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ruby-serpentis · 2 years

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horror au! kylar - head canons

pairing: male! kylar x gender neutral! reader

warning(s): death, blood, violence, vampires, yandere behavior (kylar is based on the yandere trope), manipulation, kidnapping, drugging, knives, stockholm syndrome, nonconsensual cuddling, stalking, fertility references, mentions of pregnancy

forgive me father for i have sinned!

i know kylar in particular would easily fit into the slasher subgenre of horror. but i saw the trailer for the invitation (haven’t seen it, yet) and it gave me an idea for certain characters (kylar, eden, briar, avery). eventually i went with kylar because of his in game behavior, some lines he said, and most definitely his parents. might make a slasher au! set of head canons for kylar since i already featured him in my robin set.

the trailer for the invitation uses the term bride and i thought about using bride as well (and as a gender neutral term). but instead, we’re going with celebrant for reader (it sounds better than marrier imo).

your cousin is whoever you want them to be, honestly.

the fertility references are here regardless of gender. i’m following a similar logic to the game where pc can get pregnant regardless of reproductive organs. i guess i imagine the vampires to be like plantpeople.

i also gave kylar a more definitive appearance in these head canons. a lot of artistic renderings give kylar dark hair. green eyes is also a common fan interpretation which is something i use here.

please note that i do not condone any of this behavior in real life. this is merely a work on fiction based on another work of fiction.

INTRODUCING...THE GROOM OF THE SEASON!

you were an orphan. that was no surprise. you didn’t know your parents, didn’t know if you had grandparents or any sort of family. why would you when bailey kept your birth records locked up tightly?

it wasn’t until you took a dna test did you realize you had family. some sort of second cousin. you weren’t too bothered by the specifics. all that mattered to you was that you had family.

you weren’t alone!

you had the courage to message said cousin over social media after finding them and they responded back! very quickly actually. so you of course asked to meet them in person to which they reciprocated, saying they would fly out to you. how wonderful was that?

your cousin was a delight to interact with and have. you were utterly charmed by this side of your family that you never knew. apparently it was your mother’s side?

“mmm, there’s a wedding happening this winter. i was wondering if you wanted to come? out to the countryside and all. the celebrants are quite charming.” your cousin spoke with such a distinguished voice and accent. definitely old money vibes.

“oh well, i would have to see if i’m available-”

“oh please dear cousin! everyone in the family is dying to meet you. we hadn’t seen your mother for years and didn’t even know she had a child. it would mean a lot for us.” they had such a charming smile.

you smile. “okay sure.” you pulled out your planner from your bag. “tell me all the details and information.”

“great!”

your cousin offered to come get you when the time rolled around so all you had to do was pack up and get in the car.

you should’ve packed more stuff honestly.

everyone at the estate was nice. you were right. your family was old money rich. antiques of all kinds, clothes of an absurdly wealthy price that not even the richest celebrities had. it was all so new and you felt slightly out of place with your clothes. even your formal clothes seemed cheap in comparison to everyone else.

“oh cousin (y/n). there’s someone i would like to introduce you to.” your cousin smiles and brings you over.

the person is around your age. his formal attire looks a little...messy with some creases on his sleeves and pants. his hair is also a little messy and beneath the veneer of his dark hair were striking green eyes. he was also kind of small. but maybe it was because he was slouching a lot.

“this is a good family friend of ours: kylar.”

“hi kylar.” you smile.

“h-hi.” his voice is low and you’re still able to hear it. but he seems awkward. it definitely stands out in the midst of all these people. poised, elegant with neutral voices that don’t stumble when pronouncing words. it unnerved you a little bit. there was something a little unnerving about the party.

“kylar is actually the groom for the wedding!” your cousin said.

“oh wow. congratulations on getting married!” you don’t realize that he’s blushing.

“th-thank you. it’s a very special occasion.”

“well if you’re the groom then where is the celebrant?” you ask.

“oh they haven’t arrived yet.” your cousin says. but their voice sounds...strained. as if what they were saying wasn’t true.

you brushed it off as your cousin probably being tired from the drive. it was a long drive after all.

“well i greatly look forward to the wedding festivities!” you were someone who enjoyed weddings. you found them quite special.

after the last few days, you regret saying that.

getting settled in was easy. however, soon after you noticed that some of your stuff had gone missing. some clothes (particularly your underwear), some of your makeup, and even your journal.

your cousin was kind enough to provide anything you needed that went missing. but you didn’t know why. it was just...gone.

and all of these people were too rich to steal from you. was there a ghost? a demon? maybe they were obsessed with you? you could only laugh at the thought. it was absurd! “monsters aren’t real.”

some of the nights in the countryside were cold. it was winter after all and you’d curl up under the blanket, trying to maintain your warmth. but you would feel a sudden warmth embrace you and you relaxed into it, sleeping peacefully.

you didn’t hear the heavy breathing or even feel the way the arms held you close, cuddling you and providing you with some much needed warmth.

then the grand rehearsal dinner came about.

you were provided an outfit by your cousin, who insisted on you wearing it. you would like to not be stared at like before so you wore it without any protest. it was odd how it fit you perfectly but you didn’t pay much mind.

finding your spot at the table was...hard. because it just seemed like they forgot to put you down. except... “you’re right here dear cousin.” your cousin gestured to the seat. and there it was, your name.

but you were sitting next to kylar. who was the groom. wouldn’t this be the seat of the celebrant?

“worry not. the celebrant will be here soon.”

you take your seat just as kylar comes in. his suit looks a lot more neat than when you first met him and his hair is less messy and rough. he sits next to you, looking slightly nervous and fiddling with his fingers.

“excited about getting married?” you ask.

his eyes light up as he looks at you. “very.” he smiles. it’s a cute smile actually. he’s kind of cute now that you can see him more and that he looks more put together.

“let the festivities begin!” your cousin exclaims.

the doors open and people walk in. you notice that they’re not wearing anything besides their underwear. they seem content with the exhibition. what a strange way to celebrate-

you almost screamed watching a guest pull out a dagger and slit one of the person’s throat. something inside your gut told you not to scream, not to let it out. you would get in a lot of trouble if you did. +++ Trauma

the blood flowed and gushed so...so...bloodily? your mind couldn’t process it. the way the people collected blood into the bowl, scooping it in their chalices. some of the guests even went for biting a few people directly. and they were content.

kylar takes a glass that your cousin offers him and inhales the scent of the blood. his mouth waters and his lips part slightly. you noticed fangs, white as pearls. ++ Stress

oh god! oh fuck! is this a wedding for VAMPIRES!

your cousin turns to look at you and raises their glass. “to the groom and his future spouse!”

“to the groom and his future spouse!” everyone repeats.

kylar smiles, raising his glass and taking a long, long sip.

you felt sick to your stomach and your heart was about to burst out of your chest. you swore you were going to collapse in your seat, right then and there.

“my beloved.” kylar speaks, taking your hand. his grip is strong, almost like iron. and he wasn’t putting any pressure on it either. “we’ll finally be able to get married.”

“what? no!” you exclaim. it came out before you could stop it. “i...i’m just a guest. i’m not-”

“but you are!” your cousin chimes. “the celebrant for the marriage, a union between our two families! i mean, auntie’s child was promised to kylar!” they laugh and everyone laughs with them.

“th-this was a mistake-” you wince feeling kylar’s grip tighten on you.

“my beloved loves to joke! don’t they?” he laughs, pulling you close. he buries his nose into the crook of your neck and takes a deep breath. “they smell divine~”

“to be expected. i mean, (y/n)’s father was quite the human!” your cousin exclaimed. “alas, no fangs. no claws. it seems the vampire in dhampir just didn’t manifest.”

“ex-excuse me?” you ask, your voice shaking. “dhampir? as in...half human, half vampire?”

“why of course! we are a family of well respected vampires. auntie was supposed to marry kylar’s father. and yet, she ran away. with that human man no less.” your cousin scoffed. “he was literally a mere human servant. i mean, they got offered the gift of vampirism. at least he was offered said gift. and he could have lived forever if he didn’t run away with auntie.” your cousins shakes their head. “didn’t you ever wonder about your body? how you felt less pain? healed faster than most kids? could lift things a normal human wouldn’t be able to?”

now that your cousin pointed that out, there were plenty of times where that was the case. like when you broke your arm. healed within a week. or when you shielded robin from an incoming car. you both weren’t hurt and instead, your body had caused the car to bend into a c. you chalked it up to pure dumb luck.

your cousin continues. “and of course, then you were born. kept hidden, secret. given to an orphanage when you were a baby.”

“gi-given? what do you mean given!” your body begins to shake. everything you knew, your reality, was beginning to turn upside down.

“your mother knew we’d track you down, and her, and her manthing. and we’d have drag you back here. she didn’t agree with our lifestyle apparently. clearly didn’t want you raised here.” your cousin rolls their eyes. “i mean, it would have been so much better here than in that dusty orphanage that bailey runs. a menace to society, if you ask me.”

“and of course, they were killed. father in a car accident. auntie pushed onto a stake.” your cousin shrugs. “i mean, they did their job. kept you hidden very well. but just our luck when you reach out! and that dna test? what a coincidence! and you’re even the spitting image of your mother. same hair, eyes, skin. even the same nose and beauty marks! and it was an opportunity to make things right. kylar was promised a spouse as a way to make up for auntie’s mistakes. what better to offer than you, dear cousin?”

you wanted out of here. you didn’t want to be here! what the fuck was this even?!

“i have been waiting so long my beloved.” kylar’s voice is low and it almost sounds like a moan. his tongue glides across the skin of your neck. you shiver.

“i need to use the bathroom!” you exclaim. “like...really badly?”

“let me take you beloved.” kylar tugs on your arm as he stands. “we best spend quality time together-”

“i would prefer to...go alone? i...” you lower your voice. “i get shy.”

kylar nods. he snaps his fingers and a woman appears. she’s wearing a maid’s dress. “deidre, accompany my beloved to the restroom. make sure they don’t run away. we wouldn’t want a repeat from years ago.”

the journey was silent as you were guided to the nearest bathroom. you made sure to lock the door behind you before panic fully set in your body.

your mind was racing at a thousand kilometers per second, trying to wrap your head around all this new information. and the fact that you were the celebrant. you were supposed to be kylar’s spouse!

you weren’t supposed to be here! you just wanted to know if you had any relatives, if you weren’t the only one. if you weren’t alone.

but curiosity kills the cat, doesn’t it?

think, think, think!

you notice a vase out of the corner of your eye and get an idea.

“de-deidre?” you ask.

“yes, my liege?” she answers as you open the door.

“i...i think the toilet’s broken.”

“oh my.” she sighs. “we just fixed it too. but vampires!” you let her in and she walks over to the toilet. “sometimes they regurgitate if they eat too much. and of course, the blood ends up congealing or freezing and then then the toilets have to be fixed-”

you were quick to grab the vase and smash it over her head, causing her to scream. with deidre distracted, you took the chance to run (making sure to close the door behind you. it would do nothing but it did give you some time to spare).

all you heard was the pounding of your heart against your chest and the sound of your shoes hitting the floor. you wouldn’t stop. you couldn’t stop!

“my liege, are you alright?” a man asks. you almost run into him.

“i-i’m fine. really. i just need some rest.” you smile.

“after all that running? i’m most certain.” he smiles back but it doesn’t reach his cheeks and his eyes are dark. “come now. let’s go back.”

“i’m fine. really i am.”

“i insist.”

“fuck this!” you shoved him into a table, watching him crash and break it. sometimes, your strength surprised you.

you grabbed a piece of the table and ripped off the leg before hitting him in the head. a ridiculous weapon but you needed something, right?

you ran away from the scene as a woman emerged from the other side of the hallway. all you could hear in the background was screaming, most likely to alert the party and your darling cousins.

you didn’t want to think what could possibly happen to you if they caught you.

besides, marriage wasn’t for you. you were satisfied with not being married. fuck marriage.

somehow, you managed to find your way out. your clothes were all disheveled and there was tears from the few people you did run into. but your trusty table leg did the job on them quickly. thankfully, they were humans and not vampires. you’d probably be caught by now.

you swung hard at the valet, knocking them out and grabbed the first set of keys hanging off of a hook. pressing the unlock button, you located the car and got inside, making sure to lock the door right after you got in.

buckling yourself in was a not a priority, not when you saw kylar emerge from the doors of the mansion. he looked angry and you didn’t want to stay around and find out.

you floored it. you’ve seen one too many horror movies where the protagonists got caught because they didn’t floor the car and looked back. you didn’t care if you’d run anyone over. it didn’t matter, not when your life was on the line.

it was nighttime, dark. but as you reached for your phone, you realized that you had left your phone back in the room of the mansion. and your belongings. “fuck! fuck fuck fuck!” you screamed, hitting the wheel.

your only choice would be to keep driving.

but as the minutes went by, your body felt fatigued and you felt your eyes begin to close and your consciousness drift off. you had to shake it off. you needed to find somewhere to stay. or at least find someone with a phone so you can at least look up where the nearest motel was.

you came across a quaint little building by the side of the road. it looked like an inn and from the car, you could smell food. fresh food. your stomach growled immediately in response.

you parked the car and locked it, keeping the keys with you as you walked inside. a girl with red hair turned around when you walked in. “hi! how may i-”

“i need a room. one person.” you say.

she looks at you from head to toe. “all fancy. must’ve come from those posh people. you look hungry too. would you like something to eat?”

“oh no thanks i-” your stomach growled. very. loudly.

embarrassing.

“i can whip up something quick. you can go sit in the dining room.”

it’s empty, for the most part. and you sit down.

“tea or coffee?” she asks.

“um, tea please.”

“coming right up!” you glance at her name tag, which reads alex.

you don’t wait for that long since alex whipped up some roasted vegetables and some eggs and she sets down your tea.

you immediate scarf down the food and the tea. the piping hot water didn’t burn you as you chugged it down. your body was all warm by the time you were done.

“taste good?” alex asks.

“yes tasted...very...good...” you rubbed your eyes. your vision was blurry and your body felt heavy. you felt yourself lean out of your chair and hit the floor.

before your vision went black, you saw alex approach a landline and dial a number. what you heard made your heart sink.

“i got ‘em.”

it took a while for you to come to consciousness. and you tried to move your body only to realize you were tied up. you try to speak as well only to realize you are gagged.

“my beloved is awake! they have awoken!” a voice exclaims.

kylar suddenly hugs you, tightly, almost squeezing the air out of you. you can’t say anything, tell him to let you go.

your eyes flicker around, looking for a way to escape. except what you see is...mortifying.

drawings. tons and tons of drawings, complete with photo references, were littered across the walls. and all of you. you also noticed some clothing that was yours, your underwear (favorite pair no less), some of your makeup on his desk. it had been kylar stealing your stuff!

and some of the photos were taken at your apartment. you undressing. you sleeping in your bed. you cooking.

“oh, d-do you like them?” kylar pulls away. “the drawings. the pictures. i-i knew you were out there. so i went looking. and i f-found you. but i didn’t tell them. i-i wanted you all to myself for a little bit.”

your breathing is heavy and shaking, your body trembling with anger. and even a little bit of fear.

“i can hear your thoughts.” he smiles. “hear every single one.”

“i didn’t have to do anything.” he hums. “yo-you brought yourself here. right into my arms. you wanted to be with me!”

you say something incomprehensible, at least to him. it’s muffled. but it sounds angry.

“we-we’re going to be married! how exciting!” kylar puts the nail of his thumb between his teeth. he puts enough pressure to bite but not break the nail. “you’ll be my spouse. a-and afterwards, we can turn you. completely!”

your eyes widen.

“i-it’s possible.” he chuckles. “and easy! so easy. it’d just have to be done the old fashioned way, wh-where you become mine! my fledgling!”

“and after that, we-we’ll have children. tons of children!”

you shook your head frantically, your stomach dropping. you couldn’t get pregnant.

“don’t worry about the l-logistics. i’ll impregnate you. procreation for vampires is so easy.”

you said something again. muffled. but kylar’s face fell and you saw his eyes go dark.

“i-i wonder what robin tastes like.”

you freeze.

“i wonder what he looks like with the life drained from his eyes.” kylar giggles. “will he taste good? i think he’d make an excellent wedding cake! i can do it. don’t believe me?”

you shook your head.

“good, good.” he smiles. “y-you’ll be a good spouse, right? and if you do, then robin won’t die.”

you were utterly paralyzed.

all you did was dissociate from the whole thing. you didn’t want to be here. but here you were, dressed in white, in front of your cousin who was ordaining the wedding.

“you look so stunning in white.” kylar had whispered in your ear earlier.

you were mistaken to look for family, blood family. robin was your family. he had been all these years. and look at where trying to find your blood family had gotten you.

you snapped back into reality as your cousin read the words from the book in their hand.

kylar had already said “i do.”

and now it was your turn.

+++++ Trauma

+++++ Stress

----- Control

“do you, (y/n), take kylar to be your husband? and do you promise to love him for the rest of your immortal lives? in sickness and in health? for rich or for poor?”

you swallow the ball in your throat and muster up the courage to speak.

“i do.”

#degrees of lewdity #dol #dol kylar #kylar the loner #ruby's horror au #horror au #kylar x reader #x reader #female reader #male reader #gender neutral reader

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hexagonalhavoc · 4 months

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In Remembrance

Reggie x Reader

[Author’s Note: So I heard the song Copacabana by Barry Manilow and now I have to write this. This is the first songfic I’ve ever wrote and I had fun writing it! Also I promise I’m going to get to my inbox 😅

⚠️ Mentions of injury, death, guns, and mentions of traumatic experiences, this is pretty angsty overall]

Sometimes Lazarus preferred to be in the heat of battle. It was filled with fear and uncertainty but at least he had an objective.

When he wasn’t on missions raiding alien bases he was at home base, a giant spaceship that cruised by the galaxy with leisure. There were utilities and individual rooms but it didn’t make him feel comfortable. Going from a fantasy setting to a sci-fi setting wasn’t easy to get used to.

Lazarus wasn’t quite sure what to do with his time at home base. Socializing didn’t come to him naturally and most of the people here annoyed him. Moji Jr. had invited him to hang out in the gun range but working with him on missions is exhausting enough.

So he navigates through the hallways and goes to the only room he feels at ease. He knocks once and then his hands fold together in a manner of courtesy.

You open the door and once you see who’s on the other side the annoyance melts off your face. Despite being an outcast among the other space marines, Lazarus had made a friend with the commander of essentially everyone on the ship: You.

“Something bothering you, Laz?” You move back from the doorway and allow him to enter your private quarters. It’s a lot more spacious and decorated than the simple room he was given but it makes sense. He was a pawn on the chessboard and you were the strongest piece. Even with a lavish leather couch at your disposal you sit on the floor and Lazarus sits across from you to give you some distance out of respect.

“I guess not, I was just wondering if I could trouble you with my company.” Even if you’re a lot nicer to him than you are with other people he’s still respectful towards you.

You took it upon yourself to train and guide the new “recruits” and even if you were harsh at times you looked after everyone’s physical and emotional wellbeing. It was easy to be selfish and let every person fend for themselves but you maintained order in this digital hell and tried to make it easier for all the characters that were banished here. Your kindness hidden behind a cold expression had been what earned his respect.

You shrugged your shoulders, silently letting him know you didn’t mind his presence.

It was strange to see you without your space marine armor. With your helmet removed he was able to see the wear on your face caused from age and years of battle. There’s a few scars littered on your body from alien raids and missions of those sorts but there’s also a tattoo that no one would be able to see because of your bulky armor.

“Who’s Reginald?” Lazarus doesn’t mean to blurt it out and he immediately feels like a fool. He sees how the expression on your face changes and he speaks quick to correct himself.

“I’m sorry- that wasn’t appropriate, I-“

You put your hand up to silence him and then shake your head. “You don’t have to be so formal with me.” You tilt your head back against the structure of the couch behind you, your hands pick at the carpet you’re settled on.

“Just someone from my original game.” The melancholy is evident in your voice. It’s something Lazarus can understand. Chandrelle could be irritating at times, she was the whole reason he was here but he still missed her. He couldn’t help but wonder how she was holding up, hopefully having Vallamir in her conscience wasn’t as bad as it sounded.

He looks back at you and takes a moment to process your words. To the rest of the space marines, you were essentially a legend shrouded in mystery. He had always assumed that you were made in this game but apparently that wasn’t the case.

“Was it easy to adjust?” You made it look easy with how you could effortlessly man a gun with one hand while carrying an injured teammate over your shoulder. You could hack through security doors with aliens firing at you without losing concentration.

You chuckle and shake your head. “Hell no it wasn’t. I was a singer in a bar in an inn before all of this.” You move your head back to its original position as you hug your knees to your chest, it’s easy to tell how you’re feeling by the reminiscent look in your eyes. “But that was a long time ago.”

Back then you were younger, skin free of any sort of imperfection. You knew that other games existed beyond your own but you didn’t have the ability to comprehend how bad it was out there. You had been sheltered in the confines of the cozy little inn with no cares in the world. You thought that you’d spend your days singing on stage, helping Jeremiah clean around the place, and shyly flirting with the love of your life behind the counter.

The harshness of reality fell upon you on the day where the doors were flung open, threatening to be ripped off the hinges. You can hardly remember the details. You wonder if your mind purposely blocked them out the sight of Reginald mangled on the floor. Even if you couldn’t remember what he looked like in that instance you remember the sounds of bone crunching and wood splintering. You remembered the way your hands shook and despite feeling heavy on your feet, you grabbed an empty glass mug and slammed it against the blue man’s face.

You surprised yourself that day. You never thought that you would be capable of doing anything like that. That newfound confidence disappeared when the man you now know as Irving put a hand on his bloodied face in shock. He reeled his fist back as if he was about to send you to the ground like he did with Reggie but at the very last minute a wicked grin spread on his face.

“I have a better use for you and that temper.”

With a painful grip on your wrist you were dragged away from the only home you knew. Jeremiah grasped the broom tightly as if it would protect him from the wrath of Irving. He was just as shaken up as you were, maybe even guilty that the only thing he could do was stand there and watch.

As you’re dragged closer to the door you see Reggie’s hands tighten around the wooden floorboards. He manages to pull his upper half up from the shallow pool of his own blood and despite your situation you’re filled with relief. He’s alive.

As much as you want to run to him, holding him tight and promise everything will be okay you know you can’t. The only thing you can muster is a shaky smile as you try to silently reassure him. This time your smile isn’t enough to comfort him.

You weren’t the young filly you used to be. The light in your eyes would never be as bright. You remember the first time you held the heavy gun in your hands on your first mission, you thought you were going to suffocate in your own armor.

You were the first character to be jailed in Vicious Galaxy. In a morbid way, you were its play tester to make sure it was at least habitable for its future prisoners. For so long you were alone in that game.

You remember those times that you would put on the outfit that you used to wear when you resided at the inn after your missions. You would hum the love songs you used to sing for Reginald as you looked at him from across the room as he served customers.

You wondered what he would think of you now. Would he love the person you were now? The one who didn’t smile or blush, the one who was constantly tired, the one who could hold a gun and pull the trigger with ease. It wasn’t as easy to be hopeful now but you hoped that he was alive and that he was living as happily as he could. And yet, you grieved for him as if he was dead. Sometimes it felt like he was as you lost hope that you would ever see him again.

Despite that hopelessness you never lost the love you had for him. He would always hold a space in your heart and your memories. It’s why his name was inked into your upper arm. It reminded you that even in this cruel place, you still had love.

“Are you okay?” Lazarus’s concerned tone brings you out of your thoughts.

You smile apologetically at him. “Sorry, I got a little caught up in my thoughts.”

He shakes his head, the sympathy evidence on his features. “Don’t worry about it…I’m sorry, it seems like you’ve been through so much.”

You nod. You wanted to open up to him, to find the words for everything you were feeling but you kept your emotional distance from your friend. You knew you could trust him but it didn’t feel right to burden him with all of your feelings, especially when you were his commander.

The only person you would let into your heart was Reginald and if you were never going to see him again then you would keep your heart locked up forever.

Your face hardens again but it doesn’t fool the man in front of you who’s already seen a glimpse of the grief you hide from others.

“I think you should rest. We got a big mission tomorrow.” Lazarus knows your words are just an excuse but he still nods and stands up.

“Right. Rest well.”

“You too.”

And when the door closes you’re completely alone. On one hand it’s welcoming but it’s also painful.

“And while she tried to be a star,

He always worked the bar,

Across the crowded floor,

They worked from eight till four,

They were young and had each other,

Who could ask for more?”

You were surprised to find out you still had the musical talent that you possessed decades ago. And yet the melody didn’t sound the same when you sang it this time. It was one of Reginald’s favorite song and despite singing it a hundred times, you never realized how sad it really was until now. You couldn’t bring yourself to continue the song as you sat there in silence.

#The hex #the hex game #the hex game x reader #The hex Reggie x reader #Nothing feels better than putting your soul into writing for a very small fandom #I know very few people will see it but I’m proud of what I have written!#Sorry for boasting 😅

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the-heaminator · 2 years

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Ivan, Arthur, and ludwig have gay panic, Alfred sleeps.

1762 words, part of this fic

With a chuckle so awkward it physically pained Ludwig to hear, Arthur "Raised half the world and fucked more of it" Kirkland was awkward around him, of all people.

Something about the world's greatest hoe (Copyright France) being so awkward because he was sleeping with another man was incredibly funny to Ludwig, though he shouldn't be laughing, nor complaining, he could have gotten stuck with somebody much worse, for example, France.

While Ludwig contemplated by the door, hanging there awkwardly, Arthur rushed forward and placed his stuff down on what was apparently his side of the room.

Ah, so he picked the left side, the one by the window which left Ludwig with the right side of the room, closer to the bathroom. Some treacherous part of him thought, privately, that maybe they wouldn't have to be on separate sides of the bed...

Pls stop being like this brain

Why

BecauseI'm your brain dumbass I am you.

Right.

"Are you going to stand there like a lemon, or get a move on?"

Snapping Ludwig out of his mental argument against himself, he realised that he was still standing in the doorway, most likely looking very stupid while doing so.

"Sorry England."

Better to remain formal, ways better to remain formal in times like this where just a small slip up would most likely cause such large amounts of misunderstandings that it would be almost impossible to untangle.

Not like that would happen, surely not.

"It better not, I would not wish for some bastard like France to get the wrong idea."

Vaguely concerned but more intrigued "How could he manage to get the wrong idea from me standing in the doorway."

A laugh, not venomous or bitter, but fond came from inside the room "It's Francis, he can pull anything out of that well-sculpted ass."

Unfortunately, his mind had made up its mind that it would be as purposefully annoying and homosexual as possible and his mind very quickly got filled with images of Francis and his indeed well-sculpted ass.

"I would rather not think about that, but if I may ask, how are you and France on first name terms?"

He really did sound childish, but from what he had seen and by what everyone else had told him, England and France fought worse than cats and dogs, and it was a little hard to imagine them on first name terms.

Arthur smiled softly, recalling a memory from long ago, most likely much longer than Ludwig had been alive.

"It would be hard not to be on first name terms with a fucker who raised you for two hundred odd years, would it now?"

Germany did not know about this little nugget of information whatsoever, "Excuse me what?"

After gesturing for Germanny to sit down and "Close the bloody door," he started to talk, figuring that it being near a millennium ago now, it wouldn't be detrimental to tell someone of it.

Ludwig was painfully young, nations from the new world were often double or triple his age, and for Europe he was no more than a babe in arms, some or the older nations being easily well over 10 times his age, and it showed, Germany listening with rapt fascination to the rather dreary tales of France and his abysmal first attempt at raising a child.

Apparently according to most, he really didn't improve much with time and when it came to raising Canada apparently England was a better mentor, and with all the horror stories from many of the waifs that passed through the household, it raised questions on just how bad France was at this.

According to England they used to spar, being the early 1000s it made sense, and apparently England was better at it than France, so the fucker locked him in a room with minimal food and water, yet England still beat him, and poisoned him while they were at it.

Germany took this with a grain of salt the size of Russia because over time things become, let's just say rather embellished, and this was almost a millenia ago, so it was probably quite a bit fictitious.

After that story was over, and Germany counted at least 5 deaths in it, he suddenly asked "Was Gilbert a good parent?"

"I-I think he was, he looked after me whenever he could, teaching me almost everything I know, and the rest of the time I was usually with Switzerland or Austria-Hungary."

"You turned out pretty well in my opinion, so they seem to have done a good enough job."

For some unfathomable reason (really it was pretty easy to fathom just not to someone as utterly dense as he) Germany blushed at this sentence.

"Plus you've always been well behaved, I wonder what that's got you?"

This would have been a pretty normal sentence if it wasn't for the fact that England has a very suggestive look on his face, a mischievous smile coupled with the raising of one of those impressive brows, which amongst other things, made his knees feel like jelly as he stood by the doorframe.

Germany immediately blushed furiously, indeed both the Italies did like the obedience, a lot. And Japan dressed him up in some rather interesting clothes, not like he minded and tied him up. That was a spiritual experience for both of them for sure, plus that fucking smile oh my g o d help.

An odd sound that sounded quite similar to a croak escaped that throat while he was beet red just thinking about those rather interesting experiences, his face at this point could be used as a stop sign with just how red it was, with his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"I'm just messing with you, come, sit down." Patting the bed because Germany was still standing in the doorway looking embarrased, and so he did, setting down his stuff and changing his stuffy work clothes into more casual clothes that were loose fitting but holy shit Arthur's brain went at it.

Wydhhshh GAY

STOP IT.

LOOK AT THE FUCKING HAIR ALL MESSED UP JUST LOOK AT IT

I AM AND YOURE MAKING IT WEIRD

I AM YOU

SHUT UP

NO.

After that nothing really happened, they sat down on their sides of the bed and took out their work, completing the stuff they needed to do together at breakneck speed until the sun started to set and Germany had to physically drag England to eat something because apparently three square meals are a must and eating half a sausage roll at 2 in the morning does not count as a square meal.

Both muting their phones due to a very excited Francis yelling at them over text to come to the bar after the meeting, as everyone would be there, neither really wanted to.

All in all it was pretty calm, both of then were having gay thoughts that could be palpably felt, sure, but they didn't manifest into anything much, dinner being a quiet affair in a small cafe down the road, where lots of tea and coffee were drunk and very good sandwiches eaten, there was aa small discussion on the proper baking of a black forest cake and the prior meeting, but otherwise it was a quiet evening for them both, getting back to their room and sleeping late into the night, both busy tapping away at laptops and sincerely hoping that they both do and do not end up spooning in the night

Meanwhile.

"Alfredka, that stupid piggy and I have to sleep with him!" Rather irritated Russian grumbling could be heard but vaguely deciphered, mainly because no one wanted to cross the cloud of doom and vague gayness that surrounded Ivan Braginsky, personification of Russia.

Jamming the lift button perhaps a little too hard to be necessary, he waited, for quite a while in fact, but the lift decided that today it had to service each and every floor above him, which left him to take the stairs.

He did not like stairs very much, especially as his room, their room, was on the seventh motherfucking floor, so huffing and puffing, he eventually made it up, flushed red in his usually porcelain like skin, and ready for murder slightly more than usual.

Opening their shared room, with a throatful of abuse just ready to hurl, but stopped immediately seeing the dumbass naked, and sprawled on the bed, sleeping like a baby, snoring loudly.

Holy fuck hes hot.

HE IS SLEEPING NAKED HOW IS THAT HOT AND HE HAS MAN BOOBIES

BITCH DONT QUESTION ME.

FINE.

Other than having gay panic, Ivan was also wondering how the fuck he had slept so fast, didn't he go up to his room not 10 minutes before him, the fuck? And how in all things unholy did he manage to get buckass naked in the same time frame, and on top of that why the fuck had he chose to sleep buckass naked when he was sleeping with another dude?

But he was tired, and very warm, either from seeing Alfred buckass naked or from the blasted stairs, so taking off his clothes (not all of them he had an under shirt and boxers on, he had fucking standards) and slept, until of course France called because he was a bastard and didn't like people sleeping.

Turns out that they had started to hug even though they'd been asleep for about half an hour.

Not mentioning the fact that he was buckass naked and hugging a dude, he picked up the phone, and oh joy it was a video call.

Frances eyebrows were in his hair seeing Alfred and Ivan both on call, one naked the other one not.

"That was quick non?"

Alarmed, as a teen would be, Alfred denied fucking in the way that makes you think that they definitely fucked, Ivan being a bit more reasonable said that they had both just fallen asleep.

After getting that altercation out of the way, Francis invited then to the bar, where a bunch of nations would be at, as his treat.

"Ok we will go, just dont start spreading any rumours, or your face will be unrecognisable."

Alfred gave a nervous chuckle, not exactly sure whether that was an exaggeration because knowing his family and the people he tended to be around, when that was said it occasionally was meant to be true.

"Jesus, Ok Ivan, I won't, I'll be waiting!"

#Gereng #Engger #Technically #Amerus #Thisnis stupid because sleep is a no #Emgland and france have a complicated relationship and Germany is bebe

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writingsfromthecactus · 2 years

Text

The Impulse Protocol: Part 1 Scene 6

Content Warnings: Violence, blood, death

Archer stood in front of Evan, who was stretching his arms. She cracked her knuckles in response and jumped in place a bit to get the blood flowing through her legs.

“Alright, how does this work?” she asked.

Evan shook his head. “Your new personality will never get old.” A smirk played on his lips. “We’re going to go through a few exercises. You’ve been out for a while and we’re going to make sure you don’t collapse the moment your heart starts beating a little too quickly.”

Archer scoffed, glad she wasn’t trying to hide who he was, at least personality-wise. “You think I’m out of shape because I slept for twenty-four hours and have a concussion?”

“Oh, you think you’re so smart?” Evan replied playfully. “Then why don’t we check your cockiness with a little sparring match? I win, you’re doing this my way. You win, and, well, maybe we don’t need to be doing this at all.” He chuckled.

Archer narrowed her eyes, a grin creeping onto her face. “You’re on, pretty boy.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“No powers?” she countered.

He nodded. “No powers.”

Archer raised her fists, forcing her body into a fighting stance. She would’ve thought that a superhero would be used to one of these, but the muscle memory just wasn’t there. Without her powers, or the muscle memory, she only had her mind to help her out. Maybe this would be a bit harder than she thought it was going to be.

“Impressive. Looks like you’ve been paying attention during our spats with the villains,” Evan said. “But you’re going to need a bit more than that to beat me.” He threw out a punch, but Archer could tell that he was holding back. He didn’t actually expect her to be any good at fighting, and he was also likely going easy on her since she still had a concussion.

She danced back, out of range of his punch. Even without the formal training, Ann’s body was still used to fighting. She recalled Stella’s fighting style. She was trained to pull out of the way, keep distance, and zap people with lightning bolts. But in a sparring match without the use of powers, Archer would have to get close. She just hoped her reaction time could keep up once Evan realized she wasn’t messing around.

He launched another fist and she ducked under it. Once she resurfaced, she pushed his arm away. His weight shifted and she took advantage, pressing the attack. He quickly recovered and blocked her following punches. She pulled back, realizing that she wasn’t as fast nor as experienced as she was in this body, so she’d have to be smarter.

“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Well, ever since I was kidnapped and apparently lost my original personality, I might be a little more focused,” she said.

As she stepped closer to Evan, a blistering pain erupted from her forehead. Forgetting all about the sparring match, she felt her knees buckle and she curled her arms around her head, which softened the blow against it as she toppled to the floor.

The man’s voice reverberated through her head. This is going to be the most fun I’ve had in ages. Maybe you’ll have fun too. His voice warped into laughter befitting of a supervillain that had no end.

All at once, it stopped. Her limbs felt heavy and useless and her head spun in all directions. People were shouting, but her ears had a loud ringing in them that warped all sounds that tried to enter her ears.

“Ann,” she mumbled, her tongue refusing to work properly. “Oh god, Ann, I’m so sorry.” She wasn’t quite sure why she was talking, but her thoughts moved through molasses and it was too late to stop herself from speaking.

“Ann, hey,” someone’s voice said. Was it… Bree? “It’s gonna be okay. Dean is gonna take good care of you. You’re going to be okay.”

Archer thought she was responding directly after Bree spoke, but it was more like a few minutes later as her brain caught up. “What? Are you talking… about?”

Dean’s voice made it through her fog. “Can you hear me? If you can, move your fingers.” She tried to move her fingers, but she couldn’t feel her arms or legs at all.

“Wh- who are you?” Dean asked. Archer couldn’t tell who he was talking to, but her addled brain made her think he was talking to her at the time.

“I’m Ar….Ann. Ann. My name is… Ann,” she said at some point later.

“Don’t worry, Archer,” the man said.

“Get out of my head,” she replied, trying to blink open her eyes to make sure that his voice was all in her head, and he wasn’t standing above her, brandishing his gauntlets.

“Oh, no, don’t worry,” he repeated. “I’ve made some upgrades. Especially now that I realize that I totally forgot about Liminal and the whole pain-between-minds stuff. That should be fixed now, but I’ll have to swap you two back just for a bit to make sure it does work. You’ll get a reprieve for about a day, but then it’s back to the grind, I’m afraid.

“Oh, and I hope you’re wondering if I’m having fun. Because I sure am.” He chuckled. “Have fun in your real body, because it won’t be for long.”

A hand touched her forehead and the pain returned in full force.

She opened her eyes and leaped to her feet before she even realized where she was. Her fist struck a face and she used her other hand to press the person up against a wall. Her vision cleared after a group of familiar voices shouted at her, and she found Germaine before her, pressed to a wall. She took in a deep breath and stumbled back. She felt at her body. Her hair was longer, she was wearing a blouse and jeans, and everything was where she was used to.

“Oh my god,” she mumbled.

“Hey, woah,” Emma said. “Arch, you good?”

“I… I…” She turned around and stared at Emma. She rushed at her and wrapped her in an embrace. “Oh my god.”

“Well,” Germaine said. “I think she’s got her memories back.”

Archer pulled back. “Huh?” she asked.

“Your memories are back, right?” Emma asked, crossing her arms. “I mean you did punch the shit out of Germaine, so that’s a good sign.”

Archer blinked. Ann must’ve pretended to have amnesia in order to avoid arousing too much suspicion. Fear slammed into her throat. Ann was back in her body, knew the identities of the four major villains as well as the location of their hideout, and was likely surrounded by the League and had every opportunity to spill the beans.

“Holy shit, we gotta go,” Archer said, running off through the house and towards her suit. Emma chased after her.

“Woah, what’s going on?” Emma shouted.

“We have a major problem and we need to distract the heroes right now,” she replied.

“Are you sure? What kinda problem?”

Archer grabbed the edge of her chamber, where the Abattoir suit sat, untouched. “I’ll explain everything after this whole mess, but you’ve gotta trust me, because right now, we’re in a whole lot of trouble.” She undressed down to her underwear and started putting her suit on. “Get Drel in here, we need a plan ASAP.”

“Already got them,” Germaine said, dashing in with Drel at his heels. “What do we need to do?”

“We have to base everything on the assumption that we’re compromised, that the base, our identities, everything, is compromised and the League knows everything,” she said as she slipped on her undersuit. “So we do a major hit, all four of us. Drel, you do the bank, maybe a few hostages, and you’re stalling for time. Germaine, the downtown heroes museum, you’re focused on destruction and getting as much attention as possible.”

She paused as she pulled out her leather armor, then continued. “Em, you’ll do a hit at the energy plant. It’ll take longer to get there, obviously, so when you get there, it’s gotta be big, understand?”

“Yeah, okay,” Emma said, gesturing for the others to start putting on their suits. “What are you gonna do?”

Archer stopped moving and steadied herself with a deep breath. “I’m going for the League. There’s a certain electricity-themed hero I’ve gotta have a word with.”

“Stella?” Germaine asked. “Why her?”

“If we get out of this, I’ll tell you everything.” Archer grabbed her swords. “For now, I need Em to also scramble the servers and send everything to our backup. If we buy enough time, we can bring everything else over in the aftermath.” She grabbed her helmet and looked at it. “God,” she hissed. “How could it come to this?”

Emma, already in her suit, wrapped an arm around Archer. “It’ll be okay. We’re in this together. Go to the HQ, we’ll go terrorize the city.”

“Thanks,” she said, wrapping Emma in another hug. She fought the tears that rose to her eyes, then wiped them with a leather-bound arm as she pulled away. “Good luck. Afterwards, meet at the backup.” She nodded at Germaine and Drel, who were also dressed up, then ran outside.

She slid into her car, tossed her helmet and swords into the passenger side and sped off as soon as the car turned on. She had to get downtown as soon as possible and stop Ann from spilling everything. It took all of her effort not to break into tears. She knew that Ann’s morals would supersede keeping her girlfriend’s secrets. She wouldn’t be able to keep it even if she thought she would, and Archer knew it. She just had to hope that she could get close to Ann before that happened and talk some sense into her.

She pulled into the parking lot and scrambled out of her car, her swords and helmet in her arms as she did so. She slammed the door shut with her foot and strapped on her swords and slipped her helmet on before running out and towards the League HQ.

People screamed at the sight of her, diving out of the way as she charged right through them. She jumped up, glad to have her own body’s muscle memory back, and climbed the statue of Impulse, who was the most famous League member, who supposedly had the power to manipulate reality to a certain extent, up until he died of a mysterious illness. Now, there was a convenient place to stand imposingly in front of the HQ. Making sure her voice changer was on, and activating the speaker, she looked up at the floor she figured the heroes were on.

“Yo, heroes!” she called out. “Let’s talk, you and I.”

Her words echoed across the building. She couldn’t spot any movement inside. “Yoo hoo, Visionary? Torchy? Liminal? Stella!” She shouted the last name at the top of her lungs. “You really gonna keep me waiting out here like this? It’s very rude, you know!”

Nothing. She fingered the hilt of one of her swords in worry. If they weren’t in the HQ, then they might already be on their way to ripping apart the hideout. She swore under her breath, although it was picked up by the speakers and was more like a shout. She turned off the speaker and launched herself off of the statue. She tucked into a roll and charged into the building. Her shoulder made contact with the glass and it shattered around her.

She stumbled into the lobby and made eye contact with the trembling receptionist. She stomped up and reached over the counter, grabbing his collar with one hand and pulled him until he was inches away from her face.

“Where the hell are the heroes?” she growled.

The receptionist, in his fright, could only get mumbles and stutters out. Archer tightened her grip on his collar.

“Tell me where they are. And don’t stutter,” she said.

“I-I don’t know,” he stammered. “T-they should b-be on the t-tenth floor.” he pointed towards the elevators. Archer threw him back into his chair, though the force caused him to topple over backwards. She glanced over to the elevators and instead opted for the stairs. She charged up them two at a time, not stopping until she made it all the way to the tenth floor. At the top, she caught her breath and was glad she was in her own body, with her insane amount of endurance. She threw the door open and recognized the hallway. She’d been here in Ann’s body.

Retracing the steps she took earlier that day, she entered the room where she’d woken up by kicking the door in.

On the ground was Dean, who was lying in a pool of blood, his throat ripped out. The bed was empty.

“Oh, shit,” she said. After she’d entered that strange fugue state, the man had come in here and swapped her back, although she realized that he swapped her back without touching both her and Ann’s head. However, he’d come in while Dean was here, and the poor doctor had paid the price.

More importantly, Ann was gone.

Archer slammed her fist into the wall, imprinting a fist-sized hole in the drywall. She turned around at the sound of feet pounding on the floor. One of the lesser heroes, a teenager by the look of him, charged towards her. He must’ve been the new recruit, and although he ran straight for her, she could see the fear in his eyes. She pulled out one of her swords, the familiar weight helping to stabilize her.

She stood her ground, knowing that the longer she stayed here, the more likely it was that Ann revealed everything.

#cactus writes #the impulse protocol #hero villain writing #hero villain #creative writing #writeblr #writing #writer #tw violence #tw blood #tw death #surprisingly we are almost at the end of part 1!

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messers-moony · 3 years

Text

Pretty Face | S.B

Paring: Young!Sirius Black X Fem!Reader

Summary: Sirius takes his girlfriend to his family home and Walburga takes out all her pent up jealousy out on her.

Inspiration: Click

Walburga Black didn’t have the life every girl dreamed about. She always dreamed of an extravagant wedding with the man of her dreams. Perhaps a tall man with a sweet personality. One to take care of her when she had a bad day at work. But that was not the life she got.

Instead, Walburga Black had an arranged marriage with her cousin Orion. The wedding was extravagant, but she definitely wasn’t marrying the man of her dreams. Sure he was tall, with dark hair and gleaming grey eyes, but he wasn’t sweet. He was quite the opposite. He had a tongue of silver, and his brutal words brought a knife to her heart.

Waking up to Orion was like waking up on Christmas Day alone. You can feel it; it’s so close, but yet it’s never quite right. The feeling of loneliness is there, and it never fades. Walburga was beautiful, or at least she thought so. Beautiful thick raven hair and eyes bluer than the sky, cheeks full and colored. If she was this beautiful, then why did she deserve this cruel of a fate.

Pressure is the worst motivator. Walburga’s mother - Irma - pushed her and Orion to have children before she couldn’t carry them. Irma wanted grandchildren, and Walburga needed to produce an heir before; for some reason, she couldn’t. The Black family name needed to continue and get passed down.

As a result of Orion and Walburga’s parent's pressure, she got pregnant with their first child. She hated this. She hated knowing that this child would grow up without a loving parental relationship. Orion and Walburga couldn’t love each other. They just couldn’t. But she wished that for her unborn child, they could.

After much debate, they decided to name him Sirius Orion Black the Third. Sirius was the brightest star in the Canis Major - the dog constellation. His middle name was a regular hand-me-down. Most boys got their middle name from their fathers first, and most girls got theirs from their mothers first.

Sirius was the most beautiful baby boy. Maybe she was biased, but she thought he was gorgeous. His skin was beautiful porcelain, and his eyes were so bright, energetic, and full of life. Something Walburga used to have but no longer did. He was her pride and joy—his little giggles and his voice when he began to talk. Sirius Black would be her everything - her one reason.

But eventually, that one reason would become two. She was pregnant again. While her first pregnancy, she felt entirely alone. Now she had Sirius, and he was so sweet. During days where Walburga didn’t feel like getting out of bed, leaving Orion to take care of him, Sirius would sneak away to spend time with his momma. Sirius would crawl to the side of the bed and poke her until she held him in her arms.

He would lay on his side and snuggle his back into her chest. Walburga would place her hand on his stomach, placing the covers over them both. She couldn’t believe how lucky she got. Orion was god awful, but her son was everything.

Nine months later, Regulus Arcturus Black. His first name was a star in the Leo constellation, while his middle name was inherited from his Grandfather. The same pale skin as Sirius and sparkling silver eyes. She now had two reasons to continue. Her little boys, till the end.

It wasn’t until both boys were five when Irma had a talk with Walburga about how they should be raised. Personally, Walburga thought they were the perfect little boys. Okay, sometimes they would break something, but that was normal, wasn’t it? They were boys, and they cause a ruckus. Sirius had tuffs of straight black raven hair. Regulus’ hair was wavier but still held the dark color.

Of course, they knew their manners. Saying titles such as ‘ma’am’ and ‘sir,’ but apparently, that wasn’t enough in Irma’s eyes. They needed to sit straight, only speak when spoken to, begin their studies and stop being childish. But they were children. They’re supposed to be children.

Irma did the cruelest thing when this was brought up by saying that if Walburga didn’t straighten her boys up, they’d be banned from the Noble House of Black. So she tried. But Sirius and Regulus were already so in their roots that trying to get them to stop was damn near impossible. So she resulted in using spells as punishments.

By the age of seven, they were terrified of their mother. Walburga thought that Orion’s words could hurt her, but nothing hurt more than seeing her boys cower at the sight of her. She so badly wanted to cup their cheeks and give them kisses all over. She tried to baby them. She wanted them to have a childhood. But that couldn’t happen when you’re in the Noble House of Black.

So why did she feel this way? Was it envy? Was it jealousy? Why did she hate it when Sirius brought his girlfriend home?

Walburga couldn’t deny it. The girl was gorgeous. Her hair was silky smooth, rid of all tangles. Eyes of hypnotizing e/c. She seemed shy but still managed to be formal—greetings with the titles of ‘ma’am’ and ‘sir.’

Sirius was fourteen, him getting a girlfriend was bound to happen. He only got more good-looking as he grew up. His hair got longer, and his face became more defined. Not to mention how tall he got. He was taller than Walburga now. Her baby boy, who used to snuggle with her, was no longer such a baby. Of course, Walburga had scolded him for being in Gryffindor, but in reality, she was proud of him.

This girl - Y/n - was in Slytherin. She wasn’t a pureblood, in fact, she was a half-blood. But regardless, she was a Slytherin. Perhaps that could do some good for Sirius. Maybe Walburga wouldn’t have to ban him from the family-like Irma kept telling her to. Even as an old woman, she was a pain in the ass.

They all made it to the dining room, and Sirius pulled out Y/n’s chair, gently pushing her in. It made Walburga grit her teeth. Why couldn’t Orion show some decency when around guests? Why didn’t Orion do that? Is this what she’s been missing the entire time? She tried to swallow it as they began eating.

Y/n wiped her mouth with her napkin, “Thank you, Mrs. and Mr. Black, for this meal. It’s terrific.”

Walburga did nothing to acknowledge her. It dampened Y/n’s mood a tad, not knowing what she had done to tick them off. Sirius reached his hand under the table, intertwining their fingers together. With his thumb, he drew hearts and smiled wildly. Their love made Walburga sick to see her son with that dopey smile on his face.

Regulus made conversation first after minutes of the awful silence, “So, Y/n, I saw you talking with Pandora and Marlene before the break. Are you guys friends?”

“Mhm.” Y/n nodded, “Pandora is so sweet. She’s astute too.”

“Well, she is in Ravenclaw, makes sense.” Regulus shrugged, “What about Marlene?”

“Oh, well, we practice Quidditch together even if we’re on opposing teams.” Y/n answered, “Normally, someone else will join us like James or Nick, so Marlene throws the Bludgers at us while we throw the Quaffle around. It helps us learn how to dodge.”

Regulus had stars in his eyes, “That’s brilliant!”

“Thanks. You can always join us if you’d like.”

“I’d love to.”

Y/n smiled warmly at him as Walburga spoke up for the first time that night, “So, you and your friends hang out often?” Her tone sounded condescending.

“We do.” Walburga gritted her teeth, “I hang out with Leia the most, though. She’s been with me since the first year.”

“You guys must go out every night.”

She chuckled, “No, ma’am. Most of the time, Leia and I study. Sometimes Sirius and I sneak out to Hogsmeade, though.”

Sirius smiled as Y/n nudged him with her shoulder, gently kissing the top of her head, “You guys don’t have a care in the world, do you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re ruining the Black family name.” Walburga snapped, “All you have is a pretty face. You’re too happy and pretty for this family.”

Sirius tightened his grip on Y/n’s hand, “You shouldn’t get to choose who you marry. You’re in Slytherin. You get an arranged marriage.”

“Mum, I think that’s-“

“No!” She yelled, and both boys flinched, “You’re so pretty, aren’t you, doll? That doesn’t even matter in the grand scheme of things.”

“Looks mean nothing.” Walburga growled, “One day, Sirius will find better, and he’ll cheat on you because that’s all he’s ever seen.”

Sirius stood up abruptly, “That’s enough!”

“Walburga!” Orion shouted, and they turned to him, “Leave the girl alone.”

Walburga hmphed and sat back down in her seat. Y/n was flabbergasted, trying to digest everything that had just been said to her. Sirius was glaring daggers at his mother. That was improper and awful behavior. He wished that Y/n didn’t have to witness it. After dinner was over, they went up to Sirius’ room, where he packed a bag of some stuff, and they left to go to Y/n’s house.

Sirius had met Y/n’s parents prior, and they were so kind to him. It’s where he usually went over winter and Easter break. That night hon of them had gotten ready for bed. Sirius was in a hoodie and sweatpants. Y/n was wearing his Quidditch jersey and shorts.

Both of them slipped under the comforter of Y/n’s bed, and Sirius’ arms went around her waist, pulling her back close to his chest, “I’m sorry for earlier.”

“It’s not your fault, Siri.” Y/n rubbed his hands, “You told me it was a bad idea, but I insisted anyway.”

“That’s because it’s normal to meet the parents.” Sirius sighed, “Mine just aren’t normal.”

Y/n turned to face him; his face looked crestfallen; she cupped his cheek, “Your parents were forced together. There was never any love in their marriage. That’s what makes them different. I think your mum saw us together and was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Has your dad ever pulled out a chair for her?”

Sirius shook his head.

“Has he ever held your mum’s hand?”

Another shake.

“Kissed her?”

“Not by choice.”

“She’s jealous because you do all those things for me. You’re a gentleman, and she hates that.” Y/n replied, “She wanted a man like you to love her, but she never got that.”

Sirius kissed her palm, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Y/n kissed his forehead, pulling his head to her chest, “I promise I’ll love you till the end.”

He kissed her neck in thanks, “Get some rest, puppy.”

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bananonbinary · 3 years

Text

Time for a Salty Meta Post about Martin!

people who’ve followed this blog for a bit know that spending six hours combing through text for some goddamn sources is my specialty, so i compiled every time jon ever talked about martin’s work in season 1. which for the record, he stopped complaining about all the way back in episode 26, where he was angry that martin of all people got hurt.

things jon gets mad at martin for:

not being able to find records that don’t exist

not being able to find someone based only on a first name

the Dog

not wearing trousers in his off-hours

being the one that got caught up in the jane prentiss thing

mag 004 and mag 012 both have jon taking potshots at martin over research that was proven accurate by outside sources

things jon has never once complained about:

martin not understanding the filing system and just putting stuff away at random

martin being clumsy, constantly ruining things, spilling tea everywhere everyday, etc

martin turning in incompetent, poorly-edited, or badly formatted reports

martin not understanding the terminology used, skills expected, etc., and generally being extremely new to the field

please for the love of god stop making martin the silly bumbling idiot who can’t do anything right just because he doesn’t have a formal education. there’s zero evidence for it in the text, and it’s really weird to act like a 4 year degree would outweigh the *10 years* of job experience he has, not just in academia, but in the institute itself by season one. my boy has worked there longer than ANY of the rest of the main cast. screw you guys.

tl;dr: martin is never once shown to be bad at his job, jon pretty much only ever gets mad at him for the really stupid first impression and also not finding stuff that no one else was able to find either. after martin got hurt, jon talks about his research basically the same way he talks about tim’s or sasha’s work.

fucking proof under the cut:

(i didnt include the s1 finale or martin’s statement bc that’s just...two entire episodes of them talking to each other, but there isn’t really any notable Martin Complaints in either of them imo)

I swear, if he’s brought another dog in here, I’m going to peel him.

[pre-launch trailer]

Well, technically three, but I don’t count Martin as he’s unlikely to contribute anything but delays.

[...] Alongside this Tim, Sasha and, yes, I suppose, Martin will be doing some supplementary investigation to see what details may be missing from what we have.

[MAG001 Anglerfish]

Martin couldn’t find any records of Ex Altiora as a title in existent catalogues of esoteric or similar literature, so I assigned Sasha to double-check. Still nothing.

[MAG004 Pageturner]

I had Martin conduct a follow-up interview with Mr. Woodward last week, but it was unenlightening. Apparently there have been no further bags at number 93 and in the intervening years he has largely discounted many of the stranger aspects of his experience. I wasn’t expecting much, as time generally makes people inclined to forget what they would rather not believe, but at least it got Martin out of the Institute for an afternoon, which is always a welcome relief.

[MAG005 Thrown Away]

Martin was unable to find the exact date the original house was built but the earliest records he could find list it as being bought by Walter Fielding in 1891.

[...]

We cannot prove any connection, but Martin unearthed a report on an Agnes Montague, who was found dead in her Sheffield flat on the evening of November 23rd 2006, the same day Mr. Lensik claims to have uprooted the tree.

[MAG008 Burned Out]

According to Martin, who was here when they took this statement, it was at this point in writing that Mr. Herbert announced he needed some sleep before continuing. He was shown to the break room where he went to sleep on the couch. He did not awaken; unfortunately succumbing to the lung cancer right there. Martin says the staff had been aware of how serious Mr. Herbert’s condition was, and had advised him to seek medical aid prior to giving his statement, but were told rather bluntly by the old man that he would not wait another second to state his case. I can’t decide whether this lends more or less credibility to his tale.

[MAG010 Vampire Killer]

“Veepalach” might also be a mishearing of the Polish word “wypalać”, according to Martin, which means to cauterize or brand. Admittedly, if Martin speaks Polish in the same way he “speaks Latin,” then he might be talking nonsense again, but I’ve looked it up and it appears to check out.

[MAG012 First Aid]

I sent Martin to look into this ‘Angela’ character - not that I want him to get chopped up, of course, but someone had to. Apparently, he spent three days looking into every woman named Angela in Bexley over the age of 50. He could not find anyone that matches the admittedly vague description given here, though he informs me that he had some very pleasant chats about jigsaws. Useless ass.

[MAG014 Piecemeal]

Martin declined to help with this investigation as he’s “a bit claustrophobic”

[MAG015 Lost John’s Cave]

There simply aren’t enough details given in this statement to actually investigate, short of Martin confirming that Mr. Vittery did indeed live at the addresses he provided.

[MAG016 Arachnophobia]

Oh, he’s off sick this week. Stomach problems, I think.

Blessed relief if you ask me.

[...]

I asked Martin to try and hunt down Mr. Adekoya himself for a follow-up, but have been informed that he passed away in 2006.

[MAG017 The Boneturner’s Tale]

MARTIN

Well, I need to tell someone what happened, and you can vouch for the soundness of my mind, can’t you?

ARCHIVIST

…

That is beside the point.

[MAG022 Colony]

Martin! Good lord man, if you’re going to be staying in the Archives, at least have the decency to put some trousers on!

[MAG023 Schwartzwald]

Martin found one other thing while combing through police reports for the Hither Green area. About a month after this statement was given, on May 15th, 2015, police were called out to once again investigate the chapel.

[MAG025 Growing Dark]

I know, but it would have to have been Martin, wouldn’t it? I mean, anything goes wrong around here, it always seems to happen to him. Anyway, we’re getting off topic. Why didn’t you report this?

[MAG026 A Distortion]

Martin made contact with the son, Marcus McKenzie, but he declined to talk to us, saying that he’d “already made his statement.”

[MAG027 A Sturdy Lock]

Tim and Martin had a bit more luck investigating Tom Haan, though only really enough to confirm that he seems to have completely vanished following his departure from Aver Meats on the 12th of July.

[MAG030 Killing Floor]

Martin’s research would seem to indicate the place employed a reasonable number of international staff they preferred to keep off the books

[...]

TIM

Ah well, that’s actually what he was asking, huh! Um, apparently Martin, uh, took delivery of a couple of items last week addressed to you. Did he not mention it?

ARCHIVIST

No, he… Oh, yes, actually. I completely forgot. He said he put it in my desk drawer, hold on.

[MAG036 Taken Ill]

#the magnus archives #LISTEN #i am once again asking people to remember that martin has MORE job experience at the institute than literally any other character #(except elias or i guess maybe rosie)#he's the goddamn veteran not the newbie #fan wank /

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gladerwolfstarkimagines · 3 years

Text

Imagine being Sokka and Katara’s cousin and having a complicated romantic relationship with Zuko.

Your cousin Sokka had initially set you up with Zuko because he figured the firelord needed some fun and you were exactly that. You weren’t interested in titles or riches you were just an infectious whirlwind of carefree energy. He figured Zuko could learn something from you and so arranged the date.

He could tell by how light Zuko walked into the room the next day that his plan had worked and he liked seeing the positive effect you were having on Zuko. The pressures of the throne had really been weighing down on him and you helped him to get some much-needed freedom and connect with his non-Firelord side....however it always had a way of coming back.

Zuko loved dating you but he’d gotten pressure from every single fire nation noblemen on the council to break up with you. They disliked you because you were from the water tribe so many viewed you as an outsider trying to influence the fire nation. Zuko’s reign was still so new and with rebellions breaking out more frequently Zuko agreed. He had to put his country first even if that meant losing you. One thing Zuko hadn’t realised however was you had a very different view of your relationship...for one thing you didn’t even realise you were in one with the Firelord.

Your POV

Zuko was always pretty tense but you noticed tonight he was even more stressed and quiet. You tried to make conversation but he was sombre throughout dinner and when you’d finished he put his cutlery down and looked across at you. “Y/n I need to speak to you”. You nodded folding your arm “sure, what’s wrong?”. Zuko sighed "Y/n i’ve really enjoyed our time together but i...have to break up with you, I can’t see you anymore". You blinked surprised, one at Zuko’s honesty and two at the news you had apparently been dating the Firelord. You and Zuko weren’t dating or even close to dating, in your mind you’d just been having fun and sure you were definitely not just friends but you also didn’t think you were boyfriend/girlfriend. Regardless of what the label was you quickly realised what Zuko was telling you and it made a heavy weight settle in your stomach. Whatever this between you was...it made you sad to think it would be ending. "You do?" you asked remaining composed and Zuko nodded. "It’s nothing to do with you it’s me, being firelord i don’t have the time for dating or fun, i don’t think it’s fair to keep this going when I can’t guarantee i’ll always be able to give you my attention". You nodded your head "that sounds fair, thank you for thinking of that". "No problem" Zuko said smiling sadly and you nodded awkwardly. “I’ll be going then” and you went to walk away when he spoke again "but i really enjoyed our time together y/n, i really did". You smiled "me too, you’re pretty fun for a royal" and bowed "see you around firelord” and you walked away.

Zuko’s POV

You walked out of the room and Zuko sighed. He felt a mix between relief and sadness. That had gone a lot easier than he thought it would and that should be a good thing but it didn’t feel that way. A part of Zuko had wanted you to argue with him or to dig to find the real reason he was breaking it off. He knew if you’d have challenged him in even the slightest way he’d have told you the truth and taken back what he’d said but you had just agreed and let it go without a fight. Zuko couldn’t help feeling disappointed and a little hurt. You remained on his mind the rest of the day and Zuko couldn’t stop wondering about your reaction. He was sat with your cousin Sokka when he decided to bring you up. "Just so you know I’ve ended things with y/n" Zuko explained and Sokka blinked "i’m sorry what?". "I know i should’ve warned you seeing as she’s your cousin...i’m sorry". Sokka shook his head "no i’m confused how do you think you were dating her". Zuko blinked "what do you mean? You literally set us up". "I introduced you because i thought y/n could make you loosen up a bit but Zuko y/n doesn’t date". Zuko blinked "but we hung our several times and...kissed and stuff". Sokka sighed "oh god as gross as this is to have to explain about my cousin...Zuko that doesn’t mean you were dating". "It doesn’t?”. Sokka sighed "okay here’s what you need to know about my cousin, she grew up in a town that was heavily sexist and married girls off at young ages, so as times started to change she leapt at the new opportunities. She refused to ever date anyone, it’s too much commitment and so instead she has fun with people, typically for short periods of time and then she flutters away, usually leaving a broken heart or two". Zuko blinked "but we were dating!". "Did you ever agree to make it exclusive?" Sokka asked. Zuko shook his head "well not in words". "Did you ever ask her to be your girlfriend?". "No but i thought it was implied". "Did you ever call her your girlfriend then?". "No i...it was new i didn’t want to come on too strong" Zuko sighed. Sokka patted his back "and there’s the broken heart". "I’m not heartbroken just confused! Why did she let me break up with her if we weren’t even dating?". "Well breakups are awkward, imagine having to explain to someone in the middle of one, that you're not even dating, i bet she did it just to spare your feelings". As soon as those words left his mouth Sokka regretted it. "No i didn’t mean that...i meant". Zuko stood up angrily "it appears i need to find your cousin".

Zuko was furious. He felt like he’d been living two different lives this whole time and that had caused so much stress. One half of him was the teenager who wanted fun, the freedom to go on dates and just be careless. Then the other half of him was the Firelord who knew he had to be responsible. He knew all the elder nobles thought he was too irresponsible and all his friends thought him too boring and conventional. He liked you because you opened him up to new things and made him feel normal. Not too young or too formal, just right, you made him feel valid.

But he’d sacrificed all that for the “greater good” and now not only was he regretting his decision he was also furious because apparently he wasn’t anything to you anyway. The thing he’d struggled so much with, you weren’t even aware of.

Zuko walked into the large living room the gang had taken to lounging in and saw you sat with Haru. He felt his temper rise as Sokka’s words filled his mind. How you broke hearts and moved on instantly. You laughed at something Haru said and Zuko’s eyes narrowed. He really meant nothing to you. Zuko stalked across the room and came to stand in front of you both. Haru jumped "Firelord Zuko" but you took your time glancing at him. You eventually raised your eyes to his and nodded "Firelord Zuko". Zuko tensed "y/n we need to talk". "Is it urgent because....". "It is, now...please" Zuko said and he walked away.

Your POV

You blinked as Zuko stormed away and apologised to Haru before following him. You had no idea why Zuko wanted to speak to you, surely everything was wrapped up now you were done but he seemed so angry. You’d heard about this famous fire nation temper but you’d never seen it on Zuko and part of you was a little impressed. You liked fire benders for that reason precisely, their inner fire and passion but Zuko had been completely composed and calm the whole time you’d know him. Not now though.

You followed Zuko into a room and he shut the door. "Zuko what’s wrong?" you asked and he spun to face you rapidly. "What’s wrong?" he cried "why did you let me break up with you and say all that rubbish if I meant nothing to you?". You paused "who says you mean nothing to me?". "Sokka!" Zuko cried "he explained how you flit from person to person, never dating them just having fun and how you move onto your next person when you get bored. We were never dating, why didn’t you correct me?". You shrugged "i... I didn't want to be rude, but Zuko I wasn’t just waiting to flit from you to someone else". "Ow yeah, Haru’s just a coincidence?". "You broke up with me! Why are you angry even if something was going on with Haru?". "Because i didn’t want to break up with you y/n" Zuko explained "i did it because i had to and it was a really tough decision for me to make. It felt like a big sacrifice to me and then to find out you didn’t even think twice about me" Zuko said rapidly before staring at the floor almost deflated. "Zuko i do think about you" you said softly "whatever Sokka said isn’t completely true. Yes i don’t like putting labels on things but that doesn’t mean i don’t care or feel the same things anyone does at the start of something. I think the reason i move on or flit around so quickly as you said is because i move on as soon as I start feeling things, i don’t like being vulnerable so me not thinking of you as my boyfriend wasn’t because I didn’t care about you, it was more to protect me from the opposite". "So you do like me?" Zuko asked and you took a breath. "I do...a lot". Zuko rushed forwards hastily and kissed you. You kissed him back wrapping your arms around his neck before you paused "but wait...i thought you said you literally weren’t allowed to do this". Zuko nodded but didn’t remove his hands from your waist "i did, as Firelord i’m expected to behave dignified and composed all the time, i’m not supposed to get emotional or act irresponsibly for example by dating an unconventional water tribe girl" Zuko smiled "but i don’t care! I don’t care if they disapprove! I don’t care if we’re boyfriend and girlfriend or it’s just casual, all i know is i really like you and really really want to kiss you". You smiled and rehooked your arm around his neck "then kiss me".

Zuko was obedient and kissed you passionately before moving onto your neck. You were both surprised and pleasantly fascinated at Zuko’s confidence. Usually he was shy and kissed you quickly before moving away but now....now he was confident and purposeful with each touch. It was very attractive and you suddenly saw why the fire nation had such a strong reputation. Zuko caught the look in your eye and smiled "if you want we can....go to my room?". You smiled "lead the way”. Zuko stepped towards the door so quickly he knocked a table over but he just tugged you past it "leave it, it can stay that way for all i care right now" he muttered and you laughed at how spontaneous he was being. It was nice to see him let his hair down and you grinned as he pulled you through the fire nation halls hastily. He yanked his door open before pulling you inside and slamming the door. Trapping you on the other side. "Hmm i don’t think running through the hall is dignified Firelord Zuko". Zuko shrugged "neither is this" and began to kiss you again.

***

You laid side by side and Zuko seemed very relaxed but you were wondering about something. "Should I be going...am i even allowed to stay here in your room overnight? Doesn’t it break some century old fire nation tradition?" you asked. You’d never been in Zuko’s room before and only now did it really hit you he was the Firelord with a whole country on his shoulders and hundreds of advisors all monitoring his every move. If they’d gotten so angry at you for spending time together surely the nobles would be furious at you spending the night in his quarters? Zuko however did not care. "Of course you can” he said immediately “no servants will bother us and my guards will know to leave so we can be alone...of course that’s if you want to? If you don’t want to stay the night...". “Are you kidding me? And miss sleeping in these silk masterpieces?" you asked wriggling against the royal bedding. Zuko laughed watching you before he looked more serious. "I meant what i said" Zuko said softly "you don’t have to be my anything...i like you, i don’t need any labels or anything". "But do you want them?" you asked. You’d been more honest with Zuko than you’d ever been with anyone and now a part of you....wasn’t terrified by the idea of making him something more. But Zuko had also listened to you too and didn’t want to scare you off. "All i want is you" he smiled coming closer "if you don’t want labels then they won’t come anywhere near us". You smiled at the effort Zuko was making and leant into him. Zuko wrapped his arms around you and you buried your head in his chest. Ignoring the feeling in your stomach that you should have been more honest.

1 week later

Zuko definitely took what you’d said into account. He was a lot more confident with you both in private and publically. Apparently almost losing you made him more determined to make the most of his time with you. He invited you to royal events and was attentive to you throughout them. When nobles questioned him about you he would tell them it was none of their concern and refuse to answer any further prying. You liked seeing Zuko stand up for himself using his dominant abrupt side but also kind of missed his soft sweet side. Sure having a temper and attitude were hot in the moment but after a while they lost their depth and you got the feeling it was an act Zuko was putting on for you. As if Zuko thought by acting tough and in control with his court you’d be more attracted to him when in reality you loved how caring and considerate he was.

Zuko was also struggling. As well as maintaining the imposing Firelord who didn’t care what others thought of him, Zuko was also pretending he was okay with being casual. Zuko was not a casual person in any meaning of the word. He was a dramatic over-thinker, he had never been carefree and although in the moment with you he did enjoy it, afterwards his mind fretted over everything he’d done. He also worried about your open relationship. He knew freedom was important for you but he couldn’t help but wonder if when you looked at another person you’d start seeing them as well. Zuko liked you a lot and was sure he never wanted to see you with another person. He wondered if it was selfish but he wanted you all to himself and wanted an exclusive relationship....but he’d promised you he would be fine with this and that meant more to him.

So you and Zuko continued the charade to please the other, no idea that the other person actually felt the exact same way.

Your POV

You and Zuko had just had a pleasant evening with his friends and were retiring to his room for the night. On the way you passed a guard who looked at the two of you and then frowned. Zuko immediately tensed and went into Firelord mode. “Something you want to say?” Zuko called and the guard lowered his eyes “no Firelord Zuko”. “I thought not” Zuko agreed and took your hand. Zuko led you into his room and shut the door with a loud snap. You watched Zuko and all the things you’d been feeling this week came up. You needed to say something and now was just as good a time as any.

You prepared for the night and sat down on the edge of the bed watching Zuko warily, wondering how he’d take what you were about to say.

"Zuko i’ve been thinking about something and I think we need to talk” you said suddenly and Zuko jumped standing up taller. "Are you okay?" he asked immediately coming to sit next to you. "I am and i want to thank you for all the effort you’ve gone to but i think we need to reassess the situation”. Zuko immediately panicked, you’d realised he wasn’t a cool collected leader and that he was faking it....you weren’t attracted to him anymore. "Y/n i think i know what you’re going to say" he frowned when you carried on "i miss how it was before". Zuko blinked "what?". "I know you’re trying to be more dominant in your rule and to be more protective of us but that doesn’t mean you have to act all unfeeling and unbothered for my benefit. You’re a kind sweet person Zuko and I like when you show that, so i guess i’m asking have you been trying to change for me?". Zuko looked down "i have....you just reacted so intensely to me being more confident and so i thought you’d want that more". "I do love it when your confident" you smiled "but you don’t have to keep that in every aspect of our lives, maybe just when we’re alone?". Zuko felt a blush rise to his cheeks but he nodded "okay". You smiled "and sorry one more thing....i know i said i don’t like labels but i think i’d maybe like to try them?". Overcome with the realisation you felt everything he did Zuko just kissed you passionately. You kissed him back before laughing as you separated "what was that for?”. "For weeks i’ve been playing this character and restraining myself from asking you to be exclusive with me and i thought if i felt this way how can we be compatible but all along you felt it too". You blushed and nodded "yes i....i’ve felt that too”. Zuko grinned and kissed you again before pulling away "wait let me make sure i understand this correctly, you’d like us to start dating? Properly and officially?". "And exclusively" you smiled and Zuko grinned "i’m going to do this officially then, y/n will you be my girlfriend". "I thought you’d never ask!" you cried and kissed him again.

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sentinelpri · 3 years

Note

yoo I was wondering if I could request something with tfa optimus having a crush on a reader who’s like,, a bot higher up in command if that makes sense? maybe they’re an accomplished warrior/well known commander or something? I don’t have a preference for hcs/scenarios or w/e so it’s completely your choice!

Hey! Sounds like a great request, here’s some headcanons my friend:

As soon as I read this, I was like oh my God, Ultra Magnus’s kid. Imagine he had y/n with whoever you want, not really concerned with that, but yeah.

You’re the same age as Optimus, but you were always very sheltered due to Ultra Magnus wanting to keep you protected from his enemies, so you received private training to join the Elite Guatd and were very well guarded from the public until then after Ultra Magnus’s carrier died in battle.

Optimus never gets the chance to interact with you much, but he’s seen you a lot considering that Ultra Magnus actually trusts you. You’re a beautiful, strong-looking femme with bright optics and a (f/c) and white paint-job. Usually, you’re with Ultra Magnus or with Sentinel Prime and his squad, but something he notices about you is that you’re very... Kind and casual.

He figures it’s something about having been raised by someone so formal and stiff that you’ve developed such an easygoing personality, but you do get rather serious when it’s appropriate. You’re intelligent, an amazing strategist, and brilliant in combat- he can’t help but admire you when he sees you around Ultra Magnus during his academy training.

What starts as interest and admiration turns into adoration and respect when Elita-One has her accident. You object in court when Sentinel pins the blame on him, and though Ultra Magnus quickly tells you to stand down, he appreciates the gesture.

There had always been a tension between the two of you that he couldn’t explain, his feelings aside. Any time he went to stare at you, you were already looking at him, your gaze intense. Any time he would walk by you, you seem to touch him somehow- a servo on his shoulder, digits brushing past his back, shoulder bumping into his- something. He isn’t sure if it’s accidental or not.

You don’t really see each other after that court hearing though- you join the Elite Guard and become a Prime alongside Sentinel, whose guts you hate, and he becomes a space bridge technician. His interest fades for a bit once he crashes on earth and starts his battle against the Decepticons there with his team, but he can’t help thinking of you every once in a while and blushing whenever one of the other bots mentions your name in passing. He finds himself missing having you around sometimes, even if you didn’t get to interact much.

Even when Sentinel and the Elite Guard show up on earth, you don’t come with them, occupied with business matters back on Cybertron.

After the attack on Ultra Magnus, as pissed off as Sentinel Prime is about it and as much as Sentinel Prime tries to appeal the decision in court, you’re appointed the new Magnus. The final battle with the Decepticons happens, and Optimus- for the first time in a long time- returns to Cybertron to give you back your father’s hammer, which Sentinel had tried to take from you behind your back, only for Ratchet to go to Cybertron, take it, and bring it back to him.

He enters your quarters and finds you working on preparations for Ultra Magnus’s and Prowl’s funerals, as Ultra Magnus’s injuries were too great for him to survive and Prowl had sacrificed himself in the final battle. Optimus was just grateful that you were making sure both were given a proper service even though you had so many other things to be juggling as the new Magnus.

It was late, so you were alone working since you didn’t like having guards around you, and he had come by himself.

He apologizes for having kept the hammer for so long and offers it back, only for you to tell him that it’s better suited to him anyways- you wouldn’t use it, it brings back too many memories of your father who you’re still grieving and you have your own weapons that you’re already accustomed to. After that, he finds himself watching you work, utterly captivated by how much you’ve matured in what felt like such a short amount of time.

He’s unsure of what to do and doesn’t want to overstay his welcome, so he turns to leave, only for you to tell him to sit down at your work table- you say you have some high quality oil you’ve been dying to share with somebot, and Sentinel just doesn’t make the cut, Jazz is still on earth, etc.

Optimus agrees and sits down across from you, both of you with your own container of oil. The two of you are restrained and handle your drinks well, so neither of you overdo it, and all the oil does is relax the mood. After a few moments of silence, you finally come out with it.

“I think you’ve done well despite everything you’ve been through. How would you feel about becoming the commander of the Elite Guard?”

He’s baffled, obviously. How was he to go from being shunned for Elita’s accident to commander of the Elite Guard? How would Cybertron react? “What about Sentinel?”

“My father always had a soft spot for him, so I won’t kick him to the streets, but I don’t want him having such a huge responsibility. I’m thinking about giving him a position as my guard.”

You’d never liked having guards around, but it was a fair idea. Ultra Magnus would’ve preferred you had one, and the one time he was unguarded, Shockwave took advantage.

“Do you think I’m ready for such a huge responsibility more than Sentinel Prime?”

“I consider us equals,” You admit. Optimus is taken aback by it, but finds himself reflecting; maybe he’s a bit too relaxed from all the drinks, but maybe he’s also become more aware of just how short life is and how much more honest he needs to be with himself and others due to the recent events.

So, he decides to tell you the truth. “If you consider us equals, then... I’d like to tell you something important. Honestly.”

“Go on.”

“You’ve always been above me, so I haven’t felt it appropriate- even now, it feels questionable, but I feel like you need to know, and life is so short... I’ve always been fond of you, (y/n).”

“I’m fond of you, too, Optimus.”

“No, I mean... I’ve developed feelings for you, over the stellar cycles. Ever since we were in training.”

You don’t even hesitate, LMAO. You just lean across the table and push everything to the side so you can grab him by his shoulders and slam his lips against yours.

Apparently, he wasn’t imagining the tension after all-

#tfa #transformers #transformers animated #optimus prime #tfa optimus prime #tfa ultra magnus #ultra magnus #tfa sentinel prime #sentinel prime #optimus prime x reader #headcanons #asks #ask #my asks #request #requests

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keilemlucent · 3 years

Text

pretty eyes & starshine: i

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @keiqos (thank you!! 💞)

word count: ~9.4k

Keigo surrenders to losing himself in the blank-walled, temporary home he inhabits. He finds familiarity in the routine of aches, pains and pills.

You’re his only solace.

warnings: bodily trauma, medical trauma, PTSD, dissociation, suicidal ideation, alcohol as a coping mechanism and graphic description of sustained injury

a/n: oh wow so here it is, big sad fic :’^) part one!! it’s canon divergent from manga chapter 296 onwards.

this one has been a long time coming. please mind the warnings!! this fic deals a lot with trauma and mental illness in tandem. the warnings are going to change with the coming parts, so please be mindful. i don’t wanna get too sappy, but this piece has been my Baby for the past few months, and i’m excited to finally share. that being said, enjoy loves 💞

Everyone is fucked up after the War.

There is no kindness in an aftermath like this one, not so soon, and certainly not with dried blood of old comrades and mud still caking under its metaphorical fingernails. The world was in shambles, and every hero is along with it.

There is something horrifying about being at the center of it all, Hawks, no, Keigo thinks solemnly, all too often.

He’s used to the attention he’s getting, touches and poking and prodding by near strangers. Except, he was used to exclamations of how great and powerful and remarkable he was. Now, all the attention he receives is followed by little sighs and sad, broken eyes.

He’s sure he looks equally as sad; Keigo had been nothing but an empty shell since the War had ended and he’d been carted off to his hospital room. Numb despite all of his burns.

It’s the shock, he tells himself, he’ll snap out of it any day.

Any day.

...

And it is any day.

He wakes up to screaming from the next room over, agonized wails that pierce the air as his morning nurse enters. She’s over-worked and haggard while checking his vitals with a forced smile. They don’t make conversation with him much anymore, and Keigo doesn’t have the energy to try and force it. There isn’t enough in him to pretend that he’s okay enough to banter with folks.

If he still had his wings, he would’ve wrapped himself up tight in the plumage and let himself rot away in some corner. He’d let the dissociated numbness fade, however long it took, and then succumb to whatever psychological wounds revealed themselves.

Waste away, all alone.

But he doesn't have that luxury. He is in an overcrowded hospital with swarms of civilians and heroes, all stuffed in one place because the world doesn’t have the time to differentiate between the wounded, nor the space or resources to give different resources. Though, Keigo is a special case, hence why he’s had healers coming to him for the past three weeks since the War trying to coax his body into genesizing a new pair of wings.

The Commission’s hospital has all the bells-and-whistles that a medical professional could need, but Keigo, and so many others, are facing problems that don’t have good and easy roads to healing.

That’s assuming healing was even possible.

Keigo is convinced, has been convinced, that there is no way to come back from the War, nor the absence on his back, nor the shouts and cries of pain that echo around the hospital like a new genre of music that Keigo so desperately wants to scrub from his brain.

Things change, it’s inevitable. Everyone falls eventually, and he was just used to flying.

It’s a harder descent.

...

Keigo doesn’t meet you on any day, he meets you on a lonely night.

The evenings and early mornings were the most peaceful at the hospital. Most folks, three weeks after the end of it all, had serious enough injuries that they had to be somewhat sedated to sleep, either for physical or mental pain keeping them from sleep.

It’s morose, Keigo thinks, quietly and privately, but he craves those hours. All he hears then is the hum of air vents and beeps of his own medical machinery. None of the audible agony of the folks he was sworn to protect.

He’s slept most of the day, not lucid enough to do much else, and the nurses haven’t been giving him sedatives unless he asked (though he always did.) Without forced quiet, he’s antsy, fingers twitching and flaring the new (and growing) pains rooted in his (empty, isn’t that horrifying—) back.

He rouses himself, adjusting his scratching hospital garb (thin sweats and a cheap crew neck with the back almost entirely cut away). With his IV pole at his side, he resolves to take a few laps and quiet himself, hopefully.

(Keigo would need sedatives, he always did, but it was nice to play pretend that he didn’t. It made things easier for a precious hour or two.)

His laps are usually quick, despite how much his body aches when he walks. So much new, burnt tissue that needed to learn how to move, how to live again, kept him throbbing and gritting his teeth.

Masochism be damned, he keeps at it during his sleepless nights. Physical therapy wasn’t an option when the world was caving in with him at the epicenter.

There’s a common room at the end of the foyer of identical (filled) hospital rooms, just a collection of stuffy, uncomfortable couches that face an aged TV and a wide bay of windows. It’s rarely used, just a formality for when the space of the hospital had regularly hurt victims and heroes. When it wasn’t bearing so much weight.

Sometimes, he would stop to idly regard the mostly barren world around the hospital. Far from the cities, a little hideaway for heroes and their loved ones to heal in privacy. Other than sheer distance, there is a thick, organic shield around the complex. It’s a towering forest, man-planted with identical types of trees in perfect rows.

It’s grim in its predictability.

(When did he get so fucking pensive?)

(Oh yeah, too much time locked in his goddamn skull.)

He hadn’t been planning to have any inner musings that night.

But, that night, he notes that he is not alone.

On one of the hard couches, you sit, with your own IV-pole companion and injuries, an arm carried in a monochromatic sling and set in a hard cast.

You turn to him, blinking wide eyes at him.

There’s a single lamp on, and the light dances in your eyes with its own unexpected rhythm.

Something compels Keigo to smile, cocky, like he used to, and greet you with a little wave, and a finger to his lips.

Your expressions melts, a hand going over your mouth to stifle a giggle.

It’s like you’re pulling him after that, he finds himself resting across from you.

You must look like a pair, he realizes. You’re greasy, he’s greasy. He’s got a fine layer of built-up stubble that shouldn’t be called anything other than impressive peach fuzz (not that Keigo’s seen it, he’s felt it. The idea of looking in a mirror makes him sick to his stomach. Though you don’t have any pseudo-beard, you’ve got your own unkempt look and feel that makes you two kindred without sharing a word.

It feels comfortable, warm.

“Hi,” you speak first, voice soft and gentle. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah, who can?” Keigo replies, shaking his head. “But what about you? Midnight oil doesn’t burn without a cause, you know.”

Your expression is also painful in the way it’s so open, yet worn (most everyone had locked up by now, the ones in the hospital and Keigo imagined the ones outside of it too.)

“I like the sky— the stars are pretty.” You sigh, wistful. “I watch for shooting stars.”

The thought, the significance of that obvious wanting, makes something pang deep in his chest. Childlike hope in a place like this, foolish as well as frail.

“Trying to get a wish?” Keigo clicked his tongue. “Smart.”

“No, no— wishing doesn’t... suit me, right now.” You snorted, shaking your head, the light in your eyes dancing, “I just think they’re pretty.”

Keigo blinks, unable to stop the way his eyes widen.

Your posture reads nothing but earnestness and vulnerability, so freely given (so undeserved) without a hint of pullback.

“What do you want to be called?”

“... Excuse me?” Keigo is not used to his thoughts being interrupted in the blanket of dark that he feels most comfortable in. Your words shock him enough with their meaning, let alone the way you’re so brazen.

“I, uh,” You stumble on your words. “I know who you are, but I also saw that whole broadcast, which I’m going to easily assume you don’t want to talk about. But, I don’t know how much you want to be called ‘Hawks’ at this point either.”

His mouth is dry.

“So, I ask instead,” You lean forward, your IV line pulling the slightest bit and you wince. His discomfort must be very fucking apparent, because you backtrack in moments. “... Or, neither. I can call you something else, too.”

“... A nickname, for someone you don’t even know?” Keigo, Hawks, whoever he is now struggles with words. There’s too many, and they’re all too fast, and he doesn’t have his wings to catch up to them or outrun them—

“Yeah, why not?” You shrug with a lazy smile. “I’ll call you... pretty eyes. How about that?”

Keigo does have pretty eyes. They’re gold, light and glittering amber in the lowlight. Before he, ya’ know, lost them, and when things were good, but awful, but normal, he darkened the organic marks around his canthi with liquid eyeliner. He liked makeup, prettied himself up and accentuated all the good he had. Preening.

None of that is left, just what organically was on his skin, and he hasn’t seen it in its raw state in years, and like fuck if he was going to look in a mirror just to figure out if his natural eyeliner was half as good as that by his own hand.

“Sure, that works,” He relaxes, mirroring your expression like the practiced... pro he is. “What do I call you, starshine?”

You roll your eyes, but nothing about you fades as you tell him your name, something that calms and fills him, “But, you can call me starshine if you want. Sounds nice.”

It’s sweet.

So, Keigo greets you.

“Nice to meet you, starshine.”

...

That’s the first time you kept each other’s company. Most of it is quiet, you truly do just want to watch the stars. Keigo did with you, tracing the shadows of clouds and moonlight with his eyes.

(Occasionally, his gaze shifts to you, regarding your figure with the same care for only a moment before returning to the sky you both miss.)

Eventually, the quiet heat of it puts him half to sleep, and he bids you goodnight.

You wave goodbye, rising as he away.

The light isn’t in your eyes anymore, and your warmth feels a little too far away.

...

The next days are long.

He slips into that shell-state again, where he’s a husk that stares emptily at the ceiling as the Commission tries to piece him together to a fraction of what he once was.

They fail, each time, because no healer they’ve brought can regenerate quirk-formed appendages, but he commends their efforts all the same. It’s out of desperation, sure, but he’s heard whispers of the new generation. In recalling his own sidekicks, he isn’t as scared for the future.

(Everyone else’s future. He’s so terrified of his own that he turns extra numb if he thinks about it.)

Selfishly, he just wants his wings for himself. They’d keep him plenty company. If he ever did get them back, he’d fly somewhere, faraway and alone to live out his days under his feathers and feel as empty as he wanted.

They fuss over him all day, not knowing those desires. They are private, and he only puts on his old, self-confident bravado so they don’t lock him up somewhere to have his brain picked and to fill the new holes with pill-shaped gauze.

As established, Keigo was content to rot.

(He can’t fully parse all of his feelings and they consume him.)

The healers for the week all failed, doing nothing but making his back bow and burn. It’s painful. Obviously, trying to stitch a body back together, or rather making a body make when it was so tired of creating—

(Feather after feather after feather, for how long?)

He’s glad his sessions are in a different room, a spare, horrifyingly metallic exam room across the hospital. It reeks like iron and isopropyl alcohol, but Keigo doesn’t mind. The filmy paper that rolls from the exam table gets soaked with his sweat as opposed to his familiar bed dressings.

Not to mention, it’s nice, not having to hear his neighbor’s screams and pleadings to God, any god, for reprieve. Calming.

(He feels less guilty. Less like it was his own hand that scarred up their bodies. If he can’t hear them, he only thinks of his own agony under ‘helping’ hands.)

His body is exhausted at the end of each day, and even his restlessness fades with the necessities of his body.

He doesn’t see you, and practically forgets about you.

It’s a week or so later when he takes one of his strolls, and finds you tucked away into your nook, dimly lit and with a blanket over your lap.

Keigo feels it as he nears you, that comfort that your expression bleeds into his very soul. Even as he watches your healthy hand nervously toy with the thin knit in your lap, it doesn’t dim you.

The lamplight dances in your eyes as you nod to him, “Fancy seeing you here, pretty eyes.”

“You’d never know it, but I live just down the hallway— me,” He touches his chest proudly, surprised by his own jest.

You gave a fake gasp, mirroring him easily, “Never knew I had such a well-known soul in my neighborhood. Forgive my transgression.”

Bending at the waist, as much as you can with your right leg extended, straight, you choke on laughter.

Keigo follows you in it, giggling, genuinely giggling, high and light and girlish like he’d never heard from himself before.

He snapped his mouth shut, thickly swallowing and shaking his head.

“No need to be shy,” You assured him with an affectionate turn of the head. “You have a lovely laugh.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me, cute.”

Your head tilted farther, confused, “I’m simply being kind to you.”

Why didn’t he have the snark to reply to that? Probably because he was half-dead and on painkillers for nearly a month. He’d beat himself up about it later, maybe.

There wasn’t an ounce of malice in your tone, just earnestness that tugged at his own insecurities.

You backpedaled. “How was your day?”

Keigo takes a few moments to respond, shaking his head without mind to the way his too-long hair flops in his face.

The banter isn’t forced, but it’s not welcomed yet.

As comfortable as you feel to him, Keigo isn’t comfortable.

“Same old, same old,” Living hell. “Boring, mostly. Painful, but dull. It’s crazy how much hell smells like cheap disinfectant, huh?”

You agree, quietly, “I’m pretty sure there’s many hells in this place.”

Keigo doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t.

You both regard the stars again with growing reverence. Specks of light dance back in your eyes as you both settle into the hard cushions like they were made of goose down and Sherpa.

...

Your conversations are... disjointed, to say the least.

There’s an inability for words and phrases to flow between you. There’s starts and stops, stalls like an engine that putters on tarry oil without ever truly firing. There are good feelings, still, safety in silence before words as you stargaze together through the comfort of a window.

It should feel disarming, to be so far from the sky yet have no way to reach it. And it is, but Keigo can swallow the reality these days. It’s easier when there’s someone on the mend close by, sharing in the discomfort of a rawed mind and the comfort of a yellow-toned fluorescent bulb.

It’s unspoken kinship. Keigo never had time for it in the past, but now it was all he had. There had to be some cruel irony in it (as if there wasn’t enough in his life), but he couldn’t make himself mind.

Everything he’d once excelled at, everything he had was gone. He was barren and stripped (don’t think about it—), exposed to the elements in all the worst ways. At least the hospital was clean and safe, relatively.

It feels safest with you near.

Sure, your conversations were clearly that of two horribly broken people, but that wasn’t new or surprising. It simply was.

“Do you know constellations?” You ask one night, a colder one, where you’ve got two blankets over your lap.

Keigo thought for a moment, “A handful, but I never took to stargazing, you know?”

You don’t relate, just chew your lip, the light of the dim lamp dancing across your irises.

“Can I show you some?”

“...Constellations?”

“What else?” You crack a smile. “Come on, pretty eyes.”

Whatever you’d like, he’d do.

He can’t refuse, he’s already getting weak for you.

Shifting, Keigo joins you on your typical couch for the first time. Your IV poles, thrumming and humming their own rhymes harmonize, quietly and mostly imperceptible.

You regard him even more warmly, so close, a little smile playing on your lips.

“What’s your sign?”

Keigo deadpans, “What?”

“Like... astrology. What’s your sign?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, knowing the double-meaning of your words.

Flirting again.

Since when had he been so bad at it?

“Capricorn,” He huffs back. He keeps his back off the stone-like cushions of the couch— his scarring had been itchy the whole day prior— so itchy—

You tap the plastic-y fabric gap between the two of you, grabbing his attention, “Hey, pretty eyes. Stick with me, let me show you where that one is.”

So, you do.

Your light-filled eyes trace the sky’s nighttime freckles, searching until you find what you’re looking for.

“There,” Your finger raises, tracing the patterns in the air. “That’s Capricorn, can you see?”

Not really, the stars are just a meaningless smatter. If there’s some sort of pattern he’s supposed to find, he comes up with none.

“Not in the slightest,” Keigo rolls his eyes. “Show me again?”

You don’t reply, but rather scoot a bit closer, mirror his hunch and pose with precision and tiny adjustments.

He doesn’t dare to breathe as you carefully grab his arm, extending it. You lay your cheek over his bicep, watching from the closest view to his own that you could.

“Do you see now?”

The only starlight he sees is right in front of him, soft cheek pressed against atrophying muscles. Sharing your heat so graciously as you would so easily come to, you chatter about the stories that are written in the stars, by all cultures, for so long.

Keigo hears, but he’s far more focused on how he wishes you were even closer.

...

After that night, you always share the same couch.

You face forward, right leg always extended and stiff-looking. Keigo doesn’t mind, hardly notices. He faces you, fragile back bandaged and kept away from the unforgiving grit of the uncomfortable couch. It looks a bit uncomfortable, the posing of it all, but with the words flowing easier, neither of you mind.

You keep showing him stars, the constellations you can remember and see in the night sky.

Keigo makes fun and crafts his own, connecting new dots and winding stories about them.

“See those three there?” He guides your hand, close enough to share your breath. “That’s the comb of the chicken. Star comb, if you will.”

You snort, rolling your eyes and pulling your hand from his grip, “There’s no cock in the stars, pretty eyes. Chickens can’t fly anyways.”

You both freeze.

Keigo’s mouth goes dry—

Chicken can’t fly.

As much as you’re both learning to be human again, there isn’t talk of your injuries. Maybe, there’s mutual curiosity (you’ve been here two months. just for a broken arm, why?), but like fuck Keigo wants to broach the subject.

“S-sorry,” you stumble over your words, physically retreating. “Shouldn’t have said that.”

It is a fact, chickens can’t fly, but Keigo isn’t a chicken. He’s a debauched, defamed hero whose home is the same set of a milky white, hospital ward walls. Once, a real hero, before the war, before selling his morals just for a chance at rest, before blue flame— burning—

“Pretty eyes,” Your voice trembles, shaking and lonesome. “Come back here, now. Come on.”

You’re holding his cheeks, unkempt nails pressing (blessedly) a bit too hard into his cheeks. The heat of you is so close, almost scalding him, but he wants more of it, more of the heat that doesn’t burn—

“You’re okay, pretty eyes, s-see?” You hold yourself together, jerking your head to the wide window and glittering stars. “We’re just stargazing.”

Keigo’s has tears leaking down his face, but neither of you acknowledge them. You release him, quietly spinning another tale about a hero hung in the cosmos. He thanks you for it silently by tugging you into his side.

(It was the first night you really touched him.)

(The light in your eyes was so close, he wanted it all for himself.)

...

They’re running out of healers to try.

From the weakest to the strongest quirk, no one could revive his dead wings. There was no root to push from the scar tissue, nor resolve left in Keigo to try and make new pins and feathers sprout.

His back isn’t fertile. It’s just as poisoned as the rest of him.

...

He wonders where you disappear to during the day. He takes his strolls then, too. Waves to nurses these days, not charming, just friendly, trying to make a little brightness.

There’s one day where he asks one of the nurses he knows best for a pair of scissors.

She looks at him, worried, “Don’t tell me we need to put you on psych watch.”

“What? No,” Keigo shakes his head, shaggy hair quivering around the frame of his face. “I just need a bit of a haircut.”

“... We can ask the Commission to bring someone in—”

“I can do it myself.”

She doesn’t argue with the firmness of his voice, rather, she hands him a pair of safety scissors with bright purple handles. They’re for a child, but Keigo’s fine with that. They’d do.

When he was younger, and in a pinch (and so poor he tried to eat grass and lick scraps from metallic packaging of discarded junk food wrappers) he’d cut his hair with his own feathers.

Safety scissors would be even easier.

It did mean that he had to confront his own visage, which he had gotten too good at avoiding.

The bathroom in his room is small, it would’ve been claustrophobic if he was still carrying a twenty-five-foot wingspan.

But, he isn’t. It was just him and the scars on his back that he definitely wasn’t ready to see.

He’s caught glimpses of himself over the past weeks, but nothing substantial. No view that would’ve given himself time to scrutinize over his imperfection.

The dull hospital mirror reveals too much about him. It feels too vulnerable, makes his chest tighten, as he stares himself in his ‘pretty eyes’.

Purple stamps below his eyes, probably not from sleeplessness itself, just the sheer exhaustion of living. The one under his left is an odd maroon color, mixing with the scar that is burned into that half of his face.

The skin was once soft, plump cheeks always tended too and well taken care of by expensive skincare products. Now, it’s charred and gaunt. Healing, but still obviously scarred heavy and deep. The weak beard he’s been growing (accidently) is patchy around the thickened tissue.

It bothers him—

It doesn’t look like him in the mirror.

It helps to take care of himself for the first time in a long while.

He shaves with the cheap foam and single blade razor they’d given him in the toiletries pack the first days he was there, while he was still numbed out and half-dead. The metal glides over his skin, stripping away the numbness just a little. The stubble and cream slide down the drain and away.

His hair is different. The waves had for so long been pushed back and held that way with the winds of his flights. The longer, feathery patches now hang around his face, dangling down and mingling with the too-long sections that curl over his ears and down his neck.

Wetting his hair, he cuts away what he can.

It’s blunt, messy, and not elegant.

All the same, the trim feels good.

Though, his mood goes sour when the screaming starts for the day.

The far wall of the bathroom was shared by him and his shrieking neighbor, and he took great care to never shower when they were singing their awful chorus. It grates on his ears; he should’ve been a bit empathetic to their suffering, but he didn’t care that much. It was so regular, that the screaming that might’ve once sent each one of his feathers (don’t think about, don’t fucking think about it) sharp as the razor in his hand, didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Just a poke at his temple, a jab and a drop of water that irks him more than anything else.

It is a... somewhat pleasant distraction. He can focus more on his fellow patient than his own haggard appearance, the scar, the lack of red at his back—

It’s all okay, ‘okay’, until the patient starts babbling.

“M-make it stop!”

Keigo stills.

A scream tears through the drywall. Even without his wings, it makes him thrum, far-too sensitive.

“Help!” The voice yelps. “HELP!”

There’s a thud and thump from the other room.

“Please, please!”

Keigo’s heart stutters in his chest, and the razor falls from his hand, clattering into the sink.

“MAKE IT STOP!”

It’s you.

It’s your screaming and shrieking that’s burrowed in his ears. It’s your voice that’s trembling in desperation that has him running out of his room, nearly pulling out his IVs as the pole teeters and follows behind him.

Why are you screaming?

Why have you always been screaming?

A nurse is trying to stop him, urging him to settle but he can’t. There's an urgency in his chest he hasn’t felt since back before and he has to heed it. He needs to.

He pulls his forearm from the nurse’s grasp, hissing in his own pain, muscles pulling and aching with disuse but he doesn’t care.

The nurses drag him back from your door, and they almost have him, almost have him on the ground.

And then he smells burning—

Cloth.

Flesh.

And something in him snaps.

He clocks the nearest nurse with a tight fist, ignoring his atrophied muscles and kicking with everything he could muster.

They release him, probably out of shock. (He’d been such a model patient, so complacent and quiet until then.)

Then, he stumbles into your room, and sees you, and wants to die.

...

There’s plenty of times in his life where Keigo felt like an animal. When the Commission first got their hands on him, they took to studying and picking his quirk about to figure out the most efficient way to rebuild it to their needs and uses. Now then, he felt very much like an experiment, only half-human. He was too young to really ‘get’ it, but the feeling persisted.

Sometimes, he felt similarly when he played celebrity. The talk shows, the modeling and media felt hoops he had to jump through just to get a decent night’s sleep. It was an additional job aside from heroics, one he excelled at and entertained him. But that didn’t mean each flash of a camera didn’t suck him dry of a bit of his dignity.

He was sure you had to be feeling similarly.

You’re writhing and arching in your bed, curls of smoke rising from your papery hospital gown. Every machine in your room is screaming with you, bloody and loud and angry—

And scared. Keigo recognized well, and it drove pins into his heart to realize it was you.

It’s even worse when he realizes some part of you is burning.

At your bedside, he freezes.

Nylon straps wrap around your wrist, around your cast, and keep you held tight to the bed. You’re tied down, held to the plastic bed frame as you wretch and scream.

You don’t even notice him.

The smoke rises from your burning hospital gown. He rips it away, tears the burning section away with his shaking hand. It’s crass, and Keigo sees a bit too much. The gauze wrapping your leg below is burning as well, in little veins of char that burns black and smoldering.

Keigo tears it all away, he tears and tears—

And then he sees the wound.

He was trained, once, to see this type of horror and not bat an eye. That training was gone, and all that remained was his starshine with a writhing, molten wound.

Keigo is numb as the nurses drag him back to his room, trying to decide if he prefers the apathy and numbness to injury that his old heroism gave him, or the blinding pain of empathy when someone you... care about is hurt.

He can’t decide which he’d rather suffer with.

...

You appear in the common room a few nights later.

Keigo still takes his walks in the late evening, even if you aren’t there. If anything, he needs them more. He’s restless, always listening for the screams or howls from the next room over. His annoyance towards them was gone, and all that remained was a concern that knotted in the pit of his stomach.

There’s a sigh of relief on his lips when he finds you, nestled into a pile of blankets with your IV pole, watching the stars with sad eyes.

He joins you on your couch, cracking a decent joke that you don’t respond to.

Then, there’s silence.

It’s as loud as the stars are bright. The expanse of sound is filled by the hum of the cold air and distant beeping.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice shakes. “You shouldn’t have seen me like that. It’s not... Easy to look at. Or, I imagine it’s not.”

Keigo wants to rip the apology from your tongue and burn it.

“No, please, it’s alright,” He’s begging too much. “I get it.”

As much as he can, anyways.

You’re quiet again, biting your lip so hard it must be close to breaking skin.

“Can we... talk about things?” You ask, softer. “I can’t keep pretending.”

“...’Pretending’?” Keigo knows, but he selfishly wants to hear you say it.

“Well, you didn’t think I’ve been here for two months for my bum arm, right?” You laugh weakly. “And I’m well-aware that you don’t have wings.”

We just don’t talk about it.

“It’s nicer to look at the stars and pretend everything’s fine,” Keigo lays the statement down and regrets it.

Your fist tightens, jaw clenching.

And there’s more silence.

It’s deafening to Keigo, he wants to speak, scream, but you’re quiet next to him. He can fill voids with his voice so, so easily, yet he turns in on himself.

“I know, it’s all hard,” Tears drip down from your words, though your cheeks remain dry. “I know, but there was a War two months ago, and we’re still holed up in a place like this, and we never talk about why.”

You turn to him, light dancing slowly in your eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no sound comes out.

“... I didn’t want to ask.” Keigo speaks, gaze shifting down to your leg. He questioned why a broken arm would keep you here, but you can’t just ask that. “It’s bad form to ask a stranger about their injuries unnecessarily when they’re traumatized.”

“But we’re not strangers, not anymore.”

Keigo can’t disagree.

...

You had been in a conbini when Gigantomakia tore through your little suburb. It was a few miles away, but the ground shook as if the goliath was just outside the automatic doors.

Your demon was near, though.

It was a man from the PLF who tore into you so badly. Just some random, emboldened civilian who ascribed to Destro’s ideology hard enough to think about taking out his frustrations on ‘weaker-quirked’ individuals.

That meant the young couple getting slushies in the corner, the old man behind the cash register, and you.

(You’d told your roommate you’d be home quick to help her study—)

(Your roommate is dead, under several tons of rubble.)

“The old man died before the heroes even started trying to rescue anyone. The couple was begging each other to hold on, but only one of them lasted. He died within a few weeks of being taken here.”

There was just you.

You’d hardly been touched by the man, the fucking villain, who’d set his mark on you. But it was more than enough to leave a writhing scar.

Keigo asks to see it, and quietly, you oblige him.

You’re in a gown, you always have been. The hem of it is pulled up by your visibility shaking fingers, and slowly reveals the scar in the lowlight of the ever-present lamp. He’d seen it once, but that didn’t change how startling it was.

It’s molten.

The skin is gnarled, twisting and scarred worse than anything Keigo’s ever seen. It was like the gore of a torn flesh was frozen over your right side, from your calf, to your thighs to your pretty hips—

“It goes higher, but that’s not exactly couth to show you,” you joke, but neither of you laugh.

“... It’s not moving anymore?”

“Oh, yeah. It calms down, when it’s dark. Nighttime and all. It stops being so ornery.”

Keigo has a laundry list of questions, but with the expression on your face that just bleeds exhaustion into the air, and the fresh burns from the restraints on your wrists, he keeps quiet.

Maybe, three months ago, he’d jabber on about the injury, try to gode some information out on the villain, profile him, track him and beat the tar out of him for touching you—

But this is the present, and Keigo is a wingless soul. All he has is a prescription for painkillers on a rigid schedule, and the awareness that you both appreciate each other.

Keigo scoots to your uninjured side, lifting his arm up and around your shoulder. It hurts, it fucking hurts, but he doesn’t mind.

You tense for a moment, turning to him with wide eyes, scared like he’s never seen.

Then, you melt into him.

...

Keigo’s busy with healers the week, though none speak his language, literally. They’re international, foreign aid that’s been flown in to try to pick up the disaster of a society that’s been left in the wake of the War and the dissolution of Tartarus.

None of them make progress.

As much as it burns (haha) him to his core, he’s accepting the reality, slowly but surely.

...

Endeavor visits him.

It’s the morning after a particularly sweet night with you. You still sit together in the starlight, though you’ve run out of constellations to show him. It’s less quiet than it used to be, just little banter that flows between the two of you. It feels more genuine than his old bluntness, welcome after so much odd tension when you first started enjoying the heat of each other’s presence and the far-off stars.

You’d taken to spending time together during the day as well... As much as you could. Strapping you to your bed was for your own safety. Your broken arm had snapped the first few days at the hospital because of the severity of your spasms and flares. The nurses keep you wrapped up, but Keigo drags a chair close to your bed and talks to you as much as he can.

It helps you relax.

Though the days fill with tension as you try to negate the inevitability of your molten scar coming to life, nights remain calm.

And so, so sweet.

You’ve taken to tucking into his side, telling him little treasured facts about the cosmos. It’s easier to guide his eyes like that, as your cheek rests over his collarbone.

It lingers with him, the feeling of your casual touch, so tentatively offered and so graciously received.

He traces his own constellations over your gown, mindful of the flesh beneath that heats beneath his palm when he gets too close.

After one of those wonderful, early nights, Enji Todoroki enters his room with all of the gusto one would expect. Which is not very much, but the sheer presence of him is enough to make Keigo quake.

Just like the little boy from Kyushu, Keigo regards him with stars in his eyes.

The hero, not a speck of flame on him (thank god) pulls up a chair near his bed. Keigo sits cross-legged and cocks his head to the side.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods, number one?” Keigo smiles.

“Number fifteen.”

“... What?”

“Since my injuries, I’m mostly on bedrest,” Enji replied, folding his hands on his chin. “I’m number fifteen now, and that number will more than likely just drop. I’m not much of a hero with only one lung. I’m planning to officially retire at the end of the month.”

Keigo’s chest goes tight and it feels like he’s joking. He tosses on a tight smile.

“This is hardly time for a pillar—“

“I’m no pillar. I never was,” Enji sighs, running a hand over his scarred cheek. “The kids can handle this.”

Keigo breaks so easily these days.

“That’s not fair—” He had been tossed into this all too early and god it fucked him up—

“Hawks,” Enji sighed. “There’s hardly anyone left to fight. They’re either dead, missing part of themselves, or gone.”

“So, you’re giving up?”

“If I didn’t, I’d die.”

Coward.

No, just honest and smart.

“Since when are you this selfish?” Keigo’s own words surprise him, but he doesn’t back down. “And this wordy, number one? You’ve changed.”

He spits the last phrase like an insult. He hates himself for it and would hate himself even more for it later.

Enji’s face remains solid and unwavering. The twitch in his brow is the only indication that Keigo’s words were even heard.

“Since we lost, Keigo. Things have changed.”

Keigo knew, of course, but it didn’t stop the anger from rolling his belly.

“Oh, like I don’t fucking know,” If Keigo still had his wings, they would’ve been extended and fluffed, angry as the pinched skin of his forehead.

This was his hero, he couldn’t be giving up too—

“Rest, Hawks,” Enji stand up, “You deserve it.”

Seems Endeavor really died. Enji’s face is worn, his expression neutral and jaw slack. He looks hollowed out and empty, not an ounce or morsel of fight left in him, even for a flightless bird in need of some encouragement.

There’s more to be said, but Keigo’s too angry to listen and Enji doesn’t have the energy to try.

Whatever news the old hero had come to bring was left undelivered.

...

You settle together the next few nights, both so damn tired, even though you’ve done nothing other than lay around a hospital for so-many weeks.

The air always vibrates between the two of you, that comfortable warmth shared between mingling breath and senses. Light dances in your eyes, twisting and bouncing like something otherworldly.

(Maybe it is.)

Your fingers lace together, held in Keigo’s lap. You trace the others hand in relaxing little lines and shapes, trying to soothe each other’s wounds, always.

“One of the doctors said the scar might start shrinking,” You break the tender silence, nosing into his jaw in the same way an affectionate cat would. “They’re not entirely sure, but it’s been stable for a few days.”

Keigo’s feathery (don’t think about it) eyebrows shot up, “That’s amazing, and there’s only a few spasms this week, too.”

(He kept good tabs on you, he had to.)

You hummed in agreement, a sad smile playing on your lips as it so often did.

With a quick blink, the light bouncing in your eyes faded, and the world felt a bit colder.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get out of here,” You pressed closer to him. “There’s shelters, and some cities are taking refugees, but I don’t—”

Your jaw clicks shut, brow furrowed and mood soured.

(Keigo, mind you, is still focusing on the lack of light in your eyes and the chill of the air in the room.)

Something stirs, deep in his gut, but he doesn’t say anything. How Keigo used to have such a mouth, he didn’t know. These days, all he can is act, like somehow the loss of his wings came with the loss of his tongue.

Tugging you by the waist, mindful of the tender scar, he pulls you close, internally resolving.

...

She, the main Suit, visits him.

(It’s his last visitor at the hospital.)

There are no trumpeters, guards, or the like. It’s just the haggard president, matching Keigo with his dark circles and creased with new wrinkles and far-more grey sections in her slicked back hair.

The air stands still as she pulls up a chair, burying her head in her hands.

She, the Main Suit, has never been one to inquire as to how he is. Many of the others at the Commission were sweet, kind to him in youth, but she was all business.

Some things never change.

She breaks the silence of the room, “... do you want to be done, Hawks?”

The cords in his chest tighten, gaze going sharper.

He doesn’t answer.

They meet each other’s gazes; twenty years of fucked-up emotion being shared between the pair of them.

“We’ve done everything. Every healer, every quirk, every treatment, conventional or otherwise,” she’s too soft. “There’s nothing left to try.”

He knew that, he had to know that, right?

His throat feels sticky as he swallows down bile, the scars on his back burning anew. It’s somatic, it has to be, but his flesh crawls and writhes just like yours. His starshine. He hates the way his mind is racing, just as fast as it always has, but his body lacks the ability to keep up.

He grounds himself in the thought of you, his starshine. Your body. Your heat.

His narrow pupils refocus on the light tremble in her shoulders.

“I’m being honest, so I’ll ask again,” She meets his gaze, grey eyes as soulless and full as ever. “Do you want to be done?”

“Well, obviously I can't fight—”

“I mean it. All of it, Hawks. Maybe a few media appearances, but all this... shit. You’ve done enough.”

You’ve done enough.

The words bounce around in his skull.

“Do you want to be done?”

Done with being a hero.

That’s all he’d ever been, right? That is him, he is Hawks, for fuck’s sake, no one other than Dabi (may he rot and die and immolate in hell) even called him his actual name in years.

Keigo is Hawks.

His mouth is dry, and he tries to ignore the tears pricking his eyes. He’s not sure why he’s beginning to cry, and definitely not sure why tension is draining from his shoulders as he sighs out an answer.

“I’ll be done.”

You’ve done enough.

...

Hospital beds are a hot commodity, and now that Keigo had thrown in the towel (along with everyone else) to stop trying with his wings, he was to be discharged within a few days.

(“Just a few more days to adjust your body to your new medications—”)

He’d stopped listening after that.

...

Your last night together is so bittersweet, you taste it on each other’s tongues.

You have an episode early in the day. Your screaming wakes the floor, the burning smell of flesh cementing that it was you.

Keigo’s only half-lucid when he shoves into your room, holding your hands while nurses desperately try to administer pain medication.

It’s too much for you, the crawling edges of the scar once again consuming you in the molten, glowing amber veins of heat that tore through you so terribly.

You sleep the day away. Keigo stays with you for much of it, stroking the bones in the back of your hands.

...

He fucks you for the first time, that night.

His own IVs have been removed, he’s to be discharged first thing in the morning—

And he wants one more night of stargazing, please, please—

(Why’s he clutching at you so dearly?)

But you’re not in the common room.

Rather, you’re under a few thin blankets, eyes tired and lightless. Your arm is out of its cast, laying over the bed clothes. It scares him shitless at first as he tentatively enters. It’s you though, and the moment you see him, it’s like a flame, a good one, heats the room full and wide. A few specks of light dance in between your irises as your skin crinkles in a gentle smile.

You both know he’s leaving tomorrow.

The knowledge settles in the room like a weight that neither of you can move. So, Keigo takes to it and does what he can.

As opposed to his normal perch next to his bed, he sits beside you, removing the restraints on your wrists and helping you to sit up.

Keigo fishes around in his pocket, pulling out a folded square of paper and placing it at your bedside. It’s his phone number, an odd detail. Relationships usually shared far-earlier.

But there is nothing linear or normal about the two of you, or the situation you both sit and stewed in.

You both are making peace with it at your own pace.

The bed creaks as you move to sit beside him, legs dangling from the bed. There’s gooseflesh beneath your gown, the boring pattern obscured by the darkness of the room, but the molten lines of the scar ever-visible.

“I’m glad you’re getting out of here.”

But I wish that you weren’t leaving.

His hand finds your waist, careful like he always is, but so giving in the same breath.

“I am too. It’ll be nice to be.”

But I’m going to miss you.

It’s inherent, and has been forever. Since the moment you both stargazed in the common room and watched the worlds high above twist and shine without regard to your own hells, you’ve been ensnared in the other and neither of you have a want or need to let go.

Even with the inevitably of progress.

Keigo drowns in these thoughts, and has been since Endeavor visited and he was reminded of the harsh reality just outside of their tree-ringed prison. The reality he has to return to—

He presses his lips to yours, more desperate and needy than he had before.

Keigo had taken his share of you before, little pecks and the rub of the bridge of his nose over your jaw and cheeks. He had been a bit greedier with his hands, uncaring of the eyes of the night nurses when he’d touched you in the common room.

But he’s insatiable that last night.

The sheets of the plastic bed are too scratchy, they’re too harsh for you, and it burns Keigo to his core as he lowers you down. He cradles what he can, as your fingers latch onto his clothes (real clothes) and tug him as close as you can get.

The machines in your room cry, but they’re forgotten.

You nip at his bottom lip, dragging yours across his clean-shaven jaw before laying into his neck with kiss after kiss. His muscles shake, holding him over you, both of you atrophied but uncaring.

You suck a deep, throbbing bruise on the fragile skin of his neck. It’s something dark that won’t fade for a week. The thought stirs something in his chest, a white-hot feeling that wants to crack his ribs and consume him. He doesn’t give in, he can’t—

“Stay with me, pretty eyes,” you whisper, so sweet and gentle as you push floppy strands of hair from his face. “Stay here, just for a little while longer.”

The reminder jolts him back, back to you, and the way your body (so tired, but unwavering) jumps and rolls under his touch. He’s a glutton for attention, always has been, but your particular brand and sounds keep pulse hot and hard.

Shaky fingers pull his shirt over his head, sweaty palms push the gown over your hips. By the starlight, you’re both seeing too much of each other, but this is a goodbye, there’s no time to dwell on the discomfort.

Keigo tries to be careful as he adjusts your legs, tries to be mindful of the raw skin and flesh that makes you whine and half-writhe. You clutch at him, still trying to pull him closer despite the proximity and heat, like you need him as opposed to just wanting him.

There’s no fanfare in it, just more rushed kisses and the swirling of fingertips over covered clit. You catch each other’s gasps in the mingling of breaths you share. It’s choking, suffocating, yet entirely not enough. You beg, quietly, for more. Your fingers latch onto his wrist and urge him to help pull your panties off and away.

More, more, more.

By the time he slides into you, you're still tense, but so is he, and in a pile of tension and fear and wishful-thinking, you both come undone, and undone, and undone—

...

Keigo leaves the next morning.

The press is there, flash bulbs blinding him after so long with just fluorescents and starlight. He manages an easy wave or two, no autographs or gleaming smiles, just business and numbness that he needed to hold onto, so he didn’t fucking break.

He slips into the Commission’s car and leaves behind the hospital, you, and its wall of man-laid greenery and prays to forget it all quickly. He has enough to mourn.

...

Keigo wants to off himself when he arrives back at his penthouse.

How can he not?

His ‘home’ (if he couldn’t even call it that) is a dusty, time capsule of everything before. Before he got fucked up with the League, before the PLF, before the war, before Jin—

Every untouched bit of his life from when it was a few, precious fractions better stands unturned. A discarded jacket, wing slits visible and frayed. Scattered dead feathers that make his skin crawl. Memorabilia too, old merchandise that he never cared much about, but he definitely didn’t need to be seeing it now that ‘Hawks’ had burned up and died.

All disgusting reminders.

Something burning fills the base of his skull when his gaze fixates on one of the old plumes. He reaches out to touch the spine of it, instinctually expecting a little jolt of feeling from it, like he always had.

But there’s nothing. It’s dead, decaying, and so is he.

The reality of it breaks him, quick, hard and hot. He burns alive a second time.

He clears the liquor cabinet while blaring music from his over-priced stereo system loud enough to make his ears ache and throb. The music isn’t drowning anything out, but it’s better to pretend.

He finds a bottle of old pills and downs them with a few swigs of expensive whiskey and lets go.

...

When he comes to, he’s staring into a smashed mirror, with his own nails crusted in blood from thin welts in the skin of the scar on his face.

Much to his chagrin, he hasn’t forgotten anything. The memories of blue flames, red feathers, and the smell of your skin mixed with isopropyl alcohol feel brighter than ever. He grounds on them as he sobers up, latching onto the pain of his scar tissue and the solace you gave.

And won’t ever give him again.

Something in him wilts as he defeatedly goes to his phone, arranging any number of things to get him the fuck out.

...

The penthouse is sold, his more important belongings gathered in bland boxes.

And he leaves. There’s no sentiment holding him there, not anymore.

Fukuoka is gone and some distant memory as he drives (yes, he forgot that he had that skill) him and his things to his new home.

His penthouse had been immaculate. Crisp interior design, new shapes and colors that were on trend. He was hardly home to appreciate the modern beauty of it, but he’d received enough compliments from random hookups to know that it landed aesthetically.

But honestly?

Who the fuck cared?

His penthouse had been sold to the highest bidder and far behind as he arrives at his new, high home in the sleekness of his far-too fancy, disused car.

...

He gets a call from an unknown number, another one, on some snowy day, deep in winter.

Keigo debates answering it. He almost lets it slip to voicemail. The only calls worth answering are the handful from the Commission that he has to heed, or the odd one from Rumi, Fuyumi, and on occasion, Endeavor.

Not random numbers, he has no patience for it.

Yet, he answers it lazily.

“Washed up hero, how can I help you?”

“P-Pretty eyes?”

His heart stutters in his chest, he swears—

“Starshine?” He sounds breathless, the air leached from his chest as he white-knuckles his thighs.

He’d given up on you contacting him, yet there you were, or at least your voice, mechanical and high bouncing around preciously in the walls of the cabin

There’s a moment of silence, nearly, just your light breathing that receiver picks up.

Your voice trembles when you break it, “Y-yeah, it’s me, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call—”

You don’t need to be sorry; he would wait for you forever, and then some.

“I d-don’t actually have a phone? Mine got trashed, uh, back then. I’m on the hospital’s line.”

Keigo hadn’t really considered that, he’s slipped the paper with his number on your bedside without a thought.

How much had you lost?

“No worries, chickadee,” Keigo is sure his smile is audible. “Why call now? Miss me too much?”

He had no idea.

You laugh, though it soured as you spoke, “I get discharged tomorrow.”

Keigo’s heart seizes again and he’s sure he’s going to go into cardiac arrest.

“The guy who gave me the scar and all? He fucked up a few other people, word eventually got here. Once the scar stops... glowing, it rests. If you make it until then, you’re good.”

And alive.

“The whole injury is stable, has been for a week now,” Surprisingly, there’s no relief in your voice. “They need my bed, so they’re releasing me.”

No, no, no.

Where will you go?

Keigo doesn’t say it, but the question hangs in the air and is quickly answered.

“They got me a spot in one of the shelters close by... It’s only a couple hours by train!” You try to sound happy, but it’s so hollow and unnatural; it makes Keigo physically sit up.

No, no, no.

That won’t do.

“... What won’t do?”

Keigo hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud.

Something is buried in his chest, something warm and molten, like the old veins of your scar, just kinder and better. It’s full of urges, so seldom used, selectively as needed throughout his career as a hero.

The need to keep something precious safe.

The thing hasn’t thrashed in months.

Yet now? It’s practically screaming.

“Pretty eyes?” You sound scared through the phone. “A-Are you alright? I can call back—”

“No, don’t, do not.” Keigo lets the flame fill his chest, welcoming it. “You’re not going to that shelter.”

He has something to protect.

“I don’t have another choice—”

Someone.

“You do.” Keigo keeps his voice even, the muscles in his back writhing. If he still had his wings, they’d be puffed out and large. Impassioned with feeling he finally let breath between his ribs. “I’ll come get you, tomorrow.”

“... P-Pardon?”

He doesn’t hesitate, and for a moment, he starts to feel like his old self.

“Come home with me, starshine.”

++++++

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!! 💗

look out for parts 2 and 3!!!💞

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x you #hawks fanfic #hawks imagines #my hero academia #mha x reader #anyways tag wall #enjoy loves #smorch

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shinescape · 3 years

Text

Hawk Eyes

Bodyguard Seonghwa x Reader

Requested!

note: i might have went overboard with this one (jk). Thank you for the request anon and enjoy the read!

At this point, you thought that the stares and murmurs would die down but apparently not so. The other students really made it obvious that they were whispering about you or more like the person following behind you.

It was ridiculous but your father being the protective person he was assigned you a personal bodyguard. You honestly didn’t want it but the Park Family has a history of working with your family and Seonghwa was no exception.

He took his job quite seriously since he was trained at a very young age. Both of you went to the same school and even then he would make sure that no one bullied or pulled pranks on you.

One time you walked into the classroom and a bucket of flour poured onto you had him furious. He was still in training back then but somehow he already ingrained in his head that he needed to protect you at all cost.

You were currently walking in the busy hallways to your morning class. The crowd always made you feel anxious and uncomfortable but knowing that Seonghwa was right behind put you at ease.

A group of boys were goofing around as they approached you and one of them accidently pushed you to the lockers with his body.

Instead of hitting the lockers, the side of your head was cushioned by a palm. Thanks to Seonghwa’s fast reflexes and close proximity, your head was saved but the group of boys wasn’t.

Seonghwa stood in front of the group and glared at them, he knew they were trying to act like nothing happened when the guy who pushed you knew exactly what he did was on purpose. He was taller and looked way too intimidating for them to leave without at least a bruise.

But you stepped in and said, “He’s in a bad mood. It’s best that you leave or he’ll slam your head next.” You smiled at them and that was enough to make them turn back from where they came from and ran away.

“You should have made them apologise.”

“Nah, it’s not like I’m going to see them again anyway.”

You still find it bothersome how your father made Seonghwa follow you to college every single day, like a shadow. Before, he would wear those black formal suits and would sit in every class you had which was seriously uncomfortable.

People were wondering if your family was dealing with some kind of underground business and thus making you friendless up till now.

After having to negotiate with your father almost ten times, he agreed that Seonghwa was to only wait outside of every class and wear normal clothes like any young adult his age.

Your assigned bodyguard was surprised when he knew about the new arrangement and you can’t believe he reacted as if you’ve abandoned him when it’s not. It took him some time to get used to it and would accidentally follow you inside the lecture hall like he was now.

You turned on your heels and lightly pushed him out of the door. “Hwa, please go and eat breakfast or waste time at the mall while I finish. It’s four hours of class.” You said tiredly, this was not the first time and he would answer the same thing again and again.

“I’ll wait out here. Text me if you need anything.” He gave you a professional smile that you wished he would not since it felt so weird when you know each other for so long. But being in this line of job, he had to do it and he insisted on it.

You grumbled knowing that he’ll stand right outside and do nothing but glare at anyone that passed by. He wasn’t paranoid, more like protective after how many incidents you got involved back in school.

Four hours passed by and everyone including you were sluggish as hell. Your back aching, arms sore and tired from all the note taking you did.

The moment you stepped outside, Seonghwa was there looking exactly how he did earlier. A smile on his face as he stepped near you. “Ready to go home?” He asked, pushing himself off the wall he was leaning on.

“Don’t you get tired waiting out here?”

He shook his head and before he could reply, you answered for him. “You were trained for this, I get it. Let’s go grab lunch, I’m hungry.” Seonghwa nodded and followed behind you like he always does.

“Seonghwa, you can walk beside me, there’s no one besides us.” You slightly turned around and grabbed his wrist and forced him to walk beside you.

He nibbled on his lower lip as he tried to remain his composure, eyes once in a while went down to his wrist that had your fingers wrapped around it. This is fine. I’m not crossing any lines, he reminded in his head.

Seonghwa was busy checking his schedule, your schedule to be exact when he heard the heavy doors across from him being pushed open. Your classmates swarmed out and he scanned everyone in search of your figure. His brows furrowed when he didn’t see you coming out.

He made his way through the crowd and went inside the hall, where you were seen talking with someone at the front row seats. He let out an exasperated sigh and made his way towards you. His sharp eyes watched how you and this person he doesn’t know talking so casually, unaware that everyone had left the room.

Seonghwa made sure his presence was known as he stood close to your side, the guy you were with immediately noticed him. He tapped your arm and motioned for you to look behind. There stood your bodyguard with a straight face on, glaring right at the stranger.

“Oh you’re here. I have a project to discuss with him so we'll probably head to the library then have dinner if we get to finish things early. You can go back first.” You know so well he’s not going to leave you with this person until late at night. But it was worth the try.

Seonghwa on the other hand felt irritated the moment you mentioned the guy’s name and how you had a plan up till dinner. It was unscheduled and he didn’t like one bit about it.

“I’ll inform your father what you told me. Also, I’m staying with you until you finish.” He said and for the first time ever, he left you first to wait outside. That caught you off guard but you tried not to think about it too much.

Your bodyguard who was seated a table away watched every single action of yours and your project partner. He noticed how you would cover your mouth when you laugh at a joke the male made or how you keep on adjusting your outfit when talking.

You almost never behaved that way around him and suddenly showing this side to someone that’s not him, irked him. He then realised how he hated what he was seeing and felt something he never felt before.

He felt possessive of you. After spending time together for so long and being the only friend and shoulder to lean on, he had developed a new feeling towards you. It was probably not new at all, just hidden deep down in his heart finally bursting out due to this new stranger.

His fingers curled into fists when your partner casually patted your head after you managed to complete a question. He’s being way too touchy and why do I feel like interrupting them and causing a ruckus? Seonghwa quietly shook the thought away and continued on watching the both of you.

The ride back home was awfully quieter than usual and it made you uneasy. You stole glances at Seonghwa who drove in silence and never uttered a single word at you.

When the both of you arrived back home, he usually bothered himself to open the front doors for you but instead shut the door right in your face.

Something was totally not right and you hate to admit but an upset Seonghwa was a hard one to deal with. “He’s probably tired. We have been out since morning.” You tried to assure yourself and went inside and spotted him on the second floor.

You ran up the stairs, catching up with his retreating figure that did not turn once at all to look at you. He clearly heard the door opening and you running up the stairs but he ignored it.

“Is everything okay, Hwa?” You manage to grab his wrist and try to peer at his face when he jerks his hand away harshly from you.

“No, I’m upset. Go to your room, it’s late.” He curtly said and left you in the hallway alone.

Inside the room, Seonghwa threw himself on the bed and covered his face with the back of his hand. He wanted to beat himself so bad for being so harsh to you. I should have said everything was fine like always, not making things worse like this. He grumbled to himself as more thoughts flooded his head.

He never felt this troubled before but when he finally came to sense that he wanted you all to himself, everything jumbled up. Before, it felt like nothing more than protecting his employer’s child but not anymore.

After a while, you were done with your night routine and was already in bed but your mind was still awake. Thinking of Seonghwa and what he said earlier. “No, I’m upset.”

You kicked the covers away and made a bee-line to your bodyguard’s room as quiet as possible. Making sure no one was near the staircase, you ran towards the other side of the hallway towards his bedroom.

You knocked a couple of times and even twisted the knob but it was locked. Praying hard that you won’t wake anyone up, you knocked even harder and finally heard a sound coming from inside.

Seonghwa unlocked the door and thought it was one of the maids and got annoyed. “What is it?” He voiced with a frown until he saw you standing in front of him, staring and mouth slightly agape.

The both of you then heard voices coming from the corner and without thinking he pulled you inside and trapped you behind the door.

“What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to-” You words were cut off when another set of knocks came and he knew who it was.

“Young man, do you have anything to wash?”

“No, I don’t. Goodnight.” Seonghwa was about to shut the door when the lady stopped with her hand. “You sure, I changed the sheets two weeks ago. Also why are you not letting me in?” She pushed the door harder and it made you yelp and hit him from the impact.

“What was that?” She asked. “It’s just my stomach. I’m not feeling well.” His other hand wrapped around the back of your head making sure you don’t move again. The action made you still as you took in the fact that he was really close to you.

Seonghwa finally closed the door and let out a sigh. He then tipped your chin up to make you look him in the eyes. “Why are you not wearing a shirt?” Was the first thing that came out of your mouth.

“Uh, it’s my room?” He answered back.

“But, you’re living in my house.” You raised a brow at him.

“Should I make it my house too then?” He taunted back.

“What?!”

You couldn’t help but shout in surprise at the words he just said. You thought he was joking but when he stepped back and went to sit at the edge of his bed, messing up his hair. You knew this was more than that.

“I like you...no I love you. I don��t even know myself.” He stopped for a moment. “But what I know is that I hate seeing you getting shy with that project partner of yours.” He expressed which sound more like he was murmuring to himself rather than to you.

You furrowed your brows and can’t help but like the fact that he was bothered by something like that. Seeing him all frustrated with nothing but a pair of sweatpants was sure a sight.

But shortly after, it made you question yourself as well. You walked closer and stood directly in front of him and he looked up at the mention of his name.

Your palms found their way to his bare shoulders, resting there as you closed your eyes and went down to kiss him. Seonghwa was caught off guard by your sudden move and took your face in his hand, ripping it away from him.

“We shouldn’t do this.” He sounded genuinely worried.

“I just wanted to confirm my feelings. I’m sorry for suddenly kissing you like that.” You were about to move away when he pulled you back to your initial spot. He made you sit on his lap, legs wrapped around him.

You were confused by his sudden actions when just a minute ago he had pushed you away, reminding you that it wasn’t right to do what you both did.

“Did you feel anything after stealing a kiss from me?” His tone low as his alluring eyes met yours. You gulped at the sudden change in demeanor.

Not knowing what to say or react, you let him have his way with you. His fingers tapped its way on your neck before holding your jaw in place. He liked how it fits nicely in his hands as he pulled your face closer to his.

“You should answer when I ask.”

You didn’t know what took over you as you slowly thread your fingers in his hair and crushed your lips with his. He let out a moan and deepened the kiss, hands now gripping the side of your frame. You were starting to get out of breath, never would have imagined kissing him like this would be so addicting.

You peck his lips once more before pulling away, eyes half lidded as you look at him. His face flushed and the way he was breathing through his lips wasn’t helping at all.

“That answers everything, don’t you think?” You breathed out, hands resting on his broad shoulders again.

Seonghwa then unwrapped your legs around him, pushing you down on the bed before doing the same. He gazed at your features as a finger swiped the bottom of your lips.

“You better tell that guy to not get too touchy or I can’t guarantee his life.”

His pupils were round and innocent now despite looking like it could suck you in whole earlier. You scoffed at his words and played with his fringe that was covering his eyes. “Forget about him. What are we going to do next?” you asked, eyes roaming his beautiful face.

Seonghwa smirked and that's when you know he interpreted your words differently. “I’m going to do whatever I want and make sure you can’t attend class tomorrow.” You sighed at him and lightly punched his chest.

“I meant about my father, your job as my bodyguard. I don’t think he’s going to take this nicely.” You informed him, already knowing the fate of your relationship after this.

“I’ll take care of that. What you need to worry about is what’s going to happen right now.” Seonghwa's eyes were clearly filled with lust as his hand went under your shirt and watched how you tried to hold back from his cold touch.

You were starting to feel ways you could never imagine and he doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon. It will be a long night and surely there’s no turning back on this.

A sneaking attempt, an unexpected confession and a stolen kiss had led you to this.

Nothing else matters as for now, just you and your life time bodyguard, Park Seonghwa.

320 notes · View notes

invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years

Text

Make A Scene

AMHL – Masterlist

Dick immediately noticed when Y/N started getting quieter and quieter as they got closer and closer to the venue.

Bruce had hired a driver to pick them up from their apartment in Gotham. And the car had gone quiet now.

Dick reached over to gently hold her hand.

“Nervous?” He asked.

Y/N shrugged, not really seeing the point in trying to lie to her boyfriend.

“This isn’t your first rodeo, ya know.”

She gave him a look. “You know that wasn’t the same.” Her eyes flickered to the driver. “I wasn’t exactly…myself. And I wasn’t your girlfriend.”

Also, tonight they didn’t have the security and comfort of being at Wayne Manor.

No, instead this particular event was being held at the ballroom of Gotham’s most extravagant five-star hotel. It was a party for Wayne Enterprises, not a personal charity or party of the Wayne family.

Bruce had kindly asked Dick and Y/N to attend when board members and business partners started asking if the whole family would be attending. Jason hadn’t answered anyone’s calls or texts about it. None of them expected him to show up. Tim had to attend since he worked for Wayne Enterprises. And Damian…Well, Damian was his father’s son and not yet an adult. He basically had to do whatever Bruce asked of him while he lived under his roof.

“I’m not gonna leave your side,” Dick promised.

He squeezed her hand to further emphasize it.

Their car pulled up to the carpet at the bottom of the stairs.

There had to be a hundred journalists and photographers, along with random civilians who had nothing better to do than to see Gotham’s elite get out of cars and walk into a hotel.

Dick took in a deep breath.

Thankfully the car’s windows were tinted and protected them from any onlookers.

“Ready?” He asked her.

She nodded.

Dick opened the door and ignored the screams and flashes as he carefully helped Y/N out of the car with his offered hand. He also shielded her from the photographers to give her a moment to get out and adjust herself before they could capture any photos of her.

“Mr. Grayson! Mr. Grayson! Who is your mystery girlfriend?” Someone yelled.

Sometimes Y/N forgot that Dick was somewhat of a celebrity in Gotham City through association.

It wasn’t like people were asking for selfies everywhere he went. Or that the paparazzi were following his every move.

But in Gotham, people took note of where Dick Grayson went and who he was with.

And everyone noticed he’d had the same woman on his arm for quite some time now.

Even though Y/N and Dick had been dating for over a year, the media still couldn’t figure out Y/N’s identity.

What they didn’t realize was that she controlled every single piece of information about herself that lived on the internet.

They didn’t stand a chance.

Dick smiled and waved at people who called his name. But his hand other hand never left Y/N’s as he helped her up the stairs.

“Who are you wearing?” A female journalist yelled at Y/N.

She ignored them and focused on getting up the stairs without tripping and face planting. Not that Dick would ever let that happen.

However, she knew her outfit was going to draw gazes.

Y/N had made a promise to herself that if she was going to be forced to attend events like this with Dick, then she was going make a statement. People were already going to be staring at her, so she figured she might as well give them something good to stare at.

Instead of wearing a typical cocktail and formal dress, Y/N wore a full men’s suit that was tailored to perfection, but with the bowtie undone. It was what the fashion magazines would describe as “androgynous” in the press tomorrow morning.

Y/N wanted to control her own narrative. And she’d rather be judged for her bold decisions than just her trying to blend in.

Bruce insisted on paying for all the boys’ date’s dresses – in this case, suit – if they happened to bring one. He always thought it was more of an incentive for them to attend these terrible events if he encouraged them to bring significant others. And the press always had a field day with it, which only helped throw people of their trail when it came to their secret lives as vigilantes.

Everyone kept screaming Dick’s name as they walked in, and Y/N wondered how he got so good at smiling through the chaos and ignoring them.

Once they were inside, Dick felt the tension leave Y/N’s body a bit.

“Alcohol?” He offered with a smirk.

“Yes, please.”

He nodded, knowing it was exactly what she needed.

Quickly, he grabbed two champagne flutes off a passing waiter.

They clinked glasses.

Then he leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Thank you for being my date.”

Y/N smiled at his sincerity.

Dick sighed before he threw back the champagne, “The quicker we find Bruce and prove we were here, the sooner we can leave.”

“Try not to sound so excited,” she laughed darkly.

Suddenly felt a small human wrap around her thighs.

Y/N gasped in excitement, “Dami!”

Dick smiled as he looked down at his 10-year-old brother hugging his girlfriend.

“Dick gave me the drawing you made for us. It’s so beautiful. I’m trying to find the perfect frame for it,” she told the boy.

Damian beamed with pride at that.

Suddenly the boy started asking a million questions about Stoker, one of his kittens that he’d given to them to take care of when Bruce gave a limit to how many cats Damian was allowed to have in the manor.

Then, to Dick’s shock, he saw Jason slowly walk over to them with his hands in his pant pockets.

He was not at all dressed nice enough for the event. No suit jacket. No tie. His white button-up shirt wrinkled, messily tucked into his pants, and with two many buttons undone. The sloppiness of it all clearly wasn’t an issue with the women, seeing as all of them were ogling Jason.

“Todd,” Damian greeted coldly, pausing his conversation with Y/N, who whipped around at the name.

“Hey, you,” Y/N smiled as she went to greet him.

Jason gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek and a quick hug.

“I really didn’t think you were coming,” Dick told his brother.

“Well, I wasn’t. But I got a business engagement.”

Y/N and Dick shared a confused look.

“What do you mean?” Dick asked.

“I found my neighbor crying on her fire escape a few nights ago. Apparently… one of the finance bros of Wayne fucking Enterprises was everything but a gentleman to her.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in realization. “J, I already took care of that.”

“I know,” Jason nodded as his eyes scanned the room. He was clearly on a personal mission tonight. “You deleted the evidence. I am teaching him a lesson.”

Dick slowly put together what they were implying.

“Oh, please don’t make a scene, Jason.” Dick begged him.

Because he knew Bruce wouldn’t be dealing with the aftermath; it would be him.

“Don’t worry!” Jason laughed. "I’m gonna take him outside before I beat the shit out of him. No one here will even notice. It’ll be fine,” Jason assured him as he gave Dick a far too heavy slap on the back.

“Just tell Bruce and he’ll get him fired,” Dick tried to convince him to take the less violent route.

“Oh, we already did,” Y/N muttered.

Dick’s gaze shot to his girlfriend.

“He’s getting fired on Monday,” she clarified sheepishly.

“Since when do the two of you work together behind my back?” Dick accused them.

But he wasn’t actually mad about anything – maybe just a little bit bitter.

Jason opened his mouth.

“I swear to God, Jason, if you say ‘club business,’ I will lose it…” Dick warned.

Y/N tried to hide her smile.

“Got him,” Jason growled as he glared at someone on the other side of the room.

As soon as he left them, Dick gave Y/N his full attention.

“Seriously?” He accused.

“I’m sorry! He asked me for a favor and I was happy to do it once I realized what it was,” Y/N defended.

Dick pouted a little. Mostly because he hated being left out.

“Don’t worry, ya big baby. I’m still your ‘guy in the chair’ and no one else’s,” she teased before giving him a kiss, immediately wiping the lipstick off his lips.

“How come Jason gets to beat up people at events like this, but I’m expected to behave like a well-trained dog?” Damian mumbled.

Dick sighed and shook his head.

“Jason likes to think he’s a lone wolf who doesn’t have to play by the rules,” Y/N tried to comfort the boy.

To distract Damian from getting further into how unfair it was, Y/N asked him to show her more of his drawings.

This seemed to please Damian and he pulled his phone out, flipping through photos and showing Y/N his recent sketches.

With Y/N being entertained by his youngest brother, Dick decided to go to the bar and get the two of them a stronger drink and maybe get a kiddie cocktail for Damian. He’d pretend to be patronized and annoyed by it, but Dick knew better.

He patiently waited for the bartender’s attention.

“So Gotham’s Golden Boy really has returned…” a husky voice uttered beside him at the bar.

Dick glanced over to see a beautiful woman close to his age eyeing him.

It was clear what she wanted. Dick used tactics like this on countless missions.

“So I have,” he answered.

He was polite, but distant.

Women hitting on him at events like this was nothing new. To Gotham, Dick Grayson was a Bruce Wayne 2.0 – younger, just as charming and handsome as his mentor and stand-in father figure.

Dick knew how to play the game. But he never had any interest in casual relationships like Bruce did.

“Back for good?” The woman persisted.

“My girlfriend and I are just in town for a few weeks,” he answered before ordering his drinks with the bartender finally.

“Oh, brought up the girlfriend rather quickly,” she laughed.

Dick quirked an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s just…my friends and I had a bet going.”

Then she pointed to a group of three young women, who were giggling and smiling, not even trying to pretend like they weren’t watching them closely.

“Oh, yeah?” Dick asked, already tired of this conversation.

Jason had already rejoined Y/N and Damian.

Y/N looked down to see his knuckles red with irritation and bruised.

“Please tell me there’s not a corpse in the alley behind this hotel now…” Y/N sighed.

“No,” Jason answered coldly. “Though there fucking should be.”

“What did he do?” Damian asked curiously, clearly he hadn’t been listening to their earlier conversation that closely.

Y/N shifted her weight in discomfort, not sure how to handle the subject with the boy. Yes, Damian was far more mature than many grown men, but he was still just a kid. There were some things Y/N felt like they should at least try to protect him from still.

“He got my neighbor too drunk to consent, filmed them having sex without her knowing it, and then showed it to a bunch of people at their work,” Jason answered bluntly.

Damian’s brow furrowed, clearly thinking long and hard about what his brother just told him.

After a moment, the boy perked up, “I know where we could hide the body so even father won’t find out.”

“Damian!” Y/N scolded.

But Jason was beaming.

Y/N looked around for Dick, hoping to find another sane person to stop the two boys from actually murdering anyone tonight.

But when she finally spotted him, she saw a woman standing far too close to Dick and pointing to a group of girls who flirtatiously waved and winked at both of them.

“Real cute,” Y/N muttered to herself.

“Vultures,” Damian growled as he followed her gaze.

“Jason, if I leave you alone with Damian, are you going to kill someone?” She asked without taking her eyes off her boyfriend.

“I don’t need to be watched,” Damian groaned.

“No, I need you to watch Jason to make sure he doesn’t change his mind about keeping that asshole alive.”

“Fine,” Damian whined.

Without any further confirmation, Y/N left them.

She walked across the party on a mission, never taking her stare off of her boyfriend.

Dick did a double take when he noticed her heading towards him.

“Hey,” he greeted innocently.

Because he was innocent. All he’d done was be polite to a bunch of women who were after him for his name…and maybe his good looks.

“I was wondering where my drink was,” Y/N said with a surprising calmness and smile.

Then she turned to the woman.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. You must be a friend of Dick’s.”

She held her hand out.

No cattiness. No rudeness.

Y/N said it with the same kindness that drunk women having with other drunk women in bar bathrooms.

“Oh…I’m Irina,” the woman stuttered as she took Y/N’s offered hand, clearly confused by Y/N’s niceness.

Dick held out her drink.

Y/N took it, quickly clinked her glass with both Dick and Irina.

“Cheers,” she sang before tossing it back and chugging the drink that was meant to be slowly sipped.

Dick didn’t know what game his girlfriend was playing, but he was intrigued.

Once Y/N lightly placed her empty glass back on the bar, she turned to Dick and tilted her head to the side. “Could you show me to the bathrooms? I have no idea where they are.”

“Of course,” Dick answered without knowing where this was going.

“It was nice meeting you, Irina,” Y/N told the woman as she linked her fingers with Dick’s and guided him away.

—

Meanwhile, Jason watched the interaction as if he were watching an award-winning movie. Him and Damian were way too far to hear, but everyone in the bat family could read lips more than fluently.

Then Jason smirked as he watched Y/N drag Dick away.

“Boys,” Bruce greeted as he snuck up on the two of them. “What are we staring at?”

“Oh, you know,” Jason hummed with hilarity, “just watching Y/N assert her dominance.”

“Good for her,” Bruce grinned as he realized what was happening.

He moved his attention to his youngest boy. “Alfred is waiting outside with the car. You’re officially released from your duties.”

“Finally,” Damian groaned.

“Don’t you wanna say bye to Y/N?” Jason asked.

“They’re coming to the manor tomorrow afternoon,” Bruce answered for his son. Then he raised a brow at Jason. “You’re welcome to join us.”

Jason’s only response was a shrug.

Bruce tried to hide his disappointment and nodded before he guided Damian away and walked him outside, where Alfred was waiting.

10 minutes later, Jason saw Dick trailing behind Y/N as she walked back to the main area of the event.

Jason burst out laughing at the spectacle.

Dick’s hair was an absolute mess. Half of his shirt was untucked. His jacket was draped over his forearm. His lips were swollen and pink. Y/N had left lipstick all over his neck and even a bit on the collar of his shirt.

Yet somehow not a single hair was out of place on Y/N and her makeup was still immaculate. Her outfit was just as sleek and clean as when she’d arrived. The only thing different was the proud smirk on her lips.

Clearly Y/N had just had her way with Dick.

But she wanted to make sure the whole party knew about it.

—

Y/N hadn’t said a word to Dick since she dragged him from that woman.

Her body did all the talking.

One second they were at the bathroom doors, the next Y/N had thrown him against the tiled wall after locking the bathroom door.

She gave no verbal explanation, just started kissing him and undoing his pants.

“Not that I’m complaining. Like, at all,” Dick laughed as they rejoined the party. “But wanna to tell me what that was all about?”

Y/N finally stopped walking and turned to face him with narrowed eyes. “I think you know, Richard.”

Y/N only ever used his full first name to provoke and tease him. And he hated that it worked every single time.

Dick glanced around to see that everyone in their vicinity was eyeing them. Well, they were mostly eyeing him and how it was clear he’d just been fucked in the bathroom.

He stepped close to her and lowered his voice, “Ohhh, I see how it is.” His eyes flickered down to her lips for a split second. “If a guy does that, he’s jealous and possessive. But if a woman does it, it’s sexy…”

Y/N proudly smiled like the cheshire cat. “Exactly.”

Something over his shoulder caught her attention. “Oh, I see Tim. I’m going to go say hi.”

Without hesitation, she brushed past him.

Dick let his head fall, put his hands on his hips, and laughed.

He’d pay her back later tonight. And by ‘pay her back,’ he would just tell her how incredibly hot her behavior had been and basically invite her to do it whenever she damn well pleased.

Dick felt a presence beside him, and he didn’t have to raise his head to know it was Bruce.

“Hey,” Dick greeted him nonchalantly.

“You have lipstick all over your neck,” Bruce told him as he took a sip of his drink and looked around the party. “And your zippers down.”

“Sure is,” Dick sighed.

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

OK. This was way too fun to write.

Let me know what you think!!!

ALL BONUS CONTENT CAN BE FOUND: HERE

#all men have limits #AMHL bonus content #make a scene extension #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson reader insert #nightwing x reader #nightwing reader insert #jason todd and platonic!reader #jason todd x platonic!reader #batfam #batboys #bruce wayne x platonic!reader #bruce wayne and reader

272 notes · View notes

andypantsx3 · 3 years

Text

statistically significant | 7 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

One month later

The Hero Awards certainly did not disappoint the second time around.

Though you’d spent the last few months in the company of some of these heroes, you couldn’t help but linger on the sidelines as they stalked their way down the walkway, staring in awe. As before, they were decked out in their absolute best, glimmering in jewel toned dresses with daring cutouts, or carving dashing profiles in well-fitted suits. Reporters and fans swarmed the sides of the red carpet, roiling like a pot reaching an agitated boil.

Their excitement was so palpable it hung heavy in the air, absolutely contagious. Maybe it was the fact that you knew some of the heroes up for awards tonight personally, but the potential of the evening simmered under your skin, a soft but constant hum of frenetic energy.

Or maybe some of that was due to the fact that this year, you’d been able to convince your boss to shell out the extra cash for the full dinner option. No longer would you need to smuggle snacks into your dress--this evening, you were a solid professional.

Which was a good thing, really, as the dress in question was not altogether any more secure or supportive than your dress from last year. You’d tried to angle for a thicker fabric and a little more of a conservative design, but several people had aired opinions on your choices over the course of the last few weeks, and you’d ended up in a thin swathe of delicate fabric that was really quite pretty, if you did say so yourself, but would support a grand total of maybe two popcorn kernels.

“You’re looking awfully forlorn over here,” someone chirped by your ear.

You startled, whirling to find Mina behind you, looking rosy and radiant in a form-fitting dress only a few shades lighter than her skin tone. Tiny pearls and clusters of glittering pink diamonds were stitched carefully into the fabric, winking at you as she moved, as bright as the conspiratorial grin she wore. She looked absolutely fabulous--she was one of the people who’d bullied you into the snackless gown, and you could begrudgingly admit that the girl had taste.

“Is it because a certain hotheaded blonde isn’t here yet?” she asked, a pink eyebrow going up.

You flushed. “Mina--oh my god, no. Not everything is about him, you know.”

She idly inspected a nail, looking supremely unconvinced. “Someone should tell him that, then.”

You huffed a laugh. The last time you’d been at the Awards, you’d said as much to him yourself. But a year later, the message was still not exactly being received.

“I’m actually thinking about dinner. I’m literally starving,” you complained, trying to divert the subject.

Mina nodded sympathetically. “I have a six pack and I still had to suck in to fit into this shit.”

As if on cue, your stomach growled sympathetically. You weren’t proud of what it was going to be like when you were finally unleashed on that multi-course dinner, but god it was gonna be worth it.

Several shrieks went up in the crowd of fans behind you, and you looked over your shoulder in alarm. Your pulse relaxed slightly when you realized it was just another pro sauntering down the walkway, but then the lights flickered off ashy blonde locks, and your pulse jumped violently. You jerked in surprise.

Mina didn’t even try to suppress her snort as you turned around fully, eyes pulled like a magnet to Bakugou as he stalked down the red carpet. Even looking like he would rather be anywhere else, and moving briskly over the carpet like he was going in for a kill, he still looked better than he had any right to. The charcoal of his suit--stitched with deep ruby flowers so dark they were almost black--brought out the piercing scarlet of his eyes, and your heart leapt into your mouth when those eyes cut over to meet yours.

His expression didn’t change, and he kept moving, but you flushed all the way from your head to your toes at the intensity behind his look.

Mina made a disgusted noise. “You’re both like a dog with a bone.”

You glared at her accusingly. “We literally just looked at each other.”

She clicked her tongue. “Please, he all but just pissed on you to mark his territory.”

Before you could reply, she called out, catching sight of Kirishima, and seized you to drag you over to say hello.

You let Mina drag you around for the next half hour, making polite conversation with her high school friends, a couple of friends from other agencies, and one fashion journalist who Mina had converted into a weekly drinking buddy. Mina kept the conversation light and easy, and you enjoyed yourself for the most part, though you almost passed out when a very distinct head of green curls materialized over her shoulder and then Midoriya Izuku--better known as the number one hero Deku--was smiling at you eagerly.

Things got even weirder when he appeared to not only already know who you were, but knew a great deal about your work, enough to ask some very detailed questions about your training model software that was going into production a couple months from now. Mina had the gall to cut into the conversation to call you both huge nerds, though she’d directly benefited from the model herself.

The conversation was unfortunately cut short when a calloused hand flung itself in front of your face and a rough voice sounded from over your shoulder. “Stop sticking your nose in my fucking business, Deku.”

You whipped around to find Bakugou glaring over your head at his former classmate. His hand closed around your shoulder and dragged you closer to him.

“I was just asking about her model, Kacchan,” Midoriya said patiently. “It’ll be great to be able to compare my movements directly with some of the other heroes in almost real time! Ojirou’s been trying out some new fighting forms and I was thinking I should try to adapt them to work into my shoot style--”

“Just because you couch it in nerd shit doesn’t mean you’re not trying to spy on me, fuckstick,” Bakugou said. “Stop poking your nose into my relationship like the town fucking gossip.”

Midoriya flushed a little, looking slightly chastened when you turned back to him in question. He gave you an embarrassed little smile. “I did want to meet you for reasons other than your model. Kacchan’s been my friend since I was little, and I wondered what kind of person could interest him so much he wanted my perspective on your work--”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bakugou demanded, but he wasn’t fast enough.

You perked up in interest. “He asked you what?”

Bakugou bristled like a cat being dangled over a bath, but Midoriya was paying him no mind. “Right after the last Hero Awards, he’d done all this research and he asked me about whether your model results lined up with some of the personal analysis that I was doing--”

“Deku,” Bakugou’s fingers tightened on your arm, growing alarmingly warm. “If you don’t shut the fuck up right now I’m going to punch all of your teeth straight down your throat and into your stomach.”

“Kacchan,” Midoriya protested, but he was interrupted by a call on the overhead for everyone to start taking their places in the theater interior for the awards to begin.

Bakugou used the distraction to pry you away from Midoriya. In the blink of an eye, he’d gotten you across the theater and was corralling you towards the Miruko agency tables, looking like he’d sucked on a lemon. You stifled a laugh. You’d wondered a couple months ago exactly how and when he’d figured out you were quirkless, and he’d once asked if you thought you were the only one who’d done their research.

If things were anything like you were starting to suspect, your demands that he do better at the Hero Awards had apparently aroused his interest in more ways than one.

You and Bakugou hadn’t exactly settled on formal terms for your relationship yet, and he still more often than not answered any of your interest with the assertion that you were the one with the crush on him. But this was more evidence--beyond the mysterious coffees that showed up at your workstation almost every morning--that your interest was more intensely reciprocated than he was willing to own up to.

By the time you’d settled at a table and been flanked by a grinning Mina and Kaminari, the awards were getting underway. They were thrilling to watch, something you’d had to miss out on last year when you needed to sneak out with a giant hole in the front of your dress. The heroes you’d worked with this year raked in an insane number of awards, and their elation was palpable, so thick you could almost taste it in the air. The pair of men with satyr horns were named the Best Rookie Duo, Miruko was awarded Takedown of the Year, and Kaminari clocked the Fastest Fight Win for a battle last month in which he’d rendered a villain with an aluminum quirk insensate only seconds into the fight.

A very unfortunate match up, you thought.

Mina nabbed an award for Fan Favorite, and in almost no time, it was the moment that you’d been nervously awaiting since nominations had gone out. You’d cheated, doing your own calculations behind everyone’s backs just to get a clearer picture of what his chances were, and you rather liked his odds, but there was always a chance it wouldn’t go how you thought. But this was the moment that Bakugou was up for Most Valuable Hero.

You barely heard any of the words the host was saying as he trotted out the names of the nominees, detailing some of their key accomplishments. He covered Bakugou's latest slew of assists and rescues, stats that made you feel kind of weirdly warm and proud, and then your ears strained for the syllables you’d hoped to hear.

And then:

“The winner is...our explosive number six, Ground Zero!”

It took everything in you not to leap out of your seat in joy, though something like a strangled squeal managed to escape you. Bakugou gave you an evaluating look as he got to his feet, stalking up on stage with his usual intensity.

As soon as he was up there, it struck you that allowing him time for an acceptance speech was maybe not a great idea. Graciousness was not exactly a strength of his.

“Obviously I’m the most valuable,” he growled into the mic. The stage lights glinted off his hair and teeth, making him look slightly more predatory than usual. “I didn’t need you fucks to tell me.”

A choking noise could be heard from Kirishima’s seat a couple tables over, and Mina put her head in her hands.

“What’s important is that I’m number six now and it only took me a month,” Bakugou’s head swiveled in the direction of Midoriya and you suppressed a groan. “Don’t get fucking comfortable. I’m gonna wipe the floor with every one of the top five, and next awards you’ll all be kissing my ass.”

He didn’t seem like he had much more he wanted to say, which was an incredible relief as both the host and nearby security looked about ready to wrestle him offstage.

He leapt neatly down from the stage, and when he made it back to the table, he didn’t take his seat again. Instead, he grabbed your arm, hauling you out of your seat, and then he was pulling you down the aisle and through the door to the reception area.

He pulled you past the snack table and you thought he was steering you towards the stairwell again, but at the last second he took a sudden turn, shoving you through a door into the women’s powder room. You didn’t even have enough time to formulate a question before he had you backed up against the wall, your shoulders hitting the cool stone at the same time his mouth hit yours.

His kiss was hot and demanding as always, and you lost yourself in it easily. He trailed a line of burning kisses down your neck and over your shoulder, making you shudder and shake when he lingered too long over any particular spot.

It was hard to think past the press of his body on yours, but you tried your best to formulate words.

“Katsuki--it’s--we’re in the women’s room,” you panted, embarrassed by the fact that even as you spoke, you were clutching him closer. “This is--what are you--? S-someone’s gonna come in.”

Bakugou broke apart from you just long enough to level a searching glance around the room and--spotting what he’d been looking for--hefting the trashcan in front of the door with a forceful kick to stop it shut.

“There, nerd. Now stop fucking complaining,” he rasped, immediately attaching his mouth back under your jaw. You shuddered.

“What the fuck has gotten into you,” you demanded, seizing a fistful of his blonde hair to pull him back from where he was leaving what felt like a very deep bruise over your collarbone.

He leveled you with a burning, red-eyed stare. “Like you don’t fucking know.”

You looked at him in question. “...I actually don’t.”

He tried to lean in again but you gripped his hair harder. “What? You can’t just keep throwing me up against walls, especially here. What is it with you and shoving me into weird places at the Hero Awards?”

Bakugou growled. “If you don’t shut the fuck up and let me do what I want, I’m gonna burn throught this dress too.”

You froze up, then glared at him accusingly. “I literally write the code that processes your rank. If you ever wanna come within sniffing distance of the top three, you won’t touch a single thread of this dress.”

The hands on you grew hot, but not hot enough to burn. Bakugou slid a calloused hand over the curve of your waist, thumb brushing the underside of your breast.

“God, the fuckin’ attitude on you,” he said, almost reverently.

You felt your face warm under his scrutiny as he leaned closer. “You wanna know what's gotten into me? I wanted to melt that entire fucking thing off you last year. You were so fucking mouthy, such a little brat to me. Wanted to rip your dress off and fuck you right in the stairwell until you forgot you’d ever even heard of numbers.”

You shivered. Bakugou smirked, eyes darkening, leaning back in to bite under your jaw. You realized you’d lost your grip on him and willed your fingers to cooperate again.

“I fucking won that stupid award because I let you boss me around. I've waited an entire year. Now you’re gonna let me do whatever I want with you.”

Your legs went out from beneath you but Bakugou was already there, catching you under your thighs and hauling you up onto the countertop between the sinks. Your back brushed the mirror, glass cold under your shoulder blades.

“Y--you know, if you actually want to be number one, you can’t make speeches like you did,” you babbled nervously as he filled the space between your thighs. “Your public approval rating is part of your ranking, right? It’s weighted right below rescues…”

Bakugou paid you no mind, fingers already searching over your back to find the zipper to your dress. He yanked it down with little ceremony, seizing the front of your bodice to pull it off of you.

“I don’t need to be fucking nice if I’m the one saving the day,” he announced imperiously, leaning down to capture a nipple with his mouth.

Your hips jerked, and he pressed a hand to your thigh, holding you back down against the counter. Dimly, you registered that the words were familiar. “N--not--ah!--not this again.”

Bakugou didn’t deign to respond, instead doing something absolutely mind-bending with his tongue. You swore loudly, catching a fistful of his jacket. “Fuck, Katsuki!”

A hot palm slid up your thigh, gathering up the soft material of your skirt until he could slip a hand underneath. Calloused fingers trailed over your core with obvious intention. You inhaled sharply when he pressed them into you, leaning up to cover your mouth with his again.

Bakugou had you squirming wildly against him in barely a minute, snorting when you tried to get a hand on his zipper.

“Want me that bad, nerd?” he asked, pressing forehead to yours in an oddly tender move.

“If you don’t hurry the fuck up I’m gonna finish things myself,” you threatened, though Bakugou did not look at all as if he believed you.

He helped you get his zipper down, taking himself in hand, but he stopped just as he brushed your entrance, leaning forward to bite another kiss into your mouth.

“Now it’s time for you to make good on your end of the bet,” he growled, a smirk growing over his features. “You’ll tell me I’m the best and I was right all along.”

You stilled underneath him, disbelieving. “Are you--are you fucking serious.”

Bakugou pressed forward, just enough for you to feel the pressure of him on your clit. You fought down a noise like a whimper. Damn him.

“I jumped two ranks,” he said. “You’ll tell me I’m the best if you want me, nerd.”

“I am not gonna beg for you like this,” you announced, though it sounded a little more like a question than you had wanted it to.

Bakugou brushed his thumb over your clit again and little sparks danced over the corner of your vision. “Mmm, you’re gonna scream.”

You felt something like a tension snap inside you. Fuck it. He was so annoying but holy shit if he wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever encountered. If he needed his ego stroked, well it wasn’t nearly as much as you needed your own stroking.

You grit your teeth. “Ugh, fine--just--you’re the best, and you were right all along. Now will you please--”

You didn’t even get to finish before he was sinking into you, narrow hips fitting flush with your thighs. You swore at the feeling of fullness, and then he was moving, picking up into a frantic pace. He leaned forward, sealing his mouth over yours to swallow all the little noises you were making. It was mere minutes before you were shivering underneath him again, moving your hips to meet his, desperate for more, Katsuki, more.

“Ah fuck--so fucking good for me,” he grunted against your mouth, giving a particularly hard thrust, and that was all it took to unravel you.

You stifled a scream in the thick fabric of his jacket, arching up into him. He cursed and followed after you with a few more short thrusts, crushing you against the counter when he let his weight go slack.

You panted underneath him, catching your breath while your fingers slowly unclenched themselves from the hem of his suit jacket. Bakugou rubbed his face in the hollow of your shoulder, radiating smug satisfaction.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it, nerd?” he rasped, biting down lightly where he’d left the hickey earlier.

You pulled back, looking into his face again. He looked far too pleased with himself, but he was so handsome like this, all messy hair and a kiss darkened mouth. Your irritation with him fizzled out a little.

He flashed you a predatory grin. “You said it yourself--I'm the fucking best.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop your hand from coming up and tangling in his hair. “Shut the fuck up.”

Bakugou, predictably, did not look as if he was going to shut the fuck up at all. So you took matters into your own hands, and leaned in and kissed him again.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia #bnha #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou

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mehreya · 4 years

Text

seeing the thread

↬ wc: 7.9k

↬ pairing: kuroo tetsurou x fem!reader

↬ genre: angst, fluff, soulmate au

↬ summary: in a world where everyone can see their red threads when their soulmate’s near, it seems your soulmate can’t see the thread that runs from your pinky finger to his. at the age of 6, you don’t understand what it means for you.

-- send an ask to be on my gen taglist or fill out my form in navi!!

the very first time you see your red thread is in a playground, at the age of six.

you’re a bubbly little girl, bright smiles and playful laughter. (h/c) hair always wound up in a short little high ponytail; very little deters you.

the playground you’re always keen on visiting is a small public park – a little red sandbox to the side, a set of blue plastic swings in the middle and a tiny pink merry-go-round, complete with little yellow ducklings and white rabbits, is off to one side.

next to it is a seesaw, light brown in color, but painted on with childish scribbles and doodles, depicting fantasies of dragons, knights and princesses, mermaids and fairies, ones that can only exist in a child’s mind.

none of these are your favorite however; no, your favorite, like so many other children, is the colorful plastic sides on the right side of the playground.

there are twisting and winding lime green colored slides, ones that make your tummy twist and turn, but ultimately end with you shrieking in laughter and wiggling your toes as you slide down.

then there’s closed tube slides, a dark purple – your favorite spot to hide is in their comfortable tunnels, wedged in between the slide’s walls. (you always end up stopping the traffic of children, for which you are on the receiving end of all their complaints.)

but your very favorite out of all these slides is the tall, majestic, deep orange slide in the center of them all. you’ve always been warned not to go on that slide, for it is far too fast and too tall for someone of your age and stature.

never one for rules, whenever your mother has her head turned away, you run up the steps leading to the slide, fast as you can; and go sliding down with a loud squeal, little arms waving haphazardly.

your mother jolts every time she hears, but shakes her head fondly; reprimanding you never does any good – you simply never learn.

it’s on a day like this – in the very same little park you always visit, that you catch your first glimpse of the red silken thread from legends of old.

the playground is a little quieter today; a lack of abundance in the numbers of the children that usually gather.

your mother is busy talking to someone on the phone – presumably one of her friends; you can hear her gossiping about someone and their son all the way from the merry-go-round, which is only a few feet away from the bench your mother is sitting on.

apparently, from what you can hear, the son fell in love with someone whose red thread didn’t curl around his little finger; someone who wasn’t his soulmate.

your six-year-old self doesn’t understand why this is such a bad thing – at that point, you’re pretty much clueless about the social workings of the world.

no longer interested in your mother’s rambling, you wander away from her and make your way to your beloved slides, heading to the purple tube slides instead of your usual spot at the tall, orange slides.

the reason you’d chosen to play with the purple slides today is because of the red thread that has supposedly always been curled tightly around your pinky finger; it is visible today and is now trailing up the entrance of the purple tube slide to the left.

entranced, you’d gasped when you saw the deep red thread; wide (e/c) eyes lighting up with wonder. you’d tugged the red string a little, but seeing no response, you’d frowned and instead decided to go search for the thread and the person yourself.

all you knew about the red thread around your finger was from what your mother had told you – that it was a magical thread, and it would lead you to a very special person.

“mommy, how am I going to know they’re a special person?” you’d asked once.

“the red thread on your finger will appear when they’re near you and it will lead to them – the end of the thread will be wrapped around their finger.”

upon seeing your frown – one that said you had many more questions – your mother had laughed softly and gathered you up in her arms.

“you’ll just know, honey. the thread is magical, so it can pass through things, and it can stretch and tangle. but it won’t ever break. you’ll find your soulmate – I promise, hun.”

holding your mother true to her word, you’d decided to follow the thread as soon as you saw it, keeping your left hand out in front of you to prevent the thread from tangling too much as you’d walked toward the slides.

your mother had still been busy on the phone, so you’d neglected to tell her of your latest discovery – scurrying to the slides instead, curiosity and anticipation winning out over the need to tell your mother about your thread.

now crawling inside the dark tubes, knees kissing the plastic, the flat of your hands brace against the plastic floor as you go. curiously, the red thread you can now see hasn’t gotten caught under your knees even once; it disappears sometimes, but always comes back, the red of the thread on the plastic floor highlighting the purple of the slide.

though the thread hasn’t been a problem, the dress you’re wearing certainly has been. you scrunch your nose in annoyance, groaning when your dress catches under your knee for the billionth time.

the only reason you’re wearing this dress is because earlier that day, you’d had to attend a formal event with your mother, who had coaxed you into wearing a pretty little peach-colored dress with pastel light yellow roses lining the hem.

normally, you wouldn’t have minded wearing such a cute dress; but your mother had promised she’d take you to the park today (the very same bait she had used to coax you into wearing the said dress) and on account of that fact, you’d thought wearing a dress would hinder your playing ability.

and you’d been right.

still, it was a little too late to change clothes now; so you huff and pull up your dress, moving forward relentlessly, only stopping when you reach the middle of the tube. the part of the slide you’re in right now is horizontal - the flat before the curve of the slide, where it dips down vertically.

hearing the sound of something scraping against the polymer walls of the slide, you startle when you find you’re not the only one occupying this particular tube.

there is a boy with black hair, wearing the same startled expression you must be wearing; staring right back at you with wide, hazel eyes.

the first thing you think is: his hairstyle looks weird.

the second is not something you think but observe – the connection of the thread.

he backs away cautiously as you crawl near him; but you’re too preoccupied to notice his reaction – too busy focusing on the red thread you can see around his left little finger.

the very same one that leads to your own finger.

so, your six-year-old self concludes, this must be the special person mommy was talking about.

excited to have finally met him, your face breaks out into a huge smile, and the boy’s expression eases up a little at the sight of it.

you go to introduce yourself, but refrain from commenting on his hair (he looks a little shy, and you don’t want to scare your special person off, now do you?)

“i’m (surname) (name)!” you say, still beaming, holding out your left hand in the hopes the boy will finally notice that he and you share the same thread.

so far, he hasn’t even glanced toward it. (you’ve always been a little too observant for a six-year-old. some say it’s a bad thing, some say it’s a good thing; you fare just well.)

he looks off to the side nervously before looking back at you, eyes downturned a little as he says quietly, “uh, kuroo tetsurou, nice to meet you.”

he still hasn’t said anything about the thread, so cocking your head to the side in confusion, you take the plunge and ask, “kuroo-kun, can’t you see the thread?”

he looks up at you in confusion, lips pulled down in what you can guess is nervousness?

“um, what thread?” he asks slowly, looking up at you hesitantly.

you think he’s playing with you; or maybe he’s stupid. you ask again, a little more impatiently.

“the red thread on your finger, silly. look!”

you point aggressively toward his finger, and he looks down, following your gaze.

you wait in anticipation as he squints and does something with his eyes. you feel the urge to giggle at the weird things he’s doing with his eyes, but it is overshadowed by the feelings of anticipation and nervousness swimming in your stomach.

kuroo lifts his head cautiously, eyeing you warily, backing away a few steps.

“there’s nothing there.”

dread and confusion replace anticipation and nervousness.

your own voice softer, you ask, “really? nothing at all?”

he still looks confused, as if you’re talking about a concept so unimaginable he can’t wrap his head around it.

he shakes his head.

you rub your eyes harshly – maybe the lack of light is making you see your thread when it’s not there?

blinking away the shapes that form in the aftermath of the dark behind your eyes, you find the red thread still there, entwined around your pinkie and leading to his.

kuroo is still staring at you warily, as if you’ve grown two heads.

you don’t know what to make of this.

six-year-olds are not equipped for situations like this. this is the exact opposite of what you were expecting.

kuroo’s name rings through the tube slide then, the sound bouncing off of polymer tube walls and echoing through.

he turns and glances back, then bows his head toward you a little, a small smile on his face as he bids you a still somewhat nervous farewell.

you watch him go quietly, then make your own way down the slide. all the while, you are silent, not sure what to make of what had just happened.

it seems your mother is finished talking; she’s gazing off into the distance, a faraway smile on her face.

“mommy.”

at the sound of your voice, she turns, the smile on her face giving way to a weaker one, worried at the look on your face and the quiet tone of your voice.

(her little girl has never been so quiet.)

“sweetie? are you okay??”

“mommy, I saw the thread,” you say, walking up to her almost stiffly; coming to a stop in front of the bench she’s sitting on.

you can no longer see the red thread. your right hand wraps around your left, your right pointer finger rubbing over the now vacant pinkie on your left hand

she tugs you toward her gently, arms holding onto your own, voice gentle.

“honey, that’s great! why...do you look so sad though?”

“he couldn’t see it, mommy. he couldn’t see the thread.”

your mother’s expression falls, and she encapsulates you into her arms tenderly, hugging you tightly. you let her hug you, arms at your side.

(you don’t understand what’s wrong.)

the first time you see your thread is not a particularly fond memory of yours.

the second time you see your red thread is in your first year of university.

it appears in front of you when you go to cheer on your cousin’s varsity volleyball team.

honestly, while this university hadn’t been your first choice, your mother had encouraged you to attend.

her sole reason being that your cousin’s presence graced the walls of the very same university.

bokuto, for as long as you can remember, has always been energetic. he always seemed to be bouncing or jumping or just moving, in any form.

it was no surprise then, when he took up athletics. basketball, football, you name it. but the one he ultimately stuck with had been volleyball.

and as such, during high school, whenever he visited, during summer vacation trips to Shinagawa, you would always end up being dragged into playing volleyball with him.

you’d always deny him initially, wanting to stay inside with your sketchbooks and pencils, and just sketch hot guys off the internet. (solely artistic practice, you’d say.)

but bokuto would be smiling wide, huge owl-like eyes pleading. his grins and laughter were infectious, and so you could never really refuse him.

though you didn’t know the rules well, he’d say it didn’t matter; all you had to do was block his ball from over the net.

your little volleyball games would always end with the two of you sprawled over the grass, underneath the volleyball net and blue skies, eyes closed.

as far as you could remember, all your memories with bokuto were ones that were fond.

so, although you’d pretended to be annoyed at the idea of going to school with your cousin, you’d decided going to tokyo university with bokuto would be fun.

maybe not that fun, you think later, when you find yourself, in your second semester of your first year of university, hauling ass to make it to bokuto’s volleyball match in time, while lugging around his geometry textbook.

he’d forgotten it at your shared apartment earlier that day, although you’d reminded him the night before to put it in his bag.

for someone two years older, and in their second last year before complete adulthood, bokuto was far from the image of an adult.

sighing, you check the phone for the time and quicken your pace when you realize the match is going to start in a few minutes.

apparently, you’re not the only one in a hurry – as you make your way to the large gymnasium to the left side of your university, someone hurries past you, brushing your shoulder and almost making you drop the geometry textbook in the process.

there’s a flash of black and red.

dizziness.

slightly disoriented, though it hadn’t been a very powerful nudge, you pause for a second, clutching the textbook closer, as if that will help you orient yourself.

the guy who’d bumped into you is now miles ahead, but that doesn’t stop you from shouting after him in indignation.

“hey! watch where you’re going!”

all you get in reply is a muffled “sorry!” over his shoulder, and then he’s gone, and the black of his hair disappears, along with the fading of the red.

it takes you a minute to organize your thoughts.

his hair was black, but whatever he was wearing was a deep gray-ish color.

so where did the red come from?

and then the realization hits you.

your red thread.

you stare at your left hand for a good few minutes, but no matter how much you do, the thread does not appear around your pinky finger again.

you snap out of your staring when the sound of a whistle breaks through the silence of the grounds surrounding the gymnasium.

...you’re the only one still standing outside evidently.

you shake your head to collect yourself, (h/c) strands of hair flying about, and then stride into the gymnasium hurriedly, the gloss of wooden floors and the shine of bright lights winking at you.

unfortunately, at this point, there are no seats left at the front, and the only available one you can find is near the back.

ah well. at least you have a seat.

you settle in, making yourself comfortable in the metallic seat, the textbook in your hands falling with a thunk to the side of your seat.

it seems you’ve arrived halfway in to the match, just after half-time.

the game passes by with you watching fixatedly (even with your limited knowledge, the match is beyond intense), and the set point has you at the very edge of your seat.

bokuto is gearing up to spike, and you watch, eyes wide, as he jumps, back arching gracefully as his hand slams down onto the ball, changing the angle of his hand at the last minute.

a cross-shot, you remember him telling you.

the ball practically slams down onto the wooden floor on the other side of the net, and ricochets off the floor in a powerful bounce.

the gymnasium erupts, loud and deafening roars of victory and triumph echoing around.

you are one of the people shouting loudly and jumping up and down, the high of the match and the win taking over you.

you watch bokuto hug his teammates with an excited smile, then make your way out the gym to wait for him, heaving the textbook back into your arms.

soon enough, five minutes later, your phone rings with bokuto’s announcement of his arrival.

you look up and are met with a head of monochrome hair as bokuto catches you in his arms, sweeping you up in his excitement.

infectious.

you laugh loudly along with him.

“you won, you won!!”

“we won!” he grins, setting you down and giving you a high-five.

you hand the textbook off to him as he accepts it sheepishly, “mom and auntie have probably cooked a whole feast for you, so you better not spoil your appetite,” you look at him knowingly, and he groans in good fun.

“how did you know I wanted to go out for snacks?”

you cross your arms smugly, “you may look like the wise one, but I am the wise one.”

he grins again and ruffles your hair.

you’re just about to ask him about akaashi when a flash of black behind him catches your eye.

there’s a group of three guys coming near you slowly, and as you watch them, red appears in your vision.

your soulmate thread has appeared again, it seems.

and it’s leading to the tall, black-haired boy in the middle.

come to think of it, he does look familiar. exactly like the boy you’d met when you were younger. the same wacky hairstyle is still there, too, his hair springing up from one side of his head almost unnaturally.

you’re still staring when he looks up and catches you, his mouth opening slightly in surprise.

you look away immediately, suppressing the warmth rising to your cheeks, and nudge bokuto.

“hey bo, who’s that guy over there?”

“where?”

“the one with the weird-ass hair.”

“oh, kuroo? he’s my teammate, why?”

“...hmm, no reason.”

bokuto wiggles his eyebrows, looking utterly ridiculous as he does.

“is he your sooulmate?”

“...no, his hair looks interesting. for drawing reference, you know.”

thankfully, bokuto doesn’t catch on to the slight hesitation at the beginning of your sentence, but he does do something entirely stupid instead.

“oi, kuroo!”

(you facepalm - I didn’t tell you to call him over, bo.)

“kuroo” strides over, his other two companions lingering behind and watching curiously.

“ohoho, bokuto. what’s up?” he drawls in a laid-back sort of manner, hands in the pockets of his jersey shorts.

his gaze switches from bokuto to you, and he eyes you inquisitively, looking at bokuto for elaboration on your identity, presumably.

it seems he doesn’t remember you.

but then again, you were only six-years-old.

you squash down the slight feelings of disappointment, and smile at him as bokuto introduces you.

“this is (name), she wants to draw your hair!” bokuto grins, slinging an arm around kuroo cheerfully.

...not exactly how you’d put it, but it works.

kuroo blinks in slight surprise, before an easy grin makes its way onto his face.

he runs a hand through his hair, the black, inky strands sticking up as he grins at you, “sure, my hair is a natural work of art, isn’t it?”

“don’t you spend hours each morning trying to gel it?” bokuto murmurs in what he thinks is a discreet manner, but what anyone else would say was a loud whisper.

kuroo jams an elbow into bokuto’s side, still grinning at you as bokuto winces, you watching on in amusement.

someone’s phone rings then, and bokuto whips his out, golden eyes lighting up with excitement and affection.

“akaashi?” both you and kuroo speak at the same time, a knowing undertone lacing your question.

both of you turn to each other in surprise, smiling half parts awkwardly and half parts fondly, because of course akaashi would be the first to call bokuto after his big match.

bokuto smiles widely, holding the phone up to his ear and greeting akaashi while simultaneously hugging kuroo with one arm. he drops a quick kiss on your hair and then bounds away, chattering into the phone excitedly.

“akaashi, I won! we won! can you believe it!? my spike was...”

you and kuroo stare after his retreating figure, and then turn toward each other, you tugging the hem of your shirt, kuroo running a hand through his hair and clearing his throat.

you look up at him just as he’s about to say something, but he’s interrupted before he can voice whatever he’s thinking.

“oi, kuroo! we’re gonna head on downtown then!” one of his friends, the one with a gold streak through his dark hair shouts, while the other with light brown hair waves.

kuroo nods toward them, grinning and holding up a hand in farewell, as you too, smile awkwardly in their direction.

he swivels back to you, the slight evening breeze that had just picked up ruffling his inky hair and making it even more messier.

the fading sunlight highlights the amber flecks in his eyes, and from your spot, not even two feet away, you can count the exact number of amber specks (five).

the red thread tying you together seems to be glowing faintly under the diminishing sunlight.

and then a thought occurs to you.

“hey, aren’t you the guy who bumped into me earlier?” you cross your arms, cocking an eyebrow, a playful smile on your face.

“ah, yeah, sorry about that again. I was in a hurry to get back before halftime was over.” kuroo messes up his hair sheepishly, the inky strands falling in front of his face in the most alluring way.

you can’t help but stare.

“it’s chill, no worries,” you’re still staring; his hair getting ruffled in the breeze is making him look ten times more attractive, and also like a model drawing reference.

“so,” kuroo clears his throat, smiling at you somewhat amusedly, “do you wanna go to a café or something, so you can,” he holds up two fingers each to imitate speech marks, “sketch my hair?”

you glance away awkwardly, smoothing back your hair as you and kuroo start walking away from the gym.

“your hair would be interesting to sketch, but I don’t have anything to sketch with,” you say, shrugging, but then a thought occurs to you, “hold on, does that count as a date?”

“I know you’d want it to be,” kuroo winks, his strides matching yours exactly, despite his superior height.

the red thread between you sways softly, and though you glance toward it now and then, kuroo doesn’t.

at all.

there is no indication that he is able to see. you quell the rising panic that you had stored away for years, and laugh nervously instead.

kuroo walks a little closer, “do you still wanna go to the café anyway? or should I walk you home?”

you say the first thing that comes to mind, some of your nervousness easing up at his reply.

“I like how you’ve made sure to include yourself in both options.”

“I knew you’d like it better that way,” he winks again, and you laugh, shaking your head.

“is that how you get all the ladies?”

“bold of you to assume I have any,” amusement glints in his eyes as he watches you laugh, shoulders shaking.

“dude, you do know you just self-sabotaged yourself, right?”

kuroo shrugs, his arm brushing yours in the process, the heat from it unfamiliar but at the same time, so familiar.

he smiles as he looks sideways at you, amber-hazel eyes warm, “made you laugh, didn’t I?”

you fall silent, only offering up a smile in return.

the red thread becomes shorter as kuroo walks even closer, but it’s still as deep red as ever, glinting almost mockingly in the dying light.

you reach your shared apartment then, and pause, standing in front of it. the university dorms are a little father ahead, just down the street.

the lights in your apartment building are bright, and you shield your eyes slightly as you turn to face kuroo.

“so,” kuroo begins, awkwardly now; a visible contrast from his early suaveness. it’s endearing, watching him with the lightest dusting of pink on his cheeks as his eyes dart in between you and the buildings nervously.

so jarringly different from his earlier smoothness and winking, but it makes him all the more cuter in your eyes.

(how are you already finding him so cute? it’s been only fifty minutes.)

you shift your stance, watching him with mirthful eyes and a patient smile.

he runs his hand through his hair again – it seems to be a nervous habit, you note.

“so, are you and bokuto, you know...” he trails off, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jersey shorts, lifting his varsity jersey slightly so he can do so.

vaguely distracted as you watch him do so, you don’t catch on to his entire question, “sorry, what?”

he glances up and to the side, and then turn back to you determinedly, though there is hesitant nervousness in his amber-hazel orbs.

another contrast; the juxtaposition of his stance and his eyes.

endearing.

he clears his throat, “are you and bokuto dating?”

you stare at him – how on earth did he get that idea?

oh. maybe the hug and the kiss.

yeah, maybe that.

you hurry to clear up the misunderstanding, “no, no, he’s my cousin!”

kuroo snaps his fingers, expression clearing up, “oh, the one he shares an apartment with?”

you nod, and he smiles, “that’s good.”

you raise an eyebrow teasingly but make no comment, and he moves forward quickly, “you should come watch another one of our games.”

those amber-hazel eyes are trained on you, his smile warm.

you surprise yourself with what you say next, but it comes out without much thinking (you’re too focused on his striking gaze), “sure, and then we could go for that café thing?”

his eyes widen a little, and then the corner of his mouth lifts a little more, smiling down at you, amused, “for sure, the café thing.”

you laugh quietly, walking away from him, “yeah, yeah, bye, kuroo.”

you turn to wave at him, and he waves back, watching you go with a smile.

the feeling of his warm gaze lingers as you walk away, and you watch the red thread fade again as he starts walking away.

you enter the building and greet the doorman almost in a daze, making your way to your apartment.

when you enter, bokuto is sitting on the couch and face-timing akaashi as they both type away at their laptops.

you shake out of your daze, coming to a stop in front of him, hands on your hips.

bokuto looks up sheepishly, the black-framed glasses he wears for studying falling down his nose slightly.

“first off,” you start, “you just left me there! second, mom and auntie and the rest said they’ll be here in 20. third, hi, ‘kaashi, how you doing?”

akaashi doesn’t get a chance to greet you back, because bokuto starts speaking immediately, looking at you like he knows something you don’t, “you and kuroo didn’t call me at all though.”

you look off to the side, “that’s irrelevant.”

he makes a face, wiggling his eyebrows as akaashi snorts quietly through the screen. you go to defend yourself, but before you can, bokuto springs up, shock settling on his features, “wait, did you say they’re going to be here in 20 minutes?”

you nod, sighing as you maneuver around the mess of empty bags and plastic cans to the back of the sofa to wave at akaashi.

“shit!” bokuto panics for a minute, flailing his arms around (as if that would solve anything), and then holds his iPad up to his face, “bye, ‘kaashi, gotta go, love ya!”

you barely get in your wave to akaashi and glimpse his fond look of exasperation before bokuto slams the cover of the iPad down, hurriedly jumping off the couch and snatching up his papers and laptop.

he looks toward you pleadingly, some of his papers falling out of his arms, “help me?”

“nope, I already did my part this morning.” you shut him down casually, making your way inside your room and closing your door to the sound of bokuto’s agonized cries as he figures out how to work the vacuum cleaner.

flopping down onto your bed, you put your left arm over your eyes and think.

you let all the feelings that you’d been suppressing rise back to the surface again, and a long, weary sigh escapes you.

kuroo doesn’t know about the thread; he can’t see it and you didn’t tell him.

should you tell him?

you know he’s your soulmate, and in the fifty minutes you’d known him, you’re certain dating him would only come too easy for you.

he seems sweet, funny, playful. essentially the perfect guy.

but, you think, rolling over on your side, did you agree to go on a date with him because of the thread, or because you genuinely liked him apart from that, too?

you rationalize that after so many years of hating the fact that he can’t see the red thread, or sometimes even hating him for not being able to, you wouldn’t have just accepted to go on a date with him if you genuinely didn’t want to.

you know that it was wrong to hate him for something that wasn’t even his fault, and you’d stopped hating him a long time ago; but when you’d been younger, blaming and hating him and his inability to see your thread was the only way you knew to cope with the fact you might be soulmate-less.

at least you know he likes you for you.

in the end, you decide telling him is only the right thing to do – it’s not like it will change anything; your genuine feelings will still be there.

the nagging voice of doubt and fear lingers at the back of your mind – what if, in the time that you’d grown up, kuroo’s thread was attached to another?

after all, you’d never heard of anyone not having a thread, but you had heard of people’s threads connecting to someone who was their soulmate, but they hadn’t been their soulmate’s.

there had been people whose soulmate’s thread lead to someone else.

you didn’t want to find out whether you were one of those people.

but, you reasoned, if he did have a different soulmate, then he would have been able to see their thread, and wouldn’t have asked you out on a date.

(you push away all thoughts of “maybe he hasn’t met his soulmate yet” to the very back of your mind – you think it’s time you were optimistic, for once.)

making up your mind, you snuggle into your bed, resting until your mother and aunt arrive, the sounds of bokuto’s panicked cleaning frenzy fading into the background.

you’d decided you would tell kuroo if your relationship with him progressed to more than a few dates. it seemed like a logical decision, and the uneasiness coiled in your chest relaxed.

everything would be fine.

the very last time you see your soulmate thread is a particularly painful memory.

you’re now in your third year of university, and you and kuroo have been dating for two years.

the café date had transitioned to a movie date, then a park date, a Netflix and chill date, and countless others.

you’d kissed four dates in, and it had been one of the best in your life.

you’d officially become a couple nine dates in, and bokuto had been overjoyed, for lack of better word, at the thought of kuroo being his brother-in-law.

(“we’re gonna be actual bros, man!” bokuto fist-bumped kuroo, who smirked at you teasingly, watching in fond amusement as you choked on your drink at the insinuation of marriage. “bo, it’s been two months! jesus...”

“what, are you saying you don’t want to marry me?” kuroo had pouted at you, feigning hurt. “wait, that’s not what I mean-!” he’d started cackling then, at the blush on your face and the frenzied look in your eyes as you defended yourself. you’d rolled your eyes and smacked him on the arm, “i hate you.”

he’d grinned at you cheekily, amber-hazel eyes mirthful, “love you too, baby.”)

despite all that, you still hadn’t told kuroo about the thread. you just...you just hadn’t found the right time. it was partially an excuse, but also the truth.

every time you’d tried to tell him, something interrupted you, and you ended up chickening out.

all the times you’d tried to tell him had gone a little bit like this:

“hey, tets?” you’d been lying down on the beige couch in your apartment, legs sprawled over kuroo’s as he rested them on the coffee table in front of him.

bokuto had gone on a date with akaashi, and it had been just you and kuroo that afternoon; so you’d decided to have yourselves a little study date.

“yeah?” kuroo had looked over at you curiously, pausing in the midst of his typing.

as soon as you’d started speaking, a loud rumbling sound cut through the peaceful silence that had been surrounding you, and had drained out what you’d been trying to say.

kuroo had shook his head, “construction workers at it again. what were you saying, babe?”

you’d smiled, shaking your head, “can we order indian today?”

you and kuroo had discussed the topic of soulmates and the red thread, of course, one year into your relationship.

that had been the perfect time to tell him.

but kuroo had said that it didn’t really matter to him; he’d never seen his thread and he didn’t put much faith in the idea of soulmates anyway.

you’d faltered; if he seemed fine without one, and you weren’t sure if you were his, would there really be any point in telling him?

while you had been internally conflicting, kuroo had pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, and had told you he was going to shower.

you’d let him go; though you’d wanted to finish the discussion, you didn’t know what to say and he had a class in a few minutes.

now, two years in, you’d decided to hold off on telling him.

you’d spent ages agonizing over this, the red thread whenever you were near tetsurou taunting you with its’ existence constantly. but you hadn’t been able to come to a decision at all, so you’d pushed it to the back of your mind as usual.

(the back of your mind had become a very cluttered place, as a result.)

the buzzing of your phone distracts you; it’s a message from tetsurou, telling you he’d ordered your favorite dish, and to hurry up or he was going to eat it.

smiling at his text, you start typing back, “you’re gonna steal my food anyway.”

too immersed in your phone and his incoming text, you start crossing the street without paying attention.

you’d done it a million times before, and nothing had happened, so it had become sort of a bad habit.

(tetsu always made sure to keep a strong arm around your waist when you crossed streets – you never paid attention.)

this time, though, something does happen. as you’re crossing, you don’t see the out of control car careening on the street to your left.

there’s a loud screech, rubber tires on road, metal against metal, and the exact minute you look up, the car comes crashing into you.

there’s a glare of bright white, and you fly on top of the car’s hood, sliding across and falling on the road painfully.

the phone flies out of your hand.

a loud ringing fills your ears.

there’s something sticky on your head, you register vaguely.

and the last thing you catch a glimpse of, before your vision dims completely, is the red thread that has always been on your left pinky finger, slowly fading with the blurring of your vision.

eyes fluttering open slowly, you wake up to harsh, fluorescent white lights and the smell of disinfectant. blinking a few times to adjust to the light, you realize that you’re lying in a hospital bed.

you’re wearing a light green hospital gown, and your body aches all over.

your right shoulder hurts, and you look at it to see it bandaged up, white covering wrapped around it tightly.

your scalp feels tight too, and you reach up slowly, groaning at the limp feeling in your arm.

there’s gauze wrapped around your head too, underneath your clump of messy (h/c) hair.

you lean back, arm falling to your side, and just stare up at the ceiling for a few minutes.

sound slowly becomes audible as you lie there – like the feeling one gets after chewing bubblegum during turbulence in an airplane; you hadn’t even realized you couldn’t hear.

there’s sounds of city life coming from outside the window to your right, but the curtains are closed, so you can’t tell whether it’s daytime or nighttime.

the sound of soft snores registers, and you look to your left to see a mop of black hair resting in the juncture of folded, tanned arms.

tetsu is snoring softly beside your bed, head turned away from you.

you reach out a hand slowly, before retracting it, not wanting to disturb him.

how long have you been in this hospital...?

what happened...?

you close your eyes and rub your temples slowly, and then you remember the flash of white lights and the sound of rubber tires on gravel.

you’d been in a car accident.

you groan slowly, the splitting headache that had been muted till then growing stronger.

sighing, you snuggle back into the pillows you’d been leaning against, in the hopes that relaxing will make the headache subside.

looking toward tetsurou, you smile a little, watching his head lift and drop back down a little with every breath he takes.

something about this scenario seems wrong to you. it feels like something’s missing.

your eyes drift down to tetsu’s fingers from his left hand resting on his right arm.

and then it hits you.

there’s no red thread.

there’s nothing connecting you to him.

you blink a few times, and rub your eyes wearily.

nothing.

panic starts rising.

you take a deep breath, and shut your eyes, and after counting to ten, open them again.

still nothing.

panic wells up and spills over the well you’d been keeping all your emotions in.

the remaining pain from the car accident, the aching of your limbs, the panic surrounding your missing red thread, the stress from not telling tetsu about it – it all comes spilling out in one big wave.

tears blur your vision, and you put your hand over your mouth, trying to muffle the panicked sobs that are threatening to escape.

maybe your worst fears have been confirmed? you’ve always been able to see the red thread, so there has to be some kind of reason why it’s disappeared now.

your rational thinking is severely compromised right now; instead of thinking logically, your brain is coming up with all the worst-case scenarios that could have caused the thread to disappear.

maybe the red thread has disappeared because tetsu doesn’t love you anymore, maybe your relationship isn’t meant to last more than what it has, or maybe he has another true soulmate-

your cries wake him up.

the bed shifts, and tetsurou sits up, hair mussed, eyes wide, sleep marks imprinted on his face.

for a minute, he just stares at you blankly as you sniff, trying to breathe properly so you can stop crying.

and then the sight of you crying registers, and he springs forward, cradling your face in his hands gently, “shh, baby, why are you crying? does it hurt? should I call someone?”

worried, his amber-hazel eyes are soft and concerned as he thumbs at the wet tear trails on your cheeks, his touch warm.

the concern in his eyes only makes you cry harder, and his face falls even more as he tries to get you to tell him what’s wrong.

and then you can’t hold in any longer; the worry on his face, the stress of your secret, it all pushes you over the edge - you no longer care about keeping your secret; the anxiety of him not being your soulmate far outweighing your need for secrecy.

your hands clutch each other tightly, and you take deep, calming breaths, tetsurou rubbing circles on your cheeks gently.

your loud sobs die down to loud sniffles.

“the thread...it’s, it’s gone-”

tetsurou’s thumbs still in their ministrations and he blinks, confused, “huh?”

tears well up again, and you look down.

“you mean this thread?”

the warmth on your right cheek disappears, and you look up to see tetsurou holding his left hand up, all the fingers curled except the pinkie.

it’s almost funny how you stop crying immediately, hope making its home at the base of your throat.

“what?” you whisper, unable to believe what you think he’s insinuating.

tetsu raises his little finger higher, eyes searching yours, “this red thread from my pinkie to yours?”

you still, eyes widening hopefully, “if you’re joking right now, I swear to God, tetsu-”

he laughs, left hand coming to rest on your cheek again as he gently wipes away your tears with the pads of his thumbs.

“I realized I could see this a few days ago, and I’d been meaning to ask if you’d seen yours, because you never mentioned it-”

he stops in his explanation when tears trace a way down your face again, the salty liquid damp against his thumbs.

“hey,” he croons softly, “why are you crying again?”

laughter bubbles up amidst your tears, and then you’re laughing, tetsurou smiling in equal parts surprise and relief at your change in mood.

you put your right hand over his left, eyes shining, “we really are soulmates!”

“yeah.” he grins, leaning forward to deliver a soft kiss to your forehead, “why didn’t you tell me about the red thread though?”

you look away guiltily, “I was scared. I’d promised myself I’d tell if you if we got past a few dates, but by the time we were a couple, I was in too deep.”

at your admittance, his eyes soften, amber dissolving amongst the hazel.

“I didn’t want to tell you because I thought I might lose you. it was stupid, but I thought I wasn’t your actual soulmate, and that you had someone else.”

heat rises to your cheeks as you mutter, “I didn’t want to share you with someone else...”

you look back at him tentatively to find him smiling at you warmly, as if the words he’s going to say are going to be incredibly romantic.

what comes out though, is this: “I get it,” he says, lifting his hands as he smirks at you, “anyone would want to keep this hot piece of ass for themselves.”

you snort, shaking your head as he rests his hands on your waist, grinning down at you brazenly.

he’s just about to kiss you when the door slams open, and bokuto practically runs in, a worried expression on his face.

tetsurou rolls his eyes, and backs off to let bokuto hug you, “way to make an entrance, bokuto.”

bokuto ignores him for once, surprisingly, scanning over you hurriedly, “(Name), I heard you were hurt, are you okay?? is anything broken?? you were asleep for six hours!”

you jolt, surprised, “six hours?!”

bokuto nods sagely, “we were all so worried. mom and auntie and everyone else are going to be here in a few hours too. ‘kaashi’s coming too.”

you groan, rubbing a hand over your face as tetsurou snickers at you.

looks like you were going to be in for a lot of mothering and coddling. (especially from akaashi)

bokuto peers at you closely as you blink up at him innocently. you’re hoping he won’t notice you’ve been crying; and the odds are stacked in your favor, since bokuto, bless his soul, can be more than a little oblivious.

it seems today is opposite day, because he seesm to notice you’ve been crying almost instantly. he looks toward tetsurou, frowning a little, “bro wth why was she crying?”

tetsu crosses his arms self-assuredly, smirking, “because she was happy to see my face, duh.”

you roll your eyes.

idiot.

bokuto frowns a little more, and tetsurou holds up his hands, “wait, I really had nothing to do with her crying-”

“I’m fine, bo.” you laugh, curling an arm around his.

he grins, perking up immediately, frown disappearing instantaneously.

tetsu rubs his chin, looking at bokuto as if he’s seeing him for the first time, “damn, bro, you’re not as fluffy as you look.”

bokuto puffs up his chest, “you know, bro, a man’s gotta be a man.”

tetsu nods sagely, “bro, I know. 110% agree with you-”

you interrupt their little “bro moment”, tone of voice incredulous, “um, crying person here, if you guys wouldn’t mind passing a tissue...?”

bokuto and tetsurou chuckle as you shake your head fondly, bokuto settling into the chair tetsurou was on as tetsu grabbed the tissue from the table a few feet away.

you shift a little to the left to make space for tetsu, who slips you the tissue and then slides into bed with you, one arm going behind you so you can rest against it comfortably.

you close your eyes as tetsurou kisses your hair, “go to sleep, baby. we’ll be right here.”

bokuto hums loudly in agreement before engaging tetsurou in some sort of discussion about volleyball and beer pong.

oh God, you hoped they wouldn’t combine the two.

sighing fondly, you snuggle into tetsurou’s side, his arm tightening around you comfortably, as he drops yet another kiss onto your hair.

it didn’t matter that you couldn’t see your thread. maybe you couldn’t see it because of the car accident, maybe you couldn’t see it because of other reasons.

you think you would have been fine even without the knowledge of the red thread. looking back on it, you realize you would have ended up telling kuroo at some point, and even with the knowledge that he might not be your soulmate, you’d loved him.

you still do.

so for now it doesn’t matter.

later, you know you and tetsu will talk about this.

but it will be fine.

because you know he’s yours as much as you are his.

659 notes · View notes

mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

Road Not Taken (one-shot)

Part of the Stray Wolves Series

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Bang Chan (SKZ)

Warnings: Smut, Explicit Language, Lots of dirty talk, breeding kink, mentions of knotting, heavy degradation...basically, this is pure filth (but only at the end)

Word Count: 5.5 K

Genre: Werewolf AU; Marriage AU

Summary: It’s true that Bang Chan, the legendary pack alpha of the Stray Wolves, had never felt the need to take a mate until he met Y/N, the much-younger she-wolf who stole his heart. As the pack alpha’s mate, there are certain expectations that she must meet in her position, but she’s still learning while also getting into trouble with her close friends Seungmin and Jeongin.

Honestly speaking, the concept of mates and mating had never held any influence over me until the day I officially presented as an Omega. Suddenly, the idea of growing old with someone while taking care of our pups seemed like a scenario that I desperately needed in my life. Consequently, it consumed all of my dreams involving the future, but I still didn’t expect a proposal from my pack alpha whose dimpled smile made me feel incredibly special.

For starters, Chan was much older than me, and he was friends with my older brother, Jisung, who was caught off-guard by our sudden romance. You see, Chan became pack alpha after our last leader formally retired, and he had been serving in his place for many years. It was always customary for the pack alpha to find a mate, but Chan didn’t seem to favor the traditional approach. In fact, many of my pack members thought that he would never find a mate.

At least, until Chan approached me one morning after the two of us spent the day hunting together, which wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Despite being Jisung’s friend, Chan and I were fairly close, and I liked spending time with him because he never saw me as a younger member who still needed time to mature. And maybe I was young and reckless, but Chan never treated me like I was something to coddle, even if his overprotective instincts occasionally intervened.

When I officially mated with Chan, the entire pack was shocked. It seemed somewhat scandalous considering our age-gap and the numerous women who Chan had passed on throughout his tenure as alpha. But Chan had never concerned himself with the opinions of others, and he simply brought me into his life like I had always belonged next to his side.

It was an enormous responsibility, and I was still learning how to properly navigate the complexities of my responsibilities as pack Luna, especially in consideration of my age. But I wanted to do my best for Chan since he was giving me everything that I wanted, and, for the most part, I stayed on my best behavior for him, even if it was sometimes hard to resist the occasional moment of mischief. Especially when my friends Seungmin and Jeongin were involved, and they were a big part of the reason why our little trio had been deemed the pack’s troublemakers.

Maybe that’s why Chan always hesitated whenever I brought them up in conversation, and I carefully studied my mate from the warmth of our bed as dressed himself in regular clothes. “What are your plans, love?” he asked while busying himself with the buttons on his shirt.

“I don’t know,” I answered mindlessly. “I’ll probably just spend the day with Seungmin and Jeongin.”

Chan grimaced at the mention of their names, adjusting the leather strap of his belt as he considered me with dark eyes. “Just be careful,” he said, approaching the bedside to lean down and inhale deeply against my neck.

“I’m not a kid,” I grumbled against his touch, squirming around on the mattress.

“I know you’re not,” Chan said, smirking when he pulled back. “But it’s my job to worry about you.”

“You don’t have to worry all the time,” I protested, but Chan’s smile was still warm as he left our shared bedroom, and I waited until I could hear the sound of the front door closing before jumping out of bed.

When I was barely of age to leave my mother’s side, I met Seungmin and Jeongin by accident. Apparently, the younger two pups had formed a formiddable alliance, and they always did their best to push the limits of their mother’s patience. They were brothers by blood, but they were also best friends, and I never thought that I would find a place in their dynamic.

However, when we met for the very first time, I found out that Seungmin and Jeongin shared a lot of the same mischievous nature that often resulted in my mother apologizing to the older wolves who complained when I disrupted their frequent slumber. Because of our natural inclinations for mischief, I found myself joining the brothers as we wrecked havoc and mayhem on our other pack members who were certainly not impressed by our hijinks.

I’m sure my past behavior contributed to my pack’s hesitance when Chan accepted me as his mate. After all, they would be expected to show the pack Luna respect, but that was hardly feasible considering who I liked to keep in close company. Initially, Chan had tried to discourage our meetings by forcing Jeongin and Seungmin to join as many hunting and border patrols as he could manage. But we still found ways to see one another, and I think Chan gradually decided that he couldn’t stop the inevitable, even if his most recent warning to the brothers had forced them to reconsider some of our more impressive pranks...

“Are you sure about this?”

There was a slight note of trepidation in Seungmin’s tone, and it matched the look of insecurity on his face as we stood outside of the abandoned house in the woods. It was fabled among our pack’s younger members to be haunted, and some of the elder had warned us that it was strictly off-limits which, of course, stoked my curiosity. So, I scoffed at his hesitation because both Seungmin and Jeongin had been excited to talk about visiting the house last night. Yet, confronted with the real thing, they were both suddenly the world’s biggest cowards.

“Come on, guys, we all want to know what’s inside,” I said, reaching back for Seungmin’s hand.

“Yeah, but if it’s something bad...” Jeongin trailed off, and his eyes widened with a sudden realization. “What if Chan finds out?”

“He’ll never know,” I assured him. “Let’s just go inside and look around.”

I started forward without an ounce of hesitation, walking up the front steps of the house’s porch with confidence. I could also hear Seungmin and Jeongin following me from behind, and I took that as a good sign that my friends has refused to feel intimidated by my alpha’s attempts to ruin our fun. After all, what’s the worst that could happen in an abandoned house?

With this in mind, I reached out to open the front door, and it was unsurprising when I found it unlocked, allowing it to fall back against the hinges. The inside of the house was musty and old, and there was a foul smell in the air like the house was hiding something that was slowly rotting away. Whatever it was, I nearly gagged around the smell as it assaulted by sensitive nose, looking back over at Seungmin and Jeongin who both wore matching expressions of disgust.

“Where is that coming from?” Seungmin asked, and I allowed him to take the lead as we walked into the first room.

It appeared to be some form of kitchen, and I could identify dozens of places that might generate such a foul-smelling stench. “This place is disgusting,” Jeongin said.

“What did you expect?” I snorted.

“It’s really cold too,” Jeongin remarked, and I startled when I realized that he was right, and that was a bit strange considering the weather outside.

Nevertheless, I continued my exploration of the house, leaving the kitchen and approaching some of the rooms at the back of the house. I heard Jeongin and Seungmin laughing at something in the kitchen, but I paid them no mind as I opened the door to the first room.

It wasn’t anything special, but there was a bed in the middle of the floor and a closet near the heavily boarded-up window. I exhaled slowly, walking across the creaking floorboards as I noticed something strangely familiar tickling my senses. My wolf was suddenly on high-alert, and I was trying to look for anything that might be triggering the hair-raising response to whatever I was smelling that was right on the edge of my consciousness...

“Y/N!”

I nearly jumped out of my skin, spinning around on my heel at the sound of Jeongin’s high-pitched shrill. “Hey!” I shouted, leaving the bedroom door wide open as I retraced my steps to the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

“Y/N.” Seungmin’s voice was hushed, and the two boys were standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a defensive posture. I stood on my toes to look over them, and I felt my breath hitch at the back of my throat because standing at the entrance to the kitchen was a man. But I knew immediately that he wasn’t just an ordinary human who happened upon the house...

“Vampire,” I whispered, but not like our neighbors who lived in the mountains. These were rogue vampires who had been cast aside, and they were left without the necessary vampire bonds and fresh sources of blood required to sustain them. It certainly explained the metallic smell that had been all over that bedroom, and it provided justification for the lack of sunlight penetrating the inside.

This vampire was in the late stages of decay, and his blood-red eyes revealed that he was in no mood for our playful adventure. In fact, I could detect the hunger in his gaze, and I reached for Seungmin’s arm because I knew that we were in trouble.

“We need to get outside,” Jeongin said, and I nodded in response.

Because this vampire would not last in the sun, and it was our only possible form of salvation since there was no fighting a desperate vampire.

“Start walking the other way,” Seungmin said, and the three of us started to back up carefully, keeping the vampire in our line of sight as we tried for another means of escape.

However, I had taken no more than a couple of steps backwards when I felt another cold blast hit me from behind. I immediately stopped, and it caught Seungmin’s attention. He turned around to confront me, but his eyes widened and I knew that he had found the source of that chilly presence.

There was more than one vampire in this house.

“We’ll have to fight,” I said, and Jeongin whimpered at the idea.

“Stay close,” Seungmin said, and we formed a protective circle as the Vampires started to approach, fangs bared and with sinister snarls interrupting the quiet of the kitchen.

I held my breath, waiting for the right opportunity to shift, when I heard Seungmin let out a warning growl, and I realized too late that the first vampire had launched himself at my friends. Our circle was broken, and I nearly lost my balance at the force thrown against me from behind. Yet, it also created the perfect opportunity for the second Vampire who quickly took advantage of the distraction.

I fell to the ground hard, groaning at the pain jolting through my shoulder from the impact. But I was given no time to consider my injuries as my adrenaline kicked in and affected all of my concentration. It was enough to take my mind away from the fall, but not enough to muster an offensive strike. I was left playing defense with a rabid Vampire who knew that I was much weaker on my own.

I whimpered as the Vampire stood over me, teeth glinting menacingly as he hissed in my direction. I closed my eyes at the harsh sound, ready to accept my fate at the hands of the cruel Vampire, when a familiar howl broke through the haze of fear and confusion. And I realized with a barely-restrained gasp that an enormous jet-black wolf had suddenly attacked the Vampire, saving my life. I took a moment to catch my breath before using the counter to help myself stand up again, looking around the room at my pack members fighting the Vampires who had almost successful in their campaign.

I winced when I realized that the familiar jet-black wolf was my mate, and he was savage in his assault. Yet, at the same time, I realized that Chan was not inflicting much damage to the Vampire - almost like he didn’t want to harm it. I was puzzled by the consideration, but a quick tug on my arm alerted me to Changbin, our pack Beta, who was yelling at me to join the others outside.

I immediately obeyed his order, trying to avoid the Vampires and Werewolves engaged in heavy conflict, noticing that more Vampires had somehow joined the attack. But the escalating situation was left behind for the much-needed sunlight, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I found Seungmin and Jeongin unharmed. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” I said, allowing them to wrap their arms around me in familiar embrace.

“Y/N,” Seungmin said, looking at me with concerned eyes. “The house is protected by King Felix. It’s meant to provide a place for rogue Vampires to die in peace.”

I swallowed hard at the mention of the Vampire King who Chan had tried so hard to maintain good relations. “What have we done?” I asked, turning around at the sound of an all-too familiar voice.

Of course it was Chan, walking with our pack members as they diligently followed their alpha. He was talking to an older Vampire, one who I had never noticed before, and she was positively enraged as she practically screamed in my mate’s face. Apparently, the situation had evolved into something that held far more consequences, and I had never felt so ashamed.

When Chan came closer, I shivered at the rage in his eyes, and I refused to meet his gaze when he pulled me behind him. “We’ll talk later,” he growled, reminding me of the intimidating alpha who was feared throughout the neighboring packs.

“King Felix marked these lands as neutral,” the older Vampire said. “And you agreed.”

Chan stepped forward, keeping his hands behind his back as he addressed the elderly woman who sneered at my pack mates. “I’m sorry for their intrusion,” Chan said, bowing low at the waist. “It won’t happen again.”

“I hope not,” the old woman said. “You should train your pups to behave.”

I could feel myself blushing at being categorized as a pup when, as the pack alpha’s mate, I was expected to be one of the most mature members. It had a chastening effect, and I cowered behind Chan with my wolf’s tail metaphorically caught between my legs. Surely, everyone else in the pack would find out about our misadventure, and if they thought the same thing as this older vampire...

I shivered, resisting the urge to whine and lean into Chan’s familiar weight.

“They’ll be disciplined,” Chan reassured the vampire, glancing at me from the corner of his eye with a look that screamed punishment.

“I’ll let this go since it’s your first infraction and my vampires weren’t harmed,” she said. “But if I catch any of your wolves out here again...”

She closed her eyes as if she wanted to control her latent rage. But Chan understood the inherent warning. “The agreement was made for everyone’s protection,” Chan said. “This is the last time you will see wolves here.”

The older vampire snorted before retreating inside the house, and I tried not to whine when Chan took a firm hold of my arm, pulling me along next to him as we returned to camp for the evening.

The pack alpha’s cabin was located strategically at the back of our defined camp where Chan and I could find privacy together. I usually savored the distance from my pack mates, but I was feeling increasingly wary following my embarrassing blunder with the rogue vampires. The idea of spending unsolicited time alone with Chan was suddenly an intimidating prospect.

Still, it wasn’t in my nature to avoid my mistakes, and I followed Chan inside our shared cabin. He paused at the entrance to remove his shoes before heading in the direction of our bedroom, and I quickly followed his lead. Even as my wolf cautioned us to approach carefully, I didn’t want to exhibit that kind of behavior around Chan because it would only contribute to my immature image.

“Hey,” Chan finally addressed me, standing in front of our dresser. “Sit down.”

I held my tongue, eliminating the few steps to the edge of our bed where I deposited myself on top of the mattress. My weight sunk down into the foamy material, and I supported myself back on my arms, waiting for Chan to speak again. In the meantime, I fought the desire to try and explain myself since I knew that speaking out of term would only infuriate my older mate.

“What did your mother teach you about Vampires?” Chan asked. “Or, did you not pay attention?”

I flinched at his cruel tone. “She told me they were our enemies and that I should avoid them.”

“Did she?” Chan questioned. “Because your actions suggest that you ignored that lesson.”

“I’m sorry, Chan,” I said, deciding that, instead of justifying my bad behavior, I should try and appeal to him instead.

“I don’t really think you are,” Chan scoffed, looking at me from over his shoulder. “In fact, I’m wondering if you were even serious when you agreed to be my mate.”

I shuddered at his claim. “How can you say that? I love you, Chan.”

“You can love me and still be unprepared for the responsibilities of pack Luna,” Chan said. “Otherwise, you would think twice before putting yourself in situations where you could send a bad example to the rest of our pack.”

“I’m ready,” I insisted. “I want to be a good mate for you.”

“Then you better start proving that those aren’t just empty promises,” Chan growled, and I was thoroughly unprepared for his sharp tone. “What if you had gotten hurt? Those rogues weren’t able to control themselves, and you put yourself and your friends in danger.”

“I didn’t want anyone to get hurt,” I said. “It was a mistake.”

“I’m so glad you realize that,” Chan said with heavy sarcasm. “Why didn’t that cross your mind before taunting a group of vampires?”

“We didn’t know that there were vampires in the house!”

“Have you lost the ability to smell?” Chan snapped. “Why didn’t you take precautions?”

“I-I guess we weren’t thinking about that,” I said, stumbling over my answers to his difficult questions.

Chan sighed, turning around to look at me before his eyes grew darker, and I found myself on the receiving end of an approaching alpha with malicious intent. Instinctively, I crawled backwards on the bed, colliding against the headboard while Chan closed the distance between us, looming over top of me with one hand wrapping itself around my throat. It wasn’t enough to cause harm, but to send a message: “One second,” Chan said. “That’s all they need to snap this pretty neck.”

I swallowed hard, and I could feel my throat constricting from his powerful grip. “Channie,” I whispered. “You don’t know how sorry I am.”

He closed his eyes, leaning in closer to inhale sharply against my scent gland. “What if I had lost you?”

The words sent shivers down my spine because I could feel the heavy and warm humidity of his breath coating my skin. I stiffened from my position underneath him, suddenly realizing that Chan’s concerns went beyond potential conflict with the vampires. Those rogues would likely never attack an entire pack of wolves unprovoked, but the delicate balance of life and death hung on a narrow precipice when it involved younger wolves playing foolish games. “I’m still here,” I assured him, releasing calming pheromones to alleviate the ripe smell of fear masking his usual scent.

“You can’t do these things anymore,” Chan said, lifting his head to look at me. “Do you understand?”

I nodded in response, keeping steady contact with his stormy gaze. “I’ll be better for you, Chan.”

He sighed, and there was a sudden change taking hold of his demeanor, hardening the corners of his eyes and the harsh upturn to his upper lip. The transformation was subtle, but his scent was becoming thicker, a reminder of something dominant lurking beneath Chan’s soft, curly hair and dimpled smile. I knew better than to push him in this state, so I simply bared my throat, relaxing my arms across the bed.

“Such a good bitch when she wants to be,” Chan growled, and I swallowed hard, eyelids fluttering closed when his nose pressed into my swollen scent gland. His teeth nipped the delicate flesh, and I could feel his tongue tracing the ridges of his faded mark. Chan released another warning snarl, telling me to keep still for him while he examined my body with wide, studious eyes. Under any other circumstances, I would’ve considered it intimate, but there was something that Chan wanted to prove, and he was waiting for the right opportunity.

I watched as he explored my smaller figure, hands gliding along my waist while his nose inhaled along his journey south, exciting my senses and the wolf inside of me who was impressed by her mate’s display of alpha dominance. However, I couldn’t help but think that it was embarrassing to feel his nose press into the private junction between my thighs, and I squeezed my legs around his head when his tongue attempted to lap at me through the fabric of my pants. Chan growled, lifting his head to send me a warning look, pushing open my legs to continue his exploration of the place where my scent was most prominent.

I had no idea what Chan’s motivations were, and this unfamiliar territory was making my inner wolf increasingly desperate. However, I knew better than to question him, and perhaps it was nothing more than a display of strength meant to send me a warning against disobeying him. Whatever it was, I certainly liked the attention, even if it was difficult to fight the temptation to run my hands through his hair.

Eventually, Chan sat back on his heels, watching me through narrowed eyes. “Take off your clothes,” he said.

I squirmed on top of the mattress in pure delight, eager to please Chan since I knew that our argument was, more or less, finished, and he was clearly waiting to re-stake his claim. “Okay,” I replied, complying with his order as I unbuttoned my shirt and jeans, removing them with careful movements. Then, I let the bundle of clothes fall into the floor before I adjusted my position again, keeping my arms splayed out across the sheets.

Meanwhile, his eyes swept across my naked form before Chan’s evaluation continued, but this time he was undeterred by the barrier of my clothing, and everything felt heightened without them in place to stop him from attacking smooth flesh with his teeth. Nipping at the sensitive skin and leaving marks that would remain visible for days.

His hands also made themselves comfortable on my hips, holding me in place while his mouth did most of the work, tasting my scent gland until I was light-headed from his efforts. When he pulled away to catch his breath, I recognized the oily residue from my scent gland painting his lips. It was an erotic sight, and my wolf howled in delight when she could smell our intermingling scents permeating the air around us.

And I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Chan’s mouth until he reached down for the hem of his shirt, tossing it aside to reveal his sculpted torso - nothing but defined planes of hardened muscles. It was a beautiful distraction, and I didn’t even notice when his jeans disappeared next, leaving him in nothing but the boxer shorts that did very little to hide the evidence of his arousal. My mouth immediately started to water, and I could feel myself practically salivating at the prospect of his thick cock hiding beneath a layer of fabric.

“You have a beautiful body,” Chan said, and I beamed at his compliment. My smile didn’t last, however, when he ghosted his tongue over one of my nipples, staring up at me from a curtain of long lashes. I watched his hands as they reached out to squeeze my breasts, testing their weight with a heavy groan. “They’ll be even bigger full of milk for our pups.”

I inhaled sharply at the mention of pups because every instinct desired nothing more than to breed with my mate. It was a result of centuries of survival genes embedded within our DNA, and our inner wolves wanted to pass them onto our children for the next generation. For most werewolf couples, they always wanted the same thing, and Chan had only spoken to me briefly about having pups in the future. But Chan was responding to his alpha’s natural inclination to breed his mate, and he growled at the back of his throat, tugging on my nipple with his fingers while his tongue prodded at the hardened peak.

“It hurts,” I whined, even though I was aroused by his practiced tongue attempting to soothe the harsh sting of his sharpened canines.

Chan glanced up at me before pulling away to survey his work, nodding in satisfaction before moving down my body once again. I could never predict his next movement, and I gasped when he started to nose against my pubic bone, warm breath tickling the sensitive skin. This time, he could inhale my scent straight from the source, and it didn’t take long for his tongue to lick a long stripe against my slit.

Immediately, I arched my back in response to the pleasurable sensation, closing my eyes as his hands tightened their grip on my hips and forced his tongue inside my pussy, eating me out like he couldn’t get enough of my taste. I whined at his aggression, and more of my juices collected down the inside of my thighs. Chan purred when he realized, and he slurped loudly around my clitoris, bringing the engorged bud between his teeth.

I wrapped my fingers through his hair, making a mess of whatever style he had attempted. But it only made Chan look even more appealing, and he rumbled deep in his chest as he chased after my taste, lapping at my juices as if trying to consume every last drop. “Y/N,” Chan said, and his voice was husky and guttural.

“It feels so good,” I said, and Chan hummed around me, supporting himself higher on his arms so that I could moan at the sight of the wetness surrounding his mouth.

“Get on your hands and knees for me,” Chan requested.

I nodded, turning onto my side and trying my best to support my upper body on thin arms and trembling legs. I wasn’t surprised by Chan’s request because the position was the ultimate sign of submission, and it was most often used during heats and ruts since it was best for breeding. The thought had me shivering, dropping my head against the pillows as I felt one of Chan’s hands run down the smooth expanse of my back.

I jerked forward when he landed a quick slap to my ass, and I let him mount me, legs caging my thighs between his stronger ones, moaning when the fat head of his cock brushed against my ass. His actions were incredibly rough, and I could smell his thick alpha scent as it clouded the air with a cloying mixture of fresh pine and something much darker. But I was also surprised by my body’s compliance, allowing Chan to press against my lower back and force me into an arch.

“Are you ready?” he asked, and I hummed in acknowledgment, groaning when he slid in without resistance, and my pussy swallowed his cock greedily, desperate to milk him of everything that he had to offer me. “What a tight pussy,” he commented, forcing himself inside the rest of the way with a slight hint of desperation.

I moaned when I realized that he was completely buried inside my wet heat, and I could practically feel the tip of his cock against the head of my cervix. There was nothing comparable to the feeling of fullness weighing heavily on my lower body, and I curled my fingers into the sheets to stop myself from rutting back against his cock. “Chan,” I said, shaking my head as tears started to form.

“Be patient, Y/N,” Chan said, and he pulled his hips back so that just the tip of his cock remained before slamming back inside with an unprecedented amount of force. I was completely unprepared because my legs weren’t strong enough to hold me up against his vicious thrust, and I fell forward against the bed - turning my head to the side to breath as Chan continued his rapid thrusts inside of my pussy.

“Is this what you want?” Chan growled, nipping at the back of my neck. “Do you want me to stuff you full of pups?” I whined at his words, even if I knew that it was impossible outside of my regular heats. “You’d look so good after I bred you,” Chan said, pumping his hips faster as if he was trying to make that idea a reality. “Like a good little bitch.”

I cried at his filthy language, burying my face further into the mattress as I let Chan do whatever he wanted to me, moving me along his cock like I was just a warm hole for him to use whenever the moment was convenient. “Oh god,” I whispered as he switched angles, hitting my g-spot perfectly on every upward thrust.

“Maybe if you’re swollen with my pups, you won’t get into any more trouble,” Chan snarled, and I whimpered when his hand smoothed across my lower body as if imagining the swell of my bloated stomach.

“Please,” I said, reaching down for his hand to move it closer to my clitoris, encouraging Chan to touch me while he continued to pound into me over and over again, pushing his cock deep inside to the point where I could imagine feeling him at the back of my throat.

It was an abrupt descent from there, and he continued to stimulate my g-spot and clitoris perfectly because he knew my body so well after all this time together. Still, my orgasm hit me like a freight train, and I nearly screamed at the intensity, noticing stars along the edges of my vision. There was no strength left in my body, and I collapsed into a pile of heavy limbs while Chan continued to chase his own orgasm, growling when his knot started to swell in place. I whimpered, closing my eyes because it was starting to overstimulate my exhausted body, but Chan held me in place and sighed as he filled me with his cum.

For a moment thereafter, I was convinced that I would pass out, but I was able to control my breathing and steady my accelerating heart rate, feeling Chan fall onto the bed next to me. “Hold still,” Chan rumbled, adjusting my leg over his hip as he pulled me tighter against his chest, fingers petting over the place where his knot was securely stuffed inside my sore cunt.

“Channie,” I whined, and it was a pathetic sound resulting from the steady feeling of his cum pulsing from his engorged length and the harsh way that he handled me, like he could fix me into any position that he desired.

“Are you gonna cause me any more trouble?” Chan growled directly into my ear, and my inner wolf howled at our predicament. There was no better way for Chan to assert his dominance - locking me onto his knot in submission, and lowering the regular pitch of his voice.

“No,” I managed, stuttering around a broken moan when Chan started to grind his hips, stimulating my throbbing clitoris to the point where it actually began to feel painful.

“Maybe I should just knot you all the time like this,” Chan said. “Then you can’t wander off without telling me.”

I gasped at the suggestion, turning my head to the side to expose my neck to him. It was a vulnerable position, but it pleased Chan who started heavily scenting the mark he had left on me - a permanent reminder that I belonged to him.

It was also a visible reminder of my place in the pack, and I was determined to stand proudly next to Chan’s side.

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