#(if you haven’t seen it yet: all the ‘lol he’s a bear’ posts curled a finger on a monkey’s paw & someone drew him as an actual bear.) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dongofthewolf · 3 years

Text

A Heart’s a Heavy Burden

Abby Anderson x GN! Reader

After arriving on Catalina Island, Abby is afraid to let her guard down. She lives with this constant crushing weight on her chest that she fears will never leave her. It’s not until she meets the reader that things begin to change.

Warnings: Copious amounts of fluff, swearing, basically just a lot of cute shit lol

Anon requested one where the reader goes on a hike with Abby and Lev, I hope you guys enjoy (especially if you requested it) <3 it’s been really nice getting back into writing and this request was so adorable aaaa.

A/N: I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted and for that I apologize. In the meantime, I hope this will suffice. Also peep the Howl’s Moving Castle quote I used for the title lol

After the death of her father and that night in the theatre, Abby has come to the realization that pain and suffering is nothing if not inevitable. There has never been a point in time in which an instance of joy or peace is not soon followed by the truest forms of human depravity. When Abby and Lev arrived in Santa Barbara she thought things would be different. She was filled with this brand new feeling of optimism that she thought was long forgotten, and for the first time in forever she had hope.

Then—almost as if some higher being was mocking her for finally letting her guard down—the Rattlers happened, and it all came crashing down. As easily as a sandcastle is destroyed by the tide, that newfound happiness was gone in an instant and that feeling of despair returned once again. She had almost become accustomed to the suffering and heartache that accompanied those short increments of happiness.

So when Abby and Lev arrived on Catalina Island, naturally Abby was incredibly grateful, but she was also fucking terrified. The moment that she stepped onto the shore, Abby vowed to never let her guard down again. She never wanted to see Lev hurt again, especially after everything he’d already been through.

It’s easy to imagine how difficult life can be when every happy moment is squandered by the fear of something inevitably terrible happening. It’s been months on Catalina Island and that normalcy Abby has missed so much was beginning to return, yet she is still afraid. A large part of Abby knows that being captured by the Rattlers isn’t her fault, but nevertheless she still feels this tremendous weight on her chest. Bearing down on her, compressing her into something small.

There is something different about Catalina Island though. Something that makes Abby feel as though—despite everything that has already happened—things will be different here. It’s you.

You were one of the first faces Abby saw when her and Lev arrived on the shore. She had sustained multiple injuries and was suffering from severe starvation and dehydration, Lev the same. You however were in the infirmary for a fractured ankle, and due to the shortage of space she was placed in the bed next to yours.

There was something you noticed about Abby the moment she sat down next to you. You couldn’t quite place it at the time but thinking back, it was definitely her eyes. There was so much pain behind them. You didn’t know why or how you knew, but it was there. Maybe it was because you had seen that same pain in the mirror that sits idle in the darkness of your room, the one covered by a tattered white sheet. It didn’t matter though, because all you knew was that the pain was there, and you wanted nothing more than to show her that life can be okay.

You woke up early today, laying in bed and trying to shake the sleep from your body, you counted the dust particles that floated in the small beam of sunlight that peeked through your window. While you lay basking in the warmth and stillness of your bedroom, you heard a quiet knock on your door. A small voice followed, it was Lev.

“Y/N? Are you awake?”

“Yeah, just give me a sec.” You carefully rolled out of bed before slipping on a hoodie and answering the door.

When you opened the door Lev had a huge smile on his face. “Hi Y/N!”

That was something you really admired about him. Even after everything him and Abby had been through, he was just full of this giddy optimism that continued to wonder you every day.

“Hey Lev, what’s up?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to come on a hike with Abby and I? Apparently there’s something she wants to show you.”

“Of course, I’d love to! Just let me get ready and I’ll head down in a bit.” Just as the words slipped out Lev embraced you tightly. You giggled as he leapt into your arms.

“Awesome! I’ll go let Abby know.” Lev released you from his grip before hurriedly running downstairs.

When you found the two waiting outside your room, you couldn’t help but grin at the sight of Abby and her adorable freckles. She looked so much happier now, having grown her hair out a bit and built up some of the muscle mass she had lost.

“You ready to go?” Abby had her hands hooked in the straps of her backpack as she took a small step closer to you.

“You bet your ass I am.”

As Abby led you and Lev along the shoreline you noticed how her skin was almost glowing. You figured it was most likely a product of all the time she spent helping out in the California sun.

Rather than resting like any normal person would’ve, as soon as Abby was back on her feet, she was desperate to help out as much as she could. Whether it was patrolling the beaches or running the farms, she didn’t care. She just wanted to help.

It seemed like it was a way for her to somehow compensate for being rescued off of the coast, and you wished you could tell her that she didn’t owe anyone anything—that after everything she went through to get here, there was nothing to repay. Of course though, it’s difficult to console someone when they haven’t exactly told you what was troubling them.

The shoreline bordered between an abundance of rocky cliffs and the tide, and the area was littered with lush greenery. Lev walked ahead of the two of you, jumping from rock to rock with surprising ease.

“Be careful Lev! There are sharks in that water you know.” Abby yelled at Lev to no avail. It was sweet how protective she was over him, even though she knew he wouldn’t fall.

You lightly nudged Abby’s shoulder with yours, the warmth of her skin against yours was comforting. You gave her a small reassuring smile. “He’ll be fine Abs, you know he can handle himself.”

Abby sighed, looking down for a brief moment before continuing. “You’re right… I just worry you know.”

“Yeah, I get it. You know, you’re actually pretty cute when you get all protective.” You said it teasingly, but you’d be lying if there wasn’t a small ounce of truth to the words.

Abby smiled, blushing at the comment, but it was difficult to tell in the sunlight. She was grateful the sun had already made her cheeks a light shade of pink. “Shut up.”

It was nice with Abby and Lev. You spent the day burying Abby in the sand on the beach and chasing the crabs that hid under the rocks with Lev. Abby had packed a whole bunch of food in her bag, and the three of you quickly devoured it all.

While Lev was building a shark out of sand, you and Abby laid side by side as you basked in the warm sun. After a bit you felt a shift next to you as Abby rolled on her side, leaning on her arm while she looked down towards you.

“Hey.” Her voice was quiet, soft, similar to Lev’s when he woke you up this morning.

You opened your eyes and nearly melted at the sight before you. Abby was completely shielding the sun from your face which created a halo effect that outlined her entire head. The small strands of hair that stuck out of her ponytail glowed like threads of gold, and you could see clearly now the freckles that danced across her face all the way down to her arms.

You replied with a soft smile on your face as you laid there admiring all the little details of her face. “Hey.”

“Can I show you something?”

You gave her a small nod. “Do you want me to get Lev?” As you began sitting up Abby put her hand on your arm to stop you.

“Actually, I was kind of hoping it could just be us. Is that okay?” There was a small hint of nervousness in her voice and you weren’t sure if it was due to the thought of leaving Lev alone, or if it was from something else.

“I would love that.” The corner of Abby’s mouth curled into a small smile at your answer.

The both of you stood up from the sand, brushing the excess off of your pants. Abby jogged over to Lev and whispered something quietly before quickly returning to you.

When you and Abby began walking away from the beach you heard Lev’s voice in the distance. “Have Y/N back by ten o’clock young man, I have a hunting rifle and I know how to use it!”

Abby rolled her eyes as she yelled back in response. “Yeah, yeah.”

You looked at Abby with a confused face. “He has a hunting rifle?”

“Nah, I think he got it from a movie. I need to stop showing him those old rom-coms.” Abby chuckled as she responded and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh as well. It’s almost annoying how infectious her laughter was.

Eventually, the two of you reached a long stream of rushing water. It wasn’t too deep, but if you were to fall in, the current was definitely strong enough to swiftly sweep you away.

There was a tiny path of rocks that travelled in a crooked line across the stream, and it was obvious it hadn’t been used in a long time. “Please tell me we aren’t going this way.”

“Come on Y/N, I got you. You trust me right?” Abby didn’t wait for a response as she grabbed your hand and led you across the mossy rocks.

As you reached the last rock, you let out a breath of relief. All you had to do was prop yourself over the log in front of you and you were home free. Carefully, as you reached your arms up to grip onto the ridges of the bark with your fingertips, you somehow lost your footing and slipped. You yelped and nearly fell face first into the jagged rocks below you, but luckily before you could, you felt a strong arm grab your waist. Abby almost on instinct quickly hoisted you up and onto the log just before you fell to your death.

While you laid your body down on the dirty log in an attempt to calm the adrenaline that was coursing through your veins. Abby nonchalantly stood up next to you with a huge grin, acting as if you didn't just see your life flash before your eyes two seconds ago. “See? I got you. Now let’s go.”

You groaned. “Can I get a second? I nearly just died back there.”

“Don’t be so dramatic Y/N, you know I’d never let anything happen to you.” Abby grabbed your hand and dragged you over the log. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

She wasn’t wrong about it not being far (and for that you were extremely grateful). It only took a couple more minutes until you finally reached your destination, and the moment you saw it, you were speechless.

Before you was a small clearing that had a view of the entire island. There were two large trees with ripe oranges hanging from it’s branches, and an abundance of wildflowers that danced in the wind like small fairies. The sunlight that shone through the leaves on the trees reminded you of the small beam of light that you were admiring this morning, except this was a thousand times more beautiful.

“Holy shit Abs.” It was one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen, and to get to see it with Abby was seriously a dream come true.

“You know, if you don’t like it we can always head back.” Abby teased.

“Oh shut up.” You plopped down onto the soft grass beneath you, breathing in the warm air and letting the blades encompass your body. You noticed Abby was still standing and quickly patted the grass beside you “Lay down with me, you gotta experience it from here.”

Abby lowered herself tentatively beside you, and although she tried to hide it, you could tell out of the corner of your eye that her gaze was fixed on you.

Things between you and Abby have always been pretty platonic; sure you guys flirted every once in a while but it never extended beyond that. And as much as you’d like for the two of you to be more, you never wanted to overstep your bounds. You didn’t want to burden Abby with your feelings especially if she didn’t share them, and you definitely didn’t want to ruin your friendship. It was hard sometimes trying to ignore the longing in your heart—trying to ignore the urge to jump into her arms and kiss her whenever she gave you that adorable freckled smile, but you knew it was for the best.

However, with her gaze fixed upon you, and your fingers just inches away, something in you couldn’t help but move your pinkie just slightly in search of hers. It was a small touch. So small it could almost be accidental, but something in both of you knew it wasn’t.

You heard Abby’s breath hitch quietly and nearly pulled your hand back, but then you felt hers move towards yours. Slowly, Abby’s fingertips traced lines against your hand before lacing them together with yours. The gesture was so sweet you nearly melted.

When you turned your head to face her, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes squinted closed like she was waiting for a bomb to go off. It was in that moment that you realized she felt the same longing that you did—that she knew of the ache that occupied your heart, and everything just clicked.

You tightened your grip on her hand as you brought her fist to your lips, planting a soft kiss on her knuckles. The act softened her expression and she opened her eyes to look at you with that damned smile on her face.

Abby propped herself up the same way she had at the beach, looking down at you with those beautiful blue eyes. The wind blew loose strands of hair across her face, and you reached up to brush them behind her ear. But instead of retracting your hand, you rested your palm lightly against her cheek, tracing small circles with your thumb.

Leaning closer, Abby finally broke the silence. “Hey Y/N?”

Your voice was quiet and raspy as you responded with a small. “Yeah?”

She was closer now, her nose against yours and her warm breath fanning across your face. “Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t respond. Instead you closed the small gap with your lips, kissing Abby tenderly. It was the kind of kiss you couldn’t ever explain to anyone, like a dream you couldn’t quite recall but knew was good. It was perfect.

You could feel her smiling against your mouth as she ran her fingers through your hair and down to your chin.

When Abby pulled away she had this stupid grin on her face, and it was easily the cutest thing you had ever seen.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that for.” Abby laid back down next to you as she let out a sigh of relief.

As you rolled over to rest your head on her chest, Abby’s arm moved to hold you closer. “You’re kidding, right?” She looked at you, urging you to continue. “Abby, I’ve been waiting to do that ever since you gave me that seashell in the infirmary.”

Your heart swelled as you recalled how nervous she was—how she didn’t say a word to you the entire time there, until that day when she shakily introduced herself. It was one of the sweetest gestures anyone had ever done for you, and you’ve adored her ever since.

Abby blushed when you brought up the seashell. She remembers that day clearly; you were leaving the infirmary because your ankle had finally healed, and she saw her opportunity to meet you begin to narrow. Abby initially wasn’t going to go up to you because she was way too afraid, but Lev had seen the way Abby looked at you and forced her to go over and introduce herself.

He is pretty much the entire reason you and Abby were here in the first place, having given Abby that small purple seashell so she could give it to you.

As you lay there listening to the sound of Abby’s heartbeat you heard a rustle in the bushes nearby and nearly jumped out of your skin. Abby quickly stood up, the both of you backing away from the noise. Reaching for the closest thing to you, you grabbed a stick and pointed it towards the source of the rustling. “Who’s there?”

Relief flooded through you as Lev jumped out with his hands up, screaming sarcastically. “Oh no! Please don’t murder me with that tiny stick.”

While Lev giggled hysterically, both you and Abby groaned.

“So did you guys finally kiss or did all my work go to waste?”

Abby rolled her eyes as she reached out to nudge Lev. “You’re such a goober.”

Lev looked at the two of you suspiciously as he crossed his arms. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Abby gave him an amused face as she reached for you without warning, picking you up bridal style. And you couldn’t help but giggle as she leaned in and planted a short kiss on your lips. Abby then pulled away and placed you back on your feet, looking at Lev as she spoke “Did that answer your question?”

Lev excitedly embraced the both of you with a gigantic smile of his face. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

You and Abby looked at each other happily as you answered in unison. “Trust me, we know.”

The three of you spent the rest of the evening in that small clearing. Abby held Lev on her shoulders as he picked ripe oranges from the trees, and when the sun began to set you lay in Abby’s arms as you watched the cascading pinks and oranges in the clouds paint the sky.

While you lay in Abby’s arms she looked at you with a sense of contentment that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Time had healed the wounds that decorated Abby’s arms, and though the emotional baggage still weighed heavy on her heart, life was brighter here with the Fireflies—with Y/N.

She knew in that moment that it didn’t matter if things came crashing down as it almost always did. The pain and suffering of life was worth enduring because Abby no longer feared the inevitable. She had found something to fight for here and as long as she had you and she had Lev, Abby would continue to fight regardless of the obstacles that stood in her way.

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson imagine #the last of us imagine #request #one shot #fluff #gn reader #abby anderson #abby tlou #tlou #tlou2 #the last of us part 2

153 notes · View notes

theaspers · 3 years

Text

between heart and soul | diavolo x reader

a/n: part of the bhas au. lucifer/reader/diavolo but this one is just diavolo/reader. chronologically takes place before the first one i posted. anw i’m thinking of posting this over on ao3 so that it’ll be easier to navigate but we’ll see if i actually get around to doing that lol

a conversation had in a moment between moments.

“i should hate you,” your prince finally speaks, and it’s with a terrifying calmness, “if this is what you plan to do.”

your heart lurches painfully in your chest. you are pinned in place, poison coursing through your blood like fire, but all that resounds in your mind are his words: i should hate you.

there’s a pressing gravity in diavolo’s voice that you haven’t heard in a while, an odd lilt to it that has your stomach churning unpleasantly. he’s angry, and now, stewing over all that’s happened, you realise that he’s probably well within his rights to be.

there’s always been a fine balance to your relationship with him. factually, this is how it stands: he is to be the demon king one day, and you are but a mere mortal with whom he’s found himself smitten. and despite him being your lover now, despite his softness for you, there’s always been an unspoken demand for respect for the lines he’s drawn. and you, you should have listened, should have accepted his protection when he had offered it.

“i didn’t mean for it to happen,” you manage, wincing at a particularly rough tug of your hair. you can feel his magic washing over you as he heals you, and it’s never been his strongest suit, but it works well enough. or at least, you think so. you’re starting to regain control over your limbs, and you’re feeling something other than numbness so that must count for something.

“you were dying,” he scowls. the golden tips of his wings gleam dangerously under silvery moonlight as he leans over you to check you over. his jaw is clenched, his eyes torrential. the air around him is entirely too oppressive to the point of suffocation, storm-heavy under the amount of power and strength he’s exuding. his weapon, long abandoned to care for you, glistens with dried blood that isn’t his.

i should hate you, he had said.

“prince,” you call out. a sudden itch to speak, to explain, anything to get him to understand. he had to know that you’d never meant for this to happen. it’s not like you’d went out of your way to almost die. your attempts to sit up, painful as they are, are halted by a firm hand pressing down on your shoulder.

“quiet.” he shoots back sternly, dagger-sharp and quick, “settle down.”

you groan. it’s difficult to like him when he’s like this. hate you, he’d said, but how could he? all you’ve ever known was his doting.

and it might have been different, if this were before. you had always rejoiced at the idea of him despising you, had wanted nothing more than for him to hate you. but looking at him now, burning with anger - at you? for you? - you couldn’t help but think, oh, please don’t hate me. you couldn’t possibly bear it, you think. not anymore.

you take a deep breath, shaky, chest stuttering as it catches in your throat, “i am sorry, you know.”

his movements still for the briefest of moments.

guilt. heavy heavy guilt. you’re on your (almost) deathbed and still it manages to find you. how awful. and maybe it’s from the stupid poison that you’d let yourself be inflicted with in your complacency, or the creeping sense of failure, of disappointing diavolo and lucifer, or maybe it’s from the way your prince is looking at you. all traces of fondness displaced by this scorching anger and just the slightest hints of disappointment. probably a combination of all three. a critical hit.

the worst part of it all is that your rational mind recognises that beneath all this roughness, this hostility, is just his concern for you. born and perpetuated by the loss that he’s suffered. he’s berating you in the only way he knows.

you’ve always cracked way too easily. you’re weak for him. always have been but more so now, “i didn’t mean to get hit, dia. you have to know.”

the anger on his face flickers, furrow between his brows slowly smoothing out and frown untwisting. he spends the next second searching your face, before he sighs and lets up slightly. when he next runs his fingers through your hair, it is gentler. quietly, he hums, “i do.”

“don’t hate me, please.” you plead, sounding a bit too desperate for your liking, as you reached out for him.

“i won’t,” he says, hesitating minutely. a small moment in which he remembers that he's supposed to be chiding you, not coddling you. it is but a small moment, and he leans into your touch soon enough, seemingly as weak to you as you were to him, “i couldn’t.”

relief floods through you, a wave that you’re all too glad to welcome. the tenseness of the room breaks and seeps away. your prince doesn’t hate you. couldn’t hate you, he’d said.

“careful,” he chides softly, pulling back when you raise up to kiss him. he’s much calmer now, all previous hostility quietly dissipating into the everlasting night. his movements are quick as he backs away but it’s only to move into your side. he pulls you close, arms wrapping around your waist and holding on. you welcome the gentle warmth that comes with his kiss.

“you can’t die,” he says after, solemn. as if it pains him to even think of the notion. as if you had a say in matters of life and death. his fingers curled around your hip squeezes gently, “i won’t allow it.”

amongst many others, this is a conversation that’s been had before, and a conversation that will continue to be had even in the future. death comes for everyone, and one day, death will come for you too. this is a certainty. but you’re already in so much trouble as is, so you concede, “i know. i said i was sorry.”

there’s a smile on his face now, the all too familiar fondness in the corners of his eyes slowly returning. he is not himself yet, and he won’t be for a good amount of time. certainly not until he’s sure that you’re doing better, until he’s certain that retribution has been paid. he’s quiet for a moment, one of his hands running soothingly down your back. his next words are pressed into your temple, “you should rest, dearest.”

“lucifer?” you ask through a big yawn. your prince’s magic, no doubt. eyelids heavy, bone-deep exhaustion suddenly weighing you down now that all the crises have been deftly avoided. the last you’d seen of lucifer had been just before diavolo dragged you away from the fray.

“still preoccupied,” the prince offers nothing more. a kiss brushed upon your forehead, “he’ll join us soon enough.”

you nod, nuzzling into your prince. no point in resisting it, you supposed. another yawn, “he better.”

#im sad cause i had to cut so much out of this lol :(#obey me #obey me swd #obey me diavolo #obey me imagines #obey me x reader #obey me diavolo x reader

154 notes · View notes

baepsaetan · 3 years

Text

Novocaine Enough | Yoonseok | Part 3

Amazing banner credit to @joonscore

Part 1 -> Part 2

Pairing: Yoongi x Hoseok

Wordcount: 8k

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, smut

Rating: 18+

Summary: Four years later, and Yoongi is still an itch under his skin. Hoseok is trying to move on, from his past life and his past love, but there are some voids that can’t be filled. Some needs that can’t be met. And when Hoseok enters a club and hears the music of the man he left so long ago, he realizes that some addictions can’t be healed by anything as simple as time.

Warnings: Swearing; implied, mentioned and past drug use/abuse (cocaine, ecstasy, weed, alcohol); past overdosing; mutually unhealthy relationship dynamic; explicit (kinda angry) sex, including biting, oral, gagging, rimming, edging, marking, barebacking, thigh riding.

Ao3 Link: here

A/N: Part three! Which I totally forgot to post before now, lol. Not sure if anyone hasn’t seen this on Ao3 already, but if ya haven’t, feel free to give a like. :)

They collide a little too hard, a little too combatively, and Hoseok's lips tingle when they find Yoongi's. He embraces the pain, even as his arms are wrapping around the other man, caging him in like he's afraid Yoongi's going to suddenly disappear. It's a little awkward, but Yoongi squirms in his embrace, gets himself into a better position, and then they're actually kissing.

This is a moment when they both freeze, as if the reality of what they're doing has suddenly crashed into them. Hoseok's muscles lock, and he's abruptly in the back of his mind, wondering if this is the right thing, doubting it is, knowing it isn't, and maybe he shouldn't –

Yoongi's tongue parts his lips and the acrid taste of smoke and beer slams him back into the moment. Hoseok gasps, released, and his arms tighten spasmodically, a bodily rejection of his mind. Yoongi tastes like he remembers, and this is suddenly easy, natural, and the worry dies, smothered beneath the nostalgia slipping across his tongue. Warmth floods his face, and he can't help but dig the tips of his fingers into Yoongi's shoulders, proving to himself that the man is there.

His eyes are closed and the reddish hues dart under his eyelids, flurrying in time with his spiked heart rate. Yoongi is the first to pull away, but only to nip at the edge of Hoseok's lip and then move lower, kissing along the length of his jaw with just a touch of teeth. The fluttery pressure lasts for only a moment, and then the other man is kissing him again. This time Hoseok gravitates into the contact, leans even further until his weight is pushing Yoongi back.

With a low hum that Hoseok can feel resounding through his own mouth, Yoongi allows himself to be shifted backwards until he's laid out on the couch. They break contact long enough for Yoongi to swing his legs up, and Hoseok straddles his hips, knees pushing comfortably into the cushions. He pauses, then, to stare down at the man under him.

Yoongi's skin is unusually flushed, his lips already swollen from their fierce contact. It's his eyes that catch Hoseok, though, deep and dark and so demanding they rip a sense of urgency from somewhere at the base of Hoseok's throat. His hand impulsively rises to cup Yoongi's face – and Yoongi turns away, just a little, avoiding the touch. It leaves an emptiness heavy in the pads of Hoseok's fingers, an ache in his heart, and he has to drive the feeling out somehow.

Tracing his hand down Yoongi's neck is almost enough, and when Hoseok hunches over and presses kisses into the other man's collarbone, it gets even better. Burying his face into the crook of the man’s neck and inhaling the scent of his citrusy cologne overwhelms Hoseok’s senses, drowning the bitterness in a wave of comfort and desire. Yoongi's breath is a harsh pant, and his voice is harsh, too, when he insists, "Come on."

Hoseok is abruptly aware of the fact that he's eager to do more. His next kiss lingers on Yoongi's collarbone, and so does the next, and when he moves to Yoongi's throat, Hoseok bites him, a little nip that nonetheless draws a sharp inhale from his partner. He does it for a second time, just to hear the overwhelmed sound again, and Yoongi is quick to oblige him. Relishing the taut groan, he pulls away to admire the man underneath him.

Just for a moment, but Yoongi's eyes, previously drifted closed, snap open and he makes an inquiring huff.

Not quite willing to admit how much he'd love to just stare at the sweat that's beginning to trickle down Yoongi's face, Hoseok smiles. "You mind some marks?"

Yoongi's lip curls, but his gaze is intrigued. "You want to?" Before Hoseok can reply, he snickers, head falling back to bare his neck more fully. "Sure. Why not?"

Hoseok doesn't need to be told twice. (But he does want to ask again, just in case this isn't what it should be, just in case –)

Ignoring that, he dips his head and his lips are soft when he starts sucking on Yoongi's throat. They don't stay that way, not when he increases the pressure, and under him the other man shifts, arches up like he's desperate to close the space between them. Hoseok indulges, grinding down with his groin as his mouth relents for a moment, placing lighter kisses around the area he'd been sucking on. Yoongi bucks his hips, seeking more friction, and Hoseok finds himself grinning, a wolfish expression that doesn't fade even with his softer contact.

He doesn't give Yoongi too much of a break, anyways; before too long he's back, sucking on the abused skin harder than before. It feels good to press his mouth against the other man's neck, to know that he's leaving a mark that nothing but time will scrub away. Yoongi bruises easily and long, Hoseok remembers that, and so for at least the next week he's going to be bearing a sign, a clear flag to anyone who dares to believe Yoongi is anything but taken.

Even if he isn't actually taken.

The thought has heat prickling across the nape of Hoseok's neck, and it takes him a second to realize it's pissed him off. His next nip is sharper and Yoongi hisses in mild protest. He goes mostly ignored, because though Hoseok tries to soften himself, tries to gentle the way his mouth crushes against Yoongi's throat, it's still hard enough to inspire another grunt from the other man.

And yet, for all that Hoseok knows he's actually hurting his partner, Yoongi doesn't make any move to shove him away. Doesn't even voice a protest beyond the first light objection. In fact, he keeps tilting his chin further up, giving Hoseok even more space to work with, and his hands are digging in just above his waistband, anchoring Hoseok with a grip that's on the razor edge of pain. The pressure grounds him and he needs it, needs an anchor against the dull anger that’s trying to flare to life amidst the hollowness in his chest.

It's not until Hoseok bites Yoongi for the umpteenth and an iron tang fills his mouth that he realizes the fire is more out of control than he’d thought.

Immediately he draws back, guilt and blood on his tongue, although the taste isn’t quite strong enough to expunge his surprisingly possessive anger. The skin isn’t broken too badly, just a slightly more pronounced red among the splotches of pink littering Yoongi’s neck, but he can’t make himself look away.

His companion asks without opening his eyes, “Admiring your handiwork?”

Setting his teeth over the impulse to say something breezy – and avoid the truth – he answers honestly. “You’re bleeding a bit.”

Yoongi lazily opens an eye. “Seriously?” His voice is so unfazed it subdues some of the remorse threaded through Hoseok’s ribs; it can’t have hurt too bad if he hadn’t even noticed. “I’m not bleeding on the couch, am I?”

Hoseok dutifully inspects the dribble, barely deserving of the name. “Nah.”

The eye closes. “Good. Bite me too hard again and I’ll bite you back.”

He’s so relieved it makes him flippant. And sharp. “Is that a promise?”

A hoarse laugh, and Yoongi’s hands tighten around his waist. “Only if you want it to be.”

Leaving it there, Hoseok leans back down. Much more gentle, he actually spends more time skimming his lips over the marks, mouthing the tender areas rather than kissing them, let alone biting. It doesn’t last long, though. Energy simmers through his core, an awful agitation that only grows with each taste of sweat, with every low exhale that the man under him makes. Yoongi is also impatient, shoving up Hoseok’s shirt as he runs his fingers along his sides, the warmth of his touch leaving Hoseok shaky with anticipation.

Before too long, he folds to the pressure of that wordless touch. Taking off his shirt is, in the haze of the moment, only slightly nerve-wracking. The dregs of alcohol still in his system help matters, swamping any second thoughts Hoseok might have had and leaving him dizzy and expectant.

Yoongi doesn't whistle at the reveal like Hoseok had, but his eyes are keen with admiration as they skim across Hoseok's upper body. The considering look is back, and after a moment of mute appreciation that leaves Hoseok flushed and simultaneously more relaxed, he commands, "Get off, 'kay? I wanna try something else."

Scrambling to do as bid, he lifts himself off of Yoongi. "Just sit there," Yoongi says, gesturing at the couch as he gets to his feet. Hoseok suffers a pang of disappointed confusion at the lack of immediate attention, but all his companion does is shove the table back further before returning. And then he's settling onto Hoseok. More specifically, he nudges Hoseok's legs open and then sits on his right thigh, his legs nestled on either side.

Automatically Hoseok tenses to support the added weight, and Yoongi's tongue slips across his lower lip as he settles more firmly onto the hard muscles. He rubs against Hoseok's thigh and lets out an approving breath, and Hoseok can already feel himself hardening in a way that marking up his ex hadn’t quite managed. Yoongi notices – of course he does – and his hand drops down to caress Hoseok's free leg, thumb starting near his groin and then dragging down against the leather of his pants. "Didn't I say you should take these off? Too late now, I guess," he comments with a smile that's too pointed to be anything but provoking.

The touch is enough, and the smile is entirely too much. With a grunt, Hoseok grabs Yoongi at the hips, both keeping him steady and pushing him down a little. A second later and he starts to bounce his leg, nothing jarring, just a smooth motion that Yoongi grinds himself against. Flexing his thigh at the same time gets the other man to groan, so Hoseok does it again, and then again, relishing the husky sound and the feeling of Yoongi heavy on his body.

This is – almost – familiar. When Yoongi wraps his arms around Hoseok’s bare shoulders to balance himself, it’s that much closer to what he remembers, but… not quite. Not quite, because the small man doesn’t press his forehead against Hoseok’s. Doesn’t look him in the eyes as he rides him, but looks past him, the pleasure crossing his face a removed and distant thing.

Hoseok’s own pleasure feels disconnected, too. The throbbing from his cock is quickly becoming a heated intensity that radiates through his gut, and his movements become rougher, hips jerking with the need to chase the feeling of Yoongi grinding against him. It’s good, great even, but there’s a desperation in his urgency that he suspects won’t be satisfied by coming.

He’s chasing a peak, and it’s not even the height he wants to hit.

Eyes closing against that knowledge, swallowing back the gritty taste of it, Hoseok is caught off guard when one of Yoongi’s arms drops and his fingers find Hoseok’s nipple. Inhaling through his clenched teeth, his eyes fly open and then widen as the other man lightly twists the sensitive nub.

“Fuck, Yoongs,” he spits, and Yoongi grins like a cat who just spotted some cream.

“Mmm, this still gets you, hey?” his lover asks. Given that Hoseok gasps a moment later, Yoongi’s thumb rolling the stiffening nipple, he hardly needs a reply. He takes that as an answer and his other hand joins the fun, and Hoseok’s taut frame is shortly shaking with the flames being produced by those dexterous fingers. He’s always been overly sensitive in his chest.

He lets himself be pleased that his ex remembers, but nothing more than that.

A particularly callous tweak makes him jerk, his leg jumping hard into Yoongi’s groin, and Yoongi yelps – which, honestly, karma – before biting back the sound and scowling instead. “You dick,” he mutters without heat, but his fingers become even more ruthless as they play with Hoseok’s nipples. That, of course, does absolutely nothing to still Hoseok, and before too long he can’t focus on helping the other man get off on his thigh, his nerves shot through with spastic jolts of pleasure that have him barely able to keep together.

After another probably too hard bounce, Yoongi eases off with a light scoff. “God, you’re as bad as a prep school virgin. Been a bit of a dry spell for you or something?”

It’s true that they used to be able to edge each other a helluva lot longer and more intensely than this, but Hoseok reddens at the implication of that question. And at the nerve of asking it, too. He tries to keep his voice level, but it gets higher as he says, “Is that any business of yours?”

Yoongi looks away, but not before his smug expression crumples. He does a much better job of keeping his tone even, though. He’s always been better than Hobi at that. “Guess not.”

The reminder isn’t totally a mood killer, but it does inject something stiff and uncomfortable into the air. With a hard exhale, Yoongi shakes his head, apparently trying to physically throw off the bleakness. It doesn’t work for Hoseok, and it doesn’t seem to work for the other man either, judging by the somber cast that’s taken over his face.

With Yoongi, though, the deeper and darker he gets, the hungrier he gets, too. The more desperately he reaches for what he wants, the more he craves it. It’s always been like that; whether he aimed for money or fame or skill or a high, he’s always wanted it too much.

He wants this too much, too. Whatever the hell this is, between them. That becomes obvious as Yoongi rolls his shoulders, lips pressing together, and then gets off of Hoseok’s thigh, only to kneel between Hoseok’s legs a second later. When his hands fall to Hoseok’s belt, Hoseok knows he’s being driven by that greed. And – maybe – by a desire to make up for what he’d said. He won’t apologize, not in so many words, but he’s gentle in unbuckling the strap, and his eyes are inquiring when he pauses and looks up at Hoseok, silently asking for permission.

The sight of the small man on his knees in front of him has Hoseok’s throat closing and he can’t make himself speak. The defensive anger from Yoongi’s stupid remark hasn’t left, but neither has his own need, and he, too, sometimes wants things too much. Way too much.

His nod ends up being jerky, but he lifts his hips to help Yoongi pull the belt out of its hoops. With an ease that suggests he, at least, hasn’t been through a dry spell recently, Yoongi unbuttons Hoseok’s pants, undoes the zipper, and then his hand is wrapped around Hoseok’s cock and pulling it out of its confines. It’s already hard and leaking. It only takes one light stroke, made slick by his precum, to have arousal surging up Hoseok’s veins, quieting the longing that’s humming in his head.

This feels so good, it’s almost enough. Hoseok throws back his head, eyes hardly seeing the ceiling, breath and words tangling in his trachea and escaping as barely more than an incoherent plea. Yoongi’s always been good at this, at spreading ecstasy with the mere palms of his hands, and today he’s overdoing himself. Sensitive to Hoseok’s every gasp and whine, his hands sculpt around Hoseok’s dick with just enough pressure, just enough friction to have Hoseok writhing in his seat, thrusting into that pressure with wild abandon.

Panting breaths away from coming, he manages to choke, “Ah, fuck, fuck Yoongi, I’m –”

And abruptly the hand is gone.

He lifts his head, something like a whimper emerging from his lips. It makes his attempt at a glare more than a little feeble, but he does try to glare, because Yoongi is sitting back on his heels and flashing a shit-eating grin that’s so self-satisfied it would have been funny if Hoseok wasn’t currently aching with sodden dissatisfaction. He moves to grab his cock and finish himself, but Yoongi catches his wrist, stopping the movement.

It’s probably possible to break the hold, yet Hoseok just limply drops his arm, caving in to the light grip.

“You’re an asshole,” he exhales, and Yoongi bobs his head in unrepentant agreement.

Still wearing that smug smile, he pushes away the hair from his sweat-soaked forehead. “Yeah. But you should be thanking me; this’ll just make it better when I blow you.”

With his cock still throbbing, a handjob now seems preferable to a blowjob later, and Hoseok snorts. “Better? Maybe your tongue technology is outdated.”

The reference to the original song he’d created makes Yoongi laugh. It’s probably the most carefree – even joyful – he’s sounded the entire night. “Nah man. That shit is upgraded and it’ll keep you elated.”

Hoseok’s eyebrows jump up disbelievingly and he stares. Too fast for him to contain, a rusty laugh suddenly barrels up his throat and bursts from between lips that can’t press hard enough to hold it.

A blush floods Yoongi’s face, cheeks bunching as his flustered smile and barely suppressed giggle scrunch his eyes into narrow crescents. It feels like Hoseok’s heart literally misses a beat as it stumbles over itself, a screechy sort of delight building in his throat, and he has to throttle the urge to reach out and squish the adorable face in front of him. In the past, doing that would make Yoongi even more embarrassed, maybe even pouty, and it would be that much more hilarious and cute. Which, of course, had made it entirely worth doing.

Now, however…

Well, now Hoseok keeps his hands to himself, but he can’t hold back the raucous cackles that keep exploding from him. The laughter is so boisterous it actually hurts a little, but he can’t keep it contained. Maybe he’s just that relieved to have something to laugh at, or maybe in Yoongi’s absence he’s become more sensitive to just how charming the man is when he’s abashed and simultaneously pleased with himself. Regardless, Hoseok is helpless to stop the explosion of hilarity, and Yoongi’s failed attempt at sulking doesn't help.

In fact, seeing his companion struggle to latch a frown on his flushed face, only to drop it seconds later and subside into loud laughter, has him almost howling with mirth.

His amusement drains more quickly than it might have – and honestly, the still-hard state of his dick might have had something to do with it – but Hoseok’s chest is just a little lighter when his cackling abates. It’s – he’d thought he’d never laugh like this again, not with Yoongi. It feels so good to be proven wrong.

Lips still curved upwards, hurting his cheeks, Hoseok can barely get himself together when he tries to talk. “Oh-kay,” he gasps around the lingering laughter, shallow annoyance at Yoongi’s antics totally forgotten. “Okay. Fine, fine. Mr. Updated, I’m ready to be elated.” A pause, and then he’s found enough air to add, “Do I need to read the warning label?”

Yoongi got a hold of the hilarity more quickly than Hoseok did, quickly enough that his voice is almost back to sardonic when he replies, “Nah. I’m not the one with a choking hazard.” His eyes deliberately flick down.

Hoseok chokes at that – and at Yoongi’s hand, once again sliding up his cock. Give it to him, once Yoongi’s decided to do something, he doesn’t hesitate to get it done. They don’t bother discussing condoms, a holdover from older days; both of them are pretty meticulous about getting tested, and shared that conversation years ago.

That makes it easy to relax at the feeling of Yoongi fisting the base of his cock, and then Yoongi is licking his head while his hand rubs the shaft in long, languorous strokes. The soft, wet heat flows straight to Hoseok’s lungs, to his head, a blanket of stifling pleasure. His breath is abruptly heavy, staggering, and automatically Hoseok curls his fingers through Yoongi’s hair, needing to feel something under him, to have some measure of control.

That’s a bit of intimacy that the other man allows, gaze sultry enough to set Hoseok’s skin aflame... if his mouth weren’t doing that already. Hoseok meets the heady scrutiny with an unwavering look, and there’s still a trace of laughter evident in the creases around Yoongi’s eyes. Affection courses through his arteries and he doesn’t know if this is poison or an antidote. All he knows is that he’ll take what’s given, whatever the results. No questions asked.

Yoongi is offering him an answer to his emptiness, and all Hoseok wants is to drown in it.

And drown in it he does, in the thick sounds the other man makes around his cock, in the feel of his fingers settled into Yoongi’s soft locks, in the geyser of aching incandescence that’s fountaining through his stomach and erupting in his chest.

“Yoongi,” he mumbles, and the syllables are perfect in his mouth. “Yoongi, you’re… ah … so, so good . Fuck me, you’re...”

This is part of what he’s wanted so desperately. And even if it’s only half, a third, a decimal of what he’s been longing for, Hoseok soaks in the sensation and, in the moment – right now – convinces himself that this is enough.

This is enough, but – but his fingers still tighten, hips jacking forward faster and harder to chase the warmth that Yoongi is giving him. The man on his knees grunts at the added force, and his hands fall from Hoseok’s cock to brace against Hoseok’s thighs. Not a sign to stop, not yet, and Hoseok wants so badly, wants to come in Yoongi’s mouth, wants to spill himself for something more than absolutely nothing at all.

Frantically Hoseok fucks Yoongi’s mouth, his thrusts deep and heavy, gaze focused on Yoongi’s face. The other man has his eyes closed, and he takes the hard jerks with a bobbing throat and squeezed eyes. A bit of saliva has escaped from the corner of his mouth, and his sweat is plastering his darkened hair to his forehead in a straggling mess. Like this – choking and gagging on Hoseok’s cock, fingers feebly curled into his thighs, face strained with the effort of keeping up – Yoongi looks… fuck, Yoongi looks good. He looks… like how Hoseok wants him to look. Barely keeping it together. Wrecked.

Hoseok comes with a muffled groan, the sound tearing out of him like there’s a wound in his throat, pleasure coursing through him in jagged strips of lightning. Yoongi chokes more harshly, and then his hands are pushing firmly against Hoseok’s legs. Taking that cue immediately, Hoseok relaxes his grip, letting the other man pull off of him with a wet noise.

Still gasping, Yoongi nonetheless keeps his face near Hoseok’s cock, and the last few spurts catch him on the lips, the cheek. Pearly white fluid trickles down his chin, mixing with his saliva, and the sight is abruptly so overwhelming Hoseok has to look away.

Yoongi’s breath is ragged, interspersed with coughing, and it takes several minutes to smooth out. In that time, Hoseok... drifts. The sexual satisfaction drapes across him, smothering in its weight, and he makes no attempt to disentangle himself from it. In a different time he would have pulled Yoongi into his lap, caressed his back and pressed gentle kisses along his shoulders until he recovered his breath. Maybe he would have gotten him a glass of water, or joined him on the floor.

Now… Now Yoongi rests on his haunches, recovering alone. Hoseok recovers alone, too. By the time Yoongi’s caught his breath, the painful ecstasy has faded, leaving a worn out ache that’s nowhere near his groin, but somewhere higher, just above his sternum.

He’d… shit, had he really wanted to see Yoongi choke? Wanted to see him struggle to keep up, to take it, just to please Hoseok? Because… what, because he deserved it?

Guilt invades his head, dispelling the satisfaction like mist in a heavy rain. Hoseok shifts uncomfortably, forcing himself to turn his eyes to Yoongi.

The other man is looking at him, and when he sees Hoseok’s gaze, he flushes. He doesn’t glance away, though. Face still slick with cum and spit, his cheeks stained red from effort and from coughing, he shouldn’t look as soft as he does. As tender. “How was it?” he asks, like it’s not already obvious, and though his voice is hoarse, it isn’t mocking.

“Good. Really good.” Hoseok’s hands are on his thighs, rubbing at the fabric, and he can’t seem to make himself stop. “I – If I went a bit overboard, or –”

“Did I tell you to get off, except at the end?” Yoongi slowly rises, turning the motion into one long stretch. His neck and collarbone are marked with a mottled collection of the fresh hickeys that are beginning to show. “Nothing’s changed with that, Hobi. I can take it.”

That doesn’t mean you should have to. That’s something Hoseok doesn’t know how to say. Why are you taking it, is another collection of words that won’t leave his tongue. The biting, the bruises, the facefucking… It’s not that they’d never done it before, but this is a further extreme, and more than that, it’s not mutual. They liked pushing at each other, straining limits, but this –

This isn’t that.

“Well – I’m still sorry.”

“Didn’t I tell you to leave off on that shit?” Harsh words, but said mildly, and Yoongi shakes his head. “I’ll be right back.” He slips away, leaving Hoseok to the shame that’s fighting with his justifications. A stalemate. He really can’t remember where his pleasure had begun and his resentment had ended in the stifling thrill of fucking Yoongi. If there even was a beginning… or an end.

Yoongi comes back too quickly for the question to spiral into something blacker. He’s got a Kleenex box in one hand, a bottle in another, and sets both on the table unceremoniously. Snagging a tissue for himself, Yoongi starts wiping off his face while using his other hand to turn the bottle so that the label’s facing Hoseok.

Lube, as if he couldn’t have guessed.

Somewhat surprisingly, though, Yoongi doesn’t immediately pop the question. To Hoseok’s relief, he’s quiet as they clean up a bit. Then Yoongi settles back on the couch, his limbs sprawled in a lazily casual pose. Not right next to Hoseok, but close. Close enough to reach, if Hoseok wanted to.

He wants to.

His hands remain at his side.

Working his jaw, his thumb gently massaging his throat, Yoongi smiles faintly. “Mmm, that’s gonna hurt in the morning.” When Hoseok grimaces, he shakes his head. “In a good way, Hobi.” Yoongi pauses, leans a little away, like he wants to get a better look at his companion. After a moment of quiet that draws out thick and uneasy (at least on Hoseok’s part), Yoongi says softly, “You know I’m good, right? This didn’t, like, kill the mood for me or anything. I just couldn’t quite finish you off, at the end. Not your fault.”

It didn’t kill the mood for Hoseok, either, and that might be part of the problem. Shoulders hunched, he replies tersely. “I didn’t – I don’t wanna hurt you, Yoongs.”

“Really? Coulda fooled me.” When Hoseok huddles even further into himself at the lightly teasing note, Yoongi hums, a chastised sound. “Nah, I’m kidding. Besides, maybe I want you to hurt me. Ever think of that?”

Hoseok skirts a glance at him sidelong, and Yoongi raises a sardonic eyebrow. “You’re not gonna kinkshame me, are you? I still remember the mirror thing, with–”

“How are you so okay with this!?” The demand bursts out, more of an appeal than a question, and Hoseok can’t stand how relaxed the other man looks. How easily he’s accepting how Hoseok has been going at him tonight. Hoseok had disliked how cutting Yoongi was earlier, the insults and taunts sinking in like barbs, but he’d take that before – before whatever the hell Yoongi is doing now.

Yoongi examines Hoseok for a long moment before he replies. “I… forgot,” he eventually says, the words slow but not uncertain. “How good it feels, how… how whole I feel, to be near you. So you’re rough, so what? As if I give a fuck about that, after… everything else.”

There’s too much in those words. Too much hope, too much joy… and too much permission granted when it shouldn’t be, or at least for the wrong reasons.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He repeats it because he has to drive the words through his own skull, convince himself of them. “Not like this, Yoongi. Not…”

“So don’t.” He jerks around to stare at Yoongi head on, and the other man is smiling, just a thin twist of amusement. “Whatever else, you’re not an asshole, Hobi. I haven’t known you in years, and I still know that’s true. If it’s bugging you this much, it’s not your thing. At least not tonight.”

Hoseok doesn’t reply. He can still feel that bloom of pleasure, that wave of satisfied vindication that had struck him so forcefully at the sight of Yoongi choking. With that in his head, he’s not so sure that Yoongi’s right about him not being an asshole.

“Hey.” It’s Yoongi that bridges the gap, reaching over to give Hoseok’s bare shoulder a gentle shake. “It happened. I’m fine. Hell, I didn’t mind it.” His free hand steals up to caress the many marks Hoseok had left scattered across his neck. “Might even learn to do more than that. But…” Now his exhale is harder, closer to frustration. “For now, forget about it, okay? If you’re done, that’s fine, but I’m still good to go.”

That’s one of Yoongi’s greatest strengths. When he makes his peace with something, that’s it. He’s not someone to gnaw on a problem, to mull it over until it’s stripped to nothingness; he’s too blunt, too firm in himself, to bother with that.

Hoseok… does not have that strength. However, with Yoongi’s grip warm and secure on his shoulder, he thinks that maybe… maybe he could lean into his companion’s strength. Borrow a little of that certainty. At least for now.

Another bandaid. At this rate they’ll be covered with them.

It’s better than bleeding out. Hoseok makes himself smile; he makes himself chuckle. The sound is strained, but it still fills the air with something other than oppressive tension. “If you’re still good to go, old man, I am too.”

A long-time joke that makes Yoongi laugh. “You won’t be calling me that later,” he promises, and closes the distance between them.

They make out again, messier and deeper than last time. Physically at least, Hoseok was absolutely not lying when he said he was good, and as Yoongi strips out of his pants and underwear, it quickly becomes obvious that the other man wasn’t lying, either. Hoseok follows suit, yanks off the pants that hadn’t quite made it all the way off before.

Everything about this is slower than before, and it’s also softer. They kiss for a long time, hands busy exploring each other’s bodies, running over the canvas of skin with careful precision. A rediscovery.

Hoseok feels abruptly – timid isn’t quite it, but hesitant. Uncertain. Yoongi easily steps into the gap left by his misgivings. He’s gentle when he kisses Hoseok, but his hands are firm as they guide Hoseok to bend over the arm of the couch, bracing himself with his forearms. Those hands are no less certain when they cup Hoseok’s ass, spreading him wide.

Yoongi kisses the back of his thighs first, tender presses that still have the air seeping out of Hoseok’s lungs. Everything after that is a landslide of languorous sensation. The feel of Yoongi rimming him is a silky sort of pleasure, inspiring a tingling bliss that has his eyes drifting shut. Yoongi’s tongue flicks against him, slow strokes that tease his nerves, and he keeps at it until the languor becomes hotter, more urgent. His hands are busy too, playing with Hoseok’s balls and sliding along his stomach, and the touches are liquid heat added to a vessel that’s already overflowing.

Hoseok finds himself whining, subdued little sobs that he can’t quite hold back. The first time Yoongi adds lube to the mixture, the slick coldness of it being worked between his cheeks makes Hoseok stiffen and nearly yelp. Behind him Yoongi laughs, his fingers stilling for a moment, giving Hoseok a chance to relax. “Bear with it, yeah? Just a little more…”

Then his finger is penetrating Hoseok, still slow, almost too slow, and Hoseok moans. “Good boy,” Yoongi murmurs, dragging through the motion with maddening control. “You take it so good, Hobi.” He adds another finger shortly after, and the pressure quickly becomes staggering.

“More,” he groans, pushing back against Yoongi's hand.

The need floats through his stomach, so light it’s almost separate from him, but Yoongi clicks his tongue. “Nuh-uh. We’re going my way now, Hobi.”

Somewhere in the midst of the fluttering pleasure, Hoseok has just enough brain capacity left to suspect this may be some kind of revenge. Yoongi strokes his ass while penetrating him more deeply, and another wave of bliss drowns the thought.

Didn’t matter. This is a kind of revenge he could get behind.

The first time Hoseok finds himself about to come, the orgasm gathering force at the edge of his groin and his voice pitching up into raw breathlessness, he’s severely disappointed. Abruptly Yoongi’s fingers are gone, and even worse, his other hand is wrapped around the tip of Hoseok’s cock, lightly squeezing. Hoseok’s orgasm rises – hovers – and then falls away, back into a simmering intensity that has him writhing petulantly.

“Yoongi,” he gasps accusingly when he’s found enough breath to get anything out.

“So impatient,” Yoongi drawls, fingers dragging against Hoseok’s ass cheek in teasing circles – but doing nothing more than that.

“You are such an – ah. ”

Yoongi doesn’t move his fingers much once he’s slid them back in, just mild motions, enough to keep the fires in Hoseok’s gut stoked but no more than that. “Do you wanna beg me, Hobi? I’d probably let you get off if you did.”

A memory. Yoongi leaning over him and Hoseok so strung out he’s almost delirious. Strung out on Molly, yeah, but on feelings, too. A tsunami of sensations. An affection that’s so keen it hurts as he gazes into Yoongi’s blown pupils. The words, falling from his mouth in a nearly incoherent stream. “Please, Yoongi, please, I want you so bad, I want – I want – Please.”

He drops his head, presses his face against the forearm that’s braced against the couch’s arm. “Such an asshole.” The words are muffled, but Yoongi clearly hears them because he huffs, caught between a chuckle and a scoff.

“Suit yourself.”

When Yoongi’s fingers leave Hoseok, he has just enough time to be extravagantly dissatisfied before the other man puts one hand on his hip, the other sliding up his spine to rest on the nape of his neck. From that position Yoongi leans over him, hips pressing into his ass, breath tickling his face. “You ready for something a bit more?”

“Only if it’s actually more,” Hoseok retorts.

A hard breath and then Yoongi gently nips at the outer shell of his ear, a teasing rebuke. “‘Course it will be.”

Though he takes his goddamn time with this, too. Settles back and preps himself with more lube, to judge by the tense sounds he makes, and Hoseok glances back a few times to enjoy the sight of Yoongi stroking his cock. After some time – more time than is needed, Yoongi’s eyes alight with wicked amusement when Hoseok squirms – he guides himself to Hoseok, the other hand returning to grip the back of his neck. Enters him with a gradual thrust that’s slick and easy because of the lube. Almost too easy, leaving Hoseok panting for more.

Yoongi’s not a liar, though. At least not about this. He gives Hoseok more, and then some.

His dick is more than enough to fill Hoseok, a swelling force that only grows as Yoongi pushes himself in more deeply. The heat builds, swelters, sweeps across Hoseok’s muscles until he’s trembling with the intensity of it. His partner’s sounds – guttural grunts that pitch into tantalizing breathlessness – just enhance the feverish frenzy.

Yoongi is as deliberate as before, but – thank fucking God – he picks up the pace before too long. His tempo is jarring in its relentless drive, and he hammers into Hoseok with so much force that it becomes hard to hold himself up on the couch arm.

A particularly strong thrust spills Hoseok off his balance, and he pitches forward and finds himself hanging off the edge of the couch, the arm pushing into his lower chest. The sudden change in position puts Yoongi at just the right angle, and his next stroke has Hoseok crying out with the burn of pleasure. The other man slows, but Hoseok manages to croak, “No, Yoongs, keep – keep going,” and Yoongi obliges.

At last, and too soon, he comes. The tidal wave of electric heat surges from Hoseok’s groin, splashes against his nerves and sends waves of shuddering release through his trembling body as his back arches. Hoseok shakes with the intensity of his peak, whining gasps escaping his lips, his vision white around the edges. He can feel his cum trickling down his leg, and the sensation makes him sag. It takes all he has not to collapse completely, to just let the pleasure overwhelm him.

But Yoongi’s still going, so Hoseok does the best he can to keep upright. After the initial flurry of gut-wrenching fervor, it gets easier, and he rolls his hips a bit, pushes back, trying to return the favour. Yoongi’s hand never left his neck, and it tightens now as Yoongi’s strokes become faster, shorter, more erratic. “Fuck, Hobi,” he’s panting, the words a slur of feeling. “You’re so – perfect. So much ...”

Hoseok feels Yoongi’s orgasm as a pulsing at the base of his cock, buried in Hoseok’s ass. As, seconds later, an increased wetness pooling inside. More vivid is Yoongi’s voice, huskily crying out, his tone a tapestry of gratified colours.

He can read that tapestry, and to hear Yoongi elevated to those blissful highs makes something in Hoseok’s chest tighten and lighten simultaneously. When Yoongi slumps against him, rubbing his face into Hoseok’s shoulder, the exhilaration just soars, a sweet joy that they still have this. Can still leave each other spent in the best way possible.

The past wavers against the future like a mirage rising from the road, difficult to separate, but for this moment, with Yoongi a warm weight against his back, Hoseok ignores the presence of the illusion. He flops onto the couch, and Yoongi falls partially on him with a grunt of agreement. They lie there for several minutes, and the other man barely moves, his breathing deep and steady as it spills against Hoseok’s skin.

It doesn’t last forever. It can’t. But while it does, he closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy the careless way Yoongi slouches into him. Like it’s natural. Like they’re both exactly where they’re supposed to be. He lets himself believe in the reassuring burden at his back. Lets himself believe, for now, that it won’t suddenly disappear.

Yoongi lifts himself up after a while, but not before nuzzling against Hoseok’s shoulder a final time. “Time to clean up,” he whispers, and then he’s pulling out in a gush of sticky warmth that stains Hoseok’s thighs and probably the couch, too.

The next few minutes are all business, though this, at least, isn’t caused by whatever alienation is between them. Yoongi’s always been very no-nonsense about clean-up, and Hoseok is enough of a neat freak to jump on that wagon with wholehearted purpose. They don’t talk, and at first that’s fine, the familiarity of the tasks before them settling naturally into the silence. They wipe themselves off, fix the squished cushions. As Hoseok pulls on his pants, Yoongi disappears and then reappears with cleaning supplies.

By mutual agreement, Hoseok scrubs the floor and Yoongi tackles the couch. It’s as his knees are pressed into the floor and he’s briskly wiping at the puddle left by the blowjob that discomfort starts to creep up on him, and the quiet begins to grate.

Even when they’re done and Yoongi’s flipped the worst of the cushions with nonchalant disregard for whoever turns it over in the future, the silence stays. They settle back onto the couch – Yoongi in a new set of clothes he’d recovered from his room down the hallway, black sweats and a grey T-shirt – and this is different than the agonizingly tense stillness of before.

It’s more tired, less hostile. But no less bewildered, for all of that.

Hoseok wonders how stupid it is to wish that, just once, a bandaid could cure gaping wounds and broken hearts.

At least Yoongi isn’t sitting much apart from him. As they recline, Yoongi with his feet up on the table, the smaller man is close enough to touch. Hoseok, made greedy by everything that’s gone before, too drained to be afraid enough to stop, holds out his hand. After a moment of hesitation, Yoongi settles his hand on top. Not quite holding – his fingertips trace fitfully across Hoseok’s palm, a ticklish series of swirls and lines.

Yoongi seems content to sit as they are; his eyes are half-closed, and he doesn’t stir like Hoseok does, every few seconds shifting and tensing. Yoongi is good at accepting the things in his hands, especially if it’s what he’s wanted all along. For Hoseok, though…

The anxiety grows, and if it isn’t anywhere near strong enough to displace the satisfaction and almost-wholeness of the last hour or so, it’s too stubborn to totally dislodge from his mind.

He steals a look at Yoongi, at his long lashes lazily fluttering over his dark eyes, at the slight curl of his mouth, an unconscious expression of contentment. The sight has Hoseok’s throat closing with yearning, and he honestly can’t tell if it’s a longing for the man or his ability to exist in the moment. Hoseok used to be good at that – he used to be the best – but it’s something he’s lost over the years.

Just like so much else. How much of it can he get back? How much should he get back?

What if he wants it all?

He stirs for the umpteenth time, but more forcefully. When he withdraws his hand, Yoongi’s eyes slide open, head tipping to consider him. His expression is watchful and solemn, so much so that Hoseok realizes he hadn’t been as at ease as Hoseok had thought.

“Tired?” Yoongi asks wanly.

“Something like that,” Hoseok replies, just as faded.

There isn’t a window in this room, but there must be one in the kitchen because Yoongi says, “It’s almost a fucking snowstorm out there. Not much point in you going home in that.”

There’s a pause, and Yoongi’s gaze drifts to the hallway leading to his room. He hadn’t offered the space for them to fuck around in – a hurt that Hoseok buried deep in his chest when they began – and he seems to be struggling now. Furrows appear between his fine eyebrows, an eloquent testament to the conflict going on in his head, a return to the tension of before. Hoseok abruptly can’t bear to see it.

They both want so badly, but sometimes – for just today, or maybe forever – they have to accept that they can’t have it all.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” Yoongi stills at the declaration Hoseok makes, his hand coming up to press against his neck like he needs reassurance.

It’s such a lost, lonely look. Hoseok swallows, and then smiles. One of his better pieces. “It’s fine. You always get those rocks for pillows, I’ll be better out here.”

“They’re good for my neck,” Yoongi mutters, but his hand doesn’t leave his throat and he still looks unsure. Like any second he might blurt out the invitation that neither of them are really comfortable accepting.

“I still move around like a psycho in my sleep, Yoongs, ‘specially in an unfamiliar bed. Believe me, it’s better if I’m out here.” He meets Yoongi’s gaze, tries to reassure with eyes alone that he is okay with this.

And he is. Insofar as he’s been okay with anything tonight.

At last Yoongi relents and his hand falls. “‘Kay. I’ll grab you some shit.”

Blankets, a pillow, some oversized sweats, a toothbrush, they’re all unceremoniously dumped onto the couch. Yoongi – somewhat belatedly – gives him a tour of the small apartment, though it doesn’t include his room. It’s essentially to point out the bathroom and where the chipped glasses for water are in the kitchen. As he’d said, it’s snowing hard outside, and when Hoseok returns to the living room he actually feels grateful to be able to curl into blankets instead of straggling outside in the cold.

The rest is just cleaning up, fastidiously making a bed for himself, throwing on the sweatpants Yoongi provided, and then reclining on the couch. It’s just a bit too small, and he might or might not find himself falling off it at some point during the night – he was being honest about the restlessness thing – but nonetheless Hoseok grins at Yoongi, hovering nearby.

“Perfect!” he declares, stretching out his arms and wiggling his toes under the blanket.

Yoongi lifts an eyebrow at the enthusiastic and totally not excessive display. “You look like a kid at your first sleepover,” he observes with a snort that does nothing to dispel the affection in his voice.

Hoseok squirms his way deeper into the blankets in reply.

Smiling faintly, Yoongi shakes his head. “Night, Hobi. You want the light off?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

The living room is abruptly dark, leaving just the light spilling from behind the door to Yoongi’s bedroom, left slightly ajar. Hoseok wiggles a few more times, finding a more comfortable position. It’s as he’s sinking into the cushions with a sudden sense of exhaustion that he realizes Yoongi isn’t in his room; his silhouette is breaking up the light coming from there.

He cranes his neck, can’t see anything but Yoongi’s dim outline down the hall, and gives it up as a bad job. Instead Hoseok just stares up at the ceiling he can’t see, listening to the sound of his own steady breathing. He waits.

“Hey, Hobi?” Yoongi’s voice eventually slips through the dark room, diffidently calling for Hoseok’s attention, and he murmurs a quiet question in return.

“I missed you, too.”

It comes to Hoseok as Yoongi’s door softly closes that he’s holding his breath. Like a sudden exhale might release the thrumming in his chest. Like he might spill the nebulous joy if he sighs too hard. His thoughts are fragile with uncertainty. The elation is a shivery, delicate thing, and he knows if he holds it too hard in his head it’s going to go to pieces under the weight of the past.

So Hoseok doesn’t hold the words hard. He breathes. Breathes and closes his eyes and pushes his face into the pillow that smells like Yoongi. He follows those words as he slips into sleep, and he couldn’t have said where they were leading him.

#yoongi x hoseok #yoonseok #sope #yoonseok smut #yoongi #hoseok #my fic

14 notes · View notes

10kiaoi · 4 years

Photo

Tactical gear appreciation post lol.

CW: canon typical violence, issues related to death. Notes: Very much unbetaed and written with increasing desperation. Please go easy on me?

----

The first time Bond sees the boy, it’s in the busy shopping streets of Bangkok.

It’s midday and sweltering but the Pratunam district is buzzing with activity.

Bond idles along the street side vendors, ambling through the makeshift tents and racks. The crowd is thick enough that he brushes shoulders with others every few steps or so. He keeps half an eye on the lovely trinkets - little wooden carvings of various local fauna. The other half is firmly fixed on a man rumoured to be delving into the international arms trade.

He inspects a figurine of an elephant, tuning out the shopkeeper’s enthusiastic pitch in broken english.

A scream pierces the air- a high pitched shriek that sends the crowd careening backwards. As Bond is shoved backwards by the masses, he spots a man toppled over on the ground, motionless. Around him, there are yells in Thai, in English, in various other languages of the disturbed tourists.

He quickly scans the panicked crowd but catches nothing more than a flash of deep brunette melting away into the throngs.

It’s an unexpected sudden end to his current mission.

----

Berlin is a mess.

The woman Bond is tasked with assessing is KGB- turncoat and now looking for a new master. Bond strides into a small chain cafe on a quiet street. The cafe isn’t too busy- the few customers present are already seated and distracted. Anya Pavlova is seated in the far corner up against the wall, engaged in her book and a cup of coffee.

Bond heads to the counter, places his order. It arrives in short order and he chooses a seat by the window. The occasional autumn breeze is refreshing in the stuffy cafe, after sunny, tropical Bangkok.

Out of the corner of his eye, Pavlova slips into the washroom.

Bond tucks into his meal.

She slips back out after a brief pause, prim and proper, returns to her softback.

No one else gets up. Bond slides into the washroom. The note is exactly where Bond expects it to be. He glances quickly at the series of numbers- a phone number, tucks it into a secure little pocket in the lining of his jacket. He flushes the toilet, washes his hands and steps back out.

Pavlova waits for him to sit back down at his table before putting away her possessions into the little handbag at her side.

The waitress comes over smiling, a tray with a single cup. Bond frowns, ready to reject the clearly mistaken order. “With compliments, it’s already paid for!” the waitress chirps. Bond pauses, then graciously thanks the waitress as she transfers the cup to his table. He resolutely does not turn to look at Pavlova who is making for the door.

It’s a lovely rich black, no cream or sugar.

The napkin is folded neatly under the cup.

Bond looks down to check his phone. Pavlova steps out from under the shelter of the awning. The cashier’s cheerful “come again!” switches to a screech of horror, followed by several others both in and outside of the cafe.

Bond whips up with his heart pounding, only training preventing him from dropping his phone on the way. There’s a telltale metallic glint from a far off high rise, no more than a shimmer off what most would assume is reflective glass. It lasts no longer than a flash.

Pavlova is dead before she hits the ground.

----

M is understandably spitting mad.

One doesn’t come by an enemy agent offering their services everyday and Pavlova could have been a terrific addition to MI6’s arsenal of covert long term operatives what with already being in the KGB and all.

The morbid hilarity of the entire situation - Bond hasn’t done anything to influence such an outcome. A textbook execution practically.

And yet it has gone all tits up.

A fuming M marches him down to Q Branch with carte blanche to use all resources to find the leak. “Something we should have done since Bangkok!” M rages in a rare moment of self reproach as Bond bears her fury with silence.

A forensics team is sent to the building the sniper is suspected to have worked from. They find nothing. Q Branch fares no better, the few low res security cameras of little help when it turns out they have all gone down simultaneously around the time of the incident.

He’s grilled on what he remembers. Every tiny detail dragged out to be examined on all fronts to determine if he has missed anything.

There’s little else they can do with no other leads.

----

In Mexico City, Bond destroys an entire warehouse’s worth of hard drugs before it ever reaches his country’s shores.

The explosion is magnificent- a great blooming flameball and a sound blast that blows out every window in a one kilometer radius.

It’s almost makes up for being whacked hard enough atop the head that he blacks out instantly.

----

Miguel Garcia is a terrible host.

Bond watches as the man drops the unfortunate minion into a pit of crocs. The screams still ring in his ears when Garcia starts in on him. His earwig is long gone. For once, he misses having Q Branch in his ear.

Standard villain interrogation routine- a couple of hits here and there, a good deal of verbal threats, a few electrocutions to top it off. Nothing a double oh hasn’t been trained to take.

Bond laughs and screams through the entire facade, a savage grin splitting his face apart. He shoves the desperate need to know that someone is coming into a tiny box and pushes it into a dusty corner of his mind where a stone mansion lies.

Garcia is coming apart at the seams and for good reason. Between the two of them, Bond would garner Garcia’s in deeper shit and he gleefully tells Garcia so.

The lacerations with a dull knife are worth the brief terror turned rage across Garcia’s face.

----

Bond is thrown into a dark room and left to rot without food or water.

His body is a mass of bruises and pain - there isn’t a part of him that feels like he could sleep forever. The relative silence is a much cherished balm against the earlier violence. He’s just drifting off into a light doze- all the better for maintaining his energy reserves when the single shot echoes around the facility.

It’s loud and forbidding.

Bond jerks awake, adrenaline rushing through his veins.

There’s yelling and panic, a desperate attempt to mount some kind of defence but a great deal more bellows that cut off in the middle.

Bond’s heart pounds painfully in his chest. He staggers up, ignoring the painful pull at all his wounds.

Somewhere in the distance, there’s a bang of a grenade.

Outside his prison, there’s a crack. The door swings open. Bond squints at the sudden brightness. A familiar silhouette appears in the light of the doorway.

“Heard you needed backup, brother!”

Bond could just kiss him.

--------

What the hospital staff doesn’t know won't hurt them.

Bond makes it a point to share a drink with Felix whenever he’s in town. Langley isn’t too far from DC and it’s been a while since they have had the opportunity to catch up.

Well, that and the man rescued him from the clutches of Garcia. Bond owes Felix more than a round of drinks.

Bond steadily ignores the disapproving looks Felix aims at his shots. More than for the company, it’s an informal exchange of information- information locked behind red tape and bureaucracy in other circumstances. It’s efficient and lays bare the minute details Bond has to work to hunt down otherwise.

Felix tells him about an operation in Alaska of all places. Bond tells him about Bangkok. They both down a stiff drink.

Felix pauses, a momentary lapse that blares like an alarm to Bond’s trained eye.

Bond narrows his eyes. “What is it?”

Felix grimaces. Something like suspicion and dread creeps over Bond.

“About that, we found the warehouse because of a tipoff. Garcia was already dead when we got there.”

----

Felix doesn’t quite let him in to the CIA secure archives but it’s a pretty close thing.

He leaves Bond waiting in one of the meeting rooms, blinds drawn. When he returns, it’s with a thin folder. There’s also a ziplock with tiny metal pieces no bigger than pennies. Bond turns a skeptical gaze at Felix.

Felix waves the reports like a carrot on a stick. “All our agents’ reports of suspected encounters we have had with our man. Maybe you’ll see something our profilers haven’t.”

Bond’s gaze at the file turns covetous. Felix smirks.

The cases weren’t unlike his own experiences- clean kills, in and out before anyone is aware enough to act. Security cameras were as good as useless with how the feed has clearly been tampered with. Nothing he hasn’t already deduced from his own encounters. It’s entirely frustrating and Bond feels the prickle under his skin, a clawing need to know.

“Paranoid, that one,” Felix declares, settling into an empty chair. Bond snorts.

“He knows he’s being hunted,” Bond corrects.

“No one’s actually seen him, you’d be the first,” Felix admits, leaning backwards.

No traces left behind, no witnesses. Professional to the extreme.

Bond hisses in displeasure.

----

Felix insists on sending him to the airport despite his protests. Dulles International Airport comes into sight like a hulking grey beast, ugly and utilitarian.

“Take care, brother,” Felix wishes over their hug, leaving with several commiserating pats to Bond’s back, carefully avoiding the still healing areas.

A call comes over the speakers as Bond heads through the express security lane: boarding for flight SQ2522 has begun. There’s a flash of brunette curls in the distance- Bond’s heart lurches, mind flashing back to Bangkok. But no, it’s a lady, petite but tall.

For one irrational moment he thinks that it’s Vesper. Brilliant, gorgeous, traitorous Vesper with her wit and charm and lovely red lips.

But the woman moves out of sight towards her gate and the moment’s over and Bond is drawn back into the monochrome present.

----

It’s a random thought- one driven more by instinct from years in the field rather than any rational explanation.

He boards his plane- a direct flight back to London. It is after the stewardess has come round offering champagne that Bond pulls the memory of the little slip of paper Pavlova left behind for him in that Berlin cafe.

Pressing send feels akin to stirring a hornet’s nest.

----

“Thank you for the coffee. It was most delightful. See you soon.”

----

There isn’t much in Pavlova’s handbag- her phone, a softcover likely plucked from a discount bin, a half used tube of lipstick, a writing pad and a fountain pen.

It is the pen Bond focuses his attention on.

Q Branch excels in the technical fields. They’ve done their bit and gone through the cell. As expected of someone like Pavlova. The phone is clean - clearly a burner phone. It is a dead end.

Bond’s expertise is in people and their sentiments.

The fountain pen’s barrel glints, polished despite the corners where the gold has gone dull with age. The nib is uneven, as though grounded down by constant pressure on one side. There’s a ring around the feed and the section, perhaps originally gold like the decorative edgings and on the clip but the gold’s almost completely faded. Bond twists the ring.

A blade springs out from under the nib.

----

Taipei is unfinished business.

The cheap street food is an utter delight. Jiufen is beyond crowded on a weekend and going through the long narrow streets is a slow shuffle sandwiched between local hikers and curious tourists. Bond finds himself with a stick of some grilled meat in one hand,

Several meters ahead, a man walks on oblivious, arms laden down by souvenirs.

There’s a flash of brunette in the corner of Bond’s eye. His snack falls to the ground, abandoned as he slices through the crowd. Outraged yells go up behind him but his concentration has locked onto the scene before him.

It is deja vu.

He barrels through the horde, grasps the slender wrist in an iron grip.

He’s pinned by a wide eyed stare, brilliant green eyes shocked and surprised behind glasses.

Then the blade in the pen is abruptly twisted towards him.

The crowd topples backwards, shrill screaming accompanying the wave of people attempting to flee the altercation. It’s utter pandemonium.

Bond leaps backwards to dodge the blade, but the assailant follows, a dogged determination in his eyes. They grapple in the narrow stone street, amidst the fleeing crowd. The boy shoves him into a display counter of traditional snacks. He lashes out with a kick to the sternum, sending the boy into the corner of a wall and knocking the breath out of him.

They clamber to their feet and circle each other, bruised and all the more vicious for it.

The boy hisses under his breath, like a cat with its tail stepped on. Bond answers with a snarl of his own, blood dripping from the laceration on his cheek.

The streets have emptied by now, the target having slipped away in the commotion.

There’s a momentary flash of indecision, of uncertainty. Inexplicably, the boy turns and darts down an adjourning alleyway.

Bond curses, bolts after the flash of military green parka around the tight corners. He leaps five steps at a time down a steep stairway carved into the street, charging past the backs of residential houses.

He skids to a halt in the middle of a crossroad, utterly alone. There’s a familiar looking pen on the ground, its owner nowhere to be found. In the distance, there are sirens.

Bond sends a fist into the ground, knuckles white beneath the bruises.

----

Wang Guo Pei is a pale faced man, still green from the attempt on his life.

He is also the younger brother of the man killed in Bangkok, whose death has and still is sending ripples across the networks. The interrogation room is bleak and bare. The cold lights enhance the man’s sickly look, hallowed by fear and anxiety over the threat of death even through the filter of the camera.

The Underworld really doesn’t care if one is just a foot soldier, not when one is relation and have access to the inner workings of the organization. MI6 has no such qualms either.

Bond has lost track of how many lesser devils MI6 has had to make a deal with to nail bigger fish.

He watches as the interrogation is repeated, fiddling with his own souvenir. Unlike Pavlova’s, this model sports a two barrel converter on top of the hidden blade. One is filled with regular ink. The other… Bond replaces the cap firmly, slips it back into an inner pocket.

He doesn’t put much stock in working with an entire team with how often they just slow him down instead of being helpful. But M’s made up her mind and the powers that be agree. He’s on his way towards the waiting ops team and Wang three hours later.

----

“Now pay attention, 007, this is a bulletproof suit-”

“Yes, thank you Major, I know what a bulletproof suit does.”

“Not this one, you don’t, now pay attention! I don’t want to have to repeat myself. Now see this here, this little bag, it’s been engineered to be filled with blood- ”

“Isn’t that just a water balloon?”

----

Hours later, Bond lands in Changi Airport, Singapore with new orders and new purpose.

----

Q slips into the office tower easily, waiting for the last few stragglers making their way out to pass by before continuing on his way to the lifts. The night patrol is swiftly dealt with, a quick prick of a gel coated dart with fast acting amnesiac properties.

The ride up is silent, no cheery elevator music to soften the adrenaline. He uses the time to check on his systems briefly. A flick on his phone brings up the app that mirrors the processes his laptop is carrying out while tucked away safely in his hotel suite. It’s a particular test of his abilities, this city, with all its zealousness in adhering to security measures. His laptop has been running nonstop since the moment he stepped foot on this island.

The security cameras remain silent in their judgement. His finger twitches, feeling the weight of his missing pen acutely.

The accomplishment of successful missions has long since worn off. The thrill of travel, of seeing the world and all it offers has dulled with the gravity of the situation he finds himself in. Pavlova’s death is still a fresh wound, the condolences offered by the organization doing nothing to stem the loss and grief that accompanies losing the only maternal figure he has in his life.

Last one, and then you’re out.

The rifle is cold and heavy in his arms.

A robotic female voice announces the level they’ve arrived at and Q steps out.

Wang is immediately visible in the building across the road, in his office.

Q runs a last check of the cameras. They come back clear so he drops to a knee, setting up his equipment. The thick glass of the skyscraper is easily dealt with, a perfect circle being cut out and lifted away to reveal a small hole through which the rifle can be fired through.

It takes no more than a few seconds.

Wang goes down in his office, blood painting the walls.

Q starts packing up.

----

Several muffled shots are followed by a heavy thump.

The man stepping out of the shadows with his Walther primed and ready in his hand is a familiar face. Q can’t tear his eyes away, entranced when the MI6 agent unceremoniously drops the body to the ground.

Q’s stomach drops, visibly blanching.

He recognizes the corpse’s issue of equipment- he’s helped design some of it in fact.

He knows for a fact, that particular section never comes alone.

“Seems like you’ve pissed off your employer,” the man he fought in Taiwan drawls.

Q’s hand goes for his rifle, only to flinch away when the man fires a warning shot. Q freezes. The man motions with his Walter. Q obeys, sliding the rifle away out of reach. He’s mentally flashing through all his equipment, looking for a way to buy time and find an exit, recalling all the areas where he landed hits just days ago.

“Bond,” the man pauses significantly, “James Bond. 007.”

Q blinks. Then slowly, “Am I supposed to curse your name as you kill me then?”

Bond stares, confusion then exasperation. “Oh for Christ’s sake, the one time I try to be civil,” Bond grumbles mutinously.

Q has to hastily stifle a laugh at Bond’s disgruntlement. There’s a moment of acknowledgement of the ludicrousness, yet it somehow lightens the atmosphere between him and and his would be executioner. It’s jarring, how that one line manages to bring a little humour back to his life. It’s simply another indicator of how much the state of things has deteriorated around him without him noticing.

It’s almost regretful it isn’t likely to last.

Q tenses as Bond’s hand creeps to one of his pockets.

It’s cruel irony, if Bond does indeed intend to use that object as an instrument of Q’s death.

Q turns distraught eyes upon the agent- a double oh, if he’s to be believed.

“I gave her that,” Q whispers, eyes locked onto Pavlova’s pen in Bond’s fingers.

“She gave it to me,” Bond states.

Q’s face falls.

“Is what I was ordered to tell you,” Bond continues, voice dropping to a murmur, “But I think you’ve been lied to enough, wouldn’t you say.”

The full force of grief knocks the breath from his chest once again.

Q watches with detached fascination as Bond winces, reaching up to remove the earpiece and drop it in a pocket.

Bond turns back to him in all seriousness, and the dread rises again.

“I couldn’t do this for someone else,” Bond murmurs, catching him around the waist. And oh, how Q can see the same loss and anguish in the other as if they are kindred spirits. “Someone important to me,” Bond chokes out, “but you have a choice now. You wanted out, this is your chance.”

How Q wants to believe him.

He leans in, breathes two words into Bond’s ear.

Bond breaks out in a small, relieved grin.

----

Bond cups Q’s face, pressing their foreheads together in reassurance.

Q takes a steadying breath. His death is now fully in MI6’s- in James’ hands.

“Now darling, do be a good boy and put this on for me,” James whispers conspiratorially.

#00q #quartermaster #james bond #007 #art by op #fanfics #not sure if i'd be able to crank out anything next week #this is prolly the last art for this year??#and decade #just wants to art tactical gear #ends up ficcing 3k words #if you don't count the deleted versions #i did not expect to spend an entire day just for this 3k of words #WHEEZE #hms 00q

1K notes · View notes

ghost-town-story · 3 years

Text

(Two snippets today, both too short/incomplete to warrant their own post so they’ll have to share one lol. First one is from Band AU, second is an HP AU of mind that will otherwise never see the light of the internet)

From Band AU:

James groaned, flopping down in the grass. “Why do I have to be reminded that all the assholes are so hot?” he complained.

“Unfortunate same,” Summer agreed, collapsing next to him, their skirts poofing out around them.

“Babe,” Will said, raising his eyebrow.

“They are hot and assholes,” Summer clarified. “You are hot and a sweetheart, and therefore way better.”

“Fair enough.” Will shrugged and joined the two on the ground, snuggling into Summer.

“Bi-pan solidarity,” James said, holding up a fist. “Commiserating over the fact that all the hot people are assholes.”

“Not quite all,” Summer said.

“A solid 80%, then.”

“That I can get behind.” Summer returned James’s fist bump.

And snuggles in the HP AU:

James watched Aiden as his boyfriend curled up in the windowsill, scribbling away in his journal. He was rarely seen without it these days, frowning and making notes, but nobody, not even James, had been able to catch a glimpse of whatever it was he was writing.

James sighed, crossing the common room and settling across from his boyfriend in the windowsill. “Whatcha writing?”

Aiden glanced up, a smile flickering across his face. “Just thoughts.”

“About?” James prodded.

Aiden finished his sentence, then blew on the ink to make sure it was dry before closing his journal. He snapped off the inky end of the quill, then popped the feathery end into his mouth.

James blinked. “You’re writing with a sugar quill?”

“Everybody’s so surprised,” Aiden smirked. “I haven’t gotten ink poisoning yet, so nothing’s going to stop me.”

“Little rebel.”

“Oh you know it.” Aiden gave James a Look, and James shifted slightly before holding out his arms. Aiden gratefully crawled into his embrace, resting his head on James’s shoulder.

“So, what thoughts?” James asked, running his hand through Aiden’s silky hair.

Aiden sighed, his breath brushing James’s neck. “Nothing happy.”

“Then share. You shouldn’t have to bear this alone.”

Aiden hummed, turning his head to kiss James’s shoulder.

James snagged the sugar quill from Aiden’s fingers, and held it aloft. “You get this back when you share,” he teased.

Aiden pushed himself up, pouting grumpily at James. “No fair,” he whined.

James raised an eyebrow, making to snap himself off a piece.

“Fine,” Aiden huffed, flopping back down on James and winding him.

[skipping most of the srs convo for more of the snuggles]

Aiden pulled away for a moment, letting the sugar quill fall as he kissed James. James could taste the sugar on his lips.

“If you got hurt, and I could stop it,” Aiden murmured, “I could never forgive myself.”

“I’ll be fine.” James bit Aiden’s lip, sucking at the sweet aftertaste of the quill. “It’s not your responsibility to keep everybody safe.”

Aiden broke away, looking down at James, and James couldn’t read his blue eyes. But before James could question him, Aiden leaned in to kiss James again.

“You’re mine to protect,” he mumbled possessively, and James laughed against his lips, pulling him closer.

“Oi!” Aiden jerked back, startled, and James turned his head to see Ron leaning against the back of the couch. “Are we working on homework or what?” he asked.

“Or what,” James said smugly, and Aiden laughed, quickly finding his sugar quill again.

#writing #in which i write #snippets #band au #harry potter #(barely tho in this snippet)#original work #fanfic #pridewrite2021 #pw7 #pw alt7 #band au one is short and dum #but i am merely here to be short n dum and not serious lol

5 notes · View notes

teaplease1717 · 4 years

Text

Story: Ashes of Love and War

Chapter: 10 / ?

Couple: Todoroki Shouto / Yaoyorozu Momo (TodoMomo)

Rating: M (for language and violence)

Betas: @flourchildwrites (Link) & C’s Melody (Link) and 666-HyuugaNeji-999 (Link)

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638800/chapters/62319862#workskin

Sorry everyone. Obviously, I’m not very good with sticking to a posting schedule. Lol. I was a mod on the TodoMomo Mini Bang. Which if you haven’t checked out, definitely do. Here’s the link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TodoMomo_Mini_Bang_2020

Anyways, I was a mod on that, and it had been sucking up a lot of time, then life got crazy for both myself and my betas but hopefully, my posting schedule should return to semi-normal now.

XXXXXXXX

Momo’s breath caught in her throat, and her eyes widened as his lips brushed against hers — soft, gentle. He kissed her like he really did care for her, as if he meant what he said.

‘You hold some significance to him.’

Momo’s toes curled. Warmth spread within her stomach. She closed her eyes as his fingers cupped her jaw, lifting her head to deepen the kiss.

It felt nice. It wasn’t supposed to feel nice, but it did.

Her heart was pounding in her chest. Her hands twitched, and she lifted them hesitantly, unsure what to do with them or whether she wanted to pull him closer or push him away.

Momo hadn’t realized that she could be affected like this.

Affected by him.

He was a Spartan. An enemy of Troy. He had helped burn her city to the ground, loot their temples, enslave her people. And yet, he had been nothing but civil — if not even decent — to her and Tokoyami.

He treated them like people. He answered her questions. He never raised his voice at her or hit her. He talked to her. A moment before, he had even been trying to make her feel better.

Was he really as bad as Tokoyami said?

Todoroki’s mouth moved against hers for a moment longer before he pulled back, and he looked down at her. His red and white bangs brushed against her forehead, and she could feel the warmth of his breath against her lips. His expression was softer than Momo had ever seen, and it made her heart ache painfully.

Could he really care for her?

‘He’s only acting kind to make you compliant.’

That’s right. There was no way he could like her in any significant way. They hardly knew each other. She trembled, her stomach clenching painfully as another unwanted thought came to her.

‘Don’t forget. He only sees us as tools. To him, significance equates to ‘value,’ and a person only has value when they are useful for his purposes.’

“You’re lying.”

It was a whisper against his lips.

Todoroki’s expression instantly shuttered. He withdrew his hand and took a step back.

The warm night air suddenly felt chilled.

Momo froze, and her eyes widened as, with dawning horror, she remembered her station in their contract. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth as her mind registered what she had just said out loud. She had sold herself to Todoroki, she wasn’t supposed to defy him.

She had to make this right.

She felt sick. “Todoroki! I –“

“I don’t lie,” he cut her off. His expression was frigid; Momo could see his jaw clench. “I don’t need to. If I say something, it’s my word.”

Momo stepped back as he stared at her. His eyes were cold. She tried to swallow over a tight throat but couldn’t. Her stomach twisted so painfully she thought she’d throw up. He was her master. What slave spoke like that to the person who owned them?

She had no idea where this rebellious side of her had come from. It seemed that whenever she was with him, all she ever did was challenge him. She was never like this at the temple. Where had this sudden bout of stupidity come from?

She stumbled backwards. Then, before she could process her actions, she was running. If he called after her, cursed at her, Momo had no idea. She bolted up the stairs and down the hallway to her room. Her heart was pounding so ferociously in her chest, it wouldn't have been surprising if it completely stopped.

She shut the door and collapsed onto the floor, shaking with terror.

Stupid. So stupid, Momo berated herself as she tried to listen for Todoroki’s footsteps following her. But it was impossible to hear anything over her racing heart. Momo’s fingers trembled against her legs.

What had she been thinking? After all the countless times that Tokoyami had warned her to stay away from Todoroki, told her that he was cunning and dangerous, she had gone and walked right into his arms, like a fly into a spider’s web.

All it took was a few kind words to sway her.

Momo slumped further against the door and dropped her face into the crook of her elbow. She was a fool.

Her parents had given her to the wrong god. They should have given her to Koalemos, the god of stupidity and foolishness, not Apollo. At least there she would have fit in.

If it wasn’t the middle of the night she’d scream.

Momo buried her face in her hands. It hadn’t even been more than a few hours since Tokoyami had reminded her to stay away from Todoroki.

Dangerous. Manipulative. Cunning. That was how Tokoyami had described Todoroki as he reprimanded her for blushing and acting weak in front of the Spartan earlier in the evening. He’d also said that he was done warning her to be careful. It was up to her to monitor her own actions from now on – and look where that had gotten her...

Momo pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. Perhaps, if she hadn’t been feeling useless and upset over Tokoyami acting like she was incapable of accurately judging a person’s character herself, she would have made a wiser decision than to stand there like a fool and let Todoroki kiss her.

She groaned. The worst part of it all was that part of her had liked it. The kiss had been so different from their first one. It had made her heart beat faster, and warmth to flow through her. And part of her mind had even wondered what it would be like to kiss him back.

She felt her face warm, and pushed the thought away furiously.

Be who she wanted to be? Momo scoffed. What Todoroki had offered her was too ideal. No man would ever offer his wife — much less his slave — such liberties. And she had almost believed him too. Her stomach rolled.

The only positive that had come out of the whole encounter was that now she had finally realized that Tokoyami was right; Aphrodite had clearly clouded her vision and weakened her heart.

Momo sighed, and dropped her head back onto her knees. She needed to come up with a plan, an operation to prove to herself that these feelings beginning to grow in her chest for her master were a weed, not a flower.

She stood up, and made her way to her bed. Her recent bout of terror and anxiety had left her exhausted. She crawled onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Thinking about it realistically, even if she didn’t do anything, Todoroki would likely reveal his true nature sooner rather than later anyway.

Men hated being challenged. Even now, Todoroki was probably thinking of ways to get back at her, contemplating the best ways to punish her for her disobedience.

Honestly, she made the most impertinent, opinionated slave. Couldn’t she have just kept her thoughts to herself?

Momo closed her eyes and draped her arm over her face. Worst case scenario, Todoroki would renege on his promise to free Tokoyami. Before that could happen, she needed to appease him. She had nothing left to trade, she had already given herself to Todoroki as a slave to be allowed to heal Tokoyami, all she could do now was apologize and pray to Clementia that he’d accept that.

Momo turned on her side and curled into a ball. She felt sick. Her head was throbbing. She closed her eyes and lay there trying to think of ways to properly apologize to Todoroki as she waited for someone to come get her for her shift.

No one ever came and she fell asleep.

XXXXXX

43 days post the fall of Troy

Momo had never been known for her ability to hide her emotions, so it wasn’t a complete surprise when Tokoyami had guessed something had happened between her and Todoroki. However, his decision to confront Todoroki over his presumed assumptions had been too much for Momo to bear. She had cracked, telling him about the kiss and her subsequent insubordination to Todoroki.

Tokoyami had been furious at her, as she had expected. Even after she had apologized, he’d barely spoken to her for days, and had almost completely withdrawn from her.

Now he only spent his time with Asui, helping her around the house or going with her on patrols. The few times they did speak alone, he had only grown exasperated with her.

Momo’s lips thinned as she pulled on gloves before picking up a stone mallet and pestle full of dark purple berries. Carefully, she began grinding the berries into a paste.

She had always seen Tokoyami as an older brother — her only family. And she reasoned it was normal for families to fight, but with his pointed comments, Momo had to wonder if he had lost all faith in her.

She pressed the mallet into the pestle harder.

The feeling of their relationship stretching like a thread sat heavy on her consciousness and it made her angry at him, and at herself. She knew she shouldn’t have let Todoroki kiss her, but it wasn’t like she had done anything wrong, and she had apologized. Tokoyami just didn’t believe her.

Another thing for her to fix.

Momo paused and brushed her nose with the back of her wrist. “It smells sweet.”

“Sweet but highly lethal,” Shouta Aizawa replied in a bland tone. He walked over to the shelves lining the back wall of the small medicine room, and pulled a clay jar from the top. “Two berries have enough potency to kill a child. Four or five will cause paralysis and death in a healthy adult.”

Momo shivered faintly as she continued to grind the dark, purple berries into a paste.

The windowless room had been transformed into a medicinal stockroom. Shelves lined the walls, packed with pots and tinctures of varying sizes. Bronze tripods had been set up in the corners, providing light. And in the center of the room was a single, wooden table, but no chairs. Aizawa had said that one should never be comfortable when dealing with life and death.

It had been a little over two weeks since Todoroki had kissed her, and she still hadn’t apologized to him. She had planned to ask for forgiveness on one of their nightly patrols, but he had been going by himself.

It was somewhat disconcerting. He wasn’t acting like she’d expected at all. He hadn’t yelled or hit her. If anything he acted like she barely existed. Her heart panged every time she thought about it.

She was being ignored on all fronts.

The extra time added to her schedule — which should have been a blessing and allowed her more sleep — had, in fact, done the complete opposite. With her and Tokoyami’s friendship strained, Momo found her dreams growing steadily worse. More violent. More terrifying.

Then, a few days ago, everything had struck her. All her emotions: her anxiety, frustration, stress and the uncertainty over the last month had hit her, and she had ended up approaching Aizawa, begging him to teach her how to brew his various elixirs.

The head of the orphanage was meticulous and, in many ways, unforgiving, but he was a good teacher. And the attention and precision he required of her was a welcome distraction from the restlessness that had settled over her.

Aizawa moved back to her side and handed her the jar.

Momo glanced at the front. The face was intricately painted with purple, bell-shaped flowers with green tinges.

“If they're so dangerous, why do you keep this?” she asked, as she carefully began to use the pestle to funnel the smashed berries into the jar.

"Like any plant, it has multiple uses,” he said, looking down at her. “On spears and knives, it is effective to ward off the stymphalian. But, if heavily diluted, a little can alleviate coughs and colds. Or it can even help with pain if spread on a wound.”

Momo nodded, pressing her lips together as she twisted the top of the jar shut. She moved past Aizawa to the shelves. Pushing herself up onto her toes, she carefully placed the jar on the top shelf to ferment.

Four other painted vessels were nestled on the ledge. Momo paused for a moment and let her fingers skim over the illustration on another. It was a detailed depiction of a stymphalian with its wings outstretched. “These are beautiful,” she whispered in awe. “Did you paint all of these yourself?” she asked louder, looking over her shoulder.

“Out of necessity,” he said dismissively. “A surgeon must always be prepared. One slip up and I’d be sending my patients into the afterlife. The paintings are so I can tell the elixirs apart at a glance.”

Momo nodded and looked back at the jars. “I haven’t seen many of these before.”

“You probably wouldn’t. The others are ricinus, hemlock, oleander, and stymphalian poison.”

Momo studied the designs for a moment, and then dropped down from her toes. The lower shelves were packed with evenly sized tinctures of medicine made from Eri’s power. There was enough to heal twenty to thirty people. Far more injuries than any of them had sustained in the last month.

She picked one up and studied the shimmering, silver liquid. “And what do you do with all of these? You don’t use them all for fighting the stymphalian, do you?”

“I sell them.”

Momo raised an eyebrow. “Where? In the city?”

Aizawa stared at her. His face was impassive. “No,” he said after a moment. “To pirates.”

Momo felt her blood run cold. She looked up sharply and stared at Aizawa. “Pirates?”

“An old friend,” Aizawa clarified dismissively, leaning against the table. “Her crew should be arriving in the next week or so with more supplies.”

Momo put the vial back on the shelf and turned to fully face him. “Is that really a good idea?” she asked skeptically. “Do they even know about the children? How do you know if you can trust them?”

Aizawa leaned his head back and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Momo closed her mouth and swallowed her other thoughts; she had learned throughout her stay that he had little patience for multiple questions.

“The captain has been an ally to us for a long time,” he said after a pause. “We barter the medicine I make in exchange for vegetables and other supplies we can’t get here.”

Her lips thinned. It seemed careless to be dealing with pirates, but Momo knew Aizawa was anything but careless.

Realization struck her, and she looked up sharply. “That’s why we haven’t gone on the offensive yet, isn’t it?” she asked in disbelief. “We’ve been waiting for them to arrive and help fight.”

Aizawa dropped his hand and looked back at her.

Momo continued doggedly. “When we met Asui at sea... It seemed like a coincidence that she found us, but it wasn’t, was it? She hadn’t been looking for survivors of a shipwreck, at least not our shipwreck. She was looking for them — the pirates.”

“Yes,” Azawai said. “I instructed Asui to find Emi Fukukado and her crew. But instead, she brought you all back. A coincidence that turned out to be favorable.”

Momo’s stomach dropped. Her lip twitched, and she swallowed thickly. It shouldn’t have been surprising, but somehow Aizawa’s confirmation of her thoughts felt like a betrayal, as if he had orchestrated the whole encounter.

She shook her head and opened her mouth to ask her next question.

“Anyway, enough discussion for now,” he said sternly, cutting her off and closing the subject. Aizawa straightened. “We’ll continue making the potion after it’s had enough time to ferment,” he said, waving his hand towards the wall. “For now, go help Asui with lunch. I have more work to do.”

Momo nodded slowly as Aizawa dismissed her.

Her chest felt tight as she pulled off her gloves and left Aizawa’s medical room. It had always been a mystery where Aizawa got his supplies. She had assumed that Asui had picked them up, but to rely on pirates seemed strange. It begged the question: did the pirates even know about the stymphalian?

Normal humans wouldn’t set foot on the island because of the stymphalian, but these pirates had, and from the way Aizawa had spoken, this wasn’t their first visit.

Was the situation not what she had originally thought? What was Aizawa not saying?

Momo shook her head. Standing in the middle of the hallway wouldn’t help her solve anything. She needed to think about it later. Perhaps she’d try to talk to Tokoyami. Her heart sank at the thought, knowing he’d most likely dismiss her concerns.

Still, she couldn’t let that stop her.

Her mind made up, Momo forced away the uneasiness in her limbs, and went to look for Asui, knowing that Tokoyami would be there too.

She found them in the kitchen, heads leaned close together as they whispered to one another. Momo stilled.

Asui looked up. “Momo,” she said, taking a step back from Tokoyami.

“I'm sorry,” Momo apologized. “I didn't mean to interrupt.”

Asui shook her head. “You didn't interrupt, kero.” She wiped off her hands on a towel and picked up a tray. “I was just about to go put this in the oven. If you’re done with Aizawa, would you mind helping Tokoyami cut some vegetables, kero?” she asked.

Momo hummed in agreement as the nereid slipped out of the door.

Once she had left, Momo stared at the back of Tokoyami’s head for a moment as he continued working.

The room suddenly felt uncomfortable. Momo brought her right hand up to grasp her opposite arm. “I need to talk to you,” she finally said.

Tokoyami looked up and his eyes flashed. “Is it about the Spartan again?” he asked slowly, his voice tight.

Momo’s stomach curled and she frowned. “No, it’s not,” she forced the words out. Her fingers dug into her arm. “But I said I was sorry, and I’m not talking to him, so I don’t know why you're still angry.”

“I’m not angry.” Tokoyami placed his knife down and turned towards her. “I’m frustrated and exasperated, yes. But not angry.”

He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. There was a righteous anger in his yellow-bird-like eyes that made Momo’s throat tighten. “You had promised me three times that you were going to be careful around him, and that’s not even counting when you sold yourself to him.” His voice was flat and matter-of-fact, and she flinched at the words. “If you aren’t going to listen to me then I don’t want to talk about your feelings or supposed lack of feelings for him. You are a grown woman and you can decide who to trust yourself. Anyway — ” He waved his hand dismissively, and his eyes flickered as he changed the topic abruptly. “Let's not get into this argument right now. What is it you wished to speak about?”

Momo swallowed. She felt anger clench in her chest almost painfully. She wanted to scream. He always did this. He was passing the blame off to her. Making it seem like she was the unreasonable one. Her stomach felt tight and she dropped her arms to her side to ball her hands into fists.

She loved Tokoyami, but she could never win. No matter the argument, he always had to be right. And the problem was he was a better debater and more stubborn than her.

Momo ground her teeth in frustration, and set her jaw. She hadn’t come here to argue, she reminded herself. Momo drew in a deep breath. “I don’t think Aizawa — and maybe even Asui — are telling us the whole truth about what is happening here,” she said slowly.

Tokoyami’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Momo continued. “I mean, it's been a month since we arrived, and he still hasn’t divulged what the plan is. And then, just now, Aizawa told me that pirates will be coming to the island. Why wouldn’t he have said anything? And the way he spoke makes it seem that they have been coming here for awhile. But normal people would never step foot on this island, so do they even know about the dangers? Plus, have you ever wondered about this house? How did Aizawa build this all by himself?”

“You’re overthinking, Yaoyorozu,” Tokoyami interrupted with a sigh. “Aizawa and Asui have been nothing but good to us since we’ve arrived. And I’ve spoken to Asui. A dark guilt hangs above her head for tricking us that first time. I don’t think she’d willingly hide details again, unless it was for a good cause. Besides, if they were using us, Asui wouldn’t have offered for us to stay here once the mission is done.”

Momo blinked, taken aback by the sudden turn of the conversation. “Stay here?” Somehow, she’d never entertained that as an option.

“Yes,” Tokoyami nodded and uncrossed his arms, taking a step closer to her. “We can make a life here, away from the darkness of war and discrimination. We can finally be free.” His words were full of hope.

“But...but how do we know we can trust them?”

Tokoyami’s yellow, bird-like eyes flashed, and he jutted out his beak defensively. “You trust that Spartan more than Aizawa and Asui?”

Momo shifted. Her hands shook. Tokoyami was the one who was always saying to be careful around Todoroki, but now it was suddenly okay to trust Aizawa and Asui? He was a hypocrite. “That’s not what I meant…”

“You don’t need to feel tied to Todoroki just because you agreed to sell yourself to him,” Tokoyami snapped.

Momo flinched.

“You’ve always been like this.” His voice rose. “You act like the world is your responsibility. Did you already forget how awful the priestesses were to you at the temple? How they only acted like your friends when they needed something or were scared of me?”

Momo didn’t answer. His words hurt.

Tokoyami exhaled through his nose. “That Spartan is no different. He doesn't see you as human. And the way he looks at you...I don't know. It's unsettling. We need to get away from him as soon as possible. Besides, what’s he going to do to stop us if we decide to leave?”

Momo looked away. “I don't know,” she said quietly. She brought her hand up to clench over her chest. She suddenly felt very, very alone.

“Stop.”

Momo looked up sharply. Tokoyami was staring at her, his eyes hard. “The war is over,” he said. “We survived. And now we’re free of the dark. We can start fresh. You don’t have to be tied to him,” he repeated. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Her shoulders pulled inward slightly. She didn't want to fight again. They were always fighting these days. Couldn't they just go back to normal?

“Okay, I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m being illogical,” Momo whispered. She couldn’t do this anymore.

The heaviness in the room was palpable.

The kitchen door suddenly opened as Asui re-entered the room. Her eyes widened as she stopped in the doorway and looked between the two. “Is everything okay, kero?”

“Yes,” they said in unison.

Asui blinked and tapped on her chin. "If you say so," she said hesitantly, obviously feeling the bitter tension that hung in the air.

Momo swallowed and turned, going over to the water bucket to wash her hands. She could feel Asui’s eyes on the back of her head. For once, Momo wished she could talk to her, but the nereid wouldn't be alone until they retreated back to their room for the night.

She bit her lip. In all her years of knowing Tokoyami, they had never disagreed like this, and the thought made her stomach churn.

She wanted to talk to someone. She had never been very good at keeping her thoughts to herself. It was what had gotten her in trouble with Todoroki in the first place, but she couldn’t help it.

“Lunch is about done,” Asui said suddenly, breaking the silence. “Yaoyorozu, can you please go get the children, kero?”

Momo nodded and headed out to the courtyard. She noticed Asui step closer to Tokoyami as she closed the kitchen door behind her, and tried to ignore the hollow ache in her chest.

The mid-morning sun shone down, already hot, highlighting the enclosed grounds. Potted olive and lemon trees decorated the stoned space, and on the far left side of the courtyard, a stone oven was nestled next to the wall.

In the middle of the garden stood a simple fountain adorned with a statue of Hephaestus, god of the forge and protector of outcasts. His short blond hair was swept backwards, with two distinct tufts sticking up above his head.

She looked up and paused. Across the courtyard, the children stood in awe, watching with wide eyes and open mouths as Shouto Todoroki demonstrated different dueling poses.

Momo stepped quickly behind a pillar. She hadn’t expected to see him. She felt her face warm and she pressed her hand to her chest as she leaned around the limestone pillar to watch secretly.

What was he doing out here?

The children were picking up sticks, imitating his movements as they swung at imaginary foes. Todoroki knelt down next to one of the boys and adjusted his hands.

Her chest tightened as she watched him. He seemed calmer today, she noted. Not as tense as usual.

Movement across the yard caught Momo’s attention as two boys suddenly jumped on Todoroki’s back. He lost his balance and fell backwards onto the ground with a huff. The boys whooped in triumph and began to wage an all-out assault on him, trying to pin Todoroki to the ground.

Momo felt the corners of her lips lift slightly. He didn’t seem like the type to put up with children, and yet he was acting so gentle. It was unexpected and slightly heartwarming.

She watched them for a moment before taking a deep breath to calm herself. She stepped around the pillar, clapping. “Okay, enough,” she called. "Lunch is ready. Go clean up.”

The boys tumbled off of Todoroki shouting and jeering, their attention diverted as they ran back inside pushing each other.

“No pushing,” Momo half-heartedly called after them. They ignored her. She sighed and looked back up. Todoroki was staring at her.

Momo froze. She felt her cheeks grow warm.

Slowly, Todoroki pushed himself up. He brushed his hands off on his chiton, and then looked back at her, his expression indecipherable.

She swallowed over a thick throat. It was the first time they had been alone like this since the incident.

Part of her urged her to turn around and not engage with him; it would only prove Tokoyami’s point. But another part of her was angry. Tokoyami didn’t believe her anyway, so what was the point of trying to ignore Todoroki?

She couldn’t fight two fronts. Tokoyami obviously wasn’t going to forgive her anytime soon. The least she could do was smooth out her relationship with Todoroki.

Momo brought a hand up to clench over her chest as they stared at each other.

“You didn’t seem like the type to be fond of children,” she said after a moment to break the silence.

Todoroki shrugged, and rubbed the back of his neck. "They're fine. They don't mean any harm," he said, drawing closer. “Were you helping Aizawa again?”

Momo stiffened. She had never asked his permission if she could intern under Aizawa and he had never said anything about it before. She bit her lip. “Yes, I just ended today’s lesson.”

Todoroki nodded. “Good.”

She didn’t know what to do with that response. He didn’t seem angry at least. She licked her lips. She needed to apologize and couldn’t afford to keep putting it off. Now was as good of time as any.

“Todoroki, I–” Momo drew in a deep breath, and dropped her gaze as she wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m sorry," she said softly.

He looked at her and raised a brow. “For what?”

Momo shifted. Her fingers tightened into the fabric of her chiton. Her heart was beating faster and faster in her chest and her throat felt dry.

“For running away. For not apologizing for what I said,” she forced out.

Todoroki looked away and shrugged. “It’s fine.”

Her eyes snapped up, and she at him. Was that it? The conversation felt anti-climatic. She had prepared to at least have him snap at her.

She couldn’t understand him at all, and didn’t know what to think about that.

“How’s working with Aizawa?” he suddenly asked, turning to look at her.

Momo tucked a piece of hair behind her ear as the abrupt change in topic caught her off guard. She swallowed. “I’ve been learning a lot. He’s been teaching me how to make the bases for a lot of different healing pastes and medicines. It’s actually really incredible. Even as the top healer in Troy there is still a lot I need to learn.”

Todoroki nodded and — if she could read him — seemed almost vaguely pleased.

Momo bit her lip as silence settled between them and her thoughts returned to Aizawa and her recent conversation. Tokoyami had dismissed her concerns, but she couldn’t push the conversation away as easily.

She looked up and studied Todoroki from under her lashes. As confusing as Todoroki’s actions were, she couldn’t deny that he was a highly skilled warrior with excellent judgment. It was a possibility that he would know what Aizawa was up to. Or he could think she was completely irrational.

Momo’s lips thinned. “Aizawa informed me that pirates will be arriving on the island soon.”

She looked up at Todoroki’s face. His expression didn’t change.

Momo’s eyes narrowed. “You knew?”

“Suspected.”

“How, then? Because we haven’t launched an operation?”

Todoroki sighed and brought his hand up to rest upon his sword’s hilt. “People like Aizawa are always planning something. He’s been nothing but secretive since we arrived. It isn’t that far-fetched that he’s been hiding something like this.”

It was true. The earlier conversation weighed heavily on her conscience. Why wouldn’t Aizawa have said anything earlier? What benefit did he have for hiding information?

Momo pressed her lips together. “I think something is happening here," she said slowly. She looked down and brought her hand up, pressing her index finger to her chin. "The stymphalian are supposed to be vicious, which we have seen is true, but it almost seems like they have a personal grudge against Aizawa. I’ve had this thought for a while, but — I wonder if something happened recently to get them riled up. Do you think Aizawa did something?” she asked, looking up.

“Possibly.”

"But why would Aizawa lie and make it sound like it's always been like this?”

Todoroki’s expression darkened. He shrugged and looked away. “Everyone has their own agenda. Gods and mortals alike." His tone was acrid.

Momo’s eyebrows drew together. “You sound resentful.”

His fingers twitched on his sword. “I’ve just been dealing with manipulative gods and people for a long time. They use people like pawns that can be disposed of as soon as they aren’t needed anymore. It’s disgusting.”

Momo frowned. "Did the Prince not have his own agenda? You fought for him and didn’t seem to care."

He shifted. "It’s not that I didn’t care. Bakugo is easy enough for me to understand. He never hides what he wants. He’s straightforward. I’m better at dealing with people like that than those who hide their true intentions.” He looked down at her. He had an unreadable expression on his face, but his eyes seemed to search hers expectantly. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

Momo felt her stomach twist. He looked like he wanted to kiss her again. Her heartbeat began beating faster.

She knew she shouldn’t, but part of her hoped he would.

He stared at her for several moments and then the mask slid back into place and he turned on his heel and walked back inside without saying another word to her.

Momo stood there staring at the space where he had been.

What was she doing?

Was she really that desperate and lonely that she wanted Todoroki to kiss her again so she’d feel wanted?

She froze as a cold sense of devastation crept over her when she realized that she was both of those things

She really was the worst.

#todomomo #todoroki x yaoyorozu #shouto todoroki #Yaoyorozu Momo #ashes of love and war #My writing #My Story

7 notes · View notes

yesloverboy · 5 years

Text

Never Let You Go (mgk! Tommy Lee x Reader)

Requested: Anon

“I have 2 requests but they are completely up to your interpretation anyways, so for one like tommy taking care of his drunk girlfriend or friend or whatever you want and then another request would be tommy (lol love my tommy) where like the reader and tommy are friends and they’re at a bar and readers ex is there and shit goes down. Hopefully those make sense, do what you want!”

Note: Listen, I know it’s been a hot minute but my love for Tommy and Crüe will never die so thanks for being patient! Love y’all bunches and I will be posting about my updated writing schedule shortly.

word count: 2,712

[Warnings: blood, violence, cheating, toxic relationships, swearing, and alcohol mention.]

permanent tags: @colsonbakersnoseringmain, @lululovesgwtw, @kingbouji3

mötley tags: @lauravic

tommy tags: @chlobo6

After your breakup, you were almost certain that not even all the alcohol in the world could drown your problems. Heartache left an unfillable void in your chest that wanted to suck every last bit of your happiness deep down inside, never to be seen again. Luckily, your best friend, Tommy, was determined to spend the entire weekend proving you wrong. According to Tommy, alcohol can drown any problem if you’re with the right people– and he just so happens to be your favorite person in the entire world.

If someone were to ask you weeks– maybe even days –ago, you would’ve claimed that your boyfriend Kyle, of three and a half years, held the position of favorite in your heart. That is, until you found him grunting and thrusting into a woman that most definitely wasn’t you. Hell, she wasn’t even a woman you knew. As it turned out, your beloved boyfriend had been fucking other women on and off since they day you’d met.

Teary-eyed and utterly brokenhearted, you went to the only person you knew who could hold you together at a time like this– Tommy. In his usual fashion, Tommy had greeted your desperate raps on his door with a goofy grin and open arms. However, once his blue eyes met your red-rimmed ones, his chipper mood quickly dissolved into concern.

“Hey button, what’s the matter?” Tommy asked, using his long arms to envelop you in a tight bear hug. Button had been his nickname for you ever since grade school. Tommy had always been bad with names, and the rainbow buttons of your first-day-of-school overalls sealed your place in Tommy’s memory from that day forward.

You had prepared what you were going to tell Tommy on the cab ride over but, the moment he uttered your nickname, everything fell to pieces. Big, fat tears welled up in your eyes, dripping onto Tommy’s shirt like heavy rain. To your relief, he didn’t press any more questions your way. Instead, he shushed you softly and tucked you through the doorway with a protective arm.

It wasn’t long before Tommy had you curled on the couch, wrapped tightly in a quilted blanket with your head resting comfortably in his lap. He gave you time to cry out the rest of your frustration as he ran his long fingers through the snags in your hair. Tommy didn’t say much, even if seeing you in crisis mode devastated him to the core. You were always the strong one of the two of you, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to keep it together while you crumbled at his feet.

After a while, your sobs eventually devolved into pitiful sniffles, allowing you to catch your breath enough to finally speak. When you finally mustered up the courage to tell Tommy what your boyfriend– well, ex-boyfriend – had done to you, his blood began to boil incessantly beneath his skin. Tommy wanted Kyle dead. Hell, deader than dead. If you hadn’t just been sobbing in his arms for the past hour, he��d already be on the phone with Nikki to plot your ex’s demise.

Tommy physically couldn’t comprehend how a slimeball like Kyle could possibly have it in him to cheat on a girl like you for so long. You were patient, kind, and positively beautiful in Tommy’s eyes. For most people, a guy like Tommy is a lot to handle, but you never asked him to shrink himself in the presence of other people. You loved Tommy’s ‘too-much-ness’, as you affectionately called it, and wanted nothing more than to bottle it up and save some for the rainy days. Unfortunately, this day had been the rainiest of them all.

Although he would never admit it, you were Tommy’s dream girl, and he would do whatever it took to make you feel like your old self again. Even if it were only for a few, fleeting moments in between bloodshot eyes and broken cries.

...

It’s that same desire to make you happy that has Tommy dragging you to some sleazy new wave club halfway across town. You and Tommy are renowned metalheads in the L.A. music scene, but you can’t deny the way that the heavy synth and pounding bass lifts your spirits from the inside. As much as you despise its trendy nature, the appeal of cheap pop music isn’t entirely lost on you, and going to the last place anyone would expect to see you is exactly what you need right now.

The club is packed full of patrons, each demonstrating new and interesting ways to incorporate nylon and neoprene into their glowing ensembles. You and Tommy undoubtedly stick out like sore thumbs, but you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as he takes your hands and swings you across the dancefloor. You Spin Me Round blares through the sound system, causing the light-up floor to vibrate obnoxiously beneath your feet.

Tommy picks you up and begins spinning you around in his arms at a dizzying pace, causing you to erupt into a fit of cringes and laughter. The two of you haven’t even made it to the bar yet and you’re already giggling and shoving each other like a pair of carefree idiots. Tommy’s childlike sense of fun and comforting grasp bandaids the gaping hole in your chest for a moment, but the fear of your all-encompassing sadness leaking out again makes you shiver beneath the strobing lights.

As if he can read your mind, Tommy’s roughhousing ceases so he can stop and look at you. His dark blue eyes scan yours for any sign of an imminent breakdown on the horizon, but you quickly plaster on a brave face. You have no reason to hide the wave of sadness passing through you, but figure there’s no time like the present to practice looking fine in front of those you love.

Before Tommy can ask if you’re okay, you bounce on your tiptoes and grasp at his shoulder for leverage. “I’m going to get us some drinks, okay?” you project your weak voice into Tommy’s ear, practically yelling over the pulsating music.

Tommy seems to get the idea and offers you a weak smile as you turn towards the bar. Stay here, you mouth and Tommy shoots a reassuring thumbs up in your direction. With a shaky breath, you maneuver your way through the energetic crowd, doing your best to scout out the farthest available bartender. Initially, the crowd and the noise did a great job of clouding your memory, but now you needed a little extra help from some good, old fashioned hard liquor.

You belly up to the bar, relieved that the music is just quiet enough in this corner of the club that you don’t have to strain your voice as much. Giving the bartender your best fake smile, you order yourself a double vodka soda and a Jack and Coke for Tommy. It feels like it’s going to be a long night, and you could use all the help you can get to even dream of keeping up with Tommy’s excessive drinking.

Just as you’re about to grab the glasses and search for your lanky companion, you sense an all too familiar presence at your side.

“Y/N? Baby, is that you?”

You suck in a breath, the sickly sweet tone of Kyle’s voice driving an icy stake into your palpitating heart. No, no, no, no, you flounder, this can’t be happening. You turn around, mouth running dry as soon as your eyes meet the confident gaze of your ex-lover. It was a look you had seen a hundred times before, and yet the familiarity of it all is exactly what’s bringing you to your knees.

Kyle takes a step forward and you immediately find yourself taking an instinctive step back, the base of your spin quickly bumping harshly into the bar’s edge. Kyle rests a casual hand on the bar next to your hip, not exactly pinning you to the spot, but making it more than apparent that he doesn’t want you to leave just yet.

“Thought that was you, sweetheart, I’d recognize that tight ass anywhere,” Kyle purs, looking down on you with a predatory gleam in his eyes, “Miss me yet?”

The ice in yours and Tommy’s drinks rattles in its glasses, giving away the tremor in your nervous hands. You want to yell, scream, cry– anything, but you find yourself frozen to the spot. The memory of Kyle on top of that mystery woman in your shared bed replays in your head like a threat, reminding you that he never really loved you at all. Feeling small and pathetic in front of the man that abused your trust for so long, you silently pray that the floor might swallow you up.

You grit your teeth as hot tears blur your vision, but do not speak. A sob starts to build in your throat and, before you’re able to release it, a flash of movement catches your eye. Looking past Kyle, you’re relieved to find Tommy storming over to the scene with bared teeth and clenched fists.

“Hey asshole!” Tommy growls, jerking Kyle’s shoulder back in an effort to yank him away from your trembling form. The look of overwhelming fear and anxiety in your eyes fans the fire in Tommy’s chest, and it takes all of his strength not to drag your ex to the floor right then and there. In all your years of knowing Tommy, you never imagined he could ever look this furious and you find yourself getting scared.

You aren’t scared of Tommy, no, you could never be– you were scared for Kyle.

Kyle just laughs and brushes at his lapels for show, raising his hands in mock surrender, “Easy there, man. I was just about to ask my girl if she wanted a ride home, is all. Isn’t that right, hon?”

The cockiness in Kyle’s voice turns your stomach as he looks back at you expectantly, silently willing you to comply. Your eyes dart between him and Tommy, and you can already picture how the next couple of minutes are going to unfold.

Tommy steps directly into your ex’s personal space, the visible height difference making Kyle shift his jaw nervously. To anyone passing by, Kyle probably appeared to be in total control, but you knew him well enough to recognize the look on his face. He’s in deep shit, and he knows it.

“Funny you call her that, Kyle,” Tommy spits, his voice dripping with venom as he presses an accusatory finger into Kyle’s chest. “Make no mistake, I heard you had a girl– actually, a long list of girls. But Y/N? Yeah, she ain’t one of them. Never was.”

Kyle laughs nervously, puffing out his chest in a weak attempt to seem taller. “Is that right? Then what is she, then? Your girl?”

“And what if she is? What the fuck are you going to do about it?”

Tommy’s face is only a few inches away from Kyle’s, the tension in the air so palpable that even the bartender across the way seems to be frozen it. The bass from the dancefloor thumps ominously in the distance, its hollow thud matching the heaviness of your heartbeat.

To your surprise, Kyle is the first to relent. Casting you a bitter glance, he shoves Tommy’s chest away from his and begins backing slowing out of the room. His eyes never leave Tommy’s, watching him with the same caution as a zookeeper getting ready to feed a hungry lion. You breathe a sigh of relief, but it comes far too soon.

“Fine, have her,” Kyle hisses, “she’s a lousy lay, anyways.”

The moment the insult left your ex’s lips, his fate was sealed. Tommy’s restraint melts away as he lunges forward, his fist swiftly connecting against Kyle’s nose with a sickening crack. Blood spurts out from Kyle’s face and onto the glowing floor like a broken spigot, instantly causing your stomach to flip queasily. Even in the low lighting you can see splotches of ruby red seeping into the fabric of his stark white shirt.

Kyle stumbles backward, falling disoriented to the floor. He cries out in agony but Tommy continues to stalk forward, relentlessly hunting him into a corner like some kind of feral animal. You know it can only get uglier from here and, as much as you’ve enjoyed seeing Kyle eat his words, you really don’t want to add bailing Tommy out of jail to your to-do list.

Before Tommy can cock back his fist for another hit, you catch his arm. The glasses you were previously grasping in your hands clatter noisily to the floor, the watered down alcohol and soda pooling lazily at your feet.

“Tommy, that’s enough,” you warn, but the words are cushioned by tenderness you feel for him. All ever Tommy wanted to do was shelter you from all the bad things in the world, and you’d be lying if you couldn’t admit that he did it well.

With an angry sigh, Tommy begrudgingly allows you to pull him to your side. Snaking his arm protectively around your shoulders, he frowns slightly as you shiver beneath his touch. It pains him to see you this way, shaking with anxiousness in the presence of a man you used to give all your love to– a love that he didn’t even deserve. Without thinking Tommy presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, the touch so faint you almost miss it.

“I’ve got you, button,” Tommy whispers, his voice barely audible over the music. Your heart somersaults in your chest as you gaze up at Tommy, your watery eyes connecting with his soft blues. Even panting and red-faced from his encounter with your ex, he still has the same happy face that drew you to him all those years ago.

Without a second thought, you lace your fingers with Tommy’s, holding his arm in place as it rests on your frame. “Let’s go home,” you sniffle, nuzzling his bruised knuckles with the side of your tear-stained cheek.

You lead Tommy out of the club, leaving Kyle moaning pathetically in a pool of his own blood. Not even a bartender or a bouncer cared to bat an eye at his pitiful display, and you can’t help but wonder if he would look the same after suffering a broken nose. Kyle may have left a permanent stain on your heart, but Tommy made sure he wouldn’t be able to so much as look in the mirror without remembering what he had done to you.

The summer air is balmy outside the club as you and Tommy await the next available cab. You stand in comfortable silence, your form still pressed firmly against his side as he puffs on a cigarette absentmindedly. Tommy’s free hand curls around the ends of your hair, the small, intimate gesture causing you to blush.

“So,” you say finally, breaking the silence, “your girl, huh?”

Tommy’s eyes widen, his blue irises swimming in orbs of white. “Oh, uh, that? That was nothing– just, uh, don’t worry about it–” he stammers, his face flushing pink with embarrassment.

With a grin, you rise to your tiptoes and place a gentle kiss on Tommy’s cheek, stunning him into silence. “Someday,” you whisper, “Maybe not today, but someday soon.”

Your words tumble through the night air like a promise, intertwining with Tommy’s ever visible heartstrings and grasping tightly. Tommy always fell for girls hard and fast, but with you it was different. His love for you only grew with each passing moment, embedding itself in every look and every action until it all culminated into a single punch. You were what he had always been looking for, and he was exactly what you had been missing all along.

Tommy holds you tight for the rest of the evening, playing with your fingers on the cab ride home to eventually tangling his legs with yours as the two of you collapse in a heap on his couch. No matter what happens, no matter how long it takes– Tommy would be yours forever, and forever isn’t nearly long enough.

Masterlist

#i personally love this #but tell me what you think anyways #mgk!tommy lee #mgk!tommy lee x reader #tommy lee x reader #tommy lee #nikki sixx #mick mars #vince neil #motley crue oneshot #motley crue imagine #motley crue #the dirt #the dirt movie #the dirt netflix #tommy lee imagine #tommy lee oneshot #writing #the dirt requests

231 notes · View notes

atamascolily · 4 years

Text

I never actually read Junior Jedi Knights #1: The Golden Globe by Nancy Richardson before, so I figured I’d give it a shot. Like most of Star Wars Legends, it is a trip, but in a fun, if confusing way.

The academy was built to train people to become Jedi Knights, protectors of freedom and justice. Only beings who had shown they were skilled in working with the Force had been invited to attend the academy. Anakin was one of those chosen to attend the first session created for younger children and aliens.

So... Jedi Hogwarts, then. The first Harry Potter book was published in Britain in 1997 and in the US in 1998, and this book was published October 1, 1995, so it actually predates Hogwarts, but I’m still calling it that.

Leia “can’t bear” to have all three kids away at Jedi Hogwarts at the same time, so now it’s Anakin’s term. I’m raising my eyebrows because Leia is a politician assuming she’s not actually Chief of State right now; she’s super-busy and Winter took care of the kids for much of their childhood. It does explain why we never see anyone from the YJK books in this series, and the good-bye scene between Anakin, Leia, and Han is 300% more believable and heart-warming than anything in the Disney ST, so I approve.

Also, here’s some world-building for all your Yavin 4 fics:

“The Great Temple hasn’t been changed much on the outside,” Luke said. He had sensed his nephew’s curiosity. “But we had to change the inside in order to create the academy rooms. We’ve divided some spaces into sleeping and refresher units for you and your classmates. And we’ve hung heavy drapes above the open windows. The windows in the Temple have no glass because the climate here is so warm that we rarely need it. However, every few months we have terrible storms. The temperature drops and rain and winds whip through the jungle. When that happens the heavy drapes keep the temple warm and dry. There’s one place that we haven’t touched, though-the Grand Audience Chamber at the top of the Temple. All of the instructors and students here agree that it is just too beautiful to change,” Luke explained.

(And then everyone who’s seen the movie would be confused! LOL)

HAVE I MENTIONED HOW MUCH I LIKE THAT TIONNE IS A MAJOR PLAYER IN THESE BOOKS? Because I do. Traveling with Luke and rescuing kids, singing songs, being kind... #legend. I don’t think we ever see Kam, though, so I don’t know what he’s up to. It’s literally just Luke and Tionne, plus a bunch of NPCs here.

I don’t get how Anakin can be so good with droids yet not understand Artoo’s Binary, but okay. I love how Artoo just follows him around for... reasons, or he would except Anakin cheats by using the stairs. Ignore Artoo at your peril, kid.

More world-building:

Anakin had reached the Grand Audience Chamber. It was the highest room in the Temple, and unlike the other rooms, it had not been rebuilt for the academy. Gently Anakin pushed open the large doors. He walked into the center of the Grand Audience Chamber. The walls were a deep tan stone, worn smooth over the years. Blueleaf shrubs, the most common shrub on the moon, poked through several cracks in the stones. They attached themselves to the stone with suckers. The shrubs were electric blue, and as Anakin leaned close he could smell a spicy perfume.

(As an aside, I don’t understand why Legends makes the Grand Audience Chamber at the top of the Temple - the room we see in ANH seems too large to fit at the top of a pyramid the size the ones in Chichen Itza. Does anybody have any drawings of the interior of the Temple of Kukulcan or any other Meso-American step-pyramids to confirm or deny this? Also, I don’t get why an audience chamber would be at the top of so many stairs - it seems like you’d want that to be closer to the ground for easier access for the plebes, and keep the upper levels as private space for the aristocracy. But I digress...)

Anakin meets Tahiri, who is from Tatooine and raised by Sand People, because we need to have more movie references and there are only like 5 acceptable planets for Star Wars writers, because movies, so that’s fine. Her defining character traits are impulsiveness, constant chatter, and a distaste for shoes.In light of the prequels, her comments on sand have aged well:

“Where I’m from it’s hot and there’s sand everywhere - gritty sand that sticks between your toes. So, aren’t you going to say something?”

Tionne shows up and sends them to bed. Anakin’s not a morning person. #Relatable. At breakfast, his reaction to Tahiri’s account of her dream in which he saves her on a river is priceless:

Anakin was silent. So this was what his brother Jacen was always talking about. I guess girls do get crushes on boys and say things that make no sense, he thought.

LOLOLOLOL. Also, Anakin says Jacen and Jaina are his best friends and Tahiri laughs and says No, I’m your best friend now like I said yesterday, and MY HEART. These kids. I love them.

Anyway, Luke lectures them on the Force, and it’s mostly Yoda’s sayings all mushed together, and apparently “Believe and you succeed” really is a part of it, so okay then. We swing suddenly from Anakin’s POV to Luke’s and it’s kinda jarring, especially since Luke is only interested in recapping his own personal history and has nothing new to say.

Anakin starts dreaming the same dream as Tahiri and hearing voices, so they sneak out to investigate even though Luke has explicitly warned them not to. Anakin’s so worried about being kicked out, it’s charming...

LOL, Tionne expects them to lift 2-kilo weights with their minds on the first day. What. They do it through the Power of Friendship, because of course they do, in between plotting how to get out of the academy and investigate the dream.

Fortunately, Artoo is there to help! Good old Artoo! He’s got a lot of practice in being sneaky. I have no idea why the raft is conveniently there waiting for them in the jungle, but okay. Tahiri falls in during the storm, but fortunately Anakin is able to use his lesson in TK to save her. They lift Artoo out the same way once they get to their destination, but Tahiri drops him in the water when her control slips. Good thing he’s waterproof!

Anakin name drops Exar Kun and a bunch of Yavin IV backstory. I like that Anakin is Indiana Jonesing his way across Yavin while simultaneously wondering if his uncle’s going to kick him out. Also Artoo brought the only light. They find a mysterious golden globe and a cute animal named Ikrit and cover themselves in glitter before heading back.

Tahiri’s already willing to sacrifice herself for Anakin in case Luke wants to kick them out and they’ve literally just met and this makes me wish I didn’t know what I know about NJO, because now everything hurts.

Luke’s waiting them for them, all stern in his Jedi blacks and.... Artoo steps up and lies for the kids, and he decides he’s not going to end their careers as a Jedi students just yet. LOL.

Meanwhile, Ikrit is curled up in Anakin’s bed - turns out he’s a secret Jedi Master and the voice in Anakin’s head. Turns out the globe is full of trapped children because Exar Kun is a jerk and they can’t tell any adults or it will be destroyed. Ikrit’s been sleeping for hundreds of years waiting for the right kids and he chose them. Of course, Anakin and Tahiri vow to do what they can to help, even though it’s going to be difficult, because of Luke’s lecture earlier, which Anakin can recite from memory (he really does have an eidetic memory, doesn’t he?). The end.

I have so many questions. Why did Artoo help them out? (I assume Ikrit, but I don’t remember if that’s ever explicitly spelled out. And can Jedi talk to droids with the Force? How did Ikrit meet Artoo? It just raises more questions.) Was it Ikrit or Artoo who set up the raft? How did they do that and where did they get it? Does Ikrit even have thumbs? Why couldn’t Anakin and Tahiri just walk to the Palace of Woolamanders or whatever? Did Ikrit really hibernate for four centuries straight or did he wake up every couple of years to stretch his legs and whatnot? Why did he do that rather than, you know, get help or something? Why has Tahiri been dreaming of the river her whole life, only for the dream to suddenly jump to Anakin? Is Ikrit sending her the dreams or is the Force?

I like how there’s such an emphasis on training, when they’ve been on-planet for less than a week (three days??) because that’s how fast the plot moves when you’re eleven (and Tahiri is NINE!). These kids! Did I mention I love them?

Ikrit is technically a Kushiban and not a Hoojib as I’d originally thought. I’m not sure exactly what the difference is, since they’re both sentient telepathic lagomorphs, but that’s fine, I guess. I am fond of the Hoojibs, but I didn’t know about them until @joysweeper posted some Star Wars Marvel comics from the ‘70s with Plif, so they’re not exactly common knowledge. That said, I really like the illustration of Ikrit on the cover, and I’m also absurdly fond of him in spite of the fact that canon is so flimsy here.

#star wars legends #junior jedi knights #the golden globe #book reviews #eu fuckery #jedi academy shenanigans

11 notes · View notes

jojoreadwhat · 5 years

Text

woke up laughing, good love is hard to find. | joe mazzello x reader

a/n; Hi everyone! I’m not entirely new to the writing gig (i used to write on Wattpad about bands, haha. I’ll post them up later) but I’m new to the writing community of Tumblr! Bear with me as I maybe rusty (I haven’t written imagines in months, whoops!) and new to the fandom of the borhap boys! I figured Id start off with a cute, fluffy Imagine for our guy Joe Mazzello. This is shit and I greatly apologize.

prompt; fem!reader! Waking up with Joe and telling him you love him for the first time. ❤️

words; 969

mentions; Of course Ben Hardy, lol

Warnings: lots of fluff and talks of smut, nothing crazy!

Title inspiration;

You had stirred awake from a sudden welcome of the sun, grazing against your eyelids. Fluttering them open then immediately shutting them and bringing the blanket to your face. It was one of your first days off in a few weeks and you were hoping to sleep past your routine. You lied under that blanket, silently wishing you had bought those room darkeners you seen days ago. But then again, it probably wouldn’t have mattered when it wasn’t the sun or the blinds fault for your harsh wake up.

“Morning, sleepyhead!” Joe greeted a notch below a yell. As if you wouldn’t hear him through the blanket. You groaned lightly, “No.” You replied back, gripping the fabric tighter. Being a grump. “But I made you coffee,” He proceeded, then. Hearing him chuckle soon after, causing your heart to swell up.

You lied there for a moment, still trying to hang onto any slumber you had left. Feeling yourself drifting again until you felt the end of the bed dip.

Joe crawled up to you, lightly turning you to your back to lay on you. Gently pulling the blanket from your grip. Your eyes were still closed as they found energy to adjust to the light you were about to meet again. This time it reaking of benefits. You met your favorite pair golden brown eyes that were gazing and smiling down at you. Looking over all your favorite things about Joe. Feeling heavenly as everything was enhanced by the light behind him. His dark red hair disheveled, his freshly kept stubble on his face that tickled yours from time to time. The cute bridge of his nose that he never understood why you adored so much but you did, like everything else about him.

You couldn’t help but smile at him. Greeting him properly this time around, “Morning, love.” Before wrapping your arms around him.

Joe’s sweet pink lips matching the way his eyes look in a smile, “Hey baby.” He greeted again, “Sleep okay?” He asked, you nodded slowly. His hand meeting your now rosy cheek as he lowered himself and his lips meeting your lips softly. Then to your jaw causing you to feel butterflies and giggle beneath him.

Joe brought his head back up to look at you again, once you finally let up on your wrestling tongues. You realized Joe wasn’t in his tank top and boxers from last night. Instead one of his famous tees and what you felt under your leg wrapped him, a pair of jeans.

“Plans today?” You asked, playing with the collar of his red shirt. Joe simply nodded,

“Ben’s in town.” He said, “We’re grabbing some lunch, then catching a game.” Finishing off, before grabbing your hand that was playing with his shirt and kissed it.

You cocked your head at him, “Don’t you spend enough time with Ben already??” You jokingly questioned. Joe became red, knowing what you were referring to.

“But that’s cardboard Ben. Real Ben hasnt seen the Yankees kickass.” He replied, causing you laugh out loud. Remembering when he snuck it into the ballpark and the looks the staff gave.

You weren’t going to let up though, wrapping your body around him to keep him close. “Too bad.” You announced, then. “Real Ben is gonna have to wait.” Joe cocked his brow, “Is that so?” He replied, you smiled deviously. Nodding, before snagging another kiss and leaving Joe to laugh against your lips.

You were never really one for mornings. Today still showed that immaturity of yourself, I guess. As cliche as it sounded though, they were only worth it when Joe was home. He made them one of your favorite things. A morning like this was only half of it, but nonetheless you always woke up laughing with a smile on your face for the day.

You noticed lately were falling amicably because of them and the billion other things that these few months with Joe had given and shown. He wasn’t quite aware that you loved him since neither of you said it yet. But you hoped that he felt it from you and that maybe you weren’t the only one feeling this way.

Somehow the fit of kisses landed you straddling Joe’s waist. He was such a beautiful sight under you as that sun beamed across him and caught the gold in his eyes.

He watched you, watching him. A smile forming on his lips slowly, “Didn’t I give you enough of me last night?” He exclaimed, wiggling his brow at you. You lightly hit chest as the flashbacks of hours earlier making their way to your mind, painting you crimson. Causing him to laugh up at you.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” You admitted, only making him to smile brighter.

“I tend to have that effect on many.” He remarked, wittily. You rolled your eyes,

“Ugh you’re such an idiot, I love you.”

At that moment you didn’t know if you should run or just drop dead. The words fell faster from your lips than your mind could put a stop to and you couldn’t believe it. What was making it worse was the awkward silence and your eyes couldn’t even open. God, your face was probably a pound of cherries at this point.

The sudden shifting under you caused your heart to race crazily. Mentally preparing to get up and leave the state. But Joe wasn’t having that.

“Hey,” Joe spoke softly, “Look at me.” He said, waiting for you to do so.

When you did you noticed he wasn’t laying down anymore, instead his face inches away from yours. You both searching each other before his lips curled up into a smile.

“Seems like your stuck with this idiot,” he began, then. “Because I love you too.”

#mine #joe mazzello blurbs #joe mazzello #joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello headcanons #joe mazzello smut #joe mazzello imagine #borhap #bohemian rhapsody

174 notes · View notes

honeypiehotchner · 5 years

Text

Trust -- part thirty-five

It’s been a moment, hello! My mood took one of worse turns it has in a while the past couple weeks, but I think I’m back on track now (go to therapy, kids).

Also! I move into college in three weeks, and I won’t have as much free time. My goal is to finish this story before I move, though, so this is your warning that the end is near. Love you guys xx.

(Listen I don’t really like this part and idk if it’s my brain still in the weird mood or if it genuinely does suck, so be gentle lol)

“Sherlock,” you call, tucking your legs underneath you on the sofa.

“Hm.”

“When was the last time you went out?”

He gives his violin a strange look – he’s tuning it before he plays – but you know that look was meant for you if he wasn’t preoccupied. “What do you mean?”

“A case,” you clarify for him. “When was the last time you and John went out on a case together?”

“We just did a case last week.”

“No, that wasn’t a case, that was a small outing and you solved it in five minutes,” you reply tiredly. “I mean an actual case.”

“Oh,” he hums, lifting his violin to his chin. “I don’t know.”

“I thought you didn’t like not knowing.”

A glare is the next expression sent your way as he picks up his bow and begins to play. He’s been working on a waltz for John and Mary. He’s told them (promised, more like) he’ll play it for their first dance at the wedding, which, again you try not to think about the dreams you had. But it’s incredibly hard when life is appearing to imitate them in the smallest of ways.

“I’m just saying,” you speak over his playing. “I think it’d be good if the two of you got out and did a case together.”

The violin falls from his neck as he gives you a pointed stare. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you chuckle. “I just don’t want to be the reason you’re stuck in this flat for the rest of your life.”

“You’re not,” he replies firmly, lifting his instrument once more. “If I wanted to leave, I would. My brother’s security won’t be reason to stop me.”

“I know that,” you breathe. “Speaking of, if you were to go out, I’m sure Mycroft would send an extra guard. Or I could ask Mary to come over. Speaking of Mary, what time did they say they were coming over?”

“Noon,” comes Sherlock’s short reply.

It’s barely ten now. This is one of the rare mornings where you and Sherlock are actually awake in the morning.

“Well,” you heave out a sigh, standing to your feet. “I’m going to get dressed. Try not to make the waltz minor. I can hear it drifting that way.”

You’re not trying to annoy Sherlock necessarily, but you’d be lying if you said you aren’t trying to push his buttons a little more.

He’s been cooped up in this flat with you for two weeks now. Yes, you’ve gone out occasionally, but after one instance of cameras swarming the two of you in a café, you’ve kept the outings to a bare minimum. The “case” last week was less hectic, you’re assuming because reporters didn’t want Lestrade arresting them, but it was short lived.

You’ve both become somewhat of a celebrity couple since returning from the hospital. It became known that Sherlock and his girlfriend – that’s you, even though, again, you and Sherlock still haven’t discussed labels – investigated and brought down a religious cult right here in London.

The case alone was intriguing enough for people to praise Sherlock, but throw in the fact that this seemingly emotionless human being has a romantic partner? Everyone is all over that now, and it hasn’t died down like John had hoped.

Which is why Mycroft still has security stationed at the bottom of the stairs, and eyes all on Baker Street at all times. You’re – meaning you and Sherlock – are no longer allowed to take cabs. Mycroft has a driver – his name is Ed, he’s nice – for the both of you and that is how you are supposed to get around. You think the only reason Sherlock doesn’t protest is because he knows how much of a concern your safety is – especially to him.

But still. You and Mary have been talking. Even John is a little antsy. The wedding planning is in the final stages, and the last thing really to tackle is seating and fitting for the bridesmaid dresses. Mary has her wedding dress, John has his tux, as does Sherlock, but the bridesmaids – you included as Maid of Honor – don’t. You’ve got the color, at least.

The point is, you and Mary have seen that both of your boys need to go out and work a case together. Just to get them out. And to give you two some girl time, but that’s irrelevant. You need to get them out of the house again, like they used to do.

And you’ve got a plan.

~~~

“Need to work on your half of the church, Mary. Looking a bit thin.”

You roll your eyes at Sherlock’s statement as Mary answers him. “Ah, orphan’s lot. Friends, that’s all I have. Lots of friends.”

You reach over and squeeze her hand gently, earning a small smile. Mary’s past has always been a sore subject, and one that isn’t brought up often – except by Sherlock, in moments like these.

“We should have the organ music to begin at precisely 11:48—”

“But the rehearsal’s not for another two weeks, just calm down.”

“Calm? I am calm. I’m extremely calm.”

“Sherlock, love,” you chime in, ignoring the way your brother’s eyebrows raise at your use of the word love. “I’ve never seen you more stressed. Just – take a deep breath.”

“Let’s get back to the reception, come on,” Mary suggests, ushering him over.

You nod your head, urging him to join her. You sit curled up in his chair with a book, planning to help Mary after Sherlock and John leave, but of course neither of them know they’re going to be leaving just yet.

“John’s cousin, top table?”

Sherlock scrunches his nose. “Hm. Hates you. Can’t even bear to think about you.”

“Seriously?”

“Second-class post. Cheap card. Bought at a petrol station. Look at the stamp. Three attempts at licking. She’s obviously unconsciously retaining saliva.”

“Aw, let’s stick her by the bogs.”

“Oh yes.”

You watch at Mary discreetly looks over her should, clearing her throat before asking, “Who else hates me?”

And of course, Sherlock being Sherlock, he hands her a list.

“Oh great, thanks.”

You snicker at Mary’s way of dealing with family troubles, not that John cares either way. He’s been scrolling through his phone the entire time.

“‘Priceless painting nicked.’ Looks interesting.”

“Table four?” Mary continues.

“Done,” Sherlock replies quickly.

John chuckles. “‘My husband is three people.’”

“Table five?”

“Major James Sholto. Who he?”

“Oh, John’s old commanding officer. I don’t think he’s coming.”

Your ears perk up at the mention of him. You’ve always known John was in the military, but he never talks about it all that much. And he’s especially never mentioned an old commanding officer before.

“He’ll be there,” John speaks up, so he’s clearly listening.

“Well, he needs to RSVP, then,” Mary counters.

“He’ll be there,” John assures her once more, still gazing at his phone.

Sherlock looks about as confused as you feel. He’s clearly curious about this and you’re almost certain you’ll find him Googling Major Sholto later.

“‘My husband is three people.’ It’s interesting.”

You give John a strange look.

“Says he has three distinct patterns of moles on his skin.”

“Identical triplets. One in half a million births. Solved it without leaving the flat,” Sherlock speaks quickly as he suddenly stands and floats (as you like to say) down to the floor. “Now, serviettes. Swan or Sydney Opera House?”

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Mary’s excitement and surprise is clearly written all over her face as Sherlock proudly displays the napkins. You even crane your neck to see.

“Many unexpected skills required in the field of criminal investigation—”

“Fibbing, love,” you call out, shaking your head.

He sighs. “I once broke an alibi by demonstrating the exact severity of…”

“We’re not John, we can tell when you’re fibbing,” Mary interrupts.

“Okay, I learnt it on YouTube.”

You snicker. “That’s more like it.”

“Opera House, please,” Mary chooses, satisfied that she got the truth. “Oh, hang on, I’m buzzing.”

Your eyebrows raise slightly. That’s the first code phrase.

“Oh, hi, Beth!”

And there’s the other.

You close your book, standing and following Mary into the kitchen. Sherlock is too busy folding serviettes to notice you’ve gone, and you smack John lightly on the shoulder as you pass.

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t see why not,” Mary continues the act.

You stand over by the kettle, actually putting it on because you would like some tea, which gives you a plausible excuse for being in here.

“Actually, if that’s Beth, it’s probably for me, too. Hang on.”

John walks into the kitchen a second later, giving both you and Mary a tired look.

“He knows we don’t have a friend called Beth. He’s gonna figure out that it’s code.”

“He’s YouTubing serviettes,” Mary hisses.

“He’s thorough.”

“He’s terrified!”

“Of course he’s not.”

“He is,” you mutter from the kettle, looking up to John. “He is.”

“Right, you know when you’re scared of something, you start wishing it sooner just to get it all going? That’s what he’s doing.”

“Why would he be scared that we’re getting married?”

You leave the couple to continue bickering, part of you wanting a small private moment with Sherlock while they’re occupied.

You walk over to Sherlock where he’s quickly folding, and you make him pause, your hand smoothing over his shoulder. He turns his head to look up at you, his free hand bringing your knuckles to his lips.

“Would you fold me a swan?” You ask.

“Of course,” comes his reply, and you didn’t exactly mean for him to fold it for you right then, but he does, and a few seconds later, he’s handing you a swan.

“Thank you,” you chuckle. “I love it.” You carry it gingerly over to the mantle and place it next to where he’s got something stabbed onto the wood. “What is it now, love?” Upon closer inspection you see it’s a note. “Another one?” You ask.

Sherlock barely nods and hums.

You sigh. “And how long has this one been up here?”

“Two days.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Homeless network.”

“Someone in your homeless network handed you a note with ‘I O U’ written on it? Are you joking?”

“No,” Sherlock replies. “But Mycroft has them now.”

“So, your brother knew, too,” you mutter. “Lovely.”

“Don’t be cross. It’s only out of—”

“Sherlock Holmes,” you turn around to glare at him. “If you tell me you’re trying to protect me, I’m going to throw you out that window.”

He smirks as he stands, ushering you to come over to him, which you do. He’s like a damn magnet, this man.

“No need to throw me out the window,” he murmurs, tilting your head back to look in his eyes. “I only didn’t want you to worry.”

“You realize to me it seems like you’re keeping things from me.”

“I apologize.”

“Hm,” You fight back a smile. “Not good enough.”

He hears what you’re implying, so he leans down, pressing his lips to yours. “Better?”

You nod. “Better. One more.”

He grants your wish, pressing a kiss to your lips once again, pulling your body up against his in a way that would promise something more if John and Mary weren’t in the kitchen.

But they are, so you pull away, grinning. “I forgive you.”

“Seriously?”

“No,” you shake your head. “But you are a good kisser.”

He hums again, getting interrupted by Mary practically shoving John out of the kitchen. Your older brother stumbles into the room, giving you and Sherlock a weird – but not disgusted for the first time – look.

“Uh, kettle’s just boiled.”

You nod. “I’ll go help Mary with the tea.”

Leaving Sherlock and John in the living area, you disappear into the kitchen to help Mary with tea. When you round the corner, she’s sitting at the table, sipping tea and looking through a newspaper.

“They’re talking,” you whisper. “Fingers crossed.”

After a few minutes, Mary taps you on the arm. Time to see if they ever decided on anything.

You wrap your hands around the warm mug, raising your eyebrows expectantly as Sherlock and John fumble through an explanation on where they’re heading.

“Why don’t you go with socks?” You ask.

“You’ve gotta get the right ones,” Mary adds, earning a serious nod from both men. “It’ll take a while, right?”

“Yeah, my coat…”

“In there,” you nod. You flash Sherlock a smile that he returns. “Have fun.”

“Text me if you need me.”

“Mary is going to be here with me, Sherlock. Go out and have fun. And don’t come back for a while. We need some girl time.”

“Okay. The guard is just downstairs, and Mycroft—”

“I know!” You laugh. “Now get out of here.”

Sherlock and John disappear down the stairs for what seems like the first time in absolute ages. You and Mary let out of a shared sigh of relief as the front door closes.

“Now,” Mary begins, giving you a look. “Now that he’s gone, I have to ask, how are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” you reply, sipping your tea as you sit down on the couch. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, with all this marriage talk, I just wondered how that head of yours was dealing,” she moves to sit next to you. “Have you mentioned it to him?”

“No, God no,” you laugh. “We haven’t even talked about whether or not we’re ‘dating,’ which sounds ridiculous. The papers say I’m his girlfriend, but he and I haven’t even talked about it.”

“I think it’s safe to say he is your boyfriend.”

“It sounds so primary school when you say it like that,” you grimace.

“Well the two of you act like you’re in primary school because you haven’t talked about it!”

“Okay,” you give her a look. “I don’t mind that we haven’t talked about it.”

“You don’t want clarity?”

“Maybe?” You shrug. “And maybe when I do, I’ll ask him, but right now, I’m happy with where we are. I’m content just being with him.”

“Alright,” she pats my leg. “I can tell he makes you happy. And I think John is coming around.”

“I think so, too,” you smile. “Or I hope he is, at least.”

“No, I think he is,” Mary nods firmly. “I’ve talked with him about it and I think he sees how protective Sherlock is and he values that. John wants someone that’ll keep you safe. And Sherlock does.”

“I feel safer than I ever have when I’m with him,” you admit quietly. “I felt safe with Tony, sure, but never like this.”

“And that’s what I like to hear,” she smiles brightly. “Now, what’s for lunch?”

You sigh. “I might be able to convince the guard to let us out.”

She grins, a bit mischievously. “Let’s do it.”

#i'm too lazy to really tag #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock fanfiction #bbc sherlock fanfic #Sherlock Holmes #sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #john watson #mary morstan #the sign of three #the bloody guardsman #half-sibling!reader #soft #a bit of tender romance

84 notes · View notes

afigureofspeech · 7 years

Text

You were never in any danger: a Kastle rec post

Hey y’all. If you follow me already, you may not have realized that I’ve gained some fandoms recently since I’ve been too busy to do something as time-consuming as reblogging all the stuff I scroll past but yeah, I’ve currently got two other rec posts sitting patiently in my drafts, just waiting for me not to be destroyed by grad school. As you all may know though, The Punisher comes out today, so I really just couldn’t help myself.

I didn’t expect to be here. I get the sense that most people on this ship didn’t either? Cool, we’re all in this together. I haven’t even been here that long; I happened to see someone freaking out on my dash a few weeks ago about that part in the trailer where they’re on the floor and Frank touches Karen’s hair – you know the one – and, well, somehow I wound up rewatching all the Kastle scenes over and over and over… I was even planning on waiting until next week to binge the whole season, when I’m on break and recovering from minor surgery and all, but I’m way too hyped to wait so I’ll probably get to it this weekend instead.

In any case, this isn’t a full rec post cuz the series dropped and I just wanted to get it out. Please forgive the general messy and incompleteness, I’ll do an update later when I have the time. Now a full rec post! Tried to fit in as much as I could think of. Also, if anyone out there has some fics (or anything else) you want to rec, please do! Like I said I am new here and I haven’t had the chance to go through the whole AO3 tag (yet lol).

My other rec posts can be found here.

Hope you enjoy~

* = new

Update 12/19/17: So apparently there is a limit on how many links I can have in a post. In the interest of being able to add more fic, I have removed the extra sections for fanart, fanvids, etc. If you go to some of the kastle blogs I link to at the bottom though I am sure you can find plenty. Sorry about that!

→ FANFIC

alamorn

AKA Under Investigation AO3 Their first meeting after she told him he was dead to her doesn’t go exactly how he thought it would.

glove upon hand AO3 Frank Castle, metaphorically standing in his half dug grave, takes a literal hand to get out. [Post-Punisher s1]

trouble in mind AO3 Frank didn’t like to ask for things. That wasn’t a surprise — she knew that about him before she knew almost anything else. That Frank Castle, he’s a monster, he’s a machine, he doesn’t know how to ask for help. It’s lucky for him that Karen has never waited to be asked. [Warning: explicit sexual content, femdom, pegging]

alchemistc

after AO3 | Tumblr He presses his lips into her hair and breathes deep, chest expanding against her side, arm curled around her, and Karen thinks - Do we deserve this? [Punisher speculation]

can’t no preacher man AO3 | Tumblr She breathes a sigh of relief when she catches sight of the shape of her late night visitor, and then stifles a snort at herself. Only Karen Page would find the sight of Frank Castle relieving. [Part 2 of the devil’s backbone series]

hangman’s knot and three mouths to feed AO3 | Tumblr “Was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop in. ”She kinda wants to punch him in his stupid face, but she knows it wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t even land, unless he wanted it to. Besides, it’s not like she could make the bruises littering his skin any worse than they already are. Frank Castle, Walking Bruise. Somehow, it just doesn’t have the same ring to it as The Punisher. [Part 1 of the devil’s backbone series]

walk together with our hands up in the sky AO3 | Tumblr Frank and Karen in the aftermath. [Post-Punisher s1]

you bear the scars AO3 | Tumblr “Men.” “Tell me about it,” Trish says, her voice somehow managing to convey both too-chipper energy and exasperation of the highest level. “I don’t know how much I can, actually.” Trish grins, tipping the plastic bottle in Karen’s direction. “The Punisher has taken you on as a pet project, you spend your days building up more enemies than even Jessica can manage on a bad day, and you’re totally attracted to a vigilante who prowls the streets at night killing people. Does that pretty much cover it?” “How did you - I am not - there is nothing going on between me and Frank!” [Part 3 of the devil’s backbone series]

angel_deux

AKA Puzzle Pieces AO3 Jessica Jones is not an easy friend to have. And Karen’s not even really sure if she can call her a friend. But Jessica is a good person to have in your corner in a crisis, which is good, because one of Frank’s enemies makes a sudden reappearance. [Part 2 of The Sinner and the Saint series]

Between the Sinners and the Saints AO3 A new villain with killer aim nearly takes Frank out, and he makes the call to go to Karen for help. Karen, who hasn’t seen him in months, who has been wishing she could take back those words she said to him in the woods. She never thought she’d get the chance to repair what they both broke that night, so once he’s back in her life, she’s not going to let him disappear again so easily. [Part 1 of The Sinner and the Saint series]

Tough Girl is What I Had to Be AO3 Lisa Castle survives the incident in Central Park, and Karen Page wants to take care of her. Set in an AU where Lisa survived but Frank had no knowledge of it until after the events of Season 2. [Lisa lives AU; you didn’t know you wanted this but I’m here to tell you that you absolutely do]

carrythesky

i started all the wars AO3 | Tumblr (Turns out fighting’s easy, once you start. The problem is that he’s never learned how to stop.) [Punisher speculation, all the angst]

It’s still heavy Tumblr [Karen Page grows up pretending. She escapes to the broom closet downstairs, curls into the dark space and when she closes her eyes she’s an astronaut, a deep-sea explorer, a knight scaling tall towers to rescue damsels in distress.]

things you said in the dark Tumblr [Sometimes, late at night when her eyes itch with exhaustion and the words on her screen become a jumbled blur, sometimes, she thinks of home. The most recent memories are transparent as glass but her childhood is a series of fragments, fuzzy at the edges - rain on the breeze, gingersnap crumbs, Kevin laughing over his shoulder and running ahead, always just ahead - And this, plucked from the haze: Penelope Page hunched over the kitchen table in the middle of the night, crying.]

untitled Tumblr [q: what scares you? a: you have your good arm around her torso, barrel shoved up under her chin and the magazine is an arm’s length away but you’re still careful, careful. she is steel beneath you and that’s when it hits, that’s when you picture your twitchy finger slipping and a bullet going straight through her skull, in and out before you can blink. the elevator door slides shut and you can’t pull away fast enough. (you are the most dangerous thing her hands have touched.)] [How to pack a punch in 500 words or less holy sHIT]

edourado

Bodies make it perfect AO3 | Tumblr Drunk Karen is a test to Frank's will power [Companion piece/sequel to Second Night; warning: explicit sexual content]

Boss AO3 | Tumblr Tumblr prompt: "I need you to scream for me. You're Karen Page he's the Punisher, he will come for you." in which Karen hurt and taken by a villain and Frank is enraged." [Established relationship; warning: explicit sexual content]

But you’re the truth AO3 | Tumblr Tumblr prompt: Frank patches Karen up after she's hurt because of a job and goes after the people who harmed her. Romantic-ish Special appearence: Max, the Pitbull [Companion piece/prequel to For I can’t help falling]

For I can’t help falling AO3 | Tumblr Tumblr prompt: After Frank leaves his hesitation aside, he gets skin hungy [Companion piece/sequel to But you’re the truth]

Have you seen my best friend? AO3 | Tumblr Karen finds a dinosaur toy in the subway. [Everybody lives AU, feat. an adorable Lisa; warning: explicit sexual content]

Hungry AO3 | Tumblr She fought it. With everything she had, she fought it. Karen can only fight for so long. [Companion piece/sequel to Never Had; warning: explicit sexual content]

Karen AO3 | Tumblr Prompt: someone hurts Karen and Frank hunts them down. As he is at it, he realizes his feelings for her [Warning: off-screen attempted rape]

Never Had AO3 | Tumblr How can you mourn the loss of something - someone - that was never truly yours? [Angsty Matt POV, one-sided Karedevil; companion piece/prequel to Hungry]

Not Pete AO3 | Tumblr * She doesn't like the new name [Post-Punisher s1; warning: sexual content]

Ordinary People AO3 | Tumblr (Part 1, Part 2, Deleted Scenes) Prompt: Best friends who are the Old Married Couple but fail to notice they're falling in love until is too late. [AU]

Pour AO3 | Tumblr * She pulled his boots off him before they finished the first glass. They now sat under the couch, forgotten. [Warning: sexual content]

Second Night AO3 | Tumblr Tumblr prompt: Frank shows up drunk at Karen's door, and she's on edge, because she has dated a few unpleasant-when-drunk men. [Companion piece/prequel to Bodies make it perfect]

What do you want AO3 | Tumblr Tumblr promt: Karen accidentaly discovers Frank has a hair pulling kink. She sees an opportunity, she seizes it. [Established relationship; warning: explicit sexual content]

Ejunkiet

dilaudid AO3 This isn’t the first time Frank has shown up on her doorstep in the early hours of the morning, but this is the first time that he’d been extended an invitation.

feel it still AO3 | Tumblr (Part 1, Part 2) w/ evil bunny wolf (evil_bunny_king) Karen’s legs are unsteady as she makes her way to the bathroom to knock on the door, fingers curling against the wood as she hears the water stop, before Frank’s voice croaks through the door. “What is it?” She has to swallow twice before she can get the words out. “Someone knows you’re here.” [Post-Defenders; WIP]

(in our bedroom) after the war AO3 When Karen had received the invitation from WNEX station to speak on Trish Talk, the most popular radio talk show in the city, her first instinct had been to say no. – “With all due respect ma’am, that’s bullshit. Most people, see, wouldn’t be so easy to let the other things” – murder and brutality, bodies littering the floor of the diner and blood on her hands and face – "go. They don’t seek to understand them. They get one good look, and get the hell away.”

meet me in the woods AO3 * Frank doesn’t wait for them to break the lock – he kicks the door open and slams into the first body he makes contact with behind it, lashing out in a blur of kicks and punches. The intruder falls back, face bloody, and then Frank’s gone, and Karen is left alone, crouched beneath her bed like a five year old hiding from the monsters in her closet, except that she’s no longer a child, and now she has a gun. -- Frank turns up on her doorstep on a Tuesday night and stays until Friday. [Part 1 of the corvidae & whiskey series]

elizma_c*

Flight from the City AO3 | Tumblr What are you doing, Karen? she thinks. He might not even be here. Would he even want to see her? What if – The door beside her suddenly swings open. Of course he senses her right away, even as she’s sort of hidden behind the door. He actually puts a hand to his lower back, and she realizes he’s carrying. Of course. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, but there’s surprise in his tone. “Karen.” Even with the questionably overloaded vital signs her body is displaying, she gets the sickest sense of pleasure that she’s gotten the jump on Frank Castle.

What You Know AO3 | Tumblr “When reality feels like its slipping away, hold on to those things that you know are true. You have to focus on what you know.” What did Karen know? Karen knows that she likes to read on the subway. She likes wearing heels that click on the sidewalk. Karen hates exercising but is apparently not a fan of therapy, so she goes running on Saturday mornings. She keeps a .380 in her purse and a pot of dying roses in her window. She has a track record for falling in love with the wrong people. She is fine. She repeats the list in her head each morning when she wakes up, until her hands stop shaking and the knots in her stomach go away.

evil bunny wolf (evil_bunny_king) / devilbunnyking

author our own disasters AO3 | Tumblr Frank Castle’s flesh is a litany to disaster. – Karen and Frank meet again for the first time since that final showdown on the rooftop. It doesn’t go as planned. [Part 2 of the you make me feel so criminal series]

feel it still AO3 | Tumblr (Part 1, Part 2) w/ Ejunkiet Karen’s legs are unsteady as she makes her way to the bathroom to knock on the door, fingers curling against the wood as she hears the water stop, before Frank’s voice croaks through the door. "What is it?” She has to swallow twice before she can get the words out. “Someone knows you’re here.” [Post-Defenders; WIP]

Graves AO3 Frank Castle - had cared. He’d broken himself caring; he’d loved with a heart she’d only glimpsed beneath his darkness, broken and bleeding as it was. She refused to believe that that man could be gone. [Part 1 of the you make me feel so criminal series]

Pacific Swells AO3 | Tumblr It’s not morbid curiosity. She’d be easier to scare away, if it were – he could play the part, flog away another shred of his humanity to dangle before her and ask ‘is this what you wanted? This what you wanted to see?’ [WIP; part 3 of the you make me feel so criminal series]

Perihelion AO3 | Tumblr (Part 1) “I’ve had, I’ve had a hell of a week, but that, I think, might’ve been part of the worst of it.” She clears her throat, and then again, drawing her knees in. Her eyes shine a little in the lamplight. “Yeah. I was scared too. For you.” -- Frank visits Karen, after. [Post-Punisher s1]

Touch AO3 | Tumblr “Why are you here?” he settles on, instead. Her hand moves to the marks on his neck, thumb grazing his adam’s apple. “Because I made a choice. And now I’m making another.” [Part 4 of the you make me feel so criminal series]

The Twist AO3 | Tumblr Frank finds Karen trussed up in the back of a van in Queens. [Kidnapping, protective!Frank]

glycerineclown*

glutton for punishment AO3 | Tumblr If she wants it, it's not a punishment. [Warning: explicit sexual content]

Operation Spot AO3 | Tumblr (Part 1, Part 2) A stocky grey pit bull peeks out from the mouth of the first alley that Karen passes. It's Frank, but she doesn't know it yet. [Shapeshifter AU]

Ordinary Citizens AO3 | Tumblr Rawlins’ fist had really done a number on Frank, and he has to get some teeth pulled a few days later. Karen takes him home, after, for rest and mothering. He stays longer than he has to—long enough to figure a few things out. [Warning: explicit sexual content]

idekman / hipsterfrankcastle

around the world my body will roam (my soul’s in new york) AO3 | Tumblr She gets two blankets, one for each of them, and sits out there with him until the sun rises. Frank moves into Karen’s apartment. She dreams. [Punisher speculation]

my girl is tall with hard long eyes AO3 | Tumblr He returns the book the next day. She’s asleep, curled up on her sofa, the window shut. She looks so small like this, fragile and vulnerable and not at all like the electric force of nature she is in waking.

this is all I ever was AO3 | Tumblr 'I always thought you liked tulips.' Karen takes the pot of roses from him, places it gingerly back on the windowsill. He listens to her fiddle with it, twist it this way and that – finding the best spot for it in the sun, he realises. 'Maybe. Before.' - prompt: kastle through matt's eyes [Post-Punisher s1]

jazzonia

come upstairs but not to talk AO3 Frank comes to her straight from the firefight. [Warning: explicit sexual content; part 1 of the we’re always alright series]

don’t care about your intentions AO3 Karen’s world is upended when Matt reveals his identity to her. Frank helps her right it again. [Warning: explicit sexual content; part 2 of the we’re always alright series]

LaMorenaReina

Ascendancy AO3 Karen Page's relationship with control becomes all the more tenuous as she explores a singular and inconclusive friendship with Frank Castle, wages her own war against Wilson Fisk, and has to start answering some unwanted questions about her past that lead to new conclusions about her identity.

Re-Entry AO3 Frank shows up again and causes trouble because he’s Frank. Karen goes along with it because, well, she’s Karen. They have adult conversations because, honestly, they should. [Punisher speculation]

PurpleLex / shipsabound

bloodsport AO3 | Tumblr (Part 1, Part 2) two-part tumblr prompt: "A baddie is threatening/hurting Karen in front of a tied up Frank. And he’s raging?” [Protective!Frank, h/c; warning: mature content, description of torture/violence]

during the dark and storming nights AO3 | Tumblr Frank POV retelling of “the space between dreams and reality” The concrete columns echo again with the second gunshot and he stands there for a minute on shaky feet, disgust and satisfaction twisting and warring against each other within his gut. The satisfaction doesn’t last long, yanked from him harshly when he climbs back into his truck and hears the radio abuzz over a shooting at the tenement building on 47th. Two women sustain injuries — one Sophia Rossum, and one Karen Page. He forgets to breathe for a long minute. [Part 3 of the Dreams & Lasts series]

fourteen weeks AO3 | Tumblr tumblr prompt: “something where Frank has a dog and because said dog has pretty much adopted Karen as his second owner, Karen often times takes care of the dog when he’s away/busier than usual. And it doesn’t take long for someone to start putting two and two together about who the dogs main owner is."

leaving is my last option AO3 | Tumblr Kastle Week Prompt: Lasts Frank rakes his gaze over her entire form, like he’s trying to decipher her. She shifts. He has a way of making her feel like every inch of her soul is being seen, and it’s as much something she longs for as something she’s insecure about. “Sooner or later, you’re going to burn out,” he says, tone flat. “How are you going to take care of yourself then? Defend yourself?” A bitter smile curves her lips. “I could say the same thing about you.” [Part 2 of the Dreams & Lasts series]

meet me in the woods AO3 | Tumblr tumblr prompt: "I would DIE if you wrote a couple of scenes where Karen army trains with Frank. I could TOTALLY see Frank being like, "You can’t get involved in the extra dangerous stuff unless you at least let me train you.” Imagine them running in the mornings??? Karen getting into crazy shape and the tension between them intensifying???“

shine a light through the distance AO3 | Tumblr “You sure about that?” He asks, incredulous, but she doesn’t give an inch. “You help me, you’ll only get blood on your hands.” “I already have blood on my hands.” She almost had his on hers half a year ago by force of a bullet. He put his blood on her hands just a month ago by force of a plea. “Doesn’t mean you need any more,” is all he says before opening the door. [Part 4 of the Dreams & Lasts series]

the space between dreams and reality AO3 | Tumblr Kastle Week Prompt: Dreams He stands in her apartment, by the door, but it is closed this time, and no bullets are coming through her windows. Her gun is in her hand, though, gripped loose from where it hangs at her side. “Why?” She asks. It’s a whisper of a loaded question. He doesn’t respond, just stares at her, gaze too unreadable. Karen wakes with a frustrated sigh. [Part 1 of the Dreams & Lasts series]

untitled Tumblr [Can you do a prompt where Micro yells at Karen and Frank gets the in his face. I literally be for protective!Frank 😂💕] [Punisher speculation]

PunkyNemo / thevampirecat

As days go by, the night’s on fire AO3 | Tumblr She’s lost him, she’s found him and she’s lost him again. And now he’s standing on her fire escape, holding out his hand and looking at her like she’s the only thing on Earth worth seeing. [Canon-divergent AU; part 2 of the Ballads for a dead man series]

Be my saviour and I’ll be your downfall AO3 | Tumblr (Part 1) Once upon a time she derided herself for imagining they were a done deal on a collision course straight to her bedroom. But that’s all over now and he’s gone, hasn’t been back since he walked off her roof and disappeared into the night air. It’s not all bad though. She has friends, she has work and tonight she even has cause to celebrate. It is, after all, her birthday and there’s a chance the universe will be kind. It’s just a chance though. And not a very good one. [Canon-divergent AU; warning: explicit sexual content; part 3 of the Ballads for a dead man series; WIP]

The bullet you never saw coming AO3 | FFN | Tumblr (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3) There are days that he wonders if he’s the worst man on Earth. And then there are the days that he doesn’t need to wonder. But, worst man or not, she’s here, sitting on his couch and crying like the world is ending. And he has no idea how to feel about that. Except he does. He really does. [Canon-divergent AU; warning: explicit sexual content]

Can you wait while the world circles the sun? AO3 It’s hard when you can’t take her out - when you’re The Punisher and the world can’t know she’s your girl. But he can make it up to her, make it right … even if he’s not really sure what it is that he’s wanting. [Warning: implied sexual content]

Could you crawl out of your perfect skin and climb into mine? AO3 | Tumblr * It's just a hug, so why does it feel like it's so much more? [Frank POV, The Hug]

Love me back to life AO3 | FFN | Tumblr (Part 1, Part 2) He can keep her safe. It’s the one thing he knows how to do, the only thing he can truly give her. So why does it feel like it’s not enough?

You’re a ghost town (and maybe I’m a ghost) AO3 | FFN | Tumblr Safe up in the mountains with Frank following a bloody showdown in Hell’s Kitchen, Karen wonders just how much more complicated things between them can get. She’s about to find out. [Canon-divergent AU; part 1 of the Ballads for a dead man series; I cry about this series in the best way, it’s long and plotty and UST-y and so so great]

queensofthekastle / StellarRequiem & homesickblues

For Whom There are No Words AO3 | Tumblr (Part 1) Originally inspired by the prompt “Frank protecting Karen after Fisk finds out she killed Wesley.” A dialogue-driven slow burn exploring their relationship through conversation, spaghetti dates, two incidents involving vodka, and a whole lot of back and forth between who Frank is, and what Frank does. [Canon-divergent AU; protective!Frank, slow-burn]

Nowhere to Go but Everywhere AO3 * Karen has some emotional recovery to do, Frank is still working on "after," and all along the east-west interstate, someone has been abducting children and wiping all record of the disappearances. ** The roadtrip fic has arrived [Roadtrip AU; fake married, sharing a bed]

untitled Tumblr [based on the new trailer (which shook us to the core tbh)] [Punisher speculation]

untitled Tumblr [Kastle+forced to share a bed (best trope ever)]

untitled Tumblr [kastle prompt fill: “matt and frank having a conversation about karen”] [Canon-divergent AU]

untitled Tumblr [OOOH! What about holding their unconscious body WHILST sobbing into their shoulder/chest ] [Punisher speculation]

samssalvation / jonbernhthal

one day Tumblr prompt: between the explosion and the elevator

weak knees AO3 | Tumblr prompt: karen tripping and falling into frank's arms

SecondFromTheRight

All We Do Is Hide Away AO3 But when she opened the door to him that night with a “Frank”, her lip trembling as she stared at him – her eyes were already red from crying and she looked tired – he wondered how much that mattered. He knew what Karen Page looked like crying and breathing – or yelling – his name, he knew what she looked like with blood on her, but he didn’t know who Ben Urich was to her. He kind of hated himself for that. And for a man used to self-contempt, this dose noticeably burned. [Post-Punisher s1]

The Sounds She Makes AO3 * Now, now that he’s had her, had this. Something good and something he feels part of it. Now that he’s remembered life and something he’s terrified could be love - he can go out with Karen on his lips, in his lungs, with her saying his name in his ear. He can go out swaying in this elevator with her, her forehead against his. The elevator scene goes a little differently (they have sex) [Warning: explicit sexual content]

watermelonp00fs

shooting stars in a jar AO3 * Frank doesn’t visit Karen, after. Not really. But the flowers are there by her window — everyday, for weeks, months — until one day they aren’t. She’s stopped going to the river for a while now, too. Not that he blames her for it. Cut the threads loose, toss the baggage she’s carried all this time into the goddamn ocean — He’s alright with it, all of it. Then, one evening she goes home with a man he’s never laid eyes on, carefree laughs and cheeky smiles — and Frank should be, must be alright with this because God knows she deserves happiness that he cannot interfere with — Except he isn’t.

the world on its axis AO3 Inhale. Exhale. “I’m scared, Karen.” Rough. Guttural. He hated how weak he sounded. “I’m gonna forget her voice.” His shoulders sagged from the weight of his guilt. Frank Castle — the man who took a woman to bed and cried to that woman about his dead wife. What a joke. What a fucking joke. A low hum sounded in the back of Karen’s throat as she stroked the line of his back, gentle and understanding and oh he did not deserve her — “I know,” she murmured and kissed his shoulder. “I know.” Inhale. Exhale. [Part 2 of the like diamonds in the sky series]

Wynn / astreetcarnamedwynn

One Worth Knowing AO3 | FFN | Tumblr The message arrives in an innocuous envelope, a plain white one marked only with her name and the address of The Bulletin, the two scrawled on the front in thick black ink. Karen doesn’t even have to open it to know it’s from him, from Frank, though almost eight months have passed since she last saw him. [UST; warning: adult content; part 1 of the One Worth series]

One Worth Trusting AO3 | Tumblr Frank presses the first speed dial and, a couple seconds later, her phone rings in her purse. Karen doesn’t bother asking how he knew her number. She just stares at him instead, caught between irritation at his actions and understanding for the impulse behind them. And if that didn’t sum up her feelings for Frank Castle, the man a murderer but one she understood. The man in question watches her, his brow furrowed but his jaw set, Frank willing to throw down over this, his efforts to keep her safe.Sighing again, Karen points to the kitchenette behind him. “If you’re so willing to do things for me, why don’t you pour me a drink? I’m going to get changed.”His face softens, nearly into a smile. “Yes, ma’am.” A continuation of "One Worth Knowing." Frank accepts Karen's invitation to come by her apartment for a drink. All goes well until it doesn't, until truths are revealed and revelations made. [UST, kisses, & angst; part 2 of the One Worth series]

Yggdra / favrielle

Bluest Skies Of Mourning Light AO3 It’s Karen’s birthday. The Punisher is caught unaware by his own legacy. [Fluff]

On Hallowed Ground I Stay AO3 He never says "I love you”, but whispers every word of it in all the spaces Karen Page leaves for him in her life. [Fluff]

Paint Your Demons Red AO3 | Tumblr Frank Castle tries to keep Karen Page at arm’s length and out of danger. (Really, he does.) She has other ideas about what safety means. [Post-Defenders]

She Who Believeth In Me AO3 Her brightness touches everything he lays eyes on. And he can’t shake her no matter how hard he tries. [Part 1 of the all the devils series]

untitled Tumblr [kastle prompt: after the explosion scene, frank takes karen back to his and micro’s hideout. possibly a shower scene (doesn’t have to be sexual) where frank is comforting karen because she took another life while looking out for frank as they were making their escape.] [Punisher speculation]

untitled Tumblr [plllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllssssssssssss write a fic where Karen and Frank go back to his hideout to patch each other up after the explosion scenes 😙] [Punisher speculation]

Misc.

Been with the Devil in the Devil’s Resting Place AO3 by Amazing_E_ko The development of Karen and Frank’s relationship from Matt’s perspective, as his own life goes slowly downhill. [POV Matt, not exactly kind to him but in a fun, vindictive sort of way if you’re into that lol]

Heaven Sent the Saints Down (Hell Sent Them Up) AO3 | Tumblr (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4) by Ambrosia But no, yes, the Punisher. In her apartment. Staring at her with an unfazed expression on his face. Even from the doorway, she can see the white skull painted on his chest-piece. And this is somehow so normal for her, at this stage of her life, that she honestly takes one look at Frank, at the bruises on his face, at all his gear spread around her apartment, and says, “Okay. It’s 11:07. I haven’t eaten yet. I’m going to order some dim sum from the corner and you are not going to get any of that gun oil on my bed.”

It is So Quite New a Thing AO3 by an_ardent_rain He realizes, as he is about to order, that there is one other thing he has besides his grief and his anger and his never-ending war. That there is something that helps him remember, that reminds him who he used to be. He orders a second cup to go and writes “Page” in blocky letters on the side. [WIP]

don’t fade away AO3 by consultingpathologist* As she unlatches the window to bring the flowers inside, she realizes the yellow is from a piece of paper wedged in between the stems. [Episode tag]

When you drown, I'll drown AO3 by ebethjanna* His voice is gruff, "Not gonna point a loaded gun at you, Karen." (Two missing moments from 1x10.)

Better Natures AO3 by etirabys “Work with me here, Frank,” Karen snapped. “Make some sense here. Talk to me. We can’t figure out what our next move is until you explain why you’re so disgusted at the thought of my being attracted to you — an attraction which, by the way, I’ve never let interfere with our work or our friendship —“ “I’m not disgusted,” Frank said in a strained, calm voice. “You have ghastly taste, but I’m not disgusted. No. It’s just the feeling of having carried a torch for miles and miles in the dark and… having the sun come up.” [Zombie AU with a side of Fake Married feat. HellaBadass!Karen; warning: explicit sexual content of the dom/sub variety; this fic is everything to me READ IT]

loss like the sharp edges of a knife Tumblr (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5) by fandammit* [The stillness of after is suffocating.] [Frank POV, post-Punisher; one of my current favorite fics]

moth and flame AO3 | Tumblr by freedomatsea Liquid courage and exhaustion lead Frank to reach out to Karen after months of keeping away from her. Set post-finale about 6-8 months. Frank’s POV. [Warning: explicit sexual content]

The Fall AO3 by ghoulsngunz “I need a favor.” A favor? Karen crossed her arms over her chest. She had to be dreaming. There was no way that after three months of silence the Punisher would be standing in her kitchen asking for a favor. “What kind of favor?” Frank rubbed his temples. “I need you to help me find my dog.” [WIP]

Elevator Songs AO3 | Tumblr by Inaccessible Rail (strangetales) A series of drabbles or shorter works that I've posted on Tumblr about my two trauma buds in probable love. [WIP]

But I Wish It Was True AO3 by Ideal_Flower* The first time it happened, he was hit with white hot shame. But there was no bullet, no gunshot, no shattering of golden hair and spray of brain and blood and guilt on the wall, on the side of his face. Just her mouth on him, his hand on her, his fingers tangled through the cornsilk strands at the nape of her neck. [Warning: explicit sexual content]

United We Purge AO3 | Tumblr by Jenye "Just remember all the good the purge does.” – Evil runs Hell’s Kitchen, but one night out of the year that evil is legal. [Purge AU]

Come For You AO3 by larkingstock* Pretty much what the tags say. (I'm so sorry. I wanted it, I wrote it, and if I can figure out the rest I'm probably going to write that too.) (Also so so sorry for the title.) [Sex pollen fic; warning: explicit sexual content, WIP; honestly I am enjoying this fic so fucking much]

You Carry My Heart On Your Sleeve AO3 by Morrigan2345 The first thought that comes to mind when her door opens and she’s standing in front of him in what could only be the tightest black dress he’s ever seen is that she looks good. Really good. The second thought is that he shouldn’t have thought that. The third thought is that he couldn’t give less of a shit. [Warning: explicit sexual content]

the root of the root and the bud of the bud AO3 by nagia* There's a new drug in town, a warehouse full of dead shitbags (and newly empty of a strange, tropical-looking flower), and Karen Page has the kind of connections that might help him figure out what this shit is. [Sex pollen fic; warning: explicit sexual content]

ain’t nothing but a monster AO3 by nighimpossible “Is this okay?” she asks, the question just a murmur in the dark. “You’re already close enough to hurt me,” Frank says finally, after chewing on the thought for a long moment. “So hurt me.” [Warning: mature content]

hail, holy queen AO3 by peppermintcas He kisses her and it’s like setting a building on fire: he knows it’s a bad idea, intellectually, but everything in him is pushing him to do it. [Warning: explicit sexual content]

Strays AO3 by Ruby_Wren* Frank finds out what happened to his dog.

The End of the Line AO3 by ruebellab They say there’s a ghost - that he’s a dead man, but Miss Karen’s seen enough to know one thing. Dead men don’t feel, they don’t hurt, they don’t care - so if there’s a man out there, she knows he ain’t a ghost, he’s broken maybe but he’s not dead. [Western AU; WIP]

Fall On Your Knees AO3 by saltandbyrne* She keeps the flowers in her window for three days. [Warning: explicit sexual content]

windowsill AO3 by shuofthewind Eight weeks, three days. She's going to punch him in his fucking nose. The fic that fixes the lack of Karen at the end of The Punisher. [Post-Punisher s1; UST]

Of Gods and Monsters AO3 | Tumblr by silbecoo Frank is the God of the Underworld, quietly ushering honorable souls to the Elysian Fields while ensuring the evil ones start their time in Tartarus as soon as possible. He doesn’t want or need anyone to care about, until one day the beautiful Daughter of Demeter needs him. He can’t ignore his fate, and neither can she. [Yup it’s the Hades&Persephone AU you were waiting for; WIP]

A Hard Rain AO3 by smolhombre* When he starts over this time, Frank tries to mean it. An after; for people who don't believe in them. [Warning: explicit sexual content; WIP]

the floodgates need repair AO3 by stainofmylove* Karen struggles to put the pieces back together again. Post “I’m already dead,” basically.

moving on AO3 by thecoolestfreak* “I’m going to break the truth over Fisk’s head, sure. But I need the backup to do it. Capable parties.” She said it as she’d rehearsed it in her head, and she winced at how unsympathetic it sounded out loud. “Y’need canon fodder, that it?” he said, and she almost spit out the wine she’d nervously poured in her mouth. “God, no! Frank, that’s not— I’m—" He laughed, a small chuckle, but a laugh, and if he were here she would punch him in the arm.“I’ll do it, Karen. Where and when do you need me?” post the punisher s1 & the defenders s1 - the gang fights fisk, but its basically a kastle fic

elevator AO3 by thefudge 1x10. The elevator scene, but with a much needed addition.

but shrapnel is shrapnel AO3 by theworthofhollin It starts like this: Karen gets a dog. [WIP]

to arm your fears like soldiers and slay them AO3 | FFN | Tumblr by viansian Karen had gotten over the whole “soulmates” hype when she was thirteen years old, and she didn’t plan on getting swept up in that shitstorm again anytime soon. aka the soulmate fic you knew was coming. [Soulmates AU]

Sentimentality AO3 by writesometimes* She stood in front of the windows and scanned the darkening New York skyline. The dark concrete, steel and glass of tall buildings blending with the inky indigo sky. There was no way she'd spot him if he was out there somewhere, but Karen knew. Frank was alive.

Ain’t about what I like AO3 | Tumblr by zombieboyband Before the diner, after the gunfire. City nights, late drives, looking for coffee with Frank. Karen is too tired for easy questions. “Pardon, ma'am?” He sounds so goddamn polite it’s incredible. “The meat hooks. The part where you killed people and put them on meat hooks.” [Missing scene]

→OTHER

On tumblr: kastlelibrary, kastlenetwork, kastlesource, queensofthekastle, thecrimescenejunkie

People with good Kastle tags: afigureofspeech, carry-the-sky, frankcastle, hipsterfrankcastle, likcoln, mazikeene, shipsabound, theworthofhollin

On AO3: the Frank Castle/Karen Page tag

Updated 12/19/17

#kastle #kastle ff #kastle fanfic #frank castle #karen page #the punisher #daredevil #rec post #fic rec #frank castle x karen page #i didn't even attempt to add anything not on ao3 currently sorry #i will fix that when i update #just wanted to get this done #this is how i contribute to fandom lol #i will be freaking out about this show shortly i'm sure #if school doesn't kill me first of course

183 notes · View notes