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plush-rabbit · 3 years

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I Want To Hear You Say It

Ch. 8: Did You Find What You Were Looking For?

Word Count: 6.8K

A/N: A fun filler chapter!! (I wanted to split the chapter, but it didn’t feel right so yall get a long one:))

Prev.

It’s quiet between the two men. It isn’t out of the ordinary, while they might be close- or as close as two villains can be- their conservations are usually short and limited to only certain subjects, neither of which any of the men want to approach. Shuichi doesn’t know when it started, he just knows that it has. Him and the other members have noticed the sudden change that Shigaraki has taken on lately. The secrecy- more so than usual- along with the sneaking out late at night and sneaking back in just before dawn. No one knows where he’s going and even if one did manage to follow him, they lost him just as easily, almost as if Shigaraki was making it all that much harder to track him and his location.

There’s different bets going around. Twice believes that he’s gone to underground concerts which host both villains and civilians alike- he’s sure Jin had mentioned that he went to a few to acquire some cheap alcohol. Toga believes that he’s gone out to try to find out where Kurogiri exactly is, and as far-fetched as that is, it’s not impossible. Dabi likes to believe that he’s gone to some internet café since the “internet sucks” here at the current base. He isn’t wrong, the little internet that they do get is from a coffee place opposite of where they rest for now. Mr. Compress and Magne don’t really want to get into it, commenting that as long as he isn’t leading anyone back, then it’s all okay. Shuichi on the other hand doesn’t know what to think. There’s something off about Shigaraki now. He isn’t sure what, but there just is. He’s constantly checking his phone, looking at the screen for far too long, and when someone gets close, he shuts his phone off.

Shuichi glances to where Shigaraki leans against the wall, his legs over the edge of the bed, and hands holding onto the controller, pinkies extended outward. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Shuichi states, his hands gripping on the controller, his claw pressing carefully on the joystick. Tomura hums in response, his eyes glued to the screen before him, his character successfully stealing a car. Shuichi nervously clears his throat, a chill running through his body as he follows Shigaraki’s avatar through the city. “You’ve been out a lot these past nights.” In the corner of his eye, he sees the slightest still of him, his thumb hovering over a button before he presses on it. “We’re all-” he struggles to find a proper word for the feelings of unrest that have been growing inside the team- “wondering about where you’ve been.”

“Does it matter?” Tomura replies, his eyes now narrowed and the top of his lip curling upward. Shuichi’s gaze is fixated on him, and Tomura lets out a sigh. “I’ve just been meeting with someone. It’s nothing to worry about.”

It isn’t enough. He’s sure that he can press just a little more. Just enough for him to slip about something other than meeting someone for a meeting. His canine nips at the soft pink flesh inside of his mouth. “You aren’t usually so distant about these types of things,” Shuichi comments, his attention to the game half-hearted.

“What type of things?” There’s an edge to Shigaraki’s words and if Shuichi weren’t so curious, maybe he would have backed off.

“You know-” he shrugs his shoulders and his character moves away from the other’s avatar- “going out and meeting with potential recruits. You’d at least send one of us to do it. Like with Twice. Twice is good with people. He always makes sure he isn't being followed. Shouldn’t it be- I don’t know, Mister, or Dabi-” his avatar rummages through his inventory before pulling out a knife- “even me?”

He can be good for something other than pure missions where it involves needing someone to drive. When he spares a glance at his leader, he sees him deep in thought, his fingers resting over the buttons, and his character still. “It isn’t like that,” Shigaraki states with an unusual distaste in his words. “This is a special case. They’re a special case,” he corrects, “I don’t want them to be freaked out by outsiders.” For a moment, he and Shigaraki lock eyes in the reflection of the television. “They were freaked enough when it was just me.”

“No offense, but you aren’t exactly the most comforting person in the League. That would go to Magne or even Mister.” Shuichi tries to tease, hoping that the lighter mood would offer just another snippet of information.

“It took them a long time to trust me. Or at least to feel safe around me. I’m not risking it by introducing new characters to the mix.” Whatever or whoever it is that Shigaraki is hiding, he does a good job at it.

“Is it even safe?” Shuichi presses, his character just running around a building, not doing anything in particular. He doesn’t know what answer to expect. It must be safe if Shigaraki continues to visit him, but what if it isn’t. What if he’s being led to a false sense of security?

“Is what safe?” Shigaraki asks with an annoyed tone. It’s apparent that he doesn't want to have this talk, but Shuichi does. He needs to know what's going on. He’s here for Stain and as long the League will uphold that bit of ideology, then he’ll stay. It’s not as if he has anywhere else to go.

“Meeting them,” Shuichi says as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. He’s met with silence. “If you can’t trust them to meet us, then what makes you think they won’t sell you out?” It might be cruel, he isn’t entirely sure, but it’s the truth. If they were scared to meet Shigaraki, it’s only fear that is keeping them compliant and eventually that will run out.

“They won’t,” he responds with a serious tone. “I know them. I know who they are and where they are. They won’t do something like that.” His character stops moving and he can hear the controller creak under the hands of Shigaraki. “You don’t know them. I do. They won’t snitch.

Shuichi turns to him, his controller on his lap as he leans close to Shigaraki. He has to understand where he’s coming from. If the roles were reversed, he’d be acting the same. He’d be just as accusatory, if not more. “But-”

“I have to go.” Shigaraki places the controller down on the bed and moves away, the floorboards quietly creaking under him as he stands. “Log off for me, will ya? I need to go.”

The door closes and once again, Shuichi is left alone. Behind him, the screen shifts in color, and when he turns, Shigaraki’s character has been killed. Carefully, a scaled hand picks up the discarded controller only to place it down gently beside him. The menu pops up and the game is saved, the screen returning to normal after a second, the character now revived, and suddenly standing next to Shuichi’s character.

He isn’t sure what’s going on, but at least he knows that whoever it is that Shigaraki is visiting, is someone that he cares for. The screen goes black and Shuichi is left to stare at his reflection. The room is quiet and only lit by a flickering bulb that remains lit. There’s a knock on his door, and when he turns to face it, there are shadows between the space of the door and the floor. He scratches at his snout, his claws picking at dried skin and ripping it away. “Come in,” he says, leaning against the wall and watching as the remainder of the League walks into his room, letting the door close with a soft click of the lock coming into place.

Magne is the first to speak. “So? Did you find out anything useful? Are we getting a new recruit?”

“Or is he going to some concert?” Twice says, interrupting Magne with a hand on her shoulder. “Who’s right? Who wins the bet?”

With a simple roll of the eyes, Magne continues onwards. “Ignore the bet, what’s he doing?” She runs a hand through his hair and plays with the ends as they all stare at Shuichi with a waiting explanation.

He shrugs. It’s the honest answer that he can give. “I don’t know. I don’t think- Where he’s going to, it isn’t to meet with recruits. He seems almost-” he hesitates to find the correct word- “protective about them.”

“Who’s “them”?” Dabi asks, his gaze focused on the television that still buzzes with electricity.

Once again, he shrugs. “I don’t know. I tried as best as I could, but when I pushed, he shut down. And then he just said he had to go and left.” Shuichi glances at the television, frowning when it still remains just him in the reflection. “All I know is that they’re easily skittish, he doesn’t want us to meet them, and he’s defensive when it comes to him.”

The bed dips as Toga sits on it, her legs crossed and a pillow pulled to her lap. “Well, lucky for us, I managed to actually follow where he’s been going,” she says with a smug attitude, her grin wide and kittenish. All eyes are on her and she sits straight, her hands playing with the edge of the pillow case, wrapping a thread around her finger. “I had to take somebody’s blood but whatever. I doubt he suspected something because I saw him enter some apartment.”

“An apartment?” Mr. Compress asks, his head leaning to a side. “With tenants? Or was it abandoned?”

“Tenants. I saw people go in and out. You know, like civilians. So I guess, whoever he is meeting, it means we all lost the bet.” The attention is still on her, confusion written on everyone’s face and she sighs. “I’m sure of it. The woman I was disguised as was even greeted by someone who lives there.”

“When was this?” Dabi asks, his eyes on Toga. “Time wise,” he clarifies.

“Um, maybe around, two in the morning?” Toga shrugs and moves further onto the bed. “I didn’t check the time, but it was late.” her legs are out straight and Magne sits beside her.

Magne starts talking, her fingers tapping against her knees. “It’s a bit later than when he usually goes out but-”

“And you’re sure it was him?” Mr. Compress asks, taking a step closer to her, his eyes narrowed in confusion as he takes in the new information when Toga nods. “Do you remember where it was?” Once again, Toga nods, pulling out a piece of folded paper and handing it towards the man. The paper crinkles as he opens it and the two standing behind him, inch closer to read what it says. “Huh,” he breathes out. “Should we pay a visit?”

“A visit?” Shuichi hisses. “We don’t even know who they are. All we know is that they live-”

“You said it yourself,” Dabi interjects, his eyes grabbing at the paper and tucking into his pocket. “Whoever it is, is skittish. They’re scared. Which means that if that hand-covered bitch could force them into submission, then we can too.” Shuichi glowers at the man and Dabi sighs. “We aren’t gonna kill them or anything, we just want to see who it is. Aren’t you curious about who it is that lives there?” Shuichi’s silence is enough of an answer. Dabi grins, wide and devious, as if this is all some sort of game to him. “Exactly. We’ll visit when we know that Shigaraki can’t. Maybe an hour or two before his usual time and we’ll just scope out this new person.”

“When are we going? Tonight? Tomorrow?” Twice asks, glancing around as he moves past Mr. Compress to sit on the bed with the other three. “The sooner the better, right?” His shoulders slump and hands clench and he stares at the other slowly. “Or should we plan this to make sure there is no room for mistake,” his voice has shifted to something a bit deeper, a tad more serious than his excitement just moments ago. “If Shigaraki catches us,” his tone returns to a more enthusiastic nature, “he’d definitely be pissed.” There’s a pause and everyone glances at each other, before finally returning to Twice. “That’s totally a yes.”

It won't be the first or last time that you complain to yourself on why you chose to have a floor that wasn’t the first. It isn’t a long climb, but it's excruciating when you carry bags of groceries that are digging into the joints of your fingers. You’re stubborn and too tired to make more than one trip, and even if you weren’t, you usually carry tote bags to place the items in, but you must’ve forgotten it in your apartment before you left. All you really want to do is just sit down, but you can’t. At least, not until you’re inside.

You struggle between the bags to reach your keys, the bags knocking against each other as your hands try to inch for your keys that hang around your neck. The key is inserted shakily, twisting the key while your hand also twists farther than usual as you pull the key out. Your brows pinched as you quickly enter your apartment, letting the bags fall onto the floor, as you close the door with your hip.

You let out a heavy sigh, flexing your hands as you try to ease the pain that has gathered. When you kick your shoes off, you kick them to the side, sparing a glance to the couch, as you lower yourself to pick up the bags. As you do so, you hesitate. There’s something wrong. Something feels wrong to you- enough to make you uncomfortable and all too aware of how you can feel someone watching you. It starts off easy enough- how your scalp itches, how the clothes on your body doesn’t feel right and pricks too much against your skin, and the forced silence that is in your apartment. You quickly rise and turn, your hand going to grab at the doorknob, only to have the pointed end of a knife directed towards you.

Yellow eyes stare at you, a thin smile decorating a young girl’s face and all you can do is raise your hands in front of you, your eyes catching against a sea of colors as six people stand in front of your couch. How you missed them, you have no idea, but you’re sure that they only wanted to reveal themselves to you know.

“You should lock the door,” the girl says sweetly, twisting the knife. A gleam catches along the metal and you nod, slowly reaching behind you to put the lock into place, your breath caught in your throat. Your hand is clasped over the doorknob, the tips of your fingers teasing against the lock. The young girl’s eyes flitter to where you tease at the lock, and she shakes her head. “You shouldn’t do that. Come on, come sit.”

Behind her the others watch you, a slight shift in their weight as they analyze what you’re about to do. You wouldn’t be able to run even if you wanted to- you’d have to unlock the door, and turn around, while leaving your back exposed to people who are clearly criminals. You nod slowly, and the girl steps back allowing you to walk further in your apartment, all eyes on you as you sit down on the ouch, your knees pinched together as your legs shake. Your groceries are sitting precariously by the door, and you worry that the milk is going to leave the bag wet and sticking to the jug.

Your face burns, legs shaking and teeth clasped down on the inside of your cheeks as six menacing people stand in front of you. You can’t handle the silence, the stares and the uncertainty of whatever is going to happen. In your back pocket, your phone sticks out, a vibration against your backside the curiosity for that is another fatality for you.

“Why are you here?” Your voice is quiet, your eyes on the tip of black boots that have scuff marks over them and splatter of mud against them.

“Do you mind if we sit?” You look back up, a man in a white mask with organic black lines stares down at you- at least that’s what you assume he’s doing.

The collar of your shirt feels too tight, restricting every breath, every word, every small swallow of saliva in an attempt to do something that isn’t clawing against your forearms. You nod. “Yeah- I uh, yeah,” you stutter. “I don’t mind.”

“Relax, we aren’t here to hurt you.” A heavy hand is held out to you and you stare at it with distrust, the owner of the hand removing their white rimmed, triangular sunglasses. “You can call me Magne.”

“She’s like our sister!” The younger girl says cheerfully, wrapping her arm around Magne’s, leaning her head against the woman’s bicep. Her small falls into something flat, the enthusiasm in her voice gone. “So you shouldn’t disrespect her in any way.”

You nod quickly, leaning over and taking Magne’s hand in yours. “Hi, it’s um, it’s nice to meet you, Magne,” you say quickly, giving her a nervous smile.

“I’m Twice!” A man in a black suit stretches his hand outwards to you, the suit clinging to his skin and showing off his muscles, and you fear that he’s done much worse than a simple break-in like this. You nod slowly, reaching towards the warm hand, your arm given a curt handshake. “That’s Toga-” he points to the young girl who smiles at you, her arms now removed from Magne’s. You’re about to give another greeting when another speaks up. “That’s Mr. Compress-” he points to a man in a yellow coat who nods, and tips his hat towards you. “Spinner-” a green-scaled man narrows his eyes at you and you look away, staring at the last one to be introduced. “And that’s Dabi!” The man in black hair and purple colored scars- or maybe burns- nods at you, his face devoid of emotion.

You smile but when it’s unreturned, you give a weak cough and look away from him and try to find comforting eyes that you can stare at, but none of them are comforting to you. You settle back at Dabi, giving him a small smile. Twice has yet to let go of your hand and you don’t want to risk anything by pulling away too soon. “I’m- my name is-”

“We know what your name is,” Dabi says with an attitude, the first sign of emotion that you’ve gotten from one of the people who have broken into your home. That thought leaves you feeling unsettled. It’s usually Tomura who does that and yet, he is nowhere to be found.

“Okay,” you say with a crack in your voice, nodding and looking back at your hand that is still extended outwards.

“Don’t be mean, Dabi,” Toga says with a pout, smacking the side of his arm as she huffs and crosses her arms. “Now they won’t trust us.”

There’s a tap against the back of your hand when you stare back at Twice, his shoulders are squared. “And you already know our Leader Shigaraki, right?” His voice has changed tone into something more serious and with the accusation, your nervous smile fades away, and when you stare back, his hand is now squeezing down on yours.

The whites of his mask make it difficult to look him in the eye. It makes it difficult to feel safe. Magne had told you that they wouldn’t hurt you but even if she is the resident big sister, it seems as if Twice doesn’t follow her loosely based rule. His hand is squeezing yours, and you wince, and your lungs that were deprived of air are suddenly filled once again when you take in a sharp inhale.

“They won’t talk if you break their hand, twice.” Your head is bent and you are unable to see who it is that is talking to him. The steps are heavy against the floors and you’re trying to pull your hand away, when a rough one covers yours. You look up to meet the eyes of Spinner, yours are filled with tears and his with something that you can’t quite make out. Your hand is let go, and you scramble to sit further against the couch, your legs bent to your chest as they all watch you. Spinner’s attention is redirected at Twice. “I told you the information I had on them, including how weirdly protective Shigaraki is with them.

You cradle your hand and then Dabi speaks. “You mind calling him? We all kind of want to see the look on his face when he comes in and sees that we found out about his little secret.” It’s then that emotion finally spills out, his lips stretching into a smug grin as he slouches over your couch, his leg bent over the other as he stares at you, nodding for you to pull out your phone.

You’re glad that you never installed a password for your phone, you’re sure that with your current anxiety skyrocketing, you’d be unable to put in the correct pin. Dabi steps towards you and watches over your shoulder as you struggle to go to your contact list, and he’s right there at the very top under the “A”. You tap the phone button and place him on speaker, the ringing going off immediately.

“Alleyway?” Dabi asks, leaning close to you, and you stiffen, the scent of alcohol and smoke a bit too strong for you. “Who the fuck is- Why is he put under “alleyway”?” There’s a hint of amusement laced into his words, but you aren’t in the right headspace to make any quippy comment.

“It’s um-” you clear your throat and give him a forced smile- “It’s an inside joke.” You sniffle and the tip of your nose with the side of your hand as you hear the call ring. You desperately hope that he’ll pick up. He promised that he would. Or at least, he insinuated that when you needed him, he’ll come for you. Maybe you held too much trust in him. You frown. You held too much trust in a mass murderer. You suck in your bottom lip and press the top of your teeth down against the soft flesh. Surely, there must be something wrong with you for you to even hold any amount of trust in a man like that, but to be fair, he did… do something to the man who assaulted you, and that was sweet of him. Sort of.

You hear the phone click and you look down, the timer starting as his voice is echoed into the room, everyone leaning closer to you to hear what he has to say. “What’s wrong?” A smile slowly curves your lips, and you look away, your hand covering your ever growing smile. He’s worried for you. Granted you don’t call him, so he must be worried or at least surprised by this. “Are you okay?”

You look at Dabi who gives you a curt nod and you take a shaky inhale. “I- So, um, you’re friends are here.” There’s a pause. “At my place,” you add, wanting to clarify.

“You were supposed to tell him to come over,” Twice whines, slumping in his seat with arms crossed. His tone shifts and you hold the phone tight in your hands. “Didn’t Dabi tell you he wanted to see his reaction?”

“I thought the nod was to tell him,” you retort in a high-pitched voice, your face aflame. “I didn’t know I was supposed to just tell him to come over. He would have come over on his own. There wasn’t any reason to call him!” By the end the volume of your voice has risen, your lungs devoid of air as you try to push your statements out.

“They’re there now?” He asks and you let out a sigh, dipping your head forward and nodding, mumbling a soft yes, when you realize that he can’t see you nodding.

“No dipshit, we’re here tomorrow,” Dabi says, humor heavy in his voice as his clasps around your shoulder and his other hand covers yours, bringing your phone close to his lips. “What the fuck do you think?”

“Can we not curse? We’re probably giving Shigaraki’s poor partner a heart attack as we speak,” Mr. Compress comments.

“We just broke into their apartment,” Toga says with a disbelief, and when you look up, he’s rolling her eyes at Mr. Compress’s stare- or at least what you assume, given his mask is still on but pointed in her direction. “I’m pretty sure if that didn’t kill ‘em, then cursing won’t do it either.”

“This was a horrible idea,” Spinner comments, running a clawed hand through his hair.

“I’m going over right now,” Tomura comments. “Just wait for me there, okay? I’ll see you as soon as I can.” Immediately after, he hangs up, and without saying goodbye, your phone blinks the time of the call to you, and you’re left alone in a room full of notorious villains who aren’t fond of you.

It’s silent for a moment, the little debate now put to rest and your phone is still in your hand, Dabi having let go of you after Tomura hanged up. You can still feel the burning sensation that he left, the roughness of his hand that is different compared to Tomura’s. It’s uncomfortable and you’re left shaking your leg, your phone fading to black.

“Hey,” when you look up, Toga is snapping her fingers to get your attention and you nod. “Do you have anything to drink here? I’m kind of thirsty.”

You’re bewildered for a second staring at her with wide eyes as if she hadn’t just had a knife pointed towards you. You nod. “Yeah, I think I have some water and ginger ale. I think I also have lemonade,” you say, pointing to where the kitchen is. “Do you want me to go get it for you?”

“Yes, please,” she chirps, smiling sweetly at you and pulling the sleeves of her sweater further down. “Just bring me whatever, I’m not that picky.”

“Yeah, okay.” You rise to stand and when you take a step towards the kitchen. You point to the empty space between each member, your smile still tense but more polite than before. “Uh, do you guys want anything to drink? I might have some mango and peach drinks too.”

“Oh wait! I change my answer! Can I have a mango drink?” Toga asks, leaning towards you, her smile eager.

“I’ll have a mango too,” Spinner adds, raising his hand and lowering it when you nod.

“Ginger ale for me!” Twice comments.

“A peach for me,” Magne adds.

“I’ll take water,” Dabi says, spreading his arms against the back of the couch.

“I’ll go along with you to help,” Mr. Compress adds, standing up and walking beside you, hooking his arm with yours. “I’ll choose when we get there. Just lead the way, dear.”

You walk before pausing and rushing to the door. “Wait, wait!” You call, grabbing your grocery bags. “Let me go put these away before anything spoils,” you say, dashing to the kitchen with Mr. Compress behind you.

In the kitchen, you begin to assort things where they belong, frowning when some bags are wet and uncomfortable, and you toss them to the sink. The man in the mask has taken it upon himself to aid you in placing things away, organizing your fridge to make sure that it all fits neatly. Once done, Mr. Compress leans down to look through your fridge, his arms reaching inside and pulling out a drink one by one, letting them rest on the floor where you immediately grab them.

“I think I might have a bottle of Qoo somewhere in there. I’m not entirely sure,” you drift, your hands slowly growing cold the longer you hold onto the drinks. “You’re to take it. I think it’s apple flavored.”

He rises with his drink in hand. The Qoo and you nod at his choice. “Has it been in here long?” He asks, spinning the bottle around to check for an expiration date. You shrug in response and he grabs his mask, pulling it away from his face to reveal his face still hidden but now with a balaclava. The white mask flashes and in its place is a small marble that is put inside his pocket. “I suppose it can’t be bad to drink something like this then.” You nod, turning around, before he stops. “Ah, before we go back, is it okay to ask you a question? Once again, you nod, placing the drinks down on the counter. “What is your relationship with Shigaraki?”

Even you still don’t know the answer. You’ve already admitted that it’s easier to be with him than to deny him. It’s safer that way, but you still can’t help but smile when he actively cares for you. “We’re together,” you conclude, knowing that even if it were vague, it still answered his question. “You know, as a couple.”

“Willing?” He adds, twisting the cap off of his drink, bringing it close to his lips. You narrow your eyes at him. “Forgive me, but while Shigaraki isn’t ugly, he’s still a villain. He has his faults as we all do, but as a close comrade, I have to ask, why is it that you chose to date him?” You swallow and turn away from him, your hands chilled and slightly wet as you cross your arms. “This remains between us, but I’m not against the others getting involved. It may not seem like it, but we’ve all stuck together for a reason.”

You let out a humorless chuckle. “Is that a threat?” You stare at him, your stomach twisting into knots.

“It’s just a word of advice,” he replies, the drink in his hand as he slowly clasps it back. The mascot stares at you with a wide grin and you regret allowing him to take the last of your Qoo- even if it was forgotten in the back of your fridge.

“He liked me first.” You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to push yourself to stay focused and not tear up in front of a man you don’t know. “He’s persuasive in all sorts of ways. I just found it easier to be with him rather than be scared of him.” You shrug, gathering the drinks back into your arms. “He’s nice to me. He’s done me a huge favor and even if I don’t agree with his- er- line of work, I’m not going to report him or anything. He hasn’t exactly given me an out with this relationship, but he hasn’t been forceful with me or anything. Maybe a bit scary, but he’s been okay.” With a free hand, you scratch at your neck and tilt your head, frowning. “It’s just a weird mix of easy and difficult with him.”

“So you were forced into the relationship,” he concludes and you shrug.

“I uh- I found him injured one night and I fixed him up the best I could.” You finally choose to look at the man before you, your stomach churning so quickly, you’re afraid that you really are tasting acid on your tongue. “The next night he came back and he was- I guess, for lack of a better word, obsessed with me?” It sounds so conceited, but it’s the truth. You break away from his gaze and take a step back, already wanting to return to the living room, the drinks leaving you freezing. “He was sweet, but you know, forceful with the idea that we were together. I don’t mind it- now at least- I was scared in the beginning, but it’s nice just knowing he will be there for me.”

Mr. Compress nods his head slowly, reaching over to grab a few drinks in his hands. “I suppose that’s a good enough answer.” He walks ahead of you, standing by the door frame when he looks back. “Come on, let’s go back.”

Back in the living room, the drinks are handed to each respective person, your hands cold as you sit above them, cushioned between your thighs and the couch. You keep your gaze on Mr. Compress who smiles gently at you before thanking you for the drink. You turn away when you hear rapid knocking at your door, the handle twisting, trying to break against the lock.

You know that it’s him. It has to be him. And despite any ill feelings that you had towards him before, you want him to be here. You rise up, dashing to the door and unlocking it, greeted by Tomura who looks at you briefly, before staring behind you where his friends sit. He pushes past you, closing the door behind him and removing his hood, his hair ruffles and strands misplaced as he pushes you behind him.

“What the fuck are you all doing here?” Tomura asks, holding your hand in his. You look down, the glove covering his hand and his fingertips seem softer somehow. You look back up, your eyes meeting with Mr. Compress and you look back down, taking a step closer to him, your hand rising to clutch the back of his sweatshirt in your grip.

“We’re drinking, what does it look like?” Dabi resorts, taking a sip of his water as if to prove his point.

Tomura turns to you and you hold his hand in both of yours, looking away from him. “Did they hurt you?” You snort and shake your head. “Don’t lie to me.” His hand pulls away from your grasp, leaving your hands intertwined with each other. He holds your face, lifting it upwards to face him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

A part of you wonders what he’d do if you say no. They didn’t try to hurt you- except for the hand crushing- but you rather not get on any of their bad sides. You smile delicately at him, nodding your head and stepping closer to him, letting your forehead press against his chest, before you pull away to look at him. “Yeah, I’m good. You know me, I get spooked easily.” You pull away from him and grab his hand, pulling him toward the couch. “Come on, let’s sit. Do you want something to drink? I have ginger ale,” you say, with a lilt at the end and he nods. His hand curves against the back of your head and he pulls you close, his head leaning down and you think he’s going to kiss you, but he lets go before he can and walks to the kitchen.

“He took that a lot better than I thought,” Magne comments, holding her drink in her hand. “You think he’s going to explode later?”

“Obviously,” Dabi answers, placing his bottle on the floor. “Yo! Shigaraki! Bring me another water!” Dabi shouts, his hand cupping the side of his mouth.

Your eyes widen and you wave your hands, shushing him. “You have to be quiet!” You whisper yell, as if you all hadn't talked in your regular voices before. “I have neighbors! What if they hear you?”

He gives you a wide grin and shakes his head. “It’s a name. I’m sure there are more people with his last name-” he jerks his head at Tomura who walks back to the living room, tossing the water beside Dabi. “Anyways, just tell them you’re in some play or whatever-” he twists the cap off and before taking a sip, he looks at you with a lazy smile- “people are a lot more willing to believe something like that.”

Tomura sits beside you, his legs spread, his knee knocking against yours, and you lean close to him, frowning at Dabi. “It’s still risky,” you say with a pout, gripping the end of your shirt.

“Hey!” Toga says, standing up, her drink empty as she tosses it at Dabi. She ignores his yelp and pointed glare. “If you’re dating Tomura-” she points her fingers between the two of you- “then that means that we’re friends!” She looks at you with a wide grin and you nod. It would feel rather rude if you denied the poor girl of friendship- villain or not, confrontation and denying is something that is not your strongest trait. “Really? Does that mean I get to use your bath?”

Your eyes widen, in both worry of that being her first request and fear of that being her first request. “Yeah, of course. Do you want me to-”

“No, it’s okay,” she smiles and walks away from the living room. “It’s in an apartment, I think I can find it easily enough. Anyways, I’ll probably snoop around, so see you in a bit!” She says, before moving away to go and open doors.

It’s silent for a beat before Spinner pops up. “Do you have wi-fi?” You nod. “Mind if I have the password?”

“Yeah, sure, no problem.” You grab your phone and scroll through your notes app, finding the name of the router and password, and you pass it to him, watching as he pulls out his phone to copy the numbers. Magne leans beside him, pulling out her phone and connecting to the wi-fi, her finger tapping against the screen to make sure it doesn’t dim.

“I’m going to turn on the television!” Twice comments, standing up to grab the remote. When he sits back down, he moves to sit beside Dabi.

“Don’t put anything dumb,” Dabi comments, making himself comfortabel on the couch, his hands going to grab at a throw pillow and brining it to his lap. “And nothing too loud, I’m starting to get a headache.”

“I have some pain medication.” You turn your attention to Dabi. “Do you want me to go get you some?” He spares you a glance, and when he returns his attention to the television that is flipping from channel to channel, he nods.

“I’ll go get it, dear. Where is it?” Mr. Compress says, standing up from the couch.

“Oh okay,” you chirp, leaning back towards Tomura. “It’s in the kitchen. The first drawer by the fridge.”

You turn to Tomura, grabbing his hand in yours. “I didn’t expect to meet them so soon,” you say in a whisper, turning yourself until you’re facing him. “I have to admit, I was really scared.”

He knocks his head lightly against yours and squeezes your hand. “I wish they hadn’t found out where you live, but I guess that can’t be helped now.” He glances at you and returns his attention to the bottle in hand. “Do you know how they found you?” You shake your head and he sighs. “I’ll be here next time.”

While you hadn’t realized just how alarming it is they found you, you can’t help but latch onto the last statement of his. Your head tilts and you look at him with knitted brows. “Next time?”

“Next time they’re here,” he clarifies. “I’ll make sure I come before them.” You nod slowly and he takes another sip of his drink. With your free hand you grab the drink, your hand curving around his and he watches as you pull the drink toward you, taking a sip from it. The apple in his throat bobs and he stares at the television that plays the news before changing to some sci-fi movie. “Whenever you want us to leave, you just say the word, okay?”

You watch the alien hatch from its egg, the membrane sticking to its skin as it opens its mouth. The whole scenario feels surreal. The group of people who threatened you now sit at your home, drinking your drinks, using your bath, taking your pills, and watching your television. And here you are, holding hands with the ringleader, acting as if you two are in a happy relationship that was mutual and not one that was forced upon you. You turn to him and with worry written over your face, he frowns. “Can we talk about something sometime soon?” Your heart falls when you see his face consumed with fear, his eyes scanning over your face, looking for a hint of what you want to talk about. You smile and pull your hand away from him, letting it rest over his thigh. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. Just a-” you struggle to find the proper words that doesn't make this relationship sound like some bad experiment- “an overlook of the relationship. Nothing bad, I promise.” With a smile at the end of your words, he remains silent, nodding his head and turning to watch the television.

taglist:

@chai-tea-bagels @tirzamisu @ikatella

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Crimson Ties (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 2

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village

Rating: T for language and mild medical drama

Warnings: Typical Vampire shenanigans

Genre: Hurt + comfort

Summary: Bela is somewhat unprepared to deal with a soulmate who has no clue about her condition, her family, or any of the village's secrets. Thankfully, her sister Cassandra is more than willing to be a bad example. Also there's some fluff.

Notes: For reference, each of my soulmate stories take place in their own contained timeline, since they each involve different types of soulmates. So in this one, Cass doesn't currently have a soulmate.

Previous Chapters: 1: Stem the Flow

2: Tangled Strands

A gentle humming fills the space around you, as fingers slowly run through your hair. As far as you can tell you had fallen back asleep, for several hours, and you were just now waking back up. No longer holding you down, your soulmate is curled up next to you. There’s still a needle in your arm, much to your irritation, but now you can finally see what it’s connected to: An IV for a transfusion. Explains why I’m feeling so much better than before, you think. Then you’re turning your head to the other side, eager to finally get a good look at your soulmate. Instantly you’re blushing, tongue tying itself into a knot, because wow are you lucky.

“Feeling any better?” She asked, as soon as your gaze met hers. You try to stutter out a confirmation, but you’re too distracted by the soft curve of her smile to speak, and barely even manage a nod. That beautiful smile grows wider in response. “Good. I couldn’t stand the thought of you suffering more, after what you’ve already been through.” Now her smile fades, and she looks away for a few moments. Watching it makes your heart ache. So you swallow the lump in your throat, willing yourself to relax, before trying a little comforting of your own.

“I am safe now, am I not? Moreso, we have too much to talk about for us to dwell on the ill circumstances of our introduction. Let us cherish this time, in respite, with our hearts open wide to one another,” you said, donning your softest smile. Somehow your words fulfill their purpose, and your soulmate is once again grinning. Slowly she leans forward to rest her forehead against yours. Then she’s speaking, voice as smooth as the sheets you lay on.

“You are right, of course. I simply wish I could have saved you sooner,” she replied, tone betraying the sadness that her expression otherwise hid. Before you can protest, she continues talking, and you soon forget all about your qualms. “To think I don’t even know your name yet… nor you mine, I suppose. Let’s remedy that, yes? I am Bela Dimitrescu.” Something about her last name feels familiar to you, but not to the point of clear recognition. Instead of inquiring, you return her favor, giving her your own name. She repeats it back a few times, letting the syllables roll off her tongue, and you feel your heart skip a few beats. “A lovely name for a lovely soul, perfectly paired.”

A pause, followed by Bela reaching out to examine your IV. Following her gaze, you turn to the metal hook adjacent to the bed, where a blood bag hangs. Only a few drops remain inside. Just as when you first awoke, Bela gives a soft hum, then rises into a sitting position. Your first instinct is to copy the motion, and you’re relieved when (this time) she doesn’t push you back down. Both of you quietly inch your hands closer until they’re laid on top of each other.

“I wish I knew more about medicine, but unfortunately my family is more experienced in the creation of wounds than the treatment of them,” Bela said, scowling. Confused, you tilt your head at a slight angle, watching her with interest. Am I supposed to know who she’s referring to? My memories of the past couple days are still hazy, you think. “Do… do you remember how you ended up in the dungeon? I know you wanted to speak of happier things, and we can, soon. It’s just… Knowing how you arrived here may help me deal with the consequences of freeing you. Mother will be dreadfully upset that I’ve interrupted a draining, even if we are soulmates.”

“Wait, are you saying…? The intimidating giantess who strung me up and attempted to bleed me dry… is your mother?” You asked, jaw nearly dropping to the floor. This was an unexpected development, for sure.

“You didn’t know?” Bela replied, eyes going wide for a moment. Clearly she wouldn’t have said anything if she realized you weren’t already aware. Suddenly the tension in the room is palpable, with an uncomfortable silence overtaking the two of you. In the moment, you cannot even bring yourself to look at Bela, too stunned by this new knowledge. Eventually she breaks the silence, voice sounding unsure for once. “I realize that this is a lot to take in, if you need time to process it, I… I can go. But you need to understand that our situation is far more complicated than it might appear. We cannot survive without the blood of others- it is what sustains us when nothing else can.”

Now you’re staring at her like she’s crazy, and she’s standing up, moving to the other side of the room. She draws back a curtain, gazing out into the snow covered hills. Every muscle in your body is urging you to run while she’s distracted. Thread of fate be damned, this went far beyond anything you had ever imagined having to deal with. You come so close to ripping the IV right out of your arm. But a gentle tug on your soul string makes you pause, remembering all the times this bond gave you hope in dark times. Had she felt the same way, all these years? What had she gone through, in this absurd castle, on the very edges of civilization? You pull on the red thread, feeling a wave of composure wash over you.

“It appears there is much I need to learn. But is that not the very nature of our connection? We know, simply, that we are bound to each other, though we know not what shapes our souls take so that we might put them together, nor even what roles we must play. I cannot say that I understand your plight, my dear, but I will try, as is my obligation, and my honor,” you said, wishing you could hold her, and cursing your IV. As soon as the first word leaves your mouth, Bela is turning around, watching you with a bittersweet expression. Once you’re done she’s moving closer, as if reading your mind, extending a hand to cup your cheek. Then she leans forward to press a brief kiss to your forehead. “Oh, how I have longed for this- to be with you, to get to know you.”

“As did I,” she murmured. You can’t help but lean into her touch, closing your eyes and enjoying the moment. “Perhaps I should introduce you to my family? I imagine you’ll be needing breakfast anyway, and bringing human food back to my quarters would raise more suspicion than I’d like.” Well, the moment couldn’t last forever, could it?

“Only if you promise that your mother won’t suspend me by my wrists again. Or by any other part of me. Shall we simply put suspension off the table altogether?” You asked, half teasing. To be entirely honest, you were equally worried about Bela’s sisters. Well, the people you had heard other prisoners whispering about, who were the daughters of the giantess, and by connecting a few dots were also, presumably, Bela’s sisters. Apparently they preferred to play with their food. Unless, of course, Bela was one of the daughters you had heard about, and would have easily torn into you if not for your connection. Let’s not dwell on that concept, you think, glad to be distracted by your soulmate.

“I will not let anyone harm you anymore, my beloved. My mother would not stand so firmly in the way of my happiness,” Bela reassured, though you detected a hint of uncertainty in her tone. Still, there wasn’t much you could do other than trust her. “Now, let me take care of your bandages, then we’ll head downstairs…”

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

“Who the fuck is this?” An unfamiliar voice asked, as you meandered down the corridor, arm around Bela for support. As soon as she hears the person speak, your soulmate is freezing in place, casting a worried glance over her shoulder. When you turn as well, you spot someone dressed almost identically to Bela. However, the woman wears a yellow pendant, as opposed to a red one, and her hair is a dark brown. It feels safe to assume that she’s one of the sisters you’ve heard about. Which understandably makes you nervous, to the point where you almost want to hide behind Bela. Instead, you stand tall, attempting to seem unfazed by either her presence or her vulgarity.

“Mind your manners, Cassandra,” Bela hissed, taking more of an aggressive stance than you had anticipated. “This, dear sister, is my soulmate. And if you even think about harming them, or getting in our way, I will tear you apart.” While you’re downright shocked at the intensity of Bela’s statement, her sister doesn’t look at all impressed, and eyes you with minimal interest. Better than looking at you with hatred, right? Apparently not, as Bela moves to stand between the two of you, eyes narrowed. There’s a clear stiffness in her posture that leaves you anxious. Cassandra seems to notice it as well, and laughs, before taking a few steps in your direction. Then your soulmate mimics the movement, forcing you to do so as well.

“They’re human,” Cassandra snapped, pausing to sniff the air and scowl. “Here I thought your soulmate would have to be special, if they’re to compare to your ego. You’re disappointed, aren’t you? Having to settle for this.” With that she shifts, flesh writhing, making your stomach churn as you watch her disintegrate into a cloud of… flies? What the hell is wrong with this family? Can Bela do that too? I hope not, you think. Soon you’re pulled from your thoughts, however, as the swarm circles around you, single insects occasionally surging forward to cut at your skin. But Bela is grabbing you by the sleeve and tugging you to her chest, moving against a wall so that her body shielded your own. Your eyes clamp shut as you shake in her arms. When the buzzing stops, it is quickly replaced with cruel laughter. “That fragile, hmm? I can’t wait to see what mother thinks. See you at breakfast, sister!”

Then the two of you are alone, still pressed against the wall, staying still until the sound of footsteps fade. You’re stunned, unsure of how to react. The fact that a few drops of blood roll down your cheek only makes things worse. Still, Bela managed to prevent you from getting too hurt, and the few wounds on your body are negligible. Ever filled with gratitude, you hold her close as you try to stutter out a few sentences.

“Is she always this hostile, or am I truly not what you had expected? No, pay me no mind, it hardly matters. Thank you for protecting me,” you whispered. In response, Bela gives you a little squeeze, then pulls back enough to wipe the blood from your face. There’s a hint of something odd in her expression, which you interpret to be related to her apparent ‘need for blood’. Thankfully, she is in perfect control, and does not frenzy the same way you had read about fictional vampires doing. But she does hesitate, words dying on her tongue, like there are a thousand things she wants to say, and no words to say them with. “It’s alright, my dear. Let’s just go to breakfast, like we planned, and hope your sister behaves better when supervised.”

Bela nods, quickly, before taking your hand in her own. Whatever awaited you in the dining room, the two of you would be ready. Hopefully.

#babe why aren't you this nice to ME #bela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #soulmate au #imagine bela's soulmate meeting cassandra's #they'd be very unlikely friends #cassandra would HATE how well behaved her soulmate would be #like #tumblr keeps rearranging the order of my tags???#I'll fix that later

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light-yaers · 3 years

Text

Fools in the Darkness: Chapter Three

Darkling x Reader

Warnings: Death, violence, drugs (Parem), NSFW and sexual content. This content is explicit and 18+ at some points.

A/N: I keep saying to expect a slow down soon and I MEAN IT. I can’t sustain this any longer and to be honest, be ready for fic writing to come to a halt for a few weeks time in the next months-- I have a university dissertation to be writing, but instead I’m doing this! PRIORITIES. Thank you all for reading, fr.

Fic Masterpost

Word Count - 3.6k

Chapter Three

“I thought he was a respectable General,” Inej whispered, finishing the last of her whiskey with a small frown.

“He plays the role well,” You replied sadly, before looking at Brekker. He was deep in thought, a scowl constantly present on his thin lips. “I’m only one person who knows the truth,”

“Then why tell us?” Kaz spoke suddenly. “Why share this with people you’ve just met?”

You took a moment to ponder your reply. Why were you telling the lackies at the Crow Club? The Dregs of the Barrel? Kaz Brekker and his band of un-merry men and women? Growing up in Kerch meant you already knew their names, despite not living in the country for most of your adult life. News travelled fast, especially when it concerned Ketterdam.

Maybe it was intentional that Inej found you that night, wandering the lush establishments at Fifth Harbour and riling up bouncers because of your appearance and obvious lack of kruge—or maybe it’d been fate.

“Why do you believe it?” You asked in return. “Why do you believe the word of a woman you’ve just met?” Kaz’s jaw clenched in response. He looked down at his desk, probably beating himself up over his prior question, even though it was a good one.

“Your Kefta,” Inej spoke up softly. “From afar, it looks like common dress, but up close, behind the mud and dirt, you can see the intricate embroidery,” She raised her tiny hands to your Kefta, placing her fingers on the stitched details—the winding winds of a Squaller, white threads against a deep black.

“You said you weren’t Second Army,” Kaz spoke up once more. “Yet you were in the Little Palace, being trained by the Darkling himself,”

“I never went on an army mission in the many months I was at the Little Palace,” You replied. “I was grateful at first, until I realised it was simply another way for me to eventually trust Kirigan, to worry about him,” Inej frowned at you then, showing you large and caring eyes. Kaz, however—he looked pained.

“But, what about—,”

“Do you wish for me to continue, Mr. Brekker?” You interrupted him, hearing the want and confusion in his voice. He swallowed down his words, forcing his gaze onto your eyes. He nodded once. You smiled slightly, readying yourself. “My sister’s funeral was held two days later...”

The Little Palace, 1 Year Later

The flames licked at her skin at first, until she was a light—bright, a star, burning so ferociously in a way that mimicked her personality when she was alive. Your sister, your last remaining family, the last love of your life.

She was burning. And there was nothing you could do but watch.

The funeral was a silent and small affair, but you hadn’t expected it to be anything more. If you were still out in the cold, harshness of Fjerda, it would have been even smaller than the reception she had at the Little Palace—

You stood on your own, closer to her burning flames. Behind you stood two Inferni; twins, a brother and sister. They looked at your sister solemnly, despite not knowing you or her. Maybe they felt your pain. Maybe they didn’t want to ever feel your pain. Beyond them stood the Heartrender, Ivan, the one who’d put you into a death state two days prior. And finally, behind him—

General Kirigan of the Second Army.

He donned his Kefta today; a menacing black and grey that only emphasised the broadness of his shoulders. His hands were clasped in front of him, his expression blunt and eyes reflecting the raging flames of your sister’s pyre. As much as you didn’t trust him, refused to trust him, he’d put all of this together.

He’d brought her back from those frozen wastelands. He’d arranged for her body to be cleaned and donned with lavish silks. He’d gathered the Inferni to light her pyre, after you’d denied wanting to light it yourself with a torch.

You stayed perfectly still as you watched her burn, too afraid that moving would only cause you to fully break down. You didn’t want that; you didn’t want another reason for those here to look at you oddly. Kirigan strolled forward then, slowly, gently, as you stayed facing the pyre.

“Let us leave you, now,” He whispered into your ear, so close it made you shiver. You nodded once, but not at him; at your sister. Slowly, one by one, the Grisha left you and your sister, until you were completely alone.

You don’t know how long you stayed out in that acre for, watching the acrid smoke rise into the air and the flames begin to die down, searching for her face within piles of ashes.

It was hours, most likely. The sun had been high in the sky when the pyre was lit, but now it was descending down, down, down the horizon, casting a pink glow over the lavishness of the Little Palace grounds.

And then, the fire went out.

The flames dissipated into nothing more than black smoke.

Then, it seemed almost pointless to stay standing there, frozen like a statue and looking at the last remaining substances of who your sister was. You glanced up at the sky for the first time in hours, indulging in the glorious sunset on the last eve of your sister’s presence on this Earth.

You kissed two of your fingers, placing them above the once flaming pyre. It was still incredibly hot, her ashes retaining the heat of the fire. And then, you left. You didn’t cry, you didn’t collapse, you simply walked back to the Little Palace, entered through the main doors, and then stopped—

And when you stopped, you almost couldn’t take it. You almost couldn’t stand the quiet, the air, the feeling of eyes watching you wherever you went, so close to falling to the ground where you stood and just giving up—

General Kirigan’s door clicked open as you stared at the floor. He rounded the corner of the frame, landing his eyes upon your slumped shoulders and laboured breaths. He took a few timid steps forward, but you hadn’t even noticed him yet, not until he cleared his throat.

You flinched immediately, hitting his eyes as a spike of anxiety was rammed through your heart. He’d scared you, and it seemed he knew he had. He frowned at your reaction, stepping forward once more. “It was a beautiful ceremony,”

You didn’t know what to say to him, nor did you have the energy or will to want to speak to the Darkling that stood before you. But there was a part of you that was grateful for his words—for his company amongst the winding corridors and scowling faces of the Grisha here at the Little Palace.

The only thing you were holding onto was Kirigan’s earlier promise.

“Tea?” He spoke again, this time prompting you to scoff involuntarily. You looked at him with an odd expression, one that was trying to work out his motives. From the small glimpses you’d got of Kirigan around other Grisha, you knew it wasn’t customary for the General to share tea with them.

“I could go for something stronger,” You said breathily, though you weren’t being entirely serious. Kirigan didn’t seem to get your joke, however, as he gestured to his chambers.

“Will Ravkan rum suffice?”

You’d lost count at the fifth, or maybe it was the sixth, but it was easy to just keep topping up your glass when Kirigan placed the bottle on the table between you. Sometimes it was him refilling the glasses and sometimes it was you, but neither of you particularly cared.

You were on the brink of being too drunk to stand, too drunk to know what you were saying, but perhaps—too drunk to care. It was the perfect relaxation tactic after the funeral. You’d almost needed this, even if General Kirigan wasn’t the person you’d imagined being sat opposite you.

“Where do you go all day?” You asked, your words not yet slurring, but getting close. “A few Grisha have said it’s unusual for you to attend training,” He smiled at your question, tapping his rum glass.

You’d had one day of training so far, put on hold for the funeral today. Kirigan had attended, but it’d been obvious that other Grisha were on edge by his presence. All except one—a Sqauller like yourself, by the name of Zoya.

“I don’t just oversee training. I’m in charge of many aspects of the army. Tactics, movements, squadrons,” He sipped his drink. “But you already know my reasoning for wanting to shadow your training,”

You nodded once, humming to yourself without realising. You looked at your hands then, twisting them out in front of you and pinpointing the various lines and indents, the length of your fingers, the curve of your nails.

“You didn’t wear your Kefta today,” Kirigan said, almost in a whisper. You flicked your gaze to his eyes. You’d woken that morning to a knock upon your door—a guard had handed you the intricately designed blue Kefta and then left, leaving you almost speechless.

You’d decided against wearing it, however, sticking to your usual clothes of a blouse and woven trousers, kept up with braces.

“I don’t feel like a Squaller yet,” You replied. “Not a proper one,” It was sad, the way that Kirigan looked at you. It almost made you move your gaze away from his deep eyes, but you couldn’t make yourself do it after alcohol was swimming in your system.

“It’s the blue, isn’t it?” He said, and the smile on his lips was an indication of his joke. You reciprocated his expression, feeling a small bubble of giggles in your gut.

“The blue is lovely,” You replied sarcastically, causing a laugh to burst from the General’s lips. You didn’t realise this man could laugh, could chuckle, could—well—feel.

A comfortable silence fluttered over Kirigan’s chambers. This was the second time you’d been in his room. His décor was so much different than the cream and gold walls of the Little Palace itself; with all dark wood furniture and stained walls. In the centre of his office sat a large circular table, topped with a map of the countries. In the middle—the Fold was indicated with an intricate wooden structure, painted a matte black.

You fluttered your eyes around the room, taking everything in. You inhaled, smelling the wooden scent of the furniture and the musty leather of the chair you sat in, mixed with something sweet that resembled an aftershave. You stared at the paintings and skimmed over his trinkets. Everything seemed to suit him perfectly.

When you turned back, the General was already looking at you.

“I’ll commission you a different Kefta design,” He said it so smoothly that you were reminded of the annoyance it had given you before, but with rum running through your veins all you felt was relaxed. “One that’s more suited to you,”

“You don’t have to do that,” You replied, feeling small under his colossal gaze. He smiled at your reddening cheeks.

“A glorious Kefta for a glorious storm summoner,”

Saints, the way he looked at you was almost too much. His eyes skimmed your skin, traversing your jaw, your nose, your lips, before falling back to your wide eyes. He was regarding you openly and you weren’t looking away—you were taking it full on, perhaps spurring him on to continue.

This was just the rum, it had to be. This wasn’t the General Kirigan you’d ever imagined.

Saints, stop.

“I should go,” You said then, rising yourself from the leather armchair. Kirigan copied you, exhaling at the same time he dragged his eyes off of you.

Your goodbye was as unceremonious as the walk back to your chambers. You staggered a few times, needing to clutch onto the spiral staircase for dear life, but by the time you were back at your room, you were ready to fall asleep immediately.

You lay in bed, your eyelids prepped for immediate rest, but your mind wouldn’t be quiet. In fact, it was yelling at you—screaming, crying, pelting you with warnings—

Stay away from General Kirigan. Do not indulge him.

All you could was laugh at your cautious mind, telling it that it was overreacting, before you were drifting off into much needed sleep.

You still didn’t don the Kefta the next day, sliding down to the training courtyard silently, as if hoping that no one would notice you being there. It was useless to want that, however, considering you were a face that Grisha here didn’t recognise, dressed in clothes instead of your respective Kefta.

You stood to the side while everyone gathered, chatting away before the instructor came forward. “Hand to hand combat is just as important as your abilities,” He said bluntly, flicking his eyes around the colourful group. “We’ll focus on that today. On strengthening your hits, your blocks, your stances,”

You almost smiled to yourself—you knew hand to hand combat. Very well, if you said so yourself. Growing up in Novyi Zem, defenceless and out in the open, you’d adapted quickly to being stealthy, as well as having a mean hit. Hand to hand was something you knew better than your own Grisha abilities.

“Get in pairs,” He continued, and that’s when your face dropped. You glanced around helplessly when everyone started pairing off, giggling and chatting and knowing each other after so long. You felt like a sore thumb; someone who wasn’t wanted.

Suddenly, she bombarded before you—Zoya Nazyalensky. She’d made herself known on your first day, most notably with her dirty looks and the scowl on her jaw, but now? She was beaming, smiling so wide and happily that you almost didn’t recognise her. She gripped your bicep excitedly. “Let’s pair up together, two Squaller’s against the World,”

You had a feeling Zoya wasn’t usually this chipper, but you had no choice but to accept her as your partner.

“Zoya,” The instructor prompted. “You and your partner, front and centre,”

Oh. So, that’s what she wanted.

There was no way to back out now, as Zoya dragged you to the centre of the courtyard. She removed herself to stand opposite you, and that’s when her face changed—back to the dirty looks she’d given you before, the obvious dislike and want to crush you just for funzies. You got the feeling that Zoya felt she was the only Squaller worthy for the Little Palace.

You simply had to prove yourself, then, in front of the other Grisha.

“Fight to defend yourselves, not to attack,” The instructor said, his eyes mostly on Zoya. She dipped into a stance and you followed suit.

Saints, please make this fight the least amount of humiliating that it needs to be.

Within seconds, she was moving. Her first swung through the air swiftly, but you jutted your elbow up to stop her forearm, whacking back with all of your force. Zoya gasped from the interruption, but it allowed you to jab your knuckles into her ribs.

You punched forward, hitting her right in her ribs and causing her to stagger back slightly from the hit. Her brows only furrowed more as you continued your back and forth, a hit—a block—a stance—a hit—a block—it was endless and incredibly draining, but the more you fought, the more Zoya became frustrated.

She’d been wanting a quick fight; something to show that she was superior. Little had she known that you were a fighter, more so with your fists than the winds.

You stepped back to the edge of the circle, breathing deeply, arms out in front of you ready to block her hits. Your hair was in your eyeline, the braces of your trousers slipping from your shoulders, but you wouldn’t stop for a second to pull them back up.

Zoya’s cheeks were blotched with colour, her mouth ajar as she inhaled and exhaled deep, long breaths, trying to get oxygen back into her system. You could see the anger creeping onto her face with every second that passed. You were reluctant to storm forward to hit her, knowing that that would give her the blocking advantage, so you stayed put, counting down the seconds until you’d be free of this pointless and embarrassing fight.

At that second, the doors to the Little Palace were pulled open. Zoya and yourself took a few seconds to peer towards the creaking doors, as General Kirigan strolled towards the training session strongly, with a purpose, no hint of a hangover on his stubborn jaw.

Zoya’s face upturned into a smile at his arrival, but you were a few seconds too late at returning to the fight. Zoya’s hands were brought together immediately, summoning her power as you were helplessly bombarded backwards by winds—

You landed on your back with a thud, hearing the subtle laughs and chuckles of the observing Grisha. You didn’t care though; if you cared about every small battle, every time you fell, then you would have died of humiliation by now. You simply got yourself up again, glancing upon the questioning face of Kirigan as he stared at Zoya—

Then you brought your hands together—

And you summoned the storms that you were used to summoning. Maybe it was overkill, as the entire courtyard was encased in circling winds, or maybe it was needed, just to get Grisha like Zoya off of your fucking back. You spurred the winds on, tightening the funnel and tensing your muscles to keep it contained, even if it was large.

Zoya’s hair whipped around her as she watched your storm appear from nothing. Her eyes landed upon your own, sending you a clear and precise message—fear. She’d never seen a storm such a this, not even by her own hand.

“How?” She yelled, frustration laced within her words. But, you weren’t done with her yet.

You attempted a move you’d never done before, summoning the winds to your hands instead of the surrounding courtyard—you struggled against their power, but when you felt confident in your aim and execution, you let them loose.

Winds rushed forward, hitting Zoya directly in her gut and slamming her backwards; just as she’d done to you. She hit the floor harshly, laying there for a few moments as she fought against her winded lungs.

You allowed your storm to dissipate then, flicking your eyes over the shocked faces of the other Grisha, before allowing yourself to land upon the face of General Kirigan—

He was already staring at you, the way he’d done the night before. His lips were curled into a small smile, his eyes peering into yours and only yours, as if he didn’t care about the ruckus that you’d just created during the training session. He looked just as speechless as your fellow Grisha, but with a higher level of understanding and appreciation—

He looked like he’d never tire from seeing you summon these storms.

Zoya curled herself up from the floor painfully, grunting through the discomfort as she forced herself to standing once more. She went to storm forward, her face twisted with red rage, but the instructor came between her and yourself.

“Enough,” He said, eyes skimming over the prying gaze of the General.

“Do that again and I’ll send you above the cloud-line without a parachute,” Zoya threatened openly, but you couldn’t help but smile.

“I don’t think Squaller threats work on other Squallers,” You replied, gaining a few scoffs and huffs from the Grisha who surrounded you. You weren’t expecting one of them to be Kirigan, however, as his gently bobbing chest hit your peripheral. He was silently chuckling, moving his gaze between yourself and Zoya like a tennis match.

Zoya was wounded, that much was obvious. You would have felt bad if she hadn’t effectively asked for it. She’d been looking for a fight, and that’s exactly what she’d got—it wasn’t your fault that you fought better than she thought you would.

Kirigan regarded you then, getting your attention by raising his hand out before him. He motioned you over with two curling fingers. You shot a look at Zoya and the instructor once, before obeying the General’s orders. He tilted his head down as you approached him, keeping his expression light and soft.

“I see you’ve met Zoya,” He said, amusement certainly on his lips. You stared at him bluntly.

“We’re the best of friends. Can’t you tell?” You replied, but you kept your voice quieter. You were all too aware of the prying eyes of the Grisha in the courtyard, muttering to each other as to why the General had made another appearance at training.

He smiled wider, glancing back at the Squaller and then back to you, letting out a small huff of laughter. You were once again astounded that this man could laugh; every time he chuckled or the bob of his shoulders was shown, you found yourself paying too much attention to the boyish way he sounded, the soft curve of his jaw as he was smiling, the carefree way his hands flinched as he chuckled.

“Can you ride?” He asked then, changing the subject. You nodded at him once. “Good. We ride tomorrow, together. I want to show you something,”

He strolled off then, without giving you a chance to reply. You watched as his arms draped by his sides and his broad shoulders were even broader as they arched across his back. You swallowed to cut off your thoughts, choosing to focus too closely on the sound of your heartbeat beneath your ribs and the subtle ache of your limbs after fighting Zoya, instead.

You watched until the General was back inside the Little Palace, the black glint of his uniform still etched in your peripheral— even when he wasn’t around.

Tag list: @callitdreamland @bxnnywxtts @elleatrixlestrange @stargirl76 @tartiflvtte @musicconversedance @eprilin @luminous-99 @brynthebulldozer @katedrexel @blackbirddaredevil23 @auggie2000 @not-so-quite-human @notawritergettingtherethough @thinkingth0ts @gabbien @tarkanelima-blog @hxgreeves @super-nannai @epistrofh-twn-ypogeiwn-poihtwn @sonnensplitter @fire-in-her-veinz

Once again, I’m sorry if your tag doesn’t work-- I really don’t know why they don’t work!

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anayaahwrites · 3 years

Text

KOT ficlet #6 (Kudou Chika/Houzuki Satowa)

(Events based after the most recent update that had me screaming into oblivion.)

Needle in a thread

His first thought is, not them.

He recalls his horror when they took away the one person who had loved him, the one that lit fireworks in his darkness.

But before he had time to mourn, the torch had been passed—like some sort of metaphorical relay race—into fresh, affectionate, and welcoming hands. They cared, nurtured, and gave purpose to his existence.

The child hated by a parent, the child of calamity.

Of disaster.

And now that he’s built a home, a hideaway to rush back to whenever things seemed too rough, like hell he’d let the demons of his past have it their way.

He drops down carefully, one knee after another, placing folded hands in front of the head tucked in between his legs.

Because Chika is desperate and he has no pride to protect to begin with, so pleading before them to let him just live outweighed any sense of shame he’d feel.

But he’s naive to think Uzuki cares.

There was something bizzare about the boy since he’d met him, how he changed based on what the situation called for—like a snake shedding layers of its skin.

The light at the end of the tunnel vanishes, but Chika pushes on, pouring the deepest parts of his soul in front of the people that ruined him once before.

Because Chika refused to let his torch dim, the flame protected by so many, he couldn’t be any more grateful.

Uzuki snickers, instructing Abiko and taking a blow to the face.

“I’ll tell everyone you did this to me.” He smiles.

Chika’s light is bright.

But his darkness is all-consuming. It wraps him like a blanket of thorns, clawing to tear chunks of his soul away. In the end, who could he save?

Who could save him?

“I’m tired of all of this!”

He snaps his head, facing the voice, breathing life into his own.

Houzuki stands with her back to him, confronting the men with such ferocity, they stutter for a second.

“To hell with your ‘ruin his life’ nonsense,” she huffs, swinging her hair like a whip. “I’m taking him home!”

He had so many questions.

Houzuki grumbles under her breath all the way out, twisting and turning from one street to the other, tugging him behind her like a four-year-old.

Why was she here to begin with?

Usually, he’d shrug her away. He’d tease the ever loving crap out of her and watch Houzuki turn a brighter shade of crimson every time while subtly keeping his distance from the intense urge to hold her close.

But today, when he looks at her, Chika sees more than just Satowa.

He sees a woman with the will of a stallion, dulling her blade in front of no one, however intimidating they might be.

He sees the hand of a woman he could not help but admire.

Couldn’t help but love.

He stops walking, looking at the fingers wrapped delicately around his wrist as if Chika realised for the first time that he was holding the hand of the woman he fell in love with a long time ago.

“Are you tired?” comes her tender voice filled with concern, as she looks around, “Do you want to sit for a while?”

He looks into her worried eyes and quickly drops his gaze, to the hand she wouldn’t leave. On any normal day, by now Satowa would let go, a shade of bright pink spreading down her arm to her toes.

Today she holds his hand, firm and gentle, both at once, neither shaking nor blushing at the contact that was progressively setting his nerves on fire.

And admitting his feelings was easy. It was easy for him to look at every minute he’d spent with her—in sorrow, in joy—that Chika was irrevocably in love with her.

He’d give the Sun if she demanded it, the moon adorned as an elegant crescent ring around her finger. He’s so in love that he forgets his past, that he could endanger Houzuki and her entire family.

But it looms around him like a constant-present shadow. So he sharpens his facade to protect her.

“You shouldn’t follow me to places like this,” he swallows, maintaining his composure as best as he can. “It’s dangerous. Are you stupid? Don't pull a stunt like this again.”

He steals a glimpse at her, pushing strands of loose hair behind her ear with not an ounce of regret or fear of her actions.

“If anything, you’re the stupid one,” she replies, ebony eyes staring straight into his as he raises an eyebrow in question.

“For thinking you’d need to face this alone.”

He stills, feeling her thumb stroke his bruised knuckles, eyes steadily turning a shade lighter.

“I understand,” she says, “I understand you’ve been fighting your battles by yourself all these years. You feel responsible for everything—like you deserve divine punishment for sins you didn’t commit to begin with,”

“But for once, point the blame to those that deserve it.” her grip tightens. “Tell them to,” she sucks in a sharp breath.

“Eat shit for all I care.”

Her gaze softens as he peers into her eyes; for solace, for the comfort he’s never had. That he’s never asked for.

“You’re only human, Kudou, and humans make mistakes. We all do. Does that mean we need to be crucified for it?”

He shakes his head from one side to another in an unspoken response.

“The past won’t change, no matter how hard we try. But the future.....” she grimaces, “Our circumstances are different now. No one helped you then—no one stood for you,”

Satowa’s smile is melancholy, like rain and snow at once, as she cups his cheek with her free hand.

“But you have me now,” she whispers, lacing her fingers into the groove between his. He peers into those abysmal eyes and sees a promise.

“The only day I’ll let go of this hand will be the day I die.”

In a flash, Chika breaks.

He shatters like smashed glass, scattering across the ground in shards of built up agony. He feels the tears forming in his eyes as he looks into hers, chin wobbling uncontrollably. His heart squeezes in his chest as everything sinks in—Dad, Mom, Grandpa, everyone he’s loved and lost.

And she stays there throughout, rubbing warm circles into his much bigger palm, a distant sorrow in her eyes.

This woman, this beautiful, wonderful woman, had saved him on more occasions than he could count.

She was the white to his black, yin to his yang painting his life with every colour in the spectrum between them.

The Sun sets not far behind, fiery orange encircling her like a golden halo. And that’s all it takes—the gleaming sky behind her, the tears in her eyes, the ones in his.

He pulls her forward gently, letting Satowa fall against him as every type of warmth rushes through his veins.

She stills for a moment, leaning against him, not a hair on her head moving. Chika gives her time, space enough to let go if this isn’t what she wants. God knows he doesn’t want to force her.

When she leaves his hand, Chika thinks it’s all over. And that’s okay.

He’s okay with that.

Instead, Satowa throws her arms around his neck, face sinking into the groove of his chest, nuzzling the space where his heart beats erratically.

He takes a moment to register, but when realisation sets in, Chika pulls her tighter to himself, fingers working through the strands of her hair, chin resting comfortably above her head.

In those small arms, Chika feels the affection she holds radiating with every fibre of her being. She stands on her toes, reaching higher to lay her head on his shoulder. He draws her up by the waist, anchoring her safely to his chest.

“You’re not alone,” she whispers into his collarbone, the touch of her lips, a second of pure bliss for him. He shivers at the contact, holding his breath to stop his thoughts from escalating.

“You’re not alone,” Satowa repeats, chin resting against his chest as she stares into his eyes, lowering one hand to trace his jaw in short, quiet strokes.

“You have me forever.”

When Chika kisses Satowa, he feels everything all at once. The rustling of the leaves dull, his heartbeat overpowering every sound in existence.

When she kisses him back, realisation sinks in that this woman, this beautiful wonderful woman, would give him the world too.

Chika stands in the centre of their universe, two supernovae colliding against the speed of the world, her breath against his skin like warm sunlight streaming in through a window.

When Chika looks into her eyes, he sees himself in them, trapped in a circle of warm ebony. He watches her smile brighten when she raises herself just enough to wipe the tears he doesn’t remember crying.

Today, when he looks at Satowa, Chika sees salvation. He sees his world.

“Forever,” he sighs as they walk back side by side, fingers intertwined, like needle and thread. She gazes at him, instinctively moving closer.

For once, Chika would let himself be protected. Because Satowa was a force to reckon with. She’s fierce and brave and he’s safe in her arms.

Chika really smiles then, one so wide his eyes crinkle and vision narrows to the one person who matters more than any other.

The world has to allow him this one moment of greed.

“Forever isn’t long enough.”

Yay! I wanted to write something for so long! This idea came to me after randomly listening to "Safe and Sound" by Taylor Swift.

Thank you for reading, and being patient with me. I love y'all so much <<3

#kono oto tomare!#kotedit #kudou chika #houzuki satowa #kot #dailykot #ao3 #fanfic #kono oto #kot fanart

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thebigbadbatswife · 3 years

Text

One Single Thread Of Gold Tied Me To You

Summary - Everyone is tied to their soulmate with a red thread tied to their wrist. All except Y/N’s, who’s thread is gold. Tired of waiting for her soulmate to come and find her, she decides to go and find them. It doesn’t go quite how she expected it to.

Warnings - A little angst

[A/N] - This is a soulmate au where you and your soulmate are attached by an unbreakable red thread (or, in this case, gold), tied to your wrist. This was inspired by the song 'Invisible String' by Taylor Swift.

Word Count - 4k

As the early morning sun slowly filtered into your room, through your blinds, you carefully examined the thread attached to your wrist. Everyone had one; it was your link to your soulmate. Yours was different to everyone else though. While everyone had red, yours was gold. As you turned your wrist, it caught the sunlight and glistened a little.

Everyone you knew had always been fascinated by it. As was nearly every stranger you met. Why was it gold? What exactly made you and your soulmate so different to everyone else’s? Questions you had often asked yourself as well. Why were you two so different?

Your family had a theory that whoever it was, they were rich. Very rich. That was surely the reason it was gold. Nothing else made sense to them. Meanwhile your friends were completely convinced that your soulmate was some kind of God.

“Come on, Y/N! It’s the only thing that makes sense!” Tracey said before taking another sip of her third glass of wine. Her usually bright emerald eyes were glazed over from all of the alcohol. “Why else would it be gold?”

“You gotta admit, Tracey might be drunk right now, but she has a good point!” Skylar joined in. She took her brown eyes off the blonde and looked over at you before continuing. “Oh! What if your soulmate is like Wonder Woman or Superman or something! How cool would that be?”

You rolled your eyes and took a sip of your own glass of wine. “Stop it. You’re both being ridiculous,” you had told them because they really were being ridiculous. There was no way your soulmate was a member of the Justice League, let alone an Amazonian Princess or the Man of Steel.

You were, of course, curious of your soulmate yourself. Who wouldn’t be curious of the person they’re destined to end up with? But you didn’t think up the crazy theories your friends and family liked to come up with. Instead you wondered things like, what kind of hobbies do they have? What’s their favourite colour? What type of music do they listen to? Were they a cat person or a dog person? And other things like that.

Another thing about the thread that tied you to your soulmate was that, while everyone could see the thread around your wrist, only you and soulmate could see where it led. While you had always wanted to follow it, you had decided that it would be better to focus on having a decent job and place to live first.

During that time a small part of you had hoped that maybe your soulmate would come looking for you, but since they clearly weren’t, maybe you should? After all, you had a well paying job and a great apartment, so why not? Every job was legally required to allow people time off to go search, so that wouldn’t be an issue. It was paid time off as well so you didn’t have to worry about money. You also had a car so you wouldn’t have to spend a shit ton of money on travel. At least, you hoped you wouldn’t. In truth, for all you knew, your soulmate could be in a completely different country. Now that would certainly complicate things.

Shaking that thought away (because there was no way fate could be that cruel), you got out of bed and set about putting the wheels in motion that would allow you to start following your thread

‘ Welcome to Gotham City! ’ the sign read as you drove past it. When you had told those close to you, your plan, they had been super supportive. Now, if they knew where your thread had lead you, you doubted they’d be as supportive. Hell, even you were rethinking things now. Out of all the cities for your soulmate to be in, it just had to be this one.

How did you know it was this city that they resided in and it wasn’t just another stop along the way? It was hard to explain, but you had a feeling deep within your gut, almost like a sixth sense that just yelled “Yep! This is the place!”.

You felt extremely uneasy as you drove through the city. It was night-time as well which did absolutely nothing to help. Honestly, of all the times to arrive in Gotham, night-time was definitely the worst. Well, there was nothing you could do about that now, you just had to keep on going, so you did.

The golden thread snaked through the gothic city and went from the “posh” part of the city all the way to the worst part of the city. The buildings were run down and most of the windows were boarded up. Each turn you took there were shiftier and shiftier characters on every corner. You started to get the feeling that you really shouldn’t be here. Plus you were starting to wonder if you really wanted to know who your soulmate was if they were hanging out in neighbourhoods like this.

You brought your car to a stop in front of a particularly dark and sinister looking alleyway. A particularly dark and sinister looking alleyway that your golden thread lead straight into. Coming to this part of this city was already a bad idea. Continuing to follow that thread to what had to be your certain doom was even worse. Yet, at this point in your mission, you were pretty much committed.

You couldn’t help out a quiet and very nervous laugh as you climbed out of your car. ‘ This is fucking insane ,’ you thought as you stepped out of your car. Before shutting and locking it (though you doubt that would do much to protect it in this area), you grabbed your pepper spray. ‘ I really hope your worth all this .’

As you followed the thread down the alleyway, you heard a sudden loud bang. A gunshot. You stopped in your tracks and you could feel your heart pick up its pace. Your thread lead in the direction the shot had come from. ‘ I really hope you weren’t involved with that .’ Taking a deep breath, you continued down the alleyway.

The alleyway lead out onto another street. There was a small crunching sound as you stepped out onto the street. Taking a step back, you looked to the ground to see what you had just stepped on. The ground was littered with small shards of glass. Looking up, you figured the shards of glass were from the bulbs from the streetlamps. Something had broken them. It didn’t take you long to figure out what, or rather who ,was responsible.

Further down the street, taking on group of ten men, was none other than Gotham’s Caped Crusader. The Batman.

You quickly ducked back into the alley you had just left. You then carefully peered around the wall, so you could watch the fight. You were well aware of the fact that your thread was leading straight toward the fight. Which meant that your soulmate was involved.

You watched the fight intensely, both intrigued and terrified to figured which one of the men was on the end of your thread. There was a voice in the back of your head praying hardcore that it was the hero in the centre of the fight.

Batman was a blur of black and dark grey as he rapidly made his way through the group of men. With a variety of different punches, kicks and gadgets, he made short work of them. During his combat flow, you followed your thread with your eyes and a small gasp left you as you realised who the other end was attached to.

Holy fuck. You’re friends had, kind of, been right. While your soulmate wasn’t Wonder Woman or Superman, like they had suggested, he was apart of the Justice League’s ‘Big Three’. Your soulmate was Batman . At least now you knew why he hadn’t come looking for you. He’d been busy saving the world.

Now you had to figure out how to approach him before he ended up disappearing into the night.

Exiting your cover, you took your thread between your finger and thumb and gently tugged on it a couple of times.

Batman looked at his end of the thread curiously as your tugs had gotten his attention. Then his head drifted upwards, following where it lead till his eyes settled on you.

If he was shocked, he didn’t show it. He just stood there, his eyes never leaving you. Part of you wanted to cower away from the intense stare, but you willed yourself not to. He was your soulmate, and you weren’t a criminal, you had no reason to be afraid.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, finally ending the silence between you. His voice was deep and almost robotic sounding. Probably some sort of voice modulator to help hide his identity, you figured.

“In Gotham? Yeah, this place really sucks,” you replied, thinking about all the things you had heard about this city, “but I came here to find my soulmate; to find you.”

“You shouldn’t have.” His voice was sharp and serious as he spoke. He also sounded irritated at your sudden appearance, which caused you to frown. That couldn’t be right… could it?

“What?” You hated how meek and pathetic your voice sounded, but you couldn’t help it. Wasn’t this supposed to be a happy moment? One of the happiest in your life in fact. Instead you felt like you were being scolded rather than meeting the person who was supposed to be your other half.

“I didn’t want to meet you. Now I suggest you go home. It’s not safe here.”

What? You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. There was pressure behind your eyes and your throat tightened. You took a shaky breath as you took a step backwards away from him. It quickly sunk in that the man you’d been destined to be with, the man you had thought about since you were old enough to understand the concept of a soulmate, wanted nothing to do with you.

“I-I’m sorry I disturbed you.” Your voice broke as you fought back the tears that threatened to fall. You weren’t going to give him that satisfaction. You then turned around and ran back toward where you had left your car.

As fast as you could, you started your car up and made your way to a safer part of the city. It didn’t take you long to find a somewhat empty parking lot to park in. Once the engine was off, you screamed and aggressively slammed against the wheel as you let the tears freely fall.

You felt like a complete and utter fucking idiot. Of course he didn’t want you. You’d probably just get in the way of him saving the world or something like that. Besides, what was that article you had seen a few months ago? Something about Catwoman and a relationship between the two? While it happened very rarely, some people in the world had been known to reject their soulmate because they had found someone they deemed better. Is that what had happened? Whatever the reason, you could feel your heart breaking.

You had used to think that, out of all the members of the Justice League, Batman had been one of the cooler members. Now all you could think was that he was a massive jerk.

Maybe it was your own fault for romanticising the whole thing and thinking that your meeting would be something out of a fairytale. Apparently fate was far crueller than you could have ever thought it to be.

Bruce watched as she ran away from him, back down the alleyway she had come from. A small voice in the back of his head told him to go after her. To grab her, hold her close and apologise, tell her that he hadn’t meant it. He ignored it and headed off in the opposite direction, back to where he had left the batmobile.

Over his comms, he heard a barely audible sigh and he could easily picture his butler and lifelong friend shaking his head in disappointment. No doubt he was going to get an earful once he got back to the batcave. Well it certainly wasn’t the first time.

As the batmobile pulled up in the batcave, he could see Alfred waiting for him. ‘ Here we go ,’ he thought as he got out of his car and removed his cowl.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he stated as he walked past him and toward the batcomputer. He set his cowl down on the desk. Even as the words left his mouth he knew he had wasted his breath. If there was one thing that Alfred had done consistently since Bruce had started down this path, it was letting him know when he disagreed with something he did.

“Was that really necessary Master Bruce? She’s come all of this way…” Alfred started, but ended up trailing off. There was a small moment of silence before he continued. “You know, I remember a small boy who couldn’t wait to go out there and find…” Before he could finish what he was saying, Bruce promptly cut him off.

“What would you have me do, Alfred?!” His voice echoed off of the cave’s walls and disturbed some of the bats still hanging on the ceiling. Bruce gestured toward his equipment and the display cases that held some rather badly damaged batsuits. All of them testaments to injuries that had come far too close to killing him. “Would you really have me force this life on to her? The dangers, the no guarantee I’ll come home…” He took a deep breath and rested both his hands on the surface of his desk. “She deserves so much better.” His voice was quiet, but still easily heard in the, almost, silent cave.

“With all due respect, sir, I believe she should be allowed to make that decision, not you,” Alfred replied before leaving the batcave, not giving Bruce a chance to respond.

He looked in the direction of the stairs that lead up into the manor. The direction that Alfred had headed in. Was he right? Should he be leaving it up to her to decide what she wanted? But with all the dangers he faced nightly… No, it was better for him to stay far away from her.

Over the following week Bruce found himself distracted. It didn’t matter where he was, what he was doing, he couldn’t focus. And considering what he did once night fell over Gotham, to say being unfocused really wasn’t good was a complete understatement of the situation. He had been having far too many close calls recently.

He couldn’t get it out of his head. The way she had looked at him as he told her he didn’t want to meet her, that she should leave. Alfred’s words echoed in his mind and he found himself questioning the decisions he had made that night. Something that Bruce rarely, if ever, did. Everything he did was meticulously planned and there was never any doubt when he made a decision. Was this what happened once you met your soulmate and rejected them?

Bruce was sure that the rest of the Justice League had taken notice. With how off beat and slow to react to certain things, it would be hard not to. Of course, if they had, none of them had mentioned it to him. Apparently they knew better. For the time being, at least. He was sure it wouldn’t be long before they did try to pry into his personal life.

Which lead him here. On the roof of the building opposite of Y/N’s apartment building. He hadn’t needed to do any extensive research to find her, or learn her name, because he had been in this exact spot a couple of years ago.

Two years ago Bruce’s own curiosity had gotten the better of him. He blamed Clark and his soulmate, a reporter by the name of Lois Lane, for it. He had seen them one too many times in the Watchtower together and had found himself wondering who exactly his soulmate was and what they was like. As a result, he had gone looking for them. Not because he wished to finally meet them, but so he could make sure his soulmate was safe and happy. And she was, so he had left. Only ever checking up on her every now and then to make sure she had stayed that way.

He looked down at the golden thread that came out of his gauntlet and lead down toward the apartment he’d been watching. Both as Bruce Wayne and Batman he had made sure to keep it well hidden. With its unique colouring he couldn’t allow anyone to see it. It would be all too easy for his enemies to find her if they did see it.

He knew that by being here he was easily undoing everything he had done to keep her safe, but, then again, had she not done exactly that when she had tracked him down in Gotham? Besides, and while he would never say it out loud, Alfred had been right. It should be up to Y/N to decide whenever or not she wanted all the baggage that came with him being in her life. Baggage that had driven more than one person from his life…

He shook that thought from his head and got up from his crouched position on the roof. Bruce then leapt from the roof and allowed himself to fall for a couple of seconds before opening up his cape and let it catch the wind that was rushing past him. He silently glided over to her apartment’s balcony.

Y/N was in her apartment alone. She was sat on her sofa, the light from the tv was the only thing illuminating the room.

Bruce was unsure of how exactly to go about this. Back in Gotham he had originally thought of approaching her as Bruce Wayne, but quickly discarded it. Bruce Wayne showing up at an out of the way apartment building was sure to garner attention. As would Batman using the front door, so the balcony had seemed to be the best option. But now that he was here, he wasn’t entirely sure it was.

Should he just knock? That seemed like the best way to go about this. It was going to scare the everloving daylights out of her, but he could deal with that.

He gently rapped the glass of the balcony door with his knuckles. As he had expected, Y/N leapt up from her seat. A bowl and the contents of the bowl followed her and scattered across her carpeted floor. She spun around and when she saw him, the look of shock on her face quickly turned to anger. Her eyes narrowed and he swore that glare would be enough to make even the toughest of Gotham’s thugs would cower at its intensity. Maybe she would deal with his life better than he thought.

After a minute of glaring at him, she turned around and walked toward the lightswitch. At the same time, she gestured for him to enter.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” she demanded as soon as he had entered the apartment and shut the door behind him. The rage in her voice was evident and Bruce was sure he could cut the tension in the room with a batarang.

“I came to apologise,” he said, his voice gentle despite how distorted his modulator made it sound. Y/N scoffed immediately. He didn’t blame her. If he was in her shoes, he wouldn’t believe him either. After all ‘Batman’ wasn’t exactly known for making apologies.

“Yeah right.” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I’m being truthful. I… I shouldn’t have said what I said. It wasn’t right.”

“Then why did you say it?” A fair question and one he had an answer to. Before he even said it, Bruce was aware how cliché it sounded.

“I wanted to keep you safe. This life isn’t for everyone.”

“So without even meeting me, you decided that it wasn’t for me.” She shook her head. “That’s not your decision to make!” she yelled at him.

“I know. It’s been pointed out to me before.” In fact that night in the cave wasn’t the first time Alfred had told him that. “But that’s why I’m here now. To give you all the information you need to make that decision.”

You listened intently as Batman explained the dangers of the life he was leading. The dangers that effected the people in his life in one way or another. He also made it a point to reiterate the fact that when he left at night or was summoned by the Justice League there was no guarantee he would return. You asked the occasional question, but for the most part you just listened to him to talk and let his words sink in.

You got it. You understood the very clear concerns that Batman had about this whole thing, they concerned you as well, but you weren’t about to let it deter you. You wanted to know your soulmate. Even if it ended horribly, like he was saying it would, you felt it in your core that you would regret not knowing him, especially if the worst truly did happen. And you told him so.

“Even if you’re not wearing a mask, this life is dangerous. Anything can happen.”

“Anything could happen to me when I leave my apartment each day.”

The superhero life wasn’t special in that regard. As you spoke, your voice was a lot calmer than it had been earlier. In fact, as he had spoke and explained you had found your anger slowly fading. You still wanted to slap the jerk superhero before you, but that was a considerable downgrade from your overwhelming need to deck him when you first saw him standing on your balcony.

“It won’t be easy.”

“I’ve never backed down from a challenge before.”

You admired his commitment to deter you, but it wasn’t going to work. You were too stubborn to let it. Something you were positive he was learning very quickly.

“There’s nothing I can say to convince you that this is a bad idea, is there?”

“Nope.” You made sure to pop the ‘p’.

Batman sighed deeply. You watched as he looked away from you and toward the golden thread that linked the two of you together. You could almost hear the gears in his brain turning as he thought. Then he was looking back up at you.

“In that case then.”

You watched as Batman brought his hands up to his cowl. Your eyes widened and you couldn’t help the small gasp that left you as he removed the cowl and revealed his identity to you. Bruce Wayne. While you didn’t live in Gotham City, you were well aware of Gotham’s favoured son. You would’ve had to have lived underneath a rock to not know who he was.

And apparently your family had been right on the money, literally. Not that you cared about the money, you weren’t superficial like that. Personality was far more important than the material items someone may or may not have. In your eyes, at least.

You both stood in silence, his blue eyes studying you, probably trying to gauge how you were going to react. To be truthful, you weren’t entirely sure how to react. Except maybe…

“Well, it’s… it’s nice to meet you Bruce Wayne. I guess this is the part where we forget about what happened and start over?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

Yeah, sure, this was probably going to end horribly, but you were looking forward to the adventure that lie ahead.

#bruce wayne #batman #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #batman x fem!reader #bruce wayne imagines #batman imagines #soulmate au #my writing

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animereaderinsertwriter · 3 years

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Cupbearer (Eren/Reader)

Part II

Part I (complete)

Part III (complete)

Part IV (in progress)

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (im watching you, if you see this, begone!), vampire!eren, hunter!reader, fem!reader, smut, some amount of predator/prey dynamics but only kinda?? there is also a significant age difference but only cos eren is immortal and all that jazz. we're all adults here. there will eventually be smut.... and do i really need to say that there's gonna be blood in a vampire fic?

Description: A story of falling in love in 4 parts.

Eren is a bad man (well, a bad Creature) who has done bad things. When he meets the great-great-great granddaughter of one of his former friends in his favorite blood bar, however, he thinks it might not matter so much what happened in the past, so long as he can make the future something worth living to see.

Ao3 link here

Making deals with a vampire was one thing, (Y/N) supposed, but fulfilling such a deal was quite another.

When Zeke— who held the contradictory position of the regional Commander of the Hunters as well as the alpha of a local werewolf pack— had approached her with the idea of infiltrating Eren Jaeger's inner circle, she had jumped at the chance; her great-to-however-many-degrees grandfather really had been Jean Kirschtein, and she had read his old journal, and her curiosity about the Old Ways was always bubbling just beneath her skin. Zeke, she thought, must have known of her curiosity, because his offer had been everything she was searching for.

You'll have your answers, he told her, And we'll have ours. One way or another, the problem of Eren Jaeger will be solved through your efforts. There is no possible way to lose.

If only she had known how wrong Zeke had been.

At first, things with Eren were simple— well, as simple as things could be with such a delicate arrangement. It had been beyond easy to bait him into approaching her at the Creature bar on 76th Street, and aside from the first time, allowing time for Eren to feed was almost nothing. Even the process of feeding itself wasn't much of an ordeal— there was hardly any pain since he drew from her wrist after a warm soak, and the whole thing took less than five minutes— but around the second time, when the visions began, things began to be… different.

Little snippets of Eren's past began to come as the two of them interacted more and increased the amount of regular feedings. Sometimes it was as little as a feeling, a memory of a face that (Y/N) had never seen before; other times, it was like (Y/N) was truly there centuries ago, in a land that would one day become her home. Now, almost every time she let Eren drink from her, she was thrust back into a world where humanity was (literally) with it's back against the wall, fighting demons and mindless monsters just to survive; and, sometimes, the visions were so intense that she would come back from them terrified, shaking, and incapable of cogent thought. It was during those times that Eren held her, silent, resigned, and yet somehow caring until she was herself again.

It was strange; in the visions, Eren was often passionate to a fault. He was wild, like an animal, but kind, too. During times like these, when he cradled her in his arms as she was trembling with the force of a particularly poignant memory, (Y/N) wondered if the centuries had truly changed him, or if he hid that passion beneath the jaded indifference she had come to expect.

"You think too much," he told her as she buried her face into the crook of his neck. "Your heart is racing."

Of course it was— the terror of watching hundreds of people be consumed by the very wrath of hell itself would do that to a person— but (Y/N) had no rebuttal. She did think too much, and the end result was muddled reports sent back to Zeke and a clouded heart.

"You loved her."

It was a statement, not a question. Mikasa— the brave, beautiful woman that Jean Kirschtein had once loved— may not have always known it, but Eren truly had felt very deeply for her.

"More than life," Eren replied.

(Y/N) thought back to the memory— the sheer panic Eren had felt at the thought of losing his comrades, the desperation with which he strove to save them— and she amended her statement.

"You loved them all."

Eren hummed.

"More than the wide, wide world."

And (Y/N) thought that, perhaps, he truly meant it.

"What did you see this time?" he asked, his voice soft.

(Y/N) pulled back so that she and Eren were face to face, her legs straddling him. His eyes were glowing-green, and she shivered beneath their scrutiny.

"I saw a field full of demons," she told him, unable to meet his gaze. "You and Mikasa were defenseless, yourself having been pushed to your limit, and Mikasa's blades having been broken. There was nowhere to run, and you— you screamed, and—"

A large, warm hand caressed her cheek, and it occurred to (Y/N) that it was her own blood within Eren that gave him such warmth with which to comfort. She placed her smaller hand atop his, and the world seemed to freeze for a moment to allow this brief, intimate interlude.

"Do you understand now?" he asked as he did almost every time she had a vision. "Do you see why I did what I did?"

As always, (Y/N) shook her head, moving his hand from her face.

"No, I don't."

The response was never met with anger or frustration; Eren was only ever resigned to it. Before, (Y/N) might have felt scorn for such a man who cared so little, but now that she had seen who Eren had been, what he'd been through… perhaps he was simply tired of caring so much.

"You're beautiful when you're thinking."

The words caught (Y/N) off guard. She had known that Eren had thought she was attractive— his emotional feedback told her that much— but she had never thought that he would voice such a thought. The compliment heated her cheeks, and (Y/N) had to fight the urge to bury her face in her hands.

"I've always thought," said Eren, speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully, "That one can never truly appreciate the beauty of a blush until one could see it with the eyes of a vampire, or smell it as it rises on the cheek."

Eren placed a hand on her face, tilting it until their eyes were level.

"And as a vampire who has seen many beautiful blushes on many beautiful women, yours is the most bewitching of all."

(Y/N) swallowed thickly.

"Why are you saying this?"

Eren cocked his head to the side, studying her. It was a long moment before he spoke, but when he did, he gave an answer that (Y/N) was not expecting.

"Because it's true, and because I would very much like to kiss you."

(Y/N)'s heart leapt into her throat, but she didn't dare move one way or the other. She just stared at Eren, slack-jawed, as he stared patiently back.

"Why?" she asked when she had collected herself.

Eren shrugged. "Does that matter?"

(Y/N) supposed very much that it did matter, but she didn't feel the need to say so. She studied Eren closely— the latent hunger in his eyes, the set of his jaw, the stain of her blood on his lips— and she thought of how gentle he had been with her, how patient. She had no doubt that he would prove to be equally so in other matters, and she wanted him— but something stopped her.

It would be wrong of me to allow this, she thought, letting her eyes wander to Eren's lips. I'm his enemy, a spy for the Hunters. Allowing him and myself the potential of intimacy is too deep a betrayal, even for me.

Even so, she didn't stop him as he shifted her closer; even so, when his lips brushed hers, she kissed him back, tasting her own blood on his tongue.

"This is a bad idea," she whispered against his lips, shifting in his lap.

"How young you are," he said in return. "There is no such thing as a bad idea, only poor timing and execution. Take it from someone who has centuries of experience; rarely ever is the regret for having done something greater than the regret of not having done it."

So saying, he kissed her again, and (Y/N) threaded her hands in his hair as he reached beneath her shirt. His hands— warm, now, with the heat of her own blood— reached beneath the cup of her bra to cradle her breasts, and she exhaled a hiss as his fingertips found her nipples. She arched into him, pressing her flesh into his hands and parting their lips; he chuckled, dark and low, and she shivered at the sound.

"How many other Creatures have you tricked like this?" he asked, pressing kisses against her neck. "Tell me, pretty girl— just how many have fallen prey to your charms so that you can run back to your little doggy master with their deepest, darkest secrets?"

(Y/N) froze, stuck somewhere between fear, dread, and ecstasy. Eren knew— somehow, he knew— and yet he continued to touch her, kiss her, caress her as though nothing were amiss. Her whole body went still with shock, but Eren never stopped even for a moment.

"Come now, you can't think I didn't know." His lips were just below her ear now, and he closed his teeth around the lobe, teasing her with the sensation. "I can smell him on the papers in your bag; I can hear the clicking of the letters as you type your memos after I've pieced you back together for an evening. Most of all, I can hear the way your heart pumps a little faster when I feed you the information you want. I can taste your guilt in the very blood I take from you. You can hide nothing from me."

"Eren," she said as fear— rancid and terrible— began crawling up the back of her throat, "Eren, please, I haven't told him about the important things, I'm trying to make a case for you—"

He pulled away then, and when his piercing green eyes locked with her own, she stilled like a sparrow caught in the gaze of a cobra.

"I don't care," he replied simply. "You are what you are, and at your core, you cannot change that. It is the same with me. I'm not afraid of my half-mutt half-brother no matter what you tell him, and as long as you want what I have to offer, there's no reason not to take it for your own."

(Y/N)'s mind was reeling.

"Half-brother?"

Eren chuckled at her confusion.

"Oh yes, pretty one. Zeke Jaeger is my older brother, and I suspect he sent you to me just to you with the both of us." With a carnivorous grin, he added, "But little does he know that I play for keeps, and you're not the good little Huntress he must assume you are— that is to say, he must have no clue at all how hungry you are for vampire cock, hm?"

(Y/N) would be lying if she hadn't pictured Eren in… less than appropriate situations, but for fuck's sake, she wasnt blind. The man— vampire, Creature, whatever— was fucking gorgeous, and he damn well knew it, but that didn't mean she was gagging for it.

Did it?

"We can't do this," she said, pushing at Eren's chest, though he didn't budge an inch. "We shouldn't do this."

Eren cracked a grin, toothy with fangs that glistened.

"Says who?" he asked, his large, strong hands coming around to grab her by the ass. "You were perfectly fine with letting me kiss and touch when you thought I was in the dark— is it no longer any fun now that you don't feel like you're taking advantage of me?"

(Y/N) couldn't take it.

"Eren, be serious—"

"I am serious."

When she looked in his eyes and reached out with her own heart, (Y/N) knew that he was telling the truth. He wanted her regardless of anything, regardless of everything.

He simply wanted her.

Could that be so bad?

***

Eren didn't think that this would happen even in his wildest dreams, but when he saw (Y/N) splayed out on his gold silk sheets, he knew it wasn't the madness that Armin accused him of lying to himself about. No mind, well and whole or not, could ever conjure up such a vision. The woman who lay before him— naked and gorgeous— was beyond imagining. She was something from another world entirely.

"What are you doing?" she asked, puzzled as Eren stood over her, watching the rise and fall of her breasts. "Come hold me."

And how lovely was that? His natural enemy, his perfect prey, asking him to come hold her, as though his skin on hers was blessed assurance that he was there and wanting.

Maybe Eren was mad— or, perhaps he was dreaming. If he was, he hoped he never came back to himself. A world without this was not a world he ever wanted to return to.

"Yes," she hissed as he crawled atop her, his mouth suckling at her breast. No other creature that walked the earth could ever taste as sweet as her— having tasted many, many before, Eren would know— but even were that to be disproved, Eren wasn't sure he would much care. This woman would be his undoing.

"Touch me," she demanded, canting her hips up to him. "I want to feel you."

How could Eren ever deny her? He brought a hand down to her sex, caressing her there before parting her folds to quest for her clit. Having found it, he drew small, teasing circles, and she whined.

"Am I still a monster to you?" he asked into the hollow of her throat, placing biting kisses there as his hand kept busy with its work. "Still something to hate and abhor?"

"You're still a monster," she replied, so startlingly honest even now, "But I never once hated you. Oh Eren, please, I want you inside me, I—"

Her wish was his command; Eren plunged two fingers into her depths, and (Y/N) gasped at the intrusion. She was so wet already, and so tempting as she squeezed down on those fingers, rocking her hips as he withdrew them just to the tip and repeated the motion. The way she felt around his digits shouldn't have turned him on as much as it did, but as Eren slid in a third finger, he had to keep himself from letting out a groan.

"You're so beautiful," he told her as she writhed beneath him. "You truly, truly are."

Distantly, Eren wondered what Jean would think if he were alive to know who was finger-fucking his great-granddaughter, but when Eren remembered the nasty right hooks the taller man used to give him when he was being a shit, he figured that he would rather not know. Still, as he watched (Y/N) come undone on the tip of his fingers, he couldn't help but think that perhaps it was something of Jean's spirit— the part that even Eren had to admit was better, kinder, more human than most— that drew him to her.

"I want you," he said, withdrawing his hands and licking his fingers clean of her juices. "Do you feel ready enough?"

And then, as though to prove his point, (Y/N) sat straight up with the cutest little Jean-like scowl he had ever seen and pushed at his chest with no small amount of force. He went with the motion, and he found himself being mounted by her as she said,

"I'm not made of glass— if you can't wrap your head around that, I'll have to show you just what I'm capable of."

She did— and how! Powerful thighs— the thighs of a Hunter— levered her up and down on his cock, squeezing him until he thought he might die from it. He thought she was never going to stop impaling herself again and again, and by the time she did eventually tire, Eren was sort of hoping she never would. He was in ecstasy with her, and like the selfish bastard he was, he wanted it to last forever.

"Such fire," he said, reaching up to press kisses into the skin just between her breasts. "You've made your point, now let me take over."

Let me take care of you.

"Yes, yes, yes," she chanted as he thrust up into her, the head of his cock buried so deeply within her that he marveled at how she didn't seem to be feeling any discomfort. "Oh fuck, right there, please don't stop—"

Eren didn't stop; he couldn't. He was beyond restraint.

"May I?" He asked, tapping the wrist that was trapped in his right hand. "I won't take much, but I want to show you something."

Delirious, drunk with lust, (Y/N) nodded, and Eren pierced her skin with a single fang, letting a drop of blood fall onto his tongue. In that moment, as they connected physically, her blood connected them spiritually, and Eren groaned as he physically felt how close she was through the link he had created.

It wouldn't be long now.

"Oh, fuck!" she cried, and Eren buried himself as deeply as he could within her as he came. "Oh, oh, oh—"

And then (Y/N) was following him, shaking and gasping as her orgasm overtook her. It seemed that the world had stopped existing for a moment, and Eren found it hard to breathe even though he had no particular need to do so at all.

In the afterglow, they clung to each other like the survivors of a shipwreck; when the world began to exist again, it felt new, and as Eren closed his eyes to sleep, he knew that this changed everything.

I must keep her, he thought as sleep overtook him. I don't know if I could feel like this ever again for anyone else.

#aot x y/n #aot x reader #aot #aot fanfiction #eren x reader #vampire!eren jaeger #aot smut

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venusdeus · 3 years

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Court of Kings - Chapter 1

Summary: Sent to a neighboring kingdom to secure an alliance, forced to give up your dreams and ambitions, disregarded as a means to an end. You however have no desire to fulfil their wishes. And neither does Oikawa.

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x female reader

Genre: Fluff, comedy, angst, royalty au, arranged marriage au, enemies to lovers au (more like enemies to allies to friends to lovers), eventual smut?

Word count: 2700+

Warnings: All the characters are adults unless specified. This chapter is sfw. Minors do not interact.

Notes: Part 1 of a long series I’m planning to write. This is my first fic in this blog so I would greatly appreciate comments, follows and feedback!

Read Prologue first <...> Chapter 2

August 5th

The first messengers arrived when you were having afternoon tea with your literature instructor in the gardens of your summer residence, as your brother was practicing his sword skills not too far. A maid sent by your mother brought you the news of their negotiation a few hours later, accompanied by some of the strawberry macarons you loved so much.

If it were up to you, you would refuse such a ridiculous offer even before it was brought to your attention. Now that they had a male heir to the throne however, there was no use of a girl that had no claim to become the future ruler, other than being sent to create diplomatic relations now that you were over twenty summers.

“Where do you think they are from?” your brother asked as he tried to dust off his clothes, quite tired from following the orders of his practice partner all day long.

“I wouldn’t know, I didn’t see any flags with them.” you continued as he looked disappointed “But they were wearing blue, so at least we know it's not from the south.”

He nodded; his eyes wide with worry “I am glad they are not sending you there.”

“No one is sending me anywhere yet Hiro.” you answered quite annoyed, turning your head sharply to glare at the boy.

It was not his fault per see but him being recognized as the heir has left you in an awkward situation for the past twelve years. You loved your brother dearly, unlike the distant relationship you had with your parents. It was not because you had the ambition to rule the kingdom either. Of course, it was unfair as you were the firstborn, and if not for what was between your legs, you would also have been the one to inherit the crown.

Even if that was so, you simply did not find it in yourself to become a leader. You, however, did wish to be able to shape your own future. One that did not involve fulfilling the selfish wishes of others.

“It would be awfully lonely without you.” he sighed, instantly making you feel guilty for sounding a little bit too harsh.

Hiro looked incredibly small for his age, standing there with his shoulders slouched, fingers flicking, a skinny and sickly kid since the day he was born. He took after your father with his dark hair and almost pitch-black eyes, but with your mother's facial features, a contrast to your own looks that bore no resemblance to any of them, another reason for your alienation from the rest of the family.

“And it would be awfully quiet without you.” you teased “Maybe then I would be able to read in peace.”

Several footsteps coming behind you silenced you both before Hiro could retort, cutting the joyful air and replacing it with a heavy feeling.

Your mother was a beautiful woman that much was true, but in a different way to that of her kids. The Queen had extremely sharp features and her painted lips always supported a displeased frown. She acted as her title suggested, prim and proper, she fit her role perfectly.

Renowned for her charm when she was younger, she did not lose much to the ages if not for the wrinkles next to her keen eyes and the white threads on her hair. Likewise, she was as smart as she was alluring. Coming from a family that lost their wealth a long time ago even though they still supported titles, no one would even dream of her being second to the sole ruler of their beloved country. She was a success-driven woman, which made her a threat in the eyes of many in the court, thus she was not given the right to make a decision when it came to the education of the heirs she produced. Although affectionate towards her kids first, she had no say on the time she had with them, causing their family ties to weaken, and mostly spent her time with foreign ambassadors. A responsibility entrusted upon her by her husband.

“I see you received my message.” she declared not looking at you directly “We will talk more about this after our guests leave. For now, I want both of you to go to your rooms and stay there until dinner.”

You could sense the irritation in her voice. It was not for her kids, however, as you could see the dark circles under her eyes, a sign of her losing sleep for the past few days.

“Won’t we meet our guests?” Hiro questioned before you could.

“It is not needed as they are only messengers.” the Queen answered shortly before continuing her walk towards the main hall, her maids trailing behind. “I will see you two in an hour.”

Leaving your brother behind, you decided to head down towards the observatory. You knew that you would get an earful from your maids later for not changing your garments for the dinner, but your head was filled with too many questions and negative possibilities to care about dresses. It was not as if you did not know that this day would come. It even took longer than expected if all things considered. Most in your position would be engaged before they even stopped using diapers. It was a more political alliance than anything else, decided by the respective kingdoms and the advisors.

You even saw the letters that were exchanged since last year with multiple seals supporting different coat of arms. The council of your father must have declined the offers before this. Not for your sake, at least you didn’t think it was, but for not suiting their taste. It was a big deal for the princess of a country, whether being the heir or not, to marry someone as it reassured the ties you would create.

The only positive thing that happened so far was the fact that you would not be sent to the south. The Southern Kingdom was placed across the sea and was an important trade partner to your own.

It was a wealthy country for sure, but also too grim and the people too wild. Other than the traded goods it wasn’t a traveller-friendly country. They kept to themselves and even though the only thing that separated the two port kingdoms was a narrow sea, they had a vastly different culture. These differences resulted in legends and the rumors about the country becoming more and more outrageous over time.

They called their men barbaric, only interested in hunt and the art of war. Their women proclaimed witches, quite beautiful unlike the stereotype, but worshippers of a different God. All just foolish rumors said your history instructor. He was a wise man that travelled a lot when he was younger and according to him these tales were nonsense. Their folk did not originate there but immigrated over a few centuries ago. He taught you that the people of the Southern Kingdom were that of culture and arts. They just did not like intruders. His words didn’t ease your or Hiro’s heart however as you were fed these tales since you were younger.

If you could find a way to escape from this responsibility you would. Yet, since the first time you sensed what was going on you were looking for an answer, just to be disappointed every time.

The dinner was cold and tasteless even though it was made from the best ingredients one could manage to find. “The lady that makes them must hate her occupation with a passion” claimed your brother when you were dismissed “I can’t understand how mother likes it.”

Once again, the King did not join you at the table. It was always the same excuse, politics, responsibilities. But you knew better. You knew why your parents did not share a bed anymore and you could see the looks women of the court gave to your father. It was not because the King was a good-looking man, quite the opposite in fact, but power attracted people.

You were fully grown now and even when you were younger, you knew what these actions indicated. You even had the most unfortunate memory of seeing one of them, who was not much older than you, leaving your father's chamber looking quite flushed. You would have not cared if only the woman did not give you a curtsy while supporting a smirk.

Lady Winna was her real name, daughter of a lord that was close to the King, nicknamed Lady Whore by you. And most of the time, she was the reason your father would skip the meals altogether only to receive a feast in his room later that night. Which was why you knew that you should never hope for a love match. If lucky you could maybe be friends with your future partner.

“She does not hate her job, she hates her life” you replied “Not that it would matter, she will leave soon. I heard she was pregnant with a lord’s child. A married one on top of that.”

Hiro gasped “What if someone were to hear you talking about these rumors” he exclaimed hitting your arm quite forcefully “you could be punished.”

“Don’t act as if you never say such stuff you little bridge troll. I know how you talk behind your instructors.” you mused rubbing the pain off. “And who will punish a princess I ask you? If not for mother or father?”

“Do I need to know what I should punish you for?”

Both you and Hiro jumped at the unexpected voice of the Queen, a gasp leaving your mouths. She was holding a box in her hand and her face was supporting a rare, serene expression.

“Nothing of importance.” replied Hiro quickly “We were just afraid of falling behind our studies.”

The Queen did not seem convinced as her eyes narrowed, but she had a small genuine smile on. “I see. Why don’t you go on ahead and start your nightly studies then? I need to talk to your sister privately in the meantime.”

Hiro let out a snort that he tried to cover with a cough. You are in trouble he mouthed before bowing to your mother and disappearing through the corridor.

“I would like you to know I was just repeating what the ladies in the court were saying. Not that I believe the rumors of course, it is quite indecent.” you tried to explain quickly but the Queen cut you with a shake of her head.

“That is not why I wanted to talk to you dear. It is however quite incident for a lady to talk that way you are right.” she sighed “Why don’t we talk in my study?”

You knew what was coming now, after all you could not remember the last time you had a conversation with your mother alone, the relaxed expression on her face, however, gave you hope. Maybe, you thought, they decided it was not time yet. Or maybe they did not like the offers that came through.

“Close the door, will you?” she asked walking towards the desk that stood before the bookshelves that covered the walls.

“Where are your attendants?” you questioned as you followed her inside “Is there something wrong?”

“I thought you would be more comfortable if it were just the two of us that’s all. I need to show you something.” She answered motioning towards the box she was holding. “It came this morning. For you of course. Go on, open it.”

The box itself was made from heavy oak, painted black with a family crest carved on top of it. The symbol looked familiar enough, but you could not concentrate enough to remember where you knew it from over the heavy beating of your heart. Opening it cautiously you took a sharp breath between your teeth, observing the contents.

Inside stood a tiara that was made from white gems shaped in intricate designs that you have not encountered before and in the middle stood an icy blue diamond so big that you could have sworn it must have cost the yearly earnings of a whole country.

“Not a ring.” You stated matter of factly “A very bold choice for a gift.”

“Indeed. But you cannot expect less from Seijoh.” Your mother replied with a cautious voice, almost as if she was calculating your reaction.

“Seijoh…” the box cluttered on the table as you let go of it abruptly “You are sending me up north? We waged war against them for years! Even before my grandfather! And now you are sending me there?”

You knew the country itself was wealthy enough and that it had a strong military presence. They had many allies within the countries that bordered yours as well. But they also claimed right on your countries throne by sighting territorial dispute as well as a marriage between the two countries that produced no heir.

Now they were sending you there as a scapegoat. To secure his claim to the throne. And maybe even to theirs. An eye for an eye.

It took another week for your father to send a response and invite the Crown Prince and the King of Seijoh for a short visit before the decision was finalized and another two for them to arrive on the outskirts of your kingdom with their entourage behind.

As you sat in your suite biting your nails and waiting for their arrival, your maids were going in and out with different dresses in their hands looking for your approval. You on the other hand did not have the mental energy to entertain their ideas. It was bad enough that you had to attend a ball given in their honor that very evening, but you also had to be in the throne room soon enough to welcome them into the castle. Not to mention this would be the first time that you were to meet your possible future husband.

You heard of him before of course. How could you not when his reputation preceded him? A very cunning and ambitious young man, yet it was his looks that brought the most gossip. You heard his name whispered among the staff when they did not know you were listening and heard the ladies giggle when they mentioned the time that they spent in their court, with him.

It was enough to leave a sour taste in your mouth. Was it too much to ask that your future partner was a man of intelligence and few words? At least you would know that you could get along with him then. But a sharp and striking Casanova? They had to be jesting. That was the only possible explanation for this mockery.

As if your fathers’ ridiculous behaviors wasn’t enough now you had to entertain another man like him. It was pretty common for monarchs to take on other lovers, but you would not be embarrassed by a man you did not know in your own house, husband or not.

When you finally entered the throne room you could hear the commotion outside caused by non-other than the infamous man that was plaguing your thoughts for the past week. Your mother motioned you to hurry and take your place with a sudden turn of her chin just before the doors opened.

The rumors did not do him justice you thought as he strutted towards you and your family, your breath caught in your throat.

Oikawa Tooru was without a doubt the most beautiful man you ever laid eyes on.

He was beautiful alright.

And with his charming eyes staring straight at your own and his delicate hands placed on his sword, he looked ready to murder.

It might look like a filler episode, but I needed to give background and I love to build anticipation. Sorry not sorry? Reblogs are appreciated! And also this was not edited I posted it right after writing it so if you see any mistake let me know.

Disclaimer: No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without permission. I do not own the character of Oikawa Tooru. This is a work of fiction.

TAG LIST: Let me know if you want me to tag you.

@triskoof @sassyglassesbunny @m-a-r-i-a-s-b-l-o-g

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bxebxee · 4 years

Text

What I have to say: This is really not what I typically write, but please allow me my self-indulgence. Also, I am rusty and unpracticed, but this made me happy to write.

What this is: Yoongi has gone through twenty-seven phone numbers over the last ten years, and you haven’t changed yours since high school.

What this wants to be: Romance

What this warrants: Rated R for Rotten Relationships (and other things)

You hold your sister’s new baby reverently. The baby is so small, and you’re scared that your bad morals would somehow seep into the skin through contact diffusion.

“I feel like I’m already the irresponsible aunt,” you whisper, shooting your sister a terrified look. The baby isn’t even sleeping, but what if your bellowing voice would upset him. “Are you sure-”

“Yes,” she says firmly, “You’ll be a good godparent. There’s literally nothing to do except spoil your nephew every now and again.” She pauses, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “Unless we die. Then I guess you’d have to be more of a parental figure...”

You and your brother-in-law interject at the same time in a cacophony of protest.

“Okay, we are not dying,” he sighs as your octave increases by a half-step, “Please do not say that as I hold your offspring in my arms. I can’t feel them by the way. Seokjin, can you take him? I don’t want to drop him.”

Seokjin takes the baby, and you feel bereft of warmth. It’s a weird feeling to note that considering your firm No Babies Policy. You miss the baby already. This is witchcraft.

“It’s just a fucking hypothetical, relax,” your sister laughs, her eyes softening considerably as she sees Seokjin coo over his son.

“If our baby’s first word is ‘fuck’ I am not taking responsibility,” Seokjin says mildly, eyes never leaving his baby. You don’t really blame him.

“And you’re not blaming me either. I’ve been good,” you say.

“Oh please, everyone curses younger these days anyway. I’d rather my son know than not know, you know?”

“You’re pushing it,” Seokjin warns.

“You’re such a dad,” she scoffs.

“And you like it,” he counters.

“Yeah,” she admits. “Yeah, I do.”

You check your phone for the time, and it’s thirty minutes before the official start of the baby gathering. Time for you to leave.

“Hey, it was good to see you guys. And the baby,” you tell them, hugging both lightly so as not to disturb the tenderness of the moment. Bear hugs were for a different day. “I have to head out, but I’ll come visit a lot, okay? I’ll even babysit. For free.”

“Not staying for lunch?” your sister asks, looking very sad and disappointed, but you steel your heart. The two of you have inherited your mother’s knack of guilt-inducing looks, and you’re not about to fall for it.

“Not today, no.”

Seokjin nods, bidding you to take care. He knows why you want to leave before the crowd gets too heavy.

Unfortunately for you, cosmic luck was not on your side because as soon as the front door shuts behind you, the elevator dings and Yoongi steps out, clad head to toe in celebrity black and holding five Burberry shopping bags. There’s no one around, so you don’t particularly feel the need to stand on the niceties of greetings and choose instead to brush past him in favor of the elevator.

“And hello to you too.” he remarks sarcastically.

“Go to hell,” you reply, wishing that you didn’t have to be in a close fucking hallway because you could smell his cologne.

“Oh come on-”

You press on the close door button rapidly, and the doors shut out Yoongi with a soft, muted click.

Twelve hours later, you get a text from an unknown number. Coward is all it said. You stare at your phone screen in bed, seeing typing bubbles start and stop and start and stop. Mister Unknown Number finally settles on silence because nothing follows after the one-word epithet.

It feels like a dare.

Yoongi finally puts his phone down. You were too smart and too self-respecting to try this all over again with him, and he wants to kick himself for ever thinking that goading you would work when you were clearly over him-

His phone vibrates intensely and consistently. You’re calling him.

“Hello,” Yoongi says, picking up the phone after just a single ring. Desperate, to be sure, but he wasn’t positive you’d wait for five rings anyway.

“You changed your number again,” you say without preamble.

“I’ve actually had this number for two years now,” Yoongi says. “Been getting hacked less and less. Guess you never saved the number.”

“Why would I?” you ask, petulance peppering every syllable of your words.

“Why didn’t you stay for the luncheon?” he asks instead of answering your question.

“And sit in a room with you for a couple of hours pretending everything’s normal? No thanks,” you scoff. “And luncheon? Really?”

“You missed out on the shrimp toast.”

“I think I’ll live.”

“So why’d you call?”

You could take the easy way out. Save your pride and your face, and pretend that you still don’t carry a torch for Yoongi. You could lie and say you just wanted to call and make sure it really was him. But you were always a glutton for pain, and he was all too happy to oblige to your needs.

“You wanna come over?” you offer, not feeling an ounce of trepidation that he’d reject you. Yoongi always came when you asked.

“Where do you live?”

“It’s the same place as last time.” It’s a test. Let’s see if he even remembers my address-

“Be there in thirty.”

He’s late by a few minutes, but Yoongi explains through interrupted kisses and hasty undressing that there was traffic, and he showered-

“You could have showered here, you know,” you mutter, pawing at his dick and biting down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Yoongi always like a little pain.

“I’ll shower here after.” (After he fucked you at least twice, minimum. After he got to see you naked and temporarily his. After he was somewhat satisfied but much too sweaty for sleep.)

And then it’s No Talking Time for a short while because he has your face occupied with inhaling scant oxygen against the mattress while his own head was buried between your asscheeks and legs, lapping and sucking at you like he had something to prove. Could this count as some form of asphyxiation? Probably. You don’t expect his mouth to make you feel close to losing control. The act had always unnerved you, but you found yourself uncaring of past discomforts and losing yourself into the feeling of soft, insistent lips.

Yoongi eats you out with soft grunts, hands holding your thighs apart and firm. Don’t move, his hands say. His tongue up your cunt isn’t any sort of giving on Yoongi’s part; this was all selfish. He wants you to cum and feel starstruck and ruined, wants you to get it through your head that your flesh craved his flesh in the same animalistic way he needed you.

You turn your head around just enough to be able to get out, “You can sto-”

But he silences you with a warning slap on the ass. You are not to be deterred.

“Stop with the tongue,” you order.

“You’re insane,” he hisses, pulling away and shamelessly licking his lips. “You can’t ever just let me-”

“Put it in now,” you demand.

Yoongi lets out a terse sigh. “I should just leave right now,” he grumbles, getting up on his knees to rub his dick against you and nudges the head on your opening. “I shouldn’t be here.” He presses inside at “here” and wrenches a moan from your lips.

“Then leave,” you sigh, pressing your ass back against him, relishing in the feeling of being filled again by Yoongi. “Just go home and jerk off instead. That’s what you’re good at, right? Leaving me?”

“You’re a bitch for bringing that up during sex,” Yoongi says, fucking into you steadily and slowly, resisting the urge to pound into you like his baser instincts demanded. He was going to enjoy you for as long as he wanted. He knew you wanted it rough and bordering on violent, but he wasn’t going to add more ammo to your already large arsenal of Reasons To Hate Min Yoongi.

Yoongi leans over completely, letting his torso lay flush against your back, unbothered by your sweat as it mixed with his own. You were going to feel every last inch of him inside and out. He pumps in and out slowly, sucking on your neck and breathing into your hair with audible moans of enjoyment.

“I’m not leaving,” he groans, reaching over to rub your lower stomach gently, as if comforting you. The intimacy of this wasn’t lost on you, but you can’t find the words to tell him off. You missed his heat and the familiar weight. You are only human, after all.

Yoongi threads his fingers through your unkempt hair, stroking gently before balling his fists into a pronounced grip. He turns your head to the side and kisses you, your neck straining from the awkward, uncomfortable position. But it reminds you of the beginning - of the before times when things were easier in the shadows of his success and unavailability.

It’s impossible not to feel things when he fucks you this way, and kisses you, and moans soft nothings into your ear like you’re the only woman he’s ever done this with. You are atrocious at protecting your heart, and even after two years of icing him out, Yoongi barges into you like it’s nothing.

“Don’t stop,” you moan, heart thumping against your chest. You really, really can’t stand to want him so much.

“I won’t,” Yoongi reassures, kissing the corner of your eye. He doesn’t speed up, and instead chooses to test the limits of your patience with languorous but firm strokes. “Not until you tell me to.”

There was nothing that compared to this - not heated fucks with attractive strangers, or money, or getting crossfaded by the Han River. When Yoongi did this to you, you almost felt like he loved you.

Yoongi sleeps silently besides you in the sunlight, completely worn out after an emotionally exhausting round of sex that made him cry when he came inside you. He’s usually sensitive to the light, but he’s out cold and completely drained. You hadn’t expected that part - the crying. You thought it was just sweat until you heard rattling breaths and a hiccup.

You watch him breathe silently from your place in his arms, unwilling to leave the small cocoon of warmth. You’re the opposite of him, and right now, you’re wired. You’ll probably end up crashing sometime later in the day, but for right now, you’re content to just watch him sleep in your bed, on your pillows, smelling like your body wash.

You’re too old to be scared, and yet this moment fills you with dread; that once the spell of sex and yearning was broken, everything would tilt back to its regular axis, and you’d be all alone again. If you were younger, you might have up and left already. Leave him before he leaves you. And it’s not like you haven’t done that before. Your entire relationship with Yoongi is always filled with one person leaving behind the other one because nothing about the two of you ever lined up properly.

But this time, you’re too tired to run away. So you close your eyes and pretend to sleep until it finally comes to claim you.

#bxebxee comeback season #lol jk #drafts #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #yes its vague #yes it can be about anyone #but i just have a lot of thoughts and feelings and maybe i'll have another part

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magalidragon · 3 years

Note

Hello! How about 14 in your recent "love in the eyes" universe? Have an amazing day!

Oooh a new universe! 🙌🏻 I tried to make this smutty but it turned out a bit sweet lol. I love these beans! 🥰 Moodboard to come!

14. “Later you will definitely need to tell me where you learned this.”

Love in a pandemic was interesting, to say the least. It was the whole "are you tested" but in a completely different way. Regardless, the answer was "yes" on both accounts, for the both of them, which was how Dany found herself spending the very limited amount of time she had off from twenty-hour shifts at a rural hospital dealing with massive outbreaks and super-spreader events in an area that already had limited healthcare to begin with, hanging out in her extended stay studio not resting up for the next shift, but eagerly awaiting a 'date' of takeout food on rotation of the only three local restaurants that had switched to takeout, and watching movies with one very attractive Westeros Military Captain, who also had limited amounts of time off.

They only had time off three times, where their schedules could align, and honestly she was so exhausted when she finished, she just wanted to sleep for hours. Jon was in the same boat, so-to-speak, until one afternoon her phone rang, after she had just discharged several elderly patients who had come off the tube, their tests negative, and excited to say that they had survived a pandemic, along with all the other chaos that went on Beyond the Wall.

So she was in a really good mood, answering excitedly. "Jon!"

"Do you have plans tonight?"

"Depends, what do you have in mind?" She caught sight of one of the Northern nurses, Kari, who rolled her eyes at her and smirked, knowing full well she was on the phone with 'The Handsome Crow', as the 'wildings' up North referred to Jon's regiment.

"I'm thinking of a place with no masks."

"Oooh, talk dirty to me," she teased.

He laughed. "I'll pick you up at your place. Leave hte dragon behind, aye?"

She mocked his accent back to him, gruff and rolling. "Aye, aye Captain!"

That had been hours ago. Shift ended, she rushed to the studio extended stay, showered, brushed her teeth, quickly shaved her legs, shimmied into the only matching pair of panties and bras she brought with her-- and the panties were also not her comfy cotton briefs she wore under her scrubs but the only truly 'sexy' pair-- a red bikini set-- even if the bra was also cotton and not lacy silk and satin. It would have to do, and honestly, she was probably reading too much into the sudden date that was different.

But no, she did not.

Because while dating in a pandemic was weird-- flirting without even seeing his face had been surreal-- it was still dating and some rules still continued to apply. Like the fact they'd been on three dates, had even fallen asleep on her bed together, but all he'd done was chastely kiss her goodnight when he woke up-- to her disappointment-- it was still three dates in, which meant naked time was now officially on the table.

And she had been itching to see his face that entire five hour flight to find out if the rest of it was as attractive as his soulful gray eyes, his messy curly hair, and the strong body she could see hiding not so much under his drab black fatigues. How right she had been and also how wrong. The moment he pulled off his mask, she felt every nerve ending light off like fireworks, his jaw chiseled, covered in dark scruff, and his lips full and pink, shyly smiling over a set of white teeth that were adorably crooked in the front. It all fit, every bit of him, and she hoped that she had been the same delightful surprise to him too.

Jon picked her up on time-- quite punctual, he was a military man after all-- drove her from the hotel on their first outing and even as she asked him where they were going ,he said it was a surprise and ended up taking her pretty far out to Hardhome, where he surprised her with a dinner at a dockside restaurant, just the two of them, a favor that his friend Tormund had called in for him.

It was wonderful to actually eat out for once, like a proper human being, and then he surprised her further by indicating that maybe if she were so inclined... "Would you...do you want to go back...I got a hotel room," he blurted out.

"You mean not the dingy studio with the brick mattress and scratchy sheets and comforter of unknown origins?" she demanded.

"Um...it's an inn...supposed to be nice."

She'd kissed him immediately, sighing. "Take me there Jon Snow, I beg of you."

They'd sped through the mostly deserted town to the inn, barely got within the door of what she quickly surmised was a quaint log-cabin decor style with flannel sheets and a roaring fireplace, and...yowza.

Their first kiss had been sweet, on their second "date", when he left her to return back to the makeshift barracks he had been staying in near the hospital. They had been nervous about it, shifting on feet as she didn't want him to go quite yet, but he had a curfew. "Need to set an example, I'm the boss," he sighed, clearly annoyed by it.

"Well alright then...talk to you tomorrow?" She asked him hopefully, and he nodded, and then smiled, shifting and moving in towards her, and she grinned, accepting his kiss gently. It had been tentative, both of them a little nervous, and sure-- they were both anticipating getting sick most likely, since they were in and around everyone with the virus-- except she figured she would risk it.

It had begun soft, lips gentle, rather close mouthed. Then it became something else, his hand cupping her head and she grabbed at his shirt, opening her mouth under his, moaning when his tongue prodded for entry and she gave willingly, tasting the beer they’d had and his mint toothpaste and the barest hint of synthetic nicotine. She needed him, groaning and grappling as he stroked his hands over her face. So hot, she thought, not realizing how that felt until he was holding her upright by just her jaw.

Wanting nothing more to invite him back in, she reluctantly had said goodbye, her lips tingling, and his smile dopey when they parted. She waved, watched him leave, and counted down the seconds like a silly schoolgirl with her first crush until she could see him again.

And when she did, they'd kissed some more, like those dumb schoolkids they'd become, barely paying attention to the movie that had been playing, or their dinners growing cold on the table, but it hadn't gone beyond that; they were both exhausted, and to be honest, she wanted to wash her hair and maybe look a litlt enicer than the old college t-shirt and pink flannel pants she had on.

So now, well, now....sigh.

"Later you will definitely need to tell me where you learned that," she panted, staring up at the ceiling, catching her breath, her body shivering from aftershocks. She pressed her palm to her forehead, not at all surprised to find that she wasn't just hot because of her dragonblood, but because she was freaking sweating, like she'd run a marathon.

Beside her, he was in the same pose, laughter rumbling from his chest. "Do you really want to know?"

Since that might mean bringing up the other women who had been on the opposite end of those sinful lips, she shook her head, laughing as well. "Oh fuck no, but gods Jon Snow, who knew you had that talented set of lips underneath your mask? If I'd have known, I'd have jumped you on the plane."

A sly smile pulled over his teeth, those same pouty, now kiss-stung lips flushed from his exertions. "If I recall you did sort of proposition me?"

A tiny blush formed on her cheekbones, not that he noticed, as flushed as she already was. She turned on her side, propping her head on her hand, her other dancing over his smooth chest, where he grabbed it and brought her knuckles to his lips to kiss, their fingers threading together. "Well, I had to test a theory. I am a woman of science."

"What theory?"

"That you were into me." She lowered her lips to brush over his, grinning. It was his eyes; Doreah always told her that love came in the eyes. His had fallen more than once from hers to...other areas. Plus there was the pupil dilation, the intensity there, and the bit of sadness on the edges. It made her desperate to know more. "And turns out, you were."

He smirked, brushing his mouth over hers again, murmuring, "Hard to tell, those pesky masks."

"We figured it out." She settled her head in the crook of his shoulder, his arm draping over hers, knuckles idly running on her upper arm. She closed her eyes, savoring. It had been awhile, she was tingling and sore. It felt wonderful. The good exhaustion that she knew would lead to a good sleep.

Not that she wanted to sleep just yet.

Her finger pulled out of his grasp, tracing his mouth, whispering. "When do you have to be back at the barracks, Jon Snow?"

"Hmm....weekend pass, would you believe it?"

"Coincidentally, I have a day off."

"Whatever shall we do?"

She giggled, nuzzling her nose to his, whispering. "I have a few ideas. Most of which involve that mouth."

He snapped his teeth, wolfish, and pressed his palm to her cheek, pushing to cup her head, her braids tangling around his fingers. She kissed him, smiling so wide their teeth clacked, and devolved her into more giggles, as silly as that schoolgirl he made her feel like she happened to be. It was the happiest she'd been in a long time, that was for sure. He snorted, laughing when she blew a raspberry to his mouth instead of kissing him, and devolved into his own laughter, which she got the impression was quite a rarity with him.

They tusseled a bit, both trying to one-up the other, laughing and giggling, and soon her legs and arms were flying up, brain losing all control over herself as he tickled her and blew raspberries to her belly and chest. "Jon!" she squealed, pushing weakly on his arms. He had her pinned to the bed, and was merciless.

"Never," he replied, in response to her demands for him to stop, and she didn't fight him, both of them kissing again, and this time it wasn't so funny, the kisses becoming deeper, intense. He broke away from her lips and trailed off, her neck arching on the pillow, sighing, and hands falling into his riotous curls again.

She hummed, approving, and shook her head slightly. "Jon?"

"Hmm?"

He tilted his head up to peer at her, eyes black as coal. She traced her finger along his hairline, smiling gently. They'd known each other two weeks, but she was quite certain of how she felt. She nibbled her bottom lip, whispering. "This probably...probably isn't the right time but..." She took a deep breath; just say it Dany. Worst comes to worst, he runs away, and then what? Means it wasn't meant to be. She never took this type of leap, gun shy from previously failed relationships. She closed her eyes, about to speak, when his thumb pressed on her chin, tilting her face to his.

Eyes flickering, she saw he had risen up to lay beside her, intensely focused, and was guiding her face to his, thumb stroking her jaw. "What?" he whispered.

Love comes in the eyes, she thought, and whispered, "I think I love you."

There, she said it. Maybe it was the hormones, the heightened emotions of the time, the idea that tomorrow could be her last, for all she knew. They were working so hard and that was usually all she had, but now there was something bigger.

And to her surprise, he smiled, eyes crinkling, and it was the same look he gave her on the plane, when she first wondered who this cute guy happened to be, and what was his story. He whispered, in return, "I think I love you too."

Dany giggled, accepting his kiss, entwining her arms around his neck, and made a mental note to tell her brothers that the North might not be so bad after all.

Smutty One Liners

#jonerys #jonerys au #my fics #ask #smutty prompts #but this is not very smutty

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treestargarden · 3 years

Text

episode 4, “colorful girls” analysis

tw: child sexual abuse

this episode does not hold back.

first of all, momo is ace and non-binary. no i won’t be elaborating.

wonder killers’ dialogue:

next, the wonder killers absolutely say things that were important to the wonder girls’ irl trauma. this is from miwa’s wonder killer. she just had a conversation with momo where she revealed the hurtful things her mother said to her, like “why couldn’t you just take it” or “take it as a compliment, it means you’re cute.” it’s quite possible with this dialogue, that these were also things her abuser said to her quite often to make her believe simply by existing she was “asking for it.”

wonder eggs’ inner strengths:

its also possible that the wonder killers are... combinations of the wonder girls’ sources of trauma and not just 1 manifestation of 1 person, but rather all of the people connected to the trauma.

in response, miwa says this:

and added on “you got married, because you love each other” in the first few minutes of meeting her, i was not expecting this. up to this point, we have met a lot of wonder girls who are tired, exhausted, sad, lonely (excluding the 2 girls that ai and rika are trying to save right now). but, given the fact that she was vocal about her abuse, i’m certain this is exactly how miwa would respond in this situation.

even more poignant, is the fact momo simply listened to miwa’s protest while they were fighting the wonder killer. they agreed with her. i find it fascinating. i’m not sure what to do with this info yet, but i already like momo (partly bc i /know/ they’re non-binary, like... that’s a genderfuck if i ever saw one).

this next part really grabbed my attention, juxtaposed with miko and mako’s kill-assist. these girls are definitely not meant to seem helpless or meek or powerless. i really like that this show so far has been capturing the complexity of a “survivor’s” strength (again, quotes, because these girls are technically dead, but i don’t want to use the term “victim” because it implies they have no power).

they recognize when someone else is in need of help and they easily flip the switch from saved to savior. i’m in love with these girls so far. their characterization is complex, intriguing, and realistic at this point.

specifically with miwa, her “surrender” is not my interpretation at all. she specifically recognized that she did have some power in this situation to help momo, just as miko and mako had some power to assist ai. their approaches are entirely different, but that doesn’t make their courage, or the strength, wrong. i’m not angry at this characterization of miwa AT ALL. sometimes, the best way to avoid worse punishment is to give in, its just the fuckin reality of abuse. but it neither makes her weak, nor does it make the writers apologists.

they /specifically/ juxtaposed the girls because they wanted to show that they had different strengths for different reasons and that neither were entirely powerless. they did the best they could in this situation.

shit i love momo:

also, if you have read this far, this is why i think momo is non-binary:

i have a few... thoughts about momo’s trauma specifically that may relate to momo being non-binary.

1) momo’s wonder eggs r rape “survivors.” if my theory that the wonder eggs directly relate to the irl peoples trauma, then it would be plausible that momo’s trauma is some form of sexual trauma.

2) continuing with the sexual trauma thread, and also including momo’s flashback, it’s quite possible between them and now, that momo’s trauma occurred between these 2 points in time. this is inferred by the obvious change in appearance.

3) what could have “caused” (this isn’t to blame momo’s trauma on momo, but it’s the closest word i could think of on the spot for trading out my theories) momo’s trauma?

i have a few ideas: momo has the face of a boy, but used to wear girls clothing and sometimes momos voice fluctuates from sounding like a boy to sounding like a girl. momo could have been correctively raped either for being perceived as a femboy, trans woman, or a dyke.

additionally the corrective rape could have happened /after/ momo started wearing boys clothes and someone would have taken notice that momo sounded like a girl but looked boyish.

in either case, momo confessed to an unnamed second girl that wearing boys clothes is “simpler.” even if momo doesn’t necessarily like it, it seems momo feels forced to present as a boy. at this point, it can then be inferred the boys clothing is probably a coping mechanism to deal with the trauma (and now i feel that the issue happened when momo still dressed/presented as a girl).

HOWEVER, not once does momo ever explicitly say momo is a girl, feels like a girl, wishes momo was a girl. only momo’s presentation has been discussed at this point. in the screen shots i provided above, i feel like most people would say “i /am/ a girl.” i think that momo at least identifies with girlhood, but i don’t think momo is attached to the identity of “girl.”

and momo is ace/aro because all of these relationships we see momo in are very one-sided. when miwa tells momo she loves momo, momo replies with “thank you.” and when miwa asks if they can continue cuddling “until i disappear” we get a closeup on momo who looks forlorn and thoughtful, who simply says “sure.” a lot of momo’s interactions with girls giving momo sexual/romantic attraction feel empty.

on the other hand, we see momo’s interactions with the other 3 main characters at the end of this chapter as very emotional, light. it’s probably the /most/ lighthearted we have seen momo. momo is not getting unwanted attention—they’re all just gossiping and laughing.

when we see momo’s flashbacks with haruka, we notice that haruka hugs momo but momo does not reciprocate the touching.

again, these are just threads that im seeing and excitedly pull apart, some of my theories are half baked until i have more information. but for me it’s plainly obvious that momo is an ace non-binary person. i know the fandom has been... having heated discourse about “what is momo /really/.” and for some reason this is controversial? really weird to me.

it’s a complex issue because gender is complex. for those of you that are binary, remember that you feel very knowledgeable about your own gender, but being non-binary is an absolutely different experience all together. we aren’t some “third gender” bullshit. and i’m quite enjoying seeing binary folks be confused about momo because that’s what being non-binary feels like. i wake up every day wondering what today’s gender will be. welcome to my fuckin life.

neiru:

i find it fascinating her personality has taken a complete 180 turn regarding ai. if we remember, in the beginning of their relationship, neiru was specific that ai could only contact her if she wished to change who buys eggs when. but once neiru was admitted to the hospital, ai started texting and visiting her throughout her healing period.

initially i thought this was more of a “keep your friends closer, your enemies closer” scenario, but then i went back to the episode 2 ending:

at first, neiru forbade ai from texting her other than to make egg-buying arrangements. but neiru texted ai back with a thumbs up emoji. she isn’t being incredibly open, but given the development of her character so far, i think this is definitely her way of showing ai she trusts her and that neiru is opening up to her.

settings:

so at this point, its pretty obvious that the location of the main characters’ worlds are always the same and they are specifically tied to their links’ places of death.

neiru: unknown

ai: school

rika: gardens

momo: subway

from the other information we have gathered, its probably likely all of the links have died by suicide.

neiru: unknown. however, we do know that neiru claims she could have stopped it.

ai: a story of child sexual abuse/bullying. i’m not sure if koiko committed suicide because she was being molested or because of the bullying, but it could also be a combination of the 2

rika: rejection/fatphobia/eating disorder. chiemi committed suicide because of rika’s rejection based on fatphobia. chieme probably developed an eating disorder, evidenced by rika re-telling ai the day she visited chiemi’s funeral “she was skin and bones”.

momo: rejection/unknown. haruka expressed attraction to momo. it seems momo may have rejected that love and haruka felt suicide was the best way to resolve her inner conflict.

faults:

hmm at the same time, there are some hang-ups i have about this episode. a lot of these girls are so... love-starved, that even when a character shows the slightest bit of tenderness for them, they are quick to say “i love you!” miwa told momo she loved him, “even if i’ve only known you for a day” and this was juxtaposed by miko and mako telling rika and ai they loved them, too. there is something to be said about the attachment issues some of the wonder girls may have to people who help them resolve their trauma/healing.

extra:

#wonder egg priority #momoe sawaki #neiru #ai ohto #rika kawai #miko and mako #chiemi #haruka #koito

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jaxsteamblog · 3 years

Text

Cuddling for Warmth

Click here to read the entire fic on AO3

“I want to run away now.” Katara said.

The interview left them feeling raw. It wouldn’t air until the next day, and they debated where to go. Zuko doubted even his uncle would be pleased, and Katara wasn’t looking forward to anyone’s response from either Pole.

They were silent as they rode down the elevator. The talk show hadn’t taken them to some fancy lot, but instead sat them down in a sharply lit room with barely any furniture. Katara had kept very still in the canvas backed chair set for her, while Zuko talked with great animation.

Overall, she could barely remember anything.

Stepping out of the nondescript building, Katara shivered. Winter in Republic City was more wet than cold, but she could still feel the humming burn of the lights on her skin. On the awning above them, the fat clumps of falling snow were fingers flicking against the top of a drop. Flinching at the noise, Katara pulled the edges of her coat tighter around her.

After Zuko finished putting on his gloves, he put an arm around her.

“Cold Ice Queen?” He asked, kissing the top of her head lightly.

“Weren’t you hot in there?” Katara questioned.

“I’m very good at regulating my body temperature.” Zuko said and paused as Katara snorted. “But yes, I think the lights were particularly warm.”

Zuko tilted his head to look past the edge of the awning. Katara could feel the slate gray sky that stretched above them. With La in her veins, her bending could thread through the debris and water vapor hanging thousands of feet in the air. The weight of it just to dump clotted snowflakes over their heads.

She shivered again.

“I don’t think it’s going to let up.” Zuko remarked, rubbing Katara’s arm absently.

“Where should we go?” She asked.

“I’d say Ember Island, but that’s a bit too close to home.”

“Is there any place in the world far enough for that?”

Zuko paused and Katara glanced over at him.

“There might be one.” He said slowly. He then looked back at her with a small smile. “But we’ll have to do some pretending.”

“How did I not know about this?” Katara gasped. She then smacked Zuko’s shoulder. “How did you not tell me about this?”

“I’m telling you now!” He answered, laughter rippling through his words.

Katara gasped again, her hands holding tightly to the handles of the wheelchair.

The ice spiral resembled a bamboo shoot. That alone didn’t make it impressive; the miles of arid desert that surround it did.

“How is it not melting?” She asked quietly.

“Oh, it’s melting. The Avatar has to do regular upkeep and obviously Thuy hasn’t been here.” Zuko answered.

“Why not?”

“She’s not a fully realized Avatar. This takes spirit energy.”

“How do you know that?”

“Jinora.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“I can’t believe we’re going to miss our reservation.”

Katara clicked her tongue in annoyance but started pushing the wheelchair down the smooth walkway.

One of the many amenities of the Misty Palms Oasis were the purported healing spring spas. Zuko, unable to truly hide his scar, had heavily bandaged that side of his face and plunked himself into a wheelchair. He had a fake passport, of course, and Katara had only done some slight lying to keep her presence equally under wraps.

Not many were willing to deny the Water Tribe Queen access to healing water for a mysterious patient. One that required a different oasis, deep in the southern continent of the Earth Kingdom.

While they couldn’t sightsee, here was a privacy they couldn’t get elsewhere.

Zuko was mute while Katara checked in. A woman in a crisp green uniform was swift, showing them to their private room with barely a sound. The door closed and the AC unit kicked on, blowing cold air into the room just as Katara walked further in. On the other wall was a wide window, and Katara pulled back the curtain just enough to peer out.

She heard Zuko stand up, groaning as he stretched.

“Blazes this thing itches.” He muttered and Katara smiled.

The ochre sands that covered or inspired the equally sandy buildings felt warm. It was subdued where the South Pole, another desert, glared under the sunlight. Ice blue broke against her eyes, while the dunes spilled like honey.

The air conditioning curled over her flesh, raising trails of small bumps.

“I feel like those sand dunes.” Katara said, feeling Zuko standing behind her.

He collected her hair in his hands, lifting the heft of her thick curls up so he could kiss the back of her neck.

“You’re darker and much warmer.” He murmured.

She shivered.

The air conditioner ran continuously. With the curtains shut, there was no desert sun to fight back, and so the room quickly filled with frigid air. They burrowed under the downy blankets, finding each other in the subdued light.

All hotel blankets were snow white. Even here in the desert, with the ice tower slowly melting into blue-green pools, Katara could not escape the snow.

But, as Zuko’s body curled around hers, it wasn’t like she really wanted to.

“My birthday is coming up.” She said.

Zuko had returned to kissing her, on whatever bare spots he could find.

“I know.” He replied when she didn’t continue.

“Will you visit?”

“Of course.”

Katara sighed happily, her umber skin melting into his starlight body.

Sokka was right; they weren’t opposites because they never opposed each other. Emptiness meant to be filled, darkness meant to be illuminated, and pain meant to be loved.

“How do you like being in the Poles?” She questioned.

“I like it well enough when you’re there.” He said, jostling her so she turned.

When they kissed, Katara lost all hold of time. When they stopped, she continued.

“I wish you were more comfortable there.” She said.

“I’m more comfortable than you are in the Fire Nation.” He retorted.

“Hmm.”

“Hmmm?”

“I think I’d like to spend more time there.”

“Why?”

His tone was somewhere between surprise and disgust, but not at all suspicious.

“I want to know more about you.” Katara said.

“You already know everything about me.” Zuko replied.

“I don’t know about the war.” She countered.

“You know enough.” He said. He sounded sad and tired.

“I don’t know about the Eastern Air Temple.” She added.

“That’s…” Zuko drifted and Katara waited.

“Difficult.” He finished.

“I don’t know about your mother.”

“I don’t know about yours.”

He kissed her again, knowing her tenuous hold on time. He was distracting her, obviously, and his hands spread out the sand of her body over his.

When he stopped, the room was dark even outside of their snow white burrow.

Katara tossed back the blanket and propped herself up on one elbow. Looking down at Zuko, she saw how his ink black hair spilled over the white sheets. It resembled something abstract, or like the cards she saw in the psych department that made people see weird things.

Tilting her head, she looked for some subconscious imagery. As she searched, Zuko ran his slender fingers up and down her side. The heat escaped from the blanket and the air conditioning rushed in to fill the void. As his hands moved, he stirred up a current and Katara shivered.

“You have been awfully cold lately my love.” Zuko stated.

“Only when you leave me.” Katara said.

He placed his hand firmly on her lower back, and she lowered herself over him.

“I’ll keep you warm.” He said.

“Is that a promise?”

“It’s a vow.”

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43

#zutara #fanfiction #jax writes #modern au #the fic that prompts built #zutara month 2021

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pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

Ảγαπάω (νοσταλγία deleted chapter)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Ảγαπάω (agapáō): to treat with affection, be fond of, love; to be beloved; and also to show brotherly love (Ancient Greek)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This takes place exactly between chapter 28 and chapter 29, it was originally chapter 29 but I decided to make it a deleted/extra chapter instead. It centers on the relationship with the other sons of Ragnar, and Ivar and his boundaries, for lack of a better explanation.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: I love this chapter. It is a deleted one, but bc I feel like it doesn’t particularly bring anything new to the table, not bc I don’t think it’s important. It is, at least for me. The boundaries thing that is spoken of in this chapter is a favorite of mine.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter

You realized months ago Ivar has no respect for other people’s boundaries, and that includes yours, even when you give him a piece of your mind at every transgression and kick and scream all the way.

You realized months ago too that Ivar has so many boundaries of himself, that, hypocritically enough, no one is to disrespect or ignore. They usually revolve around his legs, his pain, his authority, his honor, his capabilities; and you have learned to live with them, even if you more than once find yourself threading those limits with a quickly beating heart.

And then there’s this very specific boundary you have realized weeks ago Ivar has. There’s this…ward around him, like a physical barrier that if you are to cross you find a completely different man looking back at you.

There’s something in the way he looks at you when you cross that imaginary boundary by leaning a little too close, by laying a hand on his arm, by lowering your voice and looking into his eyes. And that something is much more evident when he is the one to cross said barrier.

When he is the one to cross it, you notice, he does it so uncharacteristically braced for rejection that the sudden change in demeanor startles you every time. When he is the one to lean closer, when he is the one to put an uncertain but possessive hand on your knee, when it is his voice that lowers and his secrets that spill; there’s so much for you to see, and now, as he crosses that invisible barrier tonight, you realize something else.

Ivar leans so close you can feel his breaths caressing your bare neck as he speaks lowly, only for you to hear, but you cannot hear anything past your heart beating in your own head, and you cannot keep your eyes off his hand.

It rests open, unexpectedly vulnerable on the table. Fingers loose, palm facing upwards. As if it waits for the touch of yours.

You realize then truly how much power he has given you over himself, over his secrets, over the man past that invisible barrier.

So, with warmth spreading over your chest, you quieten thoughts of who you ought to be and reach confidently for his hand, trapping it with your own and delighting yourself in the way immediately, almost inevitably, his fingers close around yours.

He pulls back barely enough to meet your eyes, and does so with many questions written in his, but you offer him a one-shouldered shrug and a small smile.

There’s foolish and cursed hopes growing in your heart, painting a future you know you shouldn’t want, and know you cannot have. Hopes of finding warmth in this land of cold, of finding life and freedom surrounded by death and iron.

“I hope you know, brother, that you owe me for this.” Hvitserk calls out, startling you.

You turn around in your chair to find him entering the hall with two small bottles in one of his hands and a smile on his face. He falters when he looks at you and his brother, but decides only to widen his smile and send you a silent message with his warm eyes.

Still, Ivar leans back into his seat, barrier back in place and untouched, and motions for his brother to approach.

“You actually found it?” Ivar asks his brother, accepting the small bottle the other Viking gives him and looking at the foreign liquid.

“It wounds me that you thought I couldn’t.” Hvitserk points out, serving himself a cup of mead and sitting down in front of you.

Ivar says nothing, only sparing his brother a glance that seems to share a secret message between the two of them.

Then, he turns to you, and offers you the bottle.

“Rose wine.”

Your easy smile drops as shock fills you. A conversation in what feels like a lifetime ago, where you were babbling on about wines and whatever came to your mind.

Where you told him that your favorite was rose wine.

Your smile is tremulous as it returns to your lips, and you grasp the bottle with trembling fingers. You were gifted a crown, and though it remains one of the gifts that you’d never willingly part from, it still doesn’t mean as much as this.

A foolish, sentimental part of you wants to make a knot close your throat, wants to make your eyes sting with tears and…Gods, when was the last time you allowed yourself to feel safe enough to be soft like this?

“You remembered,” You whisper, almost to yourself, before lifting your eyes to his. The fact that a silver of uncertainty, of apprehension, shines in Ivar’s eyes makes your smile widen, your heart beat faster, “Thank you.”

He says nothing, a hand by his mouth hiding a smile of his own, and motions with a subtle movement of his head for you to pour yourself some.

You do, feeling strangely giddy. It’s been so long since you’ve had rose wine.

The dark-skinned girl shakes her head, the braids that have Sieghild’s mark on their tightness and finesse following the movement, and passes you the bottle.

“I do not want peace.” Galla growls, teeth bared in a way that makes you realize why the savage and bloodthirsty Anax of Sparta himself wants her as a wife.

You swallow the warm and sweet liquid, and ask, “What do you want then?”

“I want it all.”

You chuckle, “Don’t we all?”

Galla turns dark eyes to you in a side glance, and lifts the bottle in silent toast when you pass it back to her.

“And here I sit and drink with the one woman mad enough to actually achieve it all.”

You snort, rolling your eyes, “Oh, yes. Mighty Anassa of Attica, without an army, without lands.”

“With the love of one warrior you got yourself a kingdom,” The spy knocks her shoulder with yours, “If anyone is to believe in destiny, my friend, it’s you.”

“Fate.” You say, deadpan. When the throne is empty…“Is your Fate also woven by Gods you do not worship?” You ask bitterly, taking a long sip from the sweet wine.

“No matter which Gods lay claim on your soul, I’ll only say the world is lucky no man claims your heart. With a man’s love you got yourself a kingdom, but your love could build a man an empire.”

“Why should I build it for any man?” You tease, a sly smile on your lips. Your smile is secret, secret like that anger you’ve held inside your heart for so long, secret like that kiss you shared with that Ayyubid girl in the tent, secret like the dreams you’ve had of the woman with the red veil. The hunger inside of you, the restlessness, the ambition; none of that surprises you anymore. What surprises you is seeing it all bare in Galla’s eyes as well.

“Like I said,” She laughs, accepting the bottle and pointing with it to you, “The one woman mad enough to achieve it all.”

You offer your husband a taste from your own cup, and only smile in reluctantly fond exasperation as he mutters about it being to sweet.

Whatever it is you were to say is interrupted by the sure steps of Ubbe walking into the room, wiping his hands on the cloak he takes off, returning form probably spending a good part of the morning preparing for the trip back to Dublin.

He walks confidently to the table, touching Ivar’s head as he passes him by and nodding at Hvitserk, with you being the only one he greets with a proper good morning.

He stretches to take the rose wine bottle from Hvitserk’s hand.

“What’s this?” Ubbe asks, eyeing the bottle in his hand.

Hvitserk leans back on his chair, hands folded over his stomach.

“Our sister-…”

“Don’t call me that.” You interrupt, but the Prince only winks at you in response.

“Prefers wine, it seems.” Hvitserk finishes anyways.

“Yes, I noticed you don’t drink much mead,” Ubbe frowns, putting the bottle back on the table and taking a seat next to Hvitserk, stealing a small handful of hazelnuts as he does so. “Why?”

“Because she’s a lightweight.” Ivar replies for you, sly smile on his lips.

“I…am not!” You argue, but it is pointless.

“We have seen you drunk, don’t forget that,” Hvitserk smirks your way, ignoring your narrowed eyes, and adds pointedly, “Sister.”

Leaning back on your own chair, you tilt your head to the side and say,

“I wouldn’t mock the woman that saw you run in tears into her shop because you thought your cock was cursed, Prince Hvitserk.”

The Prince looks utterly betrayed, though an amused smile curves his lips, even as Ubbe chokes on his drink as he laughs.

“You what!?” Ubbe asks, voice hoarse as he hits at the center of his chest with his fist.

Ivar’s eyes look between you and his brother, but he betrays a mocking smile as well.

You take his hand and intertwine your fingers with his, before you lean closer to your husband and whisper in Greek, “He told us his cock was about to fall off.”

You startle a laugh out of Ivar, and he presses his brow to the crown of your head as his shoulders shake silently. You laugh alongside him, you can’t help it; the unburdened, young, free sound of his soft laughter by your ear warming you to your core.

The younger Prince drags a hand over his face, and explains in a sigh, “Thora saw me with some merchant thrall, and she said a lot of words,” He frowns, recalling, “I don’t remember most of them, but they sounded like curses.”

Ivar’s eyes narrow as he tries making sense of his brother’s logic.

“That…It doesn’t work like that,” His lips curve into a side smile, and brings your hand to his lips before offering, sharing a look with you, “If a woman shouting at you meant she was cursing you, trust me, brother, I’d know.”

It is not his words, though you respond to them with a smile and a shrug of acquiescence; but his gesture what stays with you, what makes you for a moment stop and think.

Past the electrifying warmth that courses through you every time you feel his lips on your skin even if it is just a kiss pressed over your fingers or the back of your hand; or the touch of his skin on yours, even if it is just careful fingers trailing up or down your back as he works on the laces of your dress; past the flutter of your foolish heart, past everything, you realize something.

Since he first brought you to his side, every gesture Ivar makes, especially when it comes to you, is deliberate, calculated. His hand holding onto yours when he announced to the people of Kattegat you would be married, a deliberate angling of his upper body towards you when he made the same announcement to his brothers.

But now, you realize, the simple but heavy gesture of lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to your fingers seems to come so naturally, so effortlessly for him.

It makes you think there’s more than one kind of walls for you to break or climb over. It makes you think you’ve crumbled many of those walls to dust without realizing.

“Doesn’t it scare you?” Hvitserk presses, eyes on his younger brother, “That she could?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” Ivar insists.

“So the rumors about her bewitching you…”

“Not this again.” You sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t try making us forget you believed Thora cursed your cock.” Ubbe chuckles, shaking his head as he once again imagines the sight of Hvitserk on a panic at the thought of having his prick cursed.

The younger Prince waves one of his arms as he starts arguing, and from the corner of your eye you see Ivar gesturing with his hand not on yours, interrupting his older brother. The sons of Ragnar continue discussing whatever it is that you can’t focus on, continue to share laughs at Hvitserk’s expense. And you put your hand joined with Ivar’s under your chin, and sigh, resisting the urge to press a kiss on his knuckles.

You allow yourself to bask in the strange, foreign, priceless familiarity of this, a small smile on your face and a thrill of something in your heart.

It is only when you are halfway to the shop that your smile trembles. It shouldn’t feel easy, familiar, this new life of yours. This place shouldn’t feel like home. Ivar shouldn’t be someone you can love.

Repeating to yourself like a mantra the arrangement you made on the first morning after your wedding helps you stomp down the bubble of panic that starts taking form inside of you.

You tell yourself this is only temporary, that it doesn’t matter what happens, that nothing matters until you are able to make your choice. You ignore the voice that whispers you are lying to yourself, twisting your own rules so you can put something as foolish as love over duty, even if only for a time, even if only for as long as you can remain in this world between worlds.

____

You are overseeing the shipments of tinctures and presses to be taken for the trip and any battle that may occur shortly after they cross the sea, when the eldest son of Ragnar in Kattegat approaches you, leaning his back and head down so he meets your eyes comfortably.

“Thank you for this,” He says, eyes switching for a moment to the thralls that are loading the crates onto the ships before returning to yours. Ubbe smiles, “Kattegat was missing a woman like you.”

Before you can reply the Prince straightens, and offers you his arm. You take it, and he walks with you away from the docks, towards the longhouse.

“Ivar told me of the pact you made,” Ubbe starts without prompting, and you turn to him, a frown on your brow, “On your first morning as husband and wife.”

“Please don’t tell me you once again think I’m planning on betraying him.”

“No,” He confesses, before a deep breath, “But I won’t return before my brothers move for Strepshire. We may not see each other again before Stithulf dies.”

“We may not see each other again.” You correct, realization dawning on you like a mist of cold. You stop walking, and drop the Prince’s arm, stepping back.

“It’s in the hands of the Gods.” He offers, a shrug of his shoulders.

“It always is.” You reply, hesitating only for a moment when Ubbe offers you his arm.

When you start walking again, you cannot shake off the dread, the finality, that comes with the realization that life as you know it might end in a matter of months, maybe weeks.

Ubbe clears his throat, drawing your attention to him. He offers, “I saw that Saxon fight, he is not easy to kill.”

“Much to his fortune.” You grumble without missing a beat. A voice in the back of your head tells you he meant to reassure you, to cheer you up. You refuse to listen to that voice, because that would imply many things you are not ready to face yet.

Ubbe looks at you from the corner of his eye, and offers a smile, “And the fortune of others.”

____

You stand at Ivar’s side as Ubbe departs for Dublin. The people start dissipating, and soon Ivar motions with his head, telling you to get moving.

The distinctive wail of a falcon brings your attention to the messenger, and you watch the bird take off from its place on a nearby roof towards the trees further north, past the walls. You follow it with your eyes, your heart telling you to chase after it, but you quieten that thought quickly.

“Messenger of Freyja.” Ivar states at your side, his eyes on the same animal.

Your lips tremble into a smile, “Symbols of Hermes, messenger of the Gods.”

“You told me of him.” He states, turning to you and trying to pinpoint the tale you told him of the God.

You shake your head, “He is the one that ventured into the Underworld to take its new Queen back to the living.”

“Your Goddess.”

“The one whose name we cannot speak,” You remind him with a small smile, before continuing, “He wandered to the realm of the dead with a message, with the task to set her free from King Hades.”

“And did he succeed?”

“We have spring, do we not?”

“And winter.” Ivar insists, to which you shrug.

“I suppose whether he succeeded or not, just like whether she had a choice or not, shall remain a mystery then.”

____

She’s a cuddly drunk, in case you were wondering. I’ll post the Ivar PoV of the first time the sons of Ragnar saw her tipsy soon, I hope.

Do you think this should have been a chapter in the main story? Idk, I wasn’t sure about keeping it in the main chapter thingy, which is why I changed it here, but idk.

As always, thank you so much for reading, I love you!!

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar #νοσταλγία masterlist

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let-me-love-you-loki · 3 years

Text

In a Day or Two-Ch. 32

Chapter 32

I took a deep breath as my mother tipped her chin up and practically stalked toward the doorway. It seemed like it was a night where I needed steady oxygen support, more than usual at least. My father shook his head, a faint indulgent smile on his face and his shoulders relaxed as he followed after my mother. He nodded toward Damon, gesturing for him to follow right behind.

My brother grinned and fell in behind him, walking backward so he could talk to Kenny and me. “Mom’s completely lost it,” he said, circling his finger around his temple. “It’s like she’s trying to run you off with all this stuff. That and make you feel really, really, really small.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. For a moment, the room spun around me. Caroline Hearst Walker was expertly skilled at one thing, and it was making people feel miniscule in her presence. If that was her goal, I didn’t want to put Kenny through it. I just wanted to run.

Kenny’s hand slipped into mine, his fingers threading in the spaces between my own. He tugged gently to turn my attention to him. “It’s okay,” he said, the words directed at me even as he looked at Damon. “I don’t scare that easy. And I know people way worse than your mother. Makes all this look like a studio apartment.”

“Dude,” Damon muttered, his dark eyes going wide with wonder, “you really are a badass.”

Before Kenny could respond, my mother’s voice practically roared through the hallway. “Don’t keep us waiting!” I rolled my eyes. She sounded like a hateful harpy, and it embarrassed me to no end.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, leaning against Kenny’s shoulder to hide my face. “She’s being more horrible than I imagined.”

Kenny pressed a kiss to the top of my head and squeezed my hand reassuringly. “I told you, koibito, I’ve faced more formidable foes than your mother. Plus, I have you with me.”

Damon snapped his fingers. “He’s a keeper, Sha-sha.”

***

By the time Kenny, Damon, and I walked into the dining room, my parents were already seated at the head and foot of the table. My mother sat on the edge of her seat, back stiff and straight. On the other end, my father sat comfortably in his chair, already looking exasperated by her behavior.

“You two,” my father said, gesturing to Kenny and I, “come sit by me.” He pointed to the chairs on his right and left. Kenny and I plopped down across the table from each other. I tried to breathe through my racing heart. Kenny looked perfectly at ease.

I envied him.

“You look happy,” my father said after a few moments of silence. He leaned toward me, his voice was too quiet for anyone else to hear. “He’s good for you, I think.”

I smiled, feeling more at ease now that he was here to buffer my mother’s blue blood insanity. “Kenny is… he’s everything I’ve never had the courage to want.”

My father sighed. “I blame your mother for that,” he mumbled. A breath later, he shook his head. “But I’m to blame too. This life is to blame.”

Noel appeared with a bottle of wine in her hand. She stepped smoothly up to the table at my mother’s right side and carefully poured a perfect glass. Mother sniffed, didn’t say thank you. Noel moved on, pouring one for Damon, then myself, and my father. Kenny saw her coming and smiled charmingly.

“I’ll have water, if that’s alright,” he requested. Noel faltered, her cheeks going pink. I watched her stutter and back away, turning to walk briskly to the kitchen.

She returned a moment later with a bottle of Perrier. She kept her eyes down as she filled his glass, leaving the half-full bottle on the table nearby. Once more, she disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a wide silver tray with five pristine china plates of salad. She placed them in front of us one by one, then sat out six small bowls of different kinds of dressing.

As she sat the plate in front of Kenny, he looked up with a grateful smile, pressed his hands together, and said “Itadakimasu.” Noel faltered again. He blushed a little. “Thank you.”

She nodded and then, without a word, she melted into the background.

I felt another spike of hatred for what my mother was doing. We’d had our disagreements before, and I loved my Momma, but my mother was a beast of an entirely different sort. She was too much.

My father leaned his forearms on the table as he picked at his salad. His head was tilted toward me. “I love your mother, Shaye,” he murmured, side-eyeing her at the far end of the table. “I married her because she understood what it was like to have the burden of a name that was New York royalty. But I wish I’d fought harder to get the two of you out of the city. I wanted to raise both of you upstate. To give you some sense of a normal life.”

“Damon, for God’s sake, act like you have some sense,” my mother snapped, pulling the two of us out of our conversation. I looked over to see my brother sitting cross legged in his chair, smirking. Something whispered that he was keeping her attention occupied and off Kenny and me.

I smiled across the table at Kenny, remembering the unusual existence that I’d had when I’d been in Japan with him. How happy I’d been beneath the stars and neon lights of Tokyo. How much I desperately wanted to go back.

“Normal life doesn’t seem to suit me,” I replied. “I’m more suited to a more… nomadic lifestyle, I think.”

My father glanced from me to Kenny. The two of them looked at each other for a long moment before one of them spoke. “You’re a unique gentleman, Kenny. Those matches with Okada… those were impressive.” My father leaned toward him, smiling openly. “You show a lot of heart and passion. Do you like what you do?”

Kenny smiled in return, although I could tell he was trying to look humble. “Yes, sir. At one point, I was training for the NHL. Then a family friend introduced me to wrestling. I was good at it. I loved it, and I still do.”

“Why Japan?” The salads disappeared. Bowls of soup took their place. I felt my body relax at the scent of potato, onion, and thick creamy broth.

Unconsciously, my eyes caught Kenny’s. I knew this story, the why and how of his decision to move to Japan. Pain flashed over his face as he thought back over the years before me. An image of warm almond eyes and shaggy mahogany hair floated to the forefront of my mind. It triggered an ache deep behind my ribs. For a moment, I thought I was going to puke.

“Japan takes wrestling very seriously. Not that people here don’t, but it is much more of a competitive sport and true theatrical storytelling there,” Kenny replied slowly, as if he were choosing his words carefully. “The best in the world compete there. I knew if I wanted to be the best, I had to compete against the best. So that’s where I went. I’ve been—I don’t know if I’d say lucky—rewarded let’s say for the work I’ve put in. And I’ve made some very, very good friends.”

Conversation died out for a while after that. My mother sat like ice at the foot of the table, alternately glaring at Kenny, my father, and then me. She hardly touched her food. I did my best to ignore her. And, when the silence became too much, I asked Damon about school. Suffice it to say, he had incredibly strong opinions about being shipped off to a boarding school in Norway.

The soup was replaced by a grilled chicken and braised vegetable entrée, then a vanilla bean ice cream with crystalized pineapples and chocolate sauce. Not long after the dessert was set in front of us, my father grinned.

“Welcome to the family, Kenny,” he said enthusiastically. “Whenever you’re in New York, you have a place to stay. Your friends, too. We’ve got plenty of room.”

“We most certainly do not,” my mother shrieked from the other end of the table. “How can you say such a thing, Jeremy? There is nothing about this boy that is appropriate for this family! And I don’t want the rest of those amateur ruffians in my house!”

The room got quiet. So still I swore I could hear it if a feather dropped. I wished I could take Kenny’s hand. That we could run out of here and never come back. I was absolutely certain that I was about to throw up everything I’d just eaten.

“The only thing inappropriate right now is your behavior, Caroline,” my father spit back. He took a sharp breath and turned his attention to me. “You’re a grown woman, Shaye. Your life is whatever you want it to be. And if Kenny is what you want, then take it. I will support you in any choice that you make.”

My mother shot out of her seat, scowling. “You might as well pack her bags for her, Jeremy. She’s going to go right back to Japan with him and act like she has no sense of her family responsibilities.”

“Maybe,” he replied. “But at least I can assure that she’ll come home every once in a while. If you have your way, she’ll leave and we’ll never see her again. And that’s the end of it.”

Damon clapped and whooped. “Go Dad!”

“Shut up, Damon,” my mother and I exclaimed together.

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