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wiypt-writes · 3 years

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Leave No One Behind

Chapter 16: Endings Beginnings

Co written with @icanfeelastormbrewing

Summary: Ari and Hannah settle into life back home, but it isn’t all as smooth as they’d have hoped…

Warnings: Bad Language words.

Pairings: Ari Levinson x OFC Hannah Horowitz

Word Count- 4.5k

A/N: It was recently brought to our attention that in a few other chapters there have been a couple of things that Ari has said/done that are not technically accurate for someone of Jewish heritage. First up, it was reference to Ari observing a ‘Sunday Roast’ when he visited Mama Navon. We just wanted to remind people that Hannah is of Catholic Christian and Jewish heritage (Spanish Catholic Mother, American Jewish Father) and her and Sammy’s upbringing has always been a combination of the two. So, when Ari visited Mama Navon when he was home from Sudan, clearly this was her tradition he was observing. Secondly, in another chapter Ari was praying to the ‘God and the Saints’. Of course, Judaism does not have saints, so there’s a slip up on our part with that one. As with the third point, when we described Ari rushing Sarah to the alter. He would have rushed her to the hoopa.

Regarding all of the above, we would hasten to add, that Ari grew up in the USA, leaving when he was 18. From what little we learn of him in the film, we know was taken by a British Soldier, who married an American Nurse. From the way he talks about it, we don’t get the impression his ‘adoptive’ parents were Jewish, so that alludes us to suspect he had a largely Christian upbringing, whilst clearly being aware of his heritage. Therefore, we don’t think it is beyond the realms of possibility that he would pick up the odd little thing such as the above three points.

That aside, we hope the above didn’t distract anyone else from the narrative as it did the reader who brought it to our attention.

Now, just a personal plea from myself in general. Myself and Storm do this for free, and not being a person who pays much attention to religion at all (that’s another debate in itself) it is for this reason I was VERY nervous about continuing this storyline beyond the plot of the film. We certainly don’t have the time, nor brain capacity to be researching things into any kind of huge depth. It’s why most of my story lines centre along similar types of things that I have a good background in. This fic was never supposed to focus on the ins and outs of a particular race of people, just the lives of two dumbasses in love. As all writers on here, we do this for free, and the moment it becomes hard work or unenjoyable, we won’t be continuing. So any other little slip ups, please, unless they’re offensive, give us a little leeway and put it down to Ari being exceptionally Westernised as pointed out above.

Sorry if this comes across as being a little harsh, but this has been playing on my mind a lot over the past few days, to the point I was seriously considering if we ended the fic where it currently stood. That said, I think we have a lot left to tell of Hannah and Ari’s story so, I’ll shut up now and let you read it…if you want that is.

Leave No One Behind Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Part 15

“You haven’t forgotten tomorrow?” Hannah heard her mother ask, as the woman stood up from the table while holding the teacup and saucer to place them in the sink. “You do remember you have to pick Sammy up from the airport tomorrow afternoon, right?”

Hannah rolled her eyes at her mother’s back. “No, I haven’t forgotten,” she sighed as she played with the crumbles of the pastry she had been nibbling on, “I mean, it’s not like I’ve got anything else going on, is it? Seeing as Ari is with Maya and according to Sarah’s stupid rules I can’t be there with them…”

At that, Maria Navon turned, giving her daughter a sympathetic look and Hannah snorted in anger.

It had been four months since they arrived back in Tel Aviv, and Hannah had to concede that for the first few weeks it was fine. She and Ari settled nicely in the apartment Mossad rented in Ari’s name once all the paperwork following the end of the mission had been sorted. Ari had asked Isaacs for an upgrade of his living quarters, given he was now having Maya over to stay every other weekend, plus numerous nights of the week. Not to mention the fact Hannah was moving with him. When Isaacs had asked Ari to put a justification forward, he had simply shrugged, “I fucking earned it, Isaacs.”

So he got it. Just like he usually got what he wanted, one way or another.

Hannah was back working at the clinic. Her hands and the experience she had acquired while in Africa were needed more than ever now that it was only her mother and her to run it, although how long it was before her mom decided to retire fully was anyone’s guess. It had been a couple of busy months, what with interviewing for new nurses and locum staff, but Hannah would be lying if she denied having enjoyed every minute of it. She might have Mossad secret agent skills, obviously passed down by her father, but she was a doctor at heart. And that hadn’t changed in the two years she had been away.

The team had split up within a month of arrival back in Tel Aviv. Ari and Max had been working to help the refugees. Many of them had simply melted away post their arrival, still not trusting the mysterious white men who had come to their aid. However, some had stuck round; being housed temporarily in hostels, and was those who Ari and Max were tirelessly working for. They focussed their efforts on obtaining them permanent, legal status along with finding them better places to live and jobs of sorts to help them fit in their new reality.

Jake had headed back overseas to continue work as a diving instructor, this time in Jamaica, whilst Sammy had been in the States with Rachel for almost two and a half months now, and was, as Maria just reminded Hannah, due back the following day. Hannah suspected, however, not for long, fully expecting him to move there permanently to be with Rachel.

“Sammy is lucky, you know? He has none of this shit with Rachel’s ex.” Hannah grumbled, “Sarah is just being a pain in the ass. And I know for a fact it’s because we told her we got engaged. She was fine with me being there when Maya was until that point.” Hannah finished her rant as she placed her teacup and saucer on her mother’s extended hand.

“You can’t be sure about that, sweetheart. Maybe there’s something else."

“No, she’s being a bitch.” Hannah quickly stopped her mother’s attempts at justifying Sarah’s behaviour. “She seems perfectly fine with us having dinner during the week and going out and stuff but won’t let Maya stay when I’m there on a weekend, basically just preventing us from spending those days together, for no reason other than she’s bitter.”

Maria Navon sighed. She knew where her daughter was coming from but, being the gentle and caring woman she was, she couldn’t help but try to put herself in the other woman’s shoes. She saw Hannah bite her lip and twirl her engagement ring round her finger, a rounded blue sapphire as deep as the ocean set against a halo of smaller white diamonds on a white gold band, before she spoke again.

“I wouldn’t mind mama but they’ve been legally separated for years! The terms of their divorce are basically already been agreed. All they need to do is sign the damned papers but recently, well, Ari seems afraid to even raise the issue in case Sarah starts making it all awkward again and stops him seeing Munch.”

“Hey, sweetheart. Listen to me.” Hannah’s mother caught her attention as she pulled out a chair to sit next to her. “Everything is going to be ok, she’ll sign eventually. She knows there isn’t anything she can do about it, she’s just grieving.”

Hannah’s brow creased at her mother’s choice of words. “Grieving for what? She left him, years ago!”

“She left him because she couldn’t cope with his lifestyle anymore, and he wasn’t winning any awards for being husband of the year, Han. That doesn’t mean she didn’t love him,” Maria woman spoke softly as if to appease her daughter’s raging tone.

“So, basically, I’m just stuck here waiting until she gets her head out of her ass?”

“Have a little patience, honey. You two have waited over a decade, one way or another, to be together. You sure can wait a few weeks more.” Maria smiled as she reached out for Hannah’s hands who were fiddling with a teaspoon.

“That’s the thing, Mama.” Hannah sighed as she looked up to meet her mom’s eyes. “I don’t think it’s just going to be weeks.”

“You don’t?” The woman frowned. “Well maybe she’s more stubborn than I thought.”

Hannah shook her head and then noticed her mother’s features had suddenly softened into a smile and she was looking straight over her shoulder. Hannah turned to see Ethan walking into the kitchen in his signature crisp work suit.

“Hi Ethan,” Hannah smiled at him and then looked up at the clock over the fridge before standing up and shrugging. “I should go. Spend the night with my fiancée before I’m banished back to my childhood home for the weekend like a love sick teenager.”

As she left the kitchen dramatically, she heard Ethan ask Maria. “That bad?”

“She’s pissed off,” Hannah heard her mom whisper back, “can’t say I blame her but she needs to make an attempt to see this from the other side, so to speak.”

With an angry growl, Hannah slammed the door and set off walking back to their apartment, in even more of bad mood than she’d been in when she arrived at her mother’s.

Why was anyone treating her like she was the spoiled brat?

****

Ari was getting ready for Hannah’s arrival. He had been cooking, or sort of, making an attempt at dinner for a while and was now setting the table for two. He wanted to make tonight special as he knew this week was going to be the third weekend out of six that he and Hannah would be apart thanks to Sarah and her fucking rules.

He was finding it hard himself. He’d gotten used to sleeping besides his Firefly since they had got together in Sudan, especially at night. But he knew Hannah was finding it harder. He was sacrificing their time together so that he could spend his allotted weekends with his daughter, which lessened the blow a little, but Hannah was basically being banned from living her life as it was for two days every two weeks, and that make his heart ache.

And the worst bit about it all, was that he had seen it coming a mile off, and had been powerless to prevent it.

It was a bright Friday morning when they told Maya about their engagement. The previous evening Ari had proposed to Hannah for a second time after buying her a lavish ring. Thus, they had decided to take Maya for a walk and ice cream to break the news to her. The little girl had been over the moon with the idea of her dad and Hannah getting married, which hadn’t surprised Ari seeing as his daughter had been all over his fiancé ever since they had met at Mossad headquarters the morning they had arrived home.

Now, as he approached Sarah’s apartment to take Maya back, he was about to tell his ex-wife and he was not particularly looking forward to it. But, he was being cautiously optimistic. Sarah had, after all, been amendable since they’d gotten home and seemed okay with Hannah being a part of Maya’s life.

Still, he felt his stomach churn as Maya walked up the apartment they had all shared once upon a time, and rang the doorbell. No sooner had Sarah opened the door, Maya bounced in blurting the news out without hesitation.

“Mom, guess what? Dad and Han are getting married! He asked her yesterday and she said yes!”

Ari groaned internally to himself, “Sarah, I didn’t ask her last night,” he smiled bashfully as he explained himself, “and I certainly didn’t do it in front of Maya.”

Sarah shook her head and brushed it off. “Don’t worry, Ari and … erm, congratulations, I guess.”

“Erm… thanks.” Ari blinked. “I just thought you should hear it from me first… even if you technically did hear it from Munch.”

Despite the civil exchange, Ari could tell that Sarah was hating she didn’t have time nor the privacy to digest the news, and that wasn’t what he’d planned at all. He’d wanted to tell her, quickly, and leave, but Maya had put paid to his plans. Ari could feel coldness of his estranged wife’s stare, along with the tell-tale faint twitch of her nose and upper lip. He knew Sarah well and he, also knew how she deep down felt about him and Hannah.

“She seemed cool about it but I know her, Han. Too cool for Sarah.” Ari told Hannah that night over dinner. “I can’t help feeling this is going to be bad…”

For once, Ari wished to God he’d been proven wrong. But, Sarah ended up doing what he feared, reverting back to being petty and petulant. She called him the next day to announce from that moment on, when Maya stayed with him, be it during the week or on her agreed weekends, Hannah wasn’t to be there overnight because, as Sarah had put it, it wasn’t appropriate for Maya to be around when they were… well, “up to stuff.

Hannah went ballistic, telling Ari his estranged wife was being ridiculous and she could go to hell, but Ari knew Sarah well enough to know she needed to get this out of her system. He tried his best to explain to Hannah that until she did, there was nothing he could do but roll with it, certainly for the time being. Making Sarah angry would not only risk her going back on terms of the divorce they’d set out in their separation degree, but also, he feared, make her get pissy about him seeing Maya. And that simply wasn’t something he was prepared to risk. He’d already missed too much of Maya over the years, admittedly through his own fault, but he didn’t want to miss a single second more than he had to.

Just as Ari was turning down the heat under their dinner, Simon’s ears pricked up and a second later Hannah’s key was heard in the door. Air smiled at the dog, who let out an excited whine, and leaned to give him a scratch behind his ears.

“Mama’s home, buddy.”

The pooch looked up at his master almost like he was pondering his words and Ari scoffed.

Yeah, home. Bar the weekends when she’s banished to her mother's…

Simon trotted off and soon after Ari heard Hannah greeting him. A moment later she walked into the living area and gave him a tired, but genuine smile.

“Hey Lobo.”

Ari beamed at his fiancé as he walked to meet her and without warning, he grabbed her face with both hands and stamped his lips on her plump ones, kissing the hell out of her. Hannah moaned in surprise but melted into his hold, her hands instantly reaching for Ari’s bearded cheeks.

“Hey Firefly.” He whispered when he broke the kiss.

She smiled at him as her hands travelled upwards and tangled in his hair. “Something smells good.”

“Thanks, I just showered.” Ari drawled, a cheeky smile on his face.

“I meant the food, you ass.” Hannah laughed as one of her hands slapped Ari shoulder, but his grin never faded.

“I’m a whole meal, honey.” He continued, playfully. Hannah rolled her eyes and stepped back. “But yeah, I’ve been cooking or rather mixing things in pots and pans.”

“Hmmm should I be worried?” She shrugged off the light jacket she was wearing to shield her from the summer showers.

“Well, Simon tasted everything and he’s still breathing.”

“Simon used to eat jellyfish, Ari. That’s not a bar to measure your cooking with.”

“Hey, I tried, okay? Give me some credit. I’ve never cooked for a woman before.” He grabbed her hips and pressed her to his body, one of his big hands splaying over her back.

At that Hannah smiled at him lovingly. He was right. She suspected he had never cooked for Sarah and he certainly hadn’t cooked for her, not once. Never in the brief amount of time they had been secretly dating, and at the resort it had been Chef Aziz's job to cook for everyone.

“I’m honoured, and I’m sure it’ll be great. Give me five to go wash up okay?”

“Sure, babe. I’ll plate the food and open the wine.” He winked at her and Hannah stood on her toes and gave him another quick peck before she headed into the bedroom, Simon following her.

True to his word Ari had done a pretty good job and thirty minutes later they were both sat at the table after having enjoyed a dammed passable and tasty attempt at a beef stroganoff on Ari’s part that left Hannah pleasantly surprised.

She sighed with satisfaction as she left her fork on her plate and when she looked up she noticed Ari was looking at her intently, his eyes shining under those long eyelashes.

“You trying to seduce me before my carriage turns into a pumpkin tomorrow, Levinson?” Hannah asked before bringing her glass of wine to her lips.

“Hannah...” he sighed.

“What?”

“Please don’t, sweetheart. I don’t want to argue.”

It was her turn to sigh, heavily. Ari’s words were more of a plea than a warning to her, but she couldn’t help the way she was feeling. Granted, she wasn’t quite as pissed as when she had left her mother’s house, but she still had a sour feeling which was nagging at her.

“I don’t want to either, Ari. I just don’t like the prospect of spending my weekend away from you. Again.”

“And you think I do?” He asked, reaching for her hand over the table. “Honey, this won’t be forever. Sarah just needs to get her stupid tantrum out of her system.”

“Yeah, I know and I don’t want you having trouble with Maya because of me, I wouldn’t keep you from Munch, ever. But you’re my fiancé and I just...” she trailed off, shrugging, “I don’t want us to be apart.”

Ari licked his lips and pondered for a moment as he looked at their entwined hands. “Okay, I’ll talk to her when I pick Maya up tomorrow.” He nodded with determination when he looked up at her. “See if I can reason with her and...”

“Don’t Ari. You’ll only set her off.” Hannah rapidly cut him off.

Ari groaned and let go of her hand, his look and voice growing harder. “Well then, what do you want me to do? You literally just said-“

“I know, but I don’t want you to poke the bear! I just want this fucking ridiculous situation to be over.” Hannah shook her head. She knew she was riling Air up, but she was sick of everyone trying to get her to accept the situation they were in without so much as a word of complaint. “I’m not blaming you, it’s just…forget it, can we just pretend we are a normal couple who are having a normal evening dinner?”

“We are a normal couple. Well, as normal as most anyway.” Ari took her hand again, his features softening. “Look, I’m sorry. I really am. I just don’t know what I can do.”

“Love me.” Hannah stated after a while.

Now that puzzled Ari. Was that a request or was she doubting him. She couldn’t be doubting him, right? With concern written all over his face he pushed his chair back to stand up and hurriedly crouched beside Hannah, his hands grabbing her thighs firmly as his eyes searched for something in hers.

“Firefly, I do love you. You know this… I mean, at least, I hope you do.”

“I do.” She nodded as she looked down to him. “Just don’t stop loving me, no matter what crazy ideas Sarah comes up with.”

“Hannah, that’s not gonna happen.” He assured her after swallowing hard. “I promise you. Nothing she says or does is gonna change the way I feel about you.”

****

Ari meant what he said and took it upon himself to make sure his Firefly was left with no doubt as to his feelings for her all through the night. And then again he made sure she hadn’t forgotten the following morning too before she left to pick Sammy up from the airport.

Ari collected Maya, as arranged, from the summer holiday camp run by her school and then, throwing caution to the wind, took her to Maria’s to see not only Hannah, but Sammy and the family. Hannah was surprised, but pleased to see them both and hugged Maya tight as the girl threw herself at her, chatting away about her day. They ate a lovely dinner, courtesy of Maria, and later, retired to the shared garden in the warm, July air.

As Maya sat with Sammy, who was telling her stories about the states and Rachel’s kids, Ari found himself watching Hannah. She was sat with her mom and Ethan, the three of them sipping wine as the dusk drew in. It wasn’t long before the first little twinkles around the tree flashed through the darkness, signalling the fireflies had come out to play.

Ari’s mind quickly travelled back to when he first met Hannah, how those little bugs had been present in the garden, earning her the nickname. His nickname for her, which had stuck and become a term of his love for her, symbolised by the pendant round her neck. It was that pendant, or more specifically how he had given her that pendant, which had fixed the idea on how to present her with the sparkling sapphire and diamond ring on her finger…

It was a Thursday morning, and Hannah walked into the bedroom after her morning shower. Ari looked up from where he was fastening up his short sleeved shirt and smiled as she grinned back at him.

“You really do suit that colour, pretty sure Ethan’s secretary will approve.”

“Ethan’s secretary?” Ari continued, stopping two buttons under the collar.

“Yeah, that’s what I said Lobo.”

“Ethan’s secretary is nearly a hundred years old, Firefly.” Ari rolled his eyes with a chuckle, his hands on his hips as Hannah frowned.

“Well who was the young, blonde girl at her desk the other day when I called in?” She picked up her hairbrush from the top of the chest of drawers that served as her vanity unit.

“Lorraine? She’s an intern, Mrs Goldman is training her.”

“She likes you. I can tell.” Hannah hummed, combing out her locks which had been piled on top of her head to prevent them getting wet.

Ari rolled his eyes as Hannah pulled her hair back into a neat ponytail. “Whatever.”

“You can whatever me all you want,” Hannah sang as she picked up a bottle of lotion and sat on the bed, “I can sense these things.”

Ari snorted, looking down at his girl as she sat on the bed applying lotion to her legs. “You getting all territorial on me?”

“Do I need to?”

“Don’t be an ass!” Ari snorted, leaning down to kiss her.

As they moved around the room, Ari took his time, a lot longer than usual, dragging his morning routine out as long as possible. If Hannah noticed he was making a meal out of tidying his beard up, something he had taken to doing since returning to civilisation, she didn’t notice.

He was stalling for one reason, and one reason only. The surprise that was waiting for her in her underwear drawer.

After what seemed like an age, she crossed the room and pulled it open. Ari held his breath as she reached in for a pair of panties, but instead she gasped, he hand flying to her mouth.

Bingo.

When Hannah spun around, the red, velvet box in her hand, Ari was waiting on one knee, beaming up at her. “Still wanna marry me, Firefly?”

Tears brimmed in her eyes and she nodded, her voice thick with emotion, “yes, you know I do!”

“Had to ask with a ring, sweetheart.”

He watched as she opened it, her mouth dropping open once more as she stared at the ring.

“Lobo, it’s gorgeous… I… I love it!”

As Ari rose to his feet, he sighed with relief, “good, ‘cause I had a hard time finding something worthy of my girl.”

“It reminds me of the ocean,” she smiled up at him, “and your eyes.”

“Kinda why I bought it, the ocean that is.” Ari smiled as he took the ring from the box, slipping it over her knuckle, watching as the sapphire settled at the base of her finger. “Hannah Maria Navon, I love you, baby girl.”

Hannah glanced at the ring before she beamed, her hands cupping his cheeks, “and I love you, Ari David Levinson.”

Ari smirked a little at the memory, they were totally late for work after getting a little ‘distracted’ so to speak celebrating their engagement once more, only this time in a bed and not the back of a shitty jeep in the Sudanese desert.

“Dad?” Maya bounced into his lap, drawing a huff from him as she accidentally elbowed him in the ribs, “Are those fireflies?”

“They are Munch.” He nodded, kissing her head as she watched them zipping around. “Can you see now why I call Hannah my Firefly?”

She grinned, “yip!”

Hannah, who had been watching them, cleared her throat. “Ari, it’s getting late. Shouldn’t you two be heading back to your apartment?”

Ari looked at her pointedly. “Our apartment, sweetheart.”

Hannah was about to shoot a response back but then remembered Maya was there so she merely sighed. “Ari, look, you shouldn’t even be here now anyway. It’s not worth the argument if she finds out.”

“Why can’t we stay here, dad? I wanna stay with Han!” Maya piped up and Hannah groaned a little, shooting Ari a look.

“Because Han needs to stay with Sammy tonight, she’s not seen him for a while. You can stay some other time, okay?”

“I’m not gonna say anything to Mom if that’s what you scared of.”

At that, Ari and Hannah exchanged a look. “Why do you say that? Why would we be scared?” He asked and Maya shrugged.

“I heard Mom say some things.”

“What things, Munchkin?” Ari smoothed her long hair back and waited for her to reply.

“Well, I was upset, because at first I thought Hannah didn’t like me anymore as she always left when I stayed over. But one day last week, I heard Mom tell Grandma on the phone she had made you and Hannah spend the weekends apart because I was with you.” Maya paused and looked at Hannah, “Is that why you don’t stay with us at the apartment?”

Hannah blinked, she was stuck. She didn’t want to lie but also didn’t want to start bad mouthing Sarah in front of Maya, no matter how tempting. “Erm, it’s, well it’s complicated, sweetie. You and your dad need to spend time together. But I promise you it’s absolutely not because I don’t like you. I do, I love you very much.”

At that Maya stood up and launched herself at Hannah. “I love you too, Han.”

Ari and Hannah could do nothing but exchange a look, which Hannah broke as she leaned down to hug Maya, tears visible in her eyes.

And it left Ari feeling even more like shit than he already did.

No, he had to fix this, even if it meant pulling Sarah up on her attitude despite Hannah asking him not to. Whilst he understood Sarah’s anger, and that she had every right to direct it at him, the fact that it was clearly having an impact on Maya was something he couldn’t let slide.

With a sigh, he stood up, instructing Maya to bid everyone good night. Before he left, he pulled Hannah into a kiss, his hands cupping her face.

“I’m gonna fix this,” he whispered against her lips, “trust me, baby.”

“I do.” She sniffed a little, her nose bumping his. “Go, go on. I’ll see you Sunday.”

As they walked the few blocks home, Maya’s hand locked in Ari’s, he was only partially listening to his daughter as she spoke.

“Dad!” Her voice drew him from his thoughts about how exactly he was going to approach the subject with his soon to be ex-wife. He glanced down at her.

“What?”

“We’re you listening to a word I just said?”

“Honestly, no!”

“Daaaaaad!” She whined and Ari chuckled.

“I’m sorry baby, what were you saying?”

“I was saying that I should get Hannah something for luck.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Mom was talking to Auntie Louisa, and she said that Hannah was going to need plenty of luck being married to you so…”

Ari took a deep breath, anger flashing through his system, rolling his eyes. “Oh, did she?”

“Yup.” Maya nodded.

“And, do you think Hannah’s gonna need luck?”

Maya looked at him, and grinned cheekily. “Well, you are an idiot!”

“Rude!” Ari narrowed his eyes playfully, “mind you, technically, you might look more like your mom but you’re half me. Guess that makes you half an idiot, huh?”

Maya went to dig him in the ribs and with a chuckle, Ari swung her up and onto his shoulders. Her hands tangled in his hair as she giggled, before she leaned down, fingers threading into his beard.

“Han’s right, you do look like a wolf.”

Ari laughed, his hands tightening around his daughter’s ankles as her heels lightly bounced against his chest with each step he took.

#leave no one behind #ari levinson x ofc #ari levinson x original female character #Ari Levinson #ari levinson fanfiction #red sea diving resort #red sea diving resort fan fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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twst-campos13 · 4 years

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ah hello!! i'm literally so excited to see a blog for enby and male readers sodjfoijf,,could i maybe request a scenario where male reader is a staff member (idk?? like a librarian?? a nurse??? do they need nurses over there???) and is crushing on crewel but is too scared to confess because he's both Too Dense to pick up any signs of potential reciprocation and also just isn't sure if crewel likes men??? maybe. maybe with a happy ending though because i am a fool,, thank you very much!!

One hopelessly cheesy scenario coming up!! Thank you for requesting! I hope you don’t mind I made reader a librarian who may or may not be a bit of a romantic because i listened to a particular playlist while writing this- (commentary in notes!)

Warnings: none! Tags: male!reader, fluff!

A simple man such as you live a simple life. As simple as life can be in Night Raven College, that is. A prestigious school that holds a student body that can barely tolerate each other. It would be typical for a librarian to be the observer than the observed, but hey, if it means getting out of trivial matters of the school and enjoying the show in your personal bubble, then you have no complaints.

This attitude of yours did come to have its own consequences. You were seen as timid by most students as you were quite closed-off, taking it as a reason to poke fun at you sometimes. You proved them wrong when they step out of line with their fun. Most of the time you choose to ignore them. However, you lived up to your introverted nature, especially when it comes to him.

Tall, dark, and handsome. Approachable but also not at the same time. Sharply dressed and sharp attitude. This man that visits the library ever so often had become your daily motivation to keep on working at this school despite the wage that Crowley gives you.

Divus Crewel, feared and admired by staff and students—also known as the man who stole your heart.

You feel so small compared to him. That would not be so farfetched. He is a remarkable man, and what about you? You are just a librarian at this school. You are like mere dust to him.

Yet, despite this, you continued yearning for him no matter how ridiculous it seems. Perhaps you have fallen too deep in romantic fiction that you make hopeless wishes. You are known to be excellent in reading people but for some reason, you find it hard to read Divus. His perfect posture whenever he would scan the Applied Sciences aisle showed that he is focused on his reading. However, it is his expression you find hard to decipher. He looks dashing as ever, of course, but his thin lips and neutral gaze makes it hard for you to know what he is thinking.

If your life is a novel it would be so easy to know what runs in his mind. What he feels for you. Maybe he could even know what you feel for him. In a story, what makes characters likable is knowing what their emotions, their feelings, their ambitions, and their dreams are, for they are already laid out in ink on pages. Implicit or explicit information, simple or complex structure of personality, it does not matter. You would easily know about them for they are just sentences away from understanding.

And in romance novels…oh, how dreamy they are. How easy they make it seem to fall in love, to confess, and to achieve a happy ending. However, as a librarian, you know the reality of your situation. Your relationship with Crewel is a professional. Strictly, if you were to add an adjective. Is it really strictly professional? Your right brain points out the moments in your life where you interacted with him. At faculty meetings, reunions, at the library…moments like those just feel surreal you almost believed that you made those up on your own. Probably because you initiated each of those interactions yourself.

The only time, where Crewel would come to you himself, are rare. One time he came to the library and checked out a book to read in his spare time. His voice distracted you. It was like cherry wine. Sweet, smooth, enough to make your throat dry and your cheeks flushed. Oh, you could listen to him talk for hours in that tone of his, and he could even make you do anything he pleases.

You greet each other good morning or good afternoon when you pass by each other, and he would smile a teasing one at you as if you two shared a secret with each other. Well, technically you did, for one time you bought him coffee under the pouring rain, and he repaid you for your kindness. Soon enough your coffee exchange became a routine for both of you. It was sweeter than the cream in his coffee. It was more refreshing than the rainy day you shared with each other.

His gaze. His posture. His voice. His smile. Despite those small interactions with each other you are still troubled by what he thinks of you. A friend? A colleague? A special someone? Why is this so hard? Why was it so easy to fall in love? And when things could not get worse for you, your left brain argued that he might not be interested to mingle with a man.

Well, you could find out for yourself, but that would be creepy. Your workspace is in the library! You could not just leave when you please just so you can observe him. You could not use the staff files to your advantage—that is being a borderline stalker. Whatever Crewel’s orientation is, is his to keep and his to disclose to you. Oh, but still. If this were a novel, you could easily analyze the situations that give off evidence of him liking men. Or liking someone like you.

If that were the case you would not have a hard time trying to decipher his words, his gaze, his tone, and his actions towards you. If that were the case…if that were the case…then…well, there’s no then. Divus Crewel is not a fictional character to analyze. He is your coworker, your colleague.

It is hard to know what he thinks of you, at all. You really wished that you could…but the thought of knowing what he thinks to scare you, as well.

Rejection is not that far from reality. Who are you compared to him again? A nobody. A simple, ‘timid’, librarian that enjoys reading romantic and fiction novels and inserts himself in scenarios he makes up for himself just so he can…find the happiness he wishes to have.

But Divus is your happiness. Became your source of happiness. Ironic how he colors the muted floor of the library with his monochromatic appearance. Maybe it is better that you keep your feelings to yourself. You avoid the risk of rejection and humiliation as well as ruining whatever it is your current relationship with Crewel is.

You barely registered the visitor in front of your desk until a familiar red leathery gloved hand rested atop of yours. The contact of the leather sent a spark of electricity through you that you snapped your head up to meet alluring silvery blue eyes. There is only one person in this college that owns those distinct, beautiful, silvery blue eyes.

Divus.

“Have I interrupted your moment of peace, sir?” He asked in that cherry wine voice of his. It made your throat dry up and your face warm. “N-No—no!” You squeaked, shaking your head to brush off the embarrassment. Quickly, you fixed your composure and appeared presentable. As presentable as you could be under his stare that is. You just hope that he found some amusement in your haste. “D-Div—Mr. Crewel, what can I do for you?” You smiled as you speak in a professional tone. The edge of his lips curled into a familiar smirk and still you could not determine what was running through his mind at the moment.

“I came to return the book I borrowed last week,” he said, placing down the novel on your desk. Sense and Sensibility. Jane Austen. Right, he borrowed that last week. It is not your place to judge whatever it is he desires to read. “Of course,” you nodded, “did you enjoy reading it?” You started on a small talk as you take out your logbook for the check-ins and outs of books. “Somewhat,” Crewel shrugged, “I had my eyes set on another book I would like to borrow.”

“Oh? What is it? I’ll go get it for you.” You stood up after sliding the logbook back to its drawer. Crewel did not leave from where he was standing. His eyes were simply on you. You had to hide your nervousness under his gaze. “I had my eyes on it ever since that rainy day, when you offered me shelter in the library until the rain passes,” he mused. “General fiction, I believe, was the genre.”

“If that’s the case then you better tell me the title,” you joked, taking a stool to the genre’s aisle. “Are you certain you can find it?” Crewel coolly challenged. You almost laughed but did not fight the smile on your lips. “Mr. Crewel, I spend most of my time in this library. I know every book and I still have the Dewey Decimal system memorized…” You kept your eyes distracted by scanning the spines of the books on the shelves. You are aware that he is still looking at you that is why you refused to look back at him. You are not sure what will happen if you look back at him while conversing.

“If that is the case—” why does he suddenly sound a bit close? “—may you find ‘How to Ask your Dense Colleague Out to Dinner?’”

What a lengthy title. It sounds very basic and almost like a rule book than a novel. Well, that is General Fiction for you. Though you are quite unsure if such a book exists in the library. “Hm…” you hummed, a finger on your chin, as your eyes scanned the shelves. “I don’t think I have that here…Crowley pays me enough to support my rent and meals, but not enough to buy new books. Plus, the students…”

You heard him chuckle beside you and fought the urge to turn to him. “I believe I was not frank enough. Ah, well, I will put all subtleties aside, then…”

His warm breath tickling your skin was what made you finally turn to him. The proximity of your noses startled you that you nearly stumbled out of your stool if it were not for Divus’ hand grabbing yours to pull you to him. You gasped, shocked, as you landed close to his chest. His other hand supported your waist, and your eyes widened his silvery blues. You can feel your heart hammering against his. Your legs feel like putty when he gave you that teasing smirk. Your name—your first name—sounds surreal from his lips. Your entire world was a confusing mix of vertigo and bright lights.

“Will you go to dinner with me?”

You stared. You stammered. You are flabbergasted and flustered. You were unsure how to react to such a forward question that your brain completely shut down. But you cannot embarrass yourself—you must not. Not when…not when…not when…!

Oh, he will he stop saying your name with such sentiment?

“Is your silence a rejection or a consideration?” He rose a brow and your face flushed even more. “No! I mean yes—I mean—no, it isn’t a rejection—”

“Then you have been anticipating this?”

“Divus!”

He laughed. He laughed at your state. He laughed at your awkwardness. But most importantly his laugh sounds so pleasant. Like he was teasing you and you liked him teasing. You grew shy, averting your gaze from his and fidgeting with your fingers. “I mean…I mean…why?”

Crewel stopped laughing and looked at you. “Why what?”

“Why…me? Out of all people?” You asked as fear and denial keep you from grasping the fact that this is all real and not another scenario you made up during rainy days. Crewel’s face remained passive. Neutral. It was eating at your heart and you just wish what is going through his mind.

“Is it not obvious, puppy?” He raised a brow at you. The hand holding your wrist now tilted your chin in his direction. “It is not by fate or destiny, but a mere law that dictates the gravitational pull of similar atoms that is programmed by the need to chemically bind together.”

You suddenly felt stumped. “W—What?”

“I like you, puppy,” Crewel clarified, adoring the way your confusion turned to pure surprise, “and I would like to have dinner with you. Perhaps another, if the first went well.”

You need some time to process this. Your head felt so light you might pass out in his arms. Actually, you would not mind that in the slightest. His coat is just so soft it feels like heaven. A proper response of agreement failed to come to your mind so instead, you asked him again, “And what if the first does not end well?”

Crewel smiled at you. “Then we shall try again with the next dinner. Mind you, puppy, as a man of science, I am not afraid of failure if trying means more chances of perfecting my goal.”

“And what’s that goal?” You asked and physically stopped yourself from combusting when he leaned closer to you that your noses touch and you smell his cologne, and his bold scent.

“The goal to become yours.”

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llemonteaa · 4 years

Text

Your daily dose of angst

No one deserves to be second best. That’s something you learnt the hard way.

Pairings: Oikawa x f!reader & Iwaizumi x f!reader

WC: 1,769

Warnings: swearing, angst (with a little dose of fluff at the end :)

You always wondered, even to this day, why Oikawa had chosen you in the first place. When asked what his ideal type was, Oikawa would laugh and say, “Someone who makes me look greater than I already am of course,” Cue Iwaizumi smacking him in the head.

“Mean Iwa-Chan! Fine, my ideal type would preferably be someone with fair hair, an adorable smile and a lovely ass to rest my head on. Oh, and she must also love milkbread.”

None of those boxes would be ticked for you unfortunately. Your hair was jet black and curtained part of your face, which only added to your supposedly mean aura. Your resting face was somewhat frightening and your smile could be described as Kageyama’s Cheshire Cat grin. Not to mention your ass was almost as non existent as Oikawa’s (oops), and you much preferred pork buns to milkbread.

Yet despite that, Oikawa had asked you out one humid Friday afternoon, exactly 7 months ago today. But you realised, maybe a bit too late, that a lot can happen in 7 months.

Oikawa of course, was infamous for having fangirls practically glued to his hip wherever he went. And dating you didn’t change that in the slightest. In fact, his fangirls, especially one in particular, seemed to go up and above their way to spend time with your boyfriend, even when you were inevitably stood by his side.

“As I was saying-” you began.

“Oikawa! I was just hoping to bump into you!” someone swatted you aside, your vision now platinum curls.

Reni. She practically threw herself onto Oikawa, bending over slightly so that he’s have a clear view of the lace panties underneath her unbelieveably short skirt.

“Oh hey Reni. What’s up?” Your boyfriend turned to face who you called his number one, entirely devoted, fangirl.

“So, about our History project, would it be too much trouble to ask for some help? I’ve been racking my brains trying to figure it all out, even sacrificing much required beauty sleep, but I’m still yet to make any progress. And seeing how you are quite the History whizz...”

“Of course Reni, you’re the first person who’s complimented me on my brains. When would you like to meet up?” It was almost a joke how YOUR boyfriend seemed to be spending more time with a girl who had nothing but the audacity, than his s/o herself. And History whizz your ass, everyone including Iwaizumi, who had overheard that particular part of the conversation as he passed and scoffed, knew that it would be a miracle if the teacher graded him on History at all.

“If you could, now would be a great time.” Reni fluttered her eyelashes which reminded you of rather hairy caterpillars.

“Well I’m not doing anything as of now, apart from talking to y/n, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Right y/n?” Both pairs of eyes seemed to acknowledge you for the first time. You, the girlfriend, but at the same time you the thirdwheel, apparently.

“Well in fact I do mind but...” you hadn’t even managed to get out before Reni used her large boobs to push you out of the way.

“You see Oikawa, y/n doesn’t mind at all. So come on now, my books are in my dorm.”

And with that, she grabbed your boyfriend’s arm and dragged him down the hall in the direction of the girl’s dorms, Oikawa throwing a sheepish glance over his shoulder.

“We’ll resume our conversation in a bit y/n~”

Yeah right. You’d probably forget what you were even talking to him about by the time he came back from the spawn of Satan’s hellhole.

In the weeks that followed, you found every minute of your time alone with Oikawa accompanied by Reni. No matter where or what you were doing with your boyfriend, she always seemed to find an excuse to but it. And Oikawa was nevertheless, just as oblivious to Reni’s attempts to jump in his pants as he was to your blatant annoyance.

“But y/n you have to understand. Reni hurt her ankle yesterday during her cheerleading practise and being the kind friend I am, I had to help her make her way around school.” Your boyfriend attempted to reason with you, after you had pulled him behind the school gym where he was moments from entering. This was partially because you had desperately needed to confront him about how much time he seemed to be unnecessarily spending with Reni and also in an attempt to prevent the devil herself from seeking you guys, Oikawa specifically, out.

“No, I don’t have to understand. Reni dropped the sprained ankle act the moment she thought my back was turned. God you can be so blind sometimes.” You rubbed your eyes tiredly.

“y/n, now you’re just being unreasonable. You know I only ever spend time with Reni when she’s in need of my help. I’m simply doing what any decent friend would do.”

“Except she needs your help all the goddamn time. You could ask anyone, anyone, and they’ll tell you how Reni’s been crushing on you since way before we got together.”

“Yes, I know that, but she’s stopped liking me since I asked you out. y/n what’s so hard for you to understand?”

“Everything Oikawa, everything is so hard to understand. And yet I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand the most. Reni doesn’t ever need your help, she just wants it. And she wants it to the point where she’s willing to make up any crappy excuse to get alone with you. I’m starting to think you guys are the ones dating and I’m just the ‘friend’.”

“y/n you know that’s not true...”

“Do I know that? Do I? Because if I did, then I wouldn’t constantly need to be fighting for your attention knowing it’s always going to be a losing battle. Your there for Reni more than you’re there for me, and we’re the ones in a relationship. I’m not stopping you from seeing Reni because that would just be wrong on my behalf, but at least put some effort in Oikawa.”

“Put some effort in? Oh you must be fucking kidding me. You should be grateful I even asked you out in the first place instead of telling me to put some effort in. The difference between you and Reni is that she’s not a jealous and clingy bitch who can’t even handle her own partner from seeing his friends without kicking up a fight. I could easily dump you anyday y/n and yet I haven’t, so how about you put some effort in and stop being so fucking controlling.”

It seemed as if everything came to a standstill the moment those venomous words left his mouth. It made your eyes water and your heart clench, every syllable of ‘jealous’, every syllable of ‘controlling’, stabbed your heart to the point you wondered if you’d ever be able to piece it back together.

Yet through the darkness a tiny flicker of light fought its way through. And that tiny flicker of light is what reminded you that not a single bit of this stupid argument was your fault. Blinking a few times, you forced yourself to bite back your tears that threatened to tumble, before clenching your fists to the point your knuckles turned white, and glowered up at your soon to be ex boyfriend.

“I lowered my fucking standards for you Tooru. Lowered my fucking standards to be with someone who only sees me as second best. Who’d rather let some bitch with a skirt shorter than your hindsight to drag you around like a doll with no brains. All this time I could’ve been with someone who wouldn’t let their ‘friend’ control every minute of their life and completely disregard the fact that they were taken. Well lucky for you Tooru, Reni’s all yours now. She’s won, that bitch with the cockroach eyelashes has won. So now you can get the fuck out of my way because we’re over.”

And with that you shoved your way past your ex, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your blazer, your hair framing your face now slick with fresh tears.

It was his loss after all. His loss that he wasn’t able to decipher friendliness from flirtiness. Or maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe Oikawa knew ignoring his relationship status to spend time with someone who was quite blatantly ready to jump into his pants at any given opportunity was wrong. Maybe Oikawa knew he’d have you forever, he’d have you to come back to when everyone else left him for the same reason his last girlfriend did. Except this time he was wrong. He didn’t have you forever. And it was all his fault.

Deep down he knew you had every right to shove past him, he knew you had every right to be furious with him, yet admitting that would’ve been the last thing he’d do. So instead Oikawa just scoffed before heading in the opposite direction that you had disappeared in, and into the gym. Completely oblivious to the fact that his best friend had just heard the entire event go down.

2 months later

You giggled as you let your boyfriend Iwaizumi drag you along the school halls. Similar to how you used to watch her do to him. Except in this point in time, you could honestly care less about_ them._ Now you had found yourself a perfect boyfriend who saw you as nothing but the best. He’d see through any girl’s lame attempts to buy themselves alone time with him and would certainly cherish every moment spent together. Hajime knew just how easy it was to let someone slip through your fingers when you took advantage of them just being there, after seeing the exact situation enravel in front of his best friend only a couple months ago.

“Babe are you even listening to me?”

God was her voice annoying.

“Babe.”

Oikawa sighed before finally glancing down at the girl who spent every second possible hanging off him like the school tie he wore.

“Hm Reni.” He zoned out the moment she began rambling on about God knows what. Probably something to do with how he seemed to have gained more fangirls or whatever. But he didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was you. You, who was currently skipping along with his best friend, happier than you’d ever been with him. You who was never like this. Never like Reni who was jealous, clingy and so fucking controlling.

Oh.

a/n: We all know that both Oikawa and Iwaizumi would be the best boyfriends ever despite Oikawa being a piece of shit in this.😌

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lifblogs · 3 years

Text

Presented to you by a horny pansexual, that exhibitionist Anakin fic I talked about.

4530 words

read on ao3

“Ani, I understand you like that rush that recklessness and daring gives you, but is this all really necessary?” Padmé asked as Anakin walked her down the long public aisle before their palace on Coruscant to the high steps of the dais, a hand against the small of her back. She’d tried talking him out of it just a bit, getting her own secret thrill from having power over him. But that was how she’d wanted to keep it, secret.

He leaned in, and murmured in her ear, even as the crowds cheered for their emperor and empress, “You’ll enjoy yourself, I promise. Besides, how else will they know we’ll produce heirs?”

Padmé actually found herself letting out a small giggle at that last comment.

“Really, you’re going with that reasoning? Just admit you want to kriff me in public.”

“Fine, I want to kriff you in public.”

“But to make a spectacle of it?”

“We’re royalty, celebrities. Come on, it’ll be worth it. You’ll like it.”

Despite her nerves, Padmé was willing to try, and besides, now that the photoreceptors from droids with repulsorlifts had sent their image to viewscreens around the large area that’d been cleared for this event, she couldn’t back out. Something about that sent a thrill down her spine, and it stayed as a gentle, throbbing warmth.

Anakin had no need to address the crowd once they’d climbed the dais and made it to the altar-like table that had been set up for them.

“Why not a bed?” she asked him after tugging him down so he could hear her.

He grinned at her, the darkness present in his yellowed eyes now being filled with heat. It was a simple answer: You know.

Padmé swallowed roughly, her throat suddenly very dry.

Then, he raised an eyebrow at her, and she let him grab her and practically crush her against him. Padmé had thought she wouldn’t be able to drown out the noise of their subjects, some of their language now becoming coarse and crude, but a part of her managed. In fact, she didn’t even have to try. Anakin’s lips were hot when they touched hers, and electricity seemed to shoot through her.

She grasped at his black robe, desperately clawing it off his shoulders.

Before this, the both of them had shared two glasses of wine laced with an aphrodisiac, and now she could feel it working, her body starting to burn and tingle. The throbbing in her gut grew, and she moaned, trying to work at his mouth as thoroughly as he worked at hers.

A growl left him, but he pulled back to let her pull his robe off. He leaned in, reaching out with his tongue to lick her lips, and she obediently opened her mouth for him.

His hands began to wander, and they soon seemed quite content to grasp her ass, pulling her hips into him as he ground against her.

Padmé’s head whirled and she wrapped her arms about his neck, needing to hold onto him to stay standing. He was already so hard.

She thought this was all happening a bit fast, but she soon didn’t care when Anakin began to undo the laces on her elaborate black and silver gown.

A deep red blush worked up from her neck as she seemed to make out some voices egging Anakin on.

Despite the darkness that lingered in him, he kissed her cheek gently. “It’s just you and me,” he reminded her.

Padmé nodded, gazing up at him with big eyes.

She couldn’t breathe, not as he pulled her hands from him, or as he undressed her. She tried looking at the crowd, but he grabbed her chin.

“Just look into my eyes.”

So she did.

When he had first become a Sith Padmé had feared that she wouldn’t love his eyes anymore, but she loved them so much because he was still her Ani. No matter what changes he went through, what happened to either of them, he would still be hers. And she was his. She knew she was his. Maybe this was just to let everyone else know unequivocally. Hell, he’d even invited Rush Clovis. To her surprise though, Padmé hadn’t seen Anakin smirk at anyone particular in the crowd just yet.

She shivered as he pulled her dress down, revealing her soft, creamy skin. His breathing was hard, and fast, his cheeks pink. And the look in his eyes. Padmé had so many dirty thoughts running through her head. She wanted him to slam her down on that table and kriff her till she couldn’t walk. She wanted him to use her body for his own, unknowingly giving her power as he enjoyed his own. She did have power, more than he knew, more than most people knew. All she had to do was crook a finger and the dark Sith Lord, Emperor Skywalker, would come running. At times he’d even gotten on his knees.

There would be none of that now, but her nerves went away as she thought of it, and a small, private smile alit her face.

Her dress was pushed off of her, and then it pooled about her feet.

Hmm… Maybe next time she would suggest a more revealing dress, one where he could leave his marks on her, and slowly undress her as their touches grew more heated.

Wait, next time? What in the universe was she thinking?

Soon, she wasn’t thinking because Anakin took her hand, and let it trail up his hard abdomen under his tunic.

Feeling his breaths, his muscles, his warm skin… she couldn’t breathe.

Padmé needed no incentive to touch his body with her other hand, marveling over the well-known shape of his muscles.

Anakin began to undo his tunic. She tried to help him, but quick as lightning, his hands shot out, grabbing her wrists, and he snarled at her. His expression was almost cruel, and her mouth opened in surprise. She tried to say his name, but he just pressed her hands against him again, one lower.

Anakin groaned, deep and long, lids almost closing, as she complied, and gripped him.

She rubbed her thighs together, trying in any way to relieve the wet heat pooling in between her legs in a mad rush.

Her husband, now urged on by her touches, took off his tunic, and she gasped as he was revealed to her. It didn’t matter that she knew what he looked like. Every bit of skin he showed her, at any time, was enough to leave her wanting in some way.

There was a roaring in her ears as he said, looking down at her, “On your knees.”

Droids that hung in the air about them picked up his voice, and it was transferred to the crowd.

If she looked she wondered if she’d see people blushing, wanting to do as he said, to do what Padmé was about to do for him. And surely there’d be a fair share of male lifeforms that were simply dying with anticipation.

Padmé’s eyes wandered his body as she did as he’d ordered, slowly getting to her knees amongst their discarded clothing.

With shaking hands—shaking from want? The aphrodisiac? Nerves?—she began to tug at the hem of his black pants.

Despite being Emperor, Anakin still tended to dress as a Jedi, though his clothes now had a more Sith leaning to them. This made his erection beyond obvious, and Padmé couldn’t breathe as she began to reveal him.

Anakin was pulling at the silver headdress in her hair, working on tugging it out without getting any of her strands caught on it.

Once he did so, he discarded it, not caring if it broke on the stone he tossed it to (they were richer than gods). Then his hands made their way into her hair, caressing. His right hand came around to her face, and Padmé gasped as his cybernetic hand, enclosed in a black leather glove, touched her. His thumb traced her lips, and she opened her mouth. Without thinking, she took his thumb into her mouth.

“Good…” Anakin murmured.

Padmé moaned, and pulled his cock free.

He took his thumb out for her to lick, and then pressed his pointer and middle finger into her mouth. For some reason, knowing of the hard metal and the wires, and the strength hidden beneath that smooth glove was enough for Padmé to throb incessantly. With her hands on his cock, she began to firmly stroke. Oh, she loved having his cock in her hands. He was just so large, and the things she could make him feel. Many times, sequestered away in her office, or even a closet in a hallway, she had gotten him off with just her hands. It always left her needing to satisfy herself later, or needing him to satisfy her, but that was part of the point. And now, he was going to satisfy her. Completely.

She pulled his hand out of her mouth, and brushed it aside. At first he tightened his grip on her hair, angered, but then he realized what she was doing. He pulled her to his cock. There was nothing gentle about what happened next. A hand around her throat, the other in her hair, he shoved himself into her open mouth.

Padmé had had some practice taking him all in at once, but to have it happen so quickly left her gagging and choking.

He seemed to find the sounds enticing, as did the roaring crowd. To her surprise, she did too. Her nipples became stiff peaks, and she was sure her clit was filled with blood. As she knelt she yearned to be touched so badly that it hurt.

Trying to relax her throat, her brain now creating endorphins and adrenaline to combat the panic of her mouth and throat so suddenly being stuffed, she reached in between her legs with one hand.

He grabbed that wrist in a near-bruising grip, leaving her weak and wanting, and he placed it firmly against him.

Padmé understood the message: Don’t touch yourself. Touch me.

He pulled out of her, a thick trail of spit connecting them, and she gasped for breath, Anakin’s hold on her throat not at all tight, and allowing air in.

Before she could fully catch her breath, the thick, hard heat of him was filling her again.

She wanted to please him with her hands through this, wanted to do as he said, but she didn’t know how when all she knew was that she was so thoroughly filled by him. He was all there was. The crowd disappeared, but his thrusts were hard, and fast, always increasing as if it hadn’t disappeared for him. He was getting off to this.

He released her throat once he pulled out of her again, and she looked up at him through watering eyes, struggling to see the dark satisfaction on his face, the raging lust. Her vision cleared, and she did see it. She felt something push at her gently. The Force? It pushed her towards his cock, ever so slowly.

Listening to him, understanding him completely, she began to pump his soaking wet, thick length, lavishing him with sloppy kisses, licking him, and sucking on the tip. Her tongue played with his frenulum and he twitched. A slight throb pulsed through him, from the base to the tip, and precum dribbled into her abused mouth.

Her hands worked at the base of him, at his balls, and then he was in her again, pounding her throat. Her hands gripped his ass, wanting more of him. There was a deep warmth in her chest, as if her very soul wanted what he could give to her. And she still squirmed where she knelt, unintentionally fighting him, even as her throat was now relaxed. And she wanted to touch herself, wanted him to touch her, to please her beyond anything she could comprehend.

In time, Anakin was pulling out of her, and dragging her up to her feet. Light-headed, Padmé collapsed against him, and he bent his knees somewhat to have a better hold on her. His soaked, wanting cock pressed against her stomach.

“You all right?” he whispered to her.

As a response, Padmé kissed him, and he kissed back, deeply, as if thanking her mouth for the pleasure it had given him. His tongue felt everywhere, and even seemed to be trying to get into her throat.

He stepped out of his pants, which had fallen well past his knees as he’d kriffed her mouth, and then he was hoisting her up. Padmé wrapped her legs around him, grinding, needing.

Anakin placed her on the table. She tried to stay hanging on to him, but he was bigger than her, stronger than her; so in seconds, she was twirled around, on the table the long way.

He released her, and began to circle her, slowly pumping at his cock with a tight grip.

The look in his eyes suggested that he wanted to thoroughly enjoy his prey. All Padmé could do was sit back, weight resting on her palms, her knees up, as she stared at him, mouth open with want, hot breaths rushing in and out of her in gasps and pants.

He climbed onto the table with her, and she tilted her head back as he got over her, kissing and sucking at her neck. He bit at her pulsepoint, and then her throat, making her breaths hitch, and her hips undulate against him.

Anakin worked his way down her body, hands taking time with her breasts, painfully pinching and twisting her nipples till they were swollen and red and she wanted nothing more but for him to soothe them with his tongue.

But he had other quarries in mind.

Anakin widened Padmé’s legs, and her climax nearly burst through her right then.

When he got to her clit, her back arched, her head thrown back, and a cry left her mouth.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight, not wanting to see the crowd.

This was private, she kept telling herself. And if she just stayed with him in this moment, that’s all it would be.

But it was more than that for her husband.

She looked down at him, and saw him pulling away to grin at everyone.

That angered her somewhat, and she used her foot to whack the back of his head.

A snarl left him, and he latched onto her in between her legs. Fire licked through her, entwining itself deep in her core, and the want it enraged was satisfied somewhat as, without preamble, he plunged two of his cybernetic fingers into her.

Padmé’s legs shook, and her hips fought him, body overwhelmed, and not knowing what to do. He wrapped his free arm around her hips, pulling her closer, holding her to him, and Padmé could only grip the edges of the table with a white-knuckled grip and cry out as he took his pleasure from her, and as he filled her with it.

He was ravenous, tasting everywhere. He sucked and licked, and bit. There was no kissing, the action too gentle for this. And his other fingers, they delved in and out of her, and they beckoned, pressing against that wonderful wall of nerves in her, making fire simply burst within her.

It didn’t take too long for all of it to become so overwhelming that, even as she wanted more and more, she pushed at his head, or just leveraged her hands against the smooth surface of the table to try and shove herself away.

The powerful muscles along his left shoulder and arm bunched, forcing her to stay against him. A growl vibrated against her flesh.

The fingers in her pressed hard, almost too hard. It had her feeling like sparks were erupting in her head. A wet and wild pleasure throbbed through her, every touch making her want more and more, but it was too much! But yes, more. Please, please…

Padmé found herself begging, the words leaving her quickly. She didn’t know what she was begging for, but soon, pleasure exploded through her, and it seemed as if her entire core was contracting, the sensations of it all so powerful. He kept at it, leaving her a screaming, near-crying mess. And all the way, he drank up the juices her body released in abundance.

Her face flushed a deeper red than it had previously been as she realized her body had never done that before. Yes, she’d heard of women releasing fluids with orgasm, but it was rare, and Anakin had made her do so.

When her climax ended, she lay back, and his fingers left her with a wet squelch. His grip relaxed, hands feeling up to her breasts. His tongue licked at her lazily, as he her lay back and let her catch her breath.

Padmé’s eyes centered on the crowd, on the viewscreens of herself reaching high above.

Oh kriff.

No, no, she shouldn’t be ashamed.

She was their empress. Whatever she wanted, it was theirs to give. And surely she wanted all Anakin did. Every bit of it.

Finding herself surprised at this newfound exhilaration, Padmé grinned.

Anakin pulled away, hands gripping at her body hard, leaving red marks. He slapped her breasts, and when she cried out, he did it again.

“On your hands and knees,” he commanded. “I want to kriff you like a dog.”

Padmé had to swallow the sudden rush of saliva that made its way into her mouth. And apparently she hadn’t decided to start moving fast enough for him, so he grabbed her to turn her over. A cry of surprise left her, but she worked with him, and was soon on all fours, back arched to press her ass up and against him. He worked his cock against her, the throbbing hardness of it touching her wet, yearning center, even grazing roughly against the rim of her asshole. The pleasure she got from that mere touch shocked her, and she thought—

No, another time.

Anakin spanked her, leaving her falling to her elbows. He spanked her again and again, yet even as her body stung and soreness pounded—making her sure that bruises would form—she dutifully kept her ass in the air. The effort to do so, fighting with herself, with the pain, left her shaking. But oh, how she wanted it. Began to crave it.

Anakin realized this, and began to hold back his rough blows. Without a thought, Padmé begged for each one.

Then, to her surprise, his cock was pressing against her entrance, and he pushed in.

A grunt left her, one that she couldn’t hold back. He leaned against her, grasping her, pulling her up against him to hold her close.

“You’re mine,” he growled in her air.

“Yes,” she breathed.

And you’re mine too.

He began to thrust, going deeper and deeper each time, till he was so deep it was difficult to comprehend, or for her body to even understand. Oh, kriff, he filled her up so much, his heavy, cum-filled balls pressing right against her.

“Ani…” she breathed.

He pulled her hair away from her face, and licked her ear. Then, he questioned, voice a low gravel that had her squirming on his cock. “Do you want me?”

“Ani, I—”

He pressed in deeper, a soreness making its way up into her stomach and around her hips. Soon pleasure moved in with it, and she couldn’t breathe.

“Do you want me?” he repeated, a desperate tone in his voice, one that sounded similar to his fiery rage that she often calmed by sitting on his cock. “Do you want me!”

Padmé licked her lips and panted out, “Yes, yes…”

And Padmé lost track of everything that wasn’t his hot, sweaty skin pressed against hers, his cock moving in and out of her, practically beating her.

It wasn’t long before Padmé needed something to cope with how her body was moving, how pressure hit her deep again and again, pure ecstasy bursting out from it, seeming to fill her stomach with a liquidy heat. She grit her teeth, screaming through them. Anakin, ever the dutiful husband, put his fingers in her mouth, and she sucked, finding comfort and satisfaction from it.

He was moaning in her ear, and panting her name, and telling her how good she was.

His front was pressed against her back, and the pure bliss of feeling his muscles bunching and moving against her as he worked to fill her was indescribable.

She pushed back against him, wanting the pain this gave her; the deep, hard pressure; the fullness; the pure, white fire. She wanted him, wanted everything. And for a mere moment, her residual shyness creeped back into shadows, and she was glad so many were witnessing this, witnessing him worshipping her, and using her to his heart’s content. He belonged to her.

Anakin let out a sound that very may well have been a sob, and she tightened herself around him, making him nearly scream and whine.

He went at her brutally till she was coming on his considerable length, body fighting his, insides contracting powerfully.

A rumble filled his chest, clawed up his throat, and came out as a rough scream. His sweat dripped onto her, his hot cheek pressed against her own, breathing with her.

White light seemed to fill her, and it was all she could see, and a numb, ringing in her ears accompanied it. Padmé’s head felt fuzzy, her very brain seeming to short-out from the pleasure. Her blood rushing gleefully down to her core, to heat him, to relish in all he was giving her.

When she caught her breath somewhat, she begged, “Keep going. Ani, keep going. Please. Please please ple-ase!” The last word ended in a high-pitched cry that was nearly a squeal as he went at her again, hips smacking against her ass, body riding her down into the table.

Minutes seemed to pass, and Padmé was surprised she noticed. Or perhaps it wasn’t really that surprising. Her pleasure was building and building, but nothing came of it, and she grew so frustrated, she almost started crying. It left her body tense against his, even though she wanted to relax, and let him have her.

He slowed, and panted out, so quietly the droids wouldn’t pick it up, “What is it?”

“Can’t seem to come again,” she breathed, a moan in her voice. She rolled her hips on his cock, and he almost fell against her. They both moaned. “I want to so badly,” she whined.

“What will help?” Anakin asked.

“Anything. Anything,” she told him, practically begging.

He pulled out of her, and she growled at the emptiness she felt in her. Padmé turned herself over, and threw herself at him, mouth rough against his. He met her with similar viciousness, biting and sucking as if he wanted to eat her.

All of her was pulsing and throbbing as she dripped with sweat, and she was surprised to feel a tear roll down her cheek.

Anakin settled himself into a sitting position, taking her with him. He pulled her onto him, cock plunging into her again, and moved her hips for her for a bit, as if to just satisfy and comfort himself. For a few moments she wondered if he’d forgotten about her, but then he was having her get up and turn to rest back on him.

She closed her eyes and groaned as his cock filled her again. She leaned back against him.

One arm went across her chest, a hand squeezing at her breast. His other hand went between her legs to finger her clit.

A shiver ran through her, and she tightened around him without meaning to. Her body began to ride him, Padmé not in control of the actions. His finger on her clit just felt so good!

His touch was light but fast, and oh, her breast hurt from his hand, but in the best way. He pinched her nipple hard, and then he began moving in and out of her. They groaned together, and she tried to ride him, her legs spread so wide over him she felt as if all of her was open to all he was. His own legs were working hard to keep thrusting into her, the muscles of his thighs bunching and bulging.

With shaking hands, Padmé reached back, and grabbed onto him, not sure what else she could do.

In seconds she was coming on him, and he kept going as he had earlier, though this time more desperately, his voice coming out in cries she couldn’t hear, but could feel the breaths of, Padmé deaf from the roaring in her body.

All of her burned and pulsed, and tingled, and oh kriff, he went at her so good. As her body squeezed him, begging, begging, he let out a scream, breath coming out hard against her ear, and he was cumming, throbbing as he released into her. He tried to push deeper and deeper, hips right against her till it hurt. He worked at her clit with wild abandon, his arm going down to hold her abdomen, head resting against her shoulder.

Padmé wasn’t sure how long it took for either of their bodies to calm down, but in time he pulled out of her.

To her surprise, he was still raging hard. Usually he would soften just a bit, then harden again, ready for another round, but not even that was happening. Was it the laced wine?

Perhaps. Padmé was still ready to go.

He kissed along her neck to her ear, the sound of the crowd coming back to her, absolutely savage, raucous cheers filling the air. She felt his lips curl up in a smile against her skin.

“How about we finish this in private?” he asked, teasing at her clit, and making her writhe and press into him.

She turned, and his hand went up to caress her neck before cupping her face gently. They kissed, tongues just beginning to meet before she pulled away.

“I’d adore that, your Imperial Majesty.”

“Well then, Imperial Majesty, let’s go.”

“What about your subjects?”

“Our subjects?”

“Yes.”

“I think they’ve had enough of a show. I bet they’re all simply bucking at the reins of societal convention, urgent to get behind closed doors to find pleasure. But it won’t be as satisfying for them because they don’t have you.”

Padmé kissed him again, and bit his bottom lip.

“Just carry me inside, Ani, so you can ruin me.”

That was all it took, and they departed to wild cheers.

And once inside their palace, Anakin filled all of her, making her body know who it belonged to. And Padmé adored it because in doing all this, she knew that Anakin belonged to her. Her power was quiet, and hidden, and she wielded it in their bedroom to their utmost, raging satisfaction.

#star wars #anidala #anidala smut #anidala fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #smut #nsft #fanfiction #writing #my writing #oops

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phantompearlsalt · 4 years

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Sour Cherry, Chapter 17

Preview AND the real deal in one day? I’m on a roll 😎 But in all seriousness: super happy I could share this (more or less) on time with everyone! I’ve started working on a side project I’ll share more about tomorrow so I’m still figuring out my writing schedule. Also promise I’ll respond to all asks this week as well! As always, feel free to check out this chapter on AO3 and know that I adore all kudos, comments, asks, etc. You all make this journey such a gift ❤️

These days, things somehow felt slow and exciting at the same time — it was odd. There was so much at stake and all of it lay within the borders of Republic City. In a few weeks time, Kuvira’s spirit cannon would reach completion and the army would be on its way to claim all that remained to consecrate the Empire.

Although you still find yourself caught up the more bureaucratic aspects of the work — paperwork, meetings, more paperwork — it feels like you can almost touch the weight of anticipation that hangs in the air. Nothing else slows down but everyone appears to hold a collective breath as Baatar works on the final touches of the machine.

Today in particular, you decide to take a trip to engineering. Kuvira is nowhere to be found so you assume she’s off in some pressing meeting with her sergeants. Perhaps strategizing for the City’s response and especially the Avatar’s. Given the scope of the army’s proposed attack, you can’t possibly imagine anyone, not even Korra, withstanding such magnitude of force.

You feel a slight twinge in your chest at the thought of what lies ahead. You think of Bolin, Varrick, and Zhu Li. You wonder whether Raiko will willingly submit to Kuvira and spare the damages that will transpire if he doesn’t.

But at this point, you know better than that. If the United Republic had wanted to end things peacefully, Kuvira would have already reached an accord with them. It was clear no one was willing to budge so you could only hope that the damages would be as minimal as possible.

You stroll into the warehouse, following the sharp sounds of electricity and metal clanking together. A number of privates salute you as you walk past and you offer them reassuring smiles. “At ease, privates,” you chuckle. Despite how much time has passed, you’ll never grow accustomed to the way people interact with you for being both Kuvira’s significant other and a critical role in her Inner Circle.

Baatar recognizes your voice and he looks down from the platform several feet above you. He calls your name excitedly and you can’t help but grin. Admittedly you’ve never been too fond of the man (even back in Zaofu) but you would be wrong to deny all of the incredible work he’s put into bringing the army this far along. Plus, he’s done his best to get on your good side once it became clear his chances with Kuvira were effectively eliminated.

“How’re things going up there?” you call out.

“They’re going,” Baatar responds, somewhat disillusioned. Your brow furrows together and you cross your arms.

“What’s the matter? You don’t sound too pleased,” you remark.

“I can’t seem to make the connection between the cannon and the suit’s body...each piece functions properly on its own but the wiring simply won’t synthesize everything together,” he explains.

“Hm...I’m not sure how much help I could be but could I come check it out at least? If anything it’ll be a good way for me to admire all your handiwork,” you say.

Baatar smiles halfheartedly and sighs. “I suppose. Perhaps there’s something you might notice that I haven’t been able to. Five straight hours can do that to someone,” he admits, leaning over to press the yellow button that unfolds a metal staircase.

Once it lands on the floor with a soft clink, you leap onto it and head up until you’re within an arm’s length from Baatar. Being much closer to him you can see the lines of exhaustion etched below his eyes. His hair is gelled down neatly, though some strands of it fall along his temples where it sticks to a thin film of perspiration.

“Baatar...have you seriously been working on this for five hours straight?” you ask.

He appears confused by the question and purses his lips. “Of course I have. What else would I be working on?” he replies.

“I understand but...you should take a break soon. At least a half hour or something,” you recommend. He vehemently shakes his head in protest.

“Absolutely not. Kuvira wouldn’t allow it and with good reason. Every moment wasted on anything other than this machine is more time lost to take Republic City for the Empire. I will not be the reason everything we’ve worked for is lost,” he states.

You stay quiet, watching him worriedly before you release a soft sigh. You always knew Baatar to be...a deeply passionate man since joining Kuvira. From what you had pieced together during your conversations with her, you learned that he grew up in his father’s shadow. He was always praised as the mirror image of the older Baatar, with an aptitude for design and engineering.

When he joined Kuvira, it was probably the first time in his life that something was entirely his own. Not an addition to his father’s work, not a continuation of everything so many people expected of him. What he created was novel, powerful, and completely his own.

Understandably, he had grown so invested in this final display of his autonomy and innovation that any potential threat to it was unfathomable.

“It’s alright, I understand,” you reassure him, stepping forward and tentatively resting your hand on his forearm. You feel him tense beneath you and you wish he hadn’t because now it feels even more awkward. You’ve never felt the urge to offer him any sort of comfort until now but then he relaxes and you can slide your hand away without feeling too uncomfortable.

“So!” you exclaim, hoping to break the odd tension. “You said you were having trouble connecting the cannon to the rest of the suit?”

“Indeed,” Baatar sighs. He peers into gaping machinery, sifting through thick cords of wiring and metal. “I’ve checked for any and all missing pieces and there isn’t a single thing out of place. I wonder if you’d be able to see anything I might be missing.”

You chew on your lower lip, growing nervous at the prospect of going anywhere near the obviously complicated technology. The chances of you damaging anything are close to none...though they aren’t quite zero.

Nevertheless, you lean forward just an inch to gaze upon the convoluted maze coiled within the massive platinum encasements. None of it makes sense to you and you feel foolish even bothering to check.

Even so, you angle your hand forward and throw Bataar a questioning look. He nods and you start carefully pushing aside the cords in hopes of seeing, well, something.

At the exact moment you feel an indentation in one of the metal fibers, you hear the echo of footsteps below and the sound of Kuvira’s voice. You mean to pull away in excitement but the hem of your sleeve gets caught.

Grumbling, you manage to pull it away but not before feeling a sensation pulse through your body that’s lightning hot and stinging all the same. The pain concentrates in your arm for a split second and your eyes are forced closed.

The only thing you’re aware of is the muffled sound of shouting around you beneath your own screaming before your head crashes against something cold and hard and your vision fades into complete darkness.

---

“This could have been so much worse, Baatar. Do you have any idea how much worse this could have been?”

The voice sounds distant, almost warped, as if it were coming from another room. Wait...are you in a room? It feels still and quiet so you assume you are.

Your eyes are sealed shut and it feels like your brain is trying to push out of your skull. When you try to twitch your fingers, a searing pain shoots up your left arm and a pained sound gets caught in your throat.

Okay. So no moving yet.

You inhale slowly and wince at the sharp ache in your ribs and your chest. Other than that, nothing hurts too bad if you stay relatively still so you focus on maintaining a careful breath.

As you start to grow accustomed to the aches and pains, you let your eyelids flutter open. Well, flutter almost seems too glamorous to describe the heavy feeling when you peel them apart. It feels like you’ve had them shut for weeks.

You try not to move your head around too much as you scan your surroundings, realizing you’re back in the tent you share with Kuvira. The lanterns have been blown out so you assume it’s nighttime until you hear the voices again.

“Kuvira, I apologize profusely for my lapse in judgement. I should have known better than to—”

“You’re right. You should have known better and you didn’t. Baatar, I expect nothing but the utmost professionalism from you and now is not the time to make such potentially fatal errors.”

Though you can’t see anything, you clearly envision what poor Baatar’s face must look like: crumpled in defeat and tight with regret. You want to get up and reassure him you’re okay, though you aren’t really sure what happened in the first place.

Instead, you clear your throat and before you can even open your mouth, Kuvira’s voice whispers something rushedly before she bends the door open and steps inside. You expect to see Baatar join her but she enters alone, sliding it shut and preventing anyone else from entering.

“You’re awake,” Kuvira sighs, rushing over to you and kneeling at your side. Her hands hover over your arm, unsure, and it catches you off guard. Kuvira’s self-assurance rarely falters — when it does, it’s a cause for concern.

“I am,” you affirm, attempting a soft grin before you try to push yourself up. As your left arm protests in agony, you realize it’s been bandaged with multiple layers of thick gauze. Kuvira notices your confused expression and her face grows grim.

“What happened?” you ask. Kuvira stares at your arm for a few moments in thick silence, almost as if her capacity to speak had been plucked from her throat the instant you broached the subject.

“There was a damaged piece of armored cable,” she eventually says. “Between the wiring and what little spirit energy was being transmitted from the suit’s core, it was exposed enough to deliver a shock that knocked you out for hours.”

Ah. So that explained the bandaged arm and why everything else seared in a dull, muted ache.

“Hours? That’s better than what I thought,” you joked. “I could’ve sworn I was out for weeks!” You attempt to laugh but Kuvira finally looks up at you and her expression is so grave it effectively shuts down whatever attempt you make to lighten the situation.

“You could have been,” she hisses. “Had you gotten any closer to that damaged material who knows what could have—I don’t know what I—”

“Kuvira,” you interrupt. Her eyes slide shut and she grips the bedsheet tight, closing her fist over the material with a force that would break anything else if it were more solid. You manage to lift yourself up with your good arm and once you’re upright, you press your palm against her cheek.

“I’m okay, really I am,” you reassure her. “It’s probably just some bruising here and there. Plus my arm will be good in no time, you’ll see.”

“I know that, it’s just…” Kuvira’s voice trails off for a few moments before she can continue. She swallows hard and exhales shakily. “I walked in exactly as it happened and...it looked like you were gone. I heard you scream and when you went quiet, your body hit the ground and I could’ve sworn you...you weren’t there anymore.”

“I’m here now, Kuvira,” you murmur, dragging your thumb over her cheekbone in that way she loves but has never actually verbalized. You maintain a slow pace until you feel Kuvira melt into your touch, her features softening.

“I’m right here with you, alright?” you tell her. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. I’m going to be okay and I promise I’ll be more careful. Now why don’t we go on a walk and maybe grab some tea?”

“No,” Kuvira responds quickly. “You stay here and I’ll bring you whatever you need. Besides, it’s late and you should be resting anyway. We’ll spend the night in the tent and see how you’re feeling tomorrow. Just...wait here.”

She leans forward to press her lips against your temple, staying there for a moment, confirming to herself that you’re really alive, and then breaks away with a reluctant stride. You sigh but smile inwardly, leaning back and hoping you get better soon so Kuvira will feel more at ease.

---

True to form, you recover within the span of a few days from the worst of it all. You take it easy in the days immediately succeeding the accident, even finding some spare time to meet with Baatar and assure him there’s no bad blood. He can’t find it in himself to accept forgiveness, though frankly you don’t blame any of it on him. You make it a point to eat the occasional meal with him when time permits...something you never envisioned doing mere months ago.

Character development indeed.

Though your arm takes longer to heal, you get back to work within three days time, albeit with slightly less mobility. Nevertheless, you approach your assignments with the same level of attention and detail as you would any other time.

However, the one thing that remains the same is Kuvira’s unwillingness to stay away from you for longer than thirty minute intervals.

Ever since the accident, she stays by your side almost nonstop except when she’s called away for business that doesn’t involve you. A hand on your waist when you lift yourself off a chair, her arms circling you as you get out of bed, her fingers guiding you towards an exit when there are too many people nearby.

Today, you’re filing away the last of the latest shipment updates from Yi. You sigh and Kuvira looks up from across the room. “Are you alright? Are you in pain?” she asks worriedly.

You bite your lip with hopes that it’ll stop you from rolling your eyes as you shake your head. “I’m fine, Kuvira,” you respond. “Head’s just feeling loaded from all these files. I think I’m going to close out for the day.”

“Of course. Let me take you to our quarters,” Kuvira replies, shoving away whatever she was working on and making her way towards you. She offers you her hand which you take, not without some exasperation.

“I can get there on my own, you know,” you remind her, hoping you don’t come off as too abrasive. Luckily it seems to go over her head because Kuvira is too preoccupied with making sure your knee doesn’t smash against the desk or that the wall doesn’t touch any other part of your body.

“Of course I know that but I won’t let you,” Kuvira says simply. And with that, she guides you back to the tent with one arm wrapped around your waist, her hand digging softly into your side. The guards look on with a mix of sympathetic glances and the occasional teasing grin. You grimace in response and do your best to ignore them, affronted that they’ve become so bold.

You reach the tent and you aren’t sure what look Kuvira gives the guards because they quickly scramble away (or as good as one can scramble in a bulky mech suit) so she can bend the door open. She steps in first, letting you lean on her arm to lift you up the two steps.

“Here, let’s get you into bed,” she murmurs, leading you towards the mattress and releasing your hand as you sit down.

“Kuvira…” You start to say but something in her face makes you stop. You’re tempted to tell her to ease up, that you’re fine and she’s worrying over nothing but you remind yourself what you would’ve felt in her place. You’ve seen Kuvira come close to death too many times and the thought nearly destroyed you.

So you keep quiet because you know she’s not actually being domineering. You hold her hand between both of yours and bring it to your lips, sliding the glove off so you can press your mouth against her bare skin.

“Don’t leave, Kuvira,” you murmur. “Can you...can you stay with me?”

“Of course,” Kuvira whispers, her face losing some of its tension as she sits to your side. She watches you intently and you can’t tell what she’s looking for. Perhaps some indication of pain? Discomfort?

The tent is quiet for some time and when Kuvira breaks the silence her voice is unusually hesitant. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable lately,” she sighs. You look at her and her expression is unreadable.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“I’m afraid I’ve been rather...overbearing for the past few days. I know you’d never say it outright but I imagine it’s been difficult for you to deal with,” she explains. “I hope you understand why I’ve done it though.”

She adds that last sentence almost as if to reassure herself that her behavior is warranted which, frankly, it absolutely is and it pains you to think she doesn’t believe that.

You press closer to her until your thighs touch, lifting your hand to tilt her face towards yours and cupping your fingers around her jaw.

“Of course I understand, Kuvira. It’s absolutely fine. I can’t expect you to recover from something so frightening in such a short amount of time. I’m sorry if I gave the impression that you had to,” you apologize.

Kuvira exhales sharply and her lips curl into a faint smile. “Never. If anything you’ve been extremely patient for someone who’s had their partner doting on them for almost every waking hour,” she chuckles.

You grin and lean forward until the tip of your nose brushes against Kuvira’s. “Well I can’t say it hasn’t been kind of sweet having the Great Uniter at my beck and call,” you respond slyly.

“But don’t you always?” Kuvira asks, closing the gap between your faces just enough for her lips to nearly graze over your own.

“I suppose you’d think so,” you giggle. “Clearly you’ve been more...zealous as of late, haven’t you?”

Kuvira hums while she slides the other glove off her hand, lifting her fingers until they wrap around the back of your neck. The caress of warm skin produces a thrill that courses all the way down your spine. “May I kiss you?” she whispers and her breath tickles the skin below your ear.

“Please,” you respond, bridging the space that separates you and finally bringing her supple mouth against yours. The kiss is tentative and chaste, so similar to the ones you would share in the early days of your relationship. Kuvira’s hand stays still on your skin, mirroring the carefulness of her mouth, so evidently displaying her anxiety of moving too abruptly for fear of harming you in some way.

So you decide to encourage her further, parting your lips and letting the tip of your tongue playfully brush against hers. Kuvira gasps and jerks backward, her face already tinted a lovely shade of red. It’s an unusual look for her but one that you relish for its rarity.

“What’s the matter? Too much?” you ask. The inquiry comes out sounding much more playful than you’d intended.

“I, um. I guess I didn’t expect that. I thought you would want to take things slow for now,” she elaborates. Kuvira is normally so composed, hyper-aware of every sound and movement she makes especially when she’s being closely observed, which is why you’re pleasantly surprised to see the way her throat clenches as she swallows.

“I’ll take things slow if that’s what you want. Is that what you want, Kuvira?” you ask innocently, lifting your eyebrows and removing your hands from her body. “Do you just want me to kiss you nice and slow...not deeper and harder until you feel your heart pounding against your chest? Not until you start kissing my neck and moving your hand lower and lower...just enough to feel how wet—”

Much to your delight, you’re swiftly cut off when Kuvira seals her mouth over yours again, the force of it strong enough to push you back an inch. You make a pleased sound in your throat and finally throw your arms around her neck, readjusting until you can swing your legs over her thighs and rest upon her lap.

Kuvira’s hands drift mindlessly over your sides, not quite touching but not too far off either. You grow exasperated so you tug on them and wrap them around your hips, grinding downwards so she can feel the growing heat between your legs. How desperately you’ve wanted this for days now.

She moans softly against your mouth and her patience wears thin within moments. Between the havoc you wreak on her lips and the canting motion of your body against her thighs, she eventually cradles you against her arm before placing you onto the mattress on your back.

You gasp in pleasant surprise once she hovers over you. She carries her weight with even greater caution, overly cognizant of potentially pressing down too hard and hurting you.

“What happened to taking it slow?” you tease breathlessly, hovering your fingers over the metal plates on her shoulder. She notices right away and knocks them off with quick work of her hands. They’re tossed onto the ground with a resounding clash.

“I think you should be asking yourself that question,” she responds, leaning down until her lips dance across your neck. “What was that you were mentioning earlier?” she whispers against you, dragging her tongue along the skin that isn’t covered by your uniform.

Your body instantly arches upward, feeling Kuvira’s breasts press against your chest. Between the accident and how busy everything already was before that, it had been weeks since you’ve been with her like this.

Therefore it’s no surprise that your body responds accordingly.

“Now don’t tell me you’ve gone all soft on me,” Kuvira says, pushing away the collar of your uniform and carefully sinking her teeth into the flesh at the base of your neck. You’re at a total loss for words, the sounds and syllables dissipating with each brush of Kuvira’s mouth on your body.

“Because that would be such a shame. I do love it when you make me work for it,” she sighs. Her hands, firm yet careful nonetheless, drift downwards until one rests over your hip. Even through the layers of fabric, her touch produces a sensation like fire that spreads from the point of contact all the way to each bit of muscle and nerve.

“But you also love it when I’m completely at your mercy, don’t you?” you shoot back, rather proud that your voice isn’t as weak as you expected it to be. Kuvira cocks an eyebrow and removes her mouth from your neck. You mourn the loss momentarily but keep going.

“You can’t deny it, Kuvira,” you continue, your eyes widening with glee. “I’ve seen the look in your eyes when you have me all tied up, completely and utterly at your disposal for whatever you desire. Haven’t you missed that? The way I’m completely helpless when you bind me up and all I can do is wait to see what you’ll do next.”

“It sounds like you’ve been thinking about this for some time,” Kuvira exhales, already short of breath.

“Oh I certainly have. And given how you can barely get through an entire sentence without gasping for air, I’d say you’re quite a fan of the prospect yourself,” you murmur.

“Are you sure? You’re not in any pain at all? I don’t want to hurt you,” Kuvira says quietly, the lustful look on her face morphing into one of concern.

You nod assuredly and shyly press your lips to hers again. “Yes, I’m absolutely sure. We’ve got our word, remember? I’ll let you know if I need you to stop.”

Kuvira nods against your touch and moves her hand to the back of your neck once more, this time undoing the buttons that hold the article together and lifting your arms to pull it away. The fabric bunches up around your bandaged forearm and though the gauze isn’t as thick anymore, it’s enough to make you both pause.

You bite back the laughter flooding your mouth and Kuvira looks vaguely irritated. Nevertheless, she approaches the minor hiccup with her usual, unhurried maneuvers until it slides away and you’re only covered by a soft undershirt.

The scars beneath the gauze start throbbing a bit but you manage to keep the worst at bay. It’s nothing too bad — nothing worth paying much attention to.

Kuvira spends the next few moments showering kisses, bites, and caresses over every inch of skin she can reach with her mouth. She takes you apart with slow and intentional movements until all you can do is lay frenzied with desire beneath her ministrations and attempt to hold back the pathetically desperate sounds that fall from your lips.

She begins to lift up the undershirt until it glides over and off your head and falls to the ground, along with the growing heap of Kuvira’s clothes mixed with your own. She keeps your arms high above your head, sliding her fingers over your skin and pauses. When she stops, you realize your eyes have been shut so you snap them open and look down at her impatiently.

“Don’t you worry...I’ve got exactly what you’ve been waiting for,” she murmurs. Kuvira lifts her hands and starts to coil her fingers. You hear the sharp sound of metal sliding against metal and then you see two silver strips emerging from her abandoned uniform. They float menacingly above your bodies, gradually curling into crescent shapes that hover over your wrists.

“I think it’s about time,” Kuvira whispers. Not a moment is wasted between the time she utters those words and the sensation of frigid metal clasping around your wrists, pulling your arms together and holding you down tight.

You’re met with an immediate burst of exhilaration and you ride it for about five seconds before it’s overridden with a growing feeling of discomfort that spreads under your bandages. You do your best to ignore it and instead focus on Kuvira moving downwards until she reaches the hem of your trousers.

“Now let’s see just how much you’ve wanted this,” she purrs against your hip, clipping her teeth over the edge of the fabric and using it to guide her hands as they slide it off. She’s soon met with the throbbing heat nestled between your thighs and you sigh in shameless pleasure.

As delicious as it feels, the pain in your arm only intensifies with each passing moment. You attempt to zero in on Kuvira’s mouth brushing against your bare hip, your thigh, the feeling of her lips hovering over the wet fabric of your underwear. It becomes overwhelming — the tension of wanting more but feeling your arm quiver with increasing pain.

“May I?” Kuvira asks, hooking her finger over the thin fabric and hinting at tearing it off. You murmur a quivering “yes” and hope she can’t sense the discomfort in your voice. She promptly removes them, dragging them down your legs and pressing her face against the crease where your hip meets your thigh.

It’s such an unbearable union of tender and carnal that it makes your body jerk hard against the restraints. The material digs into your injury just enough to make you cry out in distress.

“Silver, Kuvira! Silver,” you grunt through gritted teeth. Kuvira immediately breaks away and bends the metal strips off from your arms. They land on the floor with a harsh sound that makes you flinch.

“What do you need? What should I do?” she asks calmly. It would almost startle you how quickly she manages to shift tonalities but right now, it brings you a comfort you didn’t realize you needed.

“My arm...it-it stings,” you mumble, carrying it down until it rests on your abdomen. “I just need a second. Maybe that healing salve?”

“Of course. Stay still, alright? I’ve kept it in my desk,” Kuvira reassures, leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead and leaping off the bed. She throws a spare bed sheet over her body as she strides across the room, shuffling through a drawer until she finds the salve and a sealed green pouch.

She kneels on the bed and slides her arm around your bare back to help lift you up with little pressure. Once you’re upright, she gingerly takes your injured arm between her hands and begins to unfold the gauze.

The skin that emerges is marred with a thin layer of scarred flesh, much less angry than how it appeared just last week. Kuvira uncovers the glass jar and scoops a portion of the salve onto two fingers that she presses against the wound.

It feels awful at first, almost exacerbating the pain, but it gradually melts into a refreshing coolness that numbs the discomfort. You hiss a bit at the beginning and Kuvira lifts her hand away.

“Is it too much?” she murmurs. “I’m not pressing down too hard, am I?”

You shake your head adamantly. “No, not at all,” you respond. “You’re totally fine. Just stung at first. It feels good now, I promise.”

Kuvira nods in understanding, rubbing the last of the substance onto your skin and pulling open the small pouch. She pulls out a long strip of gauze that she untangles and starts folding over your arm, sealing the salve’s properties against the scars.

She moves smoothly, indicative of one who has done this many times before. You wonder how often she had tended to others’ wounds as a guard in Zaofu.

“You’re all set,” she affirms once she ties it all together. She rests her hand over her handiwork, stroking her thumb over the material and looking up at you concernedly. “What else do you need?”

“I hate to say it but I think you were right,” you chuckle. “I think...I just want to sleep now. Do you, uh...do you mind, er—holding me?”

Kuvira’s face brightens even in the darkness of the tent and she nods, guiding your bodies back down to the bed so she can curl her body around yours, mindful of where your injured arm rests. Your legs tangle with hers as Kuvira tugs a thick blanket over your shoulders, bringing you closer to her chest until your forehead touches her collarbone.

The silence is comfortable, soothing. Exactly what you need. But you can’t shake the slight degree of embarrassment that clings to your thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” Kuvira murmurs. “I know you want to...and I understand. I won’t scold you for it but just know you don’t have to. I’m glad you told me. That’s what we do, right? Honesty.”

You nod against her and swallow. “You’re right...I appreciate it,” you respond. And though you don’t exchange any more words for what remains of the evening before you fall asleep, you lose yourself in the calming silence that follows. Kuvira’s hands float up and down your back and your shoulders, guiding you into a dreamless sleep that welcomes you with warmth and safety.

#sour cherry #kuvira/reader #kuvira x reader #kuvira legend of korra #kuvira lok #avatar lok #x reader #reader insert #minor accident #protective!kuvira #remember this is NOT a spicy chapter!!!#just like...a hint of spice...some hot cheetos dust if you will

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aces-to-apples · 4 years

Text

Your Reputation Precedes You

A response to “On Fandom Racism (and That Conlang People Are Talking About)” because lmao that cowardly bitch just hates getting feedback from people that she can’t then harass into oblivion

i.e. God I Wish I Could Use The Tag Fandom Wank Without The Titty Police Nerfing My Post

To be frank, I'm not here because I think you or any of your little cronies are going to change your minds. If the 'name' wasn't a giveaway, your group of ~likeminded individuals~ have quite the reputation for espousing ableist, antisemitic, and, yes, racist views under wafer-thin the veneer of "calling out racism." I think we both know that what you're actually doing is using the relative anonymity of the internet and progressive language to abuse, harass, and bully fans that you personally disagree with. You and your group are toxic, hateful, and utterly pathetic, using many peoples' genuine desire to avoid accidentally causing harm and twisting it into this horrid parade of submissiveness to You, The One And Only Arbiter Of Truth And Justice In Fandom. Never mind that you have derided autistic people as lacking compassion and empathy, that you've used racist colonizer dogwhistles to describe a fictional culture based heavily on real live Maori culture, that you've mocked the idea of characters having PTSD, or that vital mental health services are anything more than "talking about your feelings with friends uwu." Let's just ignore that you have ridiculed the idea of adults in positions of power exerting that power over children in harmful and abusive ways, that creating transformative fan-content that doesn't adhere to the spirit of canon or wishes of the original author garners derision and hatefulness from you, and that you've used classic abuser tactics in order to gaslight people in your orbit into behaving more submissively towards you in order to avoid more verbal abuse.

Let's toss all of that crucial context aside in favor of only what you've written here.

What you've written here is nearly 3,000 entire words based on, at best—though, admittedly, based on your previous behavior, I am actually not willing to extend to you an iota of good faith—fallacious reasoning. You posit that a constructed language, to be used by a fictional religious group located in an entirely different galaxy than our own, is othering, racist in general, and anti-Asian specifically. This appears based in several suppositions, the first being that a language unknown by the reader will, by nature, cause the reader to feel alienated from the characters and therefore less sympathetic, empathetic, and caring towards the characters. That idea is patently ridiculous and, I believe, says far more about your ability to connect to a character speaking an unfamiliar language than any kind of overarching truth about media and the human condition. New things are interesting; new things are fun; the human brain is wired from birth to be fascinated with new things, to want to take them apart, find out how they work, and enjoy both the process and the results.

The second supposition this fallacy is based upon appears to be that to move away from the blatant Orientalism of Star Wars is inherently anti-Asian. While I find it... frankly, a little bit sad that you cling so viciously to the Orientalist, appropriative roots of Star Wars as some form of genuine representation, that's really none of my business. If you feel that a Muslim-coded character bombing a temple and becoming a terrorist and a Sith, a white woman wearing Mongolian wedding garb, a species of decadent slug-like gangsters smoking out of hookahs and keeping attractive young women chained at their feet (as it were), a species of greedy money-grubbers with exaggerated features and offensively stereotypical "Asian" accents, and an indigenous people wearing modesty garb based on the Bedu people and treated by most characters as well as the narrative as mindless animals deserving of murder and genocide are appropriate representation of the many, varied, and beautiful cultures around the world upon which they were "based," then that is very much your business. Until you pull shit like this. Until you accuse other fans, who wish to move away from such offensive coding and stereotypes, of erasing Asian culture from Star Wars. Then it becomes everyone's business, especially when you are targeting a loving and enthusiastic group of fans who are pouring their hearts and souls into creating an inventive and non-appropriative alternative to canon.

Which leads into the third supposition, that a patently racist, misogynistic white man in the 1970s, and then again in the 1990s, intended his universe to be an accurate and respectful portrayal of the various cultures he stole from. I understand that for your group of toxic bullies, the term "Death of the Author" holds no real meaning, but the simple fact of the matter is that George Lucas based his white-centered space adventure on Samurai movies while removing the cultural context that gave them any meaning, because he liked the idea of swords and noble warriors in space. He based the Force and the Jedi Order on belief systems such as Taoism and Buddhism, but only on the surface, without putting any real effort into into portraying them earnestly or accurately. He consistently disrespected both characters of color and characters coded to be a certain race, ethnicity, culture, or religion, and likewise disrespected and stole from the cultures upon which he based them. He was, and continues to be, a racist white man who wrote a racist story. His universe has Orientalism baked into its every facet, and the idea that fans who wish to move away from this and interrogate and transform the text into something better than what it is are racist is not only laughable, but incredibly disingenuous and insidious.

As I said, I am not writing this to change your mind, because I truly believe that you already know that "cOnLaNgS aRe RaCiSt" is a ridiculous statement. The way you've comported yourself in fandom spaces thus far has shown to me that you are nothing more than a bully who knows that the anti-racist movement in fandom can be co-opted for your benefit. If you tout your Asian heritage and use the right language, make the "right" accusations and take advantage of white guilt and white ignorance, you can have dozens of people falling at your feet, begging for forgiveness, for absolution. And I think that gives you a thrill. So, no, none of this will change your mind because none of this is genuinely about racism—it's about power, it's about control, it's about fandom being the only space where you have some.

So I'm writing this for the creators of this wonderful conlang, which has been crafted by multiple people including people of color, who don't deserve this nonsensical vitriol, and for the fans reading this manipulative hate-fest, wondering if they really are Evil Racists because they don't participate in fandom the way you think they should.

Here it is: fandom has a lot of racism, antisemitism, misogyny, queerphobia, ableism, etc. baked into it. Unfortunately, such is the nature of living and growing up in societies and cultures that have the same. The important thing is to independently educate yourself on those issues and think critically about them—not "think critically" as in "to criticize" them, but to analyze, evaluate, pick apart, examine, and reconstruct them again in order to come to a well thought-out conclusion. Read this well-articulated attack on a group of fans who have always welcomed feedback and participation, are open about their backgrounds, their strengths and weaknesses, and wonder who is actually being genuine.

Is it the open and enthusiastic group who ask for the participation of others in this labor of love? Or is it the ringleader of a group of well-known bullies who have manipulated, gaslit, and then subsequently love-bomb people who did not simply roll over at the slightest hint of dominance? The ones who spent hours upon hours tearing apart, mocking, deriding, and falsely accusing authors of fanworks and metatextual works of various bigotries and -isms, knowing that those evaluations were spurious and meant only to cause harm, not genuine examinations of the works themselves or even presumed authorial intent. The ones who made their own, quote-unquote, community so negative and toxic that even after the departure of a large portion of them, including this author in particular, that community still has a reputation for being hateful, toxic, and full of mean-spirited harassers who will never look critically about their own behavior but only ever point fingers at others. The ones who are so very determined to cause misery wherever they go that as soon as their usual victims are no longer immediately available, they will turn on each other at the slightest hint of weakness.

This entire piece of (fan)work is misinformed at the most generous, disingenuous at the most objective, and downright spiteful when we get right into it. The creators of Dai Bendu, along with various other works, series, and fan events that these people personally dislike, have been targeted because it is so much easier to harass, bully, and use progressive language as a weapon against them, than it is to put any effort into making fandom spaces more informed, more positive, more respectful.

As someone rather eloquently put it, community is not a fucking spectator sport. You want a better community, you gotta work at it. And conversely, what you put into your community is what you'll get out of it. This author and their friends have put a lot of hate into their communities, and now they're toxic cesspools that people stay well away from, for fear of contracting some terrible form of harassment poisoning.

Congrats, Ri, you've gotten just what you wanted: adoring crowds listening to you spout your absolutely heinous personal views purely to live out some kind of power fantasy, and the rest of us staying well away, because fuck knows nothing kind, helpful, or in good faith has ever come from Virdant or her echo-chamber of petty, spiteful assholes.

No love, bad night.

P.S. Everyone actually in the Dai Bendu server knows your ass got kicked because you didn’t say shit for a full thirty days and ignored the announcement that inactive members would be culled. You ain’t cute pretending like it’s because you were ~*~Silenced~*~ after ~*~Valiantly~*~ attempting to call out racism. We see you.

#fandom bullshit #fandom racism #fandom harassment #fandom ableism #fandom antisemitism #fandom misogyny #by apples

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mallickshah · 3 years

Text

A club council meeting.

Because of the unfortunate events that transpired and were (falsely!!) reported by The Deck, on the morning of September 7 2024, The Club Council found themselves obligated to hold an emergency meeting at their current headquarters, Ace of Club Mallick’s house. This meeting took place in a living room that now resembled more of a formal office than a family living room.All 8 members of the Council were present during this meeting, it went as follow.

✨with the brilliant participation of: @nihtegalc (bry) & @hilo--keahi (alex)✨ ✨(great collab, let’s do this again \o/)

The news came as a bit of a shock; but not the kind that would leave him terrified and disoriented. More so of the kind that had him rubbing at his temples and closing his eyes as he leaned back further in the chair he was in. The cushion welcomed him instantly, a recent gift from one of the people he’d helped, it was also gods given since it was halting whatever throbbing in his skull would have begun to pound by now. The present hadn’t been necessary and Mallick hadn’t wanted it when he’d received it but now, he could only think about how much he would have regretted that decision.

Aside from that, it did help him remind why he had to think about this recent issue with a clear head. Did he have his doubts when it came to the decisions he took, or the ones he’d taken? Of course, how could he not? Everything he did from now on would always fall back on his shoulders and right on the head of every member of his faction. But he had to, because it would help to do so.

It didn’t help that he knew these people like the back of his hands and that was also why he did not want to control them, but rather turn them towards something more beneficial. On their own. So of course, Mallick shouldn’t be surprised by these types of incidents. But why Spades of all factions? Clubs had never shown any signs of wanting a war with them in particular, as far as he’d witnessed growing up, Spades had been a sore point sure--what’s with their respectability and the reputation they held contrasting strongly against Clubs’. But Mallick had always felt this weird agreement with other Clubs that trash talking them was one thing, actually going against them though? Another one they’d been entirely not into for the longest.

This smelled like more than it seemed; especially with the report that some key evidence pointed directly to his involvement. Mallick would love to see what that key evidence was exactly.

For now though, he kept his ears ope to the council members sat in the room were talking about, they were mostly arguing over the next measures to take from what he could gather. They’d already ruled out that Mallick had ordered the attack, if the attack had been done by Clubs at all. Key evidence or not, he’d had no time to plan any attack on anyone. But Mallick had not ruled out that someone in this room might want something bigger than the chair they were sitting in. He hadn’t ruled that out from the moment he’d formed an alliance with them. Mallick let his fingers part as he peeked at them through it, he could use a truth potion right now. Or a spell.

Something to reveal their cards in a less suspicious way than the one he felt like he’d be forced to take soon enough. His first attempt at quitting them was interrupted by one of the members suddenly voicing out something as ridiculous as, “I’ll bet ya’ they did the whole thing all by themselves to accuse us and cause a war!”

“Yeah, I mean who would benefit from this? Not us.” Another voice agreed, and out of all seven of them, Mallick had always known those two for being the first to start talking about things that made little to no sense. However, they’d been posted there because of the trust some very highranked Clubs had in them. Mallick had appointed those he trusted beyond measure and he’d made sure to pick out from the rest those who would do the job ‘just as well’ as the ones he’d handpicked. He couldn’t just have a council of members full of only his people, Clubs would not settle for that.

He wanted to interject right then and counterpoint this, but something told him to sit back and wait for more of them to add more theories. Which made Fallon speak in turn, against these allegations. Mallick wasn’t surprised, even if he forgot sometimes that she did belong to the Spade faction.

“Why would they attack us now when they’ve always been friendly or neutral?”

Fair point. They all looked at each other, the ones who had thrown the accusations probably ransacking their empty brains only good for inciting feuds to answer her. But as none came, he heard her take in a sigh, which made him hold back the grin he had on his face. He would have missed this if she hadn’t decided to be part of the whole thing, the way her expression gave away how stupid she thought people ideas were sometimes. Good old Fallon of course went on imperturbed.

“We’ve been through a water crisis before and they didn’t need our supplies then, why would they need our supplies now?”

To be fair, Mallick had thought that this was definitely a ploy by someone--Spades specifically? Maybe for a tiny second. He wouldn’t tell her that though, he’d prefer to not get chewed out by her silence, that spoke with more volume most times. But he agreed with her, there was no surprise there. Although recent news about Spade’s Ace could leave room for some reasonable doubts.

Which meant as soon as the other members were beginning to try to find a way to justify their accusations he finally interjected, he didn’t want this wild idea to plant seed and start growing a monstrous infected tree. Plus some of them were now mumbling about Fallon being ex-spade, so of course she would be defending them, and what said she wasn’t actually on their side despite having defected?

“Enough.” He commanded and they all stopped and turned their eyes on him, Fallon included. Mallick heaved out a soft sigh, “If Fallon was not for Clubs, she would not have helped us for 3 whole years without ever asking for anything more than what was offered to her as a deal. If you cannot trust her, maybe it is you that needs to rethink your role here as a council member.”

Displeasure lined up some member’s features, but that was now common to see. Plus, how rich of him to say this when he didn’t trust half of them in this room. Mallick cleared his throat and shook his head. He’d already made peace with the fact that some discussions would simply never end up with them seeing eye to eye, it was expected. He’d had years of experience doing this in The Resistance.

“Spades are not our enemies, they’ve never been, end of that topic.” Whether his stance pleased them or not, they needed to move on from this. “Let’s put our brains to better use.”

They needed to focus on a solution, not what another faction wanted out of this, but what this meant for them as a faction. What was done was done, there was no turning the wheels back. Something had been stolen, but more importantly, lives had been lost. Mallick knew what he had to do next.

“Did we find the stolen shipment anywhere on our territory?” He asked with a calmer tone this time. That was the one that always seemed to get them to take him more seriously, he’d noted that earlier on.

“No, we’ve sent some people to take a look but so far nothing’s come through.”

Before Mallick could interject with another inquiry, another member of the council leaned forward on their elbows and added in, “No witnesses either, but some villagers said they heard a whole lot of ruckus on that same day. A lot of groaning and screaming too, another villager said. They live close to an Inn.”

There did exist a mention of no other bodies but the ones of the Spades being found, plus some of the Spades having disappeared. Mallick took his hand off his face, interest piqued as he regarded the member who’d just spoken.

“And where’s that Inn located?”

“Close to where the ambush happened, too close to my liking even.”

Mallick also wanted to throw his hands in the air, scream a little, let out some of this frustration. But he couldn’t, not with them in the same room, he also would never find the time to. The image he wanted to upkeep would not let him do such a thing even by himself, because nowadays, by himself he felt as though he had to stay even calmer.

This meeting had to come to an end, Mallick surveyed the members of the Council, an eyebrow arching expectentantly, “Any last thoughts?” hoping it would be something new and not going back to any of the other points they’d dismissed. It seemed alas, that someone had something else to add.

Hilo who had remained quiet until now, observing the fight without participating, most likely gathering his thoughts without yet voicing them. Said thoughts that Mallick was certain would bring forth a new angle. Hilo had always managed to bring it back to something even more important in every change that occurred in these meetings, right back to the lowrankers. It was his main point of focus after all, so there was no surprise there. If Clubs and Spades went to war, it was them who would likely suffer the worst of it. So when his call for last thoughts came out and he finally made to speak up, Mallick was attentive and he expected the rest of the Council to do the same.

“It’s important we find out who’s behind this, but it’s just as important that we patch things up with the Spade faction, too.” Hilo cast a brief glance towards Fallon, one that spoke of a shared understanding for those existing between two separate worlds.

“We should approach them with some sign of goodwill. If supplies were stolen or destroyed, we should swallow our pride and offer some. Show them that even if it was Clubs, whoever carried out this attack doesn’t speak for the best of us. And even if it wasn’t, we’re better than rising to the bait.”

Hilo leveled a glance at the worst of the quarrelers then, arms unfolding from his broad chest in a half-shrug. Mallick agreed with a nod, whatever disgruntled thoughts others had, he seemed to catch sight of some expressions turning contrit at the fact that this was not a lie in itself. This had been one of his main talking points many times before, the pride that lay in being a Club and how they had to take it back and make it entirely theirs and no one else should have the right to monopolize it.

“There’s honor in fighting. It’s the way of the Clubs. But there’s no honor in letting someone else pick our battles for us.” As Hilo concluded, Mallick could only lay back one more time and raise his hand towards no goals particularly, a silent applaud for Hilo’s words maybe.

“I couldn’t agree more, giving back what they think we took or destroyed will be handled then. As to the last point about our honor that Hilo made, I think at least on that one we’ve all always seen eye to eye or am I wrong?”

The challenge was evident in his tone and he already knew that Hilo and Fallon would not be the one he had to survey, but he was pleased to notice that as usual, when it came to the main objective this Council had been created for, choosing better or worse for themselves by themselves, the consensus would never change. So the nods of approval, even if underlined with other disagreements, was slow, receptive and that was all Mallick needed to put an end to this meeting.

With a quiet sigh he regarded one of the Council members in charge of communication coming in and going out.

“Bring forth two messengers and someone else to write down the messages; I’d like to request a meeting with the deck and a scroll of advice sent out to every house in this faction.”

They gave him a nod and left the room without any further comment, leaving Mallick to softly dismiss the meeting. Farewells were given and once alone, Mallick knew he’d have at best five minutes to rest before he had to keep moving again, that should be enough for him to close his eyes and fill his mind with nothing but a welcomed void.

#club ( council )#nihtegalc #hilokeahi #alone together ( solo )#hey mom and dad aka admins look we did a thing!! we made it better or worse but we did a thing ahem. give us our flowers.

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cerastes · 4 years

Text

Imagine how Doctor felt when they finally got to Rhodes Island after Evil Time, and Amiya and Kal’tsit immediately warn them about the ‘special’ cases.

Don’t overestimulate Ifrit this, watch out for suddenly bursting on flames around Skyfire that, Skadi can accidentally turn you into a bloodstain on the carpet with a flick of her finger so keep your distance this, Lappland will possibly eat your carotid artery like she eats Kit Kats wrong if you delve too deep into her world that, yeah, yeah, a lot of stuff that is either obvious or makes sense after spending an aggregate seven seconds in the same room with the person in question, nothing terribly hard to understand or believe.

And then, you have Specter.

“We have to keep her in the medical ward in a reinforced room whenever she’s not in an operation,” explains Kal’tsit. “She is highly unstable and dangerous if left unsupervised. Only make contact with her if it is completely necessary.”

So you have all of these dangerous people running amok freely in the base, but this one, this one Specter person in particular needs to be locked behind reinforced walls? Sounds dangerous.

Doctor then takes one look at this supposed rabid animal and sees this:

Bam, Doctor is immediately emotionally supported. Doctor cannot comprehend how this pleasant, sweet, soft-spoken lady could possibly be as dangerously violent as advertised. Ifrit has a mean streak, Skadi IS legitimately that strong and lacks any sort of social skills so she always ends up resorting on it, Lappland has all the makings of a sociopath, and Skyfire is unfortunately Skyfire, so Doc can understand these perfectly, but Specter? This somewhat short nun that, to be fair, occasionally blurts out how some people were always meant to be pieces, but otherwise just hangs out at the dorm and breaks out a cute little prayer for others now and then? How could she possibly need nigh permanent containment?

Then Doctor sees her in action for the first time in an Operation and everything makes sense.

Just as a reminder:

Strength? Top class. Endurance? Top class. Tactical planning? None whatsoever. Combat skill despite no tactical planning abilities at all? Rated excellent. Specter dissociates harder than a child with ADHD taking three ritalins instead of the prescribed one and has a body ravaged by a lethal, incurable illness, and despite all of this, there she is, catching machetes, arrows and Arts blasts to the chin and shrugging them off while swinging a buzzsaw duct taped to the end of a pipe she found laying around on a Costco parking lot to immensely devastating effect. Nothing can take her down, no one can take her strong swings, all the while she’s completely out of her mind, relying entirely on muscle memory from back when she was actually sane, only muttering some nonsense to herself in a low voice now and then. Sometimes, one of her eyes just starts intensely glowing for some reason. Kal’tsit has no freaking clue how she does that. Hordes of Reunion nobodies wondering if they should even bother swinging at this blank-faced small nun because even if they get lucky and don’t lose an arm in the process, it’s not even going to hurt her. It’s quite literally and realistically meaningless to attack her. She’s a walking horror movie.

And it’s not even due to powerful Arts or a powerful mutation given to her by Oripathy, no one knows how or why Specter can do any of this, less of all herself. It’s go time? She just says “ok, tell me how it went when I wake up, see you later, have a pleasant noon”, turns off her brain and activates her Ultra Deepsea Instinct to Gokupunch Elite Casters and Defense Crushers through buildings.

It’d only take one particularly bad manic day to really ruin some lives at Rhodes Island if she ever lost control. They’d no doubt be able to contain her one way or another -- she’s not the only freak of nature in Rhodes Island, after all -- but it’d be a Herculean task to stop her nonetheless, and practically impossible to stop her with no loses. Specter is the unstoppable force and the immovable object simultaneously thanks to her deadly mix of physical strength and endurance. It makes all the sense in the world that Kal’tsit would prefer her in a nice, tidy, reinforced hospital room where all she’ll damage if she ever flies off the handle is some medical equipment instead of very realistically ripping someone in half with her bare hands or punting Skyfire out of the stratosphere or something. Sure, she’s a nice, soft-spoken lady, but you also never know when sudden (or even full) onset insanity will kick in, especially since Specter’s nervous system is already a wreck. As dangerous as Ifrit or Lappland can be, there’s a sort of ‘guarantee’ that they won’t harm others if they can help it; Ifrit is temperamental and rebellious, but not at all malicious, and Lappland is kind of a sociopath, but aside from making people uncomfortable, she doesn’t hurt others. Specter, on the other hand, can simply go fully insane one day and there’s no way to tell when it’ll happen, and given her clinical condition, it’s indeed less an “if” and more a “when”.

Specter having the dubious honor of being the only Operator we know of that has to be kept in a special room for the safety of others suddenly makes a lot of sense when you consider her medical condition and what she’s capable of.

#arknights #specter #who is this nun? why can she do these things?#emotional support shark

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xxisxxisxxis · 4 years

Text

Gateway Drug | Part Ninety-Three [PT. 1]

Words: 3k

Warning(s): explicit language, drug abuse

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NIKKI

1987

I throw another drink back not long after yelling obscurities at Viv as she stomped out of VIP to leave and go home, between more lines of blow, a trip to the bathroom to get a fix and some drinks, we decide to take the party to Steven's new place.

"You guys just can't be too loud, though, got it?" He says as sternly as he can as we get inside and he fumbles for his key.

"Alright, alright, alright," I mumble, stepping inside, grabbing his bottle of Jack off the counter before getting comfortable on the floor by the window.

We all talk--as best we can--for a little while, Steven and the boys making some calls to get some dealers here, and the only thing on my mind is getting a potent fix, until I hear something...very faint, very familiar...very, very, familiar...I furrow my brows to focus more, ignoring the guys' laughter and voices, my eyes training on the wall opposite of me.

My subconscious puts it together before my conscious does, like smelling a blanket from a childhood home and immediately being taken back before your brain can quite grasp the feeling.

Multiple memories shrouding that sound of Vivian that only she can really pull off.

It doesn't take rocket science equation solving skills to put together why I'm currently hearing her soft, pretty moans carry on next door.

I'm pretty sure more members of Guns, aside from Steven, are staying here right now.

Apparently Stevie hears it not long after and slips into the next suite, where the sound is coming from, that's connected to his suite.

I don't hear it anymore after he gets back in here.

"Dealer's coming or what?" I ask Steven, my high starting to get blowed from the fact that my wife is next door on her back for someone who isn't me.

I'd be jealous if I weren't numb to it by now.

"They're all tied up, man." Steven tells me and I groan, thinking for a second.

An idea comes to mind that makes me want to bang my head against the wall, but I'm desperate and left with no option at this point.

"I know a guy," I mumble, dragging myself up to the phone in the little kitchen area, reluctantly dialing a number I never wanted to dial again.

It rings once...twice...three times…

"Hello?" He answers and I roll my eyes.

"'Sup man, it's Nikki." I reply, trying to put on my best "friendly" voice, even though it's making my blood boil that the bastard I could see myself killing is ultimately the one that's gonna be able to save the day.

"Hey, dude." He replies.

"Me and a few buddies of mine are out here at the Franklin Plaza Suites and need a few things." I rub the back of my neck.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

It's quiet, and he reluctantly breathes out.

"I'll see what I can do." I can hear the satisfaction in his voice that I'm having to call him.

Within the next forty minutes there's more people here than I'm comfortable with, groupies, and hangerson, and other drug adoring morons, and then my saving grace comes through the door once Steven lets him in.

Slash is already slipping into a Jack induced stupor. Sally came in a few minutes ago screaming at all of us guys for leaving her at the Cat House.

We didn't even realize we'd forgotten her.

She's in the bathroom, probably keeping herself in there to keep from starting an argument with Slash in front of everyone.

Robbin's on the phone with Laurie.

Apparently it's just in men's nature to get fucked up, call our wives, and profess our undying love for them despite the fact we cheat on them nearly every time we hangout with our friends.

I wonder what would happen if I went in there on her and Duff right now.

What would she say?

Probably nothing.

She'd just look at the floor and try not to cry, probably.

What would I do?

I know that I know what's going on between them, but if I actually walked in and saw them together, caught in the act…

I'd either be a pussy and cry over it, or kill them both--him first and make her watch, and then just slowly torture her or something. God, I'm fucked up. Even though I'm pretty sure being married to me is torture enough to her.

I know it's torture to me, too.

"Here dude," Sparkie hands me a syringe and a spoon, and I look at him, too out of focus to concentrate on getting it right.

"Fix me." I say to him and he scoffs.

"Okay, dude." He starts getting it ready and I look at that wall again. Staring at it, taking a sip of my drink.

Fucking Vivian.

Of course. Her. Of all the women I've hooked up with and dated in my life, she--the most harmless, at least in my dumbfuck mind when I first met her--is the one to screw me over like this.

And I've let her.

If I did what Vince does to Sharise and have that whole, "no hanging out with your boy friends without me" rule, this wouldn't even be an issue.

That's the problem. Somewhere along the way I loosened her leash a little too much and now she's chewed her way through it entirely.

"You look like you're in hell, you know," Sparkie tells me, fixing the tourniquet around my arm… "But that's okay, you're about to be in heaven in just a few seconds." He assures me.

I know he's right. I just need to hang on to that.

In just a few seconds, I'll be--

I hear Vivian, again, and I reach around my neck and grab onto her cross I've been wearing for weeks, now, squeezing it at the sting of the needle going into my skin.

I feel him shoot me up, my mind waiting to chase and catch the high that I just know is about to come.

My fingers slip from the crucifix, and I feel myself fall back before a weightless feeling washes over me.

Present

I keep rereading the damn paper, repeatedly, trying my hardest not to throw a fit...

Nikki Sixx and his wife, Vivian, recently confirmed that she is indeed pregnant issuing a simple and straightforward,"Yes, it's true," statement earlier this week through Nikki's manager, and--as speculated--her pregnancy is not with Nikki. Many fans and some friends of the couple are blown out of the water by this sudden turn of events, others who are familiar with the rockstar and his band but never really paid much attention to his personal relationships, are now curious as to who exactly Vivian Sixx is. Well, in an open letter, rumored to be intended for print in Rolling Stone, a few anonymous former roadies of Mötley Crüe--who partook on their Girls, Girls, Girls, tour in 1987--are here to introduce who they saw behind the scenes of flashing cameras and public sweet moments with husband Nikki.

"This is a letter to Mötley Crüe fans, we're a mere handful of people out of the many who witnessed monstrosities behind the scenes while on tour with the Crüe since Summer of 1987, none of which were caused by the band or any members, themselves, but one woman in particular. We had no reason to really bring any of this up, but in light of recent news, we are disheartened and angered of the betrayal against one of the four men who gave us an opportunity to live several months in our lives that will forever impact us in the best way known, and provide heartwarming memories by the dozen. This is not an attack on Nikki Sixx, especially given his past struggles with opioid addiction, alcoholism, as well as his abusive wife. The first time we met Vivian, she was polite and friendly, but very assertive. It was obvious it would be her way or no way, and often times she and Nikki would go back and forth with who was running things. It was obvious Nikki was unwell at times, whether it'd be hungover, sick from withdrawal or simply tired from a show the night before. Vivian would choose these times when he was at his most exhausted to pick fights with him. He'd tell her to go away or 'f**k off,' and she'd continue to verbally and mentally beat him down more than he clearly already was. When Rolling Stone came to interview the band shortly after the wild rumor Vanity started publicly, we were told Vivian had tried to physically attack the reporter working on the story, simply because he made the comment that Pepsi wasn't good for her. Small things like that would often set her off, leaving security, managers, and band members to try to dodge fists while pulling her off of her unsuspecting victim, who was typically Nikki. Many times we'd hear them arguing in the hotel rooms, dressing rooms, bathrooms, tour bus, etc., usually followed by sounds of what we can only describe as 'pitchy, hungry, pornstar moans' on her part--clearly using her body to get back in his good graces after wearing him down. After their fights, Nikki would always have a bottle of alcohol on hand, some kind of drug, and would keep to himself. Our comradery with him soon began to dwindle with each month because it was obvious she was beginning to suck the life out of him. He was more introverted overtime, and higher more often than he was at the beginning of the tour. It really got bad when Guns N' Roses came on tour for a month, because Vivian's attacks on him and the other members of Mötley Crüe, began to pop off as randomly and explosively as fireworks. We'd witness some foul exchange (brought on by Vivian) between her and Nikki backstage, either verbal or physical, nearly every night. People can talk down on the Crüe for being bad boys, but they've shown everybody that's helped them on tour, gratitude. All the wives and girlfriends that would come on that we'd offer food and drinks to would always express gratitude with a smile and a warm heart, but Vivian would always stay silent and cold towards us. She's a trashy, bitchy, whiney, hateful, spiteful, conniving, plotting python that now has her cold-blooded grasp around not only Nikki's neck, but also Duff's. Her game is to find the most well rounded guys while maintaining under her guise that she's a kind, Christianly woman, and see how far she can push them until they work themselves to death, literally, with trying to please her. We aren't surprised that she's pregnant, she probably video taped herself conceiving the damn thing and sent it to Nikki. We hope she did so it can be practice for her inevitable low-budget porn career when she runs out of rockstars to f**k and kill, as we've mentioned, she already sounds like one in the throws of passion. Anyway, Nikki, we're hoping you decide to kick her aside and start fresh. Duff, get a paternity test, dude. Crüe fans, don't let that red-headed bitch fool you."

"Who the hell is Page Six to give these bastards a platform in the first place, Doc?!" I snap.

"Nikki, I am handling it, I'm on it--"

"--You tell the L.A. Times and Rolling fucking Stone if they take this shit and run with it, too, I'm personally coming to their offices and fucking them up. Not the publications themselves, but the people trying to put this out there in print, individually." I hiss.

"Nikki, just--"

"--And who the hell--what roadies did this?!"

"I don't know, Nikki, but I'm trying my hardest to get it cleaned up." He assures me.

"'She's a trashy, bitchy, whiney, hateful, spiteful, conniving, plotting python that now has her cold-blooded grasp around not only Nikki's neck, but also Duff's. Her game is to find the most well rounded guys while maintaining under her guise that she's a kind, Christianly woman, and see how far she can push them until they work themselves to death, literally, with trying to please her'?!" I read that snippet, just so he can be reminded how fucked this is, trying my hardest not to start pitching a fucking fit.

"Fucking AJaxx isn't even cleaning this up! Press mongrels are gonna be humping these bastards legs for giving them sales for the next nine months!" I outburst.

"Sixx, don't worry about it, alright? It won't go past this shitty Page Six story, okay?"

"It's fucking horse shit." I ignore him, trying to keep my cool. "Fuck." I kick at the leg of the table, running a hand through my hair.

"I guess one decently positive thing is that Viv doesn't know about this," he says next and I shake my head a little, feeling a migraine starting to come on, strong.

I was tempted then to check myself out of rehab and 'handle' it myself, but decided it wouldn't be worth it. I hoped it would go away and it would all blow over eventually.

"Vivian, don't listen to any of it, alright? Me and you and everyone on that tour know damn well it wasn't just you being a bitch and us being the innocent victims." I say through the phone as Viv tries to calm down, her breathing shaky and ragged from crying so much.

"I know that but the fans and other people don't know that." She says to me, her voice quiet and tired. "I'm so embarrassed, Nikki." She adds. "I'm already embarrassed that everybody knows I cheated on you but now this whole thing…" she trails off and I feel guilt tug at my heart.

I don't know what the fuck to say.

I'm used to criticism from the press, but none of them have tore into me or any of the guys--except Vince after the Razzle accident--so personally and extensively as they're tearing at her.

Calling me a devil worshipper and saying my music is shitty gets annoying and frustrating and even infuriating at times, but attacking my wife and calling her a low budget porn star and telling me to kick her aside?

Fuck that.

"I'm sorry, Viv. I really am." I assure her, honestly, closing my eyes when I hear her stifle a little sob out. "Where are you at right now?" I ask.

"Duff wanted me to meet his family." She tells me. "I'll be back Saturday."

I'm relieved she actually has a reason for not being here, but I'm also hurt that she didn't give me a heads up. But I don't want to talk about it right now. I think she's been punished enough today.

"Okay...you didn't show yesterday and I was just worried." I admit.

"I know, it was just a spur of the moment thing. He asked me last week and I didn't think it'd be an issue."

"Oh."

I glance around and let out a breath.

"I, um, I'm gonna go. I got a group thing with the guys at 3:00." I tell her.

"Okay."

"Are you gonna be okay or do I need to break out and kick someone's ass?" I ask her, half-joking, and she laughs, making me smile.

"I'll be okay." She tells me.

"I'll see you next week, Sixx."

I can practically hear the smile in her voice when she says, "see you next week."

We hang up and I rub my lips together, taking a few deep breaths before heading to where me and the guys meet with Amber three times a week now.

Tommy and Vince are waiting for me, and I plop down beside them, leaning forward, elbows on my knees, hands running over my face…

"Psst," Tommy nudges me and I look at him as Vince gets up to grab a cup of coffee.

"What?" I ask him, and he puts his finger over his mouth.

"You seen the shit they're on Vivian for?" He whispers and I furrow my brows, looking around.

"The room is empty except us, dude, why are you--"

"--Shh," he says.

"Why are you whispering?" I finish my sentence.

"Because they probably have this motherfucker bugged out the ass." He replies, glancing around again. "I'm thinking of breaking outta here, man." He whispers very, very quietly.

"You do know we're not being held here by legal obligation, right? They won't chase us down and have the cops on us if we just check ourselves out." I point out and he furrows his brows a little.

"Oh."

"Why do you wanna 'break out'?" I ask.

"I miss Heather and my dogs and I wanna be able to be there Viv, dude. She fucking needs us right now and we're, like, over an hour away--disconnected from shit. I mean we wouldn't even know what the fuck was going on in the world if Doc wasn't keeping us in the loop, ya know?"

I think about it for a second.

"We're over a month into our three month stay, dude." I state. "We can't just throw in the towel, now."

"I don't mean ditch it and stay gone. I just mean check out for a few days, go back home, see what all is going on and come back." He shrugs.

It seems oddly appealing.

Way too appealing, actually.

"I don't know, Tommy…" I rub the back of my neck.

"I already talked to Vince about it and he's down."

"Of course he is."

"And we wouldn't be doing it tomorrow or anything. I'm thinking next week."

"Does Doc know?" I ask.

"Fuck Doc." He scoffs.

"Agreed." I nod, chuckling.

"So, you in or not, man?"

"Just for a few days?"

"Just for a few days."

"Then we're all coming back in?"

"Like we never left to begin with."

"No drugs, no parties, not even alcohol."

"Just spending time with our families and then back to the grindstone." He states.

"...I'm in."

...You know when you're on a shitty diet, eating boring, tasteless, "healthy" food, and then decide you've been stuck to your diet long enough that you can have one slice of cake because you're disciplined enough to control yourself? And now, two years later, you're still telling yourself you'll get back on your diet because after that slice of cake you just said, "fuck it," and never thought about forcing yourself to eat lettuce again? Let's just say leaving rehab prematurely works the same damn way.

#gateway drug #nikki sixx #nikki sixx x oc #nikki sixx fanfiction

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stressy-enby · 4 years

Text

Love, at Last TodoDeku One-Shot

FINALLY I FINISHEDDDDDDDD. Ignore that I spent a week working on this when I could’ve been finishing “No One’s Chasing You” lol. It’s still on going!! If I get off my ass I’ll have it out sometime next week. In the meantime, enjoy some cute blushy oblivious boys.

This was based off of a headcanon I came up with for Todoroki: he loves reading romance novels, but he never quite grasps the idea of a relationship

Warnings: none ;)

Masterlist

Link to Ao3 version

Shoto Todoroki never knew what love was.

He could only vaguely remember his mother’s tender touch. He knew that he had once been loved, and perhaps he had even loved in return, but those feelings had long since been diminished in the sands of time.

Shoto had read about love. He could never understand romance, or the concept of giving all you had to someone, but there was something so innocent, so pure about a love story. The tales were so addicting, Shoto read every romance novel he could get his hands on.

The one thing these sweet stories could never capture quite right, though, was the feeling of falling in love. Shoto understood the theory of romantic relationships well enough, but he still couldn’t imagine what being in love actually felt like.

That is, until he met Izuku Midoriya.

Midoriya was kind to him. He regarded Shoto with a level of respect, reverence even, that he was unused to. Shoto couldn’t recall for the life of him the last time someone had honestly told him that they were impressed by him. No one else had seen his quirk as anytime by a product of his father. No one had seen him as anything else but Endeavor’s son.

“It’s yours! Your quirk, not his!”

Midoriya’s desperate words still haunted Shoto. The very night after their fight, he laid in bed, wide awake, Izuku Midoriya’s face branded into his mind. When sleep finally did take him, there Midoriya was again.

In his dreams, the freckled boy had become Shoto’s greatest source of comfort. In some dreams, Midoriya would be holding a sobbing Shoto in his arms. Sometimes, it was vice versa. Sometimes, they’d simply sit and talk. One night, they even kissed. Shoto had woken up at four in the morning, unable to fall back asleep after that particular dream. He had also found it quite difficult to look the curly-haired boy in the eye the next day, much to said boy’s confusion.

All at once, all of Shoto’s books made sense. Descriptions of fluttering hearts, longing glances, and blissful moments that had once confused his suddenly seemed so perfectly right to the heterochromic boy.

Suddenly, Shoto Todoroki was in love.

He quickly realized why the feelings described in his books never made sense to him. There was no way to make them make sense. There was no way for Shoto to concretely put what he was feeling into words. One moment he felt like flying, the very next moment though, he wanted to stay exactly where he was and never leave again.

Shoto had told Fuyumi about Midoriya. She encouraged him to “make a move”, much to his embarrassment.

“What good are all those love stories if you don’t know how to flirt?” She had exclaimed, incredulously.

“It’s one thing to read about it,” Shoto had muttered, face reddening. “putting it into practice is different.”

He rationalized that if he was going to “make a move”, it would be a natural thing. Shoto wouldn’t be able to consciously flirt even if he tried. The day finally came on a cold December night, when a move was at last made.

Midoriya had come over to Shoto’s dorm room to study for a hero law test Mr. Aizawa had been warning the class about. The cold from outside had seeped into Shoto’s room and Midoriya could feel it.

“Todoroki, is your AC off?” The green-eyed boy asked, wrapping his arms around himself.

“No, I think it’s broken,” Shoto examined his thermostat. “It hasn’t been bothering me, though. Are you cold?”

“A l-little,” Midoriya admitted, both eyebrows raising. “Does your quirk regulate your body temperature? The hot and cold could heat or cool your body depending on the environment!”

“Yeah,” Shoto cracked a minuscule smile.

“Doesn’t really help me, though.” Midoriya laughed apologetically, sitting down on the floor, pulling his legs up to his chest.

Shoto was quiet for a moment, before taking a seat net to him. “It can.”

“W-What do you-” Midoriya flinched in surprise as Shoto snaked an arm around him, pulling him into his warm body.

Midoriya wasn’t wrong; he was cold. Shoto felt goosebumps prick up on his arms before his natural body heat washed them away. He felt Midoriya stiffen. “Is this okay? Are you still cold?”

“N-No, actually-uh, th-this is nice.” Midoriya relaxed into Shoto’s gentle grip. “Really nice.”

“Mmm.” He was right. It was nice. Cradling Izuku Midoriya in his arms was literally one of his dreams come true. He was so small and so soft, but he was all so much more. Shoto had seen his grit, his determination, his selflessness. Izuku Midoriya would sacrifice the world to save a friend, and Shoto loved him for it.

“Weren’t we supposed to be studying?” Midoriya asked suddenly, still not moving.

“Oh, yeah.”

“…We’re still not getting up.”

“Looks like it.”

Midoriya laughed breathily, leaning over to grab his notes. Shoto impulsively wrapped his other arm around him, pulling the red faced boy into his chest.

“T-T-Todoroki! W-What-?” Midoriya yelped.

“You’ll get cold again.” Shoto rationalized “And… you feel too good to let go.”

“O-Oh. Okay then.” Midoriya slowly melted back into the taller boy, this time winding his own arms around his torso. “You feel really good, too.”

Shoto was sure his brain had been fried. All thoughts of studying banished from his mind, he ran his fingers through Midoriya’s soft curls, memorizing every contented sigh and shudder that left the boy.

He wasn’t sure which of them had fallen asleep first. The next thing he knew, he was being jolted awake as a flustered Midoriya rambled on in embarrassment and scooted away from the heterochromic boy as a confused Iida looked on.

Shoto’s arms felt empty without him. His perfectly heat balanced body went cold as Midoriya put distance between them. He wondered if he’d be a horrible friend if he kicked Iida out.

He had to tell Midoriya how he felt before he spontaneously combusted.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Shoto began going back through his old romance novels and taking notes. He skimmed the familiar, well worn pages, thoroughly inspecting each line of typed cliche text. He went through, underlining passages, jotting things in the margins, and copying dialogue into the back of a notebook. He had pages upon pages of confession examples and date ideas. The idea didn’t even strike him as being silly; it was the best way he could think of to plan.

Midoriya wasn’t a terribly private person, but he still got flustered very easily. A big public event wouldn’t do either of them any good. Midoriya could also be a bit dense at times. Innuendos tended to go right over his head. Whatever Shoto did, it had to be direct, but private. He figured a date would be the best route to go, that way they could test the waters.

He steeled his nerves during lunch the following day. Midoriya was deep in conversation with Iida about a new hero documentary. Shoto abstained from the chatter, opting to take in Midoriya’s bright smile as if it were a drug he’s spent far too long being withdrawn from. He noticed the way his eyes lit up, and Shoto decided in that moment that Izuku Midoriya’s beautiful eyes and charming smile were more than enough to light up the whole world.

“Midoriya,” Shoto hung back as Iida and Uraraka turned to head back to class. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Oh, sure!” Midoriya chipped, waving their friends off. “What’s up?”

Shoto swallowed thickly. Bright green eyes pierced his own. “Would you like to go get dinner some time? Just us?”

“J-Just the t-two of us?” The freckled boy’s face started to go pink. “Y-Yeah! That sounds cool!”

“It would be a date.” Shoto clarified bluntly. “Is that ok?”

“Y-Yes!” The green-haired boy exclaimed, a little too loud. “I’d love to go on a date with you!”

Shoto deflated, visibly relieved. “Good, we can work out the details later. We should go before we’re late to class.”

Later, after school, Midoriya pulled Shoto aside to plan their date. He said he had a place in mind he wanted to take Shoto, but only if it was okay that he took the lead. Shoto was more then happy to let him plan the date. He was just happy he still wanted to go. The boys agreed to go to a ramen and bao place near Midoriya’s middle school. Shoto left that conversation with a content smile on his lips, only for it to fall when he realized he didn’t have a clue what to wear. Fuyumi was FaceTimed the following night.

Friday night finally came, and Shoto found himself the victim of a brutal interrogation.

“You’re all dressed up on a Friday night?” Sero tugged at Shoto’s gray blazer. “What are you up to, man?”

“Isn’t it obvious? He’s going on a date!” Ashido squealed. “He’s clearly waiting on someone, right, Todoroki?”

“Yeah,” Shoto saw no reason to lie. He wasn’t embarrassed, just wishing his classmates were less nosey.

“Wha- seriously? Who?” Kaminari demanded, shaking the heterochromic boy violently.

“Please stop that.” Shoto warily removed the blond’s hands from his shoulders, head spinning.

“Ugh, of course the pretty boy is the first to get a girlfriend.” Mineta complained.

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Shoto denied.

“You’ve still got a date, though!” Mineta pointed an accusatory finger at the confused teenager.

“Yes, but not with a-”

“Hey! Sorry if I kept you waiting!” Midoriya stumbled out of the elevator, hurriedly smoothing down his pale blue button down.

“I haven’t been here long,” Shoto assured him, breaking out of the small crowd of their friends surrounding him. He noticed Midoriya’s usually unruly curls had been patted down with water. It hardly made a dent, but the attempt was cute. “You look nice.”

“Thank you! This shirt’s kinda old, I was surprised it still fit.” Midoriya hooked a finger around the collar of said shirt. “You look r-really good too!”

“Thanks, my sister helped me. Ready to go?”

“I’ve gotta grab my coat from the hall closet, then I’m ready!”

“Let’s go then.” Shoto, eager to get away from his gaping and giggling peers, followed Midoriya to the coat closet, watching his strong, scarred hands slip his coat on. “I’m hungry.”

“Let’s go get some dinner, then!” His date grinned, his smile so sweet Shoto felt his knees goin weak.

He was hyper aware of Midoriya’s hand brushing against his own. What would it feel like? People held hands on dates. Should he ask? Should he just grab it? Shoto’s internal debate was distracting enough he didn’t realize how much Midoriya was blushing and staring at their swinging hands himself.

“Hey, uh, would you feel comfortable holding hands?” The freckled boy asked, blush deepening.

Shoto stopped short, terrified that Midoriya could read this thoughts. “Yeah. Do you want to?”

The boy nodded mutely, shakily tapping the back of Shoto’s hand nervously.

He felt the heat creeping up his neck as he hesitantly took Midoriya’s hand. It was warm and soft, and his grip as protective yet gentle. He felt safe.

Midoriya readjusted their grip, squeezing Shoto’s hand and smiling bashfully up at him. “Come on, Todoroki! Let’s go!”

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Days later, when Shoto was re-reading an old book, he paused for a long time at a point that usually didn’t faze him at all. The first kiss.

It was always described as a magical, perfect moment. Characters would touch lips as though it was as natural as breathing. Was it really that easy? How did kissing even work? You pressed your lips together…. And then what? Were you supposed to do something else?

Completely and utterly confused, Shoto turned to YouTube. Without an ounce of shame, he searched movie kiss scenes, wherein he found the “Top 10 Most Romantic Kisses in Movies!”

Ah, so that’s how that works. He mused.

Confident that he knew the theory well enough, he texted Midoriya, asking if they could hang out. The response came almost immediately.

Absolutely!! You wanna watched that anime I was telling you about? I’ve got it saved on my computer.

Decided that watching a show would be a good guise as any to wanting to kiss, Shoto agreed, and headed down to Midoriya’s All Might-plastered room.

“Hey!” The boy grinned brightly as he let the heterochromic boy in.

“Hi,” Shoto took a seat on the bed, next to an open laptop.

“Okay, I’ve almost got it up,” Midoriya settled next to him, tapping the keyboard. “It has to load-“

“Midoriya. I wanted to ask you something.” Shoto interrupted.

“Oh? What is it?” Midoriya cast him a curious look.

“May I kiss you?”

If being asked out hadn’t broken the poor boy, this defiantly did. His face exploded with color, and his arms flailed in shock.

“K-K-Kiss?! Y-You wanna k-kiss me?”

“Yes.” Shoto quietly confirmed, a bit put off by the sudden panic. “If you don’t want to-”

“No! No, no, no, I’d r-really like to kiss you. I’ve just n-never done that before.” Midoriya palmed the back of his neck.

“I haven’t either. I think I know how it’s supposed to work, though. We can figure it out as we go, though.”

“Y-Yeah,”

The two were silent for a minute. Finally, Midoriya took Shoto's hand shakily. “I want to kiss you.” He whispered.

Shoto gently cupped his cheek, scooting closer. “Okay,” he murmured, carefully touching his lips to Midoriya’s.

It wasn’t nearly as magical or perfect as his books had led him to believe. The kiss you shy and awkward, and neither boy really knew what he was doing. But it was still sweet. It may not have been a perfect kiss, but it was theirs.

Midoriya pulled away first, but didn’t back off. “Can we do that again?” He asked quietly after a second.

And so they did. It was still a little clumsy, but to Shoto and Izuku, that was perfectly fine. To them, everything was right with the world.

At last, Shoto Todoroki had found love.

He had found Izuku Midoriya.

#mha #bnha #deku #izuku #midoriya #izuku midoriya #todoroki #shoto #shoto todoroki #tododeku #shoto x izuku #todoroki x midoriya #shoto todoroki x izuku midoriya #izuku x shoto #midoriya x todoroki #izuku midoriya x shoto todoroki #fluff #slowburn

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jjkpls · 4 years

Text

crayons ‘set’ (PG)

> genre : fluffy fluff, light angst, comedy

> pairing : kim namjoon x reader

> words : 3.8k

> warnings : none (except a rusty quill)

>Y/N, a primary school teacher, is way too soft for the quiet, timid new child in her class. Little did she know, the adult version, who engendered this cutie, is even more charming.

> prior

> next

The principle of balance.

It’s a curious concept. Like most of the things that turn people into different versions of themselves, just from an unconscious force brought to light by the sheer inner sense of competition that inhabits every single person. It’s quieter in some people. Feel non-existent sometimes. But it’s here, dormant, just waiting on the right trigger to awaken.

You didn't think you would see it in Jimmy. The little boy lacks completely self-confidence and affirmation. But a voice and a stance, easily remarkable, end up fitting him.

It turns out that you witness it quite quickly after the Progress has started. And it manifests in the most adorable and comical of ways.

It’s been a few weeks since you've met his dad. There wasn’t much to talk about with him yet. Every day, longer lingerings of the gaze, less tucking away in the far back of the rest of the group, more definite wordless participations during class -nodding and clapping along. The progress you've been wholly satisfied with but nothing so drastically different that you thought necessary to call his father in for.

Nothing absolutely astonishing. Therefore you didn’t call and what a surprise this one Thursday afternoon turns out to be when he appears at your class’s doorway.

He’s wearing very casual clothes, a simple light linen shirt and some distended jeans to pair, sneakers and his hair -you've only seen neatly tucked to the side- is floating about his forehead, freshly washed and devoid of any wax. It’s a pleasant surprise, especially with the evident appearance of calm and quiet tranquillity he’s carrying.

This man looks rather handsome when he’s on vacation, stressless and well-rested and seemingly content, you note.

“Mr Kim?”

He looks up from his son he is holding the hand of, eyes wide and bewildered as he stares a little. You chuckle, confused but amused. He’s the one paying you a surprise visit but he’s shocked when you do talk to him?

“Is it bad timing? I can come back another day...” From the look he’s giving you, or more accurately, barely sparing you, body already aiming for the corridor, you wonder if you should return the question. It'd be cruel though, to tease, therefore you choose to simply shake your head and insist on him walking in. And then it happens, the man can’t take a step inside, for some reason. He’s just paralysed, looking like a million contradicting thoughts are fighting inside his brain and he simply cannot make out the best option, if he would or not step in; and it’s Jimmy who takes the decision for him. Puffing his cheeks out in annoyance, he pushes against his father's leg, small hands pulling the bigger one towards him. It’s like watching a tiny mouse trying to drag along a giraffe. It has little to no physical effect until there’s an aggravated tiny whine of “appa”. He moves, at last, letting himself stood in front of me before Jimmy lets go of his hand.

He gives you a look you're not sure you interpret well. Dark eyes all serious, attention loud, he seems to be intrusting his father to you. A gentle smile, hiding your teeth biting back a hilarious grin, sends him away towards the very back of the room. Taking a seat next to the bookshelf, it takes Jimmy a few minutes only after you've diverted your attention from him to grab an image book and start going through it patiently.

He's so comfortable. Almost too comfortable. He looks strange, like that. Strange because different from usual but still, oddly, it fits him well. It's like a projection, a little vision of a future little boy, easygoing, at peace with himself and his environment, that won't take too long to be born again.

And it's now the dad who's acting weird. He's standing on his two never-ending legs, the tip of his fingers toying nervously with the button of his vest, his mouth keeps teasing, opening slightly, as if about to spill a word, only to shut itself right up, a lightly aggravated sigh following soon after. It happens quite a couple of times until you get tired of waiting. Tired of the eyes avoiding you, the tension heavy for no particular reason that you could decipher, you ring him awake with an abrupt overexaggerated clearing of your throat.

"Mr Kim?" He's confounded again, caught off guard somehow. "Did you mean to discuss something with me?" It's hard to make an adult talk, you realise. Sometimes children can be difficult. Put aside Jimmy's case, sometimes children are like that. Making them want to share, especially when they are at that age where they can't express themselves and their ideas as well as they wish they could, frustration, laziness at times can get the better of them and having a fairly constructed conversation with them is like pulling teeth out of a very adamant, unwilling person. But you manage. Adults, on the other hand, have never been too much of your cup of tea. There's a reason why you chose to spend the better part of your weeks with children instead of adults. You're not that terrible at getting along with them, you do it pretty well, honestly. But the reason is probably the fact that you're not difficult. You're convenient as a person, always willing to help, always trying to be positive, you do not get in people's way and most of the times, it's enough to make it through.

You don't deal with adults the way you deal with children. With great pleasure and passion, you insert yourself into your pupils' existence, try to leave a mark and help them have the better, feel the better, be the better. Adults, you don't get too involved. They sound complicated, complexed, too many compromises, too many facets. You know because you are one too.

And Mr Kim, looking all nervous and troubled seem the very embodiment of this bias you have. He looks some sort of troubles. Probably nothing that terrible. He appears too childish for it to be that grave. But he's serious about it, about the anxiety, the struggle, the uneasiness he's feeling, you can tell, just from the way he hasn't been able to look at you in the eyes since he appeared in your class. Still, whatever it is, will cost some of your time, and with that, might clog up some very much needed space you require in this busy head of yours.

It's happened before. A new neighbour trying to get closer to you, maybe because they've just moved in the city, didn't know anyone, and you looked friendly enough and they needed someone to listen to the exhaustive list of all the things that made them leave their hometown -even though, you don't necessarily care for any of it. Or a colleague, trying to get you involved in their office dramas, simply because people need the attention, the feeling of importance and support.

Quite frankly, you've never been interested in any of them. Adults sound like too much work, especially given the fact that, as filled with flaws as they are, they are a pain, and often impossible, to fix. And they say things they don't mean. And they want things that they don't need. Their words and their acts hardly ever match. They're for the most part unrecoverable and unfixable, and you don't want any of it.

But Mr Kim and his dimples -invisible to the eye at the moment, but that you realise marked your brain so strongly you can picture them exactly where they should be winking- are piquing your interest. You're ninety-nine per cent sure it is not about Jimmy but you'd like to know. Never mind that curiosity killed the cat.

“Yes, uh-“ Clearing of the throat, scratching of the neck and more clearing of the throat. “about last time...”

You're lost. For a second, your body freezes to give your brain its full capacity to wreck through the whole place and retrieve a memory that seems to have been lost somehow, somewhere. You have no idea what time he is referring to.

He seems so invested, so intensely experiencing his emotions you're left shocked and deeply embarrassed to not remember something that had that effect on him yet didn’t leave a single trace on you.

He insists then, having to face your transparent confusion. The more you stand in pure oblivion, the more awkward he gets. Stuttering more, an accent, very deep, adding rough edges to his voice, colouring his words with new shades that you've never heard before.

“Mr Kim-“

“Namjoon.”

“I’m sorry?”

“No, it’s me, I am, I’m-“ You will, later, feel terrible for it. It’s undeniable. But right now, facing this grown-ass man, usually so collected now decomposing in the most adorable red-cheeked boyish thing, you can only start laughing. It renders him speechless which in a way is almost an improvement and when you finally can restrain the giggles from bubbling straight from your belly, you start again,

“Maybe take a deep breath, take your time.” You bite your lip down to the blood, poorly concealing your grin when he actually does it. “What did you mean by ‘last time’?” You're mortified to ask, honestly, persuaded that you should know but at this point, it’s pretty mean but you don’t think you can embarrass yourself that much in front of him, not when he’s been such a mess himself.

“When we met. When I came to talk about my son.” Calmly, diligently he answers. Like a good boy answering his teacher’s question, a shadow of worry covering his usually sharp gaze.

“Oh, what about it?” Curiosity melts with confusion as you refrain yourself from pressing him further into elaborating faster, eager as you are to understand. You were sure he was not going to talk about him.

“I’d been a bit much and I wanted to apologise personally to you.”

Been a bit much?

“In what sense? I’m not sure I understand.”

“It’s just- I poured myself and our luggage on you when you’re- I know you care about my son but I shouldn’t have, I don’t know, I shouldn’t have-“

You hate cutting people off. It’s a terrible habit you are constantly trying to teach your students to drop. But here he is, struggling to express an idea that irks you strongly. Is he able to put the words he needs? Does he even know them in his own mother tongue or do they even exist? Maybe what he's trying to express are pure emotions. Unease coming from a heart shameful for having shown itself vulnerable to a stranger. You'd know about this feeling. You've experienced it plenty of times, throughout all your life. Even if it wasn’t in the form of you stripping your heart off to someone, like he did, simply showing that you cared gave you the same sense of vulnerability, of terrifying exposure you've always had a hard time dealing with.

You hate the idea that he regrets it, especially with you. At that time, you could tell he had words to pour out. You were glad, you were even enchanted to be the one helping out no matter how small you just assumed your impact to have been. And now, he's trying to say that he regrets it?

“You said you were thankful to have someone to talk to.”

“I did say that.” He mumbles, pressing the pad of his fingers against his closed eyes.

“Then don’t regret it. I don’t want you to be embarrassed about this, seriously. I had parents do way more, actually embarrassing, things in my career. Don’t even worry about it.” He’s thinking it over. You can tell your words have little to no impact on his bruised ego. “I’m not sure how appropriate it is for me to say that but if you need it, whenever in the future, don’t hesitate. I’m not a psychologist, but I’m just- I’m willing to listen if it can help. I mean me or anyone else, really, you should in general just share. It’s important. You don’t want Jimmy to mimic such bad habits like so, holding in and all.” You may be talking too much. The man just looks so eager to hear those words and it spurs you on. “You really shouldn’t feel embarrassed. I can understand the feeling, where it comes from, but it’s pointless with me.”

“You’re really kind.” You give a smile, only. It’s not much but you're pretty sure it’s the genuineness tinting it that renders it enough. Again, he seems surprised. As bewildered as last time but undoubtedly convinced. “I’m glad he has you as his teacher.”

Your cheeks burn intensely. You don’t know how conscious he is of his words. If he realises that he perfected the art of flattery and of slipping people in his pocket. He really did. Especially when he’s leaning slightly towards you, gaze intense and on you now that the embarrassment has vanished for the most part and he can bear looking at you, seemingly hanging out for any other words you may have in stock.

There’s nothing left for you to say though. It takes you quite a few attempts to skim over your brain, trying to formulate a sentence, any word, but you come out completely empty. You can’t even stutter a thank you from how utterly flustered you're feeling.

Therefore you choose the easy way out. Waltzing on your heels to give him your back, your hands reaching to the barely messy top of your desk to pretend they’re busy. You believe yourself to have been sleek enough but apparently not so -maybe it’s the fact that you're just picking up stuff to put them exactly where they belong, at the exact same place.

“Was I inappropriate? I’m really sorry, Mrs ___. Sometimes I just talk too much and I don’t realise that maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Please stop apologising. It’s fine, you’re fine. You’re just- You saying nice things that you mean,” You stumble upon the last words as if maybe you're getting over your own head to just assume and claim so loud that he must mean the sweet things he said to you but that bashful yet adorable expression he's wearing, with the eyes a bit wide and the bottom lip munched, fill you with a regain of confidence, “can’t be an issue. It’s just unexpected and- I mean you’re fine you can say whatever you want. I mean I’m not asking for more compliments, I’m just saying-“

It’s terribly unnerving. You don’t know what impression you're giving off as a teacher. Lacking so much elocution, scrambling to form sentences and turning into a messy, overwhelmed emotional mess.

“I don’t mind giving you more compliments, Mrs ___.” Here comes that curious principle of balance again. You're half-dying of mortification and he seems to be having fun, smiling kindly, with a hint of something else -amusement, maybe even smudginess.

Is he flirting with me? There’s no way he’s flirting. I think I’m losing my mind.

“It’s Miss, actually.” You swear to yourself, silently, that you're not flirting back -assuming he is, in fact, doing just that- and you just mean to be called by an accurate name.

“Oh.” He almost gasps. Looking shocked and you don’t understand what’s going on anymore. Was he really not flirting? Why does he look so shaken as if you misinterpreted his intentions and now he’s misinterpreting yours and think you're getting over your head -because you're not, you were not flirting!

“I’m not flirting with you, I’m just clarifying!”

You hate this whole conversation. You hate yourself, your life and anything and everything that may or may not have led you to this tragic instant.

You're positive you screamed a little. You get confirmation of just that from the tiny mop of hair bouncing up in your peripheral vision, as Jimmy gives you two a slightly concerned, curious look.

The tension is blatant. It's a mixture of irritation, of anxiety, of embarrassment. You couldn't have messed up any worse than you did and you positively want to simply die, right about now.

The mere thought that you'll have to live with this humiliation not only for the whole day ahead, blatantly hanging out at the back of your head, sometimes probably too close to your consciousness for any sense of comfort to ever inhabit you again, but for your entire life makes you want to throw yourself out the window. You decide not to indulge in the pressing pulsion only because you're on the ground floor, therefore, it would be pointless if not even more humiliating.

Mr Kim, somehow, helps a little. By not wearing a mask of pure revolt, revulsion or aggravation. He stares soundly, expression not giving off much to work with. Just enough to understand he is not mad, simply lost in his own thoughts he doesn't seem too keen on sharing.

A spark of sensibility blooms suddenly in your brain. You're so thankful for it, you jump right on it, grab it with your two hands and start again, as if nothing happened, as if you haven't just humiliated yourself in front of this man (and his son), "Jimmy has made a lot of progress, I've noted."

Mr Kim blinks a few times, unnaturally so. "Yeah? I mean, yes, I've noticed too, actually." He keeps staring with the same obnoxiously loud thoughts running in his mind. His brain is on full activity mode. It's obvious. And he doesn't care too much about talking about his son right this second (even though he doesn't seem to care much about sharing what's going through that private head of his either).

How disappointing. You sincerely thought the one subject that matters the most to him would successfully tear the attention away from you but you're a fool. Apparently, even the cute little bean of a son he has can't divert the attention from the humiliation you've just submitted yourself to.

"Anyway, I won't hold any more of your time, you must have work to attend to."

"Actually I'm not working today. I have the day off." Your lip now too sensitive, you attack the inner part of your cheek with your teeth -thankfully you've turned your back to him again, feigning observing with great attention something through the windows- to stop yourself from screeching. It takes him so long, so fucking long for him to decide, finally, that maybe he should leave. The longest dozens of seconds of your life. Staring outside, picturing him behind you, probably watching you wondering to himself how you can be so lame and how he could have thought you a good fit to be his precious son's teacher. "Ah, I should leave anyway. Your class is about to start?"

"Ah, yes. Well, thanks for passing by. I hope you rest well." It's the least genuine you've been with this man, and anyone for the matter, in so long. Your heart and mind are in such a shamble you don't actually remember the reason for his coming and if, really, anything positive came out of this conversation.

It's ridiculous how you feel, all bothered and nervous, aggravated with him for making you feel so flustered. You give him the most convincing fake smile you own, not taking the time to check if he buys it as you don't dare lingering your attention on him for any longer than the blink of the eye takes.

When he leaves, only after having scattered a bunch of smooches on Jimmy's face, you find yourself breathing again. It's like you've been holding in for so long, you're getting dizzy at the taste of oxygen again, heart beating furiously in your chest, sweating all over.

Fuck, that was painful.

You're such an idiot sometimes. Why do you have to be such a fucking idiot? It's not like you're asking much in this life, honestly. You're not aiming at any groundbreaking, universe shaking novelties. You're staying in your line, trying to be good and do good in your own little world. Not asking much, not taking without beforehand being offered. Is it really that much to ask to not be absolutely humiliated in front of one of your kids' parent, who happens to be a stupidly handsome man? (Yes, he is. You can admit that -to yourself. It's probably the reason why your brain stopped working properly, by the way.) You're cursed. I'm cursed, I'm cursed, I'm cur-

"Mish?" The quietest little call comes from the quietest little boy. Standing a secure meter away from you, his peculiar big black eyes staring with a silent demand in them, Jimmy waits patiently for your attention to be given to him. You offer it to him with great enthusiasm. Because between self-pitying your dumb ass and celebrating the first-ever-self-willingly-uttered word to you by this boy, the choice is not even to be pondered over.

"Yes, Jimmy?" He's holding in one hand your crayons he slowly tends your way, careful not to spill them all from his tiny fist. In the other one, there's a paper he's drawn on. Your eyes instinctively are driven to it, curious to see what he decided to draw when he felt comfortable enough to do it. He catches the line of your attention, evidently, and it takes him a second but then, finally, he decides you're allowed to see it. It's a too accurate copy of the ugly cat you made for him the other day. The colours are different, the traits a bit shakier yet, completely unbiasedly, you have to admit that he somehow made it look better. "That's a very pretty cat, Jimmy."

He looks at it, ruminates your words, trying to make sense of them, verify their accuracy. Suddenly he seems to decide that you're right and giving you another candid look, he returns to his table where he proceeds to carefully slip the drawing in his bag.

You realise your eyes are filled up with prickling tears while you sniff. You're not sure how much is due to this, how much the terrible, terrible encounter with his dad worked your emotions so intensely you're so sensitive now. In any case, it turns out for the better. It's this cute little cat that ends up making you and your day ahead feel better. You're so thankful for it.

Again, you know you're too involved but how are you supposed to do any different with them? Maybe it wasn't a punishment earlier. Maybe it was the storm before the ray of sunshine. It's probably the case. You're less aggravated, suddenly. Less vexed and probably more lenient on talking to this man again given, not the ray of sunshine, but actually rainbow that he may have helped cause to colour your day.

A/N: thanks for reading 💜

#btswriterscollective #networkbangtan #thekimlinenet #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #bts fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #namjoon scenario #namjoon fanfic #my writing

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raekahwritings · 4 years

Text

A Second Life, Finding Redemption (Shinsou x Reader)

Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi x Villain!Reader Rating: Explicit, N*SFW Warning: Angst, Murder, Assassination, Fake!Death, Decapitation, Some Smut Word Count: 8,731 Words A/N: This does not have a tragic ending, I can’t bear to write angst without a happy ending.

Summary: You’re a cute coffee barista that Shinsou has feelings for-- and hopefully he never finds out your real purpose in Japan. You are a villain in pursuit of revenge but you wish you could’ve lived a simple life, that you really were the barista you masqueraded as. If Shinsou knows the truth, he would hate you. Or does he?

From Me: I’m trying to post this in time for @bnhabookclub (Antagonist x Protagonist prompt) and I haven’t had time to proof-read this or beta it so please excuse any mistakes or pacing issues. I hope to re-post at a later point but I definitely wanted this out.

Also, inspirations for this work is from @katsukisprincess, @lady-bakuhoe, @iwvs-on-ao3, @bnhabookclub, @/lemonlordleah-shinzawa, @/marilla-eldriana, @/queensynderella.

Sometimes, there was no other end in sight. You could rewind the moment a million times and try to find something you missed, but it would always end the same miserable way.

“Shinsou, you should know what people think of us.” You idly sat from the rafters of the room, simply a shadowed silhouette to the brain-washing hero Shinsou Hitoshi. He desperately looked but he was lost through the maze of unconscious people talking all at once. “They will never trust people who can manipulate others.” Numerous voices bounced around the room, making Shinsou’s eyes dart back and forth—were you even here, or was it yet another machination?

“Marionette—You don’t need to do this.” Shinsou tried to tempt you away from the shadows, trying to sift through the ‘dolls’ you had set in place. You knew he would be sorely disappointed. You had already known about his abilities and set countermeasures in place.

Shinsou caught an idle movement above him, letting his capture weapon snake up to the beams while imperceptibly turning on his own voice-changing mechanism—but it was foiled. “Don’t try that. You know I wouldn’t fall for something so obvious.” You backed away from even the shadows, dissipating, away from his empty oaths and reassurances. Away from the ignorant and unaware hero. With a flick of your wrist, you dispelled the strings of your quirk and letting the bodies fall to the floor.

Shinsou tried to make his way through the unconscious victims but it seemed like you had no more desire to speak to him—you soon disappeared in a silent farewell. Your dolls soon fell to the floor, crumpling as their marionette master was gone.

This is fucking creepy. When Shinsou had arrived onto the scene, it was eerie at how doll-like everyone had seemed with their glass-like eyes and lifeless motions. But upon his arrival, they had come to life and stalled the young hero.

“She got away again.” He frustratedly sighed. This wasn’t the first and this wasn’t the last time you escaped… But he was starting to get the hang of your quirk; it seemed you had to be somewhere nearby to manipulate people. Shinsou reached down for a child, relieved to discover they were breathing and no apparent harm. But as he garnered a better look – it didn’t seem as if anyone was harmed here.

This was strange; you had been responsible for the killings of several prominent people. A businessman. A minor government official. A doctor. The most notable was a visiting dignitary. This latest incident invoked a sense of international outrage and a greater calling for your arrest. Your signature calling card was a single severed head amongst immobile witnesses who only remembered a blackened haze. Their loss of memory was surprisingly similar to Shinsou’s own quirk which is why he had been called in. So far, the only clue he found was your spider-like wires.

“Hey, get the crew in here. There’s a lot of unharmed civilians who need assistance.” Shinsou radioed the information in and took one last look to make sure it was safe before back-up reinforcements were to arrive.

Strange. Shinsou tried to muse over this information; no one else aside from your victims was ever hurt. It seemed that you were aiming for something awfully specific. Shinsou didn’t know what though….

That’s how Shinsou found himself in a cat café, sprawled in a chair, and lost in thought. He was currently on-break from the case since the police were investigating the unconscious victims and the link. So far, they seemed to have found none.

“Hello. Did you want a refill on your coffee?” Shinsou looked over and gave you a slight grin—you were his favorite barista at this cat café. Most places served awful drinks, relying on the kittens to draw people in and shitty service. What a rare find it was to find both adorable kittens, cats, and amazing coffee.

Here you were, one of the most cheerful people he had ever met. Beautiful? Shinsou wasn’t much for conventional beauty or ‘instagram’ models that seemed to be so ‘in’ nowadays. But when cats were crawling all over you and you bundled them all in your arms in a fit of laughter—yes, he thought you were pretty.

Shinso gave you a grateful smile, especially since a napping kitten seemed to have him rooted to the chair. “That would be wonderful.” You leaned over to take his cold cup and Shinsou politely leaned back. Albeit, even he was a virile male and couldn’t help but to take a lightning-quick look at you bending over and shoving down thoughts of how delectable your ass looked.

You apparently didn’t notice but you took a look of your own at his face. Of course, he had his darker-than-usual eye bags and you sighed sympathetically. “You look like you’re working harder than usual.” Shinsou didn’t think he looked different…? But fuck yeah, he felt tired. “Why don’t I add an espresso shot? A little bit of milk to make it sweeter?” He was your favorite customer after all. The purple-haired man had become something of a fixture around the café—you wondered if he ever actually slept sometimes. But he was always wonderful with the cats and often over-tipped. It was to the point that you as a barista, had to hide the tip jar and give him a very pointed glare.

You had caught him stuffing fifty dollars once and you had to draw the line; the poor man needed food and you sent him home to buy dinner for himself. Instead, he sheepishly came back with food for you both and had left it for you at the counter.

This was probably the first moment you had fallen in love with the purple-haired sleepy customer that constantly came to your café that you worked at. The owner gave you plentiful shifts because of your coffee skills.

“…. I think you’re the only one to know about my sweet tooth.” Shinsou said sheepishly. You took that as agreement, happily walking over back to the counter.

You filled up the metal tins and efficiently started frothing the milk, snagging the espresso shots, adeptly mixing the syrups and continued. “Hey, hey, I know when someone doesn’t like Americanos.” You gave him a mischievous smile. “I also saw your nose scrunching up and if you had a cattail, it would’ve been stick straight.”

“Ugh, you remember that.” Shinsou face-palmed. He remembered the first time he came in and one of his hero coworkers had ordered it for him; apparently, he had cultivated the image for loving the watery and bitter brew. No, it was because his office had no fucking good coffee and he was forced to drink it to stay awake. Shinsou had bit back any words and stifled the longing he felt for something tasty.

Apparently, you had noticed. Then you had come over, profusely apologizing that you had given him the wrong coffee and given him a specialty drink with no one the wiser. That moment solidified Shinsou’s affinity for this particular store.

“Do you pay attention to all your customers like this?” Shinsou took the new drink with great appreciation; it seemed everything here was good. He had yet to dislike any of your coffee concoctions.

“I try my best.” You said honestly. Shinsou looked around, there were a few people left at this late hour but for the most part, you seemed to be lingering near him. He bit back a stray thought, maybe that you also liked him a bit more than a regular customer, and gave you a small quirk of his lips. Shinsou wasn’t much for smiling but maybe your drinks invoked some kind of magic.

Shinsou hummed with delight. “I noticed. How long do you think you’ll be working around here?”

“Hmmm. I wonder!” You gave a little bit of a laugh, scooping up a yawning kitten and putting it back in their bed. Another customer gathered their things and gave a friendly goodbye.

Shinsou was content to let the comfortable silence reign but he was compelled by his own curiosity. “What would you do if you left?” He could only hope you’d stay… but he hoped you’d do what you want to do. Life tended to take people all over the place.

“Owning my own café would be a dream.” You wiped the empty tables nearby and took a bit more time cleaning than you usually did… Staring down at the table with a furrowed brows and bitterness. It was an expression he’d never seen before because you were always so happy with the customers.

Shinsou looked questioningly at you. “I think you’d be rather good at it. What’s stopping you?” He gestured to the cafe and you gave him a bit of a melancholy smile.

“Life.” You put your hand on your waist and gave him a smile—it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Huh, Shinsou thought. He noticed you had a way about yourself… answering but not saying anything about yourself.

You tapped his messy paperwork. “Probably the same reason you’re here? Why are you inside my café on a Saturday night? You could be ‘living’ it up with all your friends.” You air-quoted the words, giving him an eyebrow raise at his lonesome self.

“Hey, when did this become about me?” Shinsou held his hands up in a ‘I surrender’ gesture. Interesting deflection though. You had smoothly changed the topic and you were rather adept at turning the conversation to others.

But he couldn’t resist having the last word, call it petty of him. “I still think you’d be great at owning your own café.” He muttered— he knew you could hear. But it was something you should hear. He could see your dedication; you had been here unfailingly every weekend and he knew you took over shifts no one else would take.

“You, my dear customer, need to take no for an answer.” You jokingly rapped him on the head with a familiarity that few people showed.

Then you turned around to see someone secretly taking a picture of Shinsou. He had heard the click of the phone but unfortunately, it was all too common. He was going to ignore it but you weren’t. You shot a daggered look at the customer. “Excuse me, we value discretion in this store.” You courteously told them with a steely undertone.

Shinsou… was surprised. “Hey. Thank you for that.” He didn’t realize you noticed. This was a new side to his barista. He had never once seen you other than impeccably friendly. to civilians and heroes alike.

You dismissed his thank-you. “No, that’s my bad. I should be making sure our customers know not to bother you. You need your privacy too.” Your flippant words caused something to click within Shinsou. You weren’t like the others, you knew heroes were people. People who also should be respected, unlike those goddamn paparazzi sell-outs.

Yea, Shinsou liked you. He really liked you, more so because you didn’t seem to give a damn about his hero-fame. So he finally got the courage to ask you—

“Would you want to grab a bite to eat after the café closes?”

You looked back at him, a bit startled. “Me?” Even the kitten, napping in his lap, jumped away at his suddenly terse invitation.

Shinsou was now a bit embarrassed – he wished he was smoother about this. “No pressure. You just work super hard and I really want to treat you for everything you do for me. I know you stay late because I’m here--” Shinsou was rambling. He never rambled. God, you threw him off his game.

“Sure.” There was no harm in accepting his invitation. “You mind if I choose? I know this izakaya with home-made food but it’s a bit out of the way.” Shinsou nodded. The door rang as another customer entered. You gestured to him ‘five minutes’ and rushed off.

Soon enough, you were both at the amazing izakaya and Shinsou swore to himself that he would drag Aizawa here. This place had black garlic ramen and delicious chicken and sides. His mouth was watering from the moment he entered the place. You wasted no time in getting your orders in.

“I take it I picked well?” You were really happy you got to see your favorite, not-a-crush, customer eating with you. Your elbow was on the table, your face leaning on one hand as you watched him demolish the ramen in front of him.

He nodded, his mouth too full otherwise. “Calm down, the food’s not going anywhere.” You leaned over to push his messy locks back and gave him a chiding smile.

Shinsou froze. You froze. You leaned awkwardly back in your seat. “Um, I don’t want you to eat your hair.” You said lamely. Shinsou… leaned in to get another bite, trying to pass this off as a casual moment. You took an awkward sip of your drink. He could see the pink blush at the tip of your ears and he wondered…. Maybe you liked him back too?

The night was over too soon. He wished it could last longer… You both were at the nearby station, ready to part ways.

He had made the first move so you could take a step too. You tugged at his jacket to catch his attention. “If you ever need a ramen buddy, I’ll be happy to keep you company.” You… nervously said. Because what if he didn’t enjoy the night as much as you did?

Shinsou gave a grin as big as a Cheshire-cat smile. “Now I know what to do to pay you back for all those free lattes!”

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

Who knew that random ramen night would lead to café shenanigans between you two?

If anyone were thinking perverted thoughts, they would be disappointed though. Shinsou now helped you to coral mischievous cats and kittens into their cages.

You both had collapsed on the couch after a particularly troublesome kitty had decided to dart every which way and crawl near the coffee beans. It had taken every trick in the book to outsmart this particular kitten.

“Oh god.” You started giggling. “When did a kitten get smart enough to outsmart both of us?” Shinsou started chucking as well. You had to say between fitful of laughter—“You’re a pro-hero and you’re supposed to be smarter than this.”

Shinsou pointed accusingly at you. “I wasn’t alone in this!” You gave him a ‘ohohoho’ laugh as you got up. As a reward for his troubles, you dropped a brown paper bag of pastries onto him to take home. “God, if people saw us, they would’ve thought we were insane.” Chasing the kitten around, scrambling to get it before it escaped to the shelves…

Shinsou meant to get up. He really did. But as he lazily lied on the couch, watching you turn off the coffee machines and the glow of the lamps left a hazily ambient glow… He even shut his eyes for a few moments, relaxing his guard around you… You leaned over him to wake him up…

And then you heard it. The soft, sleepy whisper… “I wish I could see this every day.” He said it before he could think to shut himself up.

Shinsou was so gentle and sweet. You ached for him so much, so much that at those words, you gave in to the temptation. You leaned down to kiss him before he fully woke up. It was chaste, a gentle press of your lips against his.

“I hope you meant that for me and not the kitten?” You teased.

Shinsou’s eyes widened as he woke the fuck up.

Had you overstepped your bounds? Was he not interested? You hesitantly leaned back.

Not to be beaten, Shinsou tugged you down this time. “You don’t get to confess and become all shy, kitten.” His fingers entangled themselves into your hair and he caught your lips with his. He craned his head to lick your lips open, gently requesting permission.

And how quickly you caved, as you crawled into his lap.

You wished you could kiss him forever, Shinsou tasted so sweet— of caramel and sugar— he made you feel so preciously loved. His fingers stroked the nape of your neck, his lips moved down your throat, and his chest met yours as you both breathed heavily.

“I wasn’t hoping for this…” Shinsou whispered. “But I would be lying if I said I didn’t think of this.”

You nodded in a daze. Shinsou leaned forward to cup your breasts in his hands, relishing the feel of your skin against his. He claimed one for his own as he took your hardening nipples into his mouth. You writhed against him as Shinsou took his sweet goddamn time licking both breasts.

You writhed in his lap, feeling the burgeoning erection but Shinsou kept you still. “That isn’t fair…” You whined. You wanted his pants off, you wanted to feel his throbbing length against yourself. But Shinsou merely laughed, letting you suffer through the feel of the maddening cloth barrier. “Are you trying to torture me?” You whined.

“Hm?” Shinsou tugged at your hair, making you arch your chest against his. He took a chance to nip at your throat, giving you just a hint of dominance underneath his nice-guy exterior.

You thrust impatiently against him. “Pay a little attention down here, won't you?” You locked your legs around his hips, bunching your café skirt up, and shoved your wet panties against his tightening pants.

Shinsou nearly groaned, he could swear he felt you throbbing against him. But he did have to concede— there was too much between you two.

“Alright, alright kitten.” He lifted you up from the couch— oh god, you didn’t expect it but his lanky build hid more strength than you realized— and splayed you on the table. What a delicious view. Your lay passively back as he took off his shirt, exposing his toned muscles and inching down his pants. Your eyes didn’t leave his hands for one moment, he had a way of inching his pants down like he was a goddamn stripper.

His cock? You weren’t disappointed when he finally shimmied out of those pants. It was long and curved, already erect at the sight of you. You opened your thighs lewdly and snuck a hand down to rub lightly—

“Kitten, oh no.” Shinsou let his voice drop low, a slight threat to this tone. “You are going to wait patiently for me.” It wasn’t a question. This Shinsou— this wasn’t the awkward, endearing Shinsou that you came to know. This was…

He bent to a knee, looking straight into your soaked panties. You thought he was going to fuck you, not this— you closed your legs but Shinsou wrenched it apart with his hands. “Patient means you get to wait as I get my fill.” What did he mean? You gave him a wide-eyed look, questioning… “Oh kitten, are you embarrassed?” He leaned forward to lick at the wet patch forming. You jerked away but he held you still, teasing you and making you wetter. He could almost taste your slick, the heady damp-heat enticing him. But he wanted to see you beg. He pushed his finger against your cunt, letting you feel his decisive movements through the irritating fabric.

Oh god, it was the first he had touched down there all night. But he didn’t touch you, you needed the panties off. You needed more. But no man had ever cared for foreplay with you before, you had always been used for their pleasure— you only knew to do what they wanted.

“Wait.” You tried to move away from his heated breaths— “I can handle it. It’s better for you if I just take it all in—“ Shinsou withdrew his fingers, his other hand tightening on your thighs and stopping your movement.

“Kitten. You are wet but you’re not wet enough to handle this.” Shinsou glared at you. Did you make him mad? You didn’t understand.

“It’s not about me though, it's about what feels good for you?” You tried to offer.

It was definitely the wrong words to say. Shinsou was feeling a little baffled and a little incredulous. “What do you mean by that?” He demanded. You… didn’t know what to say. Wasn’t this how it worked? Even more so because Shinsou was so important to you, you should’ve been on your knees for him.

Shinsou didn’t like your silence. “Y/N, who have you been with?” You looked away… Shinsou pinched your thigh in warning, “Let me clarify. I’m not asking who. Did no one take care of you?” He had stopped his ministrations.

“What would anyone ‘take care’ of?” You thought Shinsou wanted to fuck you. This was about him. You honestly didn’t know what he wanted of you. So you tried to cajole him out of his increasing irritation with practiced words, “It’s okay, I’m okay. I’m wet enough for you to just take what you want. Don’t you want this?”

Shinsou looked at you with darkened eyes and finally, finally slid your panties off. “Y/N, I’m not trying to just fuck you with no pleasure. I want you to feel this,” he circled your clit with his calloused fingers. “Feel like you’re wanted.” You felt wetness coming from you, getting wetter and wetter. “Have you hot and needy,” You jerked your entire body as he plunged his entire tongue into your cunt as he licked you— you had never felt this before. No man had ever decided to eat you out there but Shinsou ate like a man determined and starved. It felt like forever, Shinsou just wouldn’t let you go. You felt your entire body go taut and Shinsou squirmed his fingers in to pinch your throbbing clit and you screamed as an orgasm washed over you.

“And have you scream like that.” You weren’t even down from your high as Shinsou thrust his fingers in. He scissored his fingers in there, searching, not letting you rest until he found a spot that made you tear and cry. You tugged at his head futilely and Shinsou gave you his Cheshire-like grin again. He finally crawled up to relish your awed, tear-stained expression but he still didn’t stop.

“Shinsou, just stop. Just fuck me, please.” You implored and pleaded with him. In a way, you were trying to escape a pleasure you had never encountered before. No one had cared enough, no one had ever found this spot within you. Why was he doing this? Why did he care? This made your heart hurt, this made your cunt throb in a rising heat you had never felt before.

“I’m not going to fuck you, not like that,” Shinsou said in a low, raspy murmur. “I’m going to put it in you.” He thrust his fingers in time with his words. “When you’ve come.. a few times. Until I’m satisfied that you’re taken care of.”

Shinsou relentlessly pursued the spot within you while leaving his bite marks all over you, his mind tucking away every detail of your skin and every spot that made you feel sensitive. Until you had squirmed, screaming on breathless climaxes. Until you could no longer beg, beg those selfish words.

He never wanted to hear that this was about himself again. He waited until your throat was hoarse and your thighs utterly soaking in your release before he inched himself into your luscious warmth.

Then he started an achingly slow pace that had you feeling every ridge of his cock, your tired body heightened in pleasure. Only when did you utter the most delicious little sighs, did he piston his length into you and finally take his climax alongside yours.

*****

At least you were on closing shift the next day. You didn’t have to wake up early, you and Shinsou had messily cleaned up after yourself in the café and you had followed Shinsou to his apartment.

Shinsou didn’t want to be apart from you and had been accompanying you at the café.

“We’ll be closing soon. Do you want me to come over tonight?” You inclined your head towards the last few customers. Shinsou was about to say yes but then an incoming call came again.

“Sorry!” Shinsou cupped his hands over his phone and walked to a corner to take a call.

He heard the familiar creation hero’s voice, “Shinsou! We have a meeting tonight!” Shinsou realized, oh shit, he was supposed to be meeting with Yaoyorozu tonight. He had enlisted her help for after-hours with the case for Marionette.

You looked curiously over but said nothing. Shinsou still turned away though, sighing. “Yes. Sorry, it slipped my mind but I’ll be home in thirty minutes.” He hung up the phone.

He looked sadly at you. “Work.” You understood his work was important so you nodded. He gathered his stuff but you busied yourself and made several drinks for him to go. “Your co-worker can choose what they want.” You had included muffins, hot tea, a latte, and a coffee.

Shinsou gratefully accepted, a little at a loss for words. You were endearing yourself, more and more, even sending him off with food so he wouldn’t starve. He left the café but not without throwing a look over his shoulder; wondering if you were ever lonely closing or if you were safe.

You noticed him standing outside and made another ‘shoo, shoo’ gesture. Shinsou reluctantly walked away, curling his jacket around himself in the cold night air. Maybe he would take more patrols in your area to make sure you were okay?

Shinsou nodded to himself and decided, that would settle it. At this time, he wouldn’t possibly have known how this would have turned out—

You lay dying on the floor with a small hand reached out to Shinsou. “It was always going to turn out this way… Don’t cry. I don’t deserve it.” The pro-hero lay over your body, his arms forced at his sides as he shoved back his questions, his outrage, wondering how he could’ve ended this differently. He couldn’t even lend a hand to you. You gave him a pained smile despite bleeding out and let your arm fall. “Thank you… for letting me finish this until the end.” He could see the light of your eyes leaving, the blood choking any further words you wanted to say.

It was always going to end this way. It didn’t matter what he did.

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

You saw Shinsou off with a fond smile. A smile you shouldn’t have had; judging by your fellow ‘friend’ who was watching you from the corner of the café.

You leaned in to pick up your so-called friend’s book, thumbing through it to find the loose-leaf sheet you’d been waiting for. “Y/N, are you getting soft for him?” She murmured in a soft voice. You had hoped she wouldn’t notice. You shook your head decisively but she grabbed your arm, looking at you with near-desperate eyes.

“You know that he’s a hero right? If the option came down to it, you will have to choose.”

You shook her off, giving a glare of your own. “No innocents, heroes or no heroes. I’ve accomplished it so far. There’s only one target left.” You scanned the address listed.

“Y/N…” She dug her nails into your skin, tears in her eyes. “You know we have nothing left. This is the last chance to set things straight.”

You leaned your hand reassuringly over hers. “I promise you, nothing, absolutely nothing will stop me.” You looked at the time; noting it was nearly time for you to take over tonight’s operation after the café closed. A customer walked in so the conversation came to a halt. “The shift is almost done here so why don’t I go and get you a drink?” You sent her off with a drink, waited until closing and bidding goodbye as everyone left.

You let the smiling façade fall and curled your fingers painfully into your palms. A cat came up to you, weaving around your legs and gently comforted you. Cats are uncannily perceptive. You hunched down, picking it up and burying your face into its soft fur.

Shinsou had made you think for a second, you could continue to live this life. To indulge in a second of whimsy, to hold onto this brief and mundane happiness.

“It’s such a stupid dream… so stupid for someone like me.” You felt the rising emotion in your throat, but you dammed back the tears, and shoved the anxiety that threatened to overcome you in your lonely moments. You loved this place, adored the gentleness of the innocent kittens, and cherished the trivialities of this daily life. A life that was simple. Working, having fun, laughing, maybe having a secret, starry-eyed relationship with a certain sleepy customer.

It was too bad that this was never meant to last; night had fallen, and you needed to finish one last thing before this illusion overtook you.

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

“Yaoyorozu, none of this adds up.” Shinsou frustratedly pushed away the numerous papers surrounding him. All of Marionette’s victims seemed to have no connection, no reason or rhyme as to why she targeted them. But that wasn’t possible; the precision in which she chose her victims should prove she had motive.

Momo sighed, staring at the list again. “Let’s go over what we know, shall we?” She lined the portfolios up. A businessman. A minor government official. A doctor. An international dignitary. They had both been pouring over the victim’s backgrounds but had yet to see a connection. Momo looked at their respective work and occupations, their paths had occasionally crossed but nothing stood out.

Shinsou looked up the families, the nationalities, their political beliefs but none of those stood out either. Except for their… religion? He stared at the church on the dossier for the businessman and doctor. Something was familiar…. But he could not put his finger on it.

“Hey, can you check on the government official and dignitary? Their list of funded causes?” Shinsou frowned. He couldn’t find information on the their religious beliefs; it wasn’t listed because government entities couldn’t publicly pledge allegiance to any religion—lest it be known, and their commitment swayed away from public conviction. But he had sworn there was a familiar name.

Momo scanned the sheets. “Both their records showed they funded a Russian church.” Shinsou tapped the sheets before him. “This doctor is Russian and this businessman had numerous Russian business deals.” He leaned back, thinking…. Then Shinsou pulled up a slightly illegal database, a website he had obtained from one of his informants on the street.

“Don’t look too closely, Yaoyorozu, or you may see things you don’t want to see.” He typed in the church organization, pulling up a number of results. He rapidly keyed in some back-door codes, punching through sensitive data files.

Yaoyoruzu looked at him with lilting eyes, her fingers paused on the paperwork. “You don’t want to ask the police?” Surely, police would be privy to any information they would need.

Shinsou shook his head— “They don’t have enough international information. What I need probably isn’t on official servers.” Regardless of his warnings, Yaoyorozu inched closer and peeked over his shoulder. What had so raptly caught his attention? Shinsou jotted a note on a paper, monologuing to fill his fellow pro-hero in. “As you well know, Russia is one of the worst criminal countries in the world.” He let that sink in. The creation-based hero was informed of the world events—Japan had taken control of their villain society and with All Might, they had issued in one of the most peaceful eras to date. Not to say there wasn’t the League of Villains lurking about. Other countries hadn’t been so lucky. “If you know about Russia, their justice system is highly corrupt and their church and government is known for propagating war crimes.” Yaoyorozu nodded but she wasn’t sure what exactly they were talking about. “And this unique equation of victims makes me think of something really bad.” Shinsou rapidly clicked through the results, not quite finding what he suspected.

He typed in the dignitary’s name, opening an article about his funded endeavors…. “Well, shit.” His tired eyes glazed over the newspaper and article, noting the familiar faces.

Yaoyorozu leaned in and gasped at the contents of the picture. “That’s all four of our victims.” She realized with dawning horror at who they were with. “Shinsou, they couldn’t possibly have….”

Shinsou grimly nodded. “I think so. If I’m right, this last person is the next victim.” He tapped the computer screen and rapidly looked up the captioned woman—“And she lives here in Japan… as a airport customs official.” Shinsou punched in a call to Tsukauchi.

“Hey, I think we found the next victim. Can you send a police escort to them while I fill you in? I’d like to go over and talk to them personally as well.”

-----------

Shinsou was soon driving over, with the police requesting assistance from Tokoyami and Todoroki. Yaoyorozu had teamed up with the police investigators, filling them in on their research.

He met up with Todoroki at the bottom of the apartment building. Was Tokoyami missing? Todoroki answered his question before he could even ask, pointing to the dark night sky and emergency stairwells. The raven bird hero was much more adept at dealing with the situation that Shinsou might be.

“I assume you read up on Marionette?” Todoroki nodded. “Looks like we’re prepared.” Shinsou and Todoroki advanced upwards. They both entered the darkened hallway while Shinsou stared pensively at the eerily silent door of the apartment. Where were the police escorts? Where were the neighbors?

Both of the pro-heroes had a bad feeling; flinging open the door without warning. Todoroki instinctively put up an ice barrier, deflecting the lethal cut of wires flung at the door. Despite the icy steam and darkness, they could still make out the bloody severed head on the floor and unconscious police officers, lit by the blue light of the computer screen.

You, Marionette, looked back at them in your disguised mask. Your blade ran fresh with blood, still dripping heavily and they realized they must’ve only been minutes too late. Shinsou took a lightning-quick assessment, noting the police were still breathing and unconscious, and again, only the victim looked dead.

“Marionette.” Todoroki stepped in. “You’re under arrest by the authorities of the hero association, for the murders of—”

“Stop.” You let the knife fall and waved away his words. For the first time in all your encounters, you deemed to speak a word. In your real voice. Shinsou knew they had you cornered... but it didn’t make sense. Why? Why had you chosen to stay when you could’ve escaped in the ample few minutes? You didn’t attempt to escape, even as Todoroki froze the only other window over. “It didn’t take you very long this time.” Why did you choose to speak, when you had evaded his abilities so well before? Shinsou and you stared at each other.

Shinsou could’ve taken control but he wanted to hear his suspicions proved wrong. He wanted to believe that the victims… were truly victims. That you, Marionette, was a cruel murderer.

Todoroki faded into silence but you all knew if you made a move, he would not hesitate to freeze you in a split second. With that in mind, he let Shinsou step forward closer to you.

“Marionette, we just want the truth. You told me before, no one would trust us.” Shinsou let the past memory sink in, let its weight fall heavy. “Tell me the truth about St. Magdalene boarding school.”

Your breath hitched at the mention of the school. It was the first, discomposed, emotion he had heard from you in all his encounters.

“Trust? Figures you’d be the one to figure it all out, hm? Shinsou.” The brain-washing hero’s blood ran cold— he recognized that familiar way of speaking. More so, how else would you know his name? Todoroki now looked confused. You cast off your hair clip, letting the familiar locks fall and crooked your head at him with a sigh.

“It’s not…” Shinsou rasped out. He had caressed those silky locks this morning, pressing a vulnerable kiss to your sleepy face. He could even see the finger-shaped bruises of your passionate interlude— you couldn’t. Please, not you. But you took off the mask, dispelling any hope Shinsou could’ve had. You looked at him, your expression one of martyred determination. “Why?” His voice come out more agonized than he wanted to show, Shinsou died inside at seeing you.

You leaned forward, pulling— Todoroki got ready to deter you with fire but you simply pulled a thumb drive from the computer. The screen flashed with the same information you had withdrawn, slowly panning pictures of innocent girls. If Shinsou knew the truth…. Then he would know what you were about to say. “St. Magdalene is a Russian school from all appearances.” You felt Todoroki’s ice experimentally but made no violent movement and the pro-heroes remained alert. “If you believe the records. But we both know its far more than that?” Todoroki looked at the girl’s pictures with a dawning realization.

Shinsou decided to fill in the gaps. “But it was an operation for human trafficking, especially from Japan. All the victims— no, culprits, had the connections and means to get children through the channels and have them disappear.” You had to give him credit, he got farther than anyone else.

Yaoyorozu had researched the supposed names that had graduated from the school, only to have them disappear from any official records. “Where they went? We haven’t found a connection but the police are working on that.” Shinsou couldn’t find anything more but he was determined to.

You traced the computer screen, tracing the faces you had grown up with and had seen sacrificed, suffered, and mutilated. “I can help you with that. ”

Todoroki shook his head, muttering. “Disappearing means there’s a chance we can help—“ You let out a cruel scoff.

“You’re naive pro-hero.” Your voice dripped with disdain for Todoroki. “Disappearing would’ve been a kinder fate than what we went through. You name it, you got it.” You tapped the screen at one girl. “Bought and sold to the highest bidder, found dead from sordid sex gone wrong. She was dumped like an animal.” You watched as another face flashed on by. “This one, she wasn’t very pretty. Cut up for organs for the nouveau-rich.” You waited for another one, grimacing. “Drug mule; except she was cut up countless times, screaming every time they carved out her innards.” Shinsou could only imagine it but already, he felt sickened. “My sister?” You hesitated at that one. “She was given to the church, probably from some pedophilic fetish— didn’t help that she was crucified and burnt alive as a whore.”

Both pro-heroes wanted for you to lie; otherwise, the consequences of those well-known officials and the longevity of their career meant there had been countless victims over numerous years. It means that countless people had been involved in hiding these atrocities.

You shifted from the computer to walk directly to the brain-washing hero. You turned your emotions to cold steel, willed your sentimentality to die. Right, because it was oh-so-easy. If it had been, you wouldn’t be on this vendetta for revenge. You would’ve been gone to live the life you wanted.

“I will hand this thumb drive to you if you, Shinsou, promise to bring these people to justice.” You gestured to the rolling head beside you. “The organization will be in disarray but what’s left of it, they probably don’t deserve to die. Just rot the rest of their lives in jail.”

Todoroki regarded you suspicion. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”

You clapped your hands in a mocking gesture. “I’ve left you not only the names but times, dates, locations, names, and potential future victims. You should be able to work off of that.” How you got that information? Well, it certainly wasn’t through official channels otherwise it would’ve been covered up.

Shinsou was reluctant to let the conversation end. “Why didn’t you just run then?”

You gave a weary sigh. “It’s not like I could’ve continued this forever. How many more bodies would I need to kill? How much longer before a so-called pro-hero ‘arrests’ me? If it's not you, it’ll be a hit on my head. I’ll die without bringing this to light.”

They couldn’t deny it. But you... you gestured to them. “But I’ve heard of you two. You and Deku, you won't abide seeing the system like this.”

You looked world-weary, bone-tired to all the killing you had done. You looked like you had given up. So Shinsou tried to consider a way you could be saved— a way that was right as a pro-hero.

But none of you had time, not as a gunshot rang loud and clear in the room and you lurched, looking down at yourself.

You were bleeding. You were bleeding heavily as you fell forward. Todoroki swore, leaping forward to disarm the weapon as one of the police officers look triumphant.

“What have you done?” Shinsou looked near venomously at the police officer, kneeling forward to catch you.

“No!” You coughed blood up, holding Shinsou back. “It’s not safe for you.” You could feel the taut wire of control fading, your life ebbing with the flow of blood. Your quirk was reacting badly, you weren’t sure if you could keep it in check.

So you kneeled on the floor, your body crumpling. Shinsou looked agonized above you— but you gave him a lackluster smile. You reached out your hand… and looked for no comfort. “You look like you’re gonna cry. I don’t deserve it.” You tossed the thumb drive to him.

Todoroki lay a hand on Shinsou’s shoulder. “We have to call the ambulance… but I’m not sure she’ll make it.” Shinsou wondered how he could’ve ended this differently. Could he have helped you? What if you had come to him? But none of that would’ve changed how this ended. You had been on a lonely path to vigilante justice.

The fiery streak of pain and bullets was nothing new to you. Neither was bleeding. You know what was new? Seeing someone who actually cared that you were dying.

Paramedics pushed past Shinsou to take Marionette in, others cordoning off the scene with the decapitated body. Tokoyami flew in, having heard everything from outside.

“Shinsou, take a look at the computer.” Everything was well and truly deleted from it, the bios flashing with erased data. Some kind of virus program? Meticulous planning.

Someone brushed by him to examine your wounds… Shinsou’s eyes flickered over to the paramedic.

“Todoroki, can you run this to Yaoyorozu? Make sure I get a copy and to pass one to Aizawa. I want the originals before this moves up to the police and higher-ups.”

“Understood.” They both understood how.. ‘sensitive’ this was. “I’ll protect this on my life.”

***

You woke up, groggily moving and wincing as pain shot through your stomach. You gently laid a hand on the gunshot wound, expecting to see red— but came away to see neat bandages on yourself. Surprising, she’s not usually so thorough.

“I didn’t expect such loving care.” You turned to your friend, expecting to see the informant from the coffee shop. But instead, you saw a purple, messy-haired and raccoon-eyed hero.

One who was smirking at you like you were an idiot.

“What the fuck.” It was the first of your plans that had gone so awry, the brain-washing pro-hero was sitting there as if he was a figment of your imagination. Maybe he was. Maybe your drug-addled brain was hallucinating. So you turned away, scrubbing your face with your hands.

“I’m not disappearing,” Shinsou said helpfully—giving credence that your hallucinations were extremely vivid—never mind that fact you’ve never had any before.

You took a deep, deep breath. “Humor me. How did you find out that I was alive? And if you knew, why aren’t I in jail?”

Shinsou gestured to the medical equipment hooked up to you. “We have mutual friends, for once, in our line of work.” You… didn’t expect that. Your cohort at the coffee shop had promised you an escape route—albeit risky—and you didn’t think to check on the connection. “Turns out you’re not the only one who’s had the idea to fake their death. But it usually needs very specific quirks and connections so here we are.”

You looked down at your bandaged and nearly naked form, sighing. “It was that or just dying on the way here. I didn’t expect to get shot.”

Shinsou scoffed at that. “What did you expect then?”

“I thought Todoroki might try to kill me. Either that, I could try to poison myself. “You threw out suggestions as conversationally as one might discuss the weather. “The better question is, why did you let me live? If you knew what I was up to?”

Shinsou leaned back in his chair, giving you an assessing look. “Your information, as far as we can tell, has panned out to close multiple cases.” So Shinsou knew you hadn’t lied about what you’d told him. About anything you told him. “So I’ve made a case to the Eraser Hero that you be kept alive to supply the police with information.”

You … absorbed that knowledge. “So you want me to be a confidential informant.” You closed your eyes wearily. “From one organization to another, I’m going to be used like a scapegoat.” You were changing hands from the Russian government to Japan’s government and used like their dirty little patsy. “I thought you would be different, pro-hero.”

Shinsou shoved himself to his feet, growling in frustration. “I’m not that much of a fucking low-life—don’t accuse me of that bullshit.” You may have shrunk back a little bit; this was the first time you had to see him angry at you. Honestly, you thought you would never see him again. You’d never face the moment of truth because you’d either be long-dead or long-gone. Here he was with all your secrets laid bare—and he was going to use you like the rest of them.

“You’re under the direct protection and surveillance of me and Eraser Head—we are the heroes who are holding you accountable. We give you the orders; not some fucking government organization.” Shinsou pointed to himself, scowling because of your accusations. You.. were reeling. Because how could he have worked that out?

“I can’t believe that. There’s no possible way you could have that authority. At best, I’ve got life in jail.” You knew how this worked. “At worst? I’m more than dead from Russia. I’ll be lucky if they kill me first.” You had already killed too many… You regretted the innocent you killed. You regretted the path you used to climb to the top. But after that? You could justify every sordid thing you did to get to Japan and to get the culprits responsible. “I know this can’t be true.”

Shinsou could finally get the upper hand here. “And this is where you’re wrong. Aside from a few of us pro-heroes, you’re dead to the world.” He flung down the newspaper at your bed, you shakily took ahold of the articles. You could see the gallant statements of heroes, Shoto and Tsukuyomi having taken down the international villain, Marionette. You were pronounced dead at the scene—inconspicuous pictures of your supposed corpse with no discerning features.

He could see your confusion. “Aizawa and I are handling the rest. You’re getting a different identity; hopefully you like the name Y/N because I’m not even sure that’s your real name.” Shinsou was mildly, oh-so-very-fucking irritated that he didn’t even know your real name. He couldn’t even find this one simple fact about you.

You… couldn’t believe it. If what Shinsou was saying was true…. It was too good to be true. You could finally be free. Whatever they’d want of you, it couldn’t be as bad as the others. You felt warm emotions claw up, the composure you held for so many years crumbling at this possibility ahead of you.

Shinsou sat at the edge of your bed, watching you. Evaluating and gauging you. You were a trained and murderous assassin—but he could see that you fought for good. That you hadn’t lost your humanity. “Y/N… if that’s your name. Listen to me.” He held a hand to your cheek, gently. “We’re going to arrest everyone who’s been involved in this. And when we do, I want you to find peace.” He had been there. The desire for revenge, the desire to shout to the world that they were wrong—it was all-consuming and would burn the entirety of your soul.

“Shinsou…. I’m so tired. So tired.” You finally sobbed out. “I don’t want to kill anyone anymore. I don’t want to lose what’s left of me— Was it just too much to ask for a simple life where I can be happy?” You cried, probably disgustingly into your hands.

“A life of cat cafes and being a barista?” Shinsou ventured to ask. If anything, the words made you cry even harder. You tried to nod between all the hiccupping breaths and tears. You tried to stop, you tried to breathe—but it was so hard. Even as you tried to believe him, the fear that all of this was fake, that this would all be taken away like some cruel dream had you almost hyperventilating.

“Please tell me if this is a lie. If you’re going to send..” You tried to breathe, still losing more oxygen than you were taking in. “… Me to jail, just don’t torture me.” You beseeched him, imploring with your eyes—it was too cruel.

Shinsou could see how desperate you were; a hint of the lost little girl you must’ve been at one point. The girl who probably never had a chance of a childhood, of meeting friends, of growing up and falling love. How did it feel to have that all taken away from you with no choice?

Despite all his logic and rationale screaming at him that this could be the worst decision, that he would be yet another naïve hero you so disdainfully scolded—Shinsou leaned forward to kiss you, to give you the oxygen you deprived yourself of.

You were too shocked to cry more. Shinsou took that chance to give you his own breath, stealing what was left of your panic and just kissing the life out of you. If you thought he was hungry before, Shinsou was stealing what was left of your soul. He eventually lifted his mouth from yours, whispering gently. “If you promise you want to be good, Y/N, that you won’t kill anyone—that if I can believe you, I’ll do my best to save you.”

You gave a watery smile. “I want to be. I want to be someone that can atone for everything I’ve done.”

Shinsou brushed your hair back from your face, mindful of your injuries. “Just atone? Don’t you want a chance to try to be happy?” You… looked up at him.

“Do I deserve to try?” You dared to ask. You dared to even try hope.

“I think you do.” Shinsou murmured.

You hesitantly laced your fingers with his, hoping he wouldn’t pull away. Not that you could blame him if he hated you. “What if I told you… that you made me happy?” You were a little scared to meet his eyes, your gaze flitting nervously between his limp hand and his unreadable expression.

“I would tell you, I’ve never tried dating an assassin but I’d make an exception for you.” Shinsou laced his fingers firmly with yours and gave you another stolen, chaste kiss.

“But you definitely need to heal up before we talk about anything else.”

#bnha #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou x reader #bnha x reader #boku no hero fanfic #boku no hero #fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bnha smut #boku no hero academia #boku no academia #bnhasmut #smut #angst #bnhabookclub

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puttingfingerstokeys · 4 years

Text

and we danced

I’ve had this one sitting around for a bazillion years. Sequel to Faraday Cage, though I think I started this one first. Oh well, that’s been happening a lot.

Faraday Cage

prevented timeline

Sunset in Beverly Hills was a time of peaceful winding down for some—very few, of course, but some—and for Johnny Cage in particular, it was a time to sit on his patio, crack a beer, and play with the new turntable Cassie had gotten him to replace the one that had been lost in the move. A few boxes of records stood about like milling party guests and he was going through them, deciding what to listen to first. There were albums of many genres, and not all of them were his. He held a Doors album that had belonged to his late ex-wife, Sonya Blade, and gripped his beer a little harder than was perhaps necessary.

The sun sank lower, casting red-orange hues over the expanse of his home and yard, staining everything a rust color while the sky ran through shades of pink, lavender and, to the east, blue, Stygian and star-dotted, though only for the moment. As night’s blanket fell, the lights of the city—the brazen neon refusing to relinquish its hold upon the evening—would drown out those points of light, irreverently casting them aside as if they were shards of glass, rather than precious diamonds. A lot of life’s like that, Johnny considered, choosing a record and placing it gently upon the turntable, lowering the needle with relish.

An almost muffled crack of thunder—how a lightning bolt could be muffled would forever remain a mystery to the aging actor—resounded across the yard just as night took hold and his hanging “fairy” lights came on, activated by the lack of ambient illumination. He looked up to see the protector of Earthrealm, Raiden, striding across the expanse of grass which marked his yard. He was glad his fences were high and his neighbors were, in all likelihood, out on the town.

“Whoa Raiden—somethin’ wrong?” He was immediately alarmed and set his beer aside to stand and face the deity. In his defense, Raiden walked everywhere with purpose, as if something urgent was happening someplace and it required his attention. Johnny chalked it up to being a god, though perhaps it was simply Raiden’s personality. Some people had a hard time differentiating between Raiden’s duty and personality; they so often coincided that even the god himself seemed helpless in the face of that gap—if indeed gap there was. But Johnny knew better. The gulf was spanned with firm ties, but there was a divide.

“No, Johnny Cage,” said the god of thunder with relief in his voice. “I am sorry to have alarmed you.”

“I wasn’t alarmed—just… y’know…” Johnny sat back down before realizing he should offer a chair. He stood once more and gestured to his.

“You were,” the god corrected, “because you rarely refer to me in that way unless you are alarmed.”

Johnny felt himself go red to the ears as Raiden took the offered seat and he retrieved another from the garden shed which was positioned off to one side of the patio. A push mower and a few lawn grooming implements were also placed therein, but for the time being, he was only interested in a chair. Grasping it with one hand, he lifted it and closed the doors behind himself, returning to the record player, the records, and the literal deity who had settled in his seat.

“Should’ve known,” Johnny amended, setting his own on the other side of the player so he could still manipulate it. “I mean you’re… not in armor, so I guess shit can’t be that bad.”

“An astute observation,” responded Raiden, regarding the machine, speakers, and vinyl disks. He touched none of these, knowing that even his presence could upset electronics, but wondering after their purpose. He was certain that the machine itself would be adversely affected by his lightning, even if the discs were not. Raiden was not ignorant of mortal machines or customs, just too busy to become intimately acquainted therewith. No one seemed to hold it against him.

Rather, they found it endearing. This, for some reason, did not upset him. It delighted the god of thunder to know people found him… approachable. Long ago, he had relinquished the cloak of aloofness, finding mortals and their lives to be far too fascinating and precious to loftily hold himself above them. The irony is in my tardiness; Fujin understood eons ago what it has taken me much longer to learn. I am a fool.

“So why are you here?” Johnny’s words fled his tongue before he could restrain them and he blushed once more as he reached for the beer he had discarded. “Sorry—not what I meant. What’s… uh… Up?”

“A desire to commune with a friend,” said Raiden simply but in his usual elaborate fashion that made Johnny wonder if he should also be speaking that way—it was like feeling underdressed at a gala or five-star restaurant, but with words. “I would have called,” Raiden added after a moment, “but…” His hands rose, palms skyward to indicate that he had no means by which to contact Johnny—e.g. no cellphone. Magic amulets, of course, were plentiful if one knew where to look, but there was no need to saddle Johnny Cage with such an implement when he could simply touch down in the man’s back yard and speak with him personally.

For Johnny’s part, the thought of Raiden texting sent a hysterical thrill through his body and he restrained the urge to laugh aloud. He made a mental note to say something to Cassie later, but for now, it was more important to focus on the fact that Raiden had come back after that weird afternoon a few weeks ago—or had it been months—when he had kissed him!

Johnny had been sure that would be the last he would see of the god of thunder, though he had hoped this would not be the case, and he had resigned himself to only hearing peripherally from the guy when Earthrealm was in peril. He had even gone through the “is he avoiding me” phase before the resignation had set in. It was almost thrilling to feel so young and stupid again. Next to him, I guess I am young and stupid.

“Well, I’m havin’ a beer and listening to old records—and I’m all outta beer. Lemme put this sucker on.” He did just that, gently laying a record on the turntable and placing the needle, standing with what he felt was a thunderous crack of his knees and then straightened. “You want one?”

“My body is a temple, Johnny Cage; I do not imbibe.”

“Could be an amusement park, Sparky,” came the reply, but as he had never forced his alcoholic preferences on Liu Kang or any of his other White Lotus or Wu-Shi friends, he did not press and headed inside to grab a second beer and maybe breathe a little. In the background of his retreat, Jim Morrison’s voice filtered through the air and filled his back yard.

Johnny’s fingers closed on the handle of his refrigerator door and he pulled it open, feeling nothing other than casual affection toward the strange being on his porch. As he reached toward the next beer, however, his mind began racing along, out of control. It felt as if casual affection was morphing. He needed the alcohol and the comfortable haze it promised.

His hand closed about the chilly bottle and he stood, regarding the singular illumination provided by his refrigerator and realized that he’d forgotten to turn any lights on. Sunset had come and gone and here he was, standing in his dark kitchen with the god of thunder relaxing on his patio and listening to the Doors. His heart began to pound and he fumbled with the bottle opener magnet. Casual affection was, indeed, quickly giving way to something which scared him.

When he finally managed to free his bottle of its troublesome top and return to the door, intent on gaining the patio without fumbling anything, Raiden had once more removed his hat and cap and was running his fingers through his hair. Johnny wasn’t sure the guy knew he was standing there, hand poised just above the handle of his slider, watching that silvery-white stuff flow and wave, catching the warm illumination of his yard lights. Once more, he was assailed by the desire to see it spread out upon a pillow beneath him.

Johnny shook his head to clear that thought, swallowed hard and tugged the door open. Raiden straightened and shifted, softly glowing eyes turning toward his host. In the back of his mind, the actor wondered if Raiden could read minds. He had never asked, but he certainly hoped this was not the case.

“I apologize for arriving unannounced,” Raiden said, inclining his head. His hands had dropped from his hair and were poised almost demurely in his lap. Johnny shrugged and remembered that he was supposed to walk out and join Raiden on the patio, rather than standing in the doorway, frozen by the man’s divine beauty.

Fortunately, the possessor of the divine beauty in question did not seem to notice and as Johnny uprooted himself, he turned, politely, and resumed his relaxed position on the seat. Johnny could not help noticing, with offhanded curiosity, that the seat didn’t sink much with the god’s weight as it did with his own. Weird.

“It’s fine,” Johnny assured him, raising a hand. “Really. It was just gunna be me and this record player.” He reached over and turned the volume dial down so they could converse without difficulty. Raiden’s voice, he had noticed, was firm, but gentle—except when he was pissed. The commanding tone doubled his voice, amplifying it to the point where it seemed to come from everywhere and rattled in Johnny’s ribcage and skull. He was glad this was not the voice he was hearing. “I’m glad you’re here, actually.”

Once more, Johnny’s words were getting ahead of his brain and, as usual, he could not retract what had been said. It wasn’t a lie, of course, or an exaggeration, but some things were best left unsaid. He lifted the beer to his lips defensively, but the statement was already out there, hovering in the air between them.

Raiden watched him with a Mona Lisa expression, almost half of a smile, certainly relaxed, and knowing, as ever. Johnny prayed he would not ask why the mortal was glad to see him. He did not have the energy for that explanation, short though it should have been. Just tell him you wanted to see him again because you’ve got a thing for him, simple as that. Liu was right. Better to get it out in one go and see what happens. Worst he can do is vaporize me.

Johnny decided that was an unkind thought and busied himself digging through his records; better to do that than prolonging the awkwardness of the utter lack of conversation. Fortunately, Johnny was the only one feeling awkward, as Raiden seemed content with the musical quietude and had settled back in the provided chair, inscrutable eyes focused on nothing in particular, and then falling on Johnny’s back as he crouched near a box, having himself a trip through memory lane. A warm wind began to pick up, coming off the ocean and bringing with it the smell of salt.

“That you, big guy?” Johnny, as usual, broke the silence. Raiden shook his head.

“No,” he responded. “I am the god of thunder, Johnny Cage, not wind.”

There was humor in his tone and a levity that Johnny had come to appreciate, even to crave. It was so rare, even now, when everything seemed to be at peace. Shifting from his crouched position to one of kneeling, Johnny clutched a record in one hand and reached for the turntable with the other. Raiden could not see what was on the cover, but even if he could, it would be insignificant. In all his time and travels, he had rarely taken the opportunity to sit and absorb the music of Earthrealm—or any other realm, for that matter.

“Raiden I—”

“Johnny Cage—”

Both men paused as they began simultaneously and then that strange, utterly human embarrassment settled over them like the blanket of night which had tucked itself in for the evening. Johnny turned to face Raiden, still half-crouched. The god of thunder was sitting forward, elbows on his knees, glowing eyes meeting Johnny’s without reservation. There was something in those eyes; right then they were not as inscrutable as they had been in the past. Or maybe I’m just getting better at reading him, Johnny thought, unsure if he was comfortable with this.

“Please,” ushered Raiden finally, extending a hand toward his mortal companion. Johnny shook his head.

“Age before beauty,” he insisted, attempting to introduce humor to a situation in which it may not have been appropriate, a very on-brand move for him. His heart was seizing and then hammering and then fluttering, as if there was some kind of small bird within, fighting desperately to escape. Johnny was not even clear within himself just what it was he wanted Raiden to say, or what he himself was attempting to express. He had been content simply allowing his mouth to run away with him, to see where it would take this situation. Now, faced with the reality of what a runaway tongue might cause, he was terrified. To busy his hands, he gingerly switched records as Raiden conceded.

“Very well, although I have heard on the breeze that some mortals find me to be… exquisite.” This, too, seemed to be an introduction of humor, so Johnny didn’t feel as silly as he might have done otherwise. Raiden sat back, looking almost impish, and certainly amused.

“Fujin promised he wouldn’t tell!” Johnny’s tone was jesting, but his heart continued its staccato tattoo. He had not, in fact, spoken with Fujin in quite some time—like Raiden, the man was busy. If he had, it certainly wouldn’t be to confess some kind of high school crush on a celestial being’s equally divine brother. Twins, he reminded himself, they’re twins—Thunder Cat told Cassie and me recently. Weird.

They were night and day, Fujin and Raiden, but Johnny assumed that twins among gods did not operate the same as mortal twins. Or perhaps they did and he simply had no firsthand knowledge. The only twins he had ever encountered were a pair of actresses in one of his films—notably not the Ninja Mime franchise. The music began, but it was secondary to the melody of Raiden’s voice as he spoke.

“He did not have to,” said Raiden, his tone warm, almost inviting—or maybe that invitation was a misinterpretation of Johnny’s fevered mind as he tried to lose himself in a swig of beer and an ‘80s power ballad whose title was lost in the cyan pools of Raiden’s eyes. “I know it is not an appropriate custom,” he continued, “to leave someone for long periods of time with no contact, but the nature of my—of what I am—dictates that I must. Forgive me for that, if you can.”

“Anything,” Johnny breathed. He realized that he had not yet been able to return to his seat, so enraptured was he in Raiden’s gaze. The soft, warm illumination of his backyard lighting fell upon Raiden’s statuesque face and, rather than making him look ghoulish as it might do to just about anyone else, he became an older Adonis, still painfully handsome—beautiful, even—but no longer pretty in that fleeing way of youth. His face lacked the innocence of a younger man and Johnny realized he had come to appreciate this, craved it too, along with much else.

“Your kindness does you great credit, Johnny Cage,” Raiden said.

It ain’t kindness. This is so far beyond that, Johnny thought, his mind losing itself in that strange warm haze of beer, good music, and good company. Without thinking, Johnny shifted once more, moving closer to the god of thunder and reaching out toward him, laying a hand upon his knee. There was a low buzz when he did that, not a sound, but a feeling under his palm and fingers, dancing up his arm. He squeezed, feeling his heart clambering in his throat and wondering if Raiden’s was doing the same—or if he even had a heart. What operated within the body of a being like him?

Was it all clockwork, or maybe ethereal light? He had seen Raiden bleed and the blood was red, but when it caught the light, it was clearly shot through with veins of gold, unless his eyes deceived him all those years ago. When it hit the ground, it clattered as if solid. He did not understand this, but all the times he witnessed this, Johnny had been more than a little preoccupied. Gods were not supposed to bleed; it was anathema to their nature. Yet Raiden and Fujin could bleed and, more than that, they chose to bleed for the peace and safety of Earthrealm.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Johnny advised, speaking low, loud enough to be heard, but not to drown out the music. He was responding to a look on Raiden’s face that suggested he was searching for words. His smile was more tentative now, leaning in the direction of the Mona Lisa, inscrutable and ethereal. He clearly wanted to relax, to allow whatever was happening within him simply to happen. The mortal could almost see the fight in his eyes. It broke Johnny’s heart and he wanted, all of a sudden and more than anything in every realm, to help Raiden move past whatever was slowing him down, whatever strange barrier stood between the god of thunder and his happiness, his own desires.

The deity had no trouble being decisive, even vicious, and dropping one whopper of a hammer when the need arose, but that need was never his own; always, it was someone else’s burden, though he would remind Johnny Cage that it was a responsibility he had chosen and for which he would fight to the death—maybe beyond. This scared the actor, sometimes. He didn’t know if he had ever, or COULD ever, dedicate himself to something with such vehemence. Had he expressed this aloud, Raiden might simply have pointed out his daughter, Cassandra Cage.

“I do,” rumbled the god of thunder. “My silence has done damage in the past.”

“Everyone’s has,” Johnny reminded him, moving so he was crouching before Raiden, both hands comfortably on the man’s knees. His connection with the ground seemed to be strong enough that the current was running harmlessly through him. Raiden’s corona of electricity was not arcing or dancing about, seeking to harm him. It simply flowed, rather like water, from the eternal battery that was the thunder god, into Johnny Cage, and down through the earth. Whence beyond that was anyone’s guess. “But this isn’t silence, is it?”

Raiden reflected that it was not, in fact, silent in that yard. There was music, and there was the two of them, and they were capable of conversation, of healthy discussion, and of much else. He moved with a deliberate purpose that froze Johnny momentarily, both hands finding either side of the actor’s head, a motion he had seen turn healthy muscle, bone, and gray matter into so much electrified pulp.

Rather than lightning from Raiden’s fingers, however, he felt the soft press of lips on his own, not urgent, but hardly tentative. This, he realized, was a version of Raiden who knew what he wanted, even if part of him was still unsure he should want it. Johnny would like to flatter himself—it really would be hubris at that point—and think that Raiden had spent all that time away thinking about him, about how to do this. If no one disabused him of that little flight of fancy, he would gladly go on pretending it to be the case.

To that end, Johnny returned the gesture, pressing into it and forcing Raiden back into the comfortable seat. The beer spilled somewhere in the grass and its memory was lost in the haze of heat the actor had found between the two unlikely beings—and between Raiden’s thighs.

Johnny’s hands were now gripping these, firm and powerful, through the strange material of his pants. He had in the past made a mental note to ask Raiden of what his clothing was made, if it could be manufactured for himself and the SF “kids” (when you were old, everyone was a kid). Right now, that thought was not even in the same galaxy as the rest of his mind. Right now, he only felt that heat; he was a being of pure sensation and would be more than happy to drown in it.

Slowly, gently, his hands slid upward. His thumbs soon found Raiden's hips through the fabric of what Johnny considered his "habit". His grip tightened briefly, testing the waters. The music hummed on, but Johnny heard nothing. His focus was solely on Raiden, whose grip had shifted to the front of his shirt, grasping the lapels of Johnny's button-down. He seemed content to keep the Hollywood superstar as close as he possibly could. Johnny's hands traced the curve of Raiden's waistline which, though offset by leather and cloth, was pleasantly molded, almost perfectly to Johnny’s grip, like the narrow portion of an hourglass.

He heard himself moaning quietly into the kiss while the epiphany of his attraction to the thunder god’s shape washed over him like an ocean wave. His heart's rhythm had regulated itself and was thudding along steadily, if a bit strongly. Blood was rushing to all parts of him and he felt himself break out in a sudden sweat. Maybe he's frying me and doesn't realize it; isn't this what radiation poisoning feels like? He had to remind himself that Raiden was not, in fact, radioactive.

“Dance with me,” Johnny heard himself say suddenly, breaking the kiss with plenty of surprise, but no reluctance at all, eager to share this next, utterly unforeseen desire. Raiden, too, seemed more than a little astonished, glowing eyes widening momentarily, before softening. In fact, his entire countenance softened, assuming the look of something more accessible than merely a benevolent deity which, Johnny reflected, he was. He’s seen some rough shit, thought the actor as he stood, hearing his knees crack once more as he did so, pulling Raiden with him. So have I. Now I want some peace and quiet.

Raiden stood willingly, unsure of what was next. It was a refreshing feeling. In all the eons of his life, he had rarely felt unsure of something and also been very comfortable with it. Lack of information had often led him to make poor decisions. This was not one of those situations, however. He was not really making any decisions, save to follow Johnny’s steps as the mortal pulled him close, wrapping one arm about his waist and taking his other hand.

Johnny was surprised, as he had been when noticing the lack of weight upon the chair, at how easy it was to heft the god of thunder, so to speak. He was not picking the man up, yet, but even the act of moving him from a seated to a standing position was utterly without strain. It felt natural to draw Raiden to himself, pressing their bodies tightly together, all potential awkwardness draining away in the notes of the song coming from the speakers attached to the turntable.

When he held out his hand to receive Raiden’s, the god of thunder offered it with no hesitation or complaint. When Johnny pulled him close, he did not protest. When they began to move to the ebb and flow of the music, it was very much as if they were made for this. When the mortal manipulated the deity’s movements and body into a deep dip, he felt Raiden bend and ride along with the motion.

When he kissed the god of thunder, both men held tightly to the lifeline the other had become.

#mortal kombat #raiden #johnny cage #faraday cage

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writemywaytoyourheart · 4 years

Text

Onsra- Chapter 21: Hearts and Souls

pairing: vampire!jungkook x female reader

genre: drama, romance, angst, horror

warnings for this chapter: none!

word count: 4.7k

tag list: @jjungkook99 @rubinora @ditttiii @fekitza @xxxanimangxxx @mygukandonly

Onsra: ML, Previous

ok enjoy ;-;

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

“Did the little angel actually fall for me?”

You stare at Jungkook for a few seconds, the reality of the situation not fully clinking in your brain. Jungkook just keeps your gaze, amusement shining from his eyes as one of his eyebrows lifts in mock surprise.

“Oh sweetie. Did you really think I fell for you?”

That’s when it registers in your brain, and you slowly pull away. You only make it a few inches before Jungkook’s hands, that were resting gently on your waist, pull you back in; successfully trapping you against him. He chuckles darkly at the expression on your face, trying to decide which is more amusing, the complete shock or the raw hurt.

Your heart feels like a thousand knives punctured it, his words pushing the knives in deeper, one by one driving them in to stay. You can’t form a coherent thought as Jungkook searches your face. All you want to do is run, but your legs feel like jelly and your mind won’t stop spinning. You pull away from him once again, relieved when he lets you go with a laugh.

“Sorry, y/n. It was just too fun to stop playing the game.” You can tell he’s anything but sorry with the way his voice is tinged with mirth.

Game?

This whole thing…was a game to him?

You suddenly feel sick to your stomach, the humiliation of the situation hitting you right in the face like a cement block. You look back at Jungkook and see him trying to hold in a laugh, his dark red eyes still searching you. You can’t believe you almost kissed him. Him.

You can’t believe you wanted to.

You can’t believe you’re this hurt.

You honestly can’t believe you fell for it…

Jungkook takes a step closer to you, a pain shooting through your heart with each step he takes. Your legs stutter for a second before you feel your control over them come back.

Turning from him before he reaches you, and stumbling on your feet, you walk as fast as you can to the hedge. You push the branches aside roughly and shove your way through, not paying attention to the twigs snapping back and hitting your face and arms. Once you stumble out of the hedge you start to run, as fast as you can away from the place you once considered to be an escape.

Now all it would be to you is a despicable reminder of the stupid naïve little pawn you played in his heartless trick.

“This has to be a nightmare. This has to be a nightmare.”

You keep repeating it to yourself, over again in a broken whisper as you make your way back to the house. Soon enough, the green and brown of the forest start to blur as your eyes fill with tears of anger and embarrassment, but most of all, betrayal.

One tear slips down, and that starts the waterfall of all the rest of them, one after another until your entire face is soaked. You don’t stop though, you keep tripping your way through the undergrowth, tearfully convincing yourself it was all just a bad dream.

“It has to be. It has to be. Please wake up, y/n. Please wake up.” You plead to yourself desperately, never wanting something so bad to be a dream more than this. You pinch yourself on the arm as hard as you can while you force your legs to keep moving before he decides to catch up with you and cause more humiliation.

It isn’t enough.

A hard slap rings in your ears and stings your cheek when you connect your hand with your face.

You trusted him.

A choked sob leaves your lips when you realize how stupid you were, how stupid and naïve to believe that he could ever care for you. Seokjin was right. That boy could never care about another soul besides his own.

Seokjin.

It’s a good thing you never told him Jungkook’s old self was coming back.

You hate him.

All he is, is a disgusting monster that finds amusement in hurting others. You feel sick that you ever cared for him at all. You have no sympathy for that boy anymore, not a single ounce. All you want is to get as far away from him as possible.

When the tree line is in sight, you make your legs go faster, stumbling your way out of the trees and running full speed to the house that you can see in front of you now. When you’re almost to the steps, you see Hoseok come around from the back of the house, his hands full of flowers as he whistles a merry tune.

“Y/n?” He stops in surprise at the sight of you stumbling toward the stairs, tears pouring down your reddened cheeks. Hoseok drops the flowers and walks toward you, “Y/n, what happened? Are you okay?”

You ignore him and run up the steps of the porch, throwing the door open and taking the stairs to the second level two at a time before anyone else can catch you crying. When you make it to your room, you slam the door shut and grab the chair from the little vanity, dragging it to set it under the doorknob to prevent anyone from coming in.

After you’re sure no one can get in, you fall onto your bed and sob your heart out into your pillow, letting yourself finally feel all the pain.

~ ~ ~ “What could have happened?” Seokjin asks anxiously.

Hoseok had alerted the eldest of your state half an hour ago, when he first saw you crying. They’re sitting in the living room, trying to figure out what could have caused your distress. Every single person and vampire in this house had tried to go into your room and help you, deciding to stand and knock on the door when it became clear you’d locked them all out.

After several minutes of you not answering any of their questions, Seokjin told everyone but the girls to leave you alone for now.

That didn’t stop everyone from worrying about what could have possibly caused you to break down like that.

“Where was she before she came back crying?” Seokjin asks no one in particular. Jimin sits on the couch, fiddling his fingers and trying to fight the urge to get up and go upstairs to try and comfort you again. Taehyung is on the floor, his head in his hands as he tries to remember all the times he saw you today. Hoseok stands by the wall next to Yoongi, completely at a loss to what could have happened.

Namjoon is the first to speak up from his seat next to Jimin on the couch, “I saw her at breakfast. After that I went to the library to find a book, and I saw her through the window. She was walking towards the forest, that’s all I know. I never saw her again until now.”

Everyone else nods, indicating they hadn’t seen anything different since breakfast. Taehyung lifts his head from his hands, his eyes red from rubbing them while trying to think clearly. He looks at Seokjin in confusion.

“Why would she go to the woods alone?”

Yoongi speaks up from the side of the room at Taehyung’s question, “Maybe one of the girls went with her.” Taehyung shakes his head at that, “Ga-In and I were in the back.” Jimin pipes up from the couch as well, “Yuri and I were in my room talking.”

Yoongi shrugs and splays his hands out in a gesture meant to indicate he has no idea why you went to the woods alone.

“Wait.”

Everyone looks at Seokjin, his eyes narrowing as it looks like he comes to an understanding. He shifts in his seat and scans the room once again.

“Where’s Jungkook?”

~ ~ ~ “Y/n, please let us in. The boys are gone, I promise.” Ga-In pleads outside the bedroom door.

“Yes, y/n. It’s only us.” Yuri speaks up beside Ga-In, worry lacing her words as she stares at the knob and prays you’ll open up to them.

They both jump slightly when there’s a scraping on the other side of the door, then the knob turns and the door opens. You stand there with a dry face, your eyes puffy and red from the tears you cried earlier. Ga-In is the first to move, walking inside and wrapping her arms around your waist, hugging you tightly.

“Let’s sit down.” Yuri urges as she comes in and closes the door behind her. Ga-In leads you to her bed, making you sit and taking a seat beside you. Yuri sits on your other side and leans her head on your shoulder. Ga-In watches you anxiously, noting how you just stare ahead, no evidence of sadness apart from the red eyes.

You just look…bored.

“Y/n? Do you want to tell us what happened?” Yuri asks softly with her head still on your shoulder.

“Nothing happened.” You state immediately, your expression completely blank and your voice emotionless. The girls look at you in confusion as you stand up and walk to the vanity to dunk the rag in the bowl of water and place it over your eyes.

The coolness from the rag feels good on your sore eyes, you wish you could put a cold rag on your aching heart to soothe the pain.

After it feels like the swelling has gone down, you take the rag away and place it on the vanity. The other two still sit on the bed and watch you warily, unsure what to do now.

He’s just a stupid boy. You barely even knew him.

Get yourself together, y/n.

You walk to the door, only turning back when Ga-In calls your name.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m hungry.” You state simply.

Yuri and Ga-In watch you in bewilderment as you leave, no signs of having just sobbed for twenty minutes.

~ ~ ~ Taehyung flinches in surprise when you come down the stairs, blocking his path up them. You give him a small smile and he scrutinizes your face in confusion.

You move to get past him and he finally finds his voice, “A-Are you alright, y/n?”

You nod and step past him, “I’m okay, thanks.” Tae watches you walk down the hall towards the kitchen, his brows furrowed at your nonchalant behavior.

The kitchen is empty, thankfully, so you walk as quietly as you can to the pantry. You know Seokjin keeps snack in there, and he said you could help yourself to them whenever you wanted. You just hope Taehyung doesn’t sound the alarm that you’ve come out of hiding.

You’ve never had your heart broken before.

Every time you think about what happened, you want to curl into a ball and let the pain in your heart take you. The only reason you’re not in your room crying your eyes out still, is because you know it would cause more worry and that means more prodding. You need to come up with an excuse for your actions, so once they stop prying you can hide away and lick your wounds by yourself.

It’s taken all the strength you have for you to even open the door for Ga-In and Yuri. You needed to get them off your case, along with everyone else, so you’ll convince them of something different entirely.

If they find out what happened, you’ll never escape it. And at this point, that’s all you want to do.

“Y/n?”

You jump, then turn around reluctantly, your mouth stuffed with a bite of granola bar as your right hand grasps the rest of it tightly.

Seokjin stands at the entrance to the kitchen, his posture much like one you would see with someone that just found a scared and injured animal about to bolt.

“Yes?” You mumble around your mouthful of food. The bite suddenly feels very dry in your mouth as you try to swallow it, your eyes avoiding Seokjin’s piercing gaze.

He frowns at you; his brows creased with obvious worry. When he steps a little closer you feel the tears pricking at your eyes again.

Stop it, idiot.

That thought brings the image of Jungkook scolding you in the forest those few weeks ago, and you swallow thickly. You can practically hear his disapproving tone at your childish tears.

“Can I please talk to you?” He asks slowly, still advancing.

You nod and sit at the table, mind already racing to come up with an excuse. Jin sits down next to you and takes a deep breath.

“Will you tell me what happened? Did you go into the forest alone?”

You nod and set the granola bar down on the table, “Yes, but don’t worry I didn’t go very far. I’m sorry I scared you all, I didn’t mean to. I was in the forest and I tripped and got hurt, I kind of had a panic attack thinking about what happened before, but it turns out it was only a scrape.” You smile awkwardly, hoping beyond all hope that he buys it.

Seokjin stares into your eyes, making you twitch unconsciously. Then, he nods slowly before scratching the back of his neck, “As long as you’re sure everything is okay.”

“Everything’s fine. I was just embarrassed about my outburst so that’s why I didn’t open the door. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, “You have nothing to apologize for, I’m just glad you’re alright.” He smiles when you nod your head, then he gestures for you to keep eating your snack.

“I’m sorry I interrupted you. Go ahead and ea-“

“Hey, Hoseok hyung said you wanted to talk. What do you need?”

The voice that interrupts Jin sends chills down your spine. You desperately fight the urge to throw yourself under the table for cover, settling for gripping the granola bar like a vice and sending up your thanks that Seokjin is standing between you and him, blocking your view and hopefully the view of you.

“Ah, Jungkook. I was just going to ask you what you were doing today.”

“Why?”

You stand, not being able to hear his voice for another second, knowing you will hurl all over this table if you stay here. Jungkook’s eyes are immediately drawn to your presence when you shuffle out from behind Jin. You see something flash in them, but look away quickly, not giving a devil’s inch about what he’s thinking.

Seokjin looks between the two of you, his eyes narrowing at Jungkook in suspicion when he senses your discomfort. “Jungkook.”

The tone of the eldest’s voice takes you by surprise, halting your attempt to squeeze past them and escape. You decide to stick to hiding behind his broad shoulders when Jungkook’s eyes snap away from you and straight to Jin’s gaze.

Jungkook cocks his head to the side as if to say, what?

“Do you have something to do with y/n being so upse-“

“No!” Both vampires look at you when you exclaim and grab Jin’s arm. You swallow the lump in your throat before continuing, “I haven’t seen Jungkook all day. It’s really how I told you, Jin.”

You can sense the tension in the vampire’s shoulders as he seems to struggle with believing you or just throwing a punch at Jungkook. You really don’t want a fight to break out between them because of you. Seokjin looks into your pleading eyes for a minute before exhaling slowly.

“Ok, go and get some rest before dinner y/n.”

You nod and move out from behind him, making eye contact with Jungkook and sending him your best glare before leaving the kitchen.

You overhear Seokjin saying something lowly and you can’t help but catch what he says.

“If I find out you’ve been doing something, Jungkook.”

“What? You’ll send me to my room? Grow up, hyung. I have no interest in that girl, I never have, and I never will. So, stop blaming me for her constant whining and tears.”

It feels like someone sucker punches you in the stomach when those words leave his mouth. It doesn’t seem like any trace of a lie is behind them, confirming the fact that your friendship with him was all one big joke to satisfy his twisted humor.

That night you silently cry yourself to sleep, one hand clamped over your mouth to stifle the sobs so Ga-In and Yuri don’t wake up.

You dream of blackness at first, then you see Komorebi, its beautiful waterfall rushing down the rocks and splashing into the pond. You’re leaning over the water to look at the three little fishes swimming in it, then a hand grabs your shoulder and pulls you back.

Before you can turn and see who it is, the same pair of hands shove you forward, causing you to slip and fall into the water. You feel the bitingly cold wetness hit your face and the water rush into your nose and throat, cutting off any attempt at breathing.

You jerk awake, your eyes shooting open and seeing nothing but blackness. You can feel the cold dampness on your pillow from your tears. The quiet snores of Yuri do nothing to help you lull back to sleep like they usually do.

You just sit in the darkness and stare, letting the tears fall quietly, slipping over the bridge of your nose and tickling you before landing on your pillow to join the rest of them. You make no move to wipe them away.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, you kindly decline Seokjin’s invitation to breakfast. You feel bad after seeing his disappointment, seeing as he made omelets today, but you don’t think you can stomach anything right now. And sitting at the table with everyone after yesterday’s events feels suffocating, to say the least.

Instead, you decide to go on a little walk by yourself. You don’t plan on going anywhere near the forest knowing that’s most likely where Jungkook is, doing whatever the hell he does every morning. Your heart feels numb with pain right now, and you’re certain you’ve used up all the tears your body had in store for the next fifteen years.

You don’t even know where to begin to process everything in your mind, so you’ve been avoiding it. You hate how much you feel, you wish you could just turn your heart off for a minute and catch a break. Falling for Jungkook was the worst mistake you’ve ever made, and you’re ashamed of yourself for it.

The words of everyone in your past scolding you for being so sensitive, are all coming back full force. It isn’t fair. You can’t help it if you feel things deeply.

You find yourself a couple hundred feet from the house, standing by a patch of wildflowers. Crouching to the ground, you reach your hand out to pull a couple up, bunching them together in your hand and smiling widely at their cute yellow coloring. You scoot along the ground on your knees to another patch of flowers, purple this time. You gather a few of them, adding them to your mini collection, then you crawl farther to a patch of dandelions.

“You guys are weeds, but you’re still pretty. So, you can be in my bouquet.” You smile and pluck a few, letting them join their new family. After you’re finished gathering a few long pieces of grass and putting them in your bouquet, you sigh in satisfaction and hold them out in front of you.

“Beautiful.” You whisper softly.

This is the happiest you’ve felt since yesterday. You love flowers, and these little ones are so simple yet so lovely it sends a warm feeling through your aching heart.

A dark chuckle behind you makes your throat constrict. You stand slowly, not planning on turning to face your visitor, you just want to make it back inside before he has the chance to do anything. You start walking but a hand grabs your arm, tugging you back a few steps.

“What do you want, Jungkook?” You sigh and swallow the lump in your throat before turning to face him.

“Just thought I’d see what my favorite girl was up to. Talking to flowers again, angel?”

You just stare at him, clutching the stems of your little friends tightly in your sweaty fist. Jungkook shakes his head, amused by your silence.

“Have you run out of comebacks? How boring.”

You don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer, just look into his eyes, unflinching.

“Come on, are you that big of a baby?” Jungkook seems to be showing irritation now, and you feel a sick twinge of satisfaction that you can upset him. You turn to walk back to the house, wanting to get your little flowers into some water before they get too thirsty.

“I wasn’t done talking to you.”

Yeah, like you care about that.

Jungkook jogs over and stops in front of you, effectively blocking your path to the house. You step to the side to pass him, and he does the same.

“Still have nothing to say? You’re not going to scold me for hurting your fragile feelings?”

You bring your head up to look at him again, then you realize something. Yeah, he hurt you. But, you can move on with your life and you have your own friends that love you. You don’t need him.

“You know what Jungkook? I pity you.”

He was definitely not expecting that. You can tell by the way his eyebrow twitches that you hit a nerve. His eyes narrow as you continue, “I guess you’re just too pathetic to have friends. All I wanted was to be your friend Jungkook.”

Yeah that might not be entirely true but it was partly true. Jungkook scoffs and you go on, “I have my own friends, I didn’t need another one. I just thought you might want one, but I guess you’re too self-absorbed to even think about anyone but yourself. It’s really sad if you think about-“

You get cut off midsentence when you feel the flowers you gathered yanked out of your hand. You stumble forward a little and look at Jungkook angrily, “Give those back. They’re mine.”

“Look like I care?” Jungkook glares at you, then looks down at the flowers in his hand and chuckles, “You have friends, huh? Seems like they care more about something else than being with you right now.” Your skin feels like it lights on fire at his words, anger bubbling in your stomach.

“Want to know when my game started?” He asks tauntingly, and you just glare back at him. He doesn’t seem to care and tells you anyway.

“It was back in the forest, when you first hurt your ankle. You kept struggling when I was going to clean it and I decided to try another approach. The way you reacted when I smiled at you was too funny to stop there. I wanted to see how far I could go to make you fall for me.”

“Then why stop there? And why would you even help me before that?” You ask bitterly, your heart sore from his words. The fact that you were carried on his back through that forest and never knew it was all a plan to humiliate you makes you sick.

“I only helped you because I knew Seokjin would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t.”

Ouch.

“And why stop? I guess I got bored. You’re not very fun, ya know.”

Double ouch.

“Oops, did I hurt your feelings again, angel?”

The way he calls you angel now only makes your stomach lurch, thinking about how your heart fluttered only days ago at that same word.

“So tell me, why did you tell Seokjin I wasn’t the one that hurt you? I think he knows it’s a lie.”

“I just wanted to forget about it. I didn’t want anything to start between you two.” You mumble, your eyes still glued to the flowers in his hand.

“Are you sure you weren’t protecting me? I think you still have feelings for me. Who’s the pathetic one now, angel?”

You stomp past him, having heard enough of his taunts. Then you turn to face him again, your mouth twisted in anger when you remember he still has your flowers.

“Give me my flowers back and leave me the hell alone. I don’t give a rip about you so stop deluding yourself!” You growl angrily. Jungkook just holds your flowers up, scrutinizing them carefully, then he looks at you and cocks his head to the side.

He rips the petals from the stems, tossing your work on the ground and looking back at you, his red eyes gleaming with hatred. All you can do is stare at the pile of your beautiful flowers, their bodies all torn and tattered as they lay in the dirt by his feet.

Your body suddenly feels deflated. Tears prick at your eyes and you feel that little sting in your heart again, seeing how your little friends look just how your heart feels now, you’re sorry you ever took them away from their home, only to be ruined by him.

That’s when you see his boots.

Your shaky breath stutters and stops, stuck in your throat when something clicks in your head.

You know those boots.

They’re laced up to the second to last holes.

It’s him.

The boy that you ran into all those months ago when you were rushing to get to math class. And again when you were in the cafeteria. The one that kept stuttering apologies when it was your fault for being so clumsy.

You never saw his face, but now that you see those boots and think about that shy and concerned voice, you know for sure that it’s him. How did you never notice this?

A single tear slips down your cheeks when you look back up at him.

“What happened to you, Jungkook?” You whisper hoarsely, your voice shaking with sadness.

He just glares at you suspiciously, not understanding what caused your change in behavior. You wipe your eyes and take a step closer to him, to which he unconsciously takes a step back.

“When? When did you become so heartless?” You ask, tentatively taking another step. Now your heart aches, but it aches for him.

The vampire. It had him too long. None of his old self is left. Seokjin’s words ring in your ears.

Your question seems to trigger something in him and he laughs bitterly, walking closer and grabbing your hand. He roughly pulls you to him before you can get away and puts your hand on his chest, where his heart is.

Except, there’s no heartbeat.

You look up at him, bewildered. Jungkook shoves your hand away and sneers, “You’re smarter than I thought, angel.”

You move back, Jungkook advancing with each of your retreating steps.

“Why do you look so surprised? You said it yourself. I’m completely heartle“

The sound of a car pulling up the side of the hill distracts you, your stomach turning in a horrible way. Jungkook watches your face blanch as you look over his shoulder, your eyes focusing on something behind him. His body tenses, then he turns slowly to see a blue mini van pulling up about twenty feet from the pair of you.

Who the hell is that?

You’re frozen in your place, fear coursing through you at whoever sits behind that wheel. Nobody should know about this place. Your anxiety only grows when you hear Jungkook inhale sharply, his hands clenching in fists.

“Shit. Shit shit shit.”

It looks like Jungkook can tell who’s in the car from the way he’s cursing. So, you whisper quietly, trying not to move your mouth, “Who is it? Jungkook?” The fear is clear in your voice.

He just keeps his back turned to you, his shoulders tense. You can’t see who is inside the car, the windows are tinted and Jungkook is between you and the vehicle.

“Get in the house, now.”

Jungkook turns to look at you for a split second when you don’t move, his eyes flashing as he hisses, “Get in that house and tell Seokjin everyone needs to hide. Now!”

a/n: yayy hope you guys like it :)

173 notes · View notes

juliandev0rak · 4 years

Text

First Day of My Life

"Yours was the first face that I saw I think I was blind before I met you And I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been But I know where I want to go"

The apprentice wakes up in Asra's arms, their first memory is of his face and it seems that maybe they were always meant to be together.

Asra x gender neutral MC ficlet based on the song “First Day of My Life” by Bright Eyes which is the Asra x MC song in my opinion

this was originally posted on my ao3

warnings: none

words: 4507

The first thing you can remember is a face. The details are indistinct, the face out of focus, but you remember the eyes- purple.

The next few months are a blur. You don’t know who you are or where you are, and trying to remember hurts. A lot. The only constants in your life are painful headaches and a person with purple eyes. He says his name is Asra. You remember testing the name on your tongue, the first word you’ve said since waking up. He smiled at that, purple eyes scrunching up. He looks nice when he smiles, you hope you get to see him do it more because most of the time his face is downcast and very serious.

For the first few weeks you’re nearly bed bound, you feel so weak that you have to be propped up by a pile of pillows. Asra says you had an accident but doesn’t give any details. You don’t remember having an accident, you don’t have any aches, you aren’t missing any limbs, even though your body is weak the pain seems to reside solely in your head. Sometimes you wonder how you got here and who Asra is, but those thoughts bring the headaches so mostly you just sleep and listen to Asra. He tells you stories constantly, and although you can understand him easily it seems you can’t talk much aside from simple one word answers. His stories are always about magic and about the wonderful, exciting places he says he’s been to. You often wonder if he’s telling the truth, and if these places really exist. When you ask him about his stories, or about himself, he just changes the subject.

Walking is hard. The first time you try to get up from bed Asra has his back turned and only notices you’re up when he hears the loud thud of you immediately crumpling to the floor. From then on he keeps an even closer watch on you, supporting you when you need to get up and eventually while he helps you learn to walk again. Asra has to do everything for you and at times it's frustrating because you can remember, somehow, that you were once able to do all of these simple actions on your own. He has to feed you until your arms get strong enough to hold a utensil, he has to walk with you everywhere, even to the bathroom, until after weeks of practice you finally manage to take shaky steps on your own.

Asra is so happy at every milestone, constantly praising your progress and helping you without complaint. You don’t know who he is, but you’re glad he's there with you. You learn to walk, then to talk in complete sentences, and eventually he teaches you to read and write. It’s slow going at first but once you have the basics down your mind seems to snap into place and you’re able to read books by yourself after a few months. He is so kind to you, never making you feel like a burden or like you’re stupid. He’s just always there when you need him, even sleeping on the couch next to your bed in case you need him during the night.

As you begin to regain your independence Asra begins to leave the apartment more, he always tells you he’s just going down to the shop. You wonder how going to buy groceries, or whatever it is he goes to this “shop” for, could take so long but he’s often gone for hours at a time. Your constant companion is usually Faust, Asra’s snake who he seems to have full conversations with at times. You certainly haven’t heard her speak before but she’s a comforting presence coiled around your neck or wrist as you wait for Asra to come back. When he returns he’s always happy to see you and asks what you’ve read that day, sometimes he brings you gifts like pumpkin bread, which you’ve decided is your favorite food, or a new book.

Your favorite books are all about magic, some of them even seem like technical how-to books. At first it never occurs to you that magic could be real, but over time you start to notice that sometimes Asra does things that you can’t explain. You complain that it’s too cold in the room and are suddenly comfortably warm, you get a paper cut one day and after Asra grabs your hand to look at it it’s suddenly healed. You usually chalk it up to your brain fog or a trick of the light because thinking about it too hard just causes more headaches.

Sometimes he takes you out for walks around the city, Vesuvia, he tells you it’s called. You love those walks and the lively markets and people you meet along the way. Asra seems to be well known in the neighborhood but he doesn’t ever stop to talk. Sometimes people call your name and you look around in confusion before Asra quickly pulls you away to show you another part of the city. You can’t get enough of the feeling of sun on your skin and fresh air in your lungs after so long inside. You ask Asra if you can go on a walk by yourself sometime but he gets upset and starts to rattle off a list of the potential dangers that could face you in the city alone. It seems pretty clear that he doesn’t want to leave you alone, except when he disappears to the shop which you’ve discovered is the room below the apartment.

It’s full of strange looking herbs and bottles and there's a room blocked off by curtains that you’ve still never seen. When you ask Asra what everything is he simply says “Magic” and won’t elaborate when you try to ask him questions. He doesn’t let you wander around the shop alone either and usually insists that you spend the bulk of your day resting.

“You’re still recovering” He offers as reason for his protective behavior. He seems constantly worried about you, always making sure you’re eating enough and asking how your headaches are. As time goes on they start to lessen, but sometimes you’ll be hit by one out of nowhere. You’re frustrated by his overprotection sometimes, but he’s right that you’re still recovering. You’re not weak anymore but your brain does sometimes seem to short circuit, leaving you confused and disoriented. Vesuvia is confusing enough with Asra by your side, so you’re in agreement with Asra’s concerns - for now.

One night however, you discover how real magic is. Sometimes you have really bad nightmares that leave you screaming and sobbing when you wake up. You can never remember what happens in the dreams, but you’re always left with a sense of loss and longing like you’re missing something important, and a headache. You almost always have a headache. No matter how bad the dream is, Asra is always there on the couch next to the bed ready to comfort you. He gives you lots of hugs which were foreign at first but by now you’ve come to love the physical comfort that hugging Asra brings. He’ll sit on the bed next to you and hold you as you cry. He doesn’t ever ask what the nightmares are about, and it’s not like you could tell him anyways. Sometimes he brews a strange smelling tea that makes you fall into a deep and dreamless sleep, some nights it’s the only way you can find rest.

On this particular night, you wake yourself up screaming and look frantically for Asra in the dark but he’s not there. You call out for him in a panic, scared by the dark void of the room which still feels unfamiliar at times. When he still hasn’t come after a few frantic moments you start to sob and throw your head under the blankets. He’s never not been there before. You’re scared to be all alone in the dark but you’re too panicked and confused to get out of bed and fumble for a candle and a match to light it. You think of how the candles light automatically when Asra enters the room and wish that you could do that too. If you could just see maybe you wouldn’t feel so afraid, maybe you could look for Asra. You take a deep breath to steady yourself and throw the blankets off to stand up. You swallow your fear and fumble your way into what you think is the center of the room.

You remember reading in one of your books that magic is simply will and intent, you want something to happen so you make it happen. You’re not sure at this point if you even believe magic is real, but you're willing to try anything. Throwing your arms out you yell “Light!”

Nothing happens.

Your fear is a living thing, hurting your chest as it claws at your speeding heart. You take more deep breaths to calm down, a technique Asra taught you once. You’re determined to try again even as you stare into the terrifying nothingness of the room.

“I said LIGHT!” You nearly scream this time, turning a full circle as you throw your arms out wildly at the room. Suddenly the room is flooded with light and as you stand there blinking at the brightness you hear the noise of the apartment door opening. You turn to see Asra, and Faust coiled around his neck, staring at you with eyes wide in disbelief.

“Asra! I did magic!” You exclaim, running over to him forgetting your fear that he hadn’t been there only moments before. He throws his arms around you and laughs. After a few seconds the laughter becomes hysterical until you suddenly feel his face grow wet where it’s pressed against your cheek.

“Asra?” You pull back to look at his face. He’s smiling but his eyes are quickly filling with tears. “Are you… not happy?” He laughs again and rubs the back of his hand over his eyes.

“No no, I’m more than happy!” He grins. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever do magic again.” That comment makes you pause, again? Once more you’re left wondering who you were before all of this, and how Asra knows you. He seems too distracted to notice your confusion, and slight twinge of pain, at his remark. The look in his eyes is something you can’t place, it warms your heart in a somehow familiar way and you suddenly find yourself brought to tears along with him.

From that night on he begins to teach you magic. You’d been right about him and the uncanny abilities he possessed and he finally shows you around the shop downstairs, explaining what everything is and how to make each of the items. He starts you off small, creating balls of light, warming and cooling, herbal remedies. Eventually he shows you his collection of more advanced magic books and you begin to study more difficult spells and concepts. It seems to come so easily to you and within a few months, around a year since you’ve been with Asra, you’re helping him in the store full time. Everytime he watches you do magic from the simplest of charms to a difficult spell or complicated potion he looks amazed. You catch him watching you multiple times a day from the corner of your eye with the same look in his eyes that he had the first time he watched you light the candles in your room.

He begins to trust you more, asking you to run errands and pick things up from the market. He even starts bringing you along to forage for potion supplies. Life begins to find a rhythm and you begin to feel like you have a sense of self now. You have friends around town, like the baker who makes your favorite pumpkin bread. You have favorite shops, favorite places to sit and enjoy the scenery, likes and dislikes. You discover fashion and have fun looking at fabric and clothes with Asra, who seems partial to his colorful layers of scarves while you usually favor more practical clothing. Your customers and people in town start calling you “the apprentice” and it seems to be an apt title. You start calling Asra “master” as is the custom, not noticing the wince he gives every time you use the title.

Eventually he shows you his tarot deck and you immediately feel a connection to it. It’s not as strong as his connection is, and you still find it difficult to really “hear” what the cards are telling you but you feel confident enough to begin giving readings to customers when Asra is busy. One night after the shop is closed and Asra has gone upstairs to make some tea you decide to ask the cards about your past. It’s been a while since you’ve thought about those questions, caught up in your new daily routine and the joy of learning magic. You haven’t had a headache in weeks and you’ve decided that perhaps thinking about the past might not hurt so much now.

You shuffle through the deck and pull one card, the fool. A voice behind you says “What do the cards have to say?” and you whirl around to see Asra standing in the doorway with a smile on his face.

“I can’t hear anything.” You say in dismay, it seems there will be no more answers tonight.

“Well, the fool represents new beginnings, a blank slate. Perhaps the fool is asking you to forge your own path.” He suggests, pulling the card out of your hand to inspect it. That makes sense, actually, and you start to ponder how the card could relate to you.

“Come on, enough magic for today. Let’s go to bed.” Asra says, offering a hand to help you out of your chair.

You don’t know exactly when you and Asra began sharing a bed, but it was soon after you started studying magic. The two of you would stay up late sitting together and poring over magical books, discussing theories and new ideas over cups of tea. Eventually one or both of you would fall asleep and it just became normal to fall asleep in the same bed. You’re quite used to his physical comfort after all this time and his presence seems to drive away your bad dreams. It’s normal for the two of you to wake up intertwined, Faust usually coiled half around each of you.

It’s nice, this domesticity. You and Asra work as a team, splitting tasks and settling into your roles. He’s better at cooking, and after a few failed attempts to teach you it becomes apparent that he should continue to be the one who cooks, so he always makes breakfast in the mornings while you begin setting up the shop for the day. You tag team in the shop, working around and with each other to help customers, prepare items, and do readings. Your routine is like a dance at this point and you love the comfort that comes from having a place in the world.

Now that you feel like a competent person, and more importantly, a competent magician, life seems brighter. Asra smiles more, you even begin to hear Faust when she speaks and the two of you have become closer. But sometimes when you’re laughing with a customer or focused on a spell you look up and notice Asra looking sad and withdrawn. When you ask him what’s wrong he just shakes his head and smiles “Everything's perfect!” but you don’t always believe him.

Two years after waking up from your accident Asra starts going on trips. He tells you that he trusts you to run the shop and to take care of yourself, but he never tells you where he’s going or when exactly he’ll return. You don’t like it when he leaves, it feels too empty in the shop even though he’s always sure to leave Faust with you to keep you company. Nights are especially hard as you’re used to sleeping next to him. He always seems sad when he leaves, and you begin to ask when he’ll take you with him. He always just good naturedly changes the subject and eventually you give up asking. He seems much happier after getting home from his trips at least, always greeting you with a hug and telling you how much he missed you while he was away.

On a cold night in the middle of your third year with Asra he tells you he’s going on another trip. You help him pack the small bag he takes with him, how he can survive on these long trips with so little you have no idea, but you assume it must be magic. It’s a foggy night in Vesuvia and you can’t help but wish he wasn’t leaving so you could enjoy a cup of tea and a cozy night in together. You walk him down to the shop and watch as he gathers a few random ingredients and books, sticking them into his bag.

“I’ll miss you.” He says with a sad smile.

“Must you leave tonight?” You pout.

“It’s the dead of a moonless night. The right time for beginning a journey.” He explains. “Here… take this, for you to play around with while I’m gone.”

He hands you his tarot deck.

“You think I’m ready for this?” You ask, he never leaves his deck unattended.

“You’ve made incredible progress, but you still haven’t let go of your doubts… Do you think you’re ready?” He smiles, always leaving the answers up to you.

You think you finally are.

There’s a knock on the door and you both ponder at the late hour, but then he leaves through the back door with a final farewell and it's just you. You decide to open the door.

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

Over the course of the next few weeks you accomplish things you never could have imagined. You meet people who you know will become lifelong friends, you free a man from facing punishment for a crime he didn't commit, you travel through the Arcana realms, you even manage to bind the Devil himself. Asra’s with you the entire time, and by the end of it things have changed. You’ve started to remember.

You love Asra, you always have. And he’s always loved you. All of his glances over the last three years, his concern, his care for you - it was love, it’s always been love.

The first time he kisses you in the Magician’s realm you feel everything shift. This is what you were missing, Asra is what you’ve been missing. All of your nightmares over the last three years have been about losing him. As you fall back into love with him during your journey you start to remember snippets of your life before. Arriving at your Aunt’s shop, meeting Asra at the masquerade, becoming friends and then becoming more.

Unfortunately this also means you remember what happened to you, the sickness that came to Vesuvia. You remember the arguments you had with Asra who wanted to leave, but you refused. He couldn’t understand why you wanted to risk yourself to help so eventually, he left you behind, both of you too stubborn to do what the other thought was best. You worked to find a cure and, perhaps inevitably, you got the plague and you died.

But Asra brought you back. His love for you was enough to raise the dead.

You can’t help but feel that you were always meant to love Asra, that you are meant to be together. He gave up half of his heart to bring you back and that heart now beats in you. You will not be separated from him again, this you’re sure of. After the chaos dies down all you want is to be by his side.

It’s the final night of the masquerade, which is now being held in your honor at Nadia’s insistence. You’re not quite sure you like all of the attention but you’re glad to have a chance to celebrate with all of your loved ones. Asra’s been reunited with his parents and he seems whole now, every trace of sadness and worry gone from his eyes. You watch from a distance as he converses excitedly with them in the corner of the ballroom. Your other friends are all dancing, except for Muriel who is probably off hibernating in the woods after all of the forced social interactions he’s had to deal with in the last few days. Julian is doing some sort of tango with a random partygoer who seems to be trying to avoid getting hit in the face with Julian’s beaked mask. Portia and Nadia are dancing an intimate looking waltz, their dance actually fits the music that's currently being played (though Julian doesn’t seem to mind).

Your heart feels so full it might burst as you look at all of the people you’ve come to love. Three years ago you could never have imagined the feeling you have right now, you know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. Though you may never get all of your memories back you’re glad that you have so many wonderful people to make new memories with. Eventually you’re broken from your reverie by a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“You look happy.” Asra says, wrapping his arm around you. His eyes are sparkling and the way he’s smiling at you has you nearly melting into the polished floors.

“I’m more than happy.” You smile back, trying to convey all of your love through your eyes the way he’s doing. He chuckles and pulls you in for a kiss. You do melt then as he wraps his arms around your waist and holds you closer. Both of you are smiling too hard for it to be a proper kiss and when you pull back for air you smile even bigger and he laughs again and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I love you.” He whispers, just for you to hear.

“I love you.” You will never get tired of hearing those words, of saying those words.

“Shall we go get some air?” He asks, disentangling himself from your embrace but grabbing your hand. He leads you out to the veranda and the coolness of the evening is refreshing after being in the packed ballroom for so long. For a while you both stand there just taking in the evening and the beautiful view of the gardens, basking in each other's company. Asra still holds your hand in his, running his thumb over yours in a comforting gesture.

“I wonder what adventures we’ll get up to next.” He says after a while.

“Where you go, I’ll go.” You reply. Your tone is light but you meet his eyes with intensity. “I don't want to be away from you again.”

“Not even the Devil himself could pull me away from you.” He smiles.

“And not even death.” You can’t help but add.

“No, not even death could separate us.” He agrees, moving his hand up to gently cup your face. He doesn’t seem so troubled by this mention of the past anymore and it gives you hope that the both of you can move on.

“We have the whole future in front of us, we can go anywhere, do anything.”

“As long as it’s with you, I’m up for anything.” He murmurs. “My love, my heart…” he leans in to kiss you and this time you try to contain your smile and kiss him properly. It’s hard when all you want to do is grin, but you manage. One kiss becomes two, then three and before you know it your hands have moved to his hair and his hand is wandering below where it had been resting on the small of your back and you’re too caught up in him to think, to breathe. You’re brought back to reality with the sounds of a whooping cheer and clapping.

“YEAHHHH!” It’s Julian, beaked mask off and definitely a little past drunk. Distantly you hear Portia reprimand him, you think you hear a muffled “Ow.” as she punches his arm and drags him back inside. You’re too caught up in Asra to really care although Asra looks like he’s considering throwing a punch himself. You reach up to run a hand down the side of his cheek and to turn his face back to meet you. His eyes snap away from the door and back to yours with a smile and you quickly resume your previous activities.

“Should we go somewhere a little more… devoid of plague doctors.” You suggest after a few minutes when it becomes apparent that perhaps some of your current actions are not entirely appropriate to be doing on a veranda in full view of a party.

“I love the way you think.” He smiles, a glint of mischief in his eyes. You quickly make your excuses to Nadia and the rest of your friends, who all seem to give you a knowing glance, and leave the party. Both of you just want to go home and the carriage ride can’t pass quickly enough. When you finally arrive at the shop neither of you realize it, too caught up in each other that the carriage driver has to knock on the door.

“Uhm.. ahem.. We’ve arrived.” The driver says, poking their head through the open door. You break off from the heated kiss you’d been pressing to Asra’s neck with a blush.

“Oh! I’m sorry. Let’s go Asra.” You say embarrassedly, pulling him out of the carriage with you. You thank the driver and are left standing outside the shop, hand in hand with Asra. It feels like years since you’ve been home and you can’t help but feel that even the shop itself has changed somehow over the last few days. You hear Asra laugh and look over at him a moment too late to catch him reach out to pick you up.

“I’m taking you home properly.” He says, holding you bridal style. He’s deceptively strong and holds you easily but you still struggle briefly in his arms, both of you laughing too much for the moment to be serious as he unlocks the door and removes the wards.

“I’m already home.” You murmur, thinking of how home really is wherever Asra is. You’ve been so many beautiful places and seen so many wonderful things over the last few days but you know that your favorite place of all will always be in Asra’s arms, you woke up there three years ago and there you will stay. He’s given you another chance and in this life you plan on loving him with every piece of the heart he gave you.

#this is so cheesy to read back but asra brings that out of me i can't help it #the arcana #the arcana fic #the arcana fanfiction #asra x apprentice #asra the arcana #asra alnazar #im posting older works bc i have no motivation to write anything new rn oops lol

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