#makes me actually want to burst into tears and just wither away in my bed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imagine-darksiders · 3 years

Text

A gentle touch.

[Strife/Reader]

Summary: Set three years after humanity is resurrected. Strife shows up unannounced in your bedroom in the middle of the night, which would have been rude enough without him getting blood all over your cream-coloured carpet.

Tags: Blood, injury, PTSD, knife, protective Strife, whump, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, sharing a bed ;), bandages and cleaning wounds, how not to administer first aid.

-----

You have the apocalypse to thank for turning you into such a light-sleeper.

Even though the nights of sleeping with one eye open are far behind you and Earth is back on the road to a long and arduous recovery, you'll still jolt awake if your unconscious mind hears something scuttle beneath the floorboards of your freshly-restored home, and God forbid a tree branch should happen to scratch at the bedroom window...

Waking up with the feeling that your heart is three beats from bursting right out of your chest is exhausting, to say the least. And it isn't just you who suffers from the onset of hyper-vigilance.

It was a decidedly cruel consequence that the resurrected humans were able to recall their lives before the end of the world. Crueller still, they woke up to remember exactly how and where they eventually kicked the bucket, and of course, nobody knew that a significant chunk of time had passed at all since the end of the world and its rebirth.

They thought they were still in danger.

In one moment, all they knew was immense and excruciating pain, and then, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, they woke up again, screaming and writhing in the echoes of phantom pain that had occurred almost a century ago.

Three years down the line since ‘The Great Waking,’ and there isn’t a human alive who could claim that they’ve slept through an uninterrupted night.

------

The alarm clock on your bedside table has just ticked over to read '2:36am' when your eyes suddenly snap open and you fling yourself upright in bed, your spine ramrod straight and your ears ringing with a sharp, tinny note.

It isn’t a nightmare that wakes you. At least, not this time.

Worse.

It’s a sound.

An out-of-the-ordinary sound that isn't in keeping with the normal ambiance of your bedroom.

But where...?

....It's coming from your window.

Tired eyes swivel to the curtains whilst your hand immediately flies out to blindly fumble with the drawer of your bedside table. Once your fingers find the cold, metal handle, you rip it open and plunge your hand inside, rummaging around until you feel the reassuring grip of your most precious possession.

Your trusty bread knife. Serrated edge, nine inch blade, perfect for cutting slices of toast in the morning and for tearing through the toughened hide of a hungry demon.

Peace between the Universe’s species had been declared once humanity was fully introduced to the connected realms, a decision that suited a vast majority of Creation. Hell, however, had offered up a fair amount of opposition to the notion before eventually conceding and agreeing – albeit begrudgingly – to honour the peace treaty alongside angels, makers, undead and the rest.

Even demon-kind knew not to incur the wrath of humanity's strongest and most ferocious protectors, the Horsemen.

But... there are always exceptions to the rule. Some demons just... hadn't gotten the memo.

It wouldn’t be the first time one of them had tried to make an assassination attempt on humanity’s envoy.

Heart in your throat, you grasp the knife securely in your dominant hand and peer through the darkness towards the window.

Only a sliver of moonlight peeps through a tiny gap in the curtains. In another blink, the light suddenly disappears, and you know better than to assume that the moon has simply ducked behind a cloud.

Something is standing at your window, blocking out the light.

You think you might actually be sick when you hear the sound again, claws scraping on wood – a sound you know all too well – well enough to send your head spinning into a panic.

Swallowing back the nausea in your throat, you brace yourself, instincts flicking between running for the door and knowing never to turn your back on a demon.

Sadly, the decision is swiftly taken out of your hands. Through the darkness and the deafening roar of blood rushing through your ears, you can make out the distinct sound of your window sliding slowly open.

The knife is a comforting weight in your hand. But it’s less than useless if you don’t calm down and try to remember the lessons that Death has taught you. If the eldest Horseman were here, he’d probably have berated you seven ways to Sunday by now for freezing up and missing an opportunity to better prepare yourself for an attack.

A dark silhouette pushes the fluttering fabric of your curtains aside and pulls itself halfway into your bedroom.

Whatever it is, it’s big.

Breath catching in your throat, you clasp a handful of your duvet and get ready to fling it at the intruder as a distraction, hoping that it’ll be enough to buy you a precious few seconds to gain the upper hand. You've learned that humans are inherently weaker than demons, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned from Death, it’s that strength isn’t necessarily the deciding factor in any battle. You still have your wits. You only hope the demon has less.

Two luminous, golden eyes turn in your direction and you press yourself backwards into the headboard.

Several seconds drag by in perfect silence.

Then...

“Hey.”

And just like, that tension leaves your body like a balloon deflating of air and you heave the loudest sigh you can muster, dropping the bread knife into your lap.

“Damn it, Strife! You about gave me a heart attack!”

With a 'whump,' you flop back against your pillows and take a second to breathe whilst one of the Four Horsemen drags himself the rest of the way through your bedroom window.

Strife.

It's only Strife...

Whilst certainly a dangerous being in his own right, you know you have nothing to fear from the Horseman who had all but appointed himself as your friend three, long years ago, all in an attempt to irritate his brother, Death, of course.

At least, at first.

Death was the one who pulled you from the dying Earth and preserved your life-force as you journeyed together on a quest to resurrect humanity, but after he made the jump to introduce you to his 'little' siblings, it had been Strife who'd taken a particular shine to you, and it had everything to do with a compatible, if terrible sense of humour.

That first meeting sparked what was sure to be an interesting friendship between the pair of you.

-----

“So, my brother went and got himself a human, huh?” Strife had teased, pointedly ignoring the withering look he received from Death to add, “Gotta say, I'm impressed, Kid. Didn't think anyone would have the inclination to willingly travel with my brother. But then, I guess...” He trailed off and you could almost see the smirk growing under his mask. “Deathperate times and all that, huh?”

At once, his siblings all groaned out varying noises of disapproval. Fury, the loudest, cocked her hip and shot Strife a frosty glower. “You are singlehandedly ruining our reputation, brother."

“She's right, you know,” you spoke up, trying not to flinch when all eyes snapped onto you once more, “That pun was pretty deadful.”

The brief, startled second of silence was soon blasted apart when Strife threw his head back and barked out a triumphant laugh, while Death slowly turned to look at you, utterly betrayed.

“Ha!” Strife's eyes positively gleamed with mischief, “You're right, human. Guess I should'a considered the reapercussions of a joke like that, huh?”

“I ought to have known introducing you two would be a mistake,” the eldest Horseman grumbled, earning a sympathetic look from War.

“Sorry, Death,” you said with a perfectly straight face, “You want us to get out of your scythe so you don’t have to look at us anymore?”

Strife had howled.

Death, however, merely heaved a long-suffering sigh. Fury's eyes all but rolled into the back of her skull and War just stood there, struggling to keep his lips from twitching at their corners.

And you had looked around at all of them, a little proud and blissfully unaware of what you'd just unwittingly signed yourself up for.

You'd had Strife's attention from that day on.

-----

Shaking off the fond memory, you tiredly will your mind back to the matter at hand.

You reach across your bed and drop the knife back into the drawer before leaning down and skirting your fingers over the wall in search of a switch. The next moment, there's a 'click!' and the room is illuminated by clustered fairy lights that you've draped around your ceiling, forcing you to squint blearily against the intrusion of light as Strife hauls his leg into your room.

“Honestly. How many times have I told you to use the door?”

“S'locked,” he grunts.

You're in the midst of rubbing your eyes to try and stimulate a little life back into your bones, so you miss the way he stumbles a few steps away from the wall and presses a gauntleted hand to his abdomen.

“Yeah, it’s locked because it's-” You take a quick glance at the clock next to you. “-Two thirty in the morning! Strife, I’m supposed to be up at six to meet Ulthane! What do you need so badly that you'd-... Hey.. Are.. are you okay?”

At last taking a long, hard look, it suddenly occurs to you that the Horseman is... not entirely himself.

He's hunched over, his shoulders pulled in around his neck and his chest rising and falling in long, languid motions. The tattered cowl he wears around his neck hangs loose around his collarbones and it faces the very real threat of slipping off to the floor. At last, your eyes drop to the hand that's clamped over the left side of his abdomen and you blurt out a startled gasp.

In the paltry, pink glow of your fairy lights, you spot an unmistakably crimson liquid dribbling between his fingers, starkly contrasted against the steel-grey colour of his armour.

The next few seconds pass in a blur as you frantically begin kicking off your duvet and scramble out of bed, flying across the room to the Horseman's side.

“Strife! What'd you do!?”

“Oh, that's real sweet,” the Nephilim chuckles wryly whilst he collapses back against the wall and slides down it with a strained grunt, “Why're you – ung... assuming it's something I did?”

Without missing a beat, you snap, “This would hardly be the first time you got hurt because you're a wise-cracking jokester with a big mouth! Now tell me who you pissed off?!”

You drop onto your knees next to him and reach out, fingers hovering tentatively above his stomach. With your focus directed away from his helm, Strife doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes dart from left to right before they settle back on the top of your head.

“Ah, it was... just some demon, caught me slackin', that's all,” he shrugs, letting you carefully grasp his wrist and lift it away from his torso.

At once, fresh blood gushes from a deep gouge cut into in the dark, leather under-skin he wears beneath his cuirass and you yelp, slapping a hand over your mouth in abject horror.

The sound draws Strife's gaze to you and once he spots the shocked despair on your face, he gives himself a mental kick.

He hadn't meant to... He... doesn't like it when you’re scared because of him.

"Hey, no, no – I'm okay!” he rushes to reassure you, “Don't worry about this. I've had worse!”

“That's not the point, Strife!” you argue, dropping his wrist and carding your hands through your hair, “You're hurt now! And I don't – there's so much blood, and you-” Cutting yourself off, you squeeze your eyes shut and inhale deeply through your nose, willing your pulse to ease so that you can rationally address this situation.

Another lesson Death had taught you - stay calm in a crisis. Panic kills.

Releasing a long, hard breath, you peel your eyes open again and nod, jaw set. “Okay. All right. I need to.. I need water. A-and I need to see the wound.”

The interrogation can come after you've dealt with... this.

“There's a bowl and flannel in my bathroom,” you announce, getting to your unsteady feet and gesturing towards Strife's cuirass, “Think you can get that off so I can have a look?”

Huffing out a breath of laughter, the Horseman winks at you suggestively and drawls, “An' here I was doin' things the hard way to get your attention. You know, you didn't have to wait till I got myself gutted before you asked me to take my armour off in your chambers.”

A wise-cracking flirt with a big mouth.

As exasperating as he is though, you don't mind it in the slightest.

This is your usual rapport, after all. A friendly back and forth interlaced with the occasional, flirtatious comment. At first, Strife had only initiated it because it drove an over-protective Death up the wall. The eldest Horseman had almost threatened to 'remove Strife's libido' until you'd up and flirted right back, distressing the old reaper even further.

It's funny. It's innocent. But right now, it's reassuring, if only somewhat, that Strife is behaving just like his shameless, old self.

Besides, you can give back as much as you get.

“Well, I had to wait for a good enough excuse,” you retort, “Couldn't come on too strong and risk scaring you off, now could I?”

In response, Strife just chuckles fondly and watches you turn and speed away to your ensuite, oblivious to the warm, soft glow radiating from his eyes.

In less than a minute, you're briskly striding back into the room, a dripping flannel in one hand and a bowl in the other, and he suddenly remembers that you'd asked him to remove his cuirass.

Mission failed.

But you don't even bat an eyelid to find it still in place, assuming that the Horseman can't get at the catches on the sides in his current state.

In one, smooth motion, you drop down beside him once more and set the cloth and bowl nearby. “Here, let me help..”

The Horseman's pulse sputters when your tiny fingers reach around his torso and fumble with the buckles and straps that keep his armour securely in place. It doesn't pass his notice that your hands are trembling.

“Hey,” he calls, catching your eye for a moment before you go right back to fiddling with the cuirass, “This is nothin’, you know that, right?”

You only press your lips together and hum, clearly skeptical.

You're working fast and in almost no time at all, the straps have been released and you carefully take the Nephilim's broad shoulder, giving it a tug, guiding him to lean away from the walls so that you can start to peel the bulky armour off.

“Nng, hang on,” he mutters.

Reluctantly, you sit back to let him tug his chest piece loose before he simply drops it onto the carpet next to his legs with a dull 'clang.'

Exposed to the soft glow of your lights, your eyes are instantly drawn to the gaping wound that stretches in a horizontal line across the left side of his abdomen. It seems that something really has tried - and nearly succeeded - to gut him. Several inches long and goodness knows how deep, even against the iron-grey colour of his skin, the gash is alarmingly obvious and the blood far, far too noticeable for your liking. It still comes as something of a shock to learn that the Horsemen, barring Death, can actually bleed.

Wordlessly, you pick up the flannel and wring it out into the bowl of water, wondering if he'll mind that you didn't wait for the tap to get warm before you soaked it. It shouldn't surprise you that the Horseman doesn't protest or even flinch when you gently press the wet cloth to the bloodied skin around his wound, nowhere near the gash itself, not until you've cleared away some of the mess around it and determined its real depth.

You don't notice that his eyelids flutter closed once you press the cloth to his skin, nor do you see when their golden light fluctuates in contentment as the fingertips of your other hand press gently to his stomach, the pressure barely enough for him to feel, but enough to keep you steady whilst you daub at his drying blood.

It takes a formidable effort to suppress the shudder that nearly races up his spine. This is the first time he's felt your skin against his without a single piece of armour standing between you.

Creator, you're so soft! Just like he always imagined you would be.

“Jeezus, Strife,” you whistle, abruptly snatching his focus away from the soothing strokes of your silky fingers,“You've made a real mess of yourself. Why on Earth didn't you just go straight to Death? I thought he was the best healer in your family.”

The warm skin underneath your fingertips jumps as the Horseman puffs out a quick laugh, gazing dopily at your temple whilst you wipe at the edges of his wound with small, careful touches.

“He is,” Strife readily agrees, “But the moody bastard wouldn't be nearly as gentle with me as you are.”

You blow an unimpressed huff from your nose and glance up at him in time to catch his lazy wink. “I can always press harder if you like?”

“Nah.” The Horseman settles himself more heavily against the wall, knocking his skull back against it and mumbling, “Just keep touchin' me all gentle like that. S'nice...”

Quite abruptly, the chatty Nephilim goes silent and the glow from his eyes that had illuminated your face only moments ago suddenly disappears.

“Strife?”

He doesn't respond.

“Hey, Cowboy! Don't you fall asleep on me, you hear?”

There's a long stretch of silence, then, “Won't,” he mumbles, cracking one eyelid open to peer down at you.

Harrumphing, you promptly turn back to the gash in his stomach and wipe the last of the dried blood off his skin, still far from clean, but at the very least, better than it had been.

“Right,” you declare, pulling away to stand up and drawing a decidedly petulant whine from the Horseman on your bedroom floor. “I'm gonna go get the first aid kit from downstairs.”

There’s a shift in his expression and something that hinges on alarm suddenly whistles through his blood.

“I won’t be long,” you promise, "Be right – Hey, woah! What're you doing!?”

Darting forwards, you hastily place your hands on each of Strife's broad shoulders, trying to push him back down as he grabs the window sill behind him and begins hauling himself up to his feet.

“What's it look like ‘m doing?” he answers gruffly, slouching forwards as if the weight of his own head is too much to keep aloft, “Comin’ with you”

Sputtering out a few, incredulous noises, you try to make him see sense. “I’ll bring the first aid kit to you! You need to rest! It's bad enough that you already climbed in through my second storey window!”

But Strife, stubborn as a mule and much, much stronger than you, isn't deterred by your protests. Grunting, he curls one arm over his stomach and takes a step forwards, ducking beneath your light fixture and standing to his full, imposing height.

Even with three years of companionship behind you, you’re still frequently taken aback at how effortlessly the Horseman can make you feel small and fragile when you stand close to him.

Knowing full well that you’ll never be able to force him down again, you allow your hands to slip from his shoulders and fall against your sides like lead weights. You aren’t sure why he’s suddenly so hellbent on following you, downstairs, of all places, but you don’t dwell on it, especially given that you’re far more preoccupied with the fresh blood that has already begun trickling out of his wound to replace the stains you’ve painstakingly cleaned away.

Puffing out your cheeks, you raise a hand and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Strife, please sit down?” You aren’t so proud that you won’t resort to begging, tired as you are and exasperated with his obstinate behaviour. “I’m worried about you...”

All at once, the Horseman stiffens. ‘Oh, now she’s fighting dirty,’ he muses to himself.

Gradually, you lift your eyes to meet his and try your very best to glare up at him, pinning him down with all the stern authority you can muster. For several, slow heartbeats, the Nephilim peers right back at you and you’re almost certain that you’ll lose this battle of wills, which is why it comes as such a shock when his fiery gaze falters, wavering slightly before it promptly drops to the floor near your feet.

It's... rare for Strife to be looked at by someone who isn't ashamed to show that they worry about him.

But the way you're looking at him now? Hell, the way you've been looking at him since he clambered through your bedroom window? You're practically broadcasting your concern.

Strife just... isn't used to seeing that. So he glances down instead, finding the fibres of your carpet particularly exhilarating tonight. Slowly, begrudgingly, he sinks down to sit on the edge of your bed, heavy enough that the frame creaks and groans under the weight of a fully grown Nephilim and he has to hold back a contented sigh at the softness beneath his legs.

From the corner of an eye, he can see that your jaw is hanging ajar and remains so until you give yourself a little shake and throw him a satisfied nod. “Thank you,” you huff before turning on your heel and striding purposefully from the room.

Strife listens raptly to your footsteps disappearing down the staircase, unaware that his hands have curled into tight fists around your duvet.

'It's fine,' he assuages the insistent voice at the back of his head, 'She's fine.'

He took care of the threat. That demon asshole isn't coming after his friend.

You’re only downstairs. He can already hear you pushing open the door to your little kitchen whilst the rest of his senses remain trained on the sounds and smells of the night.

It isn't as though something bad might happen just because his eyes aren't fixed upon you...

Frankly, he thinks he’s being more than generous to allow a full, Earth minute to pass as he taps his heel impatiently against the side of your bed.

Didn’t you say you’d be right back?

...

“Fuck it...”

-------

Perhaps, in hindsight, keeping your first aid kit on the top of the fridge hadn’t been one of your brightest ideas, given that you need a chair to reach it. Then again, securing immediate access to bandages and plasters hadn’t exactly been on the forefront of your mind when you were rebuilding your old home from the ruins it had been left in.

With a grunt, you drop your rickety kitchen chair next to the fridge and clamber up onto the seat. “I have got to find a better place for you,” you grumble at an apathetic first aid kit that sits gathering dust near the wall. Stretching your arm out, you manage to snag it by the handle and drag it towards you-

“The hell're you doing!?”

The violent jolt that shoots through you like lightening nearly sends you toppling off the chair. You let out a yelp, just barely catching yourself on the fridge with your free hand before you whip about to see none other than Strife silhouetted in the kitchen doorway.

“Wh- the hell are you doing!?” you retort, knitting your brows into a frown and clutching the first aid kit against your heaving chest, “Why aren’t you upstairs?”

The Horseman’s glowing eyes are fixed unsettlingly on the chair beneath your feet and rather than answer the question, he ducks under the doorframe and thunders towards you in a few, short strides, leaving you with no time to protest before he suddenly sweeps you up off the chair and into his arms, caging you against a solid chest.

At once, you begin to struggle. “Strife! Your wound! Put me down, you'll hurt yourself!”

But the Nephilim is hardly paying attention. His glare lingers on the flimsy, wooden chair legs for a moment before he flicks his gaze towards the large window above your sink, noting with no small degree of distaste that it isn't even shut.

It’s like you’re inviting danger in.

If you had any idea of the fate he and his siblings are currently trying to protect you from, you might just try a little harder to take better care of yourself.

“Hey!” you continue to protest against his hold but manage to refrain from jostling about too much, mindful of his injury. “For god's sake! What's gotten into you?!”

He offers little more than a noncommittal grunt in response and begins trailing back towards the staircase, casting brief glances at the french doors leading out onto your patio.

'Structural weakness,' he registers, 'Perfect point of entry for anything smaller than a Trauma...'

Shaking his head, he turns sideways to fit you through the kitchen door and takes the stairs up to your room.

After a second, he lowers his eyes to meet yours and finds himself meeting a highly unimpressed scowl. “What?” he asks, the very picture of innocence.

Raising your brows, you snap, “Don't you 'what' me! The hell is all this about? I told you to stay put!”

“You were takin' too long,” he shrugs.

“Too long!?” Indignant, you flick your wrist and rap the first aid kit against his collar bone, “I was gone a minute, max! If you were so worried about me taking too long to fix you up, then why are you moving around and making your injury worse!?”

The light of Strife's golden gaze dims and he turns his head away, staring up towards the top of the stairs and your bedroom door beyond. “S'not me m' worried about,” he mumbles.

It's such an about-face from his usual demeanour that you can do little but blink dumbly up at him and fall still against his chest, your mouth hanging agape.

In silence, the Horseman ducks through the door into your room and sidles over to the bed where, hesitantly, he lowers you down until you're sitting safely on the edge.

In the next moment however, just as Strife drops heavily onto the bed next to you, you slip away and settle on the floor instead, placing the first aid kit beside his boots and fumbling with the latches.

Despite blowing out a rough grumble of disapproval that sounds entirely too much like War for his liking, he lets you go.

Chewing on your lip, you stare at the contents for a moment before snatching up a pack of antiseptic wipes, tearing one out and bringing it up to his stomach.

“You want to tell me why you just exacerbated your injury to rescue me from my kitchen chair?” you ask him, adding as an afterthought, “This might sting a bit..”

When he doesn't reply, you glance up and quirk a brow at the underside of his chin, only to catch him peering back at you from behind heavy-lidded eyes. Then, with a weary sigh, he sags forwards and raises a hand to rub at the back of his neck, looking sheepish, of all things.

Unable to dispel your frown, you blindly begin brushing the wipe underneath his bleeding wound.

He doesn't even wince.

Strife tips his helm towards the bedroom window and slumps further backwards into your mattress, seeming so entirely out of place amidst the colourful duvet cover and frilly cushions.

“Okay,” he mutters, “I uh, I got a confession to make.”

Interest piqued, you make an acknowledging sound at the back of your throat and return your attention to his abdomen.

“Death didn't want us to tell you about this,” he continues quietly whilst you toss the now ruined wipe over your shoulder and pull out a fresh one, “And, to be honest, neither did I. We didn't want you to have to worry, y'know?”

You don't know. And you nearly ask him what you should be worrying about, but you soon let your mouth fall shut and settle for humming curiously instead, trusting that he'll tell you soon enough anyway.

There's a long pause, during which you find the courage to bring your fingers close to the edges of his wound and immediately have to withhold a gag when the motion sends another spout of blood oozing from the cut and dribbling down your wrist.

After a moment, Strife huffs and forges ahead, “Course, War and Fury did want to tell you-”

He's stalling, you realise belatedly.

“-War thinks you have every right to know. And Fury said there's nothin' for you to worry about anyway, cause we've got your back.”

“Fury said that?” you ask distractedly, dropping the wipe and rummaging around for a gauze pad. In response, Strife exhales, a tiny, hidden smile creeping onto his lips. “Fury says a lot of stuff about you that you don't know about.”

Gently, you unroll the gauze and press it against his wound. “Wow, you sure that's your sister? Sounds like she might've been body snatched.”

“Ha!” The Horseman suddenly throws his head back. “Well, if she has been replaced, I sure as shit ain't going lookin' for the original. This Fury is... she's...”

He pauses, tipping his head in thought before eventually settling on, “She's learning.”

You blow out a long, impressed whistle and he nods his agreement, adding, “Yeah, s'weird for all of us too.”

The room lapses into silence once again as you stretch the gauze across Strife's abdomen and mutter, “Hold this,” before your hands are retreating and the Horseman's slide down to keep the bandage in place.

Reaching into the box once more, you take some bandages and begin to unfurl them gingerly over the top of the gauze. “Not hurting you, am I?”

You miss the soft expression he aims at the top of your head. “Never.”

You're more than aware that he probably won't tell you you've hurt him even if you were to stick your fingers in the wound twist them.

“Sooo~....?” you prompt.

Peering down at you, Strife cocks his head to one side and echoes, “Soooo?”

“What did Fury and War think I should know?”

“Oh. Right...” His reluctance is as painfully obvious as a slap to the face but you're slightly more focused on plunging your hand back into the first aid kit and rooting around for a roll of adhesive tape.

He observes you for a moment, growing more and more certain that despite your curiosity, you aren’t actually paying a great deal of attention to his words. Quite abruptly, he asks, “You listening?”

Emitting little more than a vague hum, you finally snag the tape and run your fingernail along the smooth surface, searching for the ever-elusive end.

“You sure?” Strife grunts skeptically, “Kid, this is kind of important.”

Without missing a beat, you nod your chin towards his injury and reply, “Yeah, well, you're kind of important too, buddy.”

Oh.

Oh, that's...

Strife wracks his brain, trying to pluck an appropriate response from amidst his tumbling thoughts. Part of him wants to scoff – of course he's important! He's Strife! The best, damn marksman who ever walked the realms of existence.

But then, there's another part of him that lurks deep behind the walls of hubris and brass he's been building meticulously for centuries, and it gives a little leap at the sound of your words, delighted beyond measure.

Averting his gaze, Strife lets out a chuckle. “You're getting soft.”

“Ah, I've always been soft.”

His heart thrums. “Wasn't talkin' about you, kid.”

You shoot him a smirk as you stick a piece of tape over the bandages covering his injury. “Well, if you're talking about yourself, then you're wrong again. You aren't getting soft. You've always been soft.”

The Horseman mutters something incoherent, but it's his distinct lack of an articulate response that speaks volumes to your ears.

The slight pressure of your fingers as they prod at the tape with tentative care leaves him mourning the centuries he's gone without knowing such a gentle touch. Rolling his eyes down to you, his smile droops and he sighs, sagging forwards to rest his elbows on his knees just as you attempt to place another strip of tape.

“Strife!” you complain, leaning back, “I need to put more tape on!”

He merely blinks at you languidly and says, “Later. I want you concentratin' on me right now.”

“I've been concentrating on you all night,” you huff, though you eventually concede and sit back on your haunches, peering up at the Horseman expectantly.

Studying your face for another moment, he breathes a long sigh and gestures to his stomach. "I told you a demon did this..."

“Uh huh...”

Solemnly, Strife continues, “So more specifically, it was a Shadow Caster. Been on her trail for a couple of weeks now. Finally caught up with her on some farmlands west of the city...”

“Okay?” you nod, digesting the information, “And why were you on her trail?”

He hesitates, flicking his eyes between you and the window a few times before he quietly admits, “She was comin’ after one of my friends...”

“Who?”

The look he throws you is so pointed, you suddenly feel like a fool for missing the obvious.

“Ah.” Understanding, you slowly nod your head.

“Yup.”

“But, she's dead now, right?” You gesture to his wound. “You came straight here after killing her.”

Strife's eyes darken further and each time they try to land on your face, they seem to slide right off again and drop to the carpet. “Uh, yeah. She's dead.”

You heave a sigh. “She wasn't the only one who's after me.”

“... No..”

“I see.” Inhaling long and slow through your nose, you tip your head back and slap your hands on your thighs, rubbing at them anxiously as you gaze around the room. “So, do we know how many there are?”

The Horseman eyes you for several, silent seconds. Eventually though, he speaks up. “Got wind of a small group of about four of 'em. Demons mostly, one undead. You and I've got a mutual... uh, friend, who's been keeping his ears to the ground, and he reckons they’re aiming to provoke another war between Hell and Earth by killin' the human envoy.”

“Wow. Talk about sore losers,” you scoff humourlessly, “So, who is this mutual friend?”

Some of the tension bleeds out of Strife's posture once he notices that you haven't immediately flown into a panic. “C'mon kid,” he snorts, “You know I can't expose my source. He doesn't want you know that he cares about you. Thinks you might start askin' for discounts if you thought he was getting' soft.”

“Discounts, huh?” Your lips quirk up at their edges and Strife smacks a palm over his mask in mock distress.

“Ah, hell, I gave it away, didn't I?”

“I bet his name rhymes with Shmulgrim, doesn't it?” you laugh.

Chuckling, Strife leans back on his hands again and replies, “Hey, you came to that conclusion on your own. Technically, I never told you who my source was.”

With the atmosphere in your bedroom gradually becoming lighter and lighter, you follow the Horseman's lead and relax backwards onto your hands, stealing a surreptitious glance at the bandages adhered to his torso.

It's no longer as surprising as it used to be that Vulgrim is invested in the well-being of his 'valuable asset.' The Horsemen are perhaps his best clients, hence the vested interest in keeping himself in their good graces by looking out for their human ward.

Shaking your head with a knowing smirk, you push yourself up onto your feet and glance down at yourself, brushing off your pyjama shorts, only to grimace when your hands do nothing but smear Strife's blood all over the fabric.

“Sorry... for the mess.”

You raise your head at the sound of the Horseman's voice and find him glowering down at the stains he's dripped onto your carpet, his eyes hooded and glum.

Heaving a sigh that you hope conveys both exasperation and affection, you reach out and place your comparatively tiny hand on his shoulder to give the pauldron a reassuring squeeze, drawing his gaze back up to your face. “I don't care about the mess, Strife” you tell him matter-of-factly, “The carpet's just here to stop my feet getting cold in the morning. You're my best friend.”

Ever so slowly, his luminous eyes grow wide with wonder and he lets his jaw drop open to speak, but before he manages to utter a soft, 'what?' you give his shoulder a friendly jostle and add, “So long as you're okay, pal, that's the main thing. Now...”

Trailing off, you move back around the bed and let your fingers slide off the Horseman's arm, stepping up to the bedside table containing your pyjamas, oblivious to how swiftly and easily you've just swept the rug out from underneath Strife's feet. He twists himself around on your mattress to watch you, his eyes as wide as than dinner plates.

Did you mean to say... best?

He – well, he always knew that you considered him a friend! Hell, he'd even go so far as to say the two of you are close friends.

But best?

Best implies that there's nobody – nobody – that you hold in higher regard than him...

'How did I miss that!?' his psyche all but screams at him, 'When the Hell did I get so important!?”

You aren't even looking at him, too busy rummaging through your drawers, as if you have no idea that you've just pulled his heart right out of his chest and now you have it cradled in the palms of your hands.

You could crush the life out of him with hardly a word.

“So, you never did say!” you call out to him as you duck into your ensuite bathroom and flick the light on, hiding yourself from view whilst you change, “How does the master of marksmanship get tagged by a Shadowcaster in the first place? You’re not usually the type to get up close and personal. That’s more War’s thing, right?”

All at once, the threats that demon witch had made against you ring like klaxons in Strife’s head and he has to make a conscious effort to ignore his instinct to leap off the bed and barge into the bathroom just to be sure you’re safe. He hears the shuffling of fabric against skin as you pull off the bloodied shorts and begin to pull on the new ones.

Grinding his teeth, he spits out, “She just.. got me mad, is all. Made me wanna have the satisfaction of wringing her neck with my bare hands instead of filling her with bullets.”

“Wait, seriously?” Your silhouette suddenly appears in the bathroom doorway and and strife glances up, briefly enraptured by the halo of light glowing at your back. A fellow human might have likened you to an angel. Strife, however, knows that none of the feathery bastards could hold a candle to you.

Garbed in clean shorts that smell distinctly of you, and not copper, you step out into your bedroom. “How’d a demon manage to make you mad? You’re like, the champ of not getting mad. It’s like your superpower.”

“Yeah, well..” he mutters, turning his helm away, “This time, she went too far.”

You’re quiet as you flop down onto the bed next to him, your eyes flicking between his downturned head to the fists that are clenched like vices at his sides, metal claws gripping fistfuls of your duvet so tightly, you’re worried he might end up poking holes in the cover.

Whatever had been said to him must have been bad if he’s this riled up.

Biting your lip, you let out a pensive hum and lean backwards, your fingers brushing over a soft lump near the headboard. At once, your eyes grow wide and your lips stretch into a sly grin as your hand closes over something fluffy and familiar.

Strife is still busy stewing when he’s suddenly brought out of his thoughts by a face that’s shoved promptly into his line of sight. He blinks, drawing his head away to properly see what you’re holding up in front of him.

He can’t contain a chuckle once he realises that it’s none other than your old, toy horse, dangling in front of him with its little, black ears flopping forwards to cover a pair of button eyes.

Allowing a smile to grace the edge of his mouth, the Horseman wordlessly relaxes his grasp on your duvet in favour of reaching out to gently take the soft toy out of your hands, lowering it down into his lap.

“I thought David Hasselhoof might make you feel better,” you tell him, bumping your shoulder against his companionably.

The Nephilim simply smiles, stroking his palm over the horse’s fuzzy mane.

“Hey, Strife?”

“Mmm?”

You fiddle with your fingernail for a moment, dropping your eyes to the bed and taking a breath before you ask, “What did the demon say that made you so angry?”

It isn’t as though you want to pry. But having your friend turn up at your house in the dead of night with his stomach torn open warrants a couple of questions, in your honest opinion.

The Horseman’s brows knit together underneath his helm and he shifts slightly, twisting away from you further until you can’t even see the lights of his eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost dare to say that he looks shy. An impossibility, frankly.

When he speaks, his voice is gentle, a far cry from the normal, strident tone you’re used to hearing. “She, uh, she might’ve made a couple of threats about you.. Bad ones.”

You wait for him to elaborate, but for some time, he doesn’t utter another word, prompting you to ask, “And?”

You very nearly reel backwards into your headboard when Strife whips around to face you. “And?!” he echoes, incredulous, “The Hell d’you mean ‘and?’ Isn’t that enough of a reason?!”

Taken aback, you lift your hands in a placating gesture and stammer, “Woah! I - I just meant... Well, it’s not like I haven’t been threatened before? Just seems like a weird thing for you to get so angry about.”

Without warning, the enormous Nephilim lurches to his feet, the cuddly horse left to tumble, forgotten out of his lap. “Did you not hear me?” he snaps, “She. Threatened. You!”

“A-and that... made you mad?”

“Did - Of course it did!” he all but howls, his voice cracking as it raises in pitch, “She made me listen to all the god damn, sick things she wanted to do to you when she found you! She said - she said, I’d never see you again!” Roughly, he drags his clawed fingertips through his spiky, black hair and exclaims, “Next thing I know, I’m droppin’ Redemption and Mercy, I’ve got her heart in my fist and I’m... I’m...”

He trails off, knocked out of stride by his own admission. You remain silent, pressed up against your head board with the blankets clutched to your chest.

When he notices you staring up at him, small and wary amongst the sheets, the frustration saps from him like water circling the drain. “So... so yeah,” he huffs, his shoulders slumping and a great wave of shame crashing over him, “I got a little mad! I got a little pissed off. Cause I didn’t like hearin’ someone say they were gonna hurt my friend.”

And with that, he just... deflates, not unlike a punctured tyre. All the hot air inside him is dispelled with every heave of his mighty chest whilst he peers down at you, feeling the weight of your stare upon him.

Guilt leaves a sour taste in his mouth, rancid and acidic.

You look so..

...scared.

Sometimes Strife forgets that to you, he’s an unassailable figure from biblical legend, a bringer of the end days and an ancient gunman with a body count higher than there are grains of sand on the earth. Of course you’re going to be scared of him when he’s raising his voice at you and towering over you like this. And all because he’d had the life scared out of him in the first place.

“I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to -” The words die on his lips and he sighs, defeatedly casting his eye over towards your bedroom window. He doesn’t want to leave you, not without knowing that his siblings have dealt with the remaining threats to your life. But... “I’ll just.. I’ll go.”

Turning his back on you, the Horseman bends to retrieve his discarded cuirass and takes a step towards the window, but a voice, thin as the cobwebs in the corner of your room, stops him in his tracks.

“Strife.”

The Horseman doesn’t move. he just stares at the darkness through your curtains.

Minutes pass without another word said between you. He remains stubbornly silent, hardly daring to breathe let alone respond to his name, until eventually, he hears a soft huff and rustling behind him.

Footsteps pad across the room and your scent grows stronger as you draw near, wafting over him like an intoxicating aroma before your hand places itself into his palm and he instinctively curls his fingers around it, shuddering at the feel of your soft skin pressed like silk against his roughened hide.

Your tiny, fragile hand... Creator, he really is just a beast standing next to you, isn’t he? The last time he felt this monstrous was..

No. Strife abruptly slams the shutters of his mind down around any thoughts of the Animus. Now is not the time to let dredge up old memories.

Luckily, your voice breaks through the haze and keeps him grounded. “Come on, big guy. Stay here, please?"

“You want me to stay?” he chokes out a laugh, “Even after I scared you?”

“Scared me? What?” It’s your turn to sound confused. “You didn’t scare me Strife, you shocked me. I’ve never seen you this serious before.”

The Horseman half turns to face you, giving you a glimpse of his warm, golden eyes. “And, I’ve never had a best friend before.” he admits slowly, hearing a soft intake of breath behind him.

“Wait?... I’m your best friend?”

With your hand still in his, Strife steps around slowly to face you, shooting you a quizzical glance. “Uh, yeah? I mean, I don’t exactly have a plethora of friends to choose from, so the competition isn’t that fie- Oof!”

He’s violently interrupted by a soft, squishy body colliding with his.

You fling your arms around the stunned Horseman’s waist and bury your face into his chest, momentarily forgetting about his injury. Strife, meanwhile, has to employ every molecule of willpower he owns to refrain from flinching, fearing that you’ll let go if he does. He can’t ignore how high his heart just jumped at the feeling of you pressed against him, nor the way his soul soars after realising that you still trust him enough to get this close.

It’s something that both he and his siblings are all having to get used to, these impromptu hugs.

Fury had almost flipped you over her shoulder and onto the ground the first time you came at her with your arms open wide, assuming you were going in for an attack.

War had pulled the most remarkable face, a mixture of alarm and wary delight that caused Strife to keel over in hysterics when you threw your arms around his broad stomach.

Death... Well, Strife hadn’t been around to witness your first hug with his oldest brother, but he imagines it must have been like hugging a block of cold stone.

And Strife? Well, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the first hug you gave him. It was so tight and comfortable, and for all of a moment, the only things that existed were the two of you. Inside the binding circle of your arms, his troubles couldn’t touch him, the anguish of his sins took a backseat and he became convinced that he could live happily and peacefully until the end of time trapped in your silent embrace.

The sentiment hasn’t dulled with frequency either. Every hug he receives is as powerful and intoxicating as the last.

This one is no different.

Strife's large, thickset arms carefully raise to your delicate back and shoulders, where he simply folds himself around you, pushing the nose of his helm into your soft, messy hair and drawing in a long, deep breath, earning your snort of amusement.

“You a big fan of coconut, then?”

“Is that what that smell is?” he mumbles, feeling the world settle around him as his eyes slip shut, “S'different from last time...”

“...Setting aside the fact that you remember what my hair smelled like last time we hugged.. I ran out of apple shampoo.”

“Mmm.” He trails off, humming into your hair, a sound that rumbles straight through you and leaves the top of your head tingling.

It takes your brain another few seconds to recall the injury on his torso.

“Oh, shit,” you hiss, leaning back and instantly finding your progress blocked by the Horseman's sturdy forearms. “I'm sorry, I didn't think -”

“- Eh, s'fine,” he cuts you off.

“It's not! I forgot, you need to be resting it!”

Strife grumbles his displeasure when you suddenly become very wriggly. “Strife, let go. You should be resting, not standing.”

Cracking one eye open, he roves his gaze over towards your bed. “Resting, huh? …. Not a bad idea.”

Without warning, he stoops down, and for the second time tonight, you find yourself suddenly swept up off your feet, bleating out a garbled squawk of alarm. “Stop picking me up! You'll start bleeding again!”

Smirking to himself, the Horseman takes two, loping steps towards your bed and lowers you down amongst the folds of the duvet, taking great pleasure in crawling over the top of you to get to the other side, armour and all. It isn't the first time he's rested in your bed, usually following a long night of playing your video games and catching up on all the human things he's been missing out on, and it likely won't be the last.

The bed springs creak despondently as he lifts his corner of the duvet and flops heavily onto his side next to you, grinning at the unimpressed glare you're shooting him.

“I like your bed,” he announces, burrowing himself deeper beneath the duvet, “You got a lot of pillows. And-”

His hand rustles beneath the covers for a moment before he winks... and slowly draws out David Hasselhoof, wiggling him back and forth in front of your eyes. “There's room for a threesome.”

“Oh my god. Goodnight, Strife!” Your lips quiver until you give in and crack a genuine smile, grabbing a pillow and whapping it softly down onto his helm. You get no resistance from the Horseman at all in retaliation. He merely lays there with his head hidden, black tufts of hair sticking out from behind your pillow as his shoulders bounce around a throaty chuckle.

Leaving him where he is, you roll over, turn off the fairy lights and plunge your bedroom into cozy, unassailable darkness.

A thick silence falls over the two of you, and the back of your neck begins to prickle, sensing without a shadow of a doubt that the Horseman's eyes are open and watching you. Sure enough, you peel your eyelids apart and find that your far wall is faintly illuminated by the golden light that emanates from his gaze.

Rolling your eyes, you resign yourself to a long night of fighting for your covers and kicking a wriggling Horseman back over onto his own side of the bed. And yet... if it's him, if it's Strife, it most likely won’t bother you in the slightest.

The alarm clock on your bedside table steadily ticks over to the three o'clock mark and you finally feel sleep crawl up behind your eyes. Just as you think you might nod off, however, the bed shakes ever so slightly, and behind you, there's the sound of shuffling sheets. It stops just as suddenly as it starts and you snort, chalking it up to a certain, restless Horseman trying to get used to the human-sized bed.

Several more minutes pass.

The shuffling starts up again, then it stops.

The same thing happens again a few more minutes later and your eyes snap open when something cool and solid nudges gently into the back of your head and you hear a quiet sniff before the whole bed shudders as the enormous Horseman laying upon it releases a monstrously low rumble of contentment.

-----

Strife leaves his helm right behind you all night, not that you'd know until the morning however, when you jerk awake to your bedroom door suddenly slamming open and Death thundering inside. He takes one look at his brother laying at your back and promptly begins a lecture that you're fairly certain will be the favoured topic of neighbourhood gossip for some time to come.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #Strife #reader #fluff #sharing a bed!#monster boyfriend #interspecies relationships #blood #injury #whump

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achillieus · 3 years

Text

let you down. (sebastian stan x reader)

summary: it's a universal truth but it's worth repeating; feelings eat us raw. or just an actor and a girl falling in and out of love over the course of three months.

(this was inspired by sebastian's visit to greece for his movie, monday, and is based on that, so that means in the story we’re in 2018. also i have this posted on ao3 too but while i’m writing the last parts i thought of posting it here too)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: alcohol, sexual references, implied depression, don’t kill me because of the ending, sebastian and reader are the definition of right person wrong time, it's kinda slowburn because i love the yearning, also this part has some funny moments but overall it’s a big SOB

part: 6/6 (there will also be an epilogue)

(other parts) (masterlist)

This is how it ends: broken hearts from crashed dreams.

Sebastian holds you until his muscles ache and your lungs burn from the feeling of too little oxygen. It is cold and dark, almost midnight, too dark, a starless night.

No more stars for you and I.

“Here,” Voice hoarse, eyes heavy-lid and itching from almost crying. He gives you one of the rings he wore in the movie. “I want you to keep this.”

Keep it close to your heart. Forget me not.

He takes a breath and a step back, tries to regain all the strength he still has, steady feet and shoulders fixed. He digs his nails into his palms, red marks in his skin, air catching in his throat, he’s on the verge of falling but he stays standing.

He remembers tears glistening down his cheeks, maybe they were yours not his, and the cold autumn wind hitting his face and he remembers feeling like he’s dying.

And then he closes the door of Argyris’ car and looks at you.

And his heart stretches and stretches and stretches and then somehow splits in half.

It goes like this:

There’s a ghost that lives in your apartment from now on. In the living room. Sitting on the couch. And it has steel blue eyes and a familiar heart. And it whispers a love story, half-finished, and you cannot make it stop.

The ghost touches your collarbone and he’s gone but there’s a ring in a golden chain around your neck and a white shirt forgotten in your laundry. And it smells like him. The clinging scent of his aftershave sticking to your pores. Eucalyptus. And no matter how hard you try to wash it off, it still lingers.

How could I ever forget someone like you?

The ghost lives here, but the place is empty, so empty. And it’s hard not to cry.

Sebastian calls and texts a lot.

He tells you he’s tired but excited because he started filming a new movie. It’s very indie and experimental, I can’t wait for you to see it. He tells you he’s missing his days in Greece like hell and that one night he dreamt of you. Didn’t want to wake up. What he doesn’t tell you is that he’s coming back in a month, Argyris needs him for some extra scenes. It’s nearly killing him but he doesn’t tell you. He wants to surprise you, see the pure light in your eyes when they’ll meet his.

You try sexting. It doesn’t go very well.

23:50, sebastian: if you were here in my bed right now what would you be doing

06:51, you: probably falling asleep hahaha

06:51, you: oh fuck was i supposed to sext back

06:51, you: sorry seb i just woke up and i have a class in an hour, love you <3

23:52, sebastian: fuck timezones

(three weeks and 10 seconds later)

“I can’t believe she doesn’t know you’re here,” Argyris shakes his head as he’s driving home from the airport, “If I were her, I’d kill you.”

“Good thing I didn’t fall in love with you.”

Sebastian laughs and looks out of the car window. The stars. There are so many stars tonight. He holds his breath; he’s finally feeling whole again. His heart isn’t split in two anymore.

You don’t know how long you stand there at your door, staring at him, but it feels like a century before he grins, almost laughs, takes your hands in his and you start considering that perhaps this isn’t a hallucination. Perhaps it’s real.

“Surprise?”

Something inside of you bursts, your organs twitch. You can’t think, you can’t speak, but you can move. You don’t lose any more time, you take a step forward, attach your bodies, your face buried in his neck, your fingers clutching into the rough fabric of his jacket. You breathe him in like an antidote.

“How?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.”

You kiss him and it’s like poetry, like art, like honey and you can’t separate yourself from him, not even hours later.

(looking back, these were the golden days)

You pretending to be mad at him for not telling you he was coming back and him pressing his lips on your skin, drawing patterns on your naked shoulder. A feathery touch.

Sebastian always touches you like you’re something made of gold and porcelain, something cherished that constantly needs to be treasured. And nobody has done that before. And you love him for it.

You try to decorate your Christmas tree together. He messes with the lights for a while, eventually gives up and goes on to eat too many reindeer shaped cookies.

He massages your muscles when you write a boring essay for college.

You go with him when he has to shoot a “driving a motorcycle naked in the centre of Athens” scene and you bite the inside of your cheeks to stop smiling like an idiot.

He gives you a dress he bought for you in New York.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

He calls you sweetheart in the mornings, still half asleep and later joins you in the shower.

“Why are you so hot?”

“Climate change”

“Oh, shut up”

It’s tender and it’s soft and it’s human.

And that’s the saddest part.

Soon you realize that him leaving two months ago was merely a rehearsal and you still haven’t said your actual goodbyes. Your chest starts to feel as if it’s full of crushed glass.

And it’s ridiculous because you fell in love with Sebastian sometime between the first ten days you spent together.

Who falls in love in ten days?

Ridiculous or not, you know you are in love with him just as you know that sooner or later, whatever he is feeling will fade and wither. Maybe it’ll be in a week, maybe it’ll be in a month, maybe in a year if you’re lucky. But there will definitely come a day when he will step out of a gala or a party or a fancy gym in New York with a beautiful model in his arms and two paparazzi’s following him around.

What will you be then?

A past small cameo in his life. A side character. Will he remember your name?

He is your whole world.

(a bottle of cheap prosecco helps you decide that)

He is your whole world.

And yet, there will come a day when he won’t even remember your name.

It was difficult. No, it was the most difficult thing you’ve ever done. Telling him how you think it’d be better if you didn’t talk after he leaves.

“I don’t agree with this.”

“Seb, it’s for the best.”

Your body doesn’t feel strong enough to carry your heart. And you’re certain it will only get worse once he’s away. The world around you will melt. You’ll obsess over a phone screen and his messages. You’ll start chasing ghosts again. You can’t handle that.

“Why?” He says urgently and his fingers dance over the flesh of your palms.

“Because this”, you motion your hand between the two of you, “is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had in my life and I don’t want it to become ugly.”

He nods, he understands.

“I love you, you know,” he says smiling and tugs you closer to him, “And I may not be here to show you but I think I’ll love you for a long time.”

Your hand grips his waist right to the bones and something flares in your eyes, something wild that wrenches you around.

“I know, I’ll love you the same.”

“Maybe we’ll meet again.”

“Only if I’m the luckiest girl on the planet.”

He laughs and you look at him, fully aware he’ll be ripped out of your life like a page from a cheap leather notebook. And when you kiss for the last time, there’s a hole forming in your soul.

And just because endings don’t leave visible scars to one’s body and soul, that doesn’t mean the scars don’t exist. You know they do, because you feel the aching pain of every single one of them.

(every night when you close your eyes you see him)

(every night you look at the stars and think of him)

A month passes and Argyris asks you if you miss him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

“He said the exact same thing.”

You tell him not to mention Sebastian again.

Two months pass and you need to stop stalking his instagram profile.

Three months pass and you almost text him.

Four months pass and you go to watch Endgame with some friends and you cry. You cry when Black Widow sacrifices herself and when Iron Man smiles at his wife while dying, and when Bucky Barnes appears on screen.

The others don’t understand and you don’t blame them.

Five months pass and Argyris’ girlfriend wants you to meet someone. A charming boy your age with blonde hair and a lip piercing.

And he's cute but you compare him to Sebastian even before he has the chance to say his name. His eyes are not the right shade of blue and he doesn’t look at you like you’re made of the world’s finest jewel.

And he doesn’t know any constellation names.

And then more than a year passes in a second and you learn to not look for him. Not anymore.

It’s early March 2020 and despite the rising fear of the upcoming pandemic, you’re doing well. Scars are starting to fade. And after spending two weeks in Prague, your best friend being there with an exchange program, Sebastian Stan is the farthest thing from your mind.

Until he literally comes crashing into you. At the airport.

No, it can’t be him.

You have your suitcase on one hand and a bottle of antiseptic gel on the other. He has two bodyguards on his sides and a black hoodie on. And while half of his face is hidden behind a mask, you can see his eyes perfectly. A frozen lake in December. You would know those eyes in your deathbed, at the end of the world.

Your vision gets blurry and suddenly you feel cold.

He won’t recognize me, he can’t.

But then he looks at you and every memory you had buried inside of you resurfaces.

He motions to his guards to wait for him and he starts walking towards you. You breathe slowly, one breath at a time. He takes his mask off and you hesitate to take yours, not sure if you truly want him to see you.

You exchange the typical and very awkward hi, how are you, i’m glad you’re doing okay and then he smiles and it feels comfortable. Familiar.

It’s the whiff of another time that you always kept around. A reminder that you were once loved by a god.

“What are you doing here?”

“Filming Falcon and the Winter Soldier”

If you hadn’t unfollowed him on instagram, you’d known.

“Ah yes I heard about that, congrats.”

He nods a thank you.

“And you? In Prague?”

“I was at a friend.”

He looks conflicted, hurt, turns his gaze to his shoes on the grey cement. You want to say something, but you feel like throwing up.

And then he laughs.

“I was right.”

You’re confused, he notices.

“Back in Greece,” he swallows, “I told you this would happen.”

“It would have been an airport, different gates for each of us, but same waiting hall. Or a Greek island, where we’d both be for the summer.”

“I would have found you.”

You remember and you cannot help but smile. He was right. He found you.

“I didn’t believe you then.”

I barely believe you now.

He touches your hair. And his touch is like a knife. And you want to cry. Magnolias under your tongue. A love long lost is whispering in your ears until it hurts to listen. He’s like a magnetic field and you feel yourself drowning in him.

“I bet they’ll ask me a hundred questions about you later.” He says and looks at the two men waiting for him.

“And what will you tell them?”

“That you’re most probably the love of my life.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

“There’s no way we’d meet here if you’re not.”

“Sebastian,” His name sounds like a prayer coming out of your lips and you're ready to tell him you love him and you can swear he looks like he’s ready to faint, “I-”

The guards yell his name. And it's the same feeling people have just before a car crash.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.”

One last look.

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

You repeat it over and over again. But you fail.

“No, don't cry” He smiles, one last smile, “Just look at the stars and wait for us to meet again, because we will.”

He caresses the back of your palm for a second and you think your ribcage is shattering but it’s only your heart drumming frantically. Pushing your fragile bones to break.

You want to stop him, wrap your arms around his torso, never let him go. Not again. But you don’t.

You just watch him leave, one more time, your knees weak, your head heavy and dizzy. For the split of a moment he turns and glances at you but then he’s nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps it was all in your imagination. Perhaps it was nothing but a wonder.

You get into your plane and you silently sob.

And then it’s summer.

And you overhear he was seen with a girl, the day before your vacation starts and you find a picture of them together a week later, a pretty blonde girl clinging to his side with a colorful bikini somewhere in Spain. And he’s smiling. And you feel so ashamed. And so stupid.

They say time heals all wounds but they must be wrong because you can’t forget how he used to smile at you or how he used to call you the love of his life.

Was he joking when he said you'll meet again? You bet if you asked him now, he wouldn't even remember saying it.

I’ll love you for a long time.

So long for nothing.

i really appreciate feedback, it motivates me tons and also tell me if you’d like to be tagged :) also i’m really sorry if you asked me to tag you and i didn’t but i lost a lot of asks and the urls of the people that sent them :(

tagging: @lharrietg @awkward117 @dannaloureen @broccoligf @cutestfangirlvevo @caitdaniels @arymb @buckybarnesishot310 @roguesthetic @itsaliceheree @sara-1705 @dorothea-hwldr @freshfreakoaftrash @drinkfantasy @christinamcdonnell @partypoison00 @90ssantiago

#sebastianstan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #letyoudown #monday the movie #sebastian stan angst #sebastian stan x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader

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aetheternity · 3 years

Text

Adventures in the Kawata twins

Disclaimer: This takes place during the present when they're all adults. This isn't an x reader persay but reader is mentioned.

Synopsis: Takemichi & Chifuyu are stuck taking care of the drunk Kawata twins. It can't be that hard they'd assumed. Though they fail to understand that the twins are dumped on them for good reason.

☆☆

"Takemichi, you plan on being a designated driver?" Draken asks as Takemichi plops into the seat next to him at their shared table.

"Yeah, I don't feel like drinking tonight." He explained with a shrug.

"Great!" Mikey exclaimed allowing his straw to slip back into the something red he'd been sucking down. "Then you can take care of the Kawata brothers." He pointed to the end of the bar where both brothers sat. Smiley swiveling back in forth in his chair while Angry just glared at all the people. Their eyes lazily hovering over the thick crowd of people.

"They're barely sipping their drinks." Takemichi scoffed

Draken snorted with a deep laugh, "For now." Though he stopped talking when Mikey elbowed him.

"Yeah ok I'll take them home later." Takemichi replied.

"Not just take them home." Mikey grunted, poking his finger out at Takemichi. "You gotta watch them!" He gestured first to Takemichi then back to the two boys at the bar.

"Ok ok sure."

How bad could they possibly get after all? They were never apart as far as Takemichi could see. Even now they were calmly sipping their drinks, Angry's feet swaying back and forth against the side of the bar stool, his face full of frustration as he played with the straw between his lips. Meanwhile Smiley began talking about something random that barely caught his brother's attention his warm smile stretched tightly against his face.

They were calm. This was gonna be fine....

An hour later~

"Where'd they go!!" Takemichi clung to Chifuyu's shoulders like they were his life support shaking the poor man like a doll.

"Well where's the last place you had them?!" Chifuyu screamed back, head darting up over the crowd trying to locate at least one of the missing twins.

"They're not lost remotes!!" Takemichi grunted

A sudden burst of clapping across the bar made Takemichi and Chifuyu whip around. A rhythm slowly forming as drunk onlookers turned to face the same direction. Suddenly a big blue tuff peaked its way over the crowd followed by a fist raising in the air and Angry's full face coming into view.

"Shit." Chifuyu cursed

Takemichi lead the rush through the crowd, Chifuyu right behind him as the two of them made their way closer to one of the rickety tables near the back corner of the bar where Angry was now pointing out into the crowd. A smile almost as big as his brother's plastered onto his face. But it had a much gentler feel to it, almost as if he did it everyday.

"You! You got what I need! Everybody!" Angry belted as he sung into an invisible mic. "But you say he's just a friend!! Now the ladies!"

"And you say he's just a friend!" Reciprocated the crowd.

"Oh God who's he singing about? Name?" Chifuyu scoffed as he held onto Takemichi's hoodie for fear of getting swept away in the crowd.

"Wait? Angry likes, Name?!"

"You must be the most oblivious person in the world to not have noticed. Even I noticed!" Chifuyu yelled over the crowd.

Takemichi sighed reaching out for the wobbly table working to keep it steady as Chifuyu went around the other side tugging at Angry's pant leg.

"And you say he's just a friend, oh baby, you-" Angry continued until Chifuyu finally managed to catch his attention. "Takemichi! Chifuyu! Hi!" He bounced on the table almost causing it to tip.

"Angry come on, let's go find your brother!"

"Ooo yeah!" He giggled like a child.

"Holy shit I didn't even know he was capable of laughing, let alone smiling." Chifuyu blinked shaking his head.

"Catch me ok!" Angry beamed

"Wait Angry!-"

Takemichi's legs folded beneath him as Angry laid on top of him. Surprisingly he wasn't that heavy, though his body weight came out of nowhere and all at once. It left Takemichi with zero breath in his lungs as an uncharacteristic Angry laid on top of him, Chifuyu's smug grin just above him.

"Thanks for the support!" Takemichi groaned in pain. With both hands Chifuyu pulled Takemichi up, helping him support Angry's weight as he wrapped the younger twins legs around his waist.

"Why-" Chifuyu gestured to the current display.

"It'll just be easier."

Angry clung to Takemichi's hoodie like a curious toddler, sticking his fingers beneath the back to play with the tag.

"Come on, we're gonna go find your brother." Takemichi soothingly rubbed Angry's back before turning to Chifuyu.

"And how do you plan on doing that?" Chifuyu asked

The sound of glass shattering a short distance away and the sounds of loud screams and grunts called the attention of almost everyone in the bar. Aside from those too busy making out or puking to see.

"I'd say follow the screaming."

They'd barely arrived on the scene but the crunches of glass underneath their shoes spoke volumes. Smiley's fists repeatedly slamming into a now completely shattered glass mirror. Blood seeping through his damaged knuckles like a punctured water bottle.

Chifuyu immediately slipped his arms under Smiley's armpits. Shaken a bit by the stoned face that stared down at the shattered mirror beneath them.

"Come on Angry we gotta go!"

"That's Smiley! This is Angry!" Takemichi yelped, shifting a distracted Angry around to look at Chifuyu.

"At this point can you blame me?! It's like we fell into an alternate dimension." Chifuyu groaned "Wait is that possible right now?"

"I don't think so!"

"Get off! This cunt is asking for it!" Smiley reached for the only part of the mirror still even slightly assembled. But before he could punch it in Chifuyu slipped an arm around his waist.

"Let's just get out of here before the cops show up!"

Even in disarray Takemichi was pleased at how much easier it had been getting the twins out of the bar then it had been finding them.

"You can still drive a bike right?" Takemichi asked as he reached into Angry's pocket for his keys. He placed a disoriented Angry on the back, trying to push his leg over the side.

"God, your knuckles are wrecked!" Chifuyu gasped astonished. Some of the glass had chipped off while some stayed wedged inside his closed fist.

"It's fine we can remove it when we get them home."

"Hey do you think Name likes that song?" Angry nodded his head, snapping his fingers to an imaginary beat. "I like the bartender, yeah if you're looking for me I'm at the bar with her!" He sung

"I'm sure it'd be just as uncomfortable for Name as it currently is for us." Chifuyu sighed "Come on get on back." He explained to Smiley.

"Fuck you."

Angry fidgeted around behind Takemichi only holding onto his waist when Takemichi physically slid his hands there. His smile deepening as he grinned along to the music he hadn't stopped singing.

After a bit more pleading Smiley plopped onto the back with his arms crossed over his chest. "Ok, now all we need to do is get them home right?" Chifuyu called over the roar of the engine and the sound of Angry still harmonizing with inaudible music.

"Actually.. I told Mikey I'd look after them for the night.."

"I hate you."

"Chifuyu, please! I can't do this without you! Once we put them to bed the rest should be easy right?"

They pulled up to a red light and for the first time tonight Takemichi could hear himself think. Yeah ok, the rest of the night really shouldn't be too difficult. The hard part was getting them out of the bar right?

"Fuck are you looking at shit stain?!" Smiley screamed to a man casually minding his business across the street.

"Angry!" Takemichi screeched

"See you did it too!" Chifuyu pointed

"Shit, I mean-"

"Huh?!" The man called turning to make eye contact with the four people in front of him.

"Can't this light change any fucking faster?!" Chifuyu yelled

"You wanna go bitch!" Smiley called

~~~~

"Smiley, please shut up!" Chifuyu was practically withering. Smiley nearly left off the bike when the man came charging forward.

In that split second the light turned green and Chifuyu sped off with Takemichi trailing just behind. A flood of nervous tears beginning to stain his face.

"You know Mikey set you up right?" Chifuyu grunted as he hauled an agitated Smiley into his and his brother's shared flat.

"I figured after looking up to see them both gone." Takemichi gasped and heaved, shutting the door behind him and Angry.

"I'm making ramen." Smiley announced, staggering off to the living room.

"No no no what you need to do is lay down. This night has been a nightmare." Chifuyu said

"You wanna go fucker." Smiley spat

"Smiley please-" Takemichi tried

"Takemichi, Michi! Look look at my Tiktok dance! You gotta watch!" Angry tugged on Takemichi's jacket sleeve with kid like hops trying to get his attention.

"Just.. I can't right now please we-"

"Why?!" Angry's outburst immediately brought quiet to the flat, the beginnings of tears brimming in the corners of his eyes.

"Shit, don't let him cry!" Chifuyu exclaimed

"Ok! Ok do the dance!"

Angry straightened, smile reappearing fully. He patted the tops of his chest, shaking his hips to nonexistent music. "You need a woman's touch in your place, just protect her and keep her safe." His arm juts out to the words he's singing, "Baby, worship my hips in ways, so feminine with grace."

Takemichi and Chifuyu blink, mouths hung in a small 'O' as they watched the awkward drunk assembly of movements matching terribly with the surprisingly on key singing. Without warning Angry clutched his knees, bile spilling from his body like a sprinkler system.

"You're in charge of Angry then." Chifuyu patted Takemichi's back as Angry continued to unleash on the once clean living room floor. Coughs escaping his drunken body. "I'll take care of.. ah shit! Where'd he go now?!"

"Maybe that's enough dancing for one night." Tiptoeing around the undigested waste Takemichi reached for Angry's arm. "Want some water?" He asked pulling a staggering Angry into the kitchen.

"There's-" Takemichi managed to get him there just in time. Angry's fingers clutching the edges of the kitchen sink as he leaned forward emptying everything in his stomach down the drain with a loud heave.

"Take your time it'll be-"

"Smiley no!" Chifuyu's voice rang across the flat. As well as the sound of multiple fragile items breaking.

What would soon follow in the next minute and a half were, a hard thud, harsh obscenities spewed one after another, and more things breaking only a couple doors away from where Takemichi was massaging Angry's head.

"Chifuyu, what's going on?!"

Chifuyu clattered out of the bathroom stumbling back and forth between both feet. "He punched me in the jaw." His thumb grazed over his jaw inspecting his hands for any sign of blood. "Do the twins have duct tape in here?"

Takemichi grabbed a paper towel dampening it before patting the sides of Angry's lips and the base of his chin where a small amount of his puke was currently leaking down.

"What do you need duct tape for?"

"Don't worry about that."

Chifuyu disappeared with the tape too quickly for further questions to be asked. Angry's smile was barely visible at this point the alcohol potentially flooding out of his system.

"Will you wash my hair Michi?" Angry pleaded with a tiny whimper.

"You should probably rest." Takemichi replied, he turned to fill a glass of water in the sink before handing it to Angry.

"Can I rest in the bathtub?"

"Why're you so violent when you drink?!" Chifuyu yelled

"Here just go to the couch!" Takemichi gestured, pushing a confused Angry back into the living room before bolting down the hall.

"What the- omg!"

"Get me some rope or some shit!" Chifuyu grunted, pulling both of Smiley's hands together.

Smiley laid beneath Chifuyu on his stomach duct tape wrapped around his mouth. His legs kicking around aimlessly as muffled noises slipped from his mouth. The shower curtain covered in blood and laid in a ball on the floor and the pole now bent in the bathtub. The window in the corner smashed in from the inside, pieces of glass littering the white tile.

I'm pretty sure this isn't what Mikey meant when he said take care of the Kawata twins!"

"Well he won't stop struggling! What else am I supposed to do?" Chifuyu gripped the duct tape, pulling it around Smiley's balled fists before ripping it with his teeth.

The sound of glass shattering in the living room brought Takemichi back down to reality. "Ok fine, just don't hurt him and clean his wounds!"

Takemichi rushed back into the living room tripping over his own two feet. His thoughts immediately scattering as he looked over the new situation. Angry's once full cup of water mixed with his vomit on the floor as the glass was now shattered in the growing mess.

"I want water.." Angry said, reaching out to Takemichi.

"Lay still on the couch and I'll bring you a new cup." He sighed

Takemichi dug around for a few seconds in the cupboard grabbing a new glass from the middle shelf. He hadn't noticed before but the Kawata twins had a gorgeous flat. That was slightly more wrecked right now. But it was clean and gorgeous almost to the point where it looked brand new.

He reached for the faucet, positioning it to fill the glass with hot water before turning it upside down to empty the glass. The water splashed against his disheveled black hoodie dampening it a little more than the sweat of this night already had. When he refilled the glass it was with cold water turning the sink top off and walking back over to Angry's kid like wonder stare on the edge of the couch.

"This house has big ceilings." Angry pointed, mouth agape.

"Yup, here." Takemichi transferred the water to Angry's open hands. He got down on one knee untying Angry's shoelaces, slipping his shoes off his feet before placing them next to the head of the couch.

"Wish I lived here." Angry nodded softly, kicking his socked feet as he sipped the cool water in the glass that had been placed in his hands.

"Lay back ok."

A deep "oof" caught Takemichi's attention as he looked to a staggering Chifuyu, pulling Smiley along like a police officer arresting a perp.

"Ok, from this point on I need to be paid." He grunted

"What happened to your face?" Takemichi gestured to the gushing bruise on Chifuyu's forehead. Blood beginning to leak down the sides of his face.

"What do you think happened? He fucking headbutted me." Chifuyu rubbed the blemish with one hand.

For the first time all night Smiley finally tapped out. Collapsing onto the floor in a small ball. One shoe kicked off God knows when. Hair a disorganized tumbleweed atop his head.

"What do you think Name would think of this song?" Angry bounced in his seat spilling water into his lap.

"Oh God please no more singing!" Chifuyu huffed in exasperation.

Takemichi can already see the crease of Angry's eyebrows and the quiver of his bottom lip. "What he means is we'll hear it tomorrow because you need sleep."

A folded blanket laid on the top of the couch and Takemichi reached for it. He shook it out before placing it over Angry's descending shoulders. Slowly the comfort of falling asleep began to rise on Angry's face. Eyelids heavy and face falling into warm ease.

"You promise?" He questioned as he laid his head on the arm rest.

"Yes bright and early tomorrow."

"Night." He whispered and less than a minute later he was fast asleep just like his brother.

For the next couple minutes Takemichi worked to clean the blood off Chifuyu's face, arms and a couple other places.

"Geez he did a number on you."

"On me, on the bathroom, on that mirror in the bar." Chifuyu listed off as Takemichi walked back to the living room leaving him to pat his bruise.

"But you did do a great job bandaging his hands."

"Uh huh."

Takemichi reached up to his face squeezing the bridge of his nose and the lids of his eyes. Chifuyu came up to his side as the blonde gestured to Smiley. "You're not gonna leave him like that are you?"

"You're right we should put a blanket on him." Chifuyu nodded, shaking his finger in front of Takemichi.

"I meant untie him!" Takemichi followed as Chifuyu went into the first available bedroom.

"Fine, once we get them both pills and clean up we can leave."

"Are you insane! Did you forget my bruises? If he wakes up at anytime before the sun and attacks it's your problem." Chifuyu snagged a blanket off the top of the bed slinging it over his shoulder.

"Why didn't we just put them in their beds?" Takemichi groaned

"It's too late they're already asleep just let it go." Chifuyu huffed

Takemichi followed Chifuyu back into the living room. With both hands he opened the blanket fully before letting it lay flat over Smiley's now relaxed figure.

"One you're insane if you think I'm going home. It's almost three am and watching these two for one night has given me nice horror stories to tell Mitsuya next time he talks about his sisters. Two I was dead serious about needing payment especially now if I'm gonna be spending hours cleaning."

~~~~

Morning came sooner than Takemichi would've liked. The sun blared through the window like the worst alarm. He squinted covering his eyes with one hand before shifting on the floor with the blanket he'd pulled from Souya's closet.

Before he could reexperience restful slumber a couple faint knocks had him tossing aside the blanket entirely. Yanking the door open with a low 'what' from the depths of his fatigue.

"Morning to you too." Draken's voice brought him back.

"Heyo Takemichy." Mikey grinned proudly

"How was last night?" Draken asked as Mikey entered the flat ahead of him.

Though the question really didn't need to be verbally answered as the image of Smiley laying on the ground with duct tape over his mouth and a half kicked away blanket revealing his taped up arms. The smell of puke still slightly thick in the hot apartment and the blood all over Chifuyu's jacket spoke louder than words.

Even with sleep still in the midst of Chifuyu's eyes he turned to Mikey and Draken standing behind him.

"Never a fucking gain." He pointed aimlessly, eyelids dashing over his eyes to properly bring the beauty of sight back to him.

Smiley rolled over, or half way over immediately awakening when he realized he was tied up. His head jerked towards Chifuyu with mumbled questions.

"Hold on."

"FUCK!" Smiley's grin was back full force. The edges of his eyebrows twitching, voice echoing through the flat. The unnecessary roughness at which Chifuyu had ripped away the tape showed off some prominent reddening just below his nose.

"Ah!" Angry nearly flew off the couch with the way he sat up immediately falling back into the pillow behind him. Clutching his head with both arms. "Who's being loud." He groaned

"We figured we owed you guys breakfast for taking care of the twins last night." Draken remarked amusement creeping onto his face.

"And this is way less than I was expecting. No cops or anything." Mikey nodded

"What happened to my fists!" Smiley grinned crazily

"Everyone stop talking!" Angry grit

"Take the twins out." Chifuyu said "I'm going home to sleep."

"Ditto to that." Takemichi yawned

#tokyo revengers #my little drabble is now a little story #tokyo manji revengers #souya x reader #angry x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smiley #tokyo revengers takemichi #tokyo revengers chifuyu #chifuyu #takemichi hanagaki #nahoya kawata #souya kawata #tokyo revengers fic

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1plus1kiyoomi · 3 years

Text

Chapter 6: Fight or Flght Response

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[masterlist]

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warnings: mentions of sex and pretty much a toxic relationship

Morning comes and Kuroo wakes up with a headache. Eyes still closed, he taps on the other side of the bed, his hands looking for your body. “Love?” He groans. “Love, can you bring me some medication? My head hurts.”

Kuroo falls asleep once again and then wakes up an hour later. He sits up, his head ringing. “(Y/N)? Love?” He leaves the bed and doesn’t feel any presence of you in the house. “Oh, it’s 9AM. She must be at work already.”

Well, Kuroo’s not wrong. You are at your office but you aren’t working. You’re weeping at your table because you can’t seem to get rid of Kuroo’s words to his friends.

“So (Y/N) and I are trying to work our marriage out for a year, and she’s taking it way too seriously. While I can’t even look at her face! She messages me all the time about where I am, what I’m doing and all of that. She begs me to go on dates and nags at me if I miss it. I want to tell her off sometimes, but she’s a really good fuck. Like she’s amazing in bed and she lets me have it anytime so yeah. I guess it’s worth to stay.”

It keeps repeating in your head like a broken track. And your tears run down your cheeks and you know it won’t stop for a while. You stand from your desk and move to the little bedroom that is in your office. You lay on the bed and bury your face on the pillow.

The moment you heard his words come of his lips last night, you wanted to slap him hard, beat him up, tear his hair off his head, but you couldn’t. You were glued on the wooden floor of Kenma’s house, not able to believe Kuroo could say that. Your heart shattered into pieces that couldn’t be even counted.

But still, you went home with him. Even slept with him.

If your friends, especially Iwaizumi, find out about this, they’ll definitely tell you to leave him. No excuses. And you don’t want to leave Kuroo.

“Where did I go wrong? Is it because I’m ugly?” You take your phone out and open the camera app. “Very ugly right now. This is why he doesn’t want me to post anything about our relationship.”

Someone knocks on your office door so you wipe your tears quickly and open the Netflix app so you can pretend that you’ve been watching a sad movie this whole time.

“(Y/N)? The flowers are here,” Terushima says as he enters your office. “Why are you crying?”

Speaking of Terushima, he and Kuroo have become friends after their fight. When Kuroo picks you up sometimes and Terushima’s also there, you always find the two talking about hair. The blonde even goes to your place sometimes so he can style Kuroo’s hair. It’s their form of bonding so you really don’t have a say about it.

“This drama is just so sad,” you lie, showing him the screen of your phone that is playing a random sad movie.

“I didn’t know you were the type to cry cause of movies,” the blonde chuckles. “Anyways, fix yourself. Because we will be decorating a big function room starting this afternoon.”

“I almost forgot. The client wanted all real flowers right?” You sigh and sit up from your bed. ‘No time for crying. You’re a busy woman.’

“Yeah, so we have to make sure that the flowers will not wither tomorrow,” Terushima confirms.

You brush your issue with Kuroo under the rag and focus on your work instead.

Evening comes quickly and it’s finally time for your team to set up at the function hall. You had to wait until late evening to start since there was an event beforehand. The bestman of the wedding, Yuta, joined your team as the supervisor.

While you are setting up on the stage, you can feel your workmates throwing weird looks at you. “What?” You raise an eyebrow at them and one of your colleagues walks up to you.

“The best man has been staring at you ever since we got her,” she whispers with a teasing smirk. You roll your eyes at her and brush it off.

It’s always like this. At every event, your colleagues ships you with every best man or groomsman that shows interest towards you. They don’t know you’re actually married and think you’re single so they tease you. In hopes that you finally get to plan your own wedding. Sadly, you already are married and no wedding will take place.

You take a glance at the said man and he is staring at you, but not in a creepy way. As soon as you make eye contact, he smiles at you. You swear your heart skips a beat but at the same time you will never admit that it did.

“Miss (L/N)?” Yuta calls you out of nowhere. Surprised by his sudden presence, you fall on the ladder you are on and land on top of him.

‘What in the drama is this?!’

“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” You push yourself off of the man quickly and bow repeatedly.

“It’s alright! It’s my fault for surprising you.” Yuta stands up as well and when your eyes meet, you burst into laughter. “You’re much prettier up close.”

“So you’re the straightforward type, huh?” You let out a chuckle and he smirks at you. “I thought you’d be a shy one since you have been just staring until now.”

“Well, since you think I’m the straightforward type, let me ask you. Are you single?” Yuta smiles at you shyly this time and you feel your cheeks burn hot.

‘You’re married, (Y/N)! Don’t even think about flirting back.’ You mentally scold yourself and look away from the man beside you. “Find out yourself.”

The glamorous wedding finally ends and it was one of the best weddings you have every coordinated. The couple is so in love with each other and they are surrounded by supportive family and friends. The guests were very uplifting and fun in general. You even made friends with some of the guests and have gotten closer to Yuta.

“Thank you for planning our wedding. This is such a dream come true!” The bride thanks you with a bow. You bow back and say your thanks as well. “And Yuta’s a good boy.” The bride winks at you before she and groom leaves.

“(Y/N)!” Speaking of the devil.

“Yuta!” You wave at him. He runs towards you and pants when he’s finally in front with you. “Can I help you with something?”

“Do you have a drive home?” He asks you so you shake your head no. You’re just being honest. “Can I drive you to your place?”

“My place is just a 10-minute walk from here, so it’s okay,” you reply. You check the time and it’s already past midnight. “I have to go now. It’s really late. Bye!”

“I’ll walk with you!” Yuta offers. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Okay, then. Whatever makes you sleep at night,” you joke and he just laughs.

The two of you walk home and Yuta shares random stories about his childhood. You like it. You like how he is open to you without you trying. You like how he’s initiating first. You like how gentle he is when he is talking to you. You like how he softly calls your name. You like how he’s not hiding that he’s interested in you. But you hate how you want Kuroo to be like that towards you. You hate how you’re still thinking about him.

Kuroo’s words come crashing into your mind again and you badly want to take Yuta’s hand and ask him to bring you home. But your mind is also telling you to come home quickly to Kuroo, even if you know he won’t be waiting for you.

“I’m here!” You say as you arrive in front of your condominium building. “Thank you for walking me.”

“No problem.” Yuta scratches the back of his neck. A change of demeanor happens, and Yuta becomes shy. “Can I get your number? I want to tak-”

“(Y/N)!”

Your world freezes as you hear Kuroo’s voice. It’s 1AM. Why the hell is he outside your building as well? You turn your head see him glaring at you with his arms crossed.

‘What do I do? Kuroo might misunderstand! And I can’t tell Yuta that Kuroo is my husband because he wants to keep our relationship a secret. Oh my gosh! What to do?’

You’re panicking. Your whole system is. You can feel your fingers tremble. Kuroo is walking towards the two of you and is already so close but you still don’t know what to do and say. The particles in your container are bouncing on the walls of your space rapidly because of pressure, and it’s making your mind go blank. Your fight or flight response is not functioning well.

Kuroo has been waiting for you at your building’s lobby since 10PM. He was waiting for your message about him picking you up at the hotel, but clearly you forgot about that. He thought you forgot because of fatigue but clearly that’s not the case.

Especially now that a man he has never seen before walked you back to your place.

“Who’s this?” Yuta and Kuroo ask in unison. Yuta glares at Kuroo, not liking how provocative the guy looks. Your husband raises an eyebrow at Yuta, his feline-like eyes glaring back at the unfamiliar guy.

“Kuroo, this is my friend Yuta,” you start to introduce but they aren’t even listening to you. They’re in this staring contest you don’t know about.

“And Yuta, this is Kuroo, my brother.”

——————————————————————————

Facts:

Your reactions when you are nervous are driven by the production of hormones and equip us to fight or escape from situations that are dangerous or threatening. This is known as the fight or flight response.

Nervousness can cause stuttering and rambling.

Anxiety may be partly genetic.

People who are anxious are quicker to pick up on changes in facial expressions than those who are but they are less accurate. Thus, it causes misunderstandings.

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#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu smau #haikyuu series #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro smau #kuroo tetsuro fanfiction #kuroo x reader #kuroo smau #kuroo x y/n #kuroo x you

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bbyannabeth · 3 years

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hello hello, i just posted this fic right now.

below the cut is an alternate ending to the fic because i hate writing angst and i needed some serotonin. but please read the fic before reading the alt. ending<3

Getting to the Underworld was a lot easier when she had a child of Hades as her friend. Nico shadow traveled with her to his father’s palace, leaving them right outside the doors. “Thank you,” she said, staring up at the doors.

“No problem. You sure you want me to leave, though?” he asked. Annabeth nodded.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. She had Mrs. O’Leary’s whistle in her pocket. Technically that was Percy’s possession, but the hellhound had always loved her too so she hoped it would still work.

“Okay,” Nico said quietly, somewhat awkward. “See you later, then.”

“Bye,” she replied, and then she was alone. Taking one heavy breath, Annabeth pushed through the doors of the palace. “Lord Hades!” she yelled, walking in.

He materialized in front of her. “What a nice surprise,” he said, his voice flat. “I love screaming children bursting into my home.”

“My apologies, my Lord. You know why I’m here, though.”

“I do,” Hades said. “But I can’t help you.”

He started to walk away but Annabeth followed. “Yes, you can!” she protested. “Percy saved the Gods, he saved you. He’s the only reason Camp Halfblood accepts Nico. He deserves a better life than what he got.”

“He… he made his choices,” he said, though he didn’t sound confident. It reminded her of what her mother said. Annabeth thought that was bullshit. He made his choices based on the circumstances. He would’ve never willingly chosen this life to begin with, none of them would.

“Do it to spite Zeus, then,” she tried. “This eternal feud with your brothers – this would piss them off pretty good!”

Hades stopped, like he was considering it. The silence grew longer and Annabeth was almost worried she’d crossed some line. But then he turned.

“Okay.”

She blinked. “Okay?” she asked.

Hades nodded. “You make good points. He saved us and he’s befriended Nico, I do appreciate those things,” he said. He grinned, a sight that sent shivers up her spine. His smile had an unintentional (or at least she hoped it was unintentional) evil to it that she didn’t like. “And it would be very satisfying to anger my brothers.”

Annabeth was stunned. This has been her entire goal but she was shocked it had actually worked. After what happened on Olympus, she had expected to walk out of there empty-handed.

“Th-thank you, Lord Hades,” she stuttered. “I can’t thank you enough. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

He nodded once before flicking his wrist. In a cloud of dark smoke, Percy appeared in the room with them. He was translucent but other than that, he looked just as he had before. Hades held up a hand to stop her from rushing forward. “You’ll walk right through him,” he said with a dark chuckle.

Percy stared at her, disoriented. Hades flicked his wrist again and Percy jolted, his body becoming solid again. Annabeth looked at Hades, who then rolled his eyes. “Go ahead.”

Annabeth launched forward, tackling Percy in a hug. He was still confused but his arms tightened around her. “Oh my Gods,” she mumbled. “I got you. You’re safe.”

“Annabeth?” he whispered, starting to regain his senses. She stepped back to cup his face.

“Yeah, Perce. It’s me. You’re safe.”

“I don’t,” he trailed off, blinking at Hades. “You brought me back?”

“Your girlfriend was very insistent,” he replied with a shrug. Annabeth almost laughed. Percy blinked again.

“Thank you, Lord Hades,” he stuttered. “Thank you so much.”

The God nodded. “If you die again, you’re on your own,” he said with a smile. Another twisted-looking one that made Annabeth shiver.

She hugged Percy close again and they heard Hades sigh. “Okay, you guys are gross,” he said. It almost sounded like he was… teasing them? Annabeth laughed quietly, her cheeks flushing as she stepped back.

“Thank you again, my Lord,” she said. “We’re indebted to you.”

“Considering it a favor,” he replied. “Now get out of here.”

His wrists flicked and Annabeth was suddenly enveloped in darkness. Her eyes fluttered open, and she and Percy were standing at the New York entrance to the Underworld. With a delirious laugh, she tackled him in another hug. One that sent them sprawling into the grass. “Oh my fucking Gods,” she said, pulling him as close as she could.

“Annabeth,” he murmured, digging his face into her neck. She pulled back enough to cup his face.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he replied, staring up at her in awe. “You got me out, Beth.”

“I know,” she said. Her emotions started to creep back up her throat and suddenly she was crying again. “But still. You- you died. That-“

“Wasn’t your fault,” he said, cutting her off. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Annabeth pressed her forehead to his. “I couldn’t do this life without you. I didn’t want to.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

Annabeth sniffled and nodded before standing up, pulling him with her. “We should go see your mom,” she said. Percy’s eyes widened and something in him broke.

“Yeah,” he agreed. They walked there and she told him everything that had happened the past week or so. Getting out of Tartarus, defeating Gaia, visiting Sally, and then storming Olympus. He listened silently, their hands locked between them. Part of her was afraid to let go, as though this were some dream and he’d vanish if she released him.

They were stepping into the elevator, going up to the fourth floor, when Percy let out a quiet breath. “Why am I nervous?” he whispered. “It’s my mom.”

“You haven’t seen her in months, Perce,” Annabeth replied gently. “It’ll be okay.”

“Did you visit her much while I was… gone?” he asked. Annabeth nodded.

“At least once a week before our quest,” she said, a small smile gracing her features. She and Sally had gotten extremely close over the course of Percy’s disappearance. “I even slept in your bed a few nights because I had accidentally ended up staying later than I meant.”

He laughed quietly and dropped her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug. “Thank you,” he whispered. “You probably helped her so much.”

“She helped me,” Annabeth replied. In those months, seeing Sally had kept Annabeth from slipping away entirely. Sally made sure she stayed fed and well. If it hadn’t been for her, Annabeth would’ve withered away.

“I love you.”

Annabeth smiled and as the doors opened, she quickly tilted her head up to kiss him softly. “I love you, too.”

She took his hand again and they walked through the halls. Stopping in front of the door, Annabeth looked up at him. He lifted his hand, paused for just a brief second, and then knocked on the door. Annabeth held his other hand tight as they waited.

The door opened and then Sally Jackson was in front of them. Her hair was in a loose bun and her eyes were red. She stared at Percy, who was crying again. Honestly, Annabeth felt a bit like crying herself. “Mom,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

In an instant, their arms were wrapped around each other. It was a little funny now that Percy was taller, but that didn’t stop Annabeth from tearing up.

“My baby,” Sally murmured. “I love you so much, oh Gods.”

Annabeth saw Percy’s shoulders shake with silent sobs. Sally’s eyes opened just for a second, but she caught sight of Annabeth and regained enough sense to pull away. “Come inside, let’s get out of the hall.”

They were ushered inside and Percy was being wrapped up in another tight hug. Annabeth excused herself quietly, trailing down to the bathroom to wipe her tears away. She was so overwhelmed with emotion and she wanted to give them a moment alone.

When she returned, they had seemingly just broken apart. Sally turned that warm, loving gaze on Annabeth now and swept her up a hug. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” she said, and Annabeth melted. And then, much quieter, Sally whispered, “Thank you.”

Annabeth nodded and hugged her tighter. She caught Percy’s eye over Sally’s shoulder and he smiled at her. His mother had always loved Annabeth, but it must’ve been interesting to see how much closer they had gotten over the last year. Sally pulled away and looked at both of them.

“Well,” she said, huffing out a disbelieving laugh as she wiped her tears. “We should order some pizza and talk. Paul will be home in about an hour.”

They sat in the living room, Annabeth tucked into Percy’s side and she told Sally about what happened on Olympus and in the Underworld. She looked impressed at Annabeth’s determination. “Well,” Sally said with a gentle laugh. “At least I know I can count on you to take care of him.”

Annabeth wanted to cry. She had always been the one who was supposed to take care of Percy, and yet she had let him die. Instead of crying, because Gods, was she tired of it, she lifted her eyes to Percy. He was already looking back at her.

“Yeah, someone has to,” she said softly. Percy kissed her head.

“I’m glad it’s you, then,” he whispered.

Just then, the door opened and Percy tensed. “Honey?” Paul called out and Sally smiled.

“In the living room.”

“Did you end up…” he trailed off when he entered the room and his eyes landed on Percy. His bag, filled with school papers and his laptop, fell to the ground. “P-Percy?”

In a flash, Percy was off the couch and pulled into another hug. He and Paul had always been decently close, with maybe a hint of natural awkwardness settled between them. After being gone for so long, though, any residual tension had disappeared and they both seemed perfectly comfortable in a hug.

When Paul finally pulled back, he looked at Percy, then Annabeth, then Sally. “I don’t… understand.”

Sally laughed gently. Her mood had improved greatly since they had gotten to the apartment, for obvious reasons. “Come sit,” she said.

Halfway through retelling the story, the pizza got there and Sally brought it into the living room for all of them to dig into. Afterward, Paul nodded slowly. “This was definitely an interesting family to marry into.”

Annabeth laughed quietly and leaned further into Percy. She only had the stomach capacity for a single slice of pizza right now, despite not eating nearly enough the past few months. In a moment of bravery, she tilted her head up to brush her lips against his ear. “Good thing I’m already used to how crazy this family can be.”

His eyes snapped to hers and she smiled slowly. She remembered what he’d said about New Rome, how demigods could grow up, get married and start families. She wanted that with him and she wanted to be sure he knew that. Judging by the way he kissed her, in full view of his parents, she was fairly confident that he knew.

They stayed there on the couches for a while, catching up. Conversation rarely ceased and Annabeth smiled more in those couple hours than she had in the last six months. It was only about 8:30 when Percy had yawned for the millionth time. “Tired?” she asked gently.

He nodded, leaning against. She looked at Sally. “This one is about to pass out on me,” Annabeth said, nudging Percy who hummed. “We’re gonna head to bed.”

“Okay,” Sally said before getting up with them and wrapping Percy in another hug. Annabeth heard her whisper, “I’m glad you’re home,” to Percy.

“Me too,” he replied before pulling back. Sally didn’t hesitate to hug Annabeth again.

“I love you guys,” she said when she released Annabeth.

“Love you,” Annabeth said softly, smiling. Percy echoed the same sentiment, taking her hand and leading her down the hall.

Once they were safely in his room, he quietly locked the door and turned to her. “You know, if this demigod stuff doesn’t work out for me, I could be an actor.”

Annabeth raised her eyebrows. “Why’s that?”

His hands slipped under her hoodie, finding her waist and he pulled her closer. “I’m not tired,” he murmured, brushing his lips against hers. “I just missed you.”

“While I was right next to you?”

“Mhm,” he hummed. “I missed kissing you. Thought I’d have to wait a long time to be able to do that again. And now I’m back, and we’ve barely gotten to do any kissing.”

Annabeth couldn’t help the way her lips twitched upwards. “You would’ve waited that long to kiss me again?” she asked softly.

“I’d wait a million lifetimes if it meant I got to kiss you again,” he replied, his voice devoid of teasing. Finally, he was done with talking and he leaned down to press his lips to hers. Annabeth’s arms snaked up around his neck and she pulled him closer. Walking her backward towards the bed, he muttered against her lips, “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” she replied.

Annabeth hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the simple act of kissing him until now. All she wanted to do was get wrapped up in his touch, which wasn’t wise with his parents being down the hall.

For once, however, she decided as she pulled him into the bed with her, wisdom could wait.

#percabeth #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #annabeth chase #hoo #heroes of olympus #fic #gray writes

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ktheist · 3 years

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2 | all yours to enjoy [m]

title inspired by blackpink’s sure thing cover.

⟶ read part one, play me like a toy, here.

muses. heiress!reader x ex-mafia!hoseok

genre. age gap factor. chaebol-mafia au. arranged marriage au. modern au.

warning. implied smut, mentions of gun use and all that mafia shizz

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs.

synopsis.

“marry me or be killed.”

“is there a third option?”

“we fucked but you were too drunk to remember so that option’s invalid.”

the carved name above the handle points in wayward angles. as if made by a child.

well, 5 year-old-you lacked tact. and a sense of artistry but nobody dared insult the work of the only daughter of the han group.

the room hoseok stepped in feels familiar yet foreign at the same time. it’s been years, but the pink unicorn plushie still sits on your bed like it’s waiting for you to climb in and cuddle it every night.

the pastel peach walls have been repainted in a deep maroon shade. at your order, hoseok suspects. it’s as if you’ve renounced that childish innocence and took on a blood oath for the han family name.

much of that youthful wander in your eyes has disappeared.

‘it was my fault, i shouldn’t have left her all alone in this wretched place,’ hoseok surly thought to himself.

before he can even think about how inappropriate his actions are - to have stepped into a woman’s room without a reason - a surprised voice echoes from the door adjacent to where he’s standing.

“hoseok...” you’re standing there, in front of the ajar bathroom door, with a pristine white towel around your body and another wrapped around your head, water dripping from the stray strand that manages to escape from your towel turban.

perhaps he had a reason, after all.

perhaps he just wants to see you, the person who coerced him to come back to this god forsaken house where he’s seen more deaths than his fingers could count.

“i’m sorry- i didn’t know you were taking a bath-” hoseok didn’t even manage to take a step back when you shake your head, a smile he’s not used to seeing curved on your lips.

“it’s fine, come in. close the door behind you.”

when he remains frozen in his spot, hand on the handle that seems to seep cold, icy frost into his palm - you raise a pair of trimmed brows, “what? we’re getting married, aren’t we? you forgot but you’ve seen all of me,” a coquettish smile on your lips, “don’t tell me you’re getting all shy now after announcing to the entire head of families that they should sleep with one eye open.”

the funeral had been handled by uncle jihoon, your father’s right hand man and most trusted confidant. he probably cleaned up the skeletons in your father’s closet more times than you’d met your own father in your 25 years of living.

your father had enemies and someone had to get rid of them.

such was the ways of the hans.

yeojun was yours and sehun was chanyeol’s.

hoseok was meant to step in once uncle jihoon resigned since at an early age, he’d gathered enough support to ruin the whole nation. his only fault was being loyal to your father, han jiseok.

and it was his loyalty that made your father drive him away.

because no matter when hoseok was and what he was doing, he’d never betray the hans.

“he’s just a kid,” you’d once heard him say to uncle jihoon.

several months later, he’d announced at the annual family gathering that hoseok got into yonsei university as a business major. it also meant that his ties with the han group would cease to orphan student-influential family sponsors. every record of his existence was wiped clean. he was no longer the child uncle jihoon took in because he pitied hoseok’s miserable state of living. he’d come to your house in tattered clothes and a bluing bruise on his cheek.

jung hoseok was meant to carry half of the burden of the head of family until the true heirs grew up and learned the ropes of leading the han group.

in short, hoseok was a proxy. a stand-in who gathered a little too many support that threatened the powers of the actual heirs.

their bow lingered longer, as if they were thanking the gods for bringing him back just as they’d lost a great leader.

you didn’t mind though. you liked hoseok - he was the only one that didn’t look at you like you were a prophecy of death. a child who’d grow up just as wicked as her father.

he’d looked at you like a human.

han jiseok took a liking to hoseok, the loyal dog of the han family that would drive a fist into someone’s gut at the command of the head or any of his heirs. hoseok wouldn’t question it either - why he was beating someone up half-dead, he just... did it.

so when that jung hoseok who got cut off from the han family at chanyeol’s whining over how his succession would not be supported by the branch families if hoseok were to remain as the stand in - came back and announced first thing after his return, his engagement to the heiress of han group, naturally, all hell broke lose.

hoseok had stood by your side as you’d kept your head low, the black veil covering your eyes and nose did well to hide your dry gaze.

true to his reputation, as soon as he stepped into the mansion with you, the men who swore their loyalty to the han family, one by one, started bowing at hoseok whilst the heads of the vassal families started whispering among themselves.

“hoseok, the loyal dog? that’s him?”

“did the boss ever say who was going to inherit the family business?”

family business was just a white washed term of the commercial front of han group that was meant to blur the eyes of the korean government on what truly goes on underground.

“the attorney hasn’t been found, right? that means nobody here knows the contents of the will.”

“did he ever mention chanyeol would inherit the business?”

“____’s achievements aren’t something to be turned a blind eye on either.”

one of the heads of the branch approached you, he smiled too sweetly on the day of his principal’s passing. rubbed his hands together schemingly as he murmured words of condolences that sounded like congratulations, “the boss suffered for so long from leukemia, the gods must’ve answered his prayer. i’m sorry for your loss, miss ____.”

foolish fiend.

kang sungho was chanyeol’s uncle from his mother’s side. he was the head of one of the closest branch family who’d swore loyalty to the han’s. yet he acted like a stranger who didn’t have anything to do with his brother-in-law’s passing.

“say, hoseok, you’re here too,” sungho didn’t even wait for you to respond - perhaps he thought you were too in shock to say anything, “it’s been a while, thank you for coming even though you have no relation with han group anymore.”

just like that, sungho made a u-turn and spoke on the behalf of han group.

your hand that you didn’t even know was balled up into a fist shook silently - that was, until hoseok slipped and grasped it with his large hand as he lowered his head in a nod.

“it’d always been my intention to come back to serve the new boss,” his hand had left you to wrap his arm around your shoulders, “well, a husband is a slave to his wife, anyway, right?”

it was clear from what hoseok said that he didn’t mean chanyeol was the soon-to-be wife.

you’d sent yeojun to the hospital to confirm your father’s status while you’d met up with an - well, you were holding her son and husband hostage if she didn’t corporate but still - acquaintance who works at the korean embassy to speed up the marriage registration process.

it was when you were walking out of the embassy and to the car that hoseok slips his hand in yours and murmurs to himself.

but you’d heard every word of it, “your hands are trembling. you’ve never shot a man, have you?”

a sense of melancholy paints his face as his grasp tightens on your hand, as if saying ‘sorry i left you all alone in that house.’

you shook it off, heart too dried and withered to ponder on what he’d thought. thoughts of you father filling your heart.

no ceremony, no nothing.

and now you’re married.

the hoseok from just hours ago stood with his back straight and an ease in his aura. yet his presence alone was enough to make even the eldest of the head bow to him.

“are you... are you okay?” this hoseok asks you with hesitance in his voice.

“what makes you think i’m not?” you amble to the bed and drop your towel, letting it pool around your ankle.

there’s no mistaken low breath hoseok let out at the sight of your naked body. as if he’s a teenage school kid who’s never seen the body of a woman.

“do you mind zipping this up for me?” you say, standing with your exposed back on him, damp hair pulled to drape over your shoulder and chest.

hoseok lets out a cough. as if to announce that he was in the room and he was coming closer.

the fingerpads feels callous against your skin. you have to remind yourself to breathe through your nose than hold it in until your lungs feel like they’re about to burst.

hoseok takes his sweet, leisure time tracing down his index finger down your spine to get to the zipper. and when he does, he drags it up in an agonizingly slow pace, the grazing sound it makes causing the hairs on your neck to stand.

“skip the after-reception... you look tired,” he says after his hand falls away from your body and you’re suddenly missing what warmth it provides, like a flame that thaws the ice in your heart.

a dry laugh escapes you, “the elders are finally looking at me as an heiress, you know i can’t afford to slip out of the spotlight on the pretense of fatigue.”

before hoseok can offer any response, you twirl around, arms banding around his waist and bare face buried in his chest.

“hold me like you used to when i woke up from a nightmare and i’ll be fine,” the remnant of your sob threatens to spill from your mouth - true, you didn’t shed a single tear when you arrived late at night at the hospital.

the death of your father had been announced at 1703 hour.

but it’s only ever sunk in that the only family you have is gone - once you’ve left to your own devices to take a bath and change into new clothes before the after reception begins.

it’s then, that the waterworks began to pour over your cheeks without any hints of stopping.

hoseok must have seen the aftermath of your puffed, pink eyes when you stepped out of the bathroom, not expecting for anyone to be there except the silence.

a pair of strong, secure arms wrap around your body wordlessly. hoseok tilts his head so his cheek is pressed against the side of your head.

“you grew a few inches,” his husked voice brushes your ear like a dream you’d never want to wake up from.

a small laugh escapes you, “oh come on, i got more than my height on me but you-”

hoseok groans and you clamp your mouth shut, chuckling.

“i’m sorry,” he confesses, a treasure trove of remorse laced around those two little words.

all of a sudden, guilt gnaws at your conscience for having teased him too many times about forgetting something he couldn’t control, “don’t say sorry,” you mumble, “now i feel bad.”

“i used to tease you a lot about your obsession for ponies and unicorns.” his voice drums in your ears.

“i used to fantasize about finding a unicorn in the forest behind our beach house and beating chanyeol at a race someday,” without you realizing it, your cheeks are hurting from how wide you’re smiling.

silence lapses around you.

but it has no space in between your flushed bodies. you hear hoseok’s unusually fast heartbeat.

“you’ve changed...” you murmur, somber.

“i did?” he sounds melancholic, as if reminiscing about the days in this household.

chasing after the troublemaker daughter that always thinks they’re playing hide-and-seek. beating and threatening any rival members he sees hovering around the han group’s territorial influence.

“i didn’t say i don’t like the new you,” you tear your face off his chest, tilting your chin to gaze up to his warm eyes that appear deep brown under these fluorescent lights.

standing on the tip of your toes, you peck his lips lightly.

a sweet smile plays on your lips.

‘yeah, his lips are as soft as they look,’ you affirm.

it’s the way his eyelids cover his eyes as he blinks. the way his lips part as if surprised at the sudden, unannounced advancement. the way the realization seems to sink in that there was nothing stopping you from kissing him again-

an index finger presses against your pouted lips as you stand on the tips of your toes once again.

“it’s dangerous...” is all he offers.

but with the way his gaze becomes hooded as the chains of self-restraint shackles his hands and ankles, you think you know what he means.

instead of offering an answer, you sweep your tongue over the length of his digit, mouth opening to lightly bite his finger all the while gazing into his stormy eyes.

“guess i’m just a little kitten compared to the wolves in that room full of old wolves to you, huh?”

once the storm passes, his gaze becomes hooded with something - something you can’t pinpoint.

yet you let him slide his finger deeper into your mouth, feeling the soft pink flesh of your tongue on his fingertip.

you flutter your lashes skittishly, hand pushing the hair to the back of your ear as you lick a strip down his finger like you would his other head. but the rap on your door and the “miss ____, it’s yeojun,” coming from the other side almost sends your heart leaping into your throat.

you suck in a deep breath around hoseok’s finger before pulling away and stepping to the side, completely aware of the sexual tension that hovers in the air like thick, dark clouds.

“yeojun, is everyone here?” your gaze is fixed on the handle that your hand’s reaching out for.

“everything’s set, we’re waiting on the priest to arrive,” his voice sounds muffled through the door.

you step out of the door with half-damp hair and a face bare of make up whilst patting down the skirt of your dress.

but it’s not your half-as-acceptable appearance that makes yeojun stare at you for five solid seconds.

rather, he’s staring at something behind you as you feel the warmth of a body heat against your back.

“i’ll be the one escorting my fiance, yeonjun.”

he speaks casually despite yeojun being older than him and yet it felt natural. hoseok holds out his arm for you as yeojun stepped back with a bow, making way for you and hoseok to walk down the hallway leading to the flight of stairs where the main hall would be.

“god, i hate ties,” hoseok murmurs under his breath from next to you, nimble fingers pulling on his collar.

“you wear it well for someone who claims to hate going around in crisp button downs and shiny leather loafers,” a smile tugs on the corners of your lips.

chanyeol finally stepped away with the madam for some fresh air. maybe the death glares she’d been shooting you since you arrived - has finally got the world spinning behind her eyes.

“was the only option an orphaned nobody like me had when i was offered to work a nine to five,” he says casually, still fumbling with his tie.

your hand feels like a child’s when you place it on his. he pauses, gazing down at you before letting his hand fall on his side whilst yours remain on the knot of his necktie.

“may i?”

hoseok’s head moves, not quite a nod but not a shake of ‘no’ either. so you take out the pin from your hair that yeojun fetched from your room after your hair started falling into your face with every head bow you made in front of the guest. undoing the knot on hoseok’s tie, you slip the pin between the knot before looping the end over the knot and patting it down once you’re done.

the ‘how did you learn to do that’ look that hoseok shoots you makes you laugh. he’s both impressed and suspicious.

“my mom-” the one who’s confined to the house your father give and can’t even attend her late husband’s memorial service, reception and after reception, “-taught me all the things i needed to know to be the ‘perfect’ wife.”

“never pegged you for someone who’d obediently absorb her teachings,” he comments.

back then, you were as ruthless and spoiled as they come. the fine lines on your mother’s forehead was probably caused by your bursts every time she tried to push her views on you.

“a year after you left the seong’s proposed for our families to join together... they had a son and daddy had a daughter at his disposal... i was preparing to be a bride because that’s all people around me made my life to be until i just... had enough of being treated like a doll. so i cut a deal with seong joongki, got rid of his dad so he could step up as head, we remained engaged until i turned 18 and broke it. now he’s one of the people i know i can count on,” a shrug of your shoulder and you look up to him, locking his gaze with yours.

“seong, huh?” hoseok scanned the faces of the guests behind you, eyes narrowed like a hawk before they paused on something.

his gaze returns to you, an overly sweet smile appearing on his face as his dimples dig into his cheeks, “people like him cut and run when things get messy.”

you laugh, it sounds tired, but it’s still laugh, “if he does, i’d be the one to tell him to.”

“and i’ll put a bullet in his head if you didn’t,” he says words of murder like a romantic confession as he gazes into your eyes like there’s no where he’d rather be.

that is, until an unfamiliar voice calls the husband of the heiress by his name.

“namjoon,” hoseok hugs the chairman of kimcorp. for a lingering moment as the man pats his back once, as if unspeakingly consoling him.

kim namjoon, the second child and heir of kimcorp. and hoseok’s college friend and boss who booked a sudden trip back to seoul at the news of the head of the han group’s passing.

though the later generation washed their hands off the dirty work that got them where they are, they still remember their roots.

when they break apart, hoseok turns to you, arm around your waist, “___, this namjoon. namjoon- ___... my wife.”

hearing the word ‘wife’ slip out of hoseok’s mouth warms your heart yet makes your stomach knot painfully. ironic how you’d want to believe the heartrendering way he introduced you to be anything more than the act you told him to put on.

“ah,” kim namjoon narrows his eyes at you, as if shifting through his memories, “the kid hoseok babysat.”

the disparaging regard to your status as heiress tells you enough what this so-called friend of hoseok thinks of you.

“the friendless nerd hobi befriended out of pity,” you state, flashing you best smile.

a nod from his side. as if saying ‘touché’.

“ah, mrs. aera didn’t come?” hoseok asks, eyes searching the crowd until namjoon shakes his head, a meaningful smile playing on his lips.

“she’s too tired so i told her to rest at home,” he says and hoseok nods, as if understanding the underlying reason that kim aera is missing from honoring the master his husband’s family’s served for generations.

the kim’s are one of the oldest families that was tied down to han group by an oath. your great great great grandfather helped his great grandfather build the legacy the kim’s found themselves on now.

though the later generation washed their hands off the dirty work that got them where they are, they still remember their roots.

he steps away, greeting chanyeol and han chohee, your father’s legal wife before meandering away and keeping out of the spotlight for the rest of the night while you amble languidly with your hand on hoseok’s arm, exchanging pleasantries with the guests like it’s a wedding rather than a funeral until it’s time for the head of the family to gather in the boardroom.

everywhere you and hoseok goes, eyes follow. those who you approach tenses up while they wear their best smiles and utter words of sweet saccharine but as soon as the attorney turns up, you have no sliver of doubt that these people will be the first to vote for your head if it turns out the will appoints chanyeol as the next and rightful heir of han group.

those who you pass by end up with twisted faces. they’re the acquaintances of the han group, loyal to no master - the actual people who’d cut and run.

“mr. jee,” the middle aged man with too big of a nose and overbearing personality turns his full attention to you after hoseok was done talking about the stock market he’d been investing in, “a friend of mine, doctor maria wong, is a skin specialist who just received the asan award in medicine for her recent findings, i can introduce you to her, if you’d like.”

the youngest jee suffers from a rare skin condition which is why she never attended any social functions. they claimed she got accepted to a boarding school in europe when she was actually getting treated in one of the most prestigious private hospitals in the world in switzerland.

the situation is kept under wraps. you lost one of your holiday villas for this piece of information.

“o-oh, yes,” it takes a moment of him staring at you like you’re emitting halo from your body before he stammers back to life, “i- we,” he looks at his wife who shares the same hopeful gleam, “would really like that.”

“one down... tens more to go,” hoseok murmurs under his breath when you walk away from the couple, “you’re pretty good this ‘you know whose side you should be on, don’t you’ kind of threat.”

“i threatened the jung hoseok to marry me, this is child’s play,” you shoot him a coquettish smile, not expecting for him to lean down to your ear and whisper lowly.

“the lock was on the whole time,” he chuckles as he straightens his back at the announcement summoning all the heads of the families present, its representative, the children of the han’s and their spouses to the meeting room.

hoseok pulls out a pair of tucson, ariz’s tucked behind him and places them on the metal tray soobin’s holding out. he slips a hand under his suit, pulling out a revolver from his shoulder holster you didn’t even know he had on. then, two grenades from each of his pockets like he’s taking out a piece of candy. a foldup knife from the pocket of his blazer.

red lights go off when he walks past the metal detector, cursing to himself before he shoots you a sheepish look - the one the new hoseok would - and bends down before pulling out two kolibri the size of your palm and appear like toy guns in hoseok’s that was strapped on both his ankles.

one of your father’s men manually hovers a handheld metal detector and scans him from head to toe before giving him the greenlight to walk into the room just as kang sungho screams, “i’m the uncle of the future head, you’ll regret this!”

you roll your eyes at the old man’s outburst, taking out the dagger strapped to your thigh and pretending to not notice hoseok’s ogling at your exposed thighs when the dress rides up.

“bringing a knife to a gun fight - ballsy,” hoseok murmurs under his breath, his words meant only for you as you join his side, both of you stepping into the still-empty boardroom as the heads of the branch families you pass by grumble to themselves, pulling out the weapons they have on them and piling the tray in front of them.

one even pulled out a bandolier wrapped underneath his coat. the others merely have a pile of handguns and revolvers on their tray.

“oh, i brought something better,” you feel your lips stretching into a smirk as hoseok pushes the chair behind you before slipping in the one next to you, inquisitive eyes boring into yours.

a peck lands on his lips as you giggle at the way his eyes go wide for the briefest moment.

“tch,” someone says as they pass you and hoseok. chanyeol sits across from you, glare digging holes into your skull as he looks at you as if you were guM under his sole.

“please, tell me you have a plan that involves me driving my fist in his face,” hoseok’s low voice sends shivers down your spine.

it takes a moment for you to grasp that his statement needs a response.

“even better,” you murmur, head tilted to him, “you’ll get to do whatever you want with him after we walk out of this room.”

“we can’t go on without a leader for longer than 48 hours!” kang sungho smacks his pudgy fist against the clear glass surface of the oval table.

“we get your frustrations head family kang, but we need to locate attorney hyeon first,” seong joongki speaks informally to the man 20 years his senior and kang sungho can only grit his teeth.

in this room, no peerage title exists. every head is equal and that means every single person here is below you and chanyeol, the heir and heiress of han group.

“for all we know, attorney hyeon could be dead,” ahn sujin glances around the room, meeting every eye of the head until her gaze rests on you, “they found traces of tires on the road and a wrecked tree trunk a few feet away.”

“are you saying attorney hyeon got into an accident on the way here but someone quickly moved the car and bodies as if they were planned it, auntie sujin?” chanyeol baritone cuts through the tense air.

he throws you a side glance as he sits at the end of the oval table where your father and his father and his father’s father sat, bearing the weight of a legacy as old and majestic as the royal family had they survived all these years. the audacity of this man you call a brother walked straight up to the seat your father used to occupy and plopped down as if he owned it.

“the crash mark in the bark of the tree was still fresh,” ahn sujin nods.

“well...” at the sound of your voice, the whole room falls silent, “let’s ask him shall we?”

soobin, nods at you like he’s known your ways for years. he pulls out a remote and the tv screens tacked behind the leader’s seat.

the screen flashes with a picture of uncle jihoon getting into a sleek black car with the plate number HG that only you, chanyeol, the madam and your father have access to.

a blurred buzzing echoes against the soundproof walls of the boardroom before it gradually becomes clearer.

“...get the names?” a deep voice asks - the owner sitting directly across from you stares with knitted brows as he focuses on the familiar sound.

“a-... -re you... sure about...? ...involve ...your mother’s family...” uncle jihoon’s dialect wrapped around the syllables of the words, giving out who that voice belongs to.

he used to be proud of where he came from and wore his dialect like a medal.

“..-actly, they’re my mom’s family. not mine. ‘sides, kang sungho’s been clinging onto dad like a fucking leech even though he knows there’s nothing he can offer us that we want.”

silence fills the audio.

hoseok’s hand slips over yours, as if reminding you to let out that breath you’ve been holding.

chanyeol’s jaw tightens as he shoots daggers at you with his eyes.

“the names, uncle.” a sense of urgency laces around chanyeol’s voice.

“th-the kang’s, byun’s and ahn’s agreed to get molly to the scorpios in thailand on 23rd of april on flight ka8792 at 2:35 pm.” uncle jihoon says after a heartbeat.

each of the families listed are known for either their couture designs that receive orders from ministers’ wives all over the world, custom made colognes or either owns five star hotels in south korea and overseas.

“this isn’t enough, you think the cops are gonna believe all we have is the names of families involved in some mid level drug smuggling? my reputation’s on the line here.”

“a-and a fishing vessel will be making port at around 3 in the morning five days from now. it’s owned by the cha’s, they’ve been using it to smuggle meth and hide it under the hauls of fish they caught.”

the cha’s hold the monopoly to the wet market business.

“that’ll do for now, get out.”

the audio cuts off and the screens begin to move again, this time showing shots of chanyeol and a man in his 40′s sitting across from each other, having coffee.

shifting your hand so your palm is facing up in hoseok’s, you slip your fingers in the gap of his longer ones.

“that’s detective kim namseok and my beloved brother having brunch together - that’s right, chanyeol with the held of uncle jihoon, sold the kang’s, byun’s, ahn’s and cha’s off in his grand scheme of getting the leader position in exchange for police immunity for the han group... oops?” your lips purse into a mocking pout.

“lies! you know how much this bitch wanted to take over han group!” chanyeol roars, pushing himself off the chair and turning to face the wide-eyed gazes and dropped jaws of the heads of the families.

“i-i was b-blackmailed...” uncle jihoon stares at his reflection in the table, as if in a whole different world, “i-it’s not my fault! the young master threatened me!”

“let’s ask the detective shall we? since it’s been proven that men from the han group have a hard time believing the women’s words,” you roll your eyes.

the screen flashes with an dark, barren room with nothing but a man tied to a chair in the middle of it. his head is hung low but there’s no mistaking the sight of blood covering his face and shirt.

the ghost scent of the blood makes your stomach churn yet you wear the malicious smile of someone who’s about to grasp the very thing she desires - perfectly.

“he’s a little... tied up. we caught him just in time before he called up his partner and spilled everything your darling heir provided.”

“uh, hello? are we live?” a cautious, brittle-like voice echoes from the intercom as a man with greying hair enters the frame as he adjusts his glasses to sit higher on his nose bridge.

“attorney hyeon, you’re live,” you affirm, smiling tightly.

“ah, good evening,” a light of recognition glints in the man’s eyes as he smiles, bowing deeply before straightening his back and backing up until he’s standing next to the half-conscious detective, “i apologize for not being able to attend the meeting myself. i got into an accident, drugged and would have had my nails pulled out if miss han didn’t come to my rescue and brought me here.”

“argh... a... ah...” the detective interjects, groaning.

attorney hyeon laughs calmly as if he didn’t just hear the bloodied and bruised man asking for help.

“in my hands here, i have the contents of the will which i will now have my... uh, assistant-bodyguard share it to the screen and send to your phones... are you sure... they’re sent?” his voice becomes quieter whilst phones and tablets begin to ding with a notification simultaneously.

“... the three holiday villas in incheon, jeju and daegu will respectively go to the madam...” he begins listing out the properties owned by your late father and the distribution of a portion of it to the madam and your mother.

no one interjects even though attorney hyeon’s voice seems to drone on and one despite the tape and audio that leaves everyone on the edge of their seats.

“...and for matters regarding the succession of the new head, the boss, han jiseok, wishes a fair voting system be used to decide whether mr. han chanyeol or miss han ___ will take the position a starting a month after his death.” by the end of it, the room is deathly silent as if a pin drop would echo like thunder in this spacious room.

“the heir and heiress are given three months for them to prove themselves to the vassals and in the absence of a leader, jung hoseok will be appointed as proxy-”

at that, the whole room breaks out into a roar.

“jung hoseok hasn’t stepped foot in han manor for over fifteen years!”

“miss ___ and hoseok are married! this will lead to unfair results!”

a screech against the floor as a chair falls over.

“you still want to support the son of a bitch that’s willing to sell all of us out to the blue bastards?!”

“who’s to say the young master’s not selling out the names of sons of bitches like you who switches sides the first chance you have!”

in the midst of the shouting, chairs screeching and the elderly lawyer trying to gain calm the elders, chanyeol turns to you with the eyes of a man who’s watching his legacy fall right in his very eyes.

“i should’ve left you in the forest when we got lost 15 years ago,” he reaches for something behind his back.

you recall the brother with scratches all over his body, the sun was setting and his back had looked broad for your 8 year old self. you were just two kids who lost their way, slipped and fall in the forest not too far from the family villa.

that same brother is holding a gun to your face.

hoseok takes a long whiff of the cigarette that sits in between his index and middle fingers.

“that was a shitstorm,” someone laughs from behind him - your voice sounds oddly free for someone who’s about to either get hexed or get worshipped within three months.

the curve of smile on your lips makes him smile too. he breathes out, laughing, “yeah...”

“do you mind sharing?”

hoseok blinks once. then he regains his senses, looking at the smoldering bud and tapping the middle part of the cigarette with the tip of his index finger to get the ash off so it wouldn’t hurt you if it fell.

“yeah... here.” he pushes down the wince that comes from the slightest strain of passing the cigarette to you.

the way your eyes linger on the clean white bandage on his arm tells him you’re not fooled by his unfazed mask. yet you don’t say anything, your eyes flutter close as your matte burgundy lips wrap around the beige colored bud and inhale.

when chanyeol pulled out the gun, hoseok tried to reason him out of it. promises were made at the expense of his own life. all that, in exchange for yours. in the fleeting moment that chanyeol took to consider pointing the gun at hoseok, you find your opening, shoving his hand upward and hitting that spot in his rib.

the bullet didn’t hit you but it grazed hoseok’s arm. he was standing right next to you.

And hoseok has a brand new pack of cigarettes in his pocket along with an electric lighter - he’d probably grab them both in one grasp if he slipped his hand in his pocket now.

for some reason, he takes the cigarette you pass and takes a good, long whiff out of it.

“did you know?” the puffs of smoke pass through your mouth as you speak and breathe out.

“when i left, boss told me that i should be ready to drop everything i have... everything i am at any moment... they would have dragged me back one way or another and it’s not gonna be with a gun with its safety lock on if i didn’t walk in on my own accords,” hoseok taps the ashes off a second time, watching them flutter down and settle in between the green blades of grass.

a sense apprehension follows your nod as you stare at your reflection in your polished pumps, “after all this... after i convince the vassals, i’ll make sure you walk out of this alive. heck, i’ll sign the divorce papers today-”

the half of the unsmoked cigarette hits the ground.

hoseok finds himself swallowing the gasp that slips out of your lips at his sudden movement. you freeze underneath his fingertips like the ice you build in your heart but you don’t push him away and hoseok takes that as a maybe.

maybe there’s stability in this chaos.

maybe love does bloom in the most desolate place.

he feels his heart leap into his throat when your arm goes around his neck as you kiss him back just as desperately.

maybe, just maybe, you need him as much as he needs you.

the three months fly by with you gathering the majority of the votes by exposing the dirt you have on chanyeol as well as obtaining support from the main branch families by giving them more control over the underground market that was previously monopolized by han group.

though you’re competing with no one, the three month grace period still went on to ease you into the leadership spot.

to keep everything fair, you and hoseok lived apart. him in his apartment he’d been living in up till now and you in one of the holiday villas that your father gifted your mother.

by virtue, you had every right to keep staying in the main mansion as the heiress but chanyeol’s presence was still too strong. his people still lurk behind the mask of the so called loyalty for the han group. he’s locked in one of the safest hideout where only a selected few know where it is. one of them being hoseok. you never asked him what happened with your brother.

that brother of yours was dead to you the moment he pointed a gun at your head.

and with that, you find yourself in a standstill when it comes to your relationship with hoseok.

the last time you mentioned divorce was on the day the will was read. you ended up in one of the empty guest rooms in the mansion because yours was too far away. hoseok fucked you into the silk satin material of the bed like he did that night. as if begging you to keep him - even if it was only for cheap thrills and fleeting passion.

once you stepped out of that room - somewhat presentable and barely any feelings in your leg, so much so, he had to wrap an arm around you to keep you upright - he was whisked away to discuss ground rules of what being the proxy head is entitled.

and that included maintaining a professional - as professional as a mafia leader can be - relationship with the heir and heiress he were to oversee.

once the three months were over, hoseok moved in with you. did all the things married couples would do - attended social functions and established your power as the head and him, the husband of said head. as if saying he had no eye for the position of the head. as if saying if they’d get on their knees and bow down at his will, they better be ready to die for you at his will. only when you’re away on trips overseas, visiting other ruling families in tokyo, hong kong, china and everywhere in asia - would he take over your job.

he kept the men in check and made sure they had a good beating if they went astray. and even then, they’d still follow him to the ends of the earth.

jung hoseok has the full support of the people who swore loyalty to the han family and you have the majority support of the heads of the branch family.

to anyone and everyone, you two make a dangerously powerful couple.

except there’s one problem: you’ve only consummated your marriage once and you can barely kiss your husband without him running away like you’re the literal devil that’s after him.

“h-honey, you’re back,” hoseok stammers, his adam’s apple bobbing as he gazes down at your exposed cleavage that’s pressed up against his body, trapping him between the desk and you.

he looks as if he’s a touch away from losing his mind and fucking you against the table in front of the frames of your predecessors on the wall.

but then his phone vibrates in his pocket and he doesn’t need to take it but he does, a ‘namjoon’ flashing across the screen.

as if seeing a lightbulb go off his head, you shake your head, ‘don’t you dare’.

“i remember taehyun caught the baek’s men in our territory, they’re in the tortu- interrogation room. i was gonna kill them and get rid of their bodies, but since you’re back... i have golf with namjoon, see you tonight.” with that, he kisses you on the corner of your mouth.

in other words, hoseok was saying ‘they’re your problem now, boss.’

“wh-what, jung hoseok, you-!” you manage to yell back but he’s out of the door before you knew it.

hours later, the clock hands strike an hour and a half past midnight as they mock you for making your own husband run away at the sight of you. the door clicks twice as some slips in and shuts it behind them.

you don’t even catch the sound of footsteps as hoseok goes about the room, taking off his shirt and wrapping a towel around his waist. the only indication he’s even here is the body that suddenly freezes up at the sudden flash of light on the nightstand on your side.

“where were you?”

“i was out... golfing... with namjoon...” he drags out the sentence as if his brain short circuited when put in the spotlight in nothing but a flimsy towel around that muscular body of his.

“your wife comes back after two weeks and you decide to go golfing on the very day she touched down?” you say curtly, arms crossed over your lace donned chest.

“i-...” hoseok starts pointing to the open bathroom door behind him that he was about to go in had it not been for your abrupt intervention.

“come here,” you order.

“i just got back and i sweated a lot-” is it the way your eyes bore into his without so much as blinking that makes him clamp his mouth shut?

“yes, ma’am.”

a sigh leaves your lips heartbeats after he comes to stand by the bed, head hanging low like a puppy who knows he’s about to receive a scolding. but you’re not his owner and hoseok’s your husband. your lifetime companion.

“hobi,” the nickname slips out of your mouth without you realizing it as your fingers graze his, tugging on his index finger like a child.

he seems to understand your beckoning, bed dipping when he takes a seat, facing you. it takes everything in you not to let your eyes linger longer than a millisecond at the way the towel ends up stretching, revealing a very noticeable lump protruding in between his thighs.

you clear your throat, mentally chiding yourself for the wave of memories that flood your mind when hoseok is looking at you with attentive eyes. all ears for you.

“for some reason, i feel like you’ve been avoiding me and it’s not just this afternoon. since we started living together... it feels like we’re back to being strangers with memories who happen to have to spend their lives together from now on.” you play with his fingers that you tuck into your lap, heart beating too fast for you to look at him in the eye.

and to think you started off like a lioness prepared for war.

all of a sudden, the temperature of the room drops as you mention the word you promised you’d never utter again since the day of the reading of the will.

“i meant what i said about divorce - monthly alimony until the day you die, a house in gangnam a car with a driver, all expenses paid. and if you find someone and want to start a family with them, i swear on my honor as the head of han group, your family will be protected under our care for as long as i’m alive.”

“i don’t want a divorce.” hoseok says, sounding somewhat hurt.

“then- why-” you begin but he cuts you off with his troubled voice.

“____, i watched over you, i dropped you off and pick you up after school, taught you how to ride a bicycle-”

this time, it’s you who speaks over him,“-ten years ago. hobi -”

i’m an adult who literally knows how to put a bullet in someone’s head.

but you don’t get to say that when hoseok shakes his head.

“do you remember why you started calling me that? because you came home one day and said you learned a new word- hope. you said i was your hope and you were so excited because you could equate a new word to someone you know... someone who’s been like a brother figure to you- how messed up am i to marry the little girl that i watched over and actually desire her as a woman now?”

“so you do see me as a woman.” is all you say.

“is that all you heard, ___?” hoseok’s wide eyed gaze bore into yours, as if disbelieved by your nonchalance.

“it’s the only thing i care about,” you shrug, the easy arrogance almost costing you another ruined relationship but you sigh a second later, eyes fixed on the motionless hand in your lap before you slip your hand in his, holding it like you’re about to commence a thumb war, “i may have acted like a spoiled brat the majority of the time after we met again which is probably why this whole existential crisis is happening right now,” you laugh, “it’s easier to play the role of a bimbo daughter than a strong overbearing heiress. i guess i acted like that for so long, i started becoming that.

your hand lies still in hoseok’s as you look up, meeting his gaze for what it is, “i admit, it’s my fault if you think that my feelings spurred from the fond memories of the only person who treated me like a human.”

“but i assure you, i didn’t get to where i am now because i’m driven by sentiments like hate for chanyeol and everyone who looked down on me nor the love i had for you as a guardian. in life, there’s only one thing i want and that’s to be the head of han group. you’re a chest piece that helps turn the tables around for me but you’re not my only piece.”

the line of hoseok’s shoulders sag, as if hearing the truth hurt him more than the lie convinced himself of.

“choosing to make you my king is entirely up to me... not because of some childhood memory or dependency on a guardian figure like you thought but...” your thumb grazes hoseok’s knuckles as you lift his hand to your lips, pressing a lingering kiss on his knuckles, “we can take it slow, i won’t tease you anymore and you can see for yourself how true my words are.”

“feels like i should be the one saying that,” the lips on your forehead feels warm, spreading through your body like a mid summer’s night.

arms wrap around your body, hugging you to a strong, tight, unclothed chest as your breath hitches in your throat. you raise your hands to return the embrace but decide against it - it feels like a sin to be drooling over hoseok’s abs and greek god-like body when you’ve just promised to stop jumping the gun.

“you smell nice,” you finally cave, slender hands wrap around his naked torso as you breathe in his scent - a faint trace of musk and sea and masculinity.

at that, the body underneath you seems to freeze up, “i-i think i should take that shower now.”

hoseok’s sudden retreat almost has you falling face first into the sheets. you watch as he covers his face with that large, pretty hands of his while his feet carries him into the bathroom door and closes it shut.

the room is silent.

save for the sound of the droplet gathering underneath the tap before hitting the quartz countertop.

hoseok stares at himself in the mirror. lips parted, glazed eyes that are becoming clearer with each passing second as if gradually realizing the sticky situation he found himself in.

the bathroom smells like your favorite floral bath gel but he can still sense the scent of his arousal that, after running the shower head over, finally washed down the drain.

the water was obviously hot. not scalding - hoseok couldn’t take scalding hot showers like you do. but since he’d moved in and after screaming and almost tumbling down to his death if the water didn’t boil him alive first - the next day, he’d found the water to be cooler. warm enough not to make him freeze but not hot enough to have his skin emitting vapor like a half cooked human meat.

but that’s besides the point.

the point is - he’s already had a good, warm shower and jerked himself off but he’s still hard.

it’s the way your delicate frame presses against him when you try to hug him. no- hoseok shakes his head mentally, it’s the way you breathe and compliment his scent which, hoseok is certain, smells like sweat and grass and soil that he rolled over after miserably failing to hit the ball.

he might be well acquainted with riches and luxuries but he’ll get used to these rich people hobby namjoon’s been trying to get him on after his marriage with the head of han group.

these days, it feels like namjoon’s been trying to get hoseok to meet him more than the times they have to actually see each other when he was slaving over his perfectionist ass at work.

before hoseok can even ponder further on namjoon’s unarousing quirks and get his boner down, he hears a rap on the door and a hesitant,“hobi?”

“y-yeah?” ha manages to answer somewhat smoothly.

“i just wanted to say that i can sleep in my old room... if you’re not comfortable sleeping in the same-”

“no!” a rushed rejection, a heart trembling inside a chest.

hands of fear grasps at his wrists and ankles as though if he stayed tight-lipped any longer, he might actually walk out to an empty bedroom with no trace of you at all.

as this is all just one beautiful, tragic dream.

“no, i like sleeping with you.” hoseok slaps himself in the cheek, “i mean i like sleeping next to you... in the same bed.”

the silence seems to stretch on for hours until he hears the giggle coming from the other side of the door - hoseok’s heart warms, you sound like you’re back to yourself, “okay, well, come to bed faster.”

“i will!” he curses himself for that rushed response but you’re probably back in bed with the lights from the nightstand off, probably tired as fuck after a one hour flight back to seoul, having had baek’s men’s territory breach matters shoved into your arms and waiting up on your pitiful husband who was avoiding you over his conflicted conscience.

by the time he’s out of the bathroom, loose pajama pants hanging lowly around his hips, he sees that small lump underneath the blanket, your fetal position telling him you fell asleep facing his side of the bed.

hoseok slips into bed, laying on his side and admiring your pretty lips and thick lashes. his hand clenches and unclenches as if he’s not sure if he should sleep hugging you the way he’s used to.

he caves, hand wrapping around your back as he kisses the top of your head.

unbeknownst to him, you’re still awake. you pretended to be asleep because you didn’t want to make hoseok uncomfortable. but now he’s cuddling you like a child whilst his semi erected head presses against your stomach and it’s kind of too late to say anything.

not to mention, you were a virgin up until awhile ago and you’re not sure if it’s normal for men to be able to hold out this long without fucking their wives or if hoseok’s self-restraint is just over the roof and you’re the one with too high of a libido.

‘damn it, should’ve jumped on his dick before initiating a heart-to-heart.’

#bts fanfic #hoseok fanfic #hoseok fic #bts fic #bts fanfiction #hoseok fanfiction #bts scenarios #hoseok scenarios #hoseok fluff #bts fluff #bts au #hoseok au #bts smut #hoseok smut

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 3 years

Note

Okay because we just watched Bloodsucking Bastards together....how about some smutty Max goodness with him turning the reader 👀🧛🏻‍♂️💋 pretty please with a cherry on top

I told you last night @justanotherblonde23 I was going to write something with Max Phillips and you gave me the perfect excuse you angel. :D Thank you for the request!

Pairing: Max Phillips x F! Reader

Warning: 18+ ONLY NSFW Oral (M & F receiving) Sex

Taglist: @josepedropascal @oldstuffnewstuff @justanotherblonde23 @heythere-mel @yespolkadotkitty @mrschiltoncat

My Masterlist

It Started at the Copy Machine

“Stupid...fucking...thing,” you kick the copier as it beeps and groans before pushing out more blank paper. “Ugh how the hell am I supposed to do my job if I can’t even get the fucking copier to work!?” You aim one more kick at the damn thing before walking towards the bosses office.

You bang on the door not waiting before you let yourself in. The smug bastard grins at you from his chair, feet resting on the desk and texting on his phone. “Mr. Phillips,” you shout before he’s already talking over you.

“Max. I’ve told you to call me Max cupcake,” he shoots his stupid finger guns at you and you roll your eyes groaning.

“Mr. Phillips I cannot do my job without the proper equipment. That,” you point towards the devil box, “piece of shit machine doesn’t work anymore. How the hell am I supposed to build ‘dreams’ if I can’t even make a copy!?” You huff and cross your arms.

“Baby-girl if you would just let me turn you. You would be able to go use any copier in the building in seconds,” he stands before coming over to you.

“Oh ho ho no, no, no. You are not turning me into one of those night of the living dead,” you wave your hand wildly toward the darkened office humming with his drones.

“Well then how about you just let me take you out sometime?” his tone surprises you and you do a double take at the smile on his face. For a moment he seems actually charming...not a complete asshole.

“Are you doing that freaky hypnotizing shit on me?” you blink furiously and shake your head.

He scoffs, “no, that shit only works on the weak minded.”

“What are you a fucking Jedi?” He bursts out laughing.

You sigh, “I guess you're not completely horrible and I do like free dinner. So why not?” Your smile pales in comparison to the blinding light of his own.

“You won’t regret it,” he reaches around you and pulls your phone from your back pocket, coping a feel in the process, “Here’s my number,” he puts it in and slides it back into your pocket.

You move to leave but change your mind as you quickly realize something, “Uhm Max…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not the dinner right?”

He laughs again before going back to work, “No, not this time.”

“This time?” you hesitate in the doorway.

“One day you will beg me to change you sweetheart, and that is the day where you will be my appetizer, dinner, and desert. But I won’t taste you before then.” His phone rings and he answers it in that fake salesman voice of his and you shudder. How can he so calmly threaten to one day eat you and then just take a phone call?

Oh...that’s right because he’s a fucking vampire. Maybe this wasn’t worth the free dinner.

It was worth it. Everything and more. That night alone with Max Phillips and every subsequent night you spent with him alone outside of that office was magic. Yes, he was an asshole, workaholic, sexy as fuck bloodsucking bastard. But, he was also protective, faithful, and loved you beyond a shadow of a doubt.

He kept good on his promise and never fed from you. Till tonight.

You readjusted the blood red tie around your neck. Looking over your reflection in the mirror. Wearing a solid black thong, one of Max’s grey vests, and his tie, nothing else. You reapply your red lipstick, and run your comb through your hair before stalling long enough. Opening the door and going into the bedroom.

“Mr. Phillips?” you coo. Grey pajama pants, white t-shirt, and reading glasses perched on his nose, he looks up from the file and drops it onto the floor. Using that vampire speed he is standing before you, running his hand over the curve of your ass.

“What’s the occasion? Did I miss our anniversary?” he croons.

“No,” you chuckle breathlessly, “Nothing like that...I want...I want you to turn me.” His hands freeze their path and his eyes snap to yours.

“Say that again,” he commands.

“Max Phillips. I fucking love you. I want to be with you forever, will you change me into a vampire?”

“I recall you once telling me you would never want to be one of the night of the undead,” he teases, pulling you back towards the bed before tossing you onto it. You bounce as you peer above at him through your lashes. He throws the glasses aside, his shirt and pants following. Until he stands before you naked.

You lick your lips. The view of him naked would never grow old. The sharp lines of his body, his slightly bulging arms, and god his cock; thick and pulsing, curving against his waist. He grabs your ankle and you squeal as he pulls you to the edge of the bed. His hands digging into the waistband of your panties as he slides them down, throwing them aside. He rips the vest apart. Buttons flying in all directions and you gasp as he slides the vest off your shoulders only leaving the tie.

He stands above you admiring his work, “Fuck I love it when you wear my clothes,” he takes a hold of the tie and pulls you up so your kneeling on the bed before him. He lets go digging his fingers through your hair and tugging lightly. He kisses you passionately and you breath him in. The lines become blurred of where you end and he begins as he makes love to your mouth. His tongue licking against your bottom lip and begging entrance.

“Lay back on the pillows,” he commands against your mouth and you shiver. Kneeling back and laying against the pillows your legs dropping open, pussy on display. “God I love this cunt,” he moves down and places gentle kisses to your thigh.

“But I don’t want to eat you just yet...well not there.” He pushes your knees together and lays down beside you, running his fingers gently over your cheek, pushing your hair behind your ear. “Do you really want this?” his voice takes on a seriousness you’ve only heard once before. The first time he told you he loved you.

“Yes,” you exhale, “I want to be with you forever, this is my choice Max. I choose you.”

He trembles and breathes deeply, “It’s going to hurt for a little while honey, but I promise I will do everything to make this experience memorable for you. I want to be with you forever too. I fucking love you.”

Your eyes shine with tears, and he smiles back tilting your head back gently. He puts a kiss on your eyelids, cheeks, forehead, and ear. Getting closer and closer to the pulse point on your neck. You hear the small click as his fangs descend and he places one more kiss on your neck before you feel his fangs dig in.

The skin breaks and the warm blood dribbles down your neck. You hear the sound of gulping as he inhales deeply. The pain is indescribable and you open your mouth to scream but no sound escapes. He unlatches and you wither on the bed as sweat begins beading on your brow, and you gasp clawing at your neck.

Max quickly moves lower and pulls your legs apart going in to devour your pussy. His fangs retracted, he sucks hard on your clit. The pain from your neck dimming as the pleasure in your lower belly grows. He pulls back and spits into your pussy before he licks a broad strip flattening his tongue. He takes two fingers and shoves them to the knuckle inside you setting a furious pace. Your neck still burns but you almost forget about it as your orgasm crashes over you. Max never stops, working you through it rubbing tight circles on your clit.

His mouth glistening, blood smeared on his chin, and that smug smirk on his face. You feel your strength begin to soar. Your eyesight becomes clearer, your senses heightening. The pain fading until all that’s left is the pleasure of Max spearing his tongue into your aching cunt over and over again. The second orgasm rolls over you in waves and doesn’t stop; more intense than ever before.

You grab him around the neck and pull him to you, kissing him. You taste yourself on his tongue and it’s even sweeter than before. “Max I want to fuck you,” you beg and throw him off you. He flies backwards with force into the wall and you are on him like a cheetah. Nipping at his chest, before dropping to your knees and shoving his cock all the way into your mouth.

“Oh fuck,” his head hits the wall as he runs his hands through your hair and you bob on his cock. Your tongue working over the tip, your other hand coming up to massage his balls. “Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he pants.

You pull off with a pop gazing up at him, “Then cum inside me Max, I want to taste you.” He moans as you resume sucking his cock. You hollow your cheeks and take him as far back as he will go before ropes of hot seed come pouring down your throat. You swallow every last drop before pulling off and opening your mouth to show him.

“My good girl,” he praises, pulling you from your knees and digging his face in your neck. Nipping and kissing at his bite.

“Get on the bed Max,” you command, stepping away and he does as he’s told. He kneels on the bed and crawls to the top looking over his shoulder.

“Are you checking out my butt?” he teases and you giggle before nodding.

He turns and sits resting his back against the headboard. “Come to daddy baby,” he coos using one finger to beckon you forward.

You’re on him in a second grabbing for his still rock hard cock sliding down him in one go. You let his glorious cock stretch you before you can’t wait any longer, rocking against him. “Max, Max, Max…” you chant his name like a monk in a monastery.

He plants his feet on the bed and begins pounding up into you his thumb drawing tight circles on your clit as you feel yourself getting closer. Your hands reach up to the headboard and you hold yourself above him. He shoves his cock inside you over and over again as you clench as tight as you can. He moans loudly and your hands tighten on the headboard. The wood begins to splinter and crack as you cum on his cock screaming.

“Fuck baby,” he roars, cumming inside you. Your hands unclench from the wood and bring them down to his chest as you both pant to regain your breath.

“I think I broke the headboard,” you giggle and he chuckles kneading your ass with his hands.

“That you did my little vampire,” he scoots down the bed and lays down flat still inside you. Pulling your head down to rest in his neck. One hand still holding your ass, while the other trails up and down your back. “I love you,” he whispers, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I love you too Max,” you snuggle into his neck and plant a kiss there.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, “About being with me forever?” You raise your head and cock your eyebrow.

“What part of making me a vampire and I love you didn’t you understand?” you tease.

His eyes take on that same serious look and your stomach drops, “oh fuck...are you…are you breaking up with me?”

“NO! No, fuck no! I’m...shit I’m messing this up…” he reaches toward the nightstand and comes back with….with a printer cartridge?

“Max...why do you have a printer cartridge in our nightstand?”

“You remember that day I first asked you out?” you nod, “Well you only came to my office to yell at me to get a new copier. Well after you left I went and checked it and turns out you just needed to change the ink.”

“You told me you bought a new one! You lying bastard!” you snarl and he shushes you.

“That’s not the point! The point is this printer cartridge was the start of our relationship and I’ve been saving it for this day...open it,” he places it in your hands and you shake it putting your forearms on his chest and you open the case. You swear your undead heart beats again at the ring set with a ruby and surrounded by diamonds.

“Max,” you whisper looking into his dark brown eyes.

“I imagined a more romantic setting then turning you into a vampire and laying in bed with my cock still inside you but for us this almost seems perfect. I love you. I have loved you from the minute you called me out in the office. I love your eyes, body, mind, and the fact that you don’t take any of my shit. You don’t need me but I am so thankful that you choose to be with me everyday. Will you be with me forever?”

You feel the blood trail down your eyes and onto his chest. “Yes,” you whisper. He places the ring onto your finger before running his fingers over your cheeks smearing the blood and licking it off his fingers.

“Holy shit,” you look down at the ring chuckling, “Are you sure, you really want to be tied with me forever?”

He smirks, “Forever and ever, doll.”

#Bloodsucking Bastards #Pedro Pascal #max phillips #Max Phillips x reader #My Writing #Autumn writes

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perfectly-cynical · 3 years

Text

𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐌𝐢𝐮, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧.

My first time writing angst. Requests are open.

𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐚

﹅ You and Hajime hadn’t interacted for a while due to your studies. You hadn’t been keeping up with your schoolwork, so you had a lot to do.

﹅ Hajime wasn’t making any efforts to talk to you about it, instead replacing you with your classmates.

﹅ The little interaction the two of you had wasn’t even face to face, the only time the two of you talked was to text each other polite messages when you woke up.

﹅ Your relationship had started to wither, and you had noticed it.

﹅ In one of your rare blocks of free time, the two of you scheduled a meeting.

﹅ This was when you were going to tell him.

﹅ You had chosen to simply eat lunch at his house.

﹅ He had ordered a takeaway meal for the both of you, and you began eating it, hesitant to break up with your boyfriend.

﹅ “S/O, is something bothering you?” Hajime asks.

﹅ Your head lowers, but you were going to tell him. You couldn’t keep stretching the relationship far beyond what it was capable of.

﹅ “Hajime... I think we should break up.”

﹅ Your words were slow, hesitant. As the gravity of the situation began to sink in, Hajime’s face contorted into one of sadness.

﹅ “Is this because we haven’t been spending time together...? I’m so sorry S/O, I really am, but please, just let me fix this-

﹅ He was begging for you to stay. You had thought that he had felt the same way, that this would go on without any problems.

﹅ “H-hajime... I’m sorry, but I don’t think we can fix this.”

﹅ Your head hung low, a dark shadow covering your eyes. He was making this so hard for you, but it was for his own good.

﹅ “Babe, please... I need you, c’mon, we can fix this, I know we can-”

﹅ He was on the floor now, pleading for you to stay. You stood up.

﹅ “Hajime, we don’t spend time together anymore. This relationship was... perfect... while it lasted.”

﹅ You had begun to shake. But you wouldn’t stop now. It was far too late. But there was this lingering feeling...

﹅ Before he could say anything, you left his house and went back home.

﹅ As you collapsed onto your bed, you realised what the feeling was.

﹅ Regret.

𝐌𝐢𝐮 𝐈𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐚

﹅ Your girlfriend had recently been invited to a technology show to promote her inventions.

﹅ She wouldn’t say it, but she really wanted to impress the public by making her best invention yet.

﹅ However, this desire to impress people quickly turned into panic.

﹅ She decided she needed way more time to work on her invention, and she altered her schedule accordingly, which, sadly, didn’t include you.

﹅ The project was due in about 10 months, which flew by fairly quickly.

﹅ A few months before the show, you decided enough was enough.

﹅ She didn’t spend any time with you, and she didn’t even look fazed about it. She didn’t even care.

﹅ So, with 2 months until the show, you decided to break up with her.

﹅ When she was tinkering with her inventions, you came up to her and asked if you could talk.

﹅ “Babe, whatever shit you wanna say, you can say it here!” She yells, pointing pointing a screwdriver at you.

﹅ You were already in a bad mood, but your girlfriend had made it worse.

﹅ “Well hurry up already! I’m busy!” She shouts, turning her back to tinker with a screw.

﹅ You take a deep breath.

﹅ “Miu, you haven’t spent time with me in months. Hell, this is the first time you’ve talked to me ever since you got invited to that show.”

﹅ Miu turns around, her angry face contorting into one of worry and fear. You ignored it, and continued your speech.

﹅ “You clearly prioritise your inventions over me, so we’re done.”

﹅ Miu is stunned for a second, before tears begin forming in her baby blue eyes.

﹅ “Heeee! Y-you’re breaking up w-with me...?”

﹅ You nod, and start walking away. After all, what could she possibly say to make up for months of not talking to you?

﹅ Months later, you’re sitting on the couch watching television.

﹅ You flick through the channels, trying to find something worth watching.

﹅ Then you spot her.

﹅ On the stage, your ex, Miu Iruma. She looks tired and dishevelled, like she hasn’t slept in weeks.

﹅ “U-uhh... this invention is dedicated to... my S/O.”

﹅ As soon as you heard your name, you froze.

﹅ “It scans y-your brain and finds out your... possible soulmate.”

﹅ She walked over towards the invention and sits in it.

﹅ Then she presses a button, and a panel at the top starts whirring, showing an image of... you.

﹅ Upon seeing your face, she bursts into tears on stage.

﹅ This wasn’t what you wanted.

﹅ But this was what you chose.

𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐀𝐦𝐚𝐦𝐢

﹅ He had been recently exploring, looking for his sisters.

﹅ The two of you would interact using messages, but you were getting slightly sad at the lack of interaction.

﹅ Throughout the next few weeks, you had attempted to make contact with him, but to no avail. He wasn’t ignoring you, he just didn’t respond for about a week and then apologise for it.

﹅ It was making you even more down, so to cheer yourself up, you tried to interact with other people.

﹅ All was going smooth, you still had your weekly facetime with Amami.

﹅ That was, until, someone told you to break up with him.

﹅ “Seriously S/O? He hasn’t talked to you face-to-face in a year! How do you know he isn’t cheating on you?”

﹅ You were shocked to your core by their words, but you did have a nagging feeling that they were right.

﹅ Jeez, S/O, he clearly values his own life over yours.”

﹅ Every time someone brought him up in a conversation, there was always the person who would bring up how you should break up with him, and it was getting to your head.

﹅ You were actually considering it.

﹅ However, a little slimmer of hope sat inside you, telling you to keep trying.

﹅ But, that seemed to produce the same results from the last time you tried that.

﹅ With a heavy heart, you decided it was time for the relationship to end. Afterall, partners are meant to be with each other 24/7.

﹅ However, you didn’t want to hurt his feelings. So, on one of your weekly facetimes, you decided to bring it up.

﹅ “Amami... I think we should break up...” You quickly mutter.

﹅ Before he even has time to process it, you left the meeting.

﹅ He sat there stunned for a second. What had just happened?

﹅ He closed his computer as the situation began to sink in and he realised why you did this.

﹅ He lets out a slow, sad chuckle. It was his fault, and his only.

﹅ Tears streamed down his cheek. After all, he didn’t know how precious you were to him until you were gone. Just like his sisters.

#hajime imagines #miu imagines #rantaro imagines #danganronpa x reader #x reader #hajime x reader #miu x reader #rantaro x reader #danganronpa #danganronpa writing #danganronpa writings #mod kiri #Mod Kirigiri

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stitch1830 · 3 years

Text

What If

Happy Kantoph Mondangst! :D

I have some ideas to add to this, but perhaps I'll save that for next week ;) Thank you for reading as always!

......

Time moved, whether slowly or quickly wasn’t up to Toph, but it moved. The sun rose and fell and the days began and ended until there were too many days since she last felt him, last heard him. Almost two years, to be exact.

And time left her numb.

She lived each day to survive, and she hated that she could barely function without him. To make matters worse, Lin suffered the most from Toph’s hollow presence. She needed and wanted attention that sometimes Toph couldn’t provide, and she just knew that she was letting her daughter down.

But how could she move on? How could she just… let him go?

She didn’t know. And she feared she never would.

Her friends continued to check in with her almost everyday, and it was nice to have company, but their burden felt heavy on Toph’s shoulders, too. They should be living their lives, not babysitting her.

But time wouldn’t shake them off her back. They were a constant in her life, whether she wanted it or not.

It was probably for the best, if she was being honest.

Still, they always dragged her into saying yes to dumb shit that had absolutely nothing to do with her. Hence, the mission.

She wasn’t sure why she agreed to the mission. Toph didn’t even know why they were all gathering for this task. But based on the debrief, it was a stupid mission. It was stupid to spend so much time in the Swamp for them, and Toph specifically, to look for spirity mumbo jumbo when she couldn’t see. But the group insisted that she tag along, and it wasn’t like she had anything better to do.

When all the children were settled in Gaoling with her parents, the group flew off just like old times. And throughout the journey, everyone warned her of the visions of the Swamp, of the people she may hear or visit with.

Well, there was really only one person, but they kept that part open-ended.

For that, she was grateful.

…….

It didn’t take long for Toph to end up on her own in the Swamp.

Seriously, though. What was a blind woman doing on a mission that required having the ability to see? Only the spirits knew, and Toph went off on her own out of spite and boredom, and because she was partnered with Zuko and Katara and well…

Sometimes it was hard to hang out with the both of them. It reminded her of what she could’ve been with…

Toph shook her head and kept walking.

She casually trekked through the muddy forest of the Swamp, focusing on the sounds and vibrations around her to keep her friends within her sights so she wasn’t completely lost in a mysterious murky forest. Probably wasn’t the smartest thing for her to be on her own, but she just had to get away.

As she walked and kicked small pebbles in her path, a soft breeze arrived that alleviated some of the humidity of the swampy air. The wind had a liveliness to it, dancing around her and playing with her hair and loose clothing as she kept her brisk pace. It felt familiar to her, the wind. Almost like how someone would come up to her and tug at her clothes to get her attention, or how someone would push her bangs out of her face. As if the wind knew her thoughts, it managed to push her hair enough to tuck it behind her ear.

Suddenly, she stopped.

The breeze was laughing. His laugh. Soft, faint, teasing her to come closer. And the air left Toph’s lungs, she stood frozen in place, trying to figure out what tricks her mind was playing with her.

But then it wasn’t playing tricks with her. She heard him.

“Hey Chief.”

Her heart burst with joy and broke all at the same time, and she didn’t know what she should’ve been feeling at that moment. So she stood there, mouth agape, tears freely flowing, and her lips daring to say his name for the first time in two years.

“Kanto.”

“It’s good to see you, Toph.”

She sobbed. His voice was as warm as she remembered, and she could still hear the smile in it. But it was lighter, more airy, as if it would disappear in a moment. It didn’t ground her like it used to. If anything, it dared her to fly away with him, wherever he was.

Toph loved it, but she also hated it.

He was a ghost or a spirit, that much she knew. And that meant that she couldn’t hold him or touch him or feel his heart or his breath and she ached to feel him. But she couldn’t. So she stood there openly crying in the middle of a swamp, extending her arms and wishing she could reach out and feel him.

The breeze danced around her and she heard him speak again.

“Hey, don’t cry, Chief! I hate to see you cry, you know that.”

“I—” she sniffled, wiping her eyes and nose with her damp sleeve. “I’m sorry. I just...fuck, Kanto. I miss you.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I miss you too, Angel.”

“I just want to hold you,” she gasped. “It’s unfair.”

He sighed, or she thought he did. Every word and ‘breath’ he took gave her strength, but Toph yearned for more.

She knew she was so close to feeling him. As if one step closer would reach him, or if her arm was long enough, she’d find his soft but strong hands, or if she leaned her head, she’d find his forehead there.

But she couldn’t do any of those things. He wasn’t there. Not really.

He changed the subject. “How’s our little Linny?”

“She’s uh, she’s good,” Toph whispered. “She—she really misses you. Calls for you every night still.”

“I’m sorry I can’t be there.”

“I know.”

For some reason, Toph kept her hands held up by her waist with her palms up. She felt the wind tickle her fingers and palms, and it almost felt like his hands were holding hers again.

Almost.

“Kanto I—” Toph bit her lip, resisting the urge to burst into tears once again. “I miss you so much. I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You’re doing amazing, Toph. And you have your friends to help you.”

“But I don’t want them!” she cried. “I want you!”

“I know, but I can’t be there. Not physically, at least,” he replied, his voice calm and sad. “I miss you too.”

“Kanto—”

“Tell Lin that I love her and miss her, will you? If you want, that is. I know it might be hard to talk about me since she won’t remember me—”

“Of course I’ll tell her,” she interrupted. “And she can’t forget you. She—she won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”

He went silent, and she hoped he was smiling. She couldn’t tell anymore.

Her fingers danced with the wind.

“There’s a reason I’m here, Toph,” he spoke again softly. “I think you know why you called me here.”

Toph frowned. “I didn’t call for you, though.”

“Not exactly,” he admitted, “but you haven’t been able to let me go—”

“Why should I?” she snapped. “Am I just supposed to move on like you didn’t exist? Like you didn’t make me fall in love with you, like you didn’t give me the happiest days I’ve ever lived, like you didn’t die and break my heart into a million pieces?”

“Letting go and forgetting are two different things, Chief,” he explained. “But you haven’t been able to talk about me or even sleep in our bed.”

“Because all I can smell is your cologne and when I wake up I still reach for you. How am I supposed to survive if I keep doing that??”

“Please, Toph,” he begged, and her anger withered away when she heard the pain in his voice.

This was as hard for him as it was for her.

“You were always so much stronger than me,” he cried. “I wouldn’t be able to do what you have to do.

“But this isn’t about you or me. You have to do it all for Lin.”

“Everyone always says that,” she replied bitterly.

“Will you do it for me, then? Will you hold our baby girl when she cries at night and rock her to sleep?” he asked. “Please? I just—I hate seeing you this way over me.”

“Yeah.” Her voice caught in her throat as she attempted to laugh. “I’m a sap and it’s all your fault.”

She heard him choke out a laugh too, and the wind rushed into her.

He was so close, just a little bit further, and perhaps she’d feel his forehead against hers.

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself and Lin,” Kanto said, his voice as intoxicating as she remembered. Her resolve disappeared with every word he spoke.

Toph let out a tired sigh as her fingers continued to dance with the breeze. “I was never able to say no to you.”

“I know."

She actually smiled. A small, weary smile, but it was nice to hear him say that again, to remember all the different things that phrase meant to each other.

The smile faded as quickly as it came when Kanto spoke again. “Toph, we’re running out of time.”

Her stomach dropped and tied itself into a thousand knots. “No,” she replied through gritted teeth. “Please, not yet.”

“We don’t get to choose. Please, Toph, you have to say it.”

“Say what?”

“You know. You have to say good—”

Toph’s eyes grew wide and she shook her head vehemently. “No! I don’t want to!”

“I know, but I’d hate myself if you lived with this regret.”

“Everything about that day I regret!” she shouted. “I should’ve told you I love you more! Made you stay at home! Or I should’ve gone to work with you! Anything that would’ve changed the outcome.”

“It wouldn’t have changed, we can’t mess with fate, babe.

“Just… do this for me. Say it all to let me go on some level. Say it before you can’t. I don’t have much time.”

“Kanto please—”

“Toph,” he interrupted urgently. “If there’s anything you want to say, now’s your chance.”

Spirits, where would she begin? She lived the last two years of her life in agony over it all, the fact that she couldn’t save him, the fact that she didn’t show him how much she loved him, the fact that she was failing as a mother when he was the very best father, all of it broke her each and every day.

There were fleeting thoughts of regret for even falling in love with him. That this wouldn’t be an issue had she just kept it professional, and she hated she even thought that way. Because without them, there wouldn’t be Lin, and even though it pained Toph to recognize Kanto in Lin, she was Toph’s everything. The earth beneath her feet, her foundation, her whole world.

She hated that she wished she was dead instead, that Kanto and Lin would’ve been better without her, or perhaps, in a deep, dark, part of her heart, she wondered what she would’ve done if Lin wasn’t in the picture… Would she even be alive?

What if she had gotten to say goodbye to him on that day? Would all of this have been easier? Toph doubted it, but what was she to do but ponder all the scenarios that told her she was living her current life wrong. That if she was stronger or smarter or more empathetic, none of this would be happening.

She resented every single “what if” that crossed her mind, because none of it mattered.

All that mattered was now. The present.

There was a rustling of leaves behind her, and his presence in the wind flickered for a moment.

They really were running out of time. Again.

“Kanto, I—I love you,” she cried out.

“I know, I love you too,” he replied quietly. Too quietly.

“Please, I just want more—I don’t know how to do this without you!”

“You’ve got your friends, your family. You have Sokka—”

“But they’re not you! I want you! You need to see Lin walk and earthbend and she does this thing when she’s mad that’s just like you—”

The rustling was getting closer.

“Toph—”

“Kanto—”

Her concentration broke for a second, because she recognized the footsteps.

“Toph!”

He was faint, so faint.

“Kanto! I—” she hesitated when Zuko broke through the vines.

The wind began to move away from her, and she ran after it. And with every last ounce of strength and breath she had, she reached out for Kanto one last time and said,

“Goodbye.”

#kantoph #toph #toph beifong #kanto #atla #lok #writing #the long winding road to you #the chief and dep series #like a boomerang i always come back to you series #kantoph mondangst #sorry the beginning is dumb #it really be like that lmao

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moon-light-jukebox · 4 years

Text

“All you have to do is ask.” Epilogue - [Reid x Reader]

previous chapter // series index

Summary: Oh, just a cheesy happy ending for our favorite couple.

Pairing: Spencer Reid / (Female) Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Category: FLUFF. So much FLUFF.

Content Warning: Literally none, unless you’re allergy to sappy fluff.

A/N: I rewrote this chapter after I got a comment from someone on Ao3 that demanded the story not end this way. Sadly, not only am I the author, I’m also the petty weight world champion.

In all seriousness, I have never even attempted to write something this big before. AYHTDIA is almost 60k words and I’m incredibly proud of it. This has meant more to me than anything.

-- Epilogue - The End --

Time passed differently after I started loving Spencer Reid. Before him time always seemed to move in lurches, some moments taking a lifetime to pass and others speeding by too quickly. Now the moments without him seemed to drag on for an eternity, but the time I was with him never seemed like enough.

Not every moment of loving him was easy because it wasn't. We argued like any other couple...even if how we made up was a bit different. Sometimes I loved how he rambled about everything and nothing for hours on end, other times it drove me insane. Sometimes little remnants of the walls I'd had up for most of my adult life reared their ugly heads.

It had been six months since I jumped in front of a bullet to save the love of my life, and five months since I’d allowed him to love me.

What was miraculous was that I never doubted that he loved me. Sure, he said it every day, but his actions are what truly made me feel it. Spencer’s love was like a tangible thing to me; it was warm, safe, and something I don’t know how I survived so long without.

My boy still brought me iced coffees after a fight, or whenever I needed a pick me up. He’d watch cheesy rom coms with me after we had a hard case. And in the mornings right when he was waking up, he’d always reach for me, pulling me closer into his arms.

Part of loving Dr. Spencer Reid was accepting what a strange individual he was He never wore matching socks, he was obsessed with Halloween, he was always ready to perform some sort of magic trick, and he was also the smartest person in almost any room he was in.

One night I was lying beside my boy in his bed when he asked me an odd question. “Do you want kids?”

I turned my head towards him, blinking up at his face. “Right this second or in general?”

He poked me in my side, scowling at me. “Both.”

I chuckled. “I don’t think I want them right this exact second. But yeah, I’d like to have kids, I think. I guess it would depend on who the father of said kids would be,” I teased.

My boy didn’t respond in the way I thought he would. He flopped onto his back; his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“What is it, bug?” I moved closer to him. Propping my body up on my elbow, my head resting on my hand.

“Schizophrenia is genetic,” he said softly.

Ahh. I grabbed his hand in my own, bringing it up to my lips. “And you don’t want to pass the risk on?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if that’s responsible.”

I brushed a kiss over his knuckles. “Mental illness isn’t a death sentence, Spencer. Your mother could not have schizophrenia and your child still end up with it anyway. Life is a fucked-up game of chance, Doc.” I leaned closer, pressing a kiss against his cheek. “Any rugrat would be lucky to have you for a dad. And if you don’t want to have a biological child, we can adopt.”

That caused my boy to smile. “We?”

I wrinkled my nose at him. “Brat.”

I realized something was coming a few days after our conversation. It might have been how squirrely Spencer was every time I was near him. It might have been the smiles Derek Morgan kept shooting at me.

But, truthfully, it was the squealing Penelope Garcia did when she saw me on Thursday morning that gave it away.

Like I’ve always said, just because you know something is coming doesn’t mean you’re ready for it.

I knew what was going to happen the next day when Spencer suggested we cook dinner together at his apartment.

Doesn’t mean I was ready for it.

“You know, I think I knew you loved me the first night we made dinner together,” he said, his eyes lifting from the stove to meet mine.

I smirked. “Was it the spilling my darkest secrets to you or the fucking you that gave it away, Doc?”

He bumped my hip with his own. “Are you sure I’m the brat?”

“Absolutely.” I smiled up at him. “The chicken is about to burn, my love.”

We were sitting at the kitchen table after dinner when I just couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Doc, you have got to relax,” I whined, letting out a big puff of air. “You’re gonna give yourself a stroke.”

“I’m relaxed!” He insisted despite his shoulders tensing even further. “And that’s not how strokes work.”

I shot him a withering look. Sure, Doc.

“Why wouldn’t I be relaxed?”

The look on my face didn’t change.

My boy heaved out a sigh. “You know, don’t you?”

I smiled, reaching out to tap the tip of his nose with the end of my finger. “I have a strong suspicion.”

“I could just be nervous to ask you to move in with me.”

I pretended to consider this, tapping my chin. “You could be. But, that’s very fixable.” I smiled at him, resting my chin in my palm. “Spence, I think we should move in together. We’re at each other’s apartments all the time anyway. Now, I prefer the coffee shop near my house, but I like your apartment better, it has more character.” I wrinkled my nose. “We will need a new headboard, though. Or different restraints.”

The love of my life just laughed softly. “Well,” he said softly. “I guess that clears that up.”

Had I ever really loved anything before this moment? Before I sat here at this table with this man? How had I ever thought I was in love with a person before I met this curly-haired force of nature? My beautiful, nervous, darling boy.

“Just ask me, Doc.” My voice was a whisper, tears pricking in the corners of my eyes.

Spencer let out a shaky breath and gave me a very self-deprecating smile. “You’re not supposed to know I have something to ask.”

I just laughed. “Hurry up or I’ll say no.”

His shoulders relaxed at my joke and it hit me then that he was actually nervous because he thought that I might say no. It’s not even possible, baby. Not even for a second.

“Y/n,” he began, both of his hands gripping my left. “I had this whole long rambling speech planned out. I wanted to describe the moment I knew I loved you, and the moment I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.” Tears were starting to escape my eyes and run down my cheeks. “I had statistics on the current divorce rates, and I had arguments about how we were the exception,” he laughed, glancing down at my hand in his own. “But none of that matters now,” he whispered.

Spencer moved out of the chair he sat in to drop to one knee in front of me. I knew it was coming, but I still felt my heart stutter at the sight.

"Y/n y/l/n, you're the most amazing thing in the entire universe. I don't need data to confirm that. You make me feel warm and safe…you make me feel happier than I ever knew was possible. I…sometimes I've felt like I was trapped in darkness, but you shine so bright I'm not afraid anymore. The only thing I'm afraid of is losing you." He took a deep breath before reaching into his right pocket, pulling out a small black box. When he opened it, I saw an antique-looking ring nestled inside. "It was my mom's," he said. "I hope that's okay. But…y/n, will you marry me? Please?"

I felt something inside of my chest inflate. Like my heart was a balloon and his words had filled me with so much love that I was about to burst. I dropped out of my chair to join him on the floor, bringing my hands up to the sides of his face, my thumb brushing away a tear that was rolling down his cheek. I tried to open my mouth and respond. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him, and how I wanted nothing more than to spend every moment of the rest of my life with him.

All I managed to get out was a choked sob while I frantically nodded my head.

Spencer’s smile only made me cry harder; and when he kissed me after he slid the ring on my finger, I couldn’t remember what it was like to feel broken anymore.

Series tag list: @abschaffer2 @liaabsurd @brokenanxiety @thisiscalmandits-dr @less-intelligent-spencerreid @reidsmyhusband-emilysmymistress @cielo1984 @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @101donuts @heyitssarahk @creepingfromthecorners @fanfictionislifetho @annestine @boiled-onionrings @gublerspublers @dolanfivsosxox @lamusaeuterpe @publiusvirgilius @suzystuff @differentkettleoffishalltogether @georgiamae @thatsonezesty13 @addie5264 @hopefulfangirl24 @april-14-blog @whateverthefuckm8 @alissablake

Comment/message me if you’d like to be added.

Taglist for all my writing: @rachelxwayne @pinkdiamond1016 @sickeninglyshoujo @justagirllookingforherplace @nanocoool @andiebeaword @imjusthereformggcontent

#Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid fluff #Criminal minds fluff #dr. Spencer reid #dr. Spencer Reid fluff #reid fluff #Spencer Reid x you #Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid x y/n #ayhtdia

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worldwidemochiguy · 4 years

Text

Finish That Sentence (M)

When he opened his mouth again, you could taste the anger dripping past those sinful lips.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Kitten, when I say ‘No’… it isn’t a suggestion.”

“Good, I didn’t ask for one.”

➵ Warnings: 18+, Yandere Jimin, Smut, Fingering, Oral (m and f receiving), Edging, Penetrative Sex, Daddy kink (oop), Jimin calls you kitten a lot, Slight Degradation

➵ Word Count: 4K

➵ Masterlist

“I’m sorry, what did you just say, kitten?”

You swallowed hard, willing your hands to remain steady as you clenched them by your sides. Don’t give in, you told yourself, stifling the urge to just surrender and beg for mercy. You’re in the right.

“I-I said,” You stammered, flushing when he smirked at your undeniable nerves. You cleared your throat and made another attempt, hoping in the brief time passed since you last opened your mouth you had somehow grown a backbone.

“I said… I want to go out tonight.”

“Oh. Well, of course, kitten.” Jimin replied smoothly, and you knew it had been too easy, you couldn’t relax just yet. “Where do you want me to take you?”

“Actually, um…” You hesitated, and your boyfriend raised a mocking brow.

“Go on, baby, I’m waiting.”

You took a fortifying breath, before letting it all cascade out of you.

“I want to go to a friend’s party and it’s at a club and I don’t want you to come.”

Your breath ran dry. Jimin’s jaw muscles jumped under smooth skin. He rose from where he was reclined on the couch, standing up so that the two of you were eye to eye.

You could see every ounce of restraint weighing down his muscles, slowing his arm to a glacial pace as he tucked his index finger under your chin. But, in those eyes, there was a rage swirling in the depths which you often glimpsed but never submerged yourself in. You wondered if this was the night where you would finally get the chance to drown.

When he opened his mouth again, you could taste the anger dripping past those sinful lips.

“No.”

In that one word were a thousand utterances, a thousand missed opportunities to have fun with your friends who you missed so much, and all because of him. You had rolled over and played dead so many times, but you have had enough.

“Yes.” You snapped, and his eyes widened, in danger of revealing the roiling currents of fury underneath the placid surface.

“Kitten, when I say No… it isn’t a suggestion.”

“Good, I didn’t ask for one.”

Your back ached as Jimin slammed you against the wall. His hand — which had slipped behind to cradle your head, preventing injury — came down to encircle your throat, while his other busied itself restraining your wrists above your head. You had no choice but to arch into him in discomfort. He pressed his body against yours, revelling in your small whimpers.

“Kitten thinks she calls the shots, huh?” Jimin asked patronisingly, before grinding against you. You thrashed in his hold defiantly, even as a part of you went molten beneath his body heat. “You think you can speak like that? To me?”

“You say worse things to me every- oh!” Your breath hitched as his teeth dug into that sensitive spot below your ear. You felt him smirk against your heated skin, a huff of laughter at your choked moan as he rolled his hips against you once more.

“That’s because I’m in charge, kitten. You’re mine. You have to show me some respect.”

That comment drove you over the edge.

“I’m- you- get off of me!” You shoved him away, making no effort to help him as he stumbled back, eyes hooded and lips swollen from the effort to carve his ownership into the bruises on your neck. Surprisingly, he didn’t attempt to plaster himself on you again. He merely watched as you tugged your shirt back into place, smoothing your hair down with a trembling hand.

“I am not your property.” You stated, annoyance flaring as Jimin chuckled. “I can… I can do what I want. I’m an adult. You can’t just tell me what to do or I swear to god I’ll-”

I’ll break up with you.

The threat had been on the tip of your tongue when his eyes met yours. And there it withered, died, and blew away on the wind. You had been right. Tonight would be the night you drowned in Park Jimin.

His rage was no longer on a leash. It sunk itself into his muscles as he prowled towards you, step by step, until you were voluntarily pressing yourself against the wall in an effort to evade him. He paused a hairsbreadth away from you, close enough to feel the tension of each coiled muscle, pulled taut and waiting to pounce.

“Or you’ll what?” He breathed, and you flinched. The corner of his lips tugged upwards, and a finger trailed delicately along your cheekbone. Soothing the lamb before the slaughter. “C’mon kitten, what’re you gonna do, hmm?”

“I-I… uhm-”

“Go on, finish that sentence.”

His finger tensed, the nail cutting into your skin.

“I…” You hesitated, before closing your eyes and swallowing your pride in one rancid gulp. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to go. You were right.”

His gaze flickered with satisfaction, but it was not enough to temper the overwhelming wrath which swum in the depths of his dark eyes.

“That’s not what you were going to say, is it, kitten?” He leaned in to run his nose along the column of your throat, making you whimper slightly as he put pressure on the capillaries he had burst with his possessive kisses. “Say what you want to say, like I told you to. It’s okay, I won’t get mad.”

You’re already mad, you would’ve said if his teeth weren’t so close to your jugular.

“I was going to say… that I would… b-break up with you.” You whispered, and his entire body tensed. “B-But I didn’t mean it!” You hastened to add, reaching for his hands and clutching them desperately, “I wouldn’t really break up with you! It was a lie! I’m sorry!”

“Good girls don’t lie.” Jimin replied eventually, his voice devoid of all emotion even as his eyes screamed bloody murder. “You must be mistaken. Good girls don’t lie and I know you’re my good girl.”

“I am your good girl.” You responded frantically, gripping his unresponsive hands as if you could force your sincerity in through skin contact, “I’m your good girl and I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I was just being stupid!”

“Well at least you didn’t lie about that.” Jimin looked up at you, eyes twinkling with sardonic satisfaction. “You are stupid if you ever think you could leave me and get away with it.”

The world tilted on its axis and it took you a few moments to realise Jimin had tossed you over his shoulder. You went limp, resigning yourself to the punishments you were bound to endure. Whatever it was, you just had to take it, it would be easier for you that way.

It was difficult to navigate your apartment upside down. It was also unnecessary. You knew where Jimin was taking you. Sure enough, after a few moments of breathless disorientation, Jimin flung you down on your shared bed, remaining at the foot, watching with dark eyes as you tried to rearrange yourself into some semblance of dignity.

“You lied about wanting to leave me.” Jimin’s voice was cutting, like it always was when he found a reason to punish you. And, inexorably, you had to submit to him.

“Yes.”

“But we already know that good girls don’t lie. What does that make you, kitten?”

Your mouth went dry. You knew what he wanted.

“I-I’m a bad girl, Jimin.”

“Jimin?” He repeated, and you belatedly realised your mistake as he strode around the bed and wound a hand in your hair, yanking it back ruthlessly.

“Daddy! I’m sorry, daddy!”

“What are you, kitten?” He asked again, and you held back a sob. You liked it so much better when he was kind to you.

“I’m a bad girl, daddy.”

“And what do bad girls deserve?”

“…Bad girls deserve to be punished, daddy.”

He leaned down, bringing his face closer to yours until the tips of your noses almost brushed. If you had been good, Jimin would have maybe kissed the tip of your nose, making you both giggle. But you hadn’t been good. You had been bad, and now you were being forced to reap what you had sown.

“Do you think you deserve a punishment, kitten?”

No! All you had wanted to do was go out and meet your friends, there was nothing wrong with-

Jimin yanked your hair again and you gasped, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes.

“Y-Yes, I deserve a punishment, daddy.”

“Use your manners, kitten, c’mon. Ask nicely.” He hissed, and you nodded obediently, as much as you could with his grip still painfully tight in your hair.

“Please, daddy, punish me. I’ve been a bad girl. I deserve it. Please.”

“Well done, kitten.”

You resented the fact that you blushed at his praise, something which made him snicker, trailing a hand down your reddened cheeks.

“So eager,” He murmured, cupping your jaw for a second before he shoved you away.

“Hands up,” He commanded, and you slipped into the familiar motions, raising your crossed wrists to the headboard where you knew a pair of restraints were affixed. Jimin made quick work of your hands, electing not to bind your ankles, arranging your body as he wished.

After five minutes, your clothes had been removed whilst Jimin remained fully dressed, gazing at you with dark eyes. He had positioned you sat up against the headboard — to which you were tied — with legs spread wide open for his convenience.

Your cheeks burned as he climbed onto the bed, unable to stop the instinctual clenching of your legs together. He gripped your ankles and ruthlessly tugged them apart again, laughing cruelly as you squirmed.

“Now, now, kitten, don’t move. You look so pretty like this.” He breathed, eyes fixed firmly on your core which, to your embarrassment, was practically dripping on the bedsheets.

“Sorry, daddy.” You whined, twisting your wrists against their ties restlessly, appreciating the slight burn which kept you rooted in reality.

“So polite, baby, aren’t you?” Jimin smirked, still making no move to touch you, “Where were these manners earlier, hmm? Or, is this what you wanted all along?”

“Yes,” You whispered, trying to wrap your legs around Jimin’s waist and tug him closer, to his amusement, “Daddy, please, touch-”

“Oh, baby wants me to touch her?” He laughed at your insistent nod, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, please,” You babbled, sinking fully into the headspace, “I’ll do anything, daddy, I want to such your cock, I want you to fuck me, please, anything-”

Your speech melted into a high-pitched whine as Jimin shoved a finger in you without warning. Though his digits weren’t very long, they were thick, and you could feel each knuckle as his finger sunk into you, stretching you out crudely.

“You’re so wet,” Jimin chuckled, crooking his finger in a way that made you see stars, “God, I could just fuck you right now, couldn’t I?”

“Yes, please dadd- ah!” You moaned as Jimin added another finger, scissoring them within you and making you feel so deliciously full.

It must have made quite a sight. Jimin, in slacks and a black button down with the forearms rolled up, viciously pumping his fingers into your naked writhing form, already starting to glisten with sweat.

By the time he added a third finger, you were gone. He kept rubbing insistently over the bundle of nerves within you, and each time his fingers were buried to the hilt, he would roll his thumb on your clit, making you clench tight on him over and over again.

“Jimin, I’m going to- oh please, ah, let me come, daddy, please?”

Jimin hummed, sitting back on his heels as he seemed to mull over the question, all the while pumping his fingers viciously into your tight hole. You tried to roll your hips onto his hand, meeting his thrusts, but he braced his other hand over your hips, pinning you down so you were forced to just lie there helplessly and take whatever he gave you.

“Daddy, I’m-” You started to convulse as you felt the familiar tug at your belly button, the pleasure building within you and about to overflow, and Jimin yanked his fingers out of you abruptly.

You whined as you felt the cool air brush against your empty hole, close to tears as the blinding pleasure of the orgasm dissipated, leaving behind an uncomfortable sensitivity.

“Daddy,” You moaned, kicking your legs petulantly, “I was about to come.”

“Only good girls get to come, kitten.” Jimin stated, and you felt like you were about to cry.

“I am a good girl!”

“Oh, really?” He asked, eyebrow cocked at your pathetic form, lying prone on the bed.

“Yes, I promise, daddy, I’m good.”

“Okay, then.” Jimin murmured, unconvinced, bringing his fingers covered with your slick up to your mouth. “Suck.”

You took them into your mouth obediently, bobbing your head up and down, letting your tongue dart out to lick at his knuckles. He shoved them into your mouth suddenly, and you gagged, but didn’t pull off. He cooed at you as tears began to brim at your eyes.

“Oh, kitten. You’re such a greedy little slut, aren’t you? So eager to have something in your mouth, poor baby.” Jimin cooed, and you whined pitifully around his fingers. “I’m going to untie your wrists now. Is that okay, baby girl?”

You nodded obediently, leaning back as he fiddled with the restraints. He captured your mouth in a filthy kiss as he did so, jamming his tongue into your mouth and twisting it sinuously around yours as if he was trying to taste the arousal you had licked off his fingers.

You let out a groan of relief as your wrists were finally free and Jimin snickered, eyes shining with satisfaction as you rubbed the red marks. He sat back against the headboard, directing you into a position lying on your front between his legs.

“Take my trousers off, baby.” He commanded, and you obeyed quickly, unzipping the slacks and tugging them down. Through his briefs, you could see the bulge of his erection, thick and hard, a slight wet spot where his precome had pressed against the fabric. You flushed with pride at the thought that just fingering you had made him so aroused.

“You have to take off my briefs now, kitten.” Jimin said, almost amused since you had just been staring at his cock for the last minute, trailing your hand up and down his muscular thigh distractedly. At his command, you nodded hurriedly and pulled them off, finally allowing his erection to spring free.

You licked your lips, and Jimin laughed.

“So fucking desperate, aren’t you kitten? What a dirty slut my baby is.”

“Yes,” You mindlessly agreed, “Your baby.”

Jimin took himself into his hand, hissing slightly at the contact, and slapped his cock against your face. You whined, trying to chase it with your mouth, and he finally gave in.

“Okay, open up baby.” He murmured — unnecessary since your mouth was already wide open — taking hold of your jaw with one hand and using the other to feed you his cock.

Immediately, you took him in down to the base, nose brushing against the spare hair as your throat contracted around him frantically, trying to swallow. His fingers wound into your hair tightly, and he began guiding you up and down his length, using your throat as a cocksleeve.

“God, so fucking-” Jimin grunted, dropping his head back as you gagged around him, “So fucking perfect, kitten. My perfect baby slut. Take me so- ungh - so well.”

You moaned around his length, both at the praise and the feel of him, heavy on your tongue.

The knowledge that you were being used to chase Jimin’s selfish release made you slip even further into headspace, where everything was a hazy mess of overwhelming pleasure and stinging pain. You could feel the urge to come, which had cruelly receded as fast as it arrived, slowly flowing back into you.

Jimin braced both legs against the bed bracketing your head, giving no warning before he began thrusting harshly into your throat. He held your head steady as his hips pistoned into you, groaning as you whimpered and spluttered around him, tears running down your flushed face like a river.

You had no chance to breathe, and when you were light-headed enough that you truly thought you were about to faint, Jimin yanked himself out of you. You weren’t allowed to slump against his thigh like you would’ve liked, as Jimin held your face in place as he came, strokes of white decorating your tongue, cheeks and even your forehead.

You stayed there, eyes closed, until Jimin released you and you collapsed against his leg with a gasp. His fingers stroked through your hair distractedly as your and his pants mingled in the heady air.

“So good, baby.” He praised you softly, and you whimpered. “Do you want daddy to take care of you?”

“Yes, please, daddy.” You begged, excitement starting to reenergise you as Jimin tugged you up the bed.

“Such a polite little girl,” He mused, smiling as he watched you shuffle into place, lazily unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it aside.

“You’re my baby girl, right, kitten?” Jimin purred, and you echoed back mindlessly.

“Yours, daddy, your good girl.”

Jimin swiped a finger through the still-wet come on your face, lifting it again to your swollen lips.

“Suck, but don’t swallow.” He instructed you firmly, and you nodded, eagerly taking the finger into your mouth and swirling your tongue around the familiar bitter taste.

Once Jimin had fed you all the come that had lingered on your face, he leaned in for a filthy kiss. His tongue explored your mouth, collecting all the come he had made you keep like some sort of pet. As soon as he pulled away, leaving you breathless, he shot you a cocky smirk — even with his mouth full — and lurched down to your core.

He fucked you with his tongue, spearing the muscle with sharp motions, drawing out a truly unholy sound as he spat back his own come into you. The feel of it, wet and filthy and degrading, made you clench around thin air. Though, Jimin soon remedied that. He plunged two fingers back into you down to the last knuckle, leaning up slightly to suck your clit.

“Ah, fuck, daddy!” You cried, back arching as Jimin added another finger just as he laved his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves. “P-Please, oh, fuck me, please.”

“You like that?” Jimin purred, his lips glazed with your slick and come, “You like being daddy’s little cumslut? My own personal fuckdoll?”

At his crude words, Jimin shoved another finger into you, meaning he was pumping almost his whole hand into your tight hole as you moaned and cried. Tears were running down your face from the stimulation, but Jimin just didn’t let up.

“Yes, I’m- ah, I’m your fuckdoll! Daddy, please, m’gonna, oh, m’gonna come.”

Jimin pulled his mouth away from you to give your core a sharp spank. You jerked away from him, but couldn’t put up much resistance when he tugged you back.

“You aren’t going to come unless it’s on my cock, understand, kitten?”

You whimpered pitifully, and his voice softened.

“Does my angel want to be fucked now?”

“Yes,’ You sobbed, clutching at him desperately, trying to pull him up, “Please, daddy, I’m- m’your angel, please.”

“Okay, kitten.” He smiled at you benevolently, wiping his slick-covered face on the bedsheet before pushing himself up on his forearms and crawling up the bed to you.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as soon as you could, tugging him close until your rapidly rising chests were touching. He captured you in a kiss, slanting his mouth against yours in a way that made your toes curl, swiping his tongue into you possessively. You gave into him with ease.

When you felt his head nudge at your entrance, you whimpered against his mouth, but instead of rejoining your lips like you had expected, Jimin pulled away completely. Ignoring your protests, he sat himself up on his knees, lifting your hips until they rested on the top of his thighs.

He gripped you firmly, stopping you from any attempt to roll your hips, so his cock was infuriatingly just out of reach, though every so often he would shift and the forehead would brush your clit, making you moan pathetically.

“Daddy,” You whimpered, so close to release and yet so far, “Please, fuck me. Please.”

“You’ll never say anything like that again, right baby?” Though his voice was soft, his eyes were merciless as they watched you writhe in desperation.

“Say what? Daddy, I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re… just- please-”

“You’ll never disobey me.” He stated, and you shook your head fervently.

“Never, I promise!”

“You’ll never ask to go to a club without me.”

“I won’t! I don’t want to go anywhere without you daddy, I’m sorry.”

“You’ll never…” He hesitated, his voice cracking slightly as he repeated, “You’ll never threaten to break up with me.”

You gasped, the arousal building in you becoming more painful by the second.

“I won’t! I won’t! I’m yours, daddy, only yours!”

Jimin smiled.

“There’s my good girl.”

When he rolled his hips into you, you saw stars.

He was so thick, filling you so completely. He picked up your hips and started pounding into you right away, thigh muscles bunching as he shoved himself into your tight heat over and over again.

“Feel so good around my cock, baby.” He grunted, hands painfully tight on your hips. You hoped he left bruises, “So perfect, you were made for me. Made to take my come, like a good little slut.”

“M’your slut,” You babbled, mouth hanging open as Jimin fucked you brutally, “Please, daddy, touch-”

“Of course, baby.” Jimin murmured, moving his thumb inwards slightly to press against your clit as his cock stretched you out.

“I’m- daddy, can I- oh, can I please come?” Your eyes rolled back in your head as Jimin angled your hips slightly different and began a volley of thrusts that battered directly against that spot that made red-hot pleasure coil in your gut, “Please, I wanna come on your cock, wanna be yours, daddy please.”

“Such a good girl,” Jimin groaned, falling onto his forearms and grinding his cock into you, “Yes, go on, baby, come. Come on daddy’s cock.”

At his permission, you let yourself go, writhing on him as your vision blanked out. He rode through your orgasm, pressing his cock into you in slow, maddening circles before letting his own come spill into you as well.

The two of you collapsed against the bed, uncaring of how sweaty and gross you were, simply panting to get your breath back.

“Jimin?” You managed to get out, and he propped his chin up on your chest, a lazy, satisfied smile on his face.

“I- You know I didn’t mean it, right?”

“The break up thing?” He questioned, as if it could be anything else, and you nodded. A little huff of laughter brushed your chin.

“Well, that’s good to hear, baby, but I know you didn’t. And even if you did, it wouldn’t matter.”

“It wouldn’t?” You asked, and a devilish smirk painted itself across his features.

“No matter what you say or try to do, I’ll never let you get away from me.”

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anarchy-and-piglins · 3 years

Text

My depression: but what if suicidal Techno?

My muse: yes sir, right away sir!

So have some vent writing...

The first time Technoblade tried to kill himself he was maybe ten years old.

Like most bad choices it was spurred by nothing but curiosity. The overwhelming need to test the limits of the improbable, without a second glance as to whether knowing would make a difference or not.

It had whispered in his mind for years. You can not die, it had told him over and over. Until it was pressed solidly within his veins. Technoblade hadn't thought to question them at all. Despite the voices having a tendency to lie to him, gloat in his misery or trick him with falsehoods, there was an underlying certainty that this statement at least was true. Technoblade would never die, he knew.

Until he had sat on the floor in the living room one night, watching Phil rock Tommy on his lap. His tiny body shook with sobs as their father rubbed Tommy's back, fingers cradling tenderly through blonde hair. "It was just a nightmare," Phil had said. "We're all fine, promise. We're alive." But the words had done nothing to reassure the child.

Because Tommy was five years old and had dreamt his family died.

And Phil had told him that while everybody died eventually, it wouldn't be for a very long time yet.

Technoblade sat on the floor with Wilbur leaning against him, half-asleep as they had all been woken up by Tommy's nightmare, and had wondered which one was the truth.

So the next day he had waited until their father left to run an errand, until both his brothers had been distracted. And then Technoblade went into Phil's room and found a knife.

He brought it to the river that ran near their house and glanced at the rippling water. There was no fear inside him – no worry. It felt like Techno's very soul knew it wouldn't work. The voices confirmed this by telling him it was futile, taunting him to go through with it or begging him not to. Techno narrowed his eyes, walking into the water until it came up to his knees and holding out his arm.

In one quick motion he slid into the skin, following the curve of his elbow down towards his wrist.

Blood was swept away into the river while Techno stood there, tears brimming in his eyes from a mixture of pain and confusion. Minutes passed and he bled and bled and bled and then he got dizzy and he sat down on the soggy riverbank, still crying and bleeding.

Techno passed out and woke up what felt like hours later, the sun sat low in the sky.

He was covered in blood, the wound scabbed over with the dried remains of it. He hadn't died, though he felt in all ways as if he should have.

Standing up, he stumbled back to the house. Wilbur was in the living room, his face when Technoblade staggered inside became three shades paler. Techno dropped to his knees, feeling empty. He told Wil it was an accident. Told him that he had taken the knife to train with and had slipped up and hurt himself. He begged Wilbur not to tell their father.

Eventually, Wilbur agreed but made him promise to be more careful.

Technoblade nodded. Though it hadn't been the last time he tried, he became more careful about letting them see.

The river ran red five more times.

He drowned once, in Antarctica.

The ice had broken beneath Technoblade's feet and he had dropped beneath the surface in a blink's time. Cold water rushed into his mouth when he gasped and then it was in his eyes too, making it hard to see. Heavy furs became soaked in seconds, dragging him down deeper and Techno tried to swim but only found more ice, solid walls every way he tried to go. His lungs were bursting in his ribcage, tearing apart with the need for oxygen. It hurt worse than any war wound had.

Technoblade couldn't die.

He was left there, at the brink of some grand abyss that was denied for him and left him with the agony instead. After what felt like forever he managed to push through something inside him – a small chasm of power that resided within – and Technoblade punched through the sheet above him to claw at the sky again. Heaving himself onto the ground, he was left retching the excess water out of his body. Hypothermia had set in, sending pinpricks through every nerve but his flesh did not starve or wither.

Technoblade never dies, the voices cheered. A mantra that was starting to sound like a curse. The gift of a god turned into a damnation.

Technoblade stood on shaking legs and continued his way home.

He set the charges one by one, sloppy and without care.

There was poetic justice in this, he decided. This was a narrative conclusion that made sense. His brother blew up both L'Manberg and himself. Then Technoblade blew the city up as well.

So this simply was the logical next step.

If Technoblade could get his way, there would be nothing left come morning but a giant crater in the ground.

Instead, the explosives went off and ended the world that mattered without taking Techno down with it. He stared at the sky with pain in every limb that should have been torn off but stayed attached, with burns all over that should have killed him but wouldn't, and wondered how the simple act of dying could be this difficult. The voices were still audible – the only thing he could hear since his fractured eardrums were bleeding out his ears – and they admonished him for being naive enough to try still.

It would never allow him to die on anything but their terms.

("Take better care of yourself," somebody said.

"Don't go throwing yourself into danger for others," somebody said.

"Why did you protect me? You could have died!"

Technoblade wanted to tell them all that his life didn't matter like theirs did, but couldn't find the words.)

The anvil had broken his head open, splashed his brain matter into a million pieces before stitching it back together. When Quackity asked him how he had done it, Technoblade had laughed with a hollow heart.

He came home and found his nearest chest full of potions, digging through it for any sleeping pot he could find. Tommy was asking questions Techno easily brushed off, finding he couldn't care less why the kid was here. Heck, maybe he could keep the cabin. At least then all Techno's grinding wouldn't go to waste. Uncorking the first bottle, Technoblade downed it in three big swallows.

Then the next, and the next. A few more after. The world became dazed and muffled and Technoblade was tired. He just wanted to sleep. He wanted to go to bed and be left alone forever. Even in retirement, they would see fit to hunt him down, drag him to their mockery of a trail like an animal and sentence him without a jury.

And subjected him to an execution that some part of Technoblade might have been hoping would actually work. A death that would finally stick.

Not yet, it whispered in his mind, toxic and murky. Dragging him to the edge of unconsciousness as he slumped down on the floor feeling his pulse slow down to a faint whimper. It would not cease beating completely only because they would not allow it to, divine power kept the blood flowing. You can't die yet. You can never die.

Technoblade closed his eyes just to pretend he wouldn't wake up again.

When he did Phil was there. Some distant part of Techno felt the heat of sibling-typical annoyance towards Tommy. Clearly the kid had snitched on him. Gone and told dad, like he always said he would when he found Wilbur wrist-deep in the cookie jar.

Techno wanted to sob.

"Why did you do it?" Phil asked, with no anger or disappointment. Only sincere worry was reflected in his every gesture. It made regret swell in Techno's gut. He couldn't even die without hurting everybody around him.

He'd always keep hurting them.

"I don't know," he lied. Or maybe it was the truth. He wasn't sure anymore.

"Oh, Tech." Phil hugged him, the warmth not at all enough to waylay the numbness in Techno's soul but at least it was better than nothing. A little drop in the desert that was his confused emotions.

Techno clung to him and rubbed Phil's back, remembering the way Tommy had held onto their father over a decade ago. "I'm fine, promise. I'm alive."

Even if he'd rather not be.

Inside his ribcage, his heart continued beating.

#technoblade #dream smp #mcyt #shara writes #self harm tw #suicidal ideation tw #suicide attempt tw #-dabs as they throw this here-

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hopeymchope · 3 years

Text

The Pre-Valentine’s Meeting: A Danganronpa Fic

Summary: Leon Kuwata calls together the men of Hope's Peak's 78th class in an attempt to learn who is expecting to receive Valentine's chocolate from which of their female classmates.

Links:

The Pre-Valentine’s Meeting on AO3

The Pre-Valentine’s Meeting on FF.Net

Or you can read it below the cut if you like.

"What's up, my dudes?" Leon Kuwata said as he strolled into the dining hall. He was addressing the longest table in the hall, where all of the other openly male members of the 78th class were currently seated.

In contrast to Leon's jovial attitude, Byakuya Togami looked deeply irritated. "We should be the ones asking that," he said irritably, "Since this meeting was at your insistence."

"This gathering is an important opportunity regardless of why Kuwata-kun requested it," Kiyotaka Ishimaru declared proudly, directing his comments towards Byakuya. "We must make the most of this chance to maximize our bonds as men!"

"I suppose I'm down with what bro said," Mondo Owada offered, "But does it gotta happen so late?"

"I'd never have guessed you're the early-to-bed type, Owada-kun," Makoto Naegi said with a light laugh.

Before Mondo could respond, Hifumi Yamada interjected: "It's only midnight! I'd normally be working until at least 2 a.m. on my latest doujin!"

"I ain't against a late night," Mondo said to Makoto. "But we gotta be real here, man — it's only Thursday."

"Exactly!" Leon replied, still standing. "It's basically already the weekend! Besides, don't tell me that your gang never got up to anything on Thursday nights."

"Not this late," Mondo told him. He smiled as he added, "Gotta save that energy so we can really tear it up on Friday night, y'know?"

"I do hold reservations about whether this will negatively impact our performance tomorrow," Taka said. "However, as there are no tests scheduled for this Friday, I believe the benefits of this male bonding time will outweigh the possible blowback!"

"Whatever, thanks for that," Leon said dismissively. "Let's get down to business," he said, pivoting to something that put much more passion in his voice. "We're a week and a half out from V-Day, and I am here to find out who among us is expecting Valentine's chocolate from which ladies!"

Makoto closed his eyes and hung his head. Mondo audbily groaned.

Yasuhiro Hagakure, on the other hand, grinned. "If that's all ya wanna know, I'll be happy to peer into the future for you!" he told Leon. "I've got a special Valentine deal going: Just 100 million yen!"

Now everyone at the table groaned. Makoto leaned over and gently told Hiro, "Ah, nobody here is gonna go for that. Sorry."

Byakuya Togami stood up. "If there's nothing else... " he muttered, then pivoted to face the door.

"Please, Togami-kun!" Taka said, reaching out with an open palm. "Without the full complement of our brethren, this male-bonding activity will be incomplete!"

Togami gave him a withering look. "I couldn't possibly care about that," he said. "I only came here to this gathering in the first place to satisfy my mild curiosity about what Kuwata considered so urgent." He moved his attention to Leon. "I admit that I didn't expect much, but you actually surprised me, Kuwata."

"How's that?" Leon said.

Byakuya smirked. "This was an even more foolish waste of time than I anticipated." He turned away once more. "Don't bother me again." With that, he walked out.

Taka looked crestfallen, but Leon didn't even visibly react to the insult. "Whatever," he said, shrugging. "He's only gonna get chocolate from Fukawa anyway."

Hifumi rubbed his chin. "Even if that's true, wouldn't her dual nature mean he'll get two gifts?"

"Dude, who even cares about that?" Leon responded. He pointed a finger at the side of his head. "Are you brain dead or something? It's not about how much chocolate you get — it's about the ladies you get it from!"

Hifumi gently adjusted his glasses with one hand. "Speak for yourself," he said back. "3D women mean nothing to me."

Mondo chuckled a little. "So nobody in our class is good enough for ya?" he prodded. "That the size of it?"

"Nothing so entitled," Hifumi said. "3D women are just too complicated, too... messy. With my 2D girls, I always know where I stand. The flags for instigating romance are always obvious, and in most cases, the ladies respond positively to those flags regardless of any other factors."

"Sure," Leon said, unconvinced. He finally sat down, slipping into a chair across from Hifumi, then leaning forward to bring himself closer. Hifumi instinctively leaned away. "Are you really gonna sit there and pretend there's not a single girl in the class who's even got you a little interested in the real thing?" Leon pressed.

Hifumi began to sweat. "We-well, I... I suppose... " He placed his forefinger across his lips and looked downward. "I mean... I guess I wouldn't mind if Chihiro Fujisaki-dono g-gave me some chocolate... "

Mondo glanced sideways and pursed his lips. "Huh," he muttered.

Leon rubbed the hair hanging off his chin between his thumb and forefinger as he looked at Hifumi skeptically. "But is that, uh... likely?"

Hifumi looked dubious, but he managed a smile. "We've enjoyed working together on some projects in the past. Perhaps some Friend Chocolate... ?"

Leon shook his head. "Man, that's the worst kind of chocolate," he said.

"Philistine!" Hifumi suddenly declared. He thrust forward one hand, pointing dramatically at Leon as he bellowed, "All chocolate is precious!"

Leon folded his arms and leaned his head back. "Don't get all high-and-mighty with me. You know damn well the kinda chocolate I wanna hear about, man!"

"Well both of you shut the hell up?!" Mondo yelled, slamming a fist on the table. Everyone jerked backwards. Hifumi let out a small yelp of surprise. Makoto flailed his arms a bit. Unphased, Mondo continued, "Your dumbass argument doesn't matter!"

After an awkward beat of silence from the group, Taka was the first one to lean back into position. Sitting beside Mondo, he sternly said, "Bro, you know that kind of language is-"

Mondo waved him off. "Yeah, I know, I know. Sorry, bro."

Leon swallowed and tried to hold his ground. "Well, it still matters to me what kind of chocolate it is."

"That's not even what I was talkin' about," Mondo grumbled, looking away.

Taka's brow furrowed. "Then what did you mean by saying that it 'doesn't matter'?"

Mondo looked at him with irritation. "Just that... look, Fujisaki... " He paused and cleared his throat, then looked down at the floor. "They ain't plannin' to give anybody anything more than Friend Chocolate, okay?!"

There was another moment of silence that was soon interrupted by a loud gasp from Hiro. "This is awful!" he shouted. "Owada-chi! How come you never told me you're a psychic, too?!"

Before Mondo could protest, Taka stepped in. "That is not what bro is saying!" Taka told Hiro confidently. "Clearly, he learned this because he and Fujisaki-kun discuss workout tips!"

Makoto looked at Mondo with an expression of surprise on his face that transitioned into something else as he narrowed his eyes. He said, "So Owada-kun, are you saying that you just... asked her?"

Mondo eyes locked with his so quickly that Makoto flinched. "Hell no!" Mondo replied. "They just said so, okay?!"

This inspired a chuckle from Leon. "Maybe she was trying to keep you from getting your hopes up," he said, smiling.

Now it was Leon's turn to be on the receiving end of Mondo's glare. "God dammit, it ain't like that!" Mondo said.

"C-can we just move on from Fujisaki-dono already?" Hifumi said as visible sweat beaded upon his face. "Leon Kuwata-dono — why don't you volunteer information on the chocolate you expect to receive? You were the one to initiate this meeting, after all."

Letting out a fake sigh, Leon grinned as he said, "I get it. Everybody wants to know what Valentine's Day looks like for a real ladies' man. And yes, I'm sure I'll be getting chocolate from many of my fans."

Mondo let out a guffaw. "Is one of those 'fans' your cousin?" he teased.

Leon rolled his eyes. "I mean... she'll probably send me some too, but no, I meant-"

"I was asking about our classmates," Hifumi interrupted, pointing at Leon. He wrapped his thumb and forefinger around the rim of his glasses. "Are any of them your 'fans'?"

At this, Leon frowned a little. "Well... I'm hoping to receive some from somebody, but I kinda think she might have her eyes on somebody else... " His gaze drifted over to Makoto.

Makoto smiled nervously, holding up his hands in defense. "Hey now... I'm not expecting chocolate from anybody." At that, the entire rest of the table burst into laughter. Makoto looked around at everyone in confusion. "What?!" he demanded. "What'd I say?!"

As he stopped chuckling, Mondo bowed his head. "Dude, you really are clueless."

Makoto threw up his hands. "About what?"

"For starters, Maizono-chan is constantly by your side," Leon pointed out.

"She's a good friend!" Makoto insisted. "And that's all!"

Taka spoke up next. "I have noticed that Ikusaba-kun speaks with you more than most of our classmates."

Makoto shook his head rapidly. "Ikusaba-san is a friend, too! She's not, like... into me or anything like that."

"You and the detective girl seem pretty close," Hifumi observed.

Makoto looked away. "Kirigiri-san is... uh, sh-she wouldn't be interested in someone like me... " he said softly.

"Like I said," Mondo remarked. "You're clueless."

"You've got it wrong!" Makoto exclaimed, jumping to his feet. He pointed one hand dramatically around the table as he said, "Just because I'm friends with these girls doesn't mean they want to be my girlfriend!"

"And what about you?" Leon pressed. "Do you want to date any of them?"

Makoto opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His face reddened, and he slowly slumped back into his seat. "I'll... deal with that on White Day," he finally murmured.

Leon leaned back and and raised an eyebrow at Makoto. "Yeah, about White Day... Do I gotta get your permission before I give any of those girls chocolate?"

Raising his forefinger to the side of his mouth, Makoto scratched at his cheek and said, "No no, you're fine!" After a momentary pause, he added, "Uh, I assume you're talking about Maizono-san?"

Leon visibly cringed. "If you know that I'm into her, does that mean Maizono-chan knows?"

Makoto nodded a couple times. "She does have really good intuition," he said, smiling sympathetically.

Hiro rubbed his head sheepishly as he told Leon, "Actually, I knew you're gunning for her, too."

"Crap," Leon said emphatically. "If you could tell, everybody must know!"

"Hey — not everybody has my psychic power!" Hiro protested.

Mondo bowed his head a bit and countered, "Kuwata's got a point, man. I mean, I already knew."

Leon put his head in his hands. "And here I was already working out a grand romantic gesture for White Day," he grumbled.

Taka clenched his fist. "You can still do that!" he declared. "It need not be a complete surprise!"

Closing one eye tight, Leon looked upwards with the other as he considered that. "It loses some impact, but... yeah, maybe." He sat upright once more to look at Taka and Mondo, who were seated beside one another. “Let's just move on," Leon said quickly. "This is about the V-Day, not White Day. So what about you two?"

Mondo and Taka exchanged look, then simultaneously turned back to Leon. "What about us?" Mondo asked.

With exasperation, Leon asked, "What girls do you think you'll get chocolate from?"

Confused, Taka and Mondo looked at each other for a long moment. Then, slowly, they began to laugh.

As the two of them burst into hysterics, Leon threw up his hands in a shrug. "Am I missing something?"

Mondo gradually stopped laughing. "Who needs chocolate from girls?" he said. Throwing an arm around Taka, he grinned as he continued, "All I need is some chocolate from my bro here, and I'm set!"

Blushing, Taka put an arm around Mondo and exclaimed, "Same here!"

Leon closed his eyes and sighed. "Well, this is turning into a real bust," he grumbled.

"Perhaps the problem is that no one can truly know what to expect," Hifumi offered.

"Yeah," Hiro agreed. "None of us are in relationships, and I mean... when it comes to girls, most of us are just as clueless as Naegi-chi!"

"Hey!" Makoto protested.

Ignoring Makoto, a dismayed Leon acknowledged Hiro's remark. "Yeah, I'm getting that impression." Looking around at the group, he said, "Maybe I should've waited to ask for everyone's White Day plans. At least then it's all up to the guys."

Taka gave a swift nod to that. "It is easiest to know future events when you are the one who controls them," he stated.

Makoto frowned at Hiro. "You know, somehow it hurts more when you call me clueless... "

Hiro shrugged at him by way of apology. "My offer still stands for anyone interested, by the way," Hiro told the table. "Step right up and get your fortune told — learn which ladies will love you today!"

A variety of negative replies emerged from the rest of the table. "Not interested." "No, thank you." "Not a chance." "N-no, sorry." "Nuh-uh."

#danganronpa fanfic #my writing #danganronpa #danganronpa fic #leon kuwata #makoto naegi #yasuhiro hagakure #mondo owada #mondo oowada #kiyotaka ishimaru #hifumi yamada #valentine's day #danganronpa valentines

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eryiss · 3 years

Text

Summary: Freed and Gajeel were total opposites in every way, only connected by the guild. When they were forced to train together under Makarov's orders, they expected antagonism and mistrust. Instead, they were given a lesson in how quickly opposition can turn to attraction. The issue: let the budding relationship simmer away, or let it explode. [Freed x Gajeel Multi-chapter]

Notes: Hey everyone, welcome to the last chapter. Thank you so much for reading through this. I know it’s a crack ship and not everyone’s cup of tea, but I really enjoyed writing it. I hope you all enjoyed it :)

Links: FFN, Ao3, Chapter List

Chapter Ten - Moving Forward

Two Weeks Later

"You feelin' okay?"

That was a loaded question, and one Freed wasn't yet ready to deal with. He and Gajeel were walking from the guildhall infirmary side by side, the first time that Freed had been outside since his demon had left him. It was mid morning and an entirely pleasant day, and Freed found himself angry at the sun beating down on them both. If it were raining or stormy then at least it would feel appropriate for his mood.

A cane. For the rest of his life, he would need a cane.

In terms of a mage's possible injuries, ending up with a cane wasn't much to complain about. People had been killed, mutilated and injured beyond recovery, so having to walk with a cane was hardly the worst that could happen. But every time he thought about it, Freed could only see a future limited by a piece of wood he would need to lean on.

The demon, it seemed, wasn't only eating away at his soul. It had slowly been sapping away at his energy both physical and magical, and the effect was more physical than Porlyiusca had thought. Porlyusica had said that, though she didn't know how long it would take, the demon would have eventually started to make Freed wither if it had been left to stay inside of him. The issue had been that, as the demon was being dragged from his soul, it's influence had exploded and affected Freed greatly, particularly in his lower right leg.

Porlyusica had said the influence had been like an ocean, slowly wearing away the coast. But as the demon was taken, it had turned into a tsunami.

He had been assured that the injury wasn't life threatening, and it was something that he could more-or-less get passed. Eventually, he would manage to bring the strength back to his leg, and when that happened the cane would only be a precaution for the occasional moments where the injury flared back up. Apparently he would be able to work as a mage again once the recovery began, though would have to change his fighting styles and work back up to the missions he had been taking.

Maybe he should be thankful that he would be able to continue working at all. He wasn't.

"Conflicted," Freed eventually said, walking beside Gajeel and determined to keep pace with him despite the unfamiliarity of the cane. "I'm glad you're here, though. Thank you."

"I wasn't gonna be anywhere else," Gajeel said firmly, and that was something of a consolation.

There was a lull in the conversation, and Freed knew what it was. Gajeel couldn't think of anything to say, because there was nothing that he could say to make the situation any better. No doubt, Gajeel knew that Freed wasn't fond of pity, and a lot of what a person might say in the situation might be seen as pitying, and so Gajeel was probably remaining quiet. Freed hoped this wasn't going to be a sign of things to come.

As if reading his thoughts, Gajeel suddenly perked up and looked at Freed with a mischievous smile. It was forced, but Freed didn't want to linger on that and so pushed it to the side and quirked up an eyebrow in a question.

"The stripper and the puppeteer are making Sparky and the flirt do their punishment this week," Gajeel said, and Freed laughed a little. "You wanna see them makin' asses out of themselves while being ordered around by two assholes."

"They actually went through with the butler idea?" Freed chuckled.

"Yeah. Even the thing about them being in their underwear and everything," Gajeel grinned, and maybe he was just happy to hear Freed amused. The last few weeks, he had been downcast at the best of times. "Even made sparky wear bunny ears. Though he was gonna fry all of us with how pissed off he looked. We were all laughin' pretty damn hard,"

"He takes bets seriously," Freed smiled. This topic, as stupid as it was, was a welcome distraction. "Are you sure you wish for me to see my ex in such a state of undress."

"Fuck yeah i do," Gajeel grinned. "You see him, then you see me and realise how much better you are now."

"So you intended to strip off too?" Freed probed. "I am being spoiled."

"Anythin' for my prince," Gajeel said.

Prince. Gajeel had been calling Freed that a lot over the last few weeks, and it always made him blush just a little. There was something so honest about the way he said it, as if Freed really were a man of importance to him as well as being someone to be revered. Freed wasn't the type of man to need complete adoration from a partener, but the fact Gajeel was so unquestioningly open about his reverence for him made Freed delighted. It was certainly better than city-boy, too.

And when he said he would do anything for Freed, it sounded like he meant it. Not just in the sense that he would do anything to make Freed's life easier now that this had happened. No, it felt like Gajeel was naturally happy to do things for Freed because he wanted to. Freed felt the same as Gajeel in that respect; he would do anything for him.

"I think maybe I'd like to go home for tonight," Freed eventually said, and Gajeel nodded.

"Thought you might," He said. "Don't worry about groceries or anything, I sorted 'em out. Spoke to yer team, so I've got everything you normally have, I think. Might make a cottage pie for dinner, Sparky said you like 'em. And I went to that bakery downtown and got you a banoffee pie for dessert."

And with a few statements, Gajeel had gotten Freed to cry.

The man who, less than a month ago, had been nothing more than a tedious acquaintance of Freed's was now somehow one of the most treasured people in his life. Because how could he not be? How could Freed not be entirely enamoured by a man like Gajeel? A man who had visited Freed every day in the infirmary, even sneaking in some nights despite rules saying he shouldn't. A man who, despite being known for his antisocial nature, had spoken to Freed's team to find out what he liked and what he did when the world was getting on top of him. A man who knew that something so trivial and comparatively not important as an empty fridge would be Freed's first thought after what had happened.

Gajeel noticed his sudden emotion and turned immediately. He looked at Freed with such open concern on his face, cupping Freed's cheeks with his large and calloused hands so carefully that Freed might swoon. Damn this brute of a man and his hidden fragility.

"It'll get better," Gajeel whispered. "I know it's shit now, and I ain't gonna tell ya how to feel 'cause that'd be shitty of me, but you'll get past it. Yer Freed fucking Justine, remember."

"I know," Freed chuckled, blinking a few times to cut off the tears. "Thank you."

"I ain't gonna let you do this alone, neither," Gajeel kept on. "Anythin' you need, anytime, I'm gonna do it for you. And you know you've got a whole guild full of people who'll do exactly the same. You'll get through it."

"I will," Freed whispered, and smiled at Gajeel. "You're too good to me."

"Like hell I am," Gajeel argued. "Now move yer ass. I wanna get in that damn bed of yours again. Mine feels shitty after havin' yours and yer runes would only let me in when I was bringing groceries."

Freed laughed at that. Gajeel certainly wasn't going to be treating him like glass. Good.

They walked down the streets of Magnolia side by side. For the most part it seemed normal, and on the few occasions where Freed's grasp on the cane wavered, or his leg buckled under him, Gajeel would help him back to being stable, held him while he walked for a few steps, and then acted like nothing had happened. Respectful, unpatronising, but there for him.

Gajeel was going to be there for him, and at that moment that was all Freed needed.

——

One Month Later

"Come on Prince," Gajeel yelled. "Nearly there, baby. Yer so close."

Gajeel was clapping as a form of motivation, standing on the side of the lake. He and Freed were in the forest that their relationship had begun in, having spent the night camping under the stars. The morning was a brisk and cold one, but Gajeel didn't care, as he watched his boyfriend keenly and with a ridiculous grin across his face.

Freed was so close. He was so close to getting there and Gajeel was so damn proud of him.

The couple had spoken at length about how Freed was going to move past his injury, and Freed had been adamant that he wanted to be as fit as he could and return to his missions as soon as he could. While Gajeel had been a little hesitant, he had worked with Freed on how they would accomplish that, and they had settled on building up his leg's muscle in small bursts. They would make goals for Freed to accomplish, and once he had accomplished one, he would move onto something more strenuous.

Swimming the entire length of the lake was the first goal. Although swimming didn't rely too heavily on his leg muscle, it kept it moving and put some on some burn. Multiple times a week they would get to the forest, and Freed would attempt it. So far, Gajeel had needed to dive in after and help him.

But this time, it looked different.

Freed was getting closer and closer to the shoreline and Gajeel could feel that this was the one. Finally Freed was going to get to the other end of the lake without any assistance. The water parted with each swift motion, and Gajeel was grinning from ear to ear as his boyfriend got closer.

"You can do this baby," He yelled again. "Yer fucking amazing. Yer so close."

Maybe Freed heard, because he seemed to speed up. As he approached the shoreline, Gajeel picked up his cane and rushed to where Freed was going to end up. He was going to do it! He was going to make it.

The moment Freed's hand hit the side of the lake, he removed his head from under the water. A look of shock turned to something close to joy, and Gajeel relished every second of it. To see the man he loved so happy, so proud of himself, was tremendous. Better still, Freed pushed himself out of the lake with no assistance, perhaps on an adrenaline high, and managed to stand up. It was wobbly, and he reached for his cane the moment it was within reach so he could prop himself up on it, but the fact he could do that after pushing his body so hard in swimming was incredible.

"Shit," Gajeel grinned. "You fucking-"

He was cut off when Freed grabbed Gajeel by the collar, pulled him down into a strong, passionate kiss. Gajeel stepped into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Freed's waist, not caring for how wet his clothes were going to be. He kissed back with as much passion as he could, because fuck - Freed had done it!

When they pulled apart, Freed had his left hand wrapped around Gajeel's neck. He looked practically giddy at his achievement. Fuck that was a handsome look on Freed, and Gajeel wanted to see it more. He pulled away, looked his man up and down and grinned.

Bastard shouldn't be able to kiss like that while dressed in a speedo.

Only Freed would be able to take the choice to give up sex until he was feeling reovered and turn it into a game where he'd try and turn Gajeel on every chance he got, just to piss him off. Motherfucking tease

"How d'you feel?" He asked, because Freed's health was more important than his arousal. "Nothing hurting too bad?"

"It burns, but like my arms do after lifting weights," Freed said, tentatively raising his right leg and moving it slightly. "But overall, I feel fantastic. Better than I have since everything began, I think."

"I'm glad," Gajeel grinned. "You wanna have some breakfast. Brought some pancake mix from the store if you wanna try it."

"Great," Freed grinned, and began to walk beside Gajeel to where they had set up camp. He looked up towards Gajeel with a spark in his eye that had been missing for some time. It was incredible to see it again. "I want to try and do it again tomorrow, to make sure that it wasn't a fluke. Would you mind sleeping here another night?"

"Of course not," Gajeel said immediately. Freed didn't need to ask.

"Once I'm sure that I can swim the length consistently, I think it makes sense to start working on exercises that focus on my leg, rather than using it as a secondary point of focus," Freed continued, seemingly unaware as Gajeel wrapped a towel around his bare shoulders. "I have a leg press at home which I could use, though perhaps that might be too much too soon. I suppose we can test it, can't we? You wouldn't mind being there, just in case something goes wrong."

"That's fine," Gajeel nodded, grinning at his boyfriend.

"Or perhaps some kind of ankle weights would be better," Freed continued, walking towards their camp as if walking on air. "They're not the most elegant solution, but they would certainly help build up muscle without too much strain. Perhaps you could make some for me, if you found the time of course. Maybe a continuous piece of iron that would snake around my calf, that way the weight would be distributed better around the leg."

"Makes sense," Gajeel said, chuckling. He was fairly sure he wasn't really a part of this conversation Freed was having with himself.

"I did want to start work on making the barn at the back of my property into a gym, but I've kept putting it off," Freed continued. "The space is rather a mess. Maybe the two of us could clean it out together. That would get me moving and help me be physical while using the cane," He then looked up to Gajeel and frowned. "Why are you smiling like that at me?"

"Yer cute when yer scheemin'," Gajeel grinned. "Glad I get to watch it."

Freed looked like he wanted to argue, so Gajeel leant over, pressed a kiss on the crown of his head, and smiled. Things were getting better.

——

Two Months Later

"Freed, no," Bickslow said firmly. "You can't do this to us."

"Why did you think this was a good idea?" Gray demanded, resting his head in his hands. "You've doomed us all."

"You're all so dramatic," Freed chuckled, leaning back in the chair and moving the wrapped box so it was out of sight again. "And I'm afraid that, when I'm choosing a gift for my boyfriend, I didn't prioritise the opinions of my friends."

"You should have," Evergreen huffed. "This is going to be awful."

The guild's New Years party had been going for hours now, and it had been a fun affair. People had drunk, made fools of themselves, and shared tender moments with their fellow guild members. While Freed hadn't engaged in much of the action, other than beating Max, Loke and Natsu in an arm wrestling contest, he had enjoyed a night of people watching and drinking with his friends and boyfriend.

As the night wore on, The Raijinshuu had flocked to a corner and sat at a table. Not only The Raijinshuu though, as Gajeel, Gray and Elfman were now mainstays of their table. It was odd, how quickly their small group had expanded and how easy these new friendships had been formed. Even Laxus, who had openly shown frustration at the fact he could have to go through the torture of becoming friendly with new people, had managed to find common ground with their new partners, even if he did pretend to be annoyed by their presence.

Or perhaps he was distracted. He and Loke could often be found glancing across at each other in subtle moments. Perhaps being forced to dress as sexy bunny-butlers had brought them together in a way fighting side by side just couldn't.

They were less subtle than Evergreen and Elfman, though. It was frustrating.

At that moment, Gajeel and Laxus had gone to the bar to collect the latest round. Freed had taken the opportunity to have a little fun with everyone else sitting at the table, and told them what his specific gift for Gajeel was. They had been less than pleased when they found out what it was, which only made Freed even more sure he had chosen the correct present.

"Hey," Gajeel said, placing a tray of drinks on the table and kissing Freed atop the head as he passed. "Why does everyone but you look pissy?"

"I told them that we couldn't open our gifts without you and Laxus being here," Freed lied smoothly, ignoring the roll of the eyes from Gray and Bickslow. "They were so enthusiastic to see what we've all got for each other, they didn't want to wait."

"Okay?" Gajeel frowned. "I don't believe ya, but if that's the story yer gonna go with, then I ain't gonna fight ya."

Freed chuckled. Gajeel really could see right through him.

Even though he didn't believe Freed's lie, the group did begin to open the presents they had gotten for each other. Elfman and Evergreen exchanged gifts first, doing so with the maturity of a woman who didn't know how to show off her affection, and the blush of a man who was delighted at even the smallest of compliments. Next, Bickslow and Gray, who had similar minds and had gotten each other gag gifts; Gray had been gifted ten coupons for a night with Bickslow, Bickslow had been gifted a pair of mens lingerie. Even Laxus had been given a gift from an 'anonymous' source, who had gotten him a small pendant shaped like a lion.

They really needed to be more subtle.

When it came to Freed and Gajeel, Gajeel offered his wrapped gift first. The box was long and thin, and Freed looked at it with curiosity as he began to unwrap it. When he looked at Gajeel, the dragon slayer was nervous.

"If you don't like it, that's okay?" Gajeel said, and Freed frowned. "It was kinda risky. So don't feel bad if you wanna change it back."

Not entirely sure what to expect, Freed opened the box. Inside of it was a new walking cane, one made of both wood and metal, a hell of a lot nicer than the one he'd gotten from Porlyusica. For a moment he wondered what Gajeel had been so nervous about, and what he meant by 'change it back', when he saw the handle. Rather than a simple handle, Gajeel had placed the hilt of Freed's sword on top of it.

The sword had been a constant burden for Freed over the past few months. He couldn't use it as his hand was occupied with the cane, so he had been forced to retire it. Looking at it was like a reflection of how much he had lost, and it had gotten so bad that he had put it in the attic and locked it away. Gajeel had apparently found it.

"I know the sword meant a lot to ya, but after what happened it made you feel shitty," Gajeel explained. "But I wanted it to make you feel good. Not something from yer past, but something from yer future."

"It's beautiful," Freed whispered, running his hand over the metal that had once been his hilt.

The sword had been the first thing he had brought with his own money, and the hilt had been the deciding factor over all the other weapons the armory had. For most of his life, it had been his most prized possession. Now, with the hilt attached to something that he could use, rather than something that taunted him with it's past importance, he could look at it with fondness and pride again.

"You sure?" Gajeel asked.

"Yes," Freed said earnestly. "It's perfect."

"You ain't seen everythin' yet," Gajeel was grinning now, and Freed removed it from it's box. "If y' push it into the ground and twist it anti-clockwise, you'll see what else I did."

Freed did as instructed, and heard a small click come from inside the cane. He lifted it up, and a thin blade was revealed to him. He looked at the shining metal with wonderment, and slowly brought the blade towards him. Another sword, more lightweight and agile than his previous blade had been, which worked better for his current state.

"I smelted down the old one and made it from the same metal, so it'll carry all the enchantments you put on it," Gajeel explained. "Thought you'd need one for when you started working again."

"It's perfect," Freed whispered, grinning at the blade. "Thank you so much, Gajeel."

"Happy new year, prince," Gajeel mumbled, pressing his lips against Freed's for a chaste kiss. "Yer gonna kick ass, I know it."

"I certainly intend to," Freed smiled, reaching for his gift to Gajeel. "While I admit it's not as thought out as yours was - I don't think anything could be - I do hope you enjoy what I got you."

Gajeel grinned and began to rip open the present, and everyone at the table who knew what he'd been gifted seemed downtrodden at the thought. Gajeel, however, looked into the large box with sparkling eyes and the biggest, most excited grin on his face. A moment later, he brandished his new electric guitar with anticipation rushing through him. Yes, Freed had definitely gotten him the right gift.

"Holy shit," Gajeel said with an excited laugh. "This is fucking kickass."

"I'm glad you like it," Freed smiled. "I should say, I expect a show."

Everyone groaned, but Gajeel ignored them. "Fuck yeah yer getting a show."

Before leaving, however, Gajeel leant down and pressed their lips together in a passionate kiss that was perhaps too deep for the situation. But with the constant PDA from Gray and Bickslow, the love/hate flirting from Elfman and Evergreen, and whatever the hell Loke and Laxus had between them, Freed felt he was allowed to kiss his boyfriend how he pleased.

"I should say," Freed murmured into Gajeel's ear as he pulled away. "I find musicians very sexy."

"Y' do, huh?" Gajeel grinned, voice a little husky.

"And if a musician were to dedicate a song to me, I could be persuaded to let him do anything at all to me," Freed continued, voice a sexy tease which he hopes would go right down Gajeel's spine. "Including, perhaps allowing him to bind me to my bed with the manicals that he thinks I don't know are hidden in the spare room," Gajeel's breath hitched. "I might let him keep me there all night, even. Though, I suppose, once I was bound, he'd be in complete control of me, so I'd have to do as instructed no matter what."

"Fuck yeah you would," Gajeel growled a little, and Freed smirked.

Once Freed had been recovered enough, the two men had restarted their sex life. Freed was happy both topping and bottoming, but Gajeel had shown himself to enjoy taking the top roll with sadistic glee. Freed had been happy to accommodate, and he'd been beaten and bruised by the man night after night.

"Something to consider before you start," Freed grinned, pulling away from Gajeel's ear to lean back in his seat.

Gajeel walked to the guildhall's stage with purpose, hefting his new guitar and plugging it into the amplifier. It seemed like everyone but Freed was unhappy with this turn of events, but neither man cared. This was for them, and they were going to enjoy themselves.

"I'm gonna dedicate this to my Prince, the hottest motherfucker in this guild," He looked towards Freed with an evil grin. "And this is a warnin' baby. You better be dancin' now, 'cause yer gonna be too fuckin sore to do it tomorrow."

Freed laughed, raised a glass to toast the sentiment, and sat back to watch his boyfriend perform.

——

Nine Months Later

Gajeel woke up with Freed wrapped up in his arms, and he still smiled at the sight of the sleeping man despite how much he'd seen it.

One year. He'd spent one year with Freed, and enjoyed every damn day of it.

Even if the start had been rocky, both with how they first felt anger towards each other as well as the difficulties Freed was facing with his leg, Gajeel wouldn't have changed a single day. Without their arguments on that first week, then Gajeel couldn't be sure that their passion would have turned into something more beautiful and more important than Gajeel would have ever predicted. And while he would give anything for Freed not to have had to face the demon and all the consequences of its possession, Gajeel was so proud of Freed for fighting through it all and was so glad he could be there to help him.

Now, Freed was a lot better. He was stronger on his feet and his cane was rarely needed, even if he always kept it with him. He could go on missions, both with Gajeel and with his team. While they weren't as action-filled as his previous missions, Freed was relearning his craft and creating a new fighting style that could accommodate his needs.

He was a fucking badass, and Gajeel loved him so much.

Life had changed for Gajeel too. Months prior, his contract in the shitty apartment had ended and Freed had invited him to move in with him. Now, every morning he got to wake up with Freed in their shared bed, in their shared home, in their shared lives.

Life was good.

With careful movements, he pressed his lips against Freed's to coax him awake. One thing that hadn't changed was Freed's adorable habit of sleeping in as late as he could, and normally Gajeel would be happy to accommodate. But today was their anniversary and he wanted to spend as much time as he could with his boyfriend. The afternoon and the evening were all planned by Freed, but Gajeel had a few ways of making the morning more fun.

"Wake up, baby," He murmured. "I got a surprise for ya."

Freed, as he always did when he was woken up before he wanted, blinked a few times and pushed his face into Gajeel's chest as if in protest to waking up. Gajeel chuckled, stroked his hand through Freed's hair, and gently pulled the man out from his chest. Freed was sleep worn and tired, but still smiled up at Gajeel.

"Morning," He greeted through a yawn.

"G' mornin'," Gajeel said with a grin. "Y' better not be tired all day. I've got plans for ya."

"Oh have you," Freed grinned lazily, hand resting on Gajeel. "Do tell."

"Not like that, y' horny fucker," Gajeel grinned. Of course, part of the day would be dedicated to screwing Freed senseless, but just not now. "Put on a robe or somethin', I'm gonna make ya breakfast."

Freed raised an eyebrow, but did as instructed and slowly removed himself from the bed. Once out from under the covers, Gajeel saw the man in his naked glory and smirked. Over the year, Freed had shown an interest in getting more piercings, and Gajeel had happily obliged. He had rings decorating his other ear, a stud on his nose, and a single barbell at the base of his cock. That was Gajeel's favourite. Day by day, he was turning his prince more punk.

In response, Gajeel had gotten himself some new tattoos in the shape of Freed's runes. They hadn't figured out how to implant actual runes, but the tattoos looked just the same. He now had the runic word for Dragon on his left arm, and he looked fucking kickass.

"When you said you were going to make breakfast, I hope you meant food," Freed teased gently. "Because at the moment, you look ready to eat me."

"Later, Prince," Gajeel promised, wrapping an arm around Freed.

They walked to the kitchen, and Freed sat at the table while Gajeel got to cooking. Freed mainly cooked for them both as he was better, but Gajeel was by no means bad when tasked with a meal. He also knew each and every one of Freed's guilty pleasure meals, and as such had decided to cook them both pancakes and bacon for their breakfast. They would need the energy for the rest of the day. No doubt Freed had something good planned, and then of course there was the double date dinner with Gray and Bickslow.

Apparently, according to Bickslow, they shared an anniversary, and as such had to celebrate together.

"Y' see that box on the table," Gajeel spoke over his shoulder. "Got you a present. Open it."

"I thought we agreed not to," Freed said, picking up the box.

"Yeah, I know. I had this already and thought it would be good for ya," Gajeel smiled to himself as he whisked the mixture. He heard paper ruffling behind him, and grinned when he heard Freed laugh. "Put it on. Every prince needs one, after all."

It was the wooden crown that he had carved when worrying about Freed in the forest. Once he had been sure Freed was okay, he had gone back to the forest and found where he'd left the carving. He had promised himself that, if he and Freed made it a year as a couple, he would give it to the man. By the amused expression on Freed's face, he had made the right choice.

Freed placed the crown on his head, rolling his eyes a little but smiling. Gajeel grinned and sauntered over to him. He pressed their lips together, grinning.

"Never thought I'd kiss a real prince," He teased. "Ain't I lucky."

"Not as lucky as me, I fear," Freed teased, running a hand up Gajeel's arms. When his fingers traced his runes, he stopped and smiled. "I never did tell you what this meant, did I? I suppose I was embarrassed. Would you like to know?"

"Yeah!" Gajeel exclaimed. He had always been curious.

"It means 'ownership'," Freed chuckled, and Gajeel's inner dragon leapt with joy. "It seems my magic has claimed you, Gajeel."

Gajeel grinned, wrapped Freed in his arms and kissed the hell out of him.

Yeah, life was pretty fucking good.

#Gajeed #Freedjeel #Freed x Gajeel #Freed Justine #Gajeel Redfox #fairy tail #fanfic #Writing #multi chapter #chapter ten #word count: 5.2k

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