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h0tchner · 3 years

Text

Something More (Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader)

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: Written as a request for the loml, Abby! (@heliotropehotch!) "Could I have a hotch x reader request thats got a love confession- maybe a hurt comfort scene where the reader is maybe torn up about something like self deprecation or some cop makes an off-handed compliment and he cups her cheeks and wipes the tears away? Pretty please 🥺"

word count: 3.2k

includes: love confessions! hurt/comfort, protective!hotch, mutual pining!!!, kissing, a little teaser of sexytimes, work tension, BAU!reader, crying and other emotions, rude af deputies, fluff soooo much fluff

rating: 18+ (cursing, crude nicknames, suggestive sexual mentions, and brief explicit sexual content at the very end)

a/n: HELLO BESTIES! I hope you love this one! If you want a smutty part two, let me know. PLS (!!!!!) interact if you liked this fic; rb, comment, like and/or send me a request if you have ideas for future fics! i love y’all! - rivka💞

some pals tags: @arsonhotchner @laurensprentiss @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie

“It’s time to give the profile,” Hotch announces.

Six words. One sentence. Zero hesitation.

“Go and gather everybody in the bullpen,” he directs Spencer, who nods and quietly exits the conference room to collect your team and the rest of the Sherrif’s department of this small, Wisconsin town.

You stand on the opposite side of the table from your boss, looking at him expectantly. Hotch meets your gaze. His tongue darts out from between his lips as he glares at you from beneath thick lashes. You wait for your instructions, but the instructions don’t come. Rather, you both stand there in a staring contest, unmoving.

You can’t help but feel bare under his scrutiny, but this feeling is nothing new. Every time Hotch looks at you, it feels as if every fibre of your being is on fire. It’s been this way since the very first day you started with the BAU, and, over time, the flame has only burned brighter.

You and Hotch have grown close over the two years you’ve been with the team: closer than he’s been with any of his other agents, even Rossi. It all started with one long night spent together in his office, sharing cold Chinese food, scribbling away at mountains of paperwork. It was then, sitting across the desk from him, laughing at his incredulous reaction when he dropped some Lo Mein on an After-Action Report, that you knew: you were in deep. From then on, your Chinese food office “dates” became a regular occurrence. And then, those regular occurrences transformed into other regular occurrences; to name a few: rides on the jet, side by side, sharing soft glances and tired smiles after hard cases… holding hands to comfort each other when emotionally vulnerable… and even bringing you your favourite coffee on mornings that you’ve needed an extra boost. All these little moments of kindness and care are what made you fall in love with him. You would cross the line from coworkers to more in a heartbeat if you knew for certain that he felt the same way about you. But you refuse to take a risk on losing what you currently have with Hotch for the chance at something more.

The way that Hotch looks at you now, tall and commanding, feels very much like something more… it’s incredibly intimate. He’s effectively stripped away all the layers of protection you’ve built up to do your job with one pointed glance. What you don’t know is that he too feeling the same way, and is toeing a line between being your boss, being your friend, and being your “something more.”

Hotch breathes out hard through his nose. You watch as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he does. His jaw ticks. He shifts on his feet.

“I want you to sit this one out,” he says.

“Hotch?” You question, puzzled. Nothing about this day has prepared you for him to say that. You start racking your brain, trying to figure out why he would give you such a ridiculous order. Did you piss him off somehow? Did you play-flirt with Morgan too much in the car? Overlook an important lead? Did he not like the coffee you made him this morning?

Looking over at him, you swear he almost looks conflicted… but it doesn’t last.

“This is not up for debate. Do you understand me? You’re sitting this one out.” He repeats, steadfast.

“I don’t understand, what did I do wrong?” You ask more defensively this time, wishing he would give you more information. Something, anything besides the “SSA Aaron Hotchner” routine he was pulling on you now.

“I never said you did anything wrong.” Hotch moves forward a step, finally breaking eye contact, opting to gather files and loose papers into his arms.

“So, then what it is?” You cross your arms, stepping forwards as well, challenging him with your posture.

He doesn’t respond, nor does he look at you. Instead, he lumps more files into his arms before rounding the table, moving swiftly toward the door.

You have never, ever disobeyed one of his orders because his orders have always made sense… until now.

“Hotch,” you say sternly, your stubborn feet moving to stand between him and the exit before your logical brain can stop you.

He’s practically up against you, cornering you between his solid body and the old wooden door. His height dominates your shorter frame, and the heat coming off his body is positively criminal. Your heart flutters in your chest as he stares you down, calculating his next move.

“Out of my way, Agent Y/L/N.” He breathes out, tensing his jaw.

“Fine,” you stutter, “just tell me why and then I’ll let you go.” Your confidence wavers as you’re a little taken aback by his official use of your title and last name.

You’re hurt, confused… and he knows this. No matter how hard you’re putting on your tough-girl FBI face, Hotch can see right through it. He knows this order is unjustified, but he has his own reasons: reasons that he can’t get into. Not now.

Hotch lets his eyes dart to the side, past your head, not daring to look you in the eyes. He wills himself to be gentle.

“I can’t tell you, but I need you to trust me. Sit this one out.” He verbalizes, looking at you a little softer now. His face relaxes a little more into the Hotchner you’ve come to know: the one who calls his son every night to read a bedtime story, the one who grins every time you beat him in chess.

You two stand there a moment longer, your heart racing from the heat of the quarrel and your current proximity to your Unit Chief.

Hotch opens his mouth to say something else, but a knock on the door behind you stops him in his tracks. You step aside and he whips open the door; a very apologetic Spencer stands behind it.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Spencer says, clearing his throat awkwardly, “but everyone is ready in the bullpen.”

“Thank you,” Hotch nods, stepping forward to leave, but you grab a hold of his arm.

“Hotch,” you begin, not entirely sure what you want to say.

“Later,” he answers, finishing the unspoken thought.

With that, he’s out the door and you’re left alone with only stale coffee and a bunch of disorganized files to keep you company.

You close the door behind them with a sigh, letting yourself rest against it again, closing your eyes for a moment in defeat. Three days on this case. Three days of hard work, interviews, and research just to get benched in the end zone. You wish that you didn’t love Hotch, because maybe if you didn’t, it would be easier to disobey him. Opening your eyes again, you scan the quiet room. Then, something in front of you catches your eye and you get an idea.

On the table rests one of the precinct’s phones. It is all too easy to use the conference feature to listen in on one of the other phone lines: specifically, one in the bullpen.

You grin and rush over to the device, feeling a little bit sheepish for not listening to Hotch, but you push the buttons anyway, and bring the receiver up to your ear.

At first, all you hear is the shuffling of papers and muffled voices. You take a seat, leaning back in your chair like the cat who caught the canary. Several more moments pass of bureaucratic white noise, but then, someone speaks.

“Where’s the slutty one?” A male voice whispers.

“Oh, Agent Y/N? Probably on her knees somewhere waiting for her boss to come back.” A second male voice snickers back, matching the volume of the first.

You gasp, the phone slipping out of your hand, landing on the table with a loud thunk.

Scrambling, you grab it again, your other hand coming to rest over your open mouth.

“Don’t know why he wouldn’t let us use her as bait. This whole case could’ve been wrapped up and done by now if we just stuck her in a skimpy dress and shoved her out on the street.” One of them muses.

“Obviously because he’s sleeping with her.” The other mutters. “Agent Hotchner looked like he was going to take your head off when you asked him about it. Thought he was going to deck you for suggesting disguising her as a hooker to lure this guy out.”

“Yeah, he did. She looks like the victims, though. Bet she’s a whore like them too.”

“Deputies, we’re starting.” You hear a third voice pipe up. This time it’s one you recognize: it’s Hotch. “This is your final warning. I don’t want to hear another word out of you for the rest of the day. Not only is this wildly inappropriate, but it is insulting and vile. If I hear either of you speak about, look at, or interact with Agent Y/N, I will make sure you are both charged with harassment and fired from this department. Is that clear?”

With that, your eyes nearly pop out of your head. The deputies mumble something back, but you can’t hear over the sound of papers rustling.

Stunned, you set the phone back in its holder and force air into your lungs.

Waves of thoughts come crashing down on you. You have so many questions and so many answers and it’s all just… too much.

Suddenly, you know that you need to be anywhere but here.

You stand, shoving the chair aside and burst out of the conference room, fuming. You power-walk down the hall, and past the bullpen, focused on getting yourself outside and into the fresh air. Understandably, you don’t look up as you pass the profile briefing, so you don’t see Hotch’s brow furrow at the sight of you. You also don’t see him hand his papers to JJ, excuse himself, and race to follow you out the front door.

Once you’re outside in the parking lot, you look up at the cloudy, grey sky, and the tears start to fall. You feel guilty and angry; part of you wants to run away and cry, but the other part of you wants to walk straight up to those men and kick them straight in the dick. They not only called you vile names, but they also called the victims – those poor, dead women – the same. You sniffle, thinking about how Hotch stepped in and protected you, stood up for you.

Hotch… the thought of him makes you cry a little harder.

You start to pace around, kicking gravel as you went.

Were you that obvious? Was your crush so rampant that two low-level deputies in the middle of nowheresville picked up that easily on how you really felt about your boss?

“Fuck you two,” you curse under your breath to nobody as you choke back sobs. You kick a large piece of gravel as hard and as far as you can, but it doesn’t help.

“Are you okay?” A voice prods from behind you, gently, hesitantly, as if not to spook you. It’s a curt baritone, laced with concern. It’s Hotch.

“Hotch,” you breathe, turning to face him, furiously wiping tears away from your eyes.

“What happened?” He frowns, stepping closer to you, a comforting hand reaching forward to take yours.

Any other day you would grasp it contently, letting him console you. Today? All you can hear are the deputy’s comments. Sleeping with her. Whore. On her knees. You’re embarrassed and ashamed, so, you involuntarily step back.

“It’s nothing,” you put your hands up, looking down at your feet.

“Y/N,” Hotch says, his heart pounding in his chest.

You look back up, locking on his beautiful, angular face. You see every feature clouded in a haze of sorrow and concern.

You know you must swallow your pain and try to get it out. He wasn’t about to let you off easy.

“You… they… I…” you begin, but never finish your sentence. Instead, you start to cry again.

Wordlessly, Hotch moves to cup your face in his hands. They’re large and slightly calloused, encasing your cheeks as his thumbs gently swipe away the tears. His soft eyes search your watery ones; despite your better instinct, you bring your hands up to rest on his chest. You feel his breathing hitch. One of his hands moves from your face to cover your smaller hand against his chest. The two of you stay there, just like that, for another handful of heartbeats. You focus on his hands and how warm and safe they make you feel. Soon enough, you stop crying and gather the courage to speak.

“I heard them.” You whisper, not trusting yourself to say another word. You know that Hotch knows exactly who “them” is, and exactly what it is that you’ve heard.

His brow creases and his hand grips yours tighter. He cleans another tear off your cheek, and then lets that hand down to ball in a fist at his side.

“I’m going to kill them.” Hotch states, furious and heartbroken.

“Me first.” You sniffle.

Your boss sighs, giving you a heartfelt look. Leave it to you to make a joke at a time like this.

“I told them this morning that if I ever heard them say another thing about you, I was going to have their badges. I should’ve kicked them off this case hours ago.” He huffs, closing his eyes, letting his other hand, the one that was covering yours, drop down to his side.

You know this look all too well. You know he��s blaming himself.

“It’s not your fault,” you offer, smoothing your hands over his chest to settle on his upper arms. “Hotch, look at me.”

He doesn’t at first, but eventually, he opens his eyes. His hands open and close at his sides, as if he’s fighting them to be still.

“I’m sorry.” He breathes out. “For everything. For handling this how I did.”

“I’m not.” You chime in, feeling braver, calmer now that you’re here with him. Your comment earns a quizzical glance and a slight head tilt from Hotch, urging you to go on. “You stood up for me. You honoured me. You respected me. You protected me. You –“

With a fierce momentum, your next sentence is swallowed by Hotch’s lips pressing into yours. His hands come up to rest on your hips, and then circle around your waist to pull you closer. He’s warm and soft and intense; you whimper into the kiss, moving your hands to rest on the back of his neck and card in his hair. The kiss is over far too soon for your liking, both of you needing to pull back and inhale.

Hotch looks at you with heavy eyes, hands gripping your hips. He smells like coffee and pine, with a hint of something spicier. Everything about him is overwhelming yet grounding.

“Finally,” you whisper, hands clasped around his neck. “It’s about damn time.”

“It is,” is all he musters, still dazed by the audacity of his own actions.

“Aaron?” You lick your lips, feeling his hands squeeze you tight at your use of his first name.

“Yeah?” He can’t help but start to smile, showing off his adorable dimples and crinkled lines around his eyes.

“I love you; do you know that?” You say in earnest.

Aaron giggles, giggles at your confession, and then attacks your lips again, making you yelp at the surprise. His lips detach from yours only to pepper kisses on your tear-stained cheeks, jaw, and forehead.

“I love you too,” he breathes out, giddier than you’ve ever seen him. He looks like a kid in a candy shop, and it makes your heart leap into your throat.

Just then, a car beeps on the road, startling you two. You’re suddenly reminded where you are, and why you’re here. The thought of having to go back inside makes you groan, and you bury your head into his chest for a moment. He hums into your hair, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

Reluctantly, you pull yourself off his chest to look up at him.

“Forget about them,” you say, “go finish giving the profile so we can close this case and get the hell out of this town so you can take me home and show me how much you love me.” You smile at him, pulling him in for another, lighter kiss.

He grins against your lips, meeting you for another smooch.

“Yes ma’am,” Hotch replies, giving you a kiss on the tip of your nose.

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

Three months later, you and Aaron are coming down from your highs, sweaty and blissed-out after an amazing lovemaking session. After the team wrapped up the case and made it back to Virginia in one piece, you and Hotch went out to dinner the next night. He took you to dine in at the Chinese restaurant that you both usually ordered from on those nights you both spent pining and yearning in his office. It was… perfect. He was perfect. Just as your friendship had blossomed, so did your relationship. One date led to another, one gesture turned into more, and you and Aaron settled into life as a couple with ease. You hadn’t brought up the incident with the deputies since it had happened the afternoon that Hotch had followed you out to the parking lot to wipe away your tears.

Now, as you lay in his arms, wrapped in his strong, loving, embrace, your mind wanders back to their words. However, you don’t feel animosity toward them, rather it makes you giggle.

“What’s so funny hot stuff?” Aaron cracks open an eye and smiles down at you. One arm is tucked underneath his head, and the other is tracing patterns on the bare skin of your shoulder.

“Oh, just that case we had in Wisconsin a few months back.” You nuzzle deeper into his chest with another laugh.

Hotch frowns, recalling the memory, thinking about the way those awful men spoke about you.

“How is that funny?” He asks, hesitantly.

“They called me a whore.” You say nonchalantly, peering innocently into his amber eyes. You bring your palm up to swipe across his cheek softly, feeling the light stubble of his jaw underneath your fingertips.

Both of his eyes are open now, and his hand motions cease their patterns on your skin. He’s confused, and the face he’s giving you is downright adorable. It makes you giggle again.

You detach yourself from his grasp and sit yourself up, carefully shimmying down the bed. Aaron’s eyes never leave you.

You nestle yourself between his legs and look up at him with a smirk.

“They were partially right.” You offer, studying the small changes in his face, watching as his eyes glaze over with lust for the second time that night.

“I am a whore.” You pout suggestively and flutter your eyelashes. “A whore for you, Hotch.”

He shakes his head at you in amusement and chuckles, but it quickly turns into a deep, throaty moan as you wrap your lips around the tip of him.

As you start to bob your head on his already hardening length, you think to yourself: as much as I hate to say it... someone should really give those two deputies a raise.

#aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotch hotchner #criminal minds fandom #my fics #rb!!!!!! ily!!!!!!!!!#ivyheliotrope #abby!#aaron hotch

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barrysmanbun · 3 years

Text

On the Count of Three

A/n: This isn't edited but when is any of my shit ever edited

Description: Rafe and the reader want to go to the beach but Barry wants to spend time with them at home. They compromise by going to the beach.

Prompt: Rafe and Barry + Holding hands while jumping down from somewhere together

Warnings: Rafe x Reader, Barry x Reader, Rafe x Barry, fluff, Barry is a homebody, recreational cliff jumping, sass

Today is possibly the nicest day you guys have had all year, weather-wise at least. It is sunny, not a cloud in the sky but still a comfortable 70 degrees thanks to the wind. Everyone is in a good mood, and having a blast at the beach. People took the day off from work, and even metaphorically from being a pogue or a kook or a touron so they could all share the beaches on such a nice day.

All of this doesn’t explain why you, Rafe and Barry are still at his trailer, cooped up inside.

“Come on, Barry, you’ll love it I promise.” Rafe pleads, coming up behind his partner to hug him as he pops open the beer he had just retrieved from the fridge.

Barry pulls out of Rafe’s arms, shaking his head. “No, I’m not going to the damn beach. Why would I choose to be around a bunch of idiots getting sand in places where sand don’t belong when I could be here: happy and sandless with you two?”

“Y/n, can I get some help here?” He asks, plopping down onto the couch with a huff.

Rafe and Barry both turn to look at you expectantly. “Well…” You think on it… “I know a special part of the beach that I’ve never seen anyone else at. It’s secluded, lots of shade and no one will bother us.” You reach out, taking Barry’s hand in yours and running your thumb over the back of his hand.

He looks between you and Rafe before sighing. “Fine.” He gives in and Rafe’s whiney expression turns triumphant.

Barry drags his feet through getting the bags together, and when You go down your mental checklist, naming things out loud for him to check for, he only responds in half-hearted grunts. He drags his feet getting out of the car and then drags his feet all the way to the secret spot you were talking about, barely saying 5 words the whole time.

The three of you break through the small amount of underbrush you have to trek through to reach the spot and then you’re greeted by a stunning view of the clear blue sky meeting the shinning ocean horizon. The spot itself is a decent sized clearing on a small cliff maybe 30 feet above the water. There’s a small rocky pathway to the left side that’s maybe a one minute trek that can be used as stairs to a small sandy beach area.

You glance over to Barry, smiling to yourself when you see his reaction to the beautiful area.

“What do you think?” You ask, setting down your tote bag as you turn to face him.

His eyes snap to you as he schools his expression, probably hoping you didn’t see how impressed he was. “It’s alright.” He grumbles, tossing his bag down next to yours.

You pull the blanket from your bag, setting it on the ground as Rafe strips off his shirt, and begins the trek down to the beach.

“Where’s he going?” Barry asks, stretching out his neck in an attempt to get a better look without moving.

“There’s a little path that way,” You explain. “It leads to the beach area I was telling you about. You finish setting up the blanket and pull out the sunscreen. Even if Rafe is crazy enough to not wear sunscreen you’re not. “Will you be swimming with us?”

You know he had changed into swimming trunks and brought a change of shorts, or rather Rafe had forced him to, but you didn’t know if he was actually willing to swim with you guys. Barry thinks on it quietly as he watches you rub the sunscreen into your skin. When it’s time for you to do your back he walks over and takes the sunscreen from you without you even having to ask.

His rough hands gently massage the sunscreen into your skin, the both of you quiet until he finally says, “Yeah, I guess I will.”

With a gleeful smile you whip around, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you, baby.” You giggle, and then you quickly begin to apply the sunscreen to him before you drag him down the pathway.

The two of you meet Rafe there, who’s already waist-deep in the water. He turns when he sees you coming, smiling as he sees you dragging Barry behind you.

“Decided to join us, Barry?”

“Shut up, country club,” he grumbles just loud enough for Rafe to hear him. He hesitates at the water’s edge, glancing out towards the horizon then back at his partners.

“Don’t worry, you’re as far from made of sugar as someone can get. The water won’t melt you.” Rafe teases, a playful smirk blossoming on his face as Barry immediately gets a disgruntled look on his face.

“Alright, that’s it pretty boy, I’m gonna kick yo’ ass.” And with that Barry storms into the water after Rafe.

Maybe 40 minutes later the three of you pull yourselves back up to the cliffside, all smiles and loose limbs as you collapse on the blanket with tired sighs.

“You have to admit, that was a lot of fun.” You say to Barry as you grab his hand, giving it a squeeze. He rolls his eyes, not agreeing or disagreeing with what you said.

Rafe sits up on his elbows so he can see Barry from where he lays on your opposite side. “And to think none of this would have happened if we had sat on our asses in your trailer like you wanted.”

Barry turns to glare at Rafe, but the tall boy’s attention is already caught on something else. He stares towards the cliff’s edge as his expression slowly turns from teasing to scheming.

“Rafe… whatcha thinking about?” You ask, curious but also nervous. Most of his schemes end very, very badly.

“I want to jump off the cliff.” He states, then keeps to his feet with surprising ease.

You quickly stand after him, catching up only to grab his wrist and pull him back. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, baby…” You murmur, looking out at the water nervously.

“Babe.” He pulls you a couple steps forward, then motions down to the water at the edge of the cliff, “It’s maybe 25 feet, 30 if we’re pushing it. There's no rocks at the bottom, I would have noticed that when we were swimming.” He then takes both your hands in his, pulling you close to him till your chests are brushing and he can wrap his arms around your middle. “Jump with me,” He whispers sweetly, leaning over to brush his lips against yours seductively. Oh boy, are you really contemplating jumping off a cliff with this boy just because he asked nicely? Yes. Yes you are.

“Uh uh. Nope.” Barry pushes himself to his feet, shaking his head as he does. “Not happenin’.”

“Come one, Barry-” Rafe tries the same tactic on him, pulling him in and leaning down to brush a kiss to his lips but Barry simply leans back and shakes his head again.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy, baby boy, ain’t no way I’m lettin’ either of you jump off that damn cliff. Not a way in hell.”

“It’s completely safe.” Rafe tries to reason, “there’s no rocks at the bottom, we all know how to swim, it’s barely even 30 feet. We’ll be fine.” When Barry still doesn’t budge Rafe tries a different tactic. “Why don’t you come with us? It’ll be fun…” Rafe slides his hand from the middle of Barry’s back down to teasingly cup his ass, “Get the blood pumping. He murmurs, leaning in for another kiss. Barry ducks away again, shaking his head, though his movements are slower and more hesitant this time.

Rafe turns his puppy eyes on you, obviously expecting you to back him up.

You bite your lip, looking between your two partners. Rafe is set on this, you can tell by the stubborn look in his eyes, and Barry is already visibly bending to Rafe’s will. You don’t doubt Rafe’s hand still palming Barry’s ass cheek is helping with that.

With a small sigh and a glance over your shoulder and down at the water you say, “Rafe is right, Bear. It's only 30 feet. It will be fun."

Barry stares at you like you grew two heads, then slowly his shoulders slump and he lets out a groan. "Damnit," he mutters, pulling out of Rafe's arms.

"Fine. Fine, I'll fuckin' jump." He huffs, beginning to mutter under his breath, "Fuckin' crazy, ya' both are."

Rafe and you stand next to each other, facing the water, and with one last unintelligible grumble, he joins you. You wonder if Rafe is going to count to 3, or just jump, when suddenly you feel two warm hands grab ahold of your own at the same time. Rafe's hand is slightly larger, smoother, while Barry's is rough and holds onto your hand like you'll die if he doesn't.

"Alright." Rafe finally says, sounding slightly out of breath already. "On 3? One… two… three."

And then he's jumping, and so are you, pulling Barry down with you guys. Only a few seconds later you connect with the water, letting go of their hands on instinct so you can swim back to the top. You break the surface, inhaling the air deeply as you search for your partners. Rafe surfaces, then Barry, and you smile widely as you make eye contact with the both of them. A bout of giddy adrenaline rips a giggle from your throat and then all three of you are laughing as you hold yourself afloat in the water. The three of you swim the short distance to the beach.

"You two are fuckin' crazy," Barry chuckles, shaking his head with a fond look in his eyes. "You're fuckin' crazy people."

"We're your crazy people," Rafe states with a lopsided smirk, shaking the water from his hair.

Barry snorts. "You're somethin' alright."

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flowerwrites06 · 4 years

Text

under the moonlight — jjk

Plot: Jungkooks’ omega is in heat.

Pairing(s): Alpha!Jungkook x Omega!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 5k+

Genre: Supernatural | ABO Dynamics | Smut/Angst

Tags & Warnings: abo dynamics, explicit smut, mild violence

Authors Note: repost for those who wanted this!

Elation floated around her mind when she was taken in as a mate by the alpha himself. Only the strongest were chosen so it was no surprise that a sense of pride burst through her body at the decision. Though the result of it all had been a lot more anti-climactic than expected when Jungkook seemed to have no interest in being near her.

Belle would stay close to him in front of the pack, sleep next to him on his bed but he always turn the other way or just sleep on a chair and not a single intimate touch shared between them. The excitement that once reached the roof of her mood now dropped down to a pile of fear and insecurity.

Nothing happened between the two of them but the omega could not help but think that Jungkook grew tired of her as soon as he took her in. Something the betas were quick to assume in front of her while the alpha was not around.

All hope lost for a while until the heat began. That same excitement bubbled inside her again knowing now more than ever, Jungkook would try to get close.

Belle even went as far as to dress herself up in a short, silk babydoll dress with nothing else underneath making her completely ready and open for her beloved alpha. And she waited in the room. The same room that had no memories but of distance and silence. Her legs rubbed together absentmindedly growing impatient until the door finally opened, heart jumping almost out of her ribcages. A smile stretched across her lips when she saw Jungkooks’ eyes trail up and down her body. “Do you like it?”

Jungkook continued to stare as he closed the door behind him. “It’s cold…wear something warm.” He mumbled under his breath quickly turning on his heel towards the bathroom leaving the omega in her pooling lust and pain.

Frustration burst inside as disturbing thoughts passed through her mind, chest rising and falling rapidly glaring at the direction Jungkook walked away.

In a jolt of impulse Belle grabbed a large coat, draping it over her body before rushing out of the room and being rid of her constant disappointment in her uninterested alpha.

Unfortunately a little omega in heat all alone in the forest may have not been the greatest idea.

His body burned like a furnace as soon as he saw her in that thin little nightie, a little see through with her plump thighs peeking out resembling a cake he wanted to bite into. Those gorgeous tender breasts and that fucking smile. So much innocence yet her body spoke all kinds of sin. Jungkook had to grip onto the edge of the bathroom counter to calm himself down, his eyes already darkened with lust as her scent echoed throughout the room hurdling him down to a pit of insanity.

The alpha struggled to keep his control around the beautiful omega and from his observation, the rest of the pack had the same idea. A lot of betas would eye her with dark eyes sometimes whispering all the things they would do to her once she was in heat. Jungkook had to shut them down somehow without showing just how much he hated the thought of anyone else touching the ethereal and delicate creature.

It was simple for him to choose Belle, not much as a second thought passed through his mind when he did. The beauty tried her best to be perfect for him even though really there was no need for a lot of effort since the slightest flip of her hair had him growling in hunger. Every part of his body tingled at the thought of her but he harbored a slight concern of tainting all that innocence.

Jungkook did not earn this position by being gentle on anyone even his previous mates. Though none of their scents swirled in his head as badly as Belles’. It smelled so sweet, calling out for him to taste even just a little.

Thoughts faded when he heard the bedroom door slam shut forcing him to rush back out to the place he saw the beauty waiting for him but now completely empty. The strong scent of her already fading away, frustrating him in mere seconds.

“Where’s Belle?” He immediately announced as he barged out to the main hall where most of the pack were still chatting and eating.

One of the betas shrugged, licking one of her fingers. “She just walked out of the mansion.”

“And you let her?” His eyes flashed amber silencing the entire group as they finally listened to his every word, barely moving.

“We thought she just went out to hunt or something.” Another beta spoke a little less nonchalantly but uncaring nonetheless.

Jungkook was not surprised considering he pushed past most of these betas to get to the precious omega he wanted. The idea burned him with more fury, raking his fingers through his hair knowing Belle would not just randomly go out to hunt. He rejected her while she was deep in heat, any member of the pack would have been frustrated beyond belief.

“She’s just a scrap member of the pack, Kook.” The first beta spoke up again rolling her eyes at how concerned the alpha looked. “I don’t hear a lot of noises from the bedroom so that means you probably taken her yet so—let her freeze.” She quickly came to regret her words when her neck now tightly encased into Jungkooks’ hand until all her breath stuck in her throat.

“She has more use to the pack on her pinky finger than you do in your whole body.” He seethed before letting her drop to the floor coughing.

“Jimin!” Jungkook growled in command for one of the betas as they rushed out of the mansion in search of his omega.

The night was harsh and cold especially since her legs were not properly covered, allowing the breeze to create goosebumps on her skin. Belle had no idea where she was going but the mansion deemed to be an unfriendly and now unsatisfying place to be in. At least it was warm though. Even the mud splotched under her shoes making her feel more exposed, pooling between her legs forced an annoying mixture of desire and disgust.

For a moment she imagined Jungkooks’ reaction of her disappearance. Would he be angry the omega rushed out into the open while still in heat? Would he even care? Hell, had he even noticed at this point that she was gone?

Unlikely, she thought. He probably took in a beta he actually wanted instead of her and continued on with the night in a flurry of pleasure. The vision and thought caused a burning behind her eyes that deemed to be the only warm thing on her body.

A rustle in the bushes made her heart jump as Belle hugged herself even tighter. In a small moment of hope she thought it was Jungkook but the forest looked completely empty. She wanted to call his name out but no sound wanted to be formed. All of her words replaced with shivers. Twig snapped somewhere close by, her ears pricked up trying to back away against the tree trunk until her back hit something.

Except it wasn’t a tree. Trees didn’t have hot breath running down her neck and limbs that tried to wrap around her body.

Belle gasped quickly turning around to see the figure, the tiniest ray of hope of the person being Jungkook now completely destroyed when she came face to face with a man, eyes flashing red and trailing uncomfortable slow down her body.

“Look at you…” He gave her a sinister smirk as she continued to back away. “It’s dangerous for such a pretty omega to be walking around here.” He took a step forward attempting to stay closer distance no matter how much the woman tried to move. “Especially one that—smells so sweet.” His eyes flickered down immediately making Belle press her legs together tight. “Where’s your pack, darling?”

She stammered lightly having that vision of Jungkook again with a beta and her heart sank deeply glancing behind her.

“Oh…” He followed her gaze. “Exiled pup.”

“I wasn’t exiled.” Belle argued. “I—I left.”

He hummed and nodded, plump lips pouting out a little before carefully taking another step, a tiny bit pleased when the creature did not take another step back. “Why did you leave?” The question lingered in the air for a while as the man was now almost overwhelmed by the decadent scent touching his nose.

“My—the alpha—” She gulped down the lump in her throat. “I’m not wanted there.” The reply was simple but saying it made her body close in wanting so badly just to ask Jungkook what she did wrong. But he would never tell her.

“I don’t think that’s the truth.” He shook his head, one more step taken now only closing the distance since the omega stood still. “If I had someone like you in my pack, I would’ve taken you as my mate without a second thought.” Something stirred in his pants even just imagining the idea of this gorgeous creature being his mate. “Especially when you’re in heat…” His deep voice vibrated in her ears a little. “I’d never leave your side.”

Belle gripped onto her coat again averting her gaze to the trees, wondering if sprinting away would be a good idea or could just get her into more trouble. “I don’t know you.”

“Oh my apologies—I’m Taehyung…I lead the pack on the South edge of the forest.” He gestured casually behind him with a small smile.

The omega was a little surprised that this alpha even answered her question. Omegas had no real right to ask anything, they were just supposed to do what they were told and be the butt of everyone’s joke. Part of the reason why all the betas grew furious at her presence after the alpha chose her. The runt of the pack.

“What’s your name?” Taehyung leaned in slightly searching her expression.

“Belle.”

“Belle.” He whispered back, a smile tugging at his lips as his eyes trailed from her bright eyes and slightly glistening pink lips. “I never knew omegas came this pretty.” Taehyung practically stood over her now. “Too bad your alpha didn’t snatch you up when they had the chance.” Fingers hovered over the creatures’ neck trying not to touch the skin just yet. “Good thing I found you. Anyone else would have already grabbed you by now.”

Belle shifted a little to get away from his lingering fingers. “Am I supposed to be thankful?”

“You should always be thankful if an alpha decides not to kill you for being of no use.” Taehyungs’ tone grew serious for a brief moment. Though his expression softened when the omega hung her head not giving him another response. With a sigh, he spoke again. “I’m not going to hurt you. Someone so beautiful should never come in harms’ way.”

“I’m not beautiful.” No one in the pack thought so. Belle never really got to sit at the table with everyone else and on the rare occasion, a few of them sat with her to taunt her about something for entertainment. It sounded like a harsh life but the girl did not really have any other family left to wonder what everything could be like. Besides she felt safe at best in the mansion. Especially since the moment the omega walked out, another alpha sniffed her out in minutes.

Taehyung merely chuckled at her comment. “Would you like me to show just how beautiful you are?” Those wild fingers now hovered over the coat covering her shivering body. “I’ve been wanting a little omega for a while.”

“I’m already—” It would be a lie to say Belle was taken as a mate since she technically was not. But this red eyed alpha was still a stranger no matter how warm his smile looked now. Lying a little might not be such a betrayal. “I’m already taken.”

“Didn’t you say you left?” His brows furrowed but the smile remained. “That means you’re not taken anymore, sweet one. Means you’re open and ripe for any alphas’ taking.” Taehyung’s flashed that deadly color again as he grabbed her chin firmly to force her gaze on him. “So be a good little pup—”

His words interrupted by a heavy growl that echoed through the tress almost making them tremble. In a flash of black Belle saw Taehyung being tackled to the ground, his right eye already bleeding and puffed up before she could even gain her bearings.

Gaze followed the assailant and immediately recognized the long-ish curly hair. His fists practically jackhammered across the other alphas’ face, only giving him the chance let out grunts or cough up blood.

Eventually when Belle’s surrounding came back into clarity, her heart jumped. “Jungkook…” She muttered. The perfect omega inside her wanting to keep her distance and letting the alphas do what they always did. But the part that didn’t want a death because of her running away finally won the battle. “Jungkook, stop!” She grabbed at Jungkooks’ shoulder and tried to pull him back which shocked both the leaders and the beta, Jimin. “I’m sorry…” Her hands moved away from his shoulder back to holding her coat while the two alphas caught their breath.

Jimin glared at her for stopping an alpha fight like that but stayed silent waiting for Jungkook to reprimand the omega instead. The beta did not have any qualm with the creature at all. In fact he thought she was very kind to all the members despite that kindness not being returned a lot of the time. However Jimin knew the rules. Omegas were never allowed to consort with the alpha at all in most cases but breaking up an alpha brawl broke all kinds of tradition.

Taehyung struggled to get himself up from the ground but tried to hide it as much as he could, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping away all the excess blood. “Doesn’t seem like you weren’t wanted, little omega.” He smirked.

Belle merely hung her head not wanting to face anyone and hoped to disappear into thin air. It became harder to be invisible nowadays ever since she got chosen. Everyone either stared at her, whispered or tried to taunt her more than normal just so they could see a reaction that would make her look weak. That way Jungkook would in some way ‘open his eyes’ and figure out she was nothing but a runt. Never good enough.

“You fight dirty as always, Jeon.”

“I told you not to cross to our border.” Jungkook sounded and looked like he had no time for Taehyungs’ smug antics.

“Easy now.” He chuckled. “I just smelled a stray pup and wanted to help. Is that so evil?” His voice was sickly sweet but his wild eyes spoke other things looking over at Belle again causing Jungkook to stand in front of her. “I could get her scent from miles away. It’s almost like she’s never been touched in heat.” He tilted his head.

The omega gulped while Jungkook tightened his jaw.

Taehyung then smiled at the silence. “Ah—she hasn’t.” His eyes flashed red again. “An innocent pup.”

“Don’t come onto my border again or your pack will have to find a new alpha.” Jungkook threatened, eyes still completely amber wanting to rip those wandering eyes out from his sockets.

He raised his hands in defense though as usual taking no real responsibility in considering it seriously. “No more sneaking around. So long as you keep your members in check next time.” Taehyung winked before turning on his heel and disappearing into the forest.

Deadly silence plunged into the forest while Belle’s skin felt like a thin layer of ice covered every inch from how long she had been exposed to the air.

Jungkook stood with his back to her, anger still radiating out of him. “Jimin…go back to the mansion. We’ll catch up.”

Jimin stammered a little wanting to protest but the alpha flashed his still amber eyes forcing him to bow in farewell. He gave a soft glance at the omega trying to be reassuring and not furious but quickly sprinted back into the forest not knowing how much effect it had.

Once the two stood alone in the forest, the alpha spoke.

“All the things you’ve done tonight. You could’ve been killed because of at least one of them.” Jungkook kept his back to her while the omega lowered her head again, staring at her mud covered shoes. “You need to stay out of an alpha fight.”

“I know.” She mumbled.

“And you need to stay indoors when you’re alone and especially when you’re in heat, you know that.” His voice grew more frustrated as the words spewed out of his mouth almost carelessly. “He could’ve taken you by force or even killed you.”

“But he didn’t, I’m fine.” It only came to her attention after a few moments of absorbing his words that this was the most feeling Jungkook had when he spoke to her. Maybe it was just adrenaline from the fist fight.

Jungkook scoffed. “No you’re not. This isn’t fine. A fucking alpha was just about take my own mate in my own territory.” He gestured towards the forest around them wildly.

“I’m not your mate!” Belle snapped finally looking at the male and seeing the glisten of sweat layered on his skin. “You barely even touch me. You just chose me—all I’m doing is sitting, eating and sleeping the same place you are. I’m not your mate, I’m your little unsatisfied housewife!”

He stomped closer to the omega, her scent practically shooting up his nostrils to his head.

“You—you don’t find me beautiful, what’s the point?” She looked down at the covered outfit she had so passionately adorned on her body just to please Jungkook. Only to be once again met with a cold shoulder that seemed to never melt off. “All I want to do is make you happy—but you don’t even want to look at me.”

The alpha stared down at his little omega telling him that she wanted to make him happy. Everyone wanted to make him happy somehow but they always had a ulterior motive and it was never hard to tell. Getting close to the alpha meant getting close to being alpha. But he could sense something else in her tone that never rung with anyone else.

Sincere loyalty.

Not an ambition to fight to the death but a genuine want to please the one she cared about. Jungkook could not express just how much he wanted to do the same thing. “The reason—I don’t look at you…is because when I do, I want to devour you right there and then.”

Belle searched his expression looking for any sign of deceit but it was always hard to read the leader.

“Everything you do…” Jungkook sighed to calm himself down from how much his fingers trembled being so close to her scent. “…I can’t think of anything else. I want to do more things to you than you can imagine.”

She had to close her eyes for a second letting out a shaky sigh, feeling more lust leak out of her making the area between her legs almost drenched. Biting down her bottom lip she held onto his freshly injured hand and placed it under her nightie. Belle had to stop herself from moaning already at his warm hands against her cold skin, riding up her thigh to her soaking wet cunt.

Jungkook growled under his throat finally feeling her cake thighs after so long of just pining and looking. Then the heavenly drench on his fingers pads from making just the slightest contact had him grabbing the back of her neck. Lips stopped merely a breath away from hers trying to keep himself contained from going too wild on her untouched body. Well…now slightly touched.

Belle caressed his chest, gasping lightly as his hand moved achingly slow on her core while her head was kept still dangerously close to his. “Do them to me.” She whispered, a soft, reassuring smile graced her features. “Please…I don’t want to imagine them anymore.” She brushed her own lips against his just gently. Not a kiss but a non-verbal plead. “Take me.”

The alpha managed to keep his control for so long when it came to the omega even though it grew harder and harder by each passing day. Tonight became his breaking point. Now that her scent overwhelmed his entire being, fingers soaked from her juices and those beautiful lips brushing against his, the beast inside him finally broke out of its cage. Leaning in Jungkook took her bottom lip between his twin flesh suckling on the skin and tasting a strawberry hint. Tongue ran across the soft surface as he felt her arms wrap around his neck.

Her heart pounded excitedly against her ribcages finally being able to feel her alphas’ lips again her own. His rough hands shifting from the aching core to her ass, squeezing it a little as Belle parted her lips to invite his tongue happily. Complete submission to the beloved leader had been her wish from the beginning. To see it come true caused a different kind of burn behind her eyes and under her skin.

Reluctantly Jungkook broke away only a little not forgetting to place a trail of pecks before looking into her eyes again. As soon as he gave her that sweet smile, the alpha ducked down and threw her over his shoulder, hand covering the small peek of her ass from her nightie.

Once at the mansion, the whole pack watched the alpha had opted to hold his omega’s hand while he took her to their bedroom. The beta who said for Belle to freeze tried to walk over to them and talk to Jungkook only to have the door slammed in her face.

Jungkook pushed Belle into the room and locked the door behind him. Turning around, his eyes were already blown out with lust raking up and down her body. “Show it to me again.” It was a softer demand but a demand nonetheless.

With a willing smile, the omega unzipped the long coat and shrugged it off, throwing it to the side. It didn’t take amazing eyesight to notice the tent growing in his pants. At this point her juices could leak down the inside of her thighs. “Is it nice?” She played with her fingers which made her look a lot more innocent and Jungkook could actually whine.

“Take it off.” He muttered, his mind rummaging through all the sinful things he could do to his little eager mate. “I want to see you.”

Belle kept her gaze on the alpha as her hands gently hooked onto the ends of her thin nightie and pulled it over her head. The piece of cloth now discarded same as the coat. “Like this?”

Jungkook had already accidently seen her in the shower; blurry sights of what her curves and crevices looked like but it did not give the real deal justice. How anyone could have the guts to call her the runt of the pack he would never know. They would watch their tongues next time they tried however. Walking over to the beauty, his hands immediately found their shaking way to her waist, caressing down to her hips making her utter the sweetest breathy hums. Lips pressed onto her neck, leaving trails of kisses until he came to left breast.

Her hands buried into his hair as he swirled his tongue around her nipple before suckling on it lightly. Knees grew weak at every movement trying to keep herself steady while his lips slid down her stomach to her aching core.

The alpha knew once he got this close to her beautiful heat there would be going back. Every day the taste of her would end up lingering on his tongue until he got to taste it again. The beautiful omega did things to him he could never explain to even her let alone anyone in the pack. Despite knowing this personal risk, Jungkook did what he craved for so long. Tongue moved up from her leaking hole to her throbbing clit. He couldn’t help but smile a little at how her whole body jerked at the new found pleasure.

Belle felt how his tongue licked at one particular spot that jolted a surge up her body making her jerk. In seconds, she felt his lips wrap around the small nub coaxing light moans to spew out of her while her fingers still tangled in his hair. “Jungkook…”

He moaned sending vibrations against her core. With a slight pop, Jungkook broke from his light snacking and bite onto her thighs like he always wanted.

The omega giggled affectionately caressing his head before he stood over her. A few messy steps and Belle dropped back onto the bed. Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched Jungkook strip himself of his clothes until they were both now bare. Lust blown eyes stared down at his twitching, hard member before licking her lips.

“Spread your legs.” Jungkook only had to tap her knee gently for her to move her legs apart more than enough for him to sneak in between. Wrapping his fingers around his cock, he rubbed the reddened tip against her clit making her throw her head back. “You want it, baby?”

Belle nodded frantically.

“I can’t hear you.” His tip poked at her slit. The little game tortured him as much it did her but he wanted to hear her beg.

“Yes, I want it..” She jerked her hips against his movements, gasping when the tip of his cock entered her slightly. “I want it so bad.”

She always knew how to touch that extra nerve in his body every single time. It was almost magical how the omega had so much control over him by being so perfectly submissive. Jungkook pushed his cock into her snug little hole with soaked ease, her cunt flowing making it all the more harder not to just pound her into oblivion. His hips moved slow letting the sounds of watery sloshing ring in his ears. Arms pressed down the sides of her body, hovering over the omega as he relished in her warm walls.

Belle held onto his forearm as she watched her pussy getting stretched by his cock. The amount of times she dreamed of this happening was a little embarrassing. Now that it was happening and his shaft inside her felt so invigorating, she could giggle in glee.

Their foreheads pressed together softly as Jungkook whispered. “You like that?”

She nodded, gasping and moaning. “Yeah…”

The one word was all that needed to be uttered for him to quicken his pace a little, skin slapping against each other ever so slightly. Jungkook shifted down to his elbows now as he caressed her cheek. “Don’t ever leave me like that again.” He whispered a little breathless, still thrusting into her steadily.

“I won’t…” Belle cupped his cheek, struggling to keep her gaze as the pleasure tickled her every nerve. “I won’t, I promise.”

Lips pressed against hers, tongue exploring everything he knew was willingly submitted to him tonight. Once the kiss broke the softness melted along with it as the alpha pounded into her cunt. Arms back up, muscles popping out furiously before hooking one of her legs over his shoulder.

Her moaning became an uneven pattern melting into the sounds of their wet skin grinding and slapping against each other. As soon as Jungkook leaned in closer, Belle muffled a few of her whimpers into a heated kiss while her hand moved down to find that little nub, rubbing it to match with his thrusts. The tight ball in her lower belly exploded before she could even expect it, her legs trembling and a flurry of moans passing her lips.

Jungkook felt her walls clench around him already feeling the pressure around his cock push him closer to his orgasm. His thrusts grew a little more brutal grabbing her hips and hammering into her while she gave him that beautiful, innocent smile to reassure him it was okay to keep going despite her sensitivity.

“Cum inside me…” She managed to say as her body literally shook with the force of his thrusts.

Her adorable whisper was all it took for the alpha to finally come undone, filling his beauty up with his seed in a sloppy and rough thrusts. Only until the last drop did he pull out slowly watching a little bit of his release dripping out of her.

“I’m yours now.” Belle giggled.

Naked, cleaner bodies cuddled together under the blankets now relishing in their new found intimacy after so long suffering distance and silence.

“Would you have gone with him?” Jungkook asked.

Belle sighed, heart sinking a little when all her true thoughts popped in her head first. “I didn’t want to. But I would’ve to save myself, I guess. Otherwise he could’ve just killed me.” She shrugged nonchalantly. Truthfully she did like the attention Taehyung gave her despite his less than chivalrous nature. He had a danger about him that was less creepy more intriguing but still nothing compared to what Jungkook made her feel. Though the omega did not want to ruin the new mood they had so her verbalizing answer only lingered in the air. “Would you have found someone else after I left?” She traced patterns on his chest.

The alpha gulped not knowing how to tell her that he had eyes on her for the longest time to a point where he barely noticed what the other members looked like. Granted they were pretty but a lot of people were ‘pretty’. “Probably not. None of them would taste as good as you.”

She giggled hiding her face in his torso. “You didn’t even taste me then.”

“No but you smelled really fucking good.” He smiled nudging the top of her head with his nose. “I thought I lost you…just for a second.”

“If an alpha came up to me after this, I will fight.”

“You will?”

“Of course…” She propped herself on her elbow and smiled up at him. “I’m yours now, remember?” She lay a small kiss on his chest.

Jungkook caressed her cheek, not being able to help mimicking a little smile of his own. “You’re mine.”

#jungkook #bts smut #bts fanfic #jungkook smut #bts fanfiction #bts werewolf au #jungkook werewolf au #werewolf au #supernatural au #tw: smut

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legguk · 3 years

Text

Hi!! So,

it's my ( literal ) first time writing fanfiction, so I'm pretty new at this stuff, but Lady Dimitrescu is all I was able to think about for weeks and I >needed< to do something about it.

( If you want some context, I wrote this thinking “what if Alcina survived?” - Alcina's pov )

———

The fall,

The end of everything you once loved

Ethan Winters.

You woke up... somehow, you woke up. The frigid air hitting your fresh wounds felt like a jolt send by reality, as if one says "you're still alive" -

- and oh how you were starting to hate that feeling.

Laying on the demolished floor of your castle, muscles twitching in pain, mouth open gasping for air... that's how you are, how you will remember yourself from now on. A defeated dragon, a crushed woman, a dead mother.

You should get up, you should let go of your carcass and crawl your way back into the warmth of your home, you should—

—you should be dead, actually. Resting on death's cold embrace along with your daughters.

Daughters.

God, your daughters.

The memories flood your mind with a painful, unbearable reminder; they're gone, dead, crystalized - gone. They're gone. Your lovely daughters, your pride and joy, the main reason you'd open up your eyes in the morning...

...Bela,

Cassandra,

Daniela....

Their names are long cold, not yet forgotten - no, never forgotten - but somewhere else, as they don't belong here anymore; not on your arms, tucking them to bed. Not on your hands, caressing their faces. Not on your lips, kissing their foreheads. Not on your tongue, as you say them.

A raspy scream leaves your throat, it sounds disturbing.

You sob, hot tears trailing down your cheeks and neck, small cries for help find their way into the wind, disappearing with less importance then when they materialized.

You cannot recall for how long you stayed at that very same position, perhaps some hours, perhaps a day, but you are certain that at some point you were overcame by tiredness and collapsed - probably the best to do for now.

xxx

And so, rises the moon and the stars watch upon your limp body, the night howling a merciful wind and singing a melodic song. Grunting, you push yourself up with your elbows, sitting up and facing the sky through the hole you've made on the roof... and the levels above...

A huge carcass sits besides you, it's wings bended on itself and it's big mouth open to whoever would like to have a peek; you probably changed back into your normal body while unconscious... Now that you can see it clearly, you notice the damage that man-thing did to you... by heavens, how were you still alive and...

Oh. The castle. You look forward, taking in the horizon - the stars look exclusively shiny tonight - you breath in, the dusty air causes you to chough a few times. Stretching your neck a bit to see your whole house, you tell yourself it looks.. fine, actually, ignoring the broken windows. The broken windows.

It's cold. You shiver harshly, panting as the air meets your bare back and rumbles through your lungs, making you hug yourself, - you're naked, you just realized - the winter in Romania is truly kind to no one.

Your legs tremble with just the thought of trying to stand on your feet. You don't rush to do it either, let the wintry breeze take in your wounds, make it sting, burn it, freeze it; freeze your body along.

“To die. To die is to live. To live without them, that's torture. To live without their presence, absent of their scents, to not hear them, nor see their faces again, that's worse than death; far, far worse. How could I ever walk into that damned house without the heavenly sounds of their laughs, the tapping of their feet as they walk free, the steadiness of their heartbeats, reminding me that my own still beats.

Beats for them. For them only.

And they're gone.

So who shall my heart beat for? Myself? No, that wouldn't do. I will rip it out from my chest if I must, sacrifice it to any god who may hear me, all so I could spend five more minutes with them. Then I'd die in peace and find them at my arms again at whatever comes after this poor life.

But I'm here.”

You still hold yourself as you stare at a castle's - broken - window, new warm tears hanging the same trail the old and now dry ones did, a silent cry.

Your intrusive thoughts were abruptly cut by a loud noise from the inside of the castle, making you jump up, gathering all your last strengths to stand and walk a few shaky steps closer to home. The more you walked, the louder the noises got; a little rustle became a bang, and your tiptoing became a sprint, you hold yourself as tight as you can, ignoring the bleeding, the cold air spiking your lungs, how insanely fast you heartbeat was. You need to get there, protect the last remnant of them you still have.

The gates felt heavy now, even for you, who would open them with one hand. Where is your strength now? The fearless dragon who'd do anything to protect her house? Perhaps she died on that fall, and now all there's left is a shadow of what you were one day.

With much pain, you open the big doors, leading to the comfort of your house; you don't get in, you throw yourself in. The warm atmosphere engulfed you like a summer kiss on a winter storm, all you needed to ground yourself to reality for now. Grabbing some sheets laying over an old counter, you wrap yourself in it – oh, that's gonna get soaked in blood, but that's not of your concern now – moving incredibly fast for someone as hurt as yourself, you follow the continuous sounds that could not mean something good. The main doors are open, the cellar is unlocked as well, that idiotic man-thing couldn't even close the doors once he finished slaughtering your home? Imbecile.

You stand at the library's door now, suddenly frozen; you know what happened in there... do you really want to get in? Are you truly ready to face it again? Maybe you should take a step back and walk away, it would be the most logical decision to take now.

But what is logic when the heart screams? What is the brain for once your emotions take the best of you? You can't walk away. Put some honor on your name. Save the last bit of your daughter that fate is still conceiving you. Your chest rises and falls completely out of coordination, your fists close around the fabric involving your body; get ready, you're going in; gather the last bit of courage you have inside yourself and blast these doors.

And so you do.

You bring those pieces of wood to the ground, the only barrier between you and the reality you couldn't accept; a guttural growl forms in your chest as you see a lycan approach your child's crystalized body; you're blind with ire, sorrow, protectorship - you name it - and it makes you shout at the top of your lungs as you dilacerate the filthy beasts you'd bat your eye at. A bloody trail of corpses marks your way through the castle grounds, your claws dripping with fresh sanguine fluid - which you can't tell if it's from the creatures or from yourself - the crimson path follows you all the way to the other wing of mansion like a spirit who must haunt you for eternity.

You scream like a feral animal, blood soaking the once white cloth around your form; the scream becomes a shriek, which descends to a yelp, ending as a furious cry. You can feel the anger leaving you, like the waters of a waterfall; explosive, big portions of water falling into a numb, deaden lake. Hopefully those waters will carry you with them, you shall fall and sink at a anesthetizing lagoon.

You kneel, eyes closed, eyebrows frowned; a loud sigh fills the deafening silence in the air, your mind is blank – better, your mind is red, scarlet red mixed with black, ire and grief. Slowly, your head lower itself so you're facing the floor.

The big Lady Dimitrescu,

kneeling on a pool of blood, defeated.

•

“Lady Dimitrescu!”

Who..? The voice was so far yet so close, you try your best to focus on the direction of the calls but your nerves just won't cooperate.

“Lady!”

Who would be calling for you? Is your mind playing tricks on you now? And since when you were laying on the floor? Too many questions for too little answers. You try to stand up, but a sharp pain on your side made you cry out and fall on your back, face knotted in pain – perhaps your adrenaline rush was keeping you from feeling what was really happening with your body, and now you feel like you're betraying yourself for that.

A small figure approaches you in a fast pace, causing you to unleash your claws one more time and snarl at the not-so-possible threat; you were hurt. Vulnerable. Letting someone close was the last thing you wanted now. The humanoid thing backs away a few steps with your aggressive reaction, hands on their chest, visibly afraid – even though your vision is quite blurry, you identify their expression: scared, desperate, sorrowful – they call out once more, almost shouting.

“Please, Lady Dimitrescu, let me help!”

Ah... Help... The now clearer feminine voice washes over you - a wave of compassion - as if hope has found its way to your house again. Well, it better go away again, or you'll drag it out yourself.

“Out.” was all that left your lips, your intense gaze locking with hers, a silent yet not so discrete warning; although you had only said one word, it was well understood by the woman, who stepped away, eyes still meeting yours, a dreadful cast hang on her face.

Still, she didn't left.

Is that girl testing her luck? It can only be. Once again you warn her: “Leave. I will not repeat myself.”

Her posture stiffens, after a moment of silence she looks at the door, truly wondering about leaving or not; her body turns around, her knuckles going white from how hard she was grabbing the fabric on her chest – she's conflicted. But why? Who is she, after all? – A long, defeated sigh leaves her, as if she knows there is no choice left.

“Allow me to help.” A failed effort on trying to sound confident; her voice is full of tears and her tone is oscillating – it makes you wonder if she has been crying – The human walks towards you, trying not to make any eye contact; you can't stand on your feet, you left hand is pressed on your injured side, the other is open and directing your now extended nails towards her.

Oh how funny it is, no?

The predator being cornered by the prey. The dragon being trapped by the rabbit. How ridiculous it is.

Her extremely shaky hands hang in front of her, trying to say she won't hurt you – oh if she only knew it's going to be the other way round. – One step closer.. Her lips and chin tremble; Another. Your claws grow bigger, eyes peering through her soul; another step, your eyebrows frown, her eyes are teary. The last step - your blood is boiling hot, your nerves on edge; you are still the predator. - a slicing sound and a half-scream saturate the air for a millisecond, just for silence to overfill it once more. Red splashes over the room again, on your face, on your chest, but mostly on the floor, where the girl was thrown at.

An agonizing scream leaves her throat - what a miracle, she remains alive - both of her hands cover her face, blood spilling all over her; what a sight, you would most definitely enjoy this very much on another situation. She cries out in despair, making you face the ceiling and close your eyes, a tired look on your face – you just want all this to end, you don't have any more patience for this. You want to crawl back into your bed and starve, you want to destroy this place, make it abandoned ruins of what one day was a home; you want to kill that damned sickening man-thing, kill this foolish girl for perturbing your grieving, and then yourself.

The woman captures your attention once again, she is kneeling, her body facing yours, her right hand presses her ripped face, the other makes its slow way up to you, although she is trembling, she manages to keep her hand steady enough to hand you a little green flask with a yellow-y label; You look closer, 'treatment disinfectant' it says... Oh you can only be joking. You feel like slaughtering the girl right this instant, but takes in a deep breath and holds the flask, her hand immediately falling along with her body. Is she dead? No, her slow yet consistent breathing exclaims that she is still alive – you honestly find it a bit offensive – You should, but you cannot bring yourself to finish the human; you should end her suffering, but now she caught your attention; and besides, she wants to help, doesn't she? then the price she'll pay is staying alive.

———

hahaaa I'm so nervous about posting this,,, ,

and yes! It is a alcina x maiden fic! I do plan it to be slow burn, and if some you liked it and read it till here, please like and/or reblog and I'll post chapter 2!

( posted on Ao3! Name: “The woman in your castle” )

( chapter 2 posted!! )

#lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #help idk what im doing

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after-witch · 3 years

Text

Emotional Loan [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Emotional Loan [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You shouldn’t be this nervous about telling your boyfriend that you want to transfer to a college out of state. Ransom is nothing if not generous with you--so why is your stomach in knots?

Word Count: 3144

notes: yandere, sexism, emotional abuse

You shouldn’t be this nervous. Really. Ransom has been nothing but generous with you, and in turn you’ve been patient--maybe too patient, maybe too forgiving, sometimes--with him. It’s only fair that he extends that patience to you, especially with something as serious, as important, as your future.

So why does the thought of telling him about your plan to switch to a new college make you feel like you’re going to throw up?

You puff out your cheeks and stretch your arms across the breakfast table, leaning down and wishing you could ask someone else to tell him in person. But the thought is ridiculous, and you push it away in favor of rehearsing what you’re going to say for the millionth time since you made up your mind.

You will tell him about the need to change your degree if you want to ever be in the contending for a museum curator position in the future. You will tell him about the fact that the best place to get this specific degree, the one that will put you right in the open arms of the internship that leads to your dream curator field, is in California. You will tell him about the apartments you’ve already inspected. You will tell him about the fact that he can visit anytime, that you will visit him, that you can text and video call and vacation together. You will tell him that you love him and you want to make this work.

You will tell him all these things… and yet. Yet while you can rehearse the words, rehearse how you’ll push your printed out papers showing exactly what you need to do and why towards him so he can see you’re telling the exact truth, you can’t rehearse how Ransom will react. You try to imagine, but all that comes up is a blurry, grey blank.

Is he going to freak out? Get pissed? Or worse--not care at all? Maybe you’ve overestimated how much Ransom has invested in this relationship. Maybe he’d rather cut you loose than deal with a long distance relationship. Maybe the second you mention that you’ll be moving to California, he’ll be mentally checking a list for someone local to hook up with the minute you’re gone.

You’re not sure which reaction would scare you more.

But you don’t have much time to think about it, because you hear him padding down the stairs, hear the din of some video he’s still watching, probably whatever he put on while he was in the shower. You can’t bear to look up, and you thumb aimlessly, nervously around your phone’s apps while you listen to the sound of him scraping the eggs and bacon you’d cooked onto a plate.

He plops down in the seat across from you and you glance up. He catches your eye and gives a tight-lipped, tired smile. He was out late. But he’d texted you about staying out late earlier in the evening, so you didn’t feel you had the right to be mad--that’s the condition you’d given him, after all, when he’d accused you of being controlling. When he’d called you a nag and accused you of being jealous of other women, women he had no feelings for.

“I just want to know when you’re going to be out late so I don’t stay up half the night thinking you’re dead somewhere.” And so he did--let you know--and you swallowed down your feelings of suspicion at his late night adventures.

Maybe… maybe this is a bad time to tell him. Maybe you should wait for a day when he’s had more sleep. Maybe you should run your thoughts by someone else, get a second opinion. You’re focusing on the table, on the light from the phone screen, anything to avoid looking up and starting the dreaded conversation.

“What’re those papers for, babe?”

Shit.

Your hands tremble just a bit when you set the phone down, and the way it vibrates against the table mimics the way your stomach feels right now. You suck in a breath and look up, but you can’t make eye contact just yet and you push the words out, stumbling and breathy and rapid, without stopping to breathe until you’ve said your peace.

“Ransom this is really hard for me but we need to talk about something and I don’t want you to be mad but I need to change schools if I’m ever going to get a shot at a curator position and the best school for this is in California and I know it’s going to be hard but I love you--I love you and we can make long distance work if you want and if you don’t want well--well I don’t know what I’ll do then but I just wanted to let you know now because I’ve got to turn in my application next week and please please try to see this from my point of view because it’s all I’ve ever wanted and you know that.”

You take a shaky breath and hold your hands together on top of the table, clasped and shaking from the adrenaline and anxiety coursing through you. You look up at Ransom with trepidation, hoping that he’s not mad--or indifferent.

But he’s neither. He simply looks… confused.

He simply stares at you for a moment, a dumbfounded expression on his face as he processes all of the words that just came rapid-fire out of your mouth.

“California?” Is all he says, finally.

You take the opportunity to push the stack of printed papers towards him. “These are… it’s… well, emails from people in the industry, some important articles about getting positions at museums. About where you have to go. Oh, there’s apartment listings there, too.” You even printed out detailed information about the qualifications for acceptance, and put them in a neat little table next to your own academic and experience record. You were a shoo-in, and you didn’t feel the need to be humble about it.

He grabs the stack and starts thumbing through, not saying another word as he seemingly thoroughly reads everything you’ve printed out. Your stomach feel like floating lead, heavy and flipping. You can’t tell what he’s thinking or feeling, and he’s not giving you anything but a concentrated look at he looks through the statements, the listings, the plan you’ve outlined so neatly.

He finally sets the stack back down and simply stares at it for a few moments. Taking it in. Taking his thoughts in. Finally, Ransom looks up at you and the intensity in his eyes makes your stomach drop. He doesn’t look mad. He looks--and you hate it--disappointed, sad even.

“Look…” He sighs, eyebrows lifting as his gaze drifts away before settling back on you. “I’m not going to lie and pretend I’m okay with this. I’m not. Jesus, babe. California? Four years?”

“It’s no--” you interrupt, but he holds up his hand and you stop.

“But. But, but,” he lightly pounds his fist on the stack of tables, an almost nervous gesture in your eyes. “It’s what you want? What you need for your career? There’s no other way for you to get this--” he waves his hands around, “museum gig you’re after?”

You nod, unable--no, afraid--to speak, in case your voice is too tight with emotion.

“Then I guess I can deal with it.”

“What?” You blurt the words out. You expected… an argument. Or for him to blow you off, make it seem like you weren’t serious. Or, as you’d admitted to yourself earlier, for him to throw you away and find someone who wouldn’t make him wait around. Not… acceptance.

He laughs at your reaction and your stomach feels lighter, the tension in your body starting to fizzle away. “

“It’s not like I have to worry about getting the money to come visit, right? And hey,” he continues, “if you need someone to put in a good word to this school… maybe throw some cash at a dean or something…” He raises his eyebrows, wiggling them a little in a way that makes you snort.

You lean forward and nab one of the lukewarm pieces of scrambled eggs from his plate and pop it into your mouth. “Since you’re offering to help, I could use someone to check over my application…”

The envelope is too small. It’s way too small. Why did they make the envelope so damn small? Maybe the acceptance letter was sent on its own, and all of the other information--the giant packet telling you where to send payments and sign up for courses--would be sent to your email. But the thought of checking your email and seeing nothing makes you feel sick, so you keep your phone next to you on the table.

“You gotta open it,” Ransom says, soft and casual. He doesn’t move from his place beside you on the sofa, watching you with a neutral look. He probably knows why the envelope is too small, but he won’t say the words out loud--just like you won’t. If you say it out loud, then it’s true.

There's nothing else for you to do except confront the truth, and you rip open the envelope and pull out the folded paper with far too few printed words on the page.

Rejected. Outright. Completely. Not a fit for the school or the program.

If you weren’t sitting on the couch, you would have fallen over. As it is, you feel like the world is collapsing, like the sofa underneath you is melting into the floor and taking you with it.

“I don’t understand.” You can only manage to whisper, voice small--reflecting the way the rest of you feels. Small and falling and stupid.

Ransom takes the paper from your hand, and you don’t bother keeping a grip on it. You register the fact that he’s put an arm around your shoulders, but you can barely feel it through the numbness of rejection.

“What the fuck,” he says, voice louder next to your ear. It makes you shrink in more, even though his anger isn’t directed at you. “What the fuck.”

It’s you want to say, what you would say, if you had the strength. The energy. But the absolute, complete way that your future has suddenly become an unknown blank has left you stuck and heavy.

It doesn’t make sense. Your transcript was perfect--should have been perfect. You should have gotten in. You got top grades and references from professors and a list of relevant experiences that most students wouldn’t have until the end of their degree.

“I’m going to call them and find out what-the-fuck,” Ransom says suddenly, getting up with a jerking motion and walking towards the kitchen, where his phone rests on the counter. “No,” he says, clicking his tongue. “Better yet. I’ll call my grandfather. He’ll know how to convince this so-called top school that they made a big mistake.”

The thought makes your head spin. “Ransom, don’t.” You’re not a child. But you feel like one, like you just failed a math quiz and your dad is calling to find out why the teacher doesn’t know the quiz answers from his ass. “You can’t just call a school and make them accept someone.”

Your legs feel wobbly when you stand up, and Ransom practically swoops back to your side to hold you steady. He leads you back down on the sofa and you feel yourself accepting the loss, accepting that your dream is gone, or at least altered.

He squeezes an arm around you when you finally begin to cry, and for the moment you feel better, less worthless, less hopeless. It was just one rejection. One egg. You can’t put every egg in one basket, as they say.

You rest your head against his shoulder and sigh into it, enjoying the warmth and closeness. A feeling of luck pings at your heart. You’re really lucky to have a guy like Ransom. He’s not perfect, and sometimes you fight, and sometimes he does things that hurt you, but--are you perfect? Do you do things that hurt him, too? Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, and don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

With comfort comes clarity. The world isn’t ending. Your future isn’t blank. There are other options.

You feel almost perked up when you speak: “I guess I can apply to other schools. Maybe it won’t be the exact one I wanted but… there’s some in Chicago, even Michigan, that might work.”

Ransom’s arm tightens around you, slightly but firmly enough to notice.

“Babe, you’re not serious.”

You pull back enough to look up at his face.

“What do you mean?”

You can see Ransom fighting with his annoyed expression, trying to soften it up. You dimly recognize that you should be grateful--you know how snarky he can get with others when he’s not putting on a filter.

“Your transcript was fucking impeccable. I saw it! I sent it in for you! And you still didn’t get in. You think these other schools are going to accept you….” He trails off, leaning his head back, looking disappointed of all things. Disappointed in you? Or the school? You can’t tell. All you know is that it makes you feel low again, like you’re nothing, falling into the floor with a sense of worthlessness.

“I’m not tryin’ to be an asshole,” he says, and there’s a flicker of doubt in your mind about the truth of that statement. “I’m just trying to be honest. I don’t want you to have to deal with getting rejected from all those other schools, too. You know what I mean?”

You swallow down against the tightness in your throat. “Their standards might not be as strict. I know they’re not as strict. I could get in.”

He looks down at you, the same intense gaze from the morning that you told him about your plan on his face. The gaze that let you know he believed in you and would do anything--even go long distance for almost half a decade--for you. A gaze that let you know he was serious, honest, giving you his thoughts with an open heart. “Keyword. Could.”

It’s like a slap to the face.

“Are you saying I’m too stupid to get in anywhere?” You start to pull away, but his arms don’t let up and so all you can do is turn your head away, cheeks hot with humiliation. “Don’t you support me?”

“Jesus, no--and Jesus, yes.” Annoyance is bleeding into his voice and you wish you’d just ripped up the envelope and avoided the entire conversation. You keep your eyes on the floor, humiliating tears blurring your vision as you stare at the sliver of a stain from soda that you never got out of the cream colored rug.

“You are the smartest chick I know,” he says, voice a little softer, now. At least he’s trying to stop being an ass. “Seriously, you are. Maybe you’re just a--a different kind of smart. A kind of smart these schools don’t give a shit about. Do something here with that smartness, then. Stay where you’re at. Fuck, talk to the dean and tell them you want to to an independent degree or something. But don’t get your heart broken a million times when you could just make the most of what you’ve got here.” He squeezes, affectionate. “What we’ve got here.”

It’s not what you want. It’s not viable. You can’t get to where you want to be if you stay where you are. But he’s right--he’s right, isn’t he, because if you can’t get into a school with a nearly picture-perfect record and recommendations and experience oozing out of your ears, will there be any school that accepts you?

And if you stay here, Ransom is here, and you’re already in school here, and maybe you won’t get anywhere near a curator position (but you want to, it’s your dream, why give up on your dream?) but you can do something else, surely. Ransom will help you, like he always does. You might fight and argue and sometimes it gets intense but he always lends you a shoulder to cry on, doesn’t he? He’s always honest with you, even when it hurts. Even when it hurts like this, crushing and disappointing and sharp.

He pulls you closer to him, and this time you don’t fight as you rest your head back on his shoulder.

“So?” He starts to gently stroke your hair, the way he knows you like it.

You nod, sniffling against the last of the tears, unable--afraid--to say anything.

“That’s my girl,” he says, before gently flicking your forehead and reaching for his phone. “Hey, let’s go see a movie tonight. My treat.”

You nod against his shirt, unable to do more than mumble back, “Okay.” Okay, okay, okay. It’s a soft, unceremonious end to your California dreams.

#yandere ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom x reader #yandere #afterwitch writes

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blackcatclawsout · 3 years

Text

Majima x Reader- Shopping with Mama and Papa

"How long d'ya expect me to carry around this thing for?" Majima huffed.

"Just a minute longer, I swear! I forgot bandaids!" Y/N promised, making her way to the needed aisle.

She felt bad enough, making him carry the 9 kg bag of rice, despite his insistence, but to make him wait longer because of her forgetfulness made her hurry. She lightly jogged to the pharmacy area, slowing as she reached the aisles. She carefully began to stalk up and down the aisles, assessing the shelves for the bandaids. She only got a few aisles in before she was stopped by a sudden weight on her leg.

"Okaa-san!" A small boy chirped, burying his face in the fabric of her pants.

She hesitated. Clearly, this wasn't her child. Her head quickly swivelled in search of the correct mother, but no other woman was apparent. The little boy looked up, smiling. As soon as he locked eyes on her, the smile fell immediately.

Y/N prided herself on being a quick thinker and fairly level headed in situations such as these, but throwing children into the mix threw her off-kilter.

"H-hello... Are you looking for someone?" She hesitated, trying to smile.

She was met with widened eyes, teetering between fright and shock. Carefully, the little boy was plucked from her leg to stand on his own. She knelt to his eye level, repeating herself carefully.

"Are you looking for someone?"

"I can understand you!" His face lit up, clearly amazed by this foreign woman. Y/N smiled, charmed by his zeal.

"I hope so! What's your name?"

The boy rocked on his heels, "I'm Daiki! Whatta 'bout you?" he beamed cutely.

"Y/N; are you looking for someone?" She pressed politely. The boy's smile faltered, suddenly looking about.

"I lost my mom... I don't know where she is." Daiki trailed off quietly, looking distant.

The white noise of the store became more apparent to Y/N; The announcer over the store's intercom, the beeping of cashiers, idle chatter of shoppers. The stimulus would be a lot for anyone, let alone a child. She turned her head to look around. The department store sure did look big from this angle... Not everyone in Kamurocho was kind to others, even during the day. It didn't help ease her mind that it was already 4:30, meaning the hooligans of the evening would soon be making their way onto the street. She stood up defiantly. In clear conscious, she could not leave this child alone in the store.

"Why don't we find your mom together, Daiki-chan?" Y/N extended her open hand to the boy, smiling kindly. He looked up, smile perking up his body once again.

"Okay, Y/N-chan!" He took her hand.

The pair began trudging up and down the aisles, stopping at the sight of every woman. Slowly they migrated to other areas of the store, leaving the pharmacy area. The pair began to swing their arms while they walked, with Y/N enjoying the young boy. He chatted about his class, his favourite subject, and what it was like at home. He rattled off what he had done so far today, and to Y/N's own surprise, she was interested in what he had to share.

Having children had never really crossed her mind and wasn't a conversation Majima and her ever had. A wave of shock washed over her; she had forgotten all about him! A glance at her watched told her she had taken way too long. A rough voice cut through her worry immediately.

"Hey, where the hell ya been?"

Y/N whipped her head around, eyes landing on her lover.

The expression on his face read somewhere between annoyance and concern, Majima's steel grey eye surveyed her. His brow arched, head tilting to the side.

Daiki peered around her side, glancing at Majima, owlish eyes darting over his body. Of all days for Majima to not be wearing his snakeskin jacket, she thanked god today was one of them.

The young boy glanced cautiously up at his caretaker, "Um, do you know him, Y/N-chan?" Daiki chirped curiously, looking back to the older man.

"Oh, y-yeah. This is my boyfriend, Majima-kun." She flushed, glancing apologetically towards her partner. Without warning, Daiki flung himself to the yakuza.

"You can help me find my mama too!" He took Majima's free hand and led him over to Y/N. The child grabbed her hand and began to swing the arms of the two adults, "It's like when I go shopping with Mama and Papa!" He giggled.

Y/N felt a flush creep up her neck to her face. Her cheeks burned with a giddy feeling.

Me, like a mama?

She glanced up at her lover to gauge his reaction. Majima's eye was wide, a blush spread across his face as well, an ecstatic look written across his face. Their eyes met and the heat increased. Y/N tore her gaze away, feeling dizzy from the sudden thrill of it all.

"Sure, kid. We should probably get a move on, huh..." Majima grumbled, gaze landing elsewhere.

Daiki led the adults up and down the aisles, the three keeping their eyes peeled. Goro and Y/N began to relax after a minute, leading the small boy through the grocery store. Y/N giggled as Daiki pulled the two of them along, making faces at Majima. She laughed even harder when her one-eyed lover returned the silly face, sticking out his tongue and rolling his eye. She enjoyed this feeling. The light, warm feeling she felt in her stomach began to over-flow her body. Seeing Goro in any domestic situation always made her a little joyful, but this was a new sentiment. Seeing him like this as well; god! It was amazing. Y/N felt like it was a rare moment to see what he was like before the Yakuza. She walked to the end of the aisle, tittering to herself when she ran into a woman. She turned to apologize, meeting a panicked face.

"Excuse me, have you seen a young boy around here?" Her head bobbed around, scouting for her target. Y/N's face fell for a second, before forcing a smile.

"You must be Daiki's mother. We were just looking for you." She turned around to the duo behind her, watching them mess around.

Smiling sadly, she called out to the child.

"Mama!" Daiki exclaimed, rushing to her side.

Y/N watched on as the pair reunited, his mother fluffing his hair and checking him over. Once she appeared satisfied, they turned to leave with Daiki waving before they eventually wormed their way into the crowd of shoppers.

A pinch on the ass brought her out of her haze, brows furrowed at her mate who now cheekily grinned. She huffed before, returning her gaze to where the pair had disappeared. They watched together in silence for a short while, steady breathing between the two of them. For a tangible moment, Y/N could feel the mundane return. It wasn't necessarily sad, more dismaying.

"Cute kid, ain't he?" Majima sighed.

She glanced to look at him. Despite being on the side where his eyepatch was, she could still make out his lightly furrowed brows and tight lips. She understood the look he gave was that of when he was seriously contemplating.

He had mentioned once, when he was rather drunk after a night out with his boys, that he could have been a father once. It had caught her off guard at the time, as she was about to settle into bed again. Y/N silently turned back to him. His back was facing her; the oni mask boring into her, like a second set of eyes for him. She remembered crawling to him, finding tears silently falling from his face. He muttered something about his ex-wife and how it could have never worked out anyway, all the while she cradled him close, absorbing his quiet sobs. When they woke up the next morning, he either didn't seem to remember or didn't wish to bring up what had happened, so she never pressed.

Quietly, she slipped her hand into his, meeting the warmth of his flesh against hers. She enjoyed touching his bare hands, rubbing the back with her thumb, messaging the strong muscles that were sheathed underneath. Feeling the lightly calloused palms of her lover. He squeezed her hand in return, receiving her silent message. After another minute of silence, he sighed loudly, turning back to her.

"Hey, whaddya say we head outta here, eh?" he smiled softly, Kansai accent laid on thick. "I already paid for our shit, so no worries."

They walked side by side quietly, the evening sun hitting their faces as they stepped out of the store.

Clouds above were illuminated with the orange glow of the sunset, streaked with the pale blue of the exposed sky. The street lights began to click on, giving a faint glow to the shaded streets. The smell of wet pavement, beer, and grilled meat wafted throughout the air, drawing in the evening crowd. The usual bustle of Kamurocho began to settle in, causing strangers to bump into one another. The couple slipped into the forming traffic of the street, becoming ordinary in the dinner-rush. They slipped to a smaller alley, one they typically took to and from the apartment. The pervasive smell of wet stone mixed with damp tobacco filled their senses, darting through the dim walkway.

In a second of clarity, Y/N let go of Majima's hand, a frown settling to her face. He stopped and swivelled, examining her face.

"'Ey, what's bugging ya?" He asked, nonchalantly.

Events played in her head and her scowled deepened. He took a step forward, toughing her shoulder.

"What's wrong, Y/N?" Goro pressed, his voice quietening.

She met his gaze, scowl remaining on her face.

"I fucking forgot the bandaids."

#majima goro #goro majima #majima x reader #yakuza #yakuza kiwami #ryu ga gotoku #rgg #i love domestic fluff

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years

Text

Unholy Matrimony Pt. 5 (Nessian)

Damnation Series

Parts 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

____________________________________________________________

~Cassian~

A week later, I’m exceptionally proud to say I haven’t given in yet. No matter how much I want to.

Tensions the past seven days have been... high, to say the least.

Both of us are doing our absolute best to drive the other insane.

She’s doing it so I either sign the deed and give in or turn to someone else, both which would give her Sera back.

I’m doing it because if I have to suffer, she can bet her pretty ass she does, too.

Ironically, tonight’s our engagement party. A celebration of our undying love and an announcement to the world the Russians and Italians of New York should no longer hate and murder each other.

They’re allowed to be sexually frustrated as hell, but no, they can’t kill each other.

I’m waiting for the little minx who’s spent the week making me regret ever even asking for the club, drinking bourbon so I’m too drunk to even be tempted by her--which is likely enough to kill me--when she finally deigns to grace me with her presence.

I take one look at her, starting at the high blonde ponytail that would wrap around my fist at least twice and ending at the very high, very red shoes I immediately want by my shoulders.

“Fuck.”

Obviously the reaction she was looking for, she smiles.

Her dress is a cream color thing that clings to her curves and is short enough to showcase her long legs. It’s somehow classy, while low enough to draw my eyes to her breasts as she comes down the stairs towards me.

Nesta stops right before me, close enough I smell the jasmine and vanilla of her skin, and looks at me through her lashes.

I turn my gaze to the ceiling, vowing to keep it there until I trust myself to not do something stupid like tell her she’s the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.

“I’m so fucked,” I mutter hopelessly.

If possible, she comes closer, sliding all the interesting, female parts of her against me. “You would be if you just gave me back my shit.”

I glare down at her. “I don’t like to lose.”

“Would you really be losing?”

I keep my mouth shut, because the answer to that question is a big fat no. God, she’s good.

“Tell me again why you refuse to put us out of our misery?” I ask in return, trying to remind myself who the fuck I am.

Even though I wonder if it is our misery. I can’t read her, can’t tell if this is affecting her like it is me.

She gives me a cold look. “What do you see happening after we get married, exactly? You think you’ll work a few hours at the club I spent three years building from the ground up, come home and eat a home cooked meal, then fuck your complacent little wife however you want?”

I have no idea what to say, because when she puts it like that, I sound like the biggest douche in the world.

Nesta sees the hesitation in my eyes and rolls hers. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I allow you to disrespect me like that, stronzo.”

“I respect you,” I say immediately, meaning the words.

“Just not enough to value my career.”

“Nesta-”

“Deal with it. If you somehow keep the board from voting you out in the next two weeks and manage to not sleep with me--which is unlikely, considering the way you look at me--the club will be yours.” She takes a step back, steeling her spin. “But I will not.”

I’m conflicted as hell, torn between wondering if she’s just playing me or being sincere.

Apparently done with the verbal smackdown, Nesta spins towards the door.

Hand on the handle, she turns back around and cocks her head. And then she answers the questions I hadn’t realized I’d been too scared to ask.

“No and yes.”

My brows raise. “What?”

“No, it hasn’t all been just me trying to mess with you. Yes, I want you as much as you want me. But I respect myself too much to allow someone who blazes into my life and steals something from me without a care or even a real negotiation to have my body, too.”

She walks out the door, leaving me standing in the living room stunned.

I eventually follower her down to the garage and we leave for the party Rhys is hosting for us downtown. But even though I go through the motions once we arrive, my mind is on the woman next to me the entire night.

I hate admitting it, but she’s right.

I took something that belonged to her, didn’t even question talking to her first, then acted like she was in the wrong for doing whatever she could to get it back.

I’ve said I like how strong and independent she is, but I tried to take that independence and turn her into something else. I bulldozed my way into her life, then acted like I was the one inconvenienced by it.

And seriously, why am I even fighting for this place? Yeah, I like it and think it’s unique, but the place is above board. Which to me translates as boring.

The past two weeks, I’ve had to go to investment meetings, deal with sending out the nightly invitations for entrance, and plan events for upcoming holidays. Things I never do with my other properties.

I hate managing things--I hire people to do that kind of thing for me. But I know I can’t hire someone, because who the hell besides my fiancé would do the job right?

No one.

I realize that on the drive home, and it gets me thinking. By the time we’re inside the apartment, I’m already mentally finalizing the details.

I tell her I have to take care of something, go to my office, and close the door.

Then I pull up the marriage contract, along with the deed to Sera, and hit print.

~Nesta~

A week after our engagement party, I realized I’ve started to lose hope.

Cassian’s managed to wrangle or bribe or threaten the board into not voting him out, and the employees have stopped calling me to ask when I’m coming back. He hasn’t touched me or tried to seduce me in six days--probably a record for him--and I start to feel like I’ve lost.

My club will be his in a week, and after we’re married, only him signing the deed over will get it back. Something that will never happen, considering it’d be a serious hit to his pride to do something as weak as give me what’s rightfully mine.

My club will be his, but like I said, I won’t.

Which honestly is just as upsetting.

Even though he’s a stubborn, boneheaded stronzo with a big enough ego for us both, it’s hard for me to overlook the moments of the past three weeks that haven’t revolved around Sera.

Little moments that have made it harder for me to pull away from him.

He’s made me laugh more than anyone I’ve ever met, whether with his foul sense of humor or stories about his violent, wild childhood. He stopped leaving the toilet seat up when I pointed it out. He hasn’t said a word about me ordering take-out all the time or working in bed while he tries to sleep.

He even dealt with one of Alexei’s buyers for me when they tried to renegotiate the price originally agreed upon.

And he hasn’t really pressed the celibacy thing. Sure, he’s complained about it enough for me to want to smack him, but I don’t know any other Made Men, Russian or Italian, that would’ve respected my wish after how much I’ve teased him.

If he would just-

I cut that train of thought off and focus on the report in front of me, because at this point, it’s obvious he won’t.

I sip my wine, which is starting to grow on me, and look over shipment records from one of Alexei’s yards, flagging crates that need to be smuggled instead of brought in through the main channels. Repressing a groan at the thought, I realize I’ll have to go down one night this week and make sure they arrive without problem.

I take another long pull from my glass.

“Drinking to forget?” Cassian asks, leaning in the doorway of the bedroom and looking me over.

I shrug, not much in the mood for banter.

“I got you something.”

Sighing, I reply, “Yeah, me too. It’s on the nightstand.”

His brow furrows as he walks over and picks up the ring box, opening it to look at the titanium band inside.

Just another symbol of our lifelong, happy, sexless marriage.

He puts the ring back in the box and extends a hand. “It isn’t a ring.”

“What is it?”

“Get your ass out of bed and find out.”

I would, except I don’t want to. And I don’t really want whatever stupid, materialistic thing he’s bought me-

He closes my laptop and pulls the cover back, ducking when I swing a fist towards his head. “Violent little wolf,” he teases.

“Stop calling me that,” I demand, trying in vain to keep the blanket on me so he can’t tell I’m not wearing anything underneath the t-shirt I stole from him.

He pauses, sighs, and scoops me up, blanket and all. “I love watching you fight how much you love me calling you that.”

“I don’t have to fight anything except he overwhelming urge to smack you.”

Cassian just huffs, walking us out of the room, through the living room, and into his office. Then he puts me down, smacks my butt to get me moving, and grunts when I elbow him in the ribs.

“Maybe this will fix your bad mood,” he mutters, flipping the light switch on and bathing the office in golden light.

I take an involuntary step forward, eyebrows going high on my forehead.

I’ve only been in here once before, just long enough to notice the obnoxiously big desk and wall of windows behind it. I’d taken in the black leather couch and wing-backed chairs, determined it was a typical male office for a typical male, and vowed to work somewhere else.

But that was a while ago, and it’s obvious he’s done some home improvement.

There are decidedly now two desks in the corners near the windows, angled in to the middle of the room where two cream-colored leather chairs sit. The desks are identical, mahogany and classic without being ostentatious.

A rug covers the hardwood floors, a deep maroon color that matches small details throughout the room.

It’s beautiful.

Cassian leads me with his hands on my shoulders to one of the desks, and I let him guide me around to the chair and push me down in the soft leather.

I look up to ask him what this is about, but he jerks his chin to the desk where to two papers lie.

One is the deed to Sera.

A rush of surprise goes through me as I see he’s transferred the building back over to me, even going so far as to deem the process irreversible. It’s signed and dated a week ago, the night of our engagement party.

My eyes are shiny as I look at the other document and read through it.

“What is this?”

“A partnership, of sorts,” Cassian explains, leaning a hip on the- my desk like he did in his Capo’s office. “You’re now a partner at my businesses, and if you sign, I’ll be yours.”

My eyes find his, and I see that he’s serious but still choke out, “What?”

He smiles and shrugs, like signing over half of your life’s work is easy. “You had me pegged when you first saw me and figured out I’m a fighter. I hate everything about running a business except the in-person negotiating and knitty gritty shit. It’s boring to me, and while I can do it, I’m not nearly as good at it as you are.”

“Cassian-”

“So run them both. I’ll do the day to day shit I know you hate, and you’ll do the rest.”

I can’t hardly process what he’s saying.

“What if we disagree?” It’s a valid question, considering we’ve basically been fighting the entire time we’ve been engaged.

“We talk about it and try to figure it out. And if we can’t, the original owner has the final call and veto power in all situations.” His eyes say he knows how important it is to me as he says, “You’ll still be in control of your property, and I’ll still be in control of mine.”

I don’t know why I’m still asking questions, because it sounds great, but there’s one more thing I want to know.

“Why?”

He sighs, sitting on the desk fully and looking down at me with open, honest eyes. “Because I’m tired of doing this shit alone. I’m tired of going to work and dealing with every single thing and then coming home and having no one who understands.”

He looks out the window, shoulders tight. “I thought you’d be like my friends’ wives, which is why I was such an ass. I thought you’d be just another thing for me to take care of, and I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to realize you could be my partner, not just my wife.”

His eyes are back on mine, the heat in them making my heart pound. “I’m sorry, Nesta. I’m sorry I stole Sera in the first place, then refused to hear you out and give it back. I have a tendency to be a little stubborn.”

My lips twitch, and his eyes soften at the sight.

“But what you said about respecting yourself stuck. I don’t want you to feel like I don’t respect you, because I do. You’re smarter than me, cool when I’m rash, and have the mind for business I never have.” He smiles softly. “I know you’re just as alone as me, and just as tired of it. So say yes.”

I feel a smile on my face as I get to my feet, moving to stand between his thighs. “Are you just doing this so I’ll sleep with you?”

He sighs, dropping his head in shame to rest against my chest. “You caught me.”

My arms wrap around his shoulders, his going around my waist, and I use the opportunity to play in his hair. It’s so soft and curly, and he makes a content sound as I run my hands through it.

“Are you saying yes, little wolf?” he murmurs against my collarbone, dropping his head to rub his face across my breasts.

I roll and tug his hair to keep the randy bastard away. “Yes, pervert, I’m saying yes.”

Cassian smiles a big, goofy smile so ridiculously charming I lean in and kiss him.

His hands lock at my waist, resting on the curve of my back, and for a moment, he just lets me kiss him.

It isn’t our first kiss by any means, but it’s the first one where neither of us have ulterior motives, so I take my time.

I kiss his top lip, his bottom lip. Find I like them both equally.

My hands work across his shoulders, the thick muscles contracting under my hands, and I sigh his name.

Cassian’s hands fist in the fabric of my pajamas--which happen to still be his shirt--and draws me closer. He kisses my neck, inhaling deeply.

“You smell so fucking good,” he mutters, biting down softly and making me gasp. “It drives me crazy.”

His hands slip to the back of my thighs, then I’m on his lap, knees on the desk next to his hips. “You drive me crazy,” he clarifies.

He kisses me again, hands sliding up my thighs to my ass to grind me against him. Callouses scrape against my skin as he sweeps the shirt off and tosses it behind me.

“Shit,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to take me in.

The fact that he’s still fully dressed while I’m in nothing but my underwear makes me feel even more exposed, doing strange things to my mind. I start unbuttoning his shirt while he kisses down my chest.

He teases one with his hand while he takes the other in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the peak. I squirm, pressing my hips more fully against is, but he holds me still, kissing and teasing me until I can’t take it anymore.

“Cassian,” I murmur, tugging his hair to pull his gaze to mine. “Thank you for the desk. I love it.”

His brows furrow, and I can see him start to think about how much I’ve teased him, but before he can worry that’s what I’m doing, I whisper, “Now fuck me on it. Please.”

A muscle in his jaw flickers, and his fingers dig into the flesh of my hips.

Before I can say another word, he stands and spins us around, sliding me on the desk. He holds my thighs around his hips, and then an idea seems to dawn.

“Wait right here.”

“Seriously?” I ask, even though he’s already half-way out of the room.

“Don’t you dare fucking move!” is the shouted response.

I roll my eyes, but he’s back quickly, holding the red stilettos I wore to our engagement party. I howl with laughter, and a faint blush colors his cheeks, but he stays firm in his desire and puts them on the floor beside my feet.

Then he leans against the window and watches while I slip them on.

His golden eyes blaze as I lean back on my elbows and slowly spread my thighs, in nothing but lace panties and heels.

“I’ll buy you all the desks you want, if you sit on them like that.”

Laughter bubbles out of me, and he’s suddenly on me, leaning over me to kiss me in a frenzy.

I rip his shirt open, and he doesn’t even break the kiss as he throws it to the floor. I hear the telltale clink of a belt, and then he stands up to slide my panties down, grab my legs, and guide them up.

I feel him brush over the center of me, instinctively lifting my hips to give him a better angle.

But he doesn’t give me what I want.

Cassian just stands there, gaze gliding from the hells on his shoulders to the apex of my thighs.

“Hold that thought,” he mutters, dropping to his knees and putting his mouth on me before I can even blink.

My back leaves the desk, a gasp escaping me.

“Cassian.”

“I want you to come on my tongue, then you get to come on my cock.”

“Cassian.”

He hums, the sensation sending shivers down my spin. He kisses me like he’s doing it for him, not me, mouth on every part of me it can reach.

I can see the lines of his tattoos on his shoulders, the top of his curly hair. It’s too much to handle, so I just lay back down on the desk and throw my hands above my head to hold on to the edge of the desk.

The only time he stops is to tell me things that apparently can’t wait five minutes, but I don’t even care because every word out of that sinful mouth makes me burn hotter.

“Come for me,” he demands breathlessly a few minutes later.

“Don’t boss me around,” I groan, even as I do exactly what he wants.

He lets me ride it out, dropping kisses to my thighs and stomach and hips.

As soon as I catch my breath, he’s on his feet, putting me in the exact position I was in earlier.

And then he’s pushing inside me, and I honestly almost come again from the feel alone. “Thank God,” I groan, the past three reminding me of the misery teasing him put me through.

“Fucking hell, you’re perfect.”

Hands on my thighs, he holds me in place as he starts to move. But as he picks up speed, going harder with each thrust, his hands have to slip to my thighs to keep me still.

I say his name, sounding like I’m begging him for something, and he groans. His head’s thrown back, bare skin shining and making him look likesome sort of beautiful devil.

“Hurry up, little wolf,” he almost pleads.

The sound of that stupid fucking nickname does me in, and I come with a loud moan. I would’ve kicked him in the head if he hadn’t immediately dropped down on top of me to kiss me without abandon.

His hips still but he keeps kissing me until he has to break for air.

I’m boneless and limp beneath him, and he looks me over with male satisfaction.

Then his mouth drops open, betrayal in his eyes, and he says, “I just realized you didn’t speak even French! All these weeks of me fucking fantasizing about that... well, I guess we’ll just have to do it again.”

“Accorde moi un instant,” I pant in French, asking for a moment.

He grins down at me. “Take your time. We have a lifetime.”

My lips twitch, and I don’t stifle the urge to smile.

I’m about to say something, but then his expression turns serious. “You realize I have to fuck you on my desk now. Equality and whatnot.”

I laugh and pull his mouth to mine. “As long as you know I’m still not giving you my side of the bed.”

He tugs on my bottom lip with his teeth. “We can share.”

We get married seven days later, surrounded by a crowd of family, dirty politicians, thieves, drug and arms dealers, and friends.

In the past week, we’ve solidified our business model to a thing of perfection. I handle public relations, real estate and development, and negotiations for the shipping business. Cassian handles both the Bratva and Cosa Nostra soldiers in New York, training new recruits, drug distribution, and negotiations for the arms business.

Basically, I do what I’m good at, and he does what he’s good at.

I know it’s ridiculous to trust someone with half my business after only a month of knowing them, but like Cassian said, I was tired of doing this shit alone.

I’d been dreading the future, dreading taking over and doing everything myself. And now I don’t have to.

I have him to lean on, him to trust.

Looking up, I notice him watching me as we dance, not at all paying attention to the crowd. “What are you thinking about, little wolf?”

“I’m thinking how I thought of this marriage as nothing but an alliance at first. I guess it still is that, but... it’s also more.” He spins us around to the music, watching me with a knowing expression. “You’re more to me than that. And I’m... I’m happy. Working with you and the thought of our future makes me happy.”

He smiles.

“You love me,” he states with quiet confidence.

My heart starts pounding, because I’ve never told a living person that before.

But it’s never been true before, and it is now, so I respond steadily, “I do.”

“I love you, too, Nesta Orlov. Have since the moment I saw you.” He sounds so relaxed about it, the words falling from his lips so easily.

“Doesn’t it scare you?” I ask, not understanding how he’s the calm one all of a sudden.

“Anything you love something, there’s the risk you could lose it or it could hurt you.” Cassian brushes a thumb over my cheek. “But I could never be scared to love you.”

I shake my head and start to say something, but he cuts me off.

“Every morning, when you wake up, there’s this little moment where you look around, confused. And then you look at me, and that hesitation in your eyes just... melts.” He dips me, wrapping his arms tight around me. “You look at me like you trust me, and love me, and want me.”

He presses a soft kiss to my lips. “That look is worth every risk and hardship and whatever else loving someone entails.”

I kiss him back as he brings us to standing. “Italians are such saps.”

He shows off the smile I’ve realized he only gives me, and I say the words I know he needs to hear just as badly as I did. “I love you, Cassian. You’re worth the risk, too.”

______________________________________________________

THANK U FOR READINGGG soft ending for the win

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #acotar #acosf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #nessian archeron

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confused-stars · 3 years

Note

For the sign au Aizawa has a clue connecting Oboro to Kurogiri but it will probably confuse him more than anything. Since Oboro is supposed to be dead??? He'll probably discuss this with Present Mic then try to investigate. Maybe he'll try capturing Kurogiri for answers though that'll be hard. Or maybe he'll search for info on Kurogiri, his history and such. He won't find much unless he manages to break into one of the Doctors labs, but those are hard to find. Or are they???

fear not, for i come bearing answers

this is a bit of a timeline hopping thing since the first part is after Shigaraki was captured and the second is after the Eri rescue!!

ko-fi link (✿◡‿◡)

He finds Hizashi on the roof. That’s the first surprise. Shouta comes up here sometimes, because he has the destructive habit of picking at old wounds until they’re bleeding and raw again, but Hizashi has always been the opposite of that. It’s not that he ever tried to pretend Oboro hadn’t existed, but he did use to pretend his loss didn’t affect him nearly as much as it actually did. Hizashi was always pushing forward where Shouta lingered on the past. Maybe that makes him a healthier person.

Shouta clears his throat as he approaches, but Hizashi gives no indication of having heard him. He’s sitting at the edge of the roof, legs dangling and arms resting on the railing as he looks out over the UA campus. The view has changed so much since they were teenagers. Since Oboro was up here with them.

There’s about a million places Shouta would rather be at the moment, but this is a conversation that needs to happen. They haven’t talked since Shouta had All Might call up his detective friend and demanded he use his quirk on Hizashi so they could be assured he wasn’t the traitor. The vindication followed by pure hollowness of Hizashi’s gaze after Tsukauchi’s nod has been haunting Shouta for weeks now. There were no words that would have repaired the broken bridge between them, so Shouta decided to give it some time. That might have been a mistake, too. Them drifting apart has always been something that hurt both of them in the process. Hizashi would have likely much rather had a big yelling match and then hugged it out. But Shouta couldn’t do that. He’s been... punishing himself, staying away from his best friend. His ‘something’. His ‘maybe’. Because it’s Shouta’s fault that he’s hurting in the first place. Shouta’s stupid lack of trust and paranoia. He should have never, ever doubted him, even for a second. There’s a ton of excuses there. How he was injured, how he’s traumatized, how he was always only trying to protect the students. How being cautious was the logical choice. The professional choice for a hero. But none of that actually matters, does it? Hizashi is Hizashi. That should have been enough.

Either way, that’s a problem for later. He has to prioritize right now. There’s something much more pressing, and that’s forcing him to speak with Hizashi even though he still doesn’t know how to even begin repairing their relationship. Shouta has always had this tendency of ducking away from personal conflict like this. It’s much along the same vein as leaving a cat behind in the rain. It’s the easier way, when he gets overwhelmed and doesn’t know what to do. He despises that cowardly part of himself. Usually, he can push it away alright nowadays. But that’s only because he has Hizashi and Nemuri right with him.

Nemuri has firmly taken Hizashi’s side this time, though it’s not like she’s showing Shouta the cold shoulder, either. She’s just fussing over Hizashi more. Which is fine. Shouta is the one who caused the hurt, and it’s not like he enjoys her fussing. It’s probably good that they’re not talking much right now, because Nemuri... that’s going to be another painful conversation.

Shouta sits at the edge of the roof beside Hizashi and gazes out over their school grounds. It still makes him feel nostalgic to be up here. He breathes.

“How was your talk with Shigaraki?” Hizashi speaks first. Of course he does. Even if his voice is carefully blank, void of the usual emotion.

Shouta grimaces and flexes his freshly healed arm. The burns weren’t deep, but they were still painful. “... enlightening.”

Hizashi glances at him over his sunglasses. “So you found out who the traitor is?”

That was one of the questions Shouta knows All Might and Tsukauchi asked and got no answer to. He shakes his head. “But I did find out where he learned my name.”

Hizashi says nothing, waits with a raised eyebrow.

Shouta has no fucking idea how to do this. It feels like there’s a lead weight stuck in his chest. He breathes. Almost wants a cigarette even though he hasn’t smoked in nearly a decade.

He looks over towards the dorms instead of facing Hizashi any longer. “He told me Kurogiri taught him. Apparently they’ve been together for a while.”

“Kurogiri?” Hizashi repeats, “But... then we’re back to square one, aren’t we? How does he know?”

It’s nice, to hear him say ‘we’, even though of course they’re still in this together, as heroes. As teachers at this school. But ‘we’ has always meant something different to them.

‘We’ used to be a team of three or, occasionally, four.

“Shigaraki went nonverbal because of the stress of the interrogation, I think.” Shouta has never been one to dance around the point, he’s more known for being brutally honest, but this might be his limit right here. It’s like stumbling through the dark and knowing there’s a fall coming up ahead. “So... he signed.” Hizashi says nothing, allowing him to sort out his thoughts, but Shouta can feel his eyes boring into the side of his head. Is Hizashi concerned because all this hesitating isn’t like him? He should be. That still would in no way be enough to prepare him for what Shouta’s about to say.

“He spelled it out for me first. Kurogiri. But then, when he wasn’t thinking about it, he used his sign name instead.” Shouta turns to face Hizashi, slowly moving his hands in front of him. He signs, very slowly and deliberately.

Hizashi stares for a second. Then he huffs out a laugh. “That’s ridiculous, Shouta.”

Shouta raises a brow. “Is it?”

The reaction was a predictable one, of course, but Shigaraki wasn’t lying. And how else would he have known?

“He’s dead,” Hizashi insists, shaking his head again, “There’s just... no way. His quirk wasn’t even close to Kurogiri’s!”

“Wasn’t it, though?” Shouta asks quietly, tiredly. “Clouds, mist, it’s all humidity.”

“Teleportation isn’t.” Hizashi takes off his sunglasses, rubs at his eyes. “Are you hearing yourself talk? You seriously believe this?”

Shouta knows that he’s bringing his walls up because denying the possibility hurts less. It’s an old pain brought back up that they both only just started to heal from. But they need to be facing this together. If they’re still afforded that.

“Noumu are creatures created by combining multiple quirks inside a dead body and reviving them.” At least those are the bare bones of the process that Shouta understands. A lot of it is confidential. Need to know basis only. He doesn’t want the details... except now, maybe he does.

“They can’t speak or think!” Hizashi throws up his hands. “And they don’t look like that.”

Shouta’s jaw works for a moment. He looks back out over UA. “Who knows what Kurogiri looks like underneath all that mist?”

Hizashi has no answer for that, apparently, because he just pushes himself to his feet. “This is... I... I need to go. Somewhere else. Work. I have patrol. Yeah, that.”

He’s shaken enough that Shouta knows he’s not completely rejecting the possibility anymore. It’s about as much as he could have hoped for.

Shouta leans his chin on the railing and closes his eyes. “Be careful out there.” He pauses. “... and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ever doubted you.”

Hizashi laughs, and it’s a bit bitter, but not as biting as it could have been. “At this rate, me being a traitor would have been a better outcome.”

___

Their conversation bears heavily on Shouta’s mind, even two weeks later when he’s doing his usual patrol across the rooftops. It’s dangerous to let himself get distracted like this. Not his style at all.

Shirakumo does that to him.

And Hizashi, too.

He has no idea if things will get better now or not. It would be... helpful to have Hizashi at his side for this. And he knows that, as a hero, he won’t abandon Shouta when it comes to capturing a villain. But as a friend? As... someone Shouta has hurt, deeply and recently? Maybe not.

To be fair though, Shouta was always the one pushing him away before. If this is what his own medicine tastes like, then he’s surprised Hizashi stuck around this long.

“Eraserhead.”

His capture cloth is hovering around his head even before the voice speaks up, his body tense and his mind... not as clear as he’d like it to be. But he knows the sound of these portals by now. He knows.

With one quick movement, he’s up from his perch on the corner of the roof and facing the shadowy figure that wasn’t there a moment earlier.

‘Oboro?’ he signs.

Kurogiri’s eyes flicker and narrow. “I didn’t come here for conversation.” He’s not signing, one of his hands behind his back.

Shouta doesn’t blink. He didn’t deny it, did he? Does he know? Shigaraki didn’t. Is Kurogiri able to keep secrets from him? “... but I need to talk to you.”

Against the backdrop of the night sky, it’s difficult to tell where Kurogiri starts and stops. It’s like he’s a part of the night itself.

Oboro liked the stars well enough, but he always preferred lazy afternoons in the sun. Shouta was the nocturnal one.

It’s all wrong.

There’s something that’s not even entirely human in the way Kurogiri tilts his head... if he even has a physical one underneath the mist. “There’s more pressing matters than the... tragedy of Shirakumo Oboro.” There’s a shudder going through him when he says the name, and part of Shouta wants to pounce on that.

If he’s still reacting to the name... then he must remember. And if he does... then he must be forced to help Shigaraki in some way. They already suspected something like that from his demeanor, but without being able to pin Kurogiri down for an interrogation, no one could be sure.

Shouta is, though. The most heroic boy he ever knew would never willingly become a villain.

He opens his mouth, but then Kurogiri is stepping aside, and revealing, behind him... Shouta freezes.

The child can’t be older than six, maybe seven years old. She’s wearing an adult size sweater that reaches past her knees, and her feet are bare. She’s trembling, her eyes big and red and filled with unshed tears that shine in the faint lights of the city below.

“This is Eri,” Kurogiri says.

Shouta knows. He’s been told about her, after all. He was part of an entire rescue operation that culminated in finding Chisaki near bleeding out in a room locked from the inside, and a missing girl. Now that part at least makes sense.

She was an asset. Did the League...? Would they? They’re not above kidnapping teenagers, but small children?

“We did not hurt her,” Kurogiri assures, and somehow he sounds almost affronted at the accusation that Shouta is sure doesn’t even show through the goggles hiding his eyes. “Chisaki took one of our own, so we decided it was time for his downfall. When I saw Eri...”

“You couldn’t just leave her behind,” Shouta concludes the thought. His chest hurts. If there needed to be any more proof, there it is.

Kurogiri makes a noise of affirmation. “I am a caretaker. I am not the kind of person who can leave someone in need.”

“An odd trait for a villain,” Shouta manages, then shakes himself out of it. Because he’s a hero and there’s a scared child.

Kurogiri pats Eri on the head gently and she seems to calm a bit.

Shouta takes a slow step closer, then crouches down, reaching out a hand. “Hello, Eri. My name is Eraserhead. I’m a pro hero.”

Eri looks up at Kurogiri. “... what does that mean?”

“It means -” Kurogiri’s voice is so, so gentle with her. “- that he’s going to help you and keep you safe. We’re unable to provide that kind of safety.”

“Oh.” Eri looks to the ground. “ ‘cause of what I did to the man with the burns.”

Kurogiri crouches now, too. “No. No, that was not your fault. I want you to remember that. And I do believe he will be fine, once he has calmed down a little. You did not hurt him. If anything... you may have healed him.”

Eri raises her gaze, eyes wide. “I... did? I didn’t hurt him?”

Kurogiri shakes his head. “He will be fine,” he repeats, “But your quirk is very powerful and we only managed to break the connection by using my portals in time, to create physical distance.” He stops himself, as if remembering he’s talking to a child. “... what that means is, you need to learn how to control your quirk, and with how powerful it is, Eraserhead is the only one I would trust with that.”

Ah.

Shouta feels a little dazed. This is nothing like what he experienced from Kurogiri so far, but to be fair, he only ever experienced him on a battlefield beside Shigaraki. Is Shigaraki behind this, too? Is Shigaraki giving up on such a powerful asset out of... kindness? Human decency? Or does he simply not know how deep Eri’s powers supposedly go?

“I can stop your quirk if you ever feel like it’s getting out of control,” he promises, then looks to Kurogiri. A silent question, signed slowly in the dark of night.

Kurogiri signs back after a moment. ‘No repayment needed. This is for her.’

He hesitates. ‘Children like T-O-M-U-R-A should be safe.”

Shouta takes in Eri again. Big, red eyes. Blueish white hair. A powerful quirk. Was Shigaraki to All for One what Eri was to Chisaki? It’s possible. Even if Shigaraki doesn’t seem to see it that way.

‘Understood,’ Shouta signs, ‘I’ll protect her.’

Kurogiri nods and gives Eri a little nudge. “I suppose this is goodbye, then, little bunny.”

Eri swallows and bows her head politely. “I... will you tell them all thank you?” she asks very quietly.

Kurogiri seems to smile, in a way that’s more felt than seen. “I will. Perhaps you will see us again eventually.”

Not if Shouta has anything to say about it. But Eri nods and bravely closes the distance between her and him. Shouta pushes his goggles up so she can see his eyes, and smiles at her.

Eri clutches at her sweater and does not meet his eyes. He didn’t expect her to.

Another portal appears, and Shouta lifts his head. “... Kurogiri.” The villain pauses. “Contact me if you need to talk. It... can be on neutral grounds. Just a conversation.” It aches, to allow him to leave, but he has Eri to think of right now. And somehow, it would feel wrong to try to arrest him after all of this. After seeing him so gentle and caring with this traumatized child. Oboro always was good with children.

Kurogiri watches him for a long moment. Then he nods. “Take care, Shouta.” And he’s gone.

Shouta exhaled forcefully, feeling the tension seep from his body. “... come on, Eri. Let’s get you out of this cold.”

#*drops this entirely without warning*#sign au #j writes #i added another pov rip me #also arbitrarily switching between first name last name and last name first name because im terrible at consistency #the erasermic angst is still real in this au #anyway to actually answer this ask shouta is now 100% sure that kurogiri is oboro #kurogiri himself is on the fence #future research will probably come but this needed to happen first so there ya go

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justmypartner · 4 years

Text

Make it Work: Chapter 1

Summary: When offered a permanent position with the FBI, Hailey agrees to take it under one condition: Jay comes too. As their personal lives and work lives begin to change, the two partners find it increasingly difficult to navigate their complex relationship and manage their feelings for one another. *Picks up at the 8x03 bar scene.

Writer’s Note: I’m so excited to share my first multi-chapter fic. I really enjoyed Hailey’s FBI episode and how seamlessly she was able to adapt to that world, so I thought it would be fun to explore how Jay might fit into that world and how different the adjustment may be for him. When writing the first chapter I was really inspired by the song (what i wish just one person would say to me) by Lany, because I felt like it fit Jay’s perspective perfectly. As much as our guy loves Hailey, he was always going to put her wishes above his own. That’s what the song is all about, so you can see a few lines inspired by the song sprinkled throughout the chapter (the title is also taken from the song). Please enjoy Chapter 1 of Make it Work!

Read on AO3 or below

“Alright. Let’s do this, rip the bandaid off. What did the FBI offer you?” Jay said straightly, trying to hide the worry that coursed throughout his entire body.

Earlier that day he had discovered the FBI had Hailey on their radar, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. After what went down with his last partner, simply hearing someone say “FBI” left a bad taste in his mouth. He wouldn’t openly admit it, but he was worried about Hailey taking the offer. Ever since she had returned from New York, she had been fairly quiet about how it went. Her feelings seemed indifferent, but part of him had to wonder why she would hide the fact that they were sending her job offers. He hated the idea of being left alone again, but ultimately he just wanted what was best for her, even if that meant moving thousands of miles away.

Jay had been seeing Hailey differently for a while. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when his feelings shifted, but he knew things were different. If anyone asked, she was his partner and his best friend, but he knew deep down that she was more than that. There were even a handful of moments when he almost told her how he felt but Jay, never a man of openly expressing his feelings, failed to get a single word out every time. He had fought those feelings for so long, keeping them hidden deep in the depths of his closed-off heart, but her time away in New York proved this impossible. He had picked her up from the airport when she got back in Chicago, and the second he saw her he couldn’t deny the way she set his heart aflame. So, hearing that the FBI was trying to steal her away permanently was messing with his head. He had sat on his concern all day, but his patience was running thin.

“Mm okay. Joint level task-force, with the HIG, all interrogations, all high-level targets,” she told him, a slight smirk on her face as she awaited his reaction.

“Sure.. Sure, sure, sure, yeah, that sounds awesome,” he said sarcastically as she chuckled. “Is it good pay?” He asked her, a sense of defeat in his voice.

“Great pay. Honestly made me a little embarrassed about what we get paid,” she said with a smile. This was not what he was hoping for, but he pressed forward.

“Well, you’d probably be really good at it,” he responded, feigning support as the words killed him inside. He knew she would be good at it, there was no doubt in his mind. The job sounded perfect for her, but he just hated where it was and what it could mean for them.

“Yeah,” she muttered, pausing briefly and looking out the window as if her next words were lingering somewhere outside and she was trying to find them. “Yeah, I hope so because I told them I would take it,” she finally said, her eyes slowly traveling back to his. The smile on her face was replaced by a look of sincerity. He felt his heart drop into his stomach as he clenched his jaw, trying to conceal the myriad of emotions consuming him.

“Well, I.. I’m happy for you,” he said unconvincingly before bringing his glass back to his mouth, taking a large swig of his drink. He couldn’t look her in the eye because he knew she’d be able to read right through him. So, he focused on the bottom of his glass, fingers fidgeting with the rim waiting for her to say something.

“Yeah, well I should be saying the same to you,” she told him. With this, he raised his eyes back up to meet hers and returned her words with a raised brow, sending a questioning look her way.

“I told them I wasn’t going anywhere without my partner, so they took a look at your file and they were very impressed by your background. They said if you’re good enough for me to bargain with, you must be worth having on their team,” she paused briefly and he watched her swallow hard before her next words. “Jay the offer is extended to the both of us.. that is if it is something you’re interested in,” she said, tilting her head to the side as she tried to read his reaction.

A moment of what felt like his world falling apart was now being strung back together with a sliver of hope for the two of them. Being a fed was never in any of Jay’s plans. In fact, he always found himself carrying an unwarranted detestation for them that made those government positions sound completely unappealing. He never imagined he’d be willing to give up Chicago, let alone his position in Intelligence, especially for a job with the feds, but if it meant being with Hailey he was going to consider it. Romantically or not he knew he needed her in his life and as he told her not too long ago, he would follow her anywhere.

“I- wha- I-“ he stuttered out, not being able to form a coherent word.

“Look, I know it is a lot to ask of you. I know it may not seem fair of me to offer you up like that without asking first, but the way I figured it, we’re good at our jobs and we’re good together. I mean new job, new city, it all sounded so crazy to me at first. I’ve never pictured myself anywhere outside of CPD, but then I took a step back and realized what it could mean big picture. My time in New York, the cases I was working, they showed me just how big and bad this world can be. I mean I was chasing after dudes that make guys like Darius Walker look like frickin saints. The whole time I just kept thinking, I could really see myself doing this every day. I felt fulfilled in a way I hadn’t in years, but every night I’d go home, especially after the bad ones, and I felt like something was missing. Then one night after a really bad one I was sitting in my hotel room, wallowing in the heaviness of that day and my phone rang. It was you calling to check up because you had a bad case too and you needed whatever this thing is between us that always seems to work. That’s when I realized what it was that was missing. It was you,” she shrugged, the corners of her mouth curling up in a shameful smile.

“Hailey..” Jay said as his eyes glossed over with tears. He sat there silently, looking into the endless depth of her eyes and hoping the right words would come to him. His thoughts were jumbled and he was having trouble grounding himself in reality. The whiplash of thinking he was losing the most important person in his life to hearing her tell him her life wasn’t complete without him left him in a state of disorient. He was relieved when she continued on before he had the chance to stumble over words once more.

“Look Jay, I don’t expect you to have an answer now. I just needed to tell you where I’m coming from so you’d have a full perspective to guide your decision. I know leaving Chicago, leaving our family at the 21st wouldn’t be easy, but I feel like this opportunity is something worth pursuing. I also think it’s something that would be made easier if we did it together,” she admitted, finishing her piece.

Her words echoed in his head as he seriously thought through the opportunity. Jay was wired to be a cop, to right wrongs, help victims find justice, and chase the highs of dangerous cases. He found his life’s purpose doing just that, starting in the Rangers and leading to his spot in Intelligence. He appreciated the fulfillment his work in Intelligence brought him, but what if he could do that on a much larger scale - with her by his side no less. All of a sudden he was picturing a life in New York and working at the FBI. He felt like it could make sense and it caught him by surprise, but it seemed clear.

“Do you remember when the unit was under siege and we thought it was the end of Intelligence? We had just gotten back from that major bust and we were talking about what would happen if we got shut down.. where we would go. Do you remember what I said to you?” He asked her, his newfound clarity allowed him to string a coherent thought together. She nodded in response.

“You told me you’re going where I go and that it’s hard to find a good partner,” she said softly, her eyes staying locked with his.

“I meant it then, and I mean it now. I’ve spent my whole life fighting to help people, and I like to think we’ve done some really great things in Intelligence. You were right when you said we’re good together, and if this job means we can make an even bigger difference than the one we do now, I’m all in,” he said, causing a big smile to form across her face.

“Yeah?”

“Hell yeah. I mean I’d like to know more about the position and everything, but if you say it’s worth it, then I trust you.. we’ll make it work. Plus, our thing just isn’t the same over the phone. You’d be lost without me,” he told her with a cheeky smile, eliciting an eye roll from her.

“Yeah, you mean you’d be lost without me,” she responded, standing from her chair to grab her coat. Jay laughed and took the check before rising to put his coat on as well. As they made their way to the door, Jay turned to face Hailey as a concerned look overcame his face.

“Wait- have you planned on how we’re going to tell Voight about this?” He asked. She returned his question with an expression matching his.

“Uh ah, I didn’t get that far. I didn’t think you would actually agree to be honest.”

“Come on, we’ve built a pretty strong partnership here, at least part of you had to think there was a chance I’d say yes,” he told her.

“Yeah, no I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking the fact that it’s a job with the feds and the idea of having to wear a suit everyday would have left no room for consideration,” she said with a chuckle. She pushed her body against the door, grimacing at the sudden sensation of the cold Chicago wind against her face, leaving a suspended Jay stood in the doorway.

“Suit.. everyday.. I-“ he said upon realizing that part of the job he hadn’t considered.

“Woah, woah, woah, you already said yes, no turning back now,” she teased. He groaned and dragged his feet out the door to join her in the cold. They walked shoulder to shoulder down the street in a comfortable silence.

“That doesn’t sound so bad you know,” she said, breaking through the silence as they reached their cars. She turned to face him, her eyes carrying a glimmer he hadn’t noticed before.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“Getting to see you in a suit every day,” she said confidently before realizing the coy nature of the statement and bashfully looking away. Jay could feel the heat rush to his face despite the chilling wind blowing against him. He smiled down at his feet, hoping if she could notice the redness of his cheeks, she accounted it to the cold. There was a long pause before he brought his eyes back up to hers once again.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she said, placing a hand on his chest lightly before passing him to get into her car.

Jay wasn’t sure where their future was going or what direction it would take them, but he knew as long as she was in his life, he was set. His eyes followed her as she got in her car and started the engine. She gave him a small wave before pulling out into the street. Yet again there he was suppressing his feelings for his partner, but this time it felt worth it. A lot in their lives was about to change, he didn’t need to add the heaviness of his feelings to the mix. He was anxious about what was to come, but he ultimately felt content with his decision.

#upstead #jay x hailey #hailey x jay #jay halstead #hailey upton #chicago pd #upstead fic

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nightowlfandom · 4 years

Text

Min Yoongi- Sweet Therapy

So one of you messaged me saying you needed a pick-me-up. Girl I got you! Hope this boosts your mood chica.

And yes I was totally jamming out to Ryuji Imaichi’s song “Sweet Therapy” (If you wanna get your thot on, listen to that song I swear- That man’s voice is like warmed honey on cold skin...)

CHECKOUT MY MASTERLIST/PROMPT LIST HERE!!!

Leggo!

...

You walked out the front door, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You let it swing shut as you stepped down. You’ve had enough with the outside world for the week and you just wanted to be alone with the only other person you cared about and that person just so happened to seem like the only person who cared about you.

But then again, you can’t choose your family, right?

You saw Yoongi leaned up against his car. He was staring looking down at his phone while he waited for you. He had no interest in talking to anyone other than you and knocking on the door put that at a huge risk. He’d probably be arrested if someone other than you answered. He wouldn’t go to jail over something as stupid as one of your siblings looking at him to wrong way, but it was tempting as hell.

The second he looked up, he walked towards you. The somber look on your face told him all he needed to know. He met you halfway in the parking lot. He wasted no time in grabbing your free arm and pulling you to his chest. You squeezed your eyes shut to refrain from crying. You didn’t want to let them linger in your head anymore than they already have. Yoongi however, was no idiot. He could see the tears form before you even tried to blink them back. Luckily you were able to remain silent. He gently scratched the back of your head with his fingertips.

“Hey.” he finally greeted, stepping back from you. He kissed your forehead then grabbed your overnight bag that had a shirt sleeve hanging out of the side zipper. He could only smile at your half-effort. “Home alone today?”

“Mhm.” you nodded, letting him take the heavy duffel from you.

“Good.” he grumbled. “I don’t want to have to put up with those fuckers today. I’m in a real good mood.” he could feel his blood boiling at the thought of even speaking to one of the assholes you lived with. “You gonna kiss me, or what?” he smiled cheekily at your shyness.

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. He was always like this when he came over to get you. You stood on your tip toes and gently bought your lips to his. He used his free arm and hooked it around your waist. He kissed you back with a hunger you could only read as ‘horny bastard’. When he pulled away, he saw the corners of your mouth turn up a little. Good, this mission was turning into a success already.

“Come on.” he began walking you to his car. “We’re goin’ out tonight.”

“Where?” you spoke real words for the first time since you stepped outside.

“I was thinking somewhere where we could chill. Rent us a booth where we’ll be alone, away from all that noise. Spend some quality time together?” he smirked. “Get into some trouble-.”

“Aaaah! Don’t be dirty!” you whined as he opened the passenger door for you.

“Nah.” he burst out laughing. “Your reactions are too cute.”

“Jerk.” you scoffed as he shut the door. He tossed your duffel in the back seat and walked around to the drivers side, getting situated himself. Yoongi had a nasty mouth. It always made him wonder if he had to have his mouth washed out with soap.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” he bit his lip mischievously as he started the car. He laced his fingers in yours as he drove off. You wordlessly stared out the window, feeling his thumbs trace over your knuckles.

...(Le time skip!)

“Thanks babe.” Yoongi winked as you poured his another shot. “You want another?” he got ready to take the bottle from you.

“No.” you shook your head, placing the bottle on the table. “If I have anymore you’re gonna have to pick me up off the floor.” you giggled, covering your mouth to stop from getting too loud.

“I wouldn’t mind that.” he replied with his own laughter. “I should stop too, I guess. I’ve probably had too many already.”

“Well we almost finished the whole bottle.” you said. “I’d say we’ve had well over our limit. You still need to drive tonight, dude.” you leaned on his shoulder. “What should we do for the rest of the night?”

“What do you want to?” he asked as he downed the shot. “It’s pretty late, isn’t it? What do you say we... Go back to my place.” he bit his lip with a sly smile on his face.

“And just what are we gonna do at your place?” you raised a curious brow at him, already having a good idea of where this was gonna go.

“We could relax...have a nice drink.” he bit his lip, obviously forgetting you two were just drinking now. “Maybe have a bath together?” he ran his fingers up your thigh. “Help you forget about the day you’ve had.” he bit his lip.

“Yoongi are you trying to get me naked?” your legs shook a little under his touch.

“Is it working?” he leaned forward to press his lips against your forehead.

“Maybe.” you tried to hide the smile rising on your face. “If you can convince me.” you shrugged innocently.

“I think I can be really convincing.” he whispered.

...(Another time skip!)

You were the first to stumble through the door of his room, him trailing behind. His chest was pressed flush against your back, his mouth whispering dirty sentences in your ear. You could feel his hands trailing under your shirt. Both of you were a tiny bit tipsy, so you were a giggling mess. You both were now completely sober, and all you could focus on was each other.

“So how about that bubble bath?” he began leading you towards the bathroom. He tugged at the hem of you shirt.

“Lead the way.” you bit your lip to keep from smiling.

“Give me a second.” he briefly kissed the side of your head. Without another word, he walked ahead of you to the bathroom. You heard water running, followed by the movement of things. You took the time to look around the room. His place looked just like the stereotypical men’s room. There was a little bit of messiness here and there. His blankets and pillows were everywhere. You had spent the night before, but not to this degree. You eyed his open closet, looking like it had exploded in an array of clothes and shoes. If he was freaking out as much as you were, then it was perfectly excusable why his closet looked like a tornado flew threw it.

Before you could look around any more Yoongi came up behind you. You turned around to face him with a shy smile. He took your hand, leading you in the direction of his bathroom.

As you got the the bathroom, there was a strong flowery scent wafting through the air. You looked at the bathtub, which was covered in a mountain of suds. You felt his hands under your shirt. “Can I help you out of these clothes?”

You wordlessly lifted your arms above your head, allowing him to help you out of your shirt. You usually weren’t this shy, but there was a pit in your stomach. “Get these pants off.” he fumbled with the button of your jeans.

You playfully stepped away from him and rid yourself of the rest of your clothes, bra, panties, down to your socks. Yoongi could feel himself growing hot and bothered by his clothes and made short work of them. You had no idea where his clothes landed, and you didn’t care.

Soon enough, you were leaning against Yoongi’s chest, relaxing in the hot water. It was like everything melted off, the stress, the headaches. You could feel his fingertips drawing patterns into your back. He knew how much you loved it. You could hear his steady heartbeat which lulled you into a calm trance. You began playing with the hill of sweet smelling bubbles like a child.

It had been a while since you relaxed, going as far as to not even leave bed somedays. You felt happy, you felt like you could actually sit down and breathe without being hated for it. Yoongi held you close, pressing kisses on the back of your head as he watched you carry on. Yoongi’s kisses suddenly moved down your neck, to your shoulder, and up your jawline.

You ceased your activity, nearly going limp in his arms.”Y-yoongi.” you whined. Yoongi began exploring your body, not leaving an inch of your torso untouched. “That’s not fair.”

“Hm. Why don’t we cut this bath short.” he whispered in your ear.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

...

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voiceless-terror · 4 years

Note

Perhaps the "stop moving!" Prompt for Jon, where he's been kidnapped by yet another avatar group and they're trying to subdue him but he's fighting too much so they break something like his leg or wrist to make him stop 👀

Hello! I’ve been thinking about this prompt for a while, and I decided to set this during the Circus kidnapping (hope you don’t mind!) and tackled it with another prompt, this one by @give-me-a-minute-to-think who asked for “ a post-circus-kidnapped fic. like, how martin and timdiscover jon was kidnaped and their reaction (espically tims.) we see in canon martin addressing that fact, but not literally anyone else. i just want some complicated relatinship and tim to be nice to jon even a little.” Hope you two enjoy!

Jon’s pretty sure bones weren’t meant to bend that way.

It was his fault, really. He shouldn’t have put up a struggle. He should’ve realized the futility of his situation and yielded to the rough, unfamiliar hands forcing him into the van. But Jon’s nothing if not stubborn, so a few flailing arms and weak kicks were to be expected. And the retaliation, of course, should’ve also been expected.

“Stop movin’,” came the gruff voice of the delivery man, with a face so nondescript Jon could forget it if he looked away for only a second. He gives one last weak slap to the hands on his body. Wrong move.

A sickening crack could be heard along with a sharp cry- Jon’s cry, because the pain currently emanating from his one good wrist is white-hot and agonizing. His eyes are blurring and the inside of the van is stifling in its darkness, but even he could see that hands and wrists weren’t supposed to look like this. He bites back the nausea and sags back into the rough hands, rendered frozen by the pain. There’s a chuckle, low and sinister, and one of the men begins to whistle the tune from the calliope.

And then his arms are yanked behind his back and the pain reaches a dizzying crescendo as his body decides it’s had enough, and sinks into oblivion.

_______

He spends his days being touched.

Cold hands and a face with a permanent smile. Sometimes there’s more of them, as if he’s a spectacle to be watched and studied. The Strangers like to learn about bodies, foreign as they are to them. Nikola enjoys narrating the process, poking and prodding at the bruises and burns and the strange, twisted hands. He doesn’t bite back his gasps and whimpers, he’s gagged, but Nikola likes to hear them. Likes to hear the wordless grumble of his voice, rendered mute and unintelligible.

The weeks go by, he loses hope. He’s not there much anymore, he’s somewhere else, a place where the pain can’t reach him. He’s back in Georgie’s apartment, the Admiral purring in his lap. He’s back in Research with a smiling Tim and a woman he imagines to be Sasha. He even thinks back to Martin’s lunches a few months ago with a sort of fondness. People talked to him, people cared. People worried when he was gone.

Every once in a while, his daydreams are interrupted by the sting of bones knitting together wrong or the itching flare of infected tissue. He starts to think of his eventual skinning as a sort of blessing in disguise; Lord knows he’s wanted to scratch himself out of it more than once. He just wishes they would hurry it up, not draw it out so much. Shouldn’t he be ready by now?

And then Michael comes. He feels a strange, manic strength return to him at the promise of a story, even if it ends in his own demise. I want to know. Tell me, tell me. The Eye’s gaze doesn’t reach him, but the power it’s planted within him grows. By the end, he feels strong enough to reach for the door handle himself, ignoring the pain that raising his arm causes.

It’s locked. His one salvation is gone. But then Michael is too, and Helen gives him a different sort of hope. One that lands him directly in Elias’s office.

His injuries are ignored in favor of a more pressing threat- Melanie. The only thing that keeps him standing and lucid is the remaining strength he siphoned from Michael’s statement. But it’s an empty, sickening vigor, one that’s sure to leave him feeling more drained than ever once it fades. Elias says nothing as he stumbles after Melanie with a limping pace, arriving some five minutes after her. She’s sitting at her desk, silently steaming when Jon makes his way in the office, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

“Jon!” Martin’s bright voice pipes up. “You’re back! We were wondering…” His voice trails off as he takes in Jon’s appearance, dirty and gaunt and yet shining with a strange sheen. A thousand showers won’t erase the feeling of those cold, slimy hands on him, Jon knows. Tim’s head pops up from his desk and even he looks a bit concerned; it’s the most positive feeling he’s shown Jon in ages.

“He was kidnapped, apparently,” Melanie drawls, and Jon doesn’t take her ambivalence to heart. She feels trapped like the rest of them. And Jon’s safe now, so what does it matter? What does any of this matter?

“K-Kidnapped?” Martin sputters, making his way over to his side. Jon flinches back unconsciously, gripping tightly at the wall and Martin stops in his tracks, his face softening. “We didn’t- nobody told us-”

“It’s fine,” Jon croaks, though they all know it isn’t. “It was- it was the Circus. A-And I’ll tell you about it-” he nods in Tim’s direction, seeing his wide-eyed stare out of the corner of his eye.”-as soon as I have a rest, if that’s alright.”

Martin casts a critical eye over him, his gaze coming to rest at the stiff way in which he holds his arms. “Seriously? I think you should go to the hospital, Jon. You look-”

“I’m fine now,” Jon assures him- he’d wave away the concern if he could lift his arm at all. “Just- just a moment, please.”

He limps to his office and they let him, their eyes reminding him of those curious mannequins and the way they stared and dissected him as if he were a cadaver on display. You’re not there anymore, he tries to reason as he collapses into his office chair. There’s a statement on his desk and he wonders if it was Elias or one of his assistants who placed it there, just waiting for him to come back. He’s so hungry.

But opening the file is agony. His burned hand cries out at any touch, and his crooked one doesn’t cooperate. Still, he forces the movement and the tape recorder clicks on for him, a move that usually chills him but now feels like a small mercy.

The words spill from his lips, natural and all-consuming. It doesn’t energize him as much as Michael’s direct account, but it certainly goes down easier, untainted by the jagged edges of the Spiral. He only realizes at the end that the statement was written in French, a language he doesn’t speak. Another development. Elias would be proud. Probably is, sitting up there in his office. And in perfect and non-coincidental timing, his email pings with a message from the man himself, informing him of his new flat, the keys to which are in his bottom drawer.

A new flat. How considerate. He tries not to think of the lonely, unprotected darkness that awaits him there. No Georgie. No Admiral. That’s probably for the best, he thinks. You wouldn’t want to endanger them.

Martin knocks, startling him out of his maudlin thoughts. He’s got tea and biscuits and Jon is struck by not only how much he missed the normalcy of the act, but how horribly hungry he is. For real food. He almost feels giddy with the realization.

“Thank you, Martin.” He’s rewarded with a tired smile and more questions. More apologies. He’s been reading statements. Jon worries about this, but Martin brushes it off. Jon keeps his arms resting on his lap, out of Martin’s sight. He gives non-answers to his inquiries and he can tell Martin’s frustrated- he only wants to help, but Jon won’t let him. They end the conversation at a strange but polite stalemate, a promise that there will be time for them to talk. He’s surprised Martin lets him go like this, but perhaps he’s realized what Jon already did all those weeks ago.

He’s beyond saving.

And then he’s gone again, back to that big room with those terrible waxworks and that strange, lilting tune and the faces that were wrong, the voices that were stolen. Everything echoed, even the tiniest of whimpers. And the laughter. He wants to curl up and make himself small, hide under the desk but his limbs are stiff and immovable, glued to his seat. His breaths start to come in small, tremulous gasps when another voice speaks up from the doorway.

“The Circus?”

Tim. Jon meets his eyes, attempting to get his emotions under control. You’re not there anymore. You’re back, you’re safe.

“A month you were gone,” Tim’s stomping over to his desk and Jon pushes his chair back, trying to create space but all Tim does is collapse into the chair across from him, heaving a sigh. He hasn’t sat there in ages. “Fuckin’ Elias. Where did they have you?”

Jon slumps in his seat, the tension in his frame somewhat easing. “It was a Wax Museum. I-I think that’s where they’ll be attempting the Unknowing.”

“That’s a lead, then.”

“Yeah,” Jon let out a weak chuckle. “At least something good came out of this.”

Tim’s eyes go dark. “Don’t joke about that.”

Jon nods, slightly taken aback by the fervor of the words. “S-Sorry.”

“What did you see? What happened?” He’s leaning forward now, his interest getting the best of him. Jon opens his mouth; he plans to answer- he could describe the waxworks, the van that took him away, the layout of his prison- but that’s not what comes out.

“They wouldn’t- they wouldn’t stop touching me,” he says, his voice fading to a whisper with each word. “Everyday. She came in and she smiled and she kept talking about my skin and touching me and I-I-” And once again he’s back there, cold hands on his face and mocking voices in his ear and it’s wrong, so wrong-

A hand rests on his shoulder and he rears back, an automatic response of revulsion as his heart stutters in his chest. But it’s not a smiling mannequin, it’s Tim. Tim, who’s kneeling by his chair so he doesn’t loom, whose hands are warm and real, flesh and blood. He’s staring down at Jon’s lap, where his arms lay crooked and burned and broken. Useless.

“They needed me to stop moving,” he whispers, as if it’s a valid explanation. Tim’s jaw is clenched. It’s a barely concealed rage and Jon feels guilty that it scares him so much. And yet, in spite of that anger, or perhaps because of it, he takes the hand from his shoulder, gentle and slow so Jon can see the path of his movements. He puts two fingers to the crooked arm, an impossibly soft movement as he leans in to inspect the damage.

And there’s no ulterior motive behind it. It’s just a touch, careful and concerned, probing lightly at his arm like he’s something fragile that Tim doesn’t want to break. He feels a tightness in his chest that for once doesn’t have fear as its source.

“I would’ve looked for you. If I’d have known.”

Tim says the words more to his lap than to him. And yes, he suspected that if Tim knew the Circus had him, he would’ve looked. But it wouldn’t have been for him. His presence would only be incidental. Tim’s staring at his arm as if the power of his gaze could knit it back together right and whole. His hand remains in place, and Jon wonders if it’s for Tim more than him. It’s as if he has to be reminded that Jon’s real, that he’s here.

“I need to tell you something.” The words are loaded with import. “But not now. Are you still staying with your friend?” Jon blinks at the change in subject.

“N-No. I have a new flat, but-”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” Tim’s suddenly all business, rising to his feet and looking down at Jon with a face that allowed for no argument. “Not with this Circus business. You can stay at mine, after you go to A&E. You’re not okay.”

Jon stares down at his lap, all fight leaving him. “I know.”

He lets Tim take control, lets him do that aggressive sort of care-taking he was known for in the earlier days of their friendship. It’s not the same; there’s no gentle words, no teasing but stern instruction. Just a silent tending that feels familiar all the same. Tim’s the one who speaks to the doctors, who listens to their instructions and later explains to Jon what’s going to have to be done in the coming days, as if he were a child. He knows it’s going to be bad, painful. But Tim keeps his voice level and Jon is somehow reassured. When they get to his flat and Jon’s warm and medicated and settled on the couch, he asks the question and Tim answers, his voice fluid and his words made eloquent in their grief. And Jon understands.

Tim doesn’t let him sleep on the couch. He’s curled up in the bed under a mountain of blankets and he pretends not to notice Tim standing in the doorway like some sort of sentinel.

“I would’ve looked.” He repeats the words as if trying to convince himself of their veracity. “If I’d have known.”

Jon closes his eyes and tries to believe him.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28135263

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #prompt fill #jonathan sims #tim stoker #martin blackwood #cw injuries #broken bones #angst #Anonymous

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philicheesecake · 3 years

Text

Refugees pt 1 (vore fic)

Note: this takes place with my two newest OCs, Zi and Baka. I might write more about them as their story comes to me. I haven’t given them an exact size yet, but for now I’m saying Baka is 7-9 ft tall while Zi is 4 ft tall.

Warnings: Soft attempted fatal vore, minor burns and injuries, but safe in the end. A lot of cursing and general stinky behavior from Baka

—————

It had been nearly a week hiding underground. The sewer systems were growing claustrophobic and the darkness only grew as the two travelers tried to conserve the energy of their flashlight. Food supplies had run out two days ago, and both of them were growing restless.

Prince Baka as usual seemed to not take the situation seriously. How could he? He was a sheltered spoiled brat who knew nothing of how the real world worked. Zi was only doing their best to try to keep him out of trouble.

But now starving, with no clean water supply, and lost within the winding dark tunnels, anything seemed preferable to dying in here.

Zi stepped ahead through the tunnels, ears twitching as they listened out ahead for any sign of danger before motioning behind them to follow. There was a pause, but now steps forward. Only an exhausted groan. Then a splash.

Zi blinked in confusion, turning to see the prince trying to get up, having to crouch badly within the tunnels even as he got to his feet, due to his towering size. With the dimming flashlight shining towards his face, his weathered features could be seen. A crocodilian-esque being with three webbed crests spanning from his head to the tip of his tail. His green eyes were dry and exhausted.

"Mmmstarvin'. Fuckin starvin' down here," the prince bellowed weakly. "Can't go on like this..."

Zi sighed, stepping patiently over to the prince and mutely held out their hand to try to stabilize him to encourage him forward. The prince leaned his weight on Zi, before toppling over, splashing into the smelly sewage on top of the smaller creature. Zi coughed, wiping the contaminated water off of their face and grunted as they tried to crawl out from under the prince, trying again to help him to his feet. The prince grumbled, resisting the assistance, seeming set on dying here and now, in the midst of his toddler-like dramatic tantrum.

"Mmmwwwanna die then," Baka whined.

Zi grunted silently under their breath, managing to crawl out from beneath the prince and tugged on the side of his arm to help him to his feet. The prince grumbled dramatically once again, not wanting to move. "Lemme stay here. Don't wanna move... leave me to die..."

His stomach growled pleadingly, echoing through the dark tunnels. Zi sighed, letting the prince's arm splash to the ground like a ragdoll. They picked up the flashlight again and stood before the prince, thinking quietly for a moment before speaking. "Wait here,"

With a small bow of their head, they left through the tunnels, leaving Baka lying baffled in the puddles. Baka had told Zi to leave, but he hadn't really expected them to. Zi had sworn to serve him until they were freed. Did they just see the prince's death as their chance of freedom?

"You can't fffuckin tell mmme what to do!" The prince babbled. His voice only echoed uselessly through the sewers. He let out a whale-worthy moan and slumped back down in the puddles. He smelled awful. He hated the smell. He hated Zi. He hated his family. He hated the world. He hated everything. With this litany of hatred coursing through his mind, he slowly succumbed to sleep, believing this to be death at last.

A gentle hand shaking his shoulder was what brought him back to his senses, and the returning light of Zi's flashlight. Baka grumbled tiredly, closing his eyes again, not wanting to be brought back into this hell. He was perfectly content lying in this puddle and hating everything, and sleeping. He didn't have to exist in this disgusting sewer if his mind was somewhere else.

It seemed Zi had other plans, however. The smaller reptilian's soft voice insistent through the silent dripping ambience of the sewers. "There is a path leading to a river. We can get fresh water and fish there,"

The prince seemed reluctant at first, but anywhere but here was ideal. He was starving, and fish sounded better than nothing. He hoped it wasn't raw, though. He groaned as he lifted his head, reaching for Zi for assistance to get to his feet. Zi complied as well as they could, though they were just as equally deprived of strength, they just tried not to show it as much.

They led the prince to a low opening where the sewer runoff poured into a polluted river. It wasn't the sight that Baka had wished for, but anywhere was better than those sewers. He was never going in there again. Zi made sure the coast was clear before hopping softly into the river and nodded for the prince to follow. Baka collapsed into the running water, rolling a bit beneath the surface before resurfacing, refreshed to have his scales rid of the sewage slush and at least feeling a little cleaner. It seemed Zi had already done so before leading Baka there, visibly appearing cleaner in the better light. Although it was night out in the fresh air, the light from the stars and moons was almost overwhelming to get used to after being stuffed in the pitch darkness of the sewers for so long.

Zi frowned, looking into the river hopefully, though even in the darkness, they knew the prince was right. "We can at least collect some water here. But we can't stay out here for long."

"You fuckin cheated me," the prince growled. "You kept my fuckin hopes up this whole fuckin time. 'Just last one more day sir,' 'now isn't the time for cannibalism. I am here to serve you' 'tomorrow we'll have better luck' 'tomorrow we'll have better luck' and again and again and again and AGAIN. I'm fuckin SICK of this disaster," he managed to get to his feet, swaying slightly. "So you have to serve me one last fuckin time here. Help me out,"

Zi's brow furrowed slightly, showing the slightest trace of concern before stepping closer to take to the prince's side, seeming to assume that Baka needed some help standing. Baka's behavior altered, however, gripping Zi a little too tight for support, instead, bringing them closer and his mouth yawned wide above them, suddenly clamping his jaws over their shoulders. Zi was shocked, sucking in a surprised breath. The prince had mentioned eating Zi before while they were in the tunnels, but they hadn't considered that he would really do it. In panic, they struggled against the prince's grip, but he simply ignored it. The prince's mouth watered heavily, drenching Zi's upper half with sticky drool and drew them in deeper, beginning to swallow. The throat opened up before them and the slight jerking of the jaws forced Zi in deeper despite their protests. The tight throat dragged them downwards more quickly with each swallow and the shove of Baka's hands.

He didn't have long to enjoy this feast, however, when a beam of light shown down from the slope near the river and a team of uniformed armed men were all directed at him, quickly making their approach to surround him. The prince tried to sit up, wincing as the weight in his stomach sloshed and resettled from the action. "Can you just leave me for five fuckin minutes?" Baka grunted. The soldiers surrounded him and patted him down to search for any weapons, finding none, before binding his hands behind his back and led him up to their transport.

Sitting alone in the back of the high-security transport vehicle, he could feel Zi's struggles begin to weaken. They were just as weak as him, and he doubted they would last long. They seldom spoke normally, though he could hear their normally level voice sound out more fearful, albeit muffled, pleading for reason. The prince didn't bother listening, pressing a hand to his middle to coax them into digesting already.

"You're wasting your breath in there. You dragged me through fuckin hell, and now ya get your fuckin share of it," Baka grunted under his breath.

Zi went silent, hugging themselves in the hot, slimy darkness. Their struggles stopped, but their breathing was still fairly normal, a little panicked. They were probably trying to preserve energy.

"My service meant nothing?" They spoke quietly.

"Your service meant food that I should've given into a week ago," Baka grumbled. "And now we got captured anyways, so dragging me through those sewers was fuckin useless."

Zi went dead still, probably from disbelief, or despair, though it was hard telling their reaction without a visual. Not that Baka cared anyways. They should be dead soon.

The car came to a halt and the back doors opened from the truck. Armed guards led prince Baka through a sheriff's office, leading him to one of the back cells. They had been remote enough to be far from the capitol, so the police had to wait for the officials to show up before transporting him back to the new enemies' capitol.

For now, Baka slumped within the holding cell, lying back on the hard bed. "I don't wanna die... they're going to kill me," Baka spoke to himself, though his occupant heard. Ironic that he was complaining about dying while he was currently killing his most loyal and perhaps only ally.

"If you let me out, I can help... we can escape again," Zi offered hopefully, trying to keep emotion out of their voice. It was really beginning to sting in there, and the acid levels were steadily rising. The clenching walls persisted to grind the caustic fluids into Zi's exposed skin, and it was growing increasingly painful and unnerving.

"Mmmh, I don't wanna," Baka responded.

"Neither of us want to die, Baka. If we fail, we both die. If we succeed, we both live. If you kill me now, it would be inevitable for both of us,"

Baka groaned. He didn't respond for a moment, rubbing his gut almost mournfully. The acids were getting worse from this action, their level rising to fill half the chamber. Zi withheld a worried whimper in their throat, trying to keep their chin above the acids. The walls suddenly clenched tighter around the smaller reptile, painfully this time, nearly crushing their ribs, before the motion forced Zi back up the throat, carrying them upward with difficulty. The little breath they had collected was squeezed out of their lungs and they choked on the slime around them, nearly suffocating before their release.

A gagging sound and a glimmer of hopeful light beyond the jaws greeted them before they were coughed up onto the floor in a puddle of slime and acids. Zi gasped for air, shuddering violently and coughed up the slime that had caught in their throat. They dragged themselves across the floor to prop themselves against the wall of the cell, looking over at the prince with unveiled residual fear in their eyes.

Baka was on the floor lying on his stomach with drool dripping from his jaws, looking further nauseous and miserable. He let out a long drawn-out dramatic groan.

Zi hastily tried to wipe some of the slime off of their face, glancing down with a disgusted shudder to notice the nasty burns that marred their scales. They couldn't focus on that traumatic experience though, shakily getting to their feet. They stumbled over to the barred entrance of the holding cell, examining the lock and took out a lock pick, beginning to get to work.

A small click sounded once they succeeded, and they looked over at the prince, trying to help him to his feet. His hands were still bound behind his back, and Zi was almost too afraid to release him. Just as they helped Baka to his feet, alarms suddenly blared. They winced, ears flattening back and they looked towards the doorway fearfully.

"...fuck," Baka growled.

"We have to go," Zi went out the opening of cell, looking carefully down the hallway. Oddly, the guards were nowhere to be seen, and action was heard further within. Their brow furrowed in confusion, and they stepped silently into the main area of the police station, Baka dragging himself behind them with no regards for stealth, and seeming further interested in making as much of a dramatic scene as possible along the way.

The door opposing them suddenly swung open and several assorted armed men entered, not wearing the police uniforms, and appeared like standard civilians. Their eyes lit up in relief and one rushed forward to greet the freed prisoners with a bow. "Prince Baka, please come with us. We're here to help, and we're loyal to your line to the end,"

#v/ore #v.ore #soft vore #nonfatal vore #unwilling vore #unwilling prey #alligator vore #gator vore #crocodile vore #anthro vore #vore story

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myelocin · 4 years

Text

To Us, A Love Story Unwritten | Kuroo T., Miya A.

Hello!! Before you begin reading, THIS STORY IS A PART TWO to Redefining You , which I highly recommend you read first because a lot of things are connected! :D

Part 1 | Part 2 | Epilogue | Bonus

Synopsis: Time away from Tetsurou leads you to the serendipity that is Miya Atsumu.

Characters: Kuroo Tetsurou, You, Miya Atsumu

Genre/Warnings/Tags: None! Angst, HEALING, Hurt & Comfort, surfer!Atsumu, tattooed!Kuroo, Fluff

WC: 7600+

a/n: here’s a word dump of my feelings bcos i made an oopsie and projected real ppl in 2d characters again

*playlist if u want maximum feelies: Blue (Elina), Miles Apart (Nick Wilson)

The thought of healing didn’t cross your mind until some months later.

In the mornings after that morning, you stood in your balcony, leaning against the railing with a mug of coffee, your thoughts wandering. Sometimes you thought of what kind of coffee you liked, and other times you caught yourself wondering how Tetsurou moved through his six AMs. Morning thoughts were reserved for the things you prefer to keep out of your head during the day. Tetsurou, of course, had always been an exception. He somehow always flowed in your train of thought whether the numbers on your watch flashed 3am or 3pm.

Or now, you thought after taking a quick peek at the time in your phone, 6:19 AM; all you could think about was how sad his golden eyes looked against the black of Tokyo’s backdrop.

Tetsurou making his way into your thoughts has always how it’s been for almost a decade, and habits are a little hard to break. At least, that’s what you say to reason with yourself.

Thinking back to your words that night, the “I love you” just kind of slipped out. But you know you meant it. Shifting your wrist to the side, you studied the tattoo again, then closed your eyes to remember the expression on your best friend’s features.

You meant the I love you, you told yourself again. Towards yourself that was for sure; towards Tetsurou.

And that’s always going to be the case, taunted the voice in the back of your head.

After that night, Tetsurou had broken up with his long term girlfriend for good. Though he didn’t necessarily ruin himself over the breakup—there were changes.

He still texted you at odd hours to show you a video he thought was funny, still showed up to your apartment for movie nights, and more or less was still present. But it was during the particularly sentimental scenes in the movie where he’d choose to refill the popcorn or grab another soda, and you could see that his can was still half full. You noticing that Tetsurou always chose to pick the other boba shop that was on the other side of town never flew past you either. You knew that that was the shop he always used to take her after classes—so even seeing how his hands never failed to tighten against the steering wheel when the two of you would drive by, you always pretended not to notice. Even though four months had passed, you know that for him, the wound was still fresh.

And remembering how sad he looked that night, you couldn’t help yourself to feel for his pain. At the end of the day, weren’t you just two people who yearned for the love that couldn’t be yours?

So you sigh and take a sip of coffee from the mug; it had grown a little cold. The digital clock on your phone read 6:31 AM next to a text from Tetsurou asking if you had time for lunch later.

Replying a quick ‘yep. meet u at the usual :)’, did nothing for you trying to have a more productive day off today and thus the morning felt a little slower than normal, so you sigh. Again.

It was going to be one of those days.

Tetsurou always made it a point to look gorgeous. Was he trying? Probably not, but that son a bitch knew people gave him looks that lingered a bit too long to be considered just a passing glance. You nearly snort in laughter at the way he opens the door to the café a little too, for better words, extravagantly, and walk to you purposely taking his time because you could tell he felt the way the young mom sitting at the table near the counter was giving him the look.

Then again, you don’t blame her. You weren’t too far from her reaction, albeit you actually had the decency to not openly gawk at him. Tetsurou plopped down in the chair opposite from you and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and propping them up the table before grabbing the menu from the middle of the table.

Already knowing your order, and his even though he still looks through the menu every time, you sit in your seat waiting for him to settle on the same thing he ordered the last time you ate there.

“Tetsu, why do you have to be so extra every time you see someone looking at you for more than three seconds?”

He cocked his head to the side and peeked at you from behind the menu, “Because I’m hot, tree.”

Though you rolled your eyes at the nickname, you still smiled at the familiar banter, “I still don’t get why you call me tree when you’re the literal beanpole in this friendship.”

“That’s rich coming from you, considering you told people you knew a talking rooster in highschool,” he deadpanned, but you knew he was on the edge of a chuckle from the way he emphasized his words.

“Hey,” you raised your arms up in defense, “people thought you were interesting that way so…”

Tetsurou set the menu down and rolled his eyes at your response as the waiter greeted the two of you. Before Tetsurou could open his mouth to say what he wanted, you spoke, “I’ll get the carbonara and he’ll get the tonkatsu ramen—“

“Oi-“ he interrupted from the side, still, you continued, “we’ll also get iced tea, extra sugar for him, and a little less for me.”

The waiter looked between the two of you waiting for Tetsurou to finish speaking but he only leans back huffing out a, “She’s right.”

You smirked. “You get the same thing every time.”

“Well what if I want something else one day?” he replied to which you rolled your eyes as a reply.

In between bites, Tetsurou looks up from his meal, “Any plans?”

You twirled the straw of your drink around the liquid and looked at him, “I was thinking of traveling somewhere. My boss is letting me take some time off, and season’s kind of slow, so might as well.”

He nods, and then points his chopsticks at you, sighing, “Oh to be young and employed with an employer who doesn’t want to kill you with work.”

“We’re literally seven months apart,” you deadpan.

He huffs in his seat and continues eating.

“Have you decided where you’re going?”

You look to your left at Tetsurou who’s facing you, no longer paying attention to the movie playing in the TV. Smoothing out the blanket on your lap, you sigh and tilt your head. “Kinda? I’m thinking somewhere warm. Kinda miss the sea.”

At this point the movie you two settled on a few hours ago had been completely forgotten, so you shift your body and face him. He offers you your third (or was it the fourth?) can of beer for that night, which you take and pop open immediately.

“(Y/n), can you even swim?” he laughs.

You glare at him from behind your drink. “I can go and look pretty in the beach while sipping my margaritas thank you very much.”

Tetsurou clinks his can against yours and leans back against the couch, shifting to a more comfortable position. When he finally settles, he positions his head in a way that’s still facing you.

Draping your legs across his lap, you rearrange the blanket so that it covers the both of you. You feel the weight of his hands leaning against your legs and then hear him speak, “How long are you gonna be gone?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, a month? Two months? Haven’t even got the ticket yet.”

He gives you a look you can’t decipher, and then his voice becomes a little quiet, “What if I want to go with you?”

“Tetsu, you know your job won’t let you off that long,” you reply.

He lets out an exaggerated sigh and pout at you, “You’re going to go and find a new surfer best friend who’ll buy you margaritas that flips his hair and you’ll forget about me.”

You chuckle. “Like that’s gonna happen.”

At this point the alcohol must have hit the both of you because you suddenly look at him, eyes soft in the way you usually would mask in the hours you were sober. He looks at you, equally as deep in the state of inebriation as you are because his eyes are as hazy as the slur in his tone when he says, “Nope! Because you looooove me (y/n).”

And he laughs at his own joke, tilting his head back to take another swig of beer. The comedic undertone flies past you anyway, because you fiddle with the edge of your sweater and sadly nod, “Yeah. I do”

In front of you, Tetsurou raises his hand, smiling, then hollers, “High five! Love you too.”

If it wasn’t for the liquid confidence, you would’ve laughed along to his joke and take another gulp of your beer to swallow the confession—but you’re four cans in and Tetsurou saying that he loves you too clouds the usual boundaries swimming in your head.

He doesn’t notice you when you take another heavy gulp from your can, or bite your lip afterwards, but he hears you when you say, “I do, you dumb fuck, I love you.”

And as soon as you say it, you feel him look at you. You choose to keep your head down. A few beats of silence passes before he speaks, “I know, (y/n),” he reaches forward to grab your hand, taking it into his. He traces the lining of the tattoo before continuing, “I know your tattoo story. And I’m still proud of-“

“I love you, Tetsurou,” you could almost wince at how loud it echoed in the silence, and the alcohol is still swimming in your system so you take another gulp hoping to dive deeper.

You feel him stop tracing the lines on your wrist so you take your hand back to your lap. He let the quiet envelop the room again before he spoke, and you could tell he was careful with his words.

“That time in the balcony, when you said you loved someone…” he trailed off so you look up and catch his stare. His eyes were still glassy; your head was still swimming, the rational thoughts further muffled by liquid confidence.

“I meant you,” you say, and try to fight the urge to break eye contact.

And because Tetsurou chooses to reply with a hushed ‘I’m sorry.’, you tell him ‘it’s okay, Tetsu.’ and retreat to your bedroom with a mumbled excuse of sleeping off a headache.

You lie in the dark with one hand over your eyes and sniffle quietly. You hear his “I’m sorry,” echo in the silence, but you try to ignore the thought at how immediate the apology was. He always had a habit of thinking about his answers in uncertain situations.

But you know him more than you give yourself credit for, you realize, so you shut your eyes and ignore the sting of the tears because you know. You’ve always known everything you felt for him had been on the unrequited side for the most part.

The certainty in his apology still hurt none the less.

That morning you wake up with a slight pound in your head and an empty apartment. At least he didn’t stick around, you thought, fully aware that the conversation afterwards would have most likely been too awkward to sit through.

Sighing as you rounded the corner to enter the kitchen, you paused in your track to look at the table where a plate of omurice lay in the middle next to a glass of sweet tea, the condensation still a little fresh on the glass.

Taking a seat and whispering a soft, “Itadakimasu”, you picked up the glass and took a sip. It didn’t taste as sweet as his.

Your eyes still stung, but you couldn’t help but smile at the taste. Looks like he remembers how you like your tea too.

After that night, there never really came a talk about where the two of you stood. Two days after the not so sober confession, Tetsurou showed up at your door with a bag of donuts demanding your company to picnic at this new spot he found recently. So you played along and pretended like nothing happened. The rational thoughts were back, your head no longer cloudy so this time, you laughed along with Tetsurou.

Though you could tell this time around his gaze towards you lingered a little longer, and he began to have moments where it looked like he was contemplating to start a conversation then ultimately deciding against it at the very last second. It was fine, though. You weren’t sure if you were ready to have that conversation just yet.

So the next few weeks flowed like how it always did. Movie nights, playful banters, small talk, and beer—only this time you never drank more than two.

“Have you decided where you’re going?” he asks.

“Yeah, there’s this island in the Philippines. Siargao. My flight’s next week. The place looks sunny enough, but I might hop around the other islands if I stay long enough,” you reply.

“Don’t drown,” he laughs, and sets his beer down. You turn your focus back to the movie after chuckling at his reply and ignore how he never picked up a third can this time. And unlike before, he didn’t ask if he could come along this time.

Tetsurou drops you off with a half hug and a request that you update him as often as you can.

After a final wave at the gate, you board the plane with a return ticket to Japan slotted for two months later down the year.

The island of Siargao is as beautiful as the pictures you always see on social media. Outside the unit you rented, was a stretch of untouched beach that was some ways from the main square of the city. And true to your words, for the first week of your arrival, you spent your days kicking the sand, lounging by the water and sipping on margaritas.

Tetsurou sent you multiple messages during the first few days, to which you replied through selfies with your margaritas. He’d send you a photo of himself rolling his eyes with the caption “off to work, because I have a job. Like some people.” , or something along similar lines.

You tried to think this wasn’t some random trip you took just because of Tetsurou. It had been a long time since you last took a vacation for yourself; work was lenient, you saved up enough, and frankly, you missed the beach. Tetsurou was just the icing on top of the cake that helped you make your decision, you rationalized.

Plus, you thought, this place is paradise.

And you held on to that thought because a few days later came the knock on your door at six in the morning that introduced you to the serendipity you never could have predicted. Your little summer serendipity came in the form of a six foot one, and totally ripped blonde named Miya Atsumu.

He knocked at your door asking if you knew any places that rented out surfboards and scooters. By the time he was at the third word of his sentence, you knew he was Japanese because of the accent that lingered after he spoke. By the fourth sentence, he smiled in a way that had his eyes crinkling. And by the end of the conversation, by whatever being possessed you in that moment, probably that extra margarita, you had agreed to go to the main square in the city with him.

Atsumu knocks on your door for the second time that day at five in the afternoon wearing a loose white button shirt and another eye crinkling smile. Dangling a set of keys in one hand he nodded behind him and said, “Ready to go? I got the scooter from the place you told me.”

This time, you voiced out your hesitation, “Ahh, it’s alright. You don’t have to get dinner for me tonight. I just happened to know a place.”

He smiles and blinks at you laughing, “Ya travelin’ alone?” You nod then he continues, “Same here. Might as well know someone in the area. Heard the food here’s good, so let’s go.”

You open your mouth to protest but he turns and walks towards his scooter so you huff and follow after him. He did have a point. You were going to be there for two months so might as well actually take the time to know some people.

After Atsumu helps you fasten the belt on the helmet, he tells you to ‘feel free to hold on to my waist if ya need to balance.’ and then backs to the main street. Your hands rest on his shoulders as he drives along a road parallel to the stretch of water on your far left. It must have been close to seven, you take note, because as you glance up the colors in the sky begin to blend into mellow hues of orange and red.

You look forward and glance at Atsumu’s reflection in the side mirror before briefly catching his eye. From the mirror, you could see an expression that was somewhere between a smirk and a smile.

“Ya like what ya see?” he yells over the wind.

You squeeze his shoulder, then lean closer saying, “Just drive. I’m not in the mood to die.”

He laughs over the holler of the open air and you can’t help but smile along to how his laugh lingers in the air.

Soon enough, the two of you settle into a restobar by the beach, one close enough to the water where you could ditch your flip flops and let your feet sink in the sand.

This has got to be the fifth margarita I’m drinking today, you think to yourself before taking a sip. Still good though, you inwardly snort. Atsumu sits across you from the table nursing his own choice of drink.

The atmosphere was nice, the live musician strumming his first song in the background. Then Atsumu speaks from across you, “So,” he begins, “How long ya stayin’?”

You fiddle with the straw of your drink, facing him, “Two months. You?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know yet. Off season and there’s not much to do back home, so might as well be bored somewhere a little more scenic.”

“Indefinite vacation,” you nod—impressed, “Must be hella loaded.”

He laughs again, “I’m comfortable.”

The silence envelops the two of you again, but as the musician begins another song, from the corner of your eye you see Atsumu listen, clap, and smile so you decide maybe befriending this stranger won’t be so bad after all.

The next night you head for go for drinks, Tetsurou messages you with a picture of him and Kenma in the car with a caption, “movie night minus the traitor who left the country >:((“ and you reply with your signature margarita selfie with Atsumu throwing a peace sign to your right. Tetsurou replies with a smiley face and you don’t hear from him for the rest of the night.

The next few weeks consisted of waking up shy of the sunrise and walks along the trail where the waves crept towards the sand. Atsumu liked to join you in the mornings, of course, the days he actually wakes up before ten AM. Some days you’d watch him peddle out into the water catching wave after wave as you sat in the sand, under a shade. You didn’t really go out into the water and preferred to just sit in the sun, so the times Atsumu would catch a break, he’d lay out a towel next to you and sit to talk.

He was talkative. Extremely talkative. But it was welcome, you suppose. He asked aimless questions during conversations. Conversations with him usually sounded like this: “(y/n)?” “Yep?” “Whadda ya think about riceballs?” “They’re…okay, I guess.” “Good to know.”

It was endearing, you suppose. Atsumu respected your boundaries and never pried, that fact was for sure. Though, he chose to fill in the beats of silence with little facts about his life. Over the course of the next month, in the moments you’d spend with Atsumu during the day, you’ve learned that he was playing for a professional volleyball team, he’s originally not from Tokyo, he tripped during a fan meeting, has a twin brother who’s darn good at cookin’ (he emphasized), and that his favorite food is fatty tuna. You don’t remember specifically asking, but he talks anyway you can’t bring yourself to mind one bit.

During the past month and some, Tetsurou sporadically texts you a greeting to which you reply to—but this time, it wasn’t until much, much later that you realize you didn’t think too much about the change of tone and much hastier conversations. You usually ended the phone call this time around, too.

Nearing the last few stretches of golden hour, Atsumu would routinely knock at your door and drag you out to walk around the beach only retreating to your respective units hours after the sunset.

It was during this one night where Atsumu sits you down and stars a small bonfire. He excused himself for a brief moment then came back with a Tupperware of what you assumed to be snacks, a blanket, and a hoodie which he lent you (that up to now you still haven’t returned). You smile as he takes his seat next to you, comfortable in his hoodie.

“So,” Atsumu breaks the silence, “how come yer runnin’ away for two months?”

“That’s kinda sudden,” you reply.

He knocks your shoulder with his lightly before speaking again, “You don’t have ta’ share if you don’t wanna.”

“No pressure,” he says again and his eyes crinkle at his smile so you press your shoulder against his and say, “I just wanted time for myself I guess.”

He nods, so you continue, “It’s nothing dramatic, really. For a big part of my life I just…lived according to how people placed me in their lives. I guess I just wanted the space where I had to make decisions from nothing if that even makes any sense.”

“Depends. How many margaritas did ya have today?” he jokes.

“Atsumu! You were with me the whole day, I haven’t even had one yet,” you laugh out.

“But I understand what ya’ mean. Yer all good, I just thought you were gonna say you were soul searchin’ cause of a boy that broke ya’ heart back home.”

You look at him and wince. “In a way, that was a factor as well.”

Half expecting a sympathetic reply, you find yourself rolling your eyes and laughing because Atsumu suddenly yells, “Bingo!” and flicks your forehead.

He faces you and holds his hands up, “Hey, we all got a reason to do stuff so I ain’t gonna judge ya’.”

You smile and lean against his shoulder because you know he’s sincere.

“Atsumu?” you call out.

“Yeah?” he replies as he turns his head looking at you.

The red of the flames flicker as a glassy reflection against the brown in his eyes and your thoughts become jumbled for a second.

“If I find out you’re here because you got dumped I’m never letting you live it down.”

His eyes crinkle along with his laugh and you find yourself missing the pools of brown, but the echo of his laugh resonates clear in your ears as compensation so you decide you’re satiated.

“I swear I just got bored back home!”

Atsumu spends the next few hours by telling you stories and giving you soft smiles, and you don’t notice the absence of Tetsurou’s message that night.

On the afternoon after some weeks more, Atsumu comes to you by knocking at your door at five in the afternoon (which doesn’t even surprise you at this point), demanding you put on swimwear because he was going to teach you how to swim. At first, you stare at him with a blank look—wherein he stares at you right back with equal intensity, so after some time, you sigh and shoo him out, telling him you’ll meet him outside after you get ready.

After tugging on some shorts and a bikini top, you walk outside and glance around looking for the telltale blonde of Atsumu’s head. It doesn’t really surprise you when you hear your name being hollered from some distance, so as you look to the direction of the water—you see Atsumu waving his arms wildly, already waist deep out in sea.

The water was warm, at least, and you carefully wade in the water towards Atsumu. He lets you grab his arms to help you find balance against the waves knocking against you.

“You know you’re going to fail if you try to teach me right?” you say.

“Just needed an excuse to get you in the water,” he chuckles.

You respond by splashing him with a handful of water. And somewhere in between splashes of water and playful banter, you find yourself wading chest deep into warm water, Atsumu’s arms acting as your anchor against the push and pull of the waves. The two of you stay like that for some time and you allow the woosh of the water and distant sounds of the children on shore fill the silence.

“Golden hour’s almost up, ‘Tsumu, we should go back.” you say after some time.

He stands behind you and leans down a bit, then surprises you as he wraps his arms around you, pulling your back to his chest. Your breath hitches, then his voice sounds low near your ear, “Look at the sky.”

And so you do. The sky in front of you lights itself in bursting shades of oranges, reds, and touches of violets. You turn your face to the side but stop because you see Atsumu staring at you, the expression on his face soft.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” his lips part to say, and you nod because you see licks of the sky’s painting reflected in the glassy brown pools of Atsumu’s eyes.

He blinks and smiles in a softer way that only the corners crinkle up, and you don’t notice how your hand eventually found its way to wrap around his because you’re gravitating towards him—face angling closer until you felt his lips press against your forehead.

“Did you know,” you begin, “when you feel deja vu that means the universe is telling you you’re going down the right path?”

Atsumu looks as you, “Does this feel familiar?”

“In a way,” you respond and smile.

Turning to face him, Atsumu’s hands cradle yours as he presses his lips towards the side of your lips, then back to the side of your head feeling him smiling into the kiss. “You’re somethin’ else, (y/n).”

You look at him wearing a smile mirroring his, “Something good I hope.”

It’s something good, you decide later that night as you settle in bed after dinner with Atsumu. The past few hours flew by in a mirage of good conversation, light hearted jokes and even more eye crinkling smiles from Atsumu.

Settling into the comforter, you grab your laptop just in time as Tetsurou’s face pops up on screen, requesting a video call. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you hit the accept button and wave hello as Tetsuou’s face appears on the screen. He holds a can of beer as a greeting and leans forward. His eyes look glassy.

“(Y/n)..” His voice trails off before slowly continuing, “—how are you?”

You don’t notice his tone from the high you’re still feeling from the day so you beam at him, “I’m good! Atsumu and I are really hitting it off! You’d love him Tetsu!”

He stares at you through the webcam and then he sighs deep. Finally catching a drift of the atmosphere he’s giving off, you watch him crack another beer open and slowly speak, “You okay? Did something happen?”

He sets the can down at the table in front of him and places his face in his hands. You notice the new ink around his forearms. “I miss you, (y/n).”

“I’ll be home next week, Tetsu,” you say

“I—“ he pauses to look up at you with glassy eyes, “I think we should give us a try.”

Your heart clenches. “Tetsurou, you’re drunk. We can talk when I get home.” He shakes his head, and his movement is a little sluggish, so you continue to speak before he could, “I saw the photo your ex posted earlier. You’re still not okay, Tetsu.”

He leans back to his chair with a little force, “And suddenly you are? After being in love with me for eight years, (y/n), you expect me to believe that you’re suddenly okay? Bullshit.”

Your face grimaces, and you feel anger bubble up, the emotion seeping into your words, “I don’t think you’re ever going to go away, Tetsurou. For years I watched you fall in and out of love with someone who was never me. I’m not suddenly okay but I accepted that this—“ you pause to gesture between the two of you, “—isn’t going to happen and I’m moving on. I watched you when you were at your happiest and I deserve that too, Tetsu. I deserve to be at my happiest whether it be by myself or with Atsu-“

“We can try, (y/n),” he cuts you off softly.

“But I don’t deserve someone who isn’t sure about me,” you reply.

And maybe it’s the liquid confidence that riles him up, but he suddenly straightens his back and looks at you with the same glare you stare at him with, “And are you sure about Atsumu? You told me none of us are saints, (y/n), you’re not better off than I am here.”

You open your mouth, but the silence remains; the atmosphere suddenly heavy.

Then Tetsurou slumps before he he speaks, “(Y/n), I—“

“It’s okay, Kuroo,” you watch as he winces at his surname, “It’s late and I really want to get some sleep. You should too. Take care.”

You catch the last second of him parting his lips at an attempt to reply before you promptly ended the call and shut off your laptop.

His words ring in your ear the entire night, and you think of Atsumu the entire night. You watch the second hand of the clock on your bedside table tick slowly. Your hand comes to rest against your eyes as you try to let sleep pull you in.

You think of Tetsurou who looked at you with glassy eyes that told you all the reasons why his heart was still hurting, then you think of Atsumu—of how the sunset looked better reflected in his eyes than it did painted across the sky.

“I really hope this is something good,” you echo your words from earlier as you let sleep finally succumb into slumber.

The night before your flight, Atsumu seats you outside for a bonfire, with the same blankets, snacks, and hoodie fitted around you. The first few hours he jokes about little stories that happened throughout his life and listens patiently when you’d share a snippet of yours.

At this point, you weren’t sure where the two of you stood. You look at him from the corner of your eye as he blows against an extremely burnt marshmallow before sheepishly offering the stick to you.

“When we’re back in Japan I’m lettin’ ya taste ‘Samu’s cookin’ to make up for this I swear.”

You lean your head against his arm and blow on the charred marshmallow, “Have you decided when you’re coming back?”

“Yes, but I’m not tellin ya,” Atsumu chuckles.

“What!” You exclaim, suddenly sitting up, “You already have a ticket?”

“That’s also a secret, doll.”

You sigh and move to lightly punch his shoulder, but instead, he catches your hand midway and envelops it in his own. Atsumu looks at the tattoo on your wrist peeking out, so tentatively, he pushes down the sleeve and looks at it.

“Baby’s breath means eternal love, right?” he asks, voice hushed.

“I’m surprised a big, buff, man like you knows,” you reply.

“Oi, big buff men can be sentimental too,” Atsumu quips.

“(Y/n),” he begins then looks at you in a way that suddenly has your stomach churning, “Should we give us a go at this?”

He asks the same question as Tetsurou did a few nights back and your head is swimming. Tetsurou’s words muddle the thoughts in your head as you turn to face Atsumu who is looking at you with eyes that always held the same softness that remained unchanged from two months ago.

Is this even fair for Atsumu? is the thought that you circle around.

“I don’t want to give you only half of me, ‘Tsumu,” you cradle his cheek in your palm and your heart stirs when he leans in.

“You’re too good for me,” you confess.

He closes his eyes and you find yourself missing the dancing specks of scarlet flames reflected in his orbs.

“You’re killin’ me, doll,” he sighs, his face still warm against your palm. Atsumu’s hand trails up and cups your hand that’s still flush against his cheek.

“Is this the part where we say we’re the right people who met at the wrong time?” he jokes quietly. Atsumu looks at you with a smile contrasting against the somber expression in his face, and you feel your heart clench.

Your thoughts momentarily flicker back to the night you talked to Tetsurou in your balcony some months ago and remember the feeling of déjà vu hinting that you were heading in the right direction with your decision.

Staring back at him, you look at your own reflection in darkened pools of brown and don’t feel déjà vu’s familiar push. Atsumu’s other hand trails up your face and his thumb rubs against your cheek. You stay silent when he sighs again and your heart clenches in the way that hurts, and your brain scrambles for a reason why.

Atsumu angles your hand in a way that lets him press a kiss to the tattoo on your wrist. “Hope ya heal in time, (y/n).”

You’re still quiet, thoughts still muddled as your rationality wrestles to string words to convey to Atsumu. “We can stay in contact, ‘Tsumu. I still want you to be in my life,” you slowly say.

“I don’t wanna be hurtin’ you while you’re still tryin’ to find yourself,” he says, and you nod. Déjà vu never comes and your heart still aches.

And your heart remains heavy as the two of you stand up to retreat for the night. Against the door of your room you look at him and press a kiss on his cheek. He smiles at you.

“Well, I guess,” you initiate, “see you around?”

He smiles and crosses the short distance between the two of you, then presses a chaste kiss on your forehead. “If the universe wills it, doll.”

The feeling of déjà vu is absent for the rest of the night.

After the first few days of your arrival back in Japan, you stay in your apartment cursing the winter. This particular winter was a little harsh for Tokyo and the sudden temperature change you needed to adjust to didn’t help with your traitor immune system. Kenma had waited for you at the arrival area of the airport instead of Tetsurou that day. Then again, you weren’t complaining—you didn’t have any plans to talk to him immediately after coming back home.

You didn’t need to report back to your job until the next week so the first few days, you loitered around your apartment mindlessly passing the time. Some mornings, you’d drag a chair by the balcony and sip your morning coffee. The snow accumulating on the rails and the gloomy morning light was a far cry from the little island you explored with Atsumu back in the Philippines, but your thoughts still ghosted around him from time to time.

The morning you left for the airport, he slept in, but that didn’t stop you from leaving a sticky note in his front door with your contact details neatly printed in the paper. Throughout your day, your eyes constantly flickered to sneak glimpses at your phone’s notification bar, but there was never an unknown number. So you sighed, and instead scrolled through the photos you managed to capture with him. The image of Atsumu stared back at you through the screen, expression beaming with unfiltered happiness and you find yourself smiling along every time.

A knock on your door one morning brings you out of your haze. Before you could look through the peep hole, another knock comes and then a voice, “Ah, (y/n), I think you’re home now,” your hand on the door knob loosens, “It’s Tetsurou. Can we please talk?”

You must have stayed quiet too long because he speaks again, “I got you donuts.”

And you sigh, because he’s right, the two of you need to talk. But you still tell yourself you’re only opening the door because it’s six in the morning and you can’t be bothered to make breakfast so the donuts are the only reason you’re letting him in.

Tetsurou sits on the opposite side of the dining table gripping the handle of his mug with one hand before he clears his throat and looks at you, “I’m sorry.”

“Tetsurou,” you begin, “You’re someone that I don’t think will ever leave my system.” His eyes are a little clearer now that you return his stare. “You’re still the person who grew up with me even if time difference existed you know. You’ve had so many roles in my life and that’s never going to change.”

He looks at you, suddenly looking like a teenager again. His golden eyes stare at you and gleam of something unspoken. “I think somewhere along the years I really did fall in love with you, (y/n). And it just sucks how we never met at the same page. I really do love you, (y/n).”

“Maybe in the next life, Tetsu,” you say suddenly choked up. “We both deserve-“

“A fresh start.” He cuts you off, smiling. “A fresh start.” You affirm.

Before you knew it, Tetsurou rolls his sleeve to his elbows and angles his arm showing you a small outline of the sun peeking out behind some buildings. You look at him just in time for his explanation, “It’s not as sentimental as your baby’s breath tattoo, but sunrises remind me of you.”

You feel your eyes water when you look at the amber of his eyes growing glassier, “You got a tattoo that reminds you of me?”

“You’ve always been a constant in my life, (y/n). I shared so many sunrises with you. And I mean it when I say that I want you to find what makes you happy.” He tells you as you smile and lean forward, tracing the lining of his tattoo. The moment feels a little like déjà vu that doesn’t disappear when Tetsurou speaking again, “I love you enough to realize that kind of happiness won’t be with me, (y/n).”

He looks at you and everything feels so familiar. You choke out a sob that sounded a little like a laugh and Tetsurou does the same.

“You’re never getting rid of me, you lunatic,” you say, and Tetsurou laughs—eyes glassy from the pricks of tears fighting to slide down his cheeks. “We’re okay, right?” He asks you. And you nod, because your heart constricts in a way that doesn’t hurt, the knot in your stomach gone and Tetsurou looking so beautiful from the morning light that filtered in feels so familiar.

“Always, Tetsu.”

And after some moments of comfortable silence, he looks to the window on his left saying, “So, surfer dude slash volleyball player, huh? I think you got a type going on, (y/n).”

You roll your eyes and finally grab a donut from the box. “Yeah.”

Tetsurou chuckles, “Tell me about him. He’s the first guy who makes you look dopey in love.” So you smile and look out the window thinking about the boy who spoke of the little moments and showed you worlds under the sun and feel your heart mellow to a gentle beat, “He’s something good.”

Atsumu’s number doesn’t show up on your phone for the next month, but you try to keep yourself from doing your own research, or as Tetsurou pointed out, stalking, for his presence in social media. If he didn’t want to be found, you’d just leave him to it.

Tetsurou sits across from you at the arrival gate in Haneda airport later that month, scrolling through his phone and mumbling curses because Bokuto, his friend, had told him the wrong time for his arrival and won’t be arriving until a few hours later. Instead of driving back home, wasting gas, and sitting through traffic, you suggest to pass the time at a café instead.

“I swear to god, (y/n), remind me to end my friendship with him the second he lands,” Tetsurou huffs from across you.

“You’re being dramatic again,” You roll your eyes, laughing.

“He’s gonna be here in a bit,” you pause and stand up, grabbing your phone, “I’ll go check the board so stay here.”

“Since you left your wallet here, I’m treating myself to another frapp, thanks (y/n)!” you hear him call from behind you, so you turn to flick him off as you keep walking.

Looking at the board above the gate, your eyes scan to look for information regarding Bokuto’s flight. Under said flight, you smile looking at SIARGAO listed within the board. Briefly, your thought wonders off to Atsumu; you hoped he was doing well.

A flow of people begin to trail out of the gate and into the lobby. Assuming that it must be from Bokuto’s flight, you stand on your tip toes from your little corner to look for the telltale monochromatic palette of his hair.

Grabbing your phone, you hastily press call to Tetsurou’s contact name, to which he answers with a drawled out “Heeelllloo?” along with an exaggerated slurp to the Frappuccino he bought with your card.

You open your mouth to tell him to come over, except that you don’t because standing a few meters in front of you is a familiar blonde.

From the phone in your ear, you hear Tetsurou call your name, so through the haze in your thoughts, you mumble a quick “Never mind.” and hang up. You don’t think Atsumu notices you just yet because he’s pulled his luggage to the side, a little closer to you this time, and pulled out his phone to what you could guess was him texting somebody.

You don’t speak for the first few beats of silence because, holy shit this is fanfiction material—is this actually happening? Eventually he pockets his phone and looks around, before his eyes spots you, who at this point, is still openly gawking at him some distance away.

Then three things happen in succession; first, Atsumu’s eyes widen, second, he blinks really fast, and then finally, third, cracks a smile.

And as soon as his smile pushes the crinkle in his eyes, you feel yourself release the breath you’ve unconsciously held in. He pushes his luggage with him as he walks towards you, hand held up in greeting and the smile still plastered wide on his face.

“Yo,” he says and your heart bursts with your reply that came out a little more breathless than you’d expected, “Hi.”

Tetsurou stands some distance away from the two of you, holding your wallet and his Frappuccino. He spots the blonde mop of head you’re staring at, really you should chill out (he thinks), and immediately recognizes his features as Miya Atsumu, the same guy who’s been a part of your daily margarita selfie for the two months you were in the Philippines.

The bedhead watches you walk towards Atsumu, and he to you before you both met somewhat in the middle, then looks at you, finding himself smile because of how happy you looked. He stands in his spot and can’t help but feel some sort of déjà vu as he stops himself from approaching the two of you. His heart, he realizes, clenches in a way that sort of hurts but sort of doesn’t, but because this is the first time looking at you with a smile so unabashed, he settles with the thought that because he loves you—you deserve nothing short of the happiness you’re feeling now.

And you can’t help but feel the same as Atsumu laughs out a comment about how the universe must really want the two of you together. His arms circle your figure after exchanging a few pleasantries and inside jokes and you smile into the crook of his neck.

“This feels a little like that déjà vu thing ya talked about before, ya know.” He mumbles. And for the brief moment you see Tetsurou’s text on the screen of your phone reading, “whipped.”, you laugh in a way that has you feeling dizzy and light. You feel like you could cry when Atsumu kisses the side of your head, because this moment feels so familiar.

Atsumu feels so familiar. So when you break the embrace and look at the reflection of your watering eyes in the warm pools of his, more than ever, you were sure that this is exactly where the gods meant for you to be.

a/n: *i’m aware there’s no direct flight from haneda/siargao but pls bear w me ;A;

proceed to Epilogue :D

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