#but there's a whole other layer when it comes to the black church.

[thatoddgent]

Sweetheart [Part Two] (Aether x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Wanna say a quick thank you for all the support that I've received on everything I've posted so far, I'm happy that people are liking what I'm working so hard on and I appreciate you all! This is part two to my Valentines Day post, so if you haven't read that yet then you can here! I hope that you like this, and feedback is always appreciated. <33

Genre: Smut, sweet and romantic since that's what won in the poll!

Warnings: Porn with plot, P in V sex, drunk sex? (Both parties and very light buzz), biting/marking, L bomb, blood (not super graphic).

The garden felt so lonesome, you staying back after bidding farewell to the ghoul so you could relish in the moment. It was almost surreal, but you don't have the time to sit around and think about it all day, you had a party to get ready for.

The siblings and staff were excused from wearing their habits and other such uniforms, instead they were expected to wear distinguished - yet still festive - clothing. Since you played a part in designing and putting together the suits for Papa and his ghouls, you were lucky enough to have an idea of how they would look, and decided to go for something that would play nicely with the colors Aether would be wearing.

Shuffling around through your closet, you finally found the dress you had been looking for, you didn't have much reason for dressing up in the abbey so you jumped at the opportunity to wear it.

Slipping out of your habit and veil, you get the dress situated on yourself and move to the mirror to make sure everything is in place. The dress was stunning, deep burgundy colored fabric clung to your body, with a slit on the thigh accentuating your hips. It had a modest neckline to distract from the sultry bottom half, with lacey off-the-shoulder sleeves hanging delicately from your arms. You paired the dress with a set of black heels that you knew you would be comfortable in, and a lovely little silver necklace with a purple stone.

You kept your makeup simple, not wanting it to get ruined in the midst of the party, applying a nice gloss with eyeliner and mascara, just enough to bring out the color of your eyes and the shape of your lips. A layer of hair was pinned back, leaving half of it down to further frame your face.

When you looked in the mirror, you were almost in awe, it had been so long since you had done yourself up like this, in a way, you missed it.

A knock at the door interrupted you from your thoughts, and you opened it to find Marjory smiling. Her mouth drops at the sight of you, and yours at her.

"Dear Asmodeus! You're going to be the star of the party showing up like that, you make me look like I'm doing nothing more than running a few arrands!"

You giggle at the sweet response, gesturing both hands up to her.

"Me? Look at you! No wonder you were able to steal that poor boys heart, I'd be more worried that you've stolen them from all the brothers in the ministry!"

You move to the side and gesture for Marjory to come in, leaving the door open in case any other friends happen to stop by. You two sit on the bed and talk, trying to pass some time while you wait for the Banquet to begin.

Eventually Liza finds her way into the room as well, mouth already going off spewing the latest gossip she could scrounge up.

"So," She begins. "Did he ask you?"

A goofy smile glues itself to your face, and you nod your head quickly, still giddy about the whole thing. And, once again, you have both of the girls squealing loud enough for those outside to hear. It's like when you first joined the ministry, no worries but fawning over boys and trying your best not to get caught slacking by your higher ups, you're glad that you've made such good friends.

You three quiet down a bit and continue talking until the church bells begin to bellow a melody throughout the halls, signally that the party is soon to start. The halls quickly fill with people making their way to the dining hall, which had been rearranged and decorated to look like a place that only royalty could afford. Copia was as victim to a love for flare and drama as his brothers before him, so it only made sense that he wanted to set the mood for romance.

You admired the room from the doorway, waiting and looking for the ghoul you were set to enter with. You felt yourself getting nervous as you watched countless other sisters find their partners and seat themselves at the tables, he wouldn't have stood you up, right?

Now that you think about it, Papa wasn't here, neither were the others ghouls that were to accompany him. Before you had a chance to wonder any longer, an elderly sister came up behind you and rested a hand on your shoulder.

"Go on dear, enjoy the fun. I'm sure that who you're looking for will find you in due time, don't soil it by waiting out here all night."

You smile at the woman and nod, taking one last look in the hall before entering the hall, finding a seat next to Liza. She looked at you with a hint of worry in her eyes, she was without a date too, but you shouldn't be wallowing with her right now, unlike her you had plans.

She nudged your arm with her elbow and offered you a smile, which you returned quickly. Even if something did happen, at least you had her. Your gaze fell to the centerpieces that you three had worked on just a few hours earlier.

Sweet music soon started wafting through the air, and everyone went silent waiting to see what was happening. The giant double doors on the opposite side from where you had entered opened, and there stood the beloved Papa Emertitus IV, clad in a deep crimson suite with purple detailing. Behind him stood an entourage of ghouls, though you couldn't much make them out in the dark of the night.

Copia started making his way inside, kissing the hands of a few sisters on his way to the table which was reserved for him and his group. As they filed in, it was revealed that the ghouls all were holding bundles of flowers, which they began passing out to the brothers in their seats.

"Love," Papa's voice rang out. "It's what binds us. Family, friends, lovers. Today we celebrate it, and cherish it, for it is truly something special, and with these roses you will share that love with those closest to you."

By the time Papa had finished speaking, the roses had all been passed out, save for the ones that a few of the ghouls had saved for themselves. The anxiety that you felt earlier began to grow, you weren't sure if you could wait. You saw Aether standing there, in front of everyone, holding a single rose in his hands.

Copia threw his arms out towards the crowd, and smiled.

"Please, begin my friends!"

All of the brothers began gifting their roses, some standing up to find and confess to sisters that had been without partners. You simply sat and watched, occasionally looking over to Liza who laughed at anyone who was turned down, as well as turning down any man who attempted to offer anything to her.

Your eyes wandered to the large table that Papa was to sit at, and saw that he and the ghouls were all whispering to one another. He looked around, and once everyone had sat down, he nodded his head.

Once he did that, the ghouls that had save roses made their way out into the crowd, and began confessing on their own. Your heart began to throb as you saw the large ghoul you were eyeing walk over to where you were sitting, reaching out a hand for you to take.

Liza had to hold in a scream at the sight. You took Aether's hand and rose from your seat, looking up at him with loving eyes. He was incredibly handsome, he wore a black dress shirt and pants with a tie that matched the color of your dress, and he was still sporting his usual silver rings and bracelet.

All of the ghouls were wearing black masks that covered the top half of their face, leaving their hair and lips free. It was probably the most you had seen of Aether, and you loved every part of it.

"I know I already asked, but there's no harm in making sure." He smiles. "Would you like to join me?"

You accept the rose from his other hand and hold it close, nodding slowly. He gently pulls you next to him, and leads by the hand back to his table, along with the other ghoul's and their partners.

You all sat down, and the party began, food being brought out and served on some of the most beautiful plates and cutlery that you had every seen.

"Copia sure knows how to party." You whisper at Aether.

"You think he set this up alone? He had to ask the girls to help pick forks because 'There was too many'."

You both try to stifle your laughs to not draw attention, but a few of the others ghouls still look over.

You and Aether start eating, joking around and talking in between bites. He's really such a sweet guy, you never once feel uneasy or nervous, even thought your table is front an center. He even wipes a bit of food away from your lips without drawing attention to it, not want to embarrass you.

A couple of hours pass, and soon everyone is done talking and eating, which means it's about time for the coveted afterparty. Everyone begins to stand and leave the room, some going to their bedrooms and others going to the ballroom to continue socializing. Your group starts to leave, and you help to pick up a couple of plates and such from the tables on your way out. Aether watching you lovingly, and copying your actions.

Once you make it to the ballroom, you can't help but let your mouth fall open, admiring the beautiful decor that had been set up. A giant chandelier hung from the ceiling, with shimmering crystals that reflected the different colors of the room. Ribbons were also hung up, with flowers and loose petals littering the room and floor. Music also played, it was soft and slow, truly romantic, though you were sure that would change when people got more in a different kind of mood.

Aether placed a hand of the small of your back and led you inside, the both of you ending up in front of Marjory and Liza, as well as the brother that asked Marjory out and... another sister?

Liza looked at you and blushed, introducing you do her date, a shy looking girl who you never really expected to be her type. They really did look good together, and you were glad she wasn't left alone.

You introduced Aether to your friends as well, making sure to keep them and their gawking in line. Once you were all settled in, you migrated to the dance floor and started to join the large group of slow dancers.

His hands found its way to the home of the crook of your waist, while yours wandered up to rest around his neck. You looked up to him, able to see his eyes much clearer than his usual mask, they were big and a little downturned, and so loving. The lights from above shined down and lit up his eyes beautifully, you were captivated.

The music moved you both, making you sway softly in each other's arms. In your eyes, there was no longer anyone but him, the both of you together, because that’s all you needed. It was almost foolish how quickly the two of you fell for one another, but the way he held you, the way that he pulled your body so close to his, if this was foolish then you would happily spend your life living a comedy, because this is all you could dream of.

You both continued to look into each others eyes, not breaking your gaze for a second. Your hands slowly snaked away from his neck and rested on the sides of his jaw, cradling him with a touch he had never known. He moved his head lower, letting it sit just close enough that you could feel the warm tickle of his breath, but he didn’t move any closer, he didn’t dare.

He was waiting, waiting for you to decide if this is what you wanted, the poor man wanted nothing more than to embrace you and feel the warmth of your lips on his, but he sat patiently.

Your eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips, and just as quickly, your lips to his own. His lips were soft and a bit chapped, brushing so beautifully against yours, the kiss was nothing but the love that you felt in that moment, no lust or ill intent, just love.

You couldn't tell if it lasted forever, or if it didn't last long enough, but eventually you two had to pull apart. Aether's eyes were almost glazed over with a look that you couldn't exactly place, but your eyes shone with the same light back at him. You both shared that look for the rest of the afterparty, stealing glances from one another even when you were across the room, like two little lovesick puppies.

As the night continued, you both drank a bit, not enough to get overly drunk, but there was a visible haze of blush spread across your cheeks. Aether was able to handle his liquor better than you were, you could barely even tell than he had anything to drink. Marjory and Liza, as well as their dates, found their way back over to you and decided to finish the party off with a bang, dragging you to the dance floor once again for a dance that was just a bit less innocent.

Everyone was pressed close up to their partners, hardly leaving any room to breath between them, and you two were no different.

Your chest pressed against Aether’s, you two enveloped in another kiss, one that was more passionate than the last one. Your hands were ruffled in his hair, and his rested just above your ass, robbing you of his touch in a way that was almost criminal.

You felt a prodding at your stomach, and those silly little butterflies began to flutter around again. Tugging at Aether’s hair a bit, trying to get him as close as your bodies would allow, you earned a low grunt in response, and you can tell that you’re done for.

Aether bites your lip before pulling away from the kiss, staring at you with pupils blown so wide that if you were any further they would look completely black. He shoots a glance to the rest of the people there, taking note of the vulgar grinding and fondling going on, if you both wanted this then he wouldn’t stand for it happening in a place like this.

“Would you want to maybe go somewhere else? It’s getting a little..” His voice trails off a tad.

“Horny in here?” You finished his sentence, blunter than either of you expected.

You both burst out laughing, it’s almost beautiful the way that, even when in a mood like this, there’s still room for laughter.

“I would love to, Aether. I’ve always wondered what the ghouls bedrooms looked like, would you care to show me?”

The color of his face deepened, and he nodded quickly. You smile and go to take off your heels so you can walk a little more comfortably, but it seems Aether has been waiting for your departure. He takes your shoes from your hands and turns his back towards you, signally for you to hop on.

“Poor feet are probably killing you, I’ll give you a ride so you have have a break.”

You shake your head and laugh before hopping on him, a little uneasy at first due to being higher than you usually stand. Aether wraps his arms under your hips to hold you nice a snug, and starts making his way to his bedroom.

The way there is filled him comfortable silence, just enjoying each others company. Your face is nestled against his neck again, feeling his soft hair tickling at your skin.

Before you come to notice, Aether’s setting you down gently on probably the softest bed you’ve ever touched. You admire the decor for just a second before planting your eyes back on the man of the hour, and the sight of him is down right intoxicating.

He stands just above you, looking down with disheveled hair and foggy eyes. A hand snakes it’s way up to your face, caressing your check softly.

“Are you sure that you want this?”

Your heart feels so full and warm, the smile on your face radiating that same feeling. You lean up a bit and place a small kiss on his cheek.

“I would never want it with anyone else, Aether.”

The moment he got the okay, his lips are back on yours, they’re so warm and inviting he just can’t help but kiss them whenever he gets the chance. His hands move to your back, finding and undoing the zipper of your dress before carefully pulling it off of you.

You feel a bit shy, being so exposed to someone, but try not to bring attention to it, that is until-

“Wow…” Aether whispers just loud enough to hear.

You look at him, worried something might be wrong, that maybe he changed his mind now that he saw you. Those thoughts are swatted away though when he wraps his arms around you in a firm, but careful embrace, just holding you close for a moment.

“I can’t believe that I have you here, that you’re mine. You’re so… Wow.”

Your face must be burning up, but you push through that, and your slight anxiety, and pull his arms to the clasps of your bra. He undoes them, a bit clumsily, but it’s charming.

Once your bra comes off, Aether truly cannot keep his hands, eyes, or mouth away from you. He pecks your lips just one more time, before kissing his way to your jaw, then your neck, all the way down until he reaches your chest. He nips at your skin, looking to see what reaction you have to it before he continues appreciating every inch of you.

No wonder he’s one of Papa’s closest ghouls, big, strong, talented, and from the looks of it, incredibly dedicated to worship.

“Aether,” your voice is small and shaky. “Please.”

He rises to meet your gaze, leaning in next to your ear.

“Please what, tesorina?”

You feel likes your going to burst, and he must be too, judging by his shallow breath.

“Please, I need you.” You swallow a breath, trying to calm down. “All of you.”

Aether says nothing before he starts shedding his clothes, being more careless than he was with yours, and you remove your underwear while he does so. He pushes himself onto the bed, pulling you carefully under him and massaging your thighs.

“How can I say no to such a pretty thing like you?”

You feel him grind himself against your folds, rubbing against your clit every so often. Once he’s a little more slicked up, he positions himself and slowly starts to slide into you. It doesn’t hurt, but the sheer stretch of him makes you whimper a bit.

He shushes you, offering words of comfort and praise while he works himself deeper.

“Shhh shhh… Atta girl, you’re taking it so good, just a little more.”

Your head spins, swirling all of his words like little whirlpools, and you were drowning in them. So drunken by the things he was saying, they all started to blur together, and the feeling of him finally sheathing himself fully inside you was almost disorienting.

Hands gripped his wide shoulders, looking for any kinda of support while the same pathetic whimpers fell from your lips. Aether was there though, making sure to kiss away any discomfort before he ever dreamed of moving, not wanting to push too far too fast.

You subconsciously grind your hips into his, once again earning yourself a low groan from the ghoul. Your hands wander to his face and then to the back of his head, finger lacing in the strap of his mask. His body tensed for a second, but with a deep breath he replaces your hands with his own, unlatching the strap and removing it from his face.

You stared, as hard as you tried not to, you did. His eyes had caught you in a trap earlier with their deep stretches of color, but seeing him now, for all he was, the only word you could describe it as would be blessed.

He was obviously nervous, biting his lip waiting for any kind of response from you. So you told him the only words that you could grasp in that ever rushing mind of yours.

“I love you, Aether.”

His hips almost instinctively thrust, hitting as deep into you as you could take him. You must have hit some kind of nerve - or rather - need, inside of him, because he hurried his head in the valley of your chest his breathing was shaky.

“Please…” His voice wobbled from his throat. “Say it again?”

You smiled, it was so cute seeing the things that really got him going.

“I love yo-“

Another deep thrust caught you off guard, your words being replace with an unexpectedly loud whine. He started moving his hips at a steady pace, slow but deep, dragging right against that extra soft little spot in you.

Your nails dug into his shoulders and your eyes shut tightly, you relished the feeling of him filling you up, every movement driving you closer and closer to the edge. You swear, you were watching him fall more for you ever second he was inside you, his eyes were soft and his lips hung open just a tad, he was a sailor and you were his siren.

A hand moved from his shoulder to one of his horns, pulling him back down to kiss you. It wasn’t dirty, or lustful, it was that same kiss that he gifted you the first time.

He tried to keep at that slow pace, but the feeling of you clamping down on him, your skin pressed on his, it drove him wild and his thrusts started to speed up. You were starting to unravel underneath him, a mess of sweat and moans, and begging. You begged him for it, all of it, every little bit of him he could offer you.

“So close… Need…”

His head dipped down to your shoulder, where he placed a firm kiss, making you choke on your words.

“Mark me… Please…”

Almost as if he had been waiting, he opened his lips and dug his teeth into your shoulder, beads of blood dripping into his mouth. He slowed his thrust almost to a halt, but that didn’t stop you from grinding yourself on him, finally reaching your climax with an extremely lewd moan that was muffled by one of your hands. He joined you, giving a few deep thrust before his own release, his dick twitching while filling you with the warmest sensation you’ve probably ever felt.

He relaxes his jaw and pulls away from you, soothing the oncoming sting from the bite with his tongue as he lapped up any drips of blood still trying to escape. Your body was tired and your vision was blurry, so you simply tried to catch your breath until you regained a little stability.

Once Aether had stopped the bleeding, he lifted his head and rested it on your own, your noses pressed against one another.

“I love you too, tesorina. Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

You nodded your head, trying to sit up with him, but he planted you flat on your back. You were a little confused, until he pulled a towel from his closet and a change of clothes. He wiped up the cum that was now spilling out of you, careful not to rub on any spot that was too sensitive. Sitting you up, he slid one of his shirts over your head, and a nice pair of socks onto your feet, topped off with a tender kiss on the forehead.

He threw on a pair of boxers and got into bed, pulling you into his chest from behind, trying his best not to touch the fresh mark on your shoulder. You two cuddle like that for a while, and you eventually start to drift off, Aether leaving you one final bit of praise to dream of.

"Even like this, dolcezza, you're still so perfect. Goodnight, I'll see you in my dreams."

#the band ghost #band ghost #ghost bc #ghost fanfiction #ghost x reader #x reader #nameless ghouls x reader #aether ghoul #band ghost x reader #band ghost x reader smut #band ghost smut #smut #aether ghoul x reader #angel writes

[thesoappope]

Hawaii: Part II ✨️The Musical!✨️

Why haven't I heard of this till now! This is literally tits and ass! Fucking masterpiece! Contemporary composers are seething! Roger and Hammerstein who? Hamilton what? This shit do be bussin fr fr!

Um anyways...enough memeing and praising Hawaii: Part II. What I wanted to talk about is what if this were an actual musical. Like not just an album, a proper musical, performed in front of an audience, in a theatre (proscenium, black box, in the round, any style), scenic, costuming, lighting, instrumentalist, everything! Now you maybe thinking, bro how can you do that when-and yes I hear you, but it can be done! For one, ultimately it's up to the director and creative team to decide how to interpret this musical, because despite interviews and theories, the true story of Hawaii: Part II is unknown. So the team should figure out which idea to latch onto (rip the dramaturg). From their the real magic can happen!

Now another thing to consider is, where should intermission happen, should there be one? I think that depends on how much is added to the musical. Like dialouge or extra music exclusive to the live performance. If it's straight up no change, same music, then no. However if dialouge between songs, or additional songs (that function as transitions or maybe a new layer to the story) then there's a few options that come to mind. If heavy enough in added material, the intermission should be at after murders because that feels like the turning point of the whole album. Though if you like being 50/50, have it begin before magic electric, because the previous song could also be a turning point as well. But if none of those work towards the interpretation chosen, I'd say then choose a new song or dialouge to en act one at. Or say fuck it and have no intermission lol!

Personal Design Concept:

So, if I made this into a musical, it's going to be serealist and absurd af! I love absurdist theatre and this vibe fits sooooo well. Now the idea I had was the schizophrenia theory because it makes the most sense to me. Though a more literal version helps as well and doesn't diminish my design concept. Also I wouldn't afd too much dialogue and wouldn't have an intermission, rather a great pause between murders and the next song.

So for one I want this to be in a proscenium, second I want black and white monochrome tropical set peices, however the moon, I want it to change color as the musical progresses, ending on white but quickly becoming red. Oh and I want the black steps to be present, high but never reaching the moon. Also the beach should be snowy. Another thing I'd like is two boats on opposite sides of the stage. Oh and the backdrop with the moon should have stars that glitter throughout the play. Also for the proscenium I want it to look like a mix of space craft machinery and old religious (possible greek) depictions emdebed in it. Oh and last thing about scenic is there should be beach balls and sand buckets on the set, oh and the palm trees should leave during murders.

Oh costumes! I love the idea of only the narrator, main character, and lover being the only ones that match the aesthetic and every other character including the dancers don't necessarily have to match. Like during the song between murders and magic electric I want angles dancing. Also the murderer should dress exactly like the main character but colorful rather than monochrome. Which if I get bored enough I'll actually draw the designs. By the end of the musical, the main character should have the colored outfit and his love should have a wedding dress with bits of red. Also both characters will have the Stella Octongula by the end. Before that it's the murderer and sparse voices scattered throughout the musical. The narrator has one as well but theirs is black and white while everyone else's is rainbow. Also all characters (aside from those specified) are black and white. Also I want some performers to be in space suits, church choir outfits, nurse outfits. Also I still don't know why, but I really want circus clowns and performers outfits, feels right but I'll need to find a reason lol. Oh and I really want appollo to be a character that appears and then takes the main character and his lover to the after life.

Lights I want very little color, so that when color is added it stands out. Like I really want a rainbow project during black rainbows which at the end becomes black and white for a brief moment then the song ends. Also I want during the musical blood spots to appear till turning the scene red during murders. Also the murderer and main character will be in white light as needed. Oh and the lighting for every song before murders should be Cinderella or happy disney story. Then have that lighting again in the multi language song. But at mind electric it should feel like a prison. The last song should feel like disney but slowly be nothing but spot lights with the shadows being red, then once lights black out, the bright red moon should be shining.

End of 🎶 musical 🎶

Hope you enjoyed my rambling and brain vomit!

#hawaii part ii #hawaii part 2 #musicals #stella octangula #miracle musical #musical concept #theatrical design #hawaii part ii the musical

[laceanddoodles]

I found fandom in 2012, thanks to a girl at my church. She was a year or two older than me, but never treated me like a “little kid,” and she showed me Avatar: the Last Airbender, Doctor Who, and a whole bunch of other stuff. I remember she had more of an alt/goth aesthetic than anyone I knew. Short hair, layered jewelry (including a bird skull on a necklace that I still include in character designs if I need a short hand for them being “cool”), and the only time I ever saw her wear makeup, it included black lipstick.

I was crushing HARD. And already inclined to believe that she had impeccable taste in media. So when she turned me onto Homestuck, I didn’t even hesitate to start reading.

I kept up with the comic until it ended, then fell into a period of inactivity within the fandom. Every so often I’d come back to the music, reminisce on my shitty middle school fan trolls, and of course, her.

And now it’s 2023, and, uh… I think I’m officially part of the fandom again? I’ve been getting really invested in fansession rps on Discord, I have a growing cast of new Homestuck OCs, and I’m having a great time. I don’t really know what I’m trying to accomplish by this post but, hi! I’m glad to be back.

#homestuck #homestuck fandom #I’m very very gay #I found Homestuck because of a gay middle school crush

[ncitygirls]

dance - jeno x f reader

fluff, smut, 2.1k

jeno knows it’s bad, but he can’t help but reminisce on how this all began. he likes to torture himself by reliving the first night over and over. it always starts with the drunken taunts from his teammates, sullied further by his dismissal. ‘no way,’ he’d said. ‘i can’t go there.’ he remembers seeing your roommates hyping you up, followed closely by your misguided steps. even after his earlier reluctance, he still regrets not beating you to the jump, his friends’ clearing their throats, trying to act natural as you approached their booth.

he hated the setting: a grotty sports bar a town over from his college campus. it sold stale, cheap beer, triple vodka sours and served well past three am. this may not sound like the typical start to a love story, but it was a start all the same.

‘do you wanna dance?’ you asked in a painfully small voice, your emboldened strut paling in complete contrast to your timid yet gleaming gaze. jeno still can’t say where he found the courage to agree, but agree he did, nodding behind his beer before following you up to the sticky floor. somewhere along the way you had taken his hand in yours, in fear of losing him in the sea of sweaty bodies. in the musty wave of noughties hits with tacky modern spins, jeno managed to lose himself anyway. he hadn’t a clue where to put his hands, his eyes searching yours as you giggled up at him, cooing at his bewilderment.

so you led. placing his hand on your exposed waist, your top riding up as it hugged the skin beneath your rib. he felt you shiver under his touch, his fingers clenching minutely at the feeling. ‘is this okay?’ he’d yelled, though it came through as more of a whisper under the music. you didn’t respond, instead reaching for his other hand, squeezing it over the denim on your hip. jeno was spinning. not from dancing, and not from the amount he’d drank. he knew it wasn’t down to that, nor the dizzying motion of the lights, the thickness of the air or the pounding of the music. jeno knew it was you. your chest pressed flush to his, your eyes boring into his. he didn’t know when you’d started swaying, his body leaning, moving in time with the music and the others on the floor. he could hear the songs changing, feel the bass beneath his feet. there wasn’t much he could do but enjoy it.

much like he still does. as he drags you close to him, the rosie organza pleated around your chest pressed right up to his satin lapel. his confidence then pales in comparison to now. it only took a few months to see the change, one you nurtured in all the ways a man like jeno needed. in soft assurances and gentle praise. in delicate touches and the softest embraces. in ardent exchanges and steamy quickies.

but the trouble began this past winter. well, technically well before. as a child, jeno had spent his summers visiting his cousin jaemin in his hometown from before he could remember. there the two had fortified a friendship, a real brotherhood that jeno never would have gotten to experience without being cast away to the country every solstice. it was there he met his cousin’s neighbour, mark lee. mark lee, a kind kid with wide eyes and a wider smile, was the kind of kid everyone looked up to. he embodied what jeno typically thought to be an older brother. and he was. to his step sister and cousins, to kids in his neighbourhood, to jeno’s cousin jaemin and eventually to jeno. it’s why, this christmas just gone, when mark had approached jeno, with giddy eyes and a giddier smile, to ask him to be one of his groomsmen - not just due to the refusal of a painfully introverted jaemin - but because of a genuine brotherhood formed between the two, jeno’s big hearted self could not refuse.. bringing us back to where the trouble began.

‘so, are you bringing her to the wedding?’ mark questioned suddenly, his arm pushing through the sleeve of his tux. ‘you definitely shou- it’s a bit tight at the elbow, can you see?’

jeno still curses jaemin for opting out of being a groomsman, leaving jeno to deal with the trivialities of wedding prep. not that he has a real problem with it all. it’s just a fitting, he thought as he walked in, his eyes landing on the black silk hanging off the changing room door. it wasn’t until he realised it was just he and mark - the rest of the groomsmen opting to come on a later date - that he was regretting the decision. because even though no one would admit it to his face, mark was a bit of a groomzilla. less for the usual reasons. he wasn’t rude, short or angered by little inconveniences. he was just a man of superstition, faith, and insurmountable dubiety. he wanted everything to be perfect. he wanted to do as much of his part as he could for his wedding day. jeno thinks his fiancée had been right to leave him the task of the guest list. mark easily knew more people, so was naturally inundated with acquaintances. it was a great idea, jeno thought.. until mark kept- on- pushing- ‘i’ll even relieve you of your duties early, let you go off with her-’

‘thanks man,’ the younger tried, watching the tailor pinch the jacket at his waist. ‘but really, i don’t think i will. i’ll just bring my mom or something.’

‘your mom’s already invited man, you know that.’ jeno huffed at that. of course she is. mark did take his duties seriously after all. ‘couldn’t have her going off on me like jaemin did-’

‘are you comparing my mom to jaemin?’

‘i’m just saying-’ mark paused to thank the attendant, slipping back out of his jacket as he walked up to jeno, squeezing his shoulder. ‘you’ve got nothing to be nervous about, jen. you’re like a brother to me. you should bring her, i’d love to meet her.’

jeno flinches just thinking about it, his spine straightening as mark turned to him fully. jeno manages a shrug, turning back to the mirror just for a second before deciding that, no. no, it wouldn’t be a good idea to introduce his girl to his best friend on his wedding day.

because the issue wasn’t that he wouldn’t invite you.

‘you met her at college, right?’

the issue was that he couldn’t.

‘maybe y/n knows her?’

the issue is that you’re already going.

‘you know what my sister’s like, she gets on with everyone.’

“jen?” you pant, his name falling off your tongue as he bounces you quickly in his lap. “come back to me.” he smiles at your sweet call, your teeth catching his lip between them before slipping your tongue into his mouth.

the ceremony starts in ten minutes, though guests are still pouring into the church. it’s what actually convinced him. that and you, your manicured hand stuffing your damp panties into the pocket of his fitted tux. it had been his undoing, your sweeping frame gliding into a small side door a few feet from the altar.

the clock is ticking but you pay it no mind, your hips halting their rise and fall as you dig your heels into the masoned floor, grinding your hips back and forth as you ride him. you feel his nails dig painfully into your skin, his tongue wrapping around yours, swallowing your gasps as his other hand gathers your dress, the layers of delicate organza billowing over his knee. when your nails find his nape, careful not to mess up his perfectly styled do, you suck on his ear lobe, forcing him to thrust up into you.

“fuck-”

“shh!” you hiss, rushing to stuff the same panties you gifted him in his mouth. you hear his muffled groans, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks the essence of you onto his waiting tongue. he feels you clench harder around him, his eyes smiling in place of his occupied lips. he lifts a brow when your rocking falters, your eyes darting around his perfect face, incapable of taking in anything but him and how he makes you feel. there’s a question in his gaze, forcing your head to bob. “yeah- i’m close-”

he abandons your dress then, letting the material pool around you two as he presses his palm to your neck, bringing your mouth to his. it’s a quick and steep descent to your release, your thighs burning as he slams you up and down on his cock, your skin clapping against his as he abandons all reason. he’s kept it quiet for so long, at times he thinks it might consume him from the inside out, all this love he has for you. all jeno really wants is to scream it out from the highest mountain top, tattoo it to his forehead, paint it on the fucking moon. hell, he would pay anyone to listen. he didn’t care who. he’d tell anyone who’d listen that he, lee jeno, was in love with y/n y/l/n.

“i love you too,” you almost cry, jaw unhinged as you feel the effects of his thrusts and affection rip through you. it spreads through you like wildfire, setting every nerve in you alight before it finally consumes him. your heat pumps and pushes him past his release, his heavy load pouring out into you. you milk him through it, your temple pressed to the crown of his head.

it’s the church bells that rip you apart, your whole body cringing as realisation hits. you cringe further as his flushed face fills your vision, his hands gathering your dress again before further staining your panties as he wipes between your legs. “don’t look at me like that.”

“like what?”

“like it’s worse for you than it is for me.” you’re about to ask how when he moves away from you, closing his eyes as he wraps it up before shoving it back in his pocket. “i said don’t.”

“fine, i won’t-” your surrender is cut short when knuckles strike the door three times, jaemin’s sign to wrap it up. “shit, let’s go-” you try to leave but can’t. because suddenly he’s stopping you, his warm hand loosely wrapped around your wrist.

“let’s tell him.”

“tell who what-”

“mark.” jeno used to hate acknowledging the striking similarities between you and your step brother. much like the unwon battle of the chicken and the egg: which came first? which of you taught the other that when your eyes enlarge, rounding into porcelain saucers, two full moons nearly eclipsing him, that he’d give you anything?

“today?” when he nods, you want to laugh. but he looks so confident. so sure. “jen, are you sure?”

“i am,” his affirmation makes your heart swell, even before he continues. “i’m sure about you.”

he knows where your uncertainties lie. but you affirm it too. “i’m sure about you too.” you both seem to forget the wedding in that moment, both neglecting the importance of your bridal party roles in favour of basking in one another for even a second longer. “only if you save me a dance?”

“always.” so much so, you don’t register the sound of the confessional door swinging open when jeno leans in to kiss to your forehead, his bitten lips pressing to the skin as his eyes land on a pair not too dissimilar to the ones he’d just poured his heart out to.

mark seems to short circuit for a second that seems to last hours. “mom’s looking for you,” he announces, spluttering around the words as you immediately grab jeno by the hand and drag him out the confessional. you both duck your heads as you shuffle past jaemin, who looks beyond pissed you didn’t heed his earlier warning.

when you both disappear, your brother turns on jaemin, eyes wide as full moons. “you knew!” it only angers him more when jaemin nods, unflinching when mark starts slapping his arm. “he told you and you didn’t tell me?”

“nuh-uh,” the younger defends, straightening out the groom’s lapel as he reverently shuts the confessional door. “i figured it out.” mark looks bewildered at the notion it had been so obvious. jaemin has to remind himself it’s mark’s day and not to be too harsh. “come on, hyung. he wouldn’t tell us her name, wouldn’t let us meet her.” mark still looks stunned. “don’t get me started on how many times they pulled this shit last christmas-”

and to think. it all started with a dance.

#jeno #nct jeno #nct dream #nct dream smut #nct smut #nct fluff #nct dream fluff #jeno fluff #jeno smut #nct au #ncitygirls

[missgeniality]

Opaline Moon (m)

“The Moon can never breathe, but it can take our breath away with the beauty of its cold, arid orb.” - Munia Khan

➺ Banner: @hobiandsprite​ 💕

➺ Pairing: Seokjin x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Friends to Lovers, Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 11.2k

➺ Summary: You are ingrained to love Jin, right upto the blood that courses through your veins. Confessing, however, is a whole other game. So it’s a good thing you’re bad at keeping your hands to yourself, because happenstance can handle the rest. 

➺ Warnings: talks about dance floor fucking, making out in the bar bathroom, fingering, pussy slapping, passing out drunk, daydreams about thigh riding, reader masturbates, they make out A LOT, neck kissing, a hickey, nipple play, some biting, cum eating (kind of, you’ll see), blowjob, protected sex!, reader and jin are corny, the hurt is real but the sex is real-er

➺ Author’s Note: My lovely, lovely moots - @taegularities​, @kithtaehyung​ and @baepsaetan​, thank you so much for betaing this and hyping it up, your comments made this fic a hundred times better! As I mentioned on the teaser, this fic took a lot out of me, but I thoroughly enjoyed writing the angst and will write more whenever the story aligns! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing, and I hope this lovable Jin reaches your heart! (ngl, in usual fashion, I will come back and edit it again, so if you see a spelling mistake, your eyes are lying to you) Do let me know what you think, your asks and comments make my day!

This is the second part of my Dress Down series, find more at it’s masterlist!

ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

Sweltering heat. Blaring traffic. Little to no sleep. Through all things wrong, one man’s thoughts wrapped around you like a cooling breeze, a shield to protect you from the vicissitudes of reality, to draw you back into all of him. Unfortunately, your reality may never see that day come to light.

Kim Seokjin.

Kim Seokjin, the man who cooked you up a greasy break-up meal at three in the morning with not a sight of discomfort, putting your needs above all.

Kim Seokjin, whose puns make you roll your eyes heavenward, half awed at how he manages to pull one out of his collection at a moment's notice, and half irked by the untimely laugh it brings out of you.

Kim Seokjin, the man who will never be yours, and you have no one to blame but yourself. 

One could argue that the miscommunication that had caused this present condition was two-way. If you had stopped him, corrected him, let him know the truth… you wouldn’t have to resort to the extreme measures you’re currently entangled in. One would also say, you are trying to redeem your mistake by trying too hard. Surely, everyone and their mothers could see through your ruse. 

This is the fourth time you’re visiting Jin for his BE shoot - a shoot taking place two hours away from the city, disguised under various layers of secrecy to prevent any leakage of the album concept, or Jin in general. Of course, you had been made privy to such exclusive information, because you and Jin were ‘best friends’. 

Best. Friends.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Best friends. The term you coined for (and forced upon) the bond you had. The bond that was too close to sprouting into something new, something fresh, something that was filled with glimmering allure and dragged you in like quicksand. But also, it reeked of commitment, of shadows, of newness that you hadn’t felt in the longest time, and fear of already being far too deep in without even taking the first step. 

The loud thrum of some internet kid’s new hit pulses through the air of the club as bundles of couples occupy the dance floor, laughing and gyrating to a song that, in your opinion, most definitely does not suit gyrating. But with enough of the weekend happy hours intake combined with hormone-riddled minds, one could very well throw it back to a church choir. 

You weave through the drunken bodies, trying not to spill the precariously held three drinks in your hands, making your way to your inner circle, the only people to blame for dragging you to this slosh-fest.

“Y/N!” 

Somehow Hoseok’s voice can echo across the club, but you didn’t even need his addressal because Jin’s laughter is loud enough to navigate anyone to your table. Seeing you struggle with the glasses (and mostly the crowd, with some of them living their exhibitionist dreams), Hoseok gets up to assist you.

“I swear, if I see one more couple pretending to be dancing as they rub one off of each other’s thighs, the black market will have my eyes.”

“Oh yeah?” Jin’s breathy voice interjects your black-market dreams, still bursting in short laughs from whatever sent him rolling before your arrival. “Why don’t you go join them?”

“And whose thigh is she taking, yours?” Yeji snorts out, one hand holding her nebula blue drink, the other wrapped around Hoseok, urging him to come closer. Jin’s features scrunch into a cringe, and you’re thankful for the dim lighting because the disappointment in your features does not reach them.

“The only action these leather pants are getting is in the damned laundromat,” he points to his shiny trousers, “some jerk dropped his drink on it.”

“You could be the first person to give some chick an orgasm and a yeast infection.” Hoseok giddily adds, his fifth shot clearly making a mess of his brain cells. 

Jin claps and gets up to move away from the group. “Better than a pregnancy!” he yells, before zigzagging through the crowd, possibly to the restroom. He is on his third cocktail, and you’d think cocktails are lighter drinks. But in this bar, their taps just seem to flow with tequila, and it is very evident in the way Jin is currently walking.

His absence hits you harder than you think, but it might be the alcohol talking. Jin has always been the mood-maker of the group, the one who brings everyone together. Of late though, his magnetic persona has been an irritant in your life. Any outing you two take, any chance you have to come clean about the burgeoning crush you have on him, is effectively disrupted by one of his posse. And today, Hoseok and Yeji took that trophy. 

“Earth to Y/N. Has the cocktail finally broken you?”

You flutter your eyes in a manic fashion, to disperse the daydream you were indulging yourself in, and bring your attention back to the couple calling for you. Surprisingly, they have stood up, Yeji emptying the last of her neon drink. 

“What happened?”

“We are going to the club nearby, they have better stuff. And that’s code for ‘they actually add water to the drink and the surround sound doesn’t shatter your ear drum’.’” 

She isn’t wrong. The cocktails and music here are a 19-year-old frat party dream, not something the working class can digest. But you’re tired at this point, and don’t want to be smothered by someone else’s love life when your own is down the dumps.

“You guys carry on! I’ll tell Jin where you are and he’ll meet you there!”

You watch as Hoseok and Yeji lead each other to the exit, hands circling their partner’s waist. They giggle on and on, about nothing and everything, and it only hardens the emptiness you feel inside you. 

Why can’t you gather the balls to spit your feelings out? What could possibly go wrong? Yes, you may lose one of your closest friends, but is this friendship really worth the agony? The bitterness you feel when you see any couple enjoying themselves? The anger you harbor whenever Jin tells you about his dates? The heartache, when he hugs you and tells you that you’re the best thing that’s happened to him… as a friend? Is it? Your plastered brain tells you to not make any rash decisions, so you don’t, instead choosing to get up and search for your best friend. 

The corridor leading to the washrooms is dimly lit, throwing a merlot filter over your eyesight, making you squint in search of your friend. You being shitfaced does not help, and while relishing in your floating wooziness, you see Jin come out, and feelings you’ve held at bay for so long slither through your currently porous defenses. 

He has always been good-looking. He himself has said so a dozen times.

But wow.

His hair lays messily atop his beautiful face, unkempt, like a breeze of beauty swept across his mighty looks and displaced every strand, causing disarray, but even the disarray only frames his superior looks and adds to its potent charm. The black, patchy sweater hanging loose off his broad shoulders makes you feel things you shouldn’t feel as a friend. That stupid gut of yours is currently screaming, yelling for all hands on deck, trying to block all the feelings from gushing in and sending you into overdrive.

By the time you can gather yourself to stop from giving in to those dangerous thoughts, Jin has crossed the distance between you, coming close, too close. Chocolate-brown eyes peer into your soul, searching for whichever fantasy you chose to lose yourself in. His eyes flit down to notice your rumpled dress that has found its way a couple of inches above its designated spot. His gaze returns to yours, but not without a newfound hardness, an almost steely glaze over the kindness that you usually find in the chocolate pools, accentuated under the garnet lighting. 

“Hey, umm…” You beg for a reprieve, from your thoughts, from your filthy mind, from the way he is eyeing your cleavage, or just for the burning between your legs. You’re about to make some serious mistakes, you can feel it down to your bone.

You’re far too overdressed. 

You knew it when you were in the process of getting dressed, but right now, you feel it much more - you look like a shiny disco ball orbiting amidst the plethora of loose tees, leggings and flannels. Everything screams comfort, because the amount of work they’re putting into this begs for it. 

The strappy lace sundress you wear is extremely out of place, the halter-neck tie behind your neck fastened a little looser than necessary, giving your breasts the exposure they deserve, a nice valley view. Your dress skirt, adorned with pretty frills and dainty flowers, cut across your thigh to frame your petite hips. You are one floppy sun hat away from an extravagant Greek cruise - and in the moment you wish you had one to hide your face in shame. 

You’re just out here, trying to escape the zone. 

“Oh, would you look at the time, it’s tits out Tuesday already?”

Your eyes roll before Sanghoon even finishes his sentence, because you wouldn’t expect anything else from him. On the team of the set design, he is carrying a whole drapery worth of plush, mauve curtains, struggling with the slipping fabric. But apparently not struggling enough to stop him from getting his nose into your business, it seems.

“Literally not even a time you just mentioned. Can’t get one thing right.” You can’t stop yourself from stretching a hand out to feel the curtain fabric, the satiny sheets begging to be touched. Before you can though, Sanghoon moves away, not allowing you to shift the focus of the conversation.

“Don’t steer away from the facts. Your tits.”

“That’s the fact?”

“They’re out.” He bucks up, trying to point with the hand stuffed underneath all the cloth. “That’s the fact.”

“Ugh, can’t a girl dress up once in a while?” The pointed attention makes you uncomfortable, because everything he’s insinuating is true. With every passing staff member, you count a new shade of grey, interspersed with occasional blacks and greens, a stark contrast to your floral overtones. Amidst the thousand footsteps taken in your vicinity, only yours are pointed heels, echoing across the studio with every clack. But you’re a stubborn one, refusing to give in to his totally valid argument. “I just woke up early.”

“Girl.” Like light through frosted glass, he sees through your bullshit, but only partially. “You put an alarm to dress up? I have nightmares of the boss brandishing her whip and telling me to get into position, and even that doesn’t wake me up.” 

“Have you ever considered… not announcing your kinks to everyone and their sisters?”

“Ehh,” he simply shrugs, “nothing is new when you’ve serenaded your boss drunk in a karaoke bar and still managed to keep your job. Wait. Is that highlighter?”

“Stop staring into my tits!” You can’t believe you got caught, but also, who can you blame? After testing this outfit out from the crack of dawn, you decided your cleavage needed some extra help. Three YouTube tutorials and one TikTok lady - who make it look far easier than it is - down, the contouring brought out the swell of your breasts, and against the light fabric of your dress, it does look too good to be true.

Memories of that night in the bar come in billows and waves, of how enamored Jin was with the way your boobs looked at that time. Even under the dingy lighting, in the cramped space, under heavily inebriated scrutiny, you couldn’t miss the flicker of heat in his gaze every time it passed your chest. 

One thing led to another, and it was a cascade none of you could stop. The heat of attraction between you two does not help your wandering mind, and the fever drowns the knowledge that what you’re feeling is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, crossing some lines that can never be mended back again. With the proximity, his musky scent invades whatever defenses you were trying to patch, piercing through all your inhibitions and you pull him into you, claiming his lips to be yours. 

With his wobbly knees and your wobbly heels, you somehow find your way to the washroom - mostly he does, you give in halfway to wrap your legs around his lean waist, his sturdy legs balancing your weight on them as your back hits the wall, and his lips tear down your walls. 

“You look so fucking sexy today,” between bated breaths and indulgent sighs you confess, “just driving me nuts.” Letting your hands drag along his abdomen, feeling the ups and downs of his abs, you attempt to rid him of the sweater that’s been on your hit list all night. But to your dismay, your endeavor is blocked, when Jin gathers your wrists in his palm, turning you around to bend you over on the countertop, the smooth marble chill hitting your braless chest, perking your nipples under the cold. 

“And you?” Jin bends to give your earlobe a languid lick, progressing very slow, a complete contrast to the movement of his hips as he ruts against your ass, your already short dress bunching up with every move. “You think it’s smart to have your tits torment me like this?” Grabbing a handful from behind, he tests the weight of each fleshy mound, and by now you are certain your perked nubs can pierce his palm. 

His free hand, not yet torturing you, decides to get in on the action and disappears under the counter, swiftly crossing the bunched fabric of your dress, gaining easy access to your pussy. The cold touch of his pads sears against the heat of your core, finding your pleasure button and languidly fiddling with it, with no intention to cross you over the brink in sight. The only pleasure you can indulge in is the reflection of him abusing your nipples, pinching and tugging them down, whispering filthy words into your ear as he takes in your fucked out countenance. 

You feel lacking, weak hands balancing your dizzy self, finding purchase to keep you upright - but you’re both drunk on alcohol and hypnotized by his beauty to do much more than stare at his mirrored counterpart. “For fuck’s sake, kiss me.” 

How he understood your slurred words, you don’t know, but you are glad he did. In a moment you’ve been displaced, the hurried motion sending your neurons into a flurry. Once your back meets the hard marble, and your eyes have the privilege to see his, you pull him in closer, the force enough to hold you against the wall while your legs wrap around his lean waist. 

Originally not a fan of drunken misadventures, that side of yours is strangely mute to the going current onslaught. Well, you don’t have much breath left to say anything, because Jin is efficiently stealing it all, his teeth clashing with yours as you engage in the messiest kiss ever known to mankind (or at least, to you). He changes pace often, dragging his tongue leisurely against your lower lip, conveying tacit words, just to switch it up with a sharp bite and reel you in. 

One corner of your senses can feel his fingers messing around your cunt, and playing with the wetness your thong can barely contain. It makes you shudder, the damage that his fingers can cause solely circling around your hole. 

“Fuck me.” 

In your drunken stupor, you don’t know if the words leave you right, but you get confirmation when his long fingers finally penetrate your cunt, giving your walls something to clench on - although nothing could possibly compare to what you imagine you can get from his dick.

“God, you feel that grip,” he grunts, with two of his fingers in you, and Jin’s smile is the most sinister you’ve ever seen. “I think we should take this home,” is what his lips utter, but his fingers delve deeper, searching for the spot that crumbles you. The base of his palm grinds against your throbbing clit, and you are forced to bite down on this sweater, lest an embarrassingly loud moan escapes you and cues outsiders into your filthy doings. 

“Now,” you half-hiss, half-growl as you grab the cusp of his legs to feel his half-hard erection grow under the pressure of your hand. Your palm sliters up just to go down again, this time without the blockade of his pants, but you are stopped short of success when Jin’s fingers slip out of you to give you a sharp swat. 

“Stubborn, aren’t we? Can’t fucking wait,” he whispers into your ear, and as he envelops your lobe with his cushiony lips, he continues, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

No, no, no. 

Your brain rejects logic, chews and spits it out before any of the rationale seeps into you. You have wanted this for far too long. The need inside you for a meaningful relationship materializes in the form of recklessness, desperately looking for surface-level relief for the moment. A night of sewing sutures to your battle-worn heart, stitches that may come off at the slightest strain - but right now, that will do. 

“Please, Jin,” your tantalizing tone riles up his cock again, eagerly waiting for your next words, “can’t you feel me dripping? Come on, I can take you.”

“Fuck, hear that wetness.” He lets his palm slap against your sopping entrance, not stopping with one. With every slap, droplets of your arousal splash out, the insides of your thighs coated in the sticky sweetness, but your body is an endless reservoir producing plentiful more for Jin to play with. “Have you been sitting with this all this time?”

Two long fingers invade your channel again, leaving you with no response other than a gasp. They scissor incessantly, preparing you for what could be the railing of your lifetime. One curl inside and his fingertips hit the spot he was looking for, making you warp your body to take the pleasure coursing through your veins. His tongue seems to mimic the actions, looping around your earlobe as he sucks it inside, both ends of your body engulfed in all the attention he could provide. 

Your cunt is weeping against the assault of this man’s hands, tears of your cum flowing down your legs with every pump of his arm. You are getting there, the sweet swell of release inching closer and closer.

But something doesn’t feel right.

The tightness in your belly, that is to a point caused by Jin, is harboring other sensations that are not entirely pleasant. Maybe you’re anxious about the happenings. Maybe you haven’t had a good orgasm in a while and have just forgotten how this thing works.

Or maybe, the bar should have the water tap actually give out water.

Either your eyes close, or your brain does, but suddenly all you can see is darkness.

 Again, you are just trying to escape the zone.

“Step under those studio lights,” pointing at the too-bright stage lights being set up at the moment, Sanghoon continues, breaking your daydream, “I bet you could signal to aliens with the booby-reflection. Call them to Netflix and chill.”

“In about five seconds, my heel will be puncturing your eye. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” 

Sanghoon’s drivel was cut short, and so were your murder plans, with his entry. “Oh look, he’s on set. Gotta go!” 

It’s like the lights, earlier threatening to burn away your skin, dim down in reverence of the glow of his face. The twinkle of his eyes when they meet yours. The shine of his smile when he throws you one. The vibrance of his tone when he calls out your name. Everything he does now threatens to burn you whole and it’s a wonder you’re not scalding, but the singe hurts you deep inside.

“Y/N! How do I look?” It’s a bathrobe. Like satin, or silk. Fucking hell, your brain could explode with the adjectives coming up, a whole chunk of them very much inappropriate to utter out in the current scene. Your arms want to rise, engulf him into you, and you have to physically halt the muscles from doing anything stupid. Brain, quick! Say something snarky and spicy, as best friends do!

“What’s the theme, unicorn puke?” The safest way to deflect is to attack. So you do just that. “You look like you dressed out of Hannah Montana’s closet. Which if it's true, I really need to see it. There’s a top that I’ve been eyeing for decades!”

“Don’t say decades.” Jin’s eyes crinkle in humor. “Makes me feel so old. Your dress is pretty cool too!” 

Cool.

You find out how difficult life can be when you count every single minute of yours. So far, you have counted 4,310 minutes. That is two days, twenty-three hours, and fifty minutes. Ten more minutes and it will be three whole days since you and Jin spoke. 

Yet again, you can’t blame him. When you came to the next day, you were in your bed, clad in the same shimmering silver bodycon that you had donned last night. The same one that had been privy to the colorful deeds you had committed in what was a dreary, colorless setting. 

One ibuProfen and ginger ale, downed with some severe recollections of the previous night, and you had been ready to throw it all up again. 

I don’t want to hurt you.

Words couldn’t describe what you were going through, and numbers weren’t invented to count the endless thoughts racing in your brain. You don’t know what is more upsetting. The fact that you actually had a chance to open your heart and you totally let your pussy think instead? Or that he was the one coherent enough to stop you from getting too far, and you let your desperation get the best of you? Everything about that night was wrong. And all the wrongs lie on your side. 

I don’t want to hurt you.

In the moment, it was physical, he had to have meant that. But there was a tremor in his voice, you can remember clear as day, a slightly shaken side of him had emerged through the intoxication, and the words he had breathed were not shallow. There was a gravity to them, that you’d stupidly ignored in the heat of the moment.

And now, here you are. Counting up till the last minute, after which you can effectively call the friendship ruined. Stirring your tea mindlessly, you try to focus on the show on TV, the variety show comedy not striking the usual funny bones that they could 4,311 minutes ago. 

The programmed ding of your phone bursts your thought bubble, a sound you have missed the past 72 hours. The ring you dedicated to Jin, that always had you running to receive because anything he sends brightens your day. But unlike those happier times, this ring has your gut fall into a pit of despair, struggling to choose between dispersing the suspense or remaining blissfully unaware of the damage you caused.

Jin: Free tmrw? We could grab coffee Jin: And talk

Talk. How? You barely remember what went down, save for fleeting moments that you recollected with great difficulty. Your fingers type back, trying to mimic the nonchalance in his text, that is very much absent in your actual demeanor.

Y/N: Sure. Paik’s at 1? Jin: Yup. See ya

Three texts, zero laughs. Of course, you’re not expecting him to land his jokes in this situation, even someone as talented as he can’t flip this tension. You’re just going to have to wait for tomorrow, when he decides whether you have a place in his life or not. 

The painstakingly worn outfit, accessorizing the whole look, the straps of your heels digging into your toes, the specks of makeup dust lying stale on your collar bones, the shine faints at that word. Cool. A perfectly normal phrase for a normal friendship. You are left maimed, while he absent-mindedly tends to the rope of his robe, blissfully unaware of the cyclonic emotions churning inside you. All you can possibly do is gulp it down. 

He runs his hands through his hair, beautiful locks coming out of place, and from one corner of the set, a groan of anguish emerges. 

“Oppa! Don’t play with your hair and face.” A masked lady runs forward waving combs that look like artillery, “We just got done setting it!”

Some finger guns, a happy apology, and some silly jokes later, all the stylists merrily round up to undo his doing, and Jin signals to you to catch up later. And as he walks away, the strings tugging at your heart reappear, as they do every time you come to meet him.

You have a masochistic streak in you, putting yourself through this every day, when he had made it clear, that you two never stood a chance. 

As if things aren’t already difficult, he looks like a dream. 

Soft, snowy skin gleaming like it has personal lighting wherever it goes, you get flashes of the rarely witnessed sweat on his skin, from the ferocity of last night. He’s blowing away the foam of his cappuccino, and tiny bubbles float into the air before falling flat on the table, like an animated shine that follows him along. God has His favorites, and God makes sure all the lighting in the world is perfect for these favorites. 

In no hurry, you wait at the counter to get your latte. After receiving it though, you can’t linger any longer and drag yourself to the table of doom.

“Hey.”

If the rasp in your voice is evident, he doesn’t show any recognition on his face. But you’ve learned to never trust an acting major. 

“Hi. How are you doing?”

Inadvertently, a snicker escapes your lips. “Are you interviewing me for a job?” you joke, trying to disperse the heavy air, filled with unspoken words. “If so, at least know that I’m very expensive.”

The familiar windshield wiper laugh does not greet you. Dead silence does. The half-smirk he painfully gives you is heavy, and the furrowed brows haven’t an inkling of joy. It shoots daggers in your heart, to know that you are the reason for this jolly man’s despondency. 

“Listen, I don’t think we should skirt around the issue too much. It happened, these things happen. You think Hoseok and Yeji didn’t have sex before making it official?”

His matter-of-fact nature isn’t new to you. Jin has always been a very practical man. Regardless of his inane sense of humor, his logical point of view has always been flawless. 

But right now, at this very moment, logic isn’t what you are looking for. You are looking for answers, but as far withdrawn from logic as possible, to take the edge off of the tension-laden air that surrounds your table.

“Yeah, but even… unofficially… we aren’t a thing, right?” 

Your abrupt question takes Jin unaware, almond eyes widening, like a toddler caught in an act. 

“No, no! Of course not! I would never!” 

His confession slips out with an ease that hurts you, digs deep to carve out the part of you that dreamt of anything more. Your eyes fall to your knees to avoid his perceptive gaze, the sting clear as the sky on a summer day. 

You force a smile and continue. “Then there’s no issue. Anyway,” you gulp your coffee down, burning your throat, but it's a distraction from the burning inside, “I need to get to work. Anything else?”

He’s still searching you, for what, you can’t possibly fathom. From the looks of it, he should be happy with this homeostasis; he doesn’t even know what this means for you. To still stay suspended in limbo, not being able to move up or down, to continue having thorns digging into your beating soul as you watch him like nothing bothers your already frail feelings. Scene by scene, you can visualize the future, him distancing himself from you as he finds the one he calls his, with you left in the shadows. Your knees tremble in fear of the impending future.

Seeing you in a tizzy, he calls out, the voice too loud for the cafe and your mind’s prison cage. 

“We’re still best friends, right?” If you knew better, you’d say his expression is that of sadness, of regret. But your judgment is clouded with your own bothers, and you interpret it as a look of pity. Like a lovesick puppy, kicked to the streets, with nowhere to call home. 

“Yeah! Always.” You give it as much enthusiasm as you can muster. 

Best friends.

Ropes wind around your heart, tugging and causing the deep ache that sets in as you walk back into your dreary building. Each string pulls you into a different dimension where you could move on, where you could be okay with the setting you had just agreed to. Where you would keep up your end of the promise and truly remain friends with him.

But no matter how strong the tug, your heart never yields, never lets go of the castle of dreams you built, staying steadfast in its own misery, choosing to hope, choosing to live the life of unrequited love.

“And that’s a wrap! Good job everyone!”

Applause and hurrays echo across the set to bring you back to the present. The shoot has officially concluded, which means it's time for your most favorite and least favorite part of the day - Jin and you doing best friend things, like grabbing lunch, gossiping about obnoxious coworkers, threatening to disembowel each other (in Mortal Kombat, of course) and other friendly activities. 

Ever so respectful, Jin takes his time thanking every member of the set, regardless of whether they moved a cushion or held the reflector screen for hours. All the women gush over his beauty, reminding him of how, even amidst the glowing ornaments, his face was the brightest. His responses vary, from quiet little giggles, to complimenting the crew for making it happen, to straight up owning his charisma like a boss. That’s your man. 

Well, not quite. Not one bit.

After exhausting the handshakes and hugs to be received, Jin walks to you, hands pushing his robe back to give it a cape like effect. You’re just glad that the man’s child persona still stays with him, no matter the situation.  He guides you to his green room, cracking his bones on the way, (very sexily, might you add).

“Holding a pose for that long gives me cramps! You’d think dancing breaks my back, and you’d be wrong.”

You’re desperately avoiding looking at his fingers, and keep your eyes below them - shoot! His ceaseless stretching gives you a glimpse under his shirt - it is dragging your memories back to the last time you saw them, and you’d rather not. It is hurting you in more ways than one. 

Eye contact is your safest bet. Looking up, you give him a lopsided grin. “Your grandfatherly days are approaching, Jinnie.” 

“Hey!” 

The rest of the conversation was less speaking, more yelling and chasing after each other to the green room, Jin taking mock-offence at your jab at his age, and his fingers reaching out to flick your forehead in retort. In your noisy, messy fashion, you both finally enter the room, dim gold light bulbs and shiny mirrors meeting your huffing self. 

One hand on your knee, you hold on to Jin’s arm with your other, gasping for breath. 

“Your grandmotherly days are already here, Y/N,” he snorts, and earns a kick on the shin, but that doesn’t stop him from bursting into snickers.

“Wow, why does one man need 4 mirrors?” You gape at his current green room, mouth wide open. It looks better than your entire apartment, with the counter carrying top-of-the-line makeup products. Only the best for this man. “So you can admire yourself from 4 different angles?”

Jin has disappeared into one of the inner rooms, but you can hear him snort at your comment. “Come on, I’m not that conceited. When the whole crew shoots together, the extra mirrors help.” The last part of that sentence is muffled, and that cues you into an important fact. 

Jin is currently changing into something more comfortable.

A process that includes him getting naked.

Well maybe he doesn’t get fully naked, top on, top off, bottom on, bottom of-

Still. You’re sweating like a whore in church. 

And things only get tougher when he finally comes out. 

The ocean blue sweater he dons is tucked in. Who tucks in sweaters? Kim Seokjin. Why does he tuck sweaters? Oh, because he’s got an amazing waistline that he should most definitely show off, and the heat between your thighs becoming increasingly potent is a testament to that. You pretend to adjust your heels, giving the right expressions to show you’re in pain, but in actuality you are bringing your legs closer to get you some relief, just any relief. 

Ripped jeans too. You get a peek of the thighs you were denied access to the night of the fuckening. Ridged and beautiful, not a speck in sight to mar his perfection. You are glad the facial expressions for pain and pleasure are not far apart, because your thighs, albeit very lacking, are helping the imagery in your head. Just Jin, seated on one of these leather chairs, and you straddling his thigh, clit aching against the strands of the rips in his denim, the fabric soaking up the wetness, with every push forwa-

“Now that you mention it, I do look dashing.”

And there goes that dream. 

You pinch his cheeks in adoration, the vulgarity of your thoughts getting whitewashed by his silliness and blooming heart-shaped flowers in their stance. You feel your own pinch in you, wondering if this scene would be the same had you blurted your feelings out that day at the cafe.

It's times like these when you remind yourself why you choose to quieten that side. This dynamic cannot reincarnate in any other form. Any imbalance to this equilibrium could cause a serious case of best-friends-turn-awkward-acquaintances, and you don’t know if that’ll hurt you more than you currently do. You don’t plan on finding out.

But on God, he tests that resolution every single day.

Jin doesn’t even hint that he knows of the turmoil blasting behind your eyes. He nonchalantly fixes his hair, gives you a one-over as you are mentally undressing him, nonchalantly as well. Then he moves to grab his cologne, and two spurts disintegrates all the whitewashing and takes you back into the obscenities you were unfolding. 

“So I’ll just go over the shoot photos, and then we can leave! You’re cool waiting here?”

“Hmmn, yeah!” You don’t let your mouth run any longer, fearing what might slip out. 

He gives you a wide, innocent smile. “Great! See you in a bit.” Poor guy. If only he knew how debase plans you were conjuring just from the aroma of his cologne. 

It is musky, like cedar or pine, perfectly suiting him. It is the same scent you remember inhaling, face stuffed in his sweater when he was fingering you to the tenth circle of hell. As he walks away, the fragrance diminishes, save for the slightest hint of lingering. You search for the source, and find the culprit strewn across the sofa.

The outfit Jin wore for the shoot held remnants of the perfume, and when you bring the shirt close and take a long, deep whiff, you transport yourself to the land of your dreams. You relish the fever smell of his cologne, mixed with his own natural scent, deciding that this is what you wish to smell like every waking morning.

Your longing for him has crossed way beyond physical boundaries. You longed for his love, longed for his attention. Longed to be the one that brings the light to his face. From morning rays to the darkness of the night, you wanted to experience it all by his side. To be his lone star, shining bright beside the moon. 

Your hands are moving without your control, disrobing you of your thirst trap of a dress and putting on Jin’s shirt instead. One look at the mirror and you let out a silent groan - it fits you just right. Just enough to cover your ass cheeks, loose enough to let the air conditioning hit your heated pussy. While well-fitting shirts have never been the cornerstone of a successful relationship, your delusional mind takes whatever wins it gets.

Adding layers to your pipe dream, you don the robe that gave you a tough time throughout the shoot. When you press the tails of the robe to your cheek, the softness of the material is soothing. Soft, like Jin’s eyes, like his hugs, like his smile. Like him.

Leaning against the counter, you steady yourself, mind split in titillation. Your fingers find their own path, drawing circles on your breasts over his shirt, imagining Jin’s long fingers in place. While teasing your nipple to pointed peaks, you slip your other hand under your panties, trying very hard to mimic his digits, twiddling your clit between your fingers. Alas, the effect isn’t achievable, because Jin seems to know how to play you better than yourself. 

The scent is getting stronger, without any provoking, and it is doing wonders for your immersion. You let out a loud moan when your fingers press inside, and you’re just glad no one can witness this.

“Y-Y/N?”

Fuck.

You are pulled away from your dreamland that was so impenetrable that you didn’t hear Jin step into the room. All the blood gushing to your nether regions has made a U-turn to flood your brain to think of a plausible explanation for this position. Instead it makes you giddy, and when you try to stand you wobble in your heels, to be rescued by what you think is a very scandalized Jin. 

Time stands still when your eyes meet, and what you see are blown out pupils trembling, many questions fluttering between you two. Jin crosses a tenth of the distance between you, lips flutter as they try to make a decision - do they want to part and give way to the voice of question? The voice of reason? The voice that will break this hush, burst this bubble where he has the one chance to give in to his longing?

You bring your lips closer, and cause immense disquiet in his dome, the way of his heart gathering speed against rationale. Your eyes dance between matching his gaze and finding his lips, every fraction of an inch you cross sending tremors through you. You can feel the shockwaves traverse through your body, making a pitstop at your lips, tingling them awake. They move downwards, passing your heart, beating it wildly against its cage, and then to the pit of your stomach to tighten in anticipation; finally reaching the tip of your toes, where you stand right now, a nanoscopic distance between you. Each one of you is afraid to cross the bridge, unaware of the other’s desires. 

Finally, Jin acqueises and meets you on your side. 

Atomic explosions ring through your head, clearing out every single thought that is not about Jin’s lips on yours. The ropes that held your heart from beating to the tune of your want, they’ve loosened their knots to give you the leeway to love freely. As your lips exchange positions, his teeth lightly drag across your plush petal, and it brings back the most important part of that night that you couldn’t recollect - the one where his lips sang wordless songs of adoration against yours. Blind as a bat, you were.

You dig your fingers into his hair, not minding your residual arousal coating his locks, and you feel his hands doing the same to you. With your eyes closed, you feel a rough edge to his cushiony soft lips, but Jin fixes that mistake - one stray strand of hair trapped in the middle of your indulgence - he pulls it away to give you all of the kiss. The hand tucked in your tresses pushes in, silently demanding more access, and you’re nothing but ready to give it.  

His tongue sneaks in to play a game with yours - when you seek it, it goes into hiding, finding perfect pleasure in soft, sweet kisses, but when you stay, it comes back in, awakening your tongue to deepen again. Everything he is doing is too much and not enough in one go, and you whine into his mouth in desperation, seeking some well-earned relief after months of holding back.

Amidst the flurry of your lips, your back hits the vanity countertop, and Jin pushes away everything on top to make space for you, not caring what expensive item flies down the counter to accommodate your ass.

As if you’ve made up for the months of holding back, the softness of the kisses erodes, teeth coming into play more and more, reminiscent of the night that went by in a blur. He swallows every mewl you give in return, blissed out beyond repair, your neediness making his cock strain against the denim. 

His hand snakes down, spreading his fingers to get a hold of your back to push you towards him, covering any gap that dared to intervene. Now unworried about the shoot, your hands have effectively ruined his perfectly placed locks and messed them up to resemble the craze he let you spin in.

Before he can glide his tongue back in, you break the kiss, lest you lose yourself in it to the point where you forget to breathe. With attached foreheads, you take deep drags of air, letting the oxygen flow to your brain before you make some ill-advised, unclarified decisions.

“I- I was jus-”

“Shhh. Wait,” he breathes out, wanting to take a second and fully savor the moment. You nod in return, making his head move along with yours.

After sufficient air fills his lungs, Jin starts. “Y/N, we should stop.”

Last time this had happened, you had tried to force your way through his barrier, without giving his feelings a second of consideration. So this time, you don’t repeat your mistakes. “Tell me why.”

“Because, I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I’m way deeper in this than you think.”

“Jin, I-”

“Let me finish.” He stops you before you can explain how much you reflect his emotions, possibly more. He doesn’t seem to want to listen now. “Let me finish, or else I’ll chicken out, for the millionth time.”

You’re dumbfounded. Millionth time? When was the first? Acting majors, by God. 

“I love you, Y/N.”

No, now you are dumbfounded. Your hands, holding his precious locks, drop down in shock, at sheer disbelief that all this time, he has been ready and waiting to return you the favor. Jin though, misinterprets it as a look of disdain. 

“I-I know I do, and I’m sorry that I do. I know you don’t feel the same way. You can hate me all you want, but this is the truth.”

“And yes,” he continues, refusing to halt for even half a second, afraid that the courage he mustered to confess would dissipate the moment he does, “I’m attracted to you, and I don’t know what went down here --” flicking his wrist to mention your (his) outfit, “--but I’m looking, okay? And I’m hard as fuck. But that’s not all there is to it.”

“I need all of you.” He takes an audible gulp, trying to stymy his emotions from overpowering him. “I want to take you out, I want to hold you hand, I want to bring you to all the places I love. I want to introduce you to people, not as my best friend, but so much more than that. It hurts me,” bringing his hand to his chest, he emphasizes the point of pain by clutching over his heart, “hurts to call you that because I’m lying through my fucking teeth.”

You break eye contact, because there are tears smarting your eyes at his heartfelt revelation. You can’t believe the idiot that you have been all this while. The man of your dreams stands in front of you, baring his soul, and you can’t even do him the decency of telling him what you felt yourself before jumping his bones.

And you love him, too. Maybe you haven’t said so, even to yourself, but you’ve known all this while.

You love him.

“If you are just looking for a fuck, or want any sort of a ‘benefits’ situation, we should stop. I can’t lie to myself anymore.”

“Jin, my God,” you half-sigh, half-laugh, feeling a burden lift off of you after months of pining.

“You don’t have to pacify me, it’s okay, I’ll be fine.” Even in this moment, he is looking out for you. His lips are curved upward to show you that he’s okay, but his pupils are shaky and restless, not in sync with his smile. You hope your next words can fix that for him.

“Pacify you? Hate you?” You shoot him an incredulous look, one you will explain to him very soon. “You are a much better person than I am, Jinnie. For months now, I’ve loved you, but even at this point, I didn’t stop to tell you.” The guilt of letting your hormones cloud your judgement for the second time lays heavily on your conscience. “I’m sorry for not making this clear earlier, but let me now. I love you, Kim Seokjin. I have for way too long. I want you, I need you. You have me, in every possible way.”

It feels unparalleled to get that off your chest. The leaden weight of your emotions immediately disappears - or the fact that it's shared, makes it much, much lighter. But then you look at Jin, and he still seems to have not put two and two together. You patiently wait for him to process all the information. 

When he finally recoups, he yells, “What?!”

You let out a loud guffaw, the first one with no inhibitions in the longest time. “What?”

“Why didn’t you say anything that day at the cafe?!” 

“You said you’d never date me, asshole!” You punch his chest softly, before slipping your hands behind him and pulling him closer. “I might not look like it, but I have some dignity.”

“I said that?” Jin brings one hand to pinch his nose in annoyance. “What an idiot. I think I was just inverting everything to make sure I don’t accidentally slip up.”

You lift your head to meet his eyes again, letting him see the tears you were hiding. You find a couple in his eyes, too. But the smile on your face is genuine, and that is all that matters. “I was blind too, so don’t beat yourself up about it.” 

Flitting your eyes down to find the contour of his cock against his jeans, you ask him innocently, “How about we make up for lost time?”

“Fuck, yes, please.” And with that, your lips are engulfed again.

When you have all your guards down, the kiss tastes sweeter than before. Mere moments ago, while thoroughly enjoying the kiss, a sense of reticence had clouded your pleasure, holding you back from luxuriating in the headiness. A series of what-ifs had plagued your subconscious without your realization, but with all that cleared, you wholly submit to the kiss, emptying your mind until nothing but his name remains.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Jin gasps out, when you bite into his pillowy lower lip, “I thought you looked the prettiest in the dress earlier but,” after pulling away, he drinks your current attire in, “you look the most beautiful in this.”

You snicker. “Even more than World Wide Handsome?”

His eyes bore into yours, no hint of the joking lilt he always carries in them. 

“So much more.”

Your hands find their place amidst his shaggy hair again, and you lodge his face into your neck - a command Jin acquiesces to with great pleasure. After a long, wet lick to your collarbone, he lays feather-soft kisses on the trail he left, starting from your shoulder and working inward, until he brushes against the back of your ear. You grasp at his sweater, because his lips feel so good. Your breaths are short, sucking in every time he allows your skin the luxury of a soft peck.  Once he lays a kiss on your forehead, he brings his gaze down to one of the main reasons that causes his cock to stir.

“Fuck, look at your nipples under my shirt.”

Gazing down, you can see the two pointed peaks that caught Jin’s eyes. 

“That tends to happen when I’m thinking of you.” 

He twists a nipple over the shirt, hardening it further, and you throw your head back in the satisfying pain. “Yeah, I remember.”

You are unraveling every second, the ache swishing amongst the bliss his fingers are bringing in you. He’s switched over to drawing circles around your nipple, until he snaps and tugs your shirt up, finally revealing the palmfulls of flesh awaiting his hands. 

“Ah that night, I didn’t get to do this. Take this off.” But then, he makes you put on his robe again. You throw him a questioning look, to which he responds with a sheepish smile, “Just so, you know… you don’t feel cold… or something.”

“Just say you like me in your clothes and move on.”

“I love you in my clothes,” he admits in a heartbeat, his expression that of anguish, “can we move on?”

“God, gladly.”

Unexpectedly, he bites the side of your boob - not hard at all, but feeling his teeth against your skin sends your head reeling backward. Your involuntary response is to wrap your legs around his waist, grinding your core against him. His teeth continue to nip you lightly across the expanse of your breasts, the trail of saliva he leaves cooling parts of your flushed body. Finally, finally, he latches onto your left nipple and gives it a long, pleasurable suck.

“Ahh, Jin - you’re too - God damn it - you’re too good at this.” 

Without stopping the onslaught he is unleashing on your breasts, his fingers begin to move - but soon, they stop, hesitation rippling off of their tips. His pace falters, and his mind is fighting on the next course of action.

“Can I-”

“Finish what you started that night?” you complete for him, already prepared with your answer. “Yes, please.”

All forms of uncertainty shoot out of his touch, and he confidently trudges forward. Playing with the band of your panties, he gives you a well-intended chuckle, murmuring, “As far as I remember, I was so good you passed out.”

“Boy,” You groan, intended in jest, but his teeth slide against your jaw and it mostly comes out more wanton than jovial, “let me see you have tequila for dinner and remember much the next day.”

“Fair fair,” he gives in, shifting to buss the valley of your cleavage, feeling your heart thud against your ribs holding it in place. “Well today,” he starts without moving his face, his nimble fingers moving past the barrier of your underwear, pressing two fingertips directly on your clit, and hissing like it's him at the receiving end, “I’ll give you enough to remember.”

You pull his sweater off and chuck it away, not wanting to be reminded of any blockades that kept you apart, and your hands roam the expanse of his back remembering the touch of his skin from the night at the bar. His body isn’t new to you, but the circumstances make it feel different. 

Finally, his fingers find their way inside you. 

Yes, this. This was what was missing from your drunken tryst. With your heads in place, your ardor intensifies, and you move his lips back to yours needing to release your animalistic desire into his mouth. Pleasure surges through both of you as you threaten to swallow him whole.

You can feel him being more present, and considering the merciless finger-fucking you had earned that night, this is taking it to a whole other degree. 

The night at the bar, his fingers did their best to ravish you, but now, Jin is paying attention, close attention to the way you respond. Every muscle movement is recorded in him as you struggle to accommodate three of his lengthy digits. Leaning close, he gives your peaked nipple the lightest feather lick - the suddenness sends shockwaves through you as he continues to tweeze the other, talented pianist hands performing his musical piece on both ends of you.

His fingers pump into you with determination, finding new depths to explore that he missed out on, and with a curl of his pointer, you blank out, screaming in the orgasm that is washing over you. Every skincell of your body feels the quiver of lust spreading, your cunt squeezing for an eternity, milking the orgasm out to the extent that you can. 

When you look down, your metaphorical orgasmic flood manifestes as a deluge of your arousal leaking on the table. And when you look back up, you can see the salacious ideas making their rounds in Jin’s head as he looks at the inundation you released. 

Hurried hands still convulsing from the intensity of your orgasm, you undo his belt, followed by his jeans and finally - getting the pleasure you were heartlessly denied of - his cock is out, in all its glory, twitching as the cool air hits its naked skin. Jin’s plans don’t go hand in hand with yours though.

“Are we just - holy fucking shit - just, umm, leave that to waste?” he lustfully looks down to your leaking core, and someway, through your hold on his dick, he tries to steer you into his plans.

“I don’t know about that,” you cheekily reply. You have the right idea to satisfy both of you, and get down to the task.

With the flat of your palm, you swipe across the droplets of cum you released, gathering them to transfer them onto his thick length. Jin thrusts into your hand, the wetness jolting him into attention, and he places an arm on your shoulder to steady himself. 

“You’re going to taste yourself?” he asks as you continue your vacillating motion, twisting at the base of his head with the wetness you graciously provided yourself. You give him a nonchalant look, something he is trying to do to you as well. 

“Who said I’m gonna suck you off?”

His look changes, and the one you get in return is cocky, arrogant, downright rude if you were honest. You expected him to play on with your banter, but one raised eyebrow and the lazy smirk he gives, to what he probably thinks is a joke - Zeus could land on earth and not be able to stop you from gobbling his meat. 

Your mouth is filled with his dick even before your knees hit the ground. Jin staggers back, but your suction on his dick is funnily strong enough to pull him back before falling.  You switch positions, having him balance himself against the counter, all while you refuse to leave his cock out. His giggle of endearment has you pouting, but it swells your heart and makes you want to give more, more of anything and everything. With your renewed vigor, you push yourself in until his pubes tickle your nose, and his tip tickles your throat. 

“Your-”, “I-”, “uhh-” 

Every new sentence Jin starts crumbles to your actions. You furrow your brows both in concentration on your blowing skills and trying to decode what he is trying to say. 

Jin takes a large gulp, adamant on making this one a coherent sentence. “You know, I used to imagine this, and in my dreams I used to be very sexy and suave, talking my way throug-oof-” You run your tongue over the tip of his leaking dick, emphasizing the point he is coming to, “Now I can’t even complete sentences here.”

“You being you is super sexy in itself.” And you curve your tongue to match the arch of his cock, letting the incoming saliva pool on it before letting it run down his shaft, dripping down from his balls. Strings of his precum connect to your lips, and you swipe your tongue through them, relishing the salty goodness before going back in for more. 

“Y/N, shit, did you just moan?”

How couldn’t you? The fact that he is horny for you, so much so that rivulets of precum don’t stop drizzling down your throat, has you preening. You hum your assent in response, not willing to let go even for a moment, but Jin pulls you off before you can get a chokehold on the base of his cock again. 

“Never had a woman moan while sucking me off. It’s sexy as fuck,” Jin breathes into your lips as he dives in for a kiss.

Your chest is heaving, catching the breaths you lost when you were down. “Then why’d you stop me?”

“Are you kidding me? I was about to lose it right there.”

“Jinnie, come on,” you break the fragmentary kiss you were sharing, looking into his glassy eyes, “let me feel you come on my tongue.” To emphasize your conviction, you lick his lips, persuading him of the sinful deeds your tongue is capable of doing if he’d just let you.

“Oh man, stop. What’s worse than busting a nut in your mouth? Busting it while you’re kissing me. Making me feel like a teenager.” You erupt into a loud laugh, soon followed by Jin as well. It is so him to joke about this. 

“And babe,” all hints of embarrassment vanishing from his tone, “I’m only going to come inside you.”

“Fuck, fuck, yes. You got a condom on you?”

“Yeah, let me grab my wallet.” The instant he moves away, you feel naked, shivering from the comfort stolen away from you. But then you hear Jin grumble, “I hope I don’t have the bacon-flavored one.” And the absurdity of it all puts you at ease again.

“Ew, stop, even you can’t make that sexy. My lady boner is dying.”

He envelops you again, and you can feel the laughter echoing in his lungs before making it out to your ears. He brings your attention to the familiar rustle of foil wrapper. “Thankfully, we got chocolate.”

“Mmmh, gotta love chocolate.”

You take the condom out of his hands, and roll it onto his stiff length, flattered that he’s holding his erection for so long. 

“Okay, stick it in me!” And you smack your ass in readiness, and a very flabbergasted Jin breaks out chortling.

“Y/N, stop being my best friend for like, five minutes!” His brows are furrowed in pretense exasperation, but you can see his lips holding back a genuine smile through the grimace, just happy that your dynamics haven’t changed the slightest, even though everything else has shifted.

“Okay okay,” you try and suppress your own laughter, before continuing, “how do you want me, baby?”

“Bend over on the vanity. And keep your eyes on the mirror.” And as you move into position, his palms grab your ass and squeeze it hard, feeling your glutes push back against his grip, and he pushes you forward till you're on the tips of your toes. You watch him through the mirror, watch him admire the way your ass curves over the table edge, how your toes struggle to keep you up, and how the dimples of your back are deepened by the arch, peeking under the bunched up robe tails, just waiting for him.

“Jin.” Your hushed whisper puts him in action.

Pushing the head in is anguish and relief at the same time. His bulbous head stretches your entrance; even with your preparation, you feel it sting. The searing gets better and better with every inch slipping in, and when he finally lodges inside, you let out a heavy breath, still panting and keeping yourself from screaming bloody murder in pleasure. Jin bends forward to paint the back of your neck, sucking the flesh till the circular bruise comes to surface. 

“Can you- can you-fuck, no, wait-” Your brain is at war with itself, battling between adjusting to his girth and having him pump you into adjustment. 

You can feel Jin’s snicker from behind you, and he finally makes the decision for you. “I’ll wait, I have things to do here,” he says before playing around the patch of skin, spreading from the base of your hair to the expanse of your back, his teasing licks relaxing your walls and accommodating his girth. The pain is almost gone, expect for the lingering ache that only helps you.

“You can move now, babe.”

“Okay, okay.” Your words snap him out of the painter’s dream he was in, and he twitches inside you. Something about the ease at which you both have adopted nicknames for each other softens his heart and hardens his cock. 

Pulling out till only the head rests inside, Jin himself struggles against the third degree grip your pussy has on him. As he is thrusting inside again, your walls tense up, making it harder and harder for him to hold back. 

“Y/N, sweetie, relax. I got you.”

“Jin, I’m-” You have tears running down your eyes, the pleasure and unsurmountable happiness rolling out in fat hot drops. “Fuck me harder. I won’t last.”

“Shit. Okay, hold on then.”

To what? Is what you’re going to ask before Jin unleashes his carnality onto you. Your breasts, dripping in sweat and saliva, are plastered to the countertop, which in itself is jiggling to the beat of Jin’s thrusts. His dick is curving inside to hit you repeatedly, and you have to gather the satin fabric to wipe your eyes to keep your gaze fixed on him. 

He looks majestic. Forehead embellished with beads of sweat, his hair coiffed up, lips sanguine red after your vicious kisses - you swipe your tongue along your own lips to find them battered in response. His honey chest is heaving with every push, and a particular one hits you just right. 

You let out a guttural groan, and Jin takes note of it immediately. 

“Up,” he commands, and loops an arm under your belly to you pull you up and closer and now every thrust hits deeper into that spot he has found in you, your back connected to his chest as the two of you move in tandem; this is the most together you’ve ever felt with anyone. This moment is to be etched in your memories forever.

You scream into your fist to muffle the sounds, the edge of the table digging into your hip bone as you feel yourself getting closer to the brink. One swipe to the clit is all you have left to bring you to your release. 

And from some telepathic force, or from the clutch your pussy has on him, Jin beats you to it. His fingers come down and carefully find your swollen nub, pinching it between his fingers. If he thought you’d shown him your hardest clench, he was wrong, because right now your dam has broken, and the iron-clad grip you give his cock sends him reeling, too.

You are gushing on his dick, the rubber dripping with your wetness. Jin too releases into the condom in stuttered gasps, his thrusts becoming shorter and shallower as he comes down from his high. 

Petal-like kisses fall on your back as the two of you regain your breaths. The mirror that served you two well is covered in a fog of hot breath and perspiration, blearing your vision of yourself, but somehow, it sparkles with Jin’s reflection. His nobility-esque visuals use the haze as a valance for his appearance, framing them to make him look like you’re among the clouds. And in some way, you actually are.

“Ah, let me go.” You jiggle your shoulders back to make the man above you move. “Fuck, can you check if my spine is in place? I think you dislodged it.”

“Shut up and come hug me, I’ll squeeze it back in place.”

Now this is something you could get used to.

As he ties and throws away the used condom, you flip over to face him and fall back into his embrace, broad shoulders promising to protect you, making you feel safe in his care. Jin on the other hand is simply ecstatic to feel you on him, feeling your thumping heart beat for him, after months of pining and pondering whether anything would become of the seed of your tumultuous friendship. Now, it has blossomed to a garden of prospect and promise, every petal of every flower here reading a new opportunity to tell you how much he adores you, cherishes you, treasures you. How much he loves you.  An opportunity he doesn’t wait to use. 

“I love you.”

The pink tinge of your cheeks either comes from the sex, or from his comment, but either way, he is glad its from him. 

“I love you too, Jin. So, so very much.”

If your heart could leap out of your chest, it would do so, to find its way to his and fuse into one. But for now, your entwined bodies give you all you want. 

You hear Jin stifle a laugh, and pull back in question. He points to something odd on the countertop.

“What is that?”

The cream white surface of the table, that was maligned by your ignoble deeds, now sports two glistening, wheatish semi circles that look very similar to the sizes of one person who was splayed on top of it just moments ago. 

“Is that…” Jin is trying to contort his lips and halt the looming snicker, and he brings his eyes down to your chest (trying not to get hard again), “Did you have makeup on your chest?”

“Shut up.” All you can do is fall closer into his arms, hopefully masking the tint of embarrassment highlighting the apples of your cheeks. “I wanted to make them look extra good for you.”

He’s given up on holding back, the full-bellied laugh that resonated from him echoing across the room. But it dwindles down fast, coming to small chuckles of tenderness, and he slips his digits beneath your chin to have you meet his gaze.

“They always look good,” he whispers, his admittance setting your chest aflame, “trust me, I’d know.”

Taglist 💛:  @little7bitchh​, @afangirllikeme-blog​, @h34rt1lly, @marpotterhead​

Thank you so much for making it to the end! I hope you enjoyed the fic, my ask box is always open for your lovely opinions. To read more of my work, find my main masterlist here. :)

#btswritingcafe #bts #bangtansorciere #kim seokjin fanfic #bts fanfic #jin fanfic #kim seokjin angst #bts smut #kim seokjin smut #seokjin smut #jin smut #bangtanedu #thetruthuntoldnet #bangtaninn #thebtswritersclub #btsgoldnet #kim seokjin fluff #seokjin fluff #jin fluff #bts jin smut #bts jin fluff #bts jin angst #seokjin angst #bts angst #jin x reader #seokjin x reader #bts x reader #jin angst #bts fanfiction #ficswithluv

[heyitsjay03]

Headcanons about each of the lords (+the Duke if you're writing about him) if they ever happen to adopt a little child?

THANK YOU ANON MY THE UNIVERSE BLESS YOU WITH PILLOWS THAT ARE COLD ON BOTH SIDES

okay okay okay okay this has definitely been on my mind so lets get into the thick of it

Alcina Dimitrescu

(im starting off with alcina for obvious reasons)

Alcina would be on the way to the church with the slimy moron, the demented doll, that disgusting manthing and Mother Miranda

She'd kiss her daughters goodbye and head off through the snow, quietly muttering about how cold her ankles were

while Moreau is literally up to his chin in snow but its fine

as she gets closer to the church she keeps hearing this. thing. it sounded familiar but she couldn't exactly put her finger on it.

she strays from the path to find it because it was just so familiar

as she weaves her way through the snow, her dress gets caught on something. she leans down to get her dress unstuck when she realises its this tiny basket.

like seriously. just a little woven basket in the middle of the snow. and it doesn't look like its been there for that long- there's hardly any snow on it

when she tugs at her skirts again, the basket makes the same noise she's been hearing

she stands back up to her full height, staring down at the basket with narrowed eyes

this cannot be a good idea, can it? opening a strange basket in the woods after being lured out here. it's probably some village manthing's trap.

she's about to step away when she hears the sound again- much more intense and much more clear

Alcina leans down and opens the lid of the basket

inside is this tiny thing- all soft and warm in a padding of blankets

a baby

she stands and looks around

who on earth would be so moronic as to leave their baby in the snow? it's much too cold for a baby to survive-

oh

she sighs, getting onto her knees to pull the baby from the blanketed basket

the meeting will have to wait. it's too cold even in the church for this tiny thing.

when she finally makes it back home, she's greeted by her daughters in a swarm of buzzing flies.

as they manifest in their true forms, they're asking what- or who, rather- their mother brought for dinner

Alcina smiles and shakes her head, unwrapping the small bundle clinging to her breast

"this... is your new sibling" she announces, "they'll be staying with us from now on."

and the sisters are ecstatic. a new sibling!

Daniela especially is happy that she is no longer the youngest. she usually is the one to parade around the castle with her sibling on her shoulders, showing them the coolest hiding spots for hide-n-seek and the windows with the best views

Bela is incredibly protective. like. incredibly.

she smelt blood from across the castle and when she found her little sibling sniffling about a skinned knee earned from a game of tag with Angie, she lost her shit and almost broke the damned thing with her sickle

And Cassandra has been caught reading bedtime stories by nightlight multiple times. she tries to play it off but everyone knows that she loves- absolutely adores- her newest sibling

we all know Alcina is such a wonderful mother to the girls so adding another baby to the mix was a guaranteed success

she's so doting and careful (a little overprotective at times but she means well) as she is with her girls

as the child grows into a teen, she panics a bit because "my beautiful baby is growing into such a beautiful, talented adult" so expect a lot of late night visits when she just sits on the edge of her bed and just admires how much you've grown

Salvatore Moreau:

now this one is an easy one too if i'm 100% honest

think Moses type beat

(if you don't know, Moses was found in the riverbank in a little basket)

apparently i really like baskets

anyways

Moreau was so out of his element when he found this tiny, screaming, writhing piece of soft flesh

the first few weeks were rough

but he eventually got the hang of it (with Alcina's help of course)

he would take his child fishing every now and then- just the two of them out on a boat for a few hours

the kid would literally swim more than walk and that little fact would make Moreau so freakin proud

also this kid would be so well-versed in movie and film history it's stupid

like expect this little 4 or 5 year old babbling not about toys or snow or how many sticks they found but instead about the copyright war over the film Nosferatu and the destruction of its copies

Moreau, as the child gets older (like 11 or 12) would have just a tad of trouble trying to keep the kid out of the village

he'd wake up one day and go out onto the lake, expecting his child to be swinging their legs off the dock and watching the sun rise over the water

and when he finds that they were not, in fact, swinging their legs off the dock and watching the sun rise over the water, he p a n i c s

i mean, full blown red alert

all of the lords are summoned to help Moreau look for his missing kid, the lycans are given an article of clothing to help find the scent, Mother Miranda goes to search the village herself- the whole shebang

and when the kid is found playing with the village children, Moreau bursts into tears

needless to say, the kid isn't allowed to go to the village anymore

until they're fifty (Moreau's words, of course)

but the kid sneaks off more and more as they get older, using Alcina or Donna or Karl as an excuse to be away

and Moreau knows but he never says a word

seeing his child happy and free with the kids their age makes him happy, even if he is a tad, a tad, a tad bit nervous

Donna Beneviento:

when Donna found this child huddled up against the base of the stairs leading up to her front door, she at first thought it was a doll of hers

it was only when she actually walked outside that she realised it was this shaking, shriveled child in tattered clothes

she spent a good five minutes just staring, wondering how on earth she's supposed to react

that's when Angie jumped in and pulled at her skirt, telling her to "let the kid inside, already!"

Donna went immediately to work on some clothes- why on earth were they wearing such ragged things?! it's freezing outside!- while Angie entertained in the parlour

honestly, it didn't go well

the kid was a little bit unsettled by the floating doll that moved and spoke on its own FOR GOOD REASON

and when Donna walked back in with her measurement tape and some fabric, the kid backed themselves into a corner of the room with their gangly legs tucked into their chest

Angie sighs from the opposite side of the room, letting her little feet fidget as she gestures to the kid. "they're no fun" she pouts, "wouldn't even let me know their name"

Donna puts her materials down slowly and lifts her veil back before attempting a small smile

it takes a while but upon the offer of food, the kid finally lets Donna make them some clothes while Angie makes conversation

she works in silence, only offering small awkward smiles

Angie finally brings up the topic of where their parents are when the kid's clothes are done

when the child goes silent, Donna nods in understanding before hurrying off to make a room for them

as Angie helped tug the blankets up to the child's ears, they promised they'd be gone in the morning

Angie was the one to tell them off.

"You'll stay as long as you need, you silly goose!"

and the child did

Donna would let them tag along for meetings so long as they promised to keep quiet and help keep Angie out of trouble

most of the time, it didn't work and they both would end up in trouble but Donna let them come nonetheless

and when the other Lords question where on earth this little kid came from- all dressed in black fabric that matched Donna's dress, she just shook her head and let Angie chase them off verbally

she'd spend literal HOURS locked in that workshop making new little friends for her child and when they were old enough, she'd let them into the workshop

and when they were even older, she'd walk them through making their very first doll on their own

she'd just watch with pride as they carefully painted the freckles with a shaky hand while Angie danced around their ankles singing of how excited she was to have another friend

The Duke:

he would be setting up shop near the base of the Dimitrescu castle when he catches a kid trying to steal some his wares

he wouldn't be terribly upset, more concerned

it wasn't something shiny or expensive that they were trying to steal

it was some of the steaming-hot food he had left to cool in the wintry air

he confronted the child gently and with a warm smile

"That's cordon bleu," he says, gesturing to the steaming plate. "I can make you some if you'd like"

and as the child eats, the Duke continues tidying up his shop for any future customers

the child, through a mouthful of food, points to different items and asks their purpose, their price, their possible enhancements

the Duke answers each question with patience, happy for the company

but he doesn't just let the questions go one-way

"How about a trade?" he asks as the child asks about the strange-looking bottle of green liquid. "An answer for an answer."

the child agrees and the Duke starts to peel back layers of why the child was here looking for food

they had been orphaned by the last lycan attack, only barely making it out by fleeing into the woods

they tried to forage off of berry bushes and successfully managed to kill a pig- only for the blood to attract lycans before they could properly eat it

the Duke nods and continues busying himself with his shop, feeding the horse that pulls the wagon

the thought had hit him when he watched the child petting his horse

that horse hated everyone. including him at times.

maybe...

when he offered to take the child in, the kid nearly burst into tears and thanked him repeatedly, swearing to earn their keep

and they did, seven times over

what started off as a purely business venture morphed into something more as time went on

when the child would come back from selling smaller household items like gasoline and the occasional package of bullets, the Duke would have them climb onto the roof of the wagon and watch the sun set together with a plate of food

speaking of which, like Moreau, the Duke would raise the most cultured child

this kid would know how to prepare and identify different dishes and their ingredients just by looking at them or smelling them

and their palate would be far more sophisticated than most adults

the Duke, as the child gets older, would eventually allow them to choose destinations to set up shop- even outside of the village

wherever his child wants, the shop would go

it allows them to see the world and its earthly wares together- something the Duke had lacked in his life before the child was brought into the picture

Karl Heisenberg:

listen to me very very carefully

this man would be the most chaotic father ever to walk this earthly realm

when he finds this kid in the elevator of his factory, he's kinda standing there like 🧍 "what the hell-"

and when the kid starts spamming the button while maintaining eye contact, he kinda snaps out of it and starts chasing after them as they drop down to a different floor

it goes on for a solid twenty minutes before he finally managed to track them down in the corner of his office

and when i say this man is confused, i freaking mean it

i mean

why the HELL would some random kid be in his factory? don't they like... play with ponies or something at this age?

to be fair, this man literally has never been allowed a childhood so

obviously he starts scolding the kid ("what the hell are you doin' in here? it's dangerous and there's some really freaky shit here, kid"), dragging them to a nearby sink because "holy shit kid, you're filthy"

the kid is silent essentially the whole time, just kinda staring into his eyes

and of course Karl's gonna be like "...the fuck're you doin'?"

the kid's face is cleaned off and Karl sends them back out towards the village with a scratchy blanket he pulled out of the bottom of his desk drawer

he's working on his 'equipment' one day when he starts reaching for a wrench, keeping his focus on the body on the table

when i say this man jumps skyhigh at the kid asking a question, i mean it

he drags the kid back out, yelling about how dangerous it is and how "you shouldn't do that! you're gonna get yourself killed! go back home!"

the kid doesn't listen

it becomes a regular thing- Karl finds the kid wandering around the factory, Karl brings the kid out of danger, Karl tells them to get lost

eventually (day thirteen of this) he asks why the child keeps coming back

and he hates the answer he gets

it was something along the lines of "it's warm and there's nowhere else for me to go"

so Karl reluctantly eagerly lets them stay

it's a lot of rules at first (a kid shouldn't be allowed to just wander around a bunch of mindless cyborg killers, let alone a factory) but eventually the child learns to mind Sturm and the others

doesn't mean Karl does not have a fullblown heart attack when he walks into his workspace to find the kid tracing their finger along the center of the battery for the Soldats

after a very long talk (and some deep breathing) Karl reluctantly eagerly lets them sit against the very far wall to watch him work on the machinery- not, under any circumstances, the actual bodies

as the child blossoms into a young adult, they start to help out with certain aspects of Karl's work

exclusively machinery because Karl could not physically handle having his kid watch him get elbow-deep into a corpse

and Karl is so freaking proud of it

when the Soldat is kicked to life, he's got his kid in his arms and cackling like the proud dad he is

yeah. paternal Heisenberg>>>

#anon ask #anon #karl heisenberg #alcina dimitrescu #donna beneviento #salvatore moreau #re8 #resident evil 8 #the duke #resident evil village #resident evil #resident evil village fanfiction #gender neutral #headcanons #re8 headcanons #resident evil headcanons #resident evil village headcanons #yeah i had a lot of fun with this #thank you again anon

[lady-of-the-spirit]

turn to dust

Angstpril 2022. Day 2. “Can’t go home.”

Joan origin story! (or a draft of it.) She’s referred to as Ioana in this because it’s the early days. (For those unaware, Joan is my oc for The Old Guard.)

TWs: earthquake aftermath, blood, death/dead body, shock

other notes: maramă - headscarf. Joan is Romanian - ignoring the technicality of her being born before Romania was a unified country.This is set at some point in the 1400s, and I have done some research into the time and place, but if you see something you know is wrong, please let me know! 

.

Ioana’s ears were ringing – that was the first thing she was aware of as her consciousness slowly returned. She sucked in a deep breath and tasted dust and something else in the air. Her lungs protested the sudden action and she coughed violently, fighting the urge to curl in on herself as her ribs ached.  

She couldn’t do it even if she wanted to, she realized. She was lying on her stomach, her face pressed into a stone floor, and something heavy was on top of her. Ioana slowly opened her eyes – she was immediately blinded as the layers of dust coating her eyelids and eyelashes fell into her eyes, and she shut them at once, fighting the urge to blink rapidly as tears sprung forth. Ioana reached blindly behind her, trying to grab whatever was laying on top of her. Her fingers ran over a rough surface. It was a thick piece of stone that had fallen across her back. How had it-

Ioana took another deep breath and let out another violent cough. More dust spilled across her face at the movement. She kept her eyes firmly shut.  

Her ears were still ringing. She lay there, breathing in the dust. Memories were coming back to her. She had been standing in the church with her sister. They had begun to pray. Adina whispered something to her, a small smile on her lips; Ioana had started to reply, something as witty or joyful as whatever Adina had said – Ioana couldn’t remember now what it had been.

Then, suddenly, a feeling beneath her feet, one that travelled through the ground and into her feet and throughout her body, into her bones, into her teeth. The ground was shaking. There were some confused voices rising from behind her. The walls were shaking. People started shouting. Everything was shaking. 

She had barely moved from her spot when she had heard a violent crack. Pain had exploded throughout her skull. The world had gone black. She didn’t even remember hitting the ground.  

An earthquake. A piece of the church was on top of her – part of the ceiling, part of the wall, she didn't know. It was keeping her pinned down, although it only lay on her left side.  

Not quite sure how she had started moving, Ioana slowly inched her right hand forward. Her left arm was pinned between her chest and the floor, and she couldn’t wriggle it free without it sending an ache throughout her whole chest. She grabbed blindly at the floor, before laying her hand down flat and firm and trying to pull. Her hand slipped. She dug her fingers into the stone and tried again.  

Her body moved, just an inch. She dug her fingers back into the stone and pulled again, and again, until she was able to free her left arm and pull the rest of her free, the stone laying on top of her scraping her side and slamming to the floor with a heavy whump she barely heard.  She lay there on the floor for a moment more, sighing in relief as the pain in her ribs and her back subsided. She felt a strange sensation in her chest that had her holding her breath – things were moving inside of her, snapping into place, and with every movement she felt she could breathe more easily.  

She lay there and let it happen. She didn't feel like she could care.  

Ioana got up. She heard her dress rip as she did, the part of her shirt still caught under the stone. Dust spilled down her face from her head. She got to her knees and took hold of the edge of her maramă, shaking the dust out, and then wiped her eyes with it. She pressed the fabric to her face and breathed in and out through it, inhaling her own scent stuck to it. There was something else there, too, something wet and sticky.  

Ioana opened her eyes.

The brightness was nearly overwhelming. She had to blink several times before she could keep her eyes open.  

The wall they had all faced, where the pastor had stood, was completely gone. Piles of rubble had replaced it. The other walls seemed mostly fine. She looked up. The ceiling had given in entirely. She could see the sky – it was still morning. The sun still shone. The sky was still blue.  

Ioana looked down.  

Her sister was half buried under rubble. Her neck was bent at an odd angle. Blood had soaked through her maramă and dripped from her open mouth.  

Her stomach lurched. Ioana felt like she had been flung back into her body, no longer distant or dazed.  

The ringing in her ears faded. Now she could hear the sound she had blocked out before – people screaming. People crying. People shouting at each other. All in the distance, merging until she couldn’t make out one voice from the other.  

She could hear herself screaming.  

Ioana fell forward, barely keeping herself from hitting the ground by throwing her hands out. She crawled forward, her screaming tapering off into unsteady gasping and frantic whispers: “Adina, Adina, Adina-”

She made it to her sister’s side. Her hands hovered over Adina’s face, not knowing what to do, how to do it. Adina’s eyes were wide open, brown eyes staring ahead, glassy and indifferent – nothing lively, nothing joyful, nothing there. Ioana cupped her sister’s face in her hands and turned her to look up at the sky, up at her. More blood trickled forth from her mouth and spilled down her cheek, landing on Ioana’s skirt.  

Ioana took several deep breaths. Adina was dead. Adina was dead. Her sister was dead.

What had Adina said before? She couldn’t remember. Her sister’s last words to her and she couldn’t remember.  

She couldn’t catch her breath. She couldn’t breathe. Her eyes were burning, her vision going blurry.

Ioana raised Adina’s head and placed it on her lap. She pressed her hand against the blood-stained spot on her maramă. She pushed her hand underneath the headwrap and felt the part of her sister’s head that had caved in, struck by something, perhaps a part of the church, or maybe she had cracked her head on the floor or the bench-

But she had also-  

She remembered pain throughout her skull. She put her hand to her own head, slipping underneath her scarf, searching for a gash or crack of her own.

Hadn’t she also-?

“Hey!”

She looked up sharply, tears spilling free. A woman was approaching her. People were behind her, moving rubble and moving bodies, moving people, but the woman was approaching her.  

“Are you hurt?” the woman asked in Ioana’s language, although she didn’t sound like a local. She was a tall woman dressed in foreign clothing, like what people were said to wear further west. “Can you stand?”  

Ioana nodded but hunched further over Adina’s body.  

The woman looked at her with sympathy. She held her hand out. “Come on. If you can stand, I can get you help.”

“But my sister-”

“I’m sorry,” the woman said. She didn’t say anything more. Her hand remained out.  

Ioana looked down at Adina’s face once more. Taking a deep breath, looking into blank brown eyes that matched her own, she slowly moved Adina’s head from her lap before she reached out and took the foreign woman’s offered hand.

The woman brought her to her feet and helped her steady herself when Ioana almost collapsed again. She put her hand on Ioana’s back and led her away from the body and out of the church without a word.  

“Yusuf! Quynh!” the woman called out when they stepped out of the church. Two other people approached – an Arabic man and an Asian woman, both in foreign dress like the tall woman. “Quynh, help me with the bodies in the church. Yusuf, take her to Nicolo.”  

The Asian woman nodded. Both foreign women stepped back into the church. Ioana looked back and almost followed them, wanting to go back to her sister. The Arabic man stopped her, taking her by the shoulder and hand and leading her away.  

“Come on,” he said gently. “I’ll take you to get help.”

She didn’t need help, though. She didn’t say anything. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and her throat was dry.  

“What’s your name?” he asked her.  

She swallowed harshly. She forced herself to speak. “Ioana.”

“A nice name. I’m Yusuf. The women before were Quynh and Andromache.”

Ioana was barely listening. She was staring at her town.  

It was so strange. There was rubble where there had once been homes. Fragments of buildings remained, like the eggshells that were left when the yolks and whites had been used. She had walked down these streets just this morning. How had everything disappeared so quickly?  

Tears had started rolling down her cheeks without her realizing.  

“I’m sorry,” Yusuf said. He sounded like he meant it.  

Yusuf brought her to another man, the Nicolo that the tall woman had mentioned. It seemed like all the injured people had gathered in the town square and were being treated by him as well as the town doctor.  

“Nicolo!” Yusuf said. The other man, a man with sandy brown hair, finished wiping blood from an unconscious man’s forehead – it was Stefan the butcher, Ioana realized – and looked over at Yusuf. He smiled slightly when he saw them, though it fell when his eyes landed on Ioana. He approached the two of them.  

“I’ve got her,” he said, putting his hand on her back. “You alright, Yusuf?”

“I’m fine,” Yusuf said, and then he called the man a word she didn’t recognize. Nicolo returned the word with a foreign word of his own and a brief smile before Yusuf turned to Ioana, gave her a tired smile and a shoulder squeeze before taking off, back the way they came.  

“Come,” Nicolo said. He had an accent she didn’t know – another foreigner, just like the other three. “Let me look at you.”

“I’m not hurt,” she said. She brought her hand to her face and wiped her eyes. “I’m fine.”

Nicolo didn’t look convinced. “You’re bleeding.”

“I am?” Ioana blinked in surprise and put her hand to her head. Her scarf felt wet. She pushed her hand under her maramă for the second time. Her hair felt sticky and wet. Her hand came away covered in blood. She looked down at the tail of her scarf hanging over her shoulder and found blood stains there, too, just like Adina’s.  

But her hands had already been bloody before she touched her hair, hadn’t they? What was hers and what was Adina’s?  

“No,” she said. “It’s not mine. It’s my- it’s my sister’s.” She swallowed. More tears fell, and she wondered if she would cry for real at any point.  

“Are you sure?” Nicolo frowned at her.  

“I don’t feel anything wrong,” she said. She was confused by her own truthfulness. She had felt a striking pain throughout her head and was fine now. A stone slab had fallen on her. She looked down at herself. There were no marks on her body, but there were tears in her clothes and small stains of blood. She had felt things moving within her, snapping into place, and the ache in her ribs had faded as they had.  

“Well,” Nicolo looked around at the other people more in need of help than her, “let me find you a place to sit.” He had started leading her away from the injured. They passed Greta, the butcher’s wife, and the two women made eye contact. They nodded at each other, a sign of acknowledgement and perhaps mild relief at their mutual survival.  

Ioana thought of pain and the world going black, waking up with her hair matted in blood she couldn’t be sure was her own or not.

Had she survived? Was this some sort of purgatory? Was it hell?  

Nicolo took her to a space where others were sitting, those who were harmed but not in immediate danger.  

“You sit here,” he said, helping her to the ground even though she didn’t need it. “The doctor or I will come and look you over properly in a moment, to make sure nothing is wrong.”  

She wanted to say that she didn’t need to be looked over, but she looked down at her bloody hands. Was it hers? It couldn’t all be Adina’s. Why had she bled so much if she was unharmed? Why didn’t she feel any pain?  

“Who are you?” she asked, unable to take her eyes off her hands. “You and the other foreigners. Why are you here?”  

Nicolo patted her shoulder. “We’re travelers, giving aid to those who need it. We came here because we were meant to be here to help your people.” Without another word, he stood and left her sitting on the ground. She didn’t look up to watch him go.  

She put her bloodied hands together and bowed her head, starting to whisper. She prayed for God to accept her sister into Heaven, to accept the others who had died in this disaster to be accepted in Heaven, to help those still alive survive and get through this. She prayed for an answer to her survival, her lack of pain, her lack of injuries despite blood. She prayed to know why she had lived, and her sister had not.  

Her voice cracked, and she opened her eyes. She looked around her at the devastation of her town. There were some buildings that hadn’t been hit as hard and remained mostly intact. Some people, the lucky ones, would be able to return home and only need some repairs done. Others would have to rebuild entirely.  

She didn’t know the state of her house, but Ioana knew whatever it was, there was no home for her there. Something had changed. It wasn’t just Adina’s death, for all that it felt like her whole world had tilted. Something inside of her felt different, somehow.

Ioana had a sudden, deeply unsettling feeling that there was no home for her anywhere, anymore.  

#angstpril2022 #fic #daytwo #can't go home #earthquake #death #blood #shock #the old guard #my ocs #joan #i'm making stuff #i'm writing stuff #andy the scythian #quynh #joe al kaysani #nicky di genova #rip them completely missing a new immortal smh #nice job guys #whump

[wtnrscap]

It never stops

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: A lead in the ruins of Sokovia brings a face from the past back.

Ask:

Warnings: Set post-Endgame, swearing, a lil angst.

A/N: I have a bad feeling I’ve butchered your ask @badasseddy​ but I hope you still like it. Feel free to complain if you hate it. Currently writing a request a day, so I will get to everyone’s.

I cannot for the life of me remember who made this divider, so if it’s yours or you know who’s it is, please tell me so I can credit them.

81 years had passed since Bucky had last gone dancing, and he felt as though his eardrums were going to burst. Adrenaline shot through his veins, the alcohol having no affects. Sam nodded his head with the beat and Bucky groaned. Is this really what music passed for nowadays?

It took several punches to the arm for Bucky to realize that Sam was trying to get his attention, and he whipped his head around so fast they almost knocked each other out. Sam yelled and smacked Bucky’s metal arm, before screaming in pain.

 ‘Serves his right for dragging me to this hell’, thought Bucky. He watched as Sam pulled out a photograph and waved it in front of his face, “We’re looking for this girl. She’s undercover. Locate her and contact me on coms.”

 Bucky yanked the photo out of the air and stared at, memorizing the girl’s face. He vaguely remembered her, but he didn’t know why. Her Y/H/C hair was tied in a lose ponytail, with striking Y/E/C eyes and a distinctive smile. Her arms were wrapped out Sam’s shoulder, while Steve’s arm rest on her shoulder. Bucky tried to ignore the youth of his friend and chose to focus on the fact that the girl was pretty. The natural kind of pretty that all the girls wanted but compensated with layers of makeup. Bucky tucked the photo into his jacket with slight reluctance. It was the type of photo where he would have cut the girl out and tucked it into his army uniform, reminding himself what he was fighting for.

 The pair separated, Sam heading towards the dancefloor and Bucky the bar. A beacon of escape, Bucky decided. Sam had said no drinking on the job, but fuck Sam, if he wanted to drink, then he would. Bucky was immune to the addictive buzz anyway.

 The bar was empty aside from a man in a suit at the end, but he seemed a little distracted, a girl on his lap, giggling at something that probably wasn’t very funny. The girls in this club knew how to make their living. Bottles were stacked almost floor high, dirty looking glasses and a few dripping taps. A girl stood at the end, scrubbing a smeared flute with a grubby cloth. Bucky tapped his fingers and she sauntered over, “What can I get ya, pal? Looking a bit lost there…”

 “Well, I don’t really fit in. You see a lot of faces here?”

 “As a bartender? More than I care to count. Need help with something?”

 Bucky pulled the photo out, folded out Sam and Steve, and slid it across the wet bar, “I’m looking for this girl. Have you seen her?”

 The girl lifted it up gingerly, letting it drip. As she analyzed it, Bucky gave himself a chance to look at her, weighing her up. Her hair was black with green highlights, ending on her shoulders. Her eyes were the same as the girl’s in the photo but the smile, it wasn’t the same. This wasn’t who they were looking for.

 The girl slid the photo back, “She’s pretty, but I’ve never seen her. I think I’d remember her if I did.”

Bucky tucked the photo back into his jacket. The girl straightened up, a crease forming across her brow, “Are you sure you don’t want anything? A dry martini?” the girl looked up at him almost expectantly, but Bucky shook his head, “I’m good. I’ll probably be here till closing time, so if you see her, pull me over.”

 -

 “We can sink no lower…” mumbled Bucky, the toilet creaking dangerously below him. Sam hushed him quickly, “The girl is here. We have to stay ’till we find her.”

 “And that means hiding in the toilets?” snapped Bucky, meriting another hush from Sam. Bucky frowned, “Hey, this is your fault! This was your idea! She never turned up, we could have come back another day, but no, we’re here, hiding in this hell hole.”

 A thump from outside silenced him. Carefully, Sam left his cubicle, closely followed by Bucky, and propped open the door, enough for them to see and hear what was happening.

 “Club’s closed boys. You need to leave…” the voice of the bartender echoed around the room. Several guffaws responded, “We weren’t satisfied with our service.”

 “Not my problem. I run the bar, not the brothel.”

 “I don’t think Batroc will be very happy with that. He employs you, does he not?”

 “Yes…” the bartender’s voice trailed off nervously, “What are you going to do to me?”

 “Show you what we do to unwilling workers. Grab her and strap to the table… That one, in the corner…”

 Without hesitation, Bucky grabbed onto Sam’s arm, mouthing, “I can’t listen to this. We have to help her!”

 Sam’s hand flew over Bucky’s mouth, “We’re not here for her… Stay put!”

 Bucky pushed against Sam, trying to free himself from the Falcon’s grip, but Sam held him fast. A brief squabble broke out, Bucky and Sam fighting against each other, until Bucky used his metal hand to break free, rushing through the door to shocking sight.

 The bartender wiped her lip, staring down at three men, “Touch me again, and I will fucking kill you.”

 “Fuck…” thought Bucky, ‘I should not be this turned on…’

 “Hey, pretty boy? Pretty boy? Pay attention to me!” the bartender’s voice snapped Bucky out of his daydream, “Meet me in the alley in 5 minutes. Bring Sam.”

 -

 The dingy alley smelt of piss and sick, but the bartender seemed unperturbed, flinging her arms around Sam’s neck, “Oh, I’ve missed you Birdie!”

 “I’ve missed you too! We’ve been looking for you all night! Where have you been?”

 “At the bar! Your friend approached me, I thought he would recognize me, but no, and when I said the words, he didn’t reply with the code!” the bartender shot Bucky an angry glance. Bucky snapped, “What words? I wasn’t told of any words. And why would I recognize you? I’ve never met you in my life! This is so stupid!”

 The bartender huffed and pulled on her hair until it come off in her hand, revealing Y/H/C underneath. The black hair was a wig. Next, she pulled out the photo from Sam’s pocket and pulled up to her face and copied the smile. Bucky saw the resemble immediately, “It’s you…”

 “My name’s Agent Y/N L/N, I’m undercover here. You probably don’t remember me, we didn’t really meet, but I helped Steve and Sam disappear in 2016. I saw you from a distance, but you were kinda wiped out, no metal arm and longer hair. As for the words, I was told to offer you a dry martini, and you should’ve responded with ‘I don’t like my martini’s dry’.”

 “I hate martini’s altogether! And I gave you a photo of yourself!”

 “I’ve had 4 people give me a photo of myself today alone! The people after you are on your case!” Y/N’s chest heaved with anger and frustration, “Baltroc will be in the old Sokovian church tomorrow at midday. He’s made several attempts to take over the Sokovian people after the country fell with Ultron. We’ve tried to enlist the help of Wanda Maximoff, but we’ve had no response.”

 “She’s gone MIA… No one knows where she is…” responded Sam slowly, “If what you say is true, not that I am doubting you, then we need to get moving now. You are relieved of your duty. Where will you head?”

 “To New York. I’ll go to the compound.”

 “Well, I’m looking forward to seeing you there…” Sam pulled Y/N into a tight hug before turning to Bucky, “We leave in 10.”

 Bucky nodded his head and looked down at Y/N, “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

 “Not your fault. I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

 “Not your fault…” Bucky shifted awkwardly. Y/N smiled slightly, “Do you miss him?”

 Bucky’s eyes widened almost comically. He hadn’t expected that from her, the mention of Steve. He noticed the way her shoulders slumped at the question, her eyes losing their sparkle slightly. He wondered how the snap had affected her, and, for the first time, wondered what an Agent like her was doing here, in the burned ruins of Sokoiva. He tried to match her smile, “Everyday… It’s hard… I know that he is still alive, but the whole world believes him dead, and I don’t actually see him very often now, so sometimes, it’s like he’s dead to me too. It just never stops, this life. It’s fast and hard.”

 “I understand…” Y/N nodded her head, and Bucky spied a tear, and felt a pang in his heart, “Did… Did you love him?”

 “Oh God no!” gasped Y/N with a chuckle, “Me and Steve were more like siblings or best friends. He helped me and I helped him… I wasn’t snapped away, so spent the last 5 years with him. I trained with Natasha, and when Scott came back, Steve sent me away. To protect me, he said. I don’t doubt him, but I wonder, if I stayed, would’ve I been able to stop him from leaving?”

 “No. He had his mind set on it…”

 “Why’d you ask if I love him?”

 Bucky cheeks reddened, “Well, after I messed this up so bad, I wondered if once I got back to New York, you’d like to go for drinks… or not?”

 “Sargent Barnes, are you asking me on a date?”

 Bucky shivered at the use of the title, but tried to cover it, “Would you be opposed to the idea?”

 “No…”

 Bucky smiled at her as Sam yelled at him to hurry up. There was another moment of awkwardness before Bucky turned on his heel. Y/N stood still for few seconds before gasping, “Bucky! Wait!”

 “What?”

 It was Y/N’s turn to blush as she pecked a kiss on his cheek, “Be safe. Baltroc has a rep for maximum of casualties.”

 “I promise, doll…” Bucky smiled at took her hand in his, “Never thought the night would end like this. And now, I must really go.”

 -

 Sam frowned as they stepped onto the Quinjet, “How do you do it, man? 5 minutes ago, you barely knew the girl, and now you’re going on a date with her?”

 “It’s called charm, Birdbrain, you should try it some time.”

 “I have charm! And a wingman.”

 “Redwing does not count.”

 Sam huffed and sat down in a seat, “He so does. Besides, when she realizes you have a cyber-brain, she’ll be gone.”

 “Nah, I’ll just charm her again.”

 “Not with that grouchy face. If the wind changes, your face will be stuck like that.”

“I hate you…” muttered Bucky. Sam burst out laughing, nudging Bucky’s shoulder, and the man let out a small snort, smiling gently. 

It might never stop, but Bucky couldn’t deny, when it did, it was nice. Steve was gone, but he had Sam and now, Y/N too. Yeah... All was good.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #avengers #avengers x reader #marvel fic #marvel imagine #avengers x y/n #avengers x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes story #marvel fanfic series #marvel fanfiction #sebastian stan #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #bucky barns x y/n #bucky fanfiction #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan x you

[kaz11283]

Where Did The Love Go

Part 2

My "Where Did The Love Go" Mini foce can be found Here

My Loki Masterlist will be waiting Here

And if you have any asks or request you are more than welcome to send them in.

~ I have been enjoying writing this is so much! I had a little mishap tonight which has caused me to completly rewrite Part 2 but its ok. Obviously it is a blessing in disguise so I cant complain. This was originally requested I am assuming as a one shot but I ran with it! So to who ever requested this THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!! Request : "Heyy, could you pls write a Loki x reader, where reader and Loki are childhood friends but reader got banished to Midgard where she got trained by shield and they see eachother again during the battle of New York and they don’t know how to act around eachother but eventually get together? Like a childhood friends to enemies to lovers? Also love your writing byeeee"

💚💚💚💚

(20 years after the fall)

"This better be good Nick." You mumbled over the com as you nimbly jumped from one of the beams of the celing. "I have been waiting to get this intel for months."

"I think in the end it will be worth your while. Then you can go back to doing whatever it was you were doing." He said meeting you at the front door of the church.

"I was waiting on the bad guys to come in and spill all their guts about what kind of trade is going on in the Indian Ocean. Not that it concerns you, since I work for the European Chapter of SHEILD." You mumbled pulling your hood up to cover your ears from the cold.

"It doesnt concern me, but you do. I just like checking in. I still dont understand why you dont just come back home, its to cold here." He shivered.

"You sound to much like a worried father." You laughed nuding him. After your fall he had taken you in, gave you a place to stay, and trained you with the best of the best making you into a force to be wreakened with. "I like the cold. I thrive in it."

"A worried colleague, that sounds more professional." He opened the door to the plan for you to step through.

"I'll remeber that on the holidays then, colleague." You smirked stripping off your layers in the warmth of the plane.

"Whatever, twirp." He handed you a file. "Simple enough mission, some guy stole the tesseract. We are calling some of the best in to see what the whole thing is about." You opened it up, the black and white picture of the man caused your heart to drop. Even if they were gray you knew the green eyes, the long black curly hair. You could still imagine what it felt like when it ran between your fingers, how his lips felt on every part of you.

"Looks like a Snape wanna be if you ask me." You said clearing your throat and closing it back. "Are you sure theres no one else you can bother with this stuff?"

"Kid, your the only space being that I know. If I didnt have to i wouldnt drag you into this mess." He said taking the file back.

"Fine, fill me in. The sooner we figure it out the sooner I'll be back home." You said kicking up your feet on the seat in front of you.

~~~

The plane landed on top of the Helicarrier a few hours later letting you and Fury off before leaving again.

"Its so hot here, I like my cool climate ten times better than this." You wined.

"Shut up and get inside, there are a few people I want you to meet." He said rolling his eyes. He lead you to what looked like a lab where a staff was proped up and an older man examining it.

"Dr. Banner, this is Y/N shes here to try and help us figure out exactly what this thing is and what it does." You walked over to Dr.Banner and shook his hand.

"Please, just call me Bruce." He smiled. "I cant get a feel at all about this thing. All I know is that it is capable of mind control." You leaned over it trying to get a closer look.

"Now that is what I like to see in the lab." A voice wolf called behind you causing you to roll your eyes.

"I would have never imagined that you would be here." You said turning and looking at none other than Tony Stark. "They must have been really desperate to ask you for help." You laughed walking up and giving him a hug. You and him had helped each other out on a few occasions.

"Its good to see you again, hon." He smiled pulling away from you but keeping you at arms length. "You let me know if you need anything, ok?" He said kissing you on the top of the head.

"Yeah yeah, lets not get all sentimental." You smiled. "Any idea what this thing does?"

"Mind control?" He shrugged. "Other than that, not a clue." The doors opened showing a man dressed in a red, white, and blue uniform.

"Hello ma'ma, Steve Rodgers, nice to meet you." He said shaking your hand, you didnt notice the other walk in behind him until.

"Lady Y/N?" Your heart dropped at the title, you turned facing a long blond haired man. He percing blue eyes met yours. Pain coursed through you.

"No one has called me that in a long time and no one is about to start, Thor." Anger replaced pain as you started at him.

"Wait," Fury said stepping beside you. "You know them. The way you sounded on the trip here you had never even seen that guy."

"Knew them, I knew them a long time ago. I dont know anything about him or his brother now." You went to grab your jacket snd leave when a group of guards came walking by the lab escorting none other than Loki stopping you dead in your tracks.

His hair was stringy, unlike how you remembered, his eyes were a brilliant blue, not the green that haunted your dreams, everythjng about his was diffrent not the same man you had fallen in love with all those years ago. Tears came to your eyes as the shell of the man caught a glimps of you almost halting him in his footsteps.

"He never stopped loving you. It tore him apart when father banished you here. It broke all of us to see him spiral like he did." You turned back to Thor, anger now seeping from you.

"Dont you dare say that, dont you dare pull that poor pitiful me Bullshit Thor. If you had any concern over me or your brother you never showed it that day, you or your mother. If I remember correctly you two ideally stood by as they drug me from that room kicking and screaming while your brother begged for your father to let me stay." You turned to him. "But you just couldn't let your brother fall in love with the help. You just couldnt stand for him to be happy when you wasn't. You had always been an asshole Thor, but that day? That day you were more like your good for nothing father, and I hope all of Hell Fire reins down and destroys him where he sit on that damn throne!" You said stalking up to him. You only came up to his chest but you felt every word drip with poison.

"You have no rig-" he started.

"I have every right here, because here? You don't rule Midguard Thor Odinson and you never will." You turned slaming the lab door behind you. You made your way down the winding hallways to where they had taken Loki when you met up with two guards stationed outside of a room.

"Authorized personel only." One said looking down at you. "Fury's orders."

"Let me by." You went to step between them, they both blocked you.

"Authorized personel only, ma'ma." He repeated.

"Fine. Be that way." You turned on your heal walking back the way you came. "Every room has a way you can get in. Nothing is sealed completly off." You looked up starting to follow the air ducts. "Dumbasses." You grabbed a chair from a near by room and pushed a tile away for you to crawl up in.

You followed the vents back the way you had came until you was right over the entrance. A steel wall met you. "Ugh." Where theres a will theres a way, you thought following the wall completly around the perimeter of the cell. "I will get in there one way or another." You mumbled crawling back to another empty office.

You walked to your room studying the celings and floors as you went. "Your not gonna find a way in." You jumped as Fury came out of the room you was going to be staying in.

"The cell that Loki is staying in is actually ment for Dr. Banner if the green guy ever gets out. Completly impenetrably."

"He doesn't deserve to be locked in a cell." You mumbled, walking over to your bag to pull out your sleep clothes. "He doesnt deserve any of this treatment that hes getting."

"Y/n, that is not the same man that you were in love with. Hes done horrible thing, killed people, brainwashed others. That man in there is not the same Loki that you left behind all those years ago." A tear ran down your cheek as you turned to him.

"I have to see for myself. I have to talk to him, to get a feel of what is goimg on. All those things your saying? They dont make sense. He would have never done those things, sure he was a trouble maker but actually killing people? Thats not the Loki I know."

He gave a loud sigh before looking to you. "Five minutes, thats all I can give you."

"Thats barly long enough to say hello."

"Five minutes take it or leave it."

"Fine, lets go."

On the way down he informed that of course they would be watching on the cameras, that if anything was to feel off to get out as fast as possible, and that the time would start as soon as you walked in. As the door slammed shut behind you you took a deep breath trying to steady your nerves. You walked up the ramp that lead to the cell, his back turned toward you. You took notice of his battle gear that he wore, the greens and gold entwining beautifully, he shoulders strong his torso narrowing just slightly at the waist. You imagined how he looked without all the clothes, how he had the v at his hips, the slight dimples that are right above his tail bone.

"I was wondering when you was going to make an apperance My Dove." His voice was like a warm blanket enveloping you.

"Loki," you stepped up to the glass placing your hand near him. "I have missed you so much." You placed your other hand over your mouth suppressing a cry. He turned then and your eyes met ice blue eyes, not the bright green ones that you had known. "They are listening." You whispered in Asguardian.

"Min due." He walked up to the glass wall. His eyes flashed from the ice blue to the emerald green that you were use to. "You have not changed, you are still as beautiful as the moons over Asguard during the spring solstice."

"Loki, my heart, was has happened to you? Its as if you are hear but you are many realms away. " you craved to be in there with his, to hold and to feel him aginst you again like it once was.

"There was a fight between Odin and I, Min due, I fear to tell you that I am not the same pers-"

"Agent Y/N, times up. Back to your quarters." Fury yelled across the room causing you both to sigh.

"Loki, I fear that I am not as you remeber me either." You look down. "I love you, I will get you out somehow. You do not deserve to be imprisoned like some animal." You took a spet back taking one last look at him before you turned and walked back to your room.

Tag List

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@lostgreekgod

#loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki #loki daily #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki avengers #loki fluff #lokilaufeyson #loki x reader #loki request #loki masterlist #loki miniseries #marvel loki #loki one shot #loki marvel #loki asks #avenger loki #loki and reader #loki prince of asguard #loki god of stories #loki god of lies #loki god of mischief #loki x you #loki x y/n

[inviciousx]

nuclear winter of our discontent

Fractured strips of moonlight shone down from the caving ceiling as Ryat started mixing several ingredients into a metal bowl he'd stolen from an old diner he'd passed on the way out here. Locals in the wastes called this the Old North Church. He called it a resurrection ground. His mind drifted as he added a bit of purified water into the mixture and pulled out his blade. Slashing it across his hand, he let a few drops of blood fall before he could feel it start healing. The demon couldn't help but replay the last twenty-four hours in his head. It had been more excitement than the last two centuries combined. Latin fell from his lips as his gaze moved over the pile of old bones laid over the debris in the floor. God he hoped he'd dug the right grave. As flesh began to form over bone, he began to hold even the tiniest bit of hope that be wouldn't be alone anymore.

She was waking. Not from a dream, but from darkness. Like Jesus saw daylight again on the third day, light was pouring in from behind her closed eyelids. She remembered, before her eyes ever opened: that awful flash, heat searing her skin, only time enough left to drop to her knees and cling to the soft grass one last time. She stirred, grunting softly, and blinked up into the sky. She inhaled softly. What she was was nothing like the fiery destruction that had knocked her out. It was silver and peaceful, quiet.

Caroline pushed an elbow under herself and began to rise, beginning to look around. The darkness surrounding her seemed to pop as her eyes adjusted from the moonlight pooling around her. There were shapes an figures, perhaps, but she could make out nothing specific. She sat up completely, wincing loudly and clutching her side in pain. Had she been knocked back into something in the blast? "Hello?" she called hoarsely. 

  Red eyes watched her from where Ryat sat in a dilapidating pew. It was one of few that was still being held together, probably by all the dirt and grime that covered it. Her resurrection had taken longer than most, but he supposed that had something to do with the fact that she'd been dead for 200 years. He really wasn't sure how he was going to explain that yet, but he knew he had to. She was going to be punished into a brand new world, a terrifying world... Just like he had been. It seemed like he had just traded one hell for another. At least now he had something other than his own thoughts, even before he had brought her back. Sitting there frozen, a captive to the body he had once enslaved hadn't done him any favors. "Morning sunshine. It's about time you woke the hell up," he muttered, finally getting back to his feet to move closer to her, stepping into the moonlight. "You're very.... Very late to the party." 

The light in the hunter’s eyes brightened with confused realization as the demon’s voice purred through the darkness and echoed subtly off the walls. A sharp creak of wood made her head swivel, and, through the light of the moon, she found two red eyes peered back at her. Her heart slammed in her chest. “Ryat. .” she breathed, but offered nothing else, shifting slightly in the pile of rubble. She watched dumb-struck as he emerged into the circle of light. There should have been a million thoughts running through her mind, but it was empty, save for watching his face looking down at hers. She could barely read his expression, but what else was new? His eyes were shadowed but the irises glowed. He looked different, somehow, but still very much the same. Her face winced as she tried to process what he meant. It all. . . felt like a dream. “What’s going on?” she asked softly

Stooping down next to her, he sat with her in the rubble. He was already dirty, grime and filth covering his clothes. Not to mention blood.... "What do you remember?" He questioned, choosing his words uncharacteristically carefully. "I mean the very last thing you remember, because I need to know where to start explaining, and I don't have much time." Being what he was, he was able to see through the veil of death. He knew the difference between when he was dead and when he was alive, and he knew what happened in between, but he doubted that she had that luxury. Or maybe it was a curse.... He wasn't sure. A while caused crimson hues to look back at the black dog that laid guarding the door. Another whimper had him getting to his feet. "Come on. We need to move. I'll explain, but we need to get to higher ground. He wouldn't take her all the way up to the steeple yet, but he would at least hide them in the stairwell for now. Sitting here felt like being a sitting duck. 

The hunter's eyes searched his face wildly for a hint of why he was asking such questions. The last thing she remembered? The last thing she remembered was everything, everything exploding and vanishing and then the sudden lack of everything. The emptiest nothing that she could conceive, and could still feel in her bones, as if she was hollow. Her hand seized on his arm like a snake."Ryat..." Caroline repeated, anxiety growing in her voice and heat swelling to her face. The urgency in his voice and the measured tone was making every hair on her body stick up like a pin prick. Ryat used her grip on him to hoist her up, but she collapsed to her knee, finding the legs underneath her shaking and uncoordinated. "Help me. Please." she asked of him, and braced herself around his middle. The black dog circled around them, but always stayed behind, unnaturally bright eyes glaring at the back of the building--if it could be called that. Half up the stairs, encased in near-darkness, and almost suffocating in dust, Caroline pushed against the demon and let herself sink to a stair. Her legs burned as if she'd been marooned in the desert. The hunter breathed heavily, dropping her hand from him to lean forward, taken by the vertigo in her brain. She looked up to what she could see in front of her face--shocking red eyes and a half-shadowed face looking down at her. "The last thing I remember. . ." Her face contorted at the memory, too painful for even tears. Her gaze searched for the words in the dust particles floating around them. "The last thing I remember is the. . ." The hunter blinked faster, as if the emotions that had been stopped where her memories ended were picking up as she remembered ten seconds over and over again in her mind. The more she remembered, the more the monstrous sounds came back to her. "Oh, God. Oh, God." she whispered. She looked back at Ryat, pleading, reaching out to a hand she couldn't see in the dark. "What's happening? Why am I here?” 

The fear and fragility coming from the normally quick witted hunter only added to the gravity of the situation. Even with his superior hearing, Ryat wasn't sure what was waiting for them outside. There were things in this hellacious landscape that put the creatures of nightmares to shame. The large Shepherd Dog sat at the bottom of the stairs, ears twitching with each sound, though he wasn't sounding an alarm again yet. He knew she remembered the end. Her reaction told him at least that much. "What you remember.... That's what a lot of people called the end of the world. As you can see that isn't exactly accurate...." He still picked and chose his words, knowing that the smallest thing could be like a detonator, and right now he didn't have the luxury of having the time to help stitch her back together. At least mentally. "It was damn close though....and that was 200 years ago. The world you knew, hell the world we both knew, is gone. There are things even you can't imagine. Whole damn world went to hell in a hand basket." The air here was too thick with dust and the smell of mold from the nuclear storms that passed settling into the interior of the building. Reaching into his pack once he slipped it off his shoulder, he found a stimpack. "I don't know how much this is gonna help, but it should do something," he stated evenly before injecting her with the medicine inside. 

Caroline lower lip trembled fiercely as he spoke, but he brows were set in desperate refusal. His words were gathering like a holy flood at the levies, and she bit her lip, shaking her head. The end of the world. The end of the world. The end of the world. Pictures flashed in her mind as rapidly as film ticking through a camera. Home. People. Friends. Life. Gone. . . “Please stop.” she said quietly, squeezing his hand as it released hers to shuffle inside some backpack. The pinch in her arm barely registered past the screaming her in own head. Voices, like a hundred-strong choir was screaming through their murder in her ears. “Stop!” she screamed through it, bracing her hands on the edge of the step and kicking out sharply at his leg. Something connected and she scrambled up and away, spilling onto the landing and throwing herself towards the next set of stairs. It only look another flight to reach the top, which spilled out into a windowed perch with half the wall broken out. Caroline gasped and looked around wildly. A thin layer of snow was coating the rooftops in her sights, but it all blurred together. Steps were right behind her as she made for the roof.

A hiss of pain left the demon's lips even if it wouldn't last long. "You God damn bitch!" He growled, moving after her with speed only a creature such as himself could possess. Maybe the stimpack had been a bad idea.... He'd thought it would do good to help her feel better and give her some mobility. The dog let out a bark at the sudden outburst and Ryat took off after her trying to ignore the pain in his shin. Snow glittered on the roof as it came into his view and his arm shot out, grabbing her ankle as she tried to scramble to the sloped, rotting roof. From his place on the stairs, he roughly tugged her back, not giving a single shit if he caused a few bruises on the way down. "What the fuck?" He grit, red eyes seeming to look through her as he appraised her. "I didn't spend the last twenty four hours gathering the shit to bring you back to let you toss yourself off a god damn steeple!" His grip on her ankle released only to grab her by the arm and pull her up to her feet, but this time he held her steady.

Caroline yelped and slammed to the ground hard as her feet were wrenched from beneath her. Her vision turned into a dropped snowglobe for a brief moment as he torso landed on the raised ledge were a wall should've been, half of body on the roof, half still inside the tower. All she could manage was a strangled grunt of resistance as she was pulled back over the threshold, icy flakes stinging her face. She lost herself in a flurry of kicks and palm-thrusts into Ryat's shoulders, but it was a charade for all the good it did. The young woman gasped as she was forced to stand, and, wrangled in his unquestionable grip, she looked at him wildly. His dark, hidden face from before now reflected so much silver light it was like he was glowing. His raven hair was tussled from the skirmish and blew slightly in the wind whistling through the broken windows around them. Caroline breathed hard, small fogs of hot breath crystalizing between them. Her eyes were stricken, but clearer, as if the truth was easier to see in the moonlight. "You brought me back?" She paused, forgetting to breathe. "I. . died?" The last word was barely a breath.

@a-beast-in-repose

#ryat; #nuclear winter;

[kintatsujo]

LoZ AU- The Courage of Running Away Part FOURTEEN

You’ll see why this one took a while in just a second, I did that thing where I drew a whole ass scene again

Content warning for fantasy religions based loosely on Christian schisms

#AU August

#LoZ AU: The Courage of Running Away

So while Link is getting acclimated to Castle life and getting hugs from Marla and Tonbo (and also getting unofficially adopted by the royal family) Astramorus flies back to the Sky Temple with his loftwing. 

And he has a lot of time to think while he’s doing it; I don’t know how fast a loftwing flies but even so it would have taken some hours on Hera’s back and you don’t have anything to do up there but think about why you got blasted through a wall by a god-queen.  So he gets back and he’s feeling pretty fucking subdued when he hands Hera off to the Sky Temple commune’s gardener/bird caretaker, Maurice.

[Image description:  Astramorus, looking tired and still missing his hat, his hair a mess, is standing opposite a short and round mustached man with bushy eyebrows dressed in the same priestly robes, except that this man has his sleeves shortened to his elbows and is wearing thick gloves.  This man is holding Hera the loftwing by a lead, while she makes a particularly vacant happy face.  “NAYRU’S EYES, man, WHAT HAPPENED?”  Astramorus gives a very small smile, and after a pause, answers, “TURBULENCE.”  The man harrumphs skeptically, then says, “Well, LORD SERENUMBRA from the LORULEAN ORTHODOXY showed up three days ago and he’s been giving me ADVICE ON MY TOMATOES, so turbulence or OTHERWISE I’d appreciate you DISTRACTING HIM before I commit some WEEDING.”  Astramorus smiles.  “Ah,” he says in understanding.  “Yes, thank you for your PATIENCE, Maurice.”  End ID.] 

A note on Maurice, originally I was going to make him look like Gaepora OR Rauru and then Ice suggested basing him on Maurice-Belle’s-Dad and I liked that, so I blended the ideas a bit.  

I think I’ve mentioned that Lorule and Hyrule have different takes on the Hylia religion, haven’t I?

Basically since this Lorule is just the country south of Hyrule instead of a dark-mirror-universe world, Invid suggested that part of the idea might be that Lorule insists that Hyrule is wrong about which country the Golden Goddesses left the world from, and that the Triforce belongs there instead.  I kind of played with that a little further, and so now part of the thing is that their royal line is actually also descended from Hylia directly, except that at some point a sister broke off from (one or the other of) the royal family, founding the Hilda line versus the Zelda line.

And real quick here’s the Hilda of this story, which I promise is relevant:

[Image Description: Sketches of a tall, black haired woman with pale skin and blue eyes and extremely long pointed ears, dressed in a cape and dress of purple, dark blue, red and gold.  She wears a blue and green belt trimmed with gold and black gloves, and a diadem featuring a red gemstone and golden spread wings.  There is an inverted Triforce symbol on her sash.  She is also wearing black lipstick and red blush and eyeshadow.  A sketch to the side shows her making a decidedly less dignified expression with the note “All the finery and rouge is a desperate attempt to fool you into thinking Hilda is in her twenties but she’s only actually seventeen, same as Link.”  Another sketch shows her next to an old man with round glasses and priestly robes different to the Hyrulean priests, who only comes up to her chest.  She has her hands on her hips and is ranting at him.  A note reads, “Hilda TOL.”  End ID.]

Anyway the thing is that currently, the two churches are relatively peaceable with one another, they have joint gatherings to quibble about tradition and who should be allowed to have what sacred treasures and who has to bring the roast boar next time, and that is how a very young novice Astramorus ended up as friends with the man he would eventually match in equivalent rank, Lord Serenumbra.  Who gets a nice picture equivalent piece to Astra’s introduction because of symmetry: 

[Image Description: The same short priest from the picture with Hilda.  He has white loosely curly hair, circular gold glasses, a hat similar to Astramorus’s but in red, a dark red robe over a black underdress, both trimmed in gold, and is wearing a heavy golden neck piece with an inverted Triforce and golden wings framing a blue disc.  To the side are various comic panels; in the first, he has taken an extremely young Astramorus’s hand and is saying, “Let me be the first to CONGRATULATE you, my friend!”  In the second, he’s spread his arms wide while approaching Astramorus and Catena, Link’s mother.  “Let me be the first to CONGRATULATE YOU, my friends!” he’s saying, and Catena laughs, giving Astramorus a rough side hug that lifts him off his feet despite her only coming to his chest, while Astramorus gives her a gooey smile.  “TOO LATE,” she says, “I told my mum first,” and laughs.  In the last panel, Astramorus has collapsed limp into a chair at a dining room table, his hair in his eyes, his face wet with tears, propping his head on one arm as Serenumbra pats his shoulder from behind the chair.  “Let me be the first to say,” Serenumbra says, “How DEEPLY SORRY I am, my friend.”  End ID.]

This is awful but that’s currently my favorite picture of Astramorus.  

Serenumbra’s design is based on the priest and philosopher from ALttP and Link Between Worlds; the philosopher’s robes were red so I sorta priestified them.  The blue disc in the center of his neck piece represents the Moon Pearl from ALttP, which was actually red in the game but blue in some of the promotional materiel, and the blue was a nicer contrast.  The Moon Pearl was mostly important because it let Link run around in his human form in the Dark World but I always liked it because it was sort of weird and mysterious.  In Four Swords Adventures there’s actually a LOT of moon pearls and they let you make portals between the worlds.  There isn’t going to be a lot of world hopping in this AU, I just thought it was interesting context. 

Anyway here’s two old friends having a conversation, image description and a little more commentary plus some bonus poking at Astramorus at the end:

[Image Descriptions: Astramorus is entering a room with a rounded door and a coat rack on the wall.  “Seren?” he calls.  “ASTRAMORUS, are you QUITE all right?” Serenumbra answers.  He is sitting at a round table in the center of the room; there are two dining chairs, one of which he is sitting in, and opposite of him is a comfortable looking rocking chair.  “I came because I heard about your SON, have you still not found him?”  Astramorus, looking deeply pained, straightens some of his hair with one hand.  “I found him,” he says.  He settles into the rocking chair with a long creak.  Serenumbra is clearly shocked by his demeanor.  “Astra,” he says, concern clear in his face, “What HAPPENED?”  Astramorus stares at the ceiling while looking like death warmed over.  There is a panel fading from light to dark to indicate the passage of time, then we see that Serenumbra has a hand to his mouth in thought.  “So the queen refuses to see the DANGER here,” he says.  Astramorus has folded his hands together.  “She’s right about my SON, though,” he answers.  Serenumbra is quick to defend Astramorus to himself: “Well- he’s such a SOFT BOY, you wanted him PREPARED,” he begins, but Astramorus stops him.  “I pushed him too hard, too SOON, and with too little CARE.”  Astramorus lifts his hands and grins painfully, continuing, “WHAT was I DOING, trying to teach him how to FIGHT when all I knew was an ADULT’S routine?”  He puts a hand to his chin, still smiling.  “I must be the STUPIDEST MAN ALIVE.”  “Astra,” Serenumbra begins again, and Astramorus interrupts again.  “My wife used to tell me I WORRIED too much, did I ever mention that?”  He asks.  His face turns solemn.  “It was even one of the LAST THINGS she said to me,” he says.  We get a glimpse of young Astramorus and Catena together backlit by the sun; she’s wearing a blue version of the classical Link costume with a sword strapped to her back and plate armor on her shoulders, he’s wearing his priestly robes and hat.  She’s reached up to grab his face, grinning, while he’s put his hands on hers.  “And then she died,” Astramorus says.  He sits up, animate once more.  “What else could I DO but worry?!” he demands.  “You’ve studied the legends, same as I-” he subsides again- “That mark on Link’s hand may as well be a DEATH SENTENCE.”  He puts a hand on his face.  “And I’ve so THOROUGHLY FAILED him that now I’ve put the Royal Family in danger TOO.”  Serenumbra puts a hand to his chin, thoughtfully.  “WELL, you never KNOW,” he says, “Princess HILDA is more of an age with Link, maybe the Triforce of Wisdom will arise in the LORULEAN line this time.”  Astramorus laughs.  “That doesn’t change the SITUATION, Seren,” quietly adding “But also KEEP DREAMING.”  He then puts his hand to his mouth.  “How do I even BEGIN to atone?” Astramorus asks.  “Ahh, old friend,” Serenumbra answers, soothingly.  “If only Catena were still WITH us, she’d know how to ease the boy’s burden.  Why-she’d face down GANON HIMSELF if it came to that!”  Astramorus makes an intense face, as if he’s been suddenly burdened.  Serenumbra stands and puts a hand on his shoulder.  “Get some REST, dear friend, you still look TERRIBLE,” he says with a smile.  Astramorus is wringing his hands, staring forward.  End ID.]

DUMBASS BRAINCELLS ENGAGED.

I didn’t expect “Got pegged by his wife so hard that the mere invocation of her name knocked him back to his senses after over eleven years of fucking shitty behavior towards their son” to be on the bingo card for this character when I started this project either, but this is Draft 0.5 so anything can happen XD

Astramorus is so layered now what the fuck!  

[Image Description: Serenumbra, face full of concern, asks, “Astra, what HAPPENED?”  Astramorus stares at the ceiling like death warmed over.  Behind him are the words “HELLO DARKNESS MY OLD FRIEND.”  End ID.]

[Image Description: Serenumbra, face full of concern, asks, “Astra, what HAPPENED?”  Astramorus stares at the ceiling like death warmed over.  Behind him are the words “WELL FIRST OF ALL I FUCKING DIED.”  End ID.]

[Image Description: Serenumbra, face full of concern, asks, “Astra, what HAPPENED?”  Astramorus stares at the ceiling like death warmed over.  Behind him are the words “...my wife made this chair.”  End ID.]

Catena got into carving as a hobby during long trips but she started making furniture while dealing with nesting urges while pregnant, so imagine this little tank of a woman assembling a rocking chair for her tol noodle husband while ranting about her weird cravings.  

#my art #au august #loz #loz au #Loz au: the courage of running away

[secret-engima]

Tomorrow is looking up to be - absolutely terrible. Can I beg you for some RWBY or FFXV snippets, please?

Of course! I know it is the "tomorrow" you speak of but lemme see what I can dig up-

Team Gremlin:

There was silence for a long, long time. Nothing but Ruby’s sobbing and Yang’s pounding heart and the fear that pressed down on them from all around. Formless, but not nameless. Then she heard the stairs creak and for one moment Yang was sure that “Salem” was coming upstairs to get Ruby.

But then the door opened and Yang saw Dad’s boots, “Girls? It’s okay. Come on out.” Yang didn’t move, Ruby just sobbed a little louder and clung tighter to her. Dad sighed and bent down to peer at them, “You heard all that didn’t you.” He looked … not mad, but stressed. Maybe scared, and that made the fear worse for Yang. Yang clung to Ruby, her precious baby sister with silver eyes that no monster should be able to get to, and nodded. Dad’s face pinched, then he gave a smile that even she could tell was fake, “Come on out, girls. It’s okay. I promise. That was all just- that was adult talk okay? You don’t need to worry about that until you’re older-.”

“Ruby’s eyes,” Yang bit out, “R-ruby has Mom’s e-eyes.”

“It’s okay, Yang, Ruby, I promise. We’ll take care of it-.”

A creak of wood behind Dad and he frowned before straightening up and turning to face whoever was there, “I’ll be down in a minute, just let me-.”

“Taiyang,” Professor Ozpin sounded weirdly calm, more calm than Dad did, “may I speak to them?”

“…I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

A sigh, “I am well aware of your opinion on this matter, Taiyang, and I respect it. But they have already heard enough to be terrified. Telling them to forget it now is not only impossible but potentially worse than talking to them. You made your stance on this matter very clear, but that does not apply to your children if it will put them in danger.” Professor Ozpin’s voice softened, “Either I speak with them or Qrow does, but please. Let one of us help.”

Dad didn’t move for a long time, then his boots made for the door, “Fine. But don’t drag them into this more than you have to.” A deep breath, “Girls? I’m going downstairs to check on your mother, if you need anything, just shout, okay? Professor Ozpin is going to talk to you for a little bit. He’ll be very nice.” The last bit was said in the same voice he used when warning Zwei not to dig holes in the yard.

Dad’s boots disappeared and fancy black shoes came closer. There was a pause, then, “Would you prefer to stay under the bed?” Ruby whined and Yang glared without a word. She didn’t know what was going on, but Dad seemed mad at Professor Ozpin and everything was scary and so yes, she wanted to stay under the bed. The tip of his fancy cane tapped the floorboards a few times, then there was a hiss and a whirr of gears like from her parents’ gear and the tip disappeared. With a grunt, he knelt down and then lay down on his stomach like even Mom rarely did. He pillowed his chin on his crossed arms and it was so strange seeing a fancy, famous person lying on his belly on the floor of Ruby’s room that Yang snorted despite herself.

Professor Ozpin’s face crinkled into a faint smile and it looked real and warm, “Hello there. You must be Yang and Ruby. I am Professor Ozpin, I’m a friend of your uncle and your mother. Can I safely assume you heard the most important parts of that conversation? The Grimm and the silver eyes and,” the briefest hesitation, “Salem?”

Ruby finally pulled her face away from Yang’s shoulder to whimper, “I-is she gonna take Mom away and m-make her a Grimm? Is she gonna t-take me?”

“Ah. You have silver eyes,” Professor Ozpin murmured, then his face fell back into that faint, warm smile, “Your mother is alright now, and now that we know what is going on, we will be much more careful. I promise, I will do everything in my power to keep your mother and you safe. But to do that … I would like to tell you a story, and you must both promise me to never tell it to anyone. For the safety of you and your mother.” They nodded, hesitantly, even though Yang certainly didn’t want to hear anymore scary things today. But if it would help keep Ruby and Mom safe-.

Professor Ozpin’s smile faded, but his eyes were still warm, “Once upon a time,” he began, and they listened intently as the man with white hair slowly outlined a story that sounded right out of a fairy tail.

...

Always I Dreamed verse:

Summer had no idea what Professor Ozpin had been thinking, making her the leader of Team STRQ. Then again, the only other real option would have been Taiyang, and as much as she enjoyed his company and was coming to think of him as a good friend and teammate, he wouldn’t have been able to handle the Branwen twins.

Not that Summer was much better at handling the Branwen twins.

They hadn’t done anything to get the team in trouble, but she didn’t know how to deal with them. Taiyang made sense, even if he had a few oddly adorable hangups on things like “modesty” —they were two guys and two girls living in the same room, she didn’t really see what modesty had to do with anything when they weren’t out in public—. Taiyang understood her when she tried to … bond with the team, tried to get them to be more than just four strangers living under the same roof and tackling the same assignments in class. Raven and Qrow on the other hand…

Every time she suggested a group activity, they watched her like she was going to bite. Like they couldn’t fathom the point of learning more about or bonding with anyone outside themselves. Taiyang had suggested it was an out of kingdom thing, but Summer had lived outside the kingdoms until five years ago, and she had never acted like that. Her family hadn’t either. That feral behavior, wary distrust and eerie staring in the middle of the night like even the room wasn’t safe to sleep in without a watch wasn’t anything like what Summer and her family or neighbors had grown up with. The only ones who had acted even similar had been-.

Oh.

Now that’s an idea.

...

Blood of My Blood verse:

The next one was a whole month after Grandma Crepera had first appeared and only a week after the scary man with the mace, but three times was enough for Dionysus to be able to immediately tell what was happening when he blinked his way to awareness in a dream. He looked around uneasily, afraid of being yelled at by someone again, but … there was no one scary nearby. He was in a small little building inside a big, unfamiliar garden. The building was just a roof and little pillars holding it up and a stone floor to stand on with a little table inside and-.

A woman.

She was sitting at the table, working on something, but instead of it being paperwork like Grandpa or taking care of a sword like Uncle Cor, she was … spinning mud? She was making mud spin and pulling at it with her hands, changing its shape with her fingers, and Dionysus hadn’t realized he’d drifted into the gazebo to watch her in awe until she glanced up from her work and smiled at him. She went back to watching her mud, and when she spoke, her voice wasn’t echoing and scary, “Hello. Would you like to join me? I have enough for both of us to use if you like.”

Dionysus watched the spinning-spinning-spinning in awe, but shook his head and tucked his hands behind his back, “Iggy says I can’t play in the mud cause I’ll get dirty an’ it’s unb- unbe- bad for a prince.” He blinked up at her, “How come you’re playing in the mud? Iggy says old people don’ like mud.”

The spinning slowed to a stop as she stared at him and he wondered if she was going to get mad. But then she started laughing, an old, deep sound that felt nice, all the way to his bones, “This is not mud, Cheeky Prince, this is clay. People use it to make things like mugs and teapots and vases. Come, come sit and I will show you how.” She waved her muddy hand and set down a chair next to hers in a flash of magical rosy-blue sparks. So she was family, just like the last ones had been. Dionysus hadn’t known he had so much family before. Then again, he was pretty sure they were all dead, and that’s why they were talking to him in dreams rather than when he was awake —and a part of him wondered if that should scare him, but it didn’t, so as long as they didn’t act scary, he didn’t bother trying—.

Dionysus climbed onto the chair and watched her in curiosity. It still looked a lot like mud to him, but it was a different color from mud, so he supposed it could be something else. The woman was spinning her clay again, fingers deftly shaping and pinching and rubbing, “My name is Nyssia, though some once called me the Just.”

Dionysus thought of the Hall of Arts and all the pictures and statues in it, including some of Grandma Crepera, and wondered if she was one of the pictures in the Hall, “Just like Grandma Crepera?”

An amused twitch of her lips, “Yes, I am like Crepera. We are both related to you, but we are older than King Regis.”

He tilted his head, partially mesmerized by what she was doing with the spinning clay, but curious despite himself about other things. She was like Grandma Crepera and the others, but she hadn’t used a scary voice at all, “How come?”

She hummed without looking away from her work, “How come what, Cheeky Prince? I cannot read your mind.”

Dionysus pouted at her, because wasn’t it obvious what he was asking? But then he said, “You don’ have a scary voice like they do.”

Now she did glance up at him with a look like Grandpa had when he said something silly, “Oh, don’t I?” Dionysus jolted in his seat, startled, but not … scared. Her voice had echoed just now, deep and layered like when Grandma Crepera or Leon had spoken, but it didn’t make him feel like he needed to go hide. It reminded him oddly of the big, booming bells that hung from old church in his favorite movie, loud but mellow. He kind of liked it, but he was still glad when her voice went back to normal as she shrugged, “I merely thought you would not like it if I used that voice. So I did not.”

#SE asks #hamelin born asks #Secret Engima Rambles #Melodies and Manuscripts #Team Gremlin verse #Always I Dreamed verse #Child of My Blood verse #Blood of My Blood (That Was Shed On the Throne) verse

[youngerdrgrey]

the only way to get over someone... // a Batwoman fic

About: SPOILERS FOR THE SEASON TWO FINALE / post-2x18 / season two finale — After the s2 finale, Ryan tries to be a good 'friend' to Sophie, but it does not go the way she planned (feat. an extended cut of the similar tastes in conversation).

Notes: Don’t read if you haven’t seen the finale. This picks up at the end of the Kate and Ryan scene, then continues on from there because my WildMoore heart wanted to. Under the cut because spoilers + read on ao3

Kate Kane is leaving, and Ryan might need some time to fully process that. Kate’s opposite her, comfortably seated on the corner of their desk. The beer bottle clinks against the edge of it as Kate covers her bases. The suit’s staying with Ryan.

Kate starts, “As for Mary and Luke….”

Ryan jumps in with a smile. “They are my family, and I am going to take care of them.” No questions asked. Though, with Luke and his new super suit, she will definitely have help in keeping their family safe.

“Thank you.” Kate smiles back at Ryan. “And Sophie?”

Not family. Not in the traditional sense, at least. She’s family-adjacent at best. She’s… she’s Sophie, the same person who ruined Ryan’s life and relationship multiple times, and the same person who helped Ryan build them both back up.

Ryan quirks her head from side to side. “Can I get back to you on that?” The repetition gets another grin out of Kate. Worry still shines in Kate’s eyes though. Ryan admits, “She’s saved me a lot more than she’s hurt me, so, I guess I can look out for her too.”

Kate sighs in relief. “Good. She’ll need it. She’s not invincible, Ryan. Mary told me all about the two of you going back and forth over Cluemaster. She’s tough, but Sophie’s a lot more fragile than she seems.”

Ryan has seen a bit of that. Sophie does her best to hide the cracks in her armor, but Coryana in particular stripped down a layer. Her fear for Jordan took another, even her concern for Ryan in these last few days wore at it. “And you’re about to break her heart.”

Kate nods. She seems so sure that looking for Bruce is the right move. Maybe that’s what a good trip of Snake Bite can offer: clarity. Not that Ryan’s interested in joining Kate on that other side.

“Help her through it?”

Ryan jokes, “I’ll make sure she finds a suitable rebound. There’s a pretty great lesbian bar here.”

Kate’s eyes twinkle. “Keeping it close to home?”

Ryan does not like the implication in that question. She redirects the conversation. “Call us every once in a while. And make sure to tell Mary how much you miss her. She won’t admit it, but she loves to hear it. And maybe text Parker too. That girl is so hungry for gay mentorship. And —”

“I get it. I will keep in contact.”

Ryan aims her beer bottle at Kate like a threat. “You better. Don’t make me come find you. I almost died the last time.”

But Sophie saved her then. Ryan can always do the same.

.

.

Sophie does not know what to do with herself now. There’s no guidebook on what to do when the love of your life comes back from the dead, then promptly leaves to search for her cousin. No FAQ with tips on how to handle making out with said love of your life either.

There’s a knock on her door. A hopeful part of her immediately thinks it’s Kate. Sophie will open the door, and Kate will drop down her duffel bag and helmet and say, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Sophie rushes to the door. Throws it open and — oh, of course. Ryan gives her an apologetic smile from the other side of it.

“I know I’m probably not who you want to see right now….” Ryan starts. Her arms shift around two resusable grocery bags with overflowing snacks and wine bottles. A backpack bumps them from her shoulder. She offers another smile. “I brought supplies. And I’m here to keep you company through the heartache and to take you up on your offer.”

That explains the backpack. Sophie checks, “Kate’s leaving tomorrow?”

Ryan nods. “Tonight’s her last night in the loft, and my only night crashing on your couch. If the offer still stands?”

She seems hopeful too, and nervous, like she’s bracing herself for Sophie to close the door in her face.

Sophie hasn’t exactly had any company at her place. Not since Julia. It wouldn’t hurt to have someone here tonight. Make her laugh, make her smile.

Sophie steps back to let Ryan in. Ryan glides forward. Sophie closes the door and leans back against it so she can watch Ryan take in the space.

Ryan does a full turn in the entrance. “Damn, you got it like this?” She whistles low in appreciation. Her platform converse pad along the hardwood flooring between the front door and the living room. It’s spacious with the most comfortable couch Sophie’s ever owned, her favorite coffee table, and a large TV, courtesy of a Black Friday sale two years ago. This place isn’t as nice as her old apartment with Tyler, but it’s still one of the nicer places that Gotham has to offer.

Ryan glances back at Sophie, and she realizes she should probably answer the playful question.

“I barely got it like this. Say what you want about my comphet marriage,” Sophie pushes off the door to approach Ryan in the living room, “the dual incomes made life a lot easier.” She winces. Any income. “I may have to downsize again now that I’m unemployed.”

Ryan sets her bags down on the coffee table. “Just work with Luke.”

Sophie’s eyebrows raise in confusion. “In real estate?”

Ryan gives Sophie an equally confused look. “He still daylights as Head of Wayne Security. If you work there too, it’ll make Bat stuff that much easier.”

Oh. “I… hadn’t thought about that.”

“Bat stuff or what comes next?” Ryan asks.

“Honestly? Any of it.” Sure, Ryan has called Sophie now that Sophie knows the truth. They’ve teamed up, and they really did a great job last night during the blackout. All signs point to Sophie officially being a part of the team. She simply doesn’t want to assume and get hurt in the process.

Ryan reads her silence and rolls her eyes. “Consider this your Bat Team orientation. We mostly work nights, though there are the occasional work trips. We went to a beautiful island this year for a company retreat.”

Sophie can play along. “I think I’ve been there. Shame about the fire.”

Ryan nods with a faux somber expression. “Beautiful sight, even if it did almost kill me. Oh, and we have full medical benefits, so long as you go to Mary and Mary alone. No overtime. No days off. But you get to make Gotham a better place.”

Sophie pretends to think it over. “Is there a uniform?”

“Only for me. The rest of the staff comes as they are.”

“Lucky them.”

Ryan pops the collar on her flannel shirt. “You should see me in my suit.” It fits Ryan in all the right places for being protective wear. Sophie will never say that though. Ryan’s cocky enough without being complimented.

Sophie eyes the bags. “So what’s the plan?”

Ryan perks up, their earlier bit forgotten. “Anything we want. I’ve got face masks —” She tugs them out to show Sophie. “Candy and snacks. Most of it’s vegan, so I can enjoy it too. I brought wine that I took from the bar. We can blast angry, pop music, or do sad girl karaoke. Ooh, you can call Kate a bitch again.”

“I called Circe a bitch,” Sophie clarifies.

Ryan waves that off. “She deserved it.”

“Well, she’s gone so….” Sophie shrugs because that is the point, isn’t it? She glances around her one bedroom apartment — the effects of her last break-up — and logs the empty spots on the walls where old art would’ve gone. There’s space on the bookshelves from the books Tyler took with him. After the divorce, Sophie had to physically sort through her life. What does she do now when there’s nothing to pack up, or send away?

Sophie admits, “I’ve never had another person for this. Though, Kate and I did have a better goodbye than we usually do.” Even saying that puts a little smile in the corner of Sophie’s lips.

Of course Ryan clocks it. “Oh, y’all had a good-bye then.”

Sophie’s smile gets bigger as she licks her lips. A very good bye. As the rest of the conversation filters back in, Sophie’s smile shrinks. “She wants me to go for something easier.”

Ryan hums in understanding. “Long distance isn’t great, especially when you have no idea where she’ll be.”

“Are we still talking about Kate?” Sophie asks. Angelique’s out there somewhere. Ryan spent the majority of their working relationship hating Sophie because of Angelique. If Ryan’s still hung up on her….

Ryan shrugs. “We’re all getting over someone. I am just much further along than you.”

Honestly, direct communication is not something Sophie is interested in right now. She doesn’t want to think about whether Ryan misses Angelique, or how much Sophie will miss Kate when the reality sets in. She doesn’t want to think about Imani, or the fact that Ryan has had a whole mini-relationship in these last few months while Sophie’s been frozen in grief and time.

“You know what they say, the best way to get over someone…” Sophie lets the sentence hang a moment as Ryan’s eyebrows inch higher and higher up her hairline. Sophie laughs before finishing, “is to watch a movie with a friend. You pick.”

The way Ryan’s face lights up with the power is absolutely worth whatever disaster will take up the next two hours of Sophie’s life. “Let me see what you got.”

.

.

As Sophie brings two glasses of wine over to the living room, Ryan puts a throw pillow on the ground and tells Sophie to sit on it.

“But the couch—”

“Is for me!” Ryan plops down with her feet on either side of the pillow. She looks like they’ve got church in the morning and the hot comb’s smoking on the tray beside her. “You know the set up,” Ryan says.

“True. Care to tell me why?” Sophie’s hair is fine.

Ryan’s nose quirks up the way it does when she needs to keep her emotions in check. She shrinks into her chest. “When I was sad, my mama used to play with my hair. She’d claim that she was oiling my scalp, but mostly, she ran her fingers through it. Gave me a little massage until I felt better, or went to sleep. I am willing to do that for you, if you want to actually relax.”

Relaxing does sound better than drinking a lot of wine and crying. Besides, Ryan studies Sophie’s face like she wants to find every crack and smooth it over. How could Sophie say no?

She sets the wine down and sits onto the pillow. Instinct takes over as she scoots back until her back’s to the couch and rests her neck against the side of the cushion. Ryan does a little happy dance that shakes the couch. She presses play on the movie, and Sophie watches the credits. She does. She sees that much for sure. But once Ryan slips her fingers into Sophie’s hair, Sophie tunes all the way out.

A light lavender scent hits her nose each time Ryan’s hands shift towards the crown of her head. Did Ryan put on a perfume, or is that an essential oil? Lavender’s meant to be calming. Soothing. Sophie wants to drown in it.

As Ryan massages her way along Sophie’s scalp, the world melts away. No pain, no drama, just a weightlessness that eases down her body and makes her want to cry. Her body sinks into the softness. The peace and stability of knowing hands and the right amount of pressure to send tingles through her skin. Then Ryan’s short nails get involved, lightly scratching, and Sophie barely bites down on a moan.

Ryan must still hear it. A little chuckle shakes the couch. She doesn’t comment thankfully. Sophie doesn’t have the energy to be embarrassed right now. Too lost in the feel of Ryan’s hands on her. If this is what Ryan can do with just Sophie’s head —

Sophie’s eyes fly open. She needs to get a grip.

Ryan’s fingers snake down to Sophie’s shoulders. Again, the only grip Sophie can focus on is Ryan’s. Sophie lasts another few minutes of this high before sighing out, “Marry me.”

She figures Ryan will laugh at that too. They’ve joked enough about dates, both in and out of the cowl. Ryan doesn’t even stop touching her. Ryan leans down rather than keeping the distance. The shift in position tightens her thighs on either side of where Sophie sits. She waits until her breath is a warm whisper against Sophie’s ear to let out the sexiest little laugh. Sophie genuinely stops breathing.

“If you think this is good, you’re not ready.”

In an instant, Sophie would really like to be. Ready, willing, anything and everything if it feels this good and Ryan stays this close to her. Her face is on fire as she turns her head to see Ryan. Fuck, Ryan’s lips are right there. Teasing and parted, and Ryan’s tongue dips out to wet them. Sophie drags her gaze up from Ryan’s lips to meet Ryan’s hooded, sparkling eyes. Oh she knows exactly what she’s doing to Sophie. She’s enjoying this.

Ryan’s voice still sounds teasing. “Watch the movie, Sophie.”

“I’ll watch what I want to watch,” Sophie shoots back.

Ryan takes that as the challenge it is. She holds the stare and kneads her thumbs into the backs of Sophie’s shoulders. Sophie’s eyelids flutter, and she struggles again to keep from audibly moaning. At least this time, she catches the little gulp Ryan does.

Ryan scoots back onto the couch, up to her full — albeit little — seated height. Sophie turns further, and she tries not to think too hard about looking up at Ryan from between Ryan’s legs. It must be on her face though since Ryan actually averts her eyes.

“Soph....” Ryan’s voice strains. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Ryan started it with that ‘if you think this is good’ comment. She is not putting this back on Sophie.

Ryan groans, flustered in a way that should not look as cute as it does. “You know what! You — we — just look over there.” She takes a hand off Sophie to point back at the TV. “I am trying to be a good friend right now. To both of you.”

And there goes the fun. Sophie turns back to the TV. She really has no idea what’s happening in this movie. She doesn’t want to ask either. They’re damn near fifteen minutes in. She’s not going back in the movie, or with life. She’s not going to break down over losing Kate again. She has no reason to. She’s spent more time with Ryan this week than she did with Kate. She’s fine.

Ryan clears her throat. “Talking with her today was, like, everything I’d imagined it would be. She’s funny and witty, and she has great taste in everything. Present company included. I can see why you’d love her. And why it would be easier to not try to deal with those feelings of loss all over again.”

Sophie drops her head back against the couch. Her ceiling’s not nearly as interesting to look at as Ryan. Or Kate. “Do we have to do this?”

“We’re not doing anything else so….” Her narrowed eyes say exactly what she means by ‘anything else.’

“There are other things, Ryan.” Besides giving in to the tension that flares between them, besides shifting an already unstable dynamic past its breaking point. Probably many, many times.

Ryan holds her hands together in her lap. “Well, you’re clearly not interested in the movie, so: your call. What does the great Sophie Moore want to do with her break up night?”

Sophie’s eyes dance as she gets up to kneel in front of Ryan. (Yes, Ryan glances at her through what looks like a haze of lust and concern. Yes, she blinks, and all that emotion slips back under the base gleam in Ryan’s eyes. No, Sophie does not want to think about how many times Ryan might’ve looked at her like this without ever noticing.)

“Well, Ryan Wilder, there is one thing that I have been dying to do.”

.

.

“You have to— Sophie, please listen before we end up falling.” Ryan glares up at Sophie. They’re standing on a building that Ryan says is the best jumping point to the Bat-roof. It’s lower down, which is probably why Sophie has never seen either of the Batwomen coming.

Ryan’s face is torn between excitement and dread at sharing her red and black baton with Sophie. She repeats for the third time which button to press to shoot the grappling hook, how to angle the body, and how to land so they don’t fall off the roof.

“I’m listening,” Sophie swears. She adjusts her stance so her feet are wide like Ryan instructed. She angles her body towards the other roof — their roof. She takes a steadying breath and gently plucks Ryan’s hand off the other end of the baton.

Ryan steps in to wrap her arms around Sophie’s waist. “You have to brace yourself for landing. And please do not let go of me. I’m holding on, but—”

“I won’t let go,” Sophie assures her. She wraps her left arm around Ryan and holds tight to the baton with her right. Okay, another steadying breath, and she jams her thumb into the button. The wire flies out, and in a breath, they soar up through the air. Wind whips around them, and Ryan squeezes so tight that her face is nearly in Sophie’s chest.

For her assurances, Sophie does not stick the landing. She stumbles the moment the wire ends, and Ryan stumbles with her. Both of them clatter onto the Bat-roof with a groan and a laugh and a tangle of limbs that ends with them side by side on the roof’s floor.

The air around them is quiet and warm and still has a hint of the smoke from all the fires in Gotham yesterday. Sophie has the fleeting thought that it might be easier with Ryan than she ever expected. What ‘it’ is, well, Sophie blinks that away.

She props herself up on her elbows. “Can we go again?”

Ryan laughs. “No recovery period with you.”

Sophie gets up and offers her hand to Ryan, who takes it without hesitation. She tugs harder than she needs to. Ryan pops up with little more than a breath between them. She uses her free hand to tuck Ryan’s hair behind her ear. Lets her finger trail down Ryan’s neck.

Sophie whispers, “Oh, Wilder, you have no idea.” Ryan’s dramatic groan of reply makes Sophie laugh harder than she has all day. "Come on, round two."

Ryan pouts as Sophie heads for the stairs. Ryan points out, "I normally just jump off."

"What's the rush?" Sophie holds the door open for Ryan to come with her. "We've got all the time in the world."

/

/

a/n: We made it through season two, and I love these two so much. What about you?

#batwoman #batwoman fic #wildmoore #ryan wilder #sophie moore #ryan x sophie #mine #batwoman: s2 #batwoman: 218 #kate kane #kate x ryan #but not in a ship way just in a tag way

[carry-the-sky]

you were a kindness when i was a stranger

summary

“Sleep on it,” Karen tells him. “If you’re still not feeling it by tomorrow, just shoot me a text and let me know.” She cracks a grin. “Don’t worry, there’s a pile of headline-making material sitting on my desk if this falls through.”

Curtis takes her advice and really thinks it over. Ultimately, it comes down to fear—his. And he refuses to let it drag him down. If he can’t practice what he’s preaching, he shouldn’t be running a group at all.

He texts her first thing in the morning: Hi Karen, it’s Curtis. I’m in.

chapter one | chapter two

Curtis got a concussion once as a kid—went headfirst over his bike’s handlebars after taking a corner too fast. Got his bell rung pretty good, even with a helmet. He remembers feeling more dazed than anything, like someone had stuffed his skull with packing peanuts.

Frank Castle showing up out of the blue for the first time in six months has a similar effect.

Curtis got a concussion once as a kid—went headfirst over his bike’s handlebars after taking a corner too fast. Got his bell rung pretty good, even with a helmet. He remembers feeling more dazed than anything, like someone had stuffed his skull with packing peanuts.

Frank Castle showing up out of the blue for the first time in months has a similar effect.

Curtis knows he should probably say something, but his head is empty, nothing but static. The words just aren’t there.

Frank pushes to his feet. He looks a hell of a lot calmer than Curtis feels, but then Curtis sees his trigger finger tap-tap-tapping away at his side, and he can’t help but feel a small pinch of satisfaction. Let the bastard sweat a bit—Curtis is the furthest thing from inclined to make this any easier on him.

“How’s it goin’?” Frank says, like they’re just casually catching up over lunch, and Curtis almost laughs aloud. This whole thing is surreal; Frank, here, in one piece. His voice even sounds normal again.

That’s not the only thing that’s different. Curtis can tell that Frank’s face is a little fuller, free of those purple-blue shadows that seem to permanently lurk under his eyes. He’s gone full Pete-beard again, and he’s traded in the black hoodie for a flannel and jeans. He looks—ordinary. If Curtis didn’t know him, he wouldn’t look twice if he passed Frank on the street.

Curtis breathes deep, lets it out nice and slow. “What the hell are you doing here, Frank?”

“Wanted to say hello,” the other man answers, hiking his shoulders slightly. “Figured you wouldn’t shoot me in a church.”

Curtis does laugh at that, clipped and hollow. “Wouldn’t be so sure about that, man. You’re definitely testing my resolve.”

“I know I’m a jackass showin’ up here, Curt—”

“Got that right,” Curtis mutters.

“Hey,” Frank says, voice going a little rough. “Five minutes, yeah? Give me five minutes, and if you wanna throw my ass out after that, you be my guest.”

Curtis shakes his head. “As much as I’d enjoy that, your timing is shit, Frank. I got a reporter from the Bulletin who’s gonna be here any second—”

Frank’s eyes sharpen. “Reporter?”

“Yeah, so if you don’t want your face plastered all over the front page, I suggest you get the hell out of here.”

“Who—”

“Hey, Curtis, sorry I’m a little late. Traffic was terrible—”

Curtis’ eyes snap up. Karen stands in the doorway, frozen as a statue. She’s staring straight at Frank.

Shit. She might recognize him. The beard and flannel are a flimsy smokescreen at best; Frank’s face has graced the front page of that paper of hers more than once. Curtis can almost feel the wheels spinning as his brain kicks into high gear, already working out how to get Frank out of this, how to explain away the fuckin’ Punisher standing here talking to him in the middle of the afternoon. Karen’s a good person, decent, but she’s also good at her job. There’s no way she turns a blind eye to this. He has to think of something—

“Frank,” she breathes.

Curtis’ thoughts grind to a halt.

Because—she clearly does know him, but not in the way Curtis was expecting. The way she says his name, soft with disbelief—

For the second time today, Curtis feels like he’s walked into a fever dream.

He glances at Frank, and the man’s got a busted up expression on his face, like one of those abstract paintings that looks like something and nothing all at once.

“Karen,” he says, voice grating over the word, and shit, he sounds more torn up than he looks. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, choke-off like the words are stuck there—then his jaw locks and his gaze ricochets to the ground, the wall, the ground again. Curtis can see his hands shaking from here.

Whatever the hell this is, it’s way above his pay grade. Curtis shakes his head again and starts unstacking chairs from where they hang against the wall. “You should leave before everyone gets here,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at Karen. She looks like she’s seen a ghost.

He knows the fuckin’ feeling.

“Hey,” Curtis says, and her head snaps in his direction. “We still good?” 

Her gaze wobbles, darts to Frank and then back. “Yeah, of course. We’re good.” Slowly, she moves from the doorway, brushing past Frank like he’s not even there.

“Jesus christ,” Frank curses under his breath. He reaches for her. “Karen, this isn’t—”

But whatever he was going to say is lost as voices filter in from the hallway, growing steadily louder. Curtis swallows the bubble of hysterical laughter that’s rising in his throat. This day has already gone sideways; might as well let go and let God, as his pop always used to say.

No one notices Frank, at first. A couple people—Lydia included—greet Karen enthusiastically as they enter the room; the rest settle into the regular routine of milling about at the coffee table.

Rahul is the one who finally spots him. “Pete?” he gapes. “Shit, man, it’s good to see you! Where you been?”

That gets everyone’s attention. Within the span of a few seconds, Frank has about half a dozen people crowding around him, clapping him on the back and peppering him with questions about how he’s doing, what he’s been up to. Frank pastes on a shaky smile and gives the small talk a good effort, but his eyes keep skittering to where Karen’s arranging the chairs in a wide circle. Curtis can’t remember the last time he saw Frank look so uncomfortable; he’s wound tense as a coil, all potential energy with nowhere to go.

Curtis almost feels bad for him. Almost.

“You’re staying for group, right?” someone asks, and this time Frank locks eyes with Curtis.

Curtis shrugs as if to say your call. It’s not like he can throw him out in front of everyone. Beyond that—honestly, he’s relieved. Beneath the layers of hurt and anger is the one thing Curtis has shied away from acknowledging: his fear that maybe this time, Frank stayed dead.

Thankfully, the man seems to have nine lives. And right now, he looks like he’d like nothing more than to sink into the floor and disappear.

Against his better judgment, Curtis throws him a bone.

“Pete just dropped by to say hello. You were on your way out, right?” he asks, fixing Frank with a look that he hopes conveys what he’s thinking: take the hint, man.

There’s a ripple of disappointment, but everyone seems to buy it. Frank threads his way over the Curtis, and his relief is almost palpable.

“Thanks, Curt,” he says.

“You’re running up a hell of a tab, Frank.” Curtis pinches the bridge of his nose, already regretting what he’s about to say. “You remember that bar over on 12th? After group—I’ll give you one hour. And you’re buying.”

Frank smirks. “Fair enough.” 

His eyes flick across the room; Karen’s been carefully avoiding looking over here, but it’s like she can feel the weight of his gaze. Curtis sees it, the moment their eyes meet.

Frank’s face opens up like a book, eyes wide and bright. Curtis has never seen him look this vulnerable; even as long as they’ve been friends, he’s always kept the softest parts of himself tucked away. It makes Curtis feel like he’s intruding on something intimate.

Then someone’s saying Karen’s name, and the moment splinters. Frank ducks his head, already sliding the mask back on, and slips out the door.

.

Group passes uneventfully. The conversation picks up from where they left things last week, and aside from injecting a few questions here and there, Curtis is mostly an observer. If he’s being honest, he really enjoys the weeks he can just sit back and let the group carry itself. Makes him feel like it’s bigger than any one person, like it can go on without him being in the driver’s seat.

Karen is quiet through most of the meeting, definitely more reserved than last week. When the hour is up, she tells Curtis she’ll be in touch, thanks him again for having her, and then manages to duck out before anyone notices she’s gone. 

Curtis knows it’s none of his business, but he can’t help wondering who she is to Frank. She’s more than an acquaintance, that much is for damn sure. And Frank clearly cares for her. Curtis lets his curiosity simmer, carrying him all the way from the church to Sal’s dive bar.

Frank’s already there when he arrives. True to his word, he’s ordered the first round; he raises his beer up in greeting as Curtis slides onto the bar stool next to him.

“Got you somethin’ a bit stronger,” Frank says, nodding at Curtis’ glass.

Curtis takes a swig and tastes jack and coke. He glances down at his watch. “You’re on the clock, Frank. One hour.”

Frank huffs out a laugh. “Shit, where do I start?”

“How about Karen?” Curtis says. “What was that back at the church?”

Even in the dim bar light, Frank’s eyes flint over. “Long story.”

“Give me the spark notes version.”

Frank taps his thumb against his beer, pointedly avoiding Curtis’ eyes. Then he pushes back in his seat slightly. “Alright, you win. You remember my trial? Karen was on my legal team. She was the one who started digging into what happened to Maria and the kids. All the shit that’s gone down since then—she got caught up in some of it.”

Curtis takes another drink, processing. “And let me guess, you”—he holds his fingers up as air quotes—“pushed her away to keep her safe.”

Frank tips his beer back, hiding a grin. “Guess I deserved that, huh?”

“You’re one predictable son of a bitch, Frank.” He glances sidelong at his friend. “You gonna apologize to her for whatever it is you did?”

The way Frank’s face falls is answer enough. Curtis knows that expression well; whatever happened between the two of them is eating him up inside.

“I’m tired, Curt,” he finally says, each word ragged. “I’m so goddamn tired. All the blood and bullshit—” Frank’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Woke up one morning just sick of all of it. Started thinking about the kids, about Maria—if they could see me, Curt—”

“Don’t do that to yourself, man,” Curtis cuts in. He knows how fiercely Frank loved his family; hearing him tear himself up wondering what they’d think of him now sits a little funny in his gut.

Frank meets his gaze head on. “I’m sorry, Curtis. I know that might not mean shit anymore, not coming from me, but there it is. All the shit I put you through—I never meant for it to go as far as it did. You gotta know that.”

It’s Curtis’ turn to laugh. “I don’t know that. Hell, sometimes—sometimes it seems like you like it when shit hits the fan. You like being backed into a corner, fighting your way out.”

“Yeah, you might be right about that. Still sorry I dragged you into it.”

They drink in silence for a few minutes. It’s a weeknight, so the bar is mostly quiet, just the low thrum of conversation and a thin crackle of music leaking from the radio behind the bar. Curtis can almost pretend that they’re just two friends catching up over a drink, talking about trivial shit like work and the weather and who’s going to the playoffs.

The thing is, Curtis isn’t quite ready to forgive Frank. It’s gonna take more than one night at Sal’s to mend the rift between them. But maybe Frank’s not looking for forgiveness; maybe what he needs tonight is a friend, a brother. Someone who loves him even when they’re pissed as hell at him.

Curtis thinks he can do that.

“So,” he says, eyeing Frank knowingly. “When’re you gonna call her?”

Frank flicks his eyes over, mouth pinching into a line. “Not too sure Karen wants to hear from me, especially after today.”

Curtis shakes his head. “Thought your wallowing asshole days were behind you, man. It’s time to gather your rosebuds.”

Frank snorts. “Quoting old English poetry at me now, huh?”

“You bet your ass. I live for all that carpe diem shit. You say you hung up the vest, right? You’re done with that? Then prove it. You got one life, Frank, so go live it.”

Frank dips his head to the floor. When he looks up again, his eyes are a little wet. “I’m scared, Curt.”

“Shit, Frank, that’s all anyone is. We’re all scared. The hardest thing to do in this world is live in it.” Curtis reaches over and clasps Frank’s shoulder. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Frank bobs his head, but Curtis can tell he still can’t quite see it. The man’s been punishing himself for so long; it’s all he thinks he deserves. Curtis has seen enough war and trauma to know that sometimes there’s no coming back from that ledge. Frank has to make that choice himself. He might not be ready yet, but he’s here in this bar instead of out on the streets, and that’s not nothing.

Frank blinks, then tilts his head to squint at Curt’s watch. “Hour’s almost up. Deal’s a deal, yeah?” He slaps a few bills down on the bar and starts to stand.

Curtis holds his almost-empty glass up. “I could go for one more round.”

“Yeah?” Frank asks, and the word cracks a bit.

Curtis feels something loosen up in his chest. “Yeah, man.”

Frank sits back down, and it feels like a step forward.

.

The article runs a few days later. Karen calls to give him a heads up, but the anticipation still jolts down his spine as he thumbs through the paper to find it. Curtis reads it through once, his throat going a little tight as he reads quotes from the vets about how group feels like a family, how it’s helped them find their way back to normal after coming home. Karen’s writing is the backbone of the whole thing, capturing the group’s essence without bleeding into the melodramatic.

He reads it again, then gives her a call.

“Anything interesting in the paper today?” she says when she answers.

Curtis huffs. “Funny.”

“What did you think?”

“I’m a little overwhelmed,” Curtis admits. “But mostly thrilled that it’s out there. These guys deserve it.”

“Agreed,” Karen says. “And so do you.”

Curtis doesn’t know what to say to that. Group always felt like something he needed to do, a way to reclaim his trauma instead of succumbing to it. He’s never needed or wanted any recognition for it.

“Thanks, Karen,” he finally manages. “And hey, if you ever need something to do on Thursdays, you know where to find us.”

“Even after last week?” She says it lightly enough, but even over the phone Curtis hears the slight strain in her voice. “I felt awful for leaving so quickly.”

“Hey, I get it. Bit of an exciting day.”

She laughs dryly. “You could say that.” A pause, and then— “Do you and Frank keep in touch, or—” she cuts off, and for a second Curtis wonders if the call dropped. “Shit, I’m sorry. That was completely unprofessional. Forget I said anything.”

Curtis knows he should leave it at that, but the tinge of resignation in her words is all too familiar. He remembers what he told Frank all those months ago, hoping this time it might sink in. Disappointed but unsurprised when it didn’t.

People are gonna care about you whether you want them to or not, Frank.

Karen’s one of the good ones. He knows that Frank knows it, too—and maybe that’s what pushes him to say something now, his better judgment be damned.

“Look, Karen, if I’m overstepping, you tell me to shove it, but—until last week, I hadn’t seen or heard from Frank in months. I know what it’s like to worry about the guy—hell, I wanted him to come back so I could kick his ass myself.”

That pulls a small laugh from the other end of the phone. “Get in line.”

“Yeah, so you get it,” Curtis says through a grin. “I love Frank like a brother, but the man drives me batshit more often than not.”

Karen sighs softly. “I want more for him, you know? More than—whatever the hell he thinks he’s doing out there.”

“I think, deep down, below all the bullshit—I think he wants that, too.”

Silence stretches over the line. “You’re a good friend,” Karen finally says. “It’s nice to know that Frank has one of those.”

“Hey, likewise,” Curtis replies, and he means it. He’s not sure he’ll ever forgive Frank if he lets this woman slip through his grasp.

“I’ll see you around?”

“Absolutely. I’m serious about group—don’t be a stranger.”

Curtis hangs up feeling lighter than he has in weeks. He’s still tempering his expectations for Frank—they’ve been down this road before—but maybe there’s a way out of the woods. Maybe they can both get back to the business of living.

He doesn’t put much stock in new-age bullshit like manifestation or destiny, but it does feel a little prophetic when Frank texts him later that afternoon: Nice article.

Yeah, I thought so, Curtis types back, followed up with a rose emoji just to see if Frank will take the bait.

He doesn’t have to wait long. His phone buzzes after a few seconds, and Curtis laughs when he reads Frank’s response, knowing the hit landed.

Shut up, Curt.

.

“—telling you, man, it’s a classic.”

“Yeah, maybe if you’re a middle-aged white lady.”

“Excuse me?” Lydia counters, spreading her arms. “Do I look middle-aged or white to you?” 

Rahul just shrugs and leans back in his seat. The conversation tonight had started simply enough before quickly devolving into an argument about books, of all things. Lydia had offered up a few that resonate with her, one of them being Pride and Prejudice. Rahul had looked at her like she was an alien, and now here they are.

“If it helps, I’ve read it too,” Curt cuts in. “I’ll admit it’s a little dense at first, but it’s a classic for a reason. Ultimately, it’s about acceptance. Not judging someone before you’ve gotten a chance to know them. That’s something all of us in this room can relate to, right?”

There are some begrudging nods, but Rahul shakes his head. “Nah, man. No way some English lady who lived, like, a hundred years ago knows anything about my life.”

Lydia scowls, but Curtis holds up a hand. “That’s a valid opinion. But I bet if you gave it a chance, you’d be surprised.”

“You talking about Jane Austen again, Curt?”

Heads swivel toward the source of the sound, and Curtis looks up to see Frank walking through the door. He pulls a chair off the rack and slides between Rahul and Lydia. “Sorry I’m late. And uh, for the record—her novels are the good shit.”

“Not you too, man,” Rahul groans. 

“Got me through one of my first tours,” Frank replies. He gestures at Curtis. “This guy wouldn’t stop talking my ear off about it, so I finally took the damn thing just to shut him up. Stayed up half the night reading it. Curtis knows his shit.”

Curtis feels himself smiling. “Good to have you back, Pete.”

It is. It really is.

Frank makes the rounds after group, catching up with all the vets he knew from before and even chatting with some of the newer members. Curtis catches Lydia fist-bumping him, and he almost shakes his head in disbelief. If someone had told him two weeks ago that Frank would be here, in this room, smiling and making small talk, he would’ve laughed right in their face.  

“Hey, man,” Rahul says, walking up to him. His face goes a little sheepish. “So, uh, if you have that book on you—”   

Curtis blinks. “You’re really gonna give it a shot?”

Rahul shrugs. “Yeah, I mean—you and Pete both think it’s, like, God’s gift to literature, or whatever, so how bad can it be?” He glances over his shoulder surreptitiously. “Just don’t tell Lydia, yeah?”

Curt claps him on the back. “Deal. I’ll bring it next week.” 

Rahul nods, then jerks his head in the direction of the door. “Hey, did you see who’s here?” 

Curtis frowns, peering over Rahul’s head in that direction—

Karen is standing beside Frank, her head thrown back in laughter at something that Lydia has said. She’s in her work clothes, but her hair looks a little glossier, and she’s definitely wearing lipstick. Curtis watches as Frank brings his hand to the small of her back in a gesture that’s effortless, like this isn’t the first time he’s done it.

Gather your rosebuds, Frank.

The bastard really did it. Curtis hadn’t realized how badly he wanted this for him—something to live for after the war was over. Now it’s happening right in front of him, unfolding in real time. It makes his chest ache a little. 

Karen catches Curtis’ eye and gently peels herself away. “Long time no see,” she says, coming up to him. “I would’ve been here tonight, but Ellison’s got us working overtime on this city councilman thing.”

Curtis nods. He’s heard a few things through the grapevine—embezzlement in the councilman’s office, real original—and he wondered if Karen would be following it. “Back to making headlines?” he quips. 

“Maybe just one more,” Karen laughs. 

Curtis tips his head in Frank’s direction. “So, guess he finally pulled his head out of his ass.”

Karen follows his gaze. The look on her face is in direct contrast to the one Frank was wearing last week, love and hope and so much warmth. It’s all the answer Curtis needs.

“About damn time,” he says.

Karen’s mouth curves into a soft smile. “No argument there. Hey, we were going to grab dinner at that new Thai place on 7th—you’re welcome to come with, if you’re not busy.”

Curtis considers it for a second, but the last thing he wants to be for either of them is a third wheel. They deserve some time for themselves. He has all the time in the world to give Frank shit about this; he’ll let him have one night of peace.

“Let me take a raincheck,” he says. “Next week sometime?”

“Next week is perfect,” Karen replies. “See you then.”

The other vets are trickling out now, waving and calling out goodbyes over their shoulder. Karen makes her way back over to Frank, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. She leans in to say something in his ear, and he casts a glance back at Curtis. 

Curtis bobs his head once, and Frank returns the gesture, mouth creasing into a smile; then he turns and follows Karen out the door.

Curtis watches him leave, thinking he’s never been more happy to do so.

#kastle #kastle ff #kastlenetwork #kastlechristmas #kastlechristmas2k20 #superrpowerlesshuman #my fic

[theneverfinishedstory]

10. Dark Skies

CW: Implied eating of humanoid people

Something tapped her nose. The tapping spread from her cheeks to her forehead and nose all at once. Mirage opened her eyes as more raindrops pattered against her face. The sky, only a few hours ago a bright blue with some puffy white clouds, was now a deep purple-black. Thunder rumbled when Mirage shot up. She glanced around her and saw the whole campsite was empty. The other trainees’ bed rolls were where they had left them. Mirage swore, grabbing her hat next to her bedroll, and got to her feet. She was late. 

It was time for the five trainees to prove their full fledged membership. A few days earlier, the five of them, Mirage, Josephine, Hayden, Ida, and Leonard had set out from Beggar's Canyon towards their mission’s hotspot. A band of werejackals had amassed quite a fortune from attacking wagon trains traveling between remote towns. Because of all the murders and robberies, that particular trail was abandoned. But rumor had it the werejackals still staked out the road, waiting for more travelers. More importantly, they sat on their mounds of treasure. Since it wasn’t doing anything good for anybody, the Caravan thought it would be perfect for the recruits to find it. The recruits were given a time to strike and Mirage had just slept right through it. 

“Shit, shit, horse shit,” she hissed to herself. 

She headed down the cliffside towards the outcropping of mesas where the werejackals’ hideout was supposed to be. It would be easy enough to find; Mirage just had to follow the old wagon tracks that were baked into the ground winding its way between the small mesas. It was the ground coverage she needed to make up for. As she ran, Mirage focused her inner energy and tapped into the wellspring Arabella and Ransom called ki. Like a jolt of strong coffee, Mirage felt her stride lengthen and she instantly covered more ground. She slowed her pace when between the mesas. The only sound she heard was her footsteps, an occasional rumble of thunder, and the increasing patter of raindrops against rocks above. 

About halfway through the pass, Mirage came around a bend. The bend led into a large open space, the rock walls of the two mesas now about fifty feet apart. Broken wagon wheels lay next to their snapped wooden axles and tattered canvas fluttered from the husks of wagon coverings. Barrel staves, the barrels themselves long ago torn open, were now rusted halos in the dirt. Close to the center of the wreckage, was a small fire. Two humanoid creatures hunched over it and spoke to a massive figure on the opposite side of it. From what Mirage could see, the creature had an animal like body but a human torso and head. There was a stack of humanoid figures next to it. Red eyes glanced over and saw Mirage’s horrified expression.

“Well boys, you must have missed one,” the voice said, clear as a church bell among the rain. 

“Nah, your majesty,'' a voice said near Mirage’s right side, “We’ve been tracking her since we heard her. These boots these fools wear sure are a dead giveaway, huh?”

Mirage struck out where she thought the person was. Her fist grazed coarse fur. 

“Tsk, tsk,” the werejackal said, already moving away from Miage. “Feisty. Mind if we play with your food again, your majesty?”

“Quiet, Rylan,” the creature ordered. “Come here, little one. Come closer. I want to see you up close.”

When Mirage didn’t move, the werejackal closer to her whispered, “Better listen, numbskull.”

Against her better judgement, Mirage slowly moved closer. She heard two additional werejackals join from her left as the original one on her right followed close behind. Five total and the monster on the other side. She racked her brain trying to remember if a monster was ever discussed in the mission briefing. All she remembered discussing were werejackals: basic humanoid creatures that worked in small packs. Mirage knew she would have remembered a mission involving a half mountain lion person. 

Now that she was closer to the fire, Mirage could see the mysterious creature. From the top up, she was the most beautiful woman Mirage had ever seen. Long gold hair hung in a braid on either side of the woman’s face. A jewel toned cowboy hat graced her head. Her cheekbones were sharp enough to cut rope and the red eyes, hot like embers, regarded Mirage carefully. She wasn’t wearing a shirt, just layers of necklaces, all gold and encrusted with turquoise, jade, and obsidian. Her sun-baked skin melted into the lower half of a mountain lion, but five times bigger. Four massive paws ended in bloodied claws and her lion’s tail flicked in the dirt. The rain did little to diminish the presence this creature had. 

“Who are you?” Mirage blurted out. “What are you doing here? You weren’t...this wasn’t… where are the others?”

“Others?” the creature repeated, her tone full of mockery. “You don’t possibly mean the four heroes dressed like you?” She leaned forward, adding, “Though you have a different colored bandanna.”

“Yeah, I mean them,” Mirage replied. “Where are they?”

The werejackals all around her started snickering, their high pitched giggles mixing with the next roll of thunder. 

The creature smiled and shushed them. Pointing over to the pile, “Care to join them, little one?” she asked. 

Further out, Mirage couldn’t make out who was in the pile of bodies, but now that she was closer, she saw them all. Hayden’s black boots they’d bragged about stealing, Ida’s hand woven belt, Leonard’s shaggy green hair, Josephine’s red bandanna; the bodies were her fellow recruits. Mirage stumbled backwards and looked back at the creature. 

“H-how? They were all trained, we are all trained-” Mirage said.

“Trained in the mysterious powers of ki, right?” the creature replied. “I happen to know a lot about ki and how to get into little peasants' minds that seem to work like you and yours formerly. Honestly, in hindsight I should have just commanded them all to serve me, but I was just so hungry. And a little tender meat is a favorite of mine. Turn one against the others and it is just a wonderful show with a meal afterwards”

The creature took something off the fire. Mirage watched as the hunk of meat disappeared into the monster’s very human mouth. While chewing, she sighed, “There’s two things in life I live for. Tender meat and treasure. Speaking of, y’all were trying to steal from me.”

“Y’all weren’t doing anything with it, nothing useful to nobody!” Mirage said. “Your money could help people, people who really need it.”

A pink tongue licked a bit of blood from the corner of the creature’s mouth. “Or I could keep it and admire it. Which I find much more appealing than what you suggested.”

“Your majesty, I hear people approaching!” one of the werejackals in the back hissed. 

The creature’s lips pursed. “Maybe that message they were sending did get out.” 

“Do we fight?” the werejackal to the right of Mirage asked.

“Let’s see what they want,” was the reply. “You, little one. I suggest you remain where you are but turn and face them.”

Mirage was going to tell her to go to hell but oddly enough felt her body turning away from the fire. She tried to twist back but couldn’t. Having her back to an enemy so unknown to her sent Mirage’s mind into overdrive. She tried to meditate and focus on breathing like Ransom and Arabella taught her to, but it wasn’t working. Giving up, Mirage opened her eyes as a dozen or so members of the Caravan came around the bend. Seeing what was before them, almost In perfect unison, they all shifted into fighting stances. 

A raspy voice shouted something over in a language Mirage didn’t understand. Seeing the orange kerchief, Mirage assumed it was Jolene, one of the Caravan leaders. The creature replied something back in the same language, the creature’s voice sounding unimpressed. The conversation picked up speed and increased in volume between the two and Mirage understood none of it. After what felt like an eternity, the strange compulsion to remain where she was, faded. Freedom returning, Mirage pitched forward and kept moving that direction, trying to put as much distance as she could between her and the creature. Arms grabbed her in a fierce hug and Mirage panicked, shoving the person away. 

“Eolian, it’s me,” Arabella said. 

She grabbed Mirage’s shoulders and forced her to stand still. The tiefling was panting and there was a sheen sweat across her forehead. Mirage stopped struggling but had to see behind her, just to check that she was still awake and not dreaming. The other members of the Caravan were walking forward, following Jolene towards the fire. The werejackals made room and scuttled closer to the creature as the monks sat down. Once seated, Jolene called out over her shoulder in Common, “McClain, Jericho. Get Eolian out of here. We’ll meet you when we’re done here.”

With a curt nod, Arabella guided Mirage the way she had entered the nightmare back out the wagon path. Arabella’s arm remained around Mirage’s shoulders as they walked. Ransom appeared on Mirage’s other side. The rain turned into a downpour. Hard packed, dusty dirt softened. Water streamed off each of the trio’s hat brims. Mirage, not able to see in the dark, found her boots caught on every rock and dip and valley the rain carved. But Arabella kept her upright as they continued on. 

Not able to keep it in anymore, Ransom whispered, “How the hell did you survive that, Mirage?”

Mirage felt her eyes well with their own rainwater, saying, “I slept in.”

#d&d #d&d wild west campaign #d&d story #original character #d&d monk #smoke genasi #original content #short story #fantasy writing #yeehawgust #yeehawgust 2021 #dark skies

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH2

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 2: Resurrection Overture (II)

Qi Leren buried his face in Ning Zhou's uniform for a long time as his heart that felt as if it had been fried in oil slowly calmed down. He climbed out of the hollow tree stump with difficulty.

Inexplicably, this weather-beaten old tree stump that should have been dead had a fresh bud emerging from it, which had grown half a meter high in just seven days, swaying its new green leaves in the breeze.

Qi Leren touched the leaves of the new buds and suddenly felt that he had been reborn.

Still not fully recovered, he walked slowly in the Garden of the Holy Tomb and slowly fought sensation back into his body. He didn't know what's going on outside presently, so it was more appropriate to wait for his condition to be better before going out.

While pacing, Qi Leren sorted out his own matters.

Thanks to two dangerous missions in succession, his remaining survival time was an astonishing 162 days, 7 hours and 32 minutes. Usually, one-fifth to one-third of his survival time would be used to buy necessities. Even so, he had more than one hundred days at his disposal, so the training trip he had already planned could be put on the agenda. After returning to the Village of Dusk and meeting with Ning Zhou, he would suspend the task first, exercise his skills well, and at least master the basic usage of guns.

As for the main task’s second step, it was necessary to go to Purgatory in the depths of the Underground Ant City. Qi Leren learned about the situation there while he was undercover as "Red". With his current strength, the risk of going there was too great, and he needed to consider it again.

Item cards and equipment had returned to his item bar, and a new skill card had been added:

[Secretly Observing (binding skill card): When using this skill card, the holder will feel a mysterious power which will enhance your five senses and decrease the perception of your existence. With this, when you observe, others will not observe you. But remember, observe propriety and don't do anything. Skill lasts for 10 minutes and cools down for 24 hours.]

Qi Leren took this skill card and frowned slightly.

Why did he get such a skill card for the achievement of "Deceiving the Devil of Fraud"? Judging from his previous S/L skill and Dr. Lu's skill cards, the achievements should be closely related to the rewards, so the achievement of Deceiving the Devil of Fraud should enable him to obtain a skill card with fraudulent attributes, such as "Devil Etiquette", which could make him appear to be a demon. Was it that the reward had been changed because he already had the same skill? That didn't make sense either...

Did it want him to secretly observe the Devil of Fraud? Qi Leren laughed in his heart and got rid of this absurd idea.

After walking for half an hour he did some stretching exercises, and Qi Leren felt that his physical condition had improved a lot. At least normal running and jumping were no problem. He drank some water, ate some easily digestible food, and equipped skill cards in the card slots: S/L Data, Rain-Day Laundry, Primary Fighting Skills, and he took his dagger out, then walked to the entrance of the Garden of the Holy Tomb.

With his body passed through the thin layer of the enchantment, Qi Leren came out of the Garden of the Holy Tomb.

The whole Holy City was as quiet as a grave. Qi Leren looked around warily and found that there was really no one there. After the Holy Nun’s field was broken, the residents here had already left the city.

That's right, the Holy See couldn't invest a lot of manpower here. For safety reasons, the residents here should also be evacuated. Maybe there were demons wandering in the city...

After thinking about it, Qi Leren changed the skill card of "Primary Fighting Skills" and equipped "Devil Etiquette". The last task had left a lot of succubus crystals, which was convenient for him now. Just consuming a demon crystal could make him pretend to be the demon type to which this crystal belonged for 3 hours. Unfortunately, it was only a shell. If you started to act fully, it would easily be seen through because you didn't have the talent abilities of this kind of demon.

Qi Leren, who had turned into a succubus, walked forward quickly and heard something moving in front of him before went far. Two lower demons were hurriedly running down the stairs of the former site of the Vatican and saw this succubus standing in the middle of the road, looking at them with a smile. The two lower demons looked at each other and hesitated on whether to approach.

There was a strict hierarchy between demons and devils. Once the higher devils released their powers, the lower demons had no resistance. Higher devils often didn't regard the lower demons as their own kind, and cannibalism was a part of the ecology of the underworld.

Therefore, the hesitant attitude of these two lower demons was very strange in Qi Leren’s eyes.

He decided to give it a try.

"What’s happening up there?" the succubus asked in a lazy tone.

"Answering this lord, the Witch of Desperation and the Devil of Suspicion are facing each other and it appears that they’re going to fight." Because they can't figure out which side of the succubus in front of them, the two lower demons have to bow their heads and show deference, so as to avoid not giving him face. Subordinates of the old Devil had often experienced tragedy by not showing courtesy to the Devil of Power.

"Oh? The two Lords are so angry," the succubus said with a smile.

Qi Leren's brain turned very fast. He didn't know what kind of creatures the Devil of Suspicion and Witch of Desperation were. The factions between demons were very complicated. He only had a little foundation thanks to the help of the Court. Demons, such as the Witch of Jealousy, who could clearly possess a kind of original power, were definitely higher devils.

The Devil of Suspicion sounded related to the attribute of "fraud", and he was probably the Devil of Fraud’s men. The orientation of the Witch of Desperation was not easy to judge, but since she would appear here, she must have her reasons... If the two sides were facing each other, she should be in opposition to the Devil of Fraud?

Who would it be? One of Power’s men? No, the Devil Kings of Fraud and Power were not antagonistic. The Devil of Slaughter? It was possible, but the Devil of Slaughter had been missing for a long time and no branch of Slaughter Secret Society, no matter which one, could contact it.

There was another possibility.

Qi Leren narrowed his eyes and made a bold guess that this Witch of Desperation was under the hand of the old Devil.

Although the old Devil has been killed by the Holy Nun, his subordinates were still active in the underworld. It made sense to come for the old Devil at this time.

Two lower demons looked at the succubus with trepidation. They didn't know which side he was from and didn't dare to leave.

The succubus suddenly chuckled and waved at them: "Come on, get out of my way."

The lower demons ran away as if freed and Qi Leren put away his demon form, judged his acting skills, and secretly gave himself a compliment. It was fortunate that he’d put on a disguise in time, otherwise he would have had to fight first which might have disturbed the two great devils above. It was really a situation that the S/L solution couldn't save him from.

Qi Leren wasn’t sure how much these higher devils could perceive. Although it will not be exaggerated for them to cover the entire site of the Vatican, they might be alarmed if he got too close.

However, he has this skill card of "Secretly Observing", which was tantamount to a timely rain. Qi Leren was hooked up and felt that his lucky value seemed to have increased after resurrection.

Go up the mountain first, wait until you get close to the two opposing devils, then hide yourself with your skill card and sneak into the church.

Having made up his mind, Qi Leren walked up quickly. When he reached halfway up the mountain, the top of the mountain was full of wind and rain, and the earth shook. Countless bats flew in the heavy rain, almost covering the sky with solid black. Qi Leren nearly fell down the stairs because of the sudden earthquake. When he looked up suddenly, he saw a huge hole emerging in the sky and lava poured down. Bats sent out the piercing shrieks, as if they were ignited by the lava, burning into a fire cloud in the sky.

This terrible war situation made Qi Leren's heart more pressed, and he almost hesitated whether he wanted to venture into the church at this time.

But Maria's words made him very concerned. His intuition was that this was a very important clue. If you miss it, maybe...

Anyway, I've already died once, and it won't be more difficult than when I faced the Devil of Fraud. After a pause, Qi Leren changed [Rain-Day Laundry] to [Secretly Observing]. At the moment of activation he felt as if his body was engulfed in heavy rain, and the fighting sound in the distance were much clearer than before. When he looked far away, he could even see two figures fighting in midair.

The Witch of Desperation dressed in a black cloak drew a circle and the bats ignited by lava instantly broke free from the flames and returned to her side, pressing into a large group. Her voice was hoarse and tired, and it could be faintly heard in the decreasing rainstorm: "I originally thought that you would continue to wander freely in the demon world, looking for your ‘art’, but I didn't expect you to take refuge in the Devil of Fraud."

The Devil of Suspicion smiled and touched the two carefully trimmed moustaches on his lips. He looked much more energetic than the Witch of Desperation, who was a mess. If he didn't know this devil’s identity, he would say he looked like an artist.

"Isn't it our demonic nature to submit to greater power?" the Devil of Suspicion asked.

"Oh? However, in terms of their source of power, the Devil of Fraud is not as good as Power and Slaughter," the Witch of Desperation said.

The Devil of Suspicion smiled politely: "Is the original power of the Devastator strong enough? Isn't he eversleeping in this church? His power is only a fragment, and those who use this power are the real key."

The Witch of Desperation's empty eyes revealed faint sadness. When the old Devil was still alive, she had the blessing of destructive power. She was far stronger than the Devil of Suspicion. However, with the death of the old Devil, the power of "destruction" had become weak, and the original power of "despair" also declined.

This group of the old Devil’s subordinates had already given up, and when a unless new Devil of Destruction was born they could only gradually weaken.

Until a week ago, when they suddenly felt the new destructive power far away from the underworld.

It was like a meteor, and the light of destruction flashing in the underworld showed them hope that Destruction would never be destroyed, and he would eventually come back!

The short-term recovery of the "destructive" power also made Power and Fraud feel threatened, so the Devil of Suspicion was sent to investigate and he happened to meet the Witch of Desperation who had also come.

"So your Lord is willing to be loyal to that Power lunatic? I heard that he’s handed over 'one third of authority' to Power? But without the last thing, Power can never be crowned." When it came to the "one-third of the authority", a hatred emerged in the Witch of Desperation’s heart, as it was the devil crystal of the Lord of Destruction. Even if it was only one-third, it was strong enough. This group of demon subordinates to the Lord of Destruction had only survived by one-third of a demon crystal left by him, and one-third was still missing. Once all fell into the hands of the Devil of Power and she then found 'that thing', it will not be too far away from the day when she became king of the underworld.

The Devil of Suspicion, who was full of confidence in the Devil of Fraud, smiled and said, "It's up to your Lord to decide everything. Now what we want to 'discuss' is whether you disappear from my eyes or I send you to disappear forever."

The Witch of Desperation smiled coldly: "It depends on which side’s reinforcements come faster."

The two people fighting in midair didn't notice. Under the cover of trees and skill cards, a human actually outweighed their perception and sneaked into the church.

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Editor’s Notes:

There’s some pretty important exposition here and I know I was confused myself when I first read it, so please do let me know if anything is hard to follow and I will explain it as well as I can without spoilers!

One thing to clarify that I don’t think has come up before is that witches and devils (not capitalized unless in a character’s title) are the same form of being, it’s just a distinction of gender. Power is presumably an exception to this simply so that her title matches the other Devil Kings.

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#Welcome to the Nightmare Game #欢迎来到噩梦游戏 #danmei