating in the cold night. “How do you know all this?”

Shinsou was quiet for a second and your nerves spiked again. You hadn’t even felt them relax, but suddenly your anxiety was scratching again, wondering if you’d misspoke. Or maybe you’d whispered it and he just hadn’t heard you? Before you could decide whether to say it again or apologize, though, he let out a sigh that jostled the blanket.

“Jack of all trades, master of none,” he said by way of explanation.

You cocked your head. Perhaps it was just a good hobby for an insomniac, but you were unsure about the evasiveness. “Did you have to learn a lot for general studies? Or to get in to U.A.?”

“…Yeah.”

You could only imagine. U.A. was an incredibly competitive school for heroes, but that was a specialized course. For general studies you didn’t need to have the physical prowess or the other particular skills that came with heroics, but you had to be an ace in school. It was no small feat to get into general studies, especially while you were trying to pursue something else. You were satisfied with that, ready to let it go and return to the near silence of the crickets and the fire popping, when Shinsou suddenly continued.

“When it looked like my plans to become a hero wouldn’t pan out,” Shinsou began, his words slow, tired, “my parents encouraged me into any and all other interests. None stuck.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, the personal admission taking you aback.

For all the times you’d seen Shinsou talk effortlessly with people in a room, you weren’t sure how personal or vulnerable you’d ever seen him. He seemed comfortable enough probing other people, but this was new. It made the space between you suddenly seem private—so different from the party you’d escaped from. You could still hear the ambient noises of a couple dozen people in there having a good time, but it was suddenly a world away.

“I’m sorry, Shinsou,” you said, brows furrowing as you glanced his eyes, still gazing up at the stars. His parents had probably thought they were being supportive, but it wasn’t the support he’d desired.

“It is what it is,” he said. “It worked out in the end.”

There was the smallest smile on his face at that, barely betraying what must have been true joy at having a dream slip through his fingers only to fly back to him. And he’d earned every bit of it, even if he wanted to keep it to himself.

“So now,” you began softly, “you just have a lot of little things that you can offer people. The little things you could have been. That’s not so bad, right?”

“No, it’s not so bad,” he agreed. “I always liked that story.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Japanese astronomy varies so much from region to region and is usually about more functional things. Harvest, seasons. But these other myths about people with no chance of being heroes becoming ones anyway…”

He trailed off, but the sentiment was there. Trapped in the things he’d done to try and leave heroism behind were little vestiges. The inescapable fact that he was meant to be a hero and would be one anyway, even if the world told him he was a villain, doomed for failure.

The stories had been true.

“Are you feeling better now?” he asked, surprising you.

“Feeling better?”

“You’d been out here for over an hour,” Shinsou stated. “Your eyes were glassy and distant and you were freezing and you didn’t seem to notice.”

“Oh,” you intoned. You hadn’t realized it had been that long. You were sure it had only been half that time.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

“No, I’m fine,” you said truthfully. “I’m fine now.”

The anxiety from earlier that had been buzzing through you had kept you awake, all while thoroughly draining you. You’d hardly realized just how much until now, with your body not just feeling settled but heavy. The stress had run straight through you, and now you bore the fatigue.

Shinsou glanced down at you out of the corner of his eye. His brows raised and it lifted his whole face, making the dark circles under his eyes just a little less stark. “You look exhausted.”

“You always look exhausted,” you retorted, your first little grin curving along your lips.

In his surprise, Shinsou smiled too. “I know that. Here.”

Shinsou took your forgotten drink from your hand and set it down, then patted his shoulder.

“You should rest for a little while.”

Your eyes met his, searching for anything that looked like obligation or impatience. But there was none. Just a surprising amount of openness and a pretty shade of purple.

“Do you have more myths?”

Shinsou smiled and, once again, his gaze went up to the stars. As he started another tale, you snuggled onto his shoulder, the rest of your body drawing closer to his as well. He didn’t wait long to begin speaking, talking in more detail than he had before. There was no reason to be concerned that he might be boring you, or that you didn’t want to hear it. Really, these stories, these stars that had brought him even the tiniest speck of light were just what you needed too.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, and you weren’t sure when you woke up. But when you blinked your eyes awake, the first thing you noticed was that Cassiopeia hadn’t moved far. The second was the feeling of Shinsou’s head tilted against yours, his breath like gentle waves under you.

You shifted, signaling that you were awake, and Shinsou did too, his head lifting from yours. At some point, his arm had wrapped around you, encasing you in his warmth. He didn’t move it, not yet, as your body creaked and you forced yourself to sit up.

“How long?” you murmured, voice barely raspy with sleep.

“Not that long,” Shinsou answered, echoing your reply from earlier.

He didn’t look at his phone or a watch, and hadn’t since he’d come out, so you wondered if he had any clue. Or if it simply hadn’t felt long. Somehow, the idea that his time spent with you hadn’t felt long was a comfort, a relief.

“How are you feeling?”

You checked in, feeling that grogginess that always came in the wake of an intense mental episode. Your brain struggling to catch up and survey the backlash from its earlier antics. That would go away. It always did. “I’m good.”

Shinsou continued to look at you, switching between each eye, double checking your expression for any lie. But he must not have found any, for he leaned back into the bench and relaxed, that tiny ghost of a smile back on his face.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, gazing out again. “You out here alone before? It had been…well, we were…I wanted to check on you.”

For the first time, Shinsou looked almost a little shy, and you couldn’t help but smile, touched. You put a hand on the shoulder that had just taken your weight and brought his gaze back to you. “Thank you.”

There actually was one thing you knew about stars. You’d heard that every light year a star was away from you was a year into the past you were seeing its light. Looking at the stars was looking millions of years into the past. Despite the fact that these selfsame stars connected you to humans around the world today and those of old, that filter of distance and time rendered them ancient, if not already gone.

But as you looked at Shinsou, their soft, silvery starlight illuminating one side while the last dancing coals of the fire glowed on the other, you were sure that this was the opposite. This wasn’t old or past or known to anyone but the two of you. This wasn’t the stars or even the stories inspired by them.

This was just beginning.

#shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #hitoshi shinsou #hitoshi shinso #bnha x reader #mha x reader #shinsou fanfiction #shinso fanfiction #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #tw: anxiety

[pastelwitchling]

Based on a prompt request by @moviesbuff. (I am not currently taking prompt requests, please don’t send them in!)

***

Michael’s bones were vibrating, his heart hammering painfully in his throat, his hands clenched to fists no matter how hard he tried to release them. He didn’t think he could, not until he got the answers he wanted.

His brother’s house was quiet, but his car was still parked outside, so Michael knew he was home. If he hadn’t been, Michael would’ve tracked him down through all of Roswell. After what he’d heard, after what he’d discovered, he wasn’t taking chances leaving this alone.

He banged his fist on the front door. “Max! Open up!”

Max opened, his brows furrowed. He had a journal in his hand, his finger bookmarking the page he’d undoubtedly been writing on before Michael came barging in.

“Michael, what the hell –” he managed before Michael swiped his journal, flipping through the pages.

“Were you writing about him?” he demanded. “This – this passage, who’s it about?”

“What are you doing?!” Max snatched his journal back. He gripped Michael’s shoulder, stilling him, searching his face. “Are you drunk?”

Michael yanked his arm free, and pointed a threatening finger. “I’m gonna ask you just once, and I want you to tell me the truth.”

Max frowned, shaking his head. “Ask me what?”

Michael swallowed through clenched teeth, every fiber in his being on edge. “Do you . . . want Alex?”

Max faltered. “What?”

The answer was not what Michael had wanted. He licked his lips, hesitance creeping into his own ears as he asked again, “Do you want Alex?”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “What’re you talking about?”

Something like a growl or a sob rose up Michael’s throat. “You used a handprint to save Liz. Your feelings transferred to hers –”

“Yeah, so?” Max said. He was trying too hard to pretend it didn’t matter. He wasn’t fooling anyone. “D-Did she say something?”

Michael shook his head. “She wants Alex. She’s wanted him since you saved her.” He took a slow step towards his brother, and saw him glance up warily. When he asked again, his words were quiet and strained. “She thinks it’s funny. Doesn’t know that it’s only an echo . . . of what you feel. So. Do you want Alex?”

Max tucked his journal into his back pocket before he spoke, which was his mistake. “Michael, come on, I could never –”

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” Michael screamed, and both his truck and Max’s car levitated several feet off the ground before crashing back down to the ground. “She’s talking about how – how sudden it all is, and you’ve been weird since you knew about me and Alex.” Max flinched. “See? See? Y-You’re different when it comes to him! Why?”

Max had been staring at the ground as Michael yelled, and only when his brother stood panting, waiting, Max looked up. In a quiet, pained voice, he said, “You know why.”

Michael turned silent, stumbling back like Max had shot him. He felt before he saw the ground shaking, and Max held onto the wall to steady himself. His heart thudded painfully, his eyes burned.

“But, Michael,” Max tried, “I – I’ve never gone near him! I’ve never touched him!”

“Does he know?” Michael demanded. “DOES HE KNOW?!”

“NO!” Max snapped. “No, he has no idea!”

Michael searched Max’s face as if to decide whether or not he believed him. The ground barely stopped shaking before he warned, “If he finds out –”

“So you’re gonna tell him?” Max said. “How you feel, I mean? Wait, hold on, will you do it before or after you break up with Maria? Because you’re still with her, right?”

“What the hell’s your point, Max?” Michael demanded. “If I don’t tell him how I feel, you’ll go after him?”

Max clenched his jaw. “I’ve thought about this a lot, brother. And . . . if you really loved Alex, you wouldn’t have given up on him. You wouldn’t have chosen someone else.”

Michael flinched. “What, like you?”

Max held his gaze. “I stayed away because I knew that you loved him. But – God, Michael, after everything he’s done for us, you can’t even be honest with him! You’ll fight for everyone else before you fight for him, and he doesn’t even expect you to anymore! Doesn’t that kill you? He won’t look twice at me, and it rips me apart! But he loves you so much, with everything he has, and you don’t even care! You can’t see what you have right in front of you!”

“So, what?” he said darkly. “You’re gonna tell him how you feel?”

Max looked around helpless, and exhaled sharply. “I want to. Michael, I want to. I want to see . . . what happens –”

“What happens?” he breathed. “What do you think is going to happen, Max? He’ll be your boyfriend? Is that it?”

He hesitated. Then – “I want to find out.”

Michael shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. His voice when he spoke was hoarse. “He won’t love you. Not more than me.”

Max nodded, like it hurt him to do it. “I know. But maybe he could love me just enough.”

               *

               Michael had not left happy. Max hadn’t expected him to. But he would forgive his brother someday, because if Max had a hair’s chance at being with Alex, then he planned to make him the happiest man alive.

               Not that Max actually thought he had a hair’s chance, and Michael had been sure to remind him of that before he’d left, angrier and darker than Max had ever seen him. Max had carried that with him as he’d finished writing the last lines in his heart, the last lines of his love for Alex, and got in his car. He’d spent years holding back his feelings for Michael’s sake, knowing that the pain of being away from the airman and not getting to explore these very strong feelings that he had for him would all be worth it when Michael finally got his happiness.

But years had passed, and Michael had found every excuse not to tell Alex the truth. Even when he’d come back. Even when he’d been right here, in front of him, wanting. Michael had still said no and chosen someone else.

Max promised himself he would never take Alex for granted like that. He’d look after him, he’d make him laugh, let him know how appreciated he was.

Then Max neared Alex’s house and found him working in the garden, and all the old doubts returned. All he could think about was Michael, and how betrayed he must’ve felt, and how much happier he could make Alex.

But it was too late to abort. Alex had glanced up the second Max’s car had come in and was starting to stand, his brows furrowed in that way they did when he was preparing for an attack. Max half-wondered if that was how he usually looked when Michael came and was expecting the same of his brother, or if it was a natural reaction he’d come to have to everything.

Then he wondered how anyone could survive with that mentality for so long, and stay as strong as Alex was. His heart leapt slightly.

“Hey,” he said tentatively as he stepped out.

Alex was still watching him warily, dusting his hands off. “Hey. What’s going on?”

Max swallowed. Alex wore nothing but a pair of jeans and a white tank top, sweat lining his chest and making the dark patch of hair visible. His straight, damp hair fell over his eyes, and a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. Max briefly imagined licking it away, and had to clear his throat.

“I – uh – I wanted to . . . talk to you . . . about something.”

Alex’s eyes sharpened. “Did something happen to Michael?”

The question made Max step back, shame and embarrassment crawling up his spine. Of course Alex would ask about Michael.

“N-No, uh,” he huffed, “I just need to talk to you.”

“Okay?” his shoulders rested. Max noticed Alex wouldn’t look anywhere but his eyes. What a difference, since Max wanted to look everywhere but Alex’s eyes. “Talk.”

He blushed. “It’s kind of important, Manes.”

Alex raised a brow. “Right. You better come in, then.”

And he led the way into his house. Max smelled wood and vanilla the second he walked in. The fireplace wasn’t lit, but the small space was warm, there were carpets on the floor and deep navy couches. He spotted a journal open on the coffee table, and blinked when he saw his name scribbled in delicate writing.

He reached for the page, but Alex seemed to realize what he was doing and closed the journal at the last second.

“Sorry,” he muttered, hiding the journal from view as he hid it away in a drawer and locked it. “That shouldn’t be out here. Look,” he sighed, “f you want to ask me about Liz –”

“No,” Max said immediately. “No, I’m definitely not here to ask you about Liz.”

Alex frowned. “Uh – please, take a seat.”

So he did. On the couch. And Alex sat at the far end of it, waiting.

“Okay . . .” he took a deep breath. “There’s no real way for me to start this, but I – I want you to know that I’m not expecting anything in return, o-okay? You can kick me out if you want –”

“Max,” Alex cut him off, an amused smile tugging at his lips. Max hated how cute it was. “Spit it out.”

“Right,” he huffed. Then, without time to think, blurted, “I want you.”

Silence. Alex stared at Max, still waiting. Max could hear his own blood rush in his ears, his heart pounding so loudly that he worried Alex might hear it, too. He was just starting to wonder whether Alex had even heard him when the airman began to nervously chuckle.

“What?” He blinked, and shook his head. “Sorry, could you say that again? I don’t think I heard you right.”

Max’s nails were digging into his palms. “No,” he said. “No, you heard me right.”

Alex’s smile fell away. He didn’t look angry or confused or like he pitied Max. He didn’t look anything like Max thought he would. Instead, he looked nervous.

“You . . .” he cleared his throat. “You want me to do what?”

“N-Nothing,” Max said. “I just . . . want you.”

Alex was blinking way too quickly. “Uh – l-like . . . sexually?”

He exhaled shakily. “Yeah.” A pause. “Please say something.”

“I-I’m thinking, this is just a little . . . unreal. What about Liz?”

“I tried with Liz,” he quietly confessed. “I really did, but . . . there’s something about you – I – I’ve never been able to get you out of my head, Alex. Not since high school.”

“High school?” Alex stood and started pacing. “Uh – s-sorry, I just – I need a second –”

“Take your time!” Max was quick to reassure him. And so they spent the next few minutes like that, with Max staring at Alex’s carpet, glancing up at the airman every so often to find him rubbing the nape of his neck or muttering to himself. Max almost asked him to sit down, to go easy on his leg, but caught himself. Advice from him was definitely not something Alex wanted now.

Finally, Alex sat down right in front of Max, so close that their knees touched.

“Are you saying,” he said carefully, his eyes dark, “that you . . . you want to . . . sleep with me?”

“Yes,” Max said at once. Then, “No.” He shut his eyes and stood. “Damn it, Alex. I want to sleep with you, but I don’t want to just sleep with you. I – I want to make you breakfast, and fall asleep with you on the couch watching tv, and – and protect you from homophobic assholes in town. I . . . I want to . . .”

“To be with me,” Alex finished, realization dawning. He stood. “That’s what you’re trying to tell me? That you want us to be boyfriends?”

Max couldn’t look away from him. “Is that so bad?”

               “Bad? No. Shocking? Hell yeah.” He turned away, running a hand through his hair. Max’s eyes fell to the nape his neck, the line of sweat down his back.

He clenched his jaw. “I know I’m not Michael,” he said, his voice low. “I know you could never love me like that –”

“Love?” Alex breathed, turning around. He shook his head. “You love me?” Max didn’t answer, but he didn’t seem to need to. “This can’t be happening,” he muttered, sitting down. “This isn’t happening.”

Max’s heart was in his throat. He knelt in front of Alex, but didn’t dare touch him. “Alex, I’m – I’m sorry. I told you, I’m not expecting you to do anything, I know you couldn’t love me, I know that, but –”

Alex suddenly crashed their mouths together, cutting Max off. Max managed a whimper before Alex slid from the couch and onto his lap, his own hands coming up to instinctively grip Alex’s hips.

When they pulled back to breathe, Max managed one word, “Alex –”

“Don’t, just –” Alex kissed him again. “Just touch me. We can hate ourselves later, just – please.”

Max should’ve argued. He should’ve told Alex that they couldn’t hate themselves for how they felt, what they wanted. But he couldn’t be sure how Alex felt. Maybe he just needed to be touched. Maybe, worst of all, he just wanted Michael, and Max was as close as he was going to get. It didn’t matter if this was the one time Max would be allowed to have him. He wanted him. He’d take sex over nothing.

“Okay,” he breathed, slipping a hand under Alex’s shirt, his mouth watering at the soft, hot, damp skin. “Okay.”

And he pulled Alex in again, kissing him roughly, eagerly. Alex’s mouth opened against his and he slipped his tongue in like it was something he’d been used to doing. He slid a hand into Alex’s hair, moaning at the soft strands between his fingers.

It felt strange, pressing his mouth to another man’s, but knowing it was Alex, the same Alex he’d never been able to help but glance at even when they were younger, excited him in a way he’d never felt with anyone else. He wanted to tear off Alex’s clothes, push him onto his back, and thrust into him until he had nothing left. Until Alex said no one else’s name but his.

He did as he wanted, resting Alex down on the carpet. He kissed down his throat, and grinded their hips together. Alex’s small moans made him groan, fueling him on. He sat back enough to slip his jeans down, and came down into Alex’s waiting arms, their chests pressed together. Neither of them looked down at what was happening between their hips as Max thrusted into him, but they each held on. Alex pushed his hips up in rhythm to Max’s thrusts, panting into the crook of his neck.

The hours passed, and Max and Alex didn’t stop touching each other. They couldn’t. Alex held onto Max like he never wanted to let him go. There were a million different reasons for it, Max knew there had to be. But for that time that they spent together, before exhaustion came, Max wanted to fall asleep with Alex on his chest, believing that they were, just for a short while, both in love.

*

Alex woke first, because he always did. He’d found himself face-to-face with Max, sleeping and rested in a way he didn’t normally look. Alex figured they should really move to the bedroom at some point – the clothes on the floor and the carpet not the softest surface for his leg – but at the moment, he was too busy tracing Max’s cheek with his finger, his nose, his lips.

He smiled, though something nagged at his heart in a way he couldn’t explain. His answer came as a knock at the door.

Carefully, he moved Max’s arm from his waist, biting his lower lip as he quickly, and as quietly as he could, pulled on his prosthetic and jeans. He opened his front door as he pulled on his shirt, just pulling it down over his eyes as Michael met him on the porch. The cowboy stared at his naked skin until it was covered. Alex blushed.

“Hey,” he said.

“Alex,” Michael greeted, looking over Alex’s shoulder into the house, but Alex was already closing the door. He clenched his jaw. “Why is Max’s car here?”

Alex licked his lips, crossing his arms. “Because he’s here.”

Michael’s eyes flicked back to his stomach, as if remembering what he looked like without his shirt on. “Why?”

His tone indicated he knew exactly why.

“Leave it alone, Guerin,” he said. “Walk away before you do something stupid.”

“He told you,” Michael smirked, but there was nothing remotely funny in his expression. “He told you about his crush, and you caved.”

“I’ve wanted to kiss him for a long time,” he quietly confessed, and Michael faltered. “I finally got to. This was as much for me as it was for him.”

Michael began to chuckle, disbelieving. “This is – this is a joke. You and Max?”

“Please, stop it –”

“Why you?!” Michael demanded, his eyes glistening with tears. “Why, of everyone on this damn planet, did he have to pick YOU?!”

Alex waited until Michael was done panting to say, “Because you wouldn’t.”

Michael stilled, the world stopped shaking, and Alex was able to stand without holding onto the doorframe. “That’s not true.”

Alex shook his head. “I tried, Michael. I really did. But nothing was ever enough. And – and Max was the first person after Kyle changed who was ever kind to me. I – I’ve wondered what it would be like to be with him, and you know what? I want to try.”

“I want to be with you!”

“Is that why you’re still with Maria?” Alex demanded, his own eyes burning. “Or why, even after I broke up with Forrest, you still wouldn’t come talk to me? Or why you left me alone while I was pouring my heart out to you in a bar full of cowboys?”

“Alex . . .” Michael looked lost, like he’d never expected the kind of damage he’d caused on Alex. It made things so much worse. He’d never cared about Alex long enough to see the way he was hurting him.

“You have no right to be here now,” Alex said. “You have no right to want me, Guerin, or to touch a hair on Max’s head for having the guts to do what you never did. Go back to your girlfriend, and leave me alone.”

“Alex –”

“Leave, Guerin,” Alex said, turning away from Michael as he opened his door to head back in. To keep Michael out. “I don’t want to see you again.”

“ALEX!”

Michael sat up in his bed, grasping at the air. He was breathing heavily, his heart hammering painfully. The sky outside was black, the night air cold, but Michael was sweating. His nightmare flashing in his mind, repeating the words “I don’t want to see you again” in Michael’s ears, he fished his jeans off the floor quickly, pulled out his phone, and dialed Alex’s name.

The phone rung three times, and Michael clenched his jaw, already imagining driving down to the airman’s house to see him for himself.

Then the call connected, and Alex’s sleepy, but alert voice sounded. “Guerin?”

“Alex,” Michael breathed. “My Alex. Are you sleeping with Max? You’re not, right? Y-You’re not?”

A moment of silence. Then –

“Are you drunk?”

Michael huffed a chuckle, the bad dream already fading away to the back of his mind, disintegrating to ash and flying away in the wind. Good riddance, Michael thought with no small amount of relief.

“No,” he said. “No, I – I thought . . .” he shook his head. “Bad dream. Really, really bad dream.”

Michael heard some rustling on the other end, and pictured Alex sitting up against his headboard.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Michael said, wiping a tired hand over his face, but unable to stop smiling. “Yeah, I’m okay, baby.”

More silence. Alex and Forrest had only broken up two weeks ago, after all. He and Michael definitely didn’t call each other baby.

Michael worried he’d frightened Alex off for a minute, but then Alex asked, “You want to tell me about it?”

“No,” he said right away, and slumped against his pillow. He clenched the blanket in his hand, and confessed, “I just want to curl up with you in bed and go back to sleep.”

A pause. Alex sighed. “You know how to get in. I’ll keep the hallway light on for you.”

Michael sat up straight. “R-Really?”

Alex hummed, and Michael swung his legs off the edge of the bed. He scoffed. “Am I sleeping with your brother – are you kidding me?”

Michael groaned as he rapidly pulled his jeans on and pushed his feet into his boots. “Don’t talk about it, please.”

Alex giggled, the sound bringing a warmth to Michael’s chest and erasing the last of his troubles.

“Whatever you want, baby.”

***

I had to 😂 I don’t write outside of canon, so I had to adjust it to fit my style. But there ya go!

#max evans #alex manes #michael guerin #max x alex #malex #max x alex fic #malex fic #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #nathan dean parsons #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

[sothatmyocshauntmealittleless]

No time to die - part 1/2

->part 2

author's note: so this is a piece I started writing when I got bored in a family gathering like two years ago, and I rewrote it recently. This is the first part and I haven't finished editing the rest but I estimate that there would be one or two more parts. The story is about two high school friends that meet after five years of having no contact with each other and their confrontation. Also the name is inspired by the song with the same name by Billie Eilish 'cause I was listening to it while writing a part of this and the song really suits the relationship between the characters.

~1800 words

I’m feeling a burning ache in my abdomen, and my mind is full of different scenarios that this could lead to, one worse that the other. What if I call an ambulance? I answer myself within a fraction of a second that it wouldn’t lead to pleasant things though the alternative which is bleeding to death isn’t ideal either. So just when I’ve finally convinced myself to pick up the phone and call an ambulance before I pass out, a name crosses my mind. It’s the best and the worst thing that I can do at the same time, but well sometimes your survival instincts would take over your overthinking abilities, no matter how strong they are. And despite all my hesitation, I know the number by heart.

She picks up the phone after few rings, “Hello?”, I’m a bit thrown off by how her voice is the same but her tone is different from the last time I’ve heard her, “Hi”, my voice shakes and I don’t know if it’s from the injury or hearing her voice again. “Riley? Is that you?”, somehow she could recognize me from just that one word and at least her tone is less formal now. “Yeah it’s me, listen I wanted to ask if you could come here now if you can, but it’s totally fine if you can’t make it.” Maybe it’s the shock of hearing someone from your past, or my shaky voice that she agrees to come without any other questions and I tell her my address in the calmest pace I can.

Until she arrives I spend my time overthinking on how bad of an idea it was to call her, and why would she even bother herself with my problems anymore, like who in their right mind would hurry in the middle of the night to heal someone from their past that they tried so hard to abandon. But careful knocks on the door save me from my thoughts. I open the door and for a moment think that the option of bleeding to death at least could’ve saved me from the awkwardness of this, before I manage to say “Thank you so much for coming, I really didn’t want to trouble you”, she replies “Not that I love getting surprise calls at midnight but what’s the occasion?” and then she takes a look at me with her perfect hazel eyes and sees it, the blood soaking my shirt and says “holy fuck Ri, what did… what happen- it doesn’t matter now”

It takes her only few moments to get into her other sleeve, the doctor she was trained to be, giving orders and analyzing the situation, only stopping once to curse me under her breath that I should’ve told her to bring her medical stuff and that I’m a lucky bastard that she didn’t come totally unprepared. Then her inner doctor takes charge completely. I tell myself maybe outer, you know it’s who she is now, heal first talk later that’s what she does.

“Take your shirt off”, I obey without making a snarky comment because even I can tell it would be inappropriate. I can’t really describe the process of her stitching me up, because I’ve never been a big fan of surgeries to the point I even skip them when they come up in movies, and maybe beside how pain makes everything hazy, I can’t wrap my head around the idea of her hands on me.

When it’s done she gives me some final instructions and tells me to don’t move from where I’m sitting for at least half an hour. Then standing in front of me without taking a step, she looks at her watch and her gaze lingers to the door and I know she’s thinking about leaving, but decides against it, at least for now.

“So are you gonna tell me how this happened?”, she asks gesturing towards my wound that is now stitched and bandaged. I guess I’m too exhausted for anything but the truth so I say “I was working on a case, and it didn’t end well.” She glares at me, “Well I can see that clearly, but how did it turn that way?”, “my client was a small business going to court against a big company, I had some dirty things on them but they weren’t enough proof so I was looking for more and they sent someone to scare me off I think, but um I tried to resist and it escalated quickly and I got a nice killer knife wound.” “It wasn’t fatal,” she says, “What?” I reply a bit shocked, “I said it wasn’t fatal, the knife didn’t go that deep, what? You thought I could fix a fatal cut with couple of stiches?” to that I mumble that I really trust her abilities and she rolls her eyes. I think at this point we’re past the formal greetings and small talks and now that the crisis is over she seems done with my shit so she continues “So you’ve finally fulfilled your dreams and became the woman you’ve always aspired to be, a detective/lawyer hunting down bad guys and giving them what they deserve” she doesn’t even try to hide the bitterness in her voice, and so if we’re going there now, I won’t try to hide it from mine either, “And you’ve became a doctor, a life you have dreamed of from the beginning, never even thinking to be anything else.”

She sighs and drops to the couch in front of me, “So this is the time that you’ve finally decided to talk about it.” It doesn’t sound like a question, more like a statement. Maybe being in pain and exhausted sharpens your edges and makes the things you’ve hidden carefully to snap free because I can’t hold back when I say: “Says the one who just abandoned me overnight and decided to part ways forever without even a heads up.” The thing is I’ve imagined having this conversation so many times in so many different situations, that it actually happening doesn’t feel real, it feels like another one of those fantasies in my head except she is really here now, and my pulse is betraying me by beating so damn fast.

“I didn’t abandon you, If I had you’d still be bleeding.” And a part of me wants to just accept that and move on and embrace her, because I’ve missed her, hell I’ve missed her so much I want to hug her and never let go, and we have a lot to catch up on too, five years worth of memories. Five years that we were no more than outside observers in each other's lives, but the stronger part, the part that’s been hurting ever since wants to have this conversation, needs to have this conversation or else I would never stop imagining it in my head.

“Well maybe our definition of abandonment is a bit different, ‘cause changing your life course and treating me like a stranger and pretending like all our planning and dreaming for future never happened sure as hell fits in mine.”

“I never treated you like a stranger, you were the one who decided to not talk to me and have anything to do with me anymore and cut contact completely”

“Because I couldn’t do it like that anymore, like I was just another one in your new class, as if we didn’t have history, like what we had wasn’t something more. We used to joke about how disconnected we felt from them, not because we hated them because we were different, or at least I thought you were.”

“People change Riley.”

And for a few moments neither of us backfires anything else to the other, and my mind finds time to wonder for the thousandth time why we didn’t even call each other all these years. But well one of the things that made us close at first was how stubborn we were. I remember clearly when there was a debate competition in school and we were a team and crashed the whole thing. Beside our passion for the matter we were unstoppable, to the point that each match ended to the other team being like “dear god just let it go it’s over”, and remembering those days even now in the midst of this makes me a little calmer.

I can’t help but ask, “Was it because I tried to-“ before letting me finish she says “God no, you think I could transfer in a day? And for what? Not everything is about you, or what you do or what you want, I thought five years would be enough time to learn that”, and well I’ve always known that it was a coincidence that those two things happened successively. But deep down I couldn’t shove the idea away that it was all because she wanted to get away from me, that it was my fault and I shouldn’t have done it after all. I know that doubt has led me to be selfish, and to give up on trying to fix it, and to suffer more, and I don’t know how to defend it (or if I even should). Throughout all these years I’ve also imagined getting the answer to this question countless times, and how I’ll finally be at peace if I got this answer, but now I don’t feel relived as much as I wanted to.

“So you thought of me in those years?” I say in a hopeful tone still desperately clenching to this conversation, as if all this could be solved just if we have this talk. “Way to avoid my point right? You haven’t changed a bit, reckless and careless and always holding on to things that don’t matter much to the extent that you nearly got yourself killed,” but she says this in a kinder tone than the previous one, maybe even with a hint of worry in her voice. I finally give up on trying to get this conversation to fix it all, and decide that we’re too tired now, so I reply “I thought you said it wasn’t fatal.” A pause then, “It’s really late, are you going to leave now?” I hope that she can hear the silent ‘stay’ in what I just said. “I don’t think I can get a taxi now, can I? considering the time, and I don’t have the energy to explain all this to someone and wake them to pick me up”, “you can stay if you want?” and for all we’ve been through, I’m relieved when she agrees.

//end of part 1

->part 2

#so this is the first piece of writing that I'm posting online and I'm a bit nervous but also excited about it #anyways I hope you enjoy it #writing #authors #writrblr #writers on tumblr

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

The Excuse: Donny Donowitz x Reader (Postwar AU)

requested by the homie @struggling-bee :' )

@owba-chan @war-obsessed @inglourious-imagines @tealaquinn @struggling-bee @frozenhuntress67 @kwyloz @sodapop182 @marlenemarauders @what-the--curtains @taikawho

Let me know if you wanna be added to the IB or OUATIH taglists! :)

_____________ ***January, 1946*** Donny was walking through his neighborhood, just like he had every afternoon since he got back from the war. He never did that before... He was tired, but he could never sleep. He was angry, but there were no nazis he could (legally) scalp.   He couldn't seem to settle back down. Things in his mind didn't quite quiet down. Sometimes, it seemed like the war was still on. Donny was the man that killed Hitler, after all. It was hard to go back to being just Donny, Sy Donowitz' boy. He couldn't even seem to find someone to talk to. All the guys he used to go to school with, or play baseball with were either busy buying houses, busy with a baby or two, or busy with a brand new business. Some of those guys had bum knees now. Some of them just never came back... And the girls they all used to hang around with had 'just married' signs on their cars, or busy fighting to keep running the jobs they had the keys to during the war. They weren't the same kids sneaking into bars, playing ball, and dancing to brass bands. They were soldiers.

He walked with his hands in his coat pockets, looking down at the pavement. His shoes over the concrete were a stark contrast to worn down boots over snowy forest floors and enemy bones. He shut his eyes, wondering where the boys were now? Of course, he knew Aldo was in Tennessee....but where? Was he sitting up in his cabin? Was he visiting his sister? Telling his nieces and nephews stories they wouldn't believe till they read their history books? And Hugo? He'd moved to a quiet, small, almost impossible to find town in Connecticut. Was he finding the heart to talk to the girl at a corner store? Smitty?  Smitty lived in New York. He'd promised Donny he'd go back to school. He made it into NYU, was he in class right now? Was he visiting his grandparents? And Hirschberg? Was he out with his girl? Was he finally looking for a ring? And Omar? Wicki? What were they all up to? Were they all having a hard time going back to the way things used to be? Donny glanced at his watch. 5:47 PM. A year earlier this time, they'd be camped out somewhere between France and Germany, listening to Aldo telling stories. Hugo would be sharpening a knife.  Omar and Donny would be fighting about baseball. He sighed, walking around the corner, finding his street. He heard a dog barking. An old, half-blind, but excited pitbull trotted up to the fence. "Hey Bugsy! Hey girl!" Donny smiled, as he crouched by the fence and reached through, petting Bugsy. His neighbors had that dog since he was in high school. Bugsy belonged to the kid next door, Andrew. He went to school with Donny. He played ball with Donny. He went to war with Donny. He was a marine. He never came back. But, ever since Bugsy was a puppy, she'd always seen Donny and Andrew walk down the street together, after school, after practive, after games. Ever since Donny came back from the war, and walked down the street, back to his home, with his uniform on, Bugsy whined and cried excitedly, thinking Andrew was following. And every time Bugsy saw Donny, she'd bark and whine, happily thinking Andrew wouldn't be long. Donny sighed, as he patted her head, "Sorry Bugs. He ain't comin' home today either." He started to get up, and she began to whine. He sighed with a soft smile, "I know, Bugs... I miss him too." She sat, putting her paw up against the fence. Donny chuckled a little, "I'll be back tomorrow. Promise," as he walked over to his home, just next door. He shuffled through the rest of the day blankly, as he did most days. Soldiers... He sighed, Most of them seemed to be perfectly happy, somehow settling back in seamlessly...At least, it seemed that way to Donny. He was happy to be back in his dad's barbershop again, but...he'd often look out the window with a quiet sigh, missing some things he'd left behind. Like the basterds. Life seemed to move ever so slowly now...And there was no one he could share it with. Night bled into morning, and he was working again. He was sweeping up his dad's shop, just before opening. He smelled coffee, and remembered the day after the war ended. The basterds woke up in a tavern, somewhere in Paris they hadn't been before. Covered in streamers, with headaches, and a flight home, they all drank some coffee to ease the aftermath of the last night's celebreation The bells at the shop's door rang, and he turned around, snapping out of that distant memory of a small pub in a forgotten corner of Paris. It was afternoon now... "Mikey!" Donny grinned, seeing his kid brother standing there. When Donny left, he was just a sweet kid, somewhere in the middle of that awkward middle-school age. He was halfway through high school now, following in Donny's footsteps as a star on the baseball team, and almost as tall as him, too. Time felt so slow now that he was home, but it seemed to have gone by in the blink of an eye when he  was gone. "Donny!" He seemed as though he had the secrets to the universe in his hands...but Donny, and everyone in their lives, frankly, was getting used to that. He was beginning to take a psychology course...and...he thought he had half the damn neighborhood figured out. He went on a million-word-per-second kind of rant, but Donny picked out a few things. Something about war, veterans, sleep, and emotions. "I'm fine, kid." Donny shook his head, grinning. "You worry too much." He stopped for  a second, and looked at him. "You're like ma, y'know." "Very funny, look!" He shuffled through a folder, and dug out a diagram, and all the symptoms that matched what he saw in Donny. At the very top, underlined, highlighted, and pointed out in arrows were  three words: Thousand-Yard Stare. "Mikey! Your mother's been looking all over for you!" Sy Donowitz, their father, emerged, half saving Donny from his brother's persistence, while saving himself from his wife's wrath. "Alright pop..." Mikey sighed, though he glanced at Donny. Donny was red in the face, frustrated. To him, it was like Mikey airing out his dirty laundry, so to speak. "He means well, Donny." His father patted him on the back. "Yeah, I know." Donny sighed, now feeling guilty for feeling angry, and angry for feeling anything and everything. And then nothing. He sighed, as he sat on his bed after work, muttering "Fuck a duck." Something crumpled beneath him, and he stood up. It was Mikey's diagram, along with a school report. Mikey's first draft for a psychology paper, and he chose to write about veterans. Donny read half of it, and had to put it down. He knew he needed some help, but he wasn't sure where to begin. He walked downstairs, and went out for a walk, as always. Only this time, he went farther than usual. Halfway across town. In fact, he made it downtown. He couldn't get his mind off of the essay. He knew Mikey meant well. Donny wasn't sleeping much, he couldn't get his mind off war. He just couldn't go back to being Donny. His mind suddenly snapped back to Boston, to 1946, to the present. He saw you, on the ground, right in front of him, trying to pick up some papers. He'd literally run into you. "Fuck a duck," He leaned down, helping you pick some of them up. His hand brushed against yours, and you looked at him for the first time. "Say..." Your heart skipped a beat, and you smiled a little, "You're Donny Donowitz." "That's me." He smiled, though he sounded a  little exasperated. You stammered, a little star struck. After all, it's not every day you meet a war her like that....Well, it's 1946, you do... But it's not every day you meet one of the basterds. He'd picked up on that, and chuckled a little, used to it. "Nice to meet ya..." "Y/n." It took you a moment to remember your own name. "Y/n," he repeated with a kind smile, slowly handing over the papers he picked up. He spotted pictures of dogs on different sheets, and realized they were some sort of records. "What's that?" He seemed genuinely curious. You sighed, shuffling the papers back in order, "Records of the dogs' vaccines, just updated them. Gotta bring them back to the-" You laughed a little at yourself, realizing he had no idea what you were talking about. You took a breath, starting over, "I train  therapy dogs." "Really?" His face lit up a little, and you didn't quite catch on to why just yet. You nodded with a grin. Even thinking of your work made you feel happy. "It's been real busy for a year or so. Lots of veterans have been looking into it." He smiled, "I might, too." "Everyone's gone home for the day...maybe...you'd like a private tour?" You winked, and he asked, "You won't get in trouble for it, will ya?" You laughed, "Ah, fuck the rules." He smirked, knowing you'd get along just together just fine. He followed you to your work,  you brought him out to see the dogs. You left for a minute to go file away the papers, and came back to find Donny sitting on the ground, playing with all the dogs. One dog in particular seemed to instantly be attached to him. "Hey boy!" Donny laughed as he petted a border collie. You crouched by, smiling "His name's Charlie." "He's fucken adorable." Donny kept playing with the dogs, though that one in particular melted his heart. "Isn't he?" You chuckled. You'd realize that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Donny came by every day, just after closing time to spend time with Charlie. (There was a little more to it than that, but  you didn't catch on yet) You didn't mind staying a little late. You liked Donny's company. And...it made your heart sing to see him so happy around the dogs. A few months passed. You realized there was an empty spot, and your heart dropped. Charlie had been adopted. "Oh no..." You sighed, knowing someone needed and deserved a dog like that. It was going to happen eventually, after all. You'd told Donny there was a big demand for therapy and service dogs lately. So...why did it hurt so much? You were always a little down when a dog was adopted, but never this much. You sat by your desk, and slumped a little as the day went on. You got frustrated with yourself, denying the reason you were so upset. With Charlie gone, maybe Donny would stop coming by. You shook your head, denying that was what upset you. But...you weren't much of a liar. "Maybe just a little..." You sighed, watching the hours go by, knowing at the end of the day you'd have to break the news to Donny.

It was closing time, your coworkers left one by one, and you sighed, "Fuck..." You realized in that painfully long wait that you were hopelessly in love with that basterd. There was a familiar knock on the window. You turned around slowly, and your heart broke, seeing how excited Donny seemed. Even more so than usual... All the more heart breaking You opened the door, about to break it to him... Rip the bandaid off, really. But before you could say anything, you realized Donny was holding on to a leash. "It was YOU?!" "I adopted Charlie!" He laughed, though he seemed happy, there was one more thing he wanted. "Are you...busy?" He smirked a little, already knowing the answer. Now that you didn't have to sneak Donny into work, your schedule was wide open... He knew that. He'd have to find new excuses to come see you. But, for now,  as you walked with him through town, and his arm wrapped around you gently, but protectively, you both knew it was the beginning of something more.

#Donny Donowitz #donny-donowitz #donny donowitz imagine #donny donowitz x reader #Inglourious Basterds #inglourious basterds imagine #postwar

[famouskittychild]

Dragon’s Whiskers

Summary: A little fluff piece about Fennec and Boba and their friendship. Fennec is going through a rough patch and Boba tries to help. Contains candy and some spice.

Warnings: some angst, mentions of trauma, mentions of injury; gentle prank; one instance of a non-romantic kiss.

Rating: PG

Word count: 2340

Ao3 link

 Author’s note: This is the very first fanfic I published here. Hope you like it!

When Fett had barged into her office in the middle of the night, and told her to either go to sleep or else tell him what to do to make her feel a little better, Fennec’s first thought was to drag his armoured butt up to the top of the communications tower and throw him off of it. Pretzel had padded in on soft paws behind Fett, following him through the door he had left open. She joined the other two grumpy felines on their pillows staring at the two humans for still being up instead of letting them sleep. All Fennec had wanted to do was to go back to burying herself in account books and ship logs and other details of the job and take her mind off everything else. 

“You are the last person I need help from” she had told him, ready for their next round of arguments, knowing it was usually him who lost his patience first. She must have been really tired because this time he had kept up with her.

“Great, you have a list of more usable people. Name some.” He had plopped down onto her reading chair, his lap promptly claimed by one of the ‘cats, than stared at her like she was on a list too; one for problems to be solved. “Nothing? Than how about, just going away from this all? Take a few days off. Visit a spa, or a forest, or a racecourse.”

She had sighed and hoped he'd still go away if she was just abrasive enough, but he had stood his ground. He had argued, he had asked; he had showed her planets to visit and speeder advertisements and had offered contacts for weapons upgrade specialists. It had seemed like he had tried to think of anything that might interest her and would cheer her up a little. Even the karking ‘cats had been on his side, taking turns at rubbing up to her legs and begging to be allowed onto her lap and be petted.

“Or I can just get you a blaster bolt on stun setting. That’d make sure you sleep a couple hours” he threw his hands up in the end, frustrated. Even that wouldn’t have helped. Knocked out cold wasn’t the same as a good night’s rest, and that was the thing Fennec needed the most. Her old problems with sleep were slowly creeping up on her in the past few months. Then last week happened, and she broke down in a way she hadn’t had in a long time. No wonder Fett had been somewhat worried about her. In the end, more embarrassed for making him worry over her and for keeping him from resting than actually believing it would help much, she had given up and gave him the name of a planet.

 All in all it turned out to be a great day. It was high time Fennec visited her home planet, and with all of the mess that went down a week prior and made her heart clench with grief at random times, it proved Fett right in being a welcome break from it all. Seeing the people who were so similar to her own family, hearing the familiar dialect and words particular to her homeworld - it made her remember where she came from. Being reminded of her roots helped to anchor herself again, something she needed in the storm that was her life lately. She hoped it will help her sleep better too.

She didn’t wanted to go as herself though. She didn’t wanted for anyone to recognize her, or know her as she was now, so they had put on hooded cloaks over their usual attires, Fett even leaving behind his helmet on the ship. They had arrived early morning and visited a few places: the Memorial of Ancestors, one of the schools she went to and another she would’ve loved to attend but never got to. Then they went over to the theatre district, watched a street performance, and even seen some dancers and musician at a park there. 

They finished the day off by walking around the Old Market. They started there with a late lunch and than spent a few hours wandering around at a leisurely pace, looking at all the different goods on offer and the people milling about. She stopped to buy a few things here and there: a comb, a scarf, some tea, and then some more tea. They debated about getting some treats for the furballs than decided they were spoilt enough already. They had made a wide circle around the rows of stalls with their rainbow of canopies and were on their way back towards the area set aside for spaceships, as the town lacked a proper spaceport. The last things she picked up were a stack of flat boxes at the handmade-candy stall named The Dragon’s Beard. She had put in her order earlier, knowing the crafters needed time to make the wide selection she wanted. And selection they had. Sweet candies of all kind, with syrups and berries and milks; savoury ones with cashews and nuts, spicy with peppers and roots and pickles. She ordered enough to bring back to let everyone have at least a taste of all the different types. Fett looked at the pile of boxes with uncertainty. 

“There should be enough sweets there to give a sugar rush to everyone back home” he commented as she tucked the colourful boxes under the arm that didn’t already had a satchel on it with the rest of her finds. “Including even the droids. And the four-legged beasts.”

“Mmm, don’t worry.” It took her a bit to balance all her stuff, then they started to walk down the row towards their ship. “And not all of them are sweet. Want a taste now? Because I do.” 

She let him take the topmost, red box from under her arm, one with non-sweets. He fumbled with the knot on the string that held the lid on, and she almost asked if they should stop walking when he managed to undo it. He offered them to her first, and she took a green one - her favourite. He got himself a red one that she knew had ginger in it. 

“It’s nice” he said, and she felt that doesn't really sums up the truth. Although, he didn’t have the nostalgia that she had for the candies, nor did he pick a particularly strong flavour. She just nodded, enjoying the numbing spiciness in her mouth. 

Fennec kept an eye on him, knowing he will pick out the spiciest one of the box sooner or later. It was the one she had started with, the green one; a colour he tended to gravitate towards, though not today as it seemed. They were on their third round of the colourful savoury treats and almost back to the ship. She knew he had found it when he abruptly stopped and grunted, then twisted away, trying to hide his face from her. She felt laughter building in her chest, something she haven’t felt in a long time. 

Soon he gave up and coughed, and probably would’ve cursed if he could. Her laughter was still far from reaching the surface but her smile was wider than it had been in a good while. 

“I see you found the Dragon’s Whisker.” He coughed again as an answer and covered his face, eyes watering, willing the pain to go away. Dragon’s Whisker pepper was strong even for someone who was used to very spicy food like her, and he was way less so. “It will pass soon, it’s not the lingering-in-your-throat type.” 

After a few moments he could open his eyes again, and he stared darts at her. It just made her smile even wider. Then he stepped closer to her, head tilted to the side, and she only had a fraction of a second to think “is he going to kiss me?!” before he did just that, pulling her close with a hand behind her head and pressing his lips firmly on hers. 

“Spicy, eh?” he asked as he withdrew. A giggle had bubbled up and burst out of her while they stepped apart. Her lips tingled slightly where they were touched by his, and for a few moments the tingling sharpened almost into pain before fading again. It was worth it. All of it. 

 Fennec left the boxes and her satchel on the lower deck before climbing through to the cockpit behind him. Fett took the co-pilot's chair that was usually hers, and looked at her like a loth-cat that had stepped into water, accusing and indignant at their misfortune at the same time. She was almost sorry for him, but it was just all too funny. 

She piloted the ship out of the atmosphere and he supplied the data for the hyperspace jump. As soon as the automation took over, he got up to go to the lower level. She had planned on staying where she was and giving him some room after her prank, but he turned back from the top of the ladder. 

“Do you have something for this?” He asked, and her face must have showed her momentary confusion because he elaborated. “For the pepper. I still feel like my mouth is burning.” 

Maybe his avoidance of spicy food that she observed wasn’t just a personal preference. With his injuries, he might have been less tolerant to pain caused by chemicals affecting surfaces of his body. Not to mention it might have brought up bad memories. Feeling a bit guilty, she nodded quickly and got out of her seat. 

 Once on the lower level, she rummaged around in the container for emergency rations. She always kept a box of powdered milk around especially for occasions like this. She dissolved a portion in a glass with less water than normal to make the milk thicker and made him start to sip it slowly before apologizing. He waved her concern away. 

“I’m fine, Fenn, really. I’m just not used to living on your volume of spiciness.” He smirked at her, and she knew him well enough to know they were all right. The smile came easier now, and to show she wasn’t sorry that much, she punched him lightly on the shoulder in a fist-bumpy way. It made him pretend to be hurt there too. 

“Thanks for the day off. I needed it” She meant it, even if just right then she suddenly couldn’t look at him. In the darkness of the ship and away from the lively crowds, back on their way to the everydays, the grief had came back for a moment and tried to sink it’s claws back into her. But it was easier to resist it and the heavy cloud passed as fast as it had come. She leaned back in her chair with a sigh and saw from the corner of her eye as Fett nodded and sipped his milk. It made her laugh again.

He sighed dramatically. 

“Yes, yes, mighty Boba Fett drinking his milk like a good boy. That’s another notch on your victory belt, isn’t it Shand?” He pretended to be grumpy about it, and she shamelessly grinned. Than he pointed at the pile of unopened boxes. 

“Are you planning on feeding me those too, or will you just keep them all for yourself now that I proved I can’t handle them?” 

She shook her head. 

“No, I got those for the staff.” 

“You’re evil” he commented fondly. She shot him a look of mock offence. 

“Only the red boxes are spicy, the others are sweets.” 

Now it was his turn to look indignantly. “You’re telling this to me now?!” He got up and picked out one of the pastel boxes. She started to object. 

“Those are not for you!” 

He was already fumbling with the knot on the string tied around the box. He looked up at her, face as innocent as he could manage. 

“I’m just collecting the import taxes.” 

She gave up and laughed. “Two pieces only! Or there wont be enough for everyone.” 

“You calculated that, right?” 

She didn’t, but he could think that; she just wanted to be contrarian to him. He finished undoing the knot and took a moment to survey the contents. Than he looked at her, eyes drawn into slits, suddenly suspicious. “Are these really sweets, or are you pulling my leg again?” 

“They are sweet. Promise. Can you smell the powdered sugar? The others had starch on them.” 

“You know my nose is mostly useless.” She did know, but these had so much sugar on them, she could smell them from where she was sitting. He took out a reddish piece and sniffed it. “Yes, sugar. I should’ve sniffed the others too, the lack of it might’ve given them away.” 

He popped the sweet into his mouth and closed his eyes as it was dissolving on his tongue. She let him enjoy the flavour for a moment before answering. 

“It would have, but it wouldn’t have mattered. I have mentioned that not all of them were sweet, remember? I thought you would disregard that and you did. Because I also told you they were candy and you took my word on that. Then you picked the ones with ginger and almonds, and those were kind of sweet, so nothing prepared you for the Dragon’s Whiskers. The thing is,” she waited for him to turn his face towards her again before explaining with a smirk, “as long as they are bite sized and considered a snack, we use the word candy. Local quirk. Sweet ones, savoury ones, spicy ones, the mix of those - here, they are all called candy.” 

“You” he jabbed a finger towards her “are an evil woman.” 

He took his second candy and closed the lid, watching her smile and shrug at him. It’s been a good day to be evil like that.

#star wars fanfiction #boba fett #fennec shand #star wars fluff #mywriting #my first fanfic #feedback is welcome #my writing

[beyondconfessor]

Principle Decisions [11/24]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman

Summary: It was nice to indulge, for a moment, that Lilith was honestly pleased to see her. That her fingers ran through Zelda’s hair because she wanted to feel her moan against her, that her hand slid around her waist and held her tight because she wanted to hold her. For a moment, Zelda could pretend that this was all real.

N.B.: Also posted on AO3. This is pure fantasy, please suspend your disbelief.

Zelda swallowed as she stood in front of the classroom. She’d been flat out since that morning. Given that her Saturday had been lost, she’d spent all of Sunday finishing off her marking and lesson planning until late into the evening hours. As such, she was exhausted.

She drew in a breath, feeling the caffeine run through her bloodstream as she lifted the marker to the whiteboard and wrote out the main dot points, discussing her thoughts as the class listened to her.

She couldn’t show weakness. Couldn’t allow them to see the exhaustion drifting over her. She needed to focus on the work and drive the points home.

She turned around, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over. Walking back to the pavilion. She used it to steady her and requested Melvin to answer the context of what she’d written on the board in three romantic languages and advise as to their similarities.

The head rush washed over her, and she felt her blood flow return as she listened to him stumble over her words, stuttering, but still managing to point out four out of the five things she was hoping for. She directed to Elspeth next, enquiring as to the missing part.

She couldn’t remember the rest of the class, feeling it blur across from her, but was thankful nonetheless when the class left, leaving her to slump in a seat, head dropping against the spine of the chair as she waited for the dizziness of the room to pass. Perhaps she needed to eat something more sustaining than a granola bar for breakfast-–and yet nausea had been ever-present of late.

She wanted to place it to menopause but knew better than to suggest that. The truth of the matter was that she was unwell, and despite seeing her gynaecologist recently, she’d been placing off seeing her general practitioner for some time, given that during her last visit, the doctor had lectured her about the long term effects of stress and smoking.

She didn’t need another lecture, and her smoking was reduced to two cigarettes now––hardly good for her, but better than her youth.

“Professor Spellman?” she looked up, blinking at the fluorescent lights before sitting up straight in the chair and turning to face the doorway. “Are you okay?” Prudence enquired.

“Quite fine,” she advised, grabbing her bag and standing up. As it was, she felt better after having sat down for a moment. Perhaps that’s what she needed. Maybe she could squeeze in a micro-nap on her lunch break.

“We were meant to meet a few minutes ago. If you prefer, we can do it here?”

Zelda sighed. Her office was only just down the hall. “No, best to be in there,” she advised. Zelda followed Prudence to her office before unlocking the door and setting her things inside.

Pulling out her laptop, she set up and watched a dozen new emails loaded, each one a student pleading for clarification or requesting a new time to meet her to discuss their course load. Sighing, she sorted the emails into different folders before looking up at Prudence, who already had her own workout.

“I graded the assignment for the first years of your language, but I’m afraid that I can’t do the religious studies. Your parameters made sense, but I don’t understand enough of the subject to mark them. I’m sorry.”

Zelda nodded, she’d expected as much, in fairness. “Thank you, Prudence. You’re doing far more than I would expect of a TA.”

“You’re still spreading yourself thin,” Prudence advised. “I know you’re going over everything I mark to make sure they’re fine and I don’t know if it’s because you don’t trust me, or––“

“I trust you,” Zelda advised, with a wave of her hand. “It’s not because of that, it’s because if I’m going to sign them off, I need to ensure that I agree. You do well, there’s hardly ever a bias, and nothing I’m concerned about. If you ever choose to follow the path of academics as a career, I assure you that I will be happy to provide you with a reference.”

Prudence’s expression softened then, a shade of red warming her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said, before drawing in a breath to steady herself, meeting Zelda’s eyes again. “But that’s still a massive workload for yourself. Is there’s nothing that Faustus can do?”

Zelda paused then, watching as the girl’s face scrambled as she realised her mistake, but outside of an awkward movement she made to tug at her sleeves, she did not attempt to correct herself, choosing instead to double-down on it––or perhaps hope that Zelda had missed it.

“Faustus?” Zelda inquired. “Are you on first names with Professor Blackwood?”

“I––we are,” she confirmed. “He’s…agreed to mentor me for one of the projects next year.”

Zelda’s expression sharpened. She wanted to ask then, flatly, if Prudence was having an affair. But then the question was, if Faustus were having an affair with his student, she’d be morally bound to advise Constance. The woman had only recently recovered from her previous breakdown, and as an affair in her marriage would likely only cause her to regress to how she was all those months ago when she couldn’t look after Leticia.

Zelda held her tongue. It wasn’t a problem for now, and so far all she had was guilty looks from Prudence. The girl could just be harbouring a one-sided crush herself. There was no reason to believe Faustus was doing anything wrong.

She continued to discuss things through with Prudence, agreeing to relent and allow her to create some structure for the first-year class lesson planning––providing herself with some relief to focus on other things. She’d still look it over, and likely change it as she needed to, but it would provide valuable skills to Prudence and allow a breather, even if it was only for two hours a week.

As it was, her eyes remained focus on the weekend, counting down the days. She was exhausted, and although she went to bed most nights feeling her eyes burn with the need to sleep, her brain kept her awake with worry, flicking through the work she needed to get done, emails she needed to respond to, essays she’d marked that she fearfully chewed the inside of her mouth over, wondering if she’d been too lenient or too harsh.

Lately, the only thing that allowed her any respite was a choice of three vibrators and a familiar fantasy.

Lilith and her at a crowded restaurant, where the woman was incessantly touching her as they conversed over the food, the woman’s eyes holding hers steady, advising that if she failed to respond the game would be over.

It was enough to drive her quickly to a dopamine high, allowing her to drift asleep where she would dream for a few hours before been awoken by panic, five minutes before her alarm was to go off. She slept enough to not fall asleep at work, and for everything else, there was caffeine.

When the weekend finally arrived, she allowed herself to sleep. There was still a hundred and one things to do, but Zelda allowed herself to turn off her alarm, ease the growing panic and sleep in a little bit longer. After all, she had a meeting on Sunday, and she didn’t want to turn up tired.

Zelda turned up early, stayed in her car until ten minutes to the agreed time, and then knocked on the door. Lilith bid her entrance and closed the door. “We’ll speak first,” Lilith said, and gestured to the kitchen. A neutral space.

Zelda sat down at the table as Lilith sat across from, smiling, her eyes bright as if she was delighted to see Zelda again.

A flicker of something sweet pulsated through Zelda’s heart before she steeled it. This was a professional discussion, not a date.

“I would like it if the impact play continues,” Zelda told her, wanting that to be clear. “I’ll be a better judge of myself and ensure it won’t happen again.”

“It will likely occur again,” Lilith said. “That’s not a poor reflection on yourself; it can be difficult to judge your own emotional needs. But…it might help if you know why you dissociated?”

Zelda bit her lip, and looked away, feeling as if her chest was tightening at the question.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Lilith coaxed. “But if you know why you disappeared at that moment, we can avoid it, or you can be mindful of what you were feeling so the next time it happens we know not to engage in it.”

“I…” she paused, remembering the feeling of the sting, of how much she’d wanted it to hurt. It’d hadn’t been about relief, it’d be about needing to be punished. At the time, a feeling had unsurfaced, knowing she wasn’t enough, couldn’t do enough and when it began to hurt, all she could focus on was that she’d deserved it. “I do,” she said.

“Do you feel that way today?”

Zelda blinked, feeling her eyes prick. “Somewhat, but nowhere near like I had before. I can handle it.”

“How about we play it safe. There are many other things we can do that can provide relief that doesn’t involve impact play,” Lilith said.

“So every time I’m feeling this way, we can’t engage in that?” Zelda asked. The words came out harsher than she intended, and she flushed, looking away. There was an incessant need underneath her skin, and the relief that the caning brought was wholly desired.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Lilith advised. “When you’re in a healthy mindset, we can learn and touch on your limits and discuss in further detail. Impact play can be used to find relief in times like that, but I don’t feel comfortable doing that with you until I know what your limits are.”

Zelda nodded, swallowing thickly. “Fine,” she said. It was a no for today, but not a no forever. “Seems like a ploy to get more money out of me.”

“Ah yes, my super-secret spanking plan,” Lilith said, giving a patronising nod of her head. “Whatever will I do now that you know it?”

Zelda rolled her eyes. “So impact play is out of the question.”

“There are other comforts. We don’t have to have sex or even indulge in kink,” Lilith advised. “Some of my clients just want the aftercare as the entire session.”

Zelda thought of the feeling of being in the woman’s lap, her hand stroking her hair. Her chest ached for it, but to admit that was…painful. She hadn’t earned it. “No,” she said. “What about bondage?”

“With some clients, I’d be hesitant, but you’ve always responded well to it,” Lilith advised. “I don’t see an issue.”

Zelda exhaled, that was something at least.

“There’s also the domination side. I could order you around on your hands and knees.”

Zelda’s eyes drew to Lilith’s, a flutter returning low in her belly. “And do what?” she asked.

Lilith smirked. “One of my clients just cleans the house. But I’m sure there are other things I could have you do.”

“And what other things would that be?”

Lilith gave a small laugh, her expression shifting. “Anything you want.”

Anything she wanted, the options burned through her and Zelda found herself letting a thousand and one ideas roll through her mind. On her hands and knee, drawing her tongue over the woman’s sex, Lilith’s hand in her hair. Lilith fucking her. Being made to watch as Lilith masturbated…

Lilith rose to her feet, and Zelda followed. She watched as Lilith led her down the hall, a saunter in her step before she turned and gestured for Zelda to walk up the stairs.

Zelda paused, watching her, feeling anticipation bite through as she realised that all she wanted at that moment was Lilith. She wanted to kiss her.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Lilith asked.

Zelda’s eyes watched how her mouth formed the words before her eyes flicked to Lilith’s, a breath tugging as she almost considered crossing the line and just kissing her. God, she wanted to kiss her and feel her gasp and moan and––

Zelda found herself pressed against the nearest wall, and the woman’s mouth was on hers. It was hot and pressing. Zelda moaned, feeling her heart leap at the kiss as hands held her firm, pressing her tight against the wall.

And then her coat was being slid from her arms, tossed to the bannister of the stairs, as Lilith’s mouth continued to kiss hers with a fury. As if she’d longed to see her, touch her, kiss her. Just as she had longed for it.

It was nice to indulge, for a moment, that Lilith was honestly pleased to see her. That her fingers ran through Zelda’s hair because she wanted to feel her moan against her, that her hand slid around her waist and held her tight because she wanted to hold her. For a moment, Zelda could pretend that this was all real.

It should have frightened her how much she wanted it, but when Lilith’s mouth drew over her throat, it was hard to not ache at the idea that she could have this. She could find someone who wanted her like this.

But she didn’t want it with anyone else.

Zelda kicked her shoes off and allowed herself to be manoeuvred next to the stairs where Lilith drew back, teeth biting over her bottom lip as if to hide her grin.

“Hello darling,” she said, a hand coming up to cup her cheek. “Have you thought about what you want?”

“I have.”

“Good,” and then Lilith’s fingers were entwined with hers, tugging her up the stairs, into the bedroom, where the door shut and they could finally look at each other.

Here, it was easy to pretend, Zelda realised. She didn’t need to be a professor at the university or a guardian of two surly children. She didn’t need to be a matriarch to her family or a dozen other things that she was to other people.

She could just be Zelda.

“Tell me I get to ravish you,” Lilith said, and her hands were on Zelda’s waist, a wide smile on her mouth. “I’ve been dreaming of it.”

“Just dreaming?” Zelda asked.

“Ask me nicely, and I might even tell you all the other things I’ve been getting up to as well.”

Zelda hummed, watching the woman’s smile widen further. “I want what you offered the other day. I want to see you come undone.”

“Define undone?” Lilith said, her eyebrows arching as her thumbs drew circles on her waist, over the material of her dress. “Do you want to see me undressed?”

“Mm, yes.”

“Do you want to see…me on my knees?”

“I did enjoy that. I might like to see that again.”

Lilith bit her lip, nodding her head. And then she was leaning in close, her mouth near Zelda’s ear as she asked softly, “did you want to hear me call out your name.”

Zelda drew in a breath, biting back the moan in her throat. “Yes,” she answered, her voice low and purring.

Lilith leaned back and then smiled at her. “Now, there are two ways we can do this. You and I can have sex or…I really do what I promised the other day.”

“Which was what?” Zelda asked.

“That you let me tie you up and I’ll let you watch. I promise it will be quite the performance.”

Zelda felt a wanton tremble low in her belly. Under usual circumstances she wasn’t sure she’d be interested in watching a partner masturbate, but Lilith wasn’t just a partner. Lilith was…something else entirely, and the idea of being tied up, unable to do anything, helpless to watch as she squirmed in her bindings…

Well, she was certainly not against it in any capacity.

“And that will take up our entire time?” she asked sceptically.

“Oh no, there’ll be room for play afterwards. I’m sure you’ll be quite needy for some…relief.”

Zelda’s heart fluttered, a flush already brushing over her. “Well, then. How could I refuse such an offer?”

“How indeed.”

Lilith stepped around, behind Zelda and unzipped her dress, and then her mouth was on her neck and Zelda was feeling warm hands slide over her body as the dress was pushed to the ground.

She went to do the same for Lilith, only for the woman’s hands to catch her. “Oh no,” she said. “You have to keep your hands to yourself, that’s the only rule otherwise you’ll lose some privileges. Now, on the bed like a good girl.”

Zelda bit back a sardonic comment and turned, moving to sit down on the mattress, before shifting to the centre on the bed, where she sat back on her knees, hands in her lap as Lilith returned with lengths of black rope.

The ropes were knotted, and this time, Zelda watched at her ankles were bound to her thighs, which in turn were bound to her wrists, keeping them all nicely locked together. Lilith checked them, fingers running around the pressure points, before she began kissing down Zelda's body, across her throat as one hand slid over the cup of her bra and other slid between her legs.

Zelda moaned, feeling herself grow wet underneath Lilith’s deft fingers as the woman teased her to frustration before pulling away, apparently satisfied when Zelda began panting in her ear.

And then she stood up from the bed and Zelda watched as she moved to the end of the bed, in full view of her.

She undid the cuffs of her long-sleeve blouse, undoing the buttons before she slid it from her shoulders. Then she was unzipping her skirt and drawing that down her thighs. Zelda watched the material slide down, her eyes enchanted by the image of lingerie.

Like herself, Lilith apparently dressed to impress, there was a set of stockings and a garter belt as well, and Zelda watched as she under the claps of the garter belt one by one, before letting them hang.

And then Lilith’s hands were running through her hair as she stretched her body.

Zelda swallowed, drinking in the sight of the woman. It was the first time she’d had the pleasure of seeing her undressed, and if she was honest with herself, she was envious of the fact that it wasn’t her hands undressing her as she kissed over the bared skin.

Lilith’s foot lifted to the ottoman, and then she was sliding down the stockings, her eyes watching Zelda’s follow the movement before the silk was dropped to the ground. And then she did the same with the other leg. A languid movement, her body stretching with ease in flawless movements that had Zelda wondering if the woman did yoga––or had perhaps been a dancer.

Zelda waited, watching with interest as then Lilith returned to sitting on the bed before her, sitting on her knees as she watched Zelda squirmed.

She was close enough that had Zelda been unbound, she would have been able to reach out and touch her, and right now, that’s all Zelda wanted to do. She wanted to kiss her throat and clavicle, place her hands on the woman’s waist and drew down to the hips. She wanted to feel her thigh press between Lilith’s and feel the woman roll her hips over it as she sighed in her ear.

“Aren’t you just a picture,” Lilith said to her with a sharp smile.

“You look divine,” Zelda said, unabashed.  

Lilith’s smile widened, her nose crinkling with obvious delight before it softened again as she came to bite at her bottom lip. Her head tilted and Zelda drew in a breath, focusing her thoughts away from the softness growing inside of her.

“Are you ready?” Lilith asked.

“I am,” Zelda confirmed, watching Lilith’s chest rise and fall.

Lilith grinned, before she leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to Zelda’s mouth, and then she was sitting back on her knees.

Zelda watched at the strappy silk underwear was pushed down her thighs and then slid to her calves.

Zelda expected to watch the woman touch herself, sliding her hands over her body––which was an exciting concept on its own.

Which meant that she didn’t expect Lilith to straddle her thigh, and then moved to kiss her throat, purposefully drawing her body across Zelda’s bound body so there was very little Zelda could do but draw in a breath as she felt the woman’s sex slide over her thigh.

It was entirely more seductive than any lap dance she’d had before, given that she could feel Lilith’s naked body against her, entirely unable to do anything about it. And then Lilith’s mouth was pressed to her ear and Zelda could feel her hand sliding between them both.

Zelda swallowed, trying to calm her beating heart as Lilith’s mouth pressed over her neck, drawing down her throat as she made the smallest noises. Her hips rocked, sliding over Zelda’s thigh, and it was a performance in its own right, one that Zelda could look over Lilith’s should and see in the floor-length mirror in the corner of the room, but she didn’t want to watch.

It was too much when she could hear Lilith making small gasps as she touched herself, knuckles bumping against Zelda’s thighs.

“Lilith,” she whispered.

And the woman’s hand curled over her shoulder, as if to hold onto her for steadiness, her body rocking.

“Please.”

“Please what?” Lilith asked.

“Can I…” she paused, straining in the ropes. “May I please touch you?”

“No,” Lilith advised, her smile wicked as she gasped and Zelda could feel how wet she was, dragging along her thigh. Her fingers twitched, arms straining in the rope bindings and Lilith grabbed her chin with her other hand, holding it steady to look into her eyes. “Watch me, or I’ll get creative.”

Zelda swallowed, “Yes, my Queen.”

“I am your Queen, aren’t I?” she said, her face awash in rapture. “And you are mine today, aren’t you, Zelda.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Lilith hummed, and Zelda watched her expression shift, head rolling back, body shifting forward. Zelda felt as if her throat would go dry. But every time she leant forward, Lilith was holding her back, laughing at her.

“Needy little thing.”

“Needy,” Zelda snapped, and then the woman’s nails were cutting in her jaw with warning and Zelda felt the need wash over her. She wanted her, needed her like she was oxygen. And all Zelda could think about was what it would be like to run her tongue over the bare throat and feel the woman moan.

“I knew you would get worked up by this. Are you sure you don’t want me to sit back and spread my legs wide for you? You could see how wet I am.”

“I can feel it.”

“And isn’t that much, much better?” Lilith asked and Zelda felt her knuckles purposefully drag against the seam of her underwear. The barest of touch was making her squirmed as the woman continued to fuck herself on her lap and there was nothing she could do to help her.

There was a hundred witty retorts she had that rose and fell as she felt the woman’s head duck to her shoulder. In the mirror, Zelda could see Lilith’s back muscles growing taught, her body shaking. There was a moan, muffled against her throat and Zelda’s breath shook with anticipation, catching in her lungs as she felt the speed increase.

“Zelda,” Lilith hummed into her ear and Zelda’s eyes closed, teeth biting over her bottom lip to prevent from crying out. She wanted her badly. Never before had she felt so much blood rushing into her sex, wetness pooling in her underwear, until she heard the woman’s name whispered like that in her ear.

She didn’t know if it was better or worse to have made this decision. She could be tongue deep in Lilith by now, have her mouth drawing out the same noises rather than this wet, messy feeling drawing over her thighs.

A wave of dizziness washed over her and Zelda’s eyes opened, looking up at the ceiling to focus as she drew a breath, once and then twice, as Lilith’s hand worked between her legs and her other came and curled over her shoulder, the grip trembling as she worked faster and faster.

There was only the soft sound of a panted breath and soft moans, and Zelda’s breath tightened, hoping she was close, because if this continued, she was surely going to combust. Her body burned to touch her, have her hand stroking between Lilith’s legs.

And then the hand tightened on her shoulder and Lilith’s body was taught and rocking. Her mouth was on Zelda’s and it was like everything came into focus. Zelda felt it like an electric shock shooting down her body as the woman moaned against her mouth, her kiss hard and furious.

She tugged at the bindings again, desperately trying to touch her, pressing against her as she rocked with the last convulsion.

And then it was over and Lilith’s body drew loose, her hand drawing away from between them to settle on her other shoulder wetly.

“Untie me,” Zelda said with as much dominance as she could muster with lust powering through her.

Lilith laughed, and then the ropes were tugged undone. Before they were even tossed away she was pinning Lilith to the bed, kissing her mouth and drawing down her body, hungrily, possessively wanting to claim what she couldn’t have.

Lilith’s laughter filled the room as she squirmed underneath her, before her legs wound around Zelda’s waist and she drew Zelda’s face back to hers, kissing her in short, fast bursts before she dropped back. “I thought you’d like that.”

“I hated it.”

“You loved it,” Lilith said, “I could feel it,” and as she said, it her hips rocked prominently, blue eyes flashing. Zelda felt the slickness drag against her body.

“It was cruel, needless torture I wouldn’t wish on another.”

“Is that so?”

“It is, we should do it again another day.” Zelda knew she would be dreaming about this moment. Imagining what it felt like to have Lilith’s body rocking over hers again and again.

Lilith smiled, drawing her fingers over Zelda’s faces softly, tenderly. And then her expression shifted to mischievous. Her hand snatched away and then suddenly Zelda was being kissed again. With teeth and tongue and sucking pressure that had her moaning––too distracted to realise until she felt her hand’s tugged together, that she was being bound again.

It was a simple binding, wrists bound together, but it was enough that in confusion, she slipped to her side and suddenly found Lilith sitting on her hips, pinning her to the mattress.

“Is that how you’re going to play?” Zelda asked.

“Mm. You were rather disobedient. I felt you trying to touch me despite my warning as to otherwise.”

“So now you’re going to punish me?”

Lilith gave a look, not advising either way to her plan, and before Zelda do so much as try to rock her hips, she had her hands above her head, as the woman drew her mouth down Zelda’s throat. “Stay still,” she said, and then Lilith was climbing off her.

Zelda frowns, lifting her head to watch as Lilith opened her wardrobe only for her to turn around and shoot her a dirty look. Obeying, she leant back down on the bed, anticipation prickling over her skin.

And then Lilith was returning and Zelda was biting her lip, eyes watching the ceiling as she felt the woman kneel on the bed before her, sliding in-between her legs.

“Do you know much about forced orgasms?” Lilith asked.

Zelda’s head dropped to look her, but whatever toy she had remained behind her back as she settled on her knees, in between Zelda’s legs.

Lilith’s eyes drew over her body, a long, deep breath puling into her lungs before she smiled, meeting Zelda’s eyes again. “It’s a favourite of mine.”

“For you or me?”

“For you. Think of it as…the other side to the coin.”

Zelda swallowed. “I know a bit of it, but I’ve never really had more than three or four orgasms in the same evening.”

“Mm, I’m sure you stopped your partner or partners when it became unbearable.”

“I…oh,” Zelda realised, she drew in a breath and watched as Lilith dropped a vibrator onto the bed.

“I’m very good,” she assured. “And it can be a lot of fun for both of us. I think it’s a safe way to test you limits, if you’d like to try it,” Lilith was looking at her almost shyly, though there was certainly a vested interest in it. She wanted to see her come undone, but it was more than that. This wasn’t about Lilith taking her to new heights, this was about pushing her limits in pleasure and discomfort and…

…well, Zelda couldn’t help but feel her heartbeat race. “Forced…orgasms?”

“Mm, I press play and we see how many times I can get you off before the battery dies.”

“Is there a record for this?”

“No challenge as such. I prefer to keep to personal bests of the victim,” she said, “And I would very much enjoy making you my victim. Safeword still withstanding.”

Zelda nodded.

“We don’t have to, however––“

“I want to,” Zelda assured, cutting her off. “I want to try it. If I don’t like it, I’ll just say music box.”

Lilith smiled, and there was a genuine warmth to it. As if she was both proud of her and pleased with her. It twisted in Zelda’s chest, a desperation fluttering as she realised that if Lilith smiled at her like that, she’d surely follow her to Hell.

“Good, now, let’s move you there with the pillows.” Zelda shifted, allowing Lilith to help her sit up and shift across to the pillows. The woman allowed her to adjust, propping up two more pillows behind her before she sat back and smiled at her.

And then Lilith was moving between her legs again, her hands drawing over Zelda’s legs.

Zelda’s hips lifted as her underwear was removed, and then Lilith’s mouth was warm, kissing against her knee, setting her chin atop of it lazily, and Zelda watched that blue eyes follow her as she drew her fingers over Zelda’s sex. It was a warm coaxing and Zelda bit her lip, keeping her eyes steady as Lilith drew over the labia, stroking gently.

It was enough to make her limbs shake, and then, apparently satisfied with her reaction, Lilith picked up the vibrator and Zelda held her breath.

“What’s your safe word, Zelda?”

“Music box.”

“Good girl.” The vibrator hummed, its battery quiet as it set against her. Lilith's eyes held hers, watching at Zelda drew in a breath, feeling it hum over her. Never had such a thing felt so intimate, but as Lilith’s other hand came to slide over her thigh, Zelda felt the tension coil inside of her, heels digging into the blankets.

It came slow and steady, shivering from her. It was different from how Lilith’s fingers felt and different from when she masturbated alone. The orgasm spun from her and Zelda breathed through it once, twice, her eyes fluttering and then returning to Lilith.

The vibrator went stronger and without even feeling the first one finish, the second shook through her, harder as she clenched around nothing.

Lilith smiled at her and Zelda felt her heart pound as she leant forward. The woman kissed her and then Zelda was moaning as she felt the vibrator kicked up a notch.

Zelda hissed, feeling it roll over her clit to the other side and back. “You’re doing well,” Lilith coaxed as she drew back. “Two in two minutes, I’m impressed.”

Zelda swallowed, it was intense, far more than she expected. Her thighs shook as she squeezed, heels digging, hands clenching in their bindings. “Jesus in Heaven,” she spat, eyes squeezing shut.

“Three, good girl.”

There her hips tried to pull away, the intensity too much, but Lilith’s hand was firm of her leg, holding her in place as she manoeuvred the vibrator over her clit. It was intense, her clit’s sensitivity was too much, and Zelda strangled a breath, holding back as she felt her body shake, muscles clenching again.

“Lilith, I can’t…” she whined.

“You can,” she coaxed, and as it to prove her point, she slid her other hand from her thigh and stroked over the labia, around and down and then was sliding inside of her where Zelda was wet and wanton, wanting to be filled.

“God,” Zelda hissed and her heels dug in and Lilith's fingers slid prominently, curling against a spot.  

It almost hurt, it was hurting with the intensity, but it was good. She could feel her walls clenching around Lilith’s fingers, squeezing as she was coaxed higher and higher again and then she was crying out, sobbing.

“No more,” she pled, trying to move her hips away, but again, Lilith held her firm, her eyes holding hers, a smile on her lips.

“One more,” Lilith said to her, “You can do it.”

Zelda bit her lip. Her back ached, her stomach muscles ached from all of the squeezings, and there was a rush of noise in her ears. She thought about disagreeing, but the way Lilith was looking at her––utterly please and surprised, fingers stroking inside of her…

Zelda bit her lip, head bowing. One more, she nodded in agreement.

The vibrator moved, rolling up and over and directly onto her clit and Zelda hissed, pulling back away, feeling the ropes pinch on her wrists. She squeezed, a cry whimpering from her and then felt Lilith’s fingers curling, sliding, drawing.

It was Heaven and Hell. She didn’t want it to stop, and yet she couldn’t do it, could feel the climax.

It was too much.

Her heart pounded, heavy and hard in her chest and ears. And then her body was convulsing and Zelda saw stars as she was fucked through to the orgasm.

“Music,” she whimpered.

The vibrator clicked off, Lilith’s fingers slid out from her and then she felt the tug of ropes being undone before Lilith was dragging her close.

Zelda whimpered, feeling her clit throb in a way she didn’t know was possible. She ached, her whole body ached from the however many orgasms she had in a span of however long, but as she was pulled to Lilith’s chest, the woman’s hand drawing through her hair, Zelda couldn’t find herself upset.

She could feel the tears that were drying on her face, and yet despite all of that, there was a hunger in chest as Lilith pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You did well, I’m impressed.”

Zelda shivered, a smile tugging at she allowed her to relax for a moment. There was nothing sweeter than the touch, and despite how much Zelda’s sex felt swollen and raw, a part of her wanted to ask for it again.

“Four orgasms.”

“Five,” Lilith corrected. “Though not all are equal,” she teased.

Zelda sighed, feeling the fingers draw through her hair. She was tired now, utterly exhausted and a part of her wanted to fall asleep like this, with the woman’s fingers running through her hair. But she couldn’t, there were things to do, essays to mark, results to put up.

“Come with me,” Lilith tugged, and then Zelda was finding herself gently being lead to stand, before Lilith was taking her out of the bedroom, into the bathroom, where the remainder of her clothes were removed, before Lilith guided her into the shower stall.

The water was hot and Zelda sighed as it drew over her skin, feeling Lilith slide in behind her. She felt like she was in a haze, barely acknowledging as soap and water were drawn over her skin by Lilith’s hands. There was a soothing nature to it, feeling her hands draw over her shoulders, down her back and legs.

And then Lilith was turning her around to face her.

She wanted to kiss her, but Lilith’s was focused on lathering her arms, then her chest and her belly. And then it was all being rinsed off.

Zelda took the soap from Lilith’s hand, and did the same to her. Washing over her shoulders, down her arms and across her chest and belly, over her back and down her legs. It didn’t feel sexual, she expected it to, to find herself aroused by the process, but instead, she just found herself looking at Lilith and feeling herself soften.

All of the tension had left her, and there was only dizziness that remained as she set the soap aside. For a moment, they stayed there in the water, their eyes watching each other and Zelda almost leant forward, her hand going to cup Lilith’s face, before she watched as Lilith shut off the water.

It was over.

As Lilith wrapped her in a towel, Zelda couldn’t help but ask, “Do you treat all of your clients like this?”

“Only the ones I like,” she said as she took a towel for herself and led Zelda back to the bedroom.

Lilith pulled out a dressing gown from the chest of drawers, sliding it on and tying it at the waist as Zelda dressed again, placing on her bra, garter belt and stockings before her slip and dress. She paused, watching as Lilith drew out of the room, her hand drawing through her hair to pull it back from her face as she smiled at Zelda.

Zelda paused, feeling the smile flutter inside of her before she turned away, moving to the mirror to fix her hair and place heels on.

She felt lightheaded, and if she had just rolled through five orgasms, she’d be suspicious. As it was, she ignored the feeling and made her way downstairs to where her coat and handbag were, before she went to the kitchen.

She rolled her shoulders, feeling tightness in them as she watched as Lilith set the tea down on the table.

“Feel better?” Lilith asked of her.

“I do,” she said. “Lately this has been the only time I get to spend without worrying about work or family.”

Lilith nodded, “That’s how I got into all of this,” she advised. “It seemed to be the only place where everything else disappeared and my thoughts turned singular.”

“I appreciate everything that you’ve done.”

At that, Lilith’s eyebrows rose. “Is that so?”

Zelda hummed, and then she reached into her bag to pull out her wallet.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Lilith said. “Today fulfilled my fantasies as much as yours, it wouldn’t be fair to take your money.”

Zelda frowned, “I did ask for this,” she pointed out.

Lilith shook her head, “No, I enjoyed myself too much. It’d feel like double-dipping.”

Zelda stepped forward, going to comment, but as she did, a wave of dizziness overtook her and before she could even make the extra step towards the chair, she was…

…

…what was she doing?

________________

#zelda spellman #lilith #caos fanfic #zelith #madam spellman

[sharpen-jadescythe]

A Little Bit of Ly’vell In My Life

Lord Ly’vell Autumnspire has a real gift for making people fall in love again.

I know what love is. There is someone I have strong feelings for that you all already know about. But they say every time you fall in love, it’s different. Today, it feels like one ‘amour’ of mine, as he would call it, is as deep, as beautifully aqua-blue as her hair, and as all-encompassing, as mighty and unstoppable as the ocean beneath me—let’s say if I was stranded on the raft of life? A lone man orphaned with hardly anything to call his own, trapped on the water’s surface? Yes, she would give me respite from the boiling sun, tempt me to give into the waves, be a merman swimming alongside her beautifully together. Jiroki’s great gift is to let me get lost in that magnificent, stormy soul of hers and transform myself in that way. But this second love with Ly’vell, it’s like the vast sky up above, air flowing in from all over. Carrying birds, pollen and all the infinitesimal stuff of life, salt, or tears—who knows. But it’s all his potential, all the hope of a new love for life in his smile, that takes us high, way up there. The way Ly’vell loves, I could stand on that rocking raft alone, then lift up on my toes and reach, get snatched up and away forever. Actually fly. Far, far off. Perhaps one day, up into the stars. That world of Ly’vell’s love is always above my head and it is as pale and serene as his mane of white hair, snow waiting to fall soft, just for us.

So this is in case you were wondering about my love life right now, if you’ve noticed I was also spending time with a certain handsome someone. Sky and sea, green sea or white sky—however I can get you to understand how there are two people in my heart; and I hope that I’ve come close. Love above me and love beneath. I am delighted by two wonderful people at the moment. And now, it’s time I told you about Ly’vell.

I’m a crazy, hiking, nature-loving Night Elf guy that likes to impulsively get up at o’dark thirty (ask another SI:7 Seal what that means sometime). What was I up to so early in the morning? I have a strong instinct to go hunting some days, and I think I stepped out of the portal in Stormwind, you know the mage tower? Right about at sunrise, I’d say. No other fools like me should have been up, let alone exist in all of Elune’s creation. Or so I assumed. The morning light—like I’d dreamed it, white as snow. And the stained glass windows also in the hall were starting to paint pastels on the floor at our feet. Ours. His fine leather boots, and then my dusky ones. I knew he was a rogue before I even looked at him. You have to get good at these things in a fight, and a part of your mind is always ready when you’re a soldier. But this other Night Elf man’s cologne made me look up his legs in a different kind of way, you know what I mean, and enjoy taking a good long look at him. Tall him and all that gorgeous white hair swept behind his strong shoulders. I let out a breath. We were passing by each other for only a fleeting moment and I had no idea what to say. You know that voice in your head that tells you someone is far too attractive to even bother with because surely they’re already taken or have something better to do? Someone other than you? Well, I’m Sharpen Jadescythe as you know, so I did my typical himbo-fumble-through-anything-at-all.

“Nice blades.”

I meant his daggers. I instantly felt like a complete idiot though because I knew he was a rogue, I felt sure he was, but those were definitely spell-blades. I’m a blacksmith, I make all kinds of weapons but magical ones have always eluded me. You need enchantments, special reagents, an affinity for spells. These intricately patterned, reddish-purple blades hummed with subtle energy that I could now feel between us. The cross guard was somehow split in two. These elegant pieces were one with the blade, yet not. They spun apart, then revolved back in, tight, as if a child were pulling them on a yo-yo string. I must have ended up watching Ly’vell’s hips like a cat. His hand rested lightly over the perfectly matched spell-blade on is right side, where it was hitched into his belt.

I looked up. I think we finally got to swapping our names by then. But Ly’vell was grinning at me like he knew far better what was going on. At the same time, I got the sense that I wasn’t going to get off that easy. Not to make a dirty joke, but seriously--in this barely discernable language that was only starting to build between us two men, a dialect of looks exchanged, resting on a back foot and holding back, the flicker at the edge of a smile, a subtle purr escaping one’s throat, Ly’vell was already telling me that it wasn’t going to be easy and it wasn’t free.

What’s my typical Sharpen energy, what I naturally put out there, then? That I’m completely free and easier than tripping over a rock to fall face-first? Into love, I hope. All I know for sure is that I cleared my throat several times. I wish to goddess I could remember exactly what we said other than it was about a dagger, or who got clever first, then who finally made it about romance or whatever we both honestly wanted to get up to, and at that early in the morning ontop of everything else. Goddess, we both must have been very horny to start falling into steamy conversation in the Stormwind mage tower! I believe it went from a compliment, to my knees feeling weak, and him pressing his advantage fast, somehow standing almost ontop of me, with his height. He must have learned pretty quickly that I was more like prey, not the gruff, outdoorsy ‘you comin’ or what?’ macho man I appear to be at first. I think that enticed Ly’vell. Oh, the tiny hippo-puppy (hippogryph hatchling) perched on my shoulder, a very endearing little detail might have given that away too, that I’m… well, a sweet guy. So there was that grin again, his special grin for me. Now it said, ‘Alright, I’ll make this easy for you, poor thing.’ Little by little, Ly’vell was finding out that I was the one who wasn’t an easy catch, that I hardly ever did things like this. Ly’vell took his time and found a very sophisticated way to communicate that he liked my body, was very much affected by my open shirt and the big gun I had slung over my shoulder. Nice.

“I like big guns too.”

No. I mean, yes. I, Sharpen Jadescythe, actually said that. And if you need even more juicy gossip, I think it was me who pulled himself together and finally asked Ly’vell if he’d like to go get a drink. Though, I think we both knew Ly’vell had laid down a treat and then patiently waited for this sweet, stray himbo to wander in and get it, let himself get petted. A lot like that too, I very nervously attempted to keep a steady walk by Ly’vell’s side through the park, all the way round to the Slaughtered Lamb.

The place was mostly empty which means our getting right down to flirting over drinks was actually pretty shameless. And then I kissed Ly’vell right in front of a passing Stormwind guard on patrol who’d just entered the place to keep an eye on things. Well, what an eyeful he got! I suppose the barman was pretty unphased by his patrons’ shenanigans. I’d survived the scene in the mage tower, and at the bar I managed to hold my own and tempt him with sweet gestures until that big, blaring one. I’m not sure what won Ly’vell over in the end that I wasn’t mutton dressed as lamb, while we canoodled in the Slaughtered Lamb (don’t mind my jokes), but maybe that was it? I guess I really did grab the other man and let him have it. Ly’vell was unbelievably sexy, especially for someone who was simply going about his daily business when we crashed into each other, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

Then, just as fast, I chickened out of anything else and made an excuse to get on with my day soon after that first kiss. But Ly’vell gave me a damned classy black calling card, it was enchanted or something—yes, he was a Highborne spellblade he explained. The card recorded our messages, and he had his own so we could easily keep up in touch, wherever his stray himbo tried to scamper off to.

This man was, still is, the epitome of class. Honestly, I’ve been wanting to keep Ly’vell to myself all this time and not let any of my friends find out about him because Ly is that wonderful. And he’s easy-going, deeply romantic, plain fun. But, I soon made friends with Ly’s husband Nils anyway (I so adore Nils), and now I think we’ve all met each other’s friends, almost. So too late to keep the lovely Ly’vell, my lion, totally to myself. I don’t know if I care about that or anything, anymore. Ever since coming across Ly’vell casually in the tallest tower in the city, at the weirdest hour of the day, over the simplest little thing that could have gone like any half-spoke compliment I’ve shared with a stranger passing by, and that turning into a powerfully romantic encounter? I thought I’d slam into a wall for trying. But no, I feel like he and I have been flying all this time. Eagles. Truly free.

At first, I was wary of jumping into anything with someone. However, Ly chased me down and seduced me with his kindness and steadiness. And a few well-made leathern outfits—I think you guys saw a couple of those pieces? I’ve shared at least one picture of me in that harness. These days, I invite Ly to way too many parties, I even introduced him to Trixany who is one of my closest friends and a complete nut. Goddess, I’m sure he’ll be sick of this glitter-covered himbo who’s got like twelve-hundred pets, and is constantly changing his bright hair before long. But I hope not. Ly’vell is so easy to love, and I’ve also loved him chasing me around, that is, until he caught me.

Ly’vell and I could lay down in a field, hold hands, and see the bright sky wash above us for hours. Hours upon hours, just like that. And be at perfect peace, too.

I know we could.

((I can’t believe Sharpen met someone hot and totally nice in the Mage Tower in Stormwind? Really? That was COOL.))

#sharpen-stories

[amethystpath-writes]

A Gentle Blade Part 14

Part 13 here

It's been a long while since I had a whump scene with Leera, but here we are.

TWs: Torture, mentions of death (of briefly mentioned character), mention of past abuse, nonconsensual touching towards end (brief mention), <-straddling ...(If I miss any lmk!)

Tag list: @tears-and-lilies

******

If wouldn't have mattered how long Sir Guard spoke; the queen wouldn't sleep until she hurt Leera. Rennera wouldn't say what she would do to her prisoner, but she did say Sir Guard wouldn't want to be there if he didn't torture. He would be there, whether he liked it or not; Leera wouldn't want to be alone. Or would she? Maybe she would be embarrassed if he were there.

It was too late to turn back now. Sir Guard was behind Rennera on the stairs to Leera's cell. If he turned back now... It would be cowardice to sleep in another room, away from the assassin who he was responsible for. He was the reason she was there. Sir Guard felt he needed to see Leera's torture, if not to make her feel better, then to punish himself.

"Knock, knock, my dearest assassin," the queen chuckled with high pitched hums. Sir Guard couldn't wrap his mind around the change in demeanor. Just earlier she had been talking about how she hated to hurt Leera, and any prisoner. She had just been talking about the abuse she went through, but now she was back to a sadistic torturer. How quickly she changed...then again, she had been silent the entire way from Sir Guard's room to the dungeons. She must have been preparing.

Leera whined like a dog preparing to be kicked by an abusive owner. Sir Guard had to look away from her before he did something he might have regretted more than what he'd already done. He turned his attention to the door, which he shut before taking up his usual space next to it. Sir Guard stared at the wall across from him. He hated that he couldn't plug his ears in order to stop hearing the assassin's harsh breathing.

"I have company in a few days," Rennera began to explain. "My conferences didn't go as expected so they will be visiting our great home. I'd like for you to be by my side." She spun on a heel to face Sir Guard. "You, too, my future king." He raised his brows. His lips parted, as well. Before he could say anything, the queen continued. "My assassin needs prepped in a particular way. I'm afraid you might coax my visitor's minds into helping you escape and I can't have that."

The assassin shook her head wildly. Sir Guard couldn't help but watch the panic on her face, the panic he ultimately caused. "I wouldn't. I won't. I promise I won't."

"Now, now." Rennera took lingering steps toward her captive. She bent at the waist, raising a sharpened nail to Leera's face. The assassin's eyes squeezed shut as she turned her head away in a series of small, nervous jerks. "You already agreed for our little session today. Best not to make it worse for yourself by begging, no?"

She nodded against the nail which barely touched her, but was still frightening nevertheless. Leera muttered a tiny, almost unheard, "Okay."

Sir Guard believed what all the queen had told him now. Even after the character change he witnessed, he believed her. She sounded evil, the way she suggested the assassin not beg, but it was that that Sir Guard caught onto, the piece that let him know Rennera really hated to hurt the assassin. She didn't want Leera to beg because that made it harder for her to pull through.

"Guard-" Sir Guard's attention snapped up if only because he was used to the assassin's nickname. He was fond of the name 'Sir Guard' now, though he felt bad that he never told Leera his real name. He almost did once before he came up with his best friend's name. "I need you to follow me. Bring the assassin. If she doesn't walk on her own, you drag her."

You're only saying that to prove your worthiness to your guard. But Rennera was a queen. Most people would have thought just owning the title would be enough. Sir Guard knew better. In some aspect he knew Rennera was doing the right thing, just as he had in some way; it didn't mean he liked her any more. He despised her as much as himself.

"Come, darling." The queen's black dress tailed her, dragging across the stone floor.

The other guard waited on Sir Guard with a bored expression. He quickly realized the queen was calling him darling. He shook his head, blinked a few times, and followed. It was difficult not to turn his head back to look at Leera who walked behind him.

"I can walk her," Sir Guard said, speaking to the man even further behind him than Leera. He turned his head just barely enough that he could see a little bit of the wall in his peripherals. It was safer Leera walk with him than the other guard. He seemed much more callous- certainly willing to drag her if she walked too slow like she nearly was.

"Her Majesty ordered me to walk her."

"She'll walk faster with me, and the queen hates waiting. I can hear her opening the door on the top step already. We're behind." He added. "And if you have not noticed, I am having to speak louder than I'd like because you and the prize are so behind."

To his surprise, it was Leera who responded. She gasped and the sound of footsteps ceased. "Please don't," she blurted and the guard behind her hummed in confusion.

"Keep walking."

"No, no, no. Please, you can't let him walk me. I'm going." But she wasn't moving.

"Walk. Now."

Leera continued to cry, unmoving on the stairs. What was she doing? Was she really afraid that Sir Guard would take over and hurt her? Was she scared of him now because he slapped her? She must not have trusted him anymore. Sir Guard reckoned he deserved it.

"Please," Her voice raised to a wail. Her body hit the hard stairs as the guard pushed her down.

"If that's not what you want, it's what you'll get," the guard said.

Then it struck Sir Guard. She was acting out because she wanted to be lead by him. It wasn't that she didn't trust him. It was that she did. Leera felt safe with him. Before he could smile, he gruffly demanded her, "Up, now. Let's go."

She scrambled passed him on all fours before standing and beginning to walk. She gave him no trouble, acted as if she were afraid stepping wrong would upset him. Her acting skills were coming along well.

The assassin turned her head once- before they could approach the queen- and mouthed a thank you, to which Sir Guard gave a long blink. He couldn't nod or else the man behind him would know something was going on.

Even if the queen didn't like hurting Leera, Sir Guard couldn't let her know that he cared for the assassin at all. If he showed that, Rennera would be forced to take action, and then neither he, nor Leera, would ever have a chance at leaving the palace.

Rennera tutted as she spotted Leera, then Sir Guard, and finally the other. "I don't suppose there were problems, my dearest assassin? It took you quite a while." She looked at her own dress, suggesting she should have been the slow one.

Sir Guard actually heard the assassin swallow. He said, "She only needed a little coaxing, Your Majesty. I think her fear in my presence merits enough as any amount of added punishment."

"Of course," was all the queen said in return.

The door was already open. Rennera stepped passed the threshold and the others followed her. Leera's harsh breathing was getting worse with every step. Sir Guard was afraid- but also hopeful- she would pass out before the queen could torment her.

He wondered what would happen if Leera did pass out first. Would the treatment be worse or better? It was hard to tell. On one hand- if she passed out- she wouldn't feel anything and it might be harder to tell when the queen should stop, so she might stop early. But this could also be the same reason that she hurt Leera more. Without the cries, Rennera might accidentally overdo it. The latter would be great for the queen, terrible for the assassin.

As the four of them walked across the royal rug of the throne room to another door and staircase, Sir Guard pondered further. This time, he thought about something the queen had mentioned earlier.

A hiccup in her meeting amongst the kings and generals of other kingdoms. They must not have believed she was worth her word and that was why she was so persistent now in fixing Leera up. It was an extra measure to assure others viewed her like her husband.

What did this all mean to him? Well, Rennera only ever referred to him as her 'future king'. He never had the confidence or preparation to tell her he didn't want to marry her. He would marry her if it kept Leera safe, or as safe as she could be. Sir Guard couldn't stop her from hurting, but he could at least be there to comfort her afterwards. If he refused Rennera when the time came, he couldn't be there. Maybe he could, but not in the way he needed to be. He would be no help to Leera if he was whipped until he was motionless and unconscious.

Sir Guard wondered what this next meeting would look like. The queen clearly had the intention of broadcasting Leera. How would he be shown though? Would Rennera demand he stay silent, be a puppy dog at her side to make her seem like a master of authority? Or would she expect him to be as evil as she was to Leera?

A door opened. The queen and crew flooded in. Two torches alongside the same wall as the door lit the room with flickering light. Various wooden tables scattered the open room, each with different...supplies on them. Most of which were metal. Most of which were stained various shades of red. Sir Guard felt as if one of those tools were pinching his lungs. He swallowed.

It felt selfish to think that he couldn't stay and watch. That feeling of selfishness was what made Sir Guard stay though. He needed to be here, in this...this Torture Room for Leera. And anyways, what kind of future king would he be if he couldn't stand to see prisoners like this?

I'm not this kingdom's future king. That's what he wanted to think, what he'd even say to Leera when she mentioned it at one point in time.

In all reality, or as reality spun on, the thought more or like became, I am the future king. I have to fill the old king's place. Not fully, of course. He could do as Rennera did; make the orders for guards to hurt the prisoners. But what if all of the prisoners are innocent, or they were forced into doing something?

Now again he thought of Leera. The assassin wasn't forced to be an assassin. From what he gathered from her poorly secreted self was that her father was taken prisoner and- as opposed to only being tortured- was killed while in captivity. Sir Guard assumed Leera became an assassin out of her own good will. She admitted she didn't kill for just anyone. 'I don't kill for people with overloaded bellies. I kill for the people whose ribs I can see, or can't see due to the loose fabric in place of skin' the assassin had said days ago. All in all, Leera wasn't forced to be an assassin, but even then she did the job only when it was fitting for the rest of society. Sometimes it backfired, like now as she was being wrestled onto a stone table. Sir Guard hated himself more than ever.

"I'll keep this simple," the queen practically announced.

Sir Guard couldn't tear his eyes away from Leera. She wasn't looking at him. He wondered if she hated him as much as he did himself. The assassin said before that she didn't hate him, but it was hard to believe, harder to believe than the queen actually being a semi-decent person.

"My future king has had many issues with you before, with your complaining and whimpers. So," She said the last word sharply, suddenly. "I have come up with an idea. I will use- hmm..."

Rennera moved on from the stone table to the nearest wooden one. Sir Guard still watched Leera all the while.

The assassin was held still by thick leather restraints bolted and strapped around the table. There was a seemingly new addition to the table. Sir Guard could tell it was new only by the fact it had no dirt or grime adorning it. It was a...a metal bracket, Sir Guard thought, and it was movable. By the looks of it, it was split in the center and pushed aside when not in use. However when someone lay down on the table, both sides were pushed together and locked in place on either side of the person's head. But why restrict the head?

As if on cue, the queen inhaled and released the breath with a sharp squeal as a shing- as well as some loud clunks- sounded throughout the room. Sir Guard's eyes finally left Leera to see a sharp short dagger glinting in the torchlight. The queen handed it off to the second guard in the room, the non-future king.

Rennera said to the guard now, "You'll cut lines in her lips- vertically. She won't give you trouble. Thank Bliss for new inventions."

That's why, Sir Guard thought mournfully. The torture would be done to Leera's mouth, and therefore her head needed to be as still as the rest of her body. It made him feel sick.

The other guard didn't waste a moment, already trying to figure out the easiest way to complete the task, which he didn't seem to mind doing at all. Sir Guard hoped he was only as great of an actor as everyone else in the room. He doubted it.

"Can I-" The guard gestured to the table, or Leera.

"Whatever will make this a speedy process," the queen answered, and the guard nodded, climbing on top of the table and straddling the assassin, looming over her with dagger in hand.

Leera tried to look away, but cried out as the metal brackets must have dug into her scalp. Sir Guard imagined there were spikes being driven into her head. He swallowed, watching, not saying a word- though he had many he wanted to say. The table was small enough that climbing on top was entirely unnecessary. The queen must have known this. Why did she agree? Sir Guard tried to think hopefully. Perhaps she is only trying to please her guard. Word will spread of cruel treatment of prisoners, but great treatment of the Guard.

"Get off of me!" Leera screeched at the man. "Get off!" She tried bucking her hips if only to knock him off balance, but his knees were well planted on either side of her and he only chuckled at the motion.

Pig, Sir Guard thought disgustedly.

Rennera said as Leera continued to protest, "Grab her mouth at the joints of her jaws."

The man followed instruction and Sir Guard quietly cursed himself. It was he who had done that and the queen caught onto it, using it to her advantage.

Every moment grew worse. Leera screamed and cried, begged between individual slices of skin made by the blade. Sir Guard wanted nothing more than to scoop her off of that stone table and carry into the very woods he found her in.

He considered what would have happened if he hadn't brought Leera back to the queen at all. Could they both have been free? No, of course not. The reason he brought the assassin to Rennera, he knew all along, was because there was no chance of freedom as long as Rennera wanted the assassin. The whole reason he brought her back was so that he had enough time to learn how to reason with the queen and convince her to release Leera. Nothing had changed. This was still the goal. It was just becoming slightly difficult now with the meeting of kings and generals coming up so soon-

No.

A thought struck Sir Guard. Rennera already stated he was to be at the meeting- most likely it would be a conversational dinner. What would happen if he was recognized by the others? The queen thought Sir Guard as only being a bounty hunter. She had no idea it was an act, one used to fool her into keeping him around. He refused to be Leera's guard at first only as a 'playing hard to get', though he didn't expect it would make him worthy of being her next king. Either way, to Rennera, Sir Guard being her king would be the first time he had experience with royalty. It wasn't, and that's why this next 'conference' as she called it would be so dangerous.

******

Part 15 here

#long post #part 14 #leera and rennera #leera the assassin #leera #rennera #rennera the queen #sir guard #whump #whumpee #whumper #royal whumper #assassin whump #caretaker #caretaker guard #lady whump #torture #death #past abuse #straddling #straddled #nonconsensual touching #original series #amwriting #a gentle blade

[ask-rijus-ocs]

Starter

[ There must be better ways to meet an interesting stranger than in the middle of the night during a storm. Yet, here he is.]

[ Twilight really didn't have a reason to go out this late. But like always, sleep evades him. And like always, he doesn't have anything better to do. So he heads outside. It's raining. He doesn't seem to mind it, despite the many, many times he's caught a cold from staying outside in the rain. Ordon is quiet. Unbearably quiet. ]

[The forest village is usually bustling. To see it silent is...different. He's not sure if he likes it. It brings back memories of when the kids were taken. ]

[ Epona is asleep. Thank Hylia. She has much better luck than him. Twilight pulls the fur hood over his head and walks into Faron Woods. Even in the dark of night, he knows exactly where he's going. He could probably close his eyes and end up in the exact same place. He's going to the bridge.]

[ Twilight doesn't know why he's going to the bridge, but he is. His feet have their own instinct, and he knows the forest both from seven feet up and kneeling to the ground. He cannot possibly be lost; simply wandering. He's about to pass by Faron Spring when he sees something. There's a shivering form in the water. Just from a glance, he can tell that the person is not from Ordon. Even Uli doesn't have hair that long. It would most certainly get in the way of work. ]

[ Twilight knows he can't leave them there. The protective instinct takes over, and suddenly his pace increases. They're asleep. Cold. Very cold. They've probably been laying in the water for a long while, there are petals mixed in with their golden hair. He doesn't have a towel, but he does have the pelt, which he quickly wraps around them. He's also soaked by now, and he's cold too, but like hell if he's about to be selfish and take it for himself. ]

[ "C'mon. Let's get you somewhere warm." He picks the young girl up, planning on heading back to Ordon. And then he hears it. Rustling, everywhere. Perhaps if not for his acute hearing, he wouldn't have noticed, but here we are. Twilight places her back down (on dry land this time, of course) and turns up to face the sky. Is that a...tail? Hm. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword, almost by reflex. And then, they jump.]

[ "Lizalfos. Just as expected." Twilight has the Ordon Sword out in an instant. Water is where Lizalfos are most mobile, but he can handle it. There's a lot of them. One,two, three, four, five....nine. Nine Lizalfos. In the rain. Hylia must really hate me, Twilight suspects. ]

[ The brunette attaches his shield fast enough to where he has time to get into stance. Two rush at him, and boy having the Bow or his Gale Boomerang with him would be real helpful right about now, but his past self assumed with naiveté that it would just be a harmless midnight walk. He's lucky he never lets go of his sword, otherwise he'd be dead. ]

[ Twilight's able to kick the first one to the ground before the second one gets to him, which he goes for the arm, and misses. Why'd it have to be midnight? Why now? He's saved Hyrule once before, can't he just be left alone? Perhaps it is his insomnia getting to him, but he's getting quite fed up with this. ]

[ He lands a hit the second time, and uses the pommel of his blade to slow down the third Lizalfos. An arrow hits his shield. Wait, an arrow? They have bows now? Oh, wonderful. Just wonderful.]

[ First is back up again, so he prepares for a helm splitter. That one's fast, so it dodges the head hit, but he's able to hit it from behind once he lands. Next comes the fifth, sixth, and seventh. They hold off for a few moments, and Twilight holds his blade out to his side in warning. They don't take it. Too bad. He releases a spin attack, sending all three stumbling backwards. An arrow hits his shield arm. Great. Just great. ]

[ He doesn't have any ranged attacks on him except for...Slingshot! How did he remember to take his slingshot and not his bow?! Stupid! Ugh, never mind, it'll have to do. He has to awkwardly tuck his sword under his arm so that he can use both hands. Good Hylia, it hurts to use an arm when you've got an arrow stuck in it, but he has a high pain tolerance, and so he manages. The last two bow wielding lizalfos fall to the ground and exchange their weapon for the swords of their fallen comrades. ]

[ Twilight has to straight up drop the Slingshot just so he has enough time to meet the Lizalfos in a sword lock. After it backs off, Twilight rolls behind the second one and performs a Back Slice. It's not as great as it could have been thanks to that goddess-damned arrow in his arm, but it hits just as well, and it's cause enough for the Lizalfos to retreat. He must've waited there for a solid ten minutes before he finally sheathed his sword. He's always tense after battle. ]

[ "It'll keep the wound sealed up until I can get back to the house, but it's gonna hurt like hell once I try to take it out. But I can't worry Rusl with this..." Twilight inspects the wound. If it gets infected, though, that's a different story. Hm. Well, thankfully, the girl is fine. He'll have to carry her only using one arm, but he'll manage. ]

[ The walk to the house is uneventful and painful. Putting all that weight on one shoulder made it hurt just as much as his arm.]

[ The sun is up by now. That fight must've taken a while. And now, another problem presents itself - how to get her up the ladder. At this point, he might as well just go to Rusl's place. Hmm.... If he can hold the ladder with his hurt arm well enough, then maybe. Twilight carefully ascends up the ladder, finally making it up to the door. ]

[ He sets her down on the bed, making sure she's warm enough. Hypothermia is something he knows well, and for someone with a child-like form to have to go through that is troubling. He wonders how she got here, and why she was laying out like that. ]

[ The next ordeal is his arm. He cleans the wound before taking out one of his spare daggers to cut the lodged in part. Renado has done this so many times that it's like instinct, but it's hard without anyone to hold out his arm or use the scalpel. He misses when Midna could just magic the arrowhead out and all he'd need to do was heal his skin afterwards. But alas.]

[ A pitiful wince escapes him as he pulls out the arrowhead. He'd been trying his hardest to stay quiet so she could sleep, but still. "Okay. Now to wrap it," He doesn't have any gauze, so he reaches into his dresser and uses one of his shirts to wrap it. There. He swaps his heavier arm guard onto that side for more protection in case it gets hurt again. ]

[ "Mm?" The girl sits up a few hours later, to find Twilight sharpening his blade. "Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you." He looks up, placing the sword by his side after her panicked reaction. "Where.. Are we?" She looks around, baffled. "This is Ordon Village. It's my house." He explains calmly. ]

[ "Did you bring me here?" She adjusts herself on the bed, taking off the hood. Twilight nods. "You were passed out in the spring, it was raining. What were you doing out there?" He asks. "I found a portal while i was traveling. Took me here, but I got real dizzy and I think I passed out." She rubs her head. A portal? Strange. He decides to leave out the part about the Lizalfos to not worry her. ]

[ "Where's Roxy?" She searches her things. "?" "Roxy. Small fox, like 2'4", green eyes?" She explains. "Never seen them. Sorry." Twilight shakes his head. "Ah... " The girl looks nervous. "What's your name? Oh, right, uh, I should introduce myself first. I'm Carly Elizabeth Parker-Callisto. Uh... but just Carly works!" Carly nods. "I'm Li- Twilight." He corrects himself. He doesn't like his old name much anymore. ]

[ "Hm?" Carly pulls out something from her bag. "These quests weren't on the Slate before..." She swipes across the screen. "The Slate?" Twilight is confused. "A sheikah slate! It stores all my things, and I write quests down on here." Carly explains, holding it out in front of her. "Main Quest: Answer Questions... Side Quest:Find Roxy..." She cites it. "That's weird. I didn't put these in here." Carly scratches her head.]

[ "Answer questions? We don't have time for tests. It'd be best if you could get home as soon as possible. Where are you from?" Twilight sighs. "Lurelin Village! It's right here." Carly pulls up a map on her Sheikah Slate, handing it to him. "Never heard of it before. Actually, this whole map seems really off. Snowpeak is behind Zora's Domain, after all." He squints. ]

[ "Well, until I can get back home, I don't think it'd hurt if we answered a few.." Carly seems to like the idea. "I - I guess it'll be okay. But only until we can find your pet and get you back home." Twilight rubbed at his temple. "I think it'll be fun!" She smiles. Fun. Right.]

// Carly and Twilight are now open for asks! I will open up new characters as they appear.

- Mun Riju

#loz #Zelda #TP #Twilight Princess #TP Link #Twilight #botw #Carly Callisto #oc #asks open #a chance encounter // beginning arc #if there's anything else I need to tag this as lmk

[jungcupid-archive]

i dare you (to never let me go)

pairing: jungkook x jimin               jungkook x taehyung (subplot)

summary: and after all that had passed, jungkook would always be pulled back to jimin. he didn’t know why, maybe it was fate (or maybe it was his 9-year-old daughter).

chapter: 4/?

+

    “Mina!” Jungkook sang as he closed the front door, “I’m home and I’m ready to party!”

     Jungkook felt terrible about leaving Mina alone for so long, not to mention extremely anxious, so he planned to spend as much time as possible with Mina for the rest of her birthday. Hopefully, she’d be up for Cheesy Cheesecakes today.

     “Daddy!” Mina exclaimed from the living room, she came running to the door and Jungkook crouched down to receive her hug. “I missed you!”

      Jungkook kissed the top of Mina’s head and murmured a quiet “I missed you too” into her hair. He took a look at her watery eyes and gave her a soft smile.

      “Did you read the letter?” Mina nodded and her eyes glinted in a fashion Jungkook had never seen before. Without saying anything, she reached for his hand and tugged his fist open.

     “This is so pretty,” Mina said absentmindedly while stroking the silver ring on Jungkook’s finger. He’d taken to wearing the wedding ring around a chain on his neck now so that it was closer to his heart, but he’d never quite found it in himself to take off that particular ring.

     Suddenly, Mina’s gaze sharpened and she looked up from Jungkook’s hand and into his eyes, “Is this your engagement ring?”

     Jungkook tried not to frown, Mina had never asked about his ring before. He thought back to the letter and wondered exactly what Taehyung had told her. “No, sweetheart, it’s from an old friend of mine.”

     “Really? Who? You don’t really have any friends here,” Mina cocked her head to the side inquisitively and Jungkook couldn’t help but think that she was asking a question she already knew the answer to. He stood up and slipped off his shoes, taking long steps towards the stairs with Mina patiently walking beside him.

     “What did your Daddy tell you?” Jungkook asked suspiciously, tickling Mina’s side. She swatted him away while giggling.

     “You know I’m not going to tell you! Come on, talk to me Daddy! You weren’t here all day,” Mina tugged on Jungkook’s arm as they climbed up the stairs. Jungkook scoffed, wondering if Mina had been taking online guilt-tripping classes lately.

     “Fine, he was just a friend from somewhere else. We knew each other when were in high school… and in University.” Jungkook came to a stop at the top of the stairs and looked at his fingers, he twisted the ring a couple of times and then caught himself, letting his hand fall back down. He wasn’t ready to talk to this Jimin about that Jimin. Not yet, anyways.

     When they arrived in his bedroom, Mina started tugging on his hand again, “Then where was he from? And you can’t not tell me, it’s my birthday!”

     “Well,” Jungkook picked Mina up and put her on the chair next to his mirror, “that’s the thing. I don’t know. Let’s leave it at that, okay?” Jungkook quickly changed out of his clothes and ran a hand through his hair to let it run wild again. God, he hated styling it for work. He always looked so old.

      “Now, as I recall, I still owe someone a trip to Cheesy Cheesecakes!” Jungkook smiled slyly and picked Mina up, feigning a groan as he did. “You’re getting too tall to carry, Min-ah.”

     “Maybe you’re just out of shape,” Mina shot back, sticking out her tongue. “Daddy, we’ll go to Cheesy Cheesecakes later tonight. Right now, I want to dance!”

      Jungkook held Mina with one arm and pulled out his phone to check the time with the other. It was only 12:30. Once they’d reached the bottom of the stairs, Jungkook put her down and bowed, “As you wish m’lady. Go down, I’ll be there soon. I’ve just got to call Grandma, okay?”

     He picked up the phone and dialed, holding it to his ear as he watched Mina open the door to the basement and skip down the stairs.

     9 years old, huh? Maybe he was getting old.

 -

     Mina was already prancing and spinning around when Jungkook ended his call and joined her in their at-home studio. When Mina had first started dancing, Jungkook had decided to create a space for her where she could practice. The basement was perfect, seeing as no one used it. He’d had the flooring done and had placed a large glass mirror on one wall. The installation had cost him most of his good-quality paints, some luxury brand clothes he’d gotten as gifts back in University and about one third of his gold jewelry but seeing Mina’s face light up at the sight of her very own practice studio was priceless.

      He remembered the day after everything had been installed. Jungkook had whipped out his cheap acrylics and with Mina’s help, had decorated the walls with random doodles and words. It felt less empty to have pieces of themselves on the walls.

     Mina was bopping along to the music without a care in the world. No matter how many times he saw her, Mina never failed to impress him with how talented she was despite her young age. She moved with the grace of a seasoned professional and knew so many different styles of dance that it was getting hard for Jungkook to keep track of them all.

     Jungkook hadn’t been crazy about dance himself until University. Until Jimin. Jimin had taught him how to move with the music instead of to the music, he’d realized how relaxing it was. How good it felt to be caught up in a routine. When Mina had showed some interest in dance, Jungkook had enrolled her into ballet classes. Somehow, she mastered the basics and went on to learn some more advanced stuff in just under a year. After that, he put her in any class she wanted. She’d done jazz, quickstep, ballroom, lyrical, and so many more. Currently, she was enrolled in hip-hop, which she was picking up just as fast as she’d picked up the other styles.

     Mina never took off her tutu from ballet, though. She always wore it in every class she attended despite getting reprimanded several times for arriving in inappropriate attire. She wore it over sweatpants and shorts and tights and jeans, in fact, she was wearing it right now.

     Jungkook crept behind her and picked her up swiftly, swinging her from side to side and making her laugh uncontrollably. She fought her way to the ground and began striking poses to the beat that had Jungkook throwing back his head to laugh at. The music was loud, almost overpowering. Mina had set it to the highest possible volume, but it had never bothered the two of them.

     They danced together for so long that eventually, Jungkook had to turn the music down and force Mina to take a break. He rolled her a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and got on for himself. They sat down with their backs to the mirror and Jungkook rolled the bottle up and down his legs, eyes closing in satisfaction at the DIY massage. Mina tapped on Jungkook’s knee and he opened his eyes, looking at her.

     “Let’s play a game!”

     “Are you serious?” Jungkook laughed. He poured a tiny amount of cold water into his hand and gently rubbed Mina’s face with it, wiping her sweat clean. She dried her face with her sleeve and nodded.

     “Yeah! But, like, a low-energy one because you’re old and tired,” Mina shrugged her shoulders when Jungkook, offended, put a hand to his chest. “I only tell the truth.”

     Jungkook pressed his water bottle to his neck one last time and then placed it beside him, “Alright, what do you want to play with this old and tired man?”

     “A word game! We learned it at school. So basically, I say something and you have to say the first thing that pops into your mind when you hear it, okay?”

     Jungkook, confused (but not that confused, because he never really understood kids’ games anyways), nodded, “Okay, shoot.”

     “Dance!”

     “Tired.”

     “Cake!”

     “Cheese.”

     “Mina!”

     “Love.”

     Mina poked Jungkook’s belly, “Don’t be a sap. Um, art!”

     “Feeling.”

     “Jimin!”

     “Park.” Jungkook paused, turning to look at Mina.

      “Park Jimin? Who’s that?” Mina asked innocently. Jungkook groaned internally and reprimanded himself for being so stupid. “Daddy?”

     “It’s… that’s not what I meant, um. I meant park as in a playground? Because your name is Jimin, right? And you always go to the park-”

     “Not that often.”

     “Well, yeah, but you do go so-”

     “The best grandma in the entire world has arrived, my babies,” a voice called from the stairs. They both turned to look at Hyejung coming down the stairs with a box in her hand. “Happy birthday, Mina!”

     Jungkook thanked the gods for his mother and her impeccable timing. Mina ran to Hyejung and gasped when she saw the box.

     “A Cheesy Cheesecake?!” She shrieked in delight and threw her arms around Hyejung. Jungkook smiled at her in greeting and was met with a raised eyebrow. Clearly, she’d heard some of their conversation. Jungkook shook his head and waved a hand dismissively, getting up from his position. Mina seemed to be telling Hyejung something and when they pulled apart, Hyejung had a sly look on her face.

     She beckoned Jungkook over, took a sniff of his shirt and instantly recoiled.

     “It’s like you’re a pre-teen all over again, do you even put on deodorant?” Hyejung asked, handing him the cake box.

     “Of course I do! We’ve been dancing for 2 hours, mom, what did you expect?” Jungkook huffed, leading the two of them upstairs.

     “I expected you to have bathed before I arrived so as not to hinder my sensory experience in your household. Did you know associating bad smells with certain places make you not want to go there anymore?” Hyejung gestured to Mina to go to the kitchen and then turned back to Jungkook, “Go take a shower.”

     Jungkook nearly laughed in disbelief, “You’re kidding, right? Where are you pulling these facts from? I demand to see proof – mom! Stop walking away!”

     “If I see you before it’s been a full hour, I’m sending you back,” Hyejung called over her shoulder. She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Jungkook to trudge up the stairs.

     “That’s a waste of water,” he muttered uselessly, but headed to his room to grab a towel and some clothes nonetheless.

 -

     “The curious case of Park Jimin is what I call it,” Mina declared, shoving another piece of Cheesecake in her mouth. She was sitting on top of the island, her feet on the stool and the cake on her lap. She couldn’t believe her Daddy refused to talk about Park Jimin so intently, all her efforts were going down the drain! Mina looked at her Grandma, who seemed to still be processing the information she’d just been bombarded with.

     “We need to find him, grandma. Do you think we can?” Mina felt helpless. How was she supposed to find a man who didn’t want to be found? She violently put another piece of cake into her mouth.

     “Mina, slow down,” Hyejung warned with wary eyes, “And I’m not sure. It’s been many years since I last spoke to him and he was never clear about his past. I can only think of one way to try, but it’s a longshot.”

      She thought for a minute with her eyes closed and then opened them back up, looking straight at Mina, “Alright, we need to find a way to get your daddy to leave. Can you do that?”

      Mina’s fingers tingled with excitement and she straightened up, a chaotic grin planting itself on her face. “Oh yeah, don’t worry about that.”

     “Tomorrow?”

     “Tomorrow.”

     Mina scanned the counter for the phone and grabbed it from its position, placing her cake to the side. She had a call to make.

     Jungkook couldn’t stop thinking about Park Jimin.

     Losing a best friend was painful enough on its own but thinking that you were over it and then being reminded of said best friend only to find that you were not, in fact, over it was a different kind of painful.

     Jungkook towel-dried his wet hair and looked at himself in the mirror. He had noticeable dark circles under his eyes and a few wrinkles were visible near the corners of his mouth. Although his skin still looked young, he couldn’t help but think it was a trick. One of those “look too closely and you’ll see what’s really underneath the exterior” illusions. Jungkook felt tired. Period. He’d been so caught up at the office lately and keeping up with the energy of a 9-year-old was no easy feat. It was Mina’s birthday today, though, and Jungkook wanted to be there for her. Especially because of his absence in the morning.

     Jungkook briefly let himself wonder where Jimin was right now. Whether or not he had a family of his own, if he was worried about getting old and examining the lines on his face, if he thought about Jungkook from time to time. Before his mind could take him any further, Jungkook snapped out of it. His daughter would have his undivided attention today, not anybody else. He hung his towel to dry and slipped out of the bathroom.

     As soon as Jungkook reached downstairs, he groaned. “Mom! You’re not supposed to let her have dessert before dinner! You know she gets too full and doesn’t eat her dinner and then it takes forever to get her to sleep because she’s too high on sugar.”

     Hyejung checked her watch and nodded in approval, “One hour and two minutes. Good job.”

     “Mother,” Jungkook said reproachfully. Hyejung just shrugged.

     “I tried to stop her.”

     “No you didn’t!” Mina exclaimed, scandalized. Jungkook tugged the box out of her hands only to find there was only one piece left about an inch wide. He sighed and silently accepted his future of having to a wrestle a slightly crazed Mina into bed.

     After discussing why Hyejung had brought the cake (“I picked it up on my way here because I love my granddaughter.”) and why she’d allowed Mina to eat all of it (“It’s her birthday, of course I’m letting her eat it all. You not getting any is an added bonus.”), Jungkook flicked Mina on the forehead and sat down on a stool next to his mother.

     “You know,” Hyejung started in a tone Jungkook hadn’t heard a lot of since high school, “Mina’s 9 now.”

     Jungkook, knowing what was about to come next, replied, “Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to count.”

     Hyejung twisted Jungkook’s earlobe without looking at him and continued speaking, ignoring his cries of pain, “Maybe it’s time you get out there again. Start dating.”

     Jungkook rubbed his poor ear and looked to Mina for sympathy, she snorted and made a move towards the cake again. Traitor.

     “Mom, you know I don’t want that.”

     “I think you do.”

     “You can’t possibly know what goes on in my head-”

     “When your father left us, I started dating someone else within a week.”

     Jungkook held back from rolling his eyes, “Okay, first of all, you got divorced. Do I have to bring up why you got divorced in front of my daughter for you to come to your senses?” Jungkook’s father had left his mother because his mother, as it turned out, had “fallen in love” with another man. Jungkook’s father found out and a week after he left them, Hyejung started dating the other man. A week after that, they broke up. So sue Jungkook for not taking relationship advice from his mother seriously.

     He’d never blamed his mom for driving his father away, though. He’d always been a major dick.

     Hyejung cleared her throat, “I would like if you refrained from doing so.” Jungkook raised his eyebrow in a that’s-what-I-thought kind of way.

     “You’ve got a date tomorrow.” Jungkook whipped his head up to look at Mina. She licked her fork clean, placed it in the box and slid across the island to sit right in front of Jungkook. Her expression was nonchalant, bored, even.

     “How… what?” Jungkook asked, dumbfounded. He was too afraid to address how Mina even knew what a date was. “Since when do you set me up on dates?”

     Mina grinned devilishly and ruffled Jungkook’s hair like he was some sort of puppy, “Since Jisung from school told me that his mom thought you were really cute!”

     Jungkook felt like the 9-year-old instead of Mina, being talked to like this. He tugged Mina’s hand away from his hair and looked at her, squinting suspiciously. 

     “Did Jisung ask you out or something?”

     “Daddy! Not the point! Also, ew! The point is that you’re going on a date with his mom tomorrow, deal?” Jungkook didn’t know what to do. In the span of a minute or so, he’d learned that not only did Mina know what a date was but, she’d started playing cupid for him. Maybe it wasn’t that hard to believe, considering what he, himself, had known when he was her age. The school field was more educational than any teacher at that age.

      Maybe he should talk to her teacher about the students in her class…

    Jungkook sighed. Or maybe, that was his crazy parent brain talking. Exposure from the outside world was always good, he knew that, he just didn’t want Mina learning anything that was inaccurate, inappropriate or inconsiderate. Ah yes, the three ‘in’s.

     It’s not that Jungkook was uncomfortable with the idea that Mina was growing up, he just… didn’t want it to happen. He wanted Mina to be his kid forever. She never asked about her real parents, was never impolite and always came to him to talk about things she couldn’t talk to anybody else about. Jungkook would obviously tell Mina about her parents if she wanted that, and he’d respect her privacy and need for space when the time came, but he didn’t want her to grow apart from him.

     Maybe it was selfish, but he thought he could afford to be a little selfish when it came to his daughter.

     “So, you set me up. On a date. Tomorrow.”

     “Yup. I called Jisung and you and his mom are supposed to meet at that coffee place near the school tomorrow at 10 in the morning. So get some sleep! Big day tomorrow!” Mina’s eyes sparkled with something more than excitement.

     Jungkook felt a little blindsided and could only murmur something about “…birthday… stay up… party… only 4 o’clock…” as Hyejung pushed him away, telling him to go to bed.

     “I’ll get her ready for bed when it’s time. And I’ll lock up before I go,” Hyejung assured him.

     Jungkook shook his head, wondering if this was some alternate universe, but obliged and went to brush his teeth nonetheless.

     He couldn’t do this. He just couldn’t. Starting out with someone new like this after all these years, it just didn’t feel right. He didn’t know how to protest, though. He didn’t have anything to do tomorrow and saying that he wanted to spend the day with his daughter would earn him a tiny fist in his arm and a bruised ego after being called different variations of “lame”. He felt nowhere near ready, but he couldn’t let Mina down.

     As soon as Jungkook had finished brushing his teeth, he practically threw his bedroom door wide open and melted underneath his sheets. Exhaustion took over in a matter of seconds, pulling at his eyelids in a way he’d been restraining them from doing for the past month. Sleep took him before he knew it.

 -

     “So, that was the plan?”

     “Yeah! Now you have to tell me your plan.”

     Hyejung nodded and pulled Mina into her side, sinking into the couch to get more comfortable.

     “Okay, sweetheart, here’s the deal…”

 -

     The next morning, Mina and Hyejung were bent on herding Jungkook out of the house as quick as they could.

     “Mother, at least let me put my socks on!” Jungkook was struggling to sit on the edge of his bed as Mina pushed him from behind and Hyejung nagged him about being late from in front of him. His voice was reaching an indignant squeak.

     Hyejung had arrived at exactly 8:30 AM and had proceeded knock for 2 minutes straight on Jungkook’s door to wake him up. He’d opened his door with murder evident in his bleary eyes and had been promptly tossed into the bathroom, a towel and some clothes thrown in right after him. Then, for the final touch, Mina had popped up from nowhere and had given him a little wave before closing the door and yelling at him to put on some cologne.

     They were insane, Jungkook decided as he finally pulled his left sock on and speed-walked out the room. Certifiably insane.

     “Come on, daddy! You can’t let Jisung down! Or his dad. His dad is probably more important not to let down, okay let’s go!” Mina shoved Jungkook out the door as soon as he’d put his shoes on and Jungkook looked at her and his mother standing in the doorway.

     “You really want me gone that fast?” Jungkook asked, trying not to wince at the faint ringing of truth in his voice.

     Hyejung’s eyes crinkled in amusement, but her lips remained flat. She waved her hands airily, “Nonsense, we just want you to have fun.”

     “Good luck!” Mina yelled happily, then she promptly shut the door. Jungkook felt like he was going to throw up. He hadn’t been on a date since Taehyung passed. That was… a lot of time. Yet it didn’t feel like enough. He squared his shoulders, re-tucked his shirt into his jeans and began walking to the coffee shop. Just a few hours, he’d get through this. For Mina.

+

#jikook #kookmin #jikook fics #jikook fanfics #jikook fanfiction #kookmin fics #kookmin fanfics #kookmin fanfiction #jimin #jungkook #jeon jungkook #park jimin #jimin fanfiction #jungkook fanfiction #bts ships #bts fics

[forevrnotyours]

Could you do an Werewolf! Yandere! Ot7 reaction to you being their mate but you're human and have a boyfriend already? Thanks, I love your works and can't wait for more!💞💞💞

I know this is super late but I hope you like it, it's a little long though.

Thanks for the love 💜💞💕💝💜💘💗💓💟💖❣️

Seokjin

It was weird, that the most precious and intoxicating scent found his path to him the day he was in the city.

Normally Jin hated everything to do with humans, or at least great groups of them, with the mixed and plastic scents of perfumes and all those products they liked to used, combined with the smell of their food and trash that surrounded the cities, he really didn’t like being in the urban area, but today was a necessity, beside the things the pack needed, he found himself dazed when a certain person walked by not too far from him. The crisp air of November carrying more than the scent of the dead leaves.

It was you, he looked at your figure from afar and almost ran trough a couple of persons just to keep on looking at you. It was unlucky, yes, he wasn't fond of humans, but his instincts never had failed him before, you were his already, it was just matter of time before you learned that.

Jin followed you, to a park, grateful that there was a lot of people enjoying the autumn scenery so he could pass as just another person taking a walk. You were stunning, soft skin, full lips that smiled at strangers when they walked by and soft hair partially covered by a beanie, he could eat you then and there, but it was human territory, he would have to reach for you when you were alone. His possessiveness growing with each second of not feeling your bad y against his.

What happened next tough, made his blood boil and eyes darken, deep red sipping trough dark brown. You met a man in a bench not too far from where he was hiding, the man looked at you with a smile, and next thing he knew you were kissing him on the lips, it was chaste and short in the eyes of the other but for him it was a declaration of war.

How dare he, to touch your skin and Form, to breath the same air as you, that filthy undeserving human. You were HIS and he dares to touch you.

So Jin waited, and looked at you from afar for days on end, anger building more and more each day even one day when he found out you lived with your so-called boyfriend, he ripped and destroyed anything on his path until he calmed down. That day he was sure to demand blood when the occasion of taking you came.

After weeks of stalking you and watching Form afar, his plan was set, a spare key you had "lost" gave him the entrance to your home, it was late and he had seen you sleeping alone just minuets before, your boyfriend was downstairs still working or something, he didn’t really cared.

"y/n?" called the human when Jin entered the house, the quiet sound of the back door closing making the other perk up, Jin got closer to him, the other standing up, about to go inspect the cause of the sound when he pounced on him.

-

Warm, that’s what you felt when your senses started to wake up, warm and gentle hands pushing your hair out of your face, you smiled and hummed about to speak when you opened your eyes. Terror filled your mind, words dying in your mouth, Jin was hovering over you, blood coating his mouth and neck, other traces of the red liquid all over his face and form, you didn’t screamed, you felt paralyzed, red eyes were looking down at you with a fondness that suffocated you "wake up y/n" he said smiling down at you "it’s time to go home"

Min Yoongi

Yoongi sighed, tired out of his mind, sure werewolves cold last a lot more than humans without sleep or food, but he had been living of way too many coffee cups so he could finish some work lately and running three days without sleep was taking his toll, so he went to a cafeteria close by, a place he normally tried to aloud at all costs, the smell of greasy him and trash food and way too many bodies inside such a small place never sat well with his hypersensitive nose.

Today tough, he could do an exception after all it was two in the morning in a December day, so it would be almost or totally empty, besides, Jin had given him a mask that had scent blockers, so he could just order his food to take away and leave. However it did next to nothing when he entered the cafeteria and all he could smell were baked bread with rain.

It was a mixed thing, but it made him almost dizzy, canines sharpening and instincts screaming at him to find the source and mate.

He looked around frantically; how he predicted the place was empty with the exception of a pair of people on their laptops on one corner. And he knew they weren’t the source of the scent, so that left you, how was standing behind the bar, talking with a guy who was just entering the kitchen leaving you all alone.

He didn’t move, but when the other was out of sight you turned around looking at him and smiling, despite the hour and his shady looks "goodnight, take a seat and I’ll be with you in a second" you said smiling once more.

You were drop dead gorgeous, god he didn’t even knew you existed before but you were already everything he wanted. That night he stayed for the longest time, ordering coffee after coffee and pretending to do something with his phone, in reality he looked at you from his spot on one of the almost hidden tables on one side, it was when your turn was over that he realized he had stayed for way too long, and when he followed you outside the scene in front of him made him growl, it was early in the morning and the traffic was just starting so you didn’t hear it, nor your boyfriend, the guy was waiting for you outside and he had hugged you and kissed you before opening the car door for you, it made him bit his lip hard enough to taste blood so he could keep himself from snarling at him.

He would say that he kept control, that he got the guts to talk to you like a normal being and that he didn’t stalk you every waking moment he could, but then he would be lying, he had photos of you in his room, cliché but it was necessary, if he couldn’t have you in that moment at least he had your photos, besides he had a scarf one day when you left it behind at work. God he lived for those things because every time you were outside work you were with your boyfriend or some friends, so he started to plan on how to get you, your boyfriend had to go that was point number one, second he would need to take you to the pack house, because staying in the city was way too much trouble. So with that in mind he got to work.

You were clueless the night he took you, it was easy, you were innocent sometimes, now he just had to get rid of a body.

Hoseok

For all in his live, Hoseok couldn’t live peacefully in the city, sure Jungkook was a city wolf when he was little and yes sometimes they had meetings in some cities but those were far apart and a rare event, this time though, the maknaes old pack had invited them to spend some days with them, something about growing relationships and maybe some treading, but for the love of the moon itself, he couldn’t have blink of sleep in all the time they’ve been there.

One of this nights tough he walked aimlessly, sure he could actually endure more sleepless nights than a human but it took it’s toll, so after a while he let his legs lead him wherever, in his half sleep state he didn’t realize he was following the undertone of the most beautiful and satisfying scent he could ever dream of, sure he was taken out of it when he hit a post, just in time to see you.

So he walked, every night around 2 am he would get fed up and go for a walk around the city, truth to be told he didn’t find anything fantastic about the place, it smell bad, it was full of rotting smelling humans who like to use way too much of their scented products to cover they true smell, it was noisy way to much, it was no wonder why he could sleep and their lights made it incapable to see the stars at night which was a completely sin in his eyes.

You were alone walking, God you were so beautiful, the god forsaken lights were for this once a blessing, the soft light shined on you like rain, soft and warm, idly illuminating your features, you were walking alone, much like him, wandering the city in the dead of the night.

He followed you to a park where you sat down in a bench, the moon was high up in the sky and he swore that you were the most ethereal thing in the world, Hoseok after several minutes of inner battle walked up to you with a tentative smile, you were his mate after all, he wanted to make a good impression "hi" he said cursing himself in his head for his choice of words, you confused said the same "I was just wondering if I, if I could sit down with you?" he said with a tentative tone and a blush in his cheeks, you were enchanted with the shy stranger so you nodded and made space for him to sit by your side. After some time in silence you decided to talk "couldn’t sleep?" you asked breaking the silence and making him jump a little in surprise which made you smile "no, not really, there’s too much noise" he said turning to look at you, you smiled at him "I suppose you’re not from around here then" he shook his head, still mesmerized by your beauty "I’m very far from home actually" he said "then what brings you -" your phone Rang making both of you jump in surprise, you took your phone out of your pocket a different kind of smile gracing your lips making Hoseok frown, "oh sorry it’s my boyfriend, he must be worried about me" you said standing up "give me a second yeah" you said before picking up.

Boyfriend? What did you mean by boyfriend? You were his mate, you were his and he was yours, so why?

"sorry about that" you apologized taking him out of his reverie "I need to go back home, it was a pleasure to meet you though" you said smiling apologetically, he stood up in a flash hand graving yours, you felt sparks were he touched you and you looked at him surprised "please don’t go" he said pleadingly "sorry but I need to go back" you said a little creeped out because of his actions, you tried to take your hand our of his grasp but it wasn’t working "I can’t let you go, I won’t "

Namjoon

"Namjoon hyung please" Jimin said to the elder puppy eyes in full power making Namjoon groan, that wasn’t fair play and the other knew it "okay, just this once" he said following the shorter outside the pack house, Jimin wanted to go to a store in the far end of the city and because of the abundant hunters and mingling creatures he had to go with someone older, this time Namjoon was the one to go with him.

Sure it all came with its advantages when in a store filled of rare plants and ingredients for tonics he smelled setting else mingling in it, Jimin was the one talking to the person being the bar and that when he realized that it was you the one who was destined to be with him for the rest of his life.

You were a little dirty, he didn’t really knew why, your short hair was partially hidden with some kind of brown beret hat, you looked totally squishable in an adorable way, he was mesmerized with your dark eyes and soft smile, he was a goner in seconds.

He was about to talk to you, calling for you, even when he didn’t knew your name, but someone else belated him at that "y/n love, do you know where the last batch of bloodroot is?" a man said coming from the back of the store making him halt, love? Who was he to call you love?

He left without a word then, dragging Jimin with him, he had your name, that was something, he had the name of where you worked and the image of the scum that was around you, that was enough for a start.

He followed you every day, learning tour routine to the last step, he learned the name of the scum that lived with you and called you love, he learned what toy liked to do, how you acted when you were annoyed or happy, how you would smile so big and unbothered that your eyes would almost close.

He learned everything there was to learn about you and almost sighed in reveal to your purity in that way, at least he had the most important of the first saved for him still, one day tough it wasn’t enough.

You were oh so beautiful when you were sleep dead to the world and unaware of the monstrosities that happened not so far from you, he had blood in his hands still when he took you away to your destined home.

Jimin

Jimin sighed, he was getting ready to go out with some friends, sure it wasn’t so bad, but he had hoped for a long sleep instead of partying, but that wasn’t the case, so he swallowed his thoughts and got ready going to the club with his friends and hoping at least to get drunk, it wasn’t as easy with them being werewolves but if he drank enough strong drinks at least he could get dizzy.

So he resigned and forgot about his empty bed at home, drinking with his hyungs was at least easy and pleasant so he let himself go. It was actually a couple of hours later when he noticed the scent, he was in the center of the dancing floor enjoying himself when it hit him. Mate his instincts screamed at him making him halt in his movements while looking around frantically, his mate was here, in the same place. So he trailed the scent not caring of the bodies surrounding him, until he found you.

You had tight black pants that made his mouth water and the lights shined on you like you were the star of the night. To be true you were his in that moment, it was broken way too quickly when he noticed another human, a girl putting his arms around you in a way too intimate way for his liking, a growl scape him but it was drowned in the music, that night he watch you from afar, chest puffed out in anger, he understood you were human, you couldn’t possibly know the implications of him being your mate, still it made him shake with contained rage.

He followed you outside, you were still with that girl now kissing and it took him all in his power to not rip that girl away from you and paint the floor with her blood. He watched how both of you went to an apartment, it was rather small and hidden which was perfect for him. He watched you from afar for days, taking pictures and stealing some clothes the times he could get inside your apartment, he planed and waited for the perfect time, and with patience he for rid of that abomination that you called partner and made her suffer the right amount for touching what was rightfully his, that night after finishing your lover he went after you. He wasn’t about to let you get out of his sight again.

Taehyung

Tae was an outgoing and friendly werewolf, the last part hidden for the public for obvious reasons, he had friends everywhere and every time he met someone new he hoped to find his soulmate, he was a hopeless romantic, he had the picture perfect kind of meeting with his mate inside his head and a lifetime planed out for the both of you.

It all went down the drain when his new friend came to a little party in his apartment with his partner, he didn’t realize at the beginning, it was just the rush of smelling for the first time the scent of his destined one, so he looked around for you trying to be subtle about it, trying to calm himself a little.

Seeing you for the first time wasn’t quite how he imagined to happen but it still was perfect, you were alone momentarily when he saw you, a little dressed up and so otherworldly, you were a vision, all came to climax point when your eyes fell on his making him shiver, God your eyes were so profound, like as if galaxies were trapped inside you, the eyes were the door to the soul right, and yours didn’t let down.

He smiled and you did the same "hello, I’m Taehyung , I’m afraid I don’t know your name" he said putting his best smile for you and you did the same " oh I’m y/n nice to meet you Taehyung" you said and he was speechless, your voice was so charming to the ear.

Both of you talked for precious minutes until it all went down hill "oh Taehyung this is my boyfriend, I think both of you know each other" you said smiling at the other mail making Taehyung halt.

Boyfriend? You had a boyfriend, someone else had touched you; you the one person who was his and his alone, the mere thought made his blood boil and he had to restrain himself from ripping the guy head off.

"yeah I know him" he said, voice deep with anger. After that he lived for you, it was quite easy to become friends with his destined one, he fell in live with each moment close to you, but his Possessiveness grew twice as fast, and soon he couldn’t take it anymore, so one night he called your boyfriend, just go out like friends right? He made sure to hide the body well, the taste of blood was a normal thing for werewolves but it was particularly satisfactory knowing he had got rid of that good for nothing bastard.

That night you were finally his.

Jungkook

"come on kook, you always talk about how you want to find your mate and live happily ever after with them, but if you continue locking you up in the house that will never happen" Namjoon said to the boy un the room, Jungkook groaned at his hyung words. But again, his mate wasn’t a wolf that much could tell, and now a human mate wasn’t that bad but it wasn’t what he wanted in the beginning, having to accept that was a little hard.

Now though months after his hyungs were done with him, ready to let the guy out in the city to just at least look, so he groaned against and did what he was told.

That how he ended up in the center of the city, it was a Saturday and the market was full of humans and some hidden werewolves, the overwhelming conglomeration of smell were a little too much for him if it wasn’t for the fact that he just smelled something more in the crowd.

He pushed people out of his path walking like a maniac after some of his victims, he looked around for a face, he didn’t really knew which exactly but he knew the moment he’d lay eyes on his mate he would know, an that how it happened.

You weren’t looking at him when he saw you for the first time, you were smiling to a seller when the later gave you a bag, the cold air of November had pushed some of your hair to your face and you pushed it aside with one hand after, letting him stare at you with complete adoration.

You looked so innocent and beautiful, a scarf grappled around your neck and a beanie on your head made you look so cozy and adorable, you were like a fairy, a being so enchanting and ethereal, too good to step foot on the undeserving ground under your feet.

You were carrying multiple bags, a little too much for you because you soon were loosing the grasp you had on some things, but he ran to you helping you and making you steady again.

"oh God, I thought I was about to die for a second" you said a little put of breath from the scare of having all fall to the ground, your voice was light and velvety, better than even his mother voice in the late nights where she sang him to sleep; you looked up at him and the smile he had marveled at before was now directed to him in all his splendor "thank you for helping me" you said "ah, Ah! Yeah your welcome" he said a little awkward, shyness coming in full force.

You tried to take everything in your hands again but he took more bags instead "let me help you" he said, not wanting to part from you so soon "oh there’s no need really I can manage" you said not wanting to take advantage of his mice act, but he shook his head not relenting "it’s not a problem, I want to help" you look at him perplexed for a second but then smiled "okay then you kind sir" you said letting him carry most of the things without any kind of difficulty "follow me then, I don’t live far"

You both spoke on the way to your apartment, Jungkook was completely floored with your beauty, and a little preoccupied for your innocence, to be honest, who let an stranger accompany you to your house, stupid really, but he just found it so endearing. True you lived close and it all ended way too soon for his liking, and then the hombre dropped "honey you're back" another voice said, a man around your age appeared from your apartment and Jungkook soon felt the flames of jealousy grow inside him.

You had a boyfriend, God you were in a relationship with another man, another man who had touched what was his, who had kissed you and held you, oh dear, he would pay for it.

No gifs are mine

#bts #bts imagines #bts yandere #bts reactions #yandere #yandere bts #bts jimin #bts jungkook #bts namjoon #bts one shot #kim seokjin #bts jin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #jungkook #kim taehyung #yandere jungkook #suga #yandere jin #jeon jungkook #kim namjoon #park jimin #yandere hoseok #yandere jhope #yandere talk #yandere jimin #werewolf #werewolves #bts werewolf au

[secretariatess]

All throughout high school I participated in an event called Festival of Life.  It was a Nazarene competition that spanned over several things, one of which was craft.  For my final year, I made a physical representation of Ayiesha Woods’ song, Big Enough.  It was honestly a simple craft that I didn’t think would go very far.  It was a clear plastic display case with a plastic cross bottle (one that you were supposed to fill with colored sand) glued inside.  The walls of the case were messily painted black with nail polish, with words clipped from magazine headlines plastered on randomly.  The words were all scary sounding stuff- “The Benghazi Attack,” “before it’s too late,” “in a state of war,” “suicide,” “bipolar disorder,” “war games,” etc.  In other words, big problems.  When on display, I would put a glow stick in the middle of the cross and the light would try to shine out where it could.  Despite the sloppiness of the work and the fact that I hadn’t put as much effort into it as crafts of previous years, this object that served no practical purpose placed first.

Interesting story, I know.  And the more I think about it, the weirder it seems.  The first year I put together a plastic canvas tissue box that looked like a house.  Every window had a verse about a house and every door had a picture of Jesus knocking at the door.  It served not only as a reminder of Jesus being the Lord of my house, but also was a decorative cover for certain tissue boxes.  The second craft I made for the competition was a clay horse and chariot, painted to look they were made of fire.  In the chariot was a candle holder with a fake candle.  Essentially, an elaborate candle holder inspired by the flaming chariots from the Bible.

This box?  Was just a physical representation of boxing in Christ.  It had no other purpose.  And I’m not bringing this up to brag about just how amazing I am- in fact, I’ll back to this later.  But the song and what the box represents I feel have a message that is often heard and often overlooked by Christians of my generation.  And I see it a lot on Tumblr.

Most of us already understand that God is bigger than anything we can think of.  And so I think that we normally apply that to “really big” things. Or maybe we think too small and think about the passing storms of life that God can help with.  Like the possibility of losing a job, going through a rough patch with the family, a loved one in the hospital.  But sometimes I feel like it doesn’t occur to us that God’s bigger than ourselves.

I’m sure you’re thinking, “But I know God’s bigger than me!”  I’m sure you do, in some cases.  But all to often I see these helpful dissertations or quips reblogged by Christians here and while there’s help to be found in them, it almost seems like Christians take those things like gospel truth.  I know I’m going to hit some nerves here, but I’m talking about things like self care, and dealing with mental roadblocks, and cutting out toxic people.  Sure, there’s a grain of truth in posts like these, I’m not going to deny that, but like, they’re all things to help ourselves.

We use these things as excuses to God as to why we can’t do something.  We call ourselves limited by pointing out all the mental or emotional trouble we have, or we claim we need “me time” or self care, or we claim that these toxic people in our lives are really hindering us.  And you know what, the world’s going to do what the world’s going to do.  I’m talking about Christians.  When we say that kind of stuff, what are we telling God?

I’m sure you’re probably thinking, “But Secret, these are actually big issues. You don’t understand how debilitating some of these things are.”  You’re right, I can’t relate on every level.  But I’ve also seen my mom, with seasonal depression, press on to follow God.  She’s an absolute introvert who’d rather sit in her room reading books and whatnot than to get up on Thursdays to spend an almost entire day in the community our church is located.  I’ve seen my grandmother, with bipolar disorder and problems that come with age, be the closest person I know to God.  If God tells her to do something, she’ll do it.  She doesn’t really take the time to stop and say, “But God, I’m just not mentally fit right now.”  And for me personally, the older I get, the risk of my chance of getting my grandmother’s bipolar disorder increases.  I already have an “I can’t” mentality that I’ve let way too many times get in the way of what I’m supposed to do and I have to make a choice that, if I were diagnosed in future with it, I would have to continue on.  And for me, it would be all too easy to use bipolar disorder as an excuse to not do something.  So no.  I’m not going to pretend to know what it’s like to go through certain things.  But I do know I’ve seen God work bigger things than what we imagine ourselves capable of.

When we use the problems in our lives to give a “valid reason” as to why we can’t do something, we attempt to box God in.  Now I’m not saying that we should all be at the point my grandmother’s at.  It’s a growth process.  But we can’t grow if we keep ourselves limited.  And then use those limitations to limit what God can do with us.

“I have xyz, or I’m abc, so I can’t do everything that the Bible and God expects of me.”  God already knows what you struggle with.  But He’s bigger than that.  There are many examples of God working through people who by themselves wouldn’t have been able to achieve what they did.  And that’s the point.  They couldn’t do it by themselves. God could do it.  You’re not supposed to do it by yourself- you’re supposed to surrender it and yourself to God so He can use you in ways that you didn’t think possible.  Don’t box God in with mental, emotional, or personality limitations.

“I have to have self care and time to myself."  What are you doing with that self care time?  How important is it to you?  If God asked for it, would you give it to Him, or continue to insist that you’ll need it or you won’t be of any use?  Do you trust that God knows when you need time alone with Him?  Or will you continue to insist that you need to think of yourself first?  I’m not saying that we have to constantly think of others first.  I’m saying we have to constantly think of God first.  We also have to consider just how much of our self care routines are that important.  Remember that God provides rest to weary.  He isn’t looking to run you ragged.  But if our idea of “self care” is constantly thinking of our needs and limitations especially where God might ask us to move outside the comfort zone, we’re not going to find that rest.  We’re going to find our own rest, and it will never be as satisfying.  Don’t box God in with the things that you think you need.

“I need to cut these people out of my life because they’re toxic.”  Toxic?  Toxic how?  Because they might grate with you?  Because they annoy you?  Because spending time with them is draining?  Have you ever considered that you might someone else’s toxic person?  Have you ever considered what life might be like if God cut out everyone who was toxic in His life?  You are supposed to be salt and light to the world, but it’s hard for some people to see that if you cut them out of your life.  Even if they’re Christians, consider that the Bible says, “As iron sharpens iron, so must one sharpen another.”  (Paraphrasing, I know.)  I’ve seen and heard of God doing big things with relationships that were “toxic.”  I’m not trying to encourage unhealthy relationships or harmful behaviors.  But rather than you being in charge of your relationships, why not surrender them to God?  Do we think that no good can come of the “toxic people”?  Don’t box God in with people you think are toxic.

Now I don’t have guidelines for how your life should look.  Each life is different, each case is different, each problem is different.  What I’m trying to say is that so often we put ourselves and our problems before God.  We’ll give Him some things, as I said earlier.  But we seem to have this idea that there are some things that not even God could fix.  We come up with excuses as to why something won’t work.  When you come across advice like this, are you looking for advice to help, or are you gaining another excuse to present to God as to why you can’t follow everything He tells you to do?  Are you gaining another excuse to live comfortably?  Are you gaining another excuse to box in what God can do?

Back to the little box.  As I said before, I didn’t put a lot of effort into it and it certainly wasn’t as neat as it could’ve been.  But I had been given inspiration I know now must have been the Spirit and I made a little box that I was certain was going to be overlooked at the competition.  But it was God’s.  And I know God did bigger things than just a gold medal.  Had I gone a different direction, had I instead decided to do something grander, or made a craft with more “useful” purpose, I doubt it would have the same impact.

Part of the journey of a maturing Christian is to get rid of excuses of why we can’t.  To get rid of the excuses that box in the wonders that God can do.  Wonders aren’t just miraculous healings.  Wonders can be taking you beyond what you thought you could do.  Take it from someone who still struggles with the “I can’t” factor.  I constantly sabotage myself by convincing myself I can’t do anything.  But when I finally let God do what He’s been asking me to let Him do, man,  blows my mind.

But first, we have to acknowledge the excuses.  We have to acknowledge the things that we use to box God in.  God’s been doing big things since the beginning of the world.  Our everyday struggles are small.  Not insignificant small.  But nothing that’s going to overwhelm Him.

What are you using to box God in?

#christianity

[unholyhelbig]

Mitchsen Prompt: “I’m trying to make macaroni but I’ve burnt 3 pans and set off the fire alarm and I heard the lady above us say you were a chef please help” AU - where Aubrey can't cook

[A/N: Wow, I miss writing Mitchsen! Sorry this took so long.] 

Beca didn’t’ want to open the door, she really didn’t’. Not with the way her body ached, and the taste of alcohol still stung on her lips. She hadn’t even gulped down half of her beer before there was a timid knock at her door. Too soft to be a late-night delivery boy with the veggie lover’s pizza she ordered.

And she smelt the burning pile of food before she even opened the door. The scent soaked through the hallway of their apartment building and made her wrinkle up her nose in some form of disgust. It brought her lungs back to her first week in culinary school. The way she had tried to melt chocolate chips into a fine sauce in the microwave instead of over a salted pot of boiling water.

So that’s why she opened the door. Because she was pretty sure the woman in the hallway was going to set off the fire alarms and the last thing she ever wanted was to be evacuated into the cold and snowy streets of New York in the dead of winter. She had barely let the snow melt from her jacket in the first place.

She looked disheveled, to say the least. Her hair was in a loose bun that allowed a few strands of straw hair to frame her face. There was an array of different stains against the purple fabric of her t-shirt, the color standing out against unripe eyes. She was out of breath and Beca couldn’t’ tell if she had walked far or if she had struggled against the pot of smoking food in her palm, being held with a holder that looked like it had little roosters on it. Endearing.

“Hi,” She panted “I’m so sorry to bother you. But the woman above us said that you were a chef and I have tried to make this pasta for three hours.”

Beca parted her lips and shifted to the side. She couldn’t’ say she wasn’t a chef, not with the way her unbuttoned coat that had an embroidered DeStefano’s on the right breast was left unbuttoned against a simple black shirt. The way the words Head Chef shown above that damned her even more. So Beca settled on the next best thing.

“That’s pasta?”

“I… Yes. Well, it’s supposed to be, you know? My boss is coming over in a few hours to discuss this stupid proposal and I said that I would cook dinner. But I can’t cook. Not in the slightest. Is there anyway can you help me salvage this?”

She looked at Beca with those eyes. The type that was past desperate and had gone straight into begging. She found it endearing, her neighbor clearly not a whizz in the kitchen, nor in the act of pretending that she was calm.

“Was it Kraft?”

“Mmhm”

“Oh, dear God.”

Beca widened her own eyes and stepped to the side to allow the woman into her apartment. It wasn’t much, barely decorated. She had been here for two and a half months and there were still boxes stacked against the hardwood floor. She had a single blanket over a leather couch and a television that was barely used. That was never a problem though, everything she needed was in the kitchen. The kitchen that had sold her on this place when she first got offered the job at the steak house in the center of the city.

“Your first mistake was making food from the same company who invented cheese in a can.” Beca closed the door behind them.

“Like you’ve never eaten craft Mac and Cheese?”

“Oh, I have, but like… when I was blackout drunk in college and only had access to a microwave. How big is this boss of yours? Is he sirloin level?”

Beca walked flicked the lights to the kitchen on. She never got tired of the way the granite bounced off the cherrywood cabinets. The way the flattop stove heated at the single flick of a nob. The way she admittedly never used this place as much as she wanted to. Not after spending her days in a bigger scale kitchen with ten cooks under her.

“He’s a lawyer, prosecution. The second best in the city.”  

“Oh wow, so I’ll take that as a yes?” Beca let out a small laugh as she grasped the pan carefully from the woman who stood at the edge of her kitchen. She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, staring with heated cheeks down at the smoking lava rock. The chef placed the pan in the sink and turned on a cooling blast of water- quelling the heat. “And the first?”

“Me,” She lifted an eyebrow “Aubrey Posen, from Posen and Crawford.”

Beca made a little ‘O’ shape with her mouth. She hadn’t been here long, but both of those names sounded familiar to her. They didn’t have to call months ahead for reservations, and the man in charge would always choke on his ego the second they walked through the door. Now one of them, a spawn of one maybe, was standing in her kitchen with a fire hazard in a non-stick pot.

“Beca Mitchell, of… this apartment.” She shut the water off and reached for the nearest hand towel. “I’m not sure how much I have off hand. I could probably whip up some parmesan risotto if you’re willing to help out in the kitchen?”

“You could- I mean,” Aubrey stuttered, all but composed as she cupped the back of her neck “Yeah, yes. Anything you need.”  

“Good,” Beca gave her a half smile and started to pull the ingredients from the shelves and the fridge. Aubrey watched her work like clock: the rice, the chicken stock, a dry wine that both of them could down in a fail swoop. Everything was suddenly in front of them and looked way more appealing than boxed macaroni.

Beca filled the cleaned pot with a layer of chicken stock and set it on a burner to boil before pulling out a wooden cutting board and a sharpened blade. She pulled an onion onto the surface, passing off the knife to Aubrey who stared at it silently with a raised brow.

“Have you ever chopped anything before?”

“Peppers, once.”

“Okay, that’s a start.” She moved out of the way softly, Aubrey falling into place next to her as she gripped the knife, holding it over the middle of the layered vegetable. “The easiest part is cutting off the ends.”

Aubrey nodded and performed the task easily, Beca instructing her to dice it up as best she could while she blocked a slab of butter into even spaces. Aubrey’s tongue poked out of the side of her mouth as she focused and Beca found herself wondering if she did the exact same thing in the courtroom. She furrowed her brow too, staring at the onion with intent.

“It’s uh,” Beca looked up “when you dice, you’re supposed to bring the blade all the way down. Don’t be afraid to really get in there- can I show you?”

“Sure,” Aubrey said in a bit of a whisper.

It was cliché, all terribly cliché, but Beca slid in behind the woman, adjusting her touch on the blade and her stance against the counter. Her front was placed so evenly against Aubrey’s back. It was warm and dominating and she smelled so clearly of vanilla that it made Beca’s mind swirl. All the while she guided the lawyer, taking a small step back once she got the hang of it.

“This isn’t so bad,” Aubrey smiled to herself and Beca thought it was brilliant.

She was usually thrust into a kitchen with people who thought they should have her position. She would puff up her chest and bare her teeth like a wolf on the hunt. Show them who was in charge before they got the upper hand. People who had all the experience in the world but none of the leadership. Aubrey had a wonder to her that made Beca’s heart swell as she took the freshly diced onions and put them in the pan, letting them sizzle with apt heat.

“Right, so, if you ever tell anyone that I’m about to put rice in the microwave I’ll hunt you down myself,” Bec said, not looking up as she tore a slit into the top of the bag of uncle bens. She was a victim of heating up a pouch every once in a while and eating it with a kitchen spoon straight from the package.

“Cross my heart. You know, I’m not usually this bad in the kitchen? I get nervous.”

“You’re a hotshot lawyer. I can’t imagine you giving into nerves.”

“It’s different there.” Aubrey let out a soft breath as Beca set the timer and finally turned to the woman. They had a few minutes to kill while the pouch heated up. They stood against the counter and Beca wished she had grabbed a few glasses for that cooking wine. Maybe the alcohol would make her feel less fuzzy in a more ironic way. “The courtroom is like an expertly crafted game. You can’t say or do anything that’s damming. I would hate to fall on my own sword, but it just comes naturally to me. Kind of like how cooking comes naturally to you…”

Beca didn’t’ want to bring up the fact that when she worked at Medieval times when she was a teenager she almost literally fell onto her sword. Or the way that she had burns littering her arms where oil splashed, or she got too close to a grill. Because Aubrey had this sparkle in her eyes, one that Beca understood wholly.

“I get that,” Beca said softly. “You just seem so confident when you’re there.”

Aubrey raised a slight eyebrow. “I didn’t take you as someone who would watch a murder trial on daytime television.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

Truthfully, she wasn’t one to do that at all, but she had flicked on the television for white noise the other week and had been enamored by the woman she saw in front of her. It took her a bit to notice with the smoke in the air and the way she had been wrapped up with cooking, but it was the same woman. The same person she found herself rooting for.

Aubrey’s emerald eyes flicked down to Beca’s lips and she prayed she wasn’t imagining it. The way her iris’s darkened tenfold. The way she leaned in slightly against the island and again, Beca was hit with that vanilla scent. It was so subtle and dizzying.

The tiny chef found herself leaning in, not far, but enough for Aubrey to give a timid smile and breath out. She could feel it against her cheek, crave that warmth even more as the two of them began to close the distance that could have been intensified by a magazine. A high school dance and a shop teacher with a god complex.

A sharp and cutting beep of the microwave jolted them back, Beca stumbling tactfully as she drew in a heaping of breath “The rice is-“

“Yeah, yup. Ricotta.”

“Risotto,” Beca snorted, shaking her head “Your boss is going to love it.”    

#Beca Mitchell #Aubrey Posen #Mitchsen #pitch perfect #fanfiction #request

[devilsknotrp]

Congratulations, Rory! You have been accepted for the role of Perry Esposito (FC: Peter Gadiot). It would be too easy to write Perry as a strict black sheep, as someone without a deep hurt, who was just some tough guy. He’s really not. And you’ve brought that out in him. There were so many elements of your application that just rang so true. Perry being gently friendly to people he meets; his diligence; his quiet resolve. Perry was never going to be an in-your-face character, but he is a subtly intense one, and you’ve managed to sharpen his edges. Your writing sample was also beautifully written and so, so sad. Thank you for bringing to light how painful heartbreak can be - and how it can linger for longer than you’d expect. This was a wonderful application. Please have a look at this page prior to sending in your account.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Rory Age: 22 Pronouns: They/Them or He/Him Timezone: CST Activity estimation: I’ll definitely be able to keep up with the requirements here. Depending on how strong my muse is (and how exhausted I am by the end of any given day) I’ll most likely be around most nights. If I had to give it a guess on a scale of 1 - 10, I’d put myself at about a 7!? Triggers: [Redacted]

IN CHARACTER: BASICS

Full name: Perry Esposito Age (DD/MM/YYY): 30 (09/07/1966) - Libra sun, Gemini rising, Pisces moon Gender: Cis Male Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Homosexual Homoromantic Occupation: Bartender Connection to Victim: Perry was aware of their existence in the way that in a small town, everyone knows everyone, but he can’t say he was even acquainted with them. The closest he’d come to having a conversation with the woman- Linda- was nodding his head at her as they’d passed by each other in Piggly Wiggly one day, but that was the extent of their relationship. He might not have even been able to tell you their names with complete certainty, before they’d been thrown into the limelight, at least. Alibi: Perry started his shift at The Bar at 4 P.M. Faceclaim: Peter Gadiot

WRITING SAMPLE

TW for (implied) child abuse.

It took a moment for things to start sinking in: the slam of the car door, the roar of the engine, the glare of the sun reflecting off the pitiful, rusted paint job and the cloud of dust that accompanied the spinning wheels. Perry just stood there for a second, his shocked brain struggling to catch up before he was stumbling after the car, running a few steps with a hand outstretched  yelling hey, yelling for Bobby to stop, wait, come back- but it was too late. A few more seconds and he was gone entirely. The car was gone and Bobby was gone and everything was gone and Perry was left standing in the motel parking lot with the California sun kissing his skin and something foreign curling up in a newly- hollowed place in his chest.

The first day, that foreign- something was made up of panic and denial and, of course, a bone- deep sort of hurt. Bobby wouldn’t… he was mad, yeah, but he’d… alright, Perry hadn’t realized he was that mad, but surely he’d… he’d come back. Perry knew he would. He’d calm down, he’d realize what he’d done and he would come back. Perry would forgive him. Hours passed, but still, he told himself- he’d forgive Bobby when he came back. Because he was coming back, even if he was taking a while- that was what he told the motel manager, when the guy came and tried to kick him off the bench he’d curled up on for the night.

As Perry’s second day alone dawned, the panic and denial heightened and started warring. He ended up stealing something from a store so he didn’t starve, but he didn’t pay much attention to what he nicked and he didn’t notice whether it tasted nice or not. It was to keep him from starving, that was all. The sun set on that second day without any sign of his dad’s shitty car, and as the world went dark so did that fizzling spark of hope he’d been harboring in the pit of his stomach.

Bobby really had left him, and he wasn’t coming back.

Perry stuck around on that third day, though. Just in case. Watching the street Bobby’d driven away on and feeling a traitorous little leap of hope whenever there was a car anywhere near the right color, but it was for nothing. Time flew by and the grief began settling in. He was an adult and he was a man and he never cried, hadn’t since he was a child, scared and hurting and hating his father, but this? Being left to his own devices for better or worse in a strange place by the only person that had ever managed to find anything valuable in him, by the only person that had ever found anything about him to actually love- yeah, he was crying. His arms wrapped around his midsection as his body shook, a hand furiously swiping at the tears trailing down his face. He bit down on the inside of his cheek so that he wouldn’t make any noise, bit it hard enough that it bled. He’d been so dumb to think this would work, to think a piece of trash like him would get away and have a fairy tale of a life.

There were better things out there than Devil’s Knot, but they weren’t for him. They weren’t within his reach.

Perry stayed there until it was sometime between late afternoon and early evening, until he was out of tears to cry, and then he forced himself to stand. He cast a glance at that motel sign, then at the space the car- his car- had been parked at. He stared for a bit, because this, right here- these moments before he gave in and let go- this was as close as he’d ever get to a real goodbye. Part of him thought that it still just felt like a really, really bad dream, but he knew he wouldn’t be waking up.

He raised both middle fingers, flipping that empty parking space the bird as he backed away, and then he made his way to the highway and began the process of sticking his thumb up at anyone that passed until someone finally stopped.

It was time to go home, now. Time to grow up.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Here’s a Pinterest board I made for him!

HEADCANONS:

Despite the fact that Perry would consider himself a friend to one (Blanca) and close to none, he’s a friendly guy. If life had given him a kinder lot, he would have been a blatant extrovert. As it is, at his core he’s a convivial guy, and despite the fact that most everyone’s still got him written off as scum- he’s amiable enough to those who extend the same courtesy to him. He’s far beyond making much of an effort. He’ll greet the customers that come in to the bar, even make small talk if someone seems interested in pursuing it, but that’s about the extent of it. He hasn’t had a boyfriend since that disaster when he was eighteen, and he doesn’t intend to ever go down that path again. When he gets lonely enough, he’ll visit a bar a few towns over where nobody knows his name or his face. There was a time when he’d wanted a future that held more than that- hell, when he’s drunk or high enough, there are times when he can still admit to himself that he wants something more- but he’s not a kid with his head in the clouds anymore, and he’s not fooling himself. Lives like that aren’t realistic for people like him. He’s learned his lesson. He won’t be burnt twice. He likes his bbartending job well enough. It pays the bills. His apartment isn’t anything fancy, but it’s decent. That’s his life. He’s going to live in this town until the day he inevitably dies alone, and he’s accepted that.

Perry is allergic to cats and dogs and pretty much anything with fur. Not horribly so, just enough to have his sinuses uncomfortable and his eyes going red. An irritation more than anything. It hasn’t stopped him from leaving a window open for the stray cat that hangs around his apartment or from blowing a portion of his paychecks on Fancy Feast for the fleabitten mongrel. He’s definitely not a fan of coming home to find dead rats or birds strewn about his apartment, but he’s joked to Blanca that it’s the cat’s way of paying rent. It is not his cat. He’s adamant about that fact, even though it’s been a couple years now since it became his roommate of sorts.

The world has been reminding Perry of the fact that he’s an outsider from the time he was old enough to understand the words coming out of the townspeople’s mouths. Maybe even before that, really. Even if he hadn’t been an outcast, though, he would have caught on to the fact that he was different. When kids his age started developing crushes, he knew there was a wide difference between what he felt towards the girls and the way his stomach would start flipping over some of the boys. It wasn’t a welcome discovery. He was hated enough as it was and even before he began to grasp the gravity of this particular difference he knew that standing out in any way would just be another strike against him. This, though… Perry wasn’t certain the fallout from it would be something he’d survive. Even now, after having so much time to adjust to the idea, he’s not quite fully at peace with being gay. Maybe the smart thing to do would be find a girl he likes well enough and pretend, but he’s never been able to bend his rebellious streak enough to do so. He’s keeping this particular disparity to himself, but that doesn’t mean he wants to just force himself fall in line with what the world would have him doing, either.

He feels freest during those rare visits he makes to the clubs out of town. He can pretend he’s someone else for a while, living a different life. It’s too easy to lose himself in the warm touch of another. It’s too easy to drown with the crisp evening air filling his lungs and the expanseless, unfamiliar sky around him, and it is far, far too easy to think about leaving then, with the possibilities of what this world could hold trying to swarm around his head. The world is so big. There’s so much out there. Objectively, he can’t say he’s never had a home. He grew up in a home with his dirtbag father and his older brother. He has a home now, too, a carefully organized and cared for apartment, a home he’s worked hard for, but privately, Perry believes that home is more than just a place. Home is a feeling, and he thinks the strongest he’s ever experienced that feeling was when he was in a car with a boy in the seat next to them as they drove into the horizon, trees and cities and lights blurring past, not knowing exactly what their future held, only that it would be good. That was a euphoria that he’s never been able to replicate, but, he reminds himself- the agony when he’d crashed and burned hadn’t been worth the exhiliration of the days that had lead up to it. It really hadn’t.

Perry can’t say he’s surprised that the present seems to be circling around to the past. This town is a fishbowl, stagnant. He’s empathetic for the kid’s friends and families, but to tell the truth- mostly, he’s just tired and cynical. There’s a sense of foreboding weighing heavy on his chest. He doesn’t know where this will go, but he doesn’t think for a moment that it’s going to end with Brian’s disappearance. Whatever’s coming isn’t going to be pretty- he just hopes he’ll get to keep on the fringes of it all.

Perry’s wardrobe isn’t any more exciting than his apartment. He sticks to muted colors, blacks and greys and whites. Nothing remotely expensive. He’s not trying to impress anyone, but he does put a surprising amount of effort into maintaining his appearance. Perhaps it has something to do with wanting to distance himself from as many similarities to his father as he can.

He drives a beat up old truck. It’s not exactly easy on the eyes, but it gets him wherever he needs to go, and that’s all that matters.

As far as general life skills go, he’s hardly a prodigy when it comes to the kitchen, but, as in most areas of his life, he’s put a decent amount of effort into being self sufficient. He’s figured out enough to get by. He’d rather cook for himself than eat at the diner. If something needs patching up, he’s handy enough with stitches. That’s not a skill he initially learned for the sake of clothing, but it’s a useful one nonetheless.

#dkaccepted #accepted #perry esposito #literate rp #new rp

[crypterion-moon]

Red Prince Eternal /2

A/N: Continuation of part 1

Warnings as before

Summary: They’ve done it. Tim has completely rejected them and now, there’s no crying over spilled milk. He sits patiently, watching time pass by, but fate won’t ignore him forever and a new presence will disturb them all.

Damian was standing outside in the dark. Tim knew, hard to ignore that intense staring the magically passed through walls, or maybe Tim was just that perceptive. He was tired, a whole night of hacking, as fun as it was will do that to him, but he opened his window anyway.

“What is it Damian, it’s late.”

His eyes changed, the expectant look in them shifted to one of shame with the apology left unsaid but clear in his bright green eyes. Tim would be touched if his cold heart could feel anything now, and Damian knew that. He blamed himself and his family for their neglect, their misjudgment.

“Nothing, I just cam by to make sure you weren’t up to no good,” he said muttering. Tim smiled, aww, the little demon was concerned for him, stubborn brat is stubborn even in the face of his mistakes. Protective in his own way, but he was the only one who know he made them so Tim will spare him the sharpened tongue.

“Get going or Bruce will start getting suspicious.”

“He won’t know where I am,” Damian protested.

Tim scoffed, “Only because I hid your tracks, move along.”

Damian turned to leave, just shy of the edge of the circle of light coming from the street lamp, just then stopping and looking back at Tim.

“You’ll come to the manor soon, won’t you,” he asked, suddenly all innocent and childlike even with the uniform and mask that it took Tim by surprise. He had to pause and recover for a moment.

“Maybe, maybe I will.”

It was his way of saying he won’t ever. Not even for Alfred.

The suggestion was there, but Tim didn't want to see any of them, Batman, nor Nightwing or whatever Jason. He’d been thankful that Dick and Jason had stopped coming to his house, he was beginning to tire of hearing them say empty words to him, especially Jason who tried to bypass the door.

Oh yes, they’d made it very clear they wanted nothing to do with the ‘wannabe’, they had more important work to do than to even entertain the notion of a budding hero. What? He wants to help, he can start by staying out of the way. How very nice Jason, too bad you can’t take those words back.

Sorry Tim, but you’re not cut out for this. Why? Because he wasn’t strong enough? Smart enough? Tortured enough? What Dick, what is it that makes me worthless?

Get out of the way Drake, you’re enough trouble as it is without having to look after another imbecile, I’m more suited to the role than you ever could be. Because of what? Your heritage? It’s all about that isn’t it?

The nightmares, or dreams, or reminders as Tim liked to call them, were incessant. But they did the job. His world different now, one he built for himself, he was a hero no more and he preferred it that way. Damian, the dear brat, had somehow grown attached to Tim suddenly had the bright idea to ask him personally to join them, suddenly springing the question on him. Politely, Tim refused.

There’s no reason for them to change their mind, Tim certainly won’t.

So he continued his work. Alone in the big Drake residence, wrapped in comfortable silence and coffee, secrets of all kinds are valuable when you pry them from unsuspecting people. Blackmail, deadly and everyone wants in on it. He can do that. For a price. An unsightly life but it was the reason he’d built for himself, the will to live without relying on anyone, especially not on heroes. If he wasn’t going to be a hero, then why not take advantage of the unsightly demand out there and make a bit on the side. A bit meaning a lot more than his parents could hope to make in a week.  From the vengeful victim to the highest ranking criminal bully to a mob leader, he’ll cater as long as they don’t ask questions.

One warning, pry too far into his life and he’ll pry back and spill your guts. Pay or you get nothing. Go too far and you can kiss your comfy life goodbye. Tim has eyes everywhere where his little makeshift hero persona had none. No that goody-two-shoes hacker title belonged to oracle now.

He’d chosen to be ruthless, neutral and perhaps that little boy he once was would’ve been appalled at him now but Tim didn’t care anymore. Not when Bruce, Dick and Jason viewed him as nothing but trouble and no amount of guidance or effort would convince them otherwise. They pissed all over Tim’s whole hearted work, his admiration, his love and desire to do good. It left him vulnerable and he nearly did die once. Good old Joker though, he had to thank the bastard. That was a nice wake up call, for Tim and rather late, for them as well.

Ah, Damian. He beat Tim up once when the crazy kid found him once, believed he was a bad egg before he did his homework. It hurt, almost just as much as their distrust and rejection. But having him show up now with nicer things to say was, flattering. Tim’s not sure when Damian realized he might’ve been wrong.

They can knock as many times as their hands can bear it but that stays strictly closed. It’s more important to love and protect oneself than waste that on another. He won’t throw his one life to the wolves, endanger himself for others no more. And heroes always foolishly throw themselves into fire, so Tim will have nothing to do with them. He can apologize to the poor souls caught in Gotham’s life when he burns in hell.

He met a Super, Superboy to be exact. To be frank he already knew a whole lot about the half-kryptonian. Kind of difficult not to when this hybrid was tied with two major figures, names like Lex Luthor and Superman attract a lot of attention and with Tim having ears and eyes on the net, it wasn't hard to dig out info. Connor 'Kon el' Kent was a very funny kind of guy, well as funny as it can get when whizzing poor frightened Tim a few hundred feet up in the air where he'd never been so high up before.

He didn't expect to end up being saved by the budding teen hero, then again, he didn't expect to be caught in some strange hostage situation by some amateur criminals who'd realized they hadn't thought their heist too well through. He had his drones ready to cause chaos on the idiots before Superboy came crashing in and causing said chaos. He did the job though. Not before they'd dragged Tim, because rich men's kids are always prime targets and one of the not so dumb criminals had done his homework. The whole thing came down to them getting pummeled by Superboy and his friends faster than they could say 'I have a gun'. Out of desperation and panic but mostly panic, the guy holding Tim had him thrown right off the building. Which wasn't fair really, he hadn't built drones big enough to help with falling situations. He'd shut his eyes when he felt himself fall into something solid but warm and somewhat soft and comforting.

Yup, it was Superboy himself. Of course just to show off, he zoomed off higher into the sky with Tim with a stupid grin on his face. They flew around for a while mostly for the young hero's amusement before he finally set Tim down. Tim hadn't imagined how talkative the teen was.

Too many jokes, too awkwardly charming in his own way. Stupid muscle-head, Tim thought, stupid stupid Tim for getting all flustered in his arms.

He was willing to forget it except, Kon was not.

“So, uh, that was fun,” Kon said, Tim threw him a look, trying to control his mess of hair.

“I'm glad you enjoyed that, somehow,” he said sarcastically, “I'm pretty sure this happens everyday.”

“Flying all the time gets old after a while, but you kinda made it funny, guess you've never gone flying before?”

Tim shot him a toothy smile, “No one in their sane mind has ever gone flying.”

Kon laughed. It made Tim a bit embarrassed and quite annoyed, but the hero didn't seem to mean any sort of ill, his laughter was genuinely warm and full of enjoyment.

“Man, you're funny, smart kind of funny.”

“It's called wit.”

Kon grinned back at him when his friends, Wondergirl, Impulse and the rest of their team appeared. Wondergirl called to him, rather annoyed and dying to go back to their headquarters while Superboy held them back.

“Hey, what's your name?” he suddenly asked. Tim raised an eyebrow at the question. Why would a hero ask some civilian for their name he'd never see again.

“Tim. Drake.”

“Oh cool. So that big house on the hill-”

“Mansion.”

“-Uh yeah, that's yours right, cool, mind if I stop by sometime?”

At this, Tim was very surprised and confused. His mind screaming at him, no no no, definitely not while some other part of him said, that's great, this is good. In his internal conflict, he somehow managed to say 'oh, okay'. Much too his logical brain's dismay.

“Awesome, I'll see you soon.”

And with that, Kon was gone, up in the air and off with his team. As Tim contemplated his situation, he imagined somewhere in his mind, that a part of him would have loved to be part of that, to be one of the heroes and fighting alongside them as a team. He'd have made a name for himself, helping in exciting missions doing things he'd always dreamed of and making friends with the people he'd once looked up to. But that was all in the past now, he'd given it up for his life now. Soon, he was sure, Superboy would tire of his boring nature.

He came, time and time again, hanging out like a pair of normal kids, sometimes, he'd bring the others along. Cassie, Tim had observed, held deep feelings for her reckless team mate. He avoided talking too much about him with her, but otherwise they were actually a great bunch. Impulse, Bart, was restless, a side-effect of his abilities, same as the flash. Raven was reserved but caring. Beast boy, secretly crushing on Raven, was just as, if not more so than Kon, full of jokes. They each and all had their wonderful sides. Tim felt so awful in their presence, no doubt, oblivious to what he did in the shadows.

They were seeing too much of him. He was negative, brooding and sarcastic but that never seemed to deter them. Especially Raven, seemed to see right through him, while the rest must have been immune to negativity because he continued to have strange guests over. Not that his parents would care, they were gone so long and so often.

Birthdays, holidays and Christmas' were no longer a one man ting for him, disturbingly, he couldn't bring himself to dislike it. Soon, like an idiot, he revealed his skills, helped them in secret with their battles, before the cat got out of the bag. The Titans came to rely on his 'MAD WIZ SKILLZ' as Beast boy put it, and soon, it was like he was part of their little team. He tried to push them away, but they persisted, for some reason drawn to him as he found himself drawn to them. Like a moth to a flame, especially to Kon. The half-kryptonian held some strange admiration for Tim and it was began to show as the worked together more and more. The light touches and strong embraces were starting to affect Tim the more time they spent together. This couldn't be happening. Tim realized to his horror, the relationship was deepening beyond his control. No mister, no thank you, this hero business is supposed to be temporary. Tim was drinking double the amount of coffee, more than what is considered healthy or sane with the stress his predicament was causing.

“Hey, where are your parents? I never see them around,” Kon asked one dreaded day. Tim considered the answer for a while before giving it.

“They don’t come home often. Mom and Dad are both busy, you know, with their jobs. Archaeology, there’s a lot of travelling involved.”

“That’s pretty bad, I mean, what about Christmas or your birthdays? Not even for them?”

Tim shook his head, “Not even for them.”

He should be bitter, if it was somebody else, some other child and their mom or dad forgot, they’d be throwing tantrums. But it’s always been this way, so many times even Tim’s forgotten. If it weren’t for some nagging reminders from the various maids and housekeepers they hired, he’d have forgotten about Christmas, Halloween and so on. Sometimes, even they didn’t remind him, so he went on, living each and every day the same way. Routine. He could live with that, it’s what he’s used to.

Uncharacteristically, Kon gave him the look of a dog put out, and when Tim asked, he only responded by throwing his arms around Tim and giving him the tightest hug anyone had given him for a long time.

“It’s okay, I’ll make sure we celebrate them all with you.”

‘We’ being Kon and the Titans, as it turned out from then onwards. Tim didn’t mind.

Most of the time, he didn’t care, didn’t react. A smile is natural, and can mean a million different things, it’s okay, everything is fine, I don’t really mind, whatever, politely go away, I guess this is nice. But those were his good days. On his bad days, Tim locked himself in. Tried to smother himself in his bedsheets. Curse them as well, they were as close to a hug as he’d get alone. Some twisted part of him wanted a knife, a bullet in his chest. Pain anywhere but inside of him, clawing its way out. He wanted out. Sometimes even the unsightly work he did, couldn’t chase the feeling of neglect away and those days, he’d remember the exact moment ha gave up. Yes, heroes are for idealists, and a kid, a weak one like him would never fit in.

Those bad days, sometimes Kon would find him, curled up trying to hack his lungs out. Sometimes sobbing, sometimes screaming. What a broken thing. No good.

But he’d feel the warm touch, the soothing strength gently lifting him and holding him until he stopped shaking. He was so cold compared to Kon. What did the young hero ever see in him? He could only see his broken, jagged edges, designed to cut himself and others. Still, Kon never left and the warmth as well as the odd feeling that progressed beyond fondness spread through him, stepping into dangerous territory.

Something happened, and it was all wrong. Quite frankly, it was putting everyone on edge. Damian did well to locate the drop point the thugs were supposed to be waiting. A whole cargo of arms and heavy weapons for Black Mask. Batman wasn’t surprised, Jason, Red Hood now, had dealings with the criminal spearhead, and they were many. But something was wrong, there were no men, no orders being yelled in fact, it was far too quiet for an operation like this.

The shipment should be in the warehouse.

Batman pressed the device close to his ear, absolutely no communication was coming from inside. If the leader was on the phone, it would have been picked up on the frequency catcher. Could the gang have picked up on their presence? If so, there would definitely be more shouting but it was silent.

“Nightwing, Robin, take the back, Hood, make sure no one is leaving the perimeter, no bullets, you hear?”

There was a groan on the comms before Jason answered, “Sure, Bats, whatever you say.”

“I’m going in.”

“Be careful in there, I have a bad feeling about this,” came Dick’s voice, uncertain and betraying the note of fear.

Bruce didn’t answer as he slinked inside through the roof. Not a single light, not a single sound. But  as he sneaked further down, closer to the floor, the smell hits him, and hits him hard. Blood, the pungent and overwhelming stench of blood and piss. He hesitates as his hand hovers over the flashlight before turning it on. What greets him is a scene that is familiar on the worst of nights, the stuff of nightmares, enough to make a man lose his lunch if Bruce didn’t discipline himself. It’s not only bloody, it’s a gory mess. The men, or what’s left of them in torn bits and legs, tossed about like broken toys.

“Dear god,” he whispered.

“Batman? What’s going on?” Nightwing called through the comms.

A blade sharp and resilient enough to slice through bone like butter as evidenced by one poor man’s head, halved like a gourd. Batman moved forward, guts squelching beneath his boots.

Eyes, hearts, tongues, gouged out, cut and torn, some were thrown against the walls, the crates were splattered with innards while, as Bruce investigated, some were clearly missing. The cargo untouched was left in the vehicles, the doors still ajar. They must have been busy unloading when this all went downhill.

Bruce’s eyes traced the floor. Not enough footprints, there should be many footprints in the blood, it couldn’t be done by just one person. No, not unless they were up against a new monster.

“They’re all dead, everybody stay alert out there.”

Batman looked up at the lights. All of them were busted, smashed, whoever or whatever this...thing was, they operated in darkness. Mask’s men don’t. But for a brief moment they must have seen the attacker, the flashlight that rolled at his feet now busted and shattered as well was evidence. He looked back down and met the gaze of a man in mid scream. One among many screaming faces right before they died, this wasn’t about seeing their enemy, something scared them witless before it ripped them apart.

If it was anybody else, they wouldn’t have noticed the three pairs of feet hitting the floor, silent as can be, the boys had trained well but not enough to escape Bruce’s notice.

“Oh my GOD!” Nightwing exclaimed the moment he turned his flashlight on.

“I...haven’t seen this kinda mess since the last slasher movie,” Jason said, his voice managing to not give way to his shock.

Robin on the other hand, had just lost his dinner. He’s used a sword on a living person before but it was all clean cuts and honourable deaths for him, not this horrific mess. Bruce regarded the boy with worry. Maybe he shouldn’t have let him come into the warehouse, and now he’s essentially contaminated a part of the crime scene. He’ll have to take care of that later. Nightwing busily patted and rubbed Damian’s back while the boy was recovering, while Hood and Batman began to search around for clues. Video footage if any was needed, with all the gore littering the floor and the shipment having been left alone, there was little to gleam from the scene.

“Looks like whoever did this wasn’t interested in guns,” Hood said casually.

They tried looking for any hidden cameras on the bodies though, nothing. There was a phone still in one man’s hand, slumped by a heavy crate. It looked like he was in the middle of trying to call someone. There was one other thing that might give away what happened in the warehouse. Bruce crossed his metaphorical fingers. He went straight for the operations room, the office where one would keep an eye on all the comings and goings in the office. There was paper and files left carelessly on the shelves and the screens lining the desks were off. He played the footage that was there but after the ten mark, the device was turned off abruptly. He grunted in disappointment, he knew there was a chance the cameras were deactivated to prevent their movements from being recorded, but he’d hoped they weren’t smart enough. As of now, they had a bigger mystery on their hands than Black Mask’s secret smuggling operations and more than likely, once Mask hears about this, he’s going to be pissed. Nothing else here, anything more and the police won’t be happy with the amount of tampering going on. Batman regrouped with the others, outside the warehouse. The street lamp, the only one that wasn’t shot served to highlight all four vigilantes. Nightwing was nervous and so was Robin, Hood’s face was hidden underneath the helmet but his body was tense. For once, the night was not kind, the silence was deafening and oppressive, it reminded him that there were other things, other kinds of fear waiting underneath her.

“Wait, what’s that?” Robin said, pointing into the distance.

All eyes turned to look and for a moment, they could see nothing but the water, the moon reflecting over it. Then movement just at the surface drew their attention, a small shape broke through the surface. Barely visible in the darkness, it stayed floating, almost motionless. Then rose higher, a face still indistinguishable but indeed a face, blue eyes shining brightly and it was staring right at them. Something about those eyes was familiar and yet alien to them and, as Nightwing and Hood began to tremble, it unsettled them all. The moon seemed to shift as the light fell on it gradually. Midnight black hair, blue eyes and a straight nose, young and mature, a young man with knowing blue eyes that once held a child’s admiring light. He dove under the water just as Bruce felt himself reach out for the phantom. Vanishing beneath the ripples. Only now noticing the blood trailing on the ground.

#tim drake #fanfic #some #fantasy #dark #batman comics #dcau #timkon #damitim #timdami

[lainaraquel]

Something There

During the fall of their second year at U.A. a trip is taken to a well-known hero training facility called Alderaan. During her time there Momo is paired with the person she least expects and unearths parts of him and herself that she never thought was there before.

Series: Boku No Hero Academia

Pairing: Bakumomo, Bakugou x Yaoyorozu.

Rating: T (canon-divergent)

Word Count: 5,473

A/N: Hello, yes hi. This is my first fic for an anime series so I’m so sorry if the honorifics are off! I tried my best to do the best research I could. Feel free to kindly correct me if you notice anything off about them for next time. I would also like to say that I have another side blog called @bakumomoandco where I will answer any questions, do headcanons, take fic requests and more. The Bakumomo discord should be up this week as well! Thank you if you take the time to read this. It can be taken as shippy or non-shippy, but I hope you like it! :D p.s. sorry for any mistakes I tried to catch them all.p.s.s. If you catch a certain Disney reference, it is intentional. Lol.

Momo had always been a slow walker. It was something her mother constantly criticized saying that she needed to pick up her pace and keep focused. She couldn’t help it though, her mind would wander and before she knew it she was trailing behind everyone else. It was never intentional, but it had become sort of a favorite pastime to trail behind her class. She liked to hear everyone chatter, study how they moved, or maybe even how they acted when they thought no one was looking. She used the excuse of Iida leading the class in front and so as his second she would trail behind to make sure everyone kept in line. So, maybe it wasn’t something her mother particularly liked, but it did help her focus. It gave her the sharpened eyes she used today to analyze a situation.  

Aizawa-sensei said that they were going to a legendary gym called Alderaan. It was a fancy gym that even still some of the best pros trained at. It was in a secluded location and it had been rumored that U.A. students sometimes got to visit-- but no one had ever known for sure. It was quite the workout since you had to hike to get there, but they weren’t surprised at this rate. This was still much easier than when they had to find their way to camp last summer. However, they weren’t allowed to use their quirks, they just had to walk. Momo didn’t mind, she liked the quiet and she was sure their training would be quite challenging-- so it was probably best not to waste their energy now.

Her thoughts came to a crashing halt when a shoulder collided with hers. “Move, Ponytail” the blond huffed, nudging her sideways with his shoulder again. Momo felt the blood rush to her cheeks as she realized she was about to hit an electrical pole and he had stopped her.

How humiliating she thought, her hands coming to her face in embarrassment.

“Thank you, Bakugou-san,” her tone sincere, but filled with surprise at the same time. She didn’t think anyone noticed her back there, nor did she ever look behind her. Was he always there? So much for being observant.

He only shrugged keeping his hands tucked away in his pockets.

“Yao-momo!” Ashido chimed as she turned with a big grin on her face. “Hurry! We’re nearly there.” Jirou waved her over as well and Momo turned back to the blond who was now looking elsewhere. She picked up her pace to a quick jog; the cool fall air against her cheeks as she caught up with them.

In her sight line was a view of white buildings, some circular, some tall and skinny, while others were wide. The architecture had pristinely carved patterns along each one as if it were crafted by angels.They were all taken back by this sight. The air crisp from the high altitude, but it wasn’t the reason they were all stood there breathless. It was a dream for them to be there and maybe it was just her imagination but it seemed as if the buildings were glowing.

They were directed to the dorms they would be staying in for the week. Class B would be sharing with them which would be interesting. They didn’t spend too much with their other classmates, but Momo had made friends with Kendou and the other girls seemed nice-- so dorming should go over well. The class reps were in charge of assigning everyone a partner for the week. Aizawa-sensei said it was a good judge of leadership to see if they could pair people up with those suited for them.

“Of course, a test!” Iida spoke his hands pointed straight and stiff. “Leave it to U.A. to test our judgment as class presidents to see how well we know our fellow classmates. I will value your input greatly,” he spoke to Momo, Kendou and the other class B rep.

“This is not just about who you get along with. Conflict can be a good thing. Remember your exams and how some were paired up for more than quirks that compliment each other. People are more than their quirks. My one rule is that you cannot pick for yourself. Trust your fellow classmates. You have one hour, that is all.” Aizawa said swiftly turning away from them.

“Yes, sir!” the four replied as he exited shutting the door behind him.

How were they supposed to make these kinds of decisions?! Momo had analyzed her classmates sure, but it wasn’t like she had in depth notes. That was more Midoriya’s thing. Were they allowed to ask him for his notes? No, they could do this. Couldn’t they? She sure hoped so. The last thing she wanted to do was steer things in the wrong direction.

“Yaoyorozu-san, are you alright? You seem tense.” Iida stated. “Ah I see, you’re worried. No need! I have full faith in our ability to live up to this task!” His expression never once faltering from its serious state.  

Kendou gave her an encouraging smile, “Yeah, we’ve totally got this. What do you think we should do first?” she asked.

“Maybe make a list of everyone’s quirks and then think about their personalities?” Momo suggested. An hour just didn’t seem like enough time to make this decision. This was a week with this person and one wrong choice could result in someone not getting the full benefit of this trip. That was a lot of pressure-- these were decisions teachers normally made for them. But she supposed that was the point.

“That’s a great idea!” Iida spoke and began writing. He quickly jotted down the quirks of everyone in their class and slid the paper to Kendou to write down everyone in her class. At the very least it was a starting point.  

“And I don’t think we should pair anyone together who was already paired together for final exams,” Kendou added as she slid the paper back to Iida.

“Ah, yes, very perceptive! They would probably be disappointed if we reselected their former picks. We should get to work. We have fifty minutes left.” Iida stated as he looked over the list before him.

The hour passed by a lot quicker than they thought it would. They had agreed to pair each other first and then leave it a surprise until the end. From the four names crossed off she knew who her potential partners could be, but she didn’t expect what she read on the paper. She scanned over it one more time to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her.

Class 1-A and 1-B Partners List:

Denki Kaminari and Kyoka Jirou

Eijiro Kirishima and Izuku Midoriya

Fumikage Tokoyami and Shouto Todoroki

Hanta Sero and Yosetsu Awase

Katsuki Bakugo and Momo Yaoyorozu

Koji Kouda and Pony Tsunotori

Mashirao Ojirou and Ibara Shiozaki

Mezo Shouji and Neriengeki Shouda

Mina Ashido and Tsuyu Asui

Minoru Mineta and Manga Fukidashi

Rikido Satou and Kinoko Komori

Tenya Iida and Ochako Uraraka

Toru Hagakure and Hiryu Rin

Yuga Aoyama and Jurota Shishida

Itsuka Kendou and Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

Monoma Neito and Juzo Honenuki

Kojiro Bondo and Kosei Tsuburaba    

Reiko Yanagi and Sen Kaibara  

Setsuna Tokage and Shihai Kuroiro   

Togaru Kamakiri and Yui Kodai

Nope. She had not read it wrong at all. Although she supposed it could be much worse. It could be Mineta she was paired with. She shuddered at the thought. She knew that she was supposed to trust them, but she was curious as to why they would pair them together. However, she didn’t get a chance to even bring it up.

“Time’s up, hand me the list.” their Sensei spoke. His expression stayed straight aside from the smallest curve of his lip. But if you were to blink you would completely miss it. “Get to the common area with the others. You have a big day tomorrow.” He cleared his throat, “Spend tonight setting a good example for your classmates. There will be festivities for some reason,” he shrugged. “Use that time to bond with your partner.”

“Yes, sir!”

The fire crackled as students sat around it attempting to stay warm. Momo had created scarves for everyone to help. She had one left that she had yet to deliver to her partner. He wasn’t usually so receiving or even social for that matter. He was sitting off to the side by himself and he didn’t exactly look thrilled to be there. Momo wondered if that was an act. Couldn’t he simply have just gone to bed by now?

“It’s getting late! I know I cannot speak for class1-B! But we should all turn in by 10:30 class 1-A! So we can assure proper rest and be good partners tomorrow.” Iida announced into a megaphone that echoed loudly.

“Where did he get a megaphone?” Jirou griped rubbing her ears. They were sensitive to sound and it didn’t help that Iida had been standing right near them. “Cut it with that,” she sniped at him.

“Oh, my apologies!” he yelled into the megaphone. He quickly released it realizing he had done it again.

“He puts my teeth on edge,” Jirou grumbled.

“More than Kaminari?” Ashido teased, nudging her gently. “No,” she shot back quickly. “That’s different, he’s entertaining because he’s so stupid.” she snickered.

“Uh huh,” A coy smile on the pink girl’s lips.

“What is that look for?” Jirou asked eyes narrowed.

“Nothin’- I just think it’s cute.” she giggled. “Don’t you think so, Yao-momo?”

“Wha?” she asked being pulled from her thoughts once more.

“It is not cute. He’s gross,” Jirou grumbled standing up. “I’m going to bed. Are you coming?” she asked Momo.

Iida was right, it would be wise to get rest, but she also had yet to approach Bakugou. She held the scarf in her hands bunching the material between her fingers. “I’ll be up soon,” she spoke softly as she stood.

She could only hope this conversation would go well. It wasn’t like he was known for being a conversationalist of any sort. The only person who could seem to talk to him was Kirishima. Should she stop to ask him for tips? It only made sense to learn about him as much as possible. Similar to her quirk it would help if she had prior information. She scanned the crowd for them but found him laughing with Midoriya and some others. Maybe she shouldn’t bother him with her questions. She could figure it out for herself.

His back was turned as he sat on a log overlooking the view.

“Bakugou-san?” she cleared her throat.

He turned toward her. A pause.

“What do you fucking want, Ponytail?” he asked.

So vulgar.

Momo cringed at such harsh language and held out the scarf to him. Her cheeks were bright red and hands were now trembling. Why was she trembling? It wasn’t like she was afraid of him. She had called him out in their first battle at school. And she knew him long enough to know his bark was much worse than his bite.

She supposed it was just her nerves of talking to him one on one, but even looking at him now-- he wasn’t scary. He was difficult sure, but not scary.

“Why are you giving me this?” he asked, voice gruff. “I’m not fucking cold.”

“But your hands,” she trailed now noticing that his were trembling too.

“I’m fucking fine!” he growled but grabbed the scarf from her anyway. “See you tomorrow, Ponytail. Don’t be late.”

“I would never be late!” Momo gasped, offended. Her hand colliding with her chest in shock.

Bakugou just smirked as he walked away from her. Maybe being paired with her wouldn’t be the worst thing that ever happened to him. At the very least he could mess with her a little and she wouldn’t slack off on any of their work. Yeah, he could work with her.

It was late afternoon the next day when they were told they were dismissed. It had been an extremely challenging day. They had to work an obstacle course, had to trust their partner to guide them through a maze blindfolded-- Bakugou blew up three of them. He was lucky Yaoyorozu could recreate them or they could have failed. By the third one, she had scolded him and said he needed to put some type of faith in her.

Her mind was still replaying the moment-- he had never said something so honest in front of her before. Maybe these exercises were put together to push them in more ways than one.

“I hate not having control, alright? It’s fucking terrifying. I need to see where I’m going, what target I’m aiming at-- I don’t do teams.”

And Momo understood that completely, before U.A. she hadn’t met anyone as skilled as herself, at least not anyone her age. She expected to, of course, she wasn’t naive, but it still could wear on a person's confidence. Even someone who seemed indestructible like Bakugou. He was just as terrified as the rest of them so much so that he isolated himself to keep a laser focus. Part of her always suspected this was why, but it was nice to gain confirmation from him.

“Well, for this exercise, I’m your eyes. So let me do my job.”

“Whatever.” He mumbled clearly regretting being so vulnerable.

She handed him a bottle of water as they sat there together trying to catch their breath. “Here, you should probably hydrate.”

He smirked, looking away from her to hold back a chuckle. It wasn’t really like him to hold back laughter when it came at the expense of someone else.

“What?” she asked him growing self-conscious in the process.

“You’re like a fucking, mom.”

Momo was taken back by this. She just liked to be prepared and water was essential to helping them stay on top of their game. How did that make her like a mother? She cared about their well being and wanted to do well? Didn’t he also want to do well? 

 “Perhaps I’m just very prepared.”

“Like a mom.” He reiterated and she furrowed her eyebrows.

“Does that upset you?” he asked her.

“No.”

“Good.”

“Wha?” she asked him, eyes wide.  

“Something should fucking upset you-- you’re too agreeable.”

And then he left her standing there again, dumbfounded. Why did he keep doing that?! And did he have to swear so much? He was so-- well he was so uncouth.

The rest of the week went by quickly. Each day provided new challenges and sometimes they would have to work with not only their partner but other teams. Each night they went to bed exhausted, dragging their half dead bodies into the comfort of their temporary beds.

She could even say that she understood why Midoriya admired him so much. No one was unaware that Bakugou was powerful or talented, but there was much more to him than that. He had come quite a long way from that guy she analyzed in their first test. He listened more, he never made her feel weak, and eventually, he seemed to rely on her too.

It was like they were an actual team and when Momo was working with him she felt a boost to her own confidence. It made her feel like anything that he could do she was somehow capable of doing it too. And strangely enough, when she hesitated he didn't yell at her. His voice could get gruff, but that was just how he spoke.

“Keep going, Ponytail. Try. again.”

“Stop thinking about it-- trust your damn gut.”  

And yes, maybe he pushed her buttons too, but she caught on quickly that it was just because he liked seeing her get flustered. Which frankly was quite rude.

Now that the week was over she was almost saddened. She was sure that they would go back to their friend circles slightly intermingling but no longer speaking like before. Maybe Momo could keep her olive branch extended by offering for him to eat lunch with them sometime? No, he probably would just laugh at that ‘I don’t want to eat lunch with your shitty friends.’ And then she would be taken back by how vulgar he was and remind him those are his classmates. But he wouldn’t care.

“Since you’ve all done so well, surprisingly so-” Aizawa-sensei began.

“Aw, come on, Aizawa-kun give them more credit. They’ve worked hard!” All Might interrupted him. “Because of that, we have decided you can have this last day off to rest! Or train in the gym if you like, but these are your leisure hours! We leave first thing in the morning tomorrow.”

It was rare for U.A. to ever cut them a break like this, but most of them could hardly move-- so maybe recovery was necessary for today. Momo knew exactly what it was she wanted to do after she got in a workout of course. She wouldn’t completely slack off-- her studies were too important to her.

Two hours later Momo had her bag around her shoulder and began her small trek to a place of relaxation. They had stumbled upon an area with a quiet spring during one of their training exercises and she wanted to return there for the day. The fresh air was nice, the sun shining brightly making it a nice temperature for a fall day. The trees were shaded with different colored leaves and some already crunching under her feet as she walked.

As it came into a view she couldn’t help the big smile that came over her face. It was a breathtaking sight. The water cascaded off the rocks and into the cool blue water. A few of the autumn leaves had blown in almost like drops of vibrant red, yellow, and orange paint swirling around. She found a spot under a shady tree placing her blanket down and getting comfortable. She reached into her bag pulling out a few snacks and a stack of books. She had some fresh blueberries, peeled orange slices, and walnuts to enjoy.  

Their training had been so vigorous that Momo was too exhausted to read at night like she usually did. And she had earned it since she still trained today, right? Right. Maybe she should have stayed two extra hours. Three hours of training probably would have been better than the hour and a half she did today. Maybe she should go back or she could get more hours in this evening. Yes, that would work.

“I could smell your brain frying from a mile back,” a now very familiar gruff voice spoke. “What are you over thinking now?” he asked.

“Bakugou-san?” her eyes wide.

“Nothing,” she blushed cracking open her book and attempting to read. He only smirked which slightly infuriated her. Why was he always smirking at her like that?! She didn’t see what was amusing. She was almost tempted to ask what he was doing here but decided against it.

He sat down next to her and an audible gasp escaped her as she peered over the top of her book. He turned to look at her and she quickly buried her face back into the pages. She reached for the container of her fruit holding it up to offer him some.

Bakugou had spent the better half of the morning working out and figured he might get in a few more hours later. Kirishima had tried to talk him into hanging out with everyone else-- and he almost considered it. Maybe if Ponytail girl was there he could annoy her or something-- hang out with Hair For Brains for a while. It could be worse.

Eventually, he decided that none of that was worth it. Solitude would be a much better use of his time. Everyone was so damn loud all the time and got on his nerves. He could just sit for a while by that dumb spring Yaoyorozu Ponytail found so interesting when they discovered it on Wednesday.

He hadn’t been expecting her to actually be there. He thought for sure they would have all roped her into hanging out with them. But, at least she was a classmates company he could tolerate. Maybe even more than Kirishima because she didn’t bother him as much. He liked that if he wanted to sit in silence she didn’t really feel the need to say too much. What was the point in opening your mouth if you didn’t have anything to fucking say?

He surprised himself by sitting right beside her, but she was sitting under the shadiest tree. Maybe he enjoyed her company more than he would ever admit. As she held up her fruit container there was a part of him that wanted to flip it out of her hands for being so nice to him. Why the fuck was she so nice? She didn’t need to share her food with him and why didn’t she yell at him for invading her space?

“I don’t want any.”

“You mean, no thank you, Yaoyorozu-chan,” she corrected, “Or Yao-Momo.”

“Hey, I didn’t swear doesn’t that fucking count?” he asked balling up his fists. He was playing right into her trap. He could see the smirk rising up on her lips and he was almost proud? “Hey! Don’t you fucking smirk at me, Ponytail! I’ll fucking kill you right here.” His eyes were glowing and he could feel the small explosions firing off in his hands.

“No you won’t,” she stated simply. “You’re all talk Bakugou-san. I’ve got you figured out, you can’t hide from me.” She brought the book back to her attention, popping a blueberry into her mouth and he was furious. His blood boiled and his breathing grew heavier because she was fucking right. He blamed Kirishima for making him weak and more sociable. He blamed her for being too damn nice and himself for growing used to her kindness.  

He stood towering over her now. His eyes bright red, though Momo was secretly nervous she didn’t show it. In one swift motion, he picked her up, tossing her book over to the wayside. “Put me down!” she yelled hitting his back. He didn’t care though. 

“DIE!” he screeched as he tossed her into the spring before him. That would show her that he wasn’t all fucking talk. He stood at the edge on a rock watching as she swam up to the surface with his signature grin present on his lips. That would teach her to ever see him as anything less than a man of his word. He was not weak.

Momo was shocked the moment she hit the water, it was cold, but not as freezing as she would have expected. She was quick to rise to the surface and she was torn between crying and killing him. “Bakugou-san!” she jumped up grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him in with her. 

Normally she never would have done something like this, but she was angry. Here she was just trying to enjoy her day off and he had to come spoil it by throwing her in the spring. She held him under the water for a few seconds, surprised she was even able to do so. He wiggled out of her grip coming up from the water with a gasp.

But he was laughing? That was almost more terrifying than an angry Bakugou. It wasn’t a smirk or even a chuckle-- he was actually laughing. Momo’s face grew red as she looked around to see what he could be finding so funny. “What are you laughing at?!” she asked him, panic present in her voice.

“You make a great face when you’re pissed off. Your nose scrunches up and your eyes get fire in em’. It’s a good look on you.” he snorted climbing out of the water. He extended his hand back towards her. She expected him to pull some dirty trick like trying to push her back in and she would have clung on to take him back down with her-- but he didn’t.

 “It’s fucking cold, neither of us needs to get sick.” He grabbed the blanket off the floor and wrapped it around her shoulders without even thinking twice about it.

Momo’s eyes were wide with concern. Had the spring water cleansed the monster out of him or something? She had read something before about water having healing properties--or maybe this spring was somehow magical. Perhaps this was actually just what Bakugou was like under all of the armor he wore. No one could ever really figure out why Midoriya and Kirishima thought so highly of him. It was true that he was skilled and everyone in the class respected that-- but not many actually liked him. It could be that she was catching a glimpse of the hero that lived within.

She didn’t mention his kindness, instead she just quietly thanked him. She turned away opening up her shirt under the blanket and made him a towel. She caught the red in his face as she turned back around and refrained from laughing. “Fucking exhibitionist,” he muttered as he took the towel. Her face went red now, but with irritation. “I’m not! I was just making you a towel so you could keep-” she watched the grin and narrowed her eyes at him. Damn him, he got her again.

He laughed and without thinking about it she shoulder checked him. Her face went blank and her hand came up to cover her mouth. “Bakugou-san, I apologize. I didn’t mean-.” She could feel her cheeks were pink and her head was hanging in shame. That was not an appropriate way to react.

“You don’t need to fucking apologize, Ponytail. I told you, you’re too agreeable.”

They didn’t see each other much the rest of the day. Just glances of one another and every time he would nod his head up towards her. She didn’t exactly know what that meant. Was he saying hello? She understood the gesture-- but what did it mean when it came from someone like him? She supposed it didn’t matter now.

They began their trek back to the bus early that morning as promised. Most of the class seemed to hardly be awake and it was certainly colder in the morning. Cold enough that they could see their breath. It was strange how quickly the weather had changed. Yesterday it was sunny and today was more of a traditional fall day with the gloomy weather.

Eventually, Momo found herself drifting to the back like she normally did. Her mind was consumed with different thoughts as she played over the past week. She never in a million year would have thought that she and Bakugou would make a good team. Nor would she ever think that they could get along personally.  

She felt someone nudge into her shoulder and looked to see it was him. “Good morning, Bakugou-san.” she smiled. He rolled his eyes at her, but they kept at the same pace as they walked together. They didn’t say very much, just a jab here or there-- but it seemed they both liked the company as they trailed behind their class.

When they loaded the bus for whatever reason Bakugou sat in the seat next to her. 

“Ah, good idea!” Iida chimed in noticing this.  “We should all sit with our pairings if they are on this bus with us!” his hand gestured swiftly. “That way we can review how our weeks went!”

“I don’t care what you do. Just let me nap,” Aizawa-sensei spoke.

The ride back to the school was long and Momo pulled her book out of her bag once more as she read. Bakugou had his eyes closed and every once in awhile he would glance over to see what she was reading. There was idle chit-chat on the bus and no one put much thought into them sitting together because of Iida. Not that Momo would have minded if they had, he sat next to her and she wasn’t going to be rude and say he couldn’t sit there. Besides, whether he liked it or not she considered him a friend.

“What are you reading?” a half sleepy Bakugou asked her.

She was caught off guard by this question, her cheeks a little red. Her mother only wanted her reading books that were educational, but sometimes she would sneak fiction. She found it fascinating and educational in its own way. Maybe it didn’t help her with her quirk, but it gave her a better insight into the world of imagination and art.

“The Boyfriend List, it’s kind of a romance, but real life novel. The girl is our age.”

“I bet it’s fucking stupid,” he chuckled and Momo kept a hard glare locked on him. He sat up straighter as he looked at her. “Tell me about it,” he shrugged. She wondered why he cared, but no one could ever stop her from talking about her beloved books--especially if they asked.

She explained to him in full detail how this book was about an American girl named Ruby who suffers from panic attacks. Her whole life gets turned upside down after losing her boyfriend and all of her friends. Bakugou does his best not to laugh, but he can’t help it. This book sounds stupid as hell to him, but even he has to admit that he likes to see her passion and her glaring looks when he makes a face. He even asked her to read to him and he has no idea why he does this, but she doesn’t even hesitate. It made the time go by quicker on this dreaded bus ride and he even forgot about the cold for a while. Especially when she was glaring at him for his snide remarks.

He didn’t even notice that he had gotten so relaxed that his coat fell open-- just enough to reveal what was tucked away underneath. He was wearing the scarf she had made. He caught the smile on her lips as she noticed it and glared at her. “It’s fucking cold, alright? Don’t make a big deal about it.” he huffed pulling his coat tighter around him. Now it was Bakugou with the blush painted across his cheeks.

Momo looked at him sincerely and this made his blood run cold. He hadn’t met anyone in his life nearly as sincere or as good natured as her. He even valued when she was brutally honest because it came from a genuine place. “I wasn’t going to.” A smirk appeared on her lips and he knew he thought too fucking soon. “But, I’m glad you like it,” she grinned reaching over to pinch his cheek.

“Yao-Momo, I’m going to fucking kill you!” he screeched his hands balling into fists. Not only was everyone shocked, but Momo herself looked at him like she had seen a ghost.

“D-Di-Did you just call me Yao-Momo?” she asked not able to wipe the shock off of her face.

“You fucking said I could. Do you have a problem with it?” he grumbled not liking that the bus was suddenly very quiet and that everyone was watching them.

“No, I just think it’s shocking that you did. It looks good on you to be respectful,” she teased.

Little explosions were going off in his hands now as he grit his teeth. His face was as red as Kirishima’s hair and Momo couldn’t help but burst into laughter. It was the first time his swearing hadn’t caught her completely off guard-- maybe she even welcomed it. For comedic purposes only.

“What’s up with those two?” Ashido asked Deku and Kirishima who were sitting behind them. Tsuyu watched them as well, “Ribbit just seems like Bakugou being Bakugou to me.”

“No, Ashido-san is right,” Midoriya spoke shaking his head. “There is something different that wasn’t there before.Kacchan’s being kind of nice to her--in his own way.”

Kirishima draped an arm over the back of the seat as he turned to look at the two. Bakugou was bright red, but they were both laughing now. It was the weirdest thing he had ever seen. He had only seen Bakugou get like that a few times and never publicly. It was almost like they weren’t even on the bus with the rest of them. “Midoriya-san is right. There may be something that wasn’t there before.”  He paused as the four of them just quietly observed the pair. “It’s like they’re actually friends.”

#bakumomo #katsuki bakugou #momo yaoyorozu #bnha #fanfic #my writing #please let me know if you like it!