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artiststarme · 11 months

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Another Bad Day

Based on a prompt given by @mysticcrownshipper. I'm sorry it took so long but I hope you like it! Please leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~

Steve was content. He didn’t want to jinx himself but he was pretty happy. He had his friends, he was dating Eddie, and his brother was back in his life with his super cool boyfriend too. What wasn’t he to like about that?

It was just another evening at the Harrington house and he was relaxing on one end of the couch while Phil and Dio were at the other end. They were cuddling and playing footsie together like Steve would've been with Eddie had he invited him over. But subjecting Eddie to the mustachioed protectiveness of his older brother sounded less like a relaxing movie night and more like inviting a lamb into a lion’s den. Guaranteed homicide.

He didn’t know how Dio convinced him and Phil to watch Halloween again but they were both terrified at the events happening on-screen, jumping at every scary moment. Steve was not a fan of scary movies, especially having lived through a horror series himself. As such, he was gripping a pillow tight and squeezing his eyes shut through every jumpscare. No way was he getting another heart attack, no thank you.

At a particularly scary scene that he could sense even with his eyes squeezed tight, Steve jumped and let out a scream of shock. To his further surprise and horror, he heard a gasp come from the hallway behind him. This only prompted him to scream more and plunge his head underneath his blanket as if that would protect him from whatever dangerous home invader was creeping behind him.

“Son of a biscuit,” he heard Phil curse as he stumbled to turn on the lights. With a few more grunts and bumps, the lights flickered on and Steve slowly poked his head out of the safety of the blanket.

When the lights came on however, he saw something much more frightening than any home invader or murderer. Instead, he saw their parents. Martha Harrington was literally clutching her pearls as she stood glaring at them all in distaste and Richard Harrington was fuming behind her where he held their luggage. Poor Dio paused the movie and stood in the center of the living room looking the most out of place as he’d ever been.

“Steven, I see you continue to disappoint us. Not only are you lounging around like a child but you’re also keeping distasteful company.” Martha scowled at him with her eyes narrowed in disgust.

He shrunk at her words and looked away. His parents always knew how to bring him down and ruin his night. It was disappointing but oddly comforting in its continuity.

“See your guests out and make sure they don’t come back. You’re enough of a disappointment as it is, we don’t need them further tarnishing your reputation. And ours,” His dad sneered at him.

“You fucking dick! You don’t get to talk to him like that. You and mom haven’t been home in ten goddamn months and you think you have the right to tell Steve who he can and can’t hang out with? Fuck you.” Phil hissed at them both, his face red with fury and his mustache twitching with barely contained rage.

Richard’s face reddened to match and he shoved an accusing finger right in Phil’s face. “You shouldn’t even be here! We washed our hands of you years ago and yet you still come around to harass us. How pathetic are you?”

Phil flinched back but quickly regained his composure. “Oh, you think I’m pathetic? You’re the one that kicked me out for ‘being a bad influence on Steve’ when I joined the police force. Now you’re screwing your secretary and dragging mom all around the country for supposed business trips. Who’s really the pathetic one, Dick?”

Richard raised his hand to swing at Phil but his wrist was grabbed by a silently fuming Dio. “Don’t touch him or I will sever every one of your fingers and feed them to you. Back away.”

“Who the hell even are you? What are you doing in my house?” Steve’s dad turned his anger to Dio instead but he was only met with an unimpressed look in response.

“Trying to watch a fucking movie, Dick.”

Steve’s mom spoke up then and moved a hand to Richard’s shoulder to hold him back. “Phil, you are no longer my son or a part of this family. That means that you can’t come into our house and you can’t associate with Steven.”

“Fuck you, Martha! You want to accuse us of being disappointments and bad sons and whatever the fuck else you say but it’s really you two that are the disappointments. You’re bad fucking parents and I hope you rot in hell.” With that, Phil grabs his jacket and storms outside. It’s all too reminiscent of the first time he left, years prior, when it was followed by a loatheful silence between the brothers. It left Steve feeling unmoored, frazzled in a way he couldn’t remember ever feeling.

There’s silence in the living room for a moment where his parents, Dio, and Steve stand around looking at each other before Richard sighs and glares at him.

“Look what you’ve done, Steven. Your mother and I are exhausted after our trip and we had to come home to this ludicracy. Ridiculous.”

“Yeah alright. Steve, come with me. You can stay with us for a while instead of staying here with these assholes. Go pack a bag and we’ll get going,” Dio told him, softly pushing at his shoulder.

“Excuse me-” His mother tried to protest.

“You’re excused. Go ahead, Steve.”

~*~*~*~

Steve spends the night at Phil’s and Dio’s, sleeping in the guest room and ignoring the woeful glances Phil sent to him. He had no interest in rehashing anything with his brother and a strong urge to ignore everything that had happened in order to move on.

When an acceptable hour in the morning came, Steve got himself dressed and left the house. He was off of work that day but his plans of sleeping in were thwarted. He couldn’t believe that his parents had come home after so long without any notice or that they’d obliterated Phil right in front of him again like the first time hadn’t been enough. Most of all though, he was surprised that Phil and Dio had stuck up for him. No one had ever defended him from his parents before and Steve really didn’t know how to handle that.

He continued about his day as if his parents’ return hadn’t shaken him to his core. He returned a few tapes to Family Video, hit the grocery store to pick up some snacks, and went to Melvald’s to get his migraine prescription. Steve ignored how every loud noise made him flinch and how every person in his peripheral vision appeared to be his dad seeking him out for revenge.

Eventually, he decided to stop pretending to be a functioning member of society and to seek out the comfort of his friends instead. He went from the Melvald’s parking lot directly to the Wheeler’s basement where nearly everyone was already congregated.

“Oh-ho-ho Steve, nice of you to join us. We’ve been calling your house all day, dude. Where have you been?” Eddie asked him haughtily as soon as he came in.

“I was running some errands. Here’s some snacks for you guys,” Steve said, dumping all of the chips and candy out on the coffee table. He plopped himself to the floor at the foot of one of the arm chairs and watched his friends attack the offerings like a kettle of vultures.

“Thank god you’re rich, Steve. We were starving,” Lucas told him and patted his knee.

“You mean thank god for his rich parents. They probably gave him an allowance and he wasted it on food. Loser move, Steve,” Mike sneered at him.

"Hey, Steve isn't a loser! He just doesn't apply himself," Dustin weakly defended.

Steve just looked at them all as they laughed at him trying to do a nice thing. Nothing he ever did was enough for anyone. He would always be a disappointment to his parents, a burden for his brother, and a loser to the group of friends that meant everything to him. What was the point in even trying anymore?

He didn’t realize it but sometime during his thought process, his breaths had become labored. His chest was tight and his face was turning red from lack of air.

“Steve? Steve, are you having a panic attack? Everything is okay, you just have to breathe,” Eddie spoke to him gently before turning to the kids. “Look what you guys did! You should know not to talk about his parents, dipshits! Call Officer Callahan or Hopper, shit, call Robin. Just do something other than gawking at him!”

Steve couldn’t breathe. The panic was clawing at his throat and it felt like he was back in the lake being dragged into Hell by the demon tentacles. Then not only was he obsessing over his parents in town and what the Party thought of him but he was also agonizing over the phantom pain in his sides and the suffocating pain around his neck.

“Steve, stop clawing at your neck, that’ll make it worse. Calm down, wherever your mind went, you’re not there. You’re with me, Eddie, in the Wheeler’s basement. Don’t you smell the stank of dirty socks and Mike? Come back to me.”

“That’s uncalled for-”

“Wheeler, shut the hell up before I make you. Stevie, you’re okay.”

Steve doesn’t know how long he was in his state of panic stuck in his head but he started coming out of it when he heard his brother’s frazzled voice.

“Steve?! Steve, where are you? Where is he, where’s my brother?” He could literally hear the emotions in his voice and picked his head up a little bit to look for him.

“Steve! Hey, it-it’s Phil. I don’t know why you’re panicking but if any of these bitchasses did anything, I will arrest them and give them a juvenile record. Just say the word, little bro. You’re okay,” he comforted in the only way he knew how (threatening children).

With enough of his… unconventional words of comfort, Steve was able to pull himself from the throes of panic and slump ungracefully into his arms. Everyone present fell back on their haunches and let out a sigh of relief. Eddie pulled one of Steve’s hands onto his own lap whether to offer his own comfort or be comforted from the no-doubt horrific sight of Steve choking on air.

They’d have to talk about what triggered him to have a panic attack eventually, probably after Phil lectured them and Robin got off of work to rip them a new one once she heard what happened. But they would discuss it and how ungrateful the kids had been to have snacks delivered at their feet precisely when they wanted them. But for now, Steve would hold hands with Eddie and lay his head against his brother’s chest in the longest, yet least awkward, hug they’d ever had.

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#Dio hears about this later and glares at the kids for weeks #He and Phil conspire with El for her to use her powers for pranks against the kids #Robin does in fact scream at them and kidnaps Steve for a sleepover to recover #stranger things #steddie #fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #lucas sinclair #mike wheeler #Dio is Phil's boyfriend based on Pedro Pascal as Dio (brought to you by mysticcrownshipper)#Phil and Steve have bi brother solidarity (because of pyrohonk)

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luxlightly · 1 year

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Another Bob's Burgers episode idea. Bob gets an unexpected call from Mr. Fischoeder's lawyer who has to reassure him that Mr.Fischoeder has not decided to finally take legal action against all their late and unpaid rent payments, but in fact, is DEAD! And left Bob something in the will.

They get to the reading of the will, where Felix is excitedly awaiting inheriting Calvin's money and clearly trying to pretend he's not at all emotionally affected by his brother's death. Bob ends up being left something small and silly like an old spatula while and requested to cater the funeral in one week's time, to everyone's enormous surprise, the wharf, his estate, and all his real estate properties, are all left to LOUISE.

Louise takes her new role as landlord of half the town very seriously. At first she's just excited about all the money, but as she is introduced to more of the business side of things, she discovers just how inefficient Fischoeder's business practices have been. So many of his rental properties go to businesses that quickly fail or never really earn him back much money. And the Wharf itself often barely breaks even.

She becomes obsessed with fixing these losses and maximizing efficiency, becoming paranoid about any lost profit. Meanwhile tensions rise between her and Bob as she makes a big show of never letting him pay for anything and nit picking him about the restaurant's efficiency. She also makes plans to essentially gentrify the neighborhood with chain stores and restaurants, all while becoming more overwhelmed by the idea of perfecting her earnings.

Things come to a head at the funeral when she breaks the news to Bob that she won't be renewing his lease and they get in a shouting match.

Bob accuses Louise of blaming him for the fact that the family is poor. That she thinks it's his fault for being a bad businessman.

"No! Don't you get it? It's not your fault! It's mine!"

"…What? Louise, what are you talking about?"

"I'm not stupid, dad! I know kids cost a lot and I know you didn't plan to have me. Mom always tells that story about how you just kept screaming when you found out she was pregnant with me. If it wasn't for me, you'd have the money to pay the rent on time and you'd be able to do stuff like go on vacations and have nicer things."

"That's what this is about? Is that why you're always doing all those crazy money making schemes? Because you think you owe me and your mother for being expensive?"

"Well…yeah. I guess."

"Louise, if I cared about stuff like having a steady income or a lot of money, I would work as a line cook somewhere, or at a desk job. But I don't. I have the restaurant because it makes me happy. And nothing makes me happier than you kids. I wouldn't trade you for all the money in the world, Louise. Yes, it's true I was worried about money when I found out we were having another kid but that doesn't mean I didn't want you or that you're responsible for our money problems and I'm sorry I ever made you feel that way."

"But, doesn't it bother you to have to worry all the time about money?"

"Sure, but if I just worried about what would make the most money, the restaurant would be like any other boring chain restaurant. I'd rather it be unique and my own than be the most profitable it could be. I think that's how Mr.Fishoeder felt, too. He didn't care about having tenants with the most efficient businesses. He cared about having unique and interesting places run by unique and interesting people. And…I think maybe that's why he left them all to you."

"Huh?"

"Well, you're a unique and interesting person for sure. And you love the Wharf more than anyone. I think maybe Fischoeder felt like you were the most likely to keep the Wharf and the town as weird and one of a kind as he liked it."

"And then I almost ruined it. I almost threw away everything that makes the town great. Thank you, dad. I guess maybe I can renew your lease after all."

"Thanks, Louise."

"But it'll have to be month to month."

"Hm."

"And I'll have to raise your rent."

"Louise."

"Ahh! Just kidding!"

Then, just before the service begins, Felix finally breaks down and tearfully admits he's devastated by his brother's death and tells his coffin that it was him who farted two weeks ago and blamed it on their butler. At which point Calvin pops up out of the closed coffin yelling "I knew it!" and reveals the whole thing was a hoax to get his brother to admit his guilt.

Louise talks to Fishoeder afterwards.

"I guess we should have known it was a hoax, since you left everything to a kid."

"Oh no, that was my real will. You think I'm going to write a whole 'nother will just to prank my brother? That would be ridiculous!"

"Wait so I really will get the Wharf and stuff when you die?"

"If they haven't figured out how to put my brain into a robot body at that point, yes."

"But why?"

"You remind me of myself, Louise Belcher. Always up to some scheme. Always looking for an angle. And you're the only person I've ever met who has been able to beat me at my own game on multiple occasions. You won my Wheelie Mammoth. You ran a brief but profitable underground casino. You keep my on my toes. And that's the exact kind of person I want running this show when I'm gone."

"But I almost ruined it! I almost made the whole town into a bland, boring, profit machine!"

"So did I! Back when my father first left this all to me. And several times after that. But then people like your family remind me why I take chances on wild dreamers like your father. All the money in the world can't buy people like your family. Believe me, I've tried. So, unless there's some major advancements in robotics technology in the next few decades, I'll die reassured that the place is in good hands."

"It's a bet, then!"

#long post #bob's burgers

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jellyfishright · 10 months

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At A Distance, Spring Is Green -BL Version (Yeo Jun x Nam Soo Hyun):Chapter 5 :Can you please like me?

A/N. This chapter has abuse themes and the mention of suicide, as seen in the episode.

Yeo Jun was relieved when the dinner ended. His aunt and uncle left first.

"Let's go back." Jun-Wan told him.

Yeo Jun nodded.

Their mother was sitting in the drawing room.

"We should get going. I have other plans." Jun Wan told her.

"Already?" his mother asked.

"Let's go." Jun Wan said to his younger brother.

Their mother's eyes fell on Yeo Jun. "Why don't you stay a little longer Jun? It's been a while since you came."

"Come on." Jun-Wan instructed Jun

Yeo Jun turned to his older brother. "You go ahead."

"Yes." their mother agreed. "Go ahead Jun-Wan. You said you had other plans."

"Go ahead." Yeo Jun encouraged. "Mother must have missed me."

Jun-Wan looked at his little brother with those emotionless eyes. "Come out when I call you."

As soon as Jun-Wan left, Yeo Jun could hear footsteps rapidly approaching. Before he could fully process what was happening, he was smacked hard across the face.

"Are you smiling?" his father asked. He gripped Jun by the chin. "Is this funny to you? You were laughing and bragging about your school weren't you? How dare you mention that trashy school during dinner?" his father sounded.

His mother spoke up from where she stood. "Jun-Wan is going to pick him up soon."

His father pointed an accusatory finger at this mother. "You're the problem! Why did you call this useless brat to have dinner? Are you out of your mind?" he bellowed.

Yeo Jun's eyes watered. "Please stop father.It's all my fault."

"Shut your mouth." his father grabbed him by the collar, preparing for another attack. Yeo Jun flinched. "Get this brat out of my sight. Understand?" He threw his hand from his son with a disgusted look. "Arrogant brat." he spat before leaving.

"I'll get going then mother." Yeo Jun said, his voice barely a whisper.

His mother tenderly touched the side of his face his father had hit.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, her eyes blank as she looked at him.

"I'm fine. It doesn't hurt."

"Of course it does." she was still touching his face. "Gosh. You poor thing."

Jun slowly raised his head to look at his mother. "No. It's my fault. I shouldn't have interfered."

"No--" his mother interjected. "It's all on me.It's my fault for thinking you'll behave yourself today."

"No.." Yeo Jun's voice was low

"It's my fault for giving birth to you in the first place." His mother said

Yeo Jun's eyes became glassy with tears."What?"

"I did my best with you.Look at your brother.I gave birth to you both .So why can't you be as good as Jun-Wan?"

Yeo Jun felt the lump in his throat and he desperately tried to fight the tears he'd not shed until now. "I know." he conceded. "I'm trying my best."

His mother nodded and gently patted his head "Atleast you're good at listening to me."

"Yes.." the teary-eyed Yeo Jun replied.

"But are you really listening to what I'm saying?" she asked. In one swift, sudden motion she tugged at Yeo Jun's head.The black wig he'd worn to cover his undyed blonde hair came off in her hand.

"Mother.." he was about to defend himself.

"This is why I hate you." His mother's eyes were truly hateful. "I told you to dye your hair black didn't I?"

"I didn't have enough time to.."

"Stop making excuses!" his mother screamed "You're always like that!" she grabbed her phone "I'll call the barbershop! Go get your hair dyed now."

"Okay." Yeo Jun replied.

She spun to face him with those hateful eyes. "Even though you're saying 'okay' I know you're thinking about fooling us on the inside." she accused

"No.Of course not."

"Since you don't live with us anymore I wonder how many more times you're going to fool me."

"I promise I'll go. Which Barbershop is it?" he was desperate for her to believe him "I'll go right away and get my hair dyed."

"Shut your mouth."

"I'll go. I swear."

"Deceiving people while wearing that fake smile is your specialty." his mother sneered. "You think I don't know you?"

Yeo Jun's phone began to buzz. Retrieving it, he saw his brother's name.

"Hey. I'll head out now." he answered the call.

"Don't make it seem obvious that you got slapped.Got it?" His mother warned.

"Yes mother." Yeo Jun looked at the back of the one who had turned away from him. "Mother, please believe me.I just turned 20.Please have a little faith in me."

"Go.Jun-Wan is waiting for you" Was the only response he received.

Yeo Jun dried his tears and walked back to the car.

"Did something happen?" Jun-Wan asked .Yeo Jun shook his head, careful to angle his face in a way that hid the redness of his cheek."You have no family."

"Pull over." Yeo Jun told him.Jun Wan ignored him. That made him angry. "Pull over dammit!" he screamed. He didn't care that they were nowhere near their destination. He just needed to get away from him.

His brother complied.

"Thanks for the lift and for the advice." Jun Wan didn't speak "But moreover,thanks for reminding me that you're a psychopath ."

After Jun-Wan left, Yeo Jun walked around a bit until he found himself in town. There was a hair salon across the street.

For the longest time he stood there looking at it while the bitter words from those he called family bounced around in his head

No one in that house misses you or wants you there. You have no family.

This is why I hate you.

Deceiving people while wearing that fake smile is your specialty.

Retrieving his phone he dialled the first number he saw.

"Hey. It's me.Are you free right now?Let's call the others for a drink.I'm buying."

A few hours and many drinks later, Yeo Jun was still not numb to the pain he was feeling inside.

He was now in the company of four people from school. They weren't exactly his friends but no one ever said no when he invited them anywhere---except that one guy.

Yeo Jun frowned as that uninterested face flitted before his eyes.

"Let me pour you a glass." he wobbly stood to his feet and poured a new round of drinks. "Are your glasses filled? Of course! There is no tomorrow, only a blinding today.Cheers!"

Those glasses clinked and he knocked the contents back in one go.

Yeo Jun drank until he lost count. His head spun but more than that, his heart ached.Closing his eyes, he rested his head on the table.

"He's gone."

"He's out of it."

He could hear his colleagues' comments.

"Hey Jun." someone tapped him on the shoulder "You need to pay for the drinks."

He didn't respond.

"He dragged us here saying he'd buy." someone else complained.

"He already picked up the tab." another drinker pointed out "This is Jun we're talking about."

"He proved his worth once again."

"Once again." someone agreed with a chuckle.

"Life must be so easy for him. He's handsome, popular and rich. What could possibly worry him?"

"He should be scolded for having any worries."

"Could not worrying make life boring though?"

"Guys, let's drink to that!"

Cheers!

More glasses clinked.

That's right. What could possibly worry a guy like him that had it all? Yeo Jun closed his eyes, wishing it would all end. Wishing it would all just go away.

Nam Soo Hyun sat at the register, making a list of his expenses.

Academy Fee

Rent

Phone Bill

It still wasn't adding up. It still wasn't enough.

Frustrated, he scribbled over the whole thing.

Just then, his phone rang.

He didn't have this number saved.

"Hello?"

[Soo Hyun] A voice drawled his name.

"Who is this?"

[It's me]

Soo Hyun was silent as he finally placed the voice.

[You know who I am. You know everything.]

"Are you drunk?"

[Yes but I want to drink some more...with you]

"Why would I drink with you?"

[Please don't say no.] Yeo Jun's voice broke [If you do,I'm going to kill myself.]

That string of words stirred something within Soo Hyun.

"Where are you?" he asked.

Yeo Jun sniffled [I'm at the Park].

Soo Hyun looked at his watch.He still had an hour left before he could leave.This thought produced an anxious knot inside. What could he do?

He listened to Yeo Jun as he cried on the other end of the line.

"Where exactly are you?" he asked

Through his tears, Yeo Jun managed to give his location.

"Stay there." Soo Hyun instructed.

He looked at his watch again.

After hanging up with Yeo Jun he called Kim So-Bin. He gave her a brief overview and Yeo Jun's location.

"Stay with him until I get there."

Soo Hyun frowned.

He hoped So-Bin made it in time.

He hoped that guy didn't do anything stupid.

And why had he called him?

But more than that, why was he bothered? Outside of his family he had never cared about or intervened in the affairs of others.

Yeo Jun on the other hand was pulling him into his business at every turn.

"It's a beautiful night to die." Yeo Jun thought to himself as he balanced on the rope that cordoned off the lake. Not too far away there was a bridge. It would be a simple climb. A simple leap and then all this pain would finally end.

He was gazing at that bridge in the distance, surprisingly maintaining his balance on that little rope that felt like the line between life and death.

"Yeo Jun." someone called out to him.

He lifted his head to see Kim So-Bin.

"How did you know I would be here?"

"Nam Soo Hyun called me."

Jun gave a wry laugh. "You guys must be close.Except me.." this feeling in his chest was too bitter.

"Are you okay? How much did you drink?"

"Not much. I can drink more. Let's go drink more." He finally lost his balance and crashed into her arms.

"What's wrong? Pull yourself together." So-Bin tried to rouse him as he rested his head on her shoulder.

"Give him to me."

So-Bin was glad to see Soo Hyun.

"You made it."

"Is he asleep?" Soo Hyun asked.

So-Bin complied and positioned Jun for Soo Hyun to carry him on his back.

"Do you know where he lives?" Soo Hyun asked.

"I don't but I think Hye-Ji knows."

10 minutes later the trio arrived at Jun's apartment complex--Youth Villa, even its name sounded posh.

"This seems to be the place." So-Bin looked at the building.

Brrrrr

Soo-Hyun stopped in his tracks as he felt something warm on his shoulder.

"Oh no." So-Bin exclaimed when she saw the puke on Soo Hyun's shoulder.

Immediately following the warmth, was the smell. Soo Hyun sighed and hung his head. "Unbelievable." This guy was always trouble.

There was more trouble to be had since when they got to the apartment, Yeo Jun was out cold and they didn't know the password.

"Jun." So-Bin shook his shoulders "What's the code for your door?" No response.

Soo Hyun frowned

"I've done enough." he began to set Yeo Jun down.

Just then So-Bin realized something.

"Wait. It's a biometric lock.Could you bend down a little?"

Soo Hyun's frustration was mounting still he complied.It wasn't easy to manage his own weight plus Jun who was practically deadweight at this point.

With some difficulty, he squatted while So-Bin tried to pry Jun's fingers open to access the door. There was a part of him that rued leaving his shift early to come but there was no way he could have done otherwise.

An unfamiliar feeling had gripped him the moment he'd heard Yeo Jun's voice on the phone crying and saying those words.It was something he couldn't have ignored.

Soo Hyun haphazardly casted Yeo Jun on his bed the minute they were inside.

"You must be exhausted" So-Bin looked at him trying to catch his breath. She looked at his jacket and made a face. "Ahh your jacket." He had forgotten about that. "Take it off. I'll wash it for you."

"Why should you?"

"You're right."

"I've probably earned the right to use the bathroom though." he stood to his feet and went in search of it.

He cast a look at Yeo Jun, sprawled out on his back and left.

Finding the bathroom, he peeled his jacket off and began to wash away the filthy patch on his shoulder.

When he was finished, he looked around Yeo Jun's bathroom. It was twice as big as the one he had.Everything was shiny, polished, new and in their place. Unlike his that had things piled in buckets or on top of each other just to make room.

That itch in his heart was back and he didn't like it.

Soo Hyun sighed deeply.

Get a grip.

So-Bin was in the kitchen, pouring water.

"Doesn't something seem to be up with him?" she questioned. "I really think something is up."

Soo Hyun knew she was right. Still he said "Your mind is running off to places."

"Yours doesn't though."

"Because I don't care about others."

"As if." she rolled her eyes. "After you got his call you sent me looking for him.Then you came by and carried him home to his house.I call that caring."

Soo Hyun looked at Jun, then at So-Bin.

"I talk alot don't I?"

"I just didn't want his last call to have been to me." Soo Hyun stated. "That's why I called you." He paused. "I followed you there though." he admitted. "Because I didn't want to put you out more than what was necessary."

"Right." she agreed. "If you hadn't shown up,we would have stayed there all night."

"Anyway, you did good."

So-Bin smiled. "It's getting late.One of us should probably stay with him tonight."

Soo Hyun looked at her "Why?"

"In case he wakes up and tries to do something crazy."

He thought about it.Of the two, he would be the better option.

"I'll stay." he volunteered. "But--"

"Hmm?"

"I'll just watch over him and leave before he wakes up." He looked at her "I'd rather you not tell Jun about this. Don't tell him I came or that I stayed."

"Why not?"

"I just don't want him to be clingy in the name of thanking me." Soo Hyun explained.

So-Bin nodded. "Jun's like that isn't he?" Soo Hyun didn't need to confirm. "Your secret is safe with me."

With this agreement in place, So-Bin left.

There were no shortages of places for Soo Hyun to sit in this luxurious space and once again he was reminded of the stark differences between his and Yeo Jun's lives.

Unlike him who had to constantly crunch numbers and scrape every dollar. Unlike him, who had to watch how much he spent on food and keep the reigns tight, Yeo Jun could do whatever he wanted and then some.

He was ensnared by these thoughts when he heard Yeo Jun's voice from the bedroom.

"No.No. No..Please. Stop."

Soo Hyun sprang to his feet and ran to the bedroom.

Yeo Jun's eyes were clenched shut as he thrashed about.

"Jun." he shook his shoulder. "Jun."

With a big gasp of air Yeo Jun sat up in bed and clung to Soo Hyun, grabbing handfuls of his shirt.

Soo Hyun stiffened in the midst of this desperate embrace.

"Please...please.." Yeo Jun sobbed in Soo Hyun's chest.

"Shh shhh shh." Soo Hyun found himself raising his hand to gently stroke Yeo Jun's hair as he allowed him to hug him.

Soo Hyun held Yeo Jun for a while until he calmed down.

When he broke their embrace, Yeo Jun looked at him with puffy eyes.

"Soo Hyun." He paused, new tears streaked down his face "Can you please like me?" Soo Hyun was stunned. There was something about the way he asked the question. It wasn't like his usual encounters with that bravado and pretense. There was sincerity in his broken voice. "Why won't you answer? Do you not like me?" He hung his head " So you hate me too" His voice broke again "You hate me too."

Soo Hyun blinked. He didn't hate him. He never had.

"I don't hate you." Soo Hyun replied, his voice barely a whisper.

That whisper was enough to reach Yeo Jun's ears.

With those tear-filled eyes he looked at Soo Hyun as he gently raised his hand to his cheek.

Soo Hyun froze. He could only watch as Yeo Jun eased himself up, closing the gap between them until his lips were on his own.

His eyes were as wide as saucers, his lips unmoving as Yeo Jun's lips blanketed and caressed his own.

In the next instant, Jun smiled drunkenly at him before slumping on his chest.

Soo Hyun looked at Yeo Jun and his hand subconsciously went to his lips.

What was that?

This chapter deviates slightly from the series since we're developing the relationship between Soo Hyun and Yeo Jun xD (sorry So-Bin lol)

#boy love #bl series #fiction #fanfiction #yeo jun x nam soo hyun #yeo jun #nam soo hyun #nam soohyun x Yeo Jun #at a distance spring is green

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tiqalicious · 1 year

Text

The Teachings of Erebus Gold

An introduction and thoughts on the turning

Wake up, you poor delinquent, we have so much to discuss. My friends inform me that they found you hiding in some old abandoned hovel, with that reeking stench of ignorance one all too often finds these days, as a newborn crimson baebe is thrown out amongst the sharks and left to fend entirely for themselves. I find the whole thing utterly repugnant, so forgive me as I make it my business to elucidate. It's time for us to speak of what is to come.

The end, the beginning, the gift, the curse, the sweetest kiss, the darkest rose, the midnight embrace, the awakening, the reclamation, the elevation, the turning. There have been so many different names given for that moment that creates us, and no doubt in the future there will come so many more, but no matter the nomenclature one thing will always remain true, the you that you remember is gone and there's no coming back.

You're dead now, or that is to say undead as so many of our kind prefer. Your life was taken, perhaps stolen from you in some disgusting alley, or punishment for the mea culpa that was your pathetic mortal existence, or if one is very lucky it may well have been a perquisite… the almighty honour at the end of a grand, elaborate ceremony for a life so well lived that the only truly fitting prize was the sweet lips of immortality pressed against your own. After all, what is life but a party that must one day, inevitably end? Yet here we stand, enveloped in the thrumming, heaving darkness of the unlawful afterwards, an endless midnight rave of unceasing ever after, all at once the sweetest and most bitter taste you'll ever come to know.

Now you may well wish for nothing more in these first, fleeting moments than to raise your head up to the sky and loudly proclaim your objections, but know that you are not the first to gaze into that great abyss and find nothing on your lips but the screams and tears of sorrow. So many of those that came before you have made the huge mistake of thinking they may simply slink back to the comforts of the familiar, covering themselves in the torn scraps of a broken, discarded cocoon. If nothing else I say tonight should come to rest between your ears, know that you simply cannot cling to that which you once were.

Your family and friends begin to waste away before your eyes, but unlikely as it always seems to you newborn crimson baebes, there are so many things out there far worse than the particular sorrow one feels, when watching all that they hold dear begin to wither and die. The first of these is the slow, creeping, crawling death of ignorance, as one finds themselves besieged by the sort of sinister revelations that can only come to those who hath awoken from the great dream. All mortal sins will be laid bare before your new undead senses, all skeletons exhumed, all doors and windows flung open, all masks shattered, all lies revealed and sooner or later one inevitably finds oneself enveloped in a nest of their own making, built of nothing but sorrow, regret and rage, and all for the price of a cacophony of relentless, prying questions and venomous accusations that begin to spill from their quivering, dishonest lips, well before they've even come to notice the most egregious of our tells, that you have simply ceased to age. No… far better to treat the entire lot like nothing but an old, scorned lover and be done with it all, as it may well look to you like something so beautiful from afar, but I assure you they do not and simply cannot love you as they once did, for you have completely ceased to be the person they once knew so well… so move on.

The mortal world may call us monsters as they judge our place on this great stage, but I promise you we are naught but a different form of life, and theres nothing like undeath to reveal to you those darkest secrets, that true and honest monsters come in so many shapes and sizes, and you shall see as they carry that wickedness deep within their core. Every jealous glance, every furrowed brow, every glare, every smirk, every false smile... all of it shall shine to you like a beacon in the dark and only then shall you understand what true evil really is, when every word that spills from a monsters lips is false and rotten, and every deed they commit is a sin against the world itself. Amidst all that, the thirst for blood could never seem so bad.

Forgive me little one, but in my haste to debrief you I fear I have until now, completely lost my senses. I sincerely hope our sudden meeting leaves no bitter taste upon your tongue, so please allow me my amends with a proper introduction… as one should always make the time to find, in order to ensure the very best of first impressions.

My name is Erebus Gold, and I offer you only that which one could call the most important gift of all… the sincere promise of a true and honest friend. Our illustrious midnight society has taken a rather bitter turn as of late, and more and more I find myself drawn to the calling of the nomad shepard, left to tend to those forgotten so hastily, and abandoned in our wake. Forr if I do not answer this terrible call, then who else possibly would?

Before we move on to the rest of this sordid state of affairs, I feel it best to make it clear that this life is not for all. Too many have stood where you stand now, only to come to loathe this endless, bleak existence, and too many still have allowed it to make a horror of them. Should you find that after all my ramblings, that the only thing you crave is the sweet release of oblivion, then I promise you I shall take the responsibility to do the deed myself, and make it as swift and painless as I possibly can, for an honourable end is, at the very least something I have to offer… but I beg you to stay a while as my very honoured guest, and hear everything I have to say before you make that decision. I know it may well seem as if all of this is naught but another heap of shit loaded on the great, stinking pile, but it must be said that life itself is never really fair, and at least this time you may well find yourself truly powerful enough to do something about it.

We shall talk more before our sleep, but for now, we need but hold off that great oblivion for another night, for now we feed.

#Vampire #horror #world building

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k3rm1e · 3 years

Note

I just had this idea, what if Ranboo and reader are besties. However, since Tommy is jealous jelousinnit of Ranboo for “stealing” Tubbo, he “steals” reader in turn and they too become platonically married.

Maybe after Ranboo and Tubbo learn of the Tommy and reader’s marriage, Ranboo and Tommy are now “competing” for time with Tubbo and reader. Meanwhile reader and Tubbo are just laughing watching this play out? <3

-♠️

jealousinnit

-♠️

dvwefnowef i love this idea! i hope i did it justice <3

cw:cursing

tommy vs ranboo:

“hello tubbo! tubbo. tubzo.” tommy yelled again and again, trying to get tubbo’s attention.

tommy continued continued yelling his name for a response. pitying the poor boy, you responded “hi tommy.”

“oh. hello.” tommy made his minecraft character walk over to you. “what is tubbo doing?”

“uh, he’s arguing with ranboo? about something somewhat important, i presume.”

“lore married, those two are. strange, innit?” tommy turned his character to look more directly at yours. the eyebrows on the character made him look intimidating, especially with the way he stared at you.

“yeah. yes. strange. lore married.” the conversation had ended from there, with an awkward silence. after a while tubbo and ranboo had finally stopped fighting.

it had been a few days since your interaction with tommy. everything had been pretty normal, just hanging out with ranboo and tubbo. helping oversee the building of the mansion. that was, until tommy came and talked to you.

“uh, hello tommy.”

“hey. i’m live right now. what are you doing?”

“uh, nothing really. mainly have been overseeing the build of ranboo and tubbo’s mansion.”

“close, the two of you are?”

“yep. i know him irl so i would say, yeah, we’re pretty close.” this was where you started to get a bit questioning. sure, you had spoken to tommy before, but you two weren’t necessarily close.

“hey, y’know what i think.” he turned his character to stare at you.

“no, what do you think tommy?”

“let’s be friends.”

tommy proceeded to drag you around the server, getting to know you better. you two had run around quite a bit, and ended up near the badlands. tommy, of course, decided to bring you into his mischief.

“ok, when bad joins vc, after i say hello you have to say ‘say FUCK badboyhalo’ to him.”

“doesn’t bad always yell language at everyone? shouldn’t i probably not do that?” you had just recently gotten added to the server and even doing certain things for bits made you nervous.

“you’ll be fine. now get ready.” once bad joined the vc, tommy yelled “HELLO BADBOYHALO.”

“well, hello to the two of you. how are you both doing?”

without taking the time to answer you yelled, “BADBOYHALO SAY FUCK!”

tommy immediately began laughing. bad’s character was running around and you could hear him stuttering until finally shouting “LANGUAGE!”

“oh come on, bbh. it just adds more impacts to what you’re saying. imagine you were saying ‘i hate that muffinhead skeppy so much’. isn’t it much more impactful when you say ‘i hate that BITCH skeppy so FUCKING much!’?” even though you couldn’t see his facecam, you could tell how much he was smirking.

“LANGUAGE TOMMY!” bad was screaming and from his voice he seemed to be fuming.

catching onto what tommy was planning, you started for him, “seriously bad, what do you have against saying a few curse words? FUCK, SHIT, BITCH, ASS, PUSSY.” you and tommy both began screaming curse words at bad until you heard him scream and leave the vc.

and for the next few weeks, that was how it went. you two caused chaos all across the server, getting on everyone’s nerves. phil had quickly deemed you ‘chaos gremlins sent to drive him even further into his old age’. at least kristen appreciated the two of you.

“phil, what are taxes?” tommy had asked phil.

after hearing him mutter a quick “jesus christ…”, he gave tommy an answer, “pretty much shit you have to pay because the government said to.”

“and is there any way to pay less taxes? y’know, cheat the system?” tommy was quickly driving phil to old age.

“well, marriage gives you tax benefits.”

“ooo!” tommy turned his minecraft character towards you, “marry me! for tax benefits!”

and so there was a new platonically married couple on the server.

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

ranboo had noticed your lack of presence. instead of showing up in his streams, you were usually doing something with tommy. the two of you had even gotten married, the same way he and tubbo had. jealousy, even when irrational, was still a very real and present thing.

which is what led him to be standing outside your minecraft house, waiting for you to stop talking to tommy for a second and answer his in chat messages. for five whole minutes, he had to deal with chat clowning on him. “chat, i have never been replaced. they simply cannot replace me. there is no way to get rid of me.”

“you’re like mold!” tubbo had joined ranboo’s vc. his energy heavily contrasted the other’s.

“...tubbo, how am i like mold?”

“you’re just constantly growing on people! holding on for dear life until an exterminator is called! do i need to call an exterminator on you?”

“...no thank you, tubbo.”

finally, you and tommy had joined vc. “hello ranboo!”

“hello! what took so long?” the agitation in his voice was barely detectable.

“oh, tommy here was being pissy. didn’t want to leave vc2.”

“so tommy was stopping you from talking to your friends?” ranboo clicked his tongue and jokingly said, “seems a bit, uh well, toxic, to me.”

tommy quickly erupted into screams. “HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE ME OF BEING A TOXIC FRIEND?”

“I WASN’T ACCUSING YOU OF ANYTHING, WAS JUST STATING MY OPINION!” ranboo had started screaming back.

“IF YOU WANNA SEE TOXIC, I’LL SHOW YOU TOXIC RANBOO.” you could distantly hear an 8 bit version of toxic by britney spears playing from tubbos mic.

“OH SHUT UP TOMMY, PLEASE, I’VE BEEN FRIENDS WITH THEM FOR LONGER.”

“BITCH, PLEASE. JUST BECUASE YOU’VE KNOWN THEM LONGER DOES MAKE YOU BETTER FRIENDS. WE’RE MARRIED, WE ARE.”

and from there, the screaming continued. In-game chat, you could see tubbo telling you to join vc6.

“crazy, that lot is.”

“agreed.”

thank you for waiting! i’m sorry this took so long, i’ve been visiting family for easter and haven’t really been able to write. i hope you enjoyed this, though! <3

#♠️ anon #tommyinnit x reader #mcyt x reader #ranboo x reader #tubbo x reader

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yanderenightmare · 3 years

Note

hie!!! just read you're dragon warrior bakugo where he turn into a literal golden dragon, DUDE it was so dark and so poetic I loved it, pleeeaase part two?

I’ve actually had this in the works for some time but didn't think that many were interested hehe, thanks for proving me wrong<3

dragon warrior king ! BAKUGO KATSUKI

goodiebag WARNINGS: trauma, slavery, kidnapping, condescension, anxiety

PART ONE

MUTE AND NUDE - PART TWO

THE KING AND HIS NEW TOY

Floating, flying, dreaming. She felt reality tug at her every now and again, trying to pull her into consciousness, however she was pleasantly drifting with her eyes tightly locked. The smell of mountain daisies in the breeze, she could almost taste the salt of the sea that wafted up there, not entirely sure it was all in her mind. How she wished to see the sea up close once, and not just from afar. To feel the sand between her toes, to laugh nervously at the vastness of it all, all the secrets buried down there, sometimes washing up on the shore like treasure. Her vision trailed the stripe of sand she could spot from her village in the mountains, suddenly imagining herself down there, with a great shadow looming above, the water turning red and thick and boiling before catching fire, she heard screams, cries, the smell of metal and the taste of death, death, death.

She awoke abruptly. Flailing in the air like some knocked lantern. The pixies dodging her kicks and whips, holding onto the gems and paints midair. Currently hand sewing her customized dress, bejeweled with rhinestones and gold, cold smooth brushed lining her skin with art.

They knew the procedure, Bakugo had a new toy, and she were to be dressed accordingly; royally.

The pixies swung around her like bees around their beehive, small squeaky voices simmering about and buzzing in her ears. One caught her eye and her flailing subdued then, as the tiny brown-haired brown-eyed fairy blew sickly-sweet dust into her face, nerves somehow forcefully brought to their knees. “I’m sorry.” It seemed to her that the utterance had multiple meanings, as the look on the fairy’s face contorted into one of deep sorrow, as though in mourning for the unfortunate soul that had fallen into Bakugo’s greedy attention.

Not much dawned on poor girl after that, and if it did, she didn't seem to mind the foreign things happening around her. How she was fussed around with, spoiled even, with flowers and gems and fabrics, unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Fitted to perfection and adorned with a small tiara made up of flowers, poppies if she were to guess with the limited knowledge she had through books, as the harsh environment of the mountain doesn't allow for such frail things to grow.

Her doe eyes; softly fluttering every now and again, barely even feeling it, when her feet hit the ground, still bare. Perhaps she didn’t even realize they belonged to her, seeing how they were robbed of their red mud and clay. More and more, steadily coming back to her senses, she remained calm under the pressure of her strange surroundings. Creatures she’d never known existed, colors she hadn’t ever laid eyes on, perfumes that stung her nose in a pioneering act. She remembered death, she remembered fire, and the burning cold of sharp, deadly eyes. She feared that it was those same red eyes she was being prepared for.

Her mouth remained shut. Her silence casting a confusing spell onto the guards, however unaffected the busy pixies swirling about her in a working frenzy. The sounding of a horn didn’t shake her either, however seemed to dismiss the ones nitpicking at her ensemble, as well as signal the guards.

They didn't touch her, but their eyes did well in escorting her to the havoc outside. She didn't see much except for fire and shadow. Yet, mismatched tones of gold seemed to unsettle her even more than the different shades of red.

She was guided to his side, gestured to sit down on the throne next to his. She didn't faze too much upon her surroundings, managing to keep somewhat of a respectable composure, even as girls and boys from her village caught her eye. They hadn’t murdered everyone it seemed, not the pretty ones at least. They were putting on a show, inexperienced in the art of dance, but no less amusing to the hooded ravagers, she guessed.

She held her tongue and assumed an aura of harmony, therefore not accepting anything given to her. Drink, food, trinkets, they were swarming her as if she were some shrine. She supposed she, more or less, was just that, which was more than what she had been before, but somehow less at the same time.

The nerves trembled beneath her skin, as she did her best to calm her frightened state. She searched the spread sprawled out before her, wanting to accommodate to the new scenery. However, it proved to be quite difficult, as she felt the intense stare of the boy on her right, his eyes singeing and freezing her all at once. Having not dared look to him yet, the pressure of meeting those eyes of his, too much of a scare.

Sharp jewels stuck into her skin, and although she was used to gravel, they still managed to achieve her discomfort. “Not enjoying yourself?”

She cleaned up nicely. He could see her complexion clearly now, soft and smooth glowing skin between what raked scratched and gashes marred it. He wanted to pull Kirishima’s teeth out as punishment for biting her arm so ruthlessly, but knew that would be foolish as neither of them could have known of her importance. It could very well have been him who had printed his fangs into her, yet it would more likely have fallen off then.

It took her longer than she’d like to admit before she understood the question was meant for her, and although she could speak, the thought of answering seemed so far out of reach. She didn’t know how he would want to be acknowledged either. What do you say to a King who massacres entire civilizations? What do you even call such a person? The title tyrant came to mind, but it seemed distasteful.

Even if her hesitance angered him, he didn’t let his temper prove it. And when her eyes flickered ever so slightly in his direction, his annoyance more or less faded away; replaced. “You’re thinking of what time will be the best to escape, aren’t you?”

The hairs on the back of her neck rose at once when she heard his voice again, realizing the moment to answer his previous question had passed, and how he, this time, was accusing her not of ingratitude, but of deserting.

“Wondering where you will go, where you even are?” She could spot the eerie smile from the corner of her eye. At least his teeth were wiped clean of gore this time, yet… they still managed to make her ears shift in discomfort. “Hmm...” He scoffed, then chuckled a laugh that somehow sounded like thunder, like barking. “Let me help you.”

He shifted in his seat, leaning in closer to her. His fingers grazing her forearm, causing her to lightly gasp. Claws ever so slightly digging into her skin.

“You could make a run for it through the foliage of the trees.” She felt the earnest, wanton pressure in his touch, furrowing her brows in both confusion upon his words and in a plead for mercy. “But I should warn you... the forest is much denser and darker and deadlier here, than it is in the mountain.” His voice; so very casual in its threats, the voice of a King. “Even if I felt so generous as to give you a head start, we would probably catch you before the night let up. It wouldn't be much a game for me, but you are welcome to give it a try if you want.” He was taunting, haughty, stroking her arm... almost lovingly. “Besides, any attempt at running in that dress will be a show.” His hot breaths hit the side of her neck in waves, as she felt the still foreign need to say something linger on her tongue, but she swallowed it. “What’s your name?” This was a question she needed to answer, yet… it was also the one question she had no answer to.

“I-”

That was the first time she’d ever spoken. Sure, she’d sung for him… but that wasn’t her, that was… something else… something inside her, her but not her at all at the same time.

She didn’t quite know the words, know them as in being comfortable with them. She’d heard them, she knew what they were supposed to sound like, but… they still seemed so foreign on her tongue as she rolled them around in her mouth, teeth grinding together.

To his surprise, to his complete shock, she turned her head to look at him, face wiped clean of… well… blood, and alongside what panic displayed on her features there was also a look of something he couldn’t quite place, but almost as though she was asking for his help, or his patience as she pieced together the words. He nearly gasped as she placed her small hand over the calloused knuckles of his where he was digging his fingers into her arm, the action so parallel to his intentions, looking up again to be met with her soft eyes as she spoke with even softer words. “I- I ha-ave no na-ame…” She looked awkward, as though she’d bitten her tongue and was preoccupied with the metallic taste of her own blood, looking at him, eyes asking if she were at all understandable.

“Right… no point in giving a mute a name.” His tone was brisk, without anger and it helped with establishing confidence in her as it also aided in answering her question if she was understood or not.

“Wh-” She started, this time seemingly a smidge more confident in her determination. “What do I call you?”

He would be lying if he said it didn't take him aback. And he wasn't one for telling lies.“You’re not like the others.” He announced, small quirk playing on his lips. “Katsuki.”

She was unsure whether she should give it a try or not, trying to mouth it under her breath so he not hear her. “Ka- katsu- ki.”

He gave a sound of acknowledgement, a grunt of some sorts, an eyebrow raised in suspicion at her, watching as her gaze shifted onto the ongoing festivities before the two of them, her chin slightly raising, eyes flittering to perceive things he was sure was for the first time. Her hand remained on his, velvet against sandpaper, as though she found comfort in it, a safety of some sort. He enjoyed the gesture as well as that thought; sinisterly so. Her chastity so desperate in need of corruption, in his eyes.

He made to stand, bored of the display before him. This girl posed more entertainment than anything the circus could give him. “The air is thinner in the mountains…”

He reached out a hand, gesturing for her to take it. Reluctantly, or rather anxiously, she agreed, wondering what purpose hid in his words.

“The change of climate will be overwhelming for you.”

Slightly provoked by his words of condescension, she made to stand her ground, but felt an overbearing weight nest in her mind.

“You’ll get migraines.”

She looked confused now, staring at him, a crinkle between her brows.

“Your body isn’t accumulated to this environment yet.”

Her mouth suddenly felt dry, as she stumbled slightly. He locked her arm with his, helping her down from the podium.

“The effects will come soon. Blood pooling in your feet, weighing you down and dragging you to the ground, blood leaving your head, nausea and unbalance.”

He didn’t seem all that effected by what he was saying. Not exactly nonchalant, but amused.

“Could be you can’t even walk!” He grinned, chuckling when she whimpered, almost falling to her knees. “Your muscles, bones even, not strong enough to carry your own weight.”

Wincing as he pulled her to a carriage. She couldn’t remember if it were the same one she woke up it. But, something about the atmosphere told her it wasn’t, something about the invasive smell of burnt sugar.

“You’ll feel the ache in your limbs soon, gravity isn’t generous.”

Before she knew it, she was placed in a bed, his hand stroking her cold forehead.

“Especially when you’ve hardly ever felt the full might of its power.” He sounded sympathetic, and in her state she couldn’t tell if it were sincere or not. His hand traveled down her cheek, stroking a thumb over her lips. “There were more things I wanted to establish, but I underestimated the toll the descent would have on your health.” Scarred fingers stroked down her throat. “You’ll have to survive the sick before anything.” Tracing her collarbones. “If you’re strong, the fever will pass before we reach our destination.” Down her chest, as though holding back in savory, where if her eyes were able to focus she’d see him lick his lips. “But... the up and coming days will probably be hell for you.”

She didn’t feel much of anything after that, except for the foreign warmth accompanying her in her slumber, two large arms tightly locked around her midriff.

#yandere bakugou #yandere bnha #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bakugou katsuki #yandere bakugo #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere katsuki #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere my hero academia #yandere mha #bakugou #bakugo #bakugou katsuki #katsukibakugou #bnha bakugou #katsuki #katsuki bnha #Katsuki Bakugō

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afictionalwhore · 3 years

Text

Mr. Tough Guy

A/N: this is for my dear friend @libiraki as a sort of pick-me-up for bad days 💞 it’s my first time actually writing for Dabi and not messing around so I was nervous af writing for the Dabi Queen 🥺

TW: ??? Soft Dabi???

Word count: 2K

•┈┈┈••✦♡✦••┈┈┈••┈┈┈••✦♡✦••┈┈┈•

You rolled on your side to glance at the clock. Glaring electric numbers and letters taunted you back—2:36 A.M. Dabi wasn’t coming home again tonight. You knew you couldn’t get mad at him; it was Shigaraki always sending him out on ridiculous missions. But you were much too afraid of voicing your complaints to the temperamental man-child, so you contended yourself with being mildly annoyed at your pyro boyfriend. You sighed before pulling his pillow across the bed and over you, spooning it and breathing in the lingering scent.

You were almost asleep, when you felt the mattress dip beside you. Warm, rough arms wrapped around your small frame, pulling you into a lean chest. You felt the gentle tug of staples on the thin shirt you were wearing, shaking you awake just enough to be coherent.

"So you finally decided to come home?" you sleepily grumble, refusing to turn over to look at him.

A husky, smoke-heavy voice hummed from behind you before you felt Dabi nuzzle his face gently against your back, careful not to hook any more of his staples in your clothes. You were annoyed enough at him coming home so late without him accidentally ripping your shirt or staining it with blood from his charred skin. Dabi breathed you in.

"You're wearing my shirt, doll," he said, grateful that you were turned away so you wouldn't witness the blush dusting his unscarred cheeks. "You must have really missed me."

"Don't flatter yourself," you replied. Knowing how much he loved seeing you in his clothes but being unsure of when exactly Dabi would home, you had been going to sleep in his loose shirts. The large scoop neck did next to nothing to hold in your boobs, and the hem typically reached your midthigh standing, rolling up to barely come over your ass in your curled position, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the man himself.

“No, Dabi,” you huffed as he began to slowly grind into your ass. “You stink. How long has it been since you had a bath?”

“How long have I been away again?” You could hear the smile in his voice. Dabi never took a bath without you to help him. Bathing Dabi after a long mission quickly became one of your favorite activities. He knew this and was absolutely using it to get back on your good side, though you didn’t mind the fact at all. His latest excursion was almost two weeks, and you wondered how his league mates could stand him for so long.

“Go warm up some water and get some wash rags.” You told him.

“Yes ma’am!” Dabi pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek before rolling off the bed, the mattress springs giving a low groan with the shifting of his weight.

As you rose from your comfy position, swinging your legs over the side of your bed and planting your feet on the cold floor, you remembered the first time you had given Dabi a bath.

You had, simply put, a rough day at work. You knew that when working retail, most days would be simply not good, but that day really took the cake. Somehow the blame for everything landed on you, despite the problems originating in different departments. Your fuse was blown short when a middle aged woman insisted she knew more than you, screaming that she wanted to speak to your manager and accusing you of "withholding" items from her when you didn’t take her expired coupon for an item that she didn’t have and you didn’t carry. Somehow "ma'am, we don't even have a back to check. I’m sorry," escalated into "you dumb bitch can't get laid and has to take out her pent up frustration on retail workers." Needless to say, your boss did not appreciate the comment, and you were told you had to be "let go", as though he was trying to break up with you gently instead of firing you.

You would much rather go out and get something to eat on days like this. Chicken nuggets, fries, something greasy and comforting. Unfortunately for you, you and Dabi had recently started a budget, after a scare of not making rent due to spending too much on delivery and takeout. With your newfound unemployment, you decided the wisest decision would be to just go home and take out your frustration on some poor helpless rice cakes. Spicy but simple was perfect for the day you were having.

That’s what led to you hunched over the stove, saibashi in hand, viciously stirring the bright red sauce into the cylindrical gooey rice cakes.

“I need your help,” Dabi had said, appearing in the small entryway between the kitchen and your bedroom.

You stopped your stirring. Dabi needing help meant one of two things: he needed to hide a body or he wanted a blow job. After the day you had, you were in no mood to play any of Dabi’s games. You turned fast to face the man, almost giving yourself whiplash and pointing your chopsticks at him as though you would stab him if he didn't choose his next words very carefully. Dabi took a step back and raised his forearms up in surrender.

“What do you want?” you practically growled at the man, shaking your chopsticks and dripping red sauce on the floor below.

“Do you think you could help me take a bath?”

Your eyes went wide with shock before realization of his request set in, and your features immediately softened, the muscles holding you tense relaxing, as Dabi gazed at you with a shy, almost sheepish, expression. You gently set the poor saibashi that were about to snap in your grasp down on the counter beside the stove.

“Okay, baby,” you said, smiling at him, the corners of your eyes crinkling, tears threatening to spill over at his sweet request. “Of course! Why don’t you go get some warm water and a soft rag?”

Since then, Dabi would every so often request help with a bath. It was always something that he had to be the first to mention. This was a side of Dabi you cherished. It was like watching the hummingbirds sip from the nectar feeder outside your window. To ask of it yourself felt almost akin to trapping the bird and keeping it under lock. He would never tell you what it was that made him finally decide to look more after his hygiene. You had the slight feeling that it was his insecurities settling in. Everyone in Dabi's life had abandoned or used him, and you had deduced that he feared you would leave him if he didn’t start to take better care of himself. The scent of light cherry blossoms and sweet peaches radiated from you while he smelled of rotting flesh and old cigarettes.

You made your way to your bathroom, a typical affair for a tiny Tokyo apartment, but it was just enough for you and Dabi. You pushed the sliding glass shower door open and stepped in, knocking over a few almost empty bottles, still clad in just Dabi's white t-shirt.

He sat on a small stool placed in the center of the shower, glancing up at you as you slid the door open. The seat was just a little too small for him, forcing his knees to bend awkwardly up to his chest as he slouched back over. You drank in the sight of him. From the scars that decorated his chin and the top of his chest, forearms, and legs to the gleam of the staples that just barely held him together. You loved everything about him, despite the patchwork of purple scars that littered his body. You had a feeling deep down that despite his rough exterior, Dabi was insecure about his body. When you had met, he smelled of rotting flesh and cigarettes, and while he still retained the smoke smell, you figured that he began to grow self conscious over how you may have perceived him.

You started with his face, dipping the soft rag into the bucket of warm, soapy water Dabi had made before pressing it gently over his closed eyes. You made your way around Dabi's face, lightly patting the warm, damp rag against his skin.

Dabi made a small hum in the back of his throat as you made your way to washing his neck, the same gentle patting motion you had used to wash his face.

"That feels really nice, doll," he sighed.

You moved on to his arms, starting with his right shoulder and gently nudging him to rotate his arm. With as many times as you have done this now, it didn’t take much for Dabi to pick up on your wordless request. You worked your way down his arm and back up, wringing the rag out to run down the drain before dipping it into the clean, mildly soapy water to start washing his left side.

As you repeated your gentle motions on his left arm, you noticed Dabi staring off. He looked deep in thought, enough to worry you as Dabi usually had a sharp tongue during his baths, hoping to stir you up and enjoying watching your face flush with embarrassment at his crude words on what he planned to do to you to repay you.

“You tired?” you asked, a small smile crossing your face.

“Mmmm” Dabi nodded. “Yea, I guess.” You decided not to push it and rang out the rag again so you could move on to his chest.

As you pat the damp rag onto his collarbone, careful not to let the charred skin get any more damp than what was necessary to keep him feeling fresh and clean, you heard Dabi mumbling.

“What was that?” You looked up at him, eyes wide in fear that you had hurt him. Dabi was still staring off to the side.

“I’m sorry,” Dabi murmured, barely audible despite your closeness. “For being away from you for so long.” He still refused to look at you.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Was Dabi really apologizing? And for something that deep down you both knew wasn’t truly his fault. The Dabi you knew would never, even if bathing Dabi did tend to bring out a softer side of him. You were dreaming. You had to be. You had fallen asleep, waiting for Dabi to come home, and ended up dreaming of bathing your lover.

“I mean it,” Dabi whispered, looking down at you with bright blue round eyes more befitting of a small husky puppy than a wanted arsonist. "I'm sorry. You put up with so much from me. You could have left at any time while I was away, but you didn't. You just kept waiting and trusting I'd come back." Dabi took in a deep breath. "I think I love you."

Despite his frightening exterior, Dabi was truly quite soft; he just often had trouble expressing that softness. Bathing Dabi brought out a side of him that only you saw, a sweet, lonely man who so desperately wanted to open up to someone but was afraid of being abandoned or worse, betrayed. This was who Dabi really was underneath his tough guy shield. This was the Dabi that you loved. Something must have happened while he was gone to make him really open up to you like this, but you didn’t want to pry; Dabi would share in his own time. Just hearing those three little words was enough for you.

You tried your best to stifle your tears, ducking your head down and dropping the rag in a pitiful attempt to hide your tears.

“Aw damn,” nothing got past him. “I went and fucked up again didn’t I?”

“No,” you started, sniffling lightly. “No, Dabi. I’m just really happy you’re home. I love you, too.”

“Hurry up, would ya!” Dabi tried to bark, an attempt to gain back his tough guy act. “You've still got my whole bottom half to do, and I’m getting cold over here!”

You couldn't help but giggle at him, pressing a sweet peck to the scarred part of his cheek and fully enjoying the blush that crept up the rest of his face.

#soft dabi #dabi mha #dabi x reader #idk how to write Dabi #mha

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dreamkidddream · 3 years

Text

Drop Dead || Witch!Yosano

So this was both suggested and something that I already planned, cause she doesn’t get enough love imo 😞 but this is my first time writing for her too so yayyyy 🥳 Also thought it would be cool if she practiced necromancy. we stan ✨ Doctor ✨ Yosano in this house 😌 Reader is gender neutral!

CW: blood

Dream’s Spooktober 2021

You see, in the village, there was a rumor spreading like the plague itself.

An evil witch, worse than the Devil himself, having the forbidden power of raising the dead with just a single touch. But just as she can raise the dead with just a touch, she can also make people take their last breath with that same touch. The other villagers warned of her dark magic roaming through the forest, and Saki swore he saw the monster with his own two eyes. He recounts the monster doing the ritual, the malicious smile spread across her face as she hacked away at the poor soul piece by piece, only then to resurrect them as another one of her mindless servants-

(But Saki is also the village drunk, so who knows how much truth his words hold). You just chalked it up as another story to keep children from wandering and misbehaving.

That was until you came face to face with the witch herself.

You would have been in complete awe at how much grace and power she displayed in her stance alone (hell you still were), if you weren’t currently dying and trying to stop the blood from gushing out of your stomach.

“My my, what do we have here?”

When she kneeled down and placed her hand so delicately on your cheek, you couldn’t help but melt into it. It was so warm, she was so warm. You didn’t realize how cold you are, and her eyes narrowed in concern when she felt it too. “Tell me, how did this happen?”

“It was-“, you coughed, wincing from both the pain and the small specs of blood that clung onto her cloak. “The villagers. They-they casted out. Deemed me as an outcast! Kajii ac-accused me of- practicing the dark arts and convinced Father Mori that I- I should be burned at the stake! I ran away before they could chain me up, but the other villagers- they started to chase after me…and-and-”

“So he still hasn’t learned from his mistakes huh? Still deciding to play judge, jury, and executioner.”

She had heard enough.

“I guess I have to go and teach them myself.”

The sadistic gleam that came across her face sent shivers down your spine (or maybe it was from the blood loss?), but the look soon vanished as she started to lift your ripped tunic. “But, I’ll have to wait for now. I have to treat you after all, and I would hate if you just perished from a small wound like this.”

“Small?! You call this small?!”

“Well of course. I’ve seen and handled much worse than this. It would be a shame to let you die, especially at the hands of those so undeserving.”

“Please, I don’t- I don’t want to die!”

“And I will make sure that you don’t.”

With conviction in her voice, she started to wipe away your tears. “But first, I should introduce myself properly.”

Holding out her hand, you watched as a flurry of glowing butterflies flew from it and began to take shape, of what you couldn’t tell yet, but you were in complete awe at the sight.

“I am Akiko Yosano, a healer. I’m not sure what those idiots at the village told you, but I don’t practice necromancy, because I don’t give people the chance to die in my hands.”

She’s the witch?!

The shape finally manifested, and you felt your heart stop.

“But while my methods can be seen as cruel, I see it as a true blessing. Being able to bring them back after seeing the light flee from their eyes just to be full of life mere moments later no matter the injury…a true blessing indeed.”

A cleaver, as long as her legs, was held in her hands.

“I’m known as one of the greatest healers to ever grace this land, but I don’t get to show off as much I want to. You see, in order for my healing to work, they need to be on the brink of death.”

Oh no-

“Now, don’t look so scared. You won’t be killed- in a lot of pain, yes- but you won’t die. You’ll be healed before you know it, which is a pity for me-”

You tried to crawl away, but seeing that she whipped the tip of the blade centimeters away from your nose, you took that as your one and only warning.

“I would prefer to do this back at my home, I have much more toys to play with than this, but it’ll do. Now then-”

She lifted the blade high above her head-

“No- nononononono! Please don’t!”

“Now, I swear by my hand, thou shall not die!”

Your shrill screams echoed through the forest as she brought the blade down.

—-

“And you got this information…from the town drunk?”

Okay, now that she’s saying it out loud, it doesn’t sound very credible-

“Ow!”

“That’s what you get for listening to that man,” she just shook her head as you rubbed the growing sore spot on your forehead. After being “treated” by the wit- Yosano, she’s been gracious enough to let you stay at her small home. Here you are, drinking tea and going through all your troubles and what lead up to this point. It was odd, you two were talking like everything was normal. HA! Like your life will ever have some sense of normal again after this.

While you don’t remember much of her “treatment”, you do remember the feeling afterwards and the wave of butterflies that followed after. You felt so light, so airy, as if you were living among the clouds not a single care in the world. You accepted that wow, she was telling the truth- but you’re very careful to not let yourself get injured again.

“Well I guess it doesn’t matter now, not like you can go back anyway.”

Her words brought a sting of pain to your chest. It wasn’t like she was wrong, you couldn’t go back even if you wanted to. The very people who you come to look at as family were the same ones ready to watch the flames consume your body alive. Even if you explained how you weren’t practicing dark magic, how could you explain your wounds healing and walking around basically brand new? They would just make sure that you wouldn’t get away this time-

“But, I have an offer to make to help with your…situation.”

That snapped you out of your thoughts.

“I’ll let you stay here, if you become my assistant.”

“Your assistant? How could I exactly help you? I can’t do any magic, I’m pretty much useless-”

Her cup clattered against the table. “Not true. You think just because you don’t have the power to do magic that your life loses meaning? Goodness, it’s a good thing you did get out of that village when you did.” She stood up and brushed the imaginary dirt off, and then made her way towards you.

“Listen (Y/N), all life has meaning, and no one else has the ability to change that. The fact that they tried to take that from you, that they tried to kill you- it’s a disgrace and a slap to the face to what life truly is. I vow to crush anyone who holds life with so little regard with my bare hands!” She balled her fists up, then extended her arm to you. You couldn’t stop yourself from flinching, thinking that she was going to strike you for saying something so foolish-

But instead, she held her hand out.

“Stay by my side, and let me show you how valuable your life truly is (Y/N).”

Your life…being valuable? Even after how pathetic you looked to her? Can you really trust her words? Did she really your life as valuable? An outcast with no power, no status, seen as valuable?

But, would she have saved you if she didn’t think it was?

It’s not like you have anything else to lose, and you know that you just met her but…it was obvious that she saw something in you that you didn’t see.

And you wanted to see what convinced her that your life is valuable.

You gripped her hand, a tearful but appreciative smile on your face.

#bsd x reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #yosano x reader #yosano akiko #akiko yosano #akiko yosano x reader #bungou stray dogs reader insert #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dream’s spooktober 2021 🎃

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hangovercurse · 3 years

Text

Last Night

After another long night of drinking, you wake up with a raging hangover and a tattooed asshole.

Request: “After seeing you hungover I have a request.

From enemies to lovers where Kells and the reader have a drinking competition every time they go out and take it too personal and one day afterwards they share a horrible hangover and wake up in the same bed”

Colson X Reader

Warnings: Drinking, slight sexism, mentions of sex, cursing

A/N: I’m glad my pain could inspire you :(

Word Count: 2133

You and Colson hated each other, with a passion. You couldn’t explain it, it was almost fucking cliché. He had invited your band to open for him on tour, which was great, until he realized that there was a girl in the band; you.

You had dealt with assholes like him for most of your life. People couldn’t understand why your bandmates would want a girl bassist with them, and so said people decided you weren’t good enough before you’d even played anything.

But this was different. Colson knew you were good. You didn’t know why he didn’t like you, but if he was going to be a child about you being on tour, you could stoop to his level a little bit.

And thus began your nightly drinking competitions. It was stupid, really, but you were determined to prove to him that you were more than your gender. So, you made sure to try and drink more than him as often as possible.

It was unspoken competition, but you both knew. Anytime either of you ordered a drink, the other was right behind. Most of the time, he won, as he had much more experience holding his alcohol than you. But every so often you would out drink him, and boy was it a sight to behold.

Tonight though, you were more determined to beat him than ever. You had overheard the boys talking about you at the venue before the show, which piqued your interest.

“What are you guys talking about?” You walked over to them; an eyebrow raised in challenge.

Colson’s face was a bit more red than usual, but you just chalked it up to the heat. “Just about how I totally out drank you last night. And the night before.”

You squinted at him, anger settling over you. “It’s not a competition, but if you wanna brag about being an alcoholic, be my guest.” You sneered, even though you knew it was a competition and he did, in fact, beat you.

Really that’s not what the boys had been talking about at all, but Colson couldn’t admit that they were talking about how much he liked you. He denied the accusations of course, saying that he actually couldn’t stand you, but all the guys argued with him.

He figured he knew his own feelings better than his friends, but he was wrong.

“Fine, then let’s make it one.” He said, pushing you.

You rolled your eyes, “and what would the winner get?”

“I’ll stop making fun of you if you win.” He smirked at you. “But if I win, I get one free crack at you a day and you aren’t allowed to get mad.”

You scoffed, “that’s bullshit, Baker. You already do that. You just want to show off to everyone how much better you are than them.”

“Fine, then what would you wager?”

You thought about it. “If I win, you leave me alone, completely, and you buy my drinks for a week. If you win, I’ll stop complaining about how egotistical you are.”

He nodded, “Buy my drinks for a week and you have yourself a deal.”

And that’s how the two of you ended up 4 shots and 3 beers deep in a random bar in Colorado. You were stumbling all over the dance floor and each other.

“I really have to win tonight.” Colson mumbled into your ear. You hummed in question, asking him to continue. “I don’t think I can leave you alone.”

You pushed him backwards, but really ended up stumbling backwards. He reached out and grabbed your hips, keeping you upright even though he was just as gone as you. “I don’t know why you’re so mean to me.” You mumbled, a pout on your face. “I didn’t do anything to you.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer to him as the crowd got denser around you. “The guys think it’s because I like you. But I definitely don’t like you like that.”

His words were slurred, but so were yours. “Good. I definitely don’t like you like that either.”

Anyone who overheard your conversation could hear the blatant lies in your voices, and anyone who could see you would see that your feelings were evident as his head leaned closer to yours.

And that’s the last thing you can really remember.

You woke up in a hotel room, head pounding as your eyes struggled to adjust to the light. You closed them when you realized that they wouldn’t and it was just making your headache more intense. As you came more to your senses you recognized the feeling of an arm around your waist, your bare waist.

Fuck.

You opened your eyes again, looking down to find your naked body underneath the sheets. Did you want to look behind you to the poor guy that you’d have to kick out? Not really. But you did so anyways, only to find the annoyingly familiar mop of bleached blond hair.

FUCK.

You turned your head away from him, burying your face into the pillow. How did you end up naked in bed next to the guy you’ve hated for literal months? Who, by the way, has also hated you.

You wanted to get up, put your clothes on, and escape before he woke up. But the feeling in your stomach told you that that would not work out in your favor.

The grunting next to you also alerted you to this fact. And the fact that your head hurt. A lot.

“Fuck.” Colson mumbled; his voice breathy.

“Shut the fuck up. My head hurts.” You mumbled into the pillow.

Colson moved his arm off of you, rubbing his hands over his face. You both laid there in silence, trying to remember what the hell happened last night. Until there was a knock at the door.

“Kells, get up. We gotta be on the road in 30.” Baze yelled through the door, and you fought the urge to scream into the pillow. Why were people so loud all the time?

However, you heeded his warning and lifted yourself from the bed, sitting on the edge with your back facing Colson. Your body did not like sitting up, and you had to take a few moments to let your stomach settle before moving again. You scanned the room for your clothes, your head spinning.

You found your shirt and jeans near the door but couldn’t spot your underwear or bra anywhere. “Colson.” You mumbled, the words feeling like cardboard coming out of your mouth. He groaned behind you, alerting you that he was awake “Where’s my underwear?”

“I dunno. I don’t even remember us coming in here.” He groaned again, finally sitting up. He leaned down to the floor, picking up fabric and tossing it to you. “There’s one.”

You sighed and pulled the panties up your legs before moving to throw your shirt over your head, skipping the bra for now. You stumbled as you tried to pull your jeans over your legs, turning to find Colson mimicking your actions.

He had gotten his pants up to his stomach before he stumbled into the bathroom. “Fuck.” He mumbled before vomiting into the toilet. As much as you didn’t want to, you followed him in. You knew if you were this fucked up, you’d want someone to take are of you. Hell, you wanted someone to take care of you right now.

So, you sat down next to him, rubbing his bare back as he threw up into the hotel toilet. Your head began to spin even more as you sat there, so you rested your forehead against the nearest surface, said bare back. Your nose brushed the bottom of the G in his MGK tattoo.

Neither of you said anything, just sitting there in silence. After a few moments, Colson turned his entire body to you. Instead of saying anything or telling you off, he pulled you into his lap, your legs curling up against his stomach. You rested your head in the crook of his neck and closed your eyes.

It felt like the world was spinning around you. “I’m never drinking again.” You mumbled into his skin.

He let out a dry laugh, “do you even remember anything?”

“I remember outdrinking your ass and then I woke up in your fucking hotel room.”

“You did not out drink me, missy.” He mumbled, head falling down to rest his cheek against yours. “I remember you almost fell in the middle of the bar and then everything goes black. But I could make some assumptions about what followed.”

You would’ve rolled your eyes if you had the energy, but you couldn’t even lift your head off his shoulder. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shrugged, “do you?”

You shoved him to the best of your abilities while still resting against him. “That’s not an answer, dumbass. Why would drunk you wanna sleep with me?”

“Why does drunk me wanna do anything?” He asked. You mumbled in response and he continued, “do you regret it?”

You shrugged, “think I’d have to remember it to regret it.” He was quiet for a while, and you sighed, “but I don’t think I would’ve even if I could.” You hated to admit it, but you didn’t hate Colson as much as you tried to convince yourself you did. Truthfully, his teasing was both annoying but also the slightest bit attractive.

Colson pulled back from you slowly, a small groan falling from your lips as you had to hold yourself up again. “I thought you would’ve hated waking up next to me.” He mumbled.

“You’re one to talk.” You quipped, lazily.

He gave you a confused face, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrugged, placing a hand on the counter near you to try to lift yourself up but not having the energy. “Just that you hate me. I don’t know why you’d even wanna sleep with me drunk.”

“I don’t hate you, Y/N.”

“You sure don’t seem to like me very much.” You were finally able to pull yourself up just a little bit, but his strong hands pulled you back down to the floor before you were even halfway up.

His hands were settled firmly on your hips, holding you in place, “I never hated you. I was… intimidated, at first.” You let out a dry laugh at his statement. “Seriously, I was. But then I realized that you’re actually really cool. I treated you like shit before that though and I guess you just got it in your head that I didn’t like you so every time I tried to get to know you, you brushed me off. Eventually I just gave up.”

You sighed, “I guess I’m just used to guys thinking I’m less than them, I figured you were the same as everyone else.” You shoved your face back into his chest, the light getting a bit too bright again.

He scoffed, “Seriously? I think you kick ass. That’s why I was so intimidated.”

You groaned into his skin, “I think you’re still drunk.”

He let out another low chuckle, “maybe, but I know what I’m saying.” You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his blue ones. “I’ve actually really liked you for a while now, but after I was an asshole, I knew you’d never go for me.”

You smiled, “Aww, does Kells have a crush on me?” You giggled.

“Shut up,” he mumbled.

You pulled him back towards you, “lucky for you, assholes are just my type.”

He cocked an eyebrow, “really?”

You nodded, “Yep. Blonde, tattooed assholes who rap for a living.”

He smirked at you, leaning closer to you and connecting his lips to yours. You pulled away pretty quickly. “As much as I’d like to kiss you right now, we both just woke up and you were just puking like 2 minutes ago. Brush your teeth and try again.”

He pouted, “yes ma’am.”

“Next time, you wanna try this sober?” You asked slyly.

“I never want to do anything sober, Y/N. But maybe I’ll try it out just for you.”

“Shut up, Baker. You’re such a fucking cheeseball when you’re hungover.”

He hummed in agreement, tightening his grip on you. Your head fell back against his shoulder, eyes closing. You don’t know how, but you ended up falling asleep in his arms. His chin rested on top of your head, and eventually he was lulled into sleep as well.

You didn’t wake up until you heard Baze and Slim’s laughter from behind you and the quiet click of a camera. You groaned, sitting up and wriggling out of Colson’s grasp. He woke up at your movements.

“Looks like you two had a fun night.” Slim laughed.

#mgk #mgk imagine #mgk angst #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #Colson baker #colson x reader #colson baker imagine #colson baker fluff #colson baker angst

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novelconcepts · 3 years

Note

Prompt: Jamie is the one who finds Dani locked in the closet. Dani is still having a panic attack and Jamie helps her.

Time slips away when you're out of your head, Dani has found. It moves so much faster--so much slower--so much less correctly with blood pumping at a dizzying rate. With black spots marring her vision. With her breath caught, tangled in a fisherman's net of sharp inhale, hold, hold, bare exhale, she can't think. There are tears dewed on her eyelashes, and fingers folded into shaking fists, and she is little more than the repetition of her own weight meeting the door--again--again--again--

It's open, she realizes, and wonders how long it has been open. Not long, certainly. Not with how forcefully she's been hurling herself against unyielding lumber. Certainly, she would have--

Well. Tumbled out as she is now, a horrible muddling of limbs and purple sweater and mascara scraped down her cheeks. The breath she has been clawing for still won't quite come, not even with the door hanging open and the soft light of Flora's bedroom pouring inside.

Not even with strong hands catching her by the shoulders, a voice speaking low and smooth into the silence left in the wake of her screams.

"Hey. Hey, now. Hey, you're out, you're all good."

She blinks once. Twice. The world as painted by hysteria is neatly bisected, right down the middle. On one side: the mirror, his solemn face, the horror of being locked in with him. On the other: butterflies on the walls, a dollhouse in the corner, cool air rushing against her flushed skin.

Dark curls. Bright eyes. The gardener from lunch, the one with whom Dani still hasn't held a real conversation.

Jamie.

"What," she tries to say--what are you doing here, you left hours ago, you shouldn't be here--and can't get any further. What, echoing between them, strangled on the end of a sharp inhalation that refuses to fill her up. Her throat is closing. There is a boulder lodged against her windpipe, another sinking down against her chest. She is, she realizes, folding her hands together so hard, her knuckles stand stark against the front of Jamie's overalls.

"Kids," Jamie says--a one-word question. The panic swells higher as Dani realizes she does not know. They were there, turning the key. They were shouting through the door. And then...then...

"Don't know," she wheezes. "Don't know--I--"

Jamie grits her teeth. Her eyes dart back toward the door, her body still tilted entirely toward Dani. "You all right if I...?"

Dani nods, a rapid bird-flutter of a gesture that sends her sour stomach heaving. She gropes backward for Flora's bed, sinking onto the edge of the mattress. Jamie watches her with an expression she can't quite read, her jaw lifted, her shoulders set.

"Back in a sec. Promise."

Dani shuts her eyes, scrounging for breath, listening to the steady thud of boots striding out of the room. Her fingers sink into Flora’s bedspread, her elbows pressed to her knees as she struggles to keep from folding completely in half. Who will that help? She's out. She’s out, and there’s plenty of air out here, and she’s--

Hands, gently brushing her arms. She peels her eyes open, hating how swollen they already feel, hating that faint whistle at the back of her throat that says her lungs still aren’t quite doing their job. Jamie is kneeling on the floor, looking at her with absolutely none of the tight unease from lunch. Her expression is surprisingly warm, though creased with concern, and her hands do not fall away from Dani’s arms.

“Found ‘em,” she says. “They’re fine. What happened?”

Dani draws as deep a breath as she can manage, unseeing eyes rooted to the front of Jamie’s shirt beneath her scuffed overalls. The neat rectangle of navy cotton swells out--in--out with Jamie’s entirely-stable breaths. She finds herself blankly trying to mimic the beats, relieved and embarrassed in equal measure when Jamie seems to realize what’s happening and begins breathing with intent. In. Hold. Out. Hold. Again, again, until Dani’s heart finally catches up with her brain.

“Better?” Jamie asks. Dani, uncertain how much time has slipped away with this woman holding her by the elbows, setting a pace for slow, even breaths, nods. “Right. Good. Now: what happened?”

A flash of movement tugs at her attention, pulling her eyes to a point over Jamie’s shoulder. Miles and Flora, leaning against the doorframe, their faces ashen. She swallows hard.

“We’re sorry,” Flora says quickly.

“It got stuck,” Miles adds. There is a furtive look to his eyes that says even he does not expect her to believe this. Dani swallows again.

“Bed.”

There are more words in her--big, angry, panic-throttled words--but she wouldn’t let them fly even if Jamie weren’t here. That isn’t how you deal with kids. That isn't how you deal with traumatized orphans.

Not even when they pull stunts like this.

“Honest,” Miles starts to say. She closes her eyes, scrubs her hands over her face. Her palms are hot, her newly-caught breath stuffy. She wants to stay in the cupped enclosure of her own hands forever.

Flora makes a tiny hiccuping noise, the precursor to tears. Jamie’s hand flexes around her arm. Dani bites her tongue until the throb of pain cuts through the memory of his glasses, his glasses in the mirror, I was in there with him alone.

“We,” she says in as level a voice she can muster, “will talk about this in the morning.”

Jamie is looking at her, she realizes. Jamie, leaning back into a crouch, is watching her with the wary concern of one waiting to see if a rabbit will escape a snare unscathed. Dani gives her a very small nod--I’m okay--and she pushes to her feet, claps her hands, turns on her heel.

“Right. You heard her. Bed.”

Dani removes herself from Flora’s bed, still shaking even as she tucks the tiny girl under the covers. Jamie stands back, almost to the door, watching the proceedings as if half-believing she’ll have to take over at some point.

No, thinks Dani with hot embarrassment. This is her job, not Jamie’s. Jamie even being here is more than her job description. Even still floundering at the end of a panic attack, Dani can do this much.

“I really am sorry,” Miles mumbles, blankets pulled up to his chin. Dani searches his face. Not a single beat of a lie there now; he looks perfectly miserable, his cheeks bright with shame. She exhales, hoping her voice will hold.

It does. Barely. “Get some sleep. We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

He rolls over, face mashed against the pillow. Dani drags in an unsteady breath, holds it as she closes in on the door, the light switch, the hallway.

“All right?” Jamie asks again when the doors have been closed and the children tucked away. Dani presses her face to her hands, groaning.

“Yeah. Yes. I’m sorry, that was--”

“Sorry?” Jamie repeats blankly. “What’ve you got to be sorry about? Didn’t lock yourself in there, I’d wager.”

No. No, she hadn’t. And tomorrow, she’ll have to pull herself together better than this--locate the mask of the Polished Au Pair, who is good with even the most difficult of children, who doesn’t scream herself hoarse and bruise up her shoulder trying to get away from memories held behind glass--

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Her voice is brittle, the words edged. Jamie only looks at her steadily, hands in her pockets, not taking so much as a step back.

“Left my flat key. Ring broke this afternoon--must’ve skidded under something out in the greenhouse. I was going to check when I heard the, ah. The...” She trails off, looking almost embarrassed for the first time--embarrassed not for herself, but for Dani, who had indeed been scraping her throat raw with shrieks. Dani grits her teeth.

“I have a--”

She’s not sure what she’s going to say next; a condition? A phobia? The absolutely horrific poor fortune to be haunted by her ex-fiance in every reflective surface? Jamie holds up a hand.

“Doesn’t matter,” she says. “Not unless you want to talk it over. Do you?”

Dani shakes her head. Truth be told, she’s wrung out--her head is pounding, her hands numb from being squeezed into such uncompromising fists. Jamie looks unsurprised.

“Then it’s your own,” she says easily. “You share it on your time. Christ, Poppins, think it’s the first time kids have reduced a grown woman to tears?”

There’s plenty to unpack here--Jamie’s kindness, in letting it slide; Jamie’s careless phrasing, as though she expects minor doses of aggression from perfectly well-mannered children every day; Jamie’s expression, even, holding firm on Dani as though she’s the only real thing in this house. Dani finds herself landing on something else entirely.

“Is that...mud?”

There are, she sees now, footprints. Wrapping down the hall, leading down the staircase, all the way to the front door. She frowns, following them at a slow clip, her legs still trembling. Jamie follows.

“Wasn’t me,” she says, as if Dani holds accusations on her tongue. “Hannah says this happens sometimes. Maybe one of the beasts taking the piss?”

“Maybe.” The prints are larger than either child could make on their own, Dani thinks with a plummeting sense of alarm. Large, and staggered, and odd. Still. Kids. Jamie’s probably right--it’s likely just a prank. A silly trick to test the new au pair’s mettle.

She turns her head, surprised to find Jamie still looking at her. “I’m sorry. Did you need help finding your key?”

Jamie shrugs. “Nah. I know the way. And if it’s not where I figure, I’ll just post up on the couch for the night. Hannah won’t mind.”

Dani smiles faintly. “There are so many bedrooms, I’m sure you could--”

Jamie flaps a hand. ��Don’t like sleeping in beds that don’t belong to me. Couch’ll suit me fine. Anyway, maybe I won’t need it. Night might have a little good luck left in it yet.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to...” God, she’s so tired. What is this impulse to play hostess, even with her bones twisted to exhaustion and a thunderstorm ringing in her head? “I mean, you could...stay. I could get you a drink?”

Jamie smiles. It’s the first true smile Dani’s seen on her lips since flicking water on the kids at lunch, and it doesn’t just light up her face--it revolutionizes her entire body. All at once, Dani remembers how she’d felt watching this woman stroll into the kitchen this afternoon: like a song she’s been humming under her breath for a lifetime.

Heat twists up her neck. She clears her throat.

“I think,” Jamie says gently, “I should let you get to bed. Tomorrow, maybe. If you’re up to it.”

She leaves the rest of the offer unspoken--tomorrow, maybe you can tell me what really happened--and Dani understands, somehow, that if it never comes up again, Jamie won’t mind. Jamie doesn’t seem the sort of woman who is rocked by much.

“Thank you,” she says, walking to the front door, leaning awkwardly against the enormous slab of wood as Jamie steps outside. “For--anyway. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Jamie says, and though this woman had frowned at her this afternoon, wariness cutting grooves through her dirt-smudged face, she is nothing but warm now. Warm and more than a little bit beautiful, with moonlight scudding off her hair.

It’s been too long a night for that, Dani warns herself. Too long a life for that, probably. Certainly nothing she’s prepared to deal with right now.

“One more thing,” she adds, unable to help herself, even as Jamie crunches over gravel with hands swinging loosely at her sides. Jamie doesn’t quite stop, only turns at the waist with an inquisitive eyebrow raised. Dani smiles weakly.

“Poppins?”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, and Dani is so tired. So tired, she must be imagining the light tinge of pink around the woman’s cheeks. “You know. Julie Andrews.”

“Sure,” says Dani, who can’t think of a single actress she less embodies in this moment. “Right. Of course.”

She can’t help grinning a little, falling into bed a few minutes later--still in sweat-damp clothes, her boots barely kicked to the floor--with the scorching awareness that the surly gardener has just given her a nickname. Possibly because she doesn’t actually know Dani’s real name, sure--but a nickname, all the same. A nickname, and a warm smile, and the impression of long fingers wrapped gently around her arm.

Tomorrow, she’ll handle the kids. Put her foot down. They need to know, right off the bat, that she won’t stand for this sort of thing. She needs to know it, to prove to herself she can still do this, just as she’d insisted to Henry Wingrave. Tomorrow, she’ll talk to them the right way--steady, calm, no accusation in her tone--and give them a suitable punishment.

Tomorrow.

Tonight, Jamie’s shining eyes, slouched shoulders, accent curled around Poppins almost let her forget the horror of being locked in with a ghost.

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie #damie #little ones. little ones I can do #glad this one saved when my laptop flipped out in the middle and shut down #also hope my laptop isn't dead that would be terribly inconvenient

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cdelphiki · 4 years

Text

“Fuck.”

Jason’s spoon clanked into his bowl, as he dropped it and fumbled for the remote. He’d been watching Jeopardy! with the volume low. Half the fun of the game was answering the questions himself, and really, the idiots on the show were often just distracting.

But Jeopardy! wasn’t on the screen anymore.

The Joker was.

The Joker and the current Robin.

“—play a game, shall we?” Joker said, and Jason just cursed louder as he tossed his cereal on the coffee table and jumped up.

“Hrnn,” Robin groaned, when the camera panned to him, “Who’d want to play with you?”

Fucking brat.

The poor kid looked in rough shape. His mask was slightly ripped, showing off a massive bruise right under one of his eyes. His fat lip and the blood trickling down his chin didn’t help much, either.

Oh, yeah. And the fact he was tied up and inside a tiny little cage.

How the hell had Joker got his hands on Robin?

Never mind, Jason thought, as he kicked around the shit on his floor, freeing the various pieces of his Red Hood uniform, he knew exactly how Robin got himself captured.

Batman was out of town.

And he’d left Robin in charge of Gotham.

Like a fucking moron.

“Uh, uh uh,” Joker said, “That’s no way to behave. Be a good little birdy.”

Robin groaned, when Joker stuck a stick inside Robin’s cage, and jabbed him in the side. He pressed a button, and Tim’s groan turned to a scream as he was electrocuted.

Jason grimaced.

“Now,” Joker continued, through a laugh, “The answer is ‘Topeka.’”

Joker’s stupid fucking laugh.

Jason should not be helping the bats.

He did not help the bats. The bats hated him. And, sure, they had good reason to, but it just meant Jason shouldn’t be helping them out of principle!

Why help people who hate your guts and wish you were still dead?

The bats are out of town, his mind helpfully reminded him, they can’t save Robin. And like hell was Jason going to let Joker kill another Robin.

“Shit,” he mumbled, as he grabbed his helmet and shoved it on his head. All he needed was his guns, now.

“Come now, Robin,” Joker said, “You’re disappointing the viewers at home.”

“No, you’re disappointing the viewers,” Jason snapped, as he placed three guns into his holsters, and grabbed his spare magazines, checking to make sure each was full. “No one wants to watch the fucking Joker fuck with a little kid.”

Even if that little kid was Tim Drake. And annoying as fuck.

The camera zoomed back on Robin’s face, and Robin finally mumbled out, “Capital of Kansas.”

Robin screamed, again, when Joker jabbed him with the shock stick, and Jason growled.

He grabbed his tablet and hacked into the batcomputer in record time. He wasn’t sure if Bruce knew he could still do that, but at the moment he was fucking glad he hadn’t been caught yet.

“You didn’t phrase your answer in the form of a question! Haven’t you ever watched Jeopardy!? That’s what the good folks want right now.”

“Fuck, kid,” Jason mumbled, as he triangulated a location on Robin’s tracker, “Where are you?”

Only Robin’s tracker was listed in Gotham, too. No one else was around. Not Alfred. Not Batgirl. No one.

Why the fuck did Bruce keep leaving Robin all alone?

Hadn’t he learned his lesson the first time?

Tim groaned on screen again, making Jason draw his gun and unload the full clip on the screen.

Shit.

His neighbors probably hated him.

“Where are you,” he growled at the tablet, just as Robin’s location finished loading.

Warehouse in Crime Alley.

Not even five blocks from Jason’s safe house.

Good.

- - -

The Joker had almost no henchmen guarding his warehouse.

Usually Joker’s operations were more thought through. Right?

This time it was just pathetic.

How in the ever-loving-fuck had he got his hands on Robin, anyway?

It took Jason not even ten minutes to reach the warehouse, break in, and incapacitate all ten of his thugs. It took only another fifteen seconds to climb up into the rafters, into the main area where Joker was ‘filming’ with Robin.

“Now, Robin,” Joker said, his his annoying high pitched drawl, “You are down in the negatives. You need to get this next answer correct or—”

Jason didn’t let him finish the thought.

Because he shot the Joker in the ass.

“Shut the fuck up,” Red Hood snarled, as he dropped down from the rafters, right on top of Joker, “No one cares as much as you think.”

“Hood,” Joker said, grinning wide, despite all the blood leaking out of him.

Or, well. Not much. Jason should shoot him again.

Robin would get all high and mighty, if Jason actually killed Joker.

Fucking hell.

“How nice of you to drop by!” Joker said, laughing, “We could use a second contestant.”

Yeah. Sure.

Jason brought his elbow down into Joker’s face. Hard. Breaking his nose and knocking him flat out.

“How disappointing,” Jason said, as he stood up and turned toward Robin, “That wasn’t nearly as satisfying as shooting him in the face would have been.”

Robin stayed laying there, where he was, curled up in his cage, clutching his stomach tight.

Whistling, Jason crossed the room and tried to get Tim’s attention. “Yo. Half-pint, you all right there?”

Tim didn’t react, other than to curl up tighter when Jason approached the cage and put a hand on one of the bars.

“Shit,” he mumbled, “Okay, kid. I’ll get you out.”

Ridiculously, it took longer to figure out a way to get Tim out of the cage.

He tried to pry the fucking lock open with a crowbar he found laying around…

Joker and his fucking crowbars.

But the lock wouldn’t budge, and the stupid replacement Robin kept flinching every time Jason got too near. Which, should have probably made Jason feel bad.

If he were, like, a good person.

Instead it just pissed him off enough that he grabbed the crowbar and started bashing it against the lock, until the damn thing fell off.

“Okay,” Jason said as he opened the cage door, “Tell me what the damage is, kid.”

Robin didn’t respond, so Jason reached in and placed one gloved hand on his shoulder. All he was going to do was shake it, a little. Just to make sure the kid was alive. And like, just out of it.

But apparently Robin was super out of it, because instead of growl at him or snap some dumbass quip, he jumped up and punched Jason right in the stomach.

“Fuck,” he huffed. The little sucker packed a mean one, but he was too damn out of it for it to do more than make Jason wince. “The fuck, kid? Knock it off.”

Tim jumped up, however, on top of the cage, then wobbled there as he tried to right his balance. The second Jason tried to reach out to him, to catch him before he toppled over, or some shit, Tim pulled out a couple of his stupid R shaped throwing stars and started throwing them.

“Shit,” Jason growled, as he dodged, “Kid, knock it off.”

“What do you want?” Robin asked, and with that, apparently reached the end of his spike of adrenaline.

Because the next thing Jason knew, Robin was falling off the cage bars he’d been perched on, and Jason had barely enough time to dive the few feet between them and catch the stupid runt before he landed on the concrete ground, head first.

“Get off me,” Robin demanded, thrashing about in Jason’s hold.

All it made Jason do was squeeze his arms around Tim tighter.

“Stop,” Tim said, his voice getting a little more desperate, “Get off.”

“Ow,” Jason complained, when Tim kicked him in the knee, “Would you knock it off. Am I hurting you?”

Tim stilled, for a second, and seemed to evaluate the situation. Jason was still holding onto him, but he loosed his arms a little.

“No?” Tim asked, like he wasn’t sure if that were the correct answer, or something.

Stupid brat. And they accused Jason of shooting first, asking questions later.

“Then why the fuck are you fighting me?” Jason demanded.

“You’re…” Tim said, then paused as he put a hand up to his head. Shit. Jason needed to get him back to a safe house and checked out.

Letting go of Tim completely, Jason set him down and maneuvered, so he was kneeling in front of the stupid runt. He put a hand on Tim’s head and forced his head back, a little, so Jason could get a good look at it. He could see one of Tim’s eyes, due to his mask having so much damage on it, and it looked like Tim was at least making eye contact.

Or, at least. As much eye contact as he could when Jason was wearing a helmet.

“You’re the Red Hood?” Tim finally answered.

Jason merely huffed. “Yeah. And you’re the boy hostage. Where are you hurt?”

“What?” Tim demanded, “Why do you care?” and Jason rolled his eyes.

“Like I’m gonna let Joker kill you. That’s my job.”

Okay.

Wrong thing to say.

Because Tim’s eye grew wide, and he shuffled backward, out of Jason’s reach, kicking his feet.

Jason tried to grab his feet, to make him stop, but Tim kept kicking, and got Jason right in the ribs.

“Ouch, stop it. I was kidding.” Tim got him on the chin, and Jason snapped, “Just stop. I’m trying to help you.”

“Why,” Tim demanded, as Jason finally caught one of his legs and held it up high enough that Tim lost his balance.

It was kind of amusing, how Tim landed on his back, and just groaned.

“Why’s there gotta be a reason?” he asked, “Maybe I don’t want to see another Robin die!”

“You beat me near to death like two minutes ago,” Tim shouted, pulling at his foot, and not succeeding in freeing himself.

Because Jason was standing, and Tim was short. It would be no trouble at all for Jason to just lift Tim right up off the ground entirely by his leg.

“It’s been four months, stop being dramatic.”

“You expect me to believe you’ve changed enough since then that it matters?” Tim demanded, just as he pulled another throwing star out and threw it at Jason.

Too bad for Tim, Jason saw it coming a mile away. And just caught it.

“Yep!” he cheered, “You done now? You’re, like, super out if it and your fight sucks. If you couldn’t tell.”

Robin mumbled something Jason didn’t catch, so Jason dropped his foot, and tried not to grin too wide when Tim groaned when his body hit the ground.

He didn’t fall too far.

And Jason was sure his head and upper back had been on the ground, already, before he let go.

“Can you walk on your own?” he asked.

Once Tim stopped being all dramatic about everything, he grumbled out a, “No,” so Jason knelt down next to him and offered a hand, to help Tim sit up.

Tim glared at him with so much derision, it risked making Jason laugh.

Instead, all he said was, “Then stop fucking fighting me and let me help.”

“Fine,” Tim snapped, lifting an arm up so Jason could wrap it around Jason’s shoulders, “But if you try anything, I’m calling for Superman.”

“Whatever,” Jason said, as he hefted Tim to his feet, and started making toward the warehouse exit, “Just shut up and let me get you out of here.”

Tim was in pretty rough shape.

Jason already knew that, of course, but it became even more obvious as they made their way back to Jason’s safe house.

Mostly because Jason did all the fucking work.

Tim’s left leg was obviously fucked up. Jason was a little glad he hadn’t held that leg up in the air, because then he’d feel guilty.

And that wasn’t it. He kept clutching at his stomach, and Jason was willing to bet there was at least some pretty bad burns there from all the zapping.

Dragging Tim’s ass up the side of Jason’s building was easy, of course. But annoying. Because Jason had to hold onto Tim tight, because the stupid brat’s grip kept loosening whenever Jason jostled him too much.

“Shit kid,” Jason mumbled, as he pushed Tim through the window to his safe house, “I can’t believe Bruce leaves his fucking kid all alone to protect Gotham when he’s out of town.”

Because, seriously.

This was ridiculous.

Tim was fucked up. And it was all Bruce’s fault.

“M’not his kid,” Tim mumbled, as he stumbled a few feet inside Jason’s safe house, over to the couch. He collapsed down with an oof.

Jason rolled his eyes and closed the window behind him, after he jumped inside. “You are too a kid,” he said, unsnapping his helmet and tossing it down on the ground, “You’re like, thirteen.”

Tim followed Jason with his eyes, even as he sank into the couch a little more, and said, “I’m fifteen. And I said I’m not his kid.”

“Fifteen!” Jason shouted, tossing his gloves on the ground. His safe house was pretty small, so his kitchen was his living room. And he, thankfully, had a pretty good first aid kit sitting in the cabinet under his sink. “That’s how old I was. And obviously I meant his son, you idiot.”

“I’m not his son either,” Tim said.

Jason paused, as he was pulling his kit out, and looked up over the counter at the little brat.

“He didn’t adopt you?”

Hadn’t Talia said….?

How the fuck was he even Robin?

“No,” Tim exclaimed, “I have a dad.”

Is that why Bruce was more lenient on Tim? Because he wasn’t his son?

Bruce never let Jason out of his fucking sight as Robin.

He’d thought that was because he didn’t trust Jason, and clearly he trusted Tim.

But was it maybe because he’d adopted….

Nope. Not thinking about this.

“And he lets you run around with the bats?” Jason asked, finally crossing back over to Tim and slamming the first aid kit down on the coffee table.

Tim jumped, but then scowled at Jason and said, “It’s not like he can stop me.”

“Seriously, kid?”

“Look. It’s none of your business. Are you gonna let me go?”

In that state? Not bloody likely.

But instead of say that, and get Robin all fighty again, Jason said, “I’m not keeping you prisoner, but let me look at your injuries.”

Tim rolled his eyes, but sank back down into the couch and mumbled, “I’m fine.”

“Uh huh,” Jason said, pointing toward the stomach Tim was still clutching, “lemme see.”

It took a second of Tim glaring, but he finally relented and lifted his shirt, and Jason could only wince in sympathy.

“Damn, Timbo,” he said, looking at the criss crossing scorch marks littering his abdomen, “Those look fun. I’ve got some burn cream that should help.”

Jason worked on Tim’s injuries in silence for a good ten minutes. He had so many burns, Jason kind of wanted to go back and shoot Joker in the ass again, just for inflicting them.

And maybe go find Bruce and shoot him in the ass, for leaving Tim all alone for this to happen in the first place.

“That one needs stitches,” Jason said, after he’d pulled Tim’s sleeves up, inspecting his arms for any more burns to treat. Instead, he found a jagged knife wound, that was still oozing a little. “Did you think you could hide it from me?”

Tim pulled his arm closer to himself, and mumbled, “S’not that bad.”

Jason rolled his eyes, and pulled out his suture kit. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Amazingly, Tim didn’t fight him at all, when he took his arm back and started cleaning the wound enough so he could apply the local anesthetic and start stitching it up.

Instead, all Tim did was stare at him, a little blankly.

It was actually unnerving.

“What?” he snapped.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I told you,” Jason scoffed, readjusting his hold on Tim’s arm so he could get the last few stitches in straight, “I’m not letting Joker kill another Robin.”

And, sure. Stitching the kid up and treating all his burns was going a little above and beyond.

But Jason would feel a little bad if he, like, bled to death or whatever.

“Yeah,” Tim said, blinking hard as he ran his free hand through his hair, “But like, you coulda just took him out and left. Why’re you— ow.”

“Whoops,” Jason said, bearing his teeth a little as he grinned at the accidental needle prick he gave Tim outside the numbed area, “Are you seriously complaining? Don’t you know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth?”

Tim was rich, wasn’t he? Weren’t they taught that shit, too?

Jason was pretty sure Bruce never let him be ungrateful about gifts. Not that Jason would, of course. But even Bruce Wayne taught his kids to be thankful for what they had…

Then again. Tim apparently wasn’t Bruce’s kid…

“When that gift horse tries to kill us every other week, no,” Tim said.

“Shut up,” Jason scoffed, “I haven’t messed with you idiots in months.”

Which was, absolutely, completely, 89% true.

He hadn’t attempted anything fatal on them in months. Fucked with their cases for the laughs? Maybe.

Mostly just Bruce’s. When it didn’t get anyone hurt, of course.

Just because it was fun to fuck with Bruce.

Because fuck Bruce.

“Yeah, but— ow.”

Jason might have stabbed him again.

“All done,” he said, before Tim could get out whatever it was he was going to protest, “Congratulations, you’ll survive. You can sleep here. I’m burning the safe house tomorrow, though.”

He’d shot the TV. So it was pretty useless now, anyway.

“Next time you get captured by the Joker, I’m shooting you in the ass, got it?”

“Yeah,” Tim said, rolling his eyes as he settled back on the couch a little more comfortably, “Whatever.”

Jason watched as Tim pulled his legs up and clearly just… collapsed there. To sleep. And rolled his eyes even harder.

Like that would be comfortable.

On his way to the window, after he’d put his helmet back on, Jason grabbed the blanket and pillow from under the coffee table and threw it right at Tim’s head.

Tim scowled, but did readjust himself so he looked at least slightly more comfortable.

Satisfied, Jason nodded and said, “Kay. Tell Bats I said fuck him. Later, squirt.”

“Thanks, Jason,” Tim mumbled, just as Jason was slipping out of the window.

Heh. The runt wasn’t so bad, after all.

Maybe.

But Jason was not going to make a habit of this. No way.

If he did, he’d have to go shoot Batman in the ass, for letting his stupid little Robin get hurt.

That would be fun, actually.

#whumptober2020 #no.4 #caged #batman #batfam #red hood #robin #tim drake #jason todd #c writes #fanfiction #injuries #hurt/comfort #batbros #cross posted to ao3

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Note

Prompt: Meng Yao uses his self-absorbed sociopath murderer-ness for the forces of good. (Am not anon, just also think it sounds interesting.)

It happened on the way to Langya.

Meng Yao was feeling quite good about how things had developed. After his father had cast him out, he had vowed to return and force the man to acknowledge him, to put himself in a position where everyone had ever sneered at him would be force to kiss his feet or die – everything after that had been further service to that goal.

He’d gone to Qinghe, because it was the only place that respected merit over blood; he’d found the most arrogant cultivators and allowed them to bully him, because he had learned that Nie Mingjue abhorred injustice among his own more than anything; he had cleared the battlefields and helped the commoners because Nie Mingjue had commented on it positively, suggesting correctly that it was the path to promotion, although becoming Nie Mingjue’s personal deputy had been a pleasant surprise. Rescuing Lan Xichen had been just as unexpected an accident, but a welcome one, and just as importantly, a useful one – it was easy enough to encourage the man to be the one to bring up the subject of Meng Yao returning to the Lanling Jin sect, and to arrange to be within earshot of Nie Mingjue when he did.

And now he had a letter of recommendation from Nie Mingjue himself sitting in his pouch.

Would that be enough for Jin Guangshan?

Meng Yao wasn’t sure. Nie Mingjue had let him see the letter – the usual sort of thing, from one sect leader to another, flattering him as possessing both excellent skills and virtuous conduct – and from everything he’d heard, Jin Guangshan would enjoy the feeling of snatching away a talent.

But would that be enough?

Would he need to do more? And if he did – how far would he need to go? Who would he need to crush beneath his feet to get to the top?

His thoughts were consumed by such worries, and he reached inside the pouch to pull out the so-precious recommendation letter, just to feel it – he often did it, a nervous tick that he couldn’t quite stop – and that’s why he didn’t see the rabbit darting across his feet.

He stumbled and fell, his fingers instinctively gripping the letter tight – and that’s when he noticed it.

There was a small bulge in the letter. Not much of one, just a little curve that shouldn’t be there.

At once Meng Yao dusted himself off, took himself off the main road and made himself a small fire near the stream; his mother had long ago taught him how to steam letters open in such a way that they could be closed again, seal intact and none the wiser. He hadn’t bothered before, since he’d already seen what the letter contained – or rather, he’d thought he knew what it contained.

He’d thought Nie Mingjue too straightforward to play any tricks. But, he supposed, one never really knew.

The letter unfurled itself in his hand: it was exactly the letter he had been shown, which was a relief, but hidden inside was another piece of paper, small and folded up – it would have fallen into the palm of whoever cracked the seal to open the letter. Jin Guangshan, presumably.

Meng Yao opened the additional letter.

The calligraphy was unmistakably Nie Mingjue’s, forceful and bold. The words –

We have never seen eye-to-eye, and I am aware that our alliance is only against the Wens. Despite this, I would ask that you overlook both our past enmity and the embarrassment you will undoubtedly feel at the prospect of accepting Meng Yao after what happened between you in the past. Underneath his calm demeanor, he is ruthless and vindictive, but he has chosen in spite of that to be a good man, deserving of your respect, as he has earned mine. Consider it as me owing you a favor.

It was a good thing Meng Yao was already sitting down.

He hadn’t – he’d thought Nie Mingjue hadn’t noticed. The man disregarded most things as unimportant, never caring about people being rude or disdainful whether of Meng Yao or of himself, had believed (absurdly) that good conduct alone would be enough to shut their wretched mouths, something Meng Yao had long ago learned was not true – he’d assumed Nie Mingjue was naïve, even willfully blind; he’d thought he’d pulled the wool over his eyes, hiding his hatred underneath his smiles and even temperament, tricking him into underestimating him as he had so many others before. Even Lan Xichen, who liked him and treated him well simply because he was a good person, didn’t know what Meng Yao was really like – would never know, as far as Meng Yao was concerned.

He hadn’t realized that Nie Mingjue saw him, understood that he was full of spite and bile and grudges, and thought that he’d – what? That he’d simply chosen otherwise?

Absurd.

Who would ever choose to be good, simply for the sake of being good? What practical benefits could anyone get from that?

…deserving of your respect, as he has earned mine. Consider it as me owing you a favor.

Meng Yao pressed the letter to his chest, which felt both hollow and full to overflowing at the same time; to think that Nie Mingjue, proud, defiant, unbending Nie Mingjue, Sect Leader of one of the Four Great Sects, the only one who was actually winning against the Wen sect – to think that he would humble himself to beg a favor from a man the whole world knew he despised as a craven fool.

To think he would do that for him.

…deserving of your respect, as he has earned mine.

It was such a stupid thing. Pointless, worthless! Could you eat respect, if you were hungry? Would respect keep you warm at night when you were freezing? If a sword were held to your throat, could respect block it?

When the laughter of your enemies filled your ears, could the respect of a single man let you ignore it? Did it really matter so much, to have someone see you as you truly were and to still decide you were worth something?

...yes. It seemed that it did.

Meng Yao, don’t be a fool. Your plans..!

Meng Yao carefully resealed the letter, making sure the seal was intact and it looked untouched; the small note, Nie Mingjue’s heartfelt plea on his behalf, did not go back inside of it. If Nie Mingjue ever asked – and he wouldn’t, since he hadn’t told Meng Yao about the extra note to begin with – Meng Yao could always say that it simply fell out without him noticing.

The letter went back into his pouch.

The note he tucked into his robes, placing it right over his heart.

The recommendation letter would be enough, or it wouldn’t; there was no need for Nie Mingjue to lose face in front of Jin Guangshan. Meng Yao had plenty of plans on what to do if simply being a talent wasn’t good enough for his father to recognize him – there was a war on, after all, and Nie Mingjue had never hidden anything from him.

No matter what happened, he had plans.

Meng Yao fantasized about murdering his supervisor on a near daily basis.

Had he once complained in his heart about the Nie sect cultivators, who did little more than enjoy the momentary pleasure of being superior to someone of finer birth? Who were brutish and stubborn to the point of hard-headedness? Who thought strength of arms was the beginning and end of the Dao?

He’d rather be a menial servant for the worst of the whole lot of them rather than have to put up with another minute of him.

Petty humiliations on a daily basis – berating him for things that weren’t his fault, calling him all sorts of names, giving him the worst tasks, allowing and even encouraging the other soldiers to play pranks on him. Beatings, if he dared protest, and even when he didn’t, just to make sure he didn’t ‘forget’ his place. Taking credit for all of Meng Yao’s ideas and hard work, so that there would be no way for him to make his way up here as he had back in Qinghe – to ensure that his father could safely forget about his existence, having done the bare minimum that the respect owed to another Sect Leader required.

He’d even said – about Meng Yao’s mother –

It wouldn’t be hard, either; easy enough to do, easy enough to cover it up, and no one would ever need to know. Meng Yao had poor cultivation, having started too late to ever catch up in terms of strength, and so he had to substitute for it: aiming for quantity instead of quality, learning all the techniques he could – with his brilliant memory, seeing once was the same as learning. He knew Wen techniques, and there were Wen swords all over the battlefield; he bent over and picked one up.

Killing his superior, who would not expect it, would be as easy as flipping over his hand, and his corpse would simply be counted as another casualty of battle. Another debt due to the Wen-dogs.

There was really no reason not to – he already had plans to desert, having realized by now that he would never be able to win Jin Guangshan’s attention through honest work; his goals required that he take a different path, a riskier one, but when had he not been willing to stake it all on one throw of the dice? He could assuage his own anger, get revenge, and leave this all behind him, the whole world unknowing.

Now was the perfect chance.

…deserving of your respect, as he has earned mine.

Meng Yao grimaced and threw down the sword.

Stupid: it clattered on the ground, and his superior heard it, and turned at once to scream at him, accusing him of all sorts of things – even incidentally true ones, like plotting to kill him (though he would have stabbed him from the front, not the back). As was usual, he pulled out his switch and began beating Meng Yao as he screamed, blows focused on his upper arms and chest and back where no one would see; Meng Yao would have to disrobe to show someone, and that would only lead to rumors. Bad enough that his superior claimed that he was making his way through the camp on his back; he wouldn’t let anyone else have any basis for saying the same.

Meng Yao gritted his teeth and bore with it. He’d be leaving soon enough –

There was the familiar sound of unsheathing.

So familiar, in fact, that Meng Yao’s mouth opened without his own volition, automatically saying, “Sect Leader Nie, please hold back – ”

In that first moment before he turned, he’d thought he’d mistaken one sheath for another, an old habit – a memory of better times, even – because of course it couldn’t be true, there was no way for Nie MIngjue to be here, but despite all common sense he heard that familiar voice roar, “I will not!”

There was, Meng Yao reflected, a certain joy in all those thoughts of murdering his superior, a warm glow at the thought of getting the revenge he deserved by making the man pay in blood.

Watching Nie Mingjue thoroughly beat the man for having dared lay a hand on him?

Even better.

“Sect Leader Nie, perhaps you should stop,” he finally said after a while. “He is after all the lieutenant of another sect.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m using the flat of my blade,” Nie Mingjue said, and Meng Yao had to bite his lips to keep from laughing.

“I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with Sect Leader Jin,” he said, and that much he actually meant.

“I’m here to save him at his own request, he wouldn’t have the face to shame me,” Nie Mingjue said dismissively, but he did – somewhat reluctantly – stop, and allowed Meng Yao’s superior to go running; if Meng Yao hadn’t already planned to leave, he might have been concerned regarding who the man would complain to. “Meng Yao, why does your – why does Sect Leader Jin claim he doesn’t know who you are?”

Meng Yao opened his mouth, eyes flickering as he wondered what he could say that would save face all around and avoid starting a fight between Nie Mingjue, who he liked, and his father, who he still needed to one day acknowledge him – it would be a tricky tightrope.

One he never had to walk.

Nie Mingjue held up a hand, looking annoyed. “If you’re going to lie, just tell me you don’t know.”

“…I don’t know,” Meng Yao said obediently. His father preferred to pretend he didn’t exist, even though he owed Nie Mingjue more than that; admitting that, however, would be causing unnecessary trouble.

Nie Mingjue scowled. “You’re welcome to come back, if you find yourself unfulfilled here. The man I replaced you with is a – well. He’s not up to your standard.”

Meng Yao smiled. “I appreciate the offer, Sect Leader Nie, but – there’s another way, I think, to win enough merit to make my father have no choice but to see me.”

He surveyed Nie Mingjue’s expression, wondering if he would at last find disdain – but no, the man merely nodded, as if planning to force one’s own father into submission was an entirely reasonable, justified, and righteous path. Perhaps it was, if the father in question was Jin Guangshan.

“I have been studying the Wen sect’s techniques,” Meng Yao said. “I believe I can infiltrate their forces.”

Nie Mingjue frowned. “You held the sword well enough to pass for a Wen,” he said, and Meng Yao hadn’t realized he’d arrived early enough to see that. “But it won’t last for very long.”

“I wouldn’t need it to,” Meng Yao explained. “My father has mistreated me, and everyone knows it – it wouldn’t be so hard to claim that I was defecting because I had had enough. Wen Ruohan would enjoy having one of his enemy’s sons as a servant.”

He’d accumulated a month’s worth of bruises on his back for that very reason.

Nie Mingjue’s frown deepened. “You don’t need to do this.”

“It will help us win,” Meng Yao countered. “You know my skills, Sect Leader Nie; my memory is excellent and I’m not very noticeable – I can find plans, maps, instructions; I will find ways to send them on to the forces on our sides. You don’t have a single spy as good as I can be. Think of all the battles we can win – the lives we’ll save! Cultivators and common people both!”

“And it will win you the merit you need.”

Meng Yao nodded. That was the main point, of course; the rest was all just talk.

Nie Mingjue’s jaw worked as he thought it over. Schemes and deception were not his forte; he had spies, as did all the other Sect Leaders, and shared information with them freely, but it had never been the way he liked to do things.

Meng Yao’s heart was in his mouth as he waited for Nie Mingjue’s judgment. If it were anyone else, he would have just thanked him and bid him goodbye without sharing his plans; but Nie Mingjue had gone to Jin Guangshan and asked about him, without prompting, entirely unbidden – he would make a fuss if Meng Yao just disappeared. Better to tell him.

Better to gamble on respect.

“…Wen Ruohan would enjoy having one of Sect Leader Jin’s blood in his ranks,” Nie Mingjue finally said, the words coming out slow and reluctant. “But not as much as he would enjoy having my deputy.”

Meng Yao’s eyes curved into crescents at this unexpected delight. “Sect Leader Nie, are you proposing that we have a fight?”

Life as Jin Guangyao was about what Meng Yao had expected it to be. Nasty, mean, vicious, underhanded…Madame Jin treated him worse than a servant; Jin Guangshan, now officially Father, gave him things to organize and slave over, and expected him to thank him for the gift; Jin Zixuan mostly looked endlessly uncomfortable about everything, but he’d clearly learned long ago how to keep his mouth shut.

It wasn’t all that different from life inside the Wen sect, Meng Yao reflected. At Wen Ruohan’s side, he’d gotten to torture people and found that he had the skills for it, although not the taste: it felt good to make his enemies scream, as good as he’d always thought it would be, but in the end it wasn’t quite as good as the feeling of Nie Mingjue trusting him enough to let him set the stage for his dramatic desertion.

It certainly wasn’t anywhere as good as the moment in the Sun-Scorching Palace when Nie Mingjue’s eyes filled with relief at the realization that Meng Yao hadn’t betrayed him after all, allowing himself to finally let that too-stiff back of his bend in the hands of Meng Yao and Lan Xichen, who had come at his word without so much as a question.

And that meant, irritatingly enough, that if Meng Yao wanted more of that good feeling, he was going to have to – to do that.

To be a good person.

To make the choices a good person would make, even if it was purely transactional on his part. Good deeds would get him praise and respect from the men he respected most, both of whom were now his sworn brothers; they might not get him anything more substantive than that, but – whatever.

He was good enough to find a way to get what he wanted even with being held back by stupid rules.

Most recently, he’d presented plans for lookout towers to Jin Guangshan, careful to do it in public so that no one could claim credit for the idea; his father wasn’t that interested, but it was enough to win him some merit among those watching, especially those small sects that usually had to deal with the more remote areas. Of course, plenty of people claimed it was a scheme for Lanling Jin to obtain personal benefits, but ironically enough Jin Guangshan’s disinterest did a great deal to reassure them.

No matter. He would make it work, given time.

Not that he had much time.

Jin Guangshan had him running around like a dog more often than not – organizing sect events, banquets and other things, writing correspondence, all the tasks of a deputy and none of the benefits. He even demanded that Meng Yao help him arrange his – entertainment.

Meng Yao’s lip curled.

If he weren’t so devoted to being a good person, he would have used the opportunity to ingratiate himself with his father – to try to earn his favor, or at least learn his secrets so as to use them later. But no. He had to be good.

There was more than one way to be good.

He didn’t wait for Madame Jin to find out about the new work he’d been assigned, as she undoubtedly would – Jin Guangshan was not subtle – but instead went to find her directly, throwing himself down at her feet. “Madame, I have wronged you,” he said, his forehead touching the ground. “Please select an appropriate punishment.”

She looked somewhat taken aback by it. “What are you talking about?”

He didn’t say anything.

She frowned and gestured for one of her maids; the girl came back soon and whispered in her ear. Madame Jin scowled. “And you helped him?”

“He is my father,” Meng Yao said, not looking up.

She huffed, clearly irritated, and seemed about to start scolding, but then she gave a thoughtful hum instead.

Face hidden by the floor, Meng Yao smiled.

“You came here,” she said thoughtfully. “He’s your father – but you came here. You disapprove?”

He didn’t say anything. It’d be easier for him if she put together the pieces herself: he’d certainly been dropping hints hard enough, these past few weeks.

“Of course you would,” she continued, and yes, there it was, there she was, going down the path he wanted her to go down. “Your mother…you never stay late at the banquets where there are entertainers, or else you’re always in the kitchen, in the back, helping work on something. You never indulge yourself – I’d wager you despise them all, don’t you? Filial child…and it wasn’t as though your mother could say no, working where she did.”

His mother, when Jin Guangshan had visited her, had been a famous talent – she’d been educated, conversant in books and excelling in music. She still had her pick of clients, back then, though she’d been getting older, over twenty; she’d placed her hope on Jin Guangshan, deciding to bear his child.

Her hope had been misplaced.

“Still, it’s intolerable – for all that you’re a bastard, you’re still his blood; it’s a disgrace on the Sect’s name to be treating you like his personal procurer!”

“Madame Jin, please punish me,” Meng Yao said. “He will undoubtedly ask again; how can I say no? It’s not as though I have your power to find and punish him.”

“But you do,” she said, eyes bright as she leaned forward. “You were a spy once, weren’t you? I heard you talking about it just the other day, how you sent reports back to our side – whenever he asks this of you again, send me word at once. I will interfere, and it won’t be your fault at all.”

Good, very good. But not quite enough –

“But Madame!” he protested. “He will surely guess –”

“I’m not so foolish as to reveal it,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Though it would be better to make it rare…how about this? I’ll assign you to accompany A-Xuan. The old man wouldn’t dare ask you to do such filthy things when my A-Xuan is around!”

Perfect.

“You’re too kind, Madame Jin,” he said. He didn’t much like procuring whores for his father, that much was true, but it wasn’t what he was trying to avoid: no, what he wanted to avoid was his father’s laboratories, devoted to figuring out the Yiling Patriarch’s methods of demonic cultivation – to steal the man’s power for himself.

That, too, was something Jin Guangshan wouldn’t dare to involve him in if Jin Zixuan was around.

Though – speaking of that, he really needed to resolve the issue with Wei Wuxian. It had been rather a big fuss after he’d stolen away the Wen sect remnants; his father was campaigning to pressure the Jiang sect to eject him or else take responsibility. The other sects were watching.

Something would have to be done.

What would a good person do?

Meng Yao honestly had no idea. Perhaps this was something he could consult Lan Xichen for.

Meng Yao had always known that listening was the best way to get someone to talk. A face that didn’t seem to judge, a tilt of the head that suggested attention – his mother had shown him all the tricks to manipulate people.

He just hadn’t realized there were so many people willing to sign up to get manipulated.

“Perhaps it would be better if you told him,” he told Wei Wuxian gently. With Madame Jin’s help, he’d started taking regular trips away from Koi Tower; one of them had been to volunteer to accompany Lan Wangji on one of his trips to the Burial Mounds, as a favor to Lan Xichen, and this time, he’d stayed behind to have a little chat.

His father had approved the trip on the basis that he was supposed to get information from Wei Wuxian – and he was, just not the sort his father wanted.

“You don’t even know what it is,” Wei Wuxian insisted, twisting his sleeve in his hands anxiously. “It’d break his heart –”

“And your distance isn’t? Think about how he’d feel if he found at later that you were keeping a secret from him, a reason to explain everything…that’d be worse, wouldn’t it?”

“Why would he need to find out at all?”

“Because of you, of course. As long as you live, it will be his fault if something happens to you.”

Wei Wuxian’s fingers tensed. “His fault?”

“Naturally. Why are so many people willing to crusade against you? Shouting support no matter if they were involved or not, condemning you in vast numbers? It’s because he’s not on good terms with you, because his attitude never showed that your bond was too strong to be broken. In the end, even if the distance between you was because of your secret, don’t you think he’ll blame himself for all that happened to you?”

Wei Wuxian looked stricken.

“Whatever it is, you should tell him,” Meng Yao coaxed. “I’ve spoken with Sect Leader Jiang, you know –”

Only briefly, but if this scheme worked, he’d insist on having several talks like this. The man’s mind was a gigantic mess, and it would do him good to have someone help him put it back in order.

That’s what a good man would do.

That the shape of that order would also accrue to Meng Yao’s benefit – a pleasant side effect.

“– His words are harsh, but his confusion and pain are evident. He’s suffering every day, rebuilding that sect of his, all alone…”

Wei Wuxian jumped up. “Don’t you think I want to be there to help him?” he demanded. “But I can’t just abandon the Wens, either!”

Meng Yao opened his eyes wide. “Is that the choice?”

Wei Wuxian turned to him, his eyes narrowing – a little dangerous, but then, Meng Yao had played Wen Ruohan between his fingers. What was one Yiling Patriarch in comparison?

“Lianfeng-zun,” he said. “What are you saying? There’s another choice?”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” Meng Yao said. “My first loyalty is to my father. I’m sure you understand.”

“Your father,” Wei Wuxian mused. “Your father…his was the first voice to condemn me. And yet he’s always sniffing around my heels, demanding that I hand over my Stygian Tiger Seal…he’s not just scared of my power, is he? He wants it specifically. He wants – what does he want?”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” Meng Yao said.

“But there is something.”

Meng Yao shrugged, indicating his helplessness. “I owe my father filial loyalty,” he reminded Wei Wuxian. “But I also have a duty to the world – it’s very difficult to walk the line between one’s family and one’s conscience.”

Meng Yao didn’t actually have a conscience, but he’d heard things.

Wei Wuxian grabbed his hands. “Lianfeng-zun, I owe you for this,” he said, very seriously. “Thank you.”

And then he rushed out the door – probably headed to the Lotus Pier first, and then to Koi Tower. There were all sorts of clues left out for him to find.

The scandal when his father’s little experiments in demonic cultivation were discovered would either bring down Jin Guangshan or rehabilitate Wei Wuxian – maybe even both, and just in time for Jin Zixuan’s wedding.

Meng Yao got up with a stretch.

It was really surprisingly nice being a good person.

Meng Yao had always thought he would need to be at the top to be happy – that it would always boil his blood to see Jin Zixuan placed above him, through nothing more but an accident of birth.

More recently, though, he’d been rethinking his position.

“Sorry, Sect Leader,” he said, face fill of smiles – sincere, for once. “That information’s confidential. I couldn’t possibly betray your confidence by taking a look at it.”

Jin Zixuan’s glare was distinctly weakened by the giant circles under his eyes: he looked like a sleepy panda. “I know for a fact that you helped Sect Leader Nie with this sort of thing.”

Meng Yao put his hands over his heart. “I wasn’t yet aware –”

“A-Yao! Please! I don’t even care what you do with it!”

Meng Yao finally broke and laughed. “I can’t do it,” he said, and Jin Zixuan almost whined like a sad dog, “because I already did it yesterday. You just need to sign these papers and then you can go get some sleep before your baby wakes up.”

“Is there some promotion I can give you?” Jin Zixuan wondered, looking deeply relieved and already half asleep.

“I’m already your second-in-command, and I more or less run Koi Tower,” Meng Yao said. “The only thing I don’t need to do is get yelled at by people who are unhappy with my decisions, which is your job.”

“Why do I somehow feel like I got the short end of the stick?”

“No idea,” Meng Yao said blithely. “It’s your inheritance, after all.”

Their father had been dead for four months – sadly, the whole mess with demonic cultivation hadn’t done the trick, though it had effectively rehabilitated Wei Wuxian’s reputation; once he’d been cast into the same bucket as the Yiling Patriarch, it had been in Jin Guangshan’s best interest to make the entire cultivation world accept demonic cultivation as a valid, if dangerous, cultivation path.

Meng Yao had had to take other measures.

It couldn’t really be considered patricide: he’d been so understandably distraught to find out what his father had done to poor Madam Qin, and what that meant about Qin Su, all coming out right before he’d been prepared to marry her – any good person would have done as he’d done and told Qin Cangye.

It was a good thing that he hadn’t followed his initial instincts to bed Qin Su before the marriage. He’d considered it, since a pregnancy would make it impossible for Qin Cangye, that old stiff-neck, to back out at the last minute, but he’d reminded himself that a good person wouldn’t do it that way.

A good person would go to his two sworn brothers and look sad about the whole dilemma until Lan Xichen, at least, was fooled into going to offer an encouraging word.

Nie Mingjue thought Meng Yao was being especially full of shit and claimed that he would never get involved in any romantic matters whatsoever. His later invitation for Sect Leader Qin to go night-hunting with him shortly thereafter, a casual demonstration of the power behind Meng Yao, had nevertheless helped just as much than Lan Xichen’s friendly chat – the carrot and the stick.

In the end, of course, it all came to nothing marriage-wise, but it’d gotten his father out of the way, under such circumstances that made Meng Yao look good, Jin Guangshan look wretched, and put Qin Cangye deep into Meng Yao’s debt – and even got him several months of pampering by two very apologetic and sympathetic sworn brothers.

An even better result than the marriage, however sweet Qin Su had been.

Since then, he’d finally had the chance to do what he wanted, especially given how busy Jin Zixuan was busy with his new son, who had colic, and his troublesome brothers-in-law that were always visiting.

Jiang Cheng had in fact greatly benefited from his chats with Meng Yao – he’d had a lot of problems, as Meng Yao had suspected, starting with his childhood and continuing through some fairly staggeringly bad parenting choices on the part of the last generation of Jiangs, and it did him a great deal of good to have a comforting ear that could manipulate his emotions to a more even keel. His relationship with Wei Wuxian was slowly being repaired, though the latter’s new relationship with Hanguang-Jun was causing some bumps in the road, reawakening those tender feelings of jealousy and possessiveness and fear that he was once again losing his best friend.

(Lan Xichen, in contrast, had been thrilled. Apparently he’d known for years and hadn’t once let on to anyone. And something about – loquats? For once in his life, Meng Yao didn’t want to know.)

Actually, Meng Yao was more proud of the stroke of brilliance he’d had in sending Su She to be Jiang Cheng’s escort for a season – Su She had always wanted respect more than anything else, hating any and all people of higher status (most of the world, unfortunately), but being forced to listen to Jiang Cheng’s entire mess for several months was enough to make even him feel bad, no matter the difference between their positions.

He’d even finally agreed to remove the curse from Jin Zixun.

No, it was all working out very well: he had all four of the leaders of the Great Sects and the Yiling Patriarch supporting him, he could dump all the parts of being in charge that he didn’t like on Jin Zixuan’s lap, and anyone who even thought about calling him the son of a prostitute would very quickly find themselves rethinking it at the end of little Xue Chengmei’s knife or Mo Xuanyu’s teary eyes, depending on which approach they thought would be more effective.

Now that was an unlikely pair to have adopted each other as brothers: Xue Yang had been the most talented demonic cultivator in Jin Guangshan’s little nest, a twelve-year-old delinquent from Kuizhou (Wei Wuxian had thrown a fit), and Mo Xuanyu was the emotionally unstable, cowardly cutsleeve son that Jin Guangshan had brought back specifically to irritate Meng Yao. Meng Yao had deliberately forced them to share a room in the hopes that they would balance each other out, and it had worked surprisingly well.

Of course, Meng Yao still had no idea what to do with either of them, especially ever since they’d developed crushes on two travelling cultivators – apparently Xue Yang was also a cutsleeve, just much less obvious about it – but he supposed it didn’t really matter. He’d figure it out.

Eventually.

He had time - time and good company, now that the Song of Clarity was helping calm Nie Mingjue’s endless temper. Lan Xichen had promised to teach it to Meng Yao as well, so that they could play it for Nie Mingjue together, and then switch out - Meng Yao had suggested that Nie Huaisang learn it as well, both to help calm his older brother and to ensure that he would be able to calm himself in the inevitable future when his own cultivation got to be too much for him.

In the end, it seemed respect was something you could live on after all.

#mdzs #meng yao #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #lan xichen #nie huaisang #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #jin zixuan #my fic #my fics #wangxian #3zun #nieyao #and this is what happens when Meng Yao lets someone else win ONE argument #ramblebrambleamble

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handy-dandy-monster-candy · 3 years

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Orlec

Rating: SFW Length: 1495 Pairing: Male Orc x Male Reader (both cis)

Some hurt/comfort and fluff with your dutiful pirate boyfriend. TW for mentions of blood, injuries, and torture.

xxx

“Cut him down from there.”

They are the first words I’ve heard since the screaming stopped. I’m barely clinging onto the last threads of my consciousness, blood and drool oozing from my mouth and onto the wooden post I’ve been lashed to. When the ties that bind my arms are cut, my knees can’t hope to hold me up, but they never touch the floor. Instead, I’m caught by gentle hands and my battered body is wrapped in my discarded coat, and then I’m carried out into the light of the late afternoon.

I remember the transition from the smell of blood to the salt of the sea. I remember soft whispers and exclamations of horror and despair. I remember bobbing like a buoy, floating and weightless, and then the fresh agony of my wounds being cleaned. The pain makes everything hazy at the edges, soft and insubstantial in a way that only an open wound’s prolonged exposure to astringents can manage to do.

“He’ll always bear the scars,” I hear someone else murmur.

“It doesn’t matter,” says the first voice I heard before. “Just make sure he lives.”

I close my eyes. I sleep. I dream of restless things in the aftermath. Of clawing hands and sharp barbs, of drowning in the darkest depths of the ocean where no man dares go. I feel stiflingly hot, then chilled to the bone. I taste bile in my mouth and feel my eyes go raw from weeping. I surface from the depths for brief moments and beg for mercy, though I know not the manner in which I crave it be delivered.

When I finally come back to myself, I can tell that it’s been days. For one, I feel the ache of a man who’s lain too long in bed, and for another, I smell like one, too. My first attempts at movement are slow and halting, and I grit my teeth against the pain and the tightness I feel across my back. My wounds are dressed and for that, I’m grateful, but the rest of me is bare, and I make a note to thank the doctor for taking care of me while I was at my worst. I find spare clothing in my quarters and manage to wrestle into my trousers and shirt, but by then, I have to sit at the edge of my bed to catch my breath, dizzy with effort.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I look up with a start to my doorway and see that it’s been darkened by my surly first mate, a massive orc by the name of Orlec with skin like bronze and eyes like brushed steel. He’s a fearsome-looking man with one chipped tusk and arms like the trunks of trees, but he’s deadliest with the cutlass at his hip. Now, he has a towel over his shoulder and a bucket in his hand, which he brings over to my bedside and sets down by my knee. In it is steaming seawater—a luxurious bath for a pirate so far out at sea.

“I thought I’d get some fresh air,” I wheeze, trying for nonchalance.

Orlec looks unimpressed. “You’re lucky I caught you before we hit a swell and the ship pitched your sorry ass halfway across the cabin.”

“You’d have caught me then, too,” I say with a grin, allowing Orlec to help me back out of my shirt and eagerly reaching for the rag resting over the lip of the bucket; Orlec swats my hand away and takes it up himself.

“You think this is some kind of joke,” he accuses, narrowing his eyes as he kneels in front of me and starts scrubbing at my skin none-too-tenderly. “You almost got yourself killed. Again.”

“I think it worked out quite well, actually, don’t you?” I quip, wincing through a laugh as Orlec’s grip on my arm tightens. “I knew my bold and intrepid crewmen would come to my rescue.”

“I should throw you overboard to the sharks,” Orlec snarls, pulling off my trousers and scrubbing from the waist down as though he were trying to polish the decks outside.

“Easy, easy!” I cry, cupping my hands over my poor abused cock. “You’ll tear it off, you big oaf!”

“‘Oaf’!” Orlec barks back, throwing the rag in my face with a wet slap. “The only oaf I see here is you! What the fuck were you thinking, turning yourself over to those damn privateers? We barely scraped you off the flogging pole!”

“I was thinking that I’d save you a bullet to the head,” I say between clenched teeth, my ire making my head spin a little. “Or did you forget the pistol they had pressed to your temple? It was you or me, Orlec. I chose me.”

“And what of my choices?” Orlec snaps, eyes aflame as his voice lifts. “Every day I choose to stay with you! Every day I choose to follow your lead because you’re a good captain, and you up and throw your life away at the first opportunity! I could have gotten out of it! I could have—” He cuts himself off, his great chest rising and falling like so many empires.

“There was no other way, Orlec,” I tell him, sympathy softening my temper. “I’m alive and they’re not. That’s what matters now.”

“Like hell it is,” Orlec grumbles after a moment spent collecting himself, snatching the rag back from me and continuing his work cleaning me up.

I can’t keep myself from laughing softly, reaching up to run my fingers through my lover’s thick brown mohawk. “Are you grumpy because you missed me?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I’m afraid I lack the flexibility for that.”

“I’m sure as shit not doing it.”

“Not in the state I’m in, no, but I hope that threat doesn’t extend too far into the future. Your sex is practically chiropractic.”

Orlec splutters, gently swatting my stomach with the back of a massive hand. “Shut up. I’ll show you chiropractic when I break your back over my knee the next time you do something this stupid.”

“Promises, promises,” I sigh, scraping my fingernails along Orlec’s scalp and watching as the repetitive motions soften the line of my lover’s shoulders. “I’m not so fragile as all that, my dearest.”

Just like that, the tension returns to Orlec. “You almost bled out. The doctor had to perform some emergency surgery, and then you were fevered for three nights. We almost lost you. I almost lost you.”

“Well, I haven’t been lost,” I say, “and I’ll surely never take that same risk again.”

Orlec squints his steely eyes at me, suspicious. “That better not be loophole-speak for ‘because that particular captain is dead now’.”

I avert my eyes.

Orlec pinches the inside of my knee.

“Yowch!” I yelp, jumping and then wincing when the act pulls at my new scabs.

“Shit, sorry,” Orlec rumbles, and to his credit, he does look apologetic. “Only meant to hurt your knee, not your back.”

“Not the kind of weakness I want you to cause in my knees, my love,” I breathlessly reply, and barely dodge the swat of the wet rag aimed towards my face.

“Do you think of nothing but sex?” Orlec grumps, shaking his head and scrubbing between my toes.

I try desperately not to wriggle. “No,” I say around my laughter, clutching at his shoulders. “I think about kisses, too. It’s been far too long since our last, don’t you think?”

“I’m not kissing you until you wash the bile from your mouth,” Orlec deadpans, shaking his head with amusement and finally helping me back into my clothing. He helps me do just that, offering me warm saltwater to rinse with as he tames the tangles in my hair with careful ease. By the time we’re done, I’m about ready to faint all over again, and Orlec—bless him—notices. Instead of taking me out to reassure the men, he tucks me back under the covers and gives me some concoction to fight an oncoming fever, only relenting in his mothering when I promise to stay in and rest.

“Now will you kiss me?” I ask, feeling like a schoolboy tucked in to his armpits by his nanny.

“Now I will kiss you,” Orlec relents, perching at my bedside and leaning in to press his lips to mine. The kiss is long and sweet, with Orlec taking my face in his big hand and curling his fingers over the back of my head to keep me close. As if I’d ever pull away.

“I love you,” I sigh as he pulls away, melting hazily down into the pillows and clinging to the last vestiges of my consciousness.

“And despite my better judgment, I love you, too,” Orlec grumbles, startling a drunken laugh out of me. He smiles crookedly, in that way that always makes my heart melt. “Sleep,” he tells me, and I do.

#exophilia #mlm exophilia #gay exophilia #monster x male reader #monster romance #monster boyfriend #orc boyfriend #orc #Orlec #My work

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mystic-deep · 3 years

Text

“You don’t know how to beg, darling.” | Nanami Kento x fem!reader

♡ ♡ ♡ description: Married life is never easy, but you and Nanami always made it work. How could a little text cause the end of it all?

♡ ♡ ♡ warnings: cheating, swearing, nsfw, rough kissing, fingering;

♡ ♡ ♡ notes: this will be a two-part story if people find the first part interesting enough. guess I was craving a bit of heartache from our favorite ex-salaryman haha. it's not proofread so please show mercy.

♡ ♡ ♡ word count: 2.7k

“God I hate this fucking job.”

With your face buried in your hands, you muttered to yourself in the almost empty cafe. That’s how it all started, with a very honest complaint, followed quickly by “I wish I was at the beach”, to which you received a small chuckle. With tired eyes, you looked to your right to the man that, unknowing to you at that time, would become your husband.

“You too, huh?”

That’s all it took, just an acknowledgment that you weren’t the only one suffering at the hands of capitalism, and you were instantly attracted to this handsome and somewhat intimidating man that was offering you a sympathetic smile.

Two hours later, with your opened laptops now completely forgotten, and a constant order of caffeine drinks, you both came to the conclusion that you enjoyed each other’s presence, thus deciding to meet up again the following day. Then the day after that and then the day after that, until about a week later, when Nanami asked you out on a proper date. About three months in your new relationship, you moved in together and about half a year later, you were married.

A match made in heaven, that’s what you two were. It was plain for everyone to see how good you were together. You both enjoyed similar things, you were both foodies, you were successful in your respective careers, even in terms of looks you would catch envious glances as you both walked down the street hand in hand.

You never had a fight, you never argued - it was always a well-balanced relationship. You were a team and you both worked hard for the same goal, to leave your well paid jobs and bustling city for the quiet and relaxing beaches of Malaysia.

It wasn’t always easy, sacrifices had to be made, and there were times when you both arrived home so overworked that you would collapse on top of each other, not even bothering to take off your clothes. It was worth it though, or at least it would be once you were in your little house by the beach where you wouldn’t have to worry about your boss or clients calling you, where there were no deadlines or targets to be reached. Only the sun, the waves, a cocktail and a good book and who knows, maybe even children.

Yes, a proper plan for a proper future and everything was going great, until your husband had forgotten to turn off his phone and left it on the kitchen island. Your hand reached for it on instinct when it made a little buzz, thinking it was probably nothing more than a notification or a message from a client.

“Thank you for the gift, daddy! Can’t wait to show you how good it looks on me!” That was the message, quickly followed by a few kisses and then the screen went black.

The towel that you were using to dry your hair had fallen to your shoulders as you gripped his phone and stared at it in disbelief. Nanami was in the shower, you both arrived at the same time and he was gentleman enough to let you go in first. He was probably texting this person when he heard you turn off the water, and most likely forgot to close the phone.

You knew what this meant, you didn’t want to admit it but there had been signs going back to a few months ago. Date nights that were abruptly cancelled, a new expensive car even though you both had promised to cut back on your expenses, the fact that he barely touched you even on days when you were both free.

It’s not that you were dumb, far from it, but you were so in love. You were so in love with the man that had been your husband for four years now, you were so in love with the idea of a future with him - where you could get to enjoy your lives and build a proper family. That love made you blind, even now with clear evidence in front of you, the idea that Nanami was cheating on you just seemed so surreal.

What exactly had happened? What happened to the two of you that were so perfect for each other? What happened to the man who couldn’t keep his hands off of you, the one that had fucked you silly on every piece of furniture when you first bought your expensive penthouse? What happened to showering together in the morning because you didn’t want to part even for five minutes? To waking up to the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes on weekends, to holdings hands while whispering to each other in quiet cafes, to all those little moments that you treasured so much - and that you were now questioning if you’d ever get to experience them again.

All the love and care that he had for you was now being directed to another. You had lost a battle that you didn’t even know you were fighting, and the outcome was a tragic heartbreak.

That night, curled into a ball on your side of the bed, you sobbed quietly to yourself while your husband was sleeping. With trembling hands you clutched the bed sheet, your tears wetting the pillow case. You knew that there was no way for Nanami not to hear your little whimpers or feel how your body was trembling, but he made no movement. He said nothing and you said nothing and the silence fell between you heavier than a cover made of lead.

It was after a month, and the work of a private investigator, that you gathered your courage to confront your husband about his affair. As he sat at the kitchen table, lazily drinking his coffee and reading the newspaper on a Saturday morning, you handed him a folded paper.

“Sign here.”

He looked at you from behind his reading glasses and arched a brow at the piece of paper that was handed to him. He folded the Financial Times neatly and placed the paper on the table before turning his attention to the document. It must have been a complete shock to him, because he just stared at the divorce papers for several seconds before he finally made a sound.

“What...what the hell is this?” He got up from his chair, eyes narrowing at you in a threatening way.

“Divorce papers. I thought you were smart enough to read.”

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” His voice was shacking, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the papers in his hand.

“I thought there was no need to involve lawyers since we signed a prenuptial. Let’s finish this quickly, like removing a band aid.”

“Why? Why would you want a divorce?”

You had been calm up until that moment. You thought to yourself that you had cried until your tears had dried up and you had screamed until you’ve lost your voice and that all there was left to do now was to end it quickly and be done with it.

Oh but no, Nanami Kento wouldn’t let you leave without hurting you one last time. He wanted you to say it- he wanted to see the damage and pain he had caused.

“Because you’ve change! Because I don’t recognize the man that I’ve married! Because you’ve stopped loving and respecting me! Because you’re fucking a god damn college student! A little whore that has been riding your dick in hotel rooms and empty parking lots for a designer bag!”

Your face went bright red as you shouted your accusations, feeling the pain of the first discovery washing over you once more.

“This isn’t what-”

“This isn’t what? What lie do you plan on telling me? That she’s some poor relative and you’re just such a good Samaritan that you had to help her out? Tell me, how many of your family members call you ‘daddy’?”

Nanami’s hand slammed the kitchen table with such force that it made all the cutlery and dishes to jump up. He took off his glasses and angrily placed them in the pocket of his sweatpants. With just a few steps he had you trapped between the wall and his strong chest, his large hand gripping your chin.

“Why can’t you be quite for once? Why can’t you just shut the hell up and listen!” You’ve never heard Nanami raise his voice at anyone before let alone you. Sure, he could be extremely intimidating when he wanted to, but he always considered it was classless to scream. The anger flashing in his eyes and the grip on your chin were clear signs that he had lost whatever composure he had left and that a storm was coming.

As though sensing that you wanted to open your mouth and protest, he smashed his lips against yours and bit with savagery on your bottom lip. You let out a whimper and he took full advantage of that to slide his tongue inside your month. He kissed you like he had never kissed you before and it made your head spin. It was so rough, so primal - it almost felt like he was trying to eat you.

Your hands landed on his shoulders and began to grip his shirt like your life was depending on it. You were losing -you were losing your mind to this intense feeling that was building in your stomach. There had always been passion between the two of you but nothing close to this raging fire that was threatening to consume you.

When he finally pulled away, your head felt light from the lack of oxygen and your eyes looked at him in a dazed way. Smirking, clearly enjoying the fact that he still had such a strong effect on you, he began to part your legs with one of his knees, his right hand finding its way in your loose curls. He pulled on your hair harshly before his mouth went to attack your neck.

“You always get to decide, don’t you darling?” He let his teeth sink into the soft flesh, chuckling when you let out a little squeak. “Let’s start dating, Kento. Let’s move in together, Kento. Let’s get married, Kento. I don’t want to be married anymore so let’s get divorced, Kento.” Each word that was rolling out of his mouth contained so much bitterness and it stabbed you straight in the heart.

“Even my fucking dream, you couldn’t even let me have that. Oh no, you just had to make it yours.” You were so caught up in the hurtful things he was saying that you hadn’t noticed his hand travelling to the waistband of your shorts until he started rubbing your clit through the thin fabric of your panties.

“Kento...oh, Kento, please!” Please what? You didn’t even know what you were asking for. – ‘Please stop saying such horrible things, you’re breaking my heart. Please don’t make it sound like I’ve stolen your dream away from you. Please touch me more, touch me and remember how much we used to love each other.’

“You don’t know how to beg, darling.” His long fingers pushed the panties to the side before skilfully playing with your folds. “Ah, so wet for me already. You’re really hoping to get fucked, huh?” Without much trouble, he pushed two fingers inside your tight hole and began to pump them in a slow rhythm while his thumb pressed against your clit. His other hand cupped your breast before pressing his palm on your swollen nipple, his mouth returning to devouring your neck.

You were so close, with your back pressed on the wall behind you, you were so close to climaxing that every hair on your body was standing up. Then, just as abruptly as it started, Nanami retrieved both his hands and took a step back, enjoying your dishevelled state.

His rough hands landed on your shoulders and he pushed you gently on your knees, your face just inches away from the growing tent in his pants. “All you have to do is ask, darling. All you have to do is beg me to fuck you and maybe I’ll be generous. Tell me what you want.”

At this point you were ready to break. It had been too much - your heart just couldn’t take it anymore. It was hurtful enough to realize that your husband had fallen out of love with you but to find out that he never loved you to begin with? It felt like the whole world would come crumbling down.

Now you stood there, on your knees, looking up at the man who wanted to take everything from you, wondering what should you do. It would be so easy, just to beg like he had asked and let him bend you, let him break you. You would become just like that poor little girl he was fucking for fun, disposable the second he got bored with you. No matter what you chose, you couldn’t go back to the way you were. The life that you thought you two had planned together would never come to be.

With that thought in mind and whatever strength you had left, you pushed yourself up, propping your back on the wall. “I need you-” You looked straight into his eyes as the next words left your mouth. “-to sign the fucking divorce papers.”

His fist hit the wall next to your head with such force that your heart stopped beating. There was a small part of you that knew, even if he hated you, Nanami would never raise his hand to hurt you.

Looking up to meet his frightening expression, you held your ground knowing that there was no turning back at this point. He said nothing more - he threw you one last angry glance before storming to your shared bedroom. He emerged minutes later, completely dressed, fished his car keys and his wallet and he was out the door. You knew exactly where he was going but at this point you didn’t care anymore.

With trembling feet you wobbled to the bedroom and began to pull out the suitcases and boxes that you had prepared in advance. You had rented a small apartment, a far cry from your luxurious penthouse, but it was close to your office and you couldn’t afford to throw money aimlessly at this point.

As you threw your belongings in the suitcases, you made sure to leave behind every single gift he had ever given you. You didn’t need his coats, his jewels, his watches, his bags or shoes. Everything that you wanted he was no longer willing to give you and so you left only with what you had bought yourself.

He could keep the penthouse too, his little mistress will probably be thrilled to finally move in the expensive apartment complex and be showered with gifts without having to worry that the evil wife will catch them. That is until some new little thing would come along and she will be tossed to the side and forgotten. Nanami might have indicated that he had never loved you, but you were also sure he didn’t love this girl either.

As your packing was nearly completed, you looked at the photo album left on the bed, wondering what to do with it. You knew that if you left it there it would quickly find its way to the trash, and even though it hurt to remember, it hurt more to think such memories would be discarded with such ease.

You picked it up and when you did, a small flyer fell from between its pages. You picked it up from the floor and stared at the words “WELCOME TO MALAYSIA!” written in bold colours on the pamphlet. You had it ever since you went to the travel expo a year ago, a little glimpse to what was to come, but you guessed you didn’t need it anymore.

As you moved to throw it in the trash bin, you suddenly stopped. His dream, his dream, the words just kept coming back to you. No, this was your dream as well! This is what you worked for so hard every day! This was what you’ve postponed having kids for! This was all the birthdays and parties that you couldn’t attend because you were working overtime. This was all the money you stopped yourself from spending on little goods that made you happy. He could have the penthouse, he could have his luxury brands, he could have to expensive car and hell, he could even have his happily ever after. However, he would not claim your dream and stop you from achieving it.

You carried all the boxes and suitcases to your car and got in, already forming a plan and how you could move to the sunny beaches of Malaysia in just a few months. As you drove away from the apartment complex, your phone let out a little buzz. Stopping at the stoplight, you checked your messages and saw that Nanami had texted you.

‘I’m on my way home, let’s have a proper talk.’ A few seconds later, another text. ‘We can work this through, you know I didn’t mean everything I’ve said.’ You scoffed and stared angrily at the screen. ‘Wherever you’re going, that’s no longer my home.’ You texted back quickly before the light went green. ‘Tell me when you’ve finished signing the papers and I’ll tell you where to send them.’ You threw your phone on the empty seat as the last massage you’d ever write Nanami was being sent. ‘I will never beg, I will never bend and you will never break me.’

#Jujutsu Kaisen #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami kento x reader

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kpopchangedme · 4 years

Text

Bang Chan | Royal Affair [M]

Your fiancé had always been audacious but you never thought he'd dare sneak into your royal quarters after nightfall...

Protagonists: Bang Chan & You (ft. a very wise Park Jinyoung)

Word Count: 4.7k

Prompt: “If you keep looking me like that I won’t be able to handle myself” [for @marklee-johnnyseo]

Stray Kids | M.list

You barely had time to register your advisor's toupet before ducking behind a stone bench. Muffling your giggles with your palm, you looked back at Chan who wasn’t doing any better. His eyes had creased, glimmering with amusement, and his cheeks were reddened from your little run. Your heart swelled at the lovely sight. Still beaming, he reached, brushing a strand away from your face. His fingers lingered there, trailing your ear until they were against your nape. The moment stretched into infinity before he claimed them back once your silent laughter died down. Your advisor’s calls echoed, still looking for you in the maze of the French Gardens. He was getting more urgent by the minute but you didn’t mind.

There was not much time left for you two anyway.

Chan leaned in and you removed your hand, tilting your head to receive his furtive kiss. Softly, his lips ghosted over yours, the touch barely a graze before it was gone. Keeping your eyes shut, you savoured the moment as your fiancé’s breath climbed on your cheek until it was in the crook of your neck. His other hand slid on the grass, finding yours to intertwine fingers.

“Write to me,” he demanded in a whisper. A shiver travelled your spine.

“Every day,” you gladly promised, “I’ll expect you back at the palace soon nonetheless.”

Chan chuckled softly, nose tickling your ear. “I’ll come before the first snowfall.”

“Winter is so far away,” you whined right back.

“You’ll pray for a cold Autumn, I'm sure.”

“There you go, teasing me again...”

“I will neither rest nor eat before every single enemy of the throne is defeated...” He was only half-joking. “The sooner the rebellion is quashed, the sooner I’ll be called back.”

“Chan, don’t be foolis–”

“Y/n…” He was more serious when he interrupted your scolding and sat, staring at you intently. “Tonight–”

“Princess!” Chan jerked backwards at Jinyoung’s interruption, startled to have been discovered so soon and you jumped up, panting. “Lord Bang!”

“Sir Park!” The young Lord exclaimed with similar disparagement making you snort.

“The Queen has called you to her chambers,” the advisor quipped back, highly unimpressed, and your stomach sank at the news. “While I believe you – Lord Bang – were expected by the House half an hour ago.” Tugging at your dress that had been goofed by your short escape and run through the gardens, you missed Chan’s magistral eye roll. “The Duke doesn’t like to be kept waiting, my Lord,” Walking the fine line between impoliteness and indisputable truth, Jinyoung smiled haughtily. If you hadn’t just been caught fooling around with your fiancé, perhaps you’d have more ground to call out the royal advisor on his attitude problem, but he was an expert at that game. Jinyoung always won when it came to reason.

“Who would dare make my uncle wait to order me around?” Sarcastic, Chan excused himself before hurrying to the House of Lords, not without one last heavy look your way. He'd probably come to the same conclusion as you; fighting your advisor with words was not worth the wasted effort.

Later, Chan's wink assured. Sure, your coy smile replied.

You would see him soon enough.

Before the first snowfall, he had promised.

___

The night had come, you were now sitting in front of your tinted glass, trying to loosen the knot in your stomach as well as the ones in your hair. Your discussion with the Queen and Jinyoung had made you wary, painting the Duke in a new much grimmer light. You couldn't shake the dread of their suspicions.

They'd said you were getting old enough so they didn't see any point in shielding you from the matters of the throne anymore. As they’d voiced their concerns over the power-crazed leader of the House of Lords only one thing had been on your mind.

Jinyoung's usually wise judgement was unforgiving, he was certain the Duke was weaponizing the rebellion to ensure instability throughout your future kingdom. There were only a few months left before your wedding, before your older sister's planned abdication. The people loved you but you were still young, having the support of the House was requisite for your coronation to go seamlessly.

Something only an alliance with one of the most powerful families could ensure.

Your trust in Chan was unwavering and so was your advisor’s, remarkably so. But said loyalty, as it turned out, was the main cause of your worries tonight.

If Chan married you as intended, his uncle's ambitions would be laid to rest... But if your soon-to-be High King was to never return from his latest military assignment...

Something cold stirred in the pit of your stomach.

If Jinyoung was right, and to your knowledge, he was rarely ever not, this could all be a plot by the horrid Duke to have you marry him instead.

Chan was leaving for the frontlines at dawn tomorrow and now you couldn't help thinking back to his wink, that kiss in the gardens, wondering if this would be your last farewell.

A muffled sound right outside your window pulled you out of your anguish.

You held your breath, listening keenly for a few seconds. Another thud, louder and unmistakenly closer this time. Standing in fear, you glanced back at your door. Should you hail the guards? The last time you had been frightened, it’d turned out to be a simple rodent in your parapet. Against disturbing them, you grabbed your letter opener and tiptoed to the large window by yourself. Just as you were leaning over, a formless shadow hoisted itself up making you yelped in terror. Startled, the dark silhouette raised its head and your hand around the paper cutter loosened.

"C-Chan!”

“I thought I saw an early snowflake f...” Seeing your poor state, your fearless fiancé shut up and lost the dumb smile, still crouched on your stone window frame. “By God, were you about to gut me?”

“Princess?”

There was a knock on your door and the fortune weapon slipped your fingers, falling on your carpet. You might be promised to one another, but sneaking into the royal quarters was still a crime punishable by beheading. Without thinking, you shoved Chan behind the embroidered folding screen in the corner of your room. Thankfully just in time, since half a second later your guard busted in, sword drawn.

“My apologies...” Jackson hastily faced back the door when he caught a glimpse of your indecent attire and put his weapon away. “I thought I heard you scream, your Royal Highness.”

“Y-Yes...” you admitted, heart in a frenzy. “I, uh, thought I saw… A squirrel at the window!”

“Oh,” you cringed at the smile in his voice, “Want me to get rid of it? Where–”

“NO!” Jackson froze again when you yelled, about to step closer.

From his fortune hiding spot, Chan didn't seem worried about his head at all. He had noticed something far more interesting. Blushing furiously, you kicked his shin when he reached for your lacy bodice, discarded over the folded screen. He hissed through his teeth at the hit, making the royal guard glance over his shoulder once again, curious.

“Very well then Princess,” lingering suspicion in his eyes, Jackson conceded half-heartedly, “I’ll keep post.” Relieved, you thanked him and he excused himself. As soon as your door safely shut again, you faced the troublemaker, astounded.

Nevermind the Duke's scheming, Chan would end up executed before your wedding and coronation all on his own.

“What are you doing?” He pulled you behind the screen with him, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Wondering…” He pressed a tentative peck on your cheek, undoubtedly heated by his antics. “Is this the haven that sees you undress daily?” Chan’s fingers grabbed a silk ribbon, hooked into your abandoned bodice, and you groaned, highly embarrassed. “I feel like I am having the most vivid dream, love.”

“You shouldn’t have come, you need to leave. If we get caught...” Your skin betrayed you, shivering as he pressed a second kiss to your jawline, at the very beginning of your neck.

“Mmm… Don't want to.” He brought his mouth back to your left ear, breath tickling it. “Are you gonna scream for your guard, Princess?”

“Chan…” You sighed in defeat when he cupped your face, running a thumb on your cheek.

This was nothing like your usual escapades in the gardens or dark, empty alcoves. You were both well aware of it. With only your nightgown on, you could feel the warmth of his body and you were sure that if he looked down, he’d see through the sheer fabric.

“I’m leaving in a few hours,” he lamented, and you weren't sure if he meant your bedroom or for his mission. Since you didn’t protest, he kissed your mouth, soft but firmer than earlier that afternoon. There was no one to interrupt this time, and his mouth opened yours, tentatively tasting your tongue. Throwing decency out the window, you pressed closer, and Chan had to step back and lean against the wall to remain up.

“You are mad.” You accused in a whisper, not minding at all.

“Smitten,” he replied, forehead against yours to stare into your eyes. His arms slid on the fine fabric, stopping where your lower back curved in.

“This is insane,” your own hands travelled on his neck, “we’ll get caught and you’ll get punished.”

“I would’ve died from not seeing you alone before I left.” His lips pressed yours again. “Execution will be far more pleasing knowing I had you unattended.”

“Don’t tease,” you groaned seriously, tilting your head upwards but he only smiled against your mouth.

“I am not, my love… You are killing me.” His tongue grazed your lower lip stealing you an unfamiliar mewl. Suddenly, Chan pushed you to safety, away from him. He seemed almost frightened by the lewd sound, face coloured, lips glistening, breathless.

It got even worse when he finally looked down at your nightgown, your chest was naked, brushing against the fabric. Even in the candlelight, he could distinguish your shaded nipples, very little was left to his imagination. His gaze darkened as his chin dropped, the faint lighting stretching eerie shadows on his features.

“Do you always sleep in this?” Your modesty screamed to cover yourself, but something about the way he hushed those words, almost like an accusation, kept you from doing so. Your chin bobbed and Chan exhaled heavily, running his fingers through your strands. He hadn’t seen your hair loose since you both were kids. Back then you could spend every day together without any adult thinking much of it. “When are our nuptials again?”

“Chan…” You protested faintly at his humour, but he didn't seem to hear the wariness in your voice. His imminent absence and the dangers ahead weighed you down, but he was still high on the thrill of his illicit stunt.

“If you keep looking at me like that…” He heaved, gaze heavy with more unsaid improper things. This was not the look of a boy, but one of a grown man. “I want you so much I’m contemplating treason right now.”

“Oh, just now contemplating treason?” Tilting your head, you raised a skeptical brow. It was your turn to get caught up in the game “You climbed here knowing very well there would be no chaperone, Chan.”

“I mustn’t have thought that far ahead.” He so obviously lied that you quietly laughed, covering your whole face with your hands. “Y/n…” Chan exhaled, as though reading your mind. “Don't worry, I won’t do anything irrevocable. I’m not that foolish, that's not what I am here for.” Misreading.

“What are you even implying?” Faking offence, you backed away, letting him get the full view of your negligee. “Do I look like a lady of the evening to you, Lord Bang?” It took Chan everything to not follow you, drooling. Oddly bashful, he looked away, unable to see you standing near your large canopy bed like that. It’d be way too easy to lay you right here and then. His ears were scarlet at the simple thought.

“I merely wanted to see you before leaving. I would never suggest anything along those lines, your Royal Highness...” His voice was so ushered this time that you almost misheard. You glanced at the door, knowing full well no one would come back until your morning routine.

“I am aware, Chan.” Playful, you waved him, but he didn’t budge, feet glued to the carpet. “You are not a gentleman to climb into a lady’s room at night. You would never!”

His mouth quivered before he snorted; “I am a nobleman.”

“Besides...” You extended a hand for him to come closer again, the picture of Authority. “I’m saving myself for my husband.”

At that, Chan couldn’t resist, his perfect pout broke into a wide smile. “Lucky bastard,” he mused before finally obeying. Your hands slid up his vest as soon as he got close enough.

“Watch your tongue,” you chastised with a grin, “you’re talking about my future king.”

“Apologies, Princess...” He hummed, bending to claim your lips once more. Breathing him in, you let your fingers run through his dark curls as his tongue tasted yours. You felt lightweight, about to break at any of his touches now. When you began leaning back, pulling him down with you, Chan tugged your wrists off him, startled.

His stupefaction was priceless.

“W-What are you doing?”

“Lay with me.” You requested, dead serious. His mouth fell open in consternation. Chan looked at the door, then at you, then at the window.

“You are the one who's gone mad.” He accused, roles reversed. He had only climbed here for a kiss and a farewell, not your ruin.

“Yes,” you admitted, not the least shameful. “My fiancé is leaving for the frontlines and I am mad he is going without questioning his orders.” And I don’t know if I'll ever see you again.

“I am expected to be the frolicsome one, y/n.”

“Love made me crazy.” When you tugged at him again, he didn’t protest any further, falling above you with a sigh. If Chan had sensed your despair he didn't let it show. Your mattress protested loudly at the unusual additional weight. Both of you became stone, waiting with bated breath to be discovered. Thankfully, no guard burst in to save your honour.

Chan watched in a daze as you went and undo the buttons of his vest. It took longer since your fingers were made shaky by nerves. In the end, he sat back and helped, shrugging the garment to the floor. When he laid on top of you, he was in nothing but his own thin shirt. You both stared at the other in marvel. You were used to furtive stolen touches, the heat of his fingers intertwined with yours... This new warmth was outstanding, having him against you so close to your heart felt fantastic, almost skin on skin.

Chan was the first one to get a hold of himself, pressing closer, he kissed you once more. This time, his kiss was feverish and morphed into many. While your hands kept toying with his curls and exploring his large shoulders, Chan showed more restraint, settling for your face and loose hair. Even with just that, you were affected, a mess of pants and laments. None of you seemed to care to stop.

When you felt how hard he was in his pants, you were unsurprised. You had heard of that through the grapevines, eavesdrop on conversations. You had even witnessed two-person being intimate once as a child. Secretly observed one of your guards and a maid fool around. You'd thought about that day more and more often recently. Imagined yourself bent over that chair, Chan buried under your skirt. You'd wonder what kind of sounds he’d made.

“Hey,” Chan shifted his weight to stand on his elbows, frowning, “are you comfortable?” You shook your head, hands sliding clumsily to the buttons of his pants.

“More...” Your order was almost inaudible but his eyebrows raised in awe.

Chan shifted again, raising above just enough to allow you to undo the first button on his crotch. It was involuntary though because he immediately sat back. You followed, kneeling on the bed to kiss his neck as you kept working on your new task.

“Y/n,” he called, voice shaky, “are you serious?” You only hummed in response, tongue tracing his collarbone. You felt him shudder when you finally managed to access his pants. Your hand wrapped around his manhood but you were unsure what to do from then on. Chan’s mouth opened on nothing, goosebumps visible thanks to the loose collar of his shirt. His tip was leaking on your wrist. Gently, you rubbed his thin skin, making him twitch into your palm in response. You paused again, frightened he was hurt.

“S-Sorry…” Biting your lips, you were about to pull away when Chan's hand swiftly wrapped around yours. Head low, he gulped, guiding your palm over his hard sex. You watched your intertwined fingers move as one in the glow of the candles, gaze wide. For someone who was reticent to go on, he seemed oddly powerless now.

“What should I do?” The young Lord asked breathlessly, cupping your cheek to pull you into an umpteenth embrace. “I'm at wits’ end, love.”

“We don't know when you'll be back.” If.

“Yet we are not wedded.”

You would be in a matter of days if it weren't from this stupid rebellion. Your families had originally planned for a summer ceremony. Jinyoung had even pointed that out today as part of his suspicions, though if he found out you were twisting his logic to consummate your marriage in advance... Your advisor would probably strangle you with his bare hands himself.

"Does it matter that much?” Chan stared at your question, eyes shimmering in the shadow of his brow bone. “What is one more promise in front of the Queen and House gonna change? I am already yours.”

“Y/n…” He made your name sound dangerous. Exhaling in defeat, Chan slid his hand up your thighs, a gesture that left your skin humming deliciously. “I never belonged to anyone else.”

His hands didn't stop there, they kept climbing and soon they reached where your legs and hips met. Hiking smoothly your body and raising your nightgown, Chan let them roam you until you were exposed and in an instant, he was over you. Done with shilly-shallying and obviously giving in to his most primal urges. You were all too eager to welcome him, buried by his large chest in your mattress like all those fantasies. You didn’t mind the slight awkwardness of his prentice's ways or his now sloppier kisses. You took it all, shaking yourself from a strange fuse of fear and elation.

He was the one who finally made his clothes fully vanish, keeping you busy and distracted with his mouth. Then he was after your nightgown, delicately rolling it up until you were fully bare under him; skin to skin. Chan's breath was hitched, weakened when he pulled away to observe your reaction, a curious look on his face.

“I love you,” he confessed and you'd have rolled your eyes if he hadn't said it ever so slightly more seriously than all those other times prior.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, so loud it felt like the guards outside might hear it. You cupped his face, thumb running on his cheekbones and on his earlobes while your fingers danced on his nape. Chan shuts his eyes at the caress, shoulders loosening. You wanted to remember him like that forever, swollen, crazy hair, honey skin, feel his weight over yours and his warmth everywhere. He was yours.

Insanely enough, when his eyes opened again to meet yours, you knew he meant more. “Forever,” your fiancé insisted, lips hooking into his familiar smirk.

The following kisses were diligent and purposeful, making you both almost forget your predicament. Almost, because your crotch was throbbing, burning and demanding like never before. If you could only guess, he was not doing much better. Chan's sex was pressed against you, long and stiff, slowly smearing wetness on your lower stomach. Mechanically, his hips rolled forward with each kiss, rubbing you both torturously. You were in shambles, sweating and feverish under him. You needed more of him so that’s exactly what you begged for, in a raspy whisper you didn't recognize of yourself.

Eager to oblige, Chan wandered down, letting his length fall between your legs. His cock brushed over your sex and though you wanted him, your thighs jerked, only being kept apart by his own. He didn't seem to mind, pressing consoling kisses along your jaw and neck as he slowly ghosted over you again.

Chan hitched your legs higher, the tip of him stretching your entrance. It wasn't as absolute as you’d imagined when he made his way inside you. There was no divine uproar, no intense strain, nothing broken or ruined. Ultimately, it wouldn't have mattered, nothing mattered like his ardent breath on your neck and the feel of him as he rocked into you, just a little. Chan moved slowly, soft throbs as though he couldn't bear to pull all the way out.

You wanted him to keep going, could not have borne it either after being this united. He withdrew and pushed into you again, each time a little deeper until finally, he paused. Chan raised above, out of focus, leaning his forehead against yours. There were no words, so he didn't even try. Under your palms, his shoulders were shaky, unstable, and you held on tighter. His hips were pressed into yours, your bodies banded together in a crowning figure.

When Chan moved again it was almost unplanned, a primitive impulse to keep going, feel you, own you. Deadened sounds that could have come from either of you broke the silence of the room, as reserved and furtive as a secret. He pushed into you repeatedly, breathing hollowing with each thrust. His hips became more insistent, hitting yours. Your legs opened of their own accord allowing him deeper, closer. A sense of urgency you had never felt before overpowered you. You tugged him down to claim his mouth, his breath came in pants, hot in your mouth. Your body had started to rock in rhythm as he grinded into you. Chan's own desperation rendered more evident by the way he moved.

His hand slid down on your thigh, pulling you tighter against him, caging himself. You obliged following his lead, both learning together. His head fell back in the crook of your neck, too heavy to be held.

“I love you,” Chan growled in your ear, so unrecognizable it sent shivers across your skin.

You clung to his neck, carried by the need to possess him. “I love you,” your words were hoarse, weak compared to his but his hold still tightened impossibly around you.

He drove into you harder, greedily. Your fingers threaded together, holding on tight as he pressed you to the bed. Overwhelmed by both the need to escape this building throb and wanting to get more of him at the same time, you arched up. Chan's rhythm was stuttering, coming apart as he lost grip on reality. You tilted your hips, spasming around him, unable to keep going and his body shuddered into yours.

Chan held you tight as he came, roughly crushing you into the mattress. You would've protested at the weight, but nothing had ever felt more right than having him inside you like that. He rolled next to you soon after, length falling out.

Silence shrouded your room as both your breathing lulled, solemn witness to the gravity of your conduct. Trembling, Chan pulled your nightgown down to cover your modesty, burning hand lingering on your thigh. You were still squished, held strongly against him and he showed no desire to depart.

“My Lord,” you murmured into his chest, making it shake in response.

“Yes. I am afraid you are stuck with me now, Princess.”

“Oh, what a shame.”

“Indeed,” he chuckled, hugging even tighter.

“So, you have no choice but to come back now.”

If he hadn’t noticed your burden earlier, your comment certainly raised alarm.

“Y/n,” Chan exhaled, prudent. He gazed down at you, peering through his lashes. “Why would you even say that?” He had meant to say it lightly, but something in his tone hinted he wasn’t so honest. Which he realized right away; “I will be back.”

“Mmm...” You held your breath nervously, “Because you promised.”

He brought your hand to his mouth, “Promise.” He kissed it lightly before frowning, “Only if you behave with Sir Park while I'm away.”

“Jinyoung,” you repeated in disbelief at his seemingly random request, “I never thought I'd see the day...”

Chan laughed hollowly, a little easier. “He's not all bad.”

“You know, he said something similar about you earlier… Though I am certain his opinion would wave in light of recent affairs.”

“He did not.” You heard the smile in his voice, muffled by your hair.

“No,” he laughed once more, mouth now pressed to your forehead, “but I assure you I am very well behaved whenever you are not involved, Lord Bang. Everyone knows I am the moral one.”

“Are you, Princess?” Chan rolled over, raising on his elbow to eye you suspiciously. He had found his new natural position between your legs and your heartbeat quickened. “You have stolen my virtue. The bed isn’t even cold yet.”

“No reasonable soul would believe that.”

You tugged him down for a deep kiss, swallowing his laughter; “What a regent and ruthless thing to say, you are going to be good at this ruling thing.” Chan grinded forward with the kiss and you arched reflectively. He hummed in appreciation, “my Queen...”

“My King,” you found yourself echoing nauseatingly.

His chest vibrated against yours in a strangled sound, "I should be on my way."

His impossibly large grin widened when he witnessed your dissatisfied scowl. Chan gathered his clothes and got dressed under your cold scrutiny. Too fast, his bare legs disappeared into his trousers. His vest was next, covering his thin shirt. You pouted, still a wreck on your mattress in your sheer attire. Your room seemed awfully freezing now that you had gotten a taste of what it would be like to share a bed with your husband.

Chan seemed to notice your shiver when you sat up and he cautiously neared the bed. His index raised your chin to force your gazes to meet.

“I do mean it,” he said with a grave voice you rarely knew him, “listen to your advisor and the Queen. You must be particularly careful until I return.”

“Chan,” you hushed, the name barely coming out, “you are the one who needs to be, the Duke–”

Your warning got stiffled by his lips and he delivered, almost making you lose your mind all over. When Chan straightened again, there was a darker glint to his eyes. Barely there before he blinked it to oblivion, but it was enough for you to know your cautioning would've been vain.

He wasn't a child anymore and he certainly was not a pawn to his uncle.

“Do not write anything too scandalous in those letters you promised, love.” Back to his usual poise, Chan was walking back to his exit. “I am positive Sir Park is intercepting our correspondence.”

This managed to make you grin at least, loosening the knot in your stomach. "Of course."

“That must be why the man loathes me,”

“That is just him being wise.”

Chan chuckled lowly, glancing at your bedroom door as he balanced his feet outside your window. “Before the first snowfall, love.” He winked as you shook your head in disbelief, “Thank you for the farewell favour, I am looking forward to our nuptials, Princess.”

And at that, he was gone into the night, your heart and virtue with him.

The separation didn't loom over you like the proverbial sword of Damocles anymore and it wasn't long before you fell asleep that night.

Because you knew this would not be the last you'd see of your playful lover...

Stray Kids | M.list

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