#didn't mean to split the chapter but it all would have been too long

[philliamwrites]

SWYAATL 12: Raised by Wolves and Voices

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x fem! Reader

Summary: “Wouldn’t that be something.” Jean sniffs, his breath coming out in white plums. “Erasing events from the past, making stuff never have happened. You’d have to be, like, God or something to do that.” “I don’t know. I get you’d want the unpleasant stuff gone, but it’s what makes you the person you are today, right? Even all the bad stuff, I don’t think I’d want that just taken away from me.” Especially without you knowing.

Notes: [01] || 11 | 13

Words: 8.1k

A/N: guys, thank you so so much for all the interest in the story and the love and the messages you send me. there are no words how much i love you guys, you all deserve an eren to kiss you ❤️❤️

Chapter 12: Raised by Wolves and Voices

“Psst, dude.” Connie’s pointy elbow does a pretty good job drilling a hole into your side. “Take a look.”

“I’m kinda busy here myself,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm, the tips of your fingers stained ink blue. It quickly turns into a fight of who can keep their arm on the table that nobody seems to win. Turns out, Connie is a formidable opponent.

“Just a quick look,” he whispers. “I don’t get what’s wrong with my notes.” He slides a piece of paper over to you, and you need some time to decipher the words.

Supplie Requasition Bread: A bunch Potatos: Around 5 boxes? Milk: Not spoiled Blades: Enough to attack Titans Gas: A good amount

“Yeah,” you say. “I don’t get it either.”

At that moment, Shadis passes your table and takes a look at Connie’s requisition paper. “Now, would you all look at Cadet Springer,” he calls, turning to the room. He plucks the paper from the table by one corner with his thumb and index finger as if it was something particularly filthy he spotted under his kitchen sink. “That is what I call unique!”

Connie beams. “Thanks, sir!”

“Uniquely shit!!”

“Oh.”

“Do it again!”

Shadis marches on, sharp eyes searching for his next prey like a hawk. Connie sags against the backrest of his chair, groaning. “Why do I gotta do this stupid stuff? Put me out in the field, that’s where I belong.”

“Even out in the field, you should have a good feeling for the supplies you have on you.” You finish up your concluding statement on Bordieun Field Theory as an Instrument for Military Operations. You’d hoped to have Armin give it a read, but he’s already left for lunch. When you submit the paper to Shadis, he simply acknowledges it with a curt nod and shoos you away like an annoying fly.

“Oh, come on, don’t leave me here,” Connie whines when you pack up your stuff to head over to the canteen where the rest of your corps is already enjoying their break. “I’ll never finish at this rate.”

“You can do it.” You pat his shaved head. “Try to think about it in actual numbers and be specific as you put them down. It’s fine if you do it in your own words.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll try.”

You leave him slumped over his work and set out snuggled into your warm military coat, upturning your collar to help against the biting cold. The canteen is on the opposite side of the lesson building, but the frosty cobblestone plaza makes the jog take much longer. One false step will guarantee you bruises nastier than any handed to you during hand-to-hand combat practice.

It’s a busy day on the Main Compound. Many cadets and full-fledged soldiers linger, and you pass a group of third years near the main entrance, their hands all stuffed deep inside the warmth of their coat pockets. They jostle and bump against one another, laughing, stamping their feet against the cold snap, the first gasp of winter having arrived weeks earlier than anticipated. You recognise Sylvia, who salutes in your direction. You tap two fingers against your temple as a reply. It is her last winter as a cadet before she graduates in spring next year. The 104th has only one more year to go, and then you will be full-fledged soldiers as well.

Just one more year until the people you have grown close to all walk the paths to their distinctive futures like the last leaves clinging desperately to their familiar branches, but unable to hold on as the sharp, cold winter wind scatters them to new horizons. Time waits for no one, yet still you wish you could have a little more with the friends you have made.

You duck under the stone archway and join the constant stream of soldiers entering the canteen. It is a wide, high-ceilinged building running all the way to the far back of the compound and housing dozens upon dozens of long, narrow tables and benches. On one side, behind multiple counters spread with different meals, garnishes and a diverse assortment of drinks and juices, kitchen hands and scullions scurry from workplace to workplace, tending to the soldiers standing in line to pile as much food as they can carry on their rectangular tin plates. The vast assortment is exactly why you prefer eating here: hearty cabbage potato stew, freshly baked bread unlike the hardened leftovers you get at your mess hall. The smell of garlicky, grilled leek wafts from one end of the long counter. They might have made a pact with the devil for all the additional seasoning on their hands, seeing as one of the cooks drops a pinch of what looks like dried dill into a huge pot of boiled potatoes in a thick herb cream.

After a quick survey of the room you find your desired table and quickly get into line to fetch your meal. Tray filled to the brim with little plates carrying various dishes, you make your way through the crowd, accidentally bumping into people and dodging flying elbows with swift steps Shadis would be proud of.

They’ve settled at tables at the very far end of the room, the only set where only two benches stand by the tables so whenever cadets seize them, they usually push them together so more people can sit, facing each other. When you are within reach, you give everyone a single, respectful nod, except Eren and Jean. The first gets a small bowl full of pickled radishes, the latter a plate piled to the edges with thickly sliced carrots.

“Comrades,” you say, all haughty, your chin raised when you sit down next to Jean. The look on his face is one of unabashed, utter disgust. Eren’s face is full of contemplation as if he is debating if it’s worth it to reach over the table and slap you.

They both, without a word or another acknowledgement of your benevolence, pass the plates on to Sasha who gives a happy chirp and dives right in. You shake your head, stirring gravy into your mashed potatoes. “Where’s Armin?” you ask.

“The library,” comes from Mikasa. You have learnt she is a person of few words but a whole catalogue of looks. The one she sends Eren now is worth an hour of chiding in itself. “Said he was looking for something for the upcoming Snow Trekking Exam.”

“Aren’t they throwing way too many exams around lately?” says Samuel. He keeps throwing urgent gazes towards the main entrance as if waiting for someone. Everyone seems a little on edge, waiting for the news from the Post Master that letters and packages from friends and relatives have finally arrived. You are eager as well. Maybe this time, Ida and Felix have sent an answer.

“We are getting close to starting our third year,” Reiner says. He is stirring lazily in a big cup of steaming tea, his plate lying forgotten beside him even though he has only finished half of it. “It’s only normal that tasks get harder, that we get more exams. They want to make sure the next batch of soldiers is strong and capable.” His eyes linger on Mikasa for a moment, almost a little thoughtful. It is no secret that she remains the undisputed number one cadet and in whatever military branch she will end up, she will rise in rank quickly.

He then turns his keen eyes on you, and grins. “Have you given it a second thought? It’s the third time you’re in the top ten now. You could hold rank eight with a little more, consistent effort.”

You are spared answering when Armin, his face half-hidden behind thick layers of his wool scarf, emerges from the sea of soldiers and joins you, three thick books slipping from his arms onto the table. You pick one by its corners, pulling it close so you can read the title. Operations in Snow and Extreme Cold.

Eren leans in close to you, oblivious to the fabric of his black sweatshirt hanging dangerously close to his plate. The expression he is wearing is distinctly one of Not in front of my salad. “What’s this?” he asks, frowning.

“It’s a book,” you say, flipping open the first pages to skim through it. “You should pick up one and read it.”

“Or I could just smack you with it.”

“So eloquent.”

The corners of his mouth tug upward, as if he is trying to fight the grin that is trying to break free but he is also aware of how bad his performance is in this battle. For the first time, he looks as if he doesn’t mind losing this particular fight.

Armin takes the book from your reach before Eren can put his words into action and start mauling people with it. Eren leans back, sulking. “I was just looking for some easy reads on snow operations,” Armin says. “It’s the first time we’re really out there and I want to be prepared.”

“Shadis gave us a really long lecture this time,” says Samuel. “I dunno, kinda makes me want to skip it, pretend I got the flu or something.”

“It’ll be dangerous, for sure.” Reiner pushes his remaining meal over to Bertholdt who accepts it without a word and starts munching on a lettuce leaf. It makes him look like a baby goat. “He said we’ll spend every lesson until the exam date going over survival guides, gear check, map reading. Everything to prepare us to survive the worst.”

Jean rolls his eyes. “I don’t get the big deal, it’s like he’s thinking the moment we step out into the cold, we’ll all get lost.”

“Well, the books state that when operations fail it is mostly due to human error,” Armin pipes up, struggling to get out of his sleeve until Mikasa grabs onto one tail and tugs his arm free. “Soldiers underestimating the cold, not taking enough gear with them or unable to start a fire out in the open at fifty degrees below zero.” A sort of excitement settles over him as he recites the books’ contents. “They all state that in operations outside the Walls during winter, more soldiers die from hypothermia than attacks from wild animals or Titans.”

“But we are instructed to stay together, right?” Samuel sits up a little straighter now, more alert. “This isn’t like the previous exams where we have to split up and every group gets their own task?”

“That’s probably next year.” Jean grins. “You know, if you make it through this one.”

He cackles at Samuel’s horrid expression, earning a gentle nudge with his elbow from Marco who is stuffing his cheeks full with potatoes. He looks like a squirrel.

Samuel opens his mouth to answer, but then something from the entrance catches his sight and he half-stands from the bench, staring eagerly. Multiple heads turn around, watching Connie hurry down the aisle towards the table swinging around a handful of letters.

“The mail carriers have finally arrived!” he announces, throwing himself in the free seat and right into Sasha. She half-chokes on a mouthful of radishes.

Immediately, Samuel is on his feet, tray in his head. “Godspeed, comrades,” he dismisses you all, and vanishes towards the kitchen ladies near the kitchen sinks to drop off his empty plates.

Jean and you share a glance, and shoving the plates to the edge of the table, Jean elbows you out of the way. When he stands, he stretches like a cat and spreads his arms wide. “You think Mom sent us some chocolate? It should be that time the vendor from Yalkell visits Trost.”

You finish your meal quickly, wolfing it down like a starved woman. “I hope whatever it is isn’t as bad as your Dad’s try at those vegetable cookies.”

Jean shudders. “Yeah, I don’t think Mom should have left him unsupervised.”

“I don’t even remember the last time I had chocolate,” Marco thinks out loud. “After, you know—,” he begins, throwing a quick, unsure glance at Eren, Mikasa and Armin opposite him, then at you, “—after we lost Wall Maria, chocolate got really, really expensive.”

“I don’t get it,” Eren says. “What’s so special about it?”

You throw him a curious glance over the rim of your cup. “You don’t like it?”

He shrugs. “I’ve never had chocolate before.”

You gasp theatrically, and lean forward to place a hand on his shoulder. You feel him slightly tense under your touch, his muscles turning hard, his skin warm under the fabric. “That is the saddest thing I have ever heard.”

“Do you want me to hit you?”

A small, private smile catches you off-guard and you glance down, hoping he won’t see it.

Rapid foot tapping against the wooden floor, the tell-tale sign of Jean’s impatience, finally drives you out of your seat, surrendering it to Armin who, in his hunger for information, forgot to get food and rushes over to get some.

You follow Jean outside where another wave of cold air closes like a fist around your lungs. The Military Post Office is the last one in a neat row of small, copper brick buildings designated to everything related to civil relations and administration.

The Post Master behind the counter is a wiry and thin man with a thick moustache and a weathered kerchief tied around his neck. He’s missing two teeth at the bottom, and after you finally make it to the front, he greets you with a wet cough, before asking in a gritty voice, “Name, District.”

“Kirschstein and [Last Name],” Jean says. Hands tucked into his coat pockets, he is bobbing up and down on his heels as if he’s hoping he might lift off. “Trost District.”

The Post Master wobbles for a moment, and you share a worried look with Jean. But he manages to stay on his feet, runs a gnarly finger over a long list until he finds your names, then turns around and goes to the back room to fetch your mailings. He returns with two big packages he can barely carry by himself, and drops them unceremoniously onto the counter. A big, wet snuffle is the only goodbye you get as you reach for your respective packages before other cadets behind you push you to the side for their turn.

Your fingers itch to rip the package open, dig through the presents, even though Wîhe Naht is weeks away, and read Ida’s reply. Three more hours to go before you can trek back to your barracks and snuggle up in your bed, share the sweets and toys from Felix with Mina and then hide under your warm blanket for whatever their response holds in store for you as the other girls prepare for bed.

Jean, feeling your agitation, glances at you sideways. “It’s gonna be fine,” he remarks. “Whatever Mom and Dad are saying in their letter, it’s in the past now anyway.”

“I’m aware letting it go would be easier,” you say, balancing the box from carrying it on one side to the other as if you were holding dynamite. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it happened. I just want closure, that’s all.”

“Wouldn’t that be something.” Jean sniffs, his breath coming out in white plums. “Erasing events from the past, making stuff never have happened. You’d have to be, like, God or something to do that.”

“I don’t know. I get you’d want the unpleasant stuff gone, but it’s what makes you the person you are today, right? Even all the bad stuff, I don’t think I’d want that just taken away from me.” Especially without you knowing.

When there’s no answer, you look up at Jean. He’s trying to stifle a yawn—not very discreetly. At the glare you send him, Jean just shrugs. “What. It’s too cold and I’m too tired to engage in a philosophical debate with you. Go ask Armin.”

Back in the classroom, you are only half a step over the threshold when your corpsmates’ heads turn toward you like hungry wolves smelling their prey. You don’t know when it has become tradition to share sweets and candies—at least by those who regularly receive gift packages from their families. Did it start with Mina’s Klippfisch or Hannah’s glacéed walnuts?

You watch as Jean, who has quickly turned it into a lucrative business, bargains with Connie and Franz what duties they would take over for him next week, when an impulse strikes you, sparking you into action like flint igniting a fire.

With your target nowhere in sight, you know one person who can answer the question about his whereabouts. Mikasa is sitting by the window, watching snowflakes whirl past in an angry flurry. She has a thoughtful gaze about her, as if even though the landscape before her is blindingly white, only she can discern the pictures hidden within. Memories, maybe. Her slender fingers play with loose threads of her red scarf. Armin, sitting beside her, is curled over an open book and doesn’t notice you approaching.

“Have you guys seen Eren?” you ask, already knowing that one definitely knows where he is. Mikasa breaks her gaze away from the window, blinking up at you dazedly as if she is waking up from a long dream. Not for the first time, she is considering you with a blank expression. You just don’t know what test you’re currently under and what might happen should you not pass.

“He’s just left the room,” she says, grey eyes darting to the exit. “Do you need something?”

“Nothing important.” You’re already half turned towards your new destination, swiping your hand over their desk and leaving two pieces of chocolate. Mikasa eyes it with a little suspicion, as if she doesn’t understand what it is until she picks it up. A half smile tugs at her lips. You don’t know if you’ve ever really seen her smile at anyone else except Armin and Eren.

You leave her nibbling on the chocolate, quietly trying to rouse Armin from his reading spree to make him eat his piece. The hallway outside is slowly emptying out as the remaining cadets slip into their classrooms. When you find Eren rounding a corner, you break out into a run until there is so much momentum that it is easier to grab him by his arms and swing you both around like a merry-go-round until you finally halt. Disoriented and surprised by the sudden attack, Eren needs a moment to understand what is happening.

“Wha—”

“Close your eyes,” you say.

Eren takes a step back, doubt cutting deep creases into his forehead as if you are trying to sell him Titan body parts. “Why?”

“Just do as you’re told. Trust me.”

His expression says it all. He doesn’t. But he closes his eyes anyway, brows furrowed.

“Open your mouth.”

He opens his eyes.

“Close your eyes and open your mouth.”

Eren does so, but he adds, “If this is another one of your pranks, I’m going to make you eat snow.”

You ignore him and reach for your pocket from where you produce another small piece of chocolate. You place it on Eren’s lips. He flinches, his eyes snapping open and you use his confusion to shove the whole piece inside his mouth, the pads of your fingers brushing his warm lips. The tip of his tongue darts forward, prods against your fingertips, hot and wet, and you hesitate for the break of a second before pulling your hand back as the feeling sends electric shocks from your hand up your arm and down to your belly.

The transformation on his face is instant when he closes his mouth, his jaw working as the chocolate melts on his tongue. It’s an expression you did not expect, and because of it, you throw your head back and laugh out loud.

“Why do you look so confused?” you ask, giving him a light shove.

Red creeps up his face, paints the tips of his ears. He throws an arm over his mouth, trying to hide it. “It’s so … sweet?”

“Yeah, it’s supposed to be like that.” You almost reach out to tug his arm down by his sleeve, wishing to see more, but Eren has already dropped it, now looking at you as if you are a puzzle he has spent too much time trying to solve and now he is considering throwing it against the wall.

“Why?” he asks.

“Well, there is a lot of sugar in it.”

“No, why are you giving it to me?”

The question catches you off guard, changes the gravity centre a little and uproots your safe foundation. You haven’t really thought about a deeper meaning, just that you wanted to share something you enjoy with him, something you know most people enjoyed, that would bring them happiness. Just like Mikasa and Armin. You wanted, you realise, to share a little happiness with Eren as well.

Which is something you definitely can’t and won’t admit to him out loud.

“You know, gaining favours, having you owe me something.” You shrug, trying to make it look extra nonchalant.

“So, now I owe you something after you almost shoved your fingers inside my mouth.” He crosses his arms in front of his broad chest, and gives you one of those insufferable grins that remind you of every picaresque trickster you have read about in stories—dashing and adventurous, but also daring and dangerous. You realise the part inside you that didn’t want to understand what exactly it is Eren dares you to do grows quieter and quieter, instead replaced by a growing voice that’s a little too eager to accept the challenge head-on.

You mimic his posture, aware of how your crossed arms push out your chest. There isn’t anything subtle about Eren, or the way his eyes drop down like a magnet to its pole. “You say that as if you didn’t like it, Jaeger.”

Eren’s eyes grow dark. He looks at you, his gaze sliding over you in a way that you know is like fingertips stroking over your skin. “I—”

“Hey, if you two squirts have time to stand out here and fuck around, you better be able to recount the whole operation without any mistakes!” Shadis’ voice roars up from the end of the corridor, his sharp, pinprick dots of eyes traverse the whole floor to hit you with a marksman’s precision.

You and Eren duck your heads as if that could spare you from Shadis’ wrath, immediately setting off together, a hasty walk that quickly turns into a race down the hall to see who is faster. Eren only wins because he cheats, his hand reaching down to pull at the harness on your leg only to let it snap back against the back of your thigh.

His laughter disappears as he dives into the classroom first, which is great because that means he doesn’t see your face going up in flames at the quick brush of his fingers against the back of your thigh.

True to his word, Shadis does make you two recount the operation and everything important for its success, which somehow you manage to recite without any problems.

Sadly, that did not prevent the events from nearly taking your life.

The cold punishes arrogance.

That was Shadis’ first lesson, one none of you took too seriously simply because you all, stemming from the southern parts within the Walls where winters are uncomfortable but that is pretty much it, lack the imagination to fully understand what it means to be cold.

“Keep in mind, safety first!” Shadis’ voice howls inside your head, louder than the wind tearing at the naked branches reaching for you like cold, broken fingers as you keep your head down, fighting against the wind trying to sweep you off your feet, eyes glued to Ymir’s boots in front of you. Looking up would hurt too much. The whirling snowflakes striking your skin hurt like pellets. “I’d rather have you maggots fail the objective than be stupid enough to die to hypothermia! Get frostbite and your pathetic little lives are over! Cold winter climate like this is the most difficult climate to manoeuvre! Even when not in combat, you’re still in a fight against the cold. Now out in those woods, the cold won’t be your only enemy. There are wolves, bears. The animals might kill you. But the cold will.”

You’ve checked your gear multiple times, made sure everything is safe inside your trekking back and nothing is missing. The winter coats, long enough to fall past your knees, shield you from the cold, keep you warm as long as you keep moving. You cannot allow one sliver of skin to be exposed to these extreme temperatures or you’ll grow numb immediately, completely freeze in maybe a few minutes. Dead in maybe an hour.

It helps to keep your mind completely fixed on the task. One foot in front of the other, step by step, in the same rhythm that Ymir and the rest march. You’ve completely lost any feeling for the time, and surrounded by this never-ending grey landscape, it could either still be early morning or afternoon already. Which would mean night is approaching and you do not want to be outside when the sun completely vanishes and leaves you in the dark. You can’t imagine how much colder it will be then.

As suddenly as the snowstorm has hit your formation, it dissolves for now. Risking a glance up, you can finally make out the dark, barren stems of trees, still bending in the harsh wind and creaking like old men lamenting their aching backs. Mountains stand tall in the distance, growing taller and taller as you march towards them. Behind them warm huts, burning fireplaces, and warm stews await your arrival. Two more hours, maybe three, and you can finally take off the padded coat and winter boots, the heavy backpack sinking you deeper into the snow with every step.

The cliffs rise higher as you progress, pocked with spots of darkness, like slashes of black paint. As you look more closely, you realise they are caves in the rock. Some look very deep, twisting away into darkness. You imagine bats and creepy-crawling things hiding in the blackness, and shiver.

At last a narrow path cutting through the cliffs leads you to a wide road, nearly completely frozen over. Anytime now, you think, having memorised the map around these areas until you could draw it with your eyes closed. The group begins to slow down, shuffling even closer now that movement ceases and in need of a different source of warmth. You feel Mina pressing up against your side, her gloved hands clutching tightly onto the straps of her backpack. She peeks over at you from under her furred hood, barely managing an exhausted smile. You reach under her hood and give her Rudolph-red nose a squeeze.

At the front, quiet murmur rises, the order passed from the first to the last man. You’d imagine Shadis would have a field trip shouting in a place like this where his voice would echo and grow tenfold, the only downside is that the avalanche following would kill you all swiftly.

Everyone shuffles into one line. You can feel the unrest and anxiety running through the rest like a wave carrying on from person to person. The need to stomp their feet against the creeping needle-fingered cold, the white death slowly advancing and sucking heat from any warm thing. But the narrow mountain pass snaking alongside the cliff’s wall doesn’t allow for two people walking side by side. You imagine freezing to death might be a bit more pleasant than a drop all the way down to the bottom of the mountain and breaking bones. Then again, you’d prefer not to die at all.

With the progress slowed down, you have no choice but to wait for your turn to squeeze alongside the steep cliff to the other side. Were it any other time, you’d enjoy the fantastic outlook over the valley. There’s nothing but mountains and trees as far as the eye can see, a winter wonderland reminding you of all the Wîhe Naht stories your mother used to read to you at night when you were both snuggling into warm comforters and blankets. You try to recount those stories now, of brave Lucia venturing out on a cold, dark, lightless night to find the sun and bring it back to the world, or the stories of Vaeterchen Frost and his granddaughter Schneefloeckchen travelling the lands to deliver presents, to pass time as Mina carefully shimmies along the edge to the other side. Singing songs in your head helps as well—just about anything that occupies you from thinking too much about the cold. What better way to pass time with winter songs.

Schneefloeckchen, Weissroeckchen / wann kommst du geschneit? / Du wohnst in den Wolken / dein Weg ist so weit.

A muffled sneeze interrupts your solo performance. There’s only a handful of cadets left bringing up the rear, comrades you’re able to recognise by their built now rather than seeing their faces after spending almost two years together. Franz glued to Hannah’s side, taking care that she doesn’t slip and fall. Annie, her height giving her away, kicking some frozen ice clumps off the cliff, watching them tumble down, sometimes growing as snow sticks to it. The last one is Eren, all gloomy and sulking like a little child and whenever he raises his head, watchful eyes scanning his surroundings, you don’t miss the feverish look on his face, his cheeks and nose a scarlet red you know has nothing to do with the cold.

No one had missed the argument between him and Mikasa this morning, one Eren ended by storming outside the Mess Hall, ignoring her calls. He wouldn’t be stopped from gathering experience during this mission, not even by the cold turning his voice raw and raspy, his nose runny. You can’t explain how he’s still standing, other than that sheer will power is driving him onward and whoever doubts it gets on Eren’s shit list. Three streaks and you’re out, Eren is not shy handing out punches—physically or verbally. Mikasa was the first to get the brunt of it, banished to the front of the line and as far away from Eren as physically possible just because he couldn’t stand her watching over him like a mother hen.

You felt bad then, watching Mikasa letting Eren stomp off, looking at him with frustration but also fondness—unable to decide if she should respect his wish and let him be alone or follow him to keep him safe. In the end, it was Armin, as usual, who negotiated and kept the peace between them, pulling Mikasa with him and making her his trek buddy.

Now, as you watch Mina reach the pass’ first half and Eren getting ready behind you, you can’t help and plead in Mikasa’s favour.

“You should have listened to Mikasa and stayed back,” you mumble, voice low enough for only him to hear.

Eren’s bad condition is only further proven by the lack of immediate retaliation, the time he needs to take in your words, process them and come up with a strong argument. It is a little like pushing a toddler off his feet and watching him trying to understand what just happened.

Finally, the response you get is the most unconvincing performance you’ve seen, one were it a stage play, you’d demand your money back.

“’M fine,” he slurs, bracing himself against the cliff’s side. He’s taking deep, rattling breaths, his mouth a pale gash in his feverish face. “We’re almost at our destination ‘nyway.”

You take the first careful step, hugging the wall. They always say ‘Don’t look down’ when standing too close to an edge with nothing but space between you and the ground, but that doesn’t work when you have to use ODM gear. Still, something about being in free fall is different than standing close to an edge with nothing but half a foot separating you plunging into your death. There is nothing quite describing this feeling except call of the void.

“You ever think that this isn’t just about you?” you ask him, feeling safer with your back pressed against the wall even though the outlook gives a splendid, stomach churning overview of the valley that has your toes curling. You miss the weight of your ODM gear, the knowledge that no matter if you fall right here, safety is but a click of your hooks and wires away. “Don’t expect any of us to carry you the rest of the way.” Certainly not Annie, his trek buddy. Not because she’s lacking the strength, rather you don’t think she has it in her heart to care about what happens to Eren. Or any of you.

At this point, Eren can barely make any distinguishable words. It sounds something like “Don’ worry ‘bout it,” which is the only signal you get to look to your right and see him sway precariously.

You don’t think. Instinct kicks in, and as he falls forward, you lunge for him, grabbing his backpack. Only that is exactly half the step you shouldn’t have taken.

The last thing you can make out is someone is trying to scream after you, quickly shushed by a firm hand on their mouth—you can only imagine it is Annie’s quick wit and reflex that prevents Hannah’s voice from causing an avalanche going off above their heads.

The fall slams your stomach up to your throat as the world turns into a blurry merry-go-round of white and ice, and the only stable thing is the additional weight of Eren as you hold onto his backpack’s strap for dear life. The first hit is the worst. You land awkwardly on your side, the blanket of snow buffering most of the impact as you tumble and roll further down, kicking up snow and dirt.

Gloved hands clawing into the ice, searching for roots to stop your fall, you try to scramble back up the hill but the snow gives under your feet—and then suddenly there is no ground beneath your feet and you fall again, flailing to find purchase and it is the longest two seconds of your life until your backpack hits the ground and your teeth clack together hard enough you feel it in all your bones.

A moment later, a second thud lands inside a pile of snow beside you.

All you can do is lie on your back like a turtle upturned, kicking and swinging and swaying as you try to scramble to your knees, blinking away fine snow dust from your lashes. Your heart still beats too fast, too hard—too scared from dodging Death’s cold, greedy talons by nothing more than a hairsbreadth. You can still feel him yearning for you in the cold, biting wind that picks up, in the coppery taste filling your mouth after having bitten the inside of your mouth during the fall.

You turn your back to the cliff. A snow-tipped forest stretches before you, illuminated in a haze of dusty gold beneath the late-afternoon sun. And in the distance, more ice-capped mountains rise and fall as far as the eye can see.

But you feel only the cold in your bones and see only the shadows that stretch long and dark beneath the pine trees. This is the south of the Walls, where winter days are not as bad as in the North, yet if you don’t find shelter before the sun sets, you will die.

You scramble to your feet, snow stuck to your coat and backpack weighing you down so much your knees buckle with the additional weight. The heaps of snow surrounding you remain motionless, still. The panic seizing you, freezing you in place for a moment, is colder than the snow before you lunge into the pile, clawing through the icy chunks that immediately freeze and harden as you dig your way through to Eren.

You find his arm first. He’s lost one of his gloves during the fall and you don’t try to push your luck finding it. Unearthing him takes a good amount of strength and time, but at least he is free from his icy coffin. Snow dusts his face, clings to the fur of his hood and his closed lashes like fine diamonds. You tug your glove off with your teeth and put your hand to his cheeks, feeling for his pulse. Despite the cold, his cheeks are still warm, still full of life, and the relief that sparks within you warms you like a small candle’s light.

You free him completely, pull him out and drag him away until he is laid out on the snowy floor, his breaths coming out in soft white plumes. No matter how often you say his name, pat his cheek and beg him to wake up, nothing disturbs Eren’s sleeping beauty slumber.

“You can’t die, all right?” you say to him. To yourself. To no one. “Please don’t. You’re a prick sometimes, but you can’t die, okay?”

There’s no response. You have never known silence this terrifying.

But fear and panic are not the solution. For two years Shadis has beat discipline and order into you with words and you would not allow this to crumble under the face of adversity.

More importantly, you will not leave Eren to be taken by the Grim Reaper.

Shelter. You need shelter, you need a fire. You have to survive this.

Checking your gear, you make sure you didn’t lose anything during your descent. Pulling Eren out of that pile of snow was already hard work. You doubt you’ll make it far if you’d try carrying him and his backpack, so you spend the next five minutes going through everything he has on him.

The contents of his bag are identical to yours: a raincover, additional rope and another survival knife, another pair of waterproof gloves that you quickly switch out with the one Eren’s wearing. You take his water bottle with you and stuff yourself with a sweet oat bar. The rest of his rations—dry crackers, another oat bar, thinly sliced rye bread and hard biscuits—you stuff into your own back for later if he wakes up.

When he wakes up, you correct yourself, chewing on the bar without really tasting anything. You doubt something like a fever and a fall from this height that barely left you with a scratch could kill a public menace like Eren. The world wouldn’t miss out to see how far he’ll go.

Now looking up, it actually does surprise you how unscathed you’ve emerged from the fall. A canopy of barren trees obscures your sight of the top. Protocol says that any loss to the formation is to be diminished. Unfortunately, that means everyone is out for themselves, and those who manage to lose the group have to find their own way back. But not with the sun descending behind the horizon, and Eren still unconscious.

When you’ve steeled yourself for the arduous task, you slide the bag off Eren’s back and throw him over your shoulders, huffing at the additional weight. If you keep following the trail back along the cliff side, you should return to where you’ve earlier seen the caves and find shelter there for the night.

Soon you are in the heart of the woods, surrounded by tall, crowding pines and frost-larches that cast their shadows over you. A hush has settled in the air. It feels as though the forest is alive and watching, the cold creeping steadily past your clothes, under your skin, into your bones. Every step further turns into an excruciating fight to keep Eren upright, his weight pushing you down into the thick blanket of snow.

Darkness has steadily crept in around you, and you have to blink to make out which are the trees and which are the shadows. Time seems to go in circles, and you begin to wonder whether you are going in circles. The unbearable cold is addling your brain; you keep looking to the left and right, imagining the occasional crackle of a branch or crunch of snow. You remember your mother’s stories about never-ending winters where ice spirits dwell to spirit away the last remaining humans locked up inside their tiny huts in hopes for spring to come. Wolves that spring from thin air and hunt in packs. That is exactly why Shadis had told your class to never travel without a light source on you that burns steadily through the night to ward off the creatures lurking in the woods. Now the darkness seems to press against you.

Then, you hear it. The snap-snap-snap of twigs and the rustle of the underbrush, several dozen paces behind you.

Someone—or something—is following you.

Fear pricks at you. You duck behind the nearest tree, and after rebalancing Eren on your back, you still and strain to listen over the hammering of your heart.

There. Rustling and crackling approaches, as though something large is moving through the trees. Holding your breath, you dare a look from behind the tree and feel your legs turn to cotton.

Multiple swift, dark shapes slither by, so close that their musty wet-animal scent wafts past you. They circle you, sniffing the air and letting out deep-throated growls. As they turn their heads to rivet their black, evil eyes on you, your heart sinks. Wolves. A pack of hungry, desperate wolves.

Your mind kicks into action as you press Eren’s body closer to yours. One wrong movement and your life will be over; Eren’s life will be over. Now that they have picked up your scent, they will hunt you until their razor-sharp fangs tear the meat from your bones, squeeze their tongue in to suck out your marrow.

Slowly, painfully aware that you cannot do any rash moves, you lower Eren to the ground first, then your backpack. There is no way you can outrun them. Your hand inches to the survival knife strapped to the belt around your coat, fingers numb and shaking. The wolves crouch, low and snarling. One of them, their leader you assume, stands between you and the rest, a mountain of growling, brindled fur, shoulders hunched forward, lips curled back over snarling teeth.

It snarls again, crouching closer to the ground. Its growl is more than just Look, here is a human in our territory and we can do whatever we please. No, this growl means We have not eaten in days, and now it is time to feast.

The wolf’s lips draw back to show its teeth, and you see its lolling tongue. And then it launches itself forward, jaws gaping, ready to tear. You have barely time to draw your knife as it strikes you square in the chest, and you two go over in a writhing tangle.

Your screams go under the lethal snap of his jaw, its target the soft flesh of your throat where he can easily rip you to shreds. The smell of dirt and wet dog and something far more unpleasant threatens to choke you. The weight of this beast robs you of any chance to fight back. You’d just have to move your arm and bring upon it the sharp edge of your knife to show him your own talons are as sharp—everything inside you screams against this. You hate to see animals suffer, to inflict pain upon the most innocent creatures.

If only the wolf would think so of you as well.

But the wolf is starving, and its mates are starving. It sees you as nothing more than a walking slab of meat. And that is why it has no problem to throw its head back and pierce those razor-sharp fangs right through the fabric of your coat into your arm and tear at your flesh.

❀❀❀

My darling [Name],

I have always known the day would come when you would remember and yet nothing prepares the heart for adversity as great as finding yourself facing the struggle you’ve tried to brace yourself for.

What Jeanie told you is the truth. I still remember reading your mother’s letter, feeling her distraught with every word. I swear I feared my heart would stop beating reading your mother’s recount of the events.

You must have been ten—the age when everything is a mystery and a great adventure. I remember whenever you and Jeanie went outside to play, you wouldn’t come back for hours and when you finally returned you were both covered in dust and grime from head to toe. I assume that is why, on that day, your parents weren’t worried why you were staying out for so long.

But then, your mother wrote, your friend had come over, asking for your whereabouts. That made her wonder, at last. Were you not supposed to be with him? I know he was very dear to you, I remember you talking about him so much, and strangely, I cannot remember his name or face, even though I know I must have met him at some point when visiting you.

Your mother and father immediately set out to ask around the neighbourhood if someone saw you. The result shocked your little community quite. The old veteran living on the outskirts close to the wall, who everyone believed to be blind turned out to have impeccable eyesight. We believe he lured you away, asked you to help him and you have never been someone to turn away from those who need help.

It was your father who found you. The veteran attacked him, scared what would happen to him if everyone knew about his secret. I don’t know how much you saw of it, of what your father had to do to protect you both. We were all grateful he saved you, and yet there is a part of me wondering if taking that old man’s life really was necessary. If it wasn’t possible to resolve things differently. Then again, any parent would make a deal with the Devil, I am sure, to keep their child safe.

The fact that your early life is built upon violence and loss pains me to this day. It must have been such a great shock that you had completely repressed any memory of the events, and had no recollection of ever having been kidnapped and taken away by that monster.

I do wonder though, why you have remembered now of all times—and such strange details as well! Not all is clear to me, there was no need to make your parents go through the pain of remembering all that by asking them too much. But a green wallpaper with golden lilies on it? That doesn’t sound like something you would find in Shiganshina. I did hear that it is a popular interior design choice within the inner Walls though.

But how did you know?

I think that is enough talk of that. Your graduation approaches. It is strange to believe that only two years ago, we last saw each other, and the next time we hopefully will, you and Jeanie will be full-fledged soldiers. You know I have never fully approved of you two going and giving up your young lives to a cause with no end. But I have been young once as well, and I know that nobody wants to be saved from their own ambition.

I am just glad you two have decided to stay within the Walls, and that makes it a little easier to sleep at night.

Until we see each other next time, please enjoy our little presents.

In love, always Ida

A/N: After finishing this I realised there is no way they would have chocolate on the island because they wouldn’t be able to plant cacao. Might go back and edit this, but for now let’s just ignore this.

feel free to head over to my pinned post to find my ko-fi link if you enjoy the story wanna fuel me with some coffee! ♥

Sources of research for this chapter: • London, Jack: To Build a Fire (1902) • Geller, Jacob: Fear of Cold (2022) • Campbell, John W.: Who Goes There? (1938)

taglist: @arisu003, @brooki, @prttyangelbaby, @honeylmnade

#didn't mean to split the chapter but it all would have been too long #next chapter will be so much fun because EMIL #aot x reader #aot x you #aot x y/n #eren x reader #eren x you #eren x y/n #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #swyaatl

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 I, CARRION

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: the day of the event has arrived and dazai is second guessing everything, but it's too late for him to back out now.{wordcount: 12k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: PART FOUR wow guys we're really getting into the meat of the fic now. HAHAH this is the chapter i had to split into two parts, initially it was going to be one big one but then it would've been a whopping 23k words and that's a bit much even for me. i didn't want to cross the 20k realm HAHAHH. anyway, this chapter really was a pleasure to write, the second scene was my favorite but the ending was SOOOO close to usurping it

GENERAL WARNINGS: again, i'll just leave this warning on every chapter - dazai struggles a lot with disassociation/derealization & losing himself in the pages of the book. as always please let me know if i forgot any warnings

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

“Gin-chan, I’m so nervous.” 

You pace around Dazai’s penthouse anxiously, twisting your fingers in front of your body. The event is taking place tomorrow night. You still don’t have an outfit for it—Dazai told you not to worry about it, you’re still worrying about it because what does that even mean? You don’t know what to expect from the event, and Gin is evasive when you ask her about what will happen, just keeps telling you that it’ll be fine as long as you stay with Dazai.

“There’s no reason to be nervous,” Gin says, as she always does, still tapping away at her laptop. Glasses hang off the bridge of her nose and there are dark circles beneath her eyes. You feel a bit ashamed about constantly going on about your nerves when you know damn well she, Dazai and all of the other executives of his company have been working nonstop the past few days trying to finish preparations. “Dazai-san will be with you the whole time, and if he has to talk business, someone will sit with you until he can get back so you’re not feeling awkward.”

Somehow, you think that might be even more awkward because you doubt a random person is going to want to babysit you while Dazai is busy, but you don’t voice your thoughts, instead just withering as you circle the large room for the sixth time in the past five minutes. 

You’ve hardly seen Dazai all week. You don’t really mind, you know he’s swamped with work and you’ve been keeping yourself busy going out cafe hopping and shopping. Gin comes with you when she can, but it’s usually Nakajima Atsushi or Tachihara Michizo that joins you—Gin had introduced you to the two security guards a week ago when she’d been too busy to come with you to a cafe downtown. You don’t mind the company but you can’t help but wonder why Dazai is so insistent that someone comes with you.

Well. You can’t help but wonder about a lot of things, really. You’re pretty certain that Dazai is still hiding something major from you. You don’t know a lot about business, and you especially don’t know anything about his business, but something isn’t right. You’re not stupid and everyone is not as slick as they think themselves to be, you see how tense and anxious people get when you mention him to them, more so than the average worker would be at the mere mention of their boss, and everyone in the entire damn building is armed, even though they clearly try to hide it whenever you’re in the area. 

You and your friends have joked about the uber wealthy before, and how no one above a certain tax bracket obtains their wealth without some sort of blood money; you’re about 99% sure that’s what’s taking place here too, and it would certainly explain all of the secrecy. More so than trade secrets at least, you feel a bit dumb for that to have even been an explanation in your mind. You just don’t know the specifics. You don’t know if you want to know the specifics, you think you’d prefer to remain ignorant because 1) you definitely don’t want to have any sort of culpability, not when you’re on path to graduate school and hopefully a very prestigious job with the government, and 2) … you don’t want to face the reality of what that would mean. 

You like Dazai. More than like him. You’ve been slowly coming to terms with the fact that you really, truly care for him, and if you end up learning the… specifics of his job, then you’re going to be forced into making a decision you don’t want to make: preserving your future and morals or risking them for him. And you’re not going to sit around and claim to be some upstanding, virtuous person. You’re not. But you are ambitious, and you’ve had your mind set on your future since you learned how to pick up a pen and write. You’ve worked your entire life to get where you are now, slaved your way through a prestigious undergraduate school in Japan and spent months preparing for the entrance exams for graduate school, only to what? Throw it all away for some man?

God, you almost feel sick. Distantly, you wonder how awful of a person you must be for the threat to your future success to be the main reason why you’re questioning yourself, and not the fact that it’s very likely that Dazai and his conglomerate have some sort of business with Japan’s underground, maybe even direct dealings with the mafia itself. 

You pause from where you’re pacing around the room, eyes widening a bit as another realization hits you. You had thought it was odd that Dazai and Gin and all of the executives of the conglomerate have been so stressed and anxious over an event that they’re not even hosting, but what if… Your throat spasms a bit as you swallow, wondering if Dazai is about to bring you not to an event hosted by their rival, but to an event hosted by the mafia. You don’t think he would put you in danger like that, you don’t want to think he would put you in danger like that and you wonder if you’re just sending yourself down a spiral of unnecessary paranoia. 

But it doesn’t make sense. Dazai is enamored by you, and you don’t think you’re being conceited by saying that because he has made it abundantly clear. There’s no way he would ever put you in danger like that. Not unless… you feel a bit green remembering his reaction to you saying that you’d go out on your own and stay with your friend the weekend of the event. You could feel the anxiety radiating off of him for a split second before he asked you to come with him. You also remember how he always makes sure someone is with you when you go out, and god, you swear you’re not a conspiracy theorist but nothing is making sense when you look at it through your rose-tinted lenses but looking at it through these lenses. The lenses of a man who is obviously smitten with you, and who might have dealings with the mafia—of course he wouldn’t want you to go out on your own because he’d be scared that you might be targeted as a means to get to him.

Oh, you feel dizzy. What have you gotten yourself into?

“Are you okay?” Gin is looking up at you, brows furrowed in concern. “You look a little sick.”

“I’m fine,” you say, but the words sound pathetic even to your own ears and you know Gin doesn’t believe you from the way she tilts her head to the side to study you.

Luckily, you’re saved by the bell. Literally. 

Your head snaps to the side as the elevator dings, and ordinarily, you would be ecstatic because who else would be coming up to the penthouse besides Dazai and while you’ve certainly missed him over the past week with how busy he’s been, you’re not sure if you’re ready to see him right now with the way your thoughts have just spiraled, because you think you might blurt something out that you can’t take back.

But, for better or for worse, it is not Dazai that enters the penthouse.

“Good morning, ladies,” a familiar voice croons as the elevator doors slide open. Your eyes light up as you whip around, eyes falling upon a face you haven’t seen in almost two weeks. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Albatross!” you say, excited, a smile splitting your face, because yes, even knowing about the possible affiliation with the mafia, you’re still excited to see the blonde—he’s never been anything but sweet to you, and he’s really the only one besides Gin and Chuuya who doesn’t treat you weirdly because of your relationship with Dazai. 

“D’aw, look at it, Lippmann, told you the doll would still remember me,” Albatross grins, dark glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose as he tosses you a wink and then looks back toward the elevator.

Your gaze follows his, and your eyes fall upon a vaguely familiar person stepping out of the elevator and into the penthouse, carrying a few boxes. Pale hair cut into a bob, a pretty, androgynous face, dressed to the nines in a light purple waistcoat and matching pants—where have you seen him before? Wait-

“You’re-!” you begin, eyes wide and lips parting in shock.

“Walter Lippmann,” the man greets you with a kind smile and soft eyes, you feel a bit flustered, you can hardly meet his gaze. “Everybody just calls me Lippmann though.”

You try to speak, but you’re a bit starstruck—the last thing you’d expected was for a movie star to step into the penthouse. You’re looking between Albatross and Gin and then hesitantly back at Lippmann as you try to figure out what’s going on. 

Albatross cackles. “Looks like she’s gotta crush, Lippmann. Better not let the boss find out, he’ll get jealous.”

“Albatross,” you complain, hands flying to cover your hot face. “Not true, I’m just surprised. Am I allowed to be surprised?”

“Yeah, sure, doll, that’s it,” Albatross says, clearly not believing you at all as he throws himself onto the couch next to Gin, looking up at you. “The boss asked us to pick up a dress for you. Go try it on, I’m going to raid his liquor cabinet while you do—if he asks, you better take the blame.”

You see Gin roll her eyes. “You will not raid his liquor cabinet, Albatross,” she says firmly, but the man only winks at her.

You turn your attention back to Lippmann, who’s carrying the dress in a garment bag, a shoe box tucked under his other arm. He gives you a small smile and then motions for you to follow him; you’re still starstruck as you follow him into Dazai’s bedroom, pointedly ignoring the way Albatross snickers. 

You watch as Lippmann hangs the garment bag up on the closet, placing the shoebox down on the bed. He turns toward you after and says, “Try it on and make sure it fits properly. And make sure you like it.”

You nod, lips parting to speak but no words leave your lips. You look up at the garment bag, down to the shoes, and back to Lippmann and then you ask, “How do you… how do you know Dazai?” 

Lippmann gives you another gentle smile, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. You notice, a bit curiously, that he seems to take a moment before he speaks, as if choosing his words carefully. 

“I knew Dazai’s father,” he says after a few seconds. “I work with the Mori Corporation sometimes regarding press and political matters. Like a spokesperson when Dazai is unable to.”

Hm, you think to yourself before nodding, a movie star as a spokesperson for a corporation, that’s a bit odd, isn’t it?

Your brows furrow slightly as you try to fit the new knowledge in with all of the rest you’ve put together over the past few weeks but it’s just another jagged puzzle piece that’s not fitting in anywhere.

“I’m a huge fan of your movies,” you finally tell him, rubbing the back of your neck as you toss him a sheepish smile. “Like, no joke, almost cried when you had your discussion panel for The Good Society three months ago because it was two days before my entrance exam to grad school so I couldn’t go.”

Lippman laughs, pale cheeks flushing as he looks down at the ground before back up at you. “Honestly, you didn’t miss out. The whole panel was a mess, and the AC broke twenty minutes before, so it was ridiculously hot.”

You don’t really know what to say to that, cursing the fact that you are 1) still half dazed on top of 2) already being naturally awkward, but Walter Lippmann is Walter Lippmann, so of course he knows just what to say and do.

He nods to the dress that he hung up on the closet. “Try it on and then give us a show,” he says, winking at you before he makes his way out of Dazai’s bedroom back into the other room with Albatross and Gin.

You sigh when you’re alone again, tilting your head up to look at the ceiling for a moment, wondering what your life has become before you make your way over to the dress. You unzip the garment bag, curious to see what Dazai had picked for you, and your eyes shoot open when you see the red gown within the bag. Smooth and silky, off-the-shoulder, it’s probably the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon; you feel like you shouldn’t even touch it, much less put it on. 

But Lippmann and Albatross and Gin are out there waiting, you can hear them talking through the door, so you force yourself to gingerly pull it off of the hanger, careful to not be too rough with the material. It doesn’t take you too long to get your clothes off and the dress on, but when you do, you can hardly bring yourself to move away from the mirror. 

You look beautiful. You do. The dress is a perfect fit, it compliments your skin, it compliments your hair. You look beautiful, but you feel like a fraud, like a clown in a ball gown, hoping that the beauty of the dress would draw attention from the fact that it’s not meant for someone like you. 

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring at your reflection. Too long, evidently, because you hear a sharp knock at the door and Lippman’s concerned voice asking if you’ve gotten the dress on.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I’m dressed.”

You hear the door to Dazai’s bedroom creak open but you don’t turn to look.

“I think this costs more than my student loans,” you breathe out, staring at yourself in the mirror. You smooth your hands over the silky material, eyes catching the way it clings to you perfectly. “God, where the hell did he get something like this? It’s like it was made for me.”

“Probably was,” Lippmann says from where he’s leaning against the doorframe, lips quirked up into a half smile as he tosses you another wink. “Perks of dating one of the richest men in Japan.”

You let out a noise caught between a whimper and a laugh, suddenly feeling very, very out of place.

Lippmann clearly catches your sudden change in attitude and his brows furrow. “Do you not like it?” he asks curiously. “There’s plenty of time for him to send for something else.”

“No, no,” you hurry to say, voice catching. Although you’re unsure how twenty-hour hours constitutes ‘plenty of time’, but you digress. “It’s perfect. It is.”

“What’s the issue then?”

“I just…” you trail off, eyes lingering in the mirror. “I feel silly, I guess. How obvious is it that I’ve never worn anything like this before?” 

“Silly?” Lippmann asks, amused, peeling off the doorframe to make his way over to you. You swallow thickly as he straightens your posture and then uses two fingers to make you raise your chin. “You look stunning. Like a woman who belongs on the arm of the most influential man in Japan… Like a woman who doesn’t need to be on the arm of any man.”

Your face feels a bit hot as you let out a puff of laughter. “Now you’re exaggerating.”

“I certainly am not,” Lippmann says firmly, taking a step back. “You’re only getting in your head. From what Chuuya has told me about you, you’re more than suited to outwit and outclass anyone in attendance at that event.”

Your face feels hotter now, smiling as you roll your eyes. “Flatterer,” you say, but you feel a bit better, chest lighter as your gaze turns back to look at the mirror. “... Do you-”

A sharp whistle from the door draws your attention from Lippmann; there’s a lecherous smile on Albatross’s face as he leans against the frame and looks at you, glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose. “Damn, if you weren’t the boss’s girl…”

Gin slaps him hard on the back of his head, glaring at him before turning a small smile to you. “You look beautiful,” she says softly. “He’ll be speechless when he sees you tomorrow.”

Your throat feels tight as your lashes flutter, a smile on your lips as you look down at the ground. Even though the concerns of your realizations from before still weigh heavily in the back of your mind, you can’t help but feel a bit giddy at the thought of seeing Dazai tomorrow.

The giddiness is long gone.

You still haven’t gotten dressed.

You’re sitting at the edge of Dazai’s bed in your bra and panties, staring at the wall with your knees pulled to your chest. Your dress is hanging on the closet on the far side of the room, heels sitting on the floor beneath it. You’ve done your makeup and you put your earrings on already—pretty, dangly diamonds that are the most expensive thing you own, the last thing your brother gifted you before he cut you off entirely. You need to be getting dressed, Dazai will be up here any second to pick you up to leave for the event, but you just can’t bring yourself to put the dress on, anxiety eating away at you.

It’s not even because of the realization you’d come to yesterday, it’s because you think you’re about to make a fool out of yourself. Even if you’re wrong about the theory that you might be heading into an event hosted by the mafia and their associates, you’re still heading into an event that’s going to be attended by people who are much wealthier than you, and you already feel out of place and you’re not even there. 

The dress is beautiful, but you think you’ll look like a clown in it, everyone will know that you’re not from the same sector of life as them with a single glance. Lippmann’s words from yesterday are in one ear out the other now that you’re closer to the actual time of the event.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even hear the bing of the elevator arriving at the penthouse, and you don’t notice Dazai until he pushes open the cracked door to step into the bedroom. And you feel like you should be embarrassed sitting half naked on his bed, rather than being dressed and waiting for him, but you can’t muster it, eyes dragging up from the wall to land on his concerned expression. 

And he’s a sight, you think. He’s so handsome. Absently, you think he might be more handsome than the last time you saw him but you think that’s a bit ridiculous because he hasn’t changed at all. He’s wearing the same long black coat and burgundy scarf, but the sleek, dark suit he wears beneath it is different, more expensive than all of the others that he’s donned the past few months you’ve known him. 

His lips are turned downward as he approaches you, placing a blue box down on his dresser, dark eye soft with concern, and you also can’t help but notice that he still wears the bandages around the upper left side of his face, covering his eye. You want to know what’s beneath them desperately, but you can’t bring yourself to ask, hoping that he’ll show you on his own terms.

He stands in front of you, and you rest your chin on your knees as you stare forward, staring at his abdomen instead of looking up at his face. But he doesn’t let your gaze linger there, bringing his right hand to cup your cheek so he can gently lift your face upward, forcing you to meet his eyes. You can feel the rough edges of his bandages scraping against your skin, and you instinctively lean into his touch. You try to remind yourself of all of the realizations you’d come to yesterday, tell yourself to not be as at ease with him, at least have some semblance of your guard up, but you fail.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you softly, letting you lean into his touch as he brings his other hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you okay?”

And you feel selfish, you realize, as you try to figure out what to tell him. You can’t even fathom the amount of money he spent on your dress and the shoes, and here you are being a baby because you’re self conscious. You don’t even want to reply to him, so you try to turn your face away but he doesn’t let you.

“Tell me,” he says quietly. “I’ll fix it, whatever it is.”

“It’s silly,” you finally breathe out, averting your gaze to the ground as you let your eyes flutter shut, turning your face in his hand to kiss his palm before leaning back into it. “I’m being a baby, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not silly if it has you upset,” Dazai tells you, and he kneels down in front of you to catch your gaze again and briefly, you think it’s absurd that you have such a powerful man at your whims like this, kneeling before you, willing to do anything to make sure that you’re content and happy. It makes your throat swell a bit, those inferior feelings rising back to your chest with a vengeance, because what the hell did you do to deserve this? There’s nothing special about you. “Tell me what’s wrong, let me help.”

“I just don’t understand.” 

Oh my god, your voice cracks, you can feel your eyes go a bit misty, and instantly, Dazai’s concerned gaze is narrowing, as if trying to calculate what exactly is the source of your distress so he can remove it, and it only makes you want to cry more because what did you do to deserve all of this? 

If you’re right about all of the assumptions you made the other day, and Dazai is bringing you to this event even though by all means he should not because there’s likely going to be a lot of shady business occurring that could incriminate him and all of the other people at this event, then why? Why would he risk that just for a girl he met a few months ago? You can’t fathom it.

God, you know better than anyone the effects imposter syndrome can have on a person in school, but the last thing you expected was to be dealing with it in love too.

Love, the word makes your stomach churn because you do love him, you realize, as he stares up at you desperately trying to figure out what’s wrong so he can fix it. And how scary is that, considering only twenty-four hours ago you came to the realization that he’s very likely involved in the underground, in some way or another, and you had to come to terms with the fact that you’d have to choose between your future and a man. But he’s not just a man, he’s a man that you love in spite of everything you’ve put together.

A tear spills over your cheek and Dazai’s gaze becomes alarmed as he instantly wipes it away with his thumb before caressing your cheek gently. 

“What don’t you understand?” he presses quietly. “Talk to me.”

Where do you fucking start?

You want to cry even more but you force yourself not to, you can’t afford to let your makeup get anymore messed up than it already is. Instead you sniffle a bit and try to blink away the tears. 

“This,” you finally say, and your voice cracks again, you take a wet breath. Dazai’s lips part a bit, as if he wants to speak but he’s not sure what to say, brows furrowing. “There’s nothing special about me, Dazai, and I don’t understand why you’ve gone to the lengths that you have for me. Meeting me at that club every Friday as if you’re not always swamped with work, indulging me whenever I want to do things. You gave me a place to stay after only knowing me for a few weeks, gave up your own room, your own bed, so I could be comfortable while you slept at your desk. You’ve made sure people are always with me so I never get bored or lonely. You’ve given me literally everything I could possibly ask for and I’ve just been freeloading off of you for two and a half weeks now. Now, I’m going to go with you to this event and end up embarrassing you because I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb compared to everyone else there. They’ll know I don’t belong there and I just-”

You cut yourself off, and you want to avert your gaze from Dazai’s but you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, you watch as something akin to amusement flashes through his eye. He takes one of your hands into his and brings it up to his lips, eye sliding shut for a moment as he kisses your knuckles. You let out a shaky puff of air as his lips linger for a moment before he looks up at you again through his lashes.

“Let me help you get dressed,” he murmurs, and you look down at the ground now as you nod, letting him help you to your feet and lead you over to where the dress is hanging up on the closet door.

He pulls it off the hanger and guides you into it, pulling it up and adjusting it so that it covers you properly. He steps behind you, and you realize that he also has you standing in front of the floor length mirror set up on his closet door. You sniffle a bit again as you look at yourself in the mirror. 

Your makeup looks a bit smudged beneath your eye from the tears gathering at your lash line, but somehow, you still look beautiful. You think it’s only because of the dress, the way it clings to your body so nicely and brightens all of your features. You take in another shuddered gulp of air when you feel Dazai begin to zip up the back of your dress slowly, each brush of his fingers against your skin lights your nerves on fire, and once he finally has it zipped to the top, he kisses the nape of your neck, hands falling to your hips to caress them gently. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean back against him, his comforting hold settling your turbulent emotions.

“I met you at the club every Friday because you were the only relief I had from reality,” he finally says, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he holds you. “I indulged your requests because I was indulging in you myself. Every moment I spent with you, I allowed myself to be Dazai Osamu, the person, and not the… Not what I’ve had to become to keep this organization running.”

Your breath catches, lips parting at his words but no sound escapes them. He kisses the nape of your neck one last time before he moves to stand in front of you, kneeling down again as he grabs one of your heels and undos the buckle. You watch with bated breath as he lifts your left foot from the ground to kiss your ankle before sliding the heel on, deft fingers fasting the clasp. 

“I gave you a place to stay because I was selfish and I wanted you around more,” he sighs, resting his forehead against your knee now as he lingers there for a moment before moving on to repeat the process with your other foot, kissing your ankle and slipping the heel on. He continues, “Likewise, I have kept you surrounded by people because I have been desperately afraid that you’re going to get bored and want to leave because work leaves me little time to be around. Unfortunately, I’m not the generous person you’re making me out to be, I’m horribly self-serving and greedy, especially when it comes to you.”

He looks up at you now from where he’s kneeling in front of you, gaze searching your face. You want to reach out and cup his cheek, so you do, and immediately, he’s turning his face to kiss your palm just as you’d done to him before letting his eye slide shut as he leans into your touch, as if basking in it.

“I would give you anything you want,” he admits softly, keeping his gaze shut as he holds your palm against his face. “Anything. And if it was something outside of my reach, I would make it in my reach. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, no lengths I wouldn’t go to and no lines I wouldn’t cross.”

You think your lungs might be burning, you don’t think you can breathe as you stare down at him, heart thudding in your swelling chest, tears building in your eyes again but this time not out of insecurity. Dazai finally rises to his feet after placing one last kiss upon your knuckles, and he doesn’t say anything as he makes his way over to the dresser where he’d placed the blue box. 

You don’t move, watching as he opens it and pulls something out before making his way back over to you, standing behind you. He looks at you through the mirror as he lifts his hands to place a glittering diamond necklace upon your collarbone. You can’t breathe again, you realize, it’s cool against your skin and you think it might be the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon, dozens upon dozens of white diamonds shimmering in the mirror in front of you. Your skin feels like it’s on fire as his fingers brush the nape of your neck as he clasps it onto you. 

“You are beautiful,” he says, voice so raw that you almost shiver at the intensity of it. His fingers brush your hips as if he’s afraid to touch you. “You are beautiful, and intelligent, and everything I have ever wanted. You deserve so much more than me, more than you’ll ever be able to understand, and I’m sorry that I’m not a good enough man to do what’s right and let you go. The last thing you should ever be doubting is this.”

His eye slides shut again as he lets out a soft puff of air, the warmth fans across the back of your neck and you think you could spend forever in this moment with him, wishing that you could freeze time. 

“You said that you thought it was fate that brought us together,” he finally finishes, voice quiet as he references what you told him the first time you met. “Don’t ever doubt your place with me. Wherever I am, you belong, whether it’s a club, or an apartment, or an event.”

“I thought you hate the idea of fate,” you say, voice a bit choked as you try to force the tears back again.

“I do,” he affirms, “but if fate brought us together, then far be it from me to deny the one thing in this world that has ever made me happy.”

You love him.

You feel sick to your stomach—be it from butterflies or the implications of the realization. The words threaten to burst from your lips but you swallow them, instead, another tear trails down your face and he sees it through the mirror, lifting his hand to wipe it away before leaning a bit over your shoulder to press his lips to your jaw.

“I’m ruining my makeup,” you rasp, letting out another shaky breath.

He smiles against your skin.

“You’ll be beautiful still,” he murmurs before pulling back, admiring you for a moment before he asks: “Are you ready to go?”

You nod. “Yeah,” you say, a bit breathless. “I’m ready.”

“Everyone is staring at us.”

You’re not wrong, exactly. As soon as the two of you had entered the room, all attention was sent your way, and though the music was loud enough to drown out most chatter (intentional, of course, so unsavory ears can’t overhear even more unsavory dealings), Dazai couldn’t help but notice the hush that spread through the room at the sight of you. The boss of the Port Mafia with a date on his arm was certainly a sight to behold to all of the rest of the occupants of the event hall,.

“Can you blame them? You look beautiful,” he says, voice laced with a teasing edge that is certainly not matched in his expression. Dazai knew people would be looking at you if he brought you here. Still, he wants to gouge their eyes out. 

His arm tightens around you as he tucks you into his side, cold gaze sweeping across the massive event hall. At least two hundred people are attending Nabokov’s event—an even mixture of pharmaceutical tycoons, technology barons, politicians and mafiosos. 

At first glance, he recognizes four different mafias in attendance. 

Mishima Yukio of the Sun and Steel stands by one of his associates, the president of Mitsubishi Chemical Group; the man’s dark eyes card over Dazai with lazy interest, before his head tilts to the side as he studies you.

Dazai thinks that the Sun and Steel might be the Port Mafia’s only allies in attendance, and even then, allies might be taking it too far. The extent of Dazai’s dealing with Mishima was a general agreement to not encroach the Sun and Steel’s monopoly over the narcotics industry—which Dazai never intended on doing anyway because the industry is far more trouble than it's worth—and an unspoken promise to protect Japan’s underground from foreign mafias. 

Dazai wonders if that unspoken promise still holds or if the Russians have cut a deal with him. 

Nabokov’s Pale Flame, obviously, is in attendance, along with the remnants of Leo Tolstoy’s Three Deaths. Tolstoy himself is sitting at the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand as he leans back on the stool, gaze focused on you. Nabokov is off to the left, making his way across the room to greet Dazai, a curious expression on his face. Dazai recognizes Cao Xueqin of the Red Chamber sitting near Kitazawa Michihiro of Fuji Electric, one of the Port Mafia’s closest associates; and Dazai thinks that might be a bit foreboding, both because of the presence of the Chinese and the company he’s keeping.

Dostoevsky’s House of the Dead is nowhere to be seen, but Dazai knows that they’re here. Somewhere. He just has to find him—and he will.

More eyes are on you than him, and although that was to be expected, Dazai can’t fight the doubt that suddenly swirls in his chest, wondering if he’d made the right decision. If you hadn’t been on people’s radar already, you definitely are now, and the thought makes him a bit sick to his stomach. He tries to console himself with the fact that this was the lesser of two evils—the mere chance of you being on the radar of any of the mafias in this room, no matter how slim it might be, was not something he could gamble with. There was no way he could let you go out alone and unprotected. People like them, people like him, would jump on the chance to take advantage of the weakness and he couldn’t let that happen. 

But is this really any better? 

He’s thrown you into a pit of snakes, and you’re ignorant to all of the threats around you. His gaze drifts back down to you, catching the way your brows are knit together slightly, the way your lips are pressed in a thin line. There’s an indecipherable look in your eyes as your gaze shifts over the room, and Dazai wonders if you know more than you’re letting on. That’s another scary thought, but he can at least find comfort in it for now because it’ll have you keeping your guard up around these people. He’ll just have to deal with the consequences later.

He dips his head down to your ear, speaking quietly before Nabokov finally reaches him: “Just follow my lead, you’ll be fine.”

The look you shoot at him is nothing short of withering, and Dazai can’t help the smile that curves at the corners of his lips as he lifts his head back up to subtly brush his lips against your temple. He catches sight of movement from the corner of his eye and any softness that might’ve been visible in his expression washes away instantly.

“Dazai,” Nabokov greets, beady eyes flickering between you and Dazai, partially curious about you and partially nervous about Dazai. Dazai tilts his head to the side, becoming increasingly more unamused the longer Nabokov’s gaze lingers on you. “I’m glad you came. I wanted to apologize for not being able to attend our planned meeting a few months ago.”

“So I heard.” Dazai’s voice is short and distant, more focused on the feeling of you tucked into his side than the conversation at hand. He has to force himself to keep his gaze steady on Nabokov, wanting to look down at you, but he contents himself with letting his hand slide down to your hip, rubbing absent circles against the silky material of your dress. 

Nabokov fumbles over Dazai’s clipped response, a bead of sweat gathering at the corner of his forehead. He wishes he could peer into your head and see what you’re thinking, about him, about this, about everything. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get through the night without you realizing who he is, what he is, and that thought scares him because he thinks that maybe he should have been the one to explain it to you, so he could at least try to paint himself in a better light. Although, he’s not sure what sort of light would make anything about him look better.

“Who is this?” Nabokov finally asks, turning his attention toward you. Dazai doesn’t like the way he looks at you, eyes raking over you like you’re a piece of meat.

“My partner.” To Dazai’s credit, his voice is much smoother than the turbulent emotions in his chest would suggest. “Where is your wife, Nabokov?” 

Nabokov doesn’t even respond to the question, laughing loudly. “Never thought I’d see the day you found yourself a lover, Dazai,” he chuckles and then holds his hand out to you. “Vladimir Nabokov.”

You shift a bit to take his hand, but Dazai is faster, lithe fingers wrapping around Nabokov’s wrist in an agonizingly tight grip. Nabokov winces, Dazai’s face is cold as he stares down at the man.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” he warns, keeping his voice low. 

Vladimir Nabokov. Invitation to a Beheading. An ability that grants its user to draw a target into an interdimensional space through physical touch—Dazai isn’t sure what the space entails because no one has ever left it alive.

Nabokov tries to laugh it off, weaker this time as he takes his hand back and shakes out his wrist. “My, Dazai, possessive, aren’t you?”

“Very,” Dazai agrees idly. “Be sure to remember that.”

Nabokov gives him another wavering smile, and Dazai can’t help but wonder how Dostoevsky could have possibly thought anyone would believe the man could head the tripartite alliance of the Pale Flame, Three Deaths, and the House of the Dead. Anyone with half of a brain would know that Dostoevsky is behind their union. Maybe that’s what he wanted, Dazai notes absently as he watches Nabokov’s gaze flicker to the upper left corner of the room. Dazai follows it to where a camera is positioned, encompassing most of the event hall. 

The smile on his lips is nearly as chilly as the air-conditioned room around him.

There you are. 

Dazai’s gaze cuts back to Kouyou, who’s standing a few feet behind you and Dazai with Chuuya, Ace and Piano Man. The woman inclines her head in recognition of his silent order as she fans her face lightly, taking a step away to make a call to Hirotsu, who should be stationed around the building with the rest of the Black Lizards by now, prepared to move in at the first sign of danger.

Nabokov looks as if he’s going to speak again, which inclines Dazai to believe that he’s seeking something out in particular for Dostoevsky, and from the way he keeps glancing at you, Dazai assumes it has to do with you. So as the man's lips waver, eyes darting as he tries to formulate another conversation opener, Dazai speaks before he can get the words out.

“If you don’t mind,” he says, voice cold and clipped as he all but dismisses Nabokov, who flushes a bit, nodding and apologizing before stepping away. 

Dazai realizes that he probably has not prepped you enough for this event, but in his defense, he’s been swamped with his own preparations and how is he supposed to prepare you when he can’t even fully explain all of the dangers? But now, it’s making him anxious, because at some point tonight he’s going to have to step away from you to meet with Nabokov in one of the backrooms, likely with Tolstoy, Cao, and Mishima. Dazai’s executives will have to be there with him, and Tachihara is supposed to slip from the shadows to join you while you wait for his return, but there’s likely going to be at least a good two to three minutes where you’ll be alone until Tachihara can get to you. That’s assuming he doesn’t get caught up on the way over.

He needs to talk to you, at least warn you about the ability users attending the event so you don’t accidentally stumble into a potentially lethal situation without him around.

If he goes to the bar, Tolstoy will take advantage to try to sweep you into a conversation, picking up right where Nabokov left off. If he goes off to the left side of the room, Cao will make his way over to interrupt. If he goes off to the right side of the room, Mishima is there. The only place… Dazai inhales as his gaze focuses on the massive dance floor of the event hall, dozens of couples are spinning around already, and it will be loud enough there for the music to drown out his conversation with you from unwelcome listeners. 

He turns his attention to you, holding his palm up and tucking one arm behind his back as he asks lightly, “May I have this dance?” 

Your eyes widen a bit in surprise, seemingly hyper aware of all of the hungry, curious glances of the other attendants directed your way, but he’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes glitter beneath the chandelier’s lights, and the way your dress clings to your body, and the way a soft smile tugs at your lips. He thinks that even if you hadn’t entered the event on his arm, all of the room’s attention would be on you still, because you’re beautiful, and captivating, and Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how he managed to pull you in one lifetime, much less all of them. 

You place your hand in his and Dazai guides you across the floor, intent on finding the perfect space. It’s hardly obvious the way that the other people on the dance floor would inch away as the two of you passed by, intent on staying out of Dazai’s way and letting him have whatever space he wants, but you pick up on it, he thinks, seeing the curious look in your eyes as your gaze sweeps around the people around you. He bites back a sigh, because he’s sure that you’re tallying everything up in your head trying to put it all together, and once you get that final puzzle piece, everything will be over.

His chest sinks at the thought of losing you, but he forces it away. He has to focus on the situation at hand because even a single slip up could be fatal—not only for him, but for you too. As soon as he reaches a suitable spot on the dance floor, he tugs you a bit closer to him, hands sliding down to your waist. Your own arms instantly come up to loop around his neck as you look up at him through your lashes and Dazai suddenly feels breathless, vision tunneling and heartbeat stuttering at the way you look at him.

God, how is he supposed to focus with you around? He can hardly concentrate on anything but you. He’s flying too close to the sun. Has been since the moment he met you. Drawing you into his life and keeping you there, now bringing you here, so many gambles, too many gambles… the heat is scorching, and it’s only a matter of time before his wings burn. If he was smart, he’d let you go so that you don’t burn with him, but his fingers only bite deeper into your waist at the thought.

The music is slow, and the two of you sway in tune to it. The other couples give a wide berth, some casting wary looks at Dazai, ones that he’s sure you’re catching. He doesn’t know where to start, or how to start; what does he tell you that doesn’t condemn him? Luckily, he doesn’t have to start the conversation because you do, for better or for worse.

“Was that man the rival that Gin mentioned?” you ask curiously, and Dazai can’t help but notice there’s a strange look in your eyes as you ask it, one that he can’t place.

He hesitates, but then says, “No. He wasn’t. I haven’t seen him yet.”

You hum lightly, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck in a way that makes him shiver. But his eyes narrow when he realizes that you don’t look the slightest bit surprised by his answer. 

“You knew that already,” he accuses lightly, and he forces himself to swallow the lump that suddenly forms in his throat because if you figured that out on your own already, what else have you figured out? God, he knew this was risky, you’ve always been ridiculously perceptive—he just needs to get through tonight without you putting everything together, then he’ll be fine.

“I suspected it,” you finally affirm his accusation, gaze searching his face. “He was nervous talking to you. If he was your rival, I’d expect him to be a bit more… assured. And he kept looking up toward a camera, like he knew someone was watching that he’d have to answer to.”

Oh, you did pick up on a lot more than he expected. He doesn’t think that the smile he gives you quite meets his eyes, if the way your brows furrow have anything to say about it, but he distracts you by bringing his hand up from your waist to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he murmurs, “That’s my girl, always so smart.”

Your lashes flutter as you avert your gaze, a tell tale sign of you being flustered. His lips quirk up into a more genuine smile, hand dropping back down to your waist. He can do this, he tells himself, he just has to be careful, tell you enough to make sure your guard is up and you know to at least some extent that the people in this room aren’t to be trusted.

“There are a lot of ability users in here,” he finally warns, careful to keep his voice low even with the music covering his words. “Do your best to keep your distance from people. I’ll stay with you as much as I can, but I’m going to get pulled away sooner or later. Chuuya or Piano Man will stay with you when they can, and if they’re pulled away, Tachihara is going to come down to stay with you.”

“... That’s why you didn’t let him shake my hand,” you say, realization flashing through your eyes, another puzzle piece fitting behind your eyes and Dazai has to be careful because it’s only a matter of time before you’re given that final piece and everything comes together. “What’s his ability?” 

“... Nothing good,” he answers after a few moments of silence, but you’re not content with that, brows furrowing. He sighs. “No confirmation on it, we only know it’s lethal. Many are in here.”

Your eyes widen and then you look a bit skeptical. “And you think they would use it here? In public?” you ask slowly.

To Dazai’s horror, it is not skepticism tainting your tone, but rather, you’re fishing for information, trying to put more pieces together, and he doesn’t have much choice but to give you answers because he can’t risk you setting your guard down even for a second.

He chooses his words carefully. “... There is little they wouldn’t do to get ahead in our business.”

“Hm,” is all you say in response, something akin to understanding flashing through your eyes and Dazai dreads to know what his answer has just told you. He feels distinctly like he’s playing chess against an opponent he did not anticipate and he’s at a disadvantage because the opponent is you. He can feel your shoulders slump suddenly, an unfamiliar expression crossing over your face; you look tired, as if you’d aged twenty years in a matter of seconds. “What did you get me involved with, Dazai?” 

You say it so softly that Dazai barely hears it himself, and he knows. He knows that you’ve figured something out, he doesn’t know what and he doesn’t want to know what. He wants to evade it as long as possible, because the moment he has to have this conversation with you, he knows he’ll lose you. He can’t think about that now, it’ll throw him off and this is the last place he can allow himself to be thrown off.

Instead, his grip on your waist tightens again, gaze averting down toward the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. The words weigh heavy on his tongue, not just an apology for tonight but an apology for accepting your offer for a drink two months ago, knowing he wouldn’t be strong enough to let it be a single night of indulgence; an apology for seeking you out again afterward, knowing that he would be sentencing you to death.

He feels sick. 

What is he doing?

Why are you here?

What has he done?

“Dazai.”

You say his name but Dazai hardly hears you. God, he can feel it happening, where his fingers are pressed against your body, the skin suddenly goes cold and stiff, his surroundings are blurring, the people fading into the background. This isn’t the place. Nabokov. Tolstoy. Mishima. Cao. He can’t lose himself, not now, but his grip on reality is starting to waver, the pages pile around him. 

“Dazai.”

What has he done?

Everything he’s planned for, seven years of careful calculations and planning gone down the drain. How does he even fix this? Can he fix this? His mind races, but he’s not even sure he’s thinking coherent thoughts, trying to ground himself to the present because he needs to stay here, he can figure out how to fix it later, when you’re not in danger but-

His vision swims. Not now. He can see it—he can see you. Still on the ground. Sometimes there’s blood, so much that he can hardly recognize you (but he can, of course, he can always recognize you, even when your body is littered with more gaping wounds than not). Sometimes it looks like you’re sleeping, so much so that Dazai kneels next to you, begging you to wake up (he knows in his heart that it’s futile. he can’t stop himself from trying). His head spins, he loses track of where he is and then-

“Osamu.”

His breath catches, gaze zeroing in on you. You. Alive. Your brows are furrowed in concern, searching his face to try to draw him back to reality. He thinks his grip on your waist must be painful but he can’t bring himself to loosen it at all. He stares at you, still desperately trying to keep himself grounded because although you’ve brought him back mostly, the corners of the pages still linger in the edge of his vision, threatening to consume him again.

“You can’t leave me,” you tell him quietly. “You brought me here. I need you here with me. Don’t go off somewhere I can’t follow.”

Oh.

He lets out a breath, slow and maybe a bit more shaky than he would’ve liked, but he tries to focus on the situation at hand. He loosens his grip on your waist, rubbing a gentle circle over your hip in an apology.

His gaze drifts around the room, Nabokov is in deep conversation with Cao, hardly paying attention to anything going on, but Cao’s sharp, dark eyes are pointed over Nabokov’s shoulder, scanning the dance floor. He’s looking for someone—not Dazai, which is a bit worrying, and he becomes all the more attentive to everyone in the vicinity, trying to make sure none of the Red Chamber’s assassins made it through the security. If any organization would be able to pull it off, it would be them. 

Once he’s decided the coast is clear, he turns his gaze back to the bar. Tolstoy is looking at him—blue eyes sharp, blonde hair hanging in them, a curious expression on his face as he sips at his drink and watches as Dazai dances with you. As soon as Tolstoy notices Dazai has caught him, his lips curl up into a smirk and he raises his drink. Dazai’s expression is cold as he looks away, seeking out Mishima only to find the man nowhere to be found.

Hm.

Chuuya and Kouyou are entertaining idle conversation with two executives of the Sun and Steel, both keeping a sharp eye on where you and Dazai sway on the dance floor. Piano Man is entertaining several politicians, doing a good job at ensuring that none of the other foreign executives get any chance to get their ears. Ace, Dazai notes, is in deep conversation in the shadows with one of the executives of the Three Deaths. 

Interesting.

He finally draws his attention back to you, a small smile on his lips as he recalls what you’d said to drag him from his spiral.

Osamu,

“You called me Osamu,” he murmurs, a warm feeling spreading through his chest as he focuses on that instead, trying to ease himself back into reality. Technically, he’s heard you say his given name before. Well. Not technically. It was never you and it was never him, rather it was vague memories of other yous and other hims, but it was nothing in comparison to hearing you actually say it.

You look embarrassed, averting your gaze. “I didn’t know how to get your attention, I’m s-”

“Say it again,” he whispers, lifting his hand back up to your chin to tilt your face back up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes search yours, watching the way you can hardly hold his gaze. You look hesitant, so he continues with, “Please.”

“... Osamu,” you say again, breathless, and god, Dazai wishes the two of you were anywhere but here. He wants to press you back against his bed, run his lips up and down your body, map out all of your curves with his hand. He wants to watch you come undone on his tongue and on his fingers—he wants you, he wants you more than anything else in the world. Every time he’s tried to take the next step with you the past few weeks, he either got interrupted by work or he ended up getting cold feet, nervous about making a mistake. 

Before his thoughts can spiral even more, the music picks up to a faster paced waltz. Your eyes widen, watching as all of the other couples shift into the respective dance. You look up at him, a bit panicked, clearly not sure what to do, and his lips curl up in amusement, beckoning you to lace your fingers with his to take the stance the other couples were taking.

“I don’t know this da-” you begin, voice hushed.

“Just follow my lead,” he repeats the same words he spoke to you when they entered the hall. “You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

You exhale, studying his face for a moment before sighing and mimicking the stance the other women took with their partners. He can feel your fingers wavering against his as he interlocks your fingers and he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand soothingly.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he tells you, just as the music finally picks up for the dance to start. 

He thinks you’re worried for nothing. You moved smoothly in line with him and in tune with the music, gliding across the dance floor as if you’ve danced with him hundreds of times before, your body so in sync with his that the two of you put all of the other couples to shame. Not that any of them matter, of course, you’re all that Dazai can focus on. Your eyes never leave his, not even for the sparest of moments, and Dazai feels like he’s caught in a trance, lost in your eyes and the feeling of your body so close to his, hyper aware of the way your your hand rests on his shoulder and the way your fingers are wrapped tight around his.

God, there’s something so otherworldly about you. Doesn’t know if it’s heavenly or supernatural, if you’re his angel sent to lead him to salvation or his very own siren singing a sweet melody to lead him to ruin. Doesn’t think he cares either way—salvation, damnation, none of it matters as long as he has you.

“Not so bad, hm?” he murmurs, sweeping you out into a spin before pulling you back to him, closer this time. He can feel your chest brush his and he prays you can’t feel the way he’s lost control of his heart, painfully cognizant of the erratic thumping. His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, holding you close to him. He could stay in this moment forever, surroundings drowning out; all he can see is you, all that matters is you.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Not so bad.”

His lips part to respond but he’s interrupted when he sees movement from the corner of his eye, freezing.

“Dazai.”

Dazai stiffens as a familiar voice speaks from behind him, shifting to stand partially in front of you as his gaze cuts to the side to see Mishima’s familiar figure standing a few feet away. Turning to face him, he asks, “Do you need something?”

“I’d like to speak to you before we meet with Tolstoy, Nabokov and Cao.”

Mishima’s voice leaves no room for argument, dark eyes absent of any emotion as he waits for Dazai to follow him. Dazai’s jaw tightens, eyes drifting back to you as he tries to figure out what to do. He can’t leave you here, not with Cao’s hawk-like gaze trained on the dancefloor and Tolstoy waiting for the opportunity to make a move. But he does need to talk to Mishima, have some idea of where he stands with the Sun and Steel before facing all of the foreigners. 

“May I have this dance?” 

Dazai hadn’t even heard Chuuya approach, turning to the side to watch as he holds a hand out toward you expectantly, quick to step in to take Dazai’s place so that you’re not alone. You shoot Dazai a concerned glance, brows furrowing a bit, before you place your hand in Chuuya’s.

Chuuya leads you back onto the dance floor, Dazai’s gaze lingers for a few moments, a bitter feeling spreads through his chest because that should be him, and it’s wholly unfair that he has to deal with all of this unsavory business when he should be spending time with you.

He should just kill them all here and be done with it.

The words ring through his head, echoing, tempting. He inhales and forces himself to look away as you loop your arms around Chuuya’s shoulders, swaying in tune to the slow song playing. He turns his attention back to Mishima, voice cool and expression void of emotion:

“Speak.”

Dancing with Nakahara Chuuya is awkward. Awkward is even being generous. It’s not like he’s a bad dancer—in fact, it’s clear that he’s a very good one. He’s smooth on his feet as he spins you around the dance floor, but he’s so stiff. He’s careful to keep space between the two of you, hands never dipping lower than your sides, lips pressed together. He hardly even looks at you, his attention is more on where Dazai had stepped to the side to speak with the dark-haired man who’d interrupted the two of you, but you’re grateful for it, because it’s giving you a chance to gather your thoughts.

You think Dazai might’ve inadvertently confirmed your suspicions from yesterday. You don’t know who these people are, but there’s no way any ordinary business event would be dangerous enough for Dazai to genuinely worry that someone might kill you in a room crowded with two hundred people. A part of you wonders if it’s just different for ability users, that they’re not scared of committing crimes in public because they have an ability that prevents them from getting caught, but you know you’re just trying to make excuses at this point.

Your gaze drifts back over to the older, light-haired man with dark eyes who’d approached you and Dazai when you walked in. He’s off to the side talking with a Chinese man dressed in a red suit—your gaze lingers, trying to piece together the puzzle in your head desperately, but all of the edges are jagged and confusing, you can’t seem to figure out where they each fit with each other. 

You’d thought maybe that Dazai and his business was somehow affiliated with the mafia, because no one with the amount of money and success that he has gets it cleanly, but now you can’t help but hesitate, reconsidering your original theory. Vladimir Nabokov had been scared of Dazai. And it’s not like you haven’t noticed the effect that Dazai has on people. Whenever you’re around people with him, they get tense and on edge, but it’s different seeing the effect he has on someone who doesn’t even work for him, a foreigner supposed to be one of Dazai’s associates if you understood what he meant about not showing up to a meeting. 

Who are you, Dazai?

You don’t even know if you want to know. You love Dazai. You do. You knew it earlier in the night. You know it now. It’s something you can no longer hide or deny. You remember the concerned look on his face when he saw how upset you were. You can feel the way his lips brushed the nape of your neck as he explained why he kept meeting you at the club, the way he kissed your ankles as he knelt in front of you and told you how he was selfish for keeping you around, how he kissed your palm and leaned into your touch as he promised you anything you want. God, you love him, you don’t think anyone has ever looked at you the way he does; no one has ever spoken to you the way he does. 

You love him, and it scares you because you’re realizing you still don’t know anything about him, not really, and you’re also realizing that there’s a high chance he’s been lying to you about what he does. It scares you even more that your first instinct isn’t to run. Because you should run. This should make you run. He brought you to an event with people so dangerous that he’s afraid they might try to hurt you, or worse, but you don’t want to run, because you’d be running from him and you don’t want to run from him. 

Could you sacrifice everything for him though?

Fuck your morals—everything you’ve worked for, all of the years slaving away to put yourself on the path to success. You’ve told yourself your entire life that it would be all you would focus on, that it would all be worth it in the end. You convinced yourself that maybe if you proved yourself enough, your brother would return to your life; he’d be proud of you and he’d come back to you. You know he’s still out there somewhere, you get letters with no return address every month—the only thing in the envelope is a check with a dubious amount of money, but it’s in his hand writing, so you know it’s him. 

A part of you wants to cry, frustration clawing at your chest: the future you’ve worked so hard for, or love? The question you’ve dreaded since your epiphany yesterday is finally thrown right in front of your face, and you need an answer. The two are mutually exclusive—you will not be able to pursue the career you want with Dazai Osamu, not in the way you want at least. And you don’t want to do all of this work to just end up being another shady politician.

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

Your gaze snaps up to Chuuya, who’s suddenly looking at you, and you don’t really know how to respond. 

I’m pretty sure you guys are part of the fucking Mafia and you’re all hiding it from me, but also I don’t want to know if you are because that’s going to force me to make a decision that I don’t want to make so I’d rather live in ignorance. 

“My thoughts are only worth a penny?” You deflect with a grin instead, hoping it meets your eyes.

It doesn’t, evidently, because Chuuya’s eyes narrow a bit, and then he tilts his head to the side and hits you with a more direct: “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just worried,” you finally say, not entirely lying but also not telling the truth. 

“About?” Chuuya presses and you sigh, exhaling a bit.

“He mentioned that there were dangerous people here,” you tell him quietly. “I’m just nervous for when you guys go to your meeting… I’m guessing it’s going to be soon.”

Chuuya’s brows furrow and you can see the thoughts racing behind his eyes before he speaks again. “You’ll be fine,” he tells you. “We have people all over the event hall, and Tachihara is going to sit with you until you Dazai can get back. Dazai shouldn’t have worried you with all of this. He shouldn’t have even-”

He cuts himself off, jaw tightening, but you know what he’s going to say: he shouldn’t have even brought you here.

“I don’t know what he’s thinking,” Chuuya says quietly, and you think he might be talking more to himself than anything else now, but you listen anyway. “He’s always been hard to read but this is…”

He stops speaking out loud, as if he’s realized that you’re there again, and instead he shakes his head. “You’ll be fine. Back at the headquarters before you know it.”

You aren’t so sure.

Your gaze drifts to the side as you watch Nabokov and the Chinese man make their way over to Dazai and the man he’s talking to. The blonde at the bar that Dazai kept looking at also stands up, drink in his hand as walks in the same direction. 

Chuuya spits out a curse under his breath and gives you an apologetic look. Your heart sinks and your throat feels a bit tight—he doesn’t abandon you right away though, pressing his hand to the middle of your back as he guides you across the dancefloor to the bar, all the while keeping a keen eye on what’s happening on the other side of the room.

He pulls the barstool out for you, eyes still trained on where Dazai is standing with Kouyou, two men that work for him you haven’t met yet, and the four men you assume are business associates of his. Dazai is looking at you, an indecipherable expression on his face. You’re looking at him, suddenly anxious at the thought of being left alone, a bad feeling sweeping over you. 

“Tachihara will be over here soon,” Chuuya finally says to you, tearing his gaze from his coworkers to look back down at you. He flags down the bartender to order a drink for you. “You’ll be fine. Knowing Dazai, the meeting won’t last long anyway.”

Your shoulders only slump a bit as you nod, thanking the bartender quietly for your drink as he hurries to bring it back to you, taking a sip of it. Chuuya doesn’t say much else—once you’re settled in your seat and have your drink, he squeezes your shoulder before making his way back over to the intimidating group of people standing on the opposite side of the room.

Your gaze meets Dazai’s conflicted one one last time before he’s forced to turn away and disappears down a side hall deeper into the building. You sigh as you twirl your drink around, the clear liquid sloshing dangerously close to the brim of your glass as your eyes twist around the event hall, seeking out Tachihara, or Atsushi, or anyone that works with Dazai because you’re feeling distinctly vulnerable alone. You find none of them. You can feel eyes on you—most you’re sure are harmless curiosity, wanting to know who exactly came in on the arm of Dazai Osamu, but you know some aren’t nearly as harmless, you can feel the hungry stares of vicious opportunists directed at your back and you don’t feel comfortable sitting alone.

You don’t even get five minutes to yourself.

“Is this seat taken?” 

You’re startled by the unfamiliar voice, head snapping to the side. Your gaze focuses on a pretty man with soft features, shoulder-length black hair and gentle purple eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no words leave them, caught off-guard by his sudden appearance. He looks harmless enough, but there’s something about him that has you on edge—something simmering beneath the surface of his deceptive eyes that you can’t quite place but you know you don’t like.

“I mean no harm,” he says smoothly, lips curving up into an amiable smile. “I’m an old friend of Dazai’s. I only want to talk.”

An old friend. You don’t buy it, but you don’t want to risk antagonizing him, Dazai’s warning about the many lethal ability users prowling the event ringing through your head. You just hope that Tachihara shows up sooner rather than later as you finally shake your head.

“It’s not taken,” you say quietly, motioning to the stool as you take another generous sip of your drink.

The dark-haired man smiles at you as he takes a seat at the bar next to you, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the lighting of the chandelier. Instantly, you feel like you’ve made a mistake, a chill running down your spine as your eyes meet purple ones that are not quite so gentle anymore. Sharp and shrewd instead. Calculating. Dangerous. 

“Fyodor Dostoevsky. A pleasure, truly.”

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

TAKE CARE OF YOU [7]

Sugar Daddy!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Overall Warnings: slow burn, angst/comfort, power imbalance, age gap, possessive tendencies, eventual smut, #daddyissues, independent reader learns to let go and relax, emotionally constipated Joel Miller learns to be vulnerable; (more specific warnings to be added to individual chapters if necessary)

Chapter Word Count: 2,800

Summary: You spent your entire adult life supporting yourself and barely getting by. It’s why a life of ease offered to you by a mysterious stranger sounded so foreign and unbelievable. Joel Miller, dressed in flannels that had seen better days, didn’t look like the kind who could promise you the world on a plate, but he seemed desperate to help out. All he asks is that you let him take care of you. That wouldn’t be so hard. Would it?

[a/n: this one is on the shorter side, but I didn't want to leave y'all with nothing (ironically I wrote this while on a plane to my conference/vacation). The Las Vegas trip will all be one large chapter (someone asked if I was gonna split that into parts, but I won't). Part 8 will just be viva las vegas the entire time, baby.]

07: BEING VULNERABLE SUCKS ASS

"i don't have an explanation as to how you pull me in, you just do. you've always had a gravity that i've never been able to overcome." -JmStorm

The cost of a mani-pedi never seemed worth it to you in the past. You saved your money for other more necessary things like bills and groceries. Sitting in the padded chair with your feet resting in the heated water of the foot bath, you realized how much you had been missing out on. 

“I can’t believe that bitch showed up where you work.” Nima scoffed. She sat in the chair beside you with her feet in her own bath. You had used Joel’s money to pay for her to get a mani-pedi as well and that made you happier than the treatment itself. Over the years, Nima would pay for meals and drinks and times the two of you went out and she always did it nonchalantly and in a way that never felt like charity. It felt good to be able to buy her something for once. “How did she even find you?”

You shrugged, “No idea. Sugar baby grapevine?”

“Bitches do be talking.” Nima hummed. You chuckled and leaned back in your seat. This spa offered mimosas and you held your empty flute. Nima picked up her phone to shoot off a message before turning to look at you. “So? Viva las Vegas, baby. You excited?”

“Yeah,” You nodded once then tilted your head with a slight wince, “Well, I mean, I’m kind of nervous too. This is my first time going away with him. He’s stuck with me for a full 72 hours.” Once you started talking you found all your bottled worries spilling out. “What if he thinks I’m annoying and gets tired of me? I’m too scared to ask him if we’re staying in the same room or a different room because I don’t know what I want the answer to be. If he says no then I’ll be disappointed and worry that he is getting sick of me, but if he says yes then I’ll panic⏤ Is he not the man I thought he was and he’s expecting something from me? Or what if it is innocent and he got me a second bed, but then he hears me snore and thinks it’s gross?” You paused to catch your breath and realized Nima was just blankly staring at you with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

Nima shook her head. “Nothing.” She looked past you and raised a hand to catch the attention of an employee. “Hi! Yes, we need more alcohol please. As soon as possible.” You groaned and hung your head. Nima let out a low whistle. “Is that what your brain sounds like all the time? Jesus, babe.”

“I know I’m overthinking.” You admitted. A woman came by with a champagne bottle and you thanked her after she filled your glass⏤ turning down the juice she offered with it. You took a long sip. “I like him.” Nima’s eyes widened. “Yeah, yeah, you were right, okay? I… I like him. A lot.” A hand drifted up to hold the sunflower charm on your new necklace between your fingers. Tomorrow morning you’d be boarding a private jet with Joel and you’d be spending the weekend with a guy you were seriously crushing on. “I know it’s so stupid to start falling for a guy who is literally paying me to hang around him…”

Nima sighed, “Oh, babe.”

“This is the first time I’ve felt like this since… since Nathan.” You said. At the mention of you ex-boyfriend’s name, Nima’s eyebrows furrowed in pain. You didn’t often mention him, hardly said his name, and it was in part because just the thought of him hurt. Whether he meant to or not, Nathan made you feel like you had not been enough. Joel made you feel worthy. You hadn’t even realized that the hole Nathan left in your heart had been so deep until Joel began to fill it with care. “Maybe I shouldn’t go…”

Nima reached out and grasped your wrist. “No. You have to.”

“You told me liking him was a bad idea.”

“I know, but…” Nima shrugged. “You seem happier these days. Relaxed. I can’t tell you if this is going to end well or not, I have no idea, but… even if this is just some kind of emotional rebound, I think it’s good for you.” You gave her a small smile and Nima squeezed your wrist. “Nathan was a tool. You deserve to be happy. Even if happy comes in the form of a cowboy sugar daddy.”

You chuckled at her phrasing. Joel did make you happy. The negative, anxiety riddled part of your brain screamed that being a sugar baby was hardly the same thing as being loved. However, for the first time in your life you were choosing to ignore the logistics of the scenario and just focus on how you felt. 

“I keep telling myself to just be like you.” You admitted and Nima’s eyes widened. You chuckled and shrugged. “You’re never scared, Nima, and I feel… I feel like I’m always scared. You just explore love, guns a’blazing, and I wish⏤ I wish I could do that.”

Nima turned so fast in her seat that water sloshed out of the foot bath. She frowned, “Are you kidding me?? Of course, I’m scared! Loving someone, opening up yourself to be loved, is the scariest thing anyone could ever do.” Her lips pressed together and she reached out so both her hands held tight to yours. “So, don’t stress yourself out over it. How you feel is totally normal. Being vulnerable sucks ass.”

You shot her a firm smile as a few employees came over to discuss any specific nail styles you may want. Worrying about it too much would only ruin the trip. You had already come this far⏤ may as well keep jumping in head first.

It had been ages since you’ve flown, literal years, and never had it been in a private jet. Standing on the tarmac watching part of the flight crew roll your bags to be loaded, you just stared. Eventually, a large hand settled in the middle of your back. Joel saddled up beside you and he offered you a small smile.

“You gonna board or just stare at it all day, darlin?” He chuckled. He wore one of his suits, but he had already stripped of his coat. 

You nodded, “Yeah, sorry, I just can’t believe I’m about to board a private jet.” Without preamble or question, Joel’s hand slipped from your back to slide down your arm and tangle his fingers with yours. It was almost a habit now for Joel to take your hand. He led you toward the jet. “Do you always ride in style like this?”

“Not always.” Joel replied. “But I will say that ridin’ like this has spoiled me of public airlines.”

“No kidding.” You chuckled and Joel motioned for you to walk up the stairs to the jet’s door first. He followed only a step behind, hand not leaving yours. The inside of the jet was simple but luxurious. Couches rather than single seats and one side had a booth like table. “I can’t imagine going from this to Spirit airlines.”

Joel snorted behind you and stepped around you so he could lead you toward one of the couches. “If you think I’m ever gonna let you fly Spirit, sugar, you’re crazy.”

You sat down and your eyebrows lifted when Joel walked toward the back rather than sit beside you. He briefly disappeared from sight, it sounded like he was speaking to an attendant, and you took that time to gaze around the plush interior of the jet. This was your life for now. It felt like a dream.

Joel walked back and he had two champagne flutes. Your lips pulled up into a grin as he settled right beside you and offered you a flute. “For the pretty lady.”

“Why thank you.” You chuckled. The two of you lightly clinked your glasses together before sipping at it. Despite the jet having, ample space, Joel sat close enough to drape his arm over the back of the couch behind you. “How long is this flight?”

“A little over an hour or so.”

“Oh, that’s not bad.” You hummed. “Is anyone else flying with us?”

Joel shook his head. “Tess is gonna meet us there on day two, and Tommy never comes to the Vegas conference.”

“Why?” You asked then paused. “To both situations.”

Joel chuckled. “Day one is kind of pointless for us to be there. All the work and meetings my company is involved in starts day two.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Then how come we’re going for day one?”

Joel shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “I figured it’d be fun to sight see together? If you’re interested that is.” You always loved watching him grow slightly nervous when asking you something like that because the smile he shot you after you inevitably said yes was damn near radiant. You nodded in excitement and Joel’s eyes lit up in response. “Good, and as for Tommy,” Joel gave a little shrug, “He’s got a history of gettin' involved in shit he shouldn’t. He’s got his head straight on now, mostly, but it’s just safer if keeps away from the temptation altogether.”

The pilot poked his head in to let you both know he was ready and suggest you strap in. You glanced around to see if there was a place you could set your flute down but the closest table was on Joel’s side. He set his own flute down briefly and reached out. You thought he’d take the flute, but instead Joel reached down to click your seat belt around your waist. It was such a simple motion yet you felt a warmth fill your cheeks.

“Thanks.” You mumbled. The plane taxied out to the runway and you quietly sipped at your champagne. You felt a rumbling underfoot as the plane picked up speed and when it began to rise your stomach lurched. Startled, your hand shot out to steady yourself on the closest object which just so happened to be Joel’s thigh. 

Before you could even fully comprehend how awkward this could be, your hand squeezed as the plane continued to rise— your only focus on the sensation of taking off. As the plane leveled off, you were able to feel other aspects around you, such as how thick and firm Joel’s thigh felt under hand.

He cleared his throat and peeled your hand off his thigh. Embarrassment flooded your soul, but Joel kept your hand in his. He laced his fingers between yours, shifting closer so his thigh was pressed against yours, and lifted your hand to his lips to set a soft kiss at the back of your hand.

“Are you alright, sugar?” Joel asked with nothing but concern.

“Sorry.” You shook your head. “It’s been a while since…”

“Don’t apologize. I should’ve asked if you were a nervous flyer.”

“I didn’t think I was.” You chuckled and swallowed the lump in your throat as the plane hit a patch of turbulence and wavered. Joel continued to trace circles against the back of your hand with his thumb and you focused on that alone. Somehow, his presence alone was enough to soothe your frayed nerves. You leaned your head against his shoulder and Joel shifted so you’d be able to rest in a comfortable spot. You really did like this way too much. 

Joel hummed, “Lemme know if you feel sick. We got a first aid kit on here somewhere with some motion sickness patches, I think.”

“I’m okay.” You replied, loathing the idea of him getting up or anything right now, “Where are we staying in Vegas?”

“The Wynn.” 

“Is that where you usually stay?”

“No, actually.” Joel said. “I usually stay at Mandalay Bay, but I thought you’d like the Wynn better.”

You were glad you were resting your head on his shoulder so he couldn’t see the absolute stupid smile that crossed your features. He had changed his usual routine and picked a hotel that specifically made him think of you⏤ one he thought you’d enjoy best. Maybe the bar was just on the floor from your last boyfriend, but it was no wonder you were falling for Joel Miller when he did such sweet, considerate things. 

“Why?” You asked.

“It’s real pretty. You’ll see.”

The two of you continued to chat idly and you listened to Joel tell stories about past conferences and the things he was looking forward to and wasn’t. Your stomach had mostly settled now that the plane was smoothly soaring at its cruising altitude. So, you figured now was as good a time as any to use the restroom. You excused yourself and cautiously walked to the lavatory. As you finished up and washed your hands, your eyes glanced up in the mirror at yourself. You may as well have been glowing. For the millionth time, you thanked your lucky stars that Joel had somehow found you.

At the thought, you paused. This entire time you wondered how Rosalind randomly found you at work, but what were the chances that Joel Miller would randomly walk into a failing bakery and see you behind the counter? You shut off the water, dried your hands, and walked back out. Joel was using the plane phone when he spotted you.

“Yeah, we’ll see you when you get here.” Joel stared at you as he spoke, his gaze soft. “Just call me if you need anythin’. Mhmm. Right. Bye, Tess.” He hung up and set the phone aside. “All good, sugar?”

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Course.” Joel nodded and you settled back in your seat beside him. 

You didn’t lay your head on his shoulder and turned just enough so you could face him while the two of you spoke, “How did you find me?” Joel raised an eyebrow in confusion. “At the bakery. Were you just passing by and saw me through the window? Or were you coming in for baked goods randomly?”

Joel suddenly looked sheepish. He cleared his throat, “It’s… Alright, this might not sound too good or flatterin’ toward myself.” You furrowed your own brows in confusion this time. “That week I was at a work site a few blocks down from the bakery. I had stepped off site to take a call and… and I saw you.” Joel rubbed the back of his neck, but he didn’t break his gaze. “I recognized you from the coffee shop, figured you were going to work, and I… I followed you.” Joel closed his eyes and shook his head at the admission. “Jesus Christ, you must think I’m the biggest creep. I swear I didn’t mean to. It was like… I was movin’ before I even knew it. I nearly followed you right into the bakery, but I stopped and came to my senses.” He reopened his eyes and there was regret and shame in his brown eyes⏤ two emotions you didn’t like seeing there. “I’m so sorry, darlin’. I know it was stupid and I tried to stay away, but I… I couldn’t get you out of my head. I broke down a few days later and came in. Told myself I was just gonna pay you back for the coffee and be done with it, but once I got to talkin’ to you…”

“It’s okay, Joel.” You said softly.

“No, it really isn’t.” He shook his head. There was a firmness in his words that echoed the shame he felt. “I should’ve told you much sooner than this and definitely not on a plane 40,000 feet in the air where you can’t even run from me.”

“I’m not gonna run.” You chuckled. Maybe you should be more concerned than you were, but Joel had been nothing but respectful the entire time you had known him. Besides, the only thing you could grasp from his words was the fact that it seemed Joel felt drawn to you the same way you felt toward him. It could just be naive optimism or a delusion, but you began to wonder if it were possible that Joel liked you as much as you liked him⏤ as more than just the sugar daddy and sugar baby ties between the two of you.

You turned in your seat to lay on his shoulder once more. Joel seemed mildly startled by the motion, but he was quick to wrap his arm around your shoulders to hold you in place. You reached up to play with his hand. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

Joel chuckled, “I’m never gonna lie to you, sugar.”

The pilot came over the intercom to announce he’d be starting the landing process soon and you wondered if Vegas was going to be the start of a new chapter of your relationship with Joel.

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✨J.M. Masterlist✨

#the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #sugar daddy!joel miller #female reader #reader insert

[kiwisbell]

Security Details: Chapter 2 [frankie morales]

Frankie’s long-time friend enlists his help. He's more than eager to accept the job. The problem is that he's in love with her.

chapter 1 | chapter 2

pairing: francisco "catfish" morales x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings for entire fic: abusive relationship (not between frankie and reader), murder, violence, BAMF frankie, protective frankie, possessive frankie, soft frankie, mutual pining, yearning, reader is not named but has a call sign (fox), frankie is dumb but he's got the spirit, angst, smut, fluff, partners to friends to lovers, happy ending, frankie spends most of this fic in his feelings, telltale signs of a fic written by a hopeless romantic, unprotected piv, breeding kink, creampie, oral sex, consensual somnophilia, english and spanish dirty talk, frankie going feral to keep his girl safe, possessive sex, blood and injury, undefined age gap

tags and warnings for this chapter: unrequited love becomes requited, unprotected piv (don't follow my lead), oral sex, frankie eating pussy like a king, blood and violence, frankie is unhinged, protective frankie, possessive sex, consensual somno, creampie, breeding kink, frankie morales fucks

word count: ~ 9k

chapter 2: oh, but i'm singing like a bird about it now

It takes him two hours to tell the entire story of what happened in Peru. It happens over dinner: the most disgusting canned ravioli he’s ever eaten and the most tolerable canned green beans. They sit opposite one another at the tiny two-person dining table, basking in slats of orange sunlight that filter through the closed blinds. He can’t risk anyone seeing her here now that she suspects someone is following her. 

“That’s…” She blows out a breath, poking some beans with her fork. “Jesus, Frankie. I’m sorry. That sounds like a really shitty few weeks.”

Sorry? All the shit he’s just confessed to doing for some pathetic fucking bags of money, and she’s sympathising? He must look bewildered enough to make her giggle, if a bit hysterically. “It’s just…” She drops her chin into her palm. “Two hundred and fifty million.”

He stares at her for a moment. The golden light on her face and the way her eyes glimmer. “Yeah.”

“And you got on the boat with five.”

He’s beginning to understand. “Yeah.”

“And…” She bites down on her lip. “You signed away your earnings.”

He doesn’t think either of them are able to pinpoint what causes the laughter, but soon they’re both in tears, choking and wheezing over something that is probably not funny at all. Tears are streaking down their faces and the tiny home is filled with the sound of cutlery clanging as they shake uncontrollably. Their minds are not their own, and when the laughter ebbs, they are left smiling at one another. It feels like it did before, for a wink. 

“What would you have done with it?” she asks.

He sips his beer—the fridge is still stocked from his last stay here. “Two years ago, it would have been an Aston Martin or a lifetime’s supply of cowboy boots.”

“And now?” She’s drinking, too, but she dug around the stores for a bottle of red wine and poured some into a mostly-clean mason jar. 

“Now…” Frankie sighs. “Lifetime’s supply of diapers and baby food.”

“I don’t know, Frankie. I like your cowboy boots.”

“Nah, see, now I know you're lying.”

“What the fuck are those?”

“What?” Frankie looked down at his boots. “You don't like ‘em?”

She covered her mouth with her hand, but it didn't shroud the shaking of her shoulders. “No. No, Frank, I don’t.” She touched her hand to her heart. “I looove them.”

“Don't be mean, Foxy,” piped up Santiago from the back. “Those bastards were paid for with blood money.”

She gasped. “Don't tell me…”

Santiago hoisted Frankie’s arm into the air and whooped. “Divorce does wonders, folks!”

Frankie flushed hot while Fox bit down on her lip. He felt dirty—wrong—for being glad about the split, for wanting the woman in front of him for far longer than he ever wanted Lisa. He felt like a cheater. “Cálmate,” he grumbled to Pope. 

She just laughed, rubbing a knot out of his shoulder. “If we're going to set a good example for your daughter, we have to teach her honesty. I think your boots are hideous. And yet”—she swigged her beer and kissed him on the cheek—“you somehow pull them off. You must teach me your ways.”

Frankie watches a car speed by through the blinds and makes sure it disappears from sight. “You ever notice him acting strangely?”

“He would miss dinner or come to bed late,” she says, “but I assumed he was working late, like he told me. Or cheating.”

Frankie frowns. “You wouldn't have cared?”

She scoffs. “Please, Frank. Of course I would care. It’s not like he would let me leave. I knew he was a recreational user, but I started to notice calls on the phone logs and missing links in email chains to and from a man named St. John—Matt said he was a higher-up at his company, but I think it's an alias. Started to feel like he was hiding something more than just another woman.” She rubs her brow. “Had a lot of thinking to do while I was… away. And things add up.”

“He got put away,” says Frankie. He only speaks to remind himself of the truth. He won't hurt her again. 

“Only because of this.” She points to her face. “I know it sounds paranoid—”

“I believe you,” says Frankie. “Like you said, you've never steered me wrong.”

She smiles. “We should sleep. You drove all day, and I had to listen to your music all day.”

“Hey.” Frankie points at her. “Driver picks music, Foxy. Don't insult Metallica.”

“Go to sleep,” she says again, disappearing back into the hallway where she'll stretch out in that twin bed. He putters around in the kitchen, scrubbing their plates a little too hard, arranging the cushions and blankets on the couch with a little too much force. Lying with his eyes fixed on the yellowed popcorn ceiling, the old ache in his back throbbing up his spine, Frankie loathes this house. He detests the colour of the walls and the way the floors would creak under your weight even if you weighed eighty pounds. He hates the uncomfortable furniture. 

He hates that she has to be here. 

He hates himself for letting his head get stuck so far up his own ass he never mustered up the courage to tell her how he loved her: that her smile makes him ache, that he craves her presence the way he used to crave nicotine, that she's it for him. He hates that she's been wasting her time with assholes who only hurt her while he's been wasting his time yearning but not acting. If he's too much of a coward to tell her, he'll show her. 

He’ll show her exactly how worth it she is. He’ll make sure she knows that he'd die for her the way she nearly did the day she took that bullet. 

~

They're used to waiting in a profession like theirs. She's accustomed to hours and days upon rooftops and inside inconspicuous vans. She's used to the way it makes her joints creak with disuse and her eyes sore from rarely blinking. They've been in this safe house for a week, and they're out of food. 

“No.”

“Frank—”

“No, Fox.” He’s frowning in frustration. It's a different frown than his concentration frown, which is altogether different from his needy frown—the one he gets when he's neglected. Her favourite grumpy dog. “It's too risky.”

Her bruises have mostly healed, along with the cut on her lip. But he'll never forget them. He’ll never forget seeing her walk into the kitchen in Santiago’s home, the terror that flooded him. 

“Everything’s risky if I’m being stalked,” she reasons. “I can't hide forever, Frankie. Especially not if we don't have any leads.”

His nostrils flare, and she knows she's in for more arguing. “I can go. You should stay here.”

“I know you can, Frank.” She gestures toward the windows. “Has anyone followed us here?”

“Not that I’ve seen,” he begins, “but—”

“I’m getting cabin fever.” She folds her arms over her chest. “I know you are, too. That's why we're arguing.”

He huffs. “We’re not… arguing.”

She smiles. “Good. Isn’t it better that we don't split up, anyway?”

He gets pissed off when his friends are right, sometimes. Whenever he's arguing with Santiago about something easily Googleable (she'll do just that—look it up and wait patiently with the phone screen turned away until they're finished their shouting match), he'll grind his jaw and sulk for a bit when he's in the wrong. Then, he'll slap Santiago good-naturedly on the cheek and they’ll move on. Being wrong about such trivial things leads to being wrong in the real world. Making the wrong call. Getting someone hurt. 

He's always been a bit of a worrier. 

But he doesn't get mad when she's right. Because she makes it sound so sweet, so gentle, and all he can do is laugh. Of course she's right. He was stupid to argue with her in the first place. It's much safer if they travel together. He can keep her safe. He can. 

He fucking will. 

“Get one of my sweatshirts,” he says. “Don't take off the hood.”

She rolls her eyes but does as he asks. Indulging him. He will earn the right to be indulged again. The sweatshirt is his, an old and too-large grubby thing, blue (his favourite colour), and it swallows her. He waits until she crosses the room to collect his wallet and plants himself by the window, rubbing a hand down his face and splashing some cold water over it for good measure. Jesus. Get yourself together. Fucking asshole.

They slip into the truck and he pulls out of the driveway after making triple-sure no one lingers nearby. She draws a knee up to her chest so she can rest her chin on it, always detesting the feeling of her feet on the ground. It’s as if she can taste the tremors in the ground on her tongue and needs reprieve from them. 

“Those jeans aren’t yours,” he says after a too-long silence. He hopes she isn’t put off by him memorising the articles in her closet. 

“Matt’s,” she says idly. “Got blood on mine. I felt like I wanted to fuck him over in some small way. Taking his pants probably wasn’t the best method.”

He says nothing, but he sets his jaw and turns into town. It’s small enough that it borders on a hamlet, really; there’s a single Food World and a gas station, which are connected to one another. He can see every single home from here, stuck in the middle of nowhere on this lonely country road. It’s almost pleasant.

“What’s your favourite piece from my closet, Frankie?”

Shit.

She says it teasingly, a smile tugging on one corner of her mouth. It’s the kind of smile she gets when she’s trying not to, biting down on her bottom lip. He can’t quite grasp the depth of his own want, the way his chest lurches and his fingers twitch toward her. His body knows him before he does. He wants to lunge across the truck bench and put his mouth on hers, slide his hands up her—his—sweatshirt, and feel her: her strong, soft, capable body, her scars and bruises he’s memorised in their years together. He wants to hear her gasps and whimpers, different from any cries of pain he’s heard from her lips before. He wants to make her feel good. And she would feel so fucking good. 

“You really wanna know?” he says.

She’s already looking at him when he parks at the Food World. “Yeah, I do.”

“That blue sundress,” he tells her, “the one you wear for the Fourth of July every year.”

Her brows lift a little in the middle, stretching the scar on her nose, and she’s so adorable sometimes it makes him hurt, makes him forget that she’s killed people with those fingers twiddling in her lap, makes him keep talking even though she already fucking knows what her dress looks like. She’s the one who wears it.

“It’s got these… I don’t know, these fuckin’ bows. Yeah, they’re bows. On the shoulders. You have to re-tie them when they get loose. Your face scrunches up when you concentrate, the way it does when you’re on a roof, watching a target through your scope.” Frankie watches her eyes scan his face, every inch, every freckle, like she’s trying to memorise it before a test. “It kinda—sorta flutters when there’s a breeze, y’know? It’s… nice.” He clears his throat and turns his head away, looking through the windshield. “You look nice in blue.”

Recalling the way her hips curve in that flowy fucking dress, the way she glows and shines and makes everyone shield their eyes from the glare, Frankie knows why his favourite colour is blue.

And Christ, the way she looks at him after his humiliating admission… The weight of her gaze, the slow blinking, the way her lashes brush her cheeks, the sheer power she imposes upon him when she watches him like that. He feels like he’s the biggest and smallest thing in the universe. He feels like suffering too long under that look will turn him to ashes. 

“Frank,” she says, a name shoved out, dreamlike in quality. “If you’d told me you liked it so much, I’d wear it every day.”

He lets himself laugh. “Even in winter?”

“I have snow boots and a parka for a reason.” She lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Haute couture, no?”

He needs to get out of this truck. He needs to get out before he does something he’ll regret. “C’mon,” he says, “let’s make this quick.”

The Food World is mostly deserted. There are two cashiers, one drumming his fingers on the counter and the other resting her chin in her palm. People mill about the aisles, mostly in similar dress to theirs, sweatpants and sweatshirts and ratty jeans. Muzak crackles through the overhead P.A. systems. Nothing immediately prickles at his instincts. Frankie lets her walk ahead, lingering behind her. He doesn’t like people at his back, never has: an old soldier’s itch. Even waiting in lines makes him sweat a little above the brow. She’s never been that nervous, but she understands. She reaches backward every so often and squeezes his hand to make sure he’s still with her. 

From here, he can’t exactly help but look at her ass in those too-big jeans, the flare of her hips, her legs. His hood is secure atop her head, morphing her into a stranger to the world, no longer the beautiful beacon with the cuts and bruises on her face. Frankie, in his own jeans and his grey T-shirt and his olive green button-up, cap snug on his head, looks just as unassuming—save for the permanent frown on his face. 

“We need these,” she says when they reach the empty baking aisle, though he isn’t sure why they’re in the baking aisle. Until he sees her hold up two boxes of cake mix. Chocolate and birthday confetti. 

“We do not need those.”

“Cat,” she says, her voice dropping low, nearly a fucking purr. Does she know what she’s doing? What she does to him? “You are too grumpy to function. It’s your birthday in a couple days. What if we’re still in that stupid house because of me? You’ll have no cake to celebrate.”

“I don’t want to celebrate getting older,” he says, gently plucking the boxes from her hands. It makes her eyes widen, a deliberate, dirty goddamn move, until she schools her face to look like she’s about to cry. He flicks her on the nose. “And that… is a rotten play, Fox.”

Her pouting mouth makes him want to pounce, to shove her up against the shelves of boxed mix and wipe that look off her face with his mouth. His fingers. His cock. God, he needs to get a grip. 

“You aren’t old, Frankie,” she says softly. She reaches for him and gently pries his fingers, one-by-one, from the box of chocolate mix. He lets her. “Your life deserves to be celebrated. We’ll do chocolate, okay? It’s understated.”

But he feels old. He remembers the first day she was introduced to the team: her fresh-faced and bounding with energy. He, mid-thirties at the time, was hesitant to accept a new member of the team. He and the guys had already gelled, known one another for years in Basic before they were slapped together, and Frankie didn’t know what to make of the sniper, the stunner. But she  slipped in, made them laugh and silenced any doubts with that perfect fucking aim, and made him feel like an asshole for ever thinking she wasn't the perfect choice. She's always the perfect choice. 

Your life deserves to be celebrated. 

“Okay,” he relents. “Chocolate. Now get out of this aisle before you convince me to buy whipped cream.”

She beams up at him and it's worth giving up his pride. “And don't give me any of that shit about this being your fault,” he says, guiding her toward the produce. “It's his. You know it.”

“It was my decision to rope you in, Frank. You're the only one I trust with my life like this.”

It's such a vulnerable, soft thing that escapes her mouth. Absently, his hand finds her waist, squeezes. She looks up at him, her face obscured by half a shadow thanks to the hood, and he's worried he's gone too far. But her lips part, her breath leaves her in a sigh, and she whispers, full of conviction: “I mean it.”

Frankie tries to rein in his breathing, shifts the cyclic stick back toward the space between two walls, his lungs. Overrides the spin-out by looking in her eyes. “I know you do,” he says. “I know, baby.” 

She brings his knuckles to her mouth and kisses each one. He loses control again. Fuck, he's not even scanning his surroundings. He's lost himself in her, in that gentle smile she gives him. There's solidarity in that smile. Forgiveness, almost. “For the record,” she says, “it wasn't a hundred guys.”

Just like that, he wants to slap himself all over again. 

You've been fucking around with a hundred other guys because you wanted me? Tell me how that makes sense, honey, because it doesn't make a goddamn inch of sense to me.

He hates himself. He hates himself so much, and he'll never be good enough to—

She's laughing. 

Why the fuck is she laughing?

“You have a tendency to get mad,” she says, still snickering a little. “And when you get mad, you run your mouth. I was hurt and drained and fucking humiliated from being the bitch dumb enough to date him for two years. And what you said hurt. But I shouldn't have walked away.” She shrugs. “Wasted so much time already.”

He shakes his head, vaguely unable to comprehend what she's saying. “How…” He clears his throat. “How can you say that? I was a fucking asshole. I called you—”

“You didn't call me anything.” She picks up a lemon and inspects it. “How do you feel about lemon meringue?”

“I've never had it.” He grasps her wrist. “What are you saying, Fox?”

“I’m saying that we've both been idiots. How have you never tried lemon meringue?”

“Mom never made it.” He slips his hand under her hood and cradles the back of her head. Look at me, he wants to say. Don't stop looking at me. “I’m sorry, Fox. I’m sorry for everything I said. I pressured you. I was so angry for what that dickhead had done to you, and I was so desperate for you, I didn't give you the space you needed. I am… so. Fucking. Sorry.” 

He shakes his head and shifts his thumb to trace the edge of her jaw, eyeing the nasty bruise. “You took a bullet for me. You and your infinite fucking wisdom. Jesus, you’re perfect. Knowing how much the world has burned you… It kills me, baby. I never wanted to hurt you, too, and I did. Don't forgive me. Please.”

Don't forgive me until I’ve earned it. I’ll never earn it. You're too good for this world, Foxy. You're too good for me. 

She lifts her hand to his, her fingers curling gently around his wrist. She hasn't stopped looking at him, her breaths coming a bit shorter, a bit bruised. “Frankie,” she whispers. “There's someone watching us by the doors. Don’t look.” 

His stomach plummets. He threads his fingers through hers and keeps her tucked to his side as they bypass the produce and head straight for the canned food aisle. “Grab what you need,” he says. “Make it heavy.”

A good makeshift weapon: a bag full of cans. He doesn't have his gun on him. It’s in the glove box. Fuck. She begins to swipe canned corn, beans, and ravioli into their reusable bag and he never lets go of her hand. “Relax,” she says, hoisting the bag up onto her shoulder and rubbing his arm in soothing lines. Up and down. Up and down. “It's okay, Frank. You're with me.”

He wants to believe her, but he's panicking. “Got everything?” he asks, trying to keep his posture casual even as his mind shifts gears. Keep your eyes open. Be ready. Keep her safe. 

For the love of all good things, keep her safe. 

“I’m ready,” she says easily, not a hint of her anxiety translating to her face. “Could’ve used that lemon, though.”

“If you want to bake for me so badly, honey, just tell me,” he says, not looking at her, keeping his head on a swivel for the someone she was talking about. “Describe him to me.”

“Tall, white, wearing all black,” she says quietly. They make their way toward the checkout. He wants to grab her hand and run to the truck, but they can't exactly smuggle out a bag filled with clanking metal cans. 

She reaches the counter first and smiles at the man behind it, immediately rushing to place all their items on the belt. “The man in all black,” she whispers to the man, never once dropping her smiling façade, “he’s got a gun. Please call the cops. I think he's following us.”

They both crowd together to shroud the cashier from view as he carries on bagging their groceries at the same time he reaches under the counter and presses the panic button. “How will you be paying?” he asks, all-too easily. 

Frankie looks behind him. The man, not facing them, rings out a single banana at the opposite register. The woman behind it looks polite but faintly rattled. He gathers the girl at his side a little closer, tucking an arm around her waist and slipping his hand into the pocket of the sweatshirt she wears. 

“Thank you,” says the cashier when she hands him a folded handful of bills. Frankie guesses he's thanking them for more than the money. “Have a great day. Stay safe out there.”

They both nod their thanks and walk as briskly as they can out of the store without drawing suspicion. Frankie doesn't hear any footsteps behind him, but he still fumbles with the keys in his rush to get her in the vehicle. 

She's got one foot still planted on the side step when she hazards a glance toward the doors of the Food World, and screams, “Frankie, down!”

He ducks at the same time he drops his shoulder to tackle her to the ground. He can't quite manoeuvre them quickly enough to prevent her from slamming hard into the ground; he watches her slam her shoulder against the asphalt at the same time the gunshot goes off. Frankie lands hard on his back, but they're both scrambling to get behind the truck. There isn't time to lick their wounds. The cans have spilled from the bag under the truck. One, filled with baked beans, nudges Frankie’s foot and rolls to a stop.

He keeps his hand pressed against her back as they move, grounding himself in her. She's still alive. He's going to keep it that way. “Fuck,” she says, daring to peek around the truck. “It’s him. Plus another guy at our eleven o’clock.”

“Get in the bed of the truck,” he says, handing her the can. “Smash the back window and crawl inside. Get the gun from the glove box. I’ll be right behind you.”

She nods, clinical in her analysis of the situation. Her face is grim, but she knows it’s their only option. Frankie unlatches the tailgate and pushes at her thighs to help her up while keeping her body as low as possible. She cracks the window with the edge of the can, but it takes three total hits to break the glass. It seems only one of the men is armed, the one who had followed them into the Food World. The other is making his way around the vehicle to flank them. Frankie ducks low to avoid one shot in particular, and he can hear it whizz past his ear. She’s inside the truck, crawling toward the glove box and wrenching it open. She flicks off the safety, leans out the broken window, and aims for the man closest to Frankie: the one holding the gun, who’s currently trying to kill him. 

It makes his ears ring. The shot fires hardly a foot away from his left ear, but he knows who’s fired it, so he doesn’t flinch. Next to him, he hears a body topple and flips onto his back. She hops out of the truck and checks to make sure the man is dead before she circles the truck to accost the other. 

Only he isn’t there. 

“Frank?” she says, not meeting his eyes, still scanning her surroundings. “Where—”

It happens too quickly. Too quickly, even, for Frankie to bark a warning. He can only watch in terror as the man springs out from behind the gas pump and tackles her to the ground. She loses her grip on the gun in the tussle, her head smacking hard against the pavement. Visibly dazed, eyes unfocused, she reaches blindly for the man’s throat, but he pins down her arms at her sides, his thighs bracketing her writhing legs as she tries, unavailingly, to kick him in the balls. 

Frankie doesn’t think when he acts. Terror and rage flood him. They are thick and cloying in his throat. They cloud the reason. The methodical soldier flees. 

He’s bigger than the man atop her. He’s also angrier. His body barrels into him, knocks him aside, sending them both rolling across the ground. Frankie doesn’t reach for the gun. He doesn’t even try to. He just balls his hand into a fist and breaks the man’s noise. 

Blood sprays, splattering the man’s face and Frankie’s knuckles as he yelps, a gurgled, helpless cry. But Frankie doesn’t stop. He can’t. He won’t. He punches, again and again and again. The face is a target, a pinkish round thing with eyes and a crooked nose and a mouth. The nose splits at the bridge, blood seeping. The whites of the eyes stain red. Blood vessels snap. Lips swell. At some point, the target stops crying, stops moving. He’s piloting, he’s in control, he’s so fucking out of control he can barely see. 

Cyclic stick. Window panes. Rotor blades. Scope. Rooftop. Stars. Laughter. Her. 

“Frankie.” 

The target is red now. Blood and skin and bone. His own split knuckles, beginning to hurt. His senses sharpen at the sound of his voice, but he doesn’t stop. Only slows down. He can’t stop. What if he gets back up? 

What if he hurts her again?

Faintly, he registers her stumbling toward him, hands and knees, desperate. Clawing at him. “Frankie,” she says. “Frankie, he’s down. Please. You’re done. It’s done.”

Finally, he pitches backward, as if someone has thrown him off the body beneath him. It’s the only way he can imagine stopping. He wants to go back for more, but her hands are there: one on his chest, pressing against his heart and calming the erratic beating, and the other cupping his face in her palm, like he’s something to be cherished. 

“You did it,” she pants. His hands fly backward, slapping against the asphalt to keep himself from tumbling onto his back. She’s still holding him. 

There’s a thin dribble of blood on her temple. It’s minimal. It’s nothing. But his hand flies to the nape of her neck. “You’re bleeding,” he croaks.

She laughs again, a bit raspy, a bit hysterical. “So are you.”

“He…” Frankie swallows, thick, smoke and fire and fear. “I didn’t see him.”

“Neither did I.” She kisses him on the forehead. It’s gentle, so gentle, and when it’s over, she rests her forehead on his. “Hear that?”

He does. Sirens. The police have arrived. “Means we need to get up,” she says. “Are you all right, Frank? Can you get up?”

She shifts back to help him stand, but he blurts out, “Wait. Wait.”

Panic flitting across her face, she returns to him. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head vaguely, not really feeling it, his vision sharpening to her. Her eyes are her mouth and her mouth is her nose and her nose is her ears. She’s whole and she’s here, in front of him, and he needs her to know. 

“I love you,” he says. 

The smile creeps up slow, but when it arrives, it knocks the breath from him. “Sounded just as good out loud as it did in my head.” Her fingers find the collar of his button-up, and she grips it hard. Her eyes bury him deep in the earth. “I love you, Francisco. But you knew that.”

“Wish I knew it sooner,” he huffs, leaning in so he can finally, finally, kiss her the way he’s wanted to for so long. 

But a shadow looms over them, and a policeman awkwardly clears his throat. “Sir, ma’am, are you able to stand up?”

~

One policeman was all the department could spare, apparently. She and Frankie rose to greet him, explaining the situation as best they could. The man, unconscious but not quite dead on the ground, did not help Frankie’s case, but the cashier corroborated their story, having seen the entire affair through the windows of the Food World. 

They were questioned for too fucking long at the station. They were supplied with a bag of ice for his knuckles, and another for the gash in her temple, as if to make up for keeping them there for ten hours. The bloodied man confessed, once he woke up from his Frankie-induced nap: a lackey for a trafficking ring who was enlisted to kill her for getting too close. Frankie, too. 

He drives them back to the safe house instead of St. Augustine. Frankie has too much to do, too much to say. He can’t stand any more car rides in total silence. 

“So,” she sighs when she follows him inside, “that was a total fucking—mmmph!”

With a grumbling sound from deep in his chest and a faint shake of his head—why fucking wait?—Frankie crowds her, the door closing at her back, and slants his mouth to fit hers. 

Her hand flies up to cup his cheek, keeping him close, the other at his back. His strong back, his broad shoulders, the scruff of his patchy beard. Fuck, she can feel all of it. Frankie keeps it gentle, holding back, his hand finding a home at the back of her neck. He just kisses her. 

She smells like oranges and blood and… fuck, like him, still wearing his sweatshirt. And kissing him. His head is spinning, his chest tightening, her perfect fist wrapped around his heart, squeezing until it pops. He wants it to. He wants to die here. He's finally here, and he's kissing the girl of his dreams. Love taps at the barricade of his skull, knocking at his ribs, asking to come in. He opens all of him. 

“I love you,” he says, grinning against her mouth. “Fucking love you.”

She laughs breathlessly when their teeth clack together, but neither of them can hold back their smile. “You saved my life,” she says, lifting the cap off his head so she can tangle her fingers in his hair, too-long since its last cut. “The scales are balancing, Francisco.”

He laughs, too, somewhat delirious from the taste and the smell of her, nudging his nose against hers. “Can you feel it?” he asks, placing his palm over her years-old bullet wound. 

“I feel it everywhere,” she says, angling his head so he can't help but look her in the eye. Good. He wants to see all of her, all the time. “Tell me again.”

He puts his forehead to hers and kisses the tip of her nose. “I love you. Te amo. Can’t fucking help it.”

She scans his face, eyes pleading. Outside, a bird chirps. He's surprised to discover that life exists outside the two of them. 

“I want you to show me,” she says. 

And he will. God, he will. She is the air he breathes. He kisses her like it, dipping his head low to catch her mouth again, harder and firmer, opening up her mouth for him. He slides his tongue against hers and swallows every needy sigh she loosens from her chest. His hand slides from her hip to her back, splaying his fingers underneath his sweatshirt and pressing her to him. 

“Frankie,” she whispers. The force of such a gentle plea tears at him, rends all his limbs apart, and catches on what's left of his restraint. A fish hook. It tugs until he bleeds, an open wound for her. 

He pulls away just long enough to grasp at the sweatshirt. “Take it off, Frankie,” she says, breathless and panting. He does. He'll do anything she asks. 

It lands in a heap by the door. Underneath, she's wearing the shirt she wore this morning, a simple white tee, and he grunts in frustration. “Too many clothes,” is vaguely what comes out of his mouth as he tugs it up over her head and revels in the way her pupils dilate. He may as well go the whole nine yards, he figures, unclasping her bra and bearing her to him. Her back arches and her tits press up against his chest, keen and wanting. 

He stares for a moment, his cock an aching and persistent presence in his jeans. He doesn't know what to do first. He's obsessed. He wants to possess her, be possessed by her, sink into her until it's unclear where either of their bodies begin. “You're fucking perfect,” he says. 

“You can take a picture if you want,” she teases, pushing up against him and lifting her arms around his neck. He really fucking loves the sound of that: a small printed picture he gets to look at whenever he can't have the real thing. “But kiss me first.”

He finally gets his mouth on her again, sated and not altogether. His calloused hand finds her rib cage, fingers brushing the swell of her breast. He's too rough for her; she's delicate, smooth, perfect. He’s got a pilot’s hands. 

“Jesus. You’re so soft,” he grunts into her mouth, kissing her until her lips are bruised. He shifts to the corner of her lips, her Cupid’s bow, the gentle curves of it that fascinate him. He finds her jawline and traces it with his lips, enjoying the way her breathing begins to go shallow as he moves to her ear, biting the lobe before sucking and licking at the spot below it. 

“Frankieeee,” she mewls, grinding against him. He makes a gruff noise into her throat as he breathes her in deep, breathing in the scent of her the way a drowning man sucks in air at the ascent. 

“I know, baby,” he mumbles, slipping his hand down to her jeans and toying with the button at the same time he kisses her shoulder. 

“Want to undress you,” she says, pushing her hips up against his hand. “Please.”

Frankie’s never heard begging sound so good. He nods against her skin and pulls away, only to hoist her up and wrap her thighs around his hips. He swells a little with pride at the needy whimper that leaves her at the show of strength. “Bedroom,” he says into her ear, nipping at her lobe again. 

She nods frantically. He lowers her onto the bed and she lifts herself up to grab at his shirt. He laughs at the eagerness, but it sobers to hot and heavy arousal at the sight of her concentration, her devout eagerness to get his clothes off. He helps her shrug him out of his button-up and lifts his arms for her as she takes off his shirt. Her lips part, her pupils dark and wide, and he's stunned. Stunned by her blatant desire, her inability to hide it. “Never thought…” She trails off, chest heaving. 

“What is it, baby?”

“Never thought I’d get this,” she says earnestly, thumb stroking his jaw. “You.”

He kicks off his shoes and socks, holding her firm around the waist. She stands on her toes and kisses him, deep and true. “You've got me,” he tells her, breathing it into her mouth. “I’m yours, baby. I’ve always been.”

“Frankie.” Her lips are on his jaw, licking at the patch of skin that breaks his beard, then his throat, tasting and licking him the way she wants to. “I love you so much.”

He curses. She's revelling in him, and he loves it. He can't let go of her, can't stop himself from parting his lips and squeezing his eyes shut at the way she lavishes his throat with her mouth. She begins to make her way down his chest, sitting down on the bed so she can travel all the way down to his navel. His breathing is jagged, torn at the edges. He needs her so badly. She needs him so badly. 

“Baby…”

She hums, busy pressing kisses to his ribs, fumbling with his belt, the button, the zipper, at his jeans. 

Frankie bends down and notches his hands at the back of her thighs, half-tossing her farther up the bed. He pulls off jeans and boxers and briefly allows himself to grin at the sight of her sucking in a breath when his cock slaps against his stomach, hard and leaking. He isn't an idiot. He knows he's big. And it feels fucking good to know she wants him. 

He crawls up her body and tilts her chin up so he can kiss her. “I want to taste you,” he says. She gasps when he cups the heat of her through her jeans. 

“Please,” she says, writhing against him. Frankie yanks those godforsaken jeans down with little mercy, and she chokes out a laugh. “You really hate those things.”

“They're his.” Frankie tosses them across the room. “I want you to walk out of here forgetting he ever touched you… His fucking hands on you.”

She grounds him with a thumb brushing over his chin. “I’m yours,” she says. “Yours, Francisco.”

He grabs her ankle and locks it around his hip, forcing her legs to spread wide. The wet spot on her pink panties is unmistakable. “Mine,” he says under his breath, pressing his palm against her clit through her underwear. She whines his name. “Fuck, honey. You’re mine, huh?”

She nods, lifting herself into her elbows to watch him peel her panties down her legs. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I am. Please…”

Frankie’s cock twitches at the sight of her glistening core. He shifts onto his stomach and, without warning, spreads her folds with two fingers and flattens his tongue against her slit. “Ohhh!” she cries, thighs trembling at the first touch. “Fuck… Frank…”

He flicks his tongue against her clit and presses his hips into the mattress to relieve some of the ache in his cock. Her moan is long and low, her hands grabbing, needy, nestling in his hair and holding on. He groans at the taste of her, the sweetness, nectar and sharp tang, so wet for him. For him. 

Frankie can't get enough. She tastes so good, and she moans so loudly for him, out here in the middle of nowhere, that he can't find it in himself to pull away from her cunt. Instead, he wraps a hand around her thigh as the other presses down against her belly to keep her still. He licks her clit until she's quivering and shifts to her entrance, circling it with his tongue before plunging inside and lapping up the slick that pours from her. She cries out with pleasure when his thumb circles her clit. 

“Your fingers,” she pleads, brows drawn up in the middle. “Want your fingers.”

Her face, flushed and needy, might make him come on the mattress. “You want my fingers, baby?” he says softly, still swiping her clit while his lips occupy themselves with kissing her inner thighs, the so-soft skin there. 

“Wanna know how it feels… to be one of your helicopters,” she says with a breathless laugh. 

He hums, bringing her clit into his mouth and sucking hard. She screams his name. “You're not a machine,” he says. 

“You fly them like you wanna fuck them,” she gasps, writhing as he suctions his lips to her clit again. 

He smacks the side of her thigh. “Only wanna fuck you. If you'll stay still.”

“Oh, please.” 

He can't tell if it's a genuine plea or her smart mouth, but he wants to see her come so badly he doesn't respond. He dives back in, sucking and lapping at her clit as two fingers trace her hole and sink in to the knuckle, prodding at her front wall. “Fucking wet,” he mumbles against her, but it's lost in the vibrations that make her cry out from the stimulation. 

“F—fuck, Frank, I…” Her eyes are unfocused, but he keeps his on her nonetheless. “I’m gonna… fuck—!”

He presses his fingers up against that spongy spot and laps at her clit while she comes, drenching his fingers in her hot slick. “Fuck,” she croaks, her body melting into the mattress. “That was…”

“Not over.” He sits up and leans over her, locking her leg around his hip and kissing her deeply. She’s boneless and pliant in his arms as he manhandles her hips up onto his thighs, sliding his cock through her wetness. She shivers. “I need you, baby,” he rasps. “Need you so fuckin’ bad.”

“Want you inside me, Frankie,” she says. “Fuck me, please. Make me yours.”

It's all he needs. Frankie pushes the head of his cock past her entrance and squeezes his eyes shut at the hot tightness of her. “Jesus.”

“You're big, Frank,” she says with a strained laugh. “Fuck, you're so—big!” 

He pushes more of himself inside and groans at the unrelenting grip of her walls around him. It's airtight, it's wet, it's fucking heaven. He's died. He must have. 

“I can take it,” she moans, her foot pressing at the small of his back, trying to pull more of him inside her. “I can, Frankie.”

She's so determined, so adorable in the way her brow scrunches, and he's so in love. He pushes inside until their hips are flush together and feels embarrassed by how good it is, so soon. It's been too long since he's buried himself inside a woman’s body, and hers is sending him fucking soaring. “Fucking… Hold still, honey. Can’t—fuck, you're so tight. Don't move. Just give me a second.”

She grins, head falling back into the pillow. “Can't… do that… to a helicopter.”

Frankie pulls out halfway and thrusts inside her sharply, hissing at the spark of pleasure that ricochets off his spine. “Smartass,” he grits out, relishing in the way she blindly reaches for the bedsheets and curls them in her hands. 

“Frankie, honey, fuck me,” she says, rocking her hips against his. 

He does. Of course he does. 

Frankie begins to move inside her, establishing a rhythm that gets her moaning under him. He fucks her the way she wants; he fucks her to make her his, forever. He gets so deep inside her he feels his head prod her womb, and it doubles him over. 

He drapes his body over her and humps her like an animal, kissing her until their mouths can barely fit together with the harsh thrusts that shift her body up the bed. His lips latch onto her jaw, nipping at it, then her shoulder, holding her body with the reverence it deserves, fucking into her until she's crying on his cock. 

Frankie lifts her legs up onto his shoulders and bends her in fucking half. “Fuck!” she screams. “Frankie!”

“Hold on, baby.” She brings her hands around her thighs, and the angle deepens deliciously. He fucks her hard, biting the flesh of her calf, grunting about how good she is, how good she takes him, wrapped around his cock. 

She drinks it in, swallowing thickly. “Wanted you… so long…”

He's punching the breath out of her, and he gently unwinds her hands from her thighs so they fall back down around his hips. He hooks a foot in the crook of her knee and rolls them over until she's on top. He places his hand on her belly. “Feel me?” he says, bucking his hips up into her. 

She chokes on whatever she was about to say and lets her head fall back. When her eyes meet his, they're lidded, lashes spidery on her cheeks and her gaze heavy with lust. “I feel you,” she says. “Fuck, you're so big. So deep.”

He plants his feet on the mattress and holds onto her hips, grinding her against him. She shudders, grasping his shoulders, when her clit rubs up against his navel. “No fuckin’ idea,” he grunts, “how long I’ve been picturing this.”

“You ever dream of me?” she asks, her hair falling over her shoulders. The one and only deity he’s ever believed in. “I dreamed about you,” she confesses, squeezing her breasts in her hands. Frankie can’t believe what he’s seeing or hearing, even though he’s balls-deep inside her. “Touched myself thinking about you. Thought about you taking me… Fuck, I think I’m dreaming.”

He takes two handfuls of her ass and bounces her hard on his cock. She yelps, nails digging into his shoulder. “That feel like a dream, baby?” he says. “You have any idea how crazy you make me? Every time you fucking touched me, smiled at me… Jesus, eres tan… so beautiful.”

“Frankie,” she moans. “It was so hot watching you beat the shit out of him for me.” She glides long and slow up and back down his length, guided by his hands bruising her hips. “Fuck, you’re so strong.”

Frankie is lightheaded from the admission. He threads his fingers through her hair and pulls her down to him by the back of her head, baring his teeth against her cheek and he fucks up into her. It’s deep and she’s helpless in this position, taking his cock and clinging to him with cries of his name. “You like me protecting you?” he rasps into her ear. “Like me getting all bloody for you?”

“Fuck—yes!” she gasps. 

“Show me how much you like it,” he says. “Ride me.”

And oh, she rides him. It's like she's possessed, a feral little fox, lifting her hips until he's barely inside her and twisting on the way back down. His vision goes white with the feeling of it. “Fucking… Muy bien… No puedo… Baby, you're so good.”

She rocks on him, grinds, bounces, until he's seeing stars burst behind his eyes. It's good. It's really good. She just keeps going, riding him hard, the shitty mattress squeaking under their bodies. He squeezes her tits in his rough hands, pinching her nipples. Her moans turn to whimpers. 

He sits up and pulls out of her abruptly. She protests vaguely, but she’s so cockdrunk she can barely form words as he flips her onto her stomach and secures a pillow under hips. He has the perfect view of her ass from her, her head turned as far toward him as she can manage, cheek pressed into the mattress. He places a hand on the small of her back. Frankie slides into her from behind, and her moan is so loud, so desperate, that he begins to fuck her without mercy, without abandon. 

“Ohhhhh… Frank—fuck, I can’t… fuck!” 

“Yeah, you can,” he coos, grinding deep, pressing up against her front wall. Her ass arches up against him. “Are you my girl?”

She nods frantically, her cheek scratching the mattress as the force of his thrusts rock her entire body. “I’m your girl. I’m your girl.”

“Nobody fucks with my girl.” He pounds her so hard the room echoes with the sounds of his hips slapping against her ass, the squelching of her wet cunt around him. “My—perfect—girl.”

“Fuck. ‘M gonna come, Frankie,” she moans, face-down, fisting the bedsheets. 

He can feel it. She’s squeezing the life out of him, trapping him inside her, begging for his cum. “Where?” He barely manages to push out the question. 

“Inside,” she pleads. “Fuck, inside me, please. I want your cum.”

He can’t refuse her. He doesn’t want to. “I’ll give it to you, baby. Come for me.”

She stiffens and shudders, moaning his name and pulsating around his cock. He works her through it, thrusting shallow and urging himself toward his own peak, until she collapses onto the mattress and mewls like a fucking cat. “I love you, Frankie,” are the words he hears.

He does, pushing himself all the way inside her until he can’t even see his fucking cock anymore. He drowns her cunt in his hot cum, spilling deep and groaning her name, all while her pussy flutters around him and urges more, more, more out of him. When he finishes, he collapses on top of her, a canopy over her back, his lips finding her shoulder. He can’t muster the energy to pull out of her, let alone move, but she doesn’t seem to mind. 

“My big strong man,” she giggles. 

He huffs against her skin, moving to the crook of her neck, where he buries his face. “Fucking Fox.”

“Yeah, baby, you just did.” She’s still giggling, and it’s infectious. He grins into her throat, laughing until he’s wheezing. 

“Jesus Christ,” he manages, certain he’s smearing tears of laughter all over her. “We should probably eat dinner.”

“Are you hungry?” she asks. “Can you move? Because I’m not. And I can’t.”

He’s still chuckling. “I’m on top of you, baby. ‘Course you can’t move.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” She reaches around his head and scratches her fingers at the nape of his neck. He purrs against her. “We’ll eat when we wake up. Go to sleep, Frankie. I’ll be here when you open your eyes.”

He shifts off her slightly, pulling out of her as he moves onto his side to look into her eyes. He tucks her hair behind her ear. It’s matted with sweat and his manhandling. “I love you,” he tells her, just because he can. Because she loves him, too. 

She grins, sleepy and worn. “Wake me up,” she whispers, her fingers lovingly tracing the grey in his beard, “whenever you’d like. However you’d like.”

He can’t help but squeeze her ass where his hand rests on it. “You serious?”

“I’m always serious, Francisco.” Her eyes flutter shut, and he doesn’t say another word. 

He lets her sleep and watches until he follows.

~

He blinks awake to her hair tickling his nostrils, her soft back flush against his chest. He's seen her asleep before, memorised the way she looks when her lips are slightly parted and her even breathing gently rustles the hair in her face. He's so familiar with it. But he's never seen it so close, never felt the way her warm naked body curls gently into his, never been able to smell the lingering scent of citrus and sweat that clings to her. He's never been able to lean in and kiss her shoulder the way he does now. 

She's yours. 

Frankie is aware of his hard cock, slotted against the cleft of her asscheeks, needy for a wet, hot place to bury itself inside. He's aware of the way her body looks so tempting, so sweet. As his brain comes slowly to life, he becomes aware of the words she said last night. 

Wake me up however you'd like. 

He bites back a groan when she shifts in her sleep, her ass rocking back against his erection. Frankie reaches between their bodies and swipes two fingers through her folds. She's wet. No, she’s fucking soaked. 

I dreamed about you. 

Maybe she still does. 

Still slick with his cum and her own arousal, she’ll take him so easily. It's blinding. Frankie's mind goes hazy with need, his body acting independently of his mind. He lifts her thigh and hooks it back around his hip, slotting his cock at her entrance. In her sleep, she hums, and the gentle sound rattles around in his head as he slides his cock inside her until he bottoms out. 

He has to let out the rumbling sound that tears at his throat, so he buries his face in her throat and begins to fuck her from behind, pushing out little breaths of exertion into her skin. 

“Mmmmmfrankie,” she mumbles, her eyes still closed, body still limp and malleable. 

It’s deafening. She grips him so tightly, her walls sucking at him, begging for him. Frankie kisses the spot below her ear, sloppy and desperate, coaxing her awake with each languid drag of his cock. 

“Frank,” she gasps, her eyes cracking open, her head turning, her lips seeking his, desperate and fuzzy with desire.

“Needed you, baby,” he groans, fucking her harder now that she's awake. She whispers his name, her voice crackling with sleep, still not coherent but grabbing greedily at his cock with her cunt. “So fucking good. Wet for me even in your sleep, huh? Muy hermosa, can't take you anywhere.”

She whimpers, head resting on his shoulder, lifting her arm just to bring him closer to him, fingers threading in his messy hair. He gravitates to her, lips on her ear, her jaw, her shoulder, every-fucking-where. “Gonna… gonna keep me locked up here?” she says, throat clicking with drool. “Fuck me whenever you want?”

Frankie grinds, making her cry out, gasping with the effort of taking him so deep, pressing up against the spot he knows will make her crumble. Stardust on his fingers. “Maybe I will,” he muses. “Nobody can fuckin’ touch you that way.”

“Frankie!” she screams, but it's muted, croaking with disuse. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

She's a mess around him, debauched and so beautiful, pinching each knob of his spine with the pleasure it gives him to see her break because of him. It’s disarming. 

He hooks her leg higher, securing his arm around her thigh, pulling it back, fucking her harder. Deeper. He's so deep he knows it’ll take. It’ll fucking take, and—

It won't. She's got an implant. But fuck, Frankie imagines, rutting into her like a fucking monster, pressing up against her womb and giving her a piece of him that connects them forever. He reaches around her body and rubs her clit because he's about to come, and she comes first. She has to. 

She does. Crying out his name, grabbing at him with her needy hands, she soaks his cock. Fucking soaks it, her slick sticky on his thighs and making it oh, so easy to take her harder, deeper still. The sounds are filthy and obscene and wet, and he tangles his fingers in her hair to pull her head backward. She's squirming and squeezing around him, begging for him to come inside her. 

He does. Spurt after spurt of hot cum finds its home at the deepest part of her, and there's so much it dribbles out around his cock and mingles with her own wetness. Frankie groans into her ear as he comes, rocking shallowly, not stopping until he's given her all of it. The slick noise as he pulls out makes his cock twitch even more, but they're both tired, spent, and in need of a shower. 

“Oh my God,” she mutters into the pillow, panting. “I can't walk.”

Frankie chuckles, sliding off the bed and tugging on her ankle. She protests with a little whine. “You're cute, baby, but don't be lazy. Gotta clean you up.”

“Don't wanna,” she says, wiggling her ass at him, giving him a glimpse of the cum slipping out of her hole, the mess he made of her body. 

He covers her body with his and bites the flesh of her asscheek. “Frankie!” she squeals. 

“Get up,” he says, giving the bite mark a gentle smack.

She finally turns over and, pouting, follows him into the bathroom. “You think it's over?” she asks him, locking the door behind them even though nobody else is in the house. Force of habit. 

Frankie turns on the shower and places his fingers underneath the stream to test the temperature. “If it isn't,” he says, “we’ll figure it out.”

She smiles up at him. “You need a haircut, Francisco.”

“Lost my favourite hairdresser for a bit,” he says, pulling her naked body up against him. “Made some mistakes.”

“Maybe she'll take on her favourite client again,” muses his girl, brushing his hair away from his forehead with her fingers. “We waited so long, Frankie.”

Her voice holds melancholy, the drip of knowing misery that they've wasted years yearning. But Frankie kisses her forehead and cradles the back of her head. “You and your infinite wisdom, baby. Don’t you have something for me?”

She laughs, and it's like the bells at midnight. “I’m fresh out,” she whispers, resting her cheek against his chest. “But maybe my wisdom is that I love you. It’s the best choice I’ve ever made.”

THE END.

#pedro pascal fic #kiwisbell's fics #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fluff #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction

[electronicwitchcollection]

Accidental mate; chapter 5

I’m going to stop introducing other characters and bring you more Grimmjow/reader interactions soon, honest 😂

You had made the long walk to your own division in search of Captain Kuchiki, wanting to brief him of your mission and return home. You replayed the conversation you had with the Head Captain through your mind as you traveled. He had asked if you believed you could be the one to teach Grimmjow, bring him into the fold. You sincerely hoped he would forget that ridiculous notion.

A week was more than long enough spent in his company. You didn't want to be lumbered with that task, you'd go crazy. You and Grimmjow were just too different. Yet quite similar, you hated to admit. You were both stubborn, unafraid of speak what was on your mind. You had always thought you were quite even tempered, not rising to anger, simply letting things go. Yet with Grimmjow you matched his outbursts.

There was just something about him that riled you up, made you quick to snap at his snarky remarks. You didn't like that, you weren't mean or violent, yet he made you want to throttle him multiple times a day. It would be better for everyone if someone else took over his training, better for him better for you. Familiar faces passing by snapped you from your musings, sending your comrades a cheery wave as you made your way past the Captains koi pond. You hurried up to the main office, hoping your captain would be in a good mood and allow you the rest of the day off.

You knocked on the open office door, peaking your head through as you softly called out "Captain Kuchiki?" You heard a rustle of papers, the drag of a chair against wooden floorboards followed by the sound of footsteps, too heavy to be the soft footed Captain.

"He's not here" Lieutenant Abari called to you as he made his way through the office. Face splitting into a wide familiar grin as you came into view, "YN! " He wrapped you in a brief but powerful bear hug which you happily returned. It was refreshing having human contact without the threat of your arm being bitten off

"Hey Renji, Captain isn't here?"  You asked, walking further into the room at Renji's beckoning hand gesture. He walked back to his desk, perching on the edge of it to face you. He had his arms crossed over his chest loosely, already shaking his head

"He got called away to deal with some noble clan stuff, how was your trip?" The grin he gave you told you everything you needed to know, Renji had already had the pleasure of meeting Grimmjow. The amount of glee on his face at the prospect of you spending the whole week with him was irking you ever so slightly. You had the feeling Renji was the one to nominate you to the Head Captain for that particular task, simultaneously sidestepping the privilege and dropping you well and truly in it.

His smug grin only cemented your suspicions. You and Renji had become friends through another mutual friend many years ago. Your friendship was very much that of squabbling siblings, plenty of teasing and and good natured jabs . You loved him dearly though, and knew he felt the same about you. He was as protective over you as he was all his friends and you made sure he was looking after himself when he got consumed with training or work.

"Probably went as good as you think it did" you shot him a knowing look, falling heavily onto the chair facing his desk. The weeks travel and the extreme emotions you've been dealing with the past week were catching up to you, you were exhausted "It was a nightmare Renji." 

Renji chucked at the look on your face, reaching over to mess up your hair playfully, retracting it quickly just before you swatted his hand away "and here I thought you were just the girl for the job"

"I knew it was you!" Suspicions confirmed. You would be getting him back for this, mark your words. "I've already told the Head Captain my report, he seemed happy with the way the mission went" 

"How was it really?"  He asked, Lieutenant mask replacing his shit eating grin. Renji took his position seriously, and while he was happy to be be friendly, tease and joke with his subordinates, he could knuckle down and be serious when the time called for it. It was something you actually really admired about him, not that you would ever voice that, his head was big enough as it was

"I had seen what I needed too. He's a good fighter, strong, talented. " you decided to give him the brief report, he could read all the details in your written report when you finally get a chance to write it. "But he's got an issue with authority. He doesn't work well as part of a team, and, I cannot stress this enough, he is the biggest asshole I've ever had the misfortune of meeting" 

Renji threw his head back as he barked out his most honest laugh. His stance had relaxed at your less than official end to your report, easing back into his relaxed posture. You were sure he wasn't even aware of it anymore, how effortlessly he changed between lieutenant and friend "Yeah, he's a real piece of work. Tries to take off Ichigo's head every time they see eachother, and every one likes that guy"

He wasn't wrong. You didn't know Ichigo well, had spoken a few times in passing due to having similar friends. Even without the fact that Ichigo had saved soul society multiple times, often at his own risk, he was a really nice guy. The fact that Grimmjow couldn't stand him spoke volumes about Grimmjow himself. "Well, now you can add me to the list of people Grimmjow would rather see without their head" you mumble from behind your hands, tiredly rubbing your face. Fatigue was catching up quickly, and as much as you enjoyed Renji's company, if you didn't leave soon you'd end up asleep on this chair

"Did he hurt you?" The dangerous change in tone had you peeking through your fingers. Renji's posture had straightened up, deeply unhappy look on his face. He looked just about ready to go find the espada himself, fingers slowly curling into loose fists. Renji had an unbreakable sense of honour, and hitting women was at the top of that list. He wouldn't stand for it, in any situation, especially if it involved on of his friends. You couldn't help but smile at his overprotectiveness.

"No, Renji. He didn't hurt me." You placate him quickly, watching the sudden anger fizzle out of him. His hotheadedness hadn't change much over the years, though he was working on listening to the full story before reacting. Something you greatly appreciated in that moment, you didn't want to chase him all over souls society trying to calm him down "We just argued the whole time, you know me, I don't usually bite my tongue"

Renji smile at your attempt of humour. He knew that all too well, you've both hand your share of arguments with eachother, both to stubborn to let the other have the win, wether you were right or wrong. "Hope you gave as good as you got"

"Of course." You match his smile, standing with an exaggerated stretch "Im going to head home for the rest of the day. Can you let the Captain know I'll report in first thing in the morning? I'll try and write up the report tonight" 

Renji nodded, throwing an arm around your shoulder as he walked you to the door "try and get some rest. You look like shit"  you elbowed him roughly in the side, enjoying the grunt you pulled from him. Asshole. He should try spending the week with Grimmjow on the road, bet he wouldn't look half as good as you managed to look.

——————————————————

Grimmjow was practically vibrating with pent up frustration. After the Captains had disappeared, and you had stormed off, he attempted to follow the captains to finish what they had started. Especially that big one. The one that dared to approach you, you, covered in his scent. His mark. Luckily for them, Grimmjow had lost the scent, too many shinigami polluting the air.

He had been aimlessly stalking around, trying to let off steam. He wasn't yet ready to return to where he was staying. He hadn't been allocated a place yet, wouldn't until he was placed into a division. He was temporarily staying in a room changed into a makeshift bedroom in that hat wearing idiots lab, near the edge of the twelfth division. The location wasn't bad, it was just outside a large Forrest, perfect for running and training. Further into the Forrest, leaving the walls that surrounded the shinigamis territory, he had found a few hollows he could hunt.

He didn't know if that goofy bastard was here or in the world of the living though, and wasn't in the mood to put up with his moronic insistence of trying to engage Grimmjow in conversation. During his rage filled walk, Grimmjow had gotten a little turned around. Actually, he didn't have a damn clue where he was. All the streets and buildings looked the exact same, so he didn't notice the fact he was in an unknown division until it was too late to retrace his steps

He wasn't lost. He just wasn't where he thought he was. He couldn't pick up any scents to indicate where he was, or in which direction he should be headed. He would rather chew off his own arm than ask one of the shinigami hurrying past him, avoiding eye contact, for directions . Fucking looking at him as though he were going to bite them. Idiots. Shinigami wouldn't taste good anyway.

The memory of your arousal coating his tongue pushed its way to the forefront of his mind. He could practically taste the phantom memory, mouth filling with saliva. Grimmjow angrily kicked at the ground, sending a puff of dust into the air and startling two shinigami that were passing by. Pussies. Grimmjow snarled at them for good measure, watching disgusted as they scarpered.

His skin was crawling. He hated how you were still invading his mind. Damn witch. It had been a couple of hours since he last saw you, with each passing hour his stomach twisted harder with a deep sense of unease. He was loosing his damn mind. He could still taste you on his tongue, feel you in his arms, smell you in the air. Wait. No, he could actually smell you in the air.

Grimmjow came to an abrupt halt, picking up the faint notes of your scent, his own signature musk intertwined with it. He followed the invisible trail, inhaling deeply, keeping it locked in his sights. As the smell became stronger, the buildings became further apart. Trees could be spotted over the top of the wall, the smell of grass filtering through the leaves.

He came to a stop out side of a small building where your scent was most powerful. This must be your den. Catching movement in one of the windows, Grimmjow jumped up the wall, camouflaging in the lush leaves of the tree, perching on a sturdy branch. He waited patiently, scanning the windows for sign of movement. He should leave. What was he even doing there, watching, waiting for any sign of you. It was pathetic. Weak. He growled deep in his chest at his behaviour, willing himself to leave.

Then you appeared. A light flicked on in a room containing a large nest, his eyes locked on to you. You had all your hair tied up behind your head, the strands swaying side to side with every step you took. Your body was wrapped in pink, flimsy material, it looked shiny under the light. It exposed your thighs, brushing over the soft skin there. He watched as you reached your bed, crawling over the space to lay on your stomach. You kicked up your legs, lazily swinging them back and forth, feet twisting together, rubbing over the back of your shins.

Grimmjow swallowed roughly, adjusting his stance as he crawled nearer for a better look. His trousers were tightening, restricting his slowly inflating dick. You had something thin and black in your hand. A pen, you were writing. Hand quickly scribbling over the paper laid before you. He watched as you tilted your head, flicking your hair down over one shoulder, teasing him with your exposed neck, his mark, shining brightly against your pale skin. Sending unknowingly, a flush of heat through Grimmjow's body. Grimmjow's tongue darted out to wet his suddenly dry lips, battling with himself internally

Screaming at himself to leave, to run as fast as he could away from you. His body refused to listen to his demands, eyes staying fixated on you. What was happening to him? Grimmjow was strong, he was powerful, he was an alpha. It infuriated him, the spell you had cast on him. He needed to find a way to break it. He needed to leave. Grimmjow pulled all his determination, ready to leap from his hiding spot in the tree, find his way back to his own nest. Then you slowly rolled the pen across your full bottom lip, parting your lips you pulled the pen into your mouth and sucked on the tip gently.

FUCK

Grimmjow shoved his hand down his pants, groaning as he took hold of his throbbing erection and squeezing. His hungry eyes focused on your lips, drinking in the image of your lips surrounding the pen. Grimmjow pulled his hand over his cock, squeezing the tip before rolling it back down the length. With a dissatisfied groan, Grimmjow quickly removed his hand, licking wetly over his palm before shoving it back into the confines of his pants,taking his erection back into his hand with long, strong tugs. His hand felt insignificant compared to the tight, wet heat of your cunt

His hand didn't squeeze as tightly, didn't ripple across his length. It didn't coat his cock in sweet slick wetness. Didn't moan in pleasure as he rutted into it. He watched as you pulled out the pen, tip wet with your saliva as you studied the paper beneath you. You tapped the pen against your lips, teasing it between your teeth. Grimmjow groaned, hips jerkily thrusting into his hand, his precum leaking profusely, slicking up the glide of his hand, dampening the inside of his pants.

His breath came out in short pants, eyes narrowing as he watched you intently. The angle and the restrictions of his clothing were uncomfortable, not allowing him the proper movement to adequately stroke his full length. He watched your small hand resume marking the paper, imagining how it would look wrapped around his cock, how small it would look in comparison to his own. He imagined dragging his cock over you lips, painting them with his thick seed. How you would suck on the tip, lick up the length.

He moaned, deep and guttural, hips rutting into his palm. His head was swimming, protests to stop quieting at the dominating commands to take her. There you were, laid out, waiting, willing. His mate, his to use, his to fuck. You grabbed the paper, placing it on a table next to your bed with the pen. You pushed off the bed with your hands, back arching, ass pushed into the air invitingly as you stretched out your arms in front of you. His hand moved furiously over his cock, chasing the explosion that would clear his mind.

You were in the perfect submissive position, like you knew you were being watched. Putting on a show for your king, presenting yourself for his taking. His hand roughly pushed against the clothing covering his engorged cock, trying in vein to make more room for his rapid hand motions. You sat back on your legs, glancing out the window. He held his breath, suddenly nervous you would spot him hidden in the tree. His hand slowed down on his cock, trying to minimise any movement that might catch your eye.

He watched as you crawled closer to the window, staring out into the darkening street before pulling closed the cloth that blocked his view to your room. Grimmjow cursed quietly, no longer having you in his sights. His hand slowed on his length, coming to a complete stop in frustration. He pulled his hand free, disgusted with his actions, touching himself, hidden away like a desperate pup. Grimmjow roughly punched the thick trunk of the tree, bark splitting open the thin skin of his knuckles as it splintered beneath his power.

With new found determination, he jumped from the tree, into the garden beyond the wall. As soon as his feet hit the ground he ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction, away from you and your magic. Running with an erection was uncomfortable, he roughly palmed the ridged length, commanding it to go down. He stuck to the shadows, using his agility to stay undetected.

Grimmjow needed help. As much as it pained him to admit it, he didn't know how else to break the spell you had put him under. Now that he knew where you lived, he didn't trust his instincts not not cloud over his rational thought and kick down your damn door and take you. He needed someone to tell him how to get back control of his own mind. The only person he could think he could demand fix this problem, unfortunately, was also someone Grimmjow wanted to avoid at all costs. Annoying bastard would drive him insane.

——————————————————

You rolled your head back and forth, groaning at the satisfying cracks your neck gave. After returning home you had fallen into your couch, falling into a much needed nap. After waking, showering and having a delicious home cooked meal, you started working on the written report ready for Captain Kuchiki the following morning. You had been sitting at your table for too long, stiffness creeping up your spine. You reread over what you had already written, deciding it was up to your captains standards. You carefully gathered up the paper and pen, deciding to finish writing your conclusions in the comfort of your own bed

You resisted the desire run and leap on your bed, fall into the warm softness. Laying on your stomach you absentmindedly kick your legs up into the air, steadily swaying them back and forth as you began jotting down your explanations. You had written about finding the hollow you were sent to cleanse. The battle plan you had drawn up and how Grimmjow completely disregarded your ideas, running head first into, what you could only describe as, a violent slaughtering.

You wrote about Grimmjows skills, his shortcomings. What you felt he could work on and what you thought was a lost cause. You wrote your recommendations for a scouting team, highlighting his enhanced senses, and how you witnessed them being used in the field. You reread what you had written, rolling the pen across your lips, sucking on the tip. It was a habit you had from way back in your academy days, it helped clear your mind enough to focus solely on your task.

You wrote about Grimmjows lack of knowledge to human life. His struggle with reading and chopsticks, adding a few others you thought should be investigated. Concluding your report with what you had verbalised with the head captain. You believed Grimmjow could be a great ally, if only the time was given to help acclimate him into this unknown way of life. You attempted to think of an example of Grimmjows ability to pick up on things quickly, when your mind drifted into a less professional setting.

Grimmjow quickly picked up on your non-verbal cues, adjusting his treatment of you accordingly to your reactions. He learned quickly the best places to touch you to draw out sinful moans. Adjusted his pace at the minute gestures you gave, bringing you to the most powerful orgasm you've ever had. Now how could you write about that while sounding professional? You tried to shake the thoughts, turning back to your report to make sure it was all correct

Everything seemed adequate as you chewed on the tip of your pen, looking over carefully for any mistakes or anything you could add. You had to force yourself to stop, before you spent the whole night adding and changing little details trying to make it perfect. You put everything on your bedside table before stretching out your stiff back. You stretched your arms over your head, kneeling up on your knees to elongate your spine and hear it pop multiple times.

Cracking your spine, all your joints really, was a habit that drove Renji crazy. He hated the noise, it made his skin crawl. So as any friend would, you did it as often as possible in his company. You huffed out an amused chuckle, sitting yourself back on your folded legs. You looked through your window, noticing how dark it was getting.

Grimmjow floated through your mind again. You couldn't help but wonder what he was doing. He didn't seem the time to go to the bar, socialise with the shinigami, did he even have friends? No, he was probably out picking fights like an idiot. Hopefully he had steered clear of the two captains from earlier, that particular fight wouldn't be pretty, and it wouldn't help him securing a place in the goeti.

You forced the thoughts away, closing your curtains to get ready to turn in. It didn't take you long to end up in darkness, sinking into your mattress with a long awaited sigh. You had missed being home, being in your bed. You tried to fall asleep, clearing your mind and relaxing into your mattress. Grimmjows cocky grin flashed behind your closed eyes, heart skipping a beat as you pushed the image away. You rolled to your back, screwing your eyes closed tight, willing sleep to take you.

Heat started to flush through your body, the first tingle of arousal made you squeeze your thighs together under the quilt. Your eyes snapped open, staring at your ceiling cast in darkness. Why was that brute still in your thoughts, it was a one time thing. A two time thing. It wasn't going to happen again, ever. Time to forget about it. There were plenty of single men around here, you were not short of options should you get an inch you needed help scratching.

You didn't notice your hand caressing over your body until it reached your breast. Your fingers circled your pebbling nipple under your gown, pinching gently. You moaned at the pressure, bringing up your other hand to give the same attention to your neglected breast. You tried to conjure up an image to help you raise your libido, images of bulging muscles and a chiselled jaw. You imagined strong hands replacing your own, following the curves of your body down to your core.

Your fingers brushed against your clothed pussy, remembering a heavy weight looming over you, pushing you into the mattress as they tease your opening. When you brush a finger over your hidden clit, hips rolling up to meet the sensation, Grimmjows face appeared looming over you, grinning down at you. Nope. You pulled your hands away from you, punching the mattress besides you in frustration. You were not going to lay here and touch yourself while thinking of that man,

You definitely turned to your side, grabbing your spare pillow to hug against your chest. You concentrated on emptying your mind, willing sleep to pull you under it's merciful hold. You fell asleep pushing away increasingly intrusive thoughts of Grimmjow as they infiltrated your mind, tossing and turning at the memories of Grimmjow growling into your ear. You dreamt of his hands on your body, the guttural way he'd groan in your ear. Reliving all the pleasure you had received in those two days that you would refuse to think about again.

#bleach fanfiction #bleach smut #bleach #grimmjow x you #grimmjow x reader #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #accidental mate

[imagines--galore]

||The Thread of Fate|| Part Sixteen

Summary: Soulmate AU. They say the Thread of Fate connects you to your one true love. It may tangle. It may stretch. But it will never break. Wrapped around your little finger it tightens when it feels your soulmate is close and loosens when they are far. And becomes visible with the colors of your soulmate’s Nation when you finally fall in love with them.

Pairing: Zuko x OroraOC (ATLA)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure. Allusion to death, but nothing graphic.

Previous Chapters - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen,

A/N: Thank you for much for all those people who left their remarks for the last chapter. You have no idea how much it means to me!

The bird sat on the window ledge, twittering as it discovered the flowers that were sitting prettily in a vase. It hovered over the biggest one, dipping in it's long beak and drinking from the nectar it found there.

A slight disturbance from beyond the window ledge had the bird flitting about, annoyed at having it's lunch disturbed, before he flew off.

Inside the apartment Zuko groaned as his eyelids flickered. His entire body felt like he'd been kicked around by a Komodo Rhino. And his head, Spirits he felt like his head would split open any moment. His eyes felt too hot for him to open, the act hurting him almost physically.

"You're burning up." He heard his Uncle's voice echo through the darkness. The sound of water dripping reached his ears before something cool was pressed to his forehead. "You have an intense fever. This will help cool you down."

Zuko's only response was a low moan. His throat felt like it was on fire. Despite his entire body protesting, he tried his best to sit up, his arms trembled with effort. "So thirsty." He croaked, his voice weak even to his own ears.

A set of hands pressed against his shoulders, gently pushing him to lie back down. "Orora will be returning with the water soon." He hadn't even finished his sentence when the door slid open and the young waterbender girl walked in, lugging a bucket of water beside her.

"Is he awake?" At the sound of her soft voice, Zuko forced his eyes to open slightly. Despite his blurry sight, he could see as she approached him and was at his side. Placing the bucket of water next to him she tipped some water into a cup using a ladle. He felt her gently hold the back of his head as she brought the cup to his lips. "Here, drink."

As soon as he felt the cool liquid touch his lips, he drank greedily. But it wasn't enough. Pushing aside the now empty cup, he grasped the bucket of water and all but threw the water down his throat. A lot of it trickled down the side and on the mat he was lying on.

"No! Zuko don't!" He wasn't even halfway done when the bucket was snatched from his hands and thrown to the side. Loosing whatever strength he had, he fell back onto the mat.

"You can't drink that fast. Your body is too hot to take in all that cold water." He heard her. Even through the haze of his fever, he could imagine the disapproving look in her eyes. He wanted to answer back, to argue with her, but all that came from his lips was a cough which soon intensified, prompting him to curl into himself and turn to the side.

On either side of him, his Uncle and Soulmate glanced at one another, worry and anxiousness clear in their eyes.

                                          ————————–

Stuffing the last of her purchase in her bag, Orora quickly paid the vendor before she began her sprint down the dirt path. The mid-spring sun shone down hot and unrelenting. Sweat lined her forehead as she weaved her way through the slightly crowded streets. With how fast she was running it was no surprise that by the time she reached the apartment there was a stitch at her side and she was panting heavily.

But that didn't stop her from bounding up the stairs and bursting into the apartment. "I got everything Master." She managed to say as she tried to catch her breath. Iroh looked up from where he had been wringing a wet cloth sitting in the middle of the living area. Her frantic blue eyes landed on the figure lying next to him.

"Is he any better?" She asked, her voice soft as she closed the door behind her and placed her bag on the table before coming to sit on Zuko's other side.

Iroh shook his head, even as she reached out to place a gentle hand over his forehead. Orora pursed her lips. "Is the water still cool enough?" She gestured to the small bucket that Iroh was using. Her Master nodded. "It is, though we might need to change it in a little while."

She removed her hand, so that Iroh could replace it with the wet cloth he had been wringing.

Her worried gaze assessed Zuko with the eyes of a Healer.

He was shivering, despite his body being hot to the touch. Sweat lined his forehead and neck, and she was sure it covered his chest as well. Iroh had taken off his shirt a long time ago so he would be more comfortable, and covered hims with a blanket. His breathing was deep and hoarse, as if the very air hurt his throat.

A lump formed in her throat but she quickly pushed it down. This was no time to be distressed. She was a Healer, and she would do her job properly.

"I'll start making some broth and tea." She said, standing up and moving to the table where she began to take out all manners of ingredients. "They had a merchant come in with new stock, so I was able to get fresh ingredients."

Taking out a small white paper packet, she unfolded it to reveal some leaves. "The next time he wakes up, try to get him to take this tea." She said, already bending water into the small teapot and placing it atop the stove. A small clicking sound followed as she used to spark rocks to make a fire. "Its a remedy that is tried and true. We used it up North whenever someone had a high fever." She continued, as she pulled out a jar of honey. "Add some honey to it, and he'll feel much better."

"Orora."

Iroh's voice had her straightening up where she stood in front of the stove. Gulping back her nerves, she turned her head to look at her Master. He smiled at her in a gentle and reassuring manner, though his eyes shone with worry as he glanced at his nephew. "I know you are worried, but he will be fine my dear." He reassured her, seeing the film of unshed tears in her eyes.

"He was in a far worse condition after the Agni Kai with his father." She tried not to flinch at the old man's words, but couldn't help herself. "He pulled through it, and he will pull through this ailment as well."

Heaving a shuddering breath, the young girl closed her eyes briefly to compose herself. She nodded. "I'm sure he will Uncle. After all," Her gaze turned soft as she trained an affectionate smile towards the feverish Prince. "He's much too stubborn to be brought down by a simple fever."

Iroh smiled in approval. It would not do to have Orora feel dismal about Zuko's current state. It was important that she remained optimistic, and not let her worries effect her abilities as a Healer. Iroh knew she would never forgive herself if she did not do her job properly. His young pupil already had a hard life, and a harder one still up ahead, and Iroh did not want her to make it even more difficult by putting herself down.

Fate was a funny thing, he mused. He lost his son, and yet he gained two children of his own. Both of them with a desperation to be loved and accepted.

As he ran the wet cloth over his nephew's forehead once more, Iroh's resolve to be there for his two charges resolved only harder.

He would never abandon either of them if he could help it.

They'd both been disappointed by enough adults in their lives.

                                          ————————–

He was dreaming.

It was a dream.

He was the Fire Lord, sitting in the throne room of the Fire Palace, a platoon of soldiers standing at attention in front of him. The fire burning behind him cast an ominous glow about the room, strange shadows flickering and dancing as if to the sound of the flames itself.

There was no scar on his eye.

On each side of him there were pillars, and even as he stared straight ahead, he could see the two dragons circling around them out of the corner of his eyes.

One Red, one Blue.

Even if it was a dream, he could sense their raw power, the heat of the fire they were created from. And yet, he stared straight ahead, not even blinking as the Blue Dragon began to circle around him.

"It's getting late." The Dragon spoke. Zuko recognized his sister's voice. "Are you planning to retire soon, My Lord?"

Zuko stared ahead, undeterred. "I'm not tired."

But the Blue Dragon did not move away. "Relax, Fire Lord Zuko. Just let go. Give in to it. Shut your eyes for a while." The voice continued to whisper, and Zuko could feel his eyes begin to shut as he finally began to give into the exhaustion he felt.

"No, Fire Lord Zuko!" The Red Dragon growled in his Uncle's voice, as it neared him. "Do not listen to the Blue Dragon. You should get out of here right now." The Dragon urged. "Go! Before it's too late!"

But the Blue Dragon was not deterred. "Sleep now, Fire Lord Zuko." It whispered one last time before both Dragons disappeared.

Suddenly, the entire room, along with the soldiers crumble into nothing, leaving Zuko to sit on the Throne where he had been, with nothing surrounding him but utter darkness.

In front of him, twin lights blinked and the Blue Dragon appeared. "Sleep." It growled, slowly nearing him. "Just like Mother!" It opened it's maw, showing row upon row of razor sharp teeth, as it closed in rapidly.

Zuko tried to move out of the way, tried to fight back, but he was frozen in place. All he could do was watch the dragon draw nearer.

But then it disappeared.

And he saw a hooded figure in front of him. "Zuko!"

He recognized his voice. He wanted so badly to call out to her, and say that he was there, but no sound would come out of it.

His mother sounded just as frightened as she looked as she lowered her hood to look at him with helpless eyes.

"Help me!"

He had almost held up his hand to reach out to her, but then the floor opened up beneath him and he fell through, his cries echoing in the unending darkness that surrounded him.

                                          ————————–

The tea had steeped enough, so she quickly brought it over to Iroh. Silently, she spooned some honey into a cup, her eyes flitting to Zuko who was starting to stir. Iroh poured the tea.

"You should know that this is not a natural sickness, but that shouldn't stop you from enjoying tea." The Prince sat up, his body still trembling with the effort.

"What's happening?" He asked, his voice sounding just as weak as he looked.

"Your critical decision." Iroh replied. Orora gave him a confused look. "What you did beneath that lake. It was in such conflict with your image of yourself that you are now at war within your own mind and body." He urged Zuko to drink more of the warm liquid Orora had prepared.

"What's that mean?" It seemed even the briefest of conversations was enough to have him coughing. He quickly laid back down, his entire body jolting with every cough.

"You are going through a metamorphosis, my nephew. It will not be a pleasant experience, but when you come out of it, you will be the beautiful prince you were always meant to be."

Wasn't he already beautiful though? Orora wandered, pouring some more tea in case Iroh needed a cup as well. "But Master why now when he helped free Appa? He saved my life at the North Pole, wouldn't that have been against his image as well?" She asked, curiously.

Iroh hummed. "I suspect my dear, that when he saved you he did so unconsciously. He went ahead and did what was instinct for him because you are his soulmate, even though he did not know it at the time."

Adjusting Zuko's blankets the Dragon of the West continued. "When he freed the Bison, it was a conscious effort on his part, which is why his body is warring within itself."

Orora pursed her lips, her blue eyes flitting to look at Zuko's face. He'd drifted back to sleep.

                                          ————————–

Another dream.

He was at the North Pole.

He was at the bridge where he had fought Zhao.

The moon was still red where she hung in the sky.

And in front of him, halfway down the bridge stood Zhao.

Holding Orora captive.

With a finger aimed at the side of her head, the tip of it alight with a vicious flame.

"No!" The cry ripped through him from the very depths of his being. He stumbled forward, his arm held out as if to reach Orora. But then he found them being held in place by two armored Fire Nation soldiers. Zhao only smiled cruelly.

"I would do the world a service by getting rid of such watertribe filth." He growled. Zuko's eyes met hers. She stared back at him, blue eyes full utter terror, cheeks stained with the tears that were rapidly falling.

"Zuko." She called out, her entire body seemed to tremble.

His heart stopped.

She sounded scared.

She sounded so scared.

"What would your father say when he finds out your soulmate is nothing but a commoner? A waterbender no less." Zhao sneered, looking at Orora with a disgusted look on his face.

He pressed his finger closer prompting Orora to whimper in fright as the flame burned closer to her skin. "Don't!" Zuko shouted, struggling against his captors. They didn't so much as flinch.

"Better that I take care of her now, then let your father deal with such filth."

So saying, he threw Orora to the side. Zuko saw her hit her head at the edge of the bridge, the skin above her temple splitting open, bright red blood escaping the wound and trickling down her beautiful brown skin. She slumped to the floor, barely conscious.

"Orora!" He struggled again, growling viciously, as she weakly lifted her head to look at him, her blue eyes already lifeless and dull.

"Orora!"

Zhao raised his hand, a bright yellow flame burning wickedly in his palm, ready to strike.

Ready to kill.

                                          ————————–

Orora pursed her lips.

"Its been hours. His fever should be coming down now." She hummed, looking at the shivering Prince. Her eyes darted to the small bucket of water that Iroh was still using. She scowled.

"It's not doing enough work." She stated, standing up. Without a backward glance she was out of the apartment, and marching down to the community well. Standing next to it she reached down with her arms, calling to the water that flowed underground and pulled up a huge bubble of water.

Circling her arms in the air in graceful strokes, the determined waterbender slowly made her way back up the stairs. She shifted the shape of the bubble whenever was necessary. Her brow creased in a frown of concentration as she focused on carrying the huge bubble up to the apartment.

Once inside she slowly walked to the washing area behind a decorative screen. Her arms lowered as the bubble of water settled into the large wooden tub. The water lapped gently against the edge before it settled. Without so much as a break in her stride, she quickly walked back to where Iroh was sitting.

Understanding what she was about to do, he had already pulled Zuko up, resting one arm over his shoulder to help his nephew to the tub. Orora took his other arm, trying to be as gentle as possible.

The Prince barely stirred as they half carried, half dragged him to the now full tub. With Orora holding him from under his arms, and with Iroh lifting from his feet, they managed to lower him into the cool water.

"Let me get a pillow for his head." Iroh said, quickly grabbing the pillow Zuko had been using and placing it under his nephew's head where it rested at the edge of the bath tub.

Beside him, Orora took a deep breath.

She raised her arms, palms facing downwards, her fingers relaxed and at level with the bath tub. The water began to glow as she allowed her Healing Abilities to flow through her body, to the tips of her fingers and into the water.

Her arms moved in a constant push and pull motion. The water followed her movement, back and forth along Zuko's feverish body.

Iroh stood beside her, watching on with utter fascination as his pupil concentrated on the task at hand. Never once did she falter in her movements, or lost concentration. The water continued to glow. Iroh wasn't sure how her abilities would heal Zuko since it wasn't a physical ailment he suffered from, but he was not about to stop Orora from trying.

"I shall go and prepare something to eat for both of you." He said, resting a hand on her shoulder. She gave a slight nod of her head in confirmation, her gaze never wavering from the face of the Prince as he continued to breath hoarsely.

                                          ————————–

Darkness.

All around him.

Nothing but darkness.

He was ten years old, his face buried in his arms, trying not to cry but failing. Even his firebending wasn't working. He felt weak and useless.

Exactly how his father made him feel.

He looked up, only to see a vision of his father standing above him, ready to strike and burn him.

Azula was born lucky

His father's voice echoed around him, magnified a hundred times over.

You were lucky to be born.

Over and over, the words continued to repeat in his father's hateful tone. There was no stopping it. No getting out of the nightmare. No one was coming to help him.

No one.

No one.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Something flickered.

He opened his tear filled eyes.

Blue.

A blue light flickering.

Flickering where the thread was tied around his finger.

His lips parted in surprise as the flicker became a continuous glow and slowly grew in length, snaking away from him and into the darkness.

The voices around him had begun to muffle as he turned his attention to the glowing string.

"Well, are you going to follow it?"

Zuko blinked and he wasn't surrounded by darkness anymore.

He was on a beach, the setting sun casting a warm red glow, bathing the sky in a gorgeous orange hue. The surf lapped gently at his feet, and he could feel the sand between his toes. There was no denying what this location was.

Ember Island, where his family used to come for vacation when they had been significantly happier.

But all of this wasn't what had his heart lurching in his throat.

It was actually the sight of his cousin standing just a few feet in front of him, smiling and very much alive.

Zuko couldn't help himself. He dashed forward, kicking up sand as he went and enveloping Lu Ten in a fierce embrace. The older prince chuckled, returning the hug.

"I've missed you too, Zuko." He spoke, affection coloring his tone as he smiled at him. "You've grown so much." Lu Ten added, stepping back from the hug to look at him properly. "You'll be as tall as I was."

Zuko pulled back only to star at Lu Ten who chuckled. "Yes, I really am gone Zuko, this is just something your mind has come up with."

Finally gaining back the ability to speak, Zuko voiced his thoughts. "I don't understand, what're you doing here?" He asked to which Lu Ten ruffled his hair playfully. "I'm here to guide you back home."

Stepping aside, he pointed to a building a little ways down the beach. Zuko frowned. "But, isn't home the Fire Palace?" He asked. Lu Ten smiled and shook his head.

"You'll know the meaning of the word home on your own Zuko. But for now, follow your string." He nodded towards Zuko's finger which still glowed blue. Raising his hand, Zuko realized the string was actually leading him towards the house.

He glanced at his cousin.

"Aren't you coming with me?"

A sad smile pulled at his cousin's lips as he shook his head. "I'm afraid not. You have to finish your journey on your own Zuko."

Feeling his heart clench, Zuko nodded reluctantly. "Un-Uncle misses you. A lot." The mention of his father, Lu Ten sighed deeply, his own eyes filling with a sorrow that even Zuko felt. "And I miss him. I wish our time wasn't cut short so soon, but fate had other plans." Placing a hand on Zuko's shoulder, Lu Ten continued.

"I am glad he has you Zuko. You are a great comfort to him." Zuko pursed his lips, looking crestfallen. "Can't you come back with me?" It was a childish question he knew, but he couldn't help himself.

Lu Ten shook his head sadly. "You know I cannot. But you can go back. You have to go back." He smiled. "Father can't loose a son a second time."

Trying hard to hold back his tears, to no avail, Zuko hugged his cousin, trying his best to commit his presence and his scent to memory, even if it was a dream. It was a good long while before he unwound his arms from around his cousin, who had been returning the hug with just as much heart and soul. "Be true to yourself Zuko, and always follow your own path." So saying, the former prince of the Fire Nation stepped away. "Take care of him for me little cousin. Now go! There is someone waiting for you!"

One moment he was there, and the next Zuko blinked and Lu Ten was gone.

He allowed himself a few moments to process what had just happened, before he turned his attention to the string that still glowed on his finger. Looking up at the house in the distance, he began to walk towards it.

And though it looked like it was a lot further down the beach, it didn't take him long to reach. As he drew closer, he saw a figure standing at the top of the stairs that led up to the entrance.

A figure dressed in the calm yet beautiful blue of the Water Tribe, with a red sash tied around their waist.

The person turned, and smiled at him.

And Zuko felt the whole world stop.

Orora.

"What took you so long?" She asked, looking so beautiful as she stood there with her hair so much longer then he had ever seen. Her gorgeous brown skin glowed in the setting sun, and her eyes looked like the very light of the stars was dancing in them. Zuko stood at the bottom of the steps, mesmerized by her. Orora held out a hand, the hand that glowed with her own string.

Her glow was red, of course.

"I've been waiting for you." She said, her voice soft, beckoning him to her. Watching her standing there, looking at him with such trust and adoration, her hair swaying gently in the breeze, Zuko didn't hesitate to take the last few steps towards her, his hand held out in front of him.

The moment their hands clasped together, fingers intertwining, he pulled her in for an embrace.

One that had the last remnant of darkness leaving his soul completely.

                                          ————————–

She had no idea how long she continued her Healing Session. All she knew was that by the time she was done, his body had stopped shivering and he didn't look as flushed as before. Her arms ached when she finally stopped. Her feet ached from where she had been standing for so long.

Very nearly slumping to the ground, Orora quickly caught herself on the edge of the bath tub. Her Superiors had warned her that using her Healing Abilities for so long would take a toll on her. Tiredness and hunger, two things that could be taken care of easily, but it didn't stop the body from feeling like it had been drained of it's very essence.

Iroh who had just changed Zuko's mat and blanket, patted her shoulder. "That is quite enough, my dear. You go and eat the food I have prepared. I shall finish getting him out and dressing him in dry clothes."

Too tired to even speak let alone argue, Orora shuffled her way out to the living area. There on the table was a bowl of hot soup. Spooning the warm broth into her mouth, one bite after another, she felt the exhaustion she was experiencing begin to settle into her bones. She had over-exerted herself. It would take time for her to recover properly.

It didn't take long for her to finish her meal and chase it down with a cool cup of water. By the time she was done, Iroh had already helped Zuko back on the mat. How he'd been able to lift his nephew was a mystery to Orora, but she couldn't think properly right then.

Instead she stumbled to Zuko's side laying down as she did, her head feeling just as heavy as her body. While Iroh moved to get a blanket and pillow for her as well, Zuko stirred slightly.

"Orora." He called out softly, his voice still hoarse from coughing.

She reached out to gently take his hand in her own. He opened his eyes halfway as he turned his head to look at her laying beside him. With whatever strength he had, he squeezed her hand.

"You're alright." He whispered in that same voice, though relief colored his tone. "You're here."

Orora was too tired to contemplate on what he was saying. Instead, she smiled at him and returned the squeeze with her own.

"I'm here, Zuko." She whispered, and her words seemed to reassure him that she was, indeed, fine. His eyes closed, and he went back to sleep, his breathing easy and no longer labored.

The young waterbender had been too tired to notice just how cool his hand felt as she too drifted off to sleep.

It was how Iroh found them a moment later. Asleep next to each other, holding hands.

The thread between them flickering with color for a good long while.

                                          ————————–

Tag List - @wavesofchaos​ @violet-potter​ @rennysketch​ @emma-andrea1 @lovesammikinzz @fuzzyfestcat @msrawog @notsaelty @lust-for-pan @aces-tattooartist @jinxxangel13 @lotr-got @bitterspoons @realrintaro @gatorgirl151 @inutheangel @heartfully10 @lucaaahhh @juniper-july19 @anuttellaa @gfksz @bussyvussy @punksnotdeadbutiam @ablofftoneverland-blog-blog @slut-for-menn @vyliie

#zuko imagine #zuko x reader #atla zuko #fire lord zuko #prince zuko #zuko x oc #prince zuko x oc #avatar the last airbender fanfiction #avatar aang #avatar: the last airbender #avatar #netflix avatar #avatar the last airbender #zuko #aang #sokka #katara #toph #appa #iroh #momo #the thread of fate

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 15

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: None

Hangovers and Hang-ups

Killer leaned against the wall of Kid's workshop while Kid took a closer look at your log pose. "What's your plan with her?" Killer had taken care of you until you passed out. He had thrown you over his shoulder and taken you to Kid's huge bathtub. He had thought about tucking you into his bed so you would be more comfortable; he knew you would have a raging hangover in the morning and Killer could always sleep in Kid's bed so you could have his room to yourself. As nice as he could be, and even after you treated him, he didn't want you to puke in his sheets, so he settled for a pillow and comforter thrown into the tub with you. It would be easier to clean if you threw up there. He felt bad about leaving you in clothes covered in now-stale beer, but he felt worse when he thought about taking them off, unable to shake the image of your mouth around his fingers while your eyes burned into his through the holes in his mask. It brought heat rushing up his neck thinking about it now.

Kid shrugged. "Wire said we have another week until we get ta the next island. Our deal was that she gets off there." He continued to tinker with the log pose. "If I still want to fuck her by then, I'll make her change her mind. We need a doctor anyway." 

"I think we need to figure out who she is before you think about keeping her on this ship, if she even wants to stay. You don't think it's odd that she won't tell anyone her name? That she can put up a fight?" Killer picked up your weapon that had been sitting on the corner of Kid's bench. It was a unique design, though he was certain he had seen something like it before. "Do you remember when we first started out, the time we got intercepted by marines?"

"Nah. Why?"

"No reason." It was fuzzy, yet the tool in his hands made Killer keep thinking back to that time. Something was there. He wanted to be sure before he brought it to Kid's attention. "If she doesn't want anyone to know her name, she must think we'll recognize it, which brings a few possibilities: she's from a rival crew, she's a marine, or she has a bounty. Maybe a combination of those. And then there's the separate matter of what she told me last night about not being able to swim. She might have a Devil Fruit." 

Kid cackled. "If Trafalgar or Strawhat had a bonnie lass like that on their crew, I would have kidnapped her in Sabaody. Those two losers haven't seen a tit in their lives. Wouldn't even know what ta do with pussy." Kid seemed pleased with himself, whether it was from his own jab or his tinkering was unclear. The log pose split into two halves in front of him. "What a shit log pose... If a marine has a name that big, they would be an admiral and she isn't one." Kid paused to think, "Don't we have some old bounty posters somewhere? Go through them with Heat and see if she's there." Kid looked at the dials more closely. "Killer, look at this." His took one off and flipped it upside down. 

Killer moved to the bench, setting your gun down. He picked up the pose's needle that Kid removed. "There's... a small piece of paper."

Kid took the other two needles off. "These too." The three needles on the table shifted, ever so slightly, in three separate directions.

"Those are vivre cards!" Killer was impressed with the ingenuity. It wasn't a real log pose at all, it was a tracker of sorts, and it seemed to be aimed at three people. Family? Friends? Or... enemies. 

"What a clever little bitch." Kid reassembled it so that you wouldn't know it had been tampered with. "No wonder she wanted it back so badly." Kid had been confused initially. He showed it to Wire, who compared it to their own log pose, and concluded that it was broken since the needles didn't point the same as theirs. 

"You mean no wonder she would tolerate fucking you for this long otherwise." Killer dodged a wrench launched in his direction.

Kid shoved the log pose in his pocket. He did say he would give it back. "DON'T BE JEALOUS!" 

"I'm not," Killer said in a teasing tone, getting ready to slip out the door.

Kid narrowed his eyes in his best friend's direction. "Did she fuck you?" He thought back to what you had said before emptying your stomach over the railing. "KILLER?!" 

The masked man left Kid's workshop with his captain's shouting trailing after him and a sly grin on his face. Killer thought it was fun to ruffle Kid's feathers and get him worked up. Killer knew Kid wouldn't be mad if he had fucked you; Kid simply liked keeping track of his playthings. And Killer also knew that Kid would have wanted to compare notes to make sure you weren't holding out on him. 

Grumbling, Kid examined your weapon. He had made some improvements to it so that it met his standards. Kid was going to present it to you at the party as a gift, but he decided at the last minute that would be lame. It didn't have anything to do with the scenarios in his head where you didn't like it that left his hands clammy. He wasn't even going to do much to it, but he ran out of things to do when Killer told him his helmet was fixed and that he didn't need a new one. That concerned Kid for two reasons: anyone but him would have to weld it back together and there were no weld marks. 

It fucking sucked waking up. You were sore from being in the hard tub all night, you were nauseated, and you had the worst headache of your life. For a while, you had turned on the hot water, still in clothes, and let it rain down on you after moving the pillow and sheets that Killer had left you out of the tub. There wasn't a lot that you remembered from last night other than winning a pair of pants, that you would be sure to collect on, and Killer holding your hair back when you got sick. How embarrassing... like a damn teenager.  You pulled yourself up with a groan, plopped the soaked dress on the floor, and washed all of last night off.

When you were drying off, you heard a soft knock from Killer's end of the bathroom. You hadn't noticed the first time, but the captain's room and the first mate's were joined by this bathroom, a door on each end. Throwing the sheets around your shoulders to cover yourself, you opened the door to Killer's towering frame. 

"You look like shit." 

You blinked at him, simultaneously offended and amused. "I feel like shit." 

He moved to let you walk past him. "You should drink some water."

You looked around. His room was more simple and less dark than Kid's. "Thank you, Dr. Massacre Soldier. I'll take that into consideration." It felt like an intrusion to sit directly on his bed. There weren't any chairs and he wasn't kicking you out though, so you sat on the floor next to the wall, bringing the sheet over your head to block the light. There was a creak as Killer's weight sank on his bed across from you.

"Wire says it'll be about a week before we reach the next island. What will you do then?"

The pounding in your head nearly drowned out his question. "Eager to get rid of me, huh?" 

"No one's making you leave."

"Not yet."

"You know, you don't have to be a smart-ass all the time. There's no need to be so defensive" Killer couldn't gauge your reaction under the sheet. "You think you're so special that we'll even give a shit who you are?" 

That made you laugh. "Well now you're just making me sound like an asshole." You uncovered your face to look Killer in the eyes, well, mask holes. "It's not about who I am. It's about who I used to be." 

"We've all done things we aren't proud of... except Kid. I don't think he has regrets." Killer offered. 

You sat up, pulling your knees in and burying your face in them. "The thing is... I was proud of it. Until I learned my career was a sham. Wasted part of my life doing..." You sighed. "Killer, I know you're trying to be sympathetic or whatever and I appreciate what you did for me, but I'm only trying to make it to land alive, so I can do what I have to do." You stood up and mumbled on your way out, "I've already been ripped apart and left for dead by a crew once. Don't need to relive it." It was impossible to be betrayed again if you had no one close enough to do so. 

#kid x reader x killer #massacre soldier killer #eustass kid #one piece #eustass kid x reader #killer x reader #marooned #x reader

[reccyls]

Hii, If it isn’t too much can you give us some spoilers about victors xmas event? Ty;;

Sorry this took me a while to get to! Sure thing, I'll summarize beneath the cut:

Chapter 1

We begin on Christmas Eve, with Kate, Victor, Ellis, and Liam all going shopping for tomorrow's Christmas party. We learn that Victor throws huge parties for Crown every year and goes the whole nine yards. We also see Victor being very popular among all the townspeople: he's approachable and friendly, and he always seems to keep up with how everyone is doing. Ellis is also popular, and Liam's fans are everywhere, so they're similarly the center of attention. Kate thinks about how everyone seems to know the three of them, and yet the fact that they're working in the shadows for Crown still seems to be a secret from the greater world.

They have to split up to get all the shopping done on time, so Victor directs Ellis and Liam to purchase the necessary supplies, while he and Kate go handle the remaining tasks like purchasing the flowers to decorate the castle. Kate says she'd be happy to do anything she can to help out, and privately thinks to herself that she's happy she gets to monopolize Victor's time, considering he's so popular with everyone.

After finishing their shopping, they leave the flower shop and head back outside into the cold winter air. Victor offers Kate his jacket, but she tells him to keep it on or else he'll catch a cold. So Victor instead wraps his jacket around the both of them to keep them warm, flustering Kate.

Victor mentions a legend of how snow falling on a holy night means that someone's wish will come true, then asks what Kate would wish for. She thinks to herself that she'd wish for everyone in Crown to stay safe and unharmed, and for everyone to keep smiling. But then she asks what Victor would wish for. He says that he'd decided on his wish a long time ago, but since she didn't tell him her wishes, he won't be telling her his. Kate says that's mean of him and he goes, "Yes, I am mean. Did you just now notice?"

When he smiles at her, she feels her heart skip a beat. Kate thinks to herself that she doesn't feel like this when she's with the other members of Crown. Victor is the only one who makes her feel like this.

But Liam and Ellis are done with their shopping, and that's the end of that moment. So they reunite and go return to the castle to prepare for the Christmas party.

Late that night, Victor is leaving the castle when he runs into William. William asks what Victor is doing, and Victor says that he is going to play the part of Santa Claus and hand out presents to the children... well, that's what he would have liked to say. Actually, he does still have one last bit of business to take care of. William offers to go with him, saying that he feels like a bad surprise is coming. However, Victor refuses, saying that he knows William has his own work, so he's fine going by himself, then he takes his leave. Now alone, William turns his gaze out the window, saying to himself that it looks like it's going to snow tomorrow.

And it's now the next morning, Christmas day! Everyone greets each other as they gather in the dining hall. It appears that a letter has been left at everyone's seat from Victor, telling them that they have the day off and a feast has been prepared for them, so they're free to spend the day eating and drinking to their hearts' content. It is almost the perfect atmosphere for a party, except for one thing: the host, Victor, is missing.

Crown wonders where he is. Roger asks if Victor tired himself out from decorating the day before so he overslept; Elbert repsonds by asking if Victor sleeps at all. Just as Liam is about to go to the royal castle and look around for Victor, the man of the hour arrives with a joyful greeting to the members of Crown.

Immediately what catches everyone's attention is a collar around Victor's neck.

Kate: Um, Victor? What is that black collar around your neck? Victor: Oh, this? It's an explosive collar. Victor: Sorry, but I might die.

Chapter 2

While Kate needs a second to process that, the rest of Crown seems rather blasé about everything. Roger asks to see the collar, saying that explosives made like this are rather rare. The collar has a timer on it, and it appears to have around half a day left. It'll explode when the clock hits midnight.

Ellis says that it's a very strange Christmas present. Victor himself also joins in on the joking, and apologizes for making such a fuss for everyone. Kate almost wants to step in and say that this isn't a laughing matter, but stops herself. Just because everyone is joking doesn't mean that they aren't taking it seriously.

Harrison then speaks up. He says it doesn't particularly matter to him whether Victor's head goes flying, but those are just his personal feelings. He knows that Victor is essential to both Crown and to the country, so he'll look for a way to defuse the bomb. And one by one, the rest of Crown also agree to look for a way to save Victor (interestingly, Roger asks for national secrets from a particular country in exchange for his help. Wonder what that's about...)

Kate also offers to do whatever she can, so William assigns her the duty of watching over Victor until the rest of them get back. If Victor moves around too much or too extremely, the collar might detonate early. So she'd better keep an eye on him, right? And with that, he and the rest of Crown disperse to look for ways to defuse the bomb.

After the rest of Crown leaves, Kate and Victor are in Victor's office, as Victor is taking care of paperwork like nothing's wrong. Kate is brooding to herself: as part of her work in Crown, she'd been exposed to a lot of dangerous situations, and she has somewhat gotten used to it. But despite that all, there was some part of her that took Victor for granted. No matter what happened, Victor would always be there. And now, this situation with the explosive collar has upended that assumption; even Victor isn't safe.

Victor stops working to catch Kate's attention. She's been staring at him awfully hard. After a little bit of teasing about whether she's staring at him only because William tasked her with it or not, Victor says that he really does appreciate how hardworking and earnest she is. Though there are people who would scoff at her seriousness, Victor admires that about her. Kate thinks to herself that Victor has always seen through her and always knows how to lift up her spirits, and resolves that she shouldn't be stuck in gloomy thoughts. If anything, Victor is the one who should be feeling the most anxious in this situation, so she wants to be able to ease that uneasiness, even a little bit.

So, she suggests they go to the kitchens for a quick break. It turns out Kate's suggestion was to test a new extra buttery scone recipe, and now after some time spent baking, it's out of the oven and a smashing success. Kate gets some tea for them, and they have themselves a private little tea party. As the conversation flows, Victor stops to just stare at Kate, saying that he likes watching her eat, acting completely fine.

This is when Kate realizes: Victor is fine. He's not uneasy at all. The only one anxious here was herself; she suggested this as a way to ease her own anxiety. And that realization makes her wonder: is it possible for someone to be so unfazed by their own approaching death?

Ellis drops by to give them a status update: Crown hasn't found anything so far, but they're expanding their search. They will make it in time. So now Kate and Victor have nothing else to do but wait and wait... And so time passes, until about 11 pm. An hour left of Christmas, an hour before the countdown ends. And this is where Victor says that he has a request of Kate.

Chapter 3 (combining info from both Kate's and Victor's POVs)

Victor says that Santa Claus has left Kate a present in her room. And if she likes that present, to wear it to the dance hall. Kate agrees, and goes to her room, where she sees a large box sitting on the bed.

It turns out to be a jet black dress, which she wears to the dance hall, just as Victor requested. Standing beneath the chandelier is Victor, who was waiting for her. She's beautiful, and Victor wonders to himself when she started looking so mature. Or rather, he realizes he's been trying to ignore it because he wants to see her as a child.

He compliments her, and says that Santa Claus would surely be pleased to see her wearing it. Kate asks if he is happy, and he replies that yes, he is. He then extends his hand toward her, and asks her for a dance.

But, Kate can't make herself take it. She asks him why. Victor answers that rather than just sitting around and doing nothing to pass the time, he'd much rather spend it having fun with her. But that wasn't what Kate was asking. Here, all the unease and worries she has been holding back overflow with her tears, and she asks why Victor isn't afraid of dying. She's terrified by the possibility that Victor could be dead in less than an hour, she's afraid of losing him, his voice, his laughter, his entire existence.

She asks him to be scared of the possibility of losing his life. She asks him to value it. And Victor wonders how he should respond. Saying "I am scared" and maybe shedding a few tears with her would be a 'Victor-like' response, wouldn't it? And yet, he does not want to just brush her feelings off like that.

So with a smile, Victor apologizes to Kate. He says that he has already let go of those feelings a long time ago, thinking back to this flashback of his past. He and death are one. If death means to take him now, then so be it. But he has a feeling that he is not meant to die just yet. He is not meant for death, not yet.

Though he looks just like the Victor that Kate knows, there's something different about him. The atmosphere surrounding him is different, something entirely strange and foreign, emanating pure confidence as if he could control death and darkness itself.

The moment seems to stretch on. Victor thinks to himself that that he had sacrificed his human soul to death in order to get what he has now. And now looking at Kate, he can see something in her gaze, something that tells him that she knows she shouldn't be looking deeper into this, but that she still deeply wants to. He thinks to himself that she shouldn't be making that kind of expression. That he loves seeing people like her, pure and innocent, becoming stained by darkness. Half as a joke and half as a warning, Victor says that if she keeps staring at him, she may end up getting twisted with his destiny. Or maybe, is that what she is hoping for?

Before Kate can answer, a large clamor sounds from outside. It's the rest of Crown, returning just in the nick of time with the knowledge of how to defuse the bomb. With only a minute left on the timer, they get the bomb off of Victor's neck and safely defused. Liam calls Victor lucky; Victor thinks to himself, "See? I was right." Outwardly, he's laughing and smiling just as usual. As if the last few minutes didn't happen.

After that, Victor finds Kate in the garden staring up at the sky, just as it's started snowing. He goes to stand by her, and Kate repeats that legend he told her the previous day. "When snow falls on a holy day, someone's wish will come true." It's not Christmas anymore, but could her wish still come to pass? Victor says of course it can. And so Kate says she's decided on her wish: that until the day death claims Victor, he can continue to smile.

Even though she must have a mountain of questions for him, she has put them aside, and still wishes for his happiness. A snowflake falls on Kate's cheek and Victor wipes it away before it melts, and he tells her what she wished for the other day since she told him hers: that he hoped it was her wish, out of everyone else's, that would come to pass. Then he pledges to her that he will make her wish come true.

They never did get their Christmas dance together, but it's never too late. Amidst the falling snow and the night outside, they have their dance.

A few days later, Kate is browsing the newspaper when she comes across an article about the corpses of a terrorist group being discovered. And near those dead bodies were some broken mysterious collars...

Kate has a duty to write up what happened at Christmas in her reports, but sitting at her typewriter, she can't make herself start writing. There are too many mysterious surrounding Victor, the queen's aide. And she wants to uncover them all.

We turn back time, just after the dance in the garden. After Victor has escorted Kate back to her room, he runs into Harrison in the hallways, who says that he has a question for Victor.

Harrison says that Victor just reeks of lies. He thinks that the explosive collar wasn't just something that Victor got 'caught up in', and asks whether Victor deliberately put the collar on himself.

And Victor smiles, and goes, "Did I?"

Epilogue

Though it was a vague response, that doesn't deter Harrison at all. Victor thinks to himself that Harrison's curse likely allows him to see all of Victor's lies. He asks why Harrison thinks so, and Harrison responds that Victor isn't the kind of person who would let anyone approach him, and especially not his vulnerable spots like his neck. And furthermore, William hasn't been around for a while. He just has the feeling that there's someone going on in the background.

Victor just returns with a smile, knowing that Harrison will read into the true answer from that. He asks whether Harrison wants a reward for uncovering Victor's lie; Harrison says hell no, and that everything's probably already almost wrapped up anyway. But before he goes, he says that he knows Victor lies, and he'll be judging whether those lies are evil or not. But he tells Victor not to get Kate involved in whatever his business is.

Victor: And what if she takes the first step into darkness of her own volition? Harrison: ...Then I'll open her eyes to the truth.

Victor laughs and says that's a wise decision. Narrowing his eyes but otherwise not responding, Harrison leaves. Victor thinks that Kate has found herself some good friends... Aaaand, that it's time for the last bit of cleanup.

In a nondescript warehouse, Victor opens a secret door and heads down towards the basement. William greets him casually, saying that he's late and the Christmas party is nearly over. Standing next to William are a group of people crying with relief, and a pile of unlocked and defused explosive collars sitting on the floor.

Victor thanks William for working quickly, and muses that Harrison was indeed correct: Victor did put the explosive collar on his own neck willingly. Yesterday, on Christmas Eve, Victor left to deal with a terrorist group that was threatening the country. They had taken many people as hostages and fitted them with explosive collars, and were demanding the head of the queen in exchange for releasing the hostages.

Victor had put a collar around his own neck and made a bet with the group. If he can defuse the collar before the time limit, then they let all the hostages go and their lives are forfeit. Otherwise, they're free to do whatever they want to the queen and himself, the queen's aide.

He had done it for two reasons: the first was to put the hostages at ease. Surely Victor wouldn't risk his own life if he wasn't absolutely certain he could defuse the bombs, so they would be safe as well. And the second reason was to buy time for the rest of Crown to research how to safely disarm the bombs.

And in the end, everything worked out. William had taken the knowledge of how to defuse the bombs and went ahead to rescue the hostages. William says he'll take the hostages away and lead them to safety and leave matters here to Victor.

The terrorists are practically whimpering in fear, but Victor just smiles and tells them not to even think of fleeing for their lives. It's useless anyway. So... just how shall he sacrifice their lives...?

A little while later, Victor emerges back to the outside world. It's still snowing, which he finds fortunate: the falling snow will cover up the scent of blood, and his footprints. William had sent the hostages somewhere safe, so now it's just him and Victor. William notes that Victor is unusually down, to which Victor responds of course he is! He missed out on a fun Christmas with everyone. Do you think he could get everyone to redo the whole thing? William says that Jude would flat out not attend and Harrison would definitely make a face at the suggestion. So Victor says he'll plan something else, and William leaves him to it as he has somewhere else to be for now.

Now alone, Victor looks up at the sky, to the white snow drifting down from the night sky. He thinks it's just like Kate, thinking back to the time a few hours ago, when he was asking her if she had wanted to get involved in his destiny. His instincts then had been screaming at him, telling him to whisk Kate away, to drag her into the darkness. To dye her black.

He muses how he doesn't sound like himself. And so, he thinks that it's for the better if Kate doesn't know the real him. That they shouldn't be friends, much less lovers. He's the queen's aide in charge of Crown, and she is the fairy tale master who records their stories. They can be close in this way, but never anything that would bring them closer together. After all, pure white snow and jet black darkness cannot mix.

Letting out a short laugh that he doesn't intend for anyone else to hear, Victor sets off, trampling the white snow underfoot as he walks on.

#ikemen villains #victor (ikevil)

[rhoorl]

Working Title | Chapter 15

Pairing: Dieter Bravo/OFC

Rating: Mature, 18+, for the love of all things please don’t engage if you are a minor ok? 

Word Count: 5k

Series Masterlist | AO3 Chapter 15 Link

Chapter Summary: We spend our last day on set before the long weekend. Dieter has a full day of activities planned for Belle.

Chapter Warnings: This is pretty fluffy. Dieter is a bit of a menace. Squint for some possessive/jealous Dieter.

A/N: So like most things with these two, I have a general idea and outline and then I go off on a tangent. I ended up splitting Dieter's date into two parts because it was getting long (which means I'll hopefully be able to upload Ch. 16 sooner since it's written and being edited). So I hope you enjoy this first part and the cameo I slipped in because I literally cannot help myself. More notes from me at the end!

Thanks to some speedy work from room service, you and Dieter settle into bed with some snacks, ready to watch a movie. True to form, you didn't make it past the first twenty minutes. But how could you? You were tired from a long day of being on your feet, your back ached, and you were in a comfortable bed cuddled up next to Dieter who was basically a human electric blanket. Feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he played with your hair was enough to lull you to sleep.

When your eyes flutter open, you turn and feel an empty spot on the bed. It was pretty cold which means Dieter had been gone for a while. Checking your phone you see it's about 10 minutes until your alarm is set to go off anyway. You stretch and get out of bed, thinking you'd go and surprise your handsome barista, who was probably busy getting your coffee ready.

As you head down the hallway, you don't see any lights on in the kitchen. You do, however, see a light coming from the couch in the living room as you spot Dieter sitting with his back to you on his phone.

"Psst," you whisper over to him.

He turns around and smiles, getting up to come over to you. You still get butterflies seeing this man with no shirt on and a messy mop of curls at the top of his head.

"Hey, shit, sorry I didn't realize what time it was," he kisses you. "I need to get your coffee ready."

You smile as he kisses you again, his arms coming to your waist as he pulls you closer to him.

"It's hard to get good help around here," you tease.

"Is that so? Well, I only aim to please, so I better get to work," he winks as he taps your ass and heads to the kitchen.

"What were you doing up so early?" You follow him and lean against the kitchen island, trying not to salivate as you see the muscles in his back flex as he makes quick work of getting your coffee ready.

"I…um," he stops and turns to look at you, a little bashful. "I was trying to confirm some last-minute things for …um, a surprise. I know it’s your day off, but are you ok if we get an early start tomorrow? I know there's the luau tonight, but I have kind of a full day planned…."

“A full day?” you cut him off, smirking.

“Ah, yeah,” he ran his hand through his hair. “Fuck, that’s a lot, isn’t it? It’s too much, I know…” he starts to shake his head and you walk around the kitchen island and cup his face with your hands, lightly scratching his stubble with your fingernails.

“I am so flattered. You have a full day planned…just for me?” Your coy smile is enough to make Dieter’s shoulders relax. His smile reaches his eyes as he wraps his arms around you.

“Whole day, just for you,” he tilts down smiling and kissing your waiting lips. 

You rush through the rest of your morning routine, which kept getting delayed by Dieter who would pull you into a kiss every now and again. He follows you around like a little lost puppy, perching himself on the tub as you get ready and then sitting on the bed as you pick out your clothes and get dressed.

“Ok, time to get to work,” you smile.

You both slowly make your way down the hallway to Dieter’s suite, knowing you probably won’t have alone time until later tonight. You reluctantly pull away from him, giving him one last kiss before you make your way to the elevator. He’s leaned up against the wall watching you with a soft look in his eyes, like he was trying to commit your face to memory.

The morning goes by rather quickly as you and Brianna work on several principal and background actors. You’re getting ready to head to set with Sam when Dieter walks into the makeup and hair trailer

"Hey," he smiles, bringing you in for a hug and kissing the top of your head. "Hi Brianna," he waves.

“Hi, Dieter.”

“You, ah, have any plans for the long weekend?” he asks her as he rubs your lower back and you lean your head against his chest.

“Oh, um, me?” She looks at you and smiles. “Ah, probably going to go to the beach, maybe do some snorkeling. I think a few of us are gonna go ziplining or something.”

“Nice, sounds fun.”

“A-are you doing anything fun?” She winces as soon as she says it, looking at you apologetically.

“I have a few things planned,” he winks. “I’ll catch you both later, don’t wanna make you late.”

And with that, you head to set, giddy and still feeling his large hand on your back.

You had a pretty easy day on set, only a few scenes which Sam and Indy wrapped up quickly. Everyone was buzzing, excited for the evening’s festivities and the impending long weekend. Indy shot you a text to come meet her at her trailer when you finished cleaning up and packing everything away. When you arrive you give your customary three knocks and she quickly opens the door.

“Hey babe!” She ushers you in.

“Hey! You ready for tonight?”

“Yeah! Should be fun, but I’m more looking forward to the weekend,” she waggles her eyebrows. “Do you have any idea what Sam is up to?”

You shake your head, trying to not say anything although you know can read you like a book.

“B, you are a terrible fucking liar,” she laughs.

“I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but you’re going to love it and he’s super excited about it. It’s actually so freaking cute,” you smile, knocking your shoulder into hers as you open her refrigerator and grab a water. “Just make sure you pack a bag.”

“Hmm…well, he told me we’re leaving early tomorrow so I’ll pack when we get back. I’ll stay in his room tonight.”

“Oh sure, what a sacrifice,” you tease as she rolls her eyes. “But, sounds like I’m gonna need to get up early tomorrow too.” Your coy smile gives you away as Indy busts out in giggles. 

“Ohhh…early day for you tomorrow too, huh? What’s Dieter’s got planned?”

“I don’t know, he just says it’s a whole day.”

“Eeeek, Belle, he’s got it bad for you, it is so fucking cute,” she shrieks. “Need me to have Ari grab you some condoms,” she winks. “You know … for your festivities.”

“Oh my gosh, Ind,” you roll your eyes. 

Back in your suite, the two of you put some music on and get ready together in Indy’s spacious bathroom. You work on getting her ready first, throwing in some loose beach waves in her hair, and going very natural with her makeup. As she sorts through what she wants to wear and pack for her trip, you put on some light makeup, focusing on your eyes, and then slicking your hair back into a bun.

“I’m not going to tell you what you’re doing, but just pack a few swimsuits, a dress or two, and some stuff for hiking,” you finally cave after an endless litany of questions.

“I need options, B, you know that. I think I’m just gonna pack two bags and we’ll see how it goes.”

You laugh to yourself and head down the hallway to your room and slip on a sundress. You are just finishing up buckling your sandals when you hear a knock at the door and the click-clacking of Indy’s heels. You get to the hallway just as she swings open the door, revealing both Dieter and Sam. 

Sam is dressed in black pants with a tropical-print shirt bursting with greens, blues, and yellows. His hair was slicked back and he trimmed his beard and looked so dashing. But as handsome as Sam was, you sucked in a breath when you saw Dieter in his khaki pants and a power blue short sleeve button-up with the top couple of buttons undone. As you get closer you squint, trying to make out the pattern, but Indy beats you to it.

“Are those fucking cranes on your shirt?” She chuckles.

“Uh, yeah,” he shifts his weight. 

“Well, I like it, you look great,” you walk up, kissing him on the cheek and feeling him relax.

“Thanks, baby,” he whispers in your ear, pulling back to look you up and down. “You look amazing. Both of you.”

“Thanks, Dee,” Indy winks. “You all good to go?”

Dieter takes your hand as the four of you head downstairs to the beach, where the resort staff set up the luau. It was fun to see everyone dressed up and enjoying themselves. Even Rhys and Liz are there, Liz giving you a knowing smile as her gaze drops down to your hand in Dieter’s. Because you were his date, you sit at the head table, clocking a tremendous eye roll from Aubrey as you walk by her table on the way to yours. 

The evening is a bit of a blur, between catching up with everyone, eating the amazing food, and watching the show. Before you knew it, it was over and everyone was starting to disperse. Ari, Danny, and Brianna were trying to get you all to go out to a bar, but Dieter faked a headache to give you two an easy out.

Dieter pulls you into the elevator as soon as it opens and repeatedly taps on the “Door Close” button to ensure you two are alone. As soon as the doors closed, he presses you against the wall cupping your face with one hand as the other wraps around your waist. His lips crash into yours for a hungry kiss. “I’ve been dying to get out of there,” he manages between kisses.

“Mmm, why’s that?” you try to be coy but your mewl gives you away as he nips along your jawline, moving towards that particular spot behind your ear that drives you wild.

“Because, I wanted you all to myself, baby,” he kisses down your neck along your collarbone. “You look so fucking good, you were drivin' me crazy in this dress, ya know that?” He pulls back, cupping your face as his thumb caresses your cheekbone.

Ding.

You arrive at your floor and you both giggle walking back to your room, sneaking kisses along the way. As soon as you walk into your suite, Dieter makes quick work of locking your door and walking you down to your room as he kisses you. “You know, I didn’t have any dessert downstairs,” he smiles against your lips. “Think you could help me with that?”

The next day you wake up to the smell of bacon and the sound of a squeaky wheel. You crack an eye open and see Dieter wheeling in a little cart, a box of cookies tucked in his arm.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he smiles. “I know it’s early, but we gotta get going. Our ride should be here soon to pick us up, but I tried to give you enough time to eat and get ready.”

He is clearly nervous, which is so cute. He moves to open the large glass sliding doors, so you can hear the crash of the waves.

“Mmm, breakfast in bed? I could get used to this you know?” You manage a smile as you get up and stretch.

Last night you and Dieter had fooled around a bit but kept things relatively tame. You slipped on his shirt again, loving the way it smelled just like him.

When you're sipping the last of your coffee, Dieter turns to you, "Ok, so our ride should be here in like half an hour, is that enough time for you to get ready?"

"Ah, yeah, depends…what am I getting ready for?"

"We're spending most of the day outside, so comfy clothes that you wouldn't mind getting dirty," his eyes rake up and down your body. "But maybe put on a swimsuit, you know in case you get wet."

You don't really even register the innuendo because you are so wrapped up in the thought of having to wear a swimsuit. Despite the fact that Dieter never made you feel uncomfortable about your body, it was hard to undo years of insecurities within just a few days. 

"Oh ah, I didn't bring one. I, uh, I don't know how to swim," you twist your mouth wishing you had more coffee to at least give your hands something to do.

"So you came to Hawaii, a place full of beaches and to a resort with a gigantic pool, and didn't bring a swimsuit? Not even to lounge around?" He cocks his head to the side with a skeptical look.

"I…uh…" You start to fidget and Dieter takes your hand and starts to rub small circles. "I do, I just…"

"Hey, it's just going to be me and you today, I uh, I made sure of it," he smiles. "You don't have to, but one of the places we're going to has a really pretty waterfall and swimming area and I uh…I thought it could be fun." Now it was his turn to be nervous as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"I'm sorry, old habits," you smile. "I'll throw it on. Anything else I should wear or pack?"

The light comes back into his eyes as he grins, "Awesome! And just wear some sneakers, they were very adamant about closed-toed shoes," he rolls his eyes. "But everything else has been taken care of."

You smile at him for a second, trying to not let your emotions get the better of you. You had never had a man plan a whole day for you like this. The most Ryan ever did was surprise you with dinner and a show, but that was early on when you just started dating. 

"C'mon we should get dressed," Dieter pulls you up and out of bed. 

You rummage through your drawers and find your swimsuit, a black one-piece halter-style suit that has a very classic silhouette along with some blue gym shorts and a gray racerback tank top.

"I'm gonna change and I'll be right back," you say as Dieter looks through his little duffle. 

"You can have that bottom drawer you know." You motion to your dresser.

"Yea?" He smirks. "Well, good to know. I may need to bring some more stuff over then," he winks.

You playfully roll your eyes as you head into the bathroom, closing the door so you can get changed. After slipping on your swimsuit and clothes you make quick work of putting on some sunscreen, concealer under your eyes, and mascara. You finish off by throwing your hair in a messy bun before opening the door back up.

Dieter is wearing an outfit you recognize from the photoshoot the other day. A pair of red shorts, which must also double as swim trunks, and a white short-sleeved button-down. Like at the shoot, he left the top couple of buttons undone. He honestly takes your breath away at how effortlessly handsome he looks and you feel like you look so shabby in comparison.

"You look perfect," the corners of his mouth turn up when he sees you.

"You look like a model," you chuckle. 

"Well, I showed Liz what I was originally thinking of wearing and she said absolutely fucking not, so here's the backup," he laughed. "Ready?"

You nod and grab your crossbody as Dieter takes your hand. As you open the door to the hallway, you see a small backpack sitting on the floor.

"Perfect, right on time," Dieter says to himself looking over at you. "Danny. I asked him to drop this off," he smiles as he slings the backpack over his shoulder.

"So where are we headed?" You ask as you both get into the elevator.

"It's a surprise," Dieter winks. "But the day has a theme so you may start to pick up on it as we go."

You squint and pursed your lips trying to glean any hints, but coming up empty. Going with the flow isn't usually your strong suit, that was more of an Indy thing, but you decide to just let things happen today and try to not overthink it. 

As you walk through the lobby to the valet you see a Jeep decked out like one of the jeeps from Jurassic Park. 

"Oh look, how cool!" You nod over towards it with your chin.

Dieter squeezes your hand and with the biggest smile says, "That's our ride!"

"Wait, what? Really?"

And as you approach, a man gets out. He has dark, curly hair sticking out of his baseball cap with "Jurassic Park Adventures" emblazoned on the front. He wore a white polo which had the same logo as his hat on the right side of his chest, and a simple pair of black shorts.

"Mr. Bravo?" The man asks, extending a hand to Dieter.

"Yeah, Dieter, please," Dieter gives a warm smile as he shakes the man's hand. "And this is Belle," he gestures to you.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Frankie. I'll be with you two for a couple of hours this morning," he shakes your hand. "You both ready?" 

Dieter looks over to you and even though you're still kind of confused as to what is going on you nod and Dieter helps you into the Jeep before sliding in after you.

You and Dieter make some small talk with Frankie as you drive. You recognize you’re on the road back to the airport, which is only a few minutes from your resort. Every time you tried to get a little hint as to what was coming, you'd see Frankie and Dieter exchange a glance in the rearview mirror. Clearly, Dieter has prepped the man that you were going to ask questions to figure out what was going on.

When you finally pull off the main road, you see a large building with a few Jurassic Park-themed Jeeps parked out front. And as you round a corner, you see a large open space with a helicopter, decked out with the same theming.

Dieter squeezes your thigh and looks a bit nervous, trying to gauge your reaction.

"Are we going in a helicopter?!" You look between Dieter and out the window to the helicopter. Dieter gives a small nod which makes you squeal. "Oh my gosh, I've always wanted to fly in a helicopter!"

Dieter blushes a bit as you kiss him on the cheek before getting out of the Jeep. 

Frankie gives you both a quick safety briefing and then walks you over to the helicopter. He mentions that you'll be seeing parts of the island that were used for shooting Jurassic Park as well as other films and TV shows.

"Wait, aren't there other people joining us?" You ask Frankie as Dieter trails behind.

Frankie looks behind you to Dieter for some confirmation before turning to you, "This is a private tour, just the two of you," he smiles. 

You turn around to Dieter who has a sheepish grin. Overcome with excitement you throw yourself at Dieter, wrapping your hands around his neck. "Oh my gosh, are you serious?! This is so cool!"

"I had a feeling you may like this," he winks.

"I'm so excited, this is … this is amazing. Thank you, baby," you kiss him and have to remind yourself that you aren't alone so as to not deepen the kiss more.

"I spared no expense," he winks.

I had a feeling she was going to like this, but seeing the way her entire face lit up knowing that we were doing this. The fact that I managed to get her a private tour to see the beautiful island that was the backdrop of her favorite movie. It's one of the best things I've done recently and worth every penny, even if I had to pay this guy an extra thousand because it was just the two of us. She's worth it. Seeing her smile, damn she has the most beautiful smile, it's worth it. And I want to do everything I can to keep her smiling. Because I … I love her. I'm past falling in love with her, I'm firmly rooted and there's no turning back. She has a piece of my heart.

Frankie gets you buckled in and hands over a headset giving you a thumbs up as he moves over to make sure Dieter is secured. 

"Alright, you both ready?" You hear Frankie's deep voice in the headset.

"Ready!" Dieter looks over, giddy with excitement.

"Yeah, let's do this," you reach over to squeeze Dieter's knee.

Frankie gently talks to the helicopter, like he's trying to coax it off the ground. Suddenly you feel a gentle lift off and you take off. Within minutes you can see your resort underneath you along with an amazing sunrise.

"I'll try and angle us as best as we can, but the sunrise is going to be out of your right-hand side," Frankie pops in.

You grab your phone to snap a couple of photos, before flipping the camera so you can take a selfie with Dieter, who leans over and gives you a kiss on the cheek, causing you to giggle.

"Ok so if you look out on the right you'll see the Hanapepe Valley. Some of the most beautiful rainbows on the island. We'll be at our stop here in a few so sit back and relax."

"A stop?"

Dieter laughs at your confusion and gives a coy smile.

Frankie expertly starts to wind the aircraft through some valleys, going further into the island. You don't see any roads, just rich, luscious greenery. He rounds a corner and the sight takes your breath away. You bring your hands to cover your mouth.

"And that right there is Manawaiopuna Falls. It's 400 feet high and is featured in the iconic shot-"

"Of when Hammond brings everyone to the island. Is this…is this where they shot the helicopter landing?" You look excitedly out the windows not catching how Dieter's look softens seeing how excited you are.

"You are a big fan huh?" Frankie chuckles in the headset. "Well, I'll spare you my script about the scene since you know it. But this is a secluded waterfall, only accessible by helicopter. Want me to land this thing and take a look around?"

"What?! Seriously. Oh my gosh, yes!" You grab your phone and film the descent.

"Ok, sit tight." Frankie clicks a bunch of switches and powers down the helicopter. Once he's done he hops out and opens the door on Dieter's side helping to unbuckle him and grab his headset. Dieter follows Frankie around to the other side and waits patiently as the man helps get you unbuckled, although you catch Dieter glancing to make sure Frankie's hands stay where they should, which makes you smirk. Frankie offers you his hand to get out, which you take and flash him a big smile. 

"Alright, so you've got about 20 minutes or so to explore. Try to not go too much beyond those trees," he nods to the jungle to your right. "Technically you're not supposed to swim in the waterfall, but I won't say anything if you don’t. Just do me a favor and don’t take any photos if you do,” he winks. “I’m just gonna hang in here, you guys have fun!” He turns and heads back to the helicopter. 

You are absolutely stunned by this view. The waterfall is loud, but there is something so relaxing about it. The mist coming off of the waterfall hits your skin as you move closer to it, closing your eyes and taking it all in. You feel Dieter behind you as he wraps his arms around your waist. 

He nuzzles into your neck and you can practically hear his smile, “You like it?”

You turn around, misty-eyed as you look at him. “This is…amazing. I, I have no words.” You get up on your tip toes and kiss him.

“Well, this is only the beginning,” he manages between kisses as you work your hands through his hair. A soft moan comes out as you slightly tug on his hair. “Don’t forget that we have company,” he smiles into your kiss and then pulls back. “Though, I’ve never been one to turn down a crowd,” he winks.

You roll your eyes and bring your hands down to rest on his chest. “Did he say we can go swimming?”

“See why I told you to wear a suit?”

“Oh shit, I don’t have a towel.”

“I do,” he turns his head and looks at the backpack on the ground. 

“What else do you have in there,” you move toward the bag before Dieter steps in front of you.

“Ah ah ah, you didn’t say the magic words,” he smiles.

“Oh my gosh, you’re going to throw in movie lines all day aren’t you?” You chuckle.

“C’mon, I couldn’t pass that one up. Here, quick let’s go, we don’t have a lot of time here.”

You don’t have time to think about your insecurities or how you look, you quickly peel off your top and pull down your shorts, hearing Dieter suck in a breath. 

“I really like this,” he moves closer and runs his hand down your side. 

“It’s just a plain black suit, it’s kinda boring.”

“How can it be boring when you look like that? I lo- I love it,” he smiles.

“Do you know how deep this water is?” You grab his hand, looking nervously towards the pool. 

“No idea. You know how to swim?” You shake your head. “Well, guess you gotta hold on to me then,” he winks. “C’mon.”

He grabs your hand and leads you into the water. It’s cool but refreshing. Despite the roaring waterfall down the way, this section is relatively calm. You wade further in and when the water starts to come up to your chest, Dieter pulls you close, “I’m gonna pick you up, ok? Wrap your legs around my waist.”

You are thankful that you are in the water, so Dieter won’t be able to feel how absolutely wet this request makes you. You wrap your arms around his neck as his hands reach down to the back of your thighs pulling your legs up so you can wrap around his waist, crossing your ankles behind his back. 

“I feel kind of like a koala,” you laugh.

“Well, I happen to love koalas,” he chuckles as his hands trail down, kneading your ass as he walks further in before stopping to float.

You close your eyes and rest your head on his shoulder, trying to savor this moment. “I feel like this is a dream,” you finally say, pulling back and looking at him, playing with the back of his hair. “Thank you, this is amazing. You’re really sweet for doing this.”

“You don’t think this is too much?” He bites his bottom lip.

“I love it,” you smile, kissing his forehead and nuzzling your nose against his. 

You both stay like that for a moment, you feel like your breathing has synced up. You shift a little bit, slightly readjusting your legs around Dieter’s waist. “You keep moving around like that baby, and we definitely are gonna give that guy a show,” he smiles. 

“Oh my gosh,” you giggle, going back to resting your head on his shoulder as he floats you both around.

After a few moments, you hear someone clear their throat, remembering that you did in fact have someone else there with you. You both turn your heads to the shore to see Frankie awkwardly standing there. He pulls his hat off and runs his fingers through his hair before returning the cap back, “Hey, uh, we should probably get going soon. Lots more to see,” he gives a tight-lipped smile.

“Okay, we’ll be out in a sec,”

“You sure you’re ok to get out,” you wink at him.

“Ha, very funny,” he chuckles.

He leads you back out of the water and grabs a towel, wrapping you in it before he grabs one for himself. When you’ve gotten as dry as you were going to get, you slip your shorts back on again.

“Ok, you both ready to get back in and see the rest?”

“Absolutely!” you practically skip back to the helicopter and wait for Frankie to help you back in.

As you ascend again, Frankie pops back onto the headset to let you know that you’re going to check out some of the sights along the NaPali Coast. “This is the kind of stuff you can’t see from a car, only in the air.”

You are torn between wanting to savor this experience and filming the entire flight so you can capture the beauty and watch it again. Ultimately you wanted to be in the moment. The majestic mountains, the cliffs dropping off into a water so blue, you didn’t know how to describe this sight. 

“Oh my goodness, this is absolutely beautiful.” You say into the headset.

“It definitely is,” you hear Dieter say, not realizing he was looking directly at you when he said it.

Frankie weaves the helicopter further into the island and you see ancient caves while he tells you some of the history of the island. You make it over to Bali Hai and Lumahai Beach, where he tells you they shot scenes from South Pacific. The hour tour feels like it’s over within minutes and before you know it, you’re descending back down.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

A/N: I cannot help myself, they were in a freaking helicopter. Although it’s called Jurassic Park Adventures, this is totally a nod to @sin-djarin’s Catfish Aviation business card post. Also, this helicopter tour is a legitimate one. I haven’t personally been on it, but I want to since Jurassic Park is one of my favorite movies of all time.

I appreciate you making it this far and I hope you like what's in store for Chapter 16 ... we finally get that slow burn payoff (at least I hope you think so!). Thank you for reading. I appreciate all of the kind comments, reblogs, and likes. My inbox is open if you want to say hi!

Tag list: @musings-of-a-rose / @legendary-pink-dot / @bitchwitch1981 / @mysterious-moonstruck-musings / @gracie7209 / @amneris21 / @pastelnap / @maryfanson / @sunnywithachanceofjavi / @sin-djarin / @winchestergypsy90 / @for-a-longlongtime /@harriedandharassed / @titlee78 / @midnightraain / @poodlebae / @partyofone3413 / @guelyury / @weho2kcmo / @missladym1981

#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fic #working title fic

[gearbox-dollhouse]

So. In light of recent chapters, I've seen a lot of people saying that Izuku is going to permanently lose OFA. While this is a deliciously angsty concept, I disagree with them on it being canon. So here's my evidence for "bkdk are going to be dual holders you idiots".

First, the obvious - Heroes: Rising. With the movie now confirmed to be canon, this means that Izuku has not only canonically transferred OFA and gotten it back, he has done so with Katsuki specifically.

Now, the reason Izuku keeps OFA in that instance is, according to All Might, that Katsuki passed out before the transfer could be complete. However, this answer has always bugged me - why in the world would it work like that? How long does a transfer take, anyway? How long do you have to stay awake? Here's my proposal - All Might was wrong. But I'm going to put a pin in that for now, and return to it later with more evidence.

Next, these two illustrations for the Fantasy AU.

The image on the left depicts All Might wielding a large sword - a representation of One For All. In the image on the right, the sword has changed hands. And who has it, now?

Izuku, yes, but not just Izuku. The sword has been split. And it's none other than Katsuki Bakugou who holds the other half. This is a motif shown more than once in official art and manga panels - something representing One For All being split or shared between Izuku and Katsuki. I'll touch on that more in a moment.

Dual wielders.

Our third piece of evidence is the whole "win to save, save to win" motif.

Not only are Izuku and Katsuki fundamentally a pair, they are the thing that completes each other and pushes the other to be their best. Win to save and save to win, two halves of a true hero. Without each other, they cannot become the "ultimate heroes". They do their best work together.

For our fourth piece of evidence, I bring you this set of panels from Katsuki's revival chapter.

Note the bottom panel in the first image, specifically - Toshinori standing in the background, holding a glowing ball, and little Izuku and Katsuki holding matching glowing balls in the front. The next panel reveals the All Might trading cards they both received, but it's clear that this is not a literal image. This is another example of Horikoshi representing One For All with something else - in this case, the balls of light and the cards. Why else would Toshinori be holding his own glowing orb?

Additionally, in the second image, both Izuku and Katsuki take up roughly the same amount of space on the page. This gives them equal visual weight, and once again gives the impression of equality and balance. Pairing this imagery with the "beginning" part of the "end of an era and the beginning of a new one" bit shows that they will be a duo, continuing on All Might's legacy together.

Our final piece of evidence (for now) is Kuudo's words to Banjo and Yoichi.

Let me call back to my first point. The explanation that Katsuki didn't get OFA because he passed out during the transfer never sat right with me. I don't think that's what happened.

I think One For All chose to stay with Izuku, and this set of panels backs me up. The other holders - some of them, at least - are staying with Izuku, despite him giving One For All to Katsuki. They have enough agency to do that.

One For All is not leaving Izuku.

Kuudo has asked Banjo to stay with Izuku, and Yoichi to watch over him. The quirk isn't leaving Izuku - it's expanding. Kuudo will likely still be within the vestige world himself, but like Banjo staying at Izuku's side to help him, Kuudo will be with Katsuki.

In conclusion (for now);

One For All is and will always be Izuku's quirk. It's just Katsuki's quirk, too, now.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha spoilers #bnha spoilers #mha #bnha #mha theory #bnha theory #mha thoughts #bnha thoughts

[eddiemuonson]

you gotta let me know

Summary: At a party, you overhear Steve revealing his feelings for you, but you're too drunk to remember what happened that night.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!Munson!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Hurt/angst/mentions of alcohol

next chapter

Steve sat looking out the window for several minutes now. Eyes focused on the street before him. It had been not too long ago that Robin locked the both of you inside her apartment. 

Six months ago, you and Steve had an argument over how he felt about you. You called him bullshit. Slurring incoherent words while drunk at some stupid party.

After that, he steered clear of you. Not wanting anything to do with you. And because of that, the two of you split up time between the small group of friends. Going back and forth just to avoid seeing each other. 

He didn't want to see your face. He didn’t want to remember your drunken words. He didn’t want any of that. All because you didn't want to believe he actually liked you.

Despite his words about actually liking you for everything you were. You still took that one moment of sincerity and turned it into a joke. All because of a preference he used to have for girls. 

"Do you even remember what you said that night?" 

His words were cold and sharp. He didn’t dare look at you, worried what might happen if he did. He kept still at the window.

Fifteen seconds later, still no response. 

The sad thing is, you don’t remember. All that came to mind was one moment where you threw your drink at him. You were so unbelievably drunk. Not that he could even take care of you. You wouldn’t let him.

He scoffed, and took a deep breath. Wiping a hand over his tired face. The silence was torture. But not nearly as bad as the noisy reactions he kept throwing over his shoulder at you. They felt like bullets. 

“Wow. That doesn’t really surprise me at all.” 

Scratch that, those felt like bullets. 

He was right, of course. You couldn't really put the pieces together and remember everything that was said that night. Or any night after drinking. Your brother tried talking to him on your behalf. But he avoided every conversation about it. Wanting to forget that day ever happened.

Maybe you wanted it too. Especially after seeing the bitter pain it was bringing to your friend.

"Steve, I-" It was almost too difficult for you to speak about it. “I'm sure I didn't mean any of it. How can you think I was serious about that?”

He had both his hands holding his hips, while his gaze turned to be fixated on the floor. Away from you. His head dropped, almost defeated, as he chuckled.  

"I just think you know what you did, but you never bothered coming after me and really asking me what happened".

"Well, you were avoiding me after that!" You snapped. It wouldn't hurt to go after him, that's right. But at the same time, you thought he was joking and mocking you.

"For fuck's sake, Munson. Of course I was. You can't even remember a single word you said" Steve felt offended. He'd felt like that for a long time, ever since that day. "I don't care if you were drunk or not, what happened that day changed our friendship."

You don't really remember what happened, the only thing you remember was how you humiliated him by throwing your drink at him. You don't know why. And he's still too upset to talk about it.

You wished you could dig a giant hole and hide your body under it. After whatever Steve just said, you were just trying to understand WHY he would like you. It's not like you have never dated before, but most guys tend to not look your way because the girl next to you is hotter and skinnier.

You kept watching him, your vision was completely distorted in virtue of drinking your ass off. Every single cup being chugged. And for what? You wanted to kiss him. You wanted him. You really did, but you didn't want to ruin your friendship. 

His confused face and his hazel eyes kept a gaze at you, waiting for an answer.You froze at his admission. And the best you could even say was: "Are you fucking kidding me?". Every word slurred against him. If it could get any more confused than that, it was because you made it.

"Is this a fucking joke?" Your hands were shaking, your body was leaning against the kitchen island and Steve was holding your waist, afraid you'd stumble.

"Why would it be a joke, Y/N? It wasn't even supposed to happen like that. Can we just have this conversation another day? Especially when you're sober?" His eyes pleaded, but your stupid drunken brain refused to accept his offer.

"Why would you even like me, if I'm not as hot as the other girls you went out with? I'm not Nancy either!" You were screaming, and the few people passing by started looking at the both of you.

"I don't care if you're not like her. I don't fucking care you're not like them. I think you're fucking hot just the way you are, Munson. Is that so hard to understand?"

The point is, he wasn't in love with Nancy anymore. But he never liked it when Nancy was brought up in a conversation like that. And he hated that you were comparing yourself with someone else, because he liked you for you.

"I know. I'm such a terrible person. I'm really sorry, Steve" You were too ashamed to look at him now. 

Sitting by the couch, not too close to him, you felt a weight over your shoulders pulling you down to the ground.

Shame. Jesus, why did you overreact like that? Why were you so fucking insecure?

"You will have to apologize a lot more than just this time, Y/N. It just doesn't wipe it out. You threw a drink at me, Jesus. Your brother even helped me out that day. Eddie was feeling so fucking sorry for me, it was embarrassing."

Eddie didn't tell you much about the party, either. He didn't want you to feel bad for what happened, but you needed the answer to that. He's been telling you for the past six months that Steve didn't ever want to bring that up.

He didn't want to remember the way you treated him when he said he liked you. And here you are, sitting close to him, and he can only feel sorry for himself. At least from your point of view. But still, he feels sorry for you as well, for your behavior. For your lack of confidence.

"He never really wanted to tell me whatever happened. He did say I shouldn't have done that" The hot tears were rolling out of your face without mercy. You can cry as much as you want, you won't have his friendship ever again.

Not even if you kneeled on a shit ton of beans spread on the floor and stayed there for hours.

"Robin wanted this to end well, and I don't blame her. But for all I know, I wouldn't want to carry on with this conversation" He sat down on the armchair, still refusing to look at you.

You bent your knees, resting your chin on them, still crying quietly. He knows you liked him. He knows you held feelings for him. But he can't do anything about it, not right now. He doesn't feel comfortable around you yet.

"Is there even anything I could do to make it right? Is there a way to make it up for you?" You were almost begging. You watched him run over a hand on his perfect hair, sighing heavily. "It can't be like this forever."

"No, it can't" Steve was starting to get emotional. He wanted to tell you he liked you, but in the right place, at the right time. "But right now, I don't know what else you can do." 

You weren't supposed to overhear his conversation with Robin at the party, but he doesn't blame you for that.

He was fidgeting, thinking of his next words. "But I can't deal with this just yet. I know I was an asshole before, way before. I never really meant to be one, I just got carried away. And I won't admit to being called bullshit. We were always clear to each other, and you know that."

And then, a flash of memory of the conversation came back to your head.

You were still trying to look at him without feeling faint. If you kept staring at him for five more minutes, you might vomit at him. That wasn't even the worst case scenario. But what came next was.

You didn't even think twice when you threw your Cosmopolitan drink at him. It hit him on his chin, streaming down his shirt, making the fabric completely wet. A bunch of people passing through you both watched as it happened, some even made a few noises and you could hear some laughing.

Steve, on the other hand, was shocked. He wanted to ask what the fuck happened. He probably wanted to yell at you, but he wouldn't. Slowly, he looked at his shirt, and then looked back at you. You couldn't even stand on your feet because of the alcohol, but you knew what you did.

And yet, you didn't care. 

You'd throw many drinks at him. "Don't bullshit me, Steve. That's bullshit. You're bullshit!" You yelled. He took a step back, not expecting you to react like that. "I'm drunk, but I'm not fucking stupid! Don't play that game with me!'

What game it was, you didn't know.

"Y/N, please. Let's just go home and sober up. For the love of God, you got me wet with alcohol, what the hell?" He wanted to pull you by your arm and get you out of the party, but you refused to.

"Why are you such a liar? Is that a fucking joke?" You pushed him. You tried to make him tell you the truth. But the truth was already there, he liked you. And you took his words and stepped on them. You were the one making fun of him now.

That's all you could still remember, a one-minute conversation of a whole situation that still didn't come to your mind.

"God, this is such a fucking mess. I'm sorry, Steve. I'm sorry I acted so dumb and incredibly horrific" You blurted out, feeling a lump in your throat. You could only remember the smallest bit of it, calling him bullshit and throwing a drink at him.

As much as you wanted to remember everything that was said, your memory was fuzzy and blurry. The way Steve reacted to the conversation was understandable, but you considered you had the right to know what went so wrong.

Steve, on the other hand, was hurt. He had been wishing for months that he could forget that night and move on with his life, but the feeling he had for you was unbearably significant. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't get rid of it. And that hurt him.

Whatever happened left scars and a feeling that he should never have told Robin anything, at least not at that party.

One second you were sitting on the couch, the next second you're kneeling towards him, your hands trying to grab a hold of his wrists. It was hard to make contact with him after a while, he smelled like creamy sandalwood, and it drove you crazy.

It made you feel needy, empty inside and desperate for his forgiveness. You were a mess of tears and hiccups. Steve was never one to actually hide when he was feeling emotional, but right now, he was fragile.

"Just tell me what to do. Please, don't push me away like that. Harrington, you know I love you" It sounded like you were already paying for your sins.

He doesn't let you in, he doesn't let you see him this vulnerable. He doesn't want to remember the times he used to be a dick and had that thrown back at his face for nothing. He knows you're hurting, but you humiliated him.

"Please, let go of me. I don't want to deal with this right now anymore" Steve couldn't look at you. 

If he did, he might break down and let you in, forgive you. His tone was calm, slow, but painful. 

When he got up, he went straight to Robin's bedroom and locked himself in. Then, you sat there in the living room for another half an hour, until she got back home.

You called Eddie and asked him to pick you up. The entire ride back home, you didn't say anything. He wouldn't bring it up, either. Your face said it all. 

After getting back home, you went to your bed in the bedroom you shared with Eddie. Uncle Wayne wasn't home yet, which was probably for the best, because he would always want to give advice about life.

Not a single word was spoken about what happened between you and Steve, and your brother took your silence, respecting it. He was in the kitchen making dinner, while you were bawling your eyes out in the bedroom.

You only stopped crying when he stepped up and sat next to you, stroking your arm gently. He didn't know what to say, exactly. He just wanted to comfort you and make you feel better.

"Dinner is ready, sis. I think it's good that you eat something. You don't need to talk about it" Eddie squeezed your forearm gently.

It was always hard to say no to him. As much as he got this weird looking and hardcore attitude, he was always a really great brother. And a really great guy as well. Eddie was the most genuine person you know.

You made your way to the kitchen slowly, your eyes were still puffy and you felt your head pound. He made you both mac and cheese. And there were glasses of juice on the table. 

It's not like you're going to drink alcohol again after what happened, really. 

You kept looking at him, trying to find a way to speak up. Your curiosity about what happened that night was speaking loudly. It made you want an explanation of what Steve told him, or what he told Steve.

"That night- at the party... You- You and Steve" Your words were trembling out of your mouth. "He said you helped him after what I did".

You were expecting him to retract himself and not say a word. Instead, he took a deep breath before finally telling you about that day.

"This might hurt you, sis. I want you to understand why Steve has been avoiding you since then" Eddie started. You swallowed a huge lump in your throat. "But I don't think he should know I told you what happened."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #userashe

[gotham-daydreams]

Hun you have probably heard this before but take all the time you need and more! Lol. It's your fic, your idea and there is no need to stress on getting it out so fast. You lose nothing if some people ever get bored of waiting, but honestly i know many (including myself) who have waited double digit months for someone to update their fics. Anyway this is just my short way of saying that It's alright to just relax and have fun. Hope this didn't come off too rude or like im making assumptions about you, if you feel no stress, good. 🖤 And even if tumblr ends up lagging due to the lenght of the fic, you could always split it into two like you talked about before. Take it one step at a time, can't wait to find out what happens next!

Nono you didn't come off as rude or anything at all! Thank you so much for your kind words and everything, they mean a lot 💛💛💛

Though I do feel bad for taking so long since I have been working on it for a while, and even if I will prioritize the quality of Part 3 over getting it out as soon as I can, I am still trying to get to a point where I can get it out in a reasonable amount of time for you guys! And also hopefully produce a Part 3 that will make the wait worth it- even if the length doesn't exactly say anything about the quality of the chapter itself.

Which, trust me, I never intended for Part 3 to be as long as it's becoming now 😅, as I said a bit earlier on another ask, some of the moments that were supposed to be "small/short" are, in fact, not what most would consider short at all :']

I'll be honest and admit that back when I started writing Pt. 3 in September, I honestly thought that the length would be somewhere in between Pt. 1 and Pt. 2 (so about maybe 3/5k - 10k words), only for us to be here. Where Pt. 3 might end up being, (funnily enough) almost 3 times the length of Pt. 2- which I suspect to be around 10k words since by the time I reached 10k on Pt. 3, it was just about as long as Pt. 2.

Pt. 2 alone made tumblr lag on my end, so that's why the length of Pt. 3 is making me so nervous, and though I will split it into two parts if I have to- I will try to keep it as one whole part since, again, I do believe that it's better read that way.

Which, I also keep commenting on the length and everything since, well- Pt. 3 isn't done yet. And I can only look on in slight horror as I keep writing, and knowing I'm not even at the ending yet :']

Regardless of all of that, however, I do deeply appreciate all of you who are waiting, and thank you for your patience and time! I know I haven't been the most active or anything, but I do appreciate everyone and all of the support I've been receiving!! Recently I've reached 1k followers- and have been also trying to think of what to do for that, since that's a huge milestone! And I want to properly thank everyone for the support and everything, but still don't have many ideas for that at the moment :']

Still, thank you so much for everything!

#talking daydreams #i hope everyone also has an amazing day!

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

Haunting chapter 1

Note: it's spooky time! this fic is strongly inspired by the book True Haunting (a true story and a must read if you're into ghost stories!). this was supposed to be a one shot, but the fic was becoming way too long, so I had to split it up.

Warnings: angst/horror/paranormal stuff.

pairing: Modern!Sihtric x you (f)

summary: You and Sihtric finally bought a house, but at what cost?

wordcount: 4k

Masterlist

'Something is wrong with this house!'

'I still can't believe it,' you wiped a tear as you looked at your new home, while the movers were busy moving the furniture inside.

'I know,' Sihtric smiled proudly, and pulled you in his arms, 'we did it, babe,' he kissed your forehead, 'we finally bought a house.'

'I justl can't believe it,' you chuckled, 'I mean, the fact that a detached house was so… so cheap?'

'Yeah, it surprised me too. Apparently it's been on the market for a long time, the previous owners just really wanted to get rid of it.'

'I wonder why,' you scoffed and looked around, 'I mean, look at this place! It's a dream. It's in a quiet neighbourhood, the backyard is huge and it's located perfectly between the centre and the forest. Why on earth would anyone want to leave this place?'

'I don't know, honey,' Sihtric shrugged, 'but I'm glad they did, because it's ours now.'

Sihtric picked you up and threw you over his shoulder as you yelped, and he carried you inside, where you both started unpacking boxes right away, to make your dream home a reality.

For years you have been trying to buy a house together, but the prices were just absurd, and even when you both worked full time you couldn't afford a house. Until Sihtric saw an ad in the local newspaper, and he called the number immediately. 

The real estate agent told Sihtric on the phone that he could pick up the keys at their office, and he was free to go and look around the house on his own. And so your husband of five years did, alone. He didn't want to give you any false hope, as previous houses you both had viewed always got sold to a couple who could afford to overbid, and Sihtric had seen the disappointment in your eyes each time. And he hated it. So, when you thought he was going to work one afternoon, he went to pick up the keys and drove to the house.

It was a huge, completely detached two story house, with a small, windowless attic on the seemingly hidden third floor. The porch looked cosy and was surrounded by an impressive front yard, and when you walked around the house you ended up in a huge backyard. The lawn was so big, Sihtric already felt tired when he thought about all the work it needed. But he didn't care about that then, you both just really wanted to buy a house and finally move out of that horrible apartment building you rented a small studio at. You both wanted to start a family and it had been on hold, all because you just couldn't get a place that would be big enough for two adults and a child. And this house was big enough for two adults and four children, which is exactly what your husband wanted, a big family eventually.

Sihtric walked up the porch and put the key in the lock, but the door wouldn't open. He frowned and worried that maybe the real estate agent had given him the wrong key. Which didn't make much sense, Sihtric thought, because the key did fit in the lock, it just wouldn't fully turn. After a few tries he decided to walk around the house and ended up in the backyard, where he saw a back porch, and went to try that door. At first he had the same issue, but after the third try the door suddenly flung open and Sihtric almost fell inside the house, in the kitchen. He chuckled and inspected the lock, but saw nothing weird. He figured maybe the front door had an extra lock, and he'd check it out later.

He walked through the large kitchen. Clearly the previous owners had moved out a while ago, as it was covered with quite the layer of dust, and thick cobwebs hung from the ceiling and lamps. To Sihtric's surprise, the kitchen had almost all the things one would need to live there. Cabinets full of plates and cups, as well as cutlery, all in good condition but a little dusty. He found a stack of towels, a bunch of pots and pans and even a drawer full of tablecloths.

'Odd,' Sihtric mumbled, and he was startled when the backdoor suddenly slammed shut. 

Sihtric cursed loudly but then laughed at the scare.

'Close the door, Sihtric!' your mother would say, he thought with a smile, which faded quickly as his sudden memory continued, 'or it will slam shut and wake up your father, and you know what he's like…'

Sihtric cleared his throat and shook the random negative childhood memory. He shivered as he started to feel a little cold, and then continued his viewing. From the kitchen, he walked straight into the living room, which was also filled with furniture, dust, and cobwebs. The couch could be replaced and the tv cabinet was a bit old, but the chairs and carpet all looked decent. Sihtric smiled, everything seemed perfect so far. Except that it was quite chilly inside, while it was the middle of summer, and outside it was incredibly hot. In the summer the temperature inside was fine, but Sihtric worried about how cold it would be inside during the winter. But that again was a worry for later, just like the work that the backyard would need. 

He walked out of the living room into the hallway, which looked almost royal with its high ceiling and large wooden stairs, which were also covered with dust and cobwebs. As Sihtric checked the locks as he passed the front door, and to his surprise he found out there was nothing wrong with the door as he opened it without trouble from the inside.

'Odd,' Sihtric said again, and closed the door, continuing his way to the second floor.

The wooden stairs creaked with each step Sihtric took, and he thought maybe he'd fall through, but that didn't happen. He noticed the second floor was even colder and he took a quick look in all the bedrooms, which were, not surprisingly, also covered with dust and cobwebs. Everything was once again complete with furniture. Each room had a bed, a closet, a drawer and some rooms even had a desk. The master bedroom came with a huge king size bed, but Sihtric shuddered at the thought of what kind of nasty things the previous owners had done on that mattress, so he would definitely replace that with the bed you owned now. Strangely enough, the master bedroom was also the coldest room in the house. Even though the sun was shining directly inside through the large windows, Sihtric could still see his own breath and he had goosebumps all over his body.

He took a quick look in the spacious bathroom, which came with an old but decent bathtub, and Sihtric decided he had seen enough already. He would check the attic once the house was sold to him, and he made an offer right away when he returned the key at the real estate office.

'You really want the place?' the agent asked, 'like… for real?'

'Yeah?' Sihtric frowned, 'sure, it needs some cleaning, but for that price? Bring it on.'

'Well,' the agent chuckled and mumbled, 'it's your life, not mine.'

And next thing he knew, Sihtric signed some papers and got to keep the key to the house. He surprised you with the news later that day, after dinner, and he drove you to see the house that same evening. 

You both agreed it needed work, but it had been a bargain, and you were simply over the moon.

It took a few weeks to get the place all cleaned up, but once done, it looked amazing. You both had a couple of weeks off when you just moved in, but now, Sihtric had to go back to work again, while you worked from home. And you simply couldn't wait to use the brand new bedroom turned home office. 

And it was only when you could finally work in silence that you realised the mark your previous apartment had left. You often thought you heard stomping footsteps and muffled voices, but it had to be your imagination, as you'd hear sounds like that the entire day and night in your old home. You simply ignored whatever you thought you heard, and continued your work.

Everything went pretty normal in the following weeks. You and Sihtric were at peace. You both slept well at night after years of being kept awake by noisy neighbours, and you figured the bad luck you two had was finally turning around, for now...

'Have you seen my phone, hon?' Sihtric asked as he was running late for work one morning, 'I swore I put it on the cabinet in the hallway, but it's not there.'

'Oh?' you frowned and searched the kitchen alongside your husband, 'hm, no, baby,' you sighed, 'I haven't seen it anywhere. Did you leave it upstairs?'

'I already looked there.'

'Couch?'

'Already looked,' Sihtric groaned as he emptied another drawer, without any phone appearing, 'fuck,' he hissed, 'well, no phone then. I really gotta run, love,' he said and pecked your lips, 'love you, see you tonight.'

And with those words he ran out of the kitchen and slammed the front door shut behind him. After a few minutes you felt bothered by the fact that he couldn't find his phone, so you continued the search. There was no bother trying to call his number, because his phone was always on silent. You decided to look upstairs, and as you walked through the hallway, you found his phone on the cabinet.

'Men,' you snorted, and you took a photo of your husband's phone which was in plain sight, on the cabinet in the hallway, just where he said he had left it.

You texted the photo to Finan, a friend and colleague of Sihtric, knowing he'd show the photo to him at work.

You: tell my husband he's getting old ;) 

Finan: Sihtric asked if this is a prank

You: what? No, I swear. His phone was right there when I passed the cabinet…

Finan: he doesn't believe you

'Babe, I checked that cabinet like ten times,' Sihtric said during dinner that night.

'Siht, you don't actually think I hid your phone and let you leave the house without it?' you scoffed, 'you know how anxious I get when I can't reach you.'

Sihtric huffed, he knew you were right, but he just didn't understand how he hadn't seen his phone that morning.

'I don't know,' he said, 'I just can't explain it.'

'Well, I didn't touch it, okay?'

After a while of slight arguing, you both decided to drop the subject and cleaned up the kitchen together. And as you did the dishes, Sihtric snuck up behind you and circled his arms around your waist. He squeezed you in his arms and kissed your cheek.

'Want to take a bath together?' he asked, his smooth voice still making your legs go weak after all those years.

You nodded with a cheeky grin and your husband was quick to slap your ass, before he ran off into the hallway and up the stairs. Sihtric filled the bathtub with pleasantly hot water, and threw in a multicoloured bath bomb before he switched off the tap. As he walked past the stairs, to the bedroom to grab some towels, he yelled that the bath was ready.

You quickly switched off all the lights downstairs and sprinted up the stairs. You were eager to have some romantic time with your husband, as that's the only thing that has been lacking since you had moved. You met Sihtric as he walked back to the bathroom, and you playfully shoved him to the side to get into the bathtub first. But when you were ready to take off your clothes and stared into the bathtub, you frowned and turned to your husband.

'Is this a joke?' you clicked your tongue, 'because it's not funny. I heard the water running, so you just wasted a shit ton of water, and apparently a bath bomb too,' you said, confused. 

'What?' Sihtric asked, equally confused, and he looked in the bathtub, which was completely empty, except for the colours the bath bomb had left.

'Sihtric, we already don't have that much money left each month, don't waste water like this…'

'What the fuck?' he muttered, 'n-no, I filled it. It was completely filled up. Here!' he said and dropped the towels on the floor, 'see, you can still see the faint line of where the water was because of the bath bomb!' he pointed near the edge of the bathtub, and you couldn't disagree with him.

'Did the plug come out then?' you wondered out loud.

'I guess,' Sihtric scoffed, 'but… there's no way the water could have been drained this fast. I only left the bathroom for like twenty seconds.'

'Are you sure you plugged it?'

'Yes!' Sihtric hissed, 'I'm not an idiot!'

'Well, your phone-'

'It wasn't there when I checked!' he snarled, then sighed and raked his fingers through his curls, 'I'm sorry,' he said, 'I'm sorry, honey. It's just been a weird day, I don't mean to take it out on you. I'm sorry.'

'Yeah,' you mumbled, 'let's just… let's just go to bed, Siht,' you turned and walked out of the bathroom, 'I'm not in the mood anymore.'

The next morning Sihtric's phone was missing again, and he searched the entire house. Once he finally found it, in the fridge with a dead battery, he cursed loudly and went on to make breakfast. He switched on the stove and sat down at the table, annoyed. As you were still asleep, he wanted to leave a note that his phone was broken, and he went into the living room to grab a pen and some paper. When Sihtric returned, he noticed the stove was off.

'This better not be broken,' he muttered and switched it on again.

He sat down to write you a note, but the pen didn't work, so he left the kitchen again to get a new one. And when he returned, the stove was once again switched off.

'What is this bullshit?' Sihtric mumbled.

He switched the stove on again and kept his eyes on it. For five minutes he stood there, arms crossed and jaw clenched, watching a perfectly fine working stove. Then he returned to writing his note, went back into the living room to put the pen back in the drawer, and when he came back the stove was again switched off. Sihtric cursed and left the kitchen, thinking he was going insane. He went upstairs and kissed you goodbye, then left for work, without breakfast, as he'd grab something on the way. If he could leave at least, because when he grabbed his car keys, he saw the key was bent.

'What is going on with you?' you asked when you found Sihtric still at home after you had woken up.

'My phone was gone again and when I found it, it was dead, I can't make any fucking breakfast because the stove keeps switching off whenever I leave the kitchen, and my fucking car key is bent out of shape!' he spat, 'I emailed Finan to let him know I'm not coming into work today.'

'Oh, okay,' you said, 'so, you're just home because you had a bad morning?'

Sihtric didn't answer and just stared out the window from the couch.

'Honey,' you said, 'we really need the money-'

'I know!' Sihtric yelled, 'I know we need the money! But something's… something's not right!'

'What do you mean?' you asked, 'w-with us?'

'No, not us. This house! Something is wrong with this house!' he yelled.

'It's an old house,' you scoffed, 'are you surprised-'

'No, not like that, sweetheart,' he exhaled sharply, 'I just… fuck,' he jumped up, 'I'm going for a walk.'

While Sihtric was out, clearing his head, you had gone upstairs to work in your little home office. Again you were taunted by the noises stuck in your head from your previous apartment. The sounds had only seemed to intensify the past few weeks. The odd thing was that whenever you truly focused on the noise, it disappeared. But when you were working, the noise was constantly there, driving you insane because it sounded so real and you couldn't explain it.

When Sihtric came back after a few hours, you argued again. You had gotten angry about Sihtric's phone being broken, and told him he had to pay more attention to his belongings, as you simply didn't have the money to replace everything right away. Sihtric got mad because he never broke things on purpose, and he did not mess with things he needed every day, like his phone or his car keys. After the heated argument, you prepared dinner in silence. And you were both calm again when you sat at the table together.

'Sihtric?' you asked during dinner, 'have you heard any noises here?'

'What kind of noises?' he asked and stuffed his mouth with potatoes.

'Like… running,' you said cautiously, 'or voices?'

Sihtric furrowed his brow, 'What do you mean?'

'It's like… when I'm working, I keep hearing those kinds of noises,' you explained, 'it's almost like we're still living in the apartment building. That kind of noise.'

'But that kind of noise is impossible, love,' Sihtric sat back, 'we don't have any direct neighbours.'

'I know, that's why I'm asking. It just… it feels like I'm going insane or something,' you chuckled, 'because I can't explain it. I guess it's like what happened to you with the stove.'

'How do you mean?'

'When I focus on the noise, or try to figure out where it's coming from, I don't hear it anymore. The same way you told me you kept looking at the stove, and it didn't switch off. But as soon as you stop paying attention, the problem returns again.'

'Huh,' Sihtric scoffed, a little concerned, 'but how is that possible?'

'I don't know.'

'And where does it sound like the noises come from?'

'From the attic,' you said, 'but I don't want to go up there, because the light doesn't work.'

'I know, I still need to fix that,' Sihtric sighed, 'I'll have a look tomorrow, okay? The running noises could just be old pipes that rattle. Like you said earlier, it's an old house.'

'Yeah,' you agreed, 'I guess you're right,' you smiled, and Sihtric kissed your forehead as he thanked you for the dinner.

'Do you think buying this house was a mistake?' he asked after a while.

'What? No. Why? Do you?'

'No,' he said, 'well, I mean… I… we've been arguing a lot since we moved here, haven't we? We never used to be like that.'

'I guess,' you agreed, 'but we're under a lot of stress too, Sihtric. We put all our money in this house. But still, I'm glad we live here. The house is amazing, but I think we're just getting caught up over little things we can't explain. We've never lived in a place this big before. It's not uncommon to misplace things, have a faulty stove, a bath that unplugs and to hear some sounds I suppose. We still have to get used to it.'

'Maybe,' Sihtric said, 'but what about my key being bent?'

'I don't know,' you shrugged, 'maybe you sat on it with that big butt of yours?'

'Hey,' Sihtric scowled, but then chuckled, 'I don't know,' he became serious again, 'I definitely didn't sit on it, and I also did not put my phone in the fridge.'

When you went to bed that night, it was once again incredibly cold in the bedroom. You had switched on the heating but that didn't change anything. The room was freezing cold, but if you'd touch the radiator, you'd burn your hands. You got under the sheets and not much later Sihtric joined you. He also complained about how cold it was, but you were both too tired to argue about it, and you fell asleep.

Hours later, you woke up out of nowhere. You glanced at the clock and saw it was a little over three in the morning. You yawned and pulled the sheets up again, as your shoulders were exposed to the cold room. And then moments later, the sheets suddenly got pulled off you with force.

'Sihtric, what the fuck?!' you shouted, angry, cold and tired, 'what the fuck are you doing?!'

'What?' Sihtric asked, startled, as he woke up by your yelling, 'what did I do?' he rubbed his eyes and yawned, then shivered as he realised there was no blanket covering him anymore, 'where's the-'

'Did you not pull it off me?' you interrupted in the dark.

'What?'

'Did you pull the blankets off me?'

'I- what? No!' Sihtric hissed, and switched on a light, 'what are you talking about? Why would I-' he stopped talking as he looked at the floor.

You followed your husband's gaze and froze when you saw the bed sheet was on the floor, near the closet, at the opposite side of the bedroom.

'I can't fucking believe this,' Sihtric huffed the next morning when you met in the kitchen, after a horrendous night.

'What?' you yawned.

'This!' he said and held up the charger of his new phone, which was split in two.

'What the… how?' you frowned.

'I have no idea,' Sihtric threw the cable on the table, 'I'm fucking done. What the fuck is going on here?'

'I don't know, ghosts?' you tried to make light of the situation.

Sihtric glared at you.

'Don't joke about those things!'

'Sorry, mister superstitious,' you mumbled, 'hey, will you check that attic by the way?'

'Yeah, yeah,' Sihtric sighed and grabbed a flashlight, 'I'll do it before I go to work.'

'Thank you,' you kissed his cheek, and he went on his way.

You sipped your tea in the kitchen, trying to stay awake after you had been up since three in the morning. You had been too afraid to sleep again, and had clutched onto the bed sheet until morning came. Sihtric was brave enough to grab the blanket off the floor after the weird event, and he managed to fall asleep afterwards again, but you didn't. And now you were paying the price.

Sihtric climbed up the steep attic stairs and clicked on the flashlight. He looked around the dusty place and took a closer look at the pipes, seeing if they were in need of replacement. But everything seemed fine, and he had no idea what else could cause the noise you heard while you were working. When he turned to climb down the stairs again, he suddenly saw a box in the otherwise empty attic, and he grabbed it.

As you sipped your tea you suddenly heard your husband storm down the stairs.

'Is this fucking funny to you!?' he shouted as he neared the kitchen, and you perked up.

'What?' 

'This!' Sihtric snarled, and threw his attic find in front of you on the table, 'did you plan this? You know I don't trust these things!'

You stared with big eyes at the old and nearly falling apart Ouija board box, which you had never seen before. And when you looked up at Sihtric, completely deprived of colour, he immediately knew that you were as spooked as he was. 

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#sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #modern!sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #sihtric #tlk #sihtric fic #the last kingdom fic

[jananakookie]

Rumor Has It | pjm - Chapter 6

💬 Pairing: Jimin x OC (Reader)

💬 Genre/Tags: enemies(?) to lovers, fake-dating au; angst, fluff, smut

💬 Chapter warnings: sex-talk but nothing too spicy, foul language, mentions of divorce, mentions of incompetent father figure (not important for the story or heavy in general but just so you know)

💬 Word count: 7.5k

💬 Recap:

Rumor has it, Park Jimin is single again after his latest girlfriend cheated on him with his best friend.

Rumor has it, he's willing to get back at them.

Rumor has it, you're the perfect means to an end.

A/N please consider reblogging and commenting if you enjoyed 💚

Previous Chapter - Index - Next Chapter

Chapter 6: Not that different.

It's been several weeks since you met Jimin's parents, and neither you nor he talked about what happened at the bonfire after the two of you were left alone. You prefer it that way, and you don't see any benefit to it anyway, since it will never happen again - that much is clear. 

It was a drunken mistake from both of your ends. A mishap resulting from the fact that both of you were under pressure all day and let loose in the evening. A bit too loose, yes - and yet, it doesn't have to mean anything. 

Talking about it would only give it more meaning than it has. Nothing has changed. You still have a goal to achieve and you haven’t changed your opinion on Jimin either. He’s still the annoying prick that gives you a headache on a daily and nothing will change that.

Yes, casual sex wouldn’t necessarily mean that would have to change - you’re perfectly aware of that yourself. Many people have a non-strings-attached relationship with a person they don’t necessarily like outside the bedroom, and there is nothing wrong with that, of course. However, you cannot help but think about the talk you had with Jungkook a while ago. The one where he specifically told you to be aware and not get in too deep, and you feel like sleeping with Jimin would definitely count as getting in too deep - no pun intended. 

And why the hell does it feel like you're trying to convince yourself? All of this should go without question. You seriously feel like the biggest idiot for even considering this could ever be a possibility. Ew. 

Sure, it’s been such a long time since you had the company of other people, especially guys, but that's no excuse to have these thoughts about Jimin.

He’s handsome, and he kisses well. You’re too damn sexually frustrated to resist this temptation when you’re not master of your senses which means, you will have to stay sober from now on. 

No more alcohol in the presence of Park Jimin. That sounds doable. You can surely manage. You just hope it is also in his interest not to complicate your agreement and keep it as non-physical as possible.

“You’re unusually quiet today, is something wrong?” 

Your silent stare into space is interrupted by Jimin's voice, and you have to blink a few times until your eyes manage to focus on him. 

“Do you sometimes miss having sex?” you blurt out, immediately taking him off guard with it. It surprises you as well, but you blame it on the fact that he interrupted your intense flow of thoughts so abruptly.

You watch as his eyes widen for just a split second before they’re back to normal, weirdly mustering you while a grin slowly forms on his lips. 

“If there is one thing I'll never get used to, it's your loose mouth and your ability to say the most random shit at the most unfitting times,” he chuckles scratching the nape of his neck. If you didn't know any better, you'd almost say your question made him shy. “Uhm, may I know why you are suddenly asking me this?”

Pretty unbothered, you shrug your shoulders while picking a grape out of his fruit salad, gradually ignoring the glare he sends you right after since you now know he doesn’t actually mind you stealing them. 

“I’m just wondering. Hookups aren’t an option for you these days without revealing our secret, so… I figured you must be sexually frustrated at times, no?”

He devolves into a burst of throaty laughter, pushing the bowl with the fruit salad a little closer to you so you don't have to reach so far while keeping his eyes locked with yours. “I’m aright. I am not a caveman, nor am I a teenager, so I do have some self-control, you know?” He explains, leaning his face a bit closer before whispering, “and I still have a well-functioning hand.”

You automatically lean back into your seat with your face showing nothing but pure revulsion. “Disgusting, Park.”

“Hey, you were the one interested in my sex life,” he chuckles, holding his hands up in feigned surrender. 

“I just wanted to know if you sometimes feel frustrated. Not how you take care of it,” you declare, rolling your eyes while you try to hide a grin of your own.

“Same difference,” he shrugs, offering you a wink. “But going back to my original question - Why?” Resting his arms on his elbows, he rests his head on his clenched fist and smiles at you as if waiting for a bedtime story. 

The reason why you have avoided this question until now should be obvious, but you should have expected it. And it's not uncomfortable for you either - quite the opposite actually, since you’re only human, and stuff like that is nothing out of the ordinary. You just don't know exactly how to explain your curiosity to Jimin without giving him the wrong idea.

Munching on a couple more grapes, you muster him while pursing your lips. “I just had a guess,” you shrug, seeing Jimin furrow his eyebrows at you immediately as if offended, and you laugh. “I know what sexual frustration looks like, Park. I built this city. And I’ve been living here for a while now.” 

A deep laugh escapes Jimin’s lips while he shakes his head, but he halts for a quick moment as if to think about his next words before he clears his throat, making it clear that he’s gonna say it anyway.

“Wanna know what I like about you?” he asks in a serious tone, looking like he’s not only surprising you, but him as well with his bold words. 

You take a moment before you nod your head in an unsure manner. “Depends. Am I going to regret it?” 

“No, I’m being genuine, I promise,” he says, sending a small but honest smile your way as you nod again, silently telling him to continue. 

“You’re not afraid or embarrassed to be honest with me. That’s pretty cool,” he admits, becoming sheepish right after while he clears his throat. 

To be completely honest, you didn’t expect that but smile, shrugging your shoulders a little to shake the awkwardness off. “I mean, yea. I don’t know why it never feels awkward with you,” you agree, chuckling quietly. 

“Must be because I’m so amazing,” he winks, biting his lip. A couple weeks ago you would have gagged at this scene, but you know he doesn't really mean it.

“Or maybe I just don’t care what you think of me,” you return the wink, and grin brightly, feeling that you got the upper hand again.

He scoffs, shaking his head with a grin of his own. “So predictable.”

“Mhm… and does that tell you more about you or me?” You fire back, biting your lip to suppress your own smile. 

Jimin smiles at you for a while and you do the same. And it's just about to get awkward again when he shakes his head as if to try and remember what this conversation was actually about before you drifted off to… whatever this was. 

“So what exactly is the point of this conversation, ___? Would you like to offer me something?” He gradually bites his lip while grinning and wiggles his eyebrows, thinking exactly about what you did not want him to think, but it’s not a surprise. He's still Jimin.

“Not at all. As I said, I was just wondering,” you say, breaking eye contact with him and shaking your head slightly.

“Are you sure? I like to help where I can,” he smirks, seeing you scoff at his lame attempt at flirting.

“I’m not that desperate yet,” you chuckle, shaking your head immediately. 

“Funny you say that now because I have a feeling that’s not always true,” he mutters, while he lowers his gaze and concentrates on eating again. It seems like you shouldn't have heard that, and you almost wouldn't have if you weren't still waiting for an answer anyway. 

Whether there is a hidden meaning behind his words or not, you don’t find out because he soon after changes the topic when he starts asking you about an assignment he didn’t understand. 

Jimin left just a few minutes ago because he had to go to the bathroom but your concentration, which you actually wanted to direct to your paper, is already interrupted when you suddenly feel the presence of a person next to you.

“Back so soon? Don’t tell me you missed me already,” you grin as you finish the sentence you were already typing out. 

Your words get stuck in your throat, however, as you look up, and it's not Jimin who is looking down at you. Instead, it's Yeji, as in Jimin’s ex-girlfriend, who never even acknowledged your existence before this whole fiasco. 

But now she’s here, and she obviously wants something from you, considering there isn’t really anyone else close enough to be her person of interest right now. 

“Uhm, can I help you?” you look at her, unsure of what’s about to come. Seeing how you never exchanged a word with Lee Yeji before you have no idea what she could want from you. Well, you actually do have an idea because if there is anything connecting the two of you it has to be Jimin, no?

“Don’t worry. I’m not here to cause any trouble,” she quickly says probably sensing you’re in defense mode just from seeing her about to talk to you. “I just have one question for you.”

Furrowing your brows, you make a motion for her to continue, not expecting much in the first place but still interested enough to not just walk off. You don't offer her a seat, though. We do not wanna rush into anything now, do we?

“I know the opinions of the people here are very different, but I just can’t form one for myself. Are you really dating Jimin?”

You raise your brows, closing your laptop while you try to understand what's going on. She did not actually take it upon herself to come to you and ask you that question after everything that happened, did she?

 “You know what’s funny?” you ask her, looking her straight in the eyes. “You guys have no problem spreading and believing the most absurd lies about me. But the moment I actually am involved with someone, you refuse to believe it? Make it make sense, please,” you scoff, already grabbing your laptop and standing up from your seating position. 

“It wasn’t me who said you were the one in the picture,” she says, eyes firmly kept on yours. “Taehyung said that, not me.” She rushes the words as if to try and keep you longer. For what reason? You have no idea. Probably to get some well-needed information.

“Oh? So what did you do to try and tell everyone the truth?” You ask, raising a brow even though you already know the answer. 

It's almost comical how quickly she throws her lover under the bus just to appease you and get some information. But what can you expect from people like them?

Yeji doesn’t say anything to that, and for the first time, her gaze leaves yours, even if it’s just for a split second until her eyes are back on yours. 

“Well, if it really is true, then just look out for yourself. I’m not saying he has an ulterior motive, but… he moved on pretty fast.” She has the guts to almost look offended when she says that. As if him moving on is what went wrong between them. 

“Thank you for trying to look out for me, but I’ll be fine,” you sarcastically say although you feel as if it didn’t quite reach her as such. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not trying to be a bitch, ___. I’m here because I felt sorry about what happened and wanted to make sure there’s no bad blood between us. I’m not a bad person. I’m really not. I’m sure there are lots of people who wouldn’t agree with me and you’re probably one of them, but just know that I do feel bad about what went down. I would have liked things to happen differently, but… honestly, I can’t change the past. I just hope we can move on from this someday.” 

You glance up at Yeji with your mouth agape, trying to suppress a genuine laugh. That must have been the most half-hearted apology you've ever received, and the bored look on her face almost does the rest.

Fortunately for her, you learned a long time ago to see the humor in almost everything, so you don't even hold it against her. Rolling your lips inwardly, you nod your head, making her sigh out in what you interpret as relief. 

It's not like you're going to forgive her for what she did, nor will you forget about it. But you don’t see the sense in starting an argument either, and if you’re honest, all you want is for this awkward encounter to end as soon as possible. 

To your luck, Yeji leaves soon after, obviously not very keen on talking to you either. And to your amusement, she’s quickly replaced by Jimin, who suddenly pops up next to you, panting heavily as he looks in the direction Yeji just left in. 

“Wow, did you run here?”

“What did she want?” He asks, deciding to ignore your question while still glaring at the table where his ex-girlfriend went to. 

“Who, Yeji? I’m not too sure. It was an experience I could have gladly missed out on,” you shrug, not really wanting to go into detail since you have no idea what that was either. “But you can relax, she was asking about us, so maybe your plan is finally bearing fruit, and she’s starting to get jealous.” 

Jimin groans quietly, rolling his eyes before looking at you. “How many more times, ___. I’m not trying to win her back.” 

You’re just about to argue, when your phone starts beeping, signaling you got a new message. Briefly distracted from the actual topic, you take a look at who messaged you and curse under your breath as you hurriedly pack your things together. 

Jimin, who was originally just waiting for you to give him attention again, quickly starts to help you put your things in your bag, sensing that whoever just texted you must be more important to you now. 

“What’s up?”

“Ugh, it’s my mom. I completely forgot she was coming over today,” you hurriedly answer with a deep scowl while not even looking at him as you walk away with fast steps, knowing he’ll follow you anyway. 

“Are you not happy to see her?” 

“I am. It’s just that every time she comes over, she’s asking to meet ‘my friends’ and it usually ends with me making up some big ass lie that makes me feel awful as soon as she’s on her way back home.”

“So she doesn’t know about… you know?”

“My situation?” you ask, briefly looking at him before you turn your gaze forward again in fear you might run into something or someone. “Of course not. And I’m not planning on ever letting her know. She has enough on her plate. I don’t need her to worry about me. I’m an adult, after all. I’ll be alright.”

Jimin only nods, completely understanding your decision not to confide in her, even if it makes him uneasy to know that you probably never had anyone to confide in and talk to about your problems. He remembers too well how uncomfortable it was to tell his family about Yeji and Taehyung, especially when he saw how much it upset them out of concern for him, but it still helped him a lot to talk about it. Knowing that you didn't and couldn't do that for years really makes his insides churn for some reason. 

You should not have to go through something like this. Especially not alone.

“So, what are your plans for today then?” He would like to disagree and tell you that your mother would understand, but Jimin knows you well enough to know when to keep his mouth shut. Not to forget that it is none of his business anyway.

“I’ll just take her to the café near my apartment. We usually go there when she comes to visit me,” you explain, finally letting a small smile appear on your lips. “And then, I’ll just hope she doesn’t try to dig too deep today and accepts my lame excuse about my friends being busy one more time.”

An idea of how he can help you suddenly comes to Jimin's mind, but he decides to not let you in on it for now. Instead, he only accompanies you to your apartment door as usual and immediately disappears on your demand. 

And while you try to fix up your apartment as best you can until your mother finally arrives, Jimin is on his way to save your day.

You must look like an idiot. 

You really must look like an idiot right now with your mouth hanging wide open, your mother happily chattering about whatever the hell you were talking about before you caught sight of a familiar blond mop of hair, neatly gelled back.

Not that you did it on purpose, but the moment you thought you saw Jimin outside the window of the café where you're currently sitting with your mother, you completely blanked her out.

But despite the rain, there are so many people out and about today that the blond mop, which seemed to be familiar, has disappeared somewhere in the mass of people and can no longer be located by you.

With a frown, you shake your head in an attempt to direct your thoughts back to what is actually important. Jimin would tease you for weeks if he knew he had taken over your thoughts enough that you would confuse him with some rando on the streets. Without a doubt, making it sound like you cannot stop thinking about him or some shit like that.

As if. 

“—Lately we have hardly been in touch. I've almost forgotten what you look like, honey.” The condemning, yet partly joking tone in your mother's voice draws your attention back to her for a brief moment as you sigh. 

“I told you, mom. There’s just a lot going on these days. I hardly find the time to do anything.” 

“It’s fine,” she says, sending you a warm smile. “I just worry about you. Please don’t overwork yourself too much. You are too old now for me to remind you to eat regularly and healthily.”

Apathetic, you poke around in your cheesecake while you hum a response. “Been doing stuff with friends for the most part. We’re going out to eat a lot, don’t worry.” 

Technically that’s not a lie. Since you've been spending time with Jimin, you have been eating healthier and more balanced meals than ever before. And you would say that's probably one of the reasons you've kept up this charade for so long. 

The instant noodle days are not yet missed by you. 

And even if you don't like to admit it, lunch with Jimin and Hyunjin often involves a lot of laughter and fun. Sometimes there are a few other friends of Jimin's, often it's just the three of you, and lately, Jimin and you have managed to persuade even Nayeon to join your little group. 

In those moments it sometimes even feels like you really belong, and it almost makes you dread the doom day when your fake relationship with Jimin is over, and you're going to be back to being alone. 

Being alone never was that big of a deal for you. Yeah, it did get lonely at times, but with time you got used to it. Getting used to the company of others again, however, went a lot faster. It certainly won't be easy to master the art of being on your own again after all this time.

She literally beams all over her face at your words and it makes the guilt almost unbearable. “I’m glad to hear that! It’s such a shame your friends couldn’t make it.”

You swallow thickly, lowering your gaze back onto your half-eaten cheesecake. Your appetite is completely gone now. Literally, all this woman wants is for you to be happy and live a normal life, and you can’t even do that? A woman in her twenties, making up friends to tell her mother about. How fucking pathetic. 

“Nevertheless, I would be very happy if you would call or send a message at least once in a while. Let's say once a week, so I know that you are still alive,” your mom grins, making a smile crack on your lips as well. 

“Mom, please. It’s not like I never—”

“I’m afraid that might be my fault.” A voice suddenly cuts through yours, making your words stuck in your throat. Turning your head, you see Jimin standing in front of your table, kindly smiling down at your mother. “I just take up all of her time these days,” he chuckles, smiling brightly as his gaze drifts from your mother to you. “I tried to come as soon as possible. I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it sooner.”

You feel yourself shrink in your seat as you sense your mother’s eyes burn through your skull, but you’re unable to take your eyes off of him. You’re too stunned to say or do anything at the moment. What is he doing?!

He cleans up nicely, looking as smug and expensive as always, even if he undoubtedly walked through the rain to get here. In his left hand, he’s holding a big, bright-colored bouquet while his right hand is already shaking your mother’s. 

You see how their mouths move, and they talk to each other. Your mother laughs, Jimin grins, he hands her the flowers, she gestures with her arm while saying something to him, and the next moment you see him sit down next to you. You see all of this happening but don't really hear a word they're saying. 

You are much too busy to realize that this is really happening. Jimin is really here. 

His gaze travels over you in a way that makes you gulp and causes you to shiver involuntarily so you take a deep breath, finally getting out of your trance as you sense they’re both waiting for you to say something. 

No doubt you immediately recognize this excited glimmer in your mom's eyes and watch as she expectingly raises her eyebrows, wordlessly telling you to introduce him too. 

You clear your throat and slide a few centimeters further to the window to try and put some distance between you and Jimin because as usual he doesn't understand the concept of personal space.

Honestly, he might as well have sat on your lap…

“Uhm Mom, this is Jimin. My friend—”

“Boyfriend.” 

In a fraction of a second, you turn your head to him, not believing what he just said. He doesn’t react, doesn’t even look at you. Instead, he puts his arm around your shoulders and pushes you closer against him while rubbing your arm.

You clench your fists under the table, hoping that your mother doesn’t notice, and suck your bottom lip into your mouth before you turn your gaze to at her again to see her reaction.

It is no surprise that she almost bursts with joy from the unexpected news seeing how she inconspicuously has been trying to find out something about your love life for ages — without any success, of course. So it was probably to be expected that she would react like this.

“A boyfriend, ___? Why didn't I know about this?” 

She doesn’t sound disappointed in the slightest. If anything, she uses more of a teasing tone with you, making it even more awkward. 

“This has not been going on for long, mom. I just didn't get to tell you about it yet,” you lie, once again poking around in your cheesecake. “It’s not like it’s that important.”

Your mom gasps, frowning at you with a displeased, judgmental look in her eyes, and you know if you were alone with her right now, you would meet the slipper. “You little— How can you say that. Of course your boyfriend is important!”

You can hear Jimin snicker beside you, and you would love to shut him up, but you don't want to make it even worse with your mother.

The two of them happily engage in a conversation, completely ignoring your presence while your mother asks him question after question, wanting to know everything about him and seemingly being more than smitten with him already.

It’s understandable, really. You can’t blame her. Jimin really is charismatic. He answers every question with ease, not once stuttering or stumbling over his words like you found yourself doing while conversing with his family. 

He is friendly, polite, extremely handsome, and well-spoken, and it worries you how comfortable and familiar your mother already seems with him. The little shit even brought her flowers! 

This is exactly what you feared and what was the reason that you didn’t want her to find out about this. You know your mother and you know that she will not let this go which only means you have to lie to her again and again.

As if your conscience was not already burdened enough.

The moment your mother excuses herself and leaves to use the restroom, you finally crumble, ready to yell at him but before you can muster a word, he beats you to it.  

“This is going pretty well, don’t you think?” With a bright, content grin on his face, he leans back in his seat. 

The moment he lifts his arm and wraps it around your shoulders again, you snap. Grabbing his arm, you immediately push him off with force before you bark at him. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

Jimin is visibly surprised by your sudden outburst, and he takes a couple of moments before he clears his throat and runs his fingers through his hair, a slight frown now visible between his eyes. 

“I’m… having a nice little chat with your mother,” he states in a calm voice, obviously not seeing anything wrong with what he’s doing. “She’s nice. I think she likes me too,” he adds, raising his brows in question when your only response is a loud, annoyed groan before you lean your elbows on the table and slap your hands over your face.

“No no no no no…” you silently chant to yourself, your voice coming out muffled. “This is bad. This is so bad.”

“What is?“ Jimin asks, sounding unbothered as if to silently tell you that you're overreacting. 

You face him again, and for a split moment, you seriously consider smacking the back of his head. “My mom likes you, Jimin! She really likes you,” you sigh. 

“So?” He scoffs. “Of course she does. I’m amazing. I thought you’d be happy about that. I mean… isn’t that what normal people want? For their parents to like their boyfriend?”

“But that’s the thing, Jimin!” you groan, gaping at him with your eyes opened wide. “You are not my boyfriend. And when we ‘break up‘, she’ll be sad about that now,” you explain, annoyed that you even have to do that. “Even worse, she'll want me to pour my heart out to her or something!”

Jimin stays silent, pressing his lips together while he draws his eyebrows together in a slight frown. “Why do you always have to do that?”

“Do what?” 

“Worry about things, that haven’t even happened yet. You always do that. Why can’t you just enjoy things as they are from time to time?”

“What do you even mean? There isn’t anything to enjoy. This is an act, you remember? And it will end soon, and then—”

“See? You’re doing it again. You’re so uptight. Just let loose for once and live a little.”

“Excuse me?” you scoff, feeling offended.

“What? It’s true. I can offer you a jacket when you forgot yours and you’d be like ‘don’t do that Jimin, we aren’t actually dating’, or I could pay for food when we’re alone and you’d say ‘stop it Jimin, you’re not actually my boyfriend’, and now I can’t even be liked by your mom without you complaining about her being sad when we eventually break up. It’s annoying. Your mantra is making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Well, what else do you want me to say? I’m just trying to do the job and stay focused. Stay rational. As we both agreed from the start. I didn’t want my mom to find out about us. That was not part of the deal. Not to forget that it was not necessary for her to ever find out about this in the first place!” Even though you are already boiling with rage, you try to be as discreet as possible and not raise your voice. But it’s hard. It’s so hard right now. 

“I even told you that I did not want my mother to know about it. Several times,” you hiss, shaking your head in disbelief. 

“I know,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But I just wanted to help. You were complaining about her asking about your friends and stuff earlier, and I thought—”

“You thought just showing up here and pretending to be my boyfriend would magically make it better?” You scoff. “All you have achieved is that you have only made things worse. For you it seems to be the easiest thing in the world to lie to your family, you don't even bat an eye when you do it, but I'm not like that. This fucking sucks, Jimin.”

You cross your arms in front of your chest and stubbornly look out the window without exchanging another word with him. 

It may be childish behavior, but you don't feel like talking to him anymore. Fortunately, he seems to feel the same way, because he also doesn't say a word to you. And so it comes that you both keep silent until your mother comes back from the restroom and directly joyfully continues her previous conversation with Jimin in which he immediately engages without letting on anything.  

And even if your mother doesn’t seem to notice anything, you sure do. Because it is obvious that your words have not left him untouched. 

Hours passed, your Mom has left, and you’re seriously happy you somehow survived the day without any major problems occurring. She bought your little lie and was more than happy to spend the day with not just you, but Jimin as well and it’s eating at you.

It makes you shoot daggers from your eyes into the bathroom door behind which Jimin is just now, a shallow beam of light shooting out from under the door, the only recognizable sign that there is anyone else in the apartment besides you.

To be honest, you’re quite surprised he’s still here. Your mother left fairly late, seeing how she was too engrossed in getting to know your boyfriend and swooning over him. You internally cringe just thinking about it. 

It’s going to be so embarrassing having to explain to her why she won’t ever meet him again. Even if you were able to push it to the back of your mind for the past couple of hours for your Mom's sake, you’re still mad at Jimin for pulling that stunt out of the blue earlier. 

This boy just never stops complicating things for you, and you don’t get why he does the things that he does. 

“So, it’s just you and your mom?” Jimin asks, which is the first thing he does as soon as he comes out of the bathroom and joins you in the kitchen.

You nod, not turning your attention from washing the dishes. Jimin wordlessly grabs a towel to dry up and help you finish sooner. 

“My parents divorced when I was still very young. Haven’t really seen my Dad ever since, but we were never that close anyway, so it’s whatever. I always had a much stronger bond with my mother.”

Jimin hums, thinking for a moment before he speaks again. “Do you miss him sometimes?”

You shrug, taking a brief moment to answer, and Jimin studies the way your brows draw together while you seem deep in thought. He’s afraid he asked too much, scared of being too nosey, but to his relief, you shake your head soon after with your lips forming a small pout. 

“Can’t say that I do,” you say, once again looking at him for just a blink of an eye before turning back to work. “As I said, we were never that close. I barely have any memories of him doing... well, anything with me really. It was always my mom who did the most work which is also why they ended up getting a divorce. He was never much of a father figure anyway.”

“Sounds like you aren’t upset about it,” he wonders, a little surprised by your nonchalant tone. 

You laugh shortly, but to Jimin, it seems genuine, which confuses him even more. Shouldn’t you be hurt or angry? Last time he checked, most people didn’t like their fathers leaving them without a trace. 

“What do you want me to do? Cry about it? Should I curse and insult him?” You joke.

“No, but… don’t you care?”

“I was nine when they split, Jimin,” you explain in a calm, very collected voice with a face showing no trace of any foul emotion. “I had plenty of time to be angry about it when I was younger, but now? I think I can understand him. He wasn’t happy with his life, so he left. Stuff like that happens all the time, and there’s nothing we can do about it. My mom and I managed just fine on our own. Trust me, It’s easier to live your life without someone who doesn’t really want to be in it in the first place. I barely ever saw him after he left, but he made sure to support us financially and he still sends me a card every year on my birthday. Was he a good dad? Hell no, but he did what he could, I guess. Not everyone’s cut out to be a parent.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything after that for a long time. It makes you wonder if you said something wrong.

You didn’t. Jimin just doesn’t really know what to say. You clearly have made your peace with the situation so there isn’t really anything for him to say against it. 

“I guess it probably drew you and your mom even closer,” he suddenly speaks up again. “It’s obvious you guys share a tight bond.”

“We do, and I’m very happy it’s like that,” you smile, not really looking at him as you put away the cups and plates, Jimin has already dried. 

“I’m sorry I made you lie to her,” his voice suddenly appears behind you, sounding a lot smaller and quieter than it usually does. 

You turn around to face him, mustering the look on his face. “Yea, I’m not gonna lie, that really bugs me. Although I’ve kinda been lying to her for the past couple of years now when it comes to me and any social contacts so… I guess it’s not that big of a deal.”

Jimin knows you’re not happy with him right now. Not that you ever are, but this time he really feels bad about it, knowing how uncomfortable you must have felt the whole day. He knows how bad it feels to lie to your family about this kind of thing, but at least he made the decision himself. You didn’t have that luxury, and it’s his fault. It’s not that he meant for you to feel this way, he just didn’t think things through - again. 

“That wasn’t my intention. I honestly just wanted to help but ended up making it worse for you. I’m sorry. Didn’t really think about the consequences,” he apologizes, looking a little embarrassed.

You loudly exhale through your nose, jokingly rolling your eyes at him. “How about you stop trying to help or do things for me?” You suggest, grinning at him slightly. “’Cause honestly, you’re pretty shit at it.”

Jimin purses his lips while slightly nodding his head in agreement. “I might consider it. Can’t really disagree with you here.”

You snort out a laugh and smack him with the towel which makes him laugh as well while he tries to avoid getting hit a second time - without much success. 

“Why did you lie to me that time at my parents’?” Jimin asks, making your head shoot up as soon as he finishes, making it clear you immediately know what he’s talking about even without him having to go into detail. 

You gulp, lowering your head again because looking at him would add another layer of awkwardness right now, and you don’t need that. 

“Yes, I noticed. No, it was not hard to tell you were lying. Not at all,” he adds after a while of you not giving him an answer. 

“It’s not like it would have changed anything,” you scoff. “I was just drunk. Saying and doing things I didn’t mean. And so were you. It didn’t mean anything, so why talk about it?”

Jimin doesn’t instantly say anything to that but he’s watching you intently before shaking his head as he sends an arrogant smirk your way. “You sure about that? Because it didn’t really seem that way when you were—”

“Alright, we get it!“ You interrupt him, knowing exactly what he’s going to say. Turning your back on him, you ignore his mocking laughter. 

“No, but seriously, why are you always so keen on not crossing any boundaries? I understand that our situation is a bit… unusual, and it’s not like I’m asking you to have sex with me, but we can be friends. There is nothing to say against getting along well with each other.” 

Jimin halts for a moment to see if you’re going to contradict, but when he sees no reaction whatsoever on your face, he continues with a sigh. 

“I like teasing you because it’s fun, and you look like a puffer fish when you’re about to snap at me which is a bit cute— however, that doesn’t mean that I don’t like you or that you constantly have to be on edge with me. I’m really trying here. Why can’t I be friendly without you immediately going for my neck?”

Having your arms crossed over your chest, you roll your eyes when he finishes his little speech. “Want to send a little prayer, or are you done?” 

Jimin scoffs at your incapability of being serious, but you think you can see him trying to hide a little smile as he leans against your kitchen counter and sends a defeated look your way. 

“You’re a bit much sometimes, Jimin.” You tell him, being as honest as you can. “Ever since we got into this fake relationship thing, you've been around me constantly. And that can be pretty overwhelming at times.”

“Why? Are you scared you could catch feelings for me?” He smirks, wiggling his brows, obviously back in joking mode, whereas you gulp and shrug your shoulders as your eyes drift from him to the floor.

“Maybe.” It comes out in a small voice, but Jimin still hears you clearly, and it wipes the grin off his face almost instantly.

“Oh.”

“It’s not what you think, Park,” you quickly add, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “Please don’t get ahead of yourself,” you then scoff, rolling your eyes when his expression tells you he already did have the wrong idea. “At this point, even if I tried to deny it, I just have to accept that I obviously am very desperate, okay?” 

Jimin is frowning now, eyebrows knitted together as he inspects your face.

“Yesterday while shopping, a stranger held the door open for me, and I got flustered and giggled while thanking him. I giggled, Park! I got flustered because a stranger did not slam the door in my face! What is happening to me?”

Jimin doesn’t answer as he bursts into laughter, very visibly amused by your distress, whereas you start to pout, seeing how he doesn’t take you seriously at all. 

“I’m not joking,” you mutter, feeling your ears getting hot. Granted, it does sound pathetic and a little dramatic, you can admit that. But it doesn't change the fact that it is a true story after all. 

“In any case, it's important to me that we maintain a certain distance. When all this is over, we’ll just go back to being strangers anyway,” you shrug, getting back to work and putting some of the dishes back into the cupboards.

Jimin’s laughter has died down. Your words were pretty harsh and Jimin knows you didn't mean it sarcastically either. Even though your way of being straightforward and always honest with him is something he really admires and likes about you since it’s refreshing, it can be just as hurtful sometimes. 

He knows that you don't do it on purpose because you want to hurt him but because it's your way. It honestly took some getting used to on his part, but he thinks he can manage by now. 

And still, when you say stuff like that and then act as if nothing happened, it pisses him off. 

“You were wrong by the way,” his voice suddenly interrupts the silence you were about to enjoy, and you turn back around to face him again, not quite knowing what he means.

“I don’t enjoy lying to my family. And it’s not easy for me either.”

His voice is calm and collected, and his eyes do not stray from you which allows you to see the disenchantment in them again, just like you did earlier. You’re struck with a pang of guilt when you notice it, feeling bad about never being able to shut your damn mouth, especially in the heat of a moment.

You didn’t mean it like that when you accused him of that. It was just the frustration and anger getting the best of you, and you regretted your words as soon as they left your lips. There is no doubt that he loves and respects his family very much, and you should not have said something like that. Especially since you aren't any better. You have been lying to your mother for years, inventing friends and stories that don't exist only because you’re ashamed to tell her who you actually are.

“I know. I didn’t have the right to say that to you. Not in my position,” you scoff at your own stupidity and shake your head as you feel a headache coming up. 

“Well, you have every right to be mad at me. We did talk about our families before, and you told me more than once that you wouldn’t want her to find out, so yea… that’s completely on me again. I can see how that would make you mad.”

You purse your lips and muster him slightly. “See? This is literal proof that you are in fact, able to have clear thoughts so why don’t you ever decide to think before you act?” You then ask, smirking a little. 

After that, the atmosphere between you starts to be a little lighter again, and it is very much appreciated by both of you. 

Without any more words, he quickly helps you put away the rest of the washed dishes and then announces that he is slowly making his way home.

“Your mom is very nice by the way, and she cares about you a lot,” he says while putting his jacket on while on his way to your door. “She would understand. I’m about 99% sure she wouldn’t judge or blame you.”

You of course know what he’s digging at, but there is one thing you don’t quite understand. 

“Who said anything about her judging me?”

Jimin offers you a kind smile while his hand already goes for the knob on your front door to open it. 

“We’re not that different, you know, babygirl?” 

And with a last obnoxious wink, he walks out, wishing you a good night without actually turning around to look at you again. 

You keep standing there a little dumbfounded for a while, looking after him until he’s gone around a corner and you can’t see him anymore before you frown and scoff, closing your door. 

“We are very much different, Park Jimin.”

tagged: @ggukkieland | @ttaeby | @rkvi | @cuteipat | @pjiminslove | @mawwnsterr | @aamalaaa | @spideyxxboi | @lil-sracha | @katsbqbe | @bex-92br | @natalie-rdr | @canarystwin | @wespers-jaan | @bangtanxcoffee | @bri-mal | @so-kou | @lonleycoffee | @rjsmochii | @kiwiaroha | @chimchimmarie | @scoupshawt | @xmochiloverx | @kristinkristinuk | @thejiminshieffect | @yes-fangirl-things

#jimin au #jimin fake dating au #jimin enemies to lovers #jimin angst #park jimin #jimin smut #jimin fluff #jimin fanfic #bts jimin #jimin scenarios #jimin x reader #jimin imagine

[isalisewrites]

A ramble on writing every day in February

Another month has gone by now. I have written every day in January and every in February, which is 60 consecutive days in a row where I have written 700 words or more every day.

It's been a shitty February.

I had to have some mild surgery that put me under anesthesia for the first time. I reacted to it for weeks, but thankfully that's subsided. Unfortunately, the stress was too much and I had to drop two of my three college classes. I did this because it's highly likely that I'll have to have further surgery this year.

Somehow, I still managed to stick with my goal.

Your girl purposely woke up an hour earlier, at 4am, to reach her goal before the surgery. Neither surgery or a later ER visit could stop this determined bitch from writing. (Just the anesthesia reaction)

It has been an immovable requirement in my day, even when I'm rushing at 11:58pm to hurry and get 700 words down before Scrivener resets for the day at 12:00am. Even now, it's almost 9pm my time and I haven't written my 700 words for the day.

Rest assured, it will be done.

I did not reach the same height of success as I did last month. I didn't knock it out of the park, but I still did pretty damn good and I'm proud of the word count that I reached this month.

There's something invigorating about sticking to the goal of writing everyday. Even though it's been so much harder, even though some days my brain is mush from the physical issues I'm dealing with, I am so glad that I've kept going. It's been a VERY difficult month - both physically and mentally.

I'm so glad I haven't given up on this.

Everything else can fall around me, but writing is my anchor and my sanity. Again, I can say with perfect confidence that choosing to write every day no matter what has been the best thing that I could for my mental health.

You can see how there were so many days where hitting my bare minimum was all I could do - and that was good enough. The bare minimum is 700 words a day or 20,300 words for February. I reached 31,000 words.

Not bad at all.

I had not one, but TWO unruly chapters this month, where I had to split them into two because of how long they were getting. Arc Two had been 27 chapters in total, but it's now 29 chapters. Out of all the Arcs, I had not anticipated it would Arc Two that would get bigger. This tells me that my rough estimate for Arc Three, Four, and Five is probably very wrong.

But I managed to complete four more chapters. They're in my 'pre-edit' stage, which means they're unrefined and need a good comprehensive edit. Usually, when I go through my comprehensive edit, I add 1,000 to 2,000 words to the chapter. It's a vital part of my writing process and cannot be skipped.

This is how determined I am. This is how much I'm tracking everything. This graph here shows the magnitude of my commitment to this story.

There were more hard days than easy days this last month, unfortunately. So many days, it felt like my mind was swimming in molasses. But I still wrote, even if I didn't always like what had been written. It's good enough. Something is better than nothing. Living each day doing what is my soul's greatest joy and desire makes life bearable.

Until next month.

#mywriting #fanfic writer #fanfiction writer #writing #tomarry #hp #hp fanfic #harry potter #tom riddle #fanfiction #fanfic #2024 writing goal update #terrible but great #writer #2024 writing goals #isa's ramblings #isa's writing

[meownotgood]

any aki fics in your drafts ? :)

oh I have... too many... most of them are just small scraps I'll probably never truly finish, but the current draft I was working on (before bg3 brainworms possessed me) was my elf prince aki x witch reader fic...

it's about 10k words right now! definitely will resume working on it when I've finished a few more tidbits for bg3. I'm experimenting with making it my first true multi chapter fic (under the influence was more of a super long one shot just split up...)

basically aki is the prince of a well established kingdom and reader is a witch, magic has been outlawed so their relationship is forbidden... I'll share a small bit of it for you...

There's a man leant on the door, your door, clutching his side. His clothes are simple, pants and a tunic with long sleeves, nothing you'd place as out of the ordinary. Knights from the kingdom would be wearing armor covered in motifs of the royal family's crest, and even commoners would most likely be donning a necklace or a pin or something that'd identify them. You glance him up and down, and he seems to have none of that. 

Surrounding the hand he has pressed into his side, the off-white of his tunic is stained a dark red you can notice even with only the stars and moon to illuminate him. You feel an ache twist in your gut. His chest heaves as he struggles to breathe. His hair is dark and shoulder-length, tied in a half-up style, a small ponytail on the back of his head. Poking out from his hair is a pair of distinct pointed ears. They're decorated by an array of studs and hoops, with black, star shaped earrings hanging from his lobes. 

You watch his jaw tighten as he speaks, the bridge of his nose in a knot, "Please, I don't mean any harm, I was-" He winces, sucking in a breath through his teeth, "I was training in the woods, and suddenly became overwhelmed by devils- I won't be a bother, I only want to rest until the storm clears. And then, I'll be on my way. I swear it." 

Devils? 

Wait. Your gaze flickers to his expression, pinched slightly as he tries to hide his discomfort. Then, to his side, his hand pressed to an obvious wound, blood staining his fingertips and speckling the sleeve of his shirt. This is your fault. 

When you head into the woods to forage, you cast your distraction spell on the opposite side to lure demons over to it, giving you temporary safety. Sometimes there are stragglers, but most of the demons will head towards the area, drawn by the rune without their control. 

This man sounds like he's telling the truth, and he's clearly injured. If he came here alone to train, he must've been expecting a fight he could win. But you sent every single demon in the area to one location; a risky spell, but effective as long as you know where it's been cast. He didn't. 

Even after the spell had been dispersed, even once the rain came down and the demons ran to hide in their holes, there would still be a ton of them, all in one place. Hell, as far as you're concerned, he's lucky to be standing. He could have suffered a whole lot worse than just a single injury. 

But what if there's more wounds you can't see? 

You take a step away from the door. The rain continues to drum overhead, and you hear the man briefly stumble, mumbling a swear to himself through gritted teeth. Your heart is pounding, and you don't know what to do. 

You shouldn't let him in. You shouldn't help him, shouldn't heal him, you should pretend no-one's home and leave him be without meddling. You know that, and yet you can't help but tell yourself you need to help him, you can't shake this feeling that you're the only one who can. 

There isn't anyone else out here, not for miles. He won't make it out in this storm, and if he leaves the protection of the cottage he'll surely be attacked again. From what you can see, he doesn't even have a weapon on him, and even if he tries to run you doubt he'd make it far. 

It's been a while since you've last met or spoken to someone, you haven't since those knights a long while ago. You hear a faint knock at the door once more, and your lips part, although you aren't sure what to say. Ultimately, you're silent, but you shuffle over to the kitchen in a hurry, stumbling through cabinets to search for what medicine you have left. 

Although you shouldn't, you can't help but care about him, even if you hardly know him. You can't let him in, that much is true. He walked over the mushroom circle with no problem, so you're assuming he can't detect spells. Regardless though, your cottage is covered in magical items, in spellbooks that were supposed to be burned with the rest of them. And you aren't the best at keeping your cool, if you say one wrong thing and he somehow discovers you're a mage, his injuries will be the least of your concerns. 

You'll give him some standard medicine, nothing infused with magic, just some herbs and some ointment for his wound. Then, you'll tell him you can't accept visitors, and he must be on his way. That's the most you can do for him. 

You gather the herbs, the ointment, and some bandages, placing them all in a small, spare pouch you found on the counter. You walk over to the door, hands shaking as you attempt to gather the courage to open it. You'll be fine, he won't know a thing, you'll be just fine. 

"Okay," The man's smooth voice starts from behind the door, he sounds slightly out of breath, "I don't think anyone is home, so I'm… I'm going to try to come in now. I'm not robbing you, just need to get the hell out of this rain- Please, don't kill me." 

Shit. 

The door unlocks in a hurry then, you fling it open and the man sways forward, almost tripping once what he was leaning on disappears. He's rather tall, even taller when he stands up straight. Deep blue eyes meet yours and you must be making a face, because he's quickly making amends. 

"Thank the Gods. It's okay," He says, he gives you a reassuring look, but his skin is pale and he seems lightheaded, "It isn't as bad as it looks, I'll be… fine, I'm…" 

With one more stumble, his eyelids flutter, his knees buckle and he falls into you, giving you just enough time to catch him. You squeak in surprise, he's already limp in your arms and you're barely able to hold up his weight. Rain pelts the ground, and in between the rhythmic drone, tiny droplets of blood slowly splatter against the floor of your cabin with a plip, plip. 

Damn. And you were hoping to eat your stew while it was still hot. 

also including this small part even tho it doesn't have anything to do with anything because... aki's cute when he's introducing himself...

"I should introduce myself, shouldn't I?" He starts, a hand extended out for you to shake, "You can call me Aki, I'm glad to be acquainted." 

You'll allow him to stay, just long enough so he can recover, and then he'll have to be on his way. He can't discover you're a mage. A witch, as the kingdom would call it. If even a hint of suspicion arises, you have a potion that erases memory in case of emergencies — Once infused with a hint of your magic, he'll forget everything about you, up to the moment you'd met. 

You won't give him the chance to be suspicious in the first place. 

"Nice to meet you." 

You don't take his hand. Instead, you give him a once over, and then you stride over to the fireplace, tossing in another log from the pile. 

Aki lowers his hand slowly, placing it in his lap. "Could I know your name as well? I'd like to know who I should be thanking for saving my life." 

"I'm going to bed," You head towards your bedroom, and you take one last look at him over your shoulder as your hand closes around the doorknob, "I'll be waking up early tomorrow to gather herbs for your medicine, I'll try not to wake you when I do. I suggest you get some rest, you won't regain your strength without it." 

"Goodnight," Aki murmurs, before you can close your bedroom door behind you. "Sleep well." 

#the fic is veryyyy self indulgent #and I haven't quite decided yet if I want to include any smut #either way anything spicy isn't the focal point #it's very much slow burny romance #in a fun fantasy setting lol #but isn't my writing always extremely self indulgent.... #by the way I haven't edited this small section much #but feel free to let me know what you think..... #ask mags