#i used to very skeptical but...i mean. it sort of does sound like there might have been a marriage ceremony of sorts may 20 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dangans-ur-ronpas · 6 months

Text

Chapter 17

continuation of byakuya's no good very bad worst shit ass day of his life (so far)(!!!)

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

this chapter went a little different from how i originally planned bc I was going to make byakuya much more stupid. but. he needs to fly off the handle several times later so. we can't let loose all at once

to be very fair to makoto he did not want to do that. and yet. here we are

the king of kings!! @digitaldollsworld

Content warning tags: ableist language from various characters, Byakuya's panic spiral, mild self-harm reference

< previous - from start - next >

Time seems to grind to a halt. His breath is still caught in his throat, halfway through a relieved sigh as he had been waiting - expecting - for Makoto to help him. To pull up some vague, hidden piece of evidence to clear him of any suspicion, to cleverly point out some irrefutable proof that had previously lay unseen.

But instead - his heartbeats feel too heavy. His breathing feels too light, deprived of any real oxygen. His head pounds in the same way it did when he was struck earlier, with a dull, pulsing ring that washes out everything around him.

He prided himself, once, on being able to read a person’s intent. To judge just when and why they might choose to abandon him, to cross him, to try and use him for their own intents. For that reason, he supposes, is why this sickly, sticky feeling of dread is so new to him. He’s never known real betrayal before.

His eyes dart around the room, but the others don’t seem to believe Makoto just yet. Even Owada seems taken aback, stock still and quiet. Only Kirigiri seems unsurprised - or maybe, he was only imagining it, the tranquil quality of her silence. As if she were merely observing it all, far out of their reach.

“Seriously??” Syo’s voice is a grating jeer. “You’re telling me this whole time he had no idea what I looked like? No wonder he didn’t fall for me at first sight!”

“I…don’t think that’s the reason why,” Hagakure says, though he seems utterly bewildered. “But, that can’t be right, right? I’ve seen him reading loads of times. And he practically lives in the library, y’know?”

“Yeah, and he can do things just fine for himself.” Asahina says in agreement. “I mean, he does his own laundry and stuff, and he knows this place way better than me at least. I didn’t even know where the A/V room was during the first motive, I just sorta followed him.”

“Yes, this is sort of…” For the first time, Celeste sounds genuinely surprised, her usually unphased demeanor wavering, her accent slipping for a moment. “Ahem. While I did note that he sometimes seemed a bit…eccentric, so to speak, nothing of his actions suggested that he was impaired.”

Their skepticism is a small relief. He nods jerkily, unable to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to verbalize his agreement. But it’s a small, pathetic movement that goes unnoticed, hardly amounting to anything in this large courtroom.

And their disbelief only goes so far. Ogami speaks up now, for the first time since the trial began, her low voice immediately silencing the whispers.

“I performed a concussion test on him earlier,” She says, gruffly. “As Kyoko had asked me to. He was lucid when answering my questions, and he didn’t seem to exhibit any symptoms that couldn’t be attributed to other reasons.” There’s a slight creak of wood, as she shifts her weight on the stand. “However, I did notice that his pupils were…strange.”

“My- what?” He sputters now, too suddenly, too loudly. He reaches up to touch slightly-trembling fingers to a closed eye, feeling the smooth bump of the cornea twitching beneath the thin skin of his eyelid as if he might be able to identify the damage that way. Why hadn’t she mentioned this earlier? Why bring it up now? “What do you mean, ‘strange’?!”

There’s a slight, panicked edge to his voice that he hopes no one catches, but this was the first time he heard that there could be physical evidence to his affliction. “It was a bit hard to test without the proper tools, but I noticed that they do not react much to changes in light.” Ogami explains. “The shape is also slightly…off. If I had to describe it, I would say that there is…a warping around the edges.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?!”

“I assumed it was either due to the head injury, or, it was genetic.” There’s an apologetic note to her words. “Given your usual behavior, I…didn’t think it was important.”

Not important. As if she could know what was important here.

“I. Am not. Blind.” He snarls stiffly. “Obviously, I have never taken a close enough look at my own pupils to notice that deformation, but it has never affected my daily life. I am not disabled, nor have I ever been.”

“I find it hard to believe that you have never been aware of it.” Kyoko remarks, tone clipped. “I can’t imagine someone of your status being ignorant of anything concerning your physical health.”

“Then you can rest easy knowing that I am perfectly healthy.” He snaps back, venom flying off his words.

Distantly, he knows that he is digging a pit for himself. That admitting to this would help clear him of any suspicion at all. But he doesn’t care; he would rather die than suffer such indignity. That was what he’s always known, taught by his butler, and then reinforced by all his surroundings afterwards, his siblings, his father - better to perish and let your enemies cry with relief and count themselves lucky, than let them mock you as you dig your own grave.

“You should just admit it already. You are drawing this out to be unnecessarily long, or would you rather doom us all?”

“I don’t see why I should cooperate with someone who has been making mindless accusations at me all this while.”

There’s a tense, snappish tension between him and Kirigiri. A livewire current. A piece of elastic stretched taut. He glares, and to him, her blurred form looks like that of a reared snake.

“Um…” Asahina speaks up, her hand tentatively raised. “If Byakuya’s really blind, can’t we just test it?”

“Excuse me?”

“I-I mean! Not saying that you are blind, or anything,” She says this quickly, carefully, like soothing a spooked horse. “But, we’re not going to get anywhere if you two just keep arguing back and forth, and it’ll be really quick! Like, Sakura, can you hold up a few fingers?” She complies silently, one arm remaining crossed across her chest, the other raised to her side. “How many is she holding up?”

He tries not to squint, but he has no idea. Two? Three? It's nothing more that a blurred, brown shape. “You can’t be serious.” He almost laughs, but the sound he makes is derisive and bitter.

“Y-yes, this is-! Unfair!” Now it’s Yamada, speaking up again. “In case no one else has noticed, Mister Togami is lacking his spectacles! Asking such a thing of him…it’s akin to bullying!”

He’s oddly assertive about this, and Byakuya watches as he pushes his own glasses a little higher. For some reason, being considered something of an equal by Yamada irritates him further. “Shut up.” Who asked for his help.

“Yes, be still please,” Celeste sighs dismissively. “We are playing a game with our lives. This is hardly the time to be discussing moralistic issues.” There’s a slight metallic tap as she raps her silver finger guards against her rings. “But you do make a point. Byakuya does not have his glasses at the moment. It would be difficult to try and confirm anything without them.”

Thank goodness for those with common sense. He doesn’t look to his side, where she was standing, but he swears that he can see her eyes glancing at him, the unnatural red of her pupils bright on her pale face. “Yes,” he agrees, seizing upon it. “And they were broken earlier, thanks to Owada. Nearsightedness runs on my mother’s side, and the former Togami head was farsighted. I will admit that much, is that what you wanted? Kyoko?”

He’s rambling. He’s aware of it. But there are a few nods exchanged, and Asahina scratches at the back of her head awkwardly, as if embarrassed. Kirigiri, however, is still unmoved.

“No. When I say you are blind, I do not mean without your glasses. Or there wouldn’t have been a point in bringing it up in the first place.” Kirigiri shifts her weight slightly, the sway of her stance accompanied by the creak of wood. “Even without your glasses, you cannot do tasks such as reading. I imagine you’ve managed everything else by means of careful practice, but this is the one thing you can’t manage on your own.”

“Hey, Kyoko-” Makoto looks nervous, unsure whether to face him or her. “That-”

“And how do you plan to prove this?” Byakuya snarls. He feels a small flare of triumph, even despite everything, the looming threat of death. “As we found before, I don’t have my glasses. Did you happen to pick those up as well? Did you repair them for me while you were at it?”

Instead of offering a retort, or any sort of reply, she sighs. A soft, tired sound.

“Makoto.” She isn’t facing the other boy, but her tone is firm as she addresses him, and a little exasperated. She doesn’t say anything more, but Makoto seems to understand, and his hands drop to his sides.

“There is a way to prove it.” His voice is quiet. Quiet, and…sad, somehow. Defeated. “Byakuya…please show us your handbook.”

The realization sets in slowly. He’s already been betrayed by Makoto twice now, but still, he finds himself stunned, slack-jawed. This one was the worst by far - not only was he actively helping Kirigiri, he was betraying Chihiro as well, risking revealing everything to that accursed bear. And after all the lengths Byakuya had gone through to protect this secret.

“What are you saying,” He says, and his voice has a humiliating tremor that matches how his hands shake, clutching at the rail. Surely, he’s heard wrong. Surely, Makoto would correct himself, take it back-

“Your handbook. Chihiro, he…he put a program on it that lets you be able to do stuff like tell the time. It also reads stuff aloud. And he did it after the motives got revealed, that night when Celeste saw you guys leaving the bathhouse.” He sounds so somber, so sad and grieving. He won’t meet Byakuya’s eyes. “He did it in exchange for you teaching him how to be strong, and self-confident - which you did, by telling him to go around talking to everyone else today.”

Without really thinking about it, his hand goes to his inner jacket pocket, where his handbook sits. His fingers close around the little device, the hard edges of plastic and metal pressing into the creases of his palm. He feels a little like he’s been shot.

But he doesn’t bring it out. He glares instead, furiously, hatefully, at the boy standing just meters away. He - and Kirigiri too, most likely, Byakuya suspected that Makoto had already revealed everything that that woman - knew perfectly well the importance of Alter Ego, and why it could not, under any circumstances, be revealed. And they knew Byakuya was aware of this too, and they were holding this fact hostage, over his head.

(I could, some sore, beaten part of him thinks with poisonous intent, try and claim responsibility for Chihiro’s murder. I could say that they’re wrong. That I lured Chihiro to the bathhouse with the intent of making him less wary, easier to isolate. That he was so weak and trusting and stupid that killing him was a simple manner. That I mimicked Syo’s modus operandi to throw suspicion off of me.)

The mere thought was shameful, but it was his pride, wounded and bitter, that was seriously considering it, if only for some semblance of control. The barest reassurance that he had any real weight at all in this trial. And all he would need to do is open his mouth and say the words.

But instead, he bites down on his inner cheek, hard enough for blood to trickle out the corner of his mouth, hard enough for the pain to rival the buzzing in his temples. And tightens his grip momentarily, just enough to feel the faint, humming warmth of the handbook against his sweating palm, and exhales slowly.

“...Fine. Fine.” He spits, angry, defeated, exhausted. He’s sick of this. He just wants it to be over. “Yes. I’m blind. I have been so since we first woke up in this school. Are you happy now?”

Makoto looks down, his face shadowed by his hair. Kirigiri tilts her head slightly, a motion that’s not quite a nod but more of a bow.

“Wait, so then-” Asahina’s voice, confused and a little hesitant, pipes up. “If you’ve been…y’know, this whole time, but only after we got to this school…does that mean the Mastermind did this to you, somehow?”

“That’s what I would like to know, myself.” He turns to look at Monokuma, and finds the bear lounging across its throne, a bucket of popcorn resting precariously on the armrest. The repugnant toy giggles, and swings itself upright, spilling a handful of white puffs all over.

“Gosh, I wonder?” The thing taps at its chin, voice taking on a wondering tone. “Of course, I want this game to be fair and give you all a level playing field. I believe in equality after all! …Though this has made for so many entertaining developments, so…I figured I’d leave it as is. Besides, you’ve adapted quite well, haven’t you Mister Togami?” It cackles, paws clutching at its belly. “GIven how well you did hiding it from everyone, I think it’s fine if we leave it like this, don’t you think?”

He wants to cross the courtroom and throttle the stupid thing this instant. All he can do is glare murderously, lips twisted into a snarl.

There’s a sharp clap that has most people jumping. The source of the sound is Kirigiri, whose hands are raised, and pressed together. “Let’s move on.” Her voice is firm, with no room for arguing. “All we’ve done so far is clear one person’s innocence. We still need to identify the real killer.”

And that was it. The most disgusting moment of his life, over just like that, ended by her words. He knows that there’s bound to be some kind of punishment in store for those who interrupt trials, but he briefly wonders if he can get his hands around her neck before Monokuma can react.

Owada jerks at Kirigiri’s words, startled out of his own stunned silence. “W-wait,” He sounds panicked now, and of course he would be. His scapegoat is gone. “Then, if it’s not Byakuya, then who…?”

“Let’s consider what we know. Given how it’s not clear where the murder took place, it would have to be someone who had access to cleaning supplies or water, and has no alibi that can be verified when the murder occurred. For the most part, everyone here has an alibi that can be supported by at least one other person, but there are some that do not.” Kirigiri lists these calmly, and Byakuya imagines her cold gaze, flitting between each person in the room. “Mondo. Do you care to explain what you were doing prior to the body’s discovery?”

The effect is immediate. The other boy rears up, instantly furious. “The fuck are you trying to say? That I’m a murderer?!” He thunders. “Like I said earlier, I was taking care of my bro. You know that. Everyone knows that!”

“As you said earlier, Taka is currently compromised. He can’t give a testimony.” She shoots back without hesitation. “Your alibi is flawed.”

“Yeah? Well - well so’s yours!” He sputters. “Like- Syo might’ve been the one to find you in the bathroom, but that was just before Chihiro was found. Toko can’t say that you weren’t there the whole time, a-and even if you were, maybe the bathroom was where Chihiro died anyways!”

Owada may be stupid, but credit where credit was due, he was surprisingly quick to retort and pick at Kirigiri’s excuse. “I could not have cleaned up a murder scene in the bathroom so spotlessly in the time between Chihiro’s last sighting and the body discovery. As Makoto described earlier, the sinks of the bathroom were all dry-”

“There was that sheet, you could’ve used that before smashing Chihiro’s head over it. And there’s water in the toilets, right? And the girl’s bathroom was right next door!”

“...I’ll commend you for recognizing my perseverance. But I did not kill Chihiro.” She shakes her head. “If the only thing that will clear me is secondhand support to my alibi, then the only thing that needs to be done is to ask a witness. Toko?”

And she addresses Syo now, who just cocks her head for a moment, and shrugs. “I keep sayin’ to you guys, it’s lights out up there. There’s no telling when she’ll be back!”

Byakuya has had enough.

“Toko,” He says first, his voice low and hissing. Then, louder, building into a shout: “TOKO. Come out, NOW!”

“I don’t think it works like tha-” Syo’s words are cut off suddenly, and she collapses where she stands, like a puppet with her strings cut.

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff #thpff chapters #danganronpa fanfiction #byakuya togami #byakuya mentally filing for a second naegami divorce #sorry this one took so long.....my frontal lobe. it is soup #combination filing taxes + applying for classes + applying for jobs + etc etc. it'll do it to ya #going to really really really try to get 18 up by sunday but if its delayed do u prommy not to be too mad at me. do you. pls pls pls #i jest tho. thank u to everyone who has been reading thus far i hope you continue to enjoy it or move on to other things #just knowing you were here even if just for a moment even if for the whole ride is enough for me #i hope this chapter is legible i cranked out the last half of it at 2 am on a half bottle of soju #also had to mentally go over everything twice bc ive been listening to His Dark Materials audiobooks and my writing was turning british #byakuya frothing furious angry defeated at the stand while kyoko is just. o<-< are we done yet. can we please talk about the murder #theyre both toxic here and making everyone bear witness to it #alright folks lets take bets now on who you think the killer is!!!

18 notes · View notes

sortofanobsession · 9 months

Note

If you look up Lionel Messi and soccer, you’ll find a bunch of articles about his problems with gagging and vomiting during matches. I’d like to plant a story idea in your head about Jamie having that same issue.

Author's Note: I know I promised this earlier, and I know I promised a birthday sequel, but this is the most chaotic week of my entire year for work. So the other might be a bit delayed. Sorry about that.

Zava is a bit out of character in this. He's meaner than he actually was on the show. I did that because I needed a sort of trigger for Jamie's anxiety. Jamie is confident, or at least presents himself to be, and absolutely sure of his own abilities, Zava in the show does make him doubt himself, but not enough to create this level of anxiety. My husband has the same type of anxiety, especially when it comes to his job. He went thorough a program to help him, but my husband was dealing with it for the first time. Jamie, I have him set to have sort of dealt with it before, because with Jamie's history he probably would have. But again, this is all canon divergent.

Pairing: RoyJamie

Word Count: 6k+

Content warning: Anxiety, vomiting, nausea, panic, fear, manipulation, verbal harassment, physical violence, bruising, injury, blood, head injury, ultimatums, concussions, stitches, angst, anger, swearing/cursing/cussing.

With a little help

Jamie used to be better at managing his anxiety. Or at least he thinks he was. Maybe he was just better at, what had Keeley called it? Right, compartmentalizing, a weird word, but yeah. He really didn't know much about this stuff. Maybe it was just easier when he was a prick and didn't care what anyone thought. He knew he was the star, and he was fucking brilliant. But now, he had so much more to lose. Sure, it had wracked his nerves thinking he couldn't lose and his dad would punish him. But the anxiety over that was manageable as long as he was winning. But things are different now. Zava was the star. Zava was taking his friends from him. His dad must be pissed about that. Jamie feels like he’s going to be sick for, well, he’s lost count.

Roy looks around the locker room and everyone is there and eager for the match, all but one.

“Where the fuck is Tartt?!” the coach demands.

“Loo,” Jeff tells him.

“Again?” Sam asks.

“The fuck you mean ‘again’?” Roy did not like the sound of that.

“Been in and out of since he got here,” Colin says.

“Does he plan to play sick because that is not a very good idea,” Jan Maas says.

Roy heads to find him, and Jan Maas might be on to something because he can hear Jamie throwing up. Something uneasy shifts the coach’s own gut. But Roy knows what he is feeling, just now why. He knocks on the door. He hears a bunch of noises, including rushed movement and water. Jamie rushes out and glances at the clock. And Roy does not like what he sees. Jamie is already sweating and shaking slightly.

“Shit, sorry coach, I’ll go-”

“Nope,” Roy states. “Cockburn can start, you-”

“I'm fine, coach, I can play,”

“Not if your fucking sick, if it's contagious-”

“It's not, I swear, coach, it's not like the flu or something,” Jamie tried, but Roy knew what he heard. He eyes Jamie skeptically and surprises himself as he reaches up to feel Jamie's forehead. Roy ignores the odd feeling in his chest at seeing Jamie’s cheeks color.

“I-I told you,” Jamie insists. “It's not like that, not a fever.”

“Something you ate?” Roy asks.

“...maybe?”

But Roy isn't sure if he should believe him. The coach sighs. “Get cleared by the med team, and you can go in, but until then, Cockburn goes in.”

And Roy is a bit surprised when Jamie doesn't fight him.

The team is too busy getting ready and listening to Zava for Roy to tell them.

“You're going in for Tartt,” Roy tells Cockburn.

“That bad?” The forward asks.

Roy grunts but doesn't give him a direct answer as he goes to the whiteboard and makes a few adjustments. Not that it changes much but the team finally notices.

“Cockburn is in,” Roy tells the other coaches.

“What happened? Is Jamie okay?” Ted asks.

“Waiting to see if fucking med clears him for the second half,” Roy states. “Fucking Tartt.” But as annoyed as he might be, he doesn't like the idea of Jamie not being alright. The team was finally set up to have a real chance at winning. Jamie Tartt had seen to it. Hopefully, he'd get it out of his system. But it wasn’t just that. Some part of Roy was just not happy that Jamie was unwell. He’s just not sure that bugs him so much.

“How is he?” Roy asks Gail at the half.

“A bit dehydrated, but good to go,” she tells him.

“Fucking good,” Roy says, and he means it because he feels more relieved knowing Jamie is okay than he had expected. “Let's go, Tartt! You're going in!” The match goes well, but Roy can tell something isn’t right with Jamie Tartt. So he decides to keep a closer eye on the forward.

It happens again before a few training days. And Jamie brushes it off as adjusting to a new morning routine. Again, Roy doesn’t really believe him, but he doesn’t force the issue. Not when Jamie is still up and training. But he can’t ignore it during their next match. Jamie actually throws up on the pitch and gets pulled from the match. Roy glares daggers at Zava as the newest striker complains about Jamie being a distraction. And it's not the first time he has. Roy makes his way to the treatment room and waves off the med team. So it is just him and Jamie.

“Alright, Tartt, fucking out with it,” Roy says. His arms crossed over his chest like he was trying to keep how worried he'd been growing inside his chest.

“Think I already did on the pitch,” Jamie winces.

“We both know that isn't what I fucking meant,” Roy tries to keep it together because he knows Jamie's history. He knows about Jamie's father. But Jamie isn't helping himself here, so.

Roy is going to have to be the one to do it. “Tartt, I need to know what is going on with you because this isn't the Jamie Tartt I know. And I don't fucking like it one bit.”

The way Jamie sinks deeper into himself has Roy quickly adding. “You fucking dying or something? You're fucking freaking me out, Tartt.”

“I’m not dying,” Jamie tells him. “Not even actually sick.”

“Then tell me what the fuck this is,” Roy says, and Jamie doesn't answer. Roy ignores the voice in his head with worse-case scenarios and moves to stand right next to Jamie. “Jamie,” he says in a softer tone. “I cannot help you if you don't talk to me. I need you to-” Roy doesn't even get to finish before Jamie sobs. Roy is momentarily gobsmacked before, without even really thinking, the coach pulls Jamie against his chest.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters more to himself than Jamie, but Jamie must think it's directed at him because Jamie just cries harder. So Roy just holds him tighter. Everything inside Roy Kent is telling him that he needs to do something. Because seeing Jamie like is like a knife in the heart, he'd do anything to cheer the striker up. And his brain doesn't seem to have much input either because Roy hadn't even realized his hand had gone up and was running through Jamie's hair, over and over to help calm him. But he doesn't stop because it actually seems to be helping as the sobs slowly turn into sniffles.

“I've got you, Tartt,” he says as he does. And when the treatment room door opens, and Jamie goes to pull away, Roy doesn't let him. The last thing he wants is for Jamie to close off and shut him out.

“I…uh…just need to grab a few things,” Gail says. The look on her face is one of surprise and slight amusement. “You're good.” She grabs what she needs and leaves.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” Jamie sniffles, it's muffled in Roy's shirt. And Roy huffs a laugh.

“It's fucking fine, just breathe and maybe tell me what is wrong.”

Jamie shifts, so it’s mainly just his forehead against him, and he takes Roy's advice. He takes a few deep breaths. He doesn’t pull away yet. Not fully. He’s almost too scared to look at Roy. But the way Roy's hand is now rubbing soothing circles on his back has him shifting and glancing up at Roy.

“Will you tell me now?” Roy asks.

“It's…it's just anxiety.”

Roy’s hand stills as that sinks in, but he recovers. His hand moves again because he doesn't want to make it worse. Doesn’t want Jamie to think that upsets Roy. He knows how Jamie gets when he thinks he’s upset someone.

“Okay, that's…okay,” Roy says. The coach is trying really hard to police his actions now. “Is this new or just worse than it was?”

And Jamie isn't sure if he'd ever heard so many words without the older man swearing, ever. And Jamie isn't sure how to feel about it. He didn't know if he should tell him that it was because of Zava.

“It's not new, but I thought I beat it ages ago,” Jamie says honestly.

“Okay, what changed?” Roy asks. And the coach can feel the striker’s muscles tense as Jamie starts to pull away. That didn't bode well. So Roy changes his tactic.

“Jamie,” Roy starts. “Tell me how I can help you?”

And that surprised Jamie. “You…you want to help me?”

“Of fucking course I do,” Roy says honestly.

“Because you're my coach?”

“Because I need you to fucking be okay. So what do you need from me?”

“Help me?” Jamie says. And the sad way Jamie says it grips Roy’s heart. He puts a hand on the back of Jamie's neck.

“Fucking easy, done. Just tell me how.”

“Train me?” Jamie asks, and Roy nearly laughs because if Jamie just needs some extra one-on-one to get past this, he will spend every minute he isn't with Phoebe or the team training with Jamie.

“Fuck, yeah, we can do that,” Roy grins because he has had worse-case scenarios going through his mind, and this, this is something he can and will do. “We can start tomorrow if you want.”

“Yeah, really?”

“Yes, Tartt, really.”

They train every morning before joining the team for official training. It's mostly just conditioning and talking. Roy hopes it helps Jamie get a handle on his anxiety and gets his confidence back.

Roy goes to Jamie before their next match.

“How you feeling?” Roy asks him.

“I'm okay,” Jamie says.

“You sure?”

“I think so.”

“Well, if that changes, let me know.”

“Sure, coach,” Jamie nods. When he turns back, the striker notices a few of his teammates looking at him funny. “What?”

“He didn't swear once,” Cockburn points out.

Jamie just shrugs. And Jamie thinks he might be okay until right before the game.

“Try not to lose your lunch or the game this time,” Zava nudges Jamie's shoulders as they head out.

And that has the knot in Jamie’s stomach returning. And he thinks he might get sick, so he slows down as they exit the tunnel. But Jamie hadn’t noticed that Roy had been watching him like a hawk. And the look on Jamie's face for just a moment before the striker can mask it is all Roy needs to see. The coach has to count to 10 to avoid murdering Zava on Sky fucking sports. He goes straight to Jamie.

“Whatever the fuck he said, ignore it,” Roy tells him.

“I don't know if I can-”

“Jamie, look at me,” Roy grips Jamie's shoulders. “You are Jamie fucking Tartt, and unlike that prick, you don't need to take your teammates down to be the star.”

“But I used to,” Jamie argues.

“But you matured, got better. He is a massive fucking prick. He wants to fuck with you because he KNOWS you are the only threat to his stardom on this fucking team. Stay focused on doing your job. Ignore him. And if you get the ball, do what you think is best.”

Jamie nods. “Okay, yeah, thanks, Coach.”

The match goes well, Zava still has to have the most attention, but Roy doesn't give him any. Ted and the others can manage that. Roy goes to Jamie.

“Well done, Tartt,” Roy tells him.

“I didn't do much, barely got the ball,” Jamie says with confusion.

“But you played without incident,” Roy insists.

“Guess training is paying off,” Jamie says. “Thanks, Coach.”

Roy smiles. Jamie’s stomach flips, but not due to anxiety or feeling sick. No, this is different. This is a good feeling because Roy fucking Kent is smiling at him and telling him he did well.

“Training tomorrow still?” Jamie asks.

“I think you earned a day off,” Roy says.

“What if I don't want one?” Jamie says honestly.

Roy considers it. He still has to meet the rest of the coaching staff to go through tapes. And oh boy does Roy have a point to make during that, but the last thing he wanted was Jamie backsliding.

“Tell you what, we can go over the match over breakfast,” Roy offers.

“Deal,” Jamie nods.

Roy thought they were finally getting in front of the issue as Jamie seemed to be doing better. Until one morning, Jamie fails to meet him for training. And he wasn't answering his door. Roy had never been so glad he had talked to his sister about Jamie's anxiety. She had insisted Jamie give someone a spare key. Because someone, mainly someone who lived closer than Manchester, to help make sure that his issues don't escalate. That someone needs to make sure Jamie isn't a danger to himself. Jamie picked two someones. Roy and Keeley. And without hesitation, Keeley had agreed to help. But this was the first time Roy had considered using the spare key Jamie had given him for emergencies.

Roy's heart is pounding in his chest as he opens the door. He begs the universe that this isn’t one of the worst-case scenarios his sister had told him after he asked her for help. He closes Jamie's door.

“Tartt?” He calls out. Nothing but silence greets him, and that makes his stomach churn. He digs his phone out of his pocket and heads straight for Jamie’s bedroom. He hoped he wouldn’t need his phone, but just in case, he pulled up the call screen.

“Jamie?” He calls out again. Nothing at first. He calls again and hears a noise in Jamie's bathroom.

“Jamie?” He says and knocks. He hears a sniffle. “I'm coming in.” And before Jamie can tell him no, Roy opens the door and finds Jamie leaning over the sink. His grip is so tight his knuckles are white on the edge of the sink. From a slight distance, Roy does his best to look Jamie over for any sign of injury. No blood. That was good. But he could tell this hadn’t just started by the bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes that looked at him with regret and possibly fear.

“Overslept,” Jamie manages. “Sorry.

Roy takes a deep and calming breath. Jamie is in better shape than he had expected, but the what-ifs still nag at him. He hauls Jamie into a hug.

“Roy?” Jamie asks in confusion.

“It's fine,” Roy says. “Everything's going to be fine.” Jamie isn't sure if he is saying it for him or not, but he doesn't fight it. He grips Roy's jacket tight. They stay like that for a bit.

“Come on,” Roy says, tugging Jamie by the wrist. “In,” Roy says, gesturing to Jamie's bed.

“But we have training,” Jamie says with confusion.

“Not for a few hours,” Roy states.

Jamie opens his mouth to argue, but his brain fails him when Roy removes his jacket and kicks off his shoes. “You going to stand there like a fucking prick, or you going to do as you're fucking told?”

Jamie silently crawls into his bed. He then watches in shock as Roy does too. Roy checks his phone, sets an alarm, and looks at Jamie.

“Fucking relax, Jamie,” Roy says, then lays down. Arms open in invitation. “You look fucking knackered, and you had me fucking worried. So make up your mind.”

Jamie is not sure if he is dreaming, but he isn't going to argue. He cuddles into Roy's chest, and Jamie has never felt warmer or safer in his life.

“Sleep, Tartt,” Roy tells him. And he does.

Jamie wakes up warm and content for once. He reaches for his alarm but realizes it's on the wrong side of the bed. Then he remembers what happened. It was Roy's phone. Roy was the warm body beside him. And Jamie's heart soars. Roy had been the only reason Jamie has been able to function recently. He really adores Roy.

“Feeling better?” Roy ask.

“Mmhmm,” Jamie hums.

“Good because we have training, so up you get,” Roy says.

Once Jamie is up and dressed, he heads down to find Roy in his kitchen drinking a cup of tea. He holds out a shake because he's gone over Jamie's routine with him multiple times. And Jamie knows he is officially lost on Roy fucking Kent. And Jamie knows there isn’t a way he is coming away from this anything but in love with his coach. Well, more so than he had been most of his life. He had fancied Roy for ages, but that had been that. Now Roy is in his kitchen and has spent the last hour sleeping in Jamie's bed with Jamie.

“Jamie?” Roy calls, snapping Jamie out of his thoughts. He shakes the drink again. “Yes or no? If you can't, then we-”

Jamie accepts the shake with a quiet thank you. And Roy watches Jamie. He seems to be doing alright now. But Roy doesn't want him to get antsy, so the coach looks down at his tea.

They head to Roy’s G wagon, Jamie not even arguing. It's quiet until Roy parks at Nelson Road.

“Now, you don't have to tell me what happened to cause what happened this morning, but…” Roy says, looking at Jamie.

“Just something Zava said yesterday got under my skin. You said to ignore him, and I'm trying. It's just not easy. Didn't sleep well, but I'm okay now.”

“Okay.” Roy reaches over and grips Jamie's shoulder. “If you need a break, tell me. We can take one.”

“Thanks,” Jamie smiles at him.

Shouting in the locker room has the coaches rushing out of the office. Dani Rojas and Colin Hughes stand between Jamie and Zava.

“The fuck is wrong with you?!” Jamie spits.

“I saw you with -” Zava starts, but Roy isn't having it.

“Everyone shut the fuck up!” Roy shouts. Jamie's eyes snap to his. And Roy sees a red mark on Jamie's face and would have lost his shit if Beard hadn't gone to check Jamie's face. Jamie lets him. Beard doesn't miss how the striker keeps glancing at Roy.

“Nothing broken,” Beard assures them.

“What in the blue blazes is going on in here?” Ted demands.

No one says anything—a number of players glancing at an irate Roy.

“Fine,” Ted says. “Beard, maybe a few laps will jog their memories.”

The team groans, but they go out.

“Not you,” Ted says to Jamie. Roy glares at the gaffer. The assistant coach swears he sees Zava smirks as he leaves.

“You fucking kidding me?” Roy snaps, but much to Jamie's surprise, it isn't directed at him but at Ted.

“Look at his fucking face, and he's the one that in-”

Ted shakes his head. “You strangling the team’s wringer in front of them might damage morale a bit, coach.”

Roy grunts but doesn't say anything else because Ted has a point. If Zava had opened his mouth again, he’d have the imprint of Roy’s boot all over him. It’s a dangerous thought but an undeniable one. Zava touched Jamie, and that is just not fucking okay in Roy’s opinion. He’s still fucking livid though.

“You alright, Jamie?” Ted asks the player.

Roy’s anger gives way to concern at the way Jamie’s hands bunch up in his kit. The striker looked like a kid who got caught stealing biscuits.

“Jamie,” Roy says as he goes over and tips Jamie's face up to look at him. A slight bruise forms and that has a mix of emotions swirling in Roy’s chest. “How much does it hurt?” Roy needs to know.

“‘m fine, Roy, nothing I can't handle it.”

“You used to handle broken ribs and not tell anyone,” Roy counters. “I need more than that, Tartt.”

Neither of them sees how shocked Ted is as he watches the pair. Roy went from furious to soft spectacularly fast in the gaffer’s book. And he isn’t sure he’d ever seen his assistant coach this gentle with anyone other than Phoebe.

“The team ended it before it could get worse,” Jamie says.

That gets Ted’s attention. “What exactly was ‘it’?” the head coach asks. Jamie looks between the coaches. Roy just reaches over and rubs Jamie's back. And Ted has even more questions now. But he knows he needs this answer first.

“Zava told me I should be benched, that I'm a distraction, especially…” Jamie hesitates, looking up at Roy. Roy just nods. Jamie looks back to Ted. “Especially to Coach Kent.” Roy lets out a bitter laugh but doesn't say anything. His hand did not stop its repeated course along the striker’s spine.

“How did that lead to you having a bruised face?” Ted asks.

“He had leaned into my space to say it, and you know me, I'm in and out of everyone's space always. So it shouldn’t have bothered me, but I didn't like it. I didn't want him there. So I shoved him back towards his spot. He didn't like that.”

“So a scuffle broke out until the boys stopped it,” Ted finishes.

“Not exactly. It was more the team scrambling to protect Zava, and I don't know who, but I took an elbow to the face. I…I don't think it was intentional.” They look up as the door opens. A couple of members of the med team enter. “But he kept saying that he knew. Didn’t make any sense.”

“Right, okay,” Ted says. He waves them over to look over Jamie's face. He taps Roy's shoulder and nods at the office. Roy nods. Ted goes to the office.

“You good?” Roy asks Jamie.

“Yeah,” Jamie says, offering the coach a weak smile. “Not like I'm going anywhere.” He gestures to the medics.

Ted closes the door once Roy is inside.

“Something you need to tell me, Coach?”

“Zava's a fucking prick and has been giving Jamie a hard time.”

“That’s it? I thought you helping train Jamie was working,” Ted says. “That he was right as rain.”

“I thought so, too, but he missed training this morning. Turns out Zava got under his skin yesterday like he just fucking did now, and with the anxiety Tartt already has, he barely slept. Found him crying and fucking gripping his counter like he didn't trust his own fucking legs. I got him to get a bit more sleep.” Ted didn't need to know that he did so by joining him in bed. “He is off his game already, and Zava just tipped the fucking scales. And now Zava thinks he fucking won. I'm not going to fucking sit here and let that prick isolate and bully-”

“And what is Jamie to you, huh? What's your next word, Roy? Your what?”

“Player,” Roy growls. “My fucking player. Because whatever you are implying, well, you can fuck off. And I'm fucking disappointed in you, Lasso. You made me put an end to the hazing of the kitman that fucking betrayed you. Betrayed all of us. But now that it's Zava targeting Jamie, who has been a fucking punching bag his whole fucking life, and you know it, it's nothing. Not on my fucking watch.”

“Alright, fair point,” Ted says.

It is painfully silent until Ted goes to check on Jamie.

“He's good to play, just a bruise,” the medic tells them.

“Great, let's get you out there,” Ted says, clapping Jamie on the shoulder. Jamie looks at Roy.

“Right behind you,” Roy assures him.

Ted decided to keep a close eye on Zava, especially when he was anywhere near Jamie. Things went fine during drills. He didn't miss the way a few players glared at Jamie as they finished running laps. Ted called Beard over and sent him inside after a few words. Isaac had confirmed that Zava had been talking to Jamie, Jamie shoved Zava, and the team stepped in. No one owned up to knowingly elbowing Jamie. So Ted had them run drills. More glares. Jamie’s shoulders slumped, but he looked over at Roy. Roy went over.

“They're fucking idiots,” Roy tells Jamie. “He’ll fuck up eventually. Tip his hand. Don't let him drag you down. He did this. Not you. Keep going.”

Jamie nods and joins the team.

Ted isn't sure he likes how Jamie keeps his head down. And Roy was right. Whenever someone glares at Jamie or ignores the other striker, Zava doesn't stop them. Zava seems to find it amusing. That was not good.

A bit later, Beard comes out with a tablet. He waves Roy over. Jamie's attention is drawn to the coaches when he hears Roy swearing and leaving the field. Jamie fights the urge to follow him. He turns to head back to drills when a ball hits him in the head painfully hard.

Roy hadn’t even reached the tunnel. When hears several people shout Jamie’s name. Roy's blood ran cold as rushed back to the field.

“He was distracted,” he hears Zava say, and the only reason Zava isn't picking his teeth up off the pitch is because Beard catches him, followed by Will.

He knows what happened without even having to look. Although Jamie was waiting with all the other players, the drills were running away from him. Jamie had gotten hit. Hard. This means someone did it intentionally or had gotten very bad at the basics.

“Jamie needs you,” Beard says. And that doesn't quell the other assistant coach’s rage, but it does change his direction.

“How is he?” Roy asks as he reaches Ted.

“Conscious,” Ted tells him.

“For Zava's sake, he better stay that way. I swear-”

“I know, Roy,” Ted says. “Go with him. We’ll handle it.”

“You fucking better,” Roy grits out before following the med team as they take Jamie away.

“Roy!” Keeley joins him where he is waiting in the hall. He was watching the med team work through the glass window. “Rebecca said it was Jamie. What happened?” Roy hands her the tablet he had retrieved. Much like the locker room video, the video of what happened on the pitch was sent to him. Keeley played the video and gasped. Zava had kicked the ball directly at Jamie. And the striker had one hell of a kick. Jamie went down instantly. Jeff and Sam were there in seconds, followed by most of the team.

“Poor Jamie,” Keeley says as she hands him the tablet.

“Stay with him,” Roy instructs as he walks away.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“To make sure this is fucking handled!” He spits back.

Rebecca startles as the gaffer’s door is thrown open.

“Roy,” Ted says as the manager drops back down in his chair. “The wall didn't deserve that, but I think we can ignore that for now.”

Rebecca frowns but agrees.

“How is he?” She asks.

“Three fucking stitches and a concussion at least,” Roy says, going to grab a number of things from his desk. “Maybe worse, they were still with him.” He kicks his drawer when it doesn't close—the pair wince.

“Why aren't you?” Ted asks.

“Keeley’s there,” Roy states.

“That's good,” Rebecca says.

“You say that now,” Roy tosses the tablet on the desk. The video paused on Zava kicking the ball.

“Roy…” Ted starts.

“Don't fucking, ‘Roy’ me. Fuck no. This fucking prick goes, or I do, Tartt too. I fucking told you he was fucking with him.”

“You don't mean-” Rebecca starts, but Roy cuts her off.

“Fucking do it, or I will send that video to Sky fucking sports. I am FUCKING DONE!” Roy slams the door as he goes into the locker room. The handful of players in there flinch. He isn't sure if it's a blessing or a curse that Zava isn't there.

“What’s going on, Coach?” Sam asks as Roy moves to collect Jamie's things.

“Is Jamie hurt bad?” Dani Rojas asks.

“Like any of you fucking care,” Roy angrily states.

“It's Jamie,” Dani says. “Of course we do.”

Roy bitterly laughs. “Could have fucking fooled me.” Once the coach is sure he has what he needs, he turns towards the team.

“I have never been so fucking disappointed in any fucking team in my life. This is exactly what he was terrified would happen. You fucking pricks didn't even fucking notice.”

The locker room was unusually quiet as the team prepared to leave after training. Zava isn't even there anymore. And no one has heard anything about Jamie yet. Roy had not come back.

Sam checks his phone.

“Oh no,” he says.

“What?” Colin asks. “What is it?”

“Check the team chat?”

Colin frowns.

One by one, the team is shocked that Roy and Jamie's numbers are removed from the team chat.

“That's not good,” Jan Maas says.

“No, it isn't.” Sam agrees.

Keeley had been keeping Jamie company after the med team said he could go when the coach got back. She smiles at the way Jamie sits up as there is a knock at the open door, relaxing when he sees it’s only Roy. Jamie’s never been truly afraid of Roy, but she knew that Roy being there made Jamie feel safer. Like nothing, and no one is getting past Roy to get at him. It was actually rather adorable. Roy was like that with people he cared for, especially those he loved. And she had a feeling Jamie was now one of those very select few. Roy loved Jamie. Jamie loved Roy. She knew it. She just hoped they’d figure it out sooner rather than later.

“Time to go,” Keeley says. She gets up and kisses Jamie's less injured cheek. “Call me if you need anything. Get better, babe.” She pats Roy’s cheek as she passes him.

“Here,” Roy sets Jamie's stuff. “Can't have you in your bloody kit. Then we can head out.”

Jamie goes to stand up and wobbles on his feet, and Roy knows that's not going to work. He kicks the door closed. “Right, let's get this done.” He carefully helps Jamie change. He avoids making eye contact with the striker as he does because that was a line Roy couldn’t cross now. He wasn’t sure his fucking heart could take it. A bruised Jamie Tartt, shirtless and trusting Roy to look after him. That did fucking things to Roy that Roy was not ready to deal with. Especially since Jamie had a concussion.

“Thanks,” Jamie mumbles since his system is flooded with painkillers.

“Ready?” Roy asks.

“Yeah,” Jamie says with a nod. He winces at the flair of pain that causes.

“Alright, words are fine. No need to rattle your brain even more.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Jamie barely says anything as Roy drives to Jamie's flat. He manages to get the injured striker inside, cleaned up and in bed. Jamie is in and out of it most of the day. It's not until the following day that Jamie really wakes up, his head throbbing, and realizes that Roy has spent the night and has been taking care of him. Jamie finds pills and water beside his bed and a note telling him to take them and come downstairs. Jamie can barely look at his own face in the mirror as he does what he needs to in the bathroom. He shouldn't be surprised to find Roy in his kitchen again, but this time Roy moves to meet him as Jamie makes it down the stairs.

“Morning,” Roy says. “Seem more steady on your feet already.”

Jamie hums and shuffles to the kitchen.

“Sit,” Roy tells him, and Jamie does. Roy gets him a cup of tea and a plate of food. “Eat.” Jamie looks unsure.

“Jamie,” Roy says, lowering himself to Jamie's eye level. “You need to eat, or those pills will tear up your stomach. And with all the stomach issues you’ve had recently, we don't want to make it worse.” Jamie agrees and eats. That's when he notices the time. The team would be well into training. And Jamie understands why he isn't going to training. But Roy should be there.

“Not going in?” he asks.

“No,” Roy states. Jamie can't see all that well right now, but he can still tell that Roy doesn't look happy.

“Roy, you don't have to babysit me,” Jamie insists.

“Your loss,” Roy says. “Phoebe thinks I'm a fantastic sitter.”

“She's 8, and you are her most favorite person in the world,” Jamie says.

“Yeah, because I'm the best fucking sitter,” Roy says with no sign of sarcasm or humor.

“You're serious, aren't you?” Jamie asks.

“You're head's fucked enough, you don't need me being a prick.”

“Okay, but-”

“I'm not going in because I told them if they don't fucking deal with Zava, then I'm not going back.”

Jamie can’t believe Roy gave them an ultimatum because of him. “You have to go back,” Jamie tells him.

“Not really,” Roy assures him.

“The team needs you,” Jamie argues.

“The team needs not to have a fucking asshole that does this kind of shit on fucking purpose.” And Roy knows he fucked up when Jamie rushes to his feet. Roy follows Jamie as the younger man barely reaches the toilet to lose what little he has eaten. Unfortunately, that means his meds too. And between the pain and the anxiety, Jamie can't take it. He sobs, and Roy holds him tight.

Roy doesn't move other than to comfort the injured man. Only when Jamie can breathe without gasping does he even consider it.

“Why?” Jamie manages to ask.

“Why would I not go back?” Roy asks for clarification.

Jamie nods.

“Because I'm not going to work for a fucking hypocrite. Lasso made me deal with you when you were a prick, and you changed for the better. He let Zava do the same shit too long, and it's only because he pulled this shit in front of the whole fucking team and was caught on security cameras; it’s a problem. Told them to deal with it, or I would send the video to Sky Sports.”

“Is that even legal?”

“He knew what the fuck he was doing,” Roy tells him. “And so do I. Zava wants to keep his fucking reputation, then he has to fucking leave.”

“And if we start losing again?”

“Is the league worth the fucking pain? Seriously, this fucking idiot is beyond fucking help. I won't watch him ruin your life just so the team wins. I'm sure the team would agree if they knew.”

In the afternoon, Jamie's phone is practically blowing up with messages, and his head hurts. So Roy tucks him back in and takes his phone so he can let the pain meds work and get some rest.

“The fuck did you do?” Roy answers his phone.

“Hello to you too, Coach,” Ted says. “How is he?”

“I had to take his phone away because he threw up his morning meds, and it was constantly going off.”

“We showed the team the video,” Ted says. “So they could understand why Zava is off the team.”

“So he's gone, good. Fucking took long enough.”

“Had to ensure he wouldn't try to turn this around on us. Or worse, you and Jamie.”

“If any of those idiots show up here and ring the doorbell, I will make them miserable.”

“They shouldn't. They know he needs to rest and heal.”

“Good.”

“I’ll tell him when he wakes up.”

Roy sits on the edge of Jamie's bed. He gives in and runs his hands gently through Jamie's hair to wake him. He can’t lie to himself any longer. He cares for Jamie a lot more than he should, but he can’t help himself. He smiles at the way Jamie hums and leans into Roy’s touch.

“Got good news,” Roy says, which seems enough to wake Jamie the rest of the way. “Zava's off the team, and the team’s more worried about you than anything.”

“He's gone, and they aren't mad?”

“Not mad at you, for you, maybe, but not at you.”

“Not mad at you either, right?”

“Maybe, but only because I took your phone away so they couldn't talk to you.”

That makes Jamie chuckle.

“This means you're going back, right?” Jamie asks.

“Yes, now up you get. Food. Meds. Then you can have your phone.”

Jamie hates sitting on the sidelines as the team struggles to score match after match. Knowing he's the reason Zava is gone twists something in his stomach. And knowing that the team has a friendly in fucking Amsterdam, of all places, makes him even more anxious. Roy is worried even before anyone packs for the trip. Keeley had texted Roy that she was supposed to help him pack since she hadn't spent much time with Jamie recently, but Jamie's not acting like his usual self. He might get to play in Amsterdam, so they both figure it's nerves about getting back into it. So Roy goes over. The three of them get dinner, but Keeley has to leave after. Roy thinks Jamie's doing okay, but the minute the coach asks what Jamie's going to do outside of the match in Amsterdam, he sees how Jamie starts to sweat and pale slightly.

“Jamie, look at me,” Roy says, and when Jamie seems to be too in his own head, Roy grips the striker’s face as gently as he can since he is still a bit sore. “I'm here, Jamie. You don't have to be scared of anything. You can tell me or don't tell me. But I'm not going to leave you like this. Fuck, I'll pack your fucking bag, you might not like it, but I will.” That earns a breathy laugh from the player. “I'll be with you every step of the way if you need me to.”

Jamie can't help it. He leans his forehead against Roy's and closes his eyes. Because that actually is extremely helpful. It does make him feel so much better.

“Fuck it,” Roy mutters. With a hand on the back of Jamie's neck, he shifts until his lips find Jamie’s own. He feels that Jamie shutters at the sensation before it's like the younger man puts all his energy into returning the kiss. When they break for air, Roy checks to ensure Jamie's cuts don't reopen. Jamie crawls into Roy's lap and kisses him.

“Feeling better?” Roy says, a slight grin pulling at his features.

“Fucking fantastic,” Jamie grins.

2 notes · View notes

stillness-in-green · 2 years

Text

Chapter Thoughts: 377 — The Chain Thus Far

Before we get into this, I should say that I’ve finally found the time to do the research I wanted to do before getting to the pile of asks in my inbox about issues with the recent chapters about heteromorph discrimination. Having done so, getting those answers out is my next priority, especially with Chapter 378 not due out for another week and a half. And then I’ll finally be getting to the rest of the inbox backlog past that. Thanks for your patience, all!

O I’m inclined to agree with @itsnothingofinterest’s take here: saying the heroes are sooooo much weaker than the villains, necessitating the divide-and-conquer tactics, just doesn’t feel accurate to what’s on the page. I mean, splitting the villains up is just a better call tactically; it’s got nothing to do with the comparative strength of either side. Choosing the grounds, choosing the combatants, getting the element of surprise: all very sound tactical calls that have had the villains on the backfoot all the way up to now. It fundamentally does not feel like the heroes were Team Underdog here, not with how stymied they’ve managed to keep the villains at every turn.

O Regarding the elderly hand on the first page, the guesses I’ve seen are All Might, Older Deku, and Shigaraki. I do think it has to be someone older—even All Might’s hands aren’t that withered yet! It certainly could belong to Older Deku—though if it does, and he’s narrating in that moment beneath the sakura, it suggests our Future Deku is rather older than I think most people have tended to assume.

If anything suggests Older Shigaraki to me, it’s not merely the general shape of the hand—Shigaraki could very well have hands like that in thirty or forty years,(1) but so could lots of people—but also the way it reaches toward the fluttering petal and then either misses it or specifically lets it pass by. I’m skeptical that even a very decrepit All Might or Deku would just miss a target like that, but a Future Shigaraki, who presumably doesn’t want to destroy absolutely everything anymore? Him, I could see reaching for a petal before letting his hand fall back like that.

O Love the way Manual and Aizawa both leap to shield Monoma. You had a good run, kid! But that said, EAT SHIT, ERASURE TEAM, AHAHAHAHAHA.

In all seriousness, I hope Monoma doesn’t get his throat cut open by razor-sharp measuring tape here, but given how eerily silent the Sad Man’s Death Parade has been thus far, one rather suspects that it is, in fact, made up entirely of Togas-transformed-into-Twice,(2) and Toga is way more lethal with a sharp edge than Twice. I doubt Monoma is in real danger, though—Horikoshi has yet to kill off a single present-day student—and as such, I consider myself free to hoot and holler for Kurogiri’s return and now two instances of the Death Parade being dropped on another field of combat. Please, sir, I’d like some more!

O I don’t know and don’t particularly care what caused the explosion here (EAT SHIT, SKY COFFIN!), save that it feels a bit like a contrivance. An explosion for the sake of having an explosion, if you will, rather than because there’s any sort of combustible or accelerant in play. And good thing an explosion that was strong enough to shatter all those concrete(?) support pillars wasn’t any danger to *checks notes* the many incredibly badly wounded combatants still on the field, like the one with the gaping chest wound or the one with all the missing limbs!

But, quibbles about the dramatics aside, the Sky Coffin was always going down because it was so obviously the wrong answer to the What Do We Do About Shigaraki Tomura question, so I’m happy to watch it fall. I will be incredibly smug if I got it right in one of my Spinaraki Week fics, that Deku will have to choose between saving the school and pressing the advantage against Shigaraki.

I have, I should note, seen a tiny bit of theorizing that Gentle Criminal’s quirk could be used to stop the island’s fall, and I would just like to say that that should never work, but also that I would laugh for days if it did, so I would forgive it far more readily than I will or have the fellow Most Nonsensical Bullshit contender that is Edgeshot giving Bakugou open heart surgery on the field with nothing but a vague knowledge of human innards and a soap bubble.

O Despite the fact that Mandalay’s run outside to confer with Aizawa a few times over the course of this arc,(3) it still took me until this chapter to connect that the control hub—at least the one Mandalay is in—was in the building Team Erasure was sitting on top of. Going back to some of the earlier chapters, I did notice, also for the first time, that the American jets were visible around the Sky Coffin for the first few establishing shots!

I maintain that they really ought to have been acknowledged earlier, rather than just remained unacknowledged until they’d already gone and come back, but it’s good to know that they were there, at least. That’s more foreshadowing than was managed for La Brava (about whom I have much more to say, below).

While I’m on the topic of Mandalay, though, man, she sure is going all in on the high-drama doomsaying this week, huh? Like, she sounds more like a news reporter making sensationalized overstatements about Events At The Scene than she does a calm and level-headed hero focused on coordination. Not saying Tomura being free of Erasure isn’t an emergency from her perspective, but, “The entire world will be destroyed by his hands,” is just a bit Much, is all.

O Kurogiri appearing right behind Tomura, bless him. I wonder if it’s just him or if he’s going to drop more Togawices, maybe Spinner? Or has he just gone to Shigaraki because that was Spinner’s request of him, as well as it being in line with his purpose, and isn’t planning to bring anyone else through? I’d think if he were that much on auto-pilot, though, he wouldn’t have spit Mic out at Aizawa, nor would he have taken the time to ask Toga what she wants. (This is all to say, I certainly hope we’re still going to see Spinner again before this fight is over.)

O The mall callback is fun, though I wish I liked Deku as much as I generally did back at the mall. It’s also telling of the shift in Deku’s view of Shigaraki—though I’m not sure how much of this is intentional—that Shigaraki’s smile here is more simply deranged than the “special guest artist Junji Ito” look he was sporting for his smile at the mall. He’s not an alien, unknowable horror movie monster anymore, and that’s reflected in the way his expressions are drawn, even his loopy violent ones!

Regarding his return, I am thrilled that it didn’t take the tone of “Deku rescues Inner Tenko; Shigaraki immediately throws himself at his savior’s feet” that so many seem to have been gunning for. As ever, the more Deku has to work for this save, the better for the story it will be.

And congrats to Kurogiri and Spinner for giving us this opening! Why do I give that credit to them instead of Deku? Well, it is true that Shigaraki’s swelling chest was already underway before this chapter’s events—it started back in Chapter 369, presumably as a result of Deku blowing through the hand armor form and throwing VFO’s mentality into disarray. Still, if that were all it was going to take, and Shigaraki was going to get this new form regardless, I hardly see the need to so conspicuously show Monoma being forced into blinking, with Shigaraki bursting free and the huge explosion following literally the exact second after Erasure cuts off.

I’d be more willing to buy it as a matter of dramatic timing aligning if it hadn’t been for the fact that we’d checked in on the ShigAFO/Deku fight once in between 369 and now. Back in 374, we saw the swelling getting worse, but still not breaking, as if there were still something in play holding it back. Jump forward to 377, Erasure breaks, and BOOM, all at once, so does the arrested progress of Shigaraki’s form shift.

I will concede that ShigAFO changed forms completely independent of Erasure previously, so there’s no particular reason he should need to be free of it to enact this transformation. After all, if Erasure were any good at shutting down vestige activity as part and parcel of its cancelation of quirk effects, VFO would have had no control until now. Still, the direct depiction of cause-and-effect on the page seems quite clear: Shigaraki did not complete the transformation with Erasure in effect, but instantly did so the moment it was nullified.

The only other dramatic possibility I see is that the point of nullifying Erasure now is that, just in time for Deku to be able to talk to the real person, Shigaraki’s got his entire suite of powers back. In that read, Kurogiri (and, in turn, Spinner) is not responsible for Shigaraki’s freedom, but rather his ability to be at his full threat level for the upcoming conversation.

Even if that is the case, though, I still don’t think Shigaraki being back in control is solely a credit to Deku. That underplays Tomura’s own resolve as well as the way Tenko’s rage was triggered by the way the heroes struggled to save Bakugou, to say nothing of the shock to the system Mirio provided. All that, and both Mirio and Nana gave Deku an answer to the, “Is Shigaraki still in there?” question that allowed him to continue to hope for an opening to save Shigaraki where, otherwise, he might have been forced to just fight with lethal intent.(4)

O Gotta keep an eye on Kurogiri so Shigaraki can’t escape, lolol, Deku, you sure do have a skewed idea about Shigaraki’s priorities here. That’s not entirely Deku’s fault, of course; he has watched Shigaraki(‘s body/team) retreat from a number of engagements in the past. But Deku wasn’t there to see Shigaraki’s tenacity against Gigantomachia or his overwhelming blood-smeared serenity at Deika, nor does he have the full perspective on Shigaraki wanting to stick it out at Jakku against VFO’s pushing for retreat. But regardless, I highly doubt Shigaraki is thinking at all about escape here.

O I wish we could get a better look at what’s going on in Shigaraki’s head than the, “It seems he’s in no position to manipulate the flesh he’s possessing,” panel. Yes, I would like to see VFO trying and failing not to drown in black gunk, thanks.

O And finally, to the big chapter end reveal…

Man, guys. I just—I’m glad to see her? I like La Brava an awful lot, her and Gentle both. But all the problems I've always had with her being used to counter Skeptic are still problems. Team Hero couldn’t have gotten her here on the spur of the moment, so this had to have been planned in advance. But if it were planned in advance—if the heroes knew they were going to have to counter Skeptic’s hacking—then why does the hacking seem to catch everyone off-guard? If La Brava’s been with Tsukauchi and All Might this whole time, why not even hint at her presence the way the war arc did Jeanist’s arrival?

(Chapter 363: Neither the reaction nor the wording I would expect from people who had a counterplay waiting in the wings for the villains’ master hacker.)

And of course, the answer to that is that this series’ lifeblood is now in dramatic end-of-chapter reveals with flashbacks in the following chapters to explain how the characters got there, rather than in intricate set-up leading to satisfying pay-off. Lots of people predicted we’d get La Brava here, but the reason people saw this coming is not that it’s gotten any set-up or foreshadowing, but because she’s literally the only good-ish hacker in the series, and so the only even semi-feasible option.

And yes, it does bother me that she’s implying some kind of deal was reached to soften Gentle’s sentence when nowhere in the series prior to this have figures of authority suggested they’re willing to make such bargains with villains. There are only two things I can think of that are even in that ballpark, but even they don’t come terribly close.

Hawks trying to plea Jin down, promising him a new start. That doesn’t come off as an offer Hawks has been cleared to make by his HPSC handlers; it comes off as him desperately saying whatever comes to mind that will mean he doesn’t have to kill a guy he personally likes and thinks doesn’t deserve to get murdered. But he never had any authority to back that offer up and I think it would have surprised no one for Twice to have ended up in Tartarus with Hawks periodically trying to visit him until the HPSC told him to get his head on straight and nixed his access.

Deku laying out terms for upholding Lady Nagant’s bargain with Overhaul. This one is even more egregious than Hawks’ case for being an offer Deku has zero authority to make, and even farther afield because Deku isn’t trying to get Overhaul to do anything practical, like surrender, provide knowledge, or aid heroes against a different villain. It’s not any kind of plea bargain or testimony in exchange for immunity; it’s only about what Overhaul wants and how he feels, with zero impact on other criminal targets.

Neither of these cases is comparable to an official deal made between a criminal and a figure with legal authority in/over the carceral system. An organized or at least precedented example of an agent of state power working with a villain in pursuit of more dangerous villains, like you see IRL in organized crime investigations/prosecutions, would have gone a long way towards making this both predictable and believable.

It’s particularly vexing that La Brava is pictured here with Tsukauchi. Tsukauchi basically comes off okay in BNHA Core, but you only have to read Vigilantes to get a look at that guy’s feelings about Bargaining With Villains—see for example that scene of him looking over the arrest warrant he requested for the main character while furiously thinking, “As the authorities, we can’t allow ourselves to rely on outlaws. To do so would be to admit the justice system has failed.”

I guess, if nothing else, at least he looks kind of put off by her, but otherwise, color me entirely unimpressed by this reveal. I’m sure we’ll get a flashback to it next chapter, so I guess we’ll see what it looks like then. I damn well hope La Brava held out for a good offer. Rake ‘em over the coals, LB!

--FOOTNOTES--

1: Assuming he stabilizes and still has the digits he’s grown back in his current form, anyway. The hand on the first page is a left hand. And yes, I am both sad and annoyed about him growing back the injury Re-Destro gave him.

2: Which, while sad, and perhaps less interesting than her being able to clone Twice for real, does make sense. Twice was said to be able to duplicate himself very easily, but needed a clear understanding of anything else he wanted to duplicate, including its measurements. Much as she loved him, I very much doubt Toga knew Bubaigawara Jin’s spatial dimensions. Thus, even if Toga is copying Twice’s shape here, producing copies of “myself-as-Twice” would presumably still come more naturally than copies of “Twice-as-Twice”.

3: I’m not entirely clear on why she would need to run outside, given that she can pick and choose targets for her telepathy and they clearly have a regular comm system running as well, seeing as she’s able to patch Deku through to Aizawa back at the start. They have been having periodic problems with static (from the barrier) and wonky signal (probably from Skeptic), however, so it could be related to one of those.

4: Not that punching a hole in someone’s chest should get credit for being anything less than entirely lethal intent, mind you, but Shonen Manga Gonna Shonen Manga.

#bnha #bnha 377 #shigaraki tomura #la brava #aiba manami #bnha star bros #chapter thoughts #my writing

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phrobysha · 2 years

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I can only speak from experience and encounter. Like many growing up, i was skeptic about reality and what the moon was but i resolved to the moon being some sort of life force. Fast forward into the present future i have encountered the moon where it projected from space or the sky to close proximity about 10 feet away and it was gigantic whitish blue and bright which completely changed my view of the moon and my opinion. On another occasion i saw a sketchy red huge moon next to a church in my neighborhood and it too was so close about 10 feet away from the church. And on a separate but related occasion, i saw a moon that was slightly smaller and it was literally only a couple of feet above a house and a droplet came of it onto the house and it mysteriously disappeared. On all these three encounters of experience, the moon i thought i knew growing up just didn't measure or add up anymore. I once encountered a documentary that was showing footage of what appeared to be the moon and it was much like a vehicle parked and it was leaving its location going off onto an assigned trajectory of directive to do whatever it does . This again couldn't have been the same moon i thought i knew or was it. There have been tales of inner earth where again they narrate that there is a moon and sun underneath that could have been created technologically or perhaps manifested into existence by powers and abilities that might seem unfathomable and again given how vast earth is, am guessing there different moons and suns underneath all the different geographical locations. My conviction is that there must be countless moons and that in-spite of belief and to the contrary there different species of moons. Humans have been known to have advanced into this same transition of technologically creating moons and suns so again whatever the truth is and whatever you hold as conviction or belief, nothing is as it seems. Am speculating perhaps but i think satanism has always existed but it has only taken on different forms and like the moon it has only shape/matter shifted into this contextual 21st century of 2023 simulation and this could potentially be the same for all faculties and facets of practices which have either been evolved or devolved in wisdom, knowledge and intelligence. They do say the past, present and future are all happening at the same time so contextually all mythical existence is and always will be here but again we must all formulate our own individual conceptualizations of self and surroundings. Wherever we are and whatever we are remains to be uncovered but we must continually question what channels our adaptations and thought simulation of conviction or belief because simply we were, are and will continue to be misled if we continue to associate with the simulation of separation as all realms, dimensions and timelines are in the same space despite of what we perceive this contextual world to be. The design mechanisms have configured programming within us and outside of us which have created a detachment of all our core essences with everything and all things. This matrix as some have come to know it which by default the definition and meaning has changed over eons of existence has been known to be an extremity of illusions with mazes running through its very core of architectural construct. Numbers, letters, images, sound and everything we come into contact with alters our very being of resonance. On this journey we all find ourselves on, we must exercise great precaution and thorough analysis and critical application of self and all wisdom, knowledge and intelligence. There levels to this game and it has been in play since long before our memory and it will continue to be in play much longer after our consciousness but what was, is and will sustain and maintain is our existential expanse as source fractals.

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btssavedmylifeblr · 4 years

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Tongue Tied (M)

Genre: SMUT, fluff, crack, demon au (sort of), idol verse, established relationship au, pwp with a side of minor relationship angst

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Word Count:12k

Warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex, orgasm denial, masturbation, squirting, sex toys, dirty talk, degradation, bladder desperation and brainwashing

A/N: So… this is porn. Apologies to everyone, especially Park Jimin. Blame my anons who goaded me into it. Love you all! Stay hydrated.

Jimin's tongue trails a warm circle around your erect nipple.

"Stop teasing," you groan, threading your fingers through his dark hair and tugging him closer to you.

Jimin obliges, spreading his tongue across the perky bud, sucking it into his mouth, massaging with his lips. Flames of arousal rush through you. His fingers move from your hip to your lower folds, dipping into you, checking how wet you are. He releases your breast and smirks, holding up his fingers to show you the translucent strings stretching between them. "So eager.”

He laves kisses across your throat. His tongue alternates between firm and soft, sucking just to the point of pain, then soothing it away. He moves downward, sliding you up the bed as he works his way toward your swollen center. Every place his tongue touches burns with desire.

Your core throbs as he draws closer and closer to it. Despite dating for six months, Jimin has never gone down on you. The place you most want his talented tongue is the one place it has never been. In the beginning of your relationship, you had assumed oral sex was something he had accidentally overlooked. But now it was starting to seem deliberate.

Jimin sucks a hard kiss onto your hip as he slips his finger back between your folds, spreading your arousal up to your clitoris. He draws a slow circle around the sensitive nub, laughing softly against your belly when you moan out loud.

The closer he gets, the more your desperation builds. You tighten your fingers in his hair to coax him farther down. He pushes your folds apart with his hand, bringing his face in close to inspect your swollen cunt, chuckling as it clenches. Your clit pulses as you wait for him to bring his mouth to it.

But then he's pulling away from you, sitting back on his heels. "I'm going to fuck you now.” He holds you open with one hand and strokes his dick with the other. You bite your lip to hide your disappointment and nod.

There's nothing disappointing about Jimin's dick though. He knows how to use it well. It's not until you're both sweaty, sated and lying in each other's arms that you remember your earlier disappointment.

"Jimin?" You trail a finger over his chest. "Can I ask you a question?"

He gives a soft murmur of assent as he presses a contented kiss to your forehead. His hand strokes lazily up and down your arm.

"Why do you never go down on me?"

His hand stops moving.

You press on. "I blow you all the time, but you never go down on me."

"I don't know.” He shifts underneath you, his eyes not meeting your gaze. "Just like other stuff better."

"Well, sure," you reply, kissing his chest. It had never been your favorite activity either, always making you a bit self-conscious. But it was quickly becoming the thing you most wanted, simply because he wouldn't let you have it. "But it's always fun to try new things."

He continues to duck your gaze as he unwraps his arm from you and scoots away from you over to his side of the bed.

Maybe he was insecure about this particular activity? You slide in next to him and kiss his shoulder. "I bet you'd be really good at it.”

He shifts away from you again, frowning as you continue to chase him across the bed. "I just don't like it, okay?"

Your mouth falls open in shock. It’s such an un-Jimin-like reaction. He's always so generous with everything in your relationship.

"Why?" Did he have some terrible previous experience he didn't want to discuss? What kind of traumatic cunnilingus backstory would leave him this turned off?

"I don't know." He rolls over so his back is to you. "Can't you drop it?"

"No, I'm not going to drop it!" You sit up and nudge his shoulder. "Are you saying you'll never do it?"

He turns back over to face you, licking his lips. "Would you break up with me if I was?"

"What?"

"How big of a deal is it?"

"I don't know." It never occurred to you that you might face a relationship ultimatum over oral sex. You’re madly in love with Jimin. He’s the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. Surely that matters more than how much time he spends between your legs.

"Is there something wrong with me?" you ask. Did you taste bad? Smell funky?

“No!" Jimin's eyes widen and he shakes his head. “No, no, it’s just...” He sits up, sighing as he leans back against the headboard. "I was waiting to tell you this until we'd been together a bit longer." He runs a hand through his hair as he gathers his thoughts.

What secret has your boyfriend been keeping from you all this time? Does he have some weird STD that is only spread through oral? Is he allergic to vagina?

"My tongue is cursed." He rubs the back of his neck, sighing as if relieved of some terrible burden.

You laugh out loud. Of all the explanations you had concocted, none were as ludicrous as this.

"Don't laugh." Jimin frowns, kicking the bed.

"Your tongue is cursed?" It's impossible to not laugh when you say it out loud. "Like by a witch?"

"No, not by a witch, don't be absurd." He squirms and pulls his knees up to his chest. "I'm part demon."

You snort in laughter again. But Jimin looks so hurt by the sound that you bite your tongue.

"My great-grandfather on my father's side was a demon,” Jimin elaborates, staring down at his hands.

“Wait, are you serious?” You arch an eyebrow, afraid of appearing to actually believe him just for him to tease you.

Jimin groans in frustration, twisting the bedsheets in his hands. "I didn't believe my mom when she told me either. But it's true. My grandmother swore it was true."

"Let me get this straight." You sit up a bit straighter, eyeing him skeptically. "The reason you won't go down on me is that you are one-eighth demon, and your tongue is cursed."

He bites his lip and nods.

"Jimin, that's ridiculous."

His shoulders slump as he curls in on himself. You're still waiting for the "gotcha!" you think is coming, but he looks sad and embarrassed.

"Fine," you sigh, willing to hear him out. "What kind of demon?"

He picks his head up and licks his lips. "An incubus."

"Your great-grandfather devoured the souls of women through sex?"

Jimin shifts back and forth, rubbing his hands up and down his legs. "Grandma said he was very handsome."

Your boyfriend is very handsome too. But that doesn't mean he's part demon.

"He didn't hurt anyone." Jimin tries to defend his clearly fictional demon great-grandfather. "He just, you know, hooked up with a lot of women."

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "So which parts of you are demon then?"

"Just my tongue."

"Be serious."

"I am being serious! Look!" He sticks his tongue out as far as it will go. It's very long, reaching all the way to his chin. And it's pointy. But it seems to be a perfectly normal tongue.

"It doesn't look cursed to me."

"It's so long though," he mumbles, having difficulty pronouncing the words with his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

"Yeah, but not like supernaturally long." You argue, leaning in closer to inspect the potentially cursed muscle. He wiggles it back and forth as if that will convince you there's something unusual about it. "What does that even mean, a cursed tongue?"

Jimin draws in a deep breath, as if about to reveal a deep, dark secret.

"Any girl that I get off with my tongue…“ He pauses for dramatic effect, narrowing his eyes, “can never come again."

His proclamation hangs in the air of your bedroom, as he waits for you to gasp in shock. You raise an eyebrow instead. "Ever?"

"Except!" He holds up a finger. "On my tongue."

You can't hold back the laughter this time. "So is there some horde of perpetually horny women out there, dying to experience your tongue again?"

He shakes his head and chews on his lower lip. "I've never done it with anyone before." He begins twisting the bedsheets in his hands again. "I didn't want to risk it being true. My mom was really serious when she explained it."

"That's an awkward conversation to have with your mother."

Jimin finally laughs. "Yes, yes it was."

His change in demeanor brings you some relief. But it can't be true. There's no such thing as demons.

"You sure you're not making up excuses to not reciprocate?"

"I'm not making it up!" Jimin smacks the bed in emphasis. "I'm dying to go down on you!"

"You are?" Your earlier arousal knocks between your legs again.

"Yes!" He pushes his hair off his forehead. "Every time I get down there, all I want to do is suck on your needy little clit." Your core clenches and you squirm on the bed next to him. He eyes you up and down and smirks. "To make you fall apart with my tongue." He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you in close enough to whisper in your ear. "To be surrounded by you as you come on my face."

"Would it be so bad if we tried it?" you ask, squeezing your thighs together to cope with the tension building between them.

"You'd want that?" His eyes widen and he licks his lips in excitement. "Even if the curse is real?"

"Yes, I'd want that." He's so excited that you don't have the heart to tell him that there's no way the curse is real.

Jimin giggles with delight, gathering your hands into his. "You know I love you right?" He kisses each of your hands. "I love you so much."

"I love you too Jimin," you reply and he pulls you in for a long kiss. His reaction would make you think he'd asked you to marry him.

"We can't do it tonight though," he mutters, frowning. “I’m leaving tomorrow."

Shit. The boys are leaving for their world tour tomorrow. A fact that has slipped your mind in the whole your-boyfriend-might-be-a-demon discussion.

"What better way to say goodbye?" You whisper, leaning in and planting light kisses up and down his neck. You're not going to let some weird family legend stand in the way of your boyfriend getting you off one more time before he disappears for a month.

"You sure?" Jimin raises an eyebrow. "A month is a long time to go."

"I think I'll survive." You've dealt with Jimin's absences before. You don’t like them, but you can’t admit to him how much they bother you. And curses aren't real.

Jimin's whole attitude changes, a dangerous glimmer in his eye. "Yeah?" He kisses your neck as his hand sneaks down between your legs. You're still sensitive and wet and you flinch when he slips his fingers into you, your arms breaking out in goosebumps. "Is this where you want my tongue?" he teases as his index finger brushes against your clitoris.

"Jimin, please," you whine. He pulls his hand back, but you slide your hips forward, chasing after him. You've been waiting for months and all he wants to do is tease.

"So needy..." The smirk on his lips and predatory gleam in his eyes have you almost believing he is a demon. "It's like you want to give me all your orgasms."

"Curses aren't real," you gasp as he sucks a long kiss into your neck.

"Maybe you don't care if it's real." He trails kisses downward. "Maybe you want me to claim all your pleasure for myself." It's embarrassing the way more arousal drips from you at the idea. "Maybe you want to be alone and desperate, unable to satisfy yourself without me."

It's probably your mind playing tricks on you, but his mouth feels hotter than usual. It burns everywhere he touches you. He pauses his trail downward to suck on your nipple and you arch your back to press into him further.

"I like that idea," he says, releasing your breast and continuing his burning trail downwards. "That no other man will ever be able to satisfy you." He slips his fingers back inside you and you moan. "No toy, no dick, not even your own fingers will be able to bring you relief." His tongue inches downward, interrupted by lingering kisses. Your core is so swollen with arousal, the ache inside you so desperate. He smiles as he curls two fingers upward, so slowly that your thighs begin to tremble. "Every single one of your orgasms will belong to me."

"Please, Jimin." You're going to lose your mind if he keeps teasing like this. You roll your hips against his hand, trying to get his fingers in deeper.

"Is that what you want?" he asks. His mouth is so close you can feel his warm breath on your sensitive swollen skin. "Do you want to give me all your orgasms?"

He looks so serious when he asks, it almost makes you believe. But curses and demons aren't real. It's just a game. A game you’re both enjoying.

"Yes," you whisper. "I want you to have them all, Jimin."

"Good girl." He closes his eyes and exhales, then finally - finally - brings his mouth to your clitoris.

The surge of heat on the swollen bud almost has you coming the moment he takes it into his mouth.

"Holy shit," you groan, rocking your hips upward.

"Easy..." Jimin soothes, placing a firm hand on your hips to hold you down. "I'll take care of you." Then he buries himself between your legs.

His tongue alternates hard and soft as it strokes your clit. Any reservations he had about this have disappeared with the way he relishes you. He slides his fingers inside you and pairs each stroke of his tongue with internal pressure from his fingers. You pulse with arousal inside and out. You wind your fingers through his soft hair and he groans a deep satisfied rumble.

"Please, please," you beg, tugging him against you as you get closer and closer to the edge.

"That's it." He pulls off one last time to catch his breath. "Let me have it." His thumb rolls slowly over your clit as he watches you from between your thighs. "Come for me. Be mine."

He dives back in, the pace of his fingers curling inside you matching the figure-eights his tongue weaves over your clitoris. Heat radiates from his tongue, burning and tingling, so pleasurable it's almost painful. Warmth spreads through you, flowing into you and flooding up your spine and down to your toes. You tug harder on his hair. The groan he releases sends vibrations throughout your core, pushing you over the edge.

"Fuck, Jimin, I'm coming," you gasp. Your muscles clench around his fingers and your hips rock against his face as waves of pleasure cascade through you. It lasts for an eternity as he keeps stroking you, perfectly in time to the rhythms inside you. He keeps at it until you finally whine and squirm away, everything becoming too much.

"That's my girl." He smiles as he places a soft kiss on your inner thigh and chuckles when your skin trembles in response.

Minutes pass as you recover your breath. Jimin's head is still between your legs, trailing soft kisses up and down your inner thigh. It tickles and you try to squirm away, but his grip on your hips is too tight.

"Jimin," you whine, wiggling beneath him.

He ignores you, trailing his wet fingers up and down your leg.

"You know," he says, resting his chin on your thigh. "If the curse is real..."

"The curse is not real, Jimin.”

"If the curse is real,” he talks over you, pinching your inner thigh and making you jump, “then that was your last orgasm for a month." He looks so pleased with himself, dark eyes full of mischief. Your skin tingles under his hungry gaze and you begin to heat up again. "Seems a shame to leave it at that."

"Jimin," you sigh. "I'm not sure I have another one in me tonight."

"Oh, come on." He dives back into you, bumping his nose into your clitoris and causing your whole body to jolt. "I can't leave you with just one." He nuzzles against you. "How will you manage?"

A slight pang of pain hits you that he’s going to be gone for so long. But you don’t want him to see it, so you play sarcastic. "I have a vibrator."

"You do?"

"How else do you think I deal with your touring schedule?"

"Dirty girl..." He nips playfully at your inner thigh. "Where is it?"

You blush. "Under the bed."

"What?" His eyes widen in surprise. He swings his head over the side of the bed, inspecting underneath it. "There's nothing but shoes down here," he says as he hangs upside-down searching for your vibrator.

"In the Adidas box." You hide your face behind your hands as he climbs off the bed.

"Look at you," he teases. "Hiding sex toys in shoeboxes. You are dirty." He laughs a delighted laugh when he opens the correct box and you curl in on yourself further. He climbs back on top of you, pulling your hands away from your face.

You laugh when you see him, a small bullet vibrator hanging by its cord from between his teeth.

"I want to see it," he says as he drops the vibrator into your hands. "Show me how you get yourself off, if I'm not around to do it."

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "Two is kind of my max. I don't know if I can."

"I believe in you, sweetheart." Jimin sits back on his heels to watch you, keeping his hand on the controller connected to the vibrator in your hand.

Your heart beats faster as he stares at you. His semi-erect dick dangles between his spread knees.

"Go on," he encourages, turning the vibrator on.

You move the vibrator down between your legs. It makes a spluttering sound as it encounters your wet folds.

"Listen to that." Jimin smiles and scoots forward on his knees, licking his lips. "Listen to how wet you are. I bet you can come again."

The vibrator does feel good against your sensitive skin and watching him watch you fills you with an arousing mix of embarrassment and confidence. The pleasure builds quickly, everything still wound up from your previous orgasm.

He increases the speed on the vibrator. "Are you getting close?" he asks, his own erection rising as he watches you.

You groan and nod, rolling the vibrator in circles across your palm, grinding it into your clitoris. The sounds of the vibrator, the sloppy wetness of your arousal, and your panting breaths fill the room as Jimin waits to watch you come.

But the closer the edge of your pleasure gets, the more distracted you become. He's just sitting there waiting, with that smug grin on his face. What if you can't come? What if he thinks this stupid curse is real? You just came, it's perfectly reasonable that you might not be able to come again right now.

The further you get into your own head, the further your climax drifts away.

"It's not working, is it?" He strokes his now fully erect cock and wiggles his eyebrows. "Need some assistance?" He turns up the vibrations to their maximum setting.

The drive to come surges back as you press harder against yourself with the vibrator and watch him stroke himself. He shuffles forward on his knees, until his dick is right next to your face.

"Suck my cock," he urges, nudging your cheek with his erection. "Do a good job and I'll let you come."

You want to roll your eyes at the suggestion that he has any control over whether or not you come, but his erection is too tempting. You sit up slightly and draw him into your mouth.

"That's a good girl," he groans. "My desperate little cockslut."

He's so hard on your tongue. You let go of the vibrator to angle yourself better. He moans when you sink down so far that your nose bumps into his pubic bone.

"Fuck," he exhales and his hands tremble as he caresses your cheek. "You take it so well." He picks the vibrator back up from where you dropped it onto the bedspread and positions it back between your legs. You jolt and moan, sending vibrations through his dick. He threads his fingers into the hair at the back of your neck, easing you up and down his cock.

You hover at the edge of coming, so debauched and needy and desperate to please him. He rolls the vibrator faster around your clitoris and you're so close. "Can you come for me?" he whispers, stroking your hair. "I want to see you come with my cock in your mouth."

You groan and rock your hips back and forth against his hand, chasing the edge as he guides you up and down his dick. But you can't quite get there. Every time you reach the tipping point, his cock bumps into the back of your throat and you gag.

"You can't do it, can you?" he teases, pace increasing as he gets more and more excited. The vibrator drops to the bed as he uses both hands to grip the back of your head. "You're mine now. All your orgasms are mine," he chokes out as he loses control of himself and comes down your throat, holding you to him and forcing you to swallow his whole release.

His thighs tremble as he sinks down onto the bed. "I love you," he says, kissing your cheek. He folds his arms behind his head, closing his eyes and sighing happily. Your core aches, but Jimin looks like he’s about to fall asleep.

“Hey!” You poke him in the ribs. "You can't leave me like this."

He opens one eye and laughs. "You admitting that you need me?"

You pout, not wanting to admit anything, but really wanting to get off one last time before bed. He's leaving tomorrow. Just because you want him right now doesn't mean you're cursed.

"Please, Jimin." You nudge the vibrator back into his hand, core clenching again when he takes it from you. "Help me."

"Of course." He smiles and kisses you again, before scooting down the bed and positioning himself between your legs one last time.

"So wet and swollen," he teases, as he traces a finger up and down your labia, chuckling as it twitches.

"Quit teasing," you groan, smacking his hand in irritation.

"Yes, dear." He brings the buzzing vibrator back to your clitoris and your hips buck upward to meet him. You're so close to coming you cry out, reaching out for him and grabbing on to whatever you can reach. One hand grips his shoulder as the other tangles into his hair. "That's it," he murmurs. "Come for me."

His warm wet tongue slides in next to the vibrator and you shatter into a million pieces.

Your fragmented mind floats above you as you tense in pleasure, every muscle contracted as it all becomes too much. You sob as your third orgasm of the night is ripped from you. Jimin massages both the vibrator and his tongue against you, pulling every last drop of arousal from you.

You collapse into a pile of jelly. "Fuck," you breathe out. "That was amazing."

"Glad you enjoyed it." Jimin beams from between your legs, giving one small kiss to your pubic mound before sliding back up and cradling you in his arms. "Hope it was worth it," he mumbles, kissing your forehead as you close your eyes.

You nuzzle into his warm, muscular chest. It certainly seems worth it right now. But curses aren't real. It's the last thing you think before you fall into a deep satisfied sleep. Curses aren't real.

______

You roll over the next morning to find Jimin’s side of the bed empty. Running water in the bathroom tells you he’s already up and getting ready to leave.

There’s a tingle between your legs, an echo of the night before. Your legs and crotch are slick with a mix of saliva, arousal and sweat. It should be disgusting, but it makes you smile mischievously. Memories of last night replay in your mind as you slide your hand down between your legs and contemplate how you got so messy.

The bathroom door is closed. You wiggle over to Jimin’s side of the bed and pick up his phone. It’s 5:30 am. Do you have enough time to talk him into coming back to bed? Your core pulses and you run a teasing finger around it. It’s so sore that it almost hurts to touch it. Almost, but not quite enough to stop you. You miss the heat of his mouth, the possessive way he talked, his groans of pleasure as he consumed you.

“Jimin,” you call out, unable to wait for him any longer.

The running water stops. “Yeah?” he calls out, not opening the door.

“Are you almost done in there?”

“One second.” The water switches back on briefly before he shuts it off and opens the door.

Jimin is shirtless, patting his face dry with a towel. You lick your lips at the sight of him, the tingle between your legs escalating to full ache. He’s dressed in only black slacks, hair wet and tousled from his shower. Your core pulses as you watch a drop of water from his hair drop onto his chest and trail down the muscular planes of his stomach.

His eyes rake over you, making you feel naked despite the covers. You pull your hand away from yourself, embarrassed. Your possibly demonic boyfriend smirks.

“Last night not enough for you?” He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe, looking all too pleased with himself. “Greedy girl.”

You want to scoff at him, but your pussy clenches traitorously instead. His dark eyes burn even hotter, as if he knows.

He chuckles. “I’d offer to help you out, but I just washed my face.”

You roll your eyes and squirm under the covers. “There are other ways to help me.” You don’t need his tongue. His fingers or his cock would do just as nicely.

“Yeah?” He raises an eyebrow as he walks over to his nightstand and picks up his phone. “I’ve only got ten minutes before the car arrives though.”

The pang of distress at his leaving returns. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

“I thought you could use the rest.” He laughs and kisses you on the forehead. “I didn’t want to wake you earlier than I had to.”

It feels especially hard to say goodbye today. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I bet you will,” he replies, striding across the room to fish a white button-down shirt from the closet, still smirking. “A month is a long time to go.”

“I like more about you than just the sex.” You cross your arms and pout. “Won’t you miss me?”

Jimin laughs brightly as he buttons up his shirt. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to you. “Of course, I’ll miss you.” He takes your hands in his, squeezing gently. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” It doesn’t feel like enough to convey how much you’re going to miss him. But you don’t want to be that needy girl who begs her boyfriend to stay.

He smiles and picks up your hands, lifting them to his lips and kissing the back of each. Then he pauses and sniffs. He can smell the arousal on your hand and you are mortified. His eyes flick back up to your blushing face and he cocks an eyebrow, pleased smirk on his lips. "You sure you don't want my assistance one last time?"

You clench your thighs together and squirm under his heated gaze. "I wouldn't want you to be late." You can always get yourself off after he leaves.

"Yeah," he replies, glancing at his watch. "I should get going." He cups your cheek in his palm, tilting your chin up to give him a kiss goodbye.

You pour all your unspoken longing into your last kiss. His mouth is warm, his lips soft, and when his tongue enters your mouth, your whole body breaks out in droplets of sweat. You thread your fingers into his damp hair, pulling him closer as you moan against his lips.

He laughs as he pulls away from you. "So needy," he teases, wiping his lips with his thumb. "I like it." You want to scoff at how patronizing he sounds, but then he places a soft kiss on your forehead. "Be good for me," he whispers and you can't help the whine you emit as he lets go of you.

What is the matter with you? You've always prided yourself on being a mature adult who was respectful of his schedule, not some hormonal teenager who can't live without her boyfriend. You must be horny. As soon as he leaves, you can solve that problem and go about your day as usual.

You watch Jimin leave, admiring the way the tight black pants show off his best assets. "Hurry back!” you call after him. He blows you a kiss, and then he's gone.

The moment he's gone, you feel colder and emptier. You slide back down under the covers, drawing them up over your shoulders, and sighing broken-heartedly. It's dramatic, but no one is around to see you, so you let yourself wallow for a moment.

The tingle between your legs recaptures your attention. You glance over to the nightstand where your vibrator waits. Your pelvic muscles twitch in excitement. You scoop the vibrator up and sneak it under the bed covers.

You take your time easing into your arousal. You're still sore and sensitive from last night, so you don't go straight for the maximum setting. You tease yourself slowly, like Jimin would. His kiss lingers on your lips. Your fingers miss his soft hair. The vibrator echoes the burning, tingling pleasure of his tongue.

Just as you reach your plateau, cranking the vibrator to the highest setting and settling in for the home stretch, your phone buzzes.

Today 10:35 am

Jimin: What are you doing?

You: Nothing...

Jimin: Nothing? You sure about that? You sure you're not fingering that needy clit right now?

You: I am doing no such thing.

Jimin: You've got the vibrator out then.

You: Fuck. How do you know that?

Jimin: You seemed pretty needy when I left. ;)

You: Where are you?

Jimin: Pulling into the airport.

You groan out loud. The idea of him texting you filth while surrounded by his members made you flush with heat. You ignore him for a moment as you ride the wave of pleasure that surges through you at the thought.

Jimin: You going to answer me?

You: I have the vibrator.

Jimin: Dirty girl... Did you cum?

You: No, not yet

Jimin: Can't get it done without me huh?

You: just taking my sweet time. thank you very much. curses aren't real

Jimin: prove me wrong then. cum for me

Your clitoris throbs as you lower the vibrator back to it, buzzing excitedly. The edge of your orgasm hangs just out of reach. You read back Jimin's command and press the vibrator harder against yourself, rocking your pelvis up and down. It's right there. You ride the edge for a moment, then breathe out and let yourself tip over.

Your whole body goes numb. All feeling disappears, as if you are floating in mid-air, all sense of time and place gone and you feel nothing. Your pelvic muscles contract rhythmically, as if you’re having an orgasm, but you can’t feel it. You feel nothing.

Blinding pain rips through you. The vibrator is a curling iron pressed to your clit. The sheets burn everywhere they touch you. You cry out in shock and fling the source of pain away from you. You tear the bedcovers off as the vibrator clatters into the dresser on the far side of the room.

What the fuck just happened? The pain disappears as quickly as it appeared and you are the same, cunt still pulsing with arousal. You lie in a pool of sweat, panting.

You look over at Jimin's message. Should you tell him what just happened? What if he thinks it's the curse?

You shake your head. No. Curses aren't real. It must all be in your head.

Today 10:42 am

You: did it

Jimin: really?

You feel a slight twinge of guilt as you lie to him.

You: really

Jimin: oh...

Is he disappointed? Did he want you to have an ancient demonic curse? He told you to come for him. You watch typing bubbles appear and disappear several times, but no messages come through. You feel overheated and overwhelmed. You get up out of the bed, ignoring the ache between your legs, deciding to have a cold shower instead.

Jimin: getting on the plane now

You: okay, have a safe flight! I love you! Call me when you land!

Jimin: yup, will do

No "I love you too"? Was he mad at you? Upset? You frown as you stand in your bathroom and watch his flight take off on the flight tracker app on your phone.

_____

It’s a long eleven hours as Jimin flies to Los Angeles. Every time you think about him, the slight tingle between your legs returns. You make the shower ten degrees colder to try to calm yourself down, but it provides only temporary relief. You are on edge and restless all day, but too afraid of the strange thing that happened this morning to try masturbating again.

By the time midnight rolls around, you are very tired and very frustrated. You should go to bed and talk to Jimin in the morning. But as you watch the plane get closer and closer to landing, you can’t fall asleep.

His plane lands and you wait for him to text you. Five minutes go by, then ten, with no message. You can’t take it anymore.

Today 12:18 am

You: Did you arrive safely?

Jimin: Just landed

You: Can you talk?

He’s only been gone half a day, but it already feels too long. You’re annoyed with yourself for feeling this needy.

Jimin: Not right now. Maybe in a couple of hours

You: I have to go to bed…

Jimin: You should go to bed then

You frown. Usually he would plead with you to wait a little longer, or ask if he could wake you up when he was free. You’ve had many whispered conversations at 4 am because it was the only time he could talk.

You can’t let on how much you already miss him though. You don’t want to be one of those girls who becomes a burden. This was the trade-off to dating an idol.

You: Okay, good night then

Jimin: good night

You frown at your phone again, before finally giving up and setting it down on the nightstand.

You stare at the dark ceiling of your bedroom wishing he was here with you, instead of halfway around the world. You roll over and hug the pillow next to you. It smells like him. It triggers a deep knock of the same arousal that’s been haunting you all day. Maybe it would help you sleep if you got some relief.

You slip your fingers down into your underwear and find yourself already wet. You trail your fingers through the sticky wetness curiously. You are not usually this wound up so quickly. It’s ridiculous that the smell of him alone can get you this excited.

You bury your face in his pillow and inhale again, amazed as you feel another burst of wetness gush from you. God, you miss him. How do you miss him this much when he’s been gone less than a day? His arms, his hands, his tongue, his lips are all you can think about.

You sigh softly as you trail a damp finger up around your eager clitoris. You close your eyes and imagine the hand belongs to Jimin instead. He’s here with you. His lips on yours, his hand curled into your hair, whispering how you belong to him.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he whispers in your head. “Make yourself wet and desperate for me.” You groan as you pick up the pace of your hand. “Good girl, you’re doing so good.”

“Jimin, please,” you plead into the silence of your empty bedroom.

The Jimin in your head laughs. “You know it’s hopeless right?” he teases, smirking at you in that self-satisfied way where he knows he has you exactly where he wants you. “Every one of your orgasms belongs to me.”

You feel the edge of pleasure begin to slip away. You speed up your hand and chase after it, but it’s no use. The pleasure fades aways and you are left numb, empty and wet.

“Told you I was cursed,” imaginary Jimin teases. You huff in frustration, unwilling to give him the satisfaction, and roll over away from the pillow that smells like him. You shut your eyes tight. Curses aren’t real.

_______

Your dreams are full of Jimin. Jimin’s hands, Jimin’s chest, Jimin’s tongue. Over and over, he teases you toward your climax in your sleep. Always pausing, always stopping before you get to your end. By the time you wake up in the morning, you are swollen and dripping with need.

Your alarm sounds. It’s Monday. Work starts in an hour. You reach down and confirm how wet you are, more wet than you have ever been before. Your thighs slide past each other, slick with arousal. You can’t go to work like this.

It’s time to break out the big guns.

You lean over the side of your bed and fish out the other shoebox. The one you couldn’t tell Jimin about. The one that contains your dildo. Sometimes the vibrator alone wasn’t enough. Sometimes you needed a bit more. Sometimes you needed to be filled.

“Won’t do any good,” imaginary Jimin whispers in your head. You ignore him.

You slide the toy through your folds, slicking it up with your excessive wetness. The sides of your entrance tingle with heat as you stroke over them.

“Imagine it’s me,” Jimin teases. The fake cock heats up in your hands and you can almost believe it's his.

“Please, fuck me, Jimin” you beg, even though Jimin is thousands of miles away.

“Would if I could, sweetheart,” he answers. You picture him running his tongue over his plush lower lip. “But that’s not what you really want.”

“No such thing as curses,” you urge as you slide the dildo into you. “Fuck…”

Being finally filled again scratches an itch you hadn’t been able to before. It’s a pleasure and a relief all at once. The toy slides in easily with how soaking wet you are.

You pull up some porn on your phone and prop it against a pillow before grabbing the vibrator. You’re done fucking around. You need to get off right now and then go to work.

The porn isn’t very interesting though. The only thing you want to think about is Jimin. You close your eyes, listening to the audio but picturing your boyfriend. It doesn’t take long before you feel the pleasure crescendo. You let out a sob. It’s happening, it’s finally happening. You aren’t cursed.

The phone rings.

“Fuck!” You throw the vibrator down in frustration.

It’s Jimin. If it were anyone else, you would let it go to voicemail. But you really want to hear his voice. You turn the vibrator off so he won’t hear it, but keep sliding the silicone cock in and out of you.

“Hey babe,” Jimin’s voice is a little raspy. “I thought I could catch you before work. What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you lie, sliding the dildo further inside yourself and biting your lip to conceal a groan.

He chuckles. “Nothing?”

“Nothing. Getting ready for work.” You refuse to give him the satisfaction of admitting that you’re actually naked in bed, dripping for him. “What are you doing?”

“Finally made it to the hotel,” he groans. You can picture him stretching his arms over his head as he spreads himself across his big empty bed. “Was thinking about you. Thought you might be thinking of me.”

Does he know? How could he know? Does he have magical “knows when his girlfriend is horny” demon powers”?

Shit. No. Jimin is not a demon. There are no such things as demons.

“Did you just call for phone sex?” You want to sound irritated, but your pelvic muscles clench traitorously around the dildo.

“Can’t stop thinking about yesterday.” His voice gets lower and you can hear the slick sounds of his hand moving over his dick in the background. “You were so needy for me. I liked it.”

A sharp blade of anger slices through your fog of lust.

“Jimin.” You pull the dildo out of you, setting it to the side. “You can’t ignore me all day yesterday and then expect me to talk you off like nothing happened.”

“Aww, come on, we were so busy. I called you as soon as I got here,” he whines. “I’ll make sure you get off too.”

You aren’t sure he can. Not with his voice alone. You need him here with you. But you’re not going to admit that.

“I have to go to work.” You are rapidly running out of time.

“Don’t you miss me?” he asks. You can practically hear his pout through the phone.

“Do you miss me?” You want to know why he hadn’t called earlier, but you don’t want to seem too needy.

“Of course, I do, baby. I love you.”

The tension in you eases slightly. Maybe you had been making things up.

“Miss you so much,” he continues and you can hear the sounds of his jerking off pick up speed. “Miss that sweet little cunt.”

It’s just about sex. He doesn’t miss you, he just wants to get off. “I have to go Jimin.”

“What? No! Don’t go.”

“I’m going to be late for work.” You hang up on him, feeling a vindictive victory. Your core is still wet and aching, but your anger powers you long enough to get you up and into the shower.

______

One cold shower and a hot cup of coffee later and you are on your way to work.

The commute sucks. Your lingering arousal refuses to abate. Your mind dwells on Jimin. Sitting down on the subway has you springing to your feet as the train starts moving, vibrations from the rails threatening to have you soaking through your underwear. Memories of Jimin commanding you to orgasm echo through you as you fight to calm your breathing.

You haven’t heard from real Jimin since you hung up on him. He probably fell asleep.

At work, you shift uncomfortably at your desk. You try to answer some emails, but every few seconds your core pulses, forcing you to reposition yourself. Your clothes itch. Everything is too hot. You shrug off the cardigan that you usually need to cope with the building’s air conditioning system. But then you rush to put it back on when you notice how hard your nipples are, poking through your bra and shirt.

The only thing that can distract from the tingling all over you is the buzz of your phone.

Today 10:22 am

Jimin: I’m sorry :(

You: Go on…

Jimin: I’m sorry I ignored you. This whole thing has me a bit thrown off.

You: How so?

Jimin: I was just so sure that the curse was a real thing, you know? I felt pretty stupid that it wasn’t.

You bite your lip and shift uncomfortably in your seat, pressing your legs together. Should you tell him? No… curses aren’t real. You’re just missing your boyfriend. That’s okay.

You: It’s okay, Jimin. Thank you.

Jimin: Is it bad that I kind of wanted it to be real?

You: You did?

Jimin: Well, it’s pretty sexy right?

Sweat trails from your hairline down your neck.

You: I have to be able to live my life Jimin. Can’t be sitting around waiting for you.

Jimin: I’m sorry we’re gone so much.

Shit. Now you’ve made him feel bad for his work schedule, something you swore you’d never do.

You: It’s okay. I’ll be okay.

I’ll be okay. Curses aren’t real. I’ll be okay. Curses aren’t real.

You repeat the mantra under your breath until you make it to the end of the work day.

_______

The rest of the work week passes in much the same way, days of jaw clenching and sweating until you can rush home and lie in bed with the vibrator. You edge over and over, afraid of the pain you experienced last time, until you pass out exhausted.

You manage to make it to Friday. There’s a big meeting at nine. Your whole office, crammed into one conference room. At least this way you have an excuse to linger at the edge of the meeting, rather than sit leaking all over an office chair. It’s the first time you’ve had to be around this many other people at once.

“Do you think they can tell?” demon Jimin whispers in your head. “Do they know how wet and desperate you are right now?”

You teter at the edge of the room. You clench in horror as a drop of something begins running down the inside of your leg. You’re too far gone to tell if it is arousal or sweat.

A colleague next to you leans over to ask you a follow-up question on something your boss just said, but you cannot hear them over the buzzing in your head. They look at you in confusion. “Are you alright?”

No, you are not alright. You’re becoming dumber with each passing moment. Sweat beads up on the back of your neck. You mutter something about not feeling well and run for the restroom.

You slam the door to the stall behind you, ripping off your cardigan and undoing several buttons of the blouse underneath. You can’t breathe. You need air. You need relief. You slip your hand underneath your skirt. Your fingers are cool against your burning core. It’s a relief to touch yourself again.

“God, you’re a mess.” Jimin whispers in your head. You want to cry from how humiliating this is. “Can you imagine if they knew what you were doing in here?”

“Jimin…” you plead, unable to stop yourself.

“Shhh… ” he chuckles. “Don’t let them hear you.”

You bang your head back into the stall door in frustration. If you could just come, if you could just get five minutes of relief. Maybe the pain would be better, at least it would be a different sensation. You speed up your hand, chasing any form of relief.

“Such a dirty girl. Getting yourself off in the bathroom to the mere memory of me. What are we going to do with you?”

Your fingers slurp through the slick leaking from you. The noises fill the small office bathroom. It’s disgusting and debauched and you can’t stop yourself.

“Listen to that.” Jimin whispers. “You’re so hopeless.”

Your orgasm dances tantalizingly near, but your hand is starting to cramp up.

“Don’t stop now.” Jimin urges. “Keep rubbing. That’s it. The more desperate you are, the more control I have.”

“Fuck…” you curse.

The bathroom door opens, noises of chatter and typing pouring in from the larger office. “Everything okay in there?”

Your face burns with humiliation and your back drips with sweat. “I’m okay!” you call out, even though you aren’t, not even a little.

You’ll never get relief here. It takes all your strength to pull your fingers away from your swollen cunt. Especially with Jimin whispering in your ear to keep touching yourself.

You adjust your skirt and rebutton your blouse as best you can.

“Sorry,” you mutter as you emerge from the stall, not looking at the colleague who has come to check on you. “Stomach bug.” You hope your excessive sweating sells the idea that you are actually ill.

“Go home!” your colleague insists, waving their hands at you. “Don’t be spreading your norovirus around here.”

“Yeah, yeah, I think that is a good idea.” You nod, rinsing off your hands and patting a damp cloth on your face.

Imaginary Jimin grins, his dark eyes burning in your mind’s eye at the idea of having you all to himself again. “I think that’s a good idea too.”

_______

The first thing you do when you get back to your apartment is strip out of your clothes, leaving a trail of sweat-soaked clothing from your front door to the bedroom. You climb back into bed and grab the vibrator, hissing in relief as it clicks on, feeling like you can breathe for a moment.

“You know, you’re only going to make it worse.” Demon Jimin continues to taunt you. “The more you touch yourself, the more you’ll want me.”

“Please, Jimin, please,” you beg, even though there’s nothing your imaginary boyfriend can do for you.

“What will we do with you?” the demon smirks, tutting in mock disapproval. “Can’t even work a full day. How will you keep a job? I’ll have to take you everywhere with me, never too far away. My personal slut.”

“No, Jimin, please…” Everything hurts. Your folds are red and irritated. Your hand cramps from pressing the vibrator into you. But you can’t stop.

“It’s okay, my love. Keep rubbing yourself. Melt your brain away. Be mine. There’s nothing else you need to do. That’s my good girl.”

All conscious thought begins to slip from you. There is only aching burning need. Jimin’s voice echoes in your head, drowning out all your attempts to fight him.

“What an embarrassment you are. So wet and needy. Filthy girl. I won’t be able to take you anywhere. You’ll have to wait around my hotel room, begging me to take pity on you. My own horny little pet.”

Waves of desire roll through you, washing away any other aspirations. Just to be his. To be only his.

“Won’t that be easier? Nothing to worry about. No work, no chores. Your only job will be to stay wet and ready for me. And you’ll be so good at it. I’ll use you when I feel like it and only let you come once I’m satisfied. Every single orgasm will be mine.”

A groan rips from your throat, more animal than human. Tremors run up and down your spine.

“I’ll have to be careful not to let you come too often though,” Jimin teases. “I like you like this. All needy and desperate for me. Want to keep you like this. My brainless little fucktoy.”

You sob. He’s right. It’s all you’re good for now. Nothing but a shivering pile of desperation.

The only thing that saves you from drifting under the demon’s spell is the ring of your phone. Jimin is calling you. Real Jimin. Your only lifeline.

“Hello?” Your voice is raspy and parched. You click off the vibrator so he can’t hear it. But that only makes the need worse, so you replace it with your hand.

“Hello?” Jimin answers. “Are you sleeping?”

“No…” Should you be asleep? You have no idea what time it is.

“You sound weird.”

You switch the phone to speaker and rest it next to your head on the bed so he can’t hear your heavy breathing. “I’m fine.”

“Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you all week.” He sounds a bit upset, and very far away.

You have no answer. No, things were not okay, but there was nothing he could do about it when he’s thousands of miles away.

“Beg him,” demon Jimin whispers. “Go on, beg him to let you come. It will be funny.”

“I can’t,” you mutter under your breath, groaning in frustration.

“What?” Jimin’s voice calls from the phone. “I can’t hear you. Are you still there?”

“I… I can’t do this right now Jimin.”

“Are you still at work?” His tone has shifted from upset to confused.

“No, no, I went home.”

“Are you sick?” Jimin asks through the phone. “Hello?”

A small sob bubbles its way up out of your throat.

“This conversation is boring,” the Jimin in your head insists. “Turn the vibrator back on.”

“I don’t have time for this right now, Jimin.”

“What are you doing?” Real Jimin sounds worried. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Go on,” the demon whispers. “Tell him you can’t come without him. Tell him you belong to him now. Tell him his pathetic excuse for a girlfriend can’t live without him.”

“Jimin please!” you cry out. “I can’t do it anymore, please!” Tears are rolling down your cheeks. “Please let me come.”

“What? Are you playing with yourself right now?” he asks, incredulous.

Somehow the vibrator has turned back on and you rock against it, even as you wish you could stop. “I can’t help it,” you sob. “I can’t stop Jimin. I can’t stop.” You’re useless and pathetic. He’s going to leave you and you’ll never get relief again. “I’m sorry. Please let me come.”

“You can come! You can come!” he shouts through the phone, but of course, that does nothing to help you.

“I can’t come without you!” you sob. “You were right. The curse is real.”

“Huh? But, but... at the airport, you said you did.”

You groan, still chasing relief that isn’t coming. “I lied, Jimin, I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the phone. “Why would you lie to me?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know. But it’s real and I can’t… I can’t do anything without you. You have to come back.”

“I can’t come back. We have a show tomorrow.”

“ He’s not going to help you.” The demon is still there, waiting for you.

“Please, Jimin, please come home.” you beg. “I need you.”

“This is my job. I can’t leave.”

“What about my job, Jimin? What about my life? You can’t leave me like this!”

“It’s only been a week! Can’t you deal with it for a little longer?”

“Fuck you Park Jimin! You did this to me!”

“You said it wasn’t real!”

“He’s useless,” demon Jimin begins to drown out your boyfriend. “Come back to me. Be mine.”

“I have to go Jimin.”

“No, don’t hang up. We can figure this out.”

“You can’t help me.” You hang up the phone and toss it back onto your nightstand.

“Good girl.” The demon hisses in satisfaction. “Let it all go. Let your mind go.” You cry, still rocking against the vibrator, searching for relief that isn’t coming.

______

Your mind slowly leaves you over the next few days. You can get a few minutes of clarity if you’re willing to push yourself all the way over the edge, the searing pain providing you with enough mental clearness to call in sick to work or order food. But every time you do, it leaves you with even less with even less mental clarity.

At some point, you stop keeping track of the days. You stop sleeping. You stop eating. Eventually, even getting out of bed becomes too much work.

The bed sheets are wet, a mixture of sweat and vaginal secretions. You need to pee.

“God, you’re disgusting.” Demon Jimin laughs in your head. “He’s never going to want you now. Wet yourself like the animal you are and be done with it.”

You whine, hiding your face beneath your pillow and trying to distract yourself with the vibrator from the growing need to urinate.

The phone rings. Jimin is calling. He’s been calling for days, but you can’t answer him. You can’t let him know what you’ve become. He’ll never want you again.

There’s a loud banging on your front door. Who could that be? You haven’t ordered any food in a while, not really sure how long.

“Ignore it,” the demon instructs. “Lie here in this bed and piss yourself.”

You wrap the pillow around your head, unsure if you are trying to drown out the pounding on the door or the demon whispering in your ear.

“Open the door!” A loud, frantic voice carries through the door and you curl in on yourself. You don’t know who they are, but you can’t let them see. You can’t let them know. The pounding stops, followed by a loud thud that rattles the door on its hinges. “Goddamn it!” The voice shouts. Then, a softer voice calls through the door. “Baby, please open the door. Please, let me in.” It’s Jimin. Real Jimin. He’s here.

The overwhelming drive for him is the only thing that could propel you up and out of the bed. You’re shaky on your feet, a bit dizzy. The world is not entirely stable. But you manage to make it to the door and unlatch the lock before collapsing in a heap next to the entry.

For a second, there’s nothing. The door stays shut and you are worried that you hallucinated the whole thing. Of course he’s not here. He has more important things to be doing than dealing with his pathetic girlfriend.

But then the door bursts open.

“Babe?” Jimin calls for you as he steps into the apartment, kicking off his shoes. He’s wearing the same white dress shirt and black slacks that he left you in. Maybe he’s a figment of your imagination.

“Jimin…” You reach out for him, unable to believe he’s actually here, needing to feel whether or not he is solid.

“Shit.” His eyes widen as he finds you crumpled up and naked on the floor. “Are you okay?” He drops his overnight bag on the threshold and kneels in front of you, cupping your face in his hands. “Tell me what’s happening.”

You don’t know how to answer him. You don’t know what’s happening. But his fingertips are cool against your feverish, sweaty skin. He brushes the hair out of your face so he can look you in the eyes. You only know you need him.

“Jimin, I need you, please.” Your hands reach for him, searching for more of his skin to cool yourself against. You’re untucking his shirt from his pants and trying to undo his belt buckle, but he bats your hands away.

“Woah...” He grabs your hands to stop you as you battle him for his belt. “Babe, slow down, talk to me.”

He doesn’t want you. He’s repulsed by you. The demon was right. He’ll never touch you again. You’re worthless. You’re repulsive. You burst into tears. “Please, Jimin, please, I can’t,” you sob, nearly incomprehensible.

“Shh, shh...” He runs his hands over your shoulders. “Shh… it’s going to be okay. I’m going to take care of you.” He scoops you up into his arms and carries you down the hall, back toward your room. “I was so worried,” he says as he cradles you against him.

You can only respond by nuzzling your face into his chest, the cool cotton of his white shirt absorbing the heat from your skin.

“Your work called and said you haven’t been in since last week.” He kisses the top of your head and inhales the smell of your hair. “Why haven’t you been answering the phone?”

You ought to feel bad, but it was hard to feel too bad when you had what you finally wanted, Jimin back here with you.

“I thought something terrible had happened to you.” He pauses at the door to the bathroom, waiting for an explanation.

“It’s the curse,” you whine, covering your face with your hands. “I’m cursed. You cursed me.”

“I’m so sorry.” He set you down on the toilet, before turning on the shower. “I didn’t know it would be like this.” He places a soft kiss on your forehead and turns to leave the bathroom.

You panic. Where is he going? He can’t leave you like this. “Jimin, no, don’t leave.” You chase him out of the bathroom, catching him around the middle and clinging to his waist. “You can’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving,” he chuckles, trying to unfasten your arms from around him, but you refuse to let go. “I was just getting undressed.” He sighs, picking you up once again and carrying you back to the bathroom. He tries to set you down again, but you whine, clinging to his neck.

Giving up, he steps directly into the shower, still dressed, cradling you in his arms. The white dress shirt turns translucent as the water hits it, clinging to his skin. The water runs down his torso and thighs and you groan with need. The water is warm, but it feels cool compared to how hot your skin is.

“Jimin, please.” You’re begging again. “I need you.”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here,” he answers. Your legs tremble underneath you as he puts you back on your feet. He grabs the bottle of body wash and squirts out a generous dollop, lathering it up in his hands. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

It’s all you can do to stay standing as he caresses you. He removes the shower head from its hook so he can follow each soapy caress with water to wash you clean.

He starts with your neck, then your breasts, then your stomach, gentle hands massaging over you. It only makes the ache for him worse. He reaches the puffy and swollen labia and you gasp, legs trembling.

“Please, Jimin, please,” your endless chant of pleading begins again.

“Shh…. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He runs the showerhead over your aching core to rinse off the soap and your legs give out entirely. You collapse against the wall behind you, unable to support yourself. Still dressed in his soaking wet clothes, he kneels in front of you. He spreads your legs, investigating your swollen folds with his soapy hands. Your clitoris throbs, hard and angry and red. You shiver as he runs the water stream over again. “Does it hurt?” he asks, watching your face as he strokes over your tender core with his fingertips.

“No, no,” you shake your head emphatically. “Not anymore.” The only pain now is the distance between you. “Please, please, please…”

He slides closer to you, brushing his dark wet hair back off his forehead and licking his lips. He picks up one of your legs and wraps it over his shoulder, then the other, carrying you on his shoulders as he buries his face in your core. You are so on edge, have been on edge for so long, that you’re already at the peak of your arousal the moment his tongue touches you.

Something monstrous is building inside you. A sensation like nothing you’ve ever felt before moves through you as he moves his tongue in slow broad strokes over your clit. Flames of heat lick at your extremities, beginning in your fingertips and toes and spreading upward. Rising warmth builds in your belly as you ride his face, hips undulating in time with the bobbing of his head. Fear floods you as the memory of the searing pain returns from those moments you’ve gotten this close in the past. You tense up, gripping his shoulders tightly, afraid to let yourself tip over.

“It’s okay,” Jimin whispers, pausing for a second to admire you from between your thighs. “It’s okay to let go.” His warm wet tongue slides over your aching clit as his fingers penetrate you. A massive tremor rolls through you as all the pent of tension releases at once and you’re coming. Every muscle in your body seizes over and over as you grind against his face.

Rhythmic muscle contractions seize you as a rush of fluid shoots out of you, spraying Jimin right in the face. You’re screaming, but not from pain. There is no pain, only release, only relief.

“Woah.” Jimin gapes at you, your release dripping down his face and off his chin. Then he breaks into a huge smile. “That was amazing.”

You laugh out loud, relief washing over you. Your whole body turns to jello and you collapse into his lap.

“Thank goodness we were already in the shower,” he says, wiping his face with his hand and chuckling.

The two of you sit, holding on to each other under the stream of water, laughing. Finally, the mental fog begins to lift from your thoughts.

“How did you get here?” you ask, yawning as you do so.

“On a plane.” He laughs, nuzzling against your neck, arms wrapped around you.

You hit playfully on his chest, still covered in his soaking wet dress shirt. “You know what I mean, what about the tour?” You yawn again.

He mirrors your yawn, stretching his arms and groaning. “I have to go back in the morning. They managed to get me out of the press junkets for today by claiming I was sick, but I have to be back for the concert.”

“Do they know?” Your eyes are already closing as you lean against his warm firm torso.

“About the curse?” Jimin asks. “No…” he laughs. “No, I don’t think they’d let me leave if I told them it was because my girlfriend really needed to ride my face. I told them I had a family emergency.”

“I’m sorry, Jimin.”

He shakes his head. “I’m the one who should be sorry.” He turns your face toward him and kisses you. “It’s my fault. I never should have left you.”

You sigh, head resting on his shoulder. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.” He squeezes your hand where it is entwined with his in your lap. “But we’ll figure something out.” He sighs, leaning back against the wall, finger stroking your arm. “But right now we should get some sleep.”

He turns off the shower, stripping off his wet clothes and leaving them behind before scooping you up. Your head is floaty as he wraps you in a warm towel. You lean against the counter as he strips the sheets from the bed and replaces them with fresh ones, then comes back to lead you back to the bed. The two of you collapse into bed together and sleep overtakes you almost instantly.

______

Your dreams are full of Jimin again. Not teasing demon Jimin, but your warm loving boyfriend, stroking your hair and holding your hand.

You are surprised to wake up and find him watching you.

“I have a solution!” He chirps excitedly.

“You do?”

“Yes! Apparently the curse is in my saliva. So here!” He thrusts the bottle of lube from your nightstand into your hands. You look at it in confusion. “I spit in it!” he proudly declares.

“Um…” You hold the bottle at arm’s length. “Thank you?”

“This way, if I’ve been gone too long, you have a way to get off without me.”

“How do you know it will work?”

He laughs sheepishly. “I, uh, called my mom.”

“Ugh, no…” You hide your head under the covers in embarrassment. “What did you tell her?”

“It was an awkward conversation.” He laughs again. “But I couldn’t let you go through that again. She swears this will work.” He glances down at his watch. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to test it out with you.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Think you can get it done before I get on my plane?”

“I suppose there’s one way to find out…”

Jimin disappears under the bed and returns with both your vibrator and dildo. “Better get going then,” he teases, before giving you one last kiss. “I’ll text you when I land. I love you.”

You stare at the assortment of sex toys and lube now spread out on your bed. “You’re just going to leave? I don’t have to go with you?”

“Do you want to go with me? I thought you had work.”

“Well, yeah, I mean, I do, but… I thought you were going to make me your personal sex slave.”

“Um, I wasn’t planning on it.” He laughs, then a more mischievous smirk spreads over his face. “Unless you want me to.”

You laugh in relief even as a lick of heat curls in your belly. “Perhaps that’s a game best left for when you are in town.”

He winks. “Looking forward to it.”

#HAPPY HALLOWEEN!#jimin smut #jimin x reader #btssavedmylifeblr

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phantomwarrior12 · 3 years

Text

Difficult Adjustments (Chapter 2)

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, PTSD (if I missed any warnings, let me know and they will be added)

Sweet Beginnings (Chapter 1)

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

"I want him."

Her words still echo through his mind as they make their way from Spider's lair. It's surreal - he's free.

Everything within surges with a sort of exhilarated thrill at the prospect of...anything really. But he must remain composed, if for no other reason than to ground himself in the sea of euphoria he's currently floating in.

He's free.

And she's beside him with every step. Their hands brush every so often with each stride - how he longs to take it.

Not yet. It isn't safe yet.

But as they emerge from the lair, Crow has a moment to take in the Tangled Shore. The soft breeze against his skin, that mangled sort of scent that reminded him that this was home.

"Now what?" Glint asks, hovering just over Crow's shoulder. Even his little light sounds uncertain and it brings him a modicum of comfort.

"I-I don't know. It doesn't feel real...Freedom." His own uncertainty slips into his voice as he pivots to look at her, "Why would you do this for us?"

She takes half a step closer, nodding solemnly as she speaks, "Because...you're a Guardian."

Crow watches her Ghost bob in agreement and he manages a smile. He suspects there's more to it than that but for now, it's answer enough. He casts one last glance over the Shore before nodding, "Then I suppose it's time to go."

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

"You're...sure this is alright?"

The Young Wolf bumps into him playfully as she moves past him toward the wall of the next building to continue her ascent through the Tower. She's grabbing onto poles and ledges and Crow is having some difficulty keeping up with her.

"It'll be fine! Besides, you've been in the HELM for awhile. You need to see the City some. We did promise to show you her sunset spot." Ghost supplies as Crow reaches for a ledge.

"But Osiris said not to leave the HELM." He protests feebly, making no move to act on his objections.

"We'll be back before he even notices." He assures him confidently before darting back to his Guardian.

"They must do this often...disobeying authority, I mean." Glint remarks, watching the Guardian before them.

"You might be right...but I suppose if anyone will get away with a stunt like this, it's her." Crow chuckles softly.

"And what about us?"

"What about us? This was her idea." He smirks, pausing to look at his companion.

"...hopefully Osiris sees it that way." Glint grumbles.

"We'll be fine, Glint. Don't worry so much. Osiris isn't like Spider...any punishment won't come at the cost of our lives." His voice softens. For a moment, the memories flare and his grip on the ledge falters. He snaps to just as he starts to fall backward.

"Crow!"

It's Glint who calls out but it's her hand that locks around his, tugging him back against the wall from above. Sunset darts upward, staring down the vibrant red visor before managing an appreciative nod.

She gives him another tug and he takes the signal to climb the last foot to the top of the building with her firmly holding his hand to keep him from falling. He clambors over the edge and heaves a sigh, "Thanks."

She elbows him lightly, the way she used to when they would spar. Before she helped him refine the speed of his attacks, he'd have the occasional...clumsy counter. It wouldn't look anything like a Hunter should be - lacking any prowess and swiftness. She's taking a jab at him with that elbow to remind him and he shoulders her back lightly.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh at the New Light."

She does just that, though he notices the subtle shake of her shoulders over the sound of her laugh. The wind is too loud, tossing their cloaks around them and the flags the billow along the otherside of the building.

He turns, his breath catching in his throat when he sees the landscape stretching out before them. Just beyond the Traveler, the sun has begun to set, painting the sky a myriad of crimson, gold and rose.

"...you weren't kidding about the view." He says softly as she steps up beside him.

Her fingers entwine with his and he barely has a moment to register her touch before she's pulling him over to the ledge. She wouldn't push him off - would she?

The thought is fleeting and vanishes as she takes a seat, giving his hand a light tug to encourage him to sit beside her. He does as she directs and his legs hang over the building ledge beside hers. Below them, the City draws their eyes out toward the wall and the valley just beyond.

"It's...beautiful," he whispers as the wind catches his hood and blows it back onto his shoulders. This is nice. This is...he could get used to this.

Perhaps it's a dangerous line of thought. Perhaps all of this will end very badly. But he will still have this moment at her side. Her hand entwined with his on her thigh and - her head is propped against his shoulder. Her hood is still up, her helmet still in place but she's leaning into him. He can't quite quell the smile that slips easily into place as he gazes down at her.

Some part of him wants to see her face, to gaze into her eyes beneath the Traveler and just get lost for a moment. The inclination to kiss her strikes him but he doesn't even know where to begin.

No. Things are fine as they are. He can hold her like this. He can enjoy her touch and her proximity - just for a little while.

"So...this is your favorite view in the City?"

She nods silently, beginning to absently trace the pad of her thumb over his knuckle.

When had she removed her gloves?

It's...a new sensation to him. To hold her hand, to feel the calloused skin of her palm against his. Her grip is firm yet gentle, warm and tangible and there. He never wants to let go. Perhaps that's why he squeezes, why he leans his head down against hers and just...smiles.

This is home now.

"Enjoying yourselves?"

"Uh oh," Glint mumbles.

The chiding voice behind them startles Crow. His head snaps upward, the smile all but vanishing. But the voice doesn't belong to Spider and the Young Wolf radiates more annoyance than anything else beside him. Crow shifts, looking over his shoulder at the source and cringes.

"Guardian, I trust you have a good reason for taking our new friend on an escapade?" Osiris folds his arms over his chest in mild annoyance.

The Young Wolf shrugs, laying down on her back and looks up at him. Crow is vaguely aware of the the fact that she hasn't released his hand, but what surprises him the most is how nonchalant she is when she gives Osiris a wave.

"Would you believe us if we told you it was for sparring practice?" Ghost offers weakly, though amusement dances on the edge of his voice.

"No. I don't believe I would."

"No one can see us up here," the Young Wolf says at last, "He's safe."

"That's not the point--"

"I can head back--" Crow interjects, already beginning to get to his feet. He doesn't want to be the cause of any trouble - trouble leads to consequences and--

She tugs him back down beside her, "I promised him a sunset. I'll bring him back in one piece, Osiris. Promise."

The elder Warlock looks at her skeptically, but her expression is veiled beyond her visor. Does she do that on purpose? Make herself unreadable so people can't argue? Can't see through whatever web she's weaving? Crow wonders how she's so calm all the time and it suddenly all makes sense.

Being the Vanguard's favorite Guardian, Shaxx's champion, Drifter's partner...it all gives her a certain degree of freedom - and she's capitalizing on it for his benefit.

Just as she played Spider.

He looks down at her for a long moment in awe before meeting Osiris's gaze, "Just until sunset?"

"...very well." Osiris relents with a heavy sigh, "Wear the mask if you go through the City."

"I will." Crow promises with a smile.

"On your way back to the HELM, go see Saint." The Young Wolf adds sternly, "He misses you."

Crow watches the Warlock pause, and he wonders if he detects a degree of hesitancy in his eyes before he leaves without a word.

"He and Saint are--?"

"Together," Ghost supplies, "Some say married, others say courting. Personally, our money is on married, I don't know anyone who would break time itself just to rescue a potential boyfriend. We've got a bet going with Drifter about who can find out the fastest what the truth is."

"Huh." Crow nods with a smile. "Didn't think Osiris had those kinds of emotions."

"He plays the stoic mentor, but he's got all sorts of emotions pent up in that head of his." Ghost returns with a bobbing nod.

"Right." He shifts his gaze back to her, but she seems oblivious. Her hold on his hand had loosened ever so slightly and she seems lost in thought. "Everything alright?" He asks tentatively.

Her head tilts toward him for a moment, as if she's looking right through him, as if he isn't even there.

"Guardian?" There's a sliver of concern easing in his voice. When she doesn't answer, he squeezes her hand and she jerks, snatching her hand back.

"Hey, it's alright," he holds his hands up and leans back. "Just me."

She stares at him for a long moment before her eyes drop. "Sorry," she murmurs.

"What happened?" He asks softly, lowering his hands.

"...just thinking," her head turns back toward the Traveler, "about how much has changed."

"Change is...good, right?"

"It is and it isn't," her thumb grazes the holster that houses her hand canon, the ace peeking out from beneath the strap over it.

His eyes drift from the weapon back to her visor. He can't say he's a fan of this line of thought, she sounds...full of regret, full of grief.

Crow slides a little closer, gently wrapping his arms around her and she goes rigid.

"In this case...it was good," he says softly.

He can feel the tension draining away as she returns his embrace, laying her head on his chest. "It is," she whispers.

Her embrace is tight and desperate, but he enjoys it all the same. It's her after all. His Hunter. His Old Light. He is at ease only at her side and he prays that never changes.

"So, how about that sunset?" Glint manages, drawing both Hunters' eyes to the Traveler and the sun descending in the sky.

Crow smiles, giving the Young Wolf a light squeeze, "Better than the Shore."

And she laughs.

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

"You were seen!"

"At that distance, in the dark? No.”

"Enough to put a name to a dead man’s face. The commander told Ikora. Thankfully, he passed you off as a hallucination.” Osiris rages and the Young Wolf looks visibly uncomfortable as a third party observer.

Crow narrows his eyes at Osiris, “An assassin was inside our walls. I had to do something.”

“This isn’t the first time an enemy has infiltrated the City, and it won’t be the last. Your concern is noted, but far from a crisis.”

“An attempted assassination isn’t a crisis?” Crow asks, staring at the elder Warlock incredulously.

“Zavala is quite capable of dispatching a lone Psion.” Osiris returns easily. He’s dismissive and Crow doesn’t appreciate being brushed aside so easily.

“He was distracted. Soon to be Lightless. If I wasn’t—“

“Unmasked?” Osiris interrupts, leaning forward, “Didn’t the Spider teach you that even small mistakes bring large consequences?”

His temper flares. Spider taught him a lot of things - mostly to be afraid. To bow his head and his knee and follow orders. To be submissive. To grovel and be wary. To be an animal and not a man.

But she changed that when she forced Spider to let him go. And he will never go back to the way that he was.

“I suppose you learned that chasing Xivu Arath,“ Crow bites back sharply.

He hadn’t - the glint in his mentor’s eyes when he shifts strikes him to his very core. When Osiris takes half a step forward, his fingers poised toward the Hunter in a point, “Choose your next words wisely.”

To his right, the Young Wolf looks between them. He can sense her uneasiness, the uncertainty all too evident in her stance. She doesn’t know who to side with, who to console and who to reprimand in that moment.

The tension triggers something in the back of Crow's mind. A nagging sense he'd gained from one too many conflicts with Spider. He knows when to relent. When to reign in his...insolence, as Spider often referred to it.

It's what he knows and it seems a suitable response in that moment.

He was out of line with that remark and he knows that. But the alarm in his mind screams for him to smooth things over - his life is on the line, isn't it? His place in the City?

He shifts, avoiding the Warlock’s gaze but even across the table, the anger is suffocating. There is a shadow of shame in his voice when he manages to find the words - at least when he begins. “I should have kept my mask on, but I don’t regret acting. I still think Zavala’s in danger.”

Osiris seems to relax, stepping back to where he had been when he speaks. “That is why I’m embedding you as his bodyguard.”

“Is that…wise?” Crow asks, his own uncertainty slipping into his voice.

When the Warlock continues, it's as if his intent is to erase any semblance of uncertainty. It is strong and firm and direct. “We need to draw in their assassins, and a full security outfit is too obvious. Keep your mask on. Always. Do not speak. Can I trust you to handle this with discretion?”

He leaves no room for argument but Crow is grateful for the chance to help nonetheless. But this time, this time he’s acting under orders and it is sanctioned. He can follow orders - it’s what he’s good at.

“The utmost.” He says at last, his eyes flickering over to the Guardian standing at the head of the table before turning and disappearing into the Light.

It’s only a matter of minutes before the Young Wolf descends the staircase. From her gait, he can tell she’s more at ease with all of this - no doubt having had a conversation with Osiris that put her mind at ease.

Perhaps he should apologize to the Warlock for what he said, but, maybe that should wait until all of this is well and truly over.

She stops in front of him, her arms settling in a cross over her chest and he gets the sense she’s about to scold him. He jumps in quickly, hoping to avoid yet another lecture.

“My mask was in my hand. Stupid, I know, but I felt…safe. I thought I could just relax for a minute. It was a mistake.” Her head tilts, her shoulders sagging as if pitying him.

He gestures with his hand, trying to ignore her sympathy, “Osiris tells me the commander always talks about making the hard choice. Reveal myself or let him die. Whatever I chose, someone would still say I was wrong.” He throws his hands up in frustration but his voice softens as he continues.

“I’m sure you’ve lost people. Wracked your mind for how it could have been different. Too far away to act, but close enough to wonder. If you could have stopped it, wouldn’t you? No matter the cost.”

She straightens. Her head turns ever so slightly and he frowns. There is something there. Something in the way she shifts her weight from one leg to the other. In the way she uncrosses her arms and her hand settles over the hilt of her handcanon. There's something distant and grieving and he almost regrets mentioning it. But then it’s gone, as if she shoved it from her mind as quickly as it came to the forefront of her thoughts.

He suspects, given her reaction, it has to do with that cloak she wears. The ace matches the gun on her hip she'd instinctively reached for and he lets himself wonder, if only for a moment before continuing.

“I’ve been at the mercy of something I couldn’t stop, without knowing why. Blind in a nightmare. I didn’t want to be a reason for more pain.” He admits softly, pain slipping into his voice and her hand settles on his shoulder. It’s her way of offering reassurance, her way of letting him know she is there and will back him no matter what.

He appreciates it more than she could ever know.

His hand settles over hers, eyes locking with her visor, “The next time they come for the commander, they’ll have to get through me. Mask or no mask.” A small smile slips into place along his lips beneath his mask, a shadow of amusement in his voice, “Just…don’t tell Osiris I said that.”

He hears a soft snort and she squeezes his shoulder gently.

“We won’t mention it,” her Ghost answers on her behalf and he nods.

“Thanks…you should probably get back out there.” Crow manages, suddenly very sheepish with how close she’s standing. The weight of her hand on his shoulder kicks his heart into a rapid thrum and he lowers his eyes.

But when she moves forward, he's not expecting it, he flinches back. The heel of his boot skids against metal and she retreats a step quickly, giving him space.

She was going to hug him. Nothing more.

Easy, Crow. He's still on edge from his argument with Osiris, still calming the alarms in the back of his mind. She's waiting, hands poised in surrender in front of her as if to try and look less like a threat.

She's never hurt him. Not even while sparring - at least not intentionally. A few bruises from hitting the ground but - she wasn't going to hurt him just now. She was offering comfort and he--

"I'm sorry," he manages after a moment, guilt flaring in his eyes as he catches his breath and tries to calm his racing heart.

"Don't apologize," she says softly, "I should have--"

He takes her hand and squeezes it firmly to silence her. Her shoulders sag in relief, her head tilts as she speaks.

"Are you alright?"

"I will be." He assures her. In truth, his hold on her is for his own benefit rather than hers. He doesn't associate her touch with pain or danger - it's safe. Their evening atop the Tower drowns the memories from the Shore and he can finally feel the tension in his chest begin to subside. "I'm okay."

She squeezes his hand in response, patiently waiting at his side as he collects himself. When he can bring himself to meet her gaze again, she takes a slow step closer. Her other hand lifts, poised in the uncertain beginnings of an embrace and she hesitates. His eyes drift from her arm to her helmet for a long moment before nodding.

Her arms carefully wind around him, he can feel her tension, how aware she is trying to be of every reaction. She's so gentle with him, always so mindful of what he's endured and how she can try to ease that pain. When she's close enough to hug him properly, Crow relaxes. He wraps his arms around her and tugs her a little closer for a tight hug.

This is better.

His chin settles on her shoulder, his eyes searching the wall behind her as if grappling with the reality he's in right now. She's never hugged him before. Leaned into him, yes. Held his hand, of course. But never fully embraced him. He wonders what's going through her mind but she offers no clues with how tightly she's holding him.

This isn't just her offering comfort. This is thank you...for saving Commander Zavala. The Young Wolf rarely speaks, most of her words come through her actions and he's...getting better at reading them.

He can't help but smile, can't help but give her a squeeze and lean his head against hers. He can feel her fingers wound tight around the fabric of his cloak, clinging to him wordlessly. He doesn't want to decipher anything else right now - not her vice grip, not the racing of his own heart. He just wants to hold her, stay in this moment a little while longer.

But her comms have other plans.

They both hear it and as she starts to pull away, Crow fights the urge to tug her back...it's a short-lived battle because she notices the tension and reluctance in his arms and looks at him.

He stares into that visor for what feels like an eternity before she leans in. She rests her forehead against his, a soft Ghost slips from her lips and the cool metal vanishes.

He is grateful he's wearing his mask because his lips part in a silent gasp. Sunset connects with sharp emerald eyes and his breath catches. He's never seen her face, never looked beyond the veil.

"Guardian," he murmurs, his hand lifting to touch her cheek but he stops. Inches from her skin, his fingers curl and he begins to recoil.

This time there is no visor, no veil concealing the concerned flicker of her eyes from his hand to his features. It feels...unbalanced. She is usually the one safe behind a mask, with the roles reversed--

Her comm goes off again and she tears her eyes away from him to look toward her Ghost.

"Zavala is asking for you." He supplies softly, as if reluctant to interrupt their moment.

She nods, casting a glance toward Crow and offering an apologetic smile. She gives a light wave and pivots to leave but he catches hold of her arm. Her eyes snap up to his mask quizzically just before he drags her into a tight hug.

"Be careful," he whispers.

It isn't a request. It's a plea. He needs her to be alright. He can't lose her.

Not now.

Not ever.

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

"So, Caital's champion, huh?" Crow props himself at the top of the landing ramp of her ship. His arms are crossed, his eyes flitting along the interior of the ship and she tosses him an amused smile.

In the last few weeks alone, she's removed her helmet more and more often when she's around him - when it's just the two of them. He enjoys it a bit too much, finally getting to see just how expressive her features are. It's no wonder her helmet stays on when making deals, she can't keep those eyes in check. If she's not rolling them, they're studying people so intently they squirm.

"You think you'll beat him with one super?" He continues to tease, trying to see how long it takes for her to laugh.

Instead, she throws a field blanket at him and he laughs. He picks it up, setting it back in its place and lingers not far from her. She's turned to shift some gear around and when she turns back, she nearly collides with his chest.

She narrows her eyes, glaring up at him with a mocking irritation.

"I'm sorry, am I in the way?"

"Yes, my Little Light, you are." She returns with a soft chuckle and his heart soars.

"Oh, then by all means, I'll get out of your way." He smirks, starting to turn to leave when she pulls him back, proceeding to elbow him lightly as she squeezes past the Hunter to pick up the mask he'd left lying near the opening of the hold. Crow chuckles and rubs at his ribs, sunset drifting along her frame and finally settling settling her playful expression.

"Not without this."

He steps up to her, fingers gripping the mask just above her own and gives a light tug at it. Predictably, she doesn't relinquish her hold and Crow leans in a little closer.

"Anything else, Old Light?"

He is...tempting her. Intentionally. His face is inches from her own and all he can think about is kissing her - just once - to wish her luck, of course.

For a moment, he wonders if she'll take the bait. But then there's a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips and her fingers curl around the front of his cloak, pulling him down just enough to press a kiss to his cheek as her other hand simultaneously releases the mask.

He's stunned. He watches her turn nonchalantly and descend the ship's ramp. His hand lifts, touching his cheek with a sort of dumbfounded excitement as he smiles.

Well played, Old Light.

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

She's propped against the wall beside his quarters when Crow finally returns to the HELM. Their secret is out. Zavala knows his face, they have an alliance with the Cabal and the Young Wolf - well, he watches her jolt to an upright position the instant she sees him, helmet vanishing as she approaches him.

He's tugged into a crushing embrace before he can utter a greeting and he smiles softly. He wraps his arms around her waist, "Hey, Guardian." He manages softly, his worry melting away in her embrace.

When she doesn't answer, he squeezes, "I'm okay." He tries to reassure her even as her fingers curl around his cloak and squeezes him back. Beneath his fingers, he can detect a small tremble, feel a subtle flare of solar energy against his fingertips. She'd been worried - it takes him a moment to process that. He's known she cares about him, known there was something there, but...this feels different.

Her hold is desperate, crushing. In the middle of the hallway, she is clinging to him as if he were life itself. He almost wishes she'd speak, voice whatever it is that has her so shaken but something tells him that won't happen.

"Do you want to come in?" He asks after a moment, rubbing her back soothingly.

"Can't," she manages quietly, "Have to check in with Zavala."

"Go check in," he whispers, pressing a kiss into her hair, "I'll be here when you get back."

She lifts her head, emerald drifting over his features and her hand cradles his cheek. Her eyes seem to beg for him to give his word, her thumb brushing along his cheekbone.

"I'll be here," he assures her, pressing a soft kiss to the palm of her hand, "Go on."

For a second, he thinks she's going to kiss him. The way she leans a little closer, but her eyes drop and she nods reluctantly. One last brush of her thumb and she pulls away, her helmet transmatting into place and she vanishes into the Light.

He has an inkling, a vague idea what it is that's rattled her. Perhaps it's the same reason Zavala was so shaken when he saw Crow's face. They all know what or who he used to be. That much was confirmed that night Crow prevented Zavala’s assassination.

What he doesn't understand is why they all seem...reluctant. Surely who he was couldn't have been that bad - but then again, maybe he was. For a moment, he wonders if the Young Wolf stays as close as she does to him to act as a spy. It's certainly something the Spider would have done...but this isn't the Shore. The Vanguard doesn't operate like that, do they?

No. No, she's genuine. She always has been. He has no reason to doubt her now. It'll be fine.

Crow shakes his head and steps inside his room, closing the door softly behind him and takes off his cloak. He drapes the fabric over the chair in the room and takes a deep breath.

Glint materializes beside him, hovering as the Hunter trudges over to his bed.

"You should rest." His Ghost advises softly, "We had quite the day."

"Yeah," Crow collapses onto the mattress, draping his arm over his eyes, "I'll go to sleep when she gets back..."

"I don't think I've ever seen her that worried before."

Crow heaves a heavy sigh. "Neither have I. There's more to this, Glint. I can feel it. She wasn't just worried about the assassination attempt."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because she knows I can handle myself. She had this...spooked look in her eyes, same one Commander Zavala had when he saw me without the mask. There's a reason Osiris reacted the way he did after that night..."

"Maybe it's best you don't know. The Guardian says you're not supposed to know who you were in your past life."

"Maybe," Crow says softly, allowing his arm to settle beside him as he gazes up at the ceiling.

For all their words, who he used to be seems to be a fairly relevant deal - he's been killed far too many different ways for it not to.

He makes a mental note to ask her about it as he drifts off.

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

"The House of Light is here on Earth?" Crow asks, watching the Guardian clean her handcanon at his desk.

"Yeah. Ikora set a whole section of the City aside for them," her Ghost supplies with an edge of excitement. "Mithrax has offered his help in exchange for a sanctuary for his people."

"Misraaks," Crow says softly, correcting the Ghost as he steps up behind the Young Wolf. His hands settle on her shoulders, sunset absently studying her fingers deftly reassembling the weapon.

How many times has she done it with this gun alone? It's like second nature now. It's almost mesmerizing how her fingers move the mechanisms. But when they still, Crow looks down.

She's gazing up at him, that curious glint in her eyes as she tries to decipher what he's after.

"What?" He asks innocently and she quirks an eyebrow. Her head leans back just enough to lean against his torso and he can't quite quell the chuckle that slips out.

"Comfortable, are you?"

She smirks triumphantly - it seems she was after a laugh. He gently combs her hair back away from her face with his fingers, "Finish putting your gun together."

Her eyes close beneath his touch as if in spite of him. His eyes trace over her features, admiring the soft smile that plays at the corner of her lips, the peaceful ease that settles over her features. His movements are slow, soothing and he enjoys being the one she can relax around. It's a side of the Young Wolf he knows very few get to see.

He adjusts ever so slightly, allowing him to bend down and press an affectionate kiss to her forehead. He lingers, her hand reaches for him and brushes along his cheek blindly. He laughs softly, drawing her eyes open at the sound and sunset locks with emerald.

He has missed being at her side, seeing her as often as he liked. But she heads into the Vex simulation nearly every day to put an end to the Night simulation. Tonight is the first time they've both been back in the HELM in weeks. Crow has been following up leads for Zavala with the Cabal. Now - now he gets her all to himself, if only for tonight.

"Finish building the gun," he says softly but sternly.

He starts to straighten up before her fingers hook around the back of his head and lightly tug him back down so they're face to face. An awkward position to be sure given that she's essentially upside down in her seated state.

Her eyes are all the challenge he needs. There's a cockiness, a smugness as they gaze up at him and he can't hide his smile.

Or what?

It's what she's saying without actually uttering a word but her fingers are toying with strands of his hair and it's damn distracting.

He could drag this out, make a smart-ass remark about his Old Light's self-imposed bedtime but he doesn't feel like playing that game tonight.

So, he touches her cheek softly as he presses a kiss to her palm before meeting her gaze, "Because it's nearing sunset and we need time to reach your vantage point," he watches the cockiness give way to genuine excitement.

There's that child-like enthusiasm he's grown to adore.

She frowns slightly, almost like a pout when he releases her hand. It's short lived as she turns back to the gun and begins to put the weapon back together. Crow leans on the back of the chair, leaning his head against hers and just...watches.

It feels like the most natural thing in the world - being at her side.

He prays that never changes.

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

Bidding Farewell (Chapter 3)

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winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

advocate.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: the very first part of ajf! the beginning of our story! oh my goodness! this got a little long, but there was a lot i wanted to pack in here. thank you all for your patience as i worked through this <3 i’ve got some fun graphics in here for you - open them for best quality!

words: 8.45k warnings: language, alcohol use, canon-typical descriptions of injury and violence, mention of suicide

summary: “our ambition should be to rule ourselves, the true kingdom for each one of us; and true progress is to know more, and be more, and to do more.” - oscar wilde. au!july-september 2007

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

“Director Shepard?”

You approach her, feeling very young, with a question and a smile.

She turns, smiling at you softly. “Yes?”

Her lecture was immaculate - she covered a broad swath of topics - being the first female director of NCIS, her history in international relations and liaison work with British and Israeli intelligence - all of which paved a bit of a roadmap for success in federal law enforcement.

You introduce yourself and shake her hand. “I’ve gotta tell you it was a challenge to choose between agencies in my applications, I admire your work both as an agent and director of NCIS and I was wondering…”

You lose your nerve a bit, but steel yourself again and ask.

“... Would you be willing to meet with me and talk about your career trajectory a little more?”

There’s a light in her eyes as she studies you with a kind of supreme benevolence and gentleness. “I would.”

+++

“Alright,” she says, setting her napkin in her lap. “What do you want to know?”

You laugh a little, “Is everything a good place to start?”

She laughs, and you’re immediately drawn to her warmth. There’s a kind of fire in her, and it doesn’t just come from her hair. “Not at all. Though I’ll give you some unsolicited advice now, to save some time. Find someone you can follow, someone you can learn from.”

She goes on to tell you about her mentor, still on the Major Case Response Team under her purview at NCIS. Though she’s his boss now, she tells you that she still goes to him for advice, for friendship.

“Trusting the people you work with always comes first. It’s not always possible, but when you can manage it. It makes everything better. Always protect them where you can, and don’t ignore the politics”

You do everything except take notes as she tells more stories, how she’s switched from “probie” to Agent to diplomat to Director, before she turns back to you.

“Do you know which unit you’re interested in, yet?”

You shake your head. “Not yet. I’m hoping I’ll have a better idea when the Quantico unit chiefs start coming in to lecture. I’m hoping one of them will catch my interest.”

“Great idea. When one of them does, give me a call. I think any unit could benefit from someone like you.”

+++

Agents Hotchner, Morgan, and Gideon have your attention the moment they step into the room. They’re confident, with a sharp kind of intelligence you admire.

The world of the BAU is fascinating. Serial killers, sex criminals, the very worst of depraved humanity is their everyday. While it sounds somewhat horrifying, it compels you.

Agent Hotchner especially catches your attention. He’s confident in a kind of serious, bladed way. Clearly intelligent, he commands the attention of everyone in the room and effortlessly wields his authority among curious students and his fellow agents.

You’d think Agent Gideon would be the obvious leader, what with all his years of experience and seniority, but even with his grasp of a field he shaped, he doesn’t hold a candle to Hotchner.

With your half-hour-old knowledge, you put together a quick profile of the remaining figure.

Agent Morgan, while strong and clearly an alpha male, brings a skepticism with him. It hangs in the air around him and seems to apply to both of his colleagues. There’s something about Agent Gideon that makes him uneasy, distrustful. He tends to shift his weight away from him when they get too close to each other.

He’s not overt about his skepticism regarding Agent Hotchner, but you get the idea there’s more under the surface you couldn’t possibly know just by studying his behavior in a lecture hall.

This is fun.

You hide your smile in your notebook, jotting down a couple of notes as Agent Gideon continues his “brief overview of profile-driven serial killer arrests.”

+++.

“Director Shepard’s office.”

“Hi Cynthia,” you greet her secretary. “Is Director Shepard in?”

She connects you, and you ask about the BAU.

“Is Jason Gideon still the unit chief over there?” She asks. You can already hear her typing and you’re more than a little concerned about her tenacity in this moment.

“No, ma’am, it’s Agent Hotchner, now.”

“Perfect.”

+++

You’re called into SSA Radner’s office the following Monday to “discuss some changes to your academy courses.”

That doesn’t sound good.

SSA Radner, an imposing and intimidating woman, is the SSAIC in charge of your NAT class - the person in charge of your collective fates.

No pressure.

She opens the door when you knock, gesturing to the chair on the other side of her desk. “Please, have a seat.”

You chuckle nervously. “Thanks, Agent Radner.” You note her little smile as she sits at her desk, and chance a question. “Have I done something, I dunno, wrong? We don’t seem to find much good news in the SAIC’s office at my rank.”

That pulls a laugh from her. “I wouldn't worry too much. I have a proposition for you. It’s...unusual, but not unheard of.”

Your brow crumples a little and she exhales.

“It might actually be better if - yeah. Hold on.” She clicks her intercom and her assistant chirps from the other side.

“Yes ma’am?”

“Please send them in. I’d like to do a joint briefing.”

Joint briefing? What is this, the third invasion of Iraq?

The door opens behind you and you whip around, finding Agent Hotchner and IOS Section Chief Erin Strauss.

What the fuck?

Either you’ve done something terrible or insane and you’re not sure which.

Chief Strauss addresses you first, shaking your hand. You introduce yourself for good measure but have a feeling she already knows who you are.

“It’s come to our attention that you have ambitious interests and are taking exceptional steps to make the most of your education and training at the academy. Is this a fair assessment?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Agent Hotchner steps forward, sort of looming over you with something that isn’t quite a stern look. You take his hand when he offers, introducing yourself and ignoring the jolt of energy that shoots up your arm at his touch.

His handshake is firm, his hands dry and warm. He looks different up close, younger, maybe. There’s the barest touch of grey at his temples, the beginnings of lines around his mouth and eyes.

Not what I expected.

What did you expect?

How old could he be? Thirty-five, maybe?

Shut up.

He’s handsome.

Shut up!

His face relaxes a little bit before he speaks. “Director Shepard, a close professional colleague, has been a staunch advocate for you and your talents. She approached me about taking you on, giving you case hours in lieu of some coursework.”

“You’d have some catching up to do, as it’s already three weeks into your twenty, and we’d transfer you into the profiling classes,” Agent Radner adds. “But with your diligence, I doubt you’ll have trouble with the added workload.”

“No, ma’am. That should be fine. But,” you look between the three of them, “what does ‘case hours in lieu of some coursework’ mean, exactly?”

“You’d be on assignment with the BAU until you received your formal assignment following successful completion of the academy, with the possibility of assignment with the BAU as a full-fledged agent.” Chief Strauss rattles off the information as if it’s the thousandth time she’s said it.

It might be.

You can’t even fathom how much effort and time must have gone into this decision. The realization leaves you speechless.

She prompts you again. “Does that sound like an opportunity in which you’d be interested?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.” You feel a little stupid, but you’re rewarded with a proud smile from Agent Radner.

You could also swear you saw a twitch of Agent Hotchner’s lips, but he doesn’t seem to be a man who smiles much.

+++

“So this’ll be your desk,” Agent Jennifer-but-my-friends-call-me-JJ Jareau says, pointing to one of the many desks in the bullpen.

You set your bag down with a little smile, feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

Agent Morgan pats your shoulder as he passes your desk. “You’ll do just fine, kid. Ready for a case briefing in ten?”

“Sure.”

His blinding smile eats up his whole face and you like him already. He’s different than you thought he’d be, but you still don’t think your preliminary profile was too far off.

Agent Gideon, still holed up in his office, has yet to acknowledge you.

Your eyes keep wandering to the open blinds, behind which Agent Hotchner and a woman you understand to be his wife have a quiet, apparently heated argument on either side of his desk. Except for the tight set of her mouth and the angry glint in her eye, she seems lovely.

Derek follows your gaze. “Wasn’t always like that.”

You look at him, a little furrow in your brow.

Should he be telling me this?

“She’s not always here either, but their son, Jack, has been sick, so it’s been… tense.” Derek shakes his head. “You wouldn’t catch me married in this job, not once.”

That pulls a laugh from you.

Emily, sitting at the desk beside you, turns in her chair. “Remind me to drink to that later.”

Derek snorts and picks up a couple of files, headed up to the round table room.

+++

Your first case briefing is, well...brief. The case seems fairly straightforward and you run through relevant vocabulary while JJ outlines the case details.

Preferential offender, keeps his victims for no more than three days, victims found in public places.

He wants them found, and fast.

Need-based, maybe? What are his priors?

You’re all dismissed with a brisk, “Wheels up in thirty.”

You pack your things a little slower than probably called for. Hotch disappears into his office again, closing the door behind him. When you pass the window, his wife is tucked under his chin.

Hotch’s eyes flicker to yours and you quickly train your gaze on the floor, hustling down the stairs.

+++

You land next to each other when you board the plane. You do your best to avoid taking anyone's assigned seat.

With a team of this size, you can only assume they have such things.

And they do.

Gideon, Spencer, Morgan, and Prentiss take a seat at the table while JJ perches on the arm of the couch.

Hotch settles at the informal “head” of the table, leaning on the chairs across the aisle. You take a seat in one of the chairs in the row next to him, trying to stay out of the way.

“C’mere, kid,” Derek says, beckoning you forward. “You’re on this team.”

You shuffle forward in your seat, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees and case file open in your hands. “I’m ready.”

JJ smiles at you, and you almost feel comfortable.

+++

You end up alone with Hotch in the precinct conference room after you land, unboxing files and sorting them for Spencer. Until you know enough to make yourself useful, you’ve made it your mission to handle the tedious and the clerical.

Hotch pauses every once in a while as if he wants to say something. You continue on your way. When he’s ready, he’ll stop you.

“I’m sorry about earlier. My wife, Haley, she -”

You look up, waving him off with a little smile. “It’s okay, Hotch. It’s none of my business.”

He looks at you for a minute, studying your face with a bit of a squint. “You mean that.”

It’s not a question.

You’re confused.

“Of course.” A nervous laugh leaves you. “I mean, you’re welcome to tell me if you want, but it’s nothing I need to speculate or gossip about or, God forbid, profile.”

The shock and relief war on his face until it settles back into something that looks like his usual severity, but a little softer. He doesn't say anything else, but you have the sneaking suspicion you passed a test neither one of you prepared for.

Spencer and Emily return from their trip to the medical examiner’s office.

“Who organized these?” Spencer asks, pointing at the neat piles you made.

“Me.” You look up from another box you’re working on. “Would it be helpful if they’re sorted another way? I went chronologically and then by number and type of offenses, with preferential offenders that match the M.O. on top, when possible.”

Emily, Hotch, and Spencer freeze, staring at you like you grew another head in front of them.

You’re suddenly and violently self-conscious. “What?”

Spencer snaps out of it first, shaking his head and picking up a stack. “Nothing that’s just...um…”

“Exactly right,” Emily supplies. She glances at Hotch before looking back at you. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Hotch is the last to break, but the curious little glances he keeps throwing your way always linger a little too long.

To your credit, you ignore them.

+++

“So, how are you liking it so far?” Derek slides into the driver’s seat and rolls out of the parking lot.

You’re headed to another witness’s house under direct orders to observe and as a few (carefully directed) questions. Derek insisted on bringing you himself while the others keep busy with something else.

“I’m liking it,” you reply.

He laughs. “Coulda fooled me.”

You screw up your face and look over at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he says through a laugh, “when you’re not making yourself ridiculously useful, you look terrified.”

“I am terrified.”

“Nothin’ to be scared of as long as you keep asking questions,” he says.

It’s almost like he doesn’t know how ridiculous he sounds.

“You’re joking, right?” You turn to face him, shifting in your seat. “Agent Morgan -”

He cuts you off. You’re pretty sure that’s just how he is - he interrupts the other members of the team frequently and fearlessly. “- Derek. Or Morgan.”

“Fine. Morgan, you have to know that your team is legendary. I don’t even know why -”

“- Don’t say it.” He flags his hand before putting it back on the wheel. “You’re here for a reason, and none of us are going to let you fall so hard you can’t pick yourself up, okay?” He glances over, meeting your eyes. “We’ve got your back.”

You quirk a smile. “Thanks.”

“And,” he adds, “Hotch seems to like you alright. That’s half the battle.”

“What’s the other half?”

He snorts. “Gideon. And local law enforcement.”

+++

You settle in a little easier after that. JJ’s your next target as you help her make some calls to the D.A.’s office.

You hang up and take a breath, slumping back in your chair. It’s been a long day already and it’s not even lunchtime.

“Hanging in there?” JJ asks, smiling at you over her files.

You nod. “Yeah. Just a… different kind of energy than the academy, I think.”

“I felt that way when I got here, too. Gideon was unit chief back then and Spence had just started, too.” She huffs a laugh. “It was a little easier when there were more newbies, but then…” Her face clouds over and she shakes her head.

“Then...what?”

She looks up at you and her mouth twists. “Boston.”

+++

“Hey, Derek?”

“Yeah?” He keeps his eyes on the road, but he can hear the trepidation in your voice.

The dark interior of the car feels safe in the early hours of the morning, headed back to the hotel. “You said I could ask you anything, right?”

His eyebrows pinch. “Shoot.”

“What happened in Boston?”

Derek takes a breath and lets it out in a whoosh. “I wasn’t there. I was supposed to be there.”

You wait on him, watching him watch the road.

“Unsub holed himself up in a massive warehouse. Gideon called in all the support he could - A Team, B Team, SWAT, the whole nine. I was visiting my mom in Chicago for her birthday like I do every year.”

He stops at a red light, and you take a moment to look past him into the adjacent SUV, where Emily and Hotch’s profiles rest in a statuesque silhouette, backlit by the streetlamp.

“It was a trap from the start. Everyone pushed in on Gideon’s order and the whole thing just…” He tosses his hand up and it lands with a smack on the leather steering wheel. “It just went up. Boom. Six BAU agents in our unit, dead, just like that. Had to rebuild from scratch.”

You shiver, though the car is warm. “I’m so sorry, Derek.”

He shrugs. “Gideon took six months off, Hotch took over. Gideon came back, Hotch stayed up front.” He smiles a little. “Haley wasn’t happy, but that’s the job.”

Why does it always come back to Haley? To Hotch?

Because he’s the unit chief.

I know but…

Don’t read into it.

You decide to push, just because it’s Derek, because he seems to know, because you feel safe with him, because it might be a mistake. “Is that what you meant?”

“Hm?” His head turns just a little toward you, his brow furrowed.

“You told me on my first day ‘It wasn’t always like this.’ Is that what you meant?”

“No sane man would take on the unit chief position with a wife and baby on the way.” He shrugs and with a secret little smile says, “But nobody ever accused Hotch of being sane.”

+++

Aaron sits in front of his computer, the end of his pen tapping on the glossy wood of his desk.

Does he have feedback? He’s not sure.

Even with your limited knowledge, you’ve managed to optimize most of the administrative bullshit and political nonsense that clogs most local investigations. You bounce between acting as his shadow and JJ’s, making friends and soothing hurts when toes inevitably get stepped on.

You’ve immediately adapted to his style of criticism and correction, using Derek and Spencer as guide-rails when you’re not sure where you’re going.

There’s nothing to complain about.

But then again…

Feedback isn’t just about the negative.

If he’s honest with himself, he knows he won’t shower you in the glowing praise you deserve. Gideon never did for him or anyone that came after.

It’s not in their nature, or his.

He starts to type.

Glancing out his office window, his eyes find you hunched over your desk, poring over one of Spencer’s notebooks, a pinch in your brow as deep as the Grand Canyon.

You work hard, impossibly hard. You throw everything you have at your work in the field while managing your courses and keeping up with your classmates.

That in mind, he drafts an email to Jenny.

With a sigh, he sends it.

He’s still thinking of what you said on the last case, the genuine truth of it, and how many times he has done his best to preempt the gossip that plagues this office, no matter who it’s about.

This unit, as much of a family as it may be, constantly wraps itself in the business of everyone else. To know you couldn’t give less of a shit about his marriage when the rest of the team (save Gideon) probably has money on when Haley calls it quits is, admittedly, refreshing.

+++

After being in the field, classes take on a new kind of banality. You’re keeping up well enough, but watching Gideon and Derek quarrel over the details of a profile beats diving into the techniques - you guessed it - Gideon developed from cases past.

Hotch and Garcia were gracious enough to CC you on emails while you were grounded at the academy, but it wasn’t the same.

It was hard not to feel left behind, like the last kid chosen for dodgeball in PE class, watching the rest of the unit leave the office. You hung back in the bullpen as long as you could find something to do this morning, making it to class at the very last minute.

Even after lectures, your classmates want nothing more than your attention. You’re suddenly consulting on three different practicals and never have a lunch to yourself.

Most afternoons, you sneak into the bullpen just for some peace and quiet.

You hear your last name and look up, finding Erin Strauss approaching you. You stand. “Ma’am.”

“What are you working on?”

You look down at your desk, finding practical and theoretical exam notes shuffled around next to mock consults and other nonsense Hotch dropped on his way to the jet earlier in the week. “Course work, mostly. It’s nice to… get away every once in a while.”

Erin nods with a little smile. “I’d imagine you’ve been pretty popular lately.”

You shrug, a little facetious. “You could say that.”

She pays your shoulder in a surprisingly maternal gesture, before wishing you luck and leaving you to your work.

At this point, you can’t even imagine just being an FBI agent.

+++

You’ve just closed your burning, tired eyes when your phone rings.

You answer, your last name a grumble into the mic.

“It’s Hotch.”

You sit up straight in bed, immediately awake. “Sorry, sir, I -“

“I should apologize. I don’t mean to interrupt your studying or wake you but I think I could use your opinion on this profile.”

You frown in the dark, flipping your desk lamp on. “My help, sir?”

“Yeah.” He heaves a sigh and you can almost see the fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been looking at it too long.”

“Maybe Derek, can -“

“No. You. Here, listen -“

He rattles off the details of the case and you snatch your notebook and pen off the desk, jotting things down as Hotch continues through the case.

“Have you identified and contacted local individuals who fit the victimology, taken steps to protect them? He’s a preferential offender with a predictable cooling-off period, right?”

For some reason, this isn’t half as exhausting as the practical exam practice you’d been working on for the last five hours. You may or may not have written those exact questions about fifteen times, but it’s far less exhausting when directed at Hotch.

“Yeah. Two high-risk victims are in protective custody and JJ’s been in touch since this morning.”

You go through a few more basic questions, getting your feet under you, before asking the one you’re really after.

“Sir, why did you call me?”

“I needed another set of eyes.”

You huff a laugh. “No, I gathered that, but why did you call me? I’m in the middle of learning about something you’ve been doing for…” You search for a number, but your brain is fried.

“Too long,” he supplies.

“Sure. But my point stands.”

“That it does.” Something creaks in the background and you imagine he’s leaned back in his chair.

“Did I help?” You’re happy he can’t see your dubious, if not entirely doubtful, expression.

He’s happy you can’t see the little fond smile on his face. “Yes, actually. You did.”

+++

“Wheels up in thirty.”

You all stand from the table and start your routines. Emily and Spencer make a beeline for the coffee machine while JJ jets back to her office for contact sheets and files and all manner of coordinating materials.

Derek’s routine is simple enough - he already has his coffee and his go bag, so he’s answering a few emails before wheels up.

You never really know what to do during this liminal space, so you stick to classwork.

Much to your surprise, you’ve shot ahead in your classes on the shoulders of Derek and Spencer. They’ve been monumentally helpful with the history and application of profiling techniques (though much of Derek’s advice has been ‘just watch Gideon,’ you’re not sure how to watch a process that takes place entirely inside the man’s head).

You ride with Hotch to the airstrip, looking out the window most of the way. It’s only a five minute drive, but the tree-lined roads around Quantico are always lovely this time of the morning.

As always, you do your best to stay out of the way on the plane, taking up residence on Hotch’s right with your notebook and case file.

You offer some thoughts here and there, not pushing too much or saying enough to make an ass of yourself.

When Hotch calls break, the rest of the team scatters to their respective corners.

Gideon turns to you, gesturing with one finger. “Hey, ah…”

Spencer chirps your last name from across the cabin and you shoot him a grateful smile.

“Good job in the briefing, today.”

And with that, he disappears to the far side of the cabin, leaving you and Hotch alone by the table.

“Wow,” you say with a little smile. “I didn’t know he was aware of my existence.”

Hotch doesn’t say anything, but his lips twitch.

Success.

+++

“Welcome back, kiddo!” Derek offers you fist and you bump your knuckles against his on your way back to your desk. “How’d those exams go?”

You huff, playing at defeat. “Oh, you know.”

“Don’t worry about it. There’s always next time.”

Hotch, returning from a meeting with Strauss, hardly looks up from the file in his hand when he says, “Well done on your exams. SSA Radner threatened to hang your marksmanship targets on her wall.”

You hide a smile. “Thanks, Hotch.”

“Not fair!” Spencer says, tossing another Tums in his mouth. “I never passed those.”

“Then how on earth do you have that, Reid?” You point at his six-shooter, still clipped to his hip.

“Wait wait wait,” JJ says, dropping her files and crossing her arms. “You haven’t heard that story?”

Your eyes flicker from Derek, to JJ, to Spencer, and back. “...No.”

JJ settles in, regaling you with a wild tale of an L.D.S.K. -

“You remember what that stands for, right?” Derek points at you and you have a feeling this is about to become some kind of pop quiz.

“Yeah. Long Distance Serial Killer.”

“Good. Famous unsubs include…?”

You sit back in your chair with a little smirk on your face. “D.C. Snipers Muhammad and Malvo, active October 2002, seventeen victims total. Apprehended by agents from the FBI Baltimore field office -”

Derek holds up a finger. “And?”

“- and the BAU and the Maryland State Police.”

“Good.”

JJ waits for Derek to nod at her and she continues what you imagine to be a rather embellished version of a story in which Hotch and Reid save the day.

“...And then Hotch just starts kicking the shit out of Spencer -”

Hotch’s office door shuts and he sails down the stairs with one of those little secret smiles. “This one ends with Reid stealing my sidearm and shooting the unsub in the head.” He taps right between his eyebrows in the barest of pauses on his way out of the bullpen. “Dead center.”

Derek and JJ groan, both whining about how he ruined the punchline before devolving into a fit of giggles. You can almost see the smirk on his face as he pushes through the glass door and turns the corner.

You join in the mirth, ruffling Reid’s hair. He smiles widely at you.

Maybe you could just get used to this place.

+++

The second round of classes on top of added case hours (you’re traveling with the unit more often than not) nearly brings you to the brink.

On the plane back to Quantico, you realize you can’t remember the last time you actually had a full night of sleep.

The rest of the unit is out cold, curled into themselves or stretched out under blankets, save for Hotch and Gideon.

Gideon’s writing in that wretched notebook again, entirely focused on his work under the weak reading light.

Aaron sits beside you on the other side of the cabin, looking over a few files before returning home. You watch him check his watch, sigh, shrug, and pull out his phone. To your surprise, he doesn’t move to give himself space as he calls his wife.

“Hey, honey, it’s me… Yeah, we’re on the plane. Should be back within the next hour and a half... “

He sighs and tightly closes his eyes. “Haley, please… Yes, I know Jack’s already asleep… Are you implying I didn’t do my damnedest to - Then what’s your point?...”

His voice never once rises above a low murmur. It’s impressive.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can… No, I won’t pass ‘Go’ or collect two-hundred dollars or step foot into my office… Yes. Plane. Tarmac. Car. Home… Yeah… Love you too.”

He snaps his phone shut and leans back, tipping his head against the headrest.

You stay quiet, continuing your review of S.S.A. Bailey’s course on, ironically, conflict de-escalation.

Hotch takes a talking breath and you look over at him, keeping a kind of soft understanding on your face - really, shooting for anything that isn’t curiosity.

“I appreciate your…” He looks for a word. “Discretion.”

You laugh a little down your nose. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s none of my business?”

“How many times do I have to imply that a phrase like that isn’t in the vocabulary of this team, usually?” He shifts a little, and you notice his thumb, running along his forefinger like he’s searching for bone.

“Is it really that bad?”

Hotch raises his eyebrows, and you relent.

“Fine.” You drop your voice. “Do you want to know what I’ve seen?”

He shrugs. “An outside perspective might be nice.”

You keep your eyes on your book as you speak, keeping your volume low and your tone as neutral as you can.

“I’ve seen how Emily worries about fitting in - I can’t help but relate. This team is a family and it’s… hard to break through that sort-of-wall to the outside world.”

The prickly feeling of his eyes on you isn’t altogether unpleasant, but you still haven’t grown used to it.

“Derek and Spencer are worried about Gideon and,” you glance at him briefly, “so are you. Everyone seems to want to know why, but I don't think that’s always useful.”

Hotch hums once, maybe in agreement - you’re not too sure.

You are sure, though, that this was a test.

“How’d I do, Counselor?”

It’s never too early to invoke the J.D. hanging in a frame behind his desk. It was the first thing you noticed and suddenly, a lot more made sense.

You’re rewarded with a small smile. “Not bad. Though you did forget to drop in the little bit about my marriage.”

“I didn’t forget,” you assure him.

“No?”

“No. I figure if you have something to say, you seem like the kind of person who’d just say it. At least,” you shrug, “that’s my impression.”

He’s quiet for a minute before he squints and looks over your shoulder at your reading. His brown eyes track down the page before returning to yours. He’s close to you, but you’re not uncomfortable.

Hotch is...safe. Somehow.

“There’s a reason you’re the exception. Not sure what it is yet,” he says. “But there’s a reason.”

“What?”

He leans back, a cryptic little smile on his face, and says nothing else for the rest of the flight.

+++

“Hotch, are you sure it’s not a trick question?”

“The questions aren’t designed to trick you,” comes a voice from the doorway. To your surprise, it’s Gideon. “They’re designed to stretch and reveal your instincts. No right answer.”

The corners of his mouth turn down while his eyebrows rise in that kind of halfway-encouraging look he sometimes gets. “Just go with your gut.”

He disappears and you turn back to Hotch, scribbling away in a file.

“He’s right.”

Your brain feels less and less bound to your body as the days pass. “Am I nuts, or is that the most words he’s strung together since I got here, combined?”

What you now know to be a smile twitches at Hotch’s mouth. “You’re not nuts.”

You sigh and turn your attention back to your mock exam, twiddling your pencil between your fingers. “I’m sorry to keep bugging you with homework - it feels like cheating.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket. “Resourcefulness is not cheating. If it was, I’d have to go back and get my J.D. out of a Cracker Jack box.”

You muffle a laugh.

He checks his watch. “I have a check-in with the budget office in five minutes. You’re welcome to stay right where you are, but it’ll be boring and I plan to do a lot of pacing.”

You hold your hands up in surrender and settle in.

Friday afternoons in the office feel a lot like Saturdays in the office - which is to say, nothing happens at all. The rest of the team is catching up on paperwork while Gideon walks laps with his little notebook.

Not three minutes into his conversation, Hotch stands and begins to pace, as promised.

"No, we can't cut the technology budget... Because if the BAU gets called to a remote region, we need to have immediate access to satellite phones and our technical analyst… Yes… Send the budget to the Director, and I'm certain it'll come back approved without changes… The arrest and prosecution rate of this unit is -”

His desk phone rings and he gestures for you to pick it up.

“Agent Hotchner’s office,” you say with more than a little trepidation. You’re definitely not qualified to answer the unit chief’s phone.

“Goddamn it, Aaron why can’t you -” She pauses. “Wait. Sorry. Who is this?”

You introduce yourself. “I’m currently on-assignment with the unit. It’s… unconventional.”

“Hm. Why are you answering Aaron’s phone?” Her tone isn’t accusatory - it’s more curious than that. You’d imagine this doesn’t happen all that often. He’s either at his desk, or he’s not at his desk.

She calls him Aaron.

You’re not sure why that surprises you. They’re married, and he has a first name.

Taking a look across the room, you watch Hotch’s profile as he continues to defend the budget he submitted.

Aaron.

You make an attempt to see the man behind the suit, the man who goes home to his wife and son when he can.

“I’m using his office to study for my academy exams. I’ll see if I can reach Agent Hotchner for you. Just a second.”

She snorts something that could be a laugh if it wasn’t so sharp. “Thanks.”

Hotch looks over and squints at you, mouthing, Who is it?

You put her on hold and answer in a stage whisper. “It’s your wife.”

Hotch freezes for just a second - it almost looks like he’s rebooting.

He blinks three times in rapid succession before he pulls the phone away from his mouth. “Tell her I’m in a meeting. I’ll call her back.” You move to reach for the phone but he holds up a finger and you freeze. “Wait two minutes.”

You follow instructions, taking the time to answer a few more mock exam questions. You try not to think too hard about his avoidance. This doesn’t seem like a particularly pressing phone call - Hotch is in budget meetings all the time.

None of your business.

After about a minute and a half, you pick up the phone again.

Before you can say anything, she’s already back on her mini-rampage. About twenty seconds in, she pauses.

“I’m so sorry. I’m still not talking to my husband, am I?”

De-escalate. Disarm. Establish rapport.

You can do this.

You channel Derek, using a softer tone designed to distract. Maybe you’ll sneak some humor in there, if you can manage it.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hotchner, he’s not available.”

With a defeated sigh, she asks, flatly, “Where is he?”

Humor. Play off her disappointment.

“I assume he’s in a meeting or something - he likes to think he’s very important - but I can’t find him.”

To your surprise, she laughs a little.

You check with Hotch across the room. He rolls his eyes at you but continues his bickering.

Success.

“Can you just… I don’t know… Tell him I called, or something?”

You try not to think too hard about the defeat in her tone. “I promise I’ll badger him to call you back as soon as he’s back at his desk, ma’am.”

“Wow.” She sounds impressed, and you’re not sure why. You’re not left in suspense for long. She continues -

“You’re a way better liar than JJ. Also - please don’t call me ma’am. Makes me feel old. Haley’s just fine.”

“Of course.”

“You know what…” She asks for your cell number and you give it to her, throwing a glance at Hotch for good measure. He’s still pacing.

He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, but can’t say anything to you before he’s forced to respond to the poor budget clerk who drew the short straw. “No we can’t start sharing hotel rooms…”

Haley interrupts your momentary space-out. “Thanks, again. If he doesn’t have a chance to call me back, can you let him know I’m going to my sister’s for the weekend? With Jack?”

“Sure.”

That’s another question I’m not going to ask.

You hang up the phone and get back to your exam, trying not to feel comforted by the lull of familiarity in the room.

+++

For some reason, you keep finding yourself alone in police precincts in the middle of nowhere with Hotch sitting across the table from you.

“Hey,” he says.

You look up.

“Haley, she…” He heaves a sigh and trails off for a minute, frowning at a spot above your head. “I don’t know why I’m asking, what I’m asking.”

You keep your eyes on him. “Shoot.”

He takes another breath. “I don’t know how to make her happy anymore.”

This is above my pay grade.

“Everything I do seems to irritate her - trying, not trying, just surviving. I don’t know.” He shakes his head at your somewhat bewildered expression. “Sorry, I -”

“No, no, Hotch. It’s fine.” You search for his eyes. “What can I do?”

He shakes his head. “Any advice?”

Any advice? Definitely above my pay grade.

You also feel for him - he wouldn’t be asking if he wasn’t desperate.

Besides that, it almost makes sense he’s asking you rather than anyone else on the team. They’ve all known him too long, have been too close to see his struggles clearly. They need to see him as an authority, separate from petty squabbles.

Separate from the things that make him human.

He needs to be a superhero for this team, and then go home and be a superhero for his family. Both parts of his life exist with a wall between them - Agent Hotchner can’t be a husband and a father in the field, and Mr. Haley Hotchner can’t be an agent at home.

It must be lonely.

Everyone else knows about and ignores that necessary separation. He trusts them as his colleagues, people he can rely on professionally, but perhaps not personally.

Well, all except Emily.

You get the feeling that he doesn’t completely trust Emily yet, but you’re not sure why. That’s another thing to figure out about the walking enigma sitting across from you.

“Well… I’ve never been married, I don’t have kids, but I think…” You search for words.

It’s none of my business, is what you want to say.

Instead, you offer, “Why don’t you just ask her?”

His brow crumples. “What?”

“Ask her. You don’t know how to, I dunno, do it right on your own, it sounds like. But you’re a team, right? Just ask her.”

You duck down to your work, getting the feeling he’d rather not be observed as he processes. There’s a part of you that wonders whether his preference for privacy masks his fear.

Another part of you already knows the answer.

+++

Derek and Emily walk back into the precinct, spotting the pair of you right where they left you.

Hotch still watches you with a soft, curious frown on his face, like there’s a puzzle there he can’t quite solve. You diligently work away, sticking flags and post-its on cold cases for the board.

“What’s with that?”

Emily looks up from her phone. “What’s with what?”

Derek nudges his chin toward the conference room. “That.”

Emily’s brow pinches a little. “They seem to be getting along well.” Her mouth twists. “I didn’t think he’d warm up so easily. He didn’t with me.”

“He gets like that. He’s getting better, though, ever since you called him out.”

She snorts. “You’re kidding. I didn’t think he actually listened - I barely meant it.”

“No, you didn’t.” Derek raises his eyebrows and searches for her eyes. “And he heard you.”

Emily shifts her attention back to you, her posture softening. “Oh.”

“C’mon,” Derek says, tapping her upper back with a good deal of affection. “Let’s regroup and see what we’ve got.”

+++

Aaron sits up in bed, the harsh light from the hotel table lamp illuminating the ugly wallpaper and the case files on the equally ugly bedspread.

His fingers hover restlessly over the keys as he drafts his email, warring with himself.

Does he want you on the team? Permanently? He’s already shown too much of his hand, revealed too much of himself, grew too comfortable too quickly.

He’s not sure what it is about you that forced his guard down.

You’re not the first person he’s asked about Haley, though he must admit that Gideon was next to no help. Spencer’s offered him unsolicited statistics about marital strife on three separate occasions in the past three months.

Aaron presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut.

I live in a circus.

He opens his eyes and reads over the email again.

Fuck it.

His cursor hovers over Send for just a moment before he clicks. The little whooshing sound seals his fate.

+++

You land in Arizona and Gideon’s already on edge. There’s already another crime scene by the time you get off the plane

“This one’s going to be bad, isn’t it?”

Derek sighs. “You’ve got good instincts. Stay close.”

You elect yourself Derek’s shadow at the crime scene, taking notes for him while he circles and observes the body.

Leaning close to him, you ask, “Isn’t the body positioning a sign of remorse?”

He looks over at you with a little smile. “Yeah. Good work.” He looks across the street to Hotch, speaking with the detective. “Do yourself a favor and note that to Hotch. Make sure Gideon hears you.”

+++

This time, you’re alone with Emily in the conference room, helping her pin and organize the board.

“Hey,” she says, something like hesitation in her voice.

You turn. “Yeah?”

“Did Strauss ever…” She trails off and looks over her shoulder as Hotch, Gideon, and Derek come back in from the Arizona heat. They’re on their way to the conference room.

“Did she ever what?”

Emily shakes her head and forces a smile, waving you off. “Nevermind.”

You’re not sure you get the confused look of your face before your colleagues walk through the door.

+++

“Where are they?” Hotch watches the monitor, his eyes flickering, searching for Derek and Emily.

You’re frozen, watching over his shoulder as the woman stabs the unsub, and then herself. Without knowing why, your mind wanders to that question Emily almost asked you the day before.

This isn’t good.

+++

The plane ride home is quiet, tense.

You sit next to Hotch again. There’s not much you can do, but you shoot a text to Haley.

5:42pm We’re flying back. Should be wheels down in Quantico in about four hours.

She texts back after a minute.

5:43pm Thanks.

There’s something off - you don’t like the look of that period, but you try not to read into it too much. You’re all feeling a little unsettled after that case.

Your eyes wander across the cabin.

JJ’s bottom lip is firmly planted between her teeth as she stares out the window.

Spencer’s sitting across from Gideon with a huge book in his lap, but he’s looking at Gideon more than he’s reading.

Gideon, for once, doesn’t have his journal in his hand. He, like JJ, stares out the window, his mouth pinched.

Emily’s eyes are restless, her breathing somewhat irregular. She’s picking at her nails.

“Emily.”

She looks up at you, and you tap the back of your hand with a finger. She looks down, finding her thumb and index finger close to bleeding.

“Thanks.” She looks away from you again.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think the view out the window was the most captivating sight in history.

You know better. It’s just clouds.

Your phone buzzes in your hand. Jenny.

5:58pm How’s it going?

You huff a little laugh down your nose.

5:58pm Rough day.

Hotch breaks his gaze from the window. “What’s up?”

“Just Jenny. She’s checking in.”

He shakes his head and you can hear the sarcasm in his tone. “Good day for it.”

6:01pm If you’re up to it, I’ll be in my office late if you want to swing by and talk about it. 6:02pm I also have booze.

You look up to find Hotch reading over your shoulder. He backs off. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to -”

“No, it’s fine.”

“You should go, if she’s offering.”

You snort. “Should I be job-searching already?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says with a little smile. “Jenny’s seen a lot. She’s a good resource.”

+++

The Navy yard is quiet as you drive across the campus. The NCIS building isn’t hard to find, but it’s still unfamiliar territory.

When you park and get cleared for access and up the elevator, most of the lights are off on the Major Case Response floor. There are still agents present, working under the warm light of their desk lamps.

A team of four takes up the middle of the bullpen, but they barely look up as you pass them and climb the stairs.

Cynthia isn’t at her desk - gone for the night - and Jenny’s office door is open. She also has her overhead lights turned off, giving her office a cozy, lived-in feel.

“Hey, you,” she says, looking up with a little smile. “Just got the scuttlebutt on that Arizona case. Definitely not ideal, I hear.”

You shake your head, collapsing into a chair on the other side of her desk. “Not ideal is a good way to put it.”

She stands and crosses the office, pouring two small glasses of some amber liquid you know is gonna burn like hell.

You take what she offers and hold in both of your hands, not really interested in drinking it, and follow her to the couch.

“What happened?”

You heave a breath. “Got the call - three murders already. Clearly a preferential offender. All the women were students, brunette, similar features. We already had another crime scene by the time we landed. We used the profile, got the guy.”

Jenny’s brow pinches. “Then?”

“Copycat. Even came with a note exonerating the suspect we had in custody. We had to let him go without a lead on the second suspect.”

She sighs and takes a sip of her bourbon. “Been there.”

“We were surveilling him, waiting for him to do something stupid - we knew he would. The copycat confronted him… She was suicidal. Stabbed him, then herself. We were too late.”

“Oh, my God.”

You level her with an exhausted look. “Yeah.”

“How’s your team?”

“Tired, mostly.” You offer a humorless laugh. “Maybe in a more existential way than a physical way, not that any of us have slept…”

The two of you chat into the early hours of the morning. She’s had more than one day like this, in more than one country.

“It’s days like this that make you question whether you’ve chosen the right line of work.” She looks over at a picture of herself in front of the Eiffel Tower, resting on her bookshelf. “But the good days…”

“They make it worth it, don’t they?”

The corner of her mouth tips up in a smile. “Yeah. They do.”

+++

You find a text from Haley when you get back into the car, not realizing you left it in the center console cup holder.

10:38pm Thanks for getting him home safe. Get some sleep.

+++

When you come in the next morning almost embarrassingly late, Gideon’s office is still dark.

You’re not even really sure you should be here in the first place, what with the major fuckup hanging over everyone’s heads. The last thing you want to do is go home to your room, back to those four tiny walls and textbooks, even after everything. The bullpen, this team, has become your safety net.

They should all be here, but there’s only one absence striking you as particularly odd. “Where’s Gideon?”

Spencer shrugs, spinning half-circles in his desk chair. He looks despondent, staring at the carpet. You don’t see Emily or Derek, but you assume they’re somewhere.

Weird.

You set your things down and head up the stairs, knocking twice on Hotch’s door.

“Yeah?” He looks up and sees you, relaxing a little.

You take a little breath. “Should I be here today?”

“Do you want to be here today?” There’s something behind his voice you can’t quite place. It almost sounds like insecurity, like he’s worried he’s scared you off.

Far from it.

“I do, sir. I want to be here.” You think of Jenny, and hope he can hear more than you can say. “It’s worth it.”

You think maybe you’re figuring him out a little more. He smiles more often than you’d think, but you have to know what it looks like. This look - the softening of his eyes and the corners of his mouth, the slight crease at the corners of his eye, the threat of a dimple - is just as big a smile for him as Morgan’s human-sunshine smile.

“Then stick around. I’ll have you work on some mock consults with Reid and Prentiss - you’ll be doing a lot of those in the next few months until you’re ready to take them on by yourself.”

“I’ll go pick them up from JJ. They’re in her office, right?”

He nods and you turn to leave, but you’re stopped by the sound of your name before you can get through the door. “Yeah?”

“You’ve performed remarkably well, no matter what happens after this.”

The side of your mouth twists. “Thank you, sir.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @the-falling-in-the-danger @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @kerrswriting @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou @baumarvel @messyhairday-me @ssworldofsw @deagibs @crazyshannonigans @moonshinerbynight @jhiddles03 @teamhappyme @mendesmelodies @starsandasteroids @unicorn-bitch @ambicaos @bispences

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

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thewertsearch · 2 months

Text

TT: You mentioned immortality. TT: Godhood makes one immortal? […] One will live forever, unless killed. The death must be either heroic or just. TT: How are those terms defined? Broadly, mysteriously, and according to the case of the individual. One may be killed by opposing a corrupt adversary and die for a just cause, as through martyrdom, for instance. This would be heroic. Or one may be subject to corruption, and slain by a hero. This would be just.

Heroic Players can die fighting 'corrupt adversaries', whereas Just Players can be 'corrupted', and 'slain by a hero'. There's a clear dichotomy here, wherein 'corrupt' God Tiers are particularly vulnerable to self-sacrificing God Tiers, and vice-versa.

I like it. It's a very mythological way for immortality to work, and it gels well with Sburb's fantasy narrative. Rose's alliance with the Horrorterrors probably marks her as corrupted, so God Tier ascension probably wouldn't grant her true immortality.

The concept is fascinatingly ambiguous, too. Morality is a controversial subject at the best of times, and allowing Sburb to judge the ethics of a Player's actions could get very tricky, very fast. There's no doubt in my mind that Sburb and I disagree vehemently about what constitutes a just cause, and I'm sure I'm not the only one.

TT: Which sort of death will you have when I destroy the sun? Neither. I'm not a god. I'm a guardian, a servant, and a weapon. I have power and knowledge far surpassing a god. But I am not one.

First Guardians are considered far more powerful than God Tiers, then. Aradia was able to get the drop on Jack, but Jack's really just a Kernelsprite imitation of a First Guardian. Scratch is far more threatening, especially since his brain isn't scrambled by dog memories.

...that said, his brain might be a little scrambled by whatever was in that HONK code. Who knows what Alt-Gamzee was cooking there.

My master can't enter this universe until I am killed. […] TT: That almost sounds like martyrdom. Are you sure it won't be a hero's death? Quite sure. My master is a very evil man. TT: Who is he? I won't tell you his name. But he goes by the title, Lord English.

About bloody time. This guy’s been sneaking around the back of the story for over two thousand pages, and it sounds like we're finally going to shed some light on this mysterious adversary.

But you must decide which objective is more important. You may decide to attempt to destroy the sun and end my life. This will neutralize Jack, who is also much more powerful and dangerous than myself by virtue of the ring he wears in addition to drawing energy from the same sun as I. He poses a significant threat to reality.

I'm still skeptical about this assertion. What could Jack's other kernels possibly offer that his First Guardian powers don't render obsolete?

Anyway - even if Jack does have better numbers, Scratch is still far more dangerous by virtue of the mind he wields.

TT: But in the process of killing him and you, I release your master, who is just as deadly? He's more deadly. But the danger he poses is sanctioned by paradox space. It is a known quantity. His very existence in a universe will mean it will inevitably be torn apart. But there are rules to his entry, and his grim procession through paradox space is rather orderly. The present equilibrium has accounted for him, and will continue to.

I did wonder if English was part of Paradox Space's natural ecosystem, charged with destroying old universes in much the same way Sburb destroys planets.

Even if he is part of Skaia's ineffable plan, I don't think that should stop us from ending his sorry ass. We might not understand English's motivations, but we do know that his plans destroy anyone unfortunate enough share his plane of reality, and countless lives have already been ruined in Scratch’s quest to bring him out. I don't really care if Paradox Space sanctions his actions - he needs to be taken down, and if that upsets the natural order, then it's time for a new natural order.

Besides, we probably don't even need to destroy the Sun to stop Jack. We have plenty of other angles to work, from exploiting his psychological weaknesses to negotiating with his slightly more reasonable deputy. Additionally, Jadesprite won't be out of action forever, and Jack can't even harm Jadesprite, due to the aforementioned psychological weaknesses. Even if she's inherited Bec's 'don't fight Agents' programing, that doesn't stop her from simply stealing his Ring. She's done it before.

Jack however is a loose cannon. He will not stop until he destroys everything he encounters.

Yeah - to be honest, Scratch, I'm starting to think you're laying it on a little thick, here. Is Jack really the omniversal 'threat to reality' that you're making him out to be?

Let's not get it twisted - I have no trouble believing that he's dangerous to individual sessions. But does he really have the juice to wreak cosmic destruction on the scale of Lord English? His battery is only as strong as a couple of universes, and he has to share it with every other First Guardian in the cosmos.

Plus, the kids can't be the only Players in the multiverse to accidently prototype a First Guardian. I'm sure it's rare, but it can't be once-in-all-the-worlds rare. There should be plenty of other rogue First Guardians floating around Paradox Space - and if they're all enormous threats to reality, then reality should already have been destroyed.

In conclusion: No, Doc. I don't think Jack Noir is an English-tier threat. And for the record, I think there's a much more dangerous First Guardian in this equation than the Sovereign Slayer.

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #3630 #s144 #so you're only immortal if you don't take a side. rare true neutral w

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allzelemonz · 3 years

Text

Mr. Mayor: Vlad Masters X NSG Reader

Decided to make it gender neutral despite the request because I love Vlad and I know other boys and enbys do too. Also made the reader Jack Fenton’s sibling because I think there’s a slap in the face situation part 2 later on.

Visiting your brother’s family was always great. Jack rambled on about something ghost related while Jazz caught you up on her academic successes and Maddie told you about the big new events you’d missed since visiting last. Your favorite part of the visit was taking Danny to hang out. Your nephew was your favorite, not that you’d ever say it out loud.

So taking Danny to the Nasty Burger to meet with his friends was right in your wheelhouse. Sam and Tucker seemed like really nice kids. You admired Sam’s taste in the weird things and Tucker’s understandable love for technology. In talking to the kids you remembered what Maddie had told you.

“So, the new mayor, not your favorite person?” You looked around at the high schooler's faces.

“He tried to make us wear school uniforms, started a curfew at four o’clock, and we almost lost the Nasty Burger.” Danny explained.

“Does he have some sort of vendetta against you or something?” You asked as you went to take a bite of a fry.

The teens looked at you skeptically. As if you knew something you weren’t supposed to.

“What?” You looked around. “Am I missing something?”

“He’s just a bad guy, that’s all.” Sam clarified.

“He’s the guy that’s been chasing after Danny’s mom since they were in college, other than that he never seemed that bad.” You set down the fry you were never going to get the chance to eat. “He and Jack always spent summers between semester doing stupid ghost expermments in th attic.”

“So you knew him before…” Danny stopped himself from finishing.

“Before?”

“Before college?” Tucker filled questioningly.

“Yeah, yeah, you knew him from when my dad went to college?”

“Not really.” You answered. “Just caught glimpses of him. I was in high school so I didn’t really pay attention to what Jack did.” You shrugged. “He seemed nice, but he stopped coming over so often for some reason.”

Once again the teens looked at each other as if they knew something special.

“All right, who wants to tell me?” You broke their little staring contest.

“Tell you what?” Tucker spoke in more of a series of squeaks rather than words.

“Yeah, there’s nothing to tell.” Sam covered.

You turned to Danny. “Nephew.”

He gulped and let out a nervous laugh. “It’s like Sam said, he’s just a really bad guy now.”

“Explain.”

The look of a disappointed (Aunt/Uncle/Auncle-This is the most common gender neutral term I’ve found) was something that could move mountains. Danny shifted in his seat clearly trying to come up with a convincing lie.

“Daniel, tell me.” You narrowed your brows and the kid looked white as a ghost.

Hold on, no. His hand was gone. The one that was resting on the table. Gone.

“Is this a ghost thing?” You asked.

Danny looked down at his hand and tried to play it off as if it was just a weird angle. It didn’t work. With all the nervous muttering and poorly formed excuses it was obvious they were lying.

“You’re half ghost?” It was hard to believe, but it was the only thing that the kids didn’t sound like they were lying about.

“Yes, just keep your voice down.” Danny warned. “Vlad is half ghost too, that’s how he became mayor and got all of his money.”

“So he’s bad because he played to his strengths?” You muttered to yourself.

You gathered up the trash around the table.

“Why don’t you introduce me to him, Danny. I’m sure he’s not that bad of a guy.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Sam chimed in.

“I may be related to Jack Fenton, but that doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.” You looked at Danny who seemed to forget that he could do ghostly things and was trying to hide in his shirt. “Come on, Danny.”

Reluctantly Danny left his friends to introduce you to his arch nemesis. A fourteen year old with an arch nemesis and it had to be your nephew. Town hall was busy, but that’s what town halls are like. Danny helped you walk through a few walls until you were outside of Vlad’s office. The fact that your nephew could just walk through walls was going to take some getting used to. Danny opened the door to see a rather handsome man sitting at a large desk with a fluffy white cat in his lap. He looked up at the sound of the door clicking open.

“Why Daniel, to what do I owe the pleasure?” His voice had a calming effect.

“My (Aunt/Uncle/Auncle) wanted to meet you.” Danny seemed tense in the way he spoke. “I’ll be at home.’ He muttered to you before leaving the room.

You closed the door as he left.

“Good to meet you Mr. Masters, I’m (Y/n), Jack’s (Brother/Sister/Sibling).”

“Oh, yes, I remember seeing you around.” Vlad recalled. “Please sit.”

You did so, taking the seat across from him.

“I wanted to meet you because I’d always been a fan of your work.”

“Oh, thank you, it's always nice to meet a fan.”

“And because I never got the chance to really meet you when you and Jack were friends.”

“I must say, I do regret not meeting you sooner.” Vlad leaned forward and rested his chin in his hands. The cat scurried away to a small tower by the window.

“Why did you and Jack stop talking?” You asked.

“Oh, college passed and we went separate ways.” He waved off the issues.

“That’s it?”

“Well, I used to have a bit of jealousy toward he and Maddie, but I feel it passing more and more with each word.”

“Each what?”

“Each day.” Vlad corrected himself.

“Right…” Your eyes wandered to the framed Packers jersey on his wall. “You’re a Packers fan?”

“Why yes.” Vlad smiled fondly at the jersey. “I’ve tried to buy the team itself, but no luck.”

“I’ve always been a bit of a fan, and I love the jersey.” You complemented.

“Say, would you like to accompany me to a game this season?”

You blushed red. A very attractive man just asked you to go to your favorite team's game.

“I, uh, I’d love to.”

“I have my own box, bottle service and all of the perks.” He bragged. “Afterall someone with your looks deserves nothing less.”

You let out a nervous half laugh. “Thank you, Mr. Masters.”

“Oh, please, Vlad.” He insisted.

“Right, Vlad.”

The name rolled off your tongue in such a pleasant way. Jack might kill you for this, but come on.

“If you’d like we go for dinner tonight as well.” Vlad offered.

“Sure.” You answered right away.

After having to interrogate Danny and his friends you realized you never really got to eat.

“Shall we then?” Vlad waited by you with his arm out to take.

You walked with him to a limo reserved just for the mayor. He sat next to you and gave great conversation. You discussed the Packers, politics of Amity Park, and personal preferences. Dinner was much of the same, but with more food. Vlad wasn’t like Danny had said. He was a gentleman. He may have acquired his money by not-so-legal means, but he was a nice guy.

The ride home was more conversation. Vlad bought the ticket to the game he’d promised and inquired about why you were in Amity Park.

“It was just time to visit, catch up with Jazz and Danny.” You explained. “I try to tune out Jack, he calls every week or so anyway.”

“And how long will you be staying in our fair city?”

“Around a week.”

“And I couldn’t persuade you to stay any longer?” Vlad offered.

“I, uh, I don’t know.” You thought. “Maybe.”

“There is a position open at city hall if it interests you.” He met your eyes. “I’d be happy to pull some string to keep you around.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.” You nodded along.

You hadn’t noticed how close the two of you were. Until Vlad’s hand was already cupping your cheek. He gave you a moment to react before he leaned in and pressed your lips together. It was a sweet kiss, timid. As if he hadn’t done it in a long time.

You scooted closer to him on the seat and wrapped your arms around him, one of your hands finding his pony tail to play with. Vlad rested his other hand on your side and pulled you a bit closer. You pressed further and intensified the kiss. Vlad obliged and kept the pace, kissing you with as much passion.

The car came to a stop and made you both separate. Time was cut short.

“I suppose I’ll see you soon?”

“Of course.”

“Lunch tomorrow?”

“I’d love to.”

Vlad opened the door for you to step out and gave you one last smile before the car drove away. You were definitely going to see him again.

#Danny Phantom #vlad plasmius #Vlad Masters #vlad masters x reader #vlad masters x male reader #vlad masters x female reader #x reader #x male reader #x gender neutral reader #vlad masters x gender neutral reader

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internalsealpanic · 4 years

Text

Monster Monster

I wholeheartedly blame this pic for the existence of this fic. I just wanna hug him and ruffle his hair.

Summary: Parent Teacher Conferences are very scandalous.

a/n: This is actually one of my few fics where reading some of my previous fics will help. I highly recommend reading Of Midnight Smoothies and Murder Mysteries to get a better feel on Dick and Reader’s relationship but anything on the Dick Grayson masterlist works too. Special thanks to @littleredwing89 and @americasmarauders for proofreading. Thanks to @littleredwing89 and @batarella for help with the ending.

warnings: A slur is mentioned but it gets shut down. Also, swearing.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

“Tt, stop staring at me.”

You bite back a smile and what was probably a laugh rising in your throat. “Hmmm, no.” You hum, carding your fingers through Damian’s curls. The corners of your mouth twitch into a frown when you feel an angry bump against your fingers. It’s dry and there seems to be no break in the skin as far as you could tell. You let a little sigh of relief escape you which has the unintended consequence of upsetting the gremlin in front of you.

Damian attempts to swat your hand away, snarling as he did. You grin at him, all sharp teeth and pettiness. You, being childish, do not take your hand away and instead ruffle his hair more. An adorably petulant pout settles on Damian’s mouth making the kid look ten-years-old for once. It takes everything in you not to squeal in delight.

“Unhand me. I do not require your mothering and you would do very well to leave the scolding to Richard or Pennyworth.” You can easily picture Alfred scolding Damian but Dick? You try to picture Dick, hand on his hip, trying his damndest to be mean to the kid but you just couldn’t. Sure, Nightwing can be terrifying, even Batman but Dick? Especially with a kid? Not even feasible. You snort openly, the noise echoing in the deadly silent room. The woman on the other side of the room sitting next to a boy with a faceful of bruises and probably a couple of chipped teeth glares at you. Specifically, the woman scowls at your arm, skin festooned with bangles of coiled serpent tails and glittering blades. You fight the urge to stick your tongue out at her. Instead, you tug a bit at your sleeves, baring the golden lines streaked with old gashes. A low humorless laugh escapes you causing her scowl to deepen.

Damian follows your line of sight. His face folds in utter contempt. The boy next to her flinches. Their size difference made this all the funnier. “[What did he do?]” you ask in what you hope are the correct words in Arabic. Damian crosses his arms not meeting your gaze. His leg kicks out, the restlessness thrumming in his bones. “[Your accent is atrocious.]”

Your mouth twitches uncontrollably, edging into a fond smile. You tamp it down with a click of your tongue lest the little demon tear your head off. “[I’m out of practice, child,]” Damian grabs at a space beside him only for his hand to close on nothing. Something inside you dies when you stop yourself from cackling. Thank goodness, Bruce has--had--the good sense to take the kid’s katana away.

“[Anyway, what did he do?]”

“[How are you so sure he did something?]”

“[Because you’re a brat but not stupid. You are by far the most annoyingly reasonable child I have had the displeasure of conversing with.]” Damian’s eyes widened in surprise. It seems the assumed hatred was mutual. You watch as he folds his face back into a glower, not quite fast enough to evade your attention but certainly fast enough to fool the untrained eye. Unfortunately for him, you’re used to the acrobatics of faces, the chaotic cacophony of microexpression. Most people in your life are, after all, awful at broadcasting their feelings even when it was sorely needed. This is probably why you gravitated to Dick so easily. The man believed in openness, in communication.

Distantly, you can hear the woman across from you tap her foot impatiently against the carpet. A flick of your eye tells you she was sneering at both of you likely eavesdropping (and failing) on your conversation. Why she needs to know what you and a ten-year-old with a stick up his ass were talking about you weren’t sure. Damian turns his head slightly towards you, angling his chin upward to mask the uncertainty in his posture. “[If you must know, he-]”

“Gypsies”

The syllables ring like a loud staccato of gunshots despite how quietly she’d hissed it. You freeze. You can feel Damian stiffen right beside you. Understanding flowed into you molten and bubbling. You feel your throat itch, unkind words coalescing into a lump in your throat. You turn your body to Damian who was now still but you can feel the anger wicking off him. You sling your arm over the head of the chair behind him drawing his attention back to you.

He arches a brow at you, challenging. The expression falters when the next few words leave your mouth.

“[You’re off the hook.]”

Principal Jameson is a nasally man. It isn’t his anything to do with his voice. Though, you would be remiss to say that his voice was pleasant. You’re actually half tempted to turn your bad ear on him, block out the words coming from him but that would negate the point of you coming here. His voice isn’t that unpleasant but his entire demeanor rubbed you the wrong way. You’ve seen jellyfish with more backbone than this man. Then again, this might just be a by-product of your presence. Dick, and several other batbrats, have helpfully informed you that you were in fact pants pissing scary to civilians. You would like to say you couldn’t see it but standing in front of this man it was clear as day.

“Y/n L/n,” you offer congenially. His shoulders ease a fraction but did not offer you a hand. You smother a sigh before offering an additional “I believe Mr.Grayson-Wayne had informed you that I would be coming in his stead to discuss this-” Shit show, your mind supplies but thankfully, your mouth was quick enough to bite it back. “- incident.” Beside you Damian scoffed. You stop yourself from kicking the kid because that really would not do.

“Yes, well, Ma’am your-” Jameson halts frankly unsure of your relationship to Damian because of course, Dick would leave the leg work to your socially allergic ass. You make a mental note to kick him later. “- charge.” you supply, feeling a modicum of sympathy for the drowning man.Your eyes flick to Damian. His face is impassive, ire still directed at the thirteen-year-old sniveling behind his mother. The term is too cold for your taste but as of right now that’s all you were. Maybe you’ve finally found a Robin you wouldn't get attached to.

“Well, ma’am, you see your charge, Damian, he’s punched another student and has yet to even apologize. He even started a full on brawl.”

“Mhmm, I see,” you drawl tilting your head. You feel Damian stiffen at the ease of your response. You don’t have to look at his face to know that he was glaring at you with something in his eyes withering from the betrayal. The woman across from nods agreeably as if you had said something sensible. Jameson for his part nearly sighs with relief. You click your teeth a little irritable from their responses but more fascinated than anything. ‘I see’ is barely an answer but they each filled in the gaps with their own assumptions. “And has that young man over there apologized for what he said to Damian? Or for the lump on Damian’s head? Surely, you sent Damian to the clinic as well.” you voice out looking as scandalized as possible.

The room froze.

Your eyes will probably roll into the back of your head before your meeting is done. Judging from Jameson’s posture, they didn’t. They should have at least checked if the kid had a concussion. A familiar sort of ire rose in you. Oh boy, you’re going to have a field day with these people. You sigh in exasperation before continuing. “Not only did you neglect to send him to the clinic to check on the lump on his head, but you were also planning to let the other boy off the hook?” you accuse, voice rising with some effort. Your voice has a tendency to draw low when your temper is flaring. It’s an intimidation tactic you'd learned from a while ago. It would probably be ill advised to use it on a man who looked like he was a second away from a heart attack.

Jameson leans forward, reaching out appeasingly.“Ma’am, we-”

“From what I recall, Gotham Academy has a strict zero tolerance policy on derogatory language, does it not?” You cut him off, voice suddenly vicious. You shift your body in front of Damian putting yourself between him and everyone else in the room. He bristles at the gesture but you and your habits aren’t exactly concerned with his pride.

“Ma’am I-“

“I rest my case. Please, feel free to contact Mr.Grayson-Wayne if you have more to say.” You settle a hand on Damian’s shoulder. You’re surprised he didn’t fight you or swat your hand away. Taking it as permission, you pull him closer to you as you leave the red faced woman and the paling man gob smacked and silent. Damian himself doesn’t make the sound as you made your way down the hall. You squeeze his shoulder gently hoping it comes across as a reassuring gesture. His posture does not loosen but you do not let him stray from you. You close your eyes as the elevator doors shut.

“I did not require your assistance.”

“I know.” Of course, he doesn’t. He is a Robin and an Al Ghul but that doesn’t mean he isn’t gonna get it. You drum your fingers against the steering wheel, the dull beat only serving to irritate your nerves. You swear the traffic in Gotham was somehow infinitely worse than everywhere else in the world even with working traffic lights. Maybe that’s why there were so many crazy people here. Maybe Bruce should have invested his money on better roads. Maybe-

Your eyes slide towards Damian who is somehow shrinking and pressing into the side door. Still, his face is twisted skeptically and braced for a continuation to your statement. You looked heavenward not even hiding the weariness in your smile. The brat is truly a bat-- suspicion and all. You turn your body towards him, opening up your posture. You fold your leg and rest your chin on your arm. Damian meets your gaze head on, looking imperious as he crosses his arms over his chest. His posture is artificial, probably uncomfortable from the weight of your attention.

You roll your shoulders and reshape your features, reconfiguring yourself from understanding to teasing. “I know. I know but you see, they needed telling off and your tiny gremlin ass isn’t scary enough. And, I promise I won’t tell Dickolas that you defended him so vehemently.” you wink, a conspiratorial grin spreading across your face. Damian straightens, his body is bowed like he was about to spring for your throat but the shape his limbs took on was more natural and seemingly relaxed. The knot in your shoulder loosens. You reach over and ruffle his hair again. He really is still a kid. You stare each other down. Your smile is as unwavering as his glower.

Both of your stomachs grumble. The sound was loud and abrasive in the closed space of the car. You check your watch and hum, shifting back into your seat. Wordlessly, you switch on your signal light.

You leaf through the pages of the thoroughly used book in your hands, eyes skimming through the blocks of texts not really absorbing any of it. You never really found the appeal in fiction. The stories are too neat compared to what you experienced daily. You suppose there is simplicity in them but you find that in nonfiction, the kind of books that explained the mechanics of things. They made sense of the world and were much more useful in your opinion. You’re much more interested in the messy scribbles on the margins, the etchings of a loud mind on yellowing pages. Jason’s notes were written in the same tone of voice he used when he spoke, deceptively layman but upon further inspection was frighteningly insightful. You smile at the little comments and complaints, the snarky little remarks. Remnants of the little boy he had been before. You frowned. You should probably give this back to him once you have the chance and maybe come up with some excuse of why you still have it. Or you can just keep it.

You look up at Damian who is drumming his fingers impatiently against the lacquered table. His posture is artificially relaxed, likely something he learned from the league or maybe all nervous gremlins do it. You look down at the book again. The sight reminds you of Jay. You tip your head, the loud thunk of your skull is felt more than heard since it was your bad ear that is pressed against the glass. The sound startles Damian who was deep in thought. You hold out the book to him. He must be bored waiting for your order. He pointedly ignores you.

"I don't need that childish drivel." He snipes. You click your teeth feeling a little defensive of the book.

You sound exactly like your grandfather, you think but have enough sense to keep it to yourself. No child needs to be compared to Ra's Al Ghul even if he is a brat.

"Not a fan of-" You look at the book's spine and frown. "-Robert Stevenson?" What kind of dork reads Robert Stevenson for fun? Oh wait, it's the same dork that quotes Shakespeare while bashing heads.

"I have no need for such things."

Of course, he didn’t.

"No, I suppose you don't need anything with the actual text but the margins are quite fascinating." You hold out the book to him again. His eyebrows shoot up looking at you skeptically as he reaches for it. There is no actual written indication that it was Jay's and the kid likely hasn't spent enough time with Jay to actually tell from the way it's written. You look out the window to turn your good ear to him, listening for any reactions he might have. Every now and then you hear a huff of amusement. You smother the smile threatening to form on your lips with your hand.

"Well, the person who owned this certainly had a lot to say." Damian says carefully, handing the book back.

"Jay really was a mouthy kid."

Damian looks at you, little face scrunching up in confusion. You suddenly notice just how easily the booth swallows him up. Why is he so tiny? "If this is Todd's, why do you have it?"

You clasp the book in your hands, your thumb tracing over the creases. "He leant me this book shortly before he died. He-- Well, I told him that I wasn't fond of adventure stories. I prefer books about science and culture. They're much more useful, yanno?" Damian gives a slight nod. You relax into your seat with his understanding. "Well, he thought it was just that I've never read a good one so he gave me this one. Never quite finished it though." you admit a little sheepish after realizing just how sentimental you felt. Your eyes trace over Damian's expression. It's clear that the sentimentality bled through your words and some childish part of you winces at the vulnerability of it. Damian says nothing and doesn't even sneer in derision.

You hum, the tune musical but offkey. “Jason, actually did what you did today awhile ago.” Just like that you begin down a rabbit hole telling the little gremlin about all the stupid shit the older bats have gotten into. And oh boy, there’s a lot.

“So do either of you want to explain what happened and why GAs headmaster called me sounding like he was gonna piss himself?”

“Hmmm, probably not ” you say around your spoonful of mahalabia, not even looking up from your book. Hilariously enough, Damian had also elected to leave Dick’s presence unacknowledged and busy with his own mahalabia. Dick scoot into your side of the booth, purposefully squishing you against the wall with a shiteating grin. He loops his arm around you and pulls you closer, planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek. You blanch and push half heartedly at his chest as he laughs. That laugh makes your heart warm and a relenting smile spreads across your features softening them. Your body twitches forward to kiss but you still when Dick freezes instead you plant a kiss on his cheek as well. Dick relaxes at the familiarity of it and you two settle down.

Damian stares at both of you befuddled. A heat creeps up your cheeks realizing that Dick is practically sitting on you. Dick, on the other hand, seems perfectly content with your current lack of personal space, so you leave it alone despite the incredulous look Damian is giving both of you. Dick snatches up your spoon taking a heap from your dessert. You make an offended noise in the back of your throat which he simply answers with another broad smile. Your lip twitches uncontrollably and your shoulders go slack.

“So what happened?”

You and Damian exchange a look. Damian rolls his eyes at you and you shrug at him performatively. “Nothing.” you two say in a chorus of nonchalance. It only succeeds in annoying Dick, so it was partially successful.

Dick pouts taking another bite of your desert. You stare in disbelief as the grownass man sitting next to you attempts to give you the puppy dog eyes as he eats your desert. You sign on exasperation because it's working and the bastard knows it. Richard John Grayson-Wayne is a manipulative asshole and you are a certified sucker.

You turn to Damian pleadingly begging him to please either help you or end you. Instead, he simply looks the two as if searching for an answer to a question forming in his mind. You run your hand over your face ready to concede when something clicks.

"Man-Bat got into GA and Damian fought him off." you say, praying Dick would catch on to the game. For a terrifying moment, he doesn’t. He blinks at you in confusion and your stomach sinks then a smile slowly spreads across his face lighting up every feature. Your heart swells at the sight.

"Bullshit. What was Man-Bat doing in GA?"

"Dunno,maybe bullying students. I don't know what bat creatures get up to." you say grinning. The picture becomes clear from every outlandish story. To your surprise, Damian joins in with a few vague details of his own giving even more details than you'd initially gathered.

Lunch passes pleasantly with outlandish stories and good food.

“NEWS: Dick Grayson-Wayne, New Face of Wayne Enterprises, Caught in a Torrid Love Affair with a Mystery Woman. Who Could this Exotic Beauty Be?”

“NEWS: Young Wayne Heir Being Extorted by Mystery Woman?”

“NEWS: Wayne Heir with Secret Family?”

Dick wants to evaporate somehow. He stares at the headlines mortified beyond what he ever thought possible. Maybe the floor will be merciful and it’ll finally swallow him as Jason reads another headline in a ridiculous newsreel voice.

“No, no wait. This one is fucking priceless!”

“Jason, please, I am begging you. STOP.” Dick whines, his face flattening against his work table. Tim shrugs, an amused smile adorns his face. Dick is going to scream. “Tim, please please please, make him stooop.” Tim ignores Dick in favor of scrolling through his own tablet looking, frankly unsympathetic.

“Oh a tryst!”

“Jason, you are making it sound so much worse.”

“Dunno, big bird, some of these make it sound like you fucked her over a table in the restaurant.” Jason watches in absolute delight as his older brother attempts to merge with the work bench, the tanned skin of his neck and ears burning a bright shade of crimson. Tim snickers, unhelpfully. Dick loved that his younger brothers were getting along for once. He just hated that for some reason they just had to be united against him. “All I did was kiss her on the cheek and eat her food.”

Jason gasps theatrically, feigning fainting. “Premarital kissing?! Dick, how could you? What’s next? Premarital hand holding? Think of the children.” Jason exclaims, dramatically pointing to Damian who at this point had been ignoring the ruckus Jason was causing.

“Jason, you’re awful and you’re being extremely dramatic.”

“Dick, you don’t exactly have any room to talk in that department.”

“Yeah, Mr. Pretty Man Down, Baby Bird has a point.” Jason says smugly as he offers Tim a fist bump which Tim reciprocates by shaking Jason's fist, a joking smile on his face. Jason snorts as if getting the joke or whatever movie reference this was from.

Tim's face folds into a barely held back smile. The laughter bubbling in the back of his throat straining his features. “I will say it is really funny that they didn’t recognize Damian.”

“You know how they are. They probably came up with something like the whole Damian being Bruce’s kid was actually just a cover up for Dick.” Somewhere in the background Damian makes a very displeased noise but Dick can't be bothered to lift his head to check.

“Please no. That doesn’t even-”

“Here’s one, NEWS: Dick Grayson-Wayne’s Baby Mama? Who is this mysterious woman?” Tim reads out flatly.

“The PR team is going to kill me. No, wait. Y/n is going to kill me first.”

“She won’t. She probably finds this hilarious.”

“How would she even find this funny?”

“Well, she does enjoy your suffering- Oh shit. This one might piss her off.” Jason clears his throat, sliding back into the newsreel voice. “DICK GRAYSON, HANDSOME PLAYBOY - WITH YET ANOTHER GIRLFRIEND - WILL HE EVER SETTLE DOWN?”

Dick is half tempted to throw his own tablet at the wall. What did he do to deserve this? You certainly don’t.

“Hey, at least, they called you handsome.” Tim laughs placatingly. It doesn’t work, of course.

Dick looks up at his little brother ruefully. “Oh yeah because the stuff about my looks was definitely the issue.”

“Well considering your morning routine...”

“I haven’t even been on a date so who are these other girlfriends?!”

“Well, me and Jason thought the same thing.” Tim shoots down sneering. When did his sweet baby brother turn to the dark side? Likely, Jason’s influence but deep down he knows Tim has always been capable of evil. Jason is cackling proudly.

“I don't see why you're concerning yourself with this drivel.” Damian says, swiping the tablet right in front of Dick forcing him to look up. Dick smiles at him wearily. “Dami, it’s a little hard when a photo of me kissing y/n on the cheek is plastered everywhere with weird headlines.” Damian tilts his head considering it but he shakes his head muttering something about pointlessness.

“Goddammit, Disco Stick!” The sound of your voice ringing out into the bunker sends their banter crashing to a halt. Dick feels his heart jump to his throat. He-- This was how he was going to die and for once he wasn’t sure he deserved it or not. You stand at the doorway haloed in bright light. At least, his angel of death would be the prettiest one, he thinks-- all the oxygen leaving his lungs.

Crumpled in your fist was a newspaper. Dick can feel his brothers take a step back as you draw near. Your footfalls were as steady as a pulse which made Dick’s own heart rate ratchet up. Your face is carefully impassive the way it always is when your anger was dosed with something else. Dick is sincerely hoping Jason is right about you being amused by the headlines.

You stop in front of him, eyes narrowed and jaw tight. You glower down at him frankly looking murderous before you snort and your face breaks into a smile. The thick tension in the air dissipates and the room releases its collective breath. The smile on your face grows even brighter. Nope, this is how Dick dies, his breath catching in his lungs as his mind fizzes out from the sight of your smile.

“I’m sorry?” Dick lifts himself off the table just barely, still bracing for any sudden wave of anger that will, justifiably, roll over you at some point.

You lean your body on to the spot next to him, letting the table support your weight. Straightening the newspaper in your hands, you frown. “I look terrible in this.”

“You look beautiful.” Dick blurts out. You raise your brow at him incredulously. Jason folds over trying to hold back laughter, his shoulders trembling. Tim just shrinks from second hand embarrassment.

“No, she is correct. She looks repulsive.” Damian says flatly as he snatches the paper from you.

You let out a breathy laugh. “To be fair, anyone would look repulsive next to professional pretty boy Dickie Wayne.” There was no sharpness in your teasing. You look at the photo over Damian’s shoulder. It was a cute photo actually. Dick’s arm loops around your shoulder as he gives you a kiss on your cheek as Damian blanches at Dick’s very public display of affection. It was hilariously easy to see where they got the idea that you two were a couple. You weren’t. You haven’t been for awhile. The thought wrenches something a dull ache inside you. You flatten your lips preventing the edges from dipping into a frown.

A look crosses between Jason and Tim. Tim leans over, asking in a hushed whisper, “I thought they were back together.”

“Dunno they act like it.” Jason shrugs watching your movement. As if to prove his point, you and Dick lean into each other’s space as you bicker about the merits of Gothamite photographers. Jason is half tempted to shove you two together.

“What are you two talking about?” You ask, finally leaning away from Dick.

“Nothing-”

“They were pondering the state of your relationship. I myself have been pondering it.”

For a moment, your eyes meet. For a moment, you are back in a drab hotel in Moscow. For a moment, you are crying your heart out in his arms trying to push him away.

You click your teeth and stare Damian in the eyes not entirely sure what kind of emotions they were betraying. “We were a thing.” Damian’s brow shoots up. You hear someone’s hand slap against their forehead.

You flush wanting to disappear but hold your stance. You hear Dick chuckle beside you as he stands shoulder to shoulder with you. Something in you eases with the closeness, like a gap being filled. “We used to be a couple.” Dick supplies, saving you from your flailing. You tap your finger against the back of his hand as a silent thank you. He taps yours twice in reciprocation. You look down trying to hide a smile.

Jason and Tim look at each other again and nod.

“We should probably go.” Jason says carrying Damian under his arm.

“Todd, unhand me! We are not done here!”

“We’ll see you two later.” Tim waves giving Dick a knowing smile. Dick’s heart jumps up to his throat while his stomach drops to the floor. Is this really the time for his brother’s to play cupid?

You lean in, letting your body press into Dick’s side as you listen to their footsteps fade away. Your head settling on his shoulder hand bracing you against the workbench. You let the stillness settle and make everything around you more solid.

Dick shifts a bit, his fingers lacing in with yours. The gesture makes your heart twinge, the chasm in your chest yawning with longing. You swallow. The air is thick with unspoken words like smoke clogging up your lungs. You think that if you could just pluck the right one out of thin air, you could clear the air.

‘I love you’ itches in the back of your throat but what right did you have to say that to him even after all this time.

Beside you, Dick is smiling and relishing your presence. The silver glint of your earring winking at him from beneath your hair. He had gotten you that on your first date, a little souvenir you got to commemorate the occasion.

Dick pivots in front of you making your breath catch. His free hand brushing your hair behind your ear revealing the silver robin on your ear. Silver robins. You had at the time laughed at the absurdity of it but here they were years later. Dick’s hands settle on either side of you boxing you in against the table. Even when he’s got you trapped like this, you feel at ease knowing Dick would never hurt you. Dick leans his forehead against yours, his fingers still intertwined with yours. Your pulse is loud in your ears. You lean your forehead against his, eyes sliding close soaking up the contact.

“It’s always been you.” Dick says breathlessly. The words do not register, too dreamlike in their conception. You always hoped and wished that you could take it back, that you had never left, that he would love you the same way he did before but you were never foolish enough to hold on to things like that with both hands. Yet here Dick was whispering things that you only let yourself dream of.

“It’s always been you.” He repeats as if the repetition could make it more real. You swallow the lump in your throat trying to find your voice but you’re afraid that once you speak, the room would catch fire and the dream would dissolve into harsh reality.

Dick gently cups your face and for a moment you let yourself be lost in the sea of blue. The stinging in your eyes makes you blink even if you don’t want to. You lick your lips as if somewhere on them were the right words.

You can’t even fathom the combination of words that could encapsulate the cocktail of longing and love you felt for him.

Your tongue darts out, wetting your bottom lip as your eyes focus on his lips. You swallow again your throat feeling thick even as you lean into his space, pushing off the work bench. Your nose rubbing against his, his long lashes fluttering against your cheek and tickling your skin. Dick leans in, his lips on yours, the pressure barely enough to make contact. You twitch forward, lips melting against his. The world around you stills and disintegrates leaving only him in its wake.

The kiss is all tender softness, a promise of love and loyalty quietly exchanged between you. A delicate push and pull. Undemanding yet uncompromising in its gentle intensity.

You both pull back, only barely. Your skins still thrum with hunger for contact. Dick leans in again, his lips brushing against yours making them tingle at the sensation. Murmured breaths exchanged between you. This time you both find the right words.

Dick turning to reader seeing the familiar glint of her earing

“I still love you.”

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

I was thinking it was just them in the cave standing next to each others fingers twining with each other leaning into each other's space

he brushes the strands of her hair away

After brushing her hair away he presses his forehead against hers and he just kind of comes out with it

like he'd been holding back on saying it but couldn't anymore

Why not have the reader do something like this?

What if she nudges her nose against his? Or rubs her nose against his, like an Eskimo kiss? And it’s silent, her eyelashes flutter against his cheek. They say in Inuit, when you feel eyelashes stroke on your skin like that, it’s a way of saying “I love you” without actually saying it.

And maybe Dick knows that? Without her actually saying the words and he just smiled and captures her lips in a delicate kiss. And when they pull back, they both say it at the same time against each other’s lip, all hushed and murmured?

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Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @batarella , @anothertimdrakestan , @lucy-roo , @multifandomgirl-us , @idkmanicantenglish ,@birdy-bat-writes , @boosyboo9206 , @americasmarauders , @l-inkage , @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #Damian Wayne #batboys x reader #batfamily x reader #damian wayne x sister!reader #dc x reader #dc reader insert #merc!reader

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shoichee · 4 years

Note

ALSO CAN I ASK FOR SOME RANDOM GOM HCS U HAVE? like just random ones u have or if u want like some toxic hcs abt them :D

I’m assuming that I can include their negative traits of their personalities as well 👀 Also including Momoi in this… lots of analyzing for this hc, so I used my brain here pls appreciate AGAIN these are all headcanons/interpretations of possible toxic hcs about them and only a few are canon

[Headcanons]

Kuroko Tetsuya

Kuroko is the hardest person to find a “negative/toxic” trait in, and it doesn’t seem like he has any

kind, understanding, hardworking, and compassionate; he’s everything a good-natured protagonist is

but he’s only like this to people/hobbies he cares about/close with; anything else he’s quite apathetic and also very passive/neutral about

the biggest hint to this is when Akashi criticizes Kuroko for cherry-picking who the GoMs should “go all out against” and who to casually toy with

and Akashi is absolutely correct

most of the series is portrayed through Kuroko’s perspective, and Akashi is the first direct outside perspective who comments on his actions/attitude

it’s obviously not that Kuroko didn’t “notice”... he clearly sees and knows what these GoMs are doing; after all, he had a conversation with Aomine about how observant he is to everything around him

of course, if you were close to him, all your opinions and issues matter to him

it’s the fact that what’s not really important to him is suddenly now important just because someone he knows is involved

just an example: if someone was advocating climate change, he has no opinion on it until someone he knows cares about the issue

in other words, he has a subtle hypocritical view on things, especially when he interacts with others

another clear negative trait could be that he’s too idealistic or perhaps naive, seeing things in a clear black-or-white picture and not necessarily a gray area

WE know, as an audience, that the GoMs honestly needed therapy and a proper adult to guide their out-of-control talents

but Kuroko, in his eyes, had viewed them as “bad” and “evil” in their ways of basketball until they changed after their respective matches

he’s probably someone who doesn’t yield to other opinions once he forms his own, and this may make him unable to consider things in other people’s perspectives

which is again, ironic: someone who doesn’t have generally a strong stance but once they do, it’s very unyielding, which further proves Akashi’s comment about Kuroko’s tendency to nitpick which to care about

a final hc about a potential flaw he might have here in a different ask!

Kise Ryota

y’all… it’s as canon as day that he has a mean side

straight from the author himself, it’s confirmed that Kise is only kind to those who he respects, and to the rest, he’s cold-hearted

in the manga, it’s very clear that he’s super judgmental on every first impression on people he meets, boxing them into categories based on the way they look, act, and speak

only when they surpass his preset expectations (low or high depends on his preliminary judgments of them) is when he opens his mind to the rest of their personality

this is a very close-minded way of thinking, and I hope I don’t need to explain why LOL

this can be interpreted as him being two-faced by the majority of the people in his school

his way of speaking can definitely be very cruel and crass, and to sensitive people, his words can easily shatter hearts

Kise’s negative/toxic traits are pretty straightforward here, so let’s move on

Midorima Shintarou

his harsh words can be considered a “negative” part of his personality, but I think it’s a lot more than just that

it’s confirmed in the series that he’s a bystander and almost always minds his own business

on one hand, one can say he’s self-driven and that he constantly strives for self-improvement

on the other, it can be interpreted as him being very dangerously ambitious and selfish, in which most actions he takes are for the sole reason of self-improvement and not for altruistic reasons

for example, when he helped Kuroko and Kagami in the training camp, it was under the reasoning that them becoming stronger would be a good challenge for himself to test and learn

that’s not to say that he can’t have friends, but most friendships he’s built are with capable people who can potentially provide him with some new beneficial skill/goal to strive towards

after all, he’s only learned to trust Takao as a friend only after seeing him as someone capable

because he’s so focused on himself, he’s extremely likely to turn a blind eye to injustice, most also likely to use Oha Asa to justify their “misfortunes” as he continues on his day

he’s not cold-hearted, but altruism comes by Midorima a lot rarer than the average person

now, we know that his Oha Asa aspect is used to balance his serious side as the “comedic side” of him, but if we really think about it, his obsessions with the horoscopes could be a huge obstacle in the future, where he may refuse to listen/depend on others in favor of his own intuition and the stars; after all, no one knows everything, and depending on the stars as one’s next source of advice and guidance isn’t a sound decision to commit themselves to

he seems like the person who overthinks and jumps to conclusions when it comes to social situations, but instead of confronting the person, he turns to fate and fortune if Takao isn’t near to help

Aomine Daiki

I wouldn’t be surprised if Aomine had a skewed sense of beauty standards from all those magazines he consumed and from being around Momoi for the majority of his life

of course anyone can distinguish pieces of media from reality, but during the most impressionable years of life, without experiencing other types of people and physiques, he would have limited knowledge on what “beauty” is and whatnot

this probably would be more of a problem in his adolescence than adult

a very given negative trait is his short temper plus his tendency to turn to physical violence when someone nags him to a certain point, seen with how he’s treated Wakamatsu in the beginning (though this seems to almost disappear by the end of the series)

what I’ve noticed in every scene he’s in, is that everything seems to revolve around him and his hobbies of basketball and Japanese idols

what I mean is that everytime we see Aomine, it’s always Momoi approaching to Aomine or just him always being the center of attention; never once has he approached Momoi for anything and it’s always been the other way around

in other words, people have to cater to him in order to get along with him/be in good graces (additional example: Imayoshi letting him do as he pleases to get him to be cooperative and participate in the games)

we’ve actually never seen Momoi’s hobbies outside of being a manager for her basketball teams and just anything basketball-related

he can be quite apathetic, choosing to only pay attention and try in things he’s interested in… which is basketball and those magazines

he seems to mature in the Last Game though, so I’m not quite sure to what extent these headcanons would apply to older Aomine (these also don’t really apply to Puremine)

Momoi Satsuki

the author probably also included this type of anime trope as comedy, but belittling another female for her body is definitely a no-go in reality; I feel like this is something most people gloss over really lightly

her body comments on Riko are actually what made me skeptical of her character at first before the show really shows her entire personality

that being said, it seems that she always takes the opportunity to look down on other girls (especially to those she is a stranger to) as a sort of “competition” when there’s boys around

definitely at certain moments, she screams a “pick-me girl” type of person (real phenomenon, you can search this up!)

while Kuroko doesn’t seem to actively mind this, I think she also has no good sense of boundaries and what’s considered appropriate touch and consent; people can chalk this up to “oh it’s just infatuation,” but this definitely isn’t okay if we really think about this

her life also seems to revolve around either Aomine or Kuroko, and based from that, I’d feel like she’d have a difficult time forming her own identity/life separate from her “manager life,” especially once she graduates from Touou

can definitely be interpreted as too clingy at certain moments, while others may think it’s her way of showing that she cares

Murasakibara Atsushi

most people would chalk up Murasakibara as “lazy,” and on the surface level, it does appear to look that way…

I think his true negative trait is that he has a lack of intrinsic motivations to drive him to do things

it’s different from being lazy; someone can be lazy while still having a goal, and certainly someone can be lazy while they’re motivated by thoughts of “I want to learn more,” “I want to get stronger,” etc. (you guys, it’s me right now in college)

and he doesn’t have that

part of this was contributed to the fact that he’s already so gifted with genetics and thus, there’s never been a goal for him to have to work towards to when he’s already at the top

he doesn’t actively seek out, and while that may be a characteristic of sloth, it’s not exactly right either

he willingly does things if people around him give him the motivations/reasons to do so; a person of sloth wouldn’t do anything even with all the motivations and goals handed right to their face

snacks/food are examples of extrinsic motivations that fuel him to carry on daily life

Himuro is always the main motivator for Murasakibara to come out and watch matches, and he also does whatever Akashi orders in both Teiko and present days // a person who can give the giant the motivation to do tasks would get along with him the most

searching out for a challenge against his basketball skills is something that’s never crossed his mind

why? he grew to be like the way he is because of the lack of results from his “search” of a challenge throughout his games

again, it’s only when Murasakibara gets handed a silver-platter of a challenge, Jason Silver, that actively gets him pumped up and raring to go

as such, Murasakibara is equivalent to a rusty machine, extremely difficult to start up and find compatibility with, but very powerful and efficient once he finds that spark

Murasakibara finding any partner or friend in the future would be extremely difficult because he ticks a different tune from the rest

Akashi Seijuro

his entire Bokushi side was a giant-ass red flag for very obvious reasons LOL anyways, moving on…

it’s difficult to pinpoint a negative characteristic for Oreshi because he’s the pinnacle of a gentleman character… but that technically is also his negative trait

for him to maintain that perfect image for himself and others, he has always carried himself in such a way that doesn’t allow for errors or expressions of “weakness”

thus, bottling up his frustrations and emotions to the point of no return is something very familiar to Akashi, and I’d feel like Bokushi is the result of his overflowing emotions left unchecked in the first place

I also predict that if Akashi continues to carry himself without letting himself wind down and feel emotions on the spot rather than locking it up inside him, a day will come when he splits into two halves again with a “new” Bokushi to deal with his current life (and let the current Oreshi take a backseat in his psyche to take a break from the turmoil)

also will tend to overwork himself to manage people’s expectations as well as his own, and he’s not one to depend on people not because he sees them as inferior or incapable, but because he’s doing this out of habit from being in positions of authority and responsibility for much of his life

and so, he may tend to hide important things or just not speak about his problems in general to those close to him because he feels like he can do it all himself and spare everyone the work and stress associated with them (a leader mentality)

throughout the majority of his life being calm and calculated, his emotions would definitely escape from him in forms of uncontrollable lashes of anger… before he would realize what he’s done… that is, assuming that another Bokushi hasn’t form within his subconscious yet

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confused-stars · 4 years

Note

you know what i want to see? i want to see class 1a shenanigans with an ouija board accidentally picking up ghostboro. They chat with him via ouija board for like a week before Aizawa gets wind of what they're doing and everything goes into chaos

It happens to Tokoyami and Shinsou first, because of course it does. Who else would be sitting in a dark, candle-lit room in the dead of night with a ouija board set up between them?

Who else would even own a ouija board but Tokoyami? It's a fancy one, too. Heavy wood and English letters burned into it, grooves painted gold. Tokoyami claimed that it was a failure the few times he's tried, but Shinsou insists that doing it with more than one person would be more likely to have results. Besides, they're both tired but can't sleep, and Dark Shadow is hyping them up.

So they end up sitting cross-legged on the carpet in Tokoyami's room, lights flickering, and they place their hands on the planchette.

"Uh... hi?" Hitoshi tries, feeling a bit dumb speaking into the air like that.

There's no response.

Tokoyami gives him an encouraging nod.

"Hey, if there's anyone here, we'd love to... have a chat?" Hitoshi feels dumber with every word. He shifts.

They sit in silence for a few moments. Tokoyami sighs, and Dark Shadow looks dejected.

Then, their hands are jerked so violently across the board that Hitoshi loses grip with one hand. He stares at the letters the ghost (?) chooses with wide eyes.

'N-I-C-E H-O-O-D-I-E'

Hitoshi is pretty sure he's dreaming or something. This is absurd.

Tokoyami's only wearing a t-shirt, so it's obvious who the ghost addressed.

"I... thanks?" Hitoshi tugs at his hoodie. It's purple and has a cat poking out of the front pocket. Cat ears adorn the hood - Midoriya and Ashido both delight in pulling it over Hitoshi's head just to coo at how adorable it is.

"Do you like cats?" Wow. He's talking to a dead person and this is what he asks. Nice going, Hitoshi.

The planchette all but flies to the 'YES' option, moving away and then coming back to it a couple times in what seems to be a sign of strong agreement or enthusiasm. Hitoshi stifles a laugh.

The ghost’s name is ‘Kumo’ and he uses he/him pronouns, and he is - was? - seventeen years old. He tells them that he used to be a student here, and that he’s been haunting the school for a few years now. Both boys agree that it would be a bad idea to ask him about the circumstances of his death, because that seems insensitive.

They end up just... chatting a little. About cats and heroes, and Kumo tries to give them some well-meaning fighting tips, but it’s hard for him to say anything lengthy with having to spell it all out. Tokoyami offers that he’ll look into easier means of communicating with ghosts, and Kumo seems immensely grateful.

It has to be lonely, on the other side, Hitoshi thinks. There can’t be that many ghosts haunting UA, after all.

The next one they involve is Midoriya, because he approaches Hitoshi about how glad he is he’s making friends in the class, and asks him about what hanging out with Tokoyami is like. Before he can stop himself, Hitoshi has already pulled him into this mess. And it’s good he did, because Midoriya is incredibly clever, and they spend hours in Tokoyami’s room - the darkness of it still seems the most appropriate for this - with a whole stack of fresh notebooks, and their resident ghost patiently answering any question they ask him. Well, most of them anyway. When Midoriya does bring up how he died, he just gives them a ‘NO’ and nothing else. Hitoshi glares at Midoriya, who mumbles an apology and moves on to another question.

Since the last time the class thought the dorms were haunted went less than ideal, apparently, they decide to take telling others about Kumo slow. Hitoshi isn’t sure how he feels about not telling Aizawa-sensei yet, but... well, Kumo is harmless. He’s just so happy to be finally able to talk to someone. What if the teachers decide to somehow get rid of him? Will he be all alone, then? Can ghosts even be chased away? With... an exorcism or something? When Hitoshi carefully asks, Tokoyami snorts and says something it ‘depending on the spirit in question.’ That obviously creates more questions than answers, but Hitoshi has learned to accept that. They tell Shoji, who demands proof, but is on board surprisingly quickly once they give it to him. Midoriya pulls Todoroki into this, and somehow gets Hitoshi to make another friend in the process - they’re both content sitting quietly aside while they let the others whirl around and talk a mile a minute. Well, mostly Midoriya. Uraraka, too, when she learns their secret. And then a very skeptical Iida. And then Kaminari, who is terrified at first, but who actually gets along swimmingly with Kumo. Really, before Hitoshi can blink, the entire class knows, and they’re now in possession of four separate ouija boards so that people don’t have to keep bothering Tokoyami to use his. There’s also a large poster made of several pieces of paper taped together that they’ve been writing different kanji and whole common words on so that Kumo might be able to communicate quicker.

That’s what the majority of the ‘Bakusquad’ are doing when Aizawa-sensei comes in, about a week after they made first contact.

“... do I want to know?” he asks, looking to Hitoshi who is perched on one of the couches with a fresh mug of coffee and has totally not been trying to give the others advice on how to structure the whole thing.

Hitoshi opens his mouth, then closes it again. Guilt makes his throat tighten a bit, and apparently that’s obvious enough that Aizawa-sensei squints at him. “Alright. What are you doing?”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Kaminari pipes up from where he’s kneeling in the middle of the poster. “We wanted to see if people that Shinsou controls can still put together words if he tells them to! You know, since they can’t write properly and stuff.” That’s... not terrible, as far as lies go.

But this is Eraserhead, and it’s not working. Their teacher walks over to inspect the poster, brows drawn together. Hitoshi holds out his coffee, and Aizawa-sensei takes the mug without looking. “Not a bad attempt, but if you lie to me again, you’re getting detention,” he says, voice still mild enough that he doesn’t sound completely terrifying. Kaminari still looks like a deer in the headlights.

“... there’s a ghost,” Hitoshi says, earning him a disappointed look from Ashido, but a relieved one from Kirishima. Bakugou, who refused to participate but still hung around for some reason, scoffs.

“There’s... a ghost,” Aizawa-sensei repeats flatly. Hitoshi meets his eyes with a helpless shrug.

“It’s not like last time!” Ashido says quickly, “Really! We have proof. He’s been talking to us.”

Now their teacher looks a little alarmed. “... some invisible stranger’s been talking to you? And you didn’t think to tell me?”

Ah, that’s what Hitoshi was worried about.

“But if he was just invisible, the cameras would’ve picked it up, right?” Kirishima asks, “They pick up on Hagakure. If Kumo was a living person, he would’ve been noticed.”

Aizawa-sensei blinks. His face betrays nothing, but Hitoshi knows him well enough to know something Kirishima said threw him off by a mile. “... what’s his name?”

Oh. If there was a dead student, he would know about that, wouldn’t he? Maybe Kumo was one of his? Hitoshi starts to speak, but then the lights flicker. They look to Kaminari instinctively, but he’s nowhere near any power outlet, and he’s not sparking, either. Then, the big, red marker Kirishima had been holding drops from his hand to the paper. They all watch, enraptured, as the marker slowly starts to move upright and glide across the paper.

‘Hi, Shouta,’ Kumo writes, ‘Don’t be mad at them, they were going to tell you eventually soon.’

Aizawa-sensei brings a hand up to clutch at his capture weapon. His eyes are a little too wide. “Prove it,” he says, and he’s clearly trying to keep his voice even, “Prove you’re the person you say you are.”

They all look from their teacher to the writing and back. Kumo’s never been able to hold onto any random object for this long. It must be taking a lot of effort. Or... a lot of emotion? Isn’t that how it works, for ghosts? ‘In front of the kids?’ Kumo asks, and something about it sounds a little cheeky, enough that Hitoshi nearly snorts.

Aizawa-sensei doesn’t find it funny. “Shirakumo.”

‘Fine.’ The marker pauses for a long moment. ‘We had our first kiss outside the arcade. We’d forced you to eat too much candy and you were nauseous, and I felt terrible about it so I kissed you to make you feel better. You still threw up afterwards.’

Oh. Oh, well. That’s... Hitoshi suddenly wants to look anywhere but at his mentor.

Aizawa-sensei makes an odd choking sort of noise, and when Hitoshi looks back up, he’s already halfway out the door. “Nobody move,” he instructs them without looking back, “I’m getting Mic.”

#ghostboro au #this was fun!!!#i like ghost stuff

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alittlextrathatway · 4 years

Note

Penelope/Colin: “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave.”

YAY SOMETHING BESIDES BRETTSEY. (Not that I don’t love them.) I’ve never written Polin before! I’m excited to play! 🙌🏻 Thank you!

How about a modern AU for this one? Just cause.

******

It all started because of the pandemic.

He’d been perfectly happy traveling. It’s not like he had anything else to occupy his time. He wasn’t particularly talented and he didn’t have any hobbies or interests. Aside from eating but he doubted his mother would approve of him becoming one of those professional hot dog eaters and he didn’t care enough for the piddly portions of fine dining to become a food critic.

The only thing that truly distracts him from his lack of drive or ambition is traveling — learning about the world and it’s many cultures.

He has journal after journal full of his discoveries and experiences. Travel is really his only love.

Which is why he’d stopped and started his studies so many times. He took a year between high school and college to backpack through Europe. Then another year after freshman year to “study abroad”, not that he actually studied. Which is why his mother forced him to come back and finish his third year stateside. After that, he’d set off traveling again. Every year he found another excuse not to come home for any longer than a month or two, allowing him to put off his final year.

It’s not as if he’s getting a degree in anything useful. He’s an English major. And it’s not as if his career isn’t already decided for him. Upon graduation he’ll be given an office at Bridgerton Family Publishing. Doing what? Well, no one knows. Not even him.

So, what’s the rush?

He’d still be gone abroad right now if not for COVID forcing him to return home. God, he hates 2020. What a waste of a year. He came home too late for the spring 2020 term so he’s spent the last several months going absolutely crazy.

He’s a man of the world who is not being allowed to go out and see it. He can’t imagine anything more cruel.

Actually, no, he takes that back. There’s one thing:

Using the time he’s forced to stay in Mayfair to discover he’s completely and stupidly in love with his little sister’s best friend.

The friend who overheard him, last time he was home for any considerable length of time, declaring to his brothers that he would never be interested in her.

Because, of course, Colin Bridgerton is a colossal jackass who doesn’t know a good thing when it’s been staring him in the face his entire life.

There’s laughter coming from the direction of the foyer. Very distinctive laughing. One high and tinkling like a pretty little bell and the other deeper and hoarser. The alto to the other’s soprano. The alto in this case is his younger sister, Eloise, and the soprano is Penelope.

The woman he should have noticed long before now.

He gets up from where he’s lounging on the sofa, mournfully watching the Travel Channel, and takes his plate full of sandwiches with him.

He finds them giggling and applying lipstick in the mirror by the front door. They look dressed to go out. Eloise in her slick tailored pant suit and intricately adorned lace top, in monochromatic lavender. And Penelope in…

Holy shit, what is that?

Apparently, it’s the instrument of his imminent death if the erratic beating of his heart is any indication. He’s going to have some sort of attack and go into cardiac arrest right here in the foyer of his childhood home.

It’s a tight forest green dress that has an off the shoulder neckline. It hugs her curves so perfectly that he thinks someone must have sewn it onto her. It shows the perfect amount of skin along her neck and shoulders, giving just a tiny glimpse of cleavage.

And she’s had a haircut since she was here yesterday. Her ginger locks now rest against her cheeks in a wavy stylish bob. She was beautiful before. He was never blind to that as some other people around Pen have proven to be, but now...

She’s absolutely stunning.

So stunning that other people will surely see what he sees. And he’s grateful for that, truly. She deserves to be seen as she is — brilliant and beautiful — but that means he’s about to have competition while trying to win her over. And he is not grateful for that.

He’s been trying to be more forward with her when they’re alone but that doesn’t happen often and he’s not sure Penelope takes him very seriously. (No one does.) She seems to always be in disbelief when he flirts with her.

“Where are you two off to?” He asks, leaning against the wall opposite the mirror.

“Double date,” Eloise says, fluffing her hair in the mirror. “Pen arranged it. She met someone extremely gorgeous at the library today.”

Penelope blushes and grins demurely. “It’s the magic of a fresh cut,” she says motioning to her new hair. “He was there with his friend and we were all scrambling for resources for our bibliographies together and he asked if I wanted to get dinner and I asked if Eloise could come. No big deal.”

“It doesn’t look as if it’s not a big deal,” Colin observes, his gaze sweeping over Penelope from head to toe.

“His father owns that new super exclusive restaurant Kate’s been begging Anthony to take her too. You know, La Table Gourmande?” Eloise explains.

“The one that told Anthony the next available reservation was in two months? That restaurant?” Colin asks, trying not to scowl.

Really, there was no need for this guy to show off. He seems a bit full of himself.

“That’s the one,” Penelope replies with a nod. “He says he can get us the Chef’s table tonight. I’ve never done anything like that before. It sounds exciting. Might be the closest I ever get to authentic French cuisine. For a while anyway.”

Okay, so now he feels like a heel for wanting to keep her from going out. He knows he’s lucky his family is so well off. It allows him to travel. Penelope’s family, while not destitute, has spent most of their surplus funds putting three daughters, soon to be a fourth, through school. In fact, if not for a distant rich aunt who died they wouldn’t even have been able to afford that.

Any money Penelope used to travel would have to be her own, and he isn’t sure how much of that she has.

“Pen,” Eloise calls, interrupting Colin’s thoughts. “Have you seen my clutch? Did I bring it down?”

“I don’t see it anywhere,” Penelope says with a shake of her head. “Did you leave it on your dresser?”

Eloise groans in irritation, turning toward the main staircase of their massive house. “I guess I did. I’ll be right back.”

Finally, they’re alone. Colin clears his throat and sets the plate of sandwiches he’d been snacking on down on the hall table. He crosses the space until he’s standing mere inches away from her.

“Don’t go out tonight. I can take you somewhere else. Somewhere better,” Colin suggests.

“Better?” Penelope asks skeptically.

He nods. “I have a friend who opened a restaurant here that I met while I was in Nice. It’s smaller than that La Table Gourmand monstrosity and not quite considered fine dining but it’s real. It’s better. It’ll be closer to actually being in France than anything in that obnoxious place.”

“I don’t see why I can’t go with Marcus tonight and then you some other time,” she tells him, lifting one perfect brow and pursing her lips.

“This guy sounds like a prick,” Colin says with a scoff. “Bragging about his father’s connections on the first date? That’s not a good sign, Pen. Trust me, I know these things. I’m a guy.”

“Maybe,” she says with a shrug, a small knowing grin on her lips. “But I think I should decide that for myself. Don’t you?”

That grin…

She knows exactly what he’s trying to do.

She’s being difficult on purpose.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave,” she challenges him, continuing to grin smugly.

Well, if that’s the game she wants to play then so be it.

“Why waste a night figuring out what I already know when you could just let me take you out instead for what, we both know, would be a better time?” Colin asks, caressing the length of Penelope’s arm with a light tender touch.

She sucks in a breath at the contact, but doesn’t show any weakness in her expression. “Yes, but going out with Marcus would be a date that might actually lead to something. What would be the purpose of ditching a real date for you instead?”

“Oh, you want it to lead to something?” He asks, a smirk growing on his face as he backs her up toward the wall.

“Y—yes,” she stammers, her grin slipping as nerves shine in her eyes.

Her back hits the wall and he brings one hand to her cheek, cupping her face and trailing his thumb along her cheekbone.

He leans down, nearly closing the distance between them but stops just short of kissing her. “Come out with me, Pen, and you can choose where it leads. I’ll give you whatever future I have, even if I have no idea what it is. You set the terms, you call the shots.”

Her eyes widen and her cheeks flush but she instinctively leans into his hand. Call him a cocky bastard, but that’s the moment he knows he’s won. The moment he knows she’ll choose him.

“I set the terms?” She asks, biting her bottom lip while she stares at his.

He nods, waiting for the moment she leans up and kisses him.

“Well, then you know what I think?” She asks, rhetorically while she rests a hand on his chest.

“Tell me,” he pleads.

She smiles wickedly and pushes him away by one step. “I think you could do with some healthy competition.”

She sidesteps him and saunters off to the front door, leaving him gaping at her like a fool.

Like a besotted, astonished, completely smitten fool.

Eloise reappears, patting Colin’s shoulder as she follows after Penelope. “Tell mom we’ll be back late.”

They leave, the door shuts, and all he can think is…

Well played, Penelope Featherington.

But the Bridgertons are famously competitive and this game is only just beginning. He’ll win her over yet.

Wait and see.

#bridgerton #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #polin #fanfiction #my fic #angellwings writes #fanfiction prompt game #ask prompt #long post #SORRY THIS IS LONG FOR A TUMBLR PROMPT 😬#new ship for me so be gentle 🙏🏻

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Note

Your idea of madam nie!jgy is really good could u wrt that ?

for those who don’t remember, the Madame Nie!JGY idea is here and here

- on ao3 -

Untamed verse

Paperwork.

The bane of Nie Huaisang’s life.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know he was moderately clever, sometimes scaling up to very clever if he was irritated, but somehow he’d never had the ability to keep facts and figures and exact sentences straight in his head. Any teaching done through rote memorization (in other words, most of it) was wasted on him, and the few things he could keep track of, usually in over-abundant and hyper-specific detail, weren’t the sorts of things that were especially helpful.

Or, well, they were helpful in figuring out what clothing to wear or whether art was good or bad, and occasionally in being able to figure out where people should sit in a hall in order to either minimize or maximize the opportunity for incidents that would create gossip, but they really weren’t helpful if what you were trying to do was run a very large and very industrious sect.

His brother handled the majority of it, of course, as sect leader, and naturally he hadn’t stinted on hiring talented deputies – admittedly, the Nie sect threw around the word deputy the way an especially enthusiastic firefighter tossed around water and sand, but most sects had a more settled bureaucracy in place than the Nie sect did and it was an important position, even if it was usually just a gateway to being put somewhere you actually fit rather than a permanent spot for most people – but in the end there were some things that required the signature of a member of the Nie clan and Nie Mingjue, Nie Huaisang very reluctantly supposed (if he had to), couldn’t do everything.

He groaned and put his head down on the table.

This never happened when Meng Yao was here, he thought bitterly.

Meng Yao had been one of his brother’s finds, someone he’d promoted in a fit of temper as usual, but to just about everyone’s surprise he had turned out to be amazing at logistics and organization, able to quickly gain expertise in really everything and anything a sect needed to run. After a few months he knew most things, and the things he didn’t know he could either figure out or speculate on with relative accuracy. He’d been amazingly efficient, and it had made Nie Mingjue happy – happy not just to have such good help and to have his taste in subordinates confirmed, but also to see Meng Yao flourishing as his deputy, his real deputy, to see him pleased and respected the way his talents so obviously deserved…

Nie Huaisang sighed. If only his stupid brother had gone ahead and just sworn brotherhood with Meng Yao when the idea had been proposed!

If only he’d done that, Nie Huaisang could have been acting cute and calling Meng Yao – no, wait, it was Jin Guangyao now, he kept forgetting – he could have been calling him ‘san-ge’ right now and hanging off his arm and soon enough Jin Guangyao would yield and do all the work for him, leaving only the actual signing for Nie Huaisang to do. And the work would’ve gotten done better than he would have ever done it, in less time, and he could’ve been spending his precious time doing literally anything else.

Ugh.

Well, he supposed it wasn’t entirely his brother’s fault that the whole plan hadn’t gone through. He hadn’t been the one to back out of the brotherhood idea – that’d been Lan Xichen, for some reason, even though he’d been the one to originally propose the idea, and obviously Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao weren’t going to swear brotherhood without him. It was Venerated Triad, not Venerated Duo.

It was just so unfortunate that the absence of a sworn brother relationship meant that Nie Huaisang had no basis to ask Jin Guangyao to help him out. Or, while he was imagining things, why not just go all the way and imagine that Jin Guangyao could just come back to Qinghe already.

He could run things in a way that made sense and was efficient, which would reduce Nie Mingjue’s stress levels, and Nie Mingjue’s stress levels going down meant that Nie Huaisang’s stress would go down. Way down. And Jin Guangyao’s stress levels would also be way down as well by virtue of, well, being back at Qinghe, where things made sense and he didn’t have to deal with his awful family of his which he seemed to value for some reason that Nie Huaisang didn’t understand and honestly didn’t want to understand. It’d be a win all around!

Ugh.

Life was just better when Jin Guangyao was around.

But what could be done about it? He couldn’t exactly suggest being sworn brothers with Jin Guangyao himself – you needed to do something impressive together to justify that, usually – and for all that he had his brother wrapped around his little finger, he knew perfectly well that Nie Mingjue might hire an unknown man as a deputy in a fit of temper but he’d never hire someone he fired, even if Jin Guangyao were willing to take the role of deputy again. Which he probably wasn’t now that he was all legitimate and recognized and stuff; it was probably beneath him.

If only there were another position available, something not a deputy, not a sworn brother, something where he could just run the Nie sect for the good of everyone –

Wait.

There was.

And, thanks to his brother’s misanthropic ways, the position was available.

Perfect!

“Congratulations, da-ge!” Nie Huaisang announced grandly, sweeping into his brother’s study.

“Just tell the treasury to cover the cost of whatever it is you broke or bought,” Nie Mingjue said without looking up, which, first, rude, and second, really? Awesome. Nie Huaisang was going to get so much mileage out of that one.

“Oh, da-ge, really. I wasn’t talking about me –”

“A miracle.”

“– shut up. I was congratulating you! It’s what little brothers like me should do for big brothers like you on the event of their engagement!”

There was a silence of about five deep breaths.

(Or at least, that’s how long Nie Huaisang assumed it was, provided that his brother was listening to his doctor’s orders about managing his anger, which he had damn well better be.)

Nie Mingjue put down the piece of paper he was working on, and gently laid down his brush to avoid breaking it like so many of the others, and looked up at Nie Huaisang, fixing all of his attention on him.

“Huaisang,” he said, his voice only slightly above a growl. “My what now?”

“Your engagement!” Nie Huaisang beamed at him. “The Sunshot Campaign is over, our father is avenged, and you’re already in your mid-twenties – that means it’s time to get moving on finding the perfect Madame Nie, and I’ve got a great candidate in mind for you.”

His brother looked uncomfortable. “Huaisang,” he said, and his voice was almost delicate. “You are aware…”

“I’ve taken your preferences into account,” Nie Huaisang assured him, and he was only mostly lying. His brother had liked Meng Yao a great deal, once upon a time, and even if they’d never actually slept together – his stupid anti-social brother probably hadn’t even hinted that he might be interested, what with the power differential and Meng Yao’s unfortunate familial history – there was no reason he couldn’t like Jin Guangyao, too, if only he’d give him a chance. Just because he didn’t like him right now didn’t mean anything about his preferences generally. “It’s not like I missed the vast increase in the amount of cutsleeve pornography in our library, okay?”

“That was not me.”

“I know it wasn’t you, but you got the benefit of it, didn’t you? Like I said: don’t worry. It’s a man. You can stop worrying, relax, and let me handle it.”

His brother’s face was doing the skeptical look again, the one where he looked like he was seriously doubting Nie Huaisang’s ability to put on clothing in the morning. He wasn’t five anymore, da-ge! Okay, eight, but only because he kept putting stuff on backwards while he was rushing. Maybe ten for formal clothing... “No, Huaisang.”

“No, really, I can –”

“The answer is no, Huaisang.”

That sounded depressingly final.

“What if I do the puppy eyes at you?”

“The answer is still no,” his brother said, going back to his paperwork, although he was smiling a little. “No, you may not set up an engagement for me; no, I will not agree; no.”

Damnit.

Okay, maybe Nie Huaisang should be tackling this from a different angle.

“It’s so good to see you!” Nie Huaisang gushed. He wasn’t entirely sure what to call Jin Guangyao now – after all, the other man was a few years his senior, and now that he was recognized by his father there wasn’t a class difference that would make it permissible for Nie Huaisang to call him by name the way he’d used to call Meng Yao. But they’d known each other for years, so Jin-qianbei might come off as pretentious and too formal, Jin-gongzi was definitely too formal, and were they really at the stage where he could call him Jin-xiong?

(Plus he already called Jin Zixuan Jin-xiong, so he’d have to figure out where Meng Yao fell in the hierarchy – except no one had ever clarified one way or the other. He was pretty sure Meng Yao was older, but even if he was it probably wasn’t appropriate to go around calling him Jin-da-ge.)

Now, Nie Huaisang had more or less made it his life policy to adopt virtual strangers as brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles, the more the better, but he also didn’t want to offend Jin Guangyao by making it seem like he didn’t respect his new position.

Especially when he wanted Jin Guangyao to do something for him.

“It’s good to see you too, Nie-gongzi,” Jin Guangyao said, and no, that wouldn’t do at all.

Nie Huaisang poked at him with his fan. “How many times do I have to tell you? Just call me Huaisang, the way da-ge does. You were almost my san-ge, remember?”

“Nie-gongzi…”

“Huaisang!”

Jin Guangyao had an indulgent look on his face. “Very well, Huaisang.”

“Anyway, I know you’re busy with dealing with sect things – that hunt last month was great, sorry about da-ge being overenthusiastic but at least he had a really good time – and stuff like that, but I just wanted to swing by Lanling to congratulate you!” Nie Huaisang said, deciding to take the moment to barrel onwards. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you last time, and so much has happened since you left Qinghe! You got accepted into the Jin sect! Recognized by your father! Given a name! A fancy title! A position! An engagement! A nice hat!”

“I’m sorry,” Jin Guangyao said. “I got a what?”

“A nice hat!”

“Nice try, Huaisang.”

“Oh, come on, you don’t even know who I’m setting you up with yet!” Nie Huaisang whined. “And it’s not like you don’t want to get married! Weren’t you thinking of marrying the Qin sect’s girl? I mean, before they backed out on account of swearing vengeance against your father and the Jin sect and all…”

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao said, gentle and polite as always, but in his own way just as firm as Nie Mingjue. They really would be a good match, and not just because it’d make Nie Huaisang’s life so much easier. “But I’m really much too busy to think about anything like that. Matters in the Jin sect, you understand…”

“But –”

“Huaisang, please.”

Damnit.

Nie Huaisang was going to need to think about this.

He hated thinking.

“It’s just so unfair,” Nie Huaisang moaned. “Why do people insist on making things hard? When it could be so easy if only they’d listen…”

“It sounds like a real tragedy,” Lan Xichen said, pouring him a cup of tea.

He was just barely managing to resist smiling, which was good – he didn’t smile that much anymore, not since whatever it was that happened to him a month or two back around the time the sworn brother ceremony was supposed to happen. No one knew what it was that happened, not even Lan Wangji (Nie Huaisang had asked), but it was making everyone worried; Nie Mingjue had wanted to go over to demand answers practically ever since but things just kept happening.

Mostly due to Lan Xichen, actually, now that Nie Huaisang thought about it.

First there was that failed sworn brotherhood thing – he’d been the one pushing the idea in the first place, but only a week before they actually did the ceremony Lan Xichen had suddenly showed up at the Unclean Realm, bursting into Nie Mingjue’s bedroom while he was resting during his recovery from the events at the Nightless City, and insisted they call the whole thing off. He’d been pale, his eyes wide and scared, but he’d refused to explain anything no matter how many times Nie Mingjue asked; he’d only been sad and oddly clingy for the entire week, refusing to leave until the planned date of the sworn brotherhood ceremony had passed with it unfulfilled.

Then he’d gone home, and things had seemed to be fine, only after the hunt at Phoenix Mountain and Wei Wuxian’s impromptu theft of a bunch of Wen prisoners of war – neither of which appeared to be due to Lan Xichen, admittedly – and right when everyone had been gearing up to go make a big fuss over it, Lan Xichen had abruptly revealed that he’d been investigating the Jin sect and they were up to their necks in all sorts of unfortunate things.

Secret demonic cultivation experiments, which one might understand, and buying corpses, a subject on which the Nie sect had always been remarkably open-minded, but also stealing beloved corpses and tomb robbing, more-than-likely murder, possibly even massacres of entire small clans, all as part of their experiments, and to top it all off there were a whole big number of rapes attributed to Jin Guangshan personally.

Madame Qin among them, which was why Jin Guangyao’s original marriage plans had fallen through. It wasn’t even worth considering it, not when there was a risk that poor Qin Su, who’d had such a crush on the gallant Jin Guangyao, might be his sister…

Anyway, while the Jin were still too powerful, as a Great Sect, to fully suffer the consequences of their actions, the Jin sect had been disgraced at the very moment that they thought they were on the rise. Jin Guangshan had even been talking about taking up the post of Chief Cultivator following Wen Ruohan’s demise, which he might have been able to swing since Nie Mingjue thought the idea of having a Chief Cultivator at all was bullshit, but now obviously that was completely out of the question.

Plus the whole thing had retroactively cleared Wei Wuxian’s name, leaving him free and clear to return to the Jiang sect as a hero who stood up against Jin sect presumptuousness and overreach when no one else would, which was a pretty big change from his previous political position, which was being widely known as an arrogant and dangerous hothead on the verge of being cast out of the sect for the good of the cultivation world at large despite them very, very obviously not wanting to do it.

Wei Wuxian had even been able to bring the Wen sect members he’d rescued back to the Lotus Pier with him, and now there was even talk that Jiang Cheng might marry Wen Qing (as someone who went to the Cloud Recesses lectures with them both, Nie Huaisang wasn’t surprised by the suggestion at all) once his sister concluded her marriage with Jin Zixuan, which was going to be a far less sumptuous affair than originally planned. After all, the politics of the situation had reversed almost entirely, with the disgraced Jin sect needing the marriage to the reputable (and, thanks in large part to Wei Wuxian, powerful) Jiang sect to help keep what was left of their reputation and influence intact.

Perhaps the Jin sect’s crimes were the reason that Lan Xichen had been acting strangely distant from Jin Guangyao, even though no one had ever proven anything about his involvement – Jin Guangshan’s attempt to throw the blame entirely on his newly adopted son were dismissed as the fabrications they so obviously were – but Nie Huaisang wasn’t so sure.

Lan Xichen wasn’t the sort of person to worry about politics, after all. But then why…?

“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?” Lan Xichen asked, settling in his own seat with his own cup of tea. He looked very serious, as if Nie Huaisang’s opinion on things mattered to him.

It was nice. Most people just looked really long-suffering when they talked with Nie Huaisang, and those were the people that actually liked him.

“Okay,” Nie Huaisang said. “So. Theoretically, if a person were trying to set up a marriage between, hypothetically, two people who would be perfect for each other, and I do mean disgustingly everything-would-be-wonderful-for-everyone sort of perfect, and they were just, you know, refusing for absolutely no valid reason other than their own stupid issues –”

“How in the world did you figure out that I was trying to get Wangji to confess his affections to Wei Wuxian?” Lan Xichen said, sounding stunned. “I didn’t tell anyone…You really are a genius, Huaisang.”

Nie Huaisang blinked, then lifted his head off the table, settling his chin on his hands.

“That actually wasn’t what I was talking about,” he admitted. “But now you have my full attention and I don’t care about my issue anymore. Tell me everything.”

“So, fun fact!” Nie Huaisang said, bouncing into his brother’s bedroom just in time to help him undo his braids before sleep. It was his favorite chore, no matter how much his brother protested that it wasn’t a chore and also that he’d been doing it for himself for years and seriously he could do it himself if Nie Huaisang wasn’t so stupidly possessive about being the only one allowed to do it any time they were both at home with violations punished of having Nie Mingjue’s fingers smacked with Nie Huaisang’s fan, all of which Nie Huaisang treated as the irrelevant and pointless statements they were. “I was just over at the Cloud Recesses visiting Xichen-xiong and he’s clearly super into me.”

“What,” his brother said.

Nie Huaisang cackled and dug his fingers into his brother’s thick hair – he was so jealous, his own was thin and stringy and brushing it definitely did not feel like petting a tiger the way it did when he did Nie Mingjue’s hair. He watched in the mirror with satisfaction as his brother’s shoulders immediately relaxed, all the anger and tension flowing out of them at once as a result of Nie Huaisang’s careful training over the years, although Nie Mingjue’s eyebrows still stayed sky high.

“I’m serious!” Nie Huaisang said, starting to release the braids. “He said that he respects me, and that he thinks I’m a genius. He has to have a thing for me. The only possible reason anyone would respect me is if all the blood had left their brain and they were blinded by my overwhelming prettiness!”

His brother seemed torn between denying Nie Huaisang’s statement that no one could respect him and telling him to stop being so full of himself about the overwhelming prettiness comment.

“Maybe Xichen just went insane,” he ended up saying instead. “That seems marginally more likely.”

“An excellent point,” Nie Huaisang acknowledged because, well, it was. “Now, totally unrelatedly, did you know that the Jin sect is treating poor Jin Guangyao just awful? Madame Jin throws things and Sect Leader Jin yells and blames him for stuff and it’s just so sad, we should do something about it.”

“Something like invite him here to live as my brand new bride, I’m guessing,” Nie Mingjue said, voice extremely dry. “You’re incredibly not subtle.”

Nie Huaisang freed a hand and held up a finger pointedly. “Ah, ah! Xichen-xiong says I’m a genius.”

His brother fell silent for a few moments. “You’re right,” he finally said. “He must have a crush on you. Not even insanity would explain this.”

Nie Huaisang sniggered.

“Also, really, Meng Yao?” Nie Mingjue asked. “That was who you were planning on setting me up with? You have to know that wouldn’t work.” He shifted in his chair. “…are they really beating him there?”

Huh, maybe Lan Xichen was right and Nie Huaisang really was a genius.

He wisely decided not to answer – it would work better if his brother investigated and found out the (admittedly fairly awful, according to the servants’ gossip) details for himself – and instead said, “Why’d you kick him out, anyway? I thought he got stabbed saving you. Whatever he did, how big of a deal could it have been, really?”

“He committed premeditated murder. In the middle of an attack on the sect, no less.”

Damnit, Meng Yao! Can’t you make things easy on me for once?!

“Okay,” Nie Huaisang said, tugging on one of the braids until Nie Mingjue, who’d tensed up, relaxed again. It was a nice that his brother was so easily trainable, or at least he was on everything other than saber practice. Surely that was a selling point that Jin Guangyao could appreciate in a man? “Uh. Have you considered that, uh – well, maybe it could have been justified?”

“I asked him for an explanation,” Nie Mingjue growled. “His reason boiled down to ‘that guy was a dick to me’.”

“Wow,” Nie Huaisang said. “I have such strong empathy for Meng Yao’s position, you have no idea.”

“Huaisang.”

“I’m just saying, if we could stab everyone who acted like a dick…”

“Huaisang. No.”

“You know you want to.”

“But I don’t,” Nie Mingjue insisted. “He used the cover of battle, a Wen sword…he even tried to blame Xue Yang for it when I literally saw him holding the sword in his hand! I should have executed him right then and there, and I would have, if he hadn’t saved my life.”

A tricky one, Nie Huaisang thought. But not a match for me, Nie Huaisang: Lan Xichen-certified genius.

“Okay,” he said. “But…you already punished him for that, right? You exiled him. He was exiled. It was all very sad, tears were shed, mostly by me but also a bit by you – we’re an emotional family – and just possibly by Meng Yao, though who even knows, maybe Jin Guangshan’s spawn are all born without tear ducts as a congenital deficiency. But any way you look at it, it’s done now, and that means he can come back!”

“Huaisang. That’s not how exile works.”

“Uh, I think you’ll find that it does,” Nie Huaisang said haughtily. “There are at least five incidents in the Nie sect’s history where something comparable has happened.”

“Really.” His brother’s voice was very, very dry.

“Really,” Nie Huaisang insisted.

“And you, with your amazing ability to retain facts, know this…how?”

“Okay fine, I made that up,” Nie Huaisang confessed. “But I will find some and prove to you that it’s a thing! And then you’ll have no choice but to agree with my plan!”

“That’s not how that works, either,” Nie Mingjue said. “But if you’re willing to knuckle down and do the historical research to justify your bullshit, I’ll – consider it.”

“I will! You’ll see!”

“Xichen-xiong!” Nie Huaisang wept, clinging onto Lan Xichen’s arm. “You have to help me! There are so many books! And they’re all so long! They’re doing it just to spite me personally!”

Lan Xichen managed, with a truly remarkable amount of skill, to detach Nie Huaisang from his arm and settle him down in a chair in record time. If Nie Huaisang didn’t know better, he would have guessed that he’d done it before dozens, maybe even hundreds, of times, but of course they didn’t know each other that well.

Pity, that. Nie Huaisang might not need him as urgently as he needed Jin Guangyao, but losing out on having Lan Xichen as his er-ge was also a big downside of the whole not-swearing-brotherhood thing.

“What’s the problem this time, Huaisang?” Lan Xichen asked. He did not seem all that concerned, which...yeah, fair.

“I need you to do some research for me,” Nie Huaisang said, batting his eyelashes at him to see if that would work. “Nie sect history. Please?”

Lan Xichen tensed a little. It was a minute gesture, barely even noticeable. “On…what subject? Does your brother know?”

“Free passage laws and border restrictions,” Nie Huaisang said, and Lan Xichen visibly relaxed. “And of course he knows, he assigned it! Do you think I would do boring old historical research for fun?”

Lan Xichen smiled again, and Nie Huaisang counted it as a victory.

“All right, I’ll help,” he said indulgently, then paused. “Just…this isn’t part of some scheme, right?”

“Of course not,” Nie Huaisang said, injured. “Why would you even ask that? I am the most scheme-less person you could ever meet in your life. There are newborn baby rabbits that are more scheming than me!”

This was because newborn baby rabbits were dicks. Lan Wangji made him hold one once and Nie Huaisang was pretty sure it deliberately pissed on his fingers.

Lan Xichen coughed into his sleeve, just barely managing not to laugh in face. “I’m sure you are. No reason for asking. Did you bring the records you wanted me to look through?”

“By total coincidence, in fact, I did! Not that I would assume that you’d agree, of course.”

“…of course, Huaisang.”

“Jin-xiong!” Yes, Nie Huaisang was going for it; Jin Zixuan was just going to have to deal. “Jin-xiong, I have been informed by reliable sources that you’re a big fan of power, am I right?”

Jin Guangyao actually reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose – he must be very tired, to react that way while Nie Huaisang was still present.

In fairness, he really had been having a hard time of it recently. Even putting aside how awful it must be to live with Sect Leader Jin and his wife – it was no surprise (to Nie Huaisang, anyway) that their own son and heir spent a disturbingly large portion of his time visiting the Lotus Pier with his wife, even accounting for having to deal with the world’s most over-protective brothers-in-law – there were all the problems the Jin sect was having, the way Sect Leader Jin’s nasty and arrogant reactions to being challenged only seemed to be making it all worse, and then of course there was also the fact that Nie Mingjue had literally punched Sect Leader Jin in the face after he’d come in unexpectedly and caught him throwing a cup of tea on Jin Guangyao.

(That particular disaster was still ongoing, actually, and at very high volume – Jin Guangyao had been waiting anxiously outside the door, which wasn’t going to do him a single bit of good, but luckily for him Nie Huaisang was here to distract him from all of his troubles. Wasn’t Nie Huaisang a wonderfully nice person?)

“Jin-xiong,” Nie Huaisang whined, tugging on Jin Guangyao’s sleeve until the other man had no choice but to follow him further down the hallway and further away from the receiving room where the current Nie-Jin shouting session was happening behind them. “Tell me. Am I right?”

“You’re really excitable today, Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao said instead of answering. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Actually, I really, really, really hate flying on my saber and I’ve had to do it so often recently, it’s been terrible, you have no idea how much I’ve suffered, but I’m at least marginally hopeful that it’ll all be worth it in the end. But enough about me. You, power…how would you really like to tell your father and his wife where to shove it?”

“Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao said helplessly. “We’re in the middle of Koi Tower. Can you at least keep your voice down?”

Pssh, like Nie Huaisang cared what some Jin sect retainers thought. His brother just punched their sect leader in the face, what in the world was he going to do that would top that?

“Really,” he insisted, deciding to ignore Jin Guangyao’s clearly misplaced objections. “Consider it for a moment. How would you like to obtain fame, power, wealth, legitimacy – of the public-recognition variety, not the familial sort, you got that already – the ability to rub your success into your father’s face and also possibly jump up and down on it a few times, and, just as a bonus, also maybe become Chief Cultivator?”

Technically, wife of the Chief Cultivator, but in reality there was no way he wouldn’t be the one doing all the work. People were being really insistent about there being one, and with Jin Guangshan out of the picture, Lan Xichen acting weirdly shifty, and Jiang Cheng being Jiang Cheng, the entire cultivation world were all currently forming a consensus that it was going to be Nie Mingjue regardless of whether he actually agreed to take the job. So if Nie Huaisang’s poor beleaguered big brother was going to get stuck with the title, why not give the work to someone who’d actually enjoy it?

“Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao said, and his voice was so overtly sorrowful and pathetic that Nie Huaisang actually stopped to goggle at him. “I have never once sought personal power nor pursued ambition on my own behalf, and I regret that you think of me in that way.”

He paused for a moment.

“You can keep talking, though.”

“Excellent,” Nie Huaisang said. “So the plan is –”

“Forgive my language,” Lan Xichen said, his voice a little strangled. “But what the fuck?”

Nie Huaisang giggled. “I didn’t know the Lan sect permitted swearing.”

“It doesn’t. I’ll punish myself later,” Lan Xichen said, still staring blankly into space. “I just…they’re getting married? All those changes, and they end up getting married?”

“Technically, they’re eloping,” Nie Huaisang said. “Since they’re not actually getting Jin-xiong’s father’s permission and all…oh, Madame Jin looks angry enough to eat glass. I love weddings!”

Lan Xichen turned to look at him with narrowed eyes.

“Huaisang,” he said warningly. “This was a scheme on your part, wasn’t it?”

“Uh, I mean, okay, maybe a little,” Nie Huaisang confessed. “But only a little. A mini-scheme. A micro-plot. A stratagem. Oooh, did I intrigue? I like that. I’m intriguing.”

“You certainly are that,” Lan Xichen said dryly. “But…why?”

“Because now Jin-xiong – we can still call him that, right? I don’t think his father has the right to take back the name once it’s given, even if he does go ahead and disown him the way he’s threatening to – now Jin-xiong can do all the paperwork and make things run efficiently back home, and also it’s now totally in his best interest to make sure my brother stays sect leader and Chief Cultivator forever because otherwise he loses the basis of his own power,” Nie Huaisang explained. “And thus far I haven’t seen anything that Jin-xiong – oh, I can call him sao-zi now, that’s much more straightforward! – anything that he can’t do if he puts his mind to it. Which means I am now guaranteed to have a nice long life full of sweet, blissful nothing! No responsibilities! Freedom!”

He paused.

“Oh, and obviously they’ll be great together, really happy and all that,” he added. “That’s important too.”

Lan Xichen put his hand up to his forehead, but he was smiling broadly now – not the tiny little smiles Nie Huaisang had managed to steal up out of him up until now, but a big old grin.

“Anyway, now that that’s over and done with, I promise, no more schemes,” Nie Huaisang added, putting his hand on his heart. “This is the last one, okay? If you don’t believe me, you can write it into our marriage vows.”

Lan Xichen huffed a little, clearly not believing him, but he sounded fond about it. “Whatever you say, Huaisang – wait. Hold on. Our what?”

“Our marriage vows,” Nie Huaisang explained. “At our marriage. On account of your total inexplicable crush on me, which upon reflection I have generously decided to accept and return your affections.”

Lan Xichen’s mouth was opening and closing like a fish.

“Of course, we’re not going to be so lucky as to just elope,” Nie Huaisang continued thoughtfully. “Da-ge can’t have a proper wedding ceremony because people will be too afraid of irritating Sect Leader Jin to attend, but if we have a nice big party to announce my engagement to you, well, that’s different, right? They can all come to that. It’ll be like a secret-not-secret wedding that everyone knows is a wedding but with the plausible deniability that it’s totally just an engagement party. But if we have the big announcement, there’s no getting out of doing all the steps and rituals and whatnot, and, oh, we’ll have to deal with your uncle and our elders…it’ll be a disaster, really. So much work!”

He sighed. “Oh, the things I do for you, Xichen-gege! You’re very lucky I like you so much!”

Lan Wangji cleared his throat behind them both, and they turned to look at him – he was standing there with his arm around Wei Wuxian’s waist, which was more or less the same posture he was always in these days. Now that was one marriage – arranged as it might have been originally, with Lan Xichen pressuring Jiang Cheng until he agreed – that had gone very well, even if Lan Wangji was still a little cold with his brother over the extremely aggressive tactics he had employed in getting them together.

“Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials, brother,” Lan Wangji said, somewhat stone faced. “It couldn’t have happened to someone more deserving.”

Wei Wuxian, by his side, smiled and nodded. “If you’d like any help planning the wedding –” he started to say.

“Oh, would you?” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, clapping his hands in excitement. “Wei-xiong, you’re the best. We’re going to need at least a thousand of those spirit summon flags of yours.”

“A – a thousand? Do you know how long it’ll take me to draw a thousand talismans?!”

“Well, how else will we guarantee that we have a hunt so impressive that no one will ever stop talking about it?” Nie Huaisang asked, because obviously that’s what his da-ge would have wanted for his own wedding and since Nie Huaisang messed that up for his own purposes, having it at his was the least he could do to make it up to him.

Best of all, as the bride, he’d be all decked out in jewelry and fancy clothing and exactly nobody would expect him to participate. Win-win!

“Chop-chop, Wei-xiong! The wedding’s happening sooner rather than later, so if you think you’re going to have problems keeping up with demand, I’ll send some Nie sect disciples with decent handwriting over to you to learn. I think some of the people sao-zi is bringing with him from the Jin sect have some background in demonic cultivation too, I don’t know, but I’ll find out and let you know as soon as possible. You need to train up some people anyway so that you can ramp up production – once you start selling your talismans, more people will use them, and people will be much less afraid of you. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were both gaping at him. Possibly he had used too many words at once for them – or maybe it was just the speed in which he’d said it?

Lan Xichen started laughing.

“This is fine,” he said, wiping his eyes. “It’s just so much better than – yes, this is fine.”

Nie Huaisang was glad he agreed.

It meant the epic getting-together scheme that he’d had half-planned in the back of his mind in the event Lan Xichen said no could be safely shelved for another day.

Victory!

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #lan xichen #jin guangyao #nieyao #xisang #my fic #my fics #letitdevour #intriuging

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