#then I remembered other people have lectures and I would disturb them and I quited down but I almost wish he heard me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

raccoon-eyed-rebel · 2 years

Text

Part 2 - Play it by ear

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 1 -- Part 3

Pairing: CollegeAU!Sherlock Holmes x OFC (Elena)

Summary: Sherlock helps his friend study for an exam, and she teaches him some new things in return...

Warnings: Rated M for making out, second base stuff, boobs. This is mostly fluff, marked awk for awkward and slight emotional crisis (it’s Sherlock. Every emotion is a crisis...). Mention of deadlines and assignments - for those of us who are in uni or relive the anxiety every damn day of their lives.

Word count: 6.1k

A/N: The writing here is like superduper different from the last chapter, but enjoy virgin!Sherlock, he’s bby. Also; I just realized that the timeline of this fic is a bit of a tripping hazard...

I promised I tried to proof and edit this. Typos may be registered with the Office for Typo Registration, open every February 29th from 10.00h - 10.01h.

Anywhoozles; not really a lot of smut under the cut today.

It was a little past three when the professor finally dismissed his students. Sighs of relief sounded throughout the lecture hall. Laptops were slammed shut and crammed into bags, books and papers were gathered in sloppy piles and hurriedly carried out: practically everyone was looking to get out of the room as soon as possible. Only two people behaved as if they hadn’t just been assigned a huge paper with an impossible deadline. For one of them, this behavior could be explained by the fact that he was the professor, and therefore indeed did not have to write said paper, the other was simply deeply opposed to hastiness. It was not for nothing that diligent and thorough were among the first words that came to many a mind when asked to describe Sherlock Holmes. Other descriptors included unsociable and strange. Lastly, and heard perhaps less often than one might expect, there were the terms young and genius. After all, Sherlock had a keen mind, which had allowed him to reach his third year of law school when he was yet to turn nineteen.

Unhurriedly, the young man began his commute home. Immersed in thought, he didn’t notice the small redheaded woman that appeared next to him. Only when he had finished outlining the freshly assigned paper in his mind did he become truly aware of his surroundings.

“Elena,” he spoke, the baritone of his voice dark and warm - cozy, almost. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “For how long did you allow me to ignore you this time?” His chuckle was as comforting as his voice.

“I didn’t want to disturb your thoughts,” Elena replied. She had before. It had vexed him at the time, as the pair had barely known one another. Now, however, they had gotten better acquainted - much better, one might say - and he found that she was one of very few people whom he allowed to disrupt his thinking.

“And your saying so,” he mused, “shows precisely why I would allow you to.”

“I’ll be sure to remember.” Elena fidgeted with an unraveling seam on her bag. “Sherlock, you took Criminal Law two years ago, right?” There was only one possible answer: he was in his third year, therefore he must have taken and passed that particular first year course - it was mandatory.

“Naturally,” he said, hesitantly. His head turned toward his companion, one eyebrow raised in confusion at the strange inquiry. Elena wasn’t usually one to ask rhetorical questions - it was something he quite liked about her.

“Would you help me prepare for my midterm? I’m struggling with the material a bit, and I missed some things when I was sick last week.” She averted her eyes when she asked him, the deliberation of her actions completely lost on Sherlock, who felt something that resembled anxiety at the gesture - though for the love of God he could not figure out why. He had come to terms with the fact that she was one of the few people he could not read very well - as if his sharp instincts and attention to detail left him the second she stepped into the room. Though he did always notice when her hair fell differently, when she wore a different perfume, or when her makeup had left tiny colored specs on her cheeks. Of course, that was something Sherlock considered without value when he could hardly keep track of what she was saying. He simply thought his talents to be of no use in her presence.

“I’d be more than happy to,” he said. His face held a familiar smile that was wider than was normal for him, but - as was so often the case with this particular smile - he couldn’t help himself. “I’m free this weekend?”

“Right now?” She smiled shyly. Sherlock replied with just a nod before suggesting they might use his room to study.

“I have some notes that may be helpful,” he quickly added, as he suddenly became afraid that his offer had come across as untoward. It was as if he had forgotten that for the past six weeks, they had spent every Saturday in that room, rehearsing their pieces for orchestra. Nothing had ever been strange about that. Not to him, at least, and his mother had raised neither a savage nor a fool; surely he would remember it if he had been improper. He remembered that first encounter vividly, often replaying the memory in his head.

“You are quite good,” he had said to the new addition to the orchestra. She had been sat next to him, in the usual place for the second violinist.

“Thank you,” she had replied, blood creeping up her neck, finding its way to her cheeks. She had heard about him. Sherlock Holmes, the famous - though among his peers all but notorious - first violinist of the university orchestra. In stories of him, which rather often were filled with complaints that he received special treatment, he was often portrayed as a pompous arse. She could see now, that these tales were nothing but the product of jealousy. He truly was remarkable. “You are very good.”

“Thank you, that’s awfully kind of you,” Sherlock had said, and for the first time he had felt this peculiar smile, that was so much wider than he was used to, creeping onto his face. “Sherlock,” he had introduced himself. He had never entertained the thought that it may not have been necessary, that she had already known who he was.

“Elena,” she had replied.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Elena,” he had said. And before he had good and well thought it through, he had added: “Perhaps we might rehearse together sometime? If you’re free, of course.” He had been unable to determine the source of the incredible anxiety had felt in the limbo between his asking and her answering - or that of the intense relief when she not only accepted his proposal, but did so rather enthusiastically.

Her laugh tore him away from his memory of the experience.

“Sounds fantastic,” she said, the smile on her face widening as she looked into his eyes. As he looked back into hers, he noticed the intensity of their color - green - and the little gold specs in them - but he missed the slightly provocative twinkle they held. His eyes wandered over her face, slowly, carefully, as if he thought he would otherwise disturb it. He noticed the thick, long lashes that framed her eyes. The freckles on her nose and cheeks, where - as always - her make-up had left tiny brown and golden specs. Sherlock’s heart was beating so hard that, despite being well aware that it was impossible, he feared it would break through his ribs and escape from his chest. Still, his eyes remained locked onto her face, wandering further down to her lovely smile. He noticed her teeth were a bit crooked, which he found strangely endearing. Her full lips looked soft and dewy - undoubtedly the work of that cherry-scented chapstick she was always applying. Its scent paired nicely with the sweetness of the perfume she wore almost every day. Today, Sherlock noted, was no exception; he inhaled the delicate aroma with every breath. His thoughts ran away with his sanity, his gaze clung to her alluring mouth, even as she moved it to speak and he only vaguely registered her voice. The movement of her lips, the fragrance that surrounded her, and his erratically beating heart gave way to new sensations. Blood humming in his ears. A lump in his throat that refused to be swallowed away, no matter his efforts. The familiar rush of blood… down, and the subsequent tightening of his trousers.

“Sherlock?” Her hand waved through his field of vision, breaking his trance-like state. “Let’s go?” Her eyes were mischievous, something Sherlock would have picked up on immediately, had it not been for his current affliction. In fact, the young man was not even aware of this condition. He had questioned his health and his mental faculties, surely, but was yet to arrive at the appropriate conclusion. Elena, however, recognized the symptoms of his ailment immediately. He was two years ahead of her in university, sure, but she was two years his senior and more than a bit wiser than him when it came to the less intellectual and more instinctive truths of the human condition.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head as if that would rid it of those thoughts. It did not; if anything, it made him look ridiculous. He extended a hand. “Allow me.”

Only in the first few weeks after making his acquaintance had Elena attempted to decline his offer, but resisting the charm of this man was something she had ultimately found exhausting and unpleasant. Now, she would normally opt for a coy smile and a thank you, but she was feeling playful today. “Always such a gentleman.” She practically purred the words as she handed him her bag, making sure to touch his hand in the process. She relished his reaction; the twitch of his hand as her skin came into contact with his, the sharp breath that escaped from between his slightly parted lips, the soft blush that slowly crept from beneath his collar, his averted gaze. She felt a little bad for toying with this sweet guy’s emotions, but since she shared his feelings, she saw no real harm in having a little fun.

The pair made their way to the house on Crescent Street that Sherlock shared with seven other students. Elena had only ever met two of them; August Walker - because he had been leaving the house one Saturday morning just as she arrived at the front door - and Walter Marshall - because he took the Criminal Law course with her and he had recognized her when she’d been trying to find some space for her jacket on the coat rack in the hallway. The fact that Sherlock kept to himself - and kept her to himself - didn’t upset her. In fact, she rather liked it: There was very little pressure to socialize, which she found rather relaxing.

“Ladies first,” were the familiar words with which Sherlock ushered her through the door, accompanied - as always - with a simple gesture. They climbed the stairs to his room in silence. For the first time, Sherlock dreaded the moment they would soon spend behind his bedroom door, in the cramped space that led to the attic stairs. The room itself was spacious, but that tiny hallway - calling it that was a stretch, even - barely held two people, and it was impossible not to touch each other. Elena, however, looked forward to that precise moment: It would be a good opportunity for some close physical contact. Once they arrived at the second floor of the house, Sherlock muttered something about the bathroom.

“I’ll be right up,” he spoke. You’ve been up for a while, Elena thought to herself, but she bit her tongue and swallowed the words, offering up a sweet smile instead.

“What is the matter with you, Sherlock?” He chastised himself while looking at himself in the mirror as he leaned over the sink. His knuckles were pale from the iron grip of his hands on the white porcelain. “Pull yourself together.” Stop thinking about her, he thought to himself, which - naturally - had an effect contrary to his desires. It finally dawned on him, as he felt himself harden at the thought of her beautiful lips, that perhaps the explanation for his reaction wasn’t rational at all - which explained perfectly why he didn’t care for it. Real panic set in when he considered the possibility that these were feelings she did not reciprocate, and he found, much to his dismay, only one short-term solution to this problem: to ignore it completely. An entirely unsatisfactory remedy, and likely ultimately unsuccessful at that.

“Yes! You’re absolutely correct!” He exclaimed proudly as she answered one of his more difficult questions with a very thorough rebuttal. Criminal law had been a fantastic distraction from the earlier troubles, and it had kept the two of them occupied for a few hours.

“Thank goodness, I don’t think I can take much more of this today!” Elena sank back into her chair and let her knees fall to the side slightly. “It’s only eight, after all.”

Sherlock buried his face in his hands. He often lost track of time, and he was usually careful not to drag others along with him. “I’m sorry,” he chuckled softly. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that this time, he had done it on purpose, for fear of her wanting to leave. Her hand reached for his thigh, and his muscles twitched at the touch.

“I can go get us some Chinese food, as a thank you?” Sherlock gratefully accepted her offer.

Shortly after Elena had left, Sherlock walked downstairs, and stood hesitantly in front of the door at the far end of the hall. He couldn't bring himself to knock, but could neither persuade his legs to walk away. After a minute or so, the person on the other side of the door yelled: "It's open, come in." Sherlock often forgot how good Geralt's hearing was. He entered the room, hesitation in his steps, his stance, his expression, and closed the door behind him. Geralt was laying on his bed, reading what looked like a book on Celtic mythology, not bothering to put it down just yet.

"Sherlock," he said, a simple acknowledgement of his presence, no question or judgment behind the remark. It was something that Sherlock admired about him, though it could be quite annoying at times - when one was in search of questions or judgments, for example. Tonight, he was in luck, because as much as Geralt aimed to steer clear of other people's business, he did consider Sherlock a good friend, and he could tell something was the matter.

He snapped the book shut and sat up. "Trouble?" Lengthy conversation would just make the both of them uncomfortable, that much was clear.

"Girl," Sherlock sighed as he leaned his back against the door.

"Even worse," Geralt laughed. "The violinist?" Sherlock couldn't answer, so he opted for a sigh, hoping it sounded enough like a confirmation. "Her name seems to have slipped my mind, I'm sorry," Geralt chuckled.

"Elena." Sherlock spoke so softly it was barely even a breath. He figured it would suffice for Geralt's impeccable hearing - and he was correct.

"Right," he chuckled, "and you have finally come to the conclusion that you’re attracted to her?" Another affirmative sigh escaped Sherlock's lips.

"Thank heavens," Geralt said bluntly, "your denial was becoming quite annoying." Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but Geralt raised his hand, beckoning him to be quiet. "Do I need to remind you that not much will happen when you're in your housemate's room making idle conversation, instead of in your room? With her."

"Firstly, Geralt," Sherlock snarled. He knew Geralt had said it with no intention of mocking him, but it aggravated him nonetheless. "She's not currently upstairs. And secondly," a sigh broke up his rambling, and Sherlock found himself unable to regain his stern tone. "Geralt, I… I can't do this. I cannot make sense of these feelings. I can't stand being… consumed by them." And unlike any of the others in the house, save perhaps Walker - but anyone who had ever had the pleasure of dealing with August understood immediately why one would opt out of having this particular conversation with him, Geralt understood the sentiment perfectly.

“For those of us who actually seem to enjoy being in control of our mental faculties, it can feel like surrender,” he said matter-of-factly.

“It feels like the beginning of a steady descent into madness,” Sherlock confessed. The remark made Geralt laugh. This, too, he understood, though he had learned by now that it wasn’t true. “Why is that funny?”

“It isn’t, I’m sorry,” Geralt shook his head, still laughing. “Look, I can tell you… If you really like her, it won’t go away by doing nothing. That’s your descent into madness, right there.” Sherlock groaned and vowed that this was the last time he’d ever looked up from a book for long enough to ever see another woman. “You can’t fight biology, my friend.” At least that made some sense to Sherlock - in fact, it made him consider that what he was feeling could be completely rational, after all. The science behind it was solid enough.

“And Charles doesn’t spend most of his nights in company because it’s a terrible way to pass the time.” Geralt grinned. Now it was Sherlock’s time to laugh.

Geralt’s head turned suddenly. “That’s her,” he said as he got up from the bed and walked over to where Sherlock was standing. In passing, he grabbed something off the nightstand. His efforts to keep himself far from these situations couldn’t change who Geralt was at heart: a reluctant father-figure to his friends - especially the younger ones. “Can’t believe I’m doing this. Here.” Sherlock didn’t have to look in order to know what he’d just been handed. “Fucking hell, they’re condoms, not scorpions. Just...”

“Thanks,” Sherlock muttered, more than a little embarrassed that Geralt had just assumed he would be this unprepared for a situation such as this one. Nevermind that his presupposition was correct; it was mortifying nonetheless. He was grateful, though, that his friend was looking out for him.

“Take them.” Geralt ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, and talk to her.”

Sherlock knew better than to overstay his welcome and opened the door, just as Mike came up the stairs, closely followed by Elena. He waved at Sherlock and Geralt. “Hi, guys!”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you have company?”

“Yeah, speaking of,” Mike turned to Sherlock. “Could you keep it down tomorrow morning?”

“Of course,” Sherlock said. He received the request quite often - sometimes incited by guests, but equally as often caused by the prospect of copious amounts of alcohol. And if it was Charles who was asking, it was almost certainly both.

“Thanks!” Mike beamed. “G‘night, guys! Nice to meet you, Elena!” And with that he adjourned to his room.

“He seems…” Elena got no chance to finish her statement on her first impression of Mikey.

“Annoying?” Geralt snickered, a crooked grin on his face, while shaking his head in disbelief.

“Spirited?” Sherlock offered, as he launched an elbow into Geralt’s ribs with more force than anyone would reasonably suspect from a bookish, violin-playing law student.

“I was going to say ‘nice’,” Elena mumbled, slightly taken aback by the banter.

“Oh, Mikey’s great,” Sherlock confirmed with a smile. “This is Geralt, by the way.”

She looked at the white-haired figure in the doorway, as he extended a hand towards her. “Elena,” she said as she shook Geralt’s hand. Her thoughts were scrambled for a moment when she met his gaze. His eyes were a striking amber color - beautiful but peculiar, in a way she couldn’t quite articulate.

“Pleased to finally meet you,” Geralt said, “Sherlock talks about you quite a lot.” Before Sherlock could even scowl at him, he stepped back into his room and shut the door.

“So, you talk about me a lot, huh?” Elena chuckled when they finally made it back to the attic. Sherlock chuckled nervously as he sat down on the leather couch and set the food on the small table in front of it. No matter how many times Elena saw this room, that couch still looked too big for it. On her first visit, she had wondered how it had ended up here in the first place, as it was obviously much too big for the stairwell. Sherlock’s answer had surprised her, as she’d been absolutely positive she never asked the question out loud - it had been moved in through the window by his predecessor, and no one would dream of ever moving it out again. If the stories of Geralt and Walker were to be believed - and they generally were - people had nearly died in the process. Despite being too big for the room, the couch only fit two people - a feature Elena made sure to exploit by joining Sherlock on it.

“Well?” She asked him, flashing a suggestive smile.

The world seemed to spin faster and grind to a halt at the same time, the room became both hot and cold, and Sherlock’s heart started yet another attempt at escaping his ribcage. Good grief, why did she have to be so close to him? Everything he had felt before, when they had been studying at his desk, returned to him; this time without the distraction of criminal law - it was just them now.

“I… ehm…” Sherlock stammered, unable to answer her question. Thoughts whirled through his head in an unfamiliar fashion: rapidly and erratically, and free of logic or order. Of course he talked about her often. He spent more time with her than with practically anyone else. His housemates had been teasing him relentlessly for weeks, saying he fancied her. And now he was beginning to think they were right, as he could barely keep his eyes off her when she was with him. And she continuously made her way back into his thoughts, sometimes even distracting him while he read, and Lord knows he was never distracted while reading. Now, here he was, deafened by the sound of his heart pounding in his chest, and bouncing his leg restlessly, unable to will himself to stop - figuring he should probably stop chastising Mikey for doing that all the time - and it was all because of her. Because she made him so incredibly nervous. Because maybe he had fallen for her. In other words: Geralt may have been an absolute knob for saying that to her, but he wasn’t wrong.

“Sherlock…” she giggled. When his eyes met hers, a wave of panic washed over him. Elena was looking up at him in a way that could not possibly mean anything other than that he had just said every last one of those things out loud. To her. He raised a hand, intent on using it to cover his mouth, but she grasped it and pulled it back down gently, while her other hand reached for his face. She traced his cheekbone with her thumb, her fingers resting lightly on his jaw, and he leaned into her touch. Elena softly caressed the side of his face before bringing her fingers to the nape of his neck, and attempting to pull him closer. Sherlock resisted her pursuit, clenching his jaw as his nerves took over his mind from his desires. He looked away for a moment, only to return his eyes to Elena’s and smile apologetically.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never kissed anyone, Sherlock!” Elena blurted out. She always knew that he was inexperienced, but such complete innocence was unexpected, bordering on unbelievable. Surely she couldn’t be the only one who was as charmed by him as she was?

“Not telling you won’t change the fact that I have, indeed, never kissed anyone,” he muttered under his breath. Her apparent incredulity did not help his nerves, and he was surprised to hear himself speak at all. Elena’s hands set his skin ablaze with a vast desire until every fiber of his being begged for it. It took everything he had to control himself, to prevent himself from doing something so legendarily foolish that his friends wouldn’t let him hear the end of it for years to come.

“Well, do you want to?” Elena asked, a playful tone to her sweet voice, mischief in her eyes. Sherlock swallowed hard, but found himself ultimately unable to make the lump in his throat disappear. Thus, he just nodded, and let himself be pulled closer to her.

She placed her forehead against his. For a moment, they just sat there: eyes closed, heads resting against each other. The sweet fragrance of Elena’s perfume, the sound of her breathing, and the feeling of her skin against his, engulfed Sherlock’s senses, filling him with eager anticipation. A soft sound, a combination between an exasperated sigh and a lustful moan, arose from between his slightly parted lips. He shivered and drew in a sharp breath as Elena’s soft fingers drew a line along his jaw. She rested them underneath his chin, her thumb tracing the dimple in it, and tilted his head. Then, Sherlock felt Elena’s soft lips brush against his so incredibly lightly that it took a moment before he realized he wasn’t imagining it. The last shard of self-restraint he had been clinging to so desperately shattered at the contact, and at long last Sherlock allowed himself to be enveloped by affection and desire. He reached out the hand she wasn’t holding and placed it against her cheek, holding her head in place as he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers more firmly. She responded eagerly, though her answer was not as feverish as his request. With wicked determination, she paced the kiss; slowing down right when his mouth so hungrily sought more, and picking up speed each time he finally accepted a gentler rhythm. Without mercy and almost devilish was her approach, and by God did it have the desired effect. The hand on her cheek found its way into her hair, the other crept up to her waist, where his fingers dug into her with surprising force. He let out a moan; dark, frenzied and filled with pure, unadulterated passion. What had caused her to fall for him, had been his calm and collected nature. Not once since meeting him had she dared to dream of ever seeing him like this: consumed by carnal greed, frantically gripping at her in search of release. Moans occasionally made way to almost pitiful whimpers - questions, or rather, pleas; to indulge him, come closer, give him more, something, anything. Oh, how powerful she felt to have a man like Sherlock pour into her arms like this, to see him reduced to a mere shadow of himself in her delicate hands. Elena chuckled at the thought, causing him to withdraw from their embrace. Concern emerged from deep in his eyes, steadily catching up to and overtaking the yearning in them. Sherlock struggled to catch his breath, still firmly in the grasp of the ache that pulsed like fire through his veins. It was heightened further by the sight of the lips he now no longer needed to assume soft. He knew them to be, yet he longed for proof as much as - if not more than - before. Alas, her laughter had roused his insecurities, and they were picking at his brain like starved crows at a morsel of bread. He wondered what could have inspired it, what he had done wrong. Had she just been leading him on, and was she now relishing the sight of what she had reduced him to, only to break him completely, later?

Then, amidst his contemplations, he heard her voice once again, only this time it was no laughter that escaped from her pillowy lips. Caught in between ragged breaths, wrapped up in a moan, more intoxicating and provocative than he had ever dreamt possible, was his name. The sound of it so utterly rife with pleasure that it awakened once more the wanton desires within him, their scalding flames more excruciating than before, and even harder to quench. Her eyes, positively drunk with lust, together with that very moan revealed to Sherlock that she currently found herself in a predicament remarkably similar to his - only this time it was Elena who succumbed to the unrelenting pressures of her yearning. She moved towards him with resolve, pushing him into the couch by his shoulders, as she swung one of her legs over his. Sherlock was startled by her sudden advance, but did not protest. Elena sat down on his lap, one knee on either side of his hips, arms around his neck, hands running erratic patterns through his dark curls, down his neck and over his shoulders. Sherlock was surprisingly muscular, she discovered, which would have been in no way helpful to any attempt she might have undertaken to compose herself. Luckily, she had no intentions of embarking on such endeavors. Instead, she chose to give Sherlock as much of herself as he would take, and longed more than anything to receive what he was willing to relinquish to her, in return. As her fingers trailed along his neck and shoulders, she mapped the spots that caused the muscles in his thighs to twitch beneath her. His eyes fell shut at her touch, and his hands rested comfortably next to him, on her thighs. Soft groans emerged from his chest as her fingers explored his body, seeking out the sites that stirred his arousal. His hands brushed along her thighs, up towards her hips, where they caressed her sides as they traveled further to her waist. One hand rested on her back, while the other made its way to the nape of her neck. He pulled her towards himself, his touch tender yet demanding. Elena saw no reason to resist, and happily fell into his chest. Her lips found his again, her hands continued their expedition. Sherlock found himself overwhelmed by the many sensations he experienced, until Elena’s tongue trailed his lower lip and the feeling forced itself to the front of his mind. Hesitantly, he granted her access, allowing her tongue to slip into his mouth. It felt strange, but not unpleasant, he concluded as he imitated her movements. When Elena sucked gently on his bottom lip and softly sunk her teeth into it, he let out a loud moan. She tilted her head, still holding his lip between her teeth, softly tugging on it as he gasped quietly at the unexpected stimulation.

To his displeasure, the pressure disappeared from his lip, as Elena broke the kiss and pulled back. For a moment, it saddened Sherlock that her face was moving away from his, but when her head dipped and her lips brushed the stubble just below his jaw, his chagrin gave way to yet another surge of exhilaration. She meticulously sought out all the sensitive spots in his neck, causing him to squirm beneath her touch. Slowly, he became aware of the nimble fingers that pulled at the hem of his sweater.

“Take it off,” she sighed, her mouth barely leaving his neck. His hands took over for hers and he hastily complied with her request. Before the jumper was even off, Elena’s hands were already working to loosen his tie - and making remarkably quick work of removing and discarding the garment, too. The buttons of his shirt were next, and they, too, succumbed under the touch of those slender fingers, one by one. He had admired those fingers so often, as they moved through the most difficult passages of a piece with confidence and ease, but not once had he dared to dream that someday - this day - he would experience them from this perspective. Elena played him like she did the violin; with great enthusiasm and determination - though perhaps with even greater skill. Sherlock pushed against her shoulder to steer her away from his neck. Then, after cupping her face in his hand and guiding it back to his, he kissed her passionately while his hands traveled to her waist, where they gently slipped underneath her jumper. Her hands undid the last button of his shirt and it fell open, exposing his chest, which Elena took as an invitation to rake her fingers across his skin. The feeling of his remarkably solid chest and the coarse hair on it heightened her desires; it caused the ache between her legs to grow and her to lean into him even further, to press her lips to his more urgently, and to kiss him more frantically than she had ever kissed any man - or anyone, for that matter. Sherlock answered, spurred on by a surge of longing brought on by the clash between his skin and her hands, by slipping his hands under her blouse, exploring the naked skin of her back and sides. Elena did not hesitate; she pulled away from him to reach for the hem of her jumper. Her eyes never left his as she pulled it over her head. As soon as she let go of the fabric, her fingers returned to her blouse. Only the minimal required amount of buttons were undone before this garment followed the same trajectory as the one before.

“Wow.” Whether he spoke the word or simply mouthed it, neither of them knew or cared.

Sherlock’s hands fell still around her waist, his eyes widened. The sight of her was almost too much; her long, auburn hair framed her face in the most enticing way, her mischievous smile and the longing in her eyes drained him of coherent thought with every passing second, and when his gaze dropped to her now exposed torso, he was positively done for. His eyes seemed glued to her chest; it heaved as she tried to catch her breath, and the motion hypnotized him. The soft curves of her breasts were so tempting that his hands all but itched to reach out and touch them. He could swear his fingers moved of their own accord, palms creeping up ever so slowly, along her sides, until his thumbs lightly brushed the underside of her bust. Elena used every bit of strength she had to stay where she was. The look in Sherlock’s eyes had her beside herself with lust, but she reveled in his attention and admiration, and she wanted to prolong it for as long as she could possibly manage. Every minute movement of his hands fueled the fire that consumed her from the inside. The thin fabric of her bra was not enough to conceal the hardening peaks of her nipples - a fact that Sherlock seemed to pick up on as well, as his hands traveled up her sides further. She whimpered as he used his thumbs to lightly brush the buds through the thin material. Suddenly, he gripped the nape of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss. It was frenzied, messy, and quick, as he immediately moved away from her lips and kissed a path along her jaw to her ear. Where this courage to push aside his nerves and continue his quest had come from, he did not know, but he decided that the opportunity should not be allowed to go to waste. His lips worked their way down her neck: kissing, gently sucking and biting the sensitive skin, teasing it with his tongue. Her moans filled the air, her fingernails dug into his shoulder, and she could no longer stop her hips from grinding into him. In that moment, Elena wanted only one thing; to get even closer to him, feel more of his skin against hers, to truly melt into him and chase that sweet release. Feral groans heralded similar desires on his part. Their frequency increased as his mouth inched closer to her collarbone with every touch of his lips, every nip of his teeth, every gentle flick of his tongue against her skin. Encouraged by the desperate pressure she used in an attempt to hurry him along, and the fingers that tugged at his hair as a different means to the same end, he continued. One of Sherlock’s hands tenderly cupped her breast, squeezing lightly - at first. His movements became more erratic as she whined and moaned louder and louder with every touch. His other hand copied the actions on the other side. The way she was writhing in his lap, rubbing herself against the bulge in his trousers with every move - it was maddening beyond belief. Sherlock rested his head on Elena’s breastbone, wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and took a deep breath in hopes it would save him from losing his mind completely. Both of her hands cupped the sides of his face and tilted his head so as to allow herself to look into his eyes. He smiled up at her, eyes filled with love, or lust, or perhaps both. When he spoke, it was so calmly, with such softness and affection in his warm, dark voice that the sound pierced straight into her soul.

“You are so beautiful.”

-> Part 3

#Henry Cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill characters #henry cavill sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #HC sherlock #sherlock x ofc #sherlock holmes x ofc #geralt of rivia #geralt #virgin!sherlock #first kiss #much anxiety many wow #179 crescent street #179CS #179CS2

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yuutsunaoi-writes · 7 months

Text

𝙎𝙤-𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 ‘𝙍𝙞𝙫𝙖𝙡’

prompt: academic rivals + first meeting + fluff

a/n: I just had to write about these two even if it's a short 🤧🤧🤧 Newt deserves to be happy… (was planning to write around 1k words but ended up writing to almost 2k words-)

“Aren't you even a little bit curious?” was what Thomas remembered his-friend-since-long-ago, Teresa, asked when the name ‘Newt’ had popped up again and again to be compared to his.

People dubbed Thomas as someone who would presumably overthrow this ‘Newt’ guy in terms of overall popularity - among both lecturers and students of the university.

To be perfectly humble and logically phrased, Thomas wasn't really a 4 flat student - more of a constantly 3.8 flat student. He's also active in partaking with competitions - innovations and sports alike. He likes discovering new things. He's curious and impulsive; the very factors as to why he could excel quite well in so many things.

In other words, Thomas would say he's damn amazing, but since he's humble, he would say he's ‘decent’.

Hence, for someone to be compared to him so often, obviously he's curious.

This Newt guy, despite his popularity, wasn't really outgoing. He kept to himself and his small group of friends most of the time. When others approached him, he would greet them and easily was able to make them relaxed and feel at ease. It was said that Newt just had this vibe of someone who's capable of reassuring you - an air of calmness, they said.

Well, consider Thomas's interest piqued.

Of course, when Thomas decided he would finally confronted the guy, he made sure that Teresa wouldn't be following him around - he rather have his first conversation with Mr. Popular alone, thank you very much. Teresa's his treasured friend, sure, but she likes to run her mouth.

So when he had received intel that Newt was studying by himself at the library, Thomas took that chance to properly introduce himself to the lad.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, really. But he for sure did not expect to see Newt so…

Newt was sitting at a table right beside the window, the light from the sun illuminating the blond's features quite… charmingly. Surprisingly, the sunray didn't really bother the blond's concentration, as he seemed to be very engrossed in whatever he was reading despite the too-bright light.

For a second, Thomas felt like it would be rude of him to disturb such a tranquil… atmosphere.

Only when he had re-strengthen his resolve did he finally gather himself and approached the blond, pushing away all those entranced thoughts so he could do what he come to do.

Thomas went and took a seat opposite of Newt, purposefully making his presence loud as the chair dragged on the floor.

When Newt looked up, eyebrows furrowed a little due to the sudden sound, his eyes met Thomas and-

-and Thomas had never seen such clear eyes-

“Sorry- Can I sit here?” Thomas asked before he could literally drown in those eyes and forget why he's there in the first place.

The sheepish smile that graced Newt's lips almost had Thomas falling.

No wonder he's so popular.

“Sure.” was Newt's reply, looking at his wristwatch as Thomas took a seat and pretended to start taking things out of his bag. (He was really just there to talk to Newt, but he figured he should at least pretended that he was there to study.)

“How long have you been studying here today?” Thomas chose to ask to break the silence, relieved when he seemed to not mind the idle chatters.

Newt ran his fingers through his fringes and pushed them back when they started covering his eyes irritatingly, and Thomas had to remind himself that staring so openly is quite rude - especially with someone you just met.

“Since morning, actually. Minho has been a terrible distraction these days. I just had to run away to catch up with some assignments.” Newt answered, chuckling fondly at the end of his sentence at the mentioned of this ‘Minho’ guy.

Newt's smile indeed had a… therapeutic kind of effect…

“How long are you planning to stay here, Thomas?” Newt asked, and Thomas found himself gaping a little knowing that Newt, well, knew of him.

Perhaps his reaction was too obvious, but Newt found it amusing, Thomas guessed, as the blond muffled a laugh - that Thomas wished he could hear - before said blond spoke.

“Of course I know you, Thomas! If not because of everybody's words, you had helped Minho a few months back during a fire in the lab, didn't you? I was there and saw it all happened. Had I arrived earlier, I would've gone into the fire myself to look for Minho.

But you did - which was very admirable of you.”

Thomas vaguely remembered running into the fire to help a guy because no one else dared to and that the firefighters were running late, but he was too busy staring at Newt to bother to recall the details of the past event.

Has Newt's face always looked so red before?

It's a good look on him.

In fact, Newt had almost looked… Shy?

The dazed(?) or shy(?) look on Newt didn't stay for long though. The blond, upon noticing that Thomas had grown silent, chuckled awkwardly before clearing his throat and asking again what Thomas was planning to do at the library and for how long.

“I'll leave once you do.” the reply came from Thomas before he could really think about it. It was only when he noticed the embarrassed yet flattered look on Newt's face did he realize it had sounded like he was flirting with the blond.

So Thomas did the most intelligent thing he could do at that moment; rambled nonsense for a few moments before mumbling a ‘okay I'll shut up now’.

Fortunately, Newt found his slip up amusing, as he chuckled and shook his head from side to side a little, saying how he'll stay for another hour before leaving.

Like that, the two of them spent the rest of the hour together: Newt with his nose in his books and his fingers scribbling things on his notebook, while Thomas read some books.

Well, if staring at Newt was considered as a ‘reading books’ kind of activity, of course…

Thomas was pretty sure Newt had caught him staring a couple of times, but the blond was kind enough to not point it out.

After staring- observing Newt for the past hour, Thomas came to the conclusion that people who had deemed that he was able to replace Newt one day were absurd.

How could he possibly be emitting an aura like Newt's?

It's not like Newt would go out of his way to talk to people, but people just easily get drawn to him in the way children flocked to their favorite, understanding and kind-hearted teachers.

Indeed, it was befitting when one described the feeling of being reassured whenever they hung out with the blond.

When there was only a couple of minutes left, someone suddenly approached them and Thomas was quick to put a name to the newcomer.

“We've been looking for you everywhere, Newt! Did you put your phone on silent again?” Minho greeted once he's close enough, noticing how the blond had company as his eyes widened a little upon noticing Thomas.

Surprisingly, the surprised look on Minho's face turned into an impressed one before he's suddenly offering a hand to Thomas with a grin that seemed to have a hidden meaning.

“Should've told us you're hanging out with Tommy.” Minho said, grinning wider when Thomas took his hand as confusion was etched on his face.

Tommy?

Who's Tommy??

Thomas didn't really get to dwell about it for long, attention caught when Newt sputtered before smacking Minho's back quite loudly, murmuring something as his cheeks were tinted a light shade of pink.

“He was just keeping me company when he saw I was by myself. Also, I had to put my phone on silent before you drag me into another arcade this week.” Newt chided, gathering his things in the process.

Only then did Thomas is reminded of their short impromptu study session reaching its end.

A bit bummed, Thomas gathered his things - flushing a little upon realizing that it was obvious he didn't actually study with the way his notebook was too clean and that he had barely read past five pages.

“Did you have a photogenic memory or something? Your book looks kinda spotless - unlike Newt's over here. He's always so into it in these kinds of stuff.

Into smart things. Smart people. Heh.” Minho unhelpfully commented, getting himself a smack to the back of his head from Newt.

Newt whispered something to Minho then, making the newcomer roll his eyes before he announced that he'll be waiting for Newt outside.

“Make it quick, Thomas!” Minho said before finally leaving.

A little bit confused, Thomas turned to Newt for an explanation, but he noticed Newt was crumpling a small piece of paper, looking like he was hesitating about something.

“What's that in your hand?” Thomas asked, curiosity even more piqued when Newt averted his eyes and clenched the paper in his fist even more.

“Nothing- Just trash… Probably.” Newt answered, staring hard at the table they were sitting at for some reason.

… Right…

So what was it that Thomas had to be quick about?

There wasn't really any warning when Newt suddenly huffed, closing the distance between him and Thomas before taking Thomas hand and dropping the so-called trash into Thomas's hand.

“Here. If you're interested… Or if… Just… take it.” Newt mumbled, looking increasingly embarrassed.

Before Thomas could inquire any further, Newt was suddenly away from him, already a few feet away before he waved a little and grinned - a little bit flustered.

“See you around, Tommy!”

And then Newt left.

Leaving Thomas a little bit lost with what he's supposed to do with the knowledge of his heart stuttering a little at the nickname.

He stood there in silence like an idiot for a moment before he unfurled the ‘trash’ in his hand, heart stuttering yet again when he realized it was really not trash.

Newt's number is anything but trash.

#the maze runner #tmr #tmr thomas #tmr newt #newtmas #newtmas ff #newtmas shorts #yuutsunaoi-writes

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writer-akihiko · 3 years

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hiii! can I get a similar scenario like this but with vice dorm leaders and floyd? I love your works!!! I hope you have a nice week <3

Vice Dorm Leaders + Floyd + Valentine's Jealousy

Thank you for this request! It was a while to post this because I kinda forgot the prompt for the previous one, but I hope you enjoy some equally jealous Vice Dorm Leaders and Floyd!

Lilia Vanrouge

Many knew that you were quite famous, and he was well aware of how others saw you too. You weren't one to accept the presents because you had Lilia, but it was hard to reject them most of the time when they'd all gang up on you.

From the day started, you planned out the day. You planned to take an alternate route back to the dorms, but through every step, some student would stop you with a present. With so many eyes on you, it was overwhelming.

A couple of Savanaclaw boys stopped you in your tracks, with the supposed leader of the pack holding a box of chocolates towards you.

"YN! Please accept my gift!"

The sudden approach made you trip and fall on your butt, but before a hand could reach out to help you, the wall of students collapsed. You smelled smoke, supposedly from something burning, but as you looked over it more, it was the students that were burning…

Lilia stood over them, sneering at the other students that looked on. He gave a deep bow, and you noticed that one of his heels dug into the side of the one who wanted to give you a gift.

"Ara ara... as Vice Dorm Leader, there shouldn't be any fleas disturbing the peace."

The bodies of those students were well stepped and pranced over as Lilia prattled on about 'appropriate' rules for a NRC student. His lecture was done, but you found it odd that Lilia cared about the rules at all...

"Now that you get my point, leave."

All students, burnt and normal, scattered when Lilia said that. You were the only one left, and you began to get anxious once more. Surely... Surely your lover wouldn’t punish you too?

As your boyfriend stepped closer, he got on one knee, somehow conjuring a bouquet of flowers? On further inspection, the flower buds appeared to be your favourite snacks on sticks in... a bouquet. Lilia had his mysterious ways, but the silly bouquet got a giggle out of you.

He got up, pulling you by the waist. "I take it as you love your snack bouquet~" He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "Happy Valentine's Day YN."

Trey Clover

Trey didn't want you to know that you were well-known so instead of doing anything to the other students, he tells you to stay in your room instead as you wait for him to pick you up for a romantic Valentine's date.

As the morning of Valentine started, he could watch in envy at the other students with present clearly meant for you. He did ask Vil for a favour to doll you up for the date, but he wasn't sure if you were going to stay put with Grim around...

He had to curse himself for getting caught up in one of Professor Crewel's ramblings, but he wouldn't be so rude to get up and leave. If he had to be honest, it was very tempting to do so.

It was finally over, and he tried not to let out a sigh of relief. The moment he walked out of the classroom, he was already frowning at the sight that he saw.

Many surrounded you, but particularly those with sweet treats caught your attention the most. They begged you to try their treats, but you never thought it as anything romantic. As someone who was fond of making sweet treats like Trey, you thought that they were asking for your input instead.

One of the students dared to hand-feed you a piece of the sweet he made. Trey being pissed off was an understatement. Cater, who was busy filming the decorations and vlogging, paused when his camera neared Trey's line of view.

Trey knew he wasn't going to get to you in time, so as he saw the treat inch closer to your mouth, he used his magic to alter the flavour of it. You winced at the bitter flavour unlike the sweet flavour before you expected.

You coughed out the piece you had in your mouth, dropping the food. Your head bumped against someone, and an arm wrapped around you. You relaxed once you felt Trey's familiar scent, but with your ear pressed against his chest, the sound of his thumping heart rang through your ears.

"You really dared to poison YN..."

The students backed away, but with a teacher nearby, they were quickly taken away. Trey didn't mind his little lie, after all, you were adorably blushing in his arms.

"Are you okay my love?" He patted your head, checking you for any injuries. It was only then he realised that you were dolled up, and your cheeks were flushed whenever hi fingers touched your skin.

Trey wasn't usually tongue-tied, but the way you just looked made him speechless.

"H-Happy Valentine's... my gorgeous YN."

Jamil Viper

He was an observant man, so the day before Valentine's he knew who was targeting to give you gifts, even if they hadn't made their intentions public. He never made your relationship public, but he targeted those who thought they were the 'perfect' candidate for your love.

It all began with spreading rumours, particularly about how someone was going to be your fiancé. He only had to wait for the rumours to settle in, and then the chaos would commence...

By the morning of Valentine's, many had gathered at your doorstep leaving gifts but some insisted on waiting for you... like a stalker... Oh well, Jamil could remedy that easily.

He couldn't hypnotise to most due to the limitations of his magic, but he was still good at manipulating those around him. He couldn't help but feel such jealousy towards the other students for getting you such expensive gifts, especially when he could never get those gifts for you himself.

He was so distracted with his jealous thoughts that he missed the moment that you walked out of your room. You were hopeful that your boyfriend Jamil was waiting, but you couldn't hide your disappointment when it wasn't.

The more aggressive 'suitors' caught on to your disappointment, and you shrunk in fear as they approached you.

"Hoi, why are you making that fa-"

BLAM!

Before any insulting things were said, a basketball went flying and hit the student in the head, knocking him flat.

"Get away from her."

Jamil's piercing gaze sent a shiver down everyone's spine, causing them to scram. Even those who had the strength to beat Jamil were outmatched by the sheer bloodlust and the objective authority he had, which was better not to mess with if they valued their school life.

It wasn't long before you jumped into Jamil's arms, which caused both of you to topple over. Your large grin was fitting for Jamil's flustered state, as you bestowed your hero a loving kiss.

Jade Leech

If any student in NRC were to say to their fellow friends that they wanted to confess to YN on Valentine's Day, their friends would ask them if they wanted a death wish. This was because it was a well-known fact that you were dating Jade Leech.

And in NRC, you'd never want to mess with the Leech brothers.

Jade wouldn't want to scare you, but he may have overheard some other people talking about giving you a Valentine's gift. Even if it was out of obligation, he wouldn't allow that.

He could personally alter the ingredients of their drinks so that they'd... fall asleep before any present giving...

You always hung around the Lounge but this time around, Jade didn't allow you to walk out onto the floor, so you accompanied Azul with helping him with his papers. He waited for the serum to kick in, and when they were asleep he informed Azul of some loiterers in the Lounge.

Before they fell asleep, Jade couldn't help himself from revealing his tiny plan to the victims.

"Don't try your chances."

They were quickly disposed of, thanks to Floyd. It'd be better not to mention specifics.

Jade did promise you a romantic date, so you were surprised how much the Lounge changed after hours. The simple candlelight shone on the extravagant meal with Jade's specially brewed tea.

You felt the merman's arms wrap around you, as he leaned down, whispering in your ear. "YN, thank you for being my Valentine."

Floyd Leech

Whoever had the idea to confess to you besides Floyd Leech was asking to die by getting squeezed by a merman.

He wasn't sure how did you gain so much attention, but then he remembered that he'd always glomp you whenever he saw you... and then he remembered that Valentine's was today. Oh well, he'll figure something out.

The person Floyd had his eyes on though, was a student who was part of a band that Azul drove into debt. The entire band then on went to work for the Lounge as entertainters, but how could Floyd trust such a scheming bass player?

He heard from Jade that they were going to practice, but he had an inkling that it would be a confession to you. Only when it comes to you, he's observant.

"Hey YN! I just wanna show you-"

You shrugged off the bassist's enthusiasm. "Sorry... I'm a bit worn out. A lot of people have been giving me presents today."

He still took your hand. "Well... um if it helps you relax, I wrote a song for you!"

"A song?" You inched away since he was too close for comfort, but you'd doubt he'd listen to you since those other students didn't listen to you anyway...

"Hands off my Shrimpy."

Floyd couldn't hold it, watching from the sidelines. Jade told him to stay put, but it was impossible. He grabbed the student by the shoulders, squeezing him until he screamed. Once Floyd saw your worried face, he abandoned every thought of 'torturing' the boy and flung him across the room instead.

It was just his luck that the boy landed in your pile of presents, destroying about half of them. That was the presents dealt with...

You eagerly hugged Floyd, finally seeing him after a long day. Floyd couldn't help but twirl his Shrimpy around, joy filling him from your giggles. Oh well, Valentine's was too materialistic anyway. If he could get a laugh out of you just like this, that was all that mattered to him.

"Love ya Shrimpy~"

Ruggie Bucchi

Having so much responsibility in Savanaclaw meant that he had the slimmest of chances to be with you during Valentine's. Sure, most knew that you were his but there would be those idiots that would approach you regardless of your relationship status.

He gritted his teeth as he thought of all the possible presents he couldn't give you, and others could. The moment he stepped out his body simply shook with envy at how lucky those students were to have the spare money to get you something nice.

It honestly made him feel terrible that he couldn't provide those for you. It really did.

He wasn't one to lash out, but he was a hyena beastman after all. He had his limits. The moment he spotted you, he couldn't stop his tail from wagging. What pissed him off though was the idiocity of the students who can't comprehend that you didn't want to deal with them.

A Scarabia student had been following you around, and it was getting on your nerves. He showed off his 'assets' in front of you, which was embarrassing enough but it really struck a chord when the said student disregarded your beloved Ruggie.

"Surely you have better chances with me than some filthy beastman like him..."

You huffed, your fists shaking. "That's my boyfriend you're talking about!"

The student, of course disregarded you entirely. He grabbed you by the wrist, but in the blink of an eye, his palm was bleeding. There Ruggie was, claws out and holding you in one arm.

"She said she has a boyfriend, scum."

He didn't care how much he'd get punished. Knowing how much the teachers favoured you, they might let it pass... He didn't want to deal with the aftermath, so he lifted you up bridal style and ran with you to the Savanaclaw dorm.

"W-Wait Ruggie! I might be heavy..."

"You're not," He bluntly said, angling his face so he could check you for any injuries. His chest swelled up with pride with how much you defended him. "YN, it's okay though. You didn't have to defend me that much..."

You were not one to stand for your boyfriend to insult himself. You kissed him, surprising him to the point he almost dropped you. As you stared at your confused Ruggie, you comforted him with words he needed to hear the most.

"Ruggie, you're my one and only love."

Rook Hunt

This man had a plan. He had a plan and he planned it the moment he realised Valentine's Day was coming which was roughly after the first few months of dating. He never realised that it would be such a meticulous operation.

He runs the grapevine of gossip, so he knows exactly who to target. Sure... some methods were not as graceful as the Pomefiore standard but he had to do what he had to do.

Valentine's rolled around. D-Day. The D stood for Date... as he highlighted in notes. He'd leave you be, because you were the main star of his plan. His star, his moon, his every- Oh and he caught himself before getting sidetracked...

The first mistake was leaving their presents unattended. The second mistake was going to talk to you.

In a sudden moment, many shrieked at their presents getting vandalised by someone's arrow. It wasn't a humble mistake. Someone was doing this on purpose.

While other students panicked, you had stooped to your knees, observing the words on the shaft of the arrow...

'From YN's boyfriend~'

Oh... Oh Rook... How adorable of you... You thought to yourself. You were surprised that none had caught on so far, but you were sorely mistaken as the person who was about to gift you a bouquet of flowers grabbed you in fear.

"Y-Your boyfriend?! Who is he-" The student shrieked and fell to the ground as an arrow flew past his head, cutting off some of his locks. Then and there, Rook stepped out, bow in hand, bowing to his lady.

"My apologies. I was aiming for your head."

Rook was quick to take you in his arms, but that was not before he oh so graciously stepped on the student's hand. You didn't expect him to-

"You didn't think I would get jealous, Mademoiselle," He laughed, getting on one knee with a rose in hand that you were sure was from another student's bouquet. "Ah, I take it you enjoyed my gift!~"

Unfortunately, it wasn't long before Rook was scolded by some teachers and Vil himself. As much as you thought he would put up with the punishment, that didn't stop the hunter from bringing you to the final date spot, a quiet, peaceful forest date with your favourite hunter.

#twisted wonderland scenarios #twst imagines #twst vice dorm leaders #lilia vanrouge #trey clover #rook hunt #jamil viper #jade leech #floyd leech #ruggie bucchi #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst scenarios

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diomaster69 · 2 years

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I decided to make a Saiki K romance series cause

1. I’m bored

2. I have so much fluff I need to unleash it somewhere

3. People seem to love him a lot and apparently I write him well

I’ll be making a master list if this series becomes popular

Here’s a few keys:

“Anyone’s thoughts”

“Saiki telepathically communicating”

Saiki Kusuo x Reader

The meeting

“Class there will be a new student today,” The teacher announced, “They’re transferring from the class next door so perhaps you know them.”

“Good grief when isn’t there a new student?” Saiki nearly rolled his eyes as he could hear the overlap of all his classmates talking. A few common questions being:

“Is it a girl? I hope she’s cute!”

“Maybe they can come with us to eat ramen!”

“Well if they’re just transferring classes wouldn’t we know them?”

Saiki simply ignored them all and continued his studies until someone walked into the room. He looked up out of curiosity and remembers the new student.

"Oh, that L/n Y/n, they normally speak their mind so I don’t have to read it. I’ve seen them around but never really interacted with them. To be quite honest, their outspokenness is refreshing,” Saiki unknowingly smiled as Y/n walked up to the front of the classroom.

“Hello everyone! Some of you may know me as L/n but there’s no need for formalities, you can call me Y/n- wait… Riki? Is that you?”

“Oh hey buddy!”

“Riki!!” Y/n ran over to give him a hug completely catching Saiki off guard.

“Since when were they friends?” He internally cringed, not wanting to involve himself with people associated with Nendo.

“Eh, Y/n?” Kaido shyly waved at them.

“Shun? No way! It’s been forever since I saw you last!”

“Just when I thought they were normal. Why does God hate me?” Saiki knows that he’ll probably be roped into their antics (as per usual).

After chatting (quite loudly mind you) Y/n took their seat at last after the teacher lectured them for disturbing the other classes. Class went relatively normal, to Saiki’s relief.

Once class was over, Kaido, Nendo, and Y/n all went to lunch together to catch up. Saiki sat far, normally the two boys would be bothering him but all the attention was on Y/n. He was actually grateful for that since he could finally eat in peace.

"Oh hi! I've never seen you before," Y/n greeted the dark purple haired boy.

"I'm Kuboyasu Aren, nice to meet you," He held out a hand and Y/n shook it.

"Hmm, strong grip,"

"Sorry, was that too tight?"

"Nope! You're fine. Hey, I was thinking we should all get some ramen after school, Riki and I used to do it all the time so I was hoping we could do it for old time sake,"

"Huh? Sure I'm down,"

"Oh, I should invite other people,"

"Mmmm ramen...,"

"I don't mind meeting more people, invite them!"

And invite them he did. Kaido invited a majority of their classmates to eat ramen in a small shop. Including: Teruhashi, Toritsuka, Yumehara, Hairo, Mera, and last but not least, Saiki.

"Good grief why me, I couldn't refuse. That would be rude, besides he made a big drama out of it and I can't risk that attention,"

#saiki k #saiki kusuo #saiki #saiki x reader #saiki kusuo x reader #kusuo saiki x reader #kusuo x reader #kusuo saiki

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bakugosbratx · 3 years

Text

Baby Eyes | Mafia Katsuki Bakugo x Fem! Reader

Warning: 18+ Content. Some non-con, blood, murder, Mafia Bakugo, Fem! Reader, bdsm, sexual intercourse, size kink, degrading, orgasm denial, Stockholm syndrome, yandere themes, etc.

Words: 2,896

A/N: thank you so much to @daisy-bakugo for letting me participate. It is really fun doing this collaboration with you. Daisy’s Event

Tags: @awilddreamerwrites @peachsenpie @miriobaby @milkthistletea @idfkwtfgof click here to see my other works

Vegas.

Many dream of this city. The gambling, the drinks, the money, the night life. It has it all. Your dreams and worse nightmares can be made here all within a single night. The world may be cruel, but Vegas is even crueler. At least, it is for Y/N.

Your pistol was held tight in your trembling little hand. You have not been properly trained for this moment since in your late teens. The weapon felt foreign to the touch. You are now in your twenties and you are usually not doing this line of work, but since you wanted to disturb your significant other while he was working, he handed you the gun for you to handle.

“Since you want to be such a fucking cry baby, here.” He growled, shoving the pistol into your pounding chest. You gasped.

“S-Sir, I—“ You stammered, using the name he loved to be called by you. You would help it lessen your punishment, but the man did not budge.

“Don’t keep me waiting, brat. Finish this piece of shit off swiftly and quit your damn crying.”

You watched as he left into the city lights of Vegas before turning your attention back to the male before you. The man begged for mercy beneath you and your mouth feels dry.

“P-Please, ma’am. I-I have a w-wife and t-three beautiful c-children. I’ll g-give you your m-money next week. I-I promise.” The fearful man stammered amongst the abandoned dark alleyway. You have heard this speech by many like him when Katsuki brought you on his missions. It should just fall on deaf ears, but tears still brimmed your eyes as memories flooded back to the forefront of your damaged mind.

These memories are the reason you are in this predicament. You begged and squealed, running towards Katsuki and hanging onto his arm when he directed you to stay in the car. You two could have been gone by now, but you decided to intervene. Now you are here, about to commit another murder.

Your father was in this same position a few years ago. Begging for mercy before Katsuki slaughtered him right in front of you. Your cries still echo this alleyway during late, breezy nights. People think you have been disposed of as well. That is what eventually happened to the remainder of your family, but you are just under a new identity.

The barrel of the gun digs deeper into the victim’s temple. You attempt to find your strength to pull the trigger. You need to before Katsuki returns. He does not like waiting and you really are pushing what is left of his buttons today.

“I’m sorry.” You whimper out, closing your sorrow filled eyes and pressing down on the trigger. The feeling of blood splattering amongst your cold skin brought back even more unwanted memories. Falling to your knees, you began to cry hysterically in front of the fallen corpse.

Heavy footsteps came up behind you after a few moments. Katsuki has been watching the whole time and you know it. This is what made the experience even worse. You know his judgment is coming. He gave you a task and although you succeeded, it isn’t good enough. He hates your emotional ways. ‘Baby eyes’ as he would say. Always crying over something or someone.

A big calloused hand entangling into your hair with a deep sigh following. You could not look up at him. You hate him right now. You need to, at least, but the feeling of his large fingers stroking your scalp delivered comfort. A comfort he gives and takes away on a whim.

“Took you long enough.” Katsuki grumbled. You gaze up at him with a pitiful look he knows all too well. There was a certain aura to you that changed when your mind drifted to that night. The night he murdered your family right in front of you and all you could do is watch in terror.

“I-I’m sorry.” You muttered out, already accepting that Katsuki is annoyed with you. This is not your first murder and sure will not be your last. He has groomed you long enough for you to know your role.

Katsuki kicked the man’s head with his large foot so he could see the man’s pleading face. Katsuki is cruel in that way. He loved seeing his victim’s expressions in their final moments. Especially when his beautiful woman killed them.

Digging into the man’s pockets, he grabbed his pack of cigarettes and black leather wallet to review what was contained inside it. The little cash the man held is now in Katsuki’s possession.

“Marlboro Reds,” Katsuki commented as he slipped the cigarette in between his moist lips and lit it up, “nice.”

Turning around to face you after letting the nicotine enter his system, he looks down at you. Grabbing your chin, you are forced to meet his gaze. You tremble under his touch.

“What did I say about that crying shit?” Katsuki recalls one of your many lectures.

“I’m sorry!” You exclaimed, a little too loud for your own good. Katsuki’s eyebrows furrowed together, not pleased with your tone. His hand found a way to your neck, giving you a nice squeeze as he guides you up to your feet.

“Let’s go.” Katsuki growls, his red orbs shooting venom into you. Your arm is now tight into his grip as he leads you to the parked all black Lamborghini.

You climb into the passenger seat while Katsuki climbs into the driver’s. You used the napkins in the glove compartment to clean up your soiled face. Katsuki is already on his second cigarette as he drives to the mansion you both share. Considering how fed up he is with you and your antics, you are surprised that half of the box is not gone by now. You know you are in for it once you arrive home.

Katsuki pulled up to the house after some time. Your tears did not pause once the whole way there which only agitated Katsuki even more. He did not say a word as you know to follow the tall man inside. Straight up the spiral marble staircase to the master bedroom, you begin undressing as Katsuki does not appreciate the mess in his living space. Along with the fact you are always to be naked within the bedroom. That rule was set once you turned eighteen years of age.

You sat on the edge of the bed, not enjoying the look in Katsuki’s angry eyes. His muscular arms folded against his chest as he leaned against the wall, glaring into you. You feel small — as usual — within his presence. He is making sure you remember your place.

“What the hell were you thinking out there, Y/N?” Katsuki begins after moments have passed.

“I-I don’t know.” You mumbled, twiddling your thumbs in your bare lap. Your insides are curling with each passing second. You are not sure why you did what you did, honestly. You have seen numerous people plead for forgiveness at Katsuki’s feet, but Katsuki is always going to be a merciless man. Your body acted before your brain could compute. You just wanted to save him. Salvage your loved ones death in some way, shape, or form, but it can never be done.

“You have to give me a better excuse than that. This little rebellion you're on lately isn’t doing nothing but getting you into heaps of trouble.”

“It’s not a rebellion!” You snap back, tears still spilling from your orbs. “You killed my family, Katsuki!”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, used to this statement coming from you. “Here we go again.” He scoffs with a tsk following shortly after. “We’ve been over this, Y/N. Your father sold you and your family out for cash. If anything, you should be fucking grateful I even let you live.”

“Grateful?” You repeat in disbelief, a half hearted chuckle escaping your lips. Maybe it was because Katsuki let you take another life, maybe your parents' spirits are coming through, or maybe you’re just so fed up with him, but a sudden burst of confidence runs through you.

You stand up, strolling over to the man before you. His jaw is clenching as he examines each cowardly step you take towards him. You glare up to the man before you, quivering before his mighty presence.

“You killed my family, Katsuki,” you repeat through gritted teeth and clenched fists, “I’ll never forgive you for that.”

“Oh yeah?” Katsuki challenged, his profound amused smirk appearing. The look in your glossy irises said all the words you didn’t have the courage to speak. “Good thing I really don’t give a fuck about your forgiveness, princess.”

Katsuki’s words soaked into your veins like venom. His smug looks always made you want to beat it off of him. Ever since you have met him. You both know you have no match against him. He will always win. Always.

You have been stuck with him since you were fifteen years old. You two never had any relationship or any sexual conduct until you were the legal age of eighteen. You would be lying if you said you didn’t fall for him over the years. He is all you know and Katsuki grew to like you over the years. Though he trained you to be the woman he wants you to be for him, you do throw a tantrum or two when needed.

“I hate you.” You sniveled.

“Sure you do. Let’s clean up that pretty face of yours so I can stuff it, eh?” Katsuki chuckled, cupping your chin with one hand so he can wipe your nose with a handkerchief with the other. You attempted to break loose of his firm grasp, but the male was not even phased.

“I don’t want your dick anywhere near me.” You admit allowed, still keeping the same angry tone within your words.

Katsuki arched his eyebrow, releasing your face from his grip and discarding the used cloth into the waste bin. “Considering the show you put on out there tonight, you’re lucky I’m not doing worse to you. I can always make that pretty ass of yours bruised too if you’d like?”

You immediately shake your head no. Your bottom is still a bit sore from two weeks ago when Katsuki put you over his knee. You are just now able to sit normal again. You do not need to go back to that.

“No, sir.” You stutter out, backing away from him and putting your hands behind your back. Katsuki is already pouring himself some whiskey into a whiskey glass that you make sure is always waiting on his dresser. He always enjoys a good drink after a long mission.

You take his black suit jacket off of him like expected and lay it on the dirty laundry hamper. Katsuki is already sitting on the bed, sipping on his alcoholic beverage, waiting for you to get to work. Kneeling before him, you begin unzipping his slacks and tugging down his underwear to reveal his erected cock. You take a moment to contemplate your future actions. You really did not want his dick in your mouth, but like Katsuki said before, you do not have a choice in the matter.

Your train of thought is derailed when Katsuki tugs on your hair. “Isn’t going to suck itself, brat. Get to work.”

Mentally groaning, your tongue swipes his length before placing kisses on the tip. Slowly, you begin taking in inch—by—inch. Saliva slid down his cock by the time you had it in your throat. Choking noises fed Katsuki’s already inflated ego.

“Can’t talk much with my cock down your throat, huh?” He teased, taking another sip of his whiskey. “For someone who claimed they didn’t want my cock to begin with, you sure are deep throating it rather quickly.”

You ignored his usual insults as you came up for air. You let out small coughs then go in for more, every vein being pleased with your tongue as you take it all in. Katsuki groans in pleasure as you pick up the speed. His cock is coated in your saliva as you did not slow down once to catch air. It wasn’t worth the ego boost he would feel from knowing he is too big for you.

Katsuki’s whiskey went unfinished as he could not focus on drinking it. Cum soon fills your hollow cheeks and down your throat as he releases into you. Not a drop was missed as you milked his cock. You were rewarded with a head pat.

“On the bed,” Katsuki instructs, “all fours.”

“Do I have to?” You whine. Katsuki vigorously grabs your chin, staring down into you. The room is dark, but his crimson eyes seemed to glow.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get on this fucking bed and shut your Goddamn mouth.” Katsuki hisses, sending chills down your spine. You do as you are told like he taught you. Arching your back, your ass is now in his perfect viewing. Katsuki’s clothes discarded to the hardwood floor below, his dick already erected at the sight of you.

“See? That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Katsuki asked, rhetorically. He spreads you open more for his personal view. “Yeah, that’s it.” He comments, overviewing all of you. One of his hands stroked his cock while the other pressed on your begging clit. You let out a soft moan, hoping he didn’t hear.

Placing his hands on your hips, he drags you closer to him. Leveling you with his cock, the tip slowly slips into your entrance then proceeding to pick up full speed. Your cunt swallows all of him, hugging his cock with each rhythmic thrust. You can feel your tight walls get stretched by his girth with each entry he makes, not even giving you time to get used to his size as he exits to repeat the same process. No matter how many times you two have sex, you will never get used to Katsuki’s length and size.

“Katsuki—“ You sob in pleasure and in pain.

“Shut it, slut. You’re going to take all of my fucking cock and like it. I’m going to fuck the brat out of you tonight.” Katsuki demands, pressing down on your spine so your ass is more perked up for him to smack periodically. Your cries and moans are muffled into the European satin sheets below. You grip onto them for support as Katsuki does not slow down once.

Your pussy pulsates with each thrust. It was about to give out on you and cum all over his cock. Though you did not want to give him the satisfaction, your cunt had other plans as it became tighter around Katsuki’s length.

“Aw, is someone going to cum?” Katsuki coo’s condescendingly, beginning to go agonizingly slow.

You lift your head to beg for sweet release. “Please let me cum, sir. Pretty please. I need to oh so badly.” You sobbed. His silence made your insides do flips. His slow strokes did not once stop and his nails dug into your thighs.

“No.” Katsuki finally denies as he knows you cannot take anymore. You gasp, your heart stopping for a split second.

“Katsuki, please.” You hiccuped. “I really need to.”

“Should’ve thought about that before throwing a tantrum today. Good girls get to cum.” Katsuki shrugged, using his long muscular arm to push your head back into the mattress. “Now shut the hell up while I fuck you senseless.”

Just like Katsuki stated, he fucked you until his high was met. Of course, he did not make it easy as he was about to bust, he would go slower to edge himself. He wanted this to be a punishment to remember. The whole time, you behaved and did not cum. No matter how many times Katsuki tried to get you to slip, you refused.

“C’mon and cum, brat. Y’know you wanna.” Katsuki would tease with immaturity. All you could say was incoherent “no thank you’s.” A soft rub on your ass was telling you that you passed his test.

Countless minutes, maybe even hours, have passed until Katsuki decided he was ready to release himself. “You can cum now.” He finally grants. You did not get to even process his words as your pussy released onto his cock. Babbles of pleasure and gratitude escaped from your lips.

“Good fuckin’ girl.” Katsuki praises, his cock now removed from you. You whine at the hollowness you felt.

“Lay on your back.” He instructs, doing his best to keep it together. You follow his request and switch over to your back. “Play with your tits.”

Your fingers grab onto your sensitive nipples, swirling on them before giving them a nice little pinch. Katsuki stood over you, stroking his cock that is covered in his pre-cum.

“Yeah, that’s it. Good girl.” Katsuki praised once more, analyzing your lewd faces as your fingers played with your breast.

“Mm, cover me with your cum.” You encouraged, rubbing your thighs together and pushing your breast closer to one another. Katsuki became feral as cum squirted onto your chest and stomach. Just the sight of you is making Katsuki forget today ever happened.

Just like always, baby eyes.

©bakugosbratx

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unbreathable · 3 years

Text

ride home / S. Rogers

Summary : As a girl you were always told to never accept a ride from unknown men. You knew what could happen, you knew the dangers and heck, you`ve seen how it ruined some girls. But hey, he`s your teacher, nothing could happen. Right?

Pairing : Dark(soft)!teacher Steve Rogers x female Reader

Before you read, please understand that this is intended to be a dark fic. There will be noncon elements, rape, violence, manipulation and so much more. If you find any of these disturbing, please click away. 18+ only.

Warnings for this one shot : manipulation, noncon elements, rape, use of drugs, lost of virginity. This is some kind of au and Steve might be out of character a little.

Word count : 3.319

Credit : for the gif I used, the credit goes to its rightful creator.

Note : Don’t expect this to be any good. I came up with this over the course of a few hours and I’m still learning how to write one shots, as I find it much easier to write a series. Also I still suck at writing “smut”. I’m trying to perfect it, tho. Promise. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this one shot till my mind would be satisfied with the way the next chapter of “The Magpie” turned out and would let me post it. :)) Also, please excuse any mistakes I made. Have a great day you guys!

Also, to all the writers from this platform : thank you !

Girl found wondering around without any memory of the last few days, claims she had been abducted and raped...

Your eyes narrowed as you stared at the case which has been all over the news for the past week. It was quite predictable, really. Young girl, too drunk for her own good woke up by herself in the middle of nowhere. You sighed. In a city as big as New York, cases like this happened almost every other day, but there was always something left behind. Fight marks, blood, hair. Anything that could help the police find the person who did it. This time though, there was nothing.

The poor girl. You couldn`t help but pity her. She must be terrified. All alone against a world that knows nothing better than to judge. You pinched your nose in exasperation.

Cases like this, it`s what made you choose to study law. You wanted to be able to help other women. To offer them a chance at justice. No one deserved to be told that it was their own fault for wondering alone at night or for wearing something more showing. No girl should feel like the law protects only the male population...

“ And what`s your opinion on this matter, miss I`m too busy scrolling on my phone to pay attention to class?”

You cursed in your head, as you put your phone away and lifted your eyes to meet your teacher.

Steve Rogers. America`s hero, savior of the world and an actual pain in your ass, was looking at you expectantly. You held his gaze as you forced your lips to form some kind of smile. Something about him always put you on edge and the way his eyes darkened as he stared at you, didn`t exactly help ease the feeling.

“I`m sorry, I was distracted.” you murmured, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that he caught you unprepared. ”If you would be so kind...”

You looked at him as you raised one eyebrow. It was always like this. No matter what you did he`d always find something to pick at you. At first you took it as a form of banter between a teacher and his students, but with time it became clearly that he had a problem with you. Your grades didn`t reflect the hard work you always put in. Your extra work wouldn`t be considered. Every time you would as much as look at your watch he`d find something to jab at you. He would also have something to say about every paper you handed him. It was a miracle you even made the grade for his class.

You cringed as you remembered the comments he would make about your life outside his class. You seemed to bump into him on a daily. There was also something, in the way he watched your every move, that it made the hair at the back of your neck stay high on alert. You really couldn`t understand what you`ve done that America`s sweetheart despised you that much.

”The women rights...” he smirked down at you.

“Oh, yes. I strongly believe that women should have got their rights the same time men did.” you smiled when you realized that he wanted to add something else. “I mean we know that every society of this world was built around androcentrism, but if we`re real the women were the ones that kept everything from falling apart.” you drew in a short breath. “Oh, and I believe that 1920 was a bit late for our women to get their rights, since women all around the world fought for it since the 18th century.”

You smirked, as for once in your life the bell rang exactly when you needed it. Forcing a smile his way, you stood up gathering your notebooks. You were quite proud of yourself, not because your answer was the desired one, but because you got on professor Rogers nerves. While he didn`t seem to have a problem with women and feminists in general, he sure had a problem with the way you choose to speak on the matter. From the corner of your eye you saw his jaw twitch.

At first you were afraid to even say your opinion lest you would upset him, but now you enjoyed to see that vein on his forehead nearly pop. You held back a giggle. Oh well, at least you won`t have to see him for the next few weeks.

“Professor!” you rolled your eyes when you herd your bestfriend use her sweet voice. “I was wondering if you`d like to come to our party tonight.”

You stood straight, narrowing your eyes at the one that has been your friend since the first day you came to the city. What the hell was happening. You knew she had a crush on him, everyone did, but she wasn`t the one to just go and ask someone out, especially not him. You watched her in confusion as professor Rogers made his way to the front of the class.

“You know, with everything happening right now, the uni council would let us hold the party only if there was someone that could take care of us.”

“Oh!” you supposed that made sense, but even so why did it have to be him.

“Of course professor Barnes already said that he`ll be there, but we`d be thankful if you came too. Please!” your friend bated her eyelashes at him as you rolled your eyes.

Professor Rogers had a pleased smile as he moved his eyes from her to you. You held his gaze, even going as far as raising one eyebrow at him. He blinked, before turning his head towards the rest of the class.

“Since you asked so nicely.” he said after a short moment dismissively. ”`I`ll be there.”

There was something sinister in his eyes. Something that you failed to see as you made your way out of the lecture class.

“I can`t believe you invited him!” you playfully jabbed your friend in the shoulder as she walked next to you.

“Oh, come on! It’s just tonight, and I bet he won’t be able to stay up that late since he’s like... the same age as history?” she bit back a laugh, as she took your hand. “It will be fun, you`ll see.”

You hoped she was right since you were never a big fan of parties of any kind.

_ _ _

This wasn`t fun. Not at all.

You knew you should have stayed home, yet you still wanted to enjoy the last night with your class mates before break. But this wasn`t it. The music was too loud and you couldn`t even hear what some people were saying. Also you`ve never really been a techno fan. The food was crap and you were sure everyone came just because there were free drinks.

It was well past midnight and you have been there since the beginning, but you were already dreading it. You smiled as your only joy came from watching drunk freshmen being rejected by some of your friends. The girls were ruthless and that made you proud.

“Hey girl!” your bestfriend came by your side, holding two glasses in her hands as her body danced along the rhythm of the music. “Look at was professor Rogers sent us.”

Her words were slurred and you could see that she drank already too much. That`s why at first you thought you didn`t hear her right. While it wasn`t unusual for men to send women drinks, getting a drink from your teacher was something you never thought could happen. It was wrong in a way.

“What?” your eyes widened as soon as the word left your mouth.

You eyed the glass she handed you. It seemed to be one of your favorites, and after the sour taste the beer left in your mouth, that would have been like a desert. Still something made you suspicious.

“Come on, take it!” your friend pressed as she smiled broadly. “He must have realized that he’s been an ass all year and wants to make amends.”

She was giggling as her glossy eyes drifted around the room. She didn`t seem to be able to focus on anything, but somehow her shaky hands found yours and brought the glass you were holding closer to your mouth. You weren`t exactly sure what came over you, but you opened your mouth and let the liquid go down your throat. Involuntarily, your eyes wondered around till you saw the back of your least favorite teacher. He didn`t even seem to care about anything around him as he was engaged into a discussion with professor Barnes. That alone made you feel safe, even though the drink left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You were too quick to judge, you resonated. This was probably his way of saying: “Sorry I tormented you that much.” You suddenly giggled. It was shortly followed by your friend`s laughter. She threw the glass to the side and took your hand leading you to the dancefloor.

You weren`t that much of a dancer. You knew just some basics moves and that was it, but now you didn`t seem to care. You let your body move, and only chuckled when your legs started to feel like jelly. It was a strange feeling. You suddenly felt like were floating.

You furrowed your brows as you started to feel that your body didn`t exactly respond to your impulses. Everything around you happened in slow motion.

You cursed. Just how much did you drink? Moving one hand to your head, you tried to get your senses back, but you found it too hard to do. Your head buzzed. For a second you looked around trying to spot your friend among the sweaty bodies on the dancefloor, but it was like you couldn`t recognize anybody.

Fuck this. You had enough of this party already, and the way you felt made you decide that it was time to go home. You moved between the sea of bodies as fast as you could. Your coat and purse were the only thing you spent more than five minutes looking for, but as you found them you practically run out of there.

The bus stop wasn`t that far, but just the thought that you`ll have to go home by bus, made you want to throw up. You didn`t feel well and there was dizziness that started to overcome you. As you watched the empty street, you cursed again. Of course you`ll have to wait till the next bus came. Damn it! You should really get your license.

The sound of a engine from behind you, made you turn your head. Your eyes narrowed as you watched the Range Rover slow down and actually stop right next to you. You squinted your eyes, trying to see through the tinted glass, but as a wave of nausea hit you, you moved your head to the side. You didn`t exactly pay attention when one of the windows went down. You didn`t really care. You felt sick, and all you wanted, was to get home.

“ I saw you left the party early.” the deep voice said. “Are you all right kitten?”

You hissed when you heard the voice of the last person you wanted to see right now. What was he even doing here? Your heart skipped a beat as another wave hit. You took a deep breath and tried to steady yourself. Just ignore him and he`ll go away. You didn`t exactly knew why you choose to act like that but there was something in your head that told you it was for the best.

“Come on girl, I have to make sure everyone is safe and sound.” you heard his voice. “If you don`t feel fine, I can take you home.”

The idea of getting home sooner and in a nice car was looking really good right now. But still, you didn`t feel like it was the best for you. You choose to keep quiet for reasons not even you knew. You glossy eyes scanned the schedule of the bus that was right in front of you. Thirty minutes and you`ll go home.

You heard professor Rogers sigh.

“And here I thought you never shut your mouth.” there was a deep chuckle, fallowed by the sound of the engine coming to life. “Look kitten I can either get you home or I`ll go my merry way and let you here all alone... well not quite. But I`m not sure you`d want that kind of company.”

Confusion filled your mind. The sudden move you made to look at him, made you dizzy. You tried to focus your eyes, in time to see him pointing to somewhere behind you. You slowly turned.

A group of guys were eyeing you like a wolf would his prey. Your mouth fell open as they did obscene gestures at you. Your whole body freeze as fear took over you. You knew what could happen. Suddenly you were more sober that ever and as you heard the car start moving, you nearly threw yourself in front of it. On shaky legs you moved towards the door.

“Wait” you find it hard to speak. “Professor, I`m sorry I... please!”

You looked at him with pleading eyes, and didn`t even register the way he smirked as you got into the car. Everything was a haze. You only felt like you could breath when the car started to gain speed. You didn`t even remembered to give him your address or anything, but as the car rolled down various streets you were only thankful you were far away from them.

“It such a crazy world out there” professor Rogers voice made you move your head towards him, but as the fear was gone, you started to feel the dizziness again.

With unfocused eyes you watched him. America`s hero was giving you a ride home for free and you were acting like he was your biggest enemy. What was wrong with you?

“I have to say I`m impressed.” he suddenly said as the car started to slow down. “That was one of the strongest drugs that you drank, and you still have some of your conscious left. The other ones were down after a few minutes.”

You looked at him and simply blinked. You wondered if your mind was playing games with you. Surely, he hadn`t said what you think you heard. You must have imagined everything.

“E... excuse me?” you asked dully.

You drew in a shaky breath as your trembling hand went to the door. He chuckled darkly at your attempts to open it. You wanted to scream but as your movement became slower and slower you found that fear wasn`t enough to fuel your limp body.

The car came to a sudden stop. You closed your eyes as you felt hands pulling you back.

“Now, now honey.” you could feel his breath on the back of your neck. “Don`t waste your energy, you`ll need it.”

You turned your head and watched him through your eyelashes. Something in your head was screaming at you to fight, to run, to get away. You wanted to punch, scratch, hurt him in any way. But your body didn`t listen.

It happened too fast. In a matter of second your dress was ripped to shreds. And your found yourself pressed to the door. He was over you in an instant. Turning your head to the side so that he could stare into your eyes. He had a hungry look on his face. You`ve seen it many times but it never terrified you as much as now.

“Just as pretty as I imagined.” he said in a husky voice.

You squeezed your legs as you felt his hand moving around along your body. He tugged at your bra till the clasps snapped. Your nipples stood erect, you didn`t know if it was from the cold of the car or the heat that was inside you. One of his hands came forward at pinched at your nipples. You made to move, but as sensing your intention he tugged your head back by your hair.

“Don`t you even dare!” he growled as his thumb played with one of your nipples. “I waited a long time for this”.

He leaned forward kissing down your stretched neck. His mouth was hot against your skin. You gasped when you felt his tongue leaving wet traces along your collarbone. He tugged at your hair one more time before his hand went down.

“Always dressing like this world is your own runaway, always thinking that you know it all.” he let out a moan as he squeezed your ass. “Do you know what a face as pretty as yours and an attitude like that do to a man?”

You whimpered. You never meant to catch his attention in that way, you just wanted to feel good about yourself. You wanted to tell him that. To tell him that you were sorry, but your brain didn`t work anymore. There was no reaction even as he spanked you. You felt like you could pass out every second.

“Don`t even think about it!”

You closed your eyes when your panties were soon the same as your other clothes. Slick was going down your legs. Despite everything, you were aroused.

“So fucking wet already. Good girl!” he praised.

You felt his hand descend down to your very core, proding around. You bit your lips as tears filled your eyes.

“How many have been here before?” he gave a low chuckle the same time his fingers pinched your button.

“One?” he mocked as one of his long fingers entered you.

You held back a gasp. Non, no, no. This wasn`t happening. Nobody touched you like that before. Nobody even came close to it. That`s not how you wanted it not how you dreamt it would happen. You wanted dinner, roses, a man you loved... not him.

“Two?” he continued as another finger stretched you.

You felt your walls clench around his fingers, as he moved them in and out ou you, everything while his thumb circled your most sensitive part.

“Fuck... you`re tight!” his breath was ragged, it was like he couldn`t get enough.

There was a sudden pause. In a quick move you found yourself pressed to the door of the car, as he angled your body to have better access to your burning core. He drew in a breath.

“A virgin.” he moaned.

You closed your eyes as you herd him playing at his clothes. The sudden hardness you felt proding around your core, made you shiver. You didn`t dare to look back and see it. You were scared. It seemed too big. You were afraid it would split you in a half.

You screamed when he entered you. The pain blurred your vision. Your whole body ached and tears fell down your cheeks. No, no, no. You bit back a moan of pain when he started to move, not caring about you at all. His moves were rough, punishing.

“Shhh doll, I`ll take care of you.” he rasped. “You must have waited so long for this... saving yourself for me.”

Your body moved in rhythm with his. His cock dragged along your walls as every move sent a wave of pain through you. Soon though, you found the pain disappeared. A strange feeling took over you. It was almost pleasurable. You guessed you would have enjoyed it under any other circumstances. But now? Now you were just tired.

As you passed out, you failed to notice the feeling of something warm flowing through you.

_ _ _

Steve smiled down at your sleeping form. So pretty, even after being used like that. You had a glow. Too bad you might not remember anything that happened. He chuckled. It`s a good thing he planned to keep you. He`ll make sure you`ll never forget him.

You were his girl after all. The only reason he took that shitty job as a teacher.

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beyondspaceandstars · 3 years

Text

While You Sleep

Chapter 1

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: angst, mention of violence Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you're given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can't relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier. A/N: I had this idea one day and initially it was just gonna be a one shot but then i said screw it. i’ve never really done a full chapter story/series so...? Here I go? I’ve written most in advanced so I know I actually have some sense of where this is going and tbh i think it’s gonna be interesting but i love soulmate!au anyways :)

masterlist | taglist | read on ao3

The nightmares always felt the same.

In your mind, clear glimpses revealed him - the brooding, long-haired man. He typically wore a mask and that same unforgiving yet disconnected look in his eyes. A metal arm would glimmer every now and then and you’d quickly find him wielding guns or twirling knives. The most uncomfortable acts were those of when he’d use just his hands.

You didn’t really know the people he was affecting. Some looked important, some seemed like casualties to whatever bigger fight was being played at, but they all came in quick glimpses. Part of you felt that he didn’t care enough to remember them. He had no connection, just a goal. There was always more of a focus on what he was doing and making sure it was done. You could tell that was what he was feeling, what he was seeing, and frankly, it was of the disturbing kind.

You had grown up hearing friends and family gush about all the wonderful, fascinating soulmate dreams -- because that was what they were supposed to be: dreams. Lovely, lullaby dreams showing one the life their soulmate was living. Giving the other a glimpse at their feelings, their adventures. Hopefully making you want your person.

Your parents loved reminiscing about how they saw each other playing with friends as kids or volunteering at shelters in college. Your friends had been equally fascinated, constantly gossiping about what books their soulmates had read or how their eyes would light up when they played with their dogs.

But you weren’t getting that. Instead of seeing your soulmate read their favorite book, you watched him take down what felt like an army of people. You saw him marching on command as if just a machine.

Part of you thought you were broken. Why were you only getting to see the bad things? Was there nothing good about your person? Had they lived for nothing other than these missions?

It was a weird combination, what you felt towards him. To say you weren’t at least intrigued would be a lie because, at the end of the day, this man was your soulmate. No matter how unnerving or confusing it was, you two were paired. While you didn’t know if he actually knew it, you felt it. You felt the pull in every knife flip. In every stab. In every mission. In every accomplishment.

Even time he was forced to go dormant -- because, yes, you could see the ice. You could see the shocks.

Your soulmate dreams were nightmares. And they ached and pulled at you.

***

You were already awake when sunlight began seeping into your room. This wasn’t a new occurrence -- the sun and you seemed to like to play a game to see who would rise first... You, it was always you lately.

The dreams were distorted memories last night. You didn’t see it all like it was interrupted, but you could tell it appeared to be a past memory. There was just something about the intensity visually this time that was weaker. It was less fresh than previous ones but still held feelings, strength. It was a confusing phenomenon, an old thought transmitting between the soulmate lines, but wasn’t unusual for you by any means.

Sometimes you received memories from your soulmate that dated back to the 70s, sometimes 60s. Things he had seen that weren't even from your decade which raised so many more alarms. It prevented you from getting any sort of age range. Sometimes people received memories their soulmates had learned of, like hearing a story of a wedding and depicting it, but they never lasted. Usually they were one-off casualties but these you had persisted. They had to be from him.

While confusing beyond all means, something you never could think about discussing with others, it gave you a little hope that maybe, just maybe, things had…stopped. Whatever rampage or mission your soulmate was on (had been put on?) was finished. Especially being a memory that came from just a few years ago. For once, maybe there weren't new nightmares for your soulmate to produce.

But you couldn’t get your hopes up. They could be right back at it tonight so you couldn’t allow yourself to ponder it no matter how much it all bugged you. You force yourself to get up and on with the day. Rising as you had watched the sun do so.

You pulled yourself out of bed choosing to ignore the sleep-deprived headache threatening to creep up. Shuffling around your bedroom, you collected your work uniform wherever you had really tossed it throughout the space.

Once dressed for the day, you moved on to making yourself presentable to actually get on with work. While you only just worked in a coffee shop -- not exactly the epitome of luxury -- tips were key and people liked their barista to actually look alive.

You finally got out of the door just moments later, homemade bagel sandwich in tow, all complemented by the fakest, brightest smile you could muster as you made your way down the city sidewalk.

You quite enjoyed the work commute, being able to weave in and out of the people, your mind instinctively wondering if he was here. Was he milling around? Hiding in the shadows? Planning something here or there? What to do next?

You figured most likely not, but you still looked even if the idea of him was enough to make you shake in your boots. Besides, you didn’t even totally know what you were looking for. The eyes and hair only revealed so much. The glimmer of his hand, though, that sure was unique. You could still see it in flashes throughout your mind.

So, you harmlessly let your eyes wander on the street. Checking over the faces, the posture, the appearances of them all but none of them could tug on that part of your heart. Granted, it was sort of ridiculous. Your soulmate had been proven to maybe not be the kindest person in the universe but something had to happen if the two of you were paired. And you were just the right amount of daring to see it through.

You finally made it to the coffee shop after your leisure browsing of the city people all bustling, brain set on getting one place or another. They were just exhausting to even look at.

The bell above the door jingled as you entered. The shop was mere minutes from opening and your coworker was already setting up, nearly ready to bring in the morning rush. She greeted you with a weak, tired smile. You responded with one of your own. Seamlessly, you two fell into it all, moving in silence. Prepping, brewing, cleaning.

Work was going much smoother than normal for the day. You seemed to fall into your tasks with ease as you served the morning crowd. You had your normals’ orders memorized and the new customers wooed at your speediness. Tips were coming in nicely as well, you noted. You and your coworker worked together, as if in a tango behind the counter.

The day seemed that it would continue on just as smoothly as the morning had. Things started to taper off nicely around the afternoon. The shop was mostly filled with college students in between their lectures. They nursed their coffees as they typed away so determined with their homework.

You and your coworker took the brief moment to lull around. She was aimlessly sweeping by the sugars while you cleaned the same spot over and over again on the counter as you watched the television in the corner.

The owner had put in the TV a while ago citing it drummed up service but you never actually found proof of that. Instead, it sat high up on the wall, above the windows, muted at all hours. He at least allowed the closed captioning to be on which was what you were reading as you pretended to clean.

Some midday news program was on. A graphic flashed signaling that they were going into one of their “investigative reports.” You stopped your movements with the rag as you watched the news graphic transition to a portrait picture of a man from the waist up. He...

Something made your stomach drop. Your heart twisted in familiarity while your brain sounded the alarm. Those eyes. That arm. You could feel all of it practically radiating from the television. Letting go of the towel, you let out a gasp at the true shock when it suddenly clicked in your head.

Everything slowed down around you. Customers began staring, concerned. Your coworker was calling your name, asking what was wrong. But you couldn’t do anything. Your eyes were glued to the television. Something crushed in you as it began adding up.

Eyes. Arm. Feelings. Emotions. Eyes. Arm. Feelings. Missions. Scene after scene, you went over everything that had been stored -- forced -- unconventionally in your head.

You read the name on the closed captioning followed by his title. Who he was, what he was.

It fell into place. All of it. It was him, yes. The dreams -- no, no. The nightmares. Your word repeated it over and over again. Him. All him. James Buchanan Barnes. The Winter Soldier.

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honeypirate · 3 years

Text

In Madness lies Sanity

Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader - College AU

Based off the bit by Allan Watts. I read the transcript and I thought— Ushijima in love with his best friend listening to this talk about love in one of his classes and realizing that he needs to tell them the truth. Allan watts bit is in blue, the fic is in white.

Ushijima wasn’t one to dwell too long on trivial matters. He works through them and then forgets them. He focuses on what is important and what will bring him closer to his desired future. He isn’t one who is sucked into madness and drama, he has a strong level head and it’s something he takes pride in. So he’s trying to apply his ideas to how he handles his feelings for you, is it trivial? Is it important to tell you? He was struggling before he walked into class Monday morning and had his eyes opened by the video played during lecture.

- I’m going to talk to you about a particularly virulent and dangerous form of divine madness which is called falling in love. Which is, from a practical point of view, one of the most insane things you can do, or that can happen to you. Because in the eyes of a given woman or a given man, an opposite who go to the eyes of everybody else a perfectly plain and ordinary person can appear to be God or Goddess incarnate .... And this is an extraordinary disruptive experience a subversive experience in the conduct of human affairs

You were never a plain and ordinary person to him and he believes that’s where it got confused. He always has and always will see you as an extraordinary individual, regardless of things that may be seen as flaws or imperfections, regardless of your mistakes. You didn’t transform from one thing to the next, you were the same angel he knew, so when his heart flipped from friendship to love, he wasn’t paying attention.

- Because you never know when it will strike off for what reason. It’s something like contracting a very chronic disease once you get into it

If anyone asked Ushijima who his best friend is his first thought is you. His first thought thought is always you. His constant. His true best friend who is there for him through anything. He’ll open his mouth and say “y/n is my best friend” and when people would point out just how close they are he just shrugged, weren’t friends supposed to be close?

When he thinks back now, now that his feelings are obvious, he realizes that it was just a matter of time until he fell in love with you. He can pinpoint every moment along his life where love was obvious, every joke and hug that at the time he thought was just nice, when he loaned you his sweatshirt and then didn’t wash it because it smelled like you. When he would spend all his valuable and limited free time with you just because he liked the way you would smile as he walked you home. He thinks back to all of his dates in high school and college, of the dating app conversations he’s had or blind dates his friends had set up, and they all failed because of one simple reason- none of them were you.

- I would like to make some reflections on this particular form of madness, and to raise again a very disturbing question. And this disturbing question is as follows: Is it only when you are in love with another person that you see them as they really are? And in the ordinary way, when you are not in love with people you see only a fragmented version of that being.

He’s spent hours turned to days to weeks as he keeps thinking about whether or not he loves you or if he just thinks he could because of how close you already are. He’s lost track of time connecting different dots and making different lists and theories, replaying you’re entire friendship back in his head. He’s thought about the times he saw you drunk in college and puking on his shoes as he helps you home, when you decided you wanted to try and longboard and turfed it so bad your arm was gashed from wrist to elbow and he had carried you to the urgent care. all your reckless and crazy ideas you dragged him along with, you were almost as bad as tendou but he just wanted to take care of you as best as he could. He can feel the desire in his bones to make sure you were always taken care of, a feeling he knows he’ll have until he dies.

He thinks about when you had dated Oikawa and for the entire three months he had an ulcer but didn’t know why. He thought it was because of his pain relievers and quit them the week you broke up with him, not realizing the connection. When he’d get acid in his throat when you talked about dating someone else, he thought he just needed some milk. How blind he had been.

-Because when you are in love with someone you do indeed see them as a divine being. And suppose that’s what they are truly. And your eyes have by your beloved been opened in which case your beloved is serving to you as a kind of guru. An initiator. And that is why there is a form of sexual yoga, based on the idea that man and woman are to each other as mutual guru and student. And through a tremendous outpouring of psychic energy in total devotion and worship to this other person who is respectively the goddess of the god.

Being someone’s best and closest friend consisted of seeing their entirety and choosing to stay and love them anyway. To care for them. He can’t say for certain where he crossed over into love, into wanting to hug you and kiss you, wanting to be the only one you think about, but there’s not much he can do about it now and he doesn’t want to.

Ushijima sees you. He sees your good and your bad and everything in between, he sees you for you. Your ordinary mundane ways of life that he can’t help but want to share with you. Grocery shopping, library trips, post office runs, he wants them all to be done with you. He truly cannot imagine anyone else taking that spot in his heart.

Wanting to show you what he sees. What he knows to be true about you. he wants to scream from the rooftops how amazing you are and he’s not a very loud person. He sees the way you care for your friends selflessly and give and give all you have just so that others can be happy and you never complain. You do what you can when you can and still have time to take care of yourself he never knew how you did it so effortlessly, even when you’d vent to him you never regretted helping others.

He sees the way you lift up those around you. How you leave everyone a little more positive than before you talked to them. He doesn’t know how you do it. He’s convinced you’re an angel and he’s dying to show you just how amazing he knows you are. But he doesn’t want to ruin your friendship. He sees your entirety, your full book instead of just the cover, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He wanted to give you this energy and receive it in turn and he’s never been so absolutely terrified.

-You realize by total fusion and contact with the other organism. You go down to the divine center in them and it bounces back and you discover your own or you could put it in this way which is another aspect of it that by falling in love and regarding falling in love not just as a sort of sexual infatuation, because it’s always more than that, isn’t it. I mean you can have a great sexual enjoyment with a pleasant friend, you know. But you may do so simply because he or she appeals to your aesthetic senses. But when you fall in love, it’s a much more serious involvement, you just cannot forget this person. You feel miserable when not in their presence, you’re always yearning, that’s get to see more of each other let’s get together that’s we’re completely entangled and then you see you’ve actually kind of out what I would call spiritual element has been introduced. And the Hindus were sensible enough to realize that this was a means of awakening, enlightenment, and therefore it was. Surrounded. With a sort of rigid religious ritual meditative art, with a form of sexual yoga that is designed to allow the feeling of mutual love to the extent of grand passion to have an extremely fitting fulfillment and expression.

Ushijima has always thought you were beautiful. Any human with eyes would think that. But your beauty and attraction went far deeper than that. Sure he’s had fleeting thoughts about how good you looked in a dress but he never let them linger. It felt wrong to think of you like that. But now that he’s an adult, a grown man and not a teenager anymore, he wants to kiss you, to hold your hand, maybe more but it wasn’t about that. It was about the intimacy, the closeness, the vulnerability.

Awakening. Enlightenment. Two words that before he didn’t really think about. But now he feels changed. Now that he’s realized how much he loves you has lifted his spirits, made him dream of the passion and happiness you could have together. He feels himself slipping into the joy of being in love with his best friend and imagining all the ways that love could grow. He feels only half of himself when he’s without you, always needing to see you or be around you, but you never made him feel clingy or bad. You met him in kind, telling him how much you wanted to be around him too.

At first he thought that this love was a trivial thing, something he could push from his mind, but after his weeks of thought he knows this is a lot more serious than he’s experienced before.

-Falling in love is a thing that strikes like lightning and is therefore extremely analogous to the mystical vision. We don’t know. No how really people attain the mystical vision. There is not as yet a very clear rationale as to how it happens because we do know that it is opened to many people who never did anything to look for it. And many people especially in adolescence have had the mystical vision all of a sudden without the slightest warning and with no previous interest in that kind of thing

He remembers what he was doing when it dawned on him that he was in love, when he felt the air leave his lungs and his eyes widen softly when he realized how nice it would be to kiss your temple and he couldn’t even finish the thought as the feeling ran from his head to his toes.

He was standing in your kitchen as you finished making your lunch for the following day and you made a joke that made yourself laugh, he didn’t think it was a very funny joke but you didn’t care. You giggled to yourself and he couldn’t help but wish he could witness that forever. It hit him like a brick that he would, in almost an instant, give his entirety to you. It terrified him when he imagines you and him ending like his parents. But behind the terror, the fear of divorce, was a softer and quieter emotion that he tried to focus on harder than the insanity of his anxiety. A softer, lovelier, hopeful feeling that he usually gets every time you smile at him. That was the feeling he was searching for, everything else was irrelevant for a few glorious moments.

-But as yet we are not clear as to why it comes about and if there is any method of attaining it the best one is probably to give up the whole idea of getting it…. you see it is completely unpredictable and so it is in that way like falling in love, capricious and therefore crazy. But if you should be so fortunate as to encounter either of these experiences. It seems to me to be a total denial of life to refuse it. And what we therefore have to. Admit in our society is so that we can contain this kind of madness.

He called Tendou that evening, telling him that he thinks he loves you, and Tendou about had a conniption. He was in Paris as his best friend fell in love for the first time. He talked him through it, told him how good it can be. That yes it was going to be work but the reward would be worth it. To not sell himself short out of his own fears. He deserves much more than that. Tendou’s last phrase is what sunk in deep “I know it was unpredictable, that it feels so fickle, but that’s what love is like buddy! You can’t deny it Ushi, you can’t run from it or hide from it, it will only hurt you in the long run”

- You see, in this way we can think about and structure the necessary stable social institution of family sometime without it being constantly threatened of foundering on the rocks of love. Now you see this then means that when when people marry they take any vows at all to each other instead of saying that they will always be true to each other in the sense of meaning I Will Always Love YoU, It means I will be true to you in the sense of I will always be truthful to. I will not pretend that my feelings towards you ARE other than what they are. Because I marry you, because I think that you are a reasonable person to live with and therefore I want you to be you I want you to be someone else I want to be a rubber stamp of me–how boring that would be?! an arrangement in which people set each other free and make an alliance to cooperate with each other in certain ways. Now if it should so occur that they are of immense sexual attraction to each other, so much the better? That this should not be a primary factor in entering into marriage. Admittedly, you must be to a certain extent attractive to each other otherwise there will be no progeny. But this is this is seems to me to be a sensible and reasonable view and just because it is sensible and reasonable it can accommodate what is not sensible and reasonable which is falling in love.

Ushijima is terrified. He’s terrified because the instant immediate joy he felt when he realized he loved you was almost overtaken by worries and stress. He loves you! Now what? He loves structure in his life and he values stability but he knows how rocky relationships can be and how they can ultimately end. He knows he won’t deny it, he won’t back away because of his fear but he needs a plan. A plan to take to you and talk about it, he knows you’ll have the right thing to say but he doesn’t even know what he’ll even say to you yet. He loves that you are so carefree and goofy, a breath of fresh air to his stoicism. You’ve even gently worked your way so deep into his soul that you feel like his other half, his complete other in every way, someone who wasn’t like him at all and how wonderful that is.

Once in his life he thought that arranged marriages were smarter, you did it out of logic and bloodline and family, nothing messy to deal with. But that structure, that boring empty rocky foundation that an arrangement might bring made his mouth taste bad, although at the time he convinced himself it was because it would be more like another job that takes up his time (away from you)

Sensible and reasonable was right up his alley, he thought how nice it would be to have a mini him but he couldn’t think about having that with anyone. He couldn’t think of another half of dna that baby would share that would make it worth it. Not until he saw a picture of you holding your nephew, now whenever he thinks of his babies they share your genes. He thinks of a chunky baby with your eyes and his hair color, a mix of your personality and he’d share volleyball with them. He’s never wanted kids as much as he does when he thinks about sharing them with you. And that’s the part that feels senseless, the love part, the part where you give your entirety to someone and trust that they will care and keep you, no matter what happens, save its not infidelity or other deal breakers of yours he already knows.

Ushijima’s theorizing and thoughts about you over the course of time went from being about understanding why he feels like this to imagining fake scenarios where he wants to take you abroad to travel together, to be together every day and share the hard times and good times, babies or not, marriage or not. He just wants to make you happy for the rest of his life no matter what and he can’t go on much longer without knowing he has a chance to do so

- Well now really when we go back then to falling in love. And say it’s crazy falling. You see we don’t say rising into love. There is in it the idea of the fall. And it is goes back as a matter of fact two extremely fundamental things that there is always a curious tie at some point between the fall and the creation. Taking this ghastly risk, is the condition of there being life. You see, for all life is an act of faith and an act of gamble

And so here he was. Sitting on a bench outside of your dorm, feet bouncing as he stared at the small patch of grass growing in between the sidewalk crack. It’s been a while since that class and he’s been thinking about this constantly.

He knows the risk, feels it in his heart every time he meets up separately with his parents since their divorce. He sees it every time he remembers his childhood and the messy separation. That mess he never wants to repeat. The fall that comes with this love is like that class video had told him, ghastly. He doesn’t know if this could ruin it all, if he takes the leap of faith and it all comes crumbling down years later he’ll be just another divorce. He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to end up like his parents and have a child who feels the same. But when he imagines his life he doesn’t think he could be haply without you by his side.

- the moment you take a step, you do so on an act of faith, because you don’t really know that the floors not going to give in to your feet. The moment you take a journey what an act of faith. The moment you enter into any kind of human undertaking in relationship what an act of faith you see you’ve given yourself up. But this is the most powerful thing that can be done surrender see and love is an act of surrender to another person. Total abandonment. I give myself to you. Take me, do anything you like with me. So, that’s quite mad because you see it’s letting things get out of control all sensible people keep things in control.

You know something is up the moment you open the doors and see his back on the bench. You were going to his place since he wasn’t answering his phone, you freeze at the doors at watch him for a moment as your anxiety spikes in your stomach. His shoulders are tense as he leans forward, elbows on his thighs and hands clasped together as he looks down between his bouncing feet. Before you really think about it, you follow the urge to comfort him, to talk to him and make sure it’s all okay. Your feet carry you quickly to his side and you sit down, pulling him into a side hug and wrapping your arms around him.

He gasps when you sit and as you’re wrapping your arms around him he furrows his brows and hugs you back. His heart racing As his fears take the back burner. He didn’t expect you to find him but he also didn’t know how long he’s been sitting here. He buries his face into your neck as he you hold each other in the cool spring evening.

“What’s wrong?” You ask as you hold him and feels his walls break down, his arms tighten around you

“I’m scared” he says quietly and his voice cracks

“Of what Toshi? You can always talk to me” Your fingers run through his hair softly and it soothes his nerves.

He pulls back and cups your cheeks, his eyebrows were still furrowed and his stoic expression was broken by his eyes that were swimming with worry and insecurity.

You saw everything in his eyes and you met him with your determination and steady unwavering love he finds in your eyes. God he feels so mad. So incredibly and undeniably mad and insane and like he isn’t in control. He needs to tell you. Needs the words to come out of his throat so he can calm his heart and soothe his ulcer. The anxiety felt like it was immeasurable and his breathing was starting to get faster until you placed your hands on his cheeks, smothering the bad feelings completely “it’s okay Wakatoshi, I’m right here”

Ushijima feels the exact moment his heart relaxes into the faith, the surrender into love trusting that the floor isn’t going to collapse under his feet, the moment he gives his whole self, body and soul, to the fall, and that moment was when your lips touched his for the first time. Then he let go, the madness left his body and was replaced with a calm assurance that yes, yes this was it, what he’s been waiting for, what he’s been yearning for.

- for all the cost and wisdom what is really sensible is to let go that is to commit oneself to give oneself up and that’s quite mad,

-so we come to the strange conclusion that in madness lies sanity.

#ushijima wakatoshi x you #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima #ushijima x y/n #ushijima x reader #ushijima x you #haikyuu xreader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu ushiwaka #haikyuu ushijima #haikyuu wakatoshi #wakatoshi fluff #ushijima fluff #ushijima fanfic #haikyuu fanfiction

61 notes · View notes

sinical-boar · 3 years

Text

Through The Steam[FE3H]

“ Dimitri notices something peculiar about Byleth's behavior after joining him in the sauna. Byleth is worried Dimitri knows and won't see him the same again.”

Contains: Trans Male Byleth, Implied Dimileth and Pining

CW: Mentions of unhealthy binding.

AO3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32554615

Tumblr Version Under the cut!

Dimitri entered the sauna, hopeful that the heat treatment might help his aching shoulders. If that didn't work, he'd have to resort to a hot bath rather than a cool one. The mere idea of taking a hot bath right after going in a sauna made him feel dehydrated. It was mostly empty at the time but that didn't bother Dimitri. It gave him time to be alone with his thoughts. He leaned back and stretched his arms above his head carefully then entered a more relaxed position.

'Professor Byleth has at least been coming out of his room every now and then. The shock must still be plaguing him. I hope it does not consume him, I have to admit that I miss his lectures and-'

Dimitri stopped that thought in it's tracks once he heard the sauna door open. Standing in the doorway was Byleth, who looked a little worse for wear. The shadows under his eyes eased up since the last time Dimitri spoke to him but he looked like he struggled to upkeep his appearance.

"Oh. Sorry I didn't know this was in use." Byleth turned to leave.

"Ah wait Professor! It's okay I don't mind. I was just lost in my thoughts is all. You are free to join me if you wish. If not that's understandable." Dimitri truly did want the Professor there but he didn't want to force him to stay.

Byleth looked at Dimitri's reassuring smile and quietly shut the door behind him.

"Thank you." Byleth slowly walked over and sat relatively close to Dimitri.

Dimitri couldn't help but smile and tried not to stare at Byleth too much. All the room in the sauna and Byleth decided to sit next to him.. Did Byleth trust him this much? He hoped so. His other guess would be that his presence was comforting to Byleth during this time of his life. Dimitri wouldn't say it out loud but if that were true, he'd probably blush. He snuck a few glances at Byleth and decided to break the ice a little.

"Have you been sleeping better?"

Byleth stared into the steam rising to the ceiling, "A bit. Manuela gave me some tea to drink that helps put me to sleep. It feels a little silly to need such a thing."

"Professor there is no shame in needing something like that to help you. Even I need those teas every now and then."

"Oh right. You have nightmares too. Sorry I didn't mean to bring those up."

Dimitri shook his head, "It's quite alright. I entrusted that information to you so it's okay for you to talk about it. Besides, we aren't out in public."

To Dimitri's surprise, Byleth's expression changed and he gave Dimitri a small smile. Despite it looking tired, any smile from Byleth was mesmerizing to him. Just then, Dimitri noticed something protruding from the side of Byleth's shirt. From what Dimitri could see, it looked like bandages were wrapped around Byleth's chest.

"Professor, pardon my intrusion but..were you injured?"

Byleth's eyes got wide and he quickly fixed his shirt to hide his bandages.

"No. It's complicated."

Dimitri looked at the heated stones in the center of the room and thought hard before opening his mouth again.

"You don't need to go into it if you do not want to. I just want you to know that you can confide in me if and when you want to. There are plenty of people here too that would be willing to lend an ear to you. Though sometimes keeping it to yourself feels safer at times. No one can judge you if they never know."

Byleth looked over at Dimitri in mild surprise. Despite Dimitri not knowing a thing, he sounded as if he truly understood the weight of his secret. Only 2 other people knew of it and their view of him had not changed in the slightest. Manuela had some choice words for him but that was all he could really complain about. He could only guess what words Sothis would have for him.

'Obviously he's safe to confess in. What are you waiting for? Tell him!'

Yeah that sounded right to him. Byleth folded his hands in his lap and averted his gaze from Dimitri before he spoke.

"I'm not hurt. The bandages are there for another purpose," Byleth hesitated for a moment, "To bind."

'To bind..?' Dimitri thought, 'But what could they-'

The placement of the bandages reappeared in Dimitri's mind and the pieces slowly fell together. While he did not know the professor so closely, it did make some sense given his demeanor at times with certain activities. He had figured Byleth just really liked privacy, which still held true, but it seemed like a necessity with such a secret.

"Does anyone else know?"

Byleth sighed, "Manuela. She eventually found out after tending to my wounds. My father knew of course and quickly accepted the fact. I think Rhea knows too.."

"That's right, she was there for your birth. I remember hearing about that during our mission in Abyss. I can't imagine how awkward that must feel, her knowing without even having to tell her."

"Honestly." Byleth leaned his head in his hand.

Byleth looked over at Dimitri once again. This was the first time he'd casually spoken about his status with someone. With Manuela it was more medical than anything and with his father...His father had just accepted that he was his son. Here was Dimitri, accepting it just as quickly as Jeralt once did. It was a little jarring but comforting in a sense. Instead of a tired smile, Byleth smiled genuinely in Dimitri's direction.

"Thank you."

Surely it was the sauna that made his face turn so red, at least that's what Dimitri would say. He returned the smile and the wheels in his head turned as they sat in silence.

"Professor, if I may," Dimitri sat up a little, "I know someone who could make you a safer binding garment as a replacement for those bandages. I've heard its a much safer and less painful alternative."

"If it's a stranger I don't think I could do it."

Dimitri shook his head, "No it isn't. It's Mercedes. She's already made such a garment for someone in the academy already. I won't out them because its up to them if they want to say it or not, but I digress. She'd quite fond of you and I believe she will have a similar reaction as I did. It's up to you but I highly suggest you at least consider it. For your safety. You should be allowed to do what you must to feel comfortable in your body, but you should also be allowed to have access to safer measures to achieve such comfort."

Dimitri was right in every sense. If such a thing existed, Byleth badly wanted it over the bandages and the chest pain they caused him. He couldn't just approach her by himself on such a matter. Would it be too much to ask Dimitri to accompany him for some of it? The last thing he wanted was Dimitri to see him without any bindings on. The question had a really hard leaving Byleth's lips the more he thought about it. He internally counted to 3 and let it leave him on 3.

"Dimitri would you mind coming with me to ask her?" Byleth said rather quickly, thankfully Dimitri appeared to understand him.

"Of course! I'd be honored." He smiled from ear to ear.

They left the sauna and separately went to go clean up. Dimitri couldn't stop smiling at how quickly Byleth's mood changed. He felt safe enough to tell him such an intimate secret and he even accepted his offer to help. If it wasn't such a secret, he would have gushed to Dedue. He quickly tried to come to his senses and finish rinsing his hair in case he made Byleth wait. Just as he was about to leave he could see a faint figure standing a few feet away from him.

"Do you deserve to be so happy? To feel such a way about your Professor.." He heard Glenn almost spit out.

Dimitri scowled and turned away from him.

"I'm making The Professor happy in his time of need," Dimitri muttered to himself, "I don't need any other reason to continue doing that."

He quickly got dressed and left the bathhouse without listening to another word of the dead. There sat Byleth in his usual attire with a book in his hand. He looked like he barely had time to really get into it. Byleth looked up at Dimitri, put his book away and got up from the bench.

"Sorry I made you wait."

Byleth shook his head, "No need."

Dimitri couldn't help but smile at his Professor's blunt tone. Anyone else might have seen it as a little rude, but Dimitri could tell at this point how Byleth was trying to come across. He simply joined Byleth on their walk to the Cathedral. They passed by a few other students but made it a point to not get side tracked. Mercedes sat in a pew with her head bowed in what seemed like a prayer. Marianne was not far away from her but Dimitri and Byleth made sure to not disturb her. Mercedes raised her head once she saw Dimitri and Byleth nearby.

"Oh! Professor, Dimitri, hello. Have you come to join the afternoon prayer?"

"Not today Mercedes. If it is not too much trouble, we'd like to ask for your assistance with something."

"Oh?" Mercedes slowly rose out of the pew, "With what?"

Byleth glanced around to see all who was in the Cathedral and shook his head.

"Could you meet us outside? It isn't something I want to say in front of other people.."

Mercedes smiled warmly and nodded, "Of course. I'll finish my prayer and meet you outside. I won't be long."

Dimitri bowed a little as thanks and departed with Byleth as they sat outside near the bridge. Just like Mercedes said, it didn't take her long to wrap up her prayer, and she quickly found the pair tucked away in a more private spot.

"Alrighty, I'm all ears. I don't know how much help I'll be, depending on what you want."

"Oh it's nothing outside your skills." Dimitri looked over at Byleth.

Byleth took a quick glance at Dimitri then at Mercedes. She was trust worthy, everything about her said so. Dimitri even told him that she's done this for someone before. Byleth got the assumption that Dimitri was not going to ask on his behalf. With a heavy sigh, Byleth tried to find his words.

"Would it be possible if you could make me a binding garment?" Byleth said quietly but loud enough for her to hear.

Mercedes' eyes widened for a moment then they almost seem to light up as she radiated a warm energy.

"Of course. I'm happy you came to ask me, Professor. I know it hasn't been easy for you this month, so you can count on me to make this as painless as possible. If you're free after dinner, I can take your measurements. I just need a few of them so it won't take me long and we can do it in my dorm so nobody sees."

Byleth smiled lightly in relief and nodded, "Thank you Mercedes."

"It's no trouble at all. I'll wait for you after we eat. I'm on greenhouse duty for today so I have to get going, I'll see you then!" Mercedes waved as she walked off to complete her chore for the day.

Dimitri grunted, "That's right, I completely forgot about weeding the courtyard with Sylvain today. I must apologize Professor, I have to get going right away or Sylvain will never let me hear the end of it."

"It's alright Dimitri. I won't take points off for this. You were a big help to me today so..Thank you. For everything," Byleth's brows raised in mild concern, "Dimitri are you still dizzy from the sauna? Your face is red."

"Ah! Ahaha I guess so. I better finish my task and perhaps rest for an hour or two," Dimitri turned back to Byleth, "Before I forget, thank you for confiding in me Professor. I hope it takes some weight off your heart to know you have people you can trust this secret with. I'll see you at dinner I hope. Good day, until then."

Dimitri smiled before walking off, leaving Byleth in the glow of the conversations he just had. Byleth held his hands to his chest and sighed in disappointment. If his heart had a beat, would it have been beating loudly right then? If only. He smiled to himself and leaned against the church's walls. His father would have been happy to see him like this, Byleth thought. He was getting closer to being happy in his own skin. Perhaps, he felt more alive in the presence of people who supported him. His lions had made him feel a variety of new emotions, perhaps one in particular made him experience a new one just then. Perhaps.

#fire emblem three houses #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #dimitri fire emblem #byleth eisner #male byleth #byleth fire emblem #dimileth #m dimileth #trans byleth eisner #trans byleth fire emblem #fanfic #kris got wordy again #binding

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

The Art of Benefits

➜ Words: 9.8k

➜ Genres: 50% Fluff, 50% Smut, FWB!AU

➜ Summary: There's only one aspect of your life that's missing: sex. But you know yourself. You catch feelings as quickly as you catch colds. But when your friend arranges a meeting with a certain Park Jimin, you'll become inclined to learn the craft of detachment, aka. the art of benefits.

➜ Warning: sex, sexual discussions, toys, sucking dick, period sex, etc.

cr.

[2nd Year Fall Semester] Life as a sophomore wasn’t shabby. Assignments, papers and midterms came and went with decent grades that you eventually forgot about. Lectures, club meetings, and studying took most of your time too. But Christmas was arriving and that meant it was sweater weather. It also meant that snow was dusting from the sky and you were watching couples cozying up and keeping each other warm from across the dining center. It was unfair really. You were cold too. In fact, most of the time you happen to be cold. And while relationships were too much of a time commitment for you to take on, you deserved a cuddle buddy just as much as the next person. Or a fuck buddy. Either works really. You’ve never been opposed to a friends with benefits relationship. The only problem is, it would never work for you. But if you somehow learnt to detach your emotions, it could be the most efficient thing yet. After all, good sex with another warm body was the only aspect in your life that you were missing. “I mean it’s possible. A lot of people start friends with benefits relationships on campus,” Wendy says as she stuffs her face with her sub sandwich and muses mid-chew, “There’s actually a lot of candidates to choose from.” You’re exasperated at her nonchalance. As if it’s as easy as going to the supermarket and picking someone up. “Who?!” You need someone who would be on the same page as you, with the same priorities, a good sex partner who wouldn’t catch feelings either. But frankly, you don’t know that many people. “Well, what about that guy from your class that you were crushing on? Didn’t you say he was super smart? Might help you on your assignments too.” “Namjoon?” You shake your head. “He’s got a girlfriend.” “Okay. What about that older guy in your board games club?” “No. Seokjin’s graduating next semester.” Wendy hums, eyes flickering around the dining hall center as she contemplates. “How about Yoongi? From what you’ve told me, he seems pretty cool.” You loll your head to one side and stab your sweet and sour chicken. “I’m not going to sleep with someone from work. That sounds like a disaster waiting.” “Jungkook?” “That’s weird. We went to the same elementary school together.” You can still remember his bowl cut hair as clear as day, and not to mention, the two of you share a group of friends. If things go downhill, it would be a complete mess. The epitome of inefficiency. Which is counterproductive to your goal. “Taehyung?” At this point, Wendy’s just listing out random people that you know, but you play along just for amusement. “Nah. Yena has a crush on him.” She takes another clean bite of her sandwich. “What about that guy that works at that McDonalds that you find cute. What’s his name? Hugo? Howard?” “Hoseok,” you correct with a feigned glare that makes her smile. “And that’s a big fat no. He doesn’t even know I exist. What am I supposed to do? Waltz up to him and ask to be fuck buddies?” She grins. “Well, I mean—” “It wouldn’t work,” you deadpan before she laughs and in turn, makes you giggle too. The chatter of the room settles in your ears as background noise. You gaze out the window to the sparkling snow piles that reflect the lampposts soft, white light. The sun has long fallen even though it’s only six p.m. The low lights peeking through the somber clouds covering the horizon does little. You dread the thought of having to venture out into the cold and catch the bus home. You don’t notice how Wendy’s looking at you while she sips on her water. Not until she hums. “You know what? I know someone I could hook you up with.” Your brow cocks and the corner of your mouth twitches. “Is he a fuckboy?” Your long time friend shrugs with a glint in her eyes that makes you unsure if she’s serious or not. Wendy once joked that she had a boyfriend from Northern Canada and convinced you hard enough that you legitimately believed her for a good month. So you can never be quite certain when it comes to her. For all you know, she could just be making it up to entertain you. “Sort of, but he’s a nice one.” Wendy stays vague. “He was my lab partner.” You stare at her and when her expression remains blank, you scoff. “Sure, sure,” you draw out the syllables with a small laugh and bat the air with your hand just to end the conversation. And when it’s never discussed again, Wendy moving on to tell you a story about something she suddenly remembers, you’d one day come to realize that was a terrible, terrible mistake. // That one day is now. 3:50pm. Wendy: hey i set up a meeting what that guy 3:50pm. Wendy: third floor library 3:50pm. Wendy: he’s in a red hat btw The text comes right when you’re leaving your last lecture of the day. 3:51pm. Y/N: what guy 3:53pm. Wendy: your future fwb 3:53pm. Y/N: ?????????????????????????????????/ 3:53pm. Y/N: ???????????????? 3:54pm. Y/N: wtf i wasn’t SERIOUS 3:54pm. Wendy: wat 3:54pm. Y/N: I THOUGHT YOU WERE JOKING 3:56pm. Wendy: lmao too late 3:56pm. Wendy: at least meet him he’s waiting sis 3:54pm. Y/N: can’t you cancel????????? 3:57pm. Wendy: n a h You nearly burst an artery in your temple at the emojis and memes she spams to you. 3:59pm. Wendy: I already told him the gist btw 4:00pm. Wendy: don’t chicken out With no other choice, you make a u-turn and head towards the library with too many thoughts swirling inside your brain. Chances are this stranger is going to see you, think you’re ugly as shit and try to back out of it. It’s going to be awkward as all hell and you’re not sure you’re ready to have this traumatizing memory for the rest of your life. Then again, you wonder how Wendy even convinced this dude to meet up. If he’s really that easy going. If this is a typical thing people do now. Or maybe Wendy showed a picture of you on your insta and he agreed afterwards — it wouldn’t be the first time she did that, much to your embarrassment. But you hope it’s the latter case. At least that eliminates the possibility of him trying to backpedal his way out of it after seeing your face. You also wonder how the hell you’re going to find him. The library is full of students, the rowdy ones and the studious ones being disturbed by them. You wonder what he looks like, what he’ll be like. Third floor. Male. Red hat. You arrive at the appropriate floor and begin scanning the premise, walking around as your eyes sweep the area. Almost immediately you catch a brunette hunched over and on his phone by the table. He’s wearing a red cap on backwards, purple tee shirt. He has a frat boy aesthetic. Not really the type you go for. Looking over him, you round the computers, bookshelves and tables. But finding no one else with a red hat on the third floor, you sharply inhale and approach the boy with his fluffy cheek rested in his hand, arm propped up on the table lazily. Scrolling through his phone. “Excuse me.” Your voice is light and hesitant as if you were asking help from someone at the front desk and not seeing if this was a potential fuck buddy. It’s mortifying to say the least. His head lifts, brown eyes catching the lights. You clear your throat. “Wendy…” “Oh. You’re her, right?” He smiles and thankfully, doesn’t seem to be disappointed. “Wendy’s friend?” “Yeah. I’m Y/N.” “Jimin.” Now that you get a closer look, he’s kind of cute. But you don’t dwell. Or look him in the eye. It feels like a job interview. But worse. “You were Wendy’s lab partner?” “That’s me.” He pockets his phone. “I’m a kines major. You?” “I’m in the arts faculty. Political science.” “Cool, cool.” Jimin nods and then gets to business without any shame, “So Wendy already told me about it. You’re looking to have a friends with benefits relationship?” “Yeah….about that….” “I’m down if you are.” His hand opens up, gesturing to you. You’re not sure how you feel about how laid-back he is, but he remains upfront which you suppose is the right thing to do. “I have a dorm room in the Sierra building by the engineering faculty building if you know where that is.” “I’ve walked past it before.” “Cool. Anyway, my last f.w.b. ended two months ago and I kind of miss it,” he quickly clarifies, “The sex, I mean.” You’re speechless and contemplating if you really want to do this. You know if it works out, it’ll be fairly efficient. You’ve always gotten off by yourself and while it works, it’s not something you’d call completely satisfying. Having someone’s help— good help — is a change you’ve been considering. But a friends with benefits situation has always been one of those ‘what if’ scenarios. You've just never had an opportunity like this to make it actually happen. Jimin senses your hesitance and leans forward. He lowers his volume. “Are you a virgin? Cause I’m cool with—” You scoff. “No. I’m not. I just...haven’t done something like this before.” “Friends with benefits?” His question is answered by your body language. “It’s not bad. Safer than one night stands and more consistent too. You don’t have to go out and find someone every time you want to have sex. And it’s a low level commitment.” The corner of your mouth pulls and you agree. “It’s efficient. But...I need time to think about it.” “Sure. Tell me when you make up your mind. I’ll give you my number.” He opens his hand again and you pass him your phone. He quickly types it in. “Take your time.” // And you do. You weigh the pros and cons against each other, considering every possibility and all the consequences. Part of you wants to just go for it. The same part that once decided in high school at midnight that bangs would be a hot look on you. (It wasn’t). The part of you that dyed your hair blue that one summer on a whim. The part that doesn’t want to think and wants to jump head first into things. Jimin made a lot of good pointers too and you’re certain this would be a good outlet. An experience. It helps that he’s quite attractive too and seems to be trustworthy and rational. Yet, part of you wonders if it would be a bad decision. There’s a chance that you might catch feelings. For you, it wouldn’t be unheard of either. You have a tendency to catch feelings as fast as you catch colds. And you already know that’s the demise of these kinds of relationships. Once a party gets involved too deep, it’s game over. There’s nothing but heartbreak. The only way it would work is if you minimize your interactions with him. The less attached you are, the less likely you are to develop feelings for him since the only way you would like anyone is if you knew them. So the less you know, the better the outcome. It’s an equation. It’s the art of the benefits. And if that works, if you master the art, it would solve every potential issue. The dorms for sophomores are bigger than the ones for first year freshmen. Instead of a single room with two beds on either side by the walls, there are private bedrooms with just a shared bathroom, a main living space and kitchen. “Bathrooms are over here,” Jimin gestures. There’s one room at the end of the hall and another one beside his. “Both my roommates are out, so you don’t have to worry. They’re pretty nice.” You feel awkward lingering at the entryway with your backpack on. You clear your throat. “Can I get a drink?” “Oh yeah. There’s new water bottles by the sink, I think, and there’s orange juice in the fridge if you’d like.” “No, I mean, do you have anything alcoholic?” you correct and he blinks at you owlishly before smiling. You drop your bag and find it in the fridge, a whole vodka bottle. You fill a shot up with a glass on the drying rack. The clear liquid burns as it travels to the back of your throat. The bitter taste nearly makes you gag, but you feel your face warm and you ease even more, knowing it works. In the meanwhile, Jimin studies you, standing from across the kitchen island. His hands are casually dug into the pockets of his gray sweats. “We won’t have to follow through with this, you know. I’m fine either way.” “No,” you quickly refute, irrationally afraid he’s changed his mind. And the words spill out of you as you cringe, “I’m horny as shit, I’mjustnervous.” The guy smiles, eyes slightly crinkled when he does so. “Of what?” “A lot of things.” You don’t pour a second shot even though you kind of want to. But you have things to do tomorrow, so you can’t nurse a hangover and you most certainly don’t want to be drunk while doing this. “If you didn’t notice, I don’t do this often.” While you’re at it, you tell him, “I don’t know how to suck dick.” He leans against the counter, grinning. “Okay. I don’t mind.” “Also, if you haven’t noticed either, my ass is kind of deflated.” Jimin shrugs. “I’m more of a boob man anyway.” You narrow your eyes, not sure if he’s lying or trying to make you feel better. But there’s no time to dwell when he seriously asks— “Do you still want to do this?” It takes a second for you to muster your courage. And once you do, you know you won’t back down. “All right. Let’s do this!” You walk into his room like you’re about to go fight off a monster. Behind you, Jimin grins and it takes a good moment for him to calm you down. “Are you okay with kissing?” he asks, door shut and distance closed. He’s intimately close and you nod. Finally, your brain stops overthinking and you let yourself feel. Jimin’s lips are full and plush, and they’re good against yours. The soft smacking fills his room. The two of you kiss until your lips part and he begins to lick into your mouth, tongue entering without much hesitation. You fall back onto the mattress, noticing that the bed’s been made sloppily, but better than your own. The pair of you keep kissing and he hovers over you, capturing you against the sheets. Pathetically enough, you already begin to feel your center throbbing and it’s a relief when you both get rid of your clothes. He doesn’t talk much — doesn’t give much commentary or even dirty talk. But you don’t mind. All you’re offering after all is soft sighs and quiet moans. Jimin squeezes your breasts and fingers you for a good minute. He’s surprised to see how wet you are, even letting out an ‘oh shit’, but you make no efforts to come up with an excuse. The stretch feels good from his thick fingers, but you bet it’ll feel good around his girthy cock too. He goes to grab a condom from his drawer, but pauses. “Do...you want me to eat you out?” “I’m good,” you politely decline, afraid it might be too intimate. You’re not sure where the lines are drawn, but it’s something you’ll have to gauge while you go. “Do you want me to suck your dick? You might have to teach me though.” The corner of his mouth tugs. “I’m good too.” As Jimin rips open the condom package, you turn yourself around and get onto all fours. He doesn’t protest and when he enters you, it feels good enough for you to fall forward into the pillows. His cock is of average size, but he’s girthy and your cunt stretches to accommodate him. He groans in his throat when you clench — and the sound gets you off, making you squeeze again. Jimin pounds into you, his pelvis hitting the meat of your ass, cock drawing in and out against your tight, warm walls. You do your best to meet his thrusts halfway, jerking your hips back and you stifle your moans with your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. The sloppy sounds of slapping and the creaking of his bed makes you glad his roommates are gone. And while the sex is not mind-blowing per se, it’s still good. Enough that you climax once he rubs your clit several times and he unloads into the condom too. It’s easier than you thought it would be. Not a big deal whatsoever. It took ten minutes in total and it felt good. It’s just sex — and that’s exactly it. Just sex. The very lesson of the art of benefits. You pick up your clothes off the floor, slipping them back on. “I gotta get going.” There’s no snuggling, no cuddling, no pillow talks. And it doesn’t seem like he minds whatsoever. “‘Kay.” Jimin picks up his phone off his bedside table to check his texts and waves goodbye without even looking at you. You leave, walking yourself out and humming as you stride down the hall. You’re glad you went through with it.

[2nd Year Winter Semester] You run there with your sandwich stuffed in your cheek. By the time Jimin opens the door, you’re still chewing while panting. It’s a comical sight by the way he smiles at you. You’re already winded before anything’s started. “I hadn’t eaten yet and I needed to get my blood sugar up.” Jimin’s lips are quirked. “We can always eat beforehand, you know. There’s food in the fridge.” “Nah, I’m good.” Having meals with your friends with benefits is the last thing on your mind. He shrugs. “Suit yourself.” You use his bathroom, releasing your bladder and rinsing your mouth thoroughly. You know yourself and you’re not a novice on how these relationships work. The less interaction and knowledge you have about him, the more you can keep your distance. “G-God,” he exhales shakingly, hand fisted in your hair. “You’re getting b-better at this….” Jimin watches through heavy lids as you’re slobbering over his cock. He tries his best to watch, but when you run your tongue over the weeping slit at the bulborous head, his eyes shut and his head naturally knocks back. You’ve gotten better at a lot of things in the few months that have passed, namely sucking dick, but your jaw aches and you wonder when he’s going to cum. It’s worth it though. You might be the one kneeling in front of him, but you feel powerful. It’s too easy to make him crumble. To make him moan like that. It makes you wet to hear him and knowing you could bite off his dick or make him lose a load, the sheer power eggs you on. Like you were taught, you inhale, ease your muscles and take Jimin as far as you can. He chokes as his cock hits the back of your throat. Your gag reflexes threaten your endeavour but you keep them at bay and Jimin’s hand in your hair tightens. Especially when you swallow. “Fuck. I-I’m going to cum.” Thank god. Finally! Usually, you let off so he can cum elsewhere (god forbid in your hair) or if he accidentally does it in your mouth, you spit it out on tissue. But this time, you made a commitment to yourself. You came here with a goal. So you inhale again and deep throat him, sucking as much as you can. With his curly pubic hair grazing your nose, Jimin cums. His groans staccato. His cock twitches. And you swallow the bitter, white fluid that comes out in ribbons. After a few seconds, you finally withdraw. Jimin opens his eyes, staring at you in wonderment. There are strands of saliva from between his softened cock to your lips and you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Not gonna lie.” You clear your throat and swallow down the remaining taste. “That’s really nasty.” Jimin bursts out laughing. “Thanks.” “It’s the least I can do.” You stand up, shaking your left leg awake. It feels like pins and needles when you step around. “I’ve sat on your face like twice already.” You toss Jimin his pants off the ground and you get your cardigan back on. “You wanna come over on Friday?” “Uh…” You grab your phone from your jacket that’s also been discarded and check your calendar. “Sorry. Can’t. I’m busy on that day.” His brows raise, but he doesn’t question it. “How about Saturday?” you offer. “No. I have a kines exam scheduled.” Your face twists in disgust. “On a Saturday?” “Yep. I know. It sucks.” You sympathize, but you’re also surprised. “I didn’t know you were a kines major.” “What? I thought I told you.” “Guess I forgot.” You put yourself back together and a thought strikes you. Your eyes light up and you turn to your friend with glittering eyes. “Does that mean you can crack bones? I’ve always wanted to go to a chiropractor since my lower back always hurts. You should crack it for me.” Jimin grins. “Sorry, I don’t know how to do that. They don’t really teach you that kind of stuff.” “Oh.” Your eyes dim and you don’t try to hide your disappointment. You almost thought you could get a little more out of him, but you suppose decent sex is enough. As you grab your bag, you notice that his phone lights up. “You got a text from Victoria.” “Thanks.” He reaches over, but the curious expression on your face must be visible, since he says, “Don’t worry. She’s not my girlfriend or anything. She’s just someone I’m kind of into.” “Nice!” The corner of Jimin’s mouth quirks at your genuinely excited response even though he never looks away from the screen. You’re psyched though. If he has an interest in someone else, there’s less chance for anyone to catch feelings. Fewer connections. More distance. “If you ever want to end this, just let me know.” You throw your backpack on that’s heavy with your laptop and textbooks inside. “Yeah.” “I’m going now.” “Bye.” Jimin’s fingers fly across the screen to text the other girl back and neither of you spare each other a glance. The door shuts moments later and the noise echoes through the walls.

[3rd Year Fall Semester] In spite of being a junior now, things have relatively remained the same. According to course outlines, lectures are more in-depth in their content, but there’s still assignments, papers, and midterms. The grading schemes haven’t changed and you know there’s a shit ton of work waiting for you in the coming months. But you find pleasure wherever you can. The door opens, but it’s not Jimin on the other side. “Hey, Y/N.” Taemin, his roommate, is eating chips. “He’s in his room.” “Thanks.” You shuffle inside and after briefly greeting Jongin, the other roommate, who’s busy playing Animal Crossing on the living room couch, you beeline to his room. You find Jimin hunched over his messy desk, rounded spectacles on the bridge of his nose as he’s tapping furiously across his laptop keyboard. He glances at you. “Sorry. I need a second.” “Take your time.” You set down your bag and shed your coat, tossing it aside. You’re not sure what he’s doing, but you don’t ask. Instead, you pull out your phone and run through your usual apps. With no messages to answer or anything to scroll through, you check your email and find the words ‘emergency’ in one of the subject lines. After a minute, Jimin saves his document and closes the lid of his laptop. He stretches above his head with a groan and turns around, only to find you now hunched over your own device. “Sorry,” you mutter once you feel his gaze on you. “My manager needs me to fill out my timesheet and send it to her.” “I didn’t know you worked.” “Just part-time at the admissions office here on campus.” You go quiet as you skim over your email again to ensure it makes sense. “It’s a pretty easy gig.” He hums and you finish, shutting your laptop and sticking it back into your bag. That’s when you finally get a good look at the boy across the room — dark hair, blue shirt and gray sweats — and you notice how tan he’s gotten. It’s a good look. Your mouth tugs. “Did you travel over the summer?” “I went to the Caribbean with my family for like two weeks.” “Fancy.” “It was alright.” He gets up and re-stacks the textbooks on his desk into a single pile. Jimin notices the stack of flyers he was supposed to distribute. “Oh yeah. Do you want to join the crayon club?” Your brow lifts. “The crayon club?” “Yeah, you can come colour every Wednesday night and just hang out with people.” Jimin grins boyishly. “My friend wanted to make a club and he made me the communications executive. I’m supposed to get people to join. You don’t have to, but the first meet and greet is this Friday, and the more people the better. There’s gonna be free food by the way, if that helps.” You’re not sure that's a good idea. The two of you have never really met up outside of his dormitory, aside from the first time you met at the library. “Let me check my calendar.” You grab your phone again and thoughtlessly mumble, “Sometimes I’m busy on Friday. I’m part of the board games club and we meet up every other week…..don’t judge.” “I’m not.” Still, Jimin's smile widens and you feign a pout. You’re free this week. “I’ll come if you make me an executive too,” you quip carelessly while tossing your phone aside. “It’ll look good on my law application.” Jimin quirks his head. He didn’t know you were aiming for law school. “Okay.” “Wait.” You’re taken off guard, eyes as wide as saucers. “Seriously?!” He with a small laugh. Jimin gets up and closes the distance, making you lean against the headboard until he’s completely hovering over you, mere inches away. “We actually need a position filled anyway, so you just saved me some trouble.” “You better keep your promise, Park.” You end up showing with Wendy and Tiffany in tow — the former who wants to raid whatever food there is and the latter genuinely interested in colouring as a means of relaxation. It’s a bit awkward to meet so many new people at once and Jimin’s friends at that, but you can tell they’re nice at heart. Albeit, a bit rambunctious and too friendly. And you’re a bit horrified when one of them tries to eat a crayon to further advertise the club. “So, what’s up with you and Jimin?” Tiffany asks, peering up at you as she colours in the lines carefully. She’s unaware of your arrangement with the boy. It’s not something you’ve told many. You feign ignorance, not wanting to get into the details with strangers around. “What do you mean?” “Are you dating him?” You scoff. “I wish.” Immediately, Wendy’s brows raise to her hairline and the words that fumbled out of you thoughtlessly finally sink in. “I mean, no, we’re not. Not I wish.” Luckily, Tiffany spares you and doesn’t pry. But you’re mortified and you glance at Jimin from across the room laughing noisily with his friend. You turn away from him, trying to create more distance.

[3rd Year Winter Semester] With exam season here, you and Jimin hadn’t seen each other in a while. Luckily, Spring break was approaching, so you at least had something to look forward to. The idea of being able to lay in bed and sleep in automatically puts you in a good mood. Jimin, however, seems less than stoked. You watch from the bed as he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up before you’ve gotten a chance to. He was frowning when he opened the door, greeted you with one word and in general, has been quieter than usual. “Is….everything alright?” You wonder if you did something to piss him off, but then he says— “I flunked my final.” Oh. That explains his bad mood. “The one you took this morning?” you ask. “Yeah.” Jimin deflates with an extended sigh. “I didn’t get the first twenty questions and then I fucking ran out of time….” There’s a pause that lingers. “Well, you’re not sure if you actually failed, right?” You lean closer to him, quirking your head to the side. “The marks haven’t been released and who knows, the prof might curve it.” “Maybe. I don’t know.” Jimin scrubs a hand over his face, uncertain and stressed. “This ruins everything. I’m trying to get an internship at a clinical rehabilitation facility and I want to apply for a masters and now...fuck.” You’re surprised. You didn’t know he had so many goals. “I’m screwed.” Jimin flops back onto his mattress, staring at the ceiling. You loom over him, blocking his view. “Does the internship look at your GPA?” “They want a three point o average or more.” “What do you have now?” “Three point five.” The corner of your mouth pulls and a rush of air leaves your nose in a snort. “Then you’ll make it! Even if you failed one exam, it wouldn’t tank past a three. It can’t be too bad, right?” “Yeah, I guess.” Jimin sighs and absentmindedly tugs on your strand of hair that’s fallen in front of your face and is grazing against his cheek. “I just don’t know anymore.” “It’s going to be fine,” you reassure, slapping your hand on his shoulder. “You’re just overthinking it.” “Maybe,” he hums. A sudden thought comes across your mind and your small smile turns devious. “Let me make you feel better.” You shift to straddle his hips and instantly, his hands lift to your waist. Jimin starts to grin as you pull at his shirt, trying to get him to strip. And you do your best to pleasure him. It doesn’t take much effort considering Jimin’s hand is already tightening in your hair the minute you run your tongue along his shaft. But he doesn’t let you suck him for too long, eager to feel you inside instead and pleasure you just the same. It’s eager and messy sex. You’re on top until your thighs begin to burn and you lose your pace. Then he re-repositions the both of you, so you’re flat on your back and he’s doing most of the work. You end up cumming twice. Once around his covered cock and the other time after he coaxes you around his stiff tongue and eggs you on, even when you’re sobbing from the overstimulation. It feels good. Better than good. Over time, the pair of you have gotten to know each other’s bodies better, what works and what doesn’t. Your relationship with Jimin is an investment that feels worth it. “Hey…” You’re both facing away from each other as you put your clothes back on. Jimin turns his head and you cast him a glance. “I was thinking of maybe starting birth control…” He blinks. “If you go get yourself checked out and make sure you’re clean, we can do it without condoms.” You pull down your sweater over your head and you both stare at each other. He looks surprised and responds in a delayed manner, “Okay. Cool. I’m down. I’ll get myself checked out this weekend. I haven’t really slept with anyone else since this started though.” It’s your turn to be caught off guard. “Really? What...about that girl you were into? Vicky?” “You mean Victoria?” He jumps as he puts on his sweatpants, getting both legs through at once. “Nah. It didn’t end up working out.” “Oh.” He’s entirely nonchalant about it, so you merely nod. Jimin walks you to the door and you notice that he’s in a better mood than earlier. You hide your smile to yourself, glad that it was mutually beneficial. Two weeks later, he gets an email before the two of you get down and dirty, and you’re the first one in his life to know that he got the summer internship. His excitement is infectious and you genuinely feel happy for him.

[4th Year Fall Semester] It’s so close, you can taste it. A whole new semester and cart of overpriced textbooks later meant you were a senior now. It also meant that there was just this year left and you were out of here. Finished at least one degree. A step closer to making the big bucks and being a whole ass adult. The idea is both exhilarating and frightening. 2:20pm. Jimin: Wanna come over? The text mocks you, but the temptation is tangible. Like a carrot tied at the end of a stick that’s attached to a hungry rabbit. You’ve been sexually frustrated since last night, feeling it in your loins since morning, and fidgeting and rubbing your thighs underneath tables and desks. The thought of getting that sweet relief properly is enough for you to want to ditch class altogether, but you can’t. Not for the next few days. 2:22pm. Y/N: can’t. 2:22pm. Y/N: I’m on my period :(( 2:23pm. Jimin: I don’t mind 2:23pm. Y/N: really???? 2:24pm. Y/N: are you sure 2:25pm. Jimin: lmao 2:25pm. Jimin: yes You brace through the rest of the lecture, paying more attention as the anticipation swells. And when it’s all over, you race across campus to the dormitory building you’ve become familiar with. Jimin opens the door before you need to knock and he plants a chaste kiss against your lips in greeting. You’re taken off guard, but don’t pay too much attention to it. “How was class?” “Good. You?” “Same,” he hums. You drop your bag in his room and gesture below your waist. “I’m going to need to wash up. The nether regions are a bit…” He smiles. “Sure. I got spare towels I can set down too.” You self-consciously linger for a moment as he goes to his closet to the upper shelf. The towels are luckily green and not white. “I’m surprised you’re okay with it. Having period sex, I mean.” “Why wouldn’t I be?” Jimin pushes his blanket aside and puts a towel down. “As long as you’re fine with it, then I am too.” “I don’t know. Doesn’t blood gross you out?” “Not really? Most of the time I’m the one making the mess, so it’s actually nice to have someone else make the mess for once. Plus sex is sex. What’s there to complain about?” His brow lifts and he looks at you. You scoff and it makes Jimin grin. You wash yourself up and he fucks you in missionary position on top of the towels. The pair of you have only done so a few times before. Typically, you’re face down, bent over, on all fours or looking away from each other. But the change is welcome. Jimin hovers over you and you can kiss him when you want to. “F-Fuck.” A pitched moan unintentionally spills from you when he hits a spot at your walls that has your toes curling. “Ji...min.” It’s more lubricated than usual, making the strokes easier. He goes softer too. Deeper. Jimin presses your thighs to your chest and makes you feel him all the way to your throat. The boy smiles tenderly at your reaction in spite of panting himself. “Feel good, baby?” “Y-Yeah.” You nod, eyes shut tight. You grip his forearms when he bottoms out again. “Always does.” Your warm walls pulse around his thick cock and you end up cumming soon after. He groans into your neck at how you tighten around him like a vice grip and he thrusts into you one more time before his cum fills you. The pair of you jump in the shower together to get cleaned up and then you’re picking up your clothes while he tosses the towels in the laundry. “What were you working on, on Thursday?” You blink, realizing that you texted him vaguely about being swamped and unable to come over, and that’s enough for you to unload and go on a tangent. “God, don’t remind me. It was my fucking thesis. I barely managed to finish it but I don’t even know if it makes sense and now I have to edit like fifty pages by myself before giving it to my supervisor, so that’s fun.” It feels good to let it off your chest. Jimin smiles subtly at your venting. “I could always edit it for you.” “What? Seriously?” “Sure.” He shrugs. “I’m not in poly sci, but that might make me a bit more unbiased. I’m not doing much these days either.” “Oh my god.” There’s an overpowering urge to bow at his feet or suck his dick until you’re gagging or do both. “You’re a life-saver!” Jimin laughs and it’s the sound of angels singing. “Just send it over. I can get it done by tomorrow. You have my email, right?” “Of course I do. Duh!” Your grin is big enough that your cheeks hurt and he has one that matches it as well. // A few weeks fly by and things calm down enough that you can finally breathe. But that’s when you receive a little text from a certain someone that has you skeptical if you can rest easy. 6:48pm. Jimin: I have a surprise for you 6:48pm. Jimin: I forgot about it You’re not sure what it is, but asking would be like pulling teeth with him. Jimin hates spoilers and he likes surprises all too much. Lately, you’ve both been getting into some freaky shit. Buying toys, blindfolds, handcuffs. As adventurous as college kids with a limited budget can get. It was rather fun for the pair of you, and expectedly, some experiments work out better than others. It sends goosebumps all over your skin every time he talks dirty. You like it when Jimin spanks you too. Although, you’re still unsure about the whole candle wax on your body idea. But there’s one thing for sure — Jimin can most definitely not role play for his life. The whole school girl fantasy lasted a good five minutes before he started bursting into giggles and breaking character every other second. Playing doctor only made you realize how ticklish he was too. And the tickle fight that followed was definitely not something one would call ‘sexy’. Even if it did lead to the deed being done. “Hey.” Jimin greets you with a grin and a chaste peck against your lips. “How was studying?” “Fine.” You brush off the question quickly, too curious of what he has in store. “Jimin, I’m not going to use that twelve inch dildo unless you want to drive me to the ER.” He bursts out laughing. “That’s not it. Good try though.” Instead of going to his room like you usually do, Jimin leads you past the kitchen area to the table. It’s been cleared off and you give an inquisitive expression. He grins and then gestures to it. “Lay down.” “What?” “Just lay down.” He takes your hand, guiding you on it and you obey wordlessly. It doesn’t seem like any of his roommates are home and you hope they don’t come back any time soon lest they find you lying face down on their dinner table. You feel Jimin round the table and pull your ankles together. You tilt yourself up to peek at him, but then he barks— “Down.” With a pout, you return to your position, arms folded underneath your head. You hope he isn’t about to rub spices on you and roast you in his oven like it feels like he’s doing. You feel the gentle pressure of Jimin’s hands against your spine, his thumbs pressing into your skin and he hums, “Relax. Okay. Breathe in for me.” An inhale is taken and his hands suddenly press into the middle of your back. You hear your bones crack loudly. It catches you off guard and you turn yourself with wide eyes. “You know how to do it?!” He boyishly grins. “I might’ve learnt a thing or two during my internship.” “Keep going, keep going.” You flip yourself over again, gesturing to your back and he laughs, going down your body and cracking your bones. You become butter in his fingertips, lower back feeling better already. “Lift your leg for me.” You follow his instructions to a t. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” you ask sleepily, lulled by his care. If he massaged you too, you might just cream your pants. “I got this, I got this,” he reassures with a bit of arrogance. “I’m not a professional, but I know what I’m doing. You trust me, right?” A noise is made at the back of your throat. “If you break a bone on accident, I’ll sue you,” you mumble as he turns you over. “God, feels good.” After a while, Jimin gets you to sit up and continues. He looks nice when he’s concentrating. Expression blank. Lips plump and in a line. Brows only slightly furrowed. “Considering you don’t have any ailments, you don’t need to get your bones cracked often. You should stretch and do some exercise instead.” You scoff. “Having sex with you is enough exercise.” To prove your point, you latch onto his arm and tug him towards you. Jimin smiles and the two of you break a sweat against each other on the table before either of his roommates come home.

[4th Year Winter Semester] It was an invitation that you would’ve called yourself crazy for offering a year ago. But if it wasn’t for him editing your thesis and taking a load off your mind, you would’ve had a harder time. You had him to thank for that. “So?” Jimin’s seated across from you at the restaurant booth. It wasn’t surprisingly difficult to ask him to grab a bite with you. For some reason, you thought he would reject. “What’s the big news?” Instead of answering, you reach into your bag and slide the envelope across the table. He’s curious and takes it, pulling out the letter to read. You sip on your water, watching his expression intently. He mutters the words and it takes him through the first paragraph before he realizes. Then, at once, Jimin’s eyes widen. His mouth drops and he looks at you proudly. “You got into law school?” “Three of them,” you tell with a cheesy grin. “T-That’s….fucking amazing. Holy fuck.” He reaches over and hugs you. It’s awkward considering there’s a whole table in the way, but you appreciate the sentiment. You’re giddy and giggling at how excited he is. It makes you feel like the first time you opened the letter yourself. Jimin presses a kiss against your hair before withdrawing. “When did you find out?” “Two days ago. I really thought I wasn’t going to get in since I got rejection letters last week from the other schools, but then three of them came in rapid succession.” He shakes his head, still in awe. “Congratulations. Seriously. You deserve it, Y/N. God knows how hard you worked.” “Thanks.” You smile to yourself, fiddling with the hem of your blouse. “I was thinking of maybe leaving the city to a different uni, but….I’m going to stay with my parents for as long as I can to save up on loans.” “Yeah, sounds good.” He nods. “Moving out can be expensive.” “What about you? Have you applied to your masters program yet?” Jimin laughs. “Actually, I was planning on telling you that today too. I didn’t bring any fancy letter with me though.” You lean closer, sitting on the edge of your seat. “You got in?” “I did. Yesterday.” His enormous smile causes your own to expand. “I’m gonna do it part-time while working at the same facility I did my internship at.” You’re happy for him and you can tell by his expression that he’s genuinely excited for you too. The pair of you were taking steps forward for your future and while it was a little scary, for now, you enjoy the victory and pig out at the restaurant with little restraints. At the end of the night, you’re both wine drunk when you stumble back to his dorm room and soon, you’re trying to muffle your whimpers with your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. It doesn’t help when he presses the humming vibrator to your clit harder. “J-Jimin,” you sob, fingers twisting into his sheets. You’re slumped against the headboard as he surrounds you. “Louder,” he commands, watching you through heavy lidded eyes. The cold air of his bedroom made your nipples hardened, yet you feel hot all over, under his gaze and ruthlessness. Your hand curls around his wrist. “Your roommates are sleep—” You cry and keen against his chest when he plunges the toy into your swollen cunt that’s leaking down your ass and thighs. “It’s okay,” he murmurs in a low voice against your ear, “Let it go.” You feel the toy nudge against your cervix, the vibrations trembling through your body and you orgasm hard with your forehead pressed against Jimin’s shoulder. Even then, he continues to draw it in and out of you, studying how you’ve creamed around the vibrator, how your slick is dripping to his sheets that are already stained with the scent of your shampoo. “J-Jimin,” you whine loudly, not knowing if you’re trying to lean away from his touch or closer. “T-...too m-much!” “You can take it,” Jimin softly coaxes and you nod. You cum again after a minute and he immediately kisses you with a big smile before peppering pecks down to your neck. It makes you feel ticklish and winded. “Hey...Jimin…” “Hmm?” “Are we still gonna do this after we graduate?” you ask in a quiet voice, laying back in the ruined sheets. “I’m gonna be busy and you are too.” “We’ll figure it out.” He flops beside you and you both face each other. Jimin’s arm is draped over your waist and you stare at one another for a moment before he closes the distance. Jimin nudges you for a languid kiss, your noses brushing as his soft, plush lips press against yours. It’s unhurried. Slow. He urges your mouth to part for him and his tongue slips in as you whimper, giving you a chance to properly taste him. Sloppy, wet noises fill the room while heat rises to your cheeks. But you’re unbothered while swapping spit with Park Jimin. It’s lazy, yet it feels good. So much so that you’ve relaxed entirely. In the back of your mind, you know you should get up and put some clothes on. Any cuddling or post-sex touching has largely been unprecedented before this and it’s not good to make habits you’ll have to eventually break. You should get your sweater off the floor, or at least slip on his purple t-shirt…. But you give into the temptation and shut your eyes for one second. One mere second. That’s enough for you to doze off. When Jimin realizes you’ve accidentally fallen asleep, he smiles to himself and tugs the blankets up to your shoulders, securing you in warmly. // You stifle another yawn with your hand. It’s 9:30 in the goddamn morning and way too early for you. There’s a reason you pick afternoon classes, go to work afterwards and then go see Jimin to end your day off. There’s no situation good enough that warrants your alarm blaring before eight — but you suppose a graduation ceremony could be an exception. “There’s so many people,” your dad gasps in wonderment, looking around the vast hall. “Do you know them all?” “No.” You hold in your sigh. “I don’t.” For the past twenty minutes, you’ve been running around looking for your parents after they’ve wandered off and gotten lost. If they weren’t spamming their cameras on their phone and telling you to smile in front of the odd statue or the meaningless bulletin board that wasn’t even part of your faculty, it was calling your name as loud as they could to find you in the crowds. You’re happy over their enthusiasm but also burdened. It’s a lot of mixed feelings. “Y/N?” Dark hair and brown eyes — a certain someone who you weren’t expecting to run into is staring right at you with a boyish smile. “Jimin?” He looks good, a suit underneath and a black graduation gown over it that falls to his calf. His gown has a golden hood and tassel while yours is white — the colours symbolizing your different faculties and areas of study. “Hey.” His gaze is warm. “You look nice.” “Thanks. You too.” You don’t linger on him for long, not when his parents are right by his side. You divert your vision and greet them politely. Jimin surprisingly looks a lot like his dad and his mom has a kind face. They seem like sweet people and you’re suddenly breaking into a sweat. “Nice to meet you.” Your own parents make themselves known and you feel like your worlds are colliding as they shake hands and exchange names, congratulating each other on their child’s graduation. You’re about to get them moving along when your mom nudges you. “Is this your boyfriend?” Her voice is way too loud and you feel yourself burn in embarrassment. “No. He’s just a friend,” you whisper it sharply but much your dismay, they look unconvinced. You miss the way Jimin smiles to himself. “We should get a picture!” his dad declares and your own dad looks even more elated at the idea of spamming more pictures. You already had to delete a hundred blurry ones, but your mom ignores your groan and pushes you both towards some weird artwork on the wall. “Stand over here! Over here! Smile!” Your parents end up sitting next to each other on the rows and you have no words, forced to sit at the bottom with the rest of your graduating class. It’s a wonder that the Arts Faculty was scheduled right before the Faculty of Kines. Fate or coincidence, you’re not sure yet. But it’s still nice to see Jimin walk the stage and be able to cheer for him. “Congratulations, Mr. Park.” He grins. “Congratulations to you too, Miss L/N.” It’s certain that the numerous celebrations with family, friends and relatives will be chaotic, so you take advantage of the opportunity while you still can. You steal just a little moment for your selfish desires by standing outside before you’re both bombarded by your circle of people. “You know, I couldn’t have done it without you.” “Oh, stop it with the sappiness.” You can’t feign a roll of your eyes when your smile is so big. He swings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close and laughing. “Why? Don’t like it?” And the little shit slyly leans in to whisper, “You like it when I call you my baby though.” “Jimin!” He laughs and you sigh with a smile. You’re glad you ran into him.

[Post-Graduation] You open the door, welcoming yourself in. “Hey.” Jimin’s on the couch and glances at you, unfazed at how you’ve waltzed right into his apartment with little warning. You’ve always knocked out of courtesy for his roommates, but ever since he moved out of the dormitories, you find little need to make him walk all the way to the door. He’s watching a thriller and you flop down on his couch, leaning over to plant a quick peck against his mouth as a greeting. “How was work?” “It was okay. A bit busy. I met this nice old lady and we chatted for a bit. She called me handsome, so there’s that.” He grins and you scoff lightly, leaning your cheek on his shoulder as you watch the main character venture into an abandoned house on screen. Jimin loves his praises, so you’re not wholly surprised he’s kept a mental note of it. You’re not sure why it’s important though. Anyone with eyes would agree he’s good-looking. “How was class?” “Awful,” you mumble, feeling tired against him. You came over to get rid of some sexual frustration, but you’re not even sure you have the energy to do anything anymore. “Commuting was brutal this morning. Traffic was backed up on the highway and I was late, and yesterday I had to drive back at night. My parents are driving me nuts too. I can’t study properly.” Jimin hums a soothing note and slings an arm at the back of the couch where you’re sitting, letting you lean into him. It goes quiet as the two of you watch the suspenseful scene and then he absentmindedly pipes up after a minute, “You could always move in with me.” He continues, “It’s closer to the university and it’s quiet during the day, so you can study. We could always study together too.” It’s a good idea, but— “I can’t afford that.” “I don’t mind paying rent for a while. It’s the same either way.” It takes a second for the words sink in and then you’re peeling yourself off of him. Your gaze is met with Jimin’s, eyes locking into one another and the movie is left in the background. “As roommates?” He shrugs. “There’s only one bedroom, but sure.” A studio apartment. One bed shared. Two people. Watching movies. Having sex. Eating together. It doesn’t sound bad to you whatsoever, but you contemplate it. It swirls around inside your head and you murmur, “Isn’t that breaking the rules of being friends with benefits?” And you don't know why but Wendy’s words from the other day are echoing inside the caverns of your brain at the worst moment. “You know, your relationship with Jimin isn’t exactly normal.” You weren’t sure what she meant and you still don’t know. Not when she had advertised and encouraged this kind of arrangement all those years ago. When she had told you many people got involved in each other like this. But you’re starting to wonder if something is off. Did you do something wrong? Did your relationship with Jimin spiral out of control? But everything feels normal. After three years, you’d think you would’ve mastered the art of benefits by now. You sigh, getting a headache. Yet, Jimin merely shrugs. As if the definitions and boundaries don’t bother him whatsoever. “Is it?” “Kind of. I mean, living together, being mutually exclusive. It almost sounds like….” “Like what?” His brows lift. “Like we’re dating?” You feel hot in your face, skin toasted like a furnace. Maybe you’re being delusional or silly. Maybe he’s going to laugh at you. “This is what couples who are going to get engaged do.” “Maybe we should date then…?” The pitch of Jimin’s voice raises at the end, not necessarily a question but neither a statement. It’s questionable like he’s unsure how you feel. Like he’s playing a guessing game. And then he smiles at your shocked expression. Jimin turns to face you fully. His gaze is heavy, earnest. “Maybe we should date.” This time, it’s repeated as an assertion. Confident. Unwavering. Sincere. Jimin leans in to kiss you as if he can’t resist anymore. It’s tender, taking you off guard and you lean into him, finally allowing yourself to become surrounded by him. Mind. Body. And soul. When the two of you pull away, he smiles while catching his breath. “I-I’m down if you are. This apartment can be yours and you can study here and sleep here and whatever. We can eat together and I’ll buy you take out or cook. It’s fine if you don’t want to. I’m cool with anything. We can keep being friends with benefits, if that’s what you want….so…......what do you want?” You exhale lightly, feeling warm. “This...is a lot.” “Is it?” Instantly, Jimin appears panicked and you hold back a laugh. “We’ve technically been together for three years and...what we’ve been doing recently is basically dating. In my opinion.” “Did Wendy put you up to this?” “No.” He shakes his head. “Frankly, the person I talk to most these days is you. And I like it that way.” God, you hate him. You pull Jimin in for another kiss, an aggressive and eager one. Enough that you can feel the heat off of his own face. You move to straddle his thighs and when you break apart, you muster a glare at him. “You know, I’ve been trying so hard not to catch feelings. You’re ruining all my efforts, you know that, Park?” He grins. “Is this a yes?” “It is.” This time, he’s the one to kiss you, sealing your lips together as he smiles against your mouth and squeezes giggles out of you. Even if he doesn’t say it, even if he’s saving it for another day, you know from his tender touches that he loves you. And it’s mutual. No longer do you need to worry — leave right after the deed is done or be panicked when you’ve accidentally fallen asleep in his bed. You’re unashamed when he kisses you harder as a greeting, when he holds your hand, when you go out together. You can have pillow talks without needing to guard yourself, cuddle him, call him yours. And when Christmas arrives, meaning sweater weather and snow dusting from the sky, you have someone to keep you warm. Someone who you can come back to and call your home.

#bts fanfic #bts smut #jimin smut #bts scenario #jimin fanfic #jimin scenario #lol I can finally use the smut tag #I know this ain't sfw y'all but I really wasn't kidding when I said I was experimenting a bit more with smut #with that being said I actually really like this fic #IT'S FLUFF AND SOFT AF #I LOVE ME SOME CUTE CHIM DON'T FIGHT ME

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leahseclipse · 3 years

Text

Daily surprises

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Warnings: None that I can think of.

Summary: Everyday, Spencer finds a new book in his bag, as he begins to look forward to it when the event has been occurring for a while.

Requested by @writing-in-april

A/N: I really liked writing this request!!! it really was cute asF!! Thanks for proposing that April, the fic u wrote for me last time was amazing (as ALWAYS), so I hope that you’ll like this one.

And uhh sorry about the books parts, I don’t know any of the books- I literally googled the summaries-

Word count: 3.8k

Books have always been a passion of mine; I have always been fascinated by how words can make the reader feel, how each reader can have a different opinion about them, different feelings, every reader is different when it comes to the fact of the opinion they have about the work.

They had always been a sort of shelter to me. I usually had the habit (and still have it) to comfort myself in them, they’d be able to express feelings like no one could, allow me to learn about various things, subject, build an opinion on a subject I had never thought of having an opinion, debate or even mention before.

I had been collecting more and more of them through the years, to the point of having an apartment that could be mistaken as a sort of tiny library.

My books are literally everywhere, in my shelves, on my couch, on the low table, under and on chairs, even at my desk, and in my bag.

I always carry around one or two in my bag (of course, if they both don’t contain a lot of pages to the point of weighing a ton when combined together), in case I happen to have free time (which happened to become rare when I had begun working at the FBI), and have nothing else to do but read.

It also happened to be a passion I've been sharing with another person, more known as y/n.

She had first mentioned that she didn't happen to read a lot, but eventually appreciated reading, which I was more than happy to hear, considering all the books I knew and how much it meant to me.

Clearly, she didn't expect me to know a whole library in my brain when she happened to ask if I could recommend a few; but she always liked to hear me rambling about them.

She had eventually begun taking a liking to reading again; often asking me about books I've read, talking about her opinion on the book she had read, which would often be followed by an endless rambling from me, being much longer than what she had previously explained, or even expected when I had begun sharing my opinion as well.

It was nice to have someone else to talk about books with, without feeling I could possibly be disturbing them.

Most of my colleagues would either stay there until I'd be done, they knew how much I appreciated talking about these to them; even if the majority of the team wasn't much interested, they were just being polite and respectful by staying.

Now that I talk about it, I probably should have apologized for all of the times I had rambled for a large amount of time when talking about the four books I've read in a day.

They're pretty much the main subjects I talk the most about, if, of course, I exclude Star Trek, Doctor Who, and the many subjects I throw facts about all day long from the long list that includes all of the things I'm interested in;

...which would take quite a while to detail its entirety, since I probably would take the time to explain each of them as detailed as possible, without letting any word behind, as my brain would constantly send me as much information as it contains...which again, means, a lot.

But, even if my passion about them is often difficult to keep for myself without having the need to ramble an essay worth long about them, I try not to begin to talk about it, or mention it, except if someone else does.

That became rare…as I often end up talking more than intended each time.

Reading can sometimes lead me to fall asleep quite later than I planned before even taking the book itself.

Having the ability to read fast has often led to many nights with little sleep, considering how many books I can read in a short amount of time.

The aftermath of it isn't pleasant, as it results in more fatigue on top of the one I already have because of how late I'd stay up when working at the bureau.

The feeling I had this morning when I had woken up happened to be one of the side effects of a long and endless reading session I had done the previous night.

Little did I find out after thinking about it for a bit that I'd probably be regretting it at the end of the day, if not earlier.

Even if my body was telling me to stay in my bed considering how tired I was, work couldn't allow me to do it, unfortunately.

It only took a quarter of an hour in order for me to get ready, as I already had been crossing the door to leave my apartment without having the time to think about doing it.

The rest of the morning wasn't as busy as it usually would be; only paperwork for the previous days, nothing too complicated.

But because of the short night I had, the coffee trips have been quite numerous after a while.

A short conversation had occurred later in the day between y/n and me when she had gone to peek over my desk, curious to why I had been going in and out of consciousness; and leaving a lot to take refills.

I didn't mind her asking at all, on the contrary, I had been waiting for an opportunity to talk with her; but as I didn't want to disturb her, I just kept glancing discreetly at her from time to time, hoping something to talk about would awaken a future conversation.

After a while, I noticed that she had left the room, just as I had the thought of something situated in my bag.

I had soon taken it in search of what I've been looking for, as I suddenly happened to be quite surprised as I found a book that I didn't remember putting the night before, any other day, or even this morning before leaving my apartment for work at all.

‘The Collector, John Fowles’

It was a surprisingly good choice, and the person who had put it there either had good taste or personally knew my preferences; or even both.

Who knows.

Even I would be explaining it to myself, and not to anyone; I’d prefer not to engage myself in that; as it could last up to an hour considering the length, and all that is to explain in order to understand the moral, and the motives of whatever is in the character’s mind in the book; so...a lot.

“Withdrawn, uneducated and unloved, Frederick collects butterflies and takes photographs. He is obsessed with a beautiful stranger, the art student Miranda. When he wins the pools, he buys a remote Sussex house and calmly abducts Miranda, believing she will grow to love him in time. Alone and desperate, Miranda must struggle to overcome her own prejudices and contempt if she is to understand her captor, and so gain her freedom.”

The resume of the book had simply begun automatically playing itself before I could even lay my eyes on the back cover; as I had read this book more times than my two hands could ever count, and you know; because of the eidetic memory thing, even if I had read it only once, I would have remembered it anyway.

I remember reading it for the umpteenth time around last week, precisely on a saturday, at 11PM. As long as I can remember, I apparently had nothing else to do but read, and absolutely not any other book to pull out of the shelf, except that one.

Even if I had strictly- no idea -of who could have truly placed it there, except y/n-, I still had appreciated having this work as a possible distraction, or a way to pass the time if I eventually happened to have no idea of what I could do next, in case I didn’t have any work left to do.

As I raised my eyes to the desk in front of me, I happened to meet with y/n’s eyes just when she had happened to stare at me as well.

“What’s that book genius?”

“Oh, that? It’s the collector, from John Fowles. I like this one, but- is that you who put it there?”

“Yeah...why?”

“I uh- no particular reason! I just uh...wonder why it’s there…?”

“Well, read it, and you’ll see.” She said, as she stood to go god knows where.

“Read it? But I’ve already read-” I hurried out, but she had already gone out of the room, shooting me a smile before disappearing in the corner of the door. I stood there for a good minute, as I decided to open the book and read a bit of it as she previously told me to before leaving without even giving me an answer. She always liked to be mysterious, that’s kinda the reason I fell in love with her for.

It really took a while so I would get a number.

She had slid it in one of my file just when she had left the building to go home, I swore I didn’t even have any breath when I had attempted at catching her before she has gone to her car, and if I hadn’t decided to go, one minute later, she would have been on the road, and I doubt that calling people on the road would have been safe and clever for me to do it.

It might have been a bit “mean” to do that as some would say, but we always had the habit of doing that, way before we started dating. We’d always let the other try to guess what the other meant, what he wanted to say, it all was a game, a sequel to the story that would occur later, all of these discussions, secrets, have been a preparation, and kept for what happened right now.

It all was thanks to her, because if she wouldn’t have given it, I doubt that I would have gathered the courage too soon. Probably in 10 years or so, if not.

As I still was in my lecture, a bright blue paper with an inscription written in black ink had brought my attention, which led me to read it.

“I know you’re surprised, yes, it’s in a book, and yes I could have told it to you in person, but I find it better in a note, you can keep it and carry wherever you want. It's also better as a note, and, in a book, because you had always liked books, which became the passion that has made us grow closer. This book was the first one that started a conversation between us, I don’t remember the day, but you probably do. This note might be confusing, but I wanted to do that, because at least, you have a reason to finish the book, because you might have another surprise soon. -yours truly, y/n”

The note had even ended with a heart; she’d always write one at the end of her texts, even a small word sometimes, it probably was an habit of hers, I don’t really know, we never mentioned it once, as I didn’t mind at all, I really liked the attention.

Well, I pretty much like everything she does, whether she’s talking to me, talking to someone else, or doing whatever thing. I always like to see her around; I tend to get more relaxed when she’s with me; she always talks with me, and tries to know about what I do, even if I often noticed she probably didn’t understand a single word of whatever I rambled about.

Among all of the subject she was at ease with, books happened to be one of them, she’d always participate actively, as most of the subjects included in the books would often inspirate her, push her to talk more than she usually would with other subject, or even in general, I’d help her find her words, participate in the conversation by argumenting, agreeing with her opinion, sharing my opinion so that we could compare them and argument once more about the differences, I’d also initiate the conversation by switching to another book when we’d have nothing else to talk about the book, or if one of the details in the book would make me think of another one.

Our discussions would often last hours, we wouldn’t even realize the amount of hours we’ve spent talking until one of us would think to look at the time.

Even if I liked every single moment we’d spend together, if I had to choose one (a temporary, as I always change my mind on which moment I prefer as I again like every single one), It’d be our numerous discussions about books, I had and would never grow tired of it.

As much as I like to hear her talking, I often let myself get distracted by her, to the point of having to be “woken up” from my thoughts by her when I happened to not pay attention.

Because in these moments, all that matters is that I get to hear her voice, her smile as she passionately talks about what she likes, she way she always talks while moving her hands around, when she looks at me while I talk, when she touches my hand with the tip of her fingers to take the book situated in my hands.

She made me get more and more excited about the moments when I’d reach for a book in my bag, or somewhere in the drawer of my desk.

Especially when she had begun picking my interest by telling me she might propose another book the next day...or so?

I don’t think I’ve been more excited about reading a book again before now.

Who would have thought someone would have such an effect on me on a subject I admire before y/n arrived in my life? I’ve never been so passionate about something other than books before her.

My waiting (that had seemed like an eternity) had only lasted till the next day, not long after my arrival at the bureau.

I hadn’t expected it, but the book had happened to be situated close to my keyboard, which after thinking, was obvious, if I’d take account of the numerous trips we both had done throughout the morning due to various reasons concerning either paperwork or matters of previous cases.

I had taken a seat on the desk, quite empty for a while due to, again, the trips, as I had glanced at the surroundings, only to see a few members of the team, busy doing whatever task that was in front of them.

‘Great Expectations, Charles Dickens’

Again; fairly surprising, but quite a good surprise to discover, as I hadn’t seen it for a while before today.

The edition of the book present on my desk was one of the original versions of it, The cover had a black color, along with the title and the author written in large letters under the title of the book, both just on top of an illustration representing a woman holding a bouquet of various types of flowers, behind it, the outfit she wore was visible; a white embroidery, with a grey-ish and black necklace on top of it, which was situated around her neck. The illustration was displayed in the shape of a large square, almost taking the rest of the bottom of the cover, as a space was present after the closure of the white border around the illustration.

My eyes wandered around the cover, as I switched sides, ending up on the back of it.

“Considered by many to be Dickens’s finest novel, Great Expectations traces the growth of the book’s narrator, the orphan Philip Pirrip (Pip), from a boy of shallow dreams to a man with depth of character. From its famous dramatic opening on the bleak Kentish marshes, the story abounds, with some of Dickens’s most memorable characters; Among them are-”

I wasn’t able to finish the rest of the summary, as a familiar scent had caught my attention, two arms embraced my shoulders.

“You didn’t say hi today. I’m gonna begin to think you don’t love me anymore.” She had said, in an obvious playful tone that had taken some time for me to understand as it was, only a joke.

“Sorry, I’m married to someone, my work.” I had said, before the feel of her lips on my left cheek interrupted me; as, before she could go, I turned my face, stealing a kiss from her.

“Is that your apology?” She asked.

“If you see it that way, yeah.”

“Then I accept your apologies;”

“I’m glad, I couldn’t bear to see you in such a state that would make you sad, all because of me.” I talked in a dramatic tone, which seemed as if I was doing a play, but she had laughed at it, so, turns out that my ‘play’ had been worth it after all.

“Have you opened it yet?”

“No, I only read the summary. Why, is there something there again?”

“See by yourself.” She said, gesturing her hand in the direction of the book, as I opened it per request.

When my eyes fell on the first page, I had expected to see the page on which the title and the author are written in black, but instead of it, a picture that had apparently been printed in a matte paper was taped on the page.

The picture had contained a picture of me, reading a book while I was sitting on the floor, against the wall, of what seemed to be my apartment, the book I was holding seemed to be the same ones I was holding in my hands.

“When did you take that? I never saw you taking your phone when we were together.”

“That’s because you never pay attention to your surroundings when you read. A fire could happen in the apartment and you wouldn’t even notice it until you’d smell the smoke.”

“No, you’re lying, I do pay attention…sometimes.”

“See? You admitted it yourself. The tone of your voice when you reached the end of the sentence even said it for you.”

“Yeah but, did I...do something wrong or…?”

“No, nothing wrong. On the contrary, your focus was so strong that I was able to take the picture. So, that’s a good thing, do that more.”

“Now that you told me that, I’m gonna pay more attention, you might attempt to kill me behind my back.”

“Yeah, I might kill you if you keep saying that. I’ll kill you with a bad book, I’d be a shame to kill you with a good book, I might damage it.”

“You care more about a book instead of possibly committing a murder on the one and only love of your life?”

“My one and only love is tea, you know it.” She said, as I faked being offended. “Come on, I’m kidding. But, if you keep insinuating that, I’ll care more about the book. So, if you don’t want me to kill my one and only love, behave on your best.”

“Okay, behave on my best.” I said, tracing the outline of the picture with my index. “Even if the thought of seeing myself in that picture is kinda weird, I’ll keep it. Thanks for it, I’ll read it, well, if...I get to finish the work on my desk.” I said, as we both glanced at the paperwork on the desk.

“Yeah...I, uh. Yeah. I don’t want to...sadden you even more, but you should check your mails, there...might be more.” She said, as she tapped my shoulder before leaving, the smile on my face dropping as I came to the realization.

“I guess the reading session is getting postponed then.”

The week had really been full of a lot of surprises (if I don’t count the case we had, of course), she had pulled out books I haven’t read for years; books that I had wanted to read, but never got the time for; or even books I’ve never read, but she had surprisingly matched my taste well, as I ended up liking them more than I thought I would before even starting the book.

To my surprise, we had gotten to have rest for once after the busy week that cancelled all of our plans in a snap.

I haven’t even realized that it already was October 31st today, the work had completely gone over everything else that made up my thoughts, to the point that I haven’t thought of the book y/n had chosen today.

She’d always put it either on the top of my desk where I could see it, or in my bag, but after a minute or so of searching, I didn’t see it.

The only book that I could see was in my bag, a copy of ‘The Narrative of John Smith by Arthur Conan Doyle’, I had always left it there, it was one of my favorite books, I had never gotten anywhere without it.

‘Maybe she forgot about it today. It happens.’

We had a small party like we usually do (when a case doesn’t interrupt us, of course), and various small events had been organized.

As I had been looking around, my attention had been snatched away by a hand slightly tapping my right shoulder, as I turned around to see y/n.

“Missed me?”

“Yeah, I did.” I said, as I brought her closer, and brought my lips to hers, as we exchanged a brief kiss. “Where have you been?”

“I was with Penelope, just for a bit, because if you didn’t see it, she wasn’t around either.”

“Wasn’t she? Oh, apparently not.” I said, as I saw her coming in, walking in the direction of Emily who had called her.

“What were you thinking about?”

“You, and books.”

“Oh, talking about books, did you notice something?”

“Something? Uh, no. I haven’t seen one, except the book I always carry.”

“And what is it?”

“The Narrative of John Smith, why?”

“Well, you just noticed something. The book you just saw is the one you were looking for.”

“But, I had it yesterday, and all of the days before. I-I don’t get it.”

"In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s October 31st today; the date the book was published by the edition you own, it even was the first book I laid my eyes on when we met.” She pointed out.

“...you just reduced my IQ to 60 in a minute.”

“Oh, did I?”

“Yeah, I knew it was our anniversary, but never had I thought that this book was involved.”

“Now you did, and you better remember it, and never forget to carry it.”

“I would never.” I said, as I gently put my hand on her cheek, as she suddenly raised herself on the tip of her toes, kissing me before I even got the time to think of it.

“Happy anniversary Spence.”

“Happy anniversary y/n.”

#Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Spencer Reid #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader

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animeyanderelover · 3 years

Note

I'd love to see Hashirama with prompt 74. “As long as you love me everything is alright. You…you do love me, right?”

👍.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, obsessiveness, delusions, clinginess, angsty stuff

Prompt 74: “As long as you love me everything is alright. You...you do love me, right?”

You remembered that there had been often times where you had wished that Hashirama would just calm down since he was often a lot to deal with. He was always so clingy and the amount of affection he gave you was nearly suffocating, not to mention that you hadn’t forgotten the incident with your clothes. But that wasn’t even the biggest problem in here. No, that all was terrible too, but could be ended by a breakup. And that was the worst in here. Leaving him would be as good as impossible. Not only was there the danger of the whole village being disappointed in you as well as having his furious little bro in your neck, but Hashirama himself could possess quite the threat. He was Hokage. He had power. He could ruin you and your family’s life if he felt like and even get away with it. As much as Hashirama was a sunshine and almost a bit like a child, you had catched up onto one thing at some point into this relationship. Hashirama had a dark side to him. Everyone had, you knew that. You had one as well. But it became dangerous when this dark side was able to ruin someone else like Hashirama was. Luckily he didn’t let this side out very often, it was rarely seen because around you he was always the loving and smothering husband. But that made it also so much more terrifying if this side of him came out. Because it was almost like witnessing a nightmare in real life when seeing this man getting serious and mad.

But you had never seen him like this. He seemed so...so discouraged. So hopeless. So small. You had expected that he would be depressed after Madara had left the village, the man he had considered as his best friend. The man who he had happily introduced you to, the man who he had always stood up for, the man who had betrayed him and had attacked him. You couldn’t even image how hard this must have been for him. And the comments from Tobirama hadn’t really helped at all. He had just scolded him that he should have listened to him before and that he had been right after all about Madara. You and Mito had to literally hit him on his head to snap him out of his lecturing speech and help him realize how devastated Hashirama had looked. You had often seen him sulking about something or being depressed over more childish things. But this had only lasted for a short while, not concerning you too much at the end of the day. He had always been able to get over those small things very quickly and go back to his more goofy self. And that was the thing that had you currently worry the most. He hadn’t gone back to his old self. Instead he had been those last few days after the incident more quiet and thoughtful than usual, causing you to worry yourself almost sick over him. But the most heartbreaking thing you had witnessed so far was how needy he had suddenly gotten. It wasn’t the usual clingyness, it was almost like a desperation, a desire to know that you wouldn’t leave him like his friend had.

“Hey Hashi. What’s wrong?” Hashirama turned slightly surprised, slightly tired around when hearing your soft voice calling him. It was early morning, the sky still dark and most people would have still payed soundly asleep in bed. But not you two. When his gaze met yours he gave you a small smile. But it didn’t look like the ones he usually gave you. Of course there was still warmth and eternal love in it, but he also looked exhausted as well as if he was in pain. “Oh. Hey, darling. I didn’t want to wake you up. I’m sorry for disturbing your sleep. Go back to bed, it’s still pretty early.” You didn’t move, instead glancing with eyes filled with sadness at him. He looked so incredibly vulnerable as hunched over as he was sitting on the couch. Where was the once so energetic and always happy guy who you had so often a day called a moron because he had done something stupid? Where had that man gone? And when would he come back? You couldn’t just let him sit here and let him drown in self sorrow. You had to do at least try to do something for him. He had done so much for you too. So you slowly made your way over to the couch, slowly sitting down next to him. He didn’t react, instead staring with a hollow yet also sorrowful look in his eyes in the space, telling you what he was seeing right now before his inner eye could only be seen by him. You felt a small “pang” in your chest when seeing him spacing out like this, his eyes having lost the light they used to always have inside of them. How could you have ever thought of his personality as annoying and too much? Had you ever even considered that this might have been the reason why he had been even able to reach the position he was currently in right now? He had worked more than anybody else to establish the village and make peace with the other villages. His sometimes almost careless and easygoing looking attitude had given people always courage and hope.

But now he looked so broken, like a small child who needed protection. Or just someone who would be there for you. And if this person had to be you then you would damn well do it. Everything to get him out of his misery, the whole atmosphere in the village had already started to change and became more gloomy due to their leader being on his knees. You sighed worriedly, laying your hand on top of his. Hashirama didn’t look at you, but was quick to grab your hand and intervene his fingers with you, the pressure he put on your hand being only a bit too tight as if being scared that something might happen at the moment. “Hashirama,”, the tone you used reminded you of the one your mother used to use on you, strict yet gentle,”please look me in my eyes.” You had the feeling that he needed a moment or two before your words finally seemed to register in his brain and you almost thought that he wanted to avoid looking you in your face by the way he turned so incredibly slowly his head around to meet your gaze. He was ashamed, you could tell from the way he didn’t dare to look you in your eyes, always looking quickly down whenever he managed to look you for a short second in your eyes. You tried to give him some time to adjust, waiting patiently until he seemed to be a bit less tense than before.

“It’s not your fault, you know. I mean with Madara.” It wasn’t a very wise decision to mention his name like this, but you had to directly talk with Hashirama about this, even though he stiffened when hearing his name again. “No one blames you Hashi. Not the village, not your clan, not your brother nor Mito. And me neither. We all know you tried your best. The best might sometimes not be enough, but it’s the will that counts. You don’t need to be perfect or anything like this. It was Madara’s decision and you couldn’t have done anything to help him. I understand that it must be hard for you to live with the knowledge that your best friend turned against you and that you had to fight him. It’s a heavy burden on your soul and heart, but you aren’t alone with this. You have so many people in your life who are there for you. You just have to look out of the window and see the village, the people in there who are willing to help you. As harsh as it may sound, but you have to eventually let go of him. I don’t demand from you to erase those memories of of you and him together, but I ask you to accept that you couldn’t have done everything to stop him and to stop thinking that it’s all your fault. There are people who need you right now. So please stop being so sad and try to live with it. And if you aren’t strong enough to carry this on your own, I’m here for you just like your brother, Mito and so many more. Alright?”

Hashirama stared shocked at you, looking like he hadn’t expected you to say this. But only a short moment later the impact of what you had just said hit him. You had never seen him that emotional before which caused your heart to clench from sadness seeing him like this. You could see the visible hurt in his eyes, the feeling of not being able to do anything and prevent it from happening, the hurt of being betrayed from someone you had known for such a long time. The thing that made it even more bitter for you was that you also saw some of the emotions his eyes always used to hold for you when looking at you. The adoration and infinite love he used to have and still had for you. Together with his somewhat forced yet also thankful and sincere smile it let you feel an emotion that you couldn’t name, not knowing how to feel about the dualism of feelings displayed on his face. “As long as you love me everything is alright.” When saying this he suddenly crawled closer towards you, hugging your waist and laying his head on your lap. And you felt like your heart had just shattered in your chest, witnessing this complete action of utter desperation from his side. He had just come crawling to you like an insecure child needing comfort.

“You...you do love me, right?” You glanced down at him, looking at his eyes that begged you silently to tell him you did. What was this? Why was he doing this? Was he afraid that you would leave him too just like Madara did? Was that the reason why he was acting so needy right now? Did he need to hear that you loved him that badly? There were so many quest swirling around in your mind, but you put them all for the moment aside, focusing on the man clinging tightly onto your waist and tugging slightly on the fabric of your pajamas, wanting, needing you to answer his question. And how could you have said no to him when he was in such a fragile state like right now. “Of course I do, Hashi. I always will.”

#yandere naruto #yandere naruto shippuden #yandere hashirama #yandere hashirama senju

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docholligay · 3 years

Text

An Overwatch Christmas Carol: Stave III---The Second of the Spirits

Hello there! The third part of this is up up up, and at 11,000 words I know it’s long, so if you wanted to read it in parts that’s great and okay! I worked hard on this and I hope you like it!

Her alarm struck, though she had not set it, and she felt at her own body as she awoke from the horrible nightmare.

Ana, like most people of her ilk, believed herself ready in any moment for any sort of thing that came her way, that she could master it, and tolerate it, and come out victorious. So have all of us, in a moment where we are very courageous in our own homes and beds, said that same. And so despite the harrowing nature of what she had just experienced, it seemed to Ana Amari that anything between a children’s choir and an army might have been just as expected.

But what Ana was most unnerved by, and utterly unprepared for, was nothing. The alarm sounded, and still it stayed dark, a cold, and quiet, just as her room had always been, and no matter how many times she looked over to the clock, at five, ten, or twenty minutes, still the same nothing answered her back. This was enough to make her brave, as it might us all, and so she spat her words into the darkness.

“Ridiculous.”

There was a light from the other room, at that, peeking and shining under the door with a brilliance Ana did not know.. The apartment in Brixton was tiny and dark, and would never have been accused of any manner of warmth by anyone, and yet now the light coming from the living room was golden and warm, dancing light firelight on the walls despite there being no fireplace anywhere near the building.

“Right then!” There was a chipper, high voice from the other room, “Come on! Christmas is ‘alf over already!”

Ana stepped out of bed, creeping toward the door. There had been Jack, and there had been Reinhardt, and despite herself, it was getting harder and harder to pretend that it was all something in her mind. And she knew that voice, had known it for more years than semed reasonable, when she reflected upon it.

She turned the corner into the living room. There was a tree brightly festooned with ornaments and tinsel, and while it might not have been the finest tree in the world it had clearly been dressed with great enthusiasm. There were stockings hung from the edge of the window, carefully nailed in, mismatched and well-loved. The room rang with an echo of laughter, almost as a chorus, but one voice above them all.

And, on what had been her coffee table, now grown long and covered with a white cloth, a grand feast, ham with a rich, shiny, glaze, turkey overflowing with stuffing, rich turnip and parsnip gratin, dripping with sauce, bowls full of roasted potatoes and mashed potatoes, pigs in blankets, Yorkshire puddings, and mince pies with brandy butter.

Tracer sat cross-legged on the end of it, in a bright green sweater, which looked thick and soft even from this distance, a crown of red and green gold star tinsel, mixed here and there with jingle bells, on her head. There was a Christmas pudding in front of her, and she popped a bit into her mouth before she looked up and saw Ana. She swallowed, licked the fork, and grinned.

“Right then.” She set down the plate, and leapt to her feet, “Come on! Christmas is ‘alf over already!”

Ana opened her mouth to protest, but if she had to hear another lecture about narrative structure and known mythologies, she was going to lose whatever was left of her mind. Besides, she had little belief that Tracer would care much about her own feelings on Christmas, and even smaller still was that small pang of regret, the part from last Christmas still dancing in her mind.

“You already said that.” She allowed.

Tracer stood up straight for a moment, and considered, hand at her chin. “I did, didn’t I?” she laughed. “Was right both times!”

Lena Oxton had died. Ana knew this. She knew it in the same way that she knew Jack had died, and Reinhardt had died, and she had attended their funerals, and she had seem them burned or buried. But Tracer’s death was newer to her, having been an interruption to the month of November, the dirt on her grave not quite settled.

It was as, well, unsettling, as her encounter with Reinhardt had been. The room seemed to respond to her, the lights twinkling when she laughed, the smell of the Christmas feast following her about the room like a cologne. The flames seemed to dance and she bopped about the place, and it was only in that moment, Tracer’s eyes glittering brightly, that Ana noticed something.

She wore no chronal accelerator. Ana never would have remembered her without it.

Too much. Draw back.

“You look fairly good, for someone who has been dead for six weeks.” Ana snorted.

Tracer’s eyes narrowed, and the cheer left her face.

“Don’t get smart with me Ana, not in the mood.” She scowled, “Doing this for Jack, because I said I would, so I did, and I’m a woman of me word. But don’t think I particularly feel any sorrow over the idea of you spending the rest of your life alone. I don’t, not a drop.”

Ana opened her mouth for a moment, and then reconsidered. The image of Jack in her mind, of him somehow gathering this group of people beyond the grave to help her, the constant reiteration that this was her last chance, somehow for once in her life, Ana Amari could not come up with some sharp rebuke.

She looked straight ahead, and frowned, adjusting her scarf. “The night will be over before you know it, so, let’s go.”

Tracer nodded. “Right then.” She snapped her fingers, and the two them exploded into sparks against the night, rushing off into the present.

They were outside as the morning sun shone brightly through the streets of London, even the fog feeling it must cast away into the night and not disturb the sacred joy of that beautiful and crisp day. There was the smallest dust of snow on the ground, though you would have been forgiven for thinking it was so much more for the delight in children’s eyes as they gazed out of their windows.

Tracer ran down the sidewalk, jumped, grabbed onto a pole and swung back toward Ana, all in one swift motion, landing right in front of her, eyes glittering.

“Christmas morning!” She gestured grandly, London caught in a sort of pause, the hurry Ana was used to at seven am only a distant memory. “‘appy Christmas, London!”

Tracer rushed over to where a bunch of pigeons were cuddled on the eave of a window, and pulled two large handfuls of birdseed out of her pockets, tossing it all in front of them.

“‘Appy Christmas, little ones!”

“Did you just have that--”

But Tracer was already off, running through the sidewalks and stopping wherever she found someone to greet. A happy Christmas to the little dog with a biscuit, a happy Christmas to his owner with a box of tea, pulled from that same pocket. A happy Christmas to the nurse just walking to home, hoping her husband could distract the kids long enough so she could see them open presents, a gift card to the Pret by the hospital pressed into her hand even as she looked confused. A happy Christmas to the bus driver with a bottle of scotch, rested by his side with bow. .

Eventually, Tracer seemed to realize herself, and broke into a laugh that seemed to ripple through the street, the lights glowing a touch brighter as she did it, even the icy lace on the windows seeming to glitter just a little more brightly as she dashed back toward Ana.

“Right, right, I,” She dramatically paused in front of Ana, “Love Christmas. But you don’t ‘ave to!” She interrupted Ana’s protest, “For that isn’t the real point, not ‘ere, is it?”

“Giving people all these things, but,” Ana shook her head. “Is the point that people will be driven into debt over it? That it’s an excuse to press honest people into working more and harder, and later? The Christmas spirit, for sale at Mark and Spencer’s.”

“Marks and Spencer, but I’ll allow it.” She rocked back on her heels. “There are plenty of people who don’t understand the meaning of what Christmas is, and often they’re the ones with the biggest trees, and that’s the God’s honest truth. What I show you ‘ere? Ought to be in every day. Every where. Because it isn’t about any ‘oliday, or turkey, or nothing. Is it, Ana Amari?”

She drew something out of her pocket, a small gold book,, maybe the size of a credit card, and she flipped it open before pressing it into Ana’s hand. A picture of her and Pharah, Pharah only a baby, long ago and oh so far away. They both looked so different. So full of promise.

“Come on, Ana, there is just so much to see.”

She looked up from it only to realize that they were inside someone’s living room, parents looking at each other with tired eyes as a little girl ran happily around a dollhouse, placing the furniture in this room or that.

“Up all night constructing it, they was,” She shook her head, the bells tinkling, “but it ‘ardly matters. Was all she wanted, right?”

Tracer drew something out of her pocket, and knelt down next to the girl’s dollhouse, nearly nose to nose with her. Ana, whatever Reinhardt might think, had listened to him, and assumed the same was true here, that they could neither see nor hear the two of them, but the girl paused and looked in Tracer’s direction with such intensity that Ana wondered for a moment. Tracer put something in her palm, and closed her hand around it, smiling.

Tracer jumped back up next to Ana and threw an arm around her, Ana shrugging it off just as quickly as the little girl opened her hand.

“Look! Mummy! Daddy! It’s a kitty just like Patch! I didn’t seen it before oh it’s just like her!”

Her parents looked confused, each looking at the other, but the little girl was radiant in that moment of joy, and though Ana refused to look over at Tracer, she could feel the happiness pouring off her.

“I don’t know what you--”

“Next!”

But Tracer’s fingers snapped again, and they found themselves back in Brixton, outside of Ana’s apartment building with the falling, tattered awnings over crumbling bricks at windows. It was nothing to look at, but at least it was a place to sleep, and that was all the more Ana thought of it. It looked particularly dreary, if she were being honest, today, where she could see the scraps of Christmas trees in windows, and plenty without, people like her who didn’t participate in the nonsense of Christmas, who were fully cognizant that nothing changed on one day, no matter when that day was.

“Up she goes!”

Tracer grinned brightly, jumped on top of a dumpster out back, and grabbed onto the drainpipe, the tinsel in her hair shimmering in the dim morning light, throwing off stars into the daytime. She quickly began to shimmy up, humming “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” as she did so.

“Tracer,” She crossed her arms and stared up at her, “I have a key.”

“...You better not pout, I’m telling you why,” Another pull up the pipe, “Lena Claus is coming, to town,” she looked back down at Ana and shook her head merrily, “No you don’t! Left it in your room, then, didn’t you?”

She did not wait for an answer, simply started back up the pipe, as Ana felt for a pocket that she realized wasn’t there.

“Tracer.”

“What?” She turned around, swinging out with one arm, “Bit too old for this, Amari? I could do it all day.”

Ana huffed, but scrambled up onto the top of the dumpster and grabbed the pipe.

“Death has done wonders for you health, but not your attitude, Oxton!”

Tracer nodded. “That IS true.”

Ana began to climb behind her, grumbling as her hands tried to gain purchase on the cold drainpipe, her hands aching with the swell in her knuckles. Feeling her age, a bit, but also feeling a bit of something else, something she could not quite place. She looked up at Tracer above her, still climbing, toward the third floor, occasionally giving a bit of a bounce, or a swing.

Perhaps it was a bit....bad. It was true, that Tracer was well in a way Ana had not seen her in more than a year, and that was all she had said. But there was a sudden realization that Tracer so loved this moment, with a glowing smile and a song on her lips, because she was still basking in the joy of what it was to have her body obey her again, just as it had for years. It felt unkind, even if it wasn’t unfair, to criticize her for it, and she could not remember having had the feeling much before, least of all with Tracer.

“....Just you wait, poppet, got all her gifts ‘ere in her back trouser pocket, Lena Claus is coming to town…”

Ana struggled to pull herself up, slipping a bit on the iciness of the pipe.

Maybe not that bad.

“That doesn’t rhyme!” Another small slip, and a scowl as one of her slippers dangled off her foot.

“Slant rhyme, innit?” Tracer looked in a window, “Good enough for Shakespeare, good enough for me. ‘Ere we are!” She cocked her head and laughed down to Ana, her nose wrinkling, with its spray of freckles gathering like bunches of holly, those lights in all the windows bouncing again, along with her.

Ana slipped again, and felt her foot give way, but with a snap of Tracer’s fingers, they were inside a beige-walled apartment much like Ana’s, same layout, same unloveable carpet, same cheap seaming at the windows, but oh, so much more crowded. Not that it was particularly hard to do, but Ana looked at a man and a woman, sitting on their small threadbare couch together, a toddler sitting on the woman’s lap as the two of them directed the three other little children around the tiny apartment, with only a small smattering of toys to distract them.

Despite this, the apartment felt warmer than Ana’s own ever had, more filled with light despite the bareness of the walls, and maybe it was only the smile between the parents and their children, or maybe it was the chatter in a language Ana did not know, but knew the feeling of without having to understand the meaning, but somehow she felt a certain twinge of what she had felt all those years ago in that miserable military camp, all those Christmases ago.

She resented it.

“I suppose I’m supposed to be amazed it’s Christmas here, too?” She glanced sidelong at Tracer.

Tracer jumped up onto the back of the couch and sat there, cross-legged, shaking her head. “Ana, s’not Christmas here, they’re Muslim, don’t you notice anything? Thought you was,” she made her hands into claws, “the Shrike!”

Ana glowered, unable to decide if she were more annoyed at herself or at Tracer, and glanced around. Of course she would have noticed, if she had a moment, if she hadn’t been waiting for whatever lesson Tracer meant to lay upon her.

“Our point in being here, isn’t Christmas at all, as I said.” Tracer pointed to the both of them. “Inconvenienced by Christmas more than anything, they are. All the schools closed, all the meal programs off or offering a bit of ‘am, nothing really to make them keep the slightest bit merry in all the world. But...look at them. ‘Appy to spend the day with their little family. New to London, right, and filled with something like the Christmas spirit. And that, Ana, is ‘ope. That, Ana, is universal.”

Ana huffed. “They have nothing.” she pointed her chin to the kitchen, where daal and rice cooked, spiced carefully and beautifully, “Such a meager feast.”

“But very appreciated!” Tracer jumped off the back of the couch and shuffled toward the tiny corner of the apartment that served for a kitchen. “She’s been working plenty ‘ard, for the meal they ‘ave here. Everyone knows it.”

The family chattered happily, even as the father had to rise and place a sweater in the sill of the window to keep out the chill from the cold wind that dared to slip inside, and even as the mother smiled sadly toward the large pan on the stove, her eyes full of wishing for something else. But neither of those small, tiny regrets seemed to be able to steal the joy they had at simply being with their children, despite missing a day’s work, despite missing out on the childcare, despite all the things Ana might have laid, not unfairly, at Christmas’ feet, a sense of pleasantness seemed to endure, like cider hanging in the air long after the drink is gone.

“I--” Ana began to say something, something in the back of her mind, and then shook it away.

Tracer nodded, as if knowing that the bounds of this room had been reached in their capacity to teach her student.

“Need to see something a bit more familiar, don’t you? Come on then!” Tracer walked over to the door, and opened it, ushering Ana through, who came along, though grumbling.

Tracer reached into her pocket and materialized a large cardboard tray, laden so heavily with delicacies that Tracer had to catch it with her other hand. Biryani chock full of meat, paratha so decadent that it looked as if it might melt under the simple wave of Tracer’s hand, sweet rice smelling richly of cinnamon and raisins, and things Ana did not even know, but made her feel a pang of jealousy and hunger all the same.

Tracer went to knock on the door, thought a moment, and as a sparkle fell from her fingertips, she drew a Christmas pudding out of her pocket, sauce dripping over the sides, nuts and fruits bright on the top.

“Just so as to welcome them to the neighborhood, try something new, as well.”

She set it down with the rest of the food, and then knocked. There was a call from inside and the swiftest patter of feet as a little boy rushed and opened it, even as his father rose from the couch to call after him. At seeing Tracer, his eyes grew wide, but Tracer smiled as she put a finger to her lips, and with one last slip into that pocket, took out a 100 pound note and tucked it next to the pudding.

She turned and quickly went down the hallway, giggling as the father looked all about the place, unable to see anything at all, while the little boy broke into a bright smile himself, and waved.

Ana found herself waving back, and then stopped herself when she saw Tracer, hands in her pockets, grinning with such a luminosity that Ana would have sworn the hallway was brighter than it had ever dared to be.

“So you are what, Noel Baba now? Must be nice, to be so easily loved.”

“Oh!” She slid down the bannister, and at the end, let herself fall into a somersault and popped back up to her feet in one smooth motion. “I’d love to be Father Christmas, really! But of course, no, there’s no real Father Christmas, so near as I know, but, we all sort of are, right? Father Christmas, and all of us spirits, can only come once a year, and so how lucky and powerful can we be? You, on the other ‘and, ‘ave seen that family at the little mail cubbies for six months now, innit?”

And did not reply, but it was certainly true, that she had seen her. That she had noticed the mother trying to wrangle to children, and the father’s long hours, and the mother has once admired, in halting English, Ana’s scarf, seeming slightly shy of the ragged edge of her own. She had told Ana her name.

Ana could not remember it.

“Always ‘ad the power to do what I did, on any given day, right? Could ‘ave given them all that, but didn’t. Could ‘ave given the bus driver what takes you every day a gift, as well. You’ve ‘ad enough chance to be that bearer, Ana. You waste it, and you can’t pin that on me, not rightly.”

Ana walked down the stairs after her. “I live on the next floor, you have taught me enough--”

But as she stepped down another stair, her foot plunged into the snow on the sidewalk, and she looked up. On a simple street, still being rebuilt after the Battle, but about half redone with a grocery store and several apartment building patched back together. But even the ruins were decked with lights here and there, a bit of English humor at the edges of a healing misery.

“Things like that,” she felt compelled to defend herself, “are only patches on, on a bigger problem.”

Tracer stopped her walking and turned around. “Right then, so you go about with an ‘ole in your trousers til you can buy new? Mustn’t bother with a patch, of course not.”

She looked over Ana as they stood, nearly nose to nose. Tracer’s eyes did not linger, and never had so long as Ana had known her. They flitted, instead, like a hummingbird, from moment to moment and bit to bit, but somehow you got the sense that she was taking in all of you, whether you particularly wanted her to or not. In her eyes, Ana saw reflected bright lights of gold and white and green, though she did not recall there being lights so near.

She was still smiling, had never stopped, and this perhaps annoyed Ana worst of all.

Tracer cocked her head, and she took a step back, looking up and down at Ana.

“Like there’s no point in apologizing, right?”

“I tried--”

Tracer burst out laughing. “Oh, right, right! When you told ‘er that it wasn’t as if your mum were there for you, and so she might as well get over it and see a therapist? Some apology, I’ll say.” Tracer spun around in a pirouette, but than turned back. “And still--”

“Fareeha is a military woman. More even than me. To the good. She works things out in probability, in risk, in order. What would be the benefit of sentimentality, for all that? She does not do things that don’t benefit her. She hasn’t since she was a child. She had a plan, even then. She does what needs doing and I--there’s no reason I would fit into that.”

Tracer looked at her moment, and gave a confused shake of the head. “You really don’t know her at all, do you? No more, at least, than any clerk in the new office, and that’s the truth.” She did not give Ana a chance to respond, to argue. “Come on, then! Let me introduce you to your daughter.”

Tracer threw her arm around Ana’s shoulder, and though she took a deep breath and tried very calmly not to sock her right in the jaw, she had to admit that the warmth she had felt in those other rooms, she wanted to feel in Pharah’s home. She wanted to know what it might feel like to have the warmth of Pharah’s love, something that had been lost to her for so long.

Ana had never been to see the apartment they moved into after the Battle for London, and nearly paused for a moment as Tracer let go of her and jumped on the railing and then through the window, but the snap of her fingers gave no moment to think more of it. Their old place, she knew, had been destroyed, parts of it simply cratered in, Pharah rifling through what they had to try and reconstruct their belongings. Mercy, of course, had gone to pieces, by Ana’s measure, some memory of childhood bothering her enough that she kept her distance. The new place had been built of an old shell, like so many things in London, and Pharah had taken pains with the layout. It was a lovely place, bright and welcoming without being devoid of a certain peculiar charm, seeming less like a new-constructed box and more like it might have been in London all this time, even from the inside.

The furniture was new, and tidy, and Ana nearly laughed to see what she assumed could only be her daughter’s way of making sure everything had its place, and was put into it. Little cubbyholes built in by the door for shoes, books organized by subject and alphabetized, a few lying on the dark coffee table near where Mercy sat, reading one of them. But it was not without its hominiess, the smell of Mercy’s coffee in the air, and even Ana was not immune to it, walking to the mantle over a small fireplace, where a few framed pictures nestled among bright silver and blue garlands.

“A bit personal innit?” Tracer looked at the mantle herself, ‘Not quite the barracks you imagined.”

Ana let her fingers rest on a picture of Pharah and Mercy at their wedding, smiling under the chuppah, the pink roses and daisies in Mercy’s hands blooming brightly. Pharah’s hair was in a low ponytail, tightly held and shining, but she wore still the small gold charm in her hair, as she had for so many years. No longer, of course, not after everything that had happened between them.

Ana gave a mirthless chuckle, “All Angela’s, even before she was punishing me.”

Tracer grabbed at the picture. “She built that chuppah herself, you know. So it’d be a piece of her that was also Ang’s dream. Didn’t put it that way, of course, Fareeha, but that’s what it was.”

There were other pictures, crowded family tables and smiling faces in different locations--bright beaches and a ski chalet, even one at Disneyland Paris all of them squeezed into the frame together. There were, of course, none of Ana.

Tracer pointed to one at the edge of the mantle, Pharah and Tracer side by side as comrades they could not have imagined becoming, everything bright and green around them, both smiling, Tracer holding onto an iron gate, but her other arm firmly around Pharah. Pharah wore her usual deep blue, and Ana found herself jealous at the tightness of her grip on Tracer, the way they grinned at each other, Pharah’s other hand at her shoulder.

“She cared for me, you know.” Tracer said, tapping at the edge of the picture.

“Yes,” Ana rolled her eyes and turned away from the mantle, her voice brisker and more cold than even that wind outside “I know, she preferred you to me, because she preferred anyone to me, if this is your point I can just go home, because--”

“Bloody ‘ell, Ana, it’s not what I said!” Tracer scowled, the lights in her eyes near to bursting with the heat of lost patience. “You are so bloody lucky I owe both Rein and Jack a bloody fucking SCORE of favors--”

“--Well, you don’t owe me any, so you can just--”

“God no, you’d ‘ad to ‘ave done something kind for me even once for me to owe you--”

“--Oh, poor pitiful Lena, as if you don’t have enough adoration, you attention hou--”

“--You meanspirited little desert rat, ought to let you rot, I ought--”

“--You don’t know the first thing about--”

“SHE’S ‘OLDING ME UP IN THIS PICTURE!” Tracer had taken it, and held it in front of Ana’s face. Angela looked up from her book, around the room for a moment, confused, and both Ana and Tracer fell quiet. “Didn’t notice, did you? When you looked? But she is. Was just after me last birthday. Couldn’t really stand on me own much.”

Ana took the picture from her and looked down at it. Of course it was clear, looking at it now. Pharah's arm was at her waist, and her thumb was looped into Tracer’s belt loop, holding her close to Pharah’s solidness. Her other hand was at Tracer’s shoulder, steadying her, as Tracer did her best to hold herself up. She should have seen it.

Tracer took it back from her and placed it back on the mantle. “Not many people see that, when they look, because that’s way with Fareeha, right? I meant--and you never knew this--she literally helped take care of me.”

“No benefit to ‘er, mostly a drain on ‘er already limited time, being as she was running all of Overwatch herself. But from the time I started to need a bit of ‘elp, now and again,” she passed a hand across the pictures, and small whirls opened, showing she and Pharah together, in a park, in Tracer’s bedroom, out on Winston’s patio, poring over paperwork, simply sharing a lunch together, “Every Thursday, eight to eight, she did. Earlier, it was Overwatch paperwork,” she touched the edge of that whirl in its frame, and it came alive, she and Pharah arguing playfully over a stack of papers, “Pretending it was on business. Got to be more and more, of course. Took the pressure off Em and Win, when I couldn’t ‘ardly do nothing for meself. Cooked, did the washing,” she touched the edge of another photo, and the two of them were in a dark pub, Tracer in a corner chair with the table tucked up close to her, “Got me out the ‘ouse, when she could. When I could, honestly. And,” her voice got soft, “at the fag end of it all…”

She touched the edge of a silver frame, the whorl opening just a little more to show Pharah feeding Tracer, Tracer’s body trembling.

Ana looked at the photos, and then over toward the window, where a soft morning snow was falling, so heavy in the drifts that it was easy to forget that it was built of delicate individual lace. Had she been gone from her daughter’s life for so much of that year? She had known that Pharah had assumed the duties of Overwatch, that she was often too busy to be seen, but she had pictured something so much different. So much more in the ways that Ana had isolated herself.

“You know,” Tracer passed a hand over all the frames, bringing the photos back to themselves, and put her hands on her hips, “I ‘ave had a bit more fun in me life, than that particular bit of it, that much I’ll say. Don’t much like to think about it, though really, you get so much of life, and only, what, two percent of it, maybe three or four at the outside, is all that bad, than what is there to fuss about? But,” She pointed to Ana, “Much as I ‘ate it, you need to know it. You ‘ave to learn to ‘ear Fareeha, love. You must, if there’s any ‘ope at all.”

Tracer walked away from the mantle, and away from Mercy, and hustled toward the kitchen, small but well-appointed, and laid out in a certain unmistakeable logic that could only have come from Pharah’s own mind. She had put so much of herself, Ana thought, in this home, even as soft as all the furnishings were, and even with the Shabbat candlesticks and kiddush cup tucked into the corner of the kitchen. It was as if Mercy was the rose and Pharah the trellis, growing around the things that Pharah had made.

Pharah was studying a cookbook carefully in the kitchen, her eyes narrowed as she read the same recipe over and over again, flipping back and forth. She had, on her kitchen island, a very large ham, and several ingredients in front of her, everything examined and re-examined as she quietly mouthed the words of the cookbook to herself. It was silly, to see it as another rejection of Ana herself, and yet she felt herself bristle at it. It was one thing, that Ana knew she kept no particular part of her Muslim heritage particularly close, but it was another to see something so plainly in front of her.

Ana watched her with such rapt attention that she did not even notice Mercy come up behind the two of them.

“Is that a ham?”

“Yes.” She did not look up from the cookbook, but looked back to the ham, and then at her book, flipping through to another part, scowling at it all the while. “I understand how to make the bacon my father sends. I have learned how to make a fry-up. This seems like it should not be that difficult, but...it’s entirely new to me.”

Mercy stood silently for a moment. It had never been stated, but she thought that somehow it had been agreed by them that though she understood Pharah was not religious in the slightest, and sometimes a bit aggressively areligious, depending on her mood, Mercy herself was, and the idea of using her cookware to make pork turned her stomach, just a touch. Was she being unreasonable? Pharah did all of the cooking and never asked anything of her, and--

Pharah’s head snapped up, as if she could read the thread running through Mercy’s mind. “This is disposable.” She touched her hand to the aluminium roaster the ham sat in. “For Christmas.”

Ana turned to Tracer. “You came to show me what, that without my guidance, my daughter is going to forget herself entirely? Become some soft Londoner full of pig fat? I should expect a Christmas tree next? I know that, that is why--”

“Ana,” Tracer looked over at her, “You ever just think of...shutting up, every now and again? Watch. Learn something. God’s sake.”

Mercy thoughtfully touched at the edge of the counter.

“Fareeha. I am Jewish, you are Muslim.” She looked at her wife. “We don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“Oh!” Pharah laughed, the fierce concentration of her dissipating immediately as she looked to Mercy, “Yes! No, no, Angela this is not for us. I was--” She closed the cookbook. “Tracer loved Christmas, very much. I thought that Emily and Winston, that they probably wouldn’t--Emily loves the ham, especially--that it would be hard for them. I thought I would bring Christmas to them, in some small way. I can’t--” she looked back down at her glistening pink ham, “I can’t give them, what it is they want, of course. But a ham, I can give. After what happened,” her face grew dark, and serious, “after what was done to her…”

Mercy looked at her with great love, gave an adoring huff of a sigh, and smiled. “What a beautiful idea.”

Pharah pulled herself from her red cloud, and nodded happily.

Ana stared at the couple, both chatting now about the ham, side by side, neither of them having any particular clue what they were doing, but the room was filled with their love of their friends, and for each other, and their child, so much so that Ana could almost smell the dinner they planned to cook. They glowed completely in the light not of what they were given, but what they were giving, Mercy inelegantly pointing out side dishes, Pharah noting what might be in the well-stocked and organized fridge.

“My father!” Pharah exploded in the thought, an excited light in her eyes Ana had not seen for many years. Had she missed all the times it had flashed? Had she only seen her daughter’s cool, collected gaze? Pharah looked at the aviator’s watch on her wrist, and then up at a small clock on the side of the cabinet. “He should be awake by now. He would know how to make this, though I think Rebecca prefers a turkey for Christmas.”

Ana could say nothing, merely took a step toward them, mouth agape.

“That’s right, Ana,” Tracer got up from leaning against the wall, “Despite your very best efforts, she grew up ‘uman. Despite your very best efforts to make ‘er something like you, she ‘as a bloody ‘eart after all, and friends, and a family, and she takes care of them, when they need it. Must ‘ave been Sam’s influence, I think.”

Ana felt a flash of guilt, and pain, and then anger, and she whirled around to punch Tracer, who jumped to the side as Ana’s fist plunged through the wall but did not stop her pursuit. Tracer dodged again as she came, Ana frustrated by her age, and Tracer’s grin, humbled by the fact that it had never only been her ability to blink that made her a terrifying opponent, angrier yet still. Until Tracer stopped in front of her, and let her hit. Ana put her full force behind it, wanting to take away everything this smug little Englishwoman was saying, because if she could simply hit Tracer, make her stop, it would not be true.

She hit.

The fist went right through her.

“I’m a GHOST, ANA.” Tracer erupted into a fit of laughter so hard it took her a minute to recover, which was not nearly long enough for Ana’s taste, and put her hands on her hips, affecting an exaggerated accent, ‘You look fairly good for someone who has been dead six months, forgot that awful quick, didn’t you then!?”

Ana let her fists fall to the side, though she did not unclench them. “Take me home.”

“Cut a bit close, that did?” Tracer peered into her face. “You know why I put up with you”

“Jack--”

“No, though you do owe ‘im a bit of kindness, for ‘is work in the ‘ereafter for you. But that isn’t it, Ana.” She looked over to where Mercy tenderly touched her belly as Pharah talked on the phone, wishing her father a Merry Christmas, beginning to measure out something for a glaze. “Jack believed in you, and I owe him my field career, and that’s the truth. Reinhardt believed in you, and he was always kind to me. But none of that is why. I’m ‘ere because Angela Zeigler did everything she could for me, from the day she met me, even to the end, and so if I have to spend one day in your miserable company, I will do that for her. Because she is a woman what believes in mercy above all else, and still thinks you deserve it, no matter me own leanings. Think on that, Ana Amari. You’ve done nothing but spit in ‘er face, going on years, and she still ‘olds out ‘er ‘hand so you can do it all over again.”

Ana crossed her arms, but did not take her eyes off the couple. “And you want me to admire this?”

“No, don’t expect that much from you, but I do want you to be cognizant of it, at the least.” She nodded back to Pharah and Mercy. “Some people don’t count the cost.”

Mercy smiled as she backed away from Pharah for a moment. “I am having a wonderful idea. Just wait.”

Before Pharah could say anything, Mercy had her coat on and was running out of the house, and before Ana could even think to protest, Tracer had the two of them zipping after her. The door to the neighbors was right across from theirs, and Mercy knocked on it aggressively, and then looked at her watch, and then knocked again, perhaps deciding it was a perfectly acceptable hour.

A man, in a warm Christmas sweater, his slippers still firmly on his feet, answered.

“Angela? Is everything all right?”

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” she grasped his hand in both of hers, “But I am wondering, if you have any Christmas decorations you aren’t needing? You see, we have friends, and it has been a very lonely holiday for them, and Fareeha and I have nothing to give.”

“So she’s going to bother this man and his family on Christmas Day.” Ana laughed, “The Christmas spirit. Togetherness. Poor planning. If family love can be made by cheap tinsel, than what is it anyway?”

“Shut up, you, and watch.”

The man startled for a minute, but then nodded his head, “Of course, of course, I know you had some unpleasantness this year, and, I’ll never forget that night you came over, when Camilla was sick.”

Mercy shook her head, as if it had been nothing, and walked in the door, following him as he looked in closets and pulled out garlands and took some ornaments off his tree, and put them all in a box. He bent down to explain to the children what they were doing, and a little girl ran off to the fridge and brought back a fat santa made of paper plates, a little boy with a stuffed dormouse with antlers.

They chatted happily to Mercy, and she thanked them profusely, dropped the box right inside her door, and continued onto another house, where there was a tangle of lights given and a bag of tinsel, and then the next, where Mercy was given a large plateful of cookies and other sweets from a little old woman, on and on until Mercy could hardly carry any of it, stacked up as it was. Some of them took it oof their own trees, out of their own kitchens, a spare stocking was taken off the mantle here and there. None of it matched, and all of it was secondhand at best, but it seemed to glisten and gleam with joy.

As Mercy went to round a last corner, Tracer pulled the two of them into small street that would have been called an alleyway in any civilized city, and pulled out of her pocket a tiny tree. She set it on the ground, and blew on it, and it grew to a fine height, not too large, nothing like the giant affair Winston had set up every year in his home since he’d been in London for Christmas, but smelling freshly of pine. She regarded it, and then threw a strand of tinsel here or there on it, so it would look properly discarded.

Mercy saw it out of the corner of her eye, backed up, and her eyes grew wide as she took it all in, something she never could have imagined. She clung the little box she had closer, running best as she could toward the house, calling Pharah’s name.

Ana stood for a moment, the snow falling softly still around her. It was snowing quite a bit, for London, off and on, or maybe it was only Tracer’s wish that this represent Christmas as best it could that made it so. She went to open her mouth, once, twice, but could not bring herself to say what she meant to, what she wanted to.

“She’s done nothing but help the people around her, be kind to them,” Tracer supplied, “So why wouldn’t they, the one time they get the chance, return it? Come on,” She took Ana by the elbow, “night’s coming on fast.”

Tracer pulled the two of them down the alleyway, and they turned the corner into what might have been a wall but instead was just another street, in a different part of the city, the darkness having fallen in the moment it took them to slide between the bricks.

Around them, the warehouse and odd converted apartment buildings rose, lights in this window or that, a tiny balcony with a number of rowdy revelers on it, drinking some hot rum thing that Ana could smell even from the street. Tracer bopped down the sidewalk with her, drawing this thing or that out of her pocket for a stray cat, smiling as she looked into the windows, and then they turned the corner, and her smile faded, just a bit.

It was the same street she had seen with Reinhardt, and yet it lay so still as the last of the light faded from the city that it hardly seemed that it could have been that same place that had been so fresh and alive, every building like tombstones in a row.

The house was quiet outside, and so grey. Where before, Ana could have ignored that it had once been a simple shipping warehouse, there was no mistaking it now, the cool metal of it tinny and burnished as the streetlights began to fly on. There were no bright sounds of cheer, or games being played. No lights trimmed the bannisters, no garlands played in the windows, and even the small dashing of snow seemed greyer than Ana had remembered when she had visited with Reinhardt. There was no doubt about the quietness settled over this house, and the darkness of it, just one lone lamp lit, the window before it dimming and greying even that.

She should have expected it, and yet, somehow, it came as a surprise to her.

“No point in the, ‘narrative structure’, if Tiny Tim is already dead. As I already told Reinhardt.” She looked over at Tracer. “Aren’t I supposed to turn over a new leaf, and prevent your death?”

Tracer shook her head. “No one could do that, love. If love could have saved me, I’d ‘ave lived forever, and it wouldn’t ‘ave been you that did. Just ‘ow life is sometimes. Sometimes, in life, you lose, love, and that’s the bitter truth of it.”

“So what’s the point? Exactly.”

Tracer bucked up her chin and smiled. ‘Come on then! And I will show you, what it is you’re meant to see.”

They slid through the doorway, Tracer not even attempting any manner of gymnastic endeavor to do so. The smells of fresh baking and cinnamon and apples no longer permeated through the house, and Ana looked about for the giant tree with its bright lights and collection of ornaments, the tinsel hung in garlands around the windows and down the stairway, the music playing, and yet there was nothing, just one lone lamp where Emily sat, even the brightness of her red hair dull in the shadowed light.

She was reading a book, curled up in the corner of the couch by herself, her hair hanging over the side where the light might have touched her face, and Ana noticed that her eyes ran over and over the same page, as if simply playacting at reading while the whole of her mind was somewhere else.

The door opened, and a cool deep wind flushed in as Winston came in the door, removing his fogged glasses and wiping them on his sweater.

“Emily.” He gave her a weak smile.

“Oh,” she set down her book, page still unread, “I wondered when it was you’d be coming home.”

She rose to her feet, slowly and quietly, and started toward Winston, who just as quietly took off his shoes and put on his slippers. There was none of the laughter or raucousness that Ana had felt in this room, before, and suddenly, not crowded with a group full of Oxtons, it felt so large. So empty. So silent.

“I’m sorry, I--”

“Oh no,” she tightened her sweater around her, “no, don’t be.”

“I went to--” He hung up his coat, and stared at the wall a moment, “I went to take a wreath, to where she was--well--where she is.” He tried to smile. “One of the silver tinsel ones, with all the rainbow colors and bells? She always--” He took a breath.

“Oh aye, she loved those. Would like that, that you did that, I think.”

“There are some lovely trees, there, I think in summer it’ll be---she loved green--” Emily touched his arm gently, “--it’s a nice place-- brushed off the stone a little bit. For the wreath.”

Emily nodded. “Was good of you. I have, well, there’s a ready meal in the oven.”

They stood there, simply looking at each other, until Winston nodded sadly and slowly worked his way over to the kitchen, opening the oven and taking out the meals inside on their little cookie sheet. Emily had bought several, for him, and he took a large bowl out of the cupboard and dumped them joylessly inside, mixing the mash and what passed for a steak braise all together. He poured himself a large glass of wine, and passed the bottle to Emily, and they sat across from each other at the small table, saying nothing as they quietly ate their food, or picked at it, rather, only a few errant bites here and there.

“It’s the job.” Ana said, barely convincing herself, the Christmas of the past in this same house still dancing in her head. “We lose people. Good people.”

“Didn’t bring you ‘ere because I thought you’d care about Em and Win.” Her arms were crossed, and she leaned against the wall, looking at the two of them, her eyes glistening. Then she shook off her sadness, the jingle bells in her hair ringing as she did it, and smiled again. “Ana, did you just call me a good person?”

Ana chuckled. “Don’t get a big head.”

There was a knock at the door, and a robotic voice rang out over the house, echoing in the emptiness of it.

“Angela is at the door.”

Winston looked puzzled, but rose up to meet it, trying to pick his feet up a little and put on a brave face, giving an unconvincing smile as he opened the door. Mercy’s cheeks were rosy as she bore the ham in her arms, covered with foil but smelling like a dream, salty and sweet and rich, garlands wrapped around her as she struggled to carry them, her eyes bright with the joy that she was determined to bring with her.

“Happy Christmas, Winston!” She came in the door without even being asked, “I was wondering, if maybe Fareeha and I could join you? For the cheer?”

Pharah came up behind her, lugging in the tree and hardly swearing at the pine branches in her face, that same snowflake sweater on in that same bright blue, a red bow jokingly tied in her hair from the decorations they had brought. She looked to Winston, and then took a tattered but convincingly repaired wreath off her arm and stuck it to the door with an adhesive hook, and nodded.

Winston moved to the side as Emily rose to meet them, Mercy embracing them both and hurrying to the kitchen as Pharah rushed back out to the taxi, bringing in boxes and quickly trimming up the home as neatly as she could with the materials she had been provided, doing an impressive job with the few boxes of scattershot decor.

And as she worked, the room began to change, even so slightly. Emily began to put ornaments on the tree, and WInston asked Athena to play some Christmas music, and in a few moments the room was not as it had been on that night, but it began to take on the glow of a surviving candle, one that might light others, one that might let this place know warmth again.

“Fareeha worked--” Ana sighed and walked to where she was decorating the mantle seriously, adjusted each bow, “She worked very hard.”

“Right, she did. Fareeha is like that, as I’ve said. She took care of me, with not a word. Wouldn’t let me protest it, neither. She’s here for Win, and Em, in their time of need, because Fareeha is nothing if not a rock, right?”

“She is very practical.” Ana continued to say these things, but they felt further disconnected form her, as if she was a ghost herself, simply saying the things that she had said before, over and over again, in a loop, ever so softly. “No,” she chuckled, just as softly, “Zeina. Not me. Sam. But not me.”

Tracer faced her, arms crossed, but the look on her face was no longer angry, or cruel, but simply searching.

“You talk and talk over ‘ow an Amari shouldn’t ‘ave to say nothing, and Fareeha never does, but with her actions. But you still never could speak ‘er language, could you? That all being true, what do you think she’s saying? And what did you say to ‘er, running off all the time, never telling ‘er when you’d be ‘ome, or if, wondering if you’d died until one day, it was true? Or, you let it be true. Even to ‘er. No Ana, you say Fareeha should speak your language, but she always ‘as. You spoke perfectly bloody clear, to ‘er.

“L--”

The thought was interrupted by another knock at the door, a door that did not wait to be answered, but simply opened, and a flood of people came in, all bearing various small things; a Christmas pudding here, a roast there, some garland, gallons of drink. The Oxtons came in, chattering and laughing, and kissed Winston and Emily on the cheeks, and told Mercy how she was glowing, and Mark clapped Pharah’s shoulder and told her what a wonderful job she’d done, and sorry that they had taken a bit of time, but the family was a bit like herding cats, wasn’t it.

Dva and Brigitte walked through the door to calls of ‘hallo’ and ‘happy Christmas’ and an older woman spotted at Brigitte’s hand as she went toward the kitchen with a large bag of rum and brandy and sweetness.

“That a ring, Miss Lindholm? Thought we might miss it?”

Brigitte laughed like a little girl, a blush rising to her cheeks, and flashed its brightness. “I never think you miss anything. She asked me today.”

Dva shrugged, but in that way that indicated she was quite pleased with herself. “Lena’d give me a hard time for doing it on Christmas.”

“Oh she would! She was wicked!” an aunt laughed, “But I think it’s beautiful. We would ‘ave invited you personally, but expected you back in the Nordics, we did.”

“We would have,” Dva nodded, “but we thought…”

“Of course, of course, love, say no more, it was right kind of you to think of it, and we’re delighted to ‘ave you! Oi!” She called back to the room, “Guess who’s getting married!”

There were cheers and jokes and a dozen questions thrown at the happy couple, as cookies and plates of food were passed around. Pharah was complimented on the quality of her ham, Mercy was told how beautifully she glowed, a few children hung off of Winston and asked him to tell the story of how he beat Doomfist again, though he always looked a little sheepish when he told it. Emily was rapidly pulled into an animated conversation over the best of the Christmas puddings, and the tree was lit, twinkling brightly if a bit patchwork.

Ana would have been lying to say that the room took on the same festivity of the year prior, as there was still the sense of something missing, like an empty spot on a curio shelf, where all the dust and all the space let you know something belonged there, but it was warmer than it had been, and it took on that same glow, even if slightly smaller than the years prior. There was laughter, even if there were a few tears wiped away, a few reassurances that the first year is always the hardest, and didn’t Lena do us all such a favor by bowing out so close to Christmas that the sadnesses seemed to roll together? But still the laughter, the warm, the closeness pervaded, and the rum punch was poured, and they banded together, the lights seeming to grow brighter as they did so.

Parvati jumped up on the back of the couch, and went to hit the side of her glass before thinking better of it and simply whistling loudly, the room turning to her, and, after a bit, deciding to quiet down to a few muttersw, and listen what she had to say.

“Happy Christmas, everyone. Know that we all ‘ave a bit on our minds, this year. Not the first time we’ve ‘ad it. Won’t be the last.”

It sounded so much like Ana’s practicality, and so little, and she felt something inside of her pull, some realized notion that to know the facts of the situation and to wield them cruelly were two different swords, than there had been so many people around her that had always known this, and it hd been Ana alone who refused to see.

“Life’s made up of meetings, and partings, and that’s the way of it, innit?. We’ll carry Lena with us, always.” Parvati raised her glass, “To Lena. I’d say may she rest in peace, but, think we all know that’s the last thing she’d want.”

Everyone took a drink of whatever they had in their hand, the moment not dark at all, but not because everyone in the room was looking away from the shadow. No, they all clearly knew that shadow, and had sat with it, but they brought their own candle into it, burnishing the pain of the loss with the memory of what had been.

Despite herself, she was taken by the notion. Despite herself, she smiled.

Tracer leaned in close to her. “You miss the love of it, Ana, and that’s your tragedy. You don’t see how love can make something beautiful. You see the reality of it, but you don’t see how love can make a hard reality somehow bearable.”

In the back of her mind, London stood, bombed out once again and rebuilding, the patchwork of it stronger and better than what had came before. Hadn’t Egypt done the same? And wasn’t she a daughter of Egypt? How horrible, to know that Tracer was right.

A man began to sing, not a Christmas carol at all, for Ana was beginning to allow the holiday to melt away and see the truth behind it, the core that came together in a million different worlds, some of which had never seen a Christmas at all, and as his voice raised above the din, they began to join him.

“...pretty bubbles in the air, they fly so high, nearly reach the sky….”

Sniffles and tears mixed in, wiped away with a joyful punctuation.

“...Then like my dreams, they fade and die!”

Arms were drawn close around each other, the entire room a tight knot of human light against the darkness, as their voices rose even higher.

“FOOOOOOORTune’s always hiding! I’ve looked everywhere, I’m forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air.”

There was a collapse of laughter, admissions that Lena would have considered it the fittest hymn and carol and battle song of all, and another round of spiced drinks passed around in pitchers.

“No matter what, nothing sinks them.” There was admiration in her voice, now.

Tracer’s voice lowered. “Soft Londoners, full of pork fat.”

She whipped around to look at Tracer. “Don’t MOCK me.”

“You mock yourself, “ Tracer snorted, “acting as if it’s some manner of courage to push away every kind thing what comes your way the whole of your life.”

“I--” Ana stopped herself.

If she valued honesty, what was the lie in what Tracer was telling her? The whole of her life, she had believed that sentiment came to nothing, and it was only encouraging weakness to pad things for herself, for others. How could she ever have thought it would be so simple? She looked at Pharah, sitting alone at the edge of the room, smiling as she drank at her mug, but still somehow disconnected from it all, rubbing at the edge of her watch with a distant look in her eye.

“Fareeha,” Ana watched her, “Tracer, tell me she will be happy. Tell me I haven’t ruined her the way I ruined myself.”

“I live only in the moment, Ana. Future’s not me domain,” She gazed over at Pharah and considered a moment. “But I see something...Fareeha, if you look carefully, you can see a red light about her. You can see a shadow on her face. I see an anger, a rage, deep within her, and if these shadows do not change, I fear for what I see in her. I’m only the ghost of the present, and can’t tell you rightly, of course. But you must remember her getting arrested in Dublin, after I died.” Tracer shook her head. “You turned cold, but Fareeha? Puts lines around everything because she knows what’ll ‘appen if she doesn’t. Fire in her may burn down every good thing in her.”

Ana could not draw her eyes away from Pharah, could not stop seeing the reflection of red light about her, kept telling herself over and over again that it was just from the tree so near, that there was nothing mysterious about it at all, and that every way she had taught Pharah to make an island of herself had not ruined everything.

The party continued, Pharah eventually being drawn from her chair and brought into the games, Ana convincing herself that her eye was old, and failing her. The warmth of the party continued, drawn close and near with laughter and joy, kisses on the cheek and close hugs, questions about Dva and Brigitte’s plans, stories about Tracer, all coming together into a mulled wine all its own.

“Right, then.” Tracer said softly.

Ana looked back to her, a spirit with sharp words and sharper powers, but very much again a woman Ana had simply known, looking at her family with a sorrowful gaze, wishing she could touch them, sing with them, love them. Tracer was like Ana, in that way, she supposed.

No. Because her family would delight to hold and kiss her again, to hear her voice ring over the room, to see her smile. Ana’s family would not. Pharah barely looked at her. Mercy hated her, after her actions this morning. Her grandchild would not know her. She felt that same pang of jealousy and hunger that she had in the tiny Brixton apartment, deeper now, and more keen.

Worst of all was the realization that she had chosen this for herself, over and over again, in every word and action. That she had built the walls so high and so well that no one could hope to scale them, that she had laid the broken glass of her own personal miseries across the top and never for one moment realized that her daughter had the strength to not attempt to climb it any longer. That she would urge others never to try, and show them the scars on her palm from her own failures.

“Can’t stay much longer.”

Ana noticed the party beginning to get quieter, the lights in Tracer’s eyes beginning to fade, and a sudden panic began to grip her, the sense that she might lose everything she felt she had only begun to grasp, that she was on the verge of something great, slipping through her fingers.

“You can’t already go. There’s so much more to teach me.”

Tracer shook her head, somehow growing thinner, and smaller. “I was never meant to be long in this world, Ana. It was always meant to be brief.”

“I have,” Ana began, and then cleared her throat, and looked to Tracer, “I, I was wrong, not to come to your Christmas party. To your birthday.”

Tracer leaned against the wall, and the party faded from view, the golds and reds and greens fading into the greys and blue of the city, Tracer now leaning against the wall of an underground station, cap on her head, leather jacket pulled in close.

“If I could do it over again, I would not have missed your last year.” She paused, “If I could do it over again, I would not have been myself.”

“Why didn’t you, Ana?”

There was no anger in it, not this time, just a hanging sadness as she shook her head and leaned against the wall, some annoucement Ana could not quite make out coming over the station. A chill ran through her, in that moment, only the two of them standing there, the hazy glow of fluorescent lights overhead dimming the world in a way Ana could not quite understand, but knew intrinsically.

“We wasn’t friends, not really, but…I was dying.”

Ana opened her mouth to protest that this was in the past, that it was not Tracer’s realm. That there was nothing to explain, because it was past now, and so what did it matter, she could not go back and have attended either. She opened her mouth to say that no one would have wanted her there anyway. She opened her mouth to say that she was jealous Tracer had so much of love. She opened her mouth to say, that she had been too proud to admit she was lonely.

There was a rumble, down the tracks, the train speeding its way toward the station. She could feel the rush of air coming from the tunnel, the lights in darkness, coming.

“Was dying, Fareeha was trying to bear up under it for everyone, and you couldn’t even--not for neither one of us--not for anyone.”

The train began to screech into the station, and Ana had the horrifying realization, all in one moment, that it was here for Tracer, and surely enough, as she glanced up to the clock, that horrible long shadow of a hand was drawing toward midnight.

“I should have gone,” she barked out as quickly as she could, but that terrible, terrible screeching echoed all through the station, shrieking high and loud as she tried to take Tracer’s hand, only to find that it was fading away, “I never hated you, I only, you were allowed to be light-hearted, and I wasn’t, and I was so--”

Tracer shook her head, her eyes dull with exhaustion, “Can’t ‘ear you, love. ‘Ave to go now.”

“I can do it different!” She reached out again, “I can learn to be different! I should have been, and I wasn’t, but, Tracer--”

The doors to the train opened, and Tracer looked at them with a smile, even as her hand shook. “That’ll be me train. I trust you to the spirit what’s coming round next. You must see that spirit, love, no way round it.”

“What was the point of Jack sending you if I can’t undo any of this!?” She stood in front of Tracer. “I have learned, now, and so you need to send me back, and I’ll do it better,” Tracer’s body passed through her, and she stepped into the car and grabbed onto a pole, glancing back, “LENA!!!”

The doors slammed shut, and Ana pulled and pulled, but she could not stop the horrible droning of the announcement declaring that they were pulling away from the station, and however she screamed and pounded, Tracer could not hear her, but simply looked up at the advertisements on the side of the car, lost in her own world. The train pulled away as quickly as it had come, speeding into the darkness, the only sound in Ana’s ears her own throbbing heartbeat.

The photo of she and Pharah was cool in her hand.

#apologies to other versions of CC I have straight up stolen lines from ahhah

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quirklessidiot · 4 years

Text

Title: coward :: old friends Pairing: Y/N x Miya Atsumu Genre: angst, romance, and very slow burn [ex to lovers au] Warnings: Cursing, alchohol, mentions of unprotected sex, unplanned pregnancy, and mentions of abortion

Synopsis: Your kids openly hate Miya Atsumu and the appearance of an old friend stirs up mischief and unwanted memories of the past. [ft. aomine daiki from knb] notes:

i probably cant stress this enough but thank you so much for all the love T-T it means a lot <3 like 118 followers in a span of two weeks? That’s just shhddhbdbx anyways i hope enjoy another buttload of angst! remember to always stay safe and wash ur hands!!

i find it funny when people point out atsumu to be a player or a fuckboy because this guy looks like a one-woman (or no woman lets be honest) type of person, his whole personality revolves around volleyball i guess and being straightforward to everyone with an idgaf attitude ksksks

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“You haven’t even wiped your sweaty backs and you both think you’re good to go?” you narrowed your eyes at the two boys who sheepishly gave you a smile as you lightly scolded them for not taking care of their health, the boys had decided to join a mini sports club after class where you could play for an hour any sport you’d like in the gym. They had promised it wouldn’t affect their studies.

Bending down to their level, you signal them to turn around. The pair furrows their brows, not wanting to be coddled by you in public, when you noticed that they were about to complain, you cocked a brow at their actions and tighten your lips. Begrudgingly they slowly turned around, not wanting a lecture from you.

You first wiped Yuuto’s back and handed him a t-shirt he could change on. As you were wiping Youta’s back with another towel, he suddenly spoke out, “Kaasan, that Atsumu-guy’s looking at you again.” he frowns.

Yes, apparently Miya Atsumu had the time to lounge around at a kids sports club and accompany his friend Hinata who would occasionally be there to help around because he was bored and they were ordered to rest (judging from your past conversations with Hinata these days, you noticed that the young man did not know the meaning of what resting was).

You thought that the little scene at your workplace would be the last time you saw him but these past days, you saw him a lot. It seemed to be getting too frequent to the point where you wondered if it could even be called a coincidence at all, “Do you want me to spike at him, kaasan?” the oldest twin asks as he turns to you, a small pout on his lips.

“Now, now, do you remember the story I told you about the bully last night?”

“Don’t throw stuff at people?” He blinks innocently.

You let out a soft and gentle laugh, the one only reserved for your boys, “Yes, Yo-chan. Don’t throw stuff at people.” you leaned in to give him a peck on his nose in which he immediately moved away and wrinkled his forehead in disgust.

“Stop doing that, kaasan. I’m a big kid already!”

“Hai, hai.” You patted his head and stood up while handed him his t-shirt, “Hurry along and change now, you big baby.”

Atsumu watches the bizarre interaction from afar, he’s never seen you this soft in public. Even when you were dating back then, the most public display of affection you two would have when you were dating was just you playing with his fingers and drawing small circles on his thighs unknowingly under the table (save for that one time where you wiped blood off his nose in public but then again you guys weren’t dating that time so that didn’t count) yet seeing you laughing, wiping the sweat out of the little boys back, and even giving a small peck on his nose was a very different sight to behold.

Daresay, it suited you.

“You’ve been staring at her for quite some time, Miya-san.” Sugawara comments as he puts the last grade-school volleyball on the cart. Atsumu jumps on the spot and rubs the back of his head nervously making Sugawara laugh in reply, “Funny, isn’t it? Whenever I talk to L/N-san, she’s always like ‘okay.’, ‘that’s nice.’, ‘good.’ yet when she’s with the kids, she’s the softest person ever.”

“Yeah…” The blonde mutters, “definitely funny.”

“Heard from Hinata that you and L/N-san used to be together back in college.”

That damn orange haired snake-

“Yeah, two years.” Atsumu clears his throat, “We, we fell out of love though.”

‘You fell out of love.’ he corrects in his head.

“Oho,Fates a fickle huh? Anyways, Me and Hinata are actually planning on inviting Y/N and the boys for dinner, do you want to come with us?”

“I have a girlfriend.” he replies in defense.

Sugawara looks at him, completely baffled by his reply then immediately bursts out into laughter, “I doubt Y/N would care, really…” He paused, “No offense.”

“None taken.” the blonde deadpanned.

You don’t know why you ended up at a chinese restaurant that night with one kid animatedly chatting Hinata Shoyou’s ear off while the other was openly glaring at Miya Atsumu, “Youta please swallow your food before talking.” you frowned, taking a napkin to wipe the rice off the mouth of the younger twin.

The blonde kept glancing at you but whenever he did, he’d receive a very harsh glare from Yuuto, “Hey watch where you’re looking at, jiji.” Yuuto suddenly spat out loud, catching him in the act this time as he stabs his chicken with a fork.

Sugawara sweat drops at the interaction unfolding in front of him while you try to tell your oldest son to be more kind to the man sitting in front of him, “Yeah. Listen to your mom, brat.” Atsumu frowns, in which the child retaliates with a tongue out.

“Yuuto, eat your food and stop disturbing Miya-san.”

Yet their stare-off seemed to continue as soon as you turned away from the pair and Sugawara had to intervene before Yuuto would pounce at the professional volleyball player across the table, “You should be nicer to him, Yuuto-kun. You want to be a setter right? He’s a better setter than I am.” Sugawara tries to ease off the tension between the two.

“He’s not,” Yuuto frowns, “I don’t even know why Kaasan says you’re the best setter in the whole wide world, Adler’s Kageyama Tobio’s obviously better!”

You feel yourself freeze up at Yuuto’s innocent babble, Atsumu seems to be taken aback by it too but he immediately regains himself, “Your mom’s got taste that’s all.” He leered at the six year old boy, not daring to back down from the brat’s challenge. Sugawara pales when the tension rises even higher and tries to get Hinata to ease it up but the orange-haired is too engaged into the conversation with the other twin.

“Baby, just eat your veggies and stop disturbing Miya-san.” You snap back to your senses as you evenly try to get him to calm down once again but he refuses, another trait he got from his father.

“Hey troll, the jiji won’t stop staring at kaasan!” he calls for his twin, trying to get him to back him up, “I told ya he was a crackhead!”

Your eyes widen at your son’s attitude and his uncouth table manners, “L/N Yuuto, that’s it!” You suddenly raise your voice, Yuuto’s scowl deepens as he crosses his arms. Everyone in the table turns silent by your outburst.

Anger, Miya Atsumu realizes how many different emotions you manage to muster out today. It was a lot more than what he had experienced with you, he’d usually take these emotions by crumbs back then since it was rare but it seemed that these boys had it easy with you. You were so open to them, so vulnerable.

“We’re going home right this instant after you apologize to Miya-san.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Yuuto…”

“Y/N, it’s alright-” Atsumu tries to ease up the kid's burden, suddenly feeling bad since it was his fault in the first place and the kid was probably just trying to protect you.

“I said I don’t wanna!” The oldest twin immediately stands up and runs away, you grab your youngest son by the hand who was sadly saying goodbye to his idol as you placed the payment for your meal on the table.

“He’s not usually like this.” You bowed your head, “Sorry Miya-san, I really am.”

He watches you dash away to the direction where your younger son ran off to, Youta trailing behind you as he waved goodbye to his two favorite men and a tongue out to Miya Atsumu, signaling that he too, like his brother, hated him.

“Way to go, atsumu-san” Hinata grimaced, openly judging him for picking a fight with a kid as he munched on his sweet and sour pork.

Later that same evening, you stood outside your sons room, regretting how you handled the situation. Of course, Yuuto was wrong to say that but you should’ve been more mindful with your tone and words. You were their mother and an adult for crying out loud!

“Yuuto?” You knock on the twins shared room, “Baby? Would you mind opening the door for a sec?”

“Kaasan, Yuuto says he don’t wanna!” Youta replies in his older brother's stead.

“Okay,” You calmly reply, expecting that, “Then can you tell Yu-chan that there's a glass of milk on the counter? I know he wants to drink some after that heavy dinner.”

“He says big boys don’t need milk, kaasan…” Youta paused, “But he says he’ll drink it later since we shouldn’t throw food.”

“Okay, goodnight boys.”

You slowly head to the couch and lay there, basking in the silence of your apartment and waiting for your son to come out of his room to be ready to talk. As you hear the door creak open, you see Yuuto slowly waddle his way towards the table where his milk was on, “Yu-chan? Can we talk?” you ask, your voice is soft as you slowly made your way to the oldest twin, bending down to his level so you could see him eye to eye, “Oh, baby...Kaasan is so, so, sorry…” You apologized, taking his small hands and resting your head on top of it.

“I don’t like yelling.”

“I know.”

“I had to protect ‘kaasan,” he frowns, his nose wrinkling, “He was looking at you badly.”

“Kaasan deserved it.”

“No one deserves to look at you badly, kaasan!” he exclaims, “You’re the bestest, kindest person in the whole wide world!”

You wondered if they’d still say that when they’d find out you were lying to them about how their father was just right in front of them tonight.

“ ‘Kaasan had hurt miya-san really bad before,” You try to explain to your son in words he could understand and digest as you run your hands through his silky black hair, “That’s why he’s like that…”

“B-But…” he tries to stammer out an explanation but you cut him off with a kiss on his cheek.

“You’ll understand what ‘kaasan means when you’re older,” you smile, slowly standing up and handing him his glass of milk, “Sometimes we hurt people really bad that even saying sorry can’t fix it.”

“W-was it really bad, ‘kaasan?” the boy asks, taking the milk to his small hands and drinking it slowly whilst trying to discern what you were saying. After placing the glass down, he asks, “Did you break his favorite toy or something?”

“Mhm,” You hummed, picking him up as he stifled a yawn and slowly nuzzled on your neck,“ ‘Kaasan broke something so important, she couldn’t fix it with just saying sorry.”

“Babygirl, aren’t you looking better these days?”

“You call me that one more time and I swear I’m disemboweling you.” You deadpanned, meeting his dark eyes. Aomine Daiki lets out a boisterous laugh right after when he sees your blank expression, “Still the same as ever, Y/N-chan, you really love breakin’ my heart.” he teased, clutching his heart in fake pain.

“Tch,” You clicked your tongue at the tall basketball player, “Tell that to the women you play around with.”

“I take it the boys are at school today?”

“They begged me to skip it since they heard you were back in japan.” You replied, recalling the twins fake sickness this morning just so that they could see the navy blue-haired giant.

“I’m surprised you even took the time off to see little ol’ me.”

“Don’t kid yourself.”

“Hn,” He hummed, leaning in closely as he rested his head on his palm, “I got news by the way, I was at our hometown and I bumped into obaasan.”

You cross your legs and lean back on the chair, the mere mention of your mother had you automatically on edge and annoyed.

“What did she say?”

“She asked me a favor,” He shrugged, taking in a sip of his banana milk, “Says that she wants to meet up with you… She mentions that ojisan’s gonna make time too, I think they’re going to try to make amends with you.”

“That’s nice.” You dryly remarked, clearly you didn’t care about their apology or their willingness to ‘talk’ it out.

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Daiki frowns, raising his hands in reply, “And judging by the look on your face, you’re not going to see them?”

Flashes of your childhood and the event that transpired six years ago wormed its way back to your head, it had been so long but its had severely affected and haunted you to this day, “I don’t think I’d ever want my kids near them, who knows what they’ll say around them.” you responded truthfully.

Daiki’s gaze turned soft as he noticed how tightly you were holding the coffee cup, “You got overtime again, right? How about I’ll take care of the boys in the meantime? You know how much they love the huge fridge and pachinko machine in my apartment... I’m also sure they miss their favorite ojisan.”

“Just make sure you hide your porno magazines.”

“That was one time, Y/N.”

You and Aomine Daiki go way back the tall boy lived right across your house and had been your companion since you were the tender age of six. He knew what went around your house, why you were so quiet and expressionless most of the time. At some point, the tall man tried to cross the line of friends to lover but he was only met with the very familiar blank gaze and harsh words of, “I don’t think I’ll ever see you that way.”

The man had no choice but to accept the scraps he was given, he couldn’t really blame you though. After the messed-up emotional trauma you experienced growing up, he knew you wanted nothing to do with the idea of families or lovers.

Yet one winter night while he was in the middle of his training for the national team, he received a phone call from you with two words he never expected to hear from you at all, “I’m pregnant.”

It’s been three years since he last saw you that time and he’s puzzled, who took advantage of you? Where was that asshole so he could beat him to a pulp? Why couldn’t the father be a man and face you? He becomes even more confused because apparently you knew this man very well and you had an intimate relationship with him, something he never imagined from you, “I broke up with him.”

“W-what?”

“I broke up with him,” you repeated, clutching the ultrasound picture on your hand tightly, it probably looked unrecognizable at that point, “I told him I never wanted to see him again.”

“You didn’t tell him?” He bellowed, he placed his hands on your arms and held you while shaking you lightly, “Y/N are you out of your mind? How are you going to raise a kid in this state? You may have graduated early but you’ve got student loans and yourself to fend for! How are you going to do it? Your parents disowned you for cryin’ out loud!”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? What do you mean? Do you want to have it aborted, Y/N?”

“I don’t know.”

Daiki lets out a frustrated sigh as he lowers his head, realization slowly dawned upon him at that moment, you were running away. Your defense mechanism had always been to run away. Ever since Aomine Daiki met you, he always noticed that whenever you had problems, you’d run towards the opposite direction and never meet them head-on.

They’d pile up to the point that he was worried you’d burst one day.

It had happened once before and it was something he prayed he’d never see again.

“You know you can’t keep running, right?” He manages to croak out softly, looking at you dead in the eye, your face was blank but your eyes held so much emotions in them; grief, anguish, misery, and what pained him the most was that you drowned yourself in these emotions that you probably didn’t know how to express them anymore because you were used to it.

“I can try.”

“You have to tell him, what’s his name? Where does he live? Y/N-”

“Don’t.” You replied, contrasting to the blank tone you were using moments ago, your voice was now soft. He notices that you’re inching closer to him and he observes you as you melt on his arms just like that moment eleven years ago, you’re shaking uncontrollably, “Please don’t tell him.”

“Y/N-”

“I-I- you-shouldn’t- can’t tell him, please just this one time,” You stammer, begging him with whatever strength you have left, he feels his jacket getting wet. He holds you tight, not knowing what to say anymore, whoever this jackass was, you must’ve really loved him because he’s never seen you this scared before, “just this one time, let me run away from this again.”

Miya Atsumu feels a tick on his forehead when a very tall, dark, and daresay, handsome man appeared to pick up the boys during the club activity today. He wouldn’t openly admit it but he wanted to talk to you after that little fiasco that he had with that brat but when this guy appeared out of nowhere instead of you.

He was beyond annoyed.

He couldn’t pinpoint where he actually saw this guy but he was very familiar.

“Oh, is that Aomine Daiki?” Sugawara gasped, completely surprised by the tall man’s presence.

“Wow, He’s way too tall to be japanese.” Hinata pointed out, “Is he a volleyball player? I wanna match him!”

“Shoyou no, he plays basketball for the NBA.” Sugawara comments, “I didn’t know Y/N knew him, he’s pretty big internationally and in japan too.”

Atsumu clenched his fists as he watched the brats easily cling onto him and ask him if they brought some gifts for them from abroad, judging by their body language, this guy must’ve been with you since the beginning.

“Oh, ninja shoyou was it?” The tall man suddenly exclaims, going up to Shoyou eagerly with no shame, “I watched some of your matches while I was in Brazil! I’m Aomine Daiki.”

Miya Atsumu wished this guy was an asshole but he was nothing like that, in fact, he looked like an excited kid when he started talking to the little orange-head, telling him how good he’d fit in at basketball with his jumps, “You must be the teachers?” he glanced towards Atsumu and Sugawara, the latter nodded but the blonde didn’t seem that amused by him.

“I’m Hinata’s teammate.” he said through gritted teeth, offering his hand to shake, “Miya Atsumu…”

“Nice to meet you, pal.”

“Daiki-ojisan, jiji’s an old friend of ‘kaasan back when she was studyin!” Youta exclaims randomly, Atsumu wants to snap at the brat for calling him jiji once again but he holds it back because he was still at odds with the other one and he didn’t want to strain whatever he had left with the excited one.

Daiki, on the other hand, feels his body stiffen at Youta’s random fact outburst. You had never told him who the father was until today, all he knew was that he was with you in Tokyo university and that you were very much in love with him.

Did this guy perhaps know who the boyfriend was?

“Friend, huh?” He laughs, taking his hand and shaking it, trying to lighten up the mood, “I heard she even got her first boyfriend there.”

The trio fell into silence at what Aomine said while the two kids tilted their heads at the new word they heard. The basketball player felt confused by the sudden silence and when he noticed the red ears of the blonde in front of him, realization finally dawned on him.

“That…” Atsumu clears his throat, ears tinged red by the man’s forwardness, “That would be me.”

Aomine’s eyes widen, no fucking way, “Wow,” he throws his head back, howling in laughter, were you a masochist? How could you lounge around the father of the kids without him knowing jackshit about what happened and still be alright? He immediately regains his composure, this poor blonde bastard was probably confused since he heard you just ghosted him and left him out of the blue, “You definitely get my respect, Miya-san.”

Atsumu doesn’t know why the man in front of him is so amused or why he’s taking out a scratch paper on the kids notebook to write his number on it, “I hope we can be friends, it's definitely an interesting story to hear how you two got together. Y/N never entertained me and I’ve been chasing her since we were thirteen.” he grins, as if he just hadn’t nonchalantly revealed that you had rejected him more times than Atsumu back in college.

The blonde setter is confused as the navy blue-haired man slaps a phone number on his palm, “Call me when you need a drinking company, alright? Let's talk, I’d love to hear how you ended up together.” the smile on his lips turning wider by the minute.

taglist [closed]

@fortheloveofiwaizumi ; @svtbitch ; @kiyoomile ; @lovedanii @juno-multifandom ; @gyubit17 ; @saeranoppa ; @nixxona ; @kyomihann @shorttstackk ; @intoomuchfandoms ; @yammmers ; @mx-minxx @itsmattsunshinehere ; @missingmystogan ; @volleybloop ; @imcravingyou ; @yams-wants-that-booty ; @liathachcapricious ; @pinknugget @seikamuzu ; @marigoldthoughts ; @sillykittt ; @baejinoffcl ; @alluring-akaashi ; @bnhasstuff ; @jungshookmeup ; @intheawks ; @bokuakadaily

@misosamu @Etherynaw @ryaaaax [hi, i can’t seem to tag u guys, i think you need to open your tags uwu]

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyu!! fanfics #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #miya atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu imagine #miya atsumu scenarios #miya atsumu headcanons #haikyuu angst #atsumu x reader #atsumu imagines

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ask-fantasy-sanders-sides · 4 years

Note

Hey Roman, Logan! Side note: we just found out you guys are Fate Touched. So. That explains quite a bit. Ask her radiance if you wanna know more :) - 🗡

”So I can assume you already know about Virgil's situation?" Logan asks, frowning slightly as he tries to puzzle out what all he should say in this situation. Goddess or not, he's not sure if it's safe to tell her the extent of what he's seen…

Eilistraee nods, "I know about his Sorcery. —Do not worry, Logan. I wouldn't tell the Sisters or their cults unless I had to. If I was planning on handing him over to be executed by the Gods, I would not have helped you save him."

Logan finds himself believing her. But, before he can let the existential dread of what they’re discussing — Which amounts, most probably, to interplanar treason — settle in, he has to comment,

"I don't remember telling you my name."

Eilistraee smiles at that, like she knows something he doesn't. Which, Logan will reluctantly admit, is possible in this specific circumstance.

"Virgil has told me about each of you. —And, of course, you and I are already acquainted." She smiles at Roman, who nods.

"I hope you aren't insulted that I haven't visited in… over a century?"

"We were both busy~" She teases, as if a century is anything to a Goddess.

"I'm not sure what is going on." Logan admits, getting them back on track once he's come to terms with the fact that he is, in fact, doing this.

"By all means, almost everything I've seen him do over these past few days should be impossible. He's wielded Mythal magic, changed the flow of time, and experienced more frequent Wild Surges than any wild magic Sorcerer I have ever heard of. I thought, initially, that he had been born with the power... But, if those spell-scars are any indication, he was not. Still, I've never seen spellscars of that shape or size."

"And they're angrier than before!" Roman cuts in, "I had seen his arm under those bandages a few nights ago, and they didn't look nearly that bad. But we didn't encounter any wild magic between then and now, so I don't know how they could have gotten worse…?"

"Virgil's current power is not something he was born with, that much is true." Eilistraee nods, "He was born with magic latent within him, but he purposefully pushed it down and ignored it. What he can do now stemmed from a disastrous encounter with Nethermancy, in which he was mutated by the Far Realm."

Roman and Logan gasp, and Patton is hopelessly confused. He looks between the three spellcasters in the room, hoping one of them remembers that he is but a regular, mundane person.

"...Ne...cro...mancy?"

"No, Nether. Dark Magic." Roman stage-whispers, looking frightened.

Well, that clarifies nothing at all, Patton frowns, then turns to Logan,

"Lo, you didn't mention that one the other day. I thought you said there were only eight?"

“That is because Nethermancy no longer exists." Logan frowns. Eilistraee sighs and shakes her head,

"As most things you will find tend to be… That is not entirely true. You know your magic comes from the Weave, yes?"

All three of them nod at that, and Patton knows the beginning of a lecture when he hears one. He tries his best to keep listening as Eilistraee continues,

"You can visualize the Weave as a spiderweb. Many threads tangle together to form it, more densely interconnected in some areas and more sparse in others. When you cast a spell, you are plucking on the web. Lesser tricks only jostle one string, while great feats of magic pull on the points where many threads are connected.”

"So, the less strings we pull, the lower the spell's level?" Roman muses. She nods.

“Mystra is the spider who sits at the center, building and repairing the web, feeling the vibrations of all those who touch it and biting away those who pull too hard. After all, if you pull too harshly, the web will unravel… But the web is not the source of magic in the Universe. It is just where you mortals can syphon it from. Magic is something that has always existed, long before the gods, and will continue long after us.”

Logan nods, "The early humanoids who tried to hone magic before the Weave was woven were all destroyed, and turned into the first liches."

"So Mystra, with some help from my Father, created the Weave as a blanket." Eilistraee smiles, "A safety net, that holds raw power back and converts it into something manageable -- something mortals can access."

Logan smirks, “Which is why Elves were the first humanoids to master magic. They had an insider.”

"So like a sieve? For flour?" Patton asks, and the goddess grins at the visual. Logan nods, almost impulsively taking over the lesson,

"Sure. Now, imagine pulling a wire on that sieve out of place. There is a hole for more coarse clumps to fall through, yes?” Patton nods, and Logan smiles at him, “That is what we are doing when we cast spells. When you pull on a thread, a bit of this raw power seeps through, but the gap only releases as much as that thread once covered. The less you ask for, the less you will receive. And if you don’t cast a spell correctly, the thread isn’t pulled at all, and no magic happens.”

...Now Logan frowns, beginning to catch on to Eilistraee’s point.

"But, Nethermancy was not like that.” Logan muses aloud, “It stemmed from the Shadow Weave; the warped copy of the Weave Mystra's sister Shar invented, by mixing magic with corruption from the Far Realm."

"The Shadow Weave is the space in-between the windows in the spiderweb. The darkness between the threads. Hence, it's name." Eilistraee explains, "When you reach into it, there is nothing to decide how much you take out. And, since you have not disturbed the strings, Mystra cannot even sense that you’re there. It is lethal to reach your hand into raw magic like this, in the same way it was lethal to cast before the Weave was constructed."

"Which is why it was never active." Logan adds, cautiously, waiting for her to correct him. "Supposedly, the Blue Flame burned it out during the Spellplague, before it's creator ever used it. Or, so everyone was led to believe…?"

Eilistraee nods, "The Shadow Weave was never destroyed. Shar lost control of it, but it still exists alongside the original. A spiderweb without a spider... And, by now, you are aware that my brother's kin do not follow the same rules when it comes to the lethality of raw magic."

"So, he was exposed to this Shadow Weave somehow, and now he keeps tapping into it on accident?" Roman frowns.

"Yes. Without either Sister Goddess's influence to limit him, Virgil has tethered himself to the spaces between. Now he pulls at it without trying, weakening the weave around him and accessing magic Mystra outlawed decades ago."

Eilistraee turns to Logan, suddenly very serious,

"You've done well to teach him control, but it is still something he will have to learn. He is the only thing moderating his contact with raw magic. He has no safety net to protect him if he takes too much, and no way to stop himself from doing it. This is not your usual pupil whose spell will fizzle out if they fail, his will combust. He must learn to hone his ability."

"I can teach him." Logan nods resolutely, already determined to see this through to the end. Eilistraee frowns.

"There are already many in your world who know about his mutation. Many wish to use him as a weapon on a scale you cannot imagine, and many more wish to destroy him altogether. People who will show no mercy when they come for him, and anyone who would protect him.”

Eilistraee turns to address all three of them, making an imposing figure where she towers in the middle of the room,

“You will face more peril at his side than you have ever read about in your history books, and his powers will bring untold destruction if you fail. Are you so sure you wish to involve yourself in this?"

"You'll find I already have." Logan stares her down, hoping he is more stubborn than she is, "I am not going to give up on him now. I knew it was going to be difficult when I first asked him to join me."

(So, that might be a little white lie. He didn’t know it would be so difficult that a literal Goddess would warn him to pack up and go home, but… Well, no one is going to tear him away from a project he’s already started, nor a friend who needs his help. And, after all, Logan doesn’t know anyone more qualified than himself to teach Virgil how to use magic.)

Eilistraee seems to mull over his words for a moment. Roman and Patton are keeping quiet, either letting Logan speak for them as the group’s leader or too exhausted/shocked to say anything.

...And, after an excruciating several minutes, the Goddess smiles.

"Very well then. I entrust his safety to you, Professor Logan." Eilistraee — the Goddess. What is today?! — smiles, as if as amused by the situation as Logan is winded by it.

"Don't fail him."

"We won't!" Patton cheers, elbowing Logan's thigh to shake him out of his surprised stupor. Eilistraee grins.

"We?"

"Yep! We're a bit of a package deal~" Roman nods, smiling at the other two. "And, I mean... if Logan goes on some sort of super perilous adventure and doesn't invite his resident literal Celestial, I don't even know what I would have to do! The sheer disrespect? I would throw a fit."

"You are both cordially invited to the 'super perilous adventure.'” Logan rolls his eyes, “Not that either of you ever need an invitation to insert yourselves into my travels..."

Logan tries his best not to smile, ignoring their laughter at either side of him.

"You will need more than just the three of you, I'm afraid." Eilistraee smiles,

"I have full confidence in you, but the fact remains that Virgil will also need a mentor who is, themselves, a Sorcerer. There are some skills that can only be taught from experience."

"Where are we supposed to find another Sorcerer?! It's rare enough that we found the one!" Roman whines, making Eilistraee grins.

"You are willing to aid a man you just met last week in a plot against the natural order, but you don’t think you can find one measly sorcerer?”

“Those are two totally different tasks! —Protecting people is my very specific skillset!! Finding them is not my job!” Roman blushes and pouts, and Eilistraee downright laughs. She shakes her head,

“Oh, I was just teasing, d'anthe~ Don't worry: I think he will find you, soon enough."

Eilistrae lays a hand on Roman’s cheek, “And speaking of you... I sense something is troubling you?”

Roman frowns for a moment. He sends an uneasy look at Logan and Patton...then sighs.

(If they’re all getting involved in Virgil’s surprise cosmic destiny, he supposes he might as well let them in on his…)

“It’s my Mother.” Roman sighs,

“I know she’s been ailing for a long while now, but… Something’s happened to her while I was gone, I can feel it. Something’s wrong. But my powers don��t seem to have changed at all, so...I can’t really tell.”

Eilistraee frowns, and Roman hops in again before she can speak, “I-I would contact her, but she still can’t speak to me! I don’t know how I’m supposed to help! I assume Mama has more information once we get to town, but it’s been killing me to wait in the dark. I know there are rules about how much you can meddle, but… Throw me a bone here?”

That gives the Goddess pause. She seems to debate something for a moment… Then nods.

“I can lend my aid to you for tonight, so long as you remain on land under my blessing. But, Sune is still in a very weakened state... Expect one of your Dreams tonight, little Prince.”

Roman smiles softly, trying to mask his spark of disappointment.

“...Thank you. Anything is better than no contact! But… I was never very good at deciphering those things.”

“If you need help deciphering your visions, you can always ask one of my Dark Ladies, or one of your Heartwarders. But, your Mother is a goddess of emotion; It is unlikely any of them will be able to help you more than yourself…”

Eilistraee gives him a sympathetic smile, “...Or, maybe, your usual companion in that place?”

“I doubt that.” Roman smiles back, more amused than he is dejected.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve shared a dream with my brother. I’m starting to think he’s purposefully ignoring them… And, to be honest, I wouldn’t put that past him.”

“That may be so, but you two must reunite soon.” Eilistraee warns him with an unexpected sincerity, “Your Mother needs you both, now more than ever. You are aware that your Fate is joined with these three, but he has a part to play in all of this, too. He always has.”

“My conversations with the whispers always seem to stem back to him, that much is for sure!” Roman grumbles, to himself more than anything. Eilistraee pats his shoulder.

“The guards will lead you back to House De’anonen. The road ahead of you is long and perilous, and I don’t expect to be the last to tell you so… Now, get some rest!”

Roman nods, much too tired to argue on that point. Some young women in silver robes come to lead them out of the temple, and Roman and Patton meander after them out of the room. Logan follows behind them slowly... But, he pauses at the door.

He turns back to Eilistraee, and asks lowly,

“Nethermancy from the Far Realm…” he hums, still not quite sure what he’s trying to remember when he asks,

“That he encountered here? Outside of the Underdark?”

...Eilistrae doesn’t answer right away.

A sour look crosses her face for a moment. She sighs,

“Your curiosity is your greatest strength, Logan. It always has been.” She smiles, turning her back to him to exit the room through the farther door, “But you, of all people, should know that poking at what writhes in the grass is a dangerous game.”

She walks out of the room, her voice echoing behind her as she disappears down a long, shadowy hallway,

“Be sure you are prepared for what’s hiding there.”

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Ask 97 ( @sjrose1217 , @snowydragon10 , @amazonprimebox )

Game Start

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Rules

Most Recent Recap, in case you feel like you missed something!

Available for questions: Logan, Roman, and Patton! (Virgil is asleep)

Eilistraee makes her exit as the party gets ready to sleep for the night, with few hours of night remaining and little energy to keep their eyes open any longer.

Now they have some hints for what is to come, but will they be able to put the pieces together? Or will the dangers she warned them about get the better of them...?

#(translation) d'anthe -- an affectionate term for a child or suboordinate #please tell me if i need to tag anything else!#lets roll #ttrpgau art #ttrpgau Eilistraee #ask rpg sanders sides #asks open #sanders sides rpg au #game lore #Her Luminous Imperial Majesty Empress Shri'Neerune Q'Xorlarrin of Drathireiv'dre #long post #long answer

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