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maiverie · 11 months

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TRIAGE! ┊ a lee heeseung series — FINALE ♡

you try to teach the nerd how to date.

synopsis: heeseung is not, by any measure, date-able. he’s dorky, he’s nerdy, and he does this weird thing where he snorts loudly every time he laughs. in fact, he loves everything that normal people are allergic to — computer science, collecting rare comic books, and birdwatching on the weekend.

given that you two have obviously nothing in common, you find yourself utterly flabbergasted when you receive a letter in your locker, on which heeseung has written, "hi. will you please teach me how to date?"

MASTERLIST HERE !

kayla’s playlist (@/miiiwaa) ♡ my shitty og playlist . tags : #.*triage .

TAGLIST

@enhyflirt @dreamyenskz @icedcoffeesunwoo @ssolari @skazoo @jjunis @heejake-en @koroktsuya @jeongwins @tinykoi-s @en-boyz @soobin-chois @blessed-sky @jhyunieee @kisswon @vbxrin @cosmicsunghoon @bloomedberry @jungwonielove @miiiwaa @jungwoniee @lhsng @missharubear @deonuism @sarahxy537 @bambisgirl @hrrhmay-primaryblog @yeonzzun @msxflower @sunsunu @jangwonie @sweetjaemss @seungstarss @tokyoflies @solelyenha @softforqiankun @goodforgyu @va1ry @taekbokki @ashxxkook @moon-gyus @jakeified @markleeisdabestdrug @wccycc @viagumi @pisss111 @outrologist @fairfairee @hiqhkey @ctrlemis

chapter five (finale)

word count: 8k | navigation: previous / MASTERLIST warnings: swearing, (verbal) bullying a/n: final chapter; thank you so much for reading this far. sorry this took so long to get to you :(

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‘let’s have a little talk, you dweeb.’

heeseung had been backed into a corner.

while he often liked to reserve that idiom for metaphoric effect, he means it quite literally — ryujin and taehyun had literally backed him into a corner of a bedroom with no way out.

it was obvious he had stumbled across something he shouldn’t have.

ryujin and taehyun kissing? how disturbing.

if it were up to him, he truly wouldn’t have meddled in their business. however, the way they’re sneering at him leads him to believe that they think his actions were intentional. he wants to insist that no part of this was deliberate—that he was honestly just trying to find you—but tense silence circulates the trio and he has no inclination to speak first.

“who the fuck do you think you are?” ryujin punctuates the silence with her malice, making him inwardly wince. her hands find their way to her hips as she openly scowls with disdain. “god, you’re annoying.”

“i-i should go,” heeseung lowers his head, scratching the nape of his neck. “i didn’t mean to intrude,” he laughs nervously in an attempt to dispel their hostility, “i was just trying to find—”

“no, you should stay.” taehyun suggests, a smirk slithering to his lips. he rolls his head around his neck before sighing contently. “you should stay and play with us.”

play…?

heeseung physically recoils with horror, stomach twisting with unease. there’s something about taehyun’s predatory stare that flares goosebumps all the way across his arms. he realises that the most wise decision right now is to escape the enclosed space as soon as possible.

“sorry, i-i don’t want to keep my parents waiting,” he lies, lowering his head. “they’re downstairs.”

the two exchange impish glances.

“well, we won’t be long,” ryujin stifles a laugh before taking a seat on the bed. she folds one leg over the other, leaning back with her arms propped up. “since you were creeping on us, we thought you could exchange the favour and tell us all about your girlfriend.”

“girlfriend?” heeseung blinks. he doesn’t have a girlfr— oh.

miss sunset.

you? his… girlfriend?

as if.

“oh,” heeseung dips his head shyly. “n-no, you’re mistaken. she’s, um… she’s not my girlfriend.”

if he were being honest, he was kind of hoping to change that some day.

“what, so you guys haven’t fucked yet?” ryujin bats her lashes, a playful stare in her eyes.

heeseung’s brows instantly furrow, a frown on his lips. frankly, he was a little bugged by their vulgarity and the tone used to address you. this was the same type of contempt he noticed in other people in his life — like his aunt at her wedding, who pulled him aside and cautioned that ‘girls like that are foxes, heeseung! they’re nothing but trouble.’

it shouldn't matter, because they’re all wrong.

every single one of them.

they're wrong.

it boggles his mind that people can’t see what he sees.

then again, it can’t be helped that all the best things about you are what can’t be seen. sure, you’re so pretty that sometimes he can’t even meet your eyes properly, but you’re also warmer and kinder than you give yourself credit to be. you must not realise, but he notices the little things you do for him — like the way you clean his glasses when he places them down on the table to sleep; or the way you pretend you’re full so he can finish the rest of your lunch; or the way you scribble encouraging little notes and drawings on his textbooks when you know he has a long night of studying ahead of him.

it boggles his mind that some people may never have the privilege of peeking behind the curtain to see that you’re warm, and funny, and kind, and caring. you embody everything that his well-fitting nickname suggests. miss sunset — a blaze of colour; an explosion of soft yellows, bright oranges, fierce reds, pearly pinks and vibrant purples.

you’re a fiery kiss to the sky.

it’s both a shame and an honour that he’s able to keep you to himself.

“you know she likes you, right?” ryujin smirks, erecting from the bed.

heeseung’s eyes instantly round. “wh-what?”

“yeah,” she slowly slinks toward him. “she told me.”

“r-really?”

“duh. why wouldn’t she? we’re best friends,” ryujin scoffs, arms folded. “and i know her better than anyone. we’ve known each other since we were little kids, you know.”

heeseung notices that you don’t often talk about your relationship with ryujin and taehyun. you don’t really tell heeseung much about anything from your past, but he would certainly consider your old friendships to be the biggest elephant in the room. he doesn’t doubt that you were all once close friends, but he knows you haven’t been in contact with them for a while now. it’s obvious why, in his opinion — they’re mean-spirited people who enjoy sinking their claws into people and injecting poison.

they’re callous and vicious and hateful. they’re everything that you’re not.

‘best friends’? he felt insulted for you.

it was like trying to hold a candle to the sun.

“what… what was she like?” heeseung can’t help but ask, his stomach doing a little flip at the thought of you as a child. he knows he should probably leave the room, but the temptation runs too deep — he wants to consume everything about you.

what did your hair look like? what did your laugh sound like? did you prefer playing outside or staying inside? what made you smile during the day and what kept you up at night?

his heart began to thump at the thought of these answers before reluctance settled in.

was it wrong to wonder these many things about you?

was he allowed to be curious?

would that truly be okay — given that you were a goddess and he was next to nothing?

“cute,” ryujin replies, head bobbing. “she was cute.”

aha!

heeseung can’t help but smile profusely. “of course! i knew it,” he mumbles, blushing to himself. of course she was cute; beauty like that must have been obvious even at a young age.

ryujin’s razor-sharp stare remained. she seemed to study heeseung carefully before lowering her gaze. “she was also kind of mean, i guess,” she continued, inspecting her nails nonchalantly. “a bit of a bully.”

taehyun stifled a laugh at this, and they exchanged knowing glances as though they were indulging in an inside joke. “oh, yeah, i remember she once bullied that kid for sitting in her seat.”

bullied?

heeseung frowned, doubtful about their claims. he reminds himself that they’re both the type of people to embellish any story for their own entertainment. “you’re wrong,” he frowns. “she wouldn’t do something like that. sh-she’s not like you. she’s different.”

ryujin’s lips extend into a smile. “how well do you think you know her?”

his frown deepened. “better than you do.”

the pair instantly burst into cacophonous laughter that seems to poison the air in the room.

heeseung bites his bottom lip, feeling unease swirling around at the pit of his stomach.

“really?” ryujin defies him with a raised brow. “you really think you know her that well?”

he nods slowly.

“okay,” she tilts her head, “then where is she right now?”

heeseung’s eyes flicker to the ground. he didn’t know the answer to that question, but that wasn’t indicative of anything. “well, i-i don’t know, but… she’ll be back—”

“obviously, she ditched you. she left you, heeseung, it’s something we used to do a lot. we’d invite two or three suckers to a party, get them drunk as shit, and then make them entertain us for the next few hours.”

his eyes widened as he fell into momentary silence, forming as many rational justifications as he could. “but… i was the one who asked her to come with me. and… and you just told me that she… she likes me.”

ryujin rolled her eyes. “the only reason yuna invited you was because we thought it’d be funny. plus, don’t get me wrong — i’m sure she likes you, but don’t put any weight on that. it’s like how a person can like a helpless puppy. it’s pity; that’s all it is.”

“th-that doesn’t mean anything.” heeseung felt discomfort sprout inside his chest, branching insidiously in his lungs and up his throat. “that has nothing to do with her! she’s… she’s an angel.”

“really?” ryujin slithered over toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder, clenching it tightly to bring their faces close. “then why’d she tell us about that letter of yours?”

heeseung felt his heart drop to his feet. “wh-what?”

“the letter you left in her locker,” ryujin continued. “what did it say again? something like…” she pretended to brainstorm, tapping her chin with a finger. “oh! right… wasn’t it something like hi, will you please teach me how to date?” ryujin giggled as taehyun joined in snickering from behind.

his breathing quickened. the letter.

you told him you never told anyone about that.

did you lie?

maybe they’re bluffing — you wouldn’t do that. and even if you did lie, you would have definitely told heeseung afterward, right?

“the funniest part was the fact that you signed it off like the fucking virgin-loser you are. kind regards, lee heeseu—” they cackled again, this time even louder. they continued to banter with one another by echoing the contents of the letters.

heeseung felt himself shrink. hot tears burned his eyes as he felt their humiliation pile on and on as though they were determined in hammering him into the ground.

“oh my god,” ryujin laughed, wiping the tears from her eyes. “gee, thanks for tonight’s entertainment, heeseung,” she chuckles off the rest of her amusement, “i wish i took a photo of the letter or something. so that i could share it around with—”

“no!” heeseung cried as he swallowed the lump in his throat and began to enter a swivet of panic. “d-don’t! i-i—”

“you’re shaking like a leaf!” ryujin pouts, reaching to grab his shoulder before he flinches. “it’s okay. i won’t tell anyone. unlike your girlfriend, i know how to keep secrets,” she whistled. “say, heeseung… i’m keeping a lot of secrets these days, aren’t i?” she brushed his hair with her fingers.

“even yours.”

he stopped dead, chest rising up and down as he attempted to breathe. he tried to clear his tears with rapid blinking, but it only resulted in more tears replacing the previous ones.

“don’t worry. we’ve been nice. we haven’t told her your secret yet,” she winked.

yet?

“listen,” ryujin’s voice lowers, her finger lifting his chin so that he faces her. “i really don’t want to keep your parents waiting for too long, so i’ll say this: your girlfriend’s not a saint. she’s vicious in her own way. and if you hate us for the things we make you do, then you should hate her, too. why? because she and i are exactly the same — everything we’ve done to you, she’s done to someone else.”

“y-you’re… you’re wrong.” he turned away from her finger.

ryujin hummed once. “well, let’s face the facts.” her lips slowly lifted into a grin. “you’re alone right now, heeseung. she’s not even here. she left you. i saw her get in the car and leave just earlier. go ahead and look outside if you don’t believe me.”

heeseung’s gaze flickered to the ground.

“but anyway,” ryujin whirls around and exchanges a smile with taehyun. “we gotta go… we wouldn’t want to stay out too late since we have an early morning, right?” she smirks. “we’ll see you tomorrow, heeseung. at the police station.”

“wh-what? why?”

“because someone ratted us out,” taehyun chimes in, eyes rolling. “so we’ll keep your secret so long as you do one more favour for us.”

you can have your puzzle back. i don't want it anymore.

“you can have your puzzle back.” your little sun says, his voice lowering into a register so low that you almost miss it. “i don’t want it anymore.”

the room remained dark as heeseung’s words hung like ghosts in dead silence.

it was deafening, the way his whisper was the softest sound you’d ever heard. you were holding your breath, fearing a reality in which i don’t want it anymore meant something beyond what you could hear at face value.

“i don’t want your stupid gift,” he croaks, burying his face in his hands, stifling a sob. “j-just… please, just leave me alone.”

finding him sitting in the dark room alone and crying made your heart shatter. it was easy to confront the idea that ryujin or taehyun had hurt him, but you weren’t equipped to face the possibility that it might have been you. the distance he was creating between the two of you allowed your inner antagonisms to fester — your chest tightened with unease, exacerbated by the pressure of fear expanding within you.

“h-heeseung,” you blurted in surprise, your throat so parched that it forced you to swallow and brace yourself for what felt like impending heartbreak. “why…”

you were so stunned that it honestly felt as though time had stopped moving for a moment. you allowed space to pour between the two of you — you let a beat pass, then two, then three, then four, and with each one that scurried by, you grew more and more apprehensive that he wasn’t going to retrace his steps. you thought there was a chance he’d backpedal his words and tell you they’d sprung from his chest in the heat of the moment, but instead, he let you soak in abject misery.

your heart sank. above everything, you were terrified — he was slipping away from you like dust between your fingertips. it wasn’t long before tears followed — they blurred your vision, no matter how many times you’d tried to dismiss them with your hands.

“h-heeseung?” you called his name softly and hoped to peel his fingers away from his face, but he flinched at your touch. in every attempt you make in closing the distance, you find that heeseung draws a line between you; each harsher than the last. he recoils at your touch, shrivels at the sound of your voice, and offers you nothing but a view of his back that shields you away.

he was cowering from you.

it made you feel ill. sick. like the taste of bile was rising to your mouth and leaving an acidic, ghostly burn in your throat. bit by bit, your resolve was crumbling like a house of cards.

“tell me what’s wrong,” you begged him, crouching before him on the carpet though he curled away from you. “i promise i’ll fix it, okay? i’ll fix everything.”

“y-you can’t,” he sniffled.

you felt your throat constrict. “why not?”

“because…” heeseung finally lifted his head, and the moment your eyes locked with his bloodshot ones, it felt as though his fear, hurt, and pain ricocheted back to you tenfold and struck you like a stab to the heart. he sniffled again. “because you lied,” you saw his eyes well with tears again, “and i lied, and—” his voice became smaller. “all we do is lie to each other.”

perhaps this was what you’d always feared — that you were going to be the one to break him.

after all, you had a tendency to do precisely that. you can’t even count the number of times you’d accidentally shattered the dishes in the kitchen that your mother adored so dearly. or the number of bones you’d broken during wild dares from late nights. or the countless number of fractured friendships in your life because you never really struggled with breaking — whether they were dishes, or bones, or promises, or hearts.

was he another?

was heeseung just another one of those things you were always bound to break?

“please leave,” his voice was becoming softer, and softer, and softer, further eclipsed by his cries. you could tell he was struggling to make out his words. you could also tell that he was being honest.

you’ve never had anyone beg you like this before.

“okay,” you whisper, tears littering the carpet. “i’ll leave.”

unable to look at him any further, you twist on your heels. you do what you do best — you run. you run down the stairs and out the house and run and run and run, ashamed that this story has unfolded the exact way anyone could have predicted.

he hates you, you may love him, and neither of you are puzzle pieces that fit together.

perhaps heeseung was right; perhaps you truly are sunrises and sunsets, because alike parallel lines, the two never meet.

perhaps heeseung never taught you to heal after all. perhaps broken bones and hearts can never properly heal, the same way cuts and grazes may leave permanent scars on our bodies. perhaps your body did what it could to fix what broke, but it only took one gust of wind to retrace old scars and re-break what will always remain broken.

you’ve never been very good with your emotions.

you constantly misrepresent them.

you smile when you’re sad, frown when you’re happy, say things you don’t mean and omit the words that you resonate deepest with.

after the party, you cried like you have never cried before. it was a foreign, almost out-of-body experience. every emotion exploded and pierced through the thin surface they were bubbling beneath. your scathing tears had soaked everything — your eyes, your cheeks, and your pillow late through the night. the worst of it was the heaviness inside your chest that ceased to subside, one so hefty that it was the reason you felt like you were sinking to the bottom of an ocean.

it was only until the next morning that anger, the emotion you consider to be the easiest to wear, brought you the energy to pay a visit to ryujin. you were going to get the answers to all your questions.

after all, that was what you’d learned over the years — anger is the only emotion that gets you answers.

which is why you began with ruthlessly banging your fist on her front door.

“open the door, ryujin!” you bellow.

bang! bang! bang!

what could she have possibly said to heeseung?

bang! bang! bang!

why? why was it that ryujin was so insistent on butting in your life?

bang! bang! bang!

was this some form of karmic reparation? was the universe simply rescinding what should have never been yours in the first place?

you didn’t know what you were going to do. or say, for that matter. yet here you were, desperately trying to claw your way up to the surface where the sun kisses the water. to hell you were going to let this heaviness make you sink and give ryujin the satisfaction.

with no response on the other end, you began to kick the door now.

bang! bang! bang!

“i said, open this fucking d—”

it finally swings open.

“are you fucking nuts?” ryujin shrieks from the other side, face contorted with outrage and disbelief. she glances at the door before openly gaping at you. “what the hell? you’re going to break the fucking do—”

you waste no time in lunging toward her. you shove her with both hands, thrusting her so far behind that she lurches back and stumbles onto the floor. while sprawled on the ground, ryujin instantly snaps her head up at you and scowls. “what the fuck is wro—”

yet again, you don’t give her much time to react. you step toward her, making her scramble back before her back hits the wall. as the distance between the two of you closes, you crouch in front of her and roughly push the side of her head with a finger.

“what, ryujin?” you smirk vindictively. “did that hurt?”

her chest sharply rises heavily when she meets your icy glower. “get out.”

though she attempts to pick herself up from the floor, you harshly grip her shoulder and force her back down. you reach over and tap her cheek condescendingly, your voice now a lowly whisper.

“how funny,” you scoff, head tilted. “i thought i told you to stay out of my life.”

she grits her teeth. “i said, get out.”

“why should i? you’re the one who keeps insisting on getting involved in my shit.”

“you’re batshit.” she gapes at you. “is this about that dweeb?”

“his name is heeseung.” you snap at her, bunching the collar of her shirt in your fist. you yank her toward you, your other fist lifted and curled.

ryujin barks out a dry laugh when her eyes flit to the sight of your fist. “you’re going to punch me?” she snickers again in disbelief. the sight of her grin makes your fist tighten under her shirt. anger. you felt your anger simmer at cautionary temperatures and slowly branch up in your neck to your face.

“what did you do to him?” you grit your teeth, breathing slowly to control your emotions.

it was difficult, because you felt as though she relished at the sight of your anger. she must have recognised your most familiar emotion and felt as though you had shifted back into becoming your old self. you saw it in the way her lips curled, and the way her brows had lifted, and most notably, in the way her eyes paraded a small, tiny, starry glint that conveyed her amusement.

it made you wonder if she was doing this all intentionally.

just to get a reaction out of you.

just to get something.

“it wasn’t exactly what we did to him,” she smirked. “it was what he did to himself, really.”

“where’s taehyun?” you reach over and slowly comb your fingers through her hair, before closing your fist and grasping a bundle of her strands, jerking her head backwards. “i want him to see your face all battered up. you know, before i beat the living shit out of him, too.”

she sneers at you. “why don’t you ask heeseung? i’m sure he’ll know exactly where taehyun is.”

you narrow your eyes at her. “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“they’re probably together right now.”

heeseung and taehyun? together?

you scoff. “what?”

she stifles a laugh, and there it is again — that glint. like a tiny star amidst a midnight canvas. you could feel the anger grow like an inferno within you. that glint was pestering you; it was almost begging for you to reach over and extinguish it. you grip her hair harsher, this time yanking her head backward.

she yelps as you pin her down with a glower. “tell me where.”

she hisses at the pain of your grip on her hair and narrows her eyes. “police station, obviously,” she spat with a glare.

her eyes met yours, where your confusion must have been evident. those midnight eyes turned with patronising pity. “wow,” she remarked sarcastically. “the idiot still hasn’t told you.”

“ryujin,” you lean toward her and hiss slowly, with the intended effect that each syllable augments your hostility, “say one more thing about him and i’ll bash your skull against the cement.”

“now tell me,” you hiss, “what are they doing at the police station?” though your words appeared to be laced with composed venom, the truth remained that your heart had begun to drum. everything was coming at a surprise — you couldn’t imagine what would ever bring heeseung to a police station, though you could enumerate a thousand reasons for taehyun.

“like i said, heeseung did it to himself.”

not satisfied with her answer, you yank her hair again and this time she attempts to strike you with her free arm, but you grab her wrist and desist her from doing so. she winces when you pull her hair tighter, prompting her to quickly open her mouth and elaborate. “okay, okay!” she cries. “he was the one who agreed to take the drug test for taehyun!”

your lips drop into a frown. “what?”

“then the police found out, okay?” she seethed. “we needed him to come in and deny everything. happy?”

you stopped in confusion. what the hell was she talking about? as you sifted through the many thoughts that raced in your mind, you finally froze when you began to comprehend the situation.

you remember now. it was that day — the day you’d first met heeseung in the school hallway, when taehyun had set his eyes upon and sunken his claws into his latest victim.

taehyun was a drug user, and when he was finally caught by the school, he was mandated to perform probationary urine tests. he constantly evaded these tests by intimidating somebody into giving him fake samples. this was common practice, and it just so happened that heeseung was his chosen victim the day you two had first met.

heeseung never told you that.

he never told you that he went through with it.

“i mean, maybe if he’d kept his mouth shut or done a better job at peeing in a fucking cup, things wouldn’t be like this. in saying that, whose fault is it really?” ryujin rambled on, rubbing salt to the wound as your anger multiplied. “it was still fun at least. especially when we got to talk about you.”

your hand balled into a tighter fist.

“me?” you pin her down with a dark gaze. “what the fuck did you say about me?”

she shrugs smugly. you watched as a sly smile slithered to her lips and her eyes pooled with shiny darkness. “nothing that wasn’t true.”

your heart drops to your feet.

“you know, it’s funny,” ryujin stifles a laugh, “because he denied it at first. said that you were…” she lifts her hands and uses her fingers to show quotation marks, “different.” you felt your anxiety pierce and gush into your stomach. “we laughed in his face. different, my ass. you didn’t tell him, did you? that you’re actually as much of a piece of shit as we are. he even called you an angel, you know that?”

angel.

“so we decided to set the record straight and we told him what he had the right to know.” she giggled. “you didn’t forget, did you?”

you stared.

“the letter,” she reminds you. “he was so embarrassed i think that was when he started to cry.”

you froze.

the letter.

fuck.

you wanted nothing more than to run to heeseung and clarify the misunderstanding as best that you could. you wanted to talk to him. hold him. apologise and tell him you’d never intentionally hurt him. that it was an accident — that you lied, yes, but you just didn’t want him to feel embarrassed at that time. that it was a lapse in judgement.

but for some reason, something holds you back.

anger.

anger holds you back.

the thing about anger is that while it may be your most familiar emotion, it is also the most paralysing of them all. and when it’s combined with resentment, it becomes insidious. the reality about anger is that it exists only in the absence of control, a dangerous condition to find yourself in.

nevertheless, you feel that way.

you feel out of control.

helpless. angry. frustrated.

why? because that glint is still there. the gleaming, ostentatious star in her eyes that flounces around in her own delight. mocking you.

ryujin is staring at you expectantly, anticipating your reaction.

you know that she’s waiting for you to punch her. to show her you prefer fists over words. to show her you have not changed in the slightest. everything she has done is aimed to get a rise out of you; she doesn’t care about anything else but avenging the fact you had tossed your friendship to the side — that you had tossed her aside.

in this moment, you realise that no matter how hard you try, you know that ryujin has won. she doesn’t even need to try very hard to show you that you will never be able to change into a better person. your efforts have come to naught. even now, you are held by anger; you want it to control you — even if it means reversing everything heeseung had taught you about not acting upon your impulses; about not fighting fire with fire.

you wonder how heeseung would react if he found out what you’d done today. that you’d allowed anger to override you and that you had already used your hands on ryujin.

you pushed her, shoved her to the ground and pulled her hair without a second thought.

after all, you’d proven her right — you are still the same person.

how would he react?

these very thoughts loosen your grip on ryujin’s collar.

you slowly retract your hands from her, feeling the heaviness inside your chest gnaw at you. why are you stooping to her level? as you swallow and salvage whatever amount of sense you have left, you shake your head and slowly rise to your feet.

if heeseung saw you now, he’d probably be scared.

he’d probably see them in you.

your sudden withdrawal makes ryujin freeze. she seems taken off guard. she watches you suspiciously as you attempt to compose yourself, noticeably irked by your lack of response. “you’re… not going to hit me?” she hesitates, sitting up slowly.

“ryujin, you and i are done.” you attempt to stabilise your shaky breaths. for some reason, focusing on heeseung helps your mind from spinning. he’s your anchor and when you use him as your moral compass, he brings the clarity you need. “for real this time.”

“what?” ryujin splutters with disbelief. she pauses, openly gawking. “what the fuck?” she scrambles to her feet and storms over toward you before abruptly shoving you into the door — the impact thunders down your spine and instantly releases a grunt from you, head spinning.

“hit me!” she taunts you by sneering in your face. “i made your little boy cry. hit me.”

“if he wanted me to, i honestly would,” you spit at her. “you should thank him you’re not bleeding out right now.”

she yells as you storm away from her house and it occurs to you that there’s really only one person you want to see right now.

you want to tell him that he was right.

you are different from ryujin after all.

and you will do whatever it takes to stray further and further away from being anything remotely similar.

‘you never know.’ ‘you might wake up one day and find that the sun is gone.’ ‘and then it’s like, poof — no more sunsets.’

heeseung was right.

the day you two had first met, you laughed and called him a loser for taking photos of the sunset. after all, he was attempting to immortalise something that was already a cosmic promise.

honestly, you didn’t get it.

what was the point of taking a photo of something he could see every day?

you realise now that he was right all along – it really was possible to wake up one day and find the sun gone.

everybody just has a different idea of what the sun is to them. for you, yours disappeared when you realised heeseung was doing whatever it took to avoid you over the weekend.

your texts were left unanswered.

calls were sent to voicemail.

he was shutting you out.

you tried to visit his house on sunday morning, but his mother faced you with a regretful smile and asked you not to come in. you didn’t know what else you could do because he seemed to close down every avenue you pursued.

you were so eager on monday morning to see him at school. you were an hour and a half early as you roamed everywhere, attempting to control your nerves. you didn’t know whether or not you should have waited at the school entrance, or by his locker, or just outside the classroom door.

it didn't matter, because he was late.

you were already halfway through the day when you had almost given up, though you got your first glimpse of him in days when he had finally showed up.

he looked almost as horrible as you did.

the darkness under his eyes had grown. his brown hair was fluffy and in plain disarray compared to how he usually styled it. his eyes were so puffy that it looked like he’d been crying all weekend, the same way you had. you tried to catch his eyes, but he didn’t return your gaze and instead slid into his desk quietly with his shoulders slumped.

there was a pang in your chest. his appearance made guilt expand within you.

did you do the impossible? did you break the sun and make it rain?

when class finished, you waited outside the door and stopped him when he tried to leave. it was only then that he finally looked back at you and you felt your heart stop. it took you all the strength to not cry, so you snaked a hand around his wrist and led the way to the school’s court garden.

“heeseung,” you faced him when you both stopped at a quiet place inside the open garden. his gaze was affixed to the grass beneath his shoes, so you took a deep breath and let the words flow from your chest.

“heeseung, i’m so sorry for lying to you about the letter.”

he didn’t reply.

it stung to hear silence on the other end because you weren’t used to it. you were used to heeseung’s warmth; his smiles, his laughs, and the bright stars in his eyes. instead, he seemed to have retreated back into a shell of dejection.

you gulped and fiddled with your hands. “i-i should have told you the truth. ryujin saw it, yes, but it wasn’t because i showed her. i-i just… she was there when i found it in my locker. that’s it. it’s not an excuse for lying, but i promise i would never intentionally embarrass you.”

you waited for his response and still found silence. this was when panic slowly crept up inside you.

“i-i really fucked up when i lied to you. i just didn’t want to embarrass you, and the more time that went on, the weirder it felt to bring it up. but i should have told you the truth. i’m sorry, heeseung.”

there was a pause before he finally lifted his head.

“stop apologising,” he whispered so gently you almost missed it.

“wh-what?”

“it was here,” he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth and roamed the area with his eyes. “i-i think it was here when you told me to stop apologising to people. you said i said sorry too much.”

god, you felt relief in your chest, it felt nice to hear his voice again. you were worried he might never talk to you again.

as you briefly considered his answer, you glanced around and recognised the bench you two had sat on when he’d tried to confess to lia. he was right — it was exactly here that you two had your first real conversation. your stomach twisted. he always remembers everything.

“i’m really sorry for ignoring you over the weekend.” heeseung finally returned your stare, and once your eyes had met, you felt your heart squeeze at the sight of misery in his pretty eyes. you hate the sight of him like this. this must be one of the worst things you’ve ever done. you wanted nothing more than for the rain to stop and the clouds to pave way for your sunshine.

“i-i just needed some space,” he continued gently. “and actually… mom thought it was a better idea for her to take my phone, so i didn’t see your texts.”

“oh,” you replied, noticing the distant tone in his voice. “it’s okay, heeseung. i understand.”

“but, um… i did a lot of thinking,” he says, smiling weakly.

you smiled back, though trepidation edged along your nerves. “o-okay.”

his eyes diverted to the side. “i… i wasn’t sad over the weekend because of the letter. i—” you saw his eyes flicker upwards toward the sky, as though he was attempting to contain his tears. “i-i think… i was just upset because…” he bit on his lips as you watched him deliberate over his next words. your heart was beating faster and faster at the possibility this may be the last conversation you ever have with him. it was selfish, but you didn’t know if that would be manageable for you.

because even if he didn’t need you, you needed him.

“because i didn’t tell you about taehyun,” his lips fell into a sad frown. “thing is, i… i was really embarrassed about it. and… well, i-i…” he took a deep, shaky breath.

you knew he was gathering as much courage as he could to speak with you.

“i just really, really, really hate embarrassing myself in front of the person that i like.”

he finally looked up at you and everything in you stopped. blood felt like the crackling of lightning in your veins. every other sound seemed to dull into a deafening silence.

“to clarify, th-that’s you. y-you’re the person that i like. a lot. i like you really a lot— that... doesn’t make sense,” he winced at himself, eyes shut tightly. “i’m sorry, i… i sound so stupid right now.” he slumped his shoulders.

“heeseung, i—”

“wait. p-please let me continue,” he looked up at you through his glasses and you fell straight into his deer-like eyes.

“okay,” you whispered. “go on.”

“i… i just want to be good enough for you,” he finally admitted and you felt everything around you crash. him? good enough for you? he already was; he was more than enough. you were the one struggling to catch up with him. “be someone you can depend on. someone you can trust and be proud of.”

“heeseung,” you step toward him and clasp his hands with yours, forcing him to look back at you. “you’re right. you really do sound stupid.”

“h-huh?” he peered up at you as you saw panic flicker like disco lights in his eyes. “i-i’m sorry, i… i just wanted to come clean and not lie to you anymore. i’m really sorry for pressuring you, i—”

“no,” you shook your head, silencing him immediately. “it’s not because of that.”

you dropped his hands and slid yours in the spaces under his arms where you could wrap around his waist and embrace him into a tight hug. he instantly froze while you allowed yourself to melt into him, your face in his chest.

“fuck,” you mumbled against his uniform, inhaling the scent of his laundry powder. “i missed you like crazy.”

his heart was hammering inside his chest and you squeezed yourself tighter, finding solace in the synchronicity of your beat with his.

“two days and i felt like i was going insane,” you gripped his blazer tightly, “i… i thought you hated me.”

“hate you? n-no way…”

a stupidly wide smile stretched across your lips. slowly, you noticed heeseung was beginning to return your embrace. his arms slowly found their way to your back, and once they rested on your body, you allowed yourself to take a proper breath, engraving memories associated with his scent.

“i like you too, dummy,” you mumbled against the fabric. “ceaselessly. probably way more than you like me.”

“you—”

“yes, me.”

“y-you… you really like me? for real?”

when you release him, his bewildered expression makes you instantly erupt into a fit of laughter. he seems to take this as an indication that you’re messing him because of the way lips return into a point.

“are you kidding?” you scoffed playfully, grabbing his face and cradling it with both hands, his soft skin against yours. “you make it ridiculously easy to.”

“a-are you serious?” he pointed to himself, lashes batting innocently. “you really like me? me? heeseung? you like lee heeseung? you know i’m heeseung, right?”

you stare, astounded by his reaction. “you’re crazy.”

“no, i just told you i’m heeseung,” he deadpanned.

idiot. “yes, heeseung. you. i like you like crazy. it’s sickening how much i do.”

heeseung watched you expressionless for a moment before you watched his face explode with sunshine. speckles of gold dust returned to his eyes and twinkled like constellations. his smile swept his face and instantly made your heart thump out your ears.

“you’re not lying, right? you really like me? and it’s definitely because of my bowties, right?”

you almost wanted to groan aloud and slap yourself in the face, but you stifled down this desire and shook your head instead. sickening, you thought to yourself. his sunshine is so sickeningly sweet.

and if there’s one thing about you — it’s that you have a sweet tooth; and heeseung is a taste you have been dying to have.

“yes. it’s definitely the bowties. they’re basically chick magnets,” you remarked, a smirk forming. “do you know what happens to chick magnets?”

heeseung quickly shook his head.

you smiled. “they get devoured.”

heeseung’s brows slightly furrowed, his head tilted to the side in what appeared to be confusion. he blinked, not quite understanding your implication.

“in other words, i’m going to kiss you.”

that, he understood.

heeseung’s eyes instantly rounded like saucers. “h-huh?”

“i know you heard me,” you took a step toward him, circling your arms around the back of his neck to ring him in close. he blushed at the proximity, and if you were being honest, so did you.

frankly, you were more nervous than you’d thought you would be. this was the fastest and hardest you’d ever felt your heart beat; it almost threatened to leap up through your throat.

perhaps it was because heeseung was an expert at annihilating everything you thought you knew about yourself. he was great at that: showing you that you were much further from who you thought you were, and close to who you thought you could never be. there were no more first, second, third, and fourth experiences anymore. just a life before him and after him.

when you felt his breath nearing and the heat from his chest, you thought your head spun for a moment. it felt as though the distance between your lips were simultaneously the closest and farthest distances apart. it wasn’t until he sighed – a release of just the faintest, softest breath — that the sound swept through your chest like a hurricane, and you felt everything within you topple over.

your whole body sank forward into his and you kissed him. you shut your eyes and did what you feared most — you opened up your heart to him and let everything you had within you flow out so that he could feel every inch of your warmth and sincerity. you led the movement first, noticing the way he tried to mimic your movements. he was slow and uncertain at first, until he followed through with what felt right.

when he began to kiss you back, it felt like fireworks shattered within you. you instantly softened when he looped his arms around your waist and hugged you tightly, because there was no safer feeling than being in his arms.

you knew it.

heeseung is good at everything he tries.

when the kiss deepened, you thought he tasted like he fell from the clouds and the stars. like stardust and eternity and endlessness. you liked the taste of that. all you’ve ever known are temporary people, the leaving and the waiting and the hoping, so it makes all the more sense when you crumble and melt at the taste of forever and focus on carving this memory onto your soul.

you couldn’t deny it any further — you were falling in love with him. in fact, you’d fallen down a slippery slope that led you into a pit with no way of crawling yourself out.

when your lips pull away, you’re both panting for a proper breath. it isn’t until your eyes meet that the world stops moving and something warm ignites like a candle.

you allowed time to pass you by as your eyes raked every feature of his face; drinking in his beauty, indulging in the rare moment you were able to admire him so closely. you felt bewitched by the way the sunlight gently radiated his features; they shone through the sky and struck him like a spotlight, even in broad daylight. being this close to him brought forward all of his prettiest, most finely drawn features – the mole on the left side of his lips, his long, wispy lashes, and the slight scrunch of his brows.

you should’ve stopped, but you couldn’t, because he was prettier the longer you stared.

time slowed while you were slipping further and further into an enchanting spell.

falling.

you always hated that — the sensation of falling. being out of control; being helpless. but somehow, with heeseung it felt different — you were falling through time and space and the stars and the sky and everything in between. it was really beautiful.

you’ve been falling for days and weeks and what felt like lifetime across lifetimes. you fell until it no longer felt like falling, but flying.

“heeseung, you’re really bad at kissing, you know that?”

you felt so bad when his entire face fell and he looked at you with complete horror. “wh-what?”

you placed a finger on his lips to keep him from talking. “since you’re so bad, i think you need a few more lessons,” you smiled. “let’s ditch school and go to back to mine. you know, for education’s sake.” you winked.

heeseung tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, smiling shyly. “o-okay.”

fin.

a/n: and then they went home and watched Star Wars :) ANYWAYS. guys u do not understand I actually went thru 32842378 cycles of frustration, anger, and giddiness while trying to wrap this series up. I'm not lying when I say I have about 6 different versions of this chapter, but I decided to keep it simple and straight to the point because ultimately that's what I felt triage was all about :) if you came here looking for genuine dating tips& got lost im sorry i can’t help u cos I'm in my healing era (subtext: literally no man wants me). but anyways I hope this series brought you a little bit of joy some way or another. I honestly had the best time writing it ^^ all the best! hope i to see u in my future works too! thanks for reading! love u so much! <3 (also feedback would be vv nice if u have the time!) MWAH

also, i’ll probably write bonus chapters every time i miss this story so lmk if u wanna be tagged in those ^^

back to masterlist.

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manmuncher777 · 7 months

Note

hello I love your writing!!! Gets me hot n bothered, man, OOF!!! This is my first ever ask so consider yourself blessed muahahaha!! but here’s a thought…either price or ghost…I feel like they’d be so…manipulative maybe?? When they fuck?? Like the whole time they’re fucking you they’re rough, degrading, just absolutely primal and punishing you. But the second you’re completely fucked out and in a haze they’re nothing but kindness. Kisses all over you, smoothing their hands on your trembling and exhausted body, calling you a pretty girl, praises left and right like “you did so good for me” and just…complete 180 in their demeanor!!! Does that make sense?!?! You get me?!?! Ahhhh?!?!!!

I feel blessed to be your first ask as your my first ask I’ve received yet. so thank you!!! So sorry this took me ages to write

I Adore this idea so much, I really see price when I think of this so that is what I went for

“That’s right. Take it”

Prices rough voice grumbles in your ear. Tingling all over your skin. Skin that was littered in marks of his ownership. Hickeys, bruises, bite marks. Anything he could think of to show you that you were his. He wanted your skin to serve as a reminder of that, that you were forever his.

His thrusts were merciless. Exactly how you liked it. Your body jolting each time his skin slapped against your, it was rough and animalistic. And that how you knew you had pissed him off.

“Stupid slut, you thought you could just come in here, dressed like that and expect no consequences? huh?” he questions you, voice low and gravelly, punctuated by each drag of his hips “You knew i was busy, fuckin tease” He growls at you.

Every nerve ending in you body is on fire, you mind so melted you’re struggling to comprehend the words he saying to you. All you can do is whimper and whine, occasionally muttering out his name.

Your juices soaking both you thighs and his as he fucks into you, your puffy pussy all pink and abused, you clit swollen from all the orgasms he gave you already.

He hand you face down ass up, your bed sheets slightly damp with tears, drool and sweat. The sheets absorbing the sound of your screams.

"what's that sweetheart? Is the slut so cockdrunk she can't even speak?" he chuckles out. He knows you can hardly concentrate on what he's saying, let alone answer a question, but he can't help but tease.

When Price got like this he was absolutely ruthless, you were his to do with as he pleased. He could fuck you however he liked and you would lucky to take it.

His huge hands holding onto you hips, using you to get the perfect pace, slamming you into him. He wanted you to feel how impossibly deep he was, he wanted you to remember him when you felt the dull ache tomorrow. The idea of you squirming at the feeling just made him want to fuck you harder.

And all you could do was just take it.

every thrust, every slap on the ass, every bite, every hickey, every name he called you. You wanted it all.

And the fact that you were so willing to take it from him was what made it that much better. Watching you back arch, and the way your hands gripped the sheets so tightly between those delicate little fingers, the whites of you knuckles showing. The fact that all you could mutter was his name, despite him being the one setting the punishing pace. He could feel he wouldn't be able to hold on much longer, not with those gorgeous little cries you would let out.

"such a fucking slut." God his voice sent shivers down your spine.

"oh fuck." You couldn't help but moan out, your whole body practically shaking with pleasure, you weren't sure of how many time you had cum now, the pleasure being constant.

"you fucking love that don't you?" John rumbles, you only response being the nodding on you head.

The way you were practically pulling him back in, not wanting him to leave you empty had his hips stuttering. He had held himself off for as long as he could, pumping his seed deep inside you. His thrusts finally coming to a stop as he finally fills you. His chest rumbling with a deep groan, the release he had been craving finally washing over him as he empties himself into you.

Chest heaving, he gently pulls out of you, kissing your back as you shiver as the empty feeling. Your exhausted body automatically curling yourself up into the sheets, brain still on autopilot as all you can register is the gentle padding of your boyfriends feet around the room.

Your eyelids flutter as you are on the rink of sleep before snapping open at the sensation of price wrapping his arms around you and dragging you of your warm bed.

You can only will yourself to groan at the disruption causing john to chuckle slightly. Your head resting on his chest as he now carries you somewhere.

"sorry sweetheart, i know you tired, lets just get you cleaned up first."

Oh, he ran you a bath you register. How sweet.

He sets you down gently, helping you into the bath before climbing in himself. He pulls you into him so that your back is resting against his chest, placing his head next to your had he kisses your hair.

You eyes fluttering shut once more, this was heaven. The warm water gently washing away the night activities.

"You did so well for me sweetheart, my good girl." he whispers in you ear "You always do so well for me, my love."

Gentle kisses are places on your head, face and neck as he whispers to you, a contast to the hunger of earlier. This was different, this was perfect.

"I wasn't to rough was I?" His question laced with worry, pulling you into reality. Your hand grasps his under the water as you thumb strokes his hand.

"John, you were perfect"

#cod smut #captain john price #john price smut #john price x reader #cod fanfic #captain price smut

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angelzai · 4 months

Text

sweet

we don’t need to say it to each other, sweet

wc: 1k

cw: gn!reader, soft!chuuya, alcohol, cigarettes, the tiniest bit suggestive, pure domestic fluff

reid: a little chuuya love because truth be told he is precious too. enjoy

. . . .ᐟ

One of the easiest ways to break down his hardened exterior was with that nickname.

"Ginny," you called as the hall light flooded your living room with warmth. No sooner than it appeared did it leave, replaced by the shifting and rustling of shoes, a coat, a hat. The connected kitchen was dim with the stovetop light and nothing else. Your water was boiling. The smell of red sauce grew stronger the closer he padded toward you to wrap around your middle.

Either he was tired or the nickname had subdued him quickly enough because any typical grumbling about what an exhausting work day that was was foregone in favor of a soft, humming kiss to your shoulder. You decided you could turn away from your noodles for a moment.

"Ginny," you cooed again, tiptoeing in a half circle to face your lover. "Hi."

If Dazai was still around you'd never get away with that nickname as often as you did. Luckily, he was gone before he had enough time to taint it. It was derived, between both you and the brunette, from the constant poking-at of the color of his hair - ginger - but Chuuya would only let something like that fly if it was from you. (He found it endearing more than he 'let it fly', but you didn't have to know everything.)

It was true, he was tired, and if it weren't for the two empty glasses already in place at the table and the steam bubbling and popping behind you, Chuuya would've insisted you come lay down with him right now so he could dip into sleep amid a cathartic gripe about his day with your fingers in his hair. There were very few hypothetical circumstances, however, in which Chuuya Nakahara would turn down wine and Italian food, and coming home to his baby and a freshly-opened pack of Seven Stars set by the recently cleaned-out ashtray, tired as he may be, was not one of them.

Trapped in his embrace, you curled your arms around him and brought his head to your shoulder. Chuuya released a deep sigh into the side of your neck, closed his eyes, and let the tip of his nose pass along your jawline. You tilted in compliance, and one more "Ginny" left you, a whisper this time.

Chuuya punctuated the little moment with a kiss to your cheekbone. "I'll pour wine, yeah?"

A soft giggle left you; you undid the buckle securing the choker around his neck before tucking it in his pocket. "Yeah. S'almost done."

A little speaker stuttered out The Dark Side of the Moon - Chuuya was never a big fan of old American psychedelic rock or musical soundscapes before you, but here he was, lighting up to the clang of grimy change. After a little deliberation, he pulled a bottle of Lambrusco from the cabinet - the one specifically for alcohol and nothing else - and strode back to the table. On the way, he passed the sink where you were straining the pasta and tucked the cigarette between your waiting lips.

No sooner than he stepped away, you were following him, and "Stop Draggin' My Heart Around" begged into the space of the kitchen. Between each of your movements was a sizzling charge; suddenly, he felt more awake. The transfer of energy you blessed him with always took him by surprise. You were just placing the sauce pot on a trivet, he was just pouring wine, but it was a little magic dance. He found himself with the cigarette again. Stevie and Tom were fading out of the room, you were settling into your seat across from his, and the same lighter you both used for the smokes sparked up the candle at the center of the table. It was all a bit magic and horribly romantic, and so simple and so sensical, and he loved it. He did love coming home safe to you.

And over dinner, he watched you. You swayed side to side under his gaze and at the taste of your own creation. Smoke lingered. The sparkle of the wine died between your teeth, and you giggled more, much more, and Chuuya's chest was warm. Chuuya's face was warm and red and he almost forgot what he had been up to less than an hour before. Of course, the vino stole away his newfound verve. The longer he looked at you, the more his senses wanted to fall into bed with you and never leave. The longer you looked at him the same, the warmer he got. Late dinner, his pleasant little time loop. My very special one, he thought in time with Moe Tucker’s voice.

He hated to admit that when he stood the room was vibrating, but that's what three-plus glasses and the crushing softness of your eyes did to him. "After Hours" was a going-home song, after all, so he snuffed out the candle with his gloved fingers and let you pull him by the belt loops to your room, the speaker still droning be damned. You just wouldn't close the door, so it'd be a nice white noise to sink into the dark behind.

Soft synths and wavy guitars undressed him, spilled kisses down his neck; he breathed in the air, and it tasted like you. And you kissed him. And you kissed him and you kissed him until he couldn't keep his eyes open.

"Ginny," you said one last time, not even a whisper but a feather-light musing into those fiery locks. "Ginny, I love you."

"I love you, sweetheart." Most notably, Chuuya's heart was warm, under both your palm and the thick comforter. His home was under your palm, he supposed. He would've given it more thought if the fatigue in his bones and the meal in his belly weren't lulling him to sleep, never mind the intoxicants (the wine and your touch). He slept, and he wanted to never leave.

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x reader #bsd chuuya x reader #angelzai original.ᐟ

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snowmist-hashira · 10 months

Note

i urgently need a cute moment where muichiro and the reader finally have their first kiss ahhhhh😩

[Chapter title: Fumbling Sparks]

[Requested] Muichiro Tokitou x Reader

Wattpad:(One shots) Tokito Muichiro x Reader Archive:Kimetsu No Yaiba: Tokitou Muichiro x Reader Master list:♠ Information ♠ Word count: 848

Artist: natsuneco_02 [夏猫]

Links; Twitter

This short one-shot is inspired on Bless's recent headcanons (I recommend checking out the adorable ideas presented there~) and I want to give a special mention and thanks to her for granting me permission to use them. Thank you very much~ I hope this fulfills your request, Anon~ ♥

Y/n had just returned from her assigned mission, she entered the mist pillar's estate, feeling a sense of relief as she made her way to the tatami floors where Muichiro Tokito, her fellow hashira and boyfriend, was waiting for her. The scent of warm food filled the air, indicating that a meal was prepared for them.

Y/n slid open the door to the tatami room, stepping inside and found Muichiro sitting cross-legged on the floor, his mint orbs focused on her.

"Welcome back." Muichiro greeted her with a gentle smile.

The mist pillar had a reputation among his fellow Demon Slayers for his distant and detached demeanor. His expression often held a hint of apathy, and his gaze seemed distant, as if his thoughts were elsewhere. Many considered him cold and unapproachable, unable to break through the walls he had built around himself.

However, when it came to Y/n, everything changed. Muichiro's usual facade melted away, revealing a side of him that only Y/n had the privilege to witness. In her presence, his eyes sparkled with warmth and tenderness, and his stoic features softened into a gentle smile.

Y/n returned the smile, a wave of relief washing over her. "Thank you, Mui. It was a tough mission, but I managed to complete it without any major issues."

Sitting down, Y/n couldn't help but appreciate the sight before her—the warm, inviting food, and Muichiro's serene expression.

As they began to eat, their conversation flowed easily. They talked about their respective missions, sharing stories and experiences, occasionally punctuated by soft laughter.

As the conversation continued, Muichiro's fingers hovered over the chopsticks, his thoughts drifting back to the topic with Mitsuri. The memory of her words about the term ‘kiss’ caused a flicker of uncertainty to pass through him.

Muichiro, despite being in an official relationship with Y/n, still felt inexperienced when it came to matters of romance and the actions expected of a couple. The simplest gestures that many couples took for granted were uncharted territory for him.

Feeling a mix of curiosity and apprehension, Muichiro's gaze shifted from Y/n to the untouched food on his plate. He considered the implications of what Mitsuri had said and wondered.

Muichiro's gaze lingered on Y/n, the silence between them stretched on, creating an air of uncertainty and tension. Y/n couldn't help but feel a mix of curiosity and confusion, her brows furrowed slightly, unsure of what Muichiro was thinking or trying to convey.

Taking a deep breath, Muichiro gathered his courage, he leaned in to kiss Y/n. However, in his nervousness and lack of experience, his aim went awry. Their heads collided with an unintentional force, resulting in a rather comical and unexpected outcome.

"Ouch!" they both exclaimed simultaneously, recoiling from the collision. Their hands instinctively went to their foreheads, massaging the sore spot where their heads had met.

Muichiro apologized, his face flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry…”

"Mui-! Are you okay?" Y/n asked worriedly, her voice laced with concern.

Muichiro took a moment to collect himself, trying to hide his embarrassment behind a calm facade. "I'm okay, Y/n," he assured her, his voice a little quieter than usual.

“What were you trying to do?”

Muichiro felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him as he struggled to find the right words. After pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts, he finally managed to speak up.

"I... I was trying to kiss you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise, and a rush of warmth spread across her cheeks, turning them a deep shade of red as Muichiro's words sank in. His straightforwardness and genuine confession never failed to catch her off guard, even in moments of mishaps.

She couldn't help but find his earnestness endearing, feeling a mixture of surprise, affection, and amusement. The image of Muichiro's attempt to kiss her, only to result in an adorable failure, played in her mind, making her heart flutter with fondness.

Y/n's soft giggle escaped her lips, and she found herself unable to resist the endearing flutter in her heart. With a whisper, “we can try again.” her voice filled with a mixture of shyness and anticipation.

Muichiro's face lit up at Y/n's suggestion, his eyes reflecting a spark of excitement. His lips curved up into a gentle smile as he leaned in once again, determined to make their second attempt a success. The air crackled with anticipation as their lips met in a sweet, tender peck, this time achieving the desired outcome.

A gentle warmth spread through both Y/n and Muichiro as their lips connected, a moment filled with affection and the shared understanding of their growing bond.

A soft smile graced Y/n's lips as they pulled away from the kiss, her cheeks flushing with a deep shade of pink. Muichiro's eyes held a mixture of tenderness and pride, his heart brimming with happiness at the successful kiss.

Muichiro held onto the memory of that special moment, the way Y/n's lips felt against his, the warmth that enveloped them, and the fluttering of his heart.

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iexistapparantly · 8 months

Text

'What the fuck is this supposed to be?' -Human!Reader X Madness Combat-

TW: Strong language, blood, violence (obviously)

Short stories, yay.

It's the dead of night, the dimly lit street stretches ahead, a solitary path occasionally punctuated by the distant hum of passing cars. You've just wrapped up another long, exhausting day at work. Your sister, in her infinite wisdom, decided this was the perfect time for a meetup at some bizarre restaurant you've never heard of. Gripping your phone like a lifeline, you mutter to yourself. "Why couldn't she pick a normal place? She always has such weird taste”

You squint at your phone's screen, the glow reflecting in your irritated eyes. With your pockets feeling as empty as your bank account, you decided to save gas and hoof it. Just your luck, though – as you walk, the weather decides that no, you may not have a good day. A tiny, singular drop of water plips on your nose. Then another lands on your phone. It's not long before multiple tiny raindrops start pelting down. You groan, pulling the hood of your jacket over your head. "Great, just great. I'm soaked already. This can’t get any worse."

But wait, there's hope! You're not entirely helpless; you had the foresight to bring an umbrella. Blessings upon blessings for not being a total dolt. However, your moment of self-congratulation is short-lived. As you're strolling along, raindrops gently bouncing off your trusty umbrella, things do indeed get worse.

Your foot snags on a crack in the pavement and you unceremoniously plummet face-first onto the concrete, your phone catapulting off into the nearby bushes. With an exasperated sigh, you pick yourself up, your now damp and filthy clothes clinging to your skin like glue. Cold, wet, dirty glue. "...I should have kept my mouth shut" Grumbling and swiping at your now mud-stained clothes, you begin your quest to retrieve your precious phone. You gaze around for a sign of its whereabouts, your frustration palpable. "It’s dark as shit out here, I can’t see anything- wait." Your eyes zero in on its location, and your heart drops as you realize it landed in a ditch.

Without a moment's thought, you lurch forward, desperation propelling you as your shoes kick up mud and leaves. You scramble toward the edge of the ditch, praying you can reach your phone before it meets a watery grave. But alas, you're just a hair too slow. It splashes into the water and floats away into a tunnel within the mountain. With a helpless gasp, you watch as your beloved slips from the ledge and disappears into a yawning tunnel leading deep into the mountain.

Panic surges within you. You unleash a shout of frustration. "No, no, no!" Ignoring the darkness and your complete lack of a plan, you blindly plunge into the tunnel, your hands frantically sweeping the water's surface. Your heart races as you grope through the murky depths, searching desperately for your precious device. You keep scrambling along in the never-ending tunnel, feeling like you're stuck in some sort of bad dream.

Your fingers scrape against the wet ground as you scuffle along on your hands and knees. It's dark, creepy, and your heart is still racing from the loss of your phone. You squint through the murky tunnel and spot a faint red glow. Your heart skips a beat. You squint your eyes further, your face scrunching as you step forward, hoping for a miracle. As you approach, the only thing you are able to see is the large hole your phone is floating towards. Without thinking, you lunge forward, thrusting your arm through the hole to snatch your phone before it slips away for good.

But your fingers grasp at empty air, and you're left with nothing but failure. "Damnit!" Frustration fuels your determination, and you stick your head out of the small opening. The first thing that hits you is the sand, and not in a fun beach way. It flies right into your face, getting into your eyes, your nose, and your mouth. You grunt and stumble backward, falling back into the water with a splash.

You're now completely drenched, adding insult to injury. “Great. Just fucking fantastic.” You try to get the sand out of your eyes, but it feels like your eyeballs have turned into scratchy sandpaper. You curse your luck once more, all while sitting in the water, soaked to the bone and feeling like the universe decided to just take a massive shit on your life. Tears mix with the sand on your face as frustration consumes you. You're drenched, irritated as hell, and your eyeballs feel like they've been through a desert sandstorm. But you can't give up, not when your precious phone is at stake. The files stored in that thing are irreplacable.

You take a deep breath, wiping your face with a soggy sleeve. "Alright, let's do this." After a quick check to ensure you can get back out of the hole, you stick your legs through and awkwardly plop down. The rocks dig into your skin as you slide through the narrow gap. Your hood gets caught on the jagged edges, exposing your midriff to the cold wind as you slide through. With an undignified yelp, you dangle in the air for a moment before dropping down onto your butt with a grunt. A small smile of relief graces your face as you retrieve your phone and attempt to power it on. That smile very quickly falls into a scowl when, with trembling fingers, you press the power button, praying for a miracle, but nope. It's as dead as hell. No matter how many times you jab at the power button, it refuses to cooperate.

You let out an indignant sigh, looking around the semi-lit cave you've ended up in. Your body goes lax in defeat and you decide it's time to climb out of this strange, semi-lit cave. But just as you're about to make your move, something catches your eye. An exit, a little farther away, bathed in the same eerie red light that you just fell through. But this one, it's definitely the source of that crimson glow.

You pause, your eyebrows furrowing as you take in the unsettling scene. The silence in that direction is deafening, save for the occasional flutter of sand in the stagnant air. But that's odd; there shouldn't be any wind down here to stir up the sand. Your gut twists with unease – something isn't right. You swallow hard, the lump in your throat refusing to budge as you contemplate your next move. Your curiosity led you into this mess and it's not about to let you walk away now.

You're faced with a dilemma: A) Climb back up and save your precious sim card, or B) venture into the weird glowy exit. The answer is as clear as day, at least to your curious, slightly daft mind. You choose the latter. Crawling low to the ground, you cautiously poke your head out of the exit once more, squinting your eyes this time to block any sand. What you see makes your jaw drop "What the hell is this place supposed to be?!"

Before you stretches an expanse that can only be described as a whole ass desert. Well, you think it's a desert, given the vast amount of strange black sand, sandstone formations, and tge complete absence of trees. You're no expert though, so this might just be some really, really fucked up cave system. It’s an ominous change to the lush foliage back in your town. What truly boggles your mind is the sky – it's this strange, otherworldly shade of red.

You don't hesitate for long. You squeeze yourself out of the hole and stand up, fully taking in the surreal landscape before you. It seems almost endless, like you've stumbled into some sort of bizarre world. And you, being the curious (stupid) soul you are, feel compelled to explore it.

As you wander through this odd terrain, you start to notice more peculiarities. There are what appear to be tattered pieces of metal scattered about, and you catch glimpses of small skeletal remains poking out from beneath the sand. A heavy sense of dread gnaws at your stomach the whole time, that sense of dread soon becomes unbearable, intensifying with each step away from the cave exit.

After just a couple of minutes, you can't take it any longer, and you decide to turn back. But there's a problem – you can't find the cave. Dread sets in as you try to retrace your steps, only succeeding in getting yourself more lost. Everything looks the same, and there's not a single recognizable landmark in sight. You mutter to yourself, "Of course, this had to happen." You're in full-blown panic mode now, and that overwhelming sense of dread has you sprinting like your life depends on it. But let's be real – you're not exactly running far, just sort of scuttling in circles, hoping to stumble upon something familiar. Spoiler alert: that doesn't happen.

It becomes painfully obvious that logic is not your strong suit as you continue your amazing plan of walking in random directions. You start to question your life choices and contemplate just what made you decide to enter an unknown, dangerous looking and unexplored area with no second thoughts. "Why am I like this?" you mutter between panicked breaths. Finally, you spot something up ahead. Is that... a wall? Yep, it definitely is. You approach it, taking note that it's not particularly imposing.

It reaches up to your head in height, and you can't quite gauge its thickness. It's constructed from an odd mishmash of small metal scraps, toothpick-like poles, and a generous sprinkling of menacing barbed wire. The dread in your gut grows, but so does your curiosity. A sensible person might think twice before attempting to hop over such a fence. But are you a sensible person? Hell no.

You decide to defy all reason and logic you've chastised yourself for not having a few moments ago. Instead of listening to that tiny voice in your head that's just trying to look out for your well-being, you opt for the best route possible. Circling around the wall, you scout out a sturdy rock, clamber onto it, and attempt to scale the makeshift barrier like a newborn baby learning how to stand. Spoiler alert again: it's not the most graceful climb. Your utter lack of upper body strength becomes painfully evident, and you end up resorting to rolling onto your stomach, then flopping down onto your back, landing on the ground with a resounding THUNK.

Gritting your teeth and grunting in pain, you squint your eyes open, half-expecting to find yourself in some sort of absurd fever dream. But instead, you're met with the sight of a large... city? Well, it's not exactly "large." In fact, it's pretty damn small, but there's a whole lot of it, considering it's dwarfed by your presence.

You sit up, wincing as you rub your sore back with your palm, and take a closer look at your surroundings. Most of the buildings around you reach only up to your shoulders. "Well, this is one way to feel tall," you mutter with a bemused grin, not quite processing the absurdity of it all. Your eyes drop to the ground where you landed, and you're met with the sight of a tiny truck. A really tiny one.

Your curiosity gets the best of you, and you crouch down to examine it more closely. That's when you notice something oozing out from the crushed vehicle. It's... yellow? And is that... blood? Your eyes widen, and you can't help but exclaim, "Wait, what the hell?" Your gaze locks onto a severed hand lying amidst the gruesome mess. It's not attached to anything, and it's got an odd light gray skin tone.

You can't help but mumble words of confusion as you pick up the surprisingly heavy miniature truck and inspect it more closely. In an utterly bizarre turn of events, when you lift the truck, the hand that shouldn't be attached to anything follows it. "No way, this can't be real," you mutter, pinching the disembodied hand between your fingers and tugging at it. To your bewilderment, there's resistance.

After a few moments of perplexed contemplation, you muster up the courage to pry open the crushed roof of the tiny truck and peer inside. Your heart races as you're met with the sight of a very squished, bloody, and rather unpleasant-looking pile of mush. Or at least you think it's blood – it sure as hell smells like it. You recoil, scrunching up your nose in disgust.

Panic sets in once more, and you start to freak out. Did you accidentally squash some bizarre mutant rat creature? Where the hell even are you? And why in the world are these buildings so ridiculously small? Questions swirl through your mind as you stand there, completely bewildered and utterly freaked out.

Before you can wrap your head around the bizarre mushy encounter, the soft thuds of approaching shoes catch your attention. You whip around and lock eyes with... well, whatever the hell it is that's staring right back at you. Your jaw drops, and so does the, uh, "rat," for lack of a better term. Your eyes widen like saucers as you take in this unprecedented sight. This creature is like nothing you've ever seen – not even in your wildest nightmares. It doesn't possess any eyes, but you can feel its gaze piercing through you. It's an eerie shade of gray, maybe about 16 inches tall, or possibly even smaller. The weirdest part? It has no limbs to speak of, just two floating hands and a pair of shoes awkwardly stuck to its lower body. Its clothing is oddly fancy – a snazzy suit that's completely out of place. Its "face," if you can call it that, is just a cross on the center of its head, topped with a pair of sunglasses. Sunglasses! It doesn't even have a nose! Oh, was it mentioned that it has floating hands? Because it totally has floating hands.

Your mouth hangs open in shock as the creature points at you and screams in bloody horror. It makes a break for it, disappearing into the miniature cityscape. Honestly, you can't blame it. You would run like hell if you saw a giant, homeless looking stinky ass homosapien too.

"Wait!" Without thinking, you scramble to follow, your curiosity now competing with your terror. But your curiosity takes a backseat when you round a corner and come face to face with a gaggle of more of these bizarre beings – all of them brandishing tiny guns.

"Oh, shit."

You stumble backward just as a hail of tiny bullets whizzes past you. Surprisingly, it hurts – like getting pelted by a thousand miniature sandblasters that actually penetrate your skin and make you bleed. Your flight-or-fight instincts kick into overdrive, and you choose the latter. Again.

You spring forward, channeling your fear and a touch of anger into a dropkick that sends one of the creatures soaring through the air, colliding with the miniature buildings. But the rest of them? They don't run away. Instead, they seem even more determined to kick your ass. You quickly become outnumbered, losing count of how many times you feel one of them mounting you and stabbing at your skin with their blunt instruments.

Realization dawns on you – you can't win this way. So, in a desperate bid for survival, you do the smartest thing you can think of and should have done originally: run like a bitch. But the situation takes a turn for the worse as more of those little shits start swarming in, all armed to the teeth and refusing to let you escape. The worst part? A much larger version of these creatures joins the fray, their guns looking closer in size to what humans use. You don't want to find out what it feels like to get shot by one of those.

That's it. No more curiosity. You want out. Your clothes are shredded, drenched in blood, you're riddled with pain, hunger gnaws at your gut, your phone is still a dead weight, and you're scared shitless. You'd give anything to be anywhere else right now. So, you leap over the wall and sprint down the empty, dark desert, leaving the madness behind. Even when you've put a good distance between you and the chaos, you can still hear their war cries echoing in the distance.

Just when you thought things couldn't get any worse, you come across a larger building, looming ominously in the distance. Instead of approaching it, your instincts scream at you to stay as far away as possible. Unfortunately, the residents inside don't seem to share your sentiments. A tiny red dot appears between your eyes, and you have mere moments to react before a bullet slams into your skull. It doesn't pierce the bone, but the force of the impact sends you tumbling to the ground, your vision blurring. You groan, blood now mixing with the mess of dirt and sweat on your face.

You manage to prop yourself up, your hand clutching your now even more bloodied and injured head. Gazing up at the roof of the building, you spot another one of those little creatures perched on the edge, aiming a sniper rifle right at you. This one looks different from the others, with what appears to be a black mask, red goggles, and... is that a fucking mohawk? You can't be entirely sure from this distance.

Another figure with circular goggles appears beside the sniper, smacking the rifle's barrel away from you. A spark of hope flickers in your heart, but it's quickly extinguished when the creature slides down the wall, using a knife to slow its descent, and starts sprinting toward you with a katana in hand. Mercy is clearly not on the menu.

You scramble to your feet, but your many injuries slow you down. The adrenaline surging through your veins helps, but it's still a challenge to get up and run for it. The creature proves to be surprisingly swift, easily closing the distance. Its first target: your heels. It slices through the tendons of your foot, sending you tumbling to the ground once more. With only a spare second to react, you instinctively cover your neck, anticipating the worst. Your arms are nearly shredded as the creature's blade flashes down in a millisecond.

All you can see are two glowing red dots staring down at you and the fluttering of a coat. Before the creature can bring the blade down on your eye, you swing your injured arm out, but it's too late. The creature leaps and dodges your rather pathetic attempt, landing on your face and impaling your left eye with its katana.

Pain surges through your body, and you let out a guttural cry. Pain engulfs you as you scream, the creature's weight pressing down, creating a scorching heat from its blade searing through your flesh. It's a level of agony you've never known, and it feels like your world is being consumed by fire.

The blade twists to the side, mercilessly slashing through your skin like it's cutting through butter, running down your eyelid and part of your cheekbone. Tears pour uncontrollably from your only good eye, the sight of the blade lifting, poised to strike your other eye, reigniting your survival instincts.

This time, when you throw your hand out, it connects with the creature, and you manage to hit it off your face, its back hitting the ground harshly. Another cry escapes your lips as you clutch your injured eye, trembling and shaking uncontrollably. Scrambling backward, you avoid the creature as it stalks slowly toward you, its gloved fingers twirling the now bloodied blade in its hands, clearly relishing in your fear, panic, and pain.

Your back hits the building you had been trying to avoid, and you look up, catching sight of the other creature observing from above. Desperation courses through you, and in a swift, instinctual movement, you reach up and grab the head of the creature in your hand. It's a race against time, and your grip tightens as the creature attacking you hesitates. "I-I swear," you stammer through your sobs, your voice quivering with fear but laced with determination, "I'll crush his damn skull if you come any closer! Back off!"

The creature slowly backs off, still harboring a desire to attack. Meanwhile, the one in your grip struggles fiercely, its strength surprising you as you grapple to keep it restrained. There comes a point when it manages to draw a knife and stab your fingers, but you refuse to relent. If you let go now, you'll lose your other eye and, quite possibly, your life.

With your fingers aching and bleeding, you slowly step backward, tossing the creature's weapons aside. Once you're a safe distance away, you pivot on your heels and break into a limping sprint, faster than you've ever run before, adrenaline coursing through your veins like a raging river.

You glance over your shoulder, confirming that the creature is still in pursuit, and the other one is struggling to free itself. Gunshots ring out, and most of them seem to find their target. Despite the searing pain you feel with each hit, you refuse to stop running; you only push yourself harder.

You take as many twists and turns as possible, desperately trying to shake off the relentless pursuer. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you succeed in losing the creature on your heels. As soon as you're out of immediate danger, you lean against one of the many rocks scattered across the desert, clutching the creature tightly to your chest for comfort.

Overwhelmed by fear, pain, and helplessness, you can't hold back the sobs that wrack your body. You tremble uncontrollably as you wallow in self-pity, tears and blood streaming down your face. You clutch onto the tiny creature tightly, your nose pressed against its head, the hair on its scalp tickling your skin as you choke out pitiful hiccups and sobs. The creature in your hands is now silent, having given up its futile struggle a little while ago when it realized escape was highly improbable. After your intense sobbing fit subsides, you find yourself sitting in the desert, still clutching the creature you'd been struggling with moments ago, the searing pain in your eye still has not faded.

The adrenaline has left your body, leaving you drained and trembling, but you manage to regain your composure. Taking a few deep breaths, you turn your attention to the creature in your arms. "What the hell are you?" you manage to croak, your voice shaky.

The creature stirs slightly in your grasp, and it's deep, resonant voice cuts through the eerie silence of the desert. "Call me 2Bdamned," it responds bluntly.

“I said what are you?”

2Bdamned shifts his body, trying to adjust into a more comfortable position, “a grunt.” You blink in surprise at its straightforwardness.

"A grunt? Like from some weird fucked up animal?"

"Something like that," 2Bdamned replies, his tone cold and calculating. "But I've never seen anything like you before. What are you, and how did you end up here?" You take a moment to collect your thoughts before you begin recounting what you are and your bizarre journey, starting with the inexplicable fall through the tunnel and ending with the chaotic encounter with the other creatures.

"I honestly have no idea where 'here' even is," you admit, your voice tinged with frustration. “This whole situation has just been so fucked up.. And now I've lost a damn eye because of it.” 2Bdamned remains silent for a moment, processing your story.

"You’re in Nevada. You will never find anything but ‘fucked up situations’ here." he explains, sounding almost bored.

You nod, beginning to grasp the gravity of your situation. "Is there a way I can leave..?"

2Bdamned's voice remains as cold and pragmatic as ever. "Escaping Nevada won't be easy, but it might be possible if I figure out what brought you here in the first place." As you continue your conversation with 2Bdamned, you realize that despite the chaos and uncertainty that surrounds you both, he may be your best chance at navigating this surreal realm and finding a way to break free from the grip of Nevada's relentless madness.

As you sit there, trembling and lost in the madness of Nevada, 2Bdamned appears to grow tired of your sobbing and finally acknowledges your existence. His cold, calculating demeanor slowly gives way to a begrudging curiosity about what exactly you are. "Fine," he mutters with a resigned sigh, his reluctance palpable in his tone. "I'll help you, but don't expect any hospitality." You readily accept his offer, your eagerness to find a way out of this nightmarish Nevada outweighing any concerns about his demeanor. Together, you make your way back to the building, where the atmosphere is anything but friendly.

Inside, 2Bdamned confronts Hank, the grunt who had originally attacked you, his voice carrying a stern message, "Don't do that anymore." Hank, visibly displeased, gives you a death glare that could curdle milk. Despite his clear displeasure, he begrudgingly listens to 2Bdamned's command. You can practically feel the waves of bloodlust radiating off him, sending a shiver down your spine.

While you're sitting outside the building, anxiously waiting for some glimmer of hope in this bizarre desert, 2Bdamned finally emerges with news. He informs you that Deimos, another one of his mercenaries, is poring over the data and information he had provided, desperately searching for any anomalies within this bewildering desert to locate an exit, or something like that.

But in the meantime, 2Bdamned decides he should patch you up to prevent you from bleeding out and to prevent infection. With surprising skill, he tends to your wounds, you still wince and grimace at the pain like a complete baby. But you're grateful nonetheless, considering the alternative would involve a lot more bleeding and a lot less being alive.

When he's done, he offers you a miniature hotdog, which you can really only lick, it's like a damn crumb. It's a tiny snack for a big problem, but it'll have to do. As 2Bdamned starts to ask you questions, another grunt unexpectedly pokes his head out of the building. He’s wearing a cute little visor, the cap shifting as he flicks it up with his finger and eagerly informs 2Bdamned of his findings. But when he spots you, towering over both him and the entire damn base, he stares, slack jawed, "...what… the fuck…?" 2Bdamned simply gestures for him to leave, and the unfamiliar grunt’s cross scrunches with what you can only imagine to be irritation and a bit (a lot) of surprise.

Not one to pry into matters that don't concern him (for now at least), he decides to keep his questions to himself and retreats back into the building. 2Bdamned, a little bummed that his conversation got cut short, heads back inside to review the information Deimos brought him. Soon enough, he returns with a tracker and a map, indicating that it's time to embark on your journey.

The walk is excruciatingly slow, thanks to the vast difference in stride length between you and the grunts. After some time, you decide to take matters into your own hands – literally. You pick up 2Bdamned and ask him to point you in the right direction, much to his chagrin. Meanwhile, Hank, who had decided to tag along uninvited, scuffles up to you (without asking) and opts for a more unconventional mode of transportation, climbing onto your foot for the ride. (again, you did not offer. You still haven’t forgotten what he’s done to your eye and ankles.)

Eventually, all three of you reach the familiar cave entrance. You breathe a sigh of relief, grateful to have found your way back. At this point, you're exhausted beyond belief, and passing out seems like a very tempting option. You express your gratitude to the grunts for their assistance in finding your way back and for patching you up.

You turn to 2Bdamned and give him the best smile you can, though it does end up looking like a grimace, "Thanks a lot, 2Bdamned. Your help means a lot." 2Bdamned grumbles in response, still not quite fond of wasting his time on such inconvenient and meaningless things, but he does offer a nod of acknowledgment. Hank, on the other hand, has been silently staring this whole time, his unblinking gaze locked onto you. It's a bit unsettling, to be honest. You decide to give him some recognition too, albeit in an awkward manner.

You give Hank a small wave, "Uh, thanks, Hank. You...uh, did a great job not attacking me again." Hank remains silent, but he does cock his head to the side, which you take as a sign that he acknowledges your thanks in his own way. Or maybe he's just silently mocking you. It's hard to tell with this dude.

The cave entrance looks similar to the way you remember it. The walls of the entrance is barely big enough for you to fit. The air is damp and filled with a strange, earthy scent that lingers in your nostrils. With the less than pleasant goodbye to your.. Companions? Acquaintances? Weird midget alien frenemies? You're not really sure..

You take a moment to survey your surroundings. Sending a final wave to 2Bdamned and an awkward nod in Hank's direction, you decide it's time to make your way back into the cave. You leave the two grunts to their own devices, whatever those may be, and begin your journey back through the dark, damp tunnel.

Limping your way through the ditch, you can still feel the persistent drizzle of rain soaking through your clothes. It's as if the weather has decided to join in on the absurdity of Nevada. As you finally emerge from the tunnel and take that crucial step onto the surface, rain once again greets you. The shower immediately intensifies, turning from a drizzle to a downpour. You can't help but roll your eye at the timing. "Great," you mutter to yourself, drenched and shivering from both the rain and the bizarre events of your journey. "Just what I needed." Through the entire experience you just went through, you can say for certain.. You’re never walking into weird ass caves again.

Edited - 12/16/2023

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wiypt-writes · 1 year

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Brothers In Arms

Part 9: I Believe In You

Summary: You and Ransom take time to heal, both yourselves and each other, and look forward to a future without having to glance back over your shoulders…

Warnings: Bad language, violence, smut (NSFW) 18+ guns and stuff…

Pairing: MOB Ransom Drysdale x Reader.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any of the characters contained within this series bar the Reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. I do not give permission for this to be translated and/or reposted on any other platforms. Reblogs are fine: Sharing is caring.

By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

So this is it, the tenth and final part. There will be an epilogue eventually but for now it’s goodbye to Ran and his Princess. Thank you to all who have read and reblogged along the way. And to my darling beta @spectre-posts 💙❤️

Brothers in Arms Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Part 9

W/C: 6.5k ish…

With Ari’s blessing, you stayed in Boston for a few days.

Okay, maybe blessing would be pushing it a little too far. It was more like a begrudging acceptance, punctuated with sarcasm about how you favoured that asshole to your own brother.

You knew he was mostly joking, however. That said, when you got news that Ari was being discharged, you flew back to New York, to be there for your brother.

Three days after that, Ransom was given the okay to return to Queens, under strict instructions to take it easy.

When the two of you had talked, you’d made it clear that your reconciliation was taking place at your speed. You hadn’t been quite ready to jump all the way back in just straight away. Instead, you wanted to take it slow, build what you had back up from the very foundations which had been shook.

So far you had spent most of your days with Ransom at the mansion whilst he was still recovering. Be it watching TV or taking short walks around the grounds. You cooked or ordered in, snuggled up together but each night you’d drawn the line in the sand and headed back to Ari’s, your intimacy not passing the kissing stage.

Ransom hadn’t argued, he hadn’t pushed. He’d simply agreed to give you the time you needed, his only request being that if you still weren’t ready to move back in by the time the baby arrived, you at least agreed to stay in the house and he would go back to his penthouse, to allow you and your future son or daughter somewhere comfortable to begin your life together.

You’d agreed, although you knew deep-down it wouldn’t come to that. You wanted to move on. You forgave Ransom, you had to if you wanted to make things work. You just needed the time to navigate this new start, but you were confident you could.

You smiled at Ransom, as he stood in the open doorway as you pulled up the drive.

“You should be resting.” You looked at him. He was dressed casually, in a pair of dark blue denims and a cream cable knit cashmere sweater.

“I’m fine.” He rolled his eyes as you stopped in front of him. You stood on your toes to peck him on the lips. He then moved back to let you walk into the hallway.

You smiled a little at the Christmas decorations that had been installed over the weekend. Usually you liked to decorate yourself, but with everything that had been going on, and the fact you were now two weeks into December, you’d agreed to let Ransom pay for someone to come and do it.

“Have you drunk enough water?” He asked and you couldn’t help the chuckle. Today was your first ultrasound, the first time you’d get to see your baby and hear its heartbeat. And of course, Ransom had been reading up all about the process.

“I…yeah, I guess. I mean I’m peeing every fifteen minutes or so. In fact, I need to go now.”

Ransom snorted as you headed off and made his way to the kitchen to wait for you. Soon you joined him, and he slid a small water bottle to you from the fridge, along with some carrot sticks which seemed to be a snack you couldn’t get enough of at the moment.

“Carter or Blanc can drive us today.” He offered, “I would myself but…”

“You’re not allowed yet.” You chuckled, swallowing your snack. “I can drive, it’s no issue. I drove here.”

Ransom popped a shoulder. “I’d prefer it if you let them, please.”

You looked at him and then smiled softly, deciding to let him have his way. “Okay.”

“And I thought if you wanted after, we could go for lunch.”

“Sounds great.” You nodded.

After a quick cup of coffee, decaf for you, you headed out to the car and we’re soon pulling up outside the private clinic.

Ransom stepped out first, and you didn’t miss the little wince he gave. You sighed and then leaned between the seats to speak quickly to Carter.

“Thank you, I know you know what’s going on.”

“Don’t know what you mean, Miss.” he shot back, flashing you a wink.

With a smile, you moved to step out of the car and took Ransom’s hand.

“Do we find out what it is today?” Ransom asked as you walked into reception, and you laughed.

“No, I’m only…well, about 8 weeks or so. We won’t see that for a good few months. That is if we decide to.”

“Oh.” He then blinked. “You don’t wanna find out?”

“I dunno.” You shrugged, “maybe, maybe not. I like the idea of it being a total surprise.”

Ransom smiled and pulled your hand up to kiss your wrist, “whatever you want, baby.”

Soon enough, you were called in after waiting in a small, comfortable room and you led on the bed, the cold jelly spreading over your stomach as the doctor moved the wand. Your ears then filled with the rhythmic thumping and your eyes caught the first glance of your baby on the little screen.

You smiled and glanced at Ransom, his eyes were fixed on the image, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

The Doctor smiled, then showed you where your baby’s head was, their heartbeat.

“And from the size then, yes, I’d estimate you’re between seven and eight weeks. So that gives us a due date of…the 29th of July.”

You swallowed and dropped your head. You’d secretly been hoping for s miracle, that you wouldn’t actually be that far along. But you knew deep down that had been stupid. Because no matter how much you did the maths, no matter what apps you keyed the dates of your cycle into, it still came back to the same thing. That your baby was likely conceived at any point really from 28th October to 12th November. It could belong to either of the twins.

“Can…can I get a copy, can we get a copy?” Ransom asked, his eyes still on the screen as he raised your hand to his lips.

“Absolutely.” The Doctor smiled. “I’ll grab you one now and we’ll get you booked in for your next ultrasound and I’ll get you some information leaflets on our Lamaze classes.” She smiled as Ransom leaned over to kiss your head. You spluttered as you wiped your eyes. “Is there anything you wanna ask me?”

Ransom launched into a myriad of questions about what you could and couldn’t do, what you had to stop eating, drinking and you couldn’t help but some out, instead focusing on his face.

You took a deep breath, and as you watched Ransom intently listening to the doctor, your heart swelled. Your momentary wobble flew from your mind as you were reminded that it didn’t matter. He was all in, you could see that. As far as Ransom was concerned, this baby was his. And when you logically thought about the odds, it probably was.

You’d agreed when you’d decided to make things work, not to dwell on any of this. And now it was time for you to live up to the bargain. Your baby was a Drysdale, not a Rogers.

You heard the Doctor tell you she’d be back soon, and you smiled as she wiped the gel from your stomach and left.

Ransom turned to you, your hand still held in his. “You okay, Princess?”

“I’m fine.” You nodded, “that was just…”

“Yeah…did you see him?”

“Oh, it’s a him?”

“Yup.” Ransom nodded, smirking. “My son and heir.”

“You know, it might be a girl. Girls are just as capable of being bad asses.” He playfully wrinkled his nose, and you slapped his arm. “Oh, wait till I tell Natasha your opinions on-”

“Err, there’s no need for that.” He cut you off, chuckling. The room fell silent, and he took a deep breath, his hand round yours as he looked at the floor. “Listen, Y/N. I know…I know we said we’d take things at your pace, and I’m, well, maybe happy to do that is the wrong phrase, but I understand. I know it’s what you want, and it’s the least I can do after…after everything I did, because I don’t deserve you.”

“Ran, please…we agreed not to dwell-“

“No, I know…lemme finish, please baby.” His blue eyes bore into yours, imploring you to let him have his day and you closed your mouth. You watched him, as the hand that wasn’t wrapped around yours moved into his pocket. When he brought it back out, you blinked as you recognised the small ring box he held in his palm. “I’d like you to have this back. It’s yours. And…maybe when you’re ready, you can put it back on. Whenever that may be…if you…if you ever are.”

You licked your lips and swallowed the lump in your throat, but it stuck in your chest. You inhaled through your nose and sighed out of your mouth. You bit the inside of your cheek. The look in his eyes appeared defeated. It didn't sway the way your heart felt. Your eyes flicked back to the box. Then you nodded and gently took it.

Ransom exhaled loudly as you smiled and nodded towards your bag.

“Imma need to put it in there…”

"Okay," he nodded. He figured that was what you wanted.

He passed it over and you stored the box carefully, zipping it into the compartment for safe keeping.

Soon enough, the two of you were on your way, copied of the ultrasound pictures with you. He took you to lunch in the Harbor. The changing of the seasons didn't make for a great view, but the gesture was there. The pair of you chatted, in a way you’d always been able to. About anything and everything.

Certain subjects were off limits, elephants in the room. But it was smooth. The ride back to the mansion was quiet but not unbearable. Your mind whirred. So much had gone on in the last few hours it seemed, and it had you thinking. Your eyes would flick to your bag at your feet, and you'd chew on your cheek.

“Princess?”

"Hmm?" You hummed softly.

“Are you coming in or do you want to head back to…to Ari’s?”

"I'd like to stay a little longer," you admitted.

“You can stay as long as you want.” Ransom took a deep breath. “If it was up to me you’d never leave.”

You softly smiled at the sentiment as he opened his door. He strode round to yours and offered you his hand.

You took it and allowed him to help you out of the car. His hand settled on the small of your back as he led you to the front doors. Once inside, he took the time to follow you into the foyer and then toward the kitchen where you left your bag on the island. You took the ultrasound images out of your purse and set the on the marble.

"Can I keep one?" Ransom asked as he stood behind you, his arms snaking around your middle to rest his hands on your stomach.

"You can have more than one." You turned your chin, so you looked up at him.

“Yeah?” His lips curled up at the side.

"Yeah, you can have half if you'd like, they gave us six," you chuckled.

Ransom snorted as he kissed your neck, “I think I’ll stick one to the fridge.”

"Oh my, that's a big step," you sniggered. "Big Mob Boss Ransom Drysdale puts a picture on the stainless steel."

“Hey, that’s my future son and heir.”

"Or daughter."

“Whatever.”

"I'm only kidding," you leaned back into him a little.

“Me too, sorta. I don’t mind what they turn out to be. As long as they’re healthy.”

"Me either. But it'd be interesting to see you with a daughter. It'd be entirely comical to see you with a son."

“Why comical?”

"Because I can see it." You turned in his arms and wrapped your own around his neck after they slid up his chest. "A little boy with your eyes that reins terror over this house and your kingdom. God help you when they're sixteen."

Ransoms brows flicked up before he gave a lowly chuckle, “well, maybe having a girl wouldn’t be so bad. There’s one obvious upside to that too.”

"Which is?" You cocked your head to the side a little as you looked up.

“They’re more likely to be like you, less like me. Not quite as fucked up.”

Your face softened, "Ransom." Your eyes welled up, "don't you ever say that again."

He licked his lips and hung his head, “I’m sorry…”

Your hands moved from around his neck to his jawline, your fingers spreading over his cheeks. "You're not a perfect man, but you're not fucked up either. You fell from grace, but that doesn't mean you can't change, or you haven't already made changes. I see you for what you're worth, Ransom. Our children will too."

At that he swallowed, his eyes misted over before he frowned a little, a soft smirk spreading across his face. “Children?”

You gave a soft smirk and a little pop to your shoulder, "I won't rule it out."

Ransom opened his mouth, but closed it again, and instead his hands cupped your face. “I don’t deserve you.”

You could see the turmoil in his eyes, he felt guilty. Guilty over what he’d put you through, ashamed of what he’d done to you, how he’d hurt you the way he did.

"We're gonna get through this," you encouraged. "It doesn't feel like it, but we will. I still love you."

“I love you too, so fucking much princess.” He sniffed.

You swallowed and sniffed, "I know."

He leaned down to you, his nose bumping yours gently before he kissed you.

There was something different to this kiss than the others you’d shared since you agreed to work things through. It was laden with emotion. Your eyes fluttered shut, the tenderness behind his lips made your stomach somersault. Your fingers pressed into the nape of his neck as a small whimper slipped through your throat.

“Fahk…” Ransom wrenched his lips away and pressed his head to yours.

You were a little breathless and lightheaded. "Ransom...."

“I know…too soon.”

"Just kiss me again."

With a surprised blink that merged into a soft smile, Ransom did exactly as you asked.

Again, the kiss was heady and needy. You needed him, no, you for the first time in a long time, you wanted him.

“Take me to bed.” You whispered, your eyes closed as he pulled away, lips mere centimetres from each other.

"Yeah?" It was barely a whisper, in fact you weren't sure he spoke at all, but you felt the word on your lips.

"Yes."

His lips were back on yours, those hands that cupped your face slid down your arms to your hips before they curled around your thighs.

In an easy movement he lifted you off your feet, your legs wrapping around his waist. He grimaced slightly, but made no moves to set you down.

"Be careful," you spoke gently. "You're still healing.”

“I’m fine, princess.”

"Okay," you kissed him again.

Somehow you ended up in the bedroom you once shared, him having carried you up the stairs.

Ransom set you down gently on the bed, bending at his waist to continue kissing you. When he pulled away for just a moment, you saw a hunger in his eyes you hadn't seen in a long time. A hunger that made you tingle and a spark that set your inside on fire. But there was a softness behind the hunger that made you want him more. You easily took the lead and grabbed the side of your sweater, pulling it up and over your head, tossing it to the floor.

Ransom wanted to touch you, put his hands on you. Felt desperate to have your skin at his fingertips. You waited on bated breath for him to do something.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he swallowed.

A step forward closed the space between you, and he settled between your legs. His hand cupped your face and settled into a cradle against your jaw. He rubbed his thumb across your cheek bone then slowly dragged along the column of your neck until he reached your sternum. With a flat palm, he gently pushed until your back hit the mattress.

You couldn’t help the little giggle that flew from your lips as your head hit the soft surface of the comforter.

You watched as Ransom pulled his own sweater off, tossing it somewhere over his head.

Your eyes glazed over with desire as you watched him kneel against the mattress and began to cover your body with his. But you didn’t miss the scar that ran along his side, where his brother had done his best to take his life.

It was still red and raised. A mark that wouldn't fade for a long while. Your fingers reached out and lightly grazed it.

Ransom swallowed as he watched your eyes follow your fingers before your gaze flicked to his.

“It’s the only thing left of him.” He shook his head, as he reached for your hand. “And soon, it’ll fade to nothing. Like he has.” His lips kissed the pads of your fingers.

You nodded, your lip tucked between your teeth. It was the only truth you needed. The baby in your belly was his and only his. Nothing else mattered.

He let go of your hand and leaned over, his lips brushing yours before they moved to the hinge of your jaw.

Your mouth parted in a sigh as you bent upward to kiss him. You traced the seam of his lips with your tongue and Ransom eagerly responded but kept allowing you to lead the pace.

There was a fear in the back of his mind that you'd change your mind, tell him to stop. That all this was a mistake. But the minute your hand slid up over his shoulder, nails caressing the short hair at the nape of his neck, that fear left him.

He kissed your lips, your jaw, your neck. He nipped gently at your collarbone, fluttered kisses between your bra covered breasts and you hissed as he palmed your left one with his right hand.

"Are you okay?" Ransome wondered against your skin.

"Just sensitive," you smirked.

“I don’t wanna hurt you.”

"You won't."

“Tell me if I do.”

“Ransom...."

Yeah?”

"I want you. I want...I want this. Stop stalling."

“I’m sorry.” He sighed.

You cupped his face, "no more sorry."

Okay…” he nodded, as he took a deep breath. “I love you.”

"I...we love you."

With a soft expression on his face, his lips were back on yours.

With tenderness you knew he was capable of, he stripped you, kissing every inch of skin he could find.

You sighed and gasped, hummed and whimpered. You were already wet between your legs and by the time you were naked, you were squeezing your thighs together for relief.

As his knee nudged your thighs apart, his hands reached up and his fingers slipped between yours.

You felt his tip kiss at your slit, and you titled your hips upward. Ransom slid in with a slow and shallow thrust.

"Oh my god...”

“Shit, princess. Fahk…”

"You feel so good, baby...."

“You too…” he groaned as he pulled back, and then pushed deeper into you with a roll of his hips.

Your back arched off the mattress as your body curled around him completely. You crossed your ankles at the small of his back and squeezed his fingers between yours.

His lips crashed back to yours in a desperate kiss.

Your tongue forced upon his and he growled against your kiss. You whimpered at the thrust he reciprocated with. It only made you speak against his lips.

"Faster," you begged.

With a low moan, he gripped your hands tighter as his hips began to thrust.

"Oh fuck, thassit, Ransom..."

“Oh, baby…” he choked, his lips latching onto your pulse point, “I missed this. I missed you.”

“Oh shit," you whined. "Me...too..."

“My Queen…” he whispered, his nose brushing the shell of your ear.

"My King," you rasped.

You felt him shudder, a soft whimper escaping his mouth and it made your insides burn. The power you held over him, the way you could reduce him to a quivering wreck. Such a ruthless man in his business, ruling his kingdom with an iron fist and yet you could undo him simply with words.

"S'close, Ran," you moaned.

“Me too, baby.”

"Just...right...."

He knew how to read your body like a cartographer knew how to read a map. He knew where to touch, where to kiss, where to brush gently and where to grab a little more firmly…

The beginning flutters of your orgasm coiled around his cock and your fingers began to squeeze his a little harder. "Ransom, I'm....I'm gonna..." You sighed with a high pitch to your breath as you came. Your body tenderly tensed around him as your heels pressed against him, your toes curled.

“Oh, thassit…” his eyes watched your face. He loved seeing you fall apart, the way your jaw laxed, how your eyelashes kissed your cheeks like the fluttering wings of a butterfly.

He wasn't far behind you. His body flexed above you, his fingers tight and palms pressing the back of your hands into the mattress.

When you opened your eyes, you saw the look on his face before he whimpered and let himself press into you a little more, his face buried into your neck.

"Oh, baby," you cooed.

He didn’t reply, simply nuzzled into you more. And it was only when you felt the wetness against your skin that you realise he was crying.

Your eyes stung, too. There were a lot of emotions that came through the course of the day, and it seemed to have settled between the two of you at the end of your physical reconnecting. You kissed his shoulder and whispered that things were okay. That you were okay, and the two of you were okay.

Eventually he pulled back, and you wriggled your fingers free from his. With a soft smile you reached up and brushed back the longer strands of hair that had flipped forward over his forehead.

"I wanna come home," you whispered wetly.

“You are…” Ransom’s voice cracked, “you don’t ever have to leave.”

******

You stayed that night. And you stayed the next night. And the night after that. On the fourth day your engagement ring was back on your finger, and by the seventh most of your stuff was back from Ari’s. The items you left, which Carter had put into storage instead of being destroyed as Ransom had instructed, were returned to their rightful place and it was as if you’d never been gone.

Christmas came and went, you spent it at home, just you, Ransom and Ari. The New Year passed, the snow melted, the spring flowers emerged. And, as the seasons changed, so did your body. Your bump blossomed like the trees, your eyes shone like the diamond on your hand, and to Ransom you were simply more beautiful with each day that passed.

Before you knew it, six months had passed. Things on Ransom's 'business' end were still a tight ship.

He hadn’t attempted to seize Brooklyn, instead he’d left the power vacuum to sort it sort itself out. His personal involvement with the ‘dodgy dealings’ had become less and less, his outside focus mainly on the Publishing Company. His attempt was to at least appear more straight on the outside, the unborn baby in your belly his number one priority.

He didn’t want your son, or daughter, being born into any kind of turf war, despite him joking about them being heir to his empire. He wanted safety, security for them, and if that meant appearing to go straight, so be it. He kept peace with the other factions and mobs in the area.

But he still ruled his own with an iron fist.

One particular day in April, you’d met your friend for a spa day, a bit of pampering whilst he held a meeting in his office.

“So, whaddya want me to do boss?” Langley asked, “send a message? I mean, do we want the Maximoffs muscling in on this?”

Ransom pondered for a moment, then looked across the table to Stark. “What do you think?”

Tony wrinkled his nose, “it depends, do you wanna rock the boat?”

Ransom tapped his fingers on the desk, “leave it be, it ain’t important. Let them take their shipment. It won’t have a big effect.”

“You’re the boss.” Langley shrugged.

An hour or so later, the rest of his men had left, leaving him and Langley alone.

“I gotta hand it to you, Dysdale, you really have calmed down a lot. Impending Fatherhood suits you.”

Ransom merely flicked his brows.

“I know what happened with Rogers was shitty, but… well, looks like it all turned out for the best, huh?” Langley stood from his chair, “whoever it was that sent that photo to you did you a favour in the long run.”

Random cocked his head to one side, studying the man in front of him through narrowed eyes. “Hmmm.”

“Anyway, I have stuff to do so I will see you tomorrow, Boss.”

“Sure.” Ransom nodded, reaching into his desk drawer.

With a final nod, Bryce turned to go, but stopped dead when he heard the loud click of a gun mechanism being cocked.

“You know, I knew Walt had to have someone pushing his buttons. The Iago to his Othello, so to speak, but I never expected it to be you.” Ransom’s voice was cool and collected as Langley turned to him, his eyes narrowing.

“Boss, I’m not-“

“I told no one I’d been sent those photos,” Ransom chewed the inside of his cheek as he rose gracefully from his seat.

“What?” Langley’s voice was a whisper as he swallowed, realising his mistake. His eyes were fearful as he watched Ransom round the desk and advance on him, like a tiger stalking its prey.

“So, the only possible explanation for you knowing is if you were the one who did. And, if you knew Rumlow was going to be there, with Walt, then you had to have known about it from the start.”

Bryce floundered like a fish outta water, looking for a viable story on a dime. His eyes flicked from Ransom, then to the gun which was trained at his head.

“Why?” Ransom exhaled, “come on, humour me. And don’t try and tell me it was all Walt, because we both know if brains were dynamite he wouldn’t have enough to blow off his eyebrow. He might have wanted the head seat at the table but there’s no way he’d have come up with something so elaborate. So, here’s your moment. The big confession before I blow your brains out.”

Langley blinked, before his jaw set, and an angry look crossed his face. Ransom recognised it as resignation, and he openly smirked. He knew his childhood friend too well, Bryce understood his time was up and he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to explain, gaud Ransom one last time.

“The plan was to get rid of you and Steve, frame it as a rivalry gone wrong with the Maximoffs. Then Walt would take the lot, the business, inheritance. I’d get twenty percent, plus Brooklyn.” He clicked his tongue, “only Rumlow fucked the hit up, hit Peggy instead. It could have screwed it all up-“

“Then Steve killed Rumlow…and you saw your next opportunity, right?” Ransom arched a brow, “I played right into your hands, I listened to you, and I didn’t give Steve an alibi for Rumlow’s murder.”

“You always listened to me,” Bryce scoffed, “Walt was right, you were too soft. You’d have done it for him, despite everything that had happened between you. But I convinced you and then we had a new plan. We’d wait, bide our time, feed Steve a little metaphorical ammo and then he’d come after you.”

“So, you’re the reason he thought I organised the hit?”

Langley nodded, “I expected him to kill you, take out a hit of his own…but as time went on, it never came. Then it all went to shit. We didn’t expect Steve to get out as quickly as he did, not before we had come up with another plan. I mean, I wasn’t bothered at first, I expected him to kill you, not to…well…anyway, he totally fucked the whole thing up. And I knew it would only be a matter of time before you both started digging and the truth came out.”

“So, you panicked.” Ransom felt the nerve in his jaw tick. “You sent the photos to get yourself off the hook.”

Langley licked his lips, “when I heard that Levinson was looking into it, yeah. I cut my losses and sent him the photo with the intent of leading him to Walt. Then that asshole Barnes stabbed him so…”

“You sent it to me.” Ransom finished.

Langley nodded.

“Ransom took a deep breath. “You seriously did all this for money? You caused all this for…”

“No, it wasn’t just for money!” Langley’s face grew red, and Ransom notices with some amusement the man was shaking, a combination of fear and anger no doubt. “I wanted my share, what I was owed, what is my birthright!”

“What are you talking about?” Ransom narrowed his eyes.

“Your shit head father?”

“What about him? He’s been dead for fuckin’ decades….”

“He was my shit head father too!”

For the first time since the confrontation began, Ransom wavered. His gun lowered slightly, “he…you’re my…”

“Half-brother? Yeah, that’s right, he was fucking my mother, and he left her pregnant and penniless! You two got the big house, the private education, the family business…I got fuck all!”

“I…I had no idea.” Ransom shook his head.

“Neither did I until a few years back. But would it have made a difference?” Bryce scoffed.

Ransom hesitated for a moment, before he licked his lips, “you know, had you told me before all this…honestly? Yeah…yeah it would. I’d have done something…I mean…I was always closer to you than I was to my own twin!”

Ransom swallowed. This betrayal was hard to take. He’d always loved Bryce as a brother and had often wished he were his twin, not Steve. They’d been inseparable from the day they met, and Ransom had done everything he could to help Bryce. It had started with sharing sweets and toys, and in the end becoming his right hand man, paying him a wage he knew would set him up for life.

But all that…all that was crashing down around him.

He ran his hand over his face, groaning a little. “What a fuckin’ mess…”

“Ransom…” Bryce spotted the chink in the mob boss’ armour and jumped on it, “look, we can…I know I fucked up, but we can get through this.”

Ransom lowered his gun even more, and Langley let out a breath of relief, as Ransom looked at him.

“See…the thing is, Y/N.”

“What about her?” Bryce frowned.

“She’s my world. I killed my own twin because of what he did to her. And then I…I hurt her even more because of my anger and stupidity and I was so goddamned easily manipulated and twisted by what he did. I’ll never forgive myself for being so cruel and fucking weak.”

“But she’s forgiven-“

“And now I find out… all that was down to you and Walt.” Ransom finished, cutting Bryce off and the man stuttered.

“What, no, I-“

“Steve did what he did because he thought I killed his wife. Which, I suppose is understandable. I’d have done the same, well maybe not the exact same but I’d want revenge.” Ransom pondered for a moment and Langley waited, his entire body tense as he watched Ransom slowly raise the gun again. “Y/N has suffered the way she has because of Walt and your actions. You arranged the hit, you then let him think it was me. And for that…”

Ransom pulled the trigger, blowing a hole right through Langley’s eyes, exactly the same way he had done with Steve. He grimaced as, once more, bits of blood, bone and brain matter splattered across his face. This time they belonged to his half-brother.

The door to the room flew open and Carter bustled in, gun raises. He stopped dead as he looked from the smoking pistol in Ransom’s hand, to Langley, then back again, “boss…what-“

“He was in on it,” Ransom jerked out of his trance and turned to Carter. “With Walt.”

There was a moments pause and Carter let out a soft sigh, and Ransom saw the man’s eyes full with tears.

“I’m…I’m sorry none of this will bring Peggy back,” Ransom licked his lips, shaking his head a little, “I only hope you find comfort from knowing the men truly responsible are dead.”

Carter nodded and opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Ransom’s phone. He reached into his pocket and a smile spread across his face.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yeah, erm, I’m just on my way home.“ your voice was soothing, as it always was, and he took a deep breath.

“How was the spa?”

“Amazing…erm, do you mind if we just get pizza and a film tonight instead of going out? I…I just wanna curl up and relax now. Plus, our little bean seems to be doing the tango on my bladder…”

“Whatever you want.”

“Okay, have you finished your meetings?”

“Yeah,” Ransom glanced down at Langley’s body, and the mess in his office, “I just need to tidy up a couple of things then I’m done.

“Okay, well I’ll see you soon. We love you.”

“Love you both, too.”

He slipped the phone in his pocket and looked at Carter. He drew his shoulders back and wiped the forearm of the hand that still clutched the gun across his face, smearing the blood and gore over the sleeve of his shirt.

“Get someone to clean this up.” He instructed, his tone still softer than normal and Carter nodded.

“Boss.”

With that, Ransom stepped over the body of his dead half-brother and swept from the room, without so much as a glance back.

He was done looking over his shoulder. The only thing he cared about was you, and his baby.

And no one was ever going to threaten what the pair of you had ever again.

#brothers in arms #mob ransom drysdale x reader #mob Ransom Drysdale x you #mob ransom drysdale #mob au #ransom Drysdale x you #ransom Drysdale x reader #knives out #knives out au #knives out fanfiction #ransom drysdale fanfiction

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babytarttdoodoo · 9 months

Note

Please (if you want to) expand on what you said about the different ways Roy and Jamie swear because that is extremely fascinating

I mean, I'll start by saying I am in no way a linguistics expert. I also lack the cultural and social background to speak about the swearing habits of Mancunians and Londoners with any authority. (Again, to clarify, I am Scottish.)

However, being familiar with the accents in question, being immersed in British media my entire life, and having had voice training does mean I have an instinctual 'feel' for what sounds right for their characters... or what does for me, at least.

Swearing and rambling under the cut.

Beyond just swear words, the cadence and tones of Roy and Jamie's voices are vastly different.

Jamie talks faster, for one. It is a bit of a trend that the further north you go in the UK, the speedier the speech gets. I slow down a lot, even if I'm just visiting England, in order to be understood by non-Scots.

Therefore, Jamie uses longer words or phrases more casually in conversation (if not always correctly, bless his heart) because the rhythm of his speech allows for it. This also means that if he swears mid-sentence, it's basically just punctuation and comes across as a habit.

Adding adjectives adds emphasis. So when he is intentionally swearing directly at someone, he would call that someone a "big hairy baby twat" rather than just a "twat".

(I will also point out that I think "fucking dickhead" is criminally underused by Jamie in both canon and fanon.)

Roy, on the other hand, has a slower rhythm. He still swears very naturally (obviously) but is more likely to use single syllable words i.e. "fuck", "prick", "shit".

The way that vowels sound in his accent also plays a part here. For example, he says "fah-ck", as opposed to Jamie's softer "foh-ck", which is immediately more tonally aggressive (the different way they draw out the vowels is important too but I can't think of how to describe it).

Roy doesn't need to add on anything extra because the harder tone of his voice gives every swear a weighty impact. However, that's not to say he can't get creative.

Let's take Roy calling the woman harassing Jamie a "nutty arsemonger" in the Protective RoyxJamie fic. I agonised over what Roy was going to say because when he takes a second to think about how he's going to insult someone, things get colourful.

Cultural influence plays a bigger part in these scenarios.

The use of "nutter" is pretty widespread in the UK. "Nutty" as a descriptor, however, is a bit more specific and something I'd personally associate with the South.

That has to be paired with something and, particularly as he's talking to a woman, that makes things complicated.

Now, if I'm being brutally honest, in reality, someone of Roy's background and age would probably have said "cunt". It's very much not as big of a deal over here as I know it can be in the States. Tat said, it still felt a bit harsh to me as something someone in the 'Ted Lasso' universe would say. It's also very gender-charged and if Roy were going to use it, he's more likely to say it to another man.

For similar reasons, I discounted him calling her a "cow" or a "bitch". Less severe, but still not quite right for a man in his (at this point) early 40s who goes out of his way to be respectful to the women he knows. (Moments of idiocy aside, of course.)

That brought me to "arse". Anyone can be one. Great.

But he can't just say "nutty arse" and call it a day. Firstly, because "s" is a soft sound, especially in a deep tone, and the insult sounds incomplete in Roy's voice if he doesn't end on a hard note. Say it to yourself, try out your best Kent impression - it isn't right, is it?

Jamie absolutely could just say "arse" because the "ah" sound is very harsh in his accent and the "s" is more pronounced by his higher voice.

But Roy needs something more to round out the phrase. I landed on "arsemonger" eventually because of the meaning more than anything. (Generally used for someone without class, implies promiscuity.) Introducing that "ger" at the end also sounded a lot better and more natural.

I don't know if I'm making any sense here but hopefully this communicates a bit of what I meant?

If you're looking to delve a bit deeper (without the swearing), a good point of reference might be the Ninth Doctor and Rose's era of 'Doctor Who'. It's not perfect (Christopher is from Salford, Billie from Swindon) but it's another really good example of North/South talking habits.

'Only Fools and Horses' might give you a good idea of the language Roy grew up around, just bear in mind it's more in tune with his parents' generation.

'Coronation Street' is the obvious touchstone for Manchester accents but I haven't watched it in a long time. The kids in 'Waterloo Road' might be a bit more relevant as contemporary examples.

#the art of swearing #I could be talking nonsense #jamie tartt #roy kent

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inkformyblood · 4 months

Text

something sweet something new (CWFKB #15)

Fill for Tender kiss, obligatory coffee shop AU, modern setting @codywanfirstkissbingo

The bell above the door chimes and Obi-Wan swallows back a groan along with the scaldingly sweet dregs of his drink. The limited edition syrups wash over his palette with all of the subtlety of the line woven around the scant handful of tables, expectant eyes locking onto Obi-Wan. It isn’t too far away from how he watches Cody; a desperate clawing hunger that can only be blunted and never satiated, and Obi-Wan smiles at the next customer in the queue, an old ache beginning to burrow into his cheeks.

“Welcome! What can I get for you?”

In the moments between, amongst the hissing rush of steam from the failing coffee machine and the whir of the grinder that makes its displeasure known each and every time it deigns to function, Obi-Wan watches Cody. His apron is neatly tied around his waist, the deep red of the festive accessories perfectly complimenting his dark eyes and hair, the golden wash of glitter streaked over his cheekbones, and his shirt has something emblazoned across it beneath his apron that Obi-Wan can just make out the shape of. A mug lands on the saucer in front of Obi-Wan, mismatched red to the delicate floral pattern emblazoned around the rim of the plate, and he blinks down at it, his thoughts disrupted and crashing into each other in one glorious pile-up. He has the large iced mocha already set to one side, just waiting the whipped cream and skin-staining sprinkles to adorn it, and the triple shot latte which barely passes muster but he knows the dead-eyed stare of the regular well enough by now and he can remember his own days as a student vividly so he doesn’t argue, so what is the newest concoction that Cody had delivered to him? He glances up, raising his brows at Cody in a silent question.

“It’s for you,” Cody calls, grinning widely over at Obi-Wan and his heart stutters to an expectant stop in his chest, restarting when Obi-Wan coughs, a flush overtaking his face, and he looks away. Cody continues, unperturbed. “Let me know what you think.”

There isn’t much of a lull during the festive season, what would have been long stretches of time with minimal foot traffic and too many hours since his break and to quitting time at once are now disjointed and impossible to predict. The mug sits untouched until the current rush subsides, barely enough space to think let alone hide behind the bulk of the coffee machine to sip at the mug. It haunts him, however, the thought of it innocently huddled on the counterr, doing nothing more than existing but Obi-Wan is consumed by it. “Thank you!” Obi-Wan repeats, his grin verging on plastic, as artificial as the sweetness lingering over the back of his tongue and the canned music spilling from the speakers. It is a small mercy that it is a collection of instrumental tracks instead of the hit singles that would make his ears bleed by the second shift.

Cody hums along with the music, punctuating the beat by tapping a pen against the top of the register. It is a heavyset machine, the buttons polished to high sheen, and the gentle hits from Cody reverberate dully beneath the offbeat tune. Obi-Wan drifts back to his usual spot and picks up the mug. It’s cooled somewhat but still has some warmth lingering so Obi-Wan sets his back against the counter as he picks it up, shielding himself from any potential customers who would wander in for the next couple of minutes. The drink is sweet, warmed through with spices and Obi-Wan groans into the mug, tipping his head back as he drains it.

“Good?” Cody slides along the counter, picking up a cloth from the cleaning solution and beginning to wipe down the already clean wood. He’s a line of heat against Obi-Wan’s side, a blessing given the thin fabric of his shirt as he had discarded his jumper into the breakroom several hours ago.

Obi-Wan nods, his teeth knocking against the edge of the mug as he does so. He licks his lips, chasing remnants of the drink. “Very. What is it?”

“You know how we got that gingerbread syrup that tastes more like faintly sweet nothing?”

Obi-Wan nods, shifting to lean further into Cody.

“I made my own.” Cody shrugs, trying to downplay his creation, but there’s a flush over the tips of his ears and his gaze sneaks back to inspect the mug in Obi-Wan’s hands too many times to be pure coincidence.

“You are a wonder, Cody.”

The bell rings and they both lean out around the machine, relaxing back when they recognise a familiar face, Rex’s blonde hair mussed from the damp cap held in one hand as he knocks his boots clean. Rex snorts and Cody leans back out, the cloth balled up in his hand and ready to be thrown despite the deliberate casual lean against the clounter. “What’s funny?”

“You know you’re beneath mistletoe, right? Bad luck to break tradition.”

It doesn’t save him from the cloth thrown at his head and Rex ducks with a laugh. Cody rocks back onto his heels but Obi-Wan isn’t looking, tracking his movement out of the corner of his eye. Rex is right. The plant is innocuous, a cluster of pale berries amongst the dark green sweep of the leaves, all tied up above Obi-Wan and Cody with a neat red ribbon.

“Fuck,” Cody sighs. He scrubs a hand through his curls, biting at the tip of his tongue. Obi-Wan waits, his heart in his throat, his mind empty, and Cody glances over at him. “Would– Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

Cody cups Obi-Wan’s jaw, drawing him down into a kiss. It’s everything Obi-Wan had hoped it would be and his hands fall to Cody’s waist, gathering his apron in the desperate press of his palms. It’s soft and sweet and Obi-Wan hums low in his throat, leaning closer. Breaking away, Cody leans back in and kisses Obi-Wan once more, his grin wide enough to hurt.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Cody murmurs against Obi-Wan’s mouth. He rocks back on his heels and tugs the neck of his apron down to reveal a graphic of mistletoe inverted. “Started to feel a little desperate.”

“You’re welcome!” Rex calls and Cody curses at him as Obi-Wan folds into laughter, pressing his hands to his burning cheeks.

#codywan #cwfkb2023 #cwfkb #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #star wars #my writing #fanfic #cody x obi wan

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friendlessghoul · 5 months

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Hey there!

So not having read many biographies of Buster, how did he feel about being teamed up with Jimmy Durante? I know Buster got along with Roscoe Arbuckle and was good friends with him, but I'm curious to know if he and Durante got along.

Hey! Sorry for the delayed response, but here is what I was able to find. There isn't a whole lot in the books, but we do get an idea of how he felt, with additional context and all that.

James Curtis - A Filmmaker's Life -

(Pg 416) - Keaton heard that Mayer was out to build up Broadway acclaimed Schnozzola at his expense.

(Pg 418) - From the outset, it was clear to Keaton that he and Jimmy Durante lacked chemistry. “He tried hard, and I tried hard, but our styles, our timing, didn’t jibe.” Each extended the utmost courtesy to the other, Durante making no attempts at upstaging and Keaton giving him all the room he needed, even to the point of suggesting retakes on scenes where the Schnoz appeared to be overshadowed.

(Pg 419) “Durante just can’t keep quiet,” Buster complained. “He’s going to talk no matter what in the thunder happens. You can’t direct him any other way.”

Tom Dardis - Keaton the Man Who Wouldn’t Lie Down -

(Pg 202) - Some people felt that Durante was brought in to fill out Busters pictures, to give them an extra dimension, but this was firmly denied by Weingarten.

No. Keaton was doing a certain amount of business. And we thought that Durante… in this particular role, would be fine, that’s all. We weren’t thinking of bolstering him. There were a number of pictures made, we tried our best. If it wasn’t good enough, that’s another thing. But we didn’t set out to destroy Buster….

(PG 204 - 205) - Buster was unhappy working with Durante for two reasons. He was aware that Mayer had high hopes for “Schnozzola,” and that he was being given parts in Busters films as a showcase for his talent. Buster was quite sure that he and Durante didn’t belong in the same picture:

Then of course, when you give me a Jimmy Durante— they brought him in there to play a part in a picture with me. Well, Durante just can't keep quiet. He’s going to talk no matter what happens. You can’t direct him any other way. Louis B. Mayer liked him very much; it could have been that he was brought out to replace me, I don’t know….

(Pg 205) - Buster disliked working with Durante for personal as well as professional reasons. Durante invariably punctuated all of his conversations with Buster by punching him on the upper arm and chest. Since Durante was, in Buster’s words, “strong as a bull,” this constant rain of punches really hurt, but Buster was simply too polite to tell him to stop. The punching continued unabated for the next year.

(Pg 221) - What did bother him was that MGM was no longer under obligation to star him in his films; the new contract made a point of the fact that he could be starred or co-starred as the studio saw fit. This contract made it possible for MGM to have Jimmy Durante as the official co-star of their films together.

MGM considered Durante fully Keaton’s equal and wanted to be able to indicate it on the film credits.

Buster Keaton & Charles Samuels - My Wonderful World of Slapstick -

(Pg 236) - The experiment I know most about was the one made by Louis B. Mayer when he teamed up Jimmy Durante and myself in a series of features. There is no one in the world like Durante, bless him, but in my opinion, we just did not belong in the same movies.

(Pg 237) - At any rate, as I see it, there was no way to mesh, match, or blend Durante's talents with mine. Yet Jimmy would have been great in the pictures that we did together if he would have been merely to do spots of comedy instead of playing a character all of the way through.

However, he was very good in the one picture we made together that had quality. I think this was because the character he played was very much like the real Jimmy Durante. The picture was Speak Easily, which was based on a Clarance Budington Kelland story and had a sound plot.

From the time Jimmy and I were teamed up I heard rumors that Mr. Mayer was planning to build him up at my expense. This didn't worry me much, although I can't say I liked it. With my record of successful pictures, I felt I was a fixture at M-G-M. I couldn't imagine anyone there wanting to get rid of me. If Jimmy Durante could replace me, it would be on his superior ability. Like a lot of men, the world considers modest and humble I had unshakable confidence in my talent and ability to hold the place that I had staked out for myself. Dana Stevens - Camera Man (Pg ) Though the two were friendly offscreen, Keaton admitted years later that Durante’s constant rain of chummy punches in the arm actually hurt.

It doesn't seem as though there was any animosity towards Durante. Buster appeared to make the best of the situation as MGM was forcing them together and there wasn't much else he could do. He acknowledged that their style just wasn't meant to mix and that was all there was to it. They took plenty of photos together for publicity but not much else? There's probably more information out there but this is the extent in the books that I have. Their personalities didn't mix on or off the screen but it didn't cause any issues between them. I'd imagine partially due to Jimmy's boisterous friendly attitude and Buster being passive and never speaking up. Though I don't think there was much for Buster to have complaints about, other than being hit constantly.

Hope this helps and thank you for the ask! And now photos -

#buster keaton #jimmy durante #MGM #Asks #Ask

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slightlyunconventional · 1 year

Text

told you i was writing a fic B) this took me #hours but i do not regret it. so here have three and a half thousand words worth of k/az and his miserable cold-ridden self !

careful care (in which k/az b/rekker has like the worst cold ever and i/nej cares for him as much as he'll let her)

Kaz didn’t think it was possible to have a personal vendetta against a celestial body, however the shaft of sunlight prying his eyes open seemed determined to prove him wrong. Despite this, the grasps of sleep tried their damnedest to drag him back down into their depths, however his dozy state was quickly eradicated by a sharp tickle in his nose. He found himself muffling a pair of sneezes clumsily into the soft fabric of his duvet.

“-hehH’tTSHhiew! huh’shHHiew!”

The double was followed by a series of shaky coughs directed loosely into his raised fist. This was not about to be a good day. With a groan, Kaz hauled himself out of bed, reluctant to abandon the warmth of his sheets. He grimaced at the spasms of pain that shot up his bad leg as put pressure on it standing up - it always hurt first thing in the morning, but the pain was much more pronounced today. Decidedly ignoring the pain, Kaz began getting dressed. He pulled on a crisp white shirt, black trousers, and fastened a deep maroon tie around his neck, his every move punctuated by increasingly wet sniffles. He swiped up his cane from where it leaned against his bedside table and made his way to the desk to consult his watch - eleven bells. He’d slept in. Panic jolted through him as he realised how long he’d been asleep and very much vulnerable for, hell, any miserable wretch could have done anything to him and he wouldn’t have known. He tried to shake the thought from his head. Kaz coughed sharply again, displeased at the scratch it left behind in his throat. He headed out of the room, across the corridor and into the bathroom, where he slipped off his gloves and set them down beside the sink, before turning on the faucet and splashing water onto his face. As he attempted to tame the pillow-induced mess that was his hair, Kaz noted the pallor taken on by his face, and elected to ignore it, even more so the way it made the pink hue of his nose stand out painfully. He sighed and dried his hands, then his face. Almost immediately, he found himself needing to sneeze again. His only option was to catch them in the towel, so he braced it tighter against his face.

“heh-heHH’sSHHhuuh! -tTSHHh!”

Clicking his tongue in disgust, Kaz slipped his gloves back on, and made his way downstairs.

Kaz descended the creaky stairs of the Slat, gritting his teeth against the twinge his knee gave with every step. He reached the bottom, paused to let his leg rest for even the briefest moment, and rounded the corner into the living room - a room not particularly comfortable or cosy, but enough for the five of them to spend quiet mornings or evenings playing cards games at the table. Wylan, Jesper, and Nina were sitting on the worn sofa, talking animatedly about something Kaz didn’t care to listen in on, for his nose was burning ferociously again. He took a step back, almost backing out of the door, and twisted himself around so he was facing away from the room, and announced his presence with a rather heavy sneeze into his elbow.

“HhuH’dDJSHHhuuh!”

A chorus of “bless you”s sounds from around the room, along with a snarky “Took you long enough,” from Jesper. Kaz nodded in acknowledgement of the blessings, and ignored Jesper’s comment. Inej appeared from the kitchen and approached Kaz. She handed him a steaming mug (one of a set of five gifted to the group by Inej, having each of their initials on it - this one was black with the letter ‘K’ painted in gold) of coffee.

“I made you this as soon as I heard you wake up. Everything okay?”

Kaz took the mug from her. “Thank you,” he said quietly, “I was just tired last night, I think.”

Inej’s eyes narrowed slightly as she regarded him. As though calling himself out for lying, Kaz turned quickly to the side with a sharp set of coughs which shook his chest. He could see the concern growing in Inej’s face, by the shine of her brown eyes and the furrow forming between her dark brows. “Maybe tea would have been better,” she observed, “but I know how much you hate being coddled, so just take care of yourself, alright?”

The taller man nodded stiffly as Inej returned to Jesper, Wylan, and Nina’s lively conversation. Kaz sighed and sat in his chair, allowing himself to relax a little as he listened to them talk - something about a fight in the bar the previous night. He hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath of that. He sipped his coffee, throat half soothed by the drink’s warmth, half irritated further by the bitter taste. The steam wafting up from the mug made his nose threaten to start running, so he pawed at it absently with a gloved knuckle. The faint beginnings of a tickle began to bloom somewhere high, deep, behind the bridge of his nose. He continued rubbing at his nose to try and alleviate the sensation. However, his scrubbing made the tickle quickly worse, barely giving him a chance to think before he was sneezing again.

“-hh-haAHh’sSCHhuh! heh’sSHHhew! H-haahh…” He lifted his head gingerly from his elbow, only to find himself almost straight away gasping deeply as another sneeze made its presence known. “haAH’kKSHHhuuh!”

Kaz sniffled thickly as he received another round of blessings. Everyone except Inej resumed their animated conversation, who kept her eyes trained on Kaz. Kaz knew full well that he’d come down with a cold - and a viciously sneezy one, at that - but he wasn’t willing to admit it to himself, though he was fairly certain that Inej knew about it, somehow. She always did. The smaller girl shifted her chair closer to his, and she produced a box of tissues from under the coffee table, where it was always kept. Kaz looked down at it with supreme displeasure, then back at Inej with the same look. He sniffled a couple of times, thoroughly tempted by the tissues Inej was offering him. Instead of taking them, though, like any sensible person would, he sighed, stood up, and left the room. Kaz caught a faint, “What’s his problem?” from Nina as he turned to go back upstairs.

He swayed slightly on the first few steps, his head hot and fuzzy from standing up so quickly, but forced himself to regain balance, determinedly dismissing the screaming pain radiating from his leg. Finally, Kaz reached his office. He regretted stationing himself at the top of the building more than he cared to quantify. Not even a second after slumping down in his chair was Kaz building up to sneeze yet again. He didn’t much fancy the idea of sneezing into his shirt sleeve again, so he fought desperately against his hitching breaths and prickling nostrils while rummaging frantically through his desk drawers for a handkerchief. His hands shook gradually more and more as the need to sneeze doubled, tripled, quadrupled- then his fingers closed around what he was looking for: a neat square of burgundy fabric patterned faintly with an intricate floral design. Just to his luck, he sneezed, wet and harsh, just before the handkerchief reached his face.

“-hhuUHh’GKKTSHHhuh!” The explosion left a fine mist hanging upon the air in front of him. “Saindts,” he said, appalled at himself, then even further repulsed by the dense congestion in his voice. Annoyed, Kaz sniffed thickly, only to find that his whole head, particularly his sinuses, felt as though it's been packed tightly with cotton wool. Now in the privacy of his own office, he slipped off his gloves, lay back in his chair and huffs, dragging a finger under his nose, rather annoyed by how full it felt. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a cold as awful as this one, and Saints, it progressed fast. He recalled feeling perfectly fine the night before, maybe a sniffle here and there, but nothing more. Now he felt like someone was pinching his nose shut so he couldn’t breathe out of it, forcing him to swallow razor blades, and repeatedly kicking him in the side of the head. He was miserable. With another sigh, Kaz leaned forward and put his head in his hands, balls of his palms pressed firmly onto his eyes, forcefully willing away the headache he knew was well on its way. As if the agony in his head wasn’t enough, the itch in his nose reignited. Kaz lifted his head in annoyance and snatched the red handkerchief back up, just in time for-

“HehH’gkKTSCHHhiiew!” A very wet sneeze, so much so that he had to pinch the handkerchief over his face to wipe the mess from his face as he pulled away from it. “Ugh,” he breathed, grimacing in disgust. Kaz ran a hand through his hair, letting out an annoyed breath. He felt he ought to do something productive, even though he could hardly breathe through his nose and his head was pricking with the ominous threat of a migraine. Returning back to his desk drawers, Kaz produced a binder of paperwork and made a reluctant start on it.

He couldn’t put his heart into it, and his hand nearly refused to keep the pen in its grip, but he managed a fair stack of papers over the next hour, albeit an hour of abundant sniffles and scattered with rattling coughs. By the time he gave up trying to work, his head was pounding deeply, his throat was as raw as anything, and his nose felt stickier with congestion than ever. He thought he’d escaped the sneezing, but much to his dismay, he was hitching again with a ferocious prickle in his nostrils.

“haAHh’kKZSHHhuh! -aAH’KTSCHH-huh!” Two harsh sneezes, aimed lazily into a half-heartedly lifted arm (though most of it is directed into the open air to his side). His breath snagged again immediately after the double, but nothing happened. Kaz felt his brows draw closer together. He was stuck in a torturous, tickly limbo. He lifted his arm closer to his face, as though to coax the sneeze he so desperately needed with a comfortable landing spot - to no avail. In desperation, he shifted his blurry, watery gaze up to the light fixture on the ceiling. The itch climaxed and Kaz gasped deeply. Inej entered the room, pushing the door open in her usual quiet manner. Kaz sneezed, loud and grating.

“HaAHh’kKZZSCHHhuuh! Fucking…” Before he could say anything to Inej, he was dragged into a fit of tearing coughs, each of which feeling like knives against his already sore throat.

“Saints, bless you, Kaz,” said Inej, “That’s one hell of a cold you’ve got there.” Kaz looked up, about to ask how she knew about him being sick, but stopped himself. She always knew.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he said to her, the rasp in his voice amplified tenfold, “I can’t get you sick.”

Inej smiled reassuringly. “You won’t get me sick. Just let me help you, okay?” Kaz hesitated, reluctant to accept her care. At last, he gave her a single, stiff nod. “I’ll fix you some tea, first off. It’ll help with that throat.” Inej disappeared from the room and down the stairs.

Inej headed downstairs and into the kitchen, where she put some water on to boil and got out the ingredients for one of her mother’s tea recipes, one meant to ease congestion and relax an inflamed throat - perfect for Kaz, she thought. While Inej waited for the water to boil, Nina came in.

“What’s up with Brekker, then?” she asked. Inej shook her head, almost in exasperation.

“He’s got a dreadful cold. Sneezing and coughing all over the place,” replied Inej. Nina tilted her head with sympathy.

“Bless him. Want me to see to him? I can probably help him out,” Nina offered, gesturing vaguely with her hands to indicate her Heartrender power. Inej shook her head.

“Thank you, but he’s reluctant to even let me in there with him.” Inej leaned against the counter. “He’s tiring, sometimes, Kaz,” she said with a sigh. Nina snorted.

“You can say that again.”

Inej smiled at her as the water finished boiling. “I’d better get to making his tea,” she said.

“Best hope he doesn’t die drinking something that isn’t pitch-black coffee, eh?” teased Nina, “Good luck with him. Let me know if you need any help, sweet.”

Inej nodded as Nina left the room with a little wave. She sighed again and began preparing the tea, a soothing floral blend with a teaspoon of honey stirred in. Inej picked up the mug and made her way back upstairs, careful not to spill any on her way up. She wondered why Kaz insisted on having his office on the top floor, what with his cane and everything.

When she reached Kaz’s room, she tapped on the door, then pushed it open slowly when she received no reply. Inej was met with a sight she didn’t expect - Kaz Brekker, asleep at his desk, head resting upon his folded arms. She’d hardly been downstairs ten minutes and he’d already fallen asleep. He must really not be feeling good, she thought with worry. Kaz’s breathing was soft, though slightly laboured due to congestion. Inej set the mug down on the desk beside him and returned to the door, unhooking his high-collared great-coat from the peg on the back of it. She draped it over his sleeping form, tucking it snugly around his shoulders. Then, she picked up a pen and a scrap of paper from the desk and wrote a note in her tidy handwriting - “Sorry if the tea is cold, I didn’t want to wake you. Feel better soon.” She signed off the note with a tiny love heart and placed it next to the mug. There wasn’t much else Inej could do, so she decided to head back downstairs. As she reached the bottom, she saw Nina again who cast her a puzzled glance.

“Asleep,” said Inej. Nina mouthed “Ah,” then offered her arm to Inej who gratefully looped her own arm through Nina’s.

“We’re playing blackjack in here, if you want to join us. It’s a bit… chaotic, though. Jesper doesn’t seem to know how to count to twenty-one.” Inej giggled at that, and allowed Nina to lead her into the living room.

The four of them played cards for a couple of hours, and Inej let her worries about Kaz ease during their rowdy games. Nina was right - Jesper kept insisting that seven and nine summed to twenty-one, despite Wylan repeatedly telling him that that actually makes sixteen. He also kept having to be reminded that an ace card doubles as both one and eleven, due to his uproar when Nina supposedly won with a ten and an ace. “But that only makes eleven!” he’d shouted amidst Inej’s giddy peals of laughter and Nina’s whoops of victory. After they finished what felt like their hundredth game, Inej lay back in her seat, face aching from grinning and her heart sufficiently full. Jesper and Nina announced that they were going to make dinner together (definitely a bad combination in the kitchen) and took off through the door. As they left, Wylan and Inej heard a sneeze echo through the Slat’s walls. Being two stories above them, the sound was muffled, but it was still evident that it was loud and harsh. They exchanged concerned glances. Inej sighed.

“He’s awake. I’d better go and check on him,” she said. Wylan nodded, muttering something about making sure the building doesn’t burn down, before hurrying off to the kitchen. Inej headed for the stairs, picking up the pace as another sneeze reverberated from above her. When she reached Kaz’s room, he was standing up, a hand braced against his desk to keep himself upright. He exploded into a fit of wracking coughs, the outburst topped off with a third wrenching sneeze.

“h-huuhh…heh-ehHH’ZZSCHHhiew!” He looked doubly exhausted afterwards. His nose was a brilliant shade of red by this point, and his eyes possessed a distinct glassy quality that wasn’t nearly as evident two hours prior.

“Kaz,” Inej said quietly.

“I’m- I’m okay,” said Kaz, voice hoarse from all the coughs and sneezes tearing up his throat.

“Kaz,” she repeated, voice still gentle but firmer than before. He sighed, shoulders sagging.

“Inej, I’m- I don’t-” He closed his eyes, sighed again, and continued, “‘m cold, head hurts, and I keep… keep-” His breath caught, “-s-sdeezihH-!” The tail end of his sentence was lifted by the need to sneeze, and he did so, into his elbow.

“h-haAHh’zZSHHhew! Ohh…” The sneeze conveyed perfectly the sheer exhaustion in Kaz’s bones to Inej.

“Saints’ blessings,” she said, head tilted in sympathy, “You really ought to get some sleep. Though, have you eaten today?”

Kaz paused, then shook his head hesitantly. “Oh, Kaz,” Inej said softly. She ponders for a moment, “Well, do you feel like eating anything?” He shook his head again, knuckling at his nose with one hand. Clearly, he noticed the way Inej deflated a little at his words, and said, voice thick with miserable congestion, “I cad try to… to eat somethidng.”

Inej smiled. “That’s good enough for me,” she said, “Jesper and Nina are cooking tonight - terrifying, I know -” she added upon seeing Kaz’s expression, “so I can bring you up a plate if you like?”

Kaz shook his head at her. “I haven’t moved from here all day, practically. I thidk my leg would just about give up if I didn’t move myself somewhere,” he said, still sniffling.

“Alright,” Inej replied, “Can I at least get you to blow your nose? You sound awfully stuffed up.”

“Fine,” Kaz said. Inej smiled softly again, and picked up the red handkerchief from his desk. “Ah- that’s, uh,” Kaz started. Inej’s brows lifted in realisation.

“Right,” she said, “I’ll get some tissues.”

Dinner went mostly uneventfully. Nobody paid much mind to Kaz’s affliction, for which he was very grateful. He couldn’t find his appetite - something he knew would upset Inej - so he spent most of the time pushing food around his plate with a fork, sniffling thickly all the while. Inej cast him a few sideways glances that he determinedly ignored. He’d already let his guard down enough. The congestion was still heavy in his head, forcing him to breathe through his mouth, which irritated his inflamed throat more than Kaz thought was even possible. That meant he had to force back a number of coughing fits throughout the meal. He found himself thoroughly distracted, and dare he say bored, while the others talked around him, though even if he wanted to, it wasn’t like he’d actually be able to get a word in edgeways. He was beginning to zone out, when suddenly, his nose began burning with an incessant tickle, one so fiery and abundant that there was nothing he could do to stop the oncoming outbursts. He pushed his chair quickly back from the table, chest heaving rapidly. The piercing squeal of the seat against the floor pulled four sets of eyes onto him, but he couldn’t be bothered to care that he was being watched for his nose was too busy practically twitching with need as he ducked desperately into the crook of his arm to muffle a series of sneezes.

“heh-haAH-hHH’KZZSCHHhiew! ‘hKXTSCHhuuh! haAh’gkKSCHH-huh! huUHh’kKXZSCHhew! ‘gGKTSCHHh!” Five sneezes burst from him, each one heavier and messier than the last. Once he was done, his chest was rising and falling in exhausted pants, and it was all he could do to hide his streaming nose behind his gloved hand. The table seemed stunned into silence, and for good reason - not one of them (not even Kaz himself) had ever witnessed him sneeze like that before. Kaz avoided meeting anyone’s gaze. Inej was the first to act, since she had thorough experience with sick Barrel bosses. She tapped his shoulder gently as he attempted to recover from the wrenching fit.

“I think it’s time you got some rest, hey?” she murmured to him. Kaz nodded vaguely, blearily. Inej stood up, then held her arms out as a caution for Kaz while he jerkily hauled himself out of his own chair.

Once they finally reached Kaz’s room, Inej sat him down on his bed.

“I’ll leave you to sort yourself out in a minute - I’m sure you don’t want me stripping you down and tucking you in,” she said with a wink, “How’s that head?”

Kaz lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Still hurts,” he mumbled tiredly. She nodded.

“I’ll get a glass of water, then. Do you mind if I check you for fever? I’d just have to touch your cheeks and forehead. It’s fine if not, though.” Kaz hesitated, looking wary, but finally he nodded. Inej sat down on the bed next to him and gently pressed the backs of her fingers to Kaz’s face, first to each of his cheeks, and then to his forehead. Throughout the process, she repeated to him, barely a whisper, “I’m here, you’re safe, we’re safe.” Her soft voice threatened to slide his eyes shut. She took her hand from his face.

“You’re a little warm, but it should clear up after you get some sleep.” Kaz nodded, eyes half-lidded as though he was about to drift off where he was sat. He knuckled gently at his nose again, but the touch teased two more sneezes out of him which he just barely caught in exhausted hands.

“heh-hehH’zZSHhiew! huh’tshHHhuh! Mmh…” Inej smiled sympathetically.

“Get yourself changed, okay? I can’t have you falling asleep in a shirt and tie. I’ll fetch that water.”

#YAY!!#this took ages but i did have a good time writing it sooo #apologies also for any errors with tense since the plan i wrote for this was in present tense but the fic itself is in past tense #so very sorry for any present tense that possibly snuck in #snz #s/hadow and b/one #snzblr #snz kink #snz blog #snzario #sneeze kink #snzfic

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 1 year

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HERE, KITTY, KITTY (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Aizawa x Black!Catgirl!Reader

Synopsis: In which you find yourself in the weirdest predicament after you’re scooped up and taken to a cat cafe after you decide to take the streets to fight some crime, and you’re adopted by your very anti-social and hot coworker Aizawa aka Eraserhead.

Story Warnings: Smutty smut, 18+ (MINORS GET AWAY), Swearing, Adult!Reader, Ear and Tail Stroking, Light Degradation, Spanking, Exhibitionism, Multiple Positions, Creampie, Unprotected PIV Sex, Facial, Scent Play, Collaring, Deepthroat, Cunnlingus, Begging, Edgeplay, Power Play, Rope Play/Shibari, Master Kink, Some Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Some Action

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Had some time on my hands in between writing papers to update. I fucking hate school man OH MY GOD...i can't wait to graduate next month. Stay safe, y'all & enjoy! -Jazz

Read on AO3 here!

Other Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Twenty-Five.

***********

SEVEN.

If Eri has any aspirations of being a singer, she’d put Mariah Carey’s career in a fucking coffin with the sheer volume of her wailing.

Aizawa groans in agony and annoyance at the high–pitched sobs and wails that Eri has been making since early this morning when she found her precious pet missing. It only got worse when Aizawa told her the black kitten they had both grown accustomed to had run away. He didn’t dare mention the crazy feline jumped out his window and fled across campus, never to be seen again. He didn’t want to hear how loud Eri could get if she learned that.

He did everything to try and calm her down before he was due for work in an hour, but nothing seemed to work, not even the promise of pancakes for dinner. And Eri loved pancakes for dinner! She just stood in her PJs and wailed, her cute little face as red as a tomato and contorted in sheer, internal pain and anguish.

“I. W-Want. M-My. Kitty!” she wails, each word punctuated by a sniffle.

Aizawa stares down at his poor daughter, wishing there was something he could do. He could possibly adopt another cat, but with how close Eri became with that crazy-ass black kitty, can he count on her doing the same with another?

“Honey, I’m sorry,” he laments, kneeling down to wipe at her tears. “I know you miss her, but I guess she just loved the outdoors more.”

That was the wrong thing to say because Eri only cries harder, her tiny chest heaving with the sobs that break from her throat. Aizawa swears under his breath. At this rate, she’ll never calm down before he’s due for work, which starts in an hour. He hasn’t showered, changed out of his PJs, or had his coffee. And Aizawa needs his coffee. Otherwise, his head will be fucked up all day.

However, when he hears a blessed knock at the door, he's sure he has a guardian angel. “Stay here,” he tells Eri before getting up to hurry to his door. He opens it, finding Mic standing there in his gym clothes and carrying a shitload of stuff for Eri in a backpack that he has reserved only for her: coloring books, juice boxes; Disney DVDs; basically, anything that can distract a child long enough to stop crying.

Aizawa has never been happier to see his friend. He was hesitant about calling Mic over here on his day off, but Mic also specifically told him that if Aizawa is ever in trouble, Mic is always there. And now, Aizawa is drowning in trouble.

“Thank God you’re here,” he sighs, relieved as he pulls Mic into his dorm. “Sorry to call on your day off, but I don’t know what the fuck to do. She just keeps screaming. And I have to teach class in an hour.”

He motions towards Eri who is now sitting on the couch, sobbing away into her hands. Mic immediately puts the backpack down without another word and swoops in to rectify the situation.

“Heeeey, little listener!” he greets the red-faced girl, plastering on a big smile. “Uncle Mic is here! Now what’s all this about you crying, huh?” He plops down next to her, placing an ankle on his lap and looping an arm behind the couch.

Eri only stops crying momentarily to tell him what happened, but it comes out as a whine more than anything. “M-My kitty ran awaaaay!”

Aizawa resists the urge to cover his eyes at her wails. He’s never seen her like this before. He’s always felt that he did his best to ensure Eri was at her happiest, even adopting a cat for her to make sure she wasn’t that lonely while he was teaching or patrolling. There aren't too many young kids at UA (her age, anyway) and he knows it would be hard for her to interact with children because of what she’s been through with Overhaul.

His hands clench as he remembers that time, spending sleepless nights watching over Eri in case she wet the bed again or had another night terror. He vowed then to make her the happiest, but now, seeing her with her face wet and damn near inconsolable, he feels like a failure.

Mic tuts at his “niece’s” crying and scoots closer to her. “Awww, honey,” he coos, wrapping an arm around her head, and cradling it to his chest. “It’s okay.”

“What if she gets hurt?” she sobs into Mic’s chest. “What if she never comes back? W-What if...what if…” Her words fall into broken syllables as she continues to bawl into Mic’s chest, wetting up his pink shirt.

“You’re sure you wanna watch her on your day off?” Aizawa asks nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. Mic looks at him like he’s insane. “You kidding? I’m this girl’s uncle which means I’m her second dad. If she needs me, I’m here.”

Aizawa has never been more grateful to have such a good friend. Quickly, he goes to Eri and kneels in front of her, slowly moving her hands from her face. “Hey, sweetie, Daddy has to go to work, okay?” he gently says.

He’s never seen such terror in her eyes before. She frantically shakes her head, squeezing his hands in hers. “No, Daddy!” she sobs, tearing Aizawa’s heart in two. “Don’t go!”

Aizawa would gladly create a fake villain attack himself to spare himself a day with her, but he knows his responsibilities, and that includes his students. “Puddin’, I’ve got to,” he soothes her, “but listen: how does the sound of ice cream for lunch sound?”

Eri doesn’t respond nor does she smile. Big, fat tears continue to slide down her cheeks that Aizawa wipes away. “I’ll come back and get you on my break. Be good.”

He presses a kiss to her cheek before standing and glaring down at Mic in a warning. “If I come back her and see her like this, I’ll–”

“You’ve got an hour to get ready,” Mic cuts in, barely even heading Aizawa’s warning. “If I were you, I’d stop talking and get ready. Chop, chop!” He claps twice before grinning reassuringly at his friend. “Relax, Shouta; she’s in good hands.”

Without any more time to spare, Aizawa sprints into his bedroom to get ready for work, his heart splintering at the sound of his daughter’s cries.

***********

Aizawa has never felt more hopeless than watching his little Eri stare down at her ice cream like she’s expecting the damn thing to abandon her too hours later around lunchtime.

Throughout the day, he’s been worrying over her, wondering if she ever stopped crying or if the cops were called because of her constant wailing. Mic never called or texted him, so he just assumed everything was fine.

However, when he went to pick her up for lunch, she wasn’t the hyper, bubbly girl he’s come to know and love. She was despondent and blue, not even touching smiling at him when he came to pick her up.

She sits in front of him now at her favorite, quaint little ice cream shop several blocks away from UA campus, a tight-lipped expression on her face and sadness in her amber eyes. “How’s your ice cream?” he asks, trying in vain to make today seem normal. “You barely touched it, y’know. I thought you liked cookies n’ creme.”

Eri barely looks at him. Despite looking so cute in her pigtails and frilly dress, it means nothing without her bright smile to add to the outfit. Aizawa sighs, realizing this isn’t going to work. He pushes his cup of chocolate ice cream to the side and leans over to tilt her chin up with his thumb. “Eri, honey, I know you’re upset about the cat running off, and I’m sorry that she did. I know you really cared about her.”

The little girl slowly nods and Aizawa cringes. He feels like he just set his daughter up to grieve for her pet as if the animal is worm food by now. Goddammit. “How about we see if we can find her, hm?” he blurts, going with the first idea he has to fix the situation. “Maybe scout the streets and put out posters.”

Now, Eri perks up, the light coming back into her eyes. “Really?” she asks curiously, her eyebrows knitting together only adding to her cuteness. Aizawa nods, just happy to see her smile again. He’d take her to the damn moon to find this cat if it meant he could see her smile. “I’m sure she didn’t go far,” he reassures her. “She’s probably closer than we think she is.”

“Aizawa?”

He isn’t sure why he doesn’t recognize your voice when he hears it, especially the way his last name sounds on it: like music. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t heard it in a minute since you supposedly went missing this weekend, but the way his body reacts to the sound of it hits all the same–he instantly freezes and his cock is rock hard.

It doesn’t get any better when he turns around to see you standing there, a duffle bag hanging over your arm and an iced coffee in your hand. His eyes greedily and shamelessly trail down your form, drinking in the way you look in your athletic gear–those tight black spandex pants that he’s eager to see from behind and one of those cropped Sherpa pullovers with the zipper pulled down enough to show him a peek of your pink sports bra and the slight curve of your breasts.

'Oh, my God,' he thinks. Are you fucking kidding him right now?

Your eyes widen at the sight of him and your trail shoots up straight, meaning you’re happy to see him. Happy to see him. “I didn’t know you came here!” you giggle, motioning towards the little shop. “I always come here for the coffee.” You shake your iced coffee at him that he didn’t notice until now because he was too busy thinking about spending you over.

“I’m not used to seein’ you out and about either,” you playfully say, appearing easy-going and laidback. The last thing he wants to do is give you the wrong impression. So he closes his mouth (which was slightly parted at the sight of you) and tries to act as normal as possible.

“U-Uh, you too,” he stutters. “Um…you look…different. I-I mean out of your work clothes.”

He makes a note to drink bleach later. 'Goddammit.' You don’t seem to think it’s a weird response though. You just giggle that cute little laugh that makes his heart flutter. “Just got done with a yoga class. You look quite different yourself.” She nods at his attire that he changed into before lunch: a loose black tee, jeans, and some boots with his hair tied back into a loose ponytail. Underneath your gaze though, he feels naked.

“Daddy?” Eri’s soft, little voice drifts to his ears, and he realizes that he is, in fact, sitting with his daughter while thirsting over his crush.

You gasp, covering your mouth embarrassingly. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” you quickly apologize. “I totally ruined your date!”

Aizawa looks at Eri who curiously stares up at you. “No, it’s completely okay,” he chuckles, liking your humor. “Eri, this is my good friend, Y/N. She works with me at UA. Y/N, this is my…” His mind pauses, wondering if he should flat-out tell you he has a kid. Niece? Little sister? Cousin? “Daughter,” he finally decides, hating to lie to you.

Your wide eyes tick from him to Eri, realizing setting in. “Oh!” you exclaim, looking surprised but not spooked. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Eri. Such a pretty girl you are.” You suddenly gasp, your eyes falling to the buttons decorating the strap of her little pink messenger bag. “And you like Sailor Moon? You have great taste!”

Eri’s eyes brighten, all of her gloominess suddenly gone. “Who’s your favorite Scout?” you ask curiously. Eri is more than happy to respond. “Sailor Mercury,” she giggles. “I have a Luna plushy too!” She sits up straighter, all gloominess gone the instant you begin engaging in conversation with her.

You give her a shocked, open-mouthed look, eyes wide and so expressive that Aizawa wants to laugh. “Mine too! I don’t have a plushie, so you’re lucky. Do you have any more plushies I can be jealous of?” The white-haired little girl practically falls out of her chair to get out her little tablet and show you pictures of all of her plushies.

As she feverishly talks about each one, you nod along and pay close attention to her, giving eye contact as needed. Aizawa watches in astonishment and utter adoration for you. He’s never seen someone interact with a child in such a way, and Eri so excitedly to talk to an adult she barely knows. He can almost see this being a new normal, you sitting on his couch as Eri talks about her day, maybe the both of you coloring together before he comes home from patrols and you snuggle the night away.

He scowls in confusion at the thought. ‘Where the fuck did that come from?’ he thinks.

“Woooww, Eri,” you gasp, gaining his attention. Your obviously over-exaggerating to make the little girl pleased with herself. “You must be rich havin’ all those in your room.”

Eri giggles at this, shaking her head. “Daddy got them for me!” she proudly states, grinning up at you. “Except for the Pikachu one. My uncle Mic got it for me for Christmas.”

“Well, that’s very nice of both them,” you say and shoot Aizawa a wink. You suddenly begin to back away from their table, looking sheepish. “Well, I took up a lot of your time already, so I’ll just–“

“Don’t you want some ice cream too?” Eri asks, batting those pretty lashes at you that would make anyone give into her. Aizawa’s eyes widen at her suggestion and he quickly reacts. “Uh, Eri,” he nervously replies, “Y/N already has plans. We don’t wanna ruin them.”

“I actually don’t have any plans,” you reply, looking flushed under the spring sun.“I took off today to run some errands and I was just gonna go home to do laundry…but that can wait, if you’re okay with me joinin’ you.” Your tail swishes quizzically, curling at the tip as you anticipate Aizawa’s answer.

He is sold the minute he gets a look at that damn tail. “Make room, Eri,” he says as he goes to fetch a chair for you.

You thank him and sit down next to Eri, showing her your coffee. “I don’t need any ice cream, either. I’m good with just the caffeine.” You sit with your legs crossed and your ears tiled forward and slightly angled to the side. They twitch every so often when you hear a bird or the honking of a car. Aizawa thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world. He has to ball his hands up into fists to keep from reaching out and petting them.

Not wanting to be silent the whole time you’re here, he decides to make some kind of conversation. “Nemuri mentioned you went MIA this weekend,” he says, trying to be as easy-going as possible. “Everything okay?”

Your eyes widen an inch and your ears begin to swivel nervously. You must not have been expecting that question. But then your ears perk back up and you give him a big, wide smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah!” you reply, a little too enthusiastically Aizawa notices. “I had went out of town to visit my folks and it slipped my mind to call her beforehand. Guess you can imagine how that resolved itself.”

Though you laugh it off, Aizawa can’t help but feel like you’re not quite being honest about your night. But then again, it isn’t any of your business. He isn’t your dad or your boyfriend. “So what did you do this weekend?” you ask, smiling down at Eri.

“We got a kitty!” Eri blurts out, unable to keep the secret in. Aizawa gives her a fixed stare. “Eri!” he hisses to which Eri immediately covers her mouth, horrified.

You look confused more than anything. “Nezu lets pets into the dorms now? He sounded pretty serious about that rule when we went over everything when I moved into the faculty dorms.”

Aizawa huffs, pinching his sinuses. Eri’s filter erasure is usually endearing, but now, all he wants to do is slap a hand on her mouth. “He doesn’t,” he sighs. “I had adopted a cat for Eri this weekend, but the damn thing ran off as soon as I got her. Guess she just liked the outdoors more.”

“We’re gonna make posters and search for her later,” Eri informs you to which you nod understandably.

You glance at Aizawa, a hint of playfulness in your gaze. “Well, your secret is safe with me,” you say with a playful wink that tugs at Aizawa’s heartstrings. “And I know your kitty will come back to you. They’re never that far away.”

Eri smiles at your advice, looking hopeful. Aizawa has never wanted to kiss someone more until you sat down and opened your mouth.

Suddenly, Eri gasps, her eyes animatedly wide. “Daddy, you didn't tell Y/N who your favorite Sailor Scout is!” she announces, very, very loudly. Aizawa has never wanted to choke a kid out more than his own daughter as you throw your head back and laugh.

The rest of the lunch lasts for fifteen minutes until it’s time to head back to work. As you and Aizawa walk alongside each other up the trail to campus, Eri is busy picking as many flowers as she can: daises; daffodils; lilacs. Supposedly, she’s going to put them all around Aizawa’s dorm to “brighten up the room”. You thought it was adorable.

Aizawa ticks his eyes over at you briefly, his heart thundering in his chest. 'Say something, idiot!'

“Thanks for joinin’ us today,” he says, grabbing your attention. He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Sorry Eri put you on the spot like that. She gets real excited sometimes.”

“Don’t sweat it,” you giggle, waving a passive hand. “She’s the cutest little thing. If anything, I should be thanking you for letting me hang with you guys. It was fun.” The cherry blossoms are beginning to bloom and he notices one petal dusting your shoulder.

“Can I walk you back to your dorm?” he asks, surprising you and himself with the sudden suggestion. You don’t look put off by it though, but your ears still nervously twitch. “U-uh sure, if it’s not any trouble for you. I could definitely use the company.”

Aizawa internally smiles as the two of you begin to walk along the trail leading to the faculty dorms with Eri in tow. You two begin to fall in stride, walking at the same pace. It feels easy to do, Aizawa finds, and he likes doing it. Even the silence between you isn’t tense or awkward but peaceful; content.

“I hope I didn’t overstep earlier,” you suddenly say, placing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I really didn’t know you had a daughter and I didn’t wanna assume anything.”

Aizawa shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I keep Eri a secret for a reason: she’s a very bright little girl with a very powerful quirk. A lot of people are lookin’ to have that to themselves, so Nezu, the rest of the UA staff, and I basically protect her while she’s here. She stays in the dorms so Nezu can keep an eye on her and so I can ensure that she’s safe.”

You nod understandably at the new information. “Well, she certainly made a good choice choosing you as her guardian,” you softly pronounce. “I see the way you interact with your students. They really like you, Aizawa.”

Aizawa flushes at the genuine nature behind your words. “They can be good kids,” he admits, thinking about his students. “When they’re not stressin’ me the fuck out.”

“Aren’t all kids stressful in some way?” you lightly laugh. Your smile is just as dazzling and illuminating as the spring sun shining above. “I’m sure you know all about that as a counselor,” he says, hoping you’ll take the hint and tell him all about it. He wants to know everything about you…if you’ll let him.

You groan, rolling your eyes. “You don't even know the half of it. Sometimes, them kids come into my office and it’s like pullin’ teeth tryna talk to them.”

Aizawa nods, knowing a few students in mind that he can put into that category. “But if I can help at least one kid with their problems as they go through the craziness of puberty and becoming a hero, who am I to complain? I love what I do for these kids.”

The genuine and true twinkle in your eyes and the soft passion in your voice makes Aizawa realize how seriously you take your job. It isn’t just a good paycheck or benefits for you–it’s much more, and it all starts with the kids. “I can tell you do,” he softly utters, adoring you more and more with each second he spends with you out here.

You suddenly stop and stare at him, wearing an expression Aizawa can’t quite place. However, your pupils are dilated and your tail swishes slowly between your thighs, relaxed and…happy? Aizawa needs to get better with reading cats if he’s going to be able to read you better.

Suddenly, you snap back into yourself and clear your throat. “U-Um, this is me,” you stutter, nodding up at the dorm windows. “I’m pretty close to Nemuri’s dorm.”

Disappointment blooms in Aizawa, but he shoves it away, feeling stupid. All he did was walk you back to your dorm. Of course, it was bound to end! But damn, does he want it to last a little longer, just to stand here and look at you under the sun rays and cherry blossoms. You give him a smile that sends the butterflies into a frenzy. “Thanks for walkin’ me, Aizawa.”

“Call me Shouta,” he replies, surprising even himself with his boldness. “And you’re welcome.” But you don’t turn to walk away immediately. He doesn’t know why, but he takes advantage of it. “You’ve got somethin’ in your hair.” His eyes fix on the pink cherry blossom petal caught in your hair by your ear.

You go to try and blindly find it, but he stops you by quickly swooping in and brushing one of your pointed ears to pluck the petal out. As he does, his thumb lightly brushes your ear, causing it to twitch slightly. He nearly melts at the feeling of your soft fur on his skin and he itches to touch the rest of you. He isn’t sure what he would’ve done if Eri didn’t suddenly yell at the top of her lungs, consequently ruining the moment.

“Daddy!” She yells from across campus, making you both jump back away from what could have transpired between you. “We have to go or you’ll be late for your next class! Uncle Mic is waiting for us!”

You look at him with wide eyes and a very straight tail. 'Yep. Definitely happy.'

“Duty calls, I guess,” you sheepishly giggle. “I’ll see you later, Shouta.” You begin to walk to the dorms and he lets you, no matter how hard he is from you saying his first name. He watches you until you finally disappear into the building, taking the scent of your perfume with you.

As he walks back to meet with his daughter and go to work, he’s all smiles.

#shouta aizawa #shoutaaa #smutty smut #my fic shit #my works #here kitty kitty #bnha smut #black coded reader #black fanfic writer #black writers #aizawa x black!reader #shouta aizawa x black!reader

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igotanidea · 1 year

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Inspiration: Matt Murdock x fem!writer!reader

request : poet reader who has a blind sister/father, so she publishes her poetry also in braille, she and Matt met in a park and he unknowingly became her muse. He doesn't know about it, that's until Karen takes him and Foggy to some poetry night and then the cat is out of the bag

Thank you for the request @somest1. <3

***

When the words does not fit in my mouth

I found a way to let them out

Without speaking out loud

Just barely above the whisper

Scribbling on paper

“Hi, Dad.” A young girl appeared in the door of the day center room, throwing her backpack on the couch and focusing solely on the person sitting by the table “How was your day?”

“Surprisingly busy” the man answered smiling widely “I’ve been reading your newest works. Good thing those come in Braille now. Otherwise you would be forced to spend all your days here and read it to me.”

Y/N’s father started losing his sight when the girl was about 15, and three years later became fully blind. With Y/N’s mum gone and her being an only child all the duties and the care responsibility of her dad fell upon her. Those were dark times, when they were both struggling to keep afloat since the annuities were never enough for the expenses. The girl was studying and working, leaving her dad with the unhealthy amount of guilt that were to stay with him forever. However, one good thing came from all that situation. Y/N started writing. Poety, prose, all of it. It was her emotion outlet, a way to escape the reality. Initially, she kept it a secret, but one day, her English teacher found the notebook she left on the desk, leaving school in haze rushing home to take care of her dad. With the slight amount of guilt the lecturer read a few paragraphs of her work and got thunderstruck – this girl definitely had talent. The one he hasn’t seen for a long, long time and he made it his personal mission to help his student show it to the world. Knowing her family situation she could use help in the matter.

Next day, when Y/N got to school, tired, stressed and sleepy, much to her terror she was called to the teacher’s office.

“Mr. Thompson? You called for me?” she peeked through the door, concern on her face. She didn’t need trouble.

“Y/N, yes, come on in please, we have something important to talk about.” The teacher pointed towards the chair in front of his desk and the girl sank in it.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Wrong? Why would you think so?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’m rather the quiet student. I try to keep a low profile so if you called me here that must mean I’m in trouble….”

“Oh my dear girl. It’s quite the opposite.” Y/N frowned not sure if she could trust the words coming out of her teacher’s mouth. “I think you left something in the class yesterday.” Thompson continued, reaching for her notebook.

“Oh….” She gasped, her eyes growing wide

“I hope you can forgive me, but I couldn’t help peeking inside …..”

“It’s fine.” She muttered retrieving her property and hugging it close to her chest. “Those are just stupid thoughts of a stupid person. A waste of time and paper.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Yes. I have a lot on my head and this graphomania keeps me sane. However crazy and pathetic this may sound.”

“I can’t believe it” Thompson shook his head “Listen to me, Y/N. This is really, really good. You don’t even realize the talent you have been blessed with.”

“Wha…. What?” she heard the words but somehow she lost the ability to understand the meaning behind them. “What are you talking about?”

“Take it from the person who read a lot in their life. Classic, modern, students’ essays, poems…. Some better and some worse. What you wrote has a huge potential. We may have to work on your grammar, punctuation and descriptions, but apart from that…. Y/N, have you ever considered becoming a writer?”

She did not. But she became one. Putting a lot of hard work into perfecting her creative workshop, improving metaphors and becoming lighter and more fluent with words. It came with a cost of rearranging her own life, making some ground rules for herself and her father and learning to accept help, but due to her persistency and ambition she finally published her first novel. It did not become a bestseller right away neither did it make her famous, but it helped her gather some much needed money to bounce back and cover some of the medical bills. A ray of sunshine she needed, a push towards her next novels and the very first poetry book. Slowly, yet stubbornly she warmed her places into the heart of readers and started making real money. In her early twenties she had enough to provide her father with professional medical help and put him into special daycare with people who have been helping him during the day, while she was at work. Apart from her creative writing Y/N also had a job as a freelancer, writing for some magazines. She claimed it was giving her inspiration. Her dad was so proud and yet, so sad that because of his condition he was not able to get to know his daughter’s work. He was not a fan of audio recording, so after a while Y/N made it possible in her publishing company that every time her work came out, they made one personalized copy in Braille for her dad. And he loved the idea, using all of his free time to catch up on reading. He was at the facility for a couple years now, becoming everyone’s favorite patient.

“You know I’m just a call away if you need your own lector, dad” she smiled, grabbing his hand. “I am never too busy for you.”

“Nah. I would never bother you with it. You gave up so much for me when you were a teenager. And now, you build a life for yourself, you should enjoy it. However, I would be even happier if you had someone special in your life….”

“Dad!” she gasped

“What? Is it a crime to care about one’s daughter well-being? I know you are strong, but carrying the weight of the world on your shoulder alone is not good. You deserve someone who will care about you and love you. Not just your characters, even if they are relatable.”

“good thing I did not decide to write fantasy.” Y/N laughed. “Bet you wouldn’t like that.”

“I would love everything coming out of your stable, honey. Speaking of which, are you going to publish something new soon?”

“I don’t know…. “ she sighed “I’m struggling with afflatus lately. Which is bad since my agent is staging a reading night for my fans and without consulting me, promised them I would present something new. A start of a new novel, unpublished and highly involving. I could kill her for doing shit like this sometimes.”

“Seems like you like her.” Her dad smiled, knowing his daughter well enough.

“She keeps me on my feet, that’s for sure” Y/N shrugged “but now, I have like three weeks to produce a few chapters of new book and I’m getting nervous.”

“Maybe you should take a day off from work? From what I remember, a solitary walks in the park were always beneficial for your inspiration.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right…. I mean, what do I have to lose, right? If nothing better at least I will have a free day away from the work mayhem.”

***

Next day she took her notebook and favorite pen, bough a giant and ridiculously expensive coffee and went for a walk. Just letting her thoughts flew though her freely, feeling the spring air and chirping birds, trying her best not to get frustrated.

“Come on….” She muttered aiming at her brain “work…”

Sighing deeply, she sank onto the bench, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead.

“You mind if I sit here?” a deep, male voice came from above her and she nodded. “I need a verbal confirmation” he laughed lightly and those words made her look up, realizing her faux pas.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…..”

“It’s all right. It’s actually a bit relieving knowing not everyone notice my blindness as the first thing. So, may I …..?”

“Yes, please, of course. I was just leaving anyway.”

“Why? Did I startle you?” he asked

“I’m not easily intimidated” she smirked “Just a bit frustrated.”

“And why is that?”

“Lack of inspiration. By the way I’m Y/N.”

“Matt” he reached out and she shook his hand “nice to meet you. Inspiration, huh? So what, you are a journalist?”

“Sort of. What gave me away?”

“You have ink on your fingers. And your wrist is slightly swollen, a clear sign of writing too much on the computer keyboard. And I heard rustling of the pages in the notebook. So, clear conclusion.”

“Oh, wow. Are you sure you’re blind or is that only a way to get girls interested and entice her to your house?”

“You got sharp tongue. Definitely a journalist. My friend, Karen is quite similar.” he grinned “I can assure you, I’m not a creep. I am blind, it just comes with heightened other senses.”

“Let’s say I believe you. I mean, my father is sightless too and his hearing is just incredible. But now let me guess, you are a detective, right? With such perceptive skills I can’t see you doing anything else.”

“Close enough. I do a lot of detective work.”

“Really?”

“You wanna hear about it?”

***

Both of them believed this was a one-time accidental meeting and they would never see each other again. However, living in the same city, even big, led to another and another and another. Y/N never looked for Matt, never searched his law firm or stalk him on the Internet and Matt did not search for her name in the magazines. They were just meeting in the part occasionally, even if those occasions were more and more often. They just felt good in each other’s company. Simple as it was. What Matt didn’t realize was that those meetings where somewhat helpful in the light of her upcoming reading.

***

“Matt! Foggy!” Karen burst through the door to the office “have you ever heard of Y/N Y/L/N?”

“The writer?” Foggy muttered “meet my ear. Why?”

“Met your ear? Huh. She’s really talented and a lot of people try to reach to her but she just avoids interviews like a plague.”

“Seems like a reasonable person” Matt muttered, not connecting the dots. He knew Y/N, but not her last name and the fact that she was a journalist just slipped his mind.

“She has a author’s evening today and I was wondering that maybe I could get her to talk…..”

“Why do I have the feeling like you will force us to join you?” Foggy groaned

“Cause I will.”

***

Y/N was pacing nervously watching more and more people gather around at the meeting. Up to this point she didn’t realize how many fans she actually had and it sort of freaked her out.

“I hate you.” She mumbled towards her glowing agent “I hate you, Abby. You’re gonna put me in my grave. Or cause all my hair to go grey at my 20s.”

“Stop it. You’re gonna love it. These people here? They came because they love you.”

“Noooo. Correction. They love my work.”

“You are your work.”

“But…..”

“No buts…. It’s time.” She pushed Y/N towards the stage and followed right after her “Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome at the very first reading by Y/N Y/L/N!” the crowd cheered and Y/N blushed heavily “Are you excited?!”

“Will you calm down, Abs?” Y/N hissed through her smile “this is not a carnival and I am not a movie star.”

“You are a writing star, honey. Deal with it.”

***

“There she is” Karen smiled wildly and made her way through the crowd, getting closer to the stage.

“Remind me, why we agreed to that?” Foggy mumbled to Matt

“We didn’t. But she’s our friend.”

“A friend who forced us to join.”

“What were you expecting. It’s Karen. Besides, maybe we should catch up with some other kind of writing then statutes and cases?”

“Since when are you fond of prose? Does it have anything to do with that mysterious journalist you have been meeting?”

“I don’t meet her. I happen to cross paths with her from time to time.”

“Yeah, right, whatever you say, Murdock. Whatever you say.”

***

Life is funny.

Sometimes the most important and life changing events happen when you least expect them only because you were in the right place in the right time. Like when you meet a stranger in the park. A stranger who makes you change your view on so many things. Who, despite the fact that you only know his name, and truly cannot be sure if it’s the real one, becomes someone you dare calling a friend.

At some point I found myself waiting for those little meetings. He didn’t know it, but I was walking through that park way too often, wondering if people would consider me crazy for visiting it so often. I couldn’t care less tough. I just wanted to see him.

“Um, Matt?” Foggy whispered turning towards his friend who’s face suddenly became pale “Is there something you want to tell me about?”

“Shit!” Murdock hissed

“Why is she describing the way you have been acting for the last three weeks in a fem perspective?”

“She might be the journalist I told you about…..”

“Wait, what? You didn’t know her name?!”

“I did. Just not the last name!”

“God, Matt. How could you not connect the facts when Karen mentioned the reading by the writer Y/N Y/L/N?”

“I don’t know, all right!”

“You can’t lie to me, my friend.” Foggy patted Matt’s shoulder. “She’s cute and I know you can sense it even without your sight.”

“Stop it, Foggy. She is just making fun out of me there.”

“Is she really?”

***

After two hours Y/N felt like she would never say another word in her life and there was still Q&A session coming up. Thank god, Abby realized what was happening and run onto the stage (almost tripping over her own feet due to the enthusiasm) announcing that Y/N would be only answering a couple of questions because of the lack of time.

“Where you describing real-life events there?” Karen used the opportunity “I mean is the park where the action is placed the park in Hell’s kitchen or is it purely fiction?”

“It’s a mix, actually. Some of those meetings happened in real life. The rest, the rest that you don’t know about is just a variation of possibilities.”

“So, the main male character was based on someone you know?” Karen insisted

“A bit. It was just a nice guy I met. Smart and kind. I think I can call him a friend, but possibly I’m just another unimportant girl to him.”

“I would beg to differ” at this point, the blonde girl knew who Y/N was writing about as much as Foggy and Matt.

***

“Y/N?”

“Yes?” she turned around and her eyes grew wide “Oh… it’s you.”

“So, you are a writer. The writer, apparently. “

“Don’t be angry” she started

“I’m not.”

“No?”

“No. If anything, I would like to know how the rest of the story plays out. Did your characters end up together?”

“I…. I don’t know yet. The book is not finished and …..” she stuttered

“Is it because you lack inspiration?” Matt asked referring to their first conversation from weeks ago.

“Maybe a bit” she smiled “I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N. I’m a writer.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Matt. Matt Murdock. I’m a lawyer.”

“So much of a detective work, huh?” she smirked

“Detective –like. I told you. But I know a few things about copyright if you need any advice and want to discuss it.”

“Is it your way to seduce girls?” she narrowed her eyes.

“At this point, only one.” He answered making her blush a bit “So? What’s it gonna be?”

“Let’s taste your knowledge Mr. Murdock. You already know what type of coffee I like, counsellor.”

@pinksirensong

123 notes · View notes

sinisterexaggerator · 2 years

Note

Please, imagine if you will, cockwarming the Duro boys + Hondo

Cad Bane, Shriv Suurgav, and Hondo Ohnaka get a cockwarming.

Explicit / 18+

Warnings: PiV, double-penetration in Bane's case, kissing, not really any biting, sorry, but some use of teeth, care-taking, comfort.

Notes: Shriv is a little more confident in himself in his ficlet, and it's really sexy (imho), though he still self-deprecates a bit. Bane denies help and is a bit of an egotistical bastard. Hondo is a sweetheart and indulges you with pure fluff.

*I know cockwarming has nothing to do with actually being cold, however with the Duros boys, it just worked out that way because I headcanon they are cold-blooded.

Word count total: 4.3+

Kinktober-ish? 🎃

“It’s so cold in here,” you said, digging in your pack for something warm to wear. Cad Bane sneered at you as he fiddled with the temperature regulator.

You were a bounty hunter, joining him on a job. It wouldn’t be the first time you had worked with Bane, and you felt you could remotely trust him.

It was a two-person gig, out on Ord Mantell. A Devaronian pirate was to be brought in for a heavy sum. He was elusive, well-armed, and known to kill on sight. It had been your idea to ask him for his help. While you were no amateur, Cad Bane had unmatched skills. He was sure to be of use, no matter how high the price.

“Todo! Ah thought Ah told ye te fix dhis dang-blamed thing,” he grumbled out, the little service droid’s fingers tapping anxiously together as his other servos grinded to a halt. He was beside himself in nervousness, and a form of agitation that bordered human. It was a humorous thing to watch, as the two made quite a team despite their bickering.

“Yes, well, you see, the thermostat is broken, and I did mention that you should purchase a new one the next time we landed, but perhaps you did not hear me. Oh no...” Todo continued with what seemed like real concern, “do you need your ears checked, Mr. Bane? Can you hear me now?”

You found it hard to suppress a laugh, Bane’s eyes constricting as he turned to face his droid. “I’d be blessed not t’hear ya’! Mebbe I’ll jus’ use you fer de parts,” he shot back, one finger pointing, punctuating his sour words.

“I am afraid you won’t find the right components to make the repairs. I am a techno-service droid, not a subassembly of a rather cheaply designed life-support system. Honestly sir, you should think about upgrading the-”

“Pushin’ yer luck, Todo…” Bane seethed, Todo ambulating out and beyond the cockpit rather awkwardly. He knew better than to keep speaking out of turn. He boosted himself down the narrow corridor, off to find better things to do.

“He was only trying to help. Aren’t you the one who programmed him?” you asked, amused. The hunter finally turned his crimson glare on you.

“Left ‘im how Ah found ‘im. Few tweaks ‘ere an’ dhere. Didn’ program ‘im te be’a nuisance,” he corrected you.

You shrugged, your body shivering. The coldness of deep space did not take long to set within your bones. You motioned towards the holomap. “How long until we’re there?”

Bane sighed, pushing the brim of his hat up from off his forehead and an intriguing metal plate. He pinched the center of his brow, seeming to be irritated at everything, including you right now.

“Couple a hours. Betta’ get some shut eye, yer gonna needit.”

You scrutinized the man, then turned to do just that. It was better than simply standing there, aggravating the Duros further.

***

You woke up restless. You had tossed and turned through half of what you thought was night. You took a breath, seeing your own exhale within the biting air of the ship. It was frigid!

You had taken to Bane’s spare bunk, but his was empty. You checked your chronometer. Several hours had come to pass; you thought it odd he did not follow his own advice. You rose and exited, remaining barefoot and forgoing anything but your crop top and black pants. You tip-toed through the ship, finding your way back toward the cockpit.

The moment the automated doors parted, Bane withdrew one LL-30 blaster. It was aimed directly at you, though the hunter was seated in his pilot’s chair. You raised your arms in defense, he relented and replaced the weapon. You noted his movements were slow and feeble – Cad Bane was not himself.

He swiveled round, bothering to ignore your presence now, though he grit his fangs, emitting a sharp reprimand. “Don’ sneak up on me!”

His own breath came out in frosty puffs – something was wrong, it was obvious. Though, to get him to admit it would be like pulling teeth. Still, you had to try. “Bane, are you all right?”

He tensed up at the question. He wasn’t used to being asked about his well-being. He was silent for a moment, his response more subdued than you would have guessed. “Fine,” he answered, still somewhat vexed.

“You don’t look fine,” you commented, walking up beside him. His scales were discolored and pale in hue – you remembered reading something about Duros. They were humanoid, though reptile. They could not regulate their own body temperature. Though Cad Bane wore an insulated suit, it seemed not to be enough. You cautiously skirted his captain’s chair and made him look at you face-to-face. “You’re cold, aren’t you.”

“S-so whut. We’ll be dhere soon. Nothin’ I cahn’t handle,” he snapped at you.

You timidly reached out a hand. You were deliberate on purpose. You wanted the hunter to see you were not a threat as you gently cupped his lower jaw below his breathing apparatus. “You’re freezing.”

“De thermostate's busted, what de ye exspec’?” he retorted grouchily, shifting his gaze away from you as he tried to shirk your grasp. He waved you off with a gloved hand of his own, though it had been rather short-lived and half-hearted.

You did not speak. He leered at you as you stared back. For a moment you saw beyond his tough exterior and into the soul beneath. He was just a man, callous around the edges. He was a killer, that much was true, but at this very moment he looked… pathetic.

You were overcome with something, an urge to help, but also an urge to warm him. Being human, your blood was tepid, and you knew you could provide him heat. “Let me help you, please.”

“Don’ need yer help!” he was quick to turn you down, winding his arms around himself.

You did not let this deter you. You crept forward and straddled yourself across his thighs. His eyes narrowed beneath his hat, the Duros regaining enough strength to encapsulate your face. His fingers bore into your dainty chin; you did not react to it. He eyed you beneath the wide brim of his bolero, studying, observing, smelling you and your sudden, unmistakable arousal.

“Ah know what it is yer afta’,” he smirked, one snaggletooth exposed by the curling of his lip. “Duros dick,” he surmised.

You kissed him gingerly, peppering him across his mouth, his cheek, his neck; those parts left exposed to you as your hand wandered downward and began to unbutton and unzip his pants. “Body heat,” you managed to get out, “you’re a Duros, I’m a Human. It makes sense. I don’t want you to freeze to death.”

“Ain’ dhat somethin’,” he ridiculed and mocked you. “Givin’ a shit about lil’ ol’ me.”

“You’re a good shot. I need you alive,” you pleaded, your mouth now hungry for the taste of him, though he sat stalk still as you withdrew his unique members - there were… two of them?

You gasped out in surprise. He outright laughed, a snide guffaw of derision and disdain, a snort, for lack of a better word, though he lacked a nose upon his surly countenance. “Surprise,” he snarled at you.

Your hand was sticky with his slick. You took him by surprise this time. You shoved your pants down, then lubricated yourself with his slippery byproduct.

You gathered up both his dual girths in the palm of your bare hand. You mashed them together closely, creating a double-headed spear with which to impale yourself. You made eye contact with him as this shut him up quite well, sliding down one centimeter at a time as you began taking in all of him.

He stared in disbelief as you whimpered at the feel, your cunt stretching malleably to accommodate his dicks. His brow ridge twitched as he sucked in a raspy breath, his whole body rigid, stiff, until he finally started to relax.

“Tight as dhat ass ye got,” he said offhandedly, one arm roving below as he clasped the meat of your posterior.

With each tiny movement of yourself atop his cocks, you found yourself groaning, whining, and making other involuntary sounds. You wrapped your arms around the Duros, pinning him against your chest the best you could. You buried your hot breath against his neck and across his shoulder.

You pussy clenched around him doubly penetrating you though it had been your doing, elated gasps indicating that even staying so stationary was almost too much for you to handle. “It hurts, but it feels so good,” you confessed to him.

Bane growled, low, churlish, a deep-seated rumble rising from the depths of his Durosian vocals. He pushed himself further into your snug loins, your shapely body, and your curves. He reveled in the scent of you as he began to absorb your warmth.

“Stay like dhat an’ don’ move,” he commanded you, hips jutting forward so that his cocks distended you from the inside out. The pressure was intense, causing you to murmur your euphoria in a form of protest. Your belly felt delightfully swollen, and your mind was overflowing with endorphins.

“Oo-ooh.” A sound of pleasure escaped you in a broken pant, his ribs and crests pushing you towards the brink of an orgasm. You had only done this to warm him up, though you had to admit you had been curious. Your plush lips found their way once more to his thin line of a mouth. “Kiss me,” you pleaded with him.

Bane teased you with a gloved finger, thrusting it between your teeth instead of his cool tongue, his coloration darkening as your body worked its mammalian magic on him. It was like you had a built-in heater, and now that you were here, Bane would take advantage of every bit of you.

He shifted, grabbed you by the waist and forced you down, his phalli ending at the base of your vaginal canal as he bottomed out.

You touched the protrusion within your walls as he split you open, massaging the tautness of your abdomen as you moaned again. You hovered there, sitting flush across his lap as you licked your lips, so close to drooling on yourself. You thought you could stay like this forever, drunk off his Duros dicks, feeling full and satisfied, a blissful look overtaking your entire face, settling deep into your eyes.

“Looks like ye’ve bitten off more dhan ye cahn chew, lil’ lady,” Bane quipped salaciously, grinning like a man possessed by something cruel, like egotism. His teeth dredged themselves across your ear; he rattled out a hiss; his hand adjoined yours, finding the outline of himself within your innards - then he pressed against it, albeit softly, just to be a total bastard.

“Mmmmmn… Mhmm…” you cooed right back to him before you stole another kiss.

You were stationed on Hoth. You were a part of the Rebellion’s ground forces. You were on the lookout for the enemy from dusk till dawn, and so was Shriv Suurgav, though he was out of his element - he was supposed to be a pilot.

The general had decided he would best serve a purpose in the here and now. Suurgav was Spec Ops, and they needed all the help that they could get. His X-wing lay in wait some distance from the base – he was expecting to be signaled, or else to make a hasty retreat.

It was time to switch. Two other soldiers came to relieve you from your post, but something was wrong. The sweet Duros was nearly frozen.

You both had protective snow gear, layers upon layers of insulation, and boots with tread, but even so, Shriv looked worse for wear. You had known him for far too long to see him suffer. In fact, you had hid your feelings from him.

Perhaps now was as good a time as any to confess, for you both could perish any day now at the butt end of a trooper’s blaster, or a Sith Lord’s lightsaber – Darth Vader.

The poor thing’s fangs were a chatter as you both headed down the narrow hall towards the meager barracks. This base had many rooms, and you were sure to be alone, if only for one or two moments of reprieve.

“Shriv, come with me,” you whispered to him, guiding him through the corridor. You passed Echo Base’s center of command, spying both Han and Princess Leia bickering.

“Thosse two are at it again,” Shriv spoke between his shivers, though he was surprised at the firm grip you had upon his hand. He could feel the warmth of your human skin radiating outwardly, despite the gloves that housed his particularly lengthy fingers.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked with anxious curiosity. You glanced backward at him to see a look of trepidation, his face haggard, long, and nearly frostbitten.

“To get warm, silly.” You smiled at him, and he somewhat loosened up. It wasn’t that he was actually apprehensive, but he tended to err on the side of caution, no matter what the situation called for.

“That’s awfully nice of you,” he said casually, making conversation. “Just how do you plan to do that when we’re stationed on a planet literally made of ice?”

“You’ll see,” you said cheekily, pausing by the entrance while you waited the few seconds for the automated door to open – you were surprised it hadn’t frozen solid, but luck was in your favor, if only just this once.

Once inside, you sat Shriv down. You removed your gloves and pressed your tepid hands against his frigid scales, warming his scarred cheeks with the aid of your own body heat.

The Duros sighed out a frosty breath, red eyes heavy-lidded and drooping in contentment. Though he thought this was rather wonderful, he was suddenly befuddled.

“Thiss is all well and good and all, but I don’t see why-” You cut the Duros off. You massed your lips gently against his mouth. You cradled his striking jawline in the slopes of your bare palms. He gasped out a flustered breath, nearly jumping backwards. You held him firmly – that’s when he melted into your soft touch.

You perched yourself astride his lap. His shoulders slumped in mild surrender before he wrapped his arms about you. He kissed you back – it was more than you could have hoped for. His own lips were thin, but his icy tongue was playful and explorative.

You took it a step further. You moved one hand steadily downward. You fumbled with the closure of his trousers, the Duros’ eyes bolting open as they had closed to enjoy the moment.

“Swe-sweetheart, I’m not sure what it is you’re after, but…” Shriv trailed off, searching your sultry gaze. You leaned forward towards him and murmured in his ear.

“Your cock,” you professed plainly, his scales bristling as your words sent a surge of something foreign from the top of his bulbous head to the bottoms of his toes.

“Wh-what?” he gaped at you as you physically pursued him. His eyes roved downward as he intently watched you, though he didn’t bother to try and put a stop to it. He was hard, even in this angry weather. No matter how cold Suurgav was, you were pleased to learn he was able to perform at a moment’s notice.

“Shhh,” you cooed, attempting to placate him, “let me warm it for you.”

He was at a loss. He blinked once, mouth partially hanging open. You took this as an invitation, withdrawing his alien anatomy to be grasped securely by your curling fist.

His dick was thick, spined, and ridged. He had a slick, but you had your own. You were already so wet, for Suurgav turned you on – he just did it for you, and it was something that you could not control.

You undid the clasp of your own pants, pushing the waistband down to rest just below your hips. You lifted yourself up, then gradually, inch by inch, started to take his cock.

Oh, and it felt so good. You had to curb your innate desire to rise and full on ride him. Your pussy involuntarily clenched as you whimpered at the size of him.

Shriv’s breath caught in his chest as his body crumpled forward. He gathered you right up like you were a precious object, or something delicate. He clutched you to himself as he moaned against your neck, burying himself below your ear. He thought he might just cum right now if you even so much as moved another muscle.

“It’s so soft, and warm, and-” he humbly commented, his speech muffled across your throat. You thought you sensed something; his fangs had grazed you and it had felt so perfect.

“Lie back, Shriv,” you urged him quietly.

“I don’t think I can move,” he informed you honestly, “Or I’m gonna-”

“Just take it slow,” you encouraged him, pushing back against him with the full weight of your buxom form.

He complied, unwinding his arms from around your frame. He sank back on his hands first, then lied down flat. You tipped your shapely body forward, the rest of you still clothed and cozy. You dug your knees into the bed, then wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

You planted little kisses, nuzzling your nose in against his pale blue flesh. You canted your entire self a little to the right, then did your best to bring Suurgav along for the short-lived ride.

“Mmph…” he interjected, losing himself and all his wits. This had been totally unexpected, but there was not much he could truly complain about.

“You’re insane, I think. That, or you’re just really desperate,” he contended. “I know something about desperation,” he added after the fact, arbitrarily.

“No,” you faintly spoke, though not bothering to stir. The only thing you did was pull him in closer to you. “I’ve always had a thing for you.”

“Is that sso? Lucky me,” he affirmed nonchalantly, though he hugged you tightly, burrowing his rostrum amongst your standard-issue hat and your loose strands. “If this is a dream, might I suggest never waking me up,” he stated dryly.

Your cheeks flushed red as you shifted incrementally, feeling the fullness of his girth against your inner walls. You serried your hips into him, just to indulge in the bulge inside your guts.

“You can stay as long as you like,” you reassured him, licking a hot stripe just below his chin to the cusp of his ear canal.

The Duros shuddered; he barely contained a rush of nervous laughter. He muttered throatily, emitting a deep-rooted rumble to seal the deal. “Home, sweet home...” he snickered, rocking forward to sheath himself more deeply.

You exhaled a breathy gasp, for you almost came.

“Stay still, please,” you begged of him. You encased him in a snug embrace, binding him in the tangle of your limbs.

“Yes, ma’am,” he purred, nipping the lobe of your fleshy ear. “Can’t take a taste of your own medicine, I see.”

You awoke to the unique feel of a Weequay kissing you, his breath hot and temperate across the bare flesh of your shoulder. You were lying naked beneath the blankets after a night of excessive lovemaking, having found your way into the Pirate King’s plush bed.

It was luxurious, and he spared no expense. It wasn’t that he had to, all these things were bought with stolen credits, or money earned on less than legal business ventures. You were not one to judge, as you were no saint yourself. You had been a call girl, an exotic dancer, until Hondo had whisked you away from your cantina on Nar Shadda.

The bar had been owned and operated by a Hutt. This one in particular had favored you, but so had Hondo. He pulled some strings, did some mild-mannered convincing, his assuasive, persuasive voice enough to acquit a criminal from their past misdeeds – it would only take Ohnaka to save them with his charming intonations.

You were hooked, like a fish who had been baited, and Hondo was addicted to you. You were not sure why the Force had deemed it so, for you were nothing more than a lowly entertainer.

There must have been something there for the way Hondo pressed your form against himself, his leathery skin cool to the touch and almost reptilian. You pretended not to rouse; you were enjoying this too much, Hondo’s gentle hands caressing and tactually belauding your waist and hips.

He had thrown caution to the winds, for you had tempted him. He was an expert orator, on top of a dashing scoundrel. You decided not to question it. You were not sure you wanted to know the answer. Hondo had a reputation for being partial to hosts of women.

Still, it was nice to think you might be special, even if he tired of you after another full rotation. You purred out a pleasing sound, finally stirring from your drowsy daze.

“Good morning, dearest,” he spoke pruriently in your ear, his voice practically indecent for all the goosepimples it administered.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked of you, one ribbed finger tracing the outline of your figure beneath the sheets. He tantalized you with a simple touch, causing you to grind the protuberance of your ass against his already hardening cock.

“I barely slept at all, but that’s your fault,” you teased, gathering the man up by his hands and coercing him to wrap his arms around you from behind.

“My apologies,” he offered coolly, yielding to your desires, Hondo cinching his grip around your waist just below your vuluptous breasts. “I did not think you minded at de time.”

You chirped out a girlish laugh, guiding those manicured hands upward. You fitted them atop your tits, coaxing him to squeeze. “I have a mind to go another round, but it’s pleasant just to lie here with you,” you admitted.

“Why not both?” he inquired, roiling out a lecherous murmur from his hairline mouth, fingers manipulating and caressing the doughy tissue of your ample chest.

“I like the sound of that,” you declared with sultry elegance, the pirate beginning the whole affair with more kisses being speckled across your throat and collarbone.

You hummed, Hondo continuing to gently compress one breast, the other hand shifting beneath the sheets as he got ready to align himself.

You adjusted accordingly, lifting one leg up and back to drape across his thigh. Your sex was wet in anticipation, Hondo gingerly inserting his ridged member into your bedewed crevasse.

You moaned in appreciation, sinking your pelvis backward to greet his lap. You felt the tip go in, slowly gliding forthright to fill you to the brim.

You made to ride him, your hips beginning to undulate across his robust cock. It was thick, keeled, and a perfect fit. However, Hondo groped you tightly, forcing you to still.

“No, my love. Let me simply bask en de divine,” he whispered in your ear.

You smiled, taking his suggestion at face value. You reached around yourself, behind your waist to grab his buttocks. You used the firmness of your grasp to propel him gently forward until you were adjoined completely, sighing deeply at the sensation of being coupled with him.

Hondo interjected a licentious sound, holding himself back from spilling his seed within you. Instead, he stroked your hair, impressed his lips to the divot between your shoulders, and clasped you more securely to himself as if he never wanted to let you go.

You understood by now – he wanted to rest inside you as you warmed him.

It was intimate, your void occupied full-up as well as your beating heart. You began to wonder about the Weequay’s reputation. He was so genteel, proper, and refined, yet his men both feared and adulated him. What were you to Hondo? How had you found your way to Florrum?

Your doubts were extinguished as he sucked the salt right off your skin, leaving behind a memory in his wake in the form of broken capillaries. You humbly whined as he left his mark, the pirate mindful of his frills, making sure not to truly harm you on accident.

You toyed with the wispy braid that had found its way to hang and dangle, fingers admiring the texture of his ornate hairstyle. You had asked about it once, it was to denote the passage of time for his kind, one for every year he remained away from his native home.

“Delectable,” he stated dissolutely, remarking on the taste of you.

You craned your head, enough to see his handsome face. In sleep he wore no helmet, no protective goggles – he was just a man, a man you were rapidly falling in love with, for you couldn’t help yourself. Perhaps it was naïve.

You smashed your lips against his in enthusiasm. Your tongues became entwined together. They danced and furled around each other as Hondo thoughtfully massaged your inner sanctum with a flex; a pulsing of his cock full flush against the anterior wall of your twitching cunt.

You spoke his name in lust; this only made him kiss you harder and with more fervor. You pulled away before you were carried off, turning around to settle back into the sheets and downy pillows. “I’ve never been quite this happy,” you confessed.

He refastened his arms around you and relaxed, words muffled against the pecks he placed upon your shoulders and your back. “That sounds like a challenge! I am one tu think I can make you even happier,” he quipped.

“I’d like to see you try,” you provoked him with a smile.

He ground his hips, his thighs, and his sex right into you, causing you to chirrup as he breathed directly in your ear. You shivered involuntarily, trembling from top to bottom.

“Dat can be arranged," he stated plainly, words tinged with a hint of subtle, good-natured arrogance.

-----

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thedreamsmith · 2 years

Text

Forged in Dragonfire (Otherwise known as How to Train Your Targaryen)

** UPDATED***

Part 2 is now up

This is truly self-indulgent, self-insert nonsense. It will get smutty. (Feel free to give feedback or suggestions for a title!)

Aemond’s attention is caught by a noble lady with an unusual hobby. Lady Edeline is nothing like anyone he has ever met.

Autumn had come to King’s Landing, the bite in the morning air suppressing the dry heat of the usually arid coastal city-state. The forge, however, was sweltering; the fires banked and glowing since long before the sun had risen.

With the forge belching heat at her back, sweat trickled down her spine as Edeline worked the dagger over the rough surface of the grindstone. Regardless of birth or status, to Jon she was an apprentice, and that meant sharpening the stack of weaponry dropped off by the gold-cloaks that morning.

Despite the early hour, the Street of Steel was alive with the strike of metal on metal, although few customers would make their way to the smithies and farriers lining the cobblestones for hours yet. Which was why Edeline didn’t pay mind to the shuffle of boots on stone as a hooded figure ducked into the thatched shelter that made up the shopfront of Jon’s forge.

‘We’re not open yet, come back at eight bells.’ Her words were a throaty rasp, roughened by the smoke and punctuated by the rhythmic scrape of steel on stone.

The voice that replied to her was not one that she had heard before but was nonetheless unmistakable in its cadence and diction. A voice used to being obeyed; more suited to battlefields and lyrical High Valyrian than echoing in an empty, soot-blackened street.

‘I understand. However, I was seeking to avoid the…crowds that come later in the day.’

The younger son of House Targaryen was shrouded in the deep shadows of his hood, the distinctive white hair of his kin tucked neatly away. His narrow face was not one that she had ever had cause to study up close, nor he hers. An unexpected blessing in her current circumstances.

A bowed head, a deep curtsy; deference that he would expect, that he wouldn’t question, that wouldn’t draw undue notice. This was what her mother feared; the attention of a dragon could be a terrible thing for those who could not control them.

‘The smith is not here, your highness. I am but his apprentice.’ She kept her gaze fixed on the fastening of his cloak.

‘Then you are the one I am looking for.’ She inhaled sharply, her eyes flicking up of their own volition. The young prince’s gaze was no less piercing for his lack of a left eye. Indeed, it speared her with an intensity that surprised her – the few nobility who had visited the forge over the years seldom paid her much mind, even when speaking to her directly. Their attention was often focused somewhere into the middle distance, on more important matters than the smallfolk before them. The prince seemed to take her silence as a que to elaborate.

‘I faced Ser Merryn in the training yard some days ago. The man himself is of little skill or interest, but his weapon was of unusually high calibre for a knight of otherwise unexceptional standing. Upon questioning, he divulged that it had been forged by a smith’s apprentice in the city proper.’

In truth, Jon had only allowed her to forge the knight’s blade without his direct oversight as he himself had been commissioned by a patron of higher station and simply did not have the time to work on another piece. The aging smith had been in service to her family since before her birth, and by all accounts was a fair and skilled mentor. But still, would he allow her to accept a commission from one of the most important and dangerous men in the kingdom?

‘Your skills will be rewarded, I assure you.’ Prince Aemond tossed a purse from inside his cloak, the coins within clinking merrily as it landed heavily atop the workbench. ‘Half now, and half once the sword is finished.’

Edeline reached for the purse, loosening the strings to peer within. Gold and silver glinted in the firelight; stags studded with King Jaehaerys’ dragon-rampant. She swallowed thickly, to anyone but a prince…

‘This is too much.’ Did the prince not know the value of his own currency? Or had he simply never had to pay for goods before?

‘I have seen your work, my goodwoman, and consider this a fair price for weapons of such quality.’

‘I am honoured, your highness.’ She sank into another curtsy. To be chosen for this task, by a man who had undoubtedly had cause to train with Valyrian steel… An honour indeed. ‘What kind of sword would you have me make?’

‘A bastard sword. Do not trouble yourself with ornamentation, I value practicality over adornments.’ Edeline had no trouble believing that, beneath his cloak, the prince was dressed in fine but plain black leather. Practicality over adornment indeed. If only all lords shared such sentiments. Although, she supposed, if that were the case then many blacksmiths would be out of a job, if no one required fanciful tourney armour or ornamental daggers more suited to displaying around a lady’s neck than sticking one’s enemies with. ‘When can I expect it to be ready?’

Jon could hardly fault her for falling behind on her usual tasks when she had such an important contract to complete, but even so…

‘Return here in seven days’ time. You will be able to see the progress I have made for yourself and make any changes as required.’ For what he was paying, she would accommodate any number of eccentricities or last-minute modifications. ‘If it pleases your highness.’ She added hurriedly.

Fortunately, Prince Aemond did not seem to take offence with her presumptuousness.

‘Very well. I bid you good day. Until next we meet.’ The prince bent at the waist in a shallow bow before striding away, his boots kicking up clouds of dust and metal filings as he moved between the stalls. Within seconds his retreating figure was lost in the already-growing crowds making their way from the residential districts of the city, for work or pleasure alike.

Edeline let out a long breath as she slumped against the workbench, the fire-warmed wood pressing against her backside, heedless of the marks it was leaving upon her breaches. At any other time, her mother would be delighted that she had made the acquaintance of a prince, but in this case…

With a groan, she gathered up the prince’s coin purse and stashed it inside the workshop. Only then did she return to the task of the daggers. There would be time aplenty to purchase the materials for the prince’s sword once Jon arrived at the forge.

~~~~~~

With her mother residing outside the city for much of the year, Edeline had little cause to visit the Red Keep. Her father was often content to attend to matters of business from the family’s residence near the base of Visenya’s hill. However, with the news of Princess Rhaenyra’s latest pregnancy, King Viserys had announced a week of celebrations for smallfolk and nobility alike.

As such, even the Lesser houses were invited to attend a succession of feasts and tourneys to be hosted within the Keep.

Edeline accepted a goblet of sweet wine from a passing servant, before steeping smoothly around a knot of middle-aged lords from the Riverlands. She had only just managed to escape her mother’s clutches, a bevy of dim-witted lordlings in tow - all tempted with the promise of her hand. Her father and brother had taken one look at the Lady Farring on the warpath and made themselves scarce, presumably somewhere near the refreshments. Lords Jakob Farring, junior and senior, were kind men, however both shared a healthy fear of their house matriarch. Her sisters were both abed with child, and as such were excused from the festivities.

At least one of the Seven was looking upon her with favour, as the King’s second son was nowhere to be seen at this particular gala, although his older brother was in attendance. Prince Aegon II lounged at the high table, already deep in his cups despite the youth of the evening. All women, both nobility and servants alike knew to keep their distance from the young prince whenever possible. His exploits in the brothels of King’s Landing were talked about in hushed tones over market stalls and high tea both.

The evening wore on as Edeline moved between knots of Westerosi nobility. For all her distain of her mother’s attempts to ensnare her into marriage, it was a delight to see her friends once more. Many of her girlhood acquaintances had since moved away from the crownlands with their respective husbands, but she was thrilled to discover that some of their past traits remained. The former Lady Darke, for instance, still had an unaccountable love for exotic birds, and told her excitedly all about the great glass aviary that her lord husband had built for her in their country estate.

She was in the midst of an enthusiastic story about a flock of parrots from Pentos, when Edeline happened to glance over her shoulder to the high table. Prince Aegon was no longer the only man beside Queen Alicent. His attire was no different from that which he had worm on the Street of Steel, but even so the younger prince was an unmistakable presence beside his petite mother. His expression was unreadable as he scanned the room, his ramrod straight posture a sharp contrast to the way his elder brother lounged carelessly in his seat to his right.

‘Eddie, are you quite alright? You look positively ghastly.’ Her friend had paused mid-sentence and was gazing at her with furrowed brows.

Edeline managed a weak smile, and a lack-lustre excuse that she immediately forgot as she stepped into the throng of lords and ladies making their way towards the dance floor. A blandly handsome young lord led her into a lively number popular in the Vale, although she barely remembered the steps. She was more concerned about ensuring her back remained facing the high table than the poorly-disguised grimace her partner wore as he tried to avoid her clumsy feet.

The dance came to a close with spirited applause from the watching crowd, but she did not dare glance over her shoulder to see if the prince had moved from his place beside his mother. The dancefloor was crowded, and her deep purple gown was a far cry from the stained breeches she wore whilst working at the smithy. Dark hair washed and styled into the braids made so popular by the Targaryen ladies; satin and lace cut skilfully to disguise the broadness of her shoulders and emphasise the width of her hips. There was little chance that the prince would recognise her as the apprentice he had spoken to just days ago.

She allowed herself to relax into the regrettably clammy embrace of her dance partner when the young man suddenly stiffened beneath her hands. His mouse-brown eyes went wide as they focused on something behind her.

‘May I cut in?’ Her partner’s damp hands were swiftly replaced with ones far drier and surer as the lordling made a swift exit, likely hastened by her poor dancing skills and the formidable presence of the prince now guiding her into the next dance.

‘And what might a lady such as yourself have been doing working as a smith’s apprentice in the steel quarter, hmm?’ As tall as she was, this close, Edeline had to tilt her chin to meet the gaze of the pale prince. Her throat closed over, panic blooming in her breast as she scrambled for an explanation that might not end with her disgraced before the entire court.

‘I do not know what you are-‘

‘Do not lie to me, my lady.’ The words were a breath against her ear as Aemond guided her into a slow turn. ‘I see more with one eye than most men see with two.’ Her gaze flickered to the couples dancing closest to them, judging the distance against the volume of the minstrels’ song. The motion did not escape the young prince’s notice. ‘Fear not, I have no intention of revealing your secret.’

Edeline raised her eyes to her dance partner once more, expecting to see a smirk upon his lips but finding none. The prince’s expression was solemn. He was not lying – for her he would keep this secret, although she could not fathom why, or to what end.

‘Although I must confess, I am intrigued as to how you convinced your lady mother to allow you to work as a smith’s apprentice.’ The dance led them to part for a moment, at arm’s length as they clasped hands. She waited until they were once more chest-to-chest before answering.

‘My elder brother is my father’s heir, and my sisters have married above their station and provided my parents with grandchildren. As the youngest daughter of my house, I have had more freedom than most ladies of my age and rank. So long as I keep the two halves of my life separate, and do not bring shame upon my family, my father is content to let me spend my days as I wish.’

‘And your wish is to toil amid flames and metal?’

‘Do you not do the same as you train with your sword and your dragon, your highness?’ She stumbled on the backstep, but corrected quickly, and tried and failed to ignore the way the prince’s hand tightened on her waist. ‘I enjoy the act of creation – forging the ore into something new and deadly.’

‘And what will your husband say when he removes your gloves and sees the burns and callouses beneath?’ Anger sparked in her chest but was quickly doused as she noted the amusement in his eye. The somber, stoic prince was…teasing her?

‘Then he shall have an exceptionally clumsy wife, with callouses from whiling away the hours playing the harpsichord.’ Edeline raised her chin, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

‘In that case, I would advise spending less time playing the harp, and more time practicing your dancing, my lady. Your footwork is in dire need of improvement.’

Her mouth dropped open in outrage before she quickly remembered herself and her surroundings, her mother would have conniptions if she saw her gaping like a landed trout at the Targaryen prince.

‘As do your attempts at charm, your highness.’ She hissed, punctuating the statement with a deliberate press of her heel against the soft leather of his shoes.

‘Assaulting a prince is grounds for execution, you know.’ There was a smirk on his lips, but still her breath caught. Had she been away from court so long that all her manners had fled her? She began to stammer an apology when the prince cut her off. ‘Worry not, I have no taste for executing young ladies. Besides, I wouldn’t get my sword if I did, would I?’

The prince raised one pale eyebrow, assessing, waiting. A test of sorts, that much she was certain of.

‘If your highness wishes, he may use his new sword to part my head from my shoulders himself.’ Prince Aemond’s expression hardly changed, but there was a softening around his eye that somehow reassured her that her head would not be ending up on a spike on the castle walls.

With her heart pounding like a war drum in her chest, Edeline hardly heard the minstrels play the final note of the song. It was only when the prince stepped back with an elegant bow, did she realise that she was probably supposed to respond in kind. Face heating, she managed a passible curtsy before the strains of another melody started and she was swept from the prince in a whirl of extravagant gowns as the next lot of dancers took the floor.

Stretching onto her toes, she swept the hall for any sign of the Targaryen prince, only to see him press a swift kiss to his mother’s cheek and disappear through a doorway half-hidden by a carved pillar.

It took a moment for her to regain her sense of self; to steady her breathing and remember where she was. Her moments with the prince hadn’t seemed to draw any undue attention, thank the Mother. Whilst the younger prince was not known to be the same breed of philanderer as his brother, he was not enough of a recluse that a single dance with her would set idle tongues wagging.

In her attempt to trace the wayward prince, she had made her already-tall stature even more noticeable, and it was not long before her mother found her once again.

‘There you are, sweetling.’ The elder Lady Farring was a slight creature, yet her presence was anything but. ‘I have been wanting to introduce you to Lord Costayne’s eldest son, Aden. Why don’t you tell my daughter about the Reach at this time of year? I’m sure she would be thrilled to hear all about it.’

The lordling in question was at least half a foot shorter than she and might have been described a handsome had he not been sporting what she could only assume was supposed to be a moustache on his upper lip but resembled nothing so much as a caterpillar with a receding hairline.

Entirely oblivious to the pleading glance she threw her lady mother, Lord Aden launched into an enthusiastic description of his family’s coastal estate; the prime feature of which seemed to be a truly astounding number of seagulls.

Lady Farring chose to ignore her youngest daughter’s plight, and instead drifted away towards her brother, presumably to subject him to the same martial torture. Edeline found herself wishing, not for the first time this evening, for the solitude of the forge, or at the very least, company that was not so frightfully dull.

Was this what she was destined for? A husband who talked ceaselessly without realising she was not listening, who did not care for her pastimes or opinions?

If only to please her mother, Edeline managed to endure another half-bell of thrilling descriptions of the varieties of apples grown in the Reach, before politely extricating herself from the lordling’s company. Half-obscured by an arrangement of roses, generously provided by House Tyrell, she was told by a passing squire, she found herself content to watch the movements of power throughout the hall.

Conversation ebbed and flowed around her, knots of nobles and dignitaries forming and dispersing, following the movements of the true power players of the realm. Although the king was not in attendance, many members of the Great Houses were, and casually traded gossip, lies and secrets amongst themselves as if they were nothing more than coppers at the market, not the means to alter the lives of those less influential.

As the evening grew later, and the crowds thinned, she found her mind wandering to the prince’s sword, half-complete in the workshop. With the King’s celebrations, she had not gotten as far as she would have wished in the blade’s forging. She would need to arrive at the smithy several bells earlier than usual upon the morrow if she wanted to have anything of worth to show Prince Aemond in four days’ time.

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond the kinslayer #aemond nation #aemond smut #aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #OC #OFC #aemond x OFC #aemond x OC #hotd #house of the dragon #house targaryen

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