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#at first i was emotional and then i was shocked and bashful and startled and then i was emotional again and then i was kind of like

roscgcld · 3 years

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ZEN’IN NAOYA || husband’s duty

request: omg if it is okay can i ask for a part 2 of sweet little things 🥲

note: you definitely can, love! honestly this definitely cracked my head a little since we didn’t get to explore naoya too much as a character, underneath all that complexity that makes him up as the man we saw in the manga. But I am not gonna sit here and say I do not simp for him AHAHAHA - that would be a huge lie. But we shall see, no? I feel like I made him too soft though, but I live for soft!Naoya - so do not touch me T^T

part one

warning: suggestive scene throughout, but nothing happens really. just naoya being an ass lol

pronouns: she/her

A content sigh left Naoya’s lips as he leans back into the warm water of the bath, his eyes slowly sliding shut at the warmth that surrounds him. Today has been a long day on the office - with back to back meetings and piles of paperwork on his desk, he was just ready to land into his bed face first and sleep the evening away.

“What do you want for your onigiri filling tomorrow? The farmers that produce that special rice you like sent a bag of rice to us earlier today.”

Your soft and sweet voice was what broke him out of his tranquil trance, yet he doesn’t find himself getting angry. Instead he hummed as he leans towards the direction of your voice, seeming to melt further in the steaming water when your soft hands immediately rest themselves against his broad shoulders. Fingers immediately getting to work on the knots that had started to build up since the afternoon. “Hmm...unagi filling sounds good.”

“I’ll make some for your bento tomorrow then,” You reassured him with a warm smile as you started to work through the knots on his shoulders, making sure to not accidentally dig your short but well kept nails into his skin. Whilst Naoya enjoys leaving marks of ownership all over your person, he does not appreciate having any scars left on his skin. And although he does not voice his disapproval, you know your husband well enough to know that unless he is in the mood, you should be careful about things like your nails scratching his skin.

The idea of you making one of his favourite dishes for him, knowing that he has to deal with more paperwork and calls tomorrow has him smiling softly in response. He would not voice out how your little actions causes his usually cold heart to skip a beat; instead he just leans back a little when he heard you collecting some water from the tub with the wooden shower pale. Relishing in the feeling of the water being poured over his two-toned hair, along with your soft fingers gently running through the strands.

Many people feel bad for you, since everyone knows what kind of man Naoya is. Everyone knows that he is nothing more but a skirt chaser, a man who views women as nothing an accessory to hang off his arm. Whose purpose is to provide strong heirs, and nothing more. You knew of the man even before you met him the first time on your family estate - listening to your older sister rant about how much of a myogenetic, rude, and disgusting excuse of a man Zen’In Naoya is. You’ve heard of the whispers from the other women whenever you would join a jujutsu event where the Zen’Ins would be in attendance. You knew that the moment both your fathers shook hands after Naoya shows great interest in you, your future was sealed to be with a man who seems to be every woman’s living nightmare.

And yet, for the last 4 months of marriage life, things have been...pleasant.

Naoya knew from the moment that he spoke to you that he needed to act ‘softer’ in order to gain your trust. That he cannot be his full self around you for at least the first month of your marriage in order to make him trust you; or until his patience runs thin from acting.

However, even though he has promised himself that he will drop the act after the first month; here he is, 4 months into your new marriage. Still finding it almost natural for him to act softer and more...kinder around you. Maybe it is because he finds your personality just so soft and welcoming that it just...felt right to treat you differently. Maybe he is just trying to reason to himself that as his wife, you should be treated differently from the common folk outside of your private home; after all, as long as he keeps you happy, he can get away with pretty much anything.

And yet...he has yet to find it in him to actually act like his usual self around you. Almost as if he was afraid of scaring you, or fearing that you’re scared of him. It’s laughable - how a man who was so self centered and only cared about himself and no one else, seemed to be so worried about what his wife thinks about him. He had reasoned to him that this is normal; that any husband would want their wife to fear them.

But just...it was odd to him. How he chooses to act differently around you, and not feel like he is forced in any way.

His opened his eyes to take a peak at you when his thoughts start to wonder, scanning over your concentrated features as you carefully worked the shampoo through his hair. Somehow just seeing you so focused on making sure that he was enjoying his bath had his heart skipping a beat; something that would have scared him if it were to happen with anyone else.

Yet, instead he found himself letting a small but genuine smile tug against the corners of his lips, one that immediately catches your attention as you carefully wash the studs from his hair. “What got you so happy, my love?,” You asked him curiously as you carefully ran your fingers through his hair, making sure that all the studs were gone. Instead of answering he just reached his hand up to grab your wrist in his gently, pressing a soft kiss against the inside of your wrist.

Naoya isn’t a man to convey his emotions often. He doesn’t necessarily view emotions as weak; he just sees no reason to show others around him how he feels unless it brings him some form of advantage. Other then that, he just puts up an arrogant and unbothered front for the most part. But with you...well, you were different. You are his wife, and in order to be a good husband, he needs to show you that he is willing to show you what is underneath his mask. Or so, he thinks that is what he needs to do.

The feeling of Naoya’s lips against your skin send a set of shivers down your spine, your eyes shyly glancing away from his handsome face as you felt the tips of your ears warm up. Just seeing how bashful you were about something as small as showing you emotion had him smirking against your wrist, immediately wanting to see just how far he can push his luck.

And he knows exactly what to do. “Get in the bath with me.”

You immediately snapped your shocked eyes back at your husband in shock, immediately feeling your cheeks warm at how he was staring at you expectantly. Although you’ve seen each other naked before, with him being so obsessed of having an heir of his own - it would be a surprise if you haven’t see him naked in all his glory. It wasn’t like he was bad to look at either - from all the training puts himself through to perfect his Technique, you would be lying to say that you’ve never stared at his strong back or broad shoulders whenever you two are alone.

It was just...so sudden. And you immediately knew what his intensions were, yet you just pouted softly as you quietly pulled yourself up from the steps you were seated on. Just seeing the soft pout tugging against the corner of your lips had Naoya biting back a smile as he watches you strip from your kimono, carefully folding the expensive fabrics to the side.

Soon you carefully made your way up the wooden steps of the traditional bathtub, thanking your husband quietly as he held a hand out to help you into the tub. You awkwardly knelt down between Naoya’s knees, still a little nervous to touch him even though he was the one who invited you into the bath with him. Naoya found your fear quite amusing, and without missing a beat he grabbed your hand in his before he pulls you close; chuckling at the squeak you let out when you landed against his bare chest.

“Don’t need to be so scared, my wife,” Naoya mumbles with a smirk, hands trailing down your soft back to relish the goosebumps that appear on your skin; his eyes glancing away from your shocked face to your fists resting against his chest. “After all...if there is one person worthy enough to be by my side, it will be you,” He mumbles, hands that seem even warmer than the water surrounding you two resting on the small of your back.

A combination from his soft touches, to his overly sweet but frank words had your face burning up once more as you whine and bury your face into his neck, your actions causing Naoya to let out a soft but genuine peel of laughter come from his chest. “Did I startle you?,” Naoya asks in amusement, already knowing the answer to that question. Yet he wanted for you to answer the question yourself, since he lives for seeing you getting embarrassed over the smallest of interactions with him.

You fluttered your eyes close to try and calm you rapid heartbeat, yet you nodded your head gently to answer his question. “A-A little..,” You mumble back quietly against his skin, heart skipping a beat a little at Naoya’s soft chuckle that he breathed against the shell of your ear. Naoya did not want to admit it, but he finds this subconsciously clingy side of you quite endearing. Whilst he hates it when others touch him, even if they grazed him by accident; he does not mind it when it’s you.

Maybe he has gone a little insane after marriage.

After you’ve managed to gather your wits, you quietly pulled away from him before you reached back to grab the wash towel you had grabbed from earlier, Naoya curiously opened one of hi eyes when you shifted against his chest. Just having you pressed up against his chest, along with the warm water surrounding him had lulled him into a tranquil and sleepy state. But he didn’t stop you as you wet the wash towel before you carefully lathered his body wash into the fabric.

Quietly you started to wash his body like you would usually every night, yet this time it was a little different since now you were in the bath with him. Something that he has never really allowed before, since he views his bath time as his personal time. You would usually help him bathe before you leave the bathroom to prepare for bed and whatever wifely duties you need to fulfil for the night.

But if you were being honest, as you carefully washed your husband clean, you did not mind a change to your routine. Yet you did not voice your inner thoughts as you continue gliding your hands over Naoya’s arms, making sure to keep quiet to give him the silence he enjoys whenever he’s in the bath. However, Naoya was in the mood to talk today.

Whilst you were carefully washing his chest, Naoya’s hands started to wander along your body once more once more. “So, what did you get up today whilst your husband was out at work?”

You blinked up at your husband curiously, to which he just raised an eyebrow in response at the look you threw his way. “Can a husband not know what his wife gets up to when he slaves away at his desk?,” Naoya asks with a soft raise of his brow, his words causing you to widen your eyes as you shake your head immediately. Not wanting him to think that you’re questioning his authority. “O-Of course not! I-I just...thought...you’d like some quiet in your alone time..”

A soft sigh was your only response, to which you awkwardly looked away from your husband’s eyes to stare at his hard chest; worried that you’ve angered the man. “You know...I want to hear about your day too,” Naoya mumbles after a few tensed seconds of silence, a finger gently crocking under your chin to coax your eyes to look up at him. He did not have a smile on his serious face, yet there was a soft look shining in his usually hard eyes. “I get curious sometimes when I have time to breath...what does my beautiful wife do at home when I am away? Does she miss me? Does she take the free time she gets to pretend that she is not my wife? What could you be possibly be doing when I am away from home..?”

When you heard his words, you tilted your head softly as you scanned his face, trying to understand the meaning behind his message. He wasn’t dumb - he was more than aware of the whispers of the maids that thought he was not around, how people feel bad for you that you are married to a man like him. He honestly doesn’t care what others have to say about him - he never cared about what others have to say about him. Because he knows that when they need power or need something to get done, they will always turn to him with fake smiles and praise dripping from their tongues.

However, he was genuinely worried about you - he was worried that the whispers of his past will start to scare you away. Make you think that you are an idiot for marrying a man like him, and slowly but surely take you away from him. For once he was worried that you are going to leave him, because for once in his life, he finally understand what it truly means to be home. The very thought of you leaving him shakes him down to his very core, and he will do everything in his power to prevent that from becoming his reality.

“I don’t...think like that, you know.”

Your soft voice snapped his train of thought as he glances back into your eyes, blinking when your soft hands rest against his cheeks gently with a soft smile gracing your features. “I knew the type of man you were before you came to my family estate that day, and I have heard of all the rumours of your attitude even whilst you were courting me. But that didn’t change my decision because I genuinely enjoyed having you around.”

Your words had Naoya widening his eyes as his mind went blank at your confession. And seeing your usually stoic and arrogant husband looking stunned had you giggling as your thumbs started to stroke at his high cheekbones. “Yes, you may be a little colder and stricter then I am used to, but you are still a good man. You’ve been nothing but a good husband to me, and far from the rumours paint you to be. So don’t worry too much about my thoughts on our marriage, because I am nothing but happy to be your wife.”

Quietly you gently tugged his face close, resting his forehead against yours with a smile. “I know that you grew up in a different world from I did, and that you were brought up with different morals from mine. But I also know you’re trying for me, and that is more than enough for me at the end of the day.” You mumble softly, revealing to him that you were more observant than you let on. Yet you faked ignorance for his sake because you genuinely cared for him as a person. “Because at the end of the day, a wife is knows all of her husband’s sides the best.”

For once Naoya was completely stunned into silence, having never expected for you to be so candid about your feelings. Your response to his stunned silence was a quiet giggle as you lean forward to press a soft kiss against the tip of his nose. The feeling of your warm and soft lips snapped him back into reality, and upon realising how close you were, his pale cheeks flushed up from embarrassment. Immediately one of his hands pulled itself away from where they were resting against your bare hips to cover his cheeks with the back of his hand, eyes darting away as he leans away from you immediately.

“I-I want to get out of the bath now...”

You let out a giggle at the sight of your husband so out of character, yet you made no other comment as you nodded with a smile. “Lets get ready for bed then, my love,” You hummed out as you carefully got out to grab the towels for the both of you, biting back your smile at how cute you find him to be as you dried yourself before you did the same for him.

It was only later into the night, long after you’ve fallen asleep when Naoya really calmed down. You had long fallen asleep, face tucked away underneath his chin whilst your arms wrapped around him loosely. He knows he needed to sleep in order to function properly tomorrow, but his mind has been racing the moment you two got out of the bath to prepare for bed together.

He still cannot wrap his head around the idea that you willingly stay, even knowing that there is a chance you might see a less ideal version of himself. You choose to stay knowing all of the rumours about him and his, admittedly, horrendous behaviour and morals. And whilst he does not know what was it that he did that had you landing in his life, he is 100% sure he will never let you go.

Quietly he presses a soft kiss against the top of your head, a soft but content sigh leaving his lips as he closes his eyes to try and get some sleep before his alarm would go off later. Signaling to a start of another long and boring day away from you once more.

“You’re the best thing that has happened to me,” He mumbles softly into the quiet bedroom, a soft admission to you whilst you’re far away in dreamland, dreaming of things unknown to him. But the least he can pray for is that he wouldn’t become the enemy in your nightmares.

Because at the end of the day, it’s a husband’s duty to protect the happiness of their wife from the evils of the world. Even if the biggest evil in their lives is themselves. As long as he is your husband, you will have nothing to fear.

He will make sure of it.

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bmo-galaxy · 3 years

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Okay but what if they kissed?

But just imagine that Naruto and Sasuke kiss at the end. An honest to god, square on the lips, absolutely intentional kiss. A kiss they choose, a kiss on purpose, a kiss that isn't comic relief or shock value. A kiss to explain what drove Naruto forward all these years. The kind of kiss that shows that even now, even after it all, they choose each other and came back to each other and never, ever forgot. A kiss that’s a promise and a fresh start.

Just imagine, if you will, for a moment that Sasuke tells him to shut up and Naruto peels himself from the rock, turning with fire in those blue eyes. The same way they burn before a fight, prepared and focused. Those blue eyes have always been Sasuke’s undoing, reflecting only the earnest truth. Every one of Naruto’s emotions is broadcast in those vast oceans. A strong, steady hand shoots out to fist in Sasuke’s shirt and raven is sure he's about to get headbutted again. Naruto wretches him up and leans real close and Sasuke is waiting for the crack and the pain. A pain that never comes.

The kiss isn't soft or sweet or sentimental. Its all sharp edges and teeth and desperation. A peak into Naruto’s soul, a glimpse at his pain, a taste of his anger. Just as quickly as it starts, the kiss is over. Naruto pulls away with a gasp, sapphire eyes fluttering open. All the fierceness and fury deflates from Naruto and the blonde’s shoulders sag. His fist is still gripping Sasuke’s shirt, but it loosens until it sits flat against the Uchiha’s chest, right over his heart. Eyes falling closed, Naruto basks in the steady beat against his palm. You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive and you’re here.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to do that," Naruto admits this in a husky whisper before he can stop himself. Disbelief colors his tone and the blonde shakes his head like he can't believe this is happening. “This is like a dream,” he continues, still quiet and heartfelt. A part of the blonde is embarrassed and wishes he would shut up, but Naruto is just too tired. Mind, body, soul; every bit of him is exhausted, but more than anything, Naruto is weak with relief. Leaving his tongue loose and his inhibitions lowered.

Sasuke struggles for words, struggles to breathe, struggles to understand. Where was the strike, the anger, the hatred for everything Sasuke has done? Why does Naruto look so fucking happy? Bloodied, mangled, black and blue and beaten. Sasuke will never apologize for his actions, standing by hatred for the Leaf and his dedication to his late brother. Naruto, though...

Naruto, who followed him to the ends of the earth. Naruto, who never gave up on him, even when everyone around him did. Naruto, who stood up to him over and over, proudly proclaiming to be his friend every single time. Naruto, who was prepared to lose his dream, his home, his life; and was prepared to do so smiling, just happy to have a future with Sasuke.

Why, Naruto? Sasuke implores silently, watching happy tears streak down the blonde’s cheeks. Why, why, why, why--

"Why?" Is all that Sasuke can think and all he can get past his lips. The one great mystery: why would someone like Naruto, now surrounded by love and praise, chase after Sasuke so relentlessly, the one person determined to cut their ties entirely? Naruto looks up at him with sparkling, vast blue eyes that don't hide anything. A clear, cloudless sky. Every corner of Naruto is laid bare in front of Sasuke, who resists the urge to turn away. Those damn blue eyes have always been Sasuke’s undoing, the one thing consistently able to shakes Sasuke’s resolve and fill him with yearning.

"Don't make me repeat myself, you know why," Naruto chuckles, bashful and blushing now. He scratches his cheek and glances away. "I figure that made it pretty obvious."

Sasuke almost smiles, almost relents his intense stare, because he does know. Far as he tried to run from the truth, he does know why Naruto did all of that. Just like he knows why he was never truly able to sever their connection. Sasuke needs to hear it though, needs to hear the truth he's known for years and years. Why would Naruto do any of it other than-- than-- than--

"Why, Naruto?" And the blonde can tell that the raven is asking about much more than the kiss. Sasuke is asking about everything and Naruto only has one answer for that question. Naruto’s flush darkens, the anticipation and passion and intensity in Sasuke’s gaze is setting the blonde on fire. A wild, uncontainable hope flares in the fox’s chest, seeing all of his own desires reflected in Sasuke’s eyes.

And Naruto would swallow thickly and say the three words he's always held in his heart, always believed in, always protected against anything.

"I love you," Naruto whispers and Sasuke’s heart stops, time stops, everything stops. There’s only Naruto and his burning sapphire eyes. "I love you, Sasuke. That’s why. That’s-- That’s always been why."

It’s the answer Sasuke expects and knows is coming but somehow still knocks the breath from the raven. There it is, the undeniable truth neither had ever uttered out loud. The truth Sasuke hid from. The truth Naruto never let disappear. Against all odds and by some miracle, Naruto loves him.

Naruto loves me, Naruto loves me, Naruto loves me.

"I love you," Sasuke says like a prayer, whispered on the edge of his breath. Uttering the confession makes him feel faintly lightheaded and a breathless chuckle slips from his lips. "I'm sorry it took so long."

Naruto laughs, high and clear and beautiful. A pure sound that kisses Sasuke’s ears and soothes his soul. For a second, in this moment, everything feels alright. Naruto punches his shoulder gently, a fond and affection gesture that’s nothing like the blows they traded an hour ago.

“I really must have rocked your shit for you to be apologizing to me,” the orange ninja teases, smiling brightly. Sasuke rolls his eyes at the comment, shaking his head slowly. Everything is different but nothing has changed. This is still comfortable, familiar, soothing. As if no time has passed at all.

“I’ll make one exception, don’t get used to it,” he needles back. Naruto copies his eyeroll and fights down a giggle. There’s a beat of silence, a moment to bask in the glow. Everything they need is here and even though wounds ache, neither is rushing to locate their comrades. They’ll find us eventually, they both think silently, content to enjoy their moment alone. Naruto scoots a little nearer and Sasuke leans a little closer. One shaking, hesitant arm reaches out to wrap around Sasuke’s waist. The raven haired nin stills initially, survival instinct telling him to run run run before he gets hurt, or overtaken, or killed.

Naruto doesn't hurt him though. Despite everything, in spite of everything, Naruto never hurts Sasuke. Naruto is safe, gentle warmth. Even his heaviest blows somehow felt like a fond caress. Naruto is just good, plain and simple. So, the raven relaxes into the embrace and wraps his arm around Naruto too. The embrace is awkward and sticky, both are covered in grime and sweat and blood, but they don't care. Trembling fingers cling desperately. Tear streaked faces press into necks and shoulders. Their last and first embrace, a new dawn breaking over them. Naruto’s mouth finds Sasuke’s ear and the blonde’s voice warms and deepens with all of his love and gratitude and relief.

"Welcome home, Sasuke."

A sob rises, rises, rises in Sasuke’s chest but he swallows hard to keep it down. It’s easy to remember the last person to say those words to him, easy to imagine his mother in the kitchen as he leaves for school. Everything has been darkness from that day, broken up by brief, startling moments of light. Moments with Naruto, working as a three man team and growing together. The dawn has broken and the warmth of Naruto’s sun is a beacon in the shadows, a breath of hope and fresh air after a long winter underground.

"I'm home," Sasuke replies because it’s true. Naruto is home. Not his first one, but certainly his last.

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myafterlifeisbetterthenyours · 3 years

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OBSESSIVE STOLAS x Male Imp pt.4

(This is a long fanfic and will consist of multiple parts.)

Stolas sat in the family limo, enjoying the smooth rumble of limos engine as he travelled home. Along the way, he felt... at peace.

As though, all the problems that plagued his mind before, had... evaporated.

Stolas ran a hand down his chest, his thighs grinding together as he thought about his time with you.

You were so gentle. So tender and elegant with him. As though he were some delicate piece of art.

But he knew the truth...

You handled him so delicately, because you wanted him to feel loved.

...Because you loved him.

The thought sending a whole new wave of warmth threw him.

So focused on the events that just transpired was he, he didn't even notice his arrival home.

He walked through the building blissfully unawares of all around him, almost in a drunken state.

Entering his chambers he found the bed made and empty.

Of course it was, Stella hadn't shared there bed since Blitzø fell into Stella's brunch.

He'd once found it all so charming. Blitzø's brash, rough and tumble attitude had once made him swoon.

But now when he thought about being with Blitzø, he just felt like an idiot for having thought there relationship was anything beyond a business transaction.

But now he had you. And you were all he needed now.

He fell onto his bed, not bothering with the covers. Content to just lay there and bask in the light you brought to his life.

But those tears he shed had took a toll on him, and as much as he wished to bask in this warmth he could feel sleep taking him and with one more happy thought of you, he allowed sleep take him.

He awoke early the morning, and despite being bathed in the light of Hell's crimson sun.

He felt cold.

As though all the warmth youd given him yesterday had simply vanished.

He sat up, sluggishily removing the covers went about preparing for his day of... nothing.

Stella hadn't allowed him anywhere near his usual meeting or appointments, not since- well you know what happened.

Perhaps he'd try and talk to his beloved Octavia. If she was feeling hospitable.

Hmmm. Perhaps not. He should probably just give her some space.

Besides he realised an even more important thing he could do with his morning.

Learning everything he could about You.

Turning over, he found his phone. Looking through his contacts.

He found your name, going into your contact he considered messaging you, but decided against it. He didn't want to bother you so early in the morning.

Instead he pulled up Voxtigram, his main form of communication, before typing in your name.

But he couldn't find you.

So he checked Blitzø's friend list, he eventually found you, it turns out you just had your name backwards, something that made him chuckle.

Seeing pictures of Blitzø sent pangs of sadness through his chest, but he soldiered on.

Scrolling through your pictures, he didn't find much.

Alot of them were just pictures of the places you'd been, or one of the weapons you used on the job.

He eventually did find some of you.

The first he found was you and the two other Imps that worked there, Millie and Moxxie he was pretty sure were there names.

The next was you on your first day at work.

It was a selfie of you in a group hug with Blitzø and the others.

You were all clearly being forced by Blitzø.

The awkward little smile you wore sent a wave of warmth through him.

Scrolling further down, he found more pictures of you. Most of them were just you relaxing at a variety of places, or after after getting a new outfit. Just general stuff about your life in hell.

Then he found one that made his heart skip a beat.

It was a picture of you. Wearing just a pair of shorts at the gym.

You were pulling a little pose, flexing your muscles in front of a mirror, a shy little blush across your cheeks.

Stolas' swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry.

He rubbed his thighs together as he fantasised about licking the sweat off your abs.

With a shake to his head, he decided now was a good time to get out of bed.

Leaving his phone as he went and took a nice long shower.

A nice long, cold shower.

Getting out, he chose a more casual outfit.

An old T-shirt and some jeans he reserved for comfy home clothes. He didn't have anywhere to be.

He made his way to the kitchen, where he found Octavia sitting at the table.

The more calculating part of his brain told him to just leave her alone, but he decided against it. He shouldn't hide from his daughter, she needed to know he was still there for her 'Hello darling, how did you sleep.' He asked pleasantly.

Octavia looked up at him, her eyes looking cold and annoyed. So, not all to different from her usual teenage gaze.

'I slept fine dad.' She sai, her voice dull and lifless, before looking back down at her phone.

Stolas swelled with joy.

His daughter was speaking to him again. Everything seemed seemed to be getting better for him.

Pouring himself a bowl of serial, he took a rather lecherous lstroll down memory lane, Thinking about his time with you.

He didn't know how long he'd been thinking about you, but he was quickly pulled out of it when he felt something hit him on the back.

The clanging of cutlery that followed soon after gave him a good idea of what it was.

Turning around he found a rather angry teenage owl glaring at him.

Before he could ask what was wrong. The owlet released a frustrated growl. 'Can you just not?' She asked rhetorically.

Running down her face she told him 'I have do deal with you and Mums B.S. all the time, can you just not fantasise about your fuckin Blitzy~ in front of me.'

She fell back into her seat with a huff.

Stolas was a little shocked. He hadn't thought his beloved daughter could be so course.

'I-I... I didn't realise I was being so bothersome.' He said, sounding perhaps a bit to wounded.

Octavia sighed, 'Can you just not in the kitchen. Where we eat, please?' She asked, going back to her breakfast.

Stolas sighed, picking up his now soggy bowl of serial. 'How long had I been in that state?' He asked himself.

'Five minutes' answered Octavia not looking up from her phone.

'Oh' he said to himself, taking the bowl he poured it into the trash. 'Well that's disgusting.'

He chuckled to himself. Looking over his shoulder he said 'Well, I'm sure you'll be happy to hear you won't be hearing much about Blitzø... ever again.' He told her being perhaps a little vitriolic.

Getting a cup from the cupboard, he poured himself a cup of coffee.

Walking over to Octavia he went to take a seat, but stopped upon seeing her distrustful gaze.

Taking a seat he sighed. 'Octavia, darling... I know these past few weeks haven't been easy on you. And I know much of that-" He had to stop as Octavia glared daggers at him. "...All of it, was my fault. But I promise, things will get better... for both of us.' He took her hand into his own. 'I promise.'

Octavia looked up at him, she looked so startled by his words.

It seemed like she was gonna say something, dew drops forming in the corners of her eyes.

He was about to say something when Octavia shot up and ran away.

Stolas sat there. For a long while. His conversation running over in his mind.

Taking a drink from his coffee he stood up, put his cup in the sink and left.

He found himself in his garden, perhaps the last place he still felt at home on the palace grounds.

Trying to calm himself down went about his usual grooming routine.

Trimming bushes, feeding his plants, pulling weeds and just general plant care.

And as much as his plants soothed his nerves,, he could feel his mood shifting.

The depression beganing to invade his thoughts.

He felt himself become that miserable husk that got shoved out of Blitz��s office.

He clutched his head, hunching over on the brink of tears. His thoughts became like daggers, stabbing into his thoughts.

But before he could shed a tear, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket.

Pulling it out, he found it was a call from you.

In something of a surprised stupor, he answered the call. He tried to clear the emotion from his voice before saying 'Hello?'

'Stolas? Are you okay? You sound upset.' You asked him, concern in your voice.

'(Y/N)?! I... I'm...' he was going to tell you some fluff story, pretending he was fine and probably throwing a few lewd innuendos I'm there.

But, he choked... He just couldn't.

'No... No I'm not okay.' He told you, on the brink of tears. 'I feel like everything is broken and it's all my fault.'

You took a moment to respond, clearing your throat you said. 'Stolas... why did you sleep with Blitzø?'

Stolas was taken aback, 'P-Pardon?'

You sighed, 'Did you want to hurt your family when you chose to sleep with Blitzø?'

Bringing up it was he who made of decision to sleep with Blitzø, made his self loathing grow like a fire.

'N-No!' He told you 'I would never want to hurt my family...'

'Its alright Stolas, I know you wouldn't want to hurt them... But you slept with him for a reason Stolas, you need to know what it is.'

Stolas wasn't sure how to answer, he didn't really know the answer. He could lie, tell you it was just a spur of the moment decision, but that just wasn't true.

'I-I don't know.' He stated, more then said. 'I don't know why I did it... I just... don't know.'

He sat there for several moments, his mind going into overdrive as he thought over the question.

'Its alright Stolas, I believe you. But you need to figure it out, this is something that will haunt you until you figure it out." You told him, trying your best to be serious.

Stolas wiped his eyes, before asking you, 'why did you call (Y/n)? I... don't remember giving you my number!' He mumbled out, rubbing his eye.

You coughed, clearing your throat, 'Don't worry about that. I actually called you because, well I mean, I was wondering, if maybe you wanted to do something tomorrow?' You asked him, voice thick with bashfulness.

Stolas was really taken aback, 'You... You want to do something... With me?' He asked incredulously.

You chuckled on the other end of the phone. 'If I were there right now, Stolas, I'd probably boop you right on a nose.' You tell him through a smile.

'I'd love to do something!' Stolas practically cheered. You chuckled, before telling him 'Great, Ive already got an idea, but if youd like to do-'

Before you could finish your note, Stolas shouted, 'I'd love Too!'

Stolas quickly calmed down, before clearing his throat, 'Sorry... I mean, I'd love to do whatever you had in mind.' He said, cringing at how desperate he'd sounded.

'Good to hear' You chuckled, 'Well, there's this great wine place I know that makes the best little pizzas, and I, uh, wanted to share it with you.'

Your words sent a wave of ecstasy through his body. You not only wanted to spend time with him but actively sought him out to spend time with him.

You were everything he wished Blitzø was.

And he loved it.

He didn't need Blitzø.

He had you now.

'Of course (Y/N), It would be my pleasure to spend some time with you.' He told you, biting his lip.

He felt like a school girl with her first crush, a youthful giddiness clouded his mind.

'Oh? Well I've got tomorrow off, does that work for you? We can do it another day if your busy.' You told him, concern clear in your voice.

It was Stolas' turn to laugh at the tone in your voice.

'I don't have anything on tomorrow, so I'd love to accompany you to yor wine and pizza place. Nothing would make me happier.' He told you earnestly.

He could hear the smile in your voice, as you told him. 'Well, I'm happy to hear that. I'll send you the address later today, call me if you need any directions... I'll see you then, Stolas.'

'I...' Stolas wanted to tell you how much he loved you, just how much joy you brought him with one simple phone call.

He wanted to tell you, but didn't have the words.

As he tried to manifest the words he needed, he heard say through the phone.

'Its alright Stolas. I look forward to seeing you too.'

You told him simply, Stolas just sighed. How you always knew what he was trying to say.

'I'll see you tomorrow, My Beloved.' he told you before you hung up.

Hearing the tell tale dial tone, looking down at the phone, your image in the caller I.D. bringing a smile to his face.

#helluva boss #helluva boss x reader #x reader #headcanon #helluva stolas #stolas x reader #stolas #helluva boss headcanon

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creepling · 3 years

Text

the shape of you - (smut)

pairing: din djarin x fem!reader

word count: 5.1K

summary: the mandalorian saves an intergalatic sex worker from a prison ship and brings her on board the razor crest. tensions begin to rise between the two as one night goes in a direction the other did not expect.

rating: EXPLICIT (minors dni) -- mentions of sex work/slavery, sexual dancing, oral (male receiving), masturbation (female receiving), doggystyle, begging, rough sex, breeding kink??, cursing.

a/n: this is my first time not writing in first person for a fanfic so sorry if it’s hard to read at some points!!

alternative link: ao3.

Ever since you were saved by The Mandalorian from the prison ship, for reasons that are still unknown to you, a sense of relief and freedom coursed through your body. If only The Mandalorian knew about your fate, he may sympathize with you more. All throughout your life, ever since your adolescence have you been bought and sold by many throughout the galaxy, either for entertainment or pleasure. If the authorities had not raided the trading ship you were on board upon you were to be in the hands of Jabba The Hutt; a grotesque-looking crime lord you were certainly relieved to be rid from. But alas, luck then comes with its flaws and instead you were trapped in a cell in the nowhere realms of the galaxy -- beginning to wonder if your body would wither away and die in the cell for years to come.

You had never set eyes on a Mandalorian until that day, not even as a client. You thought them more mythical than their opposing Jedi Knights. The shine of his helmet and his strong arms whisking you to safety brought a sense of optimism into your world view. It made you realise that there are some good people in the galaxy. And once you were on board his ship and encountered The Child, the sight of something so precious gave you a nurturing urge. The Mandolorian’s protectiveness over The Child was so rare to you. It made you yearn for his protectiveness, for a man like him to defend you at every corner. It made you want to be noticed.

Once arriving to a planet, The Mandalorian promised to bring back supplies, one of them included fresh clothes to replace the revealing garments you wore. You asked if the lack of fabric was distracting, showing your natural alluring nature. To which The Mandalorian replied with a bluntly logical answer, saying the clothes will not be suitable for travelling. As much as you agreed, you wished that he loosened up with you a bit more, beginning to wonder if The Mandalorian was even finding your company pleasant.

That night he returned with a sack-full of supplies. He arranged supper for the night, feeding The Child first before it grew too tired to eat, shortly after putting it to bed in its shut-off container within the ship. You had requested The Mandalorian some spotchka if he could find any, to which you looked through the sack to see an untouched bottle full of the glowing blue liquid. A smile came to your face and you immediately poured two glasses of the liquid. When the Mandalorian entered the room, you held his glass with an outreached hand, beckoning him to drink it. Then you said some words:

“I wanted to make a toast, in celebration! To thank you for saving my life yesterday. I would have gone out and gotten the beverage myself, if you hadn’t forbidden me to leave the ship.” You said, a sweet smile creeping onto your face, feeling a little bashful as you stood in front of his towering figure.

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” He said, his helmet tilting down as he glanced at the drink in his hand. “But I shouldn’t drink on the job.”

“I only ask for one drink, Mando. Just for tonight. I’ll look away when you take sips of it.” You promised, hoping he will feel more at ease with that statement.

He gave a low hum in agreement, bringing a smile to your face. You wished you could see his smile, see his face. See how he reacts to your presence. You clinked your glass against his and immediately turned around, taking a sip of your drink. Your inner voice urged you to turn, to take a glance at his complexion. Yet, another voice also commented on how the mystery of his identity fills you with arousal. You shook the feelings burning inside and whisked the rest of the blue liquid down your throat, gasping in quenched thirst. You hesitated before turning, “Can I turn around now?

“Oh um- Yes. Thank you.” He assured. Oh my, he was so polite. Possibly the only gentlemen you have encountered with such manners. You turned around, pouring yourself another glass of spotchka to go with your supper. To save Mando some rest you prepared the food and served him by a small table in the corner of the ship’s small room, taking a seat next to him.

Once you cleared up for supper, The Mandalorian willingly sat with you for a few more minutes. He seemed to be curious about you, asking questions that you were obliged to answer, if you wanted him to trust you. You wanted to reassure him that you were not a threat.

“How did you end up in the prison ship?” The Mandalorian asked, trying not to allude to your clothes giving away that information.

“I have been a slave ever since I was an adolescence. When I came of age, I began to do dancing and sexual service for whoever bought me. I was on a trading ship to Tatooine when the New Republic raided and took prisoners. I lost count of the days, but I was roughly in there for over a month.” Telling your story felt hesitant. You wondered how he would take to you being a sex slave, as a lot of people frown upon it. You wondered if he was disgusted or sympathetic, it was hard to tell his reaction with his helmet on.

“Why did you save me? I am internally grateful, of course. But what made you do it? You seemed to be in a rush to escape.” You asked, your eyebrows furrowing in question.

“I have seen many women like you.” The Mandalorian said, “I have done bounties for crime lords who keep their own sex slaves. As much as I needed the credits, it always pained me to leave with those women trapped with that life forever. I recognised your clothes; it was the ones they wore too. I thought, if I save someone like you once in my life, I would feel less guilty.”

His words moved you. It is very rare to see someone talk to you as a human. Many treated you and other sex slaves like objects, like droids without feeling. They did not care what you liked or adored, they only cared about their gain. The work has taken an emotional toll on you as much as it was hard to admit. Every day you wished you could be free, live in a home on a peaceful planet, fall in love, raise a family. That is not hard to ask for, is it?

“Well, you have made one more slave happy.” You said, reaching your hand to place it on top of his. He stared into your eyes, entranced for a moment, before nodding his helmet and giving your hand a gentle squeeze before retrieving it back onto his lap. After a few seconds of content silence, admiring him for a moment, you spoke up.

“Want to see some of my dancing?” You said, trying to lighten up the mood. “Don’t worry! I won’t touch you or anything!”

“I um- I dunno . . .” Hesitation dominated his voice, the first time you detected emotion from him. He leaned back on his chair and rubbed the back of his clothed neck.

“Honestly, it’s not as raunchy as you think it would be. I know how to be graceful when I need to be.” You said with a hint of light-heartedness. Once your words convinced him, he let out a low sigh and nodded his head.

“Go on then. Show me what you’ve got.”

A smile erupted on your face and you rose to your feet, positioning yourself from a comfortable distance in front of Mando. You raised your delicate arms outward to begin your routine. A routine that you have memorized for years, one that showcases your grace and beauty for audiences. Counting mentally in your head, you begin to move your arms softly either side of you. Your hips began to sway, your head held high to show your face. You moved your feet to slowly turn around, showing all the lines and bends of your body. The fabric of your dress swayed with the motions and complimented your skin. You stepped from side to side, giving graceful twirls, lifting your leg in a cursive shape like a ballerina. Your arms still moved like a dignified snake, going from up other your head to around your waist and along the small of your back. A content smile lay upon your face and your eyes peaked towards The Mandalorian through your winking eyelashes; a habit you took up to intrigue watchers and make them bashful. Even without music, you fell into your element and became lost in your movements. When being a slave is a horrible life to live, the dancing made you have a passion.

The Mandalorian could not take his eyes off you. He sat content at first, until your movements made him shift in his chair as he watched how your body moved with such beauty. Under his helmet, he bit the inside of his cheek. Yet, his eyes stayed traced on you, knowing you would have no idea where his eyes lay from the blockage of his helmet. He could not stop the thoughts that flowed through his mind, thoughts relating to your body. How you were posed so perfectly from the core of your body to the ends of your fingertips. You never slouched or tripped over your feet; every movement was without failure. And your hips, God, he could not take his eyes off your hips. And when you would turn and expose your backside; your rich-colour underwear cloaked under the sheer fabric of your dress revealing your smooth skin. The deeper he got into his thoughts, the more he became out of tune with his surroundings. And when you stopped dancing, his eyes were still fixated on you.

“Sorry if that wasn’t the best, I’ve did better before.” You humbly said, oblivious to the state you have put The Mandalorian under. Your voice knocked him out of his trance and out of shock, he shot up from his seat so quickly it startled you. His armour clanked against the table clumsily and his body grew stiff to keep himself steady. The bewilderment in your eyes lingered as you observed his tall body towering over you. You looked so petite next to his stature.

“Mando- Is everything okay?” You asked, a shiver running down your spine as your eyes trailed down his body. Only now did you realise how tense he was, noticing the fabric of his uniform clenching to his toned body. You could see how strong his arms were, your eyes darting from either side. If only you could just reach out and touch them, fall into his embrace. Your legs grew weak at the thought of being so close to him. Yearning for the proximity between you to come to a close.

The Mandalorian feared to move, until a sensation ran through his body like moments before. His face grew worrisome under his disguise and he slowly looked down. That is when he noticed the tent formed between his groins. A rush of fluster grew on his face and down his neck.

“I-I’m uh- I’m going to bed.” He called, rushing towards the door of his small chambers, leaving you dumbfounded by the dining area. His sudden goodbyes made you frown, and your head turned abruptly towards his door, only capturing the wisp of his cloak and the door closing shut. Suddenly a wave of anxiety flew over you, convinced that you offended him. As you were desperate to state an apology, still naive to his situation, you marched towards his chamber door.

The Mandalorian marched in panic up and down his small chamber. A situation like this has never happened in a long time, at least not in front of another individual. He unbuttoned his trouser bottoms in a panic, peaking the front of his boxers down to make sure the worst never happened. As he did so, he released his hardened cock as it popped out the removed fabric. Witnessing his erection made him sigh in frustration. He prayed that you would go off to your bunk and call it a night so he could deal with the matter. However, as you appeared in his mind once more, his erection pulsed and twitched and Mando let out a low moan from his lips.

“Mando- please open the door. I’m sorry if I offended you, it wasn’t my intention.” You called, loud enough in hopes he could hear your voice. You knocked gently on the door, getting a clank of metal in response. As the silence deafened you and left you impatient, you looked to the control panel and pressed all the buttons in hopes one opened the door. Once the metal door came flying open, you were greeted with The Mandalorian once more but in a position, you thought you would never see him in.

He stood there with his head flung back and his gloved hands stroking his member. Once he heard the door open, he flinched and attempted to hide his erection. It was already too late; you had seen what you needed to see. Your mouth lay gaped in shock, your hands grew tense beside you and a wave of embarrassment engulfed you. Mando began shaking his head, backing himself up against the wall, his massive, gloved hands guarding your eyes from his exposure.

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry-” Mando kept repeating. “Why did you open the door? Why didn’t you knock?”

“I did knock!” You exclaimed, “I wouldn’t have opened the door if I knew you were doing that!”

“Okay, okay. I am really really sorry. Let’s just pretend this never happened!” Mando said, looking anywhere in the room that was not you. As your breath became heavy, the sight of The Mandalorian became your focus. He looked so vulnerable in that moment, seeing him in an act so sexual caused a wave of arousal upon you. You wondered; did I do that? Was your dancing so mesmerising to him that it excited him to this point? Is this why he left the room? My stars, you felt guilty for being so turned on in this moment.

Your feet began to take steps and approach him, your movement making him tense once more. He beckoned you to not get away closer, but you could not hear his words. You were drawn to his arms again, the ones that looked so defined-- even under his clothes. This time, you had the courage to touch them.

The Mandalorian fell short at protesting against you. He observed your small, soft hands gliding against his arms. Your touch bewitched him, making him bite his lip to contain noises of pleasure. Your eyes drew up to his gaze, his helmet blocking the intimacy. He was so mysterious, the thought of whatever facial features being under that helmet creating a sense of sensual excitement within. As your eyes left his gaze and looked downward to his hardened cock, you felt the burning sensation muster in between your legs.

“Won’t you need help with that?” You asked, the glint in your eyes growing promiscuous as you looked back up into his gaze. The Mandalorian was shocked, even if you were probably an expert in all things sexual matter. As much as he tried to protest his thoughts, he could not help making an image within his head of your lips wrapped around his cock.

“Are you sure that is a good idea?” He asked, a hint of taunting in his voice. A smirk came upon your face and you shrugged your shoulders, your hands trailing up his arms, across his shoulders and slowly down his chest.

“I’m willing to do it if you want me to.” You beckoned. Not only were you willing, but you were also begging. The dirty thoughts running through your mind became fuel for your desire. Imagining his large cock pressed into your mouth, blocking your throat; his fingers entangled in your hair. As the Mandalorian gazed down at you, he gave a sign of approval by nodding his head timidly.

Instinct caved in and you began lowering yourself to your knees, your hands trailing down his abdomen. Slowly, Mando shifted his hands away from his cock, the release of pressure causing his member to spring up once more. Your eyes fixated on his length, gulping back excess saliva as you wondered if you could take his length without feeling any pain. You bit your bottom lip in thought, looking up towards Mando for reassurance. You observed him slipping off his gloves to reveal the skin of his hands. His olive-skinned tone becoming the first exposure to you. His fingers crawled under your chin, cusping your face, admiring the position you were in. Stars, you were so beautiful.

Your fingers curved over his cock, your sudden touch letting a shuddered moan escape The Mandolorian’s mouth. His free hand pressed against the wall to keep himself balanced, the other one continuing to cradle your face as your hand began to move up and down his cock, peeling back the foreskin to reveal the tip of his cock lubbed with precum. You caught the precum that fell underneath with your tongue and entered the head of his cock into your mouth, wanting every ounce of his seed in your mouth. The Mandalorian let out a ragged moan, the feeling of your warm saturated mouth upon his member sending shoots of fulfilment up his body. His strong hand motioned along your jawline and his fingers combed through your hair, resting at the nip of your neck. You began to close your eyes in satisfaction and slowly easing his cock into your mouth, every inch deeper causing him to tighten his grip on your hair. As you opened your eyes The Mandalorian could not help but notice the lust in your eyes, your stare becoming vacant. Your left hand guided itself upwards to his abdomen as the other had a grasp on his thigh, your fingers massaging into the fabric of his clothes. The softness of your touch soothed The Mandalorian into submission, his hips slowly bucking towards your face as he longed for the feeling of your warm tongue running along his shaft. Feeling his desire, you closed your eyes once more to indulge more into his length, cockwarming him as your nose reached near his lower stomach and stayed in place. A gasp left Mando’s mouth, his other hand reaching towards your face as he gained more grip of you, holding your head in place to have his cock bathe more into your warmth. When he heard a light choke conjure up your throat, he quickly released his cock from your mouth to give you access to air. The sudden release made him look down to admire your face, clocking the string of spit connecting the tip of his cock to your bottom lip. My stars, that image was now burned into his mind and sending his instincts into overdrive.

“What name should I moan while you pleasure me, Mandalorian?” You asked, your voice airy and deep with lust. You motion your hand to his cock once more and pleasured him. The Mandalorian hesitated, still drunk with your touch, his mind becoming cloudy and unresponsive.

“Din -- my name is Din.” He managed to conjure up. This new information was so subtle, but you cherished it. Having his name roll off your tongue while feeling extreme waves of pleasure, the thought of it gave nurture to your pulsing heat.

“Nice to meet you -- Din.” You hummed. Vocalizing his name made his breaths much heavier, the sound of your soft tones interwoven into his name giving him even more ideas of what he could do to you. As primitive instincts commenced, you suddenly felt his strong arm wrap around your waist and lift you off your knees. He held you at such a great height that you were able to wrap your legs around him, your arms clasping around his neck for support. Din suddenly pressed you against the wall and held you in place, his hands grasping onto the back of your thighs. He now had the high ground, lifting you as if you were as light as a feather. The tip of his cock was perfectly aligned at your entrance, feeling the friction between you as he grinded his hips towards you. Your skimpy underwear was soaked with arousal. In all your years of sex work have you never been as titillated as you were now. No credits in all the galaxy could satisfy you as this moment did. Your legs wrapped tighter around Din as you beckoned his body closer to yours, your hips grinding against him -- begging for his cock. You noticed Din’s fingers inching closer to your heat, his fingers shifting your underwear to one side and exposing your swollen clit and dripping walls. Then, his fingers nudged at your entrance. His sudden cold touch made you gasp for air and cling tighter to him, your head pressing back onto the wall. Din rested his bulky helmet onto your shoulder as he motioned his fingers towards your clit, drawing light circles around. The stimulated sensation shot up your stomach, your legs lightly quivering. The tip of his cock still poked at your entrance in a teasing manner, and you could not help but grind against Din’s touch.

“Oh my God . . . Din.” The sound of you gasping his name sent tingles down his back, encouraging his fingers to put more pressure onto your sensitive clit, his moves hitting all the right spots. The sensation began building within you, convincing you were near your climax. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.” Your words encouraged, sending Din’s actions into overdrive as he pinned you closer to the wall and his body. His rhythm picked up pace and low grunts escaped his mouth. As he your legs secured around him, he let his free hand grasp onto your breast. His touch stimulated you further, a giggle leaving your lips at the sheer pleasure.

Suddenly your climax began, and an uncontrollable moan escaped from you, your legs turning to mush as you clung onto his body. Din admired your reaction, seeing your eyes turn vacant, his fingers roaming your vulva before taking his hands to hold your delicate thighs, sensing you grow weak from overstimulation. Your eyes trailed across him, leaning your forehead on the cold shine of his Baskar helmet. A subtle smirk drew across Din’s face as he exalted your complexion, noticing an ardour glow come upon your face.

It did not end there. At this point, Din felt edged on. Basking in your presence, he also bucked his hips closer to you. One hand clasped your warm cheek softly, a sense of gentleness soothing you into submission. You could sense his eyes staring at yours and at the intimacy, you had a sudden urge to kiss him. However, you knew there was no type of charming in the galaxy that would convince him to remove it. Until you got an idea.

“If I promise to close my eyes, will you kiss me?” You asked through heavy breaths, your fingers resting either side of his neck. Din thought of your offer, hesitating for a while. No living being should be able to see his face, not even in the heat of desire. Yet, if you close your eyes like promised, his oath would technically not be broken. Even if he just lifted the helmet up a little bit . . .

“You promise?” Din asked, grasping onto both your hands, interlinking his fingers into yours. You vigorously nodded your head, a smile on your face.

“I swear by all the stars in the galaxy.” You promised, pressing a little kiss on the tips of his fingers. You began to close your eyes shut, giving Din the clear to proceed and guide you to his lips.

Din slowly raised his helmet to expose his lips, guiding your legs to fall to the ground. Your feet landed on the floor, hands grasping his shoulders for stability. You never opened your eyes, keeping your word. Din slowly leaned down, pressing his lips against yours. The surprise to his touch inched you closer into him, deepening the kiss. Hesitantly, your fingers reached up to the nip of his neck and played with his hair. Din stiffed up, but softened just was quickly, tasting the flavour of his cock in your mouth. He grabbed your ass and you moaned into his lips. Your hands then reached back down his cock, stroking his member that was still hard as before. A growl left Din’s mouth, vibrating against your lips and he leaned off the kiss. Quickly dropping his helmet back into place, he lifted you back into his arms. The sudden movement made you flash open your eyes, noticing the helmet back on and Din carrying you to his bed.

As the bunker bed was too small for the both of you, Din took your hands and placed them on the bar between the two bunk beds. Keeping you in place, he began to expose your backside by rapidly pulling off your dress and underwear. Din’s sudden dominant actions formed a flutter in your mind, putting your thoughts into what was to come. My Stars, you wanted him to fuck you hard. So hard that it knocks all common sense out of your brain. The sudden fleeting shift of how he handled you said so.

That is when he began to enter your cunt, stretching your walls as they tightly pressed back against his cock. The feeling of him filled you up instantly, a light whimper fleeing your mouth as you handled his length. Din had a similar reaction, his grip tightening on your waist as he felt drowned by the feeling of your insides. The tightness of your cunt encouraged him to get into motion, pumping his cock out and back inside.

“Din -- fuck me.” You breathed out, your grip tightening around the bars. You prompted one leg up onto the edge of the bed, so he had more gateway into you, which aided his full length to fill your pussy. Din leaned forward, pressing his stomach into your lower back so the entirety of his cock was inside you. In measurement, you knew that once he started moving, he was big enough to hit your g-spot without a doubt. Excitement engulfed your senses, and you began to beckon him.

“Fuck me, Din -- fuck me hard.” You granted permission. His name mixed into your vulgar language made him flustered from arousal but smirk mischievously.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” He groaned into your ear. And with that, Din did not hesitate to begin fucking you. Just like you wanted it, hard. His unrefined thrusts in and out of you sent your thoughts into hyperdrive. Your vision unfocused, basking in the pleasure. Just like you anticipated, the tip of Din’s cock knocked your G-spot with every thrust. Din watched as your ass jiggled from the friction, encouraging his hand to fall and smack against your backside. You gasped at the pinch of pleasure, biting your lip hard to contain yourself from screaming. Din detected your muffled sounds and was displeased. He wanted to hear you from for him. Beg for more. Say his name and plead for more pleasure. So, his hand gripped the front of your neck and seized you back, pressing your body against his. His thrust never stopping.

“Fucking beg for it.” Din demanded, “Tell me how much you want this.” He did not know what came over him in this moment, and you did not either. But you would be lying if you said you did not like this side of him.

“I- I want this so bad, Din. I need you to fuck me like this.” You choked up, feeling intoxicated as his grip around your neck lightly tightened.

“You want me to fill you with my cum, huh? Or should I cum all over your pretty little face?” Din taunted, another hand crashing down against your ass cheek which made you whimper again.

“Oh God -- come inside me. Please.” You begged, tears collecting in the corners of your eyes as all your feelings conjoined into one overall feeling of complete smut. Your mind felt like a mess, like you could pass out from enjoyment. Never in all your life of service have you felt so much pleasure.

When Din’s primitive instincts deemed you pleads redeemable, his thrusts became faster as he felt his climax coming. The sound of his skins slapping against yours became a dominant sound in the room. He still held your body close to his, his hands roaming over your body, gripping your breasts, smacking your ass, wrapping his fingers around the small of your waist. God, the way he held you was stimulating enough, every touch completely possessive of your body. Din was engrossed in the shape of you, how every inch of your body fit perfectly against him. How tight your walls clenched around his cock, enchanting him to fuck you harder with each thrust.

“I’m gonna come.” Din exclaimed, “I’m gonna cum in your pretty little cunt. Got it?”

His words excited you. “Yes -- please fill me with your cum. Please, please, please.”

Din could not hold it any longer. When he felt his release, he held your hips in place and deepened his cock into you, letting your slit cockwarm him until his climax came to a close. His body collapsed onto yours, causing him to shift your body on top and sit on the edge of the bunk, placing you gently on his lap. You rested your exhausted head on his shoulder, a smile of approval appearing on your face. Din wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into a gentle embrace.

“Um -- Sorry I was so rough. I dunno what came over me.” Din apologised, his tone a little bashful.

“Don’t apologise. I’m sorry I enjoyed it so much.” You teasingly said, reaching your hand under his helmet to cusp his scruffy jawline. Din leaned into your touch, pressing a small kiss on your thumb.

“Now’s a good time for you to change into those clothes, huh?” Din light-heartedly said, causing you to chuckle and playfully nudge his side.

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#sooo yeah i watched the mandalorian and i have din djaren brainrot #i wrote the majority of this last night and took me today to edit it all #god i feel sinful now lmao but we move #creepling.brainrot #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin oneshot #din djarin imagine #din djarin fanfiction #star wars #star wars smut #star wars imagine #star wars oneshot #din djarin brainrot #mask kink

268 notes · View notes

waithyuck · 4 years

Text

flame

pairing: dragon!mark lee x reader (f) *halloweenie special*

genre: smut, supernatural au

word count: 3k

warnings: BIG DICK MARK LEE, but also shy mark lee, sexual content, thigh riding, unprotected sex, kinda sub mark for like a couple seconds but then those dragon instincts kick in, biting, slight alcohol consumption, light cockwarming, overall sweetness **unedited**

a/n: I simp for mark lee on the daily ofc I had to write some smut ab him OFC

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~10/21/2020~

~~~~

“mark lee, if you don’t get your fire breathing ass back in that kitchen in two seconds, I’m cutting your tail off.” you heard your boss call out, her voice stern as she pierced her gaze through your blushing coworker. he mumbled a hushed apology before rushing past you and into the back, knocking all kinds of things over on his way.

mark was a clumsy dragon; being a dragon wasn’t an uncommon thing, considering the world was littered with creatures now, but you had never met one as shy or as clumsy as mark lee.

he was shy and always spoke quietly, and rarely ever looked anyone in the eyes. in fact, you were certain you’d never actually seen his eyes, even after working with him for two years.

you had become friends with him in that time, and currently was the reason why he just got hollered at by your manager. you probably shouldn’t have called him up from his station just to bullshit around.

you considered mark one of your closest friends now, even if he was still a shy mess around you. he opened up a little bit, to your surprise, but never fully. you couldn’t lie to yourself and say you didn’t have a small crush on him, despite him having the personality of a small, naked dog.

he seemed to trust you though, so it shouldn’t have surprised you when he came to you after work asking for a favor.

you were on your way to your car when you felt a warm hand softly grip your wrist, stopping you from walking any further. you turned around startled at first, not knowing it was him until you saw his face in front of you. you smiled at him.

“hey markie.” you greeted sweetly, moving your arm back down to your side once he let go of you. his lips quirked you slightly at the nickname, but as quickly as you saw it, it disappeared.

“hi y/n,” he let out quietly, wringing his hands together. “I have a, uh, favor to ask of you, if that’s okay.”

you quirked your eyebrow at him, your curiousity piqued. you gestured for him to continue and he let out a large warm breath as his thin tail flicked behind him.

“would you mind, um,” he scratched the back of his neck. “housesitting my grandma’s place with me this weekend? I don’t wanna be alone in there…”

you blinked in silence at him for a moment, processing his request before replying.

“mark,” you started, looking him in the eyes, “you’re telling me that you’re a fucking dragon,” you stated in disbelief, your hip cocked to one side as you stood across from him. “but you can’t stay the night at your grandma’s house alone? aren’t you supposed to be like, the most powerful creature in the world?”

he blushed and looked down at his feet, one little fang poking out over his bottom lip as he played with his fingers bashfully. when he didn’t reply a small frown made its way to your lips, and you quickly clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“sure mark, I’ll house-sit with you.” you smiled, trying to find his eyes. when he smiled back and glanced at you, your heart seemed to flutter on its own accord, and you stepped back out of his space.

you cleared your throat. “just text me the details. I’ll see you later!”

with that, you quickly ran off to your car, starting the engine and driving away. you didn’t even notice how the boy you had just left stared after you, his eyes glowing gold in the setting sunlight.

mark didn’t take long to send you the details, and before you knew it the weekend had rolled in. you met up with him at his place and he drove the both of your across town to where his grandmother’s house resided, and you can’t say you weren’t awestruck at the size of it.

it looked like a true mansion; but more like one from some bad horror movie that was haunted by 100 year old dead girls or something. you had to admit, it gave you the creeps and now you were beginning to understand why mark didn’t want to stay here alone.

“so uh, the electricity seems to be out.” he stated once the two of you made yourselves comfortable inside the home. you two looked at each other briefly, both of your eyes wide. “she didn’t mention that on the phone.”

you sucked in air through your teeth, but knew you would have to deal with being in the dark in an old and creepy mansion that was owned by a woman most likely close to death herself.

“it’ll be fine,” you reassured him, placing your backpack down on the floor in front of the sofa. upon opening it, you pulled out two wine bottles, much to mark’s surprise.

you smirked at him. “are you down to drink with me?”

he nodded almost instantly, and you grinned back.

fast forward an hour later, and you were definitely a little wine drunk. you weren’t too far gone; you still had some wits about you, but everything seemed to just feel a tad bit too good for you to be completely sober.

you and mark were giggling back and forth over stupid nonsense, and you felt your heart flutter everytime the harmonious sound of his laughter left his body.

god, you really were such a goddamn simp for this boy. “so, markie,” you blurted, smiling dumbly at him as you set your glass down on the coffee table in front of you. you curled your legs up under you as you turned to face him on the couch, your face resting on you palm. “do you have a girlfriend?”

“a g-girlfriend?” he squeaked out cutely, his eyes wide as he stared at you from across the couch. “uh, n-no. uhm, not many girls really like me like that.” he laughed it off, his hand coming up to rest behind his head shyly. you almost melted at the sight of him acting so bashful, even though you’ve seen it countless times in the time you’ve known him.

you snorted in response, “oh god mark, I beg to differ.” it may have been the small amount of wine in your system, but whatever spurred you to move closer to him was growing with every passing second, weakening your willpower. your knees rested against his leg as you now leaned against him, your chin incredibly close to resting on his shoulder.

his wide brown eyes looked down at you, and you watched his throat bob as you swallowed heavily, most likely a little nervous at your proximity. you smiled at him sensually, your eyes trying to convey as much of your emotions as possible to him.

“I think you’re very attractive,” you mumbled sweetly, not making any moves to get closer or touch him just yet, in case he wasn’t into this like you obviously were. considering you just outed that you thought he was cute, now was as good a time as any to just let it all loose.

“I think I like you, mark.”

he kissed you, which caused you to squeak in surprise. you quickly recovered however, and immediately threw yourself over him to straddle his lap, kissing him back with just as much fire.

it really shocked you; you weren't prepared for mark to have the balls to kiss you first, but you welcomed it, causing your core to grow hot at the thoughts of him doing more to you.

“I like you t-too.” he muttered out between kisses, his tongue finding your own as the two of you felt each other on the couch in the darkness of his grandmother's old house.

his hands held steady on your waist; every so often you would feel his fingers squeeze at your sides, but nothing much more than that.

you were growing insatiable at the point, your core aching to feel something against it, so you decided to take matters into your own hands.

“can I ride your thigh?” you asked breathlessly, pulling back from his lips to look into his eyes. they were tinged gold; little flecks of the color breaking up the deep natural brown of his irises. you felt his fingers squeeze your hips ever so slightly, and he nodded simply in response, his lips moving up timidly to connect with yours once again.

you situated yourself so that you were straddling one of his legs, the muscle of his thigh pressed right up against your already aching core deliciously. you sighed in content as you pressed against him, pulling your head away to throw it back in pleasure. mark didn’t hesitate to kiss your neck delicately, pressing small kisses along the column of your throat and around the sweet spots down near your collarbones.

your panties were soaked in seconds, and you were sure he could feel it even through the material of his black jeans, the two sets of fabric the only things separating you from feeling skin on skin.

you couldn’t help but begin to grind your hips back and forth, the delicious feeling of his hard muscle pressing against your clit making you almost delirious. his hands on you hips helped drag you back and forth against him, and before long you had built up a steady rhythm that had you weak and whining.

“mark,” you moaned out, catching his attention instantly. “mark I need you to fuck me,” you were panting, both hands on his shoulders as you borderline aggressively humped his leg, your eyes pleading and your lips parted in pleasure.

“fuck, okay yeah, yeah I’ll fuck you,” he stuttered out, hoisting you off of him with ease and maneuvering you onto your back below him, your core clenching at the display of his inhuman strength.

it was a battle to get as many articles of clothing off of your two bodies as possible, and in the end your clothes were thrown every which way around the room, leaving you both naked and needy in front of each other.

you almost cried when you saw his cock in the dim light, twitching in front of your very eyes.

“holy fuck, mark,” you gasped, eyes widening as you sat up on your elbows to get a good look at his raging cock. “you’re fucking huge, are you trying to kill me?”

he blushed sweetly in response but you caught the sight of his dick twitching, indicating that he liked the praise you gave him.

you sighed and laid back down flat, motioning for him to crawl forwards on top of you and he complied within seconds. you glanced down between your bodies to look at his dick once again, your brain still not comprehending his size.

you decided you didn’t want any prep. you wanted to feel every second of the burning stretch.

“you’re seriously gonna destroy me, mark.” you stated flatly, but you weren’t so opposed to the idea. in truth, you wanted him to annihilate you like the dragon stud you knew he was; no mercy, making you cry for his cock like a good little slut. you shivered at the thought.

“we can s-stop, we don’t have to—“ he began to say, but you slapped a hand across his mouth, much to his surprise. he looked confused, but didn’t try to remove your hand from where it laid on his lips.

you smiled, “that’s not a bad thing, baby,” you murmured, leaning up to trail your lips along his ear. “I want you to absolutely obliterate this pussy, you understand?”

it wasn’t like you to dirty talk in bed, but there was something about the way he reacted to your every word that had you more vocal than usual. before you could think, mark had your back pinned to the cushions once again, his eyes glowing a bright gold as they bore down into your own with an intensity you couldn’t hope to match.

bingo.

he grabbed his dick and quickly aligned it with your entrance, sliding in slowly and stretching you out at a snail's pace.

the stretch was gradual; you could feel every inch of him sinking inside you and the feeling sent a shock down your spine, causing your walls to involuntarily clench around his still moving cock.

you were grateful that he was patient and slow, not moving too quickly or harshly so that he wouldn’t cause you any pain. you let out a low moan when you felt his thumb press directly onto your clit, and the action surprised you. you didn’t expect mark to take the confident initiative like that, but you weren’t complaining as he started rubbing soft circles around the nub.

without warning, mark took your hips in both his hands and flipped you onto your side, his cock slipping out in the process as he laid behind you, effectively spooning your body. he drew in close, and you whined at the feeling of his thin tail coming up to wrap around one of your legs, helping his arm lift it up and keep in place so he had perfect access to your dripping cunt.

mark’s nose nudged against your temple as he leaned in, his lips softly placing a kiss on your cheek as you gasped for breath.

“can I have you like this?” he asked softly, still pressing gentle kisses against your skin. with a firm nod you gave him permission, and he immediately lined himself up with your more than ready entrance once again.

he slipped inside easier this time, bottoming out within seconds and making you squeak at the feeling. he waited for you to adjust, your twitching walls around him not letting up for the first minute he was inside you. once you relaxed enough, he began smoothing rocking his hips in and out of you, slowly dragging his cock against your walls as he fucked you.

you bit the throw pillow before you as you felt his tail tighten around your leg, tingles starting to become prevalent as he effectively cut off some of the blood flow.

you weren’t complaining.

“faster, please,” you whined out, your nails ripping into the pillow as he complied almost instantaneously. his hips postponed in and out of your dripping hole as best they could, his hips roughly slapping against the skin of your ass as he plowed you with all his might.

you bit back your screams as his land left your leg, his strong tail holding it in place as he reached around to play with your nipple, flicking and teasing the bud as he fucked you.

his tip ever so slightly bumped your cervix with every earth shattering thrust, and you threw your head back into his chest as he kept up his speed and rhythm.

“does it feel good, y/n?” he asked deeply, almost like a growl. the vibrations that you felt rumble his chest had your toes curling, and you could feel your stomach tightening as you grew closer and closer to your release.

when you didn’t immediately answer, you felt his teeth bite into your shoulder as punishment. you whimpered at the feeling, you pussy clenching around his still pounding cock.

“answer me.”

you could only nod your head frantically, your brain not working enough to process any words to spew back at him. he seemed content enough with your reply, and you were almost grateful that he didn’t force you to speak. you were sure you would have sounded like a pathetic mess.

if it was even possible at this point, he managed to pick up the speed of his thrusts, fucking you into oblivion until all you could do was moan out strangled versions of his name. before long, you were coming undone, your fluttering walls clamping strongly down onto his cock, causing him to seize up behind you with a roar.

you could physically feel the powerful spurts of his cum shooting inside you right up against your cervix, pairing it white with his seed. you moaned at the feeling, your body still twitching in his hold.

he gently laid your leg back down, his tail unraveling to reveal indentation marks in your skin from where it had been gripped. your thigh was especially bad, but you were definitely not complying, the sight causing your core to flutter once more around him.

you laid in silence for a while, finding comfort in each other’s breathing. he kept himself sheathed inside you, the warmth of him comforting as you laid with your back pressed up against his sweaty chest.

“...I don’t think this is what my grandmother had in mind when she asked me to house-sit.” mark suddenly mumbled into your hair, reaching around to delicately play with your fingers with his own.

you snorted weakly in response, chuckling a bit. “are you complaining?”

“no,” he hummed, clarifying. “i think this was the best night of my life.” he kissed your cheek then, causing you to smile. he nuzzled his face into the back of your neck, and you could feel the small grin on his face.

“thank you, y/n.”

you could only hum back in return, the swelling of your heart overwhelming your senses as the sweet voice of the boy you’ve been crushing on lured you into a deep relaxed state.

you wouldn’t trade this for the world.

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dracothedeatheatingcupcake-ao3 · 3 years

Text

The Problem with Perfection Chapter 10 spoilers!

Hey all! So, a couple people asked for this, so I figured I’d post it. It’s chapter 8 of the companion to TPWP, The Problem with Mondo, which corresponds with chapter 10 of TPWP. Yes, this confuses me a lot too, the fact that the chapters don’t align. -.-

Anyway! Don’t read this if you’ve not read TPWP chapter 10, since it will definitely spoil that chapter, ha. Warning for an overabundance of foul language and some sexualized thinking, as well as an absent thought of suicide, same as in TPWP. This chapter is super long, about 20,000 words, and I’m posting all of it because... why not, am I right? Ha.

I did cut a few sentences from this chapter because they might spoil things for later chapters of TPWP, but they don’t really contain anything major.

The chapter is below the cut! Hope y’all like. :-)

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

Mondo is angry. Blindingly angry. So angry he doesn’t know why he’s angry, but honestly, what else is new? He just knows that he’s angry and the reason he is angry is that goddamn motherfucking kid and his goddamn motherfucking glasses-

“They! Are!! Glasses!!! Just!!! Wear them!!!” the boy grits out, thrusting his goddamn hand out towards Mondo, looking like he is about five fucking seconds from bashing his head against the goddamn wall. Mondo almost wishes he fucking would, to save him the fucking trouble! Unable to help himself, he scowls and crosses his arms, shaking his head firmly, so fucking pissed it ain’t even funny.

“No! I ain’t no fuckin’ nerd!” Mondo yells back, glaring like he was born to do it. Unfortunately, it seems so was Ishimaru, as the kid is glaring like his life depends on it, as fiery and beautiful passionate as ever. That goddamn motherfucking...

“Just! Wear them! The doctor says you need them! You don’t have to wear them all the time! Just when you’re reading! Stop! Being an idiot!”

“Me?! I ain’t no fuckin’ idiot, you’re a fuckin’ idiot! If ya think I’m gonna wear that shit, yer outta yer goddamn mind! Now get that shit outta my face, ya fuckwad, or I’m gonna bash yer head in!”

“Like heck you will! You’re all bark and no bite, Owada! Now just! Wear! The! Glasses! You said you were okay with them when you bought them! I will force you to wear them, don’t think I won’t!”

“Oh, you motherfuckin’-!”

“U-uh, g-guys?”

Mondo and Ishimaru turn, as one, to glare at the intruder on their private fucking conversation. Okay, so maybe they’re in the middle of the hallway outside their dorm rooms, but fuck! That don’t mean shit! Eavesdropping is a nasty fucking habit and if this goddamn motherfucker doesn’t butt the fuck out right the fuck now-

“Shut up!” the pair shouts in unison, before turning to glare at each other again.

Mondo doesn’t know why he’s so angry. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, or why he has been doing this for the past week and a half. From hot, to cold, to hot, to cold, again and again and again, never fucking ceasing. One minute he’s fine, relaxed as shit and not at all angry, maybe even feeling kinda good, and then the next...

And he doesn’t know why. Why he’s doing this. Why he’s fucking ruining this shit, like he fucking ruins every fucking thing. He... h-he just...

Things had been okay, you know? Between him and Ishimaru. At first. Sure, they weren’t really friends, evidenced by how they are still referring to one another by last name, but they’d been friendly enough. Mondo had taken care to keep his anger in check, and— to his surprise— it... it hadn’t actually been that hard. It seems that Ishimaru can be pretty fucking cool when they’re not at odds.

He’s also a great fucking tutor. He somehow manages to not sound sanctimonious and pretentious when explaining shit, instead looking so fucking earnest and like he genuinely wants to just... help.

Because of that, they’d gotten along pretty well those first few days. Ishimaru had been determined to get him brought up to speed before they started the fucking novel, so he’d taken care to spend a couple hours a day hanging around Mondo, at various times. The pair usually spent an hour or so in the library after class ended, but more than that, they just... they would walk together between classes, Ishimaru rambling on and on about what they’d just learned about in class. Mondo doesn’t know why he’d allowed it, usually not caring about shit like that, but somehow... somehow, it had been nice. Hearing Ishimaru talk about the shit they’d learned, the kid better able to impart knowledge in the ten fucking minutes they had between classes than the teachers were able to in the hour plus they had. It’s not at all the sorta shit Mondo would have expected himself to enjoy, let alone look forward to, but shit. There they were.

But then... Mondo got stupid. He overstepped his bounds and got fucking scared, fuck.

They’d been in Ishimaru’s room. Mondo doesn’t know why he’d made the offer to go to the kid’s room rather than the library, like they usually did, like was safe, but he... he had. And the kid had fucking accepted, and so there they were, sitting on the hall monitor’s fucking couch, sitting too fucking close. The kid was reading the short story Teach had assigned to the class, the pair realizing it was just... easier, while Mondo waited for the nurse to contact the eye doctor for him, since it turned out that yeah, his eyes were kinda fucked up, shit.

He had felt so fucking weird inside, the first time the kid had read to him, since they’d been in the library and he’d been nervous someone would see them and think Mondo was an idiot who needed to be fucking read to, but... shit. This time it had just been... different. Without the fear of being judged (since Ishimaru never fucking judged him, not ever, god fucking damn), he... he’d been able to listen to the kid reading without any fucking reservations. And he’d had to admit that- that he... he liked it. A lot. Like... fucking a lot.

So fucking much that it had made him feel relaxed for the first time... shit. Prolly ever. Ishimaru just had a nice sounding voice, ya know? It was strangely deep, at times, when he got lost in the story, his words not too fast but not too slow. He actually emoted when he spoke, too, the sound not a dull and dry monotone like so many fucking other people he’s heard read before. It just... made him feel so fucking calm inside, like the monster inside of him had been fucking purring.

And... and then...

Mondo had let his head drop down onto Ishimaru’s shoulder, eyes closing in contentment, the kid faltering for one split second, breath hitched, before he’d smoothly continued, like it had never happened. And with his eyes closed and his head resting on a warm, comfortable shoulder, hearing that wonderful cadence from that wonderful, beautiful mouth... he hadn’t been able to stop the thought. And the thought he had was...

God, his voice is so fucking nice, isn’t it...? Wonder what it would sound like screaming your name as you pound the fuck outta him. He’d prolly be loud as shit, so fucking passionate, clawing you to all hell, but damn if you’d mind. Shit... wouldn’t that be fucking nice...

He had been, to put it mildly, freaked the fuck out.

His eyes had shot open the second the thought had crossed his mind, heart fucking pounding as he wondered where the goddamn fuck that shit came from. Ishimaru had been startled, looking at him with his wide fucking eyes, lips opened softly in shock, voice faltering for the first time and Mondo... Mondo couldn’t fucking handle it, holy fucking shit.

He’d immediately stood and stammered out some bullshit about needing to check on his hog, before fucking bailing, eyes wide and heart an absolute mess. He had, indeed, gone out to his hog and rode around for a bit, not wanting to think, but he’d been unable to help it. To stop it. And it... it made him feel...

He’s not gay. Okay? He’s fucking not. There’d be no fucking problem if he were, but he just ain’t. He likes chicks, something he knows better than anything else, something he’s known since he was a fucking kid, goddamn. He’d even made sure to look at his porno mags that night, reassured when he felt his dick harden so fucking hard as he saw the tits and pussy that always made him so fucking hard to see.

So, he wasn’t gay. He fucking couldn’t be gay, and it’s not possible for him to like both, so he figured that the thought had meant... meant Mondo wanted to fucking pound Ishimaru’s head in, not- n-not any other meaning of the word that it could have meant. He guessed that he didn’t like being around Ishimaru as much as he had assumed and that he actually hated him, after all.

As freaked out as he’d been, he took hold of that idea and fucking ran with it. He told himself that he hated the kid, of course he hated him, his voice was fucking annoying as shit, not nice, not nice at all!

And so, the next day, he’d been cold to the kid. So fucking cold. And when the kid had tried to approach him after home room ended, looking open and earnest and so fucking cute-

Mondo hadn’t been able to handle it. His stomach had clenched, and his heart had fucking lurched, and he told himself it was hatred he felt, it had to be fucking hatred. And so, he’d snarled at the kid, telling him to ‘get the fuck away from me, freak!’ before he’d run off, heart aching so fucking stupidly.

He had considered skipping class, getting on his hog and fucking booking it, but he needed to give his girl a break, and he still kinda wanted to try the whole ‘giving school a chance’ thing, so he’d eventually decided to storm into class, even if he’d been five minutes late. He’d refused to look at Ishimaru, though, thinking that seeing his stupid fucking pathetic face would fucking destroy him infuriate the shit out of him, and as soon as class ended, he’d shot out, not needing to pack anything up since he’d not fucking brought anything, shit.

That had kept happening the rest of the day. Every class they had together (which was pretty much every fucking class, god fucking damn this school) Mondo would carefully keep his eyes off the kid, ignoring the feel of sad, hurt, bright red eyes as they bored into him. After the second class, the kid had tried to chase after him, tried to talk to him, but Mondo would fucking turn and head the opposite fucking direction of their next class, and he knew the kid wouldn’t dare risk being late, so he’d give up pretty quick. He’d constantly be looking in class, though, lips pulled down in a frown, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Not that Mondo was fucking looking! Shit!

It wasn’t until Ishimaru had cornered him outside his dorm room that night, looking so fucking hurt and upset and not a little bit annoyed that they’d managed to resolve things.

In that Ishimaru had been so fucking annoying that Mondo had immediately started yelling, causing Ishimaru to yell back, his words bleeding hurt, making Mondo feel like absolute scum. They had been loud enough to garner the attention of most of their classmates, even fucking Togami gracing them with his condescending presence, which had made Mondo even more pissed, honestly, wanting nothing more than to be anywhere fucking else.

It was when the kid looked about ready to fucking cry that Mondo had had enough. His insides were squirming, and he felt so fucking scared, for reasons he still doesn’t understand, but he... h-he hadn’t wanted to make Ishimaru cry again. After spending several days interacting with Ishimaru, having a lot of fucking conversations that hadn’t actually ended in the kid’s tears, he... he hadn’t wanted to go back to that.

And so, with all the confused fucking emotions swirling inside him, he’d yelled ‘fuckin’ fine, ya goddamn bastard! I’ll fuckin’ meet you and do that goddamn fuckin’ assignment tomorrow! Now leave me the fuck alone!’ before storming into his room and slamming the door shut so loud it made even his ears ring.

He’d then promptly stormed into the shower, turning the water on as hot as it could go, the water fucking hurting, but he’d wanted it to. He just... he’d felt so... so...

Confused...

He’d never felt this way for anyone before. So angry and scared and confused and yet also so fucking happy, so bizarrely, stupidly happy. Ishimaru fucking... he made him happy. And he didn’t know how to handle that, because clearly, he still hated the kid... right? Right? What other option was there? Why did he want to hit Ishimaru (and he had to want to hit him, it was the only fucking option that made any fucking sense) if he didn’t hate him?

But he’d agreed— stupidly— to meet with the kid for another fucking tutoring session after class the next day. And while the thought had made his insides squirm, he... fuck. He hadn’t wanted to make the kid cry again. God, did he not want that. Even if he did hate him— which he must, he must— he... fuck.

He couldn’t make him cry.

He wasn’t his goddamn old man.

And so, when he got out of the shower, he’d resolved to contain his anger the next day. He’d push it down, keep it locked up tight tight tight, and he wouldn’t let it hurt Ishimaru. He’d gotten into bed (still hated it, but he was slowly getting use to the ridiculously plush material) and fallen into a fitful sleep, dreams full of wide, hurt red eyes, a sad voice begging him to explain why he was hurting him so. He’d woken an hour early with a start, heart pounding, and had spent the remaining time until he usually got up doing push-ups again and again and again, until he didn’t remember the dream anymore.

And then, when he went into class, carrying his supplies for once... he’d given the kid a small, sheepish smile, stomach roiling with all the emotions within it. He’d then spent the rest of home room doodling absently on the notebook Ishimaru had helped him pick out from the school store, doing his best to not think of everything and psych himself out. He’d even managed to feel almost calm as he let himself draw, something he rarely allows himself to do, but always has kinda enjoyed, even if he’s shit at it.

Once home room ended, he’d waited for Ishimaru at the door, telling him as casually as he could that the nurse had contacted him the day before, saying she’d scheduled an eye doctor (he still can’t remember the official name Ishimaru called the dude, shit) appointment for 3:00 the next day, hesitantly asking the kid if he had wanted to come along. He could tell that the kid was taken aback, clearly not having expected such a thing, but he’d still stammered out an acceptance, looking so flustered it wasn’t funny when Mondo turned to look at him with a small, soft smile. He’d not meant to look at the kid like that, but he’d just... been unable to help it.

The rest of the day had gone well, the tutoring session going nicely like it had before that stupid fucking bullshit two days prior. It had happened in the library again, which Mondo figured would be safer. He’d almost started to hope that things would stay that way, stay as calm and easy and nice, but then-

Mondo got angry. Again.

He doesn’t even know why, he never fucking does, but the kid had just... he’d been so fucking patient, helping Mondo pick out a pair of ‘reading glasses,’ since the doc had said he had pretty bad close-up vision and would be benefited from having prescription reading glasses, not just the over-the-counter stuff you find at drug stores. Mondo had felt so fucking lost, no idea what any of the bullshit meant, but Ishimaru had... he’d been so fucking helpful, explaining the complicated terminology and shit, helping him find a pair that didn’t make him look too much like a fucking nerd. And the pair he settled on was honestly kinda nice. It was a rectangular silver metal frame that had deep purple plastic on the sides, and it actually make him look kinda cool... if a bit nerdy. He’d given the salesperson his school insurance card and was pleasantly surprised to find he’d not have to pay a penny for the frames, since the school covers shit like that.

It was then, as he and Ishimaru exited the shop and the kid absently commented that the glasses made him look very smart that Mondo just... fucking lost it.

And he doesn’t even know why.

It just... it made him feel weird inside. Being around the kid. Being soft with him. And he was. Soft. Soft and kind and fucking gentle. And the kid was the exact same back. The entire time they’d been in the shop, Mondo had been thinking how nice it had felt. How domestic. The panic and fear had been slowly rising in him the entire time they’d been in the store, and he’d done all he could to push it the fuck down, but he... he hadn’t...

He’d left the kid standing there, looking so fucking confused, as he hopped on his hog and drove away. He’d not cared how the kid would get back to the school, he had refused to ride with Mondo since it made him ‘nervous’ anyway, so it wasn’t his fucking problem.

And that pattern just... kept repeating. Mondo would get angry, say something toxic to the kid, and storm away. The kid would wait a couple of hours, maybe try and talk with him after class or something, only to eventually corner him and force him to talk to him, looking so fucking fed up, but also so fucking upset and sad and confused. Like he didn’t know why Mondo was doing this to him. Like he didn’t know why Mondo was being so fucking difficult. Like he... he didn’t...

Didn’t know why he fucking bothered...

And… honestly? Mondo didn’t know why either. Why he kept trying. Why he was so stubborn, always chasing after Mondo even after Mondo fucking shoved him away, sometimes literally. Even when Mondo would get so fucking nasty, making tears build up in the kid’s eyes, frustration clear in his every movement.

For almost two weeks this occurred, again and again and again, and Mondo... Mondo doesn’t know why the kid doesn’t just leave him already. Why he doesn’t just say ‘the hell with it,’ realize Mondo isn’t fucking worth it, and leave his ass. Like every other person on the face of this goddamn planet...

It’s only a matter of time until he does, though. Leave him. It’s what always was going to happen, since Mondo couldn’t ever hope to hold onto someone so very, very good. So very, very nice. Mondo is poison. He’s gas. He only knows how to destroy and break and hurt.

He’s not allowed something nice.

He’s not allowed someone nice.

He’s just...

Not worthy of it.

Case in fucking point...

“Look. Owada-kun,” Ishimaru spits, hands clenched around the stupid glasses case that he for some reason has (Mondo doesn’t even know how he’d gotten a hold of them, shit), looking like he wants to crush them, shit. “I don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn about this! You picked them out! You said they were fine! Why! Why have you changed your mind!”

Mondo scowls at the words, heart racing and swirling and hurting, hurting, hurting, and he doesn’t wanna be doing this, wants to stop, but he can’t, he can’t, he fucking can’t! He doesn’t know how to stop this, doesn’t know how to make this go away, all he knows how to do is break and hurt and destroy, destroy, destroy-

“I ain’t changed shit! I never fuckin’ agreed ta wear fuckin’ glasses, now get the fuck outta my face!”

It’s a lie. They both know it’s a lie, he can see the anger rising on Ishimaru’s face as he processes the abject lie. Mondo had, in fact, agreed on the glasses, had even kinda liked them, but he can’t concede that, can’t say he does, if he does then- then that means he’s okay with this, this weird thing he has going on with Ishimaru, and he doesn’t know if he can handle that, handle the proof that Ishimaru is so fucking amazing, the proof that Mondo doesn’t fucking deserve him, proof that... t-that he...

Mondo can’t take it. He can’t fucking take it! He tries to leave, to get away, to fucking end this shit already, but then Ishimaru is grabbing hold of him, holding so fucking tight, and Mondo tries to break free, tries to get away, but the kid just doesn’t fucking let go, and Mondo is so fucking freaked out, he just wants to leave, please god, let him just leave, don’t let him break this fucking kid again, god, please-

“You-! You are the most infuriating, pig-headed, arrogant... jerk I have ever had the misfortune to meet! If I never saw your face again, it wouldn’t be long enough!”

“Oh, I’m so wounded, please don’t call me anymore fuckin’ names like that, how the fuck am I ever gonna recover?!” Mondo snarls, sarcasm so thick he’s sure even Ishimaru will be able to pick up on it, wanting to stop but not being able to. “Grow the fuck up, ya cock suckin’ assfucker! Learn some better fuckin’ insults or don’t even bother tryin’ ta play!”

“Just because I am too sophisticated to resort to such foul language does not mean anything! You may be a lowly, classless heathen, but I, for one, refuse-”

“Oh, so now ya think yer fuckin’ better than me?! I told ya already, y’ain’t goddamn shit, Ishimaru! Ain’t no shit at all!”

“I am one hundred times the man you will ever hope to be! And if I’m not... feces, then you’re not even worth anything at all! Y-you’re... you’re an amoeba, so tiny and insignificant that it’s a miracle you think you’re relevant at all!”

“What the fuck did ya call me, ya son ofa bitch?!”

Mondo sees the kid open his mouth— likely to fire something back, barely any space between them— holding onto Mondo’s arm so fucking tight, like his life depends on it or something, looking so fucking pissed and angry and hurt and fucking beautiful, so fucking beautiful, god fucking damnit-

But before the kid can say anything, another voice pipes up, the same voice as earlier, making Mondo’s rage reach a paramount, oh god-

“Aw, come on! I thought you guys resolved things already, do you really have to do this?! Please!”

Mondo turns to the fucking eavesdropper, snarling at the beyond fucking average boy. Naegi turns super fucking pale at the look, but he doesn’t cower away for once. Mondo doesn’t care. He’s far passed the point of caring.

“I told ya ta stay the fuck outta this!”

Naegi frowns, but Mondo doesn’t give him a chance to say any other stupid ass thing before he’s turning back to Ishimaru, eyes practically spitting fire as he stares so deep into Ishimaru’s that it feels almost like a physical embrace. It makes Mondo’s breath hitch for some stupid fucking reason, his stomach swirling as he looks deep into the most gorgeous fucking eyes he’s ever fucking seen-

But he can’t feel things like that, so he pushes it firmly away.

He can hear their eavesdropper fucking sigh, soft and almost disappointed, and that should make Mondo even angrier, but something in Mondo is feeling so fucking weird now. G-god... he doesn’t even know how to begin to describe it, other than it feels like he’s on fire, but not even in a bad way. Ishimaru is staring at him, eyes wide, anger in them, but also something else, something Mondo can’t understand, no matter how much he fucking wants to.

He can’t let this end here. He wants to let it end, but he fucking can’t. He... h-he needs to figure out how to settle this, how to make this stop, how to not be as fucking pathetic as he knows he is. He... he needs to prove that he’s not as worthless as they both know he is, as weak, as nothing, so fucking nothing. Everyone knows it, knows he doesn’t belong here, knows that Ishimaru is so much better than him it’s not funny, but he- he needs to prove that he has something going for him, that he... he can do something, even if he’s worthless in every other regard, every other aspect, even if Ishimaru is better than him everywhere else he just needs to prove he can beat him at fucking something, god-

He’s issuing the challenge before he can stop himself.

And god, is he so fucking afraid.

“You think yer so perfect, don’t ya, Ishimaru? Think yer better than me? Well... well, yer not, an’ I can fuckin’ prove it. I bet I can beat you, hands down, any day of the fuckin’ week. Y’ain’t better than me, ya shit fuck. Y’ain’t nothin’,” Mondo hisses, lying through his fucking teeth. Ishimaru is better than him. He knows it. He’s always known it. He hates it, though. Not being good enough. Not being worthy. He... he wants to be. Good enough. For... f-for...

Ishimaru’s eyes are shiny again, even despite his glare.

Typical.

“What?! Y-you guys aren’t going to- to fight, are you? Guys-!”

Mondo breaks his stare down with Ishimaru to shoot that goddamn fucking bastard a single, solitary sneer, before turning back to Ishimaru, chest heaving with all the emotions he carries within him.

“Nah. Ground floor, there’s a sauna. Ya know it?”

Ishimaru blinks slowly, sluggish, before nodding slightly, looking very fucking confused. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his lips are pulled down, and he looks so fucking cute stupid, god. After a moment, though, it seems he understands what Mondo is getting at, the challenge he is suggesting, as his face lights up, eyes bright and passionate once more, an honest to god grin on his face.

Holy fucking shit...

“Aha! A simple endurance challenge! If that is your gauntlet, then I happily accept! I will wipe the floor with you!”

Despite the anger that is still flowing through him, Mondo can’t help the small smile that passes on his lips, something about the enthusiasm so fucking... not cute, not cute, not cute at all, but maybe, a little, teeny tiny bit... endearing? He pushes it away, though. It’s not helpful, here.

“Yer fuckin’ on. And you,” Mondo points blindly to Naegi— who ‘eeps’ at the gesture, fucking coward he is— not able to look away from Ishimaru for a single fucking second, “will be our witness. Got it?!”

As intently as Mondo is staring at Ishimaru, he doesn’t see the other kid’s response, but he can hear how Naegi splutters, the kid clearly not as enthusiastic about the idea as Ishimaru and himself are. Bastard.

“W-what?! Now?! B-but it’s so late... g-guys, are you sure this is a- a good idea-?!”

“Yes, ya fuckin’ moron, it’s a fuckin’ great idea!” Mondo snarls, at the exact same time Ishimaru— eyes bright and feverish— exclaims, “yes! It is an excellent idea!”

Uncomfortable at their agreement, Mondo finally tears his eyes away, ignoring the churning feeling in his chest as he storms down the hall to where the bathhouse is, mere meters away. Ishimaru stares after him for a stunned second, but quickly spurs himself into motion, using his long-ish legs to catch up quick, head held high as they march determinedly on. God... he’s so fucking...

Shit.

When they reach the bathhouse a few moments later, Mondo firmly pushes aside the rational voice inside him that is screaming at him not to do this. He knows his limits when it comes to endurance. While he’s not the best at running, he has great endurance for other things, especially pain and discomfort. (This sentence was removed due to ~~spoilers~~)

But Ishimaru... fuck. He’s so fucking passionate, so fucking determined, but who knows what his endurance is like? If he’ll be able to keep up? And it shouldn’t matter, shouldn’t give Mondo pause, but he... he can’t help the stab of concern that fills him as they enter the room, Mondo grabbing a ‘closed for repairs’ sign and putting it in front of the entrance, not wanting anyone to interrupt.

He hates the feeling and pushes it away as he turns to glare at Ishimaru, pointing a finger, not wanting to deal with such weakness, but he... he can’t quite manage to force it fully away...

Shit.

“Alright, here’s the fuckin’ terms. First ta tap out is a fuckin’ bitch ass loser who ain’t worth shit. The one who lasts the longest is the official winner. We ain’t allowed ta touch the other or do anythin’ ta them directly, this is strictly an endurance challenge. Oh, an’ we’re gonna do this fully clothed. What do ya say?!”

Mondo sees Ishimaru’s eyes widen when he gets to the last term, the kid fucking shaking his head sharply in denial. Fuck. Fuck. Shit. He’d added that last clause in last minute, realizing as he detailed the rules that they were gonna be fucking half fucking naked in there, and his mind had shorted the fuck out. He’s been in saunas fully clothed before, he knows he can handle it, but he isn’t fucking sure he can handle sitting nearly nude beside Ishi-fucking-maru...

But of course, the kid wouldn’t fucking agree. Of fucking course...

“I do not agree to that last term, but I agree to the rest!”

Glad his angry flush fully disguises the fucking embarrassed flush he can feel rising on his face, Mondo just nods tensely, sneering, as he storms over to the water cooler in the corner.

“Alright, whatever, fucker. Ya got five minutes ta prepare. Then, we’re fuckin’ doin’ this shit.”

With that, Mondo grabs a paper cup and downs some water, feeling so impossibly tense. He can feel Ishimaru staring at him, mouth partially open, but he gets spurned into action when Naegi shifts awkwardly beside him, chasing the kid away to one of the lockers, where he... he fucking...

Starts taking off his fucking clothes...

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Mondo is staring. Mondo knows he shouldn’t be staring, knows it’s wrong to be staring, but he can’t fucking help it. His eyes are like magnets, drawn to the kid, watching as he takes off all of his fucking layers, folding each one so neatly and carefully as he sticks them in the small fucking locker. The kid hesitates a little when he gets to his fucking tighty-whities (of course the kid wears that shit, of fucking course), but ultimately, he doesn’t take them off. Instead, he bites his lip and grabs a white towel, wrapping it firmly around his waist before putting the rest of his stuff away. Mondo firmly pushes down the stupid as shit rush of disappointment and tells himself to stop staring, to look away, but god, he fucking can’t. Ishimaru, he...

He’s so fucking gorgeous, so fucking hot, so fucking sexy-

Mondo feels himself heat the fuck up when Ishimaru turns abruptly and looks him straight in the eyes, looking fucking startled at something. Feeling strangely caught, Mondo looks away as quick as he can, pushing away the stupid as shit thoughts, marching over to a locker stiffly. Shit... he’s gotta fucking get laid one of these days. The tension is doing fucked up shit to his brain...

He takes his time putting some of his more fragile shit away, like his crappy cellphone and his key card. He does, honestly, consider taking off his uniform, or at least taking off his duster, but he just... shit. Can’t. Not with how strange he feels inside, his mind’s eye still stupidly forcing him to think of Ishimaru, his stupidly muscular back flexing with every move he made. It means nothing, fucking nothing, but he... shit. It prolly would be better to remain fully clothed, duster included, even if it does put him at a disadvantage. But ya know what, whatever. Doesn’t matter. He knows his limits and knows that he can last longer in the sauna than Ishimaru, even when fully clothed. Shit...

When the five minutes he gave them are up, he meets up with Ishimaru outside the entrance to the sauna, fully intending to slide it open and step inside, when-

“Owada-kun, you cannot seriously be considering entering the sauna fully clothed! It’s suicide!” Ishimaru exclaims, sounding fucking concerned as shit. His eyes are wide, and his brows are furrowed, and he’s biting his fucking lip, god fucking damn, and it’s messing with Mondo’s head so fucking much. Why... why the fuck would he care?! Huh?! They’re not fucking friends! Why would he care if Mondo did try and kill himself, huh?! World would fucking be better off for it, shit!

Deciding to definitely not say that, Mondo just sneers at the kid, crossing his arms stubbornly.

“Just ‘cuz yer a fuckin’ pansy ass bitch don’t mean I am! Now, ya ready ta do this, or are ya a fuckin’ chicken?!”

His face flushed, Ishimaru doesn’t even bother to answer, instead just yanking open the door and entering the sauna with a stubborn tilt to his jaw.

Staring after the kid for a split second (pushing down the disappointment that he didn’t press the issue harder, proving to Mondo how fucking right he is), Mondo enters on Ishimaru’s heels, the heat not even bothering him one bit.

It’s nothing compared to the fire that constantly burns within him.

Sliding the door shut behind him, leaving Naegi outside to do whatever the fuck he wants while the contest takes place, Mondo marches over to where Ishimaru is sitting, taking a seat an arm’s length away. He can feel bright red eyes on him, but he determinedly pushes the feeling away, trading a few snide comments with the kid, not even feeling the heat really.

About ten minutes in, Mondo will admit the heat is getting to him a little, a thin sheen of sweat making its way onto his skin, which is more uncomfortable than anything. Ishimaru looks a little woozy, so Mondo taunts that the kid should just give up now. Ishimaru just laughs, saying how he never gives up, ever. Fucking pretentious bastard.

After half an hour, he can admit he is feeling kinda uncomfortable, the heat becoming somewhat unpleasant, but he’s still feeling pretty good, all things considered. Ishimaru looks flushed as all hell, though, his cheeks bright red and sweat clinging to his muscles. The kid tells him— unprompted— that he’s doing fine, and Mondo’s brain feels too stupid to allow him to do much else than glare, shit...

After around fifty minutes, the kid... he looks fucking awful. Mondo isn’t doing too hot, the uncomfortable feeling spreading to be extremely uncomfortable, but he knows he can handle it. The kid, though... he looks like he’s starting to lose it. Ishimaru mentions absently that he’s starting to feel cold, which honestly concerns Mondo, since he knows that shit is a bad sign, but his head is too stupid to remember why, so he just says it’s prolly not good. The kid doesn’t call it quits, though.

Instead, he actually... talks... huh.

“Y-you can take off your uniform... if you w-want... I- I won’t judge...” the boy mumbles, sounding super fucking exhausted. Mondo tries to snort, but it’s a lot harder than it should be, shit.

“N-nah... I’m... I’m... I’m good,” Mondo finds himself muttering back, looking at the kid intensely, wondering why he isn’t giving up when he so clearly feels sick. Mondo finds himself muttering about how red Ishimaru’s is, likening him to a hot spring monkey, of all things. The kid mumbles back about being born with a red face, which makes no fucking sense, but ya know what? He’s too tired to waste energy on this shit. He’s got a challenge to win.

After what he figures is an hour and five minutes, the warning bell rings, telling them they have five minutes until curfew. Mondo figures the hall monitor will end this now, since he wouldn’t dare stay out past curfew and risk breaking one of his ‘precious rules,’ but the kid doesn’t seem to even notice the bell had rung. S-shit... that... that’s not good, is it...?

Mondo gets distracted from his stupid as shit concern when a new voice pipes up, shocking Mondo. Huh... he hadn’t realized the kid was still out there. Shit.

“U-uh guys? It’s almost curfew, shouldn’t you... stop? I know you both want to prove how big of badasses you are but... don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

Mondo scowls at the meaning of the words, knowing that he sure as shit ain’t gonna back down first. He’s already so worthless. He’s gotta prove that he can at least do this, of all fucking things.

“Shut up!” he barks, at the same time Ishimaru does, making him feel fucking wigged out at how they’re both on the same page again.

Naegi replies back to them, saying something about it being nighttime, and a tie... it honestly offends Mondo, but before he can reply, the kid is... talking... saying something about how in a true competition, there are no ties. That you either win or you lose, and that... that’s the only thing that matters. It honestly kinda pisses Mondo off, even if he agrees fully, so he fires back how he will push the kid right up to the gates of hell, meaning it fully.

He tells Naegi to leave then, knowing that this might drag on a lot longer than he had anticipated. Shit. He knew Ishimaru was fucking stubborn as shit, willing to do absolutely anything to reach his goals, but this... this is just madness. Utter madness. As Naegi leaves, Mondo cannot help how he stares at the hall monitor, who looks so fucking sick right now. He does his best to ignore it, to wait the kid out, but when roughly fifteen more minutes pass and the kid isn’t tapping out, despite looking half dead, he... he can’t help the worry that he feels. And then, when the kid closes his eyes, barely breathing, Mondo... s-shit...

“Hey... man... are you... are you okay...? Ya don’t... don’t look so good...”

Mondo listens, getting really kinda freaked, when Ishimaru lets out a soft puff of air, almost like he’s trying to laugh but can’t find the energy. He lolls his head over to Mondo, the first movement he’s done in minutes, but his eyes are still closed, which looks so fucking freaky. It takes him far longer than it should to open his eyes, and when he does, they... shit. They look glazed, like the kid isn’t fucking in there, like he... he’s...

Already dead...

F-fuck...

It really does look like that, though. Eyes glazed, mouth partially open, chest so scarily still... o-oh, shit. Shit, what if he... what if he is dead...?! Y-yeah, he just moved, but he- he looks so still, it... Mondo...

But then the kid is speaking, and he sounds so very out of it, but at least he’s alive, thank god...

“I- I’m... I’m fine, I...”

Oh, shit... no, he... he’s not fine, is he...? Shit... s-shit...

“Shit... man... no, y’ain’t. I know my... my limits. I’ve got some time... left in me... but you... shit. Just give up, dude. Just... just give... up...”

It makes something in Mondo clench when he sees the kid’s face screw up, like he wants to cry but just has no tears left within him. And then he... he’s speaking...

“No... n-no, I can’t... I- I can’t... give up... I have to... have to...”

The kid stops, then, and Mondo feels so fucking confused, his head all stupid because of the heat, making it hard to think. What? He has to... what?

“Hafta... what? What... is so important... ta ya?”

The kid blinks, like he hadn’t expected to be spoken to, before opening his mouth and muttering words. It... it’s like the kid doesn’t even know he’s speaking, the words sounding so fucking slurred and soft. Mondo has to strain to hear them, even though the silence is oppressive between them.

“I can’t... give up... must... restore... honor... family... f-family name...”

Mondo furrows his eyebrows, his lips turned down in a frown, not... not understanding...

“Yer family... name? What… what about it?”

Ishimaru blinks, like he can barely understand what Mondo is saying, and fuck is that scary...

“I must... fix his mistakes. I must... I must bring honor t-to... to our name... my grandfather...”

Okay, that... that doesn’t make any fucking sense... his grandfather? The fuck? Shit... Ishimaru needs to stop this, he... he’s not making any sense...

“What? The fuck... the fuck ya talkin’ ‘bout, man? Shit... Ishimaru, yer ‘bout ta... ta fuckin’ pass out... why can’t ya just... just give up, man?”

Ishimaru isn’t looking at him anymore and is instead staring blankly at the steam that is billowing around them, looking like he’s not aware where the fuck he is. It makes Mondo’s stomach clench, the concern rising. He... he doesn’t wanna give up, needs to prove himself, but he... Ishimaru... f-fuck...

And then... Ishimaru starts talking again...

“It... it’s all up to me to fix it... t-to make it better... m-make it- it right-! I... I can’t... give up, I... I’m not... not allowed to... give up... giving up is- is wrong... and immoral, and- and I am not wrong! I... I’m not- not immoral... I... I’m better... better than my grandfather... better than myself... better... than...”

Okay. Okay. Okay, it’s official. Mondo is fucking freaked the fuck out. What... what does any of that even mean? He... Ishimaru...

“Fuck, dude, yer- yer scarin’ me... what the hell does… does any a’ that even… even mean? Yer the fuckin’... Ultimate Moral Compass... ‘course yer not- not... immoral...”

Ishimaru is shaking now, eyes still glazed, staring at the steam as if it holds the answer to life itself. And fuck... it’s so fucking creepy...

“But I am, I am... I’m worthless, I’m nothing... my grandfather... he’d done so many terrible things, had hurt s-so many people... he’d ruined... ruined Japan... e-everyone hated him... hated me... I have to do better... to be better... to fix... my grandfather’s... mistakes...”

His grandfather? Who the fuck is his grandfather? And why... why does he even matter? Even if he was so fucking terrible, Ishimaru... he ain’t... he...

“Dude... y’ain’t... ain’t yer grandfather... yer yer own person... an’ frankly... I kinda... kinda like... s-shit. Just... stop this, man. Just admit it. Admit it’s... too much...”

The kid shakes his head, and Mondo doesn’t know how he’s able to even hear him, as far fucking gone as he looks, but fuck, he’s clearly responding, ain’t he...?

“Nnnn- n-no! I- I... I can’t... can’t admit... weakness... god I’m so... so weak... pathetic... the children, they’re right about me, they’re all so... so right... I’ll never... amount to- to anything... I’m worthless... pathetic... scum...”

H-holy shit... Ishimaru he... he can’t fucking believe that... can he? No... n-no, he... he ain’t none of that shit, Mondo is, Mondo is, but not- not Ishimaru! He... he’s fucking... he...

“Ishimaru... Ishimaru, stop... s-stop! Y’ain’t... none a’ that is... is true... yer the best... goddamn person I ever... ever met, ya... ya never gave up on me... no matter how horrible I treated ya... ya just... wouldn’t leave... I tried ta make ya leave, why... why wouldn’t ya leave...”

He hadn’t meant to ask the question, voice so fucking soft, but he couldn’t help it. It’s been plaguing him for weeks now, wondering why... why Ishimaru bothered staying... why he didn’t just leave his ass... why he didn’t just... give up on him... like everyone always does...

“Me... leave? Why? Where would I... go...? I’ve n-never... had a friend... if this is... is friendship... then what else can I... do? I don’t... w-wanna... be...... alone.........”

Oh... oh, shit... suddenly, so many things make so much fucking sense. Why the kid always seems so fucking nervous and awkward around people, though he tries his damndest to hide it. Why he is always alone, never seen really talking to anyone, not without a reason. Why he always... always does his best to extend olive branches to people, offering to tutor or help or do whatever is needed to... to get them to talk to him... g-god... he never would have thought the kid would have no friends, even though it’s so fucking obvious when Mondo thinks about it. He’s just... he’s just so fucking bright and full of sunshine... Mondo can’t imagine people seeing that and not... not wanting to...

It’s right then, in that moment, brain stupid from heat, halfway gone but not fully gone yet, that Mondo... Mondo makes a decision.

If they survive this stupid fucking challenge... he... he will be Ishimaru— no, Kiyotaka, his name is- is Kiyotaka... he will be Kiyotaka’s friend... and he will be a fucking good one, the friend that the kid... that he fucking deserves...

If the kid even wants to be friends with him...

“Fuckin’... shit, man. Yer not... alone... I’m here. Ishimaru... Kiyotaka... I’m right... right here...”

The kid shakes his head, breath still shallow, but now it’s wavering, shaking... trembling... g-god... fuck...

“No... no... I’m alone, I’m alone. Everyone... always leaves... my mother... my grandfather... even my father would leave... if he could... he’s never... never understood me. No one... understands me... I don’t... even... understand...... myself..........”

Oh. Oh. Oh. This... this poor fucking boy... he... s-shit. Shit... this... they gotta fucking stop this... they...

“I... I understand ya. Yer... yer like me... ain’t ya? Shit. We gotta... gotta stop this, man... what are ya... tryin’... ta prove?”

Kiyotaka is shaking again, looking like he wants to cry but just... can’t. God... god... fucking... god.

“Everything. Everything. Every… everything… I have to prove them... wrong. I have to prove... that I can do this. If I... if I give up... i-if I let myself give up... then I fail. I fail, I fail, I fail, I fail, I fail. I c-can’t... fail, I can’t... g-give up... or else... what is... the point... of me...?”

Point? The point? Why... why does he have to have a point? Shit... he’s so fucking amazing, he... he doesn’t have to have a point... no more than just... just being...

“Ain’t gotta... have a point man... ya can just... be. Be... Kiyotaka. What’s so wrong... with that?”

The blank look on the kid’s face grows, his voice soft, weak. Trembling, like he doesn’t mean to say it, like he doesn’t even know what he’s saying. Mondo has never heard someone sound so... so... dead before... h-holy shit...

“Everything. Everything. Everything. E-everything... is wrong with... me... I- I’m too... too much. T-too passionate... too vibrant... I- I hurt... hurt my own eyes... I hate... l-looking at myself... hate... b-being myself... if I could... be someone else... I- I would... gladly...”

No. No. No, fucking... no! Ish- Kiyo... Kiyotaka can’t fucking believe that... yeah, he’s so fucking passionate, so fucking bright, but that... that’s not a bad thing... he... he’s so fucking good... so fucking... amazing... and he... Mondo wouldn’t...

“I wouldn’t. Want that. Yer... fuck. Yer somethin’... somethin’ special... I thought I... I hated that ‘bout you, but... man you... you shine... I don’t deserve... someone as... as wonderful... as you...”

Kiyotaka is shaking his head again, barely breathing, looking so dead, so very, very... dead...

Oh, god...

“I- I’m not... wonderful. I’m not... anything. T-the children... they hated me... t-they all... hated me. My f-father... hates me. My mother... if she could s-see me... now... s-she’d hate me... too. Why... w-why do I bother... trying...? W-why... why don’t I just... g-give up...”

N-no... no, no, god, please... no... Mondo feels pressure behind his eyes, and he doesn’t think he has ever felt such pain. Because that... that sounds so goddamn familiar... he always has seen Kiyotaka as so different to him, so much better, so much brighter. But if the kid is to be believed... he... he thinks of himself like... like Mondo thinks of himself, and he... he can’t... can’t fucking stand that thought, oh god...

“Kiyo... Kiyota- Taka. Kiyo... Taka. Just... ya don’t hafta... give up... but yer... yer gonna kill yerself if ya... keep this up... s-shit...”

Mondo feels himself go cold when Kiyotaka responds, sounding half dead, looking so... so nothing...

“Kill... myself? No... I’m not- not that weak... not anymore... not... n-not again... but maybe... maybe... m-maybe it would be better. If I weren’t... weren’t...” a pause. “Alive...”

What?! No... no, no.... nonononononononononono-!!! He... he can’t... he can’t-

“What?! Dude... no... god... fuckin’... dammit! Ya can’t be... serious... Kiyo... Taka, ya can’t...”

“I am. I am. I- I am. If I wasn’t... so weak. If I wasn’t... s-so afraid. I know... k-know how to fix it... a-all of it. How to... t-to make it better. My father... would be happier. The children... w-would be happier. And I... I... I’d be... I’d be...”

A pause. Inhalation of breath. And then... softly, so fucking softly...

“Dead...”

No. No. No, fucking-! No. This... this is so fucking stupid, why is Mondo doing this, he... he has to stop this. This kid ain’t gonna stop, he can’t fucking stop, he won’t stop until he is fucking dead, and Mondo... Mondo can’t... he fucking can’t-

He can’t lose someone else... not during another fucking challenge that he fucking issued... he just... can’t.

“Okay. That’s it. This ain’t... fuckin’ worth it. If y’ain’t... gonna quit... then I! I fuckin’... I fuckin’ will. Ya... ya win... Kiyo... Taka... ya... ya win. Now, c’mon, man. Let’s… let’s get outta here.”

With all the strength he has left, Mondo stands and hobbles over to where Kiyotaka is sitting, looking like a puppet with its strings cut. He’s not moving, barely breathing, and his eyes are so glazed over Mondo doesn’t think he can even see right now. Mondo has never seen someone look so still before, and it scares the ever-loving shit out of him. Especially now that he... he knows that... that the kid has tried... or at least wanted...

Fuck.

But he doesn’t have time to hate himself for issuing this stupid ass challenge. He doesn’t have time to waste. Gathering all his strength, he bends down, and he wraps an arm around Kiyotaka, heart stopping when he feels how boneless he is, not moving at all. But then, as he starts moving towards the door, he feels the kid start to struggle. It’s weak and doesn’t sway Mondo even a second, but fuck does it relieve him. The kid is even able to walk a little, barely. It... it’s good.

The second he manages to get the door open, however, the cool air almost torture on his overheated skin, he feels Kiyotaka gasp, all the fragile strength he had gone as his knees buckle, making him deadweight. But Mondo hasn’t spent the majority of his life lifting weights for nothing, so he just adjusts his grip, taking on more of the kid’s weight. He doesn’t lift him, doesn’t have time for that, but he drags him bodily over to the bench, accidentally throwing him on it since he’s not really at a hundred percent himself. He sees the kid start to topple, then, and he immediately moves forward to steady the kid, the skin under his hands far, far too warm. Oh... shit, that’s not... not good, oh fuck...

“Goddamn shit. Ya look... fuck man. Why didn’t ya just... dammit. Ya need water... I’ll be right back.”

Mondo stand abruptly then, feeling clumsy and wrong. His chest feels so fucking painful, like it’s being sat on by an elephant, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt more concerned for anyone. Well... other than one person... but shit, he can’t think of him, not now. Not now. Not when Kiyotaka needs him. He takes off his duster as he strides forward, tossing it carelessly on a bench, too fucking hot to deal with that shit. He needs to go quick, needs to... to get back to Kiyotaka... and he needs to drink some water himself, fuck, he’s so fucking dehydrated... fuck.

However... once he’s at the water cooler, filling up one of the paper cups for himself to drink, he hears the kid muttering again, the words making no goddamn sense, but damn if it doesn’t make his heart clench...

“...they won’t, they won’t, they won’t... I’m alone, again... all alone... everyone has left... everyone leaves me in the end... why would I expect anything different... why would I expect-“

Shit. Shit. Shit. Mondo quickly finishes filling the cup and downs it, filling the second one as quickly as possible while the kid rambles on about being alone again. As soon as the cup is full Mondo practically teleports back to the kid’s side, an odd sense in him that he never, ever wants to be anywhere else...

“Shit, Kiyotaka, I’m here. I just... had ta drink myself, shit. Now c’mon. Drink this. Please, man. Fer me. I can’t... ya can’t fuckin’ die on me, man... f-fuck...”

He carefully places his hand on the back of Kiyotaka’s neck, lifting it gently up, so he can get the kid to drink some water. He knows that the boy is prolly dehydrated as fuck, and he seriously hopes that’s the only thing wrong with him, because if it isn’t... s-shit. He can feel Kiyotaka struggle as he moves him, his lips moving, muttering those fucking words again...

“W-why am I so weak, I need to... to be stronger... to be... better...”

God, is everything this kid says gonna make his heart break? God... he’s not equipped for this, he doesn’t know how to be kind, to be gentle, but after all the shit he has done, all the pain and misery he has needlessly made this wondrous, incredible, sad fucking boy go through... he owes it to him to not only try, but to succeed.

Even if it fucking kills him...

“Shh... hey, it’s okay. Y’ain’t fuckin’ weak, man, yer goddamn incredible. Now c’mon. Stop fightin’ me. Let me take care a’ you. You... you’ve been so strong fer so long. Let me... let me help you...”

With that, he slowly presses the cup against the kid’s lips, and he feels as he struggles, whimpering softly, scared. Shit, he... he prolly has no idea what the fuck is going on, is so fucking disoriented...

He begins whispering to the kid then, not knowing what to say, but just... knowing he has to say something, something soothing. He hums softly as he decides to just... let the soft words that he’s been gathering for weeks now out of his heart, telling Kiyotaka that he is there, that he will always be there, promising that he’s not alone, that he’ll never be alone again, that Mondo will take care of him, he promises... he promises...

And then he... he says...

“Open up, Kiyotaka, shit. P-please... I’m beggin’ ya man... just... drink some water...”

The kid... Kiyotaka stops struggling then, and finally, finally opens his lips. It’s just a little, a small amount, but it’s enough for a small trickle of water to get passed his dry and cracked lips, which is so fucking relieving. But then... then the kid startles again, a soft sound of distress getting released as he panics, taking too much water too quick. Oh, shit...

So fucking scared, not knowing what to do but knowing he has to do something, Mondo lowers the hand holding the cup but doesn’t put it down, moving his other hand to rub soothing circles on the kid’s back, shushing him softly.

“Aw, shit. Slowly, man, slowly. That’s it, nice an’ easy... I’m gonna try that again, okay? Go slow this time. Idiot.”

With that, Mondo moves his hand back to Kiyotaka’s neck and brings the cup back up to his lips, praying that he will drink this time. He’s so fucking dehydrated and if he won’t drink, Mondo is gonna have to call an ambulance or some shit, because he needs liquid, and fast.

Luckily, this time when he asks the kid to open up, he does so immediately. And then, when he tips a little of the liquid into his mouth, the kid doesn’t panic and just... sips it. Slowly. Mondo can see his throat working, moving slowly, swallowing the water, and fuck... he’s never felt so relieved in his life, watching the kid drink some fucking water, god...

However, then the kid is letting out a sound of desperation, seeming to realize that he is so fucking thirsty or something. He sees the kid’s hands try to come up, wavering so fucking much as they try and force the water down faster, but Mondo stops him, knowing he needs to go slow.

“Aw, shit man, stop! Ya gotta go slow. Yer dehydrated, ya can’t drink it too fast... trust me, man. I got you. I won’t let you down. Not again. I… I promise.”

And he means it. He fucking means it. He has failed this kid so many fucking times, but he won’t this time, and he never will again. Because now he... he knows that this kid fucking matters. He’s always known that, from the minute the kid had run into him and knocked his world on its side, but- but he... he’s always been so afraid of it. Of the feeling. Of what it means.

But he’s not afraid of it. Not now. Not... not anymore. He doesn’t know why he feels this way, why this boy matters so fucking much to him, but it just doesn’t matter now, and he refuses to let his goddamn fucking nonsense ruin this shit anymore. This kid has faced some truly horrible fucking things, things that Mondo has barely scratched the surface of but can tell have damaged the kid so fucking much. He has scars all over his chest and back, which Mondo has noticed before, of course he’s noticed them, but now he’s really starting to realize what exactly they mean, and it just... it’s fucking him up inside, and all he wants is to bundle this kid up and never let him get hurt again, keep him safe from all harm, and Mondo has always felt like that, always wanted that, but now, for once...

He’s not afraid of it.

And he won’t back down.

Not unless Kiyotaka wants him to...

(But even then. Even then, Mondo will do everything he can to keep him safe. He won’t stalk the kid, but he will make sure that no one dares to lay a finger on him. He’s firmly under Mondo’s protection now. Nothing will change that. Absolutely nothing.)

Knowing that Kiyotaka needs to drink more, so he’s not so weak (physically. He’s so fucking strong emotionally, so fucking strong) anymore, he presses the cup back to the boy’s lips, his heart lurching softly when the kid immediately opens up and drinks, slowly, not even needing Mondo to remind him to go slow and steady. Mondo is so fucking proud of the kid, like a fucking mother hen, but he doesn’t care. This kid deserves all the softness in the world. If there’s one thing Mondo is sure of, it’s that.

It doesn’t take long for the cup to run empty, but the kid needs more, so Mondo gets up to refill the cup. But then he’s fucking crying, sad and pitiful, and Mondo immediately returns, holding him close, saying to him, “aw, shit, I’m just getting more water, alright? I’ll be right back, I promise.”

And when Mondo is forced to leave again— though god does he not want to— he keeps talking. Promising that he’ll be right back, that he’s not leaving, that he will never leave again... promises that he will never break, and not just because he doesn’t break promises, but because he fucking means the shit out of them. More than any promise he’s ever made before.

He’s back soon after, bringing two cups with him this time, helping Kiyotaka drink, and drink, and drink. Mondo doesn’t know much about severe dehydration, just knows that it’s important for the person to be given fluids, preferably sports drinks, but since he doesn’t have that shit, water will have to do. If Kiyotaka doesn’t get better after the third cup, Mondo’s gonna try and see if he can take him to the nurse if the lady is still there. If not... shit. He’ll prolly have to call an ambulance, since he doesn’t think Kiyotaka could handle riding on his hog to the hospital, which is at least a ten-minute ride away. He’s hoping he won’t have to do that, though. Hopes that drinking the water will be enough to help him. He also hopes that it’s just dehydration that’s the problem... fuck.

The good thing is that Kiyotaka is drinking willingly. And the more he drinks, the more lucid he appears. He still seems very out of it, but about halfway through the third cup, he starts blinking rapidly, like waking himself from a dream. His eyebrows furrow, and he starts looking around a bit. He takes in the bathhouse and even looks down at his chest, like he’s just then noticing that he’s half naked. Mondo allows him to do this, but always makes sure the kid is still drinking, wanting to make sure he gets at least three cups in, since he had to have lost a lot of water while sweating. Mondo himself isn’t feeling too hot and knows he needs to drink more, too, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t ensure that Kiyotaka is okay before doing anything else for himself.

Mondo knows the exact second that things slot into place for the kid, since one second he’s loose and pliant in his arms, allowing him to hold his neck and give him the water, and the next he’s sitting ramrod straight, eyes wide. It startles Mondo a bit and he straightens up from the hunch he’d found himself in, so fucking relieved to see some lucidity in those bright red eyes. Fuck, but was that glazed look terrifying...

“Oh, shit. Are ya back? Ya really fuckin’ scared me there, dude, the fuck...? I was ‘bout ta take yer ass ta the nurse, consequences be damned. Shit, should I still do that...? Kiyotaka?”

The kid is just staring at him, his skin far too pale, his eyes moving back and forth over Mondo’s face as he seems to try to be figuring something out. They then widen somehow further and then-

“Aw, shit! Fuck, man, what the hell!”

Mondo stares wide eyed at the kid as he abruptly stands, his body shaking horribly, looking like he just saw a ghost, shit... Mondo is afraid the kid is about to collapse so he stands quickly, hands hovering to ensure he doesn’t fall, but the kid doesn’t seem to notice him. Oh... shit... he’s not better, is he? God fucking dammit...

“W-w-w-what... w-what... h-h-happened?! I... I didn’t... oh god...”

Mondo sees Kiyotaka sway then, looking like he’s about to faint, scaring the absolute shit out of Mondo. Rushing forward, he grabs the kid by his shoulders, holding him upright. Part of him wants to pull him close, to wrap him up and never let him go, but he can tell the kid is super fucking freaked out, and he doesn’t want to make him panic, shit.

“What the fuck... aw, shit, y’ain’t better. Okay, that’s it. I’m takin’ ya ta the fuckin’ nurse. Goddamnit...”

Mondo tries to move Kiyotaka, then, carefully guiding him over to the door so they can make the stupidly long walk to the nurse’s office, mind racing a mile a minute as he tries to determine if it wouldn’t just be better to call the ambulance now. On one hand, he doubts the nurse is still there, since it’s well after curfew, but on the other... calling for an ambulance means he might have to explain this shit, and he just... shit. But he needs to do right by Kiyotaka, and if that includes getting himself in trouble, he’ll fucking do it. He doesn’t care what happens to him, just as long as this wonderful, incredible boy is safe. Huh...

As distracted as Mondo is, he doesn’t expect any resistance to his movement, expecting Kiyotaka to be as pliant as he previously had been. As such, when the kid fucking pulls away from him, weak as it is, Mondo isn’t expecting it and thus is unable to keep his grip. And he watches, heart stopping, as the kid slams into the row of lockers, collapsing immediately to the ground with a soft noise of pain.

Shit!!!

“Shit! Kiyotaka, are you fuckin’ alright?! What the hell, man?! Stop bein’ an idiot and let me take ya ta the nurse, fuck!”

He doesn’t mean to sound angry or anything, he’s just so fucking scared, needing the kid to cooperate so he can just get better already and not make Mondo worry he’s gonna fucking die or something... but given the way that Kiyotaka glares at him (or tries to glare, Mondo can tell he’s still a little out of it and can’t quite put the usual amount of passion into it), he can tell the kid intends to be difficult, looking at him like he doesn’t want Mondo to come any closer or something. Mondo immediately says, ‘fuck that,’ though, and rushes to the kid’s side, kneeling down, his eyes bleeding with his concern. He watches the kid blink, some more lucidity rising within the red, as he opens his mouth to speak.

“W-wait! I don’t... dang it. I don’t need to go to the- t-the nurse! I’m just... confused. Give me... give me a moment to... collect myself!” Kiyotaka says, his chest heaving with the effort of speaking. Mondo looks at him firmly, ensuring the kid means it and that he’s not just saying random, nonsense bullshit again.

Once he’s satisfied that the kid is, in fact, lucid enough to make that decision, he nods stiffly, still feeling so very, very concerned.

“Alright... shit, fine. If ya say so. But ya gotta drink some more water, alright?! Slowly. I should drink more too, fuck...”

Mondo stands, then, and walks over to the water cooler again, hands tingling unpleasantly as he leaves Kiyotaka’s side. He quickly fills up two fresh cups of water and hurries back, handing the kid one of the cups as soon as he is by his side.

As soon as the kid takes it, Mondo flops down to sit beside him, so close they touch, and begins to drink his water, finding comfort in being able to feel the kid warm against his side. He is honestly thirsty as fuck, wanting to gulp it down again, but he forces himself to go slow, not wanting to be a hypocrite. He notices after a second that Kiyotaka isn’t drinking and is just staring at him blankly, eyes glazing over again, which scares him more than he is willing to say, fuck.

“Dude. Drink. Or I’m draggin’ ya ta the nurse, kickin’ an’ screamin’. Don’t think I won’t,” Mondo rumbles, startling the kid out of whatever fugue he’d entered into. The kid glares at him lightly, not nearly as strong as Mondo knows it could be, but at least he doesn’t try and counter him. He just brings the cup to his lips and drinks the cool water slowly, his eyes darting back and forth as he thinks hard about something. They don’t glaze over again, though, so Mondo lets him be and just drinks his water, every cell in his body so fucking aware of the kid sitting directly beside him. It honestly would scare him, how much he cares about this kid, if he’d not already decided to not care about that shit anymore. He cares about the kid. He doesn’t know why, he just does. End of fucking story.

Mondo doesn’t know how long they sit there drinking their water, and he doesn’t really care. He usually hates sitting still for so long, his skin crawling to get up and do something already, but strangely... he doesn’t really mind it too much. Sitting here, beside Kiyotaka. It... despite the worry he still feels, there’s also a strange calmness inside him now. Like... like something inside him that had been out of place and broken for years is just... gone, allowing him to breathe easy for the first time. It’s so strange but also... so very, very nice...

Eventually their cups run empty, and Mondo is about to offer to get them both some more water again when the kid speaks. His voice is low and shaky, but it sounds a lot better and more lucid than it had before, which relieves the shit out of him. But then he comprehends the words, and he...

“O-Owada... back in... in the, uh, sauna... I didn’t, um. Say anything strange. Did I?” Kiyotaka asks softly, looking very nervous. It concerns Mondo a lot that the kid apparently doesn’t remember what happened in the sauna, but he supposes it makes sense. He had been super fucking outta it...

He still takes his time to think about it. He usually just blurts out his words, no thought put into them at all, but this... shit. This matters. And he has to be so fucking careful if he doesn’t want to hurt the kid again. And god, does he not wanna do that...

Finally, he figures he’ll go the safe route and figure out what, exactly, the kid does and doesn’t remember. If he remembers nothing, then maybe... maybe it would be better to keep it that way, shit...

Ignoring the way his heart clenches at the thought, he sets his face into a carefully neutral expression, revealing nothing as he speaks, voice a low rumble.

“That depends. What do ya remember?”

Mondo watches, heart clenched strangely again, as Kiyotaka bites his lip gently, eyes unfocused as he thinks. They’re not glazed, though, so Mondo thinks he’s just concentrating, not zoning out. After a few moments, the kid glances up at him, expression open and searching. It makes Mondo want to gasp, everything in him swirling, and when the kid speaks, still looking at him, he... h-he...

“I’m… I’m not sure. It’s all... fuzzy. I can’t quite tell... what is real or not. I have no idea what I said during that last part, though... just fragments of old memories and thoughts.” Kiyotaka pauses, his hands shaking lightly. He looks away then, down at the ground, and Mondo feels so strangely bereaved... “But I... I remember you... you said... things. About- a-about me. Y-you... you called me... wonderful. Special. H-heh! H-how r-ridiculous! I must... must have been- been hallucinating! Aha!”

The kid sounds nervous, frantic, like he’s afraid Mondo will hurt him, like he’s afraid Mondo will laugh at him, will tell him that he... he’s wrong, that Mondo hadn’t said that, that he... he doesn’t believe that...

Which is bullshit. Because he did say that. And he’d meant it. Means it. Fully and completely.

Mondo consciously forces his shoulders to lose the tension that had entered them unbidden at Kiyotaka’s frantic words, sighing softly, a wry smile rising on his lips as he looks at the kid. The kid looks so fucking scared, so desperate, like he doesn’t believe that Mondo had said that shit, but that he wants to believe it.

And, shit... even if he hadn’t said it, he sure as shit would say it now. Because Kiyotaka truly is wonderful and special, ain’t he...?

Heh...

“Nah. That, uh. That happened. You really don’t remember what you said?” he asks as casually as he can, his head tilted in question, hoping he’s hiding the way his heart is racing well enough, but honestly not really caring if he’s not. He... he doesn’t want to keep shit from this kid. Not... not anymore... he watches as Kiyotaka shakes his head weakly, moving his eyes to stare at his hands again. It makes Mondo’s smile widen, eyes soft as silk. Heh. So... so fucking cute...

“Heh. Makes sense. Ya weren’t exactly all there, ya know. Kept mumblin’ bits a’ nonsense. Could barely make sense a’ ya myself, tell the truth. Somethin’... somethin’ ‘bout yer grandfather. ‘Bout needin’ ta right his wrongs. An’ then there was somethin’ ‘bout other kids? An’ hatred? Ya mentioned how yer da don’t understand ya, how he hates ya, or somethin’. An’ ‘bout how... how ya... ya hate yerself. Which I think is fuckin’ bullshit, ya shouldn’t fuckin’ hate yerself, yer incredible, but whatever. There was a lot a’ other stuff too. ‘Bout not givin’ up, ‘bout havin’ ta prove people wrong. Some other shit, too, but I don’t really ‘member it all, sorry. But... shit man. Is that... is that real? Did ya... did ya really mean alla’ that?”

Mondo doesn’t really mean to ask the question, knowing the kid needs to be allowed to rest and relax, not be asked stupid fucking questions, but he can’t help it. He’s not lying when he says he doesn’t quite remember everything. It’s all starting to blur in his head, and while he’s fairly certain he remembers the most of it, some details are starting to slip away, and he just... did the kid really say all that shit, or had he imagined it, too? Shit...

But then... then, after a moment, Kiyotaka, he... h-he...

“Aw, shit,” he mutters under his breath, which seems to just make the kid cry harder. It breaks Mondo’s heart so much, hating seeing his tears. God... this kid just always fucking cries around him, doesn’t he...? Shit... shit! H-he didn’t want to make the kid cry! G-god, he... he wants so badly to hold the kid, to keep him safe from the sorrow within him, but would the kid even want that? After everything he’s done, all he’s taken from him, would he actually want to be held in his arms? It’s his fault he’s crying, his fault he’s in this situation, and he doesn’t know if Kiyotaka would want to be anywhere near him, let alone in his arms! But he... he wants so, so badly to... t-to...

“Please, man, don’t cry, shit, I’m sorry! I... aw, fuck it. Come here.”

Mind made up, Mondo darts forward and— carefully as he possibly can— wraps an arm around the kid, pulling him gently to his chest, firm and tight. He can feel the kid struggle against him, and it kills him inside to feel it, especially when the kid starts frantically apologizing, like he thinks Mondo is going to hurt him or something. He thinks it might be best to let him go, to apologize and never touch him again, but he... h-he thinks the problem isn’t that Mondo is hugging him, but that the kid thinks Mondo is upset. So maybe... if he can reassure the kid that it’s okay, that he wants this, maybe... m-maybe he’ll stop struggling so hard... and maybe... m-maybe...

“Shhh. Shh, c’mon. It’s okay, Kiyotaka. I’m here. Y’ain’t alone. I got you. Ain’t got nothin’ ta ‘pologize fer, ya got it? Yer okay. We’re both okay.”

He keeps his arms steady on Kiyotaka, praying to any god that will listen that he’s doing the right thing, that he’s not hurting the kid more, that this is okay, and then... after a minute... after a minute...

The kid stops. Stops struggling, stops apologizing. His chest is heaving, and his eyes are still leaking tears, but he doesn’t seem distressed at Mondo holding him anymore. At least... Mondo hopes he isn’t. And then... t-then...

Kiyotaka buries his head in his chest, firm and present, hiding his face. His arms come up too, fists curling into Mondo’s tank top, clutching it like his life depends on it. And then he... he just...

Lets go.

The kid is crying so fucking hard, chest heaving, sobs loud and noisy, and fuck, does it hurt. Mondo feels so fucking helpless as he holds the kid, doing all he can to rub soothing circles on his back, whisper soft words in his ear, doing all he can to remember the shit Daiya would say when he was little and he still allowed himself to cry, not yet realizing it was wrong of him to do such a thing. He feels like it’s not enough, never enough, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s never seen the kid cry so hard before. Before he- he would always stifle it, keep it in.

Mondo hadn’t realized it at the time, but seeing the kid truly let go now, he can see just how hard he would fight to keep his tears and true sorrow contained, and he feels so much for the boy that he can’t even begin to describe it. It’s like... a sad kind of pride. Like he’s proud the kid was able to keep going despite the sorrow and despair he clearly feels, but also so, so fucking sad that the kid had to do it. That he had to keep this all in, unable to have anyone to share his burden with, to shoulder the pain and anguish he so clearly feels inside. Mondo... M-Mondo knows what that is like, what it’s like to have to always keep everything in, never let it out, and he... he hates that Kiyotaka knows it, too. The pain. The loneliness.

Maybe they really aren’t so different... are they?

Fuck... and who knows? Maybe that’s why he’s always cared so much about this kid. He... he just reminds him of him so goddamn much. Of... of the kid he used to be, before he built up walls so high around that child that he’d never see the light of day again. Of the scared little boy that he was, wondering why his parents hated him, why he was never good enough, why he didn’t fucking matter. He’d always been so scared and sad back then, so small and weak. Kinda like Kiyotaka is now, even with how fucking strong he knows this kid to usually be.

But...

But he had Daiya, didn’t he? Even when the whole world was against him, (This sentence was removed due to ~~spoilers~~) he... he always had Daiya. Daiya, who loved him. Daiya, who cared for him. Daiya who raised him, Daiya who taught him, Daiya who sacrificed fucking everything for him. (This sentence was removed due to ~~spoilers~~). It didn’t matter that he was scared, or that he was weak. Daiya loved him regardless, and he always, always kept him safe.

Kiyotaka... Kiyotaka never had that... did he? He can’t say for sure, but the kid has never mentioned a sibling, either older or younger, which makes him think he’s an only, no sibs, bro or sis. Which means that he... he didn’t have anyone always on his side. Someone who would protect him no matter what. Or someone that he could protect, no matter what. His da is clearly not that great, if Kiyotaka’s words about him hating him were to go by, and his ma is gone, who knows for how long, or what his relationship was to her when she was around. He... he didn’t have someone to protect him... to keep him safe, from all harm... to... t-to love him...

Eventually the kid stops crying so hard, the desperate sobs petering out into soft, quiet ones, his breath hitching only slightly every few seconds. And then, a little while later he... he stops sobbing entirely. The tears have run dry, his body has stopped shaking, but he... he doesn’t move away. He just stays there, in Mondo’s arms.

Like he belongs there...

“Ya feelin’ better?”

The words are said softly. Gently. He doesn’t wanna spook the kid, knowing how fragile he prolly feels right about now. Mondo gets it. He hasn’t let himself cry fully in years, not even... h-heh. Well. Point is, while he’s not truly cried in years, he remembers how fragile it leaves you feeling afterward. How shaky.

And when he sees Kiyotaka’s eyes dart up, looking scared and afraid, Mondo doesn’t tense up. Doesn’t try and hide the openness on his face. He lets the kid see it. The softness. The care. The... the affection, because god, does he feel affection. He lets the kid see it, and he feels the kid settle against him, the fear vanishing, though the lingering sorrow remains. God... how Mondo wishes he could take that away...

“Yes. I... yes. M-Mondo... t-thank you. I... I’m sorry...”

Mondo can’t help the way he reaches out at that, hand gently grasping a warm, wet cheek. He realizes absently that that’s the first time the kid has said his name, and god is it making his insides squirm. And he can see the kid look at him with wide, watery eyes, lips open on a soft gasp, looking almost... dazed... shit...

“Don’t. Thank me. Apologize. Ain’t nothin’, got it? I... I didn’t mind. At all. So, don’t... don’t apologize. It’s alright. You’re... you’re alright.”

And he means it. God... does he mean it. It... it had felt nice. So very, very nice. Holding Kiyotaka. Comforting him as he cried, somehow not fucking it up as badly as he’d been fearing. He’s always been so fucking shit at comforting people, feeling like he has to be tough all the time, unable to comfort since tough people aren’t soft and sympathetic. But here, with Kiyotaka... h-he’d been able to be soft. Kind. Gentle. All the things he’s secretly yearned to be for so fucking long, but never was able to, since he doesn’t lead a life that is suited for such things. He always has to be so tough, so strong, but... but with Kiyotaka... with this wondrous, amazing, incredible, beautiful boy...

He can be soft.

And he will never be able to thank Kiyotaka enough for giving him that ability.

And when Kiyotaka smiles at him, wide, bright, unrestrained...? Mondo can’t help how he smiles back, wider than he’s ever felt it go before, heart beating so softly and yet meaningfully, feeling so very much for this precious boy. He... he’ll never be able to repay him for this... will he? For what he has given him this day... even if they are never this close again, even if Kiyotaka doesn’t want anything to do with him after this, he’ll never forget what this felt like. What it feels like to be soft. And gentle. And... and kind.

But... shit. Shit.

Now that they have this... now that he’s tasted this... what happens now? He... he doesn’t wanna...

“Shit, man. The fuck we do now? I... I don’t wanna go back ta how it was. I... shit. I was a goddamn monster ta ya these last few weeks... since we met, shit… I... goddamn it,” Mondo mutters, feeling his smile fade as pain fills him, remembering all the shit he has done to this poor, amazing kid. The shit he’s said. The way he’s acted. Kiyotaka gave him so much today, but he hadn’t earned any of it, had he...? He can see the kid shaking his head, looking frantic, like he doesn’t agree, and Mondo can’t help how he glares. Lightly, but it still makes the kid flinch back, proving how much he’s hurt him, and how much he can still, potentially, hurt him. God... he doesn’t wanna ever hurt him... not again… “No, don’t deny it. I was a fuckin’ moron. I just... I ain’t ever... I don’t get you, Kiyotaka. What I feel... when you- you look at me...”

And it’s true. He still doesn’t quite get it. What he feels. Why he feels it. It... he thinks he might kinda get it, might kinda realize what this feeling is, why he wants to protect this kid so badly, but it... it doesn’t quite feel like it fits. And he just... he just doesn’t know... but... if not this then... what else? H-heh...

Sighing softly, feeling so confused but strangely not angry about it, Mondo allows a wry smile to rise on his lips as he presses closer to the kid, as close as he’s always secretly longed to be, since that first day when he held him but not ever close enough. One of his hands is curled loosely around Kiyotaka’s waist, while his other is still gently cupping his cheek and has been for a little while now. He notices dimly how they are almost bare, Kiyotaka wearing only his underwear while Mondo is in his thin tank top and loose black pants, and he can feel the kid’s heat as it presses against him, oddly intoxicating. Mondo’s hair is down from its pomp, having been knocked loose sometime in the sauna, and it’s been years since someone outside his gang saw him without it up, it makes him feel so naked to have it down, but he... he doesn’t really care. Not when it’s only Kiyotaka who sees it.

He... he wants Kiyotaka to see all of him... every last part.

Because he... he views the kid like... like a...

“It’s like yer my brother or somethin’. Like... my nerdy, dorky little brother. Someone I gotta take care of. Protect. Keep safe, from all harm. I never... shit. I had my brother, but he... he’s gone now. I can’t... I couldn’t protect him, fuck. An’ I… f-fuck. I can’t protect you, either, can I...? No, I… I can’t... I can’t... a-and why the fuck would you want a fuck-up like me, anyway? You... god, you could do so much better... why would you want someone like me as your brother, s-shit...”

The thought stabs Mondo through the heart, the realization that as much as he may want to have this with Kiyotaka, to have a brotherhood with him, they... they likely never will. Because Mondo has messed up too much. Because Mondo ruined their chance before it ever even had the opportunity to live. Because Mondo is so fucking broken and damaged that no one in their right mind would ever want him as a brother. Daiya was forced to have him, and he was so fucking amazing that he chose to love him anyway, but Kiyotaka... he doesn’t have to be stuck with him. He doesn’t owe Mondo anything, anything at all. In fact, Mondo is the one who owes Kiyotaka. So much. So very, very much. Kiyotaka wouldn’t want him. He just... he wouldn’t.

And as he feels the kid freeze against him, breath stuttering and harsh, he... he knows he’s right, isn’t he? S-shit... he shouldn’t have said that, shouldn’t have thought himself good enough to deserve such a gift. Kiyotaka, wanting him like that... wanting him at all... while he may have been soft and pliant in his arms a moment ago, seeming like he was at ease, that doesn’t mean it was because of Mondo or anything that Mondo did. He’d been through an emotional time and he’d needed comfort, and Mondo had just been the nearest warm body. Doesn’t mean he trusts Mondo or that he wants anything from him at all. He’d have to be the world’s biggest fool to think Kiyotaka could ever want him, want him at all.

And Mondo... he may be a fool, but he ain’t that big of a fool.

Heart aching painfully in his chest, Mondo can’t help how he pulls away, not wanting to force Kiyotaka to be near him when he doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve it at all.

“Shit, I was right, goddamn it, aw shit! J-just forget I said anything, I- fuck!”

Mondo hands come up to clutch at his hair, then, the grip tight and painful but he doesn’t care. He wants it to hurt. To ache. It’s what he deserves for fucking this whole thing up, for being so woefully unworthy of being close to such a bright and beautiful boy. Maybe, had he been better— a better person, a good person— he could have been worthy of it. Had he never let his insecurities get in the way, had he just accepted what he felt as true the minute he felt it, not pushed it away in fear, maybe... maybe then, he could have had this. Kiyotaka, as his friend. Kiyotaka, as his brother.

But no. No, no. He had pushed it away. Had been afraid of it, so very afraid. Had let his fear turn to anger, like he was so wont to do, and ruined everything before it even began.

He deserves all the misery he feels for how stupid he’d been...

Mondo gets jolted out of his thoughts when he feels a soft, tentative hand touch him, his eyes wide and manic as he looks at Kiyotaka, who looks so fucking afraid, god. H-he scares the kid so goddamn much, like he scares everyone, because he’s a monster, a senseless beast that only ever hurts people. Breaks people. He’s not allowed nice things, not allowed good things. Not allowed to be gentle, or soft, or kind. He... he’s just not...

To his utter shock, he can see Kiyotaka smile at him. It’s soft, and hesitant, and... and beautiful... but it can’t be real. It... the kid is trying to be kind, trying to hide his fear to make Mondo feel better, because he’s so goddamn nice, so fucking good, shit-

“N-no! Don’t worry! I was just- not expecting that! But I- I feel- the same. I feel- the same! I would be honored, Mondo Owada, to be considered your brother! I’ve never had a brother, never even had a friend, but I couldn’t imagine a better one than you! Y-you... you’re incredible...”

He... he... does he really mean that...? Does he truly... truly wanna be Mondo’s... Mondo’s brother? The kid is so bad at lying, and it hadn’t sounded like he was lying, but... but it... shit. It can’t be true, it can’t... after all the shit Mondo has done, how could the kid ever see him positively, even a little? Mondo isn’t a good brother, he’d always been so shit to Daiya, taking and taking and taking and never giving. He’d taken everything from Daiya, never satisfied with what Daiya gave freely, so he stole the most important thing in the end.

H-he’d just steal everything from Kiyotaka too.

It’s what he does...

“Ya can’t mean that, Kiyotaka... I’m a goddamn mess... and you... you are... shit. You’re goddamn perfect and I’m hot dog shit, ya can’t... y-you can’t...”

And it’s true. Mondo has more to say, more to confess, but his throat is so thick, and he doesn’t know how to say it. To confess all his crimes to Kiyotaka, to let him know how unworthy he is. He- he hears Kiyotaka take a deep breath, and he doesn’t wanna hear what the kid has to say, doesn’t wanna hear him agree, but then he’s speaking, and his words... t-they...

“Mondo... I- I’m not perfect. I... I’m not. B-but that’s okay! I do my best, but so do you! I can see how hard you try and sometimes that’s all that matters! You’re not... dog feces! You... you’re so much more, Mondo...”

No... n-no, the kid, he... he doesn’t understand, he just- he doesn’t understand! Mondo, he has to... has to tell him. N-not all of it, he’s not strong enough to confess it all, he’s always been so goddamn weak, but he- he has to... a little. Enough so the kid knows. So he stops feeling pity for him and realizes that he...

He’s just not worth it...

“No. N-no, I ain’t shit, goddamnit, I...” Mondo has to stop, feeling so fucking conflicted. On one hand he wants to confess, on the other hand he wants to be selfish, and he just... h-he just...

But he can’t. Be selfish. Not... not about this.

Not with Kiyotaka.

With a soft sigh, he feels the tension inside him melt away, his body relaxing with the decision he’s made. All of his emotions— both good and bad— fade away until all he feels inside is... is...

Cold resignation...

“I hate myself. Always fuckin’ have. Heh. There, I... I fuckin’ said it. I love the gang, don’t get me wrong. I love bein’ with ‘em, bein’ a part a’ somethin’ bigger than myself. I love leadin’ ‘em, ridin’ my hog, wind in my hair... I fuckin’ love it. Even bein’ here, unable ta lead directly, I still like callin’ the shots from behind the scenes while my second in command implements it an’ shit. Means somethin’, ‘least. But... I dunno. Sometimes I’ll be in the middle ofa fight and I’ll just... wanna stop. Quit. Do somethin’... do somethin’ else fer a change. But I… heh. I can’t. I promised my bro... Daiya, I... I promised him I’d keep the gang together. He built it from scratch an’ I... I can’t leave that. I made a promise, a man’s promise, ta keep us together. So, I... I gotta keep doin’ that. Can’t stop. Ever. Not ‘til the gang is dead an’ shit, all the members movin’ on ta do better shit with their lives. An’ me… heh. Not much use fer me after that, is there?”

Mondo pauses, and then looks down at his hands, a small, sad smile on his face.

“But you? Yer gonna go places, man. Shootin’ fer the moon. Prime fuckin’ Minister, shit, man. Never met anyone with such high goals, really. Never met anyone who wanted ta do that sorta shit, change things from the inside. Heard ya in class, talkin’ ‘bout yer plans an’ shit. Wantin’ ta make the world a better place, havin’ such hope for this garbage planet. Ya... ya’ve got drive. Determination. An’ I know yer gonna do it, ya know. Succeed. More than any a’ the other chucklefucks we go ta school with, ‘least. Yer just so... determined. Got such passion. I... I admire that ‘bout ya, always did.”

Mondo pauses again, and he… he laughs. It’s sad, and pathetic, and it... he... h-heh...

“But that… heh. That ain’t me, Kiyo. Ain’t me. I ain’t got plans, ain’t got any fuckin’ clue a’ what I’m gonna do after school ends. They got me takin’ fuckin’ leadership classes an’ shit, but the fuck am I gonna do with that bullshit? I can lead a gang, yeah, but that… heh. That’s ‘bout it, Christ. An’ ya… yer gonna see that one day. And yer gonna leave me. And I’ll be happy fer ya, ‘course I will, but... sh-shit. God... goddamnit...”

Mondo doesn’t know where he’s going with this. He doesn’t know what he’s saying or why he’s saying it. His head is so jumbled, so scrambled, and part of him wants to tell Kiyotaka everything. About his parents. About his brother. About what he did, what he stole. He wants to confess so, so badly, to see the hatred and anger and rage on that kid’s face when he realizes how big a piece of shit Mondo really is, horrified that he’d ever felt pity for such a pitiless creature.

But...

He can’t. Can’t do that. He... he can’t burden Kiyotaka with his bullshit. And knowing the kid... he’d still try. To feel pity. To feel sorrow. He- he’s such a good person, so bright and shining. He’s the kind of person who would see a merciless and dangerous monster like him and think there’s something worthwhile in it. It wouldn’t be until his neck is snapped under Mondo’s uncaring hand that he’d realize he was wrong. And maybe... maybe not even then. He’d die, thinking Mondo was better than he was, even if it were Mondo who killed him.

God...

So, he can’t tell the truth. Can’t burden the kid like that. But he... he can’t let him get close. Even if he... he really wants to...

“I’ll just hold ya back. Ya don’t want someone like me, Kiyo. Ya don’t want someone like me at all. So... I ‘ppreciate yer words. But it may be best ta leave this here. Ta... ta forget ‘bout this all and just... move on. I’ll leave ya alone and ya won’t hafta-”

“No!” Mondo hears echo through the room, cutting off his words so thoroughly. It startles the fuck out of him, and he can’t help how he stares, wide-eyed, up at Kiyotaka. It’s weird, looking up to see the kid, but he’s sitting upright, almost standing but not quite, knees firmly planted on the floor. But seeing as how Mondo is crumbled pathetically on the floor, sitting back on his thighs, he has to look up to see Kiyotaka. And he looks... looks so...

Scared...

But...

Not... not of- of... of Mondo...?

“Mondo, please! I just... look. I- I try to be perfect, but I... I’m not! And I know you aren’t either! But... but maybe that’s okay! Maybe... m-maybe... maybe we can learn to be not perfect... together? I, ah. I don’t know! A-all I know is... I want to be f-friends with you, Mondo Owada. I don’t care about your flaws; I don’t care that you’re in a gang! I just... I want... w-we can be brothers. If you want... we can be brothers. I want... I would want nothing more than to be your brother! Your kyoudai!”

Brothers. Brothers. Kiyotaka wants them to be... brothers...

It’s too good to be true. Too fucking good to be true. Mondo doesn’t get nice things like this. He doesn’t get soft, kind, gentle things. He gets shit. He gets cruelty. He gets anger and hatred and rage. He gets angry fists and cruel words, and a suspicious look on his back at all fucking times. After all the shit he has done, the people he has hurt, the lives he has ruined, he... he doesn’t deserve... he just doesn’t...

But as he sits there, staring up at Kiyotaka with wide eyes and an open mouth, he... he remembers something. Something the kid had said, in the sauna. How he... he never had a friend before. How everyone always hated him. And it could have just been insecurity talking, the kid thinking people hated him when they really didn’t but judging by the scars, he... he would doubt that.

He’s never had a friend. He’s never had a brother. Someone to keep him safe. To protect him from all harm. Someone to hold onto, someone to tell him it is alright. That he is alright. He... he hasn’t had that.

And Mondo is the worst choice for a brother. He knows it, okay? He’s so fucking awful it’s not funny. But... but he... the kid doesn’t seem to get that. And Mondo is too weak to explain why he shouldn’t want it. And, as such, he... Kiyotaka wants to be friends. Brothers. With him.

Mondo is a mess. He messes everything up, ruining everything he touches. He... he doesn’t want to ruin Kiyotaka too. He doesn’t want to hurt him. He... he never...

But maybe...

Maybe...

It’s stupid. God, so fucking stupid. But maybe... if he tries hard, so fucking hard... if he is careful, keeps his anger in check, does all he can, he... maybe he...

He can be Kiyotaka’s brother...

And keep him safe...

It makes him smile. It’s small at first, tentative. Like a stiff wind will blow it away. But as Kiyotaka keeps looking at him steadily, earnestly, he... he feels the smiles strengthen. Feels as it grows wider and wider, until it fills his whole face, his eyes squinting with how wide it is. He’s never felt like this before, so scared and terrified, but also... also...

Hopeful.

“Ya... ya really mean that, Kiyo?”

Kiyo. Mondo doesn’t really know why he’s calling the kid that, nicknames aren’t super common in their culture, but somehow, he... he kinda likes it. He doesn’t know if the kid does, he should ask, but before he has the chance to, the kid is nodding. Enthusiastic and bright, a shaky grin on his face. He still seems a little out of it, but god, is he trying... fuck that kid is so amazing...

“Yes! Of course! I always mean everything I say! I would not lie to you, Mondo, I promise you that! We shall be the best kyoudai! You’ll see! Aha! This is fantastic!”

Oh, god... this kid is so fucking cute! God... h-he really shouldn’t be thinking that, should push it away like he always pushes stupid ass thoughts like that away, but he... he’s allowed to see his brother as cute... right? Or, well... his little brother. Though... fuck. Is Kiyotaka younger than him? He seems like it, as naive and endlessly optimistic as he is, but fuck, he doesn’t actually know. Mondo is usually one of the youngest in his class, since his birthday is at the end of the year, but he’s always felt decades older than the chucklefucks he goes to school with. Maybe it’s ‘cuz he was forced to grow up so fucking fast in order to survive, shit.

But you know what? Whatever. It doesn’t matter if Mondo is older or not. He’s the older brother regardless. That shit is felt, not necessarily determined by birth order. Daiya was his older brother in more ways than just because he was physically older, after all.

At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that... that Kiyotaka wants this. Wants... wants Mondo. And Mondo doesn’t deserve it, had never deserved it, but fuck, is he a selfish bastard. But he won’t take this shit for granted. Now that they are brothers, Mondo will go all fucking out. No fucking reservations. They are brothers, now, and Mondo is the big brother. The ani. It’s his duty and obligation to keep Kiyotaka safe from all harm, including (and especially) from Mondo himself. And he won’t. Hurt him. Not now, not ever. If he ever does, he will stab himself in the gut, commit fucking seppuku, he swears he will. He’d rather die than hurt this precious, amazing, incredible boy ever, ever again.

And so, Mondo grins, and he laughs, and he lets his arms reach forward and wrap around the kid, like he’s been wanting to do since he ripped himself away the last time. Part of him is afraid the kid won’t want it, or he’ll realize how stupid this whole thing is, but Kiyotaka doesn’t even tense at all as he goes willingly into Mondo’s arms, melting like warm putty against him. Like he... he belongs there...

S-shit...

“Okay. O-okay. Kiyotaka, I... I’ll do my best. I can’t promise ya anythin’, know I’m a goddamn fuck-up who ruins everything, but... but for you? I’ll try. That... that’s all I can offer... heh…”

It’s not enough, not nearly enough, but he feels Kiyotaka wrap his arms around him, holding on so very, very tight, and it... it feels...

Like coming home...

“That is all I could ever ask of you, my kyoudai! Y-you’re not a- a screw up! And- and your best is more than enough!”

Shit. Shit. No one... no one has ever told him that before. That the best he offers is more than enough. It’s never been enough, he’s never been enough. He’s a screw up. The unwanted kid. The person who is good for violence and anger and rage, and that’s about it.

But here, being held by this remarkable fucking kid... hearing him say that it’s enough... that he’s enough…

Maybe he’s inclined to believe him.

Wow... just...

Wow...

After a minute Mondo pulls back, knowing they need to talk about stuff, knowing he has to make promises, and it makes his heart sing when he feels the kid resist, arms refusing to let go at first. It makes him laugh softly, especially because he fully understands. But he doesn’t intend to go far. Just... he needs to look the kid in the eyes. He... he needs to see those beautiful as sin eyes...

Pressing his forehead to Kiyotaka’s, soft and gentle and intimate, he can’t help how he smiles, eyes shining with the light he feels inside. And Kiyotaka... he...

He looks at Mondo like he fucking matters...

“I’ll be good. Fer ya... I’ll be good. Promise, Kiyo. And ya can hold me ta that, got it? This is a promise between men. That means I gotta keep it.”

The kid looks stunned, eyes glazed but not in a bad way, breath hitched, and it... it makes Mondo feel...

“Likewise! I- I will do everything I can to be the best brother I can be! I promise! We shall be the best kyoudai in the world! That’s a Kiyotaka Ishimaru guarantee!”

The enthusiastic words make Mondo laugh again, and he pulls away to wrap an arm around the kid’s shoulders, ruffling his hair gently like Daiya would always do to him. He notices that the hair is a bit longer than it once had been, and fuck, does he like it. The sweat from the sauna had made all the gel run out and his hair is now soft as it dries, curling lightly around the kid’s ears and it just...

It’s so beautiful...

But ruffling the kid’s hair makes it fall in his eyes, which makes the kid let out an annoyed sound, adorable again, and Mondo can’t help the way he laughs. God, this kid makes him so goddamn happy... he’s never felt this happy before... never...

“Yer the absolute, goddamn best, kyoudai. Kiyo. Hey, uh... is it okay if I call ya that? Kiyotaka’s just a bit of a mouthful, ‘sall. Ya got any other nicknames I could use?”

He looks at the kid at that, Kiyotaka’s (or should he say Kiyo? Does the kid like it? Shit...) mouth pulled down in a thoughtful frown. A moment passes, and then-

“A-ah! Kiyo is fine! If you’d like! B-but... well... m-my mother. She called me... Taka. Y-you could use that, as well! If you’d like...”

Taka, huh? Taka. Taka. Yeah... yeah, he- he likes it. He likes it a lot! It suits the kid, and while Mondo still does kinda like Kiyo, he might like Taka a bit better. And if the kid wants him to call him that, then shit... who is he to deny him...?

Smiling, soft and gentle in a way he’s never been able to be before, he nods.

“Taka... heh, I like it! Alright, Taka. Mondo ain’t exactly got any good nicknames fer it, but ya can call me that, if ya’d like.”

Mondo watches as Taka blushes lightly, lips still partially open as he breathes in and out slowly. His eyes are kinda glazed still, but he seems present enough. Just... like he’s thinking of something. Mondo wants to reach out, wants to pull the kid into a hug again, wants to always, always be touching him, but he keeps his distance. Just... just for now. But later...

The kid shoots up again, interrupting Mondo’s thoughts, looking so enthusiastic again, eyes bright and smile happy. Holy shit...

“Oh! I can always call you kyoudai!! That way the whole world will know our manly bond!”

It makes Mondo laugh again, harder, and he can’t help how he reaches out to ruffle his hair again, needing to touch him at least a little. Kyoudai, huh? ... yeah. Yeah, he likes that, too. Daiya was always ani to him, the proper name for the big brother, and Daiya usually called him shit like ‘kid’ or whatever, so it’s not like Taka calling him that will bring up any bad memories or shit. It’s just... something for them. Their own, little thing, for them and no one else.

Him and Taka. Taka and him. Two... two kyoudai...

Incredible...

“Alright, Taka. If ya’d like. Now, it’s fuckin’ late. I ain’t even gotta look at a clock ta know that. Come on, kyoudai. Let’s get ya ta bed.”

Mondo stands, then, realizing how fucking late it is. The kid always gets up stupidly early, he remembers Taka saying that once a little while ago, so he knows they should be heading to bed soon. He feels strangely reluctant to do that, never wanting to part from this beautiful boy, but- but he’s the big brother. He has to keep his little brother safe and healthy, and that includes ensuring he gets a good night’s sleep. Even if it means they have to part ways...

As Mondo stretches, he sees Taka stand as well, his body flushing bright red as he looks down at himself and seems to notice his state of undress. Like he’d forgotten or something. Mondo hadn’t. Not... not for a single second. Shit...

He feels his eyes dart down to the kid’s chest, unbidden, and he feels the small smile die on his lips as he sees the long, jagged looking scar that goes from Taka’s collarbone to the bottom of his sternum, right over his heart. How... how the fuck did he get a scar like that...? It doesn’t look like one that would come from surgery or something, since it’s too jagged, and it also doesn’t look accidental. But... but how the fuck...

“How’d ya get that? The... the scar?” Mondo finds himself asking softly before he can stop himself, his hand rising absently to trace the length of it. Fuck, but it feels as jagged as it looks... angry and painful. H-he hopes it doesn’t hurt anymore...

“A-ah... that...” Taka mutters, his body flushing. It jolts Mondo out of the fucking fugue he entered, and he removes his hand quickly, feeling embarrassed. S-shit... he shouldn’t have asked that, it ain’t his fucking business. Yeah, they’re kyoudai, but that... that don’t mean he’s earned the right to hear the kid’s dark history. He still has to earn that shit. He knows that.

“Aw, shit! Taka, ignore me. Y’ain’t gotta talk ‘bout that shit. Uh, shi-shoot, I mean... stuff? Sorry… heh, know ya hate swearin’ an’ sh- stuff. Heh…”

Taka blinks at Mondo’s rambling words, which makes him feel strangely nervous. He doesn’t let it take over him, though. Doesn’t let himself get angry. But strangely... the anger he usually feels when embarrassed or nervous just... never showed up in the first place. Huh...

He watches, then, heart clenching, as Taka smiles at him, soft and gentle as ever. F-fuck...

“I... I don’t mind! It’s not exactly a pleasant story, but I trust you, kyoudai! And... I don’t mind you cursing! Much! It... it’s what makes you, you! Just as long as you don’t do it in class or in the halls!”

He... doesn’t mind him... cursing...???? After all those warnings, all of those detention slips, he truly expects Mondo to believe he doesn’t mind it when Mondo fucking curses?

But... huh. He can’t detect a lie in the kid’s words. He looks as earnest as ever, and it just... god. Mondo can’t begin to describe how he feels right now, just that it feels... soft.

Taka... Taka makes him feel soft. And fuck, is it not bad... not bad at all...

Unsure of what to say, what to do, Mondo just laughs again, since that’s the only thing that even slightly manages to express the softness that he feels inside, and he smiles at the kid gently while nodding. He should feel stupid, ridiculous, but he just... doesn’t.

God...

He watches then as Taka walks over to the locker he’d used earlier, seeming to want to no longer be partially nude. Mondo doesn’t mind it, has never minded being around naked dudes, but he guesses not everyone can be like that. As the kid dresses, he starts to talk. And the story he tells...

“It was one of my middle school bullies. I, er... wasn’t well liked, as a child! They never liked how I would get them in trouble, not to mention... ah. M-my, well. My grandfather,” Taka mutters, voice turning nervous as he talks about his grandfather, glancing at him anxiously.

Mondo still isn’t entirely sure what the kid’s deal with his grandfather is, but he can tell it bothers the kid, shit, so he does his best to not look at all judgmental, even though the fact the kid was fucking bullied makes his blood fucking boil... shit. He’d expected it, honestly, but it still fucking angers the fuck out of him, Christ…

Luckily, it seems his anger at that isn’t too obvious, since the kid continues then, voice less shaky and upset, even though the shit he says...

“One day, one of them was... particularly angry. I’d gotten him suspended, you see, for a week. It was his own fault, he was the one who had scratched profanities into the headmaster’s car, I’d just been the one to report it! Still, he was... angry. So, after school, he had his friends hold me down while he cut this into my chest. A reminder, he said, to mind my own business. I think he was going to do more but was interrupted by something. It was most unpleasant!”

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Holy shit, holy shit!

What the goddamn shit?!

Some goddamn motherfucker... carved that shit into Taka’s chest...?! And how the fuck can Taka sound so casual about it?! Mondo has never felt so much rage directed towards someone he’s never met, but holy fucking shit, that goddamn bastard had better hope Mondo never meets him, or else he is fucking dead. The thought that anyone could ever hurt this wonderful boy in such a way is just so... insane to Mondo. How people can see him and not want to keep him safe from all harm is just... he doesn’t get it. Even when he told himself he hated the kid, he couldn’t bear the thought of actually hurting him. Not really.

And Taka he... he looks so fucking sad, right now. But also, just... resigned. Like he expects that treatment and, while it sucks, it’s just... life. Which is so much fucking bullshit, holy fucking shit-

Mondo unintentionally lets out a strangled noise, his anger and rage choking him inside. He sees the kid look up at him and sees panic rise in his face when he sees the anger Mondo so clearly feels. Oh, shit... shit, he’s not mad at Taka, he’s not at all, but he can’t make the anger go away, because... because...

“They fuckin’ what?! What the goddamn shit?! Please tell me ya got those fuckers expelled!”

He had to have... right? Taka is so gung-ho about rules and shit, he- he must have told on those fuckers and got all of them expelled... r-right?

Wrong...

“A-ah! N-not exactly! I... I never reported them! I rarely ever did, to tell the truth... it wouldn’t have mattered, see! The teachers didn’t like me much either; they only ever believed me if I had proof, and even then, only half the time! And they never much cared when I got hurt... b-but it was okay! I persisted and never let them break me down! My struggles made me stronger! Aha!”

W... what? He... he... oh, oh god... n-no...

“Y-you... what?” Mondo whispers, his eyebrows furrowed, his hands shaking. He has never felt so horrified before, a terrifying realization overcoming him. Because he... he was right, wasn’t he? This kid... h-he was abused. Horribly so.

By literally fucking everyone, holy fucking shit-!

“I mean... that’s just... how it was? I handled it, though! I never gave up! They... they did not break me!”

Oh. Oh. Oh, this... this poor fucking kid... his poor fucking kyoudai, having to go through that nightmare, actually believing that it was just... normal. Just... how it was. But he... he can’t actually... actually believe he deserved it... r-right...?

“Goddamnit... that’s why ya keep tellin’ me ta... ta punish ya, ain’t it? Taka, please tell me ya don’t actu’ly think ya deserved that shit?”

He can’t. He can’t. Please, god, he... he can’t...

Mondo watches, heart breaking so thoroughly inside his chest, as Taka looks down at his uniform jacket, the only piece of his get up he’s not yet wearing. He’s frowning gently, like he actually has to fucking think about it, oh god, no...

“I- I... I suppose so... I mean-! I... I don’t know. They all hated me... s-so... they must have had a good reason... r-right? To... to hate me. I... I must have deserved it... right?”

No. No. No. Mondo... he can’t fucking handle this shit. So many things make so much sense now, and he has never hated himself more. For not seeing it sooner. For not allowing himself to care about this boy all along. For maybe even reenforcing this goddamn bullshit, making the kid think he is right, when he sure as shit ain’t. He...

He can’t help how he moves. Swift and quick. He- he just needs to be near the kid, needs to hold him, reassure him that no, he didn’t. Didn’t at all. He needs to do what he should have done weeks ago, in the laundry room, and reassure that kid that no. He doesn’t deserve to be hurt. Not... not ever...

He stops, though, when he sees Taka look up at him, terror in his eyes, like he... he thinks Mondo is going to fucking hurt him. He wants to go forward, wants to hold the kid so fucking bad, but he doesn’t have that fucking right, so he stays where he is, all the sorrow he feels surely reflected in his eyes. And as the kid looks at him, he... he relaxes. He still looks upset, but he doesn’t look scared. That... that’s something...

Right?

“No. Fuckin’ no. Y’ain’t deserved any a’ that shit, goddamn, man… and I promise ya, Taka, I’m gonna make sure ya see that one day, even if it takes the rest a’ my goddamn life. And that’s a man’s promise.”

And he means it, fuck does he mean it. He had never meant anything more. He will spend the rest of his goddamn life ensuring that this wonderful kid knows how special and amazing he is, and that he never, ever deserves to be hurt. It’s his life’s fucking goal now, the one thing that fucking matters. He will take care of Taka for the rest of his goddamn life, even after the kid finally wises up and leaves his ass. He will watch from the shadows, keeping a careful eye on him, there to keep him safe from all harm. This kid will never know pain again if it’s the last fucking thing Mondo does. He swears.

As the kid looks at him, he sees the softest and most beautiful smile he’s ever seen lighting up the boy’s face. His eyes sparkle with it, and he’s looking at Mondo like he’s important again. Like he... like he matters. And Mondo...

He won’t ruin this shit. He just... he won’t.

This matters too goddamn much for him to let it slip away.

“T-thank you... thank you, kyoudai. I... thank you.”

Mondo smiles gently at the kid, moving forward to tentatively wrap an arm around his shoulder, squeezing gently, needing to touch him but not wanting to overwhelm him, god.

“Ain’t gotta thank me, bro. Now, we really should head ta bed. Got school tomorrow an’ I don’t want my bro ta be tired! Come on, kyoudai. Let’s get goin’.”

Taka nods quick and puts his jacket on, buttoning it with practiced fingers. The kid turns back to the locker, frowning gently at whatever he sees inside. Mondo watches as the kid reaches out and grabs it, his breath hitching when he sees the kid is holding the glasses case that started this whole fucking mess. He... he honestly had forgotten about that shit, to tell the truth, with all the drama that just occurred. But as he looks at the kid, who is looking so softly at the glasses case, like they’re precious to him, he... he knows he owes the kid for the shit he put him through earlier, for no fucking reason. He can’t quite find it in him to regret what happened, not when it ended up like this, but he... he has to make it up to the kid. All of it.

So, quick as a wink, Mondo darts his hand out and carefully takes the case from Taka, ignoring the startled sound the kid makes. He can feel the kid watching him with wide eyes, but he doesn’t let it stop him as he opens the case and— without a single moment’s pause— puts the glasses on his face, blinking at the foreign feel. It... it hasn’t changed his vision much, since this shit is only supposed to help with close up shit, but it... huh. He guesses it ain’t so bad...

“Huh... I guess they ain’t that bad... tell me, kyoudai. How do they look?”

He hadn’t really meant to ask the question, but he just... couldn’t help but remember the shit he’d done the last time he’d worn the glasses and Taka had told him what he thought. He... maybe he wants to show that it’s different, now. That he won’t get angry, not this time. To prove that he will never hurt Taka, never again. Not... not ever again.

He watches as the kid flushes bright red, mouth open slightly again, and- and god, is it an attractive look on him... s-shit... and then the kid is smiling shakily, giving a shaky thumbs up, and that’s even... even worse... or better, heh...

“You look amazing, kyoudai! They suit you well!”

A-amazing, huh? Shit... no one’s ever said he looks amazing before... he’s had a couple of people call him hot, or even sexy once or twice, but never... never amazing...

He adores it... adores... Taka...

It makes him smile again. Soft. Happy. So goddamn happy... he will never be able to repay Taka for the happiness he gives him... not even if he dedicates the rest of his life to trying. Which he will. He... he will...

But it’s late. So fucking late. They... they need to get to bed...

Even if Mondo never wants to part from this amazing kid...

“Ah, cool. I guess. Now, c’mon! Bed! Ain’t gonna be the reason ya can’t focus in class tomorrow, ya nerd!”

With that, Mondo turns to grab his duster off the bench he’d tossed it on earlier, shrugging it on carefully, before finally exiting the bathhouse, Taka on his heels.

Shit...

#The Problem with Mondo preview #Mondo Owada #Mondo's POV #Kiyotaka Ishimaru #Danganronpa #Danganronpa fanfiction #My fanfic #Ha hope y'all liked it #:-)

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yumeyooa · 3 years

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02—there’s magic in the air | sugawara koushi

—as per royal tradition, prince sugawara koushi, second in line to the throne of the kingdom of corvus, is to spend one whole spring in the kingdom of angora, strengthening relations between the two neighbouring kingdoms. but while exploring the forests of the otherwise mysterious land, he comes across a rather curious stranger, gracing the woodlands with her whimsical tunes and enigmatic melodies. The more they meet, the more enchanted he becomes and sugawara soon finds himself diving deep into her everything; not knowing of the dangerous wonders that would befall him the more he falls

➢ pairing: sugawara koushi x female! reader

➢ word count: 7.9k+

➢ warning: use of she/her pronouns | really big eagles | magic(?)

➢ love letter: i’m a day late but i’m finally finished with chapter 2! so many new characters ahhhh i hope you all like it and let me know what you think hehe :>> reblogs are highly appreciated

want to be tagged? send in an ask!

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Sugawara says nothing at first, caught in a stare-off with the frightened stranger, unsure of what to say. As a reflex, he throws his hands up in the air slightly, trying to come off as harmless. But it’s no use, as his stature and aura alone are enough to startle the poor girl.

“I apologize,” Sugawara says as he finally gathers his thoughts. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just enchanted by the wonderful music you were playing just now….”

His words make the girl relax ever so slightly, even though she still looks at him with wary eyes. “W-who are you?” She asks again, backing up to the tree as Sugawara tries to take the first few steps to approach her.

“My name is P—“ Sugawara halts, thinking to himself. Would it be a good idea to introduce himself as a prince right away? What if the girl gets startled? Or perhaps hostile even? There were so many things Sugawara wanted to ask her, he couldn’t just let her slip away because of his status.

“My name is Koushi,” he says instead, showing a bright, kind smile. “I was exploring when I heard your music, so I came over to find the source. I truly mean no harm, miss.”

The girl’s eyes stare at him in disbelief, and Sugawara can only watch patiently as the girl slowly takes him in. She stands up, walking towards him cautiously as if she were afraid that any moment he would run out and steal her away from the world she had come to know.

“Your attire,” the girl mutters, looking him up and down. “Are you perhaps of noble descent?”

If it wasn’t for the fact that Sugawara had been paying attention to the girl for quite some time, he would have probably missed that slightly hostile tone in her voice. It was evident that, for whatever reason, the girl held a grudge against the nobility. What more if royalty? Even if he were a prince of another country, he was still a prince. That simple fact wouldn’t change.

“Unfortunately no,” Sugawara says, cringing at the way he was quickly deceiving the innocent girl. “I am merely an attendant of one.”

Even at that, the girl’s eyes look up at him, this time with more caution laced into them. “And whom do you serve?” She asks, waiting with bated breath.

“A noble of another kingdom, miss,” he replies, pleasantly surprised at how well he was able to keep his emotions in check. Perhaps he could consider engaging in the art of theatre once he returned to his hometown. It was always a pleasure to delve into new hobbies. But this wasn’t the time for that.

“Another kingdom?” The girl repeats, confused. “Whatever are nobles from another kingdom doing here?”

“For a delegation, miss,” Sugawara says, stunned at how well the girl carried herself. It was almost as if she weren’t a commoner at all with how her confidence was beginning to grow with each passing second. “A trip, if you will. My kingdom and yours have exchanged nobles for the spring to fulfill a promise made long ago.”

The girl hums, eyes widening in realization. “Is that the reason why the city has become so festive lately?”

“Most likely,” Sugawara says, shrugging. “Unless there is another festivity of the kingdom during the spring that I am unaware of….”

“No,” the girl mutters, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, there is not.” She stays silent for a while, looking at Sugawara before finally sighing, giving the prince a bashful grin. “I apologize, sir Koushi, for my rude behavior. It’s been a while since I last encountered a stranger….”

Her words make Sugawara raise his eyebrow in confusion. What did she mean by that? He wonders to himself. Why would he be the first stranger she’s seen in a while when citizens of the capital fare just beyond the forest?

But well, he figured, The forest is vast and wide. The miss must have been sheltered in the palace. Perhaps she is the daughter of one of the servants?

“But nevertheless!” The girl suddenly exclaims, startling Sugawara out of his trance. “You mentioned you followed the sound of the music, correct?”

“Yes,” Sugawara replied, nodding his head enthusiastically. “In all honesty, I had heard your melody a few days ago and just couldn’t get it out of my mind… It was spectacular! The moment I heard it again, I just had to see who was behind such artistry!”

Flustered, the girl looks to the ground, not knowing what to say. “Thank you,” she mutters after a while, avoiding matching gazes with the prince. “But are you certain that you heard the sound I had just played?”

It’s strange, Sugawara thinks to himself. What could she possibly mean by that? “Yes, I am certain,” he says, confusion seeping out of him. “Is there a reason for me not to be?”

Sugawara watches as the girl fidgets where she stands, before taking a deep breath and gently taking Sugawara’s hand into hers, dragging him towards the piano, which as Sugawara had assumed moments prior, was worn out and broken, in a state where it would have ordinarily been impossible to use.

“This piano is old,” the girl says, tracing her hands through the dusty keys. “Very old, much older than I am. And as you can see, it’s broken and withered and shouldn’t be able to produce any sound at all, yet….”

The girl sits down on the rusty chair, taking a deep breath before playing a few notes. “When I play, despite not knowing how to, it makes a sound. I’ve tried showing others the beauty of it, but they are unable to hear. You are the first I’ve ever encountered that could hear its melody….”

Sugawara remains frozen where he stands, eyes swelled in shock as he takes the girl’s words in. There was so much to process. First of all, was she meaning to say that she had absolutely no knowledge of how to play the piano, yet she was able to conjure up a magnificent melody, just like that? What kind of sorcery was this? Is this, too, one of the magical attributes of the Kingdom of Angora?

Second, whatever did she mean by him being the first to hear it? That made absolutely no sense. But then again, it did all the same. Sugawara recalls how Yamaguchi reacted when he first told him about this enchanting melody. It was a melody he couldn’t hear despite Sugawara hearing it clear as day. He thought he was delusional for a second, but if the girl’s words were true, then it meant that for some strange reason, the beaten-up piano in front of him had been enchanted with magic.

How peculiar….

The girl, on the other hand, not sure of what to make of Sugawara’s reaction, looks at him with uncertain eyes. “I know that my words seem like nonsense,” she mutters, “But believe me when I say they are true.”

It’s strange. If this were any normal circumstance, Sugawara would have scoffed and accused the girl of lying. But he couldn’t find the heart in him to do so. The genuine sincerity in her eyes didn’t help either as they looked at him with such passion and determination as if they were trying with their whole being to convince Sugawara that she was indeed telling the truth.

“I suppose there is some sense to your words….” Sugawara says, somewhat teasingly. He tried to hide it to the best of his abilities, but it was no use. The moment he saw the slightly distraught expression on the girl’s face, he couldn’t help himself. He let out a chuckle, something he hadn’t done in a while with all the heavy burdens weighing on his shoulders, and smiled, much to the girl’s confusion.

“I’m sorry, are you laughing?” She asks, startled and confused. Sugawara’s grin only widens, amused at the whole situation. “And if I am?” He playfully asks, watching as the girl’s expression molds into one of exasperation, not quite sure what to make of his playful banter.

“May I ask why?” She finally says, looking at him, concerned. “I don’t believe this is a matter to laugh about….”

It’s oddly refreshing, Sugawara thinks to himself. The girl’s reaction is a first for him. For so long, Sugawara had been faced with people who held themselves up with such extensive egos that Sugawara just wanted to grab them by the hair and bring them back down to earth, as gracefully as his status could allow. He had to keep up with their foolish little games, fake smiles, and awfully hidden intentions.

But there was something so interesting about the apparent innocence she portrayed. Sure, she seemed wary and cautious of him initially, but he couldn’t hold that against her. He would, too, if he randomly encountered a stranger in the woods. But it was that strange naivety and child-like behavior that made her inexplicably stand out within the few short moments he got to know her.

“Fret not,” Sugawara says, smiling at the puzzled girl. “I was merely playing with you for a moment…” the realization that falls into the girl’s eyes is all too precious. “I believe you, no matter how ridiculous your words maybe.”

The girl pouts, obviously bummed by the fact that she had gotten played by a stranger she barely knew. She sulked, turning her back to Sugawara, and averting her gaze back to the ancient piano that had been her only source of entertainment for a short while, getting lost in thought. The silence is quite calming, and Sugawara observes the girl as she gazes softly at the worn instrument as if it were a newborn child, eyes holding great care and affection.

Everything about this whole situation is unusual. A girl in the woods who knew nothing about the piano playing the most gorgeous tune from the tips of her fingertips and gracing the ears of those who could listen to it. If Sugawara didn’t know any better, he would have thought that he was living in a fairy tale. But this was reality. And what reality was telling him at the moment was that sometimes the truth could be quite… whimsical.

“How long have you known about this?” He asks as he makes his way closer, basically hovering over the girl as he curiously observes the piano underneath him. The girl, mildly startled, looks up at him with an inquisitive gaze before smiling softly, gently caressing the ragged keys. “I’m afraid I’m not sure,” she whispers. “I have no sense of time, you see… All I know is that I came across this beauty one day and haven’t stopped visiting since.”

Strange. How could the girl not have a sense of time? It was pretty unusual. Time was something he considered of utmost importance, especially as a royal. He couldn’t afford to waste any; that would be a disgrace not only to his status but to his dignity as a human being. How curious it was to meet such a person who didn’t consider time to be of vital priority,

Sugawara hums, unsure of what to say. He observes the girl for a few moments, taking in the way she looks at the old instrument as if it were the most glorious thing ever known to mankind. He had never seen such a look on anyone else before. It was both captivating and intriguing to him.

“Well then,” Sugawara finally says, mustering up the courage to speak as the girl turns to him with another inquiring glance. “Would it be alright if I could request for you to play again? Your music is absolutely charming, miss.”

There’s a glimmer that sparks in the girl’s eyes as she quickly nods and settles down on the chair in front of her, hands hovering over the keys, before taking a deep breath. Now that he’s closer, Sugawara can see the way the girl almost changes, as if playing has drawn her into a trance that no one could ever bring her out of but herself. It’s amusing to Sugawara, but just as he’s about to comment on it, her eyes open, her gaze changing into a more serene one, and her hands finally settle on the keys, commencing her play.

And up close, Sugawara is blown away even more.

Every note is crisp and clear as they dance together in harmony to produce a lovely tune that moves his heart into tears. Sugawara was sure that if he had to associate a sound to the heavens above, this is what he would call it. It was as if he had stepped into paradise, introduced to the true beauty of the world. Even his surroundings changed, as hard as it was to believe.

It was like nature itself was singing, thriving on the music that fell from the girl’s gentle fingertips. Life surged through the leaves and the branches and the breeze that caressed the surface with its calm wind. The colors waltzed around him. The bold greens, timid yellows, and proud blues blended together to create a view that Sugawara swears even the best artists could never capture.

It was so much more brilliant. Raw, surreal, and marvelous to the point that Sugawara didn’t even notice that the girl had finished, too stunned to form the words. She looked up at the clearly awed man with a flustered look of her own, not expecting him to be as amazed as he was. She didn’t necessarily think her music was extraordinary. Heck, she just let it flow through her naturally, as if someone had lit up a switch inside of her.

The girl didn’t quite understand it herself, but she was glad that it made others happy. Or at least she hoped it did.

“How was it?” She asks even though she had the gut feeling about the answer based on the shocked look plastered on his face. But who knows? The shock could mean he was appalled with how terrible it sounded. Even if he was a mere servant of a noble from another kingdom, there was a chance that he was well versed in music. What if her music was so horrible that he would wish to never hear or see from her again?

“Incredible…” is all Sugawara says, mouth still hanging in awe. He was right to chase after her music. He was right to pursue it. The girl was a talent that came once in a lifetime, a talent heavily blessed by the Ancient Ones. A diamond under the rough, even. How come her talent had never been discovered before? Did it have something to do with the fact that she claimed no one else could hear her? Why was that so? Was it the piano? If he were to bring her to another piano, would her music finally be heard?

“...Absolutely Incredible,” he continues, staring at the girl with wide eyes as she looks up at him with sheepish ones. “So incredible, in fact, that I have nothing else to say.” His praises fluster her. No one’s ever complimented her this way before. It caused a warm feeling to bubble in her chest, blooming from within her as she smiled at him in happiness.

“Thank you,” the girl says sincerely, eyes beaming as she smiles so wide she could feel her cheeks begin to hurt. Meeting Sugawara was honestly a breath of fresh air on her part. She had always hated aristocrats. They were stuck up rude, and as her caretaker pointed out, selfish. They only cared about themselves and the things that could be beneficial for them. But she could tell from the few moments she’s spent with Sugawara that he was different. And for now, it was a good kind of different.

The girl was about to say more. To invite him to play with her because perhaps he was musically inclined himself? Maybe he could teach her a thing or two. She only played what her heart told you to but never truly learned how playing the piano actually worked. But it has always been a dream she wished to reach one day. Something she longed for desperately. Maybe Sugawara could be that teacher figure for her?

But then, from the corner of her eye, she spots a black cat staring at her from its position atop a tree branch, its eyes boring heavily into hers, and her blood runs cold. The girl stands up, much to Sugawara’s surprise, and frantically looks around before finally looking up at the sky and letting out a gasp of surprise.

“Oh my,” she mutters, gathering up her skirt and hoisting her legs over the chair so she could stand up, dusting the dirt off of her dress. “Oh me, oh my,”

“Miss?” Sugawara asks, confused at the girl’s frantic state. She pauses momentarily to stare at Sugawara like a deer caught in headlights, almost forgetting he had been there in the first place. “Is there something wrong?”

“Time,” is all she mutters as she takes a glance at the black cat who remains on top of the tree branch, seemingly glaring at her to get a move on. “I’m out of time. I’m late. Oh dear, Oh Heavens.”

In the midst of your panicking, Sugawara can’t help but be confused. What did she mean? Out of time for what?

“I apologize, kind sir, but I have to go. If I’m late for another second— Oh! I don’t even want to think about it!” The girl bundles up her skirt within her hands once more as she begins to make her way to the opposite direction from where Sugawara came, but just before she can make a run from it, Sugawara reaches out his arm to grab her own, stopping the frantic girl momentarily.

“Will you come back?” He asks, wishing to hear her beautiful melody once more. The girl looks at him, eyes darting from every which direction before nodding hastily, a forced smile on her face. “Of course, sire.” She says, nodding. “So long as there is music, I will be here.”

And just like that, she leaves, not even turning back to give Sugawara a farewell wave. He doesn’t notice how the black cat from behind him disappears the moment she moves away from his line of sight. All he knows is the disappointment that gathers within his heart, settling deep within his bones.

Especially considering how he didn’t even catch her name.

“Good Morning Sire, I have brought you your morning tea,” Yamaguchi says as he enters Sugawara’s room with a cart alongside him. Sugawara nods in greeting as he basks in the morning sunlight shining on his suite’s balcony, clad in his morning robes as he tries to will the lingering sleep clinging unto him away.

“Did you have a good sleep, your highness?” Yamaguchi asks as he sets down the teacup in front of him, grabbing the teapot in the process. “Today’s tea is a special green tea from the Kingdom of Reynard in the East. According to the servants from their delegation, this tea is perfect for energizing the body.”

Sugawara hums as the fragrance of the tea wafts through the air and settles within him. Already he can feel his energy begin to load itself after the fatigue from the night before, and he shows a soft smile, offering his thanks to Yamaguchi. “What is our agenda for the day?” He asks, rolling his head to ease out the kinks that have formed prior.

“Today, the Kingdom of Angora has prepared a special trip towards the Magic Academy. After breakfast, we are to depart immediately as it is quite a journey from the castle.”

The Magic Academy? Sugawara muses to himself. How interesting.

Sugawara had highly anticipated the trip to the Magic Academy. Especially considering how the Kingdom of Angora was prominent in the field of magic. It was rumored that their Academy was top class and was way more advanced than any other academy in the world. According to the information gathered by his team, the director of the Academy was said to be directly blessed by the Ancient Ones. A chosen one, if you will.

He wonders if the mysterious maiden he met was a chosen one too.

It’s been a few days since his fateful encounter with her in the forest, and ever since then, he hasn’t been able to get her out of his mind. The yearning in his heart was too intense, unbearable at times. Sometimes he wished to abandon his duties just to venture out to the forest once more. But he knew that after the stunt he had pulled on Yamaguchi, he had to be wary.

After all, he was still the leading representative of his kingdom. He was not about to blow it.

Before he knows it, his quiet time comes and goes, and breakfast was just around the corner. Sugawara wished he could have just eaten within the comforts of his suite. He immensely enjoyed that cup of tea Yamaguchi had poured him. Although bitter, it did wonders in restoring the energy he needed for the day. It would have done him well to enjoy another cup while eating a delicious Angorian meal as he admired the view.

But alas, breakfast was also a time when Prince Morisuke would brief them of their plans for the day and what they were to expect within the mini trip. Honestly, he could have left that part to the servants. But perhaps with this being the infamous Magic Academy on the line, the said prince felt the need to rise up to the occasion.

Or at least that’s what it looked like.

However, as much as Sugawara despised socializing, there were moments that he did find the daily breakfast enjoyable. Prince Morisuke was a charm to converse with, and Sugawara honestly found himself building a suitable friendship with him. Yet, he could never shake that strange feeling he got whenever he interacted with any member of the Angorian Royal Family.

It was different from how he reacted to Duke Tooru and Marquess Yuji. Those two were way too easy to read, their intentions showing in their faces. And in a way, he quite enjoyed toying them, watching their faces fall in disappointment when he would reject their requests.

But with the Angorian Royal Family, Sugawara felt unsettled. He couldn’t quite describe it. It was as if every fiber in his being was screaming at him to stray away from them and head back, even though at the surface, Sugawara could find no fault in them.

And that, perhaps, was the most significant warning sign of all.

But he ignores it, for now, plastering a fake smile as he engages in a pleasant conversation with Prince Morisuke, exchanging thoughts about a philosopher they both enjoyed, with Duke Shinsuke of the Kingdom of Reynard joining in.

“I’ll have to thank you for introducing us to such exquisite tea, Duke Shinsuke,” Sugawara fawns, turning to the Duke that sat beside him with a pleased smile. “My butler poured me a cup before breakfast, and it was absolutely splendid.”

When Sugawara had found out that a delegation had arrived from the Kingdom of Reynard to establish trade relations with the Kingdom of Angora, Sugawara couldn’t help but be excited. Because as much as this was an opportunity for his kingdom’s more magically inclined ally, this was a perfect opportunity to help his own kingdom thrive as well.

“My pleasure, your highness,” Duke Shinsuke comments with a small smile of his own forming on his lips. “Our green tea is the pride of the kingdom. It brings me great joy that you’ve enjoyed it. I’ll be sure to tell our servants to give you some spare supply should we have any.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer,” Sugawara says, genuinely excited. “Perhaps we should have some tea together? I do find our conversations pleasant and would gladly enjoy some more.”

“I am honored by your praise, your highness.” Duke Shinsuke says humbly, giving a slight nod. “Perhaps Prince Morisuke would like to join us as well? We would love to hear more about your nation’s history.”

“Yes,” Sugawara agrees, although he tries to hide the disappointment that bursts from within him the moment Duke Shinsuke had proposed his suggestion. He truly did enjoy conversing with the stoic Duke, and he wouldn’t want that to be hindered by that unsettling feeling that continues to rise the more he stays in the presence of any member of the Angorian Royal Family. But he couldn’t deny how enlightened he felt whenever he talked with them. “It would be a real pleasure!”

“I would love to, gentlemen,” Prince Morisuke says, and Sugawara can immediately tell the slight shift in his mood, although by the looks of it, no one else other than him can sense it. Perhaps he was looking into it too much? “However, I’m afraid my schedule won’t allow me even a moment of freedom. Perhaps another time?”

Silence befalls the three as they solemnly agree, continuing on with their meal. Prince Morisuke doesn’t engage in any further conversation after that, choosing to instead eat in silence as Sugawara and Shinsuke continue to engage in a pleasant conversation.

Before long, breakfast ends, and everyone is in a haze, getting ready to embark on the journey towards the Magic Academy. Sugawara understands their excitement. It’s not every day that you get the opportunity to go somewhere where some could only dream of. Even as royalty, getting into the Magic Academy was a difficult feat.

Excitement rushes through his veins as he enters the carriage. The Magic Academy was the one thing he had been looking forward to throughout his entire stay in the Kingdom of Angora, and he was confident that this venture would be the highlight of his journey, aside from his chance encounter with the mysterious girl in the forest.

What wonders would he be able to learn from the Academy? Perhaps he could learn some techniques and spells to improve his own magical abilities? If he did, he was sure to return home and flaunt his new findings to his brothers, who would without a doubt be in awe at his learnings. Daichi, especially, would marvel at the wonders of it, immediately asking Sugawara to spar with him.

Oh, how Sugawara missed his brothers.

“You seem a little excited, your highness,” A playful voice comes out, and Sugawara snaps out of his trance only to be face-to-face with Marquess Yuji, who was staring at him with a raised eyebrow and an amused smirk. Oh Right. Sugawara thinks to himself, inwardly groaning. He was in a carriage with Duke Tooru and Marquess Yuji, who would without a doubt bother him with their meaningless stunts to earn his favor so their families could manipulate him to take the crown from his brother.

But Sugawara had no desire for the throne. All he wanted was to live a happy and comfortable life, doing his part and supporting his brothers. But of course, others wouldn’t want that for him.

“I admit that this trip has piqued my interest,” he says, chuckling with a fake smile. “Who wouldn’t want to see what the infamous Magic Academy of the Kingdom of Angora is like?”

“Is it really that great?” Marquess Yuji asks, with an uninterested expression on my face. “I don’t really see how magnificent an academy of all things could be.”

“Well, that’s because you’re an idiot, Marquess Yuji,” Duke Tooru quips, causing Sugawara’s eyes to widen in surprise at how blunt the duke was. “One would be a fool not to be excited at going to the Magic Academy of all places. Do you not know how hard it is to get in? Only the best of the best are permitted to even catch a glimpse of the Academy! We’re practically given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here!”

To say that Sugawara was surprised was a tremendous understatement. He was shocked, impressed, and amused at Duke Tooru’s outburst, not expecting the usual flirty duke to geek out about something other than his looks and charms.

“Is that so?” Marquess Yuji asks, still not interested. Well, it was a given. As far as Sugawara knew, Marquess Yuji was very adept with the sword. His whole family had fostered a line of very capable swordsmen who’d help lead the frontier of the country’s defenses. Magic didn’t really seem to suit him.

Scoffing at the Marquess’ lack of interest, Duke Tooru turns to Sugawara with an excited gaze. It’s pretty different from the usual expressions Sugawara had seen from the Duke throughout their journey. He was usually more calculative, always seeming to hide his true intentions behind a mask. But today, he seemed a little more authentic. And Sugawara wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Is there anything you’re looking forward to, your highness?” The duke enthusiastically asks, and it almost feels like he has stars in his eyes with how much enthusiasm vibrated through his entire being. “Personally, I cannot wait to see how they teach spells. There’s such a big difference between learning from old books and actually learning from real magicians! I just can’t wait to see it!”

“Yes,” Sugawara agrees with a small smile. “I’m quite fascinated with learning new spells and techniques. The books back at our kingdom can only do so much.”

“Indeed!” Duke Tooru exclaims, clasping his hands together excitedly. “The magic we’ll be able to learn in this short trip will most definitely help us in the long run! Perhaps it will gain you favor with his majest—“

“—Duke Tooru,” Sugawara interrupts, a stern gaze gracing his features. “I would advise you to stop while you’re still hanging on a thread. It would be best not to ruin my day with your words.”

He should have known. Sugawara knew it was too good to be true. No matter how pleasant Duke Tooru was to converse with, he was still part of the Oikawa Duchy, one of the powerful families that desired power in the kingdom.

There’s tension in the air after his words as Duke Tooru falls silent in shock, with Marquess Yuji staring between the two of them with unsure yet awkward eyes.

“My apologies, your highness,” Duke Tooru says, his familiar fake smile plastered on his face as he composes himself. “It was my mistake. I’ll try not to do it again.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, leaving Sugawara to groan inwardly. He knows his words are half-hearted. Duke Tooru and Marquess Yuji would still use any chance they could get to convince him to vie for the throne. But he couldn’t scold them for it, as he still had to go through an entire carriage ride back to the castle with them. And he would rather not spend it with the burning tension of awkwardness raging through the air.

Luckily for him, however, the carriage momentarily halts, causing the three nobles to be confused. Sugawara takes the initiative to take a peek out of the carriage window, calling out to his attendant Yamaguchi, who was sitting in the passenger seat beside the driver.

“What seems to be the matter?” Sugawara calls, addressing his attendant, who turns back at him with an adept smile on his face. “The Barrier Sire,” Yamaguchi calls back, causing Sugawara to frown in confusion, prompting him to continue. “We have reached the border and are about to cross the barrier that protects the academy.”

Now that Sugawara had a better look, he realized they had entered an empty clearing, just at the bottom of a mountain. It would certainly be strange if Sugawara hadn’t known any better. Anyone would have questioned why they were in the middle of nowhere if they weren’t informed of their destination prior, or rather they would have panicked and assumed that they were being kidnapped.

However, this was no trap whatsoever. To Sugawara’s surprise, magic weaves through the air, bursting up above and causing the barrier to make itself visible, and finally, Sugawara can see the Magic Academy in all of its glory.

To say the Academy was stunning is a gross understatement. It was gorgeous, far beyond his wildest dreams. The Academy took the form of a castle situated on the edge of a hill, watching over the Kingdom with all its majesty and glory.

Sugawara marveled at the intricacy of the Academy, feeling even more surprised when he suddenly felt the carriage being lifted in the air, gaping in shock as the horses began galloping mid-air all the way to the top of the hill where the castle’s entrance lay.

He couldn’t even register the audible gasp from Marquess Yuji and Duke Tooru, who marveled at the sight right beside him, not believing their eyes. Sure, they should have expected some magic the moment they embarked on their journey to the magic Academy, but this was far beyond what they expected.

It was even more remarkable than their first flying experience when they first arrived at the kingdom. It wasn’t just levitation magic. It was almost as if they gave wings to the horses allowing them to soar high and flaunt their majesty and grandeur. The three nobles were rendered speechless even as they landed on the entrance, too stunned to comprehend that they had arrived.

“Your highness?” Yamaguchi says, mildly concerned as he opens the carriage scope, seeing the awestruck expressions on all three of the nobles’ faces. “Are you alright?”

Sugawara finally breaks from his trance, looking at Yamaguchi with a sheepish smile. “Yes,” he says, swiftly getting off the carriage, Duke Tooru, and Marquess Yuji following closely behind.

The entrance of the magic academy was just as impressive as getting there was. Surrounded by lush greenery and branded with the Academy’s flags, the entrance made Sugawara feel like he was about to enter a portal that would lead him to another world.

In the midst of the ginormous arch that marked the entrance stood an old man. The man was dressed in noble robes, with a scepter disguised as a cane held in his hands. He observes the crowd of royals and nobles gathering in front of him, waiting for everyone to settle down before he lets out a cheery smile.

With a snap of his hands, sparks fly into the air, and a welcome sign formed by magic litters the atmosphere, amazing the crowd. “Welcome, delegates to the Magic Academy!” The old man greets, hands flailing around him gleefully.

“We’re so glad you are here to celebrate this momentous occasion! It isn’t every day that royals from kingdoms across the continent come together to visit our humble school!”

The old man seems cheerful, undeniably so. But Sugawara couldn’t exactly blame him because he was right. It was sporadic to have three kingdoms in the same area, no less on a visit to a school. To the Academy, this must have been as much as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity as their stay was.

“My name is Nekomata Yasufumi, the director of this Academy. It’s a pleasure to have you all here.” Sugawara’s eyes widened at his words. The Nekomata family is considerably the oldest family in the history of the Kingdom of Angora and once stood tall as the royal family before the current one took over long ago. It was inspiring to Sugawara how even with their fallen status, they stood tall with impressive achievements under their belt.

“On behalf of all the students and teachers, we wish you a pleasant trip, and may the Ancient Ones bless you with divine grace and prominence,” and just as quickly as he came, he disappears, leaving everyone in shock at what had happened.

Magic was indeed a remarkable thing.

“My apologies,” A voice calls, and everyone turns their attention towards a man dressed in extravagant robes, glasses perched atop his nose, and a soft smile on his face. “Our director is quite the character, as you can see. I hope you’ll find it in yourselves to forgive him.”

The man then turns to Prince Morisuke, bowing. “Greetings, your highness, it is a pleasure to have you in our Academy once more, and greetings as well to the fine nobles of the kingdoms of Corvus and Reynard. My name is Akaashi Keiji, a professor of potions and alchemy at the Academy. I am humbled to be in your presence.”

Compared to the director of the Academy, Professor Keiji was much calmer and held himself up with such dignity and grace, almost as if he were a noble himself. As if he was reading Sugawara’s mind, Prince Morisuke smiles, walking up to the calm professor and swinging his arm around his shoulders, much to the shock of everyone in the vicinity. Prince Morisuke hardly played around like this after all, and it was strangely refreshing, now that Sugawara thought about it.

“Professor Keiji here is actually a Duke of the Bokuto Duchy. His partner, Duke Kotaro, is the current head, however. If you could all recall, he introduced himself during the trip to the knight’s quarters.” There’s a faint blush on the professor’s cheeks as he tries to cover it up by looking to the side, causing Sugawara to smile.

He remembers Duke Kotaro, who, without a doubt, was quite a character himself. It was almost as if he still retained remnants of the child he once was even as he had grown into an adult. He was loud but bright and certainly knew how to foster a fun environment, even if the people surrounding him were unfamiliar with each other.

He had visited the royal knights’ headquarters to spar with Prince Tetsuro, who had invited him over for a showcase duel, much to the delight of the knights and the royals surrounding them. Watching their fight reminded Sugawara of when he would spar with his brother Daichi, and soon after, he had sent a letter home, fulfilling the promise he had made to his brothers that he would update them as soon as he got to the kingdom.

“I would appreciate it if you would stop with the flattery, your highness,” Professor Keiji whispers as he wiggles himself out of Prince Morisuke’s hold, clearing his throat and plastering on a professional smile as if the little incident mere moments ago hadn’t happened at all. “We are in front of esteemed guests after all.”

From beside him, Prince Morisuke scoffs playfully before giving the professor a slight slap to the back, catching him off guard. The bewildered expression on his face almost made Sugawara let out a chuckle, but he kept it in so that he wouldn’t feel embarrassed.

“My apologies,” Professor Keiji says, averting his gaze before finally composing himself. “With all distractions aside, I’d like to welcome you all once more to the Magic Academy. I will be your guide for the first day, which will simply be a tour around the campus. The second day, you’ll be guided by other professors who will be more than happy to accommodate you in their lessons.”

Sugawara was ecstatic. Were they really going to allow them to take lessons from esteemed professors just like that? It seemed too good to be true. Duke Tooru, who stood right beside him, seems to share the same sentiments as he was practically vibrating with excitement from where he stood. Sugawara understands because if he just had the permission to, he would be jumping in joy.

The tour begins, and Sugawara finds himself marveling at the sights and integrity of the Academy. It was as if he was being transported into a different universe. The capital of the Kingdom of Angora may have been thriving with magic, but this was on a whole other level. It was as if the Academy was living in magic. It was everywhere, from the rebel students flying through the halls to the way spells were used to pick up fallen books. Everything about the Academy was absolutely charming.

But even more so when they got a peek at how classes were being conducted.

When they arrived at the lake, where flying classes were also held, they were surprised to find one in session. It seemed as if the class was for a group of freshmen who were about to learn all about the basics of flying.

“That’s Professor Shohei,” Professor Akaashi explains, as the group observed a very unique man leap through the air like he was performing a magic show. “He’s the head professor of the Flying Department. As you can see, he quite enjoys it. He’s also a member of the Angorian Royal Family, right, your highness?”

“Indeed,” Prince Morisuke replied, grumbling under his breath. “He’s a cousin of mine, the son of my father’s sister. Quite an oddball if you were to ask me.”

“But you can’t deny his skill,” Professor Keiji adds as the group marvels at the way the strange professor leaped through the air as if he were walking on the ground. “How is he doing that?” Marquess Yuji mutters without thinking, mouth agape in awe. “It’s almost like he’s dancing mid-air.”

“Nobody really knows, Marquess,” Professor Keiji answers, smiling at the flustered man who grins awkwardly in return. “As talented as he is, Professor Shohei has some difficulty in converting that talent into something the students can easily understand, yet even so, at the end of it all, the students under his guidance become expert flyers.”

True to his word, the students began trying to fly themselves, with many not succeeding no matter how hard they tried. But there were others who got the feeling almost immediately and soared through the air (albeit a bit wobbly), causing smiles to circle the group of nobles.

“Follow along, gentlemen,” Professor Keiji says, capturing the group’s attention. “We still have many places to cover.”

Place after place, Sugawara could do nothing but be amazed at the sheer grandeur of the Magic Academy. From the grand hall, which served as the common area of all the students, to the enormous greenhouse that was home to numerous magical plants (even the poisonous ones), to a tall tower with the most spectacular view, the Academy was nothing short of amazing.

Sugawara couldn’t wait to experience the greatness of it all on the second day. They had already taken glimpses at some of the classes throughout the tour aside from flying, and it had been an experience like no other. There was magical combat, held in the basements of the Academy, yet it was enchanted to look like an open field. However, the professor, Professor Kiryu, was very intimidating and ruled his class with an iron fist. Professor Keiji had mentioned that it was the way of the south, yet even so, Sugawara wished he could avoid that class as much as possible.

Professor Keiji had even brought them to his own personal classroom, which was filled to the brim with all sorts of potions and ingredients, some that Sugawara had never even heard of in his life! The kind professor had even showcased some of his brews, even going so far as to show his most recent endeavor, a healing elixir that would help restore one’s conditions in record speed. It was indeed a remarkable feat.

The amount of wisdom and knowledge he had learned just by touring around the Academy was already more than what Sugawara could ever wish for. What more when he actually got the opportunity to try and experience it for himself? This was going to be the most prominent part of his journey thus far, and he swears to himself that he would never let this chance slip away from his fingertips.

“And here is our last stop for the day,” Professor Keiji says as he leads the group to another area, and this time Sugawara is confused as to what this location was for. They had already seen the spaces meant for combat and flying. What else could they possibly need?

All of a sudden, seemingly out of nowhere, a screech rings through the air, and from the sky, a humongous eagle flies down, almost as if it was aiming for the group. Terrified, Sugawara ducks, not knowing what else to do, but nothing sinister comes his way, and he looks back up only to see that the eagle had flown over their head and had landed on a tall rock, looking at them with curious eyes.

Shocked, Sugawara can only stare at the eagle in confusion, yet at the same time, he marvels at how majestic it appeared to be. In the midst of his admiration, he almost doesn’t hear the sound of giggles ringing through the air, but it makes its way to his ears, and Sugawara turns to the source of the sound, the giggles ringing quite familiar.

A girl suddenly steps out from behind the rock, making her way towards the group, a sly grin on her face. From the corner of his eye, Sugawara can see the annoyed expression on Professor Keiji’s face, but that was the least of Sugawara’s concerns at the moment.

Because right now, standing directly in front of him, was the girl he had been thinking about for the longest time. The girl he spent a pleasant afternoon in the forest with, the girl who could play the sound of the heavens.

How could this be?

“Hello everyone, I hope Taku here didn’t startle you too much. He loves putting on a show.”

Sugawara continues to stare, not believing what he was seeing in the slightest. But as more time passed, and the more the girl’s appearance didn’t change, the more he was trying to convince himself that it was true. Fate had worked its magic and brought the two souls together. There was no other explanation.

“Professor (Y/N), how many times have I told you to keep the animals in check?” Professor Keiji sighs, rubbing his temple in annoyance as if he had gone through this plenty of times before.

“Hmm, maybe a hundred? Or was it a thousand?” The girl— no, (Y/N) quips back, wiggling her eyebrows teasingly. “I’m not really sure, but honestly, I don’t really care!”

Before Professor Keiji could scold the girl, she turns to the group, a bright smile on her face. Sugawara almost swears from where he stood, captivated by the way the sunlight highlighted the girl’s face.

“Greetings delegates, and welcome once more to the Magical Academy! My name is Professor (Y/N), and I teach courses on Divinity and Magical Creatures! A pleasure to meet you!”

“—Why are you here?” Before he even realized it, Sugawara had blurted out his thoughts, causing everyone around him to look at him curiously. He looks down, flustered. Why did he blurt that out? What was he thinking? He could do better than this. He was a prince, after all!

The girl’s smile drops, and she looks at him with a confused gaze. After pondering for a moment, she takes him in and surveys him up and down before finally addressing him.

“I’m sorry but do I know you?”

➢ taglist: @mirakeul

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #hq x reader #sugawara x reader #sugawara koushi x reader #koushi x reader #sugawara koshi x reader #sugawara x you #sugawara koushi x you #koushi x you

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sodone-withlife · 3 years

Text

one sentence

i saw sumayyah‘s answer to an anon’s ask (so all credit for this idea goes to them) about that scene in Omnivore where Rossi is offering Hotch his gun and this thing pretty much wrote itself (which is exceedingly rare lmao), so here is something that i thought would be just a few hundred words but ended up being a really long interpretation of the Foyet arc with hurt/minimal comfort with a good amount of pre-Mortch (or you can see them as platonic, i think it’s up for interpretation).

also, just a quick heads up, i love Papa Rossi, but for the purposes of this fic, it might seem a little bash-y towards him

warnings: quite a bit of suicidal ideation, (almost) attempted suicide, implied/referenced suicide, canon-typical violence, canonical character death

word count: 7.9k words

The highlighted words stared back at Hotch as Shaunessy’s words echoed in his mind.

A deal with the devil.

“Yes, that’s exactly right,” he told Garcia.

“Because I found it, do I get to know what it’s about?” the analyst asked, unrepentantly curious. Hotch sent her a look.

Might as well. Shaunessy’s not going to last much longer, and we’ll be called in… “The Reaper,” he said simply.

“Like—the Boston Reaper?” Garcia lowered her voice as she named the notorious killer. Hotch nodded. “I didn’t even know the BAU worked on that case,” she remarked.

“1998,” Hotch informed her, remembering caffeine-fueled sleepless nights and the palpable fear on the streets. “It was my first case for the BAU as lead profiler.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but we don’t have a profile for the Reaper in the system, do we?”

Not in the system, no. “That’ll be all Penelope, you can go home now,” Hotch told Garcia, turning to the bottom drawer of the shelf behind his desk as the analyst nodded and left. Pulling out a worn folder bursting with papers and photos, he placed the newspaper clipping and the evidence bag protecting the contract into it. He left it to the side and refocused on the folder in front of him filled with sheets of old handwritten notes filled with annotations and crossed-out sections.

There will be no sleeping tonight.

Early September, 1998

“You’re sending me?” Hotch was sitting ramrod straight in surprise, blindsided by Gideon’s sudden decision.

“Yeah,” Gideon answered simply, leaning back in his chair as much as he could in the cramped space and looking supremely unperturbed. “Do you not want to go?”

Hotch shook herself out of his shocked state, scrambling to gather his wits. “No—I mean, I’ll go, but—”

“But?”

Hotch carefully evaluated his words. “I’ve only been here a few months, and you’re sending me to Boston—alone—to help with the Reaper case? The case that has been going on for three years, longer than I’ve even been an agent, involving a killer that could probably put the Zodiac to shame?”

The older agent shrugged. “I have to stay and hold down the fort since we are severely understaffed, but I’ll always be a phone call away, and you’re mainly there just to act as eyes for the both of us. You’re not working on this alone.”

Hotch stiffened as a sudden—but careful—warm touch on his hand pulled him out of the spiral of self-doubt he had been teetering over and grounded him. He brought his eyes back to Gideon and was surprised to see complete openness and no signs of deception or maliciousness that he had been forced to learn long ago at the hands of his father.

“I’m not Dave,” Gideon began seriously, “I wasn’t the one who pulled you over here or the one you started out shadowing under, but I do talk to people. I know about your record in prosecution, in Seattle, and in SWAT, and it is very telling. You never doubted yourself before, and I have no doubt that you can handle yourself, so why are you starting now?”

He leaned back, clearly done with the impromptu pep talk that Hotch, still frozen, figured happened once in a blue moon based on what Rossi had told him about the unit before he retired. The cramped room was silent as Hotch felt Gideon watching him struggling with internal strife. Slowly, he released some of the tension that was coiled within him, and Gideon turned back to his stack of consults with an air of satisfaction.

“Start packing, Agent Hotchner. Boston awaits your presence.”

Late November, 1998

“Do you know what the hell is going on?” Hotch immediately asked when the call went through, pacing around his hotel room.

“And a good evening to you too.”

“Gideon.”

“What is it, Hotch?” his tone changed from dry to worried in a heartbeat, hearing the uncharacteristic urgency in his agent’s voice and the lack of nervousness that usually showed his agent’s discomfort towards using the less-formal form of address.

“Shaunessy, the lead detective,” Hotch spat out, throwing the case file that was in his hand on the bed. “He closed the case.”

“And that warrants a phone call at eleven PM, why?”

Hotch bit back a sharp retort, letting out a sharp breath. “You know I’ve been re-interviewing the victims’ friends and family, going through everything they had and lines of investigation that may have been dropped, working the profile along the way, but there have been no viable suspects, even with the accelerated killings,” he said quickly, a mess of emotions swirling inside him. “Gideon, no arrests have been made but he closed the case, just like that.”

“Remind me, when was the last victim?”

“Just over six weeks ago, a month after I got here. I know what you’re thinking,” Hotch said when Gideon didn’t respond, “that the case just went cold, but there were still things I had people following up on. It’s not cold,” he insisted.

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about it, Hotch. I know you don’t like it, but the locals have point on this.”

Hotch sighed, but it did nothing to calm him down. “I know,” he said, annoyed. “I’m catching an early train back to DC, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

January 2003

“The Reaper?”

Hotch slammed the folder shut and looked up from his desk, startled. He sent Gideon a glare, glad that no one else was there to see his composure slip, but he only looked vaguely concerned.

“It’s been just over four years,” Gideon commented neutrally. “You’ve had that folder at the bottom of your third drawer, and you’ve pulled it out at least forty different times since ‘98.”

Hotch stared up at him in a challenge. “Is there something wrong with that?”

Gideon shook his head. “Just be careful. Don’t get too drawn into the chase.”

~~~

Sighing as he rubbed the familiar ache on the back of his neck that always appeared during paperwork days and especially stressful cases, Hotch closed his battered folder of notes and opened it back up again. It was almost compulsive at this point, repeating every twenty minutes and each time with the hope something new would catch his attention.

Hotch shifted, the bedsheets suddenly feeling unbearably scratchy and coarse even through his slacks. The case details buzzed around his head incessantly, distracting him from feeling the physical exhaustion and strain caused by the lack of proper sustenance and the stress of a day filled with dead ends.

The sudden ringing shattered the silence of the room, knocking him from his focus. He got up from the bed and warily walked over to the source, picking up the hotel phone and bringing it up to his ear.

“Hotchner,” he said out of habit, only to freeze as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up in reaction to the sudden, heavy breathing. “Who is this?” he demanded, throwing the folder he was still holding back on the bed with dread rising within him.

“If you stop hunting me, I’ll stop hunting them.” His question about the caller’s identity went unanswered, though the cursed words of the contract spoken by the same distorted voice that was heard on the 911 calls from ten years ago was confirmation enough.

Anger flared inside him at the audacity, and he snapped back, “You think I’d take that?”

“It’s a good deal,” the Reaper replied flatly.

“I’ve misjudged you,” he said, some distant part of him wondering how Shaunessy felt when he himself got the offer ten years ago. “I thought you were smarter than this,” he was unable to help the derisive tone.

The silence was long enough for him to wonder how much he had caught him unawares with his response.

“You should take it.”

“And you’ve misjudged me.”

“This is your last chance,” he warned.

Hotch didn’t hesitate. “I don’t make deals. I’m the woman who hunts guys like you.” That got the reaction he was hoping for.

“There are no guys like me,” the killer growled, anger bleeding into his tone.

He scoffed. “You all think that.”

“You’ll regret this,” he warned.

It was said with such certainty that a chill shot down his spine, but it was overshadowed by his anger. “I’ll see you soon,” he promised, promptly hanging up without another word. He walked back around the bed, feeling a sudden need to put as much distance between him and the phone as possible. It was with some hysterical hilarity that he wondered if the next people to stay in this room would know about what had just happened—that a serial killer tried to threaten an FBI agent into surrendering in this room.

Those feelings faded away when a terrible feeling suddenly came over Hotch as he realized the Reaper knew which hotel—which room—he was staying in.

It wasn’t unusual during their cases for an unsub to contact another person in the midst of their crimes, but the memories of Elle in the hospital bed and Morgan in the interrogation room had been seared into his brain.

Both times, unsubs directly went after members of the team.

Unable to remain in the room any longer, he went around unceremoniously throwing his things inside his bags before leaving the hotel room. Paranoia quickly crept back into his consciousness as he quickly made his way down to the parking garage with a hand near his gun, intent on heading straight to the field office.

Only half an hour later, Hotch was staring at the glinting gold ring on the bus driver’s hand, feeling oddly detached from the situation as he was confronted with the consequences of that cursed phone call.

“6 bodies, not including the driver,” Rossi said from the back of the bus. “He put them down with a gun—or, more likely, guns—and finished them off with his knife.”

The call had come straight to the field office, just minutes after Hotch walked into the empty conference room that the team had taken command of. A beat cop had heard a series of gunshots and went to investigate, only to see the macabre painting of blood on the side of the bus with its occupants slumped over inside, unmoving. “Arthur Lanessa’s wedding ring,” Hotch heard himself say for the other agent’s benefit.

“What’d he take?” Rossi made his way down to him in the front.

He snapped back into the present with a sudden surge of anger. “Does it matter?” he asked bitingly, turning and storming away from the crime scene for the relative privacy of a nearby alley.

“Hey,” Rossi called in worry, taken aback by the brash response. “What’s going on with you?”

Hotch stopped some way into the alley and took a deep breath, taking his time before turning to Rossi, who had followed closely behind. “He called me tonight at my hotel room and offered me the deal.”

“What did you say?”

“I hung up on him,” his eyes burned with the sting of tears—whether out of anger at the Reaper or himself, he wasn’t sure. “And then he does this.”

“So you think this is your fault?”

How could it be anything but? He looked away, trying to hide just how shaken he was. “It is.”

The familiar sound of the safety of a gun being released pulled his attention back to the man in front of him. “Well, here, use mine,” Rossi said, holding out his gun to him. “You convinced me. No, no, you hung up on him,” he pushed as he waved him off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You practically killed them yourself—”

You practically killed them yourself.

Killed them yourself.

Killed them.

Yourself.

You.

You did this.

You should have made the deal

Hotch flinched away from the touch of cold metal against his head only to freeze in his place, ice settling in his bones as he processed what was happening. Barely seeing the horror on Rossi’s face, he stared at the other man’s empty hand before he focused in on the gun that was resting against his own head, tilted at an angle. There were five things he knew:

I have a finger on the trigger.

My hand is trembling.

I am still one of the best shots of the agents that are not in a tactical team.

Make one move, fire the gun, only the hearing in my right ear will be gone and the darkness continues to creep towards me.

Make a different move, fire the gun, I’ll leave Jack the legacy of a coward and Haley the knowledge that her efforts back in high school and college were for naught.

You did this, a malicious voice in his head said, sounding oddly like his father. And suddenly, he recalled the memory of the blood droplets hitting him and the ringing in his ears the first time he witnessed a gun go off when he was nine.

Slowly, deliberately, Hotch met Rossi’s horrified and guilt-filled expression and lowered the gun from his head. Carefully measuring his steps, he moved forward and pressed the gun into the older agent’s hand, which dropped down to the side, the weight of the gun now accompanied by something unseen, something much heavier.

Not sparing him another glance, Hotch turned and walked back out of the alley.

This isn’t the time nor place to break.

But in the end, he didn’t have a choice.

“Foyet escaped.”

Hotch’s blood ran cold as he processed JJ’s words before he roughly placed his mug onto the desk and stood up from his chair, following JJ outside to the bullpen that was full of noise and movement.

“Guards found him in his cell vomiting blood and convulsing, they rushed him to the prison hospital,” JJ explained quickly as they made their way down the catwalk. Hotch twitched as he heard Rossi’s office door open behind him, the man coming out to see what the commotion was about.

“Get me the US Marshal’s Office,” Hotch ordered, making the executive decision to ignore the older agent in favor of getting down to business.

“I already called Don Reilly. I offered our assistance, he said they’d call us if they needed it.”

Prentiss rushed to the trio, holding a phone up to her ear. “The Boston field office just identified documents from Foyet’s house,” she reported.

Reid approached the agents gathered in the middle of the room, holding out a printout of what looked to be a set of blueprints. “They’re schematics for the electrical, heating, and water ducts of the East Woburn Correctional Facility.”

Hotch looked at him blankly. “He had the schematics.”

“And not just for Woburn—for every jail, prison, and courthouse in Massachusetts.”

“And ten years to plan,” Rossi added, a heavy silence following as everyone turned to the TV.

Finally, Garcia turned around. “They’re going to find him, right?” she asked worriedly.

Eyes still trained on Foyet's mugshot on the TV, Hotch was completely certain in his answer. “No, they’re not,” he said, just as the memory of Foyet’s words rose to the forefront of his mind, unbidden.

If you know me so well, how come so many had to die to bring you here?

I’m going to be more famous than you realize.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, trying to get a hold of the wave of nausea that suddenly overcame him. He brushed past the team, purposely heading out of the bullpen for one of the bathrooms that was further away for the sake of keeping the team and their concern off his back.

Within minutes he was throwing up bile and the small amount of alcohol he had drank back in his office into the sink, thanking the god he never believed in that the bathroom was rather secluded so there wouldn’t be anyone catching him in this moment of weakness. His eyes burned for the second time in less than twenty-four hours—only this time, a few traitorous tears managed to escape from underneath his eyelids.

The taste of bile was strong as he turned on the tap and splashed his face with cold water, stiffening when he heard the door swing open and closed. Looking up to the mirror, he was both relieved and unsurprised to see Morgan locking the door behind him.

“You’ve been avoiding Rossi,” Morgan commented quietly. Hotch huffed a sardonic laugh, straightening up and turning around to face him, leaning against the sink for support. It was a familiar situation, one first started years ago when it was just them and Gideon, and stopped after the team started growing. Then New York happened and Hotch had to de-stress in a gas station they stopped at on the drive back to Quantico, and their secret rendezvous started happening again, when cases hit too close to home for either of them.

Somehow he always knows what the root problem is. “Was I that obvious?”

Morgan shook his head. “You know you hide it well. I’ve just known you far longer than any of the others, besides Rossi, of course.” He didn’t go on, waiting on the other to decide the direction the conversation would go.

Deciding to go for complete honesty, Hotch swallowed, tilting his head up and avoiding Morgan’s eyes. “He called me at my hotel room and offered me the deal.”

To his credit, Morgan only stepped closer, face creased in concern and a hint of knowing. “I said no, and he shot up a bus,” Hotch continued tonelessly. “I lost it in an alley near the crime scene. Dave had pulled out his gun and was trying to make a point about self-flagellation, but—” he cut himself off and shook his head frustratedly.

“I don’t know what happened. One moment I was just angry, and the next moment I was aiming a gun at my head,” he met Morgan’s eyes desperately, stern facade completely gone. “I don’t know what I wanted to do—I don’t,” his voice cracked as he sagged against the sink and his trembling became more pronounced. He quickly covered his mouth as a sob tried to escape his throat, prompting Morgan to move.

It was surprising to both him and Morgan how willingly he melted into Morgan’s body when the man reached out to stabilize him, but the sensation of the embrace was oddly calming for both of them. Neither spoke as they stood in the bathroom, not even as Morgan felt his shirt getting wet from the tears that Hotch finally let fall, and not even as the crying became more audible.

Now, they would stay in the bathroom and soak up the comfort that they offered each other. They would talk about Foyet’s taunts and what Hotch confessed later.

But later never came, because life never waits, and neither do unsubs.

Soon, they were racing against the clock as Reid got infected with an engineered strain of anthrax

Soon, they were investigating one of the worst, stomach-turning crimes they had seen.

When they got back from the pig farm, Hotch only asked the team for a bare-bones report of the investigation and let them leave to the comfort of their homes while he stayed behind and dealt with the rest of the paperwork and red tape that was involved because of their foray into Canadian jurisdiction.

It was past midnight when Hotch finally left the office and entered his apartment with the intent of pulling out a glass of scotch and staying on his couch with a book, knowing there was no way he was going to fall asleep that night.

But Foyet was waiting, and Hotch was weakened by the exhaustion and stress of two all-nighters in a row.

That night, as his team was sleeping in their beds, dead to the world while he was slowly bleeding out and floating in and out of consciousness in his own apartment, he could only take comfort in the fact that his death sealed Foyet’s fate. There was no way Morgan the team—hell, even Strauss, or anyone in the bureau—would stop hunting his killer to exact their revenge.

He faded into unconsciousness with the expectation that that was it.

He slowly regained consciousness to the sharp smell of antiseptic and the unpleasantly familiar beeping of a heart monitor. Fatigue settling heavily over his whole body was the next sensation that registered in his foggy mind, and then the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Where am I?” he forced out through a dry throat, eyes still closed.

“In the hospital,” Rossi, his mind told him. He opened his eyes only to close them again when he was met with blindingly bright lights, letting out a pained breath.

“How did I get here?”

“Foyet drove you.”

Morgan. He drew in a shaky breath as dull, pulsing pain finally made itself known through the painkillers.

“Can you remember what happened?”

That’s Prentiss.

He vaguely felt his head loll to the side before the memories rushed back into the forefront of his mind. Foyet’s words, the same exact words he remembered thinking back in that alley echoed unpleasantly,

You should have made the deal.

Hotch swallowed again and forced his eyes open through the heavy fatigue. “What did he take?” he asked quietly, unwilling to delve deep into what he remembered and deciding to mentally run through the details about the Reaper case instead.

“What do you mean?” Rossi asked, uncomprehending.

“The Reaper always takes something from his victims.” you’re one of his victims now—shut up and think about that later “Do we know what he took?”

“There was a page missing from your day planner,” his eyes flew open and he looked over at Prentiss as she continued talking, “in the address section, the Bs.”

No— “What did he leave?” Hotch asked, eyes slipping shut as a trickle of fear went down his spine and his brain screamed out in denial.

“I don't know,” Prentiss said, floundering.

“He also leaves something with his victims,” he trailed off in a breathless whisper, unable to sustain the volume he had been speaking at as the throbbing grew stronger.

“I looked over your whole apartment,” Prentiss told him helplessly. “Nothing felt out of place.”

A thought came to him. “Where are my clothes?” Hotch asked, slowly trying to force his eyes open again. He turned his head, watching Prentiss bring a plastic bag over to the hospital bed. Careful to avoid looking directly at his bloodied clothes, Hotch managed to pull the bulging manila envelope closer to him on his chest.

His hands froze as his credentials slipped out and he noticed a folded paper tucked inside. Slowly, shakily, Hotch pulled them out of the envelope and carefully flipped it open.

He sank deeper into the bed as the breath he had been holding was almost punched out of him by the sheer terror that pulsed through him, the treasured picture of Haley and Jack staring back at him tauntingly. That’s my blood, he thought blankly, staring at the red streak he knew was deliberately painted over his family’s smiling faces.

“Haley’s maiden name is Brooks,” he finally said, almost numb to the implications. “I always listed her in the Bs in my personal information in case it fell into the wrong hands.”

Some kind of precaution it turned out to be.

“He knows where they live.”

And that was that. As Hotch was stuck in flashbacks and lied to Prentiss about what happened, Morgan led the SWAT team in sweeping Hotch’s old house and picked Jack up from his playdate. As Hotch talked with Haley and failed to not think about that night in the alley with the cold metal against his head, Morgan played with Jack outside and failed to not think about Foyet using his credentials so he could continue to torture his friend boss. As Hotch remained confined to the hospital bed, Morgan watched through an upper-story window as Haley and Jack were driven off into the distance to a location unknown to anyone but a select few in the Marshals service.

Nine stab wounds, thirty minutes down time, and six days in the cursed hospital.

The numbers circled through Hotch’s mind when he stepped back into his apartment and had to work through the panic that rose within as he stared towards the place where he knew Foyet had been hiding.

In the end, what brought him back from the edge was when his eyes caught the new security panel that had been installed over where he knew the bullet had made a hole and the sticky note with what he recognized as Morgan’s handwriting that was stuck over it, concisely written instructions on how to use it. If he looked around carefully enough for other signs of Morgan’s presence, he could see where the section of bloodstained carpet had been replaced, and that was only because there was the tiniest spot that had been missed.

The tiniest reminder was enough to send Hotch into a panic, but he knew there was no way he could tell Morgan about it.

Is this what you felt like, Elle? Unsafe in your own home, having to sweep each room for fear of another one of the monsters we hunt lurking in the shadows?

Slowly, numbly, Hotch worked his way through medical leave and physiotherapy, during which everyone in his team came over at least twice, Prentiss and Morgan the most often to help change his bandages. He knew they worried, but he couldn’t summon the will to care nor the words to thank them for keeping him company and preventing the darkness in his mind from taking over.

And maybe it was a good thing, because there were things they didn’t know, things that he lied to them about. He lied and he lied, and he knew that if he had the words, they would all come tumbling out, and what little of himself that he had left would be exposed for all to see.

Even if Morgan had tried to take everything he might be able to use, there was still his mind, and so if he had the words, they would all know how many times he envisioned holding cold metal against his head just as he had back in that alley.

On the thirty-fifth day after he was discharged from the hospital, when they were discussing Darren Call on the plane, they came close to finding out.

So why hasn’t he killed himself yet? Sprees usually end in suicide. If he's got nothing to live for, why hasn't he ended it?

It was much later, after a day of being on the receiving end of careful, worried glances, and overhearing Morgan’s firm declaration from inside his office that he realized his slip.

“I’m not going to stand by and watch this man kill himself,” Hotch had heard Morgan snap towards Rossi. Moments later, Morgan passed in front of his office window and made eye contact with him, making it clear that his choice of words was deliberate.

Suddenly Hotch was back in the alleyway with the gun pressed to his head and managed to talk himself off the ledge he didn’t know he was standing on while Rossi stood there, frozen and horrified that his brazen attempt at making a point had backfired so disastrously. His own words on the plane came back to him, then thought about what others would have seen when he walked into that house unarmed, and he understood.

He hadn’t been thinking at all when he went in to try and talk Darren Call down, but though he didn’t have a background in psychology, there were some things that didn’t need expert opinion to be said, and so he knew exactly his action could be classified as.

Don’t lie to yourself, you know exactly what that was.

Hotch swallowed convulsively and broke eye contact with Morgan, turning back to stare at paperwork until the other man walked back to his desk in the empty bullpen. As much as he tried, he couldn’t forget Morgan’s impassioned exclamation nor the depth of the worry that was present in his eyes when they made eye contact through the window.

Maybe that was the day when things shifted. It wasn’t a complete change—the team still hovered around Hotch in uncertain worry, his thoughts never completely disappeared, and he nearly broke down in the bathroom the day Jack turned four in witness protection after seeing what footage of his child on a playground Garcia could enhance.

There was, however, a different air to his and Morgan’s interactions after that case. Perhaps it was a long time coming, stemming from the painful understanding that was formed that day in the secluded bathroom when they found comfort in each other.

It wasn’t news that the higher-ups were watching him again, but then he walked back to his office after helping JJ triage consult requests to see Strauss fixing him with a stern stare. The next few days he spent trying to work through the frustration of recording and justifying every decision while trying and failing not to antagonize Morgan. And so while he waited for Morgan to come into his office, he could only hope that he hadn’t managed to destroy the strange friendship that had been built between them based on their shared knowledge of just how close he was to the ledge sometimes.

I should give him more credit, I don’t know how he puts up with me sometimes, and he has more than enough reason to report me to Strauss.

“Come on, Hotch, nobody's gonna replace you,” Morgan said, incredulous at the notion of Hotch getting replaced. “Fight Strauss. I'll go to the mat for you, so will everybody else. You know that.”

“Morgan, it won't work,” Hotch spoke over him, trying to get him to understand. “Decisions like this have their own momentum. Unless I step down—”

“Step down? What are you talking about?”

A foreign feeling Hotch recognized with some surprise as amusement wriggled its way into his consciousness as he anticipated Morgan’s reaction to his coming announcement, “I'm resigning as unit chief at the end of the week”

“What? No!” Hotch couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching as his feeling of amusement grew slightly stronger at the visceral reaction. “Hotch, look, yeah, ok, sometimes your actions, I may disagree with them, but it's not enough for you to leave this team.”

“I'm not leaving the team, I'm just no longer in charge,” Hotch corrected, continuing before Morgan could get in a word. “You are.”

He watched as Morgan’s jaw dropped in shock, before finally asking, “Me?” Detecting no deception from Hotch who had nodded, he continued. “Look, I had the chance to be unit chief in New York, and I said no. I turned it down because I like this team. Strauss can't just fire you like this.”

“She can reassign me, and we can avoid that if I promote internally.”

Unable to come up with a counterargument, Morgan was silent for a moment. “This is wrong,” he finally said.

A strange thrill went through Hotch at the confidence Morgan had in him—their relationship, while slightly different now, ultimately had been built on unstated respect and the ease with which both were able to call each other out on their bullshit; it wasn’t built on such blatant declarations of trust and confidence. Hotch opened his hands, shrugging helplessly. “It's the only way to keep the team together.”

Morgan nodded consideringly before carefully eyeing Hotch. “So all of this,” he gestured between them, bringing up the tension that had built up between them in the last case, “this is why you've been pushing me so hard, huh?”

“I haven't been pushing you that hard,” Hotch denied, only to get a disbelieving look from the other man. He let out a faint smile before regarding the other with a serious look again. “Morgan, I need to know right now. Will you do this?”

He couldn’t articulate the relief he felt when Morgan finally agreed and continued to feel for the rest of the night as he introduced Morgan to the other parts of the job. Just like every other positive emotion he had felt over the past few years, however, it was short-lived, as Hotch had freed up time to dedicate to the hunt, even as he often stayed later to help Morgan get adjusted. Within months, they were called into a family annihilator case and Hotch was confronting Karl Arnold, one of the few unsubs that had continued to haunt him even after the case was closed and they were killed or incarcerated.

Of course, Arnold had to get in the last word, and oh, did he get it in.

The cursed eye of providence, now drawn over a newspaper article about the attack months ago, never failed to create a surge of anger and fear within him, but never had it created such a storm of emotions before now. One torturous night of waiting as the envelope the taunts were sent in went through the lab, and the whole team was in the throes of the hunt, and in the process, fell victim to tunnel vision.

What if they had slowed down and remembered that Foyet worked with computers? Would they have managed to catch him at the apartment unawares? Would they have been better prepared for what Foyet had planned to do?

But there wasn’t anything Hotch could do except try and talk Foyet out of going through with his plans while trying to maintain as level of a head as possible.

“Your mother tried to protect you from your father, but she wasn’t strong enough, and you hated her for that, didn’t you? So, you decided that all women were weak,” Hotch suddenly brought up, hoping to catch him off guard as he vaguely wondered if the team was on the line, listening.

“Those are your words, not mine,” came the grating, annoyingly blasé reply.

“What were you, nine when you killed them?

“It was a car accident. And, now that I think about it, our childhoods are eerily similar, don’t you think?”

Caught unawares, Hotch jerked the steering wheel, barely managing to avoid crashing the car as Foyet continued. “But it was only your father who died, whereas your mother remarried.”

How—? He turned cold at the show of Foyet’s obsession, which was clearly much deeper than he or anyone in the team could have predicted.

“No response?” the killer taunted.

“My father swallowed a bullet because he couldn’t live with his self loathing or the cancer,” Hotch finally snapped, quickly directing the subject back towards Foyet. Even with the pit in his stomach growing as it became clearer that he was being toyed with, he couldn’t help but use every negotiation tactic he knew and taught at the Academy, desperately but futilely trying to dissuade the killer.

“Haven't you gotten what you wanted?” Hotch tried, somehow having regained his composure after the unpleasant bombshell. “You've set yourself apart from anybody we've ever dealt with. You're not just a famous serial killer, you're the Reaper. We're going to study you and your methods for years and years.”

“You know what I've been thinking?” Foyet finally asked after a few moments of silence, his next words sending his heart pounding in fear. “Haley looks really good with dark hair. She’s lost some weight. Must be all the stress you caused her. Where's the little man?” No, don’t you dare— “Oh. There he is. Does he like Captain America because of you?”

Hotch gripped his phone tightly as he heard the ringing of another phone. “That's your wife. Hold, please—Mrs. Hotchner,” Foyet took on an accent, tone turning jovial. “Open the gate and I'll drive in.”

Open the gate? That son of a—of course.

“Aaron?” the malicious glee was back, cutting right to Hotch’s core. “I really gotta go.”

Almost frozen with fear, he pushed the car faster, heading straight towards the old house and praying to whatever deity he could think of that he could get there in time. He wasn’t sure how long had passed when he got Morgan’s call, which was confirmation that the team had indeed been listening. He didn’t dwell on it and only continued to push the car, disregarding speed limits and almost hysterically glad that it was the middle of the day and the streets were relatively empty.

When his phone rang, it was with numb, mechanical movements that he answered, fully prepared to beg and bargain for his family’s life if he had to, only to sharply inhale at Haley’s dearly missed voice, which turned shaky with fear when she realized the danger she was in. As Foyet undercut their exchange with his maliciously satisfied taunts, telling Haley all that he could never bring himself to confess about the case, Hotch could only think about how he was just too far away, Haley, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for lying to you about everything, I’ll never forgive myself—

But then Jack was on the phone, and the pure innocence and eagerness with which his son greeted him after months of no contact was enough to send a fresh wave of tears coursing down his face.

“Is George a bad guy?”

“Yes, he is,” Hotch answered, wanting to scream at him to just run away, get as far away from him as you can when an old memory was suddenly brought forth from his subconscious. “Jack, I need you on this case with me. Do you understand?” he tried to keep his voice steady, hoping with his whole being that his son would remember. “I need you to work the case with me.”

“Ok, Daddy.”

“Jack, hug your mom for me,” he requested, voice cracking and desperately trying to contain the sobs that were steadily building. He could only imagine the warmth his son was feeling from his mother now, potentially the last memory he would ever have of her. Hearing his son’s too-inquisitive question about his mother’s mood left him viciously biting down on his bottom lip, trying to maintain some modicum of control over himself.

“Is he gone?” Hotch finally asked, nausea joining the storm of emotions within him at the nickname Foyet had given his son.

“Yes,” Haley confirmed, letting her fear shine through now that Jack wasn’t there to see it.

Each shaking breath was a stab straight to his core.“You’re so strong, Haley, you’re stronger than I ever was.”

Her response nearly sent him shattering into the pieces she had so carefully helped him put back together back in high school after his stepfather died.

“You’ll hurry, right?”

I can’t lie, I’m so sorry, Haley. I can’t lie to you. Not after everything I’ve already done, “I know you didn’t sign on for this.”

“Neither did you.”

Why does it have to be now that we finally talk about what caused the divorce?

“I’m sorry for everything.”

There was a short pause as Haley inhaled sharply, before leveling out into shaky breaths. “Promise me that you will tell him how we met and how you used to make me laugh.”

No, please— “Haley,” Hotch trailed off, unable to continue and almost paralyzed at the knowledge that these might be her last words because he’s too far away, I’m not going to—

“He needs to know that you weren't always so serious, Aaron. He needs to believe in love, because it is the most important thing, but you need to show him. Promise me,” she ordered him forcefully.

“I promise.”

The sound of three gunshots tore straight into his soul.

And then he was finding Haley’s body, trying not to let the seams break when renewed rage roared to life within him at the extinguishing of the light that had been inside her and lit up every room she walked in. Minutes later, he was straddling the demon that had haunted him for over a decade, the demon that he finally caught up to but at a terrible cost and then he was punching—

I’m going to kill that bastard son of yours and I’m going to tell him it was all your fault—

and punching—

You practically killed them yourself—

and punching—

You should have made the deal—

someone yelled his name—

Promise me.

“—dead. He’s dead,” someone was shouting as Hotch tried to lunge forward away from the person pulling him back and towards the man who killed my wife HE KILLED HALEY—

But all the fight that had been inside him suddenly disappeared, and he was left staggering backward, mouth open in a silent, rage-filled scream as someone—it’s Derek—kept a careful grip on his body, holding his shattered pieces together just long enough for him to gather his tattered seams close to his chest and fling himself away towards the stairs.

Hotch collapsed to his knees in front of the chest, seeing no indication of any taunting messages and daring to hope that his son was—

And the sight of his son, unharmed and blinking at the sudden change in brightness, nearly sent him into a mess of relieved tears that were also tears of unadulterated grief because I got his mother killed—

He held himself together and lifted his son out of the chest, seeing all the features he got from Haley—her his hair, her his eyes, her his inquisitiveness—and struggling to maintain his weakening control as he told Jack to go to Ms. Jareau, who was waiting with open arms in the doorway to the room that had once been his office.

Hearing their footsteps fade away and shaking with suppressed sobs, he slowly stood up, injuries that he sustained in the fight finally making themselves known as he made his way across the hall to the room he knew Haley was lying in—

He saw Morgan taking her pulse and for a moment he couldn’t help but hope that she was still—

But Morgan was pulling back and he was gently placing Haley’s right arm back on the ground and he wasn’t yelling for medics and—

“I’m so sorry, Aaron,” Morgan said softly as Hotch knelt down, his trembling becoming more palpable by the moment.

If he looked past the unseeing eyes and the blood that pooled everywhere and her lying on the floor and—

He could almost convince himself that she was sleeping. For a moment, he was almost afraid to touch her, afraid to disturb her in her sleep, but in the next moment—

He was pulling her cooling body close to his chest and burying his face into the crook of her neck, gut wrenching sobs escaping his lips as a wave of grief shattered the flimsy show of control he had put up for Jack’s sake, his son who just lost his mother because his father was addicted to the chase and I broke my promise, Haley, I’m so sorry—

She’s gone.

The solemn silence weighed heavily on the team as they waited for Hotch to finish testifying before Strauss and the brass. They had all expressed their outrage when they got the orders to come in for their statements, only two days after their leader nearly lost everything, but there was nothing they could do.

It had been painful to watch the man who had been a protector for so long, since childhood through his teenage years and into adulthood, try to maintain the post, disregarding his own health in favor of being the earliest in the office and last to leave, spending every free moment trying to get rid of the threat to his family. It was worse having to listen over the phone as his control started to slip while he tried so desperately to save his family from a madman.

With the sight of him savagely beating Foyet’s dead body into the ground, all vestiges of the infamous controlled facade gone, they all hoped for Hotch’s sake that Jack had found safety and were beyond relieved to see him in JJ’s arms. Reality caught up to them, however, when they watched as Morgan had to physically wrestle Hotch away from Haley’s body so she could be transported to the ME’s office.

When they got the full autopsy, they could only be glad that Hotch wasn’t there to find out all that Foyet did to his first love.

And within a year, Hotch’s family had been ruthlessly snatched from his desperate, flailing grip and torn into broken pieces before being shoved back at him, misshapen with pieces missing.

The faint sound of a door swinging closed had them all straightening up in their seats, turning to look into the bullpen where Hotch was walking up the stairs in front of his office, only to freeze right in front of the door with his hand just in front of the door knob.

They watched worriedly as he let his outstretched hand fall back to his side and slowly backed up from the door, almost as if he were in a trance and startled when Morgan suddenly jumped up and ran out of the room and through the bullpen towards the man.

Their confusion cleared up when they realized that Hotch wasn’t stopping as he backed up, somehow unaware that the stairs were right behind him and stumbled, only barely catching himself on the railing. For Jack’s sake, they forced themselves to stay seated but watched out of the corner of their eyes as he tried to stand back up, only for his knees to buckle underneath him.

Before he could hit the ground, Morgan quickly grabbed onto his arms, almost collapsing himself under his dead weight but managing to lower them both onto the ground, holding onto him in a way eerily reminiscent of what he had done when he pulled Hotch off of the barely-recognizable body of George Foyet.

Hotch was still staring at his office door as if he had seen a ghost, and it was with heartbreak that Morgan realized what it represented to him—it was the source of so much passion and temptation that had gotten the love of his life killed. Looking back at the conference room and seeing the eyes focused on the two men, Morgan carefully pulled Hotch up from the ground and slowly guided him out of the bullpen, knowing that the team had Jack taken care of.

They walked through the winding hallways and into the bathroom that he followed Hotch into the night it all started to go horribly wrong. This time, it was different and yet the exact same, and after Morgan locked the door behind them, he pulled Hotch towards him, mindful of his bruised ribs.

Surrounded by the four walls that heard so many of their small talks and witnessed their vulnerabilities, it wasn’t long before Hotch’s eyes began to burn as he finally melted into Morgan’s protective hold when the dam finally broke, letting out a wave of pain and anguish that was only made the slightest bit more bearable by the warmth of Morgan’s his friend’s care.

But even that couldn’t make that one sentence disappear.

You practically killed them yourself.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #hurting Hotch is so fun #aaron hotchner whump #hurt aaron hotchner #mortch #george foyet #haley hotchner #tw guns #tw suicidal ideation #tw suicide #tw character death #sodone one sentence

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notnctu · 4 years

Note

Hiii can you guys please write a drabble on Taeyong + 53 and 67?? it would be great if you guys could write it as a Taeyong badboy smut! btw, Congrats on reaching the milestone ❤️

im so happy that we’re able to celebrate together <3 thank you for reading and dropping us a request bb :) i hope you enjoy!! you can read it under the cut

-author doie ❀

badboy!taeyong + fem!reader prompt #53 & #67 - “You’re an addiction.” & “What are you doing here? It’s late.” genre - smut (fingering, slight corruption kink?)

here taeyong stands foolishly in front of your door with a fresh red gash across his upper cheekbone and a purple painful bruise on the corner of his lips. he rings your doorbell and the chime startles you.

it’s past midnight and if it weren’t for your studies, you would be snuggled in bed by now. looking through the peephole, taeyong paces back and forth with an alarming cut on his face.

without another second of hesitation, you open the door and he halts at your cozy appearance, his forgotten shirt he left a while back and the lack of bottoms. “what are you doing here? it’s late.” crossing your arms, you shift your weight on your left leg.

“y’know, i took a gamble to see if you’d still be awake. i know it’s well past my baby’s bedtime.” he enters without needing an invitation and before you can sigh again at his random nicknames, you’re reminded of the jarring cut on his porcelain skin.

“yet you showed up anyways, like it’s an emergency room.” you motion for him to grab the first aid kit that sits alone against the wall. it’s clearly not the first time he’s shown up rather rough.

he follows you into your room and spreads his arms to plant onto your bed. “don’t you know? you’re an addiction. i’ll never be able to get enough of you.” his boyish smile is a charm nonetheless, as you pat for him to sit up so you can tend to his injury.

you’re no nurse, but he runs to your care as if you are one. fight after fight, he seeks comfort in you as if you could heal any physical and emotional pain he always felt. you dab the alcoholic pad on the cut, and taeyong winces at the consequential stinging sensation.

“fuck, that really hurts.” he grumbles and takes a hold of your free hand.

“maybe stop getting into unnecessary brawls with people who have skin breaking fists.” he laughs at your serious, bold sarcasm. he likes you so much, but he would never be able to fully have you.

“you’re the one who fell for someone like me.” taeyong plays along with your light banter and you shoot him a dagger stare. and he melts under your strong gaze.

“i’m pretty sure you fell for me first. so maybe you should’ve fell for a bad bitch instead of a normal me.” you tape the bandage over the clean gash and he catches your wrist as it falls.

“first all, my baby.... you are a bad bitch.” you roll your eyes, not out of annoyance but complete bashfulness. this man knows no shame when it comes to complimenting you. “and that’s not how addiction works. i’m too hooked on you to want anyone else.” he lifts your chin to hold the smoldering eye contact.

“you know what i meant..” you mumble, but taeyong cuts you off with a hot kiss before you can continue. kissing him is always a thrilling experience, like danger at the tip of your tongue. the rings that line his fingers feel cold when they press against the base of your neck.

taeyong carefully places the kit on the ground as he turns your back to rest on the mattress. he runs a warm hand up your bare thighs, eyes drinking up your vulnerability. taeyong rolls off your cotton panties and uses his thumb to rub your clit.

your back arches from the bed out of shock. a low grunt escapes from the back of taeyong’s throat as he tosses his rings on your bedside table. then, he slowly inserts two fingers into your wetness. “had to make sure you’re ready for me.” his smile is dark, and you feel his fingertips rubbing at your plush flesh.

“give me what you came here for.” your words are confident, despite your withering body at his fingers. a few more ensuring pumps, his fingers glisten from your juices. he tastes you, licking them clean and groaning at your deliciousness.

“as you wish, princess.” his clothing end up somewhere with the first aid kit on the floor and he rolls the rubber on for safety measures. normally, he’d ease himself in with his tip and give you a slow agonizing stretch.

tonight, he rams into you so abruptly that there’s no time to adjust to his length. you scream as he pushes your legs into your chest to fuck you deeper. “you’re still so tight, even after all the nights we’ve fucked.”

he drags himself out, then pushes back in until your head hits the headboard. “are you trying to break me?” you whine at the intensity of his powerful thrusts.

“i’m trying to ruin you, my perfection.” a flash of lust catches your eye, as he presses your hips into the blankets. your hands hold his wrists to stabilizes yourself from the impact, you aren’t sure how many times your head can withstand the banging.

but he holds you with vein popping arms, one paper cut and he’s a goner. taeyong fucks you harder, upon your request, to build your worlds so high to only have it come crumbling down. he feels a small squeeze from you, and angles himself to pound you into a temporary blissful escape.

you breathe his name once before coming undone, gripping onto his dick sporadically and the leg shaking sensation runs throughout your lower half. and taeyong drinks up your euphoric reaction and soon, follows with his own ruinous crashing high.

you both catch your breath, and he leans down to pamper small pecks on your lips. he whispers softly, “like i said before, it’s way past your bedtime sweetheart.” his forehead rests against your own.

“stay tonight?” there is a small beg in your voice. and how could he ever say no to you?

#nct smut #nct scenarios #taeyong scenarios #taeyong smut #nct reactions #nct requests #nct asks #theres still alot more request coming!!#pls b patient with us !! we will get to everyone soon

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apollostears · 4 years

Text

don’t look, don’t touch | l. zhang

Request: A night out on your honeymoon turns into something more when others can’t stop touching what’s his.

Fandom: EXO

Pairing: Lay Zhang x black!reader

Warning(s): angst-ish, smut, light spanking, dirty talk, & swearing

Creator: maya

A/N: this took me forever to write and i am so sorry!! hope you love it!! xx

*gif not mine*

New marital bliss was a thing. Oh My God was it a thing! You had never seen Lay so at peace and happy then when you did after y’all had gotten married.

His energy matched yours and anyone from a mile away could tell that y’all were newlyweds. Well...almost everyone.

“You’re looking a little too sexy for dinner in a hotel restaurant.” Yixing’s voice was light as he emerged from the bathroom, his hands fastening his cufflinks.

You smirked at him through the floor-length mirror. “Is my handsome husband being a little possessive?” You teased, sending him a wink through your reflection as you applied some gloss to your lips.

Yixing wore a knowing smile on his face as he approached you. Coming up behind you, he caressed your curves through your silk dress and pressed himself up against you.

“Not all, my darling wife, i’m just feeling sorry for all the men that will never know what it’s like to have a Goddess at their side.” He spoke into your ear before pressing a kiss to the tip of it.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you couldn’t help but smile at his loving compliment. “You are such a romantic.”

“I can show you how much of a romantic I am. What do you say Mrs. Zhang?” Yixing was a devil and he knew that as he lightly nibbled on your neck.

You had to suppress your own desires as you wiggled your way out his arms. “Sorry baby, but it’s day four of our honeymoon and you’ve had me to yourself this whole time.”

Making your way across the room, you slipped your heels on and grabbed the shiny room key that matched the aesthetic of the building.

Peering over your shoulder, you saw your lover pouting. “The faster we eat, the faster you have me to yourself.” You bribed him with a light voice.

Yixing perked up a bit at that, grabbing the rest of his things and following you out the door.

That didn’t stop him from making a mess of your lips on the short trip down to the lobby. By the time the doors opened, his lips were glossy and yours weren’t.

“If I look a hot mess when we get off this elevator Yi, we fighting.” You warned, stepping off the elevator before him.

“Mhm, i’m sure.” He responded, placing a hand at the small of your back as the two of you walked towards the host.

The young male smiled at you two, ready to make a good impression. “Good evening, how may I be of service to you today?”

While Yixing handled the reservations, your eyes wandered to the decor of the resturant. Although a hotel resort was where you were staying, the place never lacked in its interior design. It felt like some high-end place off fifth avenue and you were so grateful that Yixing decided on something like this.

“Holy shit, [Y/N] [L/N], I can’t believe it’s you!” A voice you never thought you’d hear again, had startled you from your thoughts.

Shifting your gaze, you found the culprit. It was your ex, the one before Yixing, and he stood with a group of men in dress suits.

A soft smile found your lips and you gave a small wave. “Hey Ezekiel, long time no see.”

Your tone was light, having no ill-will to the person who ultimately led you to your soulmate. “I never thought I’d see you again! How have you been?” He questioned, giving you a side hug, but not removing his arm.

“Very good actually, just here with my husband. How about you?”

Casual as ever, you naturally removed yourself from his extended embrace and politely waited for him to answer. The shocked look on his face bringing you more satisfaction than normal.

“Husband? You got married?” Mouth agape and eyes wide in shock.

Before you could speak, Yixing had appeared next to you with a firm hand on your waist. “Honey, our table is ready. Who is this?”

Ezekiel was in even more shock to see the handsome man that had became your husband. With a smile, you introduced the two and could feel Yixing tighten his grip on you.

“Nice to meet you but we have to go.” You barely had time to squeeze out a farewell before Yixing pulled you to y’all’s table.

You pouted at his behavior and kept a confused look on your face as you got ready to speak to him.

“So...what was that about?” You asked, picking up your menu to hide your face from his eyes. You wanted to seem causal about the situation, the only emotion showing would be confusion.

“They have that wine that you like, want me to order you a glass?” Yixing asked, smoothly avoiding the question.

Peering your eyes over the menu, you gave him a glare but didn’t press the issue. “Sure.” Your tone was clipped, but that didn’t seem to phase your husband as he hummed in response.

Men. You thought to yourself before focusing all your attention to the list of items in front of you.

Deciding what you wanted, you put your menu down and studied the man in front of you. Your husband was a work of art, incredibly gorgeous with an aura around him that couldn’t be touched.

He was power and just the very thought of his strength had you squirming in your seat.

Noticing this, Yixing raised his eyes over the menu. “Something wrong?”

His concerning voice went straight to your core as you put on a tight smile. “Nothing honey. Do you know what you want? The waiter is coming.”

You had already caught him coming up behind your husband and he was a little on the cute side, but very young. You’d call him adorable, a puppy.

Nodding his head, Yixing closed his menu and put it on top of yours just as the man had arrived.

“Good evening, my name is Lei and it’ll be my pleasure to serve you.” The young man had introduced himself, all his attention on you.

But you were too caught up in the way his name was like your husband’s.

“Awe babe! His name is like yours!” You cooed, looking at your man excitedly.

Yixing hummed in response, his eyes focusing on the male who blatantly disrespected him in front of his wife. Not to mention the way he was trying to pry on you like you weren’t on a date.

The young man’s smile was beautiful, bashful that you were cooing over him. “What’s your name beautiful?” He asked, shifting so his body would cover Yixing.

Pulled from your ignorance, you noticed what he was doing. The kid was trying to lay game in front of your husband and shamelessly check you out.

Just as you had prepared yourself to speak, Yixing was up and by your side quickly.

“Her name is none of your damn business. I’ll be sure to leave a comment with the manager about your behavior kid.” He spoke sharply, before turning to look at you. “We’re leaving, lets go.”

You were stunned to say the least and your movements were robotic as you let Yixing guide you out of the restaurant.

Once y’all stepped foot on the elevator, you had finally processed everything. Your husband was seething, he was tense as he stood slightly in front of you. You were unsure on if you should speak, but decided it might be best to do so.

“Yi...what’s wrong hun?” Your voice was soft, nonthreatening so you wouldn’t set him off.

“When we get in this room, I want that dress off and you on your hands and knees on the bed.” Yixing’s voice was stern, reigniting the flame in your belly.

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, surprised at his dominating nature. He wasn’t always like this with you, but it never failed to take you by surprise.

Yixing didn’t appreciate your silence and he turned his head to the side and glared at you from his peripheral. “Am I clear?”

“Y-yes sir.” You stuttered out your answer and soon licked your lips after, feeling your mouth go dry from the thoughts of what he’d do to you.

The elevator bell dinged and the pristine doors slid open. Yixing stepped out first and you followed. Letting you in the room first, you hurried to the room and did as told. A chill ran down your spine as the cold air hit your bareback.

The electric blue panties you wore felt damp against your core as you waited in anticipation. Hearing the front door click and dress shoes hitting the marble floor, you craned your neck to see Yixing come in the room.

His tie was loosened and his top two buttons were undone. His hands worked to unfasten his cuff links and your eyes almost rolled back at the sight.

“Face forward.” He commanded, not even glancing your way.

You swallowed a desperate whine and did as he said. The expensive curtains were pulled back and you could see all the lights of Shanghai.

Pulled from your thoughts, a sharp smack to your ass cheeks had you jolting forward in surprise. “Ahh!” A cry of surprise escaped past your lips before you could stop it.

Another smack followed and your ass was caressed shortly after, blending the lines between pain and pleasure.

“I wanted to take my wife out on a date, but instead was met with men who couldn’t seem to tell who she belonged to. Now I have to mark what’s mine.”

You didn’t stop the small moan that escaped your lips as you clenched your pussy around nothing. Yixing was hardly like this, choosing to make love instead. Those guys must’ve really pissed him off.

“I’m ready daddy.” You assured, giving him the green light to do as he pleased.

Yixing hummed in content and you soon felt a dip in the bed behind you. Wet lips and cold fingers covered your ass, close to where you wanted him most.

“My good girl, always ready to please her daddy.” He cooed, his hand slipping between your legs to rub your mound. The other, pulling at your nipples.

Your back arched and you moaned, your hips rolling back for more friction. The sting of force that spread across your cheek made you moan even louder, having grown accustomed to the sharp feeling.

“Such a slut aren’t you? Wearing that dress, allowing men to look at what’s mine. This is what you wanted isn’t it?” Yixing roughly pulled at your nipple and slapped your pussy causing more moans to tumble from your lips.

Panties slid to the side, Yixing began to tease your wet hole, groaning at the slick that had already started to form.

“Fuck you get so wet.”

You slightly pushed your hips back, hoping to get his fingers to slide in. Noticing what you were trying to do, Yixing gave a dark chuckle and situated you so that the top half of your body was hanging off the edge of the bed and your lower half was draped across his lap.

The sound of fabric tearing sounded through the room and you were sad to see the electric blue panties tossed to the floor. “I’ll buy you more.” He muttered, silencing any issues you had with his abrasive behavior.

“I’m going to fuck you using my fingers; don’t move and don’t speak, understood?” Yixing spoke sternly in your ear, pulling at your hair a bit.

Your breaths were quick and short from his touch alone. You were sure you’d be feeling everything that he gave you tonight. “Yes sir.”

Yixing rubbed your clit a bit and you struggled to stay still, but when he suddenly plunged two fingers deep in your pussy, you really had to find some strength not to move. Clenching your fist around the Egyptian sheets, your hole clamped around Yixing’s fingers.

“Relax for me love, I got you.” He cooed, rubbing circles on your lower back to relax your muscles.

Letting out a deep breath, you focused on relaxing and tried hard not to make a sound as he pistoned his fingers through your pussy. Any other time, you’d feel self-conscious of the sounds coming from your hole, the slickness of your juices creating air pockets of noise, but you were so strung out you couldn’t care.

“So warm and tight—shit! I can’t fucking wait to replace my fingers with my cock.” Yixing’s mouth spewed vulgarities and you could only listen. His dirty talk made you grow wetter and you could feel the knot of pleasure forming.

Tears blurred your eyes as you reached a euphoric state, a third finger slipped through your barrier and violated you in the best way possible. A choked sob was held back in your throat with your teeth biting down on your tongue. Toes curled and back stiff as a rod, a wave of pleasure came crashing over your body as you shook with tremors and clamped around Yixing’s fingers.

“That’s it princess, good girl.” He praised, relishing in the way your walls fluttered rapidly around his fingers. Once you calmed down, he slowly removed his fingers and licked them clean, enjoying your taste.

Breathing heavily, your eyes were still closed as you came down from your first orgasm of the night. Gently sitting you up, Yixing cupped your face and brought his lips o yours for a passionate kiss.

Feeling yourself sink into his arms, you leaned more into the kiss and moaned at the taste of yourself on his lips and tongue. Yixing pulled away first, attacking your neck in love bites while you sat there in his lap, allowing yourself to be loved on and marked.

“You are everything to me Mrs. Zhang and I want the whole world to know.”

“Show them then.” You softly said, cupping his face in your hand and staring deep into his eyes.

Capturing your lips in another kiss, you felt yourself being lowered back onto the bed, a comfortable weight settling over you. Seperating for just a moment, Yixing made haste removing his clothing and shoes, tossing them wherever before climbing back on top of you.

“You ready?” He asked you, holding eye contact with you as he awaited your answer.

Nearly five years together and he still asks for consent, it makes butterflies erupt in you every time. Nodding your head, you smiled. “As always.”

Without further prompting, Yixing’s grabbed the base of his cock and slowly rubbed it against your folds, moaning with you at the feeling. “Please baby, I need you.” Whines spilled from your lips like an apology, desperately wanting to be filled by him.

With a smirk, he did as asked. With a swift snap of his hips, he buried his cock deep into your pussy. Your mouth dropped open and your breast were pushed upwards as you arched your back. Sweat had began to form and your pussy contracted wildly while moans pushed past your lips.

“Fuccckkk.”

Yixing gritted his teeth as he tried to focus on not nutting just from your face alone. He always told you how pretty you looked while getting fucked and if you kept squeezing him like that, he would surely buss quick.

“God, you’re so tight! Fit me so well baby, shit!” Yixing swore, slowly moving his hips back and forth to gain a rhythm.

In no time, Yixing was pounding into your pussy at a speed that border fast and slow. Pulling his hips back enough to snap them back into you, making his cock hit your spot every time. Your hands wandered his body while moans tumbled out, your nails dragging down his biceps before pulling him closer to you. This fuck was different than the ones you’ve had since being here. While it started off rough, Yixing is handling your body in the softest way possible.

His hands were positioned on either side of your head, gripping the sheets there. His eyes were mesmerized by the way your tits jiggled with each thrust he gave. It was becoming too much to bear. “I love you. I love you so much.” The words came from Yixing’s lips in urgency.

Tears had started to form again and you reached your hands up to pull him into a kiss. Using your tongue to caress the inside of his mouth, one of your hands began to pull at the hair on the nape of his neck. As his thrusts grew faster, you anchored your legs around his hips to hold on.

Pulling away, you struggled to catch your breath as the knot formed again. “R-rub my clit baby, i’m so close to cumming.” You cried, focusing on the feeling you were about to recieve.

Bringing a hand down to your throbbing clit, Yixing harshly rubbed circles on it, desperate to see you cum. “Oh shit! Right there, right there, right there!” You squealed, bucking your hips into his hand.

Watching your face scrunch up the closer you got to climaxing had Yixing’s cock twitching inside of you. The feeling itself made you moan and clamp down on him as you came hard. Feeling your walls tighten around his cock as you orgasmed, had him cumming right behind you with a violent yell.

Your thighs trembled as Yixing collapsed gently on top of you. The sounds of heavy breathing filled the hotel room while y’all tried to gather yourselves. Lazily, you began to run your fingers through his hair, feeling him relax even more.

“I love you forever Yi. That’s a promise I do not regret making.” You spoke softly, basking in the afterglow of love making.

Tilting his head to the side, Yixing looked up at you and kissed the valley in between your breast. “I am eternally yours and i’m sorry for reacting that way. I love you too much to let you go. You’re going to be the mother of my kids and grow old with me, I can’t have anyone else thinking otherwise.”

All you could do was smile at your husband’s slight possessive behavior. Marriage wasn’t going to be easy, but with him by your side, you could get through anything.

Taglist: @knjkitten @olamidey

#kmimagines #ambw imagines #kpop imagines #black!reader #exo #exo x black!reader #exo imagines #lay zhang #lay zhang x black!reader #lay zhang imagines #yixing #zhang yixing x black!reader #mayawrites #requested #exo smut #lay zhang x reader #exo lay #exo lay smut #smut

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ladyloptr · 3 years

Text

•Part-Time•

Request: twt@LUSTFORLOKI. To sum up this one, Reader is a college student who took a part-time job in the Avengers tower as a sort of housekeeper/maid/butler. Steve, for all of his self-righteousness, doesn’t know how to treat a housekeeper/maid properly in the 21st century. Thankfully, Loki shows up, and as usual, has a plan for everything. (I’m such a Steve-anti. Poor Steve.)Lots of angst, some fluff.

Fandom: MCU AU

Pairing: Loki x College!Reader.

Warnings: Angst, Abuse, Violence. OOC Steve, Major Steve bashing, so any Steve-stans, please look away.

{————}

You need this job.

That’s the only reason why you’re here, and why you tolerate some of the insanity that you’re forced to endure.

You saw the advertisement on the internet, it was hard to miss. Big, bright and attention grabbing, just like your employer, Tony Stark. He was looking for a butler basically, but also sort of a housekeeper. Someone to help keep the tower in order, but also to help the Avengers if they ever needed anything.

Surprisingly, for all of his melodrama, egotism and childishness, Tony Stark is a great boss, and his wife, Pepper, is an even better boss. They’re both always pleasant to you, they pay you well, they pay you on time, they’re never rude (despite Tony’s jokes sometimes being a little-uncalled for), and they never really ask much from you.

Sure, your job is to help keep the 90-something tower “in order”, but you, interestingly enough, don’t do much cleaning. As Tony once said “I have people I pay to do all of that.” Your job is mostly centered on making sure that Tony’s physical files are organized, that the training room has all of the practice weapons properly locked up, and to make sure that the kitchen and main lounge/living room isn’t a hot-mess-express.

So, the only thing you really ever have to clean up is the kitchen, and on occasion, the living room. The Avengers don’t typically leave behind much of a mess.

Really, the insanity isn’t Tony, or Pepper, or cleaning, or the pay, it’s helping the Avengers when they “need something”.

Oh-correction. The insanity is helping Steve Rogers when he “needs something”.

The Avengers are all grown ass adult superheroes (minus Peter), and you’re a college student taking a part-time job so that you can take care of yourself. Most of them find it uncomfortable to ask you to do meager things for them, so they mostly ignore you, and do things for themselves like functional members of society.

Except for Steve Rogers.

You are unsure of what you did, but the moment you started working here, he’s been nothing but cold and mean to you. He asks you to bring him a drink, to bring him a snack, to bring him a napkin, to bring him his breakfast, lunch and dinner. It’s gotten ridiculous. He’ll even ask you to make sure his bedroom is neat after he wakes up, and to make sure his bathroom is cleaned every few days.

This is behavior you expected from the Asgardian princes, Thor and Loki, but definitely not from Captain fucking America.

Then again, as Captain America, perhaps his behavior rightfully represents what a lot of Americans are; entitled.

(I’m American also, lol, no hate plz.)

He’s nothing like what he was supposed to be. On camera he was gentlemanly, kindhearted and appreciative. It was a shock to you when you found that Loki, of all the people in the tower, acts more like Captain America, than Captain America.

Which was truly bewildering to you at first. Just think about it for a moment...

The guy who tried to take over the whole world and enslave mankind is the one who greets you with a smile everyday, and offers to make you tea on Saturday and Sunday mornings (which are the only mornings you can work-you got those 7am college classes, RIP). He even helps you with your studies, homework and college essays if you find yourself falling behind. It took some time to get used to his kind gestures, which sometimes bewildered even Thor at times.

While Loki got familiar with you, your relationship with Steve Rogers, on the other hand, ended up only getting worse.

It turned abusive, sometimes violent, and the only reason you never went to Tony is because you know that the two are close friends and coworkers. You could go to the other Avengers, but you’re sure that their relationship to Steve is similar, as well.

Bucky Barnes is another person you know is close with Steve. Those two go way back-before you were even born.

One day, you were careless in leaving your house. It was a Saturday morning, you were tired and you hadn’t noticed that both of your arms had begun to bruise from Steve’s super soldier strength.

He had hit you a few times in anger yesterday. You can’t really recall why.

“What are those on your arms?” Loki asks, within seconds of seeing you. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing.” You say.

“I’m The God of Lies, my dear, you’ll have to do better than that.” Loki says, looking over your arms, carefully. “Is someone harming you?”

“No. I fell.”

“Try again.” Loki challenges, looking up at you sternly.

“I’m fine.”

“Who is harming you?” He asks, narrowing his eyes. “Is it someone in here?”

“Loki...”

“Is it an Avenger?”

Loki catches the subtle change in your eyes, the spark of fear that lit up when he asked whether or not it was an Avenger.

He growls. “Who is it?”

“Loki, please, I don’t want to talk about it.” You plead, getting rather uncomfortable now. “Can we just... play chess or something?”

Loki frowns at you for a while, before sighing in defeat. “Fine, alright.”

He doesn’t bring it up for the rest of the day.

You make sure to wear long sleeves to cover the bruises on your arms for the next couple of days, at least until the bruising goes down.

“What did I tell you about leaving my bedroom a mess?” Steve demands. “It’s a simple request. I’m not asking you to teach a dog to sing.”

Steve has decided to now confront you in an empty hallway about not tidying up his room yesterday.

“I’m sorry...” You mutter. “...Tony wanted me with him all day yesterday.”

“You couldn’t have come do it before you left? You just went home knowing my bedroom is a mess?” Steve asks, quickly getting upset.

“Tony clocked me out himself, so I was already off shift. Besides, it’s not like you can’t clean your bedroom yourself.” You answer.

Wrong answer, apparently.

He grabbed your arm and held it in a bruising grip, once again reminding you that he’s no ordinary human.

You let out a whimper and try to pull away, which proves no use. You’re not surprised when he slaps you. You’re surprised by how a super soldier serum can make a simple slap so painful. You’re even more surprised when your nose starts bleeding.

He must’ve inadvertently popped a blood vessel or something.

He raises his hand again, and you close your eyes, prepared for a punch or something worse, but it never comes. You open your eyes and see Steve looking at something behind you. You turn around and see Loki standing at the other end of the hall, his hands behind his back, an indifferent look on his face, but his eyes tell a different story.

You’ve known Loki long enough to realize that if you want to know his true emotions, you read his eyes, not his face. He’s a master at using his face to guard his true feelings.

And his eyes currently hold a barely contained storm of rage inside of them.

“I apologize for... interrupting...” Loki barely managed to keep his voice steady. “But dinner is ready, and I was wondering if (Y/N) would be joining us tonight.”

You nod, frantically. Steve releases your arm, and you rush over to Loki’s side.

“Loki Laufeyson, master of perfect timing, always ready to save the day.”

“Actually.” Loki corrects. “It’s Loki Odinson, master of sorcery, always ready to put ignorant Midgardians in their place.” He smiles a very unpleasant smile. “But yes... I suppose you’re also somewhat correct.”

“No one will believe you.” Steve says.

“Perhaps you’re correct.” Loki drones. “I am not here to hold a conversation with you, however, I am here to take (Y/N) to dinner.”

Steve snorts derisively, and walks by Loki, intentionally bumping shoulders with him.

Well, Steve was bumped, Loki didn’t move even a centimeter.

“Might want to clean her up first.” Steve says, as he retreats. “Wouldn’t want everyone to think you were beating up on her before dinner.”

Loki clenches his jaw. You look away, nervous about what he’s going to say.

You’re startled when he tilts your face up by your chin, and then slowly uses his seidr to heal any damage Steve has dealt you, including the bruises on your arms. He checks you over multiple times, making sure you aren’t still hurt.

Once he’s finished, he takes both of your hands and makes eye contact with you. He’s still upset, but the anger has tapered down to a manageable level.

“How did you know he was hurting me just now?” You ask, in a hushed tone.

“The same day I inquired about your bruises, I forged a... connection of sorts.” Loki explains. “Today, I felt that you were in danger, so I went looking for you. I have a similar connection with Thor, otherwise that oaf would’ve perished long ago.”

You nod, it makes sense, somewhat. You blush as he kisses your cheek and then your forehead.

“I am sorry.” Loki squeezes your hands, gently. “I wish I had noticed earlier. I would’ve killed him in that moment, would it not result in me being casted back to Asgard. The last thing I want, is for you to be left here to deal with all of this on your own.”

“Well... there’s nothing we can do about it now...” You murmur.

“I believe that to be untrue...” Loki’s eyes slowly shift up to the security cameras. “...Rogers appears to have forgotten about the many eyes this tower has.”

Your eyes widen. “The security cameras...!”

Loki smirks. “Stark will review the footage if you ask him to. I could accompany you to his lab tonight after dinner, if you so wish.”

“Yes, I’d love that.” You wrap your arms around Loki as tight as you possibly can. “Thank you!”

“You’re most certainly welcome.” Loki chuckles. “Time to cook up a scandal...”

A/N: SORRY STEVE STANS, I TAKE ALL REQUESTS, NO REQUESTS LEFT BEHIND.

Also, I wrote this while struggling with depression (it’s been two weeks, and it seems to not be improving, and this crap can last as long as a couple of months, so I wrote it anyway. Better than waiting a few months to finally get on this), and I’m not sure if y’all have noticed, but my storytelling feels weird in this one. My ability to produce a thorough, flowing storyline appears to be sort of hindered right now. I’ll try to update it if I can.

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x female reader #loki fluff #reader angst

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mizjoely · 3 years

Text

Day 12: Office Holiday Party

I've gone more than a bit off piste with this ASiB redo, but it does start with an office party, so there is that...It's also a bit long so it's under the cut below. Enjoy!

Office Holiday Party

She doesn’t attend John and Sherlock’s Christmas party, even though John invites her. It’s the same night as the St. Bart’s party and she attends that one instead, a spur-of-the-moment decision that she makes after thinking about (brooding a bit) the fact that it was John that invited her, somewhat off-handedly, rather than Sherlock. While she waffled she’d bought gifts for the two of them, and one for Mrs. Hudson, Greg Lestrade, and even something for John’s new girlfriend (the ‘boring teacher with the dogs’, is how she vaguely recalls Sherlock’s description of the poor woman). She debates her decision long and hard, but in the end caution wins out over hope, and off to Barts she pops. She’ll deliver the gifts on her way home, she decides, if it isn't too late.

She wears a new dress - black, with black straps decorated in silver and a fitted skirt (she never learned the proper names of skirt shapes aside from “pencil” and “mini”). She carefully does her hair, letting it cascade down her back, and dons a silver bow in honor of the season; she drinks a bit too much rum punch and enjoys herself as much as someone who’s as socially awkward as she is can.

As she’s gathering her things preparatory to leaving - still of two minds whether she’ll go home or stop by 221B Baker Street - she hears a commotion by the doors. She looks over, surprised and a little disconcerted to see Sherlock Holmes in the company of a slightly older man she’s never seen before.

“Ah, Sherlock, good of you to join us!” Mike Stamford says, cheeks flushed with hearty good cheer - and more than a bit of that rum punch. He thrusts a plastic cup into Sherlock’s hand. “Toast the season with us, eh?”

Sherlock doesn’t take so much as a single polite sip, simply hands the cup back to Mike while his eyes scan the crowd. He stops when he finds Molly, their eyes meeting, and he beelines for her while Mike sputters a protest (and quickly downs the rejected drink) and the stranger follows in Sherlock’s wake.

She recognizes him when they get closer; she doesn’t know his name but she’s seen him around the hospital once or twice during government inspections. “Miss Hooper,” he says, his voice very much Government Official, “if you would be so kind, there’s a body we need to examine.”

She looks uncertainly at Sherlock - surely they don’t want her to perform an autopsy when she’s half in the bag! - and he offers her a curt nod. “We just need to look at it,” he says, his voice a bit rough with some unidentifiable (to her, at any rate) emotion. “To possibly identify it. Her.”

Molly stammers out her willingness to be of help and the three of them head down to the morgue. She finds the proper drawer and wheels the body out for the two men (who is the older man and how does he know Sherlock?) to examine.

The face is badly damaged, bashed in with some sort of blunt instrument so she’s not sure exactly how they’re going to be able to identify the woman - but then Sherlock whisks back the sheet and nods. “It’s her.”

He turns and leaves without another word, and Molly looks over at Mr. Government. “Who is she?” she asks. “And how did he identify her from...not her face?”

The man gives her a rather pitying smile, then leaves without answering either question.

She puts the body back and heads out, only to find Sherlock waiting for her. He smells of cigarettes but she can hardly blame him for needing some sort of crutch, not tonight. “Share a cab?” he asks, then escorts into the one that arrives at his hail, climbing in next to her.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

He shrugs. “How was the party?” he asks, obviously changing the subject.

She shrugs back at him. “It was all right, I guess. Lots of booze and people getting a bit too chummy with each other, if you know what I mean.” She laughs somewhat self-consciously. “Of course you know what I mean, what was I thinking, putting it that way.”

“What about you?”

“Pardon? What about me?” she asks, confused.

He’s looking straight ahead, not at her, and his jaw is clenched. “Did you get ‘a bit too chummy’ with anyone?” He reaches out, still without looking, and fingers the fabric of her skirt. “That’s a new dress, a bit fancy for an office party, don’t you think? And that shade of lipstick, such a bright red!” He glances critically at her bag of gifts - gifts for him and the others who’d attended the party at 221B - and adds with a sneer, “It matches the ribbon on that top gift, the one you’ve taken so much care to wrap. For your new boyfriend?”

Before Molly can do more than gape at him - her cheeks reddening in humiliation, he continues, his lip curling in a sneer, “Judging by your appearance, Miss Hooper, it’s obvious you have lurrrve on your mind.”

She wants to slap him. She wants to slap him three times, so badly that she balls her hands into fists to keep from doing so. “Are you finished?” she asks when he finally falls silent. “I know you’ve had a shock tonight, but that’s no excuse to take it out on me!” She shakes her head. “You always say such terrible things.”

They remain in cold, uncomfortable silence almost until they reach Molly’s flat. As she starts to get out of the cab he stops her with a hand on her arm. “I am sorry,” he says softly. “Forgive me.” Then he leans forward and drops a kiss on her cheek.

“Why?” she asks, ignoring the cabbie’s grumbled complaints of ‘you gettin’ out or not, miss?’ from the driver’s seat. “Sherlock, what’s going on? Who was that woman?” She draws in a deep breath and asks him the question she’d asked the other man at the hospital. “How did you recognize her from not her face?”

Sherlock responds by handing the annoyed cabbie the fare, then ushering her out of the cab and joining her on the pavement. “Let’s go inside, shall we?” he says, indicating her front door. Still a bit dazed, Molly unlocks the door and waits until they’ve shed overcoats and shoes (no wet shoes on her nice clean carpets, thank you very much!) and settled on the sofa.

“Not what I would have expected,” he says, glancing around and taking in the clean, cool colors and lines of her minimalist first floor.

“I had a decorator in,” she says with a shrug. “I need someplace calm to unwind after a hectic day’s work and...Sherlock,” she interrupts herself, daringly placing a hand on his, “please. Tell me.”

So he does; surprisingly, he tells her even more than she’d asked. Irene Adler is the woman’s name - no, The Woman, she thinks with a pang. She can hear the capitalization, the importance of this client, in the way he speaks, sees the pain he’s trying to hide in his eyes. “You look sad,” she blurts out as he finally falls silent. She ignores the silent rejoicing in her heart at his description of his and John’s first meeting with Irene and her nudity, instead giving his hand a slight squeeze of sympathy. “I’m sorry, she must have meant a great deal to you even though she was a client.”

A client and definitely an adversary of sorts; just the sort of woman to pique his interest, she thinks sadly. Not like me at all.

“Stop that,” Sherlock says sharply, and Molly looks up at him, startled. She’s even more startled to realize that their hands are still clasped; when she tries to pull away he makes an irritated sort of growling noise and holds her tighter. “You’re thinking far too loudly, Molly. There’s no need for you to be jealous. Yes, I admit, she caught my attention, she was a challenge but don’t ever feel you need to compare yourself to her.”

With a flash of insight - that she prays isn’t just her hopes, however forlorn, getting the better of her - Molly breathes out a soft “Oh” and says, “You don’t have to be jealous either, Sherlock.” She reaches with her free hand into the bag of gifts and pulls out the top one with its red bow and careful wrapping and hands it to him. “Go on, read the tag.”

Brow furrowed, he does so, remaining silent for a long pair of minutes before finally speaking. “Dearest Sherlock, love Molly,” he reads, then looks up at her. “Girlfriends aren’t my area, Molly.”

She nods. “I-I understand.” She can feel tears clogging her throat but she’s never been one to cry in front of anyone, especially not a man. Certainly not this man.

She tries to pull her hand away again, only to let out a muffled squeak as he suddenly hauls her closer, until their faces are only inches apart. “I’ll be a terrible boyfriend, Molly, but perhaps...you’d be willing to give me a chance?”

Then he kisses her, and she kisses him back, and all she can think is that if she’d just gone to his party in the first place, maybe they could have been doing this that much sooner. Or perhaps not; either way, she’ll never know, but she’s happy enough with the way things have turned out not to care.

#dis is mine #sherlolly #fandom christmas in july #mizjoely writes #mizjoely's fics

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