#ignore my low quality ropes please | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Note

Prompt idea: Geralt gets a contract for a monster that has been sighted nearby. When he tracks it down, he is surprised to find mothman!Jaskier who (much like actual mothman) has an ass that won’t quit.

I just want you to know that Mothskier now lives in my head rent free 24/7. I love him. I would die for him. This is my new favorite emotional support au.

2k-ish words - please feel free to shove comments through the bars of my enclosure, I would really like that

art by the ever-wonderful @mawbwehownets, whose drawing of Mothskier made me legit cry.

tw: mild injury, brief blood mention, strangers to lovers

---

“So what you’re saying,” Geralt raises an eyebrow slowly, curious, “Is that you need me to catch a monster that’s half man and half moth?”

“Yup.”

“Alright,” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. The frustrated Witcher takes a slow breath to calm and center himself, before he ends up botching the entire contract-writing process. Humans tend to grow attached to the strangest monsters sometimes, and apparently this mysterious local being was no different. “Let me get this totally straight, so there are no mistakes or misunderstandings. You want me to capture this man-moth and get it out of your woods, but you don’t want me to kill it?”

“He’s called the Mothman, and he’s pretty damn stubborn about sticking around,” the aging farmer corrects Geralt with a little frown. Then his expression shifts and he smiles in a way that seems almost apologetic. “We were hoping you could find a way to relocate him without hurting or killing him, Master Witcher.”

“That’s completely possible, if he isn’t attached to this specific patch trees by any magical or biological means. You said his natural habitat is just… the forest?”

“As long as there's an abundance of pine around he seems pretty happy. Before he came to live with us, Mothman lived in a heavily forested area up the coast; or at least that’s what the historical records and local mythology seem to indicate.”

“That’s actually pretty helpful information to have on hand, I’m impressed,” Geralt nods. “Alright, Mr. Stevens. I promise to relocate the poor thing without killing or maiming him, and I’ll be sure to take him somewhere far enough away that your crops won’t be in danger. Thanks for calling me first instead of just going straight to an extermination service.”

“Honestly, Master Witcher,” the farmer sighs and readjusts his dirty baseball hat, “If it weren’t for the mischief he’s been getting into lately, we would have let him stick around until spring. I hate to admit it to a man as strong and stern-faced as yourself, but the poor creature is almost… adorable at times.”

“Well that’s a first,” Geralt chuckles, honestly amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “A monster being referred to as ‘adorable’ rather than ‘terrifying’. I’ve never heard such a thing in my many years of life.”

“Then you’d better prepare yourself, Sir Geralt. He’s got a pair of big blue puppy-dog eyes that’ll knock you on your ass if you aren’t careful. And that’s coming from a man who raised three daughters with dimples.”

“Hmm. Fuck.”

---

Geralt knows enough about moths to come up with a plan he thinks will work.

Before he heads into the woods to find and capture the poor wandering creature, the Witcher takes a detour through the lighting section of the nearest Lowe’s.

---

Unfortunately for Geralt, the farmer was right about the power of Mothman’s puppy dog eyes, which are big and blue and begin to water as soon as the Witcher’s net knocks him to the ground. The creature lies in a whimpering tangle of limbs beneath the heavy, magically enhanced restraints. Geralt takes an opportunity to look at what the locals called "a cryptid".

Mothman has a long, lithe body that's covered in a light layer of grey-brown fur, but his hair resembles that of a human’s, falling over those enormous blue eyes in a lovely chestnut fringe. When Mothman sees the swords on Geralt’s back he cries out in panicked recognition and tries to pull his arms up far enough to shield his face. The lamp Geralt used to lure him into the clearing is still bathing him in a pool of yellow light; it’s almost pretty for a monster, Geralt notes.

As the Witcher takes a step forward, the cryptid squeaks and buries his face against his own shoulder. His entire frame is trembling.

“Hey there, shhhhh,” the Witcher murmurs quietly. He drops into a squat and holds both hands up to show Mothman that they’re weapon free. Tears are now falling freely down the creature’s surprisingly human face; whoever or whatever this is, they are likely some kind of Fae. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to get you back through the veil.”

“Liar,” Mothman huffs. His voice has a surprisingly musical quality to it and Geralt is now sure of his Fae parentage (or grand-parentage).

“I promise I’m not lying,” Geralt reassures him, slowly crawling forward. When he reaches for the nearest corner of the net, he feels all of Mothman’s muscles go tense. “I’m going to lift this up and I am going to restrain you, but I swear that I’m not going to kill you. I wish to cause as little distress as possible. Is that alright, Mothman?”

The creature hisses and yanks his foot back away from where Geralt’s hand had nearly touched it. “Jaskier.”

“Hmm?” Geralt glances up, raising an eyebrow.

“My name is Jaskier,” the Fae repeats, glaring up from between the sections of woven rope that make up the heavy net. “Not Mothman.”

“My apologies, Jaskier,” Geralt bows his head. He words his introduction carefully, in case this thing can manipulate his name like others of his kind: “You may refer to me as Geralt.”

“That’s your real name,” Jaskier states. The Witcher’s head snaps up.

“How did you know?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier sticks his tongue out as he mimics the sound Geralt made earlier. “Not telli-AH! Stop! Oh go- gods, stop! Please!”

Geralt drops the short section of rope he’s trying untangle from around Jaskier’s ankle and snaps his eyes upwards, already searching for damage. “What’s wrong!?”

“My wing!” Jaskier bawls. His scent spikes out through the clearing, sharp with panic and pain. The creature’s chest begins to shake more violently than before, his shoulders shuddering with the rising force of his sobs, “It’s t-t-torn! Oh gods, my wing! Sir Witcher, p-please!”

Geralt freezes, his gaze settling on the torn section of Jaskier’s large, furry wing. It’s a nasty wound near one of the joints, a faint trickle of barely-luminescent blood has already dried around the edges. Jaskier tries to flutter it a little and screams in agony when the muscles shift too suddenly, shrilly enough that Geralt needs to cover his hypersensitive ears. The Witcher's heart crashes down into his boots; based on the way the shivering Fae has gone pale and silent, the pain is too much for him to process. He’s gone into shock.

A torn wing is exactly the kind of thing Geralt had promised the farmer (and the collective of townspeople he represented) wouldn’t happen to the peaceful moth creature if they hired a Witcher instead of an exterminator. He sighs and gives the strange being another once-over. “Everything's alright, Jaskier. You’re going to be alright. I’m so, so sorry that you've been wounded. We’ll get you out of this net and get you something for the pain, but it’s going to hurt a little to untangle you. Stay still, don’t struggle, and it’ll be over soon.”

“J-Just kill me,” Jaskier pants. He’s continuing to hyperventilate and Geralt needs him to calm down before he passes out. The Fae reaches a hand for the dagger at Geralt's waist and the Witcher twists out of reach with a frown. Jaskier sobs again, fingers still seeking, “I might n-n-never fly a-again so just k-kill me!”

“Breathe with me, Jaskier,” the Witcher instructs, forgoing patience and cutting through the net with that same dagger. He scoops Jaskier up into his arms, ignoring the keening sound at the back of Jaskier’s throat when his wing is jostled, and rushes the Fae to his truck, tucking him into the passenger’s seat and wrapping him in a large, fluffy blanket. “I’m taking you to my friend. She’s an expert at healing magical creatures and I'm certain that she'll get your wing fixed in no time.”

Jaskier doesn’t give an answer. When Geralt looks up into the creature’s face again, the injured Fae has already passed out.

---

Jaskier moves with all the grace of a newborn foal as he explores the room Geralt has provided for him. His wing has been inspected, treated, and bandaged by a rather scary sorceress named Yennefer, who glared at the Witcher the entire time she was caring for him. She had also taken one of Geralt’s old t-shirts and cut an enormous hole in the back for Jaskier’s wings to fit through. The shirt’s bottom hem falls to the middle of his thighs and the thick black material is softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

He hears a knock on the door and calls out, “It’s open!”

Geralt enters slowly, bearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a mug of tea. “I brought you some last minute supplies and - uh… I brought you some tea. Yen always likes some before she goes to sleep and I figured since this was a new place and new places can be scary that I should-”

“Thank you,” Jaskier interrupts, smiling shyly. His antennae twitch happily as he takes the offerings from Geralt's hands and the Witcher watches them with wide eyes. Jaskier carefully sets the pajamas and the tea on the nightstand before turning back to look at Geralt. “I will… see you tomorrow?”

Geralt gives one sharp nod. “Hmm.”

“Goodnight,” Jaskier sing-songs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Geralt exits.

From the other side of the closed door, Jaskier’s superior hearing picks up the Witcher’s final whisper: “Goodnight, Jaskier. I will always be sorry for causing you pain.”

The next morning he meets Geralt at the breakfast table, refreshed and ready to learn about the human world. He’s summoned a glamour in order to hide his more Moth-like traits, the only things that remain of his true nature are his wings and antennae; his fur is gone and he’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants and that same old shirt. The Witcher offers him a bowl of fruit and mug of something sweet-smelling. Jaskier glares into the mug with a slight pout to his lips before finally asking, “What is this?”

“Hot chocolate.”

Jaskier takes a sip and his antennae flutter, twitching happily as he swallows the best drink he’s ever had in his long life. He eats a strawberry from the bowl and slowly works his way through the hot chocolate, eyeing Geralt warily as the Witcher moves through the familiar kitchen to make his own breakfast.

“Where is Yennefer?”

“She went home,” Geralt shrugs.

“She isn’t your mate?”

“N-No,” Geralt sputters, turning to stare at the nervous young Fae. “Why would you think that?”

“You smell like each other.”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Geralt shrugs again. “Good friends, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier mimics his host for a second time. Rather effectively by the annoyed twitch at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Just wondering.”

“Anything else you’re curious about?”

“Why don’t you have more lights?”

“Huh?”

“Lights,” Jaskier gestures around the minimalistic layout of Geralt’s open-concept kitchen/living room and its distinctive lack of lamps. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward against the dark marble countertop. The pout has gone from 'slight' to 'full-bore' and Geralt is clinging desperately to his braincell with how cute it looks. “It’s no fun.”

“You really like lamps, don’t you?” the Witcher replies, mouth dry. Jaskier huffs and takes another sip of his hot chocolate, antennae flickering back and forth in irritation. Geralt bites his lip to hide a smile; it’s too fucking cute, which is an odd thought for a Witcher to have.

“So what if I do enjoy a nice lamp or five in my living space?” Jaskier argues. "I'm a Moth of taste."

“No matter,” Geralt laughs quietly. “Finish your drink before it gets cold.”

---

Jaskier stays with Geralt for a few weeks while his wing heals, and for a creature whose sole interest seems to be fancy light fixtures, the Fae becomes a source of light in Geralt's own world. They go to a nonhuman friendly second-hand store to find Jaskier some more clothes and Geralt discovers the cryptid's love for oddly patterned shirts in bright colors. Jaskier chooses several to fill out his closet, as well as a sweater two-sizes too large in deep black (Geralt tries his best not to attach any meaning to this choice), a few pairs of pants, and a jean jacket that he declares, "Can be altered."

They watch movies together and make food together - Jaskier is always incredibly impressed by the way the automatic coffee maker works, and how easily Geralt can control the flames of the stove. Jaskier also follows the Witcher along on less dangerous hunts and helps bandage him up after worse ones, always there with a smile and a little kiss over the cleaned-up wound.

“It really is magic,” Jaskier always insists, lips pink and shining from licking them as he concentrates. "It makes you heal faster."

Geralt realizes one night - two weeks into Jaskier’s stay, as he leans against the doorframe and watches the strange creature’s even breathing - that he has gone and done the stupidest thing a Witcher can do: fall in love with a pretty, temperamental young Fae. Head over fuckin’ heels, actually.

So he makes a decision.

---

The next evening, after the dinner dishes have been cleaned and put away, Geralt herds Jaskier down the hall to the guest room. Those entrancing blue eyes blink up at him in obvious confusion. “Bedtime already?”

“No, not quite. I just- I made you… uh…”

“Do you have a surprise for me?” Jaskier asks, used to the Witcher's issues with verbalizing.

Geralt nods, relieved and thankful for the Fae’s steadfast understanding. “Do you want to cover your eyes or should I just open the door and show you?”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Jaskier smiles, covering his eyes with both hands. Geralt finds it adorable, as Jaskier always is, and allows himself a matching grin as he swings the door open. The ceiling light is off but Geralt has built a blanket fort at the center of the room and surrounded it with fairy lights of all colors and sizes. Inside the blanket fort is a mass of blankets and pillows; Jaskier has the odd habit of building nests - Geralt jokingly calls them cocoons - and sleeping in those on the floor instead of on the very comfortable mattress the Witcher has provided.

“Open them,” Geralt urges.

Jaskier pulls his hands away and Geralt watches as his pupils go huge and wide. Jaskier's face breaks out in the sunniest, most blindingly happy smile Geralt has ever seen. He turns and throws his arms around the Witcher, his wings fluttering behind him and his antennae twitching and flicking above his head. He tries desperately to speak but only manages a half-snuffled little “I’m-” before bursting into tears of joy.

Geralt just holds him, letting his arms fold carefully around Jaskier’s waist, just beneath his wings.

"I just wanted you to know that, if you wanted to stay, there would be room for you. Your room, if you want it."

"I do," Jaskier smiles, burying his face in the Witcher's neck. "I'd love to stay. I'd love nothing more than to spend my days going on adventures with you."

"Well then," Geralt gathers all of his courage and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jaskier's head. He's met with happy spasms from the antennae so he does it again. And again. Moving from the top of the Fae's head to his cheeks and then his mouth - pretty and pink and pouting and so worth the trouble. "I suppose we can get started on our next adventure tomorrow."

513 notes · View notes

lepusrufus · 3 years

Text

Wrong victim

Pure comedic self indulgence because we all need a funny break before shit starts to really go down in To bargain for immortality. Set quite a few years after the game events, around 2025, and is pure ridiculousness so enjoy.

////

Her response to being unceremoniously shoved in the back seat of a car that looked like it's seen far better days was merely an annoyed grunt. It turned into an eye roll when the man that climbed in after her pulled everything out of her pockets.

"Wouldn't want you calling anyone," he said with a toothy grin while waving her phone in front of her.

"Trust me, that won't be necessary," she replied in a deadpan voice. It's not like she would call the police, she wanted them involved even less than her kidnappers probably did. As for other people she could reach out to, a phone call would be redundant really. "Do be careful with it, I'd hate to lose the photos of Daniela sleeping upside down."

After maybe ten minutes of driving down the barely illuminated outskirts of the city, and having her pockets emptied, dagger included, the burly man driving pulled up inside a parking lot. It was large and overgrown with weeds and vines reclaiming spaces that had been left without human activity for who knows how long. The lamp posts were nothing more than useless concrete pillars as they provided no illumination, resulting in her pitiful captors having to use flashlights as they made their way into the dilapidated factory.

Nicole sneered at the sight of collapsed walls and rusty metal walkways, reminding her of the one particular Lord she couldn't stand the sight of. She decided a distraction was needed from unpleasant memories.

"Abandoned factory?" She whistled. "How many cliche movies have you guys watched?"

She let out a chuckle when the man that had previously taken her phone shoved her ahead. Hopefully they wouldn't tape her mouth shut, there was so much fun to be had by mockery alone.

It didn't take long before all three of them entered a dimly lit room, numerous candles placed all around, either on desks or candle supports nailed to the walls. The three more people inside were wearing long black robes and white masks covering their faces. Nicole had to laugh.

"Oh so you're that kinda crazy."

"Shut the fuck up and stay put," the man holding her hands behind her back said while pushing her into a chair.

He then moved to a table and Nicole couldn't help but scowl at how unceremoniously her beloved dagger had been thrown on the wooden surface. Afterwards, he put on a mask not unlike the others, except with red streaks going down from the eye holes, and started to prepare something in the middle of the room. The others joined in on the task, all but the one man that had been put in charge of making sure Nicole stayed put. Because of course she could easily escape five people much bigger than her at any given moment.

She decided to take a look around, at the various dusty books opened on pages she couldn't quite make out from where she was sitting. A few pages were laying around, either with diagrams or with scribbled notes. Had she really stumbled upon a cult? She couldn't wait to have a laugh about it with her family.

"So," she started, craning her neck a little so she could see her captor's face. "Who you gonna sacrifice me to huh? I wanna know before you slice up my throat or whatever you're planning on."

A confused and suspicious look was thrown her way, surely due to the complete nonchalance she spoke with about what would surely be her untimely death. "The… the devil," was his unsure reply.

Nicole let out a small laugh. "Oh trust me, you do not want to meet her. Though devil is not quite the word," she continued despite a few other pairs of eyes landing on her. "Maybe a pissy fungal overlord with an unhealthy obsession for crows. Yes that's more like it," she finished with another chuckle.

The man with a slightly different mask, who seemed to be their self appointed leader, got up from where he was nailing something to the floor and walked up to her in a few long strides. His eyes were barely visible, but anger was clearly distinguishable.

He pulled out a knife, old, rusty and with a black worn out handle so typical of a kitchen utensil, and so incredibly ugly compared to the beautifully ornate daggers that decorated her home. She had to laugh when the dull blade got pressed to her throat.

"Will you shut up for one minute?!" He raised his voice slightly, as much as someone who was doing something they didn't wish to be caught doing would dare to. It didn't deter her though.

"Oh sweetie this is just what foreplay looks to me," she started with a grin that made her wish she had fangs like the better part of her relatives. "But please do me a favor and stay quiet, there's no fun in hunting if my darling finds you within five seconds due to you screeching like a broken squeaky toy."

The man blinked for a few seconds, taken aback both by the words and by the apparent passivity towards having a knife at her throat. He stayed like that until one person that was working with some ropes behind interjected.

"Of all the people you could've taken, how did you find this unhinged bitch?!"

"I'll take that as a compliment," Nicole said, bending slightly to the side so the person that had spoken up would have a clear view of her sickly sweet smile.

After that exchange, her captors seemed happy to move things along quicker, working in silence and begrudgingly ignoring any remarks she would throw their way, including an observation on the downright dreadful quality of the rope they had. Quality that she regrettably got to experience when her wrist and ankles got tied to the nails in the floor, having her lay down in a starfish position. It kind of reminded her of sprawling on the bed she shared with Cassandra simply to annoy the brunette.

After loudly reciting something in latin, the leader bent down, same rusty knife in hand, and tipped her chin upwards to expose the neck. She did let out a wince when the blade sunk deep in her flesh and got dragged downward, towards her chest, leaving behind a choking sensation and the taste of copper in her mouth. The knife however only made it to the base of her neck, before the sound of metal crashing caught everyone's attention.

"What the fuck," the man whispered, thankfully pulling the blade out so her skin had the time to begin stitching itself back together. She still had to turn her head around and spit some blood that made its way into her mouth.

Before anyone else had a chance to speak up, the door was kicked open, one of the rusty hinges breaking completely, to reveal a rather angry Cassandra with her sickle in hand, ready for bloodshed.

There were a few seconds of stunned silence before the blade was unceremoniously thrown into the first person's skull, spinning through the air for only a few meters before getting embedded into the bone with a sloshing sound. Anyone else trying to escape through the one door was met with a similar fate. One person had their knees kicked inwards before a knife held at the same belt as the sickle came down to slash their throat. Another had their head smashed to bits against the nearest wall in the blink of an eye. And last, the burly man that had driven and kept an eye on Nicole, had his heart ripped through the bottom of his ribcage when Cassandra shoved him against one of the tables, scattering the books and papers that were by then stained crimson.

The remaining man, the leader, got grabbed by the shoulders and forcefully shoved into the same chair she had been sitting in not too long ago.

"Stay put and I'll let you live," Cassandra spoke, all the cruelty polished over decades upon decades of sporting the title of the family's most sadistic coming through those few words.

He gulped and nodded, eyes glossed over by the pure human terror now so unfamiliar to both of them.

She then turned around, expression softening like a switch had been turned behind golden eyes. "Nicole," she started, barely an edge of concern and irritation at the sight of her wife's bloody skin.

"Hi babe." The self satisfied grin almost had the brunette chuckling while she retrieved her sickle and Nicole's things.

The weapon was used to cut her free, a grimace pulling the corners of her black lips downward at the same quality observation her wife had priorly made, no doubt. A hand was offered to Nicole to pull herself up, while the other presented the familiar dagger that was gifted to her so many years ago.

"Will you do the honors love," Cassandra asked, with that beautifully sadistic smile.

"Of course," came Nicole's reply as her hand wrapped around the leather covered handle.

With some of the wretched ropes gathered from the ground, Cassandra made quick work of the man's hands and legs, securely tied to the chair and voice frantic.

"You said you would let me live!"

Cassandra laughed, a low ominous sound, while grabbing the mask and throwing it on the floor. She did love to see the terror in her victims' faces after all.

"Unfortunately my wife made no such promises," she finished with a forceful pull of hair that kept his head in one place as she moved to the back of the chair.

Nicole approached with the dagger already out of its holster and tapped the blade's point against her lips in thought for a few moments. She could simply slice his throat and be done with it, or stab him and leave him to bleed out, choking on his own blood. A hum made its way past her lips. No, no that would not do.

She grabbed a fistful of the man's shirt, pulling it up almost to the neck. After a few mental measurements and approximations were made, the tip of the blade finally found its way into muscle, drawing thin trails of blood and pained screams. It took a good five minutes to carve all the intricate details she wanted to, the swirling patterns cutting cleanly through skin, courtesy of her wife keeping the blade sharp and in top condition.

After she was content with the level of detail, and screams subsided to pathetic sobs, she took a step back and, with a hum, looked at Cassandra for a reaction.

"Oh dearest," the brunette said, looking over the man's shoulder and down at the bloody cuts on his abdomen and chest, forming a crude yet not unfitting replica of the Dimitrescu crest.

At the adoration that made its way past the cruelty in her wife's eyes, Nicole smiled and gingerly took a hold of her unoccupied hand, bringing it close to her lips and leaving a small kiss and a barely visible blood imprint on each knuckle.

"I take it that you approve of my… design choice," she asked with another glance down at the jagged lines that formed their family's symbol.

"It's wonderful," Cassandra replied, fangs shimmering slightly in the low light, exposed from the proud smile that tugged at her lips.

A gorgeous smile, really, that made something swell inside Nicole's chest no matter how many times she saw it. Truth be told, her rendition of the crest was quite lacking, never having had the artistic skills to quite capture the intricate details that formed it. Nevertheless, if it brought a smile to her wife's lips, she was more than content with it. How unfortunate that it had to be ruined.

She let out a sigh, still holding Cassandra's hand. "Too bad those pigs at the BSAA would quite disapprove of us leaving such things behind. Oh well," she shrugged, bringing the hand she was holding over to the man's abdomen. "Better it be ruined at your hands."

The next second, claws dug deep into flesh, slicing the muscle and everything underneath all the way up to the throat. It left five deep gashes over the fine cuts of her dagger, but the satisfaction did not dwindle. On the contrary, when the gurgling sounds finally stopped and the body went limp, her smile was still there, turning into light laughter when Cassandra licked her fingers only to visibly cringe.

"Say what you will about the dungeons, but at least we feed our livestock well," she spat, taking out a napkin from a pocket and wiping her fingers clean. "But with that disgusting thing out of the way, let me help you with that," she continued, grimace morphing into a sly smile when her eyes landed on Nicole's still bloody neck.

She gave her no time to disagree, not that she would, before she pushed her backwards slightly into the edge of a table. Nicole wasted no time in lifting herself up on the wooden surface, bringing their faces just a tad closer to being on the same level.

Cassandra dipped her head down, lips leaving teasing feather-like kisses on her jaw before lowering even further so she could drag her tongue up the length of her neck. It made a shiver run down Nicole's spine, that turned into an impatient tug of her wife's hair when the motion was repeated again and again, until no traces of blood could be seen on her neck, save for the crimson stains that made their way to the hem of her shirt.

Their lips met in a hungry kiss, full of fangs and smeared lipstick and the taste of copper so familiar to the both of them, albeit for different reasons. When Nicole's hands went to the first buttons of Cassandra's blouse, their kiss was broken with a sly smirk.

"This is such a dreadful place for such things, don't you think," the brunette said, all too amused by her wife's exasperated sigh.

"You started it," Nicole complained, but before the words were fully out of her mouth, she was tugged off the table and on the way out, ready to get back home and have a laugh about the irony of her capture. They would have to pick up where they left off at a later time.

#cassandra dimitrescu x maiden #unhinged maiden™ my beloved #tw: gore #cassandra being cassantra and comin to save her wifey #don't take this as a clue to how the mutation sequel may turn out #fanfic

152 notes · View notes

hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

Text

I Wanna Be Your Slave

A/N: Here’s the next requested fic from my Dirty Little Secret – Super Kinky List! In which you and Jax are locked in a cellar and he ties you to a whipping post and whips your ass lol. Master/slave roleplay but in this fic (unlike some of my other Kinkfest fics...) Jax is actually a good guy not an absolute asshole. Title is inspired by the Måneskin song at the below link! **Please note the warnings: This fic is all about the kinks, please do not read if this is not your thing!!**

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, rough sex, light choking, degradation, dom!Jax, bondage, master/slave kink, spanking, whipping Request: This Dirty Little Secret request (anon)

Word Count: ~3.8k

Note: As explained in this post, this ‘Dirty Little Secret’ series consists of fics that I had originally written for another character/celebrity, which I’m repurposing for characters of Charlie! So if the characterization ever seems a little off please don’t judge me too harshly 🙂 ALSO note that this fic is just straight up shitty – I wrote most of it years ago without giving a fuck and am not bothering with improving the quality, I sort of used to rhyme back then but not consistently so it’s a shitshow really, I’m just shoving Jax into the setup for this fic with zero context literally, and I realize that the kinks in this fic are totally not mainstream and super filthy, so for once it’s really refreshing that I’m not gonna be sitting around hoping that people will shower my writing with praises or that this fic will explode in popularity 🙃

**Please note warnings above**

Triggering content after ‘Keep reading’ cut…

***************

You're trapped in a cellar.

With Jax Fucking Teller.

There's a whole fucking story behind how the two of you got here—some shit involving stolen guns, some rival gang that hates the Sons, your father being all politically significant and powerful enough that you're now being held as ransom—and honestly you should be crippled with fear. But this tall blonde bastard is so fucking handsome. You've been crushing on him for years. And nothing else matters right now when you're so fucking horny for him that you're damn near to tears.

He looks and smells goddamn divine. You know that's not the kind of thought that should be running through your mind. Not here, stricken with fear for your safety. It's crazy. But losing yourself in desire for Jax just feels... fucking unreal. So damn good. Better than it should. It's comforting, or something. Dangerously comforting. In his presence, you don't even care if it doesn't make sense.

Ever since you got stuck in this mess, you've been clinging to him in the darkness. Clutching his flannel-clad arms in a tight grasp which quickly turns into a desperate caress. Through the cloth you can feel the incredible bulge of his biceps and God it's just...

"It's okay, darlin'," he says. Shifts to give you the comfort you crave as you bury your face in his broad sculpted chest. Presence warming and calming. Even after what's happened this morning, you somehow feel safe in the arms of the crown prince of Charming. It's totally fucked to be honest. "Hey, I'll get us out of this. Promise."

The silent answer in your head is beyond shameless. But here with your cheek pressed against his firm pecs... shuddering in bliss as you breathe in his mouthwatering manly essence... flooding between your legs, 'cause he is pure fucking sex... you could honestly just live and die in this man's godlike presence. You bite your tongue to fight the shit you really want to say, keeping it back. Please don't, Jax... don't get us out of this—I want to stay...

Neither of you has any clue yet that you're bound to serve Jax Teller in this cellar as his filthy little slave today.

With one hand still gripping his strong upper arm you reach up with the other, wrapping it over his leather-bound shoulder, clasping at the back of his neck and clinging to his strong sturdy body like ivy to brick. You can feel a faint layer of sweat on his neck that you're instantly dying to lick.

Your senses are reeling. Here, with him as you give voice to a wild irrational fear, you can't deny that dread isn't the only thing you're feeling. You'll take life-threatening danger if it comes with the reward of you and Jax fucking. "... are they gonna sell us as sex slaves or something?"

The hottest sound you've ever heard bursts softly from his throat. It's low and quiet, caught between a breathy laugh and breathless groan. You bite down on your lip then to stifle your own slutty moan. His bright blue eyes meet yours and you can feel the heat burning beneath, and from the way his tongue traces along the edges of his teeth, you can tell the answer to your question is no.

That's not the answer you want, though. It's precious that Jax doesn't already know. Some part of him probably does but hell if it won't take a little more for him to let it show.

You're gonna give him more than just a little more.

With a bat of your lashes, your flirtiest dirtiest smile flashes; you drop to your knees before him like a whore.

"Oh f—" he mutter, too shocked to even utter the full curse, sapphire eyes wide in wonder, "what are..."

"Practice," you purr as you lick your lips, eager hands framing his hips. "If I'm gonna be a sex slave then I think I should practice performing... service..."

Jax sucks in a sharp hiss as you bury your face in the crotch of his jeans, massaging his dick through the denim with your doting mouth till he's harder than he's ever been.

"Practice makes... perfect, doesn't it?" you say as you savor the smell and the feel of his meat. Good enough to eat. "Though you already are, Jax. Every inch of you is perfect. That's a hard fucking fact."

Jax throws his head back, huge cock throbbing with a luscious twitch. "Son of a bitch..."

"Mmm, make me your bitch, Jax. Please. I wanna be your slave. Serve you in every way. It's what the slut inside me needs... and craves..." you shamelessly confess as your hands set to work on his fly to unleash the glory of Jax Teller. "Nothing else even matters today. We're here now all alone together, in this shady little cellar..."

When his cock springs free you could swear that this piece of meat is your entire life's purpose. All set to be worshiped and serviced, because his delicious existence demands and deserves it. He's so. Fucking. Perfect.

You gaze up at his gorgeous face as you melt in his presence, and finish your sentence. "... so let's make it fucking worth it."

***************

The first order you take from Jax Teller, as he finally falls into his role as your master right here in this cellar... is to get your filthy hands off of his dick. You are not to touch it till you've fucking earned it. Like a dog, like the bitch that you are, he tells you to just sit.

To stay down on your knees and to not move an inch, not even turn your head as he strides toward the far wall behind you, brutally keeping his beautiful self beyond your field of vision for a minute.

You bite your lip, listening to the footsteps and movements that he won't let you witness. Rustling noises. You hope that he's stripping off his stupid clothes. That when you see him next, he'll be towering over you gorgeously naked.

And God yes, he is, when he returns at last to stand before his bitch. You groan in sheer bliss as your awestruck eyes try to take in every last flawless inch of his smooth, glowing skin. There is just... too much perfection. You couldn't even process the divine glory of Jax in a whole damn lifetime, let alone one split second.

Hypnotized though you are by him, your gaze then shifts to notice what he's holding, and... holy shit. Apparently he hadn't gone to the far wall just to undress.

He had taken stock of the supplies and other items stored down in this shady cellar and he has returned bearing gifts: a coil of rope, long and thick, and a wicked-looking leather whip.

"Like what you see, huh?" he taunts, no doubt referring to both his new toys and his nude body, especially his dick. "Kinky little bitch. Now get up and strip."

"Yes, Master," you blurt out, rising to your feet, hastening to obey his order.

"Bad slave. You are not to speak until I say you can," Jax commands, taking a deliberate step toward you. With both rope and whip clutched in one fist, he reaches to cup your chin with his other hand. "Do you fucking understand?"

Fighting your burning urge to scream yes sir, somehow you keep your lips sealed and just nod your head.

Jax's blazing blue gaze devours your face as his fingers descend to frame your jawbone, then to close around your throat. "That's a good slut. Keep that dirty mouth shut. Or else you're gonna suffer some serious punishment."

Fuck—hearing him talk like this, while he strangles your neck in his dominant fist, is too much. You've become a trembling mess beneath his touch.

"Mmm, look at you shaking. Desperate piece of shit. I'm starting to think that maybe punishment…" he whispers in your ear as he tightens his grip around your neck, "...is what you fucking want."

Oh God, your inner voice grunts, struggling not to say it aloud. In the most painfully perfect way, the fact that he's choking you now actually makes it easier to stay silent.

His husky growl and twisted words are sending waves of pleasure through your body, hitting all the spots you never knew you had and soaking up your cunt.

"Yeah, you're begging for it. Already ignoring your master's orders. Disobedient bitch," he scoffs, shoving you up against a nearby wall, his every movement rough and quick. "Didn't I tell you to strip?"

Before you can even manage to nod at him, still just staring, Jax's hand drops from your neck down to the fabric of the fancy buttoned cardigan you're wearing. Your daddy is rich, so you typically dress like a spoiled little bitch.

"Need me to show you how to do it? You that fucking stupid?" he sneers, suddenly yanking it off you with just a few effortless jerks of his wrist. "Now take off the rest. And then go stand against that beam. Hands on the wood, head down, with your ass facing me."

Jax steps away, sharp blue glare dark and daunting as he watches his slave scurry to obey. In a matter of seconds, your clothes and shoes have been flung off, and you practically throw yourself against the wooden beam, grabbing the jagged surface desperately, wincing as the splinters graze your fingers. Even that sharp little sting feels good, because this is what Jax wanted.

You keep your head bent low, bowed submissively per your master's orders, breathing shallow as you feel his presence coming toward you from behind, steady and slow. A gasp slips past your throat when you feel his calloused hands upon your wrists, binding your hands to the beam with the thick, heavy rope. The knots securing you in place are strong and tight, expertly tied. This must not be his first time doing this, you realize, beyond turned on by his well-practiced dominance. By just what a masterful master he is.

"Mmm. You look so fucking pretty like this," he rasps, leaning over your body with his massive cock grinding into your ass, sliding against the crack so that you can feel the tip of it, swollen and wet, hovering over the small of your back. One of his hands tugs at your hair, arching your neck backward a bit as his lips attack the soft skin of your throat in a harsh, biting kiss. "Beautiful baby girl, all bound up naked and aching to be punished. You gonna take it? Good and hard, just like the slave you know you are? Gonna be a good little bitch?"

His hot mouth teases at the corner of your lips, knowing how badly you want to kiss him, to taste him, fucking torturing you with it. Though his firm grip on your hair is anchoring your head right where he pleases, you're sure that he can feel the way you struggle now to bob it up and down, to give him your wholehearted yes.

"Yeah, that's it. Ever done this before, you dirty whore? This sweet ass ever taken a beating?"

You're not quite sure how to answer that—certain guys from your past have given your ass a few smacks, here and there, when you asked... but you don't know if that kind of thing really counts as a beating. The dynamic with them was never nearly as brutal and degrading. And they had only ever used their hands; no toys or torture instruments.

"Can't even answer the question? Dumb little bitch," Jax snickers as his face moves away from your neck, standing to his full height behind you, then stepping back so that his dick is no longer brushing against your crack, leaving you feeling emptier than ever at his absence. "Not that it matters. 'Cause I'm sure you ain't ever been beaten like this."

Ohhh shit, you think, inhaling through your teeth with a loud hiss as you feel the first soft touch of leather on your skin, his wicked fucking whip. For now he is just devilishly teasing you with it, tracing lines down your back with the tip.

"This what you want, slut? Gonna need to hear you beg for it," he orders, his other hand still tangled in your hair, pulling your skull more sharply back. "Go on. Open that filthy fucking mouth and tell me what you want."

"Thank you, Master," you whimper, letting all your shameless words fall out. "I want you. God, I want you to beat me. Hurt me. Please. I want pain, if it will bring you pleasure, sir. I want my punishment."

"Mmmmn," Jax growls, clearly incredibly aroused, and you could seriously cum just from that sound. "Bet you do, bitch. Let's see just how bad you want it, huh? See how wet you've gotten. Needy little cunt."

You've already been dripping now, for more minutes than you can count. The next sound you hear is a soft thud, which you're guessing is the whip having been cast down to the ground. Jax needs his right hand free to start going to town on your pussy.

The words that have just come out of his mouth, coupled with the feeling of his fingers making contact with your slick mound, sliding over your clit, slipping into your slit and stirring you up, swirling your wet heat around, then plunging three digits in knuckles deep, pushing in and back out slowly first before he starts to fucking pound... this just brings all the walls inside you crashing down. Floodgates in you burst open on the instant as your arousal uncontrollably gushes out. It's killing you to stay silent through all of this, but you don't dare disobey his orders, don't dare make a sound.

"Holy fuuuck," Jax grunts as he pulls his hand off of your cunt. "So wet. Tight pussy squirting all over your master. Such a dirty fucking slut."

He reaches over you to shove his sloppy, sticky fingers in your mouth, your cheek pressing against the wooden beam, as you obediently suck them clean. You're not usually one to enjoy your own flavor that much, but fuck, it tastes better than ever now that you are being fed by him, the sex god of your dreams.

Then as soon as his fingers pull out, he leans in and angles your head toward him so that he can kiss your mouth, and holy—wow.

You know right away that you could never get enough of the feel of his full, luscious lips against yours, the taste of his talented tongue as it fucking invades and explores. He hums and groans into the kiss, sending resonant vibrations of his dominance down your throat and all over your mouth, and damn, you kind of really want to die right now.

But you don't. Of course, not yet. More than anything you're still desperate for your punishment.

"Fucking perfect little slave," Jax snarls as he pulls away, and you can hear him squatting down behind you to pick up his whip.

Before he does, while he's down there on his haunches, he takes the chance to manhandle your ass cheeks, groping firmly and then biting down on one of them, pausing to admire the mark that he made on your flesh with his ravenous teeth, then giving that spot a wet, open-mouthed kiss, and finally a sharp, stinging slap. Your knees buckle from how much you fucking liked that.

"Slut," he chuckles as he gives that cheek a few more smacks, each harder than the last. He makes sure to give the same sweet kinky treatment to the other cheek, biting and kissing then spanking both halves with his big, sturdy hands before he finally picks up his whip, one palm still groping your ass as he stands.

"Ready to feel this whip lashing your pretty little ass?" Jax dominantly asks. "Tell me, slave. How many do you want."

You're so blissed out right now that you barely have control over your lolling tongue. "Uh... uh—a lot."

"That's not a number, slut. Give me a number you can fucking count."

"Ughhhh..." you groan out as he trails the strip of leather wickedly against your ass, "...umm, a hundred?"

A soft laugh escapes his throat. "That's cute. You must be new to this, darlin'. I'm not about to beat you dead."

Some part of you right now kind of likes the sound of that. Which is maybe... sort of... bad? Jax is still talking, so for better or for worse, you don't have time to dwell on that.

"I can do a hundred. But only if each one is... weak... and soft..." he tells you, bending over your body to press his lips against your face again, kissing your cheek, tender and sweet. "Is that what you want? Or does this filthy bitch want it hard?"

His mouth has descended to bite down on your neck as he says it, causing you to cry out in bliss. "Fuck yes, please—hard!"

Jax huffs out another sexy little laugh. "That's what I fucking thought. I'm gonna give you ten to start," he offers, leaving wet kisses on the smooth skin that he'd bitten. "Ten nice and hard. That sound good, baby girl? And you just tell me if you want more. Or... if it's too much, if you ever want me to lighten up, or stop—"

"I won't," you blurt out. "God, Jax, I want... I need you to just fucking beat my ass off."

"Mmmn. Babe, you are fucking amazing, you know that?" he growls, fondly nuzzling your neck for a second before he pulls back, standing behind you, with his rock hard cock once again hovering over your crack. "But Jax ain't my name right now. Is it. What do you call me, slut."

You cringe at your own unforgivable error. "Master. I'm so sorry, sir."

"Yeah, you better be, bitch," he snarls, as the whip that has been gliding delicately over your body suddenly lifts away from your skin. "Fucking take it."

Holy—fucking—shit. The sharp, searing pain that you feel in that instant is so goddamn perfect. Electric, explosive, exquisite. Everything Jax is. Your life as you know it is finished; you live only to serve and to worship this god of a man who deals out such sweet punishment. You love it. You love him.

The rugged velvet sound of his voice in this moment just deepens your love for him, heightens your pleasure. "Count 'em for me, whore," he orders ruthlessly. "Want more?"

"One... Thank you, sir," you sigh, hazy from the incredible high. "Please, Master. More."

For a hell of a long time, Jax gives you everything you beg him for. And every second of the pleasurable pain is so damn dirty, so damn pure, completely perfect. But you both know that, given what a desperate slut and dedicated slave you are, you will literally never want him to stop. So Jax is the one who hits pause, when he decides he should.

You never wanted it to end, but this is what your master wants—so as much as it saddens you, still you just give in, and still it feels good.

"Damn, baby," he breathes, dropping the whip, gently kneading your ass as he leans down to leave a trail of kisses up your spine with his soft, sinful lips. "Guess I should've known better than to ask you for a number. Such a good little slave. But we're gonna stop here, okay?"

"Yes, Master," you whisper.

"You know why we're gonna stop?" he teases as his mouth reaches the back of your neck. "It's not just because I'm done with beating you. Nah, the real reason is that... there's something even better I've been dying to do."

Part of you already knows what it is. And all of you wants it. Needs it.

Jax tilts your head to claim your mouth in a kiss, as his huge dick aligns with your soaking wet slit. "Mmmn. That's it, bitch," he moans into your lips. "Gonna fucking fuck you."

Every damn thing about Jax Teller is literally magic. So, as his massive cock basically breaks your body in half, as his heavy balls slap up against your cunt with each ferocious thrust so hard and fast, as his dominant hands grope and grab all over your just beaten ass... every inch of you feels so damn blessed upon contact.

You can't imagine any better way to recover from your punishment. Not that you ever really want to recover from it—mostly you just want more and more of it—but no matter what you want, healing is what you need.

And Jax heals just as well as he hurts. Even better, in fact.

Once he's done fucking your pussy rough and dirty, shooting his divine cum deep inside you just the way you beg him to, he unties your ropes and then spends the next hour or so kissing and caressing and cuddling with you, massaging your ravaged ass cheeks with his hands and mouth, taking you to heaven when that sweet mouth eats you out, and even when he lets you worship his cock the way you've been dying to do, even when he grabs your head and fucks your face before he explodes down your throat, even then it still feels like healing. You both really needed that feeling.

He lifts you up to kiss you, deep and slow, on the lips before you are even done swallowing his cum. You let yourself drown in that beautiful face, hoping that Jax knows how damn good he tastes. How perfect he is in every way. That he is a fucking god, that everyone on earth should kneel before him as his slave.

When the kiss finally ends, as you both try to catch your breath for a few seconds, the cold hard fact of your predicament sets in again.

"We should probably put some clothes on, babe," he says, coming down from the high of his sex-heated haze. "Then I've gotta work out a way to escape."

You can tell that Jax sincerely meant it, when he'd promised he would save you from this place, and you don't doubt it for a minute.

Still, there's no denying that you two are stuck in the middle of some serious deep shit. But after having experienced such punishment and pain and pleasure, such submission and service, such sex and love��with Jax Teller, today down in this cellar—which you're pretty sure would not have happened under any other circumstances ever...

"Well," you sigh, breathing in his scent for what you hope won't have to be the final time before you die, "whatever happens next, Jax, this was..."

"Definitely," he cuts in to interrupt you with a few passionate kisses, then smiles down at you so devilishly it's delicious. So hellish it's heavenly. Finishes your sentence and it's just so fucking perfect. "Fucking worth it."

***************

… Sooo I know that was SUPER kinky shit, but I hope there are some filthy bitches who enjoyed it, and would love to hear if you did!! 😅❤️

– Main Masterlist

– Dirty Little Secret Masterlist

***************

Kinkfest Tag List – Join Here!*

*If you’re unable to use that link to join the tag list, just let me know and I’ll manually add you to it!

@itsme-autumn @rebelwrites @malethirsty @coffeequeenxx @turner-cris @innerpaperexpertcloud @est11 @magic-room @littlebennettwitchsblog @snow-white-74 @sunflower12335 @trishmarieofficial @got-to-love-a-badboy @thesimonkshow @noneofyourbusinessssblog @notquitecannon @travistheaussie @alexa-rae-dreamz @i-love-scott-mccall @band--psycho @helloheyhihowdyheya @beth-winchester21 @inlovewithcharliehunnam @amberembers @pedritomando @badboy86uk @scarletmeii @barbiewasacommunist @englishmuffinwritesbooks @addcrastinator3 @southrenlove @malikadnan77 @thesuicidalflower @gemini0410 @louisianalady @ravynfenyx @weasleytwins-41 @mariska0610 @zozebo @christycarnell6 @i-hav-no-life @labramusic01 @thatgirljayy @boredintheglade @guerra-e-paes @charliehunnamlove @rayslittlekitten @heyitskat101 @dilftony @velvetcardiganbucky @midnight-dreams-23 @celine-and-hafiz @romanreigns-supreme @synnersaint @writtingbyacrazyperson @norwegian-princess @itsmycorneroftheinternet @suicidepanda07 @abby-splace @gunmybear8o @luv-nd-serenity @ficsilovetoreadwithcats @missusnora @starstruckbluebirdtriumph @kesskirata @msmorganforever @jeeperky @spactucs-blog @sinnforsir @leilani-writes [hit the 50-tag limit – list to be continued in a reblog of this fic]

244 notes · View notes

oonajaeadira · 3 years

Text

Long Fall Into Oblivion (Ezra x reader)

(header by sirtadcooper - check out the whole beautiful set here.)

Rating: Mature.

Pairing: Ezra (post-Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: Non-explicit sex. Some swears maybe (think there’s a f*ck in there somewhere, my GOODNESS). A lot of gooey, syrupy, soft fluffety fluff. Author attempts at writing Ezra dialogue. A lot of chewy prose.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m posting this, but here goes. I love Ezra. He is a man of questionable morality and an insufferable tongue and I really shouldn’t. But I really do. I just wanted to give him a try. I’ve softened him up here, putting a few years on him so maybe he’s fluffed up some since the events in the film. Also I just ignored the fade or assumed that aurelac mining was still happening because scarcity/demand. Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to go exploring.

Summary: You take a job as an aurelac prospecting trainee and Ezra shows you the ropes. You’re gonna fall in love with him. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

________________

Bakhroma is one of the smallest gas giants in the sector, but as you stand on the surface of the Green Moon, it dominates the entire horizon, pulling your focus, threatening to engulf everything around it. You almost feel sorry for the lush moon as you walk through its undergrowth, so gentle and full of beauty, destined many years after you’re gone to give its life to her.

A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?

There’s a painful, sour ache in your heart as you walk back to the camp in twilight, watching the back of Ezra’s helmet bob along in front of you. You’d spent two days digging that claim only to find the weakest aurelac nest you’ve seen yet, only three viable nodes. You’d dug through one of them by accident and completely melted another like an incompetent fool. Kevva’s ass, you were such a disappointment. Three months in the Green and you still can’t cut a blister out properly. Not even once.

Ezra’s shoulders are wide and tense, his one hand splayed out as he walks, running over the tops of the tall ferns, catching one every now and then only to rip the top away, twirl it between his gloved fingers and toss it impatiently aside.

The other two members of your team headed out on a sling this morning, another two will be arriving in a few days. And you wonder if Ez regrets just not cutting his losses and leaving with them, or at least sending you back in exchange for another kip.

You think about shifting through the comm channels, hoping that he’s chattering away in one of them, switched without your knowledge, but it’s a lost cause. You can hear him breathing on the channel between you. It’s not often Ezra has nothing to say.

________________

You thought your father was leaving you an inheritance. It’s not the reason you took care of him through his illness, but you’d dropped everything to be back home with him through his final months. In a way, it was a blessing, a reason to quit the Dasha factory and the terrible working conditions there, come back home and focus on your dad, relive good memories, just spend time. The reconnection lifted your heart, but his death sank it low again. When you learned he had nothing to leave you but a small house and some old vehicles, you sold what you could and traded in the rest.

Then you had nothing. No family, no job, little savings, questionable future. It almost broke your spirit. But the last few months with your father rekindled your love of him as he told you about his years in the Fringe, mining and prospecting. And your heart had said, “what the hell, let’s try that.” So you listened.

It took some time to track down the right inroads, but you were able to find some ads for prospecting teams, in particular those who were willing to take on members in training for a re-distributed cut. With all provisions included--other than suit and gear, which your father’s inheritance neatly covered--it seemed like just as good of a deal as any, and an adventure to boot.

But the reality was, every team you met with was full of hardened men, and while you were not a soft Central woman, you also weren’t overly versed in weaponry and didn’t know if you could defend yourself out in the Fringe against attack if things got crusty.

You were just about ready to admit defeat when you walked into yet another conference bunker and found your match. The first thing you noticed was that he was standing when you arrived, waiting for you politely rather than manspread at the table. Second were his eyes. Deep, brown, and sad. Maybe sad was the wrong word, certainly it seemed by the lines in his face, possibly by the missing arm, that he’d seen enough sadness, but toward you, it read more as concern. You wouldn’t know it until later when he confessed his feelings about this first meeting, but he was worried you wouldn’t choose him. Ezra had a hell of a time hiring partners. He may have been one of the longest-working aurelac diggers out there, but young kippers saw his greying beard and seasoned diggers saw his lacking arm and they all tended to turn around and walk out before he even said hello. So he’d tried to put himself out there as a trainer, show that he had something more to offer.

It didn’t hurt his feelings when you admitted to him later that those qualities were exactly why you chose him. He seemed the opposite of threatening. And his eyes were bright when he smiled at you. With his thrumming baritone and his Fringe twang and his mixed deck of mosaic words, he had a way of speaking that felt like a fluffy blanket curling around you, your brain vibrating with comfort at every new monologue. He was eccentric and perhaps a little jarringly rough in his humor at times, but there was something about him that you trusted immediately, even though you’d come to learn later you probably shouldn’t have if you were being overly cautious.

Not that your judgement ever came to detriment. Not that he ever proved you wrong that way. Not when it came to you. But the man was dangerous when he had to be in a way you hadn’t initially picked up on.

________________

You hadn’t been out in the Green two weeks before you looked up from the bottom of a dig hole to see Ezra standing over you with a thrower.

“You get down and you stay down, understand?”

“Ez? What--”

“I said stay down! Do not make me waste words on mere repetition!” The fuzzy blanket of his voice replaced suddenly by a snarling, snapping brush wolf, a quick change hitting you like a slap in the ear.

There’d been pops and whizzes as shots rang through and you did as your trainer said, face down, the view of your visor giving you nothing but dirt. Your helmet was a chorus of quick breathing from both of you and sweat rolled down your neck as you begged the eyes of Kevva to look down upon your partner. When the crossfire faded, you’d heard Ezra stalk away. Then there were a couple more shots. Then more footsteps returning.

“You are permitted to stand, trinket. All is well as it can be for us. But not so much for our dearly departed friends.” These words were as soothing as much as his previous ones had burned, and he simply went back to working at the dig at hand as if he’d just come back from taking a leak. It wasn’t until you left the site that evening that you tramped past two rotting raiders, gaudily outfitted with broken face shields, left to let the Green take them.

Ezra whistled as he stepped over them, stopping only to harvest their filters and munition rods, which he tossed your way to stow in your pack, and then continued lazily down the path toward camp. Just another day on the job.

He may be a little peculiar and not someone to trifle with, he may have just killed two people without remorse or further comment, but his lack of reassuring words told you that this was just part of the deal. You wear the suit, you use the air scrubber in the tent, you follow the landing pod instructions as written, and you defend yourself against those who wish to harm you. Survival by any and all means is paramount, mundane, and something he has no qualms with on any level.

There was something deep down inside of you that instinctually pulled you to follow him, not just down the literal path before you, but whatever path Ezra chose to wander.

________________

Before you’d left the station with him, he’d taken you to a thrower range to gauge your skill which was decent in theory, but dismal compared with what he could do. No matter, he still patiently taught you how to properly clean and charge a weapon and the best way to breathe and pull the trigger; “like you’re taking hold of a man’s...well... Just go easy and firm.” He suggested you should come and practice every day before lift off and then hope to Kevva that you didn’t have to rely too heavily on it.

“If I find myself in a coffin of my own suit, then feel free to defend yourself as a final means of preservation. Otherwise, when it comes down to shots fired, best to let me do the dirty work. Might as well keep the blood where the blood has been.”

You’d been a little nervous about sharing a freighter pod alone with him, but Ezra was...well, not so much a gentleman as just a comfortable soul.

He always waited until you were hungry to eat, thinking it rude to eat alone in front of you. He never moved around the pod while you were sleeping, content to keep still with a book in his cot. And if you couldn’t sleep, he was always willing to read to you from whatever impossibly dense old world classic he was digging through for the umpteenth time, letting his voice come up from the deeps and pull you gently under. If you asked permission to turn on the radio, he’d ask you “why Isn’t it on yet, woman,” quietly tolerating your taste in harsh and gleeful babblecore pshcyopop. In the later days of the journey, he’d even come to dance with you from time to time, although both of you were dismal at it and ended up with you in a fit of giggles. It was a sure-fire way to cure a case of the pouts you carried through from the morning fitness sessions when he beat you at pushups. Again.

When it came to privacy in the tight space, he had a habit of turning away without having to be asked or stopping his stream of talk when you went to change clothes, just happily chattering away until you called the all clear. Although he was not squeamish about his own state of undress, should you happen to catch it by accident. While he was respectful of your privacy, he seemed to need none of his own, but neither did he flaunt anything. You might look up from studying the flight manual to notice he was changing into a fresh pair of compression pants, tugging them on haphazardly with one hand, more concerned with telling you the overwhelmingly disgusting manufacturing process of Bits Bars than his own ass hanging out where you might see it. At least he always changed facing away from you which was a kindness.

Until it wasn’t.

After you realized you’d fallen quietly in love with him--a sudden, soft moment on the Green--then you’d admit only privately to yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you accidentally saw a little more than the occasional shirtless attire he might wear around the tent.

But in the pod, the only part of him that had caught your curiosity was his stump, and you’d known Ezra intensely enough over the past couple of weeks where you knew he wouldn’t take offense. Especially if you asked him the right way.

“Will you tell me a story, Ezra?”

“I feel that it is my duty to do so whether you ask me to or not. Shall I choose, or is there something in particular you would like to hear?”

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against his cot, going through his kit, cleaning his gear. You waited until he noticed your lack of answer and looked up to meet your eyes. When he saw that you had put your manual down and were focusing all your quiet attention on him, he stopped his busy work.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute. When he knows you seriously need something from him, that becomes his immediate main priority and all else can wait. It’s only gotten more intense since that day, but there is a trust that resides between you when you look into his eyes, gathering your words as he waits patiently every time to hear whatever you’re going to request of him. There’s always hope there in his big browns, always something specific he’s waiting for you to ask, and every day you get a little bit closer to understanding what it might be. But until then, any question is a welcome one, any query is met with his wish to provide.

“Will you tell me how you lost your arm?”

At first you thought you may have gone too far, that maybe you insulted him, as his eyebrows peaked together and he looked down at his hand. But then, “That is a tale that may cause you some consternation, trinket. The Green is dangerous and unforgiving, and there were times I may not have been a man worthy of fair opinion.”

“My father was a prospector, you know. I’ve heard stories. Have you ever killed anyone?”

He clicked his tongue and screwed up an eye, causing the thin white scar on his cheek to twist. Then he sighed and returned to your locked gaze. “To be honest, I have. Though I have never done so with pleasure, I have killed in defense and out of desperation, and it was out of dispatching a man in this way that I came to lose the second favorite of all my appendages.”

“Second favorite?”

“Well, it depends what you classify as a limb.” He huffed a small laugh, a spark in his eye, trying to diffuse the harsh subject in his own way.

His leaning into baseness never bothered you. There was something earthy about it, gritty and rough, but never lewd. You rewarded his crassness with a smile. “Do you plan on killing me out in the Green?”

“I would hope my murdering days are behind me, and if they are not, you would see me aim a thrower at everyone but you in the course of my spree. You are under my tutelage, and for that, I owe you a duty of care. That is my word by Kevva.”

“Then tell me the story. I like your stories. I promise not to judge now-Ezra by then-Ezra.”

A dimple formed on his cheek, a punctuation mark framing the approaching anecdote on his lips. “Then I will declare myself absolved of any sin heretofore and regale you with a clean and grateful heart.”

________________

You can see the tent through the trees and you realize with some horror that it’s just you and Ezra for the next few nights. If he’s angry with you, and this is how he is when he’s upset, the silence will be unbearable.

Even that little girl he helped out here years ago was probably more capable than you. You feel so lost in this moment, and it’s only made worse by his silence. You fumble with your communicator and hit the mute just in time to choke on a sob.

This isn’t like you. You’re not one to cry when things get rough. You hardly shed a tear when your father died. But the thought of that just brings another sob and as acting as your own psychologist you realize that you are experiencing some displaced sorrow, the odd need to please the leading male in your life, the one that’s walking ahead of you, away from you. If he’d just turn around and throw you his worn weary smile, if he’d just start up a conversation you’d know that there was hope for you, you’d know you didn’t give up everything to be here in a job you couldn’t hack.

You gotta stop this. Or it’s going to be an uncomfortable night.

Shake it off.

Once you enter the tent, the usual dance happens. Ezra reaches up to turn on the air scrubber and you unhook his filter tube from his helmet. When he turns to you, you pull open the zipper cover on his suit and start his zip for him before lifting his helmet up and off. He can pull the zip the rest of the way, but you generally pull the left collar down for him so he can get his arm out. He’s on his own from there as you turn to fuss with your own gear.

________________

You remember it starting easily enough. He was telling you a story about the breeding habits of the Tokovian Musk Owl and you could see he was having trouble with his suit zipper, yanking at it and trying to look down at it even though it was under his chin and his helmet. Without another hand to keep the fabric taut, the zip didn’t want to release, so you simply batted his hand away and started it for him. He didn’t even stop his yammering, just threw in a “thank you” somewhere in between “could hear them screeching” and “for a fuck.” He’d right out asked you the day before if you wouldn’t mind disengaging the filter tube just because it was delicate and he didn’t want to mangle the expensive part trying to pop it out one-handed day after day. And while he could manage the helmet fine enough, his prominent nose thanked you for a smoother removal for sure.

It wasn’t the only routine dance you’d concocted.

There was the harness dance.

While dig days were excruciating, you always looked forward to helping him attach the harness for his prosthesis--a kind of rigid pole attached to a shovel so you didn’t have to do all the hard digging alone. There were a couple of straps that came around his torso with multiple latches and you’d come to really enjoy wrapping your arms around him to fit the straps on. Sure, you could do the job just as easily from behind, but if you embraced him at the front, he’d usually raise his arm and let it come to rest around your shoulders while you worked. If you let yourself dream, it would be easy to imagine that he might be pressing you into him just a little bit.

And there was the harvesting dance.

On a dig, you were the one to mix the fazer and Ezra did the pour. He fished the sack, you cut the cord. You sliced the outer casing and held it open while he did the extraction. And with the flesh-covered stone, he told you every time to “hold it like you love it” so he could cut away the slippery blister before cleaning the gemstone.

It was a beautiful harmony. And the only way it worked. Because once on every dig he urged you to do a solo extraction, and on every dig, you pierced the blister and lost that stone. And on every dig, he squeezed your shoulder and told you it was a wondrous try, that he was proud of you, and there would always be another turn. There was no sarcasm, no pity, just a warm smile and ceaseless optimism even though you just lost both of you thousands in pay.

These were the first touches, these shoulder squeezes that ran down your arm on the let-go. Sometimes he would just reach out and grab onto you like a pole to help himself up, or he might stumble off balance on uneven ground and without the counterweight of his right arm he’d throw his hand out onto you to steady himself. He wasn’t beyond lightly touching the small of your back to encourage you down a path or to take your next try at a gem pull.

This was all part of something you’ve secretly named the left-handed-lover’s dance. Basically, that you keep on his left whenever you can in case he needs your help or has the inclination to reach for you. It started out as just trying to be a good partner. Then it became a passing hope that it was more than just a friendly bond. But you were both here to do a job. He was here to teach you to be an independent prospector and you were here to assist and learn. That was evident at the end of the day; once you were both in the tent and out of the suits he never touched you, never so much as bumped into you or grazed your hand in passing an item or clapped you on the arm after a good joke.

But out in the field all zipped in and helmets on, there was nothing more natural than his gentle hand guiding you or reaching for your assistance, including the day you realized you loved him.

________________

Before you can turn away to strip off your own coverings, Ezra catches your arm, spinning your face into the light. You try to shake him off, not wanting him to catch your eyes puffy from crying and your cheeks still streaked with tears, but his grip is not so gentle now and he yanks you back around to his stormy glare, chin up, brows low. His intensity paralyzes you, rendering you unable to continue your struggle when he catches your eyes with his.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute.

His gaze travels back and forth between your eyes, waiting for an explanation, a minute so stringent it breaks you down, dissolves you into the tears you’d tried so hard to hide.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I really am trying... I don’t know why I’m such a scuffer at this and I know it would only be right to release you from the contract and tell you to send me back but I don’t want you to, I really wanna stay, I really wanna learn and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your words have an immediate effect, softening him, pulling his glare into concern and wonder, his lips parting just the tiniest bit in surprise.

“This is the reason for your heavy mood? You think I am provoked by your proficiency in the field?”

“I crusted up good today and it seems like you’re not happy about it. Just...know that it means so much to me that...I don’t wanna let you down.”

“Oh, trinket, no.” An incredulous huff jumps out of him and his grip on your arm loosens, becomes a splayed warm support behind your shoulder, moving in soothing patterns and you’re instantly relieved that your assumptions were wrong. “You have done no harm in my book. It is not an easy thing to deliver a gem of this ilk into the world unscathed. Your opportunities have been few and scattered and it takes many sticks before a lover becomes a lothario.” He knows the crass humor will make you laugh, knows what to say to lighten your heart, to get you to soften, and bring you into his intimate, conspiratorial mood. “To be perfectly honest, I am selfish to an unrighteous degree, for every gem you burn keeps me in value to you. A worthy sacrifice to guarantee you mightn’t be so quick in your need to fly away from me until your training’s complete.”

This causes a hitch in your breath as you see the welcome turn the conversation he’s taking and you follow the path he’s making for you. “I don’t want to leave you, Ez.”

A smile creeps up one side of his mouth. “Well then I am a happy man. A bargain is struck! Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

A moment hangs between you as he rubs his thumb in slow circles on your shoulder. There’s that look in his eye again, the one where he’s waiting for you to ask the question he wants to hear from you. So close now.

Still, you’re unsure. “I guess I’m lucky I found the one person who wants an incompetent partner.”

“No, I do not, nor is it what I have and I must express my objection to your self-debasement. This work is not for the shiny, and you have not once complained about taking on the meat of the digging or the crawl of my schedule.” His hand comes to your helmet shield and he rakes his thumb across it as if he ached to wipe away one of your staleing tears. “Those bright eyes of yours got a penchant for spotting deposits more skillfully than I could ever manage and that’s not something that can be taught; that’s talent, girl. The blistering?” He shrugs. “Even I can’t manage that without the steady help of your fine hands. You may think that your blunders in education are causing us some financial ruin, but our fortunes are creamy. I assure you, we can afford it.”

That look is still there. He’s waiting. “There’s some ‘us’ and ‘we’ in there, Ez.” Your hands drift to his sides, taking fistfuls of his compression suit top, willing him closer.

The edges of his eyes take on the crinkle you’ve come to find so much comfort in. “So there is.”

You’re almost there. You know what he wants. “Why were you so quiet on the walk back?”

“Because for the next few days we are alone here and I have a mind full of questions I do not know how to ask you.”

“Then let me go first.” A yearning happiness settles in his brown eyes; finally. Finally you’ve found out what it is he needs you to request of him. “If I take this helmet off, are you going to kiss me, Ez?”

His eyes close in contentment and he nods, “Yes. Yes, little jewel. Yes I am, that and more. I hope I have inferred correctly that it is your wish that I do so, because I am in free fall. I feel my orbit ending and my pull to you is complete.”

_______________

“A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?”

Speculating days were some of your favorite times, just wading through the brush and looking for the telltale signs and shoots of an underlying deposit. Sometimes you came upon nests of strange groundling insects or flowers that only grew in secret. There were treasures underfoot on this poisonous moon, but if you remembered to look up as well, you might find some dangerous beauties there too.

On that day--the one where you finally understood your heart--you’d looked up to find that you were on a cliffside overlooking a valley, the canopy a million different hues of green, the gas giant looming over half the sky in a big pink and orange semi-circle. There was a fallen log that served as a perfect seat for the perfect view and you knew Ezra wouldn’t mind if you stole a few moments to sit and to take it in. It’s just the kind of thing he’d appreciate. And you were proven right when he came up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he swung one leg then the other over the log, finding a perch next to you, spouting pretty words through the channel link--soft and low--about moons and orbits and obilvions.

“That glowing beauty is Bakhroma. She is quiet and fierce, made up of the unfathomable and the unknowable, always within sight, but out of reach and untouchable unless one would trade the honor with great sacrifice. She reflects the light that is given to her with a patience that is heretofore untold. And the Green Moon upon which we ride follows where she goes like a lovesick fool, spinning around her in a heady kind of adoration, full of secret treasures buried deep down that will ultimately one day belong to her, falling incrementally over eons until he finally loses himself in her, all his glories gladly forfeit to her welcome and inevitable embrace. Alone but together, seemingly eternal, pulled as one by the laws of a mysterious universe.”

The void that came after those words was filled with the beating of your heart, and you were sure he could hear it through the channel.

When he’d landed there beside you, you’d registered how his hand slid off your shoulder, diagonally down across your back, coming to rest at your waist, his arm draped lightly around you. Natural. Easy. Everything was warm--the colors of the sky, the care with which he kept you close as if to better hear the honey sweetness in his prose, the fire burning in your lungs and neck.

Ezra probably didn’t know that you spoke a little Vayok.

Bakh being the Vayok word for adornment. Ornament, Gem. Roma was a modifier, a diminutive. Small. Dear.

Bakhroma. Sentimental bauble. A little jewel.

In other words, a trinket.

All you wanted to do was sit down to take in the view of an entire world for a few moments, but by the time Ezra took your hand and helped you to your feet, all you saw was him.

________________

The helmet is barely off before his lips are sealed to yours in a press of greed. Even if he can’t form words when he kisses you, he can’t help but express his deep relief in a heartbreaking moan. It’s a fight to release yourself from the suit when he keeps pulling you against him and every time you try to get some space between you to work the zipper, he chuckles into your mouth, enjoying the tease and the struggle. It’s simultaneously frustrating and thrilling and you give in for a few moments just to give him what he seems to want so desperately right now.

Ezra kisses like a man starved for air, long, hard, and full of need, peeling his lips away only to come back for another breath of you until his initial want is slaked and he slows, allows for more time between his taking, his mouth starting to mumble against yours, praising you with pet names, telling you how perfect you are to him, how long he’s “fought against my more dubious natures to respect your womanly virtues and take them only when you could see in me a man worth bestowing them on.”

You’re able to use his weakness for monologuing to turn around in his vice-like embrace, finally freeing yourself of the suit and he takes the opportunity to drawl more pretty words in your ear, warning you that “I’m afraid I have been enamored of you overly long and may be extra eager in my attentions. So you just say the word if you need a slow down, gentle one, and I will do my best to comply. Although I will admit it will be a difficult endeavor indeed as I feel I am entering your atmosphere and nothing might quell this burn but finding some drowning place to land.”

Your first impression of him was of a man whose age and temperament and body would not be able to overpower you.

Your first impression was wrong.

Of course, it helps that you are willing.

It doesn’t take long for him to strip you down, and then himself. To kiss you down onto the floor. To find exactly where you like to be touched most and how long it takes for you to break from it. He has so many words for you, so many praises to sing about every part of you that is round or soft or wet, comparing you to things that are sweet and plush or celestial and holy. And when you take his favorite limb in hand--as wondrous as the rest of his body--and guide it to its fit, he plunders and harvests all you have to give him, filing you with himself, for as long as you call for it, as long as you let him. He loves you like he speaks to you: rough and drawn out, full of beautiful tangents and meandering plotlines, but in the end it is beautiful and fulfilling; you may be just a little bit confused how you got to the ending, but you’re completely in awe.

When you lay breathing heavy, staring but not seeing the ceiling of the tent, your consciousness seemingly lifted to see through it to the stars, to the glowing face of Bakhroma, you run hands through rough-chopped hair on a head laying on your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down so he can start again. The air is thick--even the air scrubber can’t keep up with all your humidity--and there’s a halo around each bulb of the string lights just barely illuminating the darkness.

“How long, Ez?”

“Hm?”

“How long have you been waiting for that.”

“Most likely since the day you walked into my interview. I am a man of simple wants and you had all the right parts for my preferences.”

“For real, Ez.”

He tipped his head up to find you. “What you ask has many true answers, and I stand by the first. I have no qualms telling you of my weakness for a pretty succulence and a kind smile the likes of which you possess. But if you are asking when I knew I would have it, well, that may have been the first day you danced. Or when you asked me to read you to sleep. Or when I understood I wouldn’t let those bastard raiders get near enough to take their turn at your qualities when I had not had them myself. Or when you finally saw me as a viable person to drape your affections on; maybe it was that day too.”

“When I finally saw you as....”

“I have read many tomes and verses but none so full of beautiful passages as your face that day on the cliff. There is a difference of knowing and being. I knew the feel of your pull that day, but found I’d been in orbit all along.”

How he can live this way, twist everything into a tossed away poem...it should be exhausting. Yet you feed off it. You breathe it like air.

After another long cycle of frenzied entanglement and violent euphoria, you ask Ezra if he’d like to move to a cot, maybe get some sleep. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk to the dig tomorrow morning,” you confess.

“No need to worry about tomorrow,” he says, wapping his arm around you and dragging you back to him, grumbling into your ear. “We are the only prospectors in this sector and the aurelac will wait. Until our new compatriots arrive, we are officially on hiatus. Recreational mining only. Restricted to the confines of this tent. By order of your supervisor. In the interest of more precious treasures. And I intend to strike it rich.”

“Well. I’m here to assist. And learn.”

“When it comes to this dig, trinket, you are more than competent. I am no longer your trainer. Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

The new contract is struck, signed and sealed in kissing and in touch and a long, slow fall into inevitable oblivion.

#ezra x reader #ezra/reader #ezra prospect #prospect fanfic #prospect fanfiction #pedro pascal #soft #soft ezra

383 notes · View notes

lilhwahwa · 3 years

Text

White Hemlock - 𝙋.𝙎𝙃

WARNING: mafia au! Strong language! Kinda angst? Liddol fluffy too.

MASTERLIST

Next part

Your hands trembled with nerves, coated in a thin layer of cold sweat as you watched your lover through the glass windows of his home office. The light and golden tray you gripped onto harshly was now also trembling in your hands, shaking the tea in its white porcelain cup.

Your breath caught in your tightening throat as his sharp eyes met yours. Seonghwa raised his eyebrows in puzzlement, wondering why you weren't entering through the door with that shy smile of yours and a playful glint in your pure eyes like you always did.

You swallowed dry air, trying to restore your calm form before pushing the door handle down with one hand and taking a step inside his well-decorated office. Your eyes scanned the dark walnut bookcase lining the entire right-hand wall before moving onto the black leather sofa pressed to the wall.

Seonghwa was still on the phone, no doubt a business call, as you placed your tray on the round glass coffee table by the couch. You took a seat carefully, leg bouncing with nerves. As Seonghwa talked, his delicate digits reached over and straightened some stuff on his desk, making sure everything was square and appropriately spaced to please the perfectionist in him.

Yet, his darkening eyes never left your stiffened form. Had he figured it out already? That fast? There was no way. Thoughts of doubt clouded your mind so much that you hadn't noticed Seonghwa had put his phone down on his desk, now silently watching your spaced-out form.

"Did darling bring something for me?" His voice was low but loud enough for it to make itself heard even across the room. Seonghwa's face was unreadable, as unpredictable as always. That quality of his made you uneasy at times, but today, it terrified you as you remembered the reason for being sat in his office at this hour.

"Oh um, you're working so hard, so I thought you'd want something to drink..." Your lips turn upward into a forced smile. Would Seonghwa fall for it? You were never awake at four am, specifically not to serve a coffee-person, a cup of tea. Seonghwa hummed and pushed back from his desk, spinning in his office chair to face you.

"Let's see then." he encouraged and nodded to the tray you had brought with you. It took you a couple to realize it was time to act. You scrambled up onto your feet, bringing the cup of tea over with you as Seonghwa reached over to place his large hands on your hips.

"Sit," he said simply before pulling you closer and down onto his lap, letting you get comfortable. "And what did my darling bring me at four am?" his voice was amused, almost mocking your nervous state as his digits ran down your hip to rest on your bare thigh.

"So since you were- you are working so hard, I brought you some tea," you chirped, looking straight ahead to avoid making eye contact with him. Seonghwa's eyes trailed down to the small cup of dark liquid in your trembling hands.

"Very well, hand it here," he leaned in to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. You quickly raised the cup for him to take and forced a smile in form of a reaction to his kiss. Seonghwa ignored the cup as his lips continued pressing small kisses up the expanse of your jaw.

"Why won't you look at me today? Is something making you uneasy?" he asked, tone silky and smooth, too smooth for someone with eyes colder than ice.

"N-no, of course not!" you replied, turning your head quickly to face your lover, way too quick. He'd notice, it was too obvious. Your eyes nervously scanned his face, heart starting to ache at the thought of what you were about to do to him. "I'm just tired," you lied and looked down at the cup of tea in your hand. Seonghwa reached down and wrapped his hand around the cup, lifting it to his face. Smooth ropes of steam lifted into the air from the hot liquid, making Seonghwa hum at the scent.

You sat dead silent, body frozen as you patiently waited for him to take a sip. You felt almost relieved as he seemed to turn out clueless to the poisonous herb in the tea. The plan was going to be successful.

Just a few weeks prior, you had started getting threatening messages on your phone. They started short, coming in once or twice a week with messages asking about your day and if you had enjoyed your meals. While it was slightly creepy to know someone held information about you and what and when you had eaten a meal, you thought nothing about it as you blocked the number. It wasn't until a week ago when you received pictures of your family members in their home, doing everyday things with messages threatening to hurt them. You knew going into a relationship with Seonghwa would hold its risks, and you promised yourself that no matter what, your family's well being would come first.

That's why when the number told you to slip the poisonous herb into Seonghwa's tea and intoxicate him temporarily in exchange for your family's lives, you agreed with a heavy heart after sleepless nights of thinking. Even though you considered going to Seonghwa or even his fellow members, the instructions were clear. Should you tell anyone, then that would be the end for your family right then and there.

"You do seem tired, baby. I have an idea hm? Why don't you take this cup of tea to bed with you and I'll come to join you soon?" Seonghwa smiled and placed the cup of tea down on his desk. Your relieved chest was once again filling up with anxiety and guilt as you wasted precious time. He had to take the poison by sunrise.

"B-but I made this for you, why don't you at least try a sip? Please?" You beg silently, heart beating loudly in your ears as you reached forward to wrap your arms around his neck in hopes of coaxing him into drinking it.

Without breaking eye contact, Seonghwa stretched his hand towards his desk. You didn't dare to look away from his face as you pouted, desperate in convincing him.

"You seem to be forgetting who I am" Seonghwa's voice was once again low and amused as he watched you swallow nervously. The office was still dark despite the sun starting to rise. His blinds were shut and only the little desk light was on for you to make out his sharp features. Nevertheless, his words brought confusion to your face and for a second it felt like he had known about your plan all along.

"H-huh?-" you opened your mouth to question him but froze when you felt cold metal make contact with your temple. It took you a second to realize what it was before you started thrashing around on his lap in desperation to get away from him. "Stop or I won't hesitate to shoot" his voice was clear and even lower than before. Memories of him taking you out to the mall and the park came flashing back before your eyes. Him, a sweet and loving man who blew on your finger when you had accidentally hurt yourself and the man who scolded the kitchen counter when you hit your hip on it, now pressing a gun to the same person he had sworn to protect with his life. He wouldn't shoot. With furrowed brow and determination, you kept moving and trying to escape the hand that gripped onto your hip harshly. Your heart stopped when the sound of the gun cocking made you finally realize that you could be a second away from never being able to wake up to him in your warm bed and seeing your family for New Year's.

"H-hwa-" you stuttered, eyes glazing over with tears as you finally froze in his hold. Seonghwa chuckled coldly, in disbelief at your behaviour. His own eyes held hurt in them and had you been able to read minds, his would be screaming in agony and betrayal as he watched his loved one trying to hurt him.

"I promised to protect you, as long as you did the same." He stated coldly as if reading your mind, eyes leaving yours to look over at the teacup on his desk. "Take the cup, and take a sip" He ordered, gaze never leaving yours. "Do it now" he raised his voice when you sat still in his lap, trembling in fear and shock at this side of your lover. No matter how much he wanted to drop his gun and hold you closer in his arms to comfort both of you, he knew it would be an important lesson to learn.

A few tears fell from your eyes, bottom lip quivering in humiliation and fear as you slowly turned your head to the side, gun still pressed to your temple as you saw the lonely white cup on the dark desk. Your hand shakily reached out to take the cup, bringing it over to your chest.

"Now take a sip" Seonghwa murmured, eyes dark and stone-cold as his jaw clenched, making hin look almost deadly. You looked up at him with irritated red eyes, begging him silently to stop. "Hwa please-" you cried as his hand came up behind to harshly grip your hair, making you tilt your head back sharply.

"Thought it would be smart slipping white fucking hemlock into my tea? Do you think I was born yesterday Y/n?" he laughed coldly, trying to hide the hurt in his voice. "Is this what you call trust?" he spits, digging the gun harsher into your temple as his face changes to one in disgust. "Unthankful fucking brat, you should be happy I didn't tell the others about your little sneaky plans, they'd have you strapped down in our basement and tortured for hours with no pause. Think twice of who you choose to betray" he spoke harshly, hurt clouding his mind as he intended to scare you up enough to never try it again. He knew deep down he wouldn't be able to let you go, but a lesson wouldn't hurt, too much.

You let out a choked sob, letting the teacup drop and smash into small pieces on the carpeted floor below. "Please, Seonghwa, I'm sorry- they said they'd hurt my family and- and that the poison isn't lethal please-" you cry, eyes closing as you felt yourself lose control of all the emotions building up, breaking out in loud sobs as your body shook in his embrace. Seonghwa swallowed harshly, letting out a sigh before putting his gun to the side and wrapping his other arm around your waist. He let go of your hair, catching your head on his shoulder as your exhausted form went limp in his arms. He hushed you as you shook from the overbearing shock, hand sliding over your back as you kept sobbing into his neck.

"Next time, you tell me what's going on right from the start, understood?" he questioned strictly even though he knew you wouldn't be able to respond. "And also, don't throw the package out in the trash bin."

#park seonghwa #seonghwa #ateez #ateez mafia au #ateez reaction #ateez reactions #ateez scenario #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez imagine #ateez angst #ateez fluff #mafia au #kpop reactions

286 notes · View notes

willow-tree-writes · 3 years

Text

❀Bet {1}❀

JJ Maybank x Reader

Summary: You were always the good girl that didn’t do anything outside your parents’ wishes. Including dating bad boys. Out of the blue, the baddest of boys comes and asks you on a date. The catch? You don’t know quite yet...

Request: N/A

Author’s Note: This idea is kind of based off 10 Thing I Hate About You. Great movies, if you haven’t watched it, please go watch it.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Cursing

!I don’t own this gif!

“He’s a bad boy, Di.” You didn't look up from your notebook as you finished your poem for English.

Dina, who sat next to you at the library table, huffed. “But he’s so your type - blond hair, blue eyes, built like a God. He’s the whole fucking package.”

You rolled your eyes, closing the notebook and turning to her. “Who drinks, smokes, and has sex with anything that breathes with a vagina. I want someone a little more stable.”

She groans, throwing her head back. “You’re a 16 year old virgin, Y/N. Stability is a middle-aged person thing.”

You laugh a little and shake your head. “One, it’s not. Two, even if I was interested in him, there’s no way in hell he’d ever notice me.”

She smirks, hearing your second point as you possibly being interested in the boy. “I can think of a way for you to get his attention…”

“No.” You frantically shake your head. “Hell no.”

“Come on! You never go!”

You laughed. “Yeah, cause I don’t feel like getting drunk around a bunch of fake people.”

She pouted. “Come on…” She whined. “Just one! I promise I won’t leave your side for a second, or get drunk.”

You sigh, shaking your head. You were about to say no when you looked at your best friend. She displayed a puppy dog face. You sigh again, closing your eyes. “Just this one time.” She never did the puppy dog face unless she really wanted something.

She squealed, jumping up from her seat. “Yes!”

The librarian, who was a good distance from you two, looked in your direction at Dina’s outburst. “Shh!”

She giggled out an apology before suffocating you in a hug.

You were so going to regret this.

----

JJ plopped down in his seat at the cafeteria table. “Yo, John B, watch this.” He hit his friend lightly on the arm as he grabbed a french fry.

Kie rolled her eyes from where she sat. “Do you always have to do this?”

He ignored her as he tossed the french fry up in the air, catching it in his mouth long ways.

John B chuckled. “How long did it take you to do that?”

He shrugged, chewing the fry. “Fucking long enough to be appreciated.”

Everyone at the table snorted at JJ’s comment. Their laughs died quickly when a few Kooks came over and sat at their table around them.

“You guys lost or something?”

The one that seemed to be the leader of the pack, Gavin they thought his name was, spoke. “I was actually looking for a favor.”

“Look elsewhere.” John B answered, sitting back a little.

JJ looks at the fake watch on his wrist. “Come back when we’re working. Oh, wait, that’s never.”

Gavin rolled his eyes a little. “We both know I can pay. So humor me.”

JJ crossed his arms. “You humor us.”

“I need one of you to trick a girl for me.” He looked at the boys, but specifically John B and JJ.

They all laugh a little. “Sorry, but that’s not our thing.”

One of the Kook goons patted his friend on the back. “You didn’t let him finish.”

JJ rolled his eyes and signaled for Gavin to continue.

“She’s right over there.” He points across the cafeteria to a H/C girl sitting with a brunette. “Her best friend is a total babe. But she won’t date anyone unless the both of them are getting some.”

John B shook his head. “And I’m guessing that’s where we come in?”

JJ speaks up before Gavin can say anything more. “Why can’t you get one of your ‘friends’ to do your dirty work?”

“This girl has specific tastes. And one of them is she prefers anyone but Kooks.” Gavin looks away from the two girls and back at the two boys. “So, what do you say? Will one of you take the offer?”

The table was silent for a moment. Kie was disgusted with the premise of using a girl just to get into another girl’s pants. Pope was glad he didn't get rope into this. John B knew sure as hell he wasn’t going to do this. But JJ, he was actually considering it.

“Alright, bet.” JJ says after a while, shoving a french fry in his mouth. “I’ll do it.”

Gavin smiles and pats him on the back. “That’s what I’m talking about, man. Her name is Y/N.”

----

“Now that’s what I’m talking about, girl!” Di squeals as she looks you up and down.

You were in a pair of black ripped jean shorts that kept riding up on your thighs. Your F/C crop top barely covered any part of your stomach, also riding up every now and then. You didn’t do much with your hair, not wanting to seem like you got really ready for a Kegger Party.

Di drags you to where most people are. “Thank my mom. I was going to come in tights and a t-shirt.” You mumbled.

She rolls her eyes playfully as she shoves a red solo cup in your hand. “Of course you were.”

“What’s in this?” Sloshing the liquid inside, it looked like a cheap substitute for red wine mixed with hard beer.

She shrugged and grabbed your arm, pulling you where more people were. “Who cares! Let loose for once and have some fun!”

You laugh a little and look back at the contents of your cup. Maybe a couple sips wouldn’t be that big of a deal.

Boy was that a bad idea.

The alcohol tasted cheap and went down like a child scared of a waterslide. It also hit you like a truck on an icy road.

You didn’t realize this until you were babbling on about the horrible quality of the education system to some poor Touron from Maine. Di, who had had way more to drink than you, was right behind you, laughing every once in a while at what you said.

“I mean, who the hell cares about proofs? I shouldn’t have to prove shit!” It’s not like you even drank a lot. You had, at most, four sips.

The Touron was a mix between an uncaring tipsy and a concerned sober. “I need to get another drink.” He got up and, without waiting for you to respond, rushed off away from the kegger.

Not processing he was ditching you, you waited nice and patiently for him to return. You waited five minutes. Which turned to ten minutes. Then twenty. Then thirty. Then Di had to come over and correct your thinking.

“Girlie,” she slurred, almost tripping on you. She did seem to have sober up a little bit. “He’s gone gone. Like so gone.”

You sighed, helping her stand up properly. In the back of your mind you knew you overstepped, but you couldn’t say it.

After you were sure she could stand up on her own, you said, “I think I’m gonna-”

You had started to turn around and head towards the kegger when the sudden appearance of a body set you landing down right on your ass.

“Mother of all ducks and gooses…” You mutter, rubbing the part of your butt that wasn’t completely in the sand.

A hand popped in front of your face. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

The voice was one you didn’t really recall. But the face… If the blow to your ass didn’t sober you up, the thought of talking to this boy would have.

His smile was goofy, but presented itself like he knew how he made girls feel. Which he did. “Y/N, right?”

How the hell did JJ Maybank know your name? There was no way he should have known your name. It was impossible.

You felt a nudge on your shoulder and glanced back to see Di trying to contain her excitement and failing. Looking back forward, you slowly take his hand and let him help you stand back up.

“Y-Yeah…”

“Great.” He didn’t let go of your hand once you were standing. Instead, he started to pull you over to a group you recognized as his friends.

You might have been a little too quick to stop him. “Wait, wait.” You pulled back on your hand. It didn’t get him to let go; only to slow down. “What - Who - Why?” You weren’t completely sober, so complete sentences and comprehensive thought wasn’t a friend.

He laughed, enjoying the effect he had on you. “Go on a date with me.”

That wasn’t a question. And the bluntness of it made you want to take a couple steps back. JJ Maybank, head Pogue boy or whatever, was asking a low profile Kook on a date. Something wasn’t right there.

Before you could open your mouth to answer, Di came and leaned over your shoulder. “Yes! Of course she’s gonna go on a date with you.” The smell of alcohol was a little too much for you.

He let go of your hand, which left a cold spot, and flashed you a charming smile. “Great. Meet me here on Friday. 3:30.” With that, he just walked back to his friends.

You were left sober with a drunk best friend to deal with and one question on your mind - What the fuck just happened?

381 notes · View notes

justanother-unluckysoul · 3 years

Text

CS Fic: You Are My Shelter

Rating: T

Word count: 5k

Summary: An unexpected blizzard hits while Emma and Killian are enjoying a quiet vacation in their forest cabin, forcing them to shelter in place until it passes. The temporary isolation probably wouldn’t have been so bad if Killian hadn’t also gotten injured.

A completely self-indulgent story that hopefully some of you will enjoy.

A/N: Bet you weren’t expecting another story from me so soon but this one kind of appeared out of nowhere, built from one sentence and a vague vibe. It was basically just an excuse to whump Killian a bit, but also to write snuggly cosy CS scenes when real life weather was cold and gross.

Read on AO3

You Are My Shelter

“I’ll be back soon,” Emma had said with a quick kiss to his lips, “Just be careful up there, okay?”

Killian had told her not to worry, that he’d spent centuries climbing the rigging on the Jolly Roger and that clearing the chimney of their holiday cabin would be easy. She had been worried, but he’d placated her, and she’d cautioned him one last time before reluctantly leaving for town. There was a storm brewing, carrying a threat of heavy rain and early-season snow, and both of them wanted to be prepared in case it turned out worse than predicted. But either way, the fireplace was certainly going to get some use, hence why Killian was clearing bird nests from the chimney. It was overdue really, but they hadn’t been out here for a few months, their little cabin nestled in a forest about an hour’s drive away from Storybrooke. The sun was getting low, but the work warms him up quickly, enough to be quite comfortable in just the shirt and trousers he’d stripped to before he’d started. He hadn’t been lying when he said he was used to heights and climbing. Even the slipperiness of the shingles wasn’t unexpected, and he was carefully bracing himself and planting his feet firmly. So Killian isn’t sure what happened. The wind was getting stronger; he could see rain on the horizon, creeping closer and maybe he tried to rush a little bit, wanting to get the job done and get off the roof before the weather turned. Whatever the cause, his foot slips, he scrambles for a handhold and there’s none, Killian is sliding and falling and he really should have had some sort of rope to hold him. The benefit of hindsight. There’s a moment of weightless terror as he goes off the edge of the roof and plunges unchecked towards the ground. He doesn’t remember landing.

Wake up, Killian, please. I can't carry you.

Emma is panicked, almost in tears, the urgency with which she pulls at his shirt and pats his cheeks drawing him back to a groggy awareness. He is so tired. He's not certain he's even awake now, his surroundings taking on a surreal, distant quality as he tries to blink Emma's frightened face into focus. He thinks he’s lying on the ground, though he’s so numb and tired he’s not certain of that either. What happened? he tries to ask, but the sound he actually makes is more like a weak groan than anything comprehensible.

Killian, please wake up. I need you to help me.

Somehow he’s on his feet. His body doesn't feel like his own, slow and so, so heavy. Emma dragging him forwards, the world blurring around them, just a little further, Killian, we're almost there. He stumbles through the cabin doorway into the dark room beyond, only Emma's hold on him keeping him from collapsing right there. When he does fall, it's onto something soft - a bed, perhaps. He thinks Emma is trying to get his damp clothes off; that's a good idea, he'll surely catch his death from cold if he stays in them. He should help her. But his strength is depleted, the world is going dark once more, and he knows nothing after that.

He comes to with a scorching pressure against his back, and when he tries to squirm away, he notices the arm wrapped around his middle, searing and restrictive.

"Lie still, Killian," Emma murmurs and he feels as though his skin blisters under her breath on his neck.

Emma, stop, it hurts, he tries but he is weak and trembling and the words are too quiet, slurred between his numb lips and dry tongue.

"Lie still. It's okay."

He groans, giving up. He is too bloody tired to fight anymore. His fingers and toes have started to prickle with sensations, as though they are just coming back to life. And now the shivers begin to roll through him in earnest, relentless and uncomfortable, rattling his teeth.

"Shhh. You’re okay. Come back to me, Killian."

He whimpers and groans and keeps shaking, while Emma maintains her tight hold on him and coaches him gently as his breath drags roughly against his parched throat, relax, Killian, it's okay, everything's going to be okay, I promise. As his body slowly crawls back from the brink of frozen death, Killian can hear the howl of wind against the cabin walls, the storm shaking the window panes while something in the roof rattles threateningly with each gust. He’s wrapped in Emma’s arms, her body pressed against his naked back, blankets piled atop them both.

“Are you with me, Killian?” Emma asks softly, and her breath doesn’t burn him this time, his skin slowly warming.

“S-swan,” he whispers; all he can manage right now.

“Oh, thank god.” Her voice is a damp sob against his neck.

She shifts now, sliding away and rolling him onto his back, the warm blankets pulled away. He wants them back. He wants Emma back.

“I have to… I have to stitch this. Shit, Killian, it’s-”

Her breath shudders, and Killian wants - needs - to see what’s happened, what’s upsetting Emma. He needs to reassure her that he’s okay. But he hasn’t the strength to move; with his blood warming, awareness trickling back in, his head has begun to throb and spin woozily, and there’s a growing cognition of the deep pain in his thigh. He can do nothing but lie there helplessly, teeth gritted against the discomfort as Emma pokes at what he supposes is a nasty wound on his leg. He misses the blankets. He’s still shivering miserably, though he can no longer tell if it’s from cold or heat or simply the pain. There are too many sensations, the agony in his thigh increasing exponentially under Emma’s hesitant ministrations and despite his best efforts to stay conscious, Killian is soon floating away in a daze. The wind roars - or perhaps that is him, he can’t tell. His mind is entirely lost to the pain and the misery; no amount of soothing words will be able to reach it now, though he can hear Emma trying anyway. The wind is going to tear this cabin apart, as surely as the pain is tearing him apart, his agonized cries lost beneath the scream of the storm.

***

The world is muted, soft sounds filtering into Kllian’s ears as though from a great distance. He's more exhausted than he's ever been in his life, yet at the same time it feels as though he's been lying in this bed for days, drifting in a haze of restless sleep amid the pain that's still twinging in his leg. His leg twitches without conscious thought, and the twinge becomes a vicious bolt of pain, his teeth gritted against it and the encroaching darkness as his back arches, hand clawing at the blanket to steady himself. Staying as still as he can, taking deep lungfuls of precious air, vowing to never move again if that is the result, waiting for the pain to ease. Killian remembers Emma being with him before - remembers a soft touch and gentle words - but there had also been a searing, deep agony in his thigh and a terrible pounding in his head, and he had been cold and confused and so weak, desperate for Emma just to hold him. For her soothing embrace to allow him to find some measure of peace amongst the torment, to ground him in reality as the pain and exhaustion twisted the world around him. But she hadn't held him the way he wished, too busy trying to piece him back together, her voice distant as she worked. And peace had come for Killian, eventually, in the form of blissful unconsciousness, ignoring Emma's increasingly desperate pleas for him to keep fighting the lure of the dark; she should know by now that Killian had never been good at resisting darkness. But he is awake now, the room bathed in weak daylight that doesn’t hurt his head, a roaring fire lit in the hearth casting a warmth through the room. The blankets are thick and heavy and soft, and Killian is in no hurry to move from this position of relative comfort, the ice finally gone from his veins, the pain ebbing away. Emma creeps into the room holding a cup of something steaming and sweet, her thick socks barely making a sound on the floorboards, smiling in relief when she sees him awake.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, setting the cup on the bedside drawers and easing herself onto the mattress beside him.

“Tired,” he admits, “Hurts to move.”

Emma presses her hand against his forehead briefly before tugging the blankets down so she can check his wound. He tries not to flinch as she carefully peels the bandage away and prods gently at the sensitive skin around the injury.

“No sign of infection,” she muses, “It’s just going to take time to heal. It was very deep.”

She covers him back up.

“You should drink something. I know you’re hurting, but can you sit up for me?”

Sitting up is agony, but with Emma’s help he manages to get upright, propped against the pillows, his arm wrapped around his middle as he sucks in sharp, shaky breaths. The room tilts away from him and he grabs clumsily for Emma’s arm, his head pounding.

“You okay?” she murmurs, and he shakes his head, swallowing thickly, “Shh, I’ve got you. Take some slow breaths, that’s it.”

She has procured a wet washcloth from somewhere, and she uses it to wipe the cold sweat from his face as he struggles against the urge to vomit, the combination of pain and dizziness rising to an unbearable level. It feels like hours before his body calms, before the pain eases back to a dull ache and the room settles, and he can take the offered cup of tea. Though it must not have really been hours because the tea is still quite warm. The gentle spice of it soothes his churning stomach and calms the trembling of his hands as he sips at it, watching Emma stack more wood onto the dwindling fire.

“The storm…?”

“Still here,” she replies, “But it’s snowing now.”

Killian can’t see out the window well from this angle; there’s only white nothingness beyond the glass, but he doesn’t dare move again so he simply takes Emma’s word for it. He’s content to stay where he is now, leant against the pillows with tea in hand and the blankets pooled around his waist as the fire begins to roar in its box once more.

“Do you need anything else?” Emma asks, when she’s satisfied with the state of the fire.

“Just you, love.”

Emma smiles and ducks her head, a slight blush rising on her cheeks at his statement. She is still not quite sure how to respond to Killian’s casual affection, the openness with which he loves her, and so he’s made a vow to himself to say such things to her as often as possible until she accepts it without this uncomfortable hesitation. He pats the space next to him.

“Come sit with me, Emma. It’s too miserable a day not to spend it in bed.”

It doesn’t take much to convince her. She tucks herself close to Killian’s side, pulling the blanket over herself as well, her socked toes pressed against his legs as she rests her head on his shoulder.

“Like this?” Emma asks.

“Perfect,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

He drinks the rest of his tea in silence, letting the crackle of the fire fill the room instead, the soft warmth of Emma’s body curling into him lulling him into a contented doze by the time he’s finished the drink.

Killian wakes lying on his back once again, his eyes sticky and his mouth dry. The room is darker now but no less warm, the fire still crackling away, the outside chill barred by the heavy curtains now drawn across the windows. Killian’s hand flexes towards the thick bandages around his thigh. The pain is a deep, relentless ache, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Tentatively, Killian takes a deeper breath, shifts his legs a little, relieved when it doesn’t hurt too much more than lying still does. He’s not brave enough to try sitting up yet, not without assistance, though it would be nice to soothe his parched throat with the glass of water he can see sitting on the cabinet beside the bed. After a moment, his thirst overrides his reluctance to move.

“Emma,” he rasps, and it’s a bloody miracle she actually hears him from the main room.

“Hey.” She’s at his side in a moment, checking his forehead again, fussing over him anxiously. “What is it?”

“Thirsty,” Killian whispers.

“Okay. Did you want to try sitting up again?”

He nods, and she gently assists him upright, stuffing pillows behind his back, brushing her fingers slowly through his hair until the spinning in his head settles and he can take the glass. The water is delicious, fresh and cool, and he has to resist the urge to gulp it all down as fast as possible, taking slow, small sips instead until the glass is empty.

“I’ve got some soup on the stove if you want to eat.” Emma tucks the blanket higher around his waist. “You should eat.”

The smell wafting into the bedroom is actually making him salivate a little; he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now. He wonders how long it’s been since he last ate. Once he’s eating a bowl of steaming soup, Emma stokes up the fire and then settles cross legged at the end of the bed, tucking into her own meal.

“How long has it been?” Killian asks, “Since… since you found me.”

Emma glances at her watch.

“Uh, that was yesterday evening. So, about a day, I guess?”

“Bloody hell.” He’s stunned to know he’s been barely conscious for such a long time. No wonder Emma was worried. “It’s not still snowing, is it?”

Emma bites at her lip anxiously. “It is. The rain had turned to snow by the time I got home, and you were just… just lying there, soaked through. God, Killian, I thought you were…” She can’t bring herself to say it.

“I’m going to be alright, love,” Killian assures her, wishing Emma wasn’t sitting quite so far away that he can’t reach out and comfort her.

“I’ve phoned for help last night, but nobody can get in because the snow is too thick already. We… could be stuck here for a while.” She picks at a loose thread on the blanket, her dinner forgotten.

Her fear is palpable, and not unwarranted. Killian hasn’t gotten a look at his leg yet, but he knows Emma had to sew it closed, and knows it must have been a vicious gash. He must have caught it on something on the roof as he’d slid. Whatever the cause, it’s a nasty injury; he can feel that much.

“There’s no one I’d rather be stuck with,” he says, with far more cheerfulness than he feels.

Emma smiles at that, but her eyes are still troubled. Killian gestures at her half finished bowl, you need to eat too, my love. She does, but slowly, and he can tell she’s struggling to get it down, her worry ruining her appetite. His heart aches. He’s annoyed that he didn’t have the foresight to use a rope, because he should have known better. More than anything, he hates being the cause of Emma’s stress. She’s been through enough without having to worry about him over a stupid mistake.

After dinner, Emma helps Killian limp to the bathroom. It feels good to be out of bed, although Emma is quick to coax him back when he’s done.

“I’m okay, Emma,” he says, feeling like he’s said it so many times already, “I’m not going to break.”

Truthfully, walking around is hurting his leg and the dizziness has returned now that he’s standing up, but it’s a small price to pay for the freedom of being on his feet again. Emma observes him with a furrowed brow, her lips pursed, but Killian gently kisses that expression off her face.

“I’m sorry I scared you, love. But I promise I’m feeling better. You’ve done a good job here.” He gestures to his thigh, where the neat line of stitches are pinching at him if he’s not careful enough. “But just for you, sweetheart, I’ll go back to bed for a while. Okay?”

“Okay. And I… I should check your leg again. We can’t risk infection.”

It hasn’t been long since she last looked at it, but Killian asquieces, shimmying his trousers off and settling back on the bed, knowing she needs this to allay her fears. Her hands are steady as she presses her fingers lightly beside the line of stitches, and Killian can’t help the tensing of his stomach muscles as she does, fighting with his body’s instinct to pull away from the touch so close to his wound. A soft grunt is all that escapes him, but it’s enough to make Emma’s face crumple in guilt as she pauses.

“Sorry,” she whispers, and Killian quickly shakes his head.

“It’s alright.”

She watches him for a moment longer and he is careful to keep any sign of pain from his expression, before she returns to her task. Emma’s brow furrows in concentration as she tends his injury, the corner of her mouth pulling in a small grimace, before her eyes dart back up to meet Killian's. He tries to give her a reassuring smile.

“How does it look?” he asks.

“It’s… it’s okay. I think.” Emma sighs, looking tired and stressed. “I’m not good at this, Killian. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing fine, love,” he tells her sincerely, “And as soon as we get back to Storybrooke, you can use your magic to heal it completely.”

He tugs her closer so he can kiss her again.

“I know,” she says, “I just worry. Between the concussion, and the hypothermia, and the nearly bleeding to death…” She presses her fingers against his lips, halting the words that he’d been about to speak. “And don’t just tell me you’re a survivor.”

Killian chuckles softly as she moves her fingers, stroking along his jawline. Emma knew him too well; that had been exactly the line he was about to say.

“Alright, I won’t. But I will be alright, Swan, in your care. And I’m sure we’ll be out of here soon.”

***

The following day had started a bit brighter, the snowfall easing, and Killian had spent the morning on the couch, trying to read but his eyes refused to focus, and stubbornly trying anyway had only brought his headache back. So he set the book aside and watched Emma potter about the cabin instead, fetching firewood and melting snow for drinking water. The frigid nights had frozen the water pipes solid, and with no sun to warm them during the day, there was no running water. It didn't bother Killian much - he still considered such modern conveniences to be a luxury. And though he would have appreciated a warm bath or something today, he's not about to ask Emma to fill one for him. He feels useless enough, frustrated and bored, stuck sitting on the couch while Emma does all the work, without adding to her list of chores.

“Hey, are you doing okay?” He’s pulled out of his self-pity by Emma sitting beside him, taking the book from his loose fingers.

“I’m fine,” he says automatically, his voice distant and hollow in his own ears.

Emma doesn’t believe him, he can tell. She reaches out to smooth the furrow between his brows, fingers carding through his hair as he leans into the touch. The gentle pressure against his scalp feels so good, easing the tightness his attempt at reading had caused.

“You can be honest with me,” she whispers, “Please. I want to help.”

“No, it’s okay. You’ve already done so much, Emma, I can’t...” I can’t ask for more, it wouldn’t be right.

“But you’re hurting, aren’t you? Is it your head?”

He nods, eyes falling closed as he accepts the comfort she offers him.

“Maybe reading wasn’t the best idea.” Killian hums in agreement. “Do you want to go back to bed? Maybe lying down will help.”

“I’m tired of lying down,” he complains, sharper than he intended, his head lolling against the back of the couch miserably.

“Okay.” Emma’s quiet, patient tone only makes him feel worse, angry with himself for lashing out.

Instead of saying anything else, Emma simply picks up the discarded book, tucks her knees up and cuddles closer to him, and begins to read the story aloud. Killian’s protest is instinctive.

“Swan, you don’t n-”

“Shh, I’m reading,” Emma says firmly, and continues.

An amused, affectionate chuckle escapes Killian. Gods above, he is so lucky to have this woman in his life.

Emma has hardly stopped pacing all evening, stealing fretful glances out the window, where the snow is falling thick and fast once more. The power had gone out around midday but they were prepared for it, candles for lighting and the fireplace for cooking. It was cosy like this, in the warmth and dimness. After dinner, Killian had moved from the couch to the rug by the fire, much to Emma’s concern, but here he can be useful, stoking the fire when it gets low, and with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders at Emma’s insistence, he’s really quite comfortable. He’d fallen asleep while she read to him earlier, like a child which was rather embarrassing, but when he woke his headache had gone and he’d felt quite a bit better. But Emma had been anxious again by then, the calm softness she’d exuded as she read to him now entirely gone from her demeanor as she walked the length of the cabin. Back and forth, over and over.

“If you keep that up, you’ll wear a track into the floorboards,” Killian teases.

Emma doesn’t seem to appreciate, or even notice, his attempt at lightening the mood.

“It’s still snowing,” she notes worriedly.

He pushes himself up from the floor, wincing at the pull of healing skin and the ache in his knees from too long spent folded. Emma reaches for him quickly, in that fussing way she has whenever his face twists in pain, but he takes her into his arms before she can do anything.

“We’ll be alright, love.”

A slight shiver passes through her as she returns his embrace.

“I’m just… I’m scared, Killian.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you, Emma. I won’t let it.”

She pushes her hand against his chest, creating just enough distance so she can look at his face.

“I’m not scared for myself,” she whispers, her eyes shining bright with unshed tears, “Killian, I’m scared for you.”

It hits him hard, hearing her fears spoken aloud, and guilt wracks him at the expression on her face.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling her close once more, “I’m so sorry, love. But we’re going to be fine, I promise you.”

She hiccups a sob into Killian's chest and he shushes her, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back as he holds her tight.

“You can’t promise that," Emma whimpers, and his heart shatters because he knows it's true.

They are going to be trapped in this place for gods know how long, and Killian’s utterly helpless to do anything about it. Even if he wasn’t injured, the unpredictable and freezing conditions outside makes any attempt to leave ill advised, if not impossible. And he knows his wound worries Emma, bringing her fears of infection and complications, though her medical prowess had so far proved commendable.

“We’ve faced worse odds than a little snow, darling,” Killian says, with far more conviction than he feels, “We will be alright.”

“It’s more than a little snow,” she argues, but her voice is steadier now, Killian’s strong front doing as intended to unleash a little more strength of her own.

He holds her a little longer, his hand moving to smooth her hair until Emma takes a deep breath and pulls away.

“Sorry.” She wipes her eyes and sniffs a few times. “Sorry. I’m okay.”

“It’s alright, love,” he says, “It’s been a rough couple of days.” Killian palms her cheek gently, his thumb brushing an errant tear from her face. “Do you want to come to bed now?”

She nods, taking another deep, shaky breath.

“Let me just put some more wood on the fire first.”

“Okay.”

Killian’s already settled into bed by the time Emma returns, stomping the snow off her boots as she enters the cabin, a blast of frigid air following her before she can slam the door shut. In a few minutes, the firebox is filled with extra logs and Emma slips under the blankets beside him, tucking herself close, her toes like ice against his legs.

“Bloody hell, Swan,” he yelps, flinching away, “Where are your socks? Put your socks back on.”

Emma giggles, having entirely too much fun poking him with her freezing feet, making him squirm and curse until he flips over, pinning her solidly beneath his body. She’s grinning up at him, more relaxed than Killian’s seen her in days. The movements have caused his injury to throb again, but he carefully hides any sign of pain in his expression. He doesn’t want to bring down the mood.

“That was bad form,” he tells her in mock-irritation.

“Yeah?” Emma breathes, and she’s clearly flirting with him, trying to goad him into something more.

Killian leans down slowly, until his lips are nearly brushing her ear, feeling her body shiver with anticipation before he growls-

“Where did you leave your socks, Emma?”

And she dissolves into giggles again, as expected, and Killian can’t help laughing with her as he rolls back over onto the mattress. They’re terribly tangled in the covers now but neither of them care.

“Seriously though, my love, please put your socks back on.”

She goes quiet, suddenly, a morose mood falling back over the room and Killian turns to look at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“The snow has gotten too deep,” she says, quiet and shameful and anxious, “It went over the top of my boots tonight and… my socks got wet.”

“They’ll dry, love.” He doesn’t understand why she’s so upset about this. Surely she’s dealt with damp socks before? “Have you put them by the fire?”

“Yes, but I’m not worried about that, Killian,” she snaps, frustrated, and Killian rubs her arm soothingly, “My socks might dry tonight, but the same thing will just happen again when I go out in the morning. Because it’s still snowing. We’re trapped, Killian, and you- What if- How much longer-”

Killian gathers her into his arms and kisses her forehead, silencing her panicked rambling as her mind jumps from one horrible thought to another.

“Shh, my darling, don’t fret,” he murmurs, “My wound is healing well, you know that. And we still have enough food and firewood for an entire week. Perhaps even longer, if we rationed it out. We’ll figure a way around the sock thing, okay?”

Emma sighs, relaxing into his embrace.

“Okay.” She nuzzles the tip of her nose against his chest. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I just worry. I hate being…”

“Trapped?”

“Helpless.”

“You aren’t helpless, Emma. Trapped, yes, but only for now. This foul weather won’t last, and we’ll be home soon enough.”

She hums softly. Killian can’t tell if it’s in agreement or dismissal, but either way, Emma burrows tighter into his hold and not long afterwards, her breathing has deepened in sleep. Killian lies awake much longer, his own mind racing with possibilities and plans that could get them out of here, before he finally succumbs to his own tiredness as well.

***

Dawn finds the fire all but burned out, but weak sunlight is creeping between the curtains for the first time since the storm. There’s a steady dripping sound from somewhere; snow melting off the roof, perhaps - he hopes. Killian slips out of bed, careful not to wake Emma, and pads quietly to the window, peering out at the white surroundings. The sky is clear, brilliantly blue in contrast to the snow. He calls out to Emma, jubilant and more relieved than he can remember feeling in a long time.

“What is it?” Emma mumbles groggily, sitting up with the blanket pulled up to her chest to ward off the chill in the room.

“See for yourself,” he says, pulling the curtains open and allowing the sunshine to fill the room.

Emma gasps in delight, her sleepiness forgotten as she throws the blankets aside and quickly joins him at the window.

“It’s stopped snowing. Killian, we… we can leave.”

Giddy with relief, Emma spins around to hug him tightly.

“I told you we’d be alright, didn’t I?” he says, and before he knows what’s happening Emma is kissing him hard, her body pressed impossibly close to his, a hand sliding down the bare skin of his back to bring him even closer as the days of stress and worry pour out of her in one deliriously hot kiss.

“Just one more thing before we go,” she mumbles against his lips.

Killian groans into her mouth, his body immediately responding to her actions, to the need and urgency with which she’s kissing him and he’s kissing her, his hand in her hair and his hook at her hip. Hardly breaking for air, he manuevours them smoothly back to the bed, falling onto the rumpled blankets, hissing in pain as his wound makes itself known again. Emma grimaces.

“Sorry, I-”

“I’m okay, love,” Killian assures her, “We can keep going.”

He kisses her again, slow and sensual this time, the mood changing from the frantic urgency to something gentle and easy, but no less passionate. Perhaps they won’t go further than tasting each other’s lips, enjoying the reassurance of a loving embrace - though with Emma gasping his name, whispering I love you as Killian’s hand and mouth trace teasing patterns across her soft skin, the allure is almost too strong for Killian to hold himself back. He’s so focused on Emma, on their closeness and how good it feels, that he doesn’t register the sound of an engine until there’s a knock at the door and someone calling out to anyone home? Of course. Now that the storm has passed, they are being ‘rescued’.

“Bloody hell,” Killian gasps, the realization like a wave of cold water thrown against his face.

Way to ruin the mood. Emma is soft and warm and needy beneath him and he is sorely tempted to yell out give us a few more minutes, mate! but he knows he shouldn’t. Emma laughs breathlessly.

“Damn it,” she says.

“My sentiments exactly.”

He rolls off her to flop onto his back, running his hand over his face in annoyance.

“Aren’t you going to go see who it is?” Emma giggles, sitting up and raising an eyebrow at the state of him, and Killian frowns at her, not nearly so amused by this situation as she seems to be.

“I think I need a minute,” he mutters, his voice ragged.

Emma jumps off the bed and tries to smooth down her tangled hair, pulling her clothes on in a rush as the knock sounds again.

“I’m coming!” she calls out, and shoots Killian a glare, hissing, “Don’t even say it.”

He quickly shuts his mouth against the dirty innuendo he was about to say, smirking instead and Emma rolls her eyes at him, but she’s smiling as she leaves the room.

Once Killian has calmed down enough he thinks it won’t be too obvious what they’d been up to, he slips his own clothes back on and limps to the door. The rescue team is determined to take them both straight to the hospital, although Killian insists he’s fine, that Emma had tended his wound already. Besides that - though he doesn’t give this information to the strangers - as soon as they’re over the town line again she can simply use her magic to heal it completely. But they won’t be swayed. Killian clenches his jaw and glares fiercely at their rescuers, his annoyance only tempered by Emma’s gentle hand on his arm.

“It won’t take long,” Emma murmurs, “And then we can go home and finish what we started.” Her quiet, sultry tone is only for Killian to hear as her hand slips into his.

It takes the anger right out of him, her voice and the expression on her face. And Killian thinks she’s never looked more beautiful than right now, her face lit by the sun for the first time in several days, cheeks still flushed with the heat of their almost earlier, her eyes bright and her smile wide.

“Aye, love. I look forward to it.”

The End

TAG LIST: @teamhook - @klynn-stormz - @xarandomdreamx - @zaharadessert - @kmomof4 - @therooksshiningknight - @batana54 - @ultraluckycatnd - @anothersworld - @tiganasummertree - @jonesfandomfanatic - @the-darkdragonfly - @jrob64 - @hollyethecurious - @lfh1226-linda - @elizabeethan - @moviequeen51 - @onceratheart18

#cs ff #cs fic #whump #hurt/comfort #angst #but not too much of the angst lol #snuggly snowstorm fic #yams #my fanfics

56 notes · View notes

antihero-writings · 3 years

Text

WOOHOO IT'S CHASSEUR DAY!!

This is a fic I started for this prompt on my ph and vnc blog, which I finally got around to finishing today for @phmonth2021's vnc countdown, Day 5: The Chasseurs!

Since the prompt helps explain a bit of why the story is the way it is, I'll include it here!

"But I also agree, Roland & Olivier are two characters that would be really fun to explore. What are they doing when they break out of chasseur mode? I find it amusing that Olivier is so popular with the ladies but can't be bothered by all that. Heh!"

Thank you @adriisamused so much for this prompt!! <3 <3 And once again, I'm sorry it took so long.

I'm honestly really proud of this fic, and I had such much fun with it!! I really hope you all like it!! I'd absolutely love to hear it if you do!!

Lastly, if you enjoyed this, please please don't hesitate to send me more prompts/asks--for anyone in vnc or ph, but especially for these two!! I love writing for them. You can either send them here, or to my ph and vnc blog @this-idiots-left-eye.

Thanks so much for reading!! Reblogs and comments are especially appreciated!! <3

Olivier was having a perfectly satisfactory morning. His coffee smelled just the right shade of black, and was scalding hot—just as he liked it. He brought a book he’d been hoping to read for a while, but hadn’t had the time for recently. He lit a cigarette, and—whatever anyone else said—the smoke was as decadent as any sweet treat from a pastry shop. He was just opening up said book, just bringing the mug to his lips when—

“OLIVER!”

Oliver didn’t jump. Didn’t shout or otherwise react in surprise at the sudden disruption to his morning. Instead, very slowly, he closed the book, very carefully he set down his coffee. He lifted the cigarette and took a long drag, blowing out a substantial wisp of smoke.

And he silently regretted (for what was probably the eightieth time) telling Roland where his favorite coffee shop was.

Roland presently was running up to him, dragging behind him a dazed looking old man, and successfully made it to him by the time he finished his drag.

“Olivier! This poor man has lost his parakeet! He’s looked everywhere and he just can’t find Monsieur Butterbeans! Code blue! Code blue!

“…You know that’s for hospitals, right?”

“Well red just didn’t seem high enough! The situation is dire!”

Olivier blinked, eyes lidded. “Go look for it.”

“Oh Olivier! This simply isn’t a two person job! Two sets of eyes isn’t going to be enough! We simply cannot scour all the skies by ourselves!”

And he was having such a good morning.

“You think I want to spend my afternoon giving myself a crick in the neck?” Olivier asked.

Roland leaned in closer. “I think you want to spend the afternoon helping one of God’s lambs who is in need.” When Olivier stared at him Roland sighed. “If you help...I might just be inclined to work extra hard tomorrow.”

Olivier leaned to the side to look at the old man, who was staring up at the sky, not seeming too bothered. “Where did you lose it?”

“He lost her at the docks!” Roland jumped in—(quite literally jumped in front of him)—and answered for him.

After taking an extra second to try to calculate why a parakeet called ‘Monsieur’ was a ‘she,’ he spoke, perfectly monotone, “So go to the docks.”

“You think we haven’t already tried that! We searched everywhere! She was nowhere to be found!”

“Well if you’ve already searched everywhere—” He began to take another sip of coffee.

“Oh come now, Olivier!” Roland took his arm and shook him, making him both spill some coffee on the table, as well as cough coffee. “What kind of Chasseurs would we be if we gave up helping one of God’s children after one measly search? We’re more determined than that!” He curled his hand into a fist, his eyes sparkling. “Remember the story of the lady and her coins?” He was practically dragging him out of his chair now.

“I don’t think Jesus was talking about parakeets.”

“It’s a parable Olivier, it can be about parakeets if it’s applicable!”

Rather than arguing with him (like he was very much inclined to do) Olivier took another drag from his cigarette and sighed out smoke. “Let me finish my coffee.”

“But Olivier, Monsieur Butterbeans could be halfway up the Seine by now!”

“Let me. Finish. My coffee.” Olivier enunciated each word, staring intently at Roland as he lifted the coffee to his lips.

Roland sighed, and sat down across from him, gesturing to the old man to sit next to him, he obeyed diligently, like he was a pet himself.

Roland folded his hands on the table, and stared at him, with big, imploring eyes, the entire time. Others would have found this more than mildly intimidating, and incentive to drink faster. But Olivier drank his coffee at an ordinary pace, if a little slower than usual. After he was finished he set it down, paid, and left.

If this day was going to be as long as he thought it would be, he wanted to experience it on a full head of caffeine.

They indeed spent all the noon, and half the afternoon searching for her. Olivier tried his best not to look up too much (due to the aforementioned neck-crick potential), but with Roland taking the opportunity every few minutes to slap them both on the shoulders, then point upwards, and shout at shadows, and oddly placed light fixtures, and decorations, “IS THAT HER?!” he couldn’t help looking up.

It was never her.

At one point he was convinced she was nesting in a lady’s hat.

That was also not her.

They had decided to go by the park, and Olivier was just asking why the old man deigned to call a female parakeet “Monsieur” and before the old man could respond, Roland shouted:

“THAT’S HER!”

Olivier, sure it was another false alarm, turned his head with an exasperated sigh building in his throat.

But there was indeed a pretty little parakeet sitting there.

This whole time they thought they would find her nestled in the rafters of some house, or perched on a shop roof, or sign. They had been hoping she wouldn’t find herself too high for them to even see (though Roland had made them climb up building staircases and onto their roofs more than twice).

But there she was, nestled comfortably, not in a tree or on a roof, but on the shoulder of a woman.

More accurately, a mime.

Monsieur Butterbeans was sitting on the shoulder of a mime, and seemed to be having a perfectly pleasant time (ignore the rhyme).

“I mean that simply must be her, right?!” Roland turned to the old man.

The old man nodded vigorously.

Roland’s whole face lit up (though his face was always lit with a sort of angelic glow, so this was a bit of a Moses-and-Mt-Sinai situation) and he was running towards her before they could say a word.

“Salut, Mademoiselle! May I say, you are looking lovely today!”—She waved her hand as if to say, ‘oh stop’—“I simply must thank you!”—She gave an over-exaggerated expression of delight—“That parakeet on your shoulder? She belongs to my friend over there!” He pointed a finger at the old man with the speed and rigidity of a compass needle. “He lost her early this morning!” Roland turned around and was about to march victoriously back, “So thank you so much for—!”

She pretended to make a lasso and swing it around Roland. Even though it was made of nothing more than air, Roland was pulled back.

Olivier put his face in his palm.

He didn’t like mimes on the best of days. They were quiet, which would potentially be a nice quality... if it weren’t for that quietness being, not a means for peace, but rather something to make their interactions with normal-human-beings all that much more frustrating and difficult to discern. And their games with empty air seemed but another reason to disrupt the days of normal natural-world abiding people. They were like vampires…except they couldn’t actually see anything beyond this world, and couldn’t actually alter anything, and they were much more annoying to deal with.

And this one was proving, (as mimes generally did), unable to let them get away without participating in her little farce.

He had a theory that mimes weren’t really there to entertain normal people, rather normal people were there to entertain mimes.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” Roland asked.

She held her hand up, and bent her fingers a few times as if to say she would like payment.

“You want a reward?” Roland seemed more than slightly affronted at this. The thought that anyone wouldn’t do a good deed out of the goodness of their heart was nothing short of diabolical to him.

The mimette made several hand motions which, while confusing at first seemed to be her way of conveying that she wasn’t asking for much (Olivier thought that would remain to be seen).

She pondered for a moment with a hand to her chin and squnched up face. Her eyes grazed over the old man, (who had his hands clasped in front of him in a pleading motion), and Olivier (who had folded his arms over his chest, and decided to look away when she looked at him). When he looked back, she was pointing at him.

She pointed at him, then she tapped her finger to her cheek.

Olivier didn’t need an interpreter to understand what that meant.

He recoiled, his voice going low and tense, “I would…prefer another method.”

It’s not like he didn’t know how to kiss a woman, (he’d done a lot more than kiss more than one woman), but this was just—

“Oh it’s just one little kiss, Olivier!” Roland waved his hand. “Do it for Monsieur Butterbeans!” (Monsieur Butterbeans decided to take this opportunity to do the important job of pooping on her shoulder).

Well someone ought to do it.

The mime did the lasso trick again, this time with Olivier. Olivier decidedly did not play along, but she was clearly well-versed in the ways of unparticipatory students, and happy to use the invisible rope to pull herself towards him. (Roland looked delighted with the show).

She got uncomfortably close, put her hands behind her back and presented her cheek.

Olivier looked away, his arms still folded.

Roland still found a way to get in his line of sight, and gave him the thumbs up.

The mimette stood on her tiptoes and blinked her eyelashes repeatedly. She might have been pretty, but who could tell under all that disgusting makeup? ( …Which Olivier did not want on his lips).

“This is ridiculous.” He grunted. “There are other ways to—”

“It’s just one little kiss Olivier!" Roland repeated. "She seems a perfectly nice lady! She deserves it!”

Olivier was not going to humiliate himself for a parakeet, who seemed to rather like this mime anyways.

“Remember, I might just be inclined to work harder tomorrow!”

Olivier sighed, still not looking at her.

“Fine, if you can’t do it, I’ll kiss her!” Roland stepped forward.

“No, no, I’ll do it!” Olivier pinched the bridge of his nose. ”She clearly likes me.” Olivier peeked open an eye to see the mime blinking more profusely, apparently not the least bit offended at his obvious disinterest. (Only more evidence for the normal-people-are-entertainment-fodder-for-the-mimes theory)

“Are you sure? Because you don’t seem like you’re going to do it. It’s really fine if you want me to!”

Olivier took a rather long moment to gather himself, and all the dignity that he knew he was about to lose. He kept his eyes firmly shut…and gave her a peck on the cheek.

…Except, when Olivier opened his eyes, he came to find—(to his absolute horror)—that in the moment he had taken to muster his courage, Roland had decided that Olivier wasn’t going to do it, and went in to kiss her other cheek. The mime recognized this in perfect time, (and in perfect mime fashion), stepped out of the way. So the person who he had kissed was actually….

Olivier jerked away with what almost sounded like a horrified squeak, his hand flying to his mouth. He then turned sharply away, sticking out his tongue, and hacking like a cat who had a hairball.

Roland simply blinked, then began to laugh mirthfully, like he didn’t find the situation the least bit awkward. “Well played, Mademoiselle!” He applauded her.

The mime bowed with a flourish of her hand, and as she lowered herself Monsieur Butterbeans flew off her shoulder and into the hand of her owner, who he then brought up to his own cheek to nuzzle gratefully

“Olivier, your mouth tastes like an ashtray.” Roland remarked as they began to leave—waving his hand and sending an extra thank you towards the mime. “I really hope you don’t smoke before you kiss women. It doesn’t make me want to kiss you again you know.” Roland put his hand on his shoulder.

Olivier flinched violently, snapped equally violently, “Don’t touch me!” and said low, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost I dearly hope it doesn’t.”

Roland just laughed.

“If you even think about mentioning this to anyone—” his glared at him, hoping his eyes were as sharp as he intended them to be.

“I really don’t know what the big fuss is about! It was just a silly prank! And a rather clever one on her part!”

Olivier stuck his tongue out again, feeling like he was going to vomit. “It was a disgusting prank.”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll feel insulted! I hope my mouth didn’t taste half as bad as yours did.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “Your mouth didn’t taste like anything, because that didn’t happen and we are never talking about it!”

“Well, nothing to complain about is good news I guess!”

“Stop. Talking. About it.”

They had been walking a good way, and the sun was setting over the city, when the old man stopped in front of them, holding Monsieur Butterbeans in front of him, looking down at her lovingly.

“Thank you for helping me find my dear Monsieur Butterbeans,” the old man spoke. (Olivier tried not to shout in surprise at the reveal that he could actually talk). “The Church really does help those in need, doesn’t it? You’re good boys.”—(Olivier would have preferred ‘men’ but)—“I would like to repay you somehow.”

“Oh no, we simply couldn’t accept!” Roland burst out, stepping forward. “A good deed is its own reward! ‘Anything you do for the least of these’ and all! Although, you’re not the least of course! It’s just a verse you know! Well no verse is just a verse, but—”

“I feel I must do something for your…trouble.” (Olivier curled his nose at the slight snicker there was behind the word ‘trouble.’) “At the very least, I have some rather nice vintage wines in my cellar—“

Before Roland could say once again that that-really-wasn’t-necessary, Olivier shot his hand in front of him and said, a little too loudly, “We will gladly accept.”

******

The next day Olivier was leaning back in his chair in front of a rather large stack of paperwork, massaging the crick in his neck when Roland burst in, a little girl hiding behind him.

“OLIVIER!” He panted. “Olivier, this poor girl has lost her favorite doll! We simply must help her!”

Olivier shut his eyes, rubbing his temple, his voice shaking. “You told me you would work harder if I—”

“I will! I will! But this is urgent!”

Olivier sighed. “Astolfo!” He yelled.

After a few moments, a boy with red hair came in.

“You sent for me?”

“Roland has a job for you...(however ridiculous it may be)," he added under his breath. "Will you help find this girl’s doll?” Olivier marched forward, his footsteps ominous on the stone floor, and grabbed Roland’s wrist a little too tight, dragging him into a chair, “Roland here has work to do.”

As Astolfo obliged, Olivier muttered, more to Roland than anyone else, “And he’s not getting out of it this time.”

Roland pouted, plopping down in the chair to properly do his Chasseur work.

...And Olivier couldn’t help but feel like he was having a perfectly satisfactory morning once again.

<-Day 6: The Royals

Day 4: Chloé and/or Jean-Jacques->

26 notes · View notes

kuroopaisen · 4 years

Text

squabbler. (tsukishima kei)

➵ being a student in your country’s most prestigious mage university isn’t easy. even less so, when you have to turn to your sworn enemy, tsukishima kei, for help.

wc: 6.4k

warnings: gn!reader, mage!au

a/n: dariamorgendoerfer100 thank you for your support! you’re very sweet, and i enjoy your little comments T-T and a big thank you to both erin and ren for beta’ing this :( i love you both so much

Maybe you were a little early. And this was just a theory class; nothing too exciting, just an overview of the history of magic. But you couldn’t help it. You were just so damn excited.

You were the first person from your village to have earned a spot in the nation’s most prestigious mage academy, after all. Well, the first in a few decades. But that sort of detail wasn’t too important. What mattered was that you were here, in the halls of the great academy.

Said halls were currently empty. But you didn’t mind it too much. It gave you some time to admire it all. Admire how old the stone looked, without giving the impression it was falling apart. Admire how the entire place seemed to thrum with magic, echoing through every nook and cranny. Admire how even the way the sun filtered through the windows seemed to have a mythical quality to it.

However, rocks and stones were only interesting for so long. And nobody else had turned up.

How early were you? You pouted, playing with the hem of your robes.

Were you in the wrong place? Had you misread your letters? Were you on the wrong side of campus? Would you be penalised for being late? Was your academic career in shambles before it had even begun?

At that moment, you heard footsteps. You twirled around, almost tripping over your own feet.

It was a tall blond boy, clad in glasses and an expression of sincere disinterest. He looked roughly your age, and his umber robes were just a little too short in the sleeves.

Why was he so tall? Were humans allowed to be that tall? Had he used some kind of elicit magic to spur his growth?

You’d never met anyone that tall before. Not back home. And you were a really, really long way from home. And now was not the first moment that you’d wondered if you’d made the right decision, moving so far away.

No! You wouldn’t be intimidated by this. You’d come all this way, after all, and you were ready for anything. You would talk to this boy, and you would make your very first friend at this academy. Now that was a thrilling thought.

“Hello!” You piqued up, maintaining a respectable enough distance between the two of you. You’d have liked to say it was because you wanted to be polite, but it was mainly to ensure that you wouldn’t have to crane your neck so much as you looked up at him.

The boy said nothing. He didn’t even look at you. Had he not heard you?

“Are you excited to start?” You asked, speaking a little louder this time. That was a neutral enough question. Surely, that would beget some kind of response.

Still nothing. But, you did notice his eyebrows sink a little.

“I’m a bit nervous, myself,” you smiled nervously, tilting your head at him. Maybe he was just shy?

You swallowed, trying to ignore how clammy your hands were becoming. “Are you… from around here?”

The boy glanced at you for a second, and you felt the tightness in your chest ease a little.

But instead of answering you, he reached into his bag and pulled out one of the textbooks. He opened it without a word, leaning against the wall and positioning himself in such a way that allowed him to put you out of sight.

Oh, now you were mad. What, he couldn’t even engage in polite small talk? What was he, a child? What an ungrateful little–

You glowered at him, crossing your arms as you slumped against the wall. You weren’t about to start a fight. That wasn’t worth it – especially not on your first day. But you couldn’t help but feel a little angry.

You hadn’t managed to make your first friend at the academy. Oh, no.

You’d just made your first enemy.

✧✧✧

It only took about half a year for things to start going wrong.

For the most part, you were pretty decent at this whole magic thing. It wasn’t so much a natural aptitude – although your natural abilities certainly weren’t bad – but more a testament to your hard work.

Unfortunately, that asshole you’d met on your first day – who you’d now come to know as Tsukishima Kei – was also good. But he didn’t seem to care. Admittedly, you’d taken a peek at his test scores before – yes, you know it’s unethical, but you couldn’t help it. You’d just wanted to know if he had any legs to stand on, being as insufferably smug as he was. You hadn’t liked the answer.

Worse yet, your professors liked to call on him in class. And he answered perfectly, each and every time. And yet, he always sounded so bored? How could someone be bored learning about magic? Gods, that pissed you off.

And somehow, by some cruel trick of fate, he was in every single one of your classes. The cohort was big enough to be split in two, but no matter the arrangement of the rest of your peers, the two of you were always together.

He knew you didn’t like him. You’d never really spoken about it, but there’d been a fair few times when you’d mutually glared at each other during class. You weren’t quite sure if he just looked at everyone like that, or if he was targeting you specifically. Either way, you didn’t like it.

That wasn’t even taking into account the numerous tense in-class discussions you’d had. Every time you presented an idea, this beanpole of a man decided he needed to challenge it. You’d been humiliated for the first few months, but you’d made a valiant effort to grow some thicker skin. It had worked, for the most part; some days you could even fire back at your apathetic nemesis.

You could handle him fine enough. But your dorm-mates had decided to get themselves into a massive argument. You still weren’t sure over what, exactly, but it’s origin evidently didn’t matter. You were stuck in the middle, trying desperately to smooth over the situation.

But, it was quite difficult easing tensions when each angry party had the ability to set someone’s hair on fire – even if it was against academy rules. Playing mediator was taking up more of your time than it had any right to, and it was proving to be exhausting.

Worse yet, the workload had grown even more intense, and it was starting to overwhelm you. You’d known that the academy was tough, but you hadn’t properly comprehended it before coming here. Now, you were experiencing it.

And on top of all that, you’d been hit by a recent bout of homesickness. You could handle them well enough, frequently, that they were – but all those extenuating circumstances meant that your typical coping strategies were less effective.

You’d managed to stay on top of your studies, for the most part. Except, unfortunately, for one subject in particular.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t wrap your head around alchemy. You always seemed to mess it up – and no amount of private tuition from the professor could help. You could tell she was a very clever woman, but it was obvious that because she just knew so much about it, she had a hard time noticing where the gaps in your knowledge might be. And frankly, the amount of time you spent speaking to her after class was getting embarrassing.

You’d decided that you wouldn’t speak to her this afternoon. It wouldn’t be productive, for one, and you were worried that you were wearing her patience thin. Perhaps it was time to find a proper tutor…

None of your friends were particularly good at alchemy, and you didn’t know any of your upperclassmen. Did the academy have an official tutoring program? You’d never actually looked into that sort of thing. But trying to search out that sort of thing would take precious time that you should spend studying…

That’s when he walked past you.

Tsukishima Kei. Top of the class.

A horrible idea blossomed in your mind. One that made your stomach churn.

Can I swallow my pride? You thought.

Yes. I’m desperate.

As soon as you finished that thought, you turned and tore down the corridor as fast as your legs could carry you. He was already what felt like half a country away. Damn him and his long legs.

“Hey!” You hollered, cursing your own lack of stamina. “Hey, Tsukishima!”

He paused, looking over his shoulder with an expression of baffled irritation.

You skittered to a stop behind him. “Please tutor me,” you said, each word punctuated by a deep breath.

“Huh?” He grimaced, looking down at you. “No.”

“No please!” You gasped. “Please!”

Tsukishima narrowed his eyes at you, turning around.

Oh, you weren’t letting him get away that easily.

You dashed around him, standing right in his way.

You were running on pure instinct and desperation now, bowing sharply with your fists clenched at your side.

People were definitely starting to stare. But you were pretty damn desperate. The examination was barrelling towards you, and you certainly hadn’t studied enough for it.

“I’ll help you if you stop making a scene,” he hissed, face flushed with embarrassment.

You shot up to full height, looking at him with an expression that appeared to be misplaced adoration. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Did you listen to me at all—”

“Tomorrow night, seven o’clock,” you breathed, “The library. Bye!”

You fled, not giving him the time to refute you. And you were glad you ran; you could feel your cheeks burning, almost as much as your chest was. You hated running, but you needed to make sure he wouldn’t change his mind.

That was unequivocally one of the most embarrassing things you’d ever done.

But you were pretty damn desperate.

✧✧✧

Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if he decided not to come. Your trust in him was tenuous at best; you could only hope that you’d appealed to at least some iota of human decency locked behind that mask of apathy.

Suffice to say that morale was low.

It had been a long day. One of your friends had roped you into renovating the greenhouse with them, and that had been much more work than you’d anticipated. Apparently all the plants along one of the walls had to be relocated, and all in one day. You’d wanted to say no when you’d found that out, but your friend had been so stressed. You hadn’t had the heart to walk away from them.

So, you’d been diligently running around all afternoon, slowly feeling the work ebb away at your energy reserve. All the while, you’d been worrying about your study session. Wondering if Tsukishima would turn up. Wondering if he was actually capable of salvaging your alchemy grades.

You glanced at a candle in one of the alcoves, each inch burned representing an hour passed.

Tsukishima was late.

You sighed, resting your head on the desk. It was foolish of you to put your hopes in him. He had no reason to extend a hand. If anything, your academic blunders were probably a feather in his cap. You hated the thought of him revelling in your failure. Were you really so stupid as to ask him for help?

Before you knew it, you’d closed your eyes, fluttering in and out of consciousness. You would’ve made more of an effort to stay awake, in case Tsukishima did turn up and use the fact you were sleeping as an excuse to run off.

But you were just so tired…

Tsukishima Kei… bastard…

You could hear students shuffling around the library, but nobody seemed to be approaching you. How long had it been now? Were you a fool for waiting around for so long, for a boy who obviously wasn’t coming?

Alchemy… I have to pass…

A warm, pleasant sound came from above you, rousing you gently from your half-consciousness.

Was that… a laugh? Well, it wasn’t a true laugh; it was something more like a chuckle, like the person responsible for it was ashamed to be so amused.

Your eyes fluttered open, all bleary from your nap. “Huh?”

“If you don’t wake up, I’ll leave.”

Your head snapped up at that, your archnemesis coming into vision. You realised, then, that it must’ve been him that laughed. That unfortunately came hand-in-hand with the revelation that you didn’t hate the sound.

“I was tired,” you grumbled, stretching your arms above your head in a grandiose show.

“Whatever,” he sighed, slipping into the seat next to you with the air of a man who was about to start calculating his debts. “Maybe you should just head back to your dorm,” he sighed. “I don’t know if you’re in any state to study.”

“Listen,” you hissed, “I’m tired. And you’re late.”

“Relax,” Tsukishima yawned, reaching one hand into his bag. “I had work to do.”

You blinked at him, trying to soothe the anger brewing in your chest.

“I actually finished early, by the way.”

“Oh,” you swallowed, the anger quickly slipping into a mild guilt. “I’m— sorry—”

“Whatever,” he sighed, tossing a textbook onto the table.

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to say. You were supposed to be studying, right? That meant you couldn’t be too abrasive, lest you get nothing of worth done. Could you do that?

“Let’s just get this over and done with, alright?” He sounded just as bored as always.

You mumbled something incoherent, even to yourself.

“What do you need help with?” Tsukishima sighed, electing to ignore you.

“Uh…”

“Don’t say everything.”

You stayed resolutely silent.

“Fucking…” Tsukishima groaned, rubbing a temple with his fingers.

“Well, that’s not very polite,” you grumbled, crossing your arms as you sat back in your chair.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what to focus on,” Tsukishima snapped, frustratingly straightforward. “Do you know the basics of chrysopoeia?”

You blinked at him for a moment. “Yes…?”

“Do you know what that is?”

“That’s when…” You frowned, racking your drowsy brain for the answer. The term was familiar, but…

“Come on.” Tsukishima looked like he was one breath away from getting up and leaving. “We did this last year.”

“Oh!” You gasped, sitting up a little straighter. “Gold! It’s gold!”

Tsukishima sighed. “Almost. Do you remember how to make gold?”

“What am I making it from?” You frowned. “You can’t ask such a broad question.”

He blinked at you for a second, seemingly frustrated at the fact that you were right. The base metal mattered, after all.

“Fine,” he mumbled. “I’m sure you know how to do it with lead, so… how about copper?”

The two of you ran over a series of transmutations, helping Tsukishima figure out the gaps in your knowledge. You couldn’t tell if he was impressed or annoyed by the fact that you knew more than he’d expected. You, at least, felt some sense of pride; you were smarter than he’d given you credit for. Although, another part of you felt as though you should be offended by the fact he’d thought you’d be stupider than this.

You glanced at the candle again. Another two hours had passed. Gods, you were getting tired. You plopped your crossed arms on the table, sinking down over them and using them as a pillow. You closed your eyes for a second, letting Tsukishima methodically explain the theoretical process of refining an alkahest.

“Are you even listening to me?” He hissed, nudging you with an elbow.

“Mhm,” you murmured, half your face covered by your crossed arms.

Tsukishima had half a mind to bonk you on the back of the head with his textbook. But, he wasn’t about to do that. Not when you seemed like you’d explode at him for the smallest of provocations.

It was a real shame you looked so cute, all sleepy—

What… the fuck? He thought to himself, freezing at the revelation.

You? Cute? Those were not two words that belonged together. Not under any circumstance.

“Get up,” he hissed, two fingers poking at your temple.

You groaned, trying to hit his assault away with a limp hand.

“We’re done here,” he huffed, standing up sharply.

You jolted upright in your chair, looking up at him with wide eyes. “But we’re not done!”

“It’s one in the morning,” he grumbled, pointing at the candle nestled in a cranny on the wall next to you. Sure enough, the wax had melted, leaving a stump that was only a couple of inches tall.

“But… but I still don’t feel like I’ve caught up,” you groaned, standing up with a creak in your bones. How old were you? Sixty?

“Not my problem,” he shrugged, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

No. No, you weren’t letting your one chance at academic redemption get away from you that easily.

“Tsukishima,” you whined, turning to look up at him with the most desperate puppy eyes you could manage. You had half a mind to clasp your hands together in front of you to really complete the image. “Tsukki—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Whoops. “I’m sorry!” You said, the phrase jumbling out a bit too quickly. “Please… please help me out again. Please.”

He looked down at you, his eyebrows pinched together in a look that you could only describe as mild disgust. Were you that annoying? Was this such a waste of his time?

“Fine.”

Huh? “Wait, are you serious?”

“Unfortunately,” he muttered.

An unbridled grin broke out across your face. You’d looked deflated mere seconds ago, but now you’d been given new life. Tsukishima was doing all he could to ignore how radiant you looked in the dim half-light of the lanterns.

“If I said no, you’d just keep pestering me about it,” he grumbled, turning his back to you.

You pouted, but had nothing to say. Unfortunately, he was right. You just turned back to your books, packing them into your bag.

“Hurry up,” Tsukishima sighed, making you jump.

“Hm?” You looked over your shoulder, surprised to see him still standing there.

“I want to go to sleep.”

“Then go to bed,” you blinked.

“I will,” he said, “but I can’t do that until I’ve dropped you off at your dorm.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that you almost apologised. Almost.

“Huh?”

“Just… just hurry up, okay?”

✧✧✧

“Hey, Tsukki? hat’s wrong?” Yamaguchi frowned, tilting his head at his companion. “You’re usually great at this stuff.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Tsukishima grumbled, letting his hand fall to his side. He’d been trying to produce a solid ball of light for the past five minutes.

“Are you sure?”

Tuskishima clenched his fist, feeling a wisp of air escape from it. Ah, so he’d been producing something, at least. But regardless, he was wasting their designated time in the courtyard. And he certainly didn’t plan on wasting any more of it by indulging Yamaguchi’s desire to pry into his private life.

“You’ve been kind of off these days, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi pouted, eyebrows pinched together as he regarded his friend. “Have you been sleeping alright?”

“I’ve been sleeping fine,” Tsukishima snapped. Even he knew that was a disproportionate response. But the fact of the matter was he certainly wasn’t sleeping as well as he could be. It was just that every time he closed his eyes, his thoughts managed to find their way back to you.

And quite frankly, he didn’t want to see you anymore than he had to. Even if it was in his half-asleep thoughts, where you were smiling up at him like you actually wanted to see him—

“Tsukishima!”

Oh no.

He cringed, jaw clenching as he saw you running towards him from the other side of the courtyard, your robes fluttering behind you.

Yamaguchi glanced at him, eyebrows raised just a little.

You came to a stop in front of them, giving them each a little bow. Only Yamaguchi returned it.

“What do you want?” Tsukishima swallowed, uncomfortably aware of Yamaguchi’s eyes.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi murmured. It was less his name and more a plea to not be so rude. Tsukishima could tell that from Yamaguchi’s tone of voice alone.

You looked up at Tsukishima, your features pulled into a look of perfect indignation. “Oh, so he’s allowed to call you Tsukki.”

“Bold of you to assume he ever asked me for permission,” Tsukishima grumbled.

You pouted at him for a moment, until your eyes lit up with a certain kind of mischief that Tsukishima had come to dread.

“He talks about you a lot,” you said, turning to Yamaguchi with the brightest smile on your face.

“I do not—”

“You sound like a good friend,” you beamed, hands behind your back. “Tsukki seems to hate literally everyone, so good job!”

“Why are you like this?” Tuskishima groaned, his hands coming up to cover his face.

“Like what?” You asked, your expression the perfect picture of innocence.

He wanted to choose his next words carefully. Very carefully.

“Ah!” You straightened up, your head whipping around to the other side of the courtyard.

“Is everything okay?” Tsukishima frowned, only the smallest touch of concern in his voice.

“I have a meeting,” you said, twirling around in a flurry of robes. “Bye!”

Tsukishima opened his mouth to shout after you; something about how you can’t run away from an argument, about how this entire exchange was entirely useless, about how you needed to keep better track of time…

But you were already gone. All he could do was stare at the spot you’d just been, a look of mild displeasure on his face.

He didn’t check that expression in time. Yamaguchi had already seen it.

“Oh?”

Oh no.

Yamaguchi was grinning. Widely. Usually he’d try and hide that sort of thing behind one of his hands, but not today.

“I don’t,” Tsukishima grumbled, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“I haven’t even said anything yet,” Yamaguchi giggled.

“Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong,” Tsukishima grunted, the tips of his ears suddenly feeling quite warm.

“So,” Yamaguchi hummed, tilting his head to the side. “Want to tell me about them?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Really?” Oh, Yamaguchi was having the time of his life. “You don’t want to… hold their hand, do you?”

“Yamaguchi.”

“What? I’m just curious.”

“Another word out of you and I’ll strike you down where you stand.”

✧✧✧

You liked Yamaguchi well enough. The fact that he was friends with Tsukishima was almost funny.

You just didn’t know why he was with the two of you right now.

“Yamaguchi.”

“Mhm?”

“Do you need to be here?” Tsukishima sighed, not looking up from the textbook.

“Aw, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi frowned, barely trying to hide the mischief in his eyes. “I just want to hang out with my best friend.”

“And?” Tsukishima prompted, rubbing his temples.

“Oh, Tuskki,” you pouted, tilting your head at him. “He just wants to hang out with his best friend! You’d really kick him out so coldly?” You didn’t know why Yamaguchi was in the mood to tease, but you definitely wanted to be a part of it.

“I didn’t ask for your input,” Tsukishima snapped, picking up his quill with an unusual amount of irritation.

Yamaguchi snickered.

“You should respect your friends some more,” you sighed, twirling your own quill in your fingers.

“Who are you?” Tsukishima scoffed. “My mother?”

“No.” You shook your head, sketching the symbol for mercury on your page absent-mindedly. “I would’ve raised you better.”

Yamaguchi had to cover his mouth at that one.

“You’re dragging my family into this?”

Oh shit, you thought, might want to backtrack that one. “You’re right, I should give your mother more credit. I can’t imagine having to put up with you for… what is it now? Eighteen? Nineteen years?”

“Do you want me to tutor you or not?” Tsukishima glowered at you. “Because if you’re going to keep being ungrateful, then—”

“I’m sorry!” You squeaked, bowing your head at him. “I take it back, you’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met—”

“That wasn’t an indication to swing too far in the opposite direction,” he rolled his eyes, praying that his cheeks weren’t too pink. “Now just… just start solving that transmutation, okay?”

You pouted at him for a long moment.

“What?” Tsukishima sighed.

“I’m just wondering,” you mused, “Are you cursed?”

Tsukishima’s face dropped. “What are you on about?”

“Well, I was thinking,” you hummed, tapping the feather of your quill against your lips. Tsukishima was determined to look literally anywhere else.

“That’s not a good thing,” he mumbled.

“You’re literally incapable of saying anything nice to your friends,” you mused, tilting your head at him. “Is that because you’re cursed?”

“Do you ever say anything that makes sense?”

“See! That’s a great example!”

“What—we’re not friends—”

“Now that’s the meanest thing you’ve said to me so far!”

Why were you like this? Why were you so difficult to put a finger on? And why was Yamaguchi giggling?

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima growled, casting him a glance.

“I’ll be quiet,” Yamaguchi smiled, turning back to his own work.

“And you,” Tsukishima said, tapping you on the nose with his quill. “Get to work.”

For once, you complied. Fun as it was to get on Tsukishima’s nerves, you had an exam coming up. And if you lost your one comrade in this fight to the perils of homework, then you were willing to get serious yourself.

Unbeknownst to you, Yamaguchi wasn’t actually doing his work. Not at all. He was watching the two of you, desperate to catch a whiff of any romantic tension.

He’d never seen Tsukishima be this… patient. Sure, it might not have seemed that way to anyone else, but Yamaguchi knew the lanky blond better than anyone else here. The fact that Tsukishima was taking the time to explain anything to you was a miracle in itself.

But that wasn’t enough to convince him.

No, he was convinced by the deep flush of red that graced Tsukishima’s cheeks when you beamed up at him. You’d just re-explained a concept to him perfectly, and it was Tsukishima’s dry praise that got you to light up so much.

Poor Tsukishima didn’t know what to do, simply staring at you with a look that was halfway between annoyance and confusion. Yamaguchi hadn’t thought that an ‘angry blush’ was a thing, but he was seeing it right in front of his eyes.

What he didn’t know was that Tsukishima was angry for two reasons; the first was that you were so damn cute, despite how annoying you could be. The second was that he didn’t want to admit you were cute. Which meant this feeling had nowhere to go. It would just fester in a corner of his chest, ready to jump on him while he was trying to get to sleep.

“Did I do something wrong?” You asked, shocking Tsukishima out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“You’re glaring at me,” you said, biting your lip. “And you’re all red.”

“I’m fine,” he replied, a little too quickly.

Yamaguchi giggled at that. Did he have to be here? Tsukishima just wanted to suffer alone.

“Oi, guys!” A voice boomed out, much too loud for the library. “Come look at this!”

“Oh no,” Tsukishima sighed, fingers rubbing his temples. “Not them, too.”

You looked up, determined to see who, exactly ‘them’ was.

Three boys stood in front of you, two clad in the rich purple robes of the fourth years, and one in the emerald green of the third.

“Oh ho?”

“Oh ho ho?”

“What’s this?” One of the fourth years smirked, his unruly black hair sticking out at all angles. “Is our little Tsukki blushing?”

“Sure looks like it,” the other fourth year grinned, and you realised he was the voice that’d disturbed the peace. You realised, not without some amusement, that he looked something like an owl.

“Leave him alone,” the third year sighed. He had the air of a mother who’d been worn down from years of trying to look after some delinquent children.

You braved a glance at Tsukishima.

He looked like he wanted to die; but not without taking those two fourth years out with him.

“But Tsukki’s talking to someone who isn’t Yamaguchi,” Bokuto gasped, patting the third year on the shoulder. “Akaashi, this is big.”

“He talks to you, doesn’t he?” Akaashi sighed.

“Not by choice,” Tsukshima mumbled.

“Don’t be mean,” the other fourth year chided, crossing his arms.

“Can you please leave?” Tsukishima said. “We’re trying to work here.”

“Aw, you can’t talk to your precious upperclassmen?” Bokuto cooed.

“We happen to be quite busy.”

“He used ‘we’ twice,” the other fourth year pointed out, giving his friend a knowing look.

“For fuck’s sake…” Tsukishima sighed, rubbing his temples yet again. “I’m trying to help my—my friend study so they don’t fail an exam, okay?”

“I’m your friend?” You gasped, placing a hand over your chest in mock-delight.

Tsukishima only just realised what a terrible mistake he’d made.

“Oi, Kuroo,” Bokuto slapped the other fourth year’s arm with the back of his hand. Tsukishima didn’t like the look on either of their faces. “I need to talk to you about… something.”

Kuroo grinned in response, and both boys ran off so quickly that they might as well have puffed into smoke.

“I’m so sorry,” Akaashi mumbled, giving the three of you at the table a small bow.

“Not a problem,” you smiled, waving a hand at him.

He just nodded before walking off himself. You weren’t sure if he would bother looking for the other two or not.

You snuck a glance at Tsukishima. “Are you okay? You seem… stressed.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders.

“Friends of yours?” You hummed. “Like me?”

“You could say that,” he grumbled, his cheeks just as vibrant as they had been a couple of minutes ago.

You grinned, elated at your ‘win.’ Sure, a couple of weeks ago you would’ve balked at the thought of wanting Tsukishima Kei to call you his friend. Maybe it was because it had seemed so impossible to win any kind of approval from him.

Yeah, that had to be it.

“Can we go over the transmutations of iron?” You asked, cutting off your thoughts before they could steer themselves in a direction you didn’t like.

The two of you worked away for the next half an hour or so, Yamaguchi peacefully watching on from the other side of the table. But eventually, he’d seen all he wanted to see. And he wanted to give you two a little privacy; for Tsukishima’s pride, if nothing else.

“Anyway,” Yamaguchi yawned, stretching his arms above his head. “I’m going to go.”

You jumped. In all honesty, you’d totally forgotten he was there.

“Whatever,” Tsukishima sighed. He looked a bit like he was trying to fight off a yawn himself.

Yamaguchi stood up and gave you a little nod before beaming at Tsukishima. “Tsukki, I’ll see you later tonight at the dorms, right?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Tsukishima frowned.

“Just checking,” Yamaguchi said brightly. You had half a mind to ask him what that was about, but he’d scurried away from the table before you had time to think about it properly.

Tsukishima had decided to pay it no mind, instead just turning to you and saying something about gold. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you could feel the weight of the day beginning to bear down on the two of you.

Tsukishima groaned, running a hand through his hair.

“You okay?” You asked, glancing at him.

He sighed, taking his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. And it wasn’t really.

But seeing him without his glasses made you pause. Was Tsukishima Kei… handsome? Had he been handsome this entire time, and you were just too blinded by rage to notice it? And what were you supposed to do with this information?

You watched, rapt with terror as he put his glasses back on.

Enemy sighted. You blinked, trying to process what was going on.

What the fuck had just happened? Were you so tired as to think that your sworn rival Tsukishima Kei was attractive?

Besides, what did it even matter if he was handsome or not? Plenty of handsome people were downright unbearable. Not that you would slander Tsukishima in such a way. He wasn’t that bad.

“Hurry up,” he grumbled, packing his own books into his bag.

Oh, right. He was going to walk you back to your dorm. Again. He’d made a habit of it, after these little study sessions of yours. The fact that he was under no obligation to do such a thing made it all seem so… gentlemanly.

You said very little as you walked side by side, too wrapped up in your own thoughts. He was supposed to be your sworn rival. And yet, there you were, feeling a bit like you were floating, and a bit like you were about to throw up.

Oh, well. This would be over soon enough.

✧✧✧

“So.”

You looked up at him, biting your lip. “So.”

“How do you think you did?”

Tsukishima was close behind you as you left the classroom, the bubble of anxious conversation rippling through your peers.

You were more nervous about this closeness between you than you’d been about the damn exam. You swallowed, quickly maneuvering your way through the crowd to find some more open space.

“You haven’t answer my question,” Tsukishima grumbled, hot on your heels.

Oh, right.

“I did the best I could,” you said, looking up at him with a smile.

He smiled back.

Oh, no. No, you weren’t used to that. You weren’t used to how cute he looked when he smiled. Oh, this was all unfamiliar territory. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know what to feel. Uh—

“I tried my best, and that’s what matters,” you breathed, turning around and skipping down the hallway. What were you? Seven?

Tsukishima watched you, his legs long enough to keep up with you without issue. “Are you… okay?”

He probably thinks I’m weird, you thought. I’m an adult and I’m bloody skipping down the hallway like a child—

“Yes! I’m fine!” You lied, slowing down to a regular walking speed. What were you even supposed to say to him anymore, now that the exam was done?

Tsukishima hummed, but he didn’t press the issue further. Which was worse—you abhorred the silence.

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do with my evenings, now,” you said, more in a bid to fill the space between you than anything else. “I’m going to be deathly bored.”

Maybe that was a little too honest.

But you didn’t miss how he very quietly murmured, “Me too.”

Oh, you weren’t going to let that go. Not at all.

You zipped in front of him, coming to a standstill. He skidded to a stop himself, both startled and embarrassed at the fact that he’d nearly just tripped over you.

You looked up at him resolutely, a mixture of nervousness and mischief painted across your face. “That’s because you won’t be hanging out with me, right?”

Tsukishima opened his mouth as if to say something, but he seemed to stop himself from responding. But, his cheeks bloomed a familiar red, and the tenderness in his eyes betrayed him.

Your heart hammered in your chest, and you felt a handful of words away from humiliating yourself. But there was a little, tiny opening here, and you didn’t want to let it go to waste.

“Would you… like to catch up later?” You asked, tilting your head at him.

“To… study?”

You did have a couple more exams to worry about. But that wasn’t what you were interested in.

“We can if you really want to,” you smiled, lacing your hands together behind your back. “But wouldn’t it be more fun to head into town?”

“Sure,” he swallowed, sticking his hands in his pockets. He couldn’t quite meet your gaze, his entire posture screaming with awkwardness. He really had no clue how to handle this, did he?

“You know I’m talking about a date, right?” A tease or two wouldn’t hurt.

“Of course I know that!” He snapped, neck and ears now slowly turning red. “I’m not dumb!”

“Ah! So you do like me then!” You giggled, well-aware that your own cheeks must be glowing by now.

“I—I never said that,” he huffed, finally looking at you.

You frowned at him, eyes wide and round with hurt. It did sting a little.

“But… But I never said I don’t,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair.

You beamed up at him, standing up a little straighter as relief flooded your chest.

“You’re so exhausting,” he whined, bringing his hands up to cover his face. You’d count that as an absolute win.

You laughed, stepping forward and tugging at his wrists. You weren’t used to that kind of contact, but you were determined to start familiarizing yourself with it.

He dropped one of his hands from his face with some reticence, and you took the opportunity to lace your fingers through his.

“Let’s get something to eat,” you said, positive that if his hand wasn’t tying you to the ground, you’d be floating off into the great unknown.

He said nothing. But, he didn’t let go of your hand.

Some part of you felt like gloating. You’d managed to leave the Tsukishima Kei speechless; and you’d managed to make him blush. Even if your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest, and even though you couldn’t stop a smile from taking over your face, you’d managed to get the last laugh.

But, had you really?

✧ ✧

“I can’t believe it,” Kuroo snorted, watching the two of you from the other side of the courtyard.

“I told you they’d be fine,” Akaashi sighed, a little flutter of relief in his chest.

“I still think our plan would’ve been great,” Kuroo yawned, scratching the back of his neck.

“Leaving two people stranded in the forest is more likely to leave them panicked, not ready for love,” Akaashi said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kuroo sighed, waving a hand at his friend. He glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “You okay?”

An expression of resigned acceptance graced Akaashi’s face. “Bokuto’s never going to shut up about this.”

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima kei imagines #tsukishima imagines #haikyuucreations #okay so it didn't show up in the tags so i'm posting it again :|#me: i don't want to look at this again #tumblr: oh that's nice :)

240 notes · View notes

chrysalispen · 3 years

Text

iv. never give the heart outright

AO3 link HERE Chapter under cut.

====

The day Aurelia Laskaris left Gridania dawned damp and foggy: as mundane and unremarkable a sendoff as one could possibly wish. The heat wave had relented overnight and the wind with it, and the trees’ leaves hung still and sparkling with droplets of dew. Pale rays of early morning sun filtered through the low-hanging wisps of cloud and collected dust motes and small insects in their wake. The quality of it reminded her of L’haiya��s lace curtains, the way their softness and the delicate patterns and filtered sunbeams had always framed the sitting room windows of her girlhood home.

The driver of the chocobo carriage aimed to set out from the city before full daybreak. Thus she stood in drowsy silence along with half a dozen other passengers set to board, watching the lalafellin teamster as he and the Canopy’s porters secured the larger bags. Barring any unforeseen incidents, the carriage’s route would take them south past Quarrymill, through the marshes near old Amdapor, and south into the high desert of northeastern Thanalan until they reached Ul’dah.

It had taken her all of three days to conclude her affairs: there was, after all, no property for her to sell, nor any anxious relatives to wheedle her into remaining.

Watching the small man loop his handfuls of hempen rope to secure over boxes and bags and other people’s assorted belongings, Aurelia felt a certain twinge of wistfulness that she had not expected. The forest city was not quite home, but it had served as the closest thing she had to one for nearly five years. But it was not enough to keep her. The excitement of the road ahead had not left her, and she faced the morning with bright eyes and a clear mind. The sun was up and so was she.

Keveh’to did not share her optimism, that much was obvious with a mere glance. The Miqo’te stood at her side with an expression one could only describe as pained. His ears lay flat against his fluffy hair, and his fawn-colored bottlebrush tail lashed emphatic and agitated beats against her leg.

“I know I’ve asked you half a dozen times now,” he said quietly, “but are you absolutely certain about this?"

Her answer was the same as it had been each time he had asked:

“As certain as I shall ever be.”

“That isn’t reassuring.”

“Yes, well,” she felt a twinge of annoyance at his pessimism surface at last, “as one recalls, ‘twas you who made the suggestion that I consider further study afield.”

"When you told me you’d give the matter some thought, I didn’t expect you to come back to Miounne’s place the same day with a letter of introduction already scripted and sealed.” His arms folded over his chest and he stared up into the canopy. “E-Sumi-Yan must have had that letter already waiting to give to you, whatever he said.”

“Perhaps. It’s not as though he would have told me if he did.” Aurelia looked down at herself and smoothed the pleats of her skirt yet again. All of it, from head to toe, was new. It felt so odd; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had new clothing. “Thank you again,” she continued, somewhat awkwardly. “For the traveling attire. It's quite fine.”

Keveh’to shrugged. A dull rosy flush crept up the sides of his neck. “It’s Ul’dah,” he said. “They’ll toss you out the gates on your arse if you show up looking like a beggar.”

“Hells below,” she tried to make a jest of it with a soft laugh, “you make it sound as though they’ll have a fashion inspector awaiting my arrival.”

“No. But I’ve known my share of that lot, and ‘tis not unlikely they’ll hit you with a demand for a hefty bribe at least once.”

“Yes, I’ve heard stories from some of the others.”

“And for goodness’ sake, Relia- please do yourself a favor and be careful about the company you keep. No one needs to know about you-know-what.” He tapped his temple with a humorless smile. “Ul’dah is a great deal more cosmopolitan than our humble little forest abode, but even they might balk at that.”

The stare she gave him could best be described as obstinate, with the hard set of her jawline. “...I might be ignorant of many Eorzean customs, but I should like to think I am not that much of a fool.”

“I’m trying to watch out for you.”

“Rest assured, I do appreciate the thought.” Still so glum. She frowned at him, “I thought that this decision would have pleased you. You made no secret you were tired of watching me mope about.”

“I- yes. But-”

He opened his mouth, stuttered into empty air, then sighed.

The other passengers milled about them in a somnolent shuffle, muttering to each other and passing bags back and forth. A pair of snowy-haired elezen twins in clothing as new and fine as her own brushed past Aurelia and Keveh’to without sparing a second glance, their identical braids and hair-ribbons stirring in a cool and sluggish breeze from the riverbank. She waited for the pair to pass well out of earshot before she continued, as gently as she could manage:

“This isn’t goodbye forever, you know.”

“I know.”

“They gave me honorary citizenship. I think I’m obligated to at least visit from time to time.” Another jest, one which failed in a like manner as the other to crack his solemn visage. “But I do fully plan on returning once I’ve completed my studies.”

“Right. I understand that. It’s…” His ears swiveled forward, then back, still flattened unhappily against his hair. “...Never mind. It’s not important.”

“No, go on.”

“It’s a trifling personal matter. Naught that you should worry about.”

“If you have something to say-”

That stony stoicism faded at last, relaxing into a smile, but it was as sad a smile as she had ever seen Keveh’to Epocan give anyone. “Matter of fact, I did. Once. But I see now that I’ve gone and waited too long,” he said cryptically. “Saying it now won’t change anything, and I wager I’d only feel worse if it did.”

“I’m sorry.” Aurelia worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “Truly, I am.”

His smile stretched into a grin. It made him look far more like the man she had come to know, the friend who teased and needled her and let her talk herself into momentous decisions. “You’ve no cause to be sorry for anything, my friend. The fault is mine own if there’s fault to be placed. I’m just being sentimental, I suppose. And, mayhap, a touch selfish.”

“Last call for luggage,” bellowed one of the porters. “If ye don’t bring it up now, ye’ll be carryin’ it yerselves! ‘Tis a long road ahead! Last call for luggage!”

Aurelia looked down at herself, then the bags at her feet. She only had the three pieces: her salvaged field kit, her herbal bag, and the pack which held in it those few trifling personal possessions she owned, including her mother’s memento mori. The field kit’s thick carbonweave strap perched on her shoulder, its tripartite-link imperial insignia long since removed by her own hand (Rhaya Wolndara’s angry reaction to the sight of it had been a valuable lesson in precaution) and its once-hefty weight now considerably lightened with even her most conservative usage of its contents over the years.

“Well,” he said after a moment, with transparently forced cheer, “let’s be about it. This lot won’t load itself.”

“The field kit needs to stay with me,” she drew out of reach when he stretched out a hand to take it from her shoulder. “Too many fragile items. Glass and the like. I’ll not trust it to the vagaries of a draught chocobo.”

“Fair enough.”

He picked up the others and made his way toward the waiting porter as the small collection of passengers began to mill towards the slatted steps. A Highlander man drowsed near the front of the carriage, hand wrapped loosely about a wine bottle and otherwise oblivious to the world. Aurelia double-checked the small leather belt she wore to make sure the letters Miounne and E-Sumi-Yan had penned were intact; a fine mess it would be if she were to lose them on the journey.

“Aurelia!”

The matronly Duskwight proprietress of the Carline Canopy stood head and shoulders over most of the passengers, and she quickly drew their attention as she made her way towards the small gathering with a swift and decisive stride. The Garlean offered her a small smile.

“Good morning to you, Miounne,” she said. “Come to see me off, have you?”

“I certainly have. I hope you weren’t planning on leaving us this morning without breaking your fast, girl,” was Miounne’s brisk reply, though she returned the smile as she held out her hands. In them, she carried a steaming tin cup and a small cloth-wrapped bundle. “I set aside one of my eel pies for you. ‘Tis a bit chilly as well, so I thought some hot tea might do you well on the road. Don’t worry about the cup; I have plenty of them.”

Touched by the gesture, Aurelia carefully took the cup and the wrapped pie, one in each hand.

“You didn’t have to do this-”

“I know,” Miounne said, a wry smirk tilting her lips. She wiped her hands on her apron. “But I did. The pie is heavy and should keep your belly full for a day or two. You’ll be changing carriages at the station in Highbridge to the Sunroad trail; you’ll want to get more supplies while you’re there-- make sure you have plenty of fresh water. There’s naught betwixt Drybone and the city save malms of scrubland, and this time of year the water holes will be too low to sustain travelers. I imagine the Calamity will have made the pickings slim for hunting as well.”

Aurelia nodded.

“Once you pass through the city gates, make your way to the Quicksand. That’s where the Ul’dahn Adventurers’ Guild operates; the proprietress’ name is Momodi Modi. I sent word ahead that she’s to expect your arrival within the sennight. All you need to do is give her your name and mine.”

“I... yes. I’ll do that.”

“And please, Aurelia dear- do take care in Ul’dah. It is a very different sort of city from ours. You are a kind woman with the best of intentions and there are those who would…” Miounne hesitated. “...Well. I’ll not fearmonger; I’ll wager you’ve heard enough of that. But I would ask the Twelve to watch over you nonetheless- if that’s all right, of course.”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Instead, she watched Keveh’to’s back, the way his officer’s overcoat pulled taut across the shoulders as he passed her bags to the porter, then cast her eyes down at Miounne’s parting gifts.

The sight brought back a memory of the last time she had left behind the familiar to set out for the unknown: fresh from her schooling, set to board a train at the capital’s processing center after she had enlisted in the imperial army. No one had accompanied her. Not to give her well wishes or helpful directions, or even to wave their farewells from the platform as the train departed for the tunnels bored beneath the mountains and into the heart of Castrum Pinnaculum. She had gone to the station alone, had left alone, and for the first few weeks of basic training, she had struggled alone.

But she was not alone now. Perhaps she no longer owned a marvel of a garden, or slept in a fine bed, or wore silks, but since coming to Eorzea she had made more friends in this past handful of years than in the previous decade. That had to count for something.

Aurelia stared into the steaming teacup and swallowed past the sudden constriction in her throat with considerable effort, then looked at the other woman with glassy blue eyes.

“I’d like that,” she said at last. “And thank you, Miounne. For everything.”

Before the woman could muster a response Aurelia had turned away and hurried towards the lowered carriage steps. She didn’t want to lose her nerve or shed tears, not today, and she still had one more farewell to give.

Keveh’to reached the steps first; he plucked the carbonweave strap from her shoulder and slung it over his own the moment she drew near. “Let me pass that up to you once you’re seated,” he said. “You can’t carry both your breakfast and this great bloody thing onto the carriage.”

She was the last to board. The wooden stair was showing its age and it creaked even under Aurelia’s slight weight as she made her way onto the covered deck. The platinum-headed Elezen twins she had seen earlier sat in the back near the cargo across from the last empty space: the one in blue was wholly absorbed in perusing a tome while the one in red dozed upon their companion’s shoulder. Neither of them paid her any mind as she set her teacup and snugly wrapped meal upon the open seat. Nor did any of the others, for that matter.

Mayhap this part was not so very different from that long ago train ride after all.

Aurelia chuckled aloud, though the sound lacked humor, and turned towards the other end of the carriage at the sound of swift footsteps. Keveh’to had come up behind her to deliver her remaining bag. The half-empty imperial field kit, still large and cumbersome for all it lacked much of the weight it once bore, smacked with a quiet dull thud against his thigh with each step. His expression was unreadable as he set it down at her feet.

“Suppose Mother Miounne already said it so I don’t need to,” he said, “but I will, anyroad. Take care of yourself and be careful who you trust. And if there is trouble and you need to leave for any reason, you always have a home here.”

“Keveh’to-” Before she could finish what she had meant to say his arms had wrapped about her shoulders in a heavy embrace, tail wound around her calf.

“Write to us once in a while, will you?” he muttered in her ear. “Just… just so we know you’re doing alright. Even if it’s something about your alchemy that I- I mean, we don’t understand.”

“Or care about,” Aurelia said wryly. She knew full well that Keveh’to was not asking her to write to Miounne. Her arms tightened about his shoulders in return, just for a brief moment. “...I’ll write as often as I can manage.”

“Good.”

The Miqo’te looked for a moment as though he wanted to say - or do - something more, but instead released her with all haste, tail flickering and ears swiveling with his discomfiture as he went. Aurelia said nothing further as she took a step backward and turned to the seat where her tea and morning meal awaited. It was easy enough to spare him his blushes, to pretend that her focus lay upon how best she might secure her bag under the seat. Once that was done she picked up the teacup and took a thoughtful sip, placing Miounne's eel pie upon her lap. She was too full of nerves to be terribly hungry but that would no doubt change within a bell or two.

His retreat down the narrow steps came just in time for the porter to lift and shutter the low-slung door behind him with a brisk snap. Aurelia felt her eyes prickle and burn but her composure held fast, and when she turned about and lifted her free hand to wave at her friend it was with a bright smile on her face.

Her minder - her friend, now - gave only a half-second’s hesitation before he waved back. At his side, Miounne too lifted her hand in silent farewell.

“Quarrymill!” the driver shouted. “Next stop, Quarrymill!”

Following upon the heels of the teamster’s call came the draught chocobos’ twin kwehs. She braced herself and her teacup a moment before she felt the sharp initial jolt of the carriage’s forward motion. Within seconds it smoothed into a sedate and seamless drift as the wind aether filled the balloons overhead, and they were off down the half-paved cobbles that led to the Blue Badger gate. In moments they would pass out of the city and turn onto the southbound road.

For the final time, Aurelia allowed herself a glance over her shoulder, back over the lip of the carriage and in the direction of the Carline Canopy. Keveh’to, it seemed, had chosen to remain outside the chocobo paddock. He stood stiff and unmoving save for the tail that lashed erratically at the air, his hands shoved into his deep pockets and his mouth turned in a downward bow she could see even from here.

His words drifted across her mind like errant clouds.

I’ve waited too long. Saying it now won’t change anything.

She kept her gaze upon the dwindling figure until the carriage had rounded the bend and that splash of bright yellow was no longer visible through the foliage.

~*~

Watching the commotion below from his perch upon a flight of corrugated metal steps, Nero tol Scaeva knew what was coming next. The cohort’s work had come to a screeching halt and several of the engineers had gathered about to investigate the rear quarter panel of the left leg. None of them seemed to know what orders they were to give or be given if any, and the resulting confusion left them milling aimlessly about like ants puzzling at a stray piece of food someone had dropped on the floor.

Thus it fell to him to restore order, as much as he would rather not: his presence alone would subject him to fearful kowtowing and stammered excuses. He knew he could be a hard man when the situation called for it, but he liked to think he was also a fair one, and even the greenest of the signal corps had no reason to fear his wrath so long as they could explain themselves to his satisfaction. Still, he was a Garlean, and the provincial fear of his countrymen was deeply ingrained into the army's conscripts -- ingrained when it was not beaten.

No help for it, I suppose.

He made his way beneath the iron scaffolding that surrounded the warmachina's exoskeleton at a brisk pace. The clatter of his sollerets upon the metal tiling set an easy and unhurried rhythm as he crossed the open floor until his stride slowed to a full stop mere fulms away. The engineers’ chatter, quiet but idle, dwindled into an anxious silence.

One of the engineers, a tiny Auri woman with her lavender-tinted hair bound in regulation braids, went visibly pale at the sight of his approach but to her credit did not make a show of flinching from him, and even had sufficient courage to offer up a salute as was proper. He folded his arms over his chest and peered down at her through the visor of his helm. They stood close enough that he could see how her forearm - still stiffly crossed over her chest - trembled at his proximity.

“Architectus,” he said very calmly.

“Y-yes, my lord?”

“As you were,” she dropped her salute, but her back remained ramrod straight and the tension did not leave her shoulders. He continued as if he had failed to notice, “I mark a number of you performing a very serious study of this warmachina’s leg joint, in lieu of performing your assigned tasks.”

Her swallow was audible even through his helm’s transceiver, but her stone-faced stare did not waver. “Apologies, my lord. There is-”

“I believe I have stated on multiple occasions that we have a schedule to keep, and not a terribly lenient one at that. Perhaps the cohort is in need of a reminder.”

“My lord, please,” the woman blurted, then winced almost immediately, “I am sorry to interrupt. But you see, there’s a problem.”

Shite and swiving hellsfire, if I never hear ‘there’s a problem’ again in my lifetime it will be too soon. Still, unlike sas Junius it was not in Nero’s nature to vent his spleen upon hapless messengers. He released a long-suffering sigh instead - only somewhat dramatized for her benefit - and watched those large ocean-blue eyes break their impasse at the sound. They flickered nervously up at his face, then down, then back out to stare at that fixed point past his waistline.

“Of course there is,” he said aloud.

“My lord?”

His own fault, he surmised, for expecting any other response to his bit of japery. “Never mind. Continue.”

“Yes, my lord. We ran the initial tests using the Vanguard H-1’s specifications, as dictated. The operating system ran as expected upon startup. But when we tried to proceed with full activation... well, we tried to switch over from the H-1 but it caused a power surge and nearly started a fire- as you see here. As it is we’re dead in the water. She won’t power on at all now.”

“I assume our engineering teams ran down their checklists for aught that might have compromised structural integrity, prior to attempting the activation.”

“Just so, my lord. Circuitry, fuel lines, motherboards-- it was all green.” She bit her lip. “If… perhaps we might speak to the quartermaster and requisition another part. Or perhaps a larger-”

“The next step up would be the specs for a low-velocity assault craft,” Nero interrupted dryly. “While I share your readiness to explore all possible options, I think it unwise to blindly run through every single spare part at our disposal hoping for a result. Aside from the obvious risks, ‘tis inefficient. We do not have a great deal of time to make what amounts to an educated guess.”

“I- yes,” she stammered. “I apologize, my lord, I should have thought-”

He waved an impatient hand. She fell silent as instantly as if he had slammed a door shut in her face. “Who is your immediate superior?”

“Valens nan Varro, my lord.”

“Kindly inform him that the activation test has been delayed pending an internal review. We will reschedule after I have spoken with the legatus.”

Now she was staring at her feet, her face pale once again. “...He will be sorely displeased if he discovers we have failed you, my lord. Sorely.”

“Ah, yes. A terrible burden indeed, the primus architectus' personal inconvenience. Unfortunately, we shall all have to bear it,” Nero said briskly. He did not care to argue the matter with a subordinate; such behavior would undermine his authority, and the engineers present were well aware that his word was the final say.

“But-”

“If nan Varro is displeased with the decision and wishes to contest it, then he may take his grievance up with me directly.”

Her shoulders slumped forward ever so slightly, not in relief but defeat. Beneath his helm, Nero raised his brows at the response but said nothing further.

“Yes, my lord.”

“And I expect an incident report on my desk by 0700 tomorrow morning. Posthaste.”

Her answering salute was stiff and formal, expression as stony and unyielding as a statue’s. Whatever emotion he had spied was carefully hidden now; the wall was back in place. Curious. Irrelevant. He had neither the time nor the wherewithal to waste in wondering after it.

Nero passed her without another word, her fellows hastening to clear a path for him as he approached the enormous back leg. There were scorch marks on the edges of the chassis panel, he noted; exposed copper fibers trailed from the opened casing like wilted ivy creepers. The ends were blackened and a thin line of smoke still curled in slender lines; the smell was acrid and familiar and the castrum's ventilation system would disperse it within a half hour.

One hand hovered just over the scorched plate as he studied the sight, with a furrowed brow and pursed lips.

Retrofitting Allagan technology was not a precise art, as much as it pained Nero to admit it. Some artifacts worked so readily with Garlean magitek that the process was utterly seamless, as if it had been meant for their hands. Others were far more complex, and thus more time-intensive. The Ultima Weapon had been his longest project to date, and the tribunus laticlavius had to remind himself that the machina had been experimental even to the greatest scientists of its age: a groundbreaking anti-eikon countermeasure that partnered the arcane with the mundane. A seamless blending of aetherology and engineering, borne of man’s ingenuity.

Blended---

Ah.

“My lord?” a timid voice echoed at his back. The engineers were watching him; they had gathered a respectful six fulms away.

“...This is not a public spectacle,” his hand fell away from the plating. “See to this mess. I want the machina checked from top to bottom for aught that could possibly cause further delays. Exposed joints, chassis warping, blown fuses, exposed wires, all of it.”

"My lord, the test-" "Is no longer your priority," his impatience filtered through as a short, barked command. "Attend to your tasks. I will not ask you twice." The gathered cluster of engineers sketched their salutes and scattered like mice, scrambling to obey before any of them could experience the implied consequences for perceived insubordination. Nero watched them in silence for a few beats before taking his leave. He made his way back along the catwalk and up several flights of steps, to one of the administrative bays that oversaw the hangar. Once he was certain of his privacy, he removed his helm with a soft and relieved sigh. It was a mere press of a button after that to open the transceiver link and set it to a specific frequency. Static hissed in the confines of the empty office for one second, two, before the link became stable and there was smooth air and Gaius van Baelsar's gruff baritone:

“State your business.”

“Lord Gaius. Have I interrupted something?”

“Yes, but naught of particular importance. For a small blessing.” The legatus of the XIVth Imperial Legion sounded vaguely put out, but not irate. An encouraging sign which meant he was like to be at least somewhat amenable to the discussion Nero wished to have. “I take it you have something you wished to discuss.”

“I do. The activation test failed. I should have an incident report within the next 24 hours that will list the particulars.”

“Again?”

“Indeed. This is why,” Nero took a deep breath, “I should like to request that the Weapon and all hands involved in the project be transferred to the research facility in Agelyss Wyse.” “The Vylbrand coast? That is not exactly shouting distance from Gyr Abania. And there are certain dangers present which make your proposition quite risky.” Refusal to take risks will not garner the results we seek. "With all due respect, my lord, you did not assign me this project with any fond hopes that I would remain complacent,” he could almost feel his commanding officer bristling at his bluntness, “and these failed tests have made it abundantly clear that - as you will recall that I posited, against protest from certain quarters - ceruleum combustion alone will not be sufficient to bring the Weapon back online. Not at full capacity.”

“What do you propose?”

“I will get to that eventually, but first and foremost: I need data. Current data. Simulations and conjectures will only get us so far.” He glanced out the bay window at the massive machina, a dormant monster, each opened claw the size of a juggernaut. “The Weapon was designed to do far more than subdue eikons, and we have merely scratched the surface of its capabilities. But scratching is all we will manage if we remain here.”

Nero managed - only just - to keep the excitement out of his voice. The Black Wolf of Garlemald was a straightforward man, he knew from long years of experience: interested in results, not theories.

“I understand this, but you are also asking to upend our timetable for the sake of a hypothesis.”

“A hypothesis with its foundation in the methods the Allagans used to create and maintain Dalamud- as Lord van Darnus would attest, were he still with us. I think it a safe assumption that the Ultima Weapon operates upon a similar methodology.” Van Baelsar’s only response was a sigh of consternation. Nero continued, “And yes, it would move our overall timetable forward a few weeks. I admit it.”

“Nearly two months,” the legatus said sourly. “You understand that even if I agree to your proposal, it is not something that can be immediately enacted.”

“I would not expect to presume thus, my lord, of course.” There was bureaucracy involved, and the logistics of moving entire teams between castra -- not to mention the machina itself. Well, Solus zos Galvus had not built the Empire in a day, either. “I realize there are protocols to follow. I only ask for consideration-”

“And due consideration will be given, tribunus- in due time. At the very least I must needs contact the Occidens praefectus and discuss the matter. We will speak on this anon.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He could afford the wait. In the meantime, there was much yet to be done- and new plans to be made. When the legatus called for him again, as he inevitably would, Nero would be prepared to explain what must be done ere their goals could be met. Allag’s mighty Weapon would awaken from its slumber by his hand, and he would receive his fair due at last. There was no one and nothing now to keep him from reaching forth to take what was rightfully his.

This victory shall be mine and mine alone, he thought. And you, old friend, will be as chaff in the wind. Discarded and forgotten.

Beneath his twin veils of tempered glass and chromed crimson steel, Nero tol Scaeva began to smile.

#aurelia laskaris #garlean warrior of light #keveh'to epocan #gaius van baelsar #nero tol scaeva #mother miounne #werlyt cameos sort of?#and the leveilleurs #you get a cameo! and you get a cameo!#this concludes reborn by fire #off to ARR we gooo #upon pale dawns #chapter 4

10 notes · View notes

notgalaxii · 4 years

Note

ah! can you do 55 with asmo?? ❤ please

Woo! This one was fun if we ignore the fact that I've written it twice now because I wasn't satisfied. There might be grammar errors here and there because Im sick and all foggy headed and shit, I'll edit her another time. Anyways, happy reading! Thank you for the request my love 💕🤞

Prompt: Shut up and kiss me already

"MC, how about we go out tonight?~"

It was a sweet prompt from one of your best friends in the world, not just in the Devildom. However, it almost always led to something chaotic. Some nights Asmodeus disappears into the night and takes part in some wild orgy; some nights he tries to hook you up with someone; some nights he gets crowds when he really doesn't want to. Nine times out of ten, something happens.

This night was no different for the two of you. He dressed you up, styled your hair to his liking, then ushered you into some crazy nightclub that you definitely couldn't have gotten into on your own. Now, you danced together, pinkies locked so you don't lose each other in the mass of drunk demons, holding your alcohol in your free hand. The pinky holding had been Asmo's idea; it was a lot cuter than handholding and less intimate so you weren't uncomfortable.

"Would you like a refill, cutie?" he quizzed, a bright smile stretching from ear to ear.

“Yes, please,” you hummed, passing your cup over to the demon. Asmo took the glass from your hands almost gracefully, as gracefully as he could when he was buzzed, before turning on his heel and waltzing back to the bar.

“I’ll be right back then, my dear!” he called over his shoulder. You chuckled to yourself, resuming the rhythm you had created to the beat of the music that was blaring through the club.

He did this pretty often: holding you close for a few hours and then disappearing into the night, coming back a solid half hour later with a drink and a lipstick stain on his cheek. It was a little annoying at first, but you grew accustomed to it throughout your friendship with him. Seeing him throw compliments and flirts at any passing beautiful face like he was asking the time of day made your stomach churn still, even though it’s a part of your new daily routine. Not only did he nonchalantly chat it up with anyone, but the demons fell for it. Even when he wasn’t using his charm, strangers seemed to throw themselves at your best friend left and right. It wasn’t the flirting itself that entirely bothered you. It was what they were looking at.

On the outside, Asmodeus was nothing more than a self-centered bratty perv who’s diet consisted of nothing but drama and attention. He was so much more than that to you, though. Asmodeus was a gentle and passionate man in more ways than one. When he loves people, he loves them. He learns them, he spoils them, he lives them, he breathes them. Asmodeus knows the ins and outs of everyone he cares for, what they like, what they don’t like, and every way to supply them with their needs. He’s thoughtful and kind.

The case was no different with you. You hadn’t spent a day without Asmodeus by your side since you started your stay in the Devildom. He’s taken you to all of his favorite stores, showed you all of the most beautiful sights to see, he’s fed you the most delicious food he could think of, and most of all, he’s spent quality personal time with you. Your favorite nights were those spent in his room before bed, trying out new face masks together, and just talking about life. For someone who seems self-centered, Asmodeus had always been the best listener when it came to you. In your eyes, he was no less than a glistening jewel that had caught the moonlight in the depths of a hidden cave.

Just as expected, you spotted your favorite demon in the crowd near the bar, chatting with a beautiful woman. The look on his face read a combination of, “I can’t wait to get out of this conversation,” and “I should buy more alcohol.” Hers, however, was reading unadulterated desire, something that you had learned to pick up on when spending time with Asmodeus. By some miracle, you managed to meet his sunset gaze through the mass. It felt almost as if the smile he directed towards you had roped you in, dragging you closer to him.

“Ah! It looks like you found me!” Asmo giggled once you fell at his feet.

“You’re not that hard to find, you know,” you teased, flickering your gaze to the woman he had just been chatting with. She was definitely more attractive up close, as she was shooting daggers at you with her eyes.

“Well, I believe we had a lovely chat but I have previous engagements to attend to,” Asmodeus told her, lowering his hand to lock his pinky with yours again, “Perhaps I’ll see you sometime again in the future?”

“I hope I can count on it,” her voice was low and almost sultry. Paying no mind to her comment, Asmo beckoned you to follow him off into a more secluded area.

“She seemed like a treat,” you scoffed before sitting down.

“Hmm? You seem like you desire something. Tell me, MC, what is it?” Asmodeus inquired, not bothering to sit down. You looked up at him, watching the way the pink and gold hues danced in his eyes with glimmers of content, how his champagne hair effortlessly curled just out of the way of his gaze, how his skin looked so delicate and soft to the touch. He was absolutely right, you desired something. You desired him. You desired to reach up and run your fingers across his perfect skin. You desired his sunset gaze to be fixated on you and only you. You desired him to make an attempt to charm you again even though he knows it won’t work in the way he wants it to. You were already charmed by him, no magic involved.

“I just want to know what possesses you to make you walk up to random strangers and try to charm them,” it wasn’t a total lie, but it definitely wasn’t what you really desired.

Asmodeus quirked an eyebrow at you in surprise, but it soon settled. The expression of shock was replaced by an arrogant smile. It was mesmerizing, the way his rosey lips pulled into an enchanting gleam. You wondered if he knew that he had your heart on strings and with every pull of his smile, he tugged on them.

“She approached me, actually. I just wanted to get you a drink,” Asmodeus leaned down closer to you so that your faces were level. In doing so, a few strands of his hair fell in front of his eyes. There was a new thing you had desired, to run your fingers through his hair, push it out of the way, see just exactly how soft it was. “Is that all you wanted, MC? I feel like there's something still locked deep away in your chest. Why don’t you help me open it?”

“Oh, I’m sorry! If I had known that it was her doing then I wouldn’t have pestered you about it. Forgive me, Asmo,” you fumbled, brushing aside his last statement in hopes that he would drop it.

“Shh, just be quiet and kiss me already, would you?” Asmodeus cajoles, “That is what you’d like, isn’t it, love?”

A warmth invades your face, peppering your cheeks with a deep shade of red. It takes a brief moment of contemplating whether it’s worth it or not, sacrificing your friendship to soothe your inner desires, but you comply with the Avatar of Lust’s demand. Once you’ve closed the distance between the two of you, your lips melt right against his.

The kiss is everything you hoped it would be and more. Asmodeus’ lips were soft, smooth, and tasted faintly of the sweet chapstick that he had applied before the two of you set off. Unexpectedly, however, his kiss was gentle and loving rather than fervent and needy. He moved his lips against yours very slowly, yet skillfully. The feelings that Asmodeus’ touch gave you as his hands made themselves home on your waist and cheek were second to none; he sent ripples of euphoria throughout your entire body and chills down your spine.

“I-I was really hoping you didn’t figure that one out,” you scrambled for words the moment his lips vacated yours.

“I know you, MC,” he giggled. You almost hoped that he didn’t know you well enough to pick up on that you were desperate for more.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me one shot #obey me fic #omswd #omswd one shot #omswd fic #obey me asmodeus #asmodeus #omswd asmodeus #obey me asmo #omswd asmo #asmodeus x reader #200 prompts

76 notes · View notes

hawks-is-kinda-chicken-little · 4 years

Text

Voicemail: Part 3

Hawks x reader

A/n: I swear I am alive, I'm just getting my shit together for college. Anyways have my half-assed attempt at a story plot. I stopped here because I'm going through sad hours and that was really going to affect the rest of the story if I continued, I mean it still might be i’m not sure. No clue how gently I feel like being to everyone's feelings for the last chapter (don’t worry I make myself suffer too).

Part 1

Part 2

-Part 3-

Part 4

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

“Not alive at least. They never come back alive.”

Hawks may not have been in the facility anymore, but he could still hear the words through the speaker. After all feathers weren’t the only thing he inherited from the avian species. In-fact, a lot of predatory bird-like qualities were passed down to him, none of which were proving to be any aid.

Endeavor exited the facility talking to some of the other heroes who were caring for the two children. He looked towards the clouds watching the desperate hero who was barely able to flap his wings in a steady momentum to keep him airborne. Twitching here and there causing his flow to stutter. Feathers puffed up clearly agitated, but some others sharpened to a dangerous level. It was truly a pitiful sight. From the looks of it, Hawks was nowhere near ready to calm down. Hands were shaking while switching from clenching to unclenching, desperately wanting to hold on to something. Nail marks were indented in the palms of his gloves. Anxiety and agony evidently overriding every morsel of reason that survived up to this point. His eyes never stopped searching, gaze switching from place to place as light-speed. Endeavor could practically taste the burning red rage sourly seething through Hawks every movement. But, nothing Endeavor could say would bring Hawks from his agitated state. He had to let it fly its course. Only then would Endeavor be able to pull him back to one of the agencies where they could recuperate.

Lucky for the heroes, they had detained all the henchmen left to guard the facility. They might be able to strangle some information out of them. But, it was kinda strange that the main man would leave them there knowing that the heroes were en-route. However, as Rumi noted, leaving those men there perfectly diverted their attention from the escaping vehicle. A smart move on the abductors part.

The League was pretty pissed about the whole shebang. Torturing the earlier captured men in a more gruesome manner out of pure rage. In doing so, one of them squeaked about some sort of airport. Oh, now those two were in even deeper shit. Dabi was nice enough to inform Hawks about this new information though. Calling him over for a nice group beating.

“That’s all I know swea- ack”

Smack!

Blood splattered the ground, painting over old splotches littering the place.

Crack!

One of many bones to be shattered but the blunt head of the bat.

“I’ll ask this one for time- What fucking airport?”

Silence.

Crack!

“Hawks, the guys’ gonna be dead before you get an answer, or at least a feasible one,” Dabi grunted.

“Fucking hell,” Hawks cursed, slinging the blood dripping bat to the side of the room with an echoing thud as the wood teetered from end to end until it settled. Hands shooting to clench his golden locks in an iron grip. He squatted to the floor, head hanging low, trying to fight the urges of a predator whose prey sits before them utterly helpless.

A scarred hand grabbed Hawks’ shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. Hawks shifted his head slightly, just enough so that he could eye Dabi's own eyes from the side. So many emotions swirled within those baby blue pools of fire. Remorse, agitation, worry, and so much more, all together forming a dangerous poison. A poison which would make poor souls scream in agony for death. Something Keigo would be glad to provide.

Now the two might now get along most of the time, but when facing a common goal, they are not a pair to be trifled with.

The men in the chairs started struggles in the ropes that tied them to the splintering chair. Pulling hopelessly with all their might, but to no avail. Dabi and Hawks shifted their eyes to the bastards in front of them.

The hand, not on Hawks’ shoulder, was raised to the man's face level, resting inches away. Smoke began flaring from Dabi’s scared palm, small blue flames flickered around the heel as it heated up. The heat alone was enough to singe the man’s facial hair. Terror welled in the man’s expression as the hand was brought closer, making him whimper.

“Let's try this again.”

Horrid fumes of burnt flesh swirled throughout the air. The man was a tough one to crack, Dabi knew he would come around, he just needed a little encouragement. They got the information they wanted him. Hawks had pity on the bastard, taking a feather, slitting his throat with one quick slash. The other man could do nothing but watch as his comrade bleed out.

“Don’t worry pal, my boss has plans for you.”

No matter how much he tried to scream all that would come out was muffled sludge blocked by the gag. Dabi, patted his ashy hand on the man’s head before walking towards the door with Hawks following on his heels. The man’s thrashing only increased as he door slammed closed, leaving him with the freshly fried corpse of the other one.

“What’s the plan from here?” Dabi asked.

“If they wanted to sneak on the plane unnoticed, they would have to do it at night, when no one else could potentially spot them.”

“It's a private jet though.”

“Yes, but the guys said it was being held with other private jets.”

“Whatever, your dumbass logic gives me a headache sometimes.”

Twice popped out around the corner where they were talking.

“Please don’t screw each other in the lobby.”

“Twice, what the hell. I would rather set myself on fire.”

Hawks gave Dabi an offended glare. Dabi in return rolled his eyes, walking away from Hawks.

“Just hurry up. Go get your boy scout in line and save her already”

“Who said I was doing this as a hero?”

Dabi halted, back facing Hawks. A smirk tugged at the corners of his charred lips as his eyes darkened.

“You don’t have the balls to fly that far from the nest bud. Your stupid heroes commission the only things you truly value in society.”

Hawks glared, but held his tongue. Dabi glared back with just as much hatred taking a couple of steps back towards the winged hero.

“That damned heroes commission seems to be the only thing you seem to stay faithful to.”

“What the Hell does that mean?” Hawks squawked.

“It means you are more likely to leave her for the vultures before ignoring your duties to those shitholes. Oh, wait a second, that's exactly what you did.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Really now? So let me get this straight, you didn’t push her away, become a complete asshole to her because of them. Hawks at the end of the day all that matters in that brainwashed head of yours is that shitty organisation.”

“Shut up.”

“Fine, let's pretend that it wasn’t the commission pulling the strings. In that case, you are a really shitty person. I mean, you ARE the reason they're in this mess to begin with.” Hawks’ blood ran cold, Dabi gave an exasperated chuckle “What makes you think she even wants YOUR help?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh how you harm me with your words.” Dabi mocked

“Who’s fucking side are you on? Where the hell is this coming from?”

“Let’s be clear about one thing, birdbrain, just because I want her safe doesn’t mean i’m on your side. You fucked up. And that guilt is only because you feel responsible for her kidnapping, it isn’t because you’re disgusted with all the shit you put her through. So listen when I say-”

“No, you listen here, asshole. Do you honestly think I can't see the damage I did? I am not making an excuse for my behavior, looking back I can see how fucked up I was towards her. I was blessed with an angel, I had never in my life been genuinely cared about. I had never been so committed to someone, so attached to another person. Someone who felt the exact way as I did. It was terrifying.” Hawks paused face falling downwards, scrunching up to fight away the tears building up. “I didn’t have the balls to face her as time went on, so I did what I did best, I put up a front and moved forward. Avoiding our relationship, avoiding her, just because I was scared of commitment. I never bothered to think about the effects it might have had on her. I’m a real douche for doing it and I know it.”

“Shame what it took for you to figure that out.”

There was nothing sympathetic in Dabi’s tone, no, it was as sour as biting into a ripe bitter melon. Hawks said nothing, he was right after all.

“Go home Keigo. You're not welcome here right now.”

Dabi watched as Hawks turned and walked to the door. Waiting till he was about to close the door on his way out to let out one final stab.

“Oh and Keigo,” Hawks paused “when she’s safe, hope she realizes you’re not worth it.”

SLAM!

Dabi was pretty sure Hawks broke some of the hinges when he shut it behind him.

“Bastard,” He muttered, clearly not into Hawks’ delinquent behavior. Dabi stomped off to the bar to talk to the others about what to do next.

What the actual fuck, Hawks thought as he took off into the dusk set skies. Yes, he knows he screwed this up, Dabi didn’t need to rub it in anymore.

Taking out his phone, Hawks shot a text to Rumi informing her of the newly found information. It was always kind of surprising that no other hero ever questioned where all his exclusive information came from, but oh well. Hawks went straight for the place, not giving anyone time to regroup and set out a plan. It didn’t do much good last time and he wasn’t willing to risk it again. He had an hour or so before the moon set in place, if he was lucky he would make it there before anyone else did.

Wings soared through the clouds as he scanned the area below, searching for the facility. His sights locked onto a large gated perimeter, surrounding multiple runways connected to a couple of buildings housing the aircrafts. It was one of the many private airports in Tokyo, a place where the rich kept their collection of aircrafts. Hawks descended to a large window in the center of the middle building in the facility. The place seemed to be more of a showcase then anything, some of the jets looked like there were fresh out of manufacturing.

The place looked empty, no sign of any life in the facility. If it wasn’t for his abnormal vision he would be able to see anything in the pitch black room. No gates or doors were open, no runway lights shined behind him, no unusual vehicles were in sight. So either he beat everyone here, or he’s got the wrong place.

He was about to take back off into the sky when he spotted a jet that matched the description the man gave him. A sleek black metal covering, twelve square windows spaced evenly on each side of the jet’s middle, matte silver nose, blood red paint rimming the edges of the wings. It was big enough to carry a small army. The jet seemed a little out of place next to all the smaller, more compact aircraft.

It was clear the jet had yet to be tampered with. They must be waiting till the moon was at its highest to hide their escape. If that was the case they would be there for another hour or so meaning Hawks could have a look around the place. Maybe sabotage the plane enough that it might not function properly.

Using a feather Hawks carves out a circle into the glass, just big enough that he could fight through and not get stuck. The tricky part was putting the glass back into place so that the bastards weren’t suspicious of the giant whole in the window. But, he managed to do it with only a couple of close calls.

Though he was alone, Hawks still had to be careful nonetheless. Fingers felt around the side of his goggles in search of the night vision button. However, a glowing group of infrared blobs that only grew bigger by the second appeared in his sights. With great haste Hawks hide in the cramped empty space behind one of the two stairwells one either side of the balcony of the window. The tight squeeze forced his wings to fold into uncomfortable positions against the base of his back.

It stopped right outside the giant corridors leading out to the building runway. While his the blurriness of the image made it hard to fully make out he counted seven or nine of the now van sized blobs. The one in the middle was to first to make any sort of move, a panel sliding to the side as figures exited the vehicle. Others to the right and left followed suit. All filing out into the open, crowding to the center one. Though all the bodies it was he could barely make out a body hauled out onto the ground next to boxes gathered for the other vans. His attention was so zeroed in on the limp body that he didn’t notice the dozen or so figures heading for the corridor.

CREEEEAAAAK!!

The heavy metal scraped against the asphalt as it was forcefully pried open by the figures. They didn’t fully peel the doors back though, only enough so that a couple of men could head in. About six men entered the dark area, flashlights swinging around in search of anything intruder. Hawks scrunched farther into the wall, missing the beams of the one of them by millimetres allowing him to go unnoticed by the men. The continued their inspection, not very thoroughly Hawks noted, until they each gave a thumbs up signally to the others nothing was out of place.

“All clear,” One of them yelled out behind.

All six men then approach the designated aircraft. Hawks wanted to bang his head on the wall from his own stupidity, since he chose the staircase opposite of the plane.

He let out a quiet hiss of frustration; “dammit.”

Biting the inside of his cheek he started trying to devise a plan. Maybe, just maybe, he could sneak some feathers inside to take them out. So he did just that, sending one feather for each man and one extra just in case.

The men had clearly let their guard drop as they focused on their tasks. He had no problem maneuvering the feathers around them as they worked. Two men were in the cockpit, two in the carriage, one taking storage in the backroom, and the last of the six was making his way to the single bathroom of the aircraft.

The man made his way to the bathroom, stripping off his pants before pulling out a phone and doing some unspeakable things that made Hawks want to vomit in his tiny corner. The poor guy had no clue that he was going to be the first to go, Hawks literally caught the bastard with his pants down. A mental note was made to just leave the dagger in his chest, after everything he just witnessed with that feather there was no way he wanted it back in his plumage.

One down, five to go and next up was the storage guy. A feather hovered right above the back of the guy as he checked off boxes on his clipboard. Moving forward, but still sticking to the wall in order to give the feather a better angle to slash his neck. However, the bright colors contrasted with the white wall, catching the attention of the man.

“What the fuc-”

Swish

It sliced through the air, not giving the man any time to process the situation. Hands instinctively flew to his throat in a pathetic attempt to stop the life escaping him. Bright red blood seeped through the cracks between his fingers, leaking down his front as he wobbled on his feet. The harsh thud of a body crashing to the floor never sounded through the air as the feather slipped down the back of his shirt to guide him quietly to the ground. Once he was laid out noiselessly on the now red stained ground the feather took off to regroup.

They all stayed as flat as paper against the slick interior of the plane, making sure never to be in the line of sight. Three feathers arrived at their next destination, the passenger section. The two men were just goofing off. Neglecting their assigned duties in favor of gossiping like highschool girls. Hawks could help the twitching of his upper lip, sharp canines baring each time the muscles spasmed. Sexist comments were slurred back and forth between them as they talked about his dove. Feral instincts screamed at him torture them till they were pleading for death. But, he needed to keep his composure or else risk getting caught and that was not something he could really afford right now.

The feathers slithered down the aisle when the assholes turned their backs to one another. One feather took off to lock the cockpit hatch from the outside, making the two on the inside unable to interrupt Hawks. Both the men were facing the side wall of the aircraft making it easy to string two feathers into position to swoop up and dispose of them just like like the now rotting corpse in the storage compartment.

Swish

Hawks really wished he could have prolonged their suffering, but he had more important matters to worry about, unlike those sexist bastards. Oh well, he would just have to be sure to spit on their corpses later.

The last two in the cockpit worked to get the carrier up and running. Hawks could hear them from the two feathers locking inside with them as they ran their diagnostics. Just as the feathers were about to capture their lives the roaring of an engine coming to life sounded throughout the facility. Blinding bright headlights buzzed on pointing to the corridors as if asking to be let out.

CREEEEAAAAK

Hawks peered over the corner of the wall hiding him, he saw more men pulling the door fully apart to make way for the giant aircraft. With all the new lighting Hawks had to turn off the night vision mode on his goggles so he could see. Through the orange tint of his lenses he could spot [y/n]’s limp body laying on her side facing him through the legs of the surrounding guards. Her whole body looked as though they just threw her to the asphalt from the van door. A grimy brown sack covered her head that hung to the floor slightly supported by the shoulder on the ground unnaturally scrunched up by her neck. He could see the raw skin surrounding the bonds tightly wired around her bare wrists. What really unnerved him was the slow unsteady half-rise of her chest every so often. He doesn’t know if it was due to the bag covering her airway or the utterly traumatized state of her body, but it wasn’t hard to tell her lungs were starting to give way. There was no way in Hell she would make it through the plane ride. She needed medical attention and she needed it fast.

The shifting of wheels brought Hawks out of his panic as the aircraft propellers spun around in place, making the plane go forward ever so slightly. It stopped one it was centered with the doors in the front of the facility. If he slashed his feathers upon them it would surely arm the onlookers. Eyes once again shifted to the body of his dove.

Helpless. He couldn’t make a move without stirring up their attention. And if they threatened her, there wasn’t even a sliver of a chance he would make it in time.

TING

The sound echoed out from his pocket. The phone vibrated letting out another sound to alert him of a notification.

Hawks’ heart dropped to the ground as everything around him moved in slow motion. Heads took their time spinning in his direction when in reality they snapped his way in milliseconds.

He didn’t have time to look at his phone as bullets flew his way. Faster than ever, he took to the air, dodging the oncoming hellfire. Since all was turning to shit, the two cockpit feathers slashed the hell out of the men inside with zero mercy whatsoever. Using some spare feathers he sent them lashing at the tires preventing their second escape. He’d rather be plucked for everything he was worth before letting them get away again, especially not when they were so close.

His earpiece rang to life as he wound through the air.

“What the fuck is happening” a harsh feminine voice that sounded like Rumi screamed from the other side.

“Shit hit the fan, send help.”

That was all he could say before getting nailed in the right shoulder. Wings stuttered in shock, but adrenaline pushed them to keep flapping.

“Hawks!” She called.

He could barely hear her through the blazing bullets piercing through the air.

“Heading….. Minutes…… Endeavor…… Way.”

Static cut out sentences leaving him with only a couple of words from the other line. He didn’t have time to decode the meaning though.

In the midst of frantic maneuvering a blast of fire hit the window behind him sending him flying forward as a bullet lodged itself in his right thigh.

“Friendly fire!” He screamed behind him.

Now shit was really hitting the fan, Hawks thought to himself as he looped through the new hole created by none other than Endeavor. He made his way to the top of the building, the roof partially deflecting some of the ammunition flying at light speed. A new wave of confidence gassed his system with the brigade of heroes quickly approaching from behind.

“I know I annoy you, but do ya really need to fry me right now?”

Endeavor only grunted as he landed next to the winged hero, Rumi was soon to join them. The bullets had ceased to pierce the air for a moment, Hawks could hear the head guy yelling at his underlines like an abusive dog owner. Naturally they tried to retreat to their vehicles, but found the tires were lacerated enough that they were rendered useless. The yell turned into hushed whispers.

All heroes crowded up onto the roof, hastily devising a plan that would hopefully let them safely extract the beaten girl. Time was ticking fast as two beautiful lives were draining from the mother's body every wasted second. They needed to make a move and they needed to do it now.

“Fuck plans”

“Hawks don’t be rash”

Endeavor could get fucked by fire for all Hawks cared. He was going in sending flocks of lethal feathers to shred them while he used the remaining feathers to take to the sky.

It only escalated from there on. Quirks were activated from both ends, but the heroes had to be careful, they may have the upper hand power wise, but the enemies had a hostage. Hawks could see his dove start to stir among all the commotion, but his attention was quickly redirected as a first sent him flying into a wall.

In the midst of the battle one of the lackey’s managed to discreetly snag [y/n] and a couple of the packages into a small aircraft. All which were messily tossed into the back of the cargo compartment before jumping in the control seat. All engines were a go and it was off to the runway from there, splattering some of his comrades into the pavement on the way. Hawks wasn’t having it though, redirecting all of the feathers slashing around to chase the jet as it wobbled in the sky.

“Your feathers are going to do jackshit, GO!” Rumi encouraged, no longer holding back.

That was all he needed to hear, as he darted to the air, targeting with pinpoint accuracy. The door of the storage holder on the side of the jet cracked open. Opening more and more as the pilot tried to steady the plane in the sky. The jet lagged in the sky as it swerved to the side making package after package plummet out. Hawks was tailing the jet, but the pilot kept taking sharp turns to try and lose him.

Hawks spotted [y/n’s body starting to slip to the edge of the open door. One final turn from the unsteady jet was all it took to send her descending into the air. Hawks immediately dove after her, wings tucking flat to increase his speed, arms stretching out towards her, hands ready to snatch her at the first given chance.

The ground was approaching uncomfortable fast. [Y/n] was just out of his reach, fingertips brushing against her own.

His wings gave one last flutter against his back, pushing him just far enough to reach her forearm. Hawks latch his hand onto her arm hauling her into his arms before spreading his scarlet wings in an attempt to catch in the air. A hiss passed his lips as the opposing velocity strained the muscles at the base of his wings.

Just before the hit the ground Hawks caught his bearings, letting them at least land somewhat safely. He stumbled on the turf, the hand that wasn’t holding [y/n] shot out to the ground where he keeled making sure to not fall over onto her. They landed a mile or so from the gates of the airport.

BOOM!

Hawks watched as sparks erupted from an explosion a little ways from them. Looks like the poor bastard couldn’t fly after all.

His breath was heaving, the adrenaline of the situation still pumping through his body. Lifting his hand from the ground he untied the rope holding the sack over her head, pulling it off, freeing her beaten face. Scarce breaths passed through her cracked lips.

Hawks was quick to let the rest know he had her. Endeavor let out a sigh of relief through the otherside of the line. Rumi yelled with happiness. When asking about her condition, he was hesitant to say anything, only saying that he was rushing her to urgent care immediately.

Weakly she stirred in his arms, whimpering as her bound wrist rubbed the harsh unforgiving rope peeling her already raw skin. Hawks plucked a feather, slashing her wrist and ankle constraints, finally setting her aching limbs free. Tears welled in his eyes, partly because she was now in his arms once again and partly because she was suffering in his arms.

“Shhhhh, baby bird, I’m gonna get you some help okay?”

He couldn’t tell if she heard him, but he wasn’t going to bother waiting for a reply. Wings spread behind him once more, screaming at him from pure agonizing torture they had already suffered. Limbs burned, fire setting every vein ablaze with even the slightest of moments.

All it took once one more heart wrenching soft cry passing her lips to get the adrenaline rushing again. No wound or pain could hold him down as he flapped his wings aggressively through the thin air. He kept staggering up to the clouds and low to the ground. It was definitely not his smoothest flight, but it was doing the job. She was held securely in a tight embrace against his chest. One of his hands gently caressed her cheek with the thumb in an attempt to pass her his wordless love.

Some of the feathers started to give from those once giant eyes. Every feather lost was another piece of [y/n] drifting to the light of eternal rest. She was a rose that was slowly shedding its abused petals, wilting from the mortal world.

Hawks could see the hospital in his sights, in his moment of overwhelming relief he almost hit the ground, but luckily he was able to bring them both up just in time.

White doors slammed over as a body crashed onto the hospital lobby tile. The receptionist rushed over to the counter spotting the hero, wings clings around his front to cushion their landing. Looking at the lady in scrubs he lifted one of his wings revealing the beaten woman he cradled to his chest. The lady screamed for help as doctors and nurses flooded the room. A stretcher was brought in as [y/n] was carted into one of the back rooms, nurses flocking the stretcher trying to assess her state.

A separate stretcher was brought in for him. A light smile graced his face as he watched them take care of her while they hauled him onto the cart. One of the nurses was trying to ask him questions, but he paid them no mind, only watching his dove.

The smile quickly faded as he saw more doctors dash to her room, panicked expressions present on each of their faces. He tried to stay awake, he tried to hear what was going on, but the last thing he heard was a doctor yelling one word that echoed in his ears even as he lost touch with reality.

“CLEAR!”

Then everything went black.

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

Also I want to thank you all for reading this, it makes me so happy. I literally cried at all the love you all gave the first chapter. I wish I was kidding I actually cried.

TAGS:

@assassinslittlesister @anxiousgoddest @moonpawss @regularkacchan @austriasmariazelle @murkyrosewrite @hawksexual @imuziawi

#bnha fanfiction #my hero academia #hawks x reader #bnha keigo takami #boku no hero academia #mha #hawks #keigo takami

109 notes · View notes

adonis-koo · 5 years

Text

tease

| 5 |

↳ Summary: You came with the intentions of your best friend landing a job as a stripper. You never meant to catch the eyes of the king stripper of the establishment- Jeon Jungkook, yourself. With what was supposed to be a harmless way of paying off college debt faster you find yourself falling into a very odd and passionate relationship with your new mentor. Between infidelity, passion and jealousy there’s never a dull moment at Cherry Bomb.

↳ Pairing: Stripper!Jungkook/Reader

↳ Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, drama, slice of life, relationship problems without the relationship, reader is such a shy baby protect her, MUTUAL pining, so much sexual frustration,

Word count: 10k

Previous | Next

// Playlist //

Song Mood

Tags: Drying humping, dirty talk, unintentional exhibitionism, sub/dom overtones jungkook being a jealous on the down low

Warning: This story touches on both sexual harassment and abuse, please read with caution if any of these things are triggers to you. Additional warnings will be given when a chapter presents them.

“Wow…” It was all you could manage to say as you clasped the clipboard in shock, there had to be over thirty people on this list. And they were all for you…? You understood to a degree, despite your humbleness that people enjoyed your performance due to the money thrown at you. But you didn’t expect so many people requesting to schedule you for private dancing.

As if sensing you’re slightly overwhelmed aura Jungkook gently pulled the clipboard from your grasp, the content smile tugged on his lips as he hummed, “Mhm, all for you babygirl. I told you guys would be lining up.”

You found yourself bashfully rubbing the back of your neck making him laugh as he set the clipboard down, leaning over the counter where it had become routine for you both to talk before heading separate ways until he pulled you aside for your training, “Don’t get too ahead of yourself just yet baby,” He clacked his tongue in amusement, “You don’t have to schedule anything until you’re one hundred percent confident in your own ability. I can still go over the ropes of scheduling private dances after practice though if you don’t have anywhere to be.”

Your first initial thought was a big no, of course, the idea of being on stage by yourself, for only one person...Just the idea felt so intimate it almost made you blush, but you also had kept Jungkook’s word in the back of your mind, if this was how you’d be making most of your money then you’d be dumb to not take the chance.

And of course Jungkook was right, you’d have to become more comfortable before you actually do any private dancing, but it wouldn’t hurt to learn the ropes, meanwhile, the more you knew the more you became acquainted with the idea, the less opposed you’d be to it in time, “No I don’t have class until after lunch today so I’m free. Can we get something to eat though? Practice is so miserable on an empty stomach.” You groaned as you laid your chin on your spread out arms with a whine.

Truth be told you were too tired to do anything besides roll out of bed just in time to shower and head out, but breakfast was important to you regardless and just as you said, practice was miserable when you were hungry.

Jungkook cracked a smile as he ruffled your hair, gaining a whiney humph from you as he rolled his eyes, despite the amusement that lit them up, “Sure babygirl. Anyways you better get to practice before Hoseok gets on to me for distracting you,” He sent a wink your way before letting his hand drop to your chin giving it a little squeeze, “I’m working on a routine for tonight so just head back to the room at 9:30 okay?”

“M’kay.” You yawned out with a stretch as you nodded. Jungkook had rounded the bar, passing by your chair before suddenly stopping, making you tilt your head as he turned around, his eyes flickering around the room before settling on you again as if debating something in his mind.

You raised your brows in silent question making him speak up, “Just some advice but...I’m sure you’ve figured out jealousy runs rampant out here baby. Just ignore anyone who gives you shit and above all else,” He paused for a moment, making you swallow at his expression, you could tell he was serious, “Don’t pick fights. It’s not worth it.”

It was quiet for a moment before you sighed, shifting in your seat as you muttered, “Like I have an argumentative bone in my body.” You had said it mainly to lighten the mood he had set so suddenly, and just as you hoped you watched the tension in his shoulders relax a little as he cracked a smirk.

Pushing his hands into the pockets of his grey sweatpants as he tilted his head, “I don’t know babygirl, I can’t help but wonder if you secretly are.”

You had squinted your eyes at him as the pout twisted onto your lips making his smirk pulled into a cheeky smile as you huffed, he was such a tease it almost frustrated you, “Let’s not find out then, right?”

“Right.” Jungkook nodded, he had turned around shaking his head but you could tell he was still smiling as he headed to the private room, asshole. After Jungkook left you pulled yourself from your pouty position before making your way to Hoseok who had been leading your group practice of the day.

Apparently all of the soloists switched off each day for an overall practice for all fillers but you noticed Jimin, Hoseok, and Rosé often took on the class while all the others- Jungkook included avoided teaching like the plague. You had only shared one full class with Jungkook teaching and he had been downright brutal on all the girls, even though he didn’t speak to you the whole time half the fillers glared at you enough to send your body into shock that day as if him being harsh was somehow your fault.

Hoseok however, was more of a fun teacher, he wasn’t any less harsh but he had been gifted with a much softer way of correcting the girls. You usually filed towards the back of the room while following along, you weren’t very confident in any sort of combinations or choreography without messing up, being towards the back of the room allowed you to breathe and just focus on more of the sensuality.

It had been a bit difficult at first, your brain had been hardwired for so long on the technique of every move that the quality strippers used came very foreign to you, you found yourself trying to focus on it more days then less even if you messed up several times. Even towards the back, you could hear the occasional snickers around you from the other girls but you had begun learning to ignore them.

It was a cold crowd in this room and maybe you were finally not letting it bother you. In fact, what was their problem? You had been getting constant looks thrown at you the entire practice, even more so than normal, had it been because of last night? You assumed it had to be normal for strippers when it came to money being thrown onto them, right? That was usually a staple, so what was the problem? In fact, it wasn’t even that much, you had made a whole 30 bucks last night, that looked like an impressive stack if you ignored that they were one-dollar bills.

“Alright everyone, five minute break,” Hoseok called out, running a hand through his messy hair as the practice quickly disassembled into everyone going for water and phone breaks.

You did the same as you sighed walking up the bar as you drank a large refreshing gulp of water, your feet pulsed in pain every step of the way as you winced, the tenderness of the balls of your feet felt raw and you were positive you had at least three blisters. Adjusting to stripper heels had been taxing on your feet and you shuddered at remembering your next rehearsal later that day, all of the calloused you had gained from regular dancing rendering useless. Sighing you shifted your weight on your feet as you winced, maybe you’d ask Rosé later if she had any advice on how to adjust to the heels quicker? Or was this something you’d just have to endure until your feet properly calloused?

Taking one more breath you began to make your way back to your original spot as you felt several glares thrown your way, glancing between people you focused back down trying to maintain a low profile. Your foot suddenly caught on something causing you to gasp as you stumbled before hitting the ground, your hands catching yourself forcing pain to flush inside them as you breathed out a wince turning around at the sound of a snicker, “What a good reflection of your performance from last night huh. Sloppy.”

You glanced up at the girl, all too familiar with her even if she rarely spared you a glance- as if you weren’t worth her time to begin with most days. Chan Hee was apparently one of the top fillers and one of the biggest rumored picks for becoming a soloist later into the year. Or so you had heard from Seulgi with the few friends she managed to make here, she was also ruthless to ‘competition’ and had even gotten three of the other girls to leave the club- or so it was rumored.

Chan Hee was, without a doubt one of the coldest of people you had ever heard of, it was like she lived the popular high school girl trope even though everyone here was well beyond their years in school. Your expression hardened and your brows pressed together as you heard a few girls around you snicker at her words as you stood up.

“And yet they still threw money at me.” You clacked your tongue catching a brief scowl from her as Jungkook’s words rang in your mind, unfortunately he didn’t seem to quite realize that no matter how hard you tried, just your very presence provoked the girls here. Still though, you weren’t here to fight, but after becoming acquainted with the initial shock of your harsh surroundings you quickly adapted, you hated confrontation, but if being a dancer taught you anything- it’s that you couldn’t afford to be a pushover in this setting.

“I just have to ask L/n,” Chan Hee called out, not giving up so easily, as if she was the one trying to provoke you into doing something, or maybe she was hoping to get you kicked out, you weren’t sure, but you weren’t going to feed into this, “What did you do to convince Jungkook? I mean I think we all know you’re too much of a frigid bitch to give good head, so was it money? Did you blackmail him?” She followed behind as she mocked an innocent questioning tone.

Pausing you could feel everyone’s eyes on you as you swallowed thickly, your words caught in your throat at the idea. Did everyone really assume you were the one who convinced Jungkook to take you in? Did they really not understand how he worked? You had only went through one group lesson with him while you were positive some of the girls here had endured dozens. He didn’t take people out of pity, that was the one thing you had come to terms with. Jungkook wanted you because he saw potential in you, you had nothing to do with his choice.

“Has it ever occured to you…” You spoke up before finally turning around, watching her tall figure peer down at you like you were a speck of dust as she crossed her arms, “That not everyone sucked dick to get on here? Maybe you should’ve become a prostitute if that’s your go too to get what you want.” You shrugged coolly and you could hear several people choke back a laugh, Chan Hee’s glare suddenly boiled down into you causing you to take a hesitant step back, your expression becoming a little cautious.

“Bold words for a little trainee,” She sneered out stepping closer to you and you watched her fist clench, turning white as if physically restraining herself, “You better watch yourself L/n.” With that last vague threat she snapped around as you watched her walk away the crowd of people parting from her as you rolled your eyes before sighing. Why did everyone have to hate you? You rarely ever talked or caused trouble, you hadn’t even done anything to warrant any hate.

Seulgi had hurried up to your side, anger burning in her eyes as if she wanted to incinerate Chan Hee’s back as she walked away, “What did that bitch say to you? I’ll knock her on her ass just say the word Y/n!”

“Seulgi I’m fine!” You suddenly grabbed her forearm as she attempted to launch herself in Chan Hee’s direction like a bat out of hell, your expression quickly subsiding to one with worry as you knew your bestfriend could get a little...violent at times, “She was just being a bitch- nothing unusual at Cherry Bomb.” It was true, for the fraction of nice girls you had met here, they were easily overpowered by others who only had their eyes on their goal of becoming the best stripper and they would do anything to get there.

All rules and morals cast aside.

Seulgi gritted her teeth before sighing exasperatedly, “You’re too nice Y/n,” maybe she was right, but you had already stepped on Chan Hee’s toes and technically- that wasn’t even your fault she was the one who had provoked you and then proceeded to get angry because you chose to defend yourself rather than stand there and take it, “I can’t stand her she talks shit about everyone here, Hoseok got pissed at me Wednesday because I ended up smacking her right across the jaw when she tried to drag you.” She admitted with a mutter.

Your lips parted and you were sure your eyes went wide, you had tried asking Seulgi about what happened Wednesday and why she had seemed so brooding but she refused to ever part with why her and Hoseok had fought...she...she got in trouble with her mentor for you? You felt a surge of warmth at her defensiveness for you but you ended up frowning, “Thanks but…” You glanced down at your feet, “You really can’t do that Seulgi…’

“Like hell I can!” Seulgi snapped back as if bristled at the idea of not being able to defend her friends. She was always more quick tempered then you ever were and while it was sweet, it was also not a good start for her either.

Frowning you finally let go of her as you glanced away, “You can but you shouldn’t, people here already assume I can’t fight my own battles because Jungkook keeps intervening, as much as I appreciate it, you shouldn’t defend me either. Besides you got in a lot of trouble with Hoseok over that, I’m never gonna prove myself here if I don’t do it on my own.”

Seulgi sighed herself, frowning as she crossed her arms, knowing you were right but still not enjoying that it wasn’t just a statement but also a fact, “Fine- but if she starts trying to sabotage you that ain't gonna fly by me without notice babe.”

“Well let’s not jinx anything. I doubt she’ll stoop that low.” You rolled your eyes as you both laughed. Hearing Hoseok call everyone back into their places you both parted ways as practice continued.

After finishing up with regular practice you had gathered your bag up before yawning, checking the time before heading to the back, noticing your step had fallen in line with Hoseok and Seulgi’s, “Nice job by the way Y/n,” You glanced up at Hoseok in surprise at the compliment, had you been improving? His lips tilted into a small smile as he clarified his words, ‘With Chan Hee- I mean.” Your expression went sheepish at his words as your gaze shot to the floor, he had heard that!? Why hadn’t he stopped it was the better question?

“O-oh um! I didn’t realize you saw that…” You murmured fiddling with your fingers as you felt conflicted, was he going to tell Jungkook what happened? You really didn’t want to hear a lecture from him this morning and it wasn’t even your fault!

Hoseok seemed cracked a smile before patting your shoulder, “Y’know- I’m not gonna lie Y/n, I wasn’t sure about you at first but you can’t let people push you around, you did good.” Suddenly his words clicked as you silently understood, Hoseok must’ve had some reservations about you and your gentle nature with this kind of job.

Thinking back on Seulgi’s words that must’ve really not helped your situation in Hoseok’s eyes, had he not stepped in to see if you could actually defend yourself? Whatever the case may be you obviously did the right thing to raise your status in Hoseok’s eyes.

Rather then feeling pleased with his words you felt nothing but the opposite as the wave of frustration built inside you, you had been right. There was a lot of people here doubting you because not only your soft nature but because of the people who stuck up for you. It wasn’t their fault though, this was on you. If you wanted to gain any respect you were going to have to get a thicker skin.

You made a silent vow to yourself before entering into the soloist room only to find Jimin had kept catcalling Jungkook on stage, who had the world's most annoyed look on his face as he continued his routine ignoring the blonde. Setting your bag down the other soloist’s greeted you as you sat down in the semi formed circle.

“Hey Y/n,” Seokjin sat down beside you as you nodded with a smile to greet him, eyes focused on the stage where Jungkook was working, he looked vastly different at the moment on stage then when he was performing, no smile or smirk was present and his brows were pressed together as he rubbed the back of his head pausing his movement, as if trying to figure out a smoother transition between moves, “Would you mind if I asked for a favor.”

“Hm?” You glanced to Seokjin with raised brows. Before he could speak, though he had also gained Rosé’s attention as her lips coiled into a teasing smile, “Favor huh? Better make sure Guk doesn’t hear you.”

Seokjin glared sharply at his old trainee who clacked her lips and winked playfully between you both as you flusteredly looked at your lap, that wasn’t why Seokjin was here right? There was no doubt his face was hand carved by God himself and just the idea was making you blush like a preteen girl talking to her first crush, “Ignore her, I was wondering if you’d be able to help Namjoon and I with dancing? I mean we get the overall concept but a little more detailed structure would be nice...You don’t have to say yes, though if you’re schedule is too crazy- I can understand first hand what it’s like being in college while working here.” He gave you a commiserating smile.

You perked up though at his words before giving him a beaming smile of your own, you were always enthused about teaching, you wouldn’t dub yourself an amazing teacher but you’d be more than happy to help where you could, “Of course! I’d be more than happy to help! I have an hour break before my art history class if you guys could make it then…?”

Seokjin’s face brightened significantly as he smiled brightly mirroring your own, his teeth could’ve sparkled easily and your face was heating up again at being so close to someone so beautiful, “I can add you into our group chat and we can talk altogether there.” You nodded before giving him your number.

Rosé had suddenly perked up as well though as she enthusiastically replied, “Oh! I should add you into my groupchat as well! Good idea Jinnie.” Seokjin shot her a glare at the nickname making her cheekily smile again as she leaned back on her hands. Just then the music from the speakers paused as you all glanced back towards Jungkook who groaned, jumping down from the stage as he ran a hand through his hair looking frustrated, eyes shooting to you as his lips quirked up slightly only for it to quickly fall back down as he glanced to Seokjin who’s shoulder brushed against yours though you hadn’t noticed.

His brows furrowed again as his irritated expression returned before suddenly sitting down next to you, what you didn’t anticipate was the harsh grip on your waist before dragging you into his lap making you squeak out in surprise, face burning hot red as you squirmed, “Jungkook!” he ignored your cry instantly trying to claw your way out of his grip but he wasn’t budging. You swallowed with another whimpered as he wrapped his arms tightly around you, forcing you to press back into his chest as you finally wilted, covering your face. What did you do to warrant that?

“Did you have a good practice?” Jungkook asked, acting like he didn’t just force you into his lap like a cat into water making everyone stare him while trying to cover their laughs at his obvious broody expression that reeked of jealousy unbeknownst to you.

You didn’t reply for a brief second before letting out a small whine, “Jungkook…” you shifted in his lap before trying to pull out of his arms, it was still too early in the morning to be put in this position. What was his problem? Was it because he was struggling with his choreography?

You felt a surge of worry cast over you, watching the large taut muscles flex on his biceps as he squeezed you tighter gaining another squeak from you, “I said: did you have a good practice?” His voice became stern and gritted making you involuntarily rub your thighs together as you let out another soft whine.

Unable to resist his commanding tone as you nodded, your hands looking small as they wrapped around his veiny forearms, tracing patterns into his warm skin as you murmured, “It was fine, fillers are still harsh and I still look like look as stiff as a bored, nothing any different from any other day.” You tried to keep yourself from squirming at the feeling of his nose burying into the crook of your neck, not used to such affection from nearly anyone.

“That’s not what the crowd last night was saying,” You jumped at the sudden nip of his teeth in the crook of your neck, you didn’t think your cheeks could get anymore red but Jungkook just loved proving you wrong, “Have some confidence babygirl.”

Seokjin had muffled a laugh at how tense your shoulders were and how desperate you were trying to not claw out of Jungkook’s grip, as if knowing you’d only make things worse if you tried, “You gonna let her go? Squeeze any harder and you’re gonna break her Guk.” Seokjin couldn’t resist the snort that escaped his lips as Jungkook suddenly pressed you closer to himself, his glare drilling into his elder.

You only store at the ground as if trying to focus on not imploding and Seokjin, as much as he watched in amusement knew he probably just made your day a whole lot worse with Jungkook, “Come on babygirl, let’s get started for training,” You never realized how much you had been holding your breath until you exhaled in relief as he let go of you, letting you stand up. Rather then taking you to the other side of the room Jungkook had stopped at the steps of the stage making you furrow your brows, “We’re working on solo skills today, you’ll never get used to being up here by yourself until you start doing it.’

The idea made you nervous as you frowned, fiddling with your fingers as you glanced towards your feet. He was right of course, especially if you would start taking on private dancing, and you’d expect to do it soon given your bills were racking up and between your small tip and check both from Cherry Bomb it wasn’t gonna cut it. No matter how shy you were, you needed money and you already stripped once, there was no reason to back out now.

“I guess…” You hummed, lips quivering slightly, still a bit apprehensive at the idea, not to mention you were in a room full of soloist’s, really good soloists, might you add. Albeit everyone here was surprisingly welcoming and you doubt they judge you, but still.

Jungkook whirled around, eyes landing on you as he curved a brow, “How many times do I have to tell you baby? No ‘I guess’, you’ll be fine.” He stepped up as you trailed behind, sporting a tired pout before he started throwing together a combination for you to work on.

It didn’t matter how many times you did it, being on stage on your own was still scary and you kept messing up before whining and stamping your feet in frustration, Jungkook had been sat down in a metal fold up chair usually used for clients as he groaned, letting his manspread further as he rested his hands on his thighs while leaning forward, “Who cares if you mess up baby? It’s inevitable on stage, this isn’t like at your studio, if you mess up keep going and if you forget choreography make up your own until you can remember it again.” You sighed in frustration, at the very least you seemed to be getting the rhythm of sensuality involved for dancing, but when one thing becomes accomplished another problem becomes apparent.

Jungkook started the music over again as you retried, you had managed to remember the whole combination, rolling down to the floor before thrusting your hips into the air, “Higher Y/n!” Jungkook called out over the music making you instantly try to achieve what he was looking for, “That’s not higher.” He sighed leaning back in his seat, making you huff as you tried once more but upon not hearing his validation you dropped your ass back to the floor in frustration.

“Just show me!” You called back, annoyance flooding your veins at his pickiness, how much higher could you possibly go? One thing you had found that worked between you both was anytime you struggled between movement you’d ask him to demonstrate so you could try and imitate it. It saved you both a lot of frustration with one another most days.

Jungkook sighed in exasperation as he stood up walking up to the stage before pulling himself up, you were about to sit up before he held out a hand halting you, “Stay,” his voice lowered slightly making you frown but you did as told, a little confused as to why but saying nothing.

It wasn’t until he suddenly dropped to his knee’s slotting his hips between your legs that you had a vague idea of where this was going, squeaking you tried to squirm to get away from him, his hands suddenly lunging for your hips was you pleaded, “Wait! Wait! Wait!”

“Like this,” He suddenly pulled your hips into the air making you whimper, your cheeks burning as your back arched uncomfortably off the ground, you could definitely feel the difference but still. He didn’t have to show it like that! Having your legs open and him kneeling between them with his hands on your hips had your body burning with wet shame as you suddenly covered your face, your mind going blank as you tried to close your legs only to be stopped by his own body.

“Nu’uh, we’ve been through this before,” Jungkook instantly lunged down, pulling your hands from your face as he pressed your wrists into the ground as you whined, wiggling beneath him, “Be a be a good girl and look at me.” Your eyes were squinted in shyness and your cheeks were bright red, hair fanned beneath you as you watched Jungkook peer down at you as the predatory smirk started to coil on his lips, “Now move with my hips.”

He purposely thrusted his hips into yours making you jolt as you let an auditory whimper leave your lips, you were beyond embarrassed about this situation and not only that but you could feel everyone watching the both of you in amusement as you felt the hard imprint of his cock against your thigh. Jungkook started out slow letting his hips languidly roll with yours as he guided them higher, his eyes lidded with pleasure at the feeling of his strained, swollen members brushing against the soft skin skin of your thighs that had been exposed today from your shorts.

Fuck. You had forgotten how big he was, and even in the brief moment you had sat on his lap when you first did auditioned you only had barely felt it before skittishly shooting away from him. Now he was grinding it against you on purpose as his hips began to move faster, making your own lift higher not only for the sake of getting the movement but now in hopes of keeping him pressed against you.

“Are you wet?” Jungkook suddenly asked, pressing his tongue against his cheek as he parted his lips, purposely rubbing his shaft down your slit making you gasp louder than you ever wanted too as you closed your eyes, your hips beginning to go off rhythm as they impatiently began to buck into his, “Is that pretty pussy soaked babygirl?”

Something about his nickname for you had your head spinning and your body burning intensely as you let out a hitched breath, feeling him press himself harder into your throbbing little clit as you tried to keep from strangling out a moan, “J-Jungkook…”

“When do you think they’re gonna fuck?” Jimin sat down by Rosé as he popped a can of soda, glancing to her in curiosity as they both watched the lewd display on stage, Jungkook ruthlessly dryhumping himself on his trainee- a bad habit that he was beginning to form, you looked pitiful beneath him with red cheeks and shy eyes but you were so obedient as your hips dragged along his.

Rosé snorted a laugh as they both exchanged glances, “I’m surprised they’ve lasted this long- tell you what, if they don’t fuck before Seasonella I’ll dare them at the afterparty.” They both glanced back at the stage where you had let out a whiney moan hips squirming before Jungkook finally grabbed your thighs roughly, holding them still as his hips sped up.

Jimin raised his brows as he gave a smile on his own, “You think she’s gonna get picked for Seasonella?” He was surprised at his mentors words but then again, you had a promising future ahead, it really wasn’t all too much of a long shot when he really thought about it.

“It’s hard telling right now but even if she doesn’t get on the list-” Rosé licked her lips in thought before they both glanced at you both again, “You really think Jungkook is gonna leave her here on her own?”

“You know what?” Jimin clacked his tongue, eyeing you both from his seated position casually as Jungkook sat up on his knees, head hung back and eyes shut as his hips slowly rolled into yours, heavily focused on his impending orgasm, Jimin couldn’t say he was surprised at the outcome of this situation, “Fair point.”

Jungkook held your thighs open and his throbbing cock kept hitting against your clit in all the right ways that had your back arching painfully and pathetic whimpers and moans escaping your lips, “Fuck.” You let out another small moan as you clenched around nothing but air as your body was beginning to teeter on the edge of it’s orgasm.

Lunging down Jungkook caged you between his arms, all sense having left his body as he let his lips drag down the lobe of your ear, giving all sorts of kitten licks and nips between his words, “Mmm I can feel how wet you are babygirl- feels so good on my cock. I could just strip you ass naked and show everyone just how good my little girl is.”

Your body was practically spazzing at his words, his cock hitting against the sweet spot of your clit that had you whimpering as you wrapped your legs around his waist, “R-right there! Please! Please Jungkook.” You couldn’t even escape the quiet whimpers from your lips as you tried to wrap your arms around his neck, his hands suddenly pinned them back down as he let his tongue drag down your neck a smirk pressing into your skin.

“Right there?” He dragged his words out as he pressed his swollen cock back down onto your sweet spot letting his shaft rub over it again and again making you let out a breathy moan while rapidly nodding, you could feel it. You were so close you could almost cry from how badly your body needed this release, “Are you gonna be my good girl and come for me?” He asked letting his lips drag against your ear once more, all you needed was one more thrust- you could feel it. Your body burned so harshly and your mind already buzzing with pleasure.

“If you guys are gonna fuck can you atleast do it on the floor?” Namjoon interrupted, making you almost jumped out of your skin, your hazey pleasure instantly washing away as you squirmed beneath Jungkook, embarrassed beyond words at the realization of where you were, it was almost too much for you to bare as you looked away.

As if still in domineering mode Jungkook had groaned but kept the majority of your body- despite still being fully dressed- covered with his own body, feeling the harsh pulse of his cock in objection as he stopped, “I was three strokes away from blowing a load, thanks for the interruption.” He gritted, ignoring the droplets of precum dripping from his angry tip while sitting up before pulling you against him, hiding your face and body against him as he turned away slightly to hide you further, sensing your mortification as he set his chin on top of your head.

“That’s an oddly specific number,” Namjoon clacked his tongue before sighing, “Just take her to the bathroom, or the wall, I don’t care. I know your freaky little inner exhibitist gets off to this but I have to get to class in an hour and I really need to practice before tonight.” Jungkook groaned but didn’t object, the moment had already been ruined and he was positive there was no amount of convincing in the world that would let him take you in the bathroom let alone in the soloist room now.

He could practically feel your cheeks burning against his already hot skin and your arms were wrapped around him tightly in embarrassment, this was gonna take a lot of counseling on his part to get you to get over this, “Whatever, thanks for the cockblock.” He got up, holding your crumpled, embarrassed body that was still wrapped around him as he carefully stepped off stage.

Namjoon only laughed as he replied, “That’s always been my number one priority as your mentor asshole. You’d never get anything done and you know it.” you wouldn’t be surprised if Namjoon was one hundred percent serious but you could care less. You just openly let your mentor dry hump you in public all while you were begging him to continue. Too say you were embarrassed was putting it light.

“So,” Jungkook snickered, his hands purposely squeezed on your ass making you jump as you wiggled in his arms, “You did good with your thrusting babygirl- definitely impro- Ow!” He was already laughing as you smacked his shoulder harshly demanding for him to shut up multiple times before throwing your face back into his neck wanting nothing more than to embrace the icy void of death.

Setting you down he pushed the hair behind your ears as you tried to swat his hands away, “Fine I’ll stop- do you still want breakfast?”

“I think I fucking deserve breakfast after your ‘demonstration’!”You snapped, stomping your foot with a pouty glare that was supposed to intimidate him, but all he did was laugh, brushing you off with a ruffle of hair as you scolded further.

Wrapping an arm around your shoulders he laughed, giving them a squeeze as you both walked to where your bag laid on the ground, “Sometimes experience is the best teacher,” He leaned in biting against the lobe of your ear making you squirm, “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“Shut up.” You grumbled, crossing your arms, your face beet red but he was right, you were anything but a complainer in that situation.

----

Breakfast with Jungkook, was actually rather nice, you weren’t sure why you were so surprised but just his presence was enjoyable, he was a very outgoing guy and knew all the right things to say to keep a conversation not only going, but enjoyable as well. It was no wonder he worked the crowd at Cherry Bomb so well.

But even so, you supposed, you both just had natural chemistry because you could tell he wasn’t in his work mode of making sure the conversation was kept in good nature or nothing became tense. His shoulders were relaxed and his smile seemed a lot more sincere than most days when you both were at work.

It was nice, spending time with him outside of work was nice, even if you both stayed on topic most of the time on how private dancing worked. It wasn’t until the end of the breakfast that he had mentioned you didn’t always have to wear the clothes they provided while working on the floor, you looked like your whole life had changed while he laughed, “They still have to scream ‘I’m a stripper’ though, sorry baby.”

You crumpled back into your seat slightly as you sighed, “I really need to make some time to go out shopping then, I barely have anything club worthy in my wardrobe, let alone stripper worthy.” You already had a good idea of what to search for due to all the fillers style and hell even Rosé was a good example of what to look for.

Jungkook had grabbed the receipt and his keys before stretching out, a mischievous smile on his face as he got out of the booth, “Say no more babygirl, you don’t have class until one right? Then let’s go.” Your lips parted and closed several times in silent objection as he left you behind for the cash register to pay, quickly fumbling out of the booth right after him as you huffed.

“Don’t you wanna go home and relax Jungkook? You don’t have to go out anywhere with me.” You felt slightly bad, not only did he insist on paying for your breakfast but now he was trying to go out with you? Well more like drag you out, personally it was probably you who’d rather go home and lay around with what little time you had left.

Jungkook had just finished paying before turning back to you, a smirk coiling on his face as he leaned down slightly, making you glare slightly as he hummed, “I have the rest of the day baby, don’t you wanna spend some time with your mentor?” You crossed your arms with a brooding pout as he pulled his arm around your waist forcing you closer to him as he walked out with you.

“We’re together everyday almost all day Jungkook.” You replied with a huff, but said nothing as he opened the passenger door, giving you a little push before you ultimately got in regardless. You weren’t sure what he meant by spending time with him, you saw him more in a day then you saw most your friends in a week.

Jungkook leaned in, grabbing the seat belt and pulling it across your body making you shift in your seat as you felt your cheeks flared, “That’s at work babydoll, don’t you wanna get to know me outside of Cherry Bomb?” he leaned up to meet your eyes as he clicked your seatbelt in, a smirk adorning his lips and his hot breath tickling your already red cheeks, “Beside’s you’ll need a second opinion on if what you’re wearing is suited for work.”

“You’re such a pervert!” You finally whined, realizing that was exactly why he wanted to tag along with you, in fact, you’d go as to say he was the one dragging you out so he could see you in less than proper attire.

Jungkook sent you a wink before shutting the door and making his way to the drivers side, the car was filled with music and banter between you both until you had arrived at the mall, where a plentiful of stores waited and apparently there was tons of places to pick from with stripper worthy attire. You were well aware of all the eyes that kept staring at you.

Girls all around you continuously sneaking glances of your mentor then you, who’s waist Jungkook wouldn't let go off the whole time, it wasn’t hard to see their judgement, you supposed you probably didn’t look good together with Jungkook, he was without a doubt the most handsome guy you had ever met and honestly? He could make any girl look ugly standing next to him. You decided to just ignore them as you browsed with him.

Turns out Jungkook was a lot better at having an eye for stripper attire then you, you had been dragged in and out of dressing rooms several times and he had almost demanded you make sure to showcase everything for him.

Pressing your hands into your face you sighed, jumping slightly at the feeling of his hands all over the sides of your body, “All you need is a pair of fishnets to go with this baby and it’d be perfect.” This wasn’t the first time it had happened today, as soon as the dressing room was empty his hands were all over you, his lips right next to your ear. The black dress was skin tight against your body and leaving less to the imagination, the hem of the dress pressing higher on your thigh then ever considered close to appropriate.

“Stop pressing your boner against me!” You whined out in a harsh whisper as you tried to move your ass away from him, your cheeks red at the feeling before he grabbed your hips pressing them back against his, his eyes haughty in the mirror as they kept contact with yours as he pressed his lips into your neck.

“You weren’t complaining this morning.” He snorted a laugh as you whined again in huffiness trying to break out of his grip before he let you go, waving you to go back into the dressing room as he smiled, “You’re too easy to tease babydoll that’s not my fault.”

You marched back into your room before glaring at him one last time as he cheekily smiled at you, “You don’t have to take advantage of my shyness!” shutting the door you pressed your hands into your face trying to calm the redness in your cheeks back down as you heard him laugh,

“Shut up you like my teasing and you know it.”

Maybe you did....just maybe, you really did.

But he didn’t need to know that.

After finishing up trying on outfits you refused to let him buy you anything and due to you being broke you didn’t buy anything yourself either but at least you’d know where to look next time you got paid. Checking the time you sighed, class would be starting soon and as much as you did admittedly have fun with Jungkook you couldn’t afford to skip class. Just as you were going to speak a voice, one all too familiar cut you off and made a pit in your stomach begin to form.

“Oh so this is why you’ve been ignoring me huh?”

You instantly stepped away from Jungkook as a tsunami of guilt flooded your whole body, you had spent your whole morning with him, letting his hands grabbed everywhere on your body like you were single when you weren’t. You were on break with Hanjae and you weren’t even acting like it.

Hanjae didn’t relent though and his eyes burned with both anger and jealousy as he marched towards you, looking ready to grab you and drag you away, he stopped short though when Jungkook suddenly stood in front of you, his stance protective and you couldn’t see his expression but something told you that was for the best as he hissed out, “No she’s been ignoring you because you’re a controlling psychopath.” You hadn’t realized how tall Jungkook really was until he had straightened out his posture, standing to his full height as he stood, a fair few inches taller than Hanjae and a glare sporting his eyes no doubt.

You practically withered at the sight of Hanjae’s cold glare, his face becoming nothing but pure logic and anger that you only rarely saw as he stepped closer, “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but stay away from my girl. Y/n, we’re going.”

Hanjae was in the middle of side stepping Jungkook when he was roughly grabbed by the shirt, Jungkook’s knuckles turning white as your face paled at the bloodthirsty expression he sported, you had never seen such a volatile expression on Jungkook’s face as he sneered, “Your girl?” He let out a harsh, forced laugh with no humor in his eyes as you suddenly flailed about, quickly grabbing onto his arm which was tense and muscle bulging and ready to be used, “Jungkook just let him go! It isn’t worth it.”

Jungkook’s jaw was clenched and he could chip a tooth on how hard he was gripping his teeth together his grip on Hanjae’s shirt not letting up as he snapped, “Hope you know you don’t fucking deserve to call her that.” He’s hands were strained and rigid as they uncoiled his shirt, expression twisted and anger sneering on his face as Hanjae only glared him down before reaching down to grab your arm. Jungkook was quicker though, catching his hand in a crushing grip, “Get out of here before I break every finger on your hand just for trying to touch her.”

“Y/n,” Hanjae gritted out, his expression hardening as they glared down harshly at her, “If you know what’s good for everyone, you’ll come with me.” You swallowed thickly, taking a step between both of them as your lips quivered slightly, glancing between them both who were locked in a rigid glare off.

Watching Jungkook’s free hand curl into a fist made you quickly realize you didn’t have a lot of time before he’d send it flying and even if you hadn’t seen Jungkook in a fight, you didn’t need to see to know he was experienced, “Hanjae- just go. We’ll meet up and talk about this later okay? I’m not going to just drop what I’m doing for you.”

Hanjae’s jaw clenched and he parted his lips before he glared harsh at Jungkook, ripping his hand away from him before sneering, “Remember- that’s my girl.” Before turning around and trudging away as you stiffly inhaled, running a hand through your hair as you watched both of Jungkook’s knuckles curl up, his chest puffing as he tried to control the anger flickering in his eyes.

It was quiet for a moment before Jungkook whipped around to face you, “Like hell you’re gonna ‘talk about it later’ with him! What a- a total dick! Why are you even together with him?” He snapped out, not necessarily at you but at the idea as he ran a hand through his hair, his words fumbled making you raise your eyebrows, not expecting him to be so worked up.

Running a hand through your hair once more you swallowed thickly as you glanced away from him, “Jungkook I have been avoiding him, I’ve had some time to think and continuing like this isn’t going to solve anything. I need to talk to him- thank you for that but pease- don’t get involved okay? You’re only going to make things worse.” You frowned as you let your eyes flicker to him briefly before back at your feet. You could feel his gaze burning into you as silence filled between you both again, people passing by you without a second glance as you clasped your hands together.

“Just break up with him,” Your eyes shot up to his tense figure, his jaw clenched and his eyes glaring down at the floor as he clenched and unclenched his fists, “I don’t understand why you need to talk to him, he’s so controlling and such an asshole! He doesn’t deserve you.”

“That’s not for you to decide Jungkook,” You shook your head, your voice softened but on guard as his lips twitched as if annoyed at your words, but saying no more, “...I need to get to class- I'll see you later, okay?” You didn’t want to leave him here in such an angry and rough state of mind but you needed time alone, you understood his concern but ultimately that was your choice.

You doubt you’d stay with Hanjae but you didn’t need or want Jungkook coming between you both. Furthermore you didn’t want your breakup with Hanjae because of Jungkook, you wanted to walk away knowing it was one hundred percent because it would never work out, not because a third party had gotten involved. You brushed past him, secretly hoping he’d stop you, maybe to try and smooth things over with you, or at least leave one a good note.

He didn’t.

----

“So what’s your story honey? What’s a pretty girl like you working here?”

You internally sighed at the question, trying to make sure it didn’t show on your face as you shifted in your seat. You weren’t sure what it was, with clients asking that question. Did they assume they were being chivalrous? Were they were just curious and didn’t mean to come off slimey or condescending? Or was it to sweep you off your feet at the idea of someone seeing you as more than a stripper? If it was- it wasn’t working.

The amount of times you had heard that, in various forms over the night was both ridiculous and boring, how many times could you rebrand your answer? You had gotten good at finding different reasons and various wording which all meant the same in the end to answer with.

You had still been a bit sheepish talking to clients on your own, but you had been getting more comfortable with it, “Oh, it's not like I was forced into dancing here,” You gave a soft laugh as you traced the rim of your margarita glass, the salt crumbling against the pad of your finger tip as you smiled softly, “I actually quite enjoy it, I’m in college at the moment and finances were strained. It wasn’t ideal but I’ve grown to enjoy working here, it has its own charm.”

“It really does.” He licked his lips as he winked, forcing you to swallow your cringe as you attempted to give him a peppy smile as he continued, “And it’s only your second week at Cherry right?”

You glanced towards the stage where Hoseok was grinding against the floor, he really did have remarkable energy, his wide predatory smirk as girls practically screamed themselves hoarse while throwing their money, “Yes! I’m still fairly new but I’m beginning to get the hang of things...Once my mentor thinks I’m ready I’ll be able to start private dancing, hopefully you’ll be on the list?” You asked innocently before sending a wink his way.

He gave a laugh as he leaned back in his seat, “Mentor? You’re kidding right baby? There’s no way strippers need mentors,” Oh if only he had the slightest idea how wrong he was, if it weren’t for Jungkook you wouldn’t have even signed the contract. You could understand his reasoning, you would’ve thought the same thing for the longest time, but as it turned out, just like any other form of dancing, stripping was taxing and hard in it’s own way, “But of course I’ll be on the list, maybe you’ll let me be the first to see?” He asked as if hoping you’d say yes.

You really hoped he didn’t take you up on that offer but if you could get more people on your waitlist that just meant more money for you in the end, “We’ll just have to see,” You finally offered a small teasing smile as you raised your glass towards him in toast before taking a sip, noticing Hoseok’s performance ending as you stood up, “Thanks for chatting with me babe, see you later.” You sent one last wink to him before moving to the next table.

It was a fairly crowded table and a mixed party, both of the men seemed uninterested in the stage, unshockingly as they had scheduled guys for most of the night, both of the girls however were red cheeked with money in their hands while giggling to one another, “Care if I join?” It wasn’t required, but you always wanted to ask because you found, sometimes people weren’t always in the mood to be social or weren’t comfortable in such close presence with a stripper. It didn’t make sense, given they were in a strip club, but you wanted the clients you were working with to feel comfortable and safe.

Both of the men had instantly perked up, rapidly nodding as they smiled, the girls ignored you as if you didn’t even exist, sitting down in the chair you opened the conversation, finding that more days then less it was easier than waiting for them, “I couldn’t help but notice you seem a bit bored. Men not to your taste?”

“At all,” The one towards the middle snorted out as he leaned back in his chair, he seemed more like the outspoken one of the two before continuing, “I would’ve just skipped altogether had I known it was mainly male strippers tonight. I’d prefer to be watching someone as beautiful as you up there.” He winked making you force another smile as you shrugged.

“It’s her birthday,” The one right next to you murmured softly, eyeing the girl with a plastic crown on her head, almost identical to the one Seulgi wore the first time you had ever visited Cherry Bomb, back when it was her birthday, “It’s what she wanted to do so here we are.” You noticed his gaze stayed soft and warm while on her making you almost melt on the inside, he liked her and it was completely oblivious.

He only sighed though as the girls both started to whistle out at who was one stage- Jungkook of course had taken his rightful throne on the stage as the music started up, “That’s sweet of you both, I know it’s probably not the most comfortable sight to watch when you don’t swing that way but it’s kind of you to stick around anyways. I’ve never been one for strip clubs either.”

Both of the men started laughing at your words, making you smile as well as the one towards the middle spoke up, “Really? So can I ask how you ended up working in one?”

The roars of the crowd heightened when you glanced back at the stage, Jungkook had just pulled the shirt over his head, revealing his chiseled muscles, his build of narrow hips and broad shoulders making almost every girl in the room water out the mouth as you glanced back towards your clients, trying to focus on his question, “My mentor…” You jerked your thumb towards Jungkook on stage, “He’s a pretty persistent guy. The strip scene isn’t my cup of tea but he convinced me to give it a try. It’s been history since. Just a suggestion but…” You pressed your lips together before giving a cheeky grin, “If you wanna have fun you guys can always come to one of my shows, I’m still in group dances but I promise it’d be worth it.”

You definitely had the man towards the middle of the group’s attention, it was the one who sat beside you who didn’t seem sold as his eyes flickered towards the birthday girls, as if hoping she’d glance this way, but she didn’t. Her eyes were on Jungkook’s body as if hypnotised with red cheeks and her hand clenching her money, not just ones- no those were twenties and a lot of them, “I don’t know,” He finally spoke up coolly before shrugging, “Strip clubs aren’t really my scene either.”

The cheering piped up against making you turn back towards the stage where Jungkook had just unzipped his pants, his back on the ground and his hips rolling into the air where every girl wanted to be on top of him, pushing his pants down to reveal the thick taut muscles of his thighs, “Well,” You clacked your lips with a smile, “I won’t blame you there, afterall I’m not a club person either, remember?” He glanced at you curiously as you gave him a wink.

Just then the spikes of the screaming piped up making you wince slightly, any louder and you’d feel forced to cover your ears, that’s when you realized Jungkook had stepped off the stage from where he had been struggling on choreography earlier, was he going to lap dance instead tonight? You made a mental note that it wasn’t a bad idea if you ever struggled with that later down the road, you noticed his eyes seemed to be distant though, as if the cogs in his head were turning and tuned out the roar of his crowd.

His eyes landed on your table though and it was as if he turned off autopilot mode, swaying right over with a wide smirk as you resisted the urge to roll your eyes, he could never leave you alone, even at work, could he? Stopping in front of the table he paused at the girl in the tiara as he purred out, “Birthday girl huh? Guess I better give you a present then.” She almost squealed as he sat down on her lap.

You felt a wave of discomfort form in your stomach as you looked away, trying your best to conceal your apprehension as you decided to focus on the two clients you came here to talk with, “I’m not really one for lapdancing but it’s pretty hard to compete with for attention huh?” You cracked a smile though you were aware it came out tense as you heard the girl try to keep in a whimper as he rolled his hips into hers.

“Well don’t worry, you have our complete undivided attention- right Alex?” The one towards the middle relaxed into his seat, ignoring Jungkook grinding into his friend like it’d be his last time while glancing towards his friend casually.

His friend, the one sitting next to you though- had an expression mirroring yours, making you realize that you must’ve been doing just as bad of a job as him at covering your discomfort. Dejection in his eyes at the girl he was obviously crushing on being lapdanced not only by a stripper but by the biggest stripper in the whole club, “Yeah…” The man- Alex leaned back into his seat, stirring his glass as he tried to swallow down his downcast expression at the whimper you all heard from the girl.

“Well,” You clasped your hands together, straightening up in opposition, trying to ignore the overly lewd display in front of your eyes as Jungkook letting his hips circle and roll into hers as if he hadn’t done the same thing to you earlier that morning… “All I’m suggesting is, maybe you can change my mind about it if you came to my show, I’m always open to lapdancing someone as cute as you both.”

The girl suddenly gasped loudly at a particularly hard thrust from Jungkook as you glanced towards his back, his shoulders incredibly tense as his song was coming to an end, he only leaned into her ear, whispering something with a hot smirk before leaning away to quickly let his gaze find yours, was that a glare? Her cheeks were bright red and she giggled before nodding her head rapidly, he sent her a wink before standing up, without a single glance towards you and making his way back to the stage to collect his tips before going to the staff room.

What was that about? Alex leaned back in his seat as he sighed, rubbing his forehead looking vaguely tired as the two girls giggled, the omen in the tiara suddenly stood up, “We’ll definitely come.” The one in the middle volunteered noticing the other’s downcast expression, “When’s your next performance?”

You smiled, happy to hear you had successfully gotten two people to come to your next show, you really weren’t interested in lapdancing, but your money was becoming shorter by the day and you really needed every last dollar you could get here, “Tomorrow night, I’ll see you there.”

You all stood up before parting ways, you sighed finally letting your persona melt away as you made your way to the staff area, glad Jungkook’s performance was the last of the night before closing up, you were tired and beyond exhausted. You had ended up forgetting you had a thesis due for your art history class the next day and you knew you weren’t going to have time to finish it.

Meaning you’d be up the whole night- or what was left of it before heading back to Cherry Bomb for practice, groaning you rubbed your eyes as you paused in the hallway, maybe you should talk to Jungkook? You still felt bad for leaving him behind in the mall and you knew it wasn’t fair on him to leave him hanging like that. But you needed time to just go through your options, you knew he meant well but you still didn’t enjoy being told what to do when it wasn’t anyone’s choice but yours to make.

Still, you should just swallow your pride and apologize to him anyways, it was clear he only said what he did because he cared. He at least deserved a full answer on why you said what you did. It wasn’t about you not wanting to leave Hanjae anymore, it was about you wanting to make sure you were leaving him for the right reasons, and making sure no one else was influencing your decisions.

Nodding you prepped yourself before making your way down the hallway towards the familiar path of his dressing room, you stopped short at his door that held his name, your hand paused before rapping against the door at the loud- muffled moan you heard from inside.

“Mmm! Jungkook! O-oh fuck right there! Right there!”

Your hand stayed in place in the air but you hadn’t even noticed the way it shook like a dead leaf in the middle of autumn as you heard the girl- the one he had been lapdancing not too long ago moan his name again.

You didn’t think it would hurt.

It did.

Note: Hope post chapter 5 depression hits y’all as hard as it hit me, I was lowkey internally ugly sobbing when I finished this.

Taglist: @loveherpersona @megladon1616 @pearlneedstosleep @sincerelyjeohn @jungkookies-golden-noona @ironically-indifferent96 @epiphany-playingwithfire @maboiisuga @kookphoria91 @taehyungiev13 @134340ismybitch @appreciatethefoolishness @hanhannguyen98 @lurkerarmy @lovelyjkook @repeating-seesaw-game @serendipity-secrets @kimvantaee @forevermoremagcon @timestandstillalittle @yanmi1 @expensive-bangtan-girl @blxckeffect @egyptianwitchbutwithab @kimcheeeeeeeeee @rather-not-sayy @pastel-i-decay

(Let me know if you’d like to be added!)

#bts #bangtan #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #jungkook smut #bts au #tease

1K notes · View notes

crusherthedoctor · 4 years

Text

The Lutrudis Hadeer Characterization Masterpost

A while back, I made a big post about the thought process that went into the design for Lutrudis, as well as her name, species, and choice of weapons. In the midst of doing a bunch of other stuff (like the Eggman Sweet or Shite review, which is definitely still coming guys I swear, please don't leave me D':), I recently figured I could do the same for the character's... well, character, and provide some further insight into how her personality was shaped together. Cause why not, right?

Obviously, we won't be covering literally every single personality trait that Trudy has, like her hobbies and whatnot. If we went over all of that, we'd be so far into the future that Tumblr's search system might actually start working again. No, we'll just be keeping it to the central ingredients that make up the overall package.

1. A cool head? In my Sonic OC?

The recurring cast in the Sonic universe is filled with fiery, hot-blooded sorts in one way or another. Sonic might as well be the love child of Mentos and Diet Coke with how full of energy he is, Knuckles and Amy are both prone to letting their temper do the talking, Eggman... is Eggman, and the list goes on. And while there are a number of characters who are more low-key or even outright introverted by comparison, they still tend to exhibit a trait or two that makes them more in-line with the rest of the crowd, be it youthful excitement (Tails, Cream), a fiery temper (Blaze), or the odd bit of cockiness (Shadow).

So what better way to help make Trudy stand out... than by not really having anything like that at all? Contrary to most of the hot-blooded cast, it takes a lot to truly enrage her, and even then, you'll be lucky to get anything past tranquil fury. She's not particularly hammy either - flowery with her language at times, certainly, but not hammy - nor is she a cocky type, even against the weakest or most ridiculous of opponents, and although she does grow as a person over the course of the story she's involved in, all of this remains fairly consistent.

That's not to say that Trudy is not a passionate person. Far from it, in fact. She has a lot of passion. She just shows it in a different way than the average Sonic character.

2. Lutrudis? More like Unsureofdis.

Uncertain characters are also somewhat rare in Sonic's recurring cast (at least in the game universe), and just like with the previous point, even when they're there, they'll usually have something to counter it. Blaze may have been a bit insecure before meeting and befriending Sonic and Co, but as mentioned, she’s got a fierce temper, and even when she started off on her own, she felt that only she could take care of the threat of Eggman and Inferior Eggman Nega. Likewise, while Silver may have doubted himself about Leslie the Crack Dealer’s Iblis Trigger ruse cruise, he still got cocky when he had Sonic on the ropes, and he could be quite full of himself in the Rivals duology as well.

The point being, they still tend to show some semblance of the same “yep, I'm the one for the job, no questions asked” confidence and swagger that nearly everyone else has, no matter the flavor. Trudy, suffice to say, does not have this mentality. Trudy accepting Sonic and Co's help in dealing with sinister affairs in Viridonia without any haughty protest on her part isn't just because she knows they can handle it, or because they're Sonic Heroes and they'll show 'em the real superpower of teamwork... it's also because she's genuinely not sure if she would be able to take care of the matter on her own.

When she saved Cream from the wrath of the Wraith for example, she wasn't thinking “This looks like a job for Miss Hadeer!”

She was thinking “This could very well get me killed, but I have to help the poor bunny somehow...”

In other words, Trudy doesn't consider herself to be some sort of destined protector who has to do this herself. She constantly second guesses herself, and frequently believes her friends are more qualified and competent than she is. Her only reason for doing her best and helping out regardless is simply because she wants to.

3. A light at the end of the tunnel.

For the sake of tact, it's not shoved in your face relentlessly, but reading between the lines, it can be easy to get a sense of melancholy from Trudy. Particularly due to past experiences, she does indeed have an element of depression within her, and this can occasionally show in her body language and facial expressions, even if she's currently feeling positive emotions.

And yet, notice how she continues being a friendly pony. Notice how regardless of her experiences, and her thoughts on said experiences, her actual behaviour is (mostly) free of bitterness or cynicism, and that she doesn't hide the joy that her new friends make her feel. She's not outright ignoring her experiences or pretending they don’t affect her, because they clearly have affected her, and she's never ignored her scars (metaphorically and literally, the latter being a permanent side-effect of her condition), but she knows better than to let it consume her, so she tries her best to look at the bright side of life even during the darkest days.

It's Sonic's opinion that Trudy's inner spirit is a lot stronger than she thinks, with or without his help. Her refusal to give into misery and lash out at the world foreshadows that he's not unjustified in that belief. That, and it ties into the franchise’s usual taste for optimism and idealism against the odds.

4. Hadeer? More like Hadork.

So, everything thus far helps set Trudy up as a mellow, down-to-earth sort of personality. So far, so good. However, it's still the Sonic the Hedgehog universe we're talking about, filled with many colorful characters of all shapes, sizes, and eccentricities. When a franchise has a larger than life cast in a larger than life world, the characters who are meant to be grounded often risk coming off as boring and could end up easily overshadowed, because the creators or writers often neglect to give them any quirks of their own, usually out of fear that it'll disgrace the character's gracefulness. In fact, I personally feel this was a common problem with Sally, in both SatAM and Archie (mostly pre-reboot admittedly).

IMO, these writers are just being plain old silly. Just because a character is quirky doesn't mean they forfeit all their dignity altogether. Like a lot of things in life, you just have to balance it out, and that's what I did (or tried to do...) with the green equine.

So yes, Trudy is elegant, but she's also a really goofy dancer. Yes, she's gentle and motherly, but she also goes back and forth between being a heavy sleeper and being an insomniac. Yes, she serves as a warmhearted auntie figure for Cream (and a big sister figure for Amy), but she also spends a quarter of her time looking like a ninja with the way her bandana covers her face (whether it be due to cold weather, strong scents triggering her sensitive nose, or doing it in the presence of villains as a mildly theatrical way of visually conveying her disdain for them).

And of course, in the right situation, she can be just as much of a dork as the titular blue hedgehog is.

Which leads me to my next point...

5. “You might know everything I'm going to do...”

Trudy was created with the intention of having a character who is actually like Sonic himself in a lot of ways, but it's not apparent initially.

This sort of yin-yang contrasting routine has been done before a few times in the series, with Knuckles, Shadow and Blaze being the most obvious examples. But with them, their similarities are easier to spot from a distance. Knuckles is more earth than wind, but you can tell he's as stubborn as Sonic is. Shadow's methods and outlook differ, but you can tell he's still a mirror of Sonic (cause you know, he looks like him). Blaze is more distant, but you can tell how she can easily be just as worked up and angered as Sonic.

With Trudy however, if you take her at face value, you would think she's the exact opposite of Sonic. She's an introvert, he's an extrovert. She's got a calm temperament, he can get impatient even at the best of times. She's quite fancy, he's more rough and tumble. She takes things slowly, he leaps ahead without a care in the world... You would think that, outside of them both fighting for good, they would have nothing in common, and that their dynamic would be more akin to Sonic's relationship with Sally, which although they were friends, their relationship could often be somewhat rocky due to their differences in... basically every area and opinion imaginable.

But then you get to know Trudy, and the unfolding of the adventure reveals the rest of what she has to offer. The aforementioned soldiering on in spite of any depressed moments is in itself a small hint that Trudy shares Sonic's philosophy of never giving up. She believes that most people are good at their core, and while she won't excuse especially evil people or actions and will punish them appropriately (albeit with regret that it had to come to that), she's willing to give a chance to those who are willing to take it, just like with the Blue Blur. Not only does she NOT find Sonic's jokes and hijinks annoying, she actually has a similar sense of humor herself. And while reasonable people generally tend to loathe injustice and oppression, Trudy shares Sonic's uniquely intense contempt for it, and believes in one's own personal freedom just as much as the hedgehog does, let alone freedom in general.

In short, Trudy is what you get when you take Sonic's deeper qualities and general outlook on life, and apply them to a more introverted and taciturn personality. The exact same beliefs, but from a different perspective, so to speak.

6. A different kind of intelligence.

Tails and Eggman are the resident kings of scientific prowess in Sonic's world, and it goes without saying that I wouldn't want to do them a disservice by having Trudy one-up them in that department. But that doesn't mean your character can’t be talented in other areas, right? Contrary to what all those Mary Sue tests dictate, your character can in fact have a high IQ without intruding on an official character’s territory.

Therefore, Trudy is pretty good at innovation and craftsmanship in her own right, but whereas Tails and Eggman do it through technology, her field of expertise is more to do with arts and crafts, and to a lesser extent geology. For example, both her bow and her whip were crafted by the lady herself, using nothing but her decorative knowledge and flair.

Outside of that, she tends to know a fair bit about a lot of things in the world, largely attributed to her photographic memory, meaning she's bound to have a few answers no matter the subject of discussion. Granted, she's unlikely to be the absolute number one expert on any of those things, but she's at least a useful jack of all trades in that regard.

7. Feeling a little horse.

I very much approve and flat out adore the idea of Sonic characters having characteristics that remind the audience of what species they're supposed to be, so I made sure that Trudy had a wide selection of little mannerisms that would reveal her for the little horsie that she is. These include, but aren't limited to...

- When she’s fascinated or concerned by something, she’ll lean a little forward with her hands close to her chest, which subtly mimics the act of prancing.

- When she wakes up, she briefly stretches her arms and legs (albeit not too recklessly so as to risk straining her sensitive limbs).

- Her tail has a number of quirks. If she's happy, it might slowly swish to and fro. If she's REALLY happy, it might flick...

- And if she doesn't approve of someone or something, it might stiffen and raise a little bit, as if to helpfully inform the bad guys where they can kiss, if ya know what I'm saying.

- When she's being affectionate with her friends, she might give them the ol' nuzzle.

- When she's in a playful mood, there might be a little skip in her walk, the anthro equivalent of trotting.

- When she's annoyed, she might humorously let out a snort that sounds identical to a real life horse snort. And while she certainly doesn't neigh in the traditional sense, when she finds something hilarious or Sonic's making her laugh with his antics, her laughter can't help but take on a neigh-like touch to it. (The latter was actually a headcanon suggested by @darklightheart, and I immediately agreed with it because it's cute and funny in equal measures.)

Naturally, she gets all shy and embarrassed when the neigh-laugh comes out, thinking it sounds silly. At least Sonic finds it endearing.

Note that I'm well aware that some of this differs from how real life horses react to certain things. (Eg: tail swishing tends to happen when a horse is agitated rather than happy.) But I freely admit that it's more for the sake of giving the character that extra bit of soul than it is for utmost accuracy. That's the way it goes with fiction sometimes. :P

Interestingly, Trudy tends to get Sonic indulging in a funny hedgehog characteristic of his own. That being, he might curl into a ball if Trudy's being particularly... ~complimentary~ towards him.

And there we are! These are the core elements that make up Trudy’s characterization. If you ever wanted a general list of what makes her tick, then hopefully this post will help in scratching that itch. And if it doesn’t, then hopefully it still proves that more thought was put into her than Scourge. :]

#Lutrudis Hadeer #Sonic Character Design

30 notes · View notes