#strange thoughts leaking from my mind straight to the page

[night-garden-fic]

Chapter Seven: Botanical Solutions

(Read on AO3)

"I guess it really was that easy."

Chapter Seven: Botanical Solutions

     Russell woke the next morning from a shallow, restless, all-too-short sleep; feeling listless, headachy, and still faintly unsatisfied.

     With what?

     (The very fact that I'm not sure?)

     His bed felt cold, bleak, and lonely after the previous evening of companionship and blood-hot wine.  But still, he rolled out of it somewhat reluctantly; feeling profoundly disinterested in whatever might lie beyond.

     Breakfast.  Paperwork.  That endless book, still open on my desk.

     Russell sighed heavily.  Somewhat dramatically, in fact, though nobody was around to hear and potentially commiserate.  The gust of it rattled the hollow of his chest and got him started coughing; which in turn sprung a small leak somewhere in his nose, releasing a thin rivulet of blood that trickled down his throat and filled his mouth with salt and rust.

     ...This is going to be a long day, isn't it?

     (You're being pessimistic again.  Stop that.)

      He decided to just assume, as was reasonable, that he'd feel better after some breakfast.

     But, after breakfast had come and gone, Russell only found himself slouched at his desk with two slices of toast sitting uselessly inside him, their sharp corners scraping at the sensitive lining of his stomach.

     He couldn't help but remember that, more often than not, the universe was quite unreasonable indeed.

     Feeling at once lethargic and agitated, Russell returned to the book in front of him, and began re-reading a particularly dense paragraph for what must have been the fifth time.

     This is just getting embarrassing.

     (Some librarian you are.)

     As that poison thought crossed Russell's mind, it brought with it a strange urge to study a certain, ancient image for any sign as to what the hell went wrong.

     (You still have to ask?)

     Mercifully, he managed to stop himself before he backtracked and lost yet another half hour.  Instead, he laid his head down on the open pages and let out something between a deep sigh and a pained groan.

     Gods, what's with all these awful noises today?

     Tori—who had been busily reshelving the magic books—took notice of her employer's plight.

     "...Sir?  W-why don't you take a break?"

     Russell propped his head in his hands, burying his face and rubbing at his tired eyes.

     "Because I just want to hurry up and finish this."

     His assistant regarded him skeptically.

     "It...  It doesn't look like you're h-hurrying much."

     She had a point, but Russell was feeling stubborn.  He returned his gaze to the book, then felt it penetrate straight through the pages and into the nothingness beyond.

     You just need to power through.

     What the hell do you think I'm doing?

     The problem was that the task, like the dry toast in his belly, felt made of nothing but sharp catching edges.  He could power through all he wanted, but it inevitably caught his mind in a thicket of thorns; stalling and trapping it, scraping it painfully raw.

     Of course, a solution had occurred to him, but it was the last thing he wanted to be considering.

     If sharp edges are the problem...

     No.  Not yet.  It's not that bad.

     (Says who?)

     Russell tried, as he had tried a thousand times before, to concentrate on the page before him; finding the argument in his head much too loud.

     You've used it during the day before.

     Seven years ago, when that was the least of my problems.

     It was Ed's idea, remember?

     (You trusted him.  You trust him now.)

     He was at a loss.  He never knew what to do with me.

     Well, do you know what to do with you?

     I obviously don't.

     (...Now look what you did.  You're not allowed to admit that.  Ever.)

     Feeling weary and detached from himself, Russell replaced the scraps of worn scratch paper and closed the heavy book.

     "...Tori?"

     At some point, while he was grappling with the book and himself, she'd moved all the way down to the children's section.

     "...Y-yes sir?"

     You can stop this here, you know.

     (I think it's a little late to stop anything.)

     "I think I'm going to have that break after all.  Watch the front desk for me, will you?"

     The young woman nodded smartly, sliding a thin picture book onto the shelf.  Russell tried not to look too deeply into the faithful, watery blue of her eyes.

     "Of course."

~*~

     Russell sat on the edge of his bed, suddenly apprehensive.

     Do we really want to go there?

     "Want" has nothing to do with it.

     In the calm sanctuary of his room, he had already begun to feel better.  The whole thing was starting to seem like a bad idea.  Or, at very least, a bit hasty.

     You can't stay up here forever, you know.  What happens when you have to go back to work?

     Well, what happens when I start down this path?

     Nothing you haven't dealt with before.

     (Why are we tempting fate?)

     Finding his hands suddenly shaky, Russell leaned forward and felt around under the mattress until he found the small wooden box hidden beneath.

     It'll just be this once.  At most, until you can finish the book.

     You also said it would just be a few good nights' sleep.  And what has it been now?  Almost a fortnight?

     (And you don't trust yourself to sleep without it, so why even count?.)

     The red blossoms had wilted inside the box; not yet brittle, but limp and somewhat tacky, their brilliant scarlet color slightly faded.

     The powder within their yellowing stems, however, was still glowing brilliantly.  It was with wonder that Russell imagined how these blooms sat up here all through the day; buried in their closed box, quietly shining to themselves in the daytime dark.

     If you're really going to do this, quarter the dose.

     Before he got started, Russell took out his handkerchief and blew his nose, clearing away last night's clotted blood.  A strange, eye-watering sensation; not exactly painful, but something close.  He noted with some morbid interest that the resulting stain was shot through with fading granules of shine, like specks of mica drifting along a dark riverbed.

     Sniffing back the few reflexive tears that blurred his vision, he finally selected a flower from the box, tapping a bit of powder onto the back of his hand.  All of a sudden, he didn't think it quite looked like enough.

     But, for daytime, it would have to do.

     This might hurt.

     ...It always hurts.

     (I'm getting used to it.)

     He hesitated for a moment, then inhaled briskly, feeling his eyes welling again with the incandescent burn.  The sun that flared inside him was dimmer than usual, but it still managed to light up his skull; a blaze of arterial red that soon gave way to the cool grey light of the room.

     As his eyes adjusted and the burning eased, Russell wondered if he'd taken enough to do anything at all.

     Maybe I should just...

     No.  That's all.

     (Just yet.)

     Russell remained perched on the edge of the bed for some minutes, smelling dirty copper mixed with nectar and salt, thinking of nothing in particular.

     He couldn't say when he began to feel different, or even exactly what was different.  It wasn't the heavy drowsiness that he'd grown accustomed to with his nighttime dose, but something more like sitting slightly to the left of himself, with a layer of thick, tempered glass forming around his brain.

     In this state, the boy in the picture wouldn't call to him.

     We no longer belong to each other.

     Not even Russell's own hands, folded neatly in his lap, seemed quite like they belonged to him.  His head floated somewhere above his body, finding it an awfully silly thing to have to carry around.  The sensation was slightly disturbing, and he began to think that he'd just made a grave mistake.

     It's okay.  This is just how you need to be right now.

     ("Right now" can be a very long time.)

    He shook his head, then patted his cheeks briskly, gently shocking himself into a modest alertness.

     Back to work.

     Before heading downstairs, Russell stopped by the bathroom mirror, just to make sure everything was in order.

     Shit...  I'm still bleeding.

     Lucky for him, it was a weak trickle, and easy enough to discreetly staunch with a bit of balled-up toilet roll.

     You're okay.

     (Liar.)

     With the leak stemmed, Russell turned on the tap and splashed his face with water, then regarded himself again.  His eyes looked a little glassy, but no more than they did during his long periods of sleeplessness and melancholy.

     The only one who ever noticed that was Sabrina.

     (And Edward.)

     ...Maybe.  He's so vague and clinical about everything.

     Well, either way, I don't think either of them are coming in.  You look fine.

     (Liar.)

     Russell figured he might look a little better if he managed to smile, so he practiced a few times in the mirror, making sure to get it right.  And, when he was finally satisfied, he headed downstairs.

     Back to the Library.

     Back to the world that he had, so painstakingly, built to hold himself.

     When he returned, Tori was seated at his desk; sweet shy face buried in a romance novel, fingers absent-mindedly playing with the end of one braid.  She seemed contentedly transfixed.

     She's so gentle.  So thoughtful.

     (She works so hard.)

     Russell's blank face broke into a fond, unpracticed smile.

     "Okay, kiddo...  I can take it from here."

~*~

     I guess it really was that easy.

     Though he was still reading through a thick haze, Russell supposed that this one—medicinal, self-induced—was a degree less noxious, at least for the time being.  He did notice he wasn't retaining as much as he'd normally like, but the pages kept turning.

     And that, he figured, was good enough.

     Where have I heard that before?

     Russell knew he had a tendency to sacrifice all kinds of things on the altar of "Good-Enough."  Good-enough sleep, good-enough eating, good-enough parenting, good-enough days.

     And now—somewhat blasphemously—good-enough reading.

     On one hand, when he was stuck in the past, or not sleeping, or drifting in a medicated haze, or simply in a protracted low mood, accepting good-enough was one of the few mercies he could offer himself.

     On the other, he'd all but forgotten how to ask if things could be better.

     All he knew was that they could, of course, be worse.  So he sat complacently at his desk, making good-enough progress through the dense book, and wanting for nothing else.  Until, eventually, the small dose wore off; the sharp, snarled, distracted feeling returning with a vengeance.

     Ignoring a chorus of troubling impulses, Russell sat the thick volume aside and took up his paperwork.

     Now you know it works.  There's always tomorrow.

     And the next day?

     (And the next, and the next, and the next...)

     ...I'll handle it when the time comes.

     He shuffled through the papers on his desk, placing them in the familiar, baroque order of priority that made sense only to him.  Most of it was correspondence relating to the acquisition of new and rare books, which still filled him with a giddy excitement.  Russell took out his pen and letterhead, and set to work.

     Russell worked steadily for an hour and a half.  Midway through, Tori left to head back to the farm, whispering her shy goodbyes and leaving him alone with the still silence of the Library, broken only by the hush of paper on paper.

     Until, just as he was about to wrap up for the day, an unseen visitor's sudden voice sent him leaping out of his chair, every nerve buzzing and crackling as his body readied itself to fight for his life.

     "...Hey, Russell!"

     Russell whipped around so fast that it felt as though his brain didn't quite rotate along with his skull, and was met with a rather confused-looking Raguna.

     "Oh...  Hello, Raguna."

     All at once, his shoulders sagged.  He stood there panting for a moment, then swallowed hard, as though trying to gulp down his own pounding heart.  Raguna shuffled his feet awkwardly.

     "Um...  Hi."

     Poor kid's probably just as startled as I am.

     Though the way he'd just reacted certainly didn't show it, Russell genuinely liked Raguna.  The young farmer was a likable man to begin with, and the fact that he was Tori's beloved husband, Cecilia's dashing hero, and something of a regular in the Library's magic section didn't hurt.

     But he was a strange combination of stealthy and boisterous, and didn't have much of a sense of his own volume.  So, needless to say, this wasn't the first time he had sent Russell flying.  He'd gotten a bit better about it since learning the broad strokes of Russell's past, but one can only do so much about one's natural mannerisms.

     Russell exhaled slowly, then pasted on a well-practiced smile.

     "Yeah...  Hi.  So! What brings you in?"

     Raguna lowered his voice considerably, and Russell was a bit touched at the effort.

     "Sorry I spooked you there...  Anyway! Ceci and Nicky are hanging out at the farm, and I don't know how exactly we got on the subject...  But now they're wanting to stay over so they can help me out with the Monsters in the morning.  I just came from Sabrina's, and she's okay with it, so..."

     (...No.  I want her here.)

     "I don't have any problem with it.  Just bring her back in one piece, okay!"

     Russell smiled, stuffing down his strange initial objection.  He didn't know where it had come from, only that it was accompanied by a vague, yet oddly sickening dread.

     Raguna grinned in return.

     "I always do!"

     A private, morbid joke.

     "And I really appreciate that...  Thanks for telling me."

     Try, "she owes you her life, you know."

     "No problem.  See you around, Russell."

     Try, "which means, I might actually owe you mine."

     "Yeah...  See you...  We should be getting some new magic books in next week."

     Raguna beamed at the good news.

     "I'll be there!"

     With that, he was out the door and down the street, spreading his noise and cheer elsewhere.

     Then the empty Library was silent once more; so silent that it made Russell's ears ring.

     He sat down and listened to the ringing for a few minutes, felt as his heart shook off the last of the racing terror.  His body was calming down, but his mind still felt dull and stunned.  He hated it, how a particularly acute startle could sometimes take him out of commission for hours.

     Years ago, Edward had told Russell that this would improve with time, but he was still waiting.

     You could...

     ...We're not doing that.

     If you just get right in bed, it won't mean anything.

     It's barely evening.  That would mean something in and of itself.

     You didn't even want to get out of bed in the first place, remember?

     Russell rubbed his aching temples, then took his pen and signed the last letter of the day, hoping the recipient would forgive the great black gash of ink sprawling over the paper, marking the moment when Raguna made him jump.  With a sigh, he picked up the pen one more time

     P.S. Noisy client, sorry.

     A quick arrow pointing up at the mess, and he figured he'd done what he could.  The letter went in an envelope, and Russell dragged himself from behind his desk.  Finally, he could lock the door for the night.  The heavy metallic chunk of the bolt sounded like closure, and a job well done.

     I'm not going to bed, but I guess we could compromise.

     Still feeling somewhat dazed, Russell left the silent, dust-scented world of the Library and retired to his small kitchen.  He paused for a moment, wondering if he might be playing with fire.

     It's all out of your system.  You'll be fine.

     Indeed, he could feel for himself that the calm sedation of the Lamp Grass was gone without a trace.

     It was time for something else.

     Russell reached into one of the higher cabinets and took down a bottle of cheap red wine, then rummaged through a messy drawer until he found the corkscrew.  He almost reached for a water glass to drink from, but thought better of it.  Even though he wasn't quite sure if he'd kill the bottle, he wasn't sharing with anyone, so it felt pointless to dirty a cup.

     The cork was almost deafening in the thick evening quiet of the house, but Russell was prepared for the sound, and remained impassive.  With the bottle open, he considered his options for a few moments, then slid down to sit on the floor.  Sitting at the table, too, seemed a little pointless when he would be the only one drinking.

     Kind of sad, when you think of it that way.

     Well, I don't.  I'm just being pragmatic.

     He took a long drink from the bottle, then sat it down on the floor beside him.  The wine was plain and flat, devoid of any fortifying heat or spice.  But its dark red taste still made him think of the previous night.

     Of Edward, and the moon, and what he might not even know he didn't know.

     As he took another sip, Russell felt an echo of that odd dissatisfied feeling.

     Don't bother thinking about it.  You don't even know where this all comes from.

     (That's why I can't stop thinking about it.)

     Even so, the small reminder of his night with Edward certainly wasn't a bad thing.

     I wish he was here now.

     (No, you don't.  He'd have some choice words for you today.)

     Drinking alone, he realized, was much like drinking with Edward.

     Because, at the end of the night, it always brought the same nagging feeling that he'd squandered some opportunity.  For adventure, for closure, for the formation of a memory so beautiful that it drowned out the painful ones forever.  Invariably, something that would sound ridiculous out loud.

     And, of course, he was never sure exactly what was supposed to have happened.

     So yes, drinking alone was much like drinking with Edward.

     But, it was also different.

      Specifically, it was usually worse.

     Because, of course, he was alone.

     And, alone, Russell sometimes didn't know when to stop.

~*~

     He wasn't really sure how he ended up on the edge of town.

     Originally, he had left the house thinking he might go see Edward.

     The way the taste of wine made Russell long for their night together had become almost unbearable, and he felt like he would have done anything for some company.  He was actually standing on the Clinic's doorstep when he finally realized that Edward probably wouldn't appreciate him showing up unannounced; likely just after dinner, and with a full bottle of wine under his belt besides.

     But, once he was out, he couldn't bear the thought of going back in; back to the world of dust and paper and silence.  He briefly thought of going to the Pub, but he wasn't sure he wanted to dig himself in any deeper, so he thought better of it.  Eventually, Russell decided to just go for a clumsy, meandering walk through the snow and see where it took him.

     He hadn't intended to go this far.

     Or, perhaps he had.

     Didn't want to admit to yourself where you were actually going?

     No, he truly didn't.  Didn't want to admit that, to some terrible end unknown even to himself, he was basically going out of his way to further damage his own mind.

     You know how this might make you feel.

     I don't even know where I'm going.

     (Yes, you do.)

     I'll just stumble across it.

     It's not the kind of thing you can "just stumble across."

     (Do you not realize this whole argument is a paradox?)

     Paradoxical, accidental, intentional, sickly self-damaging...  Whatever it was, he'd done it.

     Russell found himself walking the road that led out of Kardia.

     Where the dead tanks still sat, too heavy and overgrown to move.

     He'd known, of course, that they'd been here for some time.  Their very presence was one of the things that hovered over him on those long, sleepless nights.  Many times, he'd dared himself to come out here, just to see, just to...

     (Finish what I started?)

     ...He wasn't really sure, now that he'd finally taken himself up on it.

     Like drinking with Edward, or drinking alone, there was a sense of deferred closure.  The tanks were slightly smaller than he'd been remembering, and were so inert that they might as well have been any overgrown boulder on this shady, wooded path.

     Why are you surprised?  It's always smaller than you remember.

     (Can people help how they remember things?)

     Tentatively, Russell extended a shaky hand.  Then, brushing a few dead vines aside, he placed it on the frigid metal body of the tank.

     He waited for a while, but he didn't feel anything but cold.

     And half-drunk.  And stupid.  And a little pathetic.

     After a while, his knuckles began to ache, and the skin of his palm began to tingle, so he pulled his hand away and stuck it in his pocket, which didn't seem all that much warmer.

     Still feeling muzzy and off-balance from the wine, and slightly exhausted from the long walk, Russell sat down in the snow, resting his weary back against the tank's heavy treads.

     Tonight, he would watch the sunset alone.

#rune factory #rune factory 1 #rf1 russell

[realisationanddoubt]

And I find that

When I'm with you poetry

Seems to drip from my lips

And when I'm in

Your presence I think

Maybe I'm home

I'm home

#poem #poetry #strange thoughts leaking from my mind straight to the page #relationships #love #hope #home

[juletheghoul]

Mysticus Chapter 5

Ezra x F!Reader Soulmates AU

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: SMUT NSFW 18+ PIV sex (wrap it up) dirty talk

It's smut time y'all - only 1 bed (my favourite cliché lol) hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

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

Things between you and Ezra were strange. There was electricity in the air, a charge to your interactions. Between his ever present secret smile, and his closeness, you had the feeling he was in on something and you were always just outside of it.

You had a feeling in the pit of your stomach that you knew, you had the inklings inside you of a massive truth but you kept running away from it. Perhaps it influenced you into driving until the exhaustion caught up to you and he was just following your lead. He was always following your lead.

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

“Sorry, the motel is being renovated and most of the rooms are out of commission, all we have left are single bed rooms.” The motel attendant told you lazily, she didn’t seem all that sorry. You felt flustered but Ezra turned on the charm.

“My sincerest thanks miss, we’ll do just fine with whichever room you have available. Can I surmise that there is a sofa in said room?” He smiled taking the key she held out. She nodded as she filled out some paperwork and took the cash he laid on the table.

You wanted to pull him aside and tell him that you could keep looking but you were so tired.

So you went along with it and decided that it was just sleep and you’d figure it out once you saw what you were working with.

“My apologies for taking the lead back there Birdie. Please do not take this as an attempt to coerce you into an unsavory position with me. I am just dead on my feet, and of course, the bed will be for you. I am content with the sofa, and if you are truly unhappy then we will pack up tomorrow morning bright and early and set off in search for more acceptable accommodations.” He told you as you opened up the door into the room he’d paid for.

You could see how tired he was, the deep brown eyes which were usually lively and bright were half closed, dark circles underneath. You were both grown adults, you weren’t about to let him sleep on the sofa which looked like a pile of rags wrapped in fabric.

“Hey it’s okay, the bed looks big enough and we’re both dead tired. Nothing wrong with sharing the bed. Here – go shower before you pass out.” You handed him the toiletry bag and guided him to the bathroom. He tried to complain but you shushed him and firmly pushed him into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Okay. This is fine. You’re a grown-ass woman and this isn’t the 1800’s, you weren’t some blushing bride coming to the marriage bed. You practically slept on top of him in the Jeep not long ago.

You decided to take the dog out to do her business quickly to distract yourself. Ten minutes later you were back in the hotel room and Ezra was hanging up his towel and getting into bed. You could smell the body wash you both shared and the faint smell of toothpaste as he smiled weakly and got himself settled. The dog climbed up on the foot of the bed by his feet and made herself comfortable as he read a couple of pages of the tattered book he carried around.

You took a little longer than usual, hoping that by the time you got into bed he’d be asleep. Once you opened up the door, feeling clean and fresh but significantly more nervous than was necessary you saw that the lights were off and Ezra was facing away from you.

Okay.

This is good, just have to slip into bed and go to sleep.

Getting into the bed and settling on your back, it felt as though you were lying next to a livewire. His breathing was soft and slow but you knew he wasn’t asleep. You closed your eyes trying to concentrate but your senses felt amplified.

Everything in you wanted to turn over and wrap your arms around him, bury your face into the back of his neck while wrapping your leg over his hip. For a wild moment you thought you might just do it but he cleared his throat quietly and it snapped you out of your temporary hysteria.

“You keep forgetting how loud you think Birdie.” He spoke in a low sleepy voice which shot straight to your core.

“Sorry.” Was all you say, you turned on your side facing away from him hoping that somehow your thoughts would be quieter on your side? The dog, unhappy with the amount of noise the both of you were making got up and walked to the other side of the small room and went to sleep on the floor with a huff. You felt him turn to face your back and you felt as though your stomach dropped. Why were you so nervous?

“Are you alright Birdie? Is there anything you need?” The low question put some very explicit images into your mind and hard as you tried to push them away they persisted. It felt as though your body was on fire, the soft material of your simple pjs was somehow too rough. You could swear you felt his breath moving the hairs on the back of your neck and as you imagined him scooting over and kissing you there you shivered.

“I-I’m cold.” You lied. You weren’t cold, you were aroused. Painfully so.

“Would you be agreeable to sharing body heat? If not, I can get you one of my more substantial sweaters.” He asked in what you knew was supposed to be an innocent tone but there was something darker underneath. Something hopeful.

“Uh-sure. Just for a little bit.” You responded, biting your lip and letting him come to you. You felt the bed move slightly as he moved towards you – reaching his arm and draping it over your stomach before he very decisively pulled you close to him. He tucked you under his arm with his head buried into the back of your neck precisely where you wanted him. His minty breath ghosted along your neck, fanning the flames already burning brightly within your body.

He felt solid behind you as he tangled his legs with yours and placed his hand firmly above your stomach, right below your breasts. Breathing was hard, especially when he moved your damp hair out of his face and pressed himself right into the crook of your neck. Lips right at the shell of your ear.

“How’s this Birdie? Are you warm?” he spoke in a low voice and the proximity of his mouth next to your ear made your cunt clench. You could almost hear him smiling behind you, obviously aware of exactly what he was doing to you. Any thoughts you had of sleep vanished instantly.

“Y-yes, I’m warm, thank you.” You responded, almost whispering. You unconsciously wiggled back to get more comfortable and you realized that you weren’t the only one affected by the close contact. The proof of it currently pressing into the curve of your ass. Your eyes widened and you weren’t sure what it was but you got a burst of courage and slowly wiggled against him again in a way that suggested that you knew exactly what you were doing. You not only heard, but felt him groan softly.

“Birdie, you might think you have some vague idea about what you do to me but I assure you that you do not.” He breathed into your ear as you felt his hand softly start to rub circles into the skin near your ribs, your shirt moving up a tiny bit with every stroke. You felt restless, wanting to take his hand and move it where you needed it. You felt like your whole body was charged with want, and he could feel it.

“Speak to me Birdie, tell me exactly what is it you need.” He whispered into your ear as he started to leave soft little kisses around it and down your neck, slowly making his way to your shoulder. You whimpered as you felt your arousal starting to leak out of you. You felt painfully empty. Being alone for so long meant you were no stranger to arousal and satisfying yourself but this was something different. What was he doing to you?

“I want to hear you Birdie, tell me to stop, push me away from your glorious heat and I will lick my wounds away from you in peace.” He kept kissing your shoulder, biting softly, briefly moving his hand away from your stomach to pull the collar of your shirt to the side. Giving himself access to more of your skin. You whimpered at the loss of contact but he promptly put his hand back where it was, this time moving your shirt away from your body so he could touch the soft skin of your belly.

“Please Ezra – touch me.” You almost whispered as if speaking too loudly might break the spell. His hand moved up excruciatingly slow until he cupped your breast, your nipple painfully hard in the palm of his hand. He bit your ear as he rubbed little circles around your nipple, pinching lightly causing you to whimper as you raised your arm to grab the back of his head. Finally satisfying the ever-present urge to run your fingers through his hair.

“You cannot know how I’ve longed to hear you say those words to me.” He spoke in a low voice, moving his attention to your other nipple as you turned to find his mouth feeling as though if you didn’t kiss him right then and there you’d die.

His mouth found yours hungrily and it tasted like home. His tongue probing, asking for permission which you gladly granted. Meanwhile his hand slid down your stomach and turned your body slightly giving himself more access. He grabbed at your thigh and placed your leg over his body opening you up in order to reach into your soft sleep shorts.

He kissed you almost painfully as he parted your folds to rub soft little circles on your clit. You both moaned into the kiss, you at the feeling of his fingers driving you into a frenzy, and him at feeling exactly how wet you were. He licked the inside of your mouth and kissed you as though he’d been doing it his whole life while his fingers brought you closer and closer to release.

The coil low in your belly winding tighter and tighter as he moved to your opening, dipping a finger into you to collect more of your wetness; bringing it back up to your clit. The wet glide of his finger threatened to throw you over the edge.

“I want you to cum just like this Birdie. Look at me, I want to witness nirvana on this pretty face.” He stared you as the coil snapped and you came all at once, your walls clenching painfully around nothing.

Moaning out his name and seeking his mouth again before he sat up and shed the loose boxers he was wearing as you scrambled to get your shorts off. You were desperate to feel him as you made room for him between your legs.

His cock curved up towards his stomach and you saw the angry red tip glistening with precum. You licked your lips at the thought of tasting him. He hovered above you kissing you softly.

“Birdie, I ache for you, can you sense it? Do you have any idea how much I think about this cunt? I often find myself imagining you like this, spread out flushed and begging for me. This must be a dream..” he trailed off as he pulled your shirt up and took your nipple into his mouth.

Biting softly and making you moan out his name as you ran your fingers through his hair gripping him tightly to your chest. He pulled away and blew onto the stiff peak and you bit your lip.

“No Birdie, none of that, I will hear your pleasure. Tell me what you want, tell me how good I make you feel.” He said as he moved to give your other breast the same attention.

“It feels so good, I want you Ezra, I need you to fuck me, please...” You said breathlessly, blushing fiercely and he looked almost pained at hearing you say it.

“I am in such a frenzy for you birdie, or I would really take my time, watch you fall apart continuously. I want to make you cum with my mouth, my fingers, any part of my being that brings you pleasure but I won’t last. There will be time enough for that later.” He said he crawled over you settling between your legs, his cock heavy against your entrance as he wrapped your legs around him, placing them high on his waist.

You felt another wave of slick leak out of you at his words, the stretch of him entering you slowly made easier with how wet you were, you felt so full. He bottomed out and buried his face into your neck, the clean scent of him surrounding you as he brought one hand up to hold your shoulder as the other one held your hip down. Feeling you clench around him he groaned as he stayed motionless, giving you a second to get accustomed to him being fully seated inside you. You pulled off his shirt and then your own, eager to touch more of his skin to yours.

“Birdie you surpass all of my wildest fantasies, so wet and tight for me.” You moaned at his words as he rocked slowly leaving just the tip inside with every stroke. You weren’t a virgin by any means but this was something else, this was how it was supposed to feel and as you gripped his hair tightly you knew you would never settle for anyone else.

“You feel so good Ezra-god- you’re fucking me so good.” It came out without you even thinking about it and he made some truly beautiful sounds in your ear to hear you. You raked your hands down his back, wanting him closer and he groaned.

“Please.. please - god.. harder” He reached down between your bodies to rub perfect those perfect little circles on your clit as he picked up the pace.

“One more for me Birdie, cum all over me, I want to fuck you while you fall apart.” His voice was gravelly and as he took your nipple in his mouth again you came.

It was almost painful how hard it hit you, stars practically bursting in your eyes, and as he felt you fluttering around him he picked up speed, pressing your legs up higher to get deeper, fucking you through your high. The obscene, wet noises your joining was spurring him on, making him almost feral.

“Listen to how wet I make you Birdie, music to my ears, where Birdie, where?” He was getting frantic, about to pull out but you locked your legs around his back to keep him inside.

“Inside me, birth control” he groaned loudly as he stilled, cumming inside you, you felt his cock twitch as he filled you up, pumping erratically, his cum spilling out of you and onto the bed. You couldn’t be bothered to care as he collapsed onto your chest.

The heavy weight of him was comforting as you rubbed soothing little circles onto his back while he laid there still buried inside. As you felt him snoring softly in the crook of your neck with his cum continuing to leak out of you, you realized there was no fucking way you’d ever look for separate beds again.

When he woke up a few hours later still on top of you he was almost embarrassed, it hadn’t bothered you one bit. You used the time he slept soundly on your chest to really take him in, running the pads of your fingers over the strong curve of his nose, his full bottom lip, the scar on his cheek.

You wondered how he got it, you could almost feel the wound on your own face and you were momentarily heartbroken for him. You imagined him as a little boy crying out and your heart hurt. Pushing it out of your mind you continued your exploration, travelling the miles of his golden skin with your hands. Lulling him into a deeper sleep within the safe space of your body.

A startling realization hit you as you softly kissed his forehead, smoothing his unruly hair away. You’d been numb to the world before he joined you, he felt so familiar, so essential to you now that you had him so close.

Clenching around him involuntarily you saw his brows knit briefly and it made you smile. He looked so much younger asleep, the lines on his face smoothed away. Part of you wished you could stay like this always. You’d been dead on your feet, same as him when you arrived but you couldn’t take your eyes off of him, a hysterical fear gripped you - almost letting you believe that if you closed your eyes you’d wake up to it all having been a dream.

You squeezed him so tight that he woke up.

“My sincerest apologies Birdie, how absolutely insensitive of me to use you thus.” He kissed you softly as he pulled out and moved beside you. Before you could mourn the loss of his heat he pulled you close to him so you could drape yourself across his body. He took your hand in his and brought it up to kiss your palm, he traced the outline of the mark on your palm smiling slightly.

“I’m not upset, you were so tired and it was comfortable.” You answered as he kissed the mark again, he smiled at you sheepishly.

“It did not distress you to have me comatose holding you hostage?” He turned so you both faced each other. The both of you lying there naked in the dark staring at each other felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“I must confess Birdie, I have never in all my years slept so soundly, you may have spoiled me letting me carry on like that.” He pulled you closer so your foreheads rested against each other.

“You snored.” You laughed, kissing him softly before turning around so he was spooning you again.

“Baseless lies I say.” He playfully pinched your side and you slapped him lightly.

“You absolutely did, but it was nice. Kind of soothing. Now I’m getting tired.” You admitted, your eyes getting heavier and heavier. He pulled the blanket up tighter around you and settled his face into your hair breathing you in.

“Sleep Birdie, we have all the time in the world.” You vaguely felt him softly stroking your arm as you drifted into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

It was so hard to get out of bed the next morning, every time you got up he pulled you back in, kissing you into submission. Kissing you breathless. Eventually you had to smack his hands away just so you could quickly take the dog outside. Once you came back in though he ambushed you taking your clothes off and throwing you back in bed, wasting no time in slipping back into you. Your love making a little slower this time, a little more intense, soft groans and heavy sighs from both of you when you both reached your peak. So it went the whole morning; by late afternoon you were starving.

“Don’t you dare move Birdie, I’m not nearly finished with you yet.” His tone sent shivers down your spine and as much as you needed a break and a shower you were excited for him to come back. You walked to the bathroom and the reflection in the mirror startled you. Your lips were puffy from kissing, your hair a disaster, little hickeys trailed down your neck and over your breasts.

You looked thoroughly satisfied and you were. You smiled the whole time you showered, you smiled as you towel dried your hair, and you smiled as he walked through the door.

The dog jumped up to greet him when he walked through the door and he smiled and pet her affectionately, his eyes quickly scanning to find you.

You still wore the smile and he looked at you as though you were the sun. You felt the excitement in your stomach, still nervous even though it felt like you’d had sex countless times.

Your mind produced the image of him looking up at you as he took your nipple into his mouth and you felt the spike of arousal hit you, making you blush. His smile held something else now, as if he could see exactly what you were seeing and he winked at you.

“Come Birdie, let us eat, and then I can get back to where I truly want to be.” The ‘in between your legs’ was implied, you felt the wetness pooling at your opening at his words. You wanted him again, but that could wait. You had so much time.

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

Tag-list: @foli-vora @frannyzooey @freak-nasty-thick-dick-mando @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @lori-tovar @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @greeneyedblondie44

#ezra x you #ezra x reader #ezra x female reader #soulmates au #prospect #pedro pascal #prospect ezra #ezra (prospect) #ezra (prospect) x reader #ezra (prospect) x you #ezra #pedro pascal fic

[zaikaglow]

Umbrageous Part 5

Pairing: Levi x Reader, Erwin x Reader, mention of Hange x Reader and Eren x Reader

Summary: Hange makes good on their promise to introduce you to Mr.Ackerman but you worry that your trail of conquests are going to start catching up with you

Content Warnings: Step dad! Erwin, cheating, pseudoincest, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving) 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 

It was around 4pm when you were again sitting at your vanity, wearing a form fitting little black dress putting on the finishing touches. A pair of diamond earrings that Erwin had given you for your birthday, you finish adorning your ear and remember the trouble these little rocks had caused. You had sworn your mom had caught onto your little affair with daddy when she wouldn’t stop commenting on “how nice those earrings were, maybe a little too nice for a girl that young, how much did they cost? Have you ever gotten me Jewelry that nice”. You chuckle to yourself at the memory when there's a knock at the door. Then it opens, of course it was Erwin he never waited for responses he just let himself right in “Y/n I'm going to be out tonight… where are you going?” he seems taken back a little trying to figure out just where you’d be going dressed as nicely as you were. Certainly not a nightclub, maybe on a date with the Jaeger boy? No you wouldn’t put in that much effort for him, it was obvious you saw him as a toy that you were slowly getting bored of. You meet his eyes in the mirror “Oh same place as you are daddy, that little work soiree, your partner's client Hange is taking me” you finish with a delicate smile. Erwin leans onto the door frame his voice is low, almost like a growl “and what did you do to get them to bring you as their date?”. You can’t help but to laugh “come on daddy, do you think i'm a little whore? Maybe they just think I’m a promising young women and are interested in my potential” you can see Erwin start to relax right as there's a knock on the door grabbing your jacket you get up to go downstairs and meet your date for the night but not before making one last comment as you slide past Erwin’s frame “oh and by the way Hange’s cum tastes a hell of a lot better than yours maybe you should ask them for their secret”. You sway, practically dancing down the hall to the stairs all while Erwin is staring slack jawed, having trouble comprehending what a little whore his sweet princess was.

“So are you ready my dear?” Hange smiles at you, their arm around your shoulders “don’t be nervous I already told you he looks scary but actually he’s a softy underneath”. You bite down on your bottom lip as you start to play with your thumbs “you sure he’d even be interested in someone like me?” you say nervously glancing at Hange looking for reassurance. Normally you were so confident when it came to pulling men but something about Levi was different, he was so aloof, so pretty, it made you nervous about trying to even approach him. “That tiny asshole won’t say it but he’s lonely, trust me just come on a little softer than you did to me and a girl as pretty as you will have him eating out of your hands. Okay here we go, just remember the plan” Hange finishes as they continue to walk you away from the party and over to a secluded area where you see Levi sitting by himself at one of the tables that were set up sitting with his legs crossed and balancing a book on his knee. “Leevvii!” he glances up at the two of you cocking a brow when his eyes meet yours. “Levi, you remember y/n? Of course you do! Well, she told me she doesn’t normally drink but I convinced them to try a gin and tonic and now they're not feeling too hot, you mind watching over them for a bit? Erwin’s busy mingling with more clients and I should join and I think they’d feel the safest with you” Hange ushers you into the chair next to Levi giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze in an attempt to say good luck while they start to run off back into the crowd. “Don’t tell me you're sick after only one drink” Levi says, eyes now glued back to the page. God why the fuck does he make you so nervous “no not like to much to drink sick it just made me feel kinda off”. Levi’s gaze drifts away from the book and back to you “and Hange thought I would make you feel safe?” he says his eyes look like questioning like he can’t believe that it was true. “Oh well it’s just there's so many strangers here and you were really nice when we met last week, and you don’t give me the creeps like some of the men here” your head is down but out of the corner of your eye you can start to see a red spread across his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. Hange was right, all you had to do was flatter him and he’d be eating out of the palm of your hand they said. So many women would dismiss him based on height alone, something like a comment about “making you feel safe” would definitely go straight to his head. “Um Levi, could you help me find some water?” he looks towards the crowd seeing how packed the bar was with all those “strange men” that you claimed to not be comfortable around. “I-if you're okay w-with it I have some water bottles in my office u-upstairs” he stutters out. Dam Hange was right, maybe this Mr.Ackerman wasn’t going to be as difficult as you thought. Still sitting down you offer him your hand and he grabs it in a feather light grip, like he was afraid you’d break, and you're thankful because when you turn your head back you can see Eren walking through the crowd looking like a lost puppy. Dammit he’s definitely looking for you, Erwin probably called him to come to keep your head out from between his clients legs.

Levi’s office was similar to Erwins, except it was much cleaner. Not that Erwin was a slob but Levi’s office had a smell of disinfectant and it looks like it was almost brand new. Levi goes and opens the bottom drawer of his desk and instead of being littered with random papers and trinkets it was well organized containing a case of bottled waters, tea boxes, and a couple mugs. You take a seat on the corner of his desk. It's so shiny you can only imagine the effort he puts in to keeping it clean. Levi hands you the bottle of water and sits down in his desk chair. “You know there’s actual chairs in this office y/n” he says perhaps a little concerned with how much taller than him you were sitting up on the desk rather in a chair. Worrying that the water would clear your head and then you realized a girl as pretty as you didn't have to be hanging out with a manlet like him. “Hmm but that's so far away from you, Levi” you almost coo, looking down at him that pretty little blush starting to spread back across his face. His eyes look away from yours “you're still pretty far away, how’s the weather up there giraffe”. Ah here it is, your opening. If you're a lioness stalking your prey then Mr.Ackerman is a antelope that's just made the fatal mistake of turning his back to you. 

With those words you slide off the desk and plant your knees between his legs, hands resting on his knees and starting to move up his thighs “Is this better for you Levi?” you say now having to tilt your head up to look him in the eyes “Y/n w-what are you doing” he whispers, face turning red and eyes going wide. You sit up a little, bringing one palm to his cheek, the other supporting yourself on the chair's armrest. Your nose starts to drag along his other cheek and down his jaw “Do you not like me Levi? I always thought you were so pretty” you finish your sentence with a kiss to his neck. The poor touch starved man nearly moans at the contact “No i-its not that I don't like you its just that uh” you grip his sharp jaw in your hands ``If you're worried about my dad I’m an adult. I can do what I want. Now I’m going to keep going and you can just say if and when you want me to stop okay, love”? All Levi can do is shake his head yes, before you unbutton the top of his shirt exposing his collar bone. This is where you plant your first kiss before dragging your sharp tongue up his neck, brushing your nose over his jaw before finally planting a warm but firm kiss to his lips. His part into a sign at the contact, he seems unsure of what to do with his hands keeping them planted on the arm rests. “I want to do something for you if you’ll let me” you say hands starting to undo his belt, again all Levi can do is nod. As soon as his belt is undone you undo the pants and pull his cock free from the confines of his boxers, it slapping against his stomach. “Oh I don’t want to make a mess of my dress I hope you understand” you pull the straps off the dress down your arms and then pull it down to your waist exposing both your breasts. You notice how Levi’s eyes widen even more “do you want to touch them?” before he can even give you a chance to answer you move his hands over to your breast and squeeze your hands over his. At the contact you notice the head of his cock start to leak pre-cum. Removing his hands you go and grab his cock in one hand using your thumb to smear the leaking precum over his head before bringing it up to your mouth. You start by giving his slit some quick kitten licks before sinking your lips around it. You keep your tongue flat as you move your head up and down against his length, his hands moving shakily to your shoulders, head thrown back in his chair, strands of black hair clinging to the sweat on his brow. Your right hand wraps around the bottom of his length touching the stiff black hairs against his pelvis and it moves up and down meeting your mouth. You feel his grip on your shoulders tighten and he sounds like he’s trying to say something but no words come out and you realize he’s about to release. You bring the head of his cock to just behind your lips as you feel him start to spill out into your mouth and run down your neck and leaving pretty pearls of cum on your tits. You swallow what's left in your mouth and give his twitching head another kiss right before you hear the banging on the door.

Of course because it's Erwin there’s no wait for a reply and he barges in and you quickly try and pull your dress back up as Levi pulls the hem of his shirt down to try and cover his softening cock. Eyes now widened in fear instead of arousal. Erwin storms over to the desk and harshly grabs you by the waist picking you up off the floor. “Disgusting” he says, taking out his pocket square and roughly wiping your mouth before throwing it down on Levi’s desk. “Hey Levi I would really appreciate it if you could keep your cock out of my daughter's mouth. Erwin's nostrils are flared and you swear you’ve never seen him this mad and it's starting to hurt how tightly he’s gripping you to his waist. Levi looks pathetic trying to cover himself with his shirt, looks like he’s about to speak but Erwin cuts him off saying “you and me will talk later, as for you young lady. Were about to have a talk right fucking now”. Erwin drags you into his office slamming the door pushing you onto his desk “What the hell was that little stunt y/n? I told you I was fine with you fucking around with Jaeger, but my clients? And now my best friend? What the hell has gotten into you?”. You can feel the tears start to well in your eyes. You want to yell about how he never asked if you were okay with him fucking your mom, but you just can’t say anything besides choke out “I’m sorry”. “Turn around” he says, you look at him teary eyes widening “I said turn around and plant your hands on the desk y/n”. As soon as you do what he says you feel him start to pull up your dress and you hear a zipper come undone. Suddenly thick fingers jerk your panties to the side and you feel him slide his fat cock into you with no prep stretching you apart “daddy that hurts” you say tears starting to run down your face. “Oh it hurts princess? Well maybe you should have thought about that before you went putting other men's cocks in your mouth” he continues his thrusting as his hands sneak under your armpits and reach back up to meet behind your neck putting you into a full nelson. The control he has over you and the rough pace would normally be enough for you to cum but he hasn’t given you enough time to warm up and all you can focus on is the sting of him stretching you apart until you feel him release inside you and the dribble of his release down your thighs. He releases your neck but grabs your jaw in his large hands and brings your head up till his lips meet your ear “now what on earth am I going to do with you princess”?

Tag List: @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag​

#levi x reader #aot levi #levi x you #erwin x reader #erwin x y/n #erwin smith #levi smut #aot erwin #eren x reader #hange x reader #aot eren #aot hange #aot fic #aot x reader #aot x y/n

[todoscript]

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬

@grow-a-smile-for-a-while​ requested: i request 7 fluff + 10 angst please? With either Bakugou or Shinsou. (With 10 angst being them worried about the readers mental health) Thank you so much love ur writing!!1! 💗💗

anonymous requested: 7 fluff soulmate au for shinsou please!! Love your work 💛

prompt for milestone event: “I think you might be my soulmate.” + “I’m worried about you.” genre: soulmate au. angst with a bit of fluff. pairing: shinsou hitoshi x fem!reader word count: 3.1k+ warnings: implications of mental health issues.

author’s note: I combined the two requests since they both share the same prompt! This is actually my first time writing a soulmate au so I hope it’s alright. Special thank you to my lovely beta readers @tamasoft​ & @etegomanere​!

Throughout his entire life, Shinsou has only ever known the colors white, black, and gray.

They’re colors that prevent him from fully embracing the world as he walks through life each day peering through muddy lenses. Some say beyond the glass that obscures them all lies a realm painted in beautiful hues, teeming with an euphoria of colors outside the monochrome of perpetual black and white.

If such a paradise exists, Shinsou has yet to see or meet anyone that has ever set foot in that world. In fact, he honestly doubts such a thing is real, and has long adapted into his endless days stuck between the grays filtering through his vision.

However, today, he experiences something entirely new.

Today, he sees the color red.

It starts early in the morning, from the very moment he lifts himself up from his bed at the white sunlight trickling into his dorm room. There, with unlidded eyes, he glimpses into a vibrant, spontaneous pigment that lines itself on the outside.

Shinsou blinks twice, squinting, unsure if the grisly stain invading his vision is really there. But after consecutively rubbing his eyes in an attempt to brush it away, he groans when the angry color has yet to leave. The crimson that surrounds him is very much real.

With an average person, they’d be ecstatic, absolutely joyful at the change happening before—no, within their very eyes. What they’re seeing now is only a step forward toward that rumored world of infinite hues—a whole artist’s palette of colors waiting for them. Sadly, that isn’t the case for Shinsou as he realizes he’ll have to go about his day lugging such… severity surrounding him.

The extremity of the hue that covers the corner of his sight reminds him of fires setting ablaze in the thick of a forest. It hurts to look at, hurts to stride through his day with such an intense color following his every move like it’s tormenting him. If this is what the other colors are like, he’d rather keep to his monochromatic existence, please. Just even looking up and darting his head around is enough to give him a headache.

“Whoa, my man Shinsou, you okay?” Shinsou’s classmate, Kaminari, asks him while the upbeat boy takes his seat to his right, noticing the grim expression on his classmate’s face that likely isn’t due to any lack of sleep this time, considering its austerity.

“Yeah… I’m fine,” Shinsou assures, managing to suppress the extra strain leaking out when he turns his head. With the red intensifying at his movements, he wills himself just to look straight ahead for now. That’s all he needs to get through the school day anyway—directing his eyes to the front of the classroom where their homeroom teacher, Aizawa, enters to give them the news for the day. And yet, he can’t help but allow himself drift to your empty desk lying to his left, located one seat down the column from his.

He grumbles. That makes it three days now—three days since you last attended class.

Shinsou knows you haven’t been going to class because you “weren’t feeling well”—the answer you gave him when he approached you last night as you were walking down the hallway to your room.

He knew something was wrong. Your demeanor in that moment felt off, it was strange and unlike you.

You were rubbing your hands up and down your skin, acting like just being in his presence was nerve-wracking, and you never once met his eyes during the conversation. No matter how often he craned his head to see you, you made a point to turn away each time. And much to Shinsou’s concern, he also caught onto the heavy bags afflicted beneath your eyes. You looked like you haven’t had much of an ounce of sleep, despite taking time off from classes to recover. It only seemed that you were only getting worse at that point, and he grew worried every second in front of you.

But before Shinsou could pry further, you hastily ended the exchange with a sputtered good night and retreated back to your dorm room, slamming the door shut as if to reinforce a barrier that would keep him away. The next thing he knew, he headed to sleep, and woke up seeing the color red.

Staring at the vacant desk instills something in him that makes the red glow brighter, consuming more of his grayscale almost angrily. He winces as the throb courses through his head with growing intensity.

“Shinsou, you alright?”

Aizawa directs his concern toward him in the middle of his lecture when he notices Shinsou shrink in his seat at the pain. From the very moment he turns to answer his teacher, the pulses bleeding into his head subside, and the fiery hues return to a tamer tinge.

He answers Aizawa with a small nod, though it isn’t enough to dispel the teacher’s doubt right away. Aizawa, in turn, raises a brow, discreetly gauging his student’s condition. Luckily for Shinsou, it isn’t long until he brushes it off and resumes the lecture, gathering the students’ attention again, aside from the boy on Shinsou’s right.

Kaminari flattens his hand next to his mouth, words coming out in a whisper only audible enough for his friend to hear, “Dude, I don’t think you’re okay… You looked like you were going through some severe migraine when I got into the classroom.”

“I told you, it’s nothing, okay?” Shinsou replies, not diverting his eyes from the front of the room and putting Kaminari’s concern to rest for now as he shrugs in return.

However, his words aren’t enough to impede his headaches from coming back during the day. They grow more potent than ever as the crimson ignites across his vision.

What the hell is going on? Shinsou questions at this point when Midnight, their instructor for today’s hero course, advises him to head to the nurse’s office after he stumbles across the training field one too many times to be healthy for him. Begrudgingly following her order, he lugs himself to Recovery Girl’s office, who advises him to have a seat before she assesses his condition.

“So, you’ve been having headaches, have you?” the old woman asks, voice coming out like sandpaper while she scans across a page on her clipboard. “Tell me, when did they start?”

Shinsou rubs the back of his neck. “Just this morning, when I woke up,” he answers, “and they’ve only been getting worse.” He leans forward on his elbows settled atop his thighs, grumbling under his breath over the mess of his day so far. The red surrounding him swells relentlessly in waves. He narrows his brows tightly at the vermillion adjoining his hands, delving into the crevices of his palms as they pulse like a heartbeat.

Recovery Girl hums between those thin, balmy lips of hers, gloved finger beneath her chin before she decides to hop off her seat and head toward the cabinets.

“Well, this isn’t a wound or physical injury of some sort, so I can’t use my quirk to heal you. However, I can prescribe you a drug used to relieve migraines if that’s fine.”

He nods and Recovery Girl rummages through the shelves and pulls out a transparent container. With her small steps slowly approaching toward him, Shinsou gets up to meet her in the middle, hand held out to retrieve the medicine.

“I also suggest you head back to your dorm for now and rest up. You’re in no condition to train at the moment.”

“Right, thanks,” Shinsou says, burying the container in the pocket of his pants. He gets up from his seat, steps proceeding to the exit of her office. When he makes it to the doorway, a thought finds its way at the forefront of his mind, and he pauses for a minuscule moment.

“Recovery Girl,” he decides to call out, head tilted in the small woman’s direction.

“Yes?”

“Has Y/n been seeing you recently? About her… unwellness?” He words carefully, unsure of how to put your condition to light when he was still kept in the dark from you.

Recovery Girl shows her confusion between the small, wrinkled features on her face. She shakes her head. “No, I haven’t heard or seen much of her recently. Why? Is something wrong?”

Shinsou’s lips purse together, an uneasy feeling creeping on him that the stain on his vision reacts to instantly. He feigns a stoic expression over the backlash not to worry the lady, his right hand clutching over the shape formed on his pocket from the container underneath.

“It’s fine. I’ll check on her when I get back to the dorms,” he tells her, and the old lady simply blinks, her aged, dull senses unaware.

“Very well. Make sure to get your rest and take your painkillers, alright?”

“Yeah, I know.”

With that, Shinsou makes his leave. Unusual to him, however, his steps begin to pick up for some reason at every stride down the hallways of the building. He’s not sure where this urgency is coming from, but he can’t find it within himself to stop moving, and in fact, quickens his pace until he’s making his way back to the Heights Alliance dormitories.

The gray in his eyes is now gone. Red is what consumes his sight, vividly turning every shade around him into crimson. Whatever crosses his path bleeds and quivers in jagged red edges, from wooden floorboards to the sunlight filtering through the windows. He’s not sure what this could mean, but the one thing Shinsou is certain about is that something is wrong. And he needs to go to you.

True to his word, the first thing he does is jab the button on the elevator to the building’s highest floor, walking out after his ascent with eyes aimed at your dorm room. What comes next is three firm knocks against the wood of your door, making a point to let his presence be known on the off chance you can’t hear him.

“Y/n?” he voices, your name echoing in the empty expanse of the hallway on his side, “It’s me, Shinsou. Please open up. I just want to check on you.”

There’s approximately three seconds of pause before Shinsou leans into the door, ear pressing against it to catch any sign of movements on the other side. He hears a rustle or two until it’s replaced by the padding of feet on the floor. Standing back, he prepares for the door to open as the golden doorknob rattles into a turn.

“Shinsou,” you greet quietly with the entrance’s slow swing, where he sees you peer at him from a crack between the door. Your tired eyes find him, and he immediately notes the bagginess still persisting underneath. They give his own dark eye bags a run for their money.

Though his edginess remains, the red dissipates back into grays, blacks, and whites. His head is now absent of those headaches that plagued him as he gazes through those muddy, monochromatic lenses again.

“What are you doing here? Isn’t class going on right now?”

“It is, but I was sent back,” Shinsou tells you, eyes never leaving yours as he observes you attentively. “wasn’t feeling well.”

You cross your arms on your chest, looking down while you squeeze a bit of your skin to busy your hands. There’s a significant silence between you two that Shinsou wishes didn’t drag on for so long. Before he can come up with anything to resolve the tension, you’re already a step ahead, beating him in breaking the silence.

“Well… if that’s all then I’m going to head back to my room,” you say. Your hand clutches the doorknob to pull it back in, but Shinsou’s quick to act.

“No, wait—!”

He braces his foot between the gap just in time to stop the door’s movement, the hinges creaking due to the sudden halt. Staring at him, you’re dazed by his actions as he pries the crack open further.

“Y/n, I know there’s something wrong,” he states, hoping his usual keen intuition is enough for you not question this. He doubts you’d believe him if he ever told you the very color red led him to this moment.

You deny his claims, fingers firm on the knob. “I told you yesterday that it was nothing.”

“No. You’re not alright, Y/n.” His calloused hands cup your face, tilting up to guide you to his eyes—eyes that appear just as gray to you as they are to him. You stare into them, unable to reply at how unyielding he is toward your condition.

Despite the homologous grayscale of colors, Shinsou can see it all. He sees the stress carried in your eyes, down to the tension in your face that tires from feigning smiles every day. He knows you’re hurting just keeping up the withering cracks of your fortitude. Yet you can’t stop yourself from picking up your porcelain again, trying to mend them with the cruddy glue that is your mentality. If you continue this, you’d surely fall apart into too many pieces to put back together.

“Please, talk to me. I’m worried about you.”

You have no idea how much those words have an effect on you. Not until you’re suddenly weeping in front of him, tears spilling down your eyes as your throat begins to sunder into sobs. All he can do is offer you the solace of his warm embrace as he tugs your arm so your form is drawn into his body. He feels the tears prickle into his shirt, wetness seeping into his skin, but he doesn’t care. Shinsou holds you in his arms and pats against your hair gently, treating you like you are delicate earthenware bound to break as you tremble.

“I-I’m just s-so tired, and stressed, and I-I don’t know w-what to do s-s-sometimes,” you sob between words, voice muffled into his chest. Shinsou hushes you softly, unwavering in warmth.

“It’s okay. I know. You can let it all out, I’m here for you,” he assures firmly. The two of you stay there in that position for some time, your cries isolated in the empty expanse of the hallway with the dormitory vacant except for yourselves. When they begin to die down, Shinsou perceives his vision changing again.

This time, what greets him is a muted blue. The shade is not far off from the steely grays he’s accustomed to, but distinguishable enough for him to notice the change. It’s a sad color that reminds him of tears and lonely clouds.

Shinsou glimpses down at you, your body finally still against him, yet he can tell your aches are far from healed.

You sniffle, backing away when you realize you’re still nuzzled into his chest, now stained with damp patches on his white button-up. He gives you your space, smoothing the strands of your hair one last time before he parts. Though he makes an effort to hold your hand as your other rubs the hot wetness away from your puffy eyes.

“You… alright?” he asks, lightly squeezing your fingertips. You don’t give him much, just a slow, descending nod that is enough for him to continue gingerly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Your initial hesitance almost makes him retract his question, afraid that he may have poked further than was comfortable, but you mitigate that thought with another nod, allowing him inside your dorm room.

When your door clicks to a close, you lean against it and watch as the taller boy stands aimlessly in the middle of the room.

“Shinsou?” you call, and he perks up.

“Yeah?”

“How did you know... what was going on?” you ask, voice drawing out across your room quietly.

For once, Shinsou doesn’t have an answer. He stands there, silent, unable to approach your question with a clear response. But there’s a lingering voice in his head telling him that he knows what led him to you deep down.

The colors.

He realizes the red enveloping his vision this entire time was connected to you. From waking up, glimpsing at your desk, to mentioning any thought of you, the color only ever intensified. And it calmed down at the very moment you opened your door, turning blue from your sadness washing in waves before him.

Shinsou draws in a breath of air. He’s not sure how to relay this notion in any other way than the words that cross his mind.

I think you might be my soulmate.

His heart suddenly flutters at the mere inkling of the words spoken in his head. It sounds almost far-fetched, reminding him of romantic fairy tales narrated in storybooks. Still, he can’t conjure any other resolution than this—can’t find any explanation for these connections of colors that bind your consciousness to him.

A small, inner part in him desires to blurt this out to you, let it be known of the fate stringing your pinkies together through the pigments painted on his canvas. But staring back into your swollen, tired eyes, he knows he can’t do that right now. What you need is for him to be by your side and help you recollect your thoughts. Learning about the possibility that you’re his soulmate is likely the last thing you want to hear in your condition.

He shakes his head, brows knitting together. “I’m not entirely sure about it myself,” he starts warily, coming closer to reach out for your hand again, “but all I know is that whatever happened led me here to you. Told me when you were at your weakest.” Shinsou twines your fingers together, lightly pulling you away from the door and toward the middle of the room. “And that was enough for me to come.”

When the comforting words depart his mouth, he swears that in an infinitesimal moment, those grays of his canvas spatter with droplets of color as he gazes down at you with only compassion in his eyes. That his black and white world transforms into that rumored paradise of beautiful hues for just a second until in the next blink, they’re gone.

He doesn’t know what to make of it, but it’s sufficient for him that whenever he glimmers into your eyes, colors are lying in wake underneath the monochrome. So he clutches your hand in his, allowing you to spill your thoughts out to relieve them off your shoulders as he hopes that one day, you and him can walk in tandem together into the color.

#bnha x reader #bnha imagine #shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #bnhabookclub #bnha scenarios #shinso hitoshi x reader #shinso x reader #shinsou imagine #shinsou scenarios #mha x reader

[98prilla]

Medicate

Thomas decides to try anxiety medication, working together with Virgil to find the one that works

AO3

….

I myself am on anxiety medication, and it is so helpful. I kinda hate the "Thomas takes medication and it hurts Virgil" trope, because that's not what the medication is meant to do, and if it does hurt you, then it's either the wrong dose or the wrong medication. This is mostly based off my own experiences trying to find the one that works.

….

“Hey.” He says, popping onto his place on the stairs, eyebrow raised as he looks around and sees no one else, just Thomas. “Sup?” He asks, nervousness creeping into him at Thomas's silence.

 “I… wanted to talk to you about something. But I don’t want you to freak out and run away. I won’t do this if you don’t want me to.” Thomas says seriously, and his heart is racing now as he forces a deep breath in.

 “Ok. Ok. Whatever it is, I won’t run, ok? Just… tell me now and explain after, otherwise, well, anxiety.” Thomas takes a deep breath, nodding once to steel himself.

 “I want to start anxiety medication.” Static roars in his ears. He’s been too much, of course he has, and now Thomas is going to get rid of him just like he always should have.

 “il. Virgil. Breathe. In for four… hold for seven… out for eight.” He slowly gets ahold of himself, following Thomas's voice out and back to reality until he blinks and his vision clears.

 “sorry. I… whatever it was, I’m sorry." His voice is a whisper, but Thomas hears, coming closer and kneeling at the base of the stairs.

 “no. It’s not like that, Virgil. I’ve been researching a lot. This isn’t to get rid of you. It won’t get rid of you. I want it to help. The both of us." He uncurls slightly, reassured at Thomas’s vehemence, curiosity peeking through. Thomas sees this and continues at his small nod.

“You work so hard, Virgil. And I appreciate it, I do. But we both know you go overboard sometimes. I’m not blaming you, I know you can’t help it, that we, can’t help it. But that isn’t healthy. Not being able to sleep, not being able to eat, heart racing and stomach churning constantly, isn’t healthy.” He nods again. He knows this. He can’t stop how he is, but he knows his habits are unhealthy. “That's what the meds are for. Not to get rid of you, not to impair your purpose, just… just to take the edge off. To give you space to breathe. To just… be. Help us relax, help us not overblow things, and if it is doing more than that, if it is hurting you, then it isn’t doing its job right, ok? If we do this, I need you on board. If you feel wrong or bad or sick, then either the dose or the med isn’t right for us, and we’ll try something else. The goal is not to get rid of you, Virg. It’s to help you.”

 He’s silent for a moment, taking it all in, processing the information, before taking a deep breath, pushing back his hair.

 “ok.”

 “Ok?”

 “Yeah. Ok. A few years ago I woulda laughed in your face, but I… I trust you, Thomas. Yeah, I’m freaked out and scared half to death but that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? I’m scared and guarded and overwhelmed all the time. I’m so… tired.” He bites his lip, looking down, feeling the tension thrumming in his shoulders, the slightly too fast beat of his heart, how even now his mind is screaming danger, and feels the weight of the world atop him. “I’m tired Thomas. So if you think this will help, ok. Let’s try it.”

 “Thank you, virg. For hearing me out. I’m proud of you.” He hides his smile by rolling his eyes, looking up at Thomas.

 “yeah, well, don’t go soft on me now, Thomas.” A small salute, and he's gone, leaving Thomas chuckling to himself on the staircase.

…

He pops into the living room with little fanfare, flopping onto the couch with a low sigh, faceplanting into the cushions. He can hear the scratch of Princey’s pencil against paper, Logan turning pages in a book, Patton humming softly to himself, but his hair prickles.

 “It’s rude to stare, y’know.” He says, voice muffled by the cushion, but still loud enough they all hear.

 “You’re not even looking at us! How do you know we’re staring?” Roman asks, and he rolls his eyes, flipping over so his head is against the arm rest, hugging a pillow to his stomach.

 “Logan reads faster than that, he was barely turning pages. Patton only hums like that when he’s nervous and trying to pretend he’s not focused on the thing that he is focused on, and you kept stopping writing every few seconds before picking up again, erasing whatever you just wrote.” Roman gapes at him, Logan adjusts his glasses and Patton whispers ‘wow’.

 “You got all that from listening?” Princey squeaks and he smirks.

 “Amazing what you notice when you shut your mouth, Princey.” Roman splutters, making him laugh, Logan shaking his head fondly.

 “so kiddo… how’d it go?” Patton asks softly, slipping onto the end of the couch, and Virgil looks up at him in surprise.

 “You knew?”

 “We did. Thomas approached all of us first, so we would be prepared to help, whatever the outcome of the conversation was. Based on your demeanor, I would assume it went well?” Logan asks, and he sighs, sitting up, hugging the pillow closer.

 “Y’know, usually I’m not a fan of people talking behind my back, but I’ll let it slide this time.” He comments, smiling slightly as Patton slides across the couch, sitting so their sides are touching.

 “We get it, doom and gloom, how did it go?” Roman asks, throwing up his hands in faux exasperation.

 “good, I guess. We talked, and I’m still… anxious, obviously, about it, about what could go wrong, but Thomas said that if it affects me… badly… he’ll stop. That it isn’t supposed to get rid of me, so we’re gonna try.”

 “Thomas is correct. The medication is not supposed to impair you, rather it is supposed to help you better distinguish what is urgent and what is not. If it is doing anything other than that, it is not only harming you, but harming Thomas as well. I will be making daily observations, about your mood, physical state, mental state, sleep and food intake, to help monitor the effects of the medication and make sure that it is not causing you harm.”

 “Oh Logan. You do care.” He snarks playfully, catching Logan’s stifled smile.

 “Of course he does. We all do, Virg. We’ll all be keeping an eye out, ok?” Roman, soft and serious as he catches his eye.

 “thanks, princey.” Patton simply shifts closer, waiting for his nodded permission before resting his head on his shoulder in silent support.

…

The first medication goes poorly.

 Things are fine, at first. It takes two to three weeks to kick in, after all, though Virgil starts noticing changes by the end of week one.

 He feels strange. Odd. Off. Sometimes, the world seems to tilt under his feet, and he finds himself losing his balance, stumbling over his own feet, running into doors and walls, misjudging their distance. He writes it off as a result of not getting enough sleep, which is true. He’s sleeping less than normal, almost not at all, going through episodes of heightened energy before crashing.

 The crux of it all is when he’s been awake for five days straight, unable to turn off his mind, twitchy and sure that Thomas is being watched, being followed. He jumps at a hand on his shoulder, heart speeding, already on the edge of panic, eyeshadow dark and breathing rapid.

 “Virgil. We need to speak to Thomas.” His heart rate spikes further, and he pushes Logan away, shaking his head, hands shaking.

 “No. no, no, no. I can’t, I’m busy, they’re watching, I can’t go out there or they’ll see. They can’t see.”

 “I promise nothing will happen to you. They can’t get you if I’m there. I will keep you safe.” Hesitantly, he nods. Logan is smart, Logan can outsmart them, trick them, maybe he can get them to go away.

 “Thomas. This one isn’t working.” Logan states as they rise up. He is pressed against the wall, eyes darting wildly, breathing erratic and wrong, pressure building in his chest. Thomas looks up at him, eyes wide, and he stumbles back further.

 “Virgil?” He shakes his head, panic taking over him. Because that isn’t Thomas. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows, that isn’t Thomas, someone has taken Thomas and replaced him, this isn’t his host, his friend, and Thomas is in danger, and he didn’t notice and how could he fail like this, fail Thomas, like this?

 Then the world goes black.

…

They take a month. The medication needs to get out of Thomas’s system, and he needs to wean himself off it. He is paranoid and stressed and when it finally stops, he sleeps for nearly three days straight. During it all, the others take turns staying with him, never leaving him alone, constantly talking him down from his ever present fear and panic, wiping himself out with panic attacks day after day. It’s the worst experience of his entire life.

…

“Hey.” He appears of his own accord on the stairs, Thomas looking up from the couch, concern in his eyes. He hadn’t appeared since he’d passed out, though the others had, to give Thomas updates. He’d admitted he hadn’t been feeling quite right either, but hadn’t really noticed how bad he himself was getting until Virgil.

 “Virgil, are you ok? I’m so sorry, I-“ He holds up a hand, gathering his thoughts and stopping Thomas’s rambling.

 “I’m fine. You don’t need to apologize. It wasn’t your fault. We knew there was a chance it wasn’t gonna go well. Stuff like this, doesn’t usually work on the first try. But I think… I think we should try again.” Thomas blinks in surprise, looking at him carefully, trying to asses his words.

 “You do? I thought you’d be entirely against it now.” He shrugs, looking away.

 “Sure, that one didn’t go well, to say the least, but… I don’t want that to stop you. Stop us. It’ll still help, once we find the right one.” Thomas smiles softly, nodding.

 “ok. Ok, let’s do it. I’ll set up another appointment.”

…

He doesn’t notice the changes, this time.

 They are gradual. Slow.

 He finds the ever present tension leaking out of his shoulders.

 He finds it easier to breath. His chest feels lighter, open, not tight and taut and suffocating.

 He doesn’t panic, when the waiter asks Thomas to order. When a stranger bumps into Thomas on the street. When he fumbles over his words on a phone call.

 He’s sleeping. He finds himself drifting farther and farther from his usual 3am bedtime and noon wake up, until he’s forgoing his usual tumblr scrolling, phone set aside by ten. The first time he wakes up at nine, well rested and light, is when he realizes that this… this is working.

 He cries that day. He sits on the couch and cries, letting Patton pull him close and hold him, letting himself lean into the touch, and for once it doesn’t feel too much, it feels nice and good, and he cries harder as Patton shushes him, rubbing his back.

 “you ok, kiddo?” Patton asks, when his cries die down into sniffles, slipping off Patton’s lap, but not going far, letting the fatherly side keep an arm around his shoulders, gently rubbing circles with his thumb.

 “I didn’t realize… I didn’t realize I wasn’t supposed to feel like that, all the time. I didn’t realize I wasn’t supposed to be afraid all the time. I… I just…” He swipes at his eyes, letting out a shuddering sigh.

 “it’s ok, Virg. I’m just glad it helps. I’m so glad you’re doing better, I’m so glad this is working. You’re sleeping more. You’re smiling more. You’re laughing, Virgil, and it just makes me so, so, so, happy. You don’t look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders anymore. You don’t slouch as much, you’re more confident, you’re more open to touch, you come to us when you’re worked up, you’re not constantly second guessing yourself, and it’s beautiful, Virgil. It’s beautiful, to watch you grow like this. To watch you be able to let go of some of that.” He stares at Patton, mind spinning out, because he’d noticed some of that, but not all of it.

 “I hadn’t noticed.”

 “You aren’t supposed to. It’s not changing who you are, Virg. It’s just… letting you be who you are without all of the fear. It’s slow and steady progress. And I’m so proud of you, kiddo.”

 He buries his face against Patton’s side, laughing and crying all at once, because he loves this feeling, loves feeling like this, loves… loves himself.

 For the first time ever, he isn’t afraid.

 And  Patton is right.

 It’s beautiful.

#sanders sides #tss #character thomas #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #sympathetic thomas #sympathetic virgil #sympathetic logan #sympathetic patton #sympathetic roman #anxiety medication #positive anxiety medication #mild angst #mostly fluff #supportive sides #Thomas taking care of his sides #good thomas

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair 

Chapter 15: The Woman of Balnain

Summary: Jamie finally sits down with a certain book.

Read on AO3

Read chp 15 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, masterlist, next

They spent the afternoon in lazy bliss. Together, they’d gone into the kitchen where Jamie had shown her how to whip up a burrito. Although most of it clearly went over her head, she had such a good time that she asked to make something else directly after he finished eating. 

After a brief explanation on how humans get full after eating, he gave in and offered to show her how to make cookies. 

Jamie felt distantly like his life had turned into a romcom as they baked cookies together. When Claire bumped him teasingly on the side, he grabbed a handful of flour and chucked it straight at Claire. Her mouth fell open in mock dismay before an impish gleam shone in her eye. Jamie learned that afternoon the true reason the word “impish” had originated to describe the fair folk. 

Claire was mischievous and exuberant in her retaliations. Handful after handful of baking supplies had been lobbed in his direction, shoved down his clothing, mussed into his hair, and even discreetly snuck into his pockets when he was later occupied with sticking the baking sheets of cookies in the oven. Long after their initial food fight had ended, Claire continued their little game. 

Later that afternoon while they sat together on the couch (the faerie’s legs draped over his, Jamie’s hands shoved under his own legs in order to keep from caressing her soft skin that was right there), Claire had produced a handful of oats from nowhere and shoved them down his collar. He’d flung her legs off, grabbed her waist, and threw her over his shoulder without a second thought as she squealed and thrashed. Stalking to the kitchen like a caveman with his prize draped over him, he unceremoniously plopped her down and then dumped an entire bowl of excess flour over her head. 

“I give up,” she screeched, smacking blindly at his chest with her flour-caked face still screwed up, puffs of powder exploding from her lips. 

“Promise? No more surprise attacks when I let down my guard?” he asked guardedly, trying to keep his grin out of his voice. 

“You have my word,” she promised. She gave him a grave, floury nod. 

Feeling quite magnanimous now that he’d won, Jamie grabbed a dishtowel, wet it, and then approached Claire. 

He cupped the back of her head, feeling her curls tangling between his fingers, and gently wiped the flour from her face. Once her eyelids had been cleaned, she opened them and stared up at him with a soft look. His bones felt like they had been turned to water to be receiving such a look, and he struggled to focus on the task at hand as he tenderly dabbed at the spots of flour still left on her face. She stayed quiet, just looking at him and allowing him to clean up the mess he’d made. 

How he loved her. 

When the moment finally broke, their gazes tearing apart, Jamie inspected her hair. 

“No way I’m gettin’ this out of these curls. Do ye want a shower, a nighean?” 

“I would never say no to a shower,” she beamed. 

So, he’d graciously turned it on for her and then explained that he was going to get some work done. Leaving her to it knowing full well that she’d be in there for a long time, he headed for his office. 

But it wasn’t work he had in mind. 

There was another matter tickling at his brain. One he’d been itching at for far too long. He’d barely had time to breathe, let alone sit down and address it, until just this minute. 

He needed to read the book that the eccentric bookstore owner had shoved into his hands.

Unsure how to explain the strange interaction to Claire and disinclined to possibly worry her over nothing, Jamie still hadn’t mentioned anything about it. He’d been waiting to read it until he had a moment alone. 

Settling into his office chair, Jamie stared down at the cover of the mysterious book. He was motionless for a few seconds, feeling a strange uneasiness. 

The title was The Woman of Balnain. It was short, perhaps a novella, and the description on the back said that it was about a time-traveling lass. Why would the mysterious Geillis give this to him? 

He was just about to start into reading, but as he opened the book, several sheets of paper suddenly fluttered out and onto his lap. Warily, he picked them up, turning them over to see what appeared to be hastily scrawled notes. 

The words at the top made him draw a sharp breath. 

“The Standing Stones of Craigh na Dun.”

The following notes seemed like a jumble to Jamie, the words swimming together in his mind in his haste to take them all in. He began to read so fast that several times he had to pause and reread. Geillis— at least he assumed that she was the author of these notes— wrote about planes of reality, magnetic fields, magical properties of the standing stones...

And below that was another section that was entitled “traveling.” 

Gemstones. One could travel from this plane to another— through the stones— by use of gemstones. According to this, only some people (or fae, he supposed) could travel. But those who could had discovered that gemstones ensured their safety.  

His hand was shaking so hard that he dropped the papers entirely. He brought his trembling hands up to bury his face into them. The gravity of the situation sat heavy on his shoulders as the realization descended. 

If this was true, he’d just been handed the way to get Claire back home. 

*

What followed was perhaps an hour of frantic, mind-bending sorting of thoughts. He read and re-read over and over, trying to ensure that he truly had understood the implications of the document. But no matter how many times he reviewed the words on the page, the meaning was clear: If Claire had a gemstone, she could safely use the stones to return to her plane. To her people and her life. Away from him. 

But then he spiraled into doubt. How did he know he could trust this mysterious Geillis and her instructions? But as much as he wanted to deny it— to dismiss the entry as garbage and all thoughts of Claire leaving along with it— he couldn’t ignore the feeling in his wame that this was the truth any more than he could refute the fact that Claire deserved a shot at returning home. Besides, something about Geillis had seemed odd… mystical perhaps. Not in the same way Claire did, but he certainly believed that whoever (or whatever) the bookkeeper was, she knew a hell of a lot more about this stuff than he did. And she’d known about Claire. So in the end, while he wasn’t certain that she was a friend per se, he thought it likely she was at least an ally— and he believed what was written on the page was the truth. 

Once Jamie had addressed comprehension and credibility, he moved on to his sorrow. 

Grief over the thought of losing Claire. 

He was no longer lying to himself about the extent of his feelings. He was in love with her, plain and simple. Infatuated, enamored— all those things— but it went deeper than that. She’d walked her way straight into his heart and burrowed in there as sure as she did when she nestled against him in his bed. And now that she’d filled that empty space in his life, he couldn’t even imagine going back to the hollow loneliness of existence without her. 

Every part of him longed not to tell her. He could crumple up the page and throw it away, or better yet, he could burn it up without a trace, and she’d be none the wiser. 

But his mind swirled with images, memories eating at him that he couldn’t quite ignore. Claire crying against him only a few days ago, weeping for all she’s lost. Her trepidation as she’d faced the terrifying unknown of the city. The sheen of tears in her eyes that she’d fought back as she admitted Jenny had made her scared… 

As he thought about all she’d been through since being ripped from her home, he knew that taking away the chance to return would be unfair. He wanted to be selfish— God, help him, he burned with it…

But he loved her enough to let her go. 

A tear leaked out of the corner of his eye— scalding as it dripped down his cheek. He sat motionless in his office chair, his hand squeezing his opposite arm so tightly that the nails made deep red indents in his flesh, but he knew what he had to do. 

He’d tell her. 

Decision made, Jamie stood from his desk. His feet felt like they were encased with lead, and he was light-headed, as if all that thinking and agonizing had sucked his brain out with a straw. As horrible as he felt, he was resolved, and he made his way sluggishly downstairs. 

The scene in the living room nearly shattered that decision. 

Claire was asleep on his couch, all curled up and shoulders hunched under the fuzzy throw blanket she had clutched around her. Her bonny pink lips were parted just slightly and tiny whooshes of air tickled a single curl that had fallen over her face. 

He ached to see her like this for the rest of his life. 

Just as he was about to turn on his heel and leave her to her rest (this was not the time for such a heavy revelation), she stirred. His stubborn feet anchored him in place as he watched her shift, head lifting a bit, and her eyes blinked open. 

“Hi, Jamie,” she breathed sleepily. 

While giving him a fond but drowsy smile, her head nestled back down onto the throw pillow. She looked up at him with eyes that always reminded him of a fawn’s. 

“Havin’ a wee rest?” He asked tenderly. 

“Yes,” she breathed. She glanced him up and down appraisingly and then said, “maybe you should too. You seem tired.” 

Jamie was tired. He felt like he’d been put through a meat grinder several times over. Still, he knew there was no way he’d actually sleep even if he could tear his eyes away from her long enough to close them. 

But if Claire wanted a nap, and was hinting for him to join him, who was he to deny her?

He indulged his selfish desires for a moment and approached the couch so he could bend down and run a hand over Claire’s hair. 

She smiled drowsily and leaned into his touch. Her eyes blinked slowly as she gazed up at him. 

God, she was beautiful. 

“Let’s go upstairs, mo nighean donn,” he suggested quietly. 

His sleepy faerie did not seem inclined to get up. Her eyes had fallen closed again, but her hand blindly reached out for him. She caught his cheek, her fingers tracing over the stubble on his jaw. 

Then, suddenly, her eyes popped open. 

“Are you alright, Jamie?” she asked, her whisky gaze swimming with concern. 

Her abruptness startled him, but he quickly snapped himself out of it and put on his brave face. 

“I’m fine, Sassenach. Do ye want to stay on the couch or go up to bed?” he softly asked. 

Her brows furrowed, disbelieving, but she firmly answered, “with you.” 

He felt bad that he’d upset her but couldn’t seem to drag himself out of the cloud of depression that had wrapped around him the moment he’d decided to take her home. 

But he’d have this one last time with her, and he wouldn’t ruin it with dark thoughts. 

“Alright. Let’s go, mo nighean donn.” 

She sat up, eyes fixed on him all the while, and then took his hand. The way she was looking at him, soft and searching, made his heart skip a few beats. He hardened himself to the overwhelming desire to pour out his heart to her, lay all the cards on the table, and beg her to stay. But he knew in his bones that this wasn’t the time. 

Her thumb was tracing lightly over his knuckles, patient as he struggled inside himself. 

A part of him wanted to bury his face in her neck and let her stroke his hair— she would do it, he knew. All it would take was him to make the motion, take the comfort from her. 

But that wouldn’t be fair. If she saw his distress, she would feel guilty about leaving him. He loved her too much to put that burden on her. 

His puir heart was breaking, but he managed to wrap it up in a thin layer of composure, scoop up his scrambled thoughts, and put himself back together. He gave her a brave smile, feigning nonchalance. 

Breaking the silence, he said, “let’s go, mo calman geal.” 

He took her upstairs by the hand. She was still sleepy, but not inclined to let that stop her from caring for him— even if she had no idea what was going on. He could feel her hovering anxiously by his side, trying to figure out what was wrong. 

As they sat down on the bed, Claire tried to tug him down to cuddle with her, but he shook his head. Settling against the headboard instead, he guided her down to lay her head in his lap. 

He wanted to watch her. Just this one last time. 

Sleepy as she was, but probably even more so because she wanted to do whatever was best for him, she complied. She snuggled down into his lap and settled herself so she was comfortable. 

As he carded his fingers through her hair in gentle strokes, Claire began to relax. It wasn’t long before she drifted back into sleep. The lines on her face smoothed, and she seemed to melt into him impossibly further. 

His hands still moving soothingly against her, Jamie returned to his thoughts. A terrible weight rested on his shoulders as he came to a realization. 

He wouldn’t be strong enough to tell her here— in his home that had become their home (at least he felt that it was theirs)— and still manage to make the drive to the stones. It was selfish to keep this from her, but he simply wouldn’t be able do it. There were limits to his goodness, and he prayed God would forgive him for this one. 

So, with his mind made up, a plan began to form. 

He would tell her tomorrow that they were going for a hike. They’d drive out to the stones, and he would explain once they got there. His Grandfather’s ruby ring laid on his dresser— that would be what he’d give her to ensure safe passage. And then… then, she’d go home. 

And that was that. 

This was his last night with her. 

He looked down and studied her face for a long time, trying to memorize every tiny detail. He knew it would be the remembrance of her that would warm him on the cold, lonely days that would surely follow. He traced her face reverently, first with his eyes, and then as his selfish, breaking heart took over, with soft touches of his fingertips. 

All that was left was to pray that tomorrow he would have the strength to send her away.

***

A/n: I believe now is the time for me to hide 😳

Next

#oh boy #all that was fair #update #claire x jamie #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #claire/jamie #fae claire

[ficsnthings]

Sweet Love┃Ash (Supernatural) x Reader

Summary: Alternate first meeting between the Winchester brothers and Ash, featuring the Reader, Ash’s plus size wife.

Rated: Mature - sexual references/situations

Read on AO3

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y/h/l = your hair length

y/h/c = your hair colour

y/e/c = your eye colour

“We could really use all the help we can get.”, Sam said.

“Well, we can’t.” Ellen told them, “But Ash will.”

“Who’s Ash?”, Sam asked.

“Ash!”, Ellen hollered.

The man who had been asleep on top of the pool table when the brothers had entered the bar abruptly awoke, briefly thrashing in disorientation.

“What?”, The recently awoken man called back, “Closing time?”

Sam looked to Jo in disbelief, “That’s Ash?”

“Mhm.” She replied, “He’s a genius.”

Just then a woman emerged through the swinging kitchen doors. She was beautiful with (y/h/l), (y/h/c) hair, (y/e/c) eyes, and a full figure that boasted of wide, voluptuous hips. Her thick thighs were wrapped snugly in dark, high-waisted denim paired with a cropped black tank, and a plaid long sleeved shirt draped around her waist.

And she was carrying a full plate piled high with sausage, bacon, eggs, toast and hashbrowns.

Dean had never been in love, but he thought this might be what it felt like.

Ash smiled when he caught sight of the beautiful creature gliding across the floor towards him, “Is that my gorgeous wife, my Goddess of Sunshine, bringing me breakfast?”

Dean was pretty sure that his brain straight up short circuited when he heard the dishevelled man before him refer to this absolutely indescribable creature as his ‘wife'.

You giggled at your husband's antics, a light blush rising to your cheeks and a cute little skip invading your step as you closed the remaining space between yourself and your mullet-rocking love. You paid no mind to the Harvelles and the Winchesters, too caught up in the warmth of Ash's smile, the little spark in his eyes. Life around hunters was short, and since you knew these guys weren't a threat you weren't going to waste time worrying about them when you could be spending these precious moments with the man of your dreams.

As soon as you were within range, Ash’s hands automatically reached out to grasp at your alluringly wide hips, using them to pull you toward him, thumbs rubbing gentle circles into soft, pliable flesh. His legs spread at the knees where they dangled over the edge of the pool table he was sitting on to accommodate your form stepping between them.

You set the breakfast plate down beside him on the table, one arm reaching up to wrap around the back of his neck, fingers delicately gliding through the long hair at his nape. You plucked a piece of sausage from the large plate you had made and held it up in front of him. Feeding each other was just one of the many public displays of affection that the two of you frequently engaged in with a disgusting lack of shame. He quickly took the hint and parted his lips, taking the bite into his mouth and groaning as the flavor hit his tongue.

He swallowed the morsel, then leaned forward to press dozens of playful, nipping kisses into the crook of your neck, causing your giggling to recommence as he cooed, “You’re far too good to me, My Love. Don’t know how I got so lucky to end up with someone so wonderful as you.”

Dean was honestly wondering about that as well.

Seriously, the dude had a freaking mullet and looked like he belonged on the road with Lynyrd Skynyrd. He was scrawny, of average height and had a mullet. It was strange (but also kind of awesome) enough to warrant mentioning twice. Dean had no idea how a guy like that could end up with someone like you. He couldn't decide whether he should be jealous or declare the other man his hero.

Ellen, while used to the cloying PDA that the two of you shared as a couple, had clearly decided that was enough of that and said dryly, “Alright lovebirds, if you could pry yourselves away from one another for a few minutes, these boys need some help from you, Ash.”

* * * *

“Sorry, I guess I haven't introduced myself, yet.” You apologized, holding out your arm towards the Winchester brothers for a handshake as you took your rightful perch upon Ash's lap. “I’m (Y/N),” you informed them. “Married to the genius.”

Sam accepted your proffered hand and formally introduced himself in turn, where as Dean scoffed as he dropped a folder to land with a smack! onto the bar top, “You gotta be kidding, this guys no genius. He’s a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie.”

His dismissive tone immediately made you bristle. You hated when jerks would come in here looking for Ash's help only to then completely dismiss and underestimate his intelligence based solely upon his appearance. It pissed you off every time, though it amused Ash to no end.

As if to prove this, Ash smiled, eyes narrowing on Dean in a look of assessment, “I like you.”

“Thanks,” Dean muttered, no further convinced that this dude was anywhere near the ‘genius’ Ellen and Jo claimed he was.

You, less than impressed with Dean's attitude, snorted, “You know, Asshole, Ash is the one meant to be helping you, not the other way around. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to judge a book by its cover? Just because the genius comes wrapped in this sexy, mullet rocker package doesn’t negate his intelligence. And again, you asked for his help, so a little respect would go a long way.”

The reprimand left Dean's mouth agape, his expression becoming thoroughly dumbfounded upon hearing you utter the words ‘sexy, mullet rocker package’ with such conviction and clear lack of humor. If he'd thought his mind had short circuited earlier after hearing Ash call you his wife, at this point Dean would be surprised if his brain hadn't begun leaking out of his ears.

It was all proving to be a little too much for Sam, who had to turn his face away in a desperate attempt to try and cover up his uncontrollable laughter, both in response to his brother's expression as well as the absolute seriousness with which you referred to your husband's sex appeal.

While the majority of the time you were Ash's sweet girl, his Goddess of Sunshine, that didn’t mean that you were weak, or that you couldn’t or wouldn't stand up and stand your ground when challenged. You were actually quite protective over those you loved and wouldn’t hesitate to defend them in any way you deemed necessary. Though this was a very mild example of this trait, the point still stood; His girl wouldn’t stand for anyone disrespecting the man she loved, especially on their own territory. It was something that always filled him with warmth and pride to witness, and just another of the many things he absolutely adored about his wife.

Ash’s arms squeezed your waist in a comforting gesture, hands lightly skimming up and down your sides soothingly. “It’s okay, Baby Girl, the man hasn’t seen my work before. The skepticism, while a bit irritating, is expected.”

Dean shrugged, sitting himself down on a bar stool, “Well, alright then. This stuff’s a year’s worth of our Dad’s work.”, he placed one of his palms atop the folder, smirking as he slid it toward Ash, “So, uh, let’s see what you make of it.”

Ash opened the folder and pulled out the contents. His chin rested comfortably in the junction between your shoulder and neck, eyes quickly scanning over the pages as he leafed through the documents. He shook his head, confounded, before pulling his gaze back to focus on the Winchesters.

“C’mon, this crap ain’t real. Ain’t nobody can track a demon like this.”, Ash said, not quite believing what he was looking at.

The brothers shared a knowing look, before Sam turned back towards Ash and simply said, “Our Dad could.”

Ash’s eyebrows rose a bit before furrowing slightly, his hands returning to leaf through the papers in front of him with renewed interest, “These are non parametric statistical overviews. Cross-spectrum correlations. Jeez, I mean… damn. They’re signs, omens. If you can track them, you can track the demon. You know, like crop failures, electrical storms.”, He glanced up and said, “You ever been struck by lightning? It ain’t fun.”

His voice was practically a growl by the end of his monologue and you couldn't help the way heat began to pool between your legs, core clenching around nothing. You shifted a bit in his lap, just barely grinding against his thigh before settling again. Ash was still focused on the information before him, though his head did turn slightly to press a brief kiss to your neck while one of his hands absentmindedly drifted down your body to rest on your inner thigh, causing your breath to hitch in your throat.

“Can you track it or not?”, Sam asked impatiently.

Ash cleared his throat, “Yeah, with this, I think so. But it’s gonna take time. Uh, gimme…”, he paused, taking a moment to calculate, “51 hours.”, he decided, eyes meeting Sam and Dean’s head on.

Sam and Dean shared another communicative look while you carefully gathered the papers and slipped them back into their folder. Once all were back in order you rose from Ash’s lap to allow him to stand as well, his arm immediately returning to once again wrap around your waist after taking to his feet. Meeting seemingly adjourned, the two of you began striding towards the back room that you called home.

“Hey, man,”, Dean sounded from the bar, causing Ash and yourself to pause and turn back towards the elder Winchester, “By the way, I, uh, dig the haircut.”

Ash practically puffed out his chest with pride as he hammed, “All business up front, party in the back!”, you can’t help but giggle as he flourishes the long ends of his hair dramatically.

As the two of you turned to continue on your path towards your room, Ash leaned down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he practically growled, “Don’t worry, Baby Girl, I haven’t forgotten about you. Gonna spend at least 23 of those 51 hours makin' you come apart underneath o' me.”

A shiver ran up your body, shots of arousal pooling low in your core at the implication. Ash really was the sexiest mullet rocker/genius, and you were so proud to get to call him your husband.

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[goldencuffs]

the tape

tw: a sex tape is filmed and released without consent.

Damen didn’t expect to wake up on Wednesday morning to the headline: Famous Football Player Caught in Tantalising SEX SCANDAL, Scroll for Video — but, well. He sort of knew it was a possibility.

 Julius had been a sweet little thing at Ernesta, the club Damen and his teammates frequented after a game or a training session or anything, really. Damen had caught sight of Julius’ blonde hair under the strobe lights, and had made his way over, tipsy and light, and just horny enough that he could last a full conversation with minimal wandering hands.

 Julius had been a ‘huge fan’ and pretty enough that Damen neglected his one rule: which was to never hook up with fans. They’d made it to Damen’s penthouse within half an hour, and Julius must have set up his phone to record them when Damen went to the bathroom after the first round.

It had honestly been the most average sex of Damen’s life — which was the only reason why he had been upset that Julius had leaked the tape at all. Damen hadn’t even tried very hard to make Julius cum, and he’d still been mostly hard throughout it all, his own release unsatisfactory.

 When he tried to explain this to Laurent later that day, during lunch at their favourite brunch place, Laurent’s face twitched. He looked furious, and then upset, and then both those expressions slowly absolved, until his expression was a flat, distant thing that unsettled Damen.

 In fact, it unsettled Damen so much, he began talking, without quite meaning to, “I just wish he’d told me he was going to film a whole tape, you know? That way I could have busted better moves. Or, made suggestions with the lighting or something. Look here — my entire body is blurry, so it’s like, what’s the point? What the fuck are we supposed to be looking at?”

 From his phone, Julius’ breathless voice panted, “Yes, harder, oh you’re so good for me.”

 It wasn’t loud enough to be heard by the other patrons in the cafe, but Laurent put his knife and fork down and hissed, “Will. You. Put. That. Away.”

 Damen did, swallowing. For the first time since he had read the article, seen the tape, and responded to the dozen or so text messages from friends about the tape, he felt embarrassment.

 Laurent wasn’t looking at him anymore. His eyes slid away, to the busy road outside, his mouth turned.

 Damen turned back to his food. Neither of them said anything else for the rest of their meal.

 *

 Damen genuinely didn’t mind the release of the tape. Julius had wanted his fifteen minutes of fame; Damen had wanted a lay — it was a win-win situation.

 No one else cared too much about it either; his teammates made sly jokes about it in the locker room, Makedon slapped him on the back with a shake of his head, and even Kastor let it slide.

 But there was one thing that did bother Damen — and it was that the love of his life, the man of his dreams, his soulmate, Laurent, was ignoring him.

Laurent had been downright hostile any time someone mentioned it; he’d eviscerated Nikandros verbally during dinner when Nikandros had made a joke about it, and he refused to look Damen in the eye.

 That was the worst part, thought Damen. Laurent was now skittish around him, like the thought of being around Damen too much nauseated him.

 He’d always known Laurent was reserved when it came to sex. He made jokes about it, talked about it as much as a healthy, twenty-seven-year-old man did, but it was never on a personal scale. When it came to Laurent’s own sex life, he was always tight lipped, even though sometimes Damen wanted to know, purely on a masochistic level. It honestly killed Damen when Laurent came in last summer to review his legal contract, briefcase in hand, and a bright red hickey on the white spot beneath his ear. It was the first time Damen had thought he might kill someone — rather violently, too.

 So, that was one of the reasons Damen used to justify Laurent’s behaviour. He was probably embarrassed about seeing… so much of his best friend. Damen wouldn’t have minded seeing Laurent naked, but that was only because he had been in love with Laurent for the last four years now.

 The second reason was that Laurent was so disgusted by Damen he didn’t want to be friends anymore.

 Damen didn’t like thinking about the second reason — so he didn’t.

 *

 A week after the tape, Damen invited Laurent over to dinner, at his family home. Theomedes was obsessed with Laurent, which Damen understood wholeheartedly; he was constantly wondering why more people didn’t fall in love with Laurent three seconds into meeting him.

 At first, it had seemed like Laurent might refuse. He was doing that a lot lately: skipping plans, cancelling so last-minute Damen couldn’t cajole him to reconsider, or in most cases, just flat out saying no.

 It seemed like today, the latter would be the possibility, so Damen said, panicked, “Please. I’ll make your favourite dessert.”

 Laurent perked a little at that. “Really?”

 “Yes!” Damen said, perhaps a little too aggressively, but it had Laurent nodding, a quick, stilted movement.

 Damen ruined the first three batches of chocolate mousse, but the fourth was decent, and the fifth was a bit better than that, so he went with it.

 Laurent arrived at seven sharp, straight from work. He had his favourite suit on, the charcoal wool suit that made everyone realise that Laurent was about ninety percent leg, and he was wearing the bright, spotty tie Theomedes had gifted Laurent about three Christmases ago.

He was so beautiful, Damen’s chest hurt. “Hi,” he said breathlessly, unexpectedly shy.

 Laurent’s gaze was unimpressed. His mouth did something strange; it compressed in on itself, until it sat in a straight line, and his eyes hovered over Damen’s shoulder.

 “You have something on your face,” he said.

 Damen tried a smile. “Well, get it off for me then, sweetheart.”

 He leant forward, very desperate suddenly for Laurent's touch, which in the past, Laurent had been very generous about.

 Laurent shoved the wine bottle he was holding into Damen’s stomach. Damen stepped back with a surprised oof, fumbling to catch it, and Laurent made his way past him, into the kitchen to talk to Theomedes.

 Damen stared after him, at a complete loss.

 He sulked in the bathroom for a while, and only came out when he was sure he could no longer avoid his father’s calls anymore.

 Laurent wasn’t looking at him when Damen returned, but he didn’t shuffle away as Damen took his usual seat beside him.

 Dinner was so pleasant, Damen almost forgot about how strange Laurent had been acting. Even Laurent had loosened, and he gave his first proper smile to Damen in a whole week when he tasted the mousse. It was a small smile, but Damen was going to remember it for the rest of his life, since they were so rare now, apparently.

 Of course, just as Laurent had completely relaxed, Theomedes said, “Do you think we’d have a case if Damen were to sue the tabloids and the man in the tape?”

 Laurent stiffened so much it was like he’d been propped up by invisible string. His shoulders tensed and pulled back, and his back was so straight Damen was sure he could run a smooth line down it.

 Haltingly, Laurent said, “I — don’t. I’m not quite sure.”

 “Why not?” Theomedes said.

 Damen said, “Dad. I’m not going to sue. He was just a dumb kid.”

 Laurent seemed to stiffen further at that.

 Theomedes frowned. “But surely —”

 “I’ll ask someone at the firm for you, sir,” Laurent said, in a polite, contrite tone that wasn’t like him at all. “I only deal with sports law so I — I’d have to ask.”

 That settled Theomedes. Damen relaxed a little too, until Laurent pushed away his dessert, despite having more than half of it left.

 It was such a depressing thing to see, Damen couldn’t finish the rest of his either.

 *

 With how jumpy Laurent was, Damen expected him to leave straight after their plates were cleared, but Laurent lingered, drinking his wine, and talking to Theomedes about the Lions chances of winning this season.

 Damen barely listened. He was upset, and his stomach had been rolling tumultuously for the last hour.

 He excused himself to his bedroom and sat on his small, single bed for a few moments, feeling sorry for himself.

 When that didn’t make him feel better, Damen went to his desk and pulled out a well-read book. Book was perhaps an overstatement; it was a small collection of poetry Laurent had written for him a year after they met. He had handed it to Damen after his birthday party, when everyone had left, and they could have some privacy.

 “You don’t have to read it,” Laurent had said, bashful, when Damen had paused in stunned silence. That was when Damen knew — and over the years that feeling had only solidified.

 The binding hadn’t been the best, so Damen had rebound it himself. Along the way he’d marked a lot of the poems too. The love poems were a source of both serenity and torture, since Damen daydreamed that Laurent had written about making love in moonlit sheets about him, but.

 He was surprised when there was a hesitant knock on his door. Laurent peeked his head through, and then he was stepping inside, wine glass topped up and his tie loosened.

 Damen’s heart lurched.

 “What are you doing?” Laurent asked, and the wine must have made him forget that he was mad at Damen, because he sounded curious, joyful.

 Damen gestured to the curling cover of Laurent’s book. Laurent flushed heavily, the colour vining his cheeks and neck and ears.

 “You kept that?”

 “Of course I did,” Damen said, affronted.

 “They’re terrible,” Laurent said, shaking his head, still red. “I don’t think I’ve even read enough poetry to justify writing so many.”

 “They’re wonderful. See.” Damen flicked through the pages and showed Laurent all his markings, scribbling along the columns of Laurent’s poetry.

 Laurent watched with hungry eyes. But he said, “Oh, Damen,” with so much sadness, Damen went, instinctively, to touch his shoulder.

 “Hey,” he said, unsure.

 Laurent stepped away from his grip, but he sat on the edge of the bed, facing Damen.

 “What is it?” Damen asked, because Laurent’s face was pale, haunted.

 “Nothing,” Laurent said, attempting a small smile.

 Damen tried to return it but couldn’t.

 They sat in awkward silence for a while — which was foreign, between them. Damen talked enough for four people at a time, and Laurent, though he said otherwise, liked that.

 Eventually, Damen said, “You’re coming to Nikandros’ party on Saturday, yeah?”

 “Oh,” Laurent said, surprised. He blinked. “This Saturday?”

 “Yeah,” Damen said, his stomach knotting when he realised Laurent was most probably going to say no.

 It was worse than that. “Ah, shit, I’d completely forgotten…” Laurent trailed off. “I didn’t realise when I — I have plans.”

 “What plans?” Damen frowned, because Laurent had approximately three friends, including him, and they were all going to Nikandros’.

 Laurent flushed again, a finger tracing the rim of his glass. “Armand from work — do you remember? I mentioned him a few times at — anyway. He. He asked me on a date and I said yes.”

 “Oh,” Damen said, so flatly he didn’t think he had even made it sound like a word.

 “Yes,” Laurent said, flushing even more, not looking at Damen’s eyes. “We’re going to Charls. You’ve been there, haven’t you? Is it any good?”

 “Hmm,” said Damen.

 “Oh,” said Laurent, awkwardly. “That’s good.”

 He left ten minutes after that. Damen smashed a penholder.

 *

 The days leading up to Nikandros’ party were the worst of Damen’s life. It wasn’t as though Laurent hadn’t dated anyone for the last few years, but the fact that he was going on a date with Armand, rich, successful, handsome Armand, who cracked dry jokes and said things like, My supervisor would kill me if I said this but did you know… He was just so boring. Laurent could do way better.

 Nikandros’ party was, thankfully, a wonderful distraction. It was as raucous as ever, and the cacophony of noises prevented Damen from thinking too much. Damen drank, he danced, and he thought of flirting with Naos’ sister, but decided against it.

 He was on the alfresco, smoking, trying to ignore the couple in the corner who were three seconds away from having sex, when Laurent opened the sliding doors.

 Damen was so surprised, he almost dropped his cigarette. Then he tried not to get his hopes up. He was either so drunk he was hallucinating, even though it had never happened before, or Laurent had ditched Charls to bring himself and Armand here.

 Laurent was drunk, or at least getting there. When he saw Damen, he smiled wide, his teeth showing.

 Damen swallowed, eyes following Laurent as he made his way over. Laurent surprised him even more; he sat close to Damen, until their thighs touched and rested his head on Damen’s shoulder.

 “Hey,” said Damen, his heart racing, confused and hopeful all at once.

 Laurent propped his chin on Damen’s shoulder. “Hello,” he said softly.

 Damen’s mouth was dry. Laurent plucked Damen’s cigarette from his fingers and placed it in his own mouth.

 Damen asked, “Armand?”

 Laurent exhaled. “He was a dick. And not in the nice, sexy way.”

 “There’s a nice, sexy way?” Damen said, amused and relieved.

 “There can be,” Laurent said, handing the cigarette back to Damen.

 They shared Damen’s cigarette for a while, fingers brushing up against each other. Laurent was still on his shoulder, and this was so achingly familiar, Damen had been afraid he’d lost it forever.

 A few moments later, Damen asked, “Was he a jerk to you, Laurent?”

 “Not really,” Laurent said.

 “Good,” said Damen.

 Laurent propped his chin on Damen’s shoulder again. “What would you do if I said yes?”

 Damen said, too seriously, “I’d kill him.”

 Laurent’s breath caught. His eyes searched Damen’s face, and Damen tried valiantly to keep his expression as neutral as he could.

 Laurent pulled back. His eyes flickered to the ground, then to Damen, and then away. “I should probably go. I have a huge headache.”

 “Okay,” said Damen.

 Laurent squeezed his hand quickly, then dropped it. He made to leave the alfresco, his movements unhurried, a little disjointed.

 At the doors, he paused. Damen saw him hesitate, and then Laurent turned around and asked, “Are you free tomorrow?”

 “Yeah,” said Damen, even though he had promised Kastor they’d have lunch together.

 Laurent nodded. “Good. Come over for dinner. I’ll make lasagna.”

 “Sure,” said Damen, now smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.

 Laurent smiled too. “See you,” he said, before he stepped through the doors, into the crowd.

 Damen watched him go, his heart settled and his smile only widening.

#captive prince #damen x laurent #im very sorry anon i know this is MONTHS late #and i barely mentioned their careers lol #thank you for reading anyway!! #my writing #my fic

[themockingcrows]

Faint

Chronic invisible illness sucks. Sometimes we stay quiet. Sometimes we cope by giving our favorite characters our condition to get some comfort. This fic is the latter case, wherein Rose Lalonde has Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome and Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and deals with everything that brings in order to spread a bit of awareness.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31556225

She’d thought it was normal, till she brought it up to the others. The chest pain, the exhaustion, the dizziness. The sense of running on an internal timer so precise that if she overstepped its bounds it would be time to collapse into the void itself. The darkness at the edges of her vision when she’d been upright too long, when she was stressed, when she was running, dancing.

She’d thought it was normal, that everyone just had more stamina than she did before they had the same symptoms occur.

“That’s not normal. You should maybe see a doctor!” they’d unanimously said. John had been concerned, Dave had been flippant with jokes but the worry was easy to detect, and Jade was forceful with her reasoning.

Rose had finally told her mother something was wrong, to spur a visit to the doctor. It was hard to explain at first, but when her guardian further questioned how she felt, how long she’d felt that way, it had nearly turned into a shouting match.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? What if something is really wrong, Rosie! This isn’t something to just keep quiet!”

If she’d known it was abnormal, perhaps she would have mentioned it sooner. If she’d known. If she’d had a reason, she might have even been able to keep up with ballet instead of having to quit, feigning disinterest when it still made her heart sing. Violin was hard enough to deal with, with her arms raised the entire time. But ballet was just a no go anymore.

To the doctor, then, after a few weeks of edge of seat waiting. The family physician, who they’d known for years. Who didn’t believe her. Not at first, at least.

He’d checked her weight first thing, and finding her normal range, asked about her habits. While he spoke, he checked her joints and how stretchy she was, keeping her moving while talking till she was reeling on her feet before he let her lay down. Stupid old man. Her problem felt like it was in her chest or her head, not her joints! She’d always been plenty bendy, able to pull off poses ahead of her ballet class with minimal effort, the stretches never quite feeling like enough to really pull in her body in a satisfying way.

Head swimming till she lay flat on the exam table, arms crossed over her stomach absently, Rose continued to answer questions.

She was doing okay in school. She was just more tired than usual.

Yes, this had been happening for quite some time.

No, she’d fainted before, but only once. And only because she’d been up too long dancing. She didn’t miss the curious look the doctor gave her mother, the raised brow. He checked her abdomen, he checked her glands, looking for distension or rigidity, looking for clues. Nothing. Nothing that she could see, at least. Nothing that felt any different from normal. He continued to talk, keeping her lying down for a while, and checked her blood pressure while she rested, the pulse oximeter being placed on her opposite finger.

75bpm, 120/80. Everything normal, everything fine. He left the devices in place, however, and then did something strange.

“Could you stand up for me, Rose? Nice and straight, right here by the table.”

There were no questions this time to keep her occupied. Just two sets of eyes staring at her in the small room, watching as she felt the cold sweat start up on her forehead, the shake beginning in her limbs. It was stronger when she stood still, when she couldn’t prowl around. She felt nauseated as the sweat turned to a hot flash and started to soak into the fabric of her shirt, and with it came the panic as she saw the darkness at the corners of her vision.

“Can I sit down please.”

“Not yet, try to hold out a little longer,” the doctor coaxed, inflating the blood pressure cuff once more. She focused on the discomfort on her arm instead of the pounding in her chest and head, the increased breaths. Nausea rose in her throat, bile, bitter, salt from excess saliva.

“Can I sit down. Please,” she said again, not caring that it sounded like begging.

“Nearly there, just a moment longer.”

She didn’t have a moment. She felt her knees quaking, felt the floor rushing up to meet her, but gratefully felt her mother’s hands hurrying to catch her waist and balance her till the doctor finished his data gathering.

80/50. 145bpm.

The monster had a name now. Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. There were hopes she’d just grow out of it, but there was a chance it might be long lasting. In her case it seemed to be at least partly linked to how bendy she was, how loose her skin felt, how stretchy it was, how easily she bruised. That, too, had a name. Ehlers Danlos Syndrome.

What had been a slow appointment was suddenly moving very fast. Referrals were being made, appointments with different doctors at the big hospital in town, and paperwork was being handed to her mother in a thick stack. Informative pages, recommendations for diet, for exercises, safety precautions, warnings, risks. A whole new world was opening up below her and swallowing her whole, and Rose didn’t know how to feel about it.

One thing was certain, however.

She didn’t plan on telling her friends. Or anyone, for that matter.

It would be her little secret.

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

“...Is it going to hurt?” was Rose’s only question. She felt very small, much smaller than she’d felt at the clinic with her mother. The room here was bigger and more sterile, with strange looking machinery and electronics. She’d asked the same when she had her first EKG earlier, and had been relieved that the most painful part was having the gummy electrodes pulled back off after the painless test was performed. Something about being in a hospital gown and swinging her legs on a different looking exam table just made her feel even more fragile than the long walk through the building had. At least her mom was there with her.

“No, not at all. It might be a little uncomfortable, or a little cold, but there’s no pain,” promised a technician with a smile. She smiled back a little uncertainly, unconvinced. “All we’re going to do is get some pictures of your heart. I promise, an echocardiogram doesn’t hurt. It’s just a paddle with cold jelly, you’ll hold your breath when I tell you to and stay very still, and we’ll see how things look from different angles.”

“And you’ll tell me if I’m going to die or not.”

“No,” he said with a smirk. “I’ll be telling you if you have any issues with your heart valves or not.”

“Same difference.”

“You underestimate just how much the human body can handle before needing intervention,” he chuckled. “C’mon, legs up on the table and get laid back. I’m sorry for having to keep the shirt open, I know it’s embarrassing. Mom, you can see everything, yes?”

“Yes. Rosie if you need to hold my hand, I ca-”

“I’m fine, Mother. Thank you.”

“Well. If you change your mind, I’m right here.”

“Can you see the screen?” he asked Rose. She nodded, then went very still to watch the technician lift a bottle of gel and squeeze a splurt onto the paddle's end instead. “Right. Sorry this will be chilly, just try to bear with it. And-”

“Stay very still,” Rose finished for him as he opened the front of the gown and pressed the paddle to her chest. She hadn’t been watching the screen at first, but when it lit up with a fluttering white and gray form it was hard to ignore. She knew what it was, of course, though not what the technician was looking for. Seeing your own heart pushing blood around, flaring and calming as it cycled pulses, was kind of amazing. There it was, the only thing keeping her alive, and they were checking to see if any potential defects inside of its valves from the EDS were making her sick.

The procedure was quick enough. A roll here or there, a drop down section of the table for him to do further measurements underneath of her as she lay on her side, and soon enough she was done.

“What’s the verdict, am I dying,” Rose said, voice carefully calm and face deadpan. The papers from the physician had said this was a non-deadly condition, that neither of them would kill her, but the concept of damage to a heart valve of all things being real had brought out the morbid part of her brain.

“There’s a bit of a leak,” he admitted. “But your measurements are just fine and within normal ranges. I wouldn’t be too worried about it, but if you start feeling worse or new symptoms we might recheck within the next few years.”

Rose wiped off the gel with the offered cloth and covered back up while the technician spoke with her mother, the words flowing quick and easy as she asked questions and they discussed the findings. Rose herself stared at the blank screen for a moment before setting her hand over her heart, feeling the pulse, remembering how it had looked.

She was fine then.

All the more reason not to make anyone she knew worry.

She informed her friends that it had been a vitamin issue and that she was going to be just fine before changing the subject, getting swept up in conversations about games and comics and music all over again. Same as ever.

Same as always.

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

Treatment wasn’t much. Increased water consumption, and a stupid amount of salt. Compression stockings, when that alone wasn’t enough. Rose drank gatorade till she could smell it in her dreams, ate pickles and pretzels till salty foods lost their amusement and her mother had to get creative in the kitchen and with the ordering in catalog. Everything was salt and fluids, compression stockings just tight enough they gave her the will to live back. Thankfully they came in black and she could just pretend they were normal stockings, and for anyone just looking in passing, they would be just another part of her wardrobe.

Yet none of it was enough. The weakness persisted, the fatigue, and through it all that awful, stupid racing heart. If the sound of a beating heart could drive a man mad from beneath floorboards then, surely, the persistent throbbing in her ears and the pain in her chest from her own rushing tempo would be enough to drive her mad. Going to the grocery store made her sweat through her clothes, made her vision blur even as she clung to the cart for balance. More than once, she had to go find a deserted aisle to sit down on the floor in, legs stretched out in front of her, waiting for the worst of it to pass as she debated just how much she might regret laying down flat to hurry it along.

Rose assumed this was just how life was going to be. Stockings, salt, water, constantly living on an internal timer to get things done. Annoying, but not much of a burden. She could imagine living her life like this, one way or another. Others did it every day.

Then had come SBurb.

Fire from the sky and the end of the world, rushing, hurrying, breaking the bottle. She hadn’t been wearing her stockings for the day, but was grateful for the opportunities to sit, few and far between as they were. There was plenty reason for her heart to be beating out of her chest then; plenty of scary, inexplicably stressful things were happening. She had entered the medium with grim determination, and set about the task of destroying imps with a bit of glee.

She had to be quick in dispatching them, there was no alternative. Fainting around these things was unthinkable, and she had plenty of stress to get out with her knitting needles. Rose combined aggression with ballet and her own trained limberness for maneuvers that, in a normal situation, she’d never have reason to use.

It was thrilling.

It was-

Gasping and out of breath, Rose settled on her knees and held her chest after her latest kill, needing time to recover. To rest. It was like she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t open her lungs enough. Like she was drowning on dry land. She gagged, saliva thick and sticky from exertion and, somehow, early dehydration. Slowly, she flopped onto her back and threw her legs up against the wall, feeling the ache and throb as the pooled blood rushed back towards her torso and brain.

Maybe she should get her stockings before continuing, given she had no idea what to expect going forward…

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

The game up through getting to the meteor had been quite the experience. She’d been able to pace herself somewhat, exerting herself in bouts that she could control better once she’d gotten some thoroughly upgraded weaponry in hand. Now, godtiered and being able to fly, she found she was able to handle being upright longer than usual.

Well.

Mostly.

She still had an affinity for walking normally. Maybe it was because it let her track her internal timer better, a long ingrained pattern she was comfortable with. Maybe it was the fear of falling from height, knowing it wouldn’t kill her but that it would still hurt unless someone caught her. There was also the setback of getting enough fluids and salt.

Gatorade was too much to hope for, but water was doable at least. Salt as a base was also available, but drinking straight salt water would have been anything but subtle.

...Maybe it was time to be honest. Rose was fairly certain that Dave already had an idea something was up, having been around her for some time by then. He always seemed to be watching her carefully, and after a few conversations with Kanaya she’d walked in on, even Kanaya had begun to have a more cautious air in their interactions.

Would that just get worse, if she told everyone?

How would Vriska react to such a thing? Such a weakness? The Seer of Light, waylaid by darkness brought on by standing for too long, she could hear it now. Brought on by sitting upright too long, sometimes. It had progressed in ways that she was frustrated about, spending time reading and trying to figure out how to make compression stockings of the right elasticity out of her god tier outfit in her down time. A dress? Sure! Simple! A garment that would help her out without cutting off all circulation to her legs or being useless? Bit more difficult.

At least Kanaya was content to let her recline whenever she wanted. She never asked, never brought it up. Instead she welcomed the blonde head to her lap, the subtle tug on her hand that meant she was going to slide to sit on the ground against the wall for a time to watch the vast space they were traveling through.

Maybe she would just keep it quiet forever. Or, at least, till after their final battles were done. When there was time to rest, when there were doctors again, Gatorade or something similar, she could get this under control and go back to her plans of dealing with it like she had imagined on Earth. Whatever lay ahead of them could be handled.

She’d keep it quiet. It would be her little secret.

Till she’d fainted in front of everyone, at least.

Another argument had broken out between Karkat and Vriska, Terezi egging on from the side and Dave adding the occasional beatbox for effect much to everyone’s annoyance and amusement in equal measure. Rose and Kanaya were observing and commenting for the most part, following them all up the stairs, but the growing intensity of the clog meant that the foot traffic had come to a stop.

Moments ticked by, then minutes.

Rose felt the shake in her knees, the cold sweat on her brow starting up.

“Dear, are you quite alright? You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” she promised with a smile, looking ahead at the group who took up the stairwell. Surely they’d move any moment. Any time now. Any second. They couldn’t argue forever, not even Karkat and Vriska on a bad day, it would end any time. She just needed to hold on, and then she’d be back upstairs with her book on the sofa, feet up, recovering stealthily yet again.

The argument dragged on, and the pain in her chest started up. Vision blurring, Rose turned her head to glance down the stairs, half turning. Maybe she could go back downstairs and use the restroom or something instead, buy time for them to move while having an excuse on hand so nobody would be suspicious.

“I’m-” she started to say.

Her legs buckled beneath her, and she knew no more.

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

“See, if you’d just moved your ass instead of backing up into the wall like a cornered meowbeast, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“It’s not like I pushed her! I don’t know who pushed her!”

“Nobody pushed her, she just collapsed, I was right there. We’ve been over this.”

“Well, why did she collapse then!”

“Has she been drinking or something?”

“No, not that I’m aware. She ate earlier, too.”

“Sleeping?”

“Plenty.”

Rose slowly opened her eyes and stared up quietly at the ceiling, the view from the floor at the bottom of the staircase. The argument had a new source now, the squabble more contained than before, but still lively. Kanaya was watching Terezi pull Karkat and Vriska physically apart like she wanted to jump in and do it herself, but she kept her cool hands on Rose’s arm instead, immobilized. Dave had a notebook he was using like a fan over her face, cooling her off, drying the remaining sweat on her brow. He stopped when he realized she was awake, setting it aside and pushing his shades up the bridge of his nose.

She knew that look. Worry. Suspicion. It made her stomach ache a bit with guilt.

“You good now?”

“...Yeah. I fell?”

“Swan dived face first for the concrete, more like.”

Kanaya’s head jerked her direction and she smiled broader, leaning down to hug Rose tight around the shoulders.

“I was so worried! You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No,” she admitted, surprised. “How-”

“I’m quick,” Dave shrugged, glancing to the side. Kanaya pressed a kiss to her cheek before carefully helping her to sit upright. “Hey, yo, shut the fuck up, she’s awake now. Everyone can stop the blame game, new topic after a quick five.”

“Lalonde, what was that about!” Vriska said immediately. “Did you just trip over your own feet?”

“Kanaya said she collapsed,” Terezi sighed. “Not tripped.”

Karkat glowered, but crossed his arms and was quiet for a moment before speaking. “Thanks for not painting the floor with your thinkpan, we’ve got enough problems around here witho- UGH” he grunted, Terezi’s elbow making swift contact with his side, halting his contribution to the subject.

“Are you sick or something?” Terezi asked.

Rose furrowed her brow, looking around at everyone. Looking back to Dave, looking to Kanaya, both of whom briefly exchanged knowing glances. It appeared the jig was up. Now to just let the cat out of the bag properly so it would stop suffocating.

“I fainted,” Rose said.

“No fucking shit,” came Karkat’s helpful response.

“It’s. ...I’ve done it before,” Rose said, trying to measure her words, trying to figure out how to explain quickly not only to Dave but to members of an entirely different species. “On Earth I was sick. I’m still sick.”

“So we just need to get you medicine or something, right?” Dave said.

She shook her head.

“I’m already taking my medicine best I can.”

“Man, if you know how to make meds can you whip up some pepto or somethin’, because I think I’m gonna die if I don’t get hold of some before the next time we eat makeshift Alternian shit,” Dave said. Rose shook her head again.

“Water and salt.”

“What about it?” said Kanaya, rubbing Rose’s upper back when she still looked a bit woozy. Rose accepted the invitation and leaned into her shoulder, hugging her with one arm to give herself a bit more courage.

“That’s the medicine.”

“...I don’t follow.”

Rose groaned and dropped her head against Kanaya’s neck for a moment before sighing and straightening once more.

“I’ve got a condition called POTS.”

“Like-”

“No, not like fucking weed. It’s Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome.”

“What the fuck does all that mean? Are you contagious?” Karkat asked, getting another sharp elbow from Terezi, hard enough he slapped at her arm afterwards a few times in annoyance. “Will you knock that the fuck off?!”

“Don’t you think she would’ve mentioned something if she was?”

“SHE’S A FUCKING ALIEN! How do we know if it’s not contagious to US?” he argued, taking a quick step back to avoid yet another elbow coming his direction. Vriska caught him around the neck and scrubbed her knuckles deep against his scalp till he cringed.

“Preeeeeeeetty sure she would’ve said something that important before no- YOW!”

More than a little annoyed, Terezi yanked a section of Vriska’s hair till she released the thrashing Karkat, then quickly slapped a hand Karkat’s direction to keep him at bay.

“What’s it mean,” she said simply.

“It means my body is stupid and my brain doesn’t get enough blood to it when I’m upright. It all goes to my legs and can’t get back up to my head fast enough,” she said. “My heart races very badly and I feel like I’m dying and I get very weak. I get tired. I get sick. And if I’m not careful, I faint.”

“So it wasn’t a vitamin problem,” Dave mumbled. “Fuckin’ knew it.”

Kanaya frowned a bit, lifting a hand up to stroke a section of Rose’s bangs away from her face, to stroke down the side of her cheek with her thumb. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner? We could have watched out for you.”

“I didn’t want to hold anyone back,” Rose shrugged. “I thought I could handle it. And I didn’t want-”

“UGH great! Now we’ve got a whole person who’s useless to cope with!” Vriska shouted, rubbing her eyes with one hand.

“That,” Rose said flatly, more than a little annoyed.

“She’s not useless, she’s sick,” Dave said.

“SAME DIFFERENCE! It’s a weakness! A BIG weakness! We’re heading towards a huge fight and we can’t count on you at all now!”

Rose set her jaw. “I can handle myself. I just have to be quick an-”

“You can’t handle yourself, you just fell down the stairs from standing still! What if you collapse during battle, huh? What then? I’m sure as shit not sweeping in to save you, and we need all the god tier powers we can get to be FUNCTIONAL during a fight!” Vriska continued, yanking her hair free from Terezi’s hand to stalk closer, staring down where Rose sat, arms crossed. “What can you do? Ranged attacks while sitting down?”

Releasing Kanaya, Rose stood up quickly, immediately regretting it when her vision swam again. She braced herself and bent her knees before locking them in a wider stance for balance. It was a weak spot. A point of pride was that she’d come this far just fine as it was, and now that the cat was out of the bag her worst fears were coming true.

“Hey, easy, don’t go down again,” Dave said from behind her.

“Shut up, I’m fine!” Rose insisted. “What do you want me say, Vriska! That I promise I won’t collapse? You don’t know what I’m capable of in a fight! You don’t know what options I have on hand! Don’t discredit me just because I have this bullshit to deal with. If I can work around it, so can you. If you can’t then which of us is weaker in the end, me or you?”

It was spoken as a challenge, pure and simple. Tension was thick in the air as they stared each other down, Rose with her hands balled into fists, Vriska with crossed arms. Everyone was waiting for something to give, for the other shoe to drop.

“...Whatever,” Vriska muttered, the first to break position. She turned around and lifted her arms behind her head to stretch as she went up the stairs. “Humans are so fragile and booooooooring! Terezi, come help with dinner, I don’t know what to aim for this time.”

A collective breath was released. Terezi smirked a bit.

“That was pretty good, Lalonde. Normally she’d have kept going, but I think you got her in a corner now.”

“TEREZI, COME ON, I’M HUNGRY!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming, keep your rumble spheres tethered!” she shouted, before turning with a laugh like broken glass to run up the stairs after her friend.

Karkat, alone with the trio, watched Terezi run off before looking back towards Rose. She shuddered, then quickly sat back down on the ground and flopped onto her back with a heavy sigh.

“I’m fine!” she was quick to say. “Just. Need to be down for a second. Just a second. Holy shit.”

“What, think you were gonna get into a catfight?” Dave asked, picking up the notebook again to sway over her face a few times just in case it was useful again.

“Yes!”

“Would’ve been funny,” he admitted.

“Would’ve been hilarious if this is what finally got us at each other’s throats,” she said sarcastically.

“How do you feel now that everyone knows what has been wrong?” Kanaya asked, stretching her legs out before scooting closer to Rose’s side and laying back as well. “Relieved?”

“Yes. ...Though. What if she’s right…?”

“First time for everything,” Dave shrugged. “Here, lift your heads up,” he instructed as he dropped the notebook and instead lifted his cape, scooting it in a wad beneath their heads. He settled opposite Rose and stretched out as well, one knee bent up so he could tap his foot occasionally, arms splayed out.

Karkat waited for a moment before Dave patted the open space in the circle, then came closer and flopped down as well, hands on his stomach.

“...So you’re SURE you’re not contagious.”

“Dude, with how often she swaps spit with Kanaya I’m pretty sure you’re safe just breathin’ the same air if she’s unaffected,” Dave pointed out.

“Well, good. ...Sorry for asking earlier,” he muttered. “I just didn’t know what to think! Lalonde being sick out of nowhere is-”

“It was rather obvious, if you watched her closely. Something was wrong even if I didn’t know what,” Kanaya said. Dave nodded as well, making Rose groan and cover her face with her hands.

“How obvious was I?”

“Real obvious,” Dave snorted. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got your back now, and we’ll have your back durin’ a fight. You know that.”

“I’ll slice anything that comes for you if you go down,” Karkat said helpfully. Given how much work he’d done hoping to be a threshcutioner before,

Kanaya reached for Rose’s hand as it came away from her face and gave it a squeeze. “We all do.”

“Yeah,” Rose sighed. “Yeah. I know. You’re right.”

She had backup now. And a while to think of how to explain everything to the others when they met up with them.

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

It felt like years ago, that final battle. Maybe because it had been years by then. It was kind of hard to keep track sometimes, really. She’d held her own, had backup, and they had all come out on top. They’d made a new world, populated it, let it grow and come back to live amongst everyone. She’d been hopeful that after all that, after all the advancements, there would be progress in her own disorders. Treatment options beyond salt and water, beyond stockings.

The fact there wasn’t, that it was still a chronic illness, that there was no magical cure in a special pill to take even after all of that, felt a bit like a slap in the face. Somehow, despite everything, having that bit of hope crushed had been enough to send her into a depression deep enough that it took months for friends and family to help pull her out of it.

There was no ‘better’. There was just coping. And she had to be okay with that.

She had options at least, thankfully. She could fly to get places faster than walking, even if she was on a harsher timer than before. She could drive. Her home was comfortable and easily accommodated a wheelchair that she could use outside of the home as well, half the time pushing herself along and the other half of the time being pushed by Kanaya when she got too tired. Life was good in many ways, even if there was no miracle to be had.

She was alive, married to the love of her life. She had friends and family surrounding her. She had aspirations for a long future, and hobbies that kept her plenty busy. It was enough for her.

When Kanaya leaned down behind her to kiss the side of her neck, sharp fangs barely there on her skin, Rose pulled the brakes on her chair and reached back to stroke Kanaya’s hair fondly. Her wife sat down beside her on the dock, overlooking the vast lake, and squinted out over the shimmering surface to make out where their friends were. A boat was heading this way and that trailing a water skier behind on a tow line, while two people flew above it keeping an eye on whoever was below kicking up wake behind them.

“Are you sure you didn’t want to participate?” Kanaya asked, amused when the skier went down into the water and was pulled up by the two flying lifeguards. “They said they had an innertube as well. You could sit and be towed.”

“Mmm. I’m fine,” Rose said with a smile. “Maybe next time, I don’t much feel like getting wet today. What about you? It looks plenty safe. Roxy and John wouldn’t let anyone drown.”

“I’d rather be near you,” she shrugged. “Perhaps we can have a turn in the boat instead later. We could take a tour around the lake without getting wet.”

“I love how your mind works,” Rose chuckled. She stretched a bit, then pushed the legs of her chair straight out, propping her legs straight out in front of her with a grateful sigh, pooled blood circulating somewhat easier again.

The skier was, apparently, Karkat. At least that’s what the shouting and cursing indicated as he struggled in the air with the duo holding him up safely. He dropped back into the lake with a splash, only to be carefully fished out again and deposited on the boat. Rose snorted a laugh before giggling at just how silly the situation looked from a distance, knowing she’d hear all about the details of it later from everyone involved. Kanaya looked at her with a soft smile before leaning against the side of the chair, nudging Rose’s leg till she stroked at her head and horns as one would pet a cat.

“I’m so glad to hear that sound…”

“Laughter? I’ve laughed a lot recently, haven’t I?” Rose asked, a little confused.

“Yes. You’ve been in such a good mood lately, compared to before. Every time I hear you laugh or see you smile it’s like sunshine.”

Rose leaned forward to press a kiss between Kanaya’s horns, making her wife hum softly, blissfully.

“You know just what to say to make an already good day better.”

Somehow, Rose felt, every day was just more proof that everything was going to be okay now.

((If you would like to learn more about POTS please visit this website for information!

http://www.dysautonomiainternational.org/page.php?ID=30))

#Homestuck #Rose Lalonde #chronic illness #pots #postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome #EDS #my fic

[inorganicone2230]

Time and Time Again (Part 1) 1930′s Yandere!Overhaul x Fem!Reader

Prologue TBC in Part 2

Summary:  An accident that should have killed you has instead left you stranded decades in the past with no apparent way to get home. You are saved and offered assistance by Kai Chisaki, a charming young man at the head of a powerful yakuza organization, who oddly enough believes your story. But Kai seems to have more on his mind concerning you than simply lending a helping hand, and as the days turn into weeks, you begin to wonder if he’s ever going to let you leave.  

Warnings: None for this chapter. Warnings and tags will be updated as the chapters progress.

Side Note: I do NOT and never will condone the actions committed in  this and future chapters, please be mindful and respectful of the fact  that all of this is purely fiction.

And as always, I want to give a BIG thank you to my amazing friend @talpup for all the brainstorming and encouragement on these stories!  I’m sure I would have given up on this blog a while ago if it wasn’t for  all of their help. I highly encourage anyone who takes the time to read  this to go over to their page or their AO3 account under the same name  and check out their works, especially Chaos and Erase The Shadow. They  are two of my favorite BNHA fics of ALL TIME!

Frigid and stiff.

Those were just a few of the words that came to you as your eyes began to flutter open, the slight facial movement causing the splitting pain in your head to become the forefront notice of your mind. The rest of your body was sore and stiff as well, but your head was where the pain was the worst. You were wet, your clothes drenched, the cloth water logged and heavy as you tried to push yourself up. It hurt to move, but at least it didn’t feel like anything was broken or dislocated, that was a plus in your book.

Gingerly turning your head to look around, it took your brain a few moments to process and catch up with the events of what happened before you woke up in this state. It all came rushing back to you at once, the walk, finding the old path that led to the cliff and then the sudden breaking of the ground under your feet as you screamed and fell over the ledge. You tried to recall if you remembered hitting the water, but the rest up until now was blank, meaning you must have passed out during the fall. Your vision was blurry and your brain felt like mush, but even those handicaps didn’t get in the way of you determining that this place was nowhere near the spot you originally fell from. From what you could recall of the spot where you were before, one side of the river had been right up against the cliff wall that you had fallen from, you still had no idea how you survived a fall like that, and the other was along a rocky shore and a forest. Now though, the waters of the river were much calmer and the stretch of water was flanked on either side by sand and thick forest, the current having likely carried you quite a ways down before you washed up on this little shore.

On pure instinct, you reached into your still zipped up pocket for your phone, along with its accompanying solar powered charger and were amazed to find that the expensive waterproof/shock absorbent case had done its job and protected the delicate tech device’s. It turned on just fine and there wasn’t a scratch on it, but it was telling you that you had no service, so you would still need to find some sort of civilization or an area near a cell tower before you could get help.

“This is bad.” You said to yourself as you finally stood up on shaky legs. The movement caused your already splitting head to pound even harder and when you pulled your hand away from your temple, you were unsurprised to find that what you’d been hoping was just water running down your face was actually blood. “And it just keeps getting better and better.” You groaned, internally chastising yourself for not having brought a little first aid pack just in case and vowing to do so from now on no matter what.

Looking around, it was impossible to tell where you were or how far down the river had carried you, but you figured that your best option would be to follow the flow of the water and hope that it would eventually lead you to some place you could get help from.

As you slowly began making your way along the bank of the river, it didn’t take you long to realize that the sun was beginning to set already and what very little warmth the day had to offer was quickly disappearing as the sun sunk lower and lower behind the mountains. Your clothes were still saturated with water and you were so cold that it physically hurt to move, it was impossible not to focus on it when every move you made brought the reminder to the forefront of your mind as the bitter cold material clung to your body and made you shiver to the point that your teeth were chattering uncontrollably. If you didn’t find help soon, it was likely you wouldn’t make it to see the morning. If the exhaustion didn’t make you keel over first, then the next option you’d have to take a guess at would be hypothermia setting in, but you needed to keep going, you had to find someone to help you or you were a goner.

So, despite how painfully cold you were, you did what you could to ignore it, along with the throbbing ache in your head and pushed on further into the darkening forest.

—————

Something was wrong...

It was pitch black out and it took about two hours of near painful and freezing walking, but you did eventually manage to find a road. There was a distinct lack of streetlights though and if it weren’t for the headlights of the occasional passing car, you may have missed it entirely, but that wasn’t what was bothering you, not entirely at least.

No, what you were finding odd were the types of cars that were passing you.

Oldsmobile was the word that came to mind when you managed to get a decent look at them. Every single one looked like they were brand new, like they were from the turn of the century or something straight out of a period piece style movie. Not that there were many cars out and about, but of the few that had passed by, not a single one seemed to be a newer model. It made you wonder if there had been some kind of event going on nearby, like a car show or something similar, but that didn’t explain why every car driving by looked like it was from a different era.

However, the model of the cars wasn’t your biggest concern right now, what was truly your greatest dilemma was that none of them were stopping to help you. You had tried to flag down every single one that passed and they all either just kept going or outright picked up speed. Your cell phone still wasn’t picking up a signal either and by this point, what little bit of adrenaline you had been running on before was now gone and you could feel the stress and fatigue finally starting to hit you. Walking was becoming increasingly difficult and with every meager step you took, you could feel your head pounding harder and harder. All you wanted to do was pass out and sleep for days, but doing that here would more than likely mean a death sentence.

Tears brought on by both fear and frustration began to roll down your cheeks as you took another painful step, your knees locking up and almost buckling under your weight. A broken sob escaped and that one sob led to more and more following in its path as you stumbled down the darkened roadside.

“Please… someone help…”

—————

“I want this leak taken care of by morning Hari, the last thing we need right now is the police sniffing around where they’re not wanted.”

“Understood Sir, I’ll inform Rappa that he’ll need to pay them a visit tonight.” The driver of the sleek black Packard replied, his gaze briefly shifting to his rear-view mirror to make eye contact with the handsome golden eyed male in the spacious back seat.

“No. Rappa’s too messy and we need this handled quietly and efficiently, but it still needs to send a message to anyone looking to capitalize on our name and turf that this kind of behavior won’t be overlooked.” The man’s gloved fingers tapped against his knee in thought for a moment before coming to a conclusion. “Send Nemoto instead. Tell him to make it look like a generic hit, like another organization was icing out their competition. Execution style should look standard enough.”

“I’ll handle it as soon as we get back.” Hari replied. “It’s late, but is there anything else you wish for me to handle before tom- what the hell?” Hari’s voice trailed off as he spotted something, or rather someone, walking along the roadside as he slowly drove by. It was too dark to make out the features while in a moving vehicle, but whoever it was, they were far too shapely to be a man as far as he could tell.

Kai heard the way Hari’s sentence had trailed off and he glanced in the same direction his lieutenant’s gaze was briefly focused as he continued to drive and watch the roadway. It took a moment for his eyes to spot what had caught his attention but when he did, he was rather surprised. 

Walking along the side of the road was a strangely dressed woman. It was hard to tell what she really looked like in the brief moment that the headlights had hit her, but she appeared to be in trouble. She had her arms wrapped around herself as she shivered from the cold mountain air and it looked as if she was soaking wet, not a good combination in these kinds of open elements. Normally Kai wouldn’t have cared about some nobody, but this was an isolated mountain road miles and miles away from any towns or people and she didn’t appear to be prepared to handle this kind of terrain or temperature. Her clothes, while strange looking and not normal for a woman, seemed to be ill equipped for being out here and her shivering posture only added to that conclusion.

As a young child, Kai had been abandoned and left for dead on the streets, surviving on nothing more than his wits and determination to stay alive. This was how his life had stayed for a good number of years, but that all changed one summer when he’d met the man that helped forge him into who he was today, the man that took him in and raised him up to be strong and confident, the man who gave him everything.

Pops.

Pops had found him on the streets and gave him life again, had fed and clothed him, hired all the best tutors to teach him how to read and write as well as an assortment of other curriculum's, had treated him as if he were his own son. And one of the most important lessons that Pops instilled in him was to always treat a woman with a certain amount of respect and dignity, to be a gentleman. Kai took everything Pops taught him very seriously, and that included this. So while Kai himself wasn’t some paragon of virtue or that good of a person by any stretch of the word, seeing a cold and lost young woman alone on an empty mountain road, he couldn’t help but flash back to all those lessons and feel the need to help her. Though his curiosity over her strange clothing and wanting to know what exactly she was doing out here definitely played a part in deciding his next decision.

“Hari, pull over.” Kai ordered, his tone firm and commanding.

Hari did as he was told without question, the moment he had seen the woman he knew that this was more than likely going to happen. Kai was nowhere near being a model citizen, but he wasn’t a complete monster like most believed him to be, his acts of kindness were simply very selective and few and far between. In many ways, Kai’s anger was like an irritable cat having its fur stroked in the wrong direction; if one played by Kai’s rules and did everything as he expected, then he would remain content, if one didn’t play the game by Kai’s standards… well then they better pray that his claws were the worst of their punishment.

Kai told Hari to stay put in the car and to keep it running as he stepped out to look towards the young woman who was now illuminated by the headlights. She was a tiny little thing already, but the way she was shivering and huddled in on herself made her look even smaller. She was half soaked to the bone, desperately in need of a bath and beat up as well, he could already see the dried blood that coated the right side of her head and long (h/c) hair as well as other numerous little cuts and scrapes that were littered across her face and bare hands. Cleaned up she would be quite the beautiful young woman all things considered. He was definitely right about her clothes though, they were some of the oddest garments he had ever seen on a woman. From the damp black coat that looked like it was more for appearance than practicality, to the provocative skintight trousers and fitted leather boots that both concealed her body and showed it off, it was a far cry from the usual long skirts, baggy pants and pressed blouses that most women wore, but still very flattering on her.

But it wasn’t until she lifted her head to meet his gaze that he truly became captivated.

It was her eyes, they were big and (e/c) and they were staring at him as if he was an oasis in a vast desert, as if he was her god given solace and it left a strange feeling chorusing through him. The best way he could describe it is by remembering a time from his childhood, when he was still very little and his aversion to all things filthy had not quite set in as strongly yet, when he had fallen out of a tree he had climbed. He remembers how it had seemed as if time slowed down around him as he plummeted down towards the ground, how he felt weightless and it left a tickling sensation in his stomach right before he impacted with the ground. It was a rush and his desire to find out who this woman was was even more consuming now than it was a few seconds ago.

“Are you alright Miss?” He asked smoothly, trying his best to sound as cordial as possible so as not to spook her. “You appear to be injured.”

Finally, after what seemed like forever, a vehicle had stopped for you and a seemingly handsome young man stepped out to ask if you needed assistance. Your head was pounding and your vision was so blurry though that all you could tell about him was that he had short dark hair and was dressed in a stylish dark suit with a slight vintage look to it and a black dust mask that covered his face from the nose down.

“I-I had an accident…” Your voice sounded hoarse and weak when you spoke and it took everything you had to stay standing upright as you wobbled on your feet. “Fell in the river while… while on a walk.”

Well that explained why you looked half drowned, Kai thought, his concern rising when he saw the way you were swaying from side to side. Just as he was about to speak again, you beat him to it, but what you said left him confused since he had no clue as to what you were speaking of.

“Pardon me Miss, but what did you say?” He calmly inquired.

You shook your head, trying to clear away the cloudy haze and black spots from your vision as you fought to get the words out through your dry mouth. “My-My cell phone is acting weird, can’t-can’t get a signal… could I borrow yours?”

Cell phone? What was that?

Kai knew what a telephone was, they were still relatively new though and very expensive. But he had never heard of a cell phone before, and what was that you had said about a signal? This was becoming more and more intriguing by the second. Were you speaking of something real or were you merely hallucinating and babbling nonsense?

“I am afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about Miss. I’ve never heard of a cell phone before, but if you have someone you’d like to get in contact with, you’re more than welcome to use the telephone I have back at my home.” He gestured towards the still running car, fully expecting a heartfelt thank you and for you to get in without further questions, what he got instead was not at all what he had been expecting.

His head shot up when he heard you scoff and a rough, humorless chuckle fall from your pretty mouth. “That-That’s just great…” You mumbled sarcastically, just loud enough for him to hear. “First car to stop and help and it’s some jackass wanting to play fucking mind games with me.” You looked him in the eye, you gaze hard and unflinching. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll take my chances with walking. The last thing I need right now is help from some asshole who just wants to fuck with my head.” You spat bitterly and began to make your way past him to continue on down the road, but stopped when your movement brought on a sudden dizzy spell and before you knew it, you were slumping to the ground as dead weight, your vision going completely black as you quickly lost conscience. Your anger and frustration had cleared your head for only a moment, but just as quickly as the clarity had come, it was gone again, and it took your waking mind right along with it.

If he was a more sensitive man, Kai may have been appalled and shocked at the way you had just spoken to him. Most women who met him saw his wealth in the way he dressed and carried himself and most threw themselves at him in an effort to gain his attention, some succeeded, some were cast aside, but what they all had in common was a more conniving way of going about it. They were flirty, trying to sway his opinion of them by stroking his ego with pretty words and coy smiles, and it had become boring. When he was younger, he had taken women to bed only to avoid being looked down on by his peers and other members of the organization, and while he had made sure the ones he chose had greatly enjoyed themselves, he himself had never gotten much more than a weak release out of those moments.

But you didn’t appear to notice or care about his appearance or the visible signs of his wealth. Instead, you simply ignored him as if he was just some random nobody you had met on the street, even going so far as to speak to him in a disrespectful tone and use crass, unladylike language on top of it. He knew he should be feeling slighted and angered by your lack of respect, but instead, all he felt was elated and proud. You were already a pretty little mystery that he wanted to solve, but now you were proving yourself to be a challenge for him to conquer and break.

But before he could do that, he needed to find a way to get you back to the compound and under his care and supervision. You were obviously hurt, disoriented, and lost, so his fist order of business was seeing to it that you got proper care and were back on your feet first and foremost, that would give him time to plan out how best to go about this new pet project of his.

Luckily you passed out before making it too far and he quickly ordered Hari to get you into the backseat of the Packard, to which his lieutenant did without question. A spare blanket from the trunk was draped over your small frame and as he took his place in the passenger seat up front, he reached back and placed his still gloved hand against your forehead and even through the material he could feel that you were burning up with a nasty fever. Once back at home, he would need to have Dr. Takani take a look at you after the maids gave you a bath and changed your clothes. It wouldn’t be right to let his new little curiosity become too ill after all. 

He had found you and now you were his responsibility to care for. He was a man that took pride and care in all his possessions, and already you were becoming his new favorite. He didn’t know a thing about you, not even your name, but that was part of it, finding out everything he could about you was going to be half the fun of it.

“Where would you like to go Kai?” He heard Hari ask, but he never took his eyes off of you beautiful face as he replied.

“We’re going home.”

Sorry if this seemed a bit rushed, I was too excited to post it and didn't do a whole lot of editing besides a quick once over. lol

#yandere!overhaul #yandere!overhaul x reader #kai chisaki #kai chisaki x reader #fem!reader #reader insert #1930's au #time travel #no quirks au #yakuza #the beginnings of yandere behavior #typical yandere behavior #yandere bnha

[joshslater]

Five Step Program

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I stared at the contents of the envelope, a blue jockstrap, and a folded piece of paper. I hadn’t put much hope into this “miracle solution” to becoming a jock without any of the work. Of course there was a catch. “First 20 customers get their first shipment free of charge” was enough for me to fill out the form with my information. It wasn’t anything too revealing. Name, address, height, weight, age. A box where you could write what you hoped to achieve with this revolutionary five step program. That’s what they really were after, I guessed. Having people enter their dreams so that they can tailor their next scam better. I was even surprised I got anything in the mail at all, and now having opened it, it made even more sense.

I could see how sending a jockstrap to someone perhaps fulfills some legal requirement that the recipient could now look like a jock. It could be a way to avoid getting a federal fraud charge. But I hadn’t spent a dime on this, so it didn’t make any sense. The jockstrap looked like any other jockstrap, I guessed. I’d never owned one, nor worn one. The pouch was dark blue and made with two layers of some synthetic mesh material. The big waistband was light blue with the letters JOCK repeated in dark blue around it. There was a faint smell of synthetic material and detergent. I did a mental sigh and opened the folded letter.

Congratulation on becoming one of our first customers on the revolutionizing five step Jock Express program. As a thank you for signing up, this first part is totally free of charge. Should you wish to continue the program, as we are confident you will after having successfully completed the first session, simply use the URL at the bottom of this page to enter your credit card information and we’ll send you the next item as soon as the payment is confirmed. I’m happy to inform you that we can offer a reduced price for the entire program, should you chose to start it within five days. The price is only $100 for the next installment, and progressively higher as you advance in the program. There is no commitment to purchase so you can stop the program at any point. We’re confident you will want to complete all the five steps in the Jock Express program.

Fuck that! What morons sign up to this kind of shit?

Instructions: The Jock Express is the easiest and most user friendly fitness program ever developed. Simply drink a lot of water, put on the items included in each program step, as you normally would, and go to sleep.

I was even more confused. Why would that sway anyone to put out $100 for at best another piece of gym clothing? I put it all in my in-tray on my desk and let it slip from my mind. I had dinner, watched TV, answered some late emails and the usual Tuesday stuff. By bedtime I walked past my home office and had the sudden recollection that I had something waiting in the in-tray. Then I remembered what it was, and almost reluctantly decided to go ahead with wearing the damn thing. I was still convinced it was a scam, but was immensely curious to exactly how it would work. If nothing else I would get to feel what wearing a jockstrap feels like. I drank a glass of water, put on the jockstrap, and went to bed. The jockstrap was as comfortable as anything and I quickly went to sleep.

Apparently I slept through the first alarm, and jolted awake on hearing the more incessant buzz from the phone. I jumped out of bed and it wasn’t until halfway to the bathroom I realized I was naked. I wouldn’t say massive, as in cartoonish in any way, but my dick and balls were noticeably bigger than before. It took a few seconds for my still startled brain to put the pieces together. The jockstrap had disappeared and somehow affected the body. It hadn’t replaced any body parts, I could still recognize my dick, but it was for sure altered. Suddenly $100 felt like way too little money. I didn’t even put any pants on as I typed in the URL from the letter. Jock Express step #2  for $100 and express delivery for another $25. Annoyingly no option to order all four remaining steps as a package. I just wanted to have them all in my house as soon as possible.

By the time I had entered all my details, checked all the boxes, and clicked the final webshop button I was rocking a massive hard-on. The biggest one in my life so far, by far. I didn’t care right then if I would come late or call in sick, I just knew that I had to take my pre-cum leaking enhancement for a test drive, and slowly started to move my hand up and down the shaft. It felt better than ever, and lasted longer than I have ever before. I’m not really sure how long, because I zoned out a bit while wanking, and then exploded with an epic load of cum. I managed to tilt the chair back and catch it all on my body, but then I felt really spent and dozed off, only to be brought back with a text message from my boss. Sick day it is, I decided.

A more apt description would be a lewd day. I just cycled between laptop porn, wanking and showers, and combinations thereof. I loved the difference it made when wearing underwear. Even when flaccid you could tell here was action waiting, not just only wearing underwear, but while wearing jeans too. I took photos so I had progress photos to compare with.

The next day was a strange one. I worked all day in the glow of someone with confidence, as if somehow I had done some achievement. I kind of surprised myself with how much of a difference it made when dealing with the pileup of emails from yesterday. Big dick energy. I could make decisions so much faster than I was used to. I don’t know if I really had more confidence, or just didn’t care as much. I was for sure giddy with anticipation of what was yet to come by overnight delivery. I forced myself to stay until official end of office hours and then bolted and drove straight home.

Thank God there was a DHL box in my mailbox, or I don’t know what I would have done. I opened it on my way in, and it’s contents were similar to the first one. A folded letter and some folded cloth. Without opening the letter I unfolded the cloth, which turned out to be a plain, sleeveless, white cotton T-shirt. Had there been someone to high five, I would have done so. I’m not fat, but there is a bit of flabbiness I would love to get rid of, so I couldn’t wait for this part. I felt anticipation in my stomach and something else in my pants. I hadn’t had a wank since this morning.

Evening couldn’t come soon enough. The letter said basically the same as the last one. A new URL for the $400 Jock Express #3, which I immediately ordered, again with overnight shipping. Not really sure what to kill time with, I figured a jock would watch sport, so I just randomly put some football on. I hadn’t really paid any attention to sports before, so I wasn’t sure about who was who, what the series looked like, or really what happened on the field besides the obvious. I ended up masturbating to the football, which in my opinion made it better. By 9:30 I decided to drink a few glasses of water, strip, put on the sleeveless T-shirt, and go to bed. I tossed and turned in anticipation for quite a while. The T-shirt had a very loose fit, and the big holes for the arms made it even more mobile, though it was anchored by the crew neck. Finally at some point I managed to fall asleep.

I woke up before the alarm. It was dark enough that I knew I hadn’t slept through them all. Instead of getting up or turning on the light, I just slowly moved my hand to my chest under the sheet. My chest was about the same size, but felt firmer, I imagined. But more importantly I was naked and the shirt was gone. I moved my hand down and couldn’t contain my joy when I started to feel the faint square of abs. I jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom to have a look in the mirror. The effect was better than I thought from just touch. My torso not only looked fit as a model, with abs and V and all, but younger and with better skin. Perhaps an illusion, but it almost looked like my dick was bigger as well.

Having woken up early, after a wank and a shower, I was one of the first in at the office and quickly got ahead on my tasks for the day. I still had the anticipation I felt yesterday, but today it was more like I knew what to expect. It wasn’t just a one-off or a fluke, this was legit and it was happening. As I started early I decided to flex out early and rush back home. I spent the drive home fantasizing about different types of clothing. I was kind of wishing for those sleeves they use in basket, to amp up my arms, but there might be some scientific reason why they changed the body parts in a specific order. Who was I kidding? This wasn’t science. This was magic.

I ripped open the familiar package as soon as I was inside the front door. This time it was white under armour legging of some sort, ending just below the knees. I was considering strip down fully naked and put on the leggings right then and there, and wear them until it was time to go to bed, but decided against it. Even though the descriptions were vague and didn’t really say you couldn’t do that, I didn’t want to risk fucking up the process. Instead I found some underwear in the same color as the jockstrap and took a pair of scissors to an old white T-shirt to make it look like the one I put on yesterday. Then I put on those, and nothing but, and sat myself in front of the TV, determined to actually try to follow the game this time, whichever game I happened to see.

It might be I imagined it, perhaps because I’ve never really seen myself in a sleeveless T-shirt before, but it looked to me like my arms were a bit more defined than yesterday. I realized that I had just assumed only the parts under the clothes are affected, but that’s just something I made up. It could be that it just primarily acts under the clothes, or perhaps it was just a coincidence and the clothes really could change anything. In the end I let it go. It didn’t matter, I couldn’t prove it either way, and I couldn’t watch a game, have deep thoughts and masturbate all at the same time anyway. I was so into it I almost forgot to order the next package. A steep $1000 for whatever the next item was, but so far it was fucking worth it.

I really liked how I looked in the 3/4 leggings or whatever the fuck they are called. Just imagining how much better I would look the morning after made me go to bed with a big boner, despite being thoroughly wanked. I tried to calm myself by thinking of the last game I watched, and not give Jock Express a thought, and it kind of worked. I know I fell asleep pretty quickly and dreamt of football until the alarm woke me up.

“Fuck yeah!” was the first I could think when I saw myself. The thighs were about as large as before, but the line going down them made it obvious they were muscles and not jiggle matter. It even felt different just standing. I’m almost positive my dick had grown even more. Who the hell wouldn’t dish out $400 or whatever for this shit?

While the day started great it quickly became frustrating with all the corporate bullshit. I knew how to do my job. There were just so many fucking rules in the way of doing it in the best way. Perhaps the anticipation of the second to last package made me be in a bad mood. Whatever. I bolted as soon as I could, cranked up the volume in the car, trying to not think of anything until I got home. I almost punched something when I opened the mailbox and didn’t find an envelope. Instead it was just a note about DHL attempted to deliver while I wasn’t home. I could either call them to deliver tomorrow or drive to a pickup point. Like fuck I would wait another full fucking day.

I was furious when I got back into the car, blasting music as loud as I could, but I quickly calmed down. Perhaps this was a good thing? It might be a box with shoulder pads from football or hockey or lacrosse or whatever the fuck else looks hot. You know what else is hot? Michael at the DHL pickup point. I mean, I’m not homo or anything, I’m just saying he was a good looking dude.

The packet he gave me was a bit disappointing though. No way it could contain anything as large as shoulder pads. I didn’t want to fuck with my mojo, so I kept the same routine as before and didn’t open it until back home. Fucking cleats and socks. Another fucking leg day. And they smelled bad too, like distilled vinegar or some shit. As I entered the URL from the letter on my phone I got two more shocks. The price of the last package was ten thousand fucking dollars! And even worse, the delivery wouldn’t arrive until Monday. Two fucking days away. “This is bullshit” I shouted at nobody and threw the empty cardboard box into the wall to no damage to either.

I was still furious and went straight to the fridge, pulled out a cold can of beer, opened it, and downed half of it. It felt better, but I was still upset on the world in general. I looked at the phone screen again. $10k is a fuckton of money. There wasn’t a rush to buy it right now either, if they didn’t do overnight delivery during weekends. I emptied the can and crushed it against the countertop. It hurt my hand, which just added to my anger for being such a weakling. I pulled the rest of the six-pack out of the fridge and threw it in the living room couch on my way to the bedroom. I needed to get out of these stuffy office clothes and cool down with a cold one, or four.

I ripped off the tie and started to unbutton the shirt on my way into the bedroom, and once there opened the door to my wardrobe. I felt like a girl, not knowing what to wear. I hated everything my eyes fell on, and I hated feeling like that. I bunched the shirt into a ball and threw it into a corner, together with the tie. I climbed out of the pants as quickly as I could and threw them there as well. Then I stopped myself.

Everything I saw I really liked, I realized. The pecs, the abs, the thighs, and the generous bulge in the boxer briefs.I yanked off my socks and more deliberately lowered my boxers to let the dick and balls loose. I knew what I wanted from this junk selection of clothes, and opened a drawer with my athletic clothes and pulled out a pair of grey sweatpants. It was Friday and my dick and balls deserved some freedom, I thought, as I put on the sweats without any underwear. I picked up the sleeveless T-shirt from the floor by the bed and put that on as well. I felt so much better. A few beers, whatever game was on, and some more wanking, and perhaps this could turn into a good evening after all.

After two more beers, cum stains on sweatpants, T-shirt and the couch, and fuck knows how many games I zapped through I couldn’t wait any longer. Whatever bullshit the cleats and sock did, the sooner it was over with, the sooner I could move on with the final package. $10k was still a lot, but if I sold all shares I could buy it, keeping both house and car.

The socks went almost up to the knees, but weren’t any real soccer socks or anything like that. The looked more like something someone might have to the gym, or something a skater would wear. Skater was perhaps right, because they smelled like that vinegary acidic smell of really sweaty skater shoes. The socks were white with a wide black band around it near the top, and were a bit off-white on contact surfaces around the foot, as if they had been used in black shoes by someone. As if I would fucking care. I pulled up both legs of the sweats over the knees and put on both socks, pulling them as high as possible. The cleats were black and a bit banged up, but fit perfectly on my feet. I didn’t even remember having given out my shoe size. I was unsure how tight to tie them, so I went with comfortable without being loose.

It felt weird walking with them, like the shoes were pushing your forward. Not at all like my much flatter leather shoes. Somehow my test walking ended up by the fridge, so I grabbed another six-pack and returned to the couch for some more ESPN or whatever.

I had no idea what sport it was on the screen, but glancing out the window I could see that it wasn’t evening anymore. I must have fallen asleep, I realized, but I felt way better than I ought to, given the pile of crushed beer cans around me. I walked to the toilet to have a piss, and it wasn’t until I lowered the front of my sweatpants to grab my morning semi-stiff snake I realized I was barefoot. I was pissing for probably a good minute, aiming down with one hand. Holy fuck so much I’ve kept in while sleeping. I was pretty sure I had cleats and socks on when I fell asleep. I did a few bounces on the balls of the feet. It felt fucking great, and shook loose the last drops of piss from my dick. I dropped it back into the sweatpants, and broke into a smile from how fucking huge of a tent it made, despite being just a semi. I did a few more jumps, looking at how the flagpole in my front swung up and down. I really didn’t deserve to feel this great after yesterday, but I’d fucking take it. I felt so full of energy I felt I could do anything. I wanted to run just to see how it would feel.

I dashed into my bedroom and emptied the rest of the athletic clothes drawer on the floor. Some T-shirts, a pair of basket shorts, white socks and wiped down indoor and outdoor shoes. All of it was underwhelming, outright disappointing. And why the fuck did I keep the shoes here and not by the door? I grabbed the outdoor shoes and without bothering with socks started to mash my foot into it. It was clearly at least one size too small, perhaps several. Who the fucks know how shoe sizes work. I threw both shoes into the wall above my pile of office clothes. Fucking hell. Why do all days start out great and then go downhill so fast, I wondered.

I grabbed a pair of flip flops, the car keys, and pulled the credit card out of the wallet and walked out to the car. The car stereo startled me when I turned the ignition key, as it blared out some hip hop at max volume. I reached to turn it down, but changed my mind. It felt like my mood, as I was driving to my closest mall almost below speed limit. There wasn’t much traffic out anyway on a Saturday morning. As I turned into the almost empty parking lot in front of the mall I realized the fucking God damn shit mall would open for another 40-something fucking minutes. I wished I could turn up the music louder.

As I looked down on the cum stains on my shirt and tenting sweats I decided why the fuck not, and started to beat off in sync with the music.

40-something fucking minutes later I entered the sporting goods store in the mall. Johnson’s or Dick’s or Willy’s or whatever, I don’t care. I picked up some proper compression clothes, like the leggings I had earlier with a matching top. I got myself some outdoor Nike’s, a few proper tanks, some jocks, boxer shorts and socks, new flip flops, and a snapback cap. On the way to the cashier I decided to pick up a wooden baseball bat and a regulation size football as well. Back in the car I ripped off all the stickers and shit and put on something I could run in. The sneakers, jockstrap and shorts, a tank top, and the snapback. I left the car and just ran.

It was a revelation. The first time I tasted ice cream or coca cola, or the first time I discovered I could do something else with my dick besides peeing and hitting it too hard. I felt like a good damn terminator. Like as long as I kept the pace below sprinting I could run for hours. Trickles of sweat running down my face, my arms, my back, wetting the fabric of my clothes where it could, cooling the skin with the breeze my motion generated where it couldn’t. I have no fucking idea how long I actually run. When I finally ended up back in the car I was steaming and real fucking hungry.

I felt like a shower was in order, but I was too hungry to do that first. I went by Five Guys and had a bacon cheeseburger with fries and a peanut butter milkshake. As I started eating I realized I wasn’t anywhere near tired. It was probably enough running for today, but I wanted to do more. Halfway through the meal I decided I would visit the gym we had a company membership at. I had only been there a few times since the introduction walkthrough. I wasn’t even sure I had the card in my wallet anymore, or if it was in the bowl of stuff in the kitchen.

I made a quick stop at home, unloaded my car, found the card, and set off to the Pacific Wellness Center. The dude in the lobby had a pissy attitude and asked me if I was wearing indoor shoes. I asked him what they looked like, and he let me in. Such a shame, because he was kind of good looking.

Inside the gym the results were mixed. Squats, lunges, planking, and abductor machine all went excellent. It was fun, even. But everything involving arms went miserably. I could only lift a pathetic load, and after a few reps I would be tired. I even embarrassed myself in front of two massive gym buddies. One of them had amazing arms. You could see how strong they were even when he wasn’t lifting, but fuck me what beautiful ‘ceps when loaded. And tanned too. It was lucky I had the jockstrap on, because that body was smoking hot.

I could only stand a few more failures after that and then sped back home, still with hip hop at max, in a mix of emotions. I got naked on the way to the bathroom, and there I spent perhaps an hour in the shower, getting the grime and sweat off me, and wanking twice, thinking of the arms of the hot dude. As I dried myself on a towel I knew I had to buy the last package. Ten fucking thousand fucking dollars. I had to use the laptop to access my bank, and once I had put in the sell order for my stock portfolio I saw the pornhub tabs I hadn’t looked at since Wednesday.

The big-busted bimbos I had wanked my way through the Wednesday suddenly didn’t seem as interesting. I clicked around a bit until I found a muscle stud fucking a Latino girl. How quickly the taste can change, but except for pathetic arms, I’m was now the muscle stud. I quickly entered the URL from the Jock Express #4 box and ordered the last package. The delivery date was still Monday, so come Tuesday the muscle stud would be me. Only one fucking week.

Since I was out of beer I threw on my old shorts and a T-shirt, and had a walk to my nearest convenience store and bought one six-pack for each hand. I was feeling a bit stiff from the training, but it was much better than it ought to be.

As I opened the door back at home the warm smell of gym clothes, sweat, and feet hit me. I did the responsible thing and threw everything in the washing machine, opened a beer, and started to watch whatever was on.

Sunday was just a boring-ass filler day. I woke up at a decent time, had a long run. I passed through the park, but didn’t engage with any of the groups playing football or beach volley there. I could wait two more days to get my arms sorted. I did some cleaning up and domestic shit back home. Then I went to the gym again, but this time I pretended it was leg day, so I didn’t have to embarrass myself. After dinner I had an evening jog as well, and only had a few beers before bedtime.

Same thing on Monday. Woke up pretty early and went for a long run. When I was almost back home I got a text message from my boss, saying we needed to talk about my performance over the last few days. My answer “Suck my balls” probably summed up the conversation much better than any in-person meeting. I found that the best way to find porn with muscle studs in them was to search in the gay section. Just because you like to watch big arms and strong backs doesn’t make you homo. I jacked off to the videos until it was time to eat lunch. By 2 pm I was climbing on the fucking walls in anticipation, and every minute felt like too long. Perhaps it wouldn’t arrive today at all? I heard the mailman at 2:18 and rushed out wearing only shorts and snapback.

The mailbox was stuffed full with a big, soft envelope. I tore it open on my way back inside, kicked the door shut, and emptied the contents on my kitchen table. A big black something fell out, as well as something small that rattled across the table. Ignoring the letters, as usual, I unfolded the cloth. It was a big, black hoodie in sweatshirt material, with the print “STRONG” on the front. Finally arms! I picked up the small plastic box that almost fell off the table and opened it. It contained some sort of advanced mouthguard mad in blue, white, and transparent plastic of different hardness and flex. The kind that football players use.

Not knowing what to do next, I went to the gym and spent a few hours just randomly doing low weight, high rep stuff. I was trying to catch a glimpse of everyone else who worked out to see what their arms and legs looked like. Once I felt it was too obvious I wasn’t doing anything serious I drove home, but instead of going inside I started to walk and walked for hours just looking. It felt good just to be in motion. I didn’t return back until the sun started to set, and it was almost fully dark when I walked through the door.

I decided to just go ahead with the last piece of transformation. I stepped out of my sneakers and pulled off my damp socks. It didn’t smell of strawberries. I pulled off the T-shirt and stepped out of the basket shorts, but kept the compression shorts on. I grabbed the hoodie from the table and put it over my head. Perhaps it was me, but it smelled of musky sweat inside while I put it on. I poured myself a big glass of water and downed it.

I walked with the small plastic box to the bathroom and had a look in the mirror. I didn’t really look that different. The big hoodie hid my newly athletic front. The legs and feet looked strong, but who ever notices that? My big bulge in the compression pants was however a change from the past week that couldn’t easily be hidden. I opened the box and put the mouthguard into my mouth. It fit snugly and didn’t change my appearance much either. Not knowing what to do with the hoodie I put it up over my head and pulled it tighter with the drawstrings so all but my face was gone. Then I turned off all the lights and went to bed.

It was still dark when I woke up. Instantly I knew it had worked, because I couldn’t feel the mouthguard in my mouth, though it felt different. As if the ghost of the mouthguard was still there, prying my mouth open. I felt some sort of pressure on my head, as if I was wearing a hat or a beanie or something. I was about to feel my head when I realized moving my arm felt different. Not wanting to fuck around any longer I went straight to the bathroom again to have a look in the mirror. I stared at my reflection with open mouth. The difference was breathtaking.

First of all I wasn’t wearing any top, so my abs and pecs were on full display, but they were also bigger than before. Everything was bigger. My shoulders were much bigger, my entire upper body looked wider than before, and everything about the arms were huge. My face was still my face, but there were lots of small changes. “Fucking dope” I said with a much deeper voice than what I had before. I smiled a smirk and flexed the arms in different poses. I couldn't wait to show up at the gym doing an arm day. I just needed to have another shower. My dick needed service, and I felt sluggish, as if I hadn't really wakened up yet.

[shijiujun]

[ENG] History3: Trapped Novel - Chapter Eight

Translation Masterpost can be found here

Disclaimer: Translations are entirely mine - these are not official translations and some phrases have been changed for better English interpretation so you’ll definitely see better/different translations elsewhere. Also keeping in mind when we translated this we aren’t exactly thinking about the style of writing and this translation is as close to the novel as we can make it XD So yes, some parts may be a little awkward to read. And yes some teeny weeny details and words may not turn up in the translation because the Chi to Eng mind acrobatics didn’t work out. If you see asterisks, scroll all the way to the bottom for notes!

Full chapter below the cut

*Note: ERMMMMM I’M BACK? So there was a plan for Chapter 8 and 9 translations, but I didn’t want to leave this until like 2021, so I’m trying my best to just clear it before New Years. Not sure how many of y’all are still reading this, but... I just don’t want to remember that this is incomplete hahahaha, so yeah, I did Chapter 8, and Chapter 9 should be up within the next couple of weeks, so it’ll be pretty and complete for 2021!

Chapter Eight

The act of handing Li Zhi De over to the police force led to the emergence of dissenting voices within Xing Tian Meng, and even the elders that were initially approving of the reform were beginning to shift towards a neutral position, stopping the biddings that were proceeding at hand.

Jack is walking towards the spot where he parked the car, and suddenly, someone emerges from behind a pillar and stops him in his tracks.

“Chen-ye would like to speak to you.”

After coldly shooting the man a glance, Jack gets into the other’s car and is brought to a tea house. Jack walks inside, and as expected, he sees a man with a scar on the right side of his cheek — Chen Wen Hao.

“I didn’t expect Chen-ye’s invitation.”

“When it comes to talented people, even if I have to personally make the trip, I will,” Chen Wen Hao pours a cup of tea for the other, and Jack raises the cup in a sign of respect for the man, before drinking it.

“Liang Dian, based on your intellect, you should have long established your own gang.”

“…”

Jack shudders, the sensation coming straight from his chest, and looks at the old, scheming fox before him without the slightest change in his expression. Fang Liang Dian, that is his real name, and the people who know this name are mostly dead already. From this, he can see that Chen Wen Hao has indeed gone to great lengths to obtain this information.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the ends of his lips curve up in a smile as he picks up the teapot and pours a second cup of tea for himself.

“Tang Yi spared no efforts in sending his own subordinate to the police, is such a person still worthy of being followed? Aren’t you afraid of becoming a second Zhi De?” Chen Wen Hao says as he looks at the young man before him, sliding a document filled with a list across the table.

“This is everything Wang Kun Cheng has in Taiwan, I can hand them all over to you.”

The red-haired man plays with the black leather gloves he has in his palms and without looking at the contents of the document, he returns, “How immense these benefits are, but… what do I have to exchange with Chen-ye?”

“You’re indeed interesting,” he answers, his eyes filled with impress at Jack, “I want Xing Tian Meng and Shi Hai Corporations’ data on their flow of funds, their current client lists, and also their proceeding bidding cases, as detailed as you can get them.”

“Aside from Tang Yi and Zuo Hong Ye, even Gu Dao Yi may not fully have a grip on all these you mentioned, Chen-ye, don’t you think that your exchange offer of Wang Kun Cheng’s power in Taiwan lacks sincerity?”

Jack raises an eyebrow, and bored, he takes out his butterfly knife and begins to flip it in his hands. A young henchman immediately steps up to stop him upon seeing this, but Chen Wen Hao interrupts him.

“Speaking to me with this attitude, aren’t you afraid that I’ll kill you?”

“Since Chen-ye is the one with a request, he can surely be like Liu Bei, and lower his position humbly to obtain what he wants.”*

Chen Wen Hao pats at the surface of the table, and loudly says, “Good, I did not place my bet on the wrong person! Liang Dian, Xing Tian Meng’s pool is too small, and it is a pity for you to stay here. You should come and discuss the Cambodian business with us.”

“Okay,” Jack smiles at Chen Wen Hao, the movement of the butterfly knife in his hands coming to a stop.

—

Investigations Team Three

Tonight, Zhao Zi is taking the night shift with Shao Fei, and one of them is standing in the office with the glass door closed, a cardboard box opened on the table and taking out the items inside one by one.

The box contains the last of Li Zhen-jie’s belongings, there are medals and awards, her police badge and also a team photo of Team Three.

“Boss, think back carefully, was there some connection and interaction between Li Zhen-jie and Chen Wen Hao?”

“When Li Zhen was transferred to Team Three, Chen Wen Hao was already in prison, so I don’t think they knew each other.”

“But there is Li Zhen-jie’s signature on the prison’s meeting logbook, I confirmed this, and it is indeed her handwriting. And she even went to see Chen Wen Hao with Tang Guo Dong!”

“Wait, when was this?”

“1990.”

Shao Fei looks through the things Li Li Zhen left on one hand, and recalls his conversation with Shi Da Pao.

“Since Boss said that Chen Wen Hao was already in prison before Li Zhen-jie transferred into the team, then she might have gone to see Chen Wen Hao for a case? But even if she was investigating a case, why would she have gone to see Chen Wen Hao with Tang Guo Dong? What is the relationship between them? Why did the both of them die in the same place?”

Opening the circular tube containing a graduation certificate, he doesn’t see anything else, and rifling through the books left in the box, he doesn’t find any other clues hidden between the pages either.

“Ah!”

Shao Fei yells in frustration, his hands pulling at his hair hard.

Incorrect! There has to be a clue he missed, he doesn’t believe that Li Zhen-jie was in cahoots with Xing Tian Meng, and so before she died, her meeting with Tang Guo Dong was definitely not because she wanted to leak information to him.

There has to be some other reason that made Li Zhen-jie contact Tang Guo Dong, there has to be!

It’s just, where exactly is the missing clue to the puzzle? Where is it?

“Damn it!” Shao Fei swipes Li Li Zhen’s belongings to the ground, and regrets it immediately the next second. Holding his head in his arms, he tries hard to breathe and calm his emotions down. Seeing the photo of himself and Li Zhen-jie, he remembers that when he first entered the team, he brought quite a lot of trouble to her because of his impulsive nature, but she never once chided him for it. Instead, she would generously teach him everything she knew.

“Li Zhen-jie…”

Looking at the him dressed in his police uniform and making a stupid face standing right next to Li Zhen-jie in sadness, he picks up the music box at the bottom of the box, turning the latch at the bottom to open it up as he listens to the melody repeat itself.

Suddenly, he sees a corner of what looks like paper trapped inside the box, and so he carefully uses the tip of his fingernails to grab at the corner of the aged paper, wanting to open it to see.

Shao Fei looks at the paper in disbelief, his eyes wide, this is actually something Chen Wen Hao wrote to Li Zhen-jie… a love letter?

I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, and the only right thing I’ve ever done is to love you. — Wen Hao

“My god!”

Shao Fei cannot believe his eyes, and so continues to explore every corner of the music box, and as expected, he finds a birth certificate issued by a hospital and on it is printed…

Name of Mother - Li Li Zhen

Name of Mother’s Significant Other - Unspecified

Date of Birth - 21 October 1990

Gender - Male

“Li Zhen-jie had a kid? And the date of birth is 21 October 1990?”

How strange, why is this date so familiar?

Hold on!

“Don’t be too touched, after all I did chase after you for four years, of course I would know today is your birthday. 21 October, Libra, people who are born on this day have extraordinary personalities and thoughts, especially when it comes to personal matters, they are more persistent and firm in attitude.”

“Pfffft…. how accurate! Super accurate!”

21 October 1990, isn’t this Tang Yi’s birthday? Also…

“How coincidental, Li Zhen-jie also has a similar music box.”

“Is that so? This is the only thing my mother left me.”

“Could it be…?”

A thought suddenly flashes across Shao Fei’s mind, and so he picks up his jacket and rushes out of the office. He almost bumps into Zhao Zi, who has just come back from buying supper.

“Huh? Ah Fei where are you going? Ah Fei? Ah Fei?”

Shao Fei holds onto his steering wheel tight, his thoughts jumbled up in a mess as he drives at an urgent speed on the road.

Suddenly, the phone he left on the passenger seat rings. Turning his head for a brief glance, he sees that it is Tang Yi.

“I’m working on a case, let’s leave it at that for now.”

He quickly responds after picking the call up, and then hangs up immediately after, slamming his foot down on the accelerator to a destination unknown.

“…”

Inside the Tang mansion, a Xing Tian Meng leader sitting behind his study desk in his office, looks dumbly at his phone.

Someone actually dared to hang up on him?

“Forget it,” Tang Yi sighs, looking at his dark phone screen helplessly, and continues working his way through unfinished work.

—

Investigations Team Three, The Next Day

Lu Jun Wei hurriedly runs into the office, and seeing their Captain, he rushes until he’s right in front of him, “Bad news! Li Zhi De died in the prosecution’s holding room!”

Shi Da Pao tugs at his own shirt, his face filled with alarm and fear, “What happened? Why did he suddenly die?”

“I’m not very sure either, all I know is that it is all under investigation at the moment.”

Shi Da Pao looks at Zhao Zi, who was in the interrogation room together with Lu Jun Wei after midnight, and asks, “Did anything strange happen yesterday during interrogation?”

“No. Li Zhi De refused to speak, and thankfully, Guan Zhi-ge was there, that’s how we managed to get some information out of him.”

“Zhou Guan Zhi? Why was he interrogating with you guys?”

Zhao Zi scratches at the back of his head, and seeing his unusually furious captain, explains, “Because Li Zhi De was very tough to handle, and Guan Zhi-ge said that he could assist us.”

Shi Da Pao immediately shoves the documents in his hand away and walks out of the team office. Seeing their boss suddenly leave like this, the rest of the team exchange looks, revealing concerned expressions.

—

Tang Household

“Ah De’s death was sudden, we need to find out who exactly did it.” Tang Yi instructs while simultaneously walking into the house as he loosens his tie, his expression serious as he faces Jack.

“Yes, boss.”

“And take note of the reactions from each Xing Tian Meng faction, we must reassure our own people. After all, I was the one who sent Li Zhi De into the station, if we don’t handle this well, it will affect the progress of Hong Ye’s current accounts.”

“I understand, I will handle this immediately.”

After Jack leaves, Tang Yi picks up his phone and once again dials for Shao Fei’s phone number, but he is still directed to leave a message after no one picks up.

“I’m Meng Shao Fei, leave a message if you have something to say, if not, hang up, thanks!”

“Meng Shao Fei, where exactly are you?”

How could he not pick up his calls or return any of his messages for a whole day?

Irritated and frustrated, he walks towards his study, and the moment he pushes the door open, he sees the man who has been missing in action for almost 30 hours standing right in front of him. The man is smiling, delighted as he presses at the phone’s mic function, and replays his previous voice messages.

“Meng Shao Fei, my whole life, no one has ever dared to not pick up my calls, and not return any of my messages!”

“Where are you? Why aren’t you picking up my calls?”

“Shao Fei, it’s been a day, it’s okay if you don’t pick up my calls, at least send me a text message to let me know you’re safe, okay?

“Shao Fei, I’m really worried about you. Can you call me? I want to hear your voice…”

Shao Fei stares as Tang Yi’s expression morphs from embarrassment to anger, and smiles, “59 calls and 15 messages, you were that worried about me?”

Tang Yi glares at the person before him, and angry, he says sarcastically, “I thought Officer Meng had evaporated from the face of the earth.”

Shao Fei walks over and apologises, tightly hugging the other, “I didn’t realise that my phone fell under the car seat, and was out of battery. I’m sorry I made you worry for so long.”

Turning his hand and returning the hug from his lover, who always manages to make him feel unlike his usual self, Tang Yi sighs, “The next time you go missing, I will put a tracking device on you. What super important case is this, that you would not even realise you didn’t have your phone on you?”

“…”

Shao Fei looks at Tang Yi, hesitant as he wonders if he should tell him what he has found so far.

“What is it?” the other asks, sensitive to Shao Fei’s unusual reaction.

“Tang Yi, do you remember the names of your adoptive parents?”

“He Ru Yu, Li Shou Xing.”

Tang Yi’s brows are furrowed, as if incredibly unwilling to bring up these two people. Shao Fei takes out the notebook he has with him and flips to a specific page. He lets Tang Yi confirm the details.

“This address here, is this the place you used to stay at when you were younger?”

“Why are you investigating my past?” Tang Yi asks, staring straight at Shao Fei with alarm, caution and confusion.

“I’m not investigating you, I was actually on another case, and who knew I found some leads related to you.”

“Leads that are related to me?”

“Mnn,” Shao Fei nods, and inhaling deeply once, he gently says, “Tang Yi, I found your mother, your biological mother.”

Before he can finish speaking, the sound of a phone ringing interrupts him. Tang Yi’s looks at Shao Fei, startled, before picking up the call.

“Boss, xiaojie was taken away by He Hang’s people, he said he wants you to go over personally in exchange for xiaojie.”

“He. Hang!”

Tang Yi says these two words through gritted teeth, then pushes away the person hugging him and rushes out of the study.

“Tang Yi! Tang Yi!”

Shao Fei chases after him, worried, and unheeding of the other’s disapproval, he squeezes into the passenger seat and follows the murderous Xing Tian Meng leader to the destination highlighted by He Hang.

—-

Investigations Team Three Office - Staircase Landing

Zhou Guan Zhi is slammed heavily against the wall in the staircase landing, held up by Shi Da Pao via his collar.

Because the impact of the force used was too heavy, the man whose back struck the wall ends up in a coughing fit.

“Li Zhi De’s matter, were you the one?!”

“The person died at the prosecution’s office, how is that any of my business.”

Zhou Guan Zhi pushes Shi Da Pao away, turning around and about to leave, but the other man immediately grabs at him.

“If it wasn’t you, how would you have known that he’s dead? And you also know exactly where he died?”

He deliberately used the word ‘matter’ to replace ‘death’, and so if Zhou Guan Zhi really had nothing to do with this, then his first reaction would be similar to that of other Team Three members. It would be disbelief, fear and alarm, and not this look, as if he knew about this much earlier. Even the fact that Li Zhi De was transferred to the prosecution’s interrogation room from their own after midnight, he knows such a detail this clearly.

“You were afraid he would implicate you, and so you killed him, didn’t you?”

“Of course I’m afraid he will expose me, but boss, aren’t you afraid?”

Shi Da Pao’s eyes shift, and he retorts, “You were the one who murdered him, it’s nothing to do with me.”

“How could this not have anything to do with you? The one who let Ah Fei do as he like and investigate this case was you, the one who allowed him to protect Tang Yi right at his side was also you. In the end, we even got to the stage where Li Zhi De was brought back to the station, of course I had to silence him! If I wait until he reveals everything then you and I both are done for.”

The man, his gaze murderous and cold, laugh as he pats at the captain’s face.

“You actually knew what I was doing all along, but when have you ever stopped me during these four years? You gave the silent approval to your subordinate to sell off the drugs the police force obtained in return for a profit. Shi Da Pao, do you still think this has nothing to do with you?”

“…”

Shi Da Pao is speechless as he hears Zhou Guan Zhi’s accusations.

“Besides, that case four years ago, you were also a bystander who did nothing to stop it. What was Li Li Zhen’s relationship with you, that you would allow the rumours of her cooperating with Xing Tian Meng run rampant in the station? And you never once helped to clear her name, so you’re an accomplice. You are an accomplice who caused the death of others for your own greed, just like me!”

The last few words smash through the last of Shi Da Pao’s strength, and he numbly sits on the stairs. Covering his face in guilt, his voice weak, he says, “Why didn’t you just stop at the incident four years ago? Ah Zhi, you have already earned so much in the past few years. It’s enough! Stop already!”

“Enough?” the person who hears this cranes his neck upwards and sneers. “We police officers put our lives on the line day in and out only to earn this meagre salary. It’s not even enough to stuff the gaps of my teeth, how do I deal with those chasing me to repay debts? Stop putting yourself on a high horse, you are no different from me.”

Shi Dao Pao puts down the hands covering his face and looks at the person who’s slowly descending into insanity, and shakes his head, “You’re like this because you gamble, and this is your just desserts. And me… I did it to save my daughter. These four years, I’ve never once had a restful night, and I live in terror and regret everyday.”

Zhou Guan Zhi smirks, his eyes slanting to look at the person seated on the stairs, “Boss, as long as you took the money, your hands are dirty. No matter if it is because I deserve it, or if you were forced into a dead end, you’ve been tainted, and it is what it is.”

“Besides, isn’t it the money you took that year which allowed Xiao Ya to live on happily, all the way until now, when she’s able to have her wedding? So it doesn’t matter who wants to dig up the case from four years ago again, I will definitely not let him get away!”

He knows Zhou Guan Zhi is referring to Shao Fei, who has been so focused on the homicide case from four years ago, and he finally stands up, grips at Zhou Guan Zhi’s shirt collars and yells for him to stop.

“Ah Zhi, stop! Don’t fall any deeper into this!”

“Boss, don’t worry. I’ll be very subtle, no one will be able to find out. As long as you don’t say anything and I don’t say anything, after a period of time, this will be slowly forgotten by everyone,” Zhou Guan Zhi says, arrogantly slapping away the hands at his collar and turns away.

“Ah Zhi, aren’t you afraid that I will turn myself in and expose you?”

“You!”

Zhou Guan Zhi turns back abruptly, his eyes betraying his impulse to strangle Shi Da Pao to death right at that very moment, but Shi Da Pao is no amateur either, and if they really do get into a fight, he will not have it easy. Instead, he tries the soft approach, lightening his tone as he tries to convince his Captain that they are both on the same boat.

“Boss, don’t do foolish things. Xiao Ya is about to get married, and you’ve done so much for her. Don’t you want to see her happily get married, and become the most beautiful bride?”

“,,,”

Shi Da Pao’s eyes tear up as he keeps silent, Zhou Guan Zhi hitting him where it hurts. Seeing that he has gotten his way, Zhou Guan Zhi smiles, smug as he stuffs his hands into his jacket’s pockets. He leaves the staircase, whistling casually as he goes.

—

In an Abandoned Factory

Chen Wen Hao sits on a chair, two men standing next to him on his sides. On the other chair, Zuo Hong Ye’s hands have been tied behind her, and a cloth is stuffed into her mouth, but she displays no sign of fear as she glares at He Hang, who has a gun pressed to her temple. Tang Yi, who arrived with Shao Fei, nods at Gu Dao Yi, who has been waiting outside for a while, and the three of them walk into the abandoned factory that is filled with a metallic stench.

“I’m here, let Hong Ye go.”

“No problem. My target is not her. He Hang, let Zuo-xiaojie go.”

“Boss, aren’t we making it too easy for Tang Yi by letting Zuo Hong Ye go?” He Hang refuses to loosen the ropes on Hong Ye as he glares at Tang Yi in fury.

“Tang Yi, I’ve been in Xing Tian Meng for so long, why did Tang Guo Dong let you become leader? How much authority does Xing Tian Meng wield in the underworld, and you want to go legal and reform? Aside from cutting off our brothers’ path to riches, you also handed one of us over to the police! I might as well just kill you here, lest you get in the way.”

The gun that was pressed to Hong Ye’s brain suddenly shifts to the Xing Tian Meng leader standing before him, but all he gets in return is the other’s cold laugh, full of ridicule and mockery for He Hang.

“You? If you were really capable, how would you have repeatedly failed in trying to assassinate me?”

“Fuck! I will kill you right now with a single shot, do you not believe me?!”

“He Hang, did you forget that I am still here? You’re in no position to talk here.”

“Chen… Chen-ye… but…”

Chen Wen Hao’s seemingly light tone belies a chilling warning under it, and He Hang retreats, not daring to say another word.

“Yes… yes, Chen-ye…”

Drenched in cold sweat, the man immediately keeps his gun, and loosens the ropes on Hong Ye, then pushes her towards Tang Yi. Tang Yi catches Hong Ye, and asks, concerned, “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Dao Yi, take Hong Ye and go.”

The bespectacled man stands between He Hang and Hong Ye, as if guarding against the possibility of another attack should the other man change his mind.

“I’m not going to leave, I want to face this together with you at your side.”

“If you get hurt I will hate myself, so, just go!” Tang Yi says in a low voice, tightly holding onto Hong Ye’s arm.

“I understand, you be careful,” Hong Ye bites at her lips, her eyes reddening as she leaves the factory under Dao Yi’s protection.

Chen Wen Hao gets to his feet from the chair and circles Tang Yi as he walks, just like a predator playing with its prey, and says, “Do you know why I had to find you today? Is it because you killed Wang Kun Cheng? Because you cost me losses of several ships worth of goods? Because you sent a bunch of my brothers to jail? Or-“

Suddenly, Chen Wen Hao stops in his footsteps right before Tang Yi, and stares into his eyes.

“Is it because four years ago, you saw the crime scene of Tang Guo Dong and Li Li Zhen’s death?”

“…”

Anger flashes in Tang Yi’s eyes, and the moment he takes a step, he is stopped by the other’s raised gun.

“No! None of that! I got you to come here because you are Tang Guo Dong’s son. Tang Guo Dong stole my woman, caused the death of my and Li Li Zhen’s child, and found someone in prison to create trouble for me, made me go through 24 years in jail. Twenty. Four. Years!”

“…”

Shao Fei stares at Chen Wen Hao in surprise, recalling the brith certificate he saw not long ago.

Li Zhen-jie’s child, was Chen Wen Hao’s? Tang Yi’s biological mother, is Li Zhen-jie? So… Chen Wen Hao is Tang Yi’s real, biological…

Chen Wen Hao does not see the young officer’s face go white, and continues, “When I came out, Xing Tian Meng became yours? What a joke, how is it that Tang Guo Dong could have everything, but I ended up with a broken family and nothing to my name? No, this is not fair, isn’t it?”

He pauses for a while after, and a dark, vicious smile emerges, “So… I want you… dead!”

All the men that were guarding outside of the factory suddenly rush in, surrounding Tang Yi and Shao Fei from the back. The both of them have no choice but to put up both their hands and pretend to surrender. Shao Fei takes half a step, opening his mouth to say, “Chen Wen Hao, Tang Yi, he’s-“

“Shut up, this is no place for you to talk.”

Tang Yi suddenly falls to the floor, avoiding the line of fire from the barrel of the gun and kicks out at the man holding the gun on him. It is only after the man falls does Tang Yi snatch the gun away, turning back to face Chen Wen Hao, the gun pointed at him.

At the same time, Chen Wen Hao has his gun turned towards Tang Yi.

“Chen Wen Hao, I’ve devised this plan for four whole years, all to force you to come back from Cambodia to take revenge for Tang-ye, because, it was you who killed him!”

“No! I didn’t kill him!”

“Shut up! You’re going to pay with your life!”

“Tang Yi!”

“Don’t stop me!”

Seeing that things are about to spiral uncontrollably, to a point of no return, Shao Fei can no longer care about anything else, and quickly blurts out the truth from that year.

“Don’t shoot! Chen Wen Hao is your father!”

===

*This is a metaphor and you can temporarily ignore who Liu Bei is.

#history3: trapped #history 3: trapped #history 3: 圈套 #h3t #tangfei #tang yi #meng shao fei #history3 novel #translations #lmaooo it's been what #almost a year hahahaha

[imastrangeone98]

Worship

(A/N: i had a loose dream about something like this happening, and I couldn't stop thinking about it, so here is my interpretation of that dream)

WARNING: DT smex, church smex, slight blasphemy kink; potential sacrilegious content

For some reason, I see dmc 1 dante for this, but I took dmc 4/5 style dt aesthetic

The Bible verses here are from the book of Song of Songs - but I edited them for flow purposes XD this book is basically old time erotica when I think about it- and to think that I was allowed to read this as a kid

Their appearance at the abandoned church in the ghost town of Impia was for the sole sake of research. According to Faith, the location of the dangerous holy weapon- the Arrectis Lux- could potentially be tracked within the crumbling walls of the old, musty building.

So there they were: a half-demon and a nephilim together in a dead establishment, with the radiant face of Jesus Christ smiling down at them from the multicolored window.

Something about it just made his inner demon itch to come out.

As she paged through an old book, Dante busied himself with checking his pistols, adjusting his new coat, tugging the collar of his new shirt, overall just avoiding looking at the way her ass perfectly filled out her jeans.

Mine, the voice whispered in his mind. She's mine.

His eyes lingered on the dusty, cracked cross on the ground, on Jesus' face in the glass.

And his lip curled.

Mine. Not yours.

Love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave.

"Alright!" he heard her call from the small table at the side. "I think I've got it."

Giving her nothing more than a noise of acknowledgement, he silently slunk out of the pew he was sitting on and made his way towards her.

He was convinced that Jesus' eyes were following him.

Good.

He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in the crook of her neck, pressing light kisses to her sweet smelling skin.

She giggled. "That tickles. What are you up to?"

He didn't reply; he just kept sucking small love marks onto her neck.

She let out a soft hum. "You seem to be in quite a mood, today."

The warm sunlight continued to shine through the worn window of Jesus, washing everything in fractured colors- as if He was monitoring them.

For a dead God, He sure does love to watch, doesn't He? his demon cackled. Why don't we give Him a show?

His cock stirred in his pants. His body hummed with want.

"...Dante?" Faith sounded suspicious. "What are you...?"

"Nothing, angel." But the way he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the altar at the front of the room probably didn't help explain things.

"Why are you feeling so...!"

He quickly shushed her with a kiss to her lips, and sharply began to rut against her. "Baby..." he moaned, nuzzling into her hair. "I need you."

She sighed. "Again? After this morning?"

"It's different. We got an audience, this time." He gave her a wicked smile- and his eyes flickered with demonic energy.

Faith frowned. "What audience?"

"Him." He pointed straight above them, right at the stained window.

Her eyes widened. "...Oh."

"Yup."

"Then... shouldn't we stop?"

"Nah." His grin revealed a sharp canine, which he gleefully dragged over her pulse. He relished in the shiver that traveled down her spine. "I want Him to see."

He pressed his clothed cock right against her core, just near her covered entrance. The faint, delectable smell of arousal permeated the air, tainted the sunlight, electrified their blood.

"Indulge me?" Dante whispered, gazing deep into her golden eyes, their lips so close he could taste her breath.

You have stolen my heart with one glance of your eyes.

And to his delight, she yielded, leaning forward just enough to kiss him. Her hands buried themselves in his hair, tugging hard at the silvery locks.

That's it, he thought, dazed with pleasure. Choose me.

She smiled at him when she pulled away. "Always."

Let my beloved come into his garden and taste its choice fruits.

His face was buried in her now exposed pussy, delving further and further into her delicious body, hungrily slurping up every last drop of slick he could wring out of her.

And she moaned, her voice dripping with honey, her hands working magic in his hair- pushing him down when he didn't worship her enough to her liking, or pulling him up so he could turn his full attention back to her.

As his tongue traced circles around her clit, he couldn't help but think darkly: He's too busy being dead to make you feel good like I do.

I will climb the palm tree; I will take hold of its fruit.

His heavy, naked body pinned her small one to the top of the altar, her legs helplessly spread as he sheathed himself, inch by excruciating inch, into her tight heat. Bottoming out, they moaned in unison- their voices filling the chamber.

An unholy holy union.

But then he began to thrust.

It was almost unbearable, how tight she was, how hot she was. Each push and pull of his cock inside her made him see stars. One of her legs had found purchase around his waist, making sure he pushed harder, hit deeper, gave her everything he had and then some.

His bare chest gleamed with sweat. Every vein in his body flowed with fire.

"He'd never love you like this," Dante grunted, angling his cock so it hit her sweet spot.

"N- no!" she wailed, clinging to his wrists. "No, He wouldn't!"

"He'd never fuck you like this!"

"No! Oh... only you! Only you!" Faith's beautiful eyes looked up at him with so much love and adoration; it made his knees weak.

It made his demon growl.

"That's right," he purred, tasting salt and lust on her tongue when he kissed her. "Only me."

"Yes!" Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her hips canted upwards just so, allowing him to sink in deeper inside her, letting the sweet rhythm of his hips pick up in tempo and heat.

Shit.

"Tell me who I am," he moaned into her ear, lacing his fingers with her own and fucking her with increasing ferocity. The squelch of their bodies meeting grew louder; he felt something wet splash against his abdomen.

"You're..." Her body jolted with the change of pace. A gasp forced itself out of her throat. "You're mine."

"And...?"

A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead. Dante's inner demon howled inside him, demanding to be released.

Just a little more. Just... a little... more!

She licked the curve of his jaw, gently biting into his soft skin. And like magic, she whispered to him just what he needed to hear.

"You're my demon."

A guttural snarl escaped his chest. His fingertips sharpened into pitch black claws. His stunning blue eyes shifted into blood red slits.

"That's right." He sneered, evil desire glinting on his fangs. "A demon."

In a brilliant flash of light, his body transformed: fire-red scales covered every inch of his skin, large wings unfurled and sent a blast of hot air around them, and his demon heart pulsed with gold light- the symbol of his bond with his mate.

But most importantly... his cock had changed as well. Larger and thicker; it made a bigger bulge in Faith's stomach that he couldn't look away from. With trembling hands, she pressed against it, making him grumble and give a sharp nip to her jaw. A warning.

"Mate..." the half-angel cooed, leaning up to stroke his leathery cheek. "My love."

"Not God?" he insisted, his voice sending tremors rushing through her shaking body.

"No," she gasped with a roll of her hips, allowing his ridged cock to delve further into her cunt. "You."

His eyes narrowed. "Good." Taking care to not pierce through her skin, Dante grabbed the back of her knees and practically folded her in half, before slowly rocking back and forth inside her.

Had it not been for his sheer stubbornness, he would have cum right then and there. The ridges on his dick rubbed perfectly against her walls, creating such delicious friction that it made them both drool. Her insides pulled him in deeper into its depths and clung to him, unwilling to release him when he pulled out, and greedy when he pushed back in.

...She was perfect. From her messy black hair that fanned around her head, to her beautiful body that took him so well: Faith was flawless.

Slick gushed out of her hole, leaking around his cock, and he couldn't resist the temptation to lean down and allow his long, forked tongue to lap up her juices. His chest rumbled as he savored her taste- sweeter than any fruit.

But it must have been too much, because soon, she began to wail. Her body glowed a soft gold, and runes began to float around her.

She was transforming.

Instantly, he leaned down and nipped at her neck, groaning at the slight burning sensation on his tongue.

His eyes, once again, latched onto the smiling face of Jesus.

"I'm your God," he growled out, tracing his claws over her glowing belly.

"Amen."

As he continued to pound away inside her wet hole, her wings emerged from behind, fluttering with the force of his thrusts. His own wings tilted downwards just slightly, until feathers met scales in a strange kiss.

He pressed against her, and their bodies hissed at the opposing synergy between them. Taking advantage of the position, he pushed right against her sweet spot, borderline abusing it with how forcefully he grinded against her, moving his hips in small circles to stimulate every sensitive button she had.

"Tell me you love me," he demanded, his fangs grazing the column of her throat.

"I love you!" she cried, clinging to him. The mating mark on her neck glowed a deep red. "I love only you!"

"Tell me you'll worship me!"

"With everything I am! Everything I have!"

"Everything you have?" he repeated, feeling his release rapidly approaching.

"Yes! Yes, yes, yesyesyes-"

"Then cum!" He pressed his fingers against her sensitive bundle and waited.

And Faith surrendered, giving the demon above her every last gasp, tremble, and moan of pleasure she could possibly offer.

And with a roar that could shatter glass, Dante came, fucking every drop of cum that he could fit inside her soaked cunt.

It felt like hours before he finally finished. His cock twitched slightly as it gave up the last few drops of molten seed into her overstuffed hole.

Slowly, the liquid lust that fueled the two lovers began to fade away, leaving only a soft, pleasant ache behind. Their bodies returned to their human forms, and he wasted no time in peppering her face with kisses, caressing the skin of her thighs, licking over the small wounds he inflicted.

I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine.

"I love you," Faith murmured, kissing his cheeks, jaw, lips, and staring at him with so much love that it made his heart soar.

"Love you too," Dante replied, hoping and praying that she could feel the overwhelming passion he had for her multiple times over.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw shards of glass littered on the floor. The sunlight that bathed the two wasn't filtered in the slightest.

And unbeknownst to them, small trickles of their combined slick leaked out of her hole, smearing their thighs, before dribbling onto the old marble of the altar.

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

A/N: now that I think about it, I think my dream went a little differently than this XD I think I'll make a sequel to this later on

I have never done anything like this before, and it kinda shows

#devil may cry #dmc dante #dmc oc #dante x reader #dante x oc

[thefoulbeast]

Monstrum Malum (Evil Monster)

It’s finally october!! U know what that means!! Aoextober!! I’ve been waiting to be able to post this hahhhahahaa… some good ole soft horror in the spirit of the month of scary… I’ll also put it up on ao3 soon…

Characters: Todou Saburota, That demon he had at first, Todou Homare (mentioned). Contents: Violence & gore, monsters, memory manipulation, surrealism (or is it derealisation? basically we got some weird stuff going on), elements of horror. Rating: Teen & up. Word count: 2 888.

__________

It’s all a little fuzzy, this far back in his memories…

According to family tradition, Saburota receives his temptaint at ten years old. It’s scary beyond belief – the sudden grotesque presences that await him at every turn.

There’s a thick black snake on the teacher’s desk that watches him, a cat with two heads and three tails and no skin that doesn’t meow as much as it yells, spidery, shadowy hands that wave at him from dark corners and alleyways, always beckoning closer in silent invitation.

The horrible sounds of screaming and crying at night he can’t drown out no matter what he tries to do.

He doesn’t understand how his father and brothers and – everyone, really- can just ignore it all, can just pretend like it’s all normal and okay.

Though, he supposes it’s not too implausible – their ability to ignore things is quite remarkable. One time they pretended he didn’t exist for a whole week – and honestly, he’d been questioning his existence himself by the end of it.

But the problem is these… demons. These ghosts and spectres that follow him and distract him and terrify him.

Saburota tries to focus on the page in front of him – a test in maths that he’s writing in pencil because his pen is bleeding red blood – an ever-growing puddle over the surface of his desk that never reaches his papers and drips over the edge with quiet plips.

The numbers in the problems tilt and tumble and his hands are tingling. But if he focuses just so- if he can keep them in his mind long enough, he can do this.

Pit-pat… Pit-pat…

The blood drips steadily down onto the floor. No one else notices it.

–

“Oh, come now! You’ll get used to it,” his aunt says when she sees him flinch back from a dark mass that covers the floor like a living carpet, undulating and scintillating and breathing.

She walks right over it, and the black sticks to the heels of her shiny beige pumps like tar – but she doesn’t even seem to notice-

“Come on, Saburota, let’s go,” she pulls him by the arm, stronger than he can dig his heels into the ground. The black thing is unpleasantly soft under his feet. He feels it writhe.

“Don’t be so obstinate, we’ll be late to the opera!” she huffs, exasperated, “Honestly, you’d think a boy your age would have some manners.”

The black clings to the bottom of their soles without end even after they’ve crossed all of it and are out on the street, spreading out from every point of contact their shoes make with the ground, melting together to form a winding, snakelike path.

“What show are we going to see?” he asks cautiously, trying to distract himself.

“Three dead men and the devil, of course” she answers haughtily, “Why, Saburota, it’s as if you’re trying to irritate me on purpose! You’re the one who wanted to go!”

He did?

“Oh, I remember now!” he says, but it’s a lie, it’s his mouth moving on its own, “I hope it’s as good as the reviews promise!” he says again, a giddy edge to the words- but they’re not his words.

“It will be,” his aunt answers with a mysterious sort of smile, her hand tightening around his wrist.

–

Saburota’s hiding under the bed, curled up in the dark. It seems like no matter how much he shrinks down; he still feels watched, still feels threatened. Feels like he’s not alone, like there’s something else inside him.

The door opens and footsteps make their way over to the bed – but they’re sharp, like knocking wood on wood, and so loud.

Saburota holds his breath when hooves come into view right in front of him. Fear is like a bird trapped in his chest, raging desperately against the bars of his ribs.

Whatever it is climbs up on his bed with an ominous sqeak of the springs and a decidedly animal huff.

“Oh, you’re already in bed, honey?” the voice of his mother speaks from the doorway. She all but floats over soundlessly. Her skin is deathly pale and dry beneath the hem of her nightgown.

“I’m scared, mommy,” the thing says in a voice that’s nowhere near Saburota’s own. “I think there’s a monster under my bed.”

“Monsters don’t exist, silly,” she coos, “but I’ll look and make sure for you, alright?”

She gets down on all fours and peers beneath the bed. Her unseeing eyes look straight at and through Saburota. Her face is as pale and bloodless as her feet and hands, a greenish-blueish tinge to her lips and eyelids.

“There’s nothing here, honey,” she says in her beautiful, sonorous voice. Her smile reveals her teeth that look much longer and sharper now that the gums have dried out and shrunk back.

Then she rises again and says, “Now, will you be a good boy and sleep? We have a busy day tomorrow. You need to be ready to do what has to be done.” She kisses the thing sweetly goodnight before leaving, footsteps as soundless as when she entered. The door closes behind her, and so disappears that last bit of illumination the room had.

The darkness left behind feels like it’s eating Saburota whole, encompassing him in a tight and claustrophobic space. He reaches out to prove the feeling wrong, but the darkness is smooth and solid against his hand, pushing up against it with incrementally increasing force.

“You don’t have much time left down there, do you?” the thing up on the bed asks, soft and sleepy. It yawns. “You know, God can’t see you anymore, and neither can most other things.”

The darkness pushes up against his skin, too tight to move, too tight to breathe.

–

They’re in the main hall. A soft record plays in the background, a gentle but somber croon accompanied by a saxophone and a cello.

“You know they don’t exist,” the shadow sitting across from Saburota at the dinner table says, “right?”

It’s gesturing at his family, where they’re chatting amongst themselves as they eat. At the other, farther end of the table – it’s farther than usual. The table is as long as the room as opposed to taking up just the center.

There are so many empty seats. So many set plates, untouched. Like there’s supposed to be a banquet, but no one’s shown up.

Saburota stares down at his plate. The soup is black and thick, and there’s the smooth off-white surface of a bone peeking out from beneath the surface.

He’s not particularly hungry.

“You’re wrong,” he tells the shadow quietly ad he pushes the plate away, and the damn thing laughs in response. It’s fuzzy and translucent, and smears in Saburota’s vision when it moves.

“Oh, my bad!” the shadow chortles and picks up a knife, and twirls it around the fingers of its hand; the gleaming facets of the blade catch red and orange lights from some strange and unknown source, “You’re the one who doesn’t exist, I meant to say. Easy mistake to make.”

Saburota feels goose bumps break out over his body. A cold gust of wind whistles over the edge of his collar, ruffling the back of his hair. He places one of his palms protectively over his nape, feeling unsafe.

The room is colourless now, and his family sounds all muffled - and the shadow is gone. He shivers, then takes a fortifying breath and reaches for the spoon again, hand trembling minutely.

Saburota lifts a spoonful of the simple noodle soup to his mouth hesitantly. It doesn’t seem like there’s anything wrong with it, but… he’s just got this nagging worry that something isn’t right.

–

“I see right through you,” the creature says hotly in his ear, “you’re little more than smoke - a miasma leaking through the cracks of the skin you wear.”

Saburota stares at it through the mirror. It’s taller than him, wider than him, has horns like an ibex and hands like eagle claws, poised up in the air, talons glinting menacingly.

“Poor little Saburota,” it hisses, leaning in even closer, snake tongue peeking through its teeth on the ‘s’. “So damaged and twisted that no one could ever like you. You empty little puppet, you pathetic fucking piece of shit.”

Saburota shrugs at its words. They sound about right. It’s what he’s heard all his life, what he’s thought all his life. A truth confirmed over and over.

“You should bite them back for making you,” it says with a beastly leer, talons wrapping around his shoulders and digging in, drawing blood in small beads, “Make them regret your existence. Teach them what it means to hurt. You want to. You need to. I’ll help you. I’ll make you strong, I’ll make you dangerous.”

There’s a certain desperation to the thing’s words.

“Maybe someday,” Saburota murmurs, stepping forwards - out of the creature’s embrace towards the sink, heedless of the shallow wounds left behind by the drag of its talons. He needs to brush his teeth and get to bed.

The bathroom darkens and the walls and floor wobble dangerously, like light broken on the edge of water, like matter passing through the planes of a prism and coming out wrong.

“You’re ready,” the creature wails, upset at his coy evasions of what needs to be done.

“No, I’m-“ he stammers. God, everything here looks so fake it makes him nauseous. He needs to- he needs to set himself straight. Needs to recalibrate.

”I’m not ripe yet,” Saburota says gently, cautiously - looking at the beast without turning, eyes dark like the sky on the night of a new moon.

–

Father’s saying something to him. He looks angry. He’s gesticulating like crazy.

Saburota can’t hear it. The sound’s muted. Pure silence.

No, not pure… there’s something whispering in his ear. It takes a moment for him to understand what it’s saying…

Saburota feels a smile spread out over his face at the promises of violence, bloodshed, nasty ugly retribution-

The world seems sharper somehow. Like it’s come into focus after being blurry and vague for his entire life.

Saburota looks at his hands. He’s got claws – mean, nasty looking things, the kind that maim and rip and rend. When did that happen?

The little whispering voice giggles in his ear. I’ll give you this. I’ll give you this if you just let me-

–

“I’ve been cultivating you for years,” the thing says, looking down at him from its full height. The creature is menacing, attention catching, terrifying. “You’d be nothing without me. You’d be small and powerless and pathetic.”

Its arms wrap around his shoulders covetously, possessively. The talons sink into the flesh of Saburota’s deltoids like a butcher’s knife sinks into a hunk of meat.

“You’re all mine,” the thing whispers, opening its maw to reveal row upon dizzying row of teeth arranged in a beautiful rosette. Saburota touches a tooth and pricks his finger.

Blood red. Drops on the floor. He smears them with the toe of his shoe and suddenly realises.

Oh, what a clever thing. Had him really going for a while.

“No, I’m not,” Saburota says, something in his voice dark but… whistful and dreamy. “You did nice this time, I’ll give you that. Too bad you’re so slow with it all,” he says, and reality shifts.

Well, the not-reality shifts. Saburota’s holding the thing – a squirming little creature with a long leathery tail, smaller than ever and…

And perfect for eating.

–

He’s not afraid anymore. Despite the thing’s attempts – this particular memory remains unchanged, remains his fully. So far.

There’s carnage all around – his family, the house staff – mutilated sacks of meat, strewn about carelessly, all carved up and bled out.

Saburota can taste it – the metallic tang of something raw clinging to his palate, the edges of his teeth.

He knows what he did. He knows how he did it. But… he’d been too excited, too in-the-moment about it. It’s all a red haze in hindsight.

“Well, this was easier than expected,” he says, all light and happy and unburdened.

“You finally did it,” Homare says as she watches him from the top of the stairs, her face a blank mask.

“You’re free now,” Saburota says with a wide grin, “This power could be yours too, Homare.”

It slips off his tongue like a well-oiled phrase. This isn’t the first time he’s said this.

“Why won’t you let me out, Saburota?” she says in someone else’s voice. Shadows cling to her, making her larger and darker than what she is. The beast is here again, messing with his mind and senses. “Why must you deny me so? You can’t hold me down forever. I will claw my way out.”

The house is dark and crawling with black shapes and bugs the size of rats. Saburota feels his mood sour. That’s not right, that’s not what she really said.

Homare’s walking down the stairs towards him, heedless of the gore she steps in, looking at him like she wants him to burst open like an over-tense bulla.

“Kill yourself, Saburota, you worthless fucking heap,” the thing says, even if it’s Homare’s lips that move, “Getting all cocky and full of yourself. You will regret it. I will make you regret it.”

Saburota smiles lazily, “You’re just throwing a tantrum because I’m stronger than you. Tsk-tsk. You’d think that demons had more class than that.”

Saburota flicks open the zippo in his hand, and the smell of buthane hits him above the wet smell of fresh guts. His hands are shaking, his heart is racing. There’s a cacophonous screaming in his head above it all.

“Let me out, Saburota,” the thing says through Homare’s lips, low and thunderous and so angry, “Let me out and let me in for real.”

Saburota flicks the wheel and sparks the flame, looking right into Homare’s eyes where he sees it looking at him.

He drops the zippo carelessly, ignoring the beast’s words. This – all of this is his.

And he’s going to burn it all down.

–

Saburota wakes with a jolt that has the water sloshing against the sides of the tub. He’d dozed off again.

The nightmarish pictures of his dream fizzle out into the subconscious part of his brain. The phantasms are creeping upwards again, seeking to dig their claws into his more recent memories.

He sighs tiredly, rubbing a palm over his face. It had taken him too long to notice. Next time the demon might get him for good. He rests a palm over his stomach where he feels it like a hot, familiar weight in his gut. So small, so stubborn, so bothersome.

Saburota can’t remember his childhood clearly anymore, not the way it really was. His recollections are all twisted and maimed, cut up and pasted together into tid-bit horror stories and fantastical exaggerations, much like the dream had been.

It comes with being a demon eater. There’s a certain cost, a sacrifice he has to make in the form of his memories and occasionally, his personality. One can only hold on to darkness for so long until it grabs back.

Saburota barely ever sleeps anymore. Whenever he dreams, the distortions get worse and feel more real.

Realistically, he knows there wasn’t a dead man lying on the table and singing at Homare’s tenth birthday party… he knows that his mother died in childbirth when she had her last pregnancy, that he’d never heard her voice and had only ever seen her in pictures… but he can remember these delusions so very vividly it’s kind of scary.

“Your brain’s rotting…” He tells himself in a low voice. Then, he chuckles,” Heh, who knows if what’s left is even you anymore…” He pauses, moving his hand through the water, watching it slosh against the sides of the tub.

He’s awake, sure, but he still feels like he’s dreaming, like this isn’t reality. Another chuckle, a little more self-deprecating, “Good thing that won’t matter soon enough.”

Saburota sinks lower into the water so that his nose just above the surface. The water’s lukewarm now, so it doesn’t seep into his bones and muscles the way he wishes it would.

He’ll get out in a minute and get dressed and do things, but for now he just… ruminates. On what he is. On what he’s done.

He doesn’t regret his choices, but… sometimes he wonders what life would be like if he was… more normal. If he’d never clashed with his family the way he had… if he’d just…

Well, whatever. Those thoughts don’t lead anywhere.

He’s made it this far – that’s the only thing that matters. He just needs to pull through and do his part in getting the phoenix for the Illuminati. He’s been planning it for years now, sowing doubt and trust in the right places, and it’s finally so close he can taste it.

That’s his purpose now. That’s what’s important. He has a goal and a purpose, and he is needed. With that much, he’s satisfied.

As long as he does what he needs to do for the Illuminati, for The Commander, what happens to him afterwards doesn’t really matter…

#aoextober #the written words #ao no exorcist #ane #?? how tag?? #saburota todo #demons #blue exorcist #listen i just keep writing todou.... i cant stop... these sinning hands... #ane fanfiction #saburouta toudou

[imnotwolverine]

The Englishman JACK - CHAP 3

< Chap 2 | Chap 3 Cocks And Guns | Chap 4 >

Summary: Jack finds himself in a crossfire between friends, foes and silent admirers. 

Author’s note: To the handful of people reading this: I hope you’ll enjoy this one! Have a good weekend my lovelies. ❤️

Word count: 5.105 (18 min. read)

Disclaimers: NSFW - Strong language, misogyny, lots of cigarettes, alcohol abuse, extortion, WWII PTSD, (gun) violence, mobsters

–

Cocks and Guns

--

The woolen uniform itched and Jack was eager for the night shift to be over. With sweat running down his back, he peered into the darkness that surrounded the makeshift war camp. Everything seemed so calm and quiet; it was near strange to think that a few miles from here the Germans lurked. The enemy.

A few months ago he had seen their faces for the first time, the mood grim in the dead land between bloody trenches. It had rained for weeks on end and Jack could have sworn it had been God himself crying for the travesty that was this war. In that moment he had also wondered if these Germans before him truly wanted to fight. He, for one, surely didn’t. He felt the same dread he saw in them. Cheekbones fallen in, eyes wide.

That day the battlefield had remained calm. And not many days later Jack was reassigned, one general impressed with his good eye for detail and sharp mind. It was why he now was here, belly flat on the earth as he peered out into the distance, eyes sharp and back soaking wet with sweat. Behind him he could hear the occasional male voice or thump of sturdy boots. But before him the land was unreadable. All scraggly bushes, haunting tree shapes and the song of hidden cicadas. Jack felt the sound irked him, even though he couldn’t quite explain to himself why. The creatures were perfectly harmless and he had learned that the locals were terribly fond of them.

At first this new job hadn’t seemed so bad. They got more rest than in the trenches, and the men seemed a tad more cheerful. On the odd occasion they had even slept in real beds, made music, met women. And these women, French women, were utterly divine. Jack had never been outside of English territory, so he was near shocked to find how very different the French were from his usual English birds. In a hash he thought that maybe, if ever he’d get out of here, he’d marry one of those pretty brown eyed mademoiselles. Start a life here in the rural lands that usually harvested wine. What a life that would be. Besides, it wasn’t like he missed England all that much. Especially not when that same England sent him out to fight like this.

Scratching at some sweat that was drying on his jaw, he lost focus for just half a second. And though the cicadas continued to sing and the stars to shine, Jack knew something was amiss straight away. The male voices were no longer solely behind him. They were before him. Hushed and part of the darkness that stared back. Had he imagined it? Swallowing harshly he focused on the black lines of branches and bushes. With the wind quiet, any movement would indicate unfriendly visitors. But none moved. None sighed. Indeed, perhaps he had just imagined it. With a coded click of the tongue he signalled the other scout whom lay a few meters up ahead.

The man shot up disturbed, helmet crooked on his head, followed by a thump of lead hitting flesh. Jack’s heart was racing in an instant, eyes noting his dead fellow scout, shortly followed by then a blitz of stars in the bushes. Bullets were being fired and even ducking low he could swear he would be hit. That this would be it. That he would...

Gasping, Jack shot up from the bed. A sheen of sweat stuck to his brow and it took a good few moments before he realised he was no longer in France. The room surrounding him was dark, but he recognised it well enough. He was at the Maniari’s, having just awoken from a bad dream. Sighing, he let himself fall back on the comfortable mattress. Even years after the war, he was haunted by his days in the army. And he felt it only got worse when he was alone, the cold sheets a cocoon that trapped him in the most frightening of memories. Staring out at the ceiling he waited for his heartbeat to calm and breath to steady. But that was not going to happen.

Gunshots fired in the night outside. And before he even realised it himself, Jack had thrown himself off the bed and onto the floor, arms tiger crawling up to the window sill, eyes peering over the edge. The window was cracked open slightly, letting in the cool nightly Tuscan air to relieve the heat after a sunny day. That same heat still remained in the stone ledge he pressed his cheek into, bewildered eyes finding the cause of all this ruckus: Augusto and his men.

Down on the patio on the far end of the house there stood a group of swaggering, loud men. Thick cigar smoke curled up in the air and from the way they had to steady their every move, it was obvious they were well into their cups. In total there were four, faces hard to discern in the low moonlight. It didn’t however refrain the men from clearing their identities with loud laughter and booming voices. With a shotgun in hand, Augusto stood at the front, a cigar hanging over his lip as he looked over his shoulder, hinting at the other men to watch.

‘Watch and learn!’ He growled, body starting to jerk as he cleared a few shots in the dark. Jack noticed that he wasn’t just shooting at nothing; from a tree hung a white ribbon that stood out just enough for even the drunk men to see. Not knowing whether Augusto hit anything at all, Jack flinched as the men started to cheer even more loudly.

Next up was one of the more slender looking men. Perhaps one of the bodyguards. Holding a handgun he outstretched an arm, aim more pure than that of Augusto. With a Hollywood-esque exaggeration he blew the heat from the gun’s barrel, laughing as one of the other men clapped his back.

Like this the nightly banter outside continued. It felt like hours upon hours, and though Jack had forced himself to lay back down in bed, he could no longer catch any sleep. Staring out at the ceiling he watched and waited, and dozed and mulled on thoughts that mixed reality and dream until finally he saw the first rays of sun crawl over the wooden beams above him. The sheer lace curtains drew pretty patterns there, reminding him of his first acid trip. How relieving that moment had been after months of struggling to deal with his post traumatic shock disorder.

You’ve got it bad boy, Lucia had whispered, brushing away his hair when he would wake bathing in sweat.

She was gone now.

Sighing, Jack pushed himself off the bed, head feeling dazed. He hoped that this wouldn’t occur every night, but something told him that he shouldn’t keep his hopes up. This family was mad and he knew it. Stretching himself out, hands above his head, he cracked a few joints before returning to the window sill, eyes finding that a butler had moved out to the bullet shell covered terrace on his left. The man was placing a whole collection of glasses, half finished liquor bottles and crowded ash trays onto a larger tray, face stern and focused.

Then Jack realised there was another person up and about. Just beneath his window, seated at the long end of a table, chair covered in a black and white striped cotton, sat the only daughter of the Maniari’s. Bunny. She was all dressed up to the nines, hair neatly coiffed and body clad in a blue knee length dress. 

From his position, Jack could see everything perfectly. The way her cigarette smudged with lipstick, the way her eyes sometimes moved to the butler who was cleaning up the mess on the other terrace. And he also noted that her fashion magazine was a bit peculiar; either they had started to include an accounting segment, or Bunny dear was holding a secret. The pages looked off. Reaching a little further, Jack tried to figure out what it was she was hiding, but that move betrayed him. The window creaked and with a hurried scowl Bunny looked up, hand closing her magazine.

‘Good morning,’ Jack chimed, smiling warmly. Bunny sucked on her cigarette and stared up at Jack. A moment passed.

‘If you say so.’ She sighed, pressing the half-finished cigarette into a glass ashtray before walking back inside.

Jack contemplated how he had wronged her, but as his eyes wandered over the curves of the misty hills, his mind bleaked. In the far distance, behind the neatly kept gardens, he could see the vineyards, stretching for miles. Most of it owned by the Maniaris, small houses dotted over the landscape, all rented by locals or used by family members. Today was the day he would meet some of them. He wondered if they would be just as mad.

--

‘Too expensive.’ The old nan flared an aggravated hand in the direction of the suit clad man who had come to gather the rent. Her eyes spoke poison, but also intrigue when she noted Jack. For a short moment her trembling jaw quieted, wrinkly features studying the unknown man before her.

‘YOU, you do something about it!’ Her finger directed back at Big. ‘The protection is shit! Last week one of my goats was shot and look at what you do. NOTHING. No-thing. You scum! You..-’

One of the men pushed Jack outside of the small cottage and closed the door, leaving Jack alone. The sun was starting to sink down and with a quick check on his peculiar sundial watch he noted the time. 4.30, just about. And violence..? He listened and heard the muffled whines of the woman inside. Yes. Biting his tongue he started his way to the end of the small garden that stretched around the cottage. Vegetables were growing in long rows of green. Cabbages, leaks and the like; nothing spectacular. But he also noted feet. Or feet marks to be exact. Dragging in the mud and too large to fit the small woman that lived here, alone. Had she had a visitor? Clicking his tongue he turned heel, hearing the front door re-open, men pouring out.

‘Fucking nuthouse.’ One of the bodyguards muttered, lips glueing to a cigarette that was lit with a bloodied hand. Jack noted that too, but said nothing. It was not why he was here.

‘Found some footsteps over there.’ Jack nodded, and the men looked up.

‘So?’

‘Male. Large male. Old, most likely, or wounded. Hard to see through the red stain of this darn mud.’ Jack pointed at the garden and two of the men stepped in, one of them taking notes and photographs of the measurements and findings. They nearly looked professional - were it not for them to be stinking like a brown pub in the wind.

‘Unlikely to be Alfi.’ Big stepped forward, still distrusting of Jack. Luigi hadn’t come along, though he had offered; it was Jack who had refused. At first the idea of having Luigi with him seemed pleasing, but seeing Luigi’s slightly particular behaviour yesterday made him rethink. Perhaps it was better to find the brother’s motivations and relations one by one; in the end they both had been in Paris at the time of Lucia’s demise.

So far though, the young Maniari mostly just seemed like a spoiled brat, who, unfortunately, wasn’t all that clever. Big scowled at Jack, who smiled a fair laugh.

‘Alfonso can’t get hurt, you say?’

‘It can’t be him because why the fuck would he be in some old hag’s shitty garden? He’d come home if that’d be the case. Pfft.’ Big shook his head in disbelief and regarded one of the men who had walked to a nearby tree to take a leak, hand brushing down the pee on his pants before he let out a relieved sigh.

‘Fwoa. You just keep on pissing from that stuff.’ He laughed.

Big smirked. ‘That’s what you do. Drink like a god? Piss like a god.’

The rest of the men laughed, but Jack didn’t. He turned around, watching the distrustful woman who peaked at him through the lacy veil of her curtains. Perhaps he’d return to her later.

--

The sun was sinking fast, but apparently there was one more job to be done. After a short stop at the villa, a small garrison of three sleek cars drove up the ruby red roads. At the front was Augusto’s car, a silver Mercedes, it’s lacquer shining in the last drops of honey hued sunlight. In the far back was the brandless black beast that carried Jack and four square shouldered men. These men were new to Jack, and for a moment Jack wondered if he was brought along so Augusto could keep an eye on him. Of course he had hoped that he would have been just allowed to lumber around alone, but reality was different. In reality even family friends had to join in on the dirty work. Whatever the dirty work would be right now.

After a short drive the cars halted before a small winery, long rows of vines weaving in patterns behind the tall cypresses that stood at either side of the muddy road. The sun was close to disappearing now, leaving long and tall shadows at the men’s feet. The Maniari crew had nine men in total, which seemed excessive for a visit. But then again; perhaps it wasn’t enough. Jack noticed how they all kept a hand close to the insides of their jackets, buttons undone. He was no fool. There were weapons held disguised, ready to be used at will.

Turning on his heel, Augusto was surrounded by his trusty bodyguard number One - a surprisingly small and slender man - and the four jarheads.

‘No words English. Just watch. I need your eyes alone. No funny business.’

Jack nodded, not sure what was about to happen. With confident strides the men walked up to the near abandoned looking winery, an old tractor parked near the door. The yard was muddy, leaving hundreds of tracks of cars, feet and what looked to be dog paws.

‘Nando!!’ Augusto called at a man who stepped out of the front door. The leather faced man was obviously not eager to see Augusto, eyes skittish and hand holding onto the door knob.

‘Good eve.’ Nando watched the many men that surrounded Augusto, eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t want no trouble sir.’

‘Then there won’t be any trouble.’ Augusto smiled broadly - too broadly, his cheeks drawing menacing shadows in the light of the sinking sun. ‘Just business talk.’

‘Right now? I was just about to eat sup--’

One of Augusto’s men pushed Nando back inside, pushing through the narrow hallway until all men were indoors. It was there where yet more visitors were found. More tough looking men in suits, hands staying nervously close to their pockets.

Jack barely got a chance at properly looking at these other men before the situation escalated. Augusto voice boomed with some insult about ‘crooked investors’ and then all hell broke loose. Or, so it seemed. Being pushed back against the opposing wall of the narrow hallway, Jack lost track of movements. Men were rushing back and forth, commands being yelled. The house was too small and it didn’t help that Jack had hurt his head, his vision swimming.

It was seconds later when the calm returned. Jack found himself leaning into the wall. On the ground in the small living room red stains leaked into the carpet. And watching Augusto, he saw those same red stains on his blouse. Had the mobster been wounded? Gasping in horror, Jack blinked, memories flooding him.

RUN JACK. RUN! Harry’s bloody teeth gulped the words, eyes wide.

The memory faded.

Hold! Hold! Hold for the king! Rain clattered on poorly made helmets, the dark night icy cold. Are you soldiers? Or are you weak? Right there the enemy awaits us, but we are ready. Squadron 2, line 4. Get ready to climb!

Jack felt sick, feet stumbling. The whole hallway seemed to tilt a few degrees, like he were on a ship filled with cute picture frames and handmade doilies.

‘Let’s get outta here.’ Big pushed Jack back out of the door, the rest of the men following.

‘What a fucking mess.’ Augusto growled. He didn’t sound as wounded as he seemed. Jack inhaled sharply, the evening air biting into his lungs. Panic and trauma washed over him and he had to try his best to stay afoot. Around him the other men walked out, reminding him of the soldiers in the trenches. The same mud that slipped beneath his unsteady feet had been there in France. Day in day out. Everything had been so wet, all the freaking time. At some point he hadn’t even known anymore whether it was the rain, blood or both. With blinking eyes Jack focused on his shoes, red splatters climbing up his leather shoes. He knew he wasn’t in France. He knew he wasn’t hurt - yet. And yet the ache in his heart seemed to seep in every corner of his limbs, turning his usually sharp mind to muddle.

‘Such a waste of wine.’ Augusto clicked his teeth. ‘And to you.’ He reared his head and looked at the man who looked at him through the small doorway. Jack didn’t know the man, but he seemed like a boos of sorts. His smug face raised a challenging chin, but said nothing.

‘Shame on your pitiful blood.’ Augusto spat on the ground. ‘This was once my father’s land. And now what?! Look at this! The moment some poor man comes up and tries to rebuild it, you take it from him.’

Jack frowned. Before him he saw the same Augusto that had beaten his daughter and threatened his family with the worst of repercussions. And yet that same man now wanted to protect this poor winemaker. Really? It almost seemed absurd.

‘There’s much waste, old friend. But this? I see potential. You see flaws. You hold onto the old. I embrace..the new!’ The smug looking man laughed. ‘And you see, Nando here.’ He turned and squeezed the terrified looking farmer into the door frame. ‘Has become a very, very good friend of mine. Haven’t you Nando? Hmm?’

The poor man swallowed and nodded quickly. ‘Y-yes sir.’

‘No no. We’re friends. Call me Gio, please.’

‘Yes..Gio.’ The man nodded, terror clear in his eyes.

Augusto sighed dramatically. ‘Well, dear Gio, you ruined my shirt!’

‘Oh curse you old friend. Buy yourself a new one. And kiss your wife for me, will you!’

‘Watch your words!’ Augusto wanted to step in and all men were back to grabbing for their pockets, but Big was there to hush his father.

‘Father, let us deal with this another--’

‘Another time? Would you look at that smug bastard with his..’ Augusto waved his hand in the air with disgust, his pretentiously friendly tone gone.

Gio laughed and waved, his skin lighting up with the last rays of sunshine. ‘Let us have proper wine soon my friend. We’ll discuss business, like the old days!’

Augusto spat on the ground and shot one last poisonous glance at the boisterous man in the doorway. It was obvious the two had a history. And Augusto was pulling the short end of the string tonight. With dragging feet he let himself be guided back to the cars. Even now Jack wasn’t quite sure why they had come with so many. Was it to show off? Or had they really been ready for a war? Still feeling a little wheezy, he walked to the last car and got in, his body soon squeezed in the middle of the bench between the two large men.

--

‘You’re hurt!’ Luigi exclaimed. With hasted feet he worked his way through the men who had started to scatter in the large hallway. Some went to the lounge for a drink, others to their quarters for sleep. None were rueful enough to deal with their boss Augusto right now.

The man groaned. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Oh why look at you father.’ Luigi tutted, peeling at the winesoaked blouse of his father. His father swatted his hand away.

Luigi hesitated. ‘Ehh.. I must warn you, father.’ Luigi licked his thin lip. ‘Mom has one of her...moments.’

Augusto turned heel, eyes wild. ‘She..what? Why didn’t you do something?!’

Luigi shrugged in defeat and pointed outside. In a flurry of curse words his father ran out, feet thundering on the loud marble floor.

‘You alright?’ Luigi stepped in next to Jack. The other men had dispersed, leaving the two men standing here alone.

Jack nodded quietly. France still ringed in his ears. Or perhaps it was a mild concussion. Either way he could do with some rest and a meal.

‘Quite a day it was.’

‘Indeed. I heard Mrs. Tuscesi got another beating. What a woman. What. A. Woman.’

Jack nodded, allowing Luigi to guide him up the stairs like he had yesterday. Again that fleshy warm hand found his lower back, but Jack didn’t object. Stepping in turn with Luigi, he told his friend about the little situation with Gio. Luigi sighed.

‘My papa never learns.’

They halted amidst the stairs, where a window gave a lookout over the shadowy gardens. Little torch lights cast a mysterious hue over the greens, where the signora danced, a little 3-legged dog by her side. Meanwhile Augusto was storming through the long lane between sky high cypresses, right at her.

‘Didn’t know you had a dog.’ Jack said. He didn’t want to question what was the matter with Luigi’s mother - it seemed a touchy subject, especially now he was living here with the Maniari’s. For a moment they watched as she waved her expressive arms in the air, before throwing a shoe for the dog toe catch. It hobbled awkwardly on its three tiny stilts.

‘My mother has a dog.’ Luigi corrected, then returned his warm hand to Jack’s back. Jack again, didn’t object and followed as they continued their way up the stairs. This time Luigi got a little further before he halted amidst the hallway, feet quiet on the stone floor.

Jack smiled, knowing exactly what Luigi wished to ask. It seemed near inappropriate, but in a way Jack could use some friendly company at the moment. Besides, he still needed to find out what Luigi’s true motivation was in life. He had changed so much since last they met in person. Not only had he grown in size, also his manners had changed. The Luigi he had met in Paris was not quite the man before him. That Luigi had been an oversized boy who liked to play. This was a man who made the game.

Turning on his heel, Jack looked over his shoulder. With a single nod the affirmation was given; join me. And so Luigi joined.

--

With most of the men gone on their nightly mission, the house was left quiet. Bunny peaked through her cracked bedroom door. On either side of the hallway the lights were dimly lit. But no guards were there to keep watch. No brothers were there to call onto her. All she could hear was her mother on the phone and her brother’s record player downstairs. From the looks of it both were preoccupied and so Bunny took her chance, feet slipping out of the door frame.

The heavy creak of her door made her flinch. Fuck. Holding tight onto the door knob she waited. Perhaps there soon would be footsteps, guns cocking, knuckles cracking. But no, there was nobody here.

Continuing her quiet pitter patter, Bunny made her way to one of the doors on the right. Not far from here her mother was babbling into the phone. Or worse yet; crying into the phone. Bunny again halted her steps.

‘But I need you! I..I need you!’

Her mother sounded positively desperate. But then again, so were all women who lived in this household. Her mother would drink herself to death. Bunny would run herself to death. Pick your poison, they say, right?

Gritting her teeth, Bunny turned her attention to one of the doors on her right. It’s where Alfonso’s study was located. A bunch of mystery rooms that she had rarely been allowed to visit. And the attraction to visit became even stronger when Alfi disappeared. The brother’s had looked inside for a bit, but decided there were no clues worth mentioning to the Englishman. All seemed as it should be, they said.

But Bunny didn’t believe it could be that easy. Alfi always had been a weird brother. Being the oldest of the bunch, he had always felt terribly important with his books and administrational work and numbers. He had always been the precise one, the easily ignited one. One thing out of place would send him into fury, and so it was here where Bunny decided to do some of her own research. Here in his study. Where all her brothers seemed too busy with their gun fights and extortion, Bunny knew that it was unlikely to be just a regular kidnapping. There had to be clues. There just had to be.

With a click of the door knob she opened the study room. And it was exactly what she expected to find. A simple desk set amidst ceiling high bookshelves filled with administration and books. It was kept so orderly it was hard to think this may just be the start of a crime scene. But Bunny had read books herself, too. Agatha Christie had taught her one thing: death is in the details. And patterns are always there. The only difference was that this was no oriental train or desolate island, but home. The home she had lived in with people that could very well star in one of Christie’s books. For they were characters, each and every one of them.

Behind her, Bunny could still hear her mother’s wails, followed by a sharp click of the door. Was her mother going out? Oh no. Oh shit. Quickly closing the door behind her, Bunny pressed her ear against the door, listening to the footsteps in the hallway. It was definitely her mother, and from the way her heels tapped the floor in an uneven rhythm, it was clear that she was drunk. Not that this was such a surprise; each time her mother suffered a setback, she’d fall back into the dirty old habit of binge drinking.

‘Zazoooo. BABYYY where are you sweetieeee.’ Her mother’s shrill voice called as she clambered down the stairs, footsteps fading.

Zazoo hadn’t been able to climb the stairs ever since the incident. A shooting incident. And though all said it had been the Luchesse’s, or perhaps even Gio himself, Bunny knew better. She always knew better. And she was sure that it had been one of the family who had shot the dog’s leg during one of the many drinking fests. One night the dog had four legs, the next just three.

Poor dog.

Turning back around, Bunny let out a sigh. Again her eyes fell on the many small details around her. Having learned from her mystery books, she tried to find clues. The burned candles, the disturbed dust on the shelves, the…Hmm. She walked to one of the shelves that had obviously been disturbed quite recently. With a tug she pulled out some of the folders that were tucked tightly together. She wasn’t sure what exactly she was looking for, the numbers all unfamiliar. But there were names here too. Many names, though unfamiliar in most cases. Only the Luchesse named immediately rung a bell, but then the numbers didn’t clarify much either.

Flitting through the pages, Bunny let her eyes slide over the neatly noted numbers. Prices, codes, phone numbers. They could be anything. Continuing her research, her eyes stopped on one page. A blood stain had poured into the thin paper, dark red, though also still slightly slimy. An unusual type of blood stain when at best you’d suspect a paper cut.

Noises in the hallway made her turn on her heel again. More people. Male. Fuck. Hurrying to get the folder closed and back on the shelf, Bunny nearly let it slip from her hands. Her heart was thundering and fingers slippery. She knew that if she was caught red handed now, this would be last day she ever saw daylight. Her father would not have this. He didn’t like unsubordinate little women. He wanted them meek and mild, not curious and self established.

Rushing towards the door, Bunny already tried to find excuses to tell. Perhaps she had heard a faint noise and since she couldn’t find the guards, went to see for it herself. Perhaps she thought she heard Alfi. Perhaps she..

‘My mother has a dog.’ Luigi’s chuckle reverberated up the stairwell. Bunny sighed and relaxed a little. Luigi didn’t give a crap about these administrational books. He cared more about appearances, self pampering and other slightly dubious male activities. Pressing her ear back against the door she listened, but no further words came. It were two pairs of feet, moving in the same direction. Towards the Englishman’s room, or hers. Oh no. Oh no! You can’t be saying they were looking for her!

Making sure the footsteps were far enough away, Bunny unclicked the door and rushed into the hallway. The men were gone. Though their voices returned, chuckling through Jack’s door.

Bunny knew at that moment that she would be better off if she just went back to her room. She was putting her nose in things she didn’t understand. In things she wasn’t supposed to understand.

‘Oh Jack!’ Luigi exclaimed, followed by a bit of laughter. Bunny quietly moved in closer, ears peaking to pick up the sounds. But no more sounds came.

Then Bunny made another mistake. She watched. Women weren’t supposed to see these things. But here she was, bending over and peeking in through the keyhole. Inside the well-lit room stood the two men. Jackets removed, embracing. But it wasn’t the type of embrace she knew. This was..different. Long lasting. Luigi’s hands were on the Englishman’s buttocks. And it lasted too long. This was..this was. Bunny watched in shock and awe through the tiny keyhole. And then Jack’s blue eyes found hers.

Fuck.

--

Chap 4 >

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