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dawninlatin · 1 year

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Can I have a sketch with Manorian where Manon is pregnant and Dorian is taking care of her??😭 I love these vanilla

Hiii anon🌞

By sketch, I sincerely hope you mean drabble, bc I absolutely cannot draw🫣 I can write tho, so I hope you enjoy this teensy tinsy snippet since I’m currently on vacation in Copenhagen without my laptop😌 (yes i’m just typing on my phone so pls forgive all errors lmao)

Hi this is me again two days later, at home with my laptop:) As usual what started out as a drabble turned into a whole-ass fic, but I hope you still enjoy it:):) Also I've never been pregnant (and thank god for that) so I take no responsibility for any inaccuracies....

~~~

Manorian one shot, canonverse, 1,5k words

Manon slowly opened her eyes, squinting at the morning sun shining through the curtains. She wasn’t sure what had woken her up this time, but the sunlight meant she’d gotten a few hours of sleep, at least.

With a sigh, she tried to get comfortable, even if that was impossible these days. Next to her, a still-asleep Dorian shifted, throwing an arm over her middle and snuggling close.

He mumbled something Manon couldn’t make sense of, but she just shoved at him, hissing «Don’t touch me.»

«I just wanna cuddle,» he murmured, his lips caressing her neck in a way that usually would have had Manon wanting and ready.

Instead, she let out a huff, and gave a weak attempt at swatting him away once more, when he didn't move. Manon was usually strong enough to just push him away from her, but right now she couldn't find the energy to bother.

«Just cuddling is what got us in this situation in the first place.» Manon looked at her round belly as she spoke, the thing so big she resembled a beached whale. She couldn’t fathom how she still had a month and a half left to get even bigger.

Safe to say, Manon wasn’t particularly enjoying pregnancy. In fact, she hated it, and couldn’t wait for it to be over so she could have their witchling and her body back.

She was nothing like the insufferable ladies at court, though, who only spoke in hushed voices about avoiding strechmarks and staying tight down thereso that Dorian would still desire her.

Yes, she missed sleeping comfortably and moving freely, but in the end, the only thing that mattered was that their witchling was born alive and healthy.

And her current state did nothing to quell Dorian’s desire, it seemed, given by the stiff cock pressing against her thigh at the moment.

That’s his problem to deal with, Manon thought grumpily as she once more pushed his shoulder.

There had been a few months in the middle of her pregnancy, after she’d stopped puking all day and night but before the constant fatigue and body aches, where she’d been insatiable, jumping Dorian at any opportunity, but sex these days required too much moving on her part, so their couplings were few and far between.

«Dorian, move. I’m too warm and clammy for cuddling.» It sounded more like a whine than she’d like, but whining seemed to be her default mode for communicating lately.

Manon also really had to pee, but she always really had to pee, so the heat was the most unbearable at the moment.

They had arrived in Rifthold three days ago for the King’s upcoming birthday celebration, but given that Dorian had been born in the middle of summer, it had been three days of bright sun, no wind and a much too high temperature.

Already, Manon longed to return to the Witch Kingdom. Yes, it may be summer there as well, but it’s location on the western coast of Erilea meant a constant, cooling wind blowing in from the vast ocean. She would give anything right now to feel that wind on her face.

The plan had been to stay for two weeks to attend the royal birthday celebration, and then return to the Witch Kingdom together, where they would remain until well after their witchling was born, but Manon’s hips and pelvis had been aching for days now, the pain only increasing, and she wasn’t sure she could make the trip back to the Wastes if it got much worse. The mere possibility filled her with anxiety.

They had discussed this long ago, how important it was to Manon that their child was born in the Witch Kingdom. Both because she wanted the comfort of being surrounded by her own, but also because while the curse had been lifted, witches were still wary of giving birth on the previously barren land, fearing it would lead to a stillborn witchling, so if their heir was born on foreign soil, it would send the wrong kind of message.

Manon couldn’t lie still for a moment longer, so she gave the still-sleeping king one final shove, glad that he actually moved this time, then rolled out of bed and waddled her way to the bathing chamber, as she’d done so many times earlier that night.

After what seemed like an eternity, Manon returned to their bedchamber to find Dorian awake and out of bed, pulling on a shirt. It annoyed her to no end that he could look so good after just waking up.

How miserable she felt must have been written on her face, because the king gave her a look filled with sympathy. «How was your night?»

Stopping in the middle of the room, Manon sighed «Terrible.» The day had barely begun, but she could already feel tears trying to escape. That was another thing she hated with being pregnant. There were so many emotions. All. The. Time. In one moment, she could storm out of a room in anger simply because Dorian’s presence annoyed her so much, but then in the next she could come back crying, needing to be in his arms, sobbing that «she was sorry for being so mean».

It truly marveled her, how she’d gotten to this point. Standing in the bedchamber she shared with the King of Adarlan, her husband, whom she had married not for alliance or plotting, but love, wearing a loose linen dress, the only item of clothing comfortable enough and big enough to fit her enormous belly because she was so very pregnant, and trying not to burst into tears in front of said husband, which was no worry, really, since she did it all the time now, but she still tried to keep some of her dignity.

Sensing that she neared another breakdown, Dorian came over to her, standing behind her. Manon leaned against him, her back to his front, and his hands immediately went to her belly, caressing it. «How can I make it better?»

Manon didn’t answer him, only closed her eyes, savoring the comfort of his arms. How clingy she’d gotten had been one of the first signs of her pregnancy, as it was common for witches, along with the nausea.

Then Dorian did something incredible. He placed his hands underneath her belly and lifted it, taking almost all the weight off of her hips and pelvis.

Feeling her whole body straighten, Manon let out a moan, her head falling backwards to rest against Dorian’s shoulder.

When in addition, an ice-kissed wind summoned by the king’s raw magic caressed her face, the relief was so great Manon did start to cry.

«What’s the matter, witchling?» Dorian asked as silent tears trickled down her cheeks.

She merely leaned into him further.

Manon had spent 117 years of her immortal life locking every emotion, every fear, deep within herself, never showing any weakness or vulnerability, so getting to a point where she could be real and raw with Dorian had been hard, and she still struggled with communicating her needs at times.

Dorian pressed a light kiss to her jaw. «Talk to me, love.»

«I want to go home.» The words came out as a whisper, but Dorian heard them. He hummed, a phantom hand brushing her hair out of her face. The pure love in those simple gestures urged her to go on.

«I can’t take the heat here. I’m always uncomfortable now, but the heat makes it unbearable! It feels like I’m suffocating. And what if I can’t make it back to the Wastes in two weeks? What if I’ll have to give birth here?»

«Then we’ll go back now,» Dorian said, his calm voice grounding her, if only a little. «I need a few hours to arrange things, but if you need to go back, we’ll go back.»

Even if it was exactly what she wanted, Manon shook her head, feeling selfish for making him drop everything just for her. He was a king, after all, and while they had spent as much time together as possible throughout her pregnancy, he still had responsibilities here.

«We can’t just go back. You need to stay here for your birthday celebration, and I don’t want to go back alone.» She let out a sob at the thought. Witches going into labour early wasn’t uncommon, and the thought of giving birth to their witchling without Dorian there scared her more than anything.

«Fuck that. The people care more about the celebration in itself than what they’re celebrating.»

Manon was about to protest, but Dorian stopped her.

«What’s most important to me, is you, Manon, and our witchling,» a phantom hand stroked her belly at that, «and if traveling back to the Wastes is what’s best for you right now, that’s what we’ll do.»

Placing her hands over Dorian’s, Manon nodded once, feeling a little less scared, a little more ready for what was to come. «That’s what we’ll do.»

Taglist: @fireheartfaery @bookishwitchling @celestialams @darklingswhxore @onfma @ireallyshouldsleeprn@sayosdreams @rowaelinismyotp @rainbowcheetah512 @mirubyjane @zoyalovesbooks

#ask #manorian #manon x dorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #throne of glass

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dyns33 · 2 years

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Flufftober 28 - The Batman

Bruce Wayne x Reader

"Nice costume."

Bruce tried not to jump. Batman didn't jump, never, he wasn't afraid of anything, he embodied fear.

But he hadn't heard the young woman approaching him. He reassured himself, by telling himself that it was because he had known instinctively that she was not a danger.

In reality, he hadn't slept for three days, the fatigue becoming more and more difficult to manage, with the pain, and if he was still standing, it was only because he was thinking about his mission.

Because he was stubborn, Alfred would have said.

Turning slowly, Bruce faced the woman. She smiled at him, as if everything was perfectly normal.

And maybe tonight, Halloween night, it was normal to come across a man dressed as a giant bat, wandering through the dark alleys of the city. It seemed less normal to find an innocent citizen in such a place.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Oh, you're using a big voice too, you're really in character !"

"I am not a character."

"Of course. You are The Batman. Excuse me, but I think the real Batman has better things to do than hide in a corner. He would be on a roof, or near a place where a crime could have taken place."

"There can be crimes absolutely anywhere."

"Hmm." she said with a small pout, shaking her head. "I imagine that's true, especially in Gotham."

"Go home."

"I do what I want, dear sir."

They remained motionless, watching each other, waiting to see what the other was going to do. Bruce could have just left. With his grappling hook, it would have been very easy, he would have disappeared in a few seconds and she wouldn't have been able to follow him.

But he was tired. He had stopped in this alley to rest for a moment, catch his breath, before resuming his surveillance.

Besides, he didn't want to leave her here alone. It wasn't safe.

He would have preferred to accompany her to her home first, or at least to a place where she wouldn't risk anything. It was part of his mission.

"The real Batman is taller." she said out of nowhere.

"... Sorry ?"

"He saved a friend of mine once. She was a bit scared of him, but he helped her up, gave her bag and left. Without saying a word. She described him as very tall, muscular. Impressive. You're not tall enough, and you're talkative."

"I don't think I'm that talkative." he replied, unable to stop himself from slightly smiling.

"And you're smiling. No, really, you don't make a very convincing Batman. But... Let's say you're the real one. Then I'd like to thank you. For saving her, and for everything else you do."

This time, Bruce said nothing. No one had to thank him for what he was doing. He was doing it because it was necessary and he didn't expect anything in return, only hoping that it would make the city a little better.

It was the only thing that mattered to him, nothing more.

Lost in his thoughts, and obviously really exhausted, he didn't notice that she had approached him. By reflex, he grabbed her hand when she wanted to touch his face, but without hurting her.

"When was the last time you slept ?" she whispered.

"I don't have time to sleep."

"You... You must feel a little lonely sometimes."

"That's not important."

The young woman pouted again, and without giving him time to react, she quickly kissed him on the cheek.

Bruce pulled away, as if she had just slapped him. He couldn't remember the last time someone had kissed him like that. Probably his mother, a very long time ago. It was a strange feeling, he wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

As if she knew what he was thinking, the girl smiled, laughing lightly, but not mocking him.

"Whether you're the real Batman or not, you should go to sleep."

"I'll think about it. You should go home."

"I will think about it."

"It's really not safe here. I can walk you."

"Alright, little fake Batman. I don't live far." she said, rolling her eyes.

"You shouldn't tell strangers where you live. Especially if they're dressed like me. Besides, you're not disguised ?"

"But I am. I'm a serial killer, they look like everyone else. I lure little fake Batmen into my house and force them to sleep a bit."

His paranoid side, mixed with the fatigue, made Bruce wonder if she wasn't being a bit serious. She snickered again, scoffing a little this time.

"By the way, my name is Y/N. And I live there."

She pointed to a third-floor apartment, which he scanned with his optical lens. He would check later if a Y/N lived here, but now he had to leave. He had enough rest, he still had a lot of work to do.

"You are going to sleep ?"

"No."

"I thought so. You... Will I see you again ?"

Almost at the end of the street, Bruce stopped. He didn't really turn back, but he glanced in her direction.

"... Perhaps."

"See you then, Mister Bat. Happy Halloween."

When he arrived at his place, Alfred noted that he seemed less gloomy than usual, as well as less hurt. Bruce said nothing about it, touching his cheek as he thought of the kiss, before falling into bed, where he dreamed of dark alleys, rain, and Y/N.

#the batman #the batman 2022 #batman #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fanfiction #flufftober 2022

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altrxisme · 1 year

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RIP

Send “RIP” and I’ll write a drabble of my Muse dying.— have a Jackson!

While the Prince and his retinue were in Altissia, a some of the Crownsguards were sent to infiltrate Tenebrae to lend some assistance as there were whispers of an attack happening there. Their numbers may be thin, but Jackson insisted in leading a team to look into it. He pulled out every single reason he could think of to justify it, and eventually one had finally landed that had the other Guards reconsider.

The sheer force of the attack was worse than they had anticipated and for once, Jackson was thankful for the small group they had as opposed to the larger number of Guards he originally had in mind. The burning of the Manor itself brought back memories he thought he'd long gone past. Childhood memories relived by the screams of people and the growl of daemons; his shoulder ached from the reminder of when he nearly met the Astrals.

Another explosion brought him back to where he was, his cover nearly obliterated by the machine he'd been hiding from. It was a feat that he'd survived that long whilst lost in the memories of the past. Jackson was quick to run for more cover, shots grazed him and he hissed from the sting, barely anytime to take care of them.

The others did their best to evacuate the rest of the Tenebraen residents alongside Aranea's forces, surprised that she had renounced Niflheim despite her long standing service to them. Still, they'd heard that she had assisted the Prince some time ago and she seemed like someone who's been waiting to leave the Empire.

At least they were in good hands.

Fatigue plagued him and he could feel it in his bones. He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to will himself to get back onto the train with the others but there was something keeping him from moving.

Maybe... Maybe coming back to what was once home was all he wanted.

Jackson's brows furrowed as he opened his eyes, reloading his gun. No. That couldn't be it. He didn't want to die there. He had so many things to do. His family was waiting for him. There were people that needed him.

The Crownsguard picked up his gun and made his way to the train, dodging shots made for him. He had gone farther than what was planned, the need to sweep the place and make sure everyone was accounted for simply too strong for him to ignore. The price was that his communicator lost signal and he had nothing but himself to rely on.

Just a little more and his communicator should—

Bang!Bang!Bang!

Jackson gasped and fell on the ground hard, his gun spun far out of reach and he curled in on himself. He could feel the blood rush into his lungs while another different bullet wound spilled it. His body seized in pain and he struggled between wanting it to stop and letting the release of it take him away.

Help. His eyes fought to stay open, a blur of dark and silver glinted in the remaining daylight. Someone. He couldn't get up, the pain was too much and his body wanted rest. The barrels of the machine's gun pointed directly at him.

Someone help me, please. I don't want ta die.

#swordofthreekings #death tw #[ will put the read more later bc i don't have my laptop rn owo]#[ time just caught up to him]#[he's tired and war doesn't care who it takes]#; drabble #v: ffxv ; dulce et decorum est

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yslkook · 3 years

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TiO (8)

mind of mine masterlist

summary: jungkook is a man of mystery and you take him on a date.

pairing: “badboy” jk x “shy/reserved” oc

warnings: cursing, alc, excessive use of pet names, a shitty relationship, unprotected sex (pls use protection, these two are being foolish) , some choking, grinding, making out, oral

word count: ~6.3k

a/n: if you want to be tagged, send an ask plz. would love to hear your thoughts. a big thank you to @cutechim for creating the texts for me lmao<33

***

Jungkook remains tight-lipped about what it was he had done over the weekend, when he had gone with Jin and Mina to a tattoo convention a few hours away. They had ended up staying the night there, and while Jungkook wanted to ask you to come with him, he wondered if it was too soon to ask. After all, you were both still enjoying each other’s company at your own sweet pace.

Eventually his little secret gets put on the back burner for the rest of the week. You were supposed to get bubble tea with him on Tuesday, but unfortunately a last minute work issue with your client and your application came up. You’d ended up working late, your eyes screaming in fatigue and went straight to bed that evening. He had understood, of course he did.

On Thursday, he was supposed to grab lunch with you at a cafe that he thought you might like, but this time it was him who had a conflict. His older sister had showed up to the tattoo parlor without any prior notice. She does this every so often, when things aren’t going well with her on again, off again shitty “boyfriend”.

Jungkook had sighed, cancelling on lunch with you to spend time with Jooyeon and comfort her with fried chicken and ice cream. You had sent an understanding thumbs up and a promise to call him later and end up having lunch with your work wife, Kira instead.

Kira who doesn’t fail to point out the glow in your cheeks and your general aura, even though it’s been nearly a week and a half since you saw Jungkook last. You roll your eyes and ignore the flames in your cheeks (and her laughter), and change the subject to your work projects. She tells you about some of the coding issues and compliance issues she’s been having with her software, and you tell her about the hours you’ve been pouring into your application for your client.

It doesn’t bother you that Jungkook hadn’t asked if you wanted to meet his sister. After all, he’d told you bits and pieces about her and her relationship. And in the last few weeks, your relationship has blossomed so beautifully. There was no reason to rush, you think. You’ll meet her hopefully under better circumstances for her.

Jungkook spends most of the evening with Jooyeon, letting her cry herself to sleep in his bed. His sister hardly ever cries like this, with sobs full of pain and hurt because of another man. But it’s been happening too much lately, too many fights and too much of Joo losing herself. It makes Jungkook see red more often than not. He knows what you’d say- that she needs him more than anything else and to not be so impulsive.

He makes sure Joo eats a warm meal before she falls asleep and he shoots you a text:

Jungkook: baby

You: hi

You: everything ok?

Jungkook: no, joo’s bf is a fkin asshole

Jungkook: she’s sleeping

Jungkook: miss u

You: im sorry baby :( can i call you?

He jumps at the chance, the sound of your voice and sight of your pretty face on video call instantly calming him. Jungkook is sure to wear a beanie to hide his surprise for you (but you don’t question it. After all, you’ve seen him in beanies plenty of times before and it’s dim in the apartment.) He moves to the couch, asking softly for you to tell him about your day. You recount every single detail from memory, shifting under your covers to tell him about how you had nearly stumbled down the stairs in front of your manager’s manager because you had missed a step.

It pulls a soft laugh from him.

“Jungkook,” You say quietly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t even know what to say,” Jungkook sighs, “She’s just… Byung-woo and her have had this on and off thing for years now. He won’t commit to her and she just refuses to see him for what he is. Like, when it’s good, it’s really good. But when it’s bad, it’s awful. I wish she’d fucking see it for herself. I don’t know what to do anymore, baby.”

“Oh, baby,” You murmur, wishing you could hug him, “All you can do is be there for her but be honest with her. She’ll come around soon, hopefully. It’s hard to see past a shitty person sometimes, when all you want is for them to love you.”

“I hope so, too,” Jungkook says, “She’d love you, you know?”

“Who wouldn’t?”

“Don’t get a big head,” Jungkook chuckles, “Maybe you can meet her someday. Under better circumstances, I mean.”

“Really? You want me to meet your older sister?” You ask softly, feeling a little flustered, “That’s serious.”

“I told you, baby,” Jungkook soothes, “I’m serious about you.”

“Yeah. Seriously crazy about me,” You giggle to yourself. You know if Jungkook was with you, he’d flick your forehead.

“It’s true,” He murmurs, “Maybe I can see you this weekend?”

“Yeah, you still have to show me what you did over the weekend! Take care of Jooyeon first,” You reply, “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll drop stuff off, just tell me.”

“I will,” Jungkook promises, “Sleep well, I miss you.”

“Sleep well. I miss you.”

***

Jooyeon ends up leaving on Saturday morning after a lecture from Jungkook and with determined resolve in her eyes. You jump at the chance to take him out tonight, knowing how stressed he’s been the last few days.

You: be ready at 6:30 tn, im taking u out. and dress slutty

Jungkook doesn’t know how to interpret your text when he reads it. He considers asking Mina and Mei what this means, but ultimately leaves it alone. Replying to your message with a quick thumbs up, he busies himself with getting ready to see you (and surprising you, finally after a full week of wanting to show you what he had done.)

Once you parallel park your car (which takes far too long than you’d like to admit), you grab the small bouquet of purple roses that you had gotten for Jungkook and text him saying that you’ll be up in a few minutes.

Taehyung had caught you struggling to parallel park, and had told Jungkook with a snicker. Which earned him a punch to the arm.

There wasn’t a particular reason that you had chosen to get purple roses for him, other than the fact that they reminded you of him. You hope he likes them.

Jungkook hears a soft knock at the door, and can already envision you behind it. He hopes you like his surprise, the one he’s been teasing you for a week about. You had given no hints of what you would be wearing- you had only sent him one selfie that didn’t give much of a hint into your outfit. He has no doubt that you’ll look gorgeous, but still.

Maybe Jungkook’s nerves shouldn’t be this intense, but he can’t help it. He swings the front door open, only to be greeted by you swaying on your feet with your hands held behind your back. His heart throbs when you pull your hands apart and present him with a beautiful bouquet of purple roses.

How ironic.

“Hello,” You say with a small smile, suddenly feeling a little shy and gasping when your eyes land on his hair, “Wow. You weren’t kidding…”

His hair is tied back into a ponytail, but it’s unmistakably elegant and so violet. Two neat pieces of his newly dyed hair fall into his face effortlessly, but then your gaze reaches the piercing on his left eyebrow. Your lips remain parted in surprise and without thinking, you reach up to touch his hair. It’s still soft, as it always is.

“Come in, baby,” Jungkook says, taking the roses from you, “You must really like me, huh? Got me flowers and everything?”

“Shut up,” You mutter, cheeks heating up, “Don’t get a big head.”

Jungkook only grins wolfishly at you and winks at you, eyes unashamedly glued to your ass. You roll your eyes, and swat his shoulder as you watch him put the rose in a vase and place it in the center of the dining table.

This isn’t the first time you’ve been in his shared apartment (that he lives with Taehyung and Jimin in) but you somehow feel shy in his presence again, as if it was the first time. The first time you had been here with him had been the first time you had spent the night at his apartment several weeks ago, after a night out with your friends.

You let your gaze wander, curious eyes settling on the subtle matching of the furniture and the cleanliness of the apartment. There’s not a stray speck of dust in sight, but maybe you’re distracting yourself from addressing the pretty purple of his hair. Your mouth is dry, and you’re probably drooling a little. You wonder if Jungkook prepared for this, the same way you did (in that you had washed your car, cleaned every inch of it and gotten a new car freshener).

A faint scent of fresh laundry and lavender sits in the spaces of his home. It calms you and gives you the boost to turn your eyes to him.

“Thanks for the roses, baby,” Jungkook says, giving you a smile and starry eyes. He pulls you into his arms, your back against the counter. “Surprise. Do you like it?”

“Uh,” You mumble, brain deciding to short-circuit with the way he looks at you. His smile turns into a smirk, deciding to further render you speechless by pressing himself closer to you and cradling your neck. He’s careful not to touch your face. He doesn’t want to mess your makeup up terribly, at least not yet.

“I know you like my hair. Your face says it all, baby,” Jungkook continues and ducks his head for a quick kiss, “You’re pretty.” He does quite like this dress, light blue and dotted in small flowers with thin straps. His eyes are instantly drawn to the drawstring at the center of your chest and he quells the urge to pull at it.

Jungkook’s mouth waters when he sees the side split of the dress but you want more from him immediately, but he pulls away to your chagrin. Even with the simple kiss, the burgundy color of your lipstick stains his plump bottom lip.

You shiver. It appears that he tried to take your words via text to heart- to dress slutty. He’s wearing a loose animal print button up, with the top three buttons undone. It gives you a delectable view of his pecs, his collarbones and a hint of the tattoo on his right side. As if you weren’t already weak in the knees for him as it was, he wears a black coat and tight, leather pants.

Jungkook pulls it off, like he pulls everything off and the purple hair blends seamlessly with his look. Tonight, he’d opted for two silver hoops in each ear and a thin silver necklace to match.

Your knees are weak, they’ve been weak since you had seen him in this offensive outfit and his hair, his new piercing that was clearly an attack on your entire existence.

The purple hair. The piercing. He’ll be the death of you tonight, you know it. Your legs are wobbly, panties already probably a little wet just from seeing him and from a few of his kisses. But you can’t help it. Without thinking, you press your lips to his, drawing your tongue into his mouth eagerly. You are so hungry, so eager to devour him and drink up anything that he offers you. Jungkook tugs you closer to him lightly by your waist but-

“Seriously? Right in front of my dinner?” Comes an amused voice from behind Jungkook and you nearly screech at the familiar sound of Jimin’s voice.

“I- I didn’t-You-” You stammer, feeling your face heat up to a degree that it’s definitely never heated up to before. You hide behind Jungkook to fix your surely wrecked lipstick. You’re certain his own lips are probably comically smudged with your lipstick as well. “Sorry Jimin, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know, we’ll leave-”

Jungkook only rolls his eyes at Jimin’s wide smirk and knowing eyes. He hears you scolding Jungkook for not telling him that anyone was home, to which he promptly responds “well, you didn’t ask!”

Despite the very natural and easy flow of conversation between you and Jungkook in your car, you still feel overheated and jumpy, your fingers incessantly tapping on the steering wheel. It’s not Jungkook, it’s you and your own nerves. It’s not the first time you’ve gone out to dinner with him and it’s certainly not the first time you’ve had him in your car. If Jungkook notices, he says nothing.

“Where are we going, baby?” Jungkook asks, looking at you. You don’t meet his eyes, choosing instead to focus on the road despite being at a red light.

“Umm, that place you mentioned the other day. The one we talked about trying together,” You say softly. Jungkook can only wonder why you’re a little quiet, but he thinks he knows. You slip into your head so easily and he doesn’t mind gently tugging you out of your thought cloud and into reality with him.

“Can you help me park,” You mumble sheepishly, “I get nervous parking in such tight spaces.”

“Yeah, pull over here before it’s impossible to,” Jungkook murmurs. You nod and do so, hopping out of the driver’s seat to switch places with him. But before you can get in the passenger’s seat, Jungkook grips your wrist loosely. You look at him curiously, with wide eyes and he drops a kiss to your lips, swallowing your surprise.

“You’re so pretty,” Jungkook murmurs, “So fucking pretty, baby. I love this dress on you.” You preen at his praise, leaning forward for another kiss with a shy smile. He subtly squeezes your left tit before letting his hand travel downward.

“You look really good, Jungkook,” You murmur before he kisses you, “I-I really, really like it. A lot.”

He gently caresses your thigh from under your dress, the heat of his hand shooting straight up your core. Jungkook slips his tongue into your mouth quickly, coaxing your endearing nervousness away. As if you both aren’t pulled over to the side of the street where cars are passing you by (and surely wondering why you both were making out like this in public).

“Are we gonna be those people who have a roadside quickie,” You laugh, gently pushing his shoulder when you pull away.

“Roadside quickie? Get your mind out of the gutter,” Jungkook says but his lips twist into a wicked smirk, “But hey, if you wanna give me road head, I’m not going to complain about it-”

“Ha, you would be so lucky,” You scoff, feeling your nerves beginning to ease out of you, “C’mon, our reservation is soon. And then we can talk about road head.”

Dinner goes perfectly and after a glass of wine you feel those inexplicable nerves wash away. What did you have to be nervous for anyway? It was Jungkook- Jungkook who you’ve known for years. Your friend before any of this. He asks you about work, how your application is going-

“Your client sounds pretty demanding,” Jungkook muses, “You keeping up with it okay?”

“Yeah, but I’m not even an application engineer so I’m just learning as I go. My true roots are data and data science but I get to see all of it. Which is cool. But also time consuming, like the other evening, I had to read up on the compliance regulations. But my favorite thing is creating modeling and programs for this app, it’s really cool because it’s healthcare specific. So I’m learning about that sector as well, it’s mostly python but we’ve been doing testing with different healthcare providers in the area and they’re all responding really well to it-” You’re rambling, you know it, but your passion for your career knows no bounds and Jungkook makes no move to stop you. He only smiles at you, eyes crinkling and nose scrunching, gesturing for you to continue.

It’s funny. Not even a few months ago, you would have cut yourself off from your own rambling. In an attempt to convince yourself that the other person didn’t need to hear about it. Maybe that was Sora’s subconscious influence on you. Today, you don’t think twice about it, glowing and shimmering under the dim, blue lights of the restaurant as you tell Jungkook more about your job.

He makes your heart race and he’s sitting right in front of you. Your chin is in your hands as you listen to the pretty words slipping out of his lips. He’s so dreamy, and you struggle to not let your gaze stray from his eyes and linger on his exposed tattoos and chest. You don’t even know where to look, deciding to settle on the way his newly purple locks fall to his forehead just perfectly.

“What do you wanna eat for dessert?” You murmur, looking at the menu and cautiously allowing your foot to brush against his.

In hindsight, you should’ve seen it coming-

“You,” Jungkook says easily, as if he’s talking about the weather.

“Corny,” You roll your eyes, but nudge his foot again. You end up deciding on sharing a slice of decadent, chocolate mousse cake. Which Jungkook ends up finishing off when you satisfy your sweet tooth after a few big bites.

He leans over without a second thought, thumbing away stray cream from the corner of your mouth. Your tongue darts out to lick the tip of his thumb and he looks at you with wide eyes before grinning roguishly.

“Wanna get outta here, baby?”

“Should I take you home, Jungkook?” You ask, finding the courage somewhere in the remnants of the glass of wine currently evaporating from your system to take his hand in your lap once you’re both settled in your car.

“Do you want to take me home?” Jungkook asks with a quirked eyebrow.

“I have some wine I think you’d like at my place. I just got it,” You say a little breathlessly, “And I have to inspect something, I might need your help.” Jungkook laughs, a little derisively and you pout.

“You don’t have to bribe me with wine, baby. You know I would’ve been down regardless,” Jungkook says, squeezing your hand, “What do you need to inspect? Do you have a leak or something?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a leak alright,” You say under your breath, thinking about the growing wetness in your panties, “My man just showed up here with purple hair and an eyebrow piercing, looking like a damn model after one whole week. I have to inspect him.”

“Oh, is that so? In that case, I would love to be your lab rat. Besides, it’s not like I haven’t seen the inside of your bedroom before-”

“Who said you’d get that far?”

“I already did, baby. Did you forget?” Jungkook’s smirk widens, eyes sparkling with mischief. He gently cups your face, thumb on your chin and hovers just over your lips. You think he’s about to kiss you, so you close your eyes in anticipation of his lips on yours.

But it never comes. Instead, his breath fans over your cheeks and he lets out a low laugh. “I sure didn’t forget, and I know you didn’t either.”

You roll your eyes and swat his hand away, ignoring (but letting out a smile) when he chuckles. You decide to hold his hand for as much of the drive back home you can.

Jungkook’s hands are on your hips even as you’re fumbling with the keys to your front door. He’s a distraction, his warm heat plastered against your back and the simple act of opening your damn door feels like too much of a chore. When Jungkook’s lips glaze over the back of your neck, his fingers roaming your waist, it’s difficult for you to focus.

So Jungkook scoffs and turns the key for you. “Can’t open the door, baby?” Jungkook taunts and you level him with a glare.

“It’s not my fault you can’t keep your hands to yourself in front of my door!”

“You like it,” Jungkook says, shutting the door behind him and hugging you as you try to walk away from him to wash up. You escape his grip with a giggle and lock yourself in your bathroom, while Jungkook waits with a disgruntled pout.

When you come out, you head into the kitchen to pour out two glasses of wine and bring some snacks out. You’re not particularly hungry, though you wouldn’t mind eating and you’re sure Jungkook wouldn’t mind either.

Your train of thought is of course interrupted by the man himself and he wraps his arms around you from behind, pushing you into the counter. One might say that Jungkook is being clingy, but you know this is how he shows his affections. Through physical touch more than anything else. And you quite like it, you like the reassurance of his body close to yours. It’s what you’ve always wanted and never known that you needed.

“Missed you,” He breathes into your hair. Even if he’s been with you for the last few hours… You understand him. It feels like you’re both making up for lost time. For time that you could’ve spent together, rather than apart.

“Me too,” You murmur, “Can you take this to the couch, honey? I’ll bring the glasses and the wine.”

Jungkook hums and kisses your temple, squeezing your ass before heeding your soft demand. You sit next to him, thighs touching, and pour out a glass for both of you to enjoy. You lean against his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his bicep and turn the television on. But neither of you are really paying attention.

“Hey,” Jungkook murmurs, “I had a good time tonight, baby.”

“Don’t I know it,” You say smugly, “It’s not everyday a pretty girl takes you out for din-” He cuts your words off by pulling you into his lap, somehow not spilling even a single drop of wine in the movement. You would’ve killed him if even a hint of a wine stain appeared on your velvet couch.

You press your hand into his shoulder, the hint of his tattoo and the glint of his piercing catching your eye. You swirl your glass of wine with your other hand. “What a precarious position to be in,” You say dryly, even grinding your hips into his playfully. He gives you a look, and stills your movements with one hand on your waist. Jungkook sets his glass on the coffee table behind you and cradles your neck, pulling you down for a sharp kiss. It’s almost desperate and needy, nothing like his kisses from before.

You slip your tongue into his honeyed mouth, tasting seeds of his desperation with your tongue. But then, you remember your wine glass and pull away from his lips with a lewd smack to reach behind you and place it on the coffee table as well.

“So pretty,” Jungkook moans, pushing the straps of your dress to the side and dotting your shoulders in wine-stained kisses, “Pretty girl, my pretty baby-”

You tilt his cheek towards you for a kiss, whining into his mouth at his praise. It shoots down your spine in a delicious hum and his hands roaming the expanse of your back makes you feel warm and powerful.

The way your hips move in time with his, the way you fit into the crevices of his thighs and his chest- he just wants to give you everything. He wants to treat you the way you deserve to be treated. Jungkook will give you everything, if you let him.

“And what about you?” You rasp with swollen lips and wild eyes when you finally pull away. You press your fingers into the exposed, inky part of his chest, where his shirt is unbuttoned for your eyes. “You look so fucking good all the time, but-but I told you to dress slutty and you did this for me, huh? You did this for me, bunny?”

Jungkook’s cock jumps in his tight pants and his throat goes dry. Your eyes are devious, filled with mischief and sin and he gives himself to you fully and wholly.

“Yeah,” Jungkook nods eagerly, “Yeah, I wanted to look nice for you, baby.”

“A-and your hair,” You mumble, feeling a little lovesick, “I love it, I love it, I love it-I just wanna- wanna make you feel good. Can I do that, bunny? Make you feel good?”

Jungkook nods with wide, doe eyes, wondering how the tables were turned so quickly.

“Take me to my bedroom,” You demand softly. The glasses of wine and snacks on the tray are left forgotten as Jungkook easily scoops you up in his arms. Even with your lips soft and slow against his neck, he somehow makes it to your bed.

It’s definitely not the first time you’ve had Jungkook in your bed (or that you’ve been in his bed). It’s not the first time you’ve peeled his shirt off meticulously and licked your way down his chest, to unbutton his tight pants. It’s not the first time he’s seen you on your knees on your bed (to alleviate the strain on your knees if you were on the floor).

By now, the shock of your impatience has worn off. Jungkook frequently reminds you to slow down, that you both have nowhere to be except with each other.

It looks like his pants are glued to his legs, and while you can appreciate the visual, you want to appreciate the real thing. You groan in frustration and Jungkook does the work for you, pushing the offending fabric away and breathing a sigh of relief. You crawl closer to him, nails featherlight against his taut thighs.

He’s golden, his body taut and spilling with swirls of color in the divots of his muscles. Your mouth waters.

But Jungkook moves your hands away when you start inching closer, wanting to palm his cock. He joins you on the bed, pushing your back to the bed and hiking the skirt of your dress up to your hips. His hands are tight and warm and welcome on your hips, a flare of desire shooting down your spine and straight to your pussy. You buck your hips up towards him with a pout but he only squeezes.

“What did I tell you,” Jungkook murmurs, swatting your thigh lightly.

“You’ll have to remind me,” You breathe.

“Told you to slow down, baby,” Jungkook says, letting his fingers trail up your thighs and slip under your panties. His hand is warm in contrast to the rings on his fingers. They do little to cool your skin, though. “Impatient girl.”

“You say that like a bad thing-”

“And you talk so fucking much,” Jungkook drawls, hovering over you and dropping his weight on top of you, nudging your cheek to kiss you. You reach upwards to thread your hands through his hair but he’s quick, so much quicker than you. Jungkook pins your wrists with just one hand, and the mere action, the mere display of strength has you sighing and your pussy fluttering.

“Lift your hips,” Jungkook says thickly, and you do so immediately. It’s easy for him to pull your black lace panties off to the side. But before he does so he gives you a small smile of approval, knowing that you wore them specifically for him to see.

“I really do love this dress, baby,” He says, “Makes your tits and your ass look amazing.”

“Take it off, then. And see the goods up close,” You say, wiggling against his grip.

“I will,” Jungkook says lazily, “Don’t you worry your pretty head about it.” Without a single warning, he lifts you up easily into his lap. Your bare pussy brushes against his bare cock deliciously, your hips moving of their own accord. He stills you again, and carefully unzips your dress and pulls it off of you. His fingers on you are soft but firm, leaving your head spinning and hazy.

You haven’t even had his cock yet, and you’re about ready to combust. Jungkook pushes you on the bed, your tits bouncing with the force of your back hitting the mattress and hovers over you. You pull at his hair a little impatiently and he groans, the sound reverberating across the walls only to ring in your head. You want to hear it again, and again and again.

“Jungkook,” You whine, “Please, bunny, do something. Look at me, look at my pussy, come clean me up-”

“So needy,” Jungkook murmurs and ignores you in favor of kissing your tits, rubbing your nipples with his fingers, “‘M needy for you too, baby.”

“You’re so hard, so big,” You babble, “Please, want your cock, baby.”

Impatient. Jungkook kisses your chest, your belly, your hips and makes you cum on his tongue twice (while you tear up and cry a little bit, gripping his purple locks fiercely and holding onto his shoulder) before letting you stroke his cock. You’re about to push him on his back to blow him with determined eyes, but he stops you.

It appears he’s impatient too, and he wants to see you cream his cock before cumming all over your tits (which has become his favorite place to).

“Jungkook,” You breathe sharply, “There, baby, right there-” You cut yourself off with a groan, stilling your hips and pushing his face into your chest. Jungkook’s groans are muffled against your tits, but you feel the wetness of his lips and the warmth of his tongue over your nipples.

“Shit,” You mumble, “Feels so good-”

“So pretty, baby,” Jungkook coos, pulling away from your tits to look up at you with lust in his eyes, “I’m yours, all yours-”

You groan, bouncing on his cock even harder as a flare of possessiveness flashes across your belly. “Move back,” You say softly, “Lay down. I’m gonna ride you so good, baby.”

Jungkook barely has a chance to catch his breath before your nails are on his chest, trying to hold yourself steady as you push yourself down onto his cock, pulling a deep moan of your name from his lips. His hands are tight on your hips, watching with wide eyes- he doesn’t know where to look, what to do.

He squeezes when one of your hands drifts over his and rests on top of his hand.

“I’m yours, I’m yours,” Jungkook mumbles, “Whatever you want baby, I’m yours-”

“You talk so much,” You say hoarsely, with a wicked smile, “It’s cute.” Your free hand floats upward, resting loosely at the base of his neck. His chain is cold against his heated skin but all he can focus on is the glide of your hand over his neck.

His cock twitches inside you and your smile widens. “Is this okay?” You whisper, “This okay, bunny?”

“Harder,” Jungkook groans, “Fuck, harder, baby.”

“Like this?” You ask innocently, closing your hand around the sensitive spots of his neck. His pretty eyes flutter as he nods, a quiet moan slipping out into the air.

“You’re pretty like this,” You say softly, “Shit, you’re pretty like this…”

He lets out a choked laugh at that. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his hastily. Jungkook thrusts upward, hips meeting your ass but your hand doesn’t leave his neck. Not just yet. You breathe into his mouth, allowing him to swallow your soft whimpers.

You wet your lips with a loud smack and cradle his cheek gently. Jungkook is mesmerized by the heat in your eyes, smoldering and burning through his skin. You let your fingers glide over your clit, gathering wetness and before Jungkook can ask what you're doing-

“Open,” You mumble hoarsely, “Open, bunny.”

Pushing a finger past his chapped lips, you gasp at the sight of him below you with your fingers in his mouth.

You could cum just from watching him. His tongue swirls over your finger before sucking lightly with a pretty flush covering his cheeks. Your eyes widen, another gasp brushing over his cheeks.

“Fuck,” You mumble dreamily, “You’re so good, bunny.”

Your body is burning, jaw slack and the feeling of Jungkook’s bare cock inside of you almost too much to handle. It was wildly irresponsible- he wasn’t wearing a condom and you weren’t on birth control, and it was a conversation for later. But you can’t think, not when it feels this good, not when you’ve had a taste of his cock in this way. Besides, he always pulls out just in time. But still, you both should know better.

“Oh, Jungkook,” You whine, “‘m close, I’m so fucking close, make me cum, bunny-”

“Baby,” Jungkook rasps, “My pretty baby looks so good on my cock like this. My smart, kind, b-beautiful girl, my angel-”

Tears prick your eyes- it’s easy for you to become overwhelmed like this. You tug your hands away and thread your fingers through his, dipping your head for a kiss.

“You like that, angel? You like being mine?” Jungkook murmurs, slowing your hips so he can take over. But he knows you’re close.

“Only yours,” You mumble. Jungkook pulls you into his chest swiftly and flips you so that you’re on your back. He places your legs over his shoulders and brackets your head with his forearms, his necklace just above your nose and his hair tickling your face. But you're mesmerized by the determination and adoration in his eyes.

“Jungkook,” You murmur brokenly, “O-oh, y-yeah, baby, there, mmmf-” You squeeze his biceps with a gasp, watching his face closely. Pushing his hair behind his ears, you cradle his cheek and pull him down for a sweet, long kiss.

His fingers dance across your thighs and rub your clit in slow circles and murmuring soft words of praise in your ear. You’re vaguely aware that your body erupts in a tidal wave of flames, warming you from inside out. You don’t hear anything except for your cries of his name, you don’t see anything but him through your blurry eyes.

“Baby,” Jungkook says through clenched teeth, “O-open your mouth, baby. Fuck, baby, this pussy- I’m gonna cum, baby, fuck-”

You open your mouth with hooded eyes and your tongue lolling out and Jungkook pulls out of you abruptly with a series of curses. He’s not fast enough to get all of his cum in your mouth, some of it landing on your cheek. You swallow his cum with a dopey smile and open your arms for him to bury his face in your tits.

“Fuck, baby,” Jungkook says breathlessly, rolling off of you and pulling you into his side, “This pussy’s gonna be the death of me. Where’d you learn to ride dick like that, huh?”

“I’ll never tell,” You mumble, “Gimme a kiss.”

And so he does, tasting himself on your lips. He kisses you nice and slow, just how you both like after a night like this. Eventually he cleans you up and you do the same for him.

Under the covers with only the shared warmth between your sheets to keep you company, you rest your head on Jungkook’s bicep and look up at him. Your fingers continue tracing patterns on his chest, tracing the swirls and curves of ink as they appear.

Jungkook dips his head to nudge your nose and you softly laugh as his hair falls into your face. “What are you thinking about, baby?” He murmurs, lazily draping an arm over you. By now, you’ve realized that Jungkook is possibly the most vulnerable with you in moments like this. When you’re both bare and basking in a post-sex haze.

That’s not to say that he’s not vulnerable at other times. But it’s just different like this.

You take his hand and thread your fingers through his. His fingers are bare, as you had taken his rings off and they’re currently sitting in your jewelry dish on your dresser.

“We just,” You murmur, “We spent so long being apart. When we should’ve been together. All because I…”

“Stop,” Jungkook says firmly but gently, “Don’t do that. You’re where you’re supposed to be. We’re where we’re supposed to be.”

“But we wasted so much time not being together because of me,” You mumble forlornly, feeling your throat getting a little dry, “Because I listened to Sora and didn’t-”

“Oh, baby,” Jungkook says, pulling you in for a hug and a forehead kiss, “That’s not true at all. We’re together now, and we both had some growing to do. That’s what matters.”

“Okay,” You reply in a strained voice. You don’t quite sound like you believe him, and Jungkook makes a mental note of that. “Do you feel like… we have lost time to make up for?”

“Do you feel like that?” Jungkook counters, making your heart skip a beat, “Because I don’t. I know it’s hard, baby, but you can’t beat yourself up for that. It’s in the past, baby. Forgive yourself. There’s nothing to race against, it’s just me and you.”

“I’ll try,” You say a little meekly. Jungkook nods and pulls you in for a soft kiss, one that has your toes curling and your belly flipping. He shifts so that you’re tucked into his side, surrounded by him and his hands on your skin. He kisses you until your previous thoughts don’t feel so loud in your head, he whispers to you and pulls sweet laughs from your throat until you can detach from the strange cloud that had suddenly appeared.

He’s your safe place.

*********

MoM TAGS: @tiemeuptogoldenchains @boymeetsparadise @jungkooksseuphoria @kaepjjangiya @drumsofheaven @ppeachyttae @tae-bebe @yiyi4657 @mygscafe @beeeetsandskzreads @maichiverse @hordanhearsawhooo @anonymous2505 @dreadity @mysugarkoo @ULTRAANONYMOUSEY @moonchild1 @fan-ati--c

TAGS: @kookdbean @codeinebelle

#Jungkook x reader #Jungkook smut #Jeon jungkook x reader #Jeon jungkook smut #Jungkook x you #Jeon jungkook x you #Jungkook fluff

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mongooseblues · 2 years

Text

The Final Final — Part II: Josephine

Concerning the inherent difficulty of Josephine. Mildly nsfw for a very brief moment in the gentlest of ways. Catch up on Part I or just dive in here and now.

I am rather fond of this one.

— - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - —

Josephine comes up, authoritative. “Okay sneezy let’s get you home,” she says, and they part ways with Malik and Saanvi, with plans to meet up at Josephine’s later.

Cal is so distracted by a belated remembrance of the correct answer to a test question he got wrong that he doesn’t actually notice how gray and heavily clouded the sky has become until a startling droplet makes contact with his forehead, and within a minute it’s properly raining.

Josephine looks at him like she feels a responsibility to apologize for the weather herself and says, “This is like the part of the movie where someone’s like ‘at least it can’t get any worse’ and then it immediately does purely for comedic effect,” and Cal laughs—so genuinely and heartily that Josephine looks vaguely concerned about it—because the confluence of factors behind this whole day have amounted to nothing less than absurdism at this point and it’s truly come so full circle as to be amusing now.

His coat isn’t helping. It’s an excellent coat, but it isn’t excellent in this context. His stipend money coat, an ‘investment’ that every time he puts on makes him feel a little bit like he’s playing dress-up professor. It’s a double-breasted wool pea coat in a charcoal grey, subtle houndstooth pattern that he’s been complimented on a number of times. But the thing absorbs water like it’s thirsty, and now Cal is wearing the equivalent of a thick, wet, heavy blanket, and it almost seems like some sort of metaphor about the elitism and impracticality of academia that this coat should be somehow too fancy to have a hood, and he feels like a yuppie in the worst sense of the word.

He’s watching Josephine in her Patagonia or Columbia or some other specific location outdoorsy brand jacket with a sensible hood—a little visor-like lip over her face, even, clearly a feat of textile engineering—water rolling off her shoulders while the color of the jacket itself remains entirely unaffected, and he wishes yet again he’d bothered to check the weather this morning.

When she turns to him and says, “Just come to my place and I’ll drive you,” he nods vigorously.

Soon enough his shivering could be described as violent. He misses west coast rain. He was in Oregon for three years and it rained far more often than it does in D.C., but east coast winter rain is a very different sort. It’s the kind that seeps into your bones and makes you wonder how hollow you are exactly that such seepage should be possible, the kind that makes four short blocks worthy of being impatiently counted down, and by the time they’re walking up the steps to Josephine’s apartment, Cal can no longer feel his fingers from repeatedly using them to wipe at his face, nor can he tell whether his nose is still running, but he’s wet and numbed cold everywhere and undoubtedly it’s somewhere in the mix.

As she fishes through her pocket for the keys she looks at him and winces like the very sight of him is painful, and once she opens the door, a shaking, soaked-through Cal christens the threshold of Josephine’s apartment with unmistakably sick sounding sneezes, water misting off of him in every direction as he shudders furiously into a sopping sleeve.

A sound composed entirely of slippery fricatives and unadulterated force.

“ZIIHHSHHoo! HuzZZISSHHOO!”

His eyebrows relax for no longer than a second before they scrunch back together, not attempting to move a muscle otherwise, still hunched in position with an arm over his face, because letting it throw him forward anew would be even more fatiguing. He can feel his lips themselves quivering as another sneeze and then another rip their way through him, spraying through clenched teeth.

“ZHIISSSHiuu! Huhd’SZIISSHHYUE!”

He almost feels faint as he catches his breath, facial features loosened, head reeling as he says “‘Scuse me,” in little more than a whisper, and Josephine’s first order of business is shoving a box of tissues into his hands, for which she receives a stuffy, “Thank you so much oh my god.”

“Okay I can’t see you like this a single additional second, I’m getting you some dry clothes,” she says, kicking off her boots and disappearing down the hall.

Cal looks up from the tissues about four seconds too late and tells a joke to no one, but between his fading voice and chattering teeth he doubts he’d be properly audible regardless. “I don’t—snf!—think we’re the s-same size.”

Josephine’s roommate wanders out then, holding a laptop with so little regard for its safety that it’s no wonder Josephine’s charger is always going missing.

“Oh hi,” she says, as he drips over the floor of the living room.

He stutters through a “Hey D-Devin how are you?”

“Much better than you it would appear, C-C-Cal.”

He’s about to laugh but he coughs instead and Devin says, “I have literally never seen a more miserable sight.”

Josephine comes back with an armful of clothing and says, “I know, I’m working on it,” as Cal folds his wet jacket and she instructs him to just leave it on a chair and come with her and leads him to her bedroom and closes the door behind them.

“Sandros left this one,” she says, passing him a hoodie. “It’ll fit you.”

Cal tugs off his dampened sweater, thinks only for a moment about his momentary nakedness in Josephine’s bedroom, and trades it for the proffered garment — blue and white and bearing the logo of Greece’s national football team.

“I feel like I’ve never seen you wear a hoodie before.”

“I don’t know that I ever have actually. My father had this weird abiding hatred for them and I guess I inherited it, snfff! But holy smokes is this cozy,” he says, pulling the sleeves down over his palms and tucking his hands into the front pocket. “My entire childhood has been put into question.”

“You’re so cute.”

Cal just looks at her, for a moment unsure whether she’s allowed to say that, and then his expression goes vacant, features beginning to wrinkle in agitation.

“Ehhxcuse—” he manages, before he wrenches into two sneezes, audibly wet and insistent, buried into a fresh sleeve. “hiih-ZIISSHHyoo! Hh? …hih’dZIISSHHyue!”

Josephine giggles as he blinks at her through wet lashes. “Breaking it in immediately, bless you.”

“Snff! Sorry, snfff! I’ll wash this I promise,” he laughs, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, hands still shaking.

She notices. “Your hair’s really wet, I’m sure that’s not helping... Hang on I’ll be right back,” she says, ducking away to grab a towel. When she returns with it Cal moves to extract his hands from the sweatshirt pocket but Josephine says, “No it’s okay I’ve got you.”

He feels like a majestic wild deer has just wandered up to him and so he doesn’t move a muscle for fear of scaring her away. There’s confusion and surprise on his face but also gratitude and adoration as Josephine dries his hair for him in soft, sweeping strokes. It feels extremely nice to be touched by her and he’s always had a weakness for his hair being played with, and he closes his eyes and allows his head to lull, to become pliant under her ministrations. He feels like a puppy she’s toweling off, a very lucky puppy.

The room goes silent save for his measured sniffling, until one particular stroke of the towel feels pleasurable enough to elicit a small moan that is not entirely voluntary.

“That feels amazing,” he mumbles.

He’s not sure her face has ever been this close to his, and when he opens his eyes he does not expect to meet her gaze quite so directly.

She says, “Good I want it to.”

Then she inches even closer and he registers confusion all the way up to the moment her lips collide with his, seven semesters of suppressed sexual tension meeting a final conclusion.

God, Josephine.

Her lips are as soft as he’d always suspected and he breathes her in and she takes the towel off of him and tosses it toward the bed and he does not want to stop for anything but still he pulls back, their foreheads resting against each other.

“Josephine are you sure? I’m… so gross right now, I’m gonna get you sick,” he says, his voice giving out around the edges in a hoarse testament to the statement.

“The semester’s over, I don’t care. And I want this, Cal, if you want this.” She looks into his eyes and he knows she means it and her hands are on his chest and the shiver that rolls through him could be attributed to any number of reasons.

If I sleep with you I might accidentally fall in love with you, he should say, he really should say, but the blood is already rushing away from both his head and his heart, and of course he wants this, he wants nothing more than this, and besides his throat hurts anyway, so maybe it’s best just not to speak at all.

Finally his mouth is on hers and there’s no going back and for so very many reasons this is a terrible, terrible idea.

He kisses her like every movement was pre-calculated, deterministic, inevitable. Wetly clinging clothing that can’t be wriggled out of quickly enough, goosebumps and body hair, excited fingers attempting to be gentle with buttons that open the wrong way. Their sounds at first tentative and timid and then growing together into duetted, breathless ecstasy, and if he could only stop sniffling they might be perfectly in sync.

Her hair falls over both of their shoulders and there is all of her; Josephine in her entirety, limitless Josephine, a vast expanse of her he can touch and hold and stroke and have. He’s overwhelmed by the incredible relief that comes when he doesn’t have to hide his love for her in the recesses of him, when for once he doesn’t have to look away and pretend he isn’t looking he can just look.

She says, “Oh fuck,” more times than he has heard her use the word in the three and a half years he’s known her. He wants to sink his fingers into this moment to keep it in place, to pin her down, to have her for as long as he can, but like everything else about her it’s fleeting and slippery and he’s fumbling for ephemera, mere snatches of Josephine abstracted, the rippled reflection left behind when she’s some moments ahead.

When she comes he feels like he’s coming apart, and when he comes he knows there won’t be any coming back together.

* * *

It was her idea, the open relationship thing. In Cal’s assessment it didn’t seem like a relationship so much as it did like the promise of one. She didn’t talk about him often, except to say strictly relevant things like “Sandros left this one, it’ll fit you.” Whenever she went to see him she’d say she was going to Greece, not going to see Sandros.

It’d be easier if she did talk about Sandros, if she reminded him so Cal wouldn’t have to constantly remind himself, if she said his name so Cal wouldn’t have to think it whenever he felt too much for her. When she leaned her head onto his shoulder, Sandros; when she called him sweetie, Sandros; when she did pretty things and spoke in pretty ways, Sandros, Sandros, Sandros.

Now Josephine is bathed in fading daylight and she wears only two things: an easy smile and a pair of gold hoop earrings.

“You’re about to disappear to Greece for a month,” he says finally.

“Yes I am.”

He’s been sensing that one of these school-break-long visits she might just stay there. From the way she’s described it, it sounds like if she wanted to she could go straight into a teaching position in Athens. And he knows she’s thought about opting out of this whole thing, the overly academic and extremely specific nature of becoming a college professor. She’s mentioned that sometimes she just wants to teach grade school like Sandros does, that she wonders whether that would ultimately be a more helpful contribution. Cal thinks about it sometimes too.

But he finds himself brushing a piece of hair behind her ear and saying, “You better come back.”

He knows that once they graduate they’ll go their separate ways, they’ll live their separate lives, but he’s supposed to have two and a half more years of her here at Georgetown keeping each other afloat through an incredibly demanding doctoral program, and he’s begun to fear he may not be able to stay afloat without her, and if she slips through his fingers now he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

It’s a pointed look, a promise. She says, “I’ll come back.”

Cal has never known Josephine to say things and not mean them, and with her head on his chest he relaxes enough to suddenly be aware of the physical exhaustion that wants to tug him down into the pleasant swamp of postcoital unconsciousness. But just as suddenly a familiar annoyance blooms back to life, and he attempts to alleviate a tickle that’s quickly becoming unbearable by rubbing against his nose with the back of his hand, reminded immediately what a low success rate the tactic has seen today.

Briefly he manages to remain in that liminal space between will I and won't I, but a tempting breath and a feisty flare of nostrils has him mumbling “Oh huh-hang on,” and scrambling for the tissues that he’d thankfully had enough foresight to relocate to the nightstand, eyebrows raised as if it’ll help keep his face from falling.

Josephine gives him space as he just barely manages to crush a tissue to his nose one-handed, head bobbing fitfully forward as he gives in to a series of increasingly expressive sneezes. “IISSSue! Huh-IISSSue! …huh-h? IIXSSSshyue!”

She blesses him and for several seconds he’s stuck in vaguely sneezy limbo, forehead creased and twitching in irritation as he’s seduced by illusory inhales, until his lungs manage at last to grasp one firmly enough to pull from him a sharply vocal, almost pleading “Hhih?” finally shuddering then into a climatic, exclaimed, “IIHHTSH-schue!” that scrapes his throat but scratches the niggling itch. It's chased by a relieved sigh and a sincerely meant, “’Scuse me.”

“Bless you, my goodness.”

“Thank you, snff! Sorry,” he chuckles. “I was really kinda hoping that wouldn’t happen while you were on top of me, snffh!”

“Well I’m not offended,” she says, resettling back into her previous position, and when he finishes fussing at his nose with the tissue and pulls it away from his face she slides a hand onto his forehead.

“Are you checking to see whether you raised my temperature?” he asks, making her laugh. “Because you probably did.”

A melancholy twinge makes its way into her expression though as she realizes his fever definitely is higher. “Ohh,” she coos, “your little face is so hot.”

“Yeah I can feel my pulse kinda throbbing in my cheeks.”

“Aww Cal, poor baby,” she says, and he wonders what it is about this phrase exactly that he should find so touching. The acknowledgment probably, the empathy. The impression it gives of ‘I’m sorry you don’t feel well, so I will be gentle.’ Or maybe that it feels reminiscent of parental energy he didn’t quite get enough of, pacification for the vestigial part of him that needed pacifying, that perhaps sometimes still does. Like a cat that was weaned too early, forever kneading silly paws against phantom teats whenever it feels something soft or warm.

And Josephine is both, so he goes on. “I don’t usually—snf!—get sick more than once in the same year, much less what has it been? Like three times this semester.”

“Sweetie it’s because you’re not sleeping.”

“I know,” he sighs.

She puts a hand on each of his fever-blotched cheeks and says, “Sometimes in class you look so exhausted it makes me want to cry, Cal. I can see how much it’s affecting you. Your whole…” she gestures around him, “your glow has been dimmed.”

He opens up without his usual wasted time deciding whether he should. “To be honest I haven’t been… doing all that well. Mentally speaking.”

“I figured,” she says, doe-eyes rendered doleful. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

The corners of his mouth pull upward into a lazy smile. “Honestly you just did, I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open.”

She smiles too. “Then why are you trying?”

“Because this isn’t my bed,” he laughs.

“My bed is your bed.”

He doesn’t mean to say “It’s not though,” but that’s what he says. Or at least he didn’t mean to say it so quickly, he didn’t mean for it to sound so much like ‘But you’re not mine for long.’

She responds to both sentiments in a dulcet tone. “Well it is right now,” she says, and kisses him again, and kissing her back is pretty much all the energy he has left in him, and it’s evident as he becomes weak and slow and clumsy beneath her. She presses one last kiss to his nose and cradles his cheek in her hand as he turns his face to settle on the pillow, and all it takes is her gentle permission before he releases his grip on consciousness, with a final, relieved sigh like he’s been freed from carrying something very, very heavy.

#mongoose writes sometimes #Cal #Cal/Josephine #this took place in 2010 by the way not that it matters #Georgetown years #This part has a theme song and it is Mykonos by Fleet Foxes #the sex scene also has a theme song and it is Creature Fear by Bon Iver #I have a lot of feelings about this point in Cal’s story can u tell #Josephine

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after-witch · 3 years

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In Sickness [Yandere Sesshoumaru x Reader]

Title: In Sickness [Yandere Sesshoumaru x Reader]

Synopsis: You were not often alone with the demon lord who took you captive. Then again, you were not often touched by the demon lord who took you captive, either.

Word Count: 2029

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of illness

You were not often alone with the demon lord who took you captive.

Then again, you were not often touched by the demon lord who took you captive. Yet here he was, bent over you, hands wringing out a rag he’d just dipped in a pail of river water. You barely register his fingers glancing against your skin, the slight sharpness of his nail edges, as he lays the damp rag on your forehead.

You can’t help it. At the touch of the damp rag, you sigh, soft and pleased. The coolness is blissful, a brief respite from the fever that has been wearing you down for days.

“You are a nuisance,” he mumbles, grimacing at droplets of river water that dribbled their way onto the elevated mat he’d set you on. To keep you away from the cold ground, you supposed, but you hadn’t the ability to care about his unusual generosity.

Once it had become clear that your illness was no minor trifle, he’d sent Rin away with Jaken as unwilling, grumpy but admittedly loyal protector. Where they were, you didn’t know and truthfully, you didn’t have the strength to care. It was hard enough to muster up the energy to care about your own self, drenched with sweat yet wracked with bouts of shivers that alternated with fevers that made your dreams terribly real.

It had started small. A tickle in your throat, a bit of weariness. You were tired, more so than usual, more so than you expected. But it wasn’t until the fever came and refused to leave, until your legs became red and swollen and could no longer carry you, until you started to become delirious, that Sesshoumaru had taken direct action. Jaken and Rin were gone, and you were taken somewhere. A cave? It was a shelter, at least, something more permanent than the campfires and group sleeps you were used to in recent months.

And Sesshoumaru had tended to you, quietly, without much in the way of conversation. You slept most of the time, half-awakening to hear him grinding medicine and waiting until it was placed on your swollen legs, or in your mouth mixed with hot water, to fall back into a listless sleep. You wonder how long you will be able to recall the feeling of his hands on you, the unusual way he sometimes bent over you and stared, checking your breathing, feeling your forehead.

It was intimate and uncomfortable, but you couldn’t be bothered to fight it.

You were just so sick. You were just so tired.

Yet you weren’t exactly a stranger to fatigue, to stress, particularly since the day you’d been forced to go with the demon. Stress dragged you down, often making you wish you could sleep for days, a luxury that was not afforded due to the frequently traveling nature of your captor.

That day that came back to you so often in your dreams, and was now a memory that ebbed and flowed with your fevers.

Did you talk about that day, in your feverish ramblings? Sesshoumaru acknowledged what you said sometimes only with passive noises, either uncaring or not wanting to encourage your incoherent words, intent on making you better and resuming the original course.

You really were a nuisance. So why did he keep you? You’d never asked him this out of fear. You’d certainly never questioned his decision to keep you alive, much less questioned why he wanted you in the first place. Why he agreed to the wild offering thrown before him.

Your village elders had begged the passing demon lord Sesshoumaru to lay waste to a band of lesser demons that plagued the village for years. Men, women, children, even animals--taken and slaughtered in unspeakable ways. Sometimes even killed in their homes, partially eaten. It was not unusual to wake in the morning to piercing cries from mothers finding their children mangled in their beds, or hear husbands wail in agony at the loss of much-beloved wives on the way home from fetching water.

You remember the day so clearly. Like the rest of the people in the village, you were watching from your home, peering out the door like a child, as the elders got down on their knees and begged for assistance from a demon who’d passed along the outskirts of the village.

You remember the shock of his long white hair, his luxurious clothing, his imposing presence that seemed strong enough to make you shake even from behind the safety of the doorway.

He didn’t even bother saying no. He’d simply glared at them as if they were dirt and began to walk away. Then one of the elders pivoted on his knees, spitting out words that would turn out to seal your fate: “We will give you one of our women as an offering! Please, o great lord!”

Still, he did not stop, and the elder let out a shaky cry. Then the elder stood on wobbling knees and looked wildly around the village until his eyes landed on your half-open door, your face barely peeking out of it. He was a man who’d witnessed your birth, a man who’d once given you a special treat for free when you tripped and skin your knee as a child, a man who had serious conversations with you in recent weeks about finding a husband as surely someone so dutiful and kind did not wish to remain with her parents forever.

He was also a man who’d run to your home, quick as you’d ever seen him, and yanked you out of the doorway until you fumbled and fell over on the ground. His hands were sweaty with fear yet they clamped around your wrist like a weight.

“This one will make an excellent servant! She can cook and clean and embroider! Or you may have her--or, or kill her! Whatever you wish! Please, please,” he’d begged again, bowing low while keeping an iron grip on your wrist.

You remember the sound of wind in your ears. You remember the feeling of pain in your knees, in your elbow, where you’d fallen hard. You remember the soft scratch of the door opening, the way your neck twisted around to see your parents and brother hiding behind one another, simply watching you. You remember the look on their faces, confused and scared yet saying nothing. Why didn’t they pull you back in?

And then you remember the sound of footsteps approaching. It was the demon. You looked up and he loomed over you, staring impassively at your form. He didn’t bother glancing at the elder, who was now trembling as much as you.

“Very well,” he said quietly, yet with a tone that was unmistakably firm. “She is mine. In exchange, I will kill some vermin for you.”

A sound rushed through the villagers from behind their doors. Sometimes when the wind blows just right, you’re reminded of it. It was a murmur, a gasp, a collective sound that was relief and sadness all at once. They would be saved from the demons at the expense of one of their own. A sacrifice.

You remember pulling on your arm, crying out something. Did you cry for your mother or your father? You can’t remember now. It didn’t matter. They had already shut the door, and the sound of your sister crying from behind it was the only noise that came through.

Someone tied a rope around your wrists. You kicked, and the rope was jerked until you were standing on numb legs. You had no choice but to walk, to be dragged, as the demon held onto the other end and simply left the village without another word. You cried, you begged, you feverishly cried out to the people watching from behind the doors, to the elders who clutched their hands but watched you leave all the same.

He took you. But he didn’t kill you, or have you, or even make you a tireless servant to his demonic whims. He simply expected you to pull your weight, or at least, that’s what the green imp--Jaken, you’d learned--told you was the expectation. So you helped to cook, you helped to mend clothes, you minded Rin. Nothing more or less than the others were expected to do.

You were kept bound when not doing your chores for a few weeks. When he’d taken the rope off, you’d waited for the moment and run--not that you got far or got anything than a few more weeks with the rope for your troubles.

You hadn’t tried to run for a while. It did no good. And the areas you’d traveled through were sometimes riddled with demons or wild animals that would surely kill someone such as yourself with little effort, should you try to make it on your own.

With Sesshoumaru, you were fed. You got enough rest. You were protected. Not that you didn’t wish every day to return home, to sit with your family for meals, to chase your sister around and tease her to get her to laugh when she felt blue. Not that you didn’t hate being sometimes treated like a pest, like a dog, when it wasn’t your choice to be here in the first place. But at least you were still alive, still able to hope you would see your family again some day.

A sigh from lips that weren’t your own draws you out of your memories, sweeping away the memory of that day and every day of captivity since like dirt being beaten out o f fabric.

You open your eyes, grateful for the soft light in the cave, and see Sesshoumaru sitting across from you, his back up against the stone wall. Your head feels clearer, less foggy, less hot, thanks to the rag and you decide to sit up a bit. Laying down all the time makes you feel dizzy. He watches with no change in expression as you wiggle yourself into a higher position, wiggling yourself back on the mat until you’re resting against the wonderfully cool stone.

You stare at each other for a few moments. The sound of the fire he’d set up further in the cave is low, crackling. You try to imagine him gathering wood, crouching low to do the mundane work that you and Rin and Jaken often did, and it seems ridiculous.

You try to imagine these things in order to avoid asking a question that has been on your mind since the moment the ropes had chafed your wrists, the moment you’d been forced to stumble after him.

But you can’t avoid it forever, and finally, you speak.

“Why did you take me?”

You would never dare to ask this question if the others were here, if Sesshoumaru hadn’t been tending to you, intimate and up close, for days. But the fever and the strangeness of the situation has made you feel clearheaded in a bold, perhaps too much so, way.

He simply stares at you for a few moments, and you think that he will choose to ignore you until his gaze shifts almost imperceptibly to the side.

“You were offered to me.”

It is your turn to offer a passive noise. The answer he gives is is nothing. At least nothing that makes sense to you, makes sense of your situation.

“Why didn’t you kill me, then?” Surely there was a reason, since he didn’t make you a hapless servant, either. “I was supposed to be a sacrifice.” Or you were meant to be. Instead he’s made you something altogether in-between. You weren’t worked to the bone or treated terribly, but you couldn’t leave. You weren’t killed, but you weren’t any more useful than his willing companions, either.

You don’t get the answer you wanted. Or any answer at all. Instead, he merely scoffs, and stands up to leave the cave. He pauses at the entrance, waiting until you turn towards him to speak.

“I will not take long.” He gestures towards the mat with one hand. “Go to sleep. And refrain from asking such stupid questions when you wake up.”

#yandere sesshoumaru #yandere sesshomaru #sesshomaru x reader #yandere inu yasha #afterwitch writes #you were right 'non in the inbox!

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byunmyeon · 3 years

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Philophobia

↳ pairing: lee suho x reader

↳ synopsis: in a world where a red string connects soulmates, everyone knows who they belong with. except you, who hasn’t been able to see your string since you were a kid.

↳ warnings: language (like one word), a copious amount of angst and heartbreak

— note: there’s a serious lack of suho fics out there so I decided to write my own. lmk if you guys want me to write a second part!

There was something inexplicably eerie about being the new girl in a school that was twice the size of your old one. Not because it was an unfamiliar setting, nor was it because you were painfully shy and terrible at making friends. It wasn’t even your disparaging insecurities that had you feeling so shook. No, it was something you couldn’t put your finger on, something you couldn’t begin to name. A discomfort you could feel all the way down to your bones.

Your inordinate unease swelled into full blown panic with every step you took toward your new classroom. Somewhere in your unorganized mind, you could hear your mom’s reassuring voice. Everything will be okay. You didn’t know if her words held any truth, but you really, really, really hoped she was right. You were being stupid, honestly. There was nothing to fear, but you couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling from your stature. Despite all the undesirable emotions you felt, your breathing was normal and your heartbeat was steady.

It took you a minute to gather yourself. You could do this.

After a very ineffectual pep talk, you finally got your feet to move. Your eyes were cast down as you entered the classroom. The rowdy classroom went silent once your presence became known. You swallowed the nerves and chanced a glance at your new classmates. The reactions were a mixture of curiosity and disinterest.

When your teacher introduced you to the class, you decided to really look at your new classmates. Among the sea of unfamiliar faces, one stuck out. An unnaturally attractive face belonging to an unfamiliar boy. His stare was strange. It was full of an intensity you couldn’t comprehend. You kept staring, in spite of yourself. Fuck. Was it possible for someone to be so attractive?

The clapping of your classmates pulled you back into reality. You were quick to look elsewhere, unable to understand the sudden lurch of your heart.

Suho couldn’t take his eyes off the new girl, more specifically, the string neatly wrapped around her index finger. He watched her carefully. The shy smile she wore was annoyingly adorable, and it made a foreign warmth spread across his chest and along his entire body. The new girl didn’t spare him another glance as she took her seat next to Jugyeong.

Lim Jugyeong.

He wasn’t her soulmate and she wasn’t his, but she was the girl who had unknowingly stolen his heart. That wasn’t about to change because some stranger who he was supposedly meant to be with came into his life with no warning.

Suho looked back to the front of the classroom without looking at the new girl again.

The first time it happened, you wrote it off as fatigue. After all, you had just started middle school and trying to keep up with your new workload as well as your budding social life was exhausting. That day, the color of your string had faded a bit, but it was still visible. By the time you were on your way home it disappeared for a mere second before regaining its color. Days later, it was completely gone.

When your mom first found out you could no longer see your string, she became extremely distraught. It had affected her more than it did you, honestly. She wasted no time in taking you to see countless specialists and psychologists. Anything to keep you from becoming a freak that didn’t know who they were meant to be with. She unknowingly made you feel exactly like that.

Apparently, you were a rare case because every person you went to for help wanted to conduct a study on you and your condition. Fortunately for you, your mom didn’t want you becoming a lab rat and decided to stop seeking out help from strangers. Left with no other option, you went to one person who she believed could help you. An old friend of hers.

He wasn’t a specialist, just a regular doctor who came to the conclusion that a deep, scarring trauma had caused you to no longer see your string. You could remember the heartbreak on your mom’s face because you both knew what that trauma was.

Your mom did her best to help you. Spending more time together and countless hours of therapy did nothing for your condition. Nothing worked. You became convinced that trying to see your string again was futile.

And you were right.

As time went on, you grew used to the unease that had latched itself onto you on that first day. The feeling in your bones settled in like an unwelcome guest who refused to leave. No matter what you did, you couldn’t shake the feeling. Eventually, you gave up trying.

However, something shifted when you crossed paths with Lee Suho.

You two had been put in the same group for a science lab. His attention had been solely on Lim Jugyeong, but there were times when your eyes would meet. Those milliseconds were just that, but to you they felt like an eternity. He rarely addressed you, but when he did, you could feel the pressure weighing on your bones fade bit by bit. That familiar feeling soon shifted into a more comfortable presence that you yearned to feel forever.

It was subtle, but at some point, Suho’s emotionless face changed. The change would last for no more than a second, but it always did when he looked at you. That change had your entire stature seeping with warmth. You vaguely recognized the feeling as something akin to infatuation.

It scared you.

Of course, the possibility that he might be your soulmate crossed your mind, but you quickly dismissed that thought.

Too many times had you gotten in trouble for insisting someone was your soulmate when they really weren’t. Any special bond or feelings that grew between you and someone else couldn’t always be interpreted as the ones between soulmates. You learned that the hard way.

Besides, your soulmate would make it clear to name themselves as such even if you couldn’t see the string.

At least, you hoped they would.

Philophobia.

Before you went into high school, your mom insisted you see one last psychologist with the promise that the one she found was different. Reluctantly, you went to see this woman who diagnosed you with this absurd illness. You felt like it was made up, but your mother was adamant that you did have it.

You knew she only thought that because you had told her you no longer had any interest in finding your soulmate. Her panic was unrivaled after hearing those words come out of your mouth. You wrote off her panic because your disinterest in soulmates was only natural. How could it not when—at the time—it was all your friends could talk about? Talk about being the odd man out.

Okay, and maybe you also weren’t keen on meeting new people because of the fear that they could easily ignore the string you couldn’t see. There was also the fear that if you ever did meet someone you wanted to spend your life with, they could end up not being your soulmate and vice versa.

But those feelings would all fade with time, you were sure.

Hanging out near the back of the school where no one ever went became a regular thing for you. It was the one spot where you didn’t have to worry about your soulmate or anything related to that—a safe place. Until it wasn’t.

“You can’t just ignore the bond you have with her.”

The angry voice was one you vaguely recognized. You peeked around the corner, eyes widening when you saw Han Seojun and Lee Suho in the middle of what appeared to be an argument.

“Why are you bringing that up?” Suho’s eyes narrowed. “Do you still like Jugyeong?”

Seojun’s gaze hardened. “It’s not about that.”

It was wrong to listen on what was clearly meant to be a private conversation, but your feet wouldn’t move. You could see Suho’s anger and irritation from your hiding place, and for some reason seeing him that way made a blistering discomfort latch itself onto your chest.

“You’re being unfair to Jugyeong and Y/N.”

The mention of your name had your insides twisting into an uncomfortable knot. You didn’t understand why or how you had anything to do with the discussion, but you had a feeling the reason wasn’t anything good.

“Just because she’s my soulmate doesn’t mean I owe her anything.”

There was a sharp pain in your chest, one that grew into a searing pain as the seconds ticked by. You might’ve cried out in pain had it not been for the shock that consumed you. In a sudden instant, your vision became blurred with tears as you staggered back. His words were the worst form of torture, like a piece of barbed wire that wrapped itself around your heart.

Your fate was a cruel one, forever bound to someone who refused to acknowledge the bond between you two. Lee Suho was your soulmate, but he didn’t want to be.

It was a cruel reality to have your worst nightmare come to life.

“Is it true?”

Suho raised an eyebrow at you. His gaze didn’t soften like it once did. Now it just remained impassive, almost annoyed. The cold look he was giving you was making you regret even coming to him in the first place.

“Are you really my soulmate?”

“Why are you acting like you don’t know?” Suho’s unaffected stare unsettled you. “You’ve known since the first time we saw each other.”

But you hadn’t known. This entire time you had been driving yourself crazy thinking you were only imagining the connection between you two like you had done countless times after you first lost the sight of your string. Despite wanting to tell him that, you settled for a question.

“What about Jugyeong? Don’t you think she—?”

“Are you going to tell her?” He interrupted you.

You could literally hear your heart crack. Of course that’s all he cared about. He didn’t care whether or not you were hurt and upset, hell, he probably thought you had no interest in your soulmate. But he was wrong, so very wrong.

“Why?” He demanded. “You don’t want me as your soulmate either. You’ve been ignoring the bond, too.”

I can’t see my string! You nearly yelled. The words were clawing at your throat, eager to be released. But you found yourself unable to tell him the truth.

“My soul chose yours,” you said, close to tears. “And a soul just doesn’t forget that.”

For a moment, one that was so quick you thought you imagined it, Suho looked remorseful. Stupidly, it made you hope that he would accept you and the bond that bounded you together.

“Don’t tell her.” His voice didn’t sound like a plea, but you knew what he was asking you to do was clearly important to him. “I can’t loose her.”

And so, you agreed. Even if it meant that your own heart would be left in tatters.

#lee suho x reader #true beauty fanfic #lee suho imagine #lee suho fanfic #true beauty imagine #cha eunwoo #cha eunwoo imagine #cha eunwoo x reader #true beauty tvn

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boytouya · 3 years

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two slow dancers

w.count: 2.8k

a/n: why did angst wash over me like what…i was listening to mitski and she possessed me i think..don’t let the tags fool you it’s fluff okay!!!

warning: blood (brief, aizawa accident cuts his thumb with a knife), parenting (sort of. eri isn’t in this but she’s mentioned), implied/referenced suicidal ideation, MANGA SPOILERS.

Shouta wonders if it’s all worth it. Adjusting the straps of his prosthetic leg, deciding if he’d rather wear an eyepatch or a glass eye. Preserving himself through all these years, none particularly good to him, he wonders if waking up is still worth it. He’d hate to leave you alone, cold and barren as his side of the bed remains untouched, only the ghost of what used to be Shouta Aizawa keeping you company during sleepless nights.

He contemplates a very difficult decision. Should the ground rise above cement and swallow him whole now, would he be upset? Would he regret falling into an empty void of nothingness, leaving you behind to find his cold and aching bones? That would never be fair to you, finding the place that was once your shared home to be your greatest nightmare. He stomps on the flame before he can even begin to fully ignite it, Shouta pulls himself away from the warmth of his bedsheets— the warmth of your body as our chest rises and falls; annually and gradually, newfound tranquility coursing through your bone marrow.

Maybe he’s being silly, with the depths of his mind calling out to him, yet again, Shouta wonders if you truly love him. The way you look at him, as if he is the center of the universe, the pull in which attracts objects despite being thrown in the opposite direction, he wonders if it will stay that way. Stronger than the unreplenishable pain that strikes his eye at least twice a day, he wonders if your love is a stronger drug than his pain meds. He no longer wishes to feel numb, he wishes to feel good. High off anything you’re willing to give him.

He wonders if you are willing to accept that he cannot give all of himself. Not the parts of him that struggle for air as he falls; deeper, and deeper, and deeper into the inevitable. You pry, you ask, you listen, and Shouta fears that you may have already seen all he is willing to give, maybe even more. He wants to inhale the clear smoke from your lungs as they set aflame, begging for air and beating against his chest as you count— ‘1..2..3..1…2…3…Breathe with me, Sho’...’ He hopes- no, demands, to be the one you give your all to, to be the one who squashed your insatiable desire to love and be loved with one look. He wants the raw, bruised, bloodied and beaten version of you as you cling onto him for comfort. As you offer him the same thing, many nights later.

But with love comes fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of pondering for way too long (How long could it have been? Months? Years.. God, seconds?) as he attempts to dissect the events and put them back in chronological order. When did he fall for you? When did his heart burst at the thought of growing old (older) with you?

The muscles of his back ripple as he reaches for his prosthetic, pulling it onto his leg and adjusting its straps. He breathes his first breath of fresh air in years as he flips his gaze behind his shoulder, watching you sleep with parted lips. Despite easing his mind for a split second, his shoulders sag as he stands and checks the pressure on his leg. It’s fine, like most things in his life. Just fine.

His jaw aches with fatigue as he makes his way to the bathroom, quietly placing his feet on the wooden tiles of his bedroom floor, careful not to wake you with the aging groans of the floorboards. His feet only barely step above the ground, raking lazily beneath his weight until he, finally, shuts the bathroom door.

Shouta kept his pager on him at all times, clipping it to his dark shirt first thing in the morning— just in case. He didn’t patrol in his own neighborhood, it’d be quite…inconvenient to lure a villain straight into his home, after all. Washing his hands, disregarding the drying rack right next to the sink, Aizawa wipes his wet palms on his shirt, suds of soap dissolving into the midnight shade of his pajama top. A single lock of gray runs down the expanse of jet black hair, and Shouta finds himself sighing as he reaches for his toothbrush. It sits next to your own, as well as a sparkly pink one. It glints beneath the yellow light of the bathroom’s exposed lightbulb, making Aizawa shake his head at it fondly.

His reflection stares back at him, slowly distorting under his tired gaze.

It was late, even for him. Shouta tended to sleep into the late hours of the evening, beneath the comfort of a heavy weighted blanket (if you weren’t draped over him), until his pager went off or a nightmare pulled him from his slumber. Besides that, you found, he slept like a rock. There were years of exhaustion eating away at him that he had to make up for, after all.

You’re still asleep when he steps out of the bathroom, nuzzling into the empty side where he just slept. A frown pulls on your sleeping face as, even through slumber, Aizawa is no longer in bed with you. Warmth runs through his veins, figurative light beaming down on him as he watches you get comfortable once more.

Shouta clears his throat, swallowing down the taste of mint as he runs a hand through his hair, now long enough to reach the small of his back. A bit harder to maintain, but you were often the one brushing out the knots, combing your fingers through his hair until he found himself soundly asleep. What would he do without you?

“Wait, one more thing!” You grinned, wide with adoration as you pulled out pink fabric, folded neatly despite being in a comically large bag all day. You handed it to him with undisputed enthusiasm, nodding at him to unfold it.

Shouta’s long fingers unraveled the fabric, his eyebrows shooting upwards as he stared down at the soft, pink apron littered with strawberry designes. It was cute, unbearably so, and for a moment he assumed it’s for Eri. It was much too big for her, though, and seemed to be your size, if anythung.

“What.” His question fell flat, his eyes raking over the apron until he spotted something glimmering beneath it. Caught by the lights of his livingroom, Shouta picked it up, swallowing hard when he finally realized what it was. A ring, connected to a silver necklace, perfect for discretion..something that undeniably shouted ‘Aizawa Shouta.’ His dark eyes made contact with you immediately as he closed his fist around the chain, pulling you into a kiss. He put his heart and soul into it, salty tears running down his face in slow, fluctuating streams. It was short, sweet and to the point. Shouta decided, then on, that his idea of love was found in strawberries and birthday candles.

“Happy birthday, Sho.”

Now, on a cool summer’s night, his fingertips trace the apron, a gift (that you, funnily enough, bought for yourself) that held much more sentiment than it showed, burns and stains the two of you couldn’t quite clean, marks of crayons from Eri when she didn’t know you were meant to color on paper, nail polish stains from Nemuri, remnants of Hizashi’s hair gel…countless memories.

Perhaps it was too late to have dinner, an unconventional time to start fiddling with pots and pans, hearing them clash into the floor and consequently wake you, but sometimes..needs were much more important than normality. That’s what you told him, at least. And Shouta trusted you with every single part of himself. He pulls the apron over his head, feeling the straps thread through his fingertips until he’s tying them behind his back, loose enough for comfort.

He rinses off a pan from the drying rack sitting adjacent to the sink, resting on faux marble counters. Shouta purses his lips, scratching his earlobe with clipped nails. He didn’t cook often, that was more your specialty. It’d be nice to do something special for you though, and Shouta tells himself it’s not a big deal. Couples cook for each other all the time. He’s just unsure of what to cook.

You remember the feeling of his stubble scratching at your skin, the low hum in his throat rumbling throughout the entity of your back, as Shouta finds himself wrapping his arms around your front. Though he isn’t smiling, you know he’s happy, watching you stir vegetables into golden brown onions. He expresses his disdain with a low grumble, half lidded eyes staring down at the neasuating amount of green as a large wooden spoon tosses it to and fro.

“Anything is better than all that coffee.” You said, as if you could feel him burning a hole through the hydrating vegetables. He doesn’t respond to that, pulling away from your body heat to— just as you assumed— make coffee.

He decides to go for comfort food, katsudon, in retaliation against the leftover oyaku that Yamada stacked the majority of his fridge with after you told him about Shouta’s migraines. Just thinking about the porridge made his stomach roll in protest, despite having been free from the meal choice for almost a month. There was always leftover rice, thankfully, and Shouta rejoices with the click of the ‘heat-up’ button.

The bubbling of oil makes your footsteps fall on deaf ears as you pad into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from your eyes. It was the initial smell that woke you, spices and seasonings dancing through the air as the cheap air conditioning of Shouta’s apartment worked against it. It’s restraints were futile, nowhere near strong enough to mask the smell of freshly fried pork cutlets. You sniff the air, once twice, three times had you not been interrupted by an exaggerated yawn.

The sight in front of you is something to behold, slightly blurry from rubbing your eyes; Shouta placing matching bowls against the counter. Despite the minimalism of his apartment, Shouta did seem to indulge himself in a certain type of chopsticks. While yours were stainless steel, Shouta often brought cute accessories to adorn the length of each stick. Perhaps it was Eri, who he looked after every other day, who got him caught up in the idea of using vibrant kittens to decorate his chopsticks. Either way, it was an endearing habit.

Retirement looked good on Aizawa. His hair, long and healthy, was pulls into a loose ponytail, a bright red scrunchie holding the wild waves of his hair. His shirt, dark and long sleeved, hugged the muscles of his biceps, and he seemed much younger while he was lost in acts of service. The pink apron sat between his shirt and his wedding ring, which rested right above his heart. You weren’t married by law, the two of you decided that legality didn’t mean anything, because as long as you were together you’d be bound for life. You wondered if Shouta could hear your own, fast and unsteady as you soak in the otherworldly sight of…him.

Unable to pull words from your mouth, your stomach speaks for you. Finally catching up with your mind, it rumbles, loud enough to drive a sound out of Shouta. Of course, having been a hero for so long- a vigilante, at one point- Shouta knew you were there since the beginning. He doesn’t bother looking over his shoulder as he plates the katsudon, even going out of his way to lazily chop chives. Bless his heart, Shouta doesn’t flinch when his thumb catches on the sharp blade of the knife. It’s your turn to feel for him, turning on the faucet as you grab his hand and run it under cold water. Shouta hums, nodding a quiet thank you, despite not particularly feeling the cut.

“Didn’t hear you get up,” You carry on, opening a drawer to find a few hello kitty bandaids. Courtesy of Eri, once again, you smile to yourself as you watch Shouta wipe the mixture of blood and water on his shirt. He offers his hand back to you, allowing you to wrap the bandage around his wound. Small or not, you’d be there to patch him up. “Were you up long?”

It’s a stupid question, and you both know the answer to it. Yet, Shouta shakes his head and says:

“No.”

He looks acceptionally kissable, lips pressed into a line as he looks down at you. The only give away is the way he scratches his chin, sheepishly, as he tears his body away from you to carry out your dinner— to the island table, the same marble material as the one surrounding the sink countertop. You want him, all of him, as you pull him by the straps of your apron, stopping short when his chest nearly knocks you over. His eyebrows knit together, confusion resting on his tongue before he can part his lips to what the hell you think you‘re doing, you pepper kisses across his face, starting from his jaw, his beard prickling your lips with every kiss.

That’s what seems to get him, your rapid fire kisses as you hold him still, laughter rising oh, so quietly until he’s moving his face away, a full blown grin on his face. If you thought he looked younger before, it was like whiplash seeing him smile. Years of mourning and existential dread lifted from his face, for a moment you forgot it was Shouta you were looking at.

“Stop!” He gasps, much louder than intended. He blinks once, twice, dark eyelashes beating against the apples of his cheeks as he clears his throat. “Food’s gonna get cold.”

As he watches you eat, having taken a seat the moment he finally situated the bowls, Shouta no longer wonders if it’s all worth it. Adjusting the straps of his prosthetic leg, deciding if he’d rather wear an eyepatch or a glass eye. Preserving himself through all these years, none particularly good to him, except for the ones he’s spent with you, he no wonders if waking up is still worth it. He’d hate to leave you alone, cold and barren as his side of the bed remains untouched, only the ghost of what used to be Shouta Aizawa keeping you company during sleepless nights. But he’ll never have to.

He knows you truly love him. The way you look at him, as if he is the center of the universe, the pull in which attracts objects despite being thrown in the opposite direction, he knows it will stay that way. Stronger than the unreplenishable pain that strikes his eye at least twice a day, he feels as though your love is a stronger drug than his pain meds. He no longer wishes to feel numb, he wishes to feel good. High off anything you’re willing to give him, and whatever it may be, he knows it will work.

He knows he has given all of himself to you. Even the parts of him that struggle for air as he falls; deeper, and deeper, and deeper into the inevitable. You pry, you ask, you listen, and Shouta knows that you have already seen all he is willing to give, and even more. He wants to inhale the clear smoke from your lungs as they set aflame, begging for air and beating against his chest as you whisper— ‘I’m here, you’re here. We’re okay, We’re safe, Sho’...’ He hopes- no, he knows, he is the one you give your all to, the one who squashed your insatiable desire to love and be loved with one look. He has the raw, bruised, bloodied and beaten version of you as you cling onto him for comfort. As you offer him the same thing, many nights later.

He fell for you long ago, when he was a student at UA. He fell for you before he could pinpoint that feeling as love, and, even then, had he decided he wanted to grow old (older) with you. His heart had bursted, exploded and gave away its vulnerable interior long ago. Even then, you were there. Even then, though uncertain, part of him knew. You loved him, just as much as he loved you.

“You have a little,” Shouta points to the corner of his mouth, waving his slender finger in a circular motion. “Right there.”

“Huh?” He watches your face contort, the normal scowl etched away at his lips melt, and Aizawa finds himself smiling fondly. Only a small upward quirk to the corner of his lips, that slowly spreads when you lean over to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“That’s…not what I meant.”

“I know.” Shouta supposes that, yes, you do know. It seems as though you’ve always known, at least in the Aizawa-department, anyway.

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wordsintimeandspace · 2 years

Text

Before it Breaks

After Prentiss, Jon is scared and hurting and more than a little paranoid. Although he hasn’t recovered yet, he starts investigating his employees - only to end up on Tim’s couch when he collapses. It might be his only chance to fix what is not yet entirely broken, if only he can shake the suspicion that Tim is a killer…

Jon&Tim, rated T, around 4300 words. Read on AO3! This was written for day 3 of @tmaappreciationweek.

Jon isn’t quite sure what he was thinking.

Well, no, that's not quite true. ‘I need to know if anyone wants to kill me’ was the thought that made him bolt out of the flat this morning. He just isn't sure why he did it like this, after barely two hours of sleep and running on nothing but paranoia induced adrenaline.

Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, the pain and fatigue that still remain after Prentiss’ attack are hitting him so hard that he can barely stand upright. And he’s nowhere close to home - he nearly made it to Tim’s house by now. Earlier, he thought this was a good choice to start investigating the people at the Institute. Close enough that he could walk instead of taking the tube and suffering the writhing crowd, and familiar enough that he knows where to hide so he can watch the house without raising suspicion.

Now, Jon has to admit that both parts didn’t really work out. He clearly was in no shape to walk all the way, and he’s far too aware of all the people staring at him.

He can’t really blame them. He hasn’t slept well in a long time. He barely glanced at a mirror before dashing out of the house this morning. He’s still covered in gauze and bandages, and probably looks like he’s two seconds from keeling over. No wonder that people are staring. He wouldn’t be surprised if anyone calls the police on him while lurking outside of Tim’s house - or an ambulance.

With a pained hiss, Jon sinks down onto a nearby bench. He can’t keep going like this, with his head swimming and his legs throbbing in pain. He squeezes his eyes shut, slowly breathing through the nausea churning in his stomach.

“Are you okay?” someone asks and Jon reluctantly opens his eyes to see a young woman standing next to him, peering down at him in concern.

“Fine,” he says through gritted teeth, and tries to push himself back to his feet. He sways, black dots dancing in front of his vision. Before he can fall, the woman grabs his arm to guide him back down onto the bench. Jon gasps, his skin crawling at the touch, but he doesn’t have the strength to shake her off.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” the woman says, still clutching his shoulder, and reaches into her pocket for her phone.

“No,” Jon protests. He must sound desperate enough that the woman stills in her tracks. “No, it’s- it’s fine. My… friend lives just around the corner.”

The woman doesn’t look too convinced. Maybe she can tell it’s a lie, or at least not the whole truth. Describing Tim as his friend feels strange, especially now. Back in Research maybe, but that was so long ago.

In the end, it still seems to be enough to get the stranger off his back. She finally lets go of him, and Jon breathes a sigh of relief.

Reluctantly the woman leaves. Jon sits there for a moment longer, silently cursing himself for ending up in this situation. Although it’s hard to form a coherent thought through the pain, slowly and surely he becomes aware of three things.

One, Tim might be a killer, and Jon could be his next target. Two, there’s no way he can make it back home like this. Three, if he wants to avoid an ambulance, or the tube, or getting into a cab with a stranger who might want to harm him as well, Tim is his only option. He’s desperate for a place to rest, despite the danger. The thought of facing Tim fills him with dread, but what choice does he have? At this point the pain and exhaustion are so all-encompassing that they’re overwhelming the fear.

Jon grits his teeth, and pushes himself back to his feet. This time, he manages to stay upright, despite the sharp pain shooting through his legs. Slowly he staggers off, approaching Tim’s house with trembling steps. Once he reaches the door he’s shaking, although he isn’t sure if it’s due to pain or exhaustion or fear.

He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to do this. It’s sheer desperation that makes him lift a hand to knock.

In the few seconds after, Jon can’t help but think of a different door, one with ghastly, spindly limbs waiting behind it. But when the door opens, it’s only Tim on the other side. His eyes widen in surprise as he sees Jon, but his expression quickly morphs into alarm. It’s the last thing Jon sees before blacking out.

For a few moments, there’s nothing. Then Tim’s cursing makes it through the ringing in his ears, and Jon becomes vaguely aware that he’s half dragged, half carried into the house. He tries to get back onto his feet, but he has no strength left in his limbs. Finally Tim manoeuvres him into the living room and onto the couch. Jon blinks against the black spots still dancing in front of his vision. God, it feels so good to lie down. It eases the burning pain in his legs, at least a little.

“Christ,” Tim hisses somewhere next to him and wraps a hand around Jon’s wrist. Jon flinches, but Tim’s grip doesn’t falter. A desperate sound escapes from Jon’s throat as he tries to pull his hand away.

“Let go,” he gasps, and immediately the touch is gone.

Jon blinks, heart racing in his chest, and finally manages to focus on Tim.

He put some distance between them, sitting back on his heels and holding up his hands in surrender. A strange expression crosses his face that Jon can’t even begin to parse in his current state. “I was just trying to take your pulse,” Tim says. “You know, to make sure you didn’t just die on my doorstep.”

“I didn't die,” Jon protests weakly. “Obviously. I- I’m fine.”

Tim frowns, looking him up and down. Jon squirms under his gaze and tries to sit up. Pain slices through his shoulder at the movement and with a whimper, he falls back down onto the couch.

Tim’s face darkens. “Do you need something for the pain?”

Jon manages a weak nod. Immediately Tim is on his feet and out of the room, only to return a moment later with a familiar looking bottle of pills. Tim squints at the label before looking back at Jon. “How many did you take this morning?”

“Um-” Jon hesitates, not quite able to meet Tim’s eyes.

Tim heaves a sigh. “C’mon, just tell me. There’s a limit of how many you can take in a day.”

“Um, I- I didn’t… I didn’t take any,” Jon finally admits.

Tim stares at him in disbelief. “Oh, what the hell,” he groans and presses three pills into Jon’s palm. He hands him a glass of water as well, and Jon manages to sit up enough to swallow them down.

With a trembling breath, Jon sinks back onto the couch. God, he's so tired. Even though he tries to fight it his eyes flutter shut, and for a while he just lies there, waiting for the pain to subside.

He’s not sure how much time has passed when something is draped across his chest. It startles Jon out of his doze immediately, panic kicking in before he can figure out what’s going on. With a gasp he wrenches open his eyes, and freezes in terror as he sees Tim standing right above him.

The weight on his chest doesn’t move, making it impossible to breathe, and Jon’s limbs are slow and sluggish to respond as he desperately tries to push it off. The painkillers are kicking in, and they’re kicking in hard. He can’t move, can’t think, can’t speak. Only a distressed cry escapes his throat.

Oh, how stupid he was to come here.

“Woah, hey! Hey!” Tim exclaims. All of a sudden the weight vanishes from his chest. Jon gasps, desperate to get air into his lungs. Through his hazy vision, he sees Tim crouching down beside him.

“Jon, that was just a blanket,” Tim says urgently. “You’re okay. C’mon, breathe.”

Jon tries to suck in a shuddering breath. To his surprise there’s nothing constricting his chest, and slowly but surely he manages to breathe through the panic. As it subsides, he finally looks at Tim who still crouches next to him, watching him in concern and confusion. When Jon meets his eyes, he gives Jon a hesitant smile.

“That’s it,” Tim says lightly, although his eyes are still serious. “It’s alright. You’re safe here, I promise.”

Jon wants to protest, but he doesn’t have any strength left. His eyes fall shut once again. Slowly, he’s losing his fight against consciousness. He knows Tim is still there. It should be unsettling, but he doesn’t try to touch Jon again. Instead he keeps talking, his voice a steady, soothing murmur, telling Jon over and over again that he’s safe. Jon desperately wants to believe him.

Finally, with Tim’s voice still in his ears, Jon falls asleep. For the first time in weeks, he doesn’t dream.

~~~

Jon wakes slowly, gradually slipping back into consciousness. It takes a while until he can bring himself to open his eyes. When he does, he blinks in surprise at the light in the room. It’s not dark out yet, but the light streaming through the window seems muted, much closer to dawn than he expected. Confused, Jon turns his head to look around.

He sees Tim on the other side of the room, curled up in an armchair with his legs dangling over the side. He’s watching a video on his phone, the light flashing across his face. After a moment he notices Jon’s eyes on him. With a hesitant smile, Tim pulls out his earbuds and sets his phone aside.

“Hey,” Tim says softly. “How are you feeling?”

Jon takes a moment to think about it. He’s still incredibly tired, but the pain right now is manageable. Still, he grimaces at the crick in his neck as he tries to sit up a little. “N-not bad. But been better,” he finally says, voice raspy from sleep.

Tim watches him rub his aching neck and gives him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I know that couch is terrible to sleep on. If I’d known you’d be out all day I would have insisted that you take the bed. And… well. I know you’re a lightweight, but I don’t think I could carry you right now, with all this.”

Grimacing, Tim gestures at the bandages still covering his body. For the first time today, Jon properly takes them in. The bandages are still peeking out from beneath Tim’s collar and are wrapped around his hands, but there’s a few spots on Tim’s arms and cheeks where he’s left them off. The wounds there are scabbed over, and look much better than Jon’s.

Unsure what to say, Jon pulls his gaze away to look at the window and the darkening sky behind it. He frowns. “All day?” he finally asks.

“Yup. It’s about six, you showed up just a bit before eleven this morning. Looks like you needed some rest.”

Jon blinks, a bit startled. He doesn’t know when he last slept so long, undisturbed by nightmares. All he wanted was to rest for a short moment, just long enough to make it back home, back to safety. He really should get going.

He pushes himself upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch. Dizziness and nausea slam into him at the movement, sudden and vigorous, and he takes a few long seconds to breathe through it. When his vision clears and he finally manages to look up, Tim is watching him with a look of exasperation.

“Did you eat this morning?” he asks, in a tone like he already knows the answer. “These pills are a bit rough on an empty stomach.”

“Um, I- I didn’t…” Jon starts, but Tim rolls his eyes at him before he can string together a full sentence.

“I’ll get you some tea and toast, that might help to settle your stomach. Don’t move.”

Jon bristles at his tone, but Tim darts out of the room before he can protest. With a sigh, Jon lets his head fall back against the cushions and runs a hand down his face. The fatigue still weighs on his shoulders, heavy as lead, and he doesn’t think he could move even if he wanted to. Absently, his gaze wanders over the familiar room. His eyes catch on the blanket, abandoned on the other side of the couch. For a moment the urge to reach out for it and wrap it around him is nearly overpowering, but after his earlier reaction, Jon can’t bring himself to do so. He averts his gaze, shame burning in his stomach, and waits for Tim to come back.

By the time he does, his stomach feels a little better. Jon gratefully reaches for the plate with buttered toast and the steaming mug of tea, but instead of the Earl Grey he expected he finds a light green liquid in the mug. Jon frowns down at it.

“Peppermint,” Tim explains as he walks back to the other side of the room, slumping down in the armchair. “Good for the stomach. You can have your caffeine later if you can keep this down.”

“I’m-” Jon stops himself, biting back a protest. “Thank you,” he finally says, slowly and carefully, and takes a sip. It’s not quite what he wanted, but the warmth is comforting nonetheless.

Tim gives him a hesitant smile. He keeps watching Jon, making him squirm in his seat, and finally voices the question Jon has been dreading ever since he knocked on Tim’s door. “So, do you want to explain what happened?” Tim asks and raises an eyebrow at him. “What are you doing here? And what the hell have you been up to that you just passed out on my doorstep?”

“I- I didn’t pass out,” Jon lies, frowning into his tea. He can’t bring himself to meet Tim’s eyes. “I was just… a bit lightheaded.”

“You totally passed out. I would know, I was the one who had to catch you when you swooned like a maiden. And don’t avoid the question.”

Jon gulps, trying to decide how much he can reveal. He can’t just admit that he thinks Tim might be a killer. But he can’t lie either - Tim knows him too well and Jon is sure he would see through it immediately. In the end, he settles on something that’s at least a little bit of the truth.

“I- I was… not sleeping well,” Jon starts hesitantly. He looks down at his hands, desperately wishing that he would have remembered to wear his black ring today to have something to fiddle with. “But I’ve also been stuck in my flat for too long, and I was restless and nervous, and I… I had to get out and move. And, well. I think I overestimated myself. When I needed a break I realised I was in the area and, um. It seemed like a better option than walking all the way back home.”

Tim is silent for a while. Jon takes another sip from his tea and a hesitant first bite of the toast.

“Have you been having nightmares?” Tim finally asks, voice quiet.

Jon wants to laugh, but the sound that leaves his lips is strangled and bitter. “We got eaten by worms, Tim. Of course I’m having nightmares,” he says, although the worms are hardly the only thing he dreams about.

“Err, yeah. Sorry. Stupid question.”

Jon finally looks up at him. Earlier, he had thought how much better Tim looks compared to him. But now, Jon is surprised to see that Tim looks just as tired and haunted as he does. There’s dark shadows under his eyes, and even though his wounds are healing, they’re still a stark contrast against Tim's skin, an undeniable picture of the horrors they both went through. Something in Jon’s chest aches at the sight.

“You as well?” he finally asks, his voice quiet. Tim nods. He runs a hand down his face, letting out a sigh.

“Yeah. Course.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

Jon grimaces. “I- I can’t help but feel like it was my fault,” he admits. “You’re all in the Archives because of me. And- if I’d just realised what was happening, found the right statements, maybe…”

Tim watches him for a moment, his brow furrowed. “You know, at some point in the last few weeks, I was thinking the same,” Tim says, and Jon can’t help but flinch at the words. “But that’s not fair, is it? Sure, I followed you down to the Archives because you’re my friend, but it was still my decision. And look at you. You’re a mess. You’re suffering through this the same as me, if not worse. It’s not as if you wanted this to happen.”

There’s that word again. Friend. Jon gulps around the lump in his throat, and tries not to think about it too closely. “You know how to pay a compliment,” he finally grumbles.

Tim lets out a startled laugh, and some of the tension between them finally eases. “Sorry Jon, but you look like shit,” he says with a grin. “There’s no way to sugarcoat it.”

“Well, yes. I’m aware.”

Tim’s smile softens a little. “I’m sure you’ll feel better after some actual food. How’s your stomach? Think you can handle it?”

Jon looks down to his plate, where just a few crumbs are left from his toast. Now that the nausea has subsided, he notices how hungry he is. He nods. “Yes. It’s- it’s alright.”

“Okay. Martin wanted to come over with takeout in a bit, I’ll let him know your order.”

Jon looks up, startled. Being alone with Tim is one thing, but being alone with Tim and Martin…

“I- I don’t want to intrude,” he protests, a tremor in his voice. “I should go.”

Tim raises an eyebrow at him. “Don’t be stupid. You wouldn’t be intruding.”

“No, no, if you two are, err, getting close like this-”

Tim lets out a laugh. “It isn’t like that. Martin is coming over with dinner because I, as you so eloquently put it, got eaten by worms, and he’s my friend and wants to make sure I’m okay. And he’s your friend too. He would do the same for you if you’d bother to answer his texts.”

This stuns Jon into silence. Is Martin his friend? Sure, he did text Jon several times since he’s been on sick leave, but it hasn’t been long since his presence unnerved Martin so badly that he could barely get out a full sentence without stammering.

“C’mon, please stay. Martin has been worried about you, he’ll be glad to see you.” Tim pauses for a moment before he continues, softer this time. “We’ve both been worried.”

Emotion swells in Jon’s chest, warm and sharp and entirely too much to deal with. “Fine,” he hastily says and jumps to his feet. “You know what I like. I’ll get more tea in the meantime.” And with that, he flees from the room before Tim can get another word out.

In the kitchen, Jon braces his arms against the counter, taking a few deep breaths. His arms are shaking, his mind reeling at the sudden surge of emotion. He can’t do this. He can’t afford to let his guard down like this. This is what’s going to get him killed. No, he won’t allow himself this kind of attachment. He’ll just drink a cup of tea and eat whatever dinner Martin brings him and then, if he actually makes it through this alive, he’ll go home and put his barriers back into place, until there’s finally enough distance between him and anyone else to keep him safe.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Jon finally pulls himself into motion. He turns on the electric kettle, grabs a mug from the cupboard, and opens the drawer where Tim keeps his tea.

As soon as he scans the contents, he freezes in his tracks. The air is knocked out of his lungs, and for a moment Jon can only stare down at the colourful containers.

In the drawer, between the peppermint and the English breakfast tea, is a very familiar box. Earl Grey flavoured with vanilla, from a fancy brand that’s always a struggle to get in a regular supermarket. Jon knows it so well because it’s his favourite. He also knows that Tim doesn’t like it.

He used to keep it around for Jon back in research when they were spending a lot of time together at Tim’s place. First just for working late in a more comfortable environment than the dusty offices, and later for movie nights and board game afternoons and cooking dinner together.

It was so long ago, but the box in the drawer is still unopened. Jon runs a finger over the seal, gulping around the lump in his throat. Even after all this time, after they stopped hanging out when Jon got promoted, Tim still keeps it stocked up for him.

Even after all this time, Tim is still his friend.

The realisation hits him like a physical blow, knocking the air out of his lungs. Jon gulps against the tears burning in his eyes, but it doesn’t help. His vision blurs as a strangled sob escapes his throat.

“Martin is going to be here in-” Tim says from somewhere behind him before he abruptly stops himself. “Jon?”

Another sob rips through him. Jon doesn’t even try to hide his tears. He just turns to look at Tim, taking in the concern on his face.

He missed this. All of this - the intimacy of being in a space that isn’t his but is familiar enough that he has a favourite mug and knows in which drawer the tea is. The subtle care of someone buying things just because he likes them. Having a friend who worries about him.

Christ, he missed Tim.

“Hey,” Tim says, a bit helplessly. He reaches out to Jon, but jerks his hand away before he can touch him. Even now, Tim is still so careful after his touch upset him earlier. How could Jon really think that Tim would hurt him? Guilt and shame flood through him, making him cry even harder.

“Jon, it’s okay,” Tim says, helplessly hovering in front of him. Jon sniffles, tears still streaming down his cheeks, and finally throws himself into Tim’s arms. Tim hesitates for just a second before he wraps his arms around Jon, holding him close as he cries.

For a long while, there’s nothing but the warmth of Tim’s body, the reassuring pressure of his arms around him, and his soothing voice in Jon’s ear. Jon cries like a dam has been broken, letting out all the pent up grief over the loss of an easier life back in research, without worms and statements and the constant fear hanging over his head. A life where he still had a friend at his side. Tim holds him through it, offering comfort Jon doesn’t feel like he deserves. Finally his sobs slow down to sniffles, but still he doesn’t let go. Somehow, with his face buried in the crook of Tim’s neck, all of this is easier to bear. Somehow, with Tim’s arms still around him, Jon feels safe for the first time in so long. Safe enough to finally utter the next words.

“I-I’m afraid,” he manages to get out. “A-a-after what happened with Gertrude.”

“Gertrude?” Tim asks, perplexed.

Jon nods, still not looking up. “Someone killed her. Not- not something like Prentiss. Someone human. Someone who works at the Institute, or is familiar enough with it to know about the tunnels.”

“Jon…” Tim says hesitantly, but Jon continues, desperate to explain.

“I-I might be next. If she was killed because she was Head Archivist, because she found something in the statements, then…” Jon shudders and trails off, fear constricting his throat.

Tim is stunned into silence for a long moment. When he speaks, there’s something heavy in his voice. Something like shock, and something like betrayal. “Jon, did you- earlier, when you… did you think I would-”

“I don’t know,” Jon says desperately. “I don’t know what to think. I don’t know who to trust. I’m sorry, Tim.”

Tim lets out a long breath. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Okay. But you… you’re telling me now. So you trust me, yeah?”

“I’m-” Jon stops himself, trying to think. He isn’t sure if he trusts Tim. He isn’t sure if he can, not right now. But maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s just a choice he has to make. And right now, with Tim still holding him close as if he wants to protect Jon from all the dangers of the world, despite what Jon has just told him, it’s an easy choice to make. “I- I do. I’m trying to, at least.”

“Okay,” Tim says again, relief in his voice. He presses his lips to the top of Jon’s head. “We’ll figure it out then. Together. Both of us, and Martin as well, if you want. Whatever happens, you don’t have to do it alone, okay?”

Jon gulps against the tears burning in his eyes once again. He’s still scared, both of what they went through and of what lies in front of them. But maybe, he thinks, this will be enough to make it out on the other side. He nods, holding Tim a little tighter and clinging to that sliver of hope. “Okay.”

#tmaappreciationweek #tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfiction #jontim #my fic

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mega-bastard · 3 years

Photo

Bitch in Heat Stuck Under Debris Gets WRECKED

a miki mouse whorehouse collab, the m.list you can find here

cw: sexual harrassment, abo themes, dubcon kinda

as the poor quality picture can’t really show you, I got stuckage and I chose Bakugo with the finishing touch of making it ABO <3 It’s also two days late but shhhhh we don’t talk about it uwu also 2.7 words of pain enjoy

katsuki bakugou is becoming a thorn in your side.

you’ve both been metaphorically and somewhat literally glued to each others sides since highschool. it’s not necessarily a bad thing, to be quite frank katsuki is something of a deterrent in a world of second genders and pheromones— something you capitalized on in high school.

being an omega hero isn’t something entirely world shattering, but it’s a position that comes with lots of stereotypes— stereotypes you fought tooth and nail to fight against in your younger years. being one of four omegas in your class was...irritating, to say the least. lots of preconceived notions that you needed to be helped with trivial things, and while your classmates intentions came from a good place it was maddening. save for katsuki, back when he had no restraint with his anger and aggression, he didn’t coddle you like your classmates did. Labeled a brute for his actions towards his omega classmates in trivial interaction or sparring, you thrived on the normality— katsuki was an ass to everyone. Your omega was placated, finally encountering an alpha who wasn’t belittling her with preconceived daintiness.

it was easy to hang near katsuki, ignoring the atrocity that was his vocabulary. eventually like the rest of the peanut gallery that was the bakusquad, you just existed alongside katsuki— which meant that you grew on him. katsuki swears up and down that you’re all a nuisance but you’ve seen him go up to bat for all you at some point, you knew you’d all made some sort of ragtag pack with one another. this was rather amazing to you at the time, not to sell yourself short but you’d never really imagined belonging to a close knit group of friends— especially realizing that they understood when it was appropriate to step in for you. katsuki in particular had a knack for being at the right place at the right time.

During your second year you fumbled.

interning with miruko had its perks, a top 5 hero with raw strength, cunning, and the drive to just keep going— and an omega. landing and internship with her had been a dream, even more-so when you learned she’d been watching you since your first year because of the festival. bright eyed and eager, nothing could have dampened your spirits— neither katsuki and his usual moody behavior or the standoffish alpha from shiketsu. yes, you all had landed an internship with miruko and part of you was...worried? katsuki had never looked down on heroes based on their second genders but you couldn’t speak for the shiketsu alpha, both alphas interning under an established omega hero put your inner omega on edge— you didn’t quite know why though. but you chose to squash the feeling and enjoy your internship with who was essentially your idol and continue on.

then you started getting sexually harassed.

his name was omori kisai and he was the worst. hailing from shiketsu, known for their dignified schooling, he was far from it. salacious comments dropped when no one was listening, less that appropriate touching when passing by and just general ick that had your skin crawling and omega snarling. it was easy to brush it off as banter the first time, section off the awkward contact as an accident. The second time you made it clear the comments were not liked and the touches far from appropriate, after the third time you’d snap an insult or have to hold a trembling fish from making contact. but it was coming to a head and your suppressors could only do so much to hide your souring scent. looking back you should have said something, but your pride had told you that it was a necessary step to overcome and push through— that he wouldn’t be the last. it weighed you down, day by day, a heavy cloud that wouldn’t let up. one particular bad timed comment brought tears to eyes and shame to your entire being.

thankfully, as time would come to show, katsuki tended to nose into your dilemmas.

the day prior to the abrupt end of your harassment you’d been tripped up by a villian and had fallen a sizeable distance into a pitiful excuse of pond. of course, omori had taken this as an open invitation to mock you and then offer you his shitty hero costume cloak— not without hinting at you returning the favor ‘somehow’. yeah right. you had stomped off, unaware of katsuki’s presence nearby. come next day, omori avoided you like the plague and katsuki not so subtly stuck to your side like an unwilling chowchow— all growly and temperamental. but his constant presence rubbed his scent off on you. despite his less than chummy attitude, you weren’t mad; katsuki smelled like cinnamon spice and whiskey with hints of burnt caramel— absolutely overpowering yet decadent all the same.

you tried not to think about just how much you enjoyed his smell. your omega was purring about it.

the omori incident was the beginning of katsuki’s subtle hovering. though you pried the truth of his involvement in omori leaving you alone after offhandedly bringing it up to mina and jirou one day, katsuki helped you out of situations as invasively as possible time and time again. by the end of third year it was no secret to you of your classmates teasing of your relationship with katsuki; an amiable and prideful omega and the irritable powerhouse of an alpha. you brushed it off because...well you didn’t know why, but katsuki’s seeming indifference to the teasing had you quelling every jittery happiness your inner omega expressed at the thought of katsuki being your alpha.

now, three years out of highschool and beginning to climb the ranks, katsuki was becoming testy— and for the life of you the reason couldn’t be more opaque. you both work at the same agency, and due to the nature of your quirks you spend all your time together due to their compatibility. compatibility was a bitter word for you, katsuki and yours supposed compatibility had been talked about for some time now but the sobering reality is that perhaps you two were simply good friends— and now sharing your omegas endearment for the explosive alpha had reared its ugly head.

your heat was a week away and already you felt the familiar fatigue begin to lap at you alongside general moodiness. all that coupled with the annoying need to be around katsuki was maddening and sprinkling his own extra grouchy attitude on top and you were ready to snap. in hindsight, that should have been your cue to take an extra week off— instead you chose to once again to champion pride instead of your intellect.

you could have stayed home this morning, you should have.

patrol had been slow, not particularly unusual but favored nonetheless. face raised to the slowly dipping sun you couldn’t help but sigh, the warmth of the late afternoon sun was heaven sent-- you could sleep standing up with much issue. it remided you katsuki, strangely enough though most things did recently.

the sound of screaming and rushing feet shook you from your drowsy stupor. Set on alert, you spied the source of the sudden discordance and found several villains causing a commotion. quickly calling for backup for you before finding yourself facing a hulking mass of green charging you head on. tranquility gone, it was time to fight.

the ache in your body could not be more apparent but your humiliation ran more rampant in your system than any ache or pain could, your fatigue more than present as your body hummed with warmth. leave it to you to get stuck face down and ass up amongst the trashed ruins of what was an office building, weighed down between a broken desk and a collapsed bookshelf. the villain you had engaged with, some self-named idiot calling himself cruel croc, packed a punch and your bruised body and rendered office floor were a testament to that. of course, you’d done quite the bit of damage to him yourself before the entire floor collapsed underneath you both— rendering the meathead unconscious under a rather hefty pile of concrete and debris whereas you were pinned and to utterly weak to do much.

the thrum of your heat was beginning its path of vengeance through your body, feeling too pliant to get yourself out of what was otherwise easy to fix problem. you were feeling it, bad. the heat of your clothed cunt was beginning to become too apparent, unconsciously squeezing your thighs to provide relief to no avail. no, this could not be happening right now of all times. but as much as your inner monologue fought to try and will away your heat, the warmth was becoming too much and sudden breeze of wind had you trembling and whining. the feel of slick beginning to wet your hero costumes spandex set your hazing thoughts into sudden panic, if cruel croc woke up or if another villain came across you would they be above...the thought alone could’ve made you puke. flashbacks to second year had you bucking wildly for freedom, you wouldn’t let anyone have the opportunity for—

“ OI! Shitty ‘mega were are you? Are you—“

you stilled, biting hard to keep your mouth shut. your omega was whimpering, desperate for the alpha, HER alpha to relieve her from her heat. on a normal day she could melt into his scent, but right now? she could drown in it and die happy. with his scent getting stronger the closer katsuki clambered toward you, the more the head haze grew-- the slicker your thighs became. the whimper you let loose was pitiful, the need for some sort of stimulation to your cunt becoming near painful the longer you remained so close yet so far from katsuki. the pathetic little “alpha” you whined as you heard him quickly approach from behind would’ve been utterly embarrassing to you in any other situation.

but if you could have turned to see katsuki, you would’ve been met with the look of an unmistakably feral alpha-- pupils dilated to hell, fingernails blackened, and canines elongated and sharpened. but what you lacked in sight, you could hear and smell.

katsuki was the definition of an alpha as is, but the way he was pushing his scent out was like a big red sign that screamed ‘DANGER’. To you, it had you feeling utterly submissive-- if you weren’t already face down and ass up you certainly would’ve moved into position. practically salivating at the thought of what katsuki could do--

the heated palm on the globe of your ass is thought pausing, the sudden heated touch coaxing a sugary sweet moan from deep in your throat-- the small touch quickly turning to rough palming at your moaning. tt feels so good, but you want more. need more.

“Please, need more Alpha” it's breathy and whiny, something you're far from day to day but it feels too natural escaping you. mewling at the ghost of a touch over your clothed cunt, your blubbering when it presses harder-- escalating you to tears of frustration when it ceases. practically feeling katsuki’s harsh breathing near your cunt you begin to wiggle and wail with all manner of unrestrained vigor; chanting alpha and katsuki like a prayer and begging for relief like a sinner for forgiveness. it’s working, you know it is, if katsuki’s breathing is anything to go by but he refuses any further touching. you want katsuki everyday, but right now you need him.

“Only want you Katsuki, please it’s only been you,” you hiccup your words through a shrill plea, but the tearing of your soaked spandex sends an excited chill down your spine. your legs tremble with excitement when katsuki grips the tops of your thighs and spreads them-- revealing your drooling cunt. it’s both too much and not enough all at once and you wiggle once more, yelping from a smack to your left ass cheek. it’s not particularly painful, not even as katsuki rubs over it right after the hit, but it quells your wiggling nonetheless. you open your mouth to urge him on but he beats you to it.

“No one else, you got that ‘mega? No one gets to see you like this, no gets to touch you like this-- your mine,” he punctuates his declaration with two of his deliciously thick fingers in your cunt and you squeal, “ you got that? I’m your alpha, always have been always will be.” nodding despite yourself, you struggle for words with his fingers pumping in and out alongside the ghost of pressure on your clit “Yes! Yes, I’m yours Katsuki!” you babble your words already teetering on the precipice of your first orgasm. it takes a pickup in pace and a rough rub along your clit and your wailing, slick streaming down your thighs as your first orgasm crashes into you.

despite the pleasant haze in your head, you faintly hear zippers being undone and the shuffling of clothes. licking your lips, you perk your ass up as much as the heavy bookcase allows, purring in excitement like a spoiled cat. The rough grab of your hips leaves you gasping, feeling the length of katsukis dick along your thigh-- long and heavy. you're salivating as he lines himself up with your weeping cunt, ramming his entire length in you with little regard. stars shoot across your vision and your ears deafen, crying out at being so full. it feels wonderful being stuffed this full and you babble it to katsuki. if you could see him, you would see just how prideful and smug he looked-- only he can take care of you like this, none of the other shitty alphas can take care of you this well.

katsuki sets a rough pace, drawing himself out slowly like he’s aiming for you to feel every vein of his dick before slamming back into you. your poor cunt clenches sporadically, drawing groans and growls from your alpha and all you can do is choke on broken moans because the way he feels churning your insides is downright sinful. you felt a band begin to tighten in your belly, your broken moans evolving into babbling-- how good katsuki was making you feel and how he was the only one who made you feel this good. it spurred him onward, fucking into you with more vigor alongside groans of your names and his own praise for you. “Good fuckin ‘mega”, “Takin’ me so well”, and “My perfect little mate” were some of the praise you could catch and had you preening. All of it combined you felt the band tighten and you couldn’t stop yourself from sobbing out. feeling the base of Katsuki’s length begin to swell, you could only salivate at the thought of being knotted.

“Want your knot Katsuki! Alpha I need it”

at your blubbering demand, katsuki faltered in pace for only a moment before a deep mix of a groan and growl ripped from his throat. grabbing and bending your leg upwards he fucked deeper and faster into your battered cunt, the new angle sending you hurtling into your orgasm. eyes rolled back and tongue, you felt utterly boneless-- momentarily brain dead before screaming out at Katsuki knotting you, his own groan of pleasure mixing with yours as he filled you impossibly full with his seed.

trembling underneath him, you were only a fraction aware of movement above you before the weight of the bookcase vanished from you. weakly you glance back up at your alpha. your surprised to see just how feral he looks, no doubt you’ve pushed him into his rut. whimpering as he moves down upon you, he nibbles and kisses along your jaw and neck before biting down on you scent gland. a flash a white hot pain curtailed by just as intense pleasure wracks your wrecked body but the dopy look of happiness pulls a low purr from katsuki.

you wanna say something, anything, but your too exhausted and as katsuki knot subsides you let another weak whimper as he removes himself-- feeling his seed spill from your battered cunt. he pulls a quiet moan from you as he gathers some of it a pushes back in-- and a glance at his smug face lets you know that he’s decidedly not done with you yet.

#miki mouse whorehouse collab #whorehouse compilation [rawdog 1080p] (try not to cum)#stuckage #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #abo #alpha/beta/omega #omegaverse #alpha katsuki #omega reader #self indulgent in that I want more alpha katsuki #so #I'll do it myself #happy belated valentines whores <3

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amjustagirl · 3 years

Text

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven. ~ eight.

Wordcount: 2.9k

Summary: Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it’s impossible to tame a storm

Masterlist link here

AO3 link here

Author’s Note: And we’re at the final chapter! Thank you so much for going on this wild ride with me, and I’m rly excited to hear what you guys think - so please, drop me an ask, a note, a comment, anything!!!

It takes time and effort to rebuild a home wrecked by a storm, and reconstruction efforts aren’t necessarily smooth sailing, especially at the start - after all, he’s still the same Miya Atsumu, arrogant and brash and foulmouthed and hyper focused on volleyball, and they both have baggage from years of regret and pain to work through. But he has determination to spare, and she loves him too much for her own good, so they start from the very foundation and work their way up, step by step, one day at a time.

‘I’ll kill ya if ya ever hurt her again’, Osamu threatens darkly when she and Atsumu break the news to him.

‘Go find yer own girl and stop being sweet on my wife damn it! ’ Atsumu growls, but the kiss he presses to her forehead when she smacks the back of his head for being mean to his twin is achingly sweet.

‘Ugh, soppy. Get yer shit outta my house!’ Osamu scrunches his face in mock disgust.

Both brothers are surprised when she beats Atsumu at flipping Osamu off.

Atsumu moves back home (he’s not even going to hide how happy the sound of that makes him), and they mark the occasion by slipping his wedding ring back on his finger and eating take-out pizza on the living room floor.

Her burly brothers turn up on their doorstep with a glint in their eyes and too much teeth in their smiles, determined to drag Atsumu off for a couple of drinks and what she assumes will be a very unpleasant chat. She’d insisted on patting them down to make sure they’re not packing any knives - ‘what do you take us for, little sis’, they’d protested - but she’s not taking any chances, and begs Osamu to join them, ‘please ‘Samu, I don’t want to be a widow right after I decide not to divorce his ass’, and he agrees despite grumbling that he might as well be Atsumu’s glorified babysitter at this rate.

She’d woken up in bed the next morning to find the space beside her empty, but the living room crammed full of those four silly men. Atsumu and Osamu share a single futon between them, snoring back to back. There are faint bruises on Atsumu’s cheekbone and telltale scrapes on her own brothers’ knuckles, but otherwise they all seem relatively unscathed.

She bends over, tracing her thumb along the contour of Atsumu’s jaw, and he stirs, eyes half lidded with sleep.

‘Hey darlin', I’ve come home’, he tells her, warmth flickering in his smile.

‘Welcome home, 'Tsumu’, she says, tucking the blanket under his chin and he hums in contentment, falling back asleep.

His nightmares of brown envelopes and harsh neon lights distorting her face slowly fade, and he dreams instead of weeknight dinners and weekend picnics at the park, relishing the quiet domesticity of grocery trips and laundry loads, and delighting in home games with her and Shino cheering him on.

Some piss poor excuse of a gossip hound corners him after a match to ask him about whether he regrets leaving for Milan since his season ended in injury - and he freezes when the reporter slyly adds ‘especially since we all knew it’s a move that required you to leave your wife and daughter behind ‘. His manager is about to intervene when she sneaks up on him to slide an arm around his waist, apologising to the reporter that ‘she’s just so excited to give her husband a congratulatory kiss!’ .

Sakusa and Meian have to join forces to pull Atsumu back from punching the reporter when he grins shark-like, thinking he’s spotted easy prey and asks her whether she felt abandoned in Japan due to his move - ‘pardon me Miya-san for my unwieldy choice of words’.

‘Not at all’, she says without missing a beat, and Atsumu wonders if he imagines the flash of a knife in her smile. ‘I’ve always supported my husband in all his endeavours. It was a joint decision that I should stay in Japan to ensure our daughter has some stability in her life.'

‘She’s good’, his manager tells him when the reporter slinks away with his tail between his legs.

‘Yeah - I don’t deserve her’, he answers with a rueful smile.

When he tries to thank her that night, she levels him with a look that could knock a grown man (i.e. him) off his feet, but her voice is gentle and her words are soft.

‘Don’t thank me’, she says. ‘Just be a better husband and father, ok?’

He’s not ashamed to admit that he actually cries.

He learns to tell her he loves her at least once a day. She starts to smile back cheekily and reply ‘of course’.

The game is in between sets when the skin at the back of his neck crackles with nerves. From the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Osamu sprinting right into the stands. Then his ears pick up on his little girl’s scream - ‘mama’ she cries, her shrill voice ringing above the confusion rippling through the crowd and his legs move of their own accord, leaping over the barrier into the audience, as he snarls and shoves his way to her usual spot.

He thought he’s had his fill of nightmares to last him a lifetime. He’s evidently wrong.

She lies crumpled on the ground, head resting on Osamu’s lap. Her lips are pale and her eyes are closed but thank god - thank whichever deity’s listening - her chest still moves with her breath. He’s not quite sure what happens next - he knows he dives to his knees and pulls her towards him but everything else is a blur until her eyes flutter open and she groans.

‘Darlin’, can ya hear me? Can ya tell me where you are?’ he asks, forcing his voice to remain calm.

‘Tsumu? Why are you here? Aren’t you in the middle of a game?’ she murmurs, confused.

‘Fuck the game’, he snaps. ‘Are ya feelin' ok?’

‘Something hurts, Tsumu’, she rasps, eyes glazing over. He can feel the chill of ice seep into his spine.

'Yer fine, yer fine, yer going to be fine' he mutters, over and over and over again, willing her to sit up and tell him she's fine, she's ok, she'll just shake it off - but light starts to shutter out of her eyes and frost creeps up his throat.

‘I need a medic!’ he shouts, voice cracking on every word. ‘I need a medic, now!’

‘Tsumu’, he hears his brother interrupt urgently. ‘Tsumu, she’s bleedin’.

He’s never been more grateful for Osamu when his twin turns to yell for an ambulance and yanks Shino away with him. The little girl is kicking and screaming for her mama but he knows she would kill him if he lets their little girl be traumatised from seeing her mama lying in a pool of blood on the floor.

He can’t breathe - not even when the medics finally come and whisk her off to the hospital, his mind hardly able to process anything, terror still coursing through his veins when the doctors press brown envelopes full of forms into his bloodstained hands for him to sign so the relevant procedures can be carried out.

‘Don’t!’ Osamu says sharply, when he drops his head into his hands and starts to whimper about how he’ll die if he loses her again and what the fuck is he gonna do, ‘Samu, if she doesn’t make it out alive – ‘she’s stronger than ya think, don’t ya dare give up on her like that’, and he promptly shuts up after that. Time in the waiting room passes agonizingly slow, seconds feeling like minutes, minutes stretching into hours, and he would have drowned from the weight of his despair if he weren’t anchored in place by his twin’s hand on his back.

His breath rushes back into his lungs when the doctors later tell him she’s fine, they carried out the standard operation - but she doesn’t look fine, doesn’t seem fine, is very clearly not fine when they wheel her out, huddled into a ball with her head between her knees, like her world has just collapsed into itself. She doesn’t even look up when he sits beside her, the bed dipping under his weight.

‘I’m sorry’, she eventually says, voice barely a whisper, and he fights the urge to break down into tears – because ‘Samu’s right, she’s so much stronger than he thinks. They'd been talking about trying for a sibling for Shino for some time now, since they've both grown up with brothers of their own and can't imagine life without them. But the doctors tell him that it’s just bad luck - the baby was never going to survive, and her collapse was probably exacerbated by stress, overwork, perhaps even fatigue from her skipping lunch for work and dinner to rush to his match.

‘Don’t be. It’s not yer fault at all’, he manages to pull himself together to reassure her, but she just stares blankly at the wall.

His grandmother calls when they find out the baby they lost would have been a boy, and he fails her again when he’s too late to snatch the phone away before the old lady’s poison drips into her ears and traps her in a deadly fog. He’d cursed the old bitch out relentlessly, but the toxic words fester beneath her skin and she fades into a ghost before his eyes. He desperately tries to stop her spiral into frozen silence, but he’s away for games more than half the time, hands tied behind his back by the stranglehold of contracts and commitments he has no choice but to fulfil.

He’s never been so thankful before when the season finally ends - but he is, at least this time, so he can talk her into taking two weeks off from work. They drop Shino off with her indulgent grandparents, and drift down the coast on the back of her bike. She doesn’t try breaking any speed limits - and he knows he should be happy about that, but there’s no spark in her eyes, no smile to answer the wind - there hasn’t been, not since she collapsed.

(not since they lost their child)

He buys her mochi at every town, but she picks at it listlessly, just like she does these days when Osamu tries to tempt her with his latest creations. He insists they stay at ryokans, traditional inns with onsens attached, hoping the heat from the water might chase the chill from her bones, but colour does not return to her cheeks. There are shadows beneath her eyes, and she seems to wilt under the vibrant red and gold of autumn leaves.

They go for a walk after dinner one night, tracing a path along the shore. He’d been talking non-stop the entire trip to mask the gaps left by her silence, but tonight he falls quiet, allowing the hum of the waves to wash over them. Her hand is cold in his, so he wraps his jacket around her shoulders and hopes the warmth from his body bleeds into hers.

She comes to a standstill, feet sinking in the sand, and tilts her head to face him.

‘Tsumu?’, she breathes, a question in her eyes.

‘I’m here’, he says, a prayer in his heart.

There is a lighthouse on the cliff just a few miles ahead, illuminating the shadows of the waves. The faintest reflection of light pools in her eyes, and he stills as she lifts her gaze to meet his.

‘I know’, she says, offering him the smallest of smiles.

He interlaces their fingers together firmly, and tugs her towards shelter, as a storm brews over the horizon.

That night she tucks her head under his chin, and he holds her until she falls asleep, cradled in his arms. He keeps slumber at bay by counting her breaths, and only falls asleep himself when the storm breaks.

'Why did I wake up to a blonde octopus wrapped around me', she mumbles, voice heavy with sleep.

'Nah. More like a seahorse, cos I'm not letting ya go, sweetheart', he replies, tightening his grip on her waist. 'Ya got a problem with that?'

Her only response is to burrow herself deeper into his chest.

'Guess not', he chuckles fondly, nuzzling his nose into her hair, hope blossoming anew in his heart.

Time turns their wounds into scars and they heal together, one breath at a time.

She stays away from their first few matches when the season begins again. The press is coerced into passing over reports of her collapse by the dual forces of the MSBY press machine and their legal team, but they are forced to ride out the gossip generated in internet forums by a fringe group of deranged fans. His teammates treat her like she’s made of glass - even Bokuto dials himself down a notch, all save for Shoyo, who slips her his mother’s number, telling her gently that the six year gap between him and Natsu wasn’t deliberate, and that she would find a sympathetic ear in the older woman.

He knew he was right to anoint Shoyo as his favourite wing spiker - not only does he fly high enough to answer the demand of every single one of his sets, but his sunniness drags her out of the fog into yoga classes and meditation practices, and slowly but surely he watches her bloom again. It’s a powerful combination - Shoyo-kun’s friendship and his mother’s gentle conversations, Osamu’s cooking and her love for Shino, capped with his determination to show her he loves her and prove that he’s here to stay.

‘It’s like Kintsugi’, she tells him, with a wide smile. ‘All of you poured gold into the cracks of my heart and made me whole again’.

The years pass.

Shino turns seven – a very respectable age for his very best girl, he tells her (I'm your only girl, Papa, Shino informs him archly), and obliges her demands of a bicycle in MSBY colours and volleyball lessons, forcing all his teammates to turn up for her birthday party, volleyball themed of course. The look of unadulterated joy on his princess’ face is worth every ounce of effort to put up with Sakusa’s complaints at having to turn up for a kiddie party full of loud noises and far too much candy, and the sweaty afternoons spent hand painting the bicycle black and gold.

The day Atsumu discovers his first white hair makes her thank her lucky stars that she’s immune to his nonsense by now, because the wailing and gnashing of teeth she has to put up with makes ‘Samu offer her his couch as refuge. She slaps tape and salonpas on his aches and pains, and points to the deepening lines on her face when he complains about his age.

‘Those lines aren’t wrinkles. If they’re caused by laughter, it doesn’t count’, he reasons laughingly. She’s left befuddled by his logic and shakes her head.

Meian Shugo retires, and Hinata throws a party to celebrate in his honour, cramming the entire MSBY team and assorted friends into his penthouse apartment on a rainy Saturday night. Osamu’s hired to cater the food but remains as a guest, shooting a smirk at him when Shoyo drags her off to dance during his favourite song, twin flames burning bright in the night.

‘A hundred yen for your thoughts?’ she asks, when Shoyo returns with her breathless but wreathed with smiles.

‘Was just wondering when you were gonna save a dance for this old man’, he teases.

‘Oh?’ she says with a laugh. ‘Thought you said your back hurt, and you didn’t want to move?’

‘Meh - I was hoping you’d forget that’, he says airily, then frowns when he notices there’s no drink in her hand.

‘Not drinking tonight, sweetheart?’, he asks, curling his fingers around her empty hand.

‘The doctor warned me not too’, she answers, her smile growing impossibly wider. He blinks in confusion when she leans on to her toes to whisper into his ear - then oh.

‘You’re pregnant?’ he repeats, unable to trust his ears, eyes filling with tears when she bites her lips and nods.

‘Are you happy, ‘Tsumu?’, she asks, her face alight with hope.

There is so much he wants to say to her, starting with thank you loving me enough to give me another chance all those years ago and ending with I love you, so ridiculously much – because he can never say it enough, she’s given him more than he deserves – her heart, Shino, a happy home and now the promise of another child.

But there's salt and water welling up in his throat, and it’s all he can do to choke out a shaky ‘of course’, before gathering her in his arms, warmth pooling in his eyes, love overflowing in his heart.

They stay that way for most of the night, entwined in each other’s arms, so drunk on happiness and love and warmth that they don’t even notice the storm clearing and the moon rising in the clear night sky.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq imagines #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu writing #hq writing #haikyuu angst #haikyuu romance #haikyuu fluff #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x y/n #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #miya osamu #inarizaki #haikyuucreations

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rivendellsstuff · 3 years

Text

𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 | Because Grisha Jaeger had placed a lot of expectations on all his children, but especially on (Y/N).

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1790;

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: Mentions of canon-typical violence. Inspired by the song “Brother“ by Kodaline; and, yes, that is part of a story that I will never publish.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Hello! This is the second time I have ventured into writing a story in English. I hope, with all my heart, that I am managing to evolve and that the text is understandable. If you spot a misspelled word or anything else, feel free to let me know.

────── ▎She had no other pleasure that morning than to walk barefoot on the grass, still damp from the light drizzle that had occurred the night before.

She was lightly shaking a small basket, which she had made herself the year before from the thinnest branches of a cherry tree, while she sang a quiet melody among the bushes and trees that began to surround her. It was a very hot and humid afternoon. On the way to the apple tree, the light was so intense that she shielded her eyes.

The aroma of ripe apples began to gather strength around her. With her fingertips, she gently caressed the fruits she loved. They were ready to be picked, and she smiled, satisfied.

A slight rustling from the right side caught the attention of Grisha Jaeger's eldest daughter, startling her, causing her eyes to quickly search for the source of such.

It was Mikasa.

Her gray dress was a shade darker than her eyes and her black hair shone in the sunlight, her hands closed around her red scarf. She knew it was Mikasa's habit to do this to make sure it was always hanging around her neck. Somehow, it seemed to calm her.

''Hey,'' (Y/N) greeted the younger girl. ''Is everything okay?''

At the present moment, she barely spoke to her adopted sister, although everyone seemed charmed by her. Mikasa was an incredibly intelligent and strong child, no doubt she had managed to escape a terrible situation, the mere mention of which made (Y/N)'s stomach clench and her heart soar in her chest. The most remembered mark on the girl's personality, however, was her incredible sense of loyalty to Eren. Of this, anyone who had spent at least two days with her could tell.

And, yes, it was true that the two did not know each other very well, but in light of the short time they had been together, she had found out enough to know that Mikasa was real and part of the family.

''Yes,'' Mikasa answered, shyly, after a minute of silence. ''May I... accompany you?

''Oh, I don't see why not,'' the older woman smiled tenderly.

The two sisters raised their eyes to the apple trees and began picking them by the bunches. The sun was high enough to illuminate the whole place, although its light was in the treetops. A very beautiful and welcoming place. Beside her, Mikasa seemed to think the same, with a small smile on her face and barely blinking her little eyes, wanting to memorize every detail. Even under the intense heat, fatigue didn't seem to discourage either of them.

''Amazing, isn't it?'', (Y/N) inquired to the younger girl, who blinked twice before turning to her. ''Here, hold this.''

Mikasa nodded and held up the small basket.

As (Y/N) tried to balance on the higher branches, Mikasa brought one of the red fruits to her lips, tasting the acidic freshness in her mouth, and her eyes narrowed at the slight acidity that characterized them, while her ears didn't seem to want to part with (Y/N)'s frustrated gasps.

''Oh, no, no!''

Mikasa's eyes widened as (Y/N) falls to the ground. While the girl still had her mouth open in surprise, her sister began to laugh. She remained on the floor, not caring about the wetness, but she didn't let the shadow of a smile escape Mikasa's face.

''Oh, so you think that's funny?'' she asked, and she wiped a single tear from her eyes, shaking her head negatively at her own shame.

With her tiptoe, she pushed the younger woman's heel hard enough to make her fall beside her.

A second lost, and then another.

Finally, letting go of her surprise, she let out a laugh, still holding the basket. It was a happy afternoon, the happiest in a long time for the two sisters, and before they knew it, the sun was beginning to set.

It was a happy afternoon, the happiest in a long time for the two sisters, and before they knew it, the sun was starting to set.

''We'd better go, little one. Mother will be furious with us if we're late for dinner,'' she said, smoothing her dress over her body. ''Let me fix this.''

Mikasa raised one of her eyebrows.

She ran her fingers over the scarf, smoothing it over her body, then lightly pinched the younger girl's nose, just like her mother used to do once upon a time.

The fall of Wall Maria marked the end of an entire era. It was a tragedy; an atrocity. On the day that so many people were torn from their homes and their lives, a permanent shadow shrouded the hearts of Grisha Jaeger's children.

There were no songs in that land that could tell the pain of (Y/N). There were no songs that could tell of Eren's anger. There was no song for the darkness that was submerged in the hearts of the Jaeger's brothers.

Eren and Mikasa were just two children when tragedy struck, and Grisha Yeager's eldest daughter, whose light once lit up the old house in Shiganshina, suddenly becomes an adult plagued by responsibilities too great.

Long weeks after the tragedy, (Y/N) was always trying to protect those kids. To keep them safe. Grisha and Carla never had to tell her that, but (Y/N) always felt like that was her responsibility. She just wanted Mikasa and Eren to be children. Just for a little while longer.

But then there they all were, watching in terror as a crowd was dragged in to reclaim the lost lands. There was no excited shouting or cheering. There was only an annoyed and doubtful murmur from the rest, because everyone seemed to know that it was just a way for the government to get rid of mouths to feed. Men and women, young and old; people with those who had lived for many years, pale and with eyes glistening with tears.

That day, Armin lost his only family.

That day, (Y/N) hugged the three boys and pulled them close, and begged - to whatever divine creature there was - that they would get through it.

Little Armin made no effort to stop the hot tears that wet his (Y/N) clothes when the gates were closed. The hat in his hands, once so light, suddenly seemed to become too heavy, too big. His knees trembled and he fell to the ground.

I am tired of losing friends.

Mikasa tries to swallow the lump forming in her throat. Her gaze was not childish, but knowing, sad, frustrated - no child should have that look. Eren, whose eyes were fixed on his friend's back, felt as if the air was caught in his throat, as if he was suffocating himself.

(Y/N) crouched down at Armin's height. When he raised his face, (Y/N) saw hers eyes mirrored in his blue eyes. She stroked the younger man's face without saying anything, just trying to calm him down.

"I am with you, Armin," she whispered. "I am with you."

''We did it!

The graduation of the 104th Recruit Squadron was a highly anticipated date for Eren, (Y/N), Mikasa and Armin. The date had arrived together with cold and humid weather, with light rains and the presence of little lightning and thunderbolts, but whose noise echoed throughout the place.

Everyone felt something different; Eren was struck with such great courage that he felt as if he could face anything from that moment on. Armin was overcome with a sense of a job well done, mystery, and curiosity about all the things that might be on the other side of the walls. Mikasa felt as if she was doing exactly what she was born to do, and although she didn't show it in words, she was pleased with the prominent position she received among all the other recruits.

After the formal introductions and dinner, the Jaeger's brothers gathered outside on the steps and the moonlight illuminated the entire clearing. There, where they stood, hardly any trees grew. It was cold, but not cold enough to make them sick, only to make them shiver.

For a long time, the two brothers remained sitting on the stairs. Neither of them started a conversation, but they were satisfied that way. After all they had done to survive, they couldn't help but wonder what they would become. Their whole lives had turned upside down after the fall of Wall Maria. They were survivors. They were soldiers.

Whatever they would become, (Y/N) just wanted to be there for Eren. For all of them.

Finally, the older woman put her right arm around Eren's shoulders. Although he was startled by her unexpected attitude, Eren relaxed his muscles and leaned over her. And in the end, that small gesture had been enough.

''I'm proud of us, man. I'm proud of what we've done,'' she said.

Eren nodded.

He listened attentively to her and understood everything she was saying. They had traveled a cruel road, where friends and family were left behind. They had suffered, but they would not give up easily.

Because we are the Jaeger. We don't run.

They fought to survive. They fought to complete their training. They fought to get what they wanted: to join the human cause. This caused many scars.

Eren was just a child like many others, but he had been forced to grow up. (Y/N) was an adult. She could have gone away. There were all the opportunities and all the desires to take what had been promised to her since her late teens - from suitors to the opportunity for study. She could have lived elsewhere and had a family with them, become an ordinary woman. Eren knew that. It would be stupid for her to reject that, foolish for her to keep running.

But she was his sister, and one brother doesn't let the other wander off alone.

Suddenly, Eren remembers. The younger man remembers when they were little, and she would tell a stupid joke to distract him while she put on a bandage after getting into a fight with the bullies who harassed Armin. He remembers how she would take over some of his work in the settlement, or how she would divide the food among the three youngest.

"Thank you for not giving up on me, sis."

That's her nature, he thinks.

And his nature to protect her now. There is nothing in the world he wouldn't do for her.

Eren hugs his sister tighter.

At that moment, what mattered wasn't the graduation. It was that the two siblings were together that night, in that place, looking out into the rainy night and thinking how proud their parents would be.

#aot x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger imagines #mikasa ackerman x reader #armin arlet smut #armin arlet imagines #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan imagine #shingeki no kyoujin imagine

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romioneficfest · 3 years

Text

Valeria

Title: Valeria

Prompt: Photo

Tumblr name:

Rating: GA

Word Count: 1392

Brief summary: Sometimes someone steps into your life when you least expect it. Ron and Hermione had made a lot of life changing decisions together, and this is the beginning of another.

Any content warning: None

*******

When the first ray of sunlight appeared on the horizon, marking the start of this new day, a very tall, red-headed man walked through the streets of London with a confident stride. His burgundy-red robes billowed behind him and his tired, unshaven face painted the picture of a somehow shady individual roaming the streets in these early morning hours. This, however, contrasted with the spring in his steps, the spark in his eyes and the huge smile lighting up the ginger’s fatigued face.

Ron Weasley was dealing with a whirlwind of emotions right now. His heartbeat raced as fast as his mind, causing his chest to fill with both anxiety and excitement.

He was on his way home from one of his Auror missions. Although Ron retired from this kind of work many years ago, he couldn’t say no when Harry asked him to help out in one of his cases, only one day after Hugo went off to Hogwarts for the first time.

Destiny and fate weren’t a concept Ron believed in, but if he did, he might think it was meant to be that he got asked to join this particular mission. Two weeks ago, he accompanied a ten-year-old Squib girl to an orphanage. She had not said a single word that day, but kept holding Ron’s hand from the moment they had found her at the crime scene right until it had been time for Ron to leave for home.

The following evenings, he’d kept visiting Valeria before his night shifts started. Her silence remained for several more days and Ron just sat with her, talking about the weather, chess and the newest invention sold at the joke shop. One day though, she suddenly reached for the wedding band on his left hand, briefly grazing over the gold ring.

“Can you tell me about your family?” Valeria asked, her voice quiet and barely audible.

He’d deliberately avoided the topic so far because he assumed talking about his wife and kids would only inflict pain. “What do you want to know?”

Valeria thought about it for a second before her curious eyes flitted to his hand again.

“Is she pretty?” she asked, smiling a little at Ron’s amused expression.

“Very,” Ron told her as he fished out a photograph from his wallet and gave it to her.

It was an old picture his mother-in-law had taken of them when Rose and Hugo were 6 and 4. Instead of looking into the camera, Rose, despite laughing, had her eyes squeezed shut as their dog Jeff licked across her face. And while Ron and Hermione dutifully smiled into the camera, Hugo had not sat still in his mother’s arms. The boy had gifted his grandmother a toothy smile while his upper body was hanging upside down, causing Hermione's smile to waver a bit as she struggled to hold Hugo.

“Hermione and I accepted a long time ago that a perfect family picture will most likely never happen,” Ron chuckled, causing Valeria to smile too as she stared at the photograph.

“I think it is perfect,” she said and Ron couldn't help but agree.

Ron shifted in his seat to make himself more comfortable before narrating the adventures of the Granger-Weasley family.

Valeria listened with rapt attention, smiling and laughing and gasping at Ron's stories, and not once did she let go of the photograph.

*******

Hermione sat at the kitchen table, remaining silent after Ron had finished his little speech.

He knew that what he was proposing was crazy. The plan he came up with within the last few hours contained everything they needed to do in order to adopt Valeria. From how they could manage their working hours over therapy possibilities to Muggle school options.

Still, he was well aware that this came out of the blue, even to himself. This would, without a doubt, change their lives forever. But when Ron had to leave for work that night, Valeria had reluctantly given the photograph of his family back to him. And right at that moment, something suddenly clicked into place.

All throughout his shift that night he had been thinking about his idea. Would Hermione agree? Would they be fit to care for this girl? Would Hugo and Rose be okay with this? And most of all, would Valeria even want to be a part of their family? But the idea cemented itself both inside his mind and heart.

“She's probably traumatized and needs professional help,” Hermione broke her silence.

“She's definitely traumatized. And yes.”

“She might not want to live with us. Maybe she wants to right now but later decide she doesn't want to anymore.”

“Yes.”

“We might not be fit to handle a traumatized child,” Hermione voiced his own concerns.

“Possibly.”

“She might become sad and angry about her not being able to do magic when she'll see it performed around her every day.”

Ron nodded. He thought about this too, wincing when he remembered how his family, him included, kept talking about their Squib relative from his Mum’s side.

“The adoption process is probably not that easy. I assume there’s a lot of paper work to go through and take care of. Maybe we can be her foster parents for a while before we adopt. Are foster parents a thing in the magical world?” Hermione frowned at the thought of bureaucracy making this harder for them.

Without giving Ron the chance to reply she kept talking, “The kids could not get along with her. Although I'm quite sure Hugo will stop at nothing to make her like him. And Rose will probably take her on broom rides and try to coax her into this book club her brother and all her cousins refuse to take part in. Would she be okay with Jeff? He can be very overwhelming sometimes, after all. Should we make Valeria and Rose share a room? Rose won't be home for-”

Ron cut her off with a sound kiss on her lips. Emotions threatened to overwhelm him as he cradled his wife's face between his hands and found that certain glint he loved lighting up in her dark eyes.

“So, we'll do it?”

Hermione stood up on her tiptoes, kissing the tip of Ron's nose. “Yes,” she said, “Ron, I think this is wonderful. This is scary and risky and unexpected but I really want to do this. I can’t wait to meet Valeria and ask her if she wants to live with us.”

“Brilliant,” Ron murmured as he showered her face with kisses, “Let's write the kids.”

*******

Hermione traced one of Ron's brain scars, letting her fingers glide over the skin of his right shoulder. Goosebumps appeared underneath her touch and for a smug second she marvelled about the effect she still had on him after over 20 years.

She lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him, “I love you!”

He gave her one of his lopsided smiles, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief, “I'm quite the catch, aren't I?”

Usually, she would join the banter, but not today. Today she needed him to know how brilliant he was.

“No, Ron, I mean it.” Soppy love declarations were never her forte but tonight she could not let it be with a simple I love you.

“I never thought I could love you more than I already did,” she said as her eyes flitted to the framed photograph on Ron's nightstand where younger versions of themselves smiled and waved into the camera as newlyweds,

“Today you proved me wrong, though. I have never loved you more than I do right now.”

#Hpfic #romione ficfest 2021 #Romione #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #Rated G #Ace Safe #cw:#cw: mentions of wartime

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writingsbychlo · 3 years

Text

smoke and fire (07b)

word count; 7053

summary; as the tragedy of the chemical fire begins to wind down, the aftermath leaves the entire team in shock, and in need of a little comfort.

notes; this is the second half of part-7, I just know you guys are going to love it by the end.

warnings; minor character deaths, reference to panic attacks, vomiting, chemical fires.

Finally, the dam broke, and you tried to hold in the tears that wanted to release, the boy on the sheet twitching aggressively in his unconscious state as his body struggled to keep functioning. Your hands felt heavy as you pressed your hand over the neat stack of cards, dragging your hand over the pile and spreading it out to display all of the colours, before your fingers were brushing over what you were certain was the first of this colour card to be issued yet today.

A black card, feeling ominous in your hand, the weight of the card feeling more like bricks as you lifted it up, and you allowed yourself to shed the first tear. You didn’t want to tell Thomas, to let him know the real extensions of what you were seeing, but there was nothing for this boy that you could do. He wouldn't make it to a hospital or into surgery, his injuries were far too extensive, and so you let your legs stretch out from in front of you, the black card looped around his neck as you tried your best to make him comfortable.

The wipes you used were soothing instead of antibacterial, cooling skin that had been destroyed by flames, red and bleeding as you tried to soothe him, wiping away the traces of his injuries to try and clean him up.

There was a hope, that family was coming for him, that you were cleaning him up for a reason, helping him to look more presentable as you wiped traces of black ash and dust from his skin, all mattered in brown-red stains and sweat, tears under his eyes, and you removed it all.

It was moments like this that you had to remind yourself why you did this job at all, working along him carefully all the way to his fingertips as you wiped him down, adjusting the torn shreds of his clothes around him to hide the extent of his injuries as best as you could once you’d padded the deep slashes across his torso, bandages already beginning to seep through with red, but you adjusted his shirt down to over them. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but it was radically better than it had been.

Tanned flesh was beginning to lose colour and his body motions were beginning to grow fatigued, and once you had adjusted him as best as you could, you were simply left to wait, sitting by the young boy’s side, and whispered reassurances into his ear with every twitch he made, sometimes resurfacing long enough to feel his pain, back arching and screams of pain leaving his lips, and you bit back tears, before letting them flow freely once again when his pain carried him back a state of illusion.

You loved this job, because in 99 out of 100 cases, it worked out. You helped pregnant women escape elevator shafts and father’s life long enough to see their baby born too, and you helped kids escape a life they didn't want to be in, and have the courage to create a new path. You helped nurses of amnesia patients escape burning rooms when they’d given up all hope, and you saved the elderly from suffocation on the gas leaks within their own homes.

You were damn good at your job, but sometimes, there were moments like this one that made it all that much harder.

Making a mental note of where you lay within the chaos, you hauled yourself up onto your feet, families weaving around as they all made to seek out their family members, and you were glad to notice that less and less people were being removed from the building. As you weaved through the channels made in the grass, the green stands worn away under multiple foot and wheel prints into muddy dirty tracks that would take weeks to fix, you made your way towards the ambulance you’d arrived in.

The weight of your body was heavy, every footfall feeling like it weighed you down more and more, your arms hanging by your sides, and you knew that tomorrow you would be riddled with pain and aching muscles, the over-exertions, everything from fixing up simple wounds, to hauling around men who were 200lb of pure muscle to help move them into recovery positions or lift them onto stretchers when they were too weak or injured to do it themselves, workmen who were twice your size, and the strain was making itself known.

You were numb, for now, and it was a sweet and blissful relief to know that the racing of your heart was creating enough adrenaline to dull every pain you had. Well, except for the headache that had been throbbing behind your eyes for hours now and making you feel a little nausea, but you could handle that, as long as you were able to finish this day without anything else. You must’ve dealt with over a hundred people at least, possibly more, the workload doubled with Newt too, and you were ready to crash into your bed, dreading the hours of shift you still had remaining.

The flames were beginning to be tamed, the blue tint to the smoke was fading as the chemicals were burned away, thick clouds of black smoke as the orange glow died down, beginning to be extinguished. There wasn’t much equipment that you had needed before, and yet now, you were grabbing ahold of a heart rate monitor and an oxygen tank, the mask to match it, and one of the stretcher pillows that had been discarded to the front of the ambo’ to make more room on the trolleys.

Hooking the monitor under your arm, you moved it to sit comfortably balanced on your hip, before you were letting out a sigh, your fingers hovering over the drawer of medicines and needles that you hated going into. Newt had stuck a small skull and crossbones sticker over it, one that had an eyepatch and a pirates hat on it, a joke between the two of you after you’d gone through the drive-thru at McDonalds on the way back from a call only a few weeks ago, getting a collection of pirate stickers in a happy meal box.

That drawer was only ever dug into if all options were out, if you were simply trying to relieve some of the pain that a patient was in, because they were in agony, and wouldn't make it to the hospital. Enough to bring down someone's pain levels, to let their heart relax, because once their brain stopped fighting to keep them alive and hiding the pain, they often didn’t drive too long after that.

Swallowing thickly, the jars within rattled a little as they clinked against one another. Shifting through and turning them in your hands, you found the container labelled with the medicine you were searching for, a fresh needle in a plastic packet, and you held both of them in your other hand, adjusting the equipment in your arms as you hopped down from the vehicle once again.

Slamming the doors back shut and waiting to hear them lock behind you, your eyes flickered over the scene. There were still a lot of police officers; operating crowd control, handing out water bottles and guiding members of the family through the crowd. You would give it time, not injecting the poor boy with the medicine until it all became too much for him, giving him the best chance for his family to get here before he passed, but you couldn't wait long.

Your feet dragged a little as you walked, toes scuffing against the muddy grass, and you were beginning to lose all strength, forcing yourself to go on, muscles clenching to keep them tight before you dropped everything you were holding entirely. Arriving back at the scene, the boy was panting rapidly and lightly, eyes moving beneath closed lids and jaw clenched so tight you worried he would crack his teeth, fists clenched by his side as his body remained rigid.

Placing down the kit gently, you let out a little sigh, his eyes cracking open to turn to look at you as he heard the sound.

“I-It hurts!”

You swallowed, knowing there wasn’t much more you could do as his voice cracked. He was covered with burns, and there were clear signs of internal bleeding as the organs beneath charred skin went solid, there was bruising along his body in many places from the broken bones under his skin, and with the wheezing he let out, never quite able to catch his breath, you were certain that the cracked ribs had punctured one of his lungs. “I know, kiddo, I know.”

He cried out again, a wet sound as he coughed, his entire body jerking at the sensation, and you cupped a hand behind his head, fingers finding the sticky wetness of warm blood at the base of his neck as you tried to rock him forwards, letting him cough until splatters of blood were hitting his lap and the plastic, splattering a little across you as he wretched, his entire body trembling.

When he finally managed to stop the movements, he was even more out of breath than he had been, and you lay him back down, using a glove-covered thumb to wipe at the corners of his mouth and clear away the blood and spit mix that had accumulated there. He had wretched, several times, though no bile had risen, his body reacting in every way it could now as organs began to fail and shut down one by one, and you hated that there was nothing anyone could do but sit here on watch.

Minute felt like an eternity as you hooked up the heart monitor, turning the volume down to soft beeping, as not to disturb anyone else, an uneven and erratic rate with a blood pressure concerningly low, and you were glad that the average eye couldn't read these figures, because it read like a horror story in a medical professionals eyes.

Just as you finished hooking the boy up to the machine, an oxygen mask sitting over his face, fogging up lightly inside as he took gasping breaths of the raw source, you felt a shadow fall over you, covering your eyes from the light before you were looking up.

The mother, you could tell immediately, from the sullen look in her eyes, and she didn’t look at you, her gaze sweeping over the boy who lay beside where you knelt, before she was turning, a quick call to her husband, and just like that, you were crowded by family. There were three younger siblings, and he seemed to be the eldest of them all, a pre-teen with tears already in her eyes as she looked at her brother, a child who couldn't be older than eight staring in confusion as they tried to grasp what happened, and a toddler, a fist knotted in their father’s jumper and balanced on his hip.

Sinking to her knees beside her son, she didn’t sob or scream, she simply let out a shaky breath, lifting her hand to brush dark curls out of his face, looking down at her eldest child as he began to slip away again. Setting the youngest down, the toddler wobbled on unstable legs to their mother, sitting down in the grass beside them and reaching a hand out with useless babble to place a chubby hand onto the boy’s arm, squeezing a little and cheering as they lived within a bubble of innocence, unaware of what was happening.

“Can you tell me what’s happening?”

A deeper voice, the father, and you turned, nodding your head to him and shifting yourself to pick up the needle, tearing off the plastic top and producing the needle from inside. “I’m just going to give him a shot of morphine, and then we’ll talk.”

He only nodded, watching as you lifted the container, pushing the tip of the needle through the rubbery covering and drawing back on the syringe carefully to fill the needle with the approximate amount, tapping the tip and checking it over once it had the right dosage within it. Finding a spot on his arm where there was still enough intact flesh to find a vein, you pressed your finger down over the pale skin, the blue vein underneath disappearing for a second, refilling weakly but marking its place, and you lined the needle up.

An uncomfortable pang shot through you as you injected the needle into his arm, pushing the pad of your finger down against the handle of the needle until all of the medicine had been unloaded into his veins. It took a few seconds to travel, and you watched him, studying his reaction to be sure, before all at once his muscles loosened and he sagged with relief into the plastic tarp as the pain finally faded away, fingers flexing around his mother’s as he squeezed with what little strength he had left.

Standing up and wobbling a little, the father followed you a few steps away from the group, and he glanced back over his shoulder to his family, hands sticking into his pockets, before he was letting out a heavy sigh. “My boy, he’s not going to make it, is he?”

“No, he’s not.” You whispered, and the man only nodded, a slow exhale from him as he processed that news, before tears were building in his eyes, and he began to crumble a little. “I gave him a shot of morphine, it’s slowed down all of his functions now, and taken away his pain. He can’t feel it now. I wish there’s more I could have done, I’m sorry.”

“My wife saw the news, saw the explosion. She was so worried, straight away.” A twist of guilt moved through you, making you sniff a little as your own lower lips wobbled, and you tried to choke down tears. “I told her she’d be okay, and that he was just an intern. There was no way he was close enough to the real stuff to be badly injured.”

“My friend found him, carried him out about fifteen minutes ago. Gave me enough time to let you get here to say your goodbyes.”

“You tell your friend ‘thank you’ for me, and for my family.” You nodded, knowing how much it would mean, and he finally let his tears slip free, making it harder for you to contain your own emotions. “He’s the oldest of all four, I don’t do much for a job. I’m just a mechanic, and his mother works at a supermarket, but he was going to college. He studied biomedical science, he was going somewhere.”

You grimaced, an unstable breath sucked into your lungs, before you were blinking quickly and looking away. There was bile rising in your throat, your hand gripping at your stomach to try and contain it. “I’m going to go now, and let you say your goodbyes. I’ll return soon, okay?”

You both knew what ‘soon’ meant, and he nodded, stepping away to talk to his wife, and a look seemed to be all that was needed to communicate between them, before the first of a loud cry was leaving her lips, and that was your breaking point. You shouldered through the people, mumbled apologised on your lips, you did feel bad for pushing through them all, but you could barely choke down the vomit rising within your guts before you were stepping out of sight, hunched over at the waist as you let it go, hand reaching out for supper as you found the tree.

Nails scraped against the bark, the pads of your fingers stinging at the rough pressure, and you shuddered as you heaved, throat stinging and eyes watering as you struggled to even breathe. It felt unending, time warping around you as you realised it had only been a half-hour since the boy had been delivered to you, and that he wouldn't make it to the hour marker.

A hand came down to rub at your back, and you gasped for breath, wiping the back of your hand, covered by your sleeve across your mouth and taking a moment to yourself. When you were finally able to stand back up, stomach feeling a little more stable as you tried not to think about the dying boy lest your nausea return, you twisted to find the person who had come to comfort you.

"Officer Paris." Your words couldn't get any higher than a whisper, and even that cracked, and his hand fell back down to his side as you wrapped your arms around yourself in comfort.

“Saw you take a sudden dash, got a little worried.”

You nibbled on your lower lip, a foul taste lingering in your mouth, and he offered up a water bottle for you, a weak laugh on your lips as you accepted it with a whispered ‘thank you’. As you took deep swigs, forcing yourself not to gulp as you slowed your racing heart, you watched as the fire teams began to load the equipment back into their trucks slowly, all the work they could do having been completed by now, and you knew that there was still a lot of work left for you to do before you’d get to follow after them.

“Everything okay?”

“Not really.” You whispered, screwing the lid of the water back on and holding it to your chest, using the cool liquid within to try and focus your senses. “We’re going to need a coroner down here. I know there’s some up in the building, but we have a kid, he’s not going to make it.”

“I’ll find one for you, okay?”

You appreciated the gentle tone of his voice, lowering your head to rub gently at your temples with one hand. “I should get back, we need to start getting people out of here.”

You could hardly focus as you walked back to your stations, everything seeming to slip from focus into some kind of daze as you tried to focus on what you were doing. You retrieved your bag, scooping it up from the floor and swinging it over your shoulder. There were coloured cards waiting to be collected, torn plastic bases and litters of water bottles in the mud, as well as lost personal belongings that had been forgotten in the rush.

Many people were still crowded around, waiting to be excused and waiting to get rides in an ambulance, the reds fading away into a majority of only green and yellow cards waiting, and you praised your lucky stars that you had only needed to give out one single black card today, because you weren’t sure that you’d even still be standing if there had been any more.

Flexing the fingers of your hand slowly, you focused on the sensation, head rolling from side to side, before your shoulders followed, and you loosened every single muscle you had for a tranquil moment, before setting to work. The sun was already beginning to fade on the day now, moving towards the horizon as the lighting dulled, hours having passed between caring for patients, and your first call was to begin getting people signed off.

Leaving your bag in the flooring of your seat in the ambulance, you collected a stack of forms and papers, as well as pens, taking them with you as you began to make your rounds of anyone who was left. As long as they were sentient enough to fill out discharge forms after you ran a final assessment, you could let them leave on their own as long as they had somebody with them, family or a friend, even just a neighbour or coworker, but it helped to clear out the crowds.

Newt joined you after an hour or so, having done his last assessment with the final patient, all the fire trucks being long since left, leaving police cars and vans scattered around, ambulances coming and going, and you had to ensure not to focus on the black vans with wide embossed lettering that brought a more sombre mood. Newt seemed to sense your pain, because he disappeared for a small while, returning not long after, and as you packed away equipment, the family you’d helped were now gone, the equipment you’d left with them was loaded back into the ambulance, and where words failed you, the look your friend gave you said it all.

He knew how much you’d suffered, he knew it would only cause more pain to go over and gather the equipment once the boy’s body had been cleared, and so he took care of it for you. A crew of policemen were on clean-up, as well as that of volunteers, only the shining lights of headlights and camera crew leftover as the light began to fade into darkness, and the scene was somewhat clean.

Lost belongings were piled into large plastic boxes with the police, and you filled out what felt like a bibles-worth of paperwork with the coroners, signing your name so many time your signature now just looked like a scribble rather than your name, before you were finally collapsing down into the somewhat uncomfortable cushioning of the ambulance’s passenger seat.

Silence took over your both, and as the truck started up, you left your head sway back into the headrest, eyes slipping shut as the rumble of the vehicle lulled you into as much relaxation as you could get.

As the adrenaline began to die down, you were able to feel the ache in your body, the pain that was seeping into every fibre of your body, every nerve and cell, exhaustion taking over. Raising a hand up to cover your mouth as you yawned, Newt chuckled softly, leaning over and patting your knee, before he was changing gears, and twisting on the radio to fill the cabin with the sounds of the classical music radio.

The trucks were parked away neatly within the garage bay when you arrived, the main doors up to anticipate your arrival, but the space was unusually empty, though it was understandable. After cells, members of the team could often be found milling around, sitting at the squad table and chatting, or working over the truck to check and clean equipment, filling the silence with laughter and jokes as they got along, but as you hopped out of the vehicle the second it was put into park, you were met with silence.

The echo of your door slamming shut reverberated around the empty foyer, Newt’s soon following, before he was rounding to your side, a sad look in eyes that normally sparkled brightly, and he let out a sigh. “I’m sorry about the kid. I really thought we were going to make it through the day without a black card today.”

“Did the coroner’s say anything about inside?”

“I didn’t even want to ask. We did everything we could, everybody did.” You swallowed thickly, nodding your head, and letting Newt loop an arm over your shoulders to pull you into his side, your head falling to his shoulder, and dragging your aching feet underneath you as you followed after him towards the locker room. You were stained with dirt, blood and grime, and you hoped the water was hot enough to soothe you and wash away your worries, already thinking about the muscle-relief body wash that you had hidden on the second shelf in your locker. “We could get in touch with the hospital, and see if everybody is okay?”

“You could call that hot doctor.” Newt squeezed you a little, a humourless laugh leaving you as you caught sight of his smirk, little energy to reciprocate the joke, but appreciating the way he lifted the mood nonetheless. “What was his name, again? David, Denny?”

“It’s Derek, and you know that.”

“Derek, that’s right.” He sighed, dreamily as he pushed open the door to the locker room, and the smell of multiple body-washes as well as the lingering heat from steam, signalling that the rest of your team had already been through the room and cleaned themselves up. Grabbing the towel and the bag of toiletries from your locker, you kicked off your boots, flexing your toes as your feet were liberated, and letting your socks follow. You were too lazy to even scoop your clothes up from the floor, stripping down to your underwear before wandering away to the shower, and closing the curtain.

Removing your final garments, you reached a hand back out of the closed stall, dropping them to the floor beside where your towel was hanging up, and twisting on the shower. Across the room, in the men’s showers, you heard Newt let out a loud and dramatic groan, a giggle on your lips as he did.

“I have never appreciated hot water more.”

“Speak your truth, Newt.” You teased, hearing his laugh as you stepped under the stream of water yourself, face tilted up into the spray and eyes closing, letting yourself be ridden of the day’s stresses. You didn’t want to look down, and see the colour that the water would run, you didn’t want to see any of it, the blood or the mud, you just wanted to let it all disappear, without having to acknowledge any of it again. Keeping your eyes closed, you reached for the wash-proof bag, unzipping it and feeling inside, fingers dancing over the bottles within to tell their shape.

Shampoo first, scrubbing through the tresses of your hair to remove the built-up grime, feeling the ponytail you’d put it in all slip away, the dull pain on your scalp soothing as your fingers massaged gently through your hair, pressing into the sore flesh, and you finally let a satisfied noise of your own bubble up. The squeaking of the doors on the other side of the room signified that Newt was finished long before you were, padding of wet feet, and as you moved onto the conditioner, you could faintly hear the slamming of his locker through the water as you washed the strands.

You didn’t hear when he actually left, the thundering of the water as it ran over your heart, the pounding of your own heartbeat inside of your head, but you sensed when he had left, the room feeling a little colder when you were alone. If a few stray tears escaped you to be washed away by the water when you scrubbed down your body and let the herbal soak absorb into your muscles, then nobody had to know, letting them be shed in honour of the boy who’d lost his life while trying to improve it.

You worked slowly and silently, wrapping the towel around yourself, and finding it a little easier to breathe as you wiped a space free in the steamed up mirror with your hand to be able to see. It was like a weight had been lifted from your chest, leaving you able to take your breaths more smoothly, less ragged and strained, and your headache was beginning to fade. You felt better for being clean, your entire body aching but a little more relieved and nowhere near as tense, and you sighed, hands gripping the edge of the sink.

It was hard to forgive yourself sometimes when you lost a patient, it was never easy to watch someone die, but you’d done everything you possibly could to make it easier, and thanks to your team, he’d seen his family before he passed, and that was a blessing that made everything feel easier to bear.

Taking care of your skin and running a comb through the towel-dried strands of your hair, you were almost falling asleep as you dried it. The repetitive humming of the hairdryer was enough to make your eyes close and mind stop spinning, coming to a halt as everything began to slip from consciousness, your muscles feeling heavy for an entirely new reason, and you jerked yourself back away several times.

Following it all, you grimaced at the taste in your mouth, the bitter aftertastes of your physical reaction to the day still lingering, and so you were generous with the dollop of toothpaste you served yourself as you scrubbed lazily at your teeth and rinsed out your mouth. Scooping up your clothes and pulling on your spare set, you shoved everything grubby and used into your bag to take home, swapped with your fresh clothes, but you didn’t get dressed entirely.

Deep down, you knew that Vince wouldn’t mind if you slacked on your uniform just this once, and so for comfort, instead of pulling on another smart button-up uniform shirt, you went for your hoodie instead, the worn logo of your college in the top corner as it faded, a hole in one sleeve that your thumb would fit through, your hair pulled from underneath the collar to sit limply around your shoulders.

You didn’t care for boots, either, two pairs of socks to keep your feet warm, before you were pulling the sleeves down over your hands, and wandering away to the main room, to try and find your team, and seek reassurance and company within their presence. It was unsettling quiet in there too, only the sounds of Newt’s pen tapping on the table as he worked silently on the puzzles in the newspaper, and the sounds of the almost muted television that Thomas was staring at, one of the older ‘Star Wars’ movies playing on the screen, but from the way he was staring at it, you knew his mind was miles away.

There were only seven in the room, including yourself. Gally and Chuck were playing chess at the kitchen counter, Newt doing the puzzles and Thomas watching television, and Brenda was sitting at the other end of the table with Minho, the two of them each with their headphones in and listening to music, but sitting close enough to one another to seek comfort, and your lips flicked up a little, happy for them, taking it at their own pace. You weren’t sure where everyone else was, but logically, you would assume that they would be sleeping the day away.

Moving across the room, you reached immediately for the kettle, ruffling Chuck’s curls as you passed by, and he huffed under his breath, but a smile was on his flushed cheeks as you glanced back at him, a friendly wink for his complaints, before you were filling the tank up under the tap. Once it was clicked on and beginning to boil, you began to search through the cupboards for what you wanted, smiling as the ingredients came together.

Placing a pan on the stove, you flicked the flame onto the lowest setting you could get, and adding milk to the pan to begin to warm through, without boiling over. Opening up a bag of marshmallows, you popped on into your mouth, chewing at the squishy treat happily, and opening up the cupboard filled with assorted mugs, finding your favourite.

As you found the one you searched for, you placed it down on the counter, before another was following, and another, until there were seven mugs lined up in front of you, all mismatching in size and colour, some with pictures, patterns or writing. A generous spoonful of chocolate powder into the bottom of each one, your personal collection of hot chocolate ingredients, but you were willing to share just this once.

With a splash of boiling water, just enough to dissolve the powder, you topped each one up with the milk as soon as it began to froth around the edges, heated all the way through, and leaving a gap at the top. A sprinkle of marshmallows on the surface of the steaming beverage, and a spray of whipped cream into a pretty swirl, you decorated the top of each one with a few more marshmallows and a dash of chocolate dusting.

They weren’t perfect, there were drips of chocolate and cream along the edges, and they certainly weren’t anything you would serve at a restaurant, but as you placed one down in front of both Gally and Chuck, the looks on their faces were more than enough to confirm that they didn’t care about the appearance.

There was surprise on their features, brows raising as they looked between you and the hot beverages, whispered ‘thank yous’ as their fingers wrapped around it, pulling the mugs towards themselves and staring down at them, small smiles taking over. Minho had the same reaction, and Brenda stopped her music long enough to wrap you into a tight hug as you offered one to her, before Newt was sighing out happily, his head rolling back to look up at you when you'd placed a mug down in front of him. He’d given you a cheesy grin, and told you just how much he loved you, before taking a large gulp, and cursing a little as it burned his tongue, but not letting it deter him from repeating the action, and getting a print of whipped cream along his upper lip to be licked away.

Taking the last of the drinks to be given away, you made your way over to the couch. Thomas had seemingly had the same idea as you, a jumper on and the hood pulled up over his head to hide his face, and he jumped as you placed a hand onto his shoulder. You squeezed in apology as he turned to look at you, the sombre look on his face lightening a little bit as he tried to offer you a smile, twisting to face you a fraction more.

Rounding the edge of the couch to hand him the drink, surprise flickered over his features, before he was taking it into two trembling hands, and bringing it up to his nose to sniff lightly. He poked his tongue out, fishing a marshmallow and a scoop of whipped cream from the top, and he hummed contentedly at the flavour.

“Thank you.”

His voice cracked as he spoke, and you hoped the smile on your face didn’t look too pitying, only able to nod your head as he stared up at you, blowing on the steamy liquid as the cream melted, and your fingers rubbed gently at his shoulder where you still held on, before your hand was sliding away, stepping back a little, and his eyes snapped up from the drink to you, brows furrowing, before he was reaching a hand out, wrapping around the wrist that had been closest to him, and bringing you to a halt.

“Will you sit with me? Please?”

“Of course, I will. Let me just go and get my drink, okay?” He paused in releasing your wrist, fingers unwrapping slowly, and he took a sip of his hot chocolate as he settled back into the cushions. Grabbing at your drink, Newt watched as you went, his brows raising as you caught his eye, and you shrugged, the porcelain hot in your hand as you held onto it, almost enough to burn, and you switched to gripping the handle, swirling it a little to mix the melted cream into your drink.

Sinking down into the couch beside him, he shuffled a little closer, your legs folding under you until his thigh was pressing to your knee as you faced him, mug placed down on the table, and he leaned forwards, matching the positions, before he was running a hand over his face, and letting his gaze find your own.

“Are you okay, Thomas?”

“Not really.” He mumbled, looking completely and utterly exhausted, and you felt sorry for him, true empathy surging through you, and propped your head up on your hand, elbow on the back of the couch, as you looked at him. “You know, I think you lied to me. I think you told me what I needed to hear in the moment, but I don’t think it was the truth.”

You sighed, a short exhale as you tried to find words, and his lips flicked up at the sides, head dipping for s second, before he was looking up shaking his head slightly.

“I’m not mad. You knew what was best for me. I needed you, and you didn’t fail me. Thank you.” He whispered, the words just for you, and your lips pursed, feeling a little flustered at the way he stared at you; earnestly, eyes searching your own. “Will you tell me what happened, though?”

“You don’t want that, Thomas.”

“I do. Please, just tell me about the kid.” His request was desperate, and there was a silver lining to the incredibly dark cloud, thunder and lightning swirling within, and he choked down the lump in his throat as your shoulders sagged.

“He went comfortably. He didn’t feel a thing. I promise.” His eyes closed, a shaky breath let out, and his face screwed up a little as he tried to hold in his tears. He sniffled, before letting out a weak sigh, knowing that he was failing, and as he blinked, his lashes came back wet, a large tear falling along pale cheeks, before another was following. “His parents, they saw it on the news. They came right down, and his mother held his hand as he passed. He got to see his siblings, and his mom and dad. He didn’t die alone.”

He let out a weak cry, and you heard the shuffling at the table, the rustling of the papers as Newt moved, but his chair didn’t scrape across the floor yet, clearly waiting to judge whether or not his best friend needed him or not first.

“His dad was so proud of him, Thomas. He was the oldest of four, he was making all of them so proud, and thanks to you, he passed on peacefully.” Honey eyes that were encased with red opened up to meet your gaze, lower lip wobbling a little as he released it from where it was held between his teeth, and in this moment, he was weak. He wasn’t the lieutenant of the team, he wasn’t a leader or a fighter, he was just a man who’d experienced a tragedy. “You saved him, Thomas. You made his last moments something peaceful and meaningful.” You paused, waiting a second longer, letting him calm himself. “He told me to thank you, on behalf of his family.”

“He did?” You nodded, and his lips flicked up at the sides, a hint of a smile. Lifting a hand, you wiped away his tears, brushing your fingers over wet skin, before you were cupping one of his cheeks in your palm, and his eyes fluttered shut, leaning into your touch as he let out a shaky breath. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

He smiled, softly, twisting his head to press more into your touch, and you swept your thumb over his face, tracing soft and damp skin, the pad brushing lightly over the upturned tip of his nose, and his face scrunched up a little at the ticklish feeling. “How do you always know just what to say to make me feel better?”

“I don’t know, it just comes to me, I guess. What you need to hear, it’s always just the truth.”

“Thank you.” He mumbled, lashes fluttering as his eyes remained closed, relaxing into your touch, and the cushions on the other side of you dipped. Glancing over your shoulder, you chuckled a little as Brenda sat down, leaning over to wrap an arm over your waist, her head coming down to rest on your shoulder, and she turned the volume on the movie up, cuddling into you a little as she sought out comfort too, a chuckle on your lips as she did.

You shuffled, sitting to face her a little more, and Thomas moved with you, keeping his face tucked into your hand, before Newt was following. On the other side of the couch, Newt slumped down, patting Thomas on the back lightly, before kicking his feet up on the coffee table, and reaching across to take Thomas’ hot chocolate, the brunette completely unaware of the theft that had taken place. Gally sat in the armchair, and Minho sat on the edge of the couch, arm stretched out along the back of the couch behind Brenda’s head, and Chuck sat on the floor.

Nobody said anything, nobody needed to, as you all simply watched the movie that had been chosen, letting the day be washed away as you served out the rest of your shift, ready to go home, and let a bad day be washed away by many more good days to come. Pulling your hand back for just as second, Thomas let out a noise of discontentment, his eyes cracking open to peer at you, a frown forming on his lips.

Lifting up a little higher, you pushed his hood down, adjusting it around his shoulders carefully, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you as everyone else watched the movie, leaning in just an inch, nothing noticeable, but enough to keep the bubble between you both, and your fingers laced into his hair.

A rumbling of bliss left him as your nails scraped lightly at his scalp, playing lightly with his hair to soothe him, the strands still very faintly damp from his shower, and he simply stared at you, head tipping into your hand as his body began to loosen of tension.

“I got you, Thomas, don’t worry.”

He didn’t respond, the first genuine smile you’d seen since the beginning of the shift being offered to you, his eyes closing, and he lifted a hand to wrap around your wrist delicately, fingers smoothing up along the back of your palm, resting over your hand and holding it lightly as you played with his hair. Turning your head to the movie, your attention was split, between what was happening on screen, and more overwhelmingly, with the intense feeling of belonging that was flooding you, never having felt more welcome than you did right now.

#thomas #firefighter!tommy #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #smoke and fire #SAF #thomas the maze runner #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan obrien/reader smut #thomas x reader smut #thomas/reader smut

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yelenayena · 3 years

Text

HER SHIRT IS UNBUTTONED

Pairing: Yelena x fem!reader

Genre: Isekai

Sum: You've never watched the Attack on Titan (AoT) series, but at least you know some of the AoT characters because your cousin often tells you about their admiration for AoT. What if one day you get the chance to enter the world of AoT, and you have to train as a cadet and meet Yelena at the Marley military base?

A/N: The period in this story is after the warriors' failed attack operation on Paradis Island, and before Zeke saved Yelena’s life during the war. Sorry for my bad English 🥺

Warning: None, One Shot

Imagine if you come into the AoT world because of something you don’t really understand. You do know that the world is full of mystery, but you never expect that you could enter another dimension such as the AoT world.

You felt so sad when you heard about your grandmother’s death. The next day, you went to the camp area by yourself because you needed some fresh air and outdoors to refresh your mind. But, the strange thing happened when you woke up in the morning, you were found by a number of armed soldiers. You were so shocked when you found out that you are in Marley, and they are the Marleyan soldiers. They took you to the military prison forcibly, they assumed you were an intruder or a spy.

The affliction doesn’t end here. You don’t know what exactly happened, but they took you to the training corp. The commander told you that you are now a part of Marley and you have to serve in the Marley military. You refused to enter the training area, and swore that they had violated human rights by turning you into a soldier forcibly. No one listened to every word you say, no one cared about your fate. They keep dragging you into the training area and forcing you to change into a uniform for the cadets.

“Listen up cadets! Your first day of training is basic physical exercises. Run 30 laps around the track! Do 200 push-ups! Do 200 more push-ups! And do 200 sit-ups! Start!!” said the head instructor.

All the cadets were dumbfounded at the chief instructor's orders, but no one dared to disobey, so the cadets could only carry out his orders.

"Tch! Very unlucky I entered this world and was trapped in a military base, and they tortured me like this! Anyone who enters the fiction world might meet the main character, but me, I don’t even see Reiner or Zeke here!" You grumbled, silently, and you began to join the other cadets to run on the track.

You have been through every step of the exercise. Every part of your body hurts. Unfortunately, there is still one more exercise you have to do, sit-ups.

“Looks like I'm going to die here, before I can return to my normal life,” you said to yourself. But this is better than being cooped up in a cell, at least you can do something to get back to your world. So, no matter how hard this training is, giving up is not your choice.

The other cadets seem to already have a partner to do sit-ups with, only you who stands by yourself. You don't mind, you can still do it alone. The head instructor saw your situation, he asked if anyone still needed a partner, all the cadets except you shook their heads. Apparently, your arrival makes the number of participants odd.

"Yelena! Give your hand to the cadet over there for a sit-up!” the instructor ordered the tall guy standing next to him.

It was a very tall woman who had a beautiful face with her blonde hair styled in a short bob with straight bangs. She wears black pants and a white shirt. You wonder if this woman is one of the Marley soldiers or not, since she’s not wearing an army uniform. You are mesmerized by this person's appearance. Due to being so focused on practice, you don't even notice this person in this room. The fatigue you feel disappears instantly when you see this woman named Yelena. Sparks of enthusiasm run through your body as soon as you see this enchanting figure.

She looks reluctant with the order, but she still steps towards your place to carry out the order. Your heart beats fast as she stands in front of you, without saying anything, but you understand that she was telling you to sit in a sit-up position. You comply with her intimidating coldness, but that only makes you more attracted to her.

"Start!" shouted the instructor to start this training.

You can feel your cheeks turning red as Yelena holds your legs. “You can count yourself, right?” she asked you.

You just nodded because you were mesmerized by her voice. Her voice sounded so suited to her masculine figure, so deep and low. Just hearing her voice stimulates your hormones. Regardless of how fascinated you are with this person in a very short time, you still have to face how tough this practice can be.

You do sit-ups with the remaining energy you have. In the fourth movement when you lift your head and shoulder blades from the floor. You look straight ahead at her chest. Your eyes catch that the shirt she wears is unbuttoned so you can see the inside. You flinched when you found out she wasn't wearing a bra and was only wearing a loose undershirt so you could see her cleavage and nipples.

You pause as you lie on the floor after seeing this unusual sight. But wait, you think one thing, every time you do a sit-up, you will see the nipple once. Two hundred sit-ups will equal two hundred times! This means you will see Yelena's nipples two hundred times. This absolutely gives you new stamina to do sit-ups without difficulty.

Seeing your extraordinary stamina makes the people in this room including the cadets near you glance at you with admiration. They don't know that the reason you have new energy is that you got a windfall to be able to see your new crush’s body. That day, you saw Yelena's nipples 200 times during the sit-ups, and you got the attention of the instructor who were amazed at your stamina.

Yelena’s presence made you feel convenient to live your days as a cadet in the training corps. Even though you don't see her often, you still have the opportunity to meet her occasionally. Sometimes you flirt with her when you meet her. Neither she didn't give you a good response nor rejected you, it’s okay as long as you can see her.

Nothing lasts forever, neither pain nor happiness. You heard that Yelena will have some mission on board to do the first survey fleet to Paradis Island. You ask the commander to include you on that mission, but you are still a cadet, they can’t send you to such a dangerous mission unless needed.

The day in Marley is not the same anymore without Yelena. You never heard about Yelena from your cousin before. You didn’t care if she wasn’t a lead character and had a small role in AoT, that woman had driven you crazy.

You ran around the forest near the military base to get Yelena out in your head. You had run about four miles until the day got darker and the fog was getting thicker. You need to get back to the dorm, but it is difficult when you can’t see around. You walked towards the light over there, as you stepped out of the forest, you saw the different panorama from the military base.

It is the camp area where you stayed for camping. With the sun on the eastern horizon starting to illuminate this camp area, you heard the rooster crowing, and the birds that sing in the morning. The time in Marley was different when you entered your real world. You remember you ran in the forest in the late afternoon, but it seems this world has just started its day.

The place where you are standing is near your tent, you grab your phone and your eyes widen when you see the date on your phone. You left your world for only a day, but you felt you lived your life in Marley for weeks! You don’t care about camping anymore. Today you should go home and come to your cousin’s house to borrow all the AoT’s books and watch all the seasons, to find about Yelena.

Disclaimer:

Original manga from Moekare ch. 7 by Ikeyamada Go.

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