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halcyone-of-the-sea · 7 months

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Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 12.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, body horror, horror, angst, mutilation, violence, wounds, blades, death, many religious imagery/references, nudity, protective!Simon, NSFW, soft/loving smut, fingering, mating press, implied virgin!reader due to time-period standards, pretty vanilla, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Simon’s skin is bare to the moon, and he can taste your blood on his tongue.

Eyes wide, the man’s lips are loose; jaw slackened at the horror that lays below him as crimson drips down the swell of his Adam’s apple and between the dip of his chest. He can’t move, even as the chill sets into his spine, the hair over his arms and on the back of his neck standing on end.

All he can see is your body.

You don’t move, you don’t smile or send him that stern look of stubbornness—the snow falls to your head, it collects on the side of your face and limp corpse. Your torn clothes show the weeping wounds and jagged remains of flesh.

But none more so than one on your neck. The gaping tear made from his fangs.

Not me, Simon’s fingers twitch at his sides, your body in a pool of red. Not me.

It was him, though, wasn’t it?

He doesn’t remember what happened, cannot recall the memories in his brain—a demon, the Lord of this forest, and a prisoner all in one. You hadn’t killed it, no, there was no way to do that. Silver could only do so much.

But it had done something to you, to make your scent twist and rot. Your soul didn’t smell right.

“I…” Simon’s voice fails him.

His body is broken and bent, his entire side burning with pain, but none of that matters. Brown eyes quiver, and the man goes to lick his lips only to gag at the taste of copper, snapping his eyes away to pant quick breaths into the tree line.

Simon’s hand raises to hover above his stomach, shaking.

“I didn’t bloody do that,” he mutters, the evidence on his chest and stuck in his pores. The forest is silent. “I didn’t do that.” The man says it louder.

You stare forward numbly with a broken neck and a torn-out throat.

Foot twisting him around, he levels his back to you, hands coming up to his head as his jaw clenched so tight his molars scream at him. What had happened? What had gone on? Simon closes his eyes and hunches his shoulders forward.

“No,” he growls. “No, I didn’t fucking do that to you.”

The night continues to keep him in its black hold, the snow absorbs the blood and black liquid. He can smell the rot—the infection under your skin as it brands your corpse.

This forest was like a beacon to every monster in its vicinity. It called them here and made them lose themselves. Under the light of the moon and sun, whenever its branches told him to run and hunt as a beast, Simon Riley had no option but to obey. He would come here on a moment's notice when he felt the change coming over him, to his hut and his glade.

There were few times he could predict it, and no matter how much he wanted to stay with you, that just wasn’t how it worked.

Every monster that was called here was bait for that demon, and no monster had the ability to wield anything that could kill it. No silver. No holy water.

But a mortal could.

Every hunter entering these dark bounds had been hunting the wrong colossus and never had the chance to know it.

Simon bends slightly forward to hold his head tighter, grunting out whimpers as if trying to keep his brain from falling out.

“Fuck,” he breathes. Then louder than a scream and longer than the first, “Fuck!” The trees shiver.

Simon harshly pulls at his hair, feeling the strands snap before he slides his hands up and down his face; trying to push off the crimson yet he only succeeds in spreading it. He can’t hear your heart beating anymore, can’t hear the swell of your lungs. Nothing.

Hand lashing out, his knuckles connect with the hard bark of one of the tree’s trunks and he sends it back and forward three more times until his fingers crack and bend. When he’s done, the man doesn’t even notice the tears freezing on his cheeks as his breath puffs out in clouds.

Simon silently stifles a ragged inhale and sags forward, unable to turn back and look at you—he can’t bear it after everything he’s been through. Forehead tapping the rough bark, his pain-filled body flaring, the blond clenches his fists like an angry child.

He should have told you in the glade—in the safety of consecrated ground where holy men and women had been buried for time immemorial. He should have explained why it was only you that made him whole.

But Simon was a silent creature; a creature of silent glances and hidden softness that borders on a fear of abandonment. He would never tell you until you happened to figure it out yourself or if it became undeniable.

Oh, you should have stayed away.

His knees threaten to give out, so he lets them go until he can move his body to the side and lean against his tree. Barely breathing, he cares not about the cold. As he did when he was a child, all those years ago yet still shrouded in pain and hate, he loses any and all expression from his face—brown eyes dark as they stare at nothing.

There had been a moment that he’d come back to himself as the Ghost. A brief moment.

Simon wants to hang for the memory he now holds.

Your eyes, blood-burst, looking into his own as his fangs rend your flesh in two. The feeling of your neck snapping under his jaws. Tongue lolling in blood and licking its muzzle; whiskers dripping.

This time Simon gags, but he also hurls up his guts, too.

Bending his aching spine, his forearm keeps him up, bare thighs tensing and nerves quivering as his abdomen bunches. Simon pants staring blankly at the bile in the snow, saliva pooling in his mouth. He still can’t look at you.

With little left for him, the man curls up in the snow and resigns himself to freezing to death, arms loose around his waist and injuries screaming at him.

He’d killed you—is death not the only option left for him as well?

Simon lays there until his eyelids grow heavy, only thinking of you and how you had been. Your kindness, your wit. He enjoyed your loudness, and there was no one to perfectly challenge him but you.

From the first time he’d seen your form, it had only ever been you. He was yours, utterly; wholly. He should have told you to stay away.

“M’sorry, Love” he whispers into the ground, shivering violently, lips blue. His head is turned away as the trees hold their breath. “All my bastard fault—should’ve been me. It…fuckin’ hell,” Simon breathes, clenching his jaw. “Should’ve been me.”

He mutters his self-hatred until he falls silent and his chest rattles. Until the forest listens.

Until it answers.

Simon’s eyes snap open to the sound of a world cracking in two and finds your body gone.

—

This place isn’t real.

You sit in a mirror vision of your shop, but nothing is correct. Looking into the corners, shadows slip away with quiet laughter, and the door rings but no one walks through. It’s…repetitive. It never stops, but you can’t seem to leave.

You think it’s been days, weeks, even. Always it feels like there’s something watching you, and the window of your shop shows nothing but black night outside and flickering lamps.

It doesn’t feel right to speak.

If you speak, whatever is standing out in the street will know you’re here.

You shake as you watch it now, silent and swallowing down saliva. Its eyes have been ripped out, and the chains along its wrists drag so loudly you can hear them even through stone and wood; they make you flinch and shiver. For whatever reason, the phantom of the man cannot find you, though he has been looking.

He even knocks on the door.

It was a clanging, dead, thing. With a slam of a gnarled wrist and a raspy cry of your name on his slit tongue. You don’t want to ask how it knows your title, so you only hold your hands to your mouth to stifle your sobs. But for all of this, you still contained self-awareness.

You’re in Hell, or some strange, twisted version of the middle point. Purgatory.

But why? Why here of all places—your soul had been branded, you heard that curse and felt the blackened nectar in your flesh. Had known what Simon had…

You blink quickly, looking away from the twisted man and taking down a shaky inhale.

Whatever this place was, you and this shade were the only ones here. The only once-human ones, anyways. You didn’t exactly want to go out and meet him.

“Please!” It bangs on the door again and your head snaps up in panic, hand whipping to your mouth to hide the sharp gasp. If you ever got out of here, you never wanted to see your home again. This version ruined it. “Please, let me in. I can’t see—it took out my eyes! Please, please I need my eyes.”

Your eyelids close tightly, your heart clenched and beating fast.

All of this terror lets you think about Simon. And so you do, and try to not blame him for what he did even if you know in your heart it’s not his fault.

You remember the first time you met him, and you think that’s perhaps one of the best memories you hold.

“If you expect me to fix this, you’ll need to hand over half of your soul and a blessing from God himself,” you frown at the remains of a pair of tweed pants, blinking with your mouth agape. “I’d ask what happened, but I think that would put me on a list of some kind, Sir.”

Simon stares.

“How much?” You sigh and shake your head.

“Really, there’s very little I can do here short of just offering you a new pair.” Placing the scraps on the table and lightly pushing them forward, the man moves his large hand out to take them from you.

Your fingers touch, and you blink as a slight spark makes you flinch. Simon as well, you remember, had snapped his hand back to him, his eyes slightly widening and his throat holding down a breath.

“Woah,” you mutter, touching your head as you suddenly go lightheaded. “S-sorry about that, I don’t know what—”

“Both.” Simon slides the fabric back to you.

Your senses come back in a slow sweep and you clear your throat. “...Both?”

“Fix the pants and sell me another, yeah?” A quirked brow, but something else swims in that dark gaze, something that fights with itself. “I’ll pay. Money’s no problem.”

“Oh,” you blink, taken aback. The both of you stare at each other.

You’re struck by the thought that this man’s eyes are far more deep than anything you’ve looked into before.

“Of course, if that’s what you want.” He grunts, tipping his head and looking to the side for a moment. He wears that strange covering, too. The one that sits on his nose.

“Good.” Simon backs up a step before pausing. “You have a name, then, Tailor?”

You tilt your head and cross your arms, eyes narrowing carefully. “Just as you do.”

That silk fabric twitches, gaze sparking.

“Simon Riley.” Your smile slowly pulls at your muscles, and for the first time throughout the day, you truly mean it.

You don’t know how time works here, but you also can’t really understand that you’re dead. Of course, the thought of an afterlife crossed your mind in your living hours, but you’d never thought you’d go to one so soon.

But every time you blink, you don’t think you’re meant to be here.

So, again, why? The question was mulled over incessantly after every memory of Simon, and you start to believe he’s the catalyst.

What were you missing?

The man himself had hinted at it, talking about how your scent to him was opium—like a drug. It kept him…him even when a monster.

“Please!” You’ve discovered that all of the windows are bolted and the front door is locked, but it never becomes daytime here. A perpetual night and a pleading soul guarding you. In the long hours where you sneak from one empty room to another, so similar to real life that it makes you sick, you wonder if this place is an exact replica of the city you called home.

If some of the other houses are not so vacant after all; the inhabitants hiding like you are. Purgatory sounds about right.

Chains drag and there are garbling sobs and you stare at the door without the key to open it.

The thing was blind—if you could sneak past it…your eyes looked out the window to Simon’s home across the street. There was a pull to all things that included him. A sanctity. Despite how your life had ended, how you’ll surely still think about it and sob out of pain, you can’t blame him for it.

He didn’t have control.

You begin to think of a plan to break out without making any noise as you close your eyes tightly, hands clenching at your sides.

“Back again, Mr. Riley?” Your bell rings and you glance at the intimidating figure walking through. He takes a deep breath when he enters, nodding in greeting before lumbering to the counter.

“Any trouble?” He had a habit of asking this when he’d been gone on a longer trip of his, always back disheveled and with bags under his bloodshot eyes. As if he gets back and the first thing he wants to do is come see you.

The thought didn’t bother you.

You laugh, “I’m happy to report the only thing that happened was that a pigeon ran into the window.”

Brown eyes glance over his shoulder to blink at the impression of feathers on the front glass.

“Poor Bastard,” he huffs, amusement in his accented tone as he slips his hands into his pockets. “Get any feathers out of it? New pillow if you’re lucky.” He tilts his chin. “If you know how to pluck a bloody corpse, that is.”

“You’re incredibly strange, Mr. Riley,” you laugh, nodding your head at him. “I’ve never heard a man state such things.”

“I wrong?” Simon grunts, but you hear his slight smile in his tone.

You only roll your eyes. “I highly doubt a pigeon would give you enough feathers for a pillow.”

“Well, you’re just not fuckin’ trying hard enough then, yeah?”

“Are you here for a reason, Sir?” You can’t stop smiling, holding back your loud laugh as happiness is plainly stated on your face. “Or are you just here to speak to me about the feather-quantity of the local birds?”

Simon’s eyes are crinkled slightly, and you try very hard to imagine him beaming just as you do, though you know it’s slim.

You want to make him smile; you want to be the reason he does. And you don’t even know why.

Your very soul leaps when you see him from across the street, it tightens and calls out like a reaching hand desperate to grasp into another counterpart. You’d never felt like this about a man before, much less one you barely knew anything about on a personal level.

You liked Simon Riley.

“I was thinking ‘bout a new undershirt. Black.” A hand moves up and a pile of money is placed on your counter. “Anything’ll be good, just need a new one.”

“Of course,” you easily slip into business, not bothering to look at the sum. “Special occasion?” You pause before fake laughing. “A lady to impress, perhaps?”

Your heart sinks more than it should; nearly hurting. Did Mr. Riley have a courtship?

He blinks at you carefully, long lashes caressing his scarred cheeks. You swore his lips under the silk twitched.

“No,” is all he says, blunt and casual, thighs shifting.

You stare, hands touching themselves on the counter as heat burns your cheeks.

“Okay,” you mutter, embarrassed, though you don’t know why. “That should be no trouble at all. I’ll just need your measurements.”

Simon nods once, staring at your hands before he takes off his jacket and places it on the wood. You grabbed your long measuring tape and slipped to the front, asking lightly for him to hold out his arms.

Heart hammering, he does so; great torso flexing and face blank.

You begin with the chest, sliding your hands along his clothed body to flatten out the tape until you can see the mark it rested at. It would be false to say you didn’t lose your breath slightly, being so close and able to freely feel the swell of his muscle. Under your fingers, his pulse was like a hammer, and he was so large you actually had to give him a hug to connect the other side around him.

“S-sorry,” but Simon’s eyes are entirely blown, body tense and slightly shivering as your hands feel him.

“Don’t be,” he breathes, and you feel the push of his lungs to his ribcage; molten heat.

Your lips tingle, and heat seeps into your stomach as you shift your thighs to quell it.

Simon grunts, and his head turns down incredibly fast.

You blink. “Mr. Riley?”

“Nothin’,” his lips flinch, and his brown eyes, more like black now, dart to your lips. “M’fine. Keep going.”

You do so, oblivious to the coil in the man’s gut that mirrors yours, flaring with every gentle poke and prod.

It was when you’d almost given up that there seemed to be something else on your side in this god-forsaken place. You found your knife.

It was in the same drawer where your tape measure should be, just sitting there where all else was absent. You stare and slowly reach for it, sliding your fingers over the hilt and the glint of the blade before picking it up.

But you’d checked this drawer a million times over, what had—

There’s the sound of a fluttering of wings outside of your shop, and you’re unimpressed with yourself at how your mind immediately goes to a helpful pigeon spirit. You hold a hand to your lips to stop yourself from laughing, despite it all.

A spark alights in your heart.

“Thank you,” you whisper to nothing, turning the blade over in your hands and smiling.

Walking slowly, you avoid every creak in the wood—unlooping your belt for the small prong that would come in handy. Placing the blade into the slit of the lock, you insert the prong above it, twisting and waiting to hear a series of clicks; putting your ear next to the wood.

The dragging of chains is far off, the loud wailing distant.

Now or never.

You hold your breath and listen to the sounds of the lock, sweating and grimacing. It’s so very silent outside—you’re so used to the clanging of metal and the clop of hooves that it scares you more than the monster. Like you’re standing out in a field but there’s no wind, no air even. Unnatural nothingness.

So hard at focusing, when the click of the door lets you know it’s open, you don’t notice the heavy breathing on the other side. Standing and taking out your knife, you silently celebrate plucking your belt away just as the handle jiggles.

Only you’re not touching the handle.

Blood leaving your face, you can only skitter to the side as the hinges squeal like a dying animal, the barrier slowly opening as your back flattens against the wall. At first, nothing happened.

The door is open and you stare wide-eyed as no sound enters your ears. Lamp-light seeps in, creating a long glow along the floors.

A ragged breath makes you want to shrivel up, and then the wailing starts.

“Please, please, where are my eyes?” Too close.

You flinch wildly as chains are dragged into the room, the scent of dead wood sticking to your nostrils. Up close, the man’s skin is dripping water—seaweed over his shoulders and hanging off his restraints.

He walks inside and the gaping wounds of his eyes make you nearly gag. “Where did you take them? I want them back, please, let me borrow yours until I find mine again.”

He drags his heavy silver chains far into the shop, stumbling and groaning through sobs. Those things seem to have no end to them, and he bumps and walks into the back room right as you slip outside.

Immediately, you rush out into the street, crossing the cobble and hopping the long metal ahead of you as you re-loop your belt with one hand and grip your knife tightly. Getting to Simon’s house, you grasp the handle of the door and pull.

It jerks with a bang of metal.

Locked.

“Shi…” you trail your curse and bite your lip. Silently, you take a step back to quickly think as the warden still calls hopelessly from your shadowed shop. Where else would you go? The inner city? The town?

Your eyelids blink.

The forest. That had to be it—there had to be answers there, right?

You were beginning to grow more fearful that you would be stuck here forever, in between life and death. A branded soul and yet, you weren’t in Hell. Or, at least, you imagined Hell far more hot than this.

Turning, you slip down the steps and speed walk down the road, not running for fear that your shoes would make too much noise. That was also strange—all of your clothes were mended here, stitched back together as if never cut; wounds healed and nonexistent. You weren’t one to complain.

“Where are you going?” The Warden is on the steps, and he falls down them in a shattering of bone and a slurp of wet skin. “Please, give me my eyes! I can hear you running away—I can smell your souls! Let me have what little is still free! Let me see!”

Souls?

You start sprinting as the great wail of chains lets you know you’re being pursued.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your lips expel, skirts swish, and muscles tense all at once. Like a race, the man’s panting breath is almost felt on your neck, bare feet far faster than he should be. “I don’t have your eyes—I’m sorry, but you’ve really got the wrong person! T-try down the block?!”

You call loudly behind you in hopes that it will get him to give up on you, legs pumping harder as he screams with rage and you curse yourself with every breath. He’s gaining on you, somehow, this blind beast is gaining on you.

There was no way you were making it to the forest.

In a split-second decision, your shoes skid over the street, and, steeling yourself with what little sanity you have left, you turn with your knife at the ready.

Hell, you’d already died once.

But you’d never forget the image of this beast running towards you with a wailing mouth and dragging chains, the things so heavy they wrench back his arms. You falter for a moment, but shake your head and raise the knife in one hand, gritting your teeth despite your unimaginable fear.

Bravery was far too hard at this moment, but there was no more running. You take down a shaky breath and will your arm to stop vibrating with its sweaty palm.

“My eyes!” It screams. “Give me your eyes!”

Seven feet, five, four, three—

A familiar rageful roar takes over, and a black shadow covers the street lamp light from above as if a storm of vengeance. You watch as the gargantuan body flies over you and wastes little time for pleasantries.

The Ghost slams its body into the Warden, and they go down in a flurry of feral snarls and wails. You watch, frozen still with shock, as black claws can be heard tearing through flesh and rending meat, a slick slapping of pig slop as black blood spills to the streets.

In the utter absence of all else, you listen with a quivering body, the fear extending down to your spine. Not of the other thing on its back, wailing and sobbing about its eyes even as its gut is invaded by a large muzzle and ivory fangs, but of that muzzle-owner itself.

You didn’t realize how much of a shock it would be to see Simon again. Like this.

Your eyes stare blankly at how an arm is ripped from its socket, shredded from a shoulder, and tossed to the sidewalk with a rabid jerk; the body of the Warden lifted as the Ghost rises to his back paws and grips tightly. Hands on the lower half, mouth on the top, your jailer is torn in two with nothing more than a tear and a sound of vertebrae popping.

Black splatters over your cheeks, but you make no move to swipe it away.

Simon drops the body to the ground, and it twitches—it speaks as it bounces. Brown eyes dig into its mangled face, ears erect.

“My eyes…M-my…eye—” A large paw pad is pressed into its head, and pressure is leveled. Brought down like an anvil.

The Ghost crushes a skull under his foot and the resounding pop is enough to make you snap out of your frozen terror. He turns to you seconds later, mouth stopping its snarling and going silent all at once.

The beast blinks slowly, ear twitching once.

Averting your gaze, you completely give up in light of this new arrival and clench your eyes shut. Your neck hurts—burns—like it’s being ripped open over and over again, snapping, and the light getting sucked away.

Great feet take lumbering steps forward; you take one back.

“I…I don’t,” you shudder and shake, hand holding your knife. Your mind can’t comprehend him being here—in this void with you, leaping in a great bound to tackle the monster to the ground. No, no, this was another phantom. He was going to kill you again.

Wasn’t his fault. Wasn’t his fault.

You back up some more until there’s a soft huff. It’s tiny, small as if coming from a lap dog that Mrs. Ida would own. Your eyes are firmly shut, yet he tries again.

A wet nose is leveled to your forehead, pressing in and tapping you lightly. A chuffing noise echoed in the back of his throat, gruff and low as he breathed you in. You hide a whimper as that nose dips to your neck, imagining the ways he’s going to sink his teeth in and how your bones will—

The Ghost sags into you, and with a flick of his ears, the large head begins to rub into your flesh as he grunts. Your eyes snap open as his gargantuan hands circle your waist, anchoring you to his chest as he leans back on his haunches; small noises bouncing from his breast as he curls his head behind yours. You’re lifted gently as you squeak, hands snapping to dig through fur and, like logs, your feet dangle from under you.

You don’t speak as Simon begins running out of the city, down the black outskirts. Into the midnight shadows the two of you disappear in the direction of the mirrored forest, your body in his grip and the side of his head never failing to lean into yours. You can feel his eyes roving, darting down and around, before always coming back to you regardless of the things he smells here.

Like a candle in the dark, he had already scoured the bounds of this purgatory for you—waiting for that small flicker of something to grasp onto that would let him find your light. And it hadn’t been your scent or the way you’d yelled. It had been the very call of your soul, or, at least, souls.

Because that was what it was.

The reason you were here instead of Hell was because that corruption had only marked your soul. Not realizing that half of it didn’t belong to you.

Simon knew little about how it worked, but sometimes people are only born with a fraction of their soul as theirs—the other pieces snapping into place when a match is met but still not held as theirs. Your other half, the reason you stayed here, was because Simon’s soul had held you up like a rope to an anchor.

That spark in the tailor’s shop; the longing and the insatiable pull to be near you—marked as two pieces of a puzzle sitting right next to each other, the image leaking from one to the other.

A Fated Pair.

The Ghost breaks through the treeline and you curl into him as he covers you with his arms, eyes watching the black trees and the void of space above him. There were no stars here—no moon. You can’t see anything, but he can.

Simon rushes your intertwined souls back to the place he had dragged himself through; a great fissure in the earth that had opened and swallowed your body who knows how long ago. Weeks, months—years, even. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered.

His instincts brought him through, and his guilt had kept him going; this all-consuming and deathly guilt. He’d never forgive himself, but he can’t leave you here.

Simon finds the fissure as great screams begin to wail out from the city, echoing off the trees and over the air. A scream and a plea. Hundreds, thousands.

He doesn’t bother to stay, because you’re in his arms and his nose breathes in your scent. You grip onto him tightly, shaking with a fear-bathed quiver to your lips, and those large arms hold you ever closer; a large grunt and a rub of his chin.

Simon stands on the very edge of a void, and he jumps.

—

You wake to the large dog curled around you, softly breathing and using his body to shield you from the gentle snowfall. So warm does his blood run, that you don’t even feel the cold on you, only the brush of silk and the hard press of his hands.

Simon’s breath ruffles your hair, his spine shaped in such a way that not a sliver of you is visible to the world beyond your head in his neck, resting on the swell of his softness like a pillow. As if he was a swan, keeping you in a bed of feathers.

Your eyes flutter open, and you take air down to bathe in the scent of earth.

The Ghost shifts, grunting and not letting up on his grip.

You’re in the very same place you died, yet there’s no evidence of that—the blood is gone, the broken trees are surrounded by young ones, and the snow is deeper than it had been before. But your clothes are…

You shift, and the beast lets you go easily, though his eyes don’t leave your face. He stays on the ground as you sit up, looking down at yourself.

While the forest may have moved on, you, it seems, have not.

Your clothes are back to the state they’d been in before—torn and ripped open, long gouging marks and stains that would never come out. You tense at the sight, swallowing saliva down as if wine with a grimace. Like a magnetic link, your eyes slowly turn up to meet Simon’s.

He waits. He watches. That muzzle of his closed and his breath slow. If you told him to get away, there would be no doubt that he would—he would disappear and never come back to you, a memory that fades into a dream and then farther on.

Your fingers twitch as his large claw lifts, a finger pointed and slowly coming up to your face. You try not to balk away as it draws near to your nose, where a tiny snowflake rests. The blackened sickle pauses, Simon’s chest expands, and then he slightly brushes it away with little more than a twitch of his finger.

The knife is only a foot away, sitting bright and glinting in the morning light. You look to the sky to distract from your burning cheeks; your internal war.

Light. Real and glowing above you from a globe set into the heavens.

Gazing at it with wide eyes, your sockets fill with stinging tears, blinking until they slip down your cheeks and you put a hand over your mouth as a small sob wafts out. You bend your spine forward and cry, gasping.

Simon keeps himself away, unknowing if he should reach out or if he would only make it worse. His great body is tight with agony, souls raging with pain. Everything in this form was more instinctual, more in tune, he wanted to comfort you—to make it alright again, but even as a human, when had he ever been good at that?

The Ghost watched, body wound up but still deathly still; ears pointing straight. His hands twitch.

You sob until your lungs hurt and your head feels light, not knowing how to process this in the slightest. When you’re done you numbly stare at the ground below you, trying to rid your mind of death, demons, and wool.

A human hand on the top of your head makes you startle.

Snapping your red eyes up, you meet tight orbs of brown, a face twisted with remorse and a deep inner hatred.

“I…” Simon’s lips utter out, his voice low and pale skin in the snow. “M’sorry, Sweet Girl. I can never fuckin’ give you an apology that matters, eh? But I need to say it—I need you to know.” You stare and feel his fingers caress your scalp. He looks away, breath small. “It’s all my bloody fault, yeah? So don’t you dare think for a second that anythin’ comes back to you.”

The hand threatens to leave you, to slip back down and return to his side, but with a small noise of alarm—one that had Simon’s eyes widened in concern—your body darts forward.

Connecting with him, you make him grunt as his biceps press into your side, shocked as his first reaction is to make sure you don’t fall.

“Get me out of here,” you plead. “Please, Simon, get me out of here.”

There’s no hesitation as he lifts you upward, a bridal hold like the same he had used to lift you above the thorns and mutters into your hair as he quickly walks into the trees.

“C’mere, I’ve got you. Don’t cry, c’mon now, you’re back. You’re back.” The knife is left far in the past, and there it will stay—far away from the two of you. “Breathe, then.”

You bury your head into his neck, breathing hard and shaking not from the cold but from memories; things you shouldn’t know.

“M’sorry,” Simon says again, voice cracking. “Christ, I’ll never say it enough.”

If you hated him he understood—would welcome that Hell in its own right. Of all the things he’d done, this was the worst sin he could have ever committed. He’d spend the rest of his life thanking whatever power was out there that had broken the earth for him; had led him to you. His tailor.

You sob through a panicked chuckle. “Y-you already have, you brute.”

Simon rubs his face into your hair, holding your quivering souls together and opening his mouth in a shaking exhale as his eyes flutter.

“Breathe,” is all he says, repeating everything like a record and an order as you hone on the stiff tone—getting you to focus.

You follow the pulse in his neck, lips pressing into his flesh as your head tilts.

You’re both back at Simon’s hut as you still try to calm yourself, the man’s face turned into yours and his forehead pressing into your scalp. There’s so little for you to grasp onto besides him—how he feels, the dig of his fingers, and the sound of his breath.

He sets you on the bed and he pauses, kneeling down slowly as his hands come to gently clutch your cheeks.

“Can you look at me, Love?” Simon asks you, voice gruff in its low tone. You shiver, sniffling, before your eyes stutter over his features and land on those burial mound browns. He releases a tiny puff of breath—a flicker of his lip.

“Atta girl, jus’ like that, then.” The man blinks slowly, tilting. Simon looks you over with a heavy expression, one that shows the pain and the weight he carries. “Need to get these off, okay?”

A finger lightly travels to your neck, tapping the remnants of your shirtwaist as a few more tears slip out when you blink, shakily nodding. Simon’s lips tighten.

“Want to do it yourself,” he breathes, “or is it alright if I touch you, Sweetheart?” Your hands are too unstable to do it yourself, he knows that just as well as you do.

So, in a small broken whisper, you simply utter out, “Please.”

Simon nods once and the topic is settled; he knows.

The man’s fingers deftly undo the buttons, one after the other as the light from outside seeps into the small square of a home. He doesn’t comment—doesn’t make a sound—just does what he can to help you and get you sorted out; Simon could hear the rapid set of your heart, feel your pulse like a rampaging storm.

When you’re down to nothing but your flesh, the man grabs the covers from behind you and wraps you in them, his eyes not once flickering downward until you’re entirely swamped by fabric. A hand on your waist squeezes.

By now the brush of his skin atop yours had sucked you in as if lighting had struck with every pass or small press. The glide of his scars and calluses grounded you here.

There were very few beings that would hunt for you through life and death and fewer that stayed that course. Thumbs once more brush away the water on the swell of your face.

“Sleep,” he utters, even if there’s light outside.

You gaze at him, at his stubble and his pale complexion; the wind rustles outside. What would he do? Guard the door most likely, perhaps even think of how to get into town and grab new clothes for the both of you, food, and necessities. Simon’s mind was fighting itself, just as it always had but now there was the largest stain on his consciousness that he could ever remember having.

He was worried if he handled you, you might break under him. You…you already had. Avoidance, even if it killed him inside, was the best course of action.

Your mouth is filled with wool, tongue heavy, but in your heart and whatever feeling you have burning in your chest, you know you can’t let him move away from you. Simon being this close made it…easier. Even if a piece of you was still hesitant about black fur and sharp teeth. He had said it himself, hadn’t he?

Simon wasn’t the Ghost, but at the same time how could they ever be apart from one another?

Yet, your lips are already moving just as he’s about to stand up.

“Stay?” Simon’s lungs take in a silent breath, a moment of long silence as he tries to understand why you would want to be around him at all. His hands twitch, your eyes catching the way his Adam’s apple bobs with a slow swallow. “Please, Simon,” you breathe. “I don’t…I can’t be alone again.”

He grunts and is already lifting you.

Simon shifts your body back and lays you nearest to the wall, shuffling his body until he can lie with his spine facing you; his face to the door as he stays unblinking.

“Nothing's going to happen to you,” he says, and you turn so you can lightly rest your head into the span of his shoulder blades. Simon’s jaw clenches. “It’s safe here. We’ll figure it out when you’ve got your energy back.”

You want him to explain, but perhaps right now sleep was the best option. For all intents and purposes—you can’t even remember when you last had true sleep. So you stay there, skin to skin, and breath to breath as the sun still shines outside; the wind travels slowly.

As you slip off, Simon has to restrain himself from turning around and pressing you into him—leveling his head above yours and breathing you in like how he wishes he could. But no. Too much.

He’d explain it all when you were better.

So he settles on the fact that all he can do is watch the door with a far-off expression, his body sagging back into you as your heat meets his.

—

You slept for three days, and in that time, Simon had only left once. On day two he went into town where he’d snuck like a thief—and there truly was no better analogy. Wearing only a blanket once more, the man breaks into your closed Tailor’s shop; boards on the windows and a sign out front to set it for sale. Inside, everything was as it had been left. Dust and layers of stale air, but there was never a better place to be for Simon.

It was where he met you, after all.

He takes everything he’s able to carry. A large trunk of clothes, personal belongings, and anything that looks of great importance; clothing himself in a simple undershirt and pants along the way. With that, he goes to his own home and grabs all manner of money. Come morning, people would believe it was a robbery, and that was perfectly fine with him.

Mostly everything belonged to you, anyway. They could have his sparsely furnished home and its cracking foundations. It mattered not. But he knew you needed your work—your passion.

As he grunts and lifts the trunk, a knicker echoes out behind him. Blinking, dark eyes look behind to find a meeting pair—a long horse’s neck leaning out of a stall. They stare at each other before Simon huffs a chuckle and turns to the shadows.

When you finally did open your eyes again, deep in the third night, everything was different.

You blink at the bright roar of the fireplace, the flickering of the candles that push back any darkness—curtains on the windows to hide the blackness of midnight. There are your belongings on the cleaned table; the foot of the bed and, there, on the desk. Measuring tape, fabric scissors, and yards of materials are stacked in the spotless corners.

There’s no doubt that the broken window is fixed for the moment as well.

New sheets sit on the end of the bed, waiting for you to get up before he can fit them. Jaw loose, you glance all around as the fabric pools at your waist, bare body glistening in the light as your head moves like a bird back and forth slowly. Dare you say it, the place felt…homely. Warm. Small, yes, but the definition of comfort rarely mattered when speaking on size.

There’s a shuffling sound outside the door and you realize you’re alone.

Face stuck at the door, your sudden tension is somewhat lessened by the small grunts and puffs of a large nose and heavy, clawed, feet. Somewhat.

An open maw bites down on your throat with a tearing of flesh before your neck fully snaps.

Your hand lightly comes up to your throat, pressing very loosely as the sounds continue, spiking your cautious curiosity. You know you shouldn’t be holding this against him, but, you had…died. You had felt your neck snap and your blood coat his fangs.

Somehow, Simon had brought you back from that, but he had been the one to do it in the first place.

No, you think, feet very carefully sitting on the floor. No, not Simon. The Ghost.

Yet again—aren't those the same? It was a constant question.

Your lips are thin as the dagger in your heart digs ever deeper, but it is your dagger, and it is also your heart, too. Yours. Standing, you cover yourself with the thin sheet, hearing it drag behind you as your body takes you to the door with quiet and even steps.

So much the two of you have gone through—it seemed hard to comprehend it in this world of black fire and battling beasts; hell and purgatory. He’d tracked you down…how? As your hand meets the handle, slowly walking feet coming closer from beyond it, you tighten your hold on the fabric near your neck and breathe slowly.

You first see crimson, and then the beady brown eyes of a large dog and a stained muzzle. Breath tight, you stare at the dead bodies of two sheep in the Ghost’s maw, limp bodies hanging from the legs out of puffed cheeks. The both of you halt your courses.

Simon’s eyes slash down your nearly-naked form, and he drops the animals to the ground before his head darts to the side; snow splattered with blood and the imprint of large woolen bodies. He snorts and takes a single step back, seemingly hunching down lower as he sniffs the air in distraction.

His feet pivot, one clawed foot moving away.

“Simon,” you say, breath puffing over the cold air. He waits, head only slightly tilting your way; eyes pointing down. You don’t know why you speak, why you call to him like this.

The silence settles as you struggle to articulate, mouth opening and closing like it was a choice between speech or the metaphorical blade to your throat. You close your mouth and look to the side, the lids of your eyes tightly shut.

Without another word, you’re setting your feet in the drowned snow and walking up to him, fingers shaking before your hand extends from the elbow. It rests above the side of his muzzle, hovering with a tiny quiver as you fight with your own fear.

You can feel Simon’s eyes on you now, watching. Always watching. Forever watching. Eyes like hard earth; like the dirt under your nails.

Simon’s throat grumbles, and before you can make a decision, he helps make one for you.

He softly moves his great lumbering head down and to the side—slotting it under your hand as you gasp, feeling the strands of fur under your grip. Immediately, your eyes snap to meet his, seeing long lashes holding snowflakes. The Ghost’s so large that he has to bend low in order to give you a comfortable resting point for your hand; sitting in between his sharp ears.

You swallow down your nervousness as the seconds draw on, your heart rate slowing until you can properly move closer and feel the waves of fur beneath your fingertips. Playing with them, you card your digits in gentle strokes, hearing the low purr that rattles your bones as a great weight is leveled into your torso.

A tiny giggle emanates from your chest, and the beast responds by only pushing himself deeper into your stomach.

“Easy,” you mutter, eyes light as a smile forms on your lips.

The chill seeps in gradually as you both stand there, a werewolf and a barely-clothed tailor. Before long you’re shivering even as you feel content next to Simon and to steal some of his furnace-like heat.

You pull back and the wolf momentarily tilts to find you, only to open his eyes when he can’t feel your sturdy body. He blinks, before slowly standing back up to his full height.

The light from the hut seeps out to cover you, and you take comfort in that—if the door shuts on its own, you’d be left in a darkness you know you’ll fear for many, many years. With its illumination, you speak freely.

“I don’t know how you did it, Simon,” his right ear twitches. “But…but I want you to know that I don’t blame you for what happened. I should, I know I should, but for the life of me, whenever you’re near I can’t think straight. Please, when you’re back to,” you huff a tiny laugh, “whenever you’re back to walking in a man’s skin, explain it to me. Explain why I can’t think of anyone else but you.”

Avoiding the sheep, you step back into the hut and close the door as those dead eyes follow loyally, the wolf not breathing beyond a thin line of condensation wafting into the air.

You only make it five steps back to bed before the wooden barrier is opened loudly, hitting off the back wall and shutting closed on its own. Turning back quickly, startled, you’re met with a fast panting chest and a human hand that swipes blood away from his lips. Bare skin is close to yours, and your eyes widen at the instantaneous blown feeling of your pupils.

Simon’s face is above yours.

“Because you own half of my fuckin’ soul,” he breathes into your scalp, accent rich and heavy with implication. “Just as I own half of yours.”

Literal or a metaphor, you care not.

You both stay there, hearts pumping and skin tingling as the air increases in temperature—the sheet around you held in a tight fist suddenly seems almost suffocating. Your arms itch to drop it. Drop it now and let him see you; let him feel you like no other has. Where did these thoughts come from? Or…had they always been there?

The man hasn’t moved, and you know he won’t do anything unless you ask it of him, but you can smell the sweat on his skin, the scent of blood and musk. Quick death and dragging claw.

If he was fire, it would be a blessing to be burned.

“Simon,” you say, voice tight. He grunts like a damn dog, hands at his sides twitching as his bare chest shines. So many scars. You want to trace them, to feel them writhe. “You’re no good for me.”

“I know,” he growls.

You press your lips to his and breathe him down as the sheet falls from your shoulders, all-encompassing hands finding the swell of your hips and sliding behind them; gripping tightly. Your own dig at his waist, finding the bulk of his abs and the deep tapper of his v-line before you gasp at his hand kneading the flesh of your arse.

At the motion, Simon takes the opportunity to smirk before letting his tongue slip into your mouth. You release a small noise from the back of your throat, and he groans—one hand coming up to grip the base of your skull and maneuvering your head farther upward. He pulls back and presses into you, your face growing hot as he finds your neck and starts leaving deep open-mouthed kisses as his chest vibrates.

Lips swollen and sensitive, you whimper as he bites down at every other interval; arms around his waist and nails running up and down his spine. Simon shivers, hips lightly bucking as you press on the small of his back.

“Fuckin’ hell, Love,” he nuzzles under your ear, pupils wide and blackened, feral-like. “The things you do to me, yeah? Drivin’ me up a damn wall whenever I caught a whiff of what I did to you.”

Your stomach is rolling in tight knots of desire, lungs heaving as his hands squeeze and travel. At your core, you can already feel the slippery effect on your folds—a stain of sin that leaks out with nothing to hold it hostage inside of you. Face tightening as Simon groans long, he leaves hickey after hickey, as if unable to not mark your neck and under-ear.

The feeling of teeth there doesn’t even startle you, no, not now.

You ache with need, legs threatening to close in on themselves before Simon loops a hand in your inner thigh and keeps them open. The world around you blurs as your body tingles with a yearning that almost hurts.

“C’mon now, Sweetheart,” his lips come back to yours and you let him ravish you with long, deep kisses as his hand moves up. You balk forward and shiver as you feel the deep press of his growing lust for you against your stomach. “Don’t wanna know how long I’ve been dreamin’ about this.”

Your eyes flutter, and you gasp out through the joining of your hungry mouths, “Show me, Simon. Show it to me.”

His teeth bite slowly into your bottom lip, easing you into this game of wolf and sheep as his half-closed eyes open and dig into you. Simon’s fingers flex but don’t move, the other still at the base of your neck; your own have been leaving crescent-shaped marks on his back for a while, absentmindedly pulsing along with the heated blood in your veins.

There are still the remnants of sheep’s blood on his cheek—slashed up the side of his face and over his deep-set eyebrow, but you find you don’t care at all.

With how his fingers tap so close yet so far to that sensitive bundle and the dripping mess of your insides, nothing matters.

“My Girl wants that?” Simon hums, and as easily as if he were picking up a shirt from your shop, he lets his thick fingers push you open as you suck in a quick breath and sag into him. Into his neck you sigh, hitched airways making it seem tight. Instinctually you open your legs wider, whining at the press of calluses and scars in your clutch and sliding up your sensitive walls.

Simon stops and waits mid-way past his first knuckle with two fingers, groaning as you tighten and flex around him at the foreign sensation. His thumb at the back of your head moves up and down, his own thighs hard with eagerness and a stain in his abdomen from the lack of attention—but he cares little about his own leaking head, content only when able to give you pleasure in the purest form.

Your stomach as well as his are wet from his weeping tip, the chill of it making you both shiver and try to mash your bodies ever closer as the sheet below you two is tangled at your feet. The fireplace crackles.

“Simon,” you keen, and he answers with a bite of your shoulder before rubbing his head into your neck. Like opium, he’d said. If only he could tell you your scent now was convincing enough to make him lay on a bed of burning coals if only he could smell it for three more seconds.

Arousal. Lust. Animalistic desperation that Simon’s eager to bring you to the brink of—face sick with pleasure and eyes blown with numb satisfaction. Open and bare to him.

“Attagirl, that’s it,” he slides his digits deeper as your hips buck, making him grit his teeth to hold back a grunt as his dick is jostled. “So wet for me, fuckin’ perfect. Let me help, yeah?”

“Fuck, Simon,” he buries his fingers at the base, wasting no time in crooking them back toward him and pulling his wrist down. You moan loudly, stretching and being played like an instrument. Simon’s fingers repeat the motion until you’re a mess of rutting thighs and shaky legs.

The man takes down every moan and whimper—every sigh and jerk with a growing sense of pride. His dick is begging for friction, and the little bit he gets is from your stomach rubbing against it with every slippery sound of his fingers entering and exiting your core.

Simon’s mouth is open with a tight pant for breath, mirroring yours before the pad of his palm rubs against your bundle. You arch into him, whining and pleading instantly with a burning face, half convinced something had overtaken your body to make you act in such a way.

The man moves his fingers faster, making sure to maneuver his limb in such a way as to get your clit harder and harder with every pass, leaving you limp in his arms. Simon anchors you to him with a hand on the back of your shoulder blades, grip hard and knuckles white.

As your face screws up and a fire burns in your core, nails leave long scratches down the back of his torso as if he was a wooden trunk to tie a horse to—a rock in a storm.

“Simon,” you sigh out, head stuck under his chin. “S-so good, keep going.”

He opens his mouth as he rubs his chin on the top of your scalp, mixing your scents together potently.

“Look at me,” Simon utters, in his desperation to bring you to the edge, his accent is as deep as you’d ever heard it. “Look at me, Love. Wanna see your eyes watchin’ me as you fall apart. I’ll make it good, promise.”

“K…” You gasp as everything keeps building up and up, teeth clenching together and legs fighting to close around his hand—Simon bullies you open through the overstimulation; the flood of your senses. “Know you will!”

“So good to me, Sweetheart,” he grumbles, taking you by the side of your cheek and leaning back slightly so he can still let you rest on him but also watch.

Your eyes flutter with every rapid intrusion from Simon’s digits, tight and textured walls giving in to him as he pushes and prods, searching for something as his brows crease and his abdomen bunches. The man’s biceps flex and strain, feet wide open and lips parted as he locks onto your gaze.

“Fuck, what a bloody sight to see. Yeah, you enjoying that, then?” He mutters, and only when he pushes those teasing words out does he find a point inside of you that leaves your mouth opening and your toes curling; that he truly loses his breath.

Holding your head forward, Simon’s jaw slackens as your face contorted with pain-like expressions of confused pleasure, sweat glistening your forehead and your lips swollen—neck nothing more than raised skin from all of the man’s biting.

You strangle down such an instinctive and leg-shaking moan that Simon nearly forgets that he’s not even truly inside of you yet; balls tightening with building excitement and his length begging to be squeezed, used for nothing but that same expression on your face.

“Christ,” he breathes, teeth grinding and feeling you fight to keep his fingers in. Slick drips down his wrist, tapping the floor in a clear stain that could bring him to his knees.

You can’t even speak, spine curling with such raw electric sparks. If Simon isn’t careful, your legs will entirely fail you.

“Sim-” Your voice is high, mixed with panic as you let him hit that same point again and again like a hunter. “Simon!” You chant, fighting to meet his eyes as your vision blurs.

Everything was too hot, the scrape of his calluses on your flesh like a knife raking through your insides with pleasurable stabs.

“Jus’ like that, Love,” he breathes, not blinking. “C’mon know you feel it. Squeezin’ my fingers just right. Look at that pretty little face.”

You’re building and building, standing on the precipice of a large chasm. There’s nothing to stop you from going over the edge—and you don’t want anything too.

Your body tenses gradually, knees wobbling and your abdomen pulling into itself. A sharp claw seems to play with the string of your impending release, fiddling with it and taking it into its fingertip; rubbing it back and forth in a slow game.

Your breath comes out in short gasps, moans getting higher and more cut, Simon’s eyes are transfixed, panting like a dog, and, in an instant right before you break, moves his fingers at a break-neck pace.

Your sharp cry is caught on his lips, sucking it down as your orgasm floods his hand, leaving it a sticky mess that he continues finger-fuck you through with firm strokes. He’s whispering praises on your lips, keeping you up as his hand snaps to your waist when your legs buckle. Your walls move like a noose, letting the man fantasize how it would feel to have you speared open in his lap as you writhe and take him down in the low light.

All of these thoughts, this sight, make him harder by the second.

Simon keeps moving his fingers, drawing your explosive release out until you plead quietly for him to stop from overstimulation. The sensation makes your abused clit cause your spine to arch with every touch of his wet palm. He obliged, the sound of slick slapping halting, but his fingers didn’t leave your spasming cunt as your limp head fell to his shoulder.

Your chest heaves, aftershocks leaving your mind blank to all else but the press of skin and sweat. The air reeks of sex and hot breath.

Simon’s head clacks yours, fingers flexing as you whimper and dig your hands into his sides. He chuckles and slowly pulls out, taking long strings of cum with him as they string his fingers together and dribble to the floor from your slit. He holds you up, uncomfortably shifting his feet when your body jostles his raging erection—making him hold back a tight gasp.

“Good?” The man asks, gruff and casually. Your open mouth lays a firm kiss on his burning flesh as he side-eyes you waiting for a response.

“Yeah,” your voice is far off. Simon chuckles lowly.

In an easy sweep of his arms, you’re picked up and carried to the bed; set down to the plushness that’s down one sheet. You lay on your back, gazing up at the man as he stares down at you in turn.

Neither of you speaks until Simon has to rip his eyes away, clearing his throat. Your eyes travel down before widening at the violent red of the man’s length—the thing twitching and dripping pre-cum down to the base in an obvious plea for stimulation. Yet Simon makes no move to do anything.

“You should get some more rest—”

“Let me help,” you whisper, eyes widely innocent as they meet the browns that snap your way, those orbs slightly widening. “I own half your soul…right?”

Simon watches you, jaw loose.

“It looks painful,” you ease out, pointedly moving your gaze downward with unabashed boldness.

“Is,” he utters. If he was being honest, he was worried that he had been coming on too strong—that this part of the night might be going a bit far. You were a lady, after all, and he respected you as such. He needed confirmation.

“Then let me help, Simon.” Your eyes blink at him, hand coming up to trace the bulk of his thigh muscles. His breath goes shallow, self-control fraying fast. Just a little more. You lick your lips. “I want to feel you take me like no one else has. I want you to stay in this bed with me until the fire goes out and the light outside peels through the curtains. Can you do that for me?”

Your wet core pulses again, wanting—waiting for something more. Something only Simon could give you.

The man’s chest rattles. “Yes,” he relays, words low.

After a moment of eye contact, the man places his knee on the bed, shifting so that he has himself in between your legs; hands coming up beside your head. Your lungs are heavy, fingers coming up to rub over his blood-stained cheek as his nose brushes yours. Simon’s stubble itches you, but you still sigh constantly as he kisses you once more.

This was slower than the previous—less desperate though you don’t know how as you could feel the strain of his length prodding like a hot iron in your inner thigh. It made you slightly nervous, the size and the action itself, but you didn’t doubt who you wanted to be the one above you.

Simon kisses the side of your lips, nipping at the skin as he grunts out, “You sure?”

Brown eyes never waver as they stare you down. Any ounce of hesitation would be found immediately and the action would be over; Simon paraded around as a cold and heartless beast, but never had there been a man more considerate of your own safety. He didn’t want to hurt you.

You drag your fingers through his hair and he shudders, one grip sliding to your legs as the drag of barely-there claws makes your breath hitch. Your lips mutter, quietly, “Yes.”

“Gotta make me believe it, Sweetheart,” Simon kisses over all of the marks he left, slowly dragging the warm press of his mouth and side-eyeing you.

You glare down at him and feel his smirk on your skin, how he hooks his hand under your knee and lightly lifts the limb. Your muscles flex at the sudden spread of your legs, your hand in his hair grasping tighter. Simon sighs low as your body shifts, shivering at the slick heat he restrains himself from rutting against.

Face burning at your bare excitement, the man’s eyes glaze over.

“I’m sure, Simon.”

“Don’t wanna make you feel like you have to—”

“Simon,” you interrupt his comment, and the blond huffs, the air sliding over your heated skin.

“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.” You smile softly and drag his face back to yours, kissing him deeply. “Let me try…” Simon mutters on your lips, and soon both of his hands are pushing up your knees as you widely blink at the openness of your core before your legs are folded up.

You whine at the stretch, the embarrassment of having your dripping folds on full display. This was foreign to you.

Simon hums, looking down and groaning. He taps his forehead to yours as you breathe deeply, letting him take control.

“Okay?” He asks, and your heart skips a beat.

“Are you going to keep stalling,” you breathe, looking into his gaze teasingly. “Or are you going to show me how you can’t function without me beside you?”

There’s a stretch as he lines himself up, hips moving back and abdomen sliding over yours—your lungs stutter as his eyes glint at you; lips flicking in a smirk.

“You going to keep me here?” You breathe, voice breathy as Simon’s length begins to steadily press forward, your face twists as you take him down, lines forming on your forehead. “Make me,” his hands keep your legs up beside you, open as they tighten. His lids narrow in concentration at the tight vice of your walls, having to slowly bully his way into you inch by inch. “Make me tailor your clothes a-and spin your wool?”

The sounds from your joining bodies are vulgar. A slide and a coating of flesh with natural assistance as Simon’s jaw clenches, not able to help the jump of his pelvis as you moan and arch your back as he moves even farther into your clutch.

You both writhe as he bottoms out, bodies shaking at the intensity of the moment and the sparks under your flesh.

“Ah,” Simon strangles a whine, eyes tight shut as yours follow. Quick kisses are placed on your lips. “Don’t tempt me, yeah?”

The great stretch of your insides leaves you sighing, tiny waves of pain pushed back by pleasurable pulsing and the scrape of veins. His head lays in the hold of your womb, slick leaking out from the ring of your core.

“We,” your hips jerk, and Simon’s hands on your knees tighten until you know there’ll be bruises come morning. “We’re beyond temptation.”

Simon chuckles—his eyes dark and glimmering in the firelight. “Smart girl.”

He lets you adjust there for a moment, even if his dick is pleading with him to move and drive your back into the mattress; to see your face crease in rapture. But that wasn’t what his head wanted, no, he wanted this done right.

When you look at him and your thighs stop shaking, he carefully grinds himself into you, letting your bundle of nerves meet the wirehair of his happy trail and give himself the slightest feeling of relief. You bite your lip, one hand on Simon’s cheek and the other still in his hair.

The angle of your legs makes you feel him that much deeper, even as he simply grinds himself inside of you and doesn’t move much beyond that.

“Feels good, y’know that?” Simon mutters as your mouth takes down a slow breath, eyes stuck on each other as the man fully begins to remove himself and softly flinch his length back into you; exiting just enough before letting him re-enter. “Tight; warm.” He shudders, gritting his teeth. “C-can smell you like this—how much you want it. Always have.”

You whine at the words, tightening around him as he begins gently fucking you in earnest, the slap of skin and tight walls joining the crackle of wood. The scents on the air are a perfect mix of addictive pheromones—so potent even you can smell it as you try to meet every dig of his hips.

Simon’s face goes to your neck, nuzzling into it as his eyes go tight.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes out a groan into your ear, mouth open.

The heat returns easily to you, the burning in your gut. Simon’s pelvis hits you, stimulating your clit every time in the perfect way, as if he’d glanced at your body once and immediately memorized what made you tick. His sweat drips and pools with your own, slick leaking out to the mattress and making you feel dirty in the best way as your cut-off sighs hit the ceiling. It's hot in here; nearly too hot to focus on the slide of skin and dig of your nails into his hair. It’s telling how fast you seem to hit that peak again, at the constant scrape of his veins and the push of your walls as if trying to force him in.

Your back arches into him, and Simon cants his hips faster, biting on your chin and pulling at your lips as his eyes watch with eagerness. His abdomen bunches at the sheer pleasure he feels making you feel like this, chest heaving and large build all but swallowing you below him.

“Simon,” you breathe, kissing him on his lips eagerly, growing desperate.

“Let me take care of you,” the man grunts hard, getting harder to focus, “trust me?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, clenching your jaw as he brushes a spot so deep inside of you that your eyes go blurry for a moment. Your lips move without your brain understanding the slurred words. “Yes, I trust you. I…I…oh, fuck.”

He sighs and bites a whimper down as your walls flex, gripping him tighter and tighter.

“Knew I’d find you,” Simon pushes your legs harder into the mattress, form slightly shaking. You moan high into his mouth, eyes fluttering and knot growing tighter. “Knew I’d make it right, eh? Death can’t keep you away from me, not now. I’ll find you.”

You gasp, itching cord snapping and release spilling out around the plug of his dick as he continues on as you jerk and rut out of order; eyebrows pulled in. It isn’t long after that Simon follows you, shoving his lips on yours as his mouth parts with a tight cry. Inside of you the spill of his seed fills your womb and he fucks through it, hands releasing your legs to rub up and down your sides.

Your core floods as he stays there, resting and stationary above you, his weight heavy but not crushing. The both of you stare at one another and breathe down the heated air; all of the scents and the desire there—the unspoken bond that extends life and death.

Simon grunts and forces out, breathless, staring through blown pupils.

“I’ll always find you.”

In the morning there’s a pile of wool sitting in a cloth sack against the wall, and the sound of chopping wood outside. The curtains are drawn to the bright rays of the morning sun as they meet your softly smiling face, visage half-covered by the newly fitted sheets.

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longing-for-the-past-times · 7 months

Text

The four times you fell asleep on Ghost and the one time Ghost fell asleep on you - five.

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

word count: 9k (as you will see, a lot of stuff happens)

synopsis: When the mission goes south and you end up in the hands of the enemy, Ghost finds himself alone and angry, reflecting on what your presence actually means to him.

warnings: violence, graphic descriptions of torture, occasional swearing, mentions of smoking, hurt/comfort, slight happy-ending, Ghost being angry and tortured by his inner demons, military inaccuracies

notes: So this is it - the finale of a series that was initially meant to be a one shot consisting of several random fluff-filled scenes. I am actually quite satisfied with how the story turned out, although I have to warn you that this chapter is longer than usual because it consists of several pure narrative parts (background descriptions and such).

If you need therapy after reading this, just dm me the bills and I'll work something out :)

reader's callsign is Bambi (she/her)

find it on ao3 part one part two part three part four part five

masterlist

five.

To say Ghost was angry would have been an understatement. He was fuming, his heavy breathing being the only sound that filled the now-silent room. Even after half an hour had passed, the burning feeling in his chest did not fade away, serving instead as a reminder of his helplessness. He was angry at Laswell for pairing you up with the younger sniper team. He was furious with Price for his decision to not go after you the moment your radio stopped working...

But in the end, he was livid with himself for not being there to protect you in the first place.

He couldn’t shake the guilt that ate him from inside like a parasite, and as the seconds turned into minutes which would be bound to turn into hours, he felt the weight of his inaction suffocating him like he was the one under torture. Clenching his jaw, he began to stomp around the living room of the safe house. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife and, as he felt the concerned looks of the others on him, Ghost couldn’t help but replay the events of the past 36 hours in his mind.

He felt he had failed you when it mattered most, but he was determined to set things straight and bring you back unharmed.

Or at least alive and breathing.

--- 28 hours earlier

The sky was painted in golden hues by the time you left the briefing room, the morning air being a cold, yet comforting sensation that welcomed you when you got out of the main base building. Your mind was reeling with a plethora of classified intelligence and even more questions, but at least your adrenaline levels were high enough to chase any remnants of sleep away.

It had been almost a day since you left your apartment, but you weren't in a rush to go back. You would have to pack for the next mission anyway, and the given approximation of "an undefined amount of time" was an additional reason to delay the task. Instead, you went to the only place where you knew you'd find Ghost at this hour: the unofficial smoking spot of the base, named after the lack of security cameras in the area.

And there he was, perched on a plastic chair that made him look comically big and threatened to barely hold his weight. His mask was raised to his nose, highlighting a prominent jawline, peppered with faint scars and a hint of blonde stubble. Involuntarily, your eyes focused on his plump lips and the way they were wrapped around the cigarette, its burning tip glowing orange with each drag he took. His eyes were focused on a random point on the ground, but you knew he had heard you coming- his body had unconsciously shifted towards you, his legs adopting an open stance, almost as if to greet you.

"Thought you said you'd quit", you teased him in a soft tone, dragging a chair and sitting next to him. You opened your mouth to add something but were taken aback when you saw his lips curl up in a gentle smile, accompanied by a weak laugh.

There was no humour in it, but that did not stop you from relishing in the rare sight of Ghost's grin, your eyes once again focusing on the faint scar that rested on his lower lip. You didn't know the story behind it, nobody but Price did, yet that didn't stop you, Soap and Gaz to come up with scenarios of your own, one less likely than another.

"You're staring!", he remarked in a gravelly tone, blowing out a huff of smoke.

You knew it was wrong, but you secretly enjoyed second-hand smoking when he was around. He was too stubborn to let you try one of his cigarettes, always arguing about the negative impact on your health, but it was not like he could forbid you from keeping him company. The traces of smoke in his scent were an integral part of him and sometimes you just couldn't get enough of it, your lungs always begging for more.

"I'm not!", you eventually countered, taking a deep breath in. "And you did not answer the question!"

"It wasn't a question!", he argued back with a serious expression, his lips now forming a straight line.

"You know what I mean!"

You also knew that the banter you two had going on was meant to keep him away from the edge that would send Simon away and bring back Ghost. You'd already seen glimpses of him back in the briefing room when Laswell brought you up to date on the details of the mission. Just as you were witnessing Simon now, smoking half a pack of cigarettes in a desperate attempt to keep the deadly persona of the 141 Lieutenant away for as long as possible.

"Can I try one?", you went on with the distraction, already knowing his answer.

"No." - his answer was definitive, his clipped tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Huffing in annoyance, you crossed your arms over your chest and furrowed your brow, slightly scrunching your nose. He did not seem to be fazed by your childish outburst and instead, inhaled deeply, cheeks hollowing as he drew in the smoke. The exhale came shortly after, grey tendrils of smoke escaping his parted lips before he decided to speak again:

"Wanna hear something funny?"

You were already aware of Ghost's penchant for what he called "dad jokes", but what actually were just really bad puns, although, with him, they often had the tendency to turn out darker than expected. That was why you had to carefully pick your answer because you did not want to have Ghost on the bad side before going into mission - either because you refused to listen to a pun, or because of your reaction to it.

"I'm really not sure…", you shook your head, struggling to avoid eye contact.

As expected, he went on regardless of your answer.

"What do you call cigarettes you find in a thrift shop?"

A faint smirk was profiling on his lips again as he was clearly waiting for your reaction before delivering the pun.

"Go on, tell me", you eventually nudged him, rolling your eyes in fake pretence.

"Second hand smokes."

You struggled to suppress the smile that was threatening to spread on your face, but eventually, you ended up looking to the ground and shaking your head in defeat. Another low chuckle was heard from Simon, yet when you looked back at him, the cigarette butt was already in the ashtray and his balaclava was back on. You let out a deep sigh, your lips forming a pout, but you accepted his extended hand, allowing him to lift you from the chair.

"Come on, I'll drive you home. Price said the plane leaves at 1300 hours which leaves us with… exactly 6 hours and 45 minutes to get our things in order."

"Can't wait for it!", you let out an ironic huff, a shiver going down your spine upon hearing a hushed laugh in reply.

You and Ghost were in a good place. You could only hope this would last.

---

"Sergeant L/N, these are Privates Reynolds and Jones! They will be accompanying you on this mission as a sniper, respectively a spotter!"

From the instant you set eyes on him, you knew Captain Price had chosen the tarmac to make the introduction with a firm reason in mind. Perhaps it was the thunderous roar of the engines or the massive air currents caused by the propellers of the military aircraft you were about to board, but you could tell the atmosphere was intimidating enough for the two young men that they could only hold your gaze for so long before nodding their heads in acknowledgement.

"This is Sergeant L/N and she is going to be your mentor and leader for the duration of this mission", Price went on, his tone mercilessly cold.

The previous night he'd been a friendly face, "the dad of the group", as you drunkenly mentioned him in the toast, but that day he was the Captain of one of the most lethal Task forces there had been. And with that position came no room for mistakes or second thoughts.

"You will listen to her, no matter the situation. She tells you to shoot, you shoot. She tells you to hide, you hide. Hell, she tells you to come out and surrender, you do just that if you want to come home in one piece and not in a body bag!"

And he had a tendency to be slightly dramatic sometimes. Yet it was well-intended: you could only remember the "pep-talk" he'd given you before your first mission, after having placed you in the care of one of the most deadly operators you've ever seen, also known to others as "the big boy with a skull face"; that mission had gone sideways minutes after it had begun and you ended up saving yourself and the Lieutenant twice just by being high on energizers and adrenaline.

You and Ghost did not talk about that.

"Good to meet you, boys!", you shook their hands with a firm grip before nodding them into the direction of the aircraft. "You should go and buckle up. I'll be joining you soon!"

"Yes ma'am!", they answered in unison, shooting each other a cryptic look before heading in the direction of the plane.

You and Price caught that, but before being able to talk about it, you were interrupted by the big boy with the skull face himself:

"Those are the boys Y/N's supposed to be babysitting?"

Ghost was not one to mince words, even on a good day. Perhaps, at one point in the past, he had simply decided that hiding behind a wall of well-chosen words was not worth it, or he simply preferred to make himself understood from the beginning. And when opposing something, as he was at that moment, he did not bother to hide it:

"You're lucky they're not in your care!", you decided to steer the conversation in another direction. "I don't know where Laswell found them, but I bet at least one's dad has stars on his shoulders!"

Neither you, nor Ghost liked Price's lingering silence, but you didn't show it. You trusted Kate well enough to know she would have ensured they posed no real threat to your safety and the mission's success before having them join you on the field.

What actually bothered you was that it all happened on such short notice. You barely had time to bounce back from the previous assignment before having to start a new, high-risk, high-stakes one. You were aware of your limits and confident enough that you could pull this one off - but having to look after another two people you met a couple of hours before going into the field? Sure, you knew your limits, but did they know theirs?

"Stop it! Get it out of your mind, now!"

Ghost's deep Manchester accent pulled you out of your head and back into the present moment. You shot him what was meant to be a reassuring look, unaware that you actually looked like a deer caught in the headlights. It took you a moment to realise Price had left, leaving you two alone on the tarmac.

"They do anything you don't like, they act fishy - you report directly to me!"

He took a step forward, the tac vests you'd fastened on your bodies almost making contact. You pursed your lips in an attempt to hide the tremor that coursed through you and raised your eyes to take a better look at the skull plate, firmly attached to his black balaclava by messy stitches.

Just like Price, he was quick to bounce back into being the Lieutenant of Task Force 141. You were used to seeing him in full combat gear considering the big count of missions you went together into, but you couldn't help but furrow your brow at the sight of an additional Ka-Bar knife strapped in a detachable holster on his belt. And at the two fragmentation grenades attached to the same belt. But after all, he and Soap would drop out of the plane before you hit the landing zone - he would need all the additional equipment and ammunition he could get.

"Are you ready to go into the hornet's nest?", you tried to tease him in an attempt to mask the audible gulp you had to take as the adrenaline started to kick in.

"You'll have reduced it to half before I even take out my knife!", he hummed as an answer, a soft warmth glowing in his chocolate eyes.

You opened your mouth to talk back, but you were interrupted by the loud beeping that signalled you to board the aircraft. You knew you had to go, you had a tight schedule to follow after all, but neither of you seemed to want to be the first to leave.

"I'll meet you at the safehouse?"

This time you couldn't look him in the eye, pining your gaze to the ground as your voice trembled, a soft vibration that got lost in the brutal cacophony of sounds. A surprised sound left your lips when his tac vest came back into your sight, two gloved fingers resting on your chin and lifting it until your eyes made contact with his.

"I'll be there."

You maintained eye contact as his hand fumbled for something on his vest. His glance was soft and tender, just as reassuring as his words and the gloved fingers that still lingered above your helmet strap.

"And I'll want that back."

You shot him a quizzical look before feeling an unfamiliar weight in the pocket of your tac vest. Your eyes shot down to the place, catching a glimpse of his skeleton glove before setting on the crumpled, half-smoked pack of cigarettes, and a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

"That's an order, Sergeant!", he barked out before heading towards the aircraft. You couldn't help but roll your eyes and follow him, left hand resting over the smokes.

"Roger that, sir!"

--- 2 hours earlier

"Watcher 1 to Bravo 4-7, how copy?"

Laswell's voice could be heard through the radio, partially interrupting your watch. With mechanic moves, you pressed the communication button and brought the microphone closer to your chapped lips:

"Watcher 1, this is Bravo 4-7, solid copy! Go on for traffic."

"Interrogative, have you got eyes on the target?"

Shifting a bit under the dessert camouflage net, you peered down the scope of the rifle to check the gates of the compound. Two men with hunting dogs seemed to be on foot patrol, automatic guns swaying at their hips.

"Affirmative. Do you want me to take them down?"

It had been more than 20 hours since you got into position, yet all you were ordered to do was to keep watch and stand for future orders. Since it was not the first mission of this kind, you had expected that yet you could see the Privates getting jumpy and distracted, the two of them idly chatting between their own shared camo net.

"Negative, we expect the smugglers to arrive shortly after they switch patrols- we plan to infiltrate so hold your fire!"

"Copy, Watcher 1! Bravo 4-7 out!"

Taking one last look at the current patrol, you switched the communications on the channel you used to communicate with the two Privates. During your first mission, Ghost wasn't exactly the most talkative partner and not being able to entirely understand his intentions almost got you killed. After you got to know him better, you knew that he had been testing you and that he was always ready to step in if things went more south than expected, but nonetheless, you decided to do things differently with the two soon-to-be operators:

"Bravo 4-7-1, this is Bravo 4-7, how copy?"

You turned your eyes to the left, a frown on your face as you saw the camo net slightly shift as the radio began to crackle.

"Bravo 4-7, this is Bravo 4-7-1. Uhm… solid copy?"

"This is Bravo 0-7. Why the hell are you talking to your supervisor on the main channel?"

You couldn't help but giggle at Ghost's rough voice and you rolled your eyes at his antics. He was surely having the time of his life after having found a way to pick on the two men.

"Sorry sir… uhm, we were answering to Bravo 4-7-1 and…"

"Bravo 4-7-1, this is Bravo 4-7, switch to channel 4 and we'll continue our private chat there."

The quiet air was filled with even more crackling static and occasional mutters coming from who was probably Reynolds. Still keeping your eyes locked on the gates of the complex, you let out a sigh as you pressed the communication button again before Ghost could intervene:

"Bravo 4-7-1, use the red dial that is next to the communication button. All Bravos, sorry for the disturbance - though we could all use a small break!"

"You've got it, Bambi! How are you holding up there?"

You smiled hearing Kyle's reassuring tone, briefly accompanied by what must have been Price's laugh. Ghost and Soap would infiltrate the building from one side, while the Captain and Gaz would break in from the other- and you would keep watch and annihilate any unexpected threat, coming from the outside.

"It's all good, Gaz, all good. Just sitting my ass here and waiting for the moment I get to save yours!"

"Have you seen this ass though? Definitely worth killing for!"

Naturally, Soap couldn't help but intervene, his cocky reply being laced with a hint of playful arrogance. You opened your mouth to give him a well-chosen answer, but Ghost beat you to it. He was in full-combat mode, his stern voice being more than enough to make you bounce back into the harsh reality of the mission.

"Keep talking, MacTavish, and there'll be no rear-end left of you by the time the job is done! Party's over, get your asses back into the game!"

"Roger!"

But you still laughed after you made sure your radio was off, shaking your head in disbelief. Even when pent up on combat stress and adrenaline, you knew Ghost's pun was intentional. Involuntarily, your hand brushed over the crumpled pack of smokes, fishing it out of the pocket and bringing it closer to your face. Closing your eyes, you inhaled slowly, a deep sigh leaving your mouth. Even after a bumpy plane ride and 20 hours spent on a stakeout, Simon's scent was lingering, a silent sign of his presence.

"Bravo 4-7, this is Bravo 4-7-1, how copy?", Private John's voice could be heard through the radio, a tense silence settling in after his words. You had an inkling that they still had second thoughts on whether they were on the right channel or not.

"Solid copy, Private." You eventually decided to end their inner torment and reply, a grin forming at the corner of your lips when you heard a collective sigh from the two.

"Ma'am, we're sorry about before…"

"Mistakes happen- let that be your biggest and last one", you were prompt to cut them short, remembering how Ghost had tried to instil discipline through clipped, yet complete orders. "Now, Reynolds, tell me what you two are looking at!"

"Yes, ma'am! We're looking at two solid iron gates which are openly guarded by two mobile patrols, each one consisting of an armed man and a hunting dog. They haven't rotated in the past 5 hours, I think, so they are probably expecting to be changed soon-"

"Which also means that they might have got bored and should not be as attentive to their surroundings as-"

"Wrong, Private Johns, you are dead. Lesson number one on the battlefield, never underestimate your enemy!", you barked through the headset in a manner that would make Ghost proud. "You always need to uphold the enemy to the highest standard, not rely on their mistakes to succeed. Mistakes are occasional, but underestimating them is what will get you killed!"

The prolonged silence on their part was not a good sign and, for a moment, you wondered whether you'd been too harsh on them. But they must have known what they were signing up for temporarily joining the Task Force, so you sighed in defeat and pressed the communication button once more:

"I want you to move to the next ridge and keep watch from there. I expect detailed reports every 15 minutes from now on. Any questions?"

"No ma'am. Bravo 4-7-1 out."

"Bravo 4-7 out."

---

You started to realise something was wrong when another hour passed and the patrols were not switched, but instead doubled, with no signs of smugglers in sight. So far the main channel had been quiet and you divided your attention between the Privates' reports and being on the lookout for any signs that you've been compromised.

Your left hand was unconsciously fiddling with the cigarette pack, while your right one was adjusting the scope to focus on the road leading to the complex. Your breath hitched upon seeing a Humvee heading towards the gates and you fumbled for the communication button of the radio, bringing the mic closer to your mouth.

The sudden explosion of static coming from the radio had you almost ripping off the headset from your ears, a cold shiver running down your spine the moment you realised it.

Your radio was not working.

"All Bravos, this is Bravo 4-7, how copy?"

You could feel your heartbeat increasing at an alarming rate when no answer came and you turned to look at the place where Privates Reynolds and Johns should have been, keeping watch on the complex. Your heart dropped further in your chest when you realised the ridge was empty and there had been more than 15 minutes since their last report- still that didn't justify why they'd left their position without telling you. Were Price's orders not clear enough? Sure, your radio may have broken somehow, but they should have come and checked in with you in person as they must have been trained.

You let out a string of curses under your breath, the realisation of the imminent danger you were currently in hitting you like a bullet train. You must have been compromised, the same way the scouts Laswell mentioned had been - and your radio was not working because someone must have been using a signal jammer in the area. And judging by the absence of the two Privates, the order to retreat had already been given.

You needed to get out of there.

With rapid, but calculated movements, you disassembled the sniper and began to pack it into a camo warbag. You were slowly rolling up the camouflage net when multiple gunshots were fired on the road you had been watching. Your eyes widened in disbelief when you saw what must have been the convoy supposed to transport the weapons Laswell talked about, coming under heavy fire. There had been someone else who had known about the transport, and who must have done everything they could to get their hands on it.

And taking into consideration what they had done to the Special Forces scouts, you could easily rule out the saying that stated that the enemy of your enemy was your friend. So when you heard men hollering in what seemed to be Russian in your vicinity, you ripped out your dog tags and all the badges that identified you as a British Special Forces operator and buried them into a shallow mound, carefully placing one of Ghost's cigarettes on top of it. As the shouts grew closed, you took in a deep breath and your left hand gripped around the hilt of the extra Ka-Bar knife you kept in your boot.

With a small sigh of resignation, you accepted the fact that you couldn't outrun them without the high risk of getting killed. While the ridge you were stationed on was a good point of observation, it provided no proper cover outside of the camouflage net you've already packed and it only left you with the choice you've been trained to make and despised the most.

Surrender yourself and hope somebody will come to save you.

-- present time

"Why didn't she listen to the orders to retrea-.."

One of the Privates whose nametag read Johns tried to speak up, but his words faltered as the deadly gazes of the remaining Task Force 141 operators were set on him. And at that moment they resembled a pack of hound dogs, eager to be released on a hunt.

"Listen here, boy", Soap began in an unusually calm tone, although his tensed-up form spoke otherwise. "You and your friend here- you better pack up and make sure you board Laswell's ride, as soon as she touches ground here." His words were cold and calculated, his voice getting harsher as he went on. "See, right now we are all focused on getting back our comrade- to put it plainly, we do not have the time to deal with you leaving her behind deep in enemy territory."

He paused for better effect.

"But Lord save you once we find her because nothing will hold us back and we. Will. Be. Coming. For. You."

"That's enough, MacTavish!", Laswell curtly said as she entered the safe house. She was dressed plainly, if not for the bulletproof vest she'd donned and the usual stack of manilla folders she was usually carrying around had been replaced by a laptop she placed in front of Price and opened. "I take full responsibility for what happened to Miss L/N. As for now, she is declared as MIA."

"What do you mean, happened? I don't care what you're going to say, but I am sure as hell going to get her out of wherever she is!", Ghost couldn't contain his growl, his fingers turning white from his hard grip on the chair.

If any of his teammates noticed the sudden shift in his demeanour when Laswell declared you as missing in action, they had the common sense to keep their thoughts to themselves. All of them were stressed, angry and tired, but there was one more feeling that was bubbling in Ghost's chest, something that he hadn't felt in a long time, not since he'd been buried alive in a dead man's casket.

Simon Riley was scared. He was scared he wouldn't be able to get you in time, that he would fail to protect you when you needed it the most. He couldn't control the frantic way his heart hammered in his chest when his brain fabricated scenarios in which you were alone, cold and petrified, and it took him a great deal of what was left of his self-control not to throw caution out the window and run to find you.

Ghost was scared for you, but what terrified him the most was the thought of having to live in a world without you.

On the outside, he seemed still as a statue, his trained blank look not betraying the internal conflict that was raging inside. He saw Laswell's lips move and the laptop screen that was placed in front of him, but the lights were too bright and the colours, too saturated. He was supposed to watch a video, a drone footage, as his military-trained mind registered, but the voices in his head became too loud to ignore and the temperature in the room was too high for his liking. His breaths quickened and he felt the mask sticking to his face, suffocating him, as if he was in the coffin again, in the dark, and alone with a rotting corpse. Only it was not the body of the person who'd betrayed him, but your sleeping silhouette, gently resting your head on his chest and sighing every once in a while.

The footage from the drone zoomed in on a familiar figure who was encircled by armed men from all directions. The scene of you being taken as a hostage played in front of Ghost's eyes, but his mind did not register it as his sole focus was on your slumbering figure, the warmth of your body against his playing a big role in persuading Simon that you were actually there, with him, safe and sound.

Yet you weren't, and when he tried to brush a strand of hair away from your face he was met with the rough and cold surface of a skull plate, his fingers instantly jerking away in repulsion. A wave of nausea had him shot up from his chair and stumble to the bathroom, shaky hands fumbling with the thick mask before he could empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

When he opened his eyes again, he felt as if he'd been dunked in a barrel of cold water. His mind was no longer muddled with what-ifs and second-guesses, but had a clear purpose in sight: one that would keep him going until the end of the earth just to see it done. His hands no longer trembled as he pulled the black balaclava on his face and headed back to the main room, paying no mind to Soap's concerned gaze.

His eyes were cold and determined as he laid his hands on the first assault rifle within reach, methodically assembling it and stuffing as many ammunition magazines as he could into the pockets of his tactical vest. His hands itched for a cigarette, but the urge only strengthened his resolve: he would find you, even if it meant it was the last thing he did.

---

You didn't even have the energy to flinch when the fist collided with your face, sending your head rolling backwards. The world was reduced to a blurry mess, blue stars dancing before your eyes. Out of instinct, you lolled your head to the side and spit on the ground, in an attempt to diminish the metallic tang of blood in your mouth. You could still feel the unpleasant stinging that overwhelmed the left half of your face where you'd been hit with the back of a gun but tried to ignore the blood that was trickling across your cheek, all too aware of the jagged line that started near the temple and stopped short of the jawline. The bastards knew how to do their job and they weren't ones to shy away from using you as a means to an end- the future facial scar they'd given you serving as solid proof for that.

"He asked you a question, filth!"

An angry conversation was taking place right in front of you, but you were too busy trying to alleviate the pain, to focus on your captors. Sometimes, familiar words would reach your ears: american, military, information; but it was clear that they were struggling to find a way to make you talk. The questions were always the same ones, similar to what you've been prepared for in interrogation training- who were you, who were you working for, what are the Americans planning? Why has everything had always something to do with the Americans?

And just as you'd been taught in interrogation training, your answers were short and clipped- revealing little to no information at that time. You were still in the phase where they saw you as an asset, a potential source of information, taking into consideration the fact that they didn't kill you on the spot, and it was up to you to dictate the rhythm of their game. Speak too fast and too soon, they will get everything they need and kill you. Say nothing for too much time, they will see you as a dead-end and kill you.

You were currently walking the tightrope, trying to keep the balance between the increasing pain you found yourself in and the amount and importance of the information you were giving them. All you had to do was to make sure you stayed alive long enough for your teammates to find you. You knew they would take care of the rest.

"We shall try a different question then, kotyonok…" You shot your captor a cold look full of spite, not sure what disgusted you more: the mocking nickname he gave you or the pressure his fingers applied on your face, so different from the calloused, yet gentle touch of Ghost. "You wouldn't tell us your name- at least give us your codename and we might get Boris here to clean up your cheek. I know you wouldn't like that cut to scar…"

Your hands were numb from the tight grip they used to tie you to the metal chair, but you could still feel them shake when a knife, your Ka-Bar knife, was pressed against your cheek. You bit your lip so hard it drew blood in an attempt to stifle the tears that were pooling in your eyes, and you couldn't help but whimper when the blade was lightly traced against your skin before being sheathed, a heartless laugh following the gesture soon after.

You closed your head and let your head hang low, the rhythmic drip of your blood being the only sound that filled the room for a while. You could only hope you would make it through the next hours and your teammates wouldn't have to be greeted by your still-warm body.

---

Ghost was quick to follow the sound of Gaz's voice, his steps leading him to what proved to be quite a strategic place to observe the complex. A brief look at his compass confirmed the coordinates registered along with the drone footage, and even if more than 4 hours had passed since you'd been captured, his eyes were frantically searching for any signs that might lead him to you.

"I found something! She must have been camped here, there are still traces in the ground from where she pinned the camo net!"

"There was something in the footage…", Gaz started to mutter to himself, starting to hit heaps of dirt at random. "She was crouched over the earth like.. she was trying to bury something, I think?"

Not bothering to reply, Ghost's eyes began to systematically scan the area. At first glance, it all seemed the same, the desert soil not providing much diversity in terms of landscape. But you had to leave a mark behind, something subtle, yet noticeable at the same time, something that you could find only if you knew what you were looking for…

"That's bloody good work, Gaz!"

Kyle stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening at the sudden praise coming from his usually cold-demeanoured Lieutenant. For a couple of seconds, he was too distracted to notice that Ghost had kneeled on the ground, his gloved hands digging through a heap of dirt, a white cigarette carefully placed away from the mound. By the time Price and Soap joined them, he managed to unearth your dog tags and Special Forces badges and put them on display:

"She knew she would be taken in… and that revealing her identity at a later point would buy her time…"

"That's basic interrogation training, Sergeant!", Ghost barked at Soap in an unusually aggressive way that made the Scot frown in his direction.

He opened his mouth to talk back, yet no words came out when he noticed your dog tags wrapped around Ghost's hand and the obsessive way he seemed to fiddle with them. Subtly sharing a knowing look with Price, who just raised his eyebrows in a silent suggestion to let it slide, Soap turned around and started scanning the perimeter for any sign that might point to your current whereabouts. Your sudden disappearance had a big impact on all of them, yet it seemed that it affected Ghost the most, his recent mood swings being strong proof of it.

"Bloody bastards… they smoked my cigarettes…"

Simon stomped the cigarette butts under his boot, turning his head to Price, but the Captain was already meters away, fishing another cigarette butt from the ground. Nodding his head in Ghost's direction, he brought the radio closer to his mouth and pressed the communication button:

"Kate, I think we have a lead. Well, at least a path of …smoked stubs?"

Yet before Price could give the order to spread out and start looking for more tracks, Simon already went ahead of others, pulling the automatic gun from his shoulder. Under all the layers comprising of the tactical vest and the rest of the military-issued gear, his heart was thundering in his chest. Second thoughts were already forming inside his tired mind: they really got you, they stole your cigarettes, the pack he gave you for safekeeping and that was supposed to be your lucky charm- somehow, he had thought that having a physical piece of him would keep you out of harm's way.

He could only hope he found you in time before the damage you'd sustained would become irreversible.

---

"I don't think you understand how this is working, milaya…"

He was so close to you, that you could feel his rancid breath on your face, a faint familiar smell lodging in your nostrils. Your head was throbbing, and you decided you were hallucinating- Russians didn't smoke the British cigarette brand Ghost did. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you, subconsciously wishing for the masked Lieutenant to find you faster.

"So far we had a monologue…- but I still think you have potential."

Out of reflex, you flinched when someone gripped your shoulders, but the pain your mind was preparing for did not come. Instead, you were untied from the chair and violently shoved forward. Your hands were still tied behind your back and you ended up falling face first on the hard concrete, letting out a pathetic moan that raised a few laughs from your captors.

As you lay there, disoriented and struggling to regain composure, you felt a pair of arms hooking your shoulders, pulling you upright and dragging you out of the room. You were too exhausted to put up a fight, the pain dangerously dulling your senses, but that didn't stop you from thrashing around in your captor's grip and throwing curses at him. To your dismay, he didn't seem fazed by it, his grip never faltering as he hauled you through a deserted corridor, seemingly underground, judging by the lack of natural light. You maintained your aggressive facade, yet your eyes were carefully studying your surroundings, taking in every little detail that might prove crucial, should you be able to escape.

Before you realised it, you were thrown into a dark room, yet this time you were able to cushion the fall and land on your knees. Wincing at the brutal impact, you squinted in an attempt to make out your surroundings and any potential escape routes.

"See, little one, everyone has a breaking point.."

The harsh voice of your captor broke through the silence, followed, as if on cue, by the lights being turned on. The sudden brightness had you close your eyes in discomfort, your wrists starting to turn red and raw from your relentless efforts to free yourself from the tight ropes. You could feel blood trickling through the small abrasions where the rope had cut into your skin.

"It seems plain violence is not yours. Not even cresting your pretty little face… I will tell you a secret, you might not live long to keep it anyway, but that is the breaking point of many- ladies and men both."

As he went on with what you decided was a well-rehearsed discourse, he started walking in circles around the room, almost like a predator circling its prey. The intimidation technique was not foreign to you, yet you did your best to morph your face into a scared and hesitant expression, giving him what he wanted to see: a person who was on the verge of breaking, someone who should be kept alive for a little more.

"So I thought to myself- the doll does not work alone. Maybe we should bring one of her friends here and see who gives in first."

If you weren't busy maintaining the terrified mask, you might have laughed at his weak attempt to extract information about your teammates. He was trying so hard to be menacing, yet he didn't know that you had been trained by the Ghost himself, who had drilled all possible interrogation scenarios into your mind. You made a mental note to thank him if you ever got out of there.

"But then I remembered we had a special room we haven't been able to test yet."

His voice grew closer and closer. Keeping your eyes glued to the ground, you focused on the blood that was dripping from your face, staining the concrete floor crimson. When he exhaled in your direction, you could clearly feel the smoke of Ghost's cigarettes wafting towards you, your hands clenching in fists at the audacity he possessed. You opened your mouth for the first time, if only to give him a piece of your mind, yet you barely had time to register him roughly grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and violently dragging you to the middle of the room.

"And if this doesn't break you… do not worry, we will find something else!"

You could barely make sense of his words, his unveiled threat, before your head was forcefully shoved into what you made out to be a basin. Piercing-cold water enveloped you from all sides, and panic surged through every fiber of your being when you realised that there was a firm grip on the back of your head, preventing you from pulling out. Your throat burned with each passing second, and your vision gradually darkened as you struggled to stay conscious, your body going limp on the edge of the bathtub.

"After all, we have all the time in the world. No one will find us here… not when we are right under their noses."

---

It took them one hour under the scorching sun, but the members of Task Force 141 had managed to discover the Russians' hideout. Following the cigarette butts eventually led them to a camouflage net, one which Ghost almost ripped away when he recognized it as yours, and they ended up staring at the entrance of what was supposed to be an underground bunker. The few guards that were lingering around didn't know what hit them, a blood-splattered skull plate being the last thing they'd seen before collapsing to the ground.

As he carefully threaded through the dimly lit corridor, Ghost's demons had never been so loud. On the one hand, his feet were urging him to bolt, to sprint through every room and hallway and find you as quickly as he could, but on the other hand, he was still part of a team with whom he shared a common purpose. Ditching them would be highly dangerous and irresponsible and it would help no one in the end.

Yet all common sense jumped out of the window when the silence was shattered by a high-pitched scream followed by a loud string of curses, both in English and Russian. Simon barely waited for Price's curt order to go before he bolted in the direction of the commotion, swiftly incapacitating any man who was foolish enough to get in this way.

At that moment, he didn't even need the mask to become one with the Ghost- the primal need to protect you overtook his senses, the chaotic surroundings fading into the background as the singular purpose took hold of him. When the automatic gun ran out of ammunition he simply threw it away and lunged for the rifle strapped on his back. When he ran out of throwing knives, he openly jumped on anyone who got in his way. He did not hold back, being quick to send his opponents staggering backwards and crashing into walls or doors. His objective was clear - to create a diversion, a way to distract attention from you and put an end to the torment you must have been going through.

He didn't even bother to check if the door was unlocked before kicking it to the ground, unaware of the splinters that lodged themselves into his gear. When he registered the lower half of your limp body, beaten and bruised, he saw red. Dropping his rifle to the ground, he let out a feral growl as he launched himself at the man standing in the middle of the room, who was staring at him wide-eyed, fumbling with the safety of the gun he was holding. Blow after blow rained upon him, each strike being filled with a mix of madness and rage that Ghost had struggled to contain within himself throughout the day. The Russian, unable to defend himself from Ghost's fury, was crouched in a fetal position, whimpering and sobbing, just like you did hours ago, yet Simon's assault did not seem to falter. He was determined to make him feel at least a fraction of what you've been put through.

Until he realised that there was no other movement in the room, that you hadn't crept up to him and assured him you were fine like he secretly hoped you would. He was almost scared to look in the direction of your still-limp body, his blood running cold at the sight of you leaning against the edge of a water basin, your head still submerged in the water.

Simon had often fantasized about what kissing you for the first time would be like. It was a small comfort he liked to indulge in whenever he would try to go to bed and sleep wouldn't find him. Where would you be, how would your lips feel when pressed against his? Would it be gentle, or wild and passionate? What would you say to him afterwards? Would you regret or do it again in the following moments?

He definitely did not expect your first intimate contact to be on the cold, hard floor of the torture room, with your lifeless body hanging limp in his arms. He ripped his gloves away from his hands, searching for your pulse with trembling fingers and the relief he felt upon feeling an irregular, yet faint heartbeat, had him peel the mask from his face and discard it on the floor. Without wasting a second, he tilted your head back gently and sealed his chapped lips against yours, trying his best to breathe life into your still body. Your skin was cold against his fingers and he could almost feel his heart stop beating when he realised your condition was not improving.

Ghost was not a religious man, yet he started to recite the only prayer his mother ever taught him when he pressed his hands against your chest and started the compressions. Hot tears started rolling down his cheeks as he counted the compressions, lips trembling as he kept chanting your name again and again, urging you to open your eyes and wake up.

A choked sob left his mouth when you gasped and started coughing, your body twitching against your will. He was quick to roll you onto your side, gently patting your back in an attempt to help you expel the water lodged in your throat. His vision was still clouded from the tears, but that did not stop him from cradling your shaking figure in his arms, resting his head atop yours. He could feel your erratic breathing and your heartwrenching sobs, but all he could do was hug you tighter and try to reassure you, even though his voice was breaking:

'It's alright. They won't be hurting you again… I'll keep you safe!"

You didn't know how long you stayed in that position, but you were convinced you had been so deprived of oxygen that you started hallucinating. Somehow, you were absolutely convinced it was Ghost who was holding you tight in his arms, your cheek being squished against a tactical vest that could only be his, judging by its specific scent. Yet the sight of a head of dirty blonde hair made you scrunch your forehead in confusion. Why was he not wearing his mask? Your eyesight was still too blurred to make out the features of the person who was holding you, but you could trace the contours of his face in your sleep, even though you could count on your fingers the number of times you had seen them before.

Breathing heavily, you lifted a shaky hand towards his face, scared that if you moved too suddenly, the spell would break and you would be once again pulled out of the basin and asked the generic set of questions you've been asked for the past half an hour. But when your fingers made contact with Simon's cheek, softly threading through his stubble and tracing the deep scar that almost split his lip in two, you let out a breath of relief, a warm wave of comfort washing over you. Your tired mind took note of the foreign voices that were mixed with Simon's reassuring whispers: there was someone repeatedly asking whether you were okay, someone talking over the radio and someone asking for med-evac. Yet the sudden commotion only made you nuzzle your head against Ghost's chest, letting out a sigh of relief as you finally allowed your eyes to shut closed, the constant thought of finally being safe serving as a temporary balm to your wounds.

The base's hospital was no different in any of those regards, yet Simon had spent the last days inside its four walls, camped out on the armchair Price had arranged to be brought into your salon the moment you'd been transferred from the municipal hospital.

---

For someone who had spent a good part of his life in hospitals, Ghost hated them. He couldn't stand the pungent smell of chemicals or the hushed conversations that took place in the brightly lit corridors. The constant beeping of the monitoring devices would drive him insane and he detested the cheap food.

Ghost hated hospitals, but he hated being away from you even more.

So he had resorted to spending the last three days acting both as a makeshift nurse and a guard dog for any of the curious passers-by who would try and peek at the operator who had been captured by the enemy and survived torture. Soap, Gaz or Price would usually join him outside working hours, trying to make small talk or urging him to eat the take-out they bought him, but he would only leave your side for bathroom breaks and showers.

He spent the rest of the time next to your sleeping figure, lying still in the armchair and keeping his eyes glued to you. Every once in a while, he would zone out and find himself counting how many times your chest went up and down, totally unaware of the heart-rate monitor that was placed right next to him.

For the time being, Simon was grateful you'd been filled up with painkillers and still sleeping. He couldn't wait for you to wake up, but he wasn't mentally prepared for it: it wouldn't be like before when you fell asleep on him and woke up feeling slightly ashamed, but refreshed, a soft smile lighting up your face. This time, you would wake up to a body full of bruises and a new scar marking your face- and he had no idea what he could say to help you get through it.

Simon was not a man of words, so he decided to convey his feelings through actions and gestures. His moves were well-rehearsed as he emptied the glass of water he'd filled a couple of hours before and refilled it to the brim, placing it on a table next to your bed. His gloves had been long gone by the time he changed your blanket with a fresh and soft one that Soap had brought the last time he came in. After he ensured you were comfortably tucked in, Ghost busied himself with rearranging the flowers and the get-well-soon cards that had already been neatly arranged at the edge of your bed.

After there was nothing left for him to do, he eventually dragged the armchair close to your bedside, removing his mask with slow and weary movements. The dark circles that had formed under his eyes were a stark contrast against his pale complexion, and the stubble he'd neglected for the past few days threatened to turn into a full-grown beard. Yet that did not stop him from exposing his face in your presence, his tired mind arguing that perhaps the sight of him might pull you out of your head, at least temporarily.

A heavy sigh left his body as he laid his upper body on your bed, his head carefully resting on the top of your hand. Out of instinct, he nuzzled his cheek against the soft skin of your palm, relishing in the warmth of the contact, and draped one arm against your body, gently pulling you closer to him.

Minutes passed and his eyes gradually fluttered closed, his soft breaths slowly mingling with yours. He would never admit it out loud, but especially after the events of the last mission, the sole way he could fall asleep was in your proximity, only finding solace in the warm feeling of your touch. It may have taken him a while, but he eventually came to the realisation that it was in your arms that he felt safe, where the turmoil and chaos of the outside could temporarily be forgotten. And he was determined to keep it that way, no matter what it took.

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

more notes: do you guys would like a bonus part, say, an epilogue for this? I'm thinking of something like "the one where they finally get a bed" or something... let me know in the comments (or ask box if you'd like to remain anonymous)

taglist: @neoarchipelago, @thecorruptedlovely, @mitchlow, @fieldsofbats, @thaprilks, @stars-andfreckles, @that-napa-know-how, @preistinajamjar, @iamaliceinwonderland, @allaboutirem0, @lilpothoscuttings, @01trickster10, @yyiikes, @joanne-uwu, @dorck26, @wawuwe, @karagd13-blog, @rindulacre, @claibornc

#cod ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #call of duty imagine #ghost fluff #task force 141 #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #mw2 ghost

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jazjelspen · 2 months

Text

my angel baby (part 4)

alastor w/ angel daughter reader

(notes: alastor joins charlie and vaggie in heaven to convince them about the hazbin hotel. angel reader physically resembles a fawn. )

(requested tags: @insomniacfigure @pooplyface1423 @mo-0-o @thekanrojimitsuri2 @maliciousmace @nevermorekisses @wildfire153)

(thanks to my amazing editor for helping me with this chapter!! @kruncher mwa mwa! /p)

It's been half a month, and you still aren't sure if you really wanna do this.

Sure you have done your research on spells, blessings, everything to protect yourself and maybe even others while venturing into Hell, possibly even in battle if you felt brave enough.

But nonetheless, it was conflicting. Not only were you going to see your father again but you're going to be literally in hell-- the terrible place was always a tempting topic to bring up in a hushed conversation, though few actually dared to do it. It's the worst place to go to after death, everyone on earth hated speaking of it and mentioning it was somewhat like a bad omen, at least from how you've seen others react to it at certain times.

Why bother diving head first into a realm where none of it’s events or residents were any of your business? The souls are in hell for certain specific reasons, so why bother saving a world that was meant to be the end of the line.

Oh but-- Charlie.

Charlie Morningstar's case and evidence sure intrigued you, but was it really worth the risk? Is it worth the sacrifice, the hiding, the possible dying to try to save a bunch of sinners? All of them, more than likely... are very much similar to, if not the same as, your father.

"Maybe..n-.." you breathed out loud, your hand moving away from under your chin as you were stuck in thought sitting at your desk. You were reluctant, of course you'd be.

You looked down at your bag on the floor beside your desk, filled with supplies and necessities for venturing into hell-- you planned it out but-- was it really.. Do these sinners truly deserve to be saved? Helped?

Why, of course they do.

At the very least.. some of them.

Those who genuinely want redemption and those who committed sins in which they had no choice before they died or to help others. Those are the ones who should be saved.

And from what you learned in the court trial exactly half a month ago, you could only imagine how many sinners Adam and his fleet of Exorcists slayed that were genuinely hoping for a better chance at this 'second' life.

Besides-- why not save lives? Even if they weren't worth saving, even if you didn't know them personally or at all. Isn't that why you got into heaven anyway? Because you sacrificed yourself for someone you didn't know in the slightest?

You died for that reason, what's so wrong in doing it a second time?

Besides, souls like that one sinner Charlie showed the court, Angel Dust, could be on the path to light and eternal paradise... you could almost feel it in your bones and you bet Emily did too.

Wait, that's right--

Emily!

You could have almost jumped from your seat, Emily was the key to your path to Hell! But how to get to her-- Sera was always around..

Oh-- No, no, this is too good.

Ever since the court day Emily has been getting a bit more distant from Sera, if you could find Emily alone once without any inclination you were seeking her out then you could do it! Convincing shouldn't be too hard, she feels the same way as you do in a certain way.

You've been so caught up in your plan to escape disguised as an exorcist that you couldn't see the answer right in front of you! All those weeks wasted-- the initial plan was bound to fail anyway no matter the amount of preparation since, according to your research, the exorcist angels were scattered everywhere in their HQ like a beehive swarm; like busy bees buzzing with bloodlust. They seemed to all recognize each other and have specific physical attributes that you lacked immensely, even if you were to try and steal a uniform you really couldn't because-- you didn't know where they kept them inside.

You took in a deep breath in and out, 'I'm definitely not coming back unscathed..' you thought 'but.. everyone deserves a second chance, even sinners. And if they really don't deserve it then might as well save them so that they may continue living out their eternal sentences with no easy way out.'

You then looked towards a corner of your desk, grabbing a small and recent photo you took with someone very dear to you. You smiled softly at it before letting out a gentle huff of confidence and then carefully stuffing that photo in your bag for your trip to hell.

You then grabbed your bag, put it over your shoulder, and carefully walked out of your home.

It was currently early night in heaven, the sky as always was filled with stars that glow immensely so that heaven is never in utter darkness. At this time of the evening everyone was home and getting ready for bed, shops closing, people walking home. Thankfully you've hung around Emily long enough to know that when she's bothered by something, she doesn't go to sleep easily till she can fix it, and from what you knew the extermination in hell was still going to happen.

Your wings started to gently flap and as quietly as they could they flew you up to the home quarters of Emily and Sera, them owning a taller building than the ordinary 'winner' would have considering their higher statuses.

It wasn't that hard to fly by since there was no need for security or guards, heaven never exactly needed to be protected from the inside.

You made your way around a high up balcony, one that you knew led to Emily's quarters. You noticed the balcony doors closed but light flickered from within; she's in there.

Your feet carefully plopped themselves on the balcony, nervously lifting your hand to knock on it-- still hesitant.

'Do I really want to do this?'

It was too late to even ask that now, for your hand already knocked on the glass surface of the balcony door, breath hitched-- you awaited an answer.

...

The sound of pitter pattering steps could be heard from the inside as they neared where you were standing, a figure approached you from behind the glass.

Emily!

You smiled and waved at her awkwardly as she looked at you with a mix of shock, joy, and exhaustion. She opened the door to you with anticipation.

"______! How are you!... wait-- what are you doing here? It's late, you should be at home.."

"Look Emily," you said breathlessly due to your anxiety. "There's no easy way to say this but I need a huge favor from you.. bigger than anything I could ever ask for and will ever ask for. Not only that but- I'm sure you'll believe in my cause.."

She hummed in thought, eyes narrowed at you in an attempt to see if she should listen to her head or heart. "I'm listening..."

You then nodded towards the inside of her room, silently asking if you could go inside so no prying ears could hear you, even if it's unlikely. She read the words in your expression as she nodded and welcomed you in, closing the door behind her carefully.

You started whispering, "I need you to teleport me into hell."

Emily's breathing scuffled a bit, absolutely shocked from your request. "Hell??.. but why?.. ______ you nor I have ever been to hell!.. you could get really hurt or worse die..!" she whisper-yelled in concern to one of her best friends.

"Well-- we aren't sure if they can truly kill angels but I've practiced a few spells to try to defend myself. You know I'm a lot faster with my wings and if I find Charlie I'm sure she'll keep me from getting hurt!.."

"Charlie?.." she asked, now fully remembering what happened on that fateful court day "Wait, you want to go to hell to see Charlie?"

You nodded, "I have to, it's the only way I can survive there. Besides, I need to help her.. you know that what Adam and Sera are letting happen is unjust and inhumane.. you and I both know and agree about this and you can help me by sending me down there."

"but.. _____ I--"

"Emily, the extermination is going to happen in less than a month now.. there's no time left to leave this in the air."

"______.. are you even sure you'll survive a second down there? how do you even know you need to be there, if you really want to help you can try and stay up here where it's safe--"

You let out a quick sigh of fear, afraid that she's getting cold feet "C'mon.. even with your influence Adam won't stop and neither has Sera ordered him to pause for even a moment.. Besides, if they need to have sinners show their improvement and actually redeem themselves.. they need someone who actually has been in heaven and knows how to get there.

They need a role-model, an example, and I'm willing to help and sacrifice myself a second time to at least give other people a second chance at 'living'.

This time, you shut Emily up, she's speechless-- you truly took her breath away with how determined you were. You were right to some extent, help from a 'winner' for sinners, become just like them as a teacher and be an example could genuinely make much improvement and possibly open the case once more.

She softly smiled at you, a small amount of pride swelling in her chest, pride that she has for you and hope that she has in your mission.

"Well.. I'll take you there but not without one thing--" she stepped closer to you and folded three fingers of her right hand, then crossed you with them in an all too familiar pattern. Right shoulder, left shoulder, forehead, chest. The sign of the Cross. A sudden glow shined from you for a split second as if a star bursted around you,

"A protection spell. To protect you from the strongest blow that encounters itself towards you, it only works once but it's the strongest spell I know that can be an extra safety net for you down there.. meanwhile I'll try my best to convince Sera to think differently about the genocides.."

"Oh.. thank you Ems!.." you hugged her and she hugged back tightly, both of you guys brimming in a flurry of hope, determination, and anxiety. "I won't let you down.. I promise when I come back, and I will, Adam won't need to kill anymore people with his exorcists anymore.."

"Just-- be careful, _____. You're one of a kind, no one helps and brightens things up like you do.." she backed away from the hug only to hold your hands and smile at you, conflicted but convinced by you.

"Promise. I'll be back before you know it."

"Pinky.. promise?" she took out her pinky finger for you to hold onto, to reassure her that she's making the right decision. Helping you.. she doesn't want to lose you by sending you down your death sentence.

"Hehe.. pinky promise." you took out your own pinky finger to wrap it around hers, another spark lighting up around your wrapped fingers as if sealing the deal.

"Good.. once again are you sure you're prepared??.." she couldn't help but ask-- she didn't want to lose her best friend..

"I'm ready to face what I have to face, ready as I'll ever be." you let out a shaky sigh, betraying you slightly.

Emily let out a shaky sigh of her own before stepping back and slowly summoning a portal, it starting from a little glow in the air to slowly trying to mass itself into your height and size so you may go through with ease. It was difficult since it was mostly Sera or Adam opening them with constant ease and she never really had to until now, unfortunately though.. it was starting to make noise.

You hold your bag as tightly as you could, double checking if all the zippers are closed before preparing yourself for the even growing yellow portal.

"I don't know exactly where the Hazbin Hotel is so-- be... be careful _____.."

You looked at her and nodded with confidence, a look of strength emitting from your face.

There was shuffling from the hallway outside Emily's room, "Emily? What are you doing at this time of the night?" Sera could be heard from afar, her voice loudly echoing across and even through the closed doors.

Emily sped through her magic as she used as much of her mental strength as she could to open up the portal, it shouldn't be that hard but-- she never had to do this, she never thought she would do this. She was only in charge of keeping you happy-- but if this were to make you happy, then she's obliged to do so.

The portal was finally big enough for you to enter through, both of you hearing loud oncoming steps coming from outside the halls and in a quick motion you waved at Emily with a smile, her doing the same thing before finally-- you jumped into hell.

Right as you disappeared into the yellow and gold void, she let herself go from holding it open and right as Sera was opening the door, without even knocking mind you, the portal disappeared from thin air and all that was left was Emily standing in the middle.

"What are you even doing?.." asked Sera looking puzzled.

Emily chuckled nervously, shrugging her shoulders "Practicing for next show's fireworks..? heh.."

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

You on the other hand-- were being slammed against a hard metal surface that smelled like rotten flesh and food, dried blood, and other stinky items. Hitting your head against it causes you to groan in pain and slowly hold your head, the smell beside you slowly making you feel a bit sick.

Your halo, clattering to the ground, its glow still present on it.. confirming your status to still be an angel.

"Fuck.." you mumbled, rubbing the back of your head while picking yourself up from the ground. Looking at your surroundings you were in a sort of alley, the metal surface being a large dumpster. Your wings flapped a bit to stretch them out from the hit you took.

You look at your halo and feel a huge sigh of relief get out of your mouth, despite knowing that only becoming a fallen could only happen if the court officially banishes you from heaven from all you knew it still felt good to know you're still the same you. Besides, you didn't know if a winner has ever become sinner before so.. that at least helped your mind keep itself from flipping over.

God..but your surroundings?

It reeked.

You peeked a bit in the dumpster out of curiosity but the intensity of the smell made you wanna puke so your nose begged you to move away. Now looking at the exit out of the alley you first picked up your halo to then place it above your head, floating above you right after letting it go. Picking up your bag once again to hold it tightly near you so no one would steal it.. being as cautious as you could.

Slowly peeking out of the alley you noticed a humble little town with colors of red, shades of pink, and filled with a few sharp toothed people. Everyone walked around casually and happily, like how normal humans would. Despite how huge the place is there seems to be a lack of crowds.. as if half of the town is missing.

Huh, this place reminded you of a sunny day in New Orleans when you were alive. Is this.. really hell? You haven't come across any people jumping out to kill you or anyone else randomly but a few explosions from far away still made you jerk from fear.

You carefully stepped out of the alley, feeling especially out of place the moment you started walking out. People with various shades of gray skin, everyone with blacked out eyes, sharp teeth, and all still dressed in clothes from around the time you died, maybe a bit of more older fashions but still.. reminded you of back home on earth just slightly.

Each step you took was a new question that you gave yourself.. where were you? is this a level or part of hell? does hell look this way all the time? is the Hazbin Hotel of walking distance? is Emily okay? why does the air smell weird? is your dad Alastor around? is it obvious im not from here-- oh of course it is you have a fucking halo damn it.

'Everyone looks almost normal," you thought 'Maybe I can try to find someone to help m--'

"Oh!.." you bumped into someone, someone small. You looked down to see a fairly normal looking child with eyes entirely blacked out, no pupils to be seen. Geez.. you couldn't lie but they creeped you out a bit.

"Hello there.. sorry I didn't see you.." you spoke to the kid despite how weary you were, giving it an apologetic smile while waving a little towards them in a very awkward manner.

They spoke nothing but instead flashed you a large sharp toothed smile that made your blood curl a bit, what made it worse was what it did next.

"It's okay missy! I like your wings!" Normally you'd smile more and make small talk but-- then the kid took out a cut off hand from behind their back and started chomping it on it as if it was corn on the cob. With your skin crawling and your face as white as a sheet from the shock, the kid then proceeded to run off nibbling on the bleeding hand.

You stood there frozen, your stomach begging to release anything you ate before you came upon here. You slowly turned your head to the right, your peripheral vision noticing a large wooden sign.

'Welcome to Cannibal Town!'

'Well that.. really explains it.' you took a few deep breaths as you tried to control yourself and your upcoming panic as to not alert other cannibals of your fear.. but you could've sworn they could probably smell it off of you.

Would they eat you? Are they going to eat you?.. but some have been looking at you walking by-- are they getting ready to pounce on you, bite off your flesh and--

You stopped in your tracks, noticing how further you are in the town from all your overthinking. You looked up to see that you are at the front steps of a small stage?.. gazebo..? you couldn't remember how hard your heart was pounding.

All of a sudden you felt an incredibly sharp pain on your wing, one that made you shriek aloud and everyone suddenly stopped and stared at you. You turned to see an old lady with a cane looking very similar to other residents around you-- BITE your wing?? what the actual living fuck??

The old woman seemed to grin and licking the golden blood from the bite she got from your wings, fortunately for you she only bit and didn't actually get a chunk of your wing off instead.. either way it fucking stung the way a large wasp sting would.

"Angel wings.. not bad at all-- OUCH!!" The old lady then let out a shriek herself, being hit by the end of a sun umbrella this time and whoever was holding it was shooing her away from you.

"Shoo! Shoo! Susan!! Run off now! We don't bite new otherworldly guests like that!" The voice shouted before the old woman scurried off just as fast as she came.

You whimpered a bit as your bitten and slightly bleeding wing leaned towards your hands, your palms and fingers then gently caressing them as an attempt to soothe the pain with tears brimming and silently sliding down your eyes.

"Oh I'm so sorry about that sweetheart, that old hag has no manners." The same voice, a woman's voice, called out to you. Her appearance also looks similar to everyone else, the only difference is her large hat decorated with elaborate feathers and adorned with a small skull.

"Let me see that dear.." she leaned in with her hand reaching towards your wing but of course you flinched away from her, absolutely not trusting her in the slightest form your first terrible experience and the many words of others before you.

You looked at her with fear you've never felt before, fear that you haven't felt since your death. You quickly backed away, your injured wing cowering towards your hands and chest.

'Holy.. fuck..'

"The names Rosie, sweetheart, what's a pretty little thing like you walking around here with no sense of danger?"

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

Alastor held you in his arms as your nine year old self was fiddling with a toy in your hands after a long day of being taken care of by one of Alastor's lady friends. The man was coming out of work from hosting his famous radio show as he usually always did and now was entering his home after a tiring day from work and honestly he wasn't up for taking care of you right now. If anything he should've probably let you stay with the woman forever and he wouldn't have to be dealing with baby troubles..

Yet everyday you somehow always gave him a reason to keep you despite his almost heartless nature.

He walked in his home and closed the door behind him, locking it as well. Walking over to the sofa he turned on a nearby lamp before setting you down on the cushions and let you be in your own world while he then went to go eat something himself. You didn't have to since the woman that babysat fed you quite well and you liked what she gave so there was no need for you to be overfed.

Alastor went to prepare a meal for himself, not saying much to you in the process since all he wanted was to eat and sleep so better to just fill one of the boxes on that checklist as soon as possible. So while you were still distracted he quickly made himself a meal and started eating so he wouldn't starve before bed.

You were playing with your toy the nice lady gave you, mumbling small nonsense here and there while playing around. Until you decided to speak up loudly from afar,

"Papa, can I ask something?" you talked as you kept yourself entertained with your toy.

Alastor sighed a bit "Yes dear, what is it?" exhaustion evident on his voice that contracted to his permanent smile, be it small or big.

"Is it true that when you found me, my mama and papa didn't want me because I was an ugly and loud cry-baby?"

Alastor almost spit out his food, inevitably starting choking on it. Saving himself from dying of choking by drinking his drink he set with his food and calmed down. "W.. Why do you think that sweetheart? Who told you such an untrue lie!.."

In truth, he didn't actually know why you were abandoned in that alley. All he found when he picked you up was you wrapped around in baby blankets in a basket and a note with a date on it, most likely your date of birth, but other than that he never knew why you ended up there and why. He simply just took you in and called you his own.

"The boys in the playground I played with said their mamas and papas knew you, and knew you found me. They then started saying I dress too girly and that my real mama and papa left me because I was ugly and a loud cry baby and that's why I don't have a mama and papa." Your little voice seemed to shake a bit but obviously tried your best to hide it away even at this young of an age.

But your father could see and hear right through you.

Alastor sighed before taking one last spoonful of his food before leaving his meal there to walk towards you, settling himself on the same sofa you both always make the best of memories, this being one of them.

"Well darling, those boys obviously have parents who don't educate them! And are as dull as a doorknob if they say all that foolish nonsense.. you do have a mama and papa!"

You looked at him incredibly confused, since when did you have a mother?

He noticed this and laughed a bit at your expression "Silly, I'm your mama and papa! I do both jobs! I make you food, I have clothes for you, I give you a home, I get you ready for school, I talk to you all the time because you're mine!" He spoke cheerily, as if stating a very well known fact "Their eyes also must not be working also since I think I got the prettiest daughter in all of New Orleans if I do say so myself!" he pinched your cheek playfully, making you giggle.

He continued on "Yes, you did indeed cry a lot as a small tiny baby but do you think I would've kept you if you were an enormous crybaby? Of course not! Which is why I still have you here with me." Alastor-- "And you dress too girly??.. why, but of course you'll dress the way you do.. you're my little girl! how will my little dove be able to shine in her natural beauty if she doesn't wear the most marvelous pieces of wardrobe I can get her!" He then continued to pinch both your cheeks at the same time, some of your cute baby fat still present on your face despite being a year behind in heading towards the double digits.

You giggled and laughed loudly, smiling.. just the way you should always be.

Yes he was too tired for this, he was downright exhausted, but hey-- if he can keep an unfaltering smile despite feeling this then of course he can keep up with you even if he's not in the mood. You're the only person who he doesn't like to see in pain, in tears--

It's his job to do this, for what is he if he leaves you wilting by yourself with no 'light' of your own to guide you.

Certainly, he wouldn't even deserve to be called your father.

"Oh and dear?"

"Yes papa!"

"What are the boys' names? And their parents? I must have a little chat with them soon!..."

Oh, Alastor.

1K notes · View notes

morallyinept · 7 months

Text

Five Days - A Joel Miller Series (Complete)

Summary: Joel Miller comes back into your life unexpectedly after a gap of thirty years, and stirs up all kinds of memories and longing. Now, as you're stationed on an outpost for five days alone with the man you stupidly let go of all those years ago, you have a chance to confront him about your past life together and all the things you wished you’d said and done.

But Joel’s different now, and you know you need to tread carefully. Joel Miller is not the same man you once knew in another life.

A slow burn romance set in the post apocalyptic world, approx. twenty or so years after the initial Cordyceps outbreak.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x MatureF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. However reader is of a similar age range as Joel; in her late forties/early fifties. Joel is slightly older at 56.)

Mostly told from reader's POV, but you get Joel’s thoughts occasionally too. I've also introduced some of my own original characters along the way.

Word Count: 40k approx. Each chapter varies in length as this is a multi-chapter novella.

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶 “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Eventual Smut - Sloooow burn romance. Joel being his grumpy ass self. Hot smut eventually occurs. Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!) fingering/oral sex, both giving and receiving/love making/mild dirty talk. All the good stuff.

Triggers - Feelings of angst, unrequited love. Depression/trauma. Mentions of death/violence/suicide attempts (failed)/pining/longing. Use of guns. Attacks by infected. Mentions of blood/injury/gore/wounds. Descriptions of panic attacks.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy reading this lil’ angsty/romance story of mine with our favourite contractor, Joel Miller.

SERIES COMPLETE

Enjoy! 🖤

Ch 1 - The Four Horsemen Of The Apocalypse

Ch 2 - Lucky Charms

Ch 3 - The Goose To His Maverick

Ch 4 - Hello Fate? Are You There?

Ch 5 - Loser

Ch 6 - Day One: Passing Time

Ch 7 - Day One/Two: Endure And Survive

Ch 8 - Day Three: Thunder

Ch 9 - Day Three: Punching Glitter

Ch 10 - Day Four: Old Habits

Ch 11 - Day Five: Look For The Light

Ch 12 - When We Were Young

MAIN MASTERLIST

Bound - A Five Days Christmas Drabble 🎄

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller tlou #joel miller romance #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #jett's writing #five days series

565 notes · View notes

blublublujk · 4 months

Text

bound 2 (falling in love)

oneshot

word count: 6.5k

genre: fwb to lovers

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary:

You and Yoongi were okay with being friends with benefits... until you weren't.

warnings: i tried to focus on fluff (did you catch it or did i fail), explicit sexual content; unprotected sex (they make love to each other), choking and breath play (hello it's yoongi), multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, crying (is it really my ff if there's no crying involved), creampie, very cute aftercare and i think that’s all, this is more sweet than anything lol

a.n: believe it or not this wasn't apart of my drafts i wrote this all one night because i couldn't sleep so thank my insomnia for this, it was about time i write about yoongi :D

also i noticed a lot of you are reading it was destiny and love always wins and i wish you guys wouldn't only because i plan to rewrite some of it and continue them at a further time (chaptered ffs are so hard for me rn since i don't have all the time in the world to dedicate myself to them but i promise to be back with those two series) thank you for everyone who takes time to read what i write it really means so much and your comments have been so motivating. thank you so fucking much for 2k notes on good girl, gone bad i havent seen numbers like that ever im so so grateful, thank you from the bottom of my heart. i'll try to be back one or two more times this month and happy late birthday to me hehe <3

—> m.list

—> welcome me on ao3 & twt

—-

It happened again.

Another failed date to add to the sad list of people that simply will never workout for you.

The list was growing longer as months passed. When you started this list, it was barely the start of a very hot summer. Probably the hottest it’s been in years, one can only assume the winter will not be any easier.

And you were right. Winter was only beginning and it was brutally cold. The streets were moist from the previous night of harsh rainfall.

What better time to date and settle down than now. When the world gives you rain, settle for the warm arms of a lover.

Unfortunately, you made a grave mistake thinking this would come easy. Ten first dates later and you are still very single and loverless.

It is not easy to go out during a time like now, suffering at the sight of happy couples and their stupid happy lives. Really, it should disgust you. It used to. The whole concept of devoting your entire life to someone. The need to constantly feel the tender touch of another person. The desire to fall in love and do it all over again, you get it now. At least, you think you do.

“I don’t think this is gonna work.” The words fall from your mouth in a quiet rush. The man across you sits in silence before he smiles in his loss.

“Don’t worry, I figured. It seems your mind was elsewhere. I know you don’t want to pursue anything romantically, and that’s fine with me, but is everything okay?”

Is everything okay? Well currently, yeah you’re okay. As for your heart, it’s heavy and strangely, you feel there’s a hole in your chest and it needs to be filled. That would fix things, you think. You have been single for so long that you forgot what it was like to love and cherish someone. Not that you have ever truly loved or cherished anyone, but you’ve gotten close. If a silly relationship you had in your sophomore year of high school counts. Then yes, you’ve totally been in love.

“I’m okay. Thanks for asking. I didn’t mean to lead you on, if it ever felt like I did.” The apology seems bitter in your mouth. Another failed fucking attempt. How difficult can dating be? Have you really been this disconnected with the world around you?

“Don’t stress it! Things happen. I hope you can find what you’re looking for. See you… around?” The man’s understanding response makes you feel worse. Maybe you should consider deleting Tinder and finding love naturally, if that’s still a thing in the contemporary life.

“Yeah, totally!” And like that you’re off to the next. Giving yourself plenty of time to bathe in your disappointment and miserably cry about your failed attempts at finding what you’ve been missing. Who knew dating could be so difficult?

The walk back home is just as cold as the outcome of today’s date. Your date insisted he could drive you home and if not that then pay for a cab, but you didn’t live too far from the restaurant you both met at. Though he insisted, you figured this walk could refresh you after yet another failure. You were starting to regret it as the cold wind started roughly hitting your skin. Preserving the chilly weather, you genuinely couldn’t wait to get home and wrap yourself in a bundle of warm blankets and comfortable clothes.

Cold hands struggle to open your door, you blow on them with warm puffs of breaths, soon making your way in and getting comfortable in your humble apartment.

yoon: you up?

And that, that is what made this harder. The fact that you knew there was someone completely capable of loving and caring for you the way you desired. You have seen it with your own eyes. Every time you ended up in his bed, in his arms, you felt it. Deep down you know something is there and that something beats everything else. Maybe you’re just delusional, but you look for him in everyone else and you hate it. Hate because you will never be anything more than his personal little whore that comes at the sound of his call.

me: yeah

Normally, you aren’t dry over texts, especially not with him so he’ll see right through you. You’re hoping for once, he can ignore it.

He won't.

yoon: you ok?

me: been better

yoon: wanna talk about it?

me: no, i'm ok

yoon: ok, wanna come over?

Yes, because during a time like this all you want is the comfort and warmth of someone else’s touch and Yoongi has never failed at giving that to you. But he is not yours.

And you are not his.

me: not feeling well. sorry.

yoon: sick?

A white lie never hurt anyone.

me: yeah, throat hurts

yoon: im sorry

me: it's not your fault maybe another time.

Though you really shouldn’t say that. There should be no next time. That way you don’t suffer any longer and drag him down with you, considering everything you’ve been feeling and dealing with lately. It’s not fair to Yoongi, but especially yourself.

He doesn’t reply anymore and you can’t even hide your disappointment. You aren’t disappointed at him, okay maybe a little bit at him, but mainly yourself and your recently found complicated feelings.

You and Yoongi started this whole mess a year ago, before you even realized what you truly wanted. It started off with subtle flirting here and there. They say not to mess with coworkers, given that it can complicate things at work and one should never play with their main source of income, but you did it anyway. You are still young and he only made you feel younger, like a teenage girl crushing over her forbidden crush at church. It was silly, but Yoongi made it easy.

The flirting turned to one thing, then another.

“We shouldn’t, not here.” Yoongi had you pinned outside the club you both worked at, leaving trails of wet kisses down your throat.

“Five more minutes.” His words were muffled into your skin as his hands explored your body. Yoongi’s touch was always way too soft for his own good and you fell victim to his deadly warmth.

“If Mr. Kim finds out, he’ll kill us and fire us both.” That was a bit dramatic on your part and you swore you felt the taller smiling against your neck.

Yoongi drops one last kiss on your cheek as his hot breath hits your ear. “Not if I kill him first.”

You gasped, pushing him off you with a quick smack to his chest. “D-Don’t even joke like that.”

Yoongi just laughed.

“Okay, okay baby.” The term of endearment fell from his lips too easily and you melted into the dark night. “See you after work?”

You only nodded, not being able to deny his temporary warmth and sweet presence. Then he dropped a kiss on your lips, leaving you just as quick as when he first found you. You were fucked.

From there, it only got worse for your sake. Your heart could only take so much.

Really, you should blame things on him. It was his fault you fell in love with him and his stupidly soft hands. It was all his fault! He left you no choice but to love the feel of his lips against your skin, to easily melt under his soft gaze, and find comfort in his unnecessarily warm bed. Yoongi was perfect. Everything you could ever want.

That’s why it was so fucking hard. Dating was hard enough, but after feeling Yoongi’s intimate touch, you were a complete goner. Though he was far from it, Yoongi touched you like you were his and he would fuck you like a lover would. Kissing and making love to you as if you were the most beautiful woman on Earth. It was all too much.

Fuck, you really needed to get a grip.

The knock on your door makes you jump from your couch.

Ten minutes longer and you would have fallen asleep exactly where you were lying. In outside clothes and all. You didn’t even bother taking off the outfit you had carefully planned thinking that this lucky outfit would have finally taken you somewhere. It didn’t.

“Coming!” There’s not a single person that should be outside your door, especially at this hour. Your feet make their way to the door regardless and the blood from your face drains when you see the person standing behind the door.

Quickly, you unlock your front door, rushing the taller inside. “Hurry! It’s freezing! What are you doing out here?”

Yoongi’s cheeks are surely frozen, a pink dust decorates his cheeks and the tip of his nose. It almost makes him look cute. You were far more gone than you imagined.

He hustles inside, carrying a fairly large brown bag with him. He brought… groceries?

“Took you long enough.” The taller one makes himself at home, laying his bag on your coffee table.

“What are you even doing here?” You ask again.

He ignores you. “Thought you said you were sick. You don’t look very sick?”

Yoongi looks at you with a questioning look, his eyes wander your outfit and guilt starts eating your insides.

You cross your arms, an attempt to hide yourself in shame, but what’s done is done. “I- I had plans.”

“Yeah, I see that.” He simply says, standing awkwardly in your living area.

If this doesn’t convince you to delete that forsaken app for the sake of your dignity and shameful behavior, you don’t know what will.

“Anyways, w-what brings you here?”

“Brought you some stuff.” His hand waves over to the bag he carried inside.

“Stuff?” You question, a bit dumbfounded, planted still in your place.

“Tea, cough drops, some soup I made earlier this week. Oh and flowers.” Yoongi doesn’t seem at all embarrassed or fazed about the situation. Not that he should be, but he speaks with a puff to his chest, as if he wanted to ensure you understood his every word and action. Like any concerned lover would be. As if he was yours and you were his.

Oh.

This was so so bad. For you and your weak heart. Fuck.

“I-“

He cuts you off before you even get to speak. “I don’t know if you’ll like it. It’s just some plain seaweed soup. Usually helps me when I’m sick. I’m not sure what flowers you like, or if you even like flowers. Do you? Their tulips. I did a bit of research before. My mom likes tulips. I figured you might like them too.”

He did research? Double fuck!

Yoongi was nervously rambling, now he was slightly embarrassed. Pink flushes his cheeks and it wasn’t the weather’s doing this time.

“Yoongi…” You start breathlessly and in disbelief.

“What?” He nearly stutters, his hand is shaking. He’s nervous. Who would have thought?

“Why.” Is all you manage to ask.

“You were sick.” Is all he replies. As if things were really that simple. What next? Would he come rushing to the hospital if you suddenly fell ill? God forbid, but it was a valid question.

What was going on? For a second, you entertain the idea. Maybe he fell in love between the blurry lines of this complicated relationship. Were the shared intimate memories too special for him to forget too? You weren’t sure anymore, but what did this all mean? Maybe he loves you, as much as you love him.

Thoughts keep spinning and you wish there was an easier way to turn off your brain. Not now.

“I know, but why? Why all this? Why for me?” Your vulnerability is showing and it makes you feel weak. Maybe your hands are shaking too.

“I don't understand?” Yoongi searches for the answer in your glossy eyes, he’s tempted to reach out and comfort you. Have you in his hands, but he’s too coward. He doesn’t want you to feel the shiver of his touch right now. His vulnerability peaks through as well.

Why not you? It’s always going to be you.

“I-I’m nothing to you.” There’s a shiver again and then you break.

Yoongi doesn’t care anymore. He’ll consider the consequences later. Right now, none of it matters.

His hands hold your face, ready to wipe the tears that threaten to leak from your precious eyes. He hopes his hands aren't cold anymore from standing outside for so damn long, but he couldn’t stop himself, in his selfishness and all.

His hands shake slightly, trying to stay strong as he lays it all on the table. “Y/N, you’re everything to me.” He whispers, eyes never leaving yours.

You lay your own hands on his, you feel so delicate around him when you wrap warm hands around his cold wrists.

“I-I am?” You ask between sniffles. His hands are still pretty cold, but they’ll soon warm up against your soft skin. Nobody knows how desperately you need to be touched until you are and then it’s like little fireworks spark inside your body. It consumes you in the best way possible.

“Of course. I thought I made that obvious.” His eyes are soft, different to how he typically looks at you, but you’ve seen these same eyes before. They are no stranger. It’s similar to the look he gives you when you catch him staring at you while you are deep in work. He pretends to look away as if he wasn’t admiring you from afar and you pretend that you don’t notice his curious eyes. It’s the same look he has after you both end up in heated makeout sessions, behind the rusty club you both work at. And it’s definitely the same look he has while he settles on top of you, whispering sweet words of praise and promise.

Nothing should feel different but it just does, there’s something in the way he looks down at you that lets you know that everything you’ve been searching for has always been right here. Right where you’ve been all along.

The taller leans in and you freeze struggling to keep your eyes on his. Yoongi’s thumb brushes against your cheek with a soft touch. You were fragile between his hands and he’s willing to do anything to keep his precious flower safe. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes. Please.” You whisper back in a hurry, scared that this would be nothing but a dream. It wasn’t time for you to wake up yet.

His eyes zero-in on your lips and then he’s kissing you. It’s not much different from other times. After all, you guys have shared plenty of kisses, probably more than you should have considering you guys were friends with benefits, at most. But this time, the kiss isn’t just a careless lust-filled doing, no this time the kiss is a promise. The promise to never again allow you to question his feelings and intentions towards you.

If Yoongi has to spend his whole life making this up to you, he simply would because that’s how much you meant to him. He can’t believe he even let this go on for this long. He should have been more clear and careful, but he doesn’t regret a damn thing. Not when he has all the time in the world to repair the time lost. And especially not when his reckless actions led him to this. To you.

Yoongi’s lips are soft and bend with yours with ease. He takes his time, never in a rush. Especially not when he has you in-hand.

The taller doesn’t escalate the kiss. He keeps it sweet and gentle, like he always has been. “I’m so sorry baby.”

Kiss.

“For?”

Kiss.

Yoongi has the whole world in his hands right now as he looks down into the sparkles in your eyes and he’s never been so sure about anything in his life. “For being a fucking idiot.”

Kiss.

“It’s okay.” A kiss is shared again. “I was an idiot too. I was just scared that you wouldn’t want that with me.”

“Want what?” The taller questions, fingers trailing your face, admiring the imperfections and all.

“A relationship, I mean. You seemed content with how our relationship already was. I was afraid of losing that. Of losing you.” You admit, eyes fluttering at his touch.

“Of course, I want that. I want that and more. I-I’m not the best with relationships. I’m only saying this because I want to be open and honest with you. There’s not a second you aren’t on my mind. While at work, you are all I can see. In a crowd of a hundred, my eyes always find yours. I don’t know how to explain what you do to me. But I don’t mind. I think if I ever lost that, I would lose my mind. So I’m sorry if I ever made you feel the opposite. There’s so much more I want to say, but I just don’t know how. I want that. I want that so bad. A relationship and whatever more you give me. I might not be the best boyfriend but I’ll do whatever it takes. I- I love you.” Yoongi’s words are heartfelt and he’s so relieved. One because he’s been keeping this in for so long, any longer and he would have exploded, but second because he’s been dying to say those three words. He really does love you and Yoongi doesn’t love many people in life, but if he had to choose, it’s always gonna be you.

The tears that were creeping on your eye-lids fall prettily down your face, but Yoongi comes to your rescue. He’s quick to wipe them off your pretty face, tempted to kiss them away, but he keeps that in for now. “Y-Yoongi… I love you too. So much. I think I always have. You are so easy to love. The way you look at me, care for me, and always show up for me. That says more about you than anything else. I tried dating to get over what I felt for you, as you can probably tell, but nothing worked. It was so easy, Yoongi. So easy to fall in love with you. You’re perfect and I don’t doubt that you’ll be the best even after all this. I love you.”

“I love you too, I love you. Fuck, I love you.” Yoongi kisses you again and this time he isn’t as gentle. His lips are still soft as ever as they curl around yours. His tongue comes out and you immediately allow access, letting him explore your mouth. The taste is much better now that there isn’t anything you both are holding back. Everything down on the line and you couldn’t be happier. The hole in your heart was never empty, it was just waiting for this exact moment to remind you that you’ve always had it all.

“Yoongi.” In between breaths you call his name and Yoongi feels his knees lock. “Take me to bed.”

Yoongi just nods in a trance with the way your tone drips of arousal. A long strand of hair falls on his face when he picks you up with ease off your feet. He takes you to the place he’s had the honor to visit a hundred times before, but it’s different this time, much different.

In the process of it all, something falls and it causes you both to laugh until you run out of breath.

“I can’t believe that just happened.” You laugh into his ear. “You owe me a new lamp. My mother bought me that, you know. House-warming gift.”

“Fuck, sorry.” Yoongi mumbles near a whisper as he grips you harder like he’s afraid he might drop you next and the idea makes you giggle because you know he would never purposely hurt you. “I’ll apologize to your mother directly. Buy you and her a new lamp, whatever it takes.”

“What makes you think you are meeting my mother?” You tease with a smile on your face, watching the blush rise on his cheeks.

“Well, I figured we could, you know, if you would like–” Yoongi doesn’t often get shy about many things but he can’t keep calm around you and that kills him softly.

“I’m just teasing you.” You say and he bites his lip. “Of course you’ll meet my mother and my father and my nosy ass family. I hope you like annoying, persistent grandma’s that stuff you full. My grandma’s the worst of her kind, but she’ll love you.”

“I would love to.” Yoongi simply replies, still whispering as if you guys had to keep quiet or else you’d be in deep trouble.

“Why are we still whispering?” You whisper back, roaming fingers through his long, gorgeous hair. He needs to remind you to thank his mother personally for insisting he keep his hair long because it made him look pretty and you could never disagree. Yoongi’s so pretty.

“I-I don’t know.”

You both smile at each other before sharing another kiss. It’s so sweet and if you weren’t already off your feet, you would be floating by now. He’s gentle when letting you drop into the sheets below, he finds space between your legs and you wrap them around his hips. Lips still in contact, never losing the plushy feel.

Everything starts to feel hot. Your hips start to slowly grind against his begging for any sort of friction. But the kissing doesn’t stop.

Not when you start whining against his lips.

Not even when Yoongi starts trailing his fingers down your waist and around your curves. He teases his fingertips against your waistline, soft to the touch.

It’s not until you mewl loudly into his mouth, skillful tongue playing with yours, as you feel him start unbuckling your pants, button-by-button.

Yoongi’s eyes are heavy-lidded, his gaze burning fire. “Gonna take care of you now, is that okay?”

You furiously nod, coming up to kiss him once more, both your lips are raw and sensitive, but it gives you more of a reason to fix it with even more kisses.

He drops one quick kiss onto your mouth before he trails down your jaw. Yoongi breathes in the sweet scent on your skin, wishing he could feel you even closer. “Smell so damn good.”

His voice is raspy against your ear and it makes you blush, while you feel his hand finally touch you where you had been aching with need. “Wanna hear you.”

Breathing lightly, you whisper. “Make me.”

And of course, Yoongi makes you regret how fast you said the words because he delves his fingers forward with little resistance. Two fingers stretch you at the same time, gasping at the sudden sensation.

By now, you were molded to fit Yoongi’s fingers. On days where you were really in need, you would take four, all at once. Yoongi was best at reading every expression, every crease and scrunch to your face, especially emotions. He knew exactly how to curve his fingers, the way to build you up, and bring you back down. Yoongi knew it all and he was so lucky too.

He never anticipated it would have gone this far. It was just sex to begin with. But who were you both kidding, it was always much, much more.

Yoongi curves his fingers in the way he’s used to and watches your mouth drop, sweet noises soon leaving your lips. “Feels good?”

There’s no need to ask because he can tell. Your expression tells him everything he needs to know. That and the fact that you are dripping around his fingers but it’s sexier hearing it from you.

“Yeah… f-feels so good.” With his other hand he tugs your clothes off, leaving you bare on the bottom. Remembering the first few times is a bit embarrassing, but Yoongi always made sure to take his time and make you feel comfortable. It was special and memorable in its own way, and Yoongi felt it too.

This is unlike any first time, but it was technically the first time you could officially make love to each other until you fall lovesick and that had to be impossible around someone like Yoongi.

“Hold your legs open for me, flower.” You try to ignore the warm feeling that buzzes in your chest, but you are sure your face says it all. Without another word, you spread your legs open, tucking both hands behind your thighs.

“Flower?” You breathe out with a bit of a struggle as his two fingers continue to pump deep inside you, brushing repeatedly against your g-spot.

“Do you not like it?” Yoongi smiles slightly, biting his bottom lip while he watches you start to tremble, making the prettiest sounds.

“I do. Why the new name?” Voice a bit unsteady but it does the job. Yoongi thinks of all the times he thought you were as pretty as a flower, which really was all the time. Especially, in the way he has you right now. Pretty, pretty as a flower.

“I’ve always wanted to call you that. You’re pretty, sweet, delicate. Just like a flower.” He justifies his reasoning and you melt into puddles.

“Yoongi.” Voice sweet as honey.

“Yes baby.” He replies with ease.

“Make love to me, Yoongi.”

There was a time in his life where Yoongi believed he could live without love. How foolish of him to think so. When he met you, it was a complete three-sixty. Suddenly, Yoongi started to look forward to his shit job. He looked forward to that time between breaks where he could admire you from the back like a pinning loser. Yoongi even started to like the walks he had to take to get to work because he knew that the path would eventually lead to you. He started looking forward to tomorrow's and to the bright future that led ahead. His mom would often complain that he was wasting his life away waiting for it to start, but Yoongi thinks life truly started the day he met you.

It was a bit awkward because you couldn’t even look him in the eyes, intimated by the staff and new environment. You had previously worked in different bars so you assumed it would be no different and it wasn’t, but the intimidation of a new job was there nonetheless. Yoongi was there every step of the way. He had a crush on the new employee and you needed help on fitting in. Either way, your friendship was very platonic until it wasn’t.

Yoongi knows he should have said something along the lines “hey, maybe we shouldn't be doing this anymore. I’m in love with you and I have been since you started working here” but the stupid words never made it out. He felt it would be too much to hear and it would only make him look like a complete loser.

And you felt the same. It was silly really, because everyone around you knew it and there was no reason to fear someone as easy going and non-judgemental as Yoongi, nonetheless it brought you both here. After many failed dating attempts, you were finally happy and in the arms of someone who you truly love and want to be loved by.

There was a time in his life where Yoongi believed he could live without love, now Yoongi believes your precious, sweet love brought him back to life and he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Clothes now discarded on the floor, heavy breathing filling the room, and Yoongi could get wasted on the smell of your intoxicating perfume. “Breathe flower.”

Yoongi felt you shiver at the sound of his words, throwing your head back as he thrusts you full of cock. He pushes inside you with gentle movements, struggling to keep himself up while feeling the tug of your warm velvet-like walls.

You gasp feeling him hit your cervix in a calm, slow pace. It was breathtaking regardless of the gentle rhythm. “You’re so deep...”

“I know flower, breathe baby, breathe.” He is struggling to keep from coming inside you, overwhelmed by his own emotions as your eyes roll back, feeling the pressure rise in your belly. Without a condom, everything feels so different from other times, feeling every ridge and crease fold inside your drenching heat. You take him so nicely, like you always have. Like you’ve always belonged to him.

You don’t even notice you stopped breathing until you start feeling lightheaded and desperate for fresh air. Breathing just as much as necessary so you don’t faint, you shake your head against his hold, his eyes watch yours, observing with curiosity.

“No?”

“Mm, n-no.” You shake your head again, whimpering when you feel him kiss your cervix with his swollen tip, over and over and over. “Can– can you…”

“Can I what, pretty flower?” Yoongi rolls his hips a bit faster, feeling his orgasm build too quickly. He wishes he could have days with you like this always. Days to love and worship you from head to toe.

“Choke me.” You manage to say. “Don— don’t wanna breathe.”

Yoongi growls deep, increasing his speed even more, desperate to fill the deepest part of your glistening folds. He feels you tense underneath, the sounds coming from your mouth are loud enough for your neighbors to hear, but Yoongi stopped giving a fuck about everything around him.

He places a hand on your throat and squeezes gently, not blocking off your airways completely, but leaving you just enough air to work with. It drives you insane. The more you breathe, his rough thrusts take the air out from your lungs and the process repeats. It feels so good.

“M-more. Harder.” You barely hear your own words, but Yoongi seems to understand because his dick is moving rapidly inside you, nearly splitting you in two. You wrap both hands around his wrist, loving the heavy weight against your chest. It’ll end too soon and it disappoints you in a way, but you have all the time in the world to make this up. “G-Gonna come.”

Yoongi nods, concentrating on the way your face scrunches with pleasure. With love. The way your eyes tell him a story. God, Yoongi’s madly in love. “Come, my precious flower.”

With those final words, you come on his bare slick cock, blossoming in the blissful afterglow. Yoongi doesn’t stop thrusting inside you, but he takes his hand off your throat, kissing your face gently when he sees tears start leaking down your cheeks.

“It’s okay, you’re okay baby. Breathe for me. Slowly.” Yoongi’s words bring you back down and you throw your arms around him, crying against his shoulder. You don’t even know what invoked this strong emotion to sob your eyes out, but Yoongi allows it, caressing the back of your head. Yoongi doesn’t judge, he only holds you until you settle down. “It’s okay baby, let it out. Breathe, pretty flower.”

“C-Come inside muh-me, please.” Even after all that, you still beg for him and Yoongi wants to laugh but for your sake and the fact that it’s endearing to him, he delivers accordingly without further questions.

Right as he’s going to paint your walls white, he pushes himself up with one hand, still holding you with the other. “You sure?”

You’re confused about the sudden question, the tears still decorate your face but then you understand. “Birth control. Just come in me Yoongi, fuck me, fu-fuck.”

Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to regain his brutal pace, fucking you with purpose. Not that he doesn’t want kids in the near future, but he sure as hell doesn’t want any right now. He’s glad you are on the same page but maybe one day the conversation would spark and he wouldn’t want the mother of his kids to be anyone else but you. You were perfect for him.

“Gonna come.” That’s the only warning you get, then he’s emptying himself inside your tight walls. He doesn’t stop rolling his hips, his slit leaking puddles, until he’s pumped himself dry. With one last thrust, he groans and carefully pulls out.

He brings you with him, head falling against his chest as he continues to play with your hair, leaving kisses into your bare shoulders. “You okay baby?”

“Perfect. Feel so good.” You mumble into his skin, feeling around his waist. “I’m leaking your come into the sheets though.”

“I’ll take care of it, pretty flower.” You nod sleepily into his chest with a quiet ‘thank you’, feeling completely sated and satisfied, aching with exhaustion. “Sleep baby, I got you.”

With that, you fall deep into the shackles of sleep. Yoongi rubs your back until you completely fall asleep in his arms. He struggles to unwrap himself from your hold, but when he finally succeeds, he tucks you in and kisses your cheek a few times before getting up to clean up after the mess you both created.

He’s light on his feet, bringing a warm towel to your slick folds and wipes as best he can, being gentle so you could continue to enjoy your sleep. Even like this, you look so beautiful and Yoongi is an extremely lucky man.

Yoongi makes sure to also pick up the lamp he dropped from earlier as well. He blows out a breath of relief when he notices that the damage is nothing big and nothing that can’t be fixed. He’ll make sure to fix that as soon as he can.

While he’s out there, Yoongi places the tulips into a vase and fills it with water, placing it near a window where it could grow and blossom beautifully near the sunlight. He even cuts the tips into slants because he had heard somewhere online they last longer that way, making sure to get rid of any dead leaves and petals. Yoongi couldn’t be happier.

After he’s done with the light cleaning, he washes his hands and feels the exhaustion hit him tenfold. He’s careful when placing himself back in bed, lifting your arm and placing himself underneath you. The man smiles when he feels you curl yourself around him, sleeping soundlessly.

“I love you.” He whispers and even though you don’t say it back Yoongi feels it with the way you melt into his arms. Yoongi falls asleep easily that night.

…

“Baby.” Yoongi hears someone call him and he ignores it. Sleep calls his name louder and he doesn’t feel like waking up right now so he groans and cuddles deeper into the bedsheets below him, unaware of the life around him.

“Baby wake up.” You keep calling sweetly and it’s tempting but he persists.

“No. Don’t wanna.” Yoongi grumbles like an old man and you can’t help but to laugh. “Just ten more minutes.”

When you woke up the next morning, you were so thankful Yoongi had kept his promise. Your apartment was flawless and you were as clean as you could be. The tulips looked prettier today as the sun shined on the delicate petals. You even had time to warm the seaweed soup he brought from home and you couldn’t wait to get a taste. The smell alone is delicious and it warmed your home up nicely, you truly couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that this was no longer a dream but your reality. You could definitely get used to this.

You drop kisses onto his warm cheeks until his eyes flutter open, almost similar to a cat. “There you are.”

Yoongi pulls you into his arms again with quiet noncoherent grumbles and closes his eyes once more. “Give me ten minutes.”

“It’s already been ten.” You whisper lightly laughing.

“Oh. Ten more then.” You get comfortable on his chest and cuddle for a bit longer because you can’t say no to his cute sleepy self.

Yoongi starts to sniff the air with curiosity. “Is that the seaweed soup I brought you?”

“Mhm.” You hum. “Better get up soon before it burns.”

That manages to be convincing enough and Yoongi forces himself up, with you in his embrace.

“Wanna wake up like that forever.” He says, voice filled with sleep.

“You can.”

Yoongi snaps his heavy eyes towards you. “Are you–”

“Move in with me, Yoongi.” Yes, you skipped every step to this, but nothing was ever to code between you and Yoongi. One thing you were so sure of and that was spending the rest of your life with him. “Please.”

“I- yes, of course.” Yoongi wraps his arms around you for a tight hug, kissing your temple. “I love you. I love you and I’ll prove it to you every single day.”

“I know, I love you too. I love you.” Those three words come out from your mouths so easily and it’s nice that you no longer have to ever hold back. The man of your dreams is in the palms of your humble home and he’s in love with you. This was better than any dream.

“Let’s eat?” He says after some time of hugging and kisses being interchanged.

You nod, letting him take you there. Your kitchen is filled with the cruel aroma of food and your tummy rumbles as you sit comfortably while you wait for him to serve you a bowl of the warm tasty soup.

“I should be doing that. I’m a terrible host.” Yoongi shakes his head while smiling, the fluff of hair moving with him, then your phone dings. “Hold on, give me a second.”

Your heart drops when you see it is a Tinder notification from a man you promised to get back to. You look over to find Yoongi serving your bowl, making his way to the table. He leans in puckering slightly and you immediately lean into the sweet sudden kiss while he places your meal in front of you. This Yoongi is new because it wasn’t often you could act domestically towards one another, however this was perfect and just what you needed.

“Everything okay baby?” Yoongi asks while caressing your soft cheek and you immediately nod in his palm.

“Yes, everything’s perfect.” You reply in awe. “Thank you Yoongi, for everything.”

For letting me love you and for loving me back.

The older man just smiles and joins you for the meal.

It turns out you didn’t need Tinder after all.

You quickly delete the app off your phone and start to eat with the love of your life, conversation flows while you enjoy each other’s presence and fall deeper in love.

Alike Yoongi, you couldn’t imagine it happening any other way. You were bound to fall in love, one way or another, but that man was meant to be yours as you were meant to be his.

#yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #bts fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts fluff #bts x y/n #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x you #bts smut

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aviscarrentals · 10 days

Text

i want to play a (racing) game

a series of f1 fics based off of some of my favorite horror movies

charles leclerc- the shining

you, your boyfriend, and a bunch of friends decide to spend your winter break together in a giant hotel. what could go wrong?

max verstappen- it

after years away from your hometown, derry, you suddenly receive an urgent call from your long-forgotten childhood friend, alex, that leads to you returning to the very place you swore you would never face again

carlos sainz- a quiet place

after losing everything you know when the world fell into apocalypse due to the invasion of alien-like monsters with some very sharp ears, you find a new family in the other survivors

lando norris- scary movie (saw parody)

you wake up next to a stranger in a dimly lit room chained to a chair, which is bolted to the floor. luckily, the situation turns out to be more humorous than terrifying (may or may not be 100% based off of the jerma episode of generation loss LOL)

fernando alonso- freaky

you wake up in the body of a middle aged man. but not just any man. a man who also happens to be a wanted serial killer.

george russell- the purge

you and your best friend alex's annoying best friend, george, have to work together to survive the purge night (lily's also there)

pierre gasly- unfriended

you and your friends video call every friday night to hang out together. unfortunately, an angry spirit has decided it wants to spend some time with you guys as well...

mick schumacher- fnaf

after countless failed attempts, you've finally found yourself a new job! the bad news is, it's a night shift and you're scared of the dark. so, naturally, you drag your boyfriend along with you.

alex albon- child's play

when you and your boyfriend unexpectedly have to take in your young niece, you two struggle to make a connection with the little girl. maybe splurging on the cool new doll she's been wanting will fix that.

yuki tsunoda- final destination

what do you do when some random guy that you've never spoken to before tells you he's seen visions of you dying? what do you do when it turns out he was right and death is pretty pissed off?

oscar piastri- the menu

you and your husband have worked non-stop to build a successful, stable life for yourselves. you two really deserve a break. how about a fancy dinner on a remote island prepared by one of the most revered chefs in the entire culinary world?

ollie bearman- scary stories to tell in the dark

it's the final halloween before you have to move away from your hometown and your best friends since birth. hopefully you can make it a night to remember.

lance stroll- the cabin in the woods

you and your boyfriend decide to invite some friends to spend the weekend in a little log cabin in the forest as a way to momentarily retreat from your stressful lives. well you definitely won't be getting any rest this weekend, that's for sure.

logan sargeant- scream (aka yelp)

an eerie masked killer has made its way into your town and is slowly picking kids off one by one. who could it be? is there anyone you can trust? prologue chapter 1

liam lawson- happy death day

happy birthday! i hope you're excited because this will be the longest day(s?) of your life

sebastian vettel- the texas chainsaw massacre

it's summer, which of course means it's time for a roadtrip! unfortunately, you and your friends decided to visit texas, usa, where everything's bound to go wrong (because it's texas, usa)

kimi raikkonen- would you rather

desperate times call for desperate measures, although at this point desperate would be an understatement. so when the perfect opportunity falls right into your lap, who are you to turn it down?

jenson button- halloween

it's halloween! the spookiest day of the year. even though you don't bother participating in silly little holiday celebrations, there are some traditions you can't ignore…

mark webber- 28 days later

the world has gone to shit. even so, you're doing everything you can to survive, despite how hard it is on your own. maybe it would be better if you formed a team?

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wardenparker · 3 months

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 1

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 14.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle* Not much for this chapter! Mostly fluff, a little flirting, and playful but on-point use of the term 'tramp stamp'. Summary: On a failed date at the local market, Marcus runs into an old friend and gets an invitation to visit. The beautiful inn and fantastic food were explicit in the invite -- but you are a complete surprise to him. Notes: Welcome, welcome, welcome my lovelies! As a girl who grew up on The West Wing and fosters an unapologetic love of all things romance, a story like this has been on my wish list to write for a very long time. I hope you're all ready for a cast of new characters and the grand appearance of Pedro's character from Graceland, because it's time for Marcus Pike to meet his soulmate! 🧡🧡🧡

There’s something about the hustle and bustle of D.C., that while it can invigorate someone and inspire them to live life as fast as possible, it can also drain them. At least, that’s what Marcus Pike has learned from the last three years of therapy. That and he’s prone to rushing into relationships, being in love with love, as Dr. Barnes would caution him.

It seems sometimes as if he’s unlucky in love, despite the universe providing a perfect match for him, he’s never found her. Always looking, but also being open to loving someone who doesn’t share marks or scars. Someone who just wants a stable and steady man to worship them and give them the world.

He hasn’t dated in almost three years. His therapist had advised him to focus on himself. To work through his emotions of a failed college marriage, a failed engagement. To make himself happy with who he is before introducing another person into the mix. He had thought that’s what he was doing, but apparently he had been wrong.

Finally feeling ready to date again, he had dipped his toes back in the water. Only to have it backfire tremendously. So much so, that he finds himself walking around the Eastern Market on his own. His idea of a farmer’s market casual date obviously not a good one, according to the woman who had tossed the drink he had bought her on the trash and stomped off, abandoning him to feel like a fool.

Smiling faces beam back at him from the covers of glossy gossip magazines, flashing headlines critiquing fashions worn to the recent inauguration ceremony and parties. The new president and her family wave from above the fold of newspapers — the happy family that Marcus himself doesn’t have. Ignoring the rude reminder, he wanders through the stalls and vendors of Eastern Market aimlessly until he reaches the family-owned sweet shop that he’s been coming to for years now. They know him, and like him, and his sweet tooth knows no bounds. There’s another man at the counter just before Marcus so he stands back, but Jenny waves hello from behind the counter. “Morning Marcus! Gimme one second and I’ll be right with you.” She says, turning back to the order marked Juan in her big, looping handwriting. “Six cannoli, right? Two pistachio, two double chocolate, and two cherry chocolate?”

“Right.” The man in a corduroy jacket with his short hair trimmed neatly nods. “Thanks, Jen. The girls are going to be over the moon.”

Another reminder of a life he craves. Marcus frowns slightly and tries to remember what his therapist has told him. Everyone moves at their own pace. Just because he’s not juggling two kids, a dog and a lovely wife with his workload doesn’t mean he’s failing. It just means he’s not met the right person, soulmate or not.

The other man pays for his order and turns to leave but stops dead in the middle of a cordial nod when he sees Marcus standing a few feet away. Sure he had heard Jenny say hi to someone…but he hadn’t looked. Now though? He huffs a laugh at the ghost of his past. “Pike?” They’d been mistaken as brothers — or for each other — so many times back at the Academy that it would be impossible not to recognize Marcus Pike.

“Badillo?” It’s amazing to see the other agent, although he had heard that he had left the Bureau after a friendly fire shooting. He looks good though, and Marcus cracks into the first real grin of the morning since being left high and dry. “What the hell? How are you doing, man?” He asks, coming in for a friendly hug while being mindful of the box in Juan’s hand.

“Good! Good. Errands.” Juan huffs, returning Marcus’s hug with equal surprise and affection. The men had been quite good friends at one time, more than a few years ago now. “Pregnant wife gets whatever pregnant wife wants, ya know?” He grins, bright and shining. “When did you get back to DC?”

“Pregnant wife, huh?” Despite the knife to his heart, Marcus paints on a grin, happy for his old friend. “Three years ago.” He shrugs slightly. “Heading up Art Crimes now. How about you? I heard you got out.” He lifts his eyebrows, allowing Juan to talk if he wants or brush it off if he doesn’t.

“I did.” Juan nods, knowing that various stories circulated after he left the Bureau. Most of them false. “Decided to take a little road trip vacation to clear my head and ended up meeting my soulmate in Yosemite on day two of the whole thing, and I followed her East.” He shrugs, ever the unapologetic romantic just like Marcus. They had had that in common. “How’s Lara?” He asks, remembering the woman that had been Mrs. Pike during their Academy days. Marcus had been over the moon for her. “Is she liking being back?”

Marcus grimaces a little and shrugs. “She’s, uh, we got divorced about ten years ago.” He tells him. “She found out she did have a soulmate.”

“Ah shit.” Blowing out a breath and shuffling his feet, Juan rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “I’m sorry, man. That’s—there’s just no easy way to get through something like that.”

“It’s okay.” Marcus had loved Lara, but he wasn’t going to stand in the way of soulmates. It wouldn’t be right. “It was actually a very easy divorce; she hated hurting me. More than I can say for the last date, or last fiancée I’ve had.”

“Shit.” Juan huffs again, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s eleven in the morning but I feel like I ought to be buying you a drink, man.” Hearing that someone as genuinely good as Marcus Pike is has had his heart bashed so often is a fucking bummer, and Juan chews on his lip for a second before his head tilts in that Universal signal of natural curiosity. “I’ve got time today. If you want to hang out? Catch up?” He offers, knowing that drinks will most likely come later if the two old friends spend the day getting back on the same page.

Marcus chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Do I look that dejected?” He asks, even though he’s not really looking for an answer. “I was supposed to be on a date, I figured a farmer’s market/brunch date would be easy enough and yet thoughtful, but I was ditched.” He snorts. “I have zero luck it seems.” He nods his head towards the cannoli. “But you can’t leave your pregnant wife waiting on those.”

“No, I can’t.” Sydney is waiting back at the restaurant with bated breath, he knows that, but he does offer Marcus a smile. “But she does run a restaurant, so you don’t have to be brunch-less unless you choose to be.”

“Yeah?” He perks up at the idea of trying out a new place, always loving brunch foods. “Where at? I might have to take a spin over there.”

“Her place is called Il Corvo.” It takes a second, but Juan digs a business card for the restaurant out of his jacket pocket and hands it over. “It’s the in-house restaurant at The Inn at Jones Point in Alexandria.” He reports proudly, always ready to brag about his soulmate’s amazing success. Running a restaurant is no small feat. “I know the card says the dining room opens at 4pm, but ignore that. She does brunch for guests at the inn and for special guests from time to time.”

“Are you sure?” Marcus frowns slightly. “I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s not imposing, trust me.” Knowing his wife as well as he does, Juan is more than certain she’ll be doting on Marcus in no time. “As long as you’re on board for Italian food, come by any time you want.”

“I’m out on the bike.” Marcus tells Juan, remembering how the other agent also loved to ride motorcycles. “I might swing by sometime. Normally go for rides on the weekend.”

"Anytime you want," Juan repeats, and he hopes Marcus understands how entirely he means it. "It's good to see you again, man."

“Good to see you too.” Marcus means that, smiling at the former agent. “Nice to see that you are okay.”

The two men part with a smile and a nod, and Juan hustles away to get his precious cargo back out to his soulmate. Maybe he'll pitch the idea of inviting Marcus to their next board game night if Sydney and her best friend don't mind the extra company. Not that they ever mind extra company.

Marcus doesn’t mean for it to be two weeks from the chance encounter with Juan before he steers his bike down the country, winding roads towards this inn that he had been told about. He had a case that required him to travel. Then it was reports and the never ending budget fiascos that new presidencies always bring, his boss wanting a new projections for the fiscal year for some reason.

Now though, he’s enjoying the scenery as the wind blows over his face and he leans into the curve, enjoying the small thrill that races up his spine from the inherent danger.

The winter has been mild so far and all the snow left behind by the storm the area had gotten while he was traveling has melted, making the ride an easy and calming one. He had intentionally driven a long route around Alexandria and the surrounding area, letting him arrive at his destination a little after noon on that cold, sunny Sunday. The inn is a large brick farmhouse, probably originally colonial but it looks like it was redone sometime during the Federalist architecture craze of the early 1800s. Now its clean white painted window frames and front porch are as welcoming as the pristinely kept front garden. The Inn at Jones Point proclaims a sign out front, which is accompanied by a smaller complimentary sign with an impressionist painted black bird that reads Il Corvo in an artistic script. There are cars in the lot with a plethora of states listed on their license plates, another motorcycle that he has to assume is Juan's, and a very government-issued-looking black car parked close to the building.

Marcus is enough of a romantic to fully appreciate the appeal of the property and more importantly, grounded enough to be able to appreciate it without having a partner here to enjoy it with. Since working with his therapist, he's spent a lot of the last three years 'dating himself'. Instead of waiting to make a date to try out a new restaurant, he goes by himself. Not limiting himself to new experiences with partners, he has found that he enjoys the hunt for the perfect spots to eat. The little Indian restaurant he had found is an absolute gem and he is looking forward to discovering a new little brunch spot. If this place is half as good as Juan says, he might make it a monthly habit while he can spend some time with his old friend.

Inside, the lobby of the inn is bustling. Guests sit in plush chairs with travel brochures or excitedly type on their phones. A family is gathered around a display of pamphlets for different travel experiences and tourist attraction. Another guest is hovering around the front desk, seemingly waiting for someone to return.

From the rooms off to the left, wave after wave of stunning smells wafts past Marcus as he looks around. A set of French doors stands open but the hostess stand for Il Corvo stands empty while a small number of diners sit inside, happily chattering over their meals. The scent of fresh coffee permeates everything else just a second before he can see why, as a woman in a blue silk shirt comes around the corner with two travel cups — presumably full of coffee — for the guest standing at the desk.

“Here we are, Mrs. Richards. Thank you for your patience, the pot was just finishing brewing. These will keep you nice and warm while you walk around Old Town.” Smiling as the woman walks away, your eyes survey the room and land on the new arrival with a touch of confusion. “Good afternoon,” you greet, in your typical sunshiny tone. This man isn’t a guest and you genuinely almost thought it was Juan for a second — even though you just saw Juan in the restaurant. “How can I help you today?”

“Hi— uh, I—” Marcus realizes he knows you. Your mother’s picture hangs on his office wall next to the current FBI director’s, and furthermore, it’s hard to not see the darling First Daughter in some news story – although it doesn’t seem like you enjoy the press. “Yeah, sorry, Juan said that brunch is served here?” He asks with an apologetic smile. “I’m Marcus, uh, Pike. We were in the Academy together and I ran into him a few weeks ago.”

You’re prettier than he ever imagined the pictures and news reels, your voice curling into his stomach pleasantly. In true, Marcus Pike fashion. He finds himself instantly intrigued by you.

“Oh, you’re Marcus!” As bright and cheery as you sound, something flips in your stomach and clenches at your chest and you swallow down the oh god he’s really hot impulse that you haven’t felt in…well, in years. This guy looks like someone took Juan and gave him broader shoulders and better hair, and put a little bit more James Dean in his style. “It’s really nice to meet you.” You introduce yourself, probably unnecessarily, but it’s good manners and keeps you from getting nervous or going off track. “Come on this way. Juan said you might be stopping by but he wasn’t sure when.”

“I’m sorry, should I have called first?” He asks, feeling guilty and slightly in the way. The last thing that he wants is to cause an imposition.

“Not at all.” You slip out from behind your desk and wave for him to follow you. “He’s been excited to introduce you to everybody.” The inn is a decent size, with the ground floor being public spaces and all the rooms upstairs being ready-made for guests except for the attic apartment, and you quickly lead the way through the rooms toward the restaurant kitchen.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve caught up.” Marcus admits. “We were close in the academy, most people through we were twins to be honest.” He chuckles slightly.

“I almost thought you were him when I saw you,” you admit, glad to know you aren’t alone in it. Juan had said they look alike but it really is extreme. “Here we are.” Humming as you push open the door to the restaurant’s bar, you huff a soft laugh when a woman slightly taller than you with masses of curls in a tight bun at the nape of her neck in a black suit sidesteps the pair of you and opens the kitchen door to look inside before letting you in. “Thank you, Agent Bailey.” As odd as it is to have constant supervision like this, you’re doing your best to be patient and understanding with it. “Come on into the kitchen,” you offer to Marcus. “Brunch is almost over and this is where Juan sits when he hangs out.”

“Really? The inner sanctum already?” The tone is joking, but Marcus knows that for a lot of chefs, the kitchen is their sacred place. He wouldn’t know, because his kitchen is used to make coffee, but he’s had a few relationships with amateur gourmet cooks.

“Marcus!” There’s no question that this is where he’s supposed to be, when Juan is waving from a corner of the kitchen and immediately zips over to say hello. “How are you, man? Good to see you!”

“Hey.” He grins when he sees the other man, obviously happier here than any time in the Bureau and he’s happy for him. He seems like a completely different man, just from the quick glance. Perhaps it’s the fact that he found his soulmate. “Sorry it’s been a few weeks. Got caught up on a case.”

“I completely get it,” he assures his friend. “It’s been kind of crazy around here anyway. Weddings booked every single weekend and the restaurant stuffed full with reservations.” He beams, proud as a peacock, and waves slightly as you disappear back out through the bar to return to your counter. The inn is full up with last night’s wedding party and you have your hands full. “I want you to meet my wife,” Juan says, clapping Marcus in the shoulder and pulling him further into the kitchen.

There are only two people cooking right now and they are both winding down. Enough that the petite woman with tied-up hair and a look of intense concentration on her face can look up and smile. “I hear you talking about me,” she warns with a laugh.

“Syd, this is Marcus Pike.” Juan introduces, bringing his friend out in front of him. “Marcus, this is Sydney. The gorgeous goddess the universe decided to grace me with.”

“Nice to meet you.” Again that pesky pang of longing lurches inside Marcus but he throws her a smile and takes her hand after she offers it immediately. “I’ve only heard angelic things about you, so rest assured, he’s not talking ill.”

“He’s does nothing but tell stories about you since you guys ran into each other at Eastern Market.” Sydney tells him honestly. “Can I make you something to eat?”

“I was hoping to experience the brunch option that Juan was bragging about.” Marcus admits as he glances around, admiring the state of the art kitchen. “Didn’t expect to see this from the historical facade.” He admits. “It’s charming though.” He adds, hoping that neither one of you take offense.

"Charming is her specialty." Sydney points her thumb in the direction of the door, indicating the main lobby of the inn. "We took over running this place about three years ago now. The previous owners weren't able to keep up anymore so they sold to her and we updated the restaurant. Modern Italian dinners and brunch for the inn's guests. It's a big step up from the B&B that this place used to be." Grinning proudly, Sydney moves over to the nearest counter and plops a paper menu down at the stool beside her husband. "What would you like?"

Marcus looks at the menu and lifts a brow, impressed by the sophisticated menu. This isn’t some little spaghetti shop that pretends to be Italian. “It’s been so long since I’ve had good Uova in Purgatorio.” He moans. “Since the last time I was in Naples.” He clicks his tongue. “But I want to try the ricotta pancakes too.”

"Then you will get both," Sydney insists, clicking her tongue and getting to work. "A G-man in Naples, huh?" She barely glances up from her work as she moves. "Art crimes must be the fancy branch of the Bureau."

“I work on international cases with Interpol and Scotland Yard.” He explains as he sits down and admires the fluidity of her movements in the kitchen. She’s completely at home in her space and it’s evident she’s in command. He’s slightly envious of her comfort in a kitchen, if he’s honest.

"Oh, so it definitely is the fancy branch." She laughs. Juan hops up from his seat to grab coffee for himself and Marcus, brushing a kiss on her cheek as he moves past, and the other woman who had been cooking moves away to the other end of the room to work on cleaning up from the brunch rush.

"Fancy branch of what?" The kitchen door swings open again and you come strolling back inside looking infinitely more tired than you had just a few minutes ago but still in a generally good mood. "The wedding party is finally gone. I am officially taking my break."

Marcus stares at you for a moment and then looks down at his hands, feeling like he might be bragging if he were to tell you what they’ve been talking about. There’s something about you that is knocking him off kilter, he’s normally a little more confident than this.

"Art crimes is swanky, apparently." Sydney tells you, never stopping or slowing as she moves around like a controlled whirlwind. "Eggs in purgatory and ricotta pancakes for your brunch? I'll make up a big batch." They're two of your favourite things anyway and it's easy enough to just make a double serving of each when she knows that your break time is always mealtime.

"That sounds incredible," you moan in agreement, making a beeline for the industrial refrigerator in the corner of the room to make yourself an iced latte that is far more espresso than milk. A generous swirl of flavored syrup joins your cup before you plop down on the edge of the counter and sip your drink with a happy sigh. Normally people exclaim over you when they realize they recognize you but Marcus Pike hasn't said a word — and you wonder if he doesn't recognize you from the papers or if you even care. It's nice to not have someone make a fuss for once. To just be nice and not suck up to you for being the President's oldest child.

“Weddings take it out of you, huh?” Marcus asks, smirking a little at the drink in your hand, although it looks delicious. “Or were they just demanding?”

"It was a big party. Very specific needs." Sipping your drink and finally sitting is immediately relaxing, and you're always ready to meet new people. Especially when they're someone that your best friend's husband speaks of so highly. "Nothing I can't handle, but weddings are always tricky. It's the most important day of at least one person's life, so you always want to try to make it as perfect for them as you can. Thankfully," you gesture around you. "I have an incredible team. Syd is the best Italian chef in the Chesapeake Bay and Juanito is an incredible event coordinator."

Marcus snorts and cuts his eyes over at Badillo. “He always did have an eye for details.” He admits, snickering at the nickname you’ve bestowed on the former federal agent. “Although it’s surprising that it’s manifested in wedding planning.” He teases playfully.

"Event planning," Juan clarifies, but he's grinning regardless. "We host a lot here. Weddings, anniversaries, holiday parties, all kinds of personal events. I get to put my organizational mind to work on it. It's actually pretty rewarding."

"Don't let him sell himself short. Juan plans a hell of a wedding." There is pride on your face, pride for your friend and in your work "We've gotten written up in a bunch of bridal magazines and on websites the last few years."

“Good job, Juanito.” If there’s anything that Marcus enjoyed more than the courses in the academy, it was busting his friend’s balls. All in good fun of course, he had taken his share of ribbing as well. It was par for the course. “That sounds like a hell of a job, making people happy and sharing in their special moments.”

"We do our best." Juan will never take the credit for himself, always attributing the effort to the team as a whole. This time, though, he flashes a knowing grin at you. "Although the next one we plan might be a hell of a lot bigger than what we do here."

“Oh?” Marcus asks, turning towards you. “Are you getting married soon?” His eyes drop discreetly to your hand and he tries to remember what he’s read about you but for some reason, he’s drawing a blank.

“No, Juan just likes to tease.” You shake it off with a roll of your eyes, knowing that — unfortunately — your friend is completely right. If or when it does happen, it will be a damn circus. “It’s this…guy that I met last year, and it’s been really good and he really took all the stress of the last year in stride, and these two love to tease.” In truth, you’ve been intentionally moving forward slowly with the junior Congressman from Maryland that you met at a campaign event you attended with your mother last year. Sam is a good guy and has big ideas for the future. It’s just that you normally dive into relationships so fast and so deep that your heart does all the talking before your mind can catch up. And now that you’re a public figure, you can’t afford to have that happen again. “I’m perfectly content to watch other people have their big days for now.”

“I can imagine that it’s hard to have a relationship right now.” He sympathizes. “The press either treats you like a darling celebrity or some kind of public spectacle, right?” He asks, curious as to your view on the entire thing. Personally, he hated the idea of politics taking on a celebrity flare and you aren’t on politics, your mother is.

“I’m honestly lucky that my younger siblings take some of the focus,” you admit. So he did recognize you. It’s nice that he didn’t fuss. You’re grateful for that. “My brother is in law school and my sister is in undergrad and they’re both living in the White House while they study but…yeah. We all agreed to give up our privacy for a while so Mom can do some good work. That means relationships aren’t easy right now.”

“It’s good you had a choice.” Marcus admits. “Sometimes I watch the campaigns for some of the politicians and it’s obvious the family would rather be anywhere else and are putting on a facade.” He shrugs, not wanting to delve too deep into a subject you probably are uncomfortable with. “Nice that you don’t have too much interference here, except for the Secret Service agent.”

"Agent Bailey's okay." In fact, she's sitting outside the kitchen door right now, giving you a bit of space and privacy to try to pretend you still have a halfway normal life. "We're still getting used to each other. I had somebody else during the campaign, but she's been assigned to my sister now. It all works out in the end." Smiling, you take another sip of your coffee and wonder why your stomach is fluttering over this very kind man who has been introduced into your lives very much by chance. It's...unsettling. To say the very least. "But that's plenty about me. How about you, Special Agent Marcus Pike? Where're you from? How are you liking Art Crimes?" You grin, throwing him a mischievous expression. "Who'd you vote for, for president?"

Marcus laughs, a real laugh that comes from his belly and he relaxes. “Let’s see…I’m from the great state of Texas - Go Rangers.” He ticks off. “I love Art Crimes, especially when we can recover sentimental pieces and keep “collectors”,” he uses air quotes, “from locking away art from being enjoyed by all.” He grins at your last question. “And my momma told me never to discuss politics or religion in social settings….but….my candidate is currently hanging on my office wall.”

"Rangers, huh?" Glossing over the not insignificant tidbit that he did, in fact, vote for your mother, you find yourself thoroughly enjoying getting to know this friend of your friend. It's usually not this easy to click with a new acquaintance, although you've become an expert at seeming interested just to be polite. That doesn't seem to be necessary at all with this man. "When we get our Phillies/Rangers series this year we'll have to come up with a bet of some kind."

“It’s gonna be a losing bet on your end.” Marcus predicts. “We’ve got Darío Álvarez and then Elvis Andrus is going to continue stealing bases.”

"Oh thank god," Sydney huffs, flipping ricotta pancakes on her griddle top and grinning as she throws you a wink. "She's finally got someone else to drag to baseball games. I'm free!"

"My alleged best friend," you smirk and decide to tease her back. "And her husband are both hockey people. So I'm generally either stuck watching the game on my own or dragging Syd along with promises of beer and ballpark dogs."

“Nationals aren’t my favorite team. Since they are National League.” Marcus smirks. “But I have season tickets since it’s too expensive to fly back to Texas for every game.”

It would be bragging to admit that you've been asked to throw the first ball out at the Nationals opening game this season as the most vocally baseball-loving member of the new First Family, so you just smile. You know it can feel like a big sacrifice to leave something about home behind. "Maybe I'll see you there," you offer instead. "The Nationals aren't my team either, but the game are pretty fun."

“Oh they always are.” He admits wholeheartedly. “Plus the Navy Yard is close so it’s always interesting.”

"Heeeeere we go." Onto the counter in front of you, Sydney heaps four plates of food – making each of you identical breakfasts. "The fruit compote for the pancakes right now is cranberry lemon. And I threw a little extra chili into the sauce for the eggs." She grins. "Some folks who stay at the inn say it's too spicy but it's how we like it," she tells Marcus.

Marcus chuckles and Juan snorts, hooking his fingers towards the agent. “This man ate his way through a five alarm chili contest and didn’t even touch his beer.” He boasts to the two of you. “If it’s not spicy, I don’t want it.” Marcus confirms with a grin. “Thank you. It smells amazing.”

"Then next time you're getting Calabrian chili instead of just the wimpy flakes." Sydney promises with glee. "That's how our girl likes it, but that's too much even for me most of the time. I have to be in the mood for it."

“You like spicy?” He asks, smirking towards you. “How do you feel about the Indian food around here?”

"There's a place in DuPont Circle that is probably the best Indian food I've ever had in my entire life." Even as you're getting ready to dig into your best friend's comfort Italian fare, your mouth starts watering thinking of curries and dal. "The kind of place where they don't make it really spicy until you've been there a couple of times and they know you can handle it. I swear I've eaten there more than I've cooked my own food since moving out here."

“Rasika’s?” Marcus groans, nodding. “I love that place. They make the best curry I’ve ever eaten in my life. I’m sweating, but I never tell them to bring me the yogurt sauce.”

"If you don't sweat while you're eating there, you're doing it wrong." It's a slight point of contention with Sam, who generally considers mustard to be too spicy most of the time, but you ignore the side eye you're getting from Sydney and dig in to your brunch. Having come in early today, this is halfway through your shift and you're going to be excited to head upstairs to your little attic caretaker's apartment when the time comes this afternoon. "Mmmmm," you groan happily and do a little wiggle in your seat unconsciously. "Syd, I swear. If you hadn't already married Juan, I'd marry you for your brunch."

Marcus takes that as the best kind of advertisement and cuts into his own meal to fork up a bite of the eggs. “Christ.” He groans as soon as the flavors hit his mouth. “That’s amazing.”

"I told you," Juan boasts, sitting up in his seat a little taller with pride for his soulmate. "She's amazing."

“You weren’t kidding.” Marcus huffs, taking another bite. “If this got out, you could run on brunch alone.”

"We're considering offering an incentive package for events." Starting to clean up, Syd watches the two of you eat while she wraps the kitchen up from brunch to get everything prepared for dinner service. "Wedding brunches are coming back in fashion, but a lot of people are wanting to do morning after brunches for their families before everyone goes their separate ways."

“I can see that.” Marcus nods. “Lara and I had a lunch thing before we all said goodbye, but that was casual.”

"Your wife?" You guess, struggling to remember if Juan had mentioned that his friend was married. He's not wearing a ring, but some men don't — a habit that generally rubs you the wrong way because those men are always the ones who basically want their wives to walk around wearing a giant 'I'm married' sign but will never show any outward signs of commitment themselves.

Marcus gives a small shrug and smiles self-consciously. “Ex-wife.” He admits, knowing that soon enough the pitying looks will start. “We divorced a while ago.”

Sydney clicks her tongue, having remembered that fact, and says nothing more. You, though? For some reason you can't help yourself. Something about Marcus Pike compels you to offer comfort in whatever way you can. "If you ever find another Mrs. Pike, you let us know. We've got you covered."

Marcus chuckles. “So far, that search has been in vain.” He admits. “Apparently it’s not in the cards for me.”

"She's out there." Juan offers with confidence. "If I remember correctly, you've even got a couple of tattoos to prove it."

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I do.” He snorts. “If I ever find her, I want to know why there is a hummingbird tramp stamp on my lower back.” He laughs. “I get why, but why???? Why a hummingbird?”

A glare of questioning moves soundlessly between you and your best friend — the perpetually meddling woman who sat next to you when you were eighteen and challenged you to answer trivia questions while you had your own hummingbird tramp stamp inked onto your skin in celebration of your high school graduation. "Oh yeah?" She asks, raising an eyebrow at you while you furious try to communicate with nothing more than wide eyes that you do not want her to ask what she's about to ask. "What kind of hummingbird? How trashy are we talking?"

“It’s not exactly trashy.” Marcus defends. “It’s actually a pretty blue and green.“

"Interesting." Sydney hums, practically giggling with glee as she cleans up the kitchen and you bury your face in your meal like it will help you escape the entire conversation. "Maybe hummingbirds are her favourite bird?"

I'm going to kill you in your sleep says the glare you send your best friend's way.

“Totally trashed my punk rock image.” He laughs. “Although I didn’t think of that at the time. Thinking I’m this hardcore next Kurt Cobain rocker and I’ve got a hummingbird tattoo on my lower back.” He snorts, shrugging slightly. “But it’s always been a question I’ve wanted to ask. What made her choose that? What’s special about it to her?”

"Hummingbirds symbolize love and devotion," you murmur next to him, not quite looking up and wondering if the world is really turning on its ear right now or if it's just that you've been thrown off kilter by the possibilities. It's not like you're the only girl in the world with a hummingbird tattoo, after all. Far from it. "And they're supposed to be good luck."

“I like that.” Marcus hums softly. “It’s wistful, hopeful.” There could be a thousand different reasons why his soulmate chose that symbol to etch on her body and in turn, his, but he would rather it be a loving sign. You aren’t looking at him, and miss the small smile he throws you. “Poetic.”

"So she's gotta be out there somewhere." Sydney needles the point a little bit, sounding breezy as hell but just about ready to pounce on any clues Marcus offers up. "Maybe a hopeless romantic with a stubborn streak and an encyclopedic knowledge of Lost Generation authors and impressionist painters?" She shrugs like she's just pulled the example out of thin air. "Who knows?"

Throwing Juan a look, Marcus smirks. “Sounds like your husband has been talking about favorite kind of woman.” He jokes, although he’s pretty sure that he would love it if his soulmate turned out to be just that. “I just want to have someone that wants to be build a lift together. A partner.” He shrugs. “Most people think that it’s crazy, but I think that your significant other should be your best friend and your lover.”

"Absolutely crazy." With as clearly sarcastic a tone as she can possibly muster, Sydney practically deadpans in Marcus's direction. "So weird. How dare you want to spend your life with someone you loves you as much as you love them?" Every single thing she's described has been about you, and while neither of the guys are picking up on that for even a single second, the fact that you have your head down over your plate means you're reading her loud and clear. "I bet your dream girl will even have a thing for your old rockstar days," she goes on, as if she's stringing out a hypothetical and not explicitly describing your opinion that musicians are sexy as hell. "Don't tell me. You were a bassist, right?"

“And vocals.” He admits, shaking his head ruefully. “It’s alright if she doesn’t like that. God, it’s been years since I’ve picked up my bass.” He realizes. “I should do that. Between the bass or the motorcycle, I just spent more time on the bike.”

Bass. Vocals. And motorcycle? You practically groan out loud but barely manage to swallow the sound and instead hop up from your seat immediately to hopefully combine the noise you just made with all manner of other commotion. "Just grabbing another drink," you explain, when all three of their heads turn toward you at once. "You, uh...you should do what makes you happy, Marcus. If that's not overstepping things for me to say. We just met today. But I've always heard that the best things in life tend to fall into your lap when you're not looking for them. So maybe just...enjoy yourself? And who knows what can happen."

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do.” Marcus admits. “My therapist agrees with you. That we need to enjoy ourselves and not just search.”

"Our therapists agree with each other, then," you admit with a chuckle. "I started seeing someone when Mom decided to run for president. I figured it would be good to have someone to check in with and make sure I was handling my stressors in a healthy way." The conversations you had had with them about whether or not to factor your soulmate into future plans when you had never met them were slightly less straightforward.

“That’s always a good thing.” He nods quickly. “I’ve never been one to think that therapists are a waste of time.” He shrugs. “My mom was a therapist all my childhood.”

"It's an incredibly important profession. And an incredibly important resource to have." Seeing as Marcus's mug was empty as well, you bring back two glasses of water to the counter and sit down again, hoping that Sydney won't keep pushing. Or at least that she won't reveal things if she does. "My little sister is a psychology major. She's thinking about medical school next, and talking about different paths she might taken with her studies. Therapist being one of them."

“It’s a good profession.” Marcus admits easily. “Just- let her know, most therapists have their own therapists they see. It’s draining to take on everyone’s secrets and burdens, trying to do the best you can to give them the tools to help themselves. So tell her that there’s no shame in that.”

"I will." It isn't worth negating the kindness of Marcus's thoughts and advice by telling him that all three of the First Kids started therapy at the start of the campaign. It's the care he has for other people — people he has never met and may never meet ever in his life, that touches you so very deeply. "Thank you, Marcus. That's very kind of you."

He nods and picks up the glass of water, needing to wash down the remnants of the eggs before starting on the pancakes. “So, Juan, how did you and your lovely wife discover you were soulmates?” He asks curiously.

"Uhm..." Juan chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck and looking to Sydney for her permission to tell the story.

"Go ahead," she laughs. "I've go to start dinner prep. Tell him as much as you want."

"It's not exactly PG," he admits, still laughing softly to himself. "The polite version is that we compared tattoos."

Marcus isn’t the head of his department because he’s dimwitted. “One night stand?” He asks, lifting his brows in surprise. It wasn’t like he had never had them himself, but both men had preferred to be in relationships rather than sleep around. Not that he’s judging.

“I was willing to take whatever that goddess was willing to give me,” Juan admits without shame. “One night would have been a memory to cherish. But the universe said it should be a lifetime, instead.”

“I’m happy for you.” Marcus promises with a slap on the back for his old friend. “You deserve it. Glad you found her.”

“You say that now.” His friend smiles happily though, beaming at the commendation. “But now it’s going to be my mission to find you that girl with the hummingbird tattoo.”

Marcus smiles, a little sadly, but he just shrugs. “I’ll find her when I’m supposed to.” He reasons. “Knowing my luck, she’s happily married.”

“Not as happily as she would be with you.” He’s confident in that, and Juan looks to you to bolster his encouragements. “How could anybody not be ecstatic to have a guy this good, right?”

It feels rude. Like a trick from the universe that you do not like one bit. Like the powers that be are rubbing your nose in your defiance of their plans. “They’d have to be blind.” You offer, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Sam is a good guy. He’s been a good boyfriend and has made you happy. Why are you suddenly thinking about someone else after an hour of knowing them? That’s utterly ridiculous. “You…never really know how the universe is going to have things work out.”

She’s just being polite. Marcus realizes that when he sees your smile, his stomach churning unhappily. It doesn’t matter, you’re seeing someone. A woman in a relationship has always been off limits to him. He doesn’t like, nor respect cheaters and yet he’s upset that you don’t seem that attracted to him. Or, you’re reluctantly attracted to him. He stares down at his pancakes and sighs. “All that matters to me if that my soulmate is happy.” He decides.

Juan and Marcus talk about this and that for the next few minutes, but you quickly finish your pancakes and excuse yourself. It was very nice to meet Marcus, and you tell him so, but you’re a little rattled by the possibility that was just laid out in front of you and you need a few deep breaths of fresh air before your break is over and you have to go back to solving guest’s dilemmas.

Juan doesn’t miss the way Marcus’s eyes follow you out of the room and he smirks. “Thinkin’ about it?” He asks, knowing you are the other man’s type.

“No.” He shakes his head quickly. “I mean, I would if she were single, but she’s not.” Deciding to change the subject, he leans in. “Did they heighten security here, or just the one agent?”

“Updated cameras and increased security personnel. We turned the spare office into a surveillance room but her Secret Service detail doesn’t butt in on anything they don’t need to.” Juan shrugs, knowing that things always change over time. “So far.”

That’s good and Marcus nods. “Sounds like you might have had some input.” He knows that Juan is very analytical, he would know what the weakness were in a place like this.

Juan snorts, taking a sip of his drink and shrugging vaguely. "My wife's childhood best friend is the First Daughter of the United States. If I can help her be safe, I'm going to."

“I can certainly understand that.” Marcus admits.

"It's a good system." Juan acknowledges. "She always has a detail agent nearby and the place needs the security because we've gotten a hell of a lot busier since the campaign last year."

“I’m sure.” Marcus snorts. “Everyone wants to claim they have some insider pull.” He says, a little cynical, but he looks around. “And I’m sure a lot of it is the fact that this place is a little gem.”

"272-year-old farmhouse with restored gardens and a barn and a gazebo from 1823. The place has had so many owners and been used for so many things." It's clear that Juan has nothing but affection for the place, and that he really has leaned into a fully civilian life. "I'm glad you came out to say hi," he tells Marcus honestly. "Hopefully we'll see more of you around here."

“With food like this?” Marcus groans, throwing his buddy a grin. “Those are the best damn pancakes that I’ve eaten in forever.”

"And considering you're a certified pancake expert, that says something." Juan chuckles. When Marcus hadn't shown up for a few weeks he was afraid that maybe he had said something wrong or that his old friend had moved on from the comradery they used to have, Apparently, neither was the case.

“Still love pancakes. It’s finding the time to eat them, that’s the problem.” He snorts. “It’s getting better now that I run the department, but after I ran into you? I was flying out two days later.”

"Sounds like you earned a day to relax." Sounds like he earned a lot more than just one day, but Juan knows how the Bureau works. A single day can sometimes be a miracle to come by. "There's books and board games in the library if you want to stay and spend some time relaxing."

“What do you have going on?” Marcus asks, tilting his head curiously.

“It’s…board game night.” As silly and domestic as it sounds, it’s a nice tradition that they’ve managed to keep going among friends. “Every month we have a group of friends over and we do a potluck for dinner. Just to unwind and be social. Just catch up, eat some good food, and play board games. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

“I don’t want to impose.” Marcus shakes his head, wondering if he’s so desperate that it sounds like great evening or if it just really was.

“It’s not imposing,” Juan assured him. “We bring new friends all the time. There’s about six of us usually, so it fluctuates depending on how many other people we bring or if someone can’t make it.”

“Well, is there a store or something?” He asks. “I can pick up some wine or something to contribute.”

“Old Town has some good liquor stores.” The historic district of Alexandria has become increasingly popular in the last several years, and the revitalization of the neighborhood has helped the inn as well.

“Anything else you could possibly want?” Marcus asks seriously. He’s willing to go get anything that could be thought of, the prospect of not spending the night alone incredibly cheering.

“Get whatever you want,” Juan encourages. “Every once in a while someone will show up with something they’ve never tried just try to it together. So really — anything you want.”

“Okay.” Marcus grins, excited about this and reaches out to slap Juan on the back. “Do you still ride bikes or have you given that up?”

"Hell no." Juan tuts, glad to see the smile back on Marcus's face. "My Indian is back at our house. We take rides when we've got time off together."

“That’s good. Although the rides have taken a pause since the pregnancy, right?” Marcus asks. “I can’t imagine a doctor signing off on a pregnant woman on the back of a bike.”

“Yeah…these days we take rides in the station wagon.” He chuckles at that, and Juan knows how ridiculously domestic it sounds but he really doesn’t care. He’s in love with his life in a very unexpected way, and that’s okay. “It’ll be nice to have someone to ride with again.”

“I can imagine.” Marcus is missing that, but on the bright side, he rides when and where he wants. “Do you guys know what you’re having yet?” He asks.

“Not yet.” Juan is excited, though, as evidenced by the way he lights up when asked about it. “It’s still too early to find out. Obviously we don’t care, as long as they’re healthy and happy.”

“Congrats, man, you’re living the dream, you know that?” As envious as he can admit to being, he’s also incredibly happy for Juan. “You deserve it. Especially after, you know…”

“Life is totally different now.” Leaving the Bureau is what was best for Juan. He knows that now, even if it was a painful decision to make back then. “I’m not going to ever downplay the things in my past, but the future is looking pretty fucking good, man.”

Completely understanding the fact that Juan doesn’t want to talk, he nods. “I’m happy for you. Truly.”

“I appreciate that, man.” Juan grins and pats Marcus on the shoulder. “Enjoy some time in town and come on back here around seven tonight. Syd isn’t working the dinner rush tonight so we’ll all be able to relax.”

“That sounds good.” The comfortable jeans and a sweater will still look sharp enough for game night and he sends his friend a smile before he walks out of the kitchen.

Things have calmed down in the lobby when you return to the front desk to pick up a few papers and check in on your concierge before retreating into your office for the rest of your shift. The inn may have calmed down but you're still spinning wildly on the idea that your soulmate might have walked through the door of the inn this morning with absolutely no fanfare and a nervous smile on his incredibly handsome face.

Nope. Stop it. Sam is coming for board game night tonight and you really fucking like him. Don't give up your whole stance on freedom of happiness just because some absolutely dishy FBI agent has your tattoo.

"Everything going okay, Malachi?" You will be professional, and not a blithering mass of nervous energy. Even if it takes all the energy you have to force it.

“Everything’s fantastic, we had another couple call to book a room for next weekend. So we officially will have no vacancies.” He reports proudly, like he had recruited the couple himself.

"Good. That's actually excellent. That means we have no vacancies at any point for two week on either side of Valentine's Day unless someone cancels." It's always possible. After all, break up happen around that particular holiday. But with the way they've been booking rooms lately, they should be able to fill a hole more easily than not. "I'm going to go to my office and work on the schedule. If you need me, just call."

“Of course.” Malachi cranes his neck as that handsome guy walks out to a beautiful motorcycle. “But before you go.” He hums. “Who is that?”

You can't help but chuckle, your concierge's obvious interest making you recognize the ridiculousness of the whole situation all over again. "That's Juan's friend," you tell him, gathering up your paperwork. "He'll be around more, and he's allowed into the kitchen. So you know he's special."

“And does Juan’s friend have a name?” He asks, smirking slightly.

"Special Agent Marcus Pike." You smirk right back at him, giving Marcus's title along with his name. By now Agent Bailey has probably done an entire workup on the agent. Why wouldn't she?

“Special Agent.” Because it’s the two of you and there’s no guest around, Malachi watches out the window with unabashed interest. “He can mount me like he mounts that bike any time.”

"Mal!" There's no reason for you to be taken aback by that comment considering how well you know Malachi Debose, but you still find yourself stifling a laugh with wide eyes. You tell yourself to joke, ignoring the twist in your chest at the idea of Marcus with anyone else. It's not up to you. He's his own person. And he might not even be your soulmate to begin with! "I'm pretty sure he's straight, honey, but you never know. It would not be the first guy you've swept out of the closet who didn't even realize they were in there in the first place."

He sighs dramatically, even though he’s smirking proudly. “You’re right.” He admits. “We’ll see how mister Special Agent Marcus Pike acts and then I’ll decide.”

"Behave yourself." Is the playful warning you give him before turning and nodding to Agent Bailey. "Time to sit in the office while I swear at my computer," you tell her. As the Secret Service agent who is with you most of the time, Kendra Bailey has learned your past, your friends, your job, and your habits like a book. She appreciates that you're not throwing yourself into politics because it means her days are a little calmer than they could be, but the coming and going of all sorts of people through the inn on a daily basis presents its own challenges.

She nods, already curious about the FBI agent that she’s encountered here. It’s not unusual to run background checks on people who continuously hang around the inn, and it sounds like he will become a fixture for the foreseeable future. “Of course, Hummingbird.”

You groan softly, realizing that that is going to get said around Marcus Pike at some point or other, and just try to shake it off for now. "You can call me by my name around here, you know." She won't. You've had this conversation more than once, but sometimes you think you'll never get used to being ma'am or Hummingbird at all times to your Secret Service detail.

“Yes ma’am.” She nods, both of you aware that she’s not going to break protocol like that. Instead, she’s turning to the chair that has been placed outside your office, tucked into a discreet corner so it’s not completely obvious that you are being guarded. Giving you the illusion of privacy.

"Someday I'm going to get you to at least come into the office." There are rules. A hell of a lot of them, in fact, and you know that they exist for a reason. But Agent Bailey is allowed to be in your office with you, and you hope it won't take your mother's entire first term in office for her to get comfortable enough with you to do that.

“I understand that, but if I’m in your office, you won’t concentrate.” She reminds you with a small, unseen smile. The first time you had insisted, you hadn’t gotten anything done.

"Too social for my own good, I guess." With a small smile exchanged between the two of you, you nod in agreement before heading down the hall to your office. She's right, and you both know it.

Outside, a snazzy sports car pulls up. Not too flashy, because a junior congressman from Maryland can’t be seen throwing money away frivolously, but sporty enough to make him grin as he changes gears. The door pops open, sunglasses tossed on the dash and Sam hustles out of his car, eager to see you.

"Hey Sam." Malachi looks up from the desk when the door opens and offers up a smile. Professional, but friendly. So far, Congressman Chase hasn't done anything to warrant the cold shoulder. "Is she expecting you?"

“Not until later, but I was hoping to surprise her.” He admits, sending the concierge a wink. “She in her office?”

"Just went in to work on the schedule." Malachi reports, but his smile morphs from professional to earnest in half a second. "The new software is giving her a headache and a half. I bet coming in with a cup of coffee with also be a welcome surprise."

“You are a good man, Malachi.” Sam slaps the antique reception stand and grins. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” He lifts his brows and points at him as he changes directions to the kitchen to beg a cup of coffee from Sydney.

A knock on the kitchen door is odd but not unheard of, and Sydney glances back over her shoulder when the swinging door pushes open to admit the six-foot Congressman she now affectionately calls, "Sam Sam! As happy as I am to see you, your lady friend is not in the kitchen."

“I know.” Sam tosses the chef an easy grin. “A little birdie told me that she might appreciate a cup of coffee, so I’m here to be her runner.”

Sydney smirks, never ceasing in her work but nodding to the coffee pot in the corner of the kitchen. “Go right ahead. I’m sure she’ll be grateful.”

“Thank you.” He immediately beelines for the coffee maker, intent on also making himself a cup. Though he would prefer a cocktail. “It smells great in here, like always.” He tosses over his shoulder.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” She hums happily in return. “I made a lasagna for game night. Are you staying?”

“Unless an emergency session is call.” Sam snorts. “And you know half those crusty old bastards don’t want to work.” He adds some creamer and sweetener to his, doctors yours and turns back. “Is this the lasagna with the pancetta?” He asks, giving her a pleading look.

“It is, and I did a little something different with the ricotta layer this time, so you’ll have to tell me what you think.” One hand shoos him playfully away, but she does laugh. “I’ll feed you later. Go see your lady.”

“Thank you!” He laughs as well, zipping out the door to head in to see you. Hopefully you aren’t working on anything too important that you can’t steal away some time for him.

Two short knocks on your door could be anyone, but you save your progress in working on next week’s schedule and call for them to come in. It’s probably Malachi with a guest accommodation question, which is no problem. You can hit pause on scheduling the housekeeping staff around their various class schedules to answer just about anything.

After getting the okay to enter, Sam juggles the cups and pokes his head in the door. “Can you spare a few minutes, beautiful?” He asks.

The grin that spreads on your face is surprise and relief, and you hop up from your dream to open the door fully. “If that’s coffee in your hands, I can spare more than just a few.”

“Of course it is, fixed just the way you like it.” While he doesn’t drink it nearly as sweet as you do, he also doesn’t make fun of you for it.

“To what do I owe the early visit?” The door clicks shut behind him and you sit back in your chair with a happy sigh.

“We let out early.” Sam explains. “Figured we could spend some time together .”

“I’m always glad to see you.” It’s true. It genuinely is. Which is why you hate the nagging guilt of the fact that you had just been telling yourself to stop speculating about your possible soulmate and focus on work.

“That’s a good thing.” Despite the idea that dating the First Daughter was good for his career, Sam genuinely cares for you. It might not be the passionate love he had imagined years ago, but he’s mature enough to understand that a solid connection was a good thing.

“So your meeting went alright?” The committee that he’s on had an unofficial lunch meeting today, which must have gone well if he’s already here saying hello. “I was afraid they’d have you all day and you’d miss out in lasagna and the new Clue game that Sydney’s sister picked up.”

“No.” Sam snorts. “They wanted it done as quickly as possible.” He tells you. “I’ve got to admit that I’ve never seen people that hate to work more than politicians.”

“Well that’s hardly encouraging,” you snort, and shake your head before taking a sip of hot coffee. “I guess you’ll just have to whip them into shape, Congressman. No two ways about it.”

“I’m trying.” He laughs and shrugs. “Right now I equate it to herding cats.” He jokes, sitting down on the other side of your desk and watching you for a moment while you savor your coffee.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever called a member of the House of Representatives.” The two of you share a laugh, and you shift in your seat a little with an awkward expression before talking again. “I…got an email this morning. From Mom’s office. Informing me of my first few expected photo ops as First Daughter.” It’s a big part of the job, for you at least, to look the part and play the part and help the country to see your mother as not just the president, but a family-oriented professional as well. Being the first female President has its challenges and your mother is plowing into them head on. Which, honestly? You give her a lot of credit for. “They asked if I would be willing to release some social media photos from our Valentine’s date…” The fact that you hadn’t planned one yet is slightly beyond the point. Now you pretty much have to.

“Well, what kind of pictures would you like?” Sam asks easily, aware that you don’t relish the attention, but it’s part of the job. “We can do a dinner at home, appeal to the base of Americans.” He suggests.

“I don’t love the idea of someone recognizing an aspect of your house or neighborhood and you getting doxed for it,” you admit ruefully. It would have to be Sam’s house, since you don’t actually have one. You can’t exactly put out photos of your attic apartment and expect the White House press core not to make noises. “I was thinking we could put the spotlight on a minority-owned small business or go to some low-key arts event? If they’re going to ask me to be in the spotlight then I want to use it for good.”

“Do you want to decide?” He asks, aware that you can be quite choosy at times. He doesn’t really mind. “Or do you want me to come up with something?”

“It’s probably easier if I figure it out.” You admit. It’s not your favorite option, all things considered, but since it’s dumb for you to be even vaguely upset that your boyfriend didn’t announce he had secret plans already in the works — which your stupid romantic comedy loving brain had hoped for but knew was a longshot — it’s better to just be practical. “So the Secret Service can tell me if wherever I pick is insecure or something like that. Even though I can’t imagine that anybody is out to get me. That’s absurd.”

“You’d be surprised what humans are capable of.” Sam reminds you, having read some of the most horrific reports imaginable. He likes that you are practical, even if you are a bit naive.

“Not a super fun thing to hear from your boyfriend, but okay.” It’s nothing you can’t brush off, and you do so with a wave of your hand. “There is also a state dinner coming up in a few weeks that I definitely do not want to go to without you.”

“I’m available.” He promises. “I’ve got a couple of events in my district coming up. But I’ll mark that on my calendar.”

“Thank you.” Though you aren’t blind to the ways that attending these things helps him, you appreciate the company. You aren’t effortlessly charismatic like your brother or a star student with enigmatic insights like your sister. You’re the least comfortable in the public eye out of your whole family, and that is what it is. At some point in the night when he inevitably veers off to shake hands and schmooze politically, you’ll sit quietly at your table and smile politely while you wait for Sam to come back, and that’s okay. “I really really appreciate it.”

Sam huffs, sending you a small smirk. “A night where you are wearing a beautiful dress, we eat an elegant dinner, what’s not to love?” He leaves the part about making connections unspoken, both of you know how this game is worked. “And maybe you can come spend the night at my place after.”

"What an absolutely scandalous suggestion." One hand clutches your nonexistent pearls, pretending to be aghast, but you throw him a wink. Intimacy in your relationship unfortunately does have to be scheduled at a certain point...just on the basis that you have a Secret Service agent you can't simply ditch, and he has a personal assistant that might be even more invasive than the Secret Service. "I love it."

“Good.” Sam smirks back at you and sends you his own wink. “I’ve missed a cute little snore, and I need to get some cuddling in.”

"I do not snore." Despite pouting at him – and knowing that you do, in fact, snore – you end up grinning. "But we have been low on cuddle time lately, I agree."

“Yeah, I know my job is hectic and yours isn’t a walk in the park.” He acknowledges wholeheartedly. “But I want this to work. Maybe we just need to move in together.” He hadn’t meant to just blurt that out, but he’s been thinking about it.

“I—what?” You nearly spit out the sip of coffee you had just taken and sit up arrow straight in your chair, staring at him without the ability to stop yourself. “You—you want me to—to move in with you?” It’s never been discussed. Not really. At least not with a timeline, and that’s probably your fault. You’re so prone to jumping into relationships head first that you had told yourself you would move slow with Sam. That…seems to not be the case now.

“It doesn’t have to be now.” He promises. “Just something to consider. That’s all. We would get more time together.”

"I can honestly say I was not expecting that today." It's shaken you up a little, if you're honest, but you reach over your desk and squeeze his hand before leaning out of your chair to kiss him.

“That’s not a bad thing, is it?” It’s not quite the reaction he was expecting, if he is honest with himself.

"No, not at all!" You're quick to reassure him, realizing that Sam's expression is a little more guarded than usual. You've disappointed him. That's not a feeling you like at all. Not even a little. "I'd say the fact that my boyfriend wants to spend more time with me is a very good thing." If it's such a good thing, why is your mouth dry and why are you all tense with nerves? "And I want that, too. You just surprised me, that's all."

“Of course we need to talk about it more in depth.” He relaxes slightly, happy that you are at least open to the idea.

"Is that...something you want to talk about soon?" There are ideas rolling over in your head with varying levels of comfort, but the fact is that you hadn't realized that Sam was already there. Sure you had said your I love yous already, but you really had been trying to go slower this time, and that pace had seemed to suit Sam just fine. And why is it suddenly now that your mind is stuck on the idea that he isn't your soulmate? Is it just because you met a man who could be? You had always told yourself it didn't matter before now...

“We are coming up on our one-year anniversary of dating.” He reminds you, wondering why all of a sudden you look like you’ve seen a ghost. He’s been patient, letting you move slowly since you were afraid of diving in too much too soon, but this is the natural next step. Otherwise, it will be random sleepovers whenever you can manage it for the rest of your lives and Sam doesn’t want that. “I figured we could discuss what our next steps were.” He smiles softly. “I want the next steps, whenever you’re ready.”

"You're right." He is right. The logic is there, and the sweetness, and you do genuinely like him. In fact, loving him came easily and naturally. It's just that today has you a little shaken up and you don't want to admit it to yourself. Any other day and you would have been ecstatically throwing yourself into his arms. "You're absolutely right. This is definitely next." Composing yourself into a smile and reminding yourself to goddamn relax, you pick up your now cold coffee and finish the cup. "Why don't we pick a night this week to cook dinner together and talk through what we want our future to look like?"

“That works.” He flashes you the boyish grin you claim to love and nods. “Little food. Little wine, little….cuddling while we talk. It’s exactly what we need. You’ve been peddle to the mettle lately, and so have I. It will be good to decompress and hash out our concerns.”

"Perfect." And you will, you tell yourself sternly, get your shit together by then.

“But tonight…” he winks at you. “I’m going to whoop your ass at Clue.”

Because it's your turn to host, your small apartment has been cleaned top to bottom in preparation for the night. Sydney took care of making dinner, you have dessert in the refrigerator, and you have it on the authority of the group chat that garlic bread and salad are both coming as well. Juan said he and Marcus were supplying drinks, so everything is set up with plenty of time for everyone to arrive.

Agent Bailey is sitting on the couch waiting for her evening relief so she can go home to her own family and Sam is setting a stack of mismatched plates on the dining room table when Juan, Marcus, Sydney, and her sister Anna Leigh all show up very promptly on the turn of the hour.

Marcus is a little nervous aware that he has a tenuous tie to the game night, but he is quickly at ease when everyone starts greeting people like old friends. He hadn’t quite known what to get, so he had bought several bottle of whiskey and wine, figuring someone would appreciate it. The bottle of ‘76 Statesman Reserve a personal favorite of his and the little store he had stopped at had one last bottle.

"Hey, we didn't scare Marcus off!" Maybe you're a little happy to see him, but you excuse that as being glad that Juan has his friend back and ardently ignore the way your chest clenches when he walks into your little apartment.

“Hope you don’t mind.” He offers instantly, holding back from flirting like he wants to. You are seeing someone. “But I brought gifts.” He holds up the bottle, the others in his bag.

“Statesman.” You practically groan with delight at the sight of the bottle. “When we were campaigning in Kentucky, my little brother and I toured their distillery, I love this stuff.” Fighting the instinct to offer him a hug — and it really is an instinct — you grin and wander toward the kitchen to complete introductions. “You already know Syd and Juan, of course. The beautiful agent of chaos currently throwing garlic bread in the oven is Syd’s sister Anna Leigh, and the intimidating lady on the sofa with the New York Times crossword in her lap is Agent Bailey. I don’t know if you two officially met earlier or not. Looking around, Sam is not in sight, but you chew your lip for a second and smile. “My other half seems to have disappeared, but I’m sure he’ll be right back.”

“Oh, okay.” He shouldn’t be disappointed that your boyfriend is here. That’s what he keeps telling himself. “Congressman from Maryland, right?” Okay, he might have read up on you.

“Right.” There’s a note of something off in Marcus’s voice but you can’t figure out what, so you just smile. “I promise we don’t use official titles over board games.”

“Good.” He cracks a lighthearted grin. “I hate when I’m made in charge of the jail in Monopoly.” He jokes. He hands you the bottle and looks around the little apartment. “Anything I can do to help?”

“I think we’re just waiting for Issy and then everyone will be here. So for now if you want to maybe pour drinks while we all get settled?” This is always an informal setting and you want everyone to feel relaxed as much as possible. “Let me give you the grand tour first?” What a stupid thing to say in your little, tiny space. But now you’ve said it, so you just have to pretend it was something charming to say instead of awkward.

“That sounds good.” Marcus quickly agrees, although it’s obvious that there’s not much to the small space. “The private sanctum.”

“Eat it kitchen.” Is the space you’re standing in, with a too-big dining room table that is also your prep counter because there is basically no counter space — just enough to put a few grocery bags on and nothing more. “I have an unholy love of dinner parties, hence the big table. Over here is the living room. Mandatory bar cart with the tv, and as many throw pillows as the couch can hold.” Agent Bailey currently has her arm resting on the head of a pillow shaped like a horse that you brought back from a campaign trip out West. “Bathroom is down the hall, just here.” The door is closed, so that must be where Sam is. “And just turn the corner and you’re in the bedroom-slash-library.” You have to call it that — you really have to, because the entire room is covered in wall to wall bookcases that are pretty much entirely full. The only exceptions are where your sleigh bed and writing desk sit on opposite ends of the tight room. “It’s more library than anything else.”

“Obviously like to read.” He nods. “What genre? Or is it too embarrassing to mention in company?”

“I’m not embarrassed at all to read romance novels.” A whole section of the shelf by your bed is dedicated to them, in fact. Healthy sexuality and healthy explorations of that sexuality are vital, but you won’t get that far into the topic. “I have a lot of various things here, but the majority are probably mystery, thrillers, and classics from all over the world.” The shelf you’re standing by has your collection of writing by both F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, and you smile. “Of course, some of the classics are romances. That’s to be expected.”

“They are. I find that if you limit yourself in what you read, you are missing out.” He looks over your shelf with interest. “It looks like a wonderful collection.”

“Thank you. A compliment for my books is the highest compliment possible.” There’s a warm smile on your lips when the bathroom door pulls open a few feet away and you feel like you’ve been caught although there isn’t a single thing wrong about showing a new friend around your apartment. There’s no reason to jump out of your skin, but here you are with burning cheeks feeling embarrassed.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Sam doesn’t frown, but he wonders who this man is and why he is in your bedroom.

"Hey." Your smile does widen of its own accord, and you motion between the men in a sort of vaguely formal way that is definitely odd for you. "Sam, this is Marcus. One of Juan's old friends. He came by the inn earlier today and we thought it would be nice to introduce him to the group." It's awful, and very unnecessary, how heavy your tongue feels when you go to make the introduction the opposite way. "Marcus, this is Sam. My boyfriend."

It’s a little awkward, Marcus can admit that but he extends his hand. “Nice to meet you, Sam.” He offers, smiling in a friendly, first meeting kind of way. “My connection to the group is through Juan.” He explains. “We were at the academy together.”

"Ah, a government man." That seems to win Sam's approval, though his handshake might be just a hair tighter than it would otherwise be based on the tension in the air. "Well, welc—"

"Babe!" Sydney's voice comes loud and clear from the other room as the door opens and the sound of chaotic friends can be heard. "Issy's here! Let's gooo!"

The introductions are interrupted and it’s probably not a bad thing. Marcus lets go of Sam’s hand and immediately makes for the door. “Guess that’s our queue.”

“Coming!” You call back, eager to be standing anywhere but your doorway between these two men. “Issy is a friend from college.” That’s the easy explanation you give Marcus as Sam steers you back to the kitchen with his hand on your back. “Syd, Anna Leigh, and Issy and I were suite mates at Mount Holyoke.”

Marcus nods, committing everyone to memory. “Nice to meet all of you. Thank you for letting me join you tonight.”

Getting everything set up doesn’t take much longer, and a buffet of cheesy garlic bread, a huge salad, Sydney’s pancetta lasagna, and the lemon tiramisu you made for dessert is all laid out on the counter. Everyone digs in and says a loud chorus of rowdy good nights when your Secret Service detail has its changing of the guard in the middle of it all. It’s a lot, and it’s chaos, but it’s so comforting because these are all people you love to spend time with. Even Marcus, as new as he is, fits right into the group effortlessly.

“Oh! Sydney.” Marcus dives back into the bag and pulls out a bottle of sparkling white grape juice and some sodas and grenadine. “I figured you might like my family’s version of Shirley Temple’s?” He offers. “So you can have a mocktail with the ladies?”

“Absolutely!” Syd’s eyes light up at the offer, and she brings her overstuffed plate over to the table to sit beside her husband. In her favorite baggy sweatshirt, no one could ever tell she’s pregnant, but one of her hands rests on the side of her belly anyway. “That sounds fantastic.”

“So my grandmother used to make these for all the kids, so we could feel special too.” Marcus explains as he grabs a wine glass and starts to mix together the non-alcoholic drink. “It had to be sparkling grape juice because of the bottle shape.” He chuckles now, but back then? He had felt grown up. “When she died, we served these at her wake.”

“That’s so sweet.” Sydney awes softly as Marcus carefully pours out the drink. “These are Birdie’s favorite, actually,” she points her thumb back at you while she chats at him. “We usually spike them with rum, of course. To be a Shirley Temple Black. I can’t remember the last time I just had a regular old Shirley Temple.”

“A dirty Shirley?” Marcus gasps in faux horror. “The best way to spike that is with Statesman.”

“On it!” You hop up from the table immediately to grab a glass and line up next to Sydney at the counter. “I’ve heard of people doing them with rum and vodka, but never with whiskey. I have to know.”

He chuckles and nods. “You won’t regret it. The grape juice plays off the smoky, oaky flavors very nicely.” He tells you. “It’s almost better than a robust bouquet on a red.”

“I can’t claim to know anything about wine, but I’m trying to learn.” Sam prefers wine, and you’ve been trying to not feel foolish when people discuss wine pairings at official dinners. It’s been a fairly deep learning curve. “But I’ll take your word for it.”

“More of a whiskey girl?” Marcus asks, filing away the information even though it’s not like he’s going to use it. One of those odd little quirks of his time in the Bureau, he tries to read people.

“Always have been.” As evidenced by the Whiskey Makes Me Frisky sweater still stuff in your closet from college, which won’t see the light of day again until your mother is out of office. “You too?” Your eyes widen immediately and you stumble over correcting yourself. “Guy, I mean? Whiskey guy?”

Marcus laughs and gives you a guilty grin. “I learned to enjoy wine. My ex was a wino to the point where we honeymooned in Napa Valley.” He snorts. “But my first love was a Jack and Coke.”

“The next time you’re sick, have a whiskey and ginger beer.” The advice comes as he hands you your glass but he looks skeptical. “I mean, it’s a good drink no matter what, but I swear it knocks out my colds faster than anything else.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Marcus hums and decides that he will make one for himself. “Tell me what you think.”

One sip has you groaning, and you bring the glass back to the table like you’ve found the Holy Grail. “Sammy, try this. I know you’re not usually big in whiskey, but this is fantastic.”

Sam wrinkles his nose, really uninterested in trying it, but he politely takes a sip. Pleasantly surprised, he makes a face. “Huh. That’s not as horrible as I imagined.”

“And that,” you look back at Marcus and laugh. “Is the highest compliment he’s ever given a whiskey drink.”

Marcus chuckles politely and motions towards the table. “There’s a nice Cabernet that he might like better.” He offers.

“That sounds perfect.” You move back to the counter to collect a wine glass, corkscrew, and the bottle to bring back, knowing that Sam will open it far more neatly than you can.

“So how has everybody been?” Prompting conversation once everyone is at the table gets the ball rolling nicely, and conversation starts as everyone starts to eat their dinner.

“Well, everyone knows that Sydney is expecting.” Juan boasts proudly, obviously loving the prospect of becoming a father. “But she started experiencing her first cravings.”

“Oooo, what are they?” Issy sits up in her chair immediately. “Please tell me it’s something non-gourmet. If this baby is a food snob I’m not going to have anything to tease you about.”

“Right now….” Juan grins and sends his wife an utterly besotted look. “Ranch flavored bugles.”

“Oh my god!” Both Issy and Anna Leigh practically scream with laughter immediately and your jaw hits the table with maniacal giggle.

“I know,” Syd moans in embarrassment. “I know! The baby likes ranch!”

“There must be a joke there somewhere.” Marcus laughs, enjoying the lighthearted atmosphere of the group and how they are all so easy with each other.

"Syd's current greatest fear is having a kid who doesn't care about food." You explain, picking up a forkful of lasagna. "If they turned out to not like food or hockey, she'll be doomed."

“I see.” He chuckles, although he himself had a less refined pallet when he was younger. Now he enjoys trying new things.

"They're exaggerating." Sydney promises, not wanting her husband's old friend to think she's that much of a snob. "Obviously no kid comes out loving caviar and oxtail."

“No, I can see why you would expect your child to give you cravings for something like this.” He praises, lifting a forkful of the lasagna. “I gave my mom cravings for salami and bologna. Which she couldn’t eat.”

"My mom had a lot of cheese cravings." Not expecting baby-oriented conversation was probably an oversight on your part, but it's fun and your best friend just absolutely glows whenever it's brought up. "With me it was gruyere, with my brother it was cheddar, and with my little sister it was asiago." The memory makes you grin, and you laugh a little, mostly to yourself. "She ate so many asiago bagels when she was pregnant with June."

“Ohhhhh I could see how that could be an easy craving.” Issy snorts. “I have cravings for those all the time and I’m not pregnant.”

"Right?" You're nodding in agreement instantly. "I'm honored that my pregnancy craving was gruyere. That's quality cheese."

“Maybe the craving will change to truffle cheddar fries.” Marcus suggests with a grin. “With ranch.”

“See, this is the kind of encouragement we should be thinking about. Positive thinking all the way.” Sydney grins, beaming across the table to her husband’s friend. Even if her hunch about the true nature of Marcus’s soulmate marks isn’t true, he’s still a good addition to the group. “What’s everybody else been up to.”

Everyone starts talking and Marcus leans back. Watching the dynamic of the group and it’s obvious that everyone is comfortable with each other. Talking over one another and laughing, poking fun in a gentle way. It seems as if Juan - and you - have a solid friends group.

The tempo of the night is unchanged from any other — there is as much laughter and fun as any game night you’ve had in years. The joy of having your friends nearby is never tempered, but tonight it is…just a little bit different. As for first time ever — with your boyfriend sitting next to you — you have to wonder if maybe your soulmate is actually sitting there at the table. And what will you do when it isn’t the man with his arm around you?

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #The Mentalist #soulmate au #First Daughter reader #Juan Badillo #Graceland #Juan Badillo x f!OC #Juan Badillo x OC #love triangle

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yahoodarling · 2 months

Text

Yandere Thoma/Ayato X IsekaiedGN Reader

Warnings: Posted in comments to avoid spoilers, please read them if you wish to avoid potential triggers.

Word Count: 20k (Full Fic)

Chapter option: Part 1 ( 3 Chapters, +-6k ea)

It's disgusting, it is discomfort incarnate to have such foresight into the fate of the world and yet be bound to its own laws of destiny, especially when what you were sure was to take place is altered. You no longer have any ground of understanding except the uncanny feeling that things are not as they should be, to be so similar and yet be so changed. You knew things will end up alright, as long as you do not interfere then Inazumas political warfare will reach a peaceful end and it did. You watched, noted those ‘special’ to the world, those who have a story, a life, a reason and you took the responsibility of not getting involved and it worked. You became an npc, avoided any confrontation with those deemed ‘special’, avoided any influence in the ‘plot’, watched as a hero came, a nation saved and a people newly united. It worked. Your foresight was correct yet… things changed. With no base to rely on, how were you to know what the ‘future’ must be, how were you to know what to avoid, who to avoid and what minor choice may change a future? The hero has left, gone to Sumeru you guess, no, you know, you know the hero leaves for a new nation but so has your foresight and with that comes the change. The one day gathering supplies, one day speaking to a fellow npc to fill some sort of social need, one day being in the ‘dark’ and you've caused a spark.

“Oh Aoi, good morning to you!”

He didn't speak to you, it was directed to the npc shopkeep you were chatting with and yet it grabbed your attention. Thoma is ‘special’, Thoma is relevant and so he must be avoided and you failed.

Thoma spoke of how lovely the nights have been, of the soft whistles of sea, even to npcs Thoma was a gentleman starting conversation. He then noted how ‘unique’ your eyes are, a depth to them he's never seen before. That comment frightened you, made you rush to leave, to stop the change. Quickly you felt a hand on your shoulder,

“Please excuse my rudeness but how about we have a stroll? I know its unfair of me to ask a stranger such a thing but… you remind me of a home away from home, if you would grant me such a pleasure that is.” he ended with a chuckle. You have been so realistic up to this point, so good at avoiding ‘change’ but you have a heart and knew all too well that whatever feeling Thoma is experiencing is something important to him. You have a heart and so you accept. A single light hearted stroll became a weekly meet at the shop front, ‘coincidentally’, which became a personal relationship which became a friend. It's alright though, Thomas is a social guy, he's close with many npcs who never impacted the ‘plot’, you can be one such npc, that's fine. Change is fine.

It's not fine. Meeting with Thoma you eventually met with other ‘special’ individuals you knew by name before they even knew of your existence. It's a weird feeling to know a person before getting to meet them, all the private details, their worries, their joys and yet to remain oblivious.

“A formal greeting from the Kamisato Clan, I am glad to see Thoma has a new friend. Do treat him well, sadly I must make short of this meet.” and the man who is most likely the most influential to whatever ‘plot’ is to come of Inazuma greeted. Kamisato Ayato was amongst your top ‘DO NOT ENGAGE’ list other than the archon herself and yet somehow naive bliss and a VERY convincing plea(almost suspiciously good) from Thoma to have lunch by the beaches near the residence of the Kamisato Clan lead you right into his ‘life’. You have no ‘life’, you are meant to have no ‘life’, no value or effect and yet by each interaction with those deemed ‘special’ by the world your plans crumble.

Ayato then promptly bowed and walked out the residents gate, a body guard joining him as he started his track along the path you had just taken towards the city.

“Ah right, he has that meeting. A pity, if his schedule was more open I would have asked for him to join us.” Thoma turned to you with a quick hesitant smile, “he's really not as imposing as you may think he is. Ah well… maybe he still is but just in a different way then what the people expect. If you'd like, maybe I could let you know when my lord and I are doing something casual, if you would be comfortable with that of course. I forget just how intimidating the idea of being casual with a clan lord can be to someone who doesn't know him as well as I do.”

“Thank you for the offer Thoma but I'd like it if we just kept it the two of us. You are right, the idea is a little frightening right now.”

You knew what Thoma meant by all that, he means that Ayato is a genuine person underneath his political mask. Ayato is a brother, a friend and a man caring for those deemed under his protection and to those lucky enough to see under his mask they may be met with the unlucky fate of becoming a target to his mischievous nature.

Still, the idea of getting involved with someone so influential is nauseating even if just for something ‘casual' as Thoma has in mind. In truth you shouldn't even be here, here near the Kamisato Clan, here near someone like Thoma, here in Teyvat in the first place. You shouldn't be here.

“I see, that's expected haha.” Thoma smiled at you wildly, reaffirmed at the idea of something going on in his mind (if only knowing what said idea was was as easy as opening a character profile and reading a line directly out of his thoughts) “Well we are still here for a good time. Let me get that blanket and pillows for the beach quickly. You are going to love it!” Thoma quickly skipped into the yard of the clans walls while you waited outside and watched as the npcs you recognized patterned around the area. That one person at the commission board, you had forgotten his name by now after fulfilling Inazumas reputation months ago. There was the old lady sweeping in the yard, what did she comment on again? … … it never came to you, it was all forgetful anyway. A sudden feeling of envy hit you. They were forgetful, oh how lovely that would be to ease your nerves. To know that each day the sun rises you can follow your coded script without fear of altering the fate of the very universe by the time the sun goes down. Wow, you've messed up haha.

Thoma returned quickly as promised, a blanket and two pillows clutched under one arm as a basket was held in another but probably most heavy of all was the giant smile on his face, wrinkling his cheeks with a sense of genuine happiness. No wonder you messed up, it would be impossible to say no to him. It's all his fault and yet you felt you could never put the blame on him.

“Well, sorry to have starved you of your lunch for so long, we are nearly there and I can't wait to see your reaction.” Thoma then lead you through a short path of the surrounding forest and down towards the beach.

Perhaps your recollection of the game isn't accurate, you could have sworn a group of enemies should be nearby the beach here but all along the coast line was just gentle laps of the waves upon white sand. Thoma layed out the blanket with little worries evident on his face, he placed both pillows down then removed his shoes, each unclad foot stepping on the blanket to avoid spreading sand all over it, you promptly did the same, sitting down and placing the basket you had down next to his.

“This place is lovely at any time of the day but especially during sunset, I would have asked for you to join then but I feared it would make things inconvenient for you but still, spending the afternoon here is just lovely nonetheless.” he criss crossed his legs and then beamed at you.

“Come on then, don't keep me waiting, I'm dying to try out one of your baked goods.”

Right. One of the first things you did when you realised you were now living in the game was (panic, cry, internally scream in confusion as to how this has happened and if your world will keep on going and you aren't in it) actually to set up an identity for yourself. Running around and claiming to have come from another world and how you somehow know very personal details of select people and the future fate of the nation would lead to either your banishment or a future altered and possibly worse where peace was not founded, the resistance killed off and the entire plot of the ‘game’ thrown off. Not a good idea. Instead you tried to incorporate yourself into the ‘npc lifestyle’ as quickly as possible. You came up with a backstory that befit this world, you are a failed Sumeru scholar who has come to Inazuma to lead a new simple life outside of your failures. (In truth you stole inspiration for the backstory from some npc you think was on Sangonomiya Island.) It makes sense, people you tell won't ask you more about your past details in fear of being insensitive and Sumeru scholars are sometimes brought to Inazuma. You explained your (fake) predicament to a shop vendor who referenced you to the local baker who took you on. Now you bake goods behind the walls, don't face any customers and have a very npc-like backstory and job. You set yourself up well which was helped by all the knowledge you have of this world. Too bad you messed up all that work and are sat in front of someone ‘special’. Maybe you can salvage the situation, maybe it's not as bad as you think it is, you only have ‘maybes’ which isn't helpful since you had a ‘definitely’ to rely on before Inazumas ‘quest’ was finished by the hero.

You just smile at Thoma and reach your basket. “I made some simple bread rolls and brought some butter and jam but I also made some black sesame biscuits before leaving work. Thanks again for convincing my boss to let me off early today, things get busy there.”

“Not a problem, I don't often take days off either but I think I just needed a break today and imagined it would be a nice chance to get to know you more. How about you pass me one of your rolls in exchange for a serving of okonomiyaki? Sorry it's probably cold by now but should still be good.” He reached into his basket taking out some wooden containers as well as some cloths, likely for cleaning any spillages, and handed you one with you exchanging and giving him a roll and butter from your pack.

You both nibbled at each other's creations, the bread rolls were still slightly warm on the inside since you had baked them before leaving, which Thoma commented on how lovely it is with the butter. The okonomiyaki you took pieces out of was cold but packed with various spices and toppings which really highlighted Thomas skills.

“I just love that we can do this!” Thoma announced after his last bite. “I love getting to make and share things with friends, it's touching the combined effort put into it as well as the delicious outcome we get to enjoy. Haha, my lord and I do a similar thing but its outcome is not as enjoyable as warmed bread and butter, if anything it's concerning haha. Remember how earlier I said how he can be a little intimidating, our little cook outs are one such example. I really have to steel myself for those.” he chuckled and then leaned down on his elbows.

Once again, what he's trying to explain is something you already know of but need to act oblivious to. You have to convince yourself to be unaware and yet need to be aware enough to avoid ‘changing’ anything, this task has grown rather wearing but is essential to keep up your act.

“Oh? How could cooking together turn out so threatening? You two are close though.” He laughed

“It's because we are close that he feels he can torment me with his cooking. I swear, I'm surprised I haven't kneeled over and died yet. Worst part is he knows it's tomenting, it's the best part to him! Agh- I've had so many of my own treats I've made be ruined by whatever his plan is. Haha, it's amusing to look back on but just so daunting at the moment. When I said we could do something ‘casual’ with him I do not mean having one of these cook outs haha, I could never subject you to that.”

The nature of the conversation stayed light hearted, you both exchanging from your baskets while sharing stories or light hearted moments, you had altered your side of things a little, you spoke truth of personal events but under the filter to fit with your backstory, that way lies couldn't catch up with you or forgetting lots of little made up details. The outing was rather pressuring in concept, so much could go wrong since you are involved, but in reality it was very nice. You had kept yourself back a lot when it comes to building relationships with the people around you in fear of your influence potentially changing something important but you are still human and still have social needs but even people like your boss, coworkers and the shop vendors you chat with in passing never fit what it meant to have a friend, to have someone to sit next to and simply have a good time with.

Maybe you've been in this world for too long, you fear you may slip into making a ‘normal’ life here now that you've had a taste of what it means to ‘live’.

The sun started moving, waves became more rash upon the shore and the signs of the afternoon turning to evening became evident. You started packing up your basket and containers, lightly chatting on with Thoma about the seaside. To the side you heard footsteps and Thoma sat himself up straight to look at the oncomer.

“Oh! Done with the meeting my lord?”

Your hand slipped in fright, the container lid clattering as you tried to put it with its matching box. Shit, why is he here? Shouldn't Ayato be too busy? Isn't that one of his whole character points? Not once was ‘strolls on the beach’ mentioned in any of his character lines. You looked up and smiled at him in greeting, your face tugged up tensely and trying very hard to look at ease. You decided it would be easier to let Thoma handle him and just got back to packing your things away.

“Good evening to you too,” he chuckled softly and shifted his gloves, “the meet is done without any problems. When I got back home I wondered if you were still out here, seems I was right. I can now also fix a prominent mistake of mine.”

Even though you tried your hardest to avoid eye contact and look busy it's not like you had mountains to put away, you were left empty handed with a pair of well polished shoes in front of you, their sheen contrasted with the speaks of sand now defiling them. You took a breath in and looked up properly to meet his gaze.

“I do apologise for being so rash earlier, I would have liked a proper introduction. As you can surmise i am Ayato, Thoma has mentioned of you before and I am glad to have the honor of meeting you in person.” he smiled in greeting, no doubt he would have offered a hand or a bow if you both were at the same height but for now a smile would do.

“Right, it is truly an honour Lord Ayato. Thank you for extending your welcome to me.” you bowed slightly.

He laughed slightly, deeply amused.

“Do just call me Ayato in private like this and last I recall, yes my property is in the area but that doesn't warrant me the entire beach side. In truth I have not welcomed you at all.”

Thoma sighed slightly, “My lord please don't tease them so readily, I would like to eventually re invite them here but I can't do that if you've scared them away.”

“Of course, maybe then I can truly offer my welcome and they may join us to tea in the confines of the clan.”

Thoma sighed again at the slight continuation of Ayato's mischief. You took the opportunity of their exchange as an opening and stood up.

“Thank you for the food today Thoma and for bringing me to such a lovely place. I'll get going before it gets too late.”

“Oh, let me walk you back then.”

You shook your head in defiance, “No need, I know the way and it doesn't make sense for you to walk all the way just to have to return. Bringing me here was amazing in itself.”

You turned to Ayato and bowed again, less in respect and more so to keep away from eye contact.

“Thank you again Lord Ayato. Stay well.” and quickly you make your way off the sands of the beach and towards the trek back home into the outer city.

Thoma and Ayato stayed still, simply watching you go in silence until you were out of eyesight. It was Ayato that broke the silence.

“You are sure they do not carry any ill intent?” he said monotonously, still looking at the spot you disappeared to.

“I am sure. They are a decent person and I double checked, they don't have a past linked to any organisation. Sure they are rather anxious, I see it often, a little skittish at times and slightly paranoid but it's not at the prospect of the clan. Haha, if you've taught me anything it's to be aware of people's intentions, if anything they are trying to run away rather than to get close. I can assure you, they don't have an agenda against the clan.”

Ayato breathed out, then turned himself to properly look at Thoma, his face relieved. “If that's your judgement it must be true then.”

…

An odd moment of silence spread between the two of them on the beach, both looking out as the sky took on warmer hues of yellow and orange clashing with its deeper blues.

“You've been coming here a lot more recently and to have invited a friend here as well, has your mind been on your homeland?”

Thoma chuckled and leaned back out on the blanket, now dusted with sand and corners crinkled after the day's events, “I have. Thinking about the mountains of Mondstadt and all the memories just out there across the ocean. It's not in a sad sense, not at all, it's just that recently-,” he paused, looking away from the ocean and down to his lap, slightly gnawing on his lip in thought, “recently i've felt more… connected with myself. It's a nice feeling if not slightly concerning. I feel I'm getting to know myself better but it also just clearly shows how much I have yet to discover.” He sighed, closed his eyes and fully laid down on his back.

Ayato looked down on his friend, doing as he does best and figuring out just what was going on in his mind, his feelings, the reasons for such feelings and the potential catalysts that brought them about. He kneeled down onto the blanket beside his friend, form straight from a lifetime of practice.

“Does your new friend have anything to do with it?” he asks only to be met with silence, Ayato doesn't need an answer, he already knows it's true but just why that is so is still unknown.

“It isn't that you have fallen for them have you? I didn't think of you as one for love to occur after a reasonably short time.”

Thoma opened his eyes languidly and responded this time.

“I don't think it is love. Not yet but… i'd say i've definitely fallen for them haha, in whatever way that is i'm not sure but it feels… unbridled in nature.” he closed his eyes once more and shook his head at his own emotions. He tugged on a smile and relieved himself of his weighing thoughts, “So i'd appreciate it if you don't chase them away okay? I look forward to figuring out what's going on with both myself and with them.”

Ayato nodded wordlessly, not needing to disturb the quiet with a response.

…

“Ayato, did you notice the look in their eyes? It truly just- it just instantly made me feel like I was reliving my home town but also… not. It was familiar but also so foreign.”

“I hadn't gotten a good look at them in truth. They seemed rather determined in keeping their eyesight on anything but me.”

Thoma nodded in acknowledgement, “Makes sense. I do hope they warm up to the idea of the three of us doing something together eventually. Haha, once they've settled their nerves they are very comforting to talk with, I think you'd like them.”

Comfortable silence stretched along the two, the shades of yellow and orange in the sky deepening to reds and purples. In time Ayato stood up, no doubt with the intent of work to finish. He turned to leave before side glancing at Thoma.

“The nobushi that often occupy these beaches, you've disposed of them correct?”

“Did it just this morning to make sure the beach was safe for today as well as to clear out the threat they bring.”

Ayato sighed in annoyance.

“I still can't believe those ruffians believe they outwit us, thinking being close to the clan means they may spot our vulnerabilities.” he shook his head slightly, like the ‘danger’ the oathless samurai possessed was nothing but a pesky fly.

He then made his way back to the clan home leaving Thoma to steep in his own thoughts.

It was after this interaction that you decided to cut things down. At first you imagined Thoma to be the safest ‘special’ person to come across, given how social he is and loved by many you could become a face in the crowd while also tending to your social needs and appeasing Thoma who, and you still wonder why, wanted to get closer to you. Following the path you've taken recently, of course you were wrong, in fact Thoma should have been on that list of ‘DO NOT ENGAGE’ for the very reason you thought it was safe to: he's social. Very quickly you had realised in your time meeting with him that he would smile and wave to many walking by, one such instance was panic inducing when you noticed Yoimiya come over to greet him. Before she had fully skipped up to the both of you you had promptly dismissed yourself and ran back to the confines of your walls to avoid meeting someone so ‘special’.

This was Thomas' problem, he is the network that is connected to so many ‘characters’ that by staying by his side means undoubtedly meeting with the others. Today's incident was clearly that, you met Ayato, you were right there at the clan bordering the line of stepping into the grounds of one of the most impactful places of Inazuma and it was Thoma that had convinced you to do so. You had been too lenient on your rules recently, too selfish. You don't follow these rules you've written up for yourself because you want to but because you know it's for the better of the future and altering such a future because you can't stay inline is selfish to every being in Teyvat that could possibly be influenced by your choices.

To live means to influence your environment, to live means to leave an impression that proves your existence. You wish for nothing right now other than to ‘die’, be void of life and find comfort in that, to finally release the stress of what it means to have all this information of the world and not belong in it but you are still human, you have needs to fulfil and ‘dying’ is not one of them.

It was time to cut Thoma off, it hurt because you knew it would hurt him but it would be better this way. That night you closed your eyes to rest, determined on your new path but gut wrenching in a myriad of emotions, fear, pressure, uncertainty, sadness. You haven't slept well ever since coming to this world and that night was no different. You fell asleep cursing the ground you walk on, cursing the details that swamped your mind, cursing your very existence and the trouble it causes to both this world and yourself.

Separating yourself from Thoma was simple, firstly you changed your shopping time, no longer ‘coincidentally’ meeting with him like you had these last few weeks. Secondly, you asked your boss for more work, that way you have an excuse. You aren't a ‘bad person’ for suddenly leaving Thoma, no it’s because work has been busy and you just don't have the time. This system worked, you hadn't stumbled on him while in the city and the few times he did come to your workplace you simply told him that you were busy and needed to get back to work. This system went on for weeks and was perfect for devoiding your existence of ‘live’, which yes was depressive, you could feel yourself go mad at the amount of work you put on yourself and lack of outlet, but it worked. The extra work did help with the issue of mora as well (the value of mora being confusing ingame where how a single egg was 400 mora and yet 1 mora is represented as a single coin but you realised quickly it was just the ingame market system) which lightened the financial strain a little. You worked from early mornings to late nights, arms dead by the end of the day. In truth you know it isn't a healthy cycle, often coming home and skipping meals just to bathe and sleep, but it was necessary.

Inazumas rains soaked the land, luckily no thunder was present but the trek from the city to nearby village was still made difficult in the wet weather. Your eyes focusing and unfocusing, legs on autodrive walking you towards a particular customer of your workplace who the boss is very fond of. The old lady you were delivering to had been coming to the bakery for years but in her age can no longer make the walk to the city. Your boss found it mandatory to provide for such a loyal customer and so your weekly walk to deliver her breads was on the way.

In the rain was silence, just the sound of your wet shoes on the mud and the rhythmic clank of the wooden box you carried and its latch. The world began to blur, shapes and colours combining as the rain obscure your vision and the melody of your steps, the rain's patter and the wooden latch soothed your mind. Peaceful, a sleepwalk yet not unconscious.

Peace is never retained.

“Look, a stray lamb. Ha! The rain brings fortune indeed.” a swallowed out voice but a few steps away from you got you out of your daze. A wandering samurai, perhaps 3 all together, walked from the side of the path towards you from the river. If this had been ingame the confrontation would be nothing more but an annoyance, 4 ‘characters’ to choose from to easily snuff them out or the option to just run away until they gave up chase. In reality this confrontation means little less than a deathly denouement. Heavily armed, well trained men with seemingly no morals and a thirst for sick entertainment against a human bering no vision, a basket of bread and a fatigued body leaves little wonder as to how this will end. Panic arose at the realisation, the very human phenomenon of ‘fight or flight’ kicking in, and as a baby bird strives to the air you push off your feet, adrenaline quickly awakening your senses and urged your body to a change of direction and just as a fledgling's first flight you fall. Hard. Your mind may have awoken but your body had not caught the message, instead you lay your head in the dirt, all motive diminished, just your sad existence lay bare for a bunch of hostile mobs, stupid coding of copy paste enemies, to take your life. In all honesty this is perfect, you wish to retain as accurate to an npc life as possible? What better way than to die a meaningless death. That brought enough comfort to you to allow yourself to close your eyes (disregarding the other factors such as shock, exhaustion and most likely a concussion from the fall)

Perhaps a few of your questions will be answered now, if you die here will you reawaken into your own world? Will the months of lifetime in this fictitious game be nothing but a dream or will you truly die and merely sink into the mud as nothing more than a mistake upon this world? Neither as it seems the feeling of the rain pelting on your body ended, the sounds of swords being drawn and clashing washed away and your head, though still paining, layed on something far more welcoming than wet earth.

“Are you regaining consciousness then?” you feel hands lean your body up, a hand moving you face side to side prompting your eyes to open. They are met with the analytically eyes of Ayato still looking over your features for whatever wear and tear you may have gathered.

“To have fallen so gracefully in such a life threatening moment, truly your abilities are unmatched to any I have seen before. I am surprised you garner such mud and bruising, I had expected you to be dressed in only the most comfortable of clothing by the way you so effortlessly went to rest.” Oh for fucks sake-

You properly awaken, now relying on your own balance to stay sitting upright and Ayato moving his hands away only to have his eyes peering closer to you. You swipe at your face, lumps of mud clinging to your hand in turn. You heave a sigh just to gather yourself for a moment before speaking.

“What happened? Why would you be here if it means I'm not dead? Ah- sorry,” you jumped into accusations before even giving thanks, not suspicious in the slightest, “my head is still sore. Sorry, I must thank you for rescuing me, I would be dead if not for you.”

Ayato hummed and nodded his head. “To answer your question, I was on my way to the city before the rain started, not wanting to get wet. I waited here under this shelter until I saw you stumble right into that group of noboshira and now we are sat here. As for your apology, it's accepted, you are welcome.”

Why was he acting like this? Mischievous sure but with a slight hint of pride or cockiness in vulgar terms. Sure he's a noble but usually he adores the ‘polite lord’ act rather than ‘cocky aristocrat’. His attitude reminded you of how he interacts with those he deems ‘close’ rather than a stranger he's met only once. Yes you are close with Thoma which may influence how he sees you but surely not to the extent of you two being ‘close’ in turn.

And still you must play the fool, be gracious and oblivious like you could never tell between his mask and his true face.

“Thank you so much Lord Ayato, truly you've saved my life.”

You stand to bow, to leave but he holds your wrist at the movement.

“Do not move so hastily now, the rain is still ongoing and I would not like to see a recurrence of you laying in the mud, no matter how amusing the first time may have been. Do sit back down.”

No denying that, no matter how much you wanted to make distance between the two of you, trying to run away would only cause more problems. You sit back down on the bench, a rickety structure just outside the village with hardly enough space for two. You look to the ground at your feet, watching as rain drops just a few inches away. Ayato sighs, made clear you have no intent of starting a conversation. Perhaps his political side kicks back in, going blunt and straight to the point.

“You have been avoiding Thoma these last weeks, he's become distressed at the idea he's done something wrong.” you do not reply.

“Is it because of my involvement? I understand you may be pressured by our difference in class but both Thoma and I have made it clear that should not be a problem when in private so why is it you fear me? I have seen those intimidated by my title but your anxiety runs deeper than that. I personally don't care as much but if it distracts your relation with Thoma then I suggest it should be dealt with.”

This questioning is unnerving, it is tearing right to the point where the only truth is to reveal the true origin of your situation. That cannot happen so you reply with what you usually do, not exactly a lie but a truth wrapped along with missing context.

You fake a sigh, “My Lord I am… I am an introverted person by nature. When Thoma approached me I- I accepted his conversations not to be rude and i do genuinely enjoy being with him but i- he's a social person, I knew he was and it was uncomfortable for me to get involved but I tried it's just the moment I met with someone such as yourself, someone so… powerful I realised just how large his social circle is. I can't keep it up, being with him means being with others and I can't handle that.” it was the truth, yes you played it up a bit but hopefully it's an explanation Ayato would accept.

“So you do not consider your friendship special enough to warrant such efforts?”

“No!” you lift your head to him, for once properly looking at him, “It is, he is special, he is special beyond your understanding it's just that… I don't fit in, I don't belong by his side and meeting you and others just proves that.”

Ayato looked at you for a moment, seemingly lost in your words, perhaps not understanding the phrasing you used but he quickly morphed back into his usual laid back but self assured look.

“Was that your decision to make?” He let out a soft huff of air and looked forward to the oncoming rain. Why did he wish to avoid the rain? Given his character trailer where he casually accepts it, his skills being water based and summoning quite literal rain not to mention the casual manner his attacks have him kneeling right into it, how could he act so off put by walking along when the storm was hardly harsh, a summer spray in truth, you wouldn't have accepted going on this delivery if the weather was any worse.

“It's comforting. Something I can appreciate both from a distance and up close. Water has a tendency of being both stubborn and flexible, it moves as it wishes and chips away at that it deems in its way. When in motion it is hard to stop, when stagnate it proves hard to move.”

Ayato turned back to you, eyes alight with something more than just his blue hues, they appeared with a sheen, not from the gloss of tears but of something you couldn't exactly tell what it embodied. Without a character profile to read it actually is very hard to tell what goes on in his mind.

“Such waters remind me of you. So stubborn in some label you've put yourself under and yet so quick to wash away when it is threatened. You call such a label as being ‘introverted’ but I imagine it's something more isn't it? Perhaps it is insensitive of me to get into, from Thoma I hear you've had an unfortunate past in your time as a scholar and the depths of your reason may lay there but if you truly wish to integrate into a life in Inazuma then avoiding the people you come across, myself and especially Thoma, all under the pretext of being ‘introverted’, then you will find your burdens much heavier.”

In a very storylike fashion the rains seemed to ease, droplets turning to drizzle. Ayato stood up and readjusted his coat cuffs, “At the very least explain to Thoma your reasons, I did not exaggerate when I said he has become distraught.”

You stood in turn, head buzzing but no longer in the previous pain. You nodded to Ayato, your anxieties haven't shown any actual proof and yet you hurt someone who has shown nothing but kindness and acceptance to you, it is wrong.

“I will, you are right.”

Ayato offered his hand to you for a hand shake, both as an untold promise to explain yourself to Thoma and as a simple goodbye gesture, you shook it with a strong resolve.

“I look forward to hearing more about you in the future. Do keep yourself well and avoid potential naps in the mud, it's not the most comfortable of places.” he smiled at you with a cheeky glint of amusement before turning his back and walking to the direction of the city.

You sat back down on the bench, intent on waiting out the remaining drizzle, and leaned against its wooden pillars. It's all so conflicting, when you try to do right for this world you hurt and confuse those around you, if you try to appease the people around you you risk threatening their future. You bare a cursed mind of information, a cursed existence upon this plane, it isn't right to affect others by the curse you bare but it also isn't right to devoid someone so giving as Thoma.

You sit and contemplate until the drizzle gives way, your carry box placed by your feet filled with breads untouched by dirt and still awaiting their destination.

Ayato strolls along the path to the city, it is not his usual reasoning for taking the trip but still a reason worth doing so. Along his path all threats had been eliminated, you should arrive just fine but it wasn't that which plagued his mind, rather it was a soft sense of amusement, a sense of glee that left him softly chuckling to himself. He adjusted the cuffs of his gloves, a sign to his Shuumatsuban in hiding that they are to leave him for a moment, once the soft shuffling of unseen ninja pass he turns is view to your direction, the distance hindering the sight, he needed a moment to himself, to gather all possible elements at play to give reason to his unspoken questions.

“As expected, Thoma was right, they do hold some degree of depth.”.

The words Ayato left with you clung to your mind, in all this time interacting with ‘characters’ you haven't once seen anything alter the course of the world yet. Perhaps it's a twisted Butterfly effect and your actions have changed something you cannot see but Teyvat was still intact and no news of a newly declared war has come about (for whatever reasons your actions may potentially had started a war in the first place). Perhaps the time of paranoia can finally come to an end and you can ‘live' a little, truly live here if it means spending the rest of your life in this world. You also owe it to Thoma. You've done everything in your power to avoid him when he's done nothing less but show genuine interest in getting closer to you and with Ayato's words you can confirm that you've hurt him. In your time knowing him, truly knowing him, not as a character reading lines of script, not as a collection of pixels on a screen but as a real person with flesh and feelings, it's really made you appreciate him more than anything one could feel for a fictional character. Thoma is not fictional in this world and in this world he looked to you for a friendship, you lead him on in your weakness and now he has to face the loss because of your choices. Ayato was right, you truly don't have the right to make this decision but the least you can do is make up for your mistakes and keep your promises. Teyvat isn't going to fall apart just because you want a friend, what led you to think you could change the fate of the universe in the first place? Fate is a strong thing, it will not break so easily just because you exist. The rest of the ‘plot’ will go on as normal, the ‘hero’ is most likely still in Sumeru sorting out their issues and that ‘hero’ can go on and change Teyvats fate, you can sit still, live a normal life and they can keep the story going.

You decide the best way to apologise is to show Thoma you genuinely care and the best way to do that, (other than actually talking to him) is to do what he's already established means a lot to him, make something. Thoma loves to see the effort people put into something much more than the actual execution of it. You are hardly a master baker yet he savours what you bake like it's been done by a professional, so play to your strengths. You finish your work day, inform your boss you will no longer be taking the overtime and rest for the day. Not wanting to rush into things too quickly you wait a few days and in your spare time make a batch of miso butter cookies and a simple fresh loaf of shokupan on the day you decide to meet him. It being a weekend you were off work but that also meant Thoma wouldn't be in the city, he does his trips here only during the week when he needs specific supplies for his upkeep of the clans residence. Taking a walk to the Kamisato Clan is quite the walk but you owe it to him to get this done, he can't be the one to keep chasing after you, you need to show you want to be close as well.

You arrive midday, the walls of the clan still so daunting, and walk to the entrance where the clans guards await, noticing your presence long before you could actually stand before them.

“Good day, I am here to deliver something to Thoma.”

The guard eyes you but responds, “He's out. If you have any deliveries you can leave them here where they will be checked before entering the clan.”

Thoma isn't here? Shit. That makes this whole thing a bust.

“Do you know where he's gone or when he'll come back? I'd prefer to see him in person.”

“No. Please leave any packages here and-” the guard was cut off as the man of the house walked up to the entrance, Ayato offered a slight smile, perhaps to ease your nerves at the guard's menacing stance though that is his job, before turning to said guard.

“They are a guest and are welcome to the clan. Thank you for serving your duties but they are free to enter.”

The guard bowed and uttered a small, “Yes my lord.”

Ayato then stood to the side to allow you in, his arm outstretching the direction in welcoming.

“Ayaka and I were just having tea in the break of our schedules. Please do join us.”

Well it seems you will be meeting Ayaka (for the second time), not expected, not something you were prepared for but if you are to truly let go of your worries then meeting Ayaka should not be a problem.

You follow suit and see Ayaka sitting at the table on the outside courtyard, she smiled in greeting as you and Ayato approached.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, I am Ayaka Kamisato.” she nodded in greeting. It's a little difficult to respond to people such as Ayaka and Ayato whom are so versed in proper Inazumaian etiquette but you've been in Inazuma for long enough to have picked up some things. You bow slightly in turn, “A pleasure as well Lady Ayaka, thank you for welcoming me to your home.” You responded in a similar way when first meeting Ayato though you imagine conversing with him from now on would be a lot more relaxed after your previous meetings. Said man indicated for you to sit beside his sister which you did, form a lot less refined compared to the pair of siblings.

“Ayaka, this is the person Thoma has been talking about as of late. A new friend to the Kamisato Clan.”

“Oh! It's truly wonderful to put a face to a name. Thoma has spoken only positives about you. What brings you here?”

You look down to the wooden box in your hand, your apology gift.

“I need to speak with Thoma and give him something.”

You don't even need to look at Ayato to know that he's fully aware of what your meeting with Thoma is all about.

“I see. He's gone out for a walk at the moment but should be back soon. Anyway,” it felt like ice drawn at the blunt way she changed the topic. She quickly turned back to Ayato, more specifically the paper in her hands, with a look of true delight on her face.

“The travellers' tales of Sumeru are incredible! Such a different place but the stories they are embarking on are memorising.” her eyes had a sheen to them, not the gloss of tears but of something you couldn't exactly tell what it embodied.

“Their letter details so much, the food, the culture, the people as well as all the situations they've ended up in.” she giggles, lifting her hand to cover her joy but not truly caring about it since she was in such comfortable company which is… odd considering you just met.

Ayato looks at you with a quick strained smile, almost to say, ‘sorry she's overlooking you’ but quickly returned to paying his attention to Ayaka.

“I am not surprised they often find themself in trouble haha though it is good to know they are enjoying their time there. Do they mention when they may return to Inazuma?”

Ayaka looks slightly dejected at that, “No. They say they need to stay in Sumeru for now but will come to the next major festival if they can.” she takes a deep breath in and releases it. “I hope it's soon. I want to hear all these stories from their mouth rather than just as words on a page.”

So Ayaka also has that ‘crush’ on the traveller which was very heavily implied in the game. That must be the reason she is so relaxed and open with her emotions here.

She looked back down at the letter, a soft smile developing. “I hear Yoimiya is planning on taking a trip to Sumeru in the future, perhaps I can ask her to deliver a token from me to the traveller while she is there.”

Ayato's smile remained as always listening to his sister but the small crinkle of the wrinkles by his eyes increased slightly for but a moment before relaxing. His wrinkles… a pity the game models of the characters didn't implement small details such as those. It would have been interesting to see what small features the characters had ‘realistically’ that weren't shown. Would Jean have bags around her eyes? Would Albedos skin have a slight difference of texture than normal? Perhaps Cyno has a more defined tan or Xiangling having slight burn blisters on her hands from cooking and her vision? You've only had a closer look at Thoma and he was so much more ‘real’ than just a 2D image which was slightly unsettling at first but normal now. What interesting things to think about…

“How about you join her?”

Your fascination died instantly. What? No, Ayaka will NOT be joining Yoimiya, that's not how it goes. Ayaka will deny or something will stop her.

“Really? But what of my responsibilities? I don't even know if she'd accept me joining.” Exactly.

“Do not fret, I will have your duties covered and Yoiymiya is your friend, I think she'd appreciate getting to share the trip with you. You deserve a break as well and I see no better opportunity than this.” No, no, no, no you won't because she's not going.

Ayaka stood up, elation beaming off of her while she clutched the letter closer to her.

“Thank you brother! Oh I must ask Yoimiya right away!”

She bowed and made haste out the residence not even sparing you a glance, to her you were a nobody. Her mind was solely on making this trip. You sat in shock, in the past her forgetting about you would be amazing, proof of your ‘npcness’ but you only felt stunned. Ayaka doesn't go to Sumeru, only Yoiymiya does for her second story quest, Ayaka is not involved, Ayaka does not show up, Ayaka is not part of that plot!

“I'm glad she can have a chance to experience the world outside the residence though having to cover for her duties will prove tedious.” Ayato shook his head, then chuckled. “But I'm not opposed to it for this.”

Just how- how has your involvement changed this?! It must be your fault, it can only be your fault, the story has gone on exactly as it was shown in the game so why is this different? What could you have done to make Ayaka go?

“Hmm?” Ayato noticed your silence, “Is something the matter?”

You swallow the spit that had accumulated in your mouth and regained as much composure as possible. “Yes yes I am fine I just- I just need to go have a quick walk by myself. I will be back soon.” It's all you could say. Your mind switched to autodrive in shock and walked you away, neither mind nor eyes truly focusing on anything but your legs walking you a path you've taken many times before yet never once stepped on, into the forests behind the clan house.

Walking in the tanuki filled forest may not have been the best idea, you recall ingame how Hilichurls and Fatui mages are ‘spawned’ here yet your walk was nothing but peaceful. The sound of the stream was somewhat calming, it helped you to think logically. Just because Ayaka says she's going to go on this trip doesn't mean she actually will, something will happen that will prohibit her from going to Sumeru. She is a very important character, her absence in Inazuma may cause something terrible to happen that didn't ingame. Maybe she helps a person in need ‘canonically’ but because in this existence she leaves for Sumeru she isn't there to save said person, that person dies or many people die which could upset their families which could cause them to lose faith in the (police) which could lead to disrupt in the city which could… which could… leave blood spilt?

You stopped your rambling thoughts, eyes zoning in on the pools of blood on the moss covered stones. Whatever caused this is nothing you should get involved in, until a sound of a strangled hiss, electro energy popping and fizzing in the air, a shriek of vengeance and then… nothing. The sound came from further ahead to the right behind a large mound, you watch to see the source, feet ready to run away as the slightest threat. Footsteps sounded and around the bend came a semi dirt covered Thoma, looking ahead with a solemn expression, seemingly dazed. His chest huffed out periodic breaths of air to regain himself and latestly wiped off his brow and took out a cloth and dabbed at the specks of blood on his clothes and arms, while doing so he turned and saw you standing motionless, eyes awide and still in semi shock. Almost instantly devastation fell upon his face, his eyes sunk in immediate sadness, he just looked at you for a second, whatever his thoughts were were his own, before quickly putting the cloth away and rushed to step towards you.

“Please just- i'm just doing my duty, I don't mean-, i'm not…” the more he tried to justify himself the more he seemed to sink into his own hole.

“I know this looks bad, you are the last person I'd want to see me like this but-” he took a deep breath in, steeled himself to elaborate properly, “it's to protect the clan. Fatui spies, rogue samurai, rival clans, a lot of them come here to spy on the clan or put us at risk, i'm just doing my duty and protecting the people who protect me.” he looked at you earnestly, hoping for your understanding, hoping you don't see him as a murderer, hoping to retrain the image of an amicable person but his soft smile of a plea also held the acceptance that you may not acknowledge his reasonings, that you'd turn your back and leave.

You do understand, you do know Thoma isn't a harmless friendly face, that he can and will do what must be done for the people he cares about, it's just that… it's a little hard to easily be calmed even with that notion when the very real blood and remains of that dedication is shown spewed across the forests floor, it's not something any ‘average’ person would not react to but still, this is Thoma, he has his reasons, it was done in the name of goodwill and he's trying to explain it to you.

You take a few steps towards him and offer a hesitant smile, “I get it, I don't see you as any less than before.”

Before you even regain your senses properly you feel his arms around you, tight and secure, his hand cupping the back of your head and hiding his face in your shoulder, so desperate to have the reassurance that it's okay but still hesitant to look at you, like you may change your mind.

“Thank you… archons above I was worried I've scared you. My word, that's the last thing I'd want…” she shook his head slightly, took one last deep breath and moved back up, his hands grasping your shoulders lightly, you could see his face up close now and he finally allowed himself to look at you, his face held a smile. “I am so happy to see you!” the heavy atmosphere diminished as Thomas usual radiance shone, “Haha, what are you doing here? It's been ages, the last place I thought I'd see you was all the way here.”

“Oh yeah, I actually came to apologise about that, about being distant. It wasn't right of me to just cut you off, I'm sorry.”

He stayed silent, only looking at you, his eyes softened and nose wrinkled in his genuine expression of embrace. “Dont worry about it, I was clingy, I'm just glad to know you are here now. I'm really happy about that.” he chuckled and shifted his weight to point you back up the path to the Kamisato residence.

“Let's go catch up shall we?”

On the walk back up you explained to Thoma your ‘reason’ for avoiding him (your half lie, half truth reason), the same one you told Ayato. You are shy and get intimidated by how social he is. Thoma nodded at your explanation, expressed his apologies for not noticing your discomfort and promised from now on he'll be more aware when you are together and not encourage meeting with others you aren't comfortable with. The walk was nice, a bit strained because of the topic but after all the knots had been loosened it felt good to be relaxed with him again.

You two entered the Yashiro court again, Ayato still sat at the table reading through some papers. Thoma turned to you, “Oh sorry, meeting with Ayato was one of the things that made you uncomfortable right? We could go somewhere else to catch up?”

“No it's alright, I met with him earlier when I arrived. I told him I'd return so it would be rude not to haha.”

The noise must have alerted said man, Ayato peaked his head up and greeted the both of you with a smile as you walked towards him and sat down.

“The both of you have returned safely from your walks then, it's good to see. How was it?”

Thoma hesitantly chuckled, “Haha, came across some trouble but nothing I can't iron out. Otherwise we just had a little talk.”

Ayato nodded and hummed.

You remember your carrier box filled with the apology gifts for Thoma and opened it.

“Thoma, I made some more biscuits and bread and wanted to give them to you, to further state my apology.”

“oh? Perfect then, we can have them with tea.” Ayato must have had someone refill the teapot while you were away as Thoma poured you both cups of steamed golden liquid and refilled Ayatos. Thoma took a biscuit and devoured it in delight, did he always over exaggerate when eating the things you baked or was his reaction authentic?

“Ayato, would you like one? They really are divine.”

“No thank you. It would be wrong of me to strip you of your joy haha.”

It was odd but so welcoming to be able to have a casual conversation with the two. It seemed easy to get lost in Thomas stories, he seemed fully invested in everything he spoke of and when listening he truly captured every word. Ayato, though not as vocal as Thoma when he did speak his words were like a maze you'd have to do a small mental puzzle to understand if they were a wise response or a guileful remark coming from his teasing nature. Though harder to understand, Ayato's words were still a welcoming part of the conversation as the three of you went on to drink and share.

Ayato shuffled his papers, putting them to the side, even on his supposed break he was reading through documents, Thoma hummed, took a quick look around then returned his gaze on Ayato.

“Where is Lady Ayaka? I thought you two were having this tea break to discuss something.”

Oh wait… Ayaka…

“Yes, she received a letter from the traveller today and was eager to share it, haha she truly is fascinated with that adventurer. She's not here at the moment however, she's gone to speak with Yoimiya. She says Yoimiya will be taking a trip to Sumeru in the future and has gone to ask if she may join.”

“Oh that's wonderful!-” Thoma hesitated, “Oh but doesn't she have some important meetings lined up these coming months with the shrine? There were those exchanges that need to be made, some deliberations about the upcoming festivals… as supportive as I am about her going on a trip, it doesn't seem doable with just how much is installed for these next 3 or 4 months.”

Oh Thoma you are truly a blessing, not only are you a true friend but you reestablished that the ‘plot’ wont change. You mouth a soundless thanks to him.

Ayato hummed and tapped his quill* rhythmically on the table. “That is true but I want Ayaka to enjoy her years and not only focus herself on clan affairs, this trip is a good first opportunity to see the world outside Inazuma and with Yoiymiya as her travel partner I do not doubt they will have a good time. As for the workload-” Ayato reached over to the paper stack and shifted through them, “I was busying myself with planning and rearranging the meetings and visits she had in the time I expect her departure will be. It is more work but it will be rewarding, you'll see.”

Thoma seemed confused, it seemed from the look on his face he was doing the same as you when it comes to Ayato's words, figuring out the puzzle but if there was an underlying meaning to his words you didn't detect them, Ayato was simply stating facts and expectations yet Thomas silence ment he was looking for more than just that. Whatever mental games Thoma was tackling he must have failed, he chuckled and melted back into his relaxed self.

“I'm glad then, it will be good for her.”

No… no this isn't right. There will be something, something will stop her from going, there must be.

“mhm, I only await to hear back from her and her meet with Yoiymiya, I don't see any reason why she would decline.”

Yoiymiya will decline, she will, she must.

“oh? Are you okay?” Ayato looks at you in concern, he puts his quill* down and gives you his full attention.

“Is something the matter? Whatever it is, I am sure we can address it.”

“No, no its okay I just realised- I had some serious stuff to do for work which i've forgotten.”

Ayato's face turns to mock surprise, you know he didn't believe you but he doesn't comment on it, Thoma does the same but you can detect the small quiver of his smile in disappointment that you are leaving so soon.

“Oh dear! Do you need help getting back home?”

“no no, i'll be fine thank you” you rush to stand up and then smile down to the two. “Thank you for today but I must go. Enjoy your afternoon.” you rush pleasantries and are out the gate before the two could press you further on your actions.

You've done it again, you came here to try to fix things but you've just made a mess. You can try to fix it tomorrow, for now the more pressing thoughts of the potential Sumeru trip Ayaka will go on drowned out any other thoughts. You walk home rushed, the long walk not helping much to ease your nerves, you can only hope fate will prevail and Ayaka will stay in Inazuma.

Ayato and Thoma sat in silence as you left, mutual understanding of the odd nature of your departure yet not wanting to address it.

“So… your ‘walk’ was fruitful then?”

“Just a few stray Hilichurls and a Fatui mage but it's been sorted.”

“Thoma, you know securing the perimeter is not part of your duties, you needn't lie about the reasoning for going out.”

Thoma did not respond.

Ayato breathed in deeply, “I am not opposed to you going out to release your emotions but I worry you may get caught up in them only to further feed into your obsessions.”

“I'm not obsessed! I'm just-” he grit his teeth in his own turmoil, “I don't want to label these feelings as ‘obsession’, that wouldn't be right to them. I don't know, I still don't know. When they stopped talking to me it felt like I'd lose them forever, that everyday I don’t see them with my own eyes is a day that they may disappear and I know that sounds obsessive but… but I don't want to call it that. I just don't…”

Ayato soaked up his friend's words like a sponge and as always his responses were either clear or muddled with undertone, this time Thoma could tell instantly Ayato's words were transparent.

“You need not worry yourself about labelling your feelings then, you two are back in contact and there is still a future for you to explore what the emotions you are holding mean. Just do not lose sight of your health and those around you, even obsession can be tamed. “

The next few months were both easier and harder than the times you were avoiding Thoma. Sure, you lessened your workload and your health improved, you stayed in contact with Thoma, not as much as before but still enough to bond over. It was good to have a friend again and the feeling was mutual, every time you did meet he seemed eager to enjoy it to its fullest. You had even met with Ayato a few more times, never to the extent of Thoma but at least it became comfortable to sit and have tea with the both of them in a relaxed manner but that was the positives, the looming threat of Ayaka changing the plot was a heavy cloud always looming. The few occasions she saw you she was cordial and respectful but her interest glossed right over like you didn't even exist. She and Yoimiya made plans, fulfilled the work she could and now here you stand on the beach you woke up on exactly 2 years ago, 2 years since you randomly came to be here in Teyvat, the same day fate was changed and both Yoimiya and Ayaka were set sail for Sumeru.

In blunt terms, youve fucked up. This was pure proof of your paranoia, this was proof your existence can cause the plot to change and the realisation of just how helpless you are in this situation dawned on you. The very act of your existence, whether you interact with those deemed ‘special’ or not, can and will change the story and you can only wonder if it will end well or if you've led something to doom.

It's not fair, it's not fair at all. Even though you've been friendly with Thoma recently it's not like you can truly confide in him and he's just a painful reminder of your mistakes. The burden of wearing this responsibility, one you didn't even know how to fulfil, one you failed to fulfil, it's unfair. You are only human, you have needs to fulfil and ‘dying’ isn't one of them…

But

But is it moral to be so selfish as to care about your own being when putting the risk of others on the line? Ayaka is gone from Inazuma, just how many people was she meant to interact with if she stayed? How will her presence in Sumeru affect the story? If you guess right the ‘hero' should be done with the main quest of Sumeru if it means Yoimiyas story quest can start but what if something happens that prohibits the plot for future stories? What of Ayakas presence delays the ‘hero’, even for a minute, in which that minute was originally meant for something in the greater scheme of things?

This is awful… this isn't right. Not only has living become so difficult because of the constant nagging of anxieties and worries but you also have the potential to be responsible for disaster simply by existing.

It isn't right… it isn't right you afflict this world with your existence and the threat it brings.

Two years ago when you awoke on this beach you hoped to retain a normal life, perhaps find a way back home but at the very least, set up a life for yourself, an npc life but at least something. It's only fitting that you felt you had to come here, to kneel in the sand and watch how its granules slip through your fingers, it's because you exist that this sand is moving… it's only fitting that you finally come to the conclusion that you must die while being here. This is the place of your ‘birth’ into this world, perhaps it can be the place of your death as well. Not ‘death’, not some convoluted meaning of ‘dying' and becoming a new person, no you need to die. You need to die to ensure the people of Teyvat can remain on course. You are the virus here, you are the disease you need… you need to die.

Tears ran down your cheeks at such a resolute statement, sure youve thought about it all but now and truly you've decided that this is it, that you must do this. It's not like you want to die, not on a personal scale, but on a mental and emotional scale all this is too much, too much to bear and too much to live through.

It's not fair to leave the people you've so selfishly afflicted with your presence without giving them a reason but you are too much of a coward to tell it to their face. It wouldnt go well if you were to stand infront of Thoma and tell him you were going to kill yourself, thats for sure but at the very least he could get some form of an explanation.

You decide tonight is not the night you die, that would be tomorrow, you stand up from the ground and walk home, the weight of your choice still as raw as the moment you decide it, death is no light matter after all.

You get home, a small space a person like yourself could afford, only the basics of furniture and 2 rooms. There under your door lay a letter, you pick it up and sit at your table where unblemished paper sat to become future suicide notes. Taking a look at the letter it was sealed in wax, the crest of the Kamisato Clan dug into its mass.

You open it,

‘Dearist XXXX

May this letter find you well. Both Thoma and myself wish to invite you for a stay at the Kamisato Clan as both a guest and a friend. The changing season brings a beautiful opportunity to witness it first hand as the trees take on their new hues and the oceans change their tides, you are welcomed to join us. Thoma sends his best wishes but asks for them to properly be said in person rather than in post. We eagerly await your response.

Signed

Ayato’

Haha… how casual for a man like him… haha… haha here you are preparing to write letters announcing your death to them and yet they think only of including you in their lives. Haha… how horrible, how utterly vile it is to be able to experience emotions such as these. These feelings only prove your point more. You put the letter to the side and stared blankly at the response you are going to reply with, oh of only it were as optimistic and welcoming as theirs was.

You tried to make it easy for both yourself and those intended to read it. You state that the mistakes of your past have lay heavy on you and that death is the only relief, that you are sorry you cannot return the sentiment of friendship and must lay your mistakes to rest.

To Thoma you leave a more personal note, telling him that he made your life here in Inazuma so much better, that it was only in the moments with him you forgot your ‘mistakes’ for even a moment and for that you are grateful. It's true, it's only Thoma who made you forget the fact you don't belong here when you spend time with him. Sending this letter to him is assured to rip his heart, he sees you as a friend and he's going to beat himself at the thought that he did not help you enough to make you feel you'd want to stay, that he wasn't a good friend, which is not true at all but you know there is little you can do to convince him otherwise. In a moment of distressed induced vulnerability, with tears in your eyes you state something so cliche as that perhaps in another life you two may be able to have the friendship you both craved in this life, if only there is a case of reincarnation and you may be born in the same universe as him and live that life with no burdens or guilt of your existence.

To Ayato you are more cordial, less emotional or descriptive but you tell him that he was right on that day in the rain, that there is a deeper problem than you just being ‘introverted’, otherwise you keep it professional.

After the hardest two were done it was rather simple, it's not like you have any friends or family to write to and sending a letter to the street vendor you buy from doesnt make sense. You do write a letter and tell your boss that you simply will not be returning to work, you don't say why, and that you thank him for all the opportunities and help he has given you.

For once it was easy to fall asleep, for the first time in 2 years the moment you lay your head on your pillow you were unconscious. For once you've felt the release of the burden you feel and the comfort that will come when your plague on this world is done. You are so tired and finally you can rest.

The next day went on simply, it was a weekday and you went to work, in the afternoon you submitted your letters to the post and walked back home, taking in the scenery of Inazuma. This will be the last time you walk these streets. You wait at home quietly, have a decent meal and enjoy the sounds from outside of leaves and people. You felt in an odd state all the way through the day, like your senses were hypersensitive noticing the slightest thing around you which was lovely. You got to focus on the squirrles you passed on your way to work, the smell of baked bread smelled heavenly once again like it had the first day you were in the bakery, the pink and purple blossoms of the trees were so vibrant on your way home. You had given the shop vendor a smile and a wave as you passed her, that day you felt no burden, no grief. You only had one more step to take, the hard part was already over with.

In the late evening you stood by that beach again, the view was incredible. You sat down in the sand and got comfortable leaning against a rock and letting the tide touch the tips of your toes. You were naughty today, you bought enough substances from clinics or herb stands to be sure you felt good in your last moments. You took them quickly and then rested your head back against the rock, letting the sound of waves softly crashing, leaves rustling and the odd animal chirp lull your mind. It took some effort not to fall asleep just yet, you blinked your eyes harshly and woke yourself up a bit. This part was slightly uncomfortable, the beach you woke up on had a slight cliff, nothing you'd die by jumping off of, it was just a little steep incline but it was enough. You took a large rock from nearby and rolled it closer to the edge, tying a rope around and around your ankle. Drowning didn't seem like a peaceful death but at least like this your body can be washed into the sea where it can decay in peace without traumatising a random person strolling the beach. You relaxed and took out the large knife you had brought with you. Bleeding out decreases the time by knocking yourself out and not having enough energy to wake up in the water and struggle. You should be numb enough now. You closed your eyes and cut lengthwise, both arms, a leg… you tried your neck but even drugged up that was beyond doable. You didn't even register when you had stopped, you didn't see the blood flowing or feel the pain as it pooled, slowly your will died out as everything became hazed. It was a feeling, not a good or bad one, you couldn't even think. You felt the weight on your ankle tug, your consciousness dropping and allowing the gravity to pull you away. Black.

You woke up. You woke up. Dazed, in pain but you did. Your eyes opened lightly, luckily it wasn't very bright. Slowly your mind awoke as well, you saw the walls and crest oh so familiar of the Kamisato Clan, of its low light lanterns on the floor and dark wood trims. What were you doing here? What were you even doing?

Each of your senses woke up from the shock they were in and soon your ears picked up sound, at first the static was all you could hear until it was voices. You inclined your head to where the sound came from. Thoma and Ayato sat at a table, what they were talking about was inaudible. Why? Why were you here?

Everything slowly came back to you, what you did, why you did it and mainly the fact that you should be dead right now and yet you were here. Panic arose which was enough adrenaline to push your body and mind completely awake. You shuffled up and looked at the two. Thoma turned at the movement and instantly reached out for you, arms cradling your head which he buried his to your shoulder, a grasp seeking for comfort yet trying to give support.

“Archons above you're awake. My word… oh my word…,” he softly cried into your shoulder but picked his head up to look at you, “Why?! Why did you do that? Why did you feel…” his face was morphed into true distress, his eyes red and slightly swollen from no doubt a long time of distress but renewed with fresh tears. “Please, you are here, you are here and yet you wanted to go-” he choked, “Why, I nearly lost you.” his head fell back down to rest onto you, “I nearly lost you…”

His arms held you tightly, confirming that you were there.

Ayato finally announced himself with a soft clear of his throat, he stayed sitting at a distance.

“Thoma, they are safe and alive. We confirmed this the moment we got them here. “ he took a moment, thinking over his words. “How about you go prepare us a pot of tea and eats and we can discuss this once we all have gathered ourselves?”

Thoma lifted himself back up, “yes… yes you are right” he gave you a squeeze and a haste kiss on the crown of your head before standing and giving you a very strained smile, ‘everything is going to be okay’ it read. Quickly he turned and sped walked out as if staying in the room for too long would prohibit him from ever leaving you. Now it was just you and Ayato.

“Come sit please or do you need assistance getting up?”

You look down at your body, arms and legs patched up in bandages and feeling weak but with a struggled attempt you found you could stand up and walk to him before nearly falling into a sitting position and looking at him. He knows what's happened, he knows the aftermath and you don't.

Ayato sighed and shifted at papers on his desk, 2 in particular, the ones you had sent out.

“We got these well after we had saved you from your incident,” he looked up to you with something of a harsh look, “you can thank the fact one of my shibatsu were watching and stopped you from falling and promptly brought you here.”

He sighed, closed his eyes tense for a moment then released and folded the papers neatly. He returned his gaze back to you.

“I know, or at least suspect, what elements are at play here. The identity you have made for yourself here as an ex Sumeru scholar, that is false, correct?”

How… How did he figure that out?

“You need to speak now, for your and Thomas' betterment. No more lies, no more half trues, no more hiding because after an event such as the one you pulled yesterday I will no longer allow such threats so please, speak.”

You opened your mouth, it felt hoarse and sore. This is it. No more hiding, no more rules or running away, he can see it all, he will know, he probably does already.

“Yes.” is all you say.

An odd assortment of a smile crosses his face, not happy but at least pleased for the development, he then went back to his blunt nature.

“I will even be so bold as to say you are not here from Teyvat, correct?”

“Yes” tears built at your eyes. 2 years of work gone, 2 years of struggling to keep the truth bound, the thing you tried to die for to keep all gone.

“There are matters I do not understand, such as the truth of the reason for your attempt yesterday but what I do know is that you are not of Teyvat, that the way my sister looks at the Traveller is the exact same way Thoma looks at you, bewitched by some foreign entity.”

What?

“I know that the Traveller is not of Teyvat, they themself have stated this to both Ayaka and myself and it was a stretch at first to make the claim you were the same as them for the simple reason that Thoma fell for you as Ayaka did for the traveller but what perhaps confirmed my suspicion was when I felt that pull as well. For some reason the way my sister described her fondness for the traveller it was only you I could imagine, when I saw Thomas eyes alight in excitement at seeing you I could tell exactly what it is since I feel the same. For nearly no reason this feeling appeared.”

He cleared his throat and continued, “I didn't only come to this conclusion based on feeling, I, as I do with all those who involve themself with the members of the clan, had research done into your past. There is no record of your existence in any school of Sumeru, there is no record of anything proving of your past, no family line or even record of you arriving by boat which is all recorded by name, yours were on no such documents.”

He sighs and then relaxes his shoulders, like he is glad he's gotten the hard part over.

“Do not worry, I can assure you I see you no less as I did before and I can promise that Thoma is the same, he in fact needs to know the truth. I have not told him of my own discoveries just yet but when he gets back I hope you reveal the light of truth on everything here and the burden you decided to relieve yourself of.”

It's hard to actually listen to him, you are too busy swimming through the currents of your own thoughts to really hear what he has to say, if you had you'd have noticed just how fond he really was being, the slight curve of his forehead in concern, the way he spoke in a tone confident but also reassuring. Ayato is a man who puts his family, friends and the clan first, even in this instance he was doing that, whatever his personal feelings on the matter were they were subdued.

You look down to the table and see the fruits of your labour, sour, distasteful fruits that bore no other purpose but to make one sick on consumption: your letters. It seemed a good idea at first but now the sight of your handwriting was nauseating, you couldn't even bare properly rereading it, to see those words you meant to be comforting only being a stain and reminder to the people who had to read them of the bilious nature of your actions. Poor Thoma…

You had no words for Ayato, not out of fear or resentment but simply because it felt like you had disappointed him, the only way you could try to make this all better is to come clean about everything, he's made it clear, there is no more hiding. Now the weighting doom of changing the course of fate didn't matter, what mattered is the crestfallen frown on his face and mellow gaze, what mattered was the troubled Thoma in the other room whom grasped at you to stay so tightly even through all the torment you've lead him though. It's over, not the good kind of ‘over' like dying would have been, your life would be over and the secrets and threat you bring would have been over, no the ‘over’ you experience is the loss of hope. Its over, all the attempts and work, the secrets and efforts made to try keep this world as safe from changing as possible was all over.

Ayato let you mull in silence, he cleared his desk and closed his eyes in wait. Not long after Thoma returned, kettle in hand and cups at the ready. He seemed quiet, more collected and focused on the task of pouring tea before sitting next to you, his folded knee jutting up and down being the only show of his nerves. He took a breath, turned to you and smiled.

“I really do just want you to know I am happy you are still here, that I want to give you all the support and care I can to make sure you know you being here is just so important. I know that I don't understand everything you've gone through and that me saying all this doesn't help make it easier but-” he had to grit his teeth, his voice stirred slightly and slight beads of tears brimmed at his eyes,”but you don't have to be alone. Right now or even dealing with your past, you don't have to be alone.”

Your breathing hitched, chest lurched and fresh tears escaped, how couldn't you? You tried to cover your mouth of noises but couldn't help but curl into yourself and cry, you don't want to do this anymore, you want his support, you want to confide in him, you want to live. Thoma rubbed your back while you cried, gentle reaffirming strokes and just let you release all the build up. After regaining yourself you lifted yourself back up, swallowed the last fragments of tears and tried to secure yourself. You took some breaths and calmed down. Thoma held your shoulder, a physical display of support, you looked up and only saw Ayato watching with an unreadable expression. Right, you need to come clean. To… get it over with…

“Thoma, thank you for this, I'm sorry, I really am.” You could tell he tried to speak, to tell you it's okay or not your fault or something along those lines but he kept himself quiet and let you speak.

“I’ll… I'll come clean about it all, about everything.” This is it. “I'm not originally from Teyvat, I believe you know the Traveller and how they aren't either? Yeah I'm something like that. So no, I'm not from Sumeru or have lived here my whole life. Just woke up one day from my world into this one and… that was that. No explanation, no guide, no help…”

Ayato had no reaction, he knew, Thoma was wide eyed in shock but stayed silent, to him you shared memories of your ‘past’, to hear what you have shared with him was wrapped in falsification was… hurtful to know that what he did know of you was all a lie in his eyes but still, he remained silent and let you continue.

“I'm sorry, I am. I didn't want to lie and a lot of the stuff I did say is true. I just… I just covered it up to match my story of being from Sumeru.”

“It-It must be hard” Thoma meekly said, “to have lost everything, your home and family… I can see why things have been so hard and confusing for you.”

You nodded to his words. It is hard, it is bloody hard. All the plans you had made for your future, your loved ones and hopes… you'll never get to see them bloom, you'll never get to see the person you hoped you'd become because you had been stripped away from everything. The extra layer of knowing what world you came into and the threat you caused of course did not help lighten the load.

You've been away for 2 years and there is no hope of going back but you are here now and have to deal with the present.

“So that's basically it.”

Ayato's frown deepened, “There is more.” his words cut through the air bluntly. “There is more to the story you haven't told us, many things that don't add up-”

“Ayato please,” Thoma interrupted him, “let them say what they need and-”

“No, they said they would clear things up here and I will make sure it is so.” he moved his gaze back to you, it was penetrating into your soul nearly emotionlessly. “So I will ask, what is the truth to your ‘introvert’ label? Why distance yourself from others at random when in your position you are needing as much support as possible?”

Shit… shit shit shit, you can't even keep this? You can't even keep the fact you know this is a game secret? Whatever… he's right, you said you'd come clean.

“... I know things I really shouldn't if I was to make a life here. It may be confusing but in short the world of Teyvat is not where I was born but I know of it, I know of its people and some of its history and even select parts of its future. I was just… trying not to change the story. I was never supposed to be here, me being here goes against what's supposed to happen- I was scared I'd change something and things would go bad, that the good endings won't happen because I've done something so I tried to distance myself from it all but i've failed! I've failed and the story has changed and I don't know what's going to happen next!”

Thoma was quiet, now this was a bit too much for him to respond to but predicting the unpredictable is Ayato's strong suit, he didn't falter his questioning even at such a bizarre statement such as the one you made.

“Why? What element has changed that pushes you to believe you’ve doomed this world?”

“Ayaka left! She's not supposed to! I don't know how or why me existing changed the story but Ayaka was supposed to stay here in Inazuma and only Yoiymiya goes to Sumeru. Now its all wrong and I don't know just what else i've affected.”

Silence for a moment, Thoma still doing his best to soak in everything while Ayato shifted his gaze away from you, when he spoke he still refused to look you in the eye. “Hmm, seems your paranoia was proven right then, it is your presence that has changed the future you believe was to take place and in truth the fault is mine.” He looked back at you, “See when I heard of Ayakas excitement in the potential trip to Sumeru I thought it would be a great opportunity, not only for her to gain new experiences but also to ask you something i've had my mind on for a while.” Thoma perked at this, recognising what Ayato was referring to.

“I had hoped to ask you to extend your services to the Kamisato clan, in whatever element suited you, I assume in the kitchen though Thoma did not disagree with the idea of potentially aiding him in his duties.” What? He wanted you to join the clan? Why? Like reading your mind he answered your unspoken questions, “See I thought you being stationed here may help the issue you seemed to have about your ‘introvertness’ with Thoma as well as providing a fresh start for you to reforge your relation with him, of course this would all be a suggestion and if you didn't agree then there is no loss and you can simply continue as you were. That is why I encouraged Ayaka to go, not only for herself but to allow you some space to get used to the idea of potentially staying here.” So that's why… but still, why?!

Thoma interrupted your thoughts, a fresh wave of excitement running through him, “But it's okay now! Now you've let us know everything and sure it's a little hard for me to understand right now but things have been cleared up and everything can go back to normal! We can work on things together and you can rely on us for help so all the other stuff can just be put to the side for now.”

“I must disagree with that Thoma, things cannot go back to normal.” Both you and Thoma turned to Ayato for his explanation, “See they have brought forth an issue, if there is supposedly a prewritten fate we follow and such story has a good end, that their influence can change such story and has already proven to do so then… that is something to consider as a threat.”

“What? No, Ayato-”

“Thoma, I am not suggesting we take the route they tried, their death is not a solution but rather I suggest the best way to reduce the effect they have is to narrow the area of impact of their presence.” Thoma sat himself back down and listened, his ability to understand Ayato far surpassed your own, you only heard his words, Thoma was on the same scale as him. “Ah, so you suggest they stay here?”

Huh? No, that still doesn't solve the issue though! You are still going to change stuff, being in the clan may make it even worse!

“I'm sorry but that can't happen!” you state, you cant let them doom themselves,”I can't stay here, you've seen I change the things around me so me being here is not a solution.”

“And what do you suggest then? Death is not an answer. Wherever you go you will impact the environment around you, is it not wise to be in an area that is accustomed to handling threats and problems? To be within the vicinity and means of a place such as here with people like Ayaka and myself whom can negate such issues? That is even under the assumption you can cause damage with your existence, all we know is that you can change this supposed ‘plot’ but have you seen any actual harm come from it?”

Your silence answers him.

“Right, though it is important to be concerned and prepared. Staying here is no prison I can assure you,” his smile brightens up to a chuckle “in fact my original plan was for it to be a holiday for you. The environment is interesting to explore, there is much you can learn from the people here and most of all friends who are willing to show you support which it seems you so desperately need. To me there is no questioning it, staying here is the best course of action for you.”

You could have thought up a retort, some explanation as to why he was wrong and why going back to your ‘normal’ life was better but there is a certain air around Ayato in moments like this where doubting his reasoning is unheard of and denying them is impossible. He was right, he's always right after all.

“Are you sure? Are you sure this is all… this is all okay? Is me being here okay?”

“For further confirmation, yes it is. Thoma?”

Thoma grasped your shoulder again and leaned to your side, a great wave of support rushing from him, “I think it's an awesome plan. You don't have to worry about a thing, we’ll all have it settled for you!”

“Right, could you go make sure their room is properly prepared? I'd imagine they need some rest after all this. A proper, peaceful sleep can do wonders to soothe the soul and you will find no safer place than under my roof. “

Thoma used your shoulder for a moment to get himself back up, “I'll be back in a jiffy okay!” and made a quick pass to the backrooms.

You and Ayato watched him go in silence, when he was out of sight and out of earshot Ayato repositioned himself.

“He does not know about the foreign effect you may have on him. Once again it is only a theory to suggest that just because you and the Traveller are not of Teyvat you have some bewitching effect but there are some elements of truth to such a theory, still I think it is unwise to tell him this. To tell him his feelings are fabricated would break him…” Ayato closed his eyes and sighed, he looked tired, “And it truly would be a shame to name these-those feelings as false.”

That wouldn't be good… “Okay, I won't tell him about it. … …” you really are tired, your mind isnt working as it should anymore. The adrenaline of shock has worn down and the latent feeling of exhaustion had begun to ebb its way through your very bones, at a moment of self reflection you felt your arms so much heavier to hold, legs stiffened all while the dim pain of the wounds across your body became recognisable. A good rest is what you need…

Ayato didn't say a word after, only left you to your own musings.

“It's all set up! There are fresh towels and guest clothes if you want to bathe but otherwise it was all pretty much done!” Thoma did a slight jog to your side and offered you a hand, “You need help getting there?”

You look up at him, for a room rather dim he outshone the very sun itself. “I think I just want to rest for now, i'll bathe later.” You reach up and take his hand, do a little wobble as you reconnect with the notion of having to walk, Thoma readily supplied his elbow for you to hold onto as well as you got your balance.

“Alrighty. Just hold on and don't shy away from leaning your weight on me okay? I've got you.” you two take a few tentative steps to test it out, walking seemed doable now.

“I'll send them off to bed, i'll be back shortly my lord.”

Ayato looked back at you two and gifted a smile, “Rest well then.” you did a slight nod in return.

Even with the support of Thoma and still retaining the ability to walk the short trip down the hall seemed so much more of a struggle then it should have. Not only was your body in dull pain but your mind was simply tired, overrun and everything slowly seemed to mesh into each other. Thoma was true to his word and kept you upright, guiding you to a neatly made bed and gently easing you into the cushioning. After 2 years of a cheap bed and your most recent nap being in the sand and hardwood floor the feeling of high quality bedding was sensational, a moment of respite from feelings and thoughts.

“You all settled in?” Thomas' voice sounded muffled in your half sleep state but you registered him with a nod.

“I'm glad…”

The cushions you lay on shuffled, his weight sat nearby you. “You know you really did scare me there, when I saw- when you were brought here in the state you were I didn't know what to do, something so unlike me. I didn't know if I wanted to rush for medical care or just to slump down beside you and cover you.” He leaned down, his head lay on the mattress beside your shoulder, his one arm wrapped around you, an awkward hug of one person sitting and another laying down. “At least I can do this now, please just let me indulge in this for a little, everything is just a lot to take in still.” He sighed out his tension then shifted his head to lean slightly on yours. “I know this is wrong of me but in truth I can be rather selfish. I want to be selfish here and not only show you how much I care for you but also how much I love you which is wrong because… because I don't love you. It would be insensitive to both you and myself to label this obsessive feeling as ‘love’ and I don't want to do that… Only now, only now will I be a little selfish and join in the delusion that this is love.”

…

“but I want to make this scalding passion of deranged obsession into the soft warmth I know it can be, of genuine endearment and not just an infatuation.”

He lifted himself to finally look at you, he had tears running down his face, “So you can't go. You can't leave me until that happens. You can't leave until I can properly say I love you, okay? I'll be here every step of the way, you can lean on me, you can trust me and I'll give you my everything so please give it your all and just… keep finding the incentive to keep going.” He pursed his lips in a strained attempt of a smile, gave up on trying and instead leant back down to give the crown of your head a kiss. He got up and stood by your side. “Sleep well, I'm sure tomorrow will be the start to a beautiful new future.” He closed the door and left.

If you had been in a more stable sense of mind there was a lot you could have responded to him, the not-so love confession, the odd descriptions of desperation and just how close he got but your mind was fazed, Thoma gave you nothing but comfort as you went to bed, he hugged you and told you it will be okay and that was nice, the feeling of the linin was nice, the chance to close your eyes was nice… He left you off with a nice feeling.

“All is settled then?”

“Yep, they should have no problem falling asleep, they were practically already unconscious once we got there.”

Ayato laughed and Thoma sat back at his original position, by now Ayato had taken out some late night documents to go over while waiting.

“So, did you tell them?”

“Hmm? Which part?”

“haha, your feelings Thoma, knowing you you would have.”

Thoma on reflex scratched the back of his neck and chuckled awkwardly at being so easily caught.

“Yeah I did though with the state they were in they probably didn't hear any of it.”

“Which is why you felt you could tell them hmm?” Ayato looked up to Thoma with a knowing eye, “You are just as bad as me you know.”

“haha, have I been caught? You really can't blame me though, I learnt all my skills from you.”

“And yet at times I wonder if you are even more skilled than I when it comes to swaying one's mind.”

“yeah…” Thoma dulled off, “I'm still confused about it all. I care, that part is undoubted and all the time we spent together really means something but I just can't put my hand on all these feelings. It's not what I think love feels like, not entirely. Haaaa, all I know is that I want to be by them and I guess that will do for now until I figure it all out.” Thoma shifted his weight and got more comfortable, “What about you though? Such feelings are just disruptive to you, right?”

Ayato hummed,”Perhaps but that is nothing I can't deal with and as you can see I am dealing with it. I do hope the notion of sharing isn't distasteful to you, I know we've met a consensus about this but I want to ensure we are on the same page here. Your friendship is much too important to risk over miscommunication.”

“haha of course! Your feelings are just as valid as mine.”

“Good.” Ayato smiled fondly then returned to his papers. Thoma sighed in mock exhaustion, “That's the face you pull when you're thinking about work. Haha, I will leave you to your important papers, do not work too much and fall asleep at your desk again, okay? You don't want to be ruining your back at such a young age.”

“haha. Yes Thoma, good night.”

“Goodnight my lord, just let me know if you need anything done alright!”

“You know I will.”

Ayato shook his head at his friends teasing, it is fun when Thoma is the one responding with tauts of his own. Thoma left Ayato to his business in the slightly dimmed room.

For as much as Thoma has grown around Ayato, for being the closest person to understand him and balance the position of respectful employee and casual friend, it is still funny to Ayato how he can still be so oblivious to things. Of course his mind is not only on work, however could it be when finally you were in his home, in his care and finally he can display his… love.

Rest is crucial for recovery, on any normal day you'd let guilt swallow you for staying in bed for as long as you have this day, waking up in the late morning and simply laying in bed till afternoon, this is peak sloth behaviour but in all you deserve it, you are on ‘holiday’ you are allowed to be a little lazy here. After waking up you had gone through quite a bit of internal conflict, between failing to ‘delete’ yourself of this world, revealing everything, going through the motions and now seemingly stuck here it's all just a lot to process. There is joy brought from the relief that you no longer must carry these burdens but also disgust that you have let the situation get to the state that it is in now. Everythings changed yet at the core nothing has. When your mind tired of thinking it just wallowed in the present feelings, how lovely the bedding is, how scenic the light looks coming from the window, how lovely the atmosphere of the room is, you had been left off with such a lovely feeling last night, odd considering the nature the night took, but for some reason everything just felt so comfortable when you let your mind just dissipated and ease into the surroundings. Eventually you figured you should get up, that there was enough strength in your legs to keep you steady. You got changed into the provided clean clothes and left to find someone to ask about getting something to eat. It's rather awkward walking these halls not knowing where you are meant to be but Thoma and Ayato said you were a guest so it should be fine. You reached the main clearing where Ayato's desk sat, where you three conversed last night, and as if nothing had changed since then Ayato was sat exactly where he had been left off, his eyes scanning papers and writing or editing others, he placed his brush down as you entered.

“Good afrternoon, I hope you were able to sleep well. Shall I arrange for someone to prepare you a meal?”

It's still slightly odd to be casual with Ayato after last night but if this is how things are going to go from now on then you truly do need to get used to it.

“Yes and yes please, thank you.” you gave a slight bow, you can't help being awkward no matter how much you tell yourself otherwise.

Ayato chuckled, of course he did, he saw the world in 4D compared to you, of course he found something funny. “Then please, have a seat. Any meal requirements?”

You word off your response and Ayato relays it to a staff member he calls in. After the order was completed Ayato went back to his work while also starting the conversation, hes easily noticed a pattern when it comes to your reluctance to initiate it in your own stead.

“Now that you have some free time from work, are there any activities you'd like to try? I want you to consider your time here as a holiday and for that I will provide whatever materials you need to make that happen.”

“Oh, no. I'd just like to relax for a bit before making any plans on activities.”

“haha, I meant anything to help with that. Do let me know when you think of anything, there are very few items I cannot provide so the options are yours to demand.”

“mhm…” you nod your head but say little else. Ayato lets this slide and allows you to sit in your peace. In time a well prepared meal is brought to you, you sit to the side of the room and eat with yourself as company, as it has been for the last 2 years. 2… years… Your previous life really is just gone now, everything is gone. You don't have anything, you don't have to do anything, you don't have- no you do have some things. You have a supportive friend, Thoma, you have… Ayato perhaps? He says he will provide for you. What else do you have?

Nothing, you cant even say you have your own life to live, you cant even do that.

Quickly you swallow down both your thoughts and the least of your meal, you've brooded enough today doing it more won't help. You thank the person who takes what remains of your meal and then rejoin Ayato who, much to your surprise, has not left his spot (the surprise being sarcastic since it would shock no one to see the head of a clan swamped in governmental affairs). You walk back up to his table almost as if awaiting orders or just something to tell you what to do, where you should be just anything to help alleviate the concern of not being where you belong. Ayato let his brush lay back on the table, he closed his eyes and sighed as an indulgent smile graced his face. When he looked back up to where you so awkwardly stood he showed only adoration shortly broken as he shakes his head with a chuckle.

“This may surprise you, I know this isn't the proper setting to say this,’ he stood up and made his way to you, “but I do so enjoy being unpredictable and I can't pass up on this opportunity.” he stood right in front of you, posture poised and proper but radiating only mischief. “My dear I must confess i've come to love you.”

Huh-

You feel a hand on your cheek. “There it is, what a pretty expression.”

huh…

The hand cups around your flesh, leather to skin, chill to warmth.

“It's true. I do adore you-”

“no…”

“hmm?”

“you can't…”

“haha, really I can-”

“No. You Can't!”

You grit your teeth as you feel your hands begin to shake. He can't, he can't love you, that's too much, too much of an impact. The change, the change that could come from him LOVING you, no its too much. Your hands move to grip the arm reached to you, “you- you can't. You just- that's not how… how any, any of-” you are crying again, surprising how your body still has enough tears to shed after everything. You can't feel your legs anymore, they aren't working again, your hands are shaking, they aren't working again, you can't feel yourself breath, you are not working again. You don't register yourself fall, you only see the rise of doom again. Everything was fine, you had JUST accepted your situation but you can't accept this. This is going to change everything- it's so hard to breathe…

Ayato kneeled down with you, he held his one arm to your waist leaning you into him as his other cradled the back of your head, fingers intertwining between the strands of your hair and stroking along in a calm motion.

“I was scared of this but I felt it best to tell you now. In truth I was devastated with the events of yesterday but held on for as much as I could to secure everyone, it is only fair I am open to you as you were with us.”

no-

“The love I have for you is true and it would be my greatest honour to support you as I do with my clan, with you as a part of the clan.”

no-

“I understand your fears, whatever concerns you have of the future changing. I want you to know I am well resourced to handle them.”

You can only cry.

“It is early for me to confess but it is my sign to you that I hope for a future where we may share such a sentiment. We can grow together and face your fears together.”

why-

His hand strokes feel reassuring…

"Your tears remind me of the rain, both comforting and disturbing. How I cringe at each drop yet yearn to hear them patter against me. My dear please do remember for each storm or drizzle you bring to me I will open my arms for whichever embrace you bring."

You lean back into him, he's got you.

“To know you are here is reassurance enough, I want- I do love you.”

For as comforting as his hold is, for how easy it feels to accept his words it all feels murky. You lay in the sun-touched waters of the ocean, warm as it engulfs you in the most pleasing manner but it is sticky, it clings to you and you cannot shake the feeling of the undercurrent grasping at your ankle slowly leading you deeper into its embrace, it's easier to accept.

Ayato is right, he's always right and here he is offering you his love. You have been given the best opportunity you could ever achieve considering your situation, you have been given the freedom to finally ‘live’. With Thoma supporting you and Ayato willing to address any threat that may come you have been given a beautiful new start at a paranoid free life and not only that but to be graced as to have someone love you as well? It's amazing, you are so lucky.

“That's it my dear, I am here at your side.”

You sink into his arms, your cries can finally stop. “If we believe that tomorrow will come, we can bear a hardship today. For today, tomorrow and everyday that follows you may cry, you may hurt but you will never be alone. Alright? Do not feel pressured by my confession, I merely want to show you that you are loved.”

Ayato sighs deeply and readjusts to hold you tighter, lays his head on yours and remains quiet but the stroking of his hand never stops. The time flows by easily, your arms stop shaking, your breathing returns, you can sense your body's weight so clearly but you can feel the pillar that is Ayato keeping you up.

"Thank you." you mumble eventually

Ayato hums in question

"Thank you for everything. thank you for… loving me"

You can feel the wide smile grace Ayato, “You needn't thank me for something so natural.”

You don't clearly register the world around you while enveloped in Ayato's hold but you can hear footsteps, someone speaking, someone sitting nearby. Ayato's shoulder is cool and refreshing, the hand that holds yours at the side is cosy and tender, you are so lucky.

An explanation blurb for those who want to read some of the reasonings for how i went about this

Header done by me cause i felt like whipping up a quick pixel art

#yahooworks #genshin x gn reader #x gender neutral reader #genshin impact ayato #genshin thoma #yandere male #genshin x reader #yandere thoma x reader #yandere ayato x reader #yandere ayato #yandere thoma #genshin x female reader #genshin x male reader

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starwrighter · 3 months

Text

Dude, get a restraining order

(Masterpost) (Ao3 link) (previous)

(Chapter #5 Ya'll)

Just like he said he would, Damian walked Danny to his earth science classroom. Guiding him through labyrinth-like hallways with a firm grip on his sleeve. It’s as if he thought Danny would slip through his fingers and be swept away by the crowd of students. Embarrassingly enough, that’s an accurate assumption of both his luck and his situational awareness. If he dared to imagine the future, prison bars, sigils, and the outline of a body immediately came to mind.

Forever he’d be thanking the ancients for Damian expert skills in navigating. Without him, he’d probably be curled up at the bottom of a staircase by now. Or in a death cult keen on taking over the world. It might seem ridiculously pessimistic, but freaky escalations like that happened to him all the time! He’d gone from searching for a gift he’d accidentally knocked into the zone to staging a massive prison break! Needless to say, he appreciated the company.

“Since your map is half a century out-of-date; I’ll pick you up around lunchtime,” Damian declared, curtly waiting for his response.

”Sounds good,” Giving the other boy a small wave and a thankful smile Danny headed into the classroom.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips as he read the cheesy geology jokes scrawled onto the board. The jokes were stupid in a way only teachers or dads could make them. Puns that could do psychic damage if you dare read them aloud. It’s beautiful. Leagues above a certain English teacher who butchered slang so brutally the lingo died on the spot.

The typical classroom posters lined the walls. A clear bucket full of rocks just sitting on the teacher’s desk as she started taking attendance. He sat close to the front furthest from the door. His blindside faced the wall, nobody could sneak up on him and he wouldn’t be trampled when the bell rang. Nobody could gawk pityingly at his face this way. Yeah, you could pry this spot from his cold dead hands.

It might seem extreme but people were…Weird when it came down to his disability. Some people treated him like he was utterly useless, incapable of doing anything on his own. They tried to “help” without bothering to ask about his condition or if he even needed help. It was so much worse the first few months after the accident. He was wheelchair-bound for that. -1/10 wouldn’t recommend.

He could say with certainty nobody wanted to be paralyzed. It’s jarring how differently treated him back then. They’d point out the obvious like he’s completely blind. Annoying, but understandable considering how gnarled his facial injuries were before they healed. It looked like somebody shot him in the face with a firework. The fact that he didn’t lose an eye was a medical miracle backed by new ghostly powers.

What wasn’t understandable was the complete lack of boundaries strangers had with him and his wheelchair. No amount of warning could’ve prepared him for the first time someone grabbed his wheelchair and moved him. He thought it’d been a one-time thing but it happened again and again without fail. Somebody would move him out of the way or try to “Help” him get to where he’s going. Several times without so much of a “Hello! Do you need some help,” people he’d never spoken to would grab the handles of his chair and start pushing him.

It’s infuriatingly dehumanizing and their heartbroken faces when he called them out tugged at his heartstrings. So many times he’d guiltily stewed over his responses. Jazz killed that guilt without so much as a thought when she put things into perspective. Even though Jazz had a habit of psychoanalyzing him it felt good when she said his anger warranted.

Nothing would ever feel as good as taking those first shaky steps outside his wheelchair though. The wave of overwhelming emotion when a group of baffled doctors told him his paralysis wasn’t as permanent as they previously thought was unparalleled. He cried a lot that day. Tears of joy, he’s not ashamed to admit that.

Never in his life would he have thought he’d be grateful for Dash’s bullying. But after a full two months of extensive physical therapy and multiple surgeries, he now knew were unnecessary anyone treating him like they did before was a godsend. Dash believed in a twisted kind of equality when it came to bullying, he’d pick on anyone he deemed a loser. For him, it’d been verbal harassment, but regaining the ability to walk gave him confidence. He was extremely cocky, snapping back with sarcastic venom at every dig made at him.

Slowly but surely, people stopped babying him. It was harder to argue that someone was helpless when they were actively picking fights with the star football player. After all the shit he’d involved himself in people treated him like normal. Normal in the sense he was picked on for being a loser with crazy parents.

He’d take that kind of bullying over the underhanded insults drowned in infantilism. As the months passed it felt like everyone forgot about his accident. His classmates would get angry at him when he couldn’t keep up with them and go green with envy when he got extra time for his assignments. People acted like he was getting special treatment just for the sake of it.

Like full body electrocution was something he could just walk off. They didn’t understand how walking and running were easier than standing in place. He was accused of faking it whenever he stood up from his wheelchair. People were offended that he still considered his left side blind when he could still see light in his peripherals.

Everyone he talked to said he was lucky. Lucky to survive, lucky to walk again without aid, lucky to have all the sweet powers, lucky lucky lucky. He didn’t feel all that lucky when his joints locked or when reading gave him migraines so bad he questioned if being alive was worth it.

He knows it could be worse. Dear god does he know it could be so, so, much worse. He could be fully dead. Charred to a crisp without even a blast shadow as evidence of his death. He should’ve been paralyzed from the neck down for the rest of his life. Braindead, hooked up to a machine as his family mourned their loss. The consequences of walking into that portal chamber were so much lighter than anyone could’ve imagined. So he dealt with it.

Things could be worse. At least he wasn’t in Gotham directly after his accident. Slipping through solid objects around people 100x more fearful of their surroundings was a wonderful way to speedrun getting his spine shattered by a guy in a bat suit. Or trafficked. Danny winces as he scribbles on a sheet of lined paper.

Someone is staring at him. The boy beside him was shooting daggers into his very soul. Hadn’t even bothered to hide the way his face twisted in suspicion when Danny turned to look him in the eyes.

“You need something?” Danny probed, praying this was just him misreading facial expressions.

“What the hell happened to you?” The other boy whispered, his tone harsh and accusatory.

“A shocking experience,” His half-assed response earns him a sharp glare and a sneer.

“No really, what happened?”

“Got zapped,” He shrugs, hoping his classmate would take the hint and drop it.

“That’s not what I meant,” The other seethed. “How did you get electrocuted?”

”Electricity,”

“The fact you’re dodging my question makes you look more suspicious,”

“Not trauma dumping on a stranger makes me suspicious?”

“It’s Gotham! We don’t get transfer students outside major cities and we certainly don’t get ones willing to stay for months! What are you planning?” He hisses, voice cracking as he tried and failed to make it sound lower.

“Trust me, if I had a choice to stay home I would’ve,”

“I don’t think I do trust you,”

“That's not my problem,” Danny shrugged. This guy spoke with the delusional confidence only the stubbornest flat earther could rival. He’s not a gothamite by any means but wasn’t the key unspoken rule of the city “Mind your damn business unless you’re a bat,” It’s on par with Don’t dig straight down but this guy clearly hadn’t learned of the former.

“Why do you have fangs?”

”Genetics,” What kind of question was that? Plenty of people had fangs. It’s a common trait, almost every person in amity has it!

”I don’t believe you,”

Heh? What’s the point in asking if he wasn’t going to believe him when he answered? It reminded him of a certain annoyance back home.

“Why do you-“

”Leave me alone!” He snaps. It’s like his classmates doing his best impression of a toddler! “Why?” “Why?” “Why?” Desperately trying to catch Danny in a lie and refusing to believe any response that wasn’t a confession of guilt. World's greatest detective over here, interrogating him for having the audacity to show up to Gotham with “Gasp!” Scars! Oh, the humanity! What a delinquent!

Ancients’ weren’t these prissy private schools supposed to be better than public schools? He walked to school today expecting to be murdered and or indoctrinated into a weird death cult not interrogated by Walmart Batman over here!

What was this guy expecting to drag out of him anyway? Blueprints for a deathray? A secret plot to break everyone out of Arkham? Secret rogue plans? He just got here today! What could he possibly be planning when his apartment didn’t even have toilet paper yet? They hadn’t even hit the 24-hour mark and he already had a conspiracy theorist pestering him.

“Why are you-“ Copycat Wes starts.

”Leave him alone you fucking moron!” A female voice snaps behind them.

“ You don’t understand! He-,” Sputtering to defend himself the girl glowered at him.

“Has done nothing to warrant your harassment,” She finished the sentence for him.

”No! He’s up to something I swear! Just look at him,”

The girl looked him up and down, her hazel eyes shooting daggers into his soul. “He looks like he’s a strong breeze away from a heart attack,”

Ouch.

"There is something wrong with him, you're just too dim to see it," He spits.

“Listen here you toe-eyed spaz, I don’t want to have to deal with Lightning Rod over here frying people to death because you wouldn’t stop tormenting him!” She seethed, jabbing her finger into Offbrand’s chest.

“How do you know he’s not going to do that regardless?”

She turns her attention back to him. “Are you going to start doing rogue shit?” She speaks calmly as if she’s asking about the weather.

He pretends to ponder for a second, checking his phone for dramatic effect. “ Nah, My sister says I’m not allowed to be a criminal outside my hometown. It’ll affect her chances of getting into a good college,” To his surprise, that’s an acceptable response for her.

”See, he’s fine.”

“Did you not hear a word he said?” Copycat sputters. “He just admitted to being a criminal,”

“And?”

“What do you mean, and?” The boy is red in the face now.

”That’s not our problem,” She replied bluntly.

“How is it not our problem?”

“It just isn’t,”

“It clearly is “ He emphasizes.

“This is why you keep getting mugged,” She snaps. “You’ve lived in Gotham your whole life, how have not learned how to mind your damn business,”

“I know how to mind my business. This is my business. You’re the one who butted in,”

“I’m a nosy bitch too. But I’m not the one who’s pretending to be Batman.” She’s smirking now, tapping her fingernails on her desk.

“I’m not pretending to be Batman,” He defends, hands clenched into fists. “I’m just doing my civic duty!”

“You’re delusional,”

“Well- at least I’m not a criminal,” Offbrand Wes sneered, whipping around to glare at him.

Oh great, he’s directly involved again.

“What a scathing remark, I’ll be sure to cry about it while I build my deathray,” Maybe he shouldn’t keep antagonizing. Offbrand looked about ready to strangle him.

“Now you’re pissing him off on purpose,” The girl behind them deadpans.

“ I am, thanks for noticing,” He’s giddy, a shit-eating grin on his face that would immediately get him shanked if he were outside right now.

Their conversation continues. The three of them whisper-yelling at each other. Offbrand Wes fumed at every one of Danny’s sarcastic responses, doubling down on his suspicions. With every absurd accusation thrown his way, the girl defended him. But if you listened in for more than a few seconds you could see she didn’t step to his defense for the sake of being nice. She just really hated this kid. Who could blame her?

The argument devolved into the two gothamites insulting each other in a way only rich kids could. Family names Danny barely recognized as important were thrown around like dodgeballs. Maybe if Danny kept up with celebrity drama he’d be able to tell who’s winning?

“Daniel Fenton? ” He almost jumps at the sudden interruption. He’d been so awestruck watching these two go at each other's throats that he hadn’t noticed anyone approaching them. The teacher is staring down at him; he smiles politely. Better to garner goodwill now rather than later.

”I’d like to see you after class today,” Oh god, already? What had he done to peeve this teacher? Did she hear them arguing? Offbrand was grinning, vindicated as Danny stumbled over himself.

“Oh- uh, will it take long? A friend said he’d help me find my classes since my map is a little off.” He offered up the map as proof. A sacrifice in hopes of leniency for whatever crimes he’s about to be accused of.

The woman looked over the paper, her relaxed expression dropping with the growing confusion.

“Can I see your schedule?” Danny hands it over without a word. Slowly, she ran her fingers against the brail of his schedule. The slow shift in her stance as her face paled felt like it’d been ripped straight from the trailer of a horror movie. He’s heard a lot of crazy things in his life but nothing would ever shock him more than what his teacher said next.

“We’re going be sued into the fucking ground,” Her words were barely audible, whispered behind a closed fist. Danny’s stunned silence was a thousand times louder. Teachers could swear here?! Isn’t that illegal? He sits speechless for an agonizing minute, unsure if he’s in trouble.

Wordlessly, she drags him to the front of the classroom. It feels like he’s being walked to the gallows.

“Do you mind if I keep this?”

”Yeah? I need to know my schedule,” Was wandering around clueless detention for Gotham schools? He hadn’t even done anything. Sure, he was a tad bit tardy this morning. That’s the plane's fault, not his!

“You don’t have a school iPad?” She sounds utterly exasperated.

“No,” He’s supposed to have a school iPad?

“Did they at least give you a proper school I.D.?”

”I hope so ” He shows her the plastic card he’d been given alongside his schedule. She scrutinized the card, glaring intently at every word. It’d taken hours to get a decent photo for that stupid card.

“There’s something wrong with it isn’t there?” Screwed over straight from the get-go. He’ll be haunting the front desk for the foreseeable future.

“No, no it’s fine,” She waves him off. “Leave the map with me and drop your schedule off at the front desk when you leave for the day okay?” He nods, that’s all he can do at the moment.

When the bell finally rang their teacher practically shooed his classmates out the door. Students clogged the doorway, a glob of tangled backpacks that slowly oozed into halls separating with miffed expressions. The tile floor couldn’t be more appealing as he waited for the bomb to drop. In a fancy school like this, the punishment for tardiness could be public execution. You never know.

The punishment for seeing the school guidance counselor had been public humiliation with a side of attempted murder. So capital punishment being carried out in schools wasn’t something he’d be surprised about. They’d better have a guillotine, he’s gotten pretty sick of the electric chair.

“Is your friend coming to get you?” The woman asks, still studying the map with a furrowed brow. She squinted at the paper holding out in front of her face like the distance would change the image.

“I think so, he dropped me off here,” Danny pauses, fiddling with the buttons on the cuffs of his sleeves. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”

She shakes her head much to his relief “Somebody’s going to be in trouble but it certainly isn’t you,”

Patterned knocking at the classroom door draws his attention from the woman. Green eyes met blue as Damian quietly entered the room.

“That’s him!” Beaming, he turns back to the teacher. “Can I go now?” She nods wordlessly. With her approval, Danny doesn't hesitate for a second. He darts over to the other boy with a relieved grin on his face.

“How was class?” He asks as they step out of the classroom.

”Unnoteworthy,” Damian hummed.

”Same,” I mean, technically he did get into a fight. But it wasn’t exactly something to write home about. Blows hadn’t been exchanged and he wasn’t gut-punched with a month's worth of detention. Yet.

The walk to the lunch room is heavily crowded. The cafeteria echoed with the chattering of a sea of teenagers. Their navy blue uniform made clusters of students indistinguishable from one another. Sam would hate it here.

“Hey, on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate lunch here?”

“Ten. I bring my food from home,” Damian responds quickly pausing afterward as if he’s contemplating a second answer.

“Fair,” He shrugs “nothing beats some home-cooked edible food,” Memories swirled through his brain like he’s a soldier fresh out of war. Reanimated turkeys, living mashed potatoes, gallons of milk that glowed bright enough to light an entire room.

“I reckon your parents’ aren’t the best chefs?” He can barely hold back a wince at the question.

”They try to be…” He sighs “Dad can make some killer fudge but everything else he cooks looks radioactive,”

“I suppose I can relate to that” Damian drawls, “Most of the family is barred from the kitchen without supervision,”

“That’s probably a good idea, learning to cook can be pretty messy,”

” I take it you’re the cook of your family?” Damian asks, eyebrows raised.

“Eh, kind of? I’m not the best but I can make edible food,”

“The bare minimum you know?” He laughs. “My parents are scientists so there wasn’t exactly time for cooking lessons while they were drilling us on safely handling their machinery,”

Damian looks him up and down, eyes locking on his face. “I don’t think those ‘drills’ did you well,”

“They did. I deliberately ignored what they taught me; fucked around and found out,” He shrugs. The past is the past and he’s learned not to change it for his own sake.

“I see…”

“Soooo…” Danny starts, the silence between the two of them awkward. “How would you rate the school-provided lunch?” He reiterated.

”I’ve only eaten the school-provided lunch once but I’d say it’s a four, maybe four point five if I’m being generous,”

”I’d settle for edible,” It’s a private school. Sure, it being in Gotham threw him off a little but what’s the worst that could happen? He dies? A bit too late for that.

“Your standards concern me,”

“Take that up with my school cafeteria; they gave me those standards,” To be fair, his parents contributed to that too. So had Nasty Burger. He had a love-hate relationship with food especially when it’s from a school cafeteria.

Call him paranoid but Casper High fed people dirt and grass plucked from the football field as a “Vegan option” Don’t even get him started on the rocks. Whole ass stones almost as big as his fist. They’d been expected to eat that?! Anyone who’d gotten nailed with one of those suckers when ‘food’ started flying, forever had his sympathy. Nobody was hospitalized but he’d seen the dents in the wall when they made him clean the cafeteria. Rocks were chucked in that food fight.

He’d gathered his lunch without much of an issue. The salad wasn’t sentient and his sandwich hadn’t screamed at him yet. He’d even managed to remember his lunch number at the end of it! Today’s a good day to be pleasantly surprised by the bare minimum. God knows he's gonna need the extra positivity.

Walking through the cafeteria, he spots Damian pretty quickly. The other somehow found himself one of the only empty tables in the whole cafeteria. When Damian waves him over it takes all his self-control to stifle a grin. For a split second, he’d thought he’d overstepped. Thought he’d missed the signs that Damian wanted him gone like Dad missed the signs that Vlad was a psycho.

“Are you really the chef of your family?” Damian questions.

“I am,” he grins, as Damian eyes him skeptically. “Does this-“ Danny gestures at himself. “Not look like the textbook example of a five-star chef to you?”

“Absolutely not,” Damian replied coldly without skipping a beat. “You look like you could burn a bowl of cereal,”

“I can cook, it just took a while to learn how,” You could only learn so fast when every ingredient is contaminated by a mystery cocktail of chemicals.

Even if he wasn’t a master chef he’s better than he was those first months after the accident. So many dishes shattered against the floor. He’d been scolded for each one. Anything he tried to hold slipped from his grasp before the ten-second mark.

“Could you give me any advice?” Damian asked.

“Try out some pasta recipes,” He comments between bites of his sandwich. “They’re hard to screw up and almost every cookbook has about a dozen you can practice,”

“Don’t go with overly complicated recipes straight off the bat. If you’re trying to make a three-course dinner when you can barely make a peanut butter jelly sandwich you’ll end up with a whole lot of wasted food and some scratched pans,” Danny warns, he’s lost count of the hours he’d spent scrubbing the charred food out of pots and pans.

“Alfred wouldn’t be happy about that,”

“Maybe you should ask ‘Alfred’ to teach you,” Danny comments, he wasn’t a tutor. That’s Jazz’s job. Sure, he’d like to be helpful but his journey in the kitchen involved resurrected coleslaw and radioactive dairy products. An experience few could relate to.

“I taught myself with YouTube tutorials, cookbooks, and spite; I’m sure you’d learn better with someone with someone there to give you feedback on what you’re doing.”

“Tch,” Damian glowered, shooting daggers down at his food.

“I’m serious!” He emphasizes, “Trying to wing it straight off the bat just isn’t a good idea,” He knew from experience. Food poisoning isn’t fun. Neither were the blisters you’d get from boiling oil.

“I’m sure many people ‘wing it’ in the kitchen,” Damian insists. “What if I’m a naturally born chef?”

”Didn’t you say you’re barred from the kitchen?” Damian’s cheeks turn a flustered red.

”I said most of my family is barred from the kitchen!” Damian defends like Danny’s ‘accusation’ is a slight against his character.

”Are you included in that ban?”

”…yes” The other boy whispers begrudgingly. He tries, he really does, but there’s no stopping the quiet giggle that erupts from his chest. Damian glares daggers at him cheeks rosy with embarrassment.

”I swear I’m not laughing at you,” He wheezes. It’s a lie and both of them know it.

”Go ahead and laugh, I’m not the one who fried myself,” Damian huffs.

Danny made jokes about his accident all the time. Much to everyone else's dismay his lab accident was his go-to event to joke about. No matter how many times he got scolded for “Making people uncomfortable” he kept it up. This wasn’t the first time someone had made a comment but there’s something about the way he said it. Something about the way he emphasized his words made Danny lose all composure. Collapsing into his folded arms, shoulder shaking with silent laughter.

”Hey…” The other boy’s voice is weaved with concern a guilty lift to his voice. Gently, he pokes Danny’s arm. Any worry drained from his features when Danny lifted his head to look at him.

”I thought I'd upset you!” Damian half shouts.

”Nah, I’ve got thicker skin than that,” He reassures.

”You're the first, Others tell me I come off rather… cold,”

“Really?” That’s a surprise. Danny couldn’t see it, then again he hasn’t known Damian for very long. After all that’s happened, he’d like to think he’s a better judge of character. The other boy didn’t give off Penelope spectra vibes. Nor did he act like a miniature Vlad. If anything, he reminded him of Sam.

“You’re a liar if you think I’m friendly,” He snaps scowling at Danny as if he’d just spat in his lunch or something.

”I’m not a liar, I just have a different definition of friendly than you do,”

“Does your definition of friendly happen to be rich?”

“Fuck no!” He snaps without thinking. Raising an eyebrow Damian stares at him green eyes scrutinizing his expression like there’s deeper meaning in his words. “Eat the rich,” He clarifies, as if that’s supposed to explain anything.

“Friendliness is compassion, a willingness to help, not sugar-sweet conversations with extroverted compassion,” It’s easy to put on a sweet voice while you screw someone over. Even easier to insult someone with a snidely worded ‘compliment’.

“You helped me without hesitation when you could have left me to fend for myself,”

“The situation was ridiculous, I had to help.” Damian defends

“ You didn’t have to,” he points out.

“Listen, I’m not trying to challenge your view of yourself; I’m just saying you’ve been nice to me so far,”

Damian relaxes, staring down at his lunch. “I pity you,”

“Pity me enough to give me a bite?” Danny asks, batting his eyes obnoxiously.

“Absolutely not,”

“Fuck.”

#dpxdc #deadserious #dp x dc fanfic #the boi's are getting along so well

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xxshadowbabexx · 1 month

Text

Of Saltwater and Shorelines, Chapter One; Catching Prey

*to the tune of the sofia the first theme song*

You were a princess in the kingdom doing alright

Then you became a pirate overnight

Now you’ve gotta figure out how to do it right

So much to learn and see~

Warnings: kidnapping, angst, eventual smut, eventual romance, eventual fluff, slow burn, fem reader

The air was cold when you went to bed, wrapped in your silk sheets and satin gown- nothing but the best for the Kings daughter, after all.

You went to bed dreaming of a life containing more. Of cerulean blue skies and navy seas, of people who wouldn’t treat you like a bird; pretty to look at, odd to speak, and belongs in a cage. You dreamed of sand beneath your feet instead of those stiff pointed toe shoes and dresses that allowed you to breathe.

You really felt like Alice, trapped at a gloomy party when you should have been running wild in wonderland.

But you mustn’t worry, your white rabbit will be here soon enough.

He was right outside your door, after all.

You were too busy being subconsciously swept away in the land of make believe to notice how your door pushed open. If you had, you would’ve seen the largest man you’d ever met stalking towards you, a skeleton mask covering his face. You were too lost in dreams of what ifs and what could’ve beens to feel the scratchy cloth he places over your face. And then after a few seconds, you were even further gone.

•••

The first thing you noticed when you woke was your sore arms, and how they laid above your head. Instinctively you went to pull them down and massage out the kinks, only to find yourself unable. It was then that you opened your eyes.

You found yourself facing cerulean blue skies and navy seas. How ironic.

“About time the princess woke up, aye?” and your head spun around to be met with the prettiest deep brown eyes and skin clearer than yours. There was a smirk playing the mans full lips, as he awaited your answer.

“Uh… yeah, I guess so,” you mumble out, not fully coherent thanks to the shock.

“A shy one, are we?”

You frown. You weren’t shy you were… well mannered and polite. It’s not your fault women are expected to make themselves little.

“I asked you a question, girl,”

“S-sorry-“ you murmured, hating the weakness in your tone “you could say that I am shy. Now where are we going?” you choked out, wanting to seem strong and unafraid. But deep down you were shivering your timbers, no pun intended

The man before you hummed in response to your question, letting it go unanswered as he looked you up and down before smiling to himself.

“I suppose I should get the Cap’n then,” he said, to you or himself you weren’t sure. Then he left you bound as he walked out your peripheral.

You used the moments alone to gather your thoughts, unsure when you would next be able to.

You were clearly on a boat, so you can assume that man is a pirate- not the highest up since eh mentioned getting the captain, but a pirate nonetheless. You must’ve been take. while you slept, although you still weren’t sure of the why.

Pirates had been a trouble in the kingdom the past several years, but what did that have to do with you? You were just the princess, a mere decoration until your father passed.

Even then, who’s to say you’re in a bad situation? You were miserable in the palace, so maybe this will do you some good.

“It’s a bloody nice view, ain’t it?” came a deep and scratchy voice from your left.

When you turned you saw a beefy man, lined with scars like they were jewels. For someone so big you’re not sure how you failed to hear him coming- must’ve been too lost in thought.

“Yeah, it is,” you smiled, looking at his eyes and how they matched the sky, except they were tinted with wisdom, and just like the waves you could tell there was something dark waiting in the trenches.

“Donnae get me wrong, lassie, appreciate yer lack o’ screamin’, but ye donnae seem scared enough considerin’ yer predicament,”

You shrug the best you can with your hands still bound, “Adventures are fun,” you smile cheekily.

He grunts disapprovingly, but you don’t miss the sliver of a smile that graces his features momentarily.

“Well yer a lil pocket a sunshine, ain’t ye? Now c’mon-“ he says, pulling out a knife and cutting the ties to your wrists, allowing your arms to fall limply to your sides, “-we oughta get ye ready fer the day, now follow me, bonnie,”

You did as you were told, you were on a boat after all, there weren’t many places to go. He led you into a small room filled with men. You counted five total. The captain, the man you had spoken to when you first awoke, a curly haired ginger who was on the shorter but stockier side, a brooding man with his face covered by a skull that you prayed wasn’t real, and a scruffy looking man with mutton chops and a hat.

You swallowed. They were going to eat you alive.

“Well ain’t she a dime,” the ginger once smirks, causing your the captain to snicker.

“Yeah, she a real looker, isn’t she?”

You can’t help the way you move to wrap your arms around your torso, suddenly aware of how you looked. Hair tussled from vivid dreams while sleeping and the salty air from the waves. Not to mention your nightgown barely reached mid-calf and showed off too much of your chest to be appropriate.

But these people were pirates- scoundrel. What did they care?

“Alright hen, we donnae got none of the frilly dresses you an’ yer kind wear. They’re utter rubbish if ye ask me. Donna see how one could move in em an they donna look pretty on ye either. But we ‘ave got some trousers ye can put on, as well as a pretty new blouse fer ye too. Stole it off of the South Port special fer ye,” The captain spoke and you paused, eyes narrowing.

“I am not wearing stolen clothes,”

And he smirked, like a devil or a madman you weren’t sure, “Tha’s alright hen. But we cannae have ye workin’ in tha little rag ye got on yerself. So it’s either what we’ve got ‘ere for ye, or ye can work naked,”

Well you definitely weren’t doing that, so begrudgingly you took the clothes out of your captains hands, making a point to not look at him as you did so. “Where do I change?”

“Right here, princess,” the scruffy one spoke again.

You didn’t want to. Didn’t want these men to see you naked, and you debated arguing, but what point was there? Where else would you change? Out in the open where anyone passing by could see? No thank you.

You sighed as you bunched up your dress at your waist before pulling it up over your head. You heard someone wolf whistle as the sight of your breasts, and you made quick work of pulling on the blouse, momentarily tangling yourself in the strings that crisscrossed along your chest before settling into your trousers.

“We would’ve left the room if you asked, sugar,” the ginger spoke, causing blood to rush to your cheeks. But why should you be embarrassed? You scolded yourself. They’re the ones who ogled you as you changed, not the other way around!

“Ghost,” the captain commanded “Show ‘er ‘round fer me,”

Without a word, the man deemed Ghost grabbed you by the arm surprisingly gently, although you didn’t have time to dwell on it before he was pulling you away.

Series Taglist

@v1x3n

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #john soap mactavish #call of duty x reader #john price #simon riley #soap cod #johnny soap mactavish #cod soap #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x reader #captain mactavish #pirate au

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sariahsue · 4 months

Text

Wherefore Art Thou My(stery) Lady

When a failed attempt to let Chat Noir down easy ends with Ladybug learning his name, she does what any lovesick teenager would do: teases him mercilessly. (Season 2/3 era.)

Chapter One

It figures, Adrien thought, as Ladybug carried him to safety. It figured it would be a dog-themed akuma. And that it would find the only cat-themed superhero in the city, even though he wasn’t currently transformed. It figured he would have to be rescued, cradled bridal style, and that Ladybug would hug him so tightly that--

Nope. Akuma. Focus on the akuma that was currently tearing through the streets, barking at people until they literally froze in terror, digging holes a hundred feet deep, and probably chasing his own tail. Focus on the lurch in his stomach as they jumped from building to building, the honking of the cars stuck in traffic, the flash of the sun reflecting off skyscraper windows. Focus on anything except for how warm she was, how firmly she held him, how her lips--

Nope, nope, nope. The wind in his hair. Birds chirping in the distance. Anything.

Ladybug bounded gracefully over the Agreste mansion's protective outer wall and landed on the grass, held him for a few seconds longer than was necessary (he noticed with elation), and then carefully set him down.

“Well,” she said, her smile wide and bright. “Stay safe! I wouldn't want anything to happen to you!”

Adrien watched her until she was nothing more than a red speck, then raced out through the gate, so he could find somewhere to transform. Ladybug needed her partner.

---

The akuma was easy to defeat, after Ladybug called her Lucky Charm. It was a box of caramel chocolates. No, they didn't feed any to the dog. Caramels made a wonderful, sticky trap when they were all melted together. Who knew? His genius partner, naturally.

Chat Noir picked up the (sadly not heart-shaped, just plain old rectangular) empty box and brought it over to her. “Look at what I fetched for you.”

“Thanks, Dog Noir,” she said, reaching out a hand for it.

He stuck out his tongue, preparing to toss the red and black box back to her, before realizing he could get one more pun out of it. He held it with both hands and gently placed it into her outstretched palm. He didn't let go until he'd caught her eye and said, in very serious tones, “For you, My Lady. And may I say, you look very fetching.” The box slid out of his hands, and Ladybug's expression morphed into a frown.

Within moments, the victim was back to normal, the holes had been removed from the street, and Ladybug was staring him down.

“I've told you,” she said.

“You've told me lots of things, Bug. You're going to have to be more specific.” Though he was fairly certain he knew what she wanted to say. Another rejection.

“You aren't going to win me over.”

Being prepared didn’t soothe the disappointment. “Would you mind if I kept trying anyway?”

Ladybug's face softened, and her hand went to her earrings as they beeped a warning. Two more minutes. “Thank you for the compliment, but it's not going to work.” She didn't sound exasperated, just sad. “I have to go.”

“See you at patrol later?” he asked as she threw her yoyo.

“Of course,” she said. “Keep in mind what I said, though.”

How could he not? Chat Noir sighed loudly once she was out of sight.

He still had three and a half minutes before he transformed back. Enough time to get poor dog-man home before anyone noticed Adrien was missing.

---

Patrol that night started out more formally than it usually did, and he knew it was due to his earlier declarations. Ladybug kept her distance from him physically and emotionally, only speaking when it was necessary and staying two or three rooftops ahead of him. He wasn’t getting the feeling that she was mad. Her tone was kind. And she always checked to make sure he was keeping up, even stopping to wait when she needed to.

Maybe she just didn’t want to give him any false hope.

Over the course of the hour, he steadily creeped closer to her. By the time they had reached the Louvre, they were side by side like they normally were. So naturally, Chat Noir let his curiosity get the better of him and asked a question that had plagued him for months. “So what's my rival like?” he asked. “Is he as funny and as handsome as me?”

“How should I know?” she said. “I can hardly see your face.”

Surprised by her sudden teasing, he quickly offered, “I could change that.” Which of course, he realized as soon as the words were out of his mouth, was about the most unhelpful thing he could have said.

Ladybug scoffed and took off, leaving Chat Noir to figure out how to fix his latest mess-up. She didn't seem too averse to answering questions, so maybe all he had to do was try again?

He stayed level with her, but gave her some space, choosing to run across the rooftops on the other side of the street. Headlights created a glow beneath them, a river of light that cast her in a warm haze.

After a few minutes of silence, he tried again. “I'm very handsome,” he said, trying to play it off. “Would you believe me if I said I was a superhero by day and a supermodel by night?”

“Pfft. No.” She stopped on a wide balcony and smiled at him.

He leaned over the edge of the roof to look down at her. “Maybe I just play one on TV then.”

“Unlikely.” She threw her yoyo and zipped away.

“No, really, what's he look like?” he called after her. “You can tell me that much.” They usually ended their patrol near Collège Françoise Dupont, which was convenient for him. And ever since Alya had discovered the little tidbit about Ladybug's history textbook, he’d started to suspect that the ending location was more than just a convenience for her, too. She probably lived nearby. They landed on the school's roof at the same time, and he thought she would just take off after that question, but for the second time, she surprised him. She sat down and leaned back on the flat top of the building. To the civilians below, only her feet would be visible, dangling over the edge. Chat Noir stayed as close to her as he dared, sitting by her knees, close enough to touch her if he reached, and stared down at the school’s stairs beneath them.

Ladybug chewed her lip like she was thinking. Did that mean she was figuring out her answer? Or was she figuring out how to say no nicely?

“He looks... a little bit like you,” she said, letting her feet kick against the side of the building.

“What if he is me?” Chat Noir asked. He hesitated before scooting closer, not wanting to push her. If she ran off again, she'd probably just go home.

“But the chances of you being the same person are really slim.”

“So what does he look like then? White kid? Blonde?”

“Green eyes, too,” she said.

“So he’s probably me.”

“Will you stop?” She held both arms straight up above her and then let them fall wide to either side of her. “There’s thousands of people in Paris that fit that description. He’s not you.”

“You said it yourself. The chances are slim. But that implies there’s still a chance.”

Chat Noir was trying really hard to convince himself that he was just teasing her. There was no way he was lucky enough to really be the guy she liked, but his mind drifted back to earlier that afternoon. The way she had held him when he wasn’t transformed, smiled at him, made sure that he stayed safe. What if the boy she liked was Adrien Agreste?

What would it be like to walk hand-in-hand with her at school? Or have plans together on the weekend?

It would hurt more to hope if he turned out to be wrong, but he couldn't help himself. She made him hope like nothing and no one else in his life could.

“Would it be bad if we were the same person?” he asked after it was clear she wasn’t going to answer his last comment.

“Not bad,” she said. “Just weird. You’re really different.”

“I thought you said we were both devilishly handsome, amazing, with perfect comedic timing–”

Ladybug laughed and shoved him. “Perfect comedic timing? You?”

“As evidenced by your laughter right now.” He gestured to her. She looked over at him from where she was lying down.

Her smile was glowing, brighter than the cars passing them on the street. Brighter than the moon. “You’re both wonderful people, I’ll give you that. Sometimes dorky, but I’m happy to know both of you.”

Chat Noir felt his face going hot at the unexpected praise.

“And sure, you look kind of similar. There. Are you satisfied?”

“We go to the same school,” he blurted out. “What are my chances now?”

“Chat!” She bolted upright to face him, eyes wide. “You can't just give away information like that!”

“I didn't-”

“We go to the same school?” she shrieked.

“I don't know!”

“So what made you say that?”

“Well, I thought maybe–” There was no way out of the mess he’d just created. Ladybug was on her knees, both hands on the roof of his - probably their - school. “I... the textbook?” he finished timidly. Even if that had been a false lead, he’d effectively just told her which school he attended, and he wasn’t sure how she would take it.

“Alya!” Ladybug growled, rubbing the heel of her hand into her forehead. When she faced him again, there was a big red spot.

“So... you really do go to my school?” he asked, patting a patch of roof next to him.

“You... you've known this... Alya released that video ages ago. You knew we went to school together, and you haven't come looking for me?”

The fragility in her tone caught him off guard. “Of course not,'' he reassured. “What kind of privacy invader do you take me for? I ought to be offended!” (The irony of the statement wasn’t lost on him.)

Ladybug didn't laugh, just quietly said, “Thank you. We go to the same school. Huh.”

The crisis he’d unintentionally created seemed to have passed. Hope bubbled up again. Most kids their age had crushes on people from school. “My chances?”

“Are slightly increased, but I'm fairly certain you're two different people. In fact, I'm not even sure we've met at school. I would have remembered meeting someone as loud and obnoxious as you.”

“Unlikely,” he muttered, but it was quiet enough that she hadn't heard him. “So this guy, that may or not be me...”

“He's not you.”

“What do you like about him?” He acted so differently at school. He didn’t think she would recognize him. Would he recognize her description of him? Maybe she would let it slip that the boy she was crushing on was a celebrity or famous or something.

It was hard to ignore the niggling doubt that said raising his hopes would only hurt more later.

“You really want to do this to yourself?” she asked, echoing his thoughts.

At the very least, he’d learn more about his Lady. What had won her over so soundly? (Maybe he would have a better shot with her if he knew that.) “Sure.”

“He's kind,” she said immediately. “He's the type of person who would help someone out even if they hated him. When we first met he went out of his way to apologize to me for something that was my fault. And he has the most amazing amount of patience I've ever seen.” She smiled while Chat Noir frowned. That didn’t sound like him.

“I mean,” she continued, “he has enough patience to deal with C-- this student that no one likes. And he's just so gentle and sweet and... yeah.” She sighed. “That's why I like him.”

She stared out over the lights of the city, but he was certain that she wasn't seeing a single building. Her face was peaceful and shining. It was a good look for her.

“Even if it turns out he's not me, he sounds like a nice guy.” He wasn't as great as Ladybug described, not nearly as kind or the well of unending patience, though that's what he tried to be like.

Then again, how many blond, green-eyed, white boys were there in the school? His chances had to be pretty good, didn't they?

“What makes you think he's not me? The personality difference?”

“I've seen you two in the same place at the same time.”

Chat Noir's heart sank. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up. He knew he shouldn't have. And yet he had anyway. His ears drooped, and he grabbed his tail and started weaving it through his fingers, just to have something to do.

“Oh, Kitty.” Ladybug looked over at him. “I'm so sorry.”

“Maybe... maybe you just thought that you--”

“Please don't,” she said. “Please stop doing this.”

“But maybe you just thought--”

“Chat Noir!”

He turned to face her, slowly, deliberately. “I'm not giving up. If he's not me, I'm going to keep trying to win you away from him until you ask me to stop.”

Ladybug shut her eyes in defeat. “I should.”

But she didn’t, the hopeful piece of his heart whispered. He really wished it would shut up right now.

“Would it be easier for you if I did?”

“I–” What did he want? He felt at war with himself. Determination to keep going. But giving up might eventually make the pain of rejection stop.

She was looking at him with so much compassion and caring. The constant declarations annoyed her sometimes. He knew that. But she didn’t hold it against him and still asked if he was okay. Despite everything, he loved her. That was that. “I’d rather be able to express myself. But only if it doesn’t bother you.”

She shook her head, eyes down. “It’s fine.”

“Who is he?” he asked.

“I already told you, I can't tell you,” Ladybug said. “We can't know anything about each other. It's--”

“Then we can’t know for certain that he’s not me.” It was false hope at this point, but it was the only hope he had, so he clung to it. She'd seen them together. Maybe he had saved this guy’s life.

She stood. “I'm sorry, Chaton.” She zipped away without another word, up and over Marinette’s bakery and out of sight.

Chat Noir didn't feel much like being a superhero right now, but he didn't feel like going home so early either. He slowly climbed down the walls, detransformed, and trudged his way back to the mansion on foot, his hands in his pockets.

---

The next time he saw her was two nights later, their next patrol. She had arrived first, which was unusual, and was pacing at the top of Le Grand Paris, waiting for him. The sting of her rejection had been his companion for the past 48 hours, and it flared up a little when she turned her bright, blue eyes on him.

“Evening, My Lady,” he said, bowing elegantly. “I hope you've--”

“I have an idea.”

Chat Noir was still bent at the waist, and the grandeur of his gesture was broken by his sudden jerk upright. That sounded urgent. “What kind of idea?”

“Uh...” Ladybug didn't usually hesitate like that, and he realized that it probably hadn't been urgency in her voice, just anxiety. Ladybug kept going. “How I can prove you two aren't the same person without revealing anybody's name.”

“Oh.” Stellar way to start a patrol.

“Here's my plan. So after I went home the other day, I felt bad that you felt bad and then I had to figure something out, so that you could be happy again, and I promise I won't go looking for you.” Her words tumbled and tripped over themselves. “And I thought that it would probably be best if you could just stop thinking the way you were thinking, but no one’s identity will be compromised, and this is kind of dangerous if I’m wrong, but I’m not wrong, so if you don't want to do this it's fine, and of course you couldn't be the same two people, and--”

“Ladybug.” He hadn’t heard her babble like that for at least three months. Whatever her plan was, she was obviously presenting it to him against her better judgment. Her arms curled around herself, like she was terrified. Her hands were tight balls.

“I went through all of last year's yearbook. Are you in there?”

He nodded slowly, uncomprehending. “Yes?”

“I checked everyone, well, all the boys who look like the two of you. There's a bunch of people who match your general description, and none of them have the same initials. And no one has the same first initial as him, so I thought-- you could tell me what your first name starts with, and...”

And she could crush his heart once and for all when it didn’t match.

Or, his traitorous heart whispered. Or maybe…

“Don't worry about me,” he said, resigned. It was a silly hope. He would just go back to his original plan of winning her over.

Ladybug hugged herself tighter, fists clenched, staring at his shoulder. “Are you sure? Because we don't have to do this.”

He squared his shoulders to brace himself. “A.”

“A?”

He nodded.

“Your last name?”

“What do you need it for? You said no one else has the same first letter.” She didn't answer, and he couldn't tell if this was a good sign or a bad sign.

“Another A,” he said.

Aside from her fists loosening slightly, she gave no visible reaction, though he thought he heard her breathing pick up a little.

“Ladybug?”

“Ladybug has to go home now,” she whispered.

He blinked. “What about patrol?”

Without so much as a backward glance, she slipped over the side of the hotel. He watched as she skittered away over the rooftops and toward the direction of the school. What was that reaction? It looked bad. Those were bad feelings she was having. Did she leave so she wouldn’t have to hurt him again? Or some other reason?

Chat Noir finished the patrol route on his own, not sure if he should feel hopeful or despairing.

Ch 2

---

Author's note: Hello! Welcome to my Big Bang contribution! This story has seven chapters and will update every Saturday! Thank you to @toadashi who did some great artwork for it! To @cardiac-agreste for beta reading. To @jennagrinsoverml, for being so interested in this half-formed story that I eventually finished it. And to @mlbigbang for hosting this event!

Here is the artwork for this fic! :https://www.instagram.com/p/C1l539rowbO/?igsh=cmloaWRyaWVkdThv

#ml #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #ladynoir #fanfiction

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hannie-dul-set · 9 months

Text

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS [2].

SYNOPSIS. wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

PAIRINGS. choi soobin, choi beomgyu, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. housemates! au, rom-com, sitcom, reverse harem time baby. WARNINGS. mentions of dicks and balls and nudity, mentions of sex, mild manipulation, someone cries at one point, the usual amount of swearing. WORD COUNT. 3.3k.

TAGLIST. @cerealdreamwriter @tyongff-ff @dinonuguaegi @certifiedmoa @blueberrgyuu0 @primantha @blu3bell4 @nunugget @hoshi-is-ult-bbg

NOTE. whatever the bet they have is, it's definitely one of the three things you're thinking about. per usual, please let me know what you think about this trainwreck so far!

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 2 — the inevitable disasters of living with six men.

FOR THE MOST PART, LIVING IN YOUR NEW TEMPORARY HOME HAS BEEN FINE. It’s similar to living in the dorms, but a lot more hygienic and a lot less stressful considering you don’t need to use your earplugs at the dead of night anymore. Your housemates all surprisingly tend to themselves, minding their own business on the day-to-day.

Jake makes sure you feel welcomed by introducing you to the extensive LEGO collection in his room which is taking him more than a week, you have never seen Soobin come out of his room again after he got jumpscared by your Victoria’s Secret on the first day, and Heeseung smiles and says hi to you but never fails to demonstrate his superhuman agility by swerving out of your way when you cross paths in the narrower hallways, making sure he never touches you. You also hear questionable screams of anguish from Beomgyu’s room whenever you come down for water at 3 a.m., you often have breakfast cereal with Jay and he always makes sure to refill your Cheerios while saying “to make your day a lot more cheery-oh,” and sometimes— when you’re particularly lucky— you and Sunghoon would emerge from your bedrooms at the same time and he’d stare you down, like usual, until you finally smile at him and he breaks into a cold sweat before either retreating back into his room or downstairs.

It’s great. Living with Jake and his friends is so great.

Until it’s not. Because you’re living with six men, and that statement in itself is bound to harbor problems.

Case in point—

“Who the fuck ate my ice cream?”

It’s early in the morning. Heeseung, Beomgyu, Jake, and Jay are all gathered around the kitchen island as you witness the murder scene in the fridge. You turn around, revealing the opened pint of mint chocolate that has a very noticeable chunk taken out from its creamy, minty center. “Not me.” Beomgyu is the first to defend himself. “You’re the only one in this house that even likes that toothpaste shit.”

“Say that again.” You slam the fridge door shut, looking him dead in the eye. “I dare you. Say that shit again.”

You wait. You continue staring at Beomgyu until he breaks into a nervous sweat and lets out a cough after tearing his head away. A victorious grin stretches on your face. “Thought so, punk.”

“That’s not fucking fair. You can’t pull that crap!”

“What crap?” you press further. Beomgyu isn’t able to challenge your stare again so he resorts to hopping off the stool with a groan and disappears into the living room. That’s another victory in your books. “Anyway, seriously— which one of you ate my ice cream? I won’t get mad. Just be honest and tell me.”

Jake fidgets in his seat. “Are you sure someone ate it?”

“There’s a hole! There’s literally a singular hole!” You’re sure one of them took a bite before realizing their major fuck up and discreetly returning your pint into the freezer. Jay chokes back a giggle. The three of them are looking at each other. Oh my god, they’re all children. “Heeseung. Do you know what happened?”

The man in question suddenly jolts in his seat and straightens his shoulders. “N-no, no I don’t,” he sputters out. “I really don’t know.”

“I think he does,” inserts Jay.

“I think he does, too.” You settle the violated ice cream on the counter before marching up to the panic-stricken accused. He tries to run away, but you’ve memorized all his evasive tactics. You know how this bastard operates, so you slam your arm down over the counter as a barricade before he could book it. “Heeseung, did you kill my ice cream?”

“I did not!” he exclaims.

“Who did it, then?”

“I don’t know— ask Sunghoon!”

Just in time. Sunghoon is mid-stride into the kitchen, but makes an immediate u-turn the moment he hears his name. You’ve just about had it. You manage to grab him back by the scruff of his shirt and yank him down with a harsh tug. “Holy shit,” Jake breathes out. Sunghoon tries to pry himself off with a grunt, but you have an iron grip on his collar.

“Talk,” you spit out. “Tell me who ate my ice cream. I’ve had enough of your silent treatment, Park Sunghoon. You better spit it out, right now.”

This time, he succeeds by grabbing you by the wrist and almost flips you over, before settling with twisting your arm instead. “I don’t fucking know!”

“Ow!”

You hold your forearm close to your chest. That was the first time he’s ever spoken to you and you would’ve thought his voice was pretty until he decided to cuss you out. “Well damn, you don’t need to be a total bitch about it.” Sunghoon’s expression sinks. He grumbles and turns back out of the kitchen. You let out a sigh, quickly returning your attention to the three boys on the counter before they can get the opportunity to run away. “None of you are leaving until you tell me who the culprit is.”

Heeseung squirms nervously under your stare. The other two are out of hot water because they don’t seem to know anything. It takes him thirty seconds to break. “Soobin hyung said— said something about making a mistake so I think you should— wait, hold on!”

Too late. You’re already marching up the stairs. You can hear the scrambling of footsteps following after you, but you don’t stop, not until you reach his room and you lift your fist up to gingerly knock on Soobin’s door. Two knocks. And then three. You hear the knob click before a small gap cracks open— wide enough for you to flash the hesitant Choi Soobin a malicious grin. Within a second, all the color drains from his face and he tries slamming the door back shut, but you wedge your foot into the gap quick enough to stop him.

Fuck. It hurts like a bitch. You’re biting down your tongue and trying your best to maintain a smile. “Let’s talk, yeah?” You kick the door open and Soobin stumbles back to avoid the violent swing.

It’s the first time you’re entering someone else’s room. You hope you don’t get sued for breaking and entering.

“I believe we have yet to formally introduce ourselves to each other, Mr. Choi Soobin, but you see, there has been a conundrum,” you start, walking into his personal space, inch-by-inch, step-by-step and he slowly backs away. “A crime scene, if you will. Yesterday, on my way home from work, I bought a delicious pint of mint chocolate ice cream from the 7-Eleven just outside the subdivision. You’ve been there, right?”

The back of his legs hit the cushion of his bed when there’s no space left for him to back into. “Soobin.” Your voice is sharp, slicing into the air, and Soobin stumbles back onto the mattress. “Have you been there?” you repeat your question. He nods, throat bobbing when he swallows down nothing.

Maybe you’re pushing it, but you’re having way too much fun. Let’s just say you’re getting even. “Well, I left that pint of ice cream untouched in the freezer because it was already really, really late at night,” you continue. “I intended to eat it this morning, but imagine my surprise when I opened the pint to find a huge, gigantic hole in the middle! Almost as if someone dug a spoon and stole a bite of my mint chocolate ice cream.”

Soobin flinches everytime you hiss out a word with too much enunciation. You’re practically looking down on the giant man. His face is drenched in guilt. He’s got nowhere to run now.

“Do you know what happened, Soobin?”

Too much. Maybe you pushed it a little too much this time because all of sudden— he’s in tears. He’s actually fucking crying.

“...Soobin…?”

“I—I didn’t know it was yours! It was— it was late at night and I was half asleep, so I—I—I thought it was the choco chip ice cream I bought the other day, put when I put it in my mouth, it tasted horrendous, and that’s when I knew I did something horribly wrong.” There are fat tears rolling down his flushed cheeks and he’s close to breaking into a fit of hiccups. Oh no. Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I’m sorry, I’m so—sorry, please forgive me, I—”

“H-hey— it’s fine, it’s alright, I was just messing around!” Your palms and fingers are now all wet trying to console him while wiping off his tears. The last time you had to comfort a grown man was when you watched Hi Bye, Mama! with your friends, so needless to say, you’re lacking in that skill department and are thus, also freaking out. The only thing you’re getting out of this is the discovery that Soobin’s skin is unfairly soft. What the hell is his skincare routine? “It was a joke! A joke! You know what, you can have all my ice cream from now on! So, please just stop crying—”

“Oh my god.”

You snap your head back to see the rest of the boys gathered outside the door, but that’s the least of your concerts at the moment because you think you’ve just traumatized Soobin a second time within two weeks you started living here. “You monster. You made Soobin hyung cry,” Beomgyu announces from behind, and you shoot him a glare.

“Do you want me to make you cry next?”

“I think I’m good.”

Soobin finally calms down after that and you’re all subsequently kicked out. You knock on his bedroom door the next day with three more pints of ice cream (different flavors) as a peace offering and though you’re sure the both of you are cool now, he still starts sweating when you try to make eye contact with him. You also haven’t caught the bastard that keeps on depleting your kisses stash yet, but you’ll find him eventually.

And that was just one of your problems. The next issue you have is a little less dessert related, and little more—

“Fuck! Put some pants on, for shit’s sake!”

The amount of times you’ve almost seen a pair of balls hanging around shouldn’t be legal. You finally decide to round them all up in the living room for a discussion one day because it’s been getting out of hand.

“Listen,” you start your speech. The six of them are sitting around the sofa as you stand in front of them, arms crossed, and all. “I understand that you’re all used to living by yourselves for a very long time now. Trust me, I really do. But to be completely frank, I also really don’t want to see any dick and balls outside the bedroom, you know? I get enough unsolicited dick pics already.”

Jay looks like he wants to say something. “So, does that mean it’s okay if it’s inside the bedroom?” You give him a look. He politely puts his hands on his lap. “Sorry.”

“Anyway,” you continue. “Old habits die hard. I understand that. But someones these habits need to be broken for the sake of a peaceful cohabitation. That is why I thought of a countermeasure.” You tap on the large jar that’s been sitting on the coffee table since their arrival. All eyes are on the container. “Every time someone accidentally flashes anyone— of course, that includes myself— they have to put money in the Preservation of Dignity Jar as a penalty.”

“PD&J.”

“Yes. Thank you for your input, Jay. Jake, you’re raising your hand?”

Jake lowers his arm and clears his throat. “Who gets the money once the jar is full?”

“Very good question.” He looks proud of himself. You give him a smile. “All the money goes to me because of how much you guys have violated my eyes within two weeks of living here.”

“That makes sense,” Sunghoon nods at your proposal. Of course he does. He’s the biggest culprit out of the lot.

“That’s not fair!” Beomgyu interjects. “It’s not like I want you to see my dick!”

You give him a smile and he flinches back down into his seat. “So, is it my fault for walking into an unlocked bathroom?”

“Knock first!”

“I do, and you bitches never fucking answer!”

“Okay!” A clap resounds in the room. Heeseung makes an attempt to resolve the spat. “How about we all get the money in the jar?”

“None of your socialist bullshit, Heeseung. The most deprived should get all the money in full.” He winces the moment you step a little too close. You let out a sigh. “State your miseries. Soobin, you start.”

He’s been quietly fiddling with his thumbs since the beginning, and the sudden flush of attention isn’t helping his nervousness. “I...I have this Gojo figurine that I’ve been eyeing since last month, and—” Soobin cuts himself off. You raise a brow. He looks away. “N-nevermind. You can have the money.”

That was three more seconds of eye contact than usual. You should give him a pat on the head for that. “I’m in debt,” Beomgyu quickly presents his case. “I borrowed money from Jay and I need to pay him back.”

Jay goes next. “I’m a couple hundred thousand won short because Beomgyu borrowed money from me.”

“Those don’t sound very misfortunate, I’m afraid.” Jay says he totally, absolutely agrees with you and Beomgyu clicks his tongue before grumbling in the corner of the couch. Your eyes land on Jake, who hesitantly drawls out that he wants to buy a new beanie. Sunghoon spends too much time thinking so you eliminate him for being slow. “Heeseung, would you like to say something?”

“I just think we should all—”

“My turn,” you cut him off before he tries to settle for equality again. “My dorm caught on fire. I’m half-homeless right now. If there aren’t any objections about me being the most in need out of all of us, we can agree that I’ll be the one keeping the money.” They don’t dare make a noise. You grin. “It’s a pleasure doing business with all of you. Please feel free to walk around in your underwear as much as you’d like. Thank you.”

When you saunter out of the area, you hear Beomgyu rallying them to protest because this felt like an unfair arrangement, but by the end of the week, the jar is already a fourth filled with sweet, sweet cash and you have successfully established the steady flow of your passive income. Was that your intention in the first place? Perhaps, but they have to compensate you somehow for everything your eyes have been forced to witness.

But there is yet another pressing problem in your midst. This one, you’re not entirely sure you have a solution for.

“Hey,” you greet Jake after he opens his bedroom door for you. He invites you in and you realize he’s building an addition to his very extensive LEGO collection, so you’re careful not to aim your ass on any of the bricks scattered on his bed.

“What’s up?” he asks with a curious smile.

“How did you get your friends to agree with me living here?” Jake cocks his head, eyebrows furrowed. “I mean, it’s kinda obvious that they’re not exactly comfortable with me being around.”

“Are…you sure you’re not just misunderstanding?”

“Jake,” you exhale. “One of them picks a fight with me whenever he gets the chance, another one doesn’t even want to fucking talk to me. The other two are either desperately avoiding me or flat out think I’m about to hit them when I raise my arm for a wave. And aside from you, I can only hold a normal conversation with Jay, but those conversations aren’t exactly normal, either.” You have no idea if he hasn’t noticed this, or if he simply just wants to feign ignorance, but Jake looks like he’s in very deep thought. You sigh again. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here? I can just find another place to stay if I’m being too much.”

You must’ve hit a nerve, because he suddenly snaps into panic. “No! I mean, you really don’t have to go! Trust me, having you here is important to all of us.”

Now, that’s suspicious. You narrow your eyes at Jake, and he presses his lips together and looks away. Something is definitely up and you’re not going to give up until your dear friend voluntarily spills out his guts or until you make him spill it.

“Important?” you prod. “What do you mean by that?”

He starts sweating even more. “I—I mean, those four are just shy, you know? They’re not very good at expressing themselves. And—and you’re getting along pretty well with Jay! They all have absolutely zero problems about having you here, I can guarantee you that.”

You continue staring at him for a little longer, throwing out a hum and sigh every now and then to get his gears grinding. When you deem him scared shitless enough, you finally start, “I see.” There’s something wrong in the tone of your voice and he knows it. Jake swallows nervously. You finally crack him. “Jake, I’m really disappointed.”

There it is. You watch as he crumbles right before your eyes. “I really expected better from you, you know?” A little more. “Of all people, I didn’t think you’d be the one to put me into this kind of situation. I mean, we’ve been friends for a good while now. No, I’m not angry! I’m just really, really disappointed.”

“Hear— hear me out!”

Almost.

“I have nothing to do with the bet, I promise! I’m just an unwitting participant, so please don’t get mad at me! I’ll tell them to quit it, I really will!”

Gotcha.

“Oh, so there’s a bet?”

It’s like you drained all the life out of him within a matter of seconds.

“H-huh?” he stammers, eyes batting in confusion. “Didn’t you say you were disappointed? Haven’t you found out about the whole bet thing?”

“I found out thanks to you.” It probably isn’t a good thing if Jake is this terrified about you finding out. You lean back, palms sinking into the push of his blankets as your friend continues to eye you nervously. “How about you tell me more about this interesting bet? Does it have something to do with me having to live with all of you?”

He’s nipping on his bottom lip. It’s becoming more evident that whatever this bet is— you surely have the right to know. “I’m sorry,” he finally spits out. “I—I can’t say— at least not at the moment! But, I promise it’s nothing bad! It’s completely harmless and not dangerous at all!”

It’s definitely something bad. “Alright.” You get up. He instinctively blocks your way and panics again when he realizes what he’s doing. You click your tongue. “I’m not going to force it out of you if you don’t want to tell me. You’re still the owner of the roof I’m living under, so I can’t exactly try to fight you, you know?”

“So, you’re not leaving?”

Jake is wearing his puppy dog eyes and you honestly start to feel bad. You sigh for the umpteenth time and raise an arm, letting your fingers pad through his soft hair when you pass in front of him, walking towards the door. “I’m not,” you assure. “I am finding out about this god damned bet eventually, though. It’s honestly worrisome how easy it is for you guys to crack under pressure.” Flashbacks consisting mostly of Soobin and Heeseung flit through your mind. You’ll try to mess with them a little less from now on.

You exit Jake’s room with a new problem on your plate and your previous one unsolved. It just keeps building up more and more.

To be honest, the biggest problem you expected to have upon discovering that you’d be living with six grown ass men would be them bringing in girls way too often for your personal comfort, but so far that hasn’t happened yet. Something tells you that you don’t need to worry about that anymore.

#enhypen x reader #tomorrow x together x reader #enha x reader #txt x reader #choi soobin x reader #choi beomgyu x reader #lee heeseung x reader #park jongseong x reader #sim jaeyun x reader #park sunghoon x reader #enhypen scenarios #tomorrow x together scenarios #enha scenarios #txt scenarios

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months

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Malleus, Deuce: Like Mother, Like Son

BRO'S STILL MAKING THE "ARE YOU LOST BBY GHORL" FACE … Malleus’s birthday hits different knowing what I know now 💀 ALSO THE FACT THAT DEUCE SAID "THAT" ABOUT MALEFICENT VS THE HUMANS IS... (trying to keep this wording vague so as to not spoil people who haven’t gotten there yet)

It’s nice to see Malleus and Deuce in the vignettes, I feel like they don’t get to interact that much (which is a shame because I think their dynamic is cute). They had a chapter together in the manga anthology too! I’m glad they could hang out some more.

A Tale as Old as Time.

The princess and her prince were picture perfect in the painting.

The woman, with golden curls that tumbled down her back. Her cerulean gown spilled to the polished floors like a fabric waterfall, the tiara in her hair catching the soft evening light. She gazed up at her lover's warm, twinkling eyes, and smiled.

The man, brunette, locks falling loosely across his forehead. He was handsome in a red tunic with a high black collar, a crimson cape billowing out behind him with each step he took. His gaze was locked with the princess's, his one and only.

Onlookers gathered in a ring around the two, spellbound by how they danced, bodies twinning like threads bound together. It was something precious they dared not disturb, even their breaths clutched like pearls to prevent their escape.

This was happily ever after, a dream come true.

It should have been.

Yet Malleus frowned. His brows drew together and his mouth pursed, a brewing storm settling over his face.

“Draconia-senpai?” Deuce called to him anxiously. “I-Is something wrong? You look a little scary…”

The first year glanced at the portrait of the royal couple. He jumped. “D-Don’t tell me, did this painting piss you off?! Er, I mean... Did it offend you?"

“No, nothing of the sort,” Malleus replied. He rested an index finger against his chin. “It sparked memories of my own days in court. As the crown prince to the Briar Valley, it goes without saying that I've attended a number of occasions similar to what is depicted here."

"Oh, for real? That makes sense, you being royalty and all. What were those events like?"

"Most are rather solemn affairs. Grandmother, the senators, and other politicians gather to discuss diplomacy, trade, and national policies. For certain occasions, there are traditional rituals that must first be performed. A royal birth, for example, must be blessed before the festivities can commence. If it is a knighting, then all the royal guard shall be present and a speech of one's accomplishments read."

Deuce blinked a few times, as though shedding sleepiness. His mind struggled to grasp the enormity of a prince's duties. He dropped the smartest sounding response he could: "That sounds tough."

Malleus lips slightly lifted. "I do not mind it. There is pride to be had in conducting such work."

I don't have a reason to doubt what he's saying, but... Deuce clenched his fists at his sides. If Draconia-senpai really feels that way, why does he still seem so pained?

The fairy drew out a sigh, as if dissatisfied with the silence. "... Ah, but how strange. When I look upon this painting, I see many people present... yet the princess touched by diurnal fae and her prince take no notice of them. They have eyes only for each other."

His words were velvet-lined, soft on the ears. Beneath them, a pang of longing rose like a fine mist at daybreak.

"What must it feel like to be so beloved?" Malleus wondered. "To have someone who considers you the most special being in all the world?"

Vines twisted in his gut, thorns prickling his insides. Frustration and molten discontent pooled. For all the power that he wielded, he failed to attain such a basic thing.

Love.

"Do you understand such a feeling, Spade?" The inquiry was pure acid.

"H-Huh, me?!" Deuce startled, not prepared for the demand in Malleus's voice. "Well... uh, I guess my mom calls me her big, strong man. Does that count?"

Malleus's brow furrowed. "I'm afraid I don't follow. Is it customary for children of man to refer to their offspring as 'big, strong men'?"

"I think that's just my mom's thing." He shrugged. "I'm the only man in the house, so I try to help her out if I can. She jokes about it when I do."

Malleus made a face. It was difficult to discern the emotion he wore.

"Moms, right?" Deuce gave a nervous laugh. "They can be embarrassing, but they care about us a lot."

"I never knew my mother."

"... Oh." A rock dropped in Deuce's stomach. He hurried for an apology as dread rippled through him. "Shit, my bad! I didn't mean to..."

Malleus held up a hand in an elegant dismissal. "Be at ease. I harbor no anger."

There was no point, he told himself, in rage expressed for a woman he had no bond with. Her face, her voice--they were all a mystery to him. She was but a stranger adrift in an abyss.

Still, a part of him sparked at the thought of her, of someone he had yet to meet--would never meet. The thrill of fates closely intertwined, the tenderness of a parent's love.

Malleus went quiet, lowering his hand.

"Grandmother and Lilia have done their utmost to mentor me in her stead." He sounded hollow, insistent. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was Deuce.

The Heartslabyul student swallowed. He placed a firm hand on Malleus's arm and squeezed. "... It's not enough, is it?"

He received no answer.

“Your mom is thinking of you, wherever she is.”

Malleus pulled away, presenting his back to Deuce. "Dead fae do not tell tales," he said simply.

“That doesn’t mean she loved you any less,” Deuce stubbornly protested. “Right up until her last breath… she must have been so happy to have you, thinking about what kind of person you’d grow up to be.”

Dreaming of the day when she can, at last, meet you.

Blink, and his eyes were wet. Blink again, and his vision blurred. Heartbeat hot and quick, galloping upon coals.

Did my mother truly…?

“She’d be damn proud of you too.” Deuce flashed a wicked grin. “Believe me.”

“… Hah.” Malleus chuckled dryly.

The longer he considered it, the more appealing the idea became.

A woman in his likeness—or was he made in hers? Papery kisses, fond embraces, words of affirmation. Fire that burned strongly, warding off the darkness.

Wouldn’t that be something?

"I love you, Malleus," whispered that she-phantom. Sweet nothings that sated his starved soul. "Forever and always. My dear son, my pride and joy."

The carefully constructed stone fortress around his heart faltered. His desire burned like a falling star.

He took a breath, and fell from the heavens with his wish.

“Thank you, Spade.”

Just for this moment, let me walk once upon a dream.

A single tear slipped down Malleus’s cheek.

And what a wonderful dream it was.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Malleus Draconia #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #spoilers #Malleus birthday takeover #something no one asked for #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #Deuce Spade #leave it to me to turn Malleus’s deranged groovy face into family angst

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doe-eyed-fool · 3 months

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Fallen {Chapter One}

Alastor x (fem)Reader

Summery- Innocence meant nothing in a place like this. Here, innocence was weakness. It would only get you killed. And yet, it was craved by the most twisted and sinful of demons.

Innocence to them, was something to be tainted, corrupted, and ruined beyond saving. It gave them great pleasure to destroy that innocence.

And he was no different. To him, she was nothing more than a new form of entertainment. But even he, as demented and cruel as he was, could not ignore the feeling that slowly grew deep within his blackened heart.

"What have you done to me?"

I was once a woman of god, my faith unchanging and strong. Because of that, I was granted entry into the kingdom of heaven. However, it would not last.

I awoke in a dirty and dark alleyway, my whole body ached, my mind struggling to keep up. My eyes opened, and I was met with a most horrifying scene. Above me, in the blood red sky, was a giant pentagram that loomed over all. My heart sank upon realizing just where I was. Hell. I had landed myself in hell.

But, how? I was in heaven. I had earned it. I had been good. I've only ever been good. I was faithful and true. So why? I brought myself to a sit, as I did so, a sharp stab of agony shot up my back. I failed to hold back a cry of pain.

Looking back on myself, a gasp escaped me as I found the source of my pain. My wings were still there. Once neat soft white feathers, now messy and dirtied from the ground. But that was not the worse of it. What made my stomach lurch, what caused the horrible throbbing pain I could not ignore, was the broken joint on my left wing.

The bone jutting out from flesh, golden blood dripping down the feathers of my wing. The fact that I had wings at all was proof enough I actually was in heaven. That, and my long white and gold-trimmed dress. However, it only made my confusion grow. If I was in heaven, why am I here now?

I took a shaky breath before attempting to stand, however it would not happen so easily. I hissed out as I felt a sharpness in my legs. Looking down, I saw more of my blood leaking from the various cuts along my legs. One nasty deep gash in particular on my right calf. This wasn't good.

I was bound to be attacked by some loathsome demon if I didn't try to escape. Flying wasn't an option, and neither was walking it seemed. But if I didn't do something quick then-

"Well. What do we have here?"

My breath caught in my throat at the sudden voice. I looked up to see a rather tall, well dressed demon standing before me. His grin, filled with sharp teeth, made my skin crawl. His deep red eyes bore into my own. He looked at me as if I were his next meal, and in a place like this, I very well could be.

I kept my mouth shut, even if I wanted to talk, I couldn't bring myself to speak. So, he filled the silence himself. "I thought I had seen something a bit strange earlier. It's not everyday you see an angel falling from the sky! Well, not unless it's time for the yearly extermination. If that's what you're here for, I'm afraid your a tad too late." He said with a chuckle. Still I kept quiet, he continued.

"Though, you do not look like the usual exterminators. No, I don't think you are. How very interesting." He took a step closer to me. Finally my body reacted, I scramble to move back as he grew closer. My back hit the hard brick wall behind me, I wince at the pain I received by doing so.

My heart was beating out of my chest, tears gathering in my eyes. My reaction seemed to have been amusing to him, as his grin grew wider.

"Afraid?" He leans down, his face inches from my own. "You should be." I shut my eyes tightly as he moved his hand up to my face. Flinching as his clawed finger made contact with my skin. I felt him move a strand of my messily tangled hair out of my face, before his hand left me.

"A creature like you my dear, is just begging to be harmed in a place like this. Though, I don't entirely blame you. You appeared to be heavily injured." I dare to open my eyes, only to be met with his sharp gaze.

His eyes only left mine briefly to meet my broken wing, then down to my injured legs, then back up to my face. "Quite the fall you had." He chuckled. I only nod. That had to be right. I fell from heaven. It was the only explanation that made sense.

Why else would I be here? The demon stood straight again, looking over his shoulder for a moment before turning his attention back to me.

'I doubt I'll ever get an opportunity like this again.' He thought, his grin somehow growing even wider. "Tell me, what do you plan to do now? Surely you intend on leaving this horrid place, yes?" He questions. Of course I do. I don't want to be here any longer that I already have. I nod my head, words still failing me.

"It will be quite the challenge my dear. You can't fly, and no one leaves hell just like that." He says with a snap of his fingers. "What will you do?" An excellent question. What will I do? What could I do? Panic set in quickly as I realized that there was nothing I could do now. I was stuck here. I would never be able to leave this god forsaken place. The tears finally began to roll down my cheeks, my shoulders shook as I cried.

How could this have happened? Why was this happening? Perhaps I've done something wrong? Maybe I've upset god in some way? Is that why I'm here? I'm being punished? Is that it? The demon's voice caught my attention once more as he spoke.

"Oh, how I hate to see a lady cry." I could have sworn there was a hint of sincerity in his tone. But I would be a fool to think a demon could feel sympathy for anyone. "Perhaps, we should make a deal."

I wipe a few tears away before looking at him with a confused glance. "I'll try and find a way for you to return to heaven. And in return..." His expression grew dark and sinister. "All you have to do, is amuse me." Amuse him? My stomach churned at the thought of what a demon would find amusing.

I look up at the sky, the pentagram's glow stinging my eyes. Heaven was out of reach, but I yearned for nothing more than to return. The deal almost sounded tolerable. I look back at the demon and finally, I spoke.

"W-Will you hurt me?" My voice cracked. "Of course not!" The demon waved his hand, as if dismissing the thought. "I'm rather curious about you. And I can't have someone like you harmed. Your value topples almost over all here. Many demons would kill for a chance to obtain an angel such as yourself. That alone is enough for me to keep you in tact as much as possible." His words weren't comforting, that's for sure.

But he said he wouldn't hurt me. I think. I couldn't trust him, but what other choice do I have? I don't want to be stuck here forever. The demon offered his hand. "What do you say?" He asks as a faint green glow engulfed his hand.

I sigh before hesitantly taking his hand with my own. As our hands clasp, the glow engulfed mine as well and a sting could be felt throughout my palm causing me to wince. The glow grew brighter, I shut my eyes tightly to shield my eyes from it.

I missed the twisted smile from the demon, but I felt his hand tightening around my own slightly before the glow finally calmed down and went out. The demon let go of my hand, only to pick me up. I gasp as I felt myself being hoisted up into a bridal style carry.

I couldn't bring myself to look at him, so I kept my gaze down at his chest. "Hold on tight." He warns me. And before I knew what was happening, I felt a rush flow throughout my body. It was almost like the feeling you'd get when going down a steep drop on a rollercoaster. And suddenly, we were in a new location.

I look around and take in my surroundings. There was a rather nice looking home before me. Well, I could consider it nice if it didn't look...haunted. I could have sworn I saw a shadow move in one of the many windows. Surrounding the home was a swamp, the water was infested with gators.

But not normal ones. These gators were far larger, their scales an inky black, multiple sets of eyes glow a deep red, and their teeth abnormally sharp and long, stained with the blood of I didn't know what. The plant life was unnatural as well. While they were alive like normal plants, they were sentient.

Looking for some unfortunate passerby to feast upon. This being proven by a demonic version of a frog hopping by one, only to be snatched up and ripped apart. I look away, not wanting to watch as the sound of crunching and squishing filled my ears. The bugs were abnormally large too, and just as carnivorous as the other creatures of the swamp.

"Home sweet home." The demon sighs before walking up the porch stairs. He walks in, the inside completely dark at first before he steps through the threshold. Like magic, light filled the home. And once again, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, shadows retreating into darkness wherever they could find it.

"Now, let's get you patched up." The demon says as he heads up the stairs. He brings me to his bedroom and sets me carefully on the surprisingly soft and comfortable bed.

I tried to keep still, as not to irritate my wing any further. But nothing could ease the pain, I winced and hissed out sharply as another throb jolted my wing. I could have started crying again it hurt so bad. The demon took note of that before moving to my left. I watched him carefully, wary of what he would do next. He said he would patch me up, while that confused me, I still didn't trust his word.

"This might hurt. But do try to keep still." He says before moving his hand over the broken bone. I move away fearfully, a foolish thing to do. I cried as more pain shot up my wing and back. "What did I just say?" The demon sighed.

"What are you going to do?" I ask sharply. He didn't have anything that could properly set the bone, nothing to ease my pain. Did he intend to force it back? "I'm going to heal it. But I need you to sit. Still." The demon said sternly. Still noticing my hesitation, he rolled his eyes. "I will try to make this less painful as possible. Now, are you going to do as I say? Or are you going to just sit there, still in pain?"

I sighed heavily before doing as I was told. I shut my eyes tightly after I watch him move his hand back. Suddenly I felt a shift in my wing joint, but no pain followed as I had expected. After a moment or two, Alastor moved his hand away.

"There we go. All better." The demon says softly. While I felt no pain, I never felt more light headed. My stress finally caught with me and felt I just might actually pass out. My body began to fall forwards, but the demon caught me before I could fall completely. I go limp in his arms, my eyes lids drooping. I heard him chuckle before I felt him moving my body, he gently laid me on my back.

I look up at him with tired eyes, his grin remained the same. I got the feeling he was enjoying this, it made me more sick to think about it. "Try and relax. I'll work on your legs next." He tells you as he moves his hand down to hover over them. I then heard him laugh, before I could question him he spoke.

"My, how rude of me. I've yet to introduce myself. I suppose I've gotten use to everyone knowing who I am, that it slipped my mind." The demon glances at me, he spoke his name with the most charming of tones.

"My name is Alastor."

Alastor? It was such a nice sounding name for a demon. "And who do I have the pleasure of knowing?" I took a shaky breath before answering with a shaky and cracked voice. "Y/n." Alastor's grin soften for a moment as he spoke my name. "Y/n. What a lovely name."

It felt strange to hear a demon speaking my name. It felt wrong. Though, it wasn't any worse than actually making a deal with him. I close my eyes, and begged god for forgiveness. I hope god could forgive me for what I've done.

I only do this to return to god's light. That's all. Please...please understand. The more I thought about that deal, the worse I felt. I didn't want to think about it, but it would always be there. In the back of my mind, will forever be the guilt of my choice.

And I could only hope that whatever this deal would entail, wouldn't be as bad as I fear it would be.

#alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin spoilers #hazbin hotel spoilers #fallen angel #angst

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sopebubbles · 11 months

Text

Master List

Seven

Synopsis: in a world where alphas, betas, and omegas live along side modern humans as second class citizens, you've fallen through the cracks of a society that wants to take everything wonderful from you. Luckily a timely encounter with the boys just might save your life.

Chapter summary: Hoseok goes into heat and everyone else struggles. I'm honestly not gonna give more away than that.

Warnings: talk of mpreg (thats just gonna come up a lot in this story), like one mention of a penis, we are mostly glossing over hobis heat tbh bc i dont feel like doing smut in this chapter, do alphas have a breeding kink? Or is that just their nature? 🤔 mentions of past abuse, homelessness

WC: 6.7k

If Yoongi had known ahead of time that Hoseok was going into heat, then of course he would not have offered to take someone's eight hour shift in addition to his own. Sometimes the needs to provide and protect really opposed each other. Fucking capitalism. He already hated the idea of it because sixteen hours was way too many to be away from you, especially when sitting across the room from you was a struggle. Yoongi wanted to be next to you, against you, touching your skin. Not in a sexual way. He figured that wasn't a possibility, and maybe wouldn't be for a very long time. That was fine. He had six lovers—well, five if you consider the fact that Yoongi and Namjoon loved each other very much but could never quite work their way around sex with one another. He didn't need that from you. He just needed you. He needed you to need him in a way he had always wanted to be needed, so he figured a little overtime when the opportunity arose would be a good thing to ensure he could provide for you.

Yoongi hadn't grown up with a pack or an alpha. His mother, a beta, claimed his father was an alpha who died before he was born, but Yoongi always thought it was more likely he just left them. He couldn't really blame the guy. Alpha was a big job to fill, at least if you did it right. Not everyone was cut out for it just because they were born an alpha. When he was fourteen, Yoongi's mom joined a pack with a new alpha, and although Yoongi never fully felt part of that pack, he did have a great deal of respect for the pack alpha who took them in and demonstrated what it meant to protect and provide.

After Yoongi had presented as an alpha, he dreamed of being the leader of his own pack, but his attempts to build a pack in his early twenties failed. He quickly learned that a pack wasn't made out of sheer force of will. You needed the right personalities and to work with each other. No amount of leadership could make love where there was none, and Yoongi wanted a pack that was bound by more than just convenience. When he met Jungkook, he found that a pack like that already existed, and if Yoongi had to sacrifice being its leader to be a part of it, he decided he could live with that. He could still be a good alpha even if he wasn't at the top.

Part of being a good alpha meant helping with heats, so it was frustrating not being able to leave work to be there like Jin could. Namjoon and Yoongi were lucky to have rut leave, but most sap employers didn't understand the importance of being available for packmates, so they just had to do the best they could. At least Seokjin and Taehyung could always be there, and Jimin was allowed a few days leave by his shelter for Hoseok's heats. Jungkook, too, would have to do the best he could, but he usually called in at least a couple of sick days to help out.

Yoongi's plan was to check on you first and then check in with the pack before getting a shower to wash off the scents of other people. Most likely he would try to do that before he even approached Hoseok or the omega would go crazy. As soon as he opened the front door, he could tell that his heat was in full effect. Hobi's brown sugar was thick molasses and his moans could be heard easily from upstairs. There wasn't a packmate in sight, which probably meant he was in full all pups in the nest mode. He might not be able to sneak that shower after all. But he still had to check on you.

The door to the first floor bedroom you had occupied for the last five nights was closed. Could you be sleeping through this? Or were you hiding instead? He decided to knock, but received no response. Fear clutched in his stomach. Could the pack have neglected you so much in their efforts to care for Hoseok that you had passed out again? Yoongi turned the knob frantically to get into your room, only for his heart to drop through the floor. All of the soft, fluffy blankets that Hoseok had made into your nest were folded neatly in a stack on the bed. There wasn't a piece of trash or mislaid item in the room. It was empty, and Yoongi didn't need to look for you to know you were gone. He checked the bathroom anyway, just to confirm what he already knew. He dragged both hands through his hair as if he could clear the fog of panic. Where did you go? How long have you been gone?

Maybe protecting is more important than providing.

"Fuck," he muttered just before hearing Hoseok's cry of ecstacy ring through the house. He didn't emerge from the room until a few moments later when he heard clumsy footsteps hurry down the stairs. He could easily recognize that they came from Jimin, so he stepped into the hall.

"Hyung!" Jimin called excitedly. "You're finally home!" The beta walked to the kitchen and began to load his arms up with cold water bottles. "Hobi just took his first knot so you better hurry and get changed before he starts getting super possessive. What's wrong, hyung?"

Yoongi looked away when the younger man looked at his face. "I'll take a shower down here and meet you up there in a minute."

"What about Y/N?"

"She's gone," Yoongi said softly. What was left of Jimin's smile collapsed.

"What?"

"Her room is empty. She's gone," he repeated.

Jimin dumped the bottles in his arms onto the kitchen table and hurried toward the spare room. "No, she was here a couple hours ago." He pushed the door open to check the scene but he found what the alpha said to be true. "Where did she go?"

"I don't know."

"When?"

"I don't know, Jimin." Yoongi felt empty, but he didn't want to blame it on them. He was the one who should have been there watching over you. He was the one who fucked up.

"But Jin told her she could stay. She said she'd think about it," Jimin spoke just as softly as he did.

"I guess she decided not to."

Jimin turned to his alpha looking for answers. "What do we do?"

Yoongi sighed and tried to contain his grief. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to leave the house right now and dig up every instinct of his to hunt you down through this city and bring you back where you belonged. But that would be barbaric and archaic of him, and exactly the opposite of what you needed. You must have left for a reason. It didn't mean they couldn't find you and convince you to come back. You weren't dead. At least you weren't injured, or at least he hoped. But that wasn't the only problem right now. He still had an omega in heat, an omega who he knew—even though he was convinced no one could care as much as he did—would also be worried about you, and disappointed that you were gone.

"I'm going to shower. You go help with Hobi. Don't say anything."

"But–"

"We have to wait for the right time. When he's a little clear headed," Yoongi reasoned.

Jimin nodded sadly, gathering the water bottles into his arms again. "Okay. Don't take too long." Yoongi pursed his lips and nodded. "Hyung, I'm sorry. I really wanted her to stay, too. I wish–"

"Let's discuss it later, Jimin," Yoongi cut him off and gestured toward the stairs for the beta to go. If Jimin got him talking about how much he wanted her there, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from leaving to find you. And as much as he wanted you, this was his pack right now, and he owed it to Hobi to be around. So he went to the shower you had spent yesterday afternoon cleaning and turned on the cold water. He tried his best to push his thoughts of you out of his mind and meditate his scent into something that wasn't too sad as he scrubbed himself clean. He couldn't think about where you might be right now. Where would you even go? Back to that awful shelter? Why couldn't you just stay? Was it something he'd done, or one of the other guys? Were there just too many of them? He could have taken you away, somewhere for just the two of you. No, he'd have to take Jimin, too. Fuck. He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. He needed to think about his pack, not the omega who wasn't his. He let the cold water run steadily over his face for a long time, emptying his head of any thoughts except the feeling of the cold stream. Finally, he shut the water off and shook the water from his hair before he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist.

His hair was still dripping when he arrived at the landing outside the pack's nest room. Through the open door, Yoongi could see Hoseok lying on Namjoon's expansive chest while Jungkook wiped his neck and shoulders with a damp cloth. By the looks of it, Jin's knot had only just deflated, but he still laid behind his lover, talking in a whisper with Jimin while the beta fed him grapes.

Jin looked at Yoongi as he stepped carefully over a squeaky floorboard and into the room. He took in his naked chest and the towel slung low across his hips as the alpha came to the edge of the nest. Yoongi's eyes roamed over the pack omega as if asking a question.

"He just fell asleep," Namjoon answered, stroking his fingers through Hoseok's dark brown hair.

"Did you shower downstairs?" Jin asked. Yoongi nodded. "Was that a good idea?" The pack alpha asked and it almost sounded like a warning.

Yoongi looked at him sharply. "It wasn't a problem." He sat at the edge of the bed and Hoseok began to stir, clearly not deep in sleep.

"Yoongi?" The omega called softly.

Yoongi crawled up to lay himself over Hoseok's lower half, resting his chin on the man's hip. "I'm right here, my love."

"You're home," he mumbled and Yoongi hummed in response. "Bring little pup here. Need everyone in the nest."

Yoongi caressed the skin of Hoseok's side. "I would if I could, my love. But you know that I can't." Hoseok pouted. "She's not our omega. You are."

"Want her to be my omega," Hoseok moaned.

"I know, Hobi. Me, too."

Hoseok turned onto his back and pulled at Yoongi's shoulders to get him closer. "Alpha," he crooned. "Need your knot alpha." Hoseok pushed aside the towel from his hips to reach for his cock.

Yoongi kissed his lips softly. "I know you do, baby. But you know the rules. You can only have Jinnie's knot so you can have his pup," he reminded, brushing hair away from Hoseok's eyes. He looked over at the other alpha, who stared back with dark, intent eyes.

"You can fuck our sweet omega, Yoongi. You just have to use a condom," Jin said.

Yoongi suppressed a sigh. He'd always hated this rule of Jin's ever since it had started a year ago. Sure, they could fuck normally outside of Hobi's heat, but in order to ensure when he got pregnant, the baby would be Jin's, the others always had to use protection.

"I will, if that's what my Hobi wants," Yoongi agreed with a soft kiss to his scent gland. It wasn't that he was unwilling. He would still get to feel Hoseok. He would still cum. But his instincts knew that he wouldn't be able to breed his omega, and it left him feeling deeply unsatisfied every time.

Hoseok moaned, "Need to feel you alpha." So Yoongi took the condom that Jungkook offered.

Seokjin and Yoongi had grown up just as differently as you and Hoseok. Even if Yoongi's situation had never been as grim as yours, he knew what it was like to go without and to feel like an outsider. It was hard to make friends with other Lykos sometimes when the other kids had strict packs or so many siblings they didn't need other playmates. It certainly wasn't any easier to make friends with Saps, who would always treat him as a little different. And constantly moving as his mother did her best to keep them afloat in a world definitely not designed for single mothers never helped to maintain whatever friendships he did happen to make. Finding the pack and living with them for five years was the most stability he had ever known.

Seokjin’s life had been the definition of stability. He was born in the house where three previous generations of his family had lived. People wanted to be associated with him wherever he went—sure it was because of his connections to the most powerful Lykos in the country, but at least he never felt unwanted. His older brothers and sisters had been his playmates, at least until they all presented, and as the youngest he was always doted on. And then there was Hoseok, who had clung to Seokjin first and soon found he would never get away, not that he wanted to.

Jin's family had a long lineage full of stereotypical alphas. Not in brute force like in the days before integration with Saps where physical power was power. But they had learned in the early years to cultivate political power in the public sphere. Nearly every alpha in his family had a position in government, elected or otherwise. Seokjin had only narrowly escaped that career path because he had so many older alpha siblings, and because he managed to convince his mother that having a member of the family who wasn't involved in politics would make their image as a collective a little less power hungry. Deep down he didn't have the ambition. At 20, he already knew that he wanted to do enough to have a happy and comfortable life with the man he loved, and to not have to make the kind of sacrifices other members of his family had to make for power.

At home, the alphas of his pack had been the kind to demand respect and to dole out punishment when it wasn't immediately given. Seokjin had never wanted to be that kind of alpha, one who needed to be obeyed, or who purposely filled his pack with omegas and betas so that he would be on top. Unlike Yoongi, he hadn't aspired to be a pack alpha, only to be Hoseok's alpha. It just so happened that he met several other alphas that they both came to love—and if having more alphas for Hoseok took some of the burden off of him, then that was a bonus.

Jin had never shown such toxic alpha traits until a year ago, and since everyone had tiptoed around the subtle and not-so-subtle changes in his personality, no one knew what had changed. It had been a meeting with his mother, which had taken place at his office so none of the pack knew. It wasn't that his birth pack disapproved of his pack exactly. It was just that none of them could do anything to support the power of the family, so his mother in particular didn't see any reason to be involved with them very often. Only Jin and his husband were ever invited to public events, and for the most part everyone was perfectly happy with the situation. There was only so much limelight to go around and most of his siblings had no problems soaking it up.

That didn't mean his mother was disinterested in his future though. She was especially interested in him having pups. He and Hoseok had been married for nearly a decade now, without a single baby.

"We've just been waiting for things to get settled. It will happen when the time is right," he insisted once again. This conversation occurred at least twice a year.

"Well, settle them. You're the alpha. It's your job to decide when and how things happen for your pack, Seokjin."

"It's not that simple–"

His mother threw her hands in the air. When would her son learn to take some initiative? "Of course it is! You haven't added anyone to your pack in several years. I'd say things are quite settled. You need to have a child. You're not getting any younger, and neither is Hoseok. You have a bloodline to continue."

"Mom," he groaned. "You have half a dozen grandchildren already. Why do you need to pressure me?"

"It's not about quantity. Don't you want to be a father?"

"Of course I do." It was true. He'd always wanted a child with Hobi. That was never in question.

"Listen, Jinnie. Maybe it's time you consider adding another omega to your pack. A female omega might have an easier time conceiving and fewer risks–"

Seokjin pinched the bridge of his nose as he interrupted her. "I don't want another omega, mom! Hoseok is all I want or need."

"I know several lovely young ladies who might be a good fit for you! It doesn't have to be a love match."

"Mom!"

"You have too many alphas anyway. You need to even things out a little. If you brought in another omega it might put the other alphas at ease. Especially Yoongi. He might challenge you less if he had someone else to focus on."

"Mother! Yoongi and I are fine. We don't need someone else."

"Yoongi has the potential to be a pack alpha and I know you know that. He will take it from you if given the chance. You have to do something to assert your dominance in this pack. You need to have a child, and you need to be sure that it's yours."

You left the house so early the public library wasn't even open yet when you arrived. You nodded in acknowledgement at another regular before sitting on the concrete wall out front to wait. The sun was still rising, and the spring air felt cool and damp with dew. Your stomach rumbled. You should have eaten before you left the house.

Don't you think you've taken enough advantage of their kindness?

Yes.

Alpha would be mad if he knew I didn't eat.

He's not your alpha.

The opening of the library's front entrance took you mercifully out of your thoughts. A librarian stepped outside and held the door open, greeting the patrons who had gathered outside like you with a smile as you got to your feet. She was a Sap, but a kind woman you had spoken to on a few occasions. She always treated you and the other Lykos who came into the library with kindness.

"How are you today, Y/N?" The woman, Maria, asked as you approached the open door.

"I'm alright," you smiled politely. "It's still early."

She laughed softly. "Haven't seen you in a bit. Everything okay?" She closed the door after you entered and you waited for her to walk around to her desk before you answered.

"Just been busy. Can I get a guest pass for the computer?"

She typed something on her keyboard before looking at you again. "Did you lose your card?" You nodded in response. "We can get you a new one. I just need to see your ID."

You shook your head and she looked at you curiously. "I have my ID…but I don't live at that address anymore, and I know it's supposed to be current so…I'll wait until I find a new place and get one then." You fidgeted uneasily as you explained, your eyes downcast, so you didn't see her frown and her sympathetic eyes.

"I'm sorry to hear that." She clicked a few things on her computer and handed you a small ticket. "Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

You took the paper and shook your head. "I'll just be looking for jobs. It might take me a while…" you said apologetically.

"Take your time," she smiled encouragingly, and you turned away to find the computer at the back that you preferred.

It was always nicest to be here right when they opened, when it was still quiet. In a couple of hours story time would start and mothers would come in with their children, pulling them close to their sides and away from the homeless Lykos that often spent their time there. For now it was just you and a few others you recognized but had never spoken to. Even before you lost your home, you had been coming here frequently, since you couldn't afford your own internet. You'd come here the second day you arrived in the city and did pretty much exactly what you were doing now. Sometimes it was easier to start over than to try to hold onto what little gains you made.

You entered the code Maria had given you to log onto the computer and opened up the web browser, pulling up a job site you were familiar with. You didn't have any particular job you were searching for. Beggars can't be choosers after all. Instead of searching for job titles, you went straight to the filters, and your palms began to sweat.

Education level required:

You didn't even graduate high school, stupid omega. What job are you even qualified for?

Shut up! That's not my fault!

You chose "not specified" from the dropdown menu and moved on.

Benefits:

Heat/rut leave required: yes no

The cursor hovered over the yes box. You'd never checked it before. Never looked at what kind of jobs might be able to offer you that. Probably not anything you were qualified for. But you clicked it, just to see.

Your search delivered no results. Try adjusting your filters.

You don't need heat leave anyway. Just take your pills like you're supposed to.

But they make me so sick.

That's a small price to pay to not be bred like a Bitch.

…yeah

You clicked the 'x' next to the filtered option and searched again. This time the website populated a list of jobs for you to sort through. Most of them were ones you had seen before. Some of them were ones you had had before. Working in a store was hard because of all the scents. Scent blockers only took you so far. Restaurants and bars were similarly challenging and the hectic environment could be overstimulating. Delivery driver, but you didn't have a car. And to make matters worse, none of these jobs alone would pay enough for you to live by yourself, even the way you were living before.

Should have stayed with alpha. Then I wouldn't have to work.

You think house work isn't working? And what's your compensation? Getting beaten for every mistake, because you always fuck it up and tossed out when they're done with you.

Yoongi wouldn't do that. He was nice.

For now. And what about the others? Jin didn't seem to want you there at all.

He asked!

Only because Hoseok wanted him to and what about when he has a baby? Do you think they'd still want you? Or worse if he can't have a baby then they'll make you do it! You think their kindness comes for free? Nothing is ever free! Remember last time? You thought that pack was kind too. How long did that last before they showed you exactly what you're good for?

Stop it!

"Stop!" You hissed. "Just shut up!"

Everything around you felt suddenly still. You looked up to find several pairs of eyes on you, including Maria's. She walked toward you, and you wanted nothing more than to hide.

"Is everything okay, dear?" She asked softly as she stood by your computer station.

"I'm sorry. I'm fine," you assured her just as quietly, but her eyes told you she didn't buy it. "I have to go." You quickly picked up your bag from the floor beside you and rushed for the exit.

You'd already been over this multiple times since you overheard Jin and Hoseok's conversation yesterday, so why wouldn't the thoughts just stop? You made a decision and it was too late to go back on it so why were they still going round and round? You hadn't heard the first part of their conversation, but you had already known that Hobi was going into heat. Hence you were trying to clean up and help before you were kicked out. You weren't expecting Jin's offer at all, but you assumed between Jimin and Yoongi, and maybe Hoseok too, that they had talked him into at least offering. But he and Hoseok were trying to have a baby, and that wasn't as straightforward a process for everyone as they wanted it to be. And if it didn't work out for Hobi…well you knew about alphas who failed to have pups and how they could treat omegas who were easy, vulnerable targets, like you. So of course you left. You weren't an idiot.

Part of you hoped it would work out for Hoseok though. You might not trust alphas, but he seemed to trust his and to be loved by them. So he deserved to have everything he wanted.

It was hours before you were able to get in to talk to anyone at the True Life shelter. Luckily it was a nice morning once the sun had fully risen, not exactly warm, but warm enough in the hoodie you had stolen from Yoongi. There was a nice park between the library and the shelter, and you spent a few hours there trying to enjoy the sunshine and clear your mind. There wasn't anything else you could do, so you might as well try to find some peace while it lasted.

"You know the rules. If you don't check in, the contents of your locker are forfeit," the woman at the desk reminded you after explaining that all your belongings that you left behind while you were in heat were now gone. "If you're lucky, some of it may still be in the store."

The only thing more insulting than having them take the last of your belongings was having to buy them back at the second hand store the same organization ran around the corner. You stifled your groan. At least Hoseok had washed all your clothes that you had with you. At least now you didn't have to carry all your worldly goods with you.

"You find a place to stay?" The woman asked, loudly smacking the gum that she perpetually chewed. You shook your head. "Got an open bed tonight if you need it."

"Thanks," you mumbled. There was something in the way she looked at you that always made you feel so small.

"You know the deal," she said as she placed a bottle of heat suppressants on the counter in front of you. You pulled your own bottle out of your purse and rattled it in front of her.

"I have plenty."

She quirked an eyebrow as if mentally doing the math and knew something wasn't adding up. "You taking them like you're supposed to?"

You tried to keep your expression neutral as her eyes didn't stray. After several long seconds, you twisted the cap off the bottle and shook one large pill into your hand, shoved it into your mouth and swallowed it dryly.

She looked at you a moment longer while your throat worked to get the vile medicine down. Then she grabbed a bottle of water from the counter behind her. "Well, don't choke on it," she snorted.

After taking a big drink to clear your throat you opened your mouth wide and stuck your tongue out at her. "Happy?"

"Delighted," she deadpanned. "Come back at six."

You nodded and walked out of the building. At least soon enough your stomach would hurt so much you wouldn't feel hungry anymore. There were silver linings all around.

Jimin hasn't been sleeping well. At least not at night. He's been napping with Hobi during the day between sessions, since he's the omega's favorite cuddle buddy at the moment. But whenever the whole pack went to sleep for the night, Jimin found himself lying awake, wondering where you were sleeping. It had been a few days by now, so had you gone back to True Life? Had you tried for somewhere better? He knew most of the shelters were always at capacity. He hoped you weren't sleeping outside. It was too cold for that still and you'd only end up getting sick.

Why didn't you just stay? Was it purely fear? Too many strangers, too many alphas? Or was it something about them, just one of them? Had he upset you so much the other night that you felt you couldn't stay. The afternoon he saw you with Hobi it seemed like you might be getting comfortable.

Jimin sighed and stared holes into the ceiling while his packmates slept. He rolled to his right, where an empty space had been left for Yoongi. Yoongi. Jimin had never seen the alpha quite like that. He knew how protective Yoongi could be, but nothing he'd ever seen compared to how Yoongi looked at you. Alphas don't really court betas in the way that they do omegas, but even when Yoongi and Jimin first started dating it hadn't been nearly as obvious how badly Yoongi wanted him. (He had wanted Jimin almost as badly, but maybe not quite so desperately).

But Jimin also knew everything was different with you. He had been the one to bring you to his alpha after all, and had thrown you into this strange situation. You were an omega for starters and that would always set off an alpha, although it hadn't seemed to affect the others quite as much. Maybe it was Yoongi's affinity for lost people. Maybe it was just the fact that you were so small and in need of protection. All alphas want to protect, but not all omegas need it in the way you do. Hoseok doesn't. But even Jimin felt the urge to cover you from the rest of the world. And he couldn't lie, he sort of loved how small you were, the fact that he was bigger than you. He hadn't gotten the chance and maybe he never would, but it didn't stop him from thinking about what it would be like to hold your small frame, be able to sniff the top of your head like Jungkook always does and feel for once like he could protect someone else.

Jimin was awake when he heard Yoongi come home and it lightened his mind fractionally, knowing that soon the alpha would be next to him, where he needed him. It's hard to mark the passage of time in the dead quiet of night, but Jimin was sure several minutes had passed since he heard any shuffling from downstairs. Carefully, he rolled to the edge of the nest and to his feet. He didn't want to stress Hobi if he woke to two packmates missing from the nest, but he also needed to see Yoongi. Jimin tiptoed over each creaky floorboard of the staircase down to the first floor. The alpha wasn't in the living room or the kitchen, which meant he could only be in one place. Jimin found the man laying on the bed in the spare room, sobbing gently into a comforter that had been part of your nest.

"Yoongi hyung," Jimin breathed as he laid on the bed behind him, pressing himself against the lines of his body. "What are you doing in here hyung? Hm?"

Yoongi took a deep breath and tried to quiet the sobs. If anyone but Jimin had found him like this he would have been humiliated, but nothing ever felt embarrassing with him. "I can't stop looking for her everywhere, Jiminie," he spoke through his tears. "I keep fearing I'll show up at a call, and she'll be the one who's hurt. And I feel relieved and sad all over again every time it isn't her. I just want to know that she's safe."

Jimin wrapped his arm around his chest and squeezed Yoongi closer to him. He laid soft kisses against his neck, but the alpha still struggled to calm himself.

"Earlier tonight we got called to this accident. A girl was hit by a car and she was face down in the road. There was blood everywhere. And for a minute I really thought it was Y/N. But she was a sap girl. Y/N is so small, like a little girl, how is she going to be okay on her own. She needs-" Yoongi broke off in another sob. He hated to be this wrecked, but if he wasn't sad he would have to be angry, and he hated to be angry. He didn't want to be the kind of alpha who acted like everything had to be his way and get upset if it wasn't. That was never Yoongi. He wasn't trying to be petulant. He just couldn't help his grieving. "I don't know what it is, Jimin," he admitted. "I don't know why I'm so attached to her. But I just feel it in my chest. I can't just let her go. I'm sorry."

Jimin laid his head on top of his alpha's and spoke softly next to his ear. "You don't need to apologize, hyung. Not to me or anyone else. Whatever you're going through, I don't think it can be understood rationally. It's just a feeling, and that's something you should listen to. Your instincts are always right."

"Thanks, Jimin," Yoongi sighed, finally calmed from his sobs.

"You're a great alpha. She'd be lucky to have you, like I am." Yoongi found Jimin's hand and laced their fingers, appreciating his words.

"What's going on? Where's Y/N?" Hoseok asked, flipping the light switch and suddenly blinding them. Yoongi sat up, rubbing his puffy eyes against the brightness.

"She's gone, Hobi," he answered hollowly.

"Gone? Gone where?" Hoseok hadn't been out of the nest room for nearly three days. The alphas had been keeping him distracted, keeping him in bed and satisfied and well-fed so he'd never have to leave. Now he looked around the room for any trace of you.

"We don't know," Jimin admitted. He rubbed his hand soothingly up and down Yoongi's back.

Hoseok stared at the two of them, dumbfounded. "When did she leave?"

"A few days ago? I'm not sure exactly when she left but she was gone by the time I got home from work on Wednesday."

Hoseok huffed. How long had they kept it from him? "And today is?"

"Saturday."

"Saturday! Were you planning to tell me?" Hoseok asked.

"I didn't want to spoil your heat. I figured if you were upset you might not be as interested in sex and then Jin…" Yoongi tried to explain.

"Jin what?"

"Nothing. He's just been very touchy about your last few heats, and I didn't want to make him more upset." Yoongi rubbed his hands across his red face.

Hobi swallowed. He knew Yoongi was right but that didn't mean he shouldn't have been told. You'd been on his mind even if he knew you couldn't be in his nest. "Jin's just been stressed," he defended, but neither of the others responded. "Were you planning to sleep in here?"

Yoongi shook his head. "I was planning to shower and then come to bed but I…I just had a rough night at work and I needed a minute."

Hoseok sank onto the bed on his other side, where Yoongi had the comforter pulled partially over his lap. He pushed the alpha's bangs back to look at his red eyes. "Have you been crying?"

Yoongi pulled his face away to hide in his hands. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, throat thick with shame.

"Baby, you don't need to apologize. I was just surprised. I've never seen you cry before. Not in six years."

"You aren't supposed to see me cry."

Hoseok scoffed. "That better not be some toxic alpha bullshit, Yoongi." The man reddened further at the admonishment. "You wanted her to be your omega. It makes sense you would be upset. You really felt something for her."

"You're my omega," Yoongi responded.

Hoseok shook his head. "I know that. Doesn't change anything." He ran his fingers into the alpha's hair and pulled his head to rest on his shoulder. "I wanted her to be my omega, too."

Jimin leaned into Yoongi's back. "I can't speak for anyone else, but I wanted her as an omega, too."

Hobi hummed with a thought. "The three of you would've made a cute little pack."

Jimin tilted his head up on Yoongi's shoulder to look at him. "Emphasis on the little."

Jimin pulled away, taking his alpha with him. "You know how to ruin a moment."

"Sorry," Hoseok chuckled. "Will you two please come upstairs? Can't sleep without all my pups in the nest."

You managed to get over your embarrassment to go back to the library a few days later, but finding a job still wasn't any easier. You were tired of losing a job as soon as they found out what you were and just as tired of pretending to be something you weren't. Not that you were ready to embrace your omega, either. But trying to pass for a sap was getting exhausting. You were too small for a Sapien adult. If you could choose you'd rather just give up altogether, but the last time you'd made that choice you'd been lured by comfort into the hands of two bad alphas. So you'd have to keep trying. And you knew there was one person who could help you.

There were two youth shelters in the city, and on Monday when you went to one they told you no one named Jimin worked there. You felt so foolish that you didn't bother trying the other one, but on Tuesday morning you plucked up your courage and walked to the Open Door shelter. When you walked in, there was an omega female at the desk who gave you a kind but instantly regretful smile.

"I'm sorry, hun. All our omega dorms are full today," she informed you.

You stepped forward to lean on the counter, casting a curious look around the place. Teenagers were milling about, coming and going freely, able to spend the days indoors rather than on the streets. Through one door you could hear the sounds of some people playing basketball.

"I'm not here for a bed. I'm looking for someone." You drummed your fingers against the vinyl countertop.

"Sorry, kid. I can't give out the names of people who are staying here."

"No. I'm looking for an employee. His name is Jimin."

Recognition flashed in her eyes. "What's your name, hun?"

"Y/N," you answered quietly.

"Let me go see if he's busy," she told you before she walked through a door behind the desk.

He's busy. At work, dumbass. You shouldn't be bothering him.

He said he could help. Maybe he'll take you home.

You don't have a home.

Alpha is home.

Don't be an idiot.

You moved over to a chair against the wall opposite the desk to wait, anxiously eyeing the door you came in through.

A/n: i am not sorry. However if you would like i scream at me or any of the characters, please feel free to do so in my inbox, comments or reblogs. Your feedback makes me feel alive. 💜 How are we feeling about Jin these days? What about our poor MC? What do you think will happen when she talks to Jimin?

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