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mae-gi-writes · 3 years

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Once Again (Pt.2) | Iwaizumi Hajime (Haikyu!)

ONCE AGAIN | PART TWO

Summary:

Iwaizumi’s broken marriage results in his five-year-old son trying to match him up with his primary school teacher, whom he thinks will make a wonderful replacement for a mother.

Genre: fluff, angst, f! Reader x dad! Iwaizumi

Taglist: @multi-fandom-fanfic, @168-cm-png, @bakugouswh0r3, @yatoatyourservice, @ayocee, @marvel-ing-at-it-all, @astrolcve

A/N: Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! Thanks to everyone for the kind feedback and for reading my work <3

< PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART >

----

He swings his beer over the counter, "one more."

He shouldn't be drinking. Imagine the damage it's doing to his organs, alcohol sweeping through his bloodstream and purging him of all coherent thought. Iwaizumi can hear Oikawa's nagging voice in his head even within the depths of intoxication.

Does he care though? He should. He should care. Because his job is basically to get people in their best shape.

And here he is, drinking away his sorrow, still shaken up by the way Hoisuke's fingers had grabbed for him that night. The bundle of nerves he'd squashed down had only intensified upon dropping his son on his mother's doorstep the same weekend and though he knew he should've said something to Mizune, he couldn't find the will to utter the words out, lest they came back to haunt him.

His phone buzzes in his pant pocket and after finishing it out with clumsy fingers, he manages to press down onto the green button.

"Yeah?"

"You're drinking!"

"No."

"Iwa-chan~" Oikawa's voice pierces through the receiver, sickly sweet and yet with a dark threatening undertone, "what are you doing?"

"Fuck off, shittykawa."

"Where are you?"

Iwaizumi doesn't answer. He doesn't need to, for Oikawa's already exclaiming the said bar's name as he takes another sip of his newly-filled beer glass.

"I thought you said you wouldn't drink anymore," Oikawa reproaches, "think of what Hoisuke would say--"

"I said fuck off."

There's a small pause where Oikawa bristles, before he says in a quieter tone, "what's wrong?"

Still, Iwaizumi says nothing but takes another huge gulp of his beer. His head feels buzzed, disoriented.

"Iwa-chan."

The said man press his lips in a taut line.

"Iwa-chaaaan."

"I'll talk to you later," Iwaizumi barely hears his friend's protests before he cuts off the call and downs the rest of his beer like a parched man, eyes narrowing towards anyone who dares reprimand him of his behaviour.

"One more," he rasps out towards the bartender, whose sending him a look that closely mimics one that clearly says he's had enough. But he scowls in response and that's enough to make the bartender's eyes slip away.

Seriously. What is wrong with him? It's already been four months goddamnit. Get over yourself. He wishes he could punch himself in the face. God, he sounds like a loser. He looks like one. And it's no wonder that his wife has left him for someone better, richer. Everything that he's not.

Not to forget that this wound will never leave their son's heart.

"One rum and coke please."

A presence lingers in his right and the brown-haired man turns with a glare at the ready, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed in a thin line to scare whatever stranger that comes a little too close for his liking.

What the--

He stares at you. You stare back at him, just as dumbfounded. Looking the same, yet completely different.

"Miss Y/N?"

"Iwaizumi-san?"

He feels the sudden urge to hide his empty glass, "what--are you doing here?"

"Don't look so surprised, Iwaizumi-san," you chuckle at what you think is his flabbergasted expression, "I'm still twenty-six you know. I came here with a few of my friends."

His eyes slide towards the table in the far corner -- easy to spot since it's one of the loudest -- before he almost misses your question, "and you?"

"I come here often."

"Ah I see."

As you pay the bartender who slides your drink over, you bristle for a bit before you ask hesitantly, "mind if I sit here?"

Iwaizumi shakes his head. It's not like he can say no after all. You're his kid's teacher. And shit, how many beers has he had? He better not run his mouth. It's a dirty habit of his whenever he's shit drunk.

"So," you start off slowly, looking so out of place next to the said man with a scowl so dark it can scare off the most violent of gangsters that the corners of Iwaizumi's mouth tilt upwards in amusement, "how's it going?"

Seriously? You're seriously going to do that? His gaze searches your features for a moment, satisfied when warmth floods your cheeks.

You look away, "you don't have to look at me like that, you know. I just thought you’d want some company."

"What makes you think that?” Iwaizumi says while he flags down another beer from the waiter.

You blink at him, “I can go if you want--”

The man sighs, rubbing his temples with tiredness, “that’s not what I meant.”

A weird, empty gap of silence ensues. Long enough that Iwaizumi gets his fourth beer of the night in his hand and he takes a grateful swallow.

He really should not be drinking so much.

"Where do you work?”

You’re persistent. He’ll give you that, “personal trainer. I work at the sports academy.”

“That’s cool,” there’s a small smile edging upon your lips, “you like it?”

He nods, pauses briefly, before asking, “do you?”

Of course it’s a little too close for comfort, especially since you’re Hoisuke’s teacher and all. But you merely relax in your high stool, swinging your legs while nodding eagerly. He can’t help but notice the tightness of your dark jeans, your black high-heeled boots, “I don’t see myself working as anything else. I’m bad with people most of the time.”

Taking another swig of his beer, Iwaizumi feels the tension slowly ease up from his shoulders, “well you’re way better with kids than I am.”

“You’re pretty good with Hoisuke."

“That’s because you haven’t seen him throw tantrums.”

You laugh, "oh don't worry, I have. I know all about his little fits. All my kids have one, at some point."

You say it lightly, but there's definitely love laced in your words and for a minute, Iwaizumi thinks back to the way Hoisuke kept on praising you, the way he spoke so affectionately about you.

"Do you still play volleyball?" You ask him while sipping on your drink.

He mimics the gesture, "sometimes. The guys are all over town so it's harder to meet up now."

"Dang, your team was so good though."

"It was Oikawa that held us together. We weren't that good," he tastes the bitterness of Karasuno's victory on his tongue.

"That's not true," you protest, fiddling with your empty glass, "the only reason why I watched Aoba Johsai's games was because I liked watching you play."

Dark coffee-coloured orbs sweep up to yours at that statement, as if trying to peel layers off yout shell, as if wanting to confirm the truth of your words. You feel like cowering away but you don't, instead holding his stare in hopes that he doesn't notice how your hands tremble slightly underneath his scowl.

And then, features softening ever so slightly, he murmurs out, "thanks."

You know he means it in the best way possible.

-----

One drink turns to two. And two multiplies by four. And soon enough you're tipsy off your head and singing so blatantly off-key you wonder why Iwaizumi's still by your side. You haven't been this drunk in ages and this sense of freedom makes you bold; you tug him to the dance floor to join your friends, order shot after shot as the music gets louder and your head gets lighter, proceed to blabber your mouth off about literally anything and everything that by the end of the night, you wish the ground would swallow you whole so you won't have to deal with Iwaizumi the next day.

You're not entirely sure how you find yourself being dragged by none other than the said man himself, or how your nose is currently lodged in the crevice between his neck and shoulders. But he smells good, like citrus and a mixture of mint and-- you sniff a little more -- is that cookie dough? Your mouth waters just at the thought.

"You smell like cookie dough," the words tumble out of your mouth in a jumbled mess and you inwardly feel like stabbing yourself.

So pathetic. Pitiful really.

"That's Hoisuke," Iwaizumi replies, surprisingly patient even when he's clearly not impressed, glaring at the lamppost ahead, "it's his flavour of the month."

"That's cute!" You giggle, "just like you, Iwa!"

The man sighs while shifting his grip upon your waist, "let's just get you to bed."

You probably doze off at some point or black out because the next thing you see upon opening your eyes next is the ceiling.

Hoisting your head up and groaning when your head pounds in warning, you lie back down as nausea takes over.

Shit. This isn't your room. You know that much.

What the fuck happened last night?

You remember dancing atop tables, remember spotting Iwaizumi by the bar and talking to him because he just seemed so sad and lonely. You remember dragging him onto the dance floor, dancing together, his hands on your waist--

You danced with Iwaizumi?!

The thought is enough to trigger another pounding. You groan once more, placing your hand atop your head in hopes that it will stop it from throbbing. It doesn't. But before you have more time to wallow in your self-pity, the door creaks open and your eyes almost pop out of your head when you spot a mop of brown spiky hair enter the room.

Iwaizumi.

Oh fuck. Your brain short circuits. Fuck fuck fuck.

Surprise crosses his face, clearly having not expected you to be awake yet. He walks over to place a glass of water by the nightstand and grabs your palm to tilt two aspirins into your hand.

"How's your head?" He asks.

"Fine," you wince. It's far from fine. In response, he holds out the glass and you gladly wash down the pills, warm and feeling suddenly vulerable under his stare.

Chewing onto the inside of your cheek, you muster up all your courage to ask, "what--happened last night?"

You don't miss the way his eyebrows shoot up, "you don't remember?"

"...no."

Is that amusement dancing in his eyes? You're not sure since it's gone just as quickly as it came before he says, "you got drunk. Danced on the table, had too many shots and made out with two different men--"

"I'm pretty sure the last part didn't happen."

"You said you didn't remember," he smirks lightly.

"I can't even flirt, let alone kiss strangers."

That earns you a chuckle from his part, causing your heart to flutter slightly as he straightens up, "you probably want to wash up. Bathroom's on the right. I'm in the kitchen if you need me."

"Okay," and as he turns away, you quickly add, "thanks, Iwaizumi-san."

He nods back, exiting the room and finally allowing you to collapse back against the bed to try slowing down your galloping heart. Jesus christ, you think to yourself as you slowly take in your surroundings. From the lack of furniture and with only a few clothes flung over a wooden desk chair shoved in the right, you guess it's his room. A closed laptop and a small plant sits on his desk. On the left is the nightstand filled with sports books and some manga, a closet shoved in a corner and the floor is made in veneered wood.

There's no sign of family pictures, nothing that indicates the warmth of a cosy household. It doesn't take a genius to understand why. While Hoisuke had begged you not to tell his father, you weren't a stranger to the young boy sobbing in-between breaks because he misses his mother.

Well, it's not like you're allowed into family affairs anyway, as much as that breaks your heart.

After a much needed shower and a quick brush of your teeth -- you had to make do with using your fingers with his toothpaste, too embarrassed to actually ask him whether he had a spare toothbrush -- you walk out into the kitchen to see Iwaizumi already seated at a quaint wooden table laden with eggs and toast. Behind him sits the kitchen stove and white countertops next to a fridge fitting snuggly on the left corner. On the far right of the room is a large dark grey couch and a tv set, and just behind it is a small hallway which seems to be the entrance -- guessing by the coat rack and array of shoes.

"Sunny side up or boiled?" Iwaizumi asks as you take a seat opposite him. He has already poured you a cup of strong coffee and you inhale before sighing in bliss. Your headache already feels slightly better.

"Anything is fi--" you're interrupted by his scowl, quickly changing your answer to, "sunny-side up please."

He grunts, passes you the plate and digs into his own fried eggs, the soft boiled ones forgotten at the centre of the table.

"Uhm, forgive me for point it out, but that's a lot of food Iwaizumi-san," you mumble out, not missing the way his features harden slightly.

"Force of habit," he mutters in-between mouthfuls. He doesn't need to say more, for you're pretty certain he's referring to the family he used to have, those lazy Sunday mornings that started out with brunch.

You eat in companionable silence and though it'a definitely less awkward than last night, your mind still races trying to figure out what to say to erase the permanent furrow between his brows.

Or is that his normal demeanour? To be honest, you're not quite sure yourself.

So you settle for thanking him for last night, to which he replies, "do you usually drink that much?"

"No," you duck your head, avert your gaze, "I got carried away. I'm really sorry."

"Well I wouldn't have expected my kid's teacher to be that wild," he muses while taking a bite of his toast.

Alarm zaps through you, making your eyes go wide, "I swear I'm not usually like that, really. I just--this was an exception--"

"It's fine, miss Y/N. I know," his brown pupils lock onto yours briefly, "I'm not going to report you."

"I--" nothing can really make up for your behaviour last night. You know that much, "still, I'm sorry. That wasn't appropriate," you glance up, chest tightening at the intensity of his stare, unflinching. Unwavering.

He cocks his head at you then, a semblance of a smile along his mouth, "I was pretty entertained, if you ask me."

"Was I that bad?"

"No. But let's just say that you won't want to show your face around for the next week or so."

You groan and bury your face in your hands, "what did I do?"

"You might've broken a beer glass or two," he gives you a look, "on purpose. And tried to steal the Dj's headphones cause he wasn't putting the music you requested."

"Oh god," you want to bury yourself right then and there and to your surprise, you see him laugh softly before he nudges your coffee towards you.

"Drink," he orders, "it'll make you feel less shitty."

You're about to retort with a roll of your eyes, only to be interrupted by the doorbell ringing. From the way Iwaizumi tenses, you know it's not just the mail man.

Excusing himself to go unlock the door as you twist in your seat to follow his figure, shock courses through you the moment your eyes land on Hoisuke's.

Then, his mother.

An alarm bell rings through your mind.

"I thought you said evening," comes Iwaizumi's grunt, totally unlike the guy who'd been chuckling a few seconds ago.

"Hoisuke wanted to come back early for some reason," the woman says, her gaze flickering to yours for a brief moment. It's enough to cause you to swallow hard. She continues, "I'll pick him up on--"

"Miss Y/N?!" Hoisuke shouts out suddenly and before you know it, you're being tackled into the child's arms as if you haven't seen each other forever, "what are you doing here?! Daddy!" he whips his head around in accusation, "you lied about not really really liking Miss Y/N!"

"Wha--No!" Iwaizumi yells as you frown in confusion, "huh?"

"Daddy said that really really liking someone means you wanna be boyfriend and girlfriend with them, like he was with Mama before she moved houses," Hoisuke blabbers on, totally oblivious to how the three of you keep on staring at him in growing alarm, "and then I asked him if he really really liked miss Y/N because I really really like miss Y/N but he said no, but that's a lie!"

"Hajime, what is he talking about?" His ex-wife is quick to narrow her eyes, "what have you been telling him?"

"Nothing, it's not what you think--"

"I think," she pointedly glances at you, "I should leave now. We'll talk about this later."

And with that, she swivels around and storms out, leaving the three of you to stare after her in a mixture of shock and confusion.

Hoisuke, oblivious to the sudden tension, blurts out, "daddy, why is Mama angry with you?"

----

The few weeks following the tiny incident that had resulted in an awkward misunderstanding between you, Hoisuke’s parents and the said child himself had caused you to retreat back into the shell of professionalism that included avoiding Iwaizumi whenever it was deemed possible. It hadn’t been hard since he was usually present and waiting outside class to pick up Hoisuke right on time, making it much easier to avoid conversation with him altogether.

You’d texted iwaizumi right after reaching your humble abode the day he’d practically saved your drunk ass and though you spent a few spare moments to chat in-between the bustling activities of life, it doesn’t erase the fact that he’s still Hoisuke’s father, one of your dearest students. That, and the fact that you don’t really find it fair to put Hoisuke in-between the two of you, if there’s anything worth digging for anyway.

Who are you kidding? It’s not like Iwaizumi would ever be interested in you in that sense. Having spotted his ex-wife once or twice proved that his style was of more refined women, the type that would drink wine instead of chug down beer and who’d enjoy gifts such as perfume and romantic dates instead of going on grocery trips and meal-prepping for the entire week.

“Miss Y/N!” Hoisuke’s voice pierces through your thought bubble and your eyes quickly find his grin as he jumps towards your desk, "are you coming to our house this weekend too?!"

"Wh--What? Uhm-- no I don't think so--" eyes quickly flitting over the classroom, you're relieved to find that the rest of his classmates are long gone, "I don't think that's appropriate."

"But why? I even told Mama that I wouldn't be coming this weekend because you were," he pouted and it took all of your determination not to melt, until his words registered in your brain and your eyes widened, "o--oh, but that's--"

"Hoisuke?" You both turn to see his father's head poking through the door. Your body reacts instantly, warmth flooding through your limbs and flushing through your cheeks.

"Daddy!"

"H-Hello, Iwaizumi-san," you bow your head slightly. He returns the gesture, facial expression not giving anything away. His son bounds up to him with just as much vigor, "daddy, can we invite miss Y/N this weekend too?"

You might have laughed at Iwaizumi's shocked face if not for the fact that you are the person in question.

He splutters, "Miss Y/N has things to do--"

"But she came last weekend!"

"Yes well, it's bad manners to impose on someone when they're not free," Iwaizumi replies sternly, "come on now, we're gonna be late for Karate."

With a loud sigh and a scowl that resembles so much like his father, Hoisuke mutters out his goodbyes while Iwaizumi catches your eye, bowing slightly and muttering a silent "sorry" before he guides his son out of the room. You're glad he's out of earshot that he can't hear the stuttering of your heart against your chest.

You place a hand on your chest, sigh tiredly before looking down at your students' papers, "get a grip, Y/N," you mutter to yourself.

But it's not that easy to control yourself when Iwaizumi is making it so easy to like him.

----

Iwaizumi: sorry about yesterday.

Y/N: it's okay. Hoisuke’s young, it's normal for him to want for a motherly figure around.

Iwaizumi's fingers drum over his knee as he watches with slight interest the newest male volleyball team practice their serves. He shouts after a few, calling them out for theit lazy postures, but other than that he can't seem to stop his thoughts from winding their way back to you.

"Who is she?" Mizune had asked him on the phone on the day following their encounter. Her tone was friendly, yet held that tone of warning that he was so accustomed to.

"How does that concern you?"

"I want to know who you're bringing around to hang out with Hoisuke."

"She's an acquaintance of mine," he paused, "and Hoisuke's teacher."

"That's inapropriate if you ask me."

Scoffing, he replied, "like what you did's so appropriate?"

A small pause ensued. When she spoke next, there was no mistaking the edge to her voice.

"You can't keep using that against me, Hajime."

"Don't tell me who I can or can't hang out with."

He'd hung up without bothering to wait for her response, seething and red hot with rage blubbering through his stomach.

Of course now that he thinks it over, Mizune has a point. Mixing the professional and the personal have never ended in happy endings. Not that this has ever stopped him before. He doesn't believe in what everyone else thinks is right. That's also one of the main reasons why Mizune couldn't handle it anymore. Or so she said before she went to suck someone else's dick.

His phone vibrates and fishing it out, a scowl instantly shadows his face upon seeing Oikawa's name flash across the screen.

Oikawa: Iwa-chan ~ have you asked her out yet?

Iwaizumi has to force himself to stay in control and not pound his phone to pieces when he types out his reply.

Iwaizumi: No.

Oikawa: BUT WHYYYY~ YOU SAID YOU FOUND HER CUTE.

Oikawa: and Hoisuke likes her. He already knows her.

Iwaizumi: I didn’t say that. And she's not interested.

Oikawa: Just because you suck at picking up cues doesn't mean she isn't throwing them at you 😏😏😏

Iwaizumi: shut up, shittykawa.

Oikawa: Just do it or I'll do it for you.

Iwaizumi: I don't even like her that way.

Oikawa: why'd you rant about not wanting to hurt her feelings yesterday night then?

Iwaizumi's hand rubs at his face with a groan. Oikawa's a little shit most of the time, but he's a perceptive little shit.

Oikawa: I mean it. Ask her out or I'll do it for you.

Oikawa: gotta go now. Match is starting. See ya!~ muah ❤

"Dumbass," Iwaizumi growls under his breath before shoving the phone back into his pocket. Easier said than done to ask someone out so casually, especially when she's Hoisuke's teacher.

If she accepts, great. If she doesn't, he'll have to suffer through humiliation for the rest of the year or avoid picking up Hoisuke altogether.

Oh fuck it.

He lets his body send the message before his brain can catch up to the way he has thrown himself under the bus, shoves his phone back into his pocket and tries to put the thought out of his mind even though the device suddenly feels hot and heavy in his pant pocket.

Iwaizumi: we're having takeout and movie night on Friday. You're free to join.

----

514 notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 3 years

Text

bright light city gonna set my soul on fire

ace anon said: wanna suggest dabi taking you to a poker game as a good luck charm then betting you on a game and losing...or winning and bragging about it by fucking you on the table

genre: smut + implied crooked secret agent/spy AU set in the late 1950s???

notes: AH ace i loved this idea SO MUCH it ended up sparking an entire fic!! heavily inspired by ian fleming’s 1953 novel casino royale + martin campbell’s 2006 film casino royale. it is set in clari’s version of the 1950s and in no way historically accurate!! think of it as an AU of the 1950s, if that makes sense ehehe | title credit: viva las vegas by elvis | songs mentioned in the fic itself: don’t and i beg of you by elvis, rockin’ robin by bobby day

warnings: 18+, period typical use of the word Daddy (not with dabi), inappropriate use of the word Mister, slight degradation, mentioned somnophilia, slight dacryphilia, minimal prep, night terrors, blood, murder, generally toxic codependant relationship, one implied mention of drug use (morphine), mentions of tense family dynamics

words: 8.5k

synopsis:

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Sticky pink candy, translucent and gleaming with saliva, clacks against teeth as you roll the heart-shaped lollipop around in your mouth, twirling the stick between your index finger and your thumb.

Legs kick idly as you lean back on your other hand, seated on the edge of Tomura’s massive, pristine mahogany desk, watching as his personal tailor helps Dabi shrug on a navy tuxedo jacket, stitched and sown perfectly to his measurements.

“I dunno,” he’s saying as he pivots his body a little, making a face at himself in the mirror. “I still think the black looks better,”

Ruby eyes roll up towards the ceiling, a frustrated groan spilling from between Tomura’s lips.

“You always think the black looks better. We’re going with the navy, it brings out your eyes,” he gives the back of Dabi’s head a sharp look before strolling towards you, features softening as he observes—the perfect picture of innocence, legs swinging slowly in cute little motions, strawberry lollipop sucked against the roof of your mouth, sparkling eyes floating from your boyfriend’s broad shoulders to his—your—boss’s face as he advances.

“Gimme some,” he demands, large hands finding your knees and halting your movement, using his hipbones to push them wider, making a space for himself between them and sticking his tongue out. With a giggle, you place the now misshapen candy on his tongue, gasping loudly as he snatches the candy from you, movements too quick for you to catch, and jumps away with the grace of a cat.

“Daddy!”

Tomura snickers around the lollipop in his mouth, sucking it into his cheek as he speaks around it. “Aw, come now, don’t pout,” his bottom lip pushes out to mimic your expression, tilting his head in false sympathy. “I’m sure your Mister will buy you another,”

“He better,” you mumble through your pout, eyebrows knitting together as arms cross tightly over your chest, eyes flitting to Dabi.

“I will, dollface, I will,” he vows distractedly, gaze not straying from his fingers reflected in the mirror as they fiddle with his bowtie.

“Promise, Mister?”

“Promise, baby, promise,”

Dabi’s already been briefed on the specifics of this mission—something to do with playing a poker game with a bunch of other crooked hotshots at the Sahara hotel in Las Vegas, but that’s all you know. That’s all you’re authorized to know.

Despite being Dabi’s accomplice and working for Tomura’s underground organization, you’re rarely allowed to be in Tomura’s office while the briefing happens. It’s sensitive information, dollface, and the less you know the better, and don’t misbehave now, sit pretty and quiet like a good little girl until the big boys are finished, and then Daddy and Mister will give you a pretty reward.

But! you had protested with a bottom lip involuntarily jutted out. But maybe, if I know more, I can be of better help—

But Tomura had shut that idea down before it had even finished leaving your lips.

No. Absolutely not. It’s for your own good—your own safety, you little brat—why can’t you understand that?

You do understand that, you’ve been told a thousand times—your specialty is distractions, used to keep enemies occupied before Dabi splatters their brains on marble floors, or to pry information out of men weak to the smile of a pretty girl.

And, to be fair, Tomura does reward you pretty generously, with glittering evening gowns and designer pumps and all the handbags a gal could ever want.

You turn back to face him, red lips spread into a cunning, mischievous smile, a smile he knows all too well, a smile Dabi loves—because he taught it to you—and Tomura hates—because it means you’re about to get what you want. “So. How much money are you giving me to play with this time, Daddy?”

Tomura’s face screws up, nose scrunching. “None,” he spits, removing the lollipop from his mouth. Tiny hands grab at the air, reaching for it like a child, Tomura swiping it just out of grasp as he continues his scolding. “Last time, you nearly bought the entire shopping complex,”

“Ah, c’mon, boss,” Dabi says around a cigar, still standing in front of the full-length mirror and smoothing down his clothing. “Give the lil lady a lil somethin’, will ya?”

“Yeah, boss, c’mon,” you plead, mimicking your boyfriend, adorning your face with your signature pout and award-winning puppy-dog eyes.

“Absolutely not.” His voice is stern as he speaks, facial features hard in finality and resolution, but his eyes—irises a crimson so brilliant, so beautiful it’s terrifying, almost looks as if it’s glowing—are beginning to waver.

“You know, if you don’t, then I’m sure I’ll get bored in that big city all by myself while Dabi’s working,” you begin in a singsong voice, eyebrows raising. “And you know what happens when I get bored, Daddy,”

“She gets int’a trouble,” Dabi grumbles, eyes catching yours through the mirror, though there’s a smirk forming around the cigar, held between sharp gleaming ivory teeth.

“S’true,” you nod simply, eyelashes fluttering as you gaze at Tomura. “Please, Daddy? Pretty please? I swear I won’t spend too much this time,”

“Jus’ give ‘er your credit card r’somethin’,” Dabi waves a hand in nonchalance before patting down his pockets. “I’ll keep a’eye on ‘er, promise,”

“Take that damn cigar out of your mouth and speak properly,” Tomura spits, and you and Dabi share another look, another smirk, through the mirror. “Fine, alright? Fine,” nimble fingers pull out a sleek leather wallet, flipping it open and searching through the card slots, grumbling to himself. “Christ, the two of you are insufferable, I swear to God,”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you giggle, soft and gentle and innocent, all of the things you weren’t mere moments ago. Platinum plastic gleams in your fingers as you tilt the card in the light, gaze captivated by the way it sparkles and glitters as you speak again. “Promise I’ll bring you back something neat,”

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s been a few years now since the two of you met, since the two of you became partners, and Dabi swears to high heaven and back that he had tried his hardest not to fall in love with you, cross his heart, hope to die.

At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself. In actuality, he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you—it’s as cliché and cheesy as one of those Jimmy Dean flicks, but goddamn it, it’s true all the same.

Doesn’t help that that’s one of the first things you said to him, though.

You look like Jimmy Dean, Mister, you had giggled dainty behind your hand, batting those long, thick eyelashes as you gazed up at him, gracious and polite and all the things a good little girl like you should be. Is supposed to be.

It made him want to fucking ruin you. It sparked a white-hot fire deep in the pit of his stomach, a blaze that grew, and grew, and grew with each of your cute mannerisms. It procured an inferno full of pure desire, heady and intoxicating, that nearly engulfed him in an instant.

“Oh, yeah?” he had asked with a smirk, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, tongue running along his front teeth as he steadily held your eyes. “‘N why’s that, little miss?”

Those eyes, the sparkling ones that had been so bold only a moment ago, bashfully flitted down to the teal typewriter sitting in front of you on a large oak desk, fiddling a little with your nails against the worn keys.

Baby pink. Cute.

“Oh I—I—” your gaze flashed up to his for a moment, intense cobalt burning into your very skull, before you averted your stare again. “Well, I-I don’t mean to be rude, Mister, it’s just that—your hair,”

Sapphire eyes flicked up, as if to gaze at his forehead, as if he were able to see his own hair from just that motion, eyebrows raising with the action.

“S’all messy like the way he wears his. You know, when he’s not doing a picture and all that,”

And you noticed your mistake immediately, eyes widening, tongue tripping over your words in your haste to correct yourself, to speak properly, like a lady. “I-It’s all messy, s-sorry, excuse me, it’s all messy like the way he wears his,”

A smirk, slow and dangerous, spread across his face as he observed you, tilting his head a little as his eyes travelled down your neck, to your shoulders and the sweetheart neckline of that pretty, pretty dress, and then back up again, narrowing slightly as they did so. It’s in that moment that Dabi first wondered what you’d sound like underneath him while sharp hipbones bruise his name into the tender flesh of your inner thighs, how you’d slur your words together then.

His voice was a touch huskier when he spoke again. “You like Jimmy, miss?”

“I sure do,” you nodded, painted lips morphing into a little melancholic smile as you looked down at the typewriter again. “It’s a real shame he passed,”

“Sure is,” Dabi mimicked your movement, giving a simple nod in agreement. “But thank you for the compliment, doll, I’ll take it,”

Your head snapped back up. “Oh, c’mon, m’not stupid y’know,” you huffed with a roll of your eyes and a light laugh.

“No?”

The traces of amusement that played in his azure eyes had your own narrowing a little in response, sitting up straighter as you rolled your shoulders back.

“No,” you shook your head. “I know who you are,”

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“Touya.”

And it’s the way you said his birthname, the way your lips curled into a devious little smile around the word, the way one of your perfectly arched eyebrows raised in question, in challenge, that had confirmed it for him, right then and there, in that stupidly luxurious office.

“Touya Todoroki.”

He was sure he had to have you. He was positive he had to make you his—forever.

“You’ve been compared to Jimmy since he debuted—”

“And you know this because—”

“—because I read Time and Vogue and all those other stupid magazines, just like all the other women in this country. And I’ve seen you,” you paused to point a manicured nail at him. “On or in every single one,”

Oh, and he was sure you had, sure you knew that he was notorious for stealing several of his father’s girlfriends when he was in his early twenties, infamous for fucking them and then selling the Polaroid’s and information to vying tabloids and the like. He always did like to spice up those stories a little, to fluff them and make them a hint more scandalous, glamorous—those ones always sold for more.

Not that he needed the money.

“It’s rude to point, baby,” he winked before he straightened up, pushed himself off the wall and stalked towards your desk, stopping in front of it as large hands splayed out on the wood, and leaned close to your face.

“And I don’t go by that name anymore, sweetheart,” he had told you, voice smooth as scotch over ice, though something dangerous glinted in his eyes as they carefully searched your face, something omnious etched into the sharp smile on his face

A shiver crawled up your spine, frosty and slow, fingers tiptoeing up each vertebra as you nodded your understanding. “Y-Yes, sir,”

The door to your boss’s office had swung open then, Dabi straightening up and spreading his arms out in a grand sweeping movement.

“David!” he greeted as if the two were old friends, large smile stretched too tight across his face as he walked forward and clapped a large hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

He murdered your boss that day. You didn’t know, of course, didn’t have a goddamn clue until over a month later, Dabi had made sure of that. But by the time you found out, you were already in too deep; too enamoured by him, wholly captivated by him in every sense of the word, too dependant on him, to care at all.

He had made it quick—quiet and painless and looking as if it was an accident, strolling out of the office only a few moments later and asking you out on a date like nothing had happened, words flowing smoothly from his lips in that drawl that is so distinctly him, almost lazy in a way, glittering lidded sapphire scalding your skin with its intensity.

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

Nothing, that’s what.

Honestly, he did you a favour—he swears he could see it in your eyes, sparkling as they gazed at him like he sculpted the moon himself, pleading for someone—for him—to come along and take care of you, to put you in your place, to keep you in line, absolutely desperate for someone to mold you, shape you, construct and arrange you into his most perfect creation.

Perfect, perfect, perfect, that’s what you are; so good for him, so obedient and compliant, always hanging on his every word and eagerly awaiting his next command, enthusiastic to submit to him, to please him, to receive the praise you crave so badly.

And Tomura had agreed, too, after only fifteen minutes of meeting you, of observing you, of assessing you, that you’d be a flawless addition to their operation.

So Dabi did what he does best.

He started slow, of course, enchanted you with strings of pearls and gorgeous dresses and expensive dinners, fed you tidbits about his mysterious lifestyle, about his family and his job and his past, just enough to keep you coming back for more, until you were practically begging him to let you in, to permit you to join his vocation, to accompany him on the wild ride that is his life.

And that was the best part of all—you didn’t care, you wanted it just as badly as he did; wanted to help him, to serve him, to be his, without ever requiring the full story. You readily gave everything up for him, accepted his orders, his wants and his needs without as much as a single question, never faltering in your honesty, in your pure devotion to your creator.

It’s love in its truest form, you’re both sure of it—possessed by one another, infatuated with one another, dedicated to one another—both consumed by the most potent drug, this love, a force to be reckoned with, the strongest pull either of you have ever felt before.

And, really, what more could you ask for?

✰ ✰ ✰

He took you under his wing, crafted you into a master of manipulation, pairing it perfectly with that innocent kitten demeanour you wear so well, and taught you everything he knew: all of the infiltration techniques and self-defence he had learned before he was ostracized from his father’s company—a privatized intelligence agency that works closely with the federal government—the very organization he’s been working so tirelessly to burn to the ground.

You still don’t exactly know what happened. He doesn’t like to talk about it, about where those scars decorating his body came from, about why he’s thrown away his old identity and constructed a new one, trading ivory hair and a high-fashion wardrobe for inky black and weathered Levi jeans with big black motorcycle boots.

But you do know a little.

He had been the favourite son, the chosen son, the one set to inherit the empire his father had built. That was, until he got himself into an accident—one that he still isn’t ready to disclose the full details of, and you never push. But you know it had involved a twelve year old Touya—always devious, crafty, and ever-so intelligent, even as a child—sneaking along on a mission he absolutely shouldn’t have. The silvery burns that adorn his skin, puckered and soft and shimmering like moonlight when they catch in the sun, scars tinged with the slightest hint of baby pink, are from this incident. Whatever had happened after had scarred his soul forever.

Because you’ve never encountered such intense hatred, burning bright blue flames that rage and roar inside of him, the words that are spit from between clenched teeth when he talks about his father, about his baby brother, positively scalding.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know the full story, that you aren’t entirely aware of why this vendetta against his family exists. It doesn’t matter that his one goal in life, his only true desire aside from you, is to take down his father. It doesn’t matter that he’s willing to do anything and use everyone to achieve his objective.

Because he is letting you in; slowly, bit by bit and piece by piece, the most fascinating and tragically beautiful jigsaw you’ve ever put together. He may never be ready to tell the full story, and that’s alright with you, because as you’ve reassured him countless times in the dead of night, you’ll always love him anyway—you’ll always be by his side.

That’s when he’s most vulnerable, it seems—in the middle of the night, at two and three and four in the morning, when he wakes trembling and whimpering and soaked with his own sweat.

He never tells you what they’re about, the nightmares. Sometimes, they’re so violent that they wake you first. He doesn’t fuck you immediately on those days, doesn’t say a word as he finds solace in your warm bosom, little fingers pushing back sweaty strands of inky hair from his temples as your other arm wraps around him, holding him close to you as his shaky breathing calms, as his muscles stop quivering. On those nights, he says nothing as he spreads your legs and climbs on top of you, railing you into the mattress like it’s his last day on this earth.

That’s how he likes to be comforted; that’s what calms him down best. It’s standard procedure at this point—not that you mind waking up to his soft sniffles and him shoving himself into your barely prepped cunt, or rousing to feel the tip of his naked cock rubbing against your clit through thin cotton undies as he tells you in that wavering voice to stay sleeping and let your Mister take what he needs. You’re there to serve him—and you do, so perfectly. You just want to help, after all. You’ve always ever just wanted to help. You never know which nights he’ll gift you another little piece of himself, of his soul, for you to try and fit in somewhere in the puzzle that is DABI. You don’t know the triggers—as far as you’re concerned, they don’t seem to exist anywhere outside of the padlocked barricade of his own head, no rhyme or reason to them, more random than anything else. But you’ll readily accept anything and everything he’s willing to give, the very instant he’s willing to give it.

✰ ✰ ✰

Sprawled out on the hotel bed with his white t-shirt riding up and exposing your lacy panties, you watch, in an almost trancelike state, as Dabi does his hair in preparation for the game set to begin in an hour or so. He leaves it messy and ungreased when he isn’t working, all tousled and fluffy, a sea of half formed curls that flow into each other, akin to tremulous waves hours before a storm like an inky ocean atop his head. But he cleans up well, when it comes time to get down to business.

“Every little swallow, every chickadee, every little bird in the tall oak tree,”

Standing in front of the mirror clad in a white undershirt and his suit pants, he sings along to Bobby Day’s staticky voice as it flows through the small radio set on the bathroom counter, nimble fingers dipping into a tin of greasy pomade and gathering a generous glob, a responding giggle bubbling up in your chest.

“The wise old owl, the big black crow,” he catches your eye through the mirror, a devilish smile materializing on his face as he continues, lathering his hands together. “Flap-a their wings singin’ ‘go bird go’,”

“Should’a been a singer, I’m telling ya,” you say as you roll onto your stomach, chin resting in your palms and head propped up, eyes glittering. “Could’a rivalled Elvis,”

Huffing out a laugh accompanied by a roll of his eyes, his hands begin to rake through his hair, slathering it with the substance and slicking most of it back from his face, sure to leave a few curls at the start of his hairline untouched. “So sweet you’re gonna rot my teeth, baby,”

“M’serious!” you insist, blinking at him as your eyebrows raise, watching the teeth of the black comb run through the slicked-up strands, his palm following close behind as he smooths it over; crisscross, crisscross, crisscross, fluff, pat, crisscross.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he shakes his head in disbelief, though there’s the faintest pink tinting his stubbled cheeks. “I think I’m better at this job,”

What? Playing poker with a bunch of criminals and making deals with mafiosos and murdering those who wrong you? you swallow the words, letters stinging and scraping your throat as you force them back down, schooling your face into a neutral expression. “I respectfully disagree,”

“‘Course you do,” he mumbles to himself distractedly, leaning closer to the mirror to complete the look. “Elvis, you say?”

He begins belting out lyrics in an exaggerated deep voice as he adds the finishing touch—your favourite part—slender fingers shining with residual pomade as they twirl and coat the few stray curls left neglected, allowing them to hang artfully in the middle of his forehead.

“When I feel like this and I want to kiss youuu,” pivoting on his heel, he gazes at you with that shit-eating grin and continues. “Baby, don’t say doooon’t,”

“Oh, God, no, not Don’t!” you groan, flopping onto your back dramatically, face screwed up as if you had just tasted something sour.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s chuckling as he advances towards you, a small towel in his hands as he cleans them. “How ‘bout…” trailing off, he hums a little as he thinks.

“Hold my hand and promise,” he begins in a low voice, smooth and sweet like the finest melted chocolate, depositing of the towel and crawling onto the bed.

“That you’ll always love me too,”

Large hands gently pry your legs part, signature crooked smirk spreading across his face when he’s met with zero resistance, rough palms caressing silky skin as they slide up, fingers gripping and grabbing and kneading.

“Make me know you love me,”

The words taper off into a whine, beginning to sound more like begging than singing, as his body settles between your thighs, hipbones digging into the soft flesh while he hovers above you, supporting his weight on his forearms.

“The same way I love you, little girl,”

Lips trail along your jaw, leaving tender kisses in their wake—unhurried, careful, and full of purpose—as he mumbles against your skin.

“You got me at your mercy, now that I'm in love with you,”

Calloused hands begin to ruck up his t-shirt, digits dipping into the lacy waistband of your panties, his voice starting to tremble ever so slightly.

“So please don't take advantage, cause you know my love is true,”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, sapphire eyes gleaming in the golden sunlight and he pauses, blistering gaze searching your face for something, muscles relaxing and head dipping a moment later to finally press his lips against yours, whispering into the kiss. “Darling please, please love me too, I beg of you,”

And despite all the glitz and glamour, all the extravagance and exhilaration, that comes with each mission, this will always be your favourite part—when it’s only you and him, lounging around in some luxurious five star hotel or some dingy roadside motel, exchanging lazy, messy kisses full of stringy shining saliva, goofing around and whispering stupid Elvis lyrics to each other, words that hold more weight than either of you care to admit.

✰ ✰ ✰

It was supposed to be a fairly simple operation—minimal violence, Tomura had instructed. No guns or casualties, if it can be avoided, if Dabi can keep his temper in check. It was supposed to be easy, straightforward, safe.

It was supposed to be. But Dabi gets bored easily, likes a little spike of adrenaline with his missions, rolling his broad shoulders and cracking his neck as he joins the rest of the men around the poker table, a sly smirk on his face as they name the bets and the prizes.

“And my little doll,”

It’s hard to resist rolling your eyes as those four words slip from between his lips, slow and smooth in that deep, lazy drawl, trademark smirk painted across his lips as his lidded eyes scan the faces sitting around the table, an eyebrow raised, daring any of them to protest. Several hungry eyes dart towards you for a moment, standing like the reward you are a few feet behind Dabi and leaning on a railing, a shy little smile briefly gracing your lips in greeting, elegant evening gown shimmering under the crystal lights.

This isn’t new—Dabi usually bets you when he plays. Keeps him sharp, he claims. Keeps him on his toes, keeps it fun when there’s something important at stake, something valuable to lose, he says. He plays better that way, he promises.

Except he’s always craved that thrill of danger, has always liked to push further and further simply to see how far he can go before he topples over the edge. It’s a rush, a blast, a high akin to the morphine that so often flows through his veins, and he fucking lives for it.

It’s been over an hour now, since those words were murmured in that velvet voice, floating across the table and cloaking the thoughts of the other men like a lethal haze, most of whom can’t seem to keep their eyes from wandering back to you every so often, leering gazes coating your skin with grime you itch to scrub off.

But that’s the point—or it’s supposed to be, anyway. That’s the whole reason you’re here in the first place. To act as a distraction, Tomura’s words drift through your mind, just whisps of his voice that tickle the walls of your skull.

And what a perfect distraction you are, in a Dior dress that looks like it was made only for you, tapered perfectly to every curve and edge of your body, silk flowing gracefully with every miniscule movement, with every rise and fall of your chest.

But it bores you to tears, this poker game, eyes dry and sticky, sick of staring at the back of your boyfriend’s immaculate, intricate hair as his nimble fingers play with the mountain of chips accumulating in front of him, plastic clacking together as he shuffles through them.

You had begged him to let you go shopping—just for the first half of the game, you swear!—but he refused. I need my good luck charm there with me the entire time, babydoll, he told you, brushing calloused fingers down your cheek then tracing along the line of your jaw, gazing at you with brilliant sapphire that glitters in the late afternoon sun, streaming in through the hotel’s floor-length windows. We can go shopping after the game is finished, he promised.

You regarded him with skepticism.

“And dancing?”

“Of course,” he responded with a playful scoff. “We can dance until our feet are bleeding, pinky promise,”

Keigo comes to join you just before the game passes the two-hour mark, large hands finding purchase on your hips and pulling you back against his chest as his head dips down, soft full lips against your skin.

“Lovely dress you’ve got on,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, tickling the shell. “You look stunning—breathtaking—I mean, gosh, look at me, I can barely breathe,” he gasps dramatically, chest heaving against your back as he does so, chuckling when you roll your eyes and giggle at him to shut up, Kei, the vibrations from his laugh a comforting sensation, a familiar sensation, a welcomed sensation, sending warmth spreading through your body. “I’m so happy you’re here,” you whine, leaning further into him and head tilting against his collarbone to gaze up at him. “I’m so bored,”

“Yeah, I bet,” he says, something unusual—unreadable—settling in his topaz eyes as he glances up at the table. “You aren’t used to games lasting this long, are you, baby,”

A little pout settles on your lips and you nod, playing right into his condescending cooing as you snuggle into him, eyes following his stare. Truthfully, you haven’t a clue what’s going on, and, really, you couldn’t care less. You aren’t entirely sure what the significance of this poker game is, or who most of these men are, and you aren’t allowed to. Just sit pretty and perfect like you always do; it’s the thing you do best.

Except tonight—tonight something is different, unsettling, off. It’s no big deal, though, of course—you can almost hear that deep, dark voice drawling the words out in your mind, phantom breath tickling your skin.

Because Dabi’s always been startlingly good at what he does. Because Dabi’s always been able to worm his way out of a difficult situation. Because there’s never really been a reason to worry about it before, anyway. But tonight—well, tonight you’re watching as his Balenciaga clad shoulders are getting tenser, and tenser, as his jaw is clenching tighter, and tighter, as his grip on that singular sparkly chip resting in his palm is becoming stronger, and stronger, thin skin stretching painfully over sharp bony knuckles.

Keigo’s breath is bated, his fingers digging into your hips as he observes the game unfolding in front of the both of you, pulling you closer to him, hushed curses falling from his lips every so often. And Keigo knows what’s happening, of course, but he refuses to tell you, promising you that you wouldn’t understand even if he tried to explain it. Creases form on your forehead as your eyebrows knit, eyes drifting back to the table. Whatever it is, it’s clear that it isn’t good, Keigo’s body tensing against yours as he sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment before blowing it out from his mouth, exasperated. “Well, I’m positive it’s fine,” you say, trying to wave it off lightly, to whisk away the acrimonious dread that roots deep in the pit of your stomach and begins to spread, thick and dense as it slithers into your surrounding organs, to brush off the impending sense of foreboding that seems to lurk over you, getting heavier and heavier, darker and darker with each second that ticks by—though your voice sounds high to your ears, tinny and false. “Dabi’s never lost a game before, that’s why they send him to these things,” But Keigo doesn’t sound so sure, responding with a nervous breath of a laugh, lithe fingers flexing on your hips, rubbing little lopsided circles into the flesh. “First time for everything, songbird,”

The words send ice piercing through your veins, but you persevere, rolling your shoulders and standing up a little straighter, swallowing past the painful lump that’s lodged itself in your throat. It’s fine. It’s always fine. He’s always found a way to get out of messy, tight situations before. Why should tonight be any different?

It won’t be, it isn’t—you can already see Dabi collapsing on the cream sofa upstairs in your luxurious hotel room, tugging at his bowtie with a sigh as his head falls back, nimble fingers popping the first few buttons on his crisp white dress shirt, and had you scared for a moment there, didn’t I, kitten?

And you’ll playfully slap his shoulder as you crawl into his lap, roll your eyes as you straddle his hips and allow him to tilt the champagne flute to your lips, laugh it off as his hands begin to wander, rucking up your dress and kneading your ass, cock tenting his expensive trousers. Like always. You’re sure of it

It’s just past the three-hour mark when Keigo speaks again, all traces of teasing, of that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, gone from his voice. Golden locks stand in all directions, his hair having fallen out of its usual ducktail style, a curtesy of fingers raking through it nervously. His smile is tight as he looks down at you, front teeth nibbling at his cuticles as he speaks, muffled a little by his fingers. “Maybe we should get you out of here, sweetheart—”

“No,” you respond instantly with a firm shake of your head. “I’m not going anywhere,”

“Sunshine, listen—”

“I said, no, Kei,” you pull back a little to look at him, resolution sown into your voice, chest puffing out just a touch. “I won’t leave him,”

Honey eyes hold yours for a moment, and you can almost hear Keigo’s molars as they grind together. He exhales a deep sigh a moment later, shaking his head and tugging his fingers through golden strands again. “Alright, alright,” It finally comes to an end, a few minutes past the four-hour mark. Heavy lids start to lift as commotion begins to stir—soft murmurs among the men and chairs scraping against the floor, plastic chips clacking together and the sharp whisp that travels through the air as cards are shuffled—whining a little as you lean further into Keigo, who is now supporting most of your weight.

“Kei, feet hurt,”

“Shh, I know, songbird,” he hushes you, a large palm stroking your head. “But I need you to wake up, sweetheart,”

Rough, unfamiliar hands are wrapping around your arms only a moment later, yanking you from the warm sanctuary that is Keigo and hauling you against stiff muscle.

“I believe you’re mine now, darling,”

The words are gravelly, uttered in a low voice against the crown of your head. A vicious shiver crawls along your skin, whole body trembling with the force of it, as your lids snap open.

“Wait, what?” frantic eyes search the gaudy room for familiar cobalt, breath beginning to accelerate as you struggle a little in the grasp of a burly man with one eye. His grip tightens in retaliation and a pained yelp hitches in your throat, Dabi’s eye twitching at the sound. “Dabi? D-Dabi!”

Sapphire blazes into your skull, steadily holding your watery gaze as his jaw clenches, swallowing thickly at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers of his name, at the way you squirm and wiggle in your abductor's grasp, desperate to escape, to get back to him.

“H-Hold on, now,” Keigo begins, holding his hands up in surrender, a motion meant to signify peace, to signify that he isn’t a threat—even though you know he’s got the cold metal of his favourite pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers and pressed against his warm skin. “Let’s talk this through, yeah? Just wait a minute—”

“Nope,” the man cuts Keigo off mid-sentence with a loud, harsh laugh, and you wince at the sound. “No way, a deal’s a deal, friend. I won her fair and square—she’s mine,”

A light chuckle, laced with irritation and dubiety, escapes Keigo’s lips as he shakes his head a little. “Come on, Dabi jokes around like that all the time,” and while his voice seems amicable on the surface, its ridden with cold undertones, phantom threats that are felt, not said. “And this little lady—as pretty as she is—is a person, not a prize. Taking her against her will is, in fact, kidnapping, and I’ll be forced to—”

“Let him go,”

“What?” the word falls from your lips and Keigo’s simultaneously—one incredulous and pitched high with distress, the other breathed out in disbelief, both equally as concerned—gazes snapping to Dabi, who sits quiet and brooding, dim lights casting shadows on the sharp planes of his face.

Azure drifts between your faces, features ridden with terror and alarm—furrowed brows and deep frowns tugging at the corners of lips, one pair of eyes wide with scepticism, the other pair glistening with tears. Dabi’s silent for another moment before he pushes on his knees and stands, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, voice ringing out loud and clear, dripping with admonition. “Let him go. He’s right; he won her, fair and square,”

He speaks slowly, annunciating each word with careful precision, sapphire glinting in the dim light has he holds the muscular man’s gaze. It holds something threatening, something menacing, something terrifying deep within the depths of his eyes, and you feel your captor pause for a second, tense, and then shiver.

“Uh, r-right,” he says, voice wavering a little as he nods to himself. “Fair and square,”

Dabi stalks towards you, shiny oxfords echoing against the pristine, freshly waxed marble floor, tutting his tongue and shaking his head, casual and relaxed as ever.

“Don’t struggle, you hear me?” he says, voice softer, gentler, as a calloused thumb swipes across your cheekbone, catching a stray tear. “Be a good girl for him,”

And I’ll see you soon.

The promise doesn’t need to be vocalized—you can see it, shining bright and true in his sapphire eyes, can sense it, in the air surrounding him, can feel it, at the very core of your soul.

A sudden sense of relief floods your body, pathetic little sobs getting caught in your chest as you exhale shakily and deflate in the burly man’s arms, tears finally spilling over your lashline and streaming down your cheeks.

“Okay,” you breathe.

Dabi gives you a simple nod, lips quirking up into a ghost of his signature lopsided smirk. Okay.

And just like that, all of the fear and trepidation and panic vanishes from your body, a serene calm chased by a sense of giddiness replacing it, scorching through your veins.

Because before the door to the man’s hotel room has even swung fully shut, Dabi’s barreling through, crystal handle smashing against the wall and cracking as skilled fingers tangle in short hair, yanking the man’s head back with a sickening crack and dragging the razor-sharp edge of his favourite switchblade across the man’s exposed throat.

He moves like a flash of light, a spark igniting a fire, so fast he’s merely a blur of black and navy and blazing sapphire. Thick crimson begins pouring from the wound immediately, a large splice spanning from one earlobe all the way to the other.

The man hits the shiny hardwood floor with a distinct thump, but you aren’t paying attention to him or the way he’s writhing as he tries to claw at his neck, coughing and gagging as he begins to choke on his own blood.

No, you’re captivated by sapphire, bright and burning as it surges towards you, calloused hands seizing your face roughly as chapped lips find yours, unforgiving and ferocious, bloody knife still in one hand, cool metal pressed against your cheek, smearing streaks of scarlet across your skin as you try to get closer to him, to get more, the stench of copper stinging your nose.

It’s eradicated in an instant though, Dabi’s heady scent—campfire and hickory wood and expensive cologne—filling your lungs, your mind, your entire being as it curls around you in the most intoxicating embrace, familiar and comforting and him, him, him. Stumbling backwards, you just about trip over your own feet as Dabi shoves forward, strong hands wrapped around your biceps keeping you steady. The sharp edge of the small rosewood dining table digs into your lower back, Dabi swallowing your resounding yelp as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, large hands finding your waist and squeezing before he hoists you onto its surface, using his hipbones to force your thighs open.

You nearly topple over from the power, from the urgency, hands flying out behind you and grappling against the table’s surface to keep you sitting upright as he heaves and pushes and leans against you, motions knocking sparkling crystal glasses and fine porcelain plates off the top.

The sound of shattering glass and cracking china mingles with the gurgling and garbling of the man who lay a few feet away on the floor, suffocating on his own blood. It creates such a beautiful symphony, intertwined with Dabi’s ragged breaths and your broken moans, with the ruffling of clothing and the screech of the table legs against the gleaming hardwood floor. And it’s desperate, and needy, and messy, teeth clashing and clacking together violently, saliva dripping down chins as tongues rub and glide and lick, hands pawing and gripping and tugging and ripping, the delicate material of your silk Dior dress practically turning to ash as his fingers materialize through it, tearing it to shreds.

“Off, off, off, I need this off,” he’s growling against your lips as his hands work, a low whine getting caught in your throat as you nod frenetically.

Yes, yes, yes, you’re whimpering, your own little fingers helping him destroy the silvery fabric, eager and anxious to rid your body of the bothersome garment.

A guttural groan, deep and dark and inducing a fluttering in your tummy rumbles in his chest as his eyes roam over your body, clad in the daintiest white lace.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, y’know that,” he’s mumbling between sharp bites to the flesh of your neck, fingers snapping the clasp of your bra, breaking it in one simple motion. “A fuckin’ angel, that’s what you are, baby. My very own angel,”

Rough palms slide down your torso, slow and purposeful as they trace, feel, knead the dips and curves, planes and contours of your body, slender fingers pausing to play with the elastic of the garter belt adorning your waist, holding up your lace-trimmed thigh-highs which have begun to tear, then hooking in the waistband of your thong.

His cock grinds against your inner thigh, hot and hard and throbbing as it strains against his trousers, digits toying with the lacy elastic, twirling it between his fingers before he lets it snap back against your skin, the harsh slap! echoing throughout the hotel room.

“Oh, Mister, I want it,” the plead falls from your lips in a shameless moan, high and whiny as your hips press forward in an attempt to grind against him. Slender fingers untangle themselves from the lacy fabric in an instant, gripping your hips to still them, fingertips digging into your flesh. “I need it,”

“Need what, dollface?” his lips brush against your skin as he speaks, teeth sinking into your collarbone a moment later, hard enough to break the skin, a loud cry getting caught in your chest. He sucks on the wound, hard, tongue laving over it in soothing little circles, slowly dragging over the bite.

And it’s a compulsion, a sickness, a fucking disease surging through your veins, infecting your mind with thoughts of him and only him, entire body buzzing with the desperate, pathetic, urgent need for him, for his cock, for his cum.

“Need you, need you,” you’re whimpering out, squirming and struggling a little in his grasp, a warning hiss spit through his teeth as blunt nails nip your skin. “Please, Dabi, please, lemme have it,”

“Have what, baby?” lips curling up into a coy smirk, he pulls back just enough to look at you, finally pushing his hips into yours, a patronizing laugh spilling from his throat as you instantly grind against his cock, impatient and impetuous. “Use your words, Mister wants to hear you say it,”

Scalding heat seeps into your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, a broken whine of complaint sounding in the back of your throat as you shake your head. “Y-You know,” you mumble. “You know,”

“Oh, come on, baby,” he tuts with a disappointed shake of his head, voice overflowing with condescension. “You act like such a little slut, but as soon as I want you to say what you apparently need oh-so-badly, you can’t? You get all shy and bashful like you’re innocent, or something?”

An arrogant chuckle bubbles up in his chest, a rough palm colliding with the flesh of your ass a moment later. Scarred lips graze your ear as he leans back in, speaking low and smooth, words leaving his mouth in a huff of warm, sweet breath. “You’re being bad, y’know that?”

The huskiness in his tone sends chills pebbling across your skin, a delicate shiver dancing up your spine.

“Please,” you whisper, bottom lip beginning to tremble. “Please, Mister, please,”

“Tell me,” he rasps, taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth and sucking, bruising his name into the sensitive skin. “I know you can do it, doll. What is it that you want? Tell me,”

And, God, it’s so embarrassing, vision blurring with the sting of tears, entire body beginning to tremble from the combined humiliation and lust surging through your veins, his clothed cock still rutting against your core, poking and prodding and so close, you’re so close, two tiny words, just say them. “Your—Your cock,” you almost yelp, blinking back the tears in your eyes as you try to gaze levelly at him, teeth digging into your bottom lip to quell its pathetic quivering. “W-Want your cock, please, Mister, I-I need it,”

“Yeah?” he breathes while he rests his forehead against yours, butting forward a little as his glazed eyes rapidly search your face, pupils blown to hell and lips bitten red, shining with spit. “Where, huh? Down here?”

A finger tugs the flimsy soaked lace to the side, another dark chuckle slipping from his lips as he drags a knuckle up your dripping slit.

“Here?” it presses into your cute little hole, your hips eagerly bucking forward in response.

“Yes, yes, there, Mister, there, please,” you keen, head nodding in almost frantic movements, skull knocking against his. “Please, n-no fingers, want your cock, need your cock, stretch me out, fill me up, I need it,”

And it’s your senseless babbling that does it, bratty and needy and incessant in high broken whines, that snaps the final thread of patience holding him back, and a growl rips from his chest, so violent it vibrates through your own.

The heavy buckle of his belt clinks as hasty fingers fiddle with it, shoving his trousers down his thighs just enough to free his cock.

You can’t help the mortifying moan that escapes your throat the moment you see it, velvety and pink and oh-so-pretty, flushed tip glistening with precum and two thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.

“Christ,” he groans as he pushes into your cunt, burying himself inside of you in one swift thrust, your nails biting into the hard muscles of his shoulder through the thin material of his shirt as your hole stretches around him, both of you exhaling simultaneous sighs of relief.

It burns and it stings and God, you need more, eyes rolling back in your skull as the sharp heels of your stilettos dig into his lower back, little fingers tangling in white cotton as you try to pull him closer, closer, closer.

“Greedy little brat,” he snarls out as his hips begin snapping, the movement sudden, unexpected, welcomed, a choked cry of his name catching in your throat.

And it’s brutal and relentless, primal and desperate, lacking most of his usual finesse as he pounds into you, cockhead slamming against your cervix with every harsh thrust of his hips, hard enough to move the entire table itself, legs scraping against the floor a little more with each pump.

Inky curls cling to his forehead and temples, the white cotton of his dress shirt becoming translucent as it sticks to his damp skin, highlighting the hard planes of defined muscle that flex with each ragged inhale.

Surging forward, his tongue runs along the inside of your teeth before it drags against yours, slow and heavy, depositing his taste and staining it with the flavour of him, fiery cinnamon gum and smoky Marlboros. Gorgeous, needy little whines break in his throat in time with each strong piston of his hips, muffled by your mouth, and you greedily swallow whatever he’ll afford you.

It’s total sensory overload—he’s all you can see, all you can hear, all you can taste, touch, breathe, hijacking all of your receptors and overwhelming you with him.

It’s building inside of you, deep in the pit of your stomach, scorching flames that glow as blue as his eyes as they rage, climbing higher and higher, licking at your insides and expanding further and further until they finally engulf you, consume you, with their blaze, and everything shatters, body convulsing almost violently around his cock as you cum with a strained cry of his name.

“Fill me, Mister,” you’re babbling, begging, swearing you’ll die if he doesn’t, the flames will burn you to ash if you don’t get his cum soon, voice absolutely wrecked. “Fill me, fill me,”

And he obeys, filling your cute little cunt to the brim with thick, hot cum as his cock pulses, a cracked whimper of f-fuck, slipping past his lips.

His chest heaves as he collapses against you, the two of you falling back against the table’s surface with a thump, his cock still buried inside of you. A soft whine sounds in the back of your throat as you carefully unlock your legs from around him, wincing a little at the stiffness in your thighs.

I love you.

The three words are murmured into your shoulder, so soft you barely hear them, so quiet you’re sure you’d have imagined them had you not felt his lips move against your flesh, not felt his hot breath on your skin, not felt the gentle vibrations in his chest as he spoke.

“I love you,” you respond, voice tender as tiny fingers comb through his dishevelled hair. “I love you,”

He’s silent for a moment, your combined pants the only sounds ringing out among the hotel room, and then he nods—once at first; just a quick, sharp motion, and then again a moment later, with more vigour, more purpose, more acceptance.

Little hands smooth down the damp cotton hugging his back and your head lolls to the side, cheek pressed against the cool wood of the table. A certain type of giddiness—a type that’s sick, that’s twisted, that’s stuffed full of love—floods your body as your eyes connect with those of a dead man, laying in a pool sticky crimson, and God, yes, you love him, you love him, you love him—more than anyone else ever could, more than you could ever love anything else.

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ikeromantic · 3 years

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Stuck on a Feeling

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfiction, this scene takes place well after the events of the romantic epilogue. Approx. 1000 words.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Double Dating

The ferris wheel rose slowly, and the lovers watched the park retreat below them. In the red glow of the setting sun, everything looked surreal. Stained red and wavering in the dimming light, everything reduced to their simplest shapes.

Mitsuhide put his arm around his little one and kissed her temple. Touching her reassured him against fears he did not have the words to express.

“This is pretty romantic,” she sighed.

“It is . . . unexpected. Like a view from the tenshu. But higher. And it sways.” He shifted his weight, making the little cart swing back and forth. It had the desired effect.

His little mouse squeaked and clung tighter to him. “Don’t do that!”

“Hm? This?” He kissed her on the head again. “Or this?” He shifted, widening the cart’s arc.

“The second one!” Her little huff of fear and irritation made him laugh. “It isn’t funny,” she continued. “People have gotten stuck up here because of that. Making the ride move.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That sounds unlikely. Are you lying to me, little mouse?” He bent close, letting his breath tickle her ear. “It’s not a wise idea to lie to a satori.”

She wriggled, which only made their cart swing more. “Ah, no! I heard it - somewhere!”

Mitsuhide’s hands went to her sides, his fingers finding her sensitive spots, the places that sent her into fits of laughter or pleasure, depending on the kind of touch.

“Mitsu! No! Don’t - don’t tickle me!” Her protests dissolved into a fit of giggling.

He laughed and pulled her close. “I wouldn’t mind being stuck with you up here.”

“I wouldn’t either.” She snuggled against his chest.

It was moments like this he treasured. Where their worries could be pushed aside and for just a little while, the world narrowed to this place and time, and only the two of them. Mitsuhide had to admit that this place was especially beautiful. The cool night air, the park and the sea spread below them, picked out with little twinkling lights in imitation of the night sky.

Without warning, the ferris wheel stuttered and shook. A high-pitched mechanical whine shrieked through the evening air as the entire ride swung to a halt.

Mitsuhide laughed and his little one laughed too. “Self-fulfilling prophecies, hm?”

“It’s still probably your fault.” She was smiling as she said it, her voice full of affection.

He tilted her face to his and kissed her. A gentle caress, trembling breath and pounding hearts. Fingers intertwined, palms touching. He wished this moment was endless, but nothing could last forever. Mitsuhide decided to enjoy this moment, however long it lasted. He pulled back and gave her a smile full of promise.

Meanwhile . . .

***

Sasuke made his way to the bumper car ride. It was a popular spot for young couples and even younger children, an odd mix of teen boys trying to tease and impress their dates and kids that just wanted to channel destruction for a little while. In the middle of that chaos, there was Miyake.

He crouched in the center of a ring of wide-eyed children. From this distance, Sasuke couldn’t hear what was being said. He could only see the warrior’s gestures, the following nods, and then the group broke up.

They got into their bumper cars and waited for the green light. On the opposite side of the ring, the teenagers got into their cars. There was a sense of tension in the ring. Challenging looks exchanged over the hoods of the brightly colored little autos.

The light flickered to life like a virulent green eye, and the cars whirred into motion.

The teens charged in, laughing and calling out good-natured jibes.

Miyake and his team of small children wore determined expressions. A few of them waved goodbye to the others and rode out to the center of the ring to meet the teens. Their little cars were quickly swarmed, taking hits from all sides.

The smell of stale popcorn and burnt rubber stung Sasuke’s nostrils. He leaned forward, curious now.

The other little children circled the outer ring, speeding past the mad battle at the center. When they fully surrounded the teens and their trapped friends, Miyake raised his fist.

With unexpected quickness, the little kids rushed to the middle. Suddenly, it was the teenagers who were trapped. No matter how they moved, their bumpers found only the rubbery wall of another bumper car. And those kids rammed them mercilessly. Their small mouths turned up in triumphant smiles, and the sound of laughter joined the squealing shrieks of cars slamming into each other.

When the ride ended, Miyake was swarmed again. He patted heads and laughed and cheered with them until they either went back to the ride or split off to find their parents.

Sasuke waited until the space was clear before he approached. The ninja liked children but . . . not so close. Not in such numbers. “That was a well executed maneuver.”

“I had to do somethin’. Those older kids were pushing the little ones around.” Miyake snorted. “Like that’s gonna impress anybody.”

“So you developed a stratagem and conspired with elementary students to get them back?” Sasuke’s left eyebrow rose.

“More or less. Don’t look at me like that, Sarutobi. You woulda done the same.” The warrior huffed. “Anyway, I’m done here.” His belly gave a low rumbling growl. “I don’t suppose we have time for a snack?”

Sasuke’s lips quirked in a small smile. “Let’s get some karaage while we wait. The ferris wheel takes awhile to finish.”

Miyake grinned. “Great! You’re buying, right? I left my money with Lord Akechi. He said if I had it on me, I’d spend it all.”

Privately, Sasuke thought Mitsuhide was probably right. But he shrugged. “Sure. It’s no big deal. Mitsuhide bought our tickets so we’re probably even.”

The warrior pumped his fist in the air. “Yes! You know, there’s also a bubble tea shop we could stop at. And I saw a place with these little cakes?”

“You’re going to get too full to eat dinner.”

“Now you sound like Hideyoshi.” Miyake poked Sasuke’s shoulder. “Are you going to remind me to put my jacket on now that the sun set? Or ask me if I had enough water to drink today?”

“Have you?” Sasuke’s flat expression made it impossible to tell if he was serious, but the warrior burst out laughing anyway.

“You should pull that on Lord Akechi one of these days. Now that’s a man in need of a mother hen.”

Next: Obligation

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #otome guys #otome #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

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Black and white - Henry Cavill smut

The one where Henry is a vampire and he’s been trying to keep you safe by distancing himself.

Warnings: vampire!Henry AU, blood, smut

A/N: this was requested by anon waaaay back in october 😅 It’s finally here!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The bell rang as another customer entered the shop, but I was too busy jotting down the books Miss Gayle was buying that it took me a minute to raise my head to greet them. When I did, I immediately wished I’d just ignored the sound, despite the fact that it was both absolutely impolite and completely out of character for me.

Nonetheless, it was done, and I scrambled to replace the smile that had fallen from my face at the sight of Henry with another one, albeit a visibly plastic replacement. It was nothing like the ones I usually greeted my customers with, and by the way Henry flinched and Miss Gayle raised an eyebrow, it was easy to see that I was in no way comfortable with the new arrival.

“I’ll be with you in a second,” I barely acknowledged him, turning back to the nice old lady who had kept her weekly visits to my shop ever since I first opened it. It was times like these where I’d wish I actually had people working for me. “That’ll be 35 dollars, Miss Gayle. Do you want a receipt?”

Eyebrows still raised, she simply fished two twenties before handing them to me, just as I handed her a five back. She always tried to leave me with some sort of tip, but I’d known her well enough by now to be able to anticipate her antics.

“You’re impossible, dear,” she’d always tease me, to which I’d laugh heartily. The only difference was that today, after our usual banter, she chanced a glance at Henry, who was trying to pretend to be busy while looking at some bookcases, before turning back to me. “Give him a chance. He clearly cares about you, and you need someone to do so, so you don’t end up like me, all alone with only this store to keep you company.”

The unrequested advice took me by surprise, and I froze in my spot, staring back at her with her receipt still in my hand. It was only when she reached out to take it from me that I snapped out of it, hopefully blinking my confusion away from my face.

It wouldn’t be the first time I seriously considered the possibility that Miss Gayle was actually a witch.

“I think you’re misreading the situation, Miss Gayle. But don’t worry, if it’s any consolation, so have I.” She frowned at my words, undoubtedly pondering over what I could possibly mean, but I tried to keep a smile on my face as I walked her to the door. Any excuse to keep myself away from the man waiting for my attention.

When the bell rang again, signaling her leaving, I sighed, trying to mentally prepare myself for whatever the hell was about to happen. But before I could even turn around to face him, Henry’s voice cut through my whirlwind of thoughts, declaring, “She’s right, you know that?”

I hummed halfheartedly, not wanting to turn around and deal with this, but knowing it was better to get on with it already. “Right about what? About you caring for me? I don’t doubt that, Henry, but I also don’t think I was wrong in what I told her. I clearly misread whatever it was we had going on, because I thought you had taken me out on a date and I thought you had been too nervous to take the first step and kiss me goodnight, so for the first time in my life I gathered enough courage to initiate a kiss, only to be rudely pushed away before you disappeared for days.”

It all came out in one jumbled speech, my need to get those feelings out making me run over the words while I tried to get through this to save me the embarrassment of having to relive that night again. It was all I’d thought about for days, and just when I was finally about to get over it, he just had to waltz back into my shop and throw me on a loop again.

“Look, I don’t mind that you don’t reciprocate my feelings and I don’t mind that I made a fool of myself that night. Did it suck? Yes. A lot. But what really hurt was the fact that that stupid risk I decided to take was miscalculated, because even if I considered the idea of you not reciprocating my feelings, I never thought you would simply allow it to destroy what I considered to be a good and strong friendship. Because that’s how I saw you, first and foremost. As a friend.”

I took a long breath as I finally averted my eyes from him, trying to force myself not to cry in front of this man and become even more pathetic to the one person who I wanted to impress more than anyone else in my life. God, this crush was going to destroy me, just how weak was I?

I didn’t really expect any sort of response from him. What could he say after all of that? Still, it took me by surprise when he interrupted my string of self-deprecating thoughts. “I don’t want to be a friend.”

My heart started to pound inside my chest, my eyes suddenly meeting his again. As much as the sick part of my mind wanted to tell me that he was saying he didn’t want to have any association with me anymore - he did avoid me for three days, after all - rationally, it was clear that he meant something else entirely.

Henry’s P.O.V.

I watched her eyes grow bigger, her breathing becoming more laboured. I could hear her blood pumping more rapidly on her veins, calling out to me, but for the first time since we met, it was easy for me to ignore it. I didn’t want to lose her, in any shape or form. All of my attention was focused on her and her reactions, because I needed her to believe in me.

“You weren’t wrong. It was a date, or at least I wanted it to be a date. And I did chicken out when it came to kiss you goodnight, but it wasn’t for the reason that you’re thinking.” She was frowning, clearly trying to understand what I was hiding, but this wasn’t the time or the place. “Give me another chance,” I whispered, reaching out for her hand when I heard the bell over the door of her bookstore ringing again, signaling the arrival of another customer. “Go out with me tonight. I promise that I’ll explain everything.”

Her brows furrowed deeply, I knew she was having a hard time deciding to trust me again, to put her heart on the line once more. And I hated myself for putting her in such a situation. I hated that I’d wrecked her self-esteem, made her doubt my feelings for her.

Which was why I knew that I was making the right choice by fighting to stay in her life.

“Okay,” came her answer finally, yet not at all in a firm tone. It broke my heart, but I understood. “Come and pick me up after I close the store. I’ll be waiting.” And with a simple nod, she dismissed me until later.

Fair enough. I knew she had things to do and that she needed time to go over the repercussions of what I had just admitted, but a part of me was scared that being apart would simply make her second guess her decision. Still, I needed to respect it. I owed her at least that. So I left her to her own devices, trusting that when I got back to the store she would really be there for me to pick her up.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I spent the rest of the day unable to concentrate on my work activities. Everything I did, my mind brought me back to Henry and those two very pungent moments when I was with him. The night of our “date” and this morning.

My gut told me I hadn’t made a mistake in accepting his request for an explanation. Even during those days apart, I knew there was a reason for his behavior, I just… I knew it. I couldn’t explain it, especially since we didn’t even know each other for that long. But it was the same thing that made me trust him implicitly. The same feeling in the depths of my soul that recognized him somehow, that made me start to fall for him during long conversations over coffee in my bookshop.

Still, my mind begged me to run away, to protect myself. I didn’t need to go through this again. Nothing stopped him from rejecting me again - in fact, that was very likely to happen. Doesn’t love work out just like… 1% of the time?

Just when I was starting to freak myself out, I heard my name being uttered from behind me, making me jump in the air. “God, make a noise or something,” I complained, a hand over my heart as I turned around to find him clearly trying very hard not to laugh at me.

“Sorry.” Narrowing my eyes at him, I simply noted, “You don’t look sorry at all.” He wanted to laugh again, I knew that, but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes became peculiarly soft as he pondered over what to say. “You’re right, I’m not sorry. You look really cute when you’re scared. Can I kiss you now?”

I should say no. Right? I should totally say no. But I had been crushing on this guy for the last few months and in that second, all I seemed to be able to do was to nod, my breath hitching when he approached to cradle my entire face with his huge hands. God, he was so beautiful, even more from up close.

But just when the distance between our lips was about to become nonexistent, just when all I could hear was the blood in my veins being pumped on maximum speed due to the way my heart was pounding in my chest, he hesitated, breaking the spell.

“We shouldn’t,” he whispered almost against my mouth, so close that I could feel his cold breath on my face. “I shouldn’t.” I couldn’t really call it a clarification, since it only left me more confused.

Even worse, it awakened that awful, burning feeling of humiliation, that reignited the fires of embarrassment deep within my stomach. “Why do you do this to me?” His eyes grew big at the realization of my anger, like somehow, he didn’t expect it at all.

“Did you come here only to break me further? I can’t handle this, Henry. I don’t need this. Please, leave.” For a second, I thought he would, but I don’t know why. Nothing in his demeanor betrayed that would be his intention. If anything, it was the precise opposite. As the concern disappeared from his face, his expression solidified in a hardened mask that showed just how serious he was about whatever it was that he needed to say.

Henry’s P.O.V.

“No. I’m not leaving. Not until you hear what I have to say. Please.” I could see the hesitation on her, and I knew it was deserved. I deserved it. I knew it just as well as I knew that I didn’t deserve her.

But she did deserve an explanation, and I was going to give her that. And if she could find it in herself to still want me in her life, maybe we could be something more. God knows how much I actually wanted to kiss her.

“Not here,” I implored, needing her to give me just a little bit more of her time. “Can I please join you in your home?”

It took some time, but at last, she nodded, making sure the door of the bookshop was properly locked before silently making her way down the street, taking the path that I had followed so many times before, when I’d accompany her on her trajectory after work. But back then the air was lighter, there was chatter and laughter between us. Now, it felt cold, even colder than my skin.

Thankfully, we were by her house before long. She looked over her shoulder before moving to unlock the door, like she wanted to make sure I was still there. There was absolutely no way I’d leave her hanging like that again, especially since she had found it in her to continuously give me another chance.

“Thank you,” I peeped when she invited me in, quickly assuming the seat she pointed me to. I was even more thankful for the fact that she still chose to sit by my side on the sofa, instead of pulling a chair to keep some space between us. Maybe she liked to be in a close proximity to me just as much as I did with her.

“I… don’t know where to start,” I began, suddenly self-conscious and doubting everything I’d decided on my way here again. But then she shrugged, and the realization that I was about to lose her before I even had her was enough to get me to suddenly blurt out, “I’m a vampire.”

At first, there was no reaction at all. She remained seemingly unfazed, arms crossed in front of her chest, expression thoroughly unreadable. I would be sweating if I could, but as it were, I just started babbling even more.

“Please, don’t be afraid. I’d never hurt you. I promise. But that’s why I’ve been keeping away, I… I feel so attracted to you, but I couldn’t let you fall for me without knowing who I truly am. And this is who I truly am. Still me. Just a little bit older than you thought.” Still no answer, until suddenly she cut the silence that had fallen in the living room with a long drawn-out breath, before exclaiming, “I’m not afraid.”

That was literally the last thing I thought she would say immediately after I admitted my secret.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“You… You’re not afraid of me?” He repeated, clearly not believing what I had just said.

“No.” After a few seconds of silence, he ended up cutting the tension in the room with a request.

“Then tell me what you’re thinking.” As bizarre as the situation was and as confused as my feelings for Henry were at the moment, I couldn’t help but to joke, “What, you can’t read my mind?”

He pursed his lips, clearly unamused but at the same time relieved that I wasn’t angry or afraid of him. I took a deep breath, still looking him dead in the eyes, before admitting, “I’m thinking… that I really want to fuck you.”

That caught him by surprise.

“You want me?” I had to huff, rolling my eyes at his stupidity. How could someone be this unaware of social queues? Or, better yet, of his own attractiveness?

“Yes, I want you. And I’m done holding myself back from getting what I want.” And with that, I climbed on his lap, tugging him down to meet my lips by the collar of his shirt. He was cold, colder than he should be, but I don’t think I would have noticed if I didn’t know who - or actually, what - he was.

He tasted like mint, and a little bit like coffee. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t something this ordinary. And I especially wasn’t expecting to like it so much. But suddenly, he grasped my hips, stopping my unconscious slow grind against his crotch. “I’m not sure you’ve completely understood what this means,” he started, and I had to laugh.

“You drink blood, right? What else is there to understand? I like you, Henry. I’m not gonna suddenly stop liking you over something like this. Now please, can you kiss me? I’ve been waiting for this for so long...” I don’t know if it was my words or my pouty face, but something made him grab me with a new vigor that had me screaming in excitement.

“I knew you were perfect for me,” he whispered as he rubbed his nose on my cheek, making me giggle with delight. The absolute sweetness of the statement had my heart skipping a beat momentarily.

“Then kiss me, you idiot.” Thankfully, he did just so. And although I could still feel his restraint, I now understood what it meant - and it was so much easier to deal with when I had his lips to distract me.

When I had to pull apart to catch my breath, he kept his mouth on my skin, slowly tracing a path from my jaw down to my throat, and when he got to my jugular, he stopped, simply inhaling while I felt his mouth water on top of it. “You ever wonder what I taste like?” I teased, running my hand through his curls, and he pulled away to look me in the eyes, first in concern and then in lust.

Henry’s P.O.V.

��All the fucking time.” Instead of being afraid, the little mixen bit on the lower lip I wished I still had between my own teeth, before remarking, “That’s kinky.” It had me roaring with laughter until I felt the need to attack her mouth with mine again.

“I’ll show you kinky.” After she had to separate from me to catch her breath once more, I traced the path her blood followed down her neck until the neckline of her dress, before softly pulling the sleeves down on each side so I could lave her collarbone and shoulders with my tongue, too.

“Do you want a taste?” She whispered, the question making me freeze for a second, my fingers pressing even tighter in the soft skin of her hips. I could feel her heartbeat under them. She was so… alive. Perhaps that’s why she made me feel like that, too.

“I couldn’t possibly ask you for that.”

“You’re not asking.” I tried to find something, anything in her eyes that showed me a sign of humour, but there was nothing. She was honestly doing this. I hesitated for a while, until she used the grip she had on my curls to pull me down against her neck, that she exposed even more to me by throwing her head back. “Please.”

My eyes trailed down the curve of her shoulder as I felt my fangs starting to grow. A swipe of my tongue over them confirmed what I already knew: they were ready. With one last look into her eyes to see if she wanted to back out, I leaned over her and pierced the neck of my beloved, sucking just enough to allow me to taste the magnificent essence that kept her alive before I retreated and lapped the few droplets that still escaped the punctures.

The sight of her breathing hard, making her breasts jump up to my face as I kept her safe in my lap was enough to get me completely hard. “Bed. Now.” That was the only warning I gave her before I rose up from the couch with her clinging to my body, legs wrapped around my back. She giggled against the kiss I stole from her lips, undoubtedly tasting a little bit of herself, before keeping on with the trend of endlessly teasing me for her own amusement.

“You know, I don’t really feel like sleeping right now.” I growled at her continuing giggles, squeezing her ass to grind her against my hardness. I wanted to know just how thoroughly fucked she’d be.

“You’re not going to sleep any time soon, darling.” Reconnecting our lips, I followed blindly in the direction of what I assumed her bedroom to be located, only stopping to let her catch her breath because she pulled away. I would have to be better at remembering that she needed that.

“You never told me what I tasted like,” she breathed out against my lips, buying herself more time to get some air into her lungs. It made me laugh, the question sounding absurd considering everything, but this is precisely what I loved about her.

“Like fucking candy, how about that?” She screamed as I dipped her back, laying her down on the mattress before climbing over her again. “I really want to know if it’s the same down there.”

She clinged to me eagerly, legs wrapping around my body as her hands made quick work of my shirt. It felt intoxicating to see just how desperate she was for me, just how she reciprocated my own desire.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The second I was laid bare for his eyes to take in, a sharp inhale resonated through the room. I could feel his eyes trailing down my body, drinking me in, and it made me dizzy with desire. “You’re so beautiful.” His voice was barely over a whisper, and still, I heard it in my very soul.

But then, a thumb was running over my lower lips, teasingly opening me up to his gaze, and I mewled at just how great it felt to be this exposed to him. “And so wet,” he added, using that same thumb to collect some of the moisture I could feel starting to drip from me and then rubbing it all over my pussy.

“What are you gonna do about it?” I asked, trying to muster all of the defiance I could find, but my body was weakened by my need for the man hovering above me - and he knew. He just knew he had reduced me to a needy, whimpering mess, and he was loving every second of it.

His thumb found my clit and he massaged it for a bit, eyes trapping mine in his hypnotizing gaze as he pondered over my question. Until, finally, there was an answer. “I want you to touch yourself.”

Okay, this wasn’t what I was hoping for. But still, I could see the hint of nervousness in his eyes, even if buried under deep layers of desire. So I was happy to oblige, my own hand slowly traveling down my body until it met his, right when he raised the thumb that had been just touching me there up to my lips.

“Open up.” My eyes fluttered shut as my mouth dropped open to accept the digit, and I eagerly swirled my tongue around it before sucking, while my own fingers slowly explored my dripping opening. I don’t know if it was the action he was getting on his thumb or if it was the vision of me dipping two fingers inside of myself and moaning around him, but in a second he had pulled both his and my hands away and had lunged himself at me.

“Eager, aren’t we?” I joked, fully enjoying that for at least this millisecond, I had the upper hand again. Henry didn’t seem to mind, if the way he licked his lips and delved to bruise mine in a breathtaking kiss was any indication of it.

“I’ve dreamed about being in your bed for so long,” he admitted, and my heart grew twice its size at the thought of him actively wishing for this, just like I’d done when I laid in this bed hundreds of nights ever since we met.

“How long has it been?” I asked, hugging his body closer to mine, already addicted to the way it felt to have his weight over me. “Ever since you’ve… done this before, I mean.” Henry chuckled, but didn’t immediately answer as he kept himself busy by littering my collarbones with kisses and lovebites, making me offer my chest up to him. When he grasped one of my breasts in his large hand, I couldn’t stop the loud moan that echoed around the room as my heart beated wildly right under his palm.

“I don’t even remember,” he finally answered, but by then, I had all but completely forgot what I’d even asked. He was slowly but surely messing with my mind and my ability to hold coherent thoughts, all I could focus on was the feeling of his cold hands running over my sweaty skin and his lips licking every inch of me. “It doesn’t even matter. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone as much as I want you.”

Henry’s P.O.V.

The whine she let out was clearly a complaint and a request in itself, making me chuckle against her delicious skin. “Soon,” I promised, nearing the place I was longing to be. “I need to feel you cumming on my lips, first.”

The sigh she let out as I buried my nose on the small curls just over where her fingers had been buried made it clear that she wasn’t about to complain about my plan, at least for now. Still, I needed her to give me the time I needed to fully appreciate this, so while I caressed her thighs to allow myself the space I needed to work with, I negotiated, “I promise I’ll make you feel so good.”

She didn’t seem to doubt when I stuck out my tongue and gave her a temptative first lick, immediately groaning at the incomparable sweetness and diving in for more. She gasped and wrapped her thighs around my head, like she wanted to make sure I wouldn’t leave her hanging, but I was sure I’d never leave the space between her legs again.

Sweet, so sweet and wet. I’d spent so long imagining her taste on my tongue, both of her blood and of her juices, and now I knew that she truly was sweet all over. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have to pretend I hadn’t tried the god’s ambrosia for the rest of my life, so I sincerely hoped this really meant she truly wanted me forever.

I lost myself to the activity of exploring her pussy with my tongue, eyes closed to better imprint the taste and the sounds she was emitting into the depths of my memory. I was so into my meal, the lapping sounds of her drenched cunt surrounding us and only adding to the powerful symphony of her moans, that when she came, covering my face in her release, I was taken by surprise.

“You know…” She started, as soon as she was able to catch a breath while I sucked the juices dripping from her. “This isn’t the type of eating I expected a vampire to be so good at.” That made me look up to meet her eyes, and the second I did so, taking in the humorous glint in them and the way she pressed her lips tightly together to contain the laughs that were certainly threatening to escape, I lost it.

“I don’t think I ever laughed so much during sex.” I nuzzled in her neck, before depositing a quick kiss on her pouty lips. Her tongue came out to lick them as soon as we parted, like she was chasing away her own taste that I knew was still present in my mouth.

“Then I don’t think you’ve been doing this the right way.” I felt her tiny hands pressing on my shoulders, and it took me a while to figure out she was trying to invert our positions. When I did get it, I allowed my torso to fall on the soft mattress by her side, hands immediately flying up to caress her body as she climbed on me.

“I want your cock in my mouth.”

I groaned as I heard those words, paired with the gentle rock of her wet cunt over my still clothed member. How could one resist such sensuous sin? But I had more pressing needs in the moment, and as I had to remind her, “The night is still young. As tempting as that is… No, don’t look at me like that. Do you have any idea what you do to me, you little minx? I have to be inside of you now.”

Her eyes made it clear that she didn’t feel all that terrible about my denial, but still, she asked, “Later, then?” Chuckling, I brought her down to whisper in her ear, “ Believe me, we have all the time in the world. You’re not going to sleep anytime soon. I’ll keep you in this bed forever, if I have my way.”

I heard her suck in a breath and I took advantage of the brief moment of surprise that rendered her immobile to drag two fingers along her folds before curling them in. “Oh, wow. Now that is a sight.” Just the tone of perplexity in my voice had her clenching around me, and when I began to laugh yet again, she brace herself on my chest and groaned, “Are you going to fuck me or keep staring?”

I looked up to meet her eyes, making sure she was looking directly at me as I pulled my fingers out and licked them before grabbing a hold of my member and running it over her pussy. “Take a guess.”

The moment that we became fused in the corporeal sense, it became clear to me just how entwined our souls already were. There was no escaping our connection, not anymore. “Does this feel good,” I teased her as she released a particularly high moan, fingers gripping my shoulders tightly as she threw her head back and tried to keep riding me. I took this opportunity to nibble and nip at her jaw and neck, teasing myself with the feeling of her blood pumping right underneath my open mouth.

“Yes, yes,” she screamed, picking up her movements as I kept fucking myself up against her, too. “Deeper, harder, please, Henry!” The desperation in her voice had me roaring, and in a quick movement I had her under me again.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” I whispered under my breath right when she grabbed a hold of my locks and pulled me to meet her lips again. “Are you ready?” I knew she was close by the way she was moaning, and all it took was for her eyes to meet mine so I could feel her clenching around me. “No falling asleep, remember? Or maybe you want me to keep going even if you do end up passing out.” It was just a joke, but her whine made it very clear that she didn’t mind the perspective.

“Don’t worry, angel. I’m right here. I’ll give you everything you want, I’ll be everything you need. For the rest of your life.”

“I know.”

#my fics #henry cavill smut #smut #henry cavill #henry cavill reader #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill reader insert #henry cavill header inserts #henry cavill oneshot #henry cavill oneshots #henry cavill headcanon #henry cavill headcanons

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goldenraeofsun · 3 years

Text

There is Only Try, Part I

“Love spell,” Rowena proclaims as she glides down the stairs to the Bunker floor like it’s her personal ballroom. Her midnight blue floor-length gown and elaborately curled hair look especially out of place - Dean’s pretty sure his shirt has pizza stains from at least three different pizzas. The shirt is red, so at least two of them don’t count.

Behind her on the stairs, Sam chokes.

Rowena turns around to face him. “And I thought this was going to be a challenge,” she chides. “Really, Samuel?”

“What do you mean, ‘love spell’?” Dean demands with a fleeting glance at Cas, who’s gone red in the face. Dean doesn’t blame him - between the hooker with the daddy problems and the stabby reaper, he’d be leery of anything vaguely love-shaped too.

“We called you because we need to translate the runes on a cursed box,” Sam says slowly. “We think it’s in some sort of cipher, since even Cas can’t get a read on it.”

“Well, did Tweety Pie touch the box?”

“No,” Cas says, offended.

Dean nudges him with his elbow, saying in an undertone, “C’mon, like it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Dean.”

Dean takes in Cas’s unamused face and scowls at Rowena's tinkling laugh. “Okay, Sabrina, what the fuck do you mean by ‘love spell’?”

“I mean the angel’s been cursed with a love spell,” Rowena says with deliberate slowness, like she’s giving a command to a particularly stupid lap dog. “Was it not obvious?”

Dean glances at Cas, horror trickling down his spine. “No.”

“Hmph,” Rowena sniffs. “Men really are oblivious to matters of the heart.” She waves her hand again, eyes glimmering violet. “Like I thought,” she continues, placing both hands on her hips, “A jardin d’amour.”

“A garden of,” Sam pauses, clearly trying not to laugh, “love?”

“A very basic love spell,” Rowena says disdainfully. “The lass didn’t seem to have any imagination.”

“The witch we ganked two weeks ago was a dude,” Dean says. A beat. “A man witch.”

Sam snorts.

“There you go,” Rowena says, lifting her nose into the air. “Most men don’t have that innate knack for the magical arts.” She turns to Sam, giving him the most obvious come-hither look Dean has ever seen. “There are some obvious exceptions, of course.”

Okay, Dean needs Rowena and her heebs with a large dosing of the jeebs out of the Bunker, stat.

“It starts as a tiny seed, a wee obsession,” Rowena explains, “and grows and grows until it consumes you.” She squints, wiggling her fingers, and Dean just barely stops himself from jumping in front of Cas on instinct. “I’d say the spell’s gone about halfway through its course.”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. He throws another calculating glance at Cas. “He’s not writing love songs or grabbing a boombox, so he’s obviously not cursed.”

Cas, still suspiciously silent, shoves both his hands in his pockets and stares hard at a spot of the floor between his feet.

“Oh, but he is, darlin’,” Rowena exclaims delightedly. “I can see it clear as day. Look!”

Cas sneezes as the magic washes over him for a third time, and now they all can see the purple sparkles - really, Rowena? - hovering in the air around him.

“Okay,” Dean makes a face, “Now I’m confused.”

“Not for the first time, isn’t that right?” Rowena says with faux-sympathy.

Dean glowers. He turns to Cas. “Come on, she’s making this all up. You’d know if you got dosed with Love Potion No. 9.”

“I-” Cas says, his gaze skittering from Dean to Rowena and back again. He looks… caught.

“Wait,” Dean thunders, taking a step forward, “You knew?”

“I,” Cas starts haltingly, “had suspected.”

“And you didn’t think you’d tell us you’d been whammied?”

Cas shrugs. “It doesn’t seem to be affecting me at all. My vessel is functioning normally.”

“Sure, because you’re such an expert on normal-”

Cas’s eyes flash. “It didn’t seem relevant considering everything else-”

“What d’you mean every-?”

“Kelly Kline - Lucifer, again - the British Men of Letters - take your pick,” Castiel retorts heatedly.

“We’ve got that under control-”

“Killing a child is not ‘under control’-”

“It is if the kid’s the literal spawn of Satan-”

“I never thought I’d hear Dean Winchester defending the murder of an inno-”

Dean throws up his hands. “Did you miss my ‘spawn of Satan’ comment?”

“No,” Cas says, his expression as stony as the Bunker’s foundations, “my hearing is excellent.”

Off to the side, Rowena mutters in a carrying stage-whisper, “I can see how a wee curse like this is the least of your problems.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Sam says, running a weary hand down his face.

Dean rounds on them. “What?”

“Do you want me to remove the love spell or not?” Rowena asks, eyebrows raised. “My time is precious, you know. I don’t live to be at the Winchesters’ beck and call.”

“For the last fucking time, it’s not a goddamn spell!” Dean explodes. “Whatever it is, he is not in love. He hasn’t been acting any different.”

Rowena beams. “Well now, if he were already in love, it would have no outward effects. He’d…” Her expression becomes stomach-turningly sly, “...function normally, so to speak.”

Cas’s mouth sets in a firm line. As Dean goggles at him, Cas demands, “Remove the spell, now.”

Dean swallows. Cas can’t be - she can’t be implying - that’s impossible. He’s an angel. They don’t feel things like that.

Do they?

“I’m going to need some ingredients,” Rowena says, looking up to Sam. “Where might they be?”

Sam gestures her forward. “Back in the store room, I’ll show you.”

Rowena pats him lightly on the arm. “What a gentleman,” she simpers as Dean pretends to hurl behind her back.

Dean can’t bring himself to speak until they’re both out of earshot, their footsteps fading off into the distance. He turns to Cas, trying to keep his voice detached and failing miserably. “So, you think it got you after all?”

Cas looks away. “I know it has.”

“Oh.” Dean picks up his empty whiskey glass. He runs a hand down his face, trying to scrub away whatever he’s feeling. It doesn't work. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink. Fucking witches.”

“I - I could use one as well,” Cas says to Dean’s surprise.

* * *

“So, uh, who’s the lucky chick?” Dean asks as he makes a beeline for the liquor cart in the library off the war room. He grabs an additional glass for Cas and the bottle of Jack, tips the bottle down his own throat to get them started, and pours them out a few fingers.

Cas takes his drink, jaw clenching. He doesn’t look like a dude head over heels. He looks like his normal sleep-deprived, tax accountant self. He stays silent.

Dean thumps heavily down into a chair. “Have we met her?” he prompts because he’s nothing if not a masochist at heart.

“You could say so, in a sense.” Cas raises his eyes to meet Dean’s, face softening, and Dean’s going to hurl for real this time. Cas continues, “There’s not much in my life I keep from you.”

Dean swallows against the ball of self-loathing and disgust clogging his throat. “Some lady angel, then? Been dreaming about plucking her harp strings?”

Cas scowls into his drink. “No.”

“Not an angel?”

“Not a lady,” Cas says, his voice almost unbearably stiff. “And not an angel, either. A human - a beautifully flawed human.”

Dean has no words to say to that, so he drinks. Cas has probably met thousands of people - nice, normal people who aren’t fucked up in the head from ganking monsters their whole lives - since he’s been on Earth. God knows, he hasn’t been plastered to Dean’s side the entire time. Lately, Dean can’t even come up with a good excuse to get him to stay for more than a day or two at most.

“A guy, then,” Dean says to make sure they’re on the same page - because last time he checked, waves of celestial intent cared less about acing a Gender and Sexuality 101 class and more about whether a meatsuit could withstand a holy oil molotov cocktail.

Cas nods, his eyes narrowing. “Your opinion on homosexual relationships is part of the reason I’ve never brought it up before.”

“Hey, I don’t judge,” Dean says, not entirely truthfully. He holds his hands up in a gesture of innocence. “Homo it up, man. Love is love.”

Cas’s nose wrinkles, but he doesn’t comment on Dean’s hamfisted attempt at proving his acceptance of ‘alternative lifestyles’ as Dad might’ve put it charitably one time. “It’s complicated,” Cas adds, like any part of this fucked-up situation could fit under a goddamn Facebook status.

Dean hitches a grin on his face that probably wouldn’t fool a blind person. “So, apart from that, how come you’ve never come to me for help? I don’t wanna brag, but I’m kind of an expert in hookups. Sam’s kind of hopeless. He can’t get a chick into bed without her dying on him.”

Cas knocks back his glass. “I didn’t want to bother you with my feelings.”

Dean automatically grimaces at the mention of feelings. But, hell, he’s not a teenage girl. He can man up and be there for his best friend.

He has to - Cas hardly asks him for anything anymore.

Sure, Cas didn’t exactly ask Dean for anything this time around, but Dean can read between the lines. Now that he’s copped to what’s going on beneath Cas’s still waters, he can see how deep those feelings run. Especially if what Rowena’s saying is true and a love spell is barely a drop in the bucket.

“And, regardless, your ‘hookup’ skills wouldn’t be relevant, anyway,” Cas says quietly, lowering his hands. “I’m not interested in… coupling.”

Dean wrinkles his nose. “That reaper really screwed you over, didn’t she? Look, just because you got shanked, doesn’t mean all sex winds up with an angel blade-”

“I misspoke,” Cas says over him. “What I mean is, I would rather have no sexual relations at all if I cannot have all of him: mind, body, and soul.”

Trust Cas to spout the most profound cheese Dean has ever heard.

And also, what the fuck? Dean can’t get behind that idea at all. Dean’s always been a take what you can get kind of dude. He had to be, with what he has to work with - a pretty face, a killer's instinct, and an inability to have a normal relationship if his goddamn life depended on it.

Like, if Dean had gotten the slightest whiff that Cas was down with gettin’ down and dirty with Dean as his last hurrah (which of course he didn’t), Dean would never have bothered with that stupid den of inequity. As hilarious as the outcome was, he would have gone for a little something-something for himself before the end of the world.

Of course, Dean wasn’t in love with Cas yet then. Whenever it came to mind, it was just a fun thought experiment, an idle what if for him to think about during a dry spell. Like his fantasies about fucking Ginger from Gilligan’s Island. Or hatesex with Bela Talbot.

But none of that mattered because every step of the way from Castiel, mighty Angel of the Lord, to Cas, their friendly neighborhood angel-man, he never hinted he’d be down for a quick roll in the hay... or something more serious.

Dean remembers very clearly: Anna fell to experience emotions, even the bad ones.

And Dean’s not an idiot - Cas obviously experiences emotions now. Dude’s been through too much not to feel something. But Dean’s never deluded himself that they could ever include all the romantic lovey-dovey, chick-flick moments crap.

Family love, sure. Cas might love all his haloed siblings. Cas has been around for all the Top 10 worst decisions that are the Winchesters’ version of brotherly devotion. Cas even said the big L-word out loud himself, when he was bleeding out in that barn a month ago.

But romantic love? The big kahuna L-O-V-E?

Dean always thought scaling Mount Everest with a plastic beach shovel would be easier than convincing an angel to feel that way about anyone. Cas is a wave of celestial intent; waves of celestial intent don’t do anything as human, as stupid, as fall in love.

But apparently they do.

So maybe that’s why Cas has always been so hard to pin down, so eager to leave Dean all the time. He’s been off pining after this mystery guy.

Awesome.

Cas heaves a weighty sigh and finishes off his own glass of whiskey. Without another word, he half raises from his chair, reaching around the table lamp, to pour them both a second round. “I suppose there is a bit of a relief in finally saying it,” he says in a low voice. “I can’t be with him, but there is a certain amount of happiness in it being known, just being seen.”

Dean wastes no time in downing half his new drink. Throat burning in warning, he forces out, “Why - why can’t you? You’re a freaking angel - thought you could have anyone.” Dean frowns. “He’s not a civilian, is he?”

Talk about a recipe for disaster: Cas plus normal person equals uncomfortable questions and fucked up babysitting gigs.

Cas’s eyes widen. Almost imperceptibly, he shakes his head. “Ah, no, not really.”

“So he knows about angels.”

Cas gives a slow nod. “He doesn’t have a very high opinion of them, though,” he says ruefully, staring down into his glass. “They’ve made his life very difficult over the past few years.”

Dean scoffs, “He can join the club.”

Cas flinches.

“Hey, no,” Deans says quickly, “Not you.”

Cas raises head, his eyes unbearably bleak. “Why not me? I was the one who set the Leviathans and angels loose on humanity to wage their wars, among a dozen other transgressions.” He adds morosely, “Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if a different angel rescued you from Hell after all.”

Dean blinks at Cas, his stomach turning over with dread at the very idea. He tries to picture some nameless angel yanking him out of the Pit or marching into that barn with all the righteousness of Heaven on his heels. Dean can’t do it.

Or worse, not a nameless angel. Uriel, who was ready to kill thousands without a second thought. Zachariah, that dickwad with the mind games. Even Hannah, who Dean reluctantly liked - he still can’t see her sticking by their side, falling, sacrificing everything for them.

Cas is their third wheel, the stabilizer that keeps Team Free Will upright and moving forward. Without him, they’re a tandem bicycle, and nobody wants a repeat of that opening scene from Gabriel’s sitcom from Hell.

“Yeah, but at least you always tried to do the right thing.”

“There is no try, only what I did or did not do,” Cas answers with a strange, defeated expression.

“Okay, but,” Dean starts, rolling his eyes at Cas’s butchered Star Wars reference, “Yoda’s a lot of things, but applicable to the real world without space lasers, he is not. Sometimes the only thing you can do is try, dude.”

God knows, Dean could never have forgiven Cas for any of the shit he pulled if he hadn’t been 100% positive Cas had the best of intentions. Cas did all those things to save the world, and, sometimes, to save Dean personally. Which gives him the girliest, fuzzy feelings and also makes him want to punch a wall.

Cas throws him a pitying look. “Every time I ‘try’ to make things better, I fail.” He shakes his head. “When you were taken, I searched for months to find you. Kelly escaped on my watch, and I couldn't find her. I’m a… dumbass.”

“I thought you preferred ‘trusting,’” Dean jokes, and it only sounds a little forced.

Cas throws him an exasperated look. “Perhaps a few years ago. But now? I’ve made too many mistakes, and people have suffered - you and Sam have suffered - as a result. You don’t need to spare my feelings, Dean. It’s hardly what I deserve.”

Dean frowns, tapping his fingers against his glass as he takes in Cas's defeated air. “Hey, what’s with the pity party?”

“It’s not a ‘pity party’,” Cas counters. “These are basic facts.”

Dean leans forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “You aren’t serious.”

Cas stares back. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Dean rakes his gaze up and down Cas’s face, looking for a break, for a tell - even though he knows he won’t find any. “You saved the world. A couple of times by now.”

“I also personally put it in jeopardy more than once,” Cas mutters. “I trusted Crowley to steal Purgatory. I trusted Metatron to bring peace to Heaven. I trusted Lucifer to take out the Darkness.”

Dean’s heart sinks with every reminder of Cas’s greatest hits. “Come on…”

Cas’s mouth thins, lips pressing together as he raises his glass to his mouth. “You don’t need to stay to keep me company, either,” he says in a low voice. “I’m the one under the spell. If you have anything more pressing, I can wait here for Rowena.”

“Shut up,” Dean says automatically. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Cas exhales a weighty sigh, his shoulders losing some of their tension.

“Hey, what you need - hell, what we both need - is a win,” Dean says reassuringly. “Everything’s been such shit, you need a reminder to keep going.” He gets up from his seat, his legs itching to move. “Why don’t you tell me more about that man of yours?” he asks quickly, his words nearly tripping over themselves to get out before the regret sets in. “Maybe that’s the key to getting your head back in the game.”

Cas doesn’t say anything as Dean moves to peruse a row of books he has no intention of ever reading. Eventually, Cas protests without much conviction, “My head is in the game. I am still useful.”

Dean’s head jerks around so fast it nearly gives him whiplash. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It isn’t?” Cas asks, head tilting in confusion.

Dean makes a face. “I mean, if you’re feeling down, you… shouldn’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

Dean paces to the other end of the bookshelf, unbelievably annoyed at Cas for making him spell it out for him. “Forget it,” Dean says instead. “I still owe you for ganking Billie-”

“But the cosmic consequences-”

“Will suck, but in the meantime you saved our lives. I owe you.” Dean turns so he’s back to fully facing Cas. “So, tell me what this mystery guy is into.”

Cas’s eyes narrow at him. “I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“Seriously?”

Cas straightens and nods.

“But,” Dean says, words failing as he wars with himself. He could push Cas for more info or keep on living in blissful ignorance. But if he has to choose between his own personal peace of mind or Cas experiencing the one pinnacle of human happiness (or so Dean’s been told in countless chick flicks he’ll take to the grave), it’s no choice at all. He starts again, “If you tell me about him, it’ll make this a lot easier.”

“I don’t want it to be easier,” Cas says, baffled. “I don’t want this to be anything.”

Dean gapes. “Why the hell not?”

Cas taps his empty glass on the table, irritated. “Please, leave it alone.”

“No,” Dean says mulishly. “I wanna help you, man.”

“I don’t want any help.”

“Well, tough shit because you’re getting it anyway. You’re family-”

Cas’s face does a weird spasm.

“-And that’s what you do for family,” Dean continues, a little confused and insulted. They are family; Cas said so, back when he thought he was dying in Ramiel’s barn.

“Drop it.”

“No,” Dean argues, shoving down everything else as his temper rises. “You’re hurtin’, and I can help. Why don’t you trust me? You trusted Crowley, Metatron, fucking Lucifer-”

Too far. Shit.

Cas whirls around, his face a mask of frustration and an emotion Dean has never seen before. “I did, and you know what? They screwed me. And, please forgive me, Dean, but I am tired of being used and used up, over and over.”

Dean blinks, his anger falling away to a raw hurt only Cas can dredge up. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Cas runs a weary hand down his face. He just shakes his head.

“C’mon, Cas, it’s me,” Dean says - pleads, really. “You know me better than anyone else, ’cept Sammy. I won’t do something like that.”

Cas glares. “I do know you, so I know that is exactly what will happen.”

Dean reels back, and he can’t save himself in time before an undoubtedly pained look spreads across his face.

Cas’s hostility cracks, but Dean’s already gotten the message.

So Cas’s one big happy loving family message was only a deathbed thing. That’s… fine. Dean’s done it himself, a time or two. Told Sam to live his life and not go looking for revenge or a way to fix it - all a crock of horse shit, of course. He should’ve figured Cas was more human than angelic with that poison pumping through his veins, making him all weak and sweaty. ’Course he wasn’t above feeling human sentimentality in his death throes.

Face hardening, Dean turns on his heel. “You were right about one thing. I guess I do have more important things to do than staying here with you.”

“Dean,” he hears behind him, but Dean doesn’t look back.

* * *

Dean always hides a spare bottle of booze in the bottom drawer of the desk in his bedroom. It's mostly empty, but, hopefully, by the time Dean's polished it off, Cas’ll be cured, Rowena will be gone, and they all can pretend this never happened - Dean can pretend that Cas stopped keeping secrets because he’s learned they always blow up in his face in the past six years.

Anyway.

First, the booze.

Dean’s barely wrestled the top off with shaking fingers of leftover anger when a knock sounds against his door.

“’S the witch gone yet?” Dean asks without lifting his head.

The door opens. “Dean, it’s me.”

Dean takes a long pull of whiskey.

Cas sighs, audible in the stuffy, tension-filled space between them. He doesn’t approach, instead hovering in the doorway, and isn’t that how it always goes? Always poised for flight, that’s Cas. “Dean,” he repeats, which only makes Dean's blood boil that much hotter.

“What?” he demands. “What do you want now? ’Cause I can’t think of a single thing you need from me, Cas.”

Cas presses his lips together. “You’re making this very difficult.”

“Me?” Dean barks incredulously. “You’re the one hiding things and not letting me help you.”

“You won’t accept this is one area in which you can’t help?” Cas asks quietly.

Dean makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat.

Cas shakes his head, his gaze focusing on Dean’s face with his patented laser intensity. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“Yeah, I’m just a jackass who can’t get a lady to stick around for more than a few hours. I get it.” He glances up to see Cas’s stricken expression. Frowning, Dean looks away.

Cas steps tentatively into Dean’s room, his face weirdly apprehensive. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

“Sure,” Dean says, tipping the bottle back like it’s water because he needs to be so much drunker to deal with Cas and his love spell bombshells right now.

Cas hovers awkwardly by Dean’s desk, his hands shoved into his coat pockets. “You’re so capable of love.”

“Cas-” Dean starts, but he has no idea where he’s going with this.

Cas keeps talking, thank God. “You don’t acknowledge that side of you very often, but I feel it every time we see each other, every time you’re with your brother. You care, you love, so wholly and completely.” Cas chuckles ruefully. “I didn’t realize it for a few years. I didn’t see how unique it was, how special you are, but you are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.”

Dean’s tongue finally unsticks from the roof of his mouth. Face flaming hotter than the inferno where he first met Cas eight years ago, he rasps out, “Cas - what the hell are you saying?”

Cas swallows, dragging his gaze back up to meet Dean’s wide eyes. “The reason I didn’t tell you about the love spell was because it couldn’t make me love you any more than I already do.”

Dean blinks, dumbfounded, at Cas, the words love you bouncing around his skull like a blocked radio signal. Cas said them; Dean heard them with his own two ears; but the meaning behind the words is getting lost in transmission.

As Dean’s brain struggles to make sense of just about everything, Cas nods once. “Well, now you know. I’ll go wait for Rowena’s cure in the kitchen.”

And then he leaves.

Dean slams the whiskey bottle down on his desk, cursing as it nearly topples over in his haste. He sets it right, swearing more as precious seconds pass by. He hurtles down the hall, half-convinced Cas lied to him to get a head start and is really halfway to Timbuktu.

But Dean finds Cas in the library, sitting more or less where he left him before Dean had his little wallowing session in his bedroom.

“Cas!” Dean blurts, skidding to a halt and grabbing onto the edge of the table for support.

Cas looks up, frowning. “I - “ he gives himself a little shake and starts again, “Is Rowena having trouble with the spell?”

“What?” Dean strides forward on shaky legs. “No - I mean, I don’t know. They could be fucking in a supply closet for all I care.”

Cas’s eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. For the first time today, he looks almost afraid. “Then why are you here?” he asks, his gaze darting towards the stairs to the exit. “I’m only going to stay in the Bunker until Rowena can finish. Then I will go.”

“Go?” Dean repeats, a spike of panic shooting up his spine. “You can’t.”

Cas inhales a sharp breath. “You want me to stay?”

“You want to bail?” Dean demands, his voice rising.

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “You’re upset. This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“I’m not fucking upset!”

Cas throws him an unimpressed look. “You clearly are. Your pulse is rising. Your pupils are dilated. I can smell your elevated levels of adrenaline.”

Dean makes a face. “Dude - lines - crossed.”

“Fine,” Cas says, his face set. He gets up. “I can coordinate with Rowena at a later date. She should focus on the cursed box, anyway. It’s clearly a more pressing concern and the reason we called her in the first place.”

“Hey.” Dean takes a step forward. “Wait.”

Cas’s mouth sets in a thin line. “What do you want, Dean? I did as you asked. I told you the spell could only latch onto my feelings for you.”

Dean falters, his words failing him.

Cas’s shoulders slump. “I did warn you, you know,” he murmurs, trying to pass Dean on his way towards the door.

Dean grabs onto Cas’s bicep before he can disappear. “Gimme a moment. What you said - it’s a lot.”

Miracle of miracles, Cas stops.

Dean can practically feel the power thrumming underneath the trench coat sleeve in his grip, but Cas wordlessly lets Dean guide him back to the library table.

“Okay,” Dean starts, his head still mercilessly void of the right thing to say, “So that guy, the one you’re - well, it’s - he’s me?” he asks, stumbling over his words like he hasn’t since that one time Rhonda Hurley opened her underwear drawer.

Cas nods once, his face impossibly solemn.

“Right,” Dean grunts. He rubs at his chin, Cas watching the whole while. “That’s - wow.”

“Quite,” Cas says wryly.

“Hey, don’t be a dick,” Dean shoots back. “I had no idea.”

“That was the point,” Cas sighs. “But now you do.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, feeling like a tongue-tied idiot. If only he could be more like Cas with the grand declarations.

Cas opens his mouth, pausing for a beat before saying, “I was never intending to leave permanently. I will still help you figure out how to deal with Kelly Kline. I will still assist with research, translations, anything you need.” His blue eyes bore into Dean’s face. “I can still be useful.”

Dean’s chest aches. “Didn’t I tell you it wasn’t about that?” he asks gruffly.

Cas’s earnest expression falters. “Of course,” he says, subdued. “Regardless, know that I am always willing to help the Winchesters.”

“Jesus,” Dean mutters, “This isn’t - it’s never been - about you being goddamn useful.” He huffs an exasperated breath, frowning harder as Cas doesn’t immediately get it and launch himself at Dean.

God, that would make this so much easier.

“What you want?” Dean says, glaring daggers at the tabletop between them, “That whole, mind, body, soul crap? You got it.”

Cas blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“You already have it,” Dean says through gritted teeth.

Cas cocks his head like a perplexed chicken, still as clueless as ever.

It’s clearly time to bring out the big guns. If Cas is going to spout pretty speeches that steal Dean’s breath away and leave him weak-kneed but not actually, you know, make a move, Dean will just have to do everything himself.

Fine. That’s how he’s always operated, anyway.

Face determined, he leans over and grasps the lapels of Cas’s trench coat.

Cas leans back a fraction, his eyes widening in alarm or shock. But before he can utter another word, Dean brings their mouths together.

Cas takes a moment to get with the program. There’s a split-second (that lasts several years) when Cas almost seems to push Dean off him, but he kisses back before Dean can yank himself away first. Cas’s mouth is tentative against Dean’s, like he’s waiting for Dean to end it all and yell, “Got ya!”, but he unseals his lips with a light sigh as Dean gently parts them with his tongue.

Dean unclenches one hand from Cas’s lapel. He reaches up to cup Cas’s jaw, the raspy stubble a physical reminder of the goddamn win he’s finally getting. His knees twinge from awkwardly leaning over, but rampaging Leviathans could burst into the kitchen and Dean wouldn’t give any less of a fuck.

He has Cas right where he wants him, and he’s going to fucking savor it for as long as he can.

When Cas pulls away, his face shows nothing but pure confusion. “Why?” he breathes, raising a finger to touch his lips.

Dean, still half-standing, half-leaning over him, frowns. He falls back to his seat with a thump. “Because you weren’t going to do it first?”

Cas blinks. “I didn’t think you wanted anything like that,” he pauses, “with me.”

Like there’s anyone else around who wants to get real up close and personal with the most dumbass angel in the garrison.

“Yeah, well,” Dean says, the faintest inklings of embarrassment creeping in now they’re not kissing anymore and Cas’s first reaction isn’t to look like he got free tickets to Disneyland. “I did. Do.”

“Oh.”

Dean swallows past the lump in his throat.

Cas looks away from Dean for the first time, and Dean dies a little inside. Stiffy, Cas says, “If this is some misguided attempt to show your sympathy for my situation. I don’t appreciate the gesture.”

“Gesture?” Dean echoes, “What the hell are you on, man? I don’t kiss random dudes because I feel bad for them, Christ.”

“Then why?”

Dean grimaces. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

“Yes,” Cas says quickly, his gaze raking up and down Dean’s face. “I have misunderstood your actions in the past, and I have no desire to do it again.”

Dean groans. “Look, I didn’t think angels could have feelings like that.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Or I would’ve… done something about it sooner,” he says, and that’s mostly true. Probably would’ve tried to seduce Cas, failed, and then jumped off a cliff, but Cas doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, normal angels can’t,” Cas says, “but there’s something broken in me.”

“You’re not broken,” Dean swears loudly, his anger flaring. “You’re… better. A new and improved God Squad, far as I can tell.” He narrows his eyes, daring Cas to talk shit about himself one more time.

Cas bites his lip. “You truly mean it.”

Dean tries for a mocking leer, but it comes out more like a dopey, hopeful smile. “You wanna get it engraved? Put up in neon in the Dean cave?” he asks, eyebrows raised as excitement courses through his veins. Cas loves him. Dean can make good on all those what ifs that have been plaguing him for years. “Tattooed on my ass?”

Cas chuckles lightly. “That would be a start.”

Dean lets out a bark of laughter. He can already feel the insecurities looming on the horizon. There’s always a catch: Cas never stays; Cas might want Dean now, but he’ll fly away the moment Dean fucks up because he has no idea what he’s doing.

But none of that matters right now.

He kissed Cas.

And Cas didn’t smite him. Didn't tell him to fuck off. Didn't flutter off to the moon for shits and giggles.

Cas knows him, knows him better than anyone except Sam. And despite all the fucked up shit in Dean's head, Cas is staying anyway, with his eyes wide open like nobody else Dean has ever been with.

Cas smiles in return. “If I had known a love spell would result in this outcome, I would have sought out that witch ages ago.”

And just like that, all Dean’s happy-ending fantasies come to a screeching halt.

Read Part II here!

#destiel fanfic #profoundnet #fanfic #destiel #rae writes fic #canon divergence #season 12 #love spell au #minor samwitch #there is only try

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tearlessrain · 3 years

Text

Giant Masterlist of Cathar Facts (that I completely made up but nonetheless rigidly adhere to)

I am an unstoppable force and disney should have killed me when they had the chance (that chance was splash mountain when I was seven and as you can see I survived).

Under a break because it is way too long and covers really quite a lot, much of which I will probably never even need. But researching and writing this kind of thing is what I consider a fun afternoon so here we are.

General basic stuff

Cathar are basically felids evolved to fill a similar evolutionary niche to humans in the absence of any viable apelike species on their native planet, in the same way hyenas evolved to fill a niche normally occupied by canids.

They are pursuit predators but not terribly efficient ones outside their home planet. In terms of both speed and strength they can outperform humans on average in the short term, but have noticeably less stamina especially when it comes to running or walking long distances. They greatly outmatch any quadrupedal felids for stamina, however. (Mandalorians are an invasive species)

They run hotter than humans, around 100-102F.

Though height varies quite a bit, cathar are taller on average than humans and build muscle easily, making them extremely formiddable opponents in hand-to-hand combat.

The average face/skull shape of cathar is largely based on assumptions that they evolved under weirdly similar conditions to humans evolving from early hominids, aka shortening of the face, larger cranium, smaller mouth, etc.

While they are obligate carnivores and do have elongated canines, their teeth are more even in size than wild felids, and while they do still have barbed tongues, the barbs are relatively small/soft and more similar to a housecat than anything of comparable size (aka they won’t literally take your skin off if they lick you). They also have somewhat thinner skin than wild cats, though they are still more damage resistant than humans.

They do not have retractable claws because that’s not how fingers work, but they do have narrow, naturally pointed claws rather than humanlike fingernails. Many cathar choose to either dull them or file them down for convenience, but losing/damaging them, as per that one ambient dialogue on Dromund Kaas that I can never find when I need it, is extremely traumatic for them.

They have tails because I want them to, used for both balance and communication. Cathar tails are approximately lion-like, thin with a coarse tuft at the end regardless of markings (ie. a cathar with stripes won’t have a tiger tail), with the tip the same shade or a few shades darker than the darkest part of their coats. occasionally those from colder regions will have longer fur over the whole tail, or look like they don’t have a tuft due to longer fur overall.

Variation and a lot of bullshitting about genetics

Wookiepedia describes Cathar as “a planet of savannas and rough uplands” but I refuse to believe that all these habitable worlds are all one consistent climate/temperature across the whole globe. The weirdly ubiquitous infrastructure/cultural info I can kind of forgive since 90% of them were wiped out by Mandalorians and the rest left, and I’m charitably assuming there were a lot less than 7 billion cathar to begin with, so a lot of smaller or more isolated cultures across the planet were lost entirely.

They have less sexual dimorphism than SWTOR implies, though females are a little smaller on average and tend to have shorter/finer manes that are closer to their base color. In terms of relative strength/mass the difference is minor and female cathar are still very capable of fucking you up (the conventional assumption in the Empire that females are weak/docile and males are too uncontrollable to enslave is not remotely true in either direction).

Variation in fur/metabolism/ear and nose shape depends on which region/s of Cathar they come from (or their ancestors come from), but they don’t recognize different “races” the way humans do, particularly in the wake of the Battle of Cathar.

On average, cathar originating closer to the equator have shorter, finer fur, larger and more tapered ears, a tendency toward slender, lanky builds, and coloration that leans more toward golds/reds and higher pigment density. whereas those closer to the poles are much stockier and can be extremely fluffy, sometimes with an undercoat, with paler colors and less vivid/extensive markings. None of the above is universally true and cathar didn’t necessarily always stay in the region where their ancestors come from (and thus sometimes you get people like Riska, who is all limbs but has fairly northern features and entirely too much fur)

Cathar mostly left their planet in groups, so in some parts of the galaxy you’ll run into whole colonies that originate mostly from one part of the planet and have distinct appearances/cultural idiosyncrasies from other colonies.

They mainly follow the same general rules that apply to most felids in terms of coloration/pattern.

Markings can be stripes, spots, or less commonly rosettes (definitely some version of Taqpep variants) and mostly lie along Blaschko’s Lines, though it’s more obvious on some individuals than others and it isn’t always perfectly precise. Even spotted individuals usually display some striping on the tail and around the eyes, though not always.

“Default” coloration is black-based, with dark markings on a greyish or brownish base.

Countershading falls pretty much along patterns you’d expect and usually lightens the chest/stomach, lower face, palms/soles, and inner thighs. Specific distribution and patterns vary quite a bit, and sometimes express in odd ways (hence whatever is going on with Khatte). Darkest points tend to be the tail tip, nose bridge, and mane.

Genetically solid cathar are incredibly uncommon; much more common are genes that affect the appearance/distribution of markings, sometimes rendering them almost invisible. Even ones who appear mostly solid (aka Khatte) usually still have some faint striping around the face and/or tail.

Khatte is basically some loose equivalent of ticked tabby, which mostly just looks like weird countershading but leaves some faint striping on his face and tail.

Jial-ro’s coloration is the result of a gene that suppresses all eumelanin production, and a sepia-like form of partial albinism.

Riska has something similar, along with something that reduces the size/spread of spots.

Food

They’re mainly carnivorous and have different nutritional requirements from humans (similar but not identical to those of a cat), which can be a problem in places like the military where standardized rations are the norm. In the Republic a cathar can usually put in a request for rations designed to accommodate carnivores (or supplements, failing that), though they might have some trouble on more isolated or undersupplied planets. The rare cathar in the Imperial military have to procure supplements out of pocket, though it’s technically possible to get reimbursed for it if they’re willing to wade through the bureaucracy.

Cathar are perfectly capable of eating raw meat with few to no ill effects, and have a subgenre of cuisine centered around it (and while they didn’t invent sushi, they have enthusiastically embraced the concept). They also have plenty of ways of cooking meat and readily adopt any new ones they come across.

Their “natural” diet apart from meat mainly consists of fruit, root vegetables, and eggs, though the closer to the poles you get the less likely you are to encounter fruit in a dish. Cathar never cultivated grain and it holds no meaningful nutritional value for them, so bread, rice, and similar products simply do not appear in traditional cuisine. This does not stop some of them from eating grain products in small amounts, as they can still enjoy the taste, but it isn’t any healthier than processed sugar is to humans and they have a high rate of gluten intolerance as a species.

All cathar have a heightened and refined ability to detect savory/umami type flavors, but around 30-40% of cathar, and the vast majority of those from colder regions, have no taste receptors for sweetness at all. This has resulted in the cathar equivalent of the Cilantro Debate centering around desserts, even though they’re all perfectly aware that it’s genetic, and some who can’t taste sweetness still enjoy some desserts for the other flavors present. Those who do have sweet taste receptors are about as sensitive to it as humans, but it tends not to have the same addictive quality for them and a lot of them don’t like processed sugars in anything but small doses. They would appreciate a lightly sweet creme brulee but most of them would find soda absolutely disgusting.

Citrus is right out.

They suffer no more ill effects than humans from drinking alcohol, and due to generally having a fair amount of mass they can usually drink a lot of it.

Social minutiae

They use a fair amount of feline body language, particularly with others of their own species. While facial expressions play a part and they do smile, scowl, and generally express broad emotions, they have a reduced range of facial mobility compared to more humanoid species and no eyebrows to speak of, which leads to a lot of them having what humans perceive as resting bitchface. It also results in humans underestimating the range and depth of their emotions, and can be a problem in the medical field with human medics/doctors who haven’t been trained to work with less humanoid aliens and won’t necessarily recognize severe pain or distress.

Their ears are less articulated than a cat’s but still have some degree of mobility that serves more of a social function than a practical one. They also express a lot of emotion through their tails, to the point that it can be a detriment in some situations if they haven’t practiced consciously keeping control of it.

Bumping foreheads is a common way to express platonic/familial affection, or can be the equivalent of a chaste kiss between partners. They also squint and slow blink, though it doesn’t always translate clearly to other species.

They have a wider range of vocalization than humans; while their voices are often humanlike and they’re just as capable of articulate speech, they can also growl, purr, and make sounds outside human hearing range. Those raised among humans or near-humans tend to do this less, if at all, while cathar raised in more insular communities of their own kind can come off as very taciturn due to heavier reliance on nonverbal communication.

Sense of smell is much stronger and more refined than a human’s and plays a more significant role in how they perceive and navigate the galaxy. They can occasionally be mistaken for Force-sensitive by humans due to their knack for picking up on emotional distress or the presence of particular species/people by scent. This is more true with people they’re familiar with; they won’t pick out distinct members of the other species by default but will eventually be fairly reliable in identifying the scent of a friend or anyone else they spend a lot of time around.

The exception to the above is other cathar, who they can easily tell apart on an individual basis. They have scent glands around the jaw/neck that come into play for identification, conveying broad emotional states, in some situations can aid medical diagnoses, among other things. They also play a part in building connection and familiarity between friends, family, or romantic partners.

The ~horny section~

Cathar don’t really kiss the way humans do by default, but they can, and usually do so unless they’ve somehow had no contact with any near-human species at all. Their equivalent is gentle biting around the neck and jaw, which is another situations where the scent glands are relevant, and when aroused that whole area becomes an erogenous zone for the vast majority of cathar.

Plenty of humans (particularly if they don’t encounter a lot of aliens day to day) will avoid kissing cathar anyway because they have sandpaper tongues and dry mouths and fangs, and it feels fucking weird if you aren’t prepared for that.

They tend to be very bitey in general unless specifically asked not to. It only becomes a problem if the cathar in question is inexperienced with humanoids and hasn’t figured out how much bite force is acceptable for a species with thinner, more sensitive skin.

Their dicks are fairly humanoid in size and shape, though somewhat more conical at the head, but they do have a sheath rather than a foreskin. after maturity they don’t actually retract into the sheath more than about two inches when flaccid, and tend to be slightly less sensitive than the average human (same keritinization factor that affects circumcised humans). It also makes them more vulnerable to damage, but since it’s customary to wear pants on most civilized planets, that never really becomes a problem in the course of a normal day. The base of the shaft that’s usually covered has noticeably higher sensitivity. There are probably individual exceptions to most of the above.

Conventional understanding is that cathar don’t have barbs, which is true the vast majority of the time, though about 60% of them have some amount of vestigial non-keratinous bumps over their head that have no noticeable affect on anything aside from occasional increased sensitivity in that area. Rarely an individual might develop a few actual barbs at the onset of puberty, but they have no practical function and pose a risk of discomfort and injury, and can easily be removed via a fast and mostly painless medical procedure, so the number of adults who have them is close to zero.

Females do have (mild, easy to suppress if desired, and mainly not at all disruptive) heat cycles. Other cathar can generally tell by scent, but not to a distracting degree, and it’s considered rude and inappropriate to point it out with anyone but a close friend or partner. It should go without saying that males don’t have heat cycles, but I’ve gotten enough weird DMs about this to know that I need to say it. Unless said male is trans, and not on any sort of HRT, that’s not how that works.

They kind of have breasts but unless actively nursing they’re barely noticeable if at all, especially under clothing. Cathar have much fewer hangups about going topless regardless of gender than certain human cultures do.

#cathar #swtor #long post

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hanatiny · 3 years

Text

More Than Friends

a/n: Whether you have someone to dote on today or not, happy Valentine’s day~ Not only is this a not-so-little something for the holiday of love, it’s also a thank you for letting me reach 300 followers <3

pairing: best friend!Yeosang x genderneutral!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2684

warnings: high school AU, friends to lovers, Wooyoung is no.1 wingman (or at least tries to be), Yeosang is absolutely whipped, reader is unfortunately very oblivious

-----

January, and with it your winter break, had come and gone - you probably wouldn’t have even realized it was February if it wasn’t for the excessive amount of heart-shaped, overly cutesy decorations that were littered across the hallways of your school.

You groaned internally, making your way past your classmates and towards your locker with a sigh. February itself wasn’t what bothered you so much, what made you positively abhor the month was how lovey-dovey everyone around you acted during that time.

You’ve never really had any interest in relationships and you made sure to make that clear, which is why you were surprised to find a neatly sealed light pink envelope in your locker.

You looked around subtly, wondering if the person who put it there was still around before quickly deducing that they probably weren’t. Curious, you turned over the envelope in your hands, just in case it was meant for someone else entirely. All you found however was your name with a heart and a tiny butterfly doodled next to it, which meant that this letter was indeed meant for you.

You chuckled endearingly, although mildly disappointed that your secret admirer’s handwriting was too ambiguous for you to correlate with a person. Before you were able to lament it more, a quick glance at your phone in your hand revealed to you that you were going to be late if you didn’t get moving.

Stuffing the letter into your pocket, you quickly gathered your books for your classes and booked it to your classroom after pushing your locker shut again.

You couldn’t focus at all however because you were unable to think about anything else other than who the person who had slipped the letter into your locker before you arrived that morning might be, and - more importantly - what exactly the letter was going to say.

Too occupied with your daydreaming, you failed to notice your usually calm and composed childhood best friend fidgeting under the desk behind yours.

Lunch couldn’t come soon enough for either of you, especially not for your mutual close friend Wooyoung who had been practically glued to both yours and Yeosang’s hips the moment you both left the classroom.

You heaved a sigh as you slumped down into a chair at a free table in the cafeteria, Wooyoung seating himself opposite you with Yeosang right next to him.

“What’s gotten into you today, Y/n? You seem so unusually out of it!” Yeosang elbowed his friend, at which the younger whined exaggeratedly but didn’t comment.

You pulled the pink letter out of your pocket and flicked it at Wooyoung to let him inspect the item before handing it back to you, his head tilted in confusion as he cocked a brow at you.

“You’re this worked up about a letter of all things? Don’t you normally just throw love letters and stuff away every year without even looking at them? What’s so different about this one?”

You shrugged nonchalantly while Yeosang poked at his food, listening more intently to the conversation than he allowed himself to let on, “No idea, Woo. Maybe I should just open it and find out for myself what’s so special...?”

You muttered the last part more to yourself than either of the males sitting at the table but they both still heard you clearly, prompting Wooyoung to nod enthusiastically and offer some what he hoped to be encouraging words, “Yeah, you totally should! Worst case scenario, you can just politely reject whoever wrote that.”

“Good point, I might as well... Here goes nothing.” You murmured under your breath, carefully opening the envelope before pulling out not only a piece of paper but also a small tube of strawberry chapstick which would’ve likely dropped to the floor if you hadn’t caught it in time.

You discreetly slipped it into your school bag after inspecting it briefly before your hands quickly unfolded the letter and dropped the envelope onto the table carelessly before beginning to read.

~~~~~~~~~~

My dearest Y/n,

I hope you don’t mind me confessing like this. I’m simply too nervous to voice my feelings out loud...

To yourself, you may not appear as someone special. To me however, you’re like a celebrity. You’re the most important person to me, and I wish we were closer than we already are as of now.

You’re a fresh breath of air to me, you’re not like anyone else. Everytime I talk to you I learn something new, and I think that’s beautiful.

Just like everything else about you. Your eyes remind me of stars the entire galaxy with how bright they shine, and I feel like I could get lost in them if I looked for long enough.

Your smile can light up an entire room, and frequently lifts my mood so effortlessly that it leaves me wondering how you continue doing it. Your voice is like music to me, and your laugh is my favorite song. And I want to be the reason that song keeps playing.

So, if you’d be willing to give me a chance to do so... meet me at the cat café later today after class. You know the one.

I hope I’ll see you there ♡

~~~~~~~~~~

You were so engrossed in the words on the paper that you didn’t look up in time to notice your friends’ reactions as you read before they recomposed themselves; a faint hint of a blush still tinted Yeosang’s cheeks while Wooyoung’s form relaxed after briefly tensing up slightly.

You folded the letter again and slipped it back into its envelope before, once more, dropping it on the table. You smacked Wooyoung’s hand away when he tried to reach for the letter, causing him to whine at you again as his lips formed a pout when you finally looked up at him.

If his eyes didn’t betray his curiosity, you would’ve said he was simply sulking because you hit him, but you knew better than to be that naive.

“No Wooyoungie, you won’t get to read it. At least not now.” You narrowed your eyes at your longtime friend as he huffed in disappointment, “But why~?”

“Because I can’t trust you to keep your mouth shut. The entire school would know about this by the end of the day.” You bit back, smiling triumphantly at the stunned silence Wooyoung offered in return.

“Touché.” Yeosang murmured, pushing his tray away to rest his arms on the table instead while he eyed you, wondering if you had any suspicions about the letter’s author.

As if reading his mind, your mouth opened to speak and Yeosang couldn’t help but focus on your lips, although he kept it as discreet as he possibly could.

“I want to meet up with the person behind these words. Something feels different about them... I initially suspected it to be Hongjoong, but his handwriting is nowhere near this neat."

Wooyoung snickered at that, but allowed you to continue and voice your conclusion.

"So for now, my secret admirer is a complete mystery to me."

"To you, and to everyone else." Yeosang added under his breath. He had a tendency to be quiet, so you weren't put off by this whatsoever.

"Indeed, Sangie...~" Yeosang felt his heart skip a beat at both the nickname and the somewhat affectionate lilt in your tone.

He was promptly yanked back out of his reverie however when you collected your belongings and stood to leave after checking the time on your phone, his eyes not straying from your form in the slightest, “In any case, we should probably get back to class.”

You turned on your heel and walked out of the cafeteria with Wooyoung in tow, the latter noticing his friend staying behind for a little longer than necessary but not commenting on it as Yeosang beamed, visibly lovestruck. It was a miracle to him and Wooyoung both how you didn’t take any of the countless hints he had given over the past few months, whether they were intentional or not being up for debate.

Completely zoned out, Yeosang jumped in his seat when the bell rang, prompting him to hastily grab his backpack and make a beeline for the classroom he shared with you, with quick steps.

He saved himself from tripping over his own two feet more than just once before he finally slid into the seat behind yours, breathless. You turned to face him, quirking an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Are you alright, Yeosang?”

It was a simple question, and yet the clear concern laced in had the blonde’s heart lurching in his chest once more as he nodded with a reassuring smile. He hated how cliché his crush presented itself, as if he was just hopelessly infatuated with you.

This was absolutely the case, as the way his heart rapidly pounding in his chest proved, but that was beside the point.

You thought it was suspicious that he didn’t seem to trust his voice because it was in no way like him to be this flustered - or perhaps you should rather say insecure. You shrugged it off though and turned back around to focus on your lecture, thinking he may just be feeling a bit under the weather.

Both of you found yourselves unable to keep your minds from going off-track, however. Yeosang was still excited about the prospect of possibly having a very real chance to be with you the way he wished to, while you kept wondering about who your secret admirer may or may not be.

The end of your torturous classes didn’t come soon enough for either of you, Wooyoung mysteriously nowhere to be found when you and Yeosang finally left the school building. You were relieved to find the crisp morning air had warmed up considerably over the course of the day, somewhat surprising considering the time of the year, and exhaled deeply, pulling a soft endearing chuckle from Yeosang’s lips.

You grinned at your friend, having always quite enjoyed the melodious sound of his voice before your expression shifted to a miniscule frown when you were eventually forced to part ways with him. Because no matter how close the two of you were, you still lived in different neighborhoods.

You turned to face him with a small smile, adjusting the shoulder strap of your bag before wrapping your arms around Yeosang in a tight but warm hug before meeting his eyes again, “I’ll call you tonight and tell you how my date went, yeah? See you tomorrow, Yeosangie~”

You waited for him to nod and boldly leaned up to peck his cheek before walking off in the direction of your house, not aware of the way you had flustered the poor boy. If it had been possible he would’ve melted into a puddle right then and there on the sidewalk, his face flushed a bright red from calling your meetup a date as he walked on in the direction of the cat café he wanted to meet you at.

He could only hope that you’d stick to your word, and actually show up.

Meanwhile you squealed in excitement when you rounded the corner, making a run for it down the street to your home. You slammed the door shut behind yourself, thankful that noone else was home presently so you could get ready and calm down your nerves in peace.

When you had finally made yourself look somewhat more presentable than you did while wearing your school uniforn, satisfied with your appearance before halting your steps when your open school bag caught your eye. After a moment of hesitant consideration, you spread the strawberry chapstick you were gifted across your lips.

Fully content now as you took one last look in the mirror, you grabbed your phone and keys to stuff into your pockets as you left your house to make your way to the café a few blocks away.

When you arrived there, greeted casually due to being a regular at the establishment along with your friends, you were led into the outside area where the cats were allowed to roam freely.

You would often jokingly call it the ‘fluffy garden’ when you were younger due to the amount of felines you’d be able to interact with. Now however, you paused mid-step upon realizing what you were seeing.

Yeosang, your childhood best friend and secret crush, lying on a blanket on the grass. He had ditched the school uniform’s jacket for his own, personal favorite jacket, you mused as you took in his posture. He had one arm hooked underneath his head while the other rested on his side, his hand petting the small cat that had positioned itself on his chest and purred from his attention.

As if sensing your presence, the animal licked Yeosang’s fingers gently before scrambling to hop off of him and run to play with its furry friends instead. You regarded the scene with a fond look in your eyes before heat rushed to your cheeks when Yeosang finally turned to face you, flashing you the breathtaking shy smile you adored so much before beckoning you over and gesturing to the space on the blanket next to him.

You watched him turn to meet your eyes when you positioned yourself next to him, a smile tugging at your lips.

“So... I take it you were the one who ‘sent’ the letter, Sangie~?” The male in question nodded sheepishly, secretly finding it cute how you never stayed consistent with the nicknames you gave to people. “Yeah, it was me. Wooyoung helped though... the chapstick was his idea, among other things.”

You hummed at the nervous laugh that slipped past his lips as he waited for your reaction, “I expected as much. A mystery how he managed to not snitch, truly...” You trailed off, reaching to brush a strand of hair out of Yeosang’s handsome face. “What’s also a mystery is how neither of us seem to have picked up on the signals we tried to send each other.”

Yeosang tilted his head slightly, subconsciously leaning into your touch as he eyed you with somewhat furrowed brows, “But I thought you weren’t interested in relationships, Y/n?”

“I did say that, but I’m making an exception for you. I guess what I’m saying is... I like you back, Yeosangie. As in... like like you.”

You bit your lip in anticipation of his next move, practically seeing the cogs turning in his head before his face lit up with relief.

“I’m so glad to hear that, I was actually even worried you had changed your mind and wouldn’t come in the first place.” Yeosang took a deep breath as he took in your shy but genuine expression, “Can I... would you let me kiss you?”

You nodded, gently tugging him close by means of his jacket before he even had time to react. Your kiss was clumsy, as expected from two people your age, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. It was perfect, just like you were to each other.

He grinned at you when he pulled back, “Did you put on the strawberry chapstick~?” You giggled in response, “Mhm, I sure did. What’s interesting though is that you taste like vanilla... and I happen to like vanilla~”

You spent the rest of the afternoon and evening talking and playing with the cats until it was time for the café to close, and you left to make your way back home. Together this time, hands interlocked.

Yeosang kissed you again lovingly when you reached your doorstep and promised to pick you up before school the following day before walking off into the night, a bright smile on his face.

You had barely set foot into your house and heard the door click closed behind you, when your phone vibrated in your hand. You didn’t need to check to know who was calling you at this hour, amusement filling you as you heard your now-boyfriend’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Well Y/n, how was your date~?”

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#8makes1teamnet #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez yeosang fluff #yeosang fluff #kang yeosang fluff #t*mblr pls do ur thing and tag everyone pls thank you <3 #also please don't let this flop lmao I put so much work into it-#hanatiny writes

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sope-and-shine · 3 years

Text

Dom-ino’s

-> Pairing: Hoseok x Reader -> SFW // Strangers to Lovers!AU, Fake Dating!AU // fluff, crack -> Word Count: 3.8k -> Summary: “Thank you for placing your order with Dom-ino’s! We hope you enjoy your selection and we’ll see you soon!!” You had no problem spending Valentine’s Day alone with some movies and a pizza, but it wasn’t your fault that the Special for Domino’s happened to have the same name as a special for some dating service. -> Warnings: Adam Sandler movie grade humor and innuendos, mild jealousy, mild language, Hoseok is a gentleman, Domino’s

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY HOBI!!!! I was going to post this on Valentine’s Day, but I wasn’t able to. So I’m posting it on Hobi’s Birthday! Enjoy~

When your sister had called you that afternoon asking if you’d be spending your Valentine’s Day with a hot date and you’d told her yes, you were referencing the free cheese pizza you’d be purchasing from Domino’s. After a long day at work, you really weren’t interested in going anywhere special. The only thing you really wanted to do was sit around in your sweatpants and binge a show on Netflix. Something feel good or action packed: No in between. All you needed was some wine and fuzzy socks and you’d be good for the night. You never thought that you’d be walking down the sidewalk with a stranger that you apparently paid to go on a date with instead of ordering your favorite Valentine’s special.

It kinda went down like this:

You pace around your small living room with your arms crossed over your chest, periodically checking the time on your phone to keep track of how much time has passed. It’s been an hour and a half since you first ordered your pizza, and you’ve yet to hear so much as a call to let you know they were running late. If you’d known ordering a simple cheese pizza would take so long to be delivered, you would’ve plucked up the courage to go and grab it yourself.

Your doorbell rings and the screen to show your building's front door lights up, showing a man with dark, curly hair sticking out under a black baseball cap and a bag over his shoulder.

Your shoulders shoulders relax, “Finally!” You cross the room to the door, pressing the button to unlock the front door, and then the button to talk, “Come on up!”

You watch him enter the building and then the screen goes black. You fix the cardigan you put on as you wait for him to make it to the door, shifting your weight between both feet. A part of you regrets sitting down to watch your show before changing out of your work pants, but it’s not like they wouldn’t have to be washed anyway.

When he knocks on the door, you open it to greet him, but you’re confused when the bag he’s carrying isn’t big enough for what you ordered - the accessory is actually just a simple laptop bag you’d seen online shopping.

“Hi. I’m sorry, I think we both made a mistake. I thought you were someone else.” You apologize, offering him a slight nod.

“Really?” The brunette looks deflated. He pulls out his phone to check the screen, “I have a delivery for (Y/n) (L/n). Is this not the right apartment?”

You shake your head as he looks at you in confusion, “I didn’t order whatever you’re bringing.”

“You didn’t order from Dom-ino’s?” He asks, pulling his bag to his front to show you the logo.

Your eyes narrow in confusion, “I did.”

“Then I have your delivery!” He assures you, his heart-shaped smile replacing his downcast expression.

You scoff, “Did you stuff my pizza in your laptop bag?”

“Pizza?” He repeats. He’s confused for a moment and then you see a flash of realization hits him, “Oh! Oh…” His bright smile dims to one of uncertainty and hesitation. The brunette chuckles, “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“You ordered from Dom-ino’s.” He says.

You nod, “Yes, I know.”

“...with a hyphen in the middle.” He continues.

Your eyebrows furrow, “Why would Domino’s have a hyphen in the middle?”

“Could I come in and explain?” He gestures to the inside of your apartment.

You shift uncomfortably and bring your door closer to your body, “I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

“Okay.” He opens his phone again and pulls up a screen, turning his phone so that you can see what’s on it, “This is what your confirmation looked like, right?”

You lean in to look at his screen, looking at a blank confirmation page almost identical to yours. Where it says “Dom-ino’s” is where you notice the hyphen you’d missed the first time, “Yeah. I didn’t even see the hyphen.”

“Yeah, so, this is the Dom-ino’s you ordered from.” He explains, pulling his phone back to him, “We’re a “dating service” if you will.” From the nature of his business as well as the keyword in the beginning, you can only assume that his service is not entirely dating related. But more importantly, it’s not pizza related either.

You sigh, “So, I’m not getting my food is what you’re saying?”

“Not necessarily~”

That’s how you find yourself where you are now, walking down the street still dressed in your work clothes next to the young entrepreneur wearing jeans and a nice shirt. When you agreed to let him make up for the mistake by buying you the pizza you had wanted - and refunding your accidental purchase - he’d stopped by his car on your way out to toss his jacket and his laptop in the backseat.

“So-” You start, kicking rocks with your feet as you walk next to the man on your left, “A play on words, huh?”

He shrugs, “I thought it was clever at the time.”

“And you didn’t think to check if the pizza place with the slightly different name had a special with the exact same name as one of your specials?” You ask, teasing the business man more than reprimanding him.

He laughs, “In my defense, I didn’t think anyone would be stupid-” You glare at him and he clears his throat, “-I mean, challenged enough to mix the two up.”

You shake your head, “How have you not been sued yet?”

He stops outside of a brightly lit restaurant and turns to you, “I will have you know that our lawyer is very skilled.”

“Before or after their “Prosecution” is done?” You challenge, a teasing grin gracing your cheeks.

Hoseok - as you learned is his name - shakes his head and leads you towards the restaurant next to you, “Actually, it’s called the “Cross-Examination Special” but I have a feeling you’re not actually interested.” He grabs the door and gestures for you to go first, “After you~”

“No offense, but I’m really not.” You enter the building and take a look around the fairly busy restaurant. You wait for him to join you at your side, “Where do you want to sit?”

He looks around before he stops at a table off to your left, “Let’s sit by the windows.”

The both of you sit down and get settled, a waitress coming by not too long after, “Hi, welcome in! Happy Valentine’s Day! Can I get the two of you something to drink?”

She wears a uniform like everyone else, and her hair is pulled back into a low ponytail. She’s very beautiful with the light makeup she wears, almost like an angel. Her attention is mainly focused on Hoseok - you can’t really blame her - but she spares a glance your way.

You give a warm smile, “Water please.”

“Sprite. Thank you.” Hoseok shoots her his own smile and you notice the blush that dusts her cheeks as he does so. You don’t let the simple action hurt you though, especially since you have no reason for it to do so.

You open your menu to take a look inside as Hoseok does the same, only the brunette seems to be lazily skimming over his options, “Do you come here a lot?” You ask.

Hoseok chuckles, knowing he’s been caught, “More than I should admit.” He lays his menu flat on the table and looks at you, “Have you been here before?”

You shake your head, “Not at all. I’ve passed by a few times, but I’ve never stopped in.”

“Well, they have this amazing poke pizza if you want to try that! They have a few different types.” His enthusiasm assures you that he’s had his fair share, and if given the option he would eat it for the rest of his life.

You stifle a laugh, “So you brought me to get sushi?”

“In pizza form.” He adds, a smug grin on his lips.

You shake your head and turn back to your menu, “If I weren’t so hungry, I think this date would be over.”

“You say that now, but let’s try getting some food in you before we make any rash decisions.”

“Here you go!” Your waitress comes back with your drinks and places them on the table in front of you, lingering closer to Hoseok, “Have you decided what you’d like to eat?”

You notice how she stands closer to your ‘date’, almost as if she’s trying to look at the menu for him. Hoseok only smiles in return, “Yeah, can we get one order of chips and I’d like a salmon and avocado poke pizza.” She writes his order down but she doesn’t turn to you. Instead she keeps her focus on him, “So, how long have you two been together?”

“This is our first date, actually!” He explains. He shoots you a teasing grin, “Hopefully not the last~”

“Oh, I see.” You wait for her attention, but it’s obvious she’s too distracted.

You clear your throat to get her attention and fake a smile, “I’ll have the same thing, but no chips, please.”

“Of course!” Her tone is polite, not demeaning at all, but the way she eyes your date as she leaves anyway has you growing irritated. A hand places itself on top of yours, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Tell me a bit about yourself.” Hoseok says, smiling at you.

“Me? Why not you?” You ask, choosing to let his hand stay on yours.

He shrugs and reaches for his drink with a free hand, “Usually on my dates I try to learn more about my clients since I’m trying to impress them.”

“Well, I’m not a regular date, so why don’t we start with you?” You suggest. He looks surprised, but he agrees. You continue, “Where did you go to school?”

“Gwangju.”

“Really? What are you doing up here?” You ask.

His hands squeezes yours as the other plays with the straw in his drink, “I was hoping to become an idol, but I got an injury before debut.”

“I’m sorry.” You can tell the topic is a sensitive one as his shoulders hunch forward, so you attempt to lighten the mood, “But you were going to debut, right? You must be pretty talented if you got that far.”

You notice the blush rise to his cheeks as he brings his drink to his mouth, “I wouldn’t say that.”

“So, what? They were pushing you through based on your hair?” You ask. He chokes on his drink with a laugh and you can’t help but laugh yourself. You wait for him to calm down before you continue, “Were you a vocalist?”

He shakes his head, “Rapper.”

“-Here are your chips!”

The both of you jump a little when she sets your basket of chips down, neither of you noticing her until then.

“Thank you.” Hoseok nods at her and turns back to you, not acknowledging the waitress as she sticks around, “I was going to be a vocalist, but they thought I’d fit better as a rapper. I really wanted to be a dancer though.”

“You definitely have a lot of charisma.” You try not to eye the waitress when she globally walks away, but she just doesn’t sit right with you. It makes you remember what your least favorite part of dating is.

“You think so?” Hoseok asks.

“I do!” You assure him. You decide not to dwell on the actions of one person whether intentional or not and focus on the reason you’re even here in the first place, “Why didn’t you start a dance company instead?”

“I-” His hesitance comes back, “My injury didn’t allow it.”

Your lips pull into a thin line, “I’m sorry.”

Hoseok senses the regret in your tone and is quick to reassure you, “It’s okay! I actually really like my business as it is now, though I may have to consider a new name.”

You smile, “Oh yeah, I think a name change is mandatory at this point.”

Your waitress comes back with your food - still shamelessly eyeing your date - and you both dig into your meals. Hoseok makes sure to tease you as you go, giving light remarks about you having sushi pizza instead of the real pizza you had wanted so bad. You continue quizzing and asking him about himself, and you share about yourself in return. He’s a very easy person to talk to, which is probably why his business is still up and running - especially if all of his coworkers are as confident and as outgoing as him.

When you’re done eating you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, taking that time to reflect on your night. You never wanted to go out with random strangers, you didn’t even want sushi, yet here you are having a great time with someone you would never pursue yourself. You’re so far out of your comfort zone that you’re actually back in! If you told your sister about anything from today, she’d be on the next train to talk your ear off for the next month.

On your way back to your table you stop. Your waitress is leaning on your table next to Hoseok with a flirtatious grin and if Hoseok is as polite and as charming as you think he is, then he’s smiling back at her. You don’t want to - more like you know you shouldn’t - but you stand back to listen to what she’s saying.

“All I’m saying is if this doesn’t work out then I’d like to give you my number just in case!” She says as if there’s nothing wrong with her actions. She looks around the restaurant, but she misses you waiting by the tall booth, “Your date isn’t even around, so she doesn’t have to know.”

You’re not too surprised by her actions, but you are surprised by the audacity she has to ask him while you’re still on a date. If she didn’t know you were on a date then you wouldn’t be as upset, but to get confirmation that the guy you’re interested in is on a date and you still pursue him while he’s on said date? Some people truly amaze you.

You tilt your head back and wait for Hoseok to accept her offer so you can get back to your table to collect your jacket and go home, but you don’t expect for him to turn her down.

“As much as I appreciate your offer, I think this is highly inappropriate behavior.” He says, catching you off guard. You peek around the corner to see your waitress is in the same state of shock as you are as Hoseok continues to smile through his harsh words, “You’re supposed to be working and doing your job, not flirting with your customers. Especially customers that are obviously here with someone else.”

“I didn’t mean anything, I mean-“ she tries to defend herself, but Hoseok cuts her off by putting his card in front of her face.

“I’d like you to please take my card so I can pay for my Valentine’s Day meal and get back to my Valentine’s Day plans with my date. And the only piece of paper I’ll be taking from you will be my receipt.” His smile is genuine, but you can feel the annoyance and anger that radiates on the inside from your spot 3 tables away.

“Right. Sorry.” She takes his card, gives a small bow, and walks away. She rounds the corner and bumps into you. When she realizes who she bumped into, she mumbles another apology and walks around you.

You barely pay her any mind though, all you can think about is Hoseok’s kind words. He could’ve promoted his business, he could’ve taken her number just for himself, but he chose to stay faithful on a date that’s only to make up for your own mistake.

If he doesn't stop being perfect then you’d leave a complaint about him on Yelp:

“This employee is way too professional and perfect. Too realistic. He has me catching feels and we’re not about that!”

You return to your table and sit across from him as he plays a game on his phone, seemingly unfazed by the confrontation he had. When he notices you, he puts his phone down and gives you his undivided attention, “I already gave the waitress my card, I hope that’s okay.”

He doesn’t mention anything about the interaction he’d had moments before, and you don’t bother bringing it up. Instead you offer him a playful glare, “You know I could have paid for it.”

“What kind of perfect and charming date would I be if I made you pay for your own meal?~” He asks, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“A regular one.” You say.

“Well, at Dom-ino’s we don’t offer regular experiences.” He defends, “I also like to show off when I’m on a date. I need some way to hook them.”

You think back on your date up to now and offer him a warm smile, “I think you’re charming enough to keep a date on your own.”

He grins, “You mean that?”

You know he’s teasing you, but you don’t mind all that much anymore, “Yeah.”

Your waitress comes back with the receipt and places it on the table, only this time she avoids eye contact with the both of you at all costs, “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“We will.” Hoseok assures her. You can hear the slight edge to his voice, it’s so subtle that you almost wouldn’t have noticed it if you weren’t paying attention to it.

She leaves you for another table, and you both grab your things to leave. Hoseok goes first and you follow him out, passing him as he holds the door for you like he had on the way in. It’s when you get onto the sidewalk and you turn to face him that you realize you aren’t ready for the date to end yet.

“Alright!” Hoseok brings his hands together - making a clapping noise, “Well, now that you’ve been fed, I do believe it’s only right of me to walk you home.”

Your eyes widen, “No!”

“No?” He ‘s taken aback, thrown for a loop. He’d parked his car in front of your house, so he’d have to walk that way anyway. He looks around nervously before he shrugs, “I can walk a few feet behind you?”

You shake your head, “Not “no” as in “we’re done here,” I mean “no” as in “why end the night here?”’

“Oh~?” That seems to make his mood do a 180. He sticks his hands in his pockets, “What would you like to do then?”

“There’s an indoor glow in the dark mini golf place down the street.” You shrug, not meeting his eyes, “I don’t know if you’ve been there before, but it's a big course. It goes through the whole building.”

When you build up the courage to meet his eye, he’s already looking at you. But his shit-eating grin is now a genuine smile, “I’d love that.”

----------

You beat Hoseok on the miniature golf course both times around under the claims that he let you win the first time and you are much more knowledgeable about the course than him. As much as you wanted to argue with him about his golf skills, having the mental image of him trying to fish his ball out of the mini-pond through the little plastic fence surrounding it was a pretty good win in your book. Plus he bought you ice cream on your way back to your house.

Now, you’re making your way up to the front door of your building with Hoseok right next to you. You come to a stop at the door and he turns to you, “Did you have more fun than you thought you would?”

You nod, a sheepish smile gracing your features, “Actually, yes. I did. Thank you for convincing me to go out tonight.”

“Beautiful ladies should always be treated to a good time.” He flirts. His grin falls into a soft smile and he shrugs, “Maybe next year you can invite me again.”

You shrug back, “Maybe.”

“Right. Well...I should get going then.” He says. He offers you one last smile before he turns on his heel to walk away.

He really is such a nice guy. He defends you, he’s sweet, and he’s cute? And you’re just letting him walk away. If your sister were watching you right now, she’d slam your head into the pavement for being so stupid. She’d yell at you to take a chance.

Hell, you would yell at you to take a chance!

“Aren’t you going to give me the full experience?” You call out before he reaches the sidewalk. He turns to you with a confused expression and you can feel the small bubble of confidence you’d built slipping away. You look down at your feet and shift your weight back and forth, “Most dates end with a goodnight kiss.”

You can’t see him, but you know that stupid, confident grin is on his face, “I thought you weren’t into this whole thing?”

“I thought you were genuine no matter what?” You huff, looking back up at him. If you were confident before, you’re nothing but unsure now. The only way you know how to play this off is to just pass it off like it’s nothing, so you shrug, “You can think of it as a tip.”

He hesitates for a minute, and you think he’s thinking of a way to reject you. You don’t expect him to break into a small jog to get back to you - jumping your steps instead of walking them like a normal person. He stops himself right in front of you and you feel your stomach twist into knots.

He grabs under your chin, moves to lean in, and you close your eyes. You expect him to kiss you, but you don’t anticipate the kiss to be on your cheek. You almost feel devastated, but the promise he whispers on your cheek has the excitement rushing back, “I’ll give you a proper kiss on our second date.”

When you feel him pull away, you open your eyes to see his beautiful, genuine smile, and you can’t stop yourself from smiling back, “I look forward to it.”

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viaryius · 3 years

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I couldn't resist 🤍Little Caranthir story 🤍

He is so sweet 🤍

Little Caranthir is bored. Eternal reading of books and learning does not make sense to the little elf. He is very tired, he needs a break. He needs to have fun. What happens when he gets the chance?

Story Link: HERE 🌿

In a room full of books, there was an echo of quiet snoring. An elf who has dressed in a green tunic, sat on his chair and slept. His blond hair slid into his face during sleep and gently rubbed against his cheekbones. He held a book in his hands, which he read until he fell asleep from exhaustion. His relaxed body dropped the book on the ground.

The book slid slowly on the ground from tired hands that could no longer hold it. The fall of the book on the ground made a small rumble. But not big enough to wake the sleeping elf. His eyelids were closed, and at times there was a hint of restlessness or disapproving growl, caused his dreams. The peace of a fallen book, was disturbed by a small child's hand.

The child looked curiously at the book. His ice-blue eyes focused on the title, which was engraved in silver. Herbal Arkanara. The boy rolled his eyes boredly. He knew this book very well. He read it so many times, that he could recite the whole book from beginning to end. The long days of boredom, he tried relieved by reading the various books, which he found. But most of the books have been repeated.

With his bored childish expression, he looked at the elf, who was sitting and sleeping quietly. There was only a quiet blow in the room. The little elf watched him lazily. His eyes returned to the book. He walked over to the table and quietly placed it in front of his teacher.

Little Caranthir was not afraid of him, but he had respect for him. Especially when his teacher was involuntarily awakened from sleep. The memory of waking his teacher was not the best for little Caranthir. Only at the slightest hint of that memory his shoulder hurt again. He did not want to run away again from the flying books. which his teacher throws at him. A mischievous smile appeared on Caranthir face and he chuckled. At least then, the old elf was funny. Red as pepper.

The little elf sighed resignedly and walked slowly but very quietly to the other end of the room. He sat down at a table with many different books. But he didn't read today, he wasn't in the mood for it. He knew them by heart, like all other books. His eyes ran around the room, looking for some kind of fun or distraction.

Caranthir sighed boredly again and put his hand on his chin. The platinum strand of hair, that wandered into his face quickly hid behind his ear. His ice blue eyes stopped at his teacher. He narrowed his eyes and studied him carefully. Hair, clothes and his face. Nothing. No change. Avallac'h was so boring in some cases. He sighed in frustration and hid his head with his hands in despair.

His eyes brightened wildly. He knew what to do. He had waited too long for this, and now when his teacher did not perceive reality, he could do it. Mischief gleamed in his eyes.

The old elf is sleeping. Caranthir grin his teeth mischievously. Now I have a chance to finally had some fun. He had a cheerful smile on his face. His steps quieter than a cat, he sneak very slowly to a table with various elixirs and bottles.

Caranthir attention was focused on one particular elixir. A small oblong bottle, containing a red-white powder was right in front of him. He grabbed it quickly and hid the bottle in the inside pocket of his pale blue tunic. He twisted quietly and jumped. Behind Caranthir was a smaller wave of ice-colored energy, which disappeared after a while.

The little elf landed on soft grass. It was quite far from his teacher's home or town. He stood up carefully and checked to see if the bottle had been damaged when he fell. Sometimes he teleported without thinking. A satisfied smile appeared on his face. The bottle was whole and undamaged. He pulled a small piece of text from his other pocket, which Caranthir had written off while Avallac'h was asleep.

Now is the right time. No unnecessary instruction, prohibitions and orders. I can do it without his help. After all, I'm more special than other magicians. Pride appeared on the boy's face.

He focused his attention on his surroundings. He tried to find the perfect place to perform his spell. It can't be any ordinary place. Magic and power must breathe from that place. It has to call you. He echoed the Avallach commands in his head. Aha! I have it! Caranthir looked at the huge tree. Its crown formed an ideal hiding place, and at the same time a huge force of energy passed through it.

Caranthir worked ingeniously and skillfully, knowing very well what he do. With the stones around him, he created a smaller stone circle into which he inserted the leaves of the Aarkh tree. The leaves were often used for similar magical purposes by various elven magicians.

He smiled proudly after completing the stone circle. He did it himself without the help of some grumpy older elf. He giggled and his eyes sparkled with joy and pride. He was satisfied with himself.

Caranthir took the last step. Invocation of the natural spirit itself. This will be the more difficult step. He frowned uncertainly. But if I can do it, I can prove that Avallac'h made a mistake about me. He starts to take me more seriously.

In the center of the stone circle, engraved a symbol that was on paper. The last step was to apply red and white dust to summon a fiery spirit guard.

With a careful but consistent eye, he poured dust into the center of the symbol. He had to do it slowly and precisely to avoid an unsolicited side situation. Working with fire dust is dangerous, especially for young apprentices.

Done. His ice-blue eyes glowed with joy and pride. Everything was exactly as he studied. Caranthir is a perfectionist on the details, he took great care of. He waited for the sun to cover the huge cloud, which would absorb even the last rays of the sun.

When the sun was covered by a large cloud, Caranthir did not wait and took his chance. He stretched his small thumbs toward the circle and closed his ice-blue eyes tightly. He listened to the sound of the wind, which stroked his platinum hair.

An ice-blue light came out of his hands, and he began to whisper words that were very old and even ancient. Light shot from his hands toward the center of the circle. Caranthir eyes were still closed. He knew he had to resist his childhood curiosity. If he stopped concentrating, it could turn him in a negative direction.

In the center of the stone circle appeared wonderful orange-red sparks, which cluster in one larger one. The noise cluster began to take shape. There was a strange crack. Instead of a cluster and unbridled noise, a small fiery owl with the color of fire sat in the center of the symbol. She looked around curiously. Caranthir couldn't stand it. Curiosity overcame him. The boy's ice blue eyes opened. He stared at the tiny owl elemental of fire. Her tail… burning ?? He was honestly surprised.

Their eyes met. The owl looked into the boy's eyes. She spread her wings and flew to the level of the boy's face. For Caranthir, she was beautiful. The owl maneuvered her wings sharply. Caranthir was startled by her sudden movement. He lost his balance and fell to the ground. The little fiery elemental used his freedom and flew away.

No! I have to find her! The fire owl can cause big problems. Not only me but also others! In despair, his head flashed and he ran in the direction she was flying. He stopped a little closer to the forest. Caranthir looked around nervously, with little hope of finding her. Avallac’h would not be pleased with my exercise. A sharp nervousness ran through his small body.

His eyes shone with hope, when he saw a small point of fire towards the forest. Found her! Without further ado, he ran after her. She was flying over a branch of a withered tree. Smoke began to rise from some parts of the tree. The boy scratched his head nervously.

I have to call her to me! Otherwise, the dry tree may collapse very quickly. The worst option would be to switch to the surrounding trees. I can't risk that! Avallac'h would throw at me not just one book, but the entire library in his study!

Caranthir held out his hands in front of him again, directing his power toward the owl. She understood the command immediately and came to him again. This time she fluttered her wings more slowly, looking straight into Caranthir icy-blue eyes.

There was silence around them. Only the quiet flapping of the wings of the owl's spirit, echoed. Caranthir raised an astonished eyebrow. The color of the owl elemental began to change. The red-orange color has disappeared. It was replaced by blue, which was replaced by black. Caranthir frowned his forehead. She didn't like her color. He realized what that meant. The spell broke. The fiery spirit will explode! Before he could get to safety, the elemental was engulfed in black dust and exploded.

Caranthir saw nothing. He didn't notice the world around him. He was in the dark. The shock wave of the blast threw him into the meadow. He woke up to a long and uncomfortable whistle in his head. Caranthir sat disoriented on the grass and tried to analyze the location.

Explosion. The fiery spirit exploded. His voice echoed in his head very tired. He sighed in disappointment and looked embarrassed at the ground. He was disappointed on yourself, he felt he could do nothing right. I failed. With his right hand, he wanted to fix hair, that had tickled on the right side of his head.

His hand touched his head ... the boy froze. Shock and horror filled his ice-blue eyes. HAIR! Horrified, placed his palm on the right half of his head. He could only feel tiny hair under his fingers. With the bag he had on his belt, he quickly pulled out a mirror.

Caranthir froze. He was missing a piece of hair on the right side of his head. He had only tiny hairs that the explosion did not absorb. The boy just exhaled in frustration. He knew that Avallac‘h would demand the truth of what had happened to him. Caranthir icy-eyes darkened and sparks of fierce anger erupted. He threw the mirror in his hands with all his strength on the ground. The mirror breaking into several pieces.

His eyes filled with coldness. It was the eyes of a winter storm that destroyed and killed everything in its path. He was angry on yourself. On his inability to rise above his curiosity. He clenched his fist. The power in his veins began to circulate rapidly. She connected with his anger and disappointment. Cold and ice began to form around him. He was beginning to lose control.

Caranthir's rage of anger was interrupted by a wild neigh. He looked toward the sound. Not far from him stood several unicorns, who aggressively stomped and scratched. One of them dangerously turned his horn towards the boy. Caranthir felt a noise in his head. He remembered what Avallac'h had told him to do if he found himself in such a situation. He began to mumble a song taught to him by his teacher.

With cautious and slow steps, he began to back away from them as far as he could so, that he could teleport to safety. The boy's body was tense and he felt fear intensify inside him. The black unicorn overcame the boy's intentions and walked slowly behind the boy. Other unicorns joined him.

A cold shiver ran through Caranthir body. The unicorns hurry up. Unpleasant feelings of fear and anxiety ran through his body. He remembered stories of the enormous pain in which elves died of wounds from unicorn horns.

A black unicorn threatened the boy aggressively with his horn. Caranthir anticipated and jumped. Fortunately, he didn't touch him. He regretted leaving Avallach office without his knowledge. He'd rather be bored to death.

Behind the boy came a battle cry of riders. The unicorns stopped, stamped anxiously, and stood on their hind legs. Not a second passed, riders on horses with bright red cloack, attacked on the unicorns. At the speed of the riders, the little elf lost his balance and fell to the grass. The unicorns ran away from the red riders.

The riders proudly called out their triumphant shout. One of the riders turned his dark brown stallion and walked over to the boy. The boy looked at him with curiosity, astonishment and respect for him. The rider carried himself proudly on his stallion. Elegance, pride and something unpredictable and dangerous radiated from him. The rider's green eyes looked closely at the little boy, who was looking at him in great astonishment. Caranthir was not afraid of the rider's predatory eyes.

The rider grinned confidently. He's not afraid of me. I like it. It passed through the head of the green-eyed rider. He removed his helmet from his head, revealing his raven-black hair. For a moment, the boy forgot to breathe in amazement. The elf's green eyes watched the boy's expression in amusement.

"Boy ..." The black-haired elf began in a calm voice, "Tell me what you're doing here alone. Where are your parents? Do they know you're almost at the magic line? ”The elf raised an eyebrow suspiciously and watched the boy's expression intently.

"I don't know my parents, but I have a mentor who teaches me and takes care of me ..." The boy began to talk to him while his ice blue eyes look to the the rider green eyes.

"And he doesn't know I'm here ..." He added quieter. The black-haired elf just tilted his head to the side curiously.

"Doesn't he know? Who is your mentor? ”He asked with interest in his voice. Caranthir just sighed softly and scratched his head in embarrassment.

"Avallac'h .... sir," he muttered. Surprise appeared on the black-haired elf's face. So you are to be our salvation? He looked at the boy with great interest.

"Golden child. That's what Crevan calls you, if I'm not mistaken. ”The black-haired elf kept watching him with interest in his eyes. The boy just nodded silently and added.

"My name is Caranthir Ar-feiniel, thank you for saving my life. I owe you one. ”He introduced himself very politely and bowed. The black-haired elf grinned foxly. Crevan raised you well.

"My name is Eredin Bréacc Glas. I am the leader of Dearg Ruadhi. ” Eredin noticed a spark of knowledge and great admiration in the eyes of young Caranthir.

"I heard about you! You're really amazing! ”Little Caranthir shouted enthusiastically. Eredin laughed at his childish haste and admiration.

Eredin held out his hand to the boy and said with a smile on his lips.

"I'll take you home. I'm sure your mentor will run away from his senses. ” Eredin's green eyes sparkled with malice. Caranthira was surprised, but he didn't ask. The boy did not hesitate. He took the elf's hand and the black-haired elf placed it on his horse. Little Caranthir felt his pride grow. Eredin just narrowed his eyes and looked at the boy closely.

"Hmm ... I swear the last time I saw you, even if only from a distance, your hair was on both sides of your head. Didn't you start experimenting with hairstyles to make Avallac'h angry? ” Eredin asked with a curious grin. Caranthir froze for a moment. My hair ... I completely forgot about it in the confusion. The boy shook his horse in embarrassment.

"I was experimenting ..." Caranthir replied uncertainly. He was ashamed to admit the real reason why he was missing a piece of hair.

"So, the rebel?" Eredin tease him with a cheerful smile.

"Very well. Crevan needs to have blood flow in his veins so he doesn't mummify completely. ” A mischievous smile appeared on Caranthir face.

Eredin just pulled on his stallion's reins and ran across the meadow at the wind. Little Caranthir didn't even think about it and noticed his teacher residence. He swallowed nervously. He will have something to explain.

Avallac'h was about to go looking for Caranthir when he noticed a rider approaching. It was Eredin. Avallac'h went against him, when his eyes widened in surprise and relief. Eredin was not alone. Caranthir also sat on his horse. His stiff face relaxed. He was fine and healthy. He narrowed his eyes carefully. What happened to his hair?

"Crevan," Eredin said calmly.

"Eredin," Avallac‘h replied. There was a strangely tense atmosphere between the two elves. Caranthir was measured first by Eredin and then by Avallac’h. He frowned thoughtfully. Strange. He thought to himself.

"I feel like you've lost someone." Eredin took the boy and laid him on the ground. Caranthir took cautious steps toward his mentor. He didn't even have to guess. He could see very well in the mentor's eyes that he was not thrilled with his trip.

“Lost ..." Avallac'h began in a calm voice, staring his aquamarine eyes into the green eyes of a predator.

"I could argue about that. Since Caranthir has his own head and is responsible for what he does." Avallac’h said and glancing sternly at Caranthir. Caranthir just guilty lowered his eyes and crossed from foot to foot.

"Pay more attention on the golden child. His life was in danger of a unicorn. ”Eredin spoke. He looked into the boy's icy blue eyes and added mysteriously.

"He will play an important role in the future, won't Crevan?" His green eyes looked into the eyes of aquamarine again. Avallac'h just sighed frustration.

"It doesn't matter to me, but to him ..." Avallac’h added lowly. Caranthir looked at him in curiously. What are they talking about?

"Caranthir has learned his lesson today. I think he had several opportunities to learn.” Avallac’h looked at Caranthira. Eredin grinned foxly and nodded.

" Well then. It was an honor to meet you, Caranthir. And by the way, a good haircut.” Caranthir straightened in surprise and looked at Eredin in amazement. His head flashed. He knew what he wanted to be. He wants to become a red rider. Protect his people and be like him the leader of Dearg Ruadhi. Strong, fearless and admired.

Caranthir's thought process was interrupted by his mentor's voice.

"I think you have something to explain to me ..." Avallac'h stood in front of the boy. Caranthir had no choice. He sighed and looked into his teacher's eyes. Did he notice worry and fear in Avallac'h eyes? Caranthir wondered.

"I'm sorry ..." Caranthir began.

"You slept and I was bored ... I didn't want to disturb you ... so I decided to go for a walk." Avallac'h tilted his head gently to his side and raised an eyebrow. He knew that was not entirely true.

"Did you need fire dust for the walk?" Why did you take fire dust?" He continued. His tone was stern but soft at the same time. He didn't need to raise his voice. He was Aen Saevherne after all. Just his presence and conversation with him was a test for some.

"I wanted ..." Caranthir paused. He exhaled and stared into mentor's eyes.

"You wanted?" Avallac'h repeated after him.

"I wanted to summon a fiery elemental ..." Avallac‘h looked at Caranthir and touched the spot where the boy's hair had burned. He stared at him for a moment with a worried look. Then he looked him straight into his icy-blue eyes.

"I guess from your appearance, it didn't turn out the best ..." He saw shame and disappointment in Caranthir eyes. With one small nod of his head, he confirmed the teacher's words.

"I just wanted you to be proud of me ... that I could do it without help ... that I deserve to be a mage ..." The boy's voice broke. He felt tears of shame and disappointment running down his cheeks. He bowed his head so his teacher wouldn't see it.

Two fingers lifted Caranthir head. He looked into his teacher's eyes again.

"It's fine. Sometimes even great magicians fail. ”Avallac'h eyes were calm and radiant warmth of encouragement. He wiped the boy's wet cheeks with his thumb.

"You are still very young. Don't worry about failing. You're still learning. ”A smile appeared on Caranthir face.

"Caranthir, I'm here to guide you and help you on your journey to becoming a magician. It is not a shame to ask for help. You're lucky Eredin found you in time. I'm not angry with you, but you can never do something like that again without my knowledge. Do you promise me that? ” The boy just nodded eagerly. He saw the boy's face relax. The grief disappeared from his face.

"I promise and forgive me ..." A soft smile appeared on Avallac'h face.

" One more thing. I don't say that often but I'm proud of you ...” Caranthir looked at him in astonishment and gratitude. His eyes glowed with pride. Although Avallac’h never confessed aloud, Caranthir was more of a son than an apprentice.

The boy made a gesture that surprised Avallac'h himself. He hugged him tightly. Avallac’h was frozen for a few seconds. But he returned his kindness with his hug. Avallac’h was happy he was okay. He needs to pay more attention to him

"Eredin was wrong in his statement that you were turning into a mummified ..." Caranthir said out of nowhere. Avallac’h stopped. And he looked at the boy in shock. "Mummified?" He repeated, looking at where the rider had disappeared.

You snake..

#caranthir #caranthir ar feiniel #avallac'h #eredin #eredin breacc glas #witcher fanfiction #witcher #my writting #my fic #my story #ao3 writer #little caranthir #fanfiction #crevan espane aep caomhan macha

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sserpente · 3 years

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Pastel Blue (Chapter 6)

A/N: I hate how I have barely had any time to write lately! In all honesty, moving to a different country is quite the challenge! 😂 I hope you enjoy the new chapter, I can’t wait to dive back into writing excessively, haha! ♥

Jess breathed out, watching how the warm air turned into fog. It was way too chilly down here. She had asked Mobius to install some radiators months ago but he wouldn’t listen. Loki on the other hand seemed to have no problem with the cold at all. He strutted next to her like he owned the place, with his head held high and a dark expression on his face.

M had a point. Despite the collar, it was a risk bringing Loki to a party of all things. But then again… she would be sure to laugh if he jumbled up the celebrations. Dave deserved it, kind of. Frankly, he could be a dick sometimes.

Loki smirked to himself. Her dress was green, with thin shoulder straps and a heart-shaped neckline. He offered her his arm when they stepped into the cafeteria, bathing in the mistrustful looks the whole of TVA eyed them with.

Mobius was stood at the buffet table, holding a glass filled with vodka and a green olive swimming in it in one hand while the other was buried in his pocket. The tawdry music, the chatting and the constant clattering of plates and cutlery made it nearly impossible for him to make out what the senior manager was saying now.

Warily, Loki glared him down. He was either oblivious to his excellent hearing, stupid enough to discuss such clandestine matters in the hallway or… or he meant for him to eavesdrop. Loki held on to the thought. He trusted him to feed him pathetic bits and pieces of information to keep him on his toes, to throw him small bones like a starved dog.

What if he was cleverer than he assumed he was? If he had incited Jess to spend time with him, make him believe she was on his side when she secretly ran off every day to tell Mobius about his behaviour like a child in day-care? If he used her to keep him on a leash in this godforsaken place? Loki gnashed his teeth.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” He mocked when he spotted him. The Trickster narrowed his eyes at him. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Jess rolling hers. Either way, he would not allow them to manipulate him and instead turn the tables. He was the master of mischief, after all.

“Enjoy yourself while you still can, Loki.” Dave added. “There’s a high chance you’ll kick the bucket next week.”

Jess rolled her eyes once more—or perhaps she was still rolling them, Loki was unsure. His eyes darted over to Mobius again, noticing with both dismay and an odd feeling of satisfaction making itself comfortable in his guts how the senior manager studied their interlinked arms.

A thin smile formed on his lips. Oh yes. Whatever your play is, I will turn it against you and I will burn this entire place to the ground until all you have left is a pile of ash and Jess—lovely and delicate Jess—will help me do so whether she is willing or not.

“Suck it up, Dave.” Jess barked. “Do you drink coke?” She continued sweetly then, directed at Loki.

“I beg your pardon?” He leaned forward slightly—close enough for her nostrils to be filled with his scent like she was some goddamn predator sensing its prey. If anything, Loki would be the predator in this scenario. She was but a lamb compared to him—a lamb who could kick his shin but a lamb nonetheless.

“Coke. Black fizzy drink, very sweet, spiked with Whiskey—not normally but definitely tonight.” She cleared her throat and winked at him and, much to his own surprise, his heart skipped a beat upon the flirty gesture. Perhaps this was the very reason he let her grab his arm and drag him away from both Mobius and Dave to plunder the bar.

“Don’t let her get drunk!” He heard Mobius call after him. Loki frowned.

Whoever was playing bartender tonight and doing a terribly slow job with that, Jess paid them no attention. Unceremoniously, she leaned over the counter, grabbing two glasses and a bottle of Whiskey. Granted, Loki knew nothing of Midgardian drinks and how there were properly mixed, he had a feeling, however, that more than half of the glass filled with Whiskey was not the proper way to mix a delightful alcoholic refreshment.

At least, so he had to admit, the view was a rather delectable one, with her backside wiggling around right before his eyes. He suppressed a dark chuckle.

Once she had tapped the faucet pouring a dark brown liquid to mix with the Whiskey and handed him one, she grinned, heaving herself up onto the counter completely and resting her feet on the barstool.

“Skål!” She announced, winking once more. Loki took a sip to conceal how thickly he had to swallow. As expected, the coke-Whiskey-mixture tasted horrible. His face distorted, making Jess laugh.

“There’s no Asgardian ale in this place, I’m afraid. Do you dance? You’re the God of Mischief, you must be dancing.”

Loki raised his eyebrows in response. “Is that all you will do at this so-called party? Drink and dance and then drink some more?”

Jess shrugged. “Never let anyone tell you that alcohol is not the solution. I’ve had some amazing nights forgetting my own name. So?” She downed her drink, slamming the empty glass on the counter so forcefully he feared it would break under the impact. “Do you dance?”

The music, whatever it was, was too slow for Jess’ taste. She’d much rather listen to some techno hits, and some Hip Hop and Dubstep hits to move her body to. It almost felt a little like space. A place to lose herself in, utterly and wholly, a place making her stronger rather than taking her energy away from her.

But Dave had always had a very uninspiring music taste and, given it was his anniversary, the music was unlikely to change anytime soon. Loki’s lips parted when she took his glass from his hand and downed it too. Neither of them expected the jolt of electricity rippling through them when she took his hand and entangled her fingers with his to pull him towards the middle of the cafeteria where Minutemen of all departments, scientists and even some of the security were moving to the music.

“That’s an interesting development after all, don’t you think?” Loki heard Dave say. Jess swirled them both around, her blue eyes closed in an attempt to dream herself into a reality where she could go out with her friends and lose her mind in a dimly lit nightclub surrounded and desired by both men and women alike. She would drink until she had forgotten about her parents and until she had lost her grasp on reality to enter space and be free and independent. Jess did not allow herself to dream often these days, for when she did… the urge to escape this place once more and turn her back on Mobius rose to an extent it brought her physical pain to resist.

“Well, he is charismatic. That doesn’t mean anything, does it? Jess has a weakness for bad boys and Loki is pretty much the definition of that.”

“Please. Thor’s little brother, how strong could he possibly be without his beloved sceptre?” Dave snorted.

“I wouldn’t underestimate him, especially not this variant. I wouldn’t have brought him here if I didn’t think he’d be of use. He’s smart. He doesn’t trust us.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mobius shrug. “We have a good reason not to trust him either. Not yet, at least. I’ve studied his entire life, remember?”

“You are not seriously thinking about removing that collar at some point, are you?”

Loki growled, lest he could not decide whether it was because of how good his palm felt against the small of Jess’ back or the way Dave and Mobius kept talking about him behind his back.

“Now I thought you said he couldn’t possibly be that strong without the sceptre?” Dave replied nothing to that. He did not need to. Mobius had made it clear enough that he was the figure of authority here. There was no way, however, he was going to be able to concentrate on this devilish bureaucrat and his ridiculous attempts to manipulate him as long as Jess’ body was rubbing against his in the most wicked ways. This woman, human or not, knew exactly what she was doing, regardless of the alcohol already clouding her system.

He smirked when another song ended and there was a moment of silence in his heart upon the lack of a loud bass reverberating in his chest. Jess opened her eyes in an almost luscious manner and took his hand once more to pour herself another drink.

He liked the way she took charge. Apart from Sif, she was so unlike all the Asgardian women he had known during his time in the realm he grew up in. Jess was neither offering him her devotion nor was she withholding her affection. His heart jumped upon remembering how she had hugged him in the bathroom. Peculiar.

While she emptied another repulsive coke-and-whiskey-mixture, his eyes caught another buffet table positioned at the other end of the room—one he had not seen upon first entering this absurd get-together.

“What is this?” Jess spun around.

“What is what?”

“This.” He pointed at the table. The cooks had outdone themselves with the number of bowls full of fruit neatly chopped up—the highlight, however, was the massive chocolate fountain bubbling away peacefully and luring every passer-by into tasting it.

“Have you never seen a chocolate fountain before?”

Loki frowned, making Jess chuckle. Heavens, if he keeps doing that, his face might stay like that, she thought.

“Come on, I’ll show you.” Once within reach of the buffet table, she treated herself to a strawberry that she stabbed with one of the provided plastic toothpicks and coated it with chocolate. She grinned when Loki’s smirk returned and copied her with the sole difference of picking a grape instead.

“How does this thing operate?”

“Well, I’m not an engineer but as far as I’m concerned, you pour molten chocolate into the fountain, which is electric, and the pump inside will make sure to keep it flowing. Apparently, Asgard is not as advanced as I thought it was. Chocolate fountains are extremely important for one’s emotional wellbeing, you know.” Jess downed the Whiskey glass she had taken with her. “And so is alcohol. Are you gonna stay here all evening now?”

“I just might.” Loki winked.

“Suit yourself.” She announced, holding up her empty glass. “I’m getting another drink.”

The God of Mischief rolled his eyes and snatched her upper arm, holding it tightly enough for to gasp—and not in a terrified or intimidated way, so he noticed. But either way, he was not going to let her poison herself.

“You’ve had enough, don’t you think?” He snarled, snatching the glass from her.

“Excuse me? Give that back.”

“No. I said you’ve had enough.”

“I’m supposed to supervise you, not the other way around! Now give that back.”

Loki scoffed. “You’ll do a marvellous job with that, all drunk and out of your mind.”

Heavens, not again. Jess gasped for air—a desperate sound swallowed by the loud music and the bass vibrating in her chest. Loki caught it nonetheless. There it was, this figurative magnet, this invisible rope tying him to her like a bloody lap dog.

It was genuine concern purling in his stomach, he did know this much. Regardless of Mobius’ half-hearted request, Loki certainly did not want Jess to get drunk and damage her liver beyond repair. Mortals were fragile as was and yet here they were, stuffing themselves with ridiculous amounts of sugar and fat, spending all day watching silly TV shows and pouring alcohol down their throats like it was water from Mimir’s fountain itself.

“I dare you…” He murmured, his composure on the edge of a steep cliff threatening to overwhelm him, rip all control from him. Jess leaned back some more, a feeble attempt to escape his advances that she did not wish to refuse altogether. “I dare you.” He repeated, jumping in at the deep end if anything to quench the curiosity and feel what his body and, for Heaven’s sake, even his mind had been longing for. What had he to lose? “Kiss me. I know you have been thinking about it.”

He pulled her close again and this time, he was certain to have heard a whimper. Loki’s cock stirred, even more so when she turned her head away and his nose brushed against her cheek.

“Is it Mobius?” He purred. Jess struggled to form a proper sentence in response or even breathe evenly. Eventually, she nodded. “I believe… I believe we have both had enough of this party, have we not?”

Jess bit her lower lip and glanced behind herself. M was engrossed in a conversation with Ravonna Renslayer, the badass time judge she never interacted with much. Well… she certainly was none of her concern now.

“Quick,” she breathed out, “before they notice us leaving.”

~*~

You are a grown woman. Loki is a handsome man. It’s obvious the chemistry between you is right. You’re sexually attracted to him and he just confirmed that the feeling is mutual. This is not your first one-night stand. It might not be your last. God, I hope it’s not my last. That man is literally not from this world.

“What are you doing?” Jess snapped herself out of her thoughts when Loki stopped in front of one of the control rooms. The walls were made entirely of glass, revealing a bored security officer staring at about a dozen computer screens in utter darkness. “He’ll see us!”

Loki narrowed his eyes and huffed when he found what he was looking for—the camera monitoring Jess’ unit. Ah… this was indeed perfect. Just like he had suspected. He could see the sofa and the unmade sheets on top of it, and the coffee table with countless peanut bags on it. But even without his powers, nobody would see him sneak along the wall and into Jess’ bedroom.

“Loki?”

“There is a dead angle in your unit.”

“So?” He winked again, making her lower regions clench. When he simply kept on walking, she rushed after him like a cat knowing it was about to be fed.

~*~

A/N: Muhahaha. In case anyone is interested what song Loki and Jess danced to, you can find it right here!

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hurting-fictional-people · 3 years

Text

Ball

CW: burning/branding, noncon/dubcon touching and kissing, mention of past torture, vomit mention (it doesn’t actually happen), implied noncon

Before

Her dress was beautiful. Made of emerald green silk that complemented the red of her hair, a V neck descending to the middle of her breasts, a flowy skirt that lightly touched the ground, a tight bodice. Her hair fell down her back in loose waves, only half of it pulled up and braided with tiny pearls that sparkled when the light hit them. She knew she was stunning. It was hard for anything to feel good at the moment, but being pretty again was almost nice.

“Have I told you that you look dazzling tonight, precious?” Blake whispered, lips touching her ear, hand brushing the small of her back. She held back a whimper.

“We are going to play a little game tonight, Kiara”, he declared, grinning. His expression would be childish if his eyes didn’t gleam with wickedness.

“Wha-what are you talking about?”.

His smile widened as he opened a drawer and pulled out something that looked suspiciously like a fireplace poker, but with a larger tip. She started shivering when he placed its tip among the flames of the hearth and winked at her.

Kiara tried to take a deep and calming breath, but all she really did was bite her lip till she felt copper coating her tongue, hoping it would help her keep her face from frowning.

“Please” she mumbled, her voice so low she doubted he could hear it. But he did. He always did.

“You look pretty when you try not to squirm” was all he said, chuckling softly, pressing his hand against her back. The touch wasn’t especially harsh, yet her breathing hitched and she tried to arch away from him just to stop when she heard him tutting. “Remember our game, sunshine. I would love to meet that sweet brother of yours, but I don’t think you would like our get together as much as I would”.

She scanned the room as discreetly as she could, desperately wishing for someone to see the fear and hurt in her eyes, but the only looks she received were aimed straight at her boobs.

They had just got to the party, but she already felt faint.

“Let’s go greet some of my business partners, shall we?” Blake said gleefully. Kiara tried to focus on not passing out as she let him push her towards a group of men in front of the drinks table.

He was almost jumping up and down when the iron turned red. She was almost vomiting when he showed it to her. The tip of it was shaped like letters. Kiara started begging as soon as she realized what was going to happen.

“Please, please don’t do it. I promise I’ll do anything you want, just- just please don’t”.

Blake didn’t even bother responding as he opened the chain that kept her ankle linked to the wall. She was suddenly yanked from the corner in which she’d been sitting and dragged to the middle of the room. He dropped Kiara right where his center table usually stood, and she understood then why he’d moved it away. She wished she didn’t. She tried to run, but before she could take even a step away, he grabbed her by the waist and pushed her stomach against the ground.

It had been a while since she’d tried to fight him, but looking at the burning iron turning crimson among the flames, she screamed and thrashed, panic making tears fall down her cheeks and turning her movements desperate.

“Stop it, Kiara” Blake bellowed, annoyed. She couldn’t see his face with hers pressed to the ground, but she recognized the tone. He sat on her back, putting all his weight on her till she couldn’t breathe. “Hold still or it’ll be worse”.

“Ple-ease! Blake stop, please, please, p-please”.

“Hold still for me, my precious”.

“Blake!” exclaimed a tall man with blond hair “It’s been too long, my friend”.

“It really has, Andrew”, Blake said, grinning as he shook the man’s hand with the one that’d been pressing against Kiara’s back. She held back a relieved sigh when he took it away.

He proceeded on greeting each one of the men there, commenting on their families or hobbies. She kept her eyes on the floor, wishing to disappear. Unfortunately, neither her stillness nor her wishes kept her from being seen.

“And who is this kitten?” asked the one named Andrew. She only knew it was her he was talking about because suddenly Blake was back at her side and his fingers grazed the bare skin of her back right above where the fabric of the dress ended, right before where the burn started.

“This is Kiara”, Blake said, beaming. “The love of my life”.

She smiled too, hoping it looked real. Knowing it didn’t.

“Nice to meet you, sweetheart”, said another one of his friends, one with a long black beard and malice in his eyes.

“Well, I don’t think she is very pleased with you, Blake”, remarked Andrew, narrowing his eyes with amusement.

She went instantly rigid and forced her eyes to wrinkle and her smile to widen. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired. The ball is absolutely lovely” she stated, willing her voice to sound sweet but firm.

“I’ve been keeping her awake a lot these last nights” Blake joked, winking. All of the men laughed, and she let out the breath she'd been holding ever since he tightened his grip on her waist.

Blake had done a lot to her already. Whipped, drowned, kicked, punched, choked, chained, starved. She’d lost count of all the torments she’d faced, but he had never burned her before. So, when he tore the back of her shirt open and pressed the scorching iron to her lower back, there was nothing she could’ve done to prepare herself.

It was a literal hell. There was no thought, no scream, no tears, no nothing in the world. It was only pain. So vast, so deep, everything faded away.

She went limp at some point. Maybe she passed out, but she couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t be sure of anything but the blazing pain. When she came back to herself, her head was on Blake’s lap, and he ran his fingers through her sweaty hair. Her entire body trembled, and she was in so much pain all she could do was cry soundless tears. Kiara didn’t try to pull away or ask what he’d done. Didn’t have the energy to do anything other than weep. Not even sob, for when she did, her body moved, and it burned.

“So precious” Blake purred, fingers tracing the shape of her ear. “You were so strong for me, my little sunshine”.

“Please”, she moaned weakly. Kiara didn’t even know what she was begging for, but it hurt and she needed it to stop, and she hated his voice and his words and his hands touching her.

Blake chuckled. “Please what, precious?”.

“It hurts”.

“I know it does. It will for some time. But it was so worth it. I truly loved your little noises of pain. They were everything” he said as if that should appease her somehow. If anything, it made her cry harder.

“Please, make it stop” she sobbed, wincing when the movement sent a new wave of pain through her body “Please, Blake, make it stop, I can’t, I can’t take it. Please.” her voice was low and hoarse from screaming, and it hurt to even speak, but her back was pure agony and she couldn’t think right.

“Let’s talk about our game, and then I’ll make it stop” he assured. She closed her eyes and nodded, even though she knew whatever game it was, she was probably better off with the burn.

There were at least three hundred guests at the ball, scattered around the penthouse. People flirted and laughed, chatted, and joked. Kiara used to adore parties. She loved to dress up, feel like a goddess, and spend an entire night drinking and dancing. She would have loved that ball if it weren’t for her captor by her side and the dizziness making her vision blur.

She had to stay awake. Had to resist the burning pain that spread from her back to her entire body. Kiara had never been a good actress, but fear was as good a fuel as any. The smile she glued on her lips was kind and dumb enough to keep most people away, the wrinkles she forced her eyes to form hid the pain behind them and added up to the pleasant expression. Her back was as straight as a stick, but that had nothing to do with the act.

“Drink up” Blake ordered, extending a martini glass to her. There was nothing she could do other than nod and take the glass, taking a small sip hoping it would be enough to please him. The pain only increased with each passing minute and she worried she might vomit at any time.

His dark eyebrows shot up, the warning there so clear she shivered and took a longer sip. Blake continued to stare, though, so she gritted her teeth and drained it. He smirked.

“Good girl” he praised, then brushed his hand against her burnt back and took her to another group of people. She breathed in deeply and smiled through teary eyes as she was introduced to a bunch of new people. One lady came in for a hug, and she clenched her teeth so tightly to avoid screaming she was sure the woman heard it.

“Tonight I’m throwing a ball”, Blake said, playing with a strand of her hair. “You are going to be my date”.

“You burned me” she hissed furiously “Why would I ever go to a ball with you?”.

“It’s cute how you can’t even talk above a whisper and still has the nerve to defy me” he sighed playfully. She hated that she knew his moods just by hearing him sigh, but she did. “Now, back to what I was saying. You are going to be my date, and I’ll introduce you to all of my friends as my gorgeous, loving girlfriend”.

Kiara would have laughed, weren’t it for how bad she was hurting and how feeble she felt. Still splayed on her stomach on the ground, limbs heavy and shaky, she could only snort to show her exasperation.

“You see, I found a charming little house on a really cozy street last night. I even took a picture of it, let me show you”. She opened her eyes to find a cell phone in front of her face, and in it a picture of a two-story house made of red bricks, with plants by the windows and a low white fence in front of it. Dread filled her as she stared at the picture, at the house she knew all too well. “It’s really pretty, don’t you think? I thought about buying it, but the owner might not want to sell it. Maybe I should just kill him and take the house”.

“Please”, she choked out, “please don’t hurt him”.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, she rolled to her side so she could look him in the eye. A cry escaped her lips when her back shifted, and a tear slipped from her eyes, but she only stopped when she could see his face. Her head was still on his lap, but pride was something she hadn’t known for a while now.

“Play the sweet obedient girlfriend at my ball and your brother will be left untouched. Fail, and I’ll decide if I shall bring him here to make you watch as I kill him or if I’ll force you to do it yourself”.

“I’ll do anything. Just, just please leave him alone” she promised, “I’ll go to your ball, pretend to b-be your girlfriend, as long as you don’t come near him”.

“We have a deal, then”, Blake said with a smirk. His hand found hers and brought it to his lips. He placed a chaste kiss on her palm and then started playing with her fingertips. “Do anything and everything I tell you to, and I’ll keep my distance”.

Kiara nodded, and when he helped her to stand up, she leaned into him, letting Blake support her weight while he rubbed something soothing on her back with far more force than needed. She shrieked against his shoulder and clutched his shirt while he tended to her burn, thinking of her brother the whole time, promising herself she would not let Blake near him. She would die before she let him touch Arthur.

“You seem kinda pale, love”, said an old lady, squeezing Kiara's hand, “do you need to go outside for a bit?”.

One look from Blake and she knew what she had to answer. “Thank you, but I really am okay. I think I overdid it on the makeup. It’s my first ball, you see? I wanted to look nice”.

“Oh, I get it” she giggled, patting Kiara’s shoulder. Even that sent a twinge of pain down her body. She smiled rigidly. “Especially with such a handsome boyfriend, eh? Gotta always look pretty for your man”. She grimaced internally but barely registered what the woman was saying as she swayed slightly.

Kiara really needed to sit down. She could feel the bandage stuck to the blazing skin of her back, the burn at the precise spot for the dress to cover it perfectly and for Blake to casually touch it at any time just to watch her trying to conceal a gasp or to remind her of what was at stake if she did as much as annoy him. It was getting harder to stand upright, smile, and talk as if there was nothing wrong. She felt her skin clammy and her legs trembling. If she didn’t sit in the next few minutes, she might actually pass out right there.

She took one step towards Blake, but even that was too much, especially with the high heels he’d made her wear. She stumbled and would’ve fallen down if he hadn’t moved so fast, catching her before anyone noticed what had almost happened.

“I need to sit”, she breathed, letting him support her weight. He held her by the waist, and his entire arm pressed on the burn. Kiara bit her already bruised lip and buried her face against his shoulder to muffle a pained whine. “I’m feeling faint”.

“People are looking at us” he crooned, low enough that only Kiara could hear it “I guess you just don’t love your brother as much as I thought, since you are doing such a poor job as my girlfriend”.

She closed her eyes and counted ten seconds to collect herself, hugging Blake as if he was someone she didn’t feel disgusted by. When she moved away, everyone was staring at them.

Kiara cleared her throat and straightened up. She wrapped her arms around his neck, forcing herself not to flinch as he held her tighter.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m just so nervous”, she said, quietly enough for it to sound like she was addressing only him, but high enough for everyone close by to overhear. She looked up through her lashes and smiled timidly, then moved closer and kissed his lips. Blake stiffened for a moment before opening his mouth and kissing her passionately. Kiara had intended for it to be just a brush of lips, but she couldn’t back away now in front of everyone. He tightened his grip on her back and she moaned softly against his mouth, the sound swallowed by him before anyone else could hear it. When he finally let her go, she couldn’t bring herself to smile anymore, so she looked away from him, to the crowd watching them shamelessly. She gave them an embarrassed nod and started towards the tables.

Blake caught her hand a moment later and changed the route to the gambling area. Kiara shuddered but didn’t complain. As long as she could sit, she would do anything.

“Nicely played, sunshine” he mouthed into her ear. She pretended not to hear it.

Blake sat down at a poker table and pulled her onto his lap, forcing her back to press against his stomach. She bit back a cry and tried to think of her brother as she was introduced to more of Blake’s friends.

He started playing, and she pretended to not be in pain, or scared, or despondent. She pretended she wasn’t sitting on the lap of her captor, her torturer, the man who had taken so much from her. Who had taken everything from her.

As he went on chatting, gambling, and laughing, she pretended there wasn’t a burn crossing her lower back with his name on it.

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stovetuna · 4 years

Text

This is for @bardingbeedle who yelled at me in the tags and then on messenger and ultimately inspired me to write some “lorge soft steve” and tbh who am I to refuse. (also high-key inspired by this masterpiece of fanart I RBed [again] earlier today)

(takes place shortly after the events of Avengers Assemble episode 2x07, aka the best fic none of us ever wrote)

(heed the READ MORE!)

***

Tony is hustling from one meeting to the next, all but literally running into the kitchen for a cup of afternoon coffee, when he spies Steve Rogers bent over the communal living room coffee table. That in and of itself isn’t exactly outside the realm of normal Steve Rogers activities—the man does love a good brood, even if he won’t admit it and doesn’t do it as often as he used to.

But Tony wracks his brain for possible reasons why Steve would be hunched up around the shoulders like he’s expecting a body blow any minute and keeps coming up empty. Not even fresh coffee makes his synapses fire faster. Did they forget his birthday? Impossible. Did someone send Captain America hate mail? Uh, doubly impossible, especially because Tony’s got lawyers screening their mail for that kind of stuff (they’ve got more than enough pressure in their day-to-day lives, time-slip dinosaurs and age regressions notwithstanding).

Maybe Steve found a piece of upsetting news, or some fact of modern history that isn’t sitting well with him? That’s a lot more likely.

Before he can remind himself that Pepper’s waiting in his office to put him on a call with the president of MIT—something about a commencement speech, if memory serves—Tony is sauntering into the living room, nonchalant, tongue already prickling with some smart remark. He’s got it all written out in his head like a perfect line of code up until the moment he’s standing in front of Steve and sees the expression on his face.

“Whoa, who ran over your puppy?”

Tony winces, wishing for the millionth time that his mouth and his brain could work together simultaneously, but no. Worse, Steve doesn’t even answer him—he just frowns harder, if that’s even possible, and folds in on himself like his shoulders alone don’t take up half the length of the massive couch. Tony lowers the hand holding his coffee and blinks.

“Steve?”

“Oh!” Steve jumps upright, and quick as a flash moves something vaguely folder-shaped behind his back. “Tony! I didn’t hear you walk in—don’t you have a meeting right now?”

Something in Tony’s chest squeezes at the sight of that smile and at Steve’s impeccable attention to detail. But really, ever since the incident with the Time Stone, when he’d jolted back into his adult body and come to in Steve’s arms, he’s felt completely knocked off-balance. Now everything about Steve Rogers—the man, not the superhero—is a revelation. Every smile, every word, every look has Tony tripping over his own feet, tongue, thoughts. He may be back in his adult body, but he’s never felt more like a prepubescent teenager with a crush, fidgeting in place under Steve’s gaze.

“It got postponed,” he lies, because whatever has put that pinch between Steve’s eyebrows is way more important right now. “What’s up?”

“Nothing!” Steve replies, too loud and too quickly. Tony gives him a look. Steve flushes, shrinking in on himself even further, like he wants the couch to devour him. “Uh, nothing important. Just an anniversary I forgot about.”

Now it’s Tony’s turn to frown. He likes to think he’s got a solid mental calendar of important dates for all of his teammates memorized at this point—Natasha’s move-in, Bruce’s lab incident, Sam’s SHIELD acceptance, Steve being found in the ice—but none of those are today.

“Got room for one more?” Tony asks, nodding at the scant space next to Steve on the couch when the man gives him a questioning look. Steve’s cheeks immediately go a charming shade of pink, which churns the coffee in Tony’s empty stomach with a vengeance. Steve shifts to press himself against the arm as Tony moves to sit down next to him, almost crushing the folder Steve had hidden earlier in the process. There’s a gasp, and a lightning-quick hand, and then Steve, pale and breathless, is holding a manila folder against his chest like it’s the secret to the Super Soldier Serum.

It’s weird—Tony knows Steve trusts him, and vice versa. They wouldn’t have solved the riddle of the Time Stone if they didn’t trust each other. So to sit next to Steve, who’s gone from morose to terrified in the three minutes since Tony walked into the room and feel a wall between them is jarring. And upsetting. He’s only been nursing this crush for a few days, and Steve’s not that perceptive…is he? Maybe he is. Maybe this is Steve weeding out Tony’s feelings before they’ve even had a chance to grow.

Tony shakes his head at the thought. No, Steve’s a lot of things, but cruel isn’t one of them.

“Care to share with the class?” he asks, gently so he doesn’t spook Steve. It seems to work: Steve relaxes, tension falling from his shoulders as he eases into Tony’s presence. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, but keeps the folder pressed securely against his sternum. Tony tries hard not to steal a glance at the way Steve’s shirt pulls across his broad, thick chest as he breathes.

“It’s nothing.”

“Cap, if it was nothing, you wouldn’t be trying to Honey-I-Shrunk-Myself into the couch right now.”

Steve Rogers in active wear doesn’t cut quite the same figure as Steve Rogers in full Captain America regalia, it’s true, but that doesn’t mean he’s small. Like this, he’s just as large and has just as much presence as he does in uniform; it’s just…more human. Less Captain, more Steve. Both are devastating in their own way, but only Steve—friendly, blushing, awkward, unassuming Steve—makes Tony acutely aware of the distance between their bodies, down to the last electrified hair.

Catching his own breath, Tony puts his full mug on the coffee table and drops his hands into his lap, turning his head to watch Steve chew on whatever words are fighting to come out. Be patient, he tells himself. Whatever this is, Steve’s struggling with it, and Tony can have some tact when he wants to.

Finally, Steve closes his eyes and sighs. When he lowers his hands, the folder goes with them. Tony glances at the cover and almost swallows his tongue.

“Is that—?” Steve makes a noncommittal sound, like a ‘yes’ but softer, uncertain, like he’s not sure Tony’s reaction is a good one. Tony swallows his excitement with a wince. “Is that the Project Rebirth file? I told Fury to give it to you a long time ago, but I wasn’t sure he did.”

Tony is so preoccupied looking at the folder he doesn’t hear Steve’s gasp or notice his eyes lock onto him. “He did,” Steve replies quietly after a pause. “But that’s isn’t…that’s not what this is about.”

That’s kind of a surprise. The sudden appearance of the Project Rebirth file would explain Steve’s face and body language, but if it’s not that…

Steve hands the entire folder over to Tony without another word.

“Uh,” Tony gapes, too awestruck to achieve any kind of higher brain function.

“Look at the date,” Steve says. It’s not an order, just a gentle request, but it doesn’t prevent a shiver from rippling down the length of Tony’s spine. If he was hyperaware of the space between their bodies before, it’s even worse now with Steve leaning every-so-slightly toward him and reaching out a hand to point directly at the date written on the faded label.

22 June 1943

Tony blinks. “It’s the anniversary…of you?” He opens the folder without a second thought, and the first thing he sees is a picture of Steve. There are other things in the file—sheaves of what look like medical reports, heavily redacted memos, and carbon copies of typed letters—but the only thing Tony can focus on is Steven Grant Rogers circa 1943. The Steven Grant Rogers of before.

He’s touching the photo before he can stop himself, being so, so careful as he traces the narrow shape of the man in the photograph while the real, supersized thing sits next to him.

“It’s the first time I’ve really had a chance to sit and think about what it was like, before,” Steve says, unprompted. “Everything happened so fast once I got the serum, I didn’t have time to just…take it all in. And then I went into the ice and—well. You know the rest.”

All skin and bones, this man, back then. But the jut of his jaw is the same; the serum didn’t change that, or the flinty stubbornness in Steve’s eyes, or the proud set of his shoulders, just daring the world to try and fuck with him. Tony smiles—Steve before the serum is like a matchstick, short and thin and always one spark away from bursting into flame. He really didn’t change a bit.

When Tony finally looks up from the photo (not gazing, of course not), he sees Steve’s expression has gone pinched again, his arms now crossed in front of his chest.

“Alright, there’s that face again. Out with it, Cap.”

Steve really shouldn’t bite his lip—it’s bad for Tony’s health. But Tony’s comment does get him to smile a little bit, which is good. “I guess…it’s been over seventy years since I got the serum, but most days I still feel like that skinny guy in the picture.” Tony watches him as he speaks, taking in the faraway look in Steve’s eyes, the shrinking posture, the downward turn of his mouth—who says I can’t be observant, Tony thinks—and wishes he and Steve were the kind of friends who hugged outside of catastrophic cosmic events. God knows it looks like Steve could use one, as wound up and tense as he is right now.

“I’ve broken so many things by accident because I keep forgetting I’m this, now,” he says, gesturing broadly at himself with one hand. Frowning, Steve uses that same hand to brace his forehead, elbow dropping down onto his thigh. The man is the picture of misery, and Tony aches to comfort him. It’s a physical pull in the pit of his stomach, urgent and needy—like if he doesn’t get his arms around Steve Rogers right this second, something important inside him is going to malfunction.

Tony shoves his hands under his thighs and nods. “Dr. Erskine could turn you into a super soldier,” he says softly, “but he couldn’t erase the first 27 years of your life.” He doesn’t speak his next thought aloud—that if there was in fact a way to erase those years, Tony would have signed up for the very first clinical trial. It’s a grim thought, and not something Steve needs to hear right now, but it’s been on Tony’s mind ever since his brief return to adolescence, and it’s a hard one to shake.

But what Steve heard seems to help. He peeks at Tony through his fingers and swallows loud enough even Tony can hear it.

“Yeah,” he rasps, “something like that.”

“What else?”

“What?”

“What else is bugging you? About this?”

Steve lowers his hand and stares at Tony. Stares. It’s such a feeling, being stared at by Steve Rogers, Tony can feel the heat climbing up from underneath his t-shirt. Even the arc reactor feels a bit warmer in his chest.

“How could you tell?”

“You’re still doing your level-best impression of a Shrinky Dink, Cap,” Tony replies. “Kind of hard not to notice.”

“I have no idea what that is,” Steve laughs, a hoarse, dry sound, “but you’re not wrong. I guess…I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words.”

“Try.”

Seriously, when Steve looks at him like that—like he did when Tony soared through the air as Iron Kid, all awe and pride and warmth—Tony feels capable of anything. Anything. He’d bottle that feeling, if he could, just like he’d bottle the color of Steve’s hair in the afternoon light coming in through the living room windows right now, all warm, pale yellows shot through with gold. If the photo in the file were in full color, Tony would bet his fortune Steve’s hair would be the same shade it is now.

Because Steve Rogers has always been perfect. Damn him.

“I still feel small,” Steve says, and any thoughts of hair and perfection derail abruptly. Looking into the middle-distance past his nose, he continues, “I don’t fit in this body. That doesn’t make sense, but—it’s like the super soldier is a mold, and I’m just there rattling around inside it, too small to fit. Does that—does that make any sense?” He looks at Tony imploringly, begging him with his eyes to understand. Tony feels that tug again, worse now, to wrap his arms around Steve and hold him tight. Call it returning the favor for the other day with the Time Stone, call it acting on his crush, whatever.

No one so large has ever looked as small as Steve Rogers does right now.

“It does,” Tony croaks.

“Really?”

“Really. I mean, how do you think I feel inside the suit?”

Steve makes a sound at that—not a whimper, not a gasp, but something hovering between the two that splits Tony’s heart right down the middle. “I never thought of it that way,” he whispers. “But that’s it. That’s exactly it.” Visible relief fills Steve’s lungs and makes his entire body go lax, leaning closer to Tony in the process. Tony, of course, is hyperaware of Steve’s size—everyone except Thor and Hulk is small compared to him—but now he’s equally aware of who’s operating the Cap-suit, so to speak.

“The only difference is, I can take my super-suit off,” Tony says, pinching the underside of his own thigh to cut off a laugh—Steve hasn’t seen The Incredibles yet—and continues, “you can’t. That’s bound to make a guy feel uncomfortable, even you, Mr. ‘I can handle anything you throw at me.’” He elbows Steve a little, good-naturedly, for emphasis, and gets a full, beautiful smile for his efforts.

God. Skinny or huge, Steve Rogers is gorgeous. It really shouldn’t be allowed.

“Yeah, good point.” Face still split by a smile—I put that there, Tony preens—Steve leans against the back of the couch and sighs. “There are things I miss, though. About being small. I didn’t think I did, until…” He glances at Tony, then, and there’s no missing the blush creeping up his neck.

“Until?”

“The other day,” Steve replies. “When you de-aged, and I—when we—” Tony bites his tongue so hard he’s pretty sure he tastes blood. Don’t interrupt. Let him get it out. Steve laughs breathily. “When I hugged you, I was so glad I was in a position to protect you, physically, like that. But later on I kept thinking about how much I miss being the protected one, sometimes. Not always, but. Sometimes.” Steve looks at the photo and sighs. “I keep thinking about what it felt like when ma looked after me when I was sick, or when Bucky put himself between me and the bigger guy because he knew I couldn’t take another hit…sure I resented it a little, being so weak, but I liked…that.”

“You liked being cared for.”

The look Steve levels at Tony could drive away a storm.

“Yeah,” he husks. “I did.”

“And now that you’re—” Tony waves a hand at Steve’s everything, “—this, you think you don’t, what, deserve care?”

“Maybe?” Steve blinks. “I don’t know.”

“Cap—Steve,” Tony says, putting his hands palms-up in his lap so Steve can see all of him. No threat, no judgment. “Everyone wants to feel cared for. It’s human nature. And just because you’re superhuman doesn’t mean you’re inhuman.”

Damn if those therapy sessions Pepper forced him into aren’t paying off big time right now. If the sheen in Steve’s eyes is anything to go by, Tony’s hit the nail right on the head.

“Oh,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” Tony smiles. Butterflies be damned, he moves the project file onto the coffee table next to his now-cold mug and turns toward Steve. Slowly, he opens his arms. “C’mere,” he says, so quiet only Steve would hear if anyone else was around. As it is, they’re alone in the tower, and Steve doesn’t hesitate—one moment Tony’s arms are empty and the next he’s got 240 pounds of solid muscle curling into his chest and Steve’s tucking his big head under Tony’s chin like the world’s neediest Bernese mountain dog.

Thankfully, Tony’s arms are just long enough to fit all the way around Steve’s massive shoulders. And even if they weren’t, he’d find a way to make it work.

Knees knocking together, feet brushing up against each other on the carpet, Steve shifts and adjusts until he can wrap his arms around Tony’s waist. Once he settles in, he sighs right into the notch at the base of Tony’s throat. “Thank you, Tony.”

“Anytime, big guy,” Tony replies, softly with a warm smile he thinks Steve can’t see.

#bardingbeedle #steve rogers #tony stark #pre-getting together #stevetony #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #rachel writes fic #HAPPY JUNE 22 #KINDA #ignoring the fact that I'm posting this at 0130 on June 23 :3 #insecure steve rogers #insecure tony stark #tony and I see the same therapist lol #stovetuna writes #and yes 22 June is apparently the MCU date of Project Rebirth #PERFECT TIMING

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cavalierious-whim · 3 years

Text

Sylvain's wholly unprepared for Felix to ask him to slather sunscreen upon his pasty (well-defined) back.

Happy Sylvix Summer. Take my dumb beach fluff rife with Teen-aged Tropey Rom-Com bullshit. Read here on AO3 for better quality, and follow me here on Twitter!

Despite his long-harbored crush, Sylvain never thought much of a half-naked Felix until one fateful beach trip.

They’re past their high-school years and well into college. Young enough to not be tied down by relationships. That’d be boring to Sylvain, who has a new flavor every week and happily so.

Mostly because it’s easier to be casual than commit to something that’d mean more.

Felix is just an old friend, he tells himself. A second glance, really. Okay, well, maybe not second-- that’s a cruel thing to say. Sylvain would give his left arm for the guy, literally, but he’s never really considered the why behind the thought until then.

And sure, he’s always liked him, even if Sylvain’s never thought much about it. Felix is kinda cute in a deranged cat sort of way.

But now, it makes a lot of sense. Stares him right in the face, a visage of gleaming pasty white skin and deceptively toned muscles. Sylvain’s just fucking blind and stupid, and now it can’t be unseen.

Felix is no longer a scrawny and gangly thing; now he sports lithe and supple muscle. Defined shoulders and a slim waist that tapers into what’s probably the finest ass Sylvain’s ever seen. Pert and shapely, perfect in every way.

Sylvain stares long enough for his ice cream cone to melt all over his hand.

“I’d tell you to take a picture,” says Ingrid, her laugh pealing through the air from behind her hand. “But that’d only piss him off.”

“Ingrid,” says Sylvain panicked. He shakes the melted, sticky mess from his hand as he continues to gawk. At least they’re in the shade under his umbrella, so it’s only a minor mess. “When on earth did that happen?”

Ingrid raises an eyebrow. “When did what happen?”

Sylvain groans. Of course, she’d make him say it. Ingrid’s the worst (or the best) when it comes to forcing others to make fools of themselves. She’s already adopted a devilish smirk, waiting for Sylvain to dig himself a hole deep in the beach sand.

A grave might be more fitting, considering what Felix would do to him if he ever caught Sylvain staring.

“I mean, what’d you expect?” asks Ingrid, sparing Sylvain from further embarrassment. For the moment. Sylvain knows better than to think that she’s done with him. Ingrid’s only biding her time. “When people play sports, they get ripped.” She points to Sylvain. “Look at you. Look at me.”

“I play baseball,” says Sylvain in a low hiss. “I can throw a pitch as fast as a car on the highway and sprint the length of an entire field. Fencing is barely a sport when compared.”

Ingrid just looks at him, her face flat and unimpressed as she sips at her drink and twirls the tiny decorative beach umbrella within it. “I dare you to tell him that.”

Sylvain flounders the tiniest bit. Absolutely not. He likes living far too much. Ever since Felix picked up a foil and learned how to bout, he’d been considerably more dangerous than the crybaby know-it-all they’d all grown up with.

“But, like… how?” says Sylvain as he wonders, persistent in his confusion as to when Felix suddenly became handsome. Like, model handsome. Like, Sylvain would take him around and then pound him into the sheets handsome.

Sylvain never thinks about sleeping with men. Except for Felix, but that’s something that he usually pushes to the back corner of his mind because it’s really fucking awkward to think that way about your bestie.

And Ingrid knows, she’s known for a stupidly long time because of one shitty night where he’d drunkenly blubbered his feelings out to her. In rare form, she didn’t laugh at him that night, she’d only combed her fingers through his hair and called him the world’s biggest idiot.

He’s good at that. Being dumb. Probably his best quality.

Sylvain can’t stop looking, his eyes grazing over Felix’s perfect form. My wet dreams are never going to be the same again, he thinks, his mouth going dry.

“Disgusting,” says Ingrid, making a face. She knows what Sylvain’s thinking, what he can’t help but agonize about. But then she waves her hand dismissively. “Also, he does squats from sun-up to sun-down. No wonder his ass looks so good.”

“Wait, are you looking?” asks Sylvain a little too quickly. Accusatory. He watches her through a shrewd gaze.

“Oh, Goddess, no. I’d rather choke.” She makes another face, this one cross-eyed as she cuts across her neck with a finger dramatically. “I’ve just been watching your sorry ass moon over him--”

“I’m not mooning--”

“Who’s mooning over what?”

Both Ingrid and Sylvain freeze at Felix’s voice. Then, Sylvain laughs, high-pitched and incredibly awkward.

“Nothing--”

“Sylvain and how he’s--”

Sylvain kicks her and Ingrid curses. Felix watches on, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Sylvain’s rarely rude to Ingrid (okay, so that’s a lie; he’s rude to her constantly, but she’s Ingrid, and she deserves it every time), but he shoots her the meanest look that he can muster.

Which, admittedly, isn’t very threatening.

“Is there a reason you look like a fucking five-year-old trying to threaten a classmate who stole your juice box?”

Sylvain nearly congratulates Felix on his brilliant use of imagery. Instead, he starts with, “Felix--”

“Oh, don’t mind him,” cuts in Ingrid. “He’s just annoyed that I called him out on his bullshit.”

With that, Felix perks up because if there’s something that he loves more than anything else, it’s watching Sylvain getting dunked on. Which is more often than Sylvain likes to admit.

“So,” says Felix, “The usual.”

“Felix, why are you even here?” Sylvain doesn’t mean for it to be so biting, but it comes out sounding quite like Felix himself, an absolute feat.

“We’re at the beach, and together at that if I must remind you,” says Felix, cocking his head to the side. “The sun’s high and blazing, and I’m pasty as hell. Help me with this.”

A demand, not a request. So incredibly like Felix. Sylvain barely catches the bottle that is thrown at him. “Sunscreen,” he reads aloud rather dumbly.

“Yes, you dimwit,” says Felix. “Not everyone tans like you. Some of us come out looking like lobsters, and I don’t mean in a tasty kind of way.”

Sylvain disagrees. Felix looks the tastiest he’s ever seen, and Sylvain’s known him for nearly two decades.

“So what, like rub this all over you?”

Felix rolls his eyes, replying slowly like he’s speaking to a child. “Yes. My arms are short and you’re conveniently there. Even if I’m flexible--” Sylvain super doesn’t need to think about that, “--there are parts of my back that I can’t reach.”

Sylvain would rather burn in Ailell than do this because this is now his absolute worst fucking nightmare. A unique hell, tailored just for him. A test of the Goddess.

Or a memory he’ll wank to for months to come.

Definitely the latter, knowing Sylvain.

Ingrid, bless her shrew-like and ill-tempered soul, shoots Sylvain an amused glance. Soaks the entire thing up, her mouth tipped to the side as she delights in Sylvain’s discomfort. This kind of thing fuels her; juicy gossip feeds her for days and then some.

Especially when it comes to Sylvain.

“Ingrid, fuck off,” says Sylvain. Felix, who didn’t see her look, reaches out to swat Sylvain in return. “Ow!”

“You fuck off,” says Felix. “Stop being rude.”

“She’s the one--”

“Alright, I’m leaving,” says Ingrid abruptly, “Before this lover’s spat gets any worse--”

“This isn’t a spat--” starts Sylvain.

“Lover’s?” exclaimed Felix, pink in the face.

That catches Sylvain’s attention as he turns to him. What an odd reaction-- the embarrassment as he refuses to look either of them in the face. Sylvain’s mouth falls open in surprise and Ingrid’s clamps right up. Then, she smiles, the sly little grin that she gets when she’s up to no good. Never bodes well. Sylvain’s about to say something when she speaks.

“I’ll come and check on your boys later, yeah?” Oh, Ingrid’s up to no good, about to throw Sylvain to the sharks. Wholly intent of leaving him behind with Felix and his newfound discovery that his crush is probably more than a crush.

“Ingrid--” starts Sylvain, but before he can properly beg her, Ingrid’s gone, leaving behind nothing but a trail of footprints in the sand.

Felix plops onto the towel in front of Sylvain, his back facing him. Sylvain looks at the expanse of it, far broader than he remembers. He swallows thickly as his hand hovers awkwardly over Felix’s skin.

“Insufferable, that woman. What my brother sees in her I’ll never know.”

“Even people with terrible personalities have matches,” says Sylvain in humor. A decent attempt at distraction that usually works with others.

Felix grunts. “Yes, well, you’d know that best of all, wouldn’t you?”

Ouch, thinks Sylvain. Nasty little stinger right out of left-field but incredibly on-brand for Felix. His favorite thing to do is remind Sylvain about his habitually shitty dating habits.

“That’s a little cruel, don’t you think?” Sylvain uncaps the bottle of sunscreen and squirts a generous amount onto his palms.

“What, can’t handle the criticism?” Felix snorts. “Sylvain, you’ve slept with the entire volleyball team, minus Ingrid.”

“Have you seen them, though? Legs up to here, literally. Except for Ingrid of course, because that’d be so gross--”

“Ridiculous,” says Felix, snorting again. “Utterly predictable. And you wonder why you’re always dead last.”

Sylvain frowns at the strange wording. “I’m top of our class.”

Felix doesn’t immediately answer. “That isn’t what I mean,” he finally says, tilting his head back slightly to look at Sylvain. Then his expression hardens, turning aggressive again. “Are you going to lather me up or should I go ask Ingrid instead?”

“No,” says Sylvain, “Just… yeah, okay. I’ve got this.”

“Sylvain, it’s just sunscreen.” There’s a tiny frown on Felix’s face.

Sylvain’s a confident man, able to woo anyone into his bed. Rubbing sunscreen into Felix’s skin should be easy. It isn’t. Sylvain hesitates and hesitates, fingers hovering over the smooth line of Felix’s bare shoulders.

Nothing explains Sylvain’s sudden dry mouth or the inkling that this is a terrible idea.

“Sylvain,” says Felix, clearly waiting.

Felix’s skin is warm to the touch and soft under Sylvain’s calloused fingers. He starts at his shoulders, massaging the liquid in, squeezing at Felix’s tight muscles.

“Tense?” asks Sylvain, teasing him.

“Tired,” says Felix, sounding-- well, just that. Exhausted, even.

Sylvain’s hands pause as he leans forward slightly. “You train too much.”

“You don’t train enough. You could be on the national team if you gave a shit.”

Sylvain laughs and leans even closer, his mouth near Felix’s ear. “Yeah, well, that’s the difference between us. I don’t want to be on the national team.”

Felix harrumphs and crosses his arms over his chest. “That just makes you dumb, then.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Sylvain smooths his hands across the top of Felix’s shoulders, then sweeps them down and under his blades, thumbs digging into the meat of Felix’s back.

Felix lets out a low moan, a sinful-sounding thing that makes Sylvain bite at his lips and look to the sky. He’s never really prayed before, doesn’t believe in the Goddess, but he asks Seiros for strength.

“Shit, Sylvain,” says Felix with a sigh. “That’s--”

“Seriously, Felix, you’re all locked up.”

Felix whines when Sylvain raises his hand to press into the muscles at the base of his neck, his fingernails just barely scratching across Felix’s skin. “Sorry,” murmurs Felix, pink in the cheeks again, hands shifting awkwardly in his lap.

“You need to cool down properly after your sessions,” says Sylvain. “You’re working yourself too hard. Nothing but knots and bone back here.”

“Sunscreen,” says Felix suddenly.

“What?”

“The sunscreen. Your hands are dry.”

Right. The sunscreen. Sylvain isn’t supposed to be giving Felix a massage, he’s supposed to be oiling him up and readying him for the sun. He slicks his hands up again, murmurs an apology, and finds the lower part of Felix’s back this time.

“Sorry. Can’t have you burning to a crisp out there.”

Felix sighs at the touch, leaning into it slightly and Sylvain nearly dies on the spot. So, maybe he’s just now noticed how handsome Felix is, but it’s not exactly the first time Sylvain’s thought about him like this. Usually, when he does, he tucks it away deep-- not because it’s embarrassing, or Sylvain has reservations about men, but because Felix would slaughter him if he knew.

Sylvain lets out a long breath as he rubs the sunscreen into Felix’s skin, making sure not to miss any spots.

“What’s Ingrid doing?” asks Felix, nodding to where she stands fifty paces away in the sun.

Sylvain looks up, squinting at her. Ingrid flashes him a grin before pressing her thumb and forefinger together on one hand, and then taking her pointer finger with the other and--

“Is she--”

Ingrid makes the crudest gesture known to man, and then, wiggling her eyebrows, points directly to Felix, then Sylvain right after.

Sylvain’s going to kill her. Absolutely murder her in her sleep. He’s got a spare key to her place and he knows where she keeps the sharp knives. Glenn might forgive Sylvain for it if they properly explain. Even though Glenn’s nearly thirty, he still thinks it’s his job to protect Felix.

Especially from Ingrid’s never-ending teasing.

“She’s dead,” says Sylvain. “Next time I’m within a few feet of her.”

“Not if I kill her first,” says Felix.

Sylvain leans over Felix, shooting Ingrid the finger with both hands. She, naturally, shoots him one right back. “So fucking rude,” says Sylvain, leaning back again and slathering his hands with sunscreen once more. “And the things that she implies. Don’t listen to her.”

Strangely, Felix is quiet. Twiddles his thumbs in his lap. Sylvain watches him for a moment before resuming his requested task, catching the spots of his back that he’s missed.

“Would it be so bad?” asks Felix.

Sylvain’s hands pause. “What?”

“The idea of being with me. Is it such a terrible idea?”

Sylvain laughs because that’s what he does when faced with awkward questions. “Felix, we’re too old for gay jokes and Ingrid knows that. She’s just picking on us because it’s how she asserts dominance.”

Felix doesn’t even scoff which is a red flag, so Sylvain grasps him by the shoulders and looks at him from the side. “Hey, wait, are you worried about dating? I thought it wasn’t something you’re interested in?”

They’ve known each other since they were practically in diapers, so of course, they’ve talked about this: girls and dating. Well, more so Sylvain who always talked at Felix. Felix is relatively tight-lipped about it, even now, into their college years. Always says that he’s just not interested.

Never bothered Sylvain one bit.

“I mean, I know some cute girls--”

“Sylvain, I don’t want to date women.”

Oh. Oh. Sylvain’s mouth shuts tight as he absorbs this information. This puts a lot of things into perspective; Felix’s disinterest in women and how he’d roll his eyes whenever Sylvain would talk about them. His lack of celebrity crushes and such. Felix has just never said it so bluntly.

“Felix, it’s totally cool if you’re gay. I know some cute guys--”

Felix lets out a frustrated groan, rubbing at his face. “Sylvain, I’m not-- that’s not-- That’s not it.”

“Felix, you have to throw me a bone here, what on earth are you talking about--”

“I like you, you absolute imbecile,” says Felix very suddenly. And loudly. Entirely red-faced with embarrassment as he digs a hand into the sand beside him. “And Ingrid’s known for years because Glenn fucking told her, and that’s why she’s been so incredibly insufferable this entire time--”

Sylvain bursts into laughter, which in retrospect, probably wasn’t the best reaction. “Wait, no, no, that’s not why I’m laughing,” he says when Felix starts to pull away. Felix pauses, looking at him with barely contained aggravation.

“This isn’t funny, Sylvain,” he says quietly.

“Ingrid’s making fun of both of us, so yeah, it kind of is.”

Felix blinks very slowly, his face contorting into supreme confusion.

Sylvain sighs, rubbing at his chin awkwardly. “So look, here’s the thing. The shitty dating’s always been to fill a void because I’ve always been afraid to like, date someone properly. No commitment is so much easier than actual commitment and--”

“Sylvain, what on earth are you blabbering about?” cuts in Felix impatiently.

“I like you too?” Sylvain doesn’t mean for it to come out sounding like a question, so he clears his throat and tries again. “What I mean to say is, I’ve always liked you, I guess, but I’ve never really noticed you and--”

When Felix laughs, it’s always a bitter-sounding thing which is why Sylvain never wants to hear it. Means he’s about to lose his shit. This time though, he’s chuckling softly, rubbing at his face tiredly. “Let me guess,” he says quietly, “Ingrid knows.”

Sylvain swallows thickly, sitting there awkwardly with sunscreen-covered hands. “She, uh, might.”

“So, I didn’t have to resort to this, then.”

Sylvain shoots him a confused look. “Resort to what?”

Felix sighs, pink-cheeked with embarrassment again. “Parading around without a shirt on. The whole sunscreen thing. Ingrid’s blasted idea, of course, and now I see why. Glenn agreed, saying you’re the type to be visually stimulated but because I didn’t think that you liked me--”

“Wait, wait, back up,” says Sylvain, trying to process everything that Felix is trying to say. “What do you mean Ingrid’s idea?”

Felix finally looks at Sylvain’s face, annoyed with the entire situation. “She was tired of me not saying anything and told me to do something about it. I said it wouldn’t matter, that you didn’t like me but--” He pauses and waves vaguely between them.

“She’s known that I’ve liked you for years,” finishes Sylvain quietly. “Oh, Goddess, I’m going to kill her.”

“Please don’t,” says Felix. “Because then Glenn would kill you and that would mean I’ve made an utter fool of myself for nothing.”

Sylvain looks at the sunscreen again. “Felix, I hope you realize, rubbing you down in this nearly ended me. Like, I won’t be able to move from this towel for at least ten minutes.”

At that, Felix smirks slightly, his mouth tipped up at one corner. “Well, I’m sure there are spots that you’ve missed.”

Sylvain groans at the idea.

“I’m joking,” says Felix quietly, reaching out to touch Sylvain’s shoulder, thumbing over it with uncertainty. “So what--”

“I mean, the answer’s yes, obviously.” Felix looks at him, his face carefully schooled into something bland. Obviously trying not to get his hopes up, so Sylvain continues. “I mean, I didn’t collapse onto Ingrid’s bathroom floor one night, wasted to only say no--”

“You what?”

“Okay, so forget about that--”

“So you were truly serious about liking me?” asks Felix, his voice cracking slightly.

Sylvain’s expression softens. “I mean, it’s never been so clear until today but--”

“Why today, of all days?”

Sylvain’s done a fantastic job of looking at only Felix’s face so far so he finally looks down, eyes sweeping over his chest. Sylvain swallows thickly. “I mean, look at you, you’re--”

“Save it for the women who warm your bed,” says Felix acerbically. He moves to get up properly and Sylvain reaches out to grab his wrist.

“Felix, wait, don’t do that.” Felix does. Waits for him to say his piece. “I’ve always liked you, but it never really clicked that you’re-- uh-- look, there’s no delicate way to say it, so I just will. You’re gorgeous. Handsome. I can’t stop looking at you because you make me feel things, and that’s something that’s just... Ingrid told me to take a fucking picture, Felix.”

Felix snorts at that, hiding a smile behind his hand. Then he plops back down to the sand.

“You realize that I expect to be more than a bed warmer,” says Felix finally, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’d never ask that of you,” says Sylvain, seriously. “Unless you wanted to, because trust me, I’m certainly not opposed--”

Felix reaches forward with lightning-fast speed, pulls open Sylvain’s swim trunks, and dumps a handful of sand directly into them. Sylvain looks down dumbly. Dreads the inevitable itchiness that comes with getting sand in the bits where you don’t want it.

“Okay, yeah, I deserved that.”

Felix hesitates and then says, “Insufferable.”

“Yeah,” says Sylvain in agreement.

“It’s part of your charm.”

Sylvain grins at him. “Oh, my charm? Does that mean that I won you over with my bewitching demeanor?”

Felix’s expression sours the slightest bit. “Don’t push it.”

It falls quiet between them, as they sit on the towel underneath Sylvain’s umbrella, but it’s a comfortable silence. Sylvain rubs the leftover sunscreen into his own shoulders as Felix tries not to stare in return.

“So,” says Sylvain finally. “Dinner on the pier maybe? Without Ingrid and Glenn, I mean.”

“Yes, nothing says fantastic first date like shoveling buttered crawfish into your mouth like a slob.” But Felix’s face is soft and fond when he looks at Sylvain, and Sylvain knows that it’s a date sealed for later that night.

Things are going to be weird, supposes Sylvain, but there are worse things. At least they’ll be figuring it out together.

“Who gets first dibs on dunking ice-cold seawater all over Ingrid?” asks Sylvain.

“I think that I can get Glenn to distract her long enough for you to fill the pail. Or, we can tag team her-- grab her and throw her in the ocean itself.”

That’s a better idea and Sylvain says as such, much to Felix’s entertainment. “Maybe we shouldn’t,” continues Sylvain. “We do owe her some credit.”

Felix snorts. “Are you going to give her the satisfaction of it?”

They both look at each other, then Sylvain says, “Absolutely not.” He pauses, reaching out to Felix, wanting to grab his hand and hold it. But he hesitates.

Felix sees and watches silently. “We’re dumb,” he finally says. “It’s taken us so long. We’re nearly done with college.”

“Yeah, well, late-bloomers and all that.”

“Sylvain, you’re the opposite of a late-bloomer.”

“Not where it counts.”

Felix sighs softly and reaches out, taking Sylvain’s hand, linking their fingers together. He doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t have to. He and Sylvain have always been like that; silent in most of their communication because they just read each other so well.

Except for when it comes to their wants, apparently.

Still, better late than never supposes Sylvain when he squeezes Felix’s hand back.

#sylvain/felix #felix/sylvain #felix x sylvain #fe3h fanfiction #sylvix #fe3h

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wishonastar7 · 3 years

Text

Timely Fate5

Starting the Paid Service(4)

I could hear laughter escape Dokja's lips but I ignored him in favor of opening the pdf that had been sent to me by the author. The file extension was txt.

[You have obtained an exclusive attribute]

[The exclusive skill slot has been activated]

[You have obtained an exclusive attribute]

[The exclusive skill slot has been activated]

My eyes widened in surprise. I knew that Dokja had gained an exclusive attribute while checking out the novel but I didn't think I would as well, and to think that I would gain two.

'Attribute Window.' I silently thought, a bit surprised when a screen that read [You cannot activate the Attribute Window] appeared. Thinking 'Attribute Weapon' once more, I was disappointed to be met with the same screen.

How the hell am I supposed to know my skills and attributes now? I closed my eyes, rubbing my forehead before hearing a small ding in my mind. I looked up and saw a small blue screen at the corner of my right side.

Curiously, I pressed on it. Immediately it opened up to show a screen that said [Companions].

The first one on the list was Dokja, then Yoo Sangah, Lee Gilyoung, Lee Hyunsung, and lastly Yoo Jonghyuk. Their names were gray though and besides their names were two boxes. The bigger one said [Info/Status] while the smaller one said [Request],

I quickly set Gilyoung down only to have him latch onto my fingers.

'Curious.' I clicked on the [Request] besides Dokja's name and saw Dokja's eyebrows raise. He gave me a quick look before the grey box on his name turned a bright blue with the words [Request] being replaced with [Accepted]. The [Info/Status] was 'on' now too and there were also three new circles stacked on top of each other on the far end of the box. One was a picture of a mic, the middle one a messaging symbol, and the last two hands stretched towards each other.

My eyebrows raised. A trading option. Oh, I could get lucky with this.

I tapped the messaging icon, only to find no keyboard. 'Hey Dokja' I thought, not surprised to see the words appear on the 'text' box. An arrow showing [Send] appeared beside it and I pressed on it.

It took a while before he responded. {Ha-Neul, is this one of your attributes?}

{Yeah} I responded. {I got two but I can't open my attribute window so I can't see what the other one is called.}

{I see. You shouldn't go around telling people about your attributes though.}

{I know. But I trust you and I was wondering if you may have had the same problem as I did.}

{..I did.} He sent a frowny face. I looked over to see him frowning, {This attribute is pretty cool. Look's like it'll be useful.}

Almost simultaneously we went 'offline' and looked down at our phones, I started looking through the novel. Wondering how we would get through this. Even though I knew how it would end, I'm here to fuck things up and not have Dokja die so many times.

[Your reading skill has increased due to the effect of the exclusive attribute] I was surprised for a second, but suddenly I had finished reading ten chapters in less than thirty seconds.

Suddenly, I caught a line.

[He saw people gathered at the back door of the 3707 compartment. The wheel of the tightly held lighter was cold. In this life, he absolutely couldn't make any mistakes. He would use any means possible. He took in the expression of fear in everyone's faces. He felt no guilt. Everything was fleeting. He looked down at the people with merciless eyes. After a while, his fingertips moved and fire rose. Then it all started.}

Fuck.

Without checking, I already knew what carriage we were on. [3807]. No matter how friendly Yoo Jonghyuk and I had been before his current regression, I wasn't in any others. He would suspect both me and Dokja. This carriage was doomed for death.

[He looked through the blurred window at the 3807 compartment. It was already too late. It was inevitable. Anyway, only two people survived in that compartment.]

Double fuck.

Quickly, I pulled up the [Companions] window and sent a request to everyone on the list. Unsurprisingly, Gilyoung accepted first. He looked up at me and I ruffled his hair.

Yoo Sangah accepted a few seconds later, followed by Lee Hyunsung but Yoo Jonghyuk's stayed on a purple [Request Sent].

Not that I expected anything. I could teach the others how to use it later, what was more important right now, though, was getting the first kill.

"Dokja-ssi, Ha-Neul-ssi, shouldn't we stop this?" Yoo Sangah suddenly said, looking towards a young man crouching down in front of the elderly woman.

I narrowed my eyes. That motherfucker.

"Shit!" He said, pulling at his collar. "I'm in a bad mood and this old lady keeps whining and groaning! Can't you shut up?" The young man was a high school student who had previously been leaning up against the entrance. I had seen his eyes flicker towards me a couple of times while the Dokkaebi had been speaking but I had chosen to ignore him.

With his thin figure and dyed-white hair, it was obvious who he was before I even had to read the name tag on his uniform. Kim Namwoon.

[Only lee Hyunsung and Kim Namwoon survived in that compartment. It doesn't matter, those are the only ones that I need anyway.] That was what Yoo Jonghyuk had thought in the original novel.

I wonder if he thought the same thing now, perhaps he did.

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" The agitated teen grabbed the elderly women's collar, her powerless legs staggering. Kim Namwoon's palm moved through the air.

Slap! Slap!

I couldn't help but feel disappointed even though it was expected that no one would do anything. In normal times, multiple people would have come up to stop him and protect the grandma. Now, no one did a thing.

It didn't take long for the slaps to change into punches.

The old woman begged for help.

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, it was Han Myungoh (the department head), that spoke up first.

"Y-young man! Treating an elder like this-"

"Hey old man, do you have a death wish?"

"What?"

"You heard me, do you have a death wish? You still don't understand the situation?"

"What bullshit is the brat saying?"

Kim Namwoon pointed toward the ceiling of the subway train. There, a screen showed not just the deaths on the trains and High Schools but also people dying all over the country.

People cried and begged.

Others laughed sadistically or moaned in pain.

"Don't you understand? There's no way the army is coming to rescue us. Someone has to die."

"W-what are you saying...?"

"We have to choose who has to die."

Han Myungho didn't answer. The entire compartment was completely silent. Not a single breath.

I directed my burning gaze from the white-haired teen to the older woman.

Kim Namwoon had been the fastest way to survive in the new world of 'Ways of Survival.'

"A new world requires new laws old man, you heard what it said. Kill someone."

It wasn't because he was especially smart or anything. No. Kim Namwoon was a psychopath who found joy in others' misery.

He turned back to the older woman and started kicking her. "Hahh... It's really hard to kill." He looked back up to the others who had been standing motionlessly. "What, are you gonna just stand there, watching? Do you want to fall behind?"

He also had a way with words.

The others started trembling at his words, looking from one another.

"This-this bastard is right."

"Someone needs to die s-so that the o-others can live!"

A few people inched towards him and joined him in hesitantly kicking the older woman. Slowly their kicks became stronger and stronger and they even started hurling insults towards her.

"Die! Die quickly!"

I looked at the old woman then down to Lee Gilyoung who had been looking up at me for some time now. I pushed down my mask, brushed the hair off of his forehead, and leaned down to kiss him on the forehead.

"I'll be right back little darling."

I placed my bookbag down and took out a sleek black rectangular prism that was five inches tall and two inches in both width and length. It was cool to the touch but more dangerous than the seemingly 'innocent' look it had.

"Take care of this for me, all right?" Gilyoung nodded. With the fanny pack across his chest, the small blue taser in his right hand, and my bag in his left, he watched me walk away and towards the others.

I twirled the rectangular prism around in my right hand. When I was less than five feet away from the group, Kim Namwoon turned around and looked at me with a cocky smirk. My face remained neutral as I pressed a small button at the end of the prism.

In less than five seconds, the rectangular prism contorted into a needle-like shape that was well over three feet long. Its tip was dangerously sharp and its base was just thick enough to wrap my hand around. The sleek black needle wasn't heavy nor light but I felt no strain as I pointed its tip to Kim Namwoon's face.

"Everybody stop. You can't live if you kill the grandma." Kim Namwoon's face froze as he went cross-eyed looking at the tip. The others slowly looked up at me, faces paling as they saw the thorn-like weapon in my hands.

"Ok, say you kill the grandma. Then what next? Sure the grandma's death will buy some time as long as you kill her within the five-minute limit. But then what?"

"Ah..."

"If the dokkaebi told the truth, then you'll each have to kill someone. So, who will you kill after the grandmother? Who's going to be next?"

Horror slowly filled their eyes, as they listened to my word. In fact, they knew it was the truth. They knew my words were right.

Kim Namwoon saw the shaky figures of the others. He slowly backed away from me. Grinning.

"Haha! What are you saying? All we have to do is kill you next! Cowards, don't worry about your turn in advance. The odds are equal."

I let out a chuckle. He would be more believable if he wasn't backing away from me. I waved my free hand, "There's no need to kill anyone."

Immediately everyone looked up at me. "In fact, there's a way to pass this first mission without becoming a murderer."

"What?"

"Then what is it?"

Kim Namwoon scowled as the people slowly became agitated.

"Have you all forgotten?" I walked closer to the grandma and motioned for the others to come towards me. Once all three of them had arrived, I took the bag from Gilyoung and took out the box of crickets. I grabbed one and held it out for the others to see.

"The condition for the scenario isn't 'Kill A Person.'" That was when people noticed the condition properly.

[Kill one or more living things]

Kill one or more living things. Even if I had never read the novels, I thought that at least I would've been able to read the clear condition properly. Killing a 'person' had never been specified.

"I-I-insect!"

"G-give me an insect!"

I slowly applied pressure on the cricket.

"That's right, the insects." I slowly stepped back as the shining eyes of the others became closer and closer with every step they took towards me. The only ones who stayed in their places were Kim Dokja, Yoo Sangah, Lee Gilyoung (who Yoo Sangah had dragged to stand beside her, I was thankful), and Kim Namwoon who was silently fuming.

"Do you want them?" I waved the clear box of crickets in the air, my heart beating heavily and a smile threatening to break out. I was excited.

"P-please give me one!"

"Only one! I only need one!"

I crushed the cricket in my hand.

[You have achieved the 'First Kill' achievement]

[100 coins have been earned as additional compensation]

I threw the box in my hand as far away as I could. It landed on the other side of the compartment, as far away from the grandma and my little group as possible.

"Then go get them."

The crickets jumped out immediately as soon as they were given their freedom. A few even jumped towards us and both Kim Dokja and Yoo Sangah were given a chance to grab a cricket and crush it.

I looked down at Gilyoung. Who had already moved to my side, and noticed him looking at the hand full of insect guts in mild disgust. I chuckled before handing a baby wipe, from my bag to him and the others. I looked up at the mess I had created.

I felt an almost sadistic-like thrill crawl up my spine as I let out an unrestrained grin.

How amusing.

(2199)

#ORV #OMNISCIENT READER'S VIEWPOINT #FANFICTION #OC #ORVSPOILERS #YOO JONGHYUK #KIM DOKJA #YOO JONGHYUK X OC #KIM DOKJA X OC #SLOWBURN-ISH #MUTUAL PINING #FRIENDS TO LOVERS #KOREAN WAS GOOGLE TRANSLATED #KOREANWEBTOONBASED #KOREANLIGHTNOVELBASED

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