#she just saw some of my fanart once and then reached out and encouraged me to try new things lmao

[butchbenrey]

the needlessly long and dramatic answer to "what the hell happened?"

or: a personal account of the horrors within the hlvrai fandom and how i (didn't) cope

hiya. this is butchbenrey aka xenodogartz aka xenodogz.

hopefully this'll reach the right people without me maintagging it. just, i dunno, send it to people who may be curious or something.

tl;dr- i let all the love for my work these past 2 years get to my head and got dangerously attached to my interpretations of the characters, especially these past few months as i've been going through a lot of physical, emotional, social, and transitional distress. all the while dealing with the consequences of being a popular artist in a niche community, such as the occasional rumors, maintagged hate, small communities dedicated to smearing me and my friends, accusations of being vaguely dangerous to minors somehow, deeply parasocial followers, etc. i'm a mentally ill + audhd 20 year old, so i can't really handle shit like this. thus, i'm saying goodbye to the hIvrai fandom for my own sake. i'll like fanart here and there, but i'm not posting about it, not reblogging it, not adding anything more to it. i really just want people to forget i was ever here so i can know peace again.

the long, considerably more personal version:

i'm a pretty transparent person. i'm bad at lying, i'm bad at keeping my mouth shut, and i have a tendency to overshare. but hey, this is the oversharing website, and you clicked on this. if you're the nosy type, this'll be the jackpot for you.

to get some more time-relevant things out of the way first:

no, this isn't a result of One Post. i promise you, i've dealt with a lot of One Posts in my time, i can handle One Post. i have been wanting to break away from this fandom for a while anyways, evidenced by the lack of any serious fanart recently and my new gordie and benrey expies. this, alongside some more personal events in my life, were just the final pushes to get it over with.

to address some claims from that One Post anyway, because it's the most commotion around me that there's been in a while, i hate when people just get away with lying about me, and it doesn't seem like OP wants to share my response:

a) i have never once claimed to own transfem gordon freeman. ever. i don't think i've ever claimed to be the sole owner of gordie either. i've always said she wasn't technically mine, and i've always encouraged other people to make their own designs and interpretations of a transfem gordon if they wanted.

b) all of my nsfw art is correctly tagged (nsft, hornyvrai, not in any main tags), under the sexual content community label, and censored. minors cannot just accidentally stumble across the porn i make. they'd have to be lying about their age to get past the community label, have the nsft and hornyvrai tags unblocked, and deliberately choose to click on the links i provide.

c) i, evidently, did not leave the internet. i'm honestly shocked that both that one anon and the OP would lie about that when all you'd have to do to disprove it was... look at my main blog. on the same note, i didn't leave all my discord servers??? i guess someone was in 2 servers with me, saw me leave one for personal reasons literal days before that post dropped, then saw me leave the public server after that post dropped, and just... assumed that was every server i was in??? and people just believed them??????

d) i never sent any of my friends or mutuals or followers to comment on that post or send OP asks or what have you. in fact, i actively discouraged my friends from chiming in once i realized they had been doing it. in my ideal timeline, everyone would've just ignored that post and left OP alone. genuinely. all i want is peace and quiet.

e) i can't believe i have to say this but you probably shouldn't be tagging petty posts about a weird comment you got one time with two very active fandom tags. and you probably shouldn't be admitting to cyberstalking or calling people delusional in those posts too. or just straight up lying about the person you're talking about. you're pretty shitty at cyber sleuthing if you come out the other side with entirely wrong information that you're weirdly confident about, and an openness to believing literally any anon you get who seems to dislike me too

this isn't me denouncing hlvrai as a whole or anthing like that. i love hlvrai, i do, it's literally just the fandom i have a problem with.

i guess that about takes care of the prelude. yeah, that was just the start. if you're still here then you're dedicated to listening to me ramble so don't try to complain about it.

so i got into hlvrai around like... december of 2021. i'd been a fan of r/t/v/s and the gnome series for a bit longer. i held off on hlvrai because i just kinda assumed it wouldn't appeal to me, as someone who's been staunchly uninterested in action shooter games since i was a wee lad. but, y'know, i ended up liking it, obviously. a lot.

my first real interactions with the fandom were entirely with nsfw artists. to this day, i'm still friends with the person who first welcomed me in and let me into their discord servers. it was right around this time that i created gordie, too. i'm sure that phrasing is having some of you roll your eyes, but stick with me here, i promise i'll get to that.

i made her completely self indulgently. genuinely at first my entire reasoning behind transing her gender was "god i wish this series had women in it" <- lesbian. i honestly didn't care that much for gordon before i adopted that headcanon, and after that she became a huge part of my life and my identity. i'm sure that may sound silly to some of you, but i'd again like to remind you: i have issues in my brain. she was a comfort character in the truest sense, she was (and maybe still is?) my hyperfixation for nearly two years. these past two years that, i must stress, have been incredibly difficult for me. so, put yourself in my shoes for a second. i'm gonna describe the situation i was gradually put in:

i draw a couple pictures of my transfem gordon design and get more attention and (more importantly) interaction on those posts than i ever had before. i keep drawing her, keep writing about her. i meet a lot of very dear friends thanks to her because she was a conversation starter, something people knew me for. people keep drawing fanart specifically of my transfem gordon design, with a total of 349 images on toyhou.se before she got flagged. this is what everyone associates me with. they send me asks about her, they draw her for me, when i join a server it's "oh wait you're the person who drew that transfem gordon aren't you?"

for like a solid year i was Known in the hlvrai fandom. i still am, to some extent, mostly as a vague memory, which is good. i hope it continues to be that way, and my mark on the fandom continues to fade. i'm saying this genuinely. because here's the thing about being a mentally ill/disabled 20 year old just coming out of one of the worst breakdowns of my life and suddenly gaining more attention and love and flattery than i could've ever imagined i would get ever: it fucked with my head bad.

over this period of time i've gone through more transitions and shakeups and breakups than i wouldn't have been able to handle if it weren't for the hlvrai fandom, yes, but more specifically gordie and benrey. i had my first major delusional/dissociative episode,dropped out of college because of it, redisovered my lesbianism, worked a new shitty manual labor job that destroyed my creativity, lost my best friend of ~7 years, applied for college again, organized and largely paid for a trip with a lot of online friends, moved into my new college, forgot what gender was, began having a crisis of whether or not i felt love, dealt with kidney stones and other assorted comorbidities for around 3 months (in which i had to go to the ER by myself twice), got a new apartment, and lost two more friends which sent me into a prolonged paranoid episode that i'm still experiencing. et cetera. i'm saying all this not to gain your sympathy (though to be fully honest i do think i deserve 1 million dollars and a standing ovation and then peace and quiet forever) but to really emphasize this crucial point: gordie and benrey were two of the only stable things in my life. my autism clung to them like a lifeline. the versions of those characters i constructed in my head were critical parts of my identity and i saw them (and, to be honest, i still do) almost as parts of my support system. essential coping methods.

but. y'know. the problem here is that they weren't mine. i knew this, i knew it all too well, and i tried to fight it while still sticking within the confines of non-ownership, which might actually be impossible. i would see designs that looked like mine and feel violated, because my brain recognized them as a sort of uncanny valley mimicry of the characters that had been my whole life for a significant time. i knew, logically, that even if these people were directly copying me, i would have no leg to stand on when it came to making any of it stop, because... they weren't my characters. i had no right to do that. i'd see people use "gordie" as a catchall term for transfem gordons, and even though i knew the name i chose for mine wasn't particularly creative and that people had been using it as a nickname for gordon for years, i still felt violated and scared and confused.

the question of why i didn't just make them ocs at that point is. a very good one. to be honest i think it came back around to how strongly attached to those characters i was, how important their context was, and it felt difficult or wrong to change them. it's still hard, but i'm getting used to it.

aside from the gordie stuff... this fandom was (using past tense because i haven't seen any of it anymore, so hopefully it's completely fallen to the wayside) bafflingly sex negative to a dangerous degree. the worst of it was before i ever joined, which i'm thankful for, but that doesn't mean i never came face to face with any of it. because i was Tapped In to what was going on, i was able to block all the problem people before the harassment got really bad. my friend faced the worst of it. i still consider myself very lucky i was able to sort of sidestep all that. didn't mean i was free from being on DNIs, free from adults showing my art to minors so they could make fun of it together (yeah. i know. it's bad!), free from insane rumors, all that. my nsfw art, alongside like 2 posts i made about something as banal as blue-skinned benrey, left a bad taste in a lot of people's mouths. let me tell you, it's fucking weird to be in a position where different people you've never met before are consistently talking about you in hushed tones. i got the name "youknowwhodogz" out of it though, which is very funny, so who's to say if that whole experience was good or bad.

there were the smaller discourses here and there, which i consistently weighed in on despite knowing damn well i was making everything worse. i'm sure you can see a pattern, if literally anyone is still reading this. i'm pretty bad at keeping my mouth shut. ultimately, there was no one thing anyone said, not even one shared sentiment among several people, that pushed me away from this fandom. it was Everything together combined with a slow degradation in mental health (almost) unrelated to anything hlvrai. that's mostly what i wanna get across here. after a long time, i'm severing my ties to people and communities that do me more harm than good. it's really tough right now, but i know that in the future, i'll be very happy i finally took the initiative.

i dunno how anyone's gonna take this, but my hope is that it at the very least gives you a bit more context as to why i've been acting so erratic lately, and why i've decided to be done with all this. admittedly though, this was mostly for me. i just wanted to organize all my thoughts, finally be transparent about it, and stop worrying about whether or not people on tumblr are gonna speculate about my disappearance from the hlvrai fandom at large. so, y'know, make fun of me for writing something this drawn-out and dramatic about the funny gmod series or whatever, i don't care anymore. because i know why this series, and two specific characters in it, affected me so much. and i'm not ashamed of that, honestly. i think it's kind of cool of me to be this autistic about something.

anywho. thank you for reading, if anyone did. sorry for treating tumblr like a diary, it will happen again.

#barking #sayonara you weeaboo shits #<- mostly affectionate

[noa-ciharu]

Hokuto?

HER 💕

Sexuality headcanon:

I think it's canon she's bi? In TB she definitely mentioned going out on dates with girls. But I think she mentioned boys too at some point. So yep, bi. TB has 0 straight main characters 🌈 (tbf most clamp mangas have straight characters as minority)

Gender headcanon:

If it were any other author I would have headcanoned her as trans but clamp has very clear way of showing nb/agender/trans characters (like Ashura, Nataku, Hana, half of Wish cast etc.) and Hokuto doesn't fit in that criterium. So cis female

OTP:

I don't think I have any? 🤔 ofc she has a semi-canon 'love interest' but I'm not 100% certain she saw Kakyou in romantic manner. Or that if she did, he was her 'special person'. I think issue is that TB ended in 1993 while Kakyou showed up around vol 8 of X which was years later. If clamp found way to include Kakyou somehow in TB, even if just a cameo, I bet their relationship would have been much more effective. As far as fanon (fanarts, fics and headcanons) goes, I'm all for their ship.

There are probably crack ships like Hokuto/Tomoyo or Hokuto/Kotori etc. which I wouldn't mind reading. But i generally prefer canon-based stuff

BROTP:

TB trio my beloved ❤ honestly she maintained the balance between Seishirou and Subaru. She had just right amount of empathy to understand Subaru and offer him comfort in way he needed the most; but also just right amount of selfishness to pull through and try to make her own wishes reality (including her final wish 😭). I adore how physical touch was handled between twins, Subaru would be really touch starved without Hokuto. Also how she tried to bring his spirit up and make him stand out (hence fashionable clothes) and encouraged Subaru to want things for himself for once. Just unfortunately that one backfired spectacularly

And ofc Hokuto's bond with Seishirou. Tbf whole analysis could be written there bc she kept things light most of the time and Seishirou's pretense reached it's peak when interacting with her. However Hokuto is far from gullible (nor is she blinded by kindness and love like her brother), she intuitively knew something wasn't right about Seishirou. That one scene where she put knife under his neck and said she'd kill him if he ever made Subaru cry 🙏😭 queen kept her promise

Also I've just realized Hokuto was baby girling Sei-chan before fandom even got the chance

NOTP:

Who is she shipped with even beside Kakyou and random crack ships with teen girls forn other series? 🤔

Random headcanon:

Look. Wee need this. Hokuto dressing up as Subaru and making ruckus around town. Or twins switching clothing and playing game of who is who. I think it was mentioned they've done that as kids.

And now I've just realized she did dress up as Subaru one finally time... when she went to find Seishirou 😭

General opinion:

CLAMP WHY 😭😭😭

I'll never not want post TB AU where she's alive. Tbh, first time I read TB I thought her death was rushed and badly written. Mostly because it so easily could have been avoided. And then it hit me - that's exactly the core of tragedy; ending was actually amazingly written. That's probably part of why Subaru could never move on (beside his low self esteem and countless other reasons): he blames hinself because he believes she died for him and if he wasn't so weak her death could have been avoided easily

Still, despite the angst i wouldn't have changed a thing bc precisely her easily avoided death adds to the tragedy and makes manga hit so hard

#thanks for ask #tokyo babylon #hokuto sumeragi

[justinoluransi]

When will we find out about your work with Ngozi? I’m so excited/happy for you! :’)

i’m not actually working w her, she just gives me career tips from time to time! and she’s been pretty instrumental in me getting into comics so i’m eternally grateful lol

#lily answers things #i'm surprised you thought i was omg. is that what it sounded like? #she just saw some of my fanart once and then reached out and encouraged me to try new things lmao #anon #also she answers all of my art and business questions no matter how dumb they are. god bless her honestly

[amandaoftherosemire]

For She Had Eyes...

Fandom: Marvel Avengers AU

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Unnamed OFC!Hallway Blonde

Author: @amandaoftherosemire​

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,146

Format: Two-part series

Warning: Smut, 18+ only, language, unintentional voyeurism, female masturbation, mild angst, embarrassment.

Summary: After accidentally catching Steve in an intimate moment, you can’t stop thinking about it.

A/N: This was inspired by a piece of fanart that I saw that I can’t find now to save my damn life. It was of Steve and Sharon against a wall, mostly clothed, him in a tux and her in a red dress, and I loved it. (If anyone knows what I’m talking about, please let me know so I can credit the artist.)

However, I personally hate how the fandom has treated Sharon Carter at times, so I tend not to vilify her if I can help it. To be clear, Hallway Blonde is NOT Sharon Carter.

I only split this into two parts because of the word count. It was one of those stories that showed up in my brain and wouldn’t shut up until I got it out of there and out of the way. I hope y’all like it!

For She Had Eyes

You didn’t mean to do it. You weren’t trying to peep. But jeez, if he didn’t want anyone to see, then why the hell was he in one of the corridors? Not that you were complaining. You were, but about the fact that you had to stop watching. Really. You had to. In a second.

You'd been heading back to your rooms from the communal kitchen after you’d woken up starving and embarked on an after-midnight foraging expedition. With the slice of pie and the soda you’d acquired, you were quietly padding back to your rooms when the gasping breaths and soft slap of flesh on flesh alerted you to someone else’s presence and their probable current activity.

Expecting Bucky or even Sam, you’d put your training to use and snuck toward the sound rather than away in the hopes of witnessing something you could leverage against them later. They were fun guys, but you needed any ammunition you could get in the unending friendly battle. Catching them in the act of either getting laid or making do could be excellent ammunition.

Which may be why you'd frozen when you peeked around the corner to one of the corridors in the private areas to spy Steve there with some blonde you only vaguely recognized pinned against the wall.

Your eyes widened, but you didn't move, greedily drinking in the sight of Steve, mostly dressed, as he pounded silently into the woman panting in his arms. You knew you should leave, as quietly as possible, respecting Steve's privacy. You stayed, however, for far longer than you were proud of, imprinting the image of Steve in the throes of passion on your retinas.

Though the light was dim, there was more than enough for you to see that Steve Rogers was fucking beautiful lost in pleasure.

His high cheekbones were flushed gorgeous pink, sharp jaw clenched, cheek muscle twitching. His long fingers dug into the woman’s thighs to hold her up and against the wall, in place for his thrusting hips. You could see the muscles of his thighs and ass flexing as he slammed harder into her, driving muffled gasps of pleasure from her lips.

You were grateful for that, as her sounds would hopefully mask your speeding breathing and racing heart. With one last, too long look, drawn by Steve's speeding thrusts, you drug your eyes and self away. You retreated as silently as you had come, praying neither of them had noticed your presence.

Once you thought you were far enough away, you took off running as best you could to your rooms, taking the long way around to avoid Steve and his companion at all costs. Back behind the closed door of your rooms, you dropped the pie and soda you still carried on your coffee table and ran to your bedroom.

In the privacy of your bed, you let your body rule. Sliding your hand between your thighs, you let yourself imagine being in the blonde’s place, your flesh between Steve’s teeth, your arms around his neck, your hands in his hair. As you began to rub circles into your clit, you envisioned Steve’s hands digging into the flesh of your thighs, holding you up and open for the slam of his hips against yours, driving his cock into you with the same relentless rhythm you’d just witnessed. Between your own fevered imaginings and the heated scene seared into your memory, you were coming in no time flat.

With a shuddering moan, you climaxed imagining Steve’s eyes on yours as he fucked you like a madman against a wall.

A while later, despite your physical satisfaction, you stared at the ceiling in horror.

How were you going to face him tomorrow?

You decided not to. Face him, that is. You opted instead to avoid any kind of social setting that day, pretending general surliness to keep everyone, but most especially Steve, at arm’s length.

You skipped breakfast entirely, not wanting to have to make small talk with anyone when you knew you’d be too busy remembering the line of Steve’s jaw as it clenched in passion. You waited until you knew much of the team would be in the gym before you joined them. To make sure you could avoid any interactions, you’d put on your leave-me-alone aura.

When you'd first joined the team, you'd made it clear that there would be days that you needed to be left alone. Those days were signified by the enormous gray hoodie enveloping your torso. Today you wore it over workout gear. You'd pulled the hood up, slid sunglasses onto your nose, and put earbuds into your ears before you'd walked through the door.

Every eye in the room turned toward you, recognized the hoodie and slid away as you crossed toward the outside door. Everyone knew you jogged by yourself on gray hoodie days. Since you studiously did not look at him as you walked out, you didn't see that Steve's eyes stayed on you, his gaze darkening as you left.

Steve's mood, already dark and mean, blackened viciously. With a snarl, he turned on the punching bag Bucky was holding for him. Bucky merely lifted a brow, easily reading Steve's moods. He could always tell when Steve had let his ex-girlfriend get her hooks into him again.

Steve was cursing himself. He'd known better than to let her drag him back in, even for a night, but the craving for you had been riding him hard when she'd texted. He'd been watching you take turns tossing popcorn and catching it in your mouth with Bucky while you debated movie choices with Sam and his heart had been sighing romantically at how sweet and beautiful he thought you were.

He also thought you firmly off-limits. Not only were you a member of his team, and that was no small matter, any change in dynamic possibly detrimental to the safety of everyone, you'd also never given him any indication you'd be receptive. You joked and teased him, but you did that with literally everyone; you were generally the friendly sort.

You also occasionally flirted with him, but it was delicate, almost innocent. There seemed to be more heat behind your flirting with Sam or Bucky. Still, the three of you were the sort of friends that gave each other endless shit, so there didn't seem to be anything to your flirting with them, either. Sam and Bucky always included Steve in the endless shit-giving, too, but you and he had never gotten to that point.

He wished he knew how to talk to you, how to become your friend even if he couldn't tell you he was half in love with you. Every time he tried, however, he ended up feeling too shy to open up for real. You'd always been open and encouraging, but he could tell his shyness looked like rejection to you. It left Captain America perpetually between you.

He'd been lamenting exactly that when she'd texted him, trying to draw him back into her sphere where she could punish him for not loving her enough. Most of the time he was able to resist, but he was feeling particularly sad and lonely. Watching you sit across the room from him, happy and within reach, yet somehow still a million miles away was both temptation and torment. Torn apart by it, he'd been willing to take the punishment to forget what he couldn't have, if only for a moment.

Until he'd been inside her, wishing she was you, and his heightened senses told him they were no longer alone. His inexplicable ability to recognize you by sound and scent alone had set him off and he'd come helplessly, with stuttering hips. He knew he'd heard someone's heart besides hers and his own, and he'd prayed it hadn't really been you who'd caught him in the corridor, that it had only been his own fevered imagination and desperate need that made him think he'd caught the edge of your scent.

He'd been in a foul mood thanks to both the worry of that and the ugly scene he'd endured at her hands. He'd already damned himself for answering her text at all, let alone allowing things to go so far, when, seconds after his climax, she'd murmured in his ear, her voice full of venom, "Thinking of her, again, were we?"

She'd been talking about Peggy; she didn’t know about you. They’d broken up before you’d joined the team, so it had been easy to hide his feelings for you from her, too aware she'd use it against him at the earliest opportunity, the way she did with Peggy. She'd never forgive him for not loving her the way she wanted. She couldn't seem to stop hurting them both because of it.

Then you'd walked in and out without looking at him and he'd known for certain. You'd walked in on him fucking his ex and now you couldn't meet his eye. His already foul mood shifted to something black and ugly as his fists pounded into the bag in frustration.

Outside, you breathed a sigh of relief. You'd made it past the first hurdle. If you could get through this day without humiliating yourself, you'd consider yourself home free. You were sure you could deal with this with just a little more time and distance. You just needed to put Steve back in the No-Sex box where you’d put all the hot people you worked with every day.

You were trying to ignore the fact that just the sight of Steve out of the corner of your eye had your memory flitting back to the sight of his fingers digging deliciously into flesh.

You put the image out of your mind and took two deep breaths as you started to stretch. A nice long run, a cold shower, and something other than last night's pie to eat and you could handle this.

"Y/N?"

You shrieked and jerked in response to the sound of Steve saying your name, hitting your head on the engine you were currently under while you worked on it.

"H-h-h-h-hi Steve!" Deeply grateful for the prototype engine that currently hid everything from your hips up, most thankfully your face, you rolled your eyes at the stuttering giggle. You despised the clear sign of the girlish crush you’d developed overnight, but in your defense, you hadn't been expecting anyone to come talk to you on a gray hoodie day, least of all Steve. He was kind and friendly, but he didn't seem to have much to say to you.

You'd tried to accept it, accept that not everyone was going to click with you, but you really liked Steve. His friendship with Sam and Bucky told you how warm and funny he could be with people he liked and his camaraderie with Natasha made it clear he could be friends with women, and the best of friends, no less. You couldn't help a little bit of hurt feelings that he stayed resolutely apart no matter how you tried to welcome him in. You now realized it was that little burn of resentment that had allowed you to ignore how attracted you were until you’d been confronted with his base sexuality.

Altogether, you'd been blindsided by the sound of Steve's voice, especially as you'd been belting along with the stereo where your phone was blasting your garage playlist. You liked fast and loud when you worked with your hands. Not expecting visitors, you hadn’t been bothering with the leave-me-alone attitude, singing happily as you tinkered. “Volume down fifty percent,” you said, and the music immediately dropped to a murmur.

You realized when he stayed silent that he was probably waiting for you to slide out from under the engine. Fat fucking chance. "Sorry, Steve. I literally have my hands full right now." The lie tripped lightly off your tongue, easier when you didn't have to look at him, but your discomfort was still coming through in your voice, loud and clear to anyone who knew you well. You hoped if he heard it, he didn't recognize it. "But go ahead and talk to me. What's up?"

Steve was both grateful and disappointed that he wasn't looking at your face. He was almost certain, based on your reaction, that you were the person who'd caught him last night, but he was not at all certain anymore that you were upset by it. You sounded… embarrassed? Ashamed?

He felt a rush of chagrin at the thought and spoke with less care than he had planned. "Were you in the hallway late last night?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he winced in horror. He hadn't meant to ask you that at all, let alone that baldly.

"NO!" You shouted the word, the sound strangled, and so clearly a lie, you merely let your head fall back with a thump as you tried to salvage it anyway. "Why do you ask?" you squeaked.

You turned your head until you were looking at Steve's boots when you heard what sounded like a snort from him. You'd never heard that sound from him before, at least not thanks to you, and it had you smiling despite the situation. "You're as bad a liar as I am," he said, his voice rich and warm and so appealing it almost made you slide on your creeper out from where you were wedged to peer into his face.

You resisted, however, too guilty to look at him straight on. You'd stood watching for far too long last night to have the moral high ground in this conversation. You were terrified he'd noticed, the shame of it miserably crawling up your neck and over your scalp. When he fell silent, you started to squirm with it.

Steve opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, unsure how to go on. He wanted to apologize, but now it seemed you’d rather not talk about it. He also didn't know how to apologize. How could he tell you that he was in the hallway because he couldn't stand to have his ex in his space again? He opened his mouth, still not certain what he was about to say, but painfully aware that he’d been silent for far too long when you’d asked him a question.

Before he could speak, however, the silence had worn you down, and you sang like a canary, the words coming out in a rush of guilt-laden confession.

“Look, I know I might have stood there too long, but I was expecting the chance to ruin Bucky’s night or something and I was really surprised when it was you. Can we just pretend it never happened?” The final question came out on a choked high-pitched squeal that shamed you, but the humiliation was so intense, the guilt so over-whelming, you could only close your eyes and hope Steve took pity on you.

“How--” Steve stopped when his voice croaked a little to clear his throat and try again. He was embarrassed, confused, and sick at the thought that you might have seen the fight between him and his ex, heard the things she'd said to him. “How long did you stand there?”

The silence dragged on long enough that Steve actually felt his knees dissolve as his stomach threatened to revolt.

Meanwhile, you were laying, your head pillowed on the little cushion at the head of your creeper, your body limp as you stared in utter horror at the shiny metal you'd been working on without seeing it. You closed your eyes as your stomach churned.

Steve may have suspected that you'd stumbled upon him last night, but his words made clear that he had had no idea what you'd done. How could you possibly explain? There was no way to tell him you'd stood dumbstruck, watching him fuck someone, without giving away that you'd been mesmerized by the sight of him given over to lust, to passion. He'd just been so fucking beautiful.

But he hadn't come in here to confront you and you'd just sold yourself out. You'd never wanted a hole to open up and swallow you the way you did in this never-ending moment. You didn't want to answer, but the silence had stretched to the breaking point and if one of you didn't say something, you were pretty sure you were going to go stark raving mad.

"Okay," you said, your voice carrying a defensive tone and you were grateful all over again that Steve couldn't see your face. "I'm not a pervert or anything. I wasn't watching on purpose."

Steve's knees almost buckled in relief as he finally understood that you were embarrassed, rather than angry and upset, or possibly worse, judging him. "I shouldn't have been in the hallway." Steve rushed to reassure, not wanting you to think he was here because he was angry. "I'm sorry I embarrassed you."

You figured it was a good thing that you were kind of wedged under Tony's latest prototype. You were, apparently, entirely too susceptible to Steve. You could hear the genuine remorse and worry in his voice and it made you want to shimmy out there and cuddle him. A complete puddle, you responded as thoughtlessly as he when he rushed to reassure, your breath signaling your desire to astute ears.

"I wasn't mad, Steve," you half-laughed, the image of his neck muscles, taut with lust, flitting across your mind’s eye. "Let's just forget it." You slid over enough that you could reach out and give a thumbs up.

Steve laughed when your hand came into view, the tone in your voice making his heart beat faster, though he couldn’t put his finger on why. "Thanks, y/n," he replied, his voice warm with the affection he always felt for you but had never known how to express. He was almost glad that this had happened. The Captain seemed to have faded. He didn't know if it was because he could set it aside or because you could stop seeing it. Either way, he was beginning to feel like your friend.

"So, we're cool, right?" You said it hopefully, praying he'd let you off the hook.

Steve laughed out loud, and the sound was so pretty and warm you could hardly stand to stay still. You wanted so badly to see his face lit up with laughter you inspired. You stayed in place, however, still too terrified that he'd see your almost desperate lust for him if he could see your face right now. You needed a little more distance between yourself and the memory of the way the muscles in his thighs flexed and released as he thrust--

"We're cool." Steve was smiling at the thumb you were making dance in response, utterly charmed by you. He was trying to think of something else to say, wanting to stretch this time out longer, but nothing was coming to mind. With nothing else, "Thanks, again." He cringed. "I'll let you get back to work, then."

"I'll see you later." You said it warmly, catching a hint of the discomfort and seeking to alleviate it even if you didn't understand its cause. You had this newfound overwhelming urge to make Steve happy. You wished it wasn't partly because you really wanted to replace Hallway Blonde.

Steve turned and started to walk out, a smile on his face in response to the quiet humming noises you were making absently as the clink of your tools against metal started up again. He was halfway to the door when he realized that you'd never actually answered the question.

You were starting to hum along with the music as you got back to tinkering when Steve's voice rang out. "But… how long did you watch?"

"What?!" Blindsided, convinced you were home free, you had absolutely no defense or guile and the word was so drenched in pained guilt there was no way Steve didn't hear it.

"You did watch," he pointed out, turning back around with new determination, the guilt in your voice clear to him, but yet unexplained. "But I asked how long, and you didn't answer."

"Of course I did." Your voice was raspy and painfully unconvincing. If you'd been the slightest bit prepared for any of this, maybe you wouldn’t be fucking it up so hard. You cleared your throat and continued. "Not, like, a pervy amount of time, but a… justifiably surprised amount of time. I didn’t have a stopwatch on me.” You tried really hard to sound vaguely irritated and a little offended that you had to explain, and you mostly succeeded.

Steve stood next to the engine, looking down at your legs, jiggling in apparent anxiety. He was considering his options. He didn't want to get overly physically pushy and drag you out from under there so that he could look at you, but he also really wanted to see your face. He felt like he needed to understand what was going on underneath this conversation more than he needed anything else.

Steve lay down on the ground so that he could see you where you lay, one arm limp at your side, a socket wrench in your hand, while the other arm was up, your palm across your forehead in dismay. His mouth began to spread in a smile at how utterly adorable he thought you were, even when you'd been obviously lying to avoid having to look at him.

"Hands full, huh?"

"Fuck me!” The expletive burst from your mouth in an explosion, both startled and horrified at being caught. You whipped your head to the side to see Steve laying on his stomach on the floor next to you, his cheek pillowed on his crossed wrists, pretty face smiling sweetly at you.

Too susceptible by half, you turned your face back to the engine in front of you. You were afraid that pretty smile could get you to do anything.

“Will you please come out here so I can see your face when I’m talking to you?” Steve asked it kindly, aware that you were hiding because something embarrassed you. He wanted to ease that embarrassment, show you that you didn’t have to be embarrassed with him. He was too familiar with the sensation to want it to happen to anyone else, least of all you.

“I don’t want to.”

Steve’s lips twitched and he had to stifle his laughter at the petulant tone and cadence to your words. He didn’t move from his spot on the floor. If all he could get was the sight of your profile from under one of Tony’s massive prototypes, it was better than nothing. “Why not?”

“Because I’m humiliated.” You spoke slowly and deliberately, annoyed and anxious because the conversation that you’d thought you’d escaped unscathed had turned around on you. It didn’t help that you could see Steve smiling at you out of the corner of your eye and you were having a hell of a time not crawling out from under the engine and all over him. “The fuck you think?”

As you spoke, Steve could hear your heart start to race but it didn’t have the pounding rhythm of fear. If he wasn’t also afraid that he was merely engaged in wishful thinking, he’d wonder if it was arousal. Once he started considering the possibility, your behavior made more sense, but he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t deluding himself, desperate for you to want him with the same need he had for you, the same need he constantly had to bury beneath the Captain America façade.

“I shouldn’t ask how long you watched, should I?” He could hardly believe he was saying this, knew doing so could change  the dynamic between the two of you as well as the rest of the team, but he wanted you more than he wanted his next breath and the idea that you could want him too was irresistible. “I should ask why you watched,” he continued, his voice lowering with the first hints of desire.

Your wrench fell the ground where you dropped it when you shoved your creeper out from under the engine as you lost your temper. To be fair, the anger was more frustration and panic, than anything else. The shivers of embarrassment running up your spine and over your scalp, easily distracted you from the desire coloring Steve’s voice.

“Oh my god!” You shouted it as you came to your feet. Steve had already leapt to his feet when you burst into motion. You faced him, eyes narrowed, hands on hips. “Because you’re sexy as hell and it was hot, okay? Are you happy now?” Steve’s jaw dropped at the bald statement combined with the hostile tone to your voice.

Gesturing wildly, you continued to rant. “When I realized how I was violating your privacy I turned around and walked away but I’ve felt guilty ever since.” You sneered and the tone did not match the words of your next sentiment by any stretch. “So I’m sorry." With a scoff of irritation, you turned and walked out on a long stride of anger. “Fuck you.”

Once far away from your garage and Steve, you sagged against the wall in horrified dismay.

Did you just yell at Steve that watching him fuck got you hot?

Were you out of your damn mind?

Steve sat in the window seat in his bedroom. He’d picked these rooms because of the wide, deep bench next to tinted glass where he could look out at the woods behind the compound but not feel as he often did, as though he were on display, a fish in a bowl. These moments of peace, alone with his sketchbook in his designated quiet place, sometimes felt like the glue holding him together.

In these moments, he most often sketched you. Today was no exception.

He'd spent the last half hour trying to get right the exact curve of your eyebrows as you'd shouted at him before storming out of your garage. He never wanted to forget the look on your face, as he'd fallen a little more in love with you that day.

Steve had never had the luxury of self-delusion. He'd been born fragile and small to a world both mean and cold. He'd found cruelty far more often than kindness at the hands of others, until a man of rare vision and compassion had seen more deeply and offered him a chance to do more than the body he'd been born into would allow. He'd leapt at the chance, simply because he needed to right the wrongs he saw in the world and no one would let him any other way.

After the serum, however, he'd learned that the eyes stayed cruel even as the blows became pats, the raised fists handshakes, the sneering disdain simpering flattery. He'd learned quickly to see who meant their kindnesses, their compassion, and who sought his company because of his appearance or name. He rarely made mistakes these days, though his most recent was fresh.

Today, your eyebrows had twisted in distress even as your mouth went mobile in fury, the quiver of your voice so slight only his highly sensitive ears could have heard it. The humiliated, guilty misery had been all over you the moment he'd been allowed to see you and his heart had stumbled.

Where another would look at you and see the oil smeared across your cheek, Steve saw in the agitated motion the compassion that fueled the anxiety and humiliation all over you. The tone of your voice revealed the kindness that inspired such guilt; the shine of your eyes gave away the integrity that caused such misery. In short, he'd been attracted to the surface of you, the funny and bright, but the sweet heart beneath had him captivated.

Steve couldn't deny that the attraction was not silent in this contemplation. His brain kept replaying your voice saying that you thought him sexy. He couldn't stop thinking about the implicit admission in your bald statement. You'd wanted to watch.

You'd wanted to watch him.

The thought alone had had him half hard all day. He wanted to show you. He wanted to show you everything.

He couldn't help the fear, however. He was afraid to tell you that, to admit that he'd developed feelings for you that were anything but professional. He worried that to do so would alter a dynamic that worked, that kept all of you safe. He was also terrified that your interest was merely physical and to admit to anything deeper would do nothing but invite your pity.

All his old insecurities rose up to choke him at the same moment he heard his ex's text tone.

I'm sorry, baby. I just get so jealous. Let me make it up to you.

He thought of her pretty perfect lips sneering in fury and something perilously close to hate, then of your dancing thumb and your shamefaced flight. Everything inside him softened in tenderness at your sweetness, your genuine warmth. Reminded that he had a right to kindness and compassion, his heart hardened against the blonde viper that was once again trying to get her fangs into him.

No. All we do is hurt each other. I'm not doing this anymore.

As soon as he hit send, he felt lighter. He wondered if he should leave you alone for a little while before he tried to talk to you again. Because he would absolutely be talking to you again. He needed to know if you felt anything like the electricity that raced over him every time he saw you.

Not doing this anymore? Who the fuck do you think you are?

She hadn't always been like this. Or at least she hid it better at the beginning, until he'd fallen in love with the woman he thought she was. Over time, however, there emerged cruel jealousy from underneath the funny charm that had captivated him. Even in the beginning, however, he couldn't imagine her reacting to anything the way you had. She lacked the empathy.

Steve couldn't help but compare you. You didn’t just compare favorably, there seemed to be no comparison. Most important, your reaction to what had happened told him what kind of heart you had. He had no defense against kindness, strength, and compassion. Whether it was wise or not, he needed to find out if there was anything there. 

He finally listened to Natasha and blocked her number.

Steve went back to his sketch, smiling at the memory of how you’d looked shouting compliments at him, wondering when you’d let him talk to you again.

 … And Chose Me here

Permanent taglist:

@hellzzzbelle​ @suz-123​ @marvel-lucy​ @cheekygeek05​ @lbouvet​ @rishlo​ @diinofayce​ @bibliophile1773​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @miraclesoflove​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​ @destiel-is--endgame​ @irritated-bisexual​ @peaceinourtime82​ @badassbaker​ @walkingtravesty97​ @fashionworld12​

#Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers fanfiction #Steve Rogers fanfic #MCU fanfiction #MCU fanfic #MCU AU #Marvel fanfiction #Marvel fanfic #marvel au #Steve Rogers smut #For She Had Eyes #And Chose Me #pantswrites

[zukoshotleafjuice]

The funniest thing about june teasing katara and zuko about being a couple is that she just sees a pretty girl and an attractive guy, both looking almost the same age which immediately makes her go "you two must be a couple" and it just reminds me of zvtara shippers, you know what i mean? I'm convinced one of the reasons a lot of ppl ship them is bc of their looks. katara being the female protagonist and also a pretty, smart and powerful girl & zuko, despite not being the male protagonist, being the most attractive guy in the gaang. Boom, a "bomb ass ship". It is worth to recall that "people ship zutara bc they projected onto katara and had a crush on zuko". And if they say they don't ship them for that reason, then it's bc they read too much between the lines in every interaction they have. So, back to june, she didn't even care if they had chemistry or if they were friends or anything, she just straight up teased them about being a couple lmao. Because in all honesty zvtara can be an appealing ship in anyone's eyes but THAT'S IT, it doesn't go further than that. I can be testimony of that😅Before even watching the show i was like june, one day i saw a zk fanart and was like "wow aren't those zuko and katara from atla? They look so good, she's gorgeous and he's hot" i already knew kataang was endgame and that mai was zuko's love interest but seeing zuko and katara together was pleasing to my eyes. However once i watched the show for the first time (2 months ago i think) i realized there was really no romantic chemistry between them, nothing, literally nothing, i mean, i wasn't even waiting for the zvtara content in the show that made ppl ship them so much, i was actually very neutral about ships, i couldn't care less about them, but i still realized nothing was happenig between them and that it was obvious since book 1 ep 1 that kataang was endgame. Zuko and katara were two teenagers from opposite sides of a war that tried to kill each other multiple times and when zuko changed sides they developed a completely platonic relationship. As i said, people either ship them because it's an appealing and aesthetically pleasing ship (water/fire, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, the common red & blue ship) or they just love reading too much between the lines, OR BOTH, because they were so thirsty about it they ended up convincing themselves there was romantic tension between them, that they liked each other and that zvtara was scrapped when it was never planned in the first place. Not to mention the reasons why they claim zvtara should've been endgame are based only on symbolism and things they have in common that are just so ??? Random. e.g. (i saw these on a post on facebook and the comment section was hilarious, it was full of ppl being sarcastic about it & making fun of it) saying they should've been canon bc:

1. "They both lost their mothers at a young age" (?)

2. "katara was good but had rage in her heart and zuko was bad but had good in his heart so it was like yin and yang, and that was the main purpose/topic of the show" (?)

3. "they both had alter egos (painted lady and blue spirit)" (???) this one sounds like saying maiko was canon bc zuko worked in a tea shop and mai worked in a flower shop😂

4. "Zuko was the only one who supported katara in taking revenge on her mom's assassin" (?) if you ask me, that just proves zuko is not right for katara, he led her to do something she was gonna regret later (not trying to hate on zuko, i love him, and since i love him i acknowledge his flaws. I understand why he thought it was the best thing to do, he's an impulsive and resentful boy (he would've done the same if it was his mom) and he noticed how thirsty katara was for revenge, ofc he wanted to help her + he wanted her to accept him and thought it was the right thing to do in order to gain her trust, but it wasn't) unlike zuko, aang tried to make katara come to her senses and do the thing that was best for her: forgive and let go, and it was basically what she did at the end. She didn't do what zuko expected her to do. She did what aang expected her to do. She didn't forgive her mom's assassin, but she forgave zuko, and she didn't do THAT thing she (and aang) knew would regret later. Aang knew katara and what was the best thing for her to do.

5. and the most ridiculous one, "they both saved each other's lives in the final agni kai"(???????) and the funniest part is that it was followed by "WHAT MORE PROOFS DO YOU WANT???". Honestly wtf did ppl expect? Did they expect zuko to stand there and watch katara die? Did they expect katara to just stand there and watch zuko lay on the floor & die? And this has been said a million times and i am going to join and say it once again: zuko would've done that for ANYONE from the gaang, he would've done the same for toph, sokka, suki and aang. Because he learned to care about them. As for katara, she would've done that for anyone too wtf she healed aang once too and even brought him back to life. (I wouldn't be surprised if zk shippers used that as a parallel for romantic zvtara proof bc they're just like that💀)

There were more "reasons" but they're just so stupid and taken out of context like "they care for each other" & "katara was the one who encouraged him to talk to his uncle" like yeah that's what friends do. Basically all zvtara shippers do is REACH.

Also, i just can't see it happening. I like the enemies to lovers trope, maybe if the writers really intended to make it canon, i would have been down for the ship, it would've been interesting to see how it developed, but,, they didn't, and later i came to the realization that if it would've really happened, it would've been so... weird. Time to bring up the "colonized and colonizer ship" and how some ppl feel uncomfortable about it. Besides the fact that a relationship between zuko and katara wouldn't have worked (they're incompatible af, katara is a girl with a strong character and zuko is a guy with anger issues that takes everything personal, they'd be at each other's throats 99% of the time) it's just weird to think that katara would choose to marry a man from the fire nation, the nation that caused a big war that traumatized her, the nation that took her mother away from her. Imagine katara ruling along with zuko a nation she despised for years. Fire lady katara doesn't sit right with me, and i'm sure it doesn't sit right with a lot of ppl as well. I don't see katara doing that, and yes, i know she forgave zuko, but still, she would've never done that 🤦🏽‍♀️ i think it would've been so OOC tbh.

Another thing i laugh my ass off at is when they say "zuko should've chosen katara instead of mai" as if they were ever in a relationship for zuko to say "ok imma choose katara i wanna be with her". As if katara was EVER an option for him. They never showed interest in each other, what's not clicking?????? And zuko only had eyes for mai, not to mention that despite zuko and mai had a rough relationship, no girl would've dealed with zuko's bs better than mai. Can you imagine katara dealing with zuko blowing up over everything? Because i can't. Also people saying things like "zuko deserves someone who is always there for him and listens to him" (and ofc they're talking about katara) like, ok, you hate that katara is aang's "therapist" but you want her to be zuko's therapist. Logic? Where? And I do remember mai being a supportive gf and trying to cheer him up multiple times. Did they watch the same show as me?

Zvtarians try to play the victims about how they were "robbed" bc some voice actors shipped them and from what i've read people who worked for the show suggested to go for zk, but that's stupid, it doesn't count as "they planned it but scrapped it, we were robbed". The only word that counts are the creators' voice and they have stated they were always rooting for kataang, so no, you were not robbed.

People are just so in love with the idea of zuko and katara together they really convinced themselves it was likely to happen. Honestly zvtara it's a fine ship as fanon but ppl ruined it for me and what i hate the most is when they ship it and hate on aang and mai at the same time and make them look SO bad to invalidate kataang and maiko. Saying aang is abusive and mai is toxic is complete ✨bullshit✨ and lastly, it's ridiculous when they say the creators were cowards for not making it canon. They're cowards for not fulfilling your greatest childhood wish? Something they never planned? It is THEIR show. If you hate sm how things turned out then quit atla once and for all and go find another show that you know is gonna give you what you expect,,, it's tiring that they've been crying about it for 15 yrs , like, i joined the fandom recently but i can imagine how tired old atla fans must be of this.

OK so I have a lot of thoughts about this and firstly,,,anon I appreciate the dedication that it took for you to write  this, and I agree with many of your points. However, the attitude I have on this blog towards Avatar ships is far more neutral than what you’re saying.

Ultimately, romance is not and never was the focus of Avatar. Romantic development was always secondary or tertiary plot, and the entire show was far more focused on platonic relationship development. My attitude towards shippers on here - including Zutara shippers - is that people can ship what they want, as long as they’re respectful of each other and of the other characters that “interfere” with their ship. End of the day, shipping is irrelevant to the core of the show. 

People shipping something because they find it aesthetically appealing is honestly,,,fine. Personally, I think it’s reductionist, but I don’t care if you do because everyone has the right to enjoy media however they want to. 

That being said, we absolutely should call out racist or problematic tropes that we see, including ‘fire lady katara”. I also agree that it’s upsetting when people bash other characters in order to further their ship, as much of the bashing is also pretty racist and/or misogynistic. Calling that out, however, is separate from calling out every single person who happens to enjoy certain ships. 

“She didn't do what zuko expected her to do. She did what aang expected her to do. She didn't forgive her mom's assassin, but she forgave zuko, and she didn't do THAT thing she (and aang) knew would regret later. Aang knew katara and what was the best thing for her to do.”

I understand where you’re coming from, but I honestly disagree with this take. Both Aang and Zuko were approaching the situations from their own life experiences, but Katara didn’t do what either of the boys wanted. She chose her own path, by both sparing Yon Rha’s life but also refusing to forgive him. The episode is about Katara and her personal trauma and its focus should not be on her relationships with either Zuko or Aang. 

When I make posts such as this, it’s less about hating Z*tara and more about how this fandom focuses all its attention on romance and shipping, to the point where if you acknowledge a relationship’s importance it’s assumed you pair the two romantically. I don’t read Zuko and Katara’s relationship as romantic (for reasons that it would take too long to explain here), but their relationship development is extremely important, the two of them share tons of parallels and the final Agni Kai marks the culmination of both of their character arcs. Yes, Zuko would have taken the lightning for any of the characters, but it’s thematically important that it was Katara. None of this inherently means it’s romantic, but refusing to acknowledge the significance of the relationship between them is equally reductionist. 

This isn’t an attack on you, anon, and you’re 100% allowed to have negative feelings about a ship. But at the end of the day, it’s not worth getting this worked up over. If I were you I’d focus more on creating/consuming content for a ship you like than bashing ships you don’t!

#kind of nervous about posting this but oh well #atla #avatar the last airbender #shipping #zuko #katara #aang #asks

[artistic-writer]

King of My Heart :: CS :: Rated E

Title: King of my Heart by @artistic-writer​  Fanart by @artistic-writer​ Rating: E Summary: Emma Swan is the biggest star in the entire world, a world-class singer with a voice that had made sure she was seated at the very top.  She is the Queen of music that speaks to so many, but there is one thing in her life she is missing, and with whole albums dedicated to him, will Killian Jones finally hear her words and take up the throne beside her as the King of her heart?

Read on AO3 A/N: So, most of you will know that one of the biggest loves of my life after my husband is Taylor Swift.  Ask @shardminds​ about my incoherent babbling and fangirling when i discovered that the Reputation Tour was on Netflix. THEN ask her about this song and how I was reduced to a dribbling mess when the drummers were shirtless. You can work out the rest.  Thanks to her and @hollyethecurious​ who were willing to look it over and thanks to @csconcertseries​ for giving me the opportunity to create this little one shot <3

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Emma Swan hadn’t always been this famous, but she had dreamed of being on the big stage for as long as she could remember. There had been a time when she was a nobody, just some pretty blonde girl who happened to be good at dancing and had been so good, in fact, that she had gone to dance school. Because that is a thing. Never in a million years would she have realised that she would be standing where she was right now, with the people she was with, her life taken by a whirlwind force that had yet to spit her out of the other side.

The lights were blinding, the last show in her mega sell out stadium tour that had seen her travel all over the world, playing sell out shows to massive crowds all the way. It still baffled her sometimes, why she was so popular. All she did was sing about her life, about the ups and downs she experienced, but it seemed that her life coincided with so many others around the globe, that she had rocketed to super stardom overnight. She was more than the voice of Emma Swan; she was the voice of everyone.

Of course, without the hundreds and thousands of people who could make her life possible, she would be a nobody. She needed every single one of them. The road crew, the stage builders, the guys and girls who tuned all of her instruments, the security, the dancers, and of course, the fans. She might still be that struggling dancer, scrambling for the chance to stand behind someone has big as she was now, if it were not for that one moment that she still thinks about every second of every day.

If it were not for him.

There was a guy, of course. A guy who she had taken the time to get to know, another dancer reaching for the stars, who had become more than just competition. When he danced he was flawless, fluid and emotive, a better dancer than she could ever have been, but it had taken her a while to realise his true potential, and by the time she had, it was too late. Another dancer had taken his heart, another of their classmates who bore a striking resemblance to herself, and that was when she picked up her pen and her reason for being where she was right now was created.

Emma had always thought that albums were more than just words on a page. She never wrote a song that she didn’t mean or identify with on a personal level. How was she expected to sell albums with lies? So many other artists did that already, singing about what they thought people wanted to feel instead of what they had experienced themselves, and that’s what set Emma apart. She was raw and real and she had but one man to thank for that.

Killian Jones was single again now, she’d heard that much through the gossip and chattering of her crew. It had ignited the spark in her heart, relit the flame of longing that she feared had been extinguished so long ago. She felt like she was singing her lyrics with a renewed vigour, a new purpose for the glitz and glamour of her shows. She had written these songs about him, but now, when she sang them, barely audible over the sound of the crowd going wild, all she wanted was for him to hear her. To know.

She had tried to tell him once, twice, oh so many times, but for a professional singer, she couldn’t form a sentence for shit. He did that to her. The man who had heard her sing, told her how beautiful her voice was and had encouraged her to pursue singing rather than dancing, rendered her absolutely speechless. She could sing to him all day long, but unless he heard her, really heard her, they were just words, and Emma longed for so much more.

The final song of her show was a big one, not just because it would be the final time she sang on stage with this particular group of people and danced this particular choreographed set of moves with them, but because it would be the last time she could try and make him see. This was the song, the one that she had penned with such enthusiastic yearning, the one that, despite most of this album being about him, she really wanted him to hear her when she sang it. It helped that towards the end she had insisted on showcasing his talent as not only a dancer but also as a drummer.

Nothing got her quite so hot as the way Killian Jones simultaneously danced and played the huge drum he had pushed onto stage half way through the song. There were eight in total, but she had made sure that his was closest to her. She wanted to feel every beat vibrate right through her as he pounded the massive drum skin. The five minute outro to the song - his song - was nothing short of spectacular, the energy the sound exuded as it echoed around the acoustically perfect stadium something that left her so aroused, she was suddenly heady on adrenaline and the sound of the drums that echoed in time with her heart.

It didn’t help that, for reasons, she had decided that at this particular point in the show, the drummers would be barely clothed from the waist up, shirtless except for thin scraps of cloth that were tied around their wrists and matched the tassels on the muted sticks used to beat the drum surface. It was part of the flair, and for a second Emma was thankful she didn’t have any more words to sing because, between twirls and struts, she was too busy watching a bead of sweat run down through Killian’s chest hair to remember any.

The sound of the crowd became nothing but a high pitched buzz, like the sound you hear when silence overtakes you, her eyes fixated on him as he danced. Muscles bulged and flexed, sweat flicking from the ends of his pitch black hair as he swung his head from side to side, as lost in the rhythm of drumming as she often was in his eyes. His ocean blues that so often swept her out to her death and so crept up in all of her songs. It was a wonder he hadn’t realised that her career had been based on her admiration for him, the man who had seen so much potential in her in the first place.

He was as lost as she was, flawlessly playing his part, as the king and keeper of her heart. Whether he knew it or not, Killian Jones would always hold her heart right next to his, so close that she could swear that she could see two heartbeats thumping right under the skin of his chest when he spun around, twirled his sticks through the air, effortlessly catching them and raising them above his head to a crowd who went wild at the display. The song ended then, a single, reverberating drum beat accompanying silence, after which the crowd went wild.

Emma watched in the darkness, the tantalizing sheen of sweat over his body glinting off of phone flashes as the stadium lit up. She was panting hard, the whole set twice as long as any other in the show, and her skin prickled with heat from exertion and want. And then she felt arms wrap around her, another of the dancers, and then one of her backing vocalists, celebratory embraces that were welcomed by not what she wanted. Not from who she wanted.

It wasn’t until it was all said and done, and the cast had filtered from the stage and lights, that she saw him, just as perfect off stage as he was on. Her world turned to slow motion, the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed some refreshing ice cold water hypnotic, her eyes drawn to a droplet that spilled from his mouth as he struggled for breath between each gulp. Then he turned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked right at her, the blue of his eyes that she so often waxed about almost gone behind his blown pupils, dilated and so erotically dark as they bore into her.

“You were bloody brilliant, love!” He yelled, the sound from the crowd still so overpowering, even in the wings. “Brilliant as always!”

In three bare footed steps he was on her, hoisting her into his arms and wrapping her up against his bare chest with a crushing grip that she didn’t mind at all. He spun them around and Emma wasn’t sure she wanted him to ever stop, the flashing of strobe lights behind her closed eyelids adding to the euphoria of his scent as she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck and inhaled him. Again, he had rendered her speechless, and Emma couldn’t do anything but hold on, her fingers twisted in the soaking wet hair at the base of his skull as he whirled her around a few more times before setting her back down onto her high-heeled feet.

They were the same height like this, him barefoot and her with black leather boots laced up to her knees, and where she expected him to take a step back and create the distance between them that had created a rift before, he didn’t, standing fast and resting his hands on her hips. She gulped when his fingertips teased the edge of the leotard she was wearing, her heaving breasts drawing his eye when she gasped and some of the red sequins rustled against each other and the sound of the crowd disappeared around them.

They hadn’t been like this, this close and drowned in tension, since she had become world famous. There had been no time for them and she regretted it every day. He was more than her friend, he was the man she dreamed about, the man who had seen potential where she only saw words on a page of a dog-eared notepad that accompanied her guitar when she was feeling down. Killian Jones was the man she wanted to share it all with, the man she would come home to after months overseas, the man who would miss her like she missed him when they were apart.

Her hand was on his chest before she had time to stop it, stroking through the silky hairs there that were still damp from his routine, right above his heart that still beat in time with the drums that has since stopped. His hand found her face in response, his knuckles brushing over her cheek, hand shaking a little and making her mouth go dry. They had danced like this before, on stage but never in private, and a sudden warmth overtook her as Killian let his fingertip drag down the side of her neck, keeping eye contact the whole time, as if to torture her more when he skimmed over the swell of a breast.

“Stop.” The word left her mouth before she could stop it, the pounding of blood in her temples berating her as her blood screamed out for him. For a second he looked hurt, swallowing hard and taking a step back so that there was a palpable space between their bodies that left hers cold and alone, something she never thought she would feel around him. “Not here,” Emma whispered assuringly, her ruby coated lips ticking up into a sly sideways smile that had him arching a brow at her.

Killian stepped forward again, pressing his body into hers and making sure she could feel his erection through the thin, silky trousers of his outfit. Emma flushed hot and her brain short circuited, eyes blurring and caught between wondering how they would escape the stage and if they would get caught if they didn’t. He was too much, hands acting innocent as they stroked over the curve of her shoulder, friendly and casual to observers, but a painfully restrained attempt to touch her anywhere he could.

“Where?” He almost begged, his voice laced with darkness and sexual intent that had her biting her bottom lip in response, something that caused him to paradoxically whimper uncontrollably. “Gods, I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

Once again, he had rendered her speechless, taking the words from the back of her throat like he always had with his barely there touches and thick, British accent that somehow had grown impossibly sexier with his arousal. Emma’s resolve snapped, hair prickling on the back of her neck with anticipation as she grabbed his hand in hers and tugged, hard, pulling him along the back of the stage and behind a huge piece of equipment that she neither noticed or cared to know about at that exact second. All that mattered was that it was tall enough to hide them, the space between it at the wall making sure that they were pressed together as close as can be for when, finally, his lips were on hers and every single lyric she had ever sung about him raced through her mind.

Killian wasted no time, knowing that what they would have would probably be brief, pinning her against the wall in the darkness and rolling his hips into hers, making her feel all of him, gobbling up her moans with his ardent and impassioned kisses. He trapped her in his grasp with his weight, and Emma needed to feel more, her hands caressing the expanse of his naked back, her nails raking over the skin there in an attempt to draw out more of his hunger, her efforts more than rewarded when he growled low in his throat and slipped a hand between her thighs.

“That last song is about you,” Emma breathed.

“I know,” Killian growled in between harsh, heartfelt kisses, smirking as he trailed them along her jawline.

“Fuck, half of my songs are about you,” Emma whispered with laboured breath, Killian’s kisses now assaulting her neck through his growing smile.

“I know,” he said arrogantly, one hand bunching the thickness of her hip whilst the other explored the apex of her thighs, searching for a way into more than just her heart. “I’ve always known.”

Emma’s hands are on his face and dragging his lips back to hers in a heartbeat, the echo of the rhythm of the drum solo pounding in her ears again, charging a new tension between them, something more sexual than ever before. There had always been a space between them, a professional barrier that neither would cross. Emma had poured her heart out in words whilst Killian had worked through his frustrations through dance, but right now, in this moment, there were no such walls to stop them from scaling the other.

Killian’s tongue skimmed over the seam of her lips, gently begging for a deeper entry as his fingers hooked into the gusset of her blood red sequined leotard and pulled the fabric aside. He frowned, met with another barrier as his fingers prodded and teased her entrance through a thin layer of sheer, diamond studded, sparkly stockings, and Emma couldn’t help herself when she bit down on his bottom lip this time, making him rut against her thigh to relieve some of the pressure building in his cock.

“These are…” Killian’s words trailed off as another irritated growl rumbled from his chest, vibrating through her lips as she sucked on the bite mark left by her own frustrations.

“One of a kind, hand studded to my exact measure-,” Emma began incoherently, her world spinning behind her eyes, her breathless babbling cut short by the sound of tearing fabric that she hoped no one heard.

“Such a fucking shame,” Killian lied darkly and repositioned his hand so that he could finally slip a finger into her, the extent of his pent up tensions leaving him on a satisfied sigh he breathed against the swell of her breasts as he scrapped his teeth over the flesh there and she let him, holding his face to her bosom and clawing the back of his head with her long, blood red fake nails.

After all the times she had dreamed of moments like this, hoping that one day they would become reality, there wasn’t enough of him inside of her and she whined against the shell of his pointed ear. Killian knew her too well already and paired another finger with the first, pushing them both into the wet heat between her legs in time with the pounding the blood in his ears. He curled them each time, pushing deeper on each thrust that rips into the material of her tights some more, right up until his palm was pressed against her clit and Emma was subconsciously chasing her high as she fucked his fingers.

The line was gone, so fucking gone, and the leg he’s slowly grinding his erection against became hotter than the rest of her, burning up from the way his dry humping became slightly damper thanks to the appearance of pre come seeping through the black silk fabric of his trousers. Emma knew his body was lithe, trained to bend this way and that due to his profession, but if she had any idea just how talented Killian Jones was, she would have signed him to her tours from the start. She’d always wanted to, but the line had always been too wide of a chasm to cross, except now he was finger fucking her with a slight aggression that turned her on beyond anything she thought she could ever know, and suddenly a bridge had appeared and Killian beckoned her to the other side with skillful strokes and the whimpering of a man possessed.

Sweat beaded her brow and he smirked against her cheek, lips parted as he breathed against her mouth, unable to kiss her for fear of losing sight of her. He wanted to watch her come undone as she climaxed and coated his hand with even more of herself. He wanted to imagine her body under his, to imprint the way she looked as she came on his mind, lipstick smeared by indulgent kisses and brow furrowed in pleasurable pain, whilst stretching up on his tiptoes to dry fuck her thigh. He doesn’t have to wait long before Emma is inexplicably pushing against his shoulders as she comes, hard, going rigid and overstimulation setting in, her mind fighting between the urge to push him away and the need for him to never stop reaching the best parts of her.

“Fuck,” he ground out, only just stopping himself from coming at the sight of her. He rolled his forehead against hers but was reluctant to pull his hand out of her warmth, swallowing the deepness of his voice thickly as he settled his feet back on the ground and her core muscles pulled at his fingers in detest when he withdrew them.

“Poetic,” Emma teases, brushing her thumb over the corner of his mouth.

“I’m no writer, love,” Killian admitted with another kiss, this time to the tip of her nose. “Not like you.”

“What do you mean?” Emma beams and he gave her a quizzical look. He loved the way her nose scrunches when she is being playfully naive.

“And all at once, you are the one I’ve been waiting for,” Killian muttered softly, eloquently, as if he is reciting more than just her lyrics.

“King of my heart,” Emma finished with a smile that would just not fade.

“If you’ll have me,” Killian said hopefully.

“Body and soul,” Emma whispered, the words only just leaving her lips before his were pressed to hers in final and definite acceptance of their future.

#CSCS #cs fanfic #king of my heart #cs fic #cs au #singer!emma #dancer!killian

[astrablossom]

Dark Desires (NSFW)

Pairing: Oikawa x Fem!Tanaka

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: "Fine, you're right." She raises a brow and humors him. "It is unfair of me to accuse you without any real experience, even if I still think you're a shitty person. One date and don't try any funny business or I'll beat your ass." A agreement Tanaka soon regrets.

A collab fic worked on by @rocorambles and myself. This is also available on A03

Tanaka's appearance is based off this fanart

Warning: The following fic contains material such as non-con, rape, abuse, yandere, manipulation etc. This is not to encouraged these acts in real life. This is only a work of fiction.

Oikawa locked up the gym doors with an exhausted sigh. It had been a tough practice and he was looking forward to going home and collapsing on his bed. At the thought of rest, he happily hums when all of a sudden something collides with his head and he crashes face-first into the ground. The impact was hard and left him crouching on the floor, gingerly holding his nose. He scowls and whips his head around, ready to give whoever snuck upon him a piece of his mind, but stops and smirks at the sight of Tanaka Ryonosuke glaring down at him, hands on her hips.

She stood above him and Oikawa whistled in appreciation. "White panties are my favorite, Tanaka-chan. How did you know?" It takes a second for his words to register, but then Tanaka is jumping back, hands clutching the hem of her short skirt down, while she furiously screams at him. But Oikawa isn't listening, as his sharp eyes take in her flustered state. Cute, he thinks to himself. And so easy to get a reaction out of...I wonder what other reactions I can get out of her. And for the first time in a long time, volleyball isn't the only priority on his mind as a dark seed plant itself in his mind.

She sneers at the male beneath her with the most malice she could muster. Her eyes trail down to where the captain lays on the floor, cradling his nose from the mild pain. Tanaka was about to go off, yelling at him for being a disgusting pervert, but for once held her tongue back and settled for getting straight to the point.

"Listen here you nasty boy toy!" she yells out, pointing her index finger accusingly at Oikawa. "If I hear about you trying to go after one of my friends again we're gonna have a little situation, ya hear?!" She punches her fist into her open hand to emphasize her intentions. Everyone knew Oikawa was smooth with the girls, always finding ways to lead one into his bed. They always ended up swooning over him and following him around the school. Even Tanaka wasn't that dense and she'd care less if it wasn't for the fact that she saw the ass trying to hit on one of her classmates earlier. Just the thought of one of them sleeping with Oikawa just to end up being brainwashed was enough to make her skin crawl.

"Ooo is Tanaka-chan jealous?" was the response she received and she gapes at him bug-eyed at the question, a vein visibly popping up on her forehead. Nothing was stopping her from beating this clown up. Her fist tightens a bit at the thought, Oikawa could certainly use the lesson.

Just as she’s about to square up her shoulders and go through with her thoughts, the captain gets to his feet and at his full height, he towers over her, his broad frame casting a slight shadow over her smaller figure. Tanaka prides herself on her height and athletic build, but she feels minuscule compared to Oikawa. He starts to try to smooth talk Tanaka who was less than impressed.

"Listen, I didn’t make any of those girls do anything they didn’t want to. I’m pretty sure they very much enjoyed the quality time we spent together if you know what I mean.” Oikawa has the nerve to shoot a wink her way with those words and she opens her mouth to retort when a gentle touch on her lips has her freezing. Oikawa’s pointer finger is pressed against her lips and now he’s leaning down so that his mouth brushes against her earlobe. “Why don’t you give me a chance? Go on one date with me. I promise you’ll see that I’m not all that bad. Don’t you think it’s unfair to judge me without any firsthand experience?”

Her face blooms into a shade of red that would give Nekoma's team uniform a run for their money. Just feeling his breath against her ear was enough for her to take a step back. Tanaka stares at him, sharp eyes scrutinizing him until they widen at what he just said. Oikawa watches as a flurry of emotions run through the second year’s face and he can’t help but smirk when he notices her avoiding eye contact. "And what makes ya' think I'll say yes?" Oikawa observes how her shoulders are hunched up and it's simple to say that Tanaka was like an animal. You needed to approach her calmly to show her you mean no harm. And to show who the boss was around here.

He bends his neck down a bit till he's eye to eye with her and he smirks at the red flush gracing her cheeks, confusion swimming in her sharp gaze. "You're always talking about equality, equal rights, fairness...Don't you think judging me without any evidence is against all that?" Tanaka instinctively latches onto Oikawa's shoulders in an attempt to keep some space between the two of them, but his words made her think which causes what was supposed to be a harsher push to be merely a gentle hold on him. Oikawa didn't complain and opted for basking in the feel of her hands through his uniform. "Fine, you're right." She raises a brow and humors him. "It is unfair of me to accuse you without any real experience, even if I still think you're a shitty person. One date and don't try any funny business or I'll beat your ass."

A wide smile finds its way onto Oikawa’s milky porcelain skin. He places his own hands-on Tanaka, who quickly pulls away. He doesn't mind...in all due time. Tanaka watches a bit appalled as Oikawa bends down to reach for his fallen backpack. Accidentally her eyes trail along the outline of his shoulder blade poking through his uniform. The uniform fitted him rather well...She shakes her head at the thought and tries to clear her mind. She was only doing this because she had to.

"Tanaka-chan!" Said person's annoying voice disrupts her thought. Oikawa wiggles his smartphone in front of her face. "Lend me your number! I have just the perfect place we can go to." The way he’s smiling and bubbling up about a potential date that could run amok makes her stutter a bit before she reaches for her phone, albeit with slightly sweaty hands.

Grabbing a hold of her device, she offers it thinking Oikawa would just grab it from her, but a firm grasp wraps around her entire hand and he is sidling up right next to her, a burning heat on her side as his other hand wraps around her shoulders to input his number. Tanaka freezes at essentially being embraced by Oikawa and she's too aware of the weight of his arm around her and the slight smell of sweat she inhales as Oikawa's chin rests on her head and presses the back of her head against his throat. She could feel his Adam's apple poking through her scalp. As soon as he typed the last digit of his phone number, she grabs his phone and practically leaps a safe distance away from the overly touchy boy before she hastily types her number in his phone, chucking the device at him from her safe spot. "I-I'm free this weekend. Text me what you want to do." And with that she is scrambling away, her chest filled with mixed emotions. Too bad she misses the practically feral predatory look fixed on her as she makes her escape.

The expression on his face darkens as he watches Tanaka's departing silhouette. "Tanaka-chan~♡" he hums in a sing-song tone. Just the thought about how the date will go makes him hug himself, shivering slightly. "Ah...I can't help myself." Tanaka was just too cute for him. To think that there was a girl resistant to his charm only made him more tempted to lure her into his trap. Yes, he thinks to himself. It'll be fun breaking down Tanaka's facade. As Tanaka left the gym with her mind muddled with thoughts on how to deal with Oikawa she kept thinking back to how his body felt overly warm against her own, how he didn't hesitate to wrap himself around her. Slowing her steps down, she touches her lip in the same place he did and she suddenly shouts out loud, scaring someone passing by. Two could play at the game. "I'll make sure to knock his ass off at how amazing this stupid date will go!"

Texts were exchanged and the weekend quickly arrived. Oikawa patiently waits in front of the dessert shop they'd agreed to meet at and plays on his phone until he feels a presence stop in front of him. Looking up he freezes at the sight before him. Tanaka's wearing a white tank top that isn't form-fitting, but it's snug enough that Oikawa gets a good look at the figure she usually covers under the school blazer. His eyes continue trailing down to the short denim shorts she's wearing and he subconsciously licks his lips at the sight of tanned, muscular legs completely on view. "Oi, eyes up here, asshole!" Tanaka is furiously blushing as she shoves Oikawa into the shop. "I thought you were supposed to be proving me wrong about you. Ya sure ain't doing a good job of it. Don't leer at girls, ya perv!" Oikawa chuckles as he shrugs his shoulders. "I can't help it, Tanaka-chan. You're just so beautiful and I never see you in anything other than our school uniform." Tanaka continues to rant and shove him forward, but her heart flutters at his praise.

"Y-Yeah?" she stutters slightly, running a hand through her hair and goes to look him up and down. He wore a simple short sleeve black shirt with the collar unbuttoned a bit with fitting jeans that showed off his athletic physique. His hair, like usual, was styled to curve at the side, framing his face. When he starts walking ahead of her, Tanaka rolls her eyes and replies curtly. "At least you don't look like a fashion disaster." It was a backhanded compliment but it was what she could muster at the moment.

"Was that a compliment. Tanaka-chan?" "Absolutely not!" She yells loudly and opts for smacking him upside his head. Oikawa merely laughs at her reaction before guiding her to the booth that he'd booked. "Ladies first," Oikawa almost purrs and Tanaka mumbles a “whatever” before plopping down on the cushion seat, sliding down to the end. She bristled a bit when Oikawa slid in right beside her, their arms touching. Oikawa held up two menus in his hand with a small smile. "Who said you could sit next to me? Ya trying to get handsy under the table?"

Oikawa gasps dramatically. "How could you think so poorly of me, Tanaka-chan? I figured this was the easiest way to share our dessert. The portions here are too big for each of us to get our own, so I figured we could just sit next to each other and share one." Oikawa had a point...Tanaka's been here before and their ice cream floats are heavenly, but also overwhelmingly large. Plus it saved on money. "Fine! But I have my eyes on ya," she hisses at him as her hands rise in a karate chop form. Oikawa laughs and ruffles her long locks. "Have some faith in me." Tanaka flinches at the touch and moves to squeeze even further into the booth, but Oikawa just takes that as a cue to sprawl out and his thigh is now pressed up against her, his arm is spread out and resting on the booth behind her back, and she feels trapped.

Two could play at that game. Never one to back down from a challenge Tanaka retaliates. A bit aggressively, she spreads her legs as well, putting one on top of his own. Her lips pulled up into a smile of mockery when Oikawa cheeks puff up, a tinge of pink dusting them. Finally, she was gaining the upper hand of the situation, and after a few minutes passed she decided to strike up a conversation to see what the himbo was into besides volleyball.

"So what do you do besides play volleyball and sexually harass girls?" Oikawa shifts his gaze from the warm leg curled around his inner thigh.

"You might find it a bit silly, but Iwa-chan and I go out looking for UFOs and aliens a lot. Well, I'm looking for aliens and he's looking for Godzilla." There's a pause before Tanaka is letting out an ugly brash laugh. Embarrassed and irritated, Oikawa fully turns to her, his free hand gripping her bare thigh harshly as he leans forward until they're nose to nose. "It's not funny," he seethes at her. All amusement has flushed out of Tanaka and she lets out a whimper. Oikawa's grip is so tight and she's never been touched so high up her thigh before...so close to an area she doesn't want to think about.

Her thigh bucks a little in his tight hold and she freezes up, unable to think up an excuse for this predicament. "You're too close" she half whispers, pushing her back up against the wall. It did little to space herself from Oikawa who was leering over her with his eyes. "Oh? Is Tanaka-chan a bit nervous?" He squeezes his hand on her thigh, fingernails scraping against the fabric of her shorts and he moves closer till their noses touch. He could hear Tanaka breathing heavily and his eyes trail down to the pink lip gloss she decided to wear. Oikawa licks his hungrily before completing pulling off of her, the tension immediately leaving his face. "Kidding!"

Tanaka awkwardly laughs. Trying to get the ambiance back to where it was, she asks about the aliens and they proceed to exchange stories about aliens, her older sister, and her abysmal test grades. Just as they agree that it might be a good idea for Oikawa to tutor her in some of the subjects she's struggling with, their ice cream float arrives. Oikawa digs in first, scooping a generous spoonful of vanilla ice cream and whipped cream on his spoon, but instead of eating it himself, he lifts it to Tanaka's mouth. "Open wide, Tanaka-chan!" Tanaka fights the instinctive urge to push his hand away from her and obediently opens her mouth as wide as it can go, eating the offered food. She is on a date and she did promise to show Oikawa that she could be as good on a date as any other girl.

Arousal stirs in Oikawa as he stares at her licking around her mouth, trying to clean up the spots of whipped cream that accidentally smudged her face and before he can even comprehend what he's doing, his thumb is wiping off the mess on her face and bringing the dirtied digit to his mouth. He sucks on it while staring into Tanaka's eyes. There's an unfamiliar coil in Tanaka's stomach as she watches Oikawa and she feels pinned to the spot by his gaze. Finger sufficiently licked clean, Oikawa smirks at Tanaka. "Tanaka-chan, you're so messy!" Tanaka splutters as she grabs her spoon and shoves it into the float. "You don't need to feed me. I can eat on my own!"

Oikawa watches the flustered girl shove the spoon into her mouth, eyes are drawn to the little bump in her throat as she swallows the sweet treat. He couldn't help but laugh at her determination to prove herself to him, she was just far too adorable in her own right. Just as he was about to take a scoop of his own, Tanaka pokes his cheek for his attention. "Oi! Open your mouth." She wiggled the spoon full of ice cream in the air, waiting for him to eat it. When Oikawa gives her the same piercing look from earlier she returns it with a toothy grin, watching as he opens his mouth to lick the ice cream off the spoon. Tanaka watched as Oikawa's pink lips pulled off the spoon, his Adam's apple shuffling a bit as he swallowed.

"Ah!" He presses his hand to his cheek dramatically and Tanaka snorts at his antics. "Tanaka-chan feeding me this makes it sweeter!" Bemusement fills Oikawa's body as Tanaka shoves him a bit, laughing a bit too loudly at his corny joke. The girl couldn't help but feel her chest warm-up at the genuine laugh Oikawa gave her. It was nothing like during their matches. Shaking her head, she was unaware of the smile she wore. "Shut up and finish the food you himbo." And much to the second year's surprise, the date went well.

They go on a few more dates, which also all go smoothly, but soon enough finals are around the corner, and Tanaka desperately needed to buckle down and study. Her coach had told her she might not be able to play volleyball anymore if she didn't pass the upcoming exams. The thought of not being able to do what she loved most had her frantically searching for any solution and she soon finds herself alone in her room with Oikawa as they hover over the multitude of textbooks and notes scattered all over her bedroom floor.

Oikawa and Tanaka are seated right next to each other as Tanaka intensely studies the papers in front of her and Oikawa leans over her, hovering right above her. But his attention is hardly on the text lying in front of them. Instead, he's focused on how small Tanaka seems underneath his hovering figure, the emptiness of her house (her parents and sister are conveniently away for the week on some business trip or other obligations), and how naive and trusting she is of the predator she's let into her room.

It was slightly embarrassing when she had asked Oikawa to help her study, he gave her shit for asking and she had to smack him upside the head again before he childishly accepted her request. Now she sat on the floor of her room in a loose white tank top and some basketball shorts, unaware of how Oikawa's eyes leered at the dip between her chest. The sound of the pencil scribbling in her notebook was the only noise in the silent room. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she fills in the blank equation.

"That's wrong Ryu-chan~" he plucks her pencil from her hands before erasing the equation and explaining where she went wrong with the calculation. The male felt his chest stutter when she punched her hand in realization. "Got it, thanks!" She plucks the pencil from his fingers, the male silently enjoying when their fingers meet. As she tries the formula again she pushes her hair back. "Oi. Can you get scrunchie from the drawer over there? Hair is driving me nuts," she asked, her eyes never drifting away from the notebook. It seems like she started trusting Oikawa a bit more after seeing how kind he was when they were alone.

Oikawa retrieves the scrunchie and settles behind Tanaka. "Let me tie your hair for you, Tanaka-chan. Focus on studying." Tanaka's focus is still on the notes in front of her and she just vaguely nods in agreement. Oikawa tangles his hand in her dyed locks, pulling and brushing the strands together. He uses more force than necessary as he grabs her hair from the roots, pulling Tanaka's head back with his motion and he feels his cock twitch at the guttural moan she releases at the harsh action. "Sorry, sorry! I'm not used to this," he quickly chirps out as he continues tying Tanaka's long locks into a ponytail. She just grunts in acknowledgment as she continues to study. Oikawa smirks at his work and he clenches his jaw at the thought of how easily he could control her movement with just a harsh tug on the long ponytail swaying back and forth with every nod and shake of Tanaka's head.

Silence falls over the two of them and unconsciously Tanaka begins to lean into Oikawa touch, his fingers grazing her scalp soothingly. She didn't realize that she was practically sitting in his lap. Watching silently, he coils her dyed locks around his fingers, pressing himself against her to smell the conditioner she used earlier. The older of the two couldn't help but wonder if Tanaka knew what she was doing to him or if she was that dumb to let him get so close. But it didn't matter.

"Mm...how's this?" When she twists her body to look up at her tutor, Oikawa could see right down her shirt, see how her chest is pushed together by the bra she wears, her face pretty close to him. Her eyes trail down to where he was staring and she started to raise her voice out of annoyance. "H-Hey." Upon realization of how close they were, she started to pull herself away until the grip on her hair tightened. "Oikawa let go of my-" she grunts when he tugs her down into his lap, her eyes widening when she feels something long and warm pressing against her backside.

Oikawa hisses at the feeling of Tanaka unconsciously rubbing against his dick. He shifts her in his arms until she's fully grinding against the throbbing erection straining against his pants. His hands have snuck beneath the loose white tank top she's wearing and they are rolling, flicking, twisting, and pulling the sensitive nubs. Tanaka can't help but throw her head back against Oikawa's shoulder as she lewdly moans at the sensations she's feeling for the first time in her life. "St-stop, p- please- NGH-" She's never been with a man before and the foreign feeling she's experiencing in her core and sensitive nubs has her at Oikawa's mercy. Tears begin to brim in her eyes, but she can't deny the pleasure she feels as she bounces on the hardening shape of Oikawa's groin.

Oikawa purrs at how Tanaka's hips move against his erection. It’s amazing how warm she is against him, if he didn't know any better it felt as if they were already naked. "Oh..." he almost sounds sad when Tanaka starts to beg him to stop his ministrations. He lowers his head a bit to run his pink tongue against the edge of her ear, noting how she freezes up. She is so sensitive, thinks Oikawa.

"But Ryu-chan you're sending mixed signals. Are you sure you want me to stop?" He rolls his thumb around her hardened nipples, pinching as hard as he could. The groan Tanaka gives him almost makes him lose himself but he keeps it together. He waited far too long for this. "Just look at you Ryu-," he pauses to place a hand on the back of her shirt, pushing her back out till she arches. "Even when I do push you away you're still grinding against me. Do you know what that means? Hmm?"

Tanaka is unable to respond coherently with her mouth wide open, drool trickling out the side as her hips continue desperately shaking for more contact. "It means you want this...you love this, you pretty little slut. My pretty little slut. No one's ever made you feel like this before. Who's the only one who can make you feel like this?" Tanaka doesn't answer, too overwhelmed by the new feelings of lust and arousal rising inside her. Oikawa roughly pulls her head back with a harsh tug on her swinging ponytail. "Answer me," he snarls. "Y-you! Only you can make me feel like this," Tanaka practically wails. Oikawa smiles and with the hand not twisted in Tanaka's hair, he begins to push down her basketball shorts and panties along with his pants and boxers, his cock springing out. He slips himself between Tanaka, allowing her dripping pussy to soak his hard length with her juices.

Each touch and grasp from Oikawa feels like electricity running through her body. Never had she felt like this. The confusion was the first thing that came to her when she answered Oikawa. Did she truly want this? She lets out another wanton moan when he pressed his index finger just above her clit. Although her mind was beginning to muddle from hypersensitivity, she manages to place a hand on Oikawa's cock, squeezing to the point that it becomes painful. She smirks a bit when she hears him grunt in pain. "G-Get off!" She hisses lowly. She should've never trusted the bastard. The grip on her hair tightens and she holds back a groan, eager to get some footing and probably beat the shit out of him.

Oikawa is enraged at Tanaka's retaliation. "You fucking bitch!" He wraps both his hands around her throat, choking her with an increasingly tightening grip until Tanaka's hands release their hold on him and claw at the vice around her neck. Oikawa throws her down to the ground, one hand still firmly gripping her throat while the other hand works to completely remove all their clothing waist down. Tanaka continues her attack on Oikawa's hand, lashing out and leaving behind trails of scratch marks as she fights to breathe. Her legs attempt to kick him off of her, but Oikawa digs his knees into her sensitive inner thighs, effectively pinning her down painfully.

She screams out in rage, coughing due to her currently limited air supply. Oikawa hovering over her with such tenacity in his eyes is enough to make her keep jerking around in his hold. With a free hand, she claws at his cheek, eyes narrowed into slits. "T-The only bitch here is you!" She manages to growl out, her lips pursing together before she spits in his left eye. The sudden attack makes Oikawa loosen his grip around her neck and Tanaka's hand desperately scrambles against the floor for anything to use as leverage. She pauses when her fingertips come in contact with the math textbook from earlier and quickly she grips it, slamming it across Oikawa's head. The sound of the book colliding with Oikawa's head, him yelling out her name- the way he now lays on the floor with a venomous glare directed at her makes her stomach churn with disgust and something else she didn't want to admit. With no time to waste she scoots herself away from the teen, her bedroom door just inches away. "F-Fuck!" she cussed out.

She doesn't care that she's currently half-naked. She doesn't care that she probably looks like a mess. All she cares about is escaping. All she cares about is making it out of the house where she can scream for help. She lunges for her bedroom door and her fingers graze the knob when a strong force slams her into the ground. Dazed from the impact, but still fueled by instincts, she blindly flails around in an attempt to dislodge the heavier figure on top of her. Oikawa grabs her by the base of her ponytail and slams her face into the ground and Tanaka moans in pain, but he doesn't let up his actions and continues to repeatedly slam her face into the hard ground until her nose is a bleeding mess and she is sobbing, all fight gone from her as she tries to curl in on herself and begs him to stop. She just wants the pain to stop. She just wants everything to stop.

He breathes heavily as he pushes her head once more into the cold, desolate floor for the proper measure. Just this action alone was enough for Tanaka to realize that something terrible would happen to her. And it's all her fault. As she curled up, cries dripping incredulously off her now bruised lips she feels a large warm hand encompass her face. Her body is aching, her head mostly, but Oikawa twists her upper part till she is looking him directly in the eye. The scratch from earlier is now welting on his cheek, the same for the ones littered on his arms. Oikawa stares down at her with eyes once filled with warmth, now voided with lust and anger.

"Ryu-chan...I can call you that right? It doesn't matter. Look what you made me do to your pretty face." His voice no longer held a playful tone, instead replaced with a flat and stoic tone. He trails a milky white finger down her bruising cheek, her eyes following him, before moving it to where blood dripped from her. He visibly shudders as he admires how her blood looked on his fingers. Absolutely dazzling. "Ryu-chan. Ryu-chan. Hey, look at me." When her eyes, now wet with tears, connect with his, he smiles. "Do you think you can behave for me?"

Tanaka rapidly nods her head and Oikawa leans down to gently kiss her on the lips despite the blood still flowing down her face into their connected mouths. "Good girl, Ryu-chan. I can make you feel so good. You don't want to feel pain anymore, right?" He continues cooing gentle words into her ear as he guides her body until she's laying on her back underneath him. Tears still stream from Tanaka's eyes as she lets Oikawa position her as he pleases. Anything to keep him from hurting her anymore. Oikawa continues to softly kiss her as his fingers begin trailing all over her body leaving tingling sensations in their wake. And oh...this does feel nice and Tanaka closes her eyes as she enjoys the soothing sensations. Unseen by her, Oikawa smirks as he feels the tension exit her body and he almost moans in excitement when she hesitantly reciprocates the kiss. "That's right, Ryu-chan. Look at how good I can make you feel when you behave. I don't like hurting you, so just listen to me ok."

She looks up at him slightly dazed and frowns a bit at his words before carefully nodding. Her head was still hurting from the abuse inflicted by Oikawa and it was evident that if nothing went his way she would feel the physical aftermath of it. She watches as Oikawa runs his hands against her waist, thumbs jutting out to rub circles just under her stomach. A soft moan makes Oikawa continue his ministrations, fingers gliding across her body with skill. He is the grandmaster and she is the piano to be tuned to his liking. When he lifts her thighs apart, minding the blue welts he is happy to see that her pussy is indeed glistening with arousal. "Oh...just look at you." He shakes his head in disbelief. He looks at her with pity which makes her slightly annoyed and tempted to say something back. He coos. "You're a virgin. Aren't you?"

Tanaka flushes. "Y-yeah. So what?!" Oikawa smiles and lightly kisses a trail down her inner thigh until his face is directly in front of the dripping hole and teasingly blows. "H-HEY! Stop that! That's nasty. Get your face away from there." Tanaka reaches down to shove Oikawa away, but a bruising grip on her wrist makes her wince. "What did I just say about behaving?" Oikawa's voice is all venom and it makes Tanaka's bruises and wounds throb. She chokes back a sob as she lays back down, fingers clenched so tightly in a fist that the nails dig into her skin. Oikawa presses one last kiss to her inner thigh in approval at her obedience before ravenously devouring her soaked cunt.

She wasn't ready for how the flat of his tongue would feel against her folds, the nubs of his tastebuds creating amazing friction and she nearly keens. A broken high pitch moan is pushed out of her as she feels Oikawa's tongue getting busy. It was amazing how the warmth of his tongue was enough to make any tension in her body just disappear. Tanaka found herself torn between wanting to push Oikawa off or letting him continue. She raises a hand to do the former but drops it when the volleyball player sucks on her clitoris, her thighs squeezing his head on both sides. "F-Fuck...stop it, man..." She is so lost and confused in the sea of lust and pain. Oikawa merely watches Tanaka's expression, enjoying how she struggles to fight off the inevitable. She starts to squirm when he begins talking against her folds. "You taste good Ryu-chan~ This must be fate. It has to be."

"Ah...fuck off ya little shit…," she all but groans out, her free hand covering her now flushed and humiliated face.

Something is growing in the pit of her stomach and Tanka pales. Shit, she's about to cum. No, no, no she doesn't want to cum...not in front of Oikawa and not because of Oikawa. "Oi, st-stop it...It's too much..." She moves to push him away again, but Oikawa just grabs both her wrists in his hands as he continues his ministrations. He can feel her body tensing more and more and he can feel her pussy twitching...just a little more...he sucks harshly on her clit and that's all it takes for Tanaka 's spine to arch, her mouth to fling wide open in a silent scream, and her eyes to roll back as she orgasms.

But Oikawa doesn't relent and he continues to lick and suck, making lewd slurping noises as Tanaka writhes and screams in overstimulation. "Th-AH-that's enough. Pl-please -OH- no more! Please, please, please...." Tanaka's words start making less and less sense as Oikawa continues his assault. Only when Tanaka is in tears does Oikawa give one last suck to her throbbing clit and move away as he positions himself so that his cock aligns with her soaked hole.

Her legs are slack from her first orgasm and more so from the overstimulation. All her senses are on high alert as she gasps for air. Although she was already crying beforehand it was nothing compared to how she is sobbing now. Tears stream down her now extremely red face as she weakly tries to push Oikawa away from her leg. His erection looks far too intimidating and the worst part is that it’s going to go into her. "O-Oikawa...wait!" She weakly pushes herself against the back of the door to sit upright before giving him a small smile. "Can you...can you..." she looks away before gently caressing his hand. Tanaka exhales “It's my first time." She prayed this would work. "I have some condoms and lube in my top drawer." Oikawa studies her face carefully with an unreadable expression and watches as she struggles to crawl close to him. The stutter in her words is evident, but she refuses to go down without a fight. This is her last chance. "Can ya get them for me? If we're gonna do this, we'll do it right." The drawer is only a few feet away from Oikawa.

Oikawa smiles and gently brings her in for another kiss. "Of course, Ryu-chan. I'll make sure your first time is perfect." He gets up and the instant his back is to her, she once again lunges for the bedroom door and this time successfully escapes. Oikawa's angry screams have her trembling legs moving even faster as she rushes to the outside door. She's so close, but fear ignites within her as she hears his heavier footsteps drawing closer and closer to her. Her hand is just about to unlock the front door when strong arms wrap themselves around her waist and spin her around. Any gentleness Oikawa had shown earlier is gone and all that remained was the fury in his eyes.

He brings his hand up and strikes her across the face so hard that she finds herself on the floor cradling her bruised cheek, but Oikawa's not done with his punishment. He cruelly kicks her in the gut and she gasps as she curls in on herself clutching the abused part. She's still coming to grips with all the pain when she feels a weight on her head. Oikawa is pressing her face into the ground with his foot and Tanaka sobs in humiliation. "You're being such a bad girl, Ryu-chan. Brats don't deserve nice things. You lost any chance of this being pleasant for you. But if you learn to behave, maybe next time will be better for you." Tanaka freezes at his words. "Next time? There's not going to be a next time, you sick fuck!" Oikawa presses his foot even harder into her face which silences her. "You still don't get it, Ryu-chan? Of course, there's going to be a next time. And there'll be the next time after that and on and on. This isn't just a one-time thing. This is your life now."

No. No. He couldn't be serious right? This had to be all a dream. It had to. She wanted it to be a dream so badly, but the foot is pressed into her face is indeed the reality of her situation. She grits her teeth in pain when he applies more pressure to her now bruised face and curls up more, cradling her aching stomach. She feels so powerless in this position, nothing she does will stop Oikawa and now it is dawning on her that his words were final. Oikawa pauses when he feels the edge of Tanaka's lips move.

"Speak up, Ryu-chan." She whispers just audibly enough for him to hear. "You're gonna rape me...you lied." Her eyes trail up to the now disheveled Oikawa. Just like her he only had a top on, but disgustingly enough his erection is awake. He is getting off to this, she figured. "You're a liar. I thought you would prove me wrong." She exhales deeply before pushing his foot off her face. The ponytail he made came undone and Tanaka’s hair fell into her face, casting a looming shadow. Oikawa's eyes widen at the sudden display of intimidation. Even after being beaten up Tanaka still had the strength to talk back, to even glare at him. He watches stiffly as Tanaka weakly claws at his leg, nails sinking deep into his calves that would later leave red crescent marks. She is so beautiful.

"Ryunosuke..." He breathes her name and he bends down to make eye contact with her, eyes staring deep into ones that reflect hatred. "This is why I like you." He places a hand in her hair, patting it gently before his grip tightens. "And now I'm going to show you. Whether you like it or not." He needs this, he waited far too long. Oikawa stands, enjoying the screams of pain and how Tanaka's body sounds being dragged on the wooden floor. There is a pink blush on his face, he was ecstatic.

He drags her back to her bedroom where he tosses her onto the bed and pins her down with his legs as he strips his shirt off. Now completely naked he reaches down to also remove Tanaka's tank top, but Tanaka uses her still free arms to stop him. Irritated, Oikawa backhands her across the face so hard her nose begins to bleed again and Tanaka lets him remove her top without any more fuss. "Ryu-chan, I really do hate hurting you." Oikawa is tenderly stroking her face, but there's only hunger in his gaze. He does hate hurting her, but he loves the way she looks painted red...Oikawa once again lines himself up with Tanaka's now dry pussy, but he could care less as he shoves his entire length into her, relishing in how tight she feels around him. "Fuck, Ryu-chan. You're so tight, so perfect. It's like you were made for me." He continues his sickening train of praise, but Tanaka isn't paying attention as she screams in pain from the forced intrusion. "Oikawa, stop! You're too big. Take it out. Please take it out!" But Oikawa is only spurred on by the desperate tone in her voice and he begins roughly thrusting into her at a rapid pace, his hands gripping her waist so tight she's sure to have finger-shaped bruises there afterward.

As soon as he thrusts into her for the first time there is no joy. There isn’t anyone whispering in her ear lovingly like the stories her friends told her, there isn't any pause for her to adjust. Nothing feels good. He is too big for her tight snatch and the forceful intrusion leaves her feeling raw and disgusting. Her screams won’t reach anyone and she cries out Oikawa's name when the friction from his thrust hits her hymen. She didn't think she had any more tears, but they start to stream down her face, mixing with the blood as Oikawa takes her virginity. "I hate you...hate you so much." But Oikawa doesn’t hear, his mind is elsewhere in a frenzy, enjoying the tightness of her pussy, how she starts to bleed on his cock. She hates his pathetic face, it’s all she can look at. Her stomach starts to coil in familiarity and she releases a choked moan when he lowers his lips to her perky tits.

Oikawa continues his relentless pace as he takes a hardening nipple into his mouth and rolls the other in between his dexterous fingers. Tanaka hates herself for the way she starts to moan and how her pussy begins to coat itself with lubrication, but Oikawa's been around and he knows exactly what he's doing. She doesn't stand a chance as he continues sucking and twisting her sensitive nubs and fuck her eyes widen when Oikawa's cock drag across something inside of her. Oikawa smirks and aims for that same spongy spot over and over again. "Wha-what are you doing? St-stop that. Ah! Pl-please stop it." It's an unfamiliar pleasure for Tanaka and she wants to die from humiliation. How could she be feeling so good while she's being raped? How could she be feeling so good while Oikawa is using her as nothing but a sex toy to get off in? But the pleasure is so new to her that she can't help it as her cunt begins to tighten and she's reaching a peak higher than anything she's felt before.

"That's it, Ryu-chan. I want you to fall apart because of me. Come on. Cum for me." Oikawa uses his free hand to furiously rub her neglected clit and it's the combination of every one of her sensitive spots being stimulated at the same time that brings Tanaka to an overwhelmingly strong climax. Oikawa releases an animalistic growl as he plunges even faster and harder into her tight quivering walls. "Fuck, your pussy is squeezing so hard on me. It's like it doesn't want to ever let me go." All it takes is a few more thrusts and Oikawa is releasing his seed deep inside of her while he forces her to look him in the eyes.

Her mouth falls open in a silent scream, drool falling as she arches, squirting all over Oikawa’s cock. Everything leaves her feeling tingly inside and the feeling of being overstimulated starts to become unbearable as Oikawa chases for his release. Her eyes threaten to close but Oikawa's hand on her face makes her stay awake. It is strange how she finds his face so handsome, even as he is raping her. He is concentrating on her and only her. Did it mean someone likes her...right? The thought disappears as she grunts when she feels the hot sliminess of his seed filling her womb and silently thanks her sister for tossing a bottle of pills her way a few weeks beforehand. A silence falls on the two of them and Tanaka stares up at Oikawa with an unreadable expression. It was over right? He would finally leave her alone and never show his face. That's what she wanted to believe, but in the back of her head, all she wants is to kiss him. Her eyes trail to his now bruised lips and they linger there until Oikawa moves closer.

"Ryu-chan." She looks away from him.

Oikawa gently but firmly turns Tanaka's face towards him. She wants to hate him, she does, but she swears she sees a glimmer of affection in his chocolate-brown gaze, and that sets her heart aflutter. He’s so handsome and he made her feel so good...Her thoughts trail off when she feels his lips gently kissing her and she sinks into it. All she knows and feels is love for the brunette who’s caressing her. Oikawa smiles as he feels Tanaka wrap her arms around the back of his neck as she returns the kiss. “Ryu-chan, you’ll be mine, right?” Something deep inside of Tanaka makes her pause at his words and she hesitates, but then Oikawa is kissing her gently again and looking at her with such tenderness that she finds herself saying yes...and she means it. Yes, she loves Oikawa. He’ll take care of her. He’ll make her feel good. And with that last thought, she falls completely into his embrace.

Dedicated to:

@watermelonsugawara @thisisthehardestthing

#tw rape #tw fic #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyū!! #haikyuu rarepair #haikyuu smut #tanaka ryuunosuke #ryuunosuke tanaka #oikawa x tanaka #tanaka x oikawa #AO3 fanfic #haikyuu ao3 #genderbend #oikawa tooru #toru oikawa #oikawa tōru

[nejitenforlife]

Letting Go

A Nejiten Short Story

The sky rumbled angrily, the clouds above thick with rain as a lone kunoichi sat in front of a memorial stone, her shirt clutched in her fists and her head bowed to the ground as she wept uncontrollably. She hadn't been to this gravestone since the war—she couldn't bring herself to see him until now—so she gave herself this opportunity to do so. She knew no one would come to the graveyard at this time and witness her breakdown. This would be the first—and last—time Tenten would allow herself this weakness. "Why? Why did you leave me?" she sobbed, her fist connecting with the ground in front of her. "I didn't even get to say goodbye!" The young female choked out another sob, unable to control herself. She had been bottling in her feelings for so long; now that she finally let them out, she just couldn't stop. Her mind flashed back to when she was just a Genin and they had recently been made a team. You were such a jerk back then, she thought ruefully. .

.

. "You cannot win against me." The young Hyuga remarked, defeating his comrade once again. "You are a loser. And losers will never amount to anything." The young kunoichi sitting on the sidelines to watch the match stood up to defend her friend. "Don't be so mean, Neji! We all know you're a genius but that doesn't give you the right to rub it in our faces! Lee is trying his best, give him some encouragement!" Her lavender eyed teammate looked over at her and scoffed. "How can I encourage someone who will always be a failure? I would just be wasting my breath." Tenten balled her hands into fists and snarled at her teammate. "How dare you! You may be a genius but you're nothing but a self-centred jerk!" She walked over to her comrade who was struggling to rise and helped him up. "Come on Lee, let's go have lunch. My treat." She turned her back on the Hyuga prodigy, ignoring him as she helped her friend walk back to the village. .

.

. The heavens opened up and rain started to pelt down to the earth, soaking Tenten in seconds. She barely took note of the rain, though, and remained by the memorial stone, crying. Tenten didn't think she had the strength to stand anyway, her legs having gone numb from kneeling by the gravestone for so long.

It had been four months since they had won the Fourth Shinobi War and brought peace back to the ninja world. Since then, Tenten had been assigned various missions to help with the repair works, both in her own village and in others. She hadn't had time to let her emotions get the best of her. Besides, Tenten felt like she needed to be strong for the rest of her team, since they had always been more emotional than her. "I need you!" She suddenly screamed, her fists slamming to the ground furiously. "Don't you understand that I needed you to live? I can't—" a choked sob ripped through her and Tenten felt her heart break all over again. "I can't live without you Neji!" She gazed at his name on the memorial stone through blurry eyes and cried out. You became such a great friend to me. She thought, reaching out with a shaking hand to touch the engraved name. .

.

. The duo had been training for most of the morning and the female Chuunin was getting tired. She collapsed back onto the ground and grinned at her comrade, the field once again destroyed by his technique. "I feel sorry for the poor guys that have to come and clean up this mess every time we finish training." She remarked laughingly, motioning for the Jounin to take a seat next to her. Neji smirked and walked towards his sparring partner, sitting down next to her gracefully. "Of course you would think of something random like that." Tenten laughed and bumped her shoulder against his. "Whatever Mr. Genius. Anyway, I'm exhausted. Do you want to go see how Lee and Guy-Sensei are doing with their training?" Her comrade raised a do-you-really-want-to-check eyebrow at her. "And get caught up in whatever crazy training plan that they have come up with for today?" He reasoned. The kunoichi shuddered. "True, I didn't think of that. On second thought, let's not check up on them. Let's go grab some lunch instead." She grinned at her friend and he sighed, standing up and offering her a hand. "Fine, but we are having my favourite. And you are buying." The Hyuga prodigy smirked at the scandalised look on his comrade's face. Pouting, she took his hand and he helped her to her feet, dodging the punch he knew would be coming his way. "That's just mean Neji! You should be paying because you're supposed to be the gentleman." Said 'gentleman' looked over his shoulder at her as he walked towards his favourite restaurant. "You're the one that wants to eat. I am more than happy to keep training." The female caught up to her partner and folded her arms across her chest. "I take it back," she declared. "You are definitely not a gentleman." She mumbled incoherent profanities at him, and he couldn't help but chuckle at her childishness. .

.

. The memories were too much for the brunette and she collapsed, curling into a ball at the base of the memorial stone. The rain continued to fall but she took no notice of it, allowing it to mingle with her tears and wash them away. She finally managed to rise to her knees again after what felt like an eternity and she wiped her nose with the back of a mud stained sleeve, her tears finally slowing. "N-Neji," she sniffled, pulling out a container and chopsticks from the bag she had brought with her. "I brought your favourite for you." She placed the herring soba in front of the memorial tomb, a sad smile touching her lips. "I don't think I ever had the chance to tell you this Neji, but I always admired you. You already knew you were a genius, but you were also a great person and an amazing friend." The kunoichi's eyes welled up again and she let out a sob. "Did you know that sometimes I wish that I could have died in your place? I would give anything to go back and switch places with you, Neji. I don't… I don't know how to live now that you're gone." She let out a soft, sad chuckle and shook her head at her own naiveté. "You know, I always figured that eventually we would end up together." Tenten broke out into another fit of sobs and had to wait until she could breathe normally again before continuing her speech. The young female took a deep breath, preparing herself for what she wanted—no, needed—to say next. "Neji, I never told you this, but I think you knew for a while. I mean, you were a genius so I'm sure you figured it out a long time ago. But I need to say this otherwise I won't be able to let you go. And I need to let you go. I can't live with this broken heart forever." Tenten tried to take a calming breath, but it came out shaky and exhausted. "I love you. I loved you so much, Neji!" Her voice cracked and she buried her face in her hands, weeping. The kunoichi stayed like that for a long time before she felt a hand touch her shoulder. She wiped her eyes and looked behind her to see Lee standing there, an umbrella now poised over her soaked body. She saw the tears form in his eyes and he knelt beside her, pulling her to him and cradling her head against his chest. They didn't say anything, just stayed there until the sun finally emerged again from behind the clouds. "Tenten," Lee said softly, touching her shoulder again. "Let us go home." He helped her weakened frame to her feet and kept his arm around her as she stood, swaying lightly from exhaustion. "We will come and see Neji again next time." Tenten nodded, letting her head fall on her friend's shoulder as they slowly walked away from the memorial stone. She allowed herself to look back and she pictured his beautiful form standing by the tomb. She imagined him smiling at her, nodding his head in acknowledgement. Then, he mouthed three little words before disappearing, and she let out another choked sob. Tenten clutched Lee's arm as they walked, knowing that she would never meet another man as wonderful and incredible as her Neji had been. She glanced up towards the sky, watching as a bird flew across her vision. A feather came undone and landed softly in the palm of her hand. Tenten closed her fist around the feather and kissed it. Goodbye, my beautiful genius.

.

.

.

I wrote this in 2014 and it’s been uploaded to a few sites, but never here. It is based offf this piece of fanart and yes I remember crying while writing it.

#nejiten #neji #tenten #nejihyuga #hyuga #naruto #i thought tenten needed closure so i wrote this #please dont kill me #i wrote this in 2014 so its not my best work #story based on fanart i found

[scriptura-adrepticius]

A Heart of Ice - Zhu Xingjie

Uncalled for and unrequested, but inspired by Beauty and the Beast, some beautiful fanart I CANNOT FIND, and because Xingjie looks like a prince.

Pairing: Zhu Xingjie x OC/reader

Genre: fluff, angst, royalty!au

Word Count: 7.2k

Zhu Xingjie has a heart of ice, and unbeknownst to you, you’ve been tasked with melting it.

Masterlist

if he looked at me like that i’d melt

Deep in the forest lies a forgotten palace, a forgotten land, a forgotten king. Cursed, he wanders the stone walls, unable to even glimpse the outside world.

The king used to be vain, you see. He was pristine, perfect, his skin pale and smooth, his eyes sharp but charming, his voice sweet and alluring.

He had everything. And that was his trouble.

The king grew up a spoiled child, used to flattery and gifts, unaccustomed to want. Whatever he wanted, he had or would get by whatever means possible. And when his father died and he ascended the throne, his requests only became more and more impossible.

It was a wintry day when the fairy came, disguised as an old woman seeking shelter, to see just how horrid this king truly was.

“Please, just one night, my good king… Please…”

She found out when he ordered her away.

In return, she cursed him. He stared in horror as she began to glow, a brilliant white light rendering him blind.

All the nobles and ladies around him vanished into thin air.

The candles flickered once and went out.

The drapes blew shut and when he ran to open them, the fairy simply laughed. “Young king,” she chuckled, “you would not want to see the sunlight.”

Frozen, the king could only stare at the now-beautiful fairy, who appraised him with a cold smile. “You will live forever as the king with a heart of ice, cursed to never see sunlight until you have learned to love once more. If exposed to the sun, your heart will melt too fast, and your time on earth will be gone.”

The king felt a stabbing in his heart, bringing him to his knees, and he clutched his chest in pain. He felt himself grow colder, saw his skin turn paler, felt the color drain from his face and his lips.

A cruel laugh echoed in the ballroom.

“Farewell, young king, and may we meet again soon.”

. . . . .

It’s cold.

Stupidly, that’s the only thing you can think at the moment. A snowstorm is brewing, and all you can think is that you’re cold.

“Well, I’m not wrong,” you mumble.

The wind is howling in your ears, the snow obscuring your vision. You clutch the reins on Xing harder, huddling down into your cloak as you urge him on. Xing obediently tries, but he can’t see either, and the snow on the ground is impossible.

The sun is nearly down, and the sky is darkening fast. If you stay outside longer, there is no guarantee on how long you can survive. Survival instinct spurs you on, and you doggedly continue with Xing.

It seems like a blessing when you finally see what seems to be a wall through the whirling snow. As you get closer, the wall grows larger, until you can just barely make it out to be a sort of very large house. Xing perks up, as though recognizing the house as a safe haven, and he speeds up slightly, slogging through the deep snow.

“Just a little more,” you encourage, patting his neck, before squinting through the snow to take a good look at the place.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

It’s not a house.

It’s a palace.

A large, imposing gate - the wall that you saw - rings the grounds in which a tall, stone castle stands. You swallow, looking around nervously. It’s getting dark, and though you aren’t in a blizzard yet, the snowstorm very well might develop into one. So you steel your nerves, jump off of Xing, and lead him forward.

Once at the gate, you pause, unsure of how to get in, as the gate is made of heavy stone and metal. However, it seems you need not worry, because the gates suddenly swing open though not a single person is in sight. You look around suspiciously, but worry for Xing and the strengthening wind push you forward through the gates.

The gates are almost taller than you. Xing could probably just jump over them if he tried. There’d be no way for you to get out.

You shudder, not because of the cold this time, but because of how ominous this all feels.

You wonder if it’s too late to turn back.

A loud neigh jerks you around, the reins ripped from your grasp. Xing suddenly spooks and you shout, trying to calm him down, but he turns, rearing his neck, before running through the gate.

“Xing!” you yell, racing after him, but the gates clang shut right in your face, the loud noise ringing in your ears and rendering you frozen, unable to move.

You gape, stepping forward, but an invisible force repels you, sending you stumbling backwards.

Cold terror settles over you, but you force yourself to breathe deeply and turn around.

“Well, that settles it,” you mumble. With Xing gone, you have no way of going anywhere else. So you continue, hurrying to the doors of the palace as the wind continues to pick up speed.

The large, stone doors open surprisingly easily when you push, looking around for any sign of something living. “Hello?” you call, allowing the doors to close behind you.

There is no reply.

You shiver in the darkness, glancing back at the door. Again, you wonder if it’s too late to leave.

“Hello?” you try again.

Silence.

“Hello.”

A shriek builds up in your throat but you swallow it down, whipping around to see a lantern in the darkness, illuminating the side of someone’s face. A wave of relief and anxiety washes over you, and you bow slightly in their direction.

“I’m sorry for intruding, it’s just the storm outside was getting worse and my horse spooked and left and this was the closest place…” Your words die away when the person - well, the man - gets close enough for you to see his face.

He is striking, handsome, but inhumanly so. Perhaps the right word to describe him is otherworldly.

His skin is pale, so pale it’s nearly white, but not sickly. He stands with an elegant, cool grace you associate with nobles. His coal black hair contrasts sharply with his skin, and on anyone else, the combination would repulse you. However, it just makes him seem more aloof, even further away from you, a mere mortal.

His nose is tilted perfectly, his mouth unsmiling. A severe, wintry coldness seems to emanate from him, making you shiver even more.

But it’s his eyes that truly captivate you. And yet at the same time, they repel you.

They are dark. So dark.

And so, so cold.

“What brings you here, traveler?” he asks, gazing idly as though you are just a bug waiting to be crushed. You swallow, shrinking under his cold gaze, but you make an effort to hold yourself tall.

Your voice is steady when you speak. “I was trying to reach the next town, but I got lost when the snowstorm picked up. This place was the only place I saw, so I… I tried to come here. My horse spooked and ran away, and I have no other place to stay. I ask for your permission, please, to stay for the night. I will leave tomorrow morning.”

That disdainful gaze, that aura of cold, that wintry anger- is it anger? You’re not quite sure- makes you want to run away, but you swallow and stand your ground. “Please,” you plead again. “Just for tonight.”

The cold laugh that the man lets out sends chills up your spine.

“Traveler,” he says, staring directly at you. “I don’t think you understand.”

You take a step back involuntarily. “W-what...” You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. “What don’t I understand?”

There’s a long silence, and you’re about to bolt, blizzard or no, when he speaks.

“Once you enter this palace,” he says slowly, “you cannot leave.”

. . . . .

You jolt awake, panicking when you see that this is not your room. It takes a good thirty seconds for you to remember the events of yesterday, and when you do, you burrow under the thin blanket again.

“Please tell me this is all a dream,” you mumble, poking your head out of the covers once again, holding on to that stupid, vain hope.

Alas, the stone walls of the room shatter that dream. You sigh, kicking the covers away, before padding over to the small closet where you’d stuffed your things last night.

“I hope I brought that extra shirt,” you mutter, swinging the door open.

“What the fuck?!”

The closet is not empty, or even close to empty. Clothing of all types and designs fill the space with a rainbow of color, a stark contrast to the dark stone walls that surround you.

You blink.

You blink again.

You close the door and reopen it.

The clothes are still there.

You close it and open it again.

Everything is still there.

“Is this magic?” you murmur, hesitantly tugging on one of the shirts. To your surprise, it feels solid beneath your fingers, and you pull it out.

Dark blue, with intricate white designs bordering the collar and sleeves. You look between it and the rest of the fabric in the wardrobe.

“Why not?” you finally say, switching your rumpled, scratchy shirt for the new one. The cloth is comfortable and warm against your skin, and you pluck at it in curiosity as your stomach rumbles in hunger.

Food. Right.

You exit the room nervously, peeking around for any signs of the cold man from yesterday. There are none, so you venture out, stepping quietly on the stone floors. After wandering around for a long time, you finally locate what seems to be the dining room. There on a table lies a small assortment of fruits, breads, and other foods.

“Where does this all come from?” you ask yourself, eyeing the food uncertainly. You cautiously pick up an apple and examine it before biting into it.

Well, it tastes fine. You shrug before devouring the rest of the fruit.

“Magic, perhaps,” you murmur. You can’t think of any answer.

Once you finish, you take to wandering again, as there’s nothing better to do. You walk through the halls, taking random turns and opening random doors. You find a lounge, what seems to be a study, a lot of bedrooms, and then you find a library.

The room is large, filled with shelves that are in turn filled top to bottom with books. Mesmerized, you step inside, gazing in wonder at the book-laden shelves.

“Am I in heaven?” you squeak, breathing in the welcoming scent of old books. You pull one book off a shelf, scanning the title eagerly before sitting down to read.

The day passes in this manner, devouring one book and then pulling down another. It’s only when the clock strikes seven that you finally pull yourself from the fictional world to come back to reality.

You carefully mark your place with a scrap of paper, taking the book with you as you attempt to find the dining room again. It takes a good fifteen minutes, but that’s better than the thirty it took you this morning.

Still locked in a slightly dreamy haze, you step inside the room, ready to eat. However, you snap out of it quickly when you see the man from yesterday standing by the table.

Cold.

You shudder.

“You’re late,” he says simply.

You don’t sit down. “I wasn’t aware that there was a set time for dinner,” you reply, eyes flitting back and forth between the table and the door, wondering if you could just skip dinner like you skipped lunch.

“Well, now you are,” he replies indifferently. “Sit.”

You don’t particularly want to, but something tells you that you can’t disobey. So you sit down gingerly, placing the book down next to you. You notice the man’s gaze travel to it, but you ignore it, instead filling your plate.

The meal is uncomfortably silent. You want to talk, but at the same time, you don’t. There is no noise at all save for the sound of chewing and silverware clanking on plates.

“Where does the food come from?” you ask impulsively.

Then you want to throw yourself out the window because Xinyi, what the hell kind of conversation starter is that?

“Magic,” the man replies without even looking up.

You blink slowly.

Okay… so I was actually right.

“You don’t believe me?” he says, raising an eyebrow. You nod vehemently. “I believe you,” you say with conviction.

Well, how else could you explain the clothing and the food? You’re pretty sure he didn’t cook it all himself, at least.

He just raises one eyebrow. You kind of feel like he doesn’t believe you, but what does it matter? So you busy yourself with your food again.

You finish your food in silence, standing up awkwardly. “Uh, where should I put my plate?” You shift your weight from one foot to the other nervously.

“Just leave it,” he replies, standing up as well.

“Magic, huh,” you mumble to yourself, placing the plate down. You pick up your book, ready to leave.

“Xinyi.”

You freeze.

How does he know my name?

“The magic only keeps you from leaving the grounds,” the man continues, looking at you boredly. “You can still go outside.” He begins to walk away.

“How do you know my name?” you demand.

He turns back, a ghost of a smirk tilting his pale lips. “Magic.”

What an annoying jerk-

“And if you must know…” He pushes a lock of hair back, the simple motion rendering you speechless.

“My name is Zhu Xingjie.”

He walks away, leaving you to wonder just how he knew your unspoken question.

. . . . .

“Zhu Xingjie,” you mumble to yourself, wandering through the library. It’s a name that fits him, for some weird reason. You shrug, plucking a few books off the shelves. You’ll read those today.

A peek outside the heavy curtains tells you it’s sunny outside. You remember what Xingjie told you, that you could leave the castle, just not the grounds. You haven’t gone out in some time, so you think why not? and head out.

It’s cold, as expected, and you shiver even with the warm coat wrapped around you. You walk around for a bit, exploring the massive grounds, poking at a few strange statues here and there. They’re creepy, almost gargoyle-like, but interesting.

You find a large tree, and after climbing up the branches, you settle yourself in and continue reading.

Evening comes and you start to get hungry again, even after snacking the whole afternoon, so you reluctantly climb down the tree, shuffling inside the castle with rosy cheeks. You’re not sure if you’ll see Xingjie again, and you don’t really want to, but hunger wins over and you enter the dining room.

Xingjie is there. You don’t particularly care to sit with him for another meal, after they’ve been so awkward this whole week, so when you’re done filling up your plate, you start to walk away.

“You went outside?” he suddenly asks, a strange wistfulness in his tone.

Startled, you nod slightly. “Yes.”

He nods silently, turning back to his own food. You notice his expression turn from a blank face to a frown, but you stay no longer.

That strange display of emotion stays with you. You can’t help wondering why he seemed to have felt the way he did.

Still, what is there you can do about it? It’s hard enough to be in the same room as him- how can you get him to open up to you?

It’s a difficult question, one that you don’t have the answer to.

. . . . .

You decide to start by initiating conversation at meals. But wow, it’s hard.

First of all, you have no idea what to ask.

Second of all, it’s really hard to talk in Xingjie’s chilly presence.

Third of all, he doesn’t want to talk.

A few months drag on this cold manner.

“So what do you do during the day?” you ask one day, forcing yourself to keep the words flowing. It’s hard, and you’re running out of ideas, but you forge on anyway.

If you’re going to spend the rest of your life in this godforsaken place, you might as well get along with the only other person being held captive.

Xingjie looks up uninterestedly. You fight to keep your eyes steady, staring at him, though you want nothing more than to back away into the wall.

It’s not just that he looks scary. He certainly does, in a stupidly handsome way. However, it’s that unreadable expression in his eyes that makes you want to flee.

“Why do you want to know?” he responds, raising a single eyebrow.

Oh my god.

He’s been like this the whole past few months, and you now want to punch the stone wall, despite the fact that you’d probably break your hand.

Scratch that. You want to punch him.

He’s not making this easy at all.

“No particular reason,” you say evenly. “I’m trying to maintain a conversation, and I’m curious.”

He looks at you impassively. “Why do you want to maintain a conversation?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing your anger to go away before you throw food in his face. If you threw food, he could probably freeze you right then and there with that apathetic gaze of his.

“Because if I’m supposed to stay here for eternity, I might as well attempt to get along with the only other person being held captive in this godforsaken place,” you snap.

A cold expression passes over his face, and you involuntarily shiver, chills running down your spine.

“You will never know what it feels like to stay here for an eternity,” he says lowly, standing up.

You stare, shrinking slightly under his cold eyes. He walks over slowly, and you scramble to stand. You want to get away, because he’s seriously scaring you, but it’s as though his cold gaze has you frozen in place, unable to move.

He stops in front of you, his face only a foot from yours. You shiver, his cold aura hitting your skin.

Perhaps he really is the embodiment of winter.

“You will never know,” he whispers, his eyes angry and… is that helplessness you see?

His hand comes up, almost as though to grasp your chin, but just as he’s about to touch your skin, he drops it to his side quickly as though he’s just remembered something. Without another word, he stalks out the room.

Your hand comes up, touching the skin where he almost touched you. You shiver when you feel just how cold it is.

. . . . .

The events of last night come back with full force when you wake up the next morning. You groan, shoving your face back into the pillow.

You really don’t want to face Xingjie today.

It’s strange. In that moment where he nearly touched you, you saw so much emotion in his eyes, so much emotion that you’d never seen before.

Perhaps you’re so shocked because you couldn’t even think of him as a human with feelings.

The thought makes you feel really guilty.

Your thoughts turn back to that moment, your hand coming up to touch your chin as you gaze into the mirror. It’s bright red and prickles, though it doesn’t seem to be any worse than that.

“Oh god,” you whisper.

He nearly gave you frostbite from touching you.

Actually, he didn’t even touch you, which makes things even worse.

Is he even human? You feel guilty for thinking that, but it isn’t natural, his ice cold touch. His wintry aura isn’t normal either, as is the pallor of his skin.

You swallow, swinging your legs out of bed to get a closer look in the mirror. The frostbite is mild, alright, but you can already see the blister that’s supposed to form afterwards. You prod at it, wincing in pain.

“He may as well be the embodiment of winter,” you mutter.

You stay in your room the whole day, save for sneaking a couple plates of food out of the kitchen. But by late afternoon, you’re getting antsy, so you set off to the library to find a new book.

You push the door open, only to see him browsing the shelves. He looks over and you stop short, nervous and a little scared.

Xingjie’s eyes narrow, and he walks over, staring at your chin. His hand comes up and you jerk away reflexively before realizing he has gloves on.

“Relax,” he says quietly, though a bit haltingly, as though he isn’t used to speaking with such gentleness. “The gloves will prevent what happened yesterday.”

You relax slightly, allowing him to touch your chin gently. You look anywhere but at him, unsettled yet transfixed by his sudden kindness.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice serious. “I lost control of myself. I shouldn’t have done so.”

You swallow, forcing yourself to untense despite your proximity to him. “I have to apologize as well,” you say. “I didn’t know that what I said would affect you so much. I’m sorry.”

“It’s… not your fault,” he says, taking a slight step back. “You didn’t know.”

You want to ask why what you said hurt him so much, why it made him so angry, but the look in his eyes tells you that that is a question for another time. So you swallow your curiosities in favor of nodding.

“It’s not your fault either,” you say. “If someone had said something to anger me, I can assure you that my reaction would have been much more than touching their chin.”

It’s unexpected, what happens next, but Xingjie smiles slightly. Not a smirk. A real smile.

You gape.

“Perhaps,” he replies, “but I also must apologize for being so rude to you over the past few months.”

You make a face. “Let’s put that behind us. It’s fine.”

Xingjie raises an eyebrow, moving over to let you inside. “You certainly let go of things quickly.”

You shrug a little. “I don’t like holding grudges. I forgive, but don’t forget.”

Xingjie nods, looking thoughtful. “Well, I’ll leave you now,” he says. The look in his eyes softens the smallest bit as he bows slightly, about to walk away.

“Wait,” you say, before you even realize you’re speaking. He looks at you, surprised, but you swallow and forge on.

“Please don’t leave on my account,” you say softly. “You don’t need to go.”

Xingjie opens his mouth, staring at you in mild shock. You don’t hear the thoughts echoing through his head, but if you could, you would have heard Why would she want to be in the same room as a monster?

And yet something possesses him to stay.

You smile as he nods slightly and a little awkwardly, then steps back into the room.

. . . . .

Your friendship with Xingjie is tentative at first. The blister on your chin stays for a while, reminding you of just what he can do. It’s hard to relax yourself around him, though you make an effort to do so.

It’s also a little difficult to maintain a friendly relationship with someone whose beauty is so utterly cold and ethereal.

But it happens, bit by bit. Though you don’t see him around much, the castle doesn’t feel so uninviting anymore, and when you do see him, conversation flows. Not very smoothly, but it’s a start, and you find yourself more comfortable around him.

You still have a couple of questions, though. For one thing, besides when he apologized, you’ve never seen Xingjie outside of dinner.

What does he do during the day?

It’s a simple question, one that you should have no problem asking. However, something stops you. It feels like you’re invading his privacy, somehow, like it’s something private for Xingjie and Xingjie only.

And yet you ask anyway, because the scholar within you won’t rest until she gets her answers.

To your surprise, when you ask, Xingjie just kind of looks down. He looks… almost embarrassed.

Embarrassed.

Who knew the almighty ice prince Zhu Xingjie could look embarrassed?

You look at his expression. It’s… cute. You almost coo in amusement.

“I… make music,” he says quietly, barely able to look at you.

You tilt your head, unable to see the reason behind his reaction to his statement. “Music?” you echo.

He nods.

“So you play an instrument?” you ask, leaning forward.

Xingjie hesitates, then nods. “Piano, guitar… basically all of the instruments in the music room.”

You’re too excited to notice his slightly confused expression. “Can I hear you play?” you ask, gazing at him eagerly.

It seems to take a moment before your question registers in his mind, and even then, Xingjie is still a little out of it when he answers. “After dinner,” he promises, and you have to fight to keep the wild grin off of your face.

. . . . .

Xingjie is confused.

Very, very confused.

First of all, why weren’t you… fazed… at all… by the fact that he liked to make music in his free time?

His parents had devoted their entire lives to telling him that his passion for music would take him nowhere, that it was useless, that he had to devote his life to running the kingdom and not to such stupid trivial pursuits. As such, the nobles of the court devoted their lives to telling him the same thing.

Even after his parents died and he became the cold shell he is today, he hesitated to go to music even though nobody could stop him.

All because of that stupid stigma against the arts that he was brought up to believe in.

So when you expressed enthusiasm in his interest, in his music-making, he was shocked. And what shocked him even more so was the genuine delight in your eyes.

In all his years in the court, he’d never seen anyone look at him as genuinely as you did.

When you continued to ask him about playing instruments, he was so lost. He couldn’t believe that anyone was speaking to him like this. Especially a monster like him.

Really, did you just not realize the pure coldness that he emanated? The fact that he was literally a frozen, animated… semi-human?

And then when you asked him if he could play for you… well, Xingjie really can’t explain the slight feeling bumping around his chest. It’s been so long since he really felt something for anything other than his music that he really just doesn’t know how to explain it.

Whatever the feeling is, it isn’t unpleasant.

It’s then that he learns you can play the instrument too, not as well as he but granted, he’s had decades of practice compared to your mere eighteen. It’s then that the feeling grows, filling his chest as he watches you play with your simple grace and charm.

You confuse him so, so much.

And yet… this confusion… it isn’t unwelcome.

Xingjie sighs, getting up abruptly.

He’s never felt like this before, and he’s not sure what to make of it at all.

. . . . .

You lie in bed, still on cloud nine because of the beautiful music this night had given you. Or, more accurately, that Xingjie had given you.

His fingers danced on the instruments, making sounds that were almost too beautiful for your ears. He was talented, sure, but you could see just how much dedication he had to music and how hardworking he had to have been to reach that level.

You turn over, humming one of his melodies quietly. It had been a wonder to watch him play, to watch how he transformed from a cold, awkward being to someone with so much passion.

A smile crosses your lips involuntarily.

It’s like you’re seeing Xingjie in a whole new light now. First he was the cold, unwelcoming prince of the castle. Then he became more like an awkward, shy transfer student from another school.

And now he’s more like the dreamy musician with a passion that’s infectious, that inspires you to do better, to do more.

Your heart thumps, thinking of his bashful smile when you complimented his playing, and you feel yourself reddening slightly.

Who knew such a cold person could make you blush like this?

Really, if there wasn’t so much… mystery… behind Xingjie, and if you knew more about him, you wouldn’t hesitate to say that you could definitely fall in love with him.

But there’s those other questions that continue to prod the back of your brain and force you to stay vigilant and guarded against these feelings in your heart.

Just why is Xingjie here? Why is the castle always so dark, and why are the windows never open? And why is Xingjie so… cold?

. . . . .

Now that you know where Xingjie is during the day, you don’t hesitate to enter the music room quietly, sit in a corner with a book, and read as he fashions new melodies and harmonies that bless your ears with their beauty.

Xingjie doesn’t hesitate to join you in the library either, with him giving you recommendations every now and then. He doesn’t say it, but you have a suspicion that he’s read everything in the library.

Which brings another question to your mind: how long has he been here?

“You look like you’re thinking hard about something.” You start a little, not having noticed that Xingjie’s stopped playing and is now looking at you with slight concern. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You really want to ask the questions you have in mind. But for some reason, you also don’t. It feels like… taboo. You don’t know why, but it’s like you just can’t ask.

So you opt for something else. “What’s the extent of the magic of this place?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like…” you trail off, trying to put your question into words. “Does everything necessary just… appear? Or is it like if you wish for something, it appears? Or what?”

“If you wish for something within reason, it will appear, I think,” Xingjie confirms. “I haven’t fully tested this magic either, despite-” He stops suddenly, then shakes his head. “Never mind. I just know that after I learned the guitar, I wished for more instruments, and the next day they were here.”

You notice his sudden hesitation and you want to pry further, but you don’t. Silence falls, and unlike other silences you’ve had before, this one is awkward.

Xingjie seems to know that wasn’t the question you wanted to ask.

“So what did you really want to ask?” he says quietly.

Damn, you were right.

You swallow. The air suddenly seems colder, and you shiver involuntarily, scared to verbalize your thoughts.

Fuck it, you think. And you open your mouth to talk.

“What is your connection to this place?”

Xingjie immediately clams up. You can see it. And you feel really bad for making him so uncomfortable, but you also really want answers.

“I…” He starts, then stops.

You’ve never seen this look in his eyes. To you, Xingjie has always been confident, cold, shy, embarrassed, sweet, and so many other things, but never… nervous.

And this expression makes you scared. What could be so bad about your question that the ice prince is now nervous?

“I can’t tell you that,” Xingjie finally says. “I’m bound by the magic of this place. I can’t tell you. At least… not yet.”

You nod slowly, putting down your book. “Then can you tell me why it’s always so dark?” You think for a moment, coming to a sudden realization. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you go outside either.”

Xingjie looks even more helpless. “I can’t tell you that either.”

“Okay.” You nod again, feeling awkward. The atmosphere is tense and uncomfortable, and you quickly stand up to leave. “See you, Xingjie.”

“Alright, Xinyi.”

You leave the room hurriedly, eager to escape the tense silence.

. . . . .

A week passes. Then another. And another. And another.

And, slowly but surely, the friendship you’ve built with Xingjie begins to crumble.

It’s your fault, you suppose. If you hadn’t asked those stupid questions, things wouldn’t be this way.

You’re miserable. You never realized just how much you enjoyed your time with Xingjie, how much you enjoyed talking to him.

You never thought you’d feel this empty without him.

It was your decision to stop going to the music room after that tense conversation. You stay in your room or outside for the most part, knowing that you won’t see Xingjie there. Dinner is awful - you’d forgotten how bad the silences used to be.

Without Xingjie, you feel empty and desolate. It’s like he’s become an essential part of your being over the past months, and you’re incomplete without him.

But if you’re miserable, Xingjie feels worse. He doesn’t blame your curiosity - he mostly blames himself for not being able to tell you what you want to know.

If only he could explain why he was so cold, why he couldn’t go outside, why the castle was always dark and how he was bound to this castle.

He sighs, his head in his hands. He’s sitting at the piano, but today, inspiration won’t come to him.

It’s strange. Whenever you were with him, lying quietly in the corner with your book, ideas came naturally to him. Seeing your smile inspired him. You made him feel that strange feeling in his heart, that strange feeling that he couldn’t figure out before… but now he’s pretty sure he knows that it is.

Love. That’s what it is.

Love.

But Xingjie’s afraid. He’s never loved before, for one thing. The only people he’d ever cared about were his three friends, all of whom disappeared when he was eternally bound to suffer here. He’s never felt this raw emotion for another human, this longing for someone that makes him almost physically ache for want of you to be near him.

For another thing, Xingjie has only one shot at getting this right. If you aren’t the one, and Xingjie only mistakenly thinks he’s in love, then things could go very, very wrong. For you and for him.

And the last thing, the scariest thought of all.

What if you don’t love him back?

Xingjie finds it difficult to believe that you could ever care for him in the same way he cares for you. He’s literally subhuman - his heart of ice confirms that.

How could you ever love someone who’s barely human?

The days drag on, with you slipping through his fingers with each passing moment. Xingjie becomes desperate to see you, but even when he does, it’s like there’s a wall between you two. An invisible wall that makes communication more difficult than ever.

It’s killing him. Well, probably not really, since he’s literally immortal and bound to this fucking place until he learns to love. But it really feels like it’s killing him.

And so he makes a decision.

. . . . .

You’re standing, ready to leave the dining room. You cast a glance at Xingjie, who looks conflicted about something.

You turn, but Xingjie’s voice calling your name has you stopping in your tracks. “Xinyi.”

“Yes?” You look back to see Xingjie walking up to you.

“I… um…” Xingjie looks down, then back at you, a slight blush on his face. “Would you dance with me?”

It takes a few seconds for the question to register in your mind.

Dance?

“Here?” you ask, perplexed.

Xingjie quickly shakes his head. “No. In the ballroom.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to tell you something, but in a livelier situation.” Xingjie smiles slightly. “And from my past experience, dancing is livelier than me sitting you down at a table to tell you.”

“But I have nothing to wear,” you say, looking down at your trousers and shirt. They’re undoubtedly nice clothes, but for a dance, you need a dress. Unless Xingjie plans on being unorthodox.

Xingjie laughs a little, a sound you’re glad to hear after so many weeks of silence. “Xinyi, remember that this place is magic?”

You blush. “Right.”

“Go check your closet,” Xingjie says helpfully. “I’ll meet you there.”

With that, he walks around you out the door.

. . . . .

Icy blue silk, white satin gloves, a rose pin in your hair, light blue shoes. You watch your step, doing your best not to trip on the stairs.

It’s with nervousness and anticipation that you walk to the ballroom, hoping that you don’t look a total mess, but all those thoughts fly out of your mind when you see Xingjie.

He looks so, so handsome.

His blue silk shirt matches your dress, as do his white gloves, contrasting with his black pants. His eyes are still as dark and deep as you remembered, but it seems that they’re… twinkling. An expression you’ve never seen before.

“You look very handsome,” you say shyly, taking his outstretched hand.

“And you look very beautiful,” he says back, unable to take his eyes off of your face.

You blush under his gaze, allowing him to lead you inside. “Are we dancing without music?” you ask, looking around at the various instruments leaning against the wall.

“Magic, Xinyi,” Xingjie says, whirling you into position. You attempt to recall the dances you were taught back home, hoping that this won’t be too different.

You look around, startled, as music begins to play. You catch a glimpse of a violin floating in the air before Xingjie is moving, placing his hand on your waist and yours on his shoulder, and clasping the other in his.

“Let’s dance,” he whispers, his cold breath hitting your face. You shiver slightly, but in delight, before following his lead.

It’s strange, awkward almost, to be the only two dancing in this enormous ballroom. But after the first dance, your surroundings melt away, your attention focused only on the man in front of you. And you become comfortable enough to ask the first question.

“So,” you say, “what did you want to tell me?”

Xingjie twirls you under his arm slowly, looking suddenly serious. “You had questions before that I could not answer.”

You nod.

“I’ll answer them now,” he promises, “but don’t interrupt me until I’m done, okay?”

“Okay,” you reply.

There’s a short silence as the music dies, signaling a new song. The opening bars are soft, eerie, and haunting, and you shiver in Xingjie’s grasp.

“I was once a king,” he says, looking into your eyes. “I was vain, selfish, and horrible. I had everything. I wanted for nothing. And if I wanted for something, I would get it. No matter what. In short, I did not love.”

You remain silent, unable to look away.

“One day a fairy came, disguised as an old woman seeking shelter. I refused her.” Horrible pain twists Xingjie’s face and he looks away for a moment to compose himself. “It sounds terrible, but that was the person I was back then.”

You find it a little hard to believe, but seeing the pain in his eyes, you know that he’s telling the truth.

“In return, she cursed me.” Xingjie swallows. “Everyone around me vanished. The lights flickered out. And when I tried to open the drapes… Well, in short, the fairy had cursed my heart. I did not know how to love - my heart was proof of that. So it literally became a heart of ice.” A bitter smile crosses his face. “So I’m not even human. I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster,” you say staunchly. “Get that idea out of your head.”

Xingjie laughs a little sadly, adjusting his grip. “Alright, if you say so.

“Anyway, if I went outside,” he continues, “if I saw the sunlight, that ice would melt, and I would live no longer. As long as I remained in the dark, I would live, eternally bound to this castle until I learned to love.”

You nod slowly. Then, unable to restrain yourself, you ask, “But why couldn’t you tell me earlier? Why tell me now?”

A slight smile twists his pale lips. “If I told my story to anyone I did not love, I would die. Immediately, painfully, I don’t know.”

Your heart pounds painfully in your chest as Xingjie stops dancing, the music coming to a rest. It’s so silent in the huge room that you can hear your breathing, shallow and quick.

“You love me?” you finally ask, voice barely a whisper.

“I think I do,” Xingjie replies, his voice equally soft. “Do you love me as well?”

You nod once, twice, three times. “I think I do,” you whisper.

Xingjie’s gloved hand finds its way to your cheek, caressing the skin with his thumb. His touch is cold but dulled by the cloth of his glove, and you revel in the way his hand brushes against your skin, gently pushing away a fallen strand of hair.

You lean closer, cupping his face in your hands. You stare into his eyes, those dark eyes you fell in love with, those dark eyes that hold you captive in place. You are spellbound, feeling his breath ghost across your lips.

“Are you sure you love me? A monster?” he whispers.

“I said, get that idea out of your head.” You glare at him teasingly. “And yes. I am sure.”

And you press your lips to his in a gentle, sweet kiss.

. . . . .

It’s cold.

Xingjie’s lips are so cold.

It repels you and you almost pull away, but you force yourself to come closer, allowing Xingjie’s hands to rest around your waist as you cup his face in your hands. You force yourself to stay pressed against him, against the man you are sure you love.

And then, gradually, his lips become warmer. And warmer. And warmer.

You open your eyes, staring into his, before breaking away.

Where pale, white skin used to be, there is now a hint of pink and color in his cheeks. Your eyes roam his face, seeing pink lips and twinkling eyes.

Is that a tear you see? You reach up, brushing it away with your thumb.

“Xingjie,” you breathe. A tear wells in your eye, threatening to spill down your cheek. “Xingjie.”

“Xinyi,” he whispers, brushing it away.

And then he kisses you again.

Around you, the drapes blow open, the music begins to play again, and chattering begins to fill the room. But you don’t notice, focused only on the man whose heart you have melted.

“I love you,” you sigh against his lips.

He breaks away for just a second, just enough to say, “I love you too.”

#idolproducernet #idol producer #idol producer zhu xingjie #zhu xingjie #fluff #angst #royalty!au #idol producer scenarios #zhu xingjie scenarios #gramarie entertainment #a heart of ice #scriptura-adrepticius

[aspen-arts]

Price of Freedom Ch 20 END

And here we go. The final chapter for this fanfic.

I am a huge bag of mixed emotions right now. On the one hand, I am very happy that I have managed to finish up a fanfic, but on the other hand I am very sad that it is over. I had never thought the fanfic was going to become so popular over a short period of time. I actually thought it was just going to be like my other fanfics where I post it up, one or two people will like it and then I would lose interest. But it didn’t happen and now I’ve reached the end and have gained so many new friends because of this fanfic. ^^

And I just want to thank you all for reading this fanfic and supporting it. I would also like to thank @suspicious-spirit for being an inspiration to do something Ghostblossom related and for sharing the first chapters I have uploaded so everyone else can see it. Thank you so much, Spirit! I am really grateful for your support! 

I would also like to thank everyone who drew fanart for the fic and those who sent many nice messages showing their love for the fic! All of this was what made me determined to continue on writing and not give up on the fanfic. I also want to thank everyone in the Ghostblossom Discord for all the encouragement, support and love! Thanks so much you guys!

It is sad that this will be the last chapter, but don’t worry! There will be more coming up relating to this fanfic and maybe even a potential sequel. Keep a sharp lookout!  Anyway, here we go. The final chapter.

Once again, thank you all so much! Love you guys! <3

Ch 20

The sun rose over Inkwell Isle but some residents of the isle was in the mood to appreciate the beauty of the morning dawn. All over Inkwell Isle, the debtors to the Devil were silently waiting for the dreaded moment when the Devil will come to take their souls. Some were trying their best to keep their panic at bay to no avail, others were preparing for one last final attempt to fight, while others were merely still and silent.

Cagney fell in with the latter. He remained small and meek curled up near the roots of the tree and keeping his eyes on the meadow horizon, awaiting the sight of the devil rising from the horizon. He began to wonder what the Devil will do to him since he had nearly beaten one of his employees to death and defied him by stealing not one but two soul contracts. Cagney could only shudder at what awaited him in hell.

“Cagney?”

Cagney yelped and whirled around, lashing out at the voice who spoke. Psycarrot jumped back just in time as Cagney’s leaf hand nearly grazed him. Cagney blinked at Psycarrot and sighed in relief.

“Oh…it’s just you. Er, sorry about that, Psy. I’ve been on edge ever since…” He trailed off and looked back at the horizon but Psycarrot knew exactly what he meant.

“I don’t blame ya’.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Listen Cagney…that’s what I’m here for.”

“Huh?”

“Haven’t you heard the news?”

“What news?”

“About everyone who sold their soul to the Devil need to gather here in this meadow.”

“What for?”

“Don’t know…some big huge announcement from the Cup brothers.”

This made Cagney shiver with dread. The Cup brothers were working for the Devil and whatever the announcement was going to be just can’t be good.

“Is it mandatory?” Cagney asked.

“I’m not sure. Weepy says he’s not going. He’s afraid of what’s going to happen. Moe and I will stay with him and if they try to take us away, we’ll fight if we have to.”

“But…” Cagney stared at him, “you’ve barely gotten your strength back after that fight.”

Psycarrot shrugged. “It’s the only way to protect Weepy.”

“Hmm…” Cagney bit his bottom lip. “I don’t know…maybe I’ll go because…well what else is there for me here?”

Psycarrot nodded. “Well, I wish you the best of luck then…”

“Thanks…you too.” Cagney nodded back as Psycarrot turned and headed back to the vegetable garden.

Footsteps caused Cagney to turn his attention towards the borders of Inkwell Isle Two and he was astonished to see a large group heading towards him. Was the meeting going to take place here? As the crowd gathered around Cagney realized he was smack dab in the middle of the crowd.

Here it was then.

Oh Cohl, Cagney thought as more and more debtors came, what will happen to us next?

 Meanwhile in Inkwell Isle Three, the Phantom Express was still in the same spot from yesterday. Due to the Head of the Train being beaten badly, they were unable to continue on. Specter had wandered over to the edge of a cliff that dropped down to the ocean and began to chuck rocks into the water, venting out his frustrations and fear.

“Get away from there, Specs.” T-bone called towards him. “You don’t want to accidentally hit someone or something and get us into deeper trouble.”

“I don’t care…” Specter snarled as he threw another rock. What he really cared about was what Cagney was doing at the moment. Had the Devil gotten to him already? If not, was he hiding somewhere or just waiting until the Devil would come to get his sharp claws in him?

Specter grabbed another rock from the ground and imagined the Devil standing before him, gloating and laughing about getting his contract. With a growl, Specter threw the rock which flew straight into the air before falling into the ocean. The ghost was about to look for more rocks when something caught his eyes.

A giant mermaid had broken through the surface of the water and was swimming away, heading towards the direction of Inkwell Isle One. An idea came to Specter and he jumped down from the edge of the cliff and glided over to the mermaid, ignoring T-bone’s calls for him to get back.

“Hey!” Specter called out. “You! Mermaid!”

The mermaid froze and turned around. Gliding in closer, Specter was able to get a good look at her. She had large aqua eyes, two scars across her left arm and her purple hair was actually a large purple octopus draped over her head.

“Hey!” Specter repeated himself. “Where are you going?”

“To Inkwell Isle One…” The mermaid answered as if it was obvious.

“I know, I know,” Specter waved a hand. “But…why?”

The mermaid looked down at the water with shame. “I…well, I made a stupid mistake that I couldn’t take back. The Devil…he convinced me to sell my soul to him, but I managed to escape. Well…I thought I was safe but—”

“Cup brothers managed to beat you?” Specter finished.

The mermaid nodded sadly.

“I know how you feel…” Specter sighed. “So you’re trying to get away from here before the Devil gets you?”

“No…” The mermaid shook her head. “Everyone who had sold their soul to the devil is summoned to go to Fleisher Fields for some sort of announcement.”

“Wait, what?!”

“That’s all I know though. I don’t know why we need to be there or what will happen to us. But…better to face your fate than hide like a coward.”

Specter didn’t reply as he was lost in thought. Finally he nodded. “Thank you…I appreciate the information. I guess I’ll be seeing you Ms…?”

“Cala.” The mermaid replied. “Cala Maria.” And with that she dove into the water and disappeared from view.

Specter immediately turned around and glided back towards T-bone and the Head of the Train.

“T-bone!” Specter cried out. “I received word! We have to get to Fleischer Fields immediately?’”

“Whatever for?” T-bone frowned.

“Everyone who had sold their soul to the Devil is required to go.” Specter explained. “Some sort of gathering…or something.”

The Head of the Train snorted. “Well, I’m not going. It’s obviously some sort of trap.”

“But even if we don’t go, they will still be able to find us,” T-bone pointed out.

“I’m not going,” The Head of the Train growled. “I refuse.”

Specter watched as both Head of Train and T-bone began to argue about whether to go or not. To go was no good, but not going was no good either. The ghost glared down at the ground as the bickering grew louder. He didn’t care what will happen to him if he went. All he cared about was a certain carnation flower that lived in the same area as the gathering place.

Finally he made his own decision.

Specter flew up into the sky and zoomed away from the Phantom Express, ignoring the calls from T-bone to get back. He had lost Cagney not once, but twice. No way will he lose him for the third time.

 Cagney could hardly believe the number of debtors gathered around. He spotted several familiar faces among the crowd. Baroness Von Bon Bon, the princess of sweets that lived across from him in Inkwell Isle Two. The rat who had come upon him and Nathan when Nathan was going through one of his abusive fits. And much to Cagney’s surprise, Rumor Honeybottoms, his old boss that he hadn’t seen in years.

What happened to them that caused them to sell their own souls to the Devil?

Cagney raised himself a little bit and searched through the crowd. Did the Phantom Express come? Or were they afraid of coming? Cagney searched desperately through the crowd but every new face only resulted in disappointment when he saw it was not the familiar ghost he had grown to love.

He slowly sank low to the ground and uttered a sigh of sadness. Well maybe it was best that Specter wasn’t here. If this meeting was called by the Devil himself, perhaps the Phantom Express could have a chance to run and escape. But Cagney wished he could have said one final good bye to Specter.

Suddenly the nervous chattering died down and Cagney looked up. The two Cup brothers were running down a hill towards the crowd and the air immediately grew tense. Everyone watched as the brothers climbed up a large bandstand and stood facing the crowd. Cuphead took a deep breath.

“You are all free of the Devil’s debt!”

“And that fiend won’t bother us again!” Mugman added.

There was a moment of silence as the crowd stared at the Cup brothers.

“We fought against the Devil,” Cuphead went on, “and he admitted defeat!”

“Then we took all of your soul contracts and burned them in the fires of hell,” Mugman said, “now you will never have to fear losing your souls!”

The crowd began to murmur in astonishment. The murmurs grew louder and there were small chuckles which turned into laughter which turned into cheering and also sobs. The tension in the air transformed into one of relief and joy. All around Cagney, many of the debtors were hugging each other and crying tears of joy, others were slapping each other on the back and roaring with laughter.

Cagney smiled at the sight of everyone celebrating the defeat of the Devil. He too was extremely relieved that he was no longer in danger of being a slave to the Devil, but still part of him was…unhappy. Why was he unhappy during a celebration?

Then he felt someone tap his shoulder. The carnation turned around and froze with shock. A blue ghost with an eye socket floated in front of him and on the palms of his hands were yellow eyeballs that where shining with unshed tears. The ghost smiled.

“Hi Cagney…”

Cagney merely stood frozen before he lunged forward and wrapped his vine arms around the ghost, burrowing his face into the ghost’s chest and releasing tears and sobs of joy. Specter wrapped his arms around Cagney and nuzzled his face into the petals. He then placed his hands on the sides of Cagney’s face and gently lifted Cagney’s face so that the carnation was looking straight at him.

“The Devil has been defeated…you know what that means, right?”

Tears were still streaming from Cagney’s eyes but he smiled and nodded. Their souls were no longer in possession of the Devil nor were they trapped.

Both ghost and flower remained in each other’s embrace as a daylong celebration began, marking a newfound freedom for the flower, the ghost, and everyone in all of Inkwell Isle.

  ONE YEAR LATER

  It was just so peaceful; Cagney contemplated as he laid on a grassy forest incline and watched the clouds pass over the large treetops that shaded the forest floor. A few feet away from him a small waterfall gently poured water into a stream which led downward into a grove of trees. Yes, Tyrus Gardens was very beautiful and peaceful indeed. However there was just one thing missing.

A blue arm reached over and pulled him in closer. Cagney smiled. That was it.

Both carnation and ghost laid on the incline and stared up at the blue sky filled with clouds, enjoying the sensation of being close to one another and listening to the sounds of Tyrus Gardens.

So many things have happened ever since their contracts were destroyed by the cup brothers. The crew members of the Phantom Express were able to leave the train and wander wherever they want, allowing Specter to visit Cagney every single time they pass by Inkwell Isle One during his breaks. This happened in the spring and summer and at the beginning of fall Cagney would move into the Phantom Express and live there throughout the colder months.

The casino was still in operation but after a lot of negotiation it was decreed that betting with souls will no longer occur and the casino owners will face severe punishment if that ever occurred again. The Cup brothers would make sure of that. Despite the casino no longer taking souls, Cagney refused to enter it. There were just too many bad memories and even the sounds, sight and smell of the place caused him to go into a panic attack. Luckily Specter was there to help him any way possible and comfort him during these moments.

Cagney couldn’t help but think on how lucky he was to have found Specter. If he hadn’t met the blind ghost, his life would have been a lot darker filled with pain and fear. With Specter around he no longer felt that fear and every morning he would wake up excited about what the day will bring instead of dreading it.

A finger gently stroked his petal making him shiver in delight.

“What are you thinking about?” Specter asked.

Cagney smiled. “Oh, just thinking about how lucky I am to have someone like you in my life.”

Specter chuckled. “Please…I’m the one who should be considered lucky. Lucky to have a gorgeous flower as my boyfriend…”

Cagney nuzzled in closer to the ghost and kissed him on the lips. “I love you, Specs.”

Specter smiled and kissed the flower back. “Love you too, Cag.”

Cagney settled his head on the ghost’s chest and closed his eyes, happiness flowing through him like a river.

After so long, they were finally free.

THE END

#ghostblossom #price of freedom #cagney carnation #blind specter #cuphead fanfic #cuphead #my writing

[lettersofsky]

Streaming Shenanigans

@chaoscheebs gave me “I really like a man who’s good with his hands,” for Strifesodos and I immediately went to Streamer Friends Dynamics and it’s not NSFW in the slightest. Just fun cracky nonsense in this one! To help balance out the last one.

Tip Jar

“Chetchi says you’re terrible.”

“Chetchi doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Malborowaifu doesn’t think you’ll do it either.”

“Why don’t you ever read out the nice comments,” Cloud complained, gaze focused on the screen in front of him. He flicked his gaze to Genesis’ form, registering the other man’s teasing smile before returning his attention to the game.”Boost my confidence, or something like that.”

“They’re so hard to find though,” Genesis whined, burrowing further into his warm jacket and focusing on the chat he had opened in front of him. “Everyone’s complaining that you’re butchering their favourite songs.”

“I’m not butchering them!” Cloud said, amusement colouring his tone as he selected the next piece of music for the night. “I’m barely missing the notes!”

“Whatever helps you get through the day,” Genesis responded, leaning back against the couch. He brought up the poll for the next song selection and groaned when he saw what the next few songs would be. “They’re going through my music library again,” he whined, gazing at the titles of four songs by one of his favourite bands.

“I’ll make sure to butcher those,” Cloud promised, flexing his hand around his controller as he started the song. “Find something nice to say while I do this.”

“Alright,” Genesis said, switching back to the chat and reading what the comments that crawled across his screen. It was just a small stream tonight, late and easy-going for the subscribers, usually the second Friday night of the month was reserved for the four of them a fighting game of some kind but both Aerith and Sephiroth were own of town and they’d decided to just relax with a rhythm game.

They’d started with a few songs that Cloud liked before opening up to viewer requests, when things got fun. They’d sent in the most amusing requests; troll songs, opening themes, actual requests and he even thought he’d recognized the Chocobo Warriors theme song amongst the pieces Cloud had already played through, then they’d starting sending in some of his and Cloud’s favourite artists. Watching Cloud become frustrated over his inability to play his favourite pieces of music was amusing to say the least.

With Cloud’s request for him to find something nice to say to him, the chat was flooded with questions, queries and encouragement. He snorted at a few of the more amusing messages from Cloud’s more amusing subscribers, shifting to a comfortable position as he responded to the ones that had caught his eyes.

“Aerith and Seph are away, Drago,” Genesis answered one of the questions in the chat, skimming the crawling words for compliments to give Cloud once he was done with his current track. “They’re searching for replacements.”

“They won’t have to work hard for that,” Cloud muttered, pulling a laugh from Genesis’ throat. The chat erupted with amused responses to the man’s words and a few people that didn’t quite grasp their particular brand of humour needing to have the joke explained to them.

The track finished in the next minute, showing off Cloud’s score and his overall ranking. It was a decent score, much better than the scores he had gotten little more than an hour before, Cloud was definitely getting better as he went. The chat had noticed as well, if the flood of congratulatory messages was any indication.

Cloud set down his controller on the table in front of him, reaching out towards where Genesis was sitting. “Come here,” Cloud urged, patting the space next to him before holding his hand to him again. “I wanna see the trash they’re saying about me.”

Genesis snorted but grasped Cloud’s hand and allowed him to tug him from his comfy seat and next to him, burrowing into his side to soak up as much of the other’s warmth as he could. He handed the man the device he had been reading the chat on, leaving him to interact with the viewers as he got himself comfortable again.

“Shut up guys,” Cloud grumbled, rolling his eyes at the camera for the audience. “We’re not being ‘sweetly domestic’, Gen’s just being a heat sponge again.”

“I’m stealing that term for later,” he informed the other man, stretching his legs out along the couch until he was tucked against Cloud’s side. “It’s perfect for us.”

“Don’t encourage them,” Cloud said, words coloured with an exaggerated sigh. His hand lifted from where it had been resting and started to run through his hair with absent-minded movements, pulling a pleased noise from Genesis’ noise as he relaxed against him completely. “Chetchi’s threatening us with fanart, again.”

“I love Chetchi’s art,” Genesis said, teasing smile in place as he looked up at Cloud. “The one they did of you and Seph as Air Pirates is the most adorable thing ever.”

Cloud flushed slightly but ignored him, focusing on interacting with the chat for a bit. “Thank you for the compliments Gravedigger,” he said, eyes moving over the chat quickly. “And thank you, Breezy, for the grievous insult to my skills.”

Genesis smiled, content to listen to Cloud talk to the chat as he remained pressed to his side and enjoyed his warmth and the relaxed feeling of the stream. It wasn’t that uncommon for them to end up curled up together during the streams, despite how flustered Cloud always got, and the viewers were well aware of that fact; Chetchi’s wouldn’t be the first piece of them curled up together, nor did he think it would be the last. A lot of them were incredibly cute and he loved embarrassing Cloud with them.

He focused back on Cloud when a particular comment caught his attention, turning towards him and speaking without a second thought.

“- not just dating me for my looks, Ravencloak! There’s other reasons!

“I really like a man who’s good with his hands.”

Cloud paused, looking down at him with flushed cheeks and an expression that told him how foolish he was being. He blinked after a few moments, turning away from him as he responded. “I’m glad you said ‘man’ instead of ‘person’ there.”

“Oh?”

“Yup,” Cloud answered, gaze purposely trained on the chat. “If you had said ‘person’ then you’d probably dump me for Aerith at least once every month.”

Genesis opened his mouth to say something in response but froze, considering what Cloud had said. “Point,” he said, reaching out and taking his device back from Cloud. “The things that woman can do with her hands are positively sinful.”

He felt no qualms in labelling Aerith that way; she was a champion at fighters and ensured that they remembered it. During one of their previous streams together he’d turned the video onto her hands so the viewers could see the exact precision and speed of her hands during the matches; to say it was impressive was putting it lightly. It was one of their highest viewed clips, aside from the one where Seph and Cloud got jumpscared by a RPG-maker game.

“Yup,” Cloud agreed with a soft laugh, reaching out and picking his controller up again. “Now, which of your favourite songs am I destroying first?”

#SFW #strifesodos #Genesis/Cloud #Genesis Rhapsodos #cloud strife #FFVII #chaoscheebs #streamer Cloud #Crack #I love this AU #it's fun #Aerith is the Queen of Fighters #and Very Competitive #She will destroy you without mercy #She usually ends up the winner of 'Fight Night' #Skyee Writes

[miau222]

My dearest, Supernatural fandom: (Yes, that was a Hamilton Reference.)

This is going to be a long letter, and probably no one will take the time to read it, but I really need to do this. I warn you from the start, if you still think destiel can be cannon, I would recommend not reading this, please understand that this is some kind of closure for me, I'm not trying to provocate drama or to impose my opinion over anyone. I can't recall how much time it has passed since I discovered Supernatural, but I remember how. I had just joined the Doctor who fandom and there were another two series that were mentioned a lot, there were crossovers and other things like that, I decided to check them out, I loved (and still love) Doctor who, and I thought that that two other series had to be amazing if they were placed alongside it. Now, you probably know what series I am talking about, Sherlock and Supernatural. I liked Sherlock, but never quite entered the fandom or became a real fangirl, sometimes I looked at fanart or read a crossover fanfic that includes it, but I never became passionate about it. (unlike my mom, that loves it with all her heart.) But Supernatural was a whole different story. I remember not really watching the first episode, I was doing homework at the time and had to re watch it later. The first episode didn't pick my interest either, I didn't dislike it, I just didn't start loving it from the beginning. I started loving it in the second episode. Yes I know, I didn't take that much time, shut up, it actually was because the day I watched it I had finished watching my favorite youtuber at the moment play "until dawn"… and well… wendigos. (If you're curious, the YouTuber was JuegaGerman, his videos are in Spanish but if any of you are interested, it's a pretty cool channel.) From that moment I started to become attached to the characters, and honestly I loved Dean and Sam a lot, and I kind of developed a Crush on Jo Harvelle (until she DIED). The story amazed me, it was a fantastic universe, full of creatures that were so complex and incredible that it was impossible not to love it. Now, I would be lying if I said that I didn't know about Castiel or Destiel since before I started watching the series, and that I wasn't super excited to see what all the hype was about. Once I reached season 4 and Castiel finally appeared, he quickly became one of my favorite characters, not only in the series, but in any media I have consumed. And I started Shipping him with Dean. I mean come on it was pretty clear that they at least liked each other, and the sexual tension, and the stares, it was undeniable. Even though I knew that it wasn't canon yet (I got tumblr and spoiled 99% of the series to myself) every season I thought "this time they are going to be cannon", I continued like this 'till I catched up, and like, a month after, the eleventh season aired, no all this stuff didn't happen in a month, I am a slow watcher and have school, sue me. (Meanwhile, my mother went through 4 different phases of liking and disliking the ship From "Dean is too good for Cass" to "Cass is too good for Dean" to "No, Dean is mine" She finally settled in kind of shipping them. I think. Well she recognizes that the story would lead there. Is that Shipping? This parenthesis is too long omc.) I actually started to get tired on season... I think seventh? The plot seemed repetitive and the characters appeared to be stuck, no character development. But I kept watching. Want to guess why? Destiel. I was desperate for representation and I thought maybe they were going to give it to me. It sure looked like it. On season nine I started to doubt if it was queerbaiting. On season ten I was already very tired of it. On season eleventh I got my hopes up, it got a little better, and there were a lot of destiel scenes. My hopes sank at the end of the season, I decided I would watch the next season on non official websites, at least until they stopped the queerbaiting. But here is where it all changed. I was going to wait until the season actually ended to watch it, I prefer to do that so I don't have to wait if there are cliffhangers. But I still spoiled every episode for myself by going into tumblr and reading everything that had happened. Because I'm an impatient idiot. So you can imagine my happiness when I saw the infamous "I love you". I saw gifsets, I watched videos of the scene without editing, I fangirled, thinking that maybe it would be canon. Maybe they could be together. Maybe my heroes could be in love. Maybe they could be like me. But then I calmed down and started to think, and I realized that the scene was made so they could deny it. They could say it wasn't specifically for Dean. They could say that friends could also say 'I Love you'. They could deny it in a thousand ways. A while later, everyone was talking about now Jensen said that it wasn't real. For various reasons this is ridiculous, you can't just say something isn't happening even if it is and it suddenly disappears. But that was the moment I said enough. Enough, I would not waste my time in this series, Enough, I would not give my money to them, or even the satisfaction of someone watching the series. Just, enough. But I loved this fandom, so I decided to stay in it, to continue reading fanfic and admiring fanart. To continue enjoying this community. But again, I have to say enough. And this is why: I entered another fandom, one that doesn't fight that much and when they do they usually apologize (of course there's a couple of assholes, but they are not that many) one that respects every opinion, most of the community actually ships like... Everyone with everyone, they are very open to every possibility. Most important, a fandom that is happy, and nice, and peaceful. That encourages creativity and diversity. Where no one is judged. This fandom is the Hamilton fandom. Now, this is a fandom that fangirls over people that died 200 years ago and ships founding fathers. And is one of the healthiest fandoms that I have ever seen. How? Well, after analyzing it for a while, I discovered that it was very simple, it is: -Because they don't get treated as crazy idiots. -Because their opinions are actually appreciated. -Because when they have a theory or a ship, no matter how crazy it is, they are respected. -Because they are treated as equals by the people involved in the play. Compare that to how the Supernatural fandom is treated. How it is: - Used as an object. -Treated as a bunch of crazy people. -Their theories are ridiculed and dismissed as hormonal teenagers fantasies. And that reflects into the fandoms. So this is it. This is me saying goodbye, I know no one will care because my maximum interaction was telling you to stop fighting. (Though I actually started a fanfic on wattpad, I am Canceling it) But I want you to know this, and to make you think about this, and maybe I won't change your mind, but that's alright, everyone has different opinions. I loved this fandom with all my heart, and I don't regret joining it, but it's time to let go, cause it has been sinking me and making me feel like crap, and after joining a fandom that inspires me to be a better person, I can't let this one hold me down. Understand it's the only way to rise up. (Yes another Hamilton reference to close up, I'm not even sorry.) (What I'm sorry is for any grammatical errors, English is not my mother tongue.)

#supernatural #queerbaiting #destiel #Should I tag Hamilton? #opinion

[mousedetective]

The True Value Of Things

And here is the third fic I managed to write during my mother’s doctor’s appointment, @chitarra10‘s Elemenatry fic. It was inspired by two absolutely stunning watercolor portraits of Joan and Sherlock done by @inkberly that I had asked permission to base a story on ages ago and never got around to writing until today. Joan's is here and Sherlock's is here, and I highly encourage everyone to show them some love because they are beyond gorgeous.

The True Value Of Things - Joan drags Sherlock to a street fair in Tribeca and eventually to a watercolor portrait booth, where Sherlock makes a surprising discovery and Joan learns something new about her friend.

Fandom: Elementary (TV)

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes & Joan Watson

Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Joan Watson, Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags: Post-Season/Series 01, Male-Female Friendship, Friendship, Street Fair, Art, Watercolors, Sherlock-centric, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Being Considerate, Sherlock Holmes Has Manners, Sherlock Makes Deductions, Artists, Past Sherlock Holmes/Jamie Moriarty | Irene Adler, Sentimental Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes & Joan Watson (Elementary) Friendship, Joan is a Good Friend, Irritated Joan, Happy Joan, Stubborn Joan, Sherlock Holmes and Bees, Inspired by Fanart

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“Okay, you have to actually get out of the brownstone every once in a while,” Joan said, looking at Sherlock. “And I mean more than just for cases. This is New York City. There’s life in every section of this place.”

“Death too,” Sherlock said, not looking up from the book he was holding in his hands as he paced around the living room. “Our stock and trade is in the death that permeates this city.”

Joan rolled her eyes at him, looked around for something to use as a bookmark, and then when she found something walked in front of him, dropped it in between the pages he was looking at and closed the book with a snap. “Then forget about death today and consider celebrating life for a change. I swear, you’re all about doom and gloom all of a sudden.”

“My bees are the victim of some sort of infection. I’m trying to figure out a way to stop it before a certain bee I named after a certain partner vanishes with the rest of the dead hive,” he said, giving her a mild glare.

“You can take a few hours to go join me for this massive street fair in Tribeca that I was supposed to go to with a date that someone deduced the hell of and sent him running,” she said, matching his glare with equal force.”

They locked gazes for a few moments and then he looked away and sighed. She would win, of course. She usually did. He hated to admit it, but Joan had sway over him in a way few others did. He would do much to make her happy, and if going to mingle among the masses for a street fair for a time would make her happy, he would do so. He gently tossed the book on the sofa and then went to the coat rack. “Lead on, MacDuff.”

---

It wasn’t an altogether bad sort of street fair if he wanted to be honest with himself. Rather like the Sunday Up Market at Brick Lane, in its own way. Vendors hawking their wares, food being sold from street carts and food trucks, artists trying to make a living. They had passed by one in particular a few times that Joan had seemed most intrigued by, and on the fourth go round Sherlock stopped in his tracks, immobile as a stone.

“You want a portrait,” he said to her.

“No!” Joan said hastily. “I mean, it’s street art, it’s just...” She trailed off, glancing at the art that the artist had propped up on a small easel to display their skills. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Watercolours,” Sherlock murmured, moving closer to the easel. “Very lifelike. Quite exquisite.” He glanced over ad saw the artist, a young woman, was currently subject free. “Pose.”

“What?” Joan asked, surprised.

“We have tred most of this fair and you have walked by this particular booth four times. You want a portrait.” He gestured to the canopy covered booth. “Pose for a watercolour. I will cover the cost. It is my gift to you.”

Joan gave him a smile and ducked inside, speaking with the artist and her companion while Sherlock studied the art. There was something quite familiar about the style and technique that he could not put his finger on, but it was nagging at him. When Joan called him in to hear the price, he stepped inside. “You are not a professional,” he said.

“Sherlock!” Joan said, her eyes wide.

“It’s all right,” the woman said, shaking her head. “No, I’m not. I just do this for fun.”

Sherlock nodded. “And how long have you been doing this for fun?” he asked, crossing his arms.

The woman tilted her head. “About...five years now?”

“But you’ve been painting longer,” he said.

“Since I was very young,” she replied.

“I am so sorry,” Joan said, glaring at Sherlock before turning to the woman.

“It’s alright,” the woman said, giving her a smile. “It’s good to know more about an artist when you’re getting a commission.”

“Kimmy,” her companion said. “You’re running low on the blue you’d use for her shirt.”

Kimmy pursed her lips and then looked at her paints. “I think we can manage. I’ll pull something out of the hat.”

Then it clicked. The wunderkind watercolor genius that Irene...Jamie...had espoused about, who painted such beautiful pictures as a child, whose style she could never match no matter how hard she tried. Jamie had shown him some of her aborted attempts and this was the artist. “Kimberly,” he murmured. “You disappeared from the art world at fourteen. Your parents would not allow the release of your surname or the showing of your photograph. You did not attend your gallery showings. They tried to keep you as normal a child as possible while sharing your gift with the world.”

“And yet I still managed to feel the pressure of fame,” she said, her smile becoming a little more wry as she began to paint Joan. “Not from my parents, but everyone else. They wanted more, they wanted bigger, they wanted flashier, and I just wanted to enjoy my friends and my life as a teenager. So at fourteen, I retired and walked away from the art world. But I couldn’t give up painting entirely. I didn’t go to art school because that would be too conspicuous, but things like this...that’s enough.” Her smile became warmer as she looked at Sherlock. “You’re the first to ever figure it out.”

“I once knew an art forger who tried to copy your style. She never succeeded,” he said.

Kimberly chuckled. “That makes me feel better.” She turned her attention to the work she was doing. “You should get a portrait too…?”

“Sherlock Holmes,” he said. “I would be honoured.”

“And I would be honored to paint you, free of charge.” Her companion patted the seat next to her and he sat down, having a clear view of her working. “Come and watch me work.”

Sherlock sat, entranced. He had seen Jamie paint from time to time, though never her original work; that had been the lure to her “death” scene. But he had seen her do bits and pieces of her restorations and her forgeries, so he knew great skill when he saw it. Kimberly possessed every inch of skill that Jamie had. They way she moved her brush was like poetry, should he make the comparison, and it was beautiful to watch.

Soon she was done with Joan’s portrait and it was time for his sitting. At times he found it hard to sit still for such things but it was easy today, to stay perfectly skilled so such a skilled artisan could capture his likeness. It was almost with regret when she told him it was done. Joan had taken his spot to watch and she too looked just as impressed as he had. “It’s magnificent,” she said in awe.

He moved to view it and saw a picture that looked delicate yet vibrant at the same time, with his name at the bottom. She had even signed it, which he knew to most collectors would increase its worth tenfold, though he cared not about that. “I agree.”

“They need to dry, but they should be ready to pick up in a few hours,” Kimberly said. “I promise I won’t leave until you’ve gotten them.”

“Let me tip you,” Sherlock said, reaching for his well-hidden wallet.

“You don’t need to,” Kimberly said. “Free of charge, remember?”

“For something of as great value as this, I feel I must give you some portion of it’s worth.” He pulled two bills from his wallet and folded them over before slipping them in her tip jar. Then he gave her a warm grin and bowed at the waist. “We will return in a few hours.”

He left the booth then and Joan followed, a wide grin on her face as Sherlock put his wallet back in his coat. “You do realize you just tipped her $200,” she said.

He nodded. “I do,” he replied.

“You don’t throw around money like that.”

He stopped and looked at her for a moment. “One must pay for things of value, or else they lose their worth. They are worth much more than $200, but it is something more than I believe she would normally get.” He paused. “Now. I need to find an ATM and make a withdrawal. I believe my father can stand to lose some money to gift a young artist for some exquisite paintings.” He watched her shake her head and his grin widened. Yes, this had definitely been the best decision of the day, to celebrate life instead of investigate death, if only for a brief time. A most rewarding decision indeed...

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#elementary #sherlock holmes #joan watson #chitarra10 #inkberly #fanfiction #fanfic #my stuff #christmas gift

[artistic-writer]

The Paradox of Light :: CS AU : Rated E :: part 3

Title: The Paradox of Light by @artistic-writer​ Summary: Imagine having one person, one constant, one love in your life that holds your head when you go under the surface. They will be there forever, holding your hand through everything life can throw at the pair of you, but what happens when a crack forms? What happens when it grows into something neither of you can control? What happens when the one person who was there to guide you becomes an obstacle and rather than hold you up, they pull you down? How do you find your way out of the darkness without your light? Rating: E Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, alcoholism/alcohol abuse, sexual addiction, domestic violence, fighting, choking, erotic asphyxiation (use in a non-informed manner), depression, death of Liam Jones, panic attacks, PTSD, attempted rape/non-con/dub-con, stab wounds, bar fights, rehab/AA meetings

- but there is a happy ending to this story, i promise.

Author’s Note: I missed this ficversary because of everything that is going on in the world right now, but its been in the plan to re-release it as a multichapter for some time.  It’s A LOT otherwise and whilst I initially always intended this to be a one shot, because I wrote it in one go, its not logical to expect people to stop and read so many words in one go.  The lovely fanart by @itsfabianadocarmo​ features in all chapters, so go show her some love!

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!  This fic has a lot of them for a reason.  If you want to ask about any, please don’t be afraid to message me.

Part Three [ below the cut ]

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

Three months ago

“Hi, Emma. It’s…”

“I’m on my way, Will.”

The phone calls had become more frequent. Killian barely made his own way home anymore and Emma had forgot what it was like to walk or drive during the daylight. In a way she was thankful for Will because she knew he would never call the police if Killian got too much. They had served together, both seen and experienced the same awful things whilst deployed, but somehow Will had the strength inside of him to resist the voice inside of his head. Or maybe he was a ticking time bomb too, just waiting for the day when he would be detonated the way Killian had the day he heard of Liam’s demise.

Everybody had their demons, but it was only those who had been strong for too long that felt the strain.

When Emma had arrived, Killian wasn’t sitting in his usual booth, head hung low in a drunken haze and surrounded by empty glasses. Instead he was pacing the bar area, begging Will for more of the rum to burn away the pain he felt inside, unsatisfied with the glass of water he was waving around as he slurred his distaste towards his friend.

“Hey! Watch it!” A gruff voice boomed above Killian’s banter as the ice cold water spilled from the glass in his hand and instantly soaked into the shirt of the man next to him.

“Yeah? Or what?” Killian growled, slamming the half empty glass onto the highly polished bar.

The man got to his feet immediately, fuelled with rage and reeking of stale ale, and stepped into Killian’s space. Their foreheads were almost touching and in the time it took Emma to move from the entrance, fists were flying between the two men.

Killian took a clenched fist to the face, stumbling backwards only briefly before surging forward once more and grabbing the wet edges of the man’s shirt, pulling him towards him and lunging forward at the same time until he heard the crack of bone on bone and felt the man’s nose give way under his forehead. The man cried out, blood pouring from his nose like a crimson river and Killian took advantage of his dazed state to land another punch to the man’s gut.

“Guys!” Will screamed, hopping over the bar. “Not inside!” He screeched, grabbing Killian’s arm and pulling him backwards. Two other patrons joined his efforts, shoulder barging Killian’s drunken opponent and holding him back.

Killian shook Will off quickly and stumbled on heavy feet back towards the man who was snorting like a bull, droplets of blood on the floor between them and staining the front of his shirt.

“Come on, Jones!” The man encouraged with a blood stained smirk and wriggled free from the grasp of his captors. He grabbed his barstool, lifting the wooden item effortlessly and swinging it at Killian who had no time to move before it collided with his shoulder and he let out an anguished cry, pushing away the remnant of the broken wood and ignoring the sound of Will’s protests as it hit the floor.

“Hey! Hey!” Emma screamed as she stepped between the two men, her face contorting with pain as the man pushed her hard into Killian. It was sudden and Emma saw the flicker of adrenaline fuelled anger flash in Killian’s eyes as he caught her, his hollow stare something she was seeing for the very first time. He had blood smeared across his chin that darkened his stubble and a large splinter of wood had lodged itself in the skin of his cheek, but he was not there. Behind the darkness, he was someone else.

Something else.

Killian pushed Emma aside and she fell into Will’s embrace who had anticipated the outcome of her intervention. The bar erupted with patrons cheering and clapping, the scuffled on stools across the dusty wooden floor echoing in the background as every man leapt to his feet and punched the air when Killian dived for the man once more.

“Jones has to have his girlfriend fight his battles for him!” The man sneered, wiping the back of his hand under his nose and flicking the excess blood from his fingers.

“Say that again!” Killian warned, grabbing the man’s shirt once more just as a few burly men joined Will’s efforts to keep the two men apart.

“Enough!” Will roared as he squeezed between them. He almost got crushed between the bouncers as the two men desperately tried to claw at each other but managed to spin around long enough to give a nod of his head towards the door. “Get out of my bar!” He growled at the man, pushing him towards the exit and making his point with an extended finger. “Get out now!”

“She must be something really special,” he laughed, spitting a mouthful of dark brown blood to the bar floor. “Maybe she is there for the whole unit.” The man looked over Will’s shoulder to Killian who was fuming, the muscles on his jaw twitching and his fists clenched so tightly at his side that his knuckles were white. “She only fuck you military guys, or can any of us have a ride?”

The whole bar fell silent and Killian took advantage of it, slipping from the grasp of the huge balding man whose fingertips had been digging into his chest, rushing towards the foul mouthed man once more and slamming into him so hard that they both tumbled to the floor. No one had time to react and Emma watched as if in slow motion as the two men collided with the dirty floor, Killian straddling the much larger man and pummeling his face with a closed fist.

“Killian! No!” Emma cried, fighting back to tears that stung at her eyelids as she ran towards them. “He’s not worth it!” She pulled at Killian’s shoulders, fingers grabbing at tensed biceps and hanging from his arm as she desperately tried to slow down his assault. After what felt like an eternity the two men were pulled apart and Killian’s tormentor was ejected from the bar covered in his own blood and bruises appearing along the ridges of his face.

All eyes fell on Killian and Emma, both still surging with the rush of what had just happened, so Will ushered them towards the back door quickly. It only opened from the inside and led to a secluded alleyway out back, the only entrance and exit to which was through the nearby parking lot which is where Will knew Emma would have parked her car.

“Get him home,” Will told her softly, his voice low as he tried to hide the anger in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Emma told him sheepishly, looking over her shoulder at Killian who had decided to expend some more of his energy kicking a rolling trash can. Will didn’t answer her and Emma completely understood why. How could he? He was put in the middle of his friend, who he owed a great debt from service, and jeopardizing his livelihood.

“Get him help,” Will said sadly, disappearing back into the bar and letting the door close behind him with a creak.

Killian was mumbling to himself when Emma approached him, her arms crossed over her chest as the chill of the night began to creep in through the thin material of her sweater. He could barely stay upright, shuffling backward and forward as he tried to pick a fight with the dumpster. Emma’s temper flared and she reached out and spun him to face her, the motion sending him into a spin and his focus drifting off to one side.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Emma pushed Killian back, flat palms hitting his chest over and over until his back made contact with the dark green dumpster.

“I had it under control!” Killian swatted her hands away and dismissed her concern with a sneer.

“Under control?” Emma laughed at him, planting her hands on her hips.

“Aye,” Killian argued cockily.

“Killian, you have just smashed a man’s face into a bloody mess!” Emma screeched, pointing to the door behind them.

“In your defense!” Killian looked at her with a frown, clearly confused in his drunken state as to why she hadn’t found his actions heroic.

“Killian…” Emma began with a sigh, a trembling hand running over her brow as she looked to her feet.

“Oh, here we go,” Killian spat, stumbling sideways and steadying himself against the cold metal bin. “Here comes the great Emma Swan lecture!”

Emma’s head snapped up and she narrowed her eyes at him angrily. The blood on his face had been mostly wiped away in the fight, a few specks still littering the tips of his ears and the cut on his cheek from the first blow had dried and messily sealed itself closed. They had begun to repeat this dance more often nowadays and it was starting to make Emma feel empty. They would insult each other, throw words neither of them really meant back and forth, fuelled by her tenacity and his alcoholism until they both regretted it or needed something else.

And it was always something else. Something else that Emma was fighting her own battles to avoid.

“What’s wrong, Swan, lost for words?” He grumbled at her spitefully.

“I’m not going to fight with you, Killian,” Emma said calmly, stepping away from him.

“Oh come now, love,” he chuckled darkly, holding out his hand in invitation. “You know how this ends. We might as well skip to the big finale.” He stepped forward, cupping his blood encrusted hand around Emma’s elbow.

“You are an addict,” Emma said softly, watching the scuffed toe of her boot kick at her reflection in the puddle before her. She didn’t even recognise the person staring back at her anymore.

“So are you,” Killian looked down at his own reflection joining hers in the murky water. “We are just addicted to different things.”

“Are we, though?” Emma lifted her head up to look at him. There was nothing behind his expression, his eyes void of any sign of the man that Emma had met. She knew he was in there, somewhere, but he couldn’t fight his way to the surface when it was easier to shrink away from the light. It was easier for both of them.

“I can’t quit you,” Emma said, her vice quaking. “And you know it.”

“Is that so wrong?” Killian tugged her elbow gently, pulling her towards him.

“It’s not right,” Emma moved back again but he stopped her, the grip on her elbow tightening.

“Let’s go back there,” Killian cooed, ignoring Emma’s resistance and closing the gap between them. He dipped his head a little and felt Emma’s body relax into his when he skimmed his lips over the shell of her ear. “We don’t have to feel this way. We can fix it,” he whispered into her ear, carding his fingers through the softness of her hair and cradling her head in his hand.

Emma’s eyes fluttered closed and as soon as he pressed his lips to the pulse in her neck she was halfway to being lost. Her mind screamed no but her body was ignoring the protest, something she knew Killian recognised when she felt him smirk against the quickening rush of blood and her breath escaped her mouth on a betraying sigh.

“Let me take you there, Emma,” Killian rasped, his arms circling around her body and holding her to him, his mouth planting hot, wet kisses up the front of her throat when her head tilted back involuntarily and a soft whine escaped her throat.

“N...No…” Emma choked out, stiffening her arms and pushing against Killian’s chest.

“Yes,” Killian nuzzled against her face, their noses pressed side by side, his breath laden with the stench of too much booze.

“We shouldn’t…” Emma sighed breathlessly when Killian nibbled her lower lip. Her hands smoothed up his shirt, fingers curling around the disheveled material of his collar, still askew from the tussle in the bar. Her skin itched for his touch, her judgement clouded by the sweep of his strong hands over the curve of her behind.

“So, make me stop,” Killian challenged weakly when he felt Emma’s grip on his shirt relax a little and her body arch into his. He flattened his hand to the small of her back and pulled her closer once more, pressing an open mouth kiss to the underside of her jaw.

“Stop,” Emma gasped, swallowing hard and feeling the prickle of his stubble against the bob in her throat. “Killian, stop.” Emma pushed once more against his chest, harder than before and Killian let his hands slip from her body as he took a few disorientated steps backwards.

“Don’t you want this?” He squeaked, his body raging with arousal and his emotions edging on the verge of anger once more. He frowned at her standing before him, staring down into the gentle ripple of the water filled pothole between them. When she didn’t respond, and the pounding of blood in his ears became too much, Killian snapped. “I want this! It’s all I have left.”

“Killian, we can’t…”

“Can’t what, Emma?” He raised his voice, her name on his lips changed from seconds ago when he was muttering it against her skin with passion. Now it was filled with a desperation that she recognised completely because she felt it too. “I want you, Emma. You can make me forget, if only for a few hours. Why won’t you do that for me?”

“Don’t,” Emma warned, the tears welling up in her eyes and burning until she blinked them away. “Don’t make this about you and what you need.”

“Why not?” Killian seethed. “I’m an addict, right? Are we not the most selfish people?”

“It’s not that,” Emma whispered, wiping away her tears with the heel of her palm.

“Then what, Emma?” Killian yelled, staggering sideways and stumbling backwards until his shoulders bumped into the cold brickwork on the opposite building. “Tell me,” he begged, his tone softening when he saw her tears spill over her cheeks.

“It’s what I want!” Emma screamed, her resolve breaking into a million tiny shards that mirrored the state of her heart. Killian was silent, his sudden intake of breath the only sound between them. “I want to get lost in you, Killian. I want to fuck you until I fall, and it scares me.”

“Why does it scare you?” He asked softly.

“Because you are already lost,” Emma sniveled. “You fell a long time ago and I am all that is tethering you to reality right now. I see it, Killian, but you don’t. And I am not sure how many more times we can chase away the darkness inside of us before I can’t get back.”

“And that scares you most?” Killian said sadly, slumping against the brickwork even harder and hanging his head limply.

“It doesn’t scare you?” Emma cried with a watery voice, small and meek from her tears.

“Of course it does,” Killian scoffed with a slight sway. He pushed himself from the wall, his head spinning a little as he struggled to stay upright. “I cannot fathom that you would think so little of me that you would believe I would chase the high of an orgasm without a single thought of what it was doing to you each time!”

Emma sniffed, pulling the material of her sweater down over her hand and swiping the rough material under her eyes and her nose. “Do you?”

“How can you ask me that? Of course I do,” Killian soothed her worries instantly without a second of hesitation. “It’s all I think about. In that moment, when the light floods in and I am at peace, I wonder if you have made it too, if you feel it too, if we are both together in the one place that finally makes us feel whole.”

“You do?” Emma said weakly. She needed to hear it again.

“I do!” Killian shouted exasperated. “Emma, I might be a drunk but I am not an utter bastard. I know you are hurting too, and you need to get there as much as I do. Why are you fighting it?”

“I’m scared,” Emma whimpered so softly Killian struggled to hear her child like voice over the roar of a car passing by the blocked off exit to the alley way. Killian looked at her, really stared into her eyes and when he offered her a feeble sideways smile she saw a glimpse of the man she had fallen in love with before he had been changed forever. She trusted that man, trusted that he would never hurt her and would make sure she was always safe. That was the Killian she wanted.

“I will bring you back,” Killian nodded slowly and took a tentative step towards her once more. “I promise, you will not get lost.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Emma’s lips were on his. She didn’t care that he was a slowly sobering drunk because in that second and with those words, he was her Killian again. And she knew, with the clashing of teeth and the surge of heat over her entire body, that he was right and he would keep his word.

“It’s bad form to lie to a lady,” Emma reminded him as she flattened her hands to his chest and pushed him hard, his feet struggling to stop his weight falling against the wall behind him with a grunt.

“I would never,” Killian shook his head and reached for her hands, holding them against his chest and pulling her with him as he fell backward. In a split second Emma’s hands were on the buckle of his belt, wrenching the leather through the metal fastening harshly as Killian dropped his sleepy gaze between them to watch her deft fingers at work on the button and fly of his jeans.

“Say it again,” Emma commanded, reaching into his boxers and gripping the hardness that had sprung to life there. Killian took a second to swallow, her actions and alcohol stealing his thought process before he finally snaked his hands between them and tugged at the fastening of her jeans.

“I promise,” he rasped, pushing the stiff material down her legs awkwardly and helping her free one leg by stepping on the material at her feet. Emma cupped his face in her hands, licking her lips and crushing them to his with a feverish intensity that had been building inside of her since she witnessed him strike another human being. It wasn’t supposed to be arousing, but damn if it hadn’t sparked a flame inside of her that had been snuffed out long ago.

Emma clawed at the back of his head, fingernails scratching through the soft hair that was standing to attention there, holding his face to hers as she kissed him eagerly. Killian parted his lips, a groan escaping from his throat, and Emma’s tongue immediately found his, brushing over the muscle and finding the ridges of his teeth with each swipe. Killian tasted so familiar in his drunken state that for a nanosecond Emma worried she might never remember what he tasted like sober ever again.

She yelped, her skin becoming tight over her bones and the pooling heat between her legs contrasting the chill of the foggy night. It was damp, the low cloud in the air surrounding them without warning, making it harder to breathe between kisses and the clashing of teeth. Charged with an urgency that made his cock twitch, Killian spun them around and back Emma towards the wall, hands roaming to the swell of her behind and lifting her into his arms before her back had even hit the bricks.

Emma’s legs wrapped around his waist, her jeans getting tangled up around her other ankle and almost tying her legs together at the base of his spine. Killian reached between them, sliding a finger through the liquid warmth that had become exposed by her opening of her legs and relished in the strangled gasp that came from deep within her when he found her clit.

“There’s my girl,” Killian rasped against her face, a playful smirk spreading across his features. Emma barely heard him, the ringing in her ears deafening as she felt his fingers toying with her nerve bundle, slicking over her juices and teasing her entrance with the tip of his solidness. He had let her slide down the rough wall, mindful not to hurt her, and slipped in just the tip of his throbbing erection.

“Don’t tease me,” Emma whimpered, clutching his shoulders and pulling him closer.

“Where is the fun in giving you what you seek immediately?” Killian teased, rocking his hips forward until he was half buried inside of her. Emma’s back arched from the wall and she ground her teeth, jaw clenching and eyebrows knitting together in frustration.

“Just fuck me, Killian,” she begged, eyes opening to meet his darkened stare. Tiny beads of sweat had formed along his brow line, even in the cold night air, and Emma licked her lips salaciously. “I know you want this as much as I do.”

“You feel amazing,” Killian breathed, rolling his forehead against hers, skin sticking to skin and the gentle throb of Emma’s muscles pulling at him, begging him to go deeper, explore the depth of her with his hardness.

A door nearby opened, yellow light spilling out into the alley way and they froze, so close and yet so far from becoming one in the shadows. Emma slipped a little, impaling herself accidentally and clenched around him involuntarily when the sadistic burn of the sudden stretch made her call out his name. Killian clamped his hand over her mouth, shushing her quiet as the tips of his ears pinked and his legs shook from the sudden sensation around his erection. After what felt like an eternity the door closed again, the light disappearing and shrouding them in darkness once more. What breath they had been holding in was expelled and Killian released his grip, sliding his fingers down the chords of Emma’s neck and enjoying the feel of her quickened pulse pounding against his fingertips.

“What?” Emma purred softly when she noticed he was staring directly at his own hand loosely gripping her throat.

“I know how to make you feel better than you ever have,” Killian growled darkly. His grip tightened around her neck and Emma suppressed a squeak when he pulled himself out of her and then thrust his hips forcefully. He did it again, and again, the rhythm of his hips matching the thumping of Emma’s life force under the clutches of his fingers as he pressed harder against her neck, closing off her windpipe and ignoring the way her voice sounded so different as she begged for more.

Unable to see properly, Emma reached out to grab whatever she could find. A handful of hair, the shape of his ear, the collar of his shirt, anything. Blurring vision was nothing new to her as her pleasure peaked, but what was new was how with the deprivation of oxygen, Emma’s brain had somehow transported her into her euphoria much earlier than before.

“Don’t stop,” she squeaked, fisting a clump of Killian’s hair between her fingers and pulling his face to hers. Killian’s lips on her were like fire, branding her subconscious with the feel of bliss only he could provide. Her body went limp, pounded against the sharp edged bricks behind her by Killian’s relentless thrusts. There was no sound when she came, only the burn of his lips on hers as he kissed her slightly open mouth and the sting of his fingernails as they dug into the delicate skin of her neck.

Her rapture was there and it lasted longer than she had ever experienced before, the blinding white light she only ever saw a flash of taking over her entire being and transporting her to another place. She was deaf and she was blind but she was warm in this place, and she felt loved. In that moment she was free once more but dependant on the journey that got her there.

Emma knew at that moment that it would be much harder to get clean.