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mypoisonedvine · 8 months

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can I request a dark!(any of cillian murphy’s characters) who’s basically this spoiled entitled rich guy and he meets a waitress who puts him in his place for disrespecting her? so he decides to teach her a lesson

THE WAY THIS IS PERFECT FOR DARK!ROBERT FISCHER??? OH MY GOD??

warnings: DARK NONCON SMUT!! 18+ only, misogyny and classism, pretty extreme degradation, semi-public sex, hair pulling

You weren't sure why that one interaction stuck in your head, it wasn't like you hadn't dealt with rude customers before: they're plentiful in a fancy place like this, only people wealthy enough to be used to getting whatever they wanted could afford to eat here.

Maybe it was just because you'd already noticed him from the first moment you came to the table, and not just because he looked a little out of place surrounded by the other businessmen... you thought he was gorgeous, obviously. Which made it even more disappointing when he was a huge tool, correcting your pronunciation of some of the menu items and then trying to summon you to the table with a few impatient snaps of his fingers. Not to mention calling you 'sweetheart' instead of your name-- classic sexist bullshit.

Or maybe you remembered him because of the rage when you stood up to him-- just for a second, you saw it in his eyes, before he let out a nervous and condescending laugh to try to break the tension. But even just that flash of anger in his stare made you regret speaking up. Normally, you didn't take shit from anyone and you didn't apologize for the feelings you hurt along the way... but that, his look right then, was everything people had been warning you about. It's one thing to stand up to someone, it's another to antagonize them.

It was enough to make you feel a little nervous when your shift ended that night. You'd watched the flock of stuffy suits leave after their meal, obviously not giving you a tip because of course they wouldn't, and yet you had this lingering feeling like you were being watched-- like you hadn't seen the last of that infuriated glare.

But, feeling like you were definitely overreacting, you resisted the urge to ask your manager to walk you to your car. It was late, of course, and you shivered a bit as the chilly night air made your thin cardigan feel pretty much useless.

Just as you unlocked your car, opening the backseat door to toss in your bag, you felt a hand cover your mouth as someone grabbed you. Your instinctive scream was muffled as you heard a harsh 'shh' by your ear, a heavy form pressing into yours.

You were pushed into the car, tossed roughly down over the backseats as the man's weight kept you pinned down, and you tried to struggle but found yourself quickly incapacitated by his strength.

"How fucking dare you," he spat right against your ear; and you recognized the voice, of course you did, it was burned into your mind already. "You rude little bitch..."

"Get off me," you growled, "you fucking asshole!"

"No, no," he purred, pinning your arms down when you tried to push him back, "not until you've learned your lesson. The way you spoke to me at dinner, I just can't let you get away with that."

"I-I'm sorry, okay?" you breathed, distressed by how easily he held your arms in place by his tight grip on your wrists; you felt him smile against your ear, a dark little chuckle making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. "I'm sorry-- I wasn't trying to be rude."

"Yes, you were, sweetheart," he disagreed, throwing the condescending name right at you again. "You were trying to, what, emasculate me? How's that working out for you?"

Honestly, you had been-- you always figured customers like that had it coming, and you'd relished in the chance to make him look like an idiot in front of presumably some very important people. "I'm sorry," you said again. "I was wrong. Please... please just get out and we can forget this ever happened."

You shuddered when his hand moved down to your skirt, rubbing your leg with a hum and slowly pushing up the fabric. "You were hoping for a big tip tonight, weren't you?" he chuckled. "I think I can still give you one."

"P-please," you choked out again, "Mr. Fischer, right? I'm sorry... just please don't--"

He covered your mouth again, grinning at you as he pulled the skirt up roughly and yanked your panties down, giving your ass a hard smack as you yelped behind the strong grip of his fingers. "Don't worry," he offered as he started to hastily open his fly with one hand, "I'm just going to remind you of your place. A whore like you will probably like it."

You shut your eyes tight, hearing him grunt as he adjusted himself to be right at your opening, teasing your hole with his head for just a moment before suddenly and forcefully shoving in. You screamed behind his hand, dropping your head defeatedly, and he groaned happily as he started to fuck you.

"That's it," he praised darkly, "just take it, honey."

Shuddering, you went limp under him, out of other options; you winced as his cock forced its way deep inside you, so deep that your back tried to arch up to avoid some of the intense pressure.

"Shh," he soothed, putting a hand on your back to keep it down, "that's better-- fuck, you little slut..."

He was speeding up already, and you still hadn't adjusted to his size. Clearly his shitty attitude wasn't compensating for anything, like you'd implied before-- and you choked on your moans of discomfort as he finally let go of your mouth. Only broken sighs came out, unfortunately, and in the corner of your eye you could see him staring down at you with a sneer.

"This is exactly what you deserve," he panted, "getting fucked like a cheap whore in this filthy car. I don't think I've ever been inside one of these things-- my god, is that a cassette player?! How old is this piece of shit?"

You groaned, amazed that he had the energy or focus to insult your car in a time like this-- you were just panting and holding tightly onto the beige fabric seats under you, hoping that someone, anyone, would see what was happening and stop him. God, if someone saw, they'd probably think this was a consensual thing, a kinky little public hookup-- but you couldn't just scream for help or something, you felt very confident that he would find a way to keep you silent.

He sighed as he buried his face in your neck, his hips moving faster-- needier, really. He was even moaning, squeezing your wrists again, acting oddly passionate as if this was something very different than what it was. "You could be pretty, you know," he mumbled to you, "if you smiled more-- and if you didn't do your makeup like a cheap whore. Well... I guess you can't help the cheap part."

"You could be pretty if you weren't a psychopath," you snapped back, making him chuckle proudly.

"Still got that fucking attitude," he noticed, "guess I haven't fucked it out of you yet. How about when you're dripping with my come? Then will you understand how you need to speak to your superiors?"

"Don't," you begged in a gasp, "please-- please don't--"

But he just growled and fucked you harder, making the whole car move with the force of his thrusts. "You fucking wanted me," he accused through his teeth, "didn't you? You wanted this. I could see it on your face, the second you looked at me-- you were imagining how well I'd wreck this little cunt."

You tried to shake your head, but he grabbed you by your hair and yanked your head back until you yelped out a sob.

"I'm close," he breathed, "gonna fucking fill you-- 'cause it's all your good for, sweetheart. Being a waitress isn't that fucking complicated, and you're still shit at that-- so how about you just embrace your natural talents, huh? How about you just take my fucking cock and say 'thank you'?"

"F-fuck you," you barely managed to rasp out, and he made sure to punish you for that by absolutely pounding into you for the last of it.

"Stupid fucking whore," he snarled between deep grunts, "f-fuck, you bitch--"

He moaned suddenly as he came, letting go of your hair and dropping you down onto the backseat again as he gave a few shallow, shaky thrusts; his grip was on your hips instead, keeping you still so he could go as deep as possible.

"Fuck," he sighed, panting to catch his breath; you blinked a haziness out of your eyes, hissing as he pulled out of you-- you were going to feel that sting tomorrow, if not longer.

He put his cock back in his trousers and zipped them up, getting out of the car and taking out his wallet.

"Here's a tip," he offered as he tossed a few bills at you, laughing as you widened your eyes at the realization that they were hundreds. "Start saving up for a new car. Or at least get this one cleaned... you're leaking my come all over the seats."

#dark!robert fischer x reader #robert fischer dark smut #WOW THIS IS WEIRD LMAO

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yonemurishiroku · 2 years

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Oh, Nico, my dandelion…

I don’t know if anyone has talked about this before, but I just looked up meanings and symbolism of the dandelion flower and I’m… stunned, to say the least.

There’re reasons why Rick made Persephone turn Nico into a dandelion, of all things, yall, and why am I just now figuring it out? And now I’m screaming into my pillows so yall will suffer with me, too.

- First, let’s just start with how dandelions didn’t get a meaning at first, because they’re so common and they’re everywhere so the Victorian didn’t think of it deserving a symbolism nor simply attention. It’s such a relief that Medieval peasants disagreed and came up with many deep messages anyway.

And this is where I started seeing Nico - because he, too, was constantly looked away or frowned upon at sight. People hardly pay attention to him, and when they do they pretend he isn’t there. It took a two wars for him to finally gain acceptance. It hurts.

- The Dandelion represent resilience - specifically, one’s ability to overcome hardships and challenges. Because it thrives so strong, yall. That little, fragile, flimsy flower can exist practically everywhere with barely a pinch of soil or a crack in between two tiles, drinking rain to grow and clinging to the winds to keep going without any help at all. It flourishes and it blooms all the same no matter how barren that land is.

It’s Nico. Small, young, lonely Nico, who has gone through so much without giving up and loves deeply despite the excruciating pain and thrives in death itself the way nobody else can. He looks at Tartarus’ raw being and survives. The Twins suffocated him for days and he just went no-breathing to keep living. He didn’t stop loving in spite of all that self-loathing. He’s given power over death - one that scares and upsets most - yet Nico takes it like a crown, prideful and unafraid. Persevering. Unrelenting. Resolute.

Nico who is praised by Apollo himself for his resilience, which precedes even Stygian iron. No matter how much he’s twisted, he won’t be broken.

- This is just me over-thinking, but I can’t help but notice how young Nico was like a dandelion seed, too.

A tiny, little seed that was dropped off heartlessly by the winds, young and naive, alone in a new land far, far away from home with no mother and siblings gone, struggling to learn how to survive by its own. That, right there, is ten-year-old Nico for you.

From here on is what I’ve been able to gather from flowermeaning.com. And this is why, although it’s just wistful think, I’m a little skeptical Rick did some researches to come up with Dandelion as the result of Persephone’s curse.

According to the site, the Dandelion mean:

Healing from emotional pain and physical injury alike

Look me in the eye and tell me Nico has never suffered from agonizing emotional traumas and critical physical injuries. I dare you.

And now he’s doing better! He receives therapy, he has a loving sister and an attentive father and a caring boyfriend and other friends! He’s doing better. He’s healing. And as much as I love to throw pains at him over and over again in my fics, Nico is getting happier in canon. Rick didn’t abandon him.

Intelligence, especially in an emotional and spiritual sense

Nico talks to ghosts. And forgotten goddess. And makes friend with an amnesia Titan. He’s sensitive. He reaches out. He knows so much and he cares so much more.

His emotional world is an unlimited dreamscape.

And last but not least: The warmth and power of the rising sun

And who’s the sun, you might ask?

…

…All that time. So many books. And Rick had been hinting at Solangelo. all. that. time.

I can’t believe this. What am I supposed to react to this?

Of course, it could mean that Nico would finally find solace at the end of his painful journey, but I cannot help but focus too much on the fact that Will Solace is akchwkhdsjhs literally a ball of sunshine and they do end up together I don’t make the rule——??!!

Furthermore, the Dandelion does delivers positive message such as long lasting happiness and youthful joy or getting your wish fulfilled. I don’t know whether Rick really did mean it when he came up with the dandelion but, well, it’s nice to think that as a promise he gives to Nico, whom he makes such a great effort to torture.

And if I’d prefer to think that it’s Persephone’s subtle blessing then it’s my business.

In conclusion, it most likely wasn’t a careless choice when Rick went with a dandelion as one of those… physical literature metaphor (?) Nico has been. Maybe I over-analyze some (I always do anyway), but it’s still nice to find out that it’s such a fitting and beautiful thing to associate with my beloved angel.

(And it doesn’t help either when I headcanon Persephone has a sort-of tolerable stepmother-son relationship with Nico. I mean she could have chosen a dandelion as it’s such a trivia plant, yet still holds positive symbolism like Persephone tolerates Nico enough to wish him happiness, after all)

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npdbubblygum · 2 years

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Do you know if you could explain what narcissistic/ego injuries look like in NPD or in yourself? I’m wondering if they do exist and what they look like? Im asking you bc I know you post a lot of good content already and I’m trying to see what I relate to…

I can describe what they’re like for me personally! Other pwNPD feel free to add your experiences in the reblogs or replies

I’d say the feeling of the narc injury is a mix of disappointment, shame, anger, and anxiety. I have this picture of myself as someone who is Better than anything anyone could expect of a person and suddenly I am faced with the scenario that I’m not or that someone thinks I’m not and instead of being a normal little ouchie it kind of triggers my fight or flight response?

The way I experience them depends on how they happen

I’d say there are a few different stages: feeling stage; thought stage; verbal stage; action stage; post-verbal stage; and post-action stage. (They don’t necessarily happen in that order)

And a few different settings: alone; with people I don’t care what they think; with people I do care what they think; with people I care if they think negatively of me; with people I care if they think positively of me.

The narc injury happens for me when I in one of the stages realize that I didn’t reach my own standards or other people’s standards and how bad it gets depends a lot on which setting I’m in. I tend to instinctively get mad at other people for having standards in the first place as a way to avoid feelings of shame and anger towards myself

For example, if I get to the action stage and realize mid action that I did a cringe little dance in the privacy of my room I will feel a very mild narc injury and swear to take this secret to the grave so hard that I won’t even remember it myself.

Or I might feel excited about talking about a movie I like with someone and it hits me that they could disagree with me and before I have even started talking I feel unreasonably angry and defensive like I’m about to fight for my life my movie has to be interesting or I die and they’re just standing there not having any idea of the little war in my head but since I haven’t acted yet I can play it off like nothing is wrong and I am only mildly excited about this in an aloof “cool” way

Absolutely most mortifying is being in the post-action or post-verbal stage with company that I care about what they think (both positively and negatively at the same time) that is when someone has expressed not liking something you did or said and it has gone a little while and the moment has passed and you’re still sitting there absolutely screaming and dying inside because you were criticized and you can’t decide if you’re more mad at yourself for letting someone see you as a disappointment or at them for daring to look down at you like that (this is often perceived and not real btw) but you can’t bring it up again or you’d feel too vulnerable of course nothing could affect you emotionally ever..

If I get to use metaphors, it feels like a little bit of paint chips off your mask and suddenly it’s grotesque and ugly and all your flaws are on display and that is the absolute worst thing that could happen how could someone do that to you how could they how could they why would anyone do that to you??????!?!??!

It feels like an attack on your safety and sense of self and self worth

But often as I said it is often perceived not real and I am getting better at recognizing when I am way too deep in my own head and I have developed coping mechanisms to handle it and take things with nuance and be less paranoid

It is different from a crash in the sense that a narc injury is often smaller, specific, and can trigger a whole crash without being the crash itself

I often feel like I just want to poof everyone who has ever perceived me negatively out of existence because the stress of having them walk around capable of remembering cringe things about me haunts me

It’s a strange experience to be one who exaggerates my cringy weird parts to prove that they’re good and worthy and no one can bring me down, while at the same time hiding everything I can, I’m like shrödingers clown swinging violently back and forth between overcompensating with confidence and debilitating insecurity

That’s my experience!

#npd #cluster b #long post #ask #liminal-feeling

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boldlysoft · 2 years

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hourglass ink - writing of time and change

Sometimes I still feel like I did when they taught us grammar in school. It seemed incredibly confusing to have at least 3 different ways to express something that lies in the past or will be happening in the future. I´m sure I still get the grammar wrong all the time. Because instead of learning the rules I just did what felt right. And I never stopped.

I do it every day. Doing what feels right. And when I think about time I think about the magic of it all, not the grammar.

While I can’t lay down every single string of time that has been on my mind for you (a bit too personal and would take an eternity), I can invite you to look into some of the connections I have made for myself.

It might not make much sense, but I love the challenge of trying to form my narrative around such a complex topic.

So to begin somewhere, I want to tell you about the pictures in my camera roll that I go back to. I look at them regularly. Whenever I miss the time that passed.

I have pictures from abroad, which I look at now, missing people and pictures from the summer before, which I looked at while I was gone, missing home.

In them I see friends, family, love and strangers. And myself.

Self-centered, as I may be by saying this: It is always the strangest to look at myself in pictures. Because when I see my friends a year ago, I see their old haircut, maybe how their face changed a little since then or if they got new glasses. But they look familiar. I rarely do.

And I spoke to one of my friends about this phenomenon, actually. About how you might see yourself and think of what went through your head at the time, how you felt and what events were going on. You don’t see your facial structure or your own experimental haircut…. You see your old self.

And as I go back to look at my old self I see myself connected to a different place, speaking a different language, being a younger me, but still very intensely recognize this version of me.

Now, I find, my heart is not just in one place anymore. I lived so fully and so happily in another place that I couldn’t disagree with anyone saying I left a piece of me behind.

I guess I try to do so with everything I do, and everyone I meet. To give something that stays, if only in memories that’ll fade.

I can only be true to you and myself if I pour out my love wherever I go and to whoever I’m with.

Only then a space opens, for you to do the same so I can carry a piece of you with me.

If you love me like I love you, we will be connected in time. If only for a passing moment. That’s one thing I truly love about time. Windows of opportunity.

–

I recently gave my heart to someone for the first time, fully and with little fear.

Falling and being in love has definitely changed how I feel about time as well.

All that stuff about someone being able to stop the time when they look at you? Cringe but true.

Time has proven to be my lucky star since I can think of it. And it is an intangible mess that I wouldn’t dare to cross or doubt. It is not in my hands nor is the future predictable. When I lay tarot cards they never show the unknown, but they enable you to ask yourself the right questions. And questions I’ll endlessly have until my time is over and I’ll move on to whatever death is.

Do it all again? Or end?

I believe that if you’ve ever gone through depression or you’re dealing with anxiety you might understand what it means to consciously debate the concept of time with yourself. You wake up: too late, too early. You try to get out of bed and deal with life. The pressure of tomorrow and the remaining pull of Yesterdays.

Time flowing like a river. And you’re not sure if you’re on a boat, if you can even swim and what course you’ll take, not even to mention the danger of the current pulling you under.

Maybe we are all just living in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s world after all and his iconic last sentence in the Gatsby is supposed to make more sense to me than it evidently does:

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

The past always seemed more tangible than the future to me. But what a lose idea of giving value to memories.

Memories fading away is scary to most. I guess, partly, it is what adolescence is about: making time `worthwhile´ and making a living, making memories that you’re supposed to store and thrive off of for the remainder of your fully adult life. Maybe that’s why fading memories, or not experiencing the “big” ones feels like missing out and becomes scary to us (I am referring to societal standards). Also because memories are often so deeply connected to loved ones and no time is certainly given, we begin to view the “making memories” thing differently.

But then again, contrary to that I have found that the important ones will burn themselves into your brain, heart or soul – locate it wherever you want – and you’ll carry them with you in your core.

It seems to become a trend on social media right now to discuss “core-memories” and how they consequently affect your life or your personal development. It’s a really fun topic.

I mean, ask yourself: is the fading of memories really that bad? Or are our brains just wired to kick out what we won’t need, moving on in this stream of time that theoretically never ends and only, depending on what you believe, has one purpose for you in store?

I, myself, think of my own time as something constantly moving. Things are happening to me but I enable them. I manifest, I receive. I am one lucky son of a bitch.

I believe my life has intersections, nodal points (for God´s sake- the German word is Knotenpunkt and I don’t know how to translate it)…and they are not necessarily fixed in time.. but they come up. I trust in myself and in … the UNIVERSE… for these junctions and cross-over moments in my life.

They will teach me the most valuable lessons and open the greatest doors for me.

–

One door was the one to my heart. Opened up just a crack, for me to peek out but close again really fast once I thought danger was near. Now I feel like I’m standing wide legged in the door, flexing my (nonexistent) muscles and letting through whoever I please. Feeling so confident in who I let in and who I love is pretty amazing. But I’m sure there will be moments where I forget to stand in the wide open door, protective as fuck, and instead just let in whoever wants to come and see what happens. Because this is just a metaphor and I cannot really say I fully know what is happening when we discuss matters of the heart. Because one valuable lesson that comes with this is that even the “protective little me” in the wide open door to my heart is blind.

All of it is blind.

It’s why it’s so hard to find words for it a lot of the time.

God, I am a writer but I am at such a loss for words, when I want to say: LOVE.

Because in every crease of life I find it but never with my eyes.

And if I were to only write what I see it wouldn’t be much. Thankfully, I never run out of sexy metaphors to use and describe what I feel rather than just trusting one sense.

–

If you follow me on instagram and you care for some reason, you may have been able to notice how I post rarely but if I do it’s a song in my story. I would apologize for not being a vibrant content creator and posting whatever shit I find interesting, but to be really honest: I just don’t care that much about my online presence and persona.

I love writing as a medium because the frame of time is very different from the pace of input we are used to online. These days (and I do really sound like my grandpa here) everything is fast, faster and the fastest. I can scroll on TikTok the entire day and stimulate my brain with so much stuff from random people and I love it. I really enjoy it.

But yeah, when I have to picture my own self in that landscape of modern day creation, I fear I am simply not that fast nor faster than anyone else.

I am as slow as a snail.

Writing is my passion but I do it slowly (and to stay within my snail comparison – maybe slimy? Like I want it to stick with you!) Words are so inherently powerful and I want to craft and tinker with them until they feel just right to me. And even that will only be a momentary tool of expression that might feel outdated minutes after I press the upload button. So you see how time really is the bright red string that webs through my daily life.

It’s why I only ever post music to my stories.

While I don’t think I have the gift of being able to musically express myself, the genius of others that can, is something that blows my mind daily. I find lyrics to be the most important thing to me, because I really love words in every form of art but there is much more to music than that.

That is why I have curated a little playlist, which I’ll use as a means of connecting plot points in my own life over the past year. You can find it below this post.

And funny enough the playlist has turned out to be a circle. You can hear it from top to bottom and or in reverse and all the lyrics, the sound and the titles of the tracks will make sense (in my opinion).

The first and the last track are both titled “Time”. But their perceptions of it are opposites. Jack Garratt sings of time being “on your side” while Mimi Bay calls it her only “enemy”. I find both sides to be accurate.

Further, the playlist goes into my personal journey towards love. I found deep, soft voices always more resonant when the lyrics speak of love that never subsides. I realized that distance doesn´t tear you apart but can bring you closer and I learned that I still have to “throw the fear” in many ways, which I am still uncovering. But after all, loving the right people will always be worth something.

And last summer, when the heat of the day still simmered on asphalt, I used to listen to Frank Ocean and similar artists a lot. The layered lyrics and interchanging sound along with the rhythm encapture the memory of a summer for me, in which I felt a little lost but knew big things were ahead.

In many regards I connect music to the seasons. And so my little collection of songs that I remember listening to periodically seems to take me through the spring, summer, fall and winter of last year up to today, where they all ring true and resonate as a full circle moment with what I am writing and thinking about right now.

–

Yesterday, I got a tattoo.

It turned out really well. And it encapsulates everything I just spoke of and more.

When people ask me if my tattoos have any meaning I always have to quickly pick one answer. Because it takes some time if you actually wanted to know the layers and even then I’m not done because my body is changing, going through time, I will add more and find other meanings over time.

I view being tattooed as my own sphere of communicating with myself over the physicality of my body. My body isn’t permanent but my tattoos are. I am in this vessel only this once. And I can damn well curate and decorate it however I want. Only it is more to me.

I admire everyone who gets tattoos because they look cool. Because hell yeah, most of the time they do (I have my own taste and I am absolutely judging tattoos on others, just like I am being judged for mine). So how they look is one thing. But I also once read how the symbolism you permanently etch into your skin opens up another level of communication: one with yourself and the world around you, that perceives tattooed people with either understanding or stereotypical judgement. Whenever I do get a new tattoo I am aware of both, or I try to be.

Now, my new tattoo is an hourglass. I thinks it’s absolutely beautiful. (peep the instagram to see it)

When I was asked about why I was getting it I mostly replied: “Its my memento mori tattoo”. And I stand by that. It definitely has to do with my wondrous discovery and ongoing rediscovery of the conception of a life-time.

When I told my mom about getting tattooed she was supportive, because she is the loveliest mother, and she just wanted to know if it meant something to me. I promised that it wasn’t just a phase and that I’d always put in as much thought as I could, so I wouldn’t come to regret my choices. But maybe it is just a phase, mom. Maybe some day I’ll turn the hourglass, change my mind and realize all of the ink on my body was a horrible mistake. But then I’d have to live with that and it would lead me to another point in my life. Wouldn’t that in itself prove my idea of time again? And make my tattoo meaningful even if I stopped liking it? Wouldn’t time always be there, just like my tattoo??

I like the dramatics of picturing sand running out. Some day my time will be over. But how funny is that I have an hourglass that´ll never chance, where the sand CANNOT run out, on my skin until the day I die? And beyond that? My lifeless body will be burned to ashes and only then the symbol of frozen time will disappear. My time will have ended and my hourglass becomes this hilarious pun on my own life. I only just thought of that. HA!

And that is exactly what I mean… All this writing has again let me to discover another layer to my already double-meaning tattoo. And I’m having such a fun time.

Nothing in life is endless and there is no static in time.

Another thing I almost wanted to add to my tattoo but to me is entailed in it, is a line from my favorite show. Phoebe Waller-Bridges “Fleabag” is so wonderfully scripted and funny, that I can recommend it to you if the mixture of grief, love and sarcasm turns you on. So without any spoilers I want to quote the last line from the second season: “It’ll pass.” Seeing that scene was a pivotal moment for me in understanding, that yes, everything will indeed pass.

My time in another place has passed and though I returned to my former home, time now passes different, as I am different. My body has changed and my hair is shorter but I´m growing it out again.

But much more than that: feelings that I thought were so strong they’d never change, have passed and will continue to fade along with memories I won´t need in my core.

Love that seemed great before will grow to be even greater. And my open heart will never be full. I have more love to give still.

The sky is no limit and neither is time, because she is on my side and my enemy.

Balance, formed into an hourglass on my skin, gives and you the illusion of understanding at least a fragment of what time could be.

I have pictures in my camera roll now, where I am without that tattoo. A different person. But the same Me that runs around with my heart open wide, blindly praying for the future to surprise me like it always does.

I am not afraid of memories or my tattoo fading. I´ll be alright. And if you´re ever struggling or unsure of that: I promise you: You will be alright. Time´s got you.

#writing #journal #my writing #writers on tumblr #daily life #writers #diary #journaling #student #life lessons #love #relationships #music #tattoos #meaning #time #Spotify

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idy-ll-ique · 3 years

Text

a pathetic mistake

pairing: steve rogers x f!reader

genre: angst to fluff

summary: steve rogers never raises his voice at y/n. until he does. and then everything goes to shit.

author's note: hiya peeps i can't sleep so i have decided to write a lil something enjoy!

---

steve rogers was pissed off

and you know what's worse than a pissed off captain america?

a sleep-deprived pissed off captain america

him and his team of agents, they'd been on the mission 3 days 3 nights with no sleep

of course, something like this would lead to some problems, which it did

failed communication

and then everything fell apart, the mission was a bust

the one who'd taken this defeat the hardest was, of course, the leader of the team, steve rogers

angrily grumbling to himself, he walked into the briefing room and just stood there, his back to the door, anger rolling off of him in strong waves

there was another thing:

a woman on his team, y/n y/l/n

she had just been promoted, and this was her first mission with the captain

of course, she was disheartened as well because her first mission didn't go so well

but here's the thing: steve rogers never raised his voice at her

he'd trained her ever since she was a baby agent; he was her mentor, her leader, her superior in every sense

also her crush because damn who wouldn't

so the rest of the team insisted she go into the room, because with experience they knew that steve was going to explode the moment he heard someone entering the room

hopefully, upon seeing y/n he'd calm down a little

oh, but things went horribly wrong the moment y/n entered the room

steve's ears caught footsteps behind him and without even turning around, he started yelling at whoever had walked into the room, accusing them of butchering the "very important mission"

y/n stood there silently, not believing the fact that the one man she looked up to was saying such horrible things to her

her eyes filled with tears; she heard him using words he'd never dare say in front of anyone else

"i have to go."

at that, steve abruptly stopped yelling but by the time he turned around, y/n was already running out of the room, sobbing

the rest of the team were simply stood outside the door, watching with dropped jaws until they noticed steve walking out at which they immediately dismantled and ran away

steve looked around the corridor, guilt now replacing anger as his primary emotion because he didn't mean to yell at y/n

he could never yell at her

why not? he loved her

hell, he couldn't even tell her off, or disagree with her on anything— he was as pathetic as a schoolboy with a crush on his classmate

"i can deal with the team later."

he immediately ran towards y/n's room, his heart shattering when he heard her crying inside

"y/n? y/n, open the door, sweetheart, please!"

the crying paused for a second. then another and another

"go away."

i fucked up

"please, doll, hear me out—"

"oh, i heard you loud and clear, captain, i don't think i need to hear another word that comes out of your mouth."

disheartened, steve walked away from the door

it was afternoon when the incident happened, and he hoped that at dinner time he'd be able to apologize to her

and so he waited

dinnertime came and went by

no sign of y/n

"rogers, what did you do, where's y/n? i heard somewhere that you screamed very harshly at the poor woman and i swear to god if she's not here because of you—"

"hey, i already feel bad about it, okay? i didn't mean to yell at her. you know i can never do that," steve sighed, glancing at natasha

"they should've never sent your ass on the mission," bucky chimed in, "you don't take sleep-deprivation very well. they should've sent me or nat instead."

steve simply rolled his eyes

at bedtime, as he walked towards his bedroom, he suddenly saw y/n coming towards him from the opposite direction, clutching her stomach

they'd not eaten anything since the previous day and he couldn't really blame her for wanting some food

"hey."

she ignored him completely

cancelling his plans, he followed her to the communal area where she fixed herself a plate without a word

"i'm very sorry, y/n. i never meant to yell at you. you know i don't yell at you. i didn't see who had come in and just assumed it was todd since he was standing in the front, right behind me. please, y/n, you know i didn't mean what i said about you. i'm really sorry. so, so, so sorry."

y/n finally looked at him

"it really hurt, you know? imagine the person you look up to, your mentor, your idol, saying such things to you. whether you meant it or not, saying those things to anyone is so— so demeaning."

steve lowered his head in shame

"but i forgive you."

he looked up, hopeful

she was looking at him, a small smile on her face

"just— just promise me you won't say something like that to me or anyone else ever again. i understand your frustration about the mission going wrong but you know it's a team effort, right? somewhere in there, you were at fault as well."

"i completely understand. i'm really sorry again, i promise, i won't say anything like that ever again."

both of them sat down at the dining table

"can i ask you something?"

"sure."

"why don't you ever yell at me? i see you yelling at people all the time yet you've never done so to me. why? i mean, good that you don't yell at me but still— why?"

steve laughed softly

"a very good question. i don't know, i just— there's something about you that makes me want to not yell at you, or even say anything negative about you."

she snorted

"like a crush or something?" she joked, not expecting it to be true in a million years

but to her surprise, steve grinned

"exactly like a crush."

"wait what?"

"i'm not lying. i really do have a crush on you and the reason why i don't like to yell at you is because i don't— i don't want you to hate me. that's all."

"steve, seriously?"

he laughed at her expression of disbelief

"not kidding, 100% true."

y/n stared at him, jaw dropped

"i— i like you too, i— wow."

steve scooted his chair closer to hers, pressing a soft kiss to her lips

"there. your confirmation, princess."

"steve," she chuckled bashfully

as the two lovebirds sat there, giggling to themselves, someone suddenly cleared their throat behind them

"alright, i see you've made up more than enough, now go to bed at once."

"ma'am yes ma'am."

---

a/n: thanks for reading everyone i literally just wrote this rn in like 30 minutes sorry if it's crappy lmao leave a like if you enjoyed!

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caker-baker · 3 years

Text

Eternally Yours

“They’re not like us.”

“I know”

“They never will be.”

“I know.”

The villain sighed at the hero’s resolve, and stared them down with a stony gaze. “I have to be older than you.”

“Oh?” The hero entertained the idea for a second, still not looking at the villain. “What makes you say that?”

“The light in your eyes hasn’t died yet.”

That did make the hero glance over briefly, catching the villain’s near glare, but they just as quickly refocused on the sunset, allowing their arms to rest on the trunk of the tree.

“They’ll turn on you.” The villain continued.

“Inevitably.”

“You’ll end up like me. Old, tired, nowhere to go, nothing to do except grab for power and demand respect.”

“I am old. I am tired.”

The villain scoffed. “Please. You still have hope. Write me when you get chased out of your first village.”

Despite the fact that the day did come where the hero was turned on, despite the fact they were chased out of their home, despite the fact that the villain was right, the hero never wrote them.

The villain kept watch, though.

“How did it feel?” They emerged from the shadows, not at all scaring the hero, still trekking to their next home.

“Can’t say it didn’t hurt.” The hero shrugged, letting the plants under their feet grow just a bit more.

The villain noticed.

“You’re angry.”

The villain was happy.

“No.” The hero disagreed, and the plants stopped responding to their call. “No, I’m just happy I got to stay as long as I did.”

“How can you be like me?” The villain asked. “We’re so different.”

“I like my calling much more over your shadows.”

“Anyone would prefer the ability to nurture life over shrouding the world in darkness.”

The hero laughed, it almost made the villain stop in their tracks.

“How often do you hear someone laugh, Villain?”

In theory, the villain heard laughter a million times over. This was different. This was a sound of joy that reached the villain’s soul the way most things couldn’t.

So, the villain didn’t answer, and just cleared their throat.

“Write me when it happens again. I mean it.”

The villain was gone.

It took a little longer the next time around, for the hero learned to better cover their tracks, but it didn’t last.

For the second time in their life as a hero, they were chased away.

For the third time in their life as a hero, the villain appeared.

“It’s troublesome, tracking you down. Writing me would save the worry.”

“I didn’t have much access to stationary.” The hero teased, and the tree branch they were sitting on creaked, another response to the hero’s touch.

The villain did have to look up at the hero, which was a bother, but they could climb.

And the hero waited.

“I see you’ve bettered your calling.” They said, looking at the cluster of trees that popped up overnight.

“It was an accident.” The hero defended. “It’s kind of new.”

“Aren’t you also old and tired?” The villain quipped. “Were you really just living for years thinking you wouldn’t die, with no inkling of a idea that you could have a calling?”

The hero blushed.

“Oh.” The villain sucked in a breath. “You need to get it under control before you try for the next miserable little village.”

“Avoid the Westlands.” The villain continued. “There are so few with callings left already. They’ve begun killing those even suspected.”

“Thank you.”

It had been a while since the villain was thanked.

They disappeared in a flourish of darkness.

It was the Westlands the hero went to. It was the Westlands the villain furiously traveled to, all the while wondering how the hero managed the faster pace between the two.

They didn’t wait for the hero to be hurt this time.

“What are you doing?” The villain hissed, dragging them to the edge of the wood on the Westland border. “I told you what they’re doing here, I warned you.”

“I want to help the others who have callings. I want to help the ones wrongly accused.”

“You fool!” The villain threw up their wall of shadows, and continued pulling the hero along with them. “You blithering ass!”

The roots of the trees grew larger under the villain’s feet.

“Stop it!” The hero shouted, pulling back, letting the villain trip over the roots. “I’m going to help them.”

“Like the hells you are.” The villain shot back, recovering from their stumble quickly. “They’ll kill you faster than any of them for daring to sympathize.”

“So instead I’ll live on knowing I could have helped my people and didn’t.”

That struck a nerve with the villain. Were they not helping one of their people right now? Were they not trying to save the hero from certain death?

“If you die-” the villain snarled, and turned slowly to face the hero. “I will never forgive you.”

The hero smiled.

The villain fled to the Eastlands to reign further terror along their path.

This time, the hero chased after them.

“You need to stop, please.” The hero said softly next to the villain, who was content in watching the flames burn brighter. “All the people are already out.”

“I noticed you sneaking around with them, my dear. I could have stopped you ten times over.”

The threat was clear: I can be worse.

“Won’t this further hurt our kind? Knowing it was one of us who did this?” The hero gently placed a hand on the villain’s shoulder, who placed their hand on top of the hero’s.

“I wasn’t caught. I never get caught outside of the west. Besides, they were starting too think too much like the Westlands.” Their grip on the hero’s hand tightened. “How many years was it? No word from you. Knowing I couldn’t do this to the Westlands without all the blame being pinned on us.”

“Did you-” the hero thought over their words. “Did you do this for me?”

“I did it because I was angry, my dear. But I was angry for you.” The villain removed their hand, and cleared their throat. “How many did you save?”

The hero’s eyes lost just a bit of shine. “I waited, for so long. There were hardly any with actual callings. Just the accused. It’s like it’s just us.”

Not such a bad thing. The villain thought.

They didn’t stop their crimes, especially the ones that caught the hero’s attention.

“When I heard of a new lordship, I didn’t think that meant-”

“That it was me and my power grab?”

“I knew you were somewhere near the north.”

The villain tsked. “They’ve given it a name since the commoners revolted, with my support, naturally.”

“Commoners?” The hero repeated, stepping back.

“That’s what they are.” It was pushed aside, quickly, quietly, like all the things the villain did. “Come along, we have plenty to do now that you’re here.”

“I’m not staying.” They stepped back again. “I came to petition the new lordship for our people’s protection.”

“Already done. Outlawed on my land. It’s become a safe haven to whoever’s left.”

“Why was the Westlander Militia symbol on your guard’s post?”

The villain’s eyes snapped up. “Deals were made. You can help now that you’re here.”

“I’m not staying. There’s more work to be done.”

“It can be done here.” The villain snarled. “I’ve waited for you for years to come to your senses.”

“Wait a few years more.”

“If you leave now,” the villain interrupted the hero’s angry walkout. “You’ll never have my power in your hands again.”

The hero never even hesitated.

It kept on, decades at a time. One chased after the other, to persuade, to stop, to comfort.

“You can’t make-” the villain sighed, and placed their arms around the sobbing hero. “You can’t make attachments, please, love, say this will be the last one.”

“It can’t only be us.” The hero hissed through their tears. “How is it only us?”

The villain had seen this before, the eventual break of the mind, wanting for a release, for companions as eternal as you, waiting for the moment death would allow you to see them again. The villain had been in the same break before meeting the hero.

For the first time in their long history, the villain gave them space.

But it took too long.

Their world melted into modernization, the age of callings over, the age of superpowers beginning.

There still weren’t enough of them, and the public opposed the young new heroes too much.

So, the villain did what they did best. They grabbed for power, and fought back in the most immoral ways they knew how. Against the government they had their hands in, and against the perception of the public they couldn’t seem to touch.

But it took too long. The villain was lonely. And the villain began searching.

They liked the modern age for that reason - it made finding people so much easier. Maybe not the people who hadn’t been born in this era, but everyone had something to follow, even if it was just one second of their face in a traffic camera.

The villain would know them anywhere.

And the villain followed. When they reached the end of the trail, they did not approve of the hero’s current living situation.

Nothing dire, but all too meek for the villain’s taste.

Miles and miles outside city limits was the hero, in some field in some farmhouse with no farm. The hero could grow one if they wanted to, meaning the lack of flora was a choice.

When the villain knocked on the door, they expected the hero to answer with a sigh of disapproval, a click of the tongue.

They didn’t expect it to slam right back in their face.

The villain had hardly glanced at the hero’s face, and that was the most infuriating part. Their counterpart should have known how lonely it was, how delightful it was to see some familiarity in a constantly evolving world.

Breaking the door down wasn’t the smartest move, maybe, but it got the job down.

“Hero!” The villain shouted, trying to sense them among the kitschy decor.

Naturally, the hero was halfway out the spare room’s window, and the villain picked up on it. They knew the hero, more than the hero would like to admit.

They covered the spare room in darkness the second they crossed the door frame. Immediately, something inched up and around the villain’s legs.

Of course the hero kept plants in their home. It didn’t matter, the villain could see through their own cloak, and the hero couldn’t, still blindly reaching for the edges of the window.

“Talk to me, damnit!” The villain shouted, pulling the crook of the hero’s arm back, pinning their back against the villain’s chest.

“Let go of me!” The hero shrieked. “I want nothing to do with you.”

The darkness dissipated.

“Since when?” The villain shot back, trying to ignore the greenery growing higher on their body. “What’s happened, my dear?”

The hero tried to push off of them, but the villain was the one doing large acts of terror with nearly no one to stop them, the hero, it seemed, hadn’t been doing much to keep up with the villain’s physique.

“You happened!” The hero shouted. “You and your damned fighting with the public.”

“You could have come and stopped me at any time.” The villain hissed into the hero’s ear.

“And you could let me go.”

The villain froze. They didn’t want to, and they especially didn’t want to admit it.

“Give-” they cleared their throat. “Give me a few minutes more, please.”

At that, the hero went silent, and obliged the villain’s request.

“Thank you.” The villain planted a light kiss to the top of the hero’s head. “Don’t run away.”

For what seemed like the millionth time in their lives, the villain let go of the hero.

For the first time in a while, the hero stayed.

With a wave of the hero’s hand, the plants creeping up the villain fell to the ground.

“What do you want?” The hero demanded, finally turning to face the villain.

The villain had to suck in a breath. It had been so long since they had been able to fully see them in all their glory.

“You’re taking too long. I was giving you time and space, but it’s been-”

“I know how long it’s been.” The hero cut off the villain. “It was intentional.”

That hurt. But they would especially never admit it out loud.

“I need more time.” The hero added as an afterthought.

“Really, my dear.” The villain scoffed. “It’s been plenty of-”

“You don’t get to decide how I grieve. I loved her.”

Oh. This was the route the hero was going.

Fine then, the villain could play this cruel game.

“Love?” They repeated, shoving their hands in their pockets. “Love is something people like us can’t afford. Love isn’t some game we get to play.”

“It’s not a game!” The hero protested. “You’re saying you’ve never been in love?”

Never with the wrong person.

“I fancy myself a patient person, my dear, but I draw the line at love.”

“You don’t draw lines at anything! You don’t get to decide anything about me!”

“I’m far too perfectly aware. If I had my way, you’d never leave my side, you wouldn’t insist on doing things the kind way.” The villain’s lip curled. “You wouldn’t fall in love with the wrong people.”

Oh. So this was about jealousy.

It was not a shocking realization to the hero. They wondered, in fact, how they didn’t see it before.

“Spare me your melodramatics.” The hero mumbled. “You’ve had just as long as me to find someone new.”

“How did that work out for you?”

The hero took a visible step away that time.

“Falling in love,” the villain stepped forward. “Is foolish. Having room for anyone but the people like you is selfish.”

“Selfish?” The hero repeated in disbelief. “You’re calling me selfish? You’ve done more to harm our image than protect it! All for the sake of some petty vengeance story.” They steadied themselves in a protective stance.

“We’re really going to do this?” The villain smiled. “We’ve had our squabbles, but this one could level the city, even with the distance.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

In the end, there wasn’t much to be said about the fight to end all fights. Everything succumbed to darkness, even the creation of life itself.

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dragonmasterkaylz · 3 years

Text

Wife of Poseidon

WARNING: Contains Smut, Rape & Brutal Murder. If you are sensitive to these topics or under the age of 18, don’t read. Also, if my interpretation of Poseidon is a little off, I do apologise. And he is a little (very) yandere in this. This also contains a character of my own making… so if you don’t like that, don’t read it.

Within Poseidon’s Palace, lives a beautiful woman with gorgeous blue hair that almost sparkled in the light. Her eyes matched the blue of the ocean and her body was so voluptuous, only wearing a white bodysuit with golden accents and pale blue jewels on her collar and her hips. Along with gloves and matching stockings, a sheer blue material connecting her outfit together and trailing behind her. Her name is Aquamarie and she was Poseidon’s Queen.

She was beyond beautiful in Poseidon’s eyes and the perfect Queen for him due to her Humility and Kindness. And no one was allowed to look directly at his Queen unless they wanted their head to leave their shoulders. The God wasn’t necessarily worried that another man would steal his Queen from him, especially since she had already pledged her loyalty to him and loved him unconditionally. He just didn’t want his beautiful wife to be tainted with another ones gaze, especially from his servants.

She walked down the Palace, and into the Throne Room, only to find a bunch of dead servants and her angry husband. ‘Oh dear! Isn’t it too early for this?! I only just woke up!!!’ She ran over to him and asked, “What happened?!!” He looked at his wife and gently stroked her cheek, making her blush and smile under his gentle touch. “They were tainting you with their with words of lust and perversion, thinking I wouldn’t hear them. Anyone who thinks like that about you must be taken out… no questions asked. Now, let’s leave… I wouldn’t want their blood to taint your loveliness”, he told her.

The other Gods believed that Poseidon was actually using Aquamarie more as his property than his actual wife. But the truth was far sweeter. She is the only woman that understands him, the only woman to love him for the brutal God he is, and the only woman he could love. Which is exactly the reason why he wouldn’t want anyone to taint her with their disgusting words, touch or even sight. This was just in his nature, to keep his wife from experiencing anything he deemed unworthy of her.

“Poseidon… you really must stop killing our servants though, or else you won’t have any left. Next time, just try throwing them in the dungeon”, she suggested. He hummed and asked, “Do you disagree with my methods?” She sighed and gently placed her hands on his chest before saying, “Of course not. But you should think about this logically. You cannot always resort to violence when things start to displease you.” He hummed and walked past her before saying, “You know I cannot do that my love. There are reasons for my titles, and I cannot throw that away by suddenly becoming merciful.”

Aquamarie stood next to him in silence and he looked at her before suddenly stopping in his tracks. “Hm…?” She stopped and turned back to look at him. His stance was almost as solid as rock, but she giggled when she saw the softness in his eyes… as well as the slight blush in his cheeks. She placed her arms around him and then kissed him gently. Poseidon closed his eyes and kissed her back, making every servant watch. He only had one weakness and that was the beautiful woman in his arms. No one would think that ‘The Most Fearsome God’ had a soft side and that’s because only his wife saw it. If anyone else did… they were killed.

“I’m sorry… I should’ve kissed you as soon as I saw you”, she said with blush coating her cheeks. He then whispered in her ear, “That’s going to cost you later, my beloved.” Then he held her hand and walked to the meeting room, where many other Olympian Gods and Goddesses were. Hermes bowed respectfully in their presence and then said, “Lady Aquamarie, I have tea and cakes laid out for you.” She smiled happily and said, “Thank you Hermes~!” And then she took her seat next to her husband before looking happily at her spread. “I see that your wife has a sweet tooth, brother!”, Zeus said with a smirk. “Hmph.” “Silent as ever I see.”

After the meeting was over, Poseidon walked out with his wife, who was still eating cake. “Hmm~, delicious~!” He looked at her and sighed before grabbing her chin, making her look at him. “You’re a messy eater…”, he said to her before licking her chin and then her lips. She blushed heavily and finished eating, before looking up at him. “Hm… not my first choice. But it’s not bad either”, he said to her before walking away. “H-Hey…! You can’t just do something like that and then walk away as if nothing happened!”, she protested. He chuckled at the claim she was making and then said, “Don’t dawdle then… come here if you want me to pleasure you but also punish you for not kissing me as soon as you woke up.”

Hours later, in the bedroom, Poseidon had his wife begging for mercy under his surprisingly gentle touch. He had already cum inside of her multiple times but he didn’t let her cum once, overstimulating her. Aquamarie begged and begged as he trusted into her while playing with her clit, making her scream out. He smirked and kissed her neck as he used his other hand to squeeze her breast. “M-My Lord… Poseidon~…! I’m begging you…!!! It won’t happen again…!!! Let me cum~…!!!”, she begged as she leaned her head back on his shoulder. Poseidon loved the fact that his wife was a masochist, but even he knew that she had her limits. She tried to stop herself, but she started to squirt into his hand. He smirked and whispered, “Don’t you dare… not until I finish inside of you again, my dearest.”

She screamed as she was put onto her hands and knees. He spanked her a few times, making sure red marks were present on her. Then he held her hips pretty hard, hoping bruises would form on her beautiful body. He leaned down and kissed her skin, leaving more and more markings on her. He wanted the entire world to know that she belonged to him and only him. She was his Queen, his Wife, his beloved and hopefully one day… the Mother of his children. “I want to breed you…”, he confessed. “Then please… breed me. I want your children~”, she responded before turning around so she could look at him. He kissed her and then said, “Cum with me, my love.” Poseidon grunted as he felt himself cum inside of her once more, but that was nothing compared to her screaming as she came. “POSEIDON~!!!”

Aquamarie fell on their bed as he pulled out of her and gently pulled her into his arms, kissing her head. A giggle escaped her lips and she kissed his cheek. “That was mean.” He smirked and then kissed her properly before saying, “But you deserved divine punishment for not kissing me this morning.” She cupped his cheeks and brought him down for another kiss, wrapping her arms around him. “Hmm… don’t tempt me to fuck you again.” “Hehe~. I won’t… I don’t think my hips can handle it…”, she replied. Poseidon rested her upon their bed and kissed her cheek. “Rest up, my love.” “I will.” As he exited the room, fully clothed, a few servants wanted to exact revenge on the God for his ruthless nature.

Poseidon sat on his throne, looking as bored as ever. His wife was sleeping, there were no more meetings for the day, so he felt as though he could just fall asleep then and there. He closed his eyes and smiled as he thought about his beloved Queen and their future children. But that was interrupted by Aquamarie’s scream. His eyes widened and he grabbed his Trident before heading straight to his bedroom, only to see a few of Aquamarie’s maids outside, attempting to get in. “Stand back!”, he ordered. Once they were out of the way, he kicked the door down, taking it off its hinges and walked in.

His eyes widened at what he saw. Three of his servants having their way with his defenceless wife. Her eyes almost had no colour in them as they fucked her from behind, fucked her mouth and took pleasure in the sight of Poseidon’s wife being violated by them. “You filthy bastards…!”, he said, his voice filled with rage as he pulled the one watching away from her and skewered him with his Trident, not killing him though. He then pointed the bloody Trident at the other two and shouted, “Get your filthy cocks away from my wife, this instant!!!” His orders were clear, but they were ignored.

Aquamarie then screamed as one of them grabbed her hair, pushing himself further inside, hurting her. Tears ran down her cheeks, which was the last straw for him. He grabbed the one violating her mouth and threw him against the wall, knocking him out. “I’m sorry my dear…”. And finally used the end of his Trident to push the other against the headboard, knocking him out as well. His wife then crawled up to him and hugged him. “I-I’m sorry…!!!” “Don’t you dare apologise… they’ll be receiving the worst punishment possible for this”, he whispered back to her. “Maids! Take care of my Queen and clean her up!” They obeyed immediately and two of them helped her stand up before placing a robe around her.

While the servants were being tortured, the maids cleaned her up, and then got her to rest in a hot spring just after her bath. “Is that all, my lady?”, one of them asked. “Yes… please tell Poseidon where I am. I want to see him.” “Of course. Please have a lovely rest”, the maid said before leaving. Tears ran down the Queens cheeks and she cried into her hands, as she felt as if she had betrayed her own husband. The maid walked down into the dungeons and approached Poseidon, bowing in the process. “My Lord… Queen Aquamarie would like to see you in the hot springs as soon as possible.” “Alright…”.

The Tyrant of the Seas was covered in blood, looking at the three servants who violated his beloved wife. They weren’t so much as allowed to look at her, so the crime they committed deserved a fate worse than death. “Call Hades and make sure these three are tortured in the Underworld for all eternity”, Poseidon said as he walked away. “Yes, my Lord.” The God showered himself and washed away the blood before heading towards the Hot Spring, which he only had in his Palace since Aquamarie loved the ones in Japan. He wasn’t too fond of humans, if anything he hated them. But he tolerated their customs, especially if his wife did.

Poseidon wasn’t surprised to see his wife crying on the side of the hot spring. He got in the water alongside her and gently pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry…! I’m sorry!” He rubbed her back and said, “I told you not to apologise. You were asleep, tired and sore. They used that to their advantage… but I can assure you, that they’ve been punished for their actions.” She nodded, but that did not stop her from crying her heart out. Unlike most Gods and Goddesses, she did not have a heart of steel and was very gentle. He kissed her and placed a hand over heart, as if he wanted to heal it. “Hey… you’re still having my children”, he reminded her. She giggled and said, “Yes… Yes I am~.”

END

#record of ragnarok poseidon x reader #record of ragnarok #record of ragnarok poseidon #canon x oc #don’t like don’t read

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rachaelswrites · 3 years

Text

Not Them

Jennifer Jareau x Daughter!reader

Word Count: 2,046

Requested By: Anonymous

if you’re okay with writing angst i was thinking that maybe jareau!reader gets into an argument with her parents and later her, henry and michael all get kidnapped and the reader takes all of the torture to protect her brothers. they find them but the reader is dying and they don’t know if she is gonna make it. you can end it however you want! love your writing! :)

A/N: Takes place around season 14/15 so reader is about 16/17

Warnings: Kidnappings, mentions of torture/injuries (nothing graphic), and hospitals

It wasn’t often that you disagreed with your parents. Your whole family got along and fights were rare in the Jareau-LaMontange household, but tonight was different. Luckily, Henry and Michael were already asleep when you decided to piss your mom off. It was no one’s fault really. What started as a small argument changed directions drastically. All it took was a particular word for you to mumble under your breath for your mom to snap.

JJ had been having a rough week at work and all she wanted was to go into the weekend without worrying about work and just spend time with her husband and kids. Even if you said the rudest thing, she would never raise her voice, only using the voice she used on unsubs. It was scarier than her yelling but tonight, she couldn’t handle it.

“Y/n I don’t understand why you’re being like this! What happened to the girl I raised.”

“I’m still here mom!,” you yelled back, “You just haven’t realized because you always have your face shoved in a work file or spending time with the boys!”

“I do make time for you,” JJ said, a little calmer than before, “We went out to dinner last weekend. Just you and me. Was that not enough?”

“Really? You think three hours of your time makes up for all the days I spent worrying about you getting home? All the holidays you missed? All the milestones? I thought you were smarter than that. Profilers are supposed to be smart,” the insult was childish, but it did the trick.

JJ stood up from the bed and looked you dead in the eyes, “Y/n. I have done so much more than you think I have. Whether you know it or not I have had to sacrifice things for this family. My job saves people and sometimes I have to leave. But you have no right to say something like this.”

You stared back at her, not giving up, “I have every right to be mad at you and your stupid job. You don’t get to control my feelings like that.”

“I’m your mom. I know what’s best for you and this anger isn’t it,” JJ argued back.

“How dare you pull that on me,” you didn’t want to hear anymore so you turned and walked towards the door.

“You know, I wish you weren’t acting this way. I enjoyed the old Y/n better,” she said, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Well,” you turned back to face her, “I’ll just go back to being the helpless little seven year old who couldn’t speak for herself,” you spun back around and pushed past Will, who had come upstairs at hearing things escalate. JJ and Will heard your door slam shut before either of them spoke.

“I was too harsh on her wasn’t I? God I feel awful now,” JJ ran her hand through her hair and sat on the edge of the bed, “I should apologize.”

“Give her time first. She needs to cool down as well,” Will said, “You two can apologize to each other in the morning.”

Morning came earlier than anyone in the house wanted. At five, both Will and JJ had gotten called into work on the same case, which meant it was bad.

“I can’t go and tell her and we can’t just leave a note,” JJ said, “If I wake her up this early, she’ll either ignore me or punch me,” she took a sip of her coffee before grabbing her jacket.

“I’ll go do it,” Will went back upstairs and into your room, “Y/n?” he waited for your response.

You rolled over and faced the door, “What?” you said harshly.

“I’m letting you know me and your mom have to go in.”

“Of course. Duty calls I guess,” you rolled back over and closed your eyes.

“You know JJ is sorry right?”

“I really don’t care. You can go now, I know your jobs are important. Go,” you said angrily.

“Y/n,” he realized he wouldn’t get anywhere with you at this moment, “Goodbye. We’ll keep you updated,” he closed the door and went back downstairs, getting his things and heading out the door.

Even though it was a Saturday, you still woke up early. The boys always slept in on the weekends so you had the house to yourself for a few more hours. Once Henry and Michael woke up, you made sure they ate and were distracted for a while. Eventually, Michael was getting tired of being inside and wanted to go to the park. One of JJ and Will’s rules was that if they were both gone, you weren’t allowed to leave the house with both boys. You always thought this rule was stupid but you still never broke it, until today. You were mad at both of them and figured you were in enough trouble already.

You couldn’t leave Henry at home by himself so he went along. At the park, you watched both your brothers make friends with the other kids and chase each other around. You noticed a man watching them closer than the other kids and he kept glancing at you. You kept a closer eye on them until the man disappeared from your vision, You hoped he left but you felt his presence behind you.

“You’re a bit young to be their mom. Don’t you think?” he asked. He was standing directly behind you where you were sitting on a bench. You ignored him and kept your focus on Henry and Michael. The man laughed quietly to himself, “I know you Y/n. I know your mom, your dad and your brothers,” the man pulled out a knife and held the blade to your back, “Call them over and no one gets hurt.”

You knew you shouldn’t have complied but you were scared. Not scared for you, but for the boys. You called them over and the man forced all of you into the back of his car. He blindfolded all three of you before driving off.

You tried to remember how long the drive was and what turns he took but it was more difficult than it seemed. You were never good at remembering things, especially in times of stress. The man led all of you into a building and took his time tying you and your brothers into chairs. He removed the blindfolds and tossed them aside, pulling out another knife, much larger and sharper than the one before.

~~~~~

JJ had kept checking her phone, hoping to see a text or call from you. Spencer could tell something was going on with her.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, sitting in the chair next to her.

“Yeah it’s just, me and Y/n got in a huge fight last night and I haven’t heard from her since. I know she’s mad but I just want to hear from her.”

“Have you called her? Maybe she’ll answer,” he suggested.

“Will called her an hour ago and she didn’t pick up,” she responded, “I’m sure she’ll call when she’s ready.”

~~~~~

“Please don’t hurt them. They’re too young, just hurt me,” you were trying to plead with this creep. His knife was placed too close to Henry for your liking,”I know people like you. You don’t care who you torture, just the why. Take me and leave them alone. Please.

The man seemed to think about your offer before untying you and pulling you to your feet, “I’ll spare them, only because you asked nicely.”

Hours later, you looked like a different person. You were covered in dark bruises and fresh cuts, deep and shallow, littered your body. The pain was unbearable but you couldn’t imagine the damage that would’ve been done to your brothers. Your main goal was to protect them at all costs, since you broke a rule and now you were all here. Maybe if you stayed at home, nothing bad would’ve happened.

“I have to say, you lasted longer than I thought,” he pushed you to the floor and you gathered all your remaining strength to pull yourself to the chair you sat in earlier.

“Are you okay?” Henry asked. You looked over and nodded, wincing quietly at the pain. You glanced over at Michael, who hadn’t said a word, but who had been crying silently since the man dragged you from the room.

The man cleared his throat and you looked his way. He slid a cell phone on the floor to your feet, “Call your parents. Maybe they’ll get here in time to save you,” the man turned and left the building, seemingly leaving the crime scene.

You picked up the phone and dialed JJ’s number.

~~~~~

Finally, the sound of JJ’s phone ringing echoed through the room. She quickly pulled it out but saw it was a random number. She declined the call, wanting to keep the line clear in case you called. The number called again, so she answered, “Hello?”

“Mom? P-please hurry,” your voice was almost a whisper.

“Y/n? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Tell me what’s happening,” no one on the team had heard JJ’s voice this worried before.

“Please hurry. I-I don’t know how much time I have left.”

“Stay on the phone for me, Bug. Please,” JJ didn’t even have to tell anyone before they were working on a trace, “I need you to stay on the line so we can find you. Can you do that?”

“No,” you said, terror was laced in your voice. You could feel the life slowly slipping as it was getting harder to breath, “It hurts Mommy. I’m tired.”

“I know it hurts and I know you’re tired but you have to stay awake. I’m coming to get you. You’ll be okay,” JJ’s voice was cracking with every word. She couldn't bear the thought that she had to listen to her child dying slowly over the phone, “Are the boys with you?” she didn’t hear an answer and the line was too quiet, “Y/n? Y/n answer me? Y/n!”

~~~~~

Once the team traced your call, they wasted no time in getting there. Agents rushed in, followed by medics and JJ then Will. Both Henry and Michael were physically unharmed. JJ was more worried about you, your chest still rising and falling but just barely. She sat on the floor next to you, holding your hand and trying to talk to you.

“Come on please. Please, please, please just wake up. Just open your eyes for me,” JJ squeezed your hand tightly, hoping to get you awake. You always hated it when someone squeezed your hand too tightly. It always elicited a response, but not this time.

The medics were able to get you on a stretcher and into an ambulance. JJ went with you while Will took the boys in another car.

You were rushed into surgery as soon as you arrived at the hospital. Your cuts made you lose blood and the medics confirmed you had a serious head injury. All JJ could do was pace back and forth in the waiting room. She kept her space from everyone, needing time to process that the last time she saw her daughter, they were fighting. JJ couldn’t live with herself if that was the last thing that happened between you two. After hours that felt like days, you were out of the O.R. and in the ICU. The doctors didn’t know when, or if, you would wake up.

Weeks had gone by since the last time you were awake. Weeks of days and nights spent cramped in the small hospital room and weeks of gifts given by various members of the team, until you finally opened your eyes. JJ had never left your side so when she felt a slight squeeze to her hand, and met with your open eyes, she nearly fainted in relief.

Even after you woke up, you had to spend almost another full month in the hospital. Most of that time was spent with your mom and you squeezed together in the twin sized hospital bed. Since she almost lost you once, she didn’t want to risk losing you again.

Taglist

@ssebstann @peachyprincessss @emmy-writes-sometimes @dudele @prentisswrites @laura-naruto-fan1998 @multifamdomfan12 @aquariuslavenderhoney @rafehogwarts @vxidsti1es

#x daughter!reader #x teen!reader #jennifer jareau x you #jennifer jareau #bau x y/n #bau x reader #bau x teen!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic

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makeste · 3 years

Text

some meta about Izuku, Katsuki, and trust

and choosing to trust is the real bridge that goes to accepting that person as a part of your live again and what the offender has to earn. I think the interesting aspect of Deku and Bakugou's relationship is that Deku has always trusted Bakugou, and I would say more than he had forgiven him at the start of the story (where he does show more frustration and resentment towards Bakugou's behaviour and see him as a jerk) but despite that he can always trust Bakugou to him himself, attested to

the fact that Deku feels very confident about how Bakugou will act or what Bakugou's true motives are and probably the reason why he always sees Bakugou as a hero despite his hurtful behaviour is because Deku 100% trusts Bakugou even if he's doing something disagreeable or that will hurt him. Knowing someone and trusting is not exactly the same and I see it as trust because of Deku willingness to be co-operative. On Bakugou's side he is mistrustful of Deku and thats where the communication

breaks down and there has been plenty of meta exploring why Bakugou has deep rooted problems around Deku and his journey is him taking accountability of that and changing to be a better person. While understanding and miscommunication get their fair due I think trust and mistrust are the true bedrocks of the bkdk river bed because that allows for how they can still be so connected despite the miscommunication (with Bakugou mistrust is mixed with some trust) because of knowing.

anon I really enjoyed this, thank you for sharing your thoughts! I concur with just about all of this, and this ask got me thinking a lot about the nature of trust, and how it applies to Izuku and Katsuki’s relationship.

I think a lot of people’s reactions to reading the sentence “Bakugou and Deku have always trusted each other” would pretty much be, “???” and “lol what.” like, yeah, sure. they trusted each other so much that Bakugou decided that throwing a tantrum for ten years would be an appropriate reaction to Deku trying to hold his hand. classic Trust, right there!!

lol but I honestly think this is true, though. it’s just that there are different... levels?? types?? of trust. let’s go with types. there are different types of trust, and what makes Izuku and Katsuki’s relationship so interesting to me is that it’s kind of the opposite of what these fictional rival-type relationships usually are. it’s basically the difference between knowing, and understanding.

okay so first of all let’s back up here to make sure we’re all on the same page. we’re defining trust as “firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone”, which is the Oxford Language definition and which works pretty well for me. you’ll note, btw, that the current relationship between Katsuki and Izuku more or less meets all four of these criteria.

reliability - both boys regard each other as dependable and are willing to rely on each other in a pinch (although Izuku is currently having some difficulty with that, but that’s another topic for another day).

truth - both are honest with each other, though not completely honest (this is the aspect that Katsuki still needs to work on, as he’s currently hiding his desire to atone).

ability - neither of them have any difficulty with this. Izuku admires Katsuki’s ability so much that he’s made it his own gold standard since childhood, and Katsuki respects Izuku’s ability enough that he made him his main rival, and never doubted that Izuku was qualified to receive OFA and become All Might’s heir.

strength - as with ability, this is another aspect of trust that neither of them has ever struggled with. in fact, a lot of their relationship struggles happened specifically because Katsuki never doubted Izuku’s strength, but feared it because he didn’t understand it.

so yeah. there’s a lot more trust between them than most people realize, I think. but the thing is that the type of trust they have is based more on knowing than understanding, and that’s where so much of their conflict stems from.

when I say knowing, I’m talking about the kind of awareness that comes from familiarity and experience. this is the type of trust that’s difficult to take shortcuts with, because it mostly just has to be accumulated over time. this is all about learning what someone is like through observing them and being around them. and it’s just as much about being known as well, because at the same time that you’re learning who the other person is, they’re learning about who you are. and that’s where trust starts to work its way in. it’s the slow unveiling of who you are, and laying it on the table piece by piece over time. and every time another little piece of you is revealed and accepted, and every time you accept one more piece of who the other person is in turn, that trust increases a little bit more. this type of trust takes a long, long time to build up, but in exchange the foundation it creates is pretty much rock-solid and nigh-indestructible.

understanding, on the other hand, to me is more instinctual. it’s about empathy and insight. and the interesting thing is that it’s possible to know someone for years upon years, and yet never truly understand them. and on the flip side, it’s also possible to understand someone within minutes of meeting them, even if you know almost nothing about them. if “knowing” is about learning who someone is, I would say that “understanding” is about learning why they are who they are. this type of trust isn’t necessarily always mutual, but it does necessitate forming a connection with someone. because empathy is such a critical component of it, it’s basically impossible to understand someone and not form an emotional connection to them in some way. this type of trust can be far more powerful and intense than the “knowing” type of trust, but the flip side is that it can sometimes be less stable and easier to break.

I think that the majority of fictional relationships, especially the ones that become really popular ships, are based more around the latter type of trust because of its intensity and unpredictability and potential for story development. the thing is, both of these types of trust are necessary for a good ship (and when I say “ship”, I’m talking about both romantic and platonic relationships just fyi). if neither type of trust is present on at least some level, then there’s really no foundation to start building up the relationship. so most of the time a ship will start out with one or the other, and then over the course of the story they'll work on building up whichever one was lacking.

and because of how stories work, the majority of the time we’re going to be dealing with characters who at first don’t know each other all that well. and so the relationships we get are ones where the characters first form some kind of emotional connection that builds understanding, and then over time they start to learn more about each other and build up that kind of trust as well. I feel like 90% of ships have this kind of dynamic. it’s the basis for things like enemies-to-lovers, fake dating AUs, and basically any kind of trope in which the characters get stuck somewhere and are forced to spend a lot of time together. it’s good, and it works.

but the fascinating thing about the relationship between Izuku and Katsuki, though, is that it’s actually the exact opposite of this. the premise of Izuku and Katsuki's story is that these are two people who’ve known each other their entire lives, but have almost no understanding of each other whatsoever. they know almost every little detail about each other, so much that they hardly even think about it. but all of their conflict is based on the fact that understanding between them is basically nonexistent.

and to me this is such an intriguing dynamic. the two of them know each other like the back of their hand. they’re familiar with the smallest habits. they can predict each other’s actions. they know how the other person thinks. and they have the kind of trust that comes with having seen the other at both their best and their worst. Katsuki is capable of letting his guard down around Izuku in a way he doesn’t do around anyone else. he cries in front of him on multiple occasions. he lets Izuku call him “Kacchan” long after their other childhood friends have stopped doing so. and even though he fears and resents Izuku’s strength early on, he also subconsciously acknowledges it in ways that even he doesn’t realize (e.g. “don’t you dare get into U.A.,” rather than “you can’t get in” or “you won’t get in”). he knows Izuku.

but he doesn’t understand Izuku. he knows who he is, but he doesn’t understand why. he knows that Izuku is strong, but he can't wrap his head around the nature of that strength. and because he lacks that understanding, this vital aspect of the trust between them is lacking, and is all too easily broken when Katsuki falls into the creek and Izuku tries to offer his help. Katsuki knows that Izuku is a good person, but he doesn’t understand that goodness, that selflessness, and so he’s mistrustful of it.

on the flip side of the coin, however, Izuku has the utmost faith in Katsuki. to him, Katsuki is the strongest, smartest, most capable and most amazing person in the world (aside from All Might). and Izuku, unlike Katsuki, actually does understand his childhood friend at least a little bit. he understands Katsuki’s reasons for wanting to be a hero. he understands that Katsuki is not just mindlessly pursuing strength. he understands that Katsuki’s motivation is about overcoming obstacles and beating challenges. and most importantly, he understands that Katsuki, in spite of everything he’s said and done to Izuku over the years, is fundamentally a good person.

and this is crucial. because, along with the bond of familiarity they’ve built up together over the years, it’s this other, one-sided bond of understanding that is responsible for their relationship enduring for as long as it did despite everything. as you put it, anon, Izuku’s trust is ultimately what becomes the bridge between them. on some level, he trusts in Katsuki’s innate goodness. he believes in it in spite of all of Katsuki’s attempts to persuade him otherwise. e.g. when Katsuki suggests that he go jump off the roof, Izuku is hurt by the words, but he never once takes them to heart, because he knows on some instinctive level that Katsuki doesn’t mean them. and so he grumbles to himself about Katsuki needing to think before he speaks, but aside from that he never gives the words another thought.

Katsuki would no doubt consider this yet another example of Izuku not caring enough about himself or taking himself into account. but it really is more than that. the reason the words don’t cut deep in spite of them being vicious and well-targeted is simply because Izuku knows that Katsuki isn't truly that cruel. and he knows that on a level so deep that Katsuki is never able to break it despite his best efforts. he can’t break it, because there’s nothing to break, because it’s true. the reason the relationship endures in spite of everything is because deep down Katsuki is fundamentally a good person, and so Izuku’s trust, in the end, is based on truth. and so it never fully breaks, and eventually, it becomes reciprocated.

and that’s what their story is all about. it’s two people that have known each other their entire lives, but have to work in order to build their understanding of each other. unlike many ships, they start off already having that foundation of knowing and being known, and so their story instead is about forging that connection of empathy and insight. and it doesn’t come easily to them at all. but they keep at it.

anyway, so thank you again for sharing your thoughts on this, anon. I didn’t even get into the topic of forgiveness, but I agree with you about it being a process of letting go of negative feelings and resentment. I also agree that forgiveness is a separate thing from trust, but I do think trust plays a big part in one’s decision to forgive or not forgive. it's a lot easier to forgive if you have an understanding of the other person’s actions. and it’s also far, far easier to forgive if the offender’s actions are long in the past. and because the latter is now true in Katsuki’s case, that shows a pattern of him learning from his mistakes and not repeating them. which further builds trust, especially in the “reliability” department. and so even though forgiveness and trust are two separate things, they’re still connected. and in many ways, by working to rebuild the understanding between him and Izuku, Katsuki is also working towards earning Izuku’s forgiveness, even though that’s ultimately something that can never truly be earned, but can only be granted.

I’m not sure if I’m really making my point very clear here lol, but basically what I’m trying to say is that while the relationship may have once been one-sided in this aspect, it’s not anymore. it’s mutual, and they’re both putting the work in. and Katsuki is also doing his part without any guarantee or expectation of forgiveness on Izuku’s end. it’s unconditional. he’s doing it because he wants to atone. and he’ll continue to do it whether he’s forgiven or not. and that’s important. it’s important because it shows that the relationship has value to both of them. and it’s important because neither of them wants to lose it. they want to fix it; they want to make it stronger.

and ultimately what that means is that the relationship will continue to endure, despite their ups and downs. because even though it may have started out as something incidental -- two boys who just happened to become friends because they spent a lot of time together as children -- it’s not, anymore. it’s no longer just something that happened, something that just accidentally came together. it’s something that they’re both working to build. they want to trust each other. they want to understand one another. their relationship is no longer something that simply withstood and persisted -- it’s something that is now being nurtured. and you love to see it.

so let's see, how do I even begin to tl;dr this post lol. something something blah blah blah trust, understanding, childhood friends, knowing someone, having faith in someone, being the recipient of that faith, and working to become worthy of it. they're very confused, but they care about each other a lot, and they are good boys.

#midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #bakudeku #bnha meta #bakugou meta #deku meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks

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crispyjenkins · 3 years

Note

Can we get a fic where Jaster somehow gets sent to the future or something and him reacting to the clones? (Being pissed off that his ad would do something like this to these poor kids/ just reacting to them?)

(this one was so. fecking. hard. to write, i’ve been struggling with it for weeks, but i’m glad i did, because this is by far the best version i made of it. it’s interesting in how much my opinion of jango’s decision to be the template has changed since i first got this ask, and i was definitely coming at it with this post in mind for their characterisations here.

i love hondo. so you get hondo knowing jaster from pre-civil war days, and i don’t care if canon disagrees: hondo ohnaka has been terroising house mereel for three generations.

also i’ve already had a few people donate to my ko-fi and i’m completely floored by your kindness and generosity, and i sat down with this fill knowing i wanted to get it out as soon as possible. i sincerely love you all, i hope you’re all healthy and being as safe as possible.)

Alt+R to Quick Reblog on Desktop, Hold the Reblog Symbol to Quick Reblog on Mobile

“Oh, Jango? We keep him here.” —Lama Su, AotC

By some will of the Ka’ra, it’s Boba that finds him.

The possibility of dying in his ad’s arms hadn’t exactly crossed Jaster’s mind until it happened, like a nightmare he had never even had. For the first time since the Fett farm burned, Jaster cursed the Ka’ra, and he curses them again when he wakes up not marching* to the stars, but standing knee-deep in the snows of Galidraan

And the Ka’ra make sure he knows it’s Galidraan though he had never been there, just as he somehow knows Jango is long-since dead. That he is a dislocated bone in the universe, snapped out of time and place and thrown into a future where Jango’s face stares at him from a body that is not his.

“Oh,” the teen with Jango’s nose says, the snow coming all the way up to their thighs, and they don't look dressed nearly warm enough for this biome. “Did Hondo send you?”

Jaster blinks at them. “Did...? No, ad’ika, I have not spoken to Hondo in many years.” Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised Hondo is even still alive, Maker knows Jaster’s tried to kill him enough times himself, but if the number of years since his death on Korda Six is as many as he thinks it is, surely someone would have shot him by now.

The teen doesn’t wear beskar’gam —it’s unlikely they’re even old enough to— but the style of the armor they do wear cannot be inspired by anything else, just reminiscent enough of evaar’gam that Jaster can’t help comparing every little detail about them with the faded image of Jango in his mind.

“Then who the kriff are you?” They eye Jaster warily, left hand twitching towards the vibroblade at their hip.

Promising to strangle every one of the Ka’ra when he can finally march away, and throwing the last of his caution down to the snow between them, Jaster simply says, “Jaster Mereel.”

Impossibly, though maybe not entirely, not-Jango doesn’t laugh at him, or call him crazy, or even try to shoot him with the rifle slung over their shoulder. No, they straighten to their full height, and—

And swear so colorfully in Huttese that Jaster knows this hell-child has absolutely been raised by Hondo Ohnaka.

Boba takes him to the ruins of Kamino first, where the kriffing Sith Empire has destroyed another one of his people’s homes.

The growth labs were all blown into the ocean by imperial ilk soon after the formation of the empire, but the barracks and some of the training rooms still stand above the waves. In the ship he says belonged to Jango, Boba steers them to a dilapidated landing pad, controlling the Slave I (Maker, had Jaster really left Jango to that fate?) far too easily through the rubble for this to be his first time to return, and Jaster tries not to think about what that means.

Walking the dark, grimy white halls, seeing the narrow bunks and bare req rooms, he then tries not to think about a child being raised in such a place, about hundreds of thousands of children being raised in such a place. How had Jango... chosen this for them?

“I only have his stories,” Boba tells him quietly, when he shows Jaster the tiny apartment the Kaminoans had given them to “keep Jango close”. It’s bigger than most captain’s cabins, to be sure, but it is just as plain and white as the rest of the facility. “But he couldn’t even get one hundred Mandalorians to come and train the... clones.” He shuffles his feet uncomfortably as Jaster looks into the cupboard-sized kitchen and tries not to break down at the package of Mandalorian chiles rotted away on the counter. “Everyone else was New Mandalorian or Death Watch.”

“And the rest... they fell at the Battle of Galidraan?”

“Buir always called it a massacre,” he looks away. “Only a handful of the Cuy’val Dar even considered themselves True Mandalorians, buir was there when the Jedi killed the rest.”

Jaster inhales deeply, takes a few moments to steady himself, and is sickeningly, horrifyingly relieved. By the Maker, but knowing Jango had had no one left before his Kamino contract, that not even Skirata followed the codex anymore, that Jango had only taken the job after forcing Tyranus to give him an unaltered clone, makes Jaster guilty for having doubted his foundling. It doesn’t excuse anything, of course, but knowing Jango had done it all for aliit, well, it does make it easier to swallow.

Boba leads him back out of the apartment, he had already stripped it of anything important years ago, and they don’t stick around after reboarding the Slave I. Only after they’re out of atmosphere with hyperspace coordinates for Tatooine in the astronav system does Boba join Jaster in the tiny galley with a bottle of tihaar that Jaster should probably reprimand him for, but won’t.

“He tried to pretend he didn’t care, about the others,” Boba says and doesn’t even bother to find them glasses, “I think some days he even believed it.”

“He always was stubborn as a rancor.”

Boba takes a long pull from the bottle before passing it across the table. “Tyranus scared the shit out of me back then, he was too... put together, too fancy. Buir didn’t like him, I don’t know why he even did the tryout for him, the pay wasn’t even that great?”

Rubbing his left eye until he sees stars, Jaster stares down into the bottle until he can come up with a way to explain core Mandalorian beliefs to a child that had barely a decade of living as one before that, too, had been taken from him. “If Jang’ika took that job intending to come out on the other side, I’ll kiss whatever Vizsla is left.”

Boba’s mouth twists and he kicks his heels against the floor, not waiting for Jaster to hand it to him to grab the tihaar back. “Buir was an idiot,” he says, like the solve to a simple math problem, and Jaster can’t but agree.

He sighs. “Unfortunately, he probably got that from somewhere.”

“I mean, at least Montross didn’t live long enough to end up as the template? Kriffing fuck, can you imagine if the Jedi had had to work with that shabuir’s clones?”

“Maybe the war would have ended sooner,” he muses and accepts the bottle, “surely this Emperor would have tired of his face much sooner than Jango’s.”

“Or the Coruscant Guard would have shivved Palpatine in his sleep and tried to take over the Republic; what’s one betrayal of your leader to another?”

“Then I’d like to think Jango would put him, them, in their place for a third time.”

Snorting, Boba pushes to his feet to, presumably, check on the autopilot. “If buir would have even let it get that far, then I’ll kiss Vizsla.”

“Old friend!” Hondo shouts as soon as he sees them, and Jaster winces, nursing his first hangover since his twenties.

“Ohnaka,” he returns, and pretends he doesn’t notice the subtle way Boba brightens as Hondo comes to clap them both on the shoulders.

The old pirate just chuckles and starts to steer them both back across the hangar bay to his latest junk ship. “I heard you died, Mand’alor,” he says casually, like the title isn’t cursed to the ka’ra and back, like it hadn’t been three decades since anyone had dared call someone from his house such a thing so sincerely.

“I did.”

“I found him on Galidraan,” Boba offers. “Is that why you told me to go?”

Hondo scoffs, and Jaster would say he was flustered if he didn’t know him better. “No, I told you to go because Aurra had a job for you, that you seem to have forgotten about in your haste to bring my long lost best friend back to me.”

Boba scowls. “Aurra wasn’t at the meeting place, laandur, it was a kriffing mynock chase and you know it.”

Jaster side eyes his old “friend”, and wonders again about his preternatural... luck in all things pirate-related, despite being a boisterous mess of a man most of the time. If this Aurra had even been on the planet when Boba got there, Jaster will kiss Vizsla twice.

Mando’a: Ka'ra — an ancient Mandalorian story, ruling council of fallen kings, “stars” ad — “child”, gender neutral 'ika — diminutive suffix, similar to the suffix “ita/o” in Spanish. generally used only by close family and friends beskar'gam — Armour made of beskar, “Mandalorian Iron” that was actually probably a steel alloy evaar'gam — lit. “youth armour”, fan name for the interim armour/garb Mandalorians would have worn before building their kit of beskar’gam buir — “parent”, gender neutral Cuy'val Dar — “Those who no longer exist”, group of 75 Mando’ade and 25 others put together by Jango to train the clones aliit — “clan”, “family” tihaar — Mandalorian strong clear spirit made from fruit shabuir — an extreme insult, mostly accepted in fandom to be an insult of an individual’s ability to parent (from buir), which is an intrinsic part of Mandalorian psyche and identity laandur — used here as “weak”, “pathetic”, but is usually used as “delicate”, “fragile”

*in reference to the Mando’a word for the dead/deceased “taab'echaaj'la”, or “marched far away”, best explained in the Mando’a tribute to dead comrades, “not gone, merely marching far away”.

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Text

Started out rocky, now they’re both cocky

(Part 3 of the rooster!Jaskier series, but it’s not necessary to read the other parts. All you need to know is that Jaskier is a rooster and he’s here to cause chaos)

word count: 3378

content warnings: innuendos, use of the word “cock”

part 1 part 2

AO3 (here Jaskier is called Dandelion, bc I think this has more game!Danelion vibes)

Jaskier had often imagined what it would be like to spend the winter at Kaer Morhen. In his mind, there had been no doubt that he would sweep into a deep bow, announcing his presence to the witchers residing there with a confident grin and eloquent words.

Alas. As fate – or, in this case a very insistent Geralt – would have it, Jaskier was unable to do either of these things. His words had been replaced by crowing, charming someone with a smile was most definitely impossible if one had a beak and an ugly lappet beneath one’s chin. And as for sweeping into a low bow – well, it would look rather silly if a rooster were to bow and he was beneath making an idiot of himself. That’s what Valdo Marx was for and he would not lower himself to that imbecile’s standards.

A less obvious, though no less important reason why Jaskier was not going to present himself the way he normally would have, was simple: To do so, he’d have to stop letting Geralt carry him. Though, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t so certain anymore, whether Geralt was carrying him because why wouldn’t he carry his dearest friend? Or if he did it so he could have a hold on Jaskier and prevent him from running away and wreaking havoc again.

Which was, of course, preposterous and also rather hypocritical of him. After all, the whole reason why Jaskier was here in the first place – and in this undignified form at that – was so he could fulfil Geralt’s wishes and use his unique talents and talons to destroy the room of one of Geralt’s brothers, a task that he was more than willing to take upon himself.

Still, it would have been much appreciated if Geralt had made sure that the other witchers welcomed him as well, or at the very least knew who he was, instead of ignoring him mostly while they greeted Geralt. Truly, it was a marvel that the witcher who welcomed Geralt at the gate didn’t pay any special attention to Jaskier. Not that he needed the attention per se, but it would have been nice and, well, there was a reason why he wasn’t used to people ignoring him. He was a delight! And no one could tell him that the sight of Geralt warming his hands by burying them in the feathers of an exceptionally beautiful and sophisticated rooster wasn’t a sight worth being paid attention to.

Filled with righteous indignation, Jaskier fluttered his wings and pecked a little at Geralt’s fingers, when he had been ignoring Jaskier way too long – not that any amount of ignoring Jaskier would have been acceptable - in favour of talking to the fetching witcher wearing red leather. Eskel, if Jaskier wasn’t mistaken, and as everyone knew, he was never mistaken.

The action earned him a small tightening of Geralt’s arms around him that had him squawking indignantly, but at least, Eskel now looked at him. Jaskier did his best to preen and exude an air of sophistication. For a blissful moment it seemed that he had indeed thoroughly charmed the witcher. Eskel’s face lit up, he reached out and –

“Sir!” Jaskier tried to shout, but his voice contorted his outraged outcry to a crow.

How- the audacity of – what did Eskel think gave him the permission to just pet Jaskier as if he was but an animal? Oh, how dare he…

Oh. Oh. No, actually, it was quite a nice sensation having strong hands caress his head and down his feathered back as gently as a lovesick poet would run their fingers over a flower. Quite nice indeed. He could get used to this.

To his shame – but really, who could fault a bard for seeking a little innocent pleasure in being touched by a handsome man? – Jaskier leaned into the touch. Thank all the gods that he hadn’t been turned into a cat, or else he might have had to suffer the indignity of starting to purr under the well-deserved attention.

For a brief, blissful moment, all was perfect. Until -

“He will get along well with Lil’ Bleater,” Eskel said. “You think we can put them into the stable together?”

And that was just – no! Oh no no, dear witcher. A pretty face and a soft touch would not be enough to save him from Jaskier ‘s outrage.

Expectantly, Jaskier turned his head to Geralt, his most beloved friend, the man who had rescued him countless times from the clutches of those who meant him or his reputation harm. Surely, now would be the perfect time for Geralt to come to his aid once more and defend his honour. Certainly he would –

“Hmm.”

Oh that bastard! This was no disagreeing or scolding hum. This hmm, accompanied by a sly smirk and a mischievous twinkle in Geralt’s eyes was very decidedly not the support that Jaskier was looking for.

Jaskier nipped Geralt’s fingers again, but that only served to make the witcher grin even wider. Together with Eskel, Geralt walked through the gate and towards the entrance hall, giving Jaskier a shit-eating grin when they passed the stables and making a comment about how in there, no one would hear the rooster’s morning crow.

He better just be teasing. As tasteless of a joke as this was, Jaskier might find it in himself to forgive Geralt for the threat of making him sleep in a stable with a goat.

As they walked, Geralt kept petting him absentmindedly, which was admittedly nice. Jaskier could live with being used as a glorified hand-warmer, if it came with the luxury of being carried around and getting pressed against a strong man’s chest.

Even better than that, though, was the look the old witcher, who Geralt greeted with the name Vesemir, gave Geralt, when they met him in the great hall. The way his eyes wandered from Geralt’s face down to where he was stroking his rooster marked him as a man who had lost all faith in Geralt.

A younger witcher with slicked back hair, who must be the infamous Lambert, the very reason why Jaskier was here, snickered behind Vesemir’s back.

“Looks like I’m officially the superior brother now,” he said with a grin. “The only one whose best friend isn’t a farm animal.”

“Your best friend is a cat,” Geralt deadpanned.

“A handsome cat that would claw your pretty face off if he heard you taking shit about me.”

Lambert’s grin looked infuriatingly smug. Jaskier didn’t know this cat they were speaking of, but one thing should never be questioned: He was the farm best animal friend. Even if he wasn’t really an animal or – he shuddered at the thought – living on a farm. But how dare Lambert imply that a cat could be better than a rooster? He gave Lambert his best menacing glare, which fell rather flat, considering he was a damned bird, currently snuggling against Geralt.

As was to be expected, which didn’t mean Jaskier didn’t take offence to it, Lambert ignored him. “What’s his name anyway? I sure hope it’s not Roach.”

If he had been able to snicker, Jaskier would have done so. Lambert might be a cock – oh, who was Jaskier to judge such a thing? – but it was nice to see that the bard wasn’t the only one who would relentlessly tease Geralt for his inability to come up with good names.

“Eskel has his Little Bleater,” Lambert added, his grin turning downright devious. “So, pretty boy, you have…a Little Cock?”

Little? Little?

The gall of that man! Jaskier was anything but small, thank you very much. But then again, Jaskier couldn’t shame a man for showing such a great understanding of wordplay, especially when he used his talents to tease Geralt.

Oh, who was he kidding? He liked Lambert.

Between his unexpected appreciation for the youngest witcher and the urge to make himself seem bigger than he was, Jaskier nearly missed Geralt’s answer. It was exactly the sort of reply one would expect. Except…Geralt did not correct Lambert regarding the fact that Jaskier was an animal.

Now, here’s the thing. Jaskier loved his witcher with all his heart. Geralt was his best friend in the whole wide world and he would never exchange him for anyone, as much of a smug bastard as he could sometimes be. But by the gods, why oh why, did Jaskier ‘s best friend have to be a man who didn’t have the presence of mind to just, oh, I don’t know, tell his family that the rooster he was bringing with him was a cursed human? There was no doubt that Geralt had told his brothers and father of Jaskier before, for how could he not? Jaskier was a great subject to talk about. Surely, Geralt couldn’t be worried about them not accepting him in their midst.

A quick glance at him – Jaskier preferred not to think about how strange a rooster turning his head nearly upside down and giving a stink eye must look – made it quite clear that he was, in fact, not worried at all. Instead, Geralt was up to something.

Jaskier glared at him, as if staring might let him read Geralt’s thoughts, provided Geralt knew how to use his mind to think.

Perhaps his plan was to give Jaskier the best possible way to get attention by only introducing him once he was back in his dashing human form? Oh, that would be marvellous! After all, if there was one thing Jaskier was good at – well, there were numerous things, of course, but we shall ignore that for the sake of the dramatic – it was making an impression. He had to commend his friend for being so thoughtful as to grant him such an opportunity, unless…

Oh, Jaskier knew that look on Geralt’s face. He was having far too much fun with this. A suspicious amount of fun even. It would almost make one think that all this had never been solely about Lambert’s room at all. If Jaskier hadn’t known any better, he might even be inclined to think that Geralt was taking delight in letting Jaskier stay cursed.

Well. If that was the case, Jaskier would make sure that Geralt would delight not much longer in that.

He let out an ear-piercing shriek that had Geralt flinch and unfortunately squeeze him a little uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” He asked, as if he didn’t know fully well the magnitude of what he was doing.

Before Jaskier could answer, well, whatever equivalent of answering he could do in this form at any rate, Lambert spoke up again.

“Jaskier?” He cooed. “How sweet. You miss your bard so much that you call your rooster by his name? Who would have thought the White Wolf could be so soft-hearted. Watch out or Roach will get jealous if she learns that you found a new love.”

“Lambert,” Geralt growled, though whether he was defending his own reputation as a stoic, brooding loner – ha! As if anyone could look at him and believe him to be such a thing! – or if he was outraged at the thought that anyone could take Roach’s place in his heart, Jaskier couldn’t tell. It was likely a mixture of both.

“Oh, so you don’t miss your bard?” Lambert lifted an eyebrow. “Is it perhaps just a certain bodypart of his that you miss? I guess then it would make sense why you gave his name to the cock.”

Lambert turned away from Geralt before he could come up with a reply, but before he had his back fully to Geralt, Lambert caught Jaskier’s eye and he winked.

Oh. Oh ho ho, he knew. That sly bastard. Evidently, Lambert was the only witcher who knew how to use his brain and seen through the curse and Geralt’s admittedly poor attempt at making it seem as if the extraordinary and overall splendid rooster was but a normal bird and now Lambert was fucking with Geralt.

And – now, listen. Jaskier had been looking forward to destroying Lambert’s room. There was nothing like joining forces with a friend to mess with someone who annoyed them. Well, the biggest pleasure Jaskier knew came from proving once again that he was more talented than Valdo Marx, but that was a given, so it shall not be mentioned further. The point was that Jaskier would have done as Geralt had asked of him.

But now, with this new knowledge that Lambert apparently shared the same ambition as Jaskier to become the biggest nuisance he could be, he couldn’t possibly work against him. Jaskier could recognise a kindred spirit if he saw one. Reading people and recognising his own greatness in others was one of his countless talents. The last and perhaps only time he had met such a kindred soul before, had been in his first year at Oxenfurt at the admission exam, when Valdo Marx had immediately singled out Jaskier as the one who could be the biggest threat to his career. As loathe as Jaskier was to admit it, he too had recognised a certain talent in the other bard and they had both decided to make it their lives’ mission to not let the other top them.

Jaskier had not regretted that decision a moment in his life, but even he had to admit that said rivalry was the reason why he was now a rooster and delightful as that could be, he could have done well without it.

So, he would not make the mistake of antagonizing a congenial person again. At least not know. Who was to say what the future held? The important part was, that for now, for once in his life, Jaskier was going to be the bigger person.

He waited until the moment was right, a feat greater than any he had ever faced before. As virtuous as he was, being patient was not one of Jaskier’s strong suits. Still, once night had fallen and Geralt had thankfully not made true of his promise to put him in the stables, he snuck out of Geralt’s room, searching for Lambert’s instead.

Lambert, of course, was already waiting for him, a cocky smile on his face and his arms crossed in a way that meant business.

He greeted Jaskier with the fateful words “You gonna help me mess with Geralt?” and obviously, there was only one possible answer to that.

It was thrilling having an ally in his mission to create chaos and take revenge on those that had slighted him. And, oh, how Geralt had slighted him!

The first step of their however-many-steps-they-would-get-away-with-plan was simple: Jaskier was supposed to take a nap. In Geralt’s bed. Specifically, in his hair, creating a nest out of it.

Now, Jaskier was no craftsman for any craft that didn’t involve the spoken word, but he did so love to make himself comfortable. So that was what he did. Snuggling into Geralt’s hair and masterfully rearranging the strands with his beak until they could well and truly be considered a mess.

And then, as always, Jaskier woke Geralt up in his new favourite way. One would have thought that Geralt would have gotten used to Jaskier crowing into his ear at the top of his lungs. But no. Geralt grimaced and grabbed his pillow to throw it at his tragically underappreciated companion. The feathers flying through the room were not only those from the pillow.

So naturally, Jaskier started complaining. Loudly. Loud enough to, as a completely arbitrary example, signal a different witcher whose room was down the hallway that their plan was in motion.

Before Geralt could find another pillow to throw at him, Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s breeches that the witcher had unceremoniously dropped to the floor the past night and dragged them towards the door.

Cursing, Geralt chased after him, wearing nothing but his underthings. Had Jaskier been alone, he would have gotten caught, no doubt, but the door flung open just in time for him to dash through and just before Geralt could reach him, Lambert, who had been lying in wait, scooped Jaskier up and ran down the stairs and outside, cackling like a hen, while Jaskier let out a triumphant crow that was somewhat muffled by the breeches still firmly held in his beak.

Geralt was catching up to them quickly, but Lambert and Jaskier had one rather obvious advantage: There were two of them.

Lambert dropped Jaskier unceremoniously, leaving him to flutter his wings to land somewhat elegantly – oh, who was he kidding? He plummeted to the ground like a stone - and they dashed into two different directions. For a precious moment, Geralt stood there frozen to the spot, surely contemplating which menace would be able to cause the greater chaos, if he didn’t catch him: The rooster with a godcomplex or Geralt’s little brother in possession of opposable thumbs.

Geralt, once more was forced to choose the lesser evil, but here is the thing: As it was so often the case, there was no correct choice to make.

While Lambert ran back to Geralt’s room to cause who knew what chaos, Jaskier ran towards the stables, and be it only for the dramatic irony.

Geralt must have chosen to follow Lambert and Jaskier was almost insulted, but it gave him the chance to take his time, pushing open the door to the stables and dragging the breeches inside. Just a little revenge for all the times that Geralt had made fun of Jaskier when he had been forced to run out of town without his breeches, since they had to be left in a lover’s rooms.

He dropped the breeches in Lil’ Bleater’s corner and watched with smug satisfaction as the goat immediately began munching on the breeches happily. Jaskier gave her a proud look and had they both been human, he would have kissed her hand in thanks. As it was, he was rather fond of his beak and he would not risk hurting it by kissing the goat’s hooves. Still, Lil’ Bleater lived up to her name, giving a happy little bleat that Jaskier chose to interpret as thanks for the delicious meal. How polite of her.

Who knew. Maybe they would become friends after all.

From somewhere in the keep, Jaskier could hear a bang and then a shout of disgust and had he been in possession of his luscious lips, would have made them split into the biggest, most self-satisfied grin, when Geralt’s voice continued cursing loud enough to be heard even where Jaskier was. To be fair, Geralt had probably opened the windows of his room. At least that was what Jaskier would have done in his stead to escape what Lambert had done to his room.

Well. Served Geralt right. No one could accuse Lambert of unoriginality and Jaskier was nothing if not petty.

Of course, the bomb that Lambert had set off wasn’t another moon dust bomb. Where would be the fun in that? No, Lambert and Jaskier had agreed, as much as a rooster and a witcher could agree, that they would be gracious and bring Geralt closer to what he loved the most: The sweet sweet smell of his cherished Roach. In this case, the smell of what Roach left behind, when she had eaten a lot.

There were more steps to their genius plan of creating chaos in the keep, one of which involved a fork, a strategically placed axii and the backside of whoever pissed Lambert off the most, and naturally there were endlessly more possibilities for improvisation.

Sadly, the other witchers, roused by the mayhem and possibly even the stench coming from Geralt’s room, didn’t seem to appreciate Lambert and Jaskier’s combined genius and they made sure to break the curse on Jaskier as soon as they got the change.

Now, there was only one fundamental flaw in that: For some unknown reason, the witchers hadn’t considered the fact that Jaskier’s personality hadn’t changed when he had become a rooster. They had no idea what they were in for, now that Jaskier had opposable thumbs again.

This would be a fun winter indeed.

#There's a bard lose in Kaer Morhen #jaskier #Geralt #geralt of rivia #Lambert #Eskel #rooster!Jaskier #cock!Jaskier #my writing #Hähnchen #witcher #witcher fic #fic #fanfic #feral!Jaskier #cursed!Jaskier #Jaskier&Lambert

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Danger First

Chapter 5

@pocketramblr :3

The day started off well. Really, it did. Izuku got up on time, still filled with warm fuzziness from the time he spent with his friends (friends!) the afternoon before, had a good breakfast, left early enough to catch an earlier train, saw an interesting hero fight, and then...

He was hit with a wave of nausea as he caught sight of the crowd outside UA's gates. Was it a mob? An attack? Terrorists?

... Reporters?

Yeah, those were cameras and microphones. But why was a crowd of reporters making him feel this way?

Maybe they were terrorists disguised as reporters. Or, maybe Izuku had picked up some paranoia to go with his anxiety. How fun.

If they were real reporters, they were probably here about All Might. Him cutting back on active hero work to teach had been big news.

Ughhhh. What should he do? Whoever they were, they weren't likely to leave. He didn't want to walk through them, though. What if they were dangerous? (And even if they weren't, he didn't want reporters looking at him, asking him questions. What would he say to them?)

He bit his lip and watched the crowd from around his chosen corner. Why did he have to be so wimpy and timid? He was a hero student, now. He should be better. Braver.

Oh! There was Iida!

He scuttled over to his friend.

"Ah! Midoriya! You're early today! Few people arrive at school at the same time I do!"

"Y-yeah! I managed to catch the earlier train today, so..." He looked back at the crowd of reporters. Maybe reporters. Maybe terrorists. "I think, maybe we should wait to go in as a group, though. I mean, it'll be more efficient than trying to fight through those reporters one at a time, right?"

"An excellent idea, Midoriya!" exclaimed Iida, waving his hands enthusiastically. "It's very admirable of you, to always be thinking about how to help others."

"W-well," said Izuku, blushing. It wasn't untrue, but it also wasn't the whole story. "I mean, I don't... It's more that they kind of freak me out a bit? The reporters..."

Iida nodded sagely. "There are heroes like that, too. Are you planning on going underground, then?"

There was a certain amount of appeal to underground heroics, but he was supposed to be All Might's successor. Then again, if One for All never worked properly for him and Mr. Yagi asked for it back... Quirk or not, Izuku was here, now, in UA, in the hero course, and Mr. Yagi had said he could be a hero without a quirk.

"I haven't really decided yet. But UA teaches all hero course students the three main branches of heroics, so we don't really have to choose a specialty until later, and even then there are heroes like Sir Nighteye who blur the lines, right?"

"Yes, it's one of the things that make UA such a superior institution!" chortled Monoma.

"Ah, Monoma! I agree! It is important for all heroes to be aware of the work their colleagues do, and to be well-rounded individuals!"

Monoma!?

"Um," said Izuku. "When did you get here?"

"Just a minute ago," said Monoma. "I was looking for a way around these savages when I overheard your conversation. Really, it's a shame that UA allows such rabble to prevent students from entering. If only there was something they could do..."

"I'm afraid I must disagree," said Iida. "Freedom of the press is exceedingly important for the function of society!"

Monoma looked slightly alarmed. "I don't mean to say it isn't, it's just-" he gestured at the gates, "-we can't get in. The other entrances are like this, too. It's aggravating."

"There... might be another way in," said Iida, after a moment.

"Oh?"

"Yes, my brother told me about a hidden entrance that was here when he attended UA. I suppose... I suppose these would be the right circumstances to use it."

"Lead the way, then, Iida," said Monoma.

Iida nodded stiffly. "We should wait and see if any of our classmates would like to come with us."

Several of their classmates did want to come with them, including Uraraka, Asui (who was still a little under the weather), Tokoyami (Dark Shadow was not a fan of flashing lights), and Hagakure. They were also joined by a couple of 1-B students, a cadre of business course kids, and a pink haired support course girl who seemed very interested in Iida's legs, much to his flustered confusion.

Kacchan did not join them, much to Izuku's dismay, instead choosing to bulldoze his way through the ranks of reporters, nearly giving Izuku a heart attack when he body-checked a man with blue-white hair.

At this point, their group was becoming rather large and noticeable, and Iida was getting antsy about the time, so off they went.

Iida led them to what appeared to be an entirely unnoteworthy piece of wall and knocked. There was a pause just long enough to make Iida start to sweat, and then the wall opened, revealing Midnight- Ms. Kayama!

"Oh?" she said, clearly delighted. "Chibiida using the top secret teacher's entrance? Has high school done what we couldn't? Are you finally loosening up?"

Chibiida.

CHIBIIDA.

First: how? Why? Iida was over ten centimeters taller than Izuku! Secondly: Iida was never going to recover from this.

"That- that's not it! At all! I am simply attempting to help my fellow students enter the school without being harassed by reporters, Ms. Kayama!"

"You can still call me big sis Nemuri, you know."

"I refuse! It would be inappropriate of me as a student!"

Ms. Kayama sighed. "Well, you aren't wrong about those reporters. They can be a pain. So, just this once, let me welcome you kids to the forbidden environs of the staff area!" She made a grandiose gesture with her arm. "And it's all thanks to Chibiida here."

Iida started muttering about propriety and rules.

Izuku had the feeling it would be a long day.

"All right, Hikage, in your professional opinion-"

"What does building inspecting have to do with anything?"

"What?" said Nana. "I didn't say anything about building inspecting."

"You asked for my professional opinion."

"Yes?" said Nana, already dreading where this would go.

"I was a vigilante. For the purposes of money, I was a professional, licensed building inspector."

"I thought you were a professional hermit," said En.

"I was an amateur hermit. You don't get paid for that."

En blinked. "I can't believe people let you into their buildings."

"There were a few times-"

Nana decided to table the question of how neither she nor En had known Hikage was a building inspector. "Okay, fine. Forget the professional part. In your opinion, what was going on with that one reporter guy?"

"Oh," said Hikage. "He's definitely planning a murder."

"A murder!" exclaimed Yoichi.

"Yes, and probably of someone close to Ninth."

"Why didn't you say something?" demanded Yoichi, attempting to lift the taller man up by the front of his shirt and failing.

"Because there's not much we can do about it?"

"Just because you're right doesn't mean I have to like it!" He spun on his heel and stalked up to the silent and incomplete ghost of Toshinori. "It had better not be you, do you hear me? Don't you dare pull an Obi-Wan on poor, sweet Izuku!"

"Does anyone know what he's talking about?" asked Nana.

"Not really," admitted Banjo.

"Today," said Mr. Aizawa, after he finished passing out feedback from the battle trial, "you'll pick a class president."

All around Izuku, his classmates threw their hands into the air, eager for the chance to show off their leadership skills.

Izuku kept his hand down. It wasn't that he didn't want to stand out or do the work! It was just... between training after school with Mr. Yagi and Aizawa and trying to get his anxiety under control, he didn't think he'd do a very good job.

Yoichi started disappearing his "Izuku for President" banners.

Iida, though... Iida would do well, Izuku thought. Look at him, organizing everyone into a vote.

"You're not running, Midori?" asked Hagakure.

"N-no, haha, I have too many other commitments to do a good job, I think."

"That's too bad! I would have voted for you."

There was a smattering of agreement, mostly from Iida and Uraraka. Izuku started blushing.

"R-really? Why?"

("Strawberry," someone whispered.)

"Well, you helped me out during the entrance exam, and you were pretty cool during training yesterday." More agreement. "But if you're not running, I guess I'll pick Monoma. He did get rid of the purple creep."

"Ahahaha, yes, I am clearly the superior candidate!" crowed Monoma, standing up and putting his foot on his chair to pose.

"But his personality's really weird, which is why you would have been my first choice, Midoriya."

"I think Iida would be a good choice!" said Uraraka, raising her hand. "He's super organized and he helped a bunch of us get past the reporters this morning."

More general agreement. Then Todoroki cleared his throat. Everyone looked at him.

"Yaoyorozu," he said.

That was it.

"Good point," agreed Jirou.

"A TIE?!"

As the only one who hadn't voted for one of the three in the tie, Aoyama was forced to be the tiebreaker. This was done as dramatically as humanly possible.

Yaoyorozu was now president of class 1-A.

This led to a ferocious battle between Monoma and Iida that Iida won by a single vote. Monoma was promptly chosen as class treasurer. Just in time for their other classes.

"Those who possess forbidden knowledge should stay together," said Tokoyami gravely as he sat down with Uraraka, Iida, and Izuku.

"Are you talking about the staff area?" asked Asui, who slid in after him.

"Indeed," intoned Tokoyami gravely. "The dark path we have all walked-"

"Fumi is just bad at asking people to be his friends!"

"Dark Shadow!"

Izuku almost started crying into his rice. Having friends was so great.

"I'll be your friend!" said Izuku.

"Me, too!" said Uraraka, pumping a fist.

"Ah," said Tokoyami, coughing into a fist. "I am sure we will be great companions in the darkness of the coming days."

Speaking of darkness... Izuku couldn't help but feel uneasy about... something. He had been ever since seeing those reporters.

"So, Midori, is your hair full of secrets?"

"Wh-what?"

"Don't listen to her! She's just being silly! Like a little sister."

"It's what you always say about that actor you like! His hair is fluffy because it's full of secrets!"

"So, you and Dark Shadow are like brother and sister?" asked Midoriya, changing the subject.

The conversation segued into discussion of their families, and just when Iida was extolling the virtues of his older brother, Izuku's unease spiked. He dropped his chopsticks.

"Is something wrong?" asked Uraraka.

"I... don't know? It just feels like something bad is going to-"

The school alarm promptly went off.

"Wow!" said Kirishima. "Iida can do entrances and exits! Manly!"

"Wow," said Banjo, "I guess they picked the right guy for the job, after all. He can find entrances and exits! More than my class vice president ever did..."

"Are you copying the small red child?" asked Hikage.

"What?"

"Never mind."

"Today's heroics class will be focused on how to fall safely and other basic combat techniques. Before we begin, although you may practice these techniques on your own, outside of class, if you want to spar with others, you need adult supervision until you reach a level where I'm satisfied you won't seriously injure yourself or others by mistake. Now, firstly..."

"Mr. Aizawa? Is- um. Was it really just the press breaking in earlier?"

It was time for his first special quirk training with Aizawa, and he should be asking what they were doing today (especially since Aizawa had him change out of his gym uniform and back to his regular uniform), but he couldn't stop thinking about the break-in.

"What makes you think otherwise?"

"I'm, well, I'm not sure? I just, this morning, when I saw them, I got a really bad feeling? Like something bad was going to happen. And it doesn't seem, um, logical, that normal reporters would be able to do that to UA's gate. I mean, anyone can have any quirk- no such thing as a villainous quirk. But someone with a quirk like that, they'd put a lot of effort into controlling it and stuff so stuff like this wouldn't happen by mistake. I guess a reporter could have done it on purpose, though, but then it'd be really easy for UA to find out it was them, wouldn't it? Or the police. Since heroes and police have access to the national quirk registry, so you just have to cross-reference reporters with the registry to find quirks that could fit. But would they know that? Anyway, it seems more logical for a third party to have used the press as cover to infiltrate the school. But why? If nothing is missing and no one is hurt, which would be grounds for school being canceled, the next conclusion would be information gathering. But that still leaves the question of the ultimate ends- Mr. Aizawa? Are you okay?"

His teacher had been glaring at a camera mounted in the corner of the classroom and mouthing things at it.

"I'm fine," said Aizawa. He sighed. "You are right that we haven't located the person who destroyed the gates, but please be assured that we are investigating the incident throughly. Especially Principal Nezu." He shot another glare at the camera, as if to say he'd better be.

"Regardless, it isn't something you need to worry about as a student. We're adding more safety protocols to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Oh, okay. S-so, what are we doing today? Sensory deprivation? Electric shocks? Stress positions? Bean bag barrage for dodging? High stakes hell exam?" He was ready for anything and very excited.

Aizawa stared at him flatly. "We're... doing quirk counseling."

"Yes?"

"Kid... except for maybe the last one... what exactly gave you the idea that any of those things had anything to do with quirk counseling?"

Izuku started to get the feeling he'd seriously messed up. Except he didn't feel particularly anxious about it.

"Oh, uh, Mom used to get brochures like that in the mail, after I was diagnosed? She didn't ever answer any, but... Apparently, some people originally thought to be quirkless got quirks after being in a high stress situation."

"But no one actually did any of those things to you."

"Not really?"

"Midoriya..."

Izuku looked away. He shouldn't have said anything. He didn't like the quirk counselor at Eisley Elementary, but he didn't want to get her in trouble, either. After all, he was the only one she had to do that stuff with, since his quirk hadn't shown up...

Aizawa sighed with the air of someone exercising a lot of self-control. "Except for that last one," said Aizawa, "and that's debatable, all of those are torture techniques."

Ah. Well. That maybe explained a few things.

"They are not a normal part of quirk counseling. At some point, we may incorporate some combat into this, but that will be to help you become more familiar with your quirk. Not just for the sake of making you stressed."

"But if we aren't doing combat, what are we doing?"

"Well, first we're going to try to figure out what your quirk is. Why don't you sit down." He took out some papers as Izuku made his way to his desk. "Alright. I'm going to go through these questions and write down your answers... then we're going to go through them again while I'm canceling your quirk." He paused. "Actually, first. What did you mean when you said you had a bad feeling about the reporters?"

"If I were alive," said Yoichi, "I would be committing so much murder right now."

"I thought we left this behind when Ninth graduated," said Nana. "I thought you said you were going to forgive them because they were stupid kids and Ninth forgave them."

"Well, first off, I lied. Secondly, teachers aren't kids. If we ever get hit by a quirk that brings us back to life, the quirk counselor at his old school will be my first victim."

Nana sighed. "That isn't going to happen."

"Who's going to stop me?"

"Less a who, and more the fact that there has never been a quirk that could revive the dead."

"Meaningless!" exclaimed Yoichi. "Death cannot stop me!"

"Think he's finally lost it after all this time?" asked En, leaning towards Nana.

"No, I think he's just messing with us," hoped Nana.

"Alright, kid," said Aizawa exhaustion evident in his tone. "Between your answers, your exam results, the battle trial results, how you react when I use my quirk on you, and Monoma's assessment... Your quirk is at least partially sensory.",

Izuku tried not to feel disappointed, but that seemed rather incomplete as a conclusion. Even though he knew about Danger Sense and this probably was Danger Sense.

"Yeah, I know, it's underwhelming, but remember this is the first session. Whatever your quirk actually does, though, you seem to be using it to detect threats."

Okay, that was more in line with expectations.

"I mean... maybe? I think so. That feels right."

"We also need to figure out what it's stockpiling. Have you ever felt any particular draw to certain situations? More than your peers?"

"Um. I watch a lot of hero fights?"

"You're a fight chaser?"

"A little bit?" admitted Izuku, squirming a little.

Aizawa sighed heavily. "I seriously hope your quirk doesn't stockpile danger- don't test that."

He wasn't going to!

Probably.

Speaking of, though, what did One for All actually stockpile? Power was a very vague description... He'd just went along with it because a) quirk and b) All Might, but it would probably be good to know.

"Next time we meet, I'll be running you through the basic quirk assessment battery- that's a series of tests usually given to five-year-olds to help their pediatric quirk doctors and quirk counselors identify difficult or stubborn quirks. You should have gone through it when you were younger."

Izuku shook his head. "All I remember is the x-ray."

"Why would you get an x-ray?"

"For the toe joint? To tell whether or not I was quirkless?" Why was he saying this? He was going to blow his cover and his secret out of the water! This was so dumb.

But he did say it. Maybe it was his guilty conscience from lying to and misleading Mr. Aizawa so much.

"That's a myth," said Aizawa.

"What?"

"It isn't true." Aizawa began to slump down in his seat. "It's an old wives' tale. Everyone quirkless has the double joint, but not everyone with the double joint is quirkless. I have the double joint, as do about twenty-five percent of people with meta quirks." By the time he finished, only the top half of his face was visible.

"Oh," said Izuku. He wasn't sure what else to say. At least the secret of One for All was completely intact.

"I hate to say this, kid, but it sounds like everyone involved in your early quirk education was incredibly incompetent. You shouldn't have had to deal with that, even if you were truly quirkless. It takes just as much counseling to deal with that in today's day and age as something like, say, Ashido's quirk."

Izuku had never heard it put like that before. "Okay."

"Now, before I send you off for today, do you have any questions about anything we'll be doing? Any of the tests we'll be running, normal quirk counseling procedures, anything. It's important for you to feel comfortable about this."

Izuku's eyes teared up. This had already been a very emotional day, and he wasn't sure a teacher had ever asked him that and meant it. "Mr. Aizawa," he said, earnestly, "you're the best teacher I've ever had."

"Is that a joke?" asked Aizawa, flatly.

Izuku shook his head, centrifugal force flinging his teardrops away.

"That's messed up, kid. I'm terrible."

"You're the best," protested Izuku.

"I just need you to know how incredibly low that bar is. Your other teachers must have gotten shovels to dig tunnels under it. They must be dancing limbo in hell."

Izuku blinked. He had no idea what that meant. "I think they're all still alive..."

"Not for long," muttered Aizawa.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #danger first #danger first au #fic #fanfic

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lubdubsworld · 3 years

Text

Better Man. ( Taehyung x Oc)

Rated 18 +

Post Divorce, Getting Back Together, Second chances, Angst.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 ~ Its okay to want something to end and also be sad that its ending.

With infidelity, its never black and white.

There’s different kinds of infidelity and you can’t ever say which is worse. That depends entirely on the people involved and the values they hold dear. What may be a small indiscretion to someone, may well be an unforgivable act of betrayal to someone else.

And that’s fine. People aren’t one dimensional. We can’t all have the same perspective.

So infidelity is also never one dimensional.

Sometimes its a one night stand. Something done and forgotten. Discarded from the mind like the used condom in the motel room floor.

Sometimes its a dear friend who betrays you, your best friend who apparently always had a thing for your husband and felt perfectly fine making a move on him. That one stings . Because you lose two people. Two very important people at the same time.

Sometimes its a coworker, someone who stays by their side majority of the day. Who offers a sympathetic ear when your husband wants to relax.

Sometimes men just fall out of love and are too much of a coward to say it out loud, opting to cheat on you instead.

Sometimes, they are jealous, of your career, of your kid, or your friends. Too lazy to win your affection they go find satisfaction in some one else’s bed.

Sometimes it never even gets physical. Sometimes its just someone catfishing your husband or sending him nudes.

And sometimes, its an emotional connection. They actually fall deeply in love with someone else and I think, for most women, that would be the one that would sting the most.

With Taehyung, it had been a night of drinking. He had had one drink too many, had tumbled into bed with some trainee a decade younger and had broken our marriage vows.

Not really a very thought out or planned mistake. He hadn’t cheated with the intent to cheat. He had just been too drunk to know better.

So, why did I leave him?

Because it hadn’t been about the cheating.

It had been the drinking.

When we first met, Taehyung couldn’t hold his liquor. Not that it mattered because he didn’t like it all that much. Didn’t mind sipping juice when other’s nursed beers.

But as he grew older, as he grew more successful, he had started accepting drinks from producers and directors and fellow actors... Because, it was rude not to and Kim Taehyung was nothing if not the personification of politeness.

His tolerance hadn’t increased but his drinking had and that was a bad combo.

:”You need to stop doing this Tae. You can’t just come home black out drunk, every time you have an after party.... You’re going to hurt yourself or god forbid someone else... some day and I’m not going to sit here and wait for you to wreck your entire life over a stupid drink....”

It was a speech I had made way too many times. The words recycled and reframed, and rearranged to try and give them more weight , to help him realize how serious the issue was. To help him understand that what he was risking, it wasn’t just his reputation. It was his entire career, his life if he somehow got behind a wheel someday.

And Taehyung, who had won a bunch of Daesangs for his acting always convinced me that he understood what I was trying to say. That he understood the magnitude of my words and would heed them the next time.

So really, what people didn’t understand was that....

That evening, when he stood in front of me and said that he slept with another woman because he got drunk out of his mind, it wasn’t the sleeping with the girl that had bothered me. ( at least not that much. it hurt of course but it wasn’t that strong. it stemmed more from a place of “why didn’t you just ask someone to drive you home, you idiot.”.. rather than, “ how dare you sleep with another woman?” )

It was the got drunk out of my mind thing.

That was what I ended my marriage over.

That was it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The details were hashed out easily and I didn’t particularly protest or change anything. Taehyung suggested an equal division of assets and I quickly disagreed. I wasn’t exactly poor. I worked as the Head of Marketing in a successful conglomerate. I had no use for excessive amounts of money. After some debate we agreed on setting up a trust fund for Hoshi with the money. He could use it after he turned twenty five.

And then came the next part.

Compensation for physical / Mental Damage.

I felt like i was spiraling.

“None On my side. None.” Taehyung said quickly and I swallowed.

Ms Lee gave me an encouraging smile.

“You can be honest Mrs Kim. We’re trying to go for a clean break between the two of you without any resentment carrying over. So its best to be honest. If you feel you need recompense for any emotional distress or abuse Mr. Kim may have put you through, you’re free to tell me. I’ll make sure it goes into record.”

And this was why I hated the idea of getting divorce.

That entire dialogue had sounded so...so... terrible. So accusatory and ugly. It wasn’t at all the way I felt about my husband.

It was just hurt. Plain and simple hurt because he didn’t take me seriously. Because he didn’t think my words were worth listening to. It was hurt laced with fear because he was putting himself in danger with his reckless actions and I wanted him to stop. That’s all it was.

It was hurt.

Taehyung had hurt me but it wasn’t emotional distress. It sure as hell hadn’t been abuse.

“None for me either.” I said firmly, honest .

I glanced at my husband, trying to tell him that I wasn’t just saying it. That it was true. I really didn’t want him to pay me money for what had happened.

But, Taehyung wouldn’t meet my eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taehyung signed over full custody of Hoshi with a smile.

“I trust you. “ He said quietly, penning his initials carefully on the document.

I nodded, feeling a little like drowning.

We had a very comfortable way of doing things as far as our son was concerned. Taehyung got Hoshi anytime he had time off and also on weekends.

With a very shifting schedule it was hard for Taehyung to pin down exact dates so we had long decided we would make things easier for each other. He would call me a day or so in advance and i would drop him off at Taehyung’s penthouse or the company. Special days like birthdays were always celebrated in a neutral place with both parties attending.

Hoshi loved it because it was a pleasant surprise for him, when his dad swooped in out of nowhere and took him off to amusement parks or arcades or swimming. He loved Taehyung .

So the visitation rights were easy to sketch out.

It was nothing new but to have it all put down on paper and initialed and notarized....it just felt invasive. Some judge somewhere would read all about how my marriage had crumbled to ashes and would pass judgment on me and that just felt odd.

Like airing your dirty laundry. Like letting strangers into your bedroom.

And the worst part was this : I felt myself getting upset , anytime Ms. Lee gave the slightest negative connotation to Taehyung’s actions or responsibilities. Anytime she tried to imply that he couldn’t be neglectful as a father, I wanted to jump right up and defend him. To tell her that he was a better father than the ones who lived 24/7 with their kids and didn’t know a damn thing about them.

That even as my husband, he had been so good to me. Had treated me like his best friend, his confidante, his lover. Had never shied away from showing me how much he loved me. Had been the best husband in the whole entire world.

And I hated myself for it.

What was wrong with me?

Why was I still so fiercely protective of him, I wondered. I hated the idea of him being criticized by anyone for any of it.

And it made feel like such a hypocrite because if he was so amazing, why on earth were we here??

Why on earth were we getting a divorce if Kim Taehyung was husband and father of the fucking Year?!!

Was I making a mistake? Had I made a mistake?

It confused me. These feelings that just refused to go away. I would never act on them because therein lay the path to misery but why were they still there?

This desperate clawing urge to make sure he came out of this whole debacle as a good guy. To make sure no one would brand him as a cheater . Because they would. When the divorce went public, they would dig things up and they would know.

I didn’t know how I’d gotten to this point where , I could somehow forget everything that was wrong, simply because I wanted to focus on what felt wrong....

Technically I should be happy.

Taehyung did something unpardonable ( for me, at the time. Now I wasn’t so sure. Now I felt like I could forgive him for it but he hadn’t asked for forgiveness. What he’d asked for was a divorce. ) and I left him. We were separated . And now finally we were getting a divorce.

Divorce meant we could finally get out of this no man’s land of uncertainty where we had hung for two whole years and move on, from each other and finally give a label to where we stood. Exes. We were exes. We were done. It was over.

Hadn’t I just yelled about him about how I liked labels?

And yet,

This entire divorce felt so wrong. So unnecessary.

And in a moment of clarity, as I watched Ms Lee read he whole thing over again for our benefit, I realized why it felt wrong.

It felt wrong because Taehyung was the one who wanted it.

Why did Taehyung want it? What had made him want to end it, officially?

Was he seeing someone else? Was he considering seeing someone else? Did he want to start enjoying the single lifestyle again?

Did he finally take a good long look at our marriage and found nothing worth salvaging anymore?

My head ached.

I couldn’t wait for the whole thing to be over. And yet my heart broke at the thought of it.

Ms Lee finally gathered up all the documents and gave us a wide smile.

“I wish every client I had was this reasonable. You two are a delight .” she shook her head. “ Should we get a drink to celebrate a day well spent?”

I opened my mouth to accept when Taehyung said, “ Sure, but it would have to be a juice for me. I don’t drink.”

I felt my heart take a swoop, nosediving to my knees.

I stared at him, stunned speechless.

“Haven’t had a drink in two years Mia. I’m done with that shit.” He said softly.

I swallowed.

“I didn’t know that.” I felt miserable all of a sudden, the weight of what we had just done pressing down on my heart like a 200 pound stone,

His gaze held mine.

“There’s a lot you don’t know.”

We stood staring at each other in silence and Ms. Lee cleared her throat.

“Uh... I just got a text from my next client. Maybe raincheck on the drinks? “

I nodded , watching her leave. Thank you i wanted to say, but for what?

For ending my marriage of eight fucking years?

And how ridiculous that very thought was. ..... She hadn’t ended our marriage, I had.

“I have the next two days off.” He said casually.

“You can pick Hoshi up from my mom’s place. I need to head back to the office.” I muttered, choking a little on tears that had sprung out of nowhere. .

“Hey.” his fingers closed over my wrists tugging me gently and I let myself get pulled into his arms. I hugged him, feeling my tears soak through the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way.” I choked out.

He stroked the back of my head gently.

“Me too. “ He pressed a kiss to my hair and it only made me feel worse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : Tae is 35, OC is 32

#taehyung smut #taehyung fics #taehyung fanfic #taehyung #taehyung fanfics #bts fanfics #bts smut #bts fanfic

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the-black-birb · 4 years

Text

Bet? [Miya Atsumu x Reader]

Summary: Miya Atsumu never losses a bet. Or: At first he was in it for the sex until he found himself honestly falling for you.

Warnings: smut, virginity loss, plenty of plot to go along with it

A/N: since this is my first nsfw piece, I’m writing about times. Haha. Get it? Anyways. Here we go!

Miya Atsumu, with his suave smile and screaming fangirls, was the last person you’d think to be a college virgin.

His ego was large enough to make up for any of his other shortcomings, boasting the pride of prepping to be a professional athlete as well as a full-time college student. No one doubted that he’d snogged countless fans or taken especially eager girls to back closets for fun, but what seemed to have slipped past them was his dedication to volleyball, always.

So dedicated, he didn’t even have the time for a serious girlfriend.

Miya Atsumu, playboy of the year, was a virgin. But he’d raise all hell if he let anyone around him find out. So when his team went out for dinner after a particularly brutal victory, Atsumu was happy to get in on all the locker room talk. He was sure he could keep up this facade.

Yet somehow, it spiraled into a competition. Although Atsumu had never been one to be invited to sleepovers or highschool parties, far too busy practicing with his team, he imagined it felt something like this.

“So,” one of the wing spikers started. “How old were you all when you lost your virginity?” The men around him laughed it off, ready to tell stories of their (awkward) first times. Each took their turn, wanting to be the youngest or the one with the best tale to tale. And then, all eyes fell on Atsumu.

Atsumu was a great liar, really. But the bar was loud and he felt the eyes of his teammates like ants on his skin and while he was confident in volleyball there was little he knew about this and Atsumu could not bring himself to do anything but sit there and stare aimlessly. The team waited for an answer.

Finally, their starting setter, who had undoubtedly been chosen based on seniority alone, broke out into laughter. “He’s a virgin!” he realized. “Miya Atsumu is a virgin!” The whole table broke out into rancorous laughter. There wasn’t truly anything bad about being a college virgin, a few on the team had admitted to it before Atsumu. But his attitude of control and snarky attitude on the court had everyone waiting to find something just one thing they could tease Miya Atsumu about.

“I could fuck anyone if I wanted to!” was his quick reply, thinking back to all the girls cheering his names in the stands (and the boys who’d give him a slap on the ass to say “good job”). Surely, he could give up his virginity in an instant, if he put his mind to it.

“Oh, yeah?” It was a middle blocker speaking now, one who Atsumu had the (dis)pleasure of sharing a few classes with. “Even that girl in calc...the one who does all the group projects on her own and everything…”

Atsumu knew immediately who he was talking about. Y/N L/N. You were basically a genius, always getting the highest marks and never taking a moment to wait for those around you to catch up. He’d never even spoken to you. But right now, his pride was on the line.

“Pfft,” he forced a chuckle. “Easy.”

The table erupted into booming laughter again, at Atsumu’s declaration, but quickly quieted down as the senior setter leaned forward with a wager. “Then have sex with her,” he smirks. “Before the next game.”

Atsumu raised an eyebrow. “What do I get out of it?” Aside from the loss of his v-card, of course.

“I’ll ask coach to make you the starting setter.” A hush fell on the table as if a ghost had passed through. “But if you lose, you join as a wing spiker.”

Atsumu gulped down his fears. He was never one to back down on a bet. Besides, the only reason he was a virgin still was because of volleyball. Might as well gain something from it.

He pushed his hand forward, shaking the senior setter’s firmly.

“Deal.”

***

“Could you tutor me?”

Miya Atsumu wasn’t stupid. He’d never been in a serious relationship, but he knew if he asked one of his fangirls to sneak off with him they’d do it in a heartbeat. He knew he could probably find at least one girl within a mile radius who wanted to have sex with him and flirt his way to her bed.

But you weren’t just any girl.

As much as he dreaded school, Atsumu was painfully observant of the people around him. He’d noticed you before, in class and occasionally at games. You kept to yourself without anyone to talk to you, but on the occasion, he’d seen you with friends you shined brighter than any of them. It made him breathless.

Still, he knew you wouldn’t be easy. In group projects, you’d always been devilish with your expectations, dishing out jobs to everyone in an instant and critiquing their work for the best results (this quality shamefully reminded Atsumu of himself, but he’d never mentioned it).

Frankly, he was at a loss of how to get to your bed. But he knew he needed to start by talking to you, and that you’d shut down any friendly flirtation he started with. So he did something more direct. He theorized even if you weren’t keen, you were kind enough not to shut him down completely and hopefully that’d be his chance to talk with you more. But what he hadn’t calculated was your response.

“Atsumu, right? What do you need help with?”

Huh?

You hadn’t even hesitated to agree, looking up at him expectantly.

“Uh...deriving complex functions?” He thinks that’s what they’re doing in class.

You place a hand to your chin, nodding as if you were deep in thought. “Yeah, that’s pretty tough,” you agree, thinking. “I’m free after six tonight, meet me at the library?” you ask him directly.

For once in his life, Miya Atsumu is frozen. “Uh, sure?”

“Cool, give me your number in case something comes up,” you said nonchalantly, grabbing your phone. Before he could even process what was happening, he’d put his number in your phone and you were walking away from him, bidding him a friendly “see you later.”

As he watched your figure get smaller, he was reminded of all the cold comments he’d heard about how difficult you were to approach and the nicknames people said behind your back. He stifled a laugh.

Atsumu wondered if they’d even spoke to you.

***

You here?

It was the first thing Atsumu had texted you once he got your number. He didn’t come to the library often, far more concerned with practice than studying, but as he sat to get out his work from earlier he realized it was actually quite calming. Compared to the loud and irritating bar from days earlier, Atsumu was certain he preferred this.

Sorry, was out with friends. Be there in a few!

He grumbled when he saw his phone. Maybe it couldn’t be helped, but you could’ve at least had the decency to text him earlier, right? Slowly Atsumu felt himself spiraling, his bad habit of finding the negative in just about everything sneaking up his back.

But all his qualms were forgotten when you walked through the doors.

He supposed he’d only ever seen you in class and at a few volleyball games. He quicked up quickly that you were a creature of comfort, preferring a pair of loose sweatpants to anything else. Yet you walked through the door fresh from a night out with friends with your hair done up and a pair of flattering slacks clinging to your waist (and a bit further south as well but Atsumu wasn’t ready to mention that, yet).

“Miya?” He was broken from his trance by your voice, which had a playful lilt to it he’d never quite noticed before.

“Just call me Atsumu,” he heard himself saying out of habit. Even without Osamu at his side in college, Atsumu was never really comfortable being called by his family name. It just wasn’t normal. Still, his cheeks flared up as he worried you’d see it as flirtations instead and be scared off.

“I-”

“Sure thing, Atsumu,” you agreed without hesitation. Oh. All of Atsumu’s nerves were on edge. Nothing to worry about, huh? He quite liked how his name sounded on your lips. He could listen to it on repeat for days, probably.

Snapping him out of his trance, you were quick to get to business. Although Atsumu came with ulterior motives, you were an incredible help. Your notes were neat and easy to understand, but whatever he stumbled on you still found ways to re-word so they’d make sense. He could practically feel all the wheels in his head turning when you spoke like he was in the middle of an intense volley trying to figure out what came next.

Actually, you made it kind of fun.

Before he realized, an hour had elapsed and he felt his eyelids drooping. It wasn’t often that Atsumu used his brain that intensely without break, and he could feel his focus starting to waver. But you’d made it so easy to focus, he’d easily lost track of time.

You let out a sigh next to him. “That’s enough for today,” you determined, shutting your notebook. “Seeing as we have a quiz next class, I can meet again to tutor the night before if you’d like? Just keep doing the practice I showed you and we can do some review.” You had everything planned out in your mind already.

Atsumu let his head hit the table in exhaustion. Although normally he’d have a snarky comment for anyone who dared tease him, he let your laughter ease over him like a blanket. It was music to his ears.

“Get better and it won’t be so tiring,” you assured him, patting his shoulder. Before he could agree or disagree with anything you’d asked him, you had one foot out the door. “See you Wednesday at six,” you bid him goodbye (though Atsumu swore it sounded more like an order).

He grumbled against the table once again, quick to back up his notebook. There was still practice, after all.

While Atsumu found himself more tired than usual at practice, having already used his mind plenty, it was enthralling. The quips of his teammates, asking if it was some hot banging that had tired him out, fell on deaf ears. He could only think about how you’d managed to make calculus of all things sound interesting and the smell of your perfume whenever you bent close to him. Sure, your expectations for him were evident but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He wondered how anyone could have called you ‘cold.’

***

Your next tutoring session went fairly standard. True to your word, you checked over the review and prepped for your exam the next day. While you harshly pointed out Atsumu’s repeated mistakes, you gave him insightful tips and tricks to help him fix them in the same breath. You were definitely a genius, he determined.

But he’d also realized he was getting nowhere with these tutoring sessions. Your company was surprisingly relaxing in the midst of his long days and he was delighted at the playful jokes you always managed to slip in, but there were no sparks and his next game was drawing nearer. The word wing spiker loomed over his head like a curse.

He had to do something to change this.

“Would you want to grab coffee with me?” he found himself asking as you packed your bag. For a moment you looked at him dumbfounded, trying to figure out if he was serious.

“Are you asking me on a date?” you tease, no fear of misunderstanding the situation. As usual, Atsumu was shaken to his core by your forwardness. He thought he was honest. But he was certain now was the time to back down.

“If I am, would you say yes?” he flirts back, praying you can’t see the sweat dripping down his neck. There was something electric and unnerving about your smile, seemingly unhindered.

“The Miya Atsumu…” you put on a face like you’re deep in thought, but you’re already sure of your answer. “Sure,” you grin. “Text me the details.” Before he even has the chance to celebrate, you’re gone.

The next day, Atsumu got his highest grade on a quiz since grade school (he wasn’t stupid, really, just very average with school). Even when he got stuck on questions, he’d visualize your mechanical pencil (you’d covered it in stickers) gliding across his page and the sound of your voice, explaining each problem patiently and easily. Then, he’d know what to do.

He texted you a thank you with a flurry of emojis, supremely grateful for your help. Soon, he’s pulling on his nicest pair of jeans for his casual date with you, brimming with energy. Atsumu was so excited he could just kiss you.

That is until he was sitting in front of you in the cafe, realizing he’d never talked to you about anything but calculus. And now that he had his breakthrough and secured a date, he was hopeless. He had no idea where to start. So, always quite shallow, he broke the ice by saying what was on his mind.

“Why’d you agree to tutor me?” For a moment, he wonders if you’ll get offended by the question before he’s reminded of all your rude comments about his mathematical prowess. He was certain you had tougher skin than that. “I mean, I sort of asked you out of the blue. Don’t you want money? Food?”

He expects you to take a while to answer since you seem like the person to have calculated reasons behind all your actions, but your answer is almost immediate.

“Is it not enough to just want company?” you wonder, completely unabashed. Atsumu almost blushes for you, before you think for a moment and find you stumbling over your words. It’s the first time he’s heard you sound unsure of yourself and he ingrains the moment of vulnerability into his mind like a movie he’ll play one day. He never wants to forget the sight of your lightly flushed cheeks, eyes scattering to break contact with him.

“W-What I mean is,” you interrupt yourself. “I hear people talk and I know my reputation. I get focused on work and people get scared away...” Atsumu knows that feeling. “I guess I was just over eager that someone would approach me. Is that weird?”

Ah. Atsumu thinks. This is my chance.

He bends forward, his hand brushing against yours, and greets you with a practiced smile. It’s the sort of smirk that is sneaky enough to have any girl squealing, but sincere enough not to scare you away. “Not at all, doll,” he promises, voice like honey.

Mentally, Atsumu congratulates himself for the smooth delivery, sure that he’ll have you in his arms in no time. Instead, you start laughing at him.

“Do not call me that!” you exclaim, tears bursting from the corners of your eyes. “What do you think this is, the 1950s? [Y/N] will do, yeah?” Your hands reach up to wipe your eyes and the entire atmosphere Atsumu worked to create is lost (although secretly, he prefers that honest and straightforward attitude you replace it with) and he’s left staring at you blankly.

“Why’d you ask in the first place?” you wonder, looking sufficiently amused.

Because I want to have sex with you.

Atsumu finds himself attacked by his own thoughts. It’s not that he wants to, of course. It’s just that he was dared to and he can’t lose the bet. But, wouldn’t it be more enjoyable if he wanted to? Of course, he could want to. But he thinks to get there he’d need to be terribly emotionally invested and he’s barely even had a girlfriend and you’re definitely too perfect for him and-

“Atsumu?” You’re smiling up at him, eyebrows raised. “Did I manage to leave you, who never shuts up,” He wants to tell you that you’re wrong but he knows you’re not and you won’t hesitate to remind him of that. “Speechless?”

He can’t let you catch on, Atsumu tells himself. “I’m bad at calculus and you’re good,” he decides is a good lie. Straightforward and true, just like you. “Is that not enough?” You huff, leaning back in your seat.

“Touche.”

Although your date had started off awkward and tense, Atsumu felt the relief of being entirely comfortable talking to you. He got lost in your quick wit and electric eyes, losing track of the conversation and letting himself get immersed entirely in you. Before he knew it, your phone was going off.

“Shit!” you rushed to turn it off. “I’ve got class in ten.” You were quick to grab your bag and head out, and Atsumu felt his stomach drop, wishing he’d said something. Yet just as quickly you were turning on your heal, an unfamiliar shakiness in your voice, as you bent down to plant on Atsumu’s cheek.

“Same time next week?” you asked, eyes sparkling.

Atsumu felt an unfamiliar tightness in his chest as he smiled back at you. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

***

In the blink of an eye, you became a surprisingly regular part of Miya Atsumu’s daily life. He’d sit next to you in calculus and on days you didn’t have calculus he’ get coffee with you. Every day you were there next to him, smiling fearlessly. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened to your untouchable reputation, but he’d never hesitated to be beside you.

For two weeks this had gone on, your strange friendship that sprung up out of nowhere raging strong. But Atsumu’s next game was soon and he felt the pressure. Yet he knew, no matter what, he didn’t want to ruin what he had going with you. Maybe, it was even worth being wing spiker for a season.

“Could I come to the match tomorrow?” you asked as you were getting ready to leave one day. Atsumu almost choked on his coffee, not prepared for such a bold question. He wanted to ask you who you were asking him as: a volleyball fan, a friend or… a partner?

He shooed the thought from his head. Although both of you called these coffee outings “dates,” they’d never ended with anything more than him walking you him and a kiss on the cheek outside the door to your apartment. You were far from dating.

“Sure, why not?” he responded, pretending to keep his cool. But would you like him less when you realized he was benched? Why did you even want to go?

“It’s raining,” you moaned, distracted from Atsumu’s response. He looked to your (lovely) legs to see you were wearing shorts and converse, definitely not ideal for this weather.

“I’ll drive you home,” he offered, keen on showing off his new car. He’d already sent you a photo of it, of course (a selfie, actually. He looked quite stunning) but he still wanted to show you in person. Soon, you were next to him in the passenger seat, looking at the road ahead.

You made normal small talk, but Atsumu noticed your hand seemed to be wondering closer to the area between you two. He ignored it.

When you reached your apartment, he walked you in like normal. He waved hello to the person at the security desk, they were familiar with him at this point. Finally, the two of you reached the doormat. It always felt to him like a save point in a game before a boss. He just couldn’t seem to get past it and into your apartment.

But when he noticed you wore a different lip gloss than usual and a new perfume, he thought maybe today could be the day. He swallowed, rolling his shoulders back. He’d make his move for sure. Breathing in, he readied his mind for what he’d say to you, wondering what kind of flirting could make you break.

“Kiss me.”

Huh.

“Atsumu,” you looked up at him, eyes demanding. “Kiss me.”

When he first started talking to you, occasionally you’d say something that caught him so off guard he’d freeze up and have no idea what to do. But kissing wasn’t sex, and Atsumu knew he could win in a battle of the lips. Before you could even fully open your door, he’d close the space between you two.

He didn’t take a moment to question why you asked him, instead silently praying you felt the same pull to him that he did to you. The kiss was desperate and long-awaited. As soon as he was in the apartment you were closing the door behind him and letting him press you up against him.

Desperately, Atsumu wanted to feel all of you. He gripped his hands around your waist and sucked at your lips, begging to be closer to you. It was intense and passionate and everything he’d ever dreamed of.

The two of you were a mess of sweat and pent up tension, but somehow you made it to your bedroom. Your hands searched over Atsumu, wanting to feel the expanse of his toned body and broad shoulders. You could feel him getting excited against you, edging him on by grind against him. More you called out. You wanted to feel more of him, all of him.

And then he froze.

You looked up to him, confused. “Are you okay, Atsumu?” you pulled away from him immediately, scared that you’d set something off. Instead, you reached out to grab his hand in yours, squeezing it gently. “We can stop if this is too fast,” you assured him. While you’d been getting impatient waiting for him to make a move, the last thing you wanted was for him to be uncomfortable with you.

“I’m fine,” he promised you, but his eyes said differently. His pupils were blown out and his eyes wide but he looked downright scared. You breathed out, not yet sure how to comfort him. Instead, you took in all the things you knew about him, coolly trying to wonder what could be bothering him.

“Is this going to lead to sex?” he asked you, sitting on your bed with his clothes riled up and his face looking very thoroughly kissed. You wanted to laugh, looking at his swollen red lips and the clueless expression on his face because the answer would be clear to anyone else, but Atsumu kept surprising you. Still, you knew better than to make fun of him. It was very clear he was trusting himself to you.

“If you want it to you,” you answer, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “But it doesn’t have to.”

There’s a nervousness in Atsumu’s eyes that you were unfamiliar with. It was different than the frustration that built up when he didn’t understand math, or the shyness he tried to hide whenever he’d flirt with you. It was the realization that if he wanted whatever was between the two of you to go anywhere, he had to come clean now.

“I asked you to tutor me because my seniors on the volleyball team dared me to have sex with you!” he burst, folding in on himself.

For a moment you thought you could feel your heartbreaking because you couldn’t believe you’d let yourself get tricked. But naively, you prayed that maybe his feelings still rang true, reminding yourself of all the coffee dates and late nights studying. That worth more than just a dare, you hoped.

“But I asked you on the coffee date because I like you! I sat next to you in calculus because I like you and I don’t care what people say about you!” Atsumu declared, face burning red.

You knew there was a lot that could get under Miya Atsumu’s skin. You’d been to a few practice volleyball games where he played and seen his short fuse first hand, but still, you found yourself surprised and relieved by his words. Atsumu was, if nothing else, straight forward. Even though he’d had different motives, you knew he still worked hard to get better at calculus. You knew how his face lit up whenever you walked into the cafe and the most common emojis he used when he texted. You had no doubt behind his words now.

“So,” you start teasingly, tracing circles around his shoulder. “Does that make you a virgin?” The way your voice dropped, eyes looking promisingly at Atsumu like he was about to be devoured, had him straining against his pants.

“Yeah,” he admitted, pupils blown out for a whole new reason.

You slid yourself over him, letting your self straddle his hips. Your fingers continued to trace his chest, appreciating all the time he spent training. Excruciatingly slowly, you bent forward to whisper against his ear. “Let’s change that tonight, yeah?”

That was enough for Atsumu.

For a virgin, he was surprisingly dominating while you made out. Atsumu brought his mouth to yours once again, quick to bite at your lips. His hands came up to knead your ass, large and strong. I’ve been waiting to do that, Atsumu thought, picturing your slacks from the first time you tutored him. He always did love to see you walk away.

Soon, he got bored with your lips and found himself peppering kissing across your jawline and traveling across your neck. As he got to the crook between your should and neck he heard your breath hitch. Perfect.

Mercilessly, he nipped and sucked at the spot. As much as you tried to keep down your moans, you felt them bubbling up in your chest.

“You know…” you told him breathlessly. “For someone who’s never had sex you’re awfully good at this.”

Atsumu scoffed in response. “I’m a virgin, not a celibate,” he explained, before going after your neck again. You threw your head back in pleasure, giving him easier access. You wondered what else he could do with his mouth.

His pursuit of learning about your entire body continued, one hand leaving your ass to grope your breasts. He reached his hand up and under your shirt, sending shocks straight to your core as his calloused fingers brushed over your skin. Finally, palm landed on your breast, feeling it enthusiastically. You could hear him sigh as he did it, surely having played this moment over in his mind time after time.

You wanted to enjoy it, really, but there was only so much you could handle. “It’s not a balloon!” you laughed, swatting his hand away.

“Hey, I was busy with that,” Atsumu teased but brought his hand away regardless. He held onto your hips, instead, watching as you rid yourself of your shirt and bra. He watched you with a calculating eye, trying to learn more, to be better.

“Like this,” you told him, dragging his hand to your breast again. You had him pressing feather-light touches to you. “Gentle,” you whispered, letting yourself get lost in the sensation. He took your directions carefully, bringing both of his hands up to take in your chest. He was more careful now, experimenting. He ghosted his thumb over your nipple, watching how your body shivered in response.

Atsumu was completely in tune with your every reaction and quickly understood how sensitive you’d become from this slow grueling pace. All he’d done was play with your nipples, switching between light ghosts of touches and rougher swipes with the pads of his fingers, but he could already feel you grinding against him.

Unable to hold back, he finally broke his concentrated silence, letting a groan out into your shoulder.

“Right,” you noticed, looking down. “You probably want to take care of that?” As if teasing him, you rolled your hips against his bulge again. His grip around your waist tightened.

Atsumu started to protest. “But-”

“No buts!” you cut him off. “I’m gonna make you feel good, okay?” you promised, eyes unwavering.

This was even better than his dreams.

“Whatever you say, [Y/N],” he breathed out, letting you get up so your hands could work at his belt.

“Call me doll,” you muttered, unzipping his jeans and pulling them down. Although he was still in his boxers, you went to your own shorts first, pulling them down eagerly.

Atsumu twitched. “What is this,” he drawled. “The 1950s?” It felt good to have the upper hand for once.

“Throw me a bone here, you won’t even take your own clothes off,” you whined, pulling at his shirt. He helped you along the way, getting it over his head. Finally, you pulled his boxers off, letting his erection stand tall and proud for all to see.

You gulped at the sight of it. His length was average, but it was quite girthy with an intimidating tilt to it. How many fingers is that? You wondered.

“Impressive?” Atsumu asked when he noticed your wide eyes. The only people he’d ever really compared himself to were porn stars and his brother so truly he had no idea if he was packing, but he’d let you do the talking tomorrow.

But you were quick to wipe the wonderous expression of your face. “In your dreams,” you bit back, going to grab a condom.

“In your nightstand?” Atsumu said incredulously. You rolled your eyes.

“Where else?”

Touche.

You started to unpack the condom and roll it over his member, eager to get the show on the road, but Atsumu found himself grabbing your wrists. “What about you?” he asked. “I mean…” Atsumu was never one to admit to his shortcomings, but there was something pretty clear here. You had more experience than him. “Don’t you want to feel good, too?”

If your pace was too fast, you’d probably get left high and dry while Atsumu chased his orgasm. “Couldn’t I…” he gestured with his hands, pushing two fingers forward. “Help you out?”

You chuckled. “Love if you’ve never fingered a girl before I’m not becoming your test subject,” you quipped, Atsumu grumbling below you. What was the point if you didn’t both enjoy yourselves? “But…” you traced his jawline. “I can show you how I do it next time. Teach you how I like it?”

Atsumu smirked, pulling you down to the bed with him and rolling over you so he could linger over you. He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, sweet and so unlike him. “Sounds perfect, doll,” he whispered against your lips.

You gulped. For someone so inexperienced, there was an intensity to his eyes that went unmatched by anyone else. Even when you had been the one guiding him along, you felt his eyes drinking all of you up. He was truly beautiful, leaning over you in all his glory. You could get used to that sight.

“Is…” he cleared his throat. “Is it okay if I put it in?” he asked, reminding you both that he was still unsure of himself.

“Yeah,” you assured, reaching up to grab his hand. “Take it slow.”

He did, Excruciatingly. You felt his tip enter you curiously, already stretching you out so well. Atsumu entered you in a way that you felt every single millimeter. You yearned for him to get closer, to fill you better.

“More,” you whined out.

Atsumu smirked at you, his face screaming I win. “What’s that, doll?” You groaned, rolling your head back. “You wanted me to take it slow?” he taunted.

“Fuck me like you mean it, Atsumu!” you snapped, pushing your hips up to meet his. You sighed at the feeling as he finally bottomed out. But Atsumu didn’t take your challenge lightly, not letting up. He pulled back out of you, only to snap his hips back. You had no time to get used to his size, not with the brutal pace he was setting.

Soon, you were a mess. While you were fairly sure Atsumu was simply his own release, he made you feel so damn good while doing it. His strong hips pushed back into you ruthlessly, hitting you deep and well. Your arms wrapped around his back, nails pressing into his shoulders.

“You like that, doll?” he asked through his own groans. He’d done his best to hold them back, but the feeling of you surrounding every single inch of him was simply too much. You felt too good.

“Yeah baby,” you urged him on. “You’re doing so well. You’re fucking me so well.” Your nails gripped into him, scratching at his back. But it only had him pushing harder into you, feeding into your praise. He was the one wrecking you like this.

Yet Atsumu lost track of his inhibitions and quickly found himself feeling a familiar coil in his stomach. He didn’t want this to end yet. He wanted to feel more of you, all of you. He let out a loud moan, trying to hold back.

“It’s alright,” you assured him. “There’ll be time to do more. Let go.” It angered him that you had the energy to soothe him while he was trying to fuck you silly, but that only encouraged him to push harder. Through your own moans, you found it in you to whisper to him. “Please, Atsumu. Cum for me.”

He couldn’t hold back anymore. His hands grabbed your hips, surely tight enough to leave bruises, and snapped forward, pushing all of himself into you. He came into the condom in hot streams, breathing heavily.

“I’ve never orgasmed like that,” he admitted, finally slipping out of you. You whimpered a bit at the feeling of being empty, before taking the semen-filled condom out of you.

“Ew,” the two of you said in unison, before laughing at one another.

Even though you’d just been thoroughly fucked and he felt like he’d ran a marathon, Atsumu bathed in the feeling of complete trust he had when he was beside you. It was incredible.

“I could sleep for days,” Atsumu sighed, collapsing on your bed. You laughed at him, pulling on a nightshirt.

“Hey, don’t cover the view!” he teased, wrapping an arm around your waist as you joined him. As if he didn’t stare at it long enough to etch it into his mind.

“You have a match tomorrow,” you reminded him. “Gotta laugh in your teammates’ face for that dumbass dare, so you can only sleep for one night.” You snuggled up against Atsumu, letting his warmth wash over the best of you.

You were too tired to really process the surprised in Atsumu’s voice when he agreed with you, too busy drifting off to sleep.

***

The match came without fail. Atsumu didn’t mention anything to his teammates as you gave him a kiss good luck before he entered the gym. You had proudly donned his jersey, ready to support him from the stands. But if that wasn’t enough, the scratch marks all across Atsumu’s back were enough to thoroughly shut up any doubts his teammates had about the night prior.

Atsumu was the setter for the whole game.

#miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #atsumu x reader #haikyuu miya atsumu #haikyuu atsumu x reader #smut #lemon #haikyuu lemon

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theworldinclines · 3 years

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Title: family matters Pairing: Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi Excerpt: “You’re almost like another son to him anyway,” Sizhui points out. “So you’re the favourite child while I get tossed to the wayside?” Ao3 link

Read below the cut.

The first time Jingyi meets Sizhui, they are each five. Zewu-Jun himself delivers the boy to lessons and asks that the children treat Sizhui with exceptional respect and consideration. That in itself isn’t anything new, as the Lans have written rules that explain why giving others kindness is one of the many keys to leading a decent life and acting as a role model to those in- and outside the sect. What was different, however, was the moment before Zewu-Jun took his leave from the students.

He gave a downturn of his chin to the boys and the teacher, but was unable to take more than two steps before little Sizhui had grappled to his robes, arms held fast around the Sect Leader’s left leg. Jingyi has never been known for necessarily obedient behaviour, but even he had never dared such an act toward Zewu-Jun, let alone in public. To the entire room’s astonishment, the man didn’t look put out in the very least. Rather than reprimand the child, Zewu-Jun put a gentle hand to his head and guided him out into the gardens. Jingyi knew he would be scolded were he to peek at them, and did it anyway when Laoshi’s back was turned.

Outside he saw Sizhui and Zewu-Jun, the Sect Leader in his immaculate robes bent to a knee as though they were in the cleanly confines of a hall rather than stood on a dusty path. Sizhui was staring at the ground, rubbing at his nose, and Zewu-Jun gave him a gentle chuck beneath the chin, murmuring words Jingyi couldn’t possibly hear. Sizhui’s nod prompted a smile from the Sect Leader that Jingyi, even at his young age, could tell held something more behind it.

He was quick to be facing the front of the room by the time Sizhui was led back into the class, much more collected and prepared to learn for the day. Jingyi understands, sort of; although he hadn’t wanted to begin lessons either, it’s just what is expected of children their age in the Cloud Recesses. He’d still stomped and whined, of course, but here he sits.

And he’s rather glad to have come once Laoshi dismisses them, because he gets to trot after Sizhui’s slow movements and say, “Hey!” He recalls in a split-second Zewu-Jun’s request that they show Sizhui respect, along with the rules, and adds quickly, “Welcome to Cloud Recesses. I haven’t seen you before.” Sizhui stares at him, uncertain. “Did you just come here? Where’d you move from?”

Sizhui gives a helpless shrug that is interrupted by the Sect Leader’s prompt appearance by his side. Jingyi immediately dips into a polite little bow that makes Zewu-Jun smile and he returns the gesture. Jingyi grins before he can bite it down and says, “Zewu-Jun, where’s Sizhui from?”

The Sect Leader hesitates a moment before his expression smooths into something less telling. “He is an orphan, A-Yi,” he says simply. “I trust that you will show him kindness.”

Jingyi looks at Sizhui with slightly widened eyes, nodding vigorously. “I will!” he promises the older man. To the boy, he says, “I’ll protect you. Don’t worry.”

For the first time, Sizhui’s lips quirk into the hint of a smile. “You don’t need to do that. I’m okay.”

“Too late,” Jingyi says firmly. “Tell me if anyone is mean to you and I’ll deal with them.” Zewu-Jun lowers his eyes to hide his amusement and Jingyi barrels on, “Better yet, I’ll stick by your side to save the trouble. Okay?”

Sizhui allows a little nod before Zewu-Jun murmurs that they should be heading home. The boy nods and Jingyi gives a wave, which Sizhui repays with a shy, squint-eyed smile. Jingyi beams. It may be Zewu-Jun’s request, but keeping Sizhui safe won’t be an arduous task at all, he thinks. Maybe they’ll even become good friends!

Jingyi finds Sizhui by the rabbits. It’s his friend’s favourite spot in the Cloud Recesses and if ever there’s a time when Jingyi can’t seem to find Sizhui in the main pavilion, he knows where he’ll be. Today is no exception.

Sizhui had disappeared just before he and Jingyi were meant to meet. They had each taken their meals as quickly as possible without appearing impolite to their families before the usual rendezvous by the rock garden’s bridge for a short break together, a daily update of all things Cloud Recesses. But when Jingyi arrived, Sizhui was nowhere to be seen and he’d known that something must have happened for his best friend to abandon him without warning.

Seeing Sizhui now, surrounded by soft rabbits, Jingyi hopes that he’d perhaps fallen into a brief mood as he sometimes does and all is in fact well, though he’d had to come here to get away from it all. He wouldn’t fault Sizhui that. However, when he calls out for him in approach, Sizhui wipes at his face like he’s been caught, and Jingyi begins to frown.

“A-Hui,” he says, coming to a stop beside him. Sizhui won’t look at him, gaze focused on the ground as he soothes a rabbit in his lap, and Jingyi can see that his eyes are red, cheeks tear-streaked. “A-Hui,” he repeats.

“I’m alright,” Sizhui says. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s been four years and you still think I care,” Jingyi replies, the slightest sarcasm in his words. “What happened?”

“It really isn’t a big deal.”

“So some non-issue made you come here and cry?” Jingyi deduces dryly.

“They…” Sizhui stops.

Jingyi sombers and can feel his frown deepening. “They who?”

“Mingyu. And Pengfei. Rumours about where I’m from.”

“Sizhui, what’d they do?”

“They said…” Sizhui’s hands shake only slightly where they hold the rabbit, but it still makes Jingyi’s stomach hurt. “Just that they think I’m from that old sect that was eradicated years ago for their evil ways, and how it’s strange I’m not dead like the rest of them. A-Fei said if I’m evil it’s their duty to — ” Sizhui doesn’t complete the sentence as his voice catches, but Jingyi is already on his feet. “A-Yi!” Sizhui’s hand reaches for Jingyi’s ankle, though he’s too far to catch. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” Jingyi demands. “I’m going to challenge them to a duel and shame them in front of the gods and the Four Families. What else?”

“Jingyi, don’t,” Sizhui says tiredly.

“Why not?”

“We’ve only just begun sword-work, for one,” Sizhui quips, aiming for a joke. Jingyi crosses his arms over his chest and Sizhui sighs as he gently sets the rabbit aside to stand. “We’re barely 10,” he says. “You can’t fight another kid to the death, Jingyi.”

“I disagree,” he mumbles.

“Well, that’s allowed. I don’t expect us to agree on everything. But you’ll only get in trouble and I don’t want that.”

“They said horrible things to you!” Jingyi exclaims. “And I said I’d protect you. ‘Our word is our oath,’ remember? Never break a promise. If I don’t confront them, I’m betraying one of our rules. A punishable offense, you know.”

“Coming here to find me is enough,” Sizhui says, fond but immovable, per usual. “I’m not even crying anymore, thanks to you. I’d say you did your duty.” Jingyi grumbles his dissent, arms still crossed, but Sizhui just bumps their shoulders together as he stands by his side, twining an arm through Jingyi’s out of habit. “Let’s get back to class.”

“They’re lucky they didn’t say that stuff in front of me,” Jingyi says while they walk. “Those brats. Don’t think I won’t do it next time.”

“Yes, A-Yi.”

“Don’t ‘Yes, A-Yi’ me; I mean it!”

“Okay, A-Yi.”

“Sizhui!” comes the expected whine.

Because it is their shared space, another day finds the boys with the rabbits. Zewu-Jun had apparently shown it to Sizhui when he first arrived and was feeling lonely, and although Jingyi dislikes that Sizhui had felt sad, he’s happy that it had at least brought them a special hideaway that so few know about. There’s nothing like an afternoon of hideously dull lessons to remind Jingyi why he so prefers not being in class. As if he ever forgets.

“There’s no way Laoshi Qiren isn’t trying to kill us,” Jingyi deadpans. “I swear, leaving his class I’m always sapped of both energy and will to live. Not a coincidence.”

“You say this nearly every day.”

“And it’s true! A slow-burn murder.”

“I feel certain that if my Grand-Uncle was trying to kill me, there’d be more concern from my father and uncle.”

Jingyi makes a face and holds a rabbit up to meet her dark gaze. “What do you think? Who’s right, little one?”

Sizhui rolls his eyes, taking the rabbit gently from Jingyi so that he can return her to the grass with her family. “She can’t talk,” he says, “but if she could, she’d agree with me.”

“One of our numerous Sect rules is to reserve assumptions until proper evidence is drawn,” Jingyi recites, “yet here you are. What would your esteemed uncle say? Or your father, for that matter?”

“Zewu-Jun would say it’s worth it to tease you. Baba would say… I’m right,” Sizhui concludes proudly. “Because I’m his son.”

“Nepotism! Utter bias!”

“You’re almost like another son to him anyway,” Sizhui points out.

“So you’re the favourite child while I get tossed to the wayside?” Sizhui laughs at Jingyi’s affronted expression, and for that Jingyi takes his free hand where it rests across from him on the grass. “You know, that’s fine. If he already accepts me as a son, there won’t be any trouble when I request formal permission to court you.”

Sizhui turns red and pulls his hand back to pet the rabbit, glancing around as though someone might be watching all of a sudden. “You’re silly,” he says to Jingyi.

“We’re already going to be 15!” Jingyi pouts.

“Why are you so interested in discussing it today?”

Jingyi tugs a little at a few strands of grass. “Just the lesson earlier about cultivation partners.”

Sizhui’s cheeks haven’t lost their blush but he does look pleasantly surprised as he says, “You paid attention in class after all! A-Yi!”

“Only for today because it applied to me,” Jingyi insists. “To us, I guess.”

Sizhui seems to remember his shyness and ducks his head. “You want me to be your cultivation partner?” he asks.

“Don’t you want to be?”

“I never said I didn’t!” Sizhui says quickly, seeing that Jingyi appears disheartened. He carefully reaches for his hand despite his own red face and says, “Would I spend all my time with you if I didn’t want to?”

“Well, how should I know?” Jingyi asks, but he’s sitting up like he’s got less weight holding him down now. Back to his usual self, which is a good sign. “Some cultivation partners are platonic, you know.”

“Rarely.”

“A-Hui, are you questioning Laoshi Qiren?”

“I’d prefer to avoid lashing by oar if I can avoid it, thank you.”

“I thought you said you have nepotism on your side!”

Sizhui shakes his head and, somehow graceful even here, stands up from the ground. “We should head back, A-Yi,” he says, brushing invisible dust from his robes. “It’s getting late now.”

“Can’t we just stay here forever?” Jingyi asks dramatically, falling onto his back. At Sizhui’s look, he sighs and extends a hand upward for Sizhui to accept.

Instead of allowing him to help Jingyi to his feet, Jingyi tugs Sizhui down so that he tumbles back to the ground, half against Jingyi’s side. Jingyi laughs aloud in amused delight while Sizhui’s blush returns with a vengeance.

“Lan Jingyi!” he scolds, twisting away from him. “Shameless!”

“You sound like your father!” Jingyi laughs again.

Sizhui huffs and hurries to stand, putting distance between himself and Jingyi. “And if you don’t want him to give you the oar, you’d better just do as I say. Let’s go.”

“Bossy, bossy,” Jingyi says, though he’s following Sizhui obediently for the path. He sneaks a glance to his left and can’t help but grin at Sizhui’s flushed cheeks and the way his ears have gone pink at the tips. According to Sizhui, Hanguang-Jun’s ears do the same.

He gives a little poke to the skin of Sizhui’s ear, just to mess with him, and Sizhui huffs another breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Completely shameless!” before abandoning Jingyi altogether to hurry ahead of him.

If Wei Wuxian had been asked as a teenager whether he could ever envision making a life for himself in the Cloud Recesses, he’d have laughed in your face. He did, actually, when Jiang Cheng made the passing joke all those years ago, assuring his brother that this place would never feel like home to someone with Wei Wuxian’s habits. Now, what’s closer to two decades ago than Wei Wuxian would like to think about, he has to admit that his younger self hadn’t been nearly open-minded enough.

Circumstances that he couldn’t have foreseen changed his view of Cloud Reccesses, and he knows that he will be here for as long as he can be because being here means keeping his place beside his husband and son. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else these days and the certainty of that sometimes takes him by surprise, when he considers just how different things are now but in a way that feels right, like it’s what always was meant to be.

He feels himself smiling when he sees A-Yuan and A-Yi in the woods near the rabbits. He knows that Lan Xichen had brought A-Yuan years before when he’d been new here, sure that giving the child a piece of Lan Wangji would bring him comfort in his three-year absence. It’s still Wei Wuxian’s favourite place in the Cloud Recesses — except for the rooms he shares with Lan Zhan, of course, but that’s a given — and it makes him even happier that Lan Sizhui had found solace here as his fathers had done at his age.

He watches from afar with a fond smile as the boys stand to be on their way home, but Wei Wuxian’s smile freezes when he can tell even from here that Sizhui is smiling sweetly with a hand in Jingyi’s, and his smile decidedly disappears when he realises their faces are far too close together. Wei Wuxian trips backward, a twig or five snapping as he does, and it must alert the boys to an outside present for when he regains his footing against the tree, they’ve fled the scene. A hand to his chest, Wei Wuxian stands there in astonishment.

This lasts for only a moment before he is all but sprinting for the Library Pavilion where his husband is sure to be writing this early afternoon. He forces himself to slow down so as to not alarm Lan Wangji, though he comes to a sliding stop inside the doors anyhow with heaving breath.

“What’s happened?” Lan Wangji asks, not lifting his eyes from his work. When it’s obvious that Wei Wuxian is still having trouble speaking, he looks up at him. “Wei Ying?”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says. He goes to him across the room and drops onto the floor to clutch at his husband’s arm. He stares at Wei Wuxian with the slightest concern and Wei Wuxian says, “I don’t mean to be dramatic — ”

“Debatable,” Lan Wangji answers. “Say what you have to say.”

“Did you know A-Yuan is — that he and Jingyi are — ”

“They are what?”

“I’ve just seen them with the rabbits, which is ordinary, but afterwards, Lan Zhan — ”

“Baba? A-die?”

Both men look for the entrance where their son has appeared, hands folded in front of him and looking for all the world their dutiful, sweet boy. Wei Wuxian’s heart stops, a feeling he’s never enjoyed, and jumps to his feet.

“Sizhui!” he exclaims.

“I need to speak with you both. Is this a bad time?” he asks. He’s walked in on more than one longing glance between his fathers to know when he should make himself scarce, but Wei Wuxian waves his son’s worry away like a pesky gnat.

“Come here,” Lan Wangji invites him, and Sizhui does. He sits across from Lan Wangji, who looks up at his still-standing husband. Wei Wuxian hurriedly settles beside him and nods at Lan Sizhui in assurance.

“I wanted to tell you on my own, before anyone else, so that you would know I’m sure of my decision,” Sizhui begins. “With your formal permission, I… I will begin publicly courting Jingyi.” Sizhui’s ears have begun to redden but he doesn’t hesitate as he goes on, “We’d like to be married.”

The library is silent enough that a pin’s dropping would prove thunderous.

As calm as he normally is, Lan Wangji simply asks, “How long have you known?”

“A-die, you know he and I have been friends since almost the day I arrived here. He’s been there for me without my ever having to ask, and we… we’ve been certain of how we feel for over six years now.”

“Six years?” Wei Wuxian blurts aloud. Lan Wangji gives him a warning side-eye and Wei Wuxian tries to remain collected. “Sizhui, if it’s been so long, why haven’t you told us until today?”

Sizhui’s flush deepens but he forces himself to meet his father’s eyes. “Before all else, Jingyi and I are friends. We didn’t want the hassle of chaperones or rumours. I understand if our keeping this secret is upsetting, Baba.” He bows his head. “I… I’m soon to be 18, and I know we’re young. But I can’t help wanting to make the most of whatever time A-Yi and I have. You and A-die — ”

A pause. “From what I’ve been told of your story, it has kept in my mind that I shouldn’t live with this sort of hidden feeling any longer than necessary.” Sizhui looks up at them. “Jingyi loves me, and I love him. Will you allow our marriage?”

Wei Wuxian is crying, which he’d be embarrassed about if he cared, and he throws propriety to the wind in favour of opening his arms for his son, who gladly and in relief stands to accept the embrace. Lan Wangji is sort of smiling in a clear indication that he’s happy with these events, and Wei Wuxian leans to poke at his cheek just to tease him.

“I’m thrilled you’ve told us,” Wei Wuxian says to Sizhui. “I assume Jingyi is informing his parents?”

“Well, we wanted to wait until we had your blessing,” Sizhui admits. “It would be easier to tell them once we know Hanguang-Jun and the former Yiling Patriarch are on our side.”

“You little schemers!” Wei Wuxian says, giving Sizhui’s cheek a light pinch. “Go on, then. Tell Jingyi the good news.”

Sizhui beams and looks at Lan Wangji. His smile strengthens under his son’s eyes and he gives the slightest nod, which Sizhui knows to translate as wholehearted approval.

He bows to his fathers and disappears from the library. Wei Wuxian falls against Lan Wangji’s arm as soon as he’s gone.

“Ah, Lan Zhan. I rushed here to tell you about how I saw them kiss in the woods, but A-Hui beat me to it. I suppose they’d just decided at that moment to tell us, you think?”

“Mn.”

“If I didn’t already know Jingyi to be a good boy, I’d have to kill him.” Wei Wuxian sneaks a look at Lan Wangji, who doesn’t look amused. “No fun, Lan Zhan, no fun.” He taps a finger on the table and at Lan Wangji’s prompting expression says, “Well, I suppose they’ll be needing a chaperone now, eh? Can I volunteer to keep an eye on Jingyi? Break a leg or two?”

“Wei Ying.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, I’m kidding,” Wei Wuxian says with a half-pout. “Huh. Maybe this is how Grand Master Qiren feels about me defiling the soul of his youngest nephew. I think I understand now.”

“You did not ‘defile’ anything,” Lan Wangji says without pause.

“My good husband.” Wei Wuxian presses a kiss to his cheek, followed by a gentle pat to the other. Although he’s smiling, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and Lan Wangji covers Wei Wuxian’s hand carefully with his, wordlessly asking for Wei Wuxian to speak his mind.

“It’s nothing. Only what Sizhui mentioned about our past. I don’t want to marry away our son but I… I am grateful that they don’t have to endure… all we had to endure. No mortifyingly long wait to reach their happily ever after. I’m glad for it.”

Lan Wangji nods his agreement and brushes a kiss against his husband’s hand, making him blush. “A-Zhan!” he says with feigned astonishment. “Not in the library! Shameless.” Wei Wuxian knows he isn’t imagining the amused, pleased look on Wangji’s face, and he can’t hide his own smile at the sight. He still pulls out of Lan Wangji’s grip and says, “I don’t want to be responsible for any damage here, Gods forbid Qiren’s wrath finds me! Later?”

“Mn. Later.”

Wei Wuxian dimples at Lan Wangji, firing off a wink, before hightailing it for the Gods know where.

Lan Wangji returns to his writing, but pauses as he thinks about the hour’s events. His son will be married surely within a year, perhaps have children of his own. The thoughts of a new baby to hold and Sizhui being loved so dearly bring such an unexpected wave of warmth to Lan Wangji that he decides, for today, he can put work to the side. He goes off to find his family growing, or perhaps the ‘later’ he’d been promised.

#i love them to no end #also wanting to write nhs/wn but theyre such a rare pair lmaooo #honestly so are ljy/lsz so what am i saying dkjkfhdkj #my writing #zhuiyi #lan jingyi x lan sizhui #the untamed #ao3 #archive of our own #fics #mlm #c drama #cdrama

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