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emeren · 3 years ago

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bloodlust ☤ 1

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“The devil and I get along just fine...”

Pairing: Fem!reader x Vampire!Eren

Word Count: 5.1 k

Chapter Warnings: Blood, anxiety

Chapter Summary: Reader, a nurse, finds themselves facing a fanged beast, unsure what to make of the world. But this devil with dark hair may not have the intentions you think.

☤ this work of fiction deals with vampires. in turn, there will be discussions of blood and minimal gore. it will also include nsfw content in the near future. all chapters will be marked appropriately☤

Moonlight soaked the path towards his freedom. It danced and reflected off of the dew coated blades of grass. Each one emulated a life he planned to save, with the destruction of his people and the protection of the person he cared for most in the world. She had yet to materialize into something more than the soft breeze of a memory.

He was hungry; the tortuous cry of his instinct to ravage told him so. However, years of training and restraint had yielded him more than capable of swallowing his own desire. The one thing he sought most weighed heavier than impotent monstrous actions. For his goal, he could resist the craving to release his sharpened fangs.

He allowed his eyes one last glance over the house he’d called home for the past four years; dark and gloomy against the stormy night sky. Soon, those who’d chained him in shackles and dragged him to the cellar would be amiss in panic. Wrought iron bars that once caged his devilish soul would be found empty. A beast was on the run.

He felt brief sorrow for those he would hurt in the process of securing their freedom from a pained existence. But he’d made up his mind. All that was left to do was to head north.

His nimble hands pulled the dark hood of his coat above his head. He took one deep breath, the entrancing smell of rain and dirt wafting through the air.

North, to the person that occupied his past, present, and future. To freedom.

☤ ☤ ☤

You considered yourself well suited to the role you’d decided to serve for the rest of your life. Time spent meticulously memorizing health patterns and disease characteristics had broadened your sense of confidence. Doubt rarely ever plagued your mind past the childish decision of what to eat for breakfast in the morning.

Nursing had not always been your final destination in life; the unprecedented scared you enough to mark healthcare as a profession to avoid. Losing two parents unexpectedly in high school due to a mysterious illness had been enough to change your once convinced mind.

Your rain jacket was slick with the slight precipitation clouding the late night sky as you entered the hospital locker room -- a weak cup of coffee in hand, marred with a ring of chapstick residue against the lip. Night shifts were often greeted with unrelenting misery on your behalf.

“You look excited to be here,” The familiar tone of your coworker hummed from behind you. There seemed no force strong enough to concur surprise in your unrested eyes. Historia was someone who lacked a certain fear factor in most aspects of her being, anyways.

“I didn’t see you when I came in, Historia,” You answered, eyes glancing over your shoulder to take in the blonde-haired nurse. Despite having walked in the rain the same as you, her demeanor was much more spritely.

She gave you a smile, following you towards your adjacent lockers. “Ah, I came in the back entrance today.”

“You’re awfully chipper for someone who’s working the night shift,” Your half-assed attempt at being friendly mingled with the clammer of your locker. Historia chuckled softly from behind her door.

“I prefer the night shift, actually. Isn’t this your third night on?” She asked. You slipped your wet jacket from your shoulders, shaking it slightly before hanging it in the metal box.

“Yeah, it is. Can’t say I enjoy it as much as you do,” You lightly closed the door, Historia doing the same. Overt kindness wasn’t a trait you claimed when burnt out on work; she knew this and gave you no foul for it.

Her blue eyes crinkled in the ghost of a smile. “Not a creature of the night, hm?”

“I’m no vampire, that’s for sure,” You chuckled. Historia’s smile faltered slightly. It came as no surprise that she was afraid of monsters and ghouls. You decided to change the subject in her favor. “Speaking of, I hear it’s a full moon tonight.”

“Oh?” Her eyes widened, coy smirk wiggling its way back onto her blushed cheeks. Despite your adverse to the unknown, you enjoyed indulging in childish hospital rumors. The notion that weird cases spiked on nights when the moon was full in the sky was a tale as old as time; strange people flooded the hospitals, with even stranger injuries and illnesses. Or so that was what people said, not that you’d ever experienced it yourself. “I wonder if anything crazy will happen tonight.”

“Doubt it,” You stepped aside, allowing her to match your stride as the two of you headed towards the conference room for a briefing before the shift. She hummed in agreement, the rest of the walk done in a comfortable silence.

The room for debriefing was a mundane conference set up. The walls were a bleached white; anatomy posters and warnings about the harmful nature of cigarettes decorating the walls. An oval desk surrounded by blue, plastic chairs took up most of the room. It smelled like microwaved Kraft, courtesy of a nurse scarfing down a last helping before their shift started.

“That’s odd,” Historia frowned, blue eyes tracing the room. Staff sat around in quiet huddles, most silently waiting for the briefing to start. She glanced down at her watch before nudging you in the arm. “Where’s Doctor Smith? We start in two minutes.”

The tall, burly man was never late for a briefing; his stoic nature didn’t allow room for such a lack. He had never given you a reason to doubt his trust, but something about his demeanor made you uneasy. He commanded a room with such conviction that your coworkers fell to his feet with unadulterated respect; you, a mindless sheep following their lead. Rational thought would’ve placed your discomfort on his position of power and his role as your boss. Simply put, however, he gave you the creeps.

The plastic chair skidded against the polished floor as you took your seat at the table beside Historia. The older staff coughed and occasionally grumbled, filling the tired silence with a sense of annoyance. Your blonde coworker sensed your gripe, elbowing you in the ribs and leaving a crease in your lilac scrubs. You suppressed a smile.

“Pardon me,” Doctor Smith’s commanding voice echoed through the room before he stepped in the doorway. Your muscles tensed; back straightening as if to give the illusion that you hadn’t been hunched over, looking exhausted and miserable. His blond hair was perfectly sculpted; not a strand out of place and not a wrinkle in his blue dress shirt. His lab coat was almost a sickeningly bleached titanium. “Sorry for my tardiness; I was dealing with an emergency back home.”

Historia shifted beside you.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” He gave a terse smile before picking his clipboard off of the table and flipping through the papers. “Looks like we’ve got the regular scheduling for this evening. As usual, the night shift staffing is lighter than our other shifts, so remember to be vigilant and take action without being told to.”

You tended to tune out the mundane precautions and warnings that were part of a pre-shift briefing. Outside the window, rain pattered against the glass pane. The shower provided a sense of comfort; rain often preceded a night spent inside, wrapped in blankets with a mug of hot tea. Though your current schedule didn’t allow room for such indulgence, you took a small delight in the weather condition.

Historia bumped your knee with her own under the table. You glanced at your friend, slightly alarmed from your daze. She leaned over, attempting to discreetly whisper in your ear. “He looks distracted tonight, hm? Wonder what that’s about.”

Your eyes glanced at Doctor Smith, who was reading through the clipboard with a staccato like urgency. Not wanting to cause any disturbance, you nodded your head in agreement.

“We’ll follow through with our regular assignments. If you don’t know where you’re located this evening, I suggest checking the bulletin in the locker room. As for this meeting, you’re all free to go,” His blue irises scanned the faces of all the employees, searching for confusion or questions to be answered. You averted your gaze, following suit as the rest of the room erupted in moving chairs and shuffling scrubs.

You already knew where you were working for the night; the same place as the last two, over in the geriatrics wing. This night would be the same as the others, not that you were in any place to be upset about that.

“Y/N!” Historia’s voice called you to look over your shoulder, barely out of the conference room. She had a slimy smile on her face; the kind that reeked of favors and avoidance. You felt the need to control your eyebrow from rising in annoyance. “Can I ask you something?”

You exhaled from your nose. “Shoot.”

“I have a patient in room 702 that I was assigned to,” The slightest batting of her mascara slicked lashes, blue irises working their hardest to win you over. You raised your eyebrows, urging her to continue. The other staff shuffled by you, sparing nosy glances. “I was wondering if you could take it? I’ll work in the geriatrics wing tonight for you.”

You had to give it to the tiny woman; for all she was worth, she was great at getting people to do what she wanted. You valued her responsibility and reliability, and she’d proved to be a friendly presence in the workplace. However, that didn’t stop you from seeing the selfish underbelly of her prosperous actions.

“What’s the patient in for?” You humored her. Even if her request was self-fulfilling, you figured might as well use it to your own advantage. Almost anything beat another night in geriatrics changing diapers and administering pill dosages.

“A blood transfusion,” She responded, smiling softly at you. “I’m not very good with bloody things, you know. Easily squeamish.”

You pretended to ponder whether or not to take her up on her offer. It was an easy choice, really. “Yeah, sure. What blood type are they?”

☤ ☤ ☤

The stand rattled unpleasantly against the tiled ground as you stopped in front of room 702. The thick bag of blood shook slightly from the sudden stop. How Historia had ever become a nurse when grossed out with the concept of blood, you weren’t sure. It seemed that her sweet disposition often aided her in whatever situation she needed to change for the better. You were an adult woman though, so whatever her motivations might’ve been didn’t concern you.

You gave the cart a once over, making sure all the necessary tools and items were there: a needle, an IV, gauze, those sorts of things. Blood transfusions were a typically fussless procedure; tediously watching the red liquid pump itself into the body.

Your knuckles lightly knocked on the door. “Hello, I’m here to give you your blood transfusion!”

Silence, beating through the empty hallway of the hospital. The lights were dimmed and eerily abandoned. You waited for ten seconds before opening the door to the sleepy room.

The heavy door creaked open, revealing he who was to be given blood. Historia had mentioned he was a John Doe, lying unconscious on the bleached sheets. You turned back to grab your cart, not bothering to be quiet. He’d be awake soon enough, anyway.

As you wheeled it in, your back was to the patient. The cart squeaked and rattled, stopping at the foot of the bed. You turned around, ready to rouse him from his slumber.

Beautiful.

You’d had attractive patients before. Both men and women who floated by life with the easy wings of accurately placed facial features to boost them up. A pretty face often had heat rising to your cheeks, but professionalism stopped you from thinking any further. Natural biological responses couldn’t be helped, after all.

Never had a patient left your lips parting in awe, heart drumming up it’s own beat of excitement in your chest. His face was slim; sharp jawline and a large, broad nose peeking out into the air. Pale cheeks barely dusted by the pink of an almost intangible blush. His eyelashes were long and thick, jutting out against the purple hue of his impossibly dark circles. Hair the color of old driftwood swirled and bunched on his pillow. He had to have been one of the most attractive people you’d ever treated, let alone seen.

What color were his eyes? Were they a dark brown, one to match the nature of his hair color? Or were they green, contrasting his pale skin? You began to feel eager to find out, more excited to know and learn as your gloved hand gripped his broad shoulder. You frowned at the frigid temperature of his skin.

“Excuse me, sir,” You gently shook, trying not to give away the way your body was reacting. There was no place for hormonal displays in your line of work, and despite his undeniable beauty, you were determined to remain professional.

His eyelids snapped open with such a speed you had to compose yourself not to trip backwards. Contrary to what you thought, his irises were a pale, almost sickly greyish blue. They held no gleam; no life behind them. Disturbance washed over your brain, warning bells going off in your mind. He looks slightly… feral?

He jolted upwards, confusion knotted on his once peaceful face. You stumbled backwards slightly, hip clipping on the cart.

“Who are you?” His voice was gravelly, as if it hadn’t been used in quite some time. Blue eyes stared at you with such an uncertainty it made your head spin.

“I’m your nurse, I’m here to give you your blood transfusion,” You gestured towards the cart and stand, a red bag hanging from it like a token of peace. Despite his prickly reaction, you weren’t frightened.

“I feel like I’ve met you before,” He said, eyes squinted. Analyzing you, trying to pick apart your being, yet there you stood before him, a marvel to be held. He briefly glanced to the side; not more than a millisecond were his eyes off you before they were back, filled with unadulterated panic. “Where- where is Historia?”

You frowned, a little perturbed. “She asked to swap-”

“I need you to leave, now.” He growled, voice deep and authoritative. You widened your gaze, taken aback by his demanding request. The sheet fell from around his shoulders, bare chest exposed. Large hands raced to his face, hiding the features you’d once considered beautiful. “Get out of here!”

“Are you alright?” You panicked, stepping closer to the bed. His large form began shaking, knees drawing towards his chest from under the blanket. He appeared to be in pain; like a wounded animal.

“Fuck,” He yelled, breathing becoming labored. There wasn’t time to ponder. Was he having a panic attack? Was he going into shock? Questions didn’t need to be asked, you just knew that you needed to act. “I said leave!”

“No, I need to help you with whatever-” His hand shot off of his face, long, black claws sharpening from his fingers. You became fear stricken, his palm connecting with your chest. It sent you stumbling backwards, tripping over the wire to the heart monitor and slamming into the wall with your back. Tendrils of pain clamored up your spine.

“Close your eyes,” He rose from the bed, both hands dropping from his face. You couldn’t see his eyes, fist clutching your scrubs above your heart. Uncertainty. Terror, facing death like this. A monster stood before you, created by the devil himself. Tall, foreboding, chest heaving. His neck snapped upwards; wide, red eyes piercing into your thinly veiled soul. He spoke something like a garbled beast. “Promise me you’ll close your eyes.”

You didn’t respond. There were no words to be spoken. Between his pink lips glinted a pair of large, sharp incisors. “Promise!”

You reverberated with his words, wincing and shutting your eyes involuntarily. He didn’t want you to watch as he slaughtered you. “I-I promise!”

The loud clamor of metal colliding with the polished floor had you breaking your promise mere seconds after it’d been made.

He stood, illuminated by the fluorescent bulbs like an angel ascending to heaven. The bag, once an object you’d believed to be a healing beacon, clutched between clawed hands. His teeth, bare to the world, puncturing the thick plastic as though it were paper.

His adam’s apple bobbed rhythmically as he swallowed mouthfuls of thick, red blood. It was as if he’d been starved; knees buckling and desperate blood sucking so intense that his legs could no longer support his body weight. He knelt on the once clean floor.

The twine that connected your sense of reality and rationale had been pulled taut -- pieces of the frayed string snapping and threatening to drop you into depths unknown. Uncertainty had always been a foreign concept; you’d been given the option to study your circumstance and fully conceptualize it before going head first into a situation.

That’s what had intrigued you about being a nurse; though the job seemed like a bull in a china shop, you’d learned every reason why or how that bull ended up there and what exactly you needed to do to get it out.

You lacked the expertise or even the understanding to handle this particular situation. What studying could’ve been done? Reading horror stories or watching Twilight as a teenager with your friends? Even then, the probability of this happening to you felt like it should’ve been a zero percent chance.

You liked knowing what to do. Thrived on it, actually. This man, tall and dangerous, presented you with no opportunity to know. There was no textbook on how to handle a vampire, as childish as it felt to recognize that that’s what this was.

You’d been so sure. So convinced that there was no possibility of this heinous monster being an actual thing to walk the same crusted earth as you. Yet here he was, dawning the shape of a man and the face of an angel. How could someone so beautiful be so terrifying?

The hospital wall was cold against your back, the distant hammering of an organ that no longer felt placed in your chest rang true against your clenched fist. You felt the chilling call to move, to rise from your place and run. You didn’t know where, but the muscles in your thighs screamed a silent symphony.

He made quick work of the bag, like it was nothing and had never been anything in the first place. Who had donated that blood? They were probably asleep somewhere, lying in a bed and dreaming of a different world. A world where their charitable donation wasn’t being consumed by a devil before your terrified soul.

The red liquid oozed from his lips and dripped onto his barren chest. You hadn’t moved since you’d collided with the wall what felt like an eternity ago. Your ears rung rapidly with the obnoxious blood flow to your overstimulated brain.

Eyes the shade of a blue jay traced from a pair of blood soaked claws up towards your face, following the path of destruction. Though shock and fear reverberated through your every nerve, the softness in his gaze dulled a small part of your terror. He looked guilty, holding his dripping hands in front of his face like he’d just committed murder.

“You promised to close your eyes,” A voice so small, as if he’d known you your whole life and you had just witnessed a character altering situation. Something echoed in the back of his words, something that sounded like resentment. You couldn’t tell if it was directed at your prying eyes or himself.

“I- I didn’t, I mean, I tried not to but,” You were at a loss. A loss for a way to communicate how you were feeling, a loss for sanity in the world. The monster before you scowled, as if scolding a child who’d disobeyed their parent. “What are you?”

He brought his bloody hands to the floor; you noted that the claws were gone. “I figure it’s pretty obvious at this point. Can’t you tell?” He whispered.

“But vampires aren’t-” His steely gaze hardened at your choice of words. “They aren’t real, are they?”

“They are,” He responded, looking at you with such a strong emotion that you shifted uncomfortably against the wall. What was he thinking? Those eyes looked like they were fixed on someone he cared deeply for, not someone he’d met mere minutes ago. “But you weren’t supposed to know that, which is why I asked you not to open your eyes.”

“You started drinking a bag of blood right in front of me!” You whisper-yelled, brows knitting together to display your slight frustration. The wonder and fear still laid active in your chest, but something about him was familiar and comforting, despite his gruesome actions. You couldn’t explain exactly why you knew he would bring you no harm. “Of course I was going to open my eyes. If I’m not supposed to know, why would you do that right in front of me?”

His scowl deepened. “I tried to warn you. I haven’t had any blood in awhile and I lost control of myself.”

“What happens now?” Your question came out smaller than intended, unfamiliarity rising in your abdomen. The thick stench of blood was beginning to make your intestines twist in disgusting unease.

The question sought to strike a chord in the young man’s features; a grim and saddened look swept across his sharp attributes. His hand came up to pinch his temples, unperturbed by the bloody fingerprints left in its wake. “We have to get out of here, and fast. If we don’t, the people who are after me will kill you.”

“Kill me?” The word had a different sense of fear wafting over you; the kind that pricked your eyes with the sensation to shed tears. He looked pained. “I can tell them that I didn’t see anything, I can promise that I never saw you and-”

“It doesn’t work like that,” He snapped, glancing at you with irritation. His harsh tone forced your pleas to die unsaid in your throat. “The people following me aren’t rational. One of them will also be able to tell you’re lying.”

“So then, what am I supposed to do?” You cried, allowing the bottled up and suppressed emotions to spill over the thin wall of resolve that his comforting presence provided. He didn’t flinch but remained in serious tranquility. “I’m supposed to leave here and hit the road with some random man, who is a fucking vampire, and what? Hope for the best?”

He looked away from you, blood-covered face staring at the hospital bed that he’d once occupied. “It’s my fault you’re stuck in this now. I owe you enough to protect your life as best as I can.”

You were in hysterics. What sort of ultimatum was this? Stay and die or leave and risk dying? Another predicament that couldn’t be solved with the aid of literary education. Resentment was beginning to build in your own chest. Diving into an unexplored depth of the ocean, brimming with creatures and lore that you had never predicted to be real.

“Hey,” You snapped back to reality. The man before you scooted forwards slightly. Though his face was that of a devil, soaked in another’s blood and deathly pale, his movement had your chest tightening in something other than fear. “I won’t let them hurt you. I promise, if you come with me, you’ll be safe until I can get them off our tail. Then I’ll take off and they’ll follow me, leaving you alone.”

Sticky tears trailed down your cheeks, eyes burning. When did you start crying? “How -- how can you be so sure? How can I trust you?”

He was on his hands and knees in front of you now, sharp nose half a foot away from your face. Any call to breathe was put on hold, teary eyes widening slightly at his stare. It was soft and open, trusting in the strangest way. His dark hair hung around his face.

“My goal is to rid the world of demons such as myself. That’s why they’re after me, and why they would take your life to guarantee silence. When I’m finished with what I want to accomplish, I will be dead and so will they. I have nothing to gain by hurting you. I promise to keep you alive long enough to see the end of this.”

Your lips parted in awe. The conviction in his tone was that to lead an entire army into battle; to create religions and cult followings. Blessed be the demon who wished to take down his own kind.

You had spent years convincing yourself to trust in what others told you to follow. Self-intuition wasn’t enough to breed a successful nurse; you needed the expertise of studies and procedures done before you. You required the necessary tools that others had used and approved of. Your heart’s certainty had no place in medicine. It had no place in the tried and true.

The man slowly rose one freezing hand towards your face, apprehensively watching for your reaction. You sat unmoving, owl-eyed. His palm caressed your chin, cold thumb swiping the tear from your cheek, smearing blood in its wake. “Find it in your heart to trust me.”

The conviction of his words rang lightning through your veins, mouth speaking without precedented thought. “Okay.”

He rose from his crouched position, offering a red hand to help you up from against the wall. You shook your head. There had been enough blood sharing for the evening, sanitation crossing your mind as you shakily slid along the rough plaster, bracing yourself to display a toughness that you weren’t sure you contained.

The rule of thumb not to trust those whom you don’t know played a soft melody in your heart. Mothers’ warnings and fathers’ lectures. Apparently all you had been told fell upon deaf ears, clouded with the hazy judgement of a life threatening situation. But in circumstances such as these, did the general rule apply? You were left to ponder.

“Hey, wait,” You frowned, a dumbfounded feeling crossing your mind as the man stepped towards the opposite side of the room. He stopped and turned, sharp jaw jutting against his mane. “What even is your name?”

“Oh,” He turned back towards the other side of the room. You didn’t follow. The door was the opposite direction, so whatever business he had over there did not concern you. “It’s Eren. And you?”

You felt a slight heat rise to your cheeks at the confession of his name. It was beautiful, feeling somehow appropriate for his physical appearance. “It’s Y/N.”

“Ah,” He responded, as if he already knew. You scoffed inwardly at his tone, still anxiously pressed against the wall. His blood stained hand rose to the latch on the window, attempting to open it.

“Why are you opening the window?” You questioned, noticing a beep from out in the hallway. The door stood open, allowing passersby to witness the blood on the floor and your cheek, as well as this man called Eren, who appeared straight out of a horror movie.

Closing the wooden door meant deciding with certainty to trust him; to follow him and hope that whatever tales of murderous vampires he’d shared had been truthful. To step away from the knowledge and the comfort of your current life. It implied that no one would see you in there with him and come to your rescue.

They will kill you.

Your hand gently clicked the heavy door into its place.

Turning back to Eren, you noticed his hand wrapped around the latch to the window. He was frozen in place, watching you make your final choice.

“You didn’t answer my question,” You reiterated. Eren turned back towards the glass. His reflection wavered slightly in the shine.

“This is how we’re getting out of here,” Eren responded, pulling the latch and shoving the window open as far as it would go. It stopped at about two inches, for safety reasons.

Disbelief once again danced across your mind, pulling you into what was beginning to feel like a new equilibrium. “If you’re planning to leap out of that window, it only opens that far.”

He ignored you, bringing his bloodied palms up against the glass. It appeared as though he merely shoved it; so light that it shouldn’t have budged. It shouldn’t have moved at all. The heavy window snapped at its industrialized hinges, pummeling down towards the ground below.

He glanced at you from over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised semi-smugly. You gawked back; simultaneously impressed by his strength as well as put off. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll die if I jump from here,” You scoffed, still not moving from your place. Eren stared back emotionlessly. He stepped towards the bed, reaching beneath it and pulling out what appeared to be a black hooded jacket.

He swung it over his shoulders, pulling the hood above his head. “I know. If you ride on my back, you won’t die.”

“Are you always this mundanely serious about fucking supernatural shit like this?” You spat. There was a warmth beginning to settle in your face as well as your core; heated by the idea of being so close to him.

“Yes,” He retorted, walking towards you so quickly you thought your head would start spinning. “No time to waste with your endless questions.”

He reached down, abruptly swooping you up from behind your thighs, effectively gripping you bridal style.

“Eren, put me down. Put me down!” You started squirming as he thundered towards the open window. You hated heights as much as the next person; they were fine in retrospect, but made you dizzy when in close proximity. Eren seemed unbothered by your quiet cries of protest.

“Eren, I swear to god,” You brought your fist to his broad chest. He ignored you, stepping onto the ledge of the window. Against any better judgement you still retained, your eyes glanced towards the drop. Your stomach sank, becoming a heavy boulder in the bottom of your abdomen. “Fuck, put me down!”

He stared down at you. A gaze so tranquil that the rest of the scene seemed to fade away. You became hyper-aware of his bare chest which you were pressed against; that unfamiliar churning in your core spreading towards your limbs.

“Hold still, or I’ll drop you.”

☤ ☤ ☤

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tagging: @sunshinedragonofthewest @ryukatters

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren yaeger x reader #Eren Jaeger #eren yeager #vampire eren #eren jeager #Eren Yaeger #eren jaeger smut #bloodlust series #emmy writes #eren jaeger x y/n

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asterroidd · 4 years ago

Text

tempt fortune

↬ Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

↬ Word count: 4.5k

↬ Warning/s: swearing, mentions of sex, alcohol, slight NSFW (?)

↬ Synopsis: Too deep in an argument with Hange in attempts to prove you are—in fact—not a virgin, you’ve accidentally lied blurted out that you and Levi are in a relationship.

↬ Notes: Tysm for the request anon! I had way too much fun with this prompt lol.

↬ Minors do not interact. Go away, shoo shoo!

8th prompt: “I can’t believe you told them you were my fiancé.”

The night was murky and dark with only the shine of the moon serving as a way to illuminate the streets of the city. Trees stripped bare as a sign of the forthcoming change of seasons, and a milky white fog had encompassed the city’s canals and dark alleyways. The crisp, cold air makes the hair on your skin stood up and shiver despite the layers of clothing you wore.

Though, that feeling will dissipate away as soon as the bitter taste of alcohol hits your taste buds and enter your system.

Earlier that day, Hange and Petra had invited you to a night out to the local pub to wash away the fears and tension of being soldiers of the Survey Corps. A guilty pleasure of some sort, just a way to rid the jitters of being eaten by a titan outside the walls. Despite the three of you being veterans, neither of you could ever shake the feeling of death’s cold hands resting on top of your shoulder.

That said, two of your best friends walked alongside you. Arms hooked with one another for warmth and for comfort. Soon enough, the three of you arrived at the destined place: the pub.

There are a couple of tables already taken, but the place is not too full. Even with that, the pub is still quite energetic; with men hollering and throwing their heads back as they chat with one another, weak threats that are carelessly thrown around by drunk individuals looking for a mock fight, and of course the iconic clink of glasses against one another as toast.

“What are we drinking tonight?” Petra asked. She claimed a seat at an empty table, in which you and Hanji followed suit.

“Whiskey!” Hange announced to which brought a grin on your face.

"Getting wasted, I see.“ You shrugged your jacket off and placed it neatly by your side. "Isn’t it Petra’s turn to treat us?”

The female in question instantly whipped her head to face you, a shocked look evident on her face. “I don’t recall making such promises.”

"You sure did!“ Hanji added. "We made a bet weeks ago. Debating whether or not Erwin grooms his eyebrows every morning.”

"In which we won, by the way.“ you said with a smug look on your face. "The commander does indeed groom it and even has a special comb for it.”

“Not fair!” Petra pouted, pushing her bottom lip out and giving Hange the puppy dog eyes in attempts to save her poor wallet. Which was futile, the brunette stuck her tongue out and shook her head. While Petra and Hange continued with their debacle, you took it upon yourself to call the attention of a barmaid. She gave you a beaming smile, her golden locks neatly tied into a bun and crow’s feet visible beneath her eyes. She approached the table wherein the three of you are situated.

“Two bottles of whiskey and three mugs please,” you spoke, not even bothering to wait for her to speak up. She nodded before strolling towards the counter to prepare your order.

Petra slumped her weight onto the table as she heaved a sigh in defeat. “Fine. It’s my treat tonight.”

You and Hange cheered in delight, successfully evading a huge loss of money given that whiskey is quite expensive. The continuous catastrophic storms that beleaguered the farmlands had made an extensive disastrous effect on the supply of barley and wheat. Which, like a domino effect, limits the supply of whiskey within the walls. Increasing the price of the said beverage more than two-fold.

It was a good thing that you put faith in your instincts and thus won the bet.

“How’s the research going, Hanji?” Petra changed the topic.

The brunette let out a drained sigh, “Levi had to kill Hughes.”

“Hughes?” You piped in. “The eight-meter class aberrant titan we caught last time?”

Hange nodded, “He was a good man. An honest man.” She spoke of the titan as if it was her long lost husband that died in a war.

Then, she started blabbering on and on about the experiments she had done to the beast; piercing its eye to count the regeneration time, plucking one of its teeth out to see if it would disintegrate, and many more.

You would’ve stopped her then and there if it weren’t for the barmaid approaching your table with a tray of glass and two bottles of whiskey. You internally cheered, Hange had told stories about Hughes a couple of times already that you basically had memorized it all.

The three of you wasted no time in popping one of the bottles and pouring the bitter liquid into the cups.

"To friendship. And condolences to Petra’s wallet.“ You raised your glass up to which the two mirrored. With one satisfying clink of the glass, you swallowed down its contents in one gulp. Your face contorting in an unattractive expression as the alcohol slid down your throat.

"I was planning to buy a book that I wanted. But it looks like it would have to wait for the time being,” Petra said, pouring another glass of whiskey.

"Pshh,“ your brunette friend snorted. "You have Oluo to buy anything you want.”

Instantly, blood rushed to Petra’s face upon hearing the male’s name.

You joined in the teasing. “Oh yeah. You two are a thing. Now, aren’t you?”

“We’re not!” your friend slammed her fists on the wooden table. “We’re just friends!”

“Oh really?” Hange swished the whiskey around the glass. “That’s not what I heard the other night.”

She leaned in close to whisper. “I heard moans coming out of his room.”

Petra sucked in a breath in shock, her eyes widening in shock and mouth slightly agape. “I- it’s not…it’s–” she said but she was a stuttering mess.

“Already in that stage, I see.” You playfully nudged her. It was an ongoing comical joke in the base that Oluo and Petra are in a romantic relationship after the male flat out publicly confessed to her one night in the mess hall. The room immediately erupted in a mess as howls and catcalls are heard. Ever since then, both of them are continuously teased.

“Say, (____)…” Hange trailed off, her fingers curling around the shot glass. Gulping the remaining liquid down her throat before continuing, “Are you a virgin?”

You let out an inhumane sound in shock. Borderline choking as you tried to swallow down the whiskey caught in your throat. Petra saw your discomfort in which she assisted you by lightly patting you on the back as you coughed air out.

“What kind of question is that?” you said after your body stopped jerking.

Hanji gave you a lop-sided smile. “Just that we are nearing our thirties. Who knows when we’ll breathe our final breath? The least we could do is experience getting laid before that happens.”

“Well, are you a virgin?” You answered with a question.

Hange rests her chin on top of her open palm. “Nope, though it was a one night stand.”

You sweat buckets, you never had someone popped your cherry before, let alone a serious relationship that is romantic.

Are you the only one left that hasn’t got laid?

But it’s not your fault! You were just too caught up with military services that love never crossed your mind

Or did it?

Your mind wanders off to daydream about the small and petty crush you have with a certain captain.

There is just something so captivating about the way his silver eyes met yours the first time you saw him. How his raven hair looks neat every time and you could only guess how soft it would be to touch. Not to mention his impeccable skill with the 3dmg maneuver gear and its blades.

Yes, it was none other than Captain Levi himself. But it was all just a petty crush! A small rosebud of admiration that had blossomed as you fought alongside the male and got to know him better each passing day.

“Well?” Hange snapped you out of your thoughts. “Have you or have you not gotten laid?”

You cleared your throat, you didn’t want to look foolish in front of your friends. Given that the two of them had their own fair share of experience in the topic. They would tease the hell out of you and soon enough, the whole base would do as well.

Lieutenant (____), the virgin soldier. You don’t want things to be that way.

“O-of course I did,” you puffed your chest out more to elicit fake confidence.

Petra cooed, “Really? With who?”

You thought of the closest male in your personal bubble. “Levi!”

To say that the two were shocked was an understatement. They were both flabbergasted. Never in a million years would they expect that you and Levi had a relationship, let alone sexual intercourse. The two, in fact, never saw him and you close enough that would draw out a romantic vibe. So they are completely blown away and confused at the same time.

“Bullshit,” Hange said. “Shorty is one lonely man that has no love in his system.”

“I-is too!” you stuttered out, hand flailing around in panic. “In fact, he is my fiancé.”

Okay, that might be a stretch.

Petra slammed her hands against the table to which garnered half of the customers’ attention. “Get out! No way!”

“Yes way!” You countered. So far so good, now all you had to do is convince them that you and Levi are actually a thing. Which was easier said than done since you would need to bribe or annoy the male enough that he would give in to your pleas.

Though, Hange is still unimpressed as evident with her pouting lips and furrowed eyebrows. “Prove it then, show us that the shorty and you are actually a thing. I would bet half of my salary this month if you could show us that Levi is capable of love.”

“Bring it on four-eyes!”

And so begins the downfall of your life.

Levi had a sick feeling in his gut; a hunch that for the next few hours, he would have a shitty day. However, he couldn’t say for sure what would cause such disturbance to his day. His gut feelings were never wrong, it was an innate sense that he had ever since he lived in the Underground. So he was sure something would happen, he’d have to be more careful.

That said, he instantly regretted the way he jinxed himself.

There you are, standing outside of his office at two in the morning. Your fingers fiddled with the hem of your shirt, constantly shifting your weight from one foot to another as you refuse to make eye contact with Levi. Bashful eyes kept staring down at your feet whilst you find the words to make one coherent sentence.

“I have something important to discuss with you,” you murmured to which Levi quirked a brow. What did you want now that it couldn’t wait until the sun rose up in the sky?

The male crossed his arms across his chest, leaning his weight on the doorway. “What is it?”

“Please pretend to be my lover.”

Levi blinked, his eyes widening and mouth hanging open slightly. Though, he regained back his usual composure in a split second. He narrowed his eyes at you.

You want him to do what now? Is this some kind of prank or sick joke that you thought of?

Taking note of his silence, you decided to explain to him your situation that needs his immediate cooperation and attention.

“You see…” you sucked in a breath. “I kind of lied to Hange and Petra that I got laid and it was you who actually took my virginity. Hange didn’t believe a word that I said and uhh-… Things got out of hand and I told them I was your fiancé.”

What?

Levi sighed through his nose, an exasperated expression on his face. “So this is what it’s all about.”

“Yes. And now I need you to play along and pretend to be my significant other.”

The male scrunched his face up in disgust, “I can’t believe you told them you were my fiancé.”

You fought back a sob, “Please. I beg of you, Levi.”

“No.” Levi shook his head. “No way. Don’t drag me in your own bullshit.”

The male was about to close his door but you grabbed him by his sleeve. Clutching on it until your knuckles turned white. You couldn’t just let him shut you out without agreeing to play along. You’d do whatever it takes just to get Levi to pretend to be your lover.

"I’ll buy you the expensive black tea.“

His ears twitched, now that piqued Levi’s interest. You smirked as he froze, you knew that he has a soft spot for tea. And tasty, expensive ones at that matter.

Levi chewed on his bottom lip while he pondered over his next words. The male was supposed to be keeping his hands busy by signing and writing the documents that started to pile high up on top of his desk due to Hanji dumping her workload on him. Levi sighed through his nose, fingers massaging his temple. "How long?”

“What?” You tilted your head to the side.

“Tch.” Levi clicked his tongue. “How long do I need to pretend to be your lover?”

Levi swore that the minute he let go of those words, stars danced in your eyes.

"We just need to convince the others.“

"And then?” He asked.

"And then? What. . ?“

Levi internally groaned and rolled his eyes. Was it really worth the risk?

"Are you expecting that we keep the act up?”

Oh, so that is what he meant by it.

"Well,“ you rubbed your chin with your fingers in deep thought. "We could stop the acting after a few weeks? We’ll just tell them we’re too busy and shit that we couldn’t maintain the relationship anymore.”

Levi shrugged. “Sounds good enough to me.”

You squealed in delight as you threw your arms around his neck, showering him with gratitude and compliments.

Looks like black tea does the trick.

The sun already rose from its slumber, showering the lands with its soft rays of light. Levi had a scowl ever-present on his face as soon as he stepped out of his office room. He knew that something was wrong. Something out of place as he sensed the change in the atmosphere of the base that would normally be heavy and tense.

Still, he persisted on shrugging the thought off and continued with his daily morning routine: which is to quickly brew a cup of tea before the mess hall becomes full with people. Levi walked down the halls, a handful of soldiers are already awake and fully clothed with the Survey Corps uniform. They gave him one brief and firm salute as he passed by them. Though, Levi swore that he could hear them whispering amongst themselves.

When the male arrived at the mess hall, he was surprised to see most of the superiors—along with his squad—are mingling with one another at a table. His mind screamed danger, telling his body to turn around and hide in the comforts of his office. However, Levi wasn’t going to give up his morning cup of tea just because he felt uneasy.

He slid inside like a shadow, going unnoticed by most of his friends that was too energetic today for his tastes. They were chatting loudly about miniscule things; the weather, training later on the day, gear inspection that needs to be done, and the like.

Levi wished that he would be overlooked, that their banter would be noisy enough that he could peacefully grab a cup of tea and run back to his office. Though that wishful thinking of his soon come crashing down when Hange’s cheery voice called out to him.

“Mornin’ shorty! Come sit here beside us! We already have tea brewed for you!”

Levi internally groaned, gripping the empty cup in his hands tighter. The brunette just had to have an innate sense in locating where Levi is. Reluctantly, he left the porcelain behind and walked towards the table. You were nowhere to be found, which was a huge relief for him since Levi doesn’t want to see your face first thing in the morning.

“What’s with the shit-eating grin?” he took a seat beside Erwin.

“(____) told me something important last night,” Hange wiggled her shoulders.

He narrowed his eyes at her, “What do you mean?”

Levi heard Erwin laughing beside him, the blond’s shoulders bouncing up and down. He then placed one palm on top of Levi’s shoulder.

“Congratulations, Levi! Didn’t knew you were engaged.“

Hold the fuck up. What?

Then it dawned on him. He remembered you outside his office in the wee hours of the morning, begging him to play along with your petty bullshit just for the sake of preserving your dignity among your peers.

Levi couldn’t believe that he would start acting right away. He haven’t had a sip of his morning tea.

“Yeah,” he said, eyeing the cup of tea that Eld placed in front of him. Levi doubts that any of them could perfectly brew tea that would meet his standards.

“What?” Oluo joined in the conversation. “So it’s true then?”

Levi grumbled, taking a sip of the leaf infused hot liquid. He relished the dark and malty taste of it sliding down his esophagus before responding. “Any problem with that?”

The male shifted in his seat, “N-no, sir… Just that I am shocked.”

“We all are,” Erwin chuckled. “We never expected it.”

“You are a man of a few words, after all.” Petra added. “Still, we are happy for you, captain!”

Levi stayed silent, if he knew that by accepting your bribery would open Pandora’s box of headache and irritation in his life, then he wouldn’t have agreed to it. Still, he was hopeful that only those close to him are informed of the arrangement. That you wouldn’t go so far as to spread the news around the base.

Scratch that. Everyone knew that Levi is your fiancé.

By the time midday rolled around, Levi was the center of attention much to his displeasure. Of all the years he had served in the military, never did he expect that one small arrangement done at two a.m. would have dire consequences.

All for the black tea. Levi chanted in his mind. Dealing with this bullshit for a box full of expensive black tea.

Whispers could be heard, though he paid no attention to it, dead set on finding you to ask what in the ever-loving fuck is going through your brain for letting everyone know.

Ah, speak of the devil. There you are, by the horses’ stables. Your hands reaching up to caress the nose of your horse, a giggle escaping your lips as its tongue darted out to tickle you.

“(____),” he called out.

You whipped your head around to the sound. Then your smile grew wider as you saw it was Levi.

“Hey!” you replied while wiping your wet hand on a towel. “What’s up?”

The male groaned, you are too casual about it.

“Care to explain why does everyone in the base knew that we are engaged?” The word rolled off his tongue like venom. “I thought it was only Hanji and Petra?”

Your smile wavered down, replaced by a bashful one. “Well uhh-…you see. Hanji kind of started the rumors which quickly spread like wildfire.”

“So it’s not my fault,” you threw your hands up.

Levi sighed exasperatedly. He should’ve known that the source would be four eyes. The brunette had caused more trouble than Levi could count within his fingers. He recounted countless times where she knocked on death’s door willingly when Hange placed her head inside a titan’s mouth. Who does that?

A maniac with a death wish, and that is what Hange is.

“Never mind that,” you trailed off, motioning the male to come closer. He rolled his eyes before obliging. “I have a plan that could finally get Hange off the radar,” you continued.

“And that would be?”

You looked side by side, eyes scanning the surroundings in case someone is eavesdropping. Once you considered the coast was clear, you told Levi the plan. “Hanji would be dropping off a stack of paperwork later this evening.”

Levi doesn’t already like where this is going.

“We could pretend to have sex in your office, loud enough for her to hear it. That for sure would convince her.”

You wanted to do what now?

“Wait, hold on.” Levi shook his head, slowly trying to digest your words. “You want us to have sex?”

“We’re not really going to do it!” you slapped his shoulder blades. “Just create some noise and thuds here and there to make it seem like we are doing it.”

The male internally groaned before hesitantly agreeing with your plan. If it means that this stupid fabrication of a relationship would be done, he’d follow suit.

You could hear the loud pounding of your heart inside your ribcage as you sat on one of the chairs in Levi’s office. Patiently, waiting for the fated moment where Hange would be knocking on the door. Butterflies flew around in your stomach, you couldn’t believe that Levi would actually cooperate with the stupid plan you had just conjured up at a moment’s notice.

The thought of him moaning and grunting made your core burn with desire. As much as you want to calm yourself, you couldn’t help but stir up images and scenes in your mind as to how Levi would look like while having sex. You don’t know which was a better view: him on top of you or you riding him.

Heat rushed to your cheeks at the thought. Why does he have to be so goddamn sexy that you couldn’t resist the man?

“Oi,” Levi called out to you. Though, his eyes never left the paper in his hands as he scanned it. “Quiet down will you? Your foot tapping against the floor irritates me.”

Oh, it was a mindless action of yours when you get too nervous. By bouncing your legs up and down, it helps you calm down and ignore the growing pit of anxiety in your stomach. Nonetheless, you mumbled a quick apology to the male then resorted to fumbling with the collars of your uniform.

Soon enough, you heard the soft humming of Hange outside, her footsteps increasing in sound as she draws near the door. You and Levi looked at each other, it was showtime.

You abruptly stood up, arms flailing around as you glanced between the male and the door. Wait, what do you need to do again? And why is Levi still sitting in his chair and not doing anything?

“Levaii!” Hange knocked. “I got more paperwork for you!”

The doorknob rattled, but you instantly had the metal in your grasp in attempts to keep the female out of the room.

“Huh…?” you could hear Hange utter. “Levi?”

In a panicked state, your mind blanked out as words fail to escape your lips. You shot a pleading look to Levi, to which he rose a brow.

Help me you bitch! You mouthed.

He shot you a confused look. It’s your plan, do it, the male mouthed back.

You gulped down your saliva, shaky hands gripping the doorknob tighter as the brunette jostle it. Time seemed to stop as you suddenly remember one hole in the plan. One important thing that you have overlooked that could potentially blow your cover.

You don’t know how to moan.

A soft whine emanated from your throat. The things you have to do just to preserve your dignity.

“DON’T COME IN! WE’RE uh-… WE’RE HAVING SEX!” you shouted on top of your lungs, too distressed to rethink your words all over again. But now it was too late.

“W-what?” Hange’s voice was muffled by the wooden door.

“Levi. Moan. Now.” You whispered, practically begging the male for his help.

“Why do I have to moan?” he stood up and made his way around the desk to approach you.

“JUST-… Just create one sexual sound! A grunt, a moan, a whine! I don’t care. Just make a sound.”

Levi shot you an irked expression, his nose crinkling up. It’s not that he doesn’t know how to moan (unlike a certain someone), but because he had the initial thought that you would be moaning and Levi would be just hitting the wooden desk over and over again to elicit sex noises. Still, he felt his heart strings being pulled as he looked at your eyes with tears threatening to fall out of them. Your tearducts filled to the brim with the salty liquid. Levi would be a good guy for once, right?

He would surely regret his future actions. Big time.

With a sigh, the male pulled you along with him to the couch. His hands guiding your hips to sit on top of his lap whilst he smashed his lips with yours. Air got caught in your throat as Levi’s hands roamed around—exploring every inch of your body—while his mouth moved in attempts to get yours to move also. You never expected that he would be pressing his lips against yours in a heated dance—a wet one at that matter. Levi’s tongue kept darting and swiping at your bottom lip, which was an oddly delightful sensation that it makes you want to—

“Hngghh…”

Moan.

Your hands curled up, clutching Levi’s shirt and wrinkling it up in the process. Pleasure clouded your mind as hormones took over your system. Testing the waters, you opened your mouth—just a slight—so that his pink muscle could enter your wet cavern. And heavens above, it was such a blissful experience.

Levi exhaled into the kiss to which the air slightly ticked your cheeks. He used one hand to bring your head closer to his so that he could taste more of you, while the other started peeling the jacket off of you, going just past your shoulder blades. A quiet moan slipped past your lips once again.

“Okay, I call bullshit. I am entering,” Hange announced, prying open the doors only to gasp loudly upon seeing the scene before her. “OH. YOU WERE SERIOUS?”

Levi broke away to glare at the brunette, “Tch. Do you mind? Four eyes?”

You are in such a daze that you find yourself staring at Levi’s lips. In that brief moment, you already missed the feeling of his mouth against yours.

The female blinked, too stunned as she stared at the both of you. One powerless lieutenant, with your first few buttons undone and jacket slipping down, sitting on Levi’s lap. Your lower area flush against the male’s ever-growing erection. Not to mention the bewildered expression that you have with a lewd undertone. Hange swore that she saw a string of saliva between yours and Levi’s lips.

“Ah yes. I’ll just place these here, no biggie. Hehe.” The brunette let out an awkward laugh, placing the stacks of paper in the corner of the room. “Have fun you two!”

That said, Hange left the room. Her steps were heavy against the cobblestone floor as she rushed away from the vicinity. A grin on her face as she thought of spreading the news that you and Levi are doing at the moment in his room. Not even minding that she lost the bet with you since you had proved to her that indeed the captain is capable of love. A juicy information such as this is worth half of her salary for the month.

Levi brought your attention to him by kissing you once again. This time, with more force as he pried your mouth open once again with his tongue alone. It was a slippery battle; one-sided, in fact, considering that you weren’t fighting back. You simply let him wrestle with your tongue, yours and his saliva mixing in the process.

Damn, you really couldn’t hold your moan in this time.

“Would you look at that?” Levi pulled away. “You know how to moan, after all.”

You swore, the tips of his lips curled upwards in a small smirk and there was a dark glint in his eyes.

“Wh-Wha—” you were a loss for words. “What did you—…What was that?”

“It’s a kiss, dumbass.”

“That’s not what I meant! Y-your tongue—”

He rose a brow at you. “What about it?”

You sealed your mouth shut, heat rushing to your face in embarrassment. “Just… just don’t do that again.”

Levi kept a firm grip on your waist as you wriggled. “Shut up, you obviously liked it. You even opened your mouth.”

“Did not!”

“Then why did you moaned into the kiss?”

You suck in a breath, cat catching your tongue.

“Though so…” he murmured, diving into your neck to pepper it with light kisses. Head too filled with pleasure, you gripped his shirt in your closed fists as you let out one shaky breath. It takes all of your nerves just to swallow that one moan threatening to come out.

“Hng- Levi. You could stop now, Hange saw us already.”

He hummed, pulling back slightly to gaze into your eyes. There was a hint of lust hidden within his silver orbs. You gulped, finding yourself wrapped around his fingers.

“Why won’t we make your lie come true?” Levi sunk his teeth in your neck.

Guess who is getting laid tonight.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #levi #levi x reader #captain levi #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #reader insert #asters fics

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angry-geese · 3 years ago

Text

The Devil Makes Three

Risotto x reader x Prosciutto

Warnings: nsfw. degradation/humiliation (sort of, its really just one sentence), oral (masc receiving), fingering, rough-ish sex, spit roasting, threesome. a little dubcon, the reader is eventually into it but I'm tagging it just in case. Fem!Reader

Notes: reader is responsible for a mission going wrong, hate sex ensues

The job was a bust.

You didn't listen when Prosciutto told you to wait just a few more seconds. There was an opening, so you took it. The two of you had been trailing that target all day. You were growing impatient, just wanting the job to be over. You didn't know when you'd get another one. You were just doing your job.

He didn't see it that way.

The two of you finished the job, but not without a civilian casualty. The hit was about as messy as it could get. Sometimes a few witnesses get killed—it happens—but Prosciutto always gets pissy when there's an extra target with no pay. To him, he's losing money. The extra bodies only serve to complicate things. Discretion is necessary at all costs in your line of work.

Prosciutto was silent on the drive home. You suppose it was better than yelling. If looks could kill, his would. There's no use in trying to defend yourself. It won't work. Once he has his mind set on something, there's almost no changing it.

He'll calm down eventually.

You could only hope your boss would be more forgiving.

By the time you get back, the hideout is dark. The others seem to have gone home for the night. If they were at the hideout, they made no appearance. Maybe whatever higher power is out there took pity on you, sparing you this bit of shame. Risotto's imposing figure soon appears from his office, carrying a stack of paperwork. Almost immediately he senses that something is wrong. Prosciutto takes a seat, gripping the arms of his chair so tight his knuckles turn white.

"Are you going to tell him what happened? Or do we have to wait for you to grace us with your knowledge?" Prosciutto sneers.

Risotto stops dead in his tracks. You shrink under his gaze. Even at the best of times his reaction is hard to read.

"Why the hell do I have to do it?!" You ask.

"Because you fucked up the mission!"

It's a fair point, but you're not going to let him have the satisfaction of admitting that he's right. You don't exactly have a defense here. There's only so much you can do to protect the shred of pride you have left.

Risotto's larger figure presses into you from behind. At first it's as if he's looking you over for injuries. His eyes scan over your body. Aside from your damaged pride, you're fine. One of his hands rests on your shoulder. His touch is rather gentle, but his grip is firm. If you really tried, you might be able to shake it. Even if you got away from him, there's still Prosciutto to deal with. You might have a chance against him in a fight. The two of you are relatively close in size. Assuming he doesn't call out Grateful Dead, you could get away.

What's the worst that could happen?

By then, fight or flight is kicking in. Every cell of your being is telling you to run. They look down at you like you're prey—like you’re some small animal to torment. Risotto wouldn't hurt you, but Prosciutto might. He tends to be a bit more unpredictable—and moody—than your boss. Although you may have just pissed them off enough that they don't care.

The second you flinch, Risotto's hands are grabbing a hold of your wrists, wrenching them behind your back. It's not outright painful, but it doesn't feel very good. You kick back, hitting him in his shin hard. He grunts in pain, his grip loosening for only a moment. You'll take any opening you can get. The second you bolt, he's dragging you back by the collar of your shirt, pinning your body to him. You don’t even make it two steps. With the way you're lifted off of the ground, you can only do so much to struggle.

Part of you feels ashamed for the throb this sends right to your pussy. Heat pools in the pit of your stomach, only worsened as Risotto's large hand wraps around your throat, tilting your chin up.

Prosciutto lets out a disappointed sounding sigh. "I really hope you'll put up more of a fight than that."

"Asshole!" You say. "Put me down!"

Maybe you won't win the fight, but you think you could give Prosciutto a good whacking.

"Are you going to try to run again?" Risotto asks. His breath is warm against your ear.

"No."

You take too long to answer. He sighs and sets you down, but his arms still hold you close to his chest. His chin rests on the top of your head, caging you in even more.

You swear you feel something hard pressing against your back.

Prosciutto grips you by the chin, forcing you to look at him. There's no wrenching out of his grasp. His glare is burning. It's worse than Risotto's. The least you could do to save your pride is look him in the eye.

"Christ you're pathetic." He says. "You're enjoying this, aren't you puttana?"

His hands quickly work to undo the buttons of your pants. There's not much you can do but squirm in a failed attempt to get away from his touch. You'd be fighting a lot harder if you didn't want it.

Prosciutto works you open with his fingers. His thumb idly traces around your clit. It won't get you anywhere fast, but with the way his finders stroke at your g-spot, it's enough. It takes everything within you to hold back your moan. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction. The lewd, wet noises are just loud enough to disguise your heavy breathing. Risotto's free hand- the one that's not holding you to him- wanders your body, groping the soft flesh of your ass and hips. His erection presses into you from behind, painfully hard.

"She's already wet. Look at this." Prosciutto sneers.

His hand glistens in the low light. He makes a show of licking his fingers, pulling them from his lips with an audible pop. Your face burns with shame. He pulls you in for a kiss. You hesitate for a moment, before giving in. He nibbles at your bottom lip until you open up for him, letting his tongue explore your mouth. You can taste yourself on him, his breath smells like wine. His spare hand tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The action is oddly affectionate compared to the predatory way his eyes look over your body. When he eventually pulls away, a line of saliva connects your lips.

"Let's find a use for that pretty mouth of yours," Prosciutto frees his cock, shoving your head down. His half hardened cock is inches away from your face. He's smaller than Risotto, though not by much. The head is red and angry looking, leaking precum. Your free hand wraps around Prosciutto's cock, stroking slowly. You lick a long stripe along the vein underneath- the one that runs all the way up his shaft- making him shudder. The taste is salty, but not entirely unpleasant.

Risotto grabs your hips, pulling you flush to his. Despite Prosciutto's prep, Risotto presses his fingers against your already soaked entrance. He's a bit larger than his partner, and doesn't want to hurt you. His long fingers stroke against your g-spot, his thumb rubbing circles around your clit. He adds a third finger, pumping faster, fucking you with his fingers. Shamelessly you moan.

Prosciutto cocks an eyebrow to this, a smug looks spreading across his face. He'll never admit the jealousy that fills him as Risotto bends you over. He doesn't like you giving all of your attention to Risotto. It's an immature need to be the center of attention. You bob your head on his cock, swirling your tongue around the tip. He mumbles a weak "good girl" as you take him in his entirety. His hands card through your hair. He seemingly forgets what was bothering him before. The smell of his cologne is heady, making your head spin. You're already half drunk from Risotto's skilled touch.

The cold piercing that presses against your burning skin makes you shiver. Risotto's cock is built like the rest of him, long, dark, thick. The hairs towards the base are neatly trimmed and the same silver as the rest of his hair. He presses into you slowly, ready to stop should you show any sign of discomfort. If he was Pesci, Prosciutto would be shouting at him to go harder- that you could take it. Risotto groans when he bottoms out inside you, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass. His spare hand goes back to your clit, stroking it in slow, circular motions.

You're already about to cum when Risotto starts fucking into you. Your legs quiver, your moans stifled by Prosciutto's cock, who isn't far from his own release. His hands knot in your hair, shoving your mouth back down on his cock. Prosciutto scrambles for purchase against Risotto as you stroke a particularly sensitive spot, working the neglected parts of his cock with your free hand. He clamps a hand down on his partner's shoulder to steady himself. He gives no warning as he's about to cum, spilling his seed down your throat. Instinctively you swallow.

Prosciutto commits the look of your shaking form to memory. With his thumb he wipes away a drop of cum that's spilled onto your cheek.

Risotto picks up his pace, pounding into you from behind. His nails leave indents in your skin. They'll bruise tomorrow. It doesn't matter how many times you've taken him, he always takes some getting used to. The stretch of his cock isn't outright painful, but it does sting in a pleasurable sort of way. He hits deeper than Prosciutto, stroking at sweet spots you didn't even know you had. He coos words of praise into your ear as he fucks into you, his composure dropping as he gets close to his release.

Your own orgasm rolls over you like a wave, swallowing you whole and spitting you back out. You're left shaky, and too tired to resist as Risotto uses you to chase his own release. What sets him over the edge is the way your pussy clenches around him. He cums hard, spilling his seed into your unprotected womb.

He shudders as he pulls out. Cum drips down your inner thighs. Prosciutto's cold hands slide up your back, coming to rest on your shoulders. His chest presses into you from behind. He leans past you to press a quick peck to his partner’s lips. The action leaves Risotto red in the face, but his calm composure doesn't falter.

The pair holds you between them as you settle down. You’re left sleepy, albeit a bit sore. Maybe you'll take tomorrow off. You listen to the steady beating of Risotto’s heart as he pulls you close to his chest, Prosciutto on the opposite side of you doing the same. Moments where he isn’t threatening to kill you are very rare. You cherish them when they pop up.

"Have you learned your lesson?" Risotto's thumb traces your bottom lip. Slowly you nod. Prosciutto lets out an annoyed scoff, but says nothing.

"Good." He says.

#jjba x reader #proscuitto x reader #risotto x reader #risotto x reader x prosciutto #risotto nero x reader #not sfw #jjba #vento aureo #golden wind #jojo's bizarre adventure #cw dubcon #cw degradation

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kenrik · 3 years ago

Text

I’ve written a lot of GoUta fics,

Sharing all of them here would take forever. So, just sharing my favorites!

First and foremost, however, I want to say that I adore, absolutely adore (and find myself always re-reading!) onemoreword’s works. These fics are the pinnacle of everything I could want from GoUta. The world this author has created, the grasp they have of the characters -

onemoreword’s writing is simple and straightforward, yet so beautiful, so haunting. They’re the best for me, in a ship with so many awesome authors and stories already. UwU

PrettyKittyLuvsU also holds a special place in my heart!

Their fics are just so pure and deep. Mine’s are really just surface, just to get me through my brainrot fics. 🤣 I’m trying to write stories with deeper insight into the characters in canon, but, it’s taking me forever to build a story. The rules set by the JJK world, their dynamics, the tone I want to achieve of their relationship, are all so tedious to factor in. Most of what I’ve written are AUs and fluff because I just put in the bickering and teasing and call it a day. xD

I’m trying with Still Blue, This Black Sky, but it’s a new fic. And I’ve just come up with a plot. I’m only updating once I have a draft of the entire story. Posting without one is a pain, I lost my way a lot with 01 and Cast Away.

I also reread my fics! I write fanfics after all, so I can read my HCs. Hahahaha

So, if you happen to find my fics fun to read too, we’re in the same boat! xD

Ao3 says I’ve written 21 JJK stories. 🤣🤣

This shipper’s brainrot is too real, too potent. 🤣🤣 I can’t even with my self. 🤣🤣

Here are my favorite stories to reread -

1. Drinking Parties - Canon-Compliant, Funny

A series of oneshots following GoUta go from bar to bar.

And now, there they were. At their drinking party. The drinking party where Gojo said everyone would be going to. It would be fun, he told her. Everyone would have a such a blast, he said.

Honestly, Utahime could only blame herself for being foolish enough to believe him.

This damn idiot. She thought with a glare as she slammed her mug of beer on the table.

"You're really mad." Gojo looks at her with a curiosity. "Why?"

Why? Utahime seethed. "Where the hell is everyone?!" She threw her glass at him. And his infinity just catapulted it away and made a shattering mess on the floor.

"That wasn't nice, Utahime." He shakes his head at her. "It's that time of the month, huh?"

Utahime flushes red the next second. And with an embarrassed cry, she reached out for Gojo's very own glass and flung it at him as well.

"You're paying!" She screamed at him in finality when she's gotten tired of his stupid infinity. And she drops back to her seat and yells for the waitress to serve them a round of beer.

"Drink!" She barks at him when he was just playing with his glass. "Drinking party, my ass." She grumbles to the rim of her mug. And she downed her drink in one go.

2. The Clearing - Series of AUs, Japanese Folklore AU, Samurai AU, Pirate AU

A series of AUs covering soulmates over the course of history.

(Pirate AU)

They were cruising in the high seas when Satoru was leaning on his back against a wooden pillar, idly sharpening his knife. He was whistling to himself when a crew member walks up to him with an anxiousness about him.

"Um, captain," He didn't know what to say; how to say it. "I think I found a stowaway."

Satoru turned to him with a dangerous twitch in his eye.

"What?" He spits with a venom.

And in the next instant, a woman in menswear was thrown before him at the deck.

He took it as a personal offense that anyone dared board his ship without his express approval. Let alone a woman. He spat at her gall. He would have her head, he thinks to himself in a growing spite.

"The sharks are going to be full today." He tells his crew coldly as he looked at the woman who didn't dare face him, whose angry gaze was directed to the wooden floorboards.

"Have any final words before you die?" He asks her to make peace with her inevitable demise.

And when she doesn't speak, Satoru just waves a lazy hand, signaling to his crew to just get it over with.

But before anyone could touch the woman, she speaks in a low voice, "I'll do anything."

Satoru turns to her with a confusion, with a raised brow.

"What?"

And she suddenly looks up at faces him with a fierce glare in her eyes.

"I'll do anything! So, let me stay on board!" She cries. And her hands clench against the wooden boards; the smell of the ocean consuming her; the adventure she's yearned for her whole life was so close she could taste it. "Let me stay!"

Satoru leans back, surprised.

Then, he starts to smile a sinister smile.

"Do you even know what you're saying?"

Utahime clenches her jaw.

"Do you have any idea where we're going?" He laughs at her dryly and crouches down at her; his face patronizing.

"You won't last a day with us."

"You'll get raped."

"You'll get killed."

"You might even just stub your toe and start crying for your mom." He laughs at how ridiculous she was.

Then, he pokes her cheek with the dull end of his knife.

"Don't be stupid."

I can’t even begin to say how much I love this Pirate AU. I love all the AUs in this story. I love everything I write honestly, even if it’s just plain crack. xD

But, they’re just so cute in this AU. I love them so much. And I owe readers a sequel.... 🤣🤣

3. the most valuable relationship to a sorcerer is friendship - Canon-Compliant, Friends at a wedding, Have a serious conversation, about their life as sorcerers

Uta and Satoru find themselves attending the wedding of a mutual friend.

He finds her in a bar alone, nursing a drink. And when her gaze drifts from her beverage to him, she almost spits out her drink.

"What are you doing here?!" She cried at him in dismay. And Gojo just chuckled as he approached her.

"You don't have to be so mad about it." He tells her with a small smile. "I'm on vacation."

"You take vacations?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Occasionally." Gojo grins at her. "Rarely." He adds. And Utahime frowns at him when he eventually says, "Mostly never."

"You here for the wedding?"

And he laughs again when Utahime just turns away with a deep sigh.

"I am." She sips her drink. And, she fights back the twitch in her eye when Gojo takes the empty seat next to her.

"Shall we go together, then?"

Utahime turns to frown at him.

"You think I came here alone?" She hisses at him in disbelief.

And Gojo just smiles at her. "Didn't you?" Then, he laughs when Utahime relents.

"Fine." She sighs. "I still can't accept that out of everyone I know, I run into you, you of all people, in Hawaii." She groaned to the heavens. And Gojo just chuckles. "In Hawaii, Gojo. Why?" She cried to the heavens for an answer. Why did they have to keep torturing her?

"Must have been something you did in a past life." Gojo offers with a laugh, resting his cheek on the palm of his hand.

Beside him, Utahime's face soured.

4. Sweet - Modern AU, Barista Utahime, Cafe Shop

Uta is worried about the health of one of her regulars.

"I can't, in good conscience, serve you anymore bubble tea."

"You took an oath or something?" He smirks. "Not to over serve poor salarymen with a sweet tooth?"

Utahime raises a brow and bites back her laugh.

"So," The man leaned over the counter with his smile, looking down at the selection of drinks in the menu laid on the bar. "What would you recommend I get?"

"An americano." She simply tells him and slips cups for a previous order into the plastic melder to seal them.

"All right." The patron smiles, too wide, and too familiar for Utahime's liking.

What was wrong with this guy, she couldn't help but frown in discomfort.

"But, add three tablespoons of honey." The man adds, and laughs at the look of disbelief on Utahime's face. "What? Honey's not sugar."

"It is..." Utahime couldn't believe this guy. "Whatever." She sighs and prepares his order. But, instead of the three spoonfulls of honey, she put a single teaspoon.

And when he drinks it in front of her, she laughs out loud at the disgusted, sour look on his face. And he demanded she give him five packets of sugar.

5. Immature - Canon-Compliant, Gojo “teasing” Utahime, First Meeting, Childhood GoUta

Uta finally meets the kid with the Six Eyes.

When the family before them leaves, when they're presented as the Iori house, Utahime is fuming red. But she bites her tongue and keeps her mouth shut in respect for her parents, for her relatives around her.

And when she sees how the six year old looked at her condescendingly, slouched forward on his seat, looking at her with his calculating eyes, seemingly appraising her; she starts to shake in a growing rage.

Then, he smirks. The six year old smirks at her.

And something inside her snaps when he tells her, when he chuckles and tells her,

"Did you know?" He smirks at her with a chuckle in his lips. "Did you know you're so weak?"

Red with rage, before her mother could stop her again, Utahime cries out and angrily grabs the empty juice box in front of her; and she throws it at the six year old; hitting him square on the face.

And he flushes. In an instant, he flushes red. A very, very angry, humiliated red.

"Utahime?!" Her mother cried out in dismay.

And Utahime had to be dragged out before she could get her claws at the six year old and set him straight.

6. Red, Blue, and The Purple Moon - Canon-compliant, Post-Shibuya Incident Arc, GoUta living together, Powerless Gojo

GoUta play house.

"Wow," She mouthed, not noticing how Gojo's face paled. "I actually got to hit you for once." She unconsciously ruffled the hair on the top of his head, making the strongest sorcerer twitch in annoyance.

"I can actually hit you, now." She suddenly gripped his head with some force. And Gojo could only look in horror at the murderous glint in her eyes.

"Utahime..." He tries to laugh it off, the growing tension in the air. And he tries to take Utahime's hands in his, tries to pull her hands off him, when Utahime suddenly looks down at him with a demented glare on her face and started chuckling.

"Gojo," She smiles at him sinisterly. "Do you remember," Her hands started to trail down from his hair, from his face to his neck. "Do you remember how you've been calling me weak since we've known each other?"

Gojo tries to smile back, tries to laugh with her; "Of course," He forces a chuckle. "We have our fun, Utahime!"

"Fun?!" Gojo sees the murderous glint flash in her eyes too late. And the next thing he knew, Utahime started choking him and shaking him like there was no tomorrow.

This is my first fic. I’ve had to rewrite this a lot, since I’m learning so much more about their world and the characters. Still, I really love this. I love the fact that Gojo is powerless. HAHAHA. I will definitely find myself editing this fic again. But I love it already as is.

While I love No Love and 01, and all the other fics, I do not like angst. Just thinking about how it’ll hurt later on is just so painful. I don’t know what’s up with people and pain, but those who’ve read my stories seem to prefer angst. The heck. 🤣 Isn’t JJK canon enough pain for you guys? 🤣🤣

#gojohime #gouta #fanfic #i wrote some #just a few #🤣🤣🤣🤣

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anotherninjagoblog · 4 years ago

Text

LoveSick

Ehhhhh the title is iffy. :P

BUT

This fic has been in my drafts for a while, and I’m actually really proud of how it turned out! I really took my time, and I hope y’all like it just as much as I do <3. Special thanks to ellieloves2read, fizzysugarwater, and miraculous-ninjabird who commented their headcanons on my last post! It really helped me out with the last couple passages :)

Summary: Being sick and having new relationship anxiety towards your best-friend turned boyfriend sucks. (Bruiseshipping/Geodeshipping)

//////////

“You sure you don’t want us to give you a ride home?”

“Yeah,” he paused, pulling the scarf over his mouth and nose, suddenly getting the urge to sneeze again.

A second later and the feeling went away.

“Cole is going to drive me.” Jay said, finishing his sentence.

He pulled his scarf down again, his breath coming out in a small fog. It was a cold Friday night, and he and Nya had gone with Lloyd to watch the football game. Not only to support Nya’s brother Kai, but Jay’s boyfriend Cole.

Jay’s heart thumped in his chest. Boyfriend was such a nice word.

The game had ended ten minutes ago with Ninjago High securing a victory that night. With the football team yet to come out of the stadium’s locker room, and Lloyd having already being picked up by his father, it left Jay and Nya shivering as they stood over by the gate directly across from where Cole and Kai would exit. Everyone else was already leaving, undoubtedly to rush to their cars and blast their heaters on the way to their nice warm houses.

Nya gave him a skeptical look, narrowing her eyes. “Dude, come on, you look way worse than when you showed up.”

Well, she’s not wrong, Jay thought to himself.

He should have known he was going to end up sick. That foreboding feeling had been following him for a couple days now, the runny nose, the beginnings of a sore, scratchy throat.

Before he had left for school that day, he ended up taking cold syrup as a precaution. But now that he was standing there, sniffling and sneezing, he realized he should have taken more, or at least taken it with him. And to tell the truth, he was absolutely suffering. He hated everything having to do with being sick since forever.

Nya, who had steadily watched his condition worsen and the night become colder, had continually offered him the choice to leave together. But, the thought of not being there to support Cole when he could just suck it up (a little while longer, he repeated as an internal mantra) ate at him just a tiny bit more.

“It’s uh, not as bad as it looks?” He croaked, giving a weak smile. The pain in his throat seemed to resonate with every word he spoke. Jay fought the need to pull at his scarf again.

Nya rolled her eyes. She was not convinced.

“Nya! Jay!”

The duo turned around to the sound of Cole’s voice to see him and Kai jogging over to where they were standing.

Jay felt warm at the call. Smiling, he gave a wave as they got closer.

Kai jogged a bit faster, hooking his arms around Jay and Nya. Despite how cold it had gotten, Kai only seemed to radiate heat through his sweatshirt. “Did you see me out there? Other team didn’t know what hit em’.” He paused, looking around. “Greenie leave already?”

“Yeah,” Jay answered. “You guys-” Something in his chest tightened, and Jay immediately pulled away from Kai as he suddenly broke out into a coughing fit.

“-did great.” He finished, his voice coming out raspy. When he turned back around, Kai and Nya had taken their distance from his mini germ explosion, while Cole only kept moving towards him.

Before he could utter a hello, Cole placed a hand on his forehead, before repeatedly replacing it on his cheek and forehead once again.

He held Jay’s face in between his hands, a concerned look gracing his features.

“You’re running a fever.”

...So it wasn’t just the blushing from their reunion.

Ignoring the discomfort bubbling inside from the symptoms of his cold, Jay stepped back.

“I um, might be coming down with something.” He answered, pulling the edge of the scarf over his mouth.

“You literally sounded as if you were about to hack up a lung!” Interjected Kai, who was still, rightfully so, keeping his difference.

Nya left her spot next to her brother and walked up beside Cole. “I tried telling him. Even Lloyd offered. But you know, he was really compelled by the power of looooove,” she drawled.

Jay was about to make some sort of retort when Cole offered him his hand.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” He said gently.

Jay nodded. Now he was really about to melt.

They bid their goodbyes until Monday to Kai and Nya before they walked off in separate directions to their cars. The walk to Cole’s truck felt much longer than it was, and Jay kind of felt like he was beginning to space out, Cole’s hand and the sound of their footsteps on the pavement serving as his only tether.

They were about to approach his truck when another car had pulled up next to them. It was a couple of other guys from the football team Jay could just barely make out in the dark.

“Yo Cole! We’re going out to eat to celebrate - you coming?”

“Nah man, go without me!” Cole said, waving them off. The truck just steps away, Cole shifted his heavy bag onto one shoulder, before pulling the keys out of his pocket. The doors unlocked with a small click and a flash of the headlights. “Come on Bluebell.” he said, letting go of Jay’s hand.

Jay climbed into the passenger side without another word, closing the door and automatically putting on his seatbelt.

Cole climbed in right after, shoving his bag into the backseat before he shut the door behind him. He rubbed his hands together and turned on the truck, cranking up the heater full blast.

“Check in there will you?” Cole asked, pointing at the glovebox. “Or, I might have some cough drops around...somewhere....” he said, his voice trailing off as he opened the middle compartment between the seats.

Jay opened up the glovebox but could not find the cough drops. Cole had noticed.

“No? Okay, we’ll just get you some.” Cole said, before buckling his seatbelt.

“It’s worse than I thought. You’re completely quiet.” He looked over his shoulder, backing out of the parking space.

As they drove out of the lot, Jay finally spoke up.

“You should have gone with them. Don’t want to keep you from all the fun.”

Cole frowned, his eyes still focused on the road. “Jay. It’s not a problem. I promise you.”

“Okay.” Jay leaned back into the seat, watching the lights pass by outside his window. He felt so warm, so safe, and so tired, that maybe he could fall asleep...just for...a li...a little while.

He awoke to a gentle shake of the shoulder.

“Jay. Babe.”

Jay blinked slowly. Upon realizing he was not home in bed, and instead, still in Cole’s truck, he sat up, startled.

“W-what? ...What happened?” He mumbled quickly. “Why did we stop?”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Cole replied, leaning over, placing a hand on his cheek. Jay looked out the front window, the red neon lights of the pharmacy practically burning into his post-sleep vision. He turned back to look at Cole.

“I’m going to run inside, get you a couple things.” He turned around quickly, pulling the keys out of the ignition. “Hold onto these.”

Jay sat up as Cole shoved the keys into his hand. “Lock the door. I’ll be back.”

And in a split moment, he was already out the truck, Jay watching as he quickly made his way over to the entrance. As Cole disappeared inside, Jay pressed the door lock, before leaning into the seat again. He could feel a headache coming on.

Ugh, as if the sore throat wasn’t bad enough.

Maybe he should have gone home earlier.

Especially since his germs were bound to have spread all over the interior of Cole’s truck.

And now he was in there, spending money on him.

Jay shifted in his seat, the cold slowly beginning to seep in from outside.

Maybe this was a mistake.

But it didn’t feel like a mistake. His feelings were real, unapologetic in the way only one look at Cole made his heart flutter. And, maybe he imagined it, but he swore - he swore that he could see the love he felt in his heart in Cole’s eyes.

Jay absolutely loved that they were together. But, what if he was too whiny? Too self-conscious? What if everything he did secretly annoyed Cole? To the point where he would break up with him and stop being friends with him?

Jay tugged at his sleeve. They knew how to be friends, but this whole boyfriend thing is another level.

What if...

A sharp knock on the door abruptly cut him out of his thoughts, and effectively startled Jay in his seat.

He turned his head to look out the drivers’ side window to see Cole waiting, his hand on the door handle.

Taking a breath to settle the soul that had nearly leapt from his body, Jay then picked up the keys from their place on his lap, and pressed the button.

Cole opened the door and climbed in, the loud rustling of a plastic bag filling in the silence. He shut the door behind him, and smiled at Jay, raising the bag up beside his face.

“Let me turn on the heater again, it’s getting cold in here.” Jay handed Cole the keys, and he waited for the heat to blast in through the vents before turning in his seat to face Jay.

“For you.”

Jay gingerly received the bag from him, and peered in to view the contents. Cole reached up over his head, turning on the cabin light.

It was a bag full of goodies to any sick person if he ever saw one. Pulling it closer and setting it on his lap for proper inspection, he began to rummage through it.

At the top of the bag were tissues, and to his delight, there was a box of the special ones - the ones that didn’t make your nose red every time you had to blow - as well as many pocket-sized packs. As if that wasn’t great already, there were two medium sized bags of cough drops - mint and cherry. A bottle of cold medicine, and just peeking underneath-

“No way.” Jay said aloud in amused disbelief.

“For your throat.” Cole replied, smiling.

Jay pulled out the small pint of ice cream.

Birthday cake was his favorite.

He looked at it a moment longer before tears suddenly began to well up in his eyes.

“Jay?”

There it was again. The concern, the care in his voice-

Jay began to cry. He gently set the pint in the bag before using his sweater sleeve to wipe his eyes.

Cole leaned over, placing a hand on his knee. “Jay, what’s the matter? Are you feeling worse? What hurts?”

Jay sniffled, before hastily wiping at his eyes again.

He looked at Cole, giving him the best smile he could. “You’re so...amazing.”

Cole returned a small smile, brushing aside a stray tear on Jay’s face.

But the concern was still there. Jay could tell.

“Ready?”

Jay nodded, pulled out the box of tissues, and tore it open.

At the sound of the front door opening, Edna quickly set aside the book she had been reading. “Jay! I was just about to call when - oh honey you look awful!” She walked over from her spot at the couch, going up to the both of them.

“Gee, thanks Ma.” He replied sarcastically, then winced at the sting in his throat. He needed another cough drop. Or maybe he could open up the ice cream now.

“Oh hello Cole! Thank you for bringing Jay home.”

Cole smiled. “It’s really no problem, Mrs. Walker.”

“You’re such a nice young man, you know, I was really happy when Jay told us you were dating!”

“Ma!” Jay grimaced at the pain from the sudden strain in his voice. “Um, can you put this is the freezer for me?” He dug into the bag quickly, pulling out the pint of ice cream, and held it out to his mother. “Before it melts.”

“Oh, alright.” She said, chuckling.

As soon as she turned away, Jay headed to his room, Cole trailing behind him.

He pushed open the door and turned on the lights.

Jay walked over to the dresser, setting the bag on top, before shedding his sweater and scarf and placing it in the hamper.

Cole busied himself with looking at some of the old posters on Jay’s wall while he changed into a pair of sweatpants.

“Hey.”

Cole turned around, meeting his gaze.

“So, uh, see you Monday?”

Cole paused, thinking for a moment before replying.

“Did you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

Cole set the backpack down beside the door. “What happened, back in the truck.”

Jay reached for a tissue, and crumbled it in his hand. “I don’t know - I just feel sick and it’s screwing with me, I guess.” He sniffled, and stepped closer to his bed before plopping himself down on the edge. “I think I just need to sleep it off.” He said to himself, before falling backwards onto the mattress.

The light was too bright, so Jay placed his arm over his eyes. In seconds, he heard Cole moving around. He felt the bed indent as Cole sat next to him.

“Here.”

Jay moved his arm aside, and saw Cole offering him a dose of the medicine in the small plastic cup. Cole offered his free hand, and pulled him up.

He took the medicine from him, downing it in one bitter gulp. Yuck.

They sat in silence before Cole spoke up.

“You could tell me anything before, and you can still tell me anything now. That doesn’t have to change.”

“I know.” Jay pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s just- I don’t think I’m all that great, you know? You? You’re amazing. Everybody wants to be your friend. You always know what to say, and you seem so good at this.” Jay said, making a gesture between the both of them. “But what about me? I’m not cool, and I know I can get on people’s nerves- sometimes I talk too much, and I just end up thinking about why you’re with me. I really care about you Cole, I really do, but what if doesn’t work? I just...I don’t want to lose you, ever.”

“Jay.” Cole said. “Deep breath in.”

Jay took a breath the best he could without coughing, before releasing it slowly out his mouth. “Deep breath out.” He murmured in response.

“See? Perfect.” Jay slumped against Cole’s side, and the latter wrapped an arm around him.

“Hear me out.” Cole began, his voice a beat softer. “I know we’re still new to this. But, that doesn’t mean it won’t work.” He paused a moment. “...Love takes work. And I’m willing to put all of that into us. If you let me. But I promise. We will never lose each other. So for now...let’s just take things one step at a time.”

“Together?” Jay asked.

Cole smiled. “Together.”

Oh no, Jay thought. He was giving him that smile - the handsome one. Without thinking, he moved closer, pressing a quick kiss upon his boyfriend’s lips.

It didn’t take longer than a second for Jay to realize what he did. “Oh my gosh! I forgot! Now I-”

Cole kissed him, cutting him off.

“Hey, it’s okay. Just come take care of me too when I’m sick, alright?”

“Deal.” Jay agreed, with a dopey smile on his face and his heart still beating.

Cole pulled his phone out of his pocket, and unlocked the screen. “It’s getting late. I should probably go, let you get some rest.”

“Wait.” He said, grabbing Cole’s hand. “Stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“I probably stink.”

“Don’t care. Can’t really smell now anyways.” He retorted, with a sniffle at the end.

“Okay.” Cole said, giving in. “Let me get you a couple tissues first.”

“Feel better?” Cole whispered.

“....Yeah..” Jay responded sleepily.

The room was dark - only a small crack at the door allowed some of the light from the hallway to spill in

Cole was propped up against the headboard, both of Jay’s arms wrapped around his waist. He moved, making sure the blankets were snugly tucked around him. A touch to Jay’s forehead confirmed the fever was going down.

“You still listening?” He asked.

“..mm...yeah..”

Cole could tell he wasn’t really awake, so he went on to speak anyways.

“Sometimes I wish you saw yourself the way I do. You...everything you do makes me happy.” He said, brushing a curl behind Jay’s ear. “When you talk everyone’s ear off,” Cole chuckled, “I am more than willing to listen to every word that comes out of your mouth so long that I can see that sparkle in your eye. You’re passionate about everything you like, everything you do. I love seeing the excitement you have even for the simplest of things.”

He looked down at Jay again, who was already asleep.

“I would do anything to see you smile. I am so glad to be with you, to be your, best friend, to be your boyfriend. I want to remind you every single day.”

Cole waited a moment longer, before planting a kiss to Jay’s forehead. He grabbed a pillow, and helped position Jay in a way that would help him breathe easier throughout the night. He moved away, and his boyfriend barely stirred.

Cole got out of bed, and was about to walk into the hallway before he stopped at the doorway. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he quickly typed out a text before gently closing the door behind him.

Jay’s phone illuminated on the bedstand.

Love you. I’ll be back later.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #nikdrabbles #bruiseshipping #cole ninjago #jay walker #ninjago fic #ninjago fanfic #ninjago fanfiction #geodeshipping #ninjago jay

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galaxythreads · 3 years ago

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Should I continue fic???

I wrote up these five pages to a possible Porcelain/Append merge (kinda) and was wondering if anyone would be interested/read it if I continued on with it?

What do I mean by merge? I mean, it would be like a re-written version of Append with Hela’s background in Porcelain put in, and the entire story overall would be much darker. Just. To clarify that. XD

*Also note of warning, all my italics were removed, and I am too exhausted to and put them back in. Just...imagine it.

Five Pages:

“No!” The sound is a hoarse screech, tearing itself out of her throat and refusing to be ignored.

Hela scrambles to get her feet beneath herself, dragging her heels into the snow, leaving a long blood trail smeared in the white, crystalized snow behind her. It’s not enough. He’s taking her. She’s not going to be able to stop him.

Oh, Allfathers.

A desperate, panicked sob begins to build in her chest, applying pressure until it feels like her ribs will burst from the effort of keeping it contained. She can’t breathe. Every inhale draws the sharp, painful air of Jotunheim into her lungs, searing them as it settles into her chest. It’s so cold that it feels like her tongue is beginning to go stiff in her mouth.

She struggles in the grasp, trying to get some sort of leverage so she can fight her way out of the grip and draw a weapon, but there’s nothing she can do. With her hair wrapped firmly in the fist as well as her arm, her neck is pinned into place and leaves little room to wiggle.

Desperate, she scrambles to find some sort of way to deal with the situation. She stops trying to claw off the fingers with her left hand and starts to flex out her fingers, feeling the familiar discomforting wedge as the dwarf metal implants in her arms start to form the weapon. She’s not entirely sure what she’s planning, anything sharp and easily maneuverable, but it doesn’t matter as Odin releases her abruptly, shoving her into the hard snow.

Hela smacks against it, feeling the sensation rattle up her face, but no pain. Never any pain. She hasn’t been worthy of it since early adolescence.

“By the gods, you insufferable child!” Odin exclaims, turning around to face her. His expression is twisted into familiar incense. Well, what’s left of it. Hela’s eyes snap up toward the unfamiliar sight of hasty field bandages wrapped around Odin’s head, covering his left eye. There’s still blood on his face from where it smeared down his cheek after the attack.

It looks painful.

Good.

“How can you be so ungrateful?” Odin demands harshly. He takes a step toward her, and Hela feels herself draw back from him, fresh tears spilling down her face to trace down to her chin. Her eyes itch from how much she’s been crying, and she hates herself for showing this frailty in front of him. There are no weaknesses in front of Odin Allfather.

Hela sits up slowly, her dark hair falling over her shoulders to spill across her chest. There’s wet blood on her fingers from the earlier battle, and it leaves ugly, morbid stains on the white snow. Something’s wrong with her arm, she notes distantly, it’s barely supporting her weight. She must have broken something.

She swallows thickly, wishing her voice didn’t sound so clogged. “What do I have to be grateful for?”

Odin snarls. “I saved you.”

“Saved me?” She hasn’t found much reason to laugh since Asgard invaded Jotunheim, but this--this arouses something. Not happiness, but a bitter sort of disbelief. Anger, perhaps.

Hela laughs sharply until he strikes her. It doesn’t hurt, it never does, but a harsh feeling of shame washes over her. Her head turns with the force of the blow, and she looks toward the snow, hiding behind a curtain of long hair. She tastes blood in her mouth and feels absently for the cut on her tongue with her teeth.

“You insolent wretch. I could have damned you by leaving you.” Odin hisses, and he waits for a second, as if expectant. He’s waiting, Hela realizes, for her to come to her senses and thank him. He hasn’t changed since she saw him last. Not in the slightest.

She isn’t surprised by this, though she thinks she should be.

“I would rather that you did,” Hela murmurs, and then looks up toward her father between her hair. He stands over her, imposing as always, tressed up in armor that adds to bulk she knows he doesn’t have. He looks every inch a king at this moment. A powerful enemy. Her enemy.

She deserted. She committed treason. He has every reason to execute her at this point. She’d deserve it. She’s deserved nothing less since she was a child.

Odin’s nostrils flare and he reaches out, grabbing her arm again despite Hela’s desperate scramble to back away. His fingers are iron against her clothing, a noose to choke her with. He hauls her to her feet, yanking her forward. In the far distance, Hela can see the remains of where she knows Asgard’s camp was set up. It’s gone now, which is to be expected, the war is over.

Jotunheim lost.

Asgard won. And now she’s being returned home. She’s saved.

Norns.

Hela starts to fight him again. “I won’t go with you,” she protests, “I’d rather be damned.”

“I wouldn’t stop you,” Odin says heatedly, and the words hurt somewhere deep and quiet inside of her. “But your death would serve me nothing.”

Ah. So that’s what this is. Of course. It’s not fatherly concern, or even a base parental instinct suddenly aroused to save her from a beheading. She has not served all her use to him yet, so he will keep her. Because she’s a tool. A weapon. She’s so far from a living creature it’s a wonder that she breathes at all now.

Maybe that’s what he’ll take next.

Oh, Norns, Hela curses wildly. She can’t go back. She can’t. She can’t. She won’t survive that. Her struggles begin to grow more frantic, and Odin doesn’t let her go, because she’s not allowed anything. Not what she wants. The decade she spent as a war captive was a reperivie that’s over. He’s taking her back, and the sedirmasters will have more to do, and he’ll have more for her to kill, more for her to turn into, and--

Of course. Why is she protesting this? She’s a weapon. She’s his weapon.

Weapons have no regrets. No remorse. No emotions. No desires, or wants, or needs.

Norns.

Hela’s stomach twists, and she staggers to her knees and vomits. It’s bloody and thin, but her tongue feels swollen and her neck feels tight. Her free hand’s fingers scramble to dig into her ribs, as if they can simply remove the vile substance by clawing it out of her chest.

I can’t do this again.

The thought is a distinct contrast of sudden, deep despair to her previous frantic scrambles. Her fight has lost, because there is no escape. Norns. She closes her eyes tightly, squishing tears out onto her face in the process, and breathes out sharply.

Odin’s fingers tighten on her arm, she’s sure, to the point of bruising. It might have been more effective at intimidation if she felt it. As it is, the pressure becomes almost unbearable, and she bites on her tongue sharply.

“How weak you have become,” Odin says. His voice is toneless. But the disappointment is obvious.

And it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. She knows that she has changed. But it does matter. A part of her, she thinks, will always belong to her father. If not in body, then in mind. She wants this. His approval. She craves it.

She slaughtered cities for it.

“Go to helheim.” She whispers, trying to be snide, but bordering on desperate.

Look at you, a voice purrs in the back of her mind, dark and laughing, the goddess of death, weeping at her father’s feet, trying to be intimidating. You have become a weak creature, haven't you?

Odin sneers at her statement, but draws her back to her feet with force. Hela steps over the bloody bile, and the two of them carry forward. She seems to have vomited out her fight, because, though she stumbles on uneven footing, she doesn’t fight her father. There’s nothing she can do. If she ran from here, where would she go?

She doesn’t know if Laufey is dead, but she saw the corpse of his wife.

They draw closer to the Asgardian camp, and every footfall sends a rattle of dread up her stomach. She’s still crying, and feels like a child for it. She hasn’t cried this much since she was a child, and even then, very little. Her father never believed in tears.

“What will you do with me?” Hela whispers. She should fight, but she’s not even sure she could support her own weight without her father forcing her to move forward. “Public execution?”

“No.” Odin says derisively, as if this should have been rather obvious.

“Then what?”

“What do you think?” Odin snaps, “Your place is beside me. You are my executioner.”

But not, Hela notes with a familiar ache, your daughter. He calls her his child when it suits him, but it’s a formality. They both know what she is to him. Their relationship has never been one of warmth. If they’ve ever had a relationship to begin with.

“You will return to Asgard with me, and resume your duties. I will see to it that your recent...actions do not become public knowledge.” Odin says without looking at her. “That is what will happen to you. I do not intend to kill you, daughter.”

Hela smiles at that, knowing otherwise. Not physically, no. Perhaps not.

But he’s killed her so many times already.

Her smile drops.

Oh, gods.

This can’t be happening again. She thought she was out. Laufey promised that it was over. Norns, he was helping her. He cared. She thinks he cared. But no one she knows has ever cared for her. Maybe it, like it has been with everyone else, has been some sort of facade to beat her into submission.

It felt real.

It wasn’t.

It felt safe.

It wasn’t.

Hela sees the blood smears across the snow, the hard ice bearing the scars of war beneath thick sheets. The camp is empty, the tents set and the fires put out. The only remains that Asgard was ever here in the first place is the blood and the miscellaneous scattered around. It’s the first time she’s seen it, and she would have spit on it if she had the strength.

Hela ducks her head, breathing in the familiar frigid air. It feels sharp against her throat and lungs, but she would breathe it in forever if it meant she could stay here. Asgard has nothing for her but pain. But maybe Jotunheim had nothing for her, either. She doesn’t know. She can’t keep the lies straight in her head anymore.

Odin comes to a sudden stop, and Hela nearly stumbles over herself. The scorch of burned snow leaves a wet trail of slippery ice, but it takes her less than a second to recognize the markings. The Bifrost. It’s here. Again. This is really happening. Hela closes her eyes and feels fresh tears warm her cheeks.

I’d rather die than go back, she thinks again.

Odin turns his head up toward the sky, and Hela feels her gut tightening in apprehension. If her father notices, he doesn’t care. But he’s never cared about her before, he wouldn’t start now. “Heimdall--open the Bifrost!”

#Hela #my fics #hela odinsdottir #hela is more than a villain #odin's a+ parenting #odin fam #hela redemption #my fanfiction #???#idk #i like it #i just idk

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antialiasis · 3 years ago

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Morphic: the Musical

The Thousand Roads forums have a fanfic music thread. While I don't really do those kinds of threads usually because I don't really listen to a very wide variety of music and generally have a hard time associating music that already exists with unrelated fiction, one of the questions in it is this:

Talk about what would happen if some Broadway hit-maker scooped up your fic and turned it into a script. What songs would be in it? Describe a dance number/dance battle?

And immediately, the musical analysis glint lit up in my eyes. This question was presumably intended in a lighthearted jokey sort of way - imagining some fight staged as a dance battle, a hypothetical Broadway hit-maker doing the adaptation. But that's not enough for me, say I! Musicals are a good and interesting medium for serious fiction that I care about and I am going to serious this up.

See, to me, the musical format has two major strengths as a narrative medium. The first is that it can explore the inner worlds of characters in a pretty unique way. Characters get to monologue in a sort of heightened, non-literal manner, intensified by music: we can learn what they're about, what makes them tick, what's going on in their heads in a particular moment, in a way that wouldn't really make sense presented as actual inner monologue in another medium. The music aspect itself then adds a layer to it that's impossible to replicate in any other.

The second strength of the musical format is that it's really good at highlighting recurring themes, parallels and contrasts. Reprise the same melody, the same lyric, a parallel but opposite lyric, and you've instantly connected two things together. Is there a character arc? You can highlight what has changed. Are there two characters going through something similar? You can draw that out. Is there a recurring theme throughout? Use a recurring lyric, a recurring melodic phrase! Nudge the viewer into forming connections! Delicious! And you can do subtler things on the music level itself - particular instruments with particular connotations, recurring motifs...

So naturally I decided I should think up what a musical adaptation of Morphic would be like. It'd be a fun exercise in putting all my thoughts on musical adaptations into practice, but also an interesting way to help sort out some of my thoughts about characters arcs, etc. for the actual Morphic rewrite. And in the process, I may have gone slightly overboard. I regret nothing.

(I'm about to spoil most of the fic here, if this wasn't obvious)

Morphic: the Musical - tracklist

(Note: this musical is not sung-through; there are regular non-musical sections with regular dialogue in between. Morphic would almost definitely not make for a good sung-through musical.)

Act I

[Intro song] (Brian)

A monologue by Brian at the TV studio as he tries to work through what to say, how to explain or justify any of this (which conveniently serves to exposit to the audience as well as introduce his character). He makes nervous false starts and cuts himself off, starting the verse over each time, and through these false starts we learn what's going on, that the press has been calling them Pokémorphs, that this was all Dave's idea, that alcohol was involved, that it was meant as a basis for further research, that there were never supposed to be *children*, that he doesn't know what he'd even do with a kid, that Dave roped him into going on this show because he couldn't.

[Dave song] (Dave)

This musical properly introduces us to Dave via Jane walking out on him followed by this song, wherein he contemplates chucking baby Jean out the window. It's a dark rock song with big emotional contrasts and raw lyrics that is almost definitely my favorite song in this musical in the hypothetical reality where it is an actual musical and I didn't write it, because I am me. Probably starts with a couple slower lines of desperate disbelief before launching into wild anger about fuck that fucking whore, followed by what I will be referring to as the everything-is-shit verse (please bear with me), just a general cynicism rant about why the world is a shitty place not worth living in, followed by him wildly fantasizing about killing his infant child. What a delightful human being that I adore. The song ends abruptly, he's standing there staring at her in his arms for a moment, then he silently goes to feed her. On the soundtrack you probably might think he just did it.

Fatherhood (Brian)

A montage song covering the timeskip, which probably reprises [Intro song]. Brian initially has no idea what to do with his new squirming horrorblob child and is convinced he will screw it up the way he tends to screw up everything. Makes a couple of false starts again, but then gains confidence as time passes as he genuinely bonds with Gabriel and legitimately thinks he's a pretty amazing kid. There's a repeated line along the lines of that Gabriel's a weird, weird kid, but he's his, initially in a tone of "oh god I'm responsible for him what do" but towards the end is said with pride and fondness.

[Villain song] (Isaac and Jacob)

A duet between the two brothers, exploring what makes them tick. Isaac is all about this heavy pressure and sense of responsibility, originally imposed by his father, that he continues to impose on himself. He's been appointed to take over leading the family/cult and was raised with that constantly in the back of his mind as his future, and he believes that they're God's true righteous people and he cannot go wrong. He has dreams with some regularity that he interprets as visions from God, as he has been encouraged to since childhood by his father. When he has one about murder, it frightens him but he sees it as basically a divinely-appointed mission.

Jacob privately doesn't really believe any of that. He is trapped in this cult and goes through the motions but is not actually driven by any of the things that are driving Isaac. He's fairly quiet for most of the song - as Isaac is going on about his vision, Jacob has a line here and there obliquely challenging it, but Isaac has an answer for everything, and he doesn't press it, instead moving seamlessly on to suggestions for how he should do it. Jacob gets a quiet variant of part of the everything-is-shit verse from [Dave song], expressing the same kind of cynicism in a more reproachful, apathetic way - all in his own head, of course.

Just Like My Hero (Jean and Will)

Jean sings about how she is just like her hero, Sarah Hooter! Starts off describing how they look the same, moves on from there to how she will torch anyone who's mean, etc., just like her hero. Halfway through, Will joins in, and it becomes a counterpoint duet: Jean may be immature and ridiculous, but he deeply wishes he was confident and adored and nothing would get to him, and he admires and envies that about her. His just like my hero has a bit more of an ironic vibe, he'd hardly properly call her his hero, but he looks up to her more than he'd normally admit nonetheless.

Storming the Castle (Jack and Gabriel)

Jack and Gabriel are playing a D&D game with their friends, arguing about the best course of action. Jack is eager to waltz into the bad guys' fortress, storm the castle, while Gabriel urges lying low, says they're too weak. Jack wants to take the leap and try it; Gabriel insists no, we're not taking the leap, it's stupid. "It's brave!" Jack counters. (In the end, Gabriel gives in and they go ahead with it, and it goes fine.)

Unique (Mia and Lucy)

Mia and Lucy play one of their games. The song is about how Lucy needs someone like Mia to challenge her and let her actually indulge her powers, which are otherwise unsettling to people and she's ashamed and self-conscious about them, while Mia needs someone like Lucy to get a real outlet for her hunter's instinct. The word the lyrics are built around is unique; by being the precise way they are, they are each the only person who can provide this for the other.

Mia doesn't sing. She speaks her lyrics in her usual monotone, not even rhythmically. They also don't rhyme. It's technically a duet but really it's just Lucy singing and Mia talking.

[Peter/Katherine song] (Peter and Katherine)

A counterpoint duet between the siblings, contrasting their experience as Pokémorphs. Peter can pretty easily hide that he's different and be treated mostly as a normal kid, and feels free in his privilege, not confined quite the way the others are, able to be a bit reckless and incautious. Katherine, meanwhile, has a very different experience, being extremely noticeably different, getting stared at, and struggling with basic activities, and feels a huge sense of responsibility weighing her down, worrying about Peter and grounding him and reining him in. There's a lyrical contrast involving something something bird freedom plant rooted down something.

Brian's Death (Isaac and Dave)

This is one of those mostly-instrumental pieces that they include on the soundtrack anyway, but Isaac gets a couple of sung nondiegetic lines in here, a sort of frantic excitement, realizing in a brief panic that he shot the wrong guy before rationalizing that God must have planned it this way.

Dave is probably also in there screaming and attempting to call the police, because I am always in favor of screaming and panicking on musical soundtracks.

The Funeral (Gabriel and Jack)

Begins with Gabriel at the church during the funeral, singing about his vague discomfort being there, but slowly becomes increasingly frantic and anxious, working up to a breakdown where he exits and finally manages to cry for his dad. There's a verse about little things, how they ordered pizza the night before he died, etc., culminating in the bit about him having been in the middle of this mystery novel and never getting to learn who did it; the verse trails off quietly there, backing instruments gone, as Gabriel breaks down. Jack follows to comfort him.

Act II

[Montage song] (everyone)

A montage of the days after the attack, where everyone gets a couple lines about how they're coping, scared and grieving.

Dave's lines are like, spoken slightly too desperate annoyance at having to do some work that Brian didn't get to finish, or rebuking somebody who asks how he's doing by saying he barely even knew Brian. He is not singing along with this kind of grief-porn bullshit, fuck you.

[Villain song II] (Isaac and Jacob)

The brothers come up with a new plan. Isaac is agitated, reprising some of his bits from the original villain song in a quicker, more frantic tempo, while Jacob picks up the slack, walking him through a new idea. Isaac takes to it with conviction and goes back to the original melody/tempo, talking again about his God-given purpose. Jacob does not join in with any of that, only with the bits about the actual plan.

The Kidnapping (instrumental)

I'm just going to say this is on the soundtrack too and contains panicked Gabriel noises because I want it to be.

Storming the Castle Reprise (Jack)

Jack tries to rally the others for a rescue mission, echoing the D&D game from Act I. The lines about storming the castle and taking the leap make a reappearance.

Just Like My Hero Reprise (Jean)

Jean, on the bus, miserably contemplates how she is unlike her hero. Again, it begins with a verse talking about how she looks - not a thing like Sarah Hooter anymore - but then moves on to how she's scared and pathetic and running away, unlike anything a hero would do.

Church Sequence (Will, Jack, Mia)

A single track, largely instrumental/dialogue/sound effects, with a couple of brief song snippets:

- Will reprises "Just Like My Hero" as he wills himself to go on. He is cut off mid-line as he is shot.

- Mia slits that guy's throat and she actually sings a few words, for the first and only time, before she is also cut off mid-line by a gunshot. The line is something about, like, warm blood in her face or the guy's satisfying death throes, reprising part of the melody of "Unique".

Strong (Gabriel)

Gabriel discovers his powers. Starts slowly, calling back to the bits from "Storming the Castle" about lying low, being weak. But as the song continues and he makes his discovery, the tempo builds, and he starts reprising Jack's bits instead: he is strong, taking the leap, storming the castle.

Perish Song (Lucy)

Another brief reprise of "Unique", distorted and deafening and terrifying, mourning her sister.

[In the Hospital] (Jack and Gabriel)

The two of them work out their feelings about what happened. Includes Jack going "It was stupid" (i.e. the rescue mission) and Gabriel responding "It was brave", echoing the bit where they said the opposite in "Storming the Castle". Jack blames himself for how it all turned out, feels stupid and weak, while Gabriel actually felt kind of awesome. (This is also calling back to their opposite bits of "Storming the Castle".) They end with a shared duet verse as they realize they've both got that same innate desire to fight and win. Possibly calls back to the weird, weird kid line from "Fatherhood".

Eulogy (Dave)

Dave's eulogy for Mia (which also touches on Will, but this is Mia's funeral). It reprises "Unique". There will never again be anyone like the two of them, two of the only truly unique people on this Earth. (And, while he doesn't say it straight out because hahahaha, he needed Mia, too).

Taking the Leap (Jack and Gabriel)

Jack's suicide attempt and his swirling inner turmoil as he tries to talk himself into taking the leap once again. Gabriel, of course, comes in with don't take that leap. Am I overusing this one line by putting it in like half the songs in this thing? Well, who's going to stop me.

[Peter/Katherine song reprise] (Peter and Katherine)

The two of them contemplate indefinite house arrest (in contrast to the freedom Peter's enjoyed most of his life) and Katherine's failure to stop all this (despite her sense of responsibility). In the end, they both find their own ways to accept the new state of things and support each other through this.

Finale (Dave and Jean)

After Dave breaks down on his couch and Jean comes in to ask what's wrong, Dave sings a reprise of the everything-is-shit verse, going over the many things he's angry about, because that is the only emotion involved here clearly. At the exact point where Dave's song originally went from there to fantasizing about throwing her off the balcony, Jean throws her arms around him and sniffles "It'll be okay, Dad," and after a stunned "What? Jean, I'm--", he continues with a slow, hesitant *inverted* reprise of the everything-is-shit verse, "Everything'll be fine", constructing a little fantasy reality for her (and himself) where everything turns out all right in the end. It's backed by, like, a simple, quiet, slower piano rendition of the original melody, and trails off at the end, never quite coming to a satisfying conclusion before he tells Jean she should go back to bed.

#morphic #musicals #I spent far too much time thinking about this #except it was also exactly the right amount of time

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lightsupinthenorth · 4 years ago

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Harringrove teachers AU part 1

I finally started writing the Harringrove teachers AU I keep talking about lmao.

Tag list: @twoprettyboys, @inkedplume, @marianaosborne, @liglitterbug, @hmg621

If anyone wants to be added to or taken off the tag list for the (hypothetical) future posts of this AU, let me know ;)

Billy was close to vibrating out of his skin with nerves, but as Max exited her bedroom and sat down in front of him at the kitchen table, he relaxed his face into his usual indifferent mask and pretended he didn’t have a care in the world.

“What’s up, shitbird?”

She only groaned in reply. She was still a bit mad at him for making them move from California to Indiana, but Billy hadn’t had much choice in the matter. Schools ready to hire someone like Billy as an English teacher weren’t that common. To look at the bright side, at least Neil was far away from them and wouldn’t cause any trouble. Max knew all that, hypothetically, but having to leave her friends had been tough on her.

“Slept well?”

“Fine…” She grumbled.

“Wow, aren’t you in a radiant mood on this fine morning.”

Max rolled her eyes.

He knew he should just stop needling her and leave her to sulk in peace until he had to get to his first teachers meeting to prepare the upcoming school year. However, focusing on her allowed him to not focus on himself, and that was exactly what he needed at that moment.

Max started staring at him, then, and a smile slowly spread across her face. Billy, who had been fidgeting unconsciously with his empty coffee cup, stopped moving all together, which only served to make him appear more suspicious.

“Are you nervous?” She asked, with a teasing glint in her eyes.

Of course, it took making fun of Billy to lighten her mood. Billy sighed. What had his life come to? He was being mocked by a fifteen-year-old wearing neon pink unicorn pajamas and sporting a rather severe case of bed head (that’s what she got for not asking him to braid her hair before bed).

“Pff, no.” He scoffed.

According to the way Max’s smile widened, it wasn’t a convincing answer. How could he have thought he’d be able to fool her?

Billy turned away from her to fetch the carton of orange juice from the fridge. A stray lock of hair fell in front of his eyes and he tucked it behind his ear. His day hadn’t even properly started that his bun was already falling apart.

“It’s going to be fine, you know that right?”

“Yeah. Thank you for these words of wisdom.”

Billy sounded sarcastic, but he was actually grateful that Max was trying to reassure him.

“Are you going to wear that, though?”

Billy instantly looked down at his outfit. He had put on a short-sleeved blue button-down, jeans with no hole in them, and shoes that were not sneakers. That was the best he could do with what he had in his closet.

“Yeah, why? What’s wrong with it?” He asked.

“Nothing, nothing. You look good.”

Max sounded like she was holding something back, and Billy wouldn’t have it.

“Come on, just tell me.”

“Okay fine… You sure about the short sleeves? People are gonna stare.”

She had a point. Billy had been planning on wearing long sleeves, as he had for his job interview, but it was a hot day. Scorching hot. Billy was already in danger of sweating gallons because of stress, he didn’t need the heat on top of that. Anyway, he wasn’t going to hide his tattoos all year. They might be a bit much for a first meeting, but well… at least he had taken off most of his piercings.

Billy shrugged.

“I can deal with that.”

He regretted his misplaced confidence as soon as he got out of his car and set foot on the concrete of the Hawkins High parking lot. Max had been right, people were going to stare. Usually, he liked having people stare at him, but not in the way his new coworkers were certainly going to. He wanted to have eyes on him because he looked good… not because he looked unprofessional.

He had a jacket in the trunk of his car, but if he arrived at the meeting clad in a thick black leather jacket when it was ninety-five degrees out, people would take him for a weirdo, which was maybe worse than them taking him for a fraud. Fraud it was, then.

He stumbled upon a young woman smoking outside the main building and tried to hide his uneasiness as she appraised him.

“Hi! Are you the new teacher? William, is it?” She asked him with a bright smile.

“Uh… yeah. Please, just call me Billy.”

She shook his extended hand.

“Heather, I teach PE”, she said as she stubbed her cigarette out, “come with me.”

Billy followed her, glad taht she had apparently taken him under her wing. Now he didn’t have to look for the teachers lounge. It was one less thing to worry over.

As they entered the room, Billy’s senses were assaulted by the smell of coffee and the jumble of ongoing conversations.

He’d barely known her for two minutes, but Heather was like a lifeline in this unfamiliar and overwhelming place. She pointed at someone who was reading a book in one of the chairs closest to the door.

“Here is my friend Robin.”

As they approached her, she got up to hug Heather and then shake Billy’s hand. She looked down at his arms and stared for a few seconds. Billy braced himself for a negative comment, but what he got instead was “nice tatts”.

“Thanks.”

He was going to ask her what subject she taught, but Heather talked first.

“Is Steve not there yet?”

“He is! Murray has just been talking his ears off ever since he got there.” Robin gestured toward the other side of the room.

“Ouch”, Heather winced, “conspiration theories again?”

“You know it”, she confirmed.

“Why haven’t you rescued the poor boy?”

Robin cackled.

“Felt like being a little mean.”

“Well, I’m gonna help him. Because, unlike you, I’m a good friend.” Heather said, before leaving in the direction Robin had indicated.

“So, William –“

“Billy.”

“Sorry, Billy. Is it your first year of teaching?”

“Yeah…”

“Are you nervous?”

What was it with people asking him this question today?

Billy shrugged, hoping he would be able to deceive Robin’s assessing eyes. He had a reputation to uphold… well, to build and then to uphold.

“Not particularly.”

“Cool.” She said, frowning slightly.

She seemed to doubt him. She would have been right to, but Billy found it outrageous nonetheless. He could deal with Max seeing right through his bullshit. She was his sister. Robin, on the other hand, was only a coworker. One he had met less than five minutes ago, at that..This could not fly!

Thankfully, Heather got back to them before Robin could interrogate him any further. Billy looked behind her to greet the Steve guy they had mentioned, but he couldn’t even get a “hello” out. All the air was punched out of his lungs.

The man was so gorgeous that Billy got a little weak in the knees, even though he wasn’t easy to impress.

The guy was all prim and proper, which wasn’t usually Billy’s type. It shouldn’t have worked for him, but it did. Oh God, it did. The contrast between the guy’s preppy clothing style and his messy soft-looking hair did things to Billy.

There was a wide smile on Steve’s face, but it slowly faded into a straight line as he gave Billy a onceover. Great�� he was a judgmental asshole. Just Billy’s luck. Of course, he couldn’t be that pretty and be nice too. That wouldn’t have been fair to the average person.

Billy could see Steve quickly hiding his discomfort behind a smile. He noticed how it was less bright and sincere than his earlier one, too.

“Hi… I’m Steve, nice to meet you.”

Billy considered ignoring Steve’s extended hand, but he didn’t want to get in trouble with any of his coworkers before the school year had even started, so he sucked it up. If Steve could pretend he didn’t hold Billy in contempt, Billy could pretend he didn’t think Steve was an asshole.

He’d just avoid the guy as much as he could. Teachers weren’t obligated to spend that much time together, anyway. It wouldn’t be that hard.

Would it?

#Harringrove #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #Max Mayfield #Heather Holloway #Robin Buckley #fanfiction #Teachers AU #should I continue this?#let me know #for real I don't know what I'm doing

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jaskiersvalley · 5 years ago

Note

So I'm sure that a lot of people tell you this and that I myself told you not even a few days ago, but you are an amazingly talented person

With so many people being so nice (repeatedly!) I need to watch my ego XD I honestly have no idea what I can do to return the kindness other than offer the only thing I have which is more stories. Today it’s a hurt/comfort kind of day - heads up for blood, infection and injury.

Of course Geralt had warned Jaskier to stay out of the way, to follow Roach and leave the fight to him. But could he? Not in the slightest. Jaskier had stayed close to watch, to draw inspiration for his next epic. Well, first epic. Usually, he was more for happy ditties and memorable drinking songs. But a bard could dream! So he had stayed and watched Geralt battle the...something. It had a name that simple wouldn’t be fit for singing so Jaskier had promptly forgotten it in favour of taking note of the swirling blackness that shifted along barbed tentacles. The dripping fangs and the spider like body heavy with the grey-green sludge that trickled and dripped from the wounds Geralt had inflicted. The stench of it hit Jaskier all at once and he was hard pressed to keep breathing, retching noisily. Which only served to draw the creature’s attention and a tentacle shot out. Jaskier turned but it was too late, barbs sliced through his back, sent a burning agony through him. The pull which tried to reel him in stopped and Jaskier let out a cry of relief, the tentacle fell limp from his back. Turning,he was Geralt had sliced it clean off and was now on the creature’s back, sword raised for the final, killing plunge.

Black eyes looked over to Jaskier. “Alright?”

There was no way Jaskier was going to admit to being foolish and being injured as a result so he gritted his teeth and shot back a tight “peachy”. It seemed to do the trick as Geralt hopped off the monster’s back and set about his post kill ritual. Parcelling up useful parts of the creature, bits to sell and the head to claim the bounty. Then it was a matter of finding Roach and heading back to the tavern. It was slow going, Geralt led the way, holding Roach’s reins while Jaskier tried to keep up. His back was a burning somewhat fierce and he wondered whether he could slip off to see a healer while Geralt was sleeping.

His hopes were dashed when, as soon as they were back, Geralt was telling him to pack up, they were leaving as soon as he picked up the bounty. No amount of wheedling and nagging seemed to change his mind. So, Jaskier did the only thing he could. Put on a dark coloured shirt and a leather overcoat. It was too warm for it probably but it was the only thing he had which wouldn’t soak through with blood. He tucked his shirt into his trousers, keeping he waist looser than usual. That way, any blood would trickle down the shirt and not soak the back of his clothes.

Leaving the town, Jaskier sighed. It hurt to play his lute, each breath pulled at his back. So he opted to stay quiet and tried to keep pace with Geralt who was leading Roach rather than riding her. Probably because she had a fair few things attached to her saddle.

The first night, they settled under the protection of some trees, a little way off the road. Remembering Geralt’s superior sense of smell, Jaskier was sure to stay downwind form him and also liberally applied his scented oils to drown out the smell of his blood. His whole back was sticky, the shirt clung to his skin. It was quite disgusting but Jaskier refused to admit his foolishness. Now, it was more because Geralt would be angry at the fact he didn’t mention it at all, rather than the fact that Jaskier, once again, failed to listen to him.

Sleeping on his back was out of the question, so Jaskier ended up on his front, breath only hitching once as he turned. It took a while to fall asleep but he hoped it would do him some good at least.

It did not. Jaskier woke feeling cold but sweaty. His whole back felt tender and stretched, like someone had taped a balloon of molten metal to it. Breakfast was out of the question as nausea made him squeeze his eyes shut. Still, he got up, applied his scented oils, ignored how his shirt had dried to his skin and pulled with each move. He let Geralt go ahead with Roach and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

Up front, Geralt was saying something about a hunt, some creature or other. Jaskier honestly couldn’t care less though, his attention eaten up by moving forward, by trying to keep up. His foot caught on a rock and he tumbled, hand shooting out to catch himself. Something on his back gave, warm sludge trickled lower, slowly, too thick to be blood. Geralt didn’t even notice, he might have been talking to Roach for all Jaskier knew. It was certainly more than Geralt usually spoke.

“Geralt,” his voice was strained, “stop.”

Silence engulfed them. Jaskier blinked, patches of dark were dancing in his vision but he could still see the frowning glare Geralt sent his way. A few steps were all Jaskier could manage when a sudden gust of wind from behind picked up. He saw Geralt’s nose twitch and his eyes widen.

Warm hands were on Jaskier, guiding him down slower than he would have met the ground at his own pace. Words rumbled near him but other than knowing it was Geralt’s familiar voice, Jaskier couldn’t focus. His back was hurting, shoulders being forced to roll to slip out of the jacket. Behind him, Geralt sounded angry and Jaskier tried to shy away, not wanting to cause more problems than he already had. However, a hand held him down and something was cutting the back of his shirt open.

Pain was the only thing in Jaskier’s world after that. Pressure on his back increased but the pressing discomfort that radiated from within seemed to ease. The burning of something being poured over his back might have made him scream, Jaskier couldn’t tell if his voice was more than whimpers now. Finally, he slipped from consciousness.

Occasionally he roused. The rhythmic jostle of a horse moving under him while an arm was curled around him to keep him upright. It might have been night or Jaskier could have had his face tucked against a warm chest, he didn’t know.

Another moment where there were people gasping, the world tilted and the sound of feet running while Jaskier floated on a bed of pain.

A bed, it didn’t smell like tavern or Geralt or home. His back was on fire, a thousand tiny prickles which only got worse as he tried to move. Solid hands held him down, there were words somewhere near him but Jaskier couldn’t make out what they were saying. All he knew was that he was in pain and wasn’t being allowed to escape it.

The sheer agony was less the next time he was aware of the world. More bearable but he still didn’t want it. Jaskier was on his front, a few blocks of ice along his sides which made him shiver. Someone brushed a warm hand over his forehead before offering him a few sips of tepid water that tasted sweet yet rotten.

“Geralt?” he called out the next time he woke, a little more coherent.

“He’s sleeping,” a voice called and Jaskier twisted to look. Yennefer sat next to him, looking as beautiful as ever. Even if her eyes betrayed the fatigue she’d never actually show. “Once he knew you were going to pull through, he crashed. It’s been almost a day for him, eight for you.”

Guilt washed over Jaskier at that. Eight days of people fighting to keep him alive. All because he had been stupid and not listened to Geralt.

“Sorry.” It wasn’t often Jaskier apologised but this time, he felt he ought to. “And thank you.”

“It’s always a pleasure doing business with a Witcher,” Yennefer replied haughtily and Jaskier’s stomach tightened. He dreaded to think what Geralt had traded this time. “Relax, he didn’t do anything stupid. Paid me in scented oils - orange and lilacs. Said he couldn’t face their scent after they had been tainted so badly.”

Maybe it was fair that Jaskier’s scented oils were traded for his treatment. And if Geralt couldn’t stomach them now that they reminded him of Jaskier, oozing puss and blood as he fought for his life, well, it was perhaps for the best to be rid of them.

“You said you’d wake me if he came to.” It didn’t sound like Geralt was particularly impressed with the world. More so than usual.

“He’s been awake for three whole minutes. I had to check he was fit for company.”

There was a rumble of response from Geralt as he approached, sat on the edge of Jaskier’s bed and reached to smooth hair from his face. It was a move that felt familiar and Jaskier pressed into it.

“How are you feeling?” It was such an honest question, heartfelt in a way it rarely was from Geralt that Jaskier could only reply honestly.

“Like I’ve spent the last week dying. I certainly smell like it.” That drew a snort from Geralt, not quite filled with humour but close enough. It made Jaskier brave, he wrapped weak fingers around Geralt’s wrist and tugged lightly, adoring how easily the other followed. “This is your signature smell on a good day, you won’t mind a cuddle with someone who smells as bad as you.”

The cuddle was gentle, more like Geralt was cradling the most fragile, precious thing in the world. And to him, he might as well have been. Jaskier let out a sigh and burrowed closer to him, basking in the warmth and comfort.

“I should have listened.” His half-assed apology was lost to the muscles of Geralt’s chest but it didn’t stop him being understood.

“I don’t say things for the fun of it. But if you hide an injury from me again, I will personally kill you.” Geralt replied, his arms tightening just a little. Behind him, Yennefer snorted and stood.

“Well, that’s all on the up. I’ll check in on you in a couple of hours.” She made to leave but turned. “And Jaskier will not be up for any bedroom acrobatics for another couple of days. Don’t even try it.”

While she didn’t get any response to that other than some soft snickering, she wasn’t surprised when she returned, as promised, that Jaskier was curled up into Gerlat’s bare chest, both of them sleeping and looking rather dishevelled yet smug. Idiots, the both of them. Very deserving of each other if they couldn’t listen to simple instructions.

#geraskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #the witcher #random love in the ask box #tldr: jaskier is an idiot who doesn't listen to geralt and gets injures plus almost dies #cw: blood and injuries #hurt/comfort #hurt jaskier

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multisfabulis · 4 years ago

Text

Land’s Trust in Light

Building the Foundation (Chapter 2/6)

Word Count: 4080

The writing process for this chapter went as followed: I meant to start writing this in March, spent all of it stuck in brainrot, began writing and finishing the rough draft over the course of 10 days, and wrote the official version in less than a week. How in the hell I managed to still have something out this month, I have no clue.

I think this is the second most "plotless" chapter of this story, if only because this is meant to build up the friendship between Eric and Ferreth while having the plot be served as an appetizer in the beginning. I say second most, because the next chapter, I believe, will be the one, due to the plot taking a backseat but there is a hint to a future element that will be present in the overarching story so keep a look out for that!

Read on AO3 | Read on DA | Support me on Ko-fi!

Eric knocked on the door before needing to stifle another yawn. It was mid-morning in Thornewind, though he could hardly tell with the immense shadow cast over the town by the mountains. Despite everything being shrouded in almost complete darkness, he saw people setting up shop and beginning their day on his way over to Bris’ place. His memory seemed to be on point today, even with the handicap. Things were already looking to be better than Brinegarde’s visit.

God, was he tired. Another yawn fell past his lips before he could think to stop it and he felt his eyes droop for just a second. His lack of restful sleep wasn’t from discomfort or a sudden spike of anxiety in the late night. It was simply the matter of being away from home and sleeping in an unfamiliar environment. It’s happened so often by now, it’s become an expectation he’s resigned to. It could be worse; he could be passed out and fall off the stoop of the windmill. Now he could only hope no one noticed his sluggish disposition and draw attention to it.

The door swung open and he forced himself to stand up straight. He had it drilled into his head to have good posture, which meant no slouching. It’d be rude to appear as someone unbefitting of his station to lords and their attendants. He couldn’t afford to risk losing the alliance because of his sloppiness. Instead of Aissyl being the one to greet him, it was Bris.

“Good morning!” That woke him up, if his quickening heart was anything to go by. “How’d you sleep last night?”

“Uh, good morning,” he replied with a nervous laugh. “I slept okay last night, nothing special or anything.”

The bright grin on Bris’s face dropped and he asked in concern, “Mm, really? You look pretty tired to me.”

Why was he like an open book? He tried to explain it in a way that didn’t seem pathetic like, “No, I’m fine, really. It’s just, I don’t travel far from home often and I tend to not sleep very well on trips.”

“We can pick this up tomorrow or another day, if you want.”

“No, no, it’ll be fine, really! Honestly, I work better when I’m sleep-deprived so I’ll be okay.”

With a slight grimace, he stepped aside and said, “Well, all right, come on in and let’s get started then.”

Upon entering, he immediately noticed two things. The first was that one of the chairs he remembered being off to the side yesterday was gone. The other was of a savory aroma wafting around the room, making his mouth water. It emanated from a plate of freshly baked scones sitting on the center of the low table.

“You’re welcome to try some if you want, Aissyl made ‘em.” He jumped some at Bris’s voice. He must’ve caught him staring.

“Oh, um, thank you,” he stammered out, flashing him a nervous smile before grabbing a hot scone.

When was the last time he ate a scone? He knew it had been years and it smelled just like the ones back home. He took a tentative bite and he felt his knees go weak, that’s how delicious it was. He finished off the rest in quick succession, his hunger satiated by a small amount. He forgot to eat breakfast before coming here so having something in his stomach helped wake him up some.

“I’ll make sure to tell her you enjoyed them.” As he went to grab more, Bris headed inside his office. “Now let’s not waste any more time.”

Eric followed behind him, warm scones in hand. Just as he thought, the missing chair from the lounge was sitting in front of the desk for him to settle down in. However, there was something different about the desk. A teal tablecloth laid in the center with a dark blue design embroidered in the middle. It was a hexagonal shape with gladiolus flowers crawling up the sides and its petals being blown away by the wind. That must be Thornewind’s emblem, since he remembered seeing similar symbols in Brinegarde and Aurora Zenith. He wondered if the other three towns he planned on visiting at some point had emblems as well.

Once the scones were eaten, he and Bris began the meeting. He was glad to see the discussion on both sides going much more smoothly than they had between him and Lianthorne. Bris was open to compromise and he spoke in an easy to understand way, which he greatly appreciated. Their talk lasted for a couple or so hours before they agreed on the terms the other man set. With that, Aurora Zenith and Thornewind were now officially allies.

He glanced towards the window to see the sun shining through the curtains. He must’ve been so engrossed in their discussion, he didn’t notice the darkness giving way to light. Covering his mouth with a hand to let out a yawn, he looked back at Bris and that’s when he saw it.

His chin was resting against the back of his hand as his eyes seemed fixed on nothing in particular. He was tapping a finger on the surface of the desk as if he were lost in thought over something. This gave Eric a knot of anxiety. Had he committed a mistake that already threw their alliance into jeopardy?

Before he could open his mouth, Bris looked him in the eye and asked suddenly, “Hey, Eric, would you be willing to hear me out on something?”

“Um, yeah, what is it?” he replied, hoping his nerves couldn’t be heard in his voice.

“Well, here’s the thing, I need time to figure out how I’m going to tell you this. It’s something I haven’t really thought out yet and I need to decide on whether or not I’m going to go through with it. When do you plan on leaving?”

“I-I was thinking in 3 days’ time but I can stay longer if---”

“No, no, that’s plenty of time, I should have a decision by then. It’s just…” Bris pushed back his hair and exhaled. “This is an important matter I have to think on and consider fully before I do something I might regret.”

“No, I understand. I’m just more worried if this has anything to do with the business we were discussing.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, we’re fine on that front. This is separate from that.”

He silently let out a sigh of relief. Whatever this thing Bris had to mull over was, it was comforting to know it had nothing to do with him. Still, he was curious on what Bris needed to tell him. It did, however, remind him of when Lianthorne tried to bribe him with Ven’s safety and he hoped this wasn’t going to go that route. A life should never be used as a bargaining chip.

“Anyway--” he sat back in his chair-- “when I’ve decided on telling you, I’ll send Aissyl out to come get you. Moving on from that, you have any plans for today?”

Putting the matter to rest for now, he replied, “Uh, no, I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“Do you want a tour of Thornewind then?” Bris asked, standing up from his desk to stretch. “Ferreth said you seemed taken in by everything when he stumbled upon you yesterday.”

They must’ve met back up after dropping him off at the inn. He cringed at the idea of what that might’ve looked like to a stranger. “Well, Thornewind is a beautiful town so it’s no surprise I got sidetracked.”

“Then it’s settled, I’ll go get Aissyl.” He started walking around the desk and out towards the threshold of the room.

Following right behind him, he said hurriedly, “Y-you don’t have to do that! I don’t want to take her away from her duties and---”

“She should be getting back from running errands right about now so…”

It was when he tried to stop Bris from going out Aissyl walked in. All he could do was stand there awkwardly as the situation was explained to her, wishing he was anywhere but there right now. She said she had plans for the day, granting him some temporary relief before she pulled the rug out from under him by suggesting Ferreth to be his escort. With Bris’s agreement all but sealing the deal, he was left sitting on the stoop outside while Aissyl went to retrieve Ferreth.

A heavy sigh escaped his mouth as he leaned back to watch the sky. In his attempts to not cause trouble for one person, he might’ve led some to another one’s doorstep. He could only hope he wasn’t hanging Ferreth out to dry with a client of his. Although, he was admittedly looking forward to spending more time with him today. He enjoyed his company yesterday so this might be considered a blessing.

Eventually, Aissyl arrived with Ferreth in tow. They didn’t seem displeased at first glance but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Maybe it was better to err on the side of caution and only let his guard down when everything was all right. He could never be too careful.

He walked down the stairs, gripping the strap of his bag tightly in his hands. The knot of anxiety returned with a vengeance as his heart hammered against his ribs. Just keep calm and breathe, he repeated like a mantra in his head.

“I’ll be leaving Lord Travere in your hands,” he heard Aissyl say before bowing and taking her leave, wincing at her referring to him as lord. He knew she was being polite, he just hated being called by formal titles.

Ferreth, blissfully ignorant to his unease, said in a joking manner, “Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting to be seeing you again so soon after yesterday. You miss me?”

“Listen, I’m so sorry about all this,” the words spilled out as he continued, “if I’m taking up any of your time, I’ll just go back to the inn and---”

“Eric.” Hearing his name startled him some. “It’s fine, all right? As you guessed yesterday, my work allows me lots of free time and I’m choosing to spend some of that free time with you. So don’t worry about it, okay?”

Doing the exact opposite of that, he shakily replied with, “I’ll try my best not to.”

He turned away from him and cupped his hands over his mouth, trying to steady his breathing. He had to just ride it out, let the anxiety ebb. In the meantime, he needed to distract himself with something to slow his mind down.

Seeing this, Ferreth clapped his hands together and asked, “You wanted a tour, right?”

Thank god for convenient timing. “Yeah, Bris suggested it after we finished our discussion and that’d be really great right now.” A helpful distraction, indeed. “Where should we go first?”

“How about the tulip fields?”

“That’s perfect. Shall we go, then?”

They began walking down the street he now recognized as the main road. Eric slowly calmed himself the further away he was from Bris’ house, his mind beginning to feel at ease the more he put it to work at enjoying the tour. Now he might be able to hold a steady conversation.

“So how it’d go with Bris?” Ferreth asked as they approached the middle of town.

“Oh, it went great!” he replied happily. “I am pleased to inform you that Aurora Zenith and Thornewind are now officially allies.”

“I knew it’d go over smoothly. So what does being allies entail, exactly?”

“Oh, well…” He racked his brain for a way to explain things without giving much away. “Say, for example, a disaster were to strike Thornewind. It’d be my duty as Aurora Zenith’s lord to send aid over right away and the same would apply to both Bris and Lianthorne---Brinegarde’s lord---if it were reversed. You’d have to ask Bris if you want to learn more about it.”

“Nah, I’m good. I’m not really interested in all that political crap.”

“I share the same sentiment but I have to be if I want to succeed at my job.”

“Then why enter that line of work?”

“Let’s just say I didn’t have much choice in the matter. I stepped up to take the position but only because I had the qualifications for it. At least I’m putting the skills I learned in my childhood to good use.”

“You have my condolences.”

He snorted in laughter at that. The rest of the trip consisted of them engaging in meaningless small talk that felt like it went on for hours. He was beginning to wonder if he had made a friend in Ferreth. It was easy to see why; he was laid-back, funny, and could find ways to keep the conversation going when he couldn’t. This was different from when he befriended Ven. While he extended a kind hand out that ultimately led to their friendship, this was two like-minded individuals coming together and just bonding over their shared interests. Maybe Alek was right in that he changed from the person he was two years ago into someone better. He smiled at the thought.

A quick visit to the stable to see Asha later and they were out. The tulips were just as stunning as they were when he walked through the fields yesterday. A sea of rainbow swayed in the gentle breeze and his breath was stolen from him once more. He was definitely going to sketch this place sometime in the near future. This was too beautiful for him to pass up.

“A nice sight, isn’t it?” Ferreth asked, throwing his head back to let the wind ruffle his hair. “Just feel that breeze.”

“Yeah, it is quite pleasant.” That was when he remembered his question from yesterday. “Oh, I was wondering, how are the tulips still in bloom this late into summer? I mean, I’m not a botanist or anything but my friend once told me they only bloomed in the spring.”

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t know the answer to that.” He began walking down one of the many dirt paths crisscrossing the massive garden. “You’ll have to ask someone who’s lived here their whole life that question.”

Taken aback by his reply, he followed after and said, “Wait, you’re not from Thornewind?”

“Nope. I’m from a little town called Thesriden that may as well be on the other side of the world. I came to Thornewind just before my 18th birthday.”

“Then forgive me if I’m prying a bit but why come all the way out here? It must’ve been a long trip if it’s as far as I’m imagining it to be.”

Ferreth let out a heavy sigh, no doubt wanting to say as little as possible. “Let’s just say I ran away from home due to some familial issues and I remembered Bris saying he planned on coming here after moving out so I followed him. Welcomed me with open arms and I’ve stayed ever since.”

There was a bitter smile on Ferreth’s face while saying all that. He didn’t need any elaboration to understand where he was coming from. They were more alike than he thought, right down to leaving behind the place they called home for so long because of family. No wonder he held Bris up to such high regard.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, he changed topics to, “Anyway, these tulips really are beautiful. I think my friend would love it here.”

“Well, hey, we’re always welcoming new visitors,” Ferreth said in a brighter tone. “Maybe when you go back home, you can tell him to come up here sometime.”

“I’m not sure if she’d be able to, what with her shyness and all…” The memory of Ven cowering from a crowd of people surrounding her popped into his head and he breathed out. No way was she going to travel all the way up here by herself, especially with how she looked. If Vlixeoxs were barely tolerated in places like Brinegarde and Aurora Zenith, Thornewind would be no different.

“I can help her out when she gets here,” Ferreth suggested. It’s not like he hasn’t been of great importance to him throughout his entire visit so far. So long as he didn’t flirt with her, then maybe…

“If she comes here, I’m holding you to that.” Ven was his friend and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened to her. Of course he knew she could take care of herself but he still worried.

“So, shall we move on with the rest of the tour?”

“Sure. We have all day, right?”

So they continued on for the rest of the afternoon. He was shown the local businesses, parks, and occasional oddity Thornewind had to offer. Ferreth even made it a point to tell him of the best taverns to drink at, which he found nice but unnecessary. He wasn’t one to drink and, even if he were, most alcohol never appealed to him. Once the sky began to darken, they decided it was best to wrap up the tour. If Ferreth ever wanted to change his line of work, he’d be damn good at being a guide.

As they were walking back to the Dravitae Inn, Eric remembered his earlier conversation with Bris. An important matter, huh? Maybe Ferreth knew something about what Bris could be hiding from him. After all, they were very close so the possibility was there, he just had to ask.

“Hey, Ferreth, is Bris normally the secretive type?” He studied his face, trying to gauge what his reaction would be.

Confusion was the best way to describe his expression when Ferreth asked, “No, he’s never been one to keep secrets. Why?”

“After we had finished our discussion, he mentioned having something important he wanted to talk with me about. I was wondering if you knew anything of it but I guess not.”

“Yeah, I don’t know anything about this. He didn’t seem bothered at all last night so I wonder what’s going on.”

That wasn’t what he expected or wanted to hear. If even Ferreth had no idea of this, then it really was a waiting game he’d have to play until it was time. Patience was a virtue he had a love/hate relationship with. On matters like this, it was his worst enemy and he had no choice but to deal with it.

“I’ll see him tonight and ask what’s up, it’s just not like Bris to keep secrets,” said Ferreth.

“Don’t do that, I’m sure he’ll tell me when he thinks it’s time.” He saw him open his mouth to say something then shut it. “For now, I’ll have to wait.”

They arrived at the inn just as the lights were turning on. Until the time Bris sent for him came, he planned on enjoying the rest of his trip here. He already had an idea of what he wanted to do tomorrow when---

“Hey, Eric, you have any plans for tomorrow?” Ferreth’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts.

“Well, I was thinking about going on up to the overlook I saw while we were at the tulip fields earlier and possibly sketch Thornewind from up there,” he replied, realizing where this was going. “Why?”

“You mind me tagging along?” Yep, that’s what he thought.

“No, but won’t it interfere with work?”

“Eric, I go to work whenever it calls me. Besides, if it was serious enough, they can just come find me so it’ll be fine.”

He gave it a moment of deliberation before answering with, “…Okay but if you get into trouble because you were too busy hanging out with me, you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

“Come on, people love me, I bet I could get myself out of it by saying a few sweet words,” he replied with an amused grin. “I’m very charming, you know.”

It was so hard to hate him sometimes. Even when he’d say things that’d normally rub him the wrong way, Ferreth made them have the opposite effect. He was right in that people loved him and Eric wasn’t an exception.

After they parted ways for the day, he climbed up to his room, sat on his bed, and let out a weary sigh. Today was another exhausting yet fun day. He managed to accomplish his goal for being here, went on a sightseeing tour in Thornewind, and spent some quality bonding time with Ferreth. Tomorrow was a day he could kick back, relax, and enjoy the peace it’d bring.

Speaking of which, he reached into his bag and pulled out his sketchbook. Flipping through the pages revealed many works in progress that he never planned on finishing, ranging from messy outlines to slightly cleaner sketches. His subjects were mainly of landscapes, though there were the occasional drawings of Alek during the rare times he’d actually sit and stay down. He’d been honing his craft since he was a child and the years of practice gave him the ability to turn out something truly remarkable. However, this was only a hobby he was passionate about. Nothing more, nothing less.

Eventually, he found a blank page and folded the corners inwards. It was to bookmark which page he wanted to use for the Thornewind sketch tomorrow. Then he put the sketchbook back inside his bag, patting it once for the heck of it. Everything was in there, he was sure of it.

Today was when he built a foundation in more ways than one. Tomorrow would be him strengthening the one he started on with Ferreth. Let it bear fruit so he may savor it in commemoration of this trip.

#airi's writing #oc; Eric #oc; Brirsyrun #oc; Ferreth #Corona's Shadow

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mhafiction · 4 years ago

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Out & About (PT. 1)

Read Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4

Pairing: Bakugo x reader

Fluff/Friends to Lovers (?), lots and lots of pining.

Synopsis: Reader is very close friends with the Bakusquad, except for the aloof and mysterious Bakugo. He still intrigues them however, and a night out with the group might actually be the the push they need to really get the ball rolling on transitioning their awkward comradery into something a little- more.

Note: this is the first fanfic I’ve ever written, I’m very spooked. There’s a ton of stress out there in the world rn, and I’m trying to find comfort in writing. I hope you enjoy. (Also I’m sorry abt the formatting of this fic I don’t have a laptop to post from :0) -K.

“I’m so glad we could do this, guys!”

You beamed at your friends, excited to set out for the evening. The major exam everyone had been studying diligently for all week was finally over, and the Bakusquad agreed to celebrate by going into the city to enjoy the night life. To be completely honest, in the week leading up to the test, you had been strangely on edge-but not just because of the workload. The dormitory had become oddly quiet, with everyone either off in the library or retreating to hit the books in the silent comfort of their rooms. You missed the hustle and bustle of everyone chatting, eating Sato’s latest confectionary masterpieces, and most of all, the unbridled energy your friends provided. Well, most of them, anyway.

At least now you could finally relax for the weekend and enjoy a good meal with them.

“Right? It feels like forever since we’ve done something like this,” Mina groaned, leaning her head on your shoulder. Her spikey horns jabbed into your chin. The murmur of the station felt familiar, a calming setting for you and your friends.

Kirishima flashed one of his bright smiles. “Aw, it’s only been a couple of weeks!”

“Yeah but you know I’m clingy,” Mina pouted. “I need my favorite peeps or else I get sad and droopy.”

You chuckled, pushing her playfully off your shoulder. “You’re so dramatic, Mina.”

You were thankful for such cheerful and enthusiastic friends. They were all energetic, happy, and extroverted. They really brought you out of your shell at the beginning of the year, and you had gotten to know them all so well over late-night movie marathons or afternoons at the arcade. You surveyed your little group, watching Kaminari begrudgingly charge Sero’s phone, Mina laughing uproariously at his some joke Kiri cracked, and their general bubbly aura. Then, your eyes caught on a familiar pair of piercing red ones.

Scratch that. You had gotten to know most of them pretty well.

What could you say about Bakugo Katsuki? Well, he was impulsive. Talented. Aloof. Angry.

That was about it. How such a grumpy, quiet boy had attracted these walking rays of sunshine was beyond you. Not to say you hate Katsuki or anything. In fact, one might say that you like him.

He had that extreme sort of passion that you’d never seen before, in anyone. He had a keen eye for people’s strengths and weaknesses, both in combat and just in genral. He encouraged you through those traits to go beyond your limits. And though he was cruel and rude to others, the worst he had been to you was a little standoffish. You knew Bakugo was going to be a really great hero someday, and you wanted to get to know him better. Most days, it felt like you were getting to him; becoming something a person would call friends. Then he’d look you in the eye with those dark, stoic eyes and it felt like you knew nothing about him all over again. If eyes were the windows to the soul, Bakugo guarded his with a legion of soldiers and an iron gate.

It’s okay you mused to yourself. Nobody really knows him, to be fair. Except maybe Kiri and Deku. But he’s known Deku for years! And Kiri can get anyone out of their shell. Why would Bakugo want to be good friends with me? He’s not obligated to. I shouldn’t pester him. But I still want to get to know him! Damn.

“Oi, Y/N!”

You snapped out of your thoughts. Bakugo glared at you. Or maybe it was just the way his face naturally was. Maybe it was just you, but those red eyes seemed to soften a bit.

“C’mon, train’s here.”

You nodded following behind your chattering group. The car was nearly empty, and most of your friends darted for the seats. Kaminari laid across three, spreading out as if her were royalty. Chances are, he probably felt like it.

“This is the most luxurious thing I’ve ever experienced,” he sighed. Sero flicked the back of his head, causing Kaminari to shoot up with a yelp. “That’s sad, Denki. Scooch over.”

Kaminari turned to you, rubbing the his head where Sero had flicked him. “Not sitting, Y/N?”

“Nah. I’ve been sitting at a desk all week, I’d like to refrain from it for now. I’ll bet my postures’ shot.”

Denki shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he splayed over Sero’s lap. “But just know you’re missing out.”

“Don’t get too comfortable, Sparky,” Bakugo growled. “It’s almost rush hour. By the next station, this place’ll be packed.”

Bakugo took his place by one of the seats, opting to stand by the pole next to the door. He was close enough to the seats so that it was clear he was part of the Bakusquad , but just far enough to isolate himself from the conversation. You stranded almost directly across from him, allowing yourself to face the group so that you could converse with all of them, rather by being in a row side by side. Your hand gently held the plastic ring above your head. You all had fallen into a comfortable chatter, laughing about how well you did on the exam and the latest slip-up Kaminari had made in training. The train swayed gently, and all was well. Then came the next stop.

You gaped at the crowd that had accumulated at the doors, dreading when they’d open. All tired looking folks dressed in smart suits and clutching their briefcases. You were silently impressed by their sheer numbers. Living in isolated school dorms with the little student social bubble you had had made you forget how vast the city was. It made you miss your morning commute a little bit. But, when the doors finally opened, that feeling completely evaporated.

It was as if a sea of black ties, dress shirts, and loafers had washed over you. You looked down, determined to contain your bewildered expression. The others were not faring so well in that department. Their cartoonish expressions were accented by quiet (and sometimes loud) yelps at the office people trampling their toes. Bakugo remained unfazed. In the chaos, you loosened your grip on the plastic loop to check your phone. 5:00 PM on the dot. We really are kind of dumb. You wondered to yourself why Bakugo hadn’t said anything when you suggested the outing after class. He was usually so outspoken when it came to stuff like that. And it’s not like he hadn’t known. You sighed, putting your phone away. I should have checked the time before we left... if I had just suggested to go a little later, the crowd wouldn’t be this bad. Well what’s done is done.

As you slipped our phone into your pocket, you found yourself being sharply pushed by the crowd. Another swell of people had entered, and your loose grip didn’t serve you well in such a circumstance. Naturally, you fell forward. Right into Bakugo. Your head collided with his and you tried to reel backwards in pain- but Bakugo pulled you closer to him, grabbing your wrists with an impressive grip.

“Owwww...”

“Shut up, you’re making a scene,” He hissed, eyes scanning you with... worry? As if suddenly becoming aware of this, Bakugo quickly returned to his usual cold demeanor.

You groaned. “It’s not as if it’s my fault that I got pushed. Or that you have a such a hard skull.” You suddenly realized how close you two were. Most of your friends were pretty physically affectionate, and you had no discomfort hugging them or cuddling with them. But Bakugo was not a “cuddle” person. Hell, his if his attitude wasn’t enough, his hair said it all. He did not like being touched. But here you were, chest to chest, his hands gripping your wrists, faces just a nose apart.

If it bothered him, he didn’t show it. You turned to look at the spot you were just standing in, craning your neck just to get a peek. It was tough.

“It’s useless,” Bakugo sighed. “There’s three extras in the place you were. Bastards are glued to their phones.”

You shrugged, peering up at him. More and more people were cramming into the car like sardines. “Guess I’ll have to stay here for now. Sorry.”

Bakugo averted his stony gaze, a gentle agony lining his face. “S’okay.” The rest of your group seemed to take no notice of the state the two of you were in. Mina and Kiri has pushed themselves up against the wall in an effort to be as small as possible, Sero’s gangly frame was not doing him favors, and you swore you heard Kaminari sobbing somewhere, though his shock of blonde hair was out of sight. Somehow, aside from the awkwardness of being near Bakugo, you weren’t uncomfortable. He had stopped holding your wrists and instead kept his hands hovering near your waist in order to keep you from falling over or accidentally bumping into another passanger. Not that you needed it our anything. You knew it was because he felt uncomfortable putting his hands anywhere else. Your own arms were similarly placed, and in a weird way, it was as if you two were embracing. Probably as close to a hug from Katsuki that you’d ever get.

With nothing else to look at, you observed his features. You knew already that his eyes were something else altogether, but you released a short intake of breath. Bakugo was handsome. You had thought that when you first saw him, but you truly had taken it for granted. This close, his features were rendered beautifully. His jawline, the way his hair fell- it was sort of ethereal. He kept his eyes trained on everything but you, as if he were trying to forget you were there. But on top of all that...

“Bakugo, you smell like caramel?” His eyes darted back to your own, that vulnerability you had only seen recently shining through. It stayed a little longer than last time.

“Tch. It’s my quirk,” he tried to look away, but you pressed him further.

“Oh? I didn’t know that,” you hummed, trying to keep your composure. Talking this close to Katsuki was beyond your skill level. You patted yourself on the back internally for at least making it this far. “Does it have something to do with your parents’ quirks?” He flinched, and you worried you had gone too far. He never had been one for small talk. But he obliged, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. “Kind of. My mom sweats glycerin and my dad can make explosions with his hands. I sweat nitroglycerin, and it lets me make explosions. And nitroglycerin smells like burnt sugar, or-”

“Caramel,” you finished, grinning. That was probably the most he had ever said to you in one sentence. And, to your suprise, he smiled back. But this smile melted your heart. It was sweet and unassuming and he didn’t even seem aware of it. You tried to hide your shock. “Heh. Smart Y/N. You’re such a know-it-all.” He tapped your forehead with his fist, right at the spot you two had collided. You flinched. The injury was still tender. Bakugo’s face changed, but still remained vulnerable and kind. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He knelt to see you eye to eye, and examined your face. He had asked with a genuine concern you had never seen before. Those words seemed like they weren’t meant for his mouth. You felt your face flush. If he was just an inch closer you two would be-

What the fuck?? No way. No fucking way.

There was no way. It wasn’t possible that you could be falling for Bakugo fucking Katsuki. The explosive boy who cackled maniacally whenever he got to punch someone. The sport festival victor who beat up Uraraka, the human equivalent of a cinnamon roll, without an ounce of mercy. The student so notorious for his mean streak that the League of Villains had tried to recruit him.

But that internal part, deep within you knew that he was more than his surface-level outrage. That’s why you liked him so much, right? That’s why you wanted to be his friend. He was a boy who was passionate, ambitious, and honest. Not many could see that. Still, more than this, he displayed a tenderness you didn’t think he was capable of.

A tenderness that was only a nose away from meeting your lips.

“I’m fine, Bakugo.” You attempted to subtly scooch backwards, hoping to increase to distance at least by a smidge. If you stayed in a position like this after a revelation like that, you’d truly implode.

Bakugo was no idiot. He saw you squirm at the proximity, and drew back, his usual aura returning. Internally, he smacked himself. Idiot, idiot, idiot. How could you forget? At best, you two are just friends. Most of the time, you’re just acquaintances. Control yourself, Bakugo.

You two kept this awkward silence until your stop, cheeks ablaze. After what felt like forever, your destination was announced, and Mina gave a shout of joy and relief so loud it seemed like it shook the entire train. You and Bakugo squeezed past the suits, you offering up enough apologies to compensate the both of you for a lifetime of sin. When you reached the door, it felt as if you were finally getting your head above water. You sighed deeply, talking in the rhythms of the station.

“Wow. That was awful,” you breathed. Bakugo grunted. His eyes refused to meet yours, and your heart sank. This was the Bakugo that everyone knew. The grumpy and angry Bakugo and nothing more. Not the sweet boy with the soft eyes who had asked with the gentlest tone if you were ok. But you still liked him. What is wrong with me?!

Mina flopped on the floor like a beached whale. “Ughhhhhhhh.”

“Mina, get up! That’s so gross,” Sero stepped over her, disgusted.

Kiri checked the group, making sure everyone got off. “Where’s Kaminari?”

A distant screech sounded from the train, and Kaminari burst through the doors just as they were about to close, talking his place on the station floor beside Mina. You laughed. This happiness made you forget about Bakugo, if at least for a second. But his eyes were trained on you, watching you toss you head back in joy and look at everything with such a deep love.

You saw, for one second as you turned back towards him, that soft smirk he almost never had. And your heart beat faster.

“Okay everyone! Let’s go!”

#mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x reader #x reader #bnha #sero hanta #kaminari denki #mina ashido #kirishima eijirou #mha x y/n #mha x reader #bnha imagines #bnha x y/n #bnha x reader #mha #katsuki bakugo x reader #long fic #yikes

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years ago

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The Dragon Egg (Part 1)

This is my (sort of late) entry for the @secrettunnelatla event.

Summary: Azula’s metal music career put in jeopardy when a careless afterparty leaves her unexpectedly pregnant with Chan’s baby. Meanwhile, Zuko struggles to overcome his addiction as he works to get his own band off the ground.

Content Warnings: Language, Teen Pregnancy, Drug Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, and Child Abuse.

It smells heavily of leather, disinfectant, and hand soap. Azula supposes that, that is a good thing. She tries not to twitch too much, but the discomfort is rather intense. More than intense, really. It is a mild, yet white hot pain. She tries to ignore the buzz of the needle and its attempts to remind her of its bite.

“First time?” Seicho asks.

Azula nods.

“You’re telling me that you can get a pair of snake bites, a brow piercing, and stretch your earlobes, but this is too much?”

Azula resists another flinch. “Piercings are quicker. The needle goes in…” she winces, “and then it comes out and it’s over.”

Seicho withdraws the tattoo gun for a shrug, “there’s no art to piercings.”

“Tell that to Mai.”

“She’s your bandmate, right?”

Azula shakes her head. “My brother’s girlfriend. She’s in his band.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I have my own band. We have a better sound and better lyrics.” She grips the edge edge of her chair. This time speaking ill of Zuko’s band isn’t a distraction enough. She isn’t sure why this is so hard for her. Chan and Ruon had gotten their ink without a hitch, and Ruon is a crybaby on a good day.

“Do you need a break?” The artist asks, withdrawing her tattoo gun. The hideous red, plastic cup that she wears as a necklace charm, bobs with the motion. Azula grits her teeth and shakes her head. If Ruon could get it done in one go then she can manage as well. By the end of it she will have a blue and gold scaled dragon curling around her arm and outlined with blue flame and lightning. And if she can manage it, twin dragonflies will shimmer on both of her shoulder blades.

The buzzing resumes and the pricking returns. Sometimes it doesn’t hurt so much as it does sting. And sometimes the stinging subsides for something more like a painful pressure. “Try to relax, it hurts more if you’re tense.” Seicho says.

“This isn’t exactly relaxing.” Azula frowns. The woman has finally finished the outline of the dragon. “And this chair isn’t comfortable either.” She may as well add that she is thirsty and hungry for good measure.

Seicho laughs, “I’ve had criers and fainters and a few boasting badasses, but I’ve never had a complainer.”

Azula frowns.

“If you want you can move to the bed.” She gestures to what looks like a dentist’s chair. “It has more padding and it’ll give your back a rest.”

“Alright.” While she is up she steals a drink from her water bottle. She tries to make herself as comfortable as possible on the bed. She hears the buzz of another tattoo gun on the other side of the parlor before Seicho’s comes to join it. Azula braces herself for more stinging.

“So what kind of music do you play?”

“Disco pop.” She answers flatly. Sehicho has to draw back and wait for her laughter to pass. “We play metalcore. But Chan and Ruon want to experiment with…” it takes all of her soul not to shudder, “surfer rock.” Granted she can respect it as a genre, it isn’t terrible and it would suit the two of them well. But she can’t see herself providing vocals for surf rock and she doesn’t quite fit the aesthetic. At least she has Zirin to back her up on that, and so the band is perfectly divided like that.

“That could be interesting.” Seicho comments.

“Does anything about me indicate that surf rock is a good fit for my talents?”

.oOo.

Seicho looks her client up and down. Azula is an attractive girl, that’s for sure, it is more than a pleasure sitting in her chair--the girl has a reputation for being very particular and picky.

She studies her for a moment longer; small and slender with the slightest muscle definition. Her eyes glitter with thick black eyeliner, shot with a line of neon blue. It’s elegantly dramatic against a soft helping of black eyeshadow. Her piercings glint silver in the light when she turns to watch Seicho work. She notices a septum ring as well. Her hair is styled with a neat undercut, someone has artfully worked fiery patterns into the shaved part.

“That’s fair.” Seicho comments at last. She isn’t sure that she should make any other comments on the girl’s appearance, lest she makes a blabbering fool of herself. She supposes that she has a weak spot for piercings and sideshaves. “I don’t think that I caught your band’s name.”

“Blue Talon.” She gestures to the outline of her dragon. She had specifically instructed Seicho to put emphasis on it’s inky talon.

“I’ll have to listen to some of your music.”

Azula nods. “Give yourself a taste of culture.”

She fixes her gaze on the screen of her phone. Seicho catches the name ‘Chan’ at the top of the screen and the words, ‘still up for tonight?’ Seicho brings her focus back to the tattoo and resumes her work.

It is an underappreciated art, she thinks. A misunderstood one. She doesn’t think that people understand just how brave one needs to be to decorate a person’s body. Doesn’t think that they see the value in what she does.

Her art has a weight to it, one that her canvases will carry with them forever. Her art comes with a story and her parchment is flesh. Some tales are as simple as a reminder of one impulse decision (perhaps good, perhaps bad) at the end of a wild night, the story of reckless youth and a fun time. While other stories are so deeply personal that even she doesn’t know the meaning behind the picture she has brought to life on the flesh.

The elegance of dragging needles over skin in careful curves and sturdy lines is an art in itself. It takes a steady and loving hand to guide the needle in exactly the right ways. Calligraphy is renowned and loved, it is classy. Seicho doesn’t think that her job is much different than than.

They say that it is a rough and reckless job. They can’t seem to grasp what tedious work it is. The special sort of carefulness that goes into laying ink onto skin. She supposes that they have taken and ran with stories of shady, cheap shops with unsterilized needles and infected basement tattoos done by best friends.

She draws back for a moment to dab some excess ink from Azula’s skin. “How are you feeling?” She checks in. Her client gives her a simple thumbs up. With it, Seicho continues. The tattoo begins to come to life now, with an enticing shade of deep blue. She takes care to keep it from marring the golden outline of the scales.

As she carefully fills the scales with blue, she finds herself pondering how lovely it would be to have her artwork on the art of someone who has made it big. She hopes that Blue Talon will go far.

Occupied by her phone, Azula seems to be content for the time being. It would seem that the girl isn’t particularly interested in anymore conversation and she doesn’t try to force her into one. They don’t speak again until the final dragonfly has been inked on to the girl’s shoulder. Seicho flicks the tattoo gun off and sets it aside. “I can take a few pictures of the dragonflies for you so you can see them.”

Azula nods, paying only half attention as she inspects the dragon that now curls around her bicep. “It’s good work.” She says at last.

“Thank you.” Seicho smiles. She holds up her phone and the girl glances over it. “Hey!” She shouts as she snatches the phone from her hand. She watches Azula pull up her contacts list and add herself to it.

“We will be in touch.” She presses the phone back into Seicho’s palm.

She never would have thought that it would be so easy to get a rockstar’s phone number. Albeit, this particular rockstar seems to lack either impulse control or social graces. She is inclined to go with the latter.

“Feel free to give me a call if you think that the ink might be infected. Just follow the instructions,” she gestures to the aftercare package, “and that shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Don’t wait by the phone.” Azula inspects her nails. “I have impeccable hygiene.”

Seicho damn near laughs. She has only exchanged a few words with the girl and she has already left quite an impression. Aesthetic aside and phone incident, she is strangely well-mannered, prim and proper. She isn’t exactly the sort Seicho is used to having in her chair.

She gives her hair a flick, revealing a golden ring bearing the Kasai family emblem. Were it not for that, Seicho would have never guessed that she was the daughter of Fire Lord Ozai. Thee Fire Lord Ozai, vocalist and guitarist of Fire’s Reign.

She doesn’t get the chance to request an autograph or a chance to meet her idol. She hears the shop bell rattle as the rock legend’s daughter shuts the door behind her and makes her way back to her car.

Seicho hopes that her hard work will serve the girl well.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Azula/Cupholder girl #Azula/Seicho #Zuko #Mai #Maiko #TyLee #Fanfiction #Atlasecrettunnel

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chalantness · 4 years ago

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fic: Here, On the Edge of Hell (6/6)

Rating: M Word Count: ~14,300 (part six) Characters: Steve/Natasha Summary: mafia au. She knows her father hadn’t been lying when he said that Uncle Howard wanted her to keep an eye on Steve, but if this was simply about protection, he wouldn’t have put her on the line at all. Especially not with all of the heat Steve Rogers is getting from the other Families, which means that her uncle has another reason for Natasha to be involved.

He just won’t tell her what it is.

Read On: [ ao3 ]

A/N: I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S FINALLY HERE! The last part of the mafia 'verse!!

I initially thought this was going to take me 1-1.5 months tops to finish, but in true Chanty fashion, it took twice that long... three months later, and we're finally at the end! I'm excited and a little nervous to get to the big reveals, and I'm warning you now that this is my first genuine attempt at writing action sequences of this kind, but I'm really happy of how this chapter and this whole story turned out and I hope you darlings are, too! I had so much fun with this 'verse, and it's definitely the closest of anything I've written to the kinds of stories I want to tell in my original works. If you liked this story overall (I know there was a lot of room for improvement!) then I think you may like the stories I've got in store as an author!

Thank you darlings for all of your support and enthusiasm!

“I must admit, I was beginning to doubt if I’d ever get the satisfaction of having a Rogers on his knees. Of course,” Anton muses, sliding both hands lazily into his pockets, “I’d always pictured it to be Joseph. Maybe Pietro. But I suppose you look enough like both of them to suffice.”

Steve clenches his jaw, eyes flickering to Wanda kneeling beside him in the middle of what seems to be an empty warehouse. Honestly, Steve wouldn’t be surprised if it’s exactly that. The restaurant he and Wanda had been about to pick up food from is near the harbor, and Steve knows that Howard Stark just bought a few shipment facilities in this area from a business going bankrupt. He mentioned they were about to break ground on this site, too, which means all of the buildings would’ve already been cleaned out and fenced off from the public, and since this place is going to be the new site for another Stark Industries building, it would make sense that Anton would have access to it.

“And you, my dear,” Anton continues, turning to Wanda, and Steve feels his entire body stiffen as Anton reaches down to grasp at Wanda’s throat, forcing her to tip her chin up to meet his stare. Her wrists are tied behind her back, probably just as tightly as Steve’s are, but her arms still wiggle as she struggles against the knot, twisting her body away from Anton as best as she can. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to get rid of you as well. If I thought you would actually stay quiet, I would’ve kept your pretty face for myself.”

Wanda narrows her eyes up at him in a glare. “I would have begged for you to kill me instead.”

“I thought you were smart enough not to show your hand.” Anton releases her throat with a shove, nearly knocking her over, and Steve grits his teeth together. “Since it seems worse than death for you, I might just change my mind. Kill your beloved brother in front of you then keep you out of sight for a while, just for my amusement.”

“I’m all for that plan,” Ivan chimes in, squatting down beside Wanda and brushing her hair from her face, glass shards from the shattered back windshield of the car still threaded through the wild strands. He grasps her chin with his fingers, flashing his teeth in a dangerous smile. “What do you think, princess? Should we have a little fun?”

“That’s enough,” Steve practically growls. “You’re not touching her.”

“Unless it’s over your dead body?” Anton guesses. “Because if that’s what you’re waiting for, it’s about to be arranged.”

“You’re not touching her, period,” Steve snaps, only barely keeping his voice from shaking, every muscle in his body going taut. He’s pissed. He’s fucking pissed, and he knows that Anton can see it in his eyes because there’s a fleeting flash of alarm in his eyes before he blinks, smug once more.

It doesn’t fool Steve, though. Anton might’ve taken his gun, and he might have Steve on his knees with his hands tied, but the man still feels threatened by him.

“You’re not in any position to be making threats,” Ivan spits out at Steve, practically sneering. “But what else would I expect? You Rogers feel like you own the fucking world. Howard barely even blinks in my direction all these years and yet, you step in and he serves his precious niece up to you on a silver platter, just because you’re Joseph’s boy.”

Steve curls his fists even tighter, somehow, almost tight enough that his fingernails practically break through his own skin. “Therein lies your problem,” Steve replies, and some small, selfish part of him relishes in the obvious annoyance flickering in Ivan’s expression at how calm his voice is, almost nonchalant. No doubt the guy thinks it only proves his belief that Steve feels like he’s entitled. “Maybe if you stopped treating women like playthings, he might start to consider you as someone worth acknowledging.”

Ivan half-shoves his hand away from Wanda, just as Anton had, and grabs the front of Steve’s shirt with his fist, hauling him onto his feet as he practically growls in his face.

Steve blinks back at him, jaw ticking, but he manages to keep his expression composed. Which of course only pisses Ivan off even more.

“You think you can just swoop in and take your daddy’s place on top?” Ivan demands. “You think you’ve got everyone fooled?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Steve hitches his mouth up ever so slightly in a smirk. “I think being head of the Family already speaks for itself. Not that you’d know what that kind of respect is like considering Howard barely considers you one of his soldiers.”

Ivan grits his teeth. “I’m the only one who isn’t too big of a coward to be scared off by Stark’s made up rules. That’s the real reason he doesn’t get in my way.”

“You’re a liability,” Steve counters. “You think my father is the only reason I get any respect? Your father is the only reason you haven’t been cut off.”

A growl rips of Ivan’s throat. “You little—”

“Calm down, boy!” Anton barks, yanking Ivan back by his jacket, and Ivan shoves Steve back before shrugging his father’s hand off of him, still gritting his teeth. “This is why you get sloppy. He’s trying to rile you up and you’re falling for it.”

Steve holds back a grunt of discomfort as his knees hit the ground again, his body very nearly swaying back from the force of Ivan’s shove, but he manages to catch his balance at the last second. Anton is in Ivan’s face now, his words coming out in a low hiss as he says something to Ivan under his breath, and Steve takes the moment of distraction to turn to Wanda once more. He hadn’t wanted to risk more than just a few quick glances, wanting to avoid drawing any more attention onto her. It’s already obvious to Anton and Ivan that the only real advantage they have over Steve is his sister, and likewise for Wanda, but actually showing that weakness is even worse.

He was worried that she might’ve been more banged up from the crash than he initially thought, and now that he has the time to look for any injuries, he notices a fresh scrape on her arm, probably from when Anton dragged her from the wreckage. But it isn’t bleeding, nor does it seem all that deep, so he won’t worry over it right now.

What does worry him, though, is the fact that Wanda is still squirming against her restraints. It’s subtle enough that Ivan and Anton probably won’t notice, but Steve does, and for a moment he thinks that maybe she’s in discomfort because of how tightly the rope could be knotted around her wrists—but then he catches a glimpse of something shifting behind her back. The slim, black metal is hidden by Wanda’s blouse at an awkward angle with the way her wrists are tied together, but he recognizes it in an instant.

Bucky’s knife.

... ...

The hotel that Yuri’s men take her to is one of the few in New York that her uncle hasn’t managed to buy out, which Natasha is willing to bet isn’t a coincidence on their part. That’s likely the only reason they were able to slip under the Family’s radar for so long, though the place itself is by no means modest, and Natasha isn’t surprised when they lead her onto the elevator reserved for the residential suites at the top. And he’d probably booked out the entire top floor, too, not simply for his men but for the sake of discretion as well – and, not for the first time, Natasha knows it’d been the right call to follow Yelena’s advice to not have Tony follow her when she was going to be grabbed.

Judging just from the number of men posted along the hallways on the way to the suite, Natasha knows her family would’ve been outgunned on their own, even with every capo and soldier available on such short notice. Having the entire Family and their men will give them the advantage.

Just as long as Natasha can hold out until they find her.

Yelena has barely glanced in her direction, her composed expression perfectly in place, and Natasha has been careful to keep her own gaze appropriately alarmed considering she was just coerced into the back of a van off of the street without any explanation. If she comes off too unaffected, they may realize that she’d been expecting this; but she can’t come off too affected, either, considering it would be just as suspicious for someone so high up in a mafia to act as if this is her first ever time in this kind of situation.

Which it isn’t, though both other times had been part of her plan, so it really didn’t matter how unaffected she appeared to be when she’d had the upper hand from the beginning. This time is far different, and if Natasha had any less of a poker face, she wouldn’t stand a chance at making Yuri believe she’s entirely in the dark.

Yelena produces a keycard from her pocket as they reach the double doors of the suite, unlocking them, and then two men draw them open from inside, revealing a large sitting room with wide, glass walls overlooking the city.

And, lounging on the couch in the center of the suite, is Yuri Petrovich.

Natasha had already known who he was before Yelena had explained their connection. He may live in a different country, but his mob has associates in New York, so the Family has always kept tabs on them. Even without that reason, her uncle would’ve insisted on it, anyway, simply because of their reputation.

And because of her, she realizes. Just as Yelena had said, whether or not Natasha truly is related to him isn’t relevant; the possibility of it alone would’ve been enough for her and her mother to be on their radar to begin with, and that would’ve been enough for Uncle Howard to view the threat of the Petrovich mob coming after them as real.

“Natasha,” he greets, his smile almost charming, and his men usher her further into the room as they close the doors behind her. “I’m glad that you can join us.”

Her lips curve into the ghosts of a smirk. “I couldn’t exactly decline the invitation.”

He waves her over with two fingers, and she takes a moment to let her gaze slide over the room. Partly to assess where his men are posted throughout the suite, a move he would’ve expected her to pull, but also to take note of where Yelena has come to stand behind the couch Yuri is seated on. Distant enough as to not draw suspicion yet close enough to have an advantage over him from behind, though it also puts her in everyone’s line of fire, so the chances of her actually being able to make the first move are slim.

Not without a distraction, at least.

Natasha walks around the couch opposite of Yuri, perching herself on the cushion, and he leans forward to grab a bottle of vodka out of a bucket of ice on the table. “Care to join me?” he asks, pouring the alcohol into two shot glasses. “I know it’s not a traditional drink to share for first meetings, but I have a feeling you and I have the same taste.”

She lets cautious curiosity flicker in her eyes when he looks at her. “That’s quite an assumption”

“Let’s just say, I recognize a kindred spirit when I see one,” he replies, sliding one of the glasses over, and she eyes him skeptically as she picks it up. “After all, we already have quite a lot in common.”

“Because I’m of Russian blood?” she asks. She knows it could be dangerous to try and coax the truth out of him like this, but the secretive, smug edge to his smirk only widens, his eyes flashing, and Natasha can tell that he finds her choice of words more ironic than suspicious. “If you know this about me, you’ll also know I was raised here.”

He hums, lifting his glass instead of replying, and Natasha tips her head back as he does to drain her shot. It’ll take more than this to get her drunk or even buzzed, but she still needs to be careful if he insists on more.

“I do know this,” Yuri finally answers, setting the vodka aside as he stares back at her. “I know quite a bit about you, in fact.”

“And I suppose the reason for that is why you’ve come all the way here to pay me a visit in person,” Natasha muses. “Or is this how you woo all the Russian girls?”

“Woo?” He shakes his head. “No, that would be rather inappropriate, though I don’t suppose Melina Stark has given you a clue as to why.”

Natasha allows her irritation to flit across her expression, her body stiffening in annoyance at his tone, though the satisfied curl of his lips tells her that she’s come off as alarmed as she’d intended. “If we have as much in common as you say, then you’ll know that as adept as I am at playing games, I don’t particularly enjoy them,” Natasha replies, letting her casual tone slip from her voice as she narrows ever so slightly. “I would hardly consider us kindred spirits simply because we’re both of Russian descent.”

Yuri raises his eyebrows slightly, almost seeming impressed by her bluntness. “Perhaps we don’t have everything in common, because I do enjoy a good game of watching others squirm. But since I admire your boldness, I’ll return it: our Russian descent isn’t all that we share, dear sister. We are blood by its very definition.”

She tilts her head, gauging his expression. It’s clear that he believes his words, just as Yelena had said, and she lets anger flit across her face. “And I should take your word?”

“If I had the time, I would’ve brought Melina here to tell you the story herself,” Yuri replies, his smirk widening as he lounges back against the couch. “But since she isn’t with us at the moment, I’ll give you the courtesy that she should’ve given you and tell you exactly why Melina Vostokoff fled to America on your father’s arm. Of course, if I’d been accused of having an affair with my best friend’s husband, I wouldn’t be too keen on sharing that story with my supposed daughter,” he adds with a shake of his head.

“An affair?” Natasha questions.

“I believe you’re intelligent, dear sister, and the talk of you within the underground of New York would support my belief,” Yuri muses. “I know you must have wondered what would’ve compelled your mother to marry a man who had been on vacation and leave her country on such an impulsive whim. Sure, it makes for quite a romantic story, but you know deep down that isn’t the truth.” Yuri leans forward again, his elbows resting on his knees as he holds Natasha’s stare, eyes flashing dangerously. “The reason that Melina acclimated so quickly to her husband’s lifestyle is because she was already familiar with it herself. It was a life she shared with her best friend Alia back in Russia.”

“Which is supposedly your mother,” Natasha guesses, keeping her voice dry and unamused. “Alia Petrovich.”

He flashes his teeth in a wide grin. “Formerly known as Natalia Romanov. Quite similar to your own name, isn’t it, Natasha?”

This time, Natasha’s surprise is genuine as she pulls back slightly. He reaches into his pocket, making Natasha’s body stiffen in alarm, but rather than a weapon, he produces a thin necklace and tosses it in her direction, and she catches it in her palm. The charm is a slim bar, engraved in script—her own name, she realizes.

“When my mother passed, this was found among her possessions. At first, I believed it was simply hers. Natasha is a variant of Natalia, after all.” He shakes his head, and there’s something in his voice, something in his eyes, that has Natasha nearly holding her breath. She isn’t simply feigning ignorance for his sake; she can feel her blood begin to hum in her veins, as if anticipating his next words. “But then I realized that it wasn’t meant for her. It was meant for you, my dear sister,” he tells her, and Natasha nearly risks a glance at Yelena, wanting to see if this is a surprise to her as well. Natasha is willing to bet that it is. “Melina never had an affair. Our mother was the one that did.”

... ...

Steve clenches and unclenches his jaw, careful to keep his anger in his expression even as he feels relief unfurl in his chest as Wanda finally slices through the knot around her wrists. She catches the rope in her fingers before it can go slack, hand closing tightly around the handle of the slim, black knife. The one that Ivan had evidently missed when he’d patted her down. Considering her arms have been drawn behind her back this whole time, Steve is guessing that she had the holster strapped under her blouse. Bucky’s knife is thin enough that it would have still been decently concealed despite the tapered fit of the material, but also, they’d been lucky that Ivan hadn’t done a thorough check.

He probably thought he hadn’t needed to; Wanda is as adept with a gun as the rest of the Family, but she isn’t typically armed.

It seems that Bucky has taken care of that himself.

“Enough,” Anton finally barks, shaking his head at Ivan before turning back to Steve. “Yet another example of how you Rogers have been a thorn in my side all these years.”

“Considering I didn’t even know who you were until a few months ago, it’s rather an impressive accomplishment to be under your skin for years,” Steve retorts. Anton may not be as reactive as Ivan, but Steve still knows how to piss Anton off. He’s pretty damn full of himself, and considering how long Joseph Rogers has known him, it’d be a definite bruise to Anton’s ego to know he hadn’t been worth mentioning, especially since Steve had already known most of the other Family members when he took his father’s place.

As long as Anton and Ivan are too focused on being pissed at Steve to notice that Wanda’s freed herself, all she’ll have to do is hold off until the right time.

Though Steve doesn’t know how easily that’ll come, if at all. It may just be Anton and Ivan inside the warehouse with them, but Steve knew he’d had a few men with him during the crash. Likely the handful of capos and soldiers loyal to him rather than to Howard, because there’s no way they’d go along with this kind of plan otherwise. It’d put their asses on the line, too, and Steve would hope that they’re sensible enough to know that both Anton and Ivan would throw them under the bus if Howard got wind of it.

Anton’s jaw ticks. “I’ve known you the least, but I’m pretty damn sure I’ll get the most enjoyment out of putting a bullet through your head.”

“Because I walked in and took the seat at the head of the Families that you’ve wanted all along?” Steve asks. “Or because I know you were the one stealing from Howard?”

It’s something Steve had a gut feeling about being true when it’d clicked into place in his mind, but the flash in Anton’s eyes is all the confirmation he needs. He manages to school his expression back into annoyance only a second later, but it’s more in vain than anything else. He knows Steve had caught his initial reaction.

And maybe that’s why he doesn’t completely deny it like Steve had still been expecting. “And what makes you say that?” Anton asks, still feigning annoyance.

“Howard is a cautious man when it comes to his legitimate businesses, and especially when it comes to Stark Industries,” Steve points out. “I can only imagine how much stricter he was when Stark Industries was getting off of the ground, and operating out of only one small building with a handful of employees should’ve meant he’d have no trouble keeping everything locked up tight. Not unless someone Howard trusted enough to give complete access without his monitoring was the one stealing,” Steve adds.

Anton’s eyes flash. “I’ve known Howard for years. He wouldn’t believe your word over mine.”

“He would if it made sense, which it does,” Steve counters. “Howard’s loyal, but not blindly loyal. And considering your son’s recklessness puts the Family’s ass in some kind of jeopardy almost every day, he’d have no problems cutting both of you out of the picture the second he gets a decent reason. Even if your secret dies with me, he’d still cut you off for trying to get rid of Pietro and Wanda, too.” This time Anton doesn’t attempt to hide his surprise, and in his peripheral, Steve catches his sister flinch, genuinely shocked.

Anton smirks, but the smugness from his eyes is gone. “Those incidents weren’t my doing,” he argues.

“Maybe not directly,” Steve counters. “It was an Asgard car spotted near both of those scenes at the time, and by every one of the Family’s busted deals and shipments, too. But if we dig just a little deeper, it’d be easy to find out that you and Ivan were the ones goading Hela into doing your dirty work.”

“She doesn’t need anyone to help fuel her crazy.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Steve agrees. “Which makes her a convenient person to pin the blame on, especially since the Family knows she has it out for my father. Dad was getting a lot closer to your secret. You knew he’d share his theories with his kids, too, so you needed a quick and permanent fix. Then my dad goes missing and you get your chance.”

Anton narrows his eyes. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” he questions, but there’s no real threat in his voice, and Steve knows his assumptions are right.

Before Steve can respond, though, Ivan snaps, “I’m getting sick of all this talking.” He draws his gun from the pocket inside his jacket, giving Steve a glimpse of his own gun hooked into Ivan’s holster at his hip. “Maybe we should test your theory of this secret dying with you,” he snarls. Steve simply blinks back at him, but then he catches Ivan’s gaze shift back to Wanda and Steve’s shoulders go rigid. Ivan smirks. “Or better yet, maybe we’ll start with your sister first. You won’t feel like such a smug ass then, huh?”

Ivan squats down and grasps Wanda by her neck, forcing her chin to tip up as he starts to dig his fingers into her throat—

And then a screech from outside. It’s muffled but unmistakable, and close. Maybe no more than a few dozen feet away.

Tires.

Ivan and Anton’s heads snap around toward the doors at the other end of the warehouse. “What the hell is that?” Ivan growls out, but Anton lets out a low hiss for him to shut up, one hand already reaching into his jacket for his gun as he takes a few steps closer, as if ready to head outside to check himself.

There are voices being raised from outside; the men Anton kept posted out there to keep watch start to shout over one another, their words muffled but the alarm ringing clear in their tones.

And then two harsh cracks rip through the air – gunshots – right before the sound of metal slamming together, colliding in a hard crash.

“Shit,” Ivan mutters, starting to get up, but then Wanda slips her arms out from behind her almost in a blink, knife in hand, and Ivan lets out a sudden groan as she thrusts the blade into him. He hisses, his hand going slack around his gun as he staggers back, and then Wanda is shoving him forward and sending him stumbling back into Anton as his weight knocks them both over. Another blink, and Wanda is lunging across the small distance, on her knees beside Steve and shoving him over as another shot goes off.

Steve groans, a jolt of pain shooting through his shoulder right before his side hits the ground, but he barely has a second to register it before Wanda is down on one knee in front of him, her body half-angled away from him just as Anton has gotten back onto his feet, lifting his gun to aim it in their direction.

For a fleeting second, Steve’s heart slams to stop against his ribcage—

And then Anton’s face twists into a sneer as he spits out, “You’re too much of a princess to pull that trigger,” at Wanda, and Steve’s eyes snap onto his sister. With the way he’d fallen and the way Wanda’s back is turned toward him, he hadn’t noticed the gun in her hand, pointed right back at Anton.

Ivan’s gun, Steve realizes. His gaze slides down and, sure enough, he finds Bucky’s knife still curled tightly in her other hand, only a little bit of blood actually smudged onto the blade from how quickly she’d pulled it out of Ivan’s chest.

“Go ahead, prove me right,” Anton goads. “You don’t have the balls to—”

He’s cut off as another crack rips through the air, and then he’s shouting, staggering down onto one knee, his gun falling from his hand and clattering onto the ground as he clutches at his shoulder with a hiss. Wanda shifts her body, arm swinging toward Ivan as he’s in the middle of staggering back up to his feet, and then another shot goes off and groans out, “fuck!” and clutches at his leg, his body hitting the ground once more. Wanda whirls back toward Steve, bending over him, and though the blade manages to nick his skin in her haste to slice the ropes from around his wrist, he barely notices. After getting grazed with one of Anton’s bullets, a little cut is hardly going to bother him.

Wanda is on her feet before Steve is, gun aimed at Anton once more as she gets her boot on his gun where it fell, sliding it back before he can attempt to retrieve it. Steve half-lunges across the small distance to Ivan, still clutching at his leg where Wanda shot him, and then Steve snatches his gun out of Ivan’s holster and aims it at him.

He turns his head, keeping Ivan in his peripheral as he looks at Wanda with his lips twitching at the corners. “Good aim.”

Wanda’s eyes twinkle. “I’m Clint’s best student for a reason,” she replies as the doors at the other end of the warehouse are thrown open, and then both of their gazes are whirling in that direction just as Bucky and Sam and a few officers burst through.

Steve very nearly slackens in relief, but he manages to keep his gun aimed at Ivan until one of the officers reaches him, producing a pair of handcuffs.

Wanda lowers her gun, too, just as Bucky reaches her, one hand reaching out to cup her cheek as his eyes dart over her almost wildly. A moment later, he exhales a breath, the tension ebbing from his body as he seems to confirm for himself that she isn’t hurt, and then he’s reaching down with his other hand to curl his fingers around hers where they’re still gripping the handle of the knife. His knife, stained with Ivan’s blood. His eyes glint. “Atta girl,” he murmurs, and then he’s drawing her close, slanting his lips over hers. Steve watches as Wanda’s body finally eases in relief, very nearly melting into Bucky as she sways forward, and he hooks an arm around her to keep them both steady.

Steve turns away to give them a moment, and then Sam is beside him, reaching up to touch the frayed line of his jacket where the bullet grazed him.

“Just a scratch?” Sam asks, one eyebrow arched as his lip hitches at the corner, and, despite everything, Steve breathes out a laugh.

“Barely a paper cut,” Steve returns, and Sam just shakes his head. “You guys got here pretty fast.”

Sam nods, gaze shifting onto Anton as two officers are snapping cuffs around his wrists and starting to lead him out of the warehouse. “We’ve had a tracker on Anton’s car for a few days now and we’ve been tailing him at a decent distance. The second it got cut off in the crash, our asses were on the move.”

Steve nods, but there’s something in Sam’s eyes that makes him pause. “What?” he asks, aware of the way Bucky and Wanda pull away from each other in his peripheral as Bucky tugs her closer to Steve’s side, his lips twitching into a grin.

“We’ve got something for you,” Bucky answers, nodding his head toward the doors.

Steve catches his sister’s curious gaze, exchanging a look before Bucky is gently urging her forward with a hand on the small of her back, and Steve follows the two of them out of the warehouse with Sam. There are already several patrol cars parked along the fence that’d been put up by the construction company, officers in the midst of loading Ivan and Anton and their men into the back seats, and what few pedestrians happen to be walking in the area are already starting to pause to try and see what’s happening.

It isn’t until Steve’s gaze finds a familiar car at the end of the fence, though, that he realizes why Sam and Bucky had been grinning so hard.

Dad.

... ...

Our mother.

Natasha’s fingers tighten around the necklace in her hand, so much so that she can feel the charm starting to dig into her palm, but she barely flinches. Her stare stays fixed on Yuri, searching his face for any small shift in his expression, any small twitch or tell that may give away the fact that he’s bluffing—but that smirk sits perfectly in place and the smug gleam in his eyes never wavers. Rationally, she knows that this doesn’t automatically mean he’s telling the truth. She has a pretty damn good poker face, too, and she can count on one hand the number of times someone had picked up on it when she was bluffing. Even then, they hadn’t been entirely sure if she was actually lying or not.

But she can feel her chest tightening, and her instinct tells her that something about his story makes sense.

She’s always found her parents’ story odd, and though Yelena’s explanation would’ve cleared a lot of it, Natasha knew something was still off. Something was missing. Why would her mother join a mob so that she, Joseph, and Alia could keep each other safe and yet sleep with the man her best friend married? The very same one she wanted to protect Alia from? And Natasha knows she looks like her father, like her Uncle Howard and Tony and Peter. It’s been said countless times that she has the Stark stamp to her.

Belatedly, her conversation with Steve comes back to her and how he apologized for getting upset when she hid “Sarah Rogers” from him. He told her he would’ve done the same thing, would’ve waited before telling Natasha something that could upset her because it was about her mother.

I just want to be sure, he told her.

This was what he’d been hesitant to tell her. Maybe he didn’t put together the exact truth, but he’d already suspected that her mother wasn’t her birth mother.

“I suppose you expect me to just take your word for it,” Natasha replies, managing to keep her voice steady despite the way her heart is starting to pound against her ribcage.

Yuri sits up a little straighter, lifting his eyebrows. “Perhaps I should have invited Melina to join us and tell you herself.”

Natasha lets out a light, almost nonchalant him in reply, even as her fist curls even tighter around the necklace still in her hand, and she knows she’s managed to catch him off guard by her lack of reaction to his threat because there’s a fleeting shift of uncertainty in his eyes. Then he blinks and that smug, knowing gleam is back in place.

“I’m surprised you didn’t consider it to begin with, after going through all this trouble to come here to convince me of the truth in person.” Natasha quirks an eyebrow at him. “Unless, of course, you have another reason for coming to an entirely different country to meet someone who could only supposedly be your family.”

He nearly bares his teeth in a dangerous grin. “You really don’t enjoy games, do you, dear sister?” he drawls. “It’s almost as if you’re trying to rush this along. Of course, if I were you, I would be eager to get to my date tonight as well. With Rogers, correct?” He reaches for the bottle of vodka again and then leans forward to retrieve Natasha’s shot glass, his eyes glinting as he catches her stare. “Like mother, like daughter, after all. I’m told that our mother was quite fond of Joseph Rogers. I’m sure I would’ve heard all about him if not for the way my father got particularly violent whenever Joseph Rogers was ever breathed. It’s quite tragic that he went missing a few months ago, isn’t it?”

Natasha studies his expression for a moment, and, possibly for the first time since he began speaking, she knows he’s bluffing.

His tone is suggestive, and threatening, wanting her to believe he’s in on the secret of how Joseph Rogers had gone missing, or maybe that he’d been involved somehow.

But he wouldn’t be here if he knew the truth. Even if he’s cold enough not to care about someone planning to kill his own father, Ivan dying while Yuri is overseas won’t make it easy for Yuri to take control of the mob if he makes it back to Russia. Not if there are already more than enough people that want him gone.

Maybe she doesn’t need to stall. Maybe she can distract him herself.

“Oh, you don’t expect me to believe that you listen to the rumors,” Natasha counters, letting her voice lilt in amusement—and, sure enough, there’s a flash of uncertainty in his eyes at her reaction. He slides her shot glass back over and she picks it up, letting a secretive smile curl at her lips. “But I will say this, your acting is quite convincing.”

She downs her shot without waiting for him to finish pouring his, licking her lips, and his jaw ticks. “And here I thought you don’t like playing games.”

Natasha tilts her head, arching an eyebrow. “And what game is it that you think I’m playing?”

Yuri smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “I’m sure it doesn’t do well for your reputation that the head of the Families went missing at all, let alone for this long and without any leads,” he muses. “But there’s no need to keep up pretenses for me.” She simply hums as he sets the bottle of vodka down on the table between them, letting her lips curve into a smug, knowing smirk of her own, not so much as blinking when he holds her stare, and she can see exactly when he realizes that she may not be bluffing.

He blinks twice, working to keep his expression unaffected. “Alright. I’ll humor you, dear sister. If Joseph Rogers hasn’t been missing all this time, where is he?”

Natasha leans in closer to the table between them, nearly perched on the very edge of the couch. “Tell me, baby brother,” she starts, her smirk widening when she catches the way his jaw ticks, “why I should divulge that when you haven’t even admitted that you’ve come here to kill me. I’ve never even stepped foot in Russia and yet, I’m a threat to you, aren’t I?” She leans in even closer, catching the way Yelena draws closer to Yuri from behind, too, as is protective. “If it’s a choice between you and me, I’m the best bet. A mafia princess to the underground and a Stark princess to the world. I can offer them everything, but you and your father are nothing but liabilities they’re eager to cut out.”

A growl nearly rips from Yuri’s throat, his composure quickly slipping through his fingers. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”

“No,” she replies, her voice dropping to a low, staged whisper. “I only pretend to,” she says, glancing over his shoulder to catch Yelena’s gaze, and the woman gives her a barely discernable nod right before she has her gun up, firing two shots – one each for the two men standing at the doors of the suite.

Natasha doesn’t have to look back to check to see if they hit, nor does she have time to, because just as Yuri starts to turn around, Natasha’s hand wraps around the neck of the bottle of vodka and she’s swinging it hard, slamming it up into Yuri’s jaw with as much force as she can muster at such a close range.

Yuri keels over as Natasha is on her feet, twisting her body around as she flings the bottle toward the two men standing to her left. There are also two more men to her right that could have a chance to shoot at her, but as she gets a running start, she catches a glimpse of the two guys that’d been posted behind Yelena dropping to the floor as she whirls around, gun pointed, so Natasha doesn’t worry about what’s behind her as she sprints forward, dropping to the ground right as one of them manages to get their gun up. He gets a shot off, but Natasha is already sliding across the carpet, swiping her legs under the other guy – the one already staggering back from being hit with the bottle of vodka – before spinning back around and onto her feet, and then she grabs the other guy by his jacket, yanking him down and sending his head cracking against her knee.

She swipes one of their guns out of their hands and whirls around, aiming it at where Yuri had been in the same second that Yelena does—

But Yuri is already up and over the couch and bounding out the suite, the doors slamming closed behind him, and Yelena exhales a curse under her breath as she lowers her gun and catches Natasha’s gaze.

“As soon as he caught me, he knew he’d be outnumbered when it came down to the three of us,” Yelena tells her. “But if the others are still in the hallway when we leave this suite, we’ll be outnumbered. If even half of the men stayed, that’s too much heat for us to take, and there’s no other way out of this suite.”

“Well, if he makes it out of this hotel, he’ll come after both of us and my family, too,” Natasha counters.

Yelena rubs her lips together, considering this for a moment, and then she swears under her breath again. “Let’s go,” she says, and Natasha swallows lightly, crossing the room and meeting Yelena at the door. “Any plan?” she asks.

Despite herself, Natasha lets out a humorless laugh. “Try not to die?”

Yelena nearly cracks a smile. “Your plan sucks,” she retorts, and then they’re both tugging at the handles, throwing the doors open and stepping into the hallway, and Natasha whirls around to stand with her back to Yelena’s as she points her gun at—

“Mom,” Natasha breathes out, her heart nearly slamming to a stop against her ribcage as she lowers her gun. Her mother lowers her gun, too, and her composed expression dissolves into relief. Natasha’s eyes flit over her shoulder and down the hallway, her father already lowering his own gun as he makes his way over to them, and then, right in front of the door to the stairwell, Uncle Howard and Nick Fury are watching as Thor and Odin are shoving someone over the threshold and maneuvering him down the stairs.

Yuri.

Natasha nearly sways back on her feet as she feels the relief flood through her, her eyes shifting back to her mother. “You got him?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer. She still wants to hear it, though.

“Yes,” her mother tells her, her voice soft. “If you had waited a few more minutes, we would’ve saved you from all the excitement.”

“She wouldn’t be our daughter if she preferred less excitement,” her father quips, coming to stand beside them. Natasha exhales a sharp, breathy sort of laugh as her mother reaches for her, drawing her close—and though she and her parents have never been the kind to prefer hugs, it’s almost instant, the way she melts into the embrace.

... ...

Wanda must’ve seen their father a split second before Steve had, because just as Steve’s mind is starting to catch up to the fact that that’s him – that his father is here, after being gone for so months – Wanda lets out a shaky, sharp, breathy sound, and then she starts running, quickly crossing the distance to the gate at the corner of the fence as their father gets it open. She throws herself at him in a hug that quite literally knocks him back a few steps, but his arms go around her, too, as his deep laugh fills the air.

Steve takes his time making his way over, feeling himself smile as he watches his father brushes a kiss to Wanda’s hair, murmuring something to her that makes her giggle and press her face into his shoulder. Then his eyes shift, watching through the fence as Pietro gets out of their father’s car and starts heading toward their father and sister. He catches Steve’s gaze, lifting his hand in a wave, and Steve’s smile widens, relieved his brother doesn’t seem any worse for wear considering he just got out of the hospital.

“Bet you didn’t see this coming!” Pietro calls out, and their father lifts his head, his eyes wrinkling into a brighter smile when they land on Steve.

Wanda turns to look over her shoulder at him, too, her eyelashes dotted with tears she hasn’t quite shed yet. His sister’s smile is small and shaky, but beautiful and relieved and so fucking happy, and then she steps back from their father, practically ducking under his arm to squeeze Pietro in a hug the second he’s within her reach.

“Steve,” his father greets, his voice low and gruff. The two of them had never been particularly affectionate with each other, not in the same way his siblings are, but it was never something Steve held any resentment towards him for. His father raised the twins mostly on his own, while Steve didn’t even meet his father until after high school, and anytime they’ve spent together since then, they’ve had the twins as a buffer. He and his father are closer now, but there had still been some lingering space between them.

Still, somehow Steve isn’t all that surprised when his father doesn’t hesitate to grasp at Steve’s shoulder, pulling him in for a hug as well.

Steve blinks, his chest tightening, but he doesn’t miss a beat in returning his father’s embrace. It doesn’t linger quite as long as his hug with Wanda had, but his father still gives him one last sort of squeeze before pulling away, one hand still lingering on Steve’s shoulder.

And this time, Steve is surprised when he catches the cracks in his father’s usually nonchalant expression. Considering who the man is, Steve had always seen his father as formidable and unyielding. Sure, Steve knew firsthand that the man had a soft side for his children, but for the most part, his composure never wavered.

“Welcome home,” Steve tells him, his voice a little rough. “How was your trip?”

His father’s eyes glint. “Good,” he answers simply, and it should be strange, how that one word seems to make the air shift. He turns to Wanda and Pietro as Wanda blinks up at him, her eyes wide and glimmering. “It was really good,” he tells them, the meaning clear in his tone. “But I much prefer to be home.”

“I take it that means you don’t have plans to be anywhere else anytime soon?” Steve asks.

His father squeezes his shoulder firmly, his lips hitching up into a wider smile—and, for a fleeting second, Steve almost sees his own face smiling back at him, making his chest squeeze in a way he hasn’t felt since his mother had passed.

“No,” his father promises, shaking his head once. “I’m right where I need to be.”

“Well, if you ever did decide to take another vacation,” Pietro chimes in, his lips spreading into a wide grin as he glances at Steve, “we can hold down the fort.”

Wanda breathes out a laugh, her smile bright, proud, and when Steve catches his father’s stare once more, he sees the same emotion reflected in his eyes. “I’ve always known that,” he says, and Steve feels his chest squeeze again, his own smile widening because he’s starting to realize that maybe he always had, too.

... ...

Her uncle stays behind at the hotel to handle things with Nick and Odin, and though Uncle Howard asks Natasha if she wants to have a say in what they do with Yuri and his men, she promises her uncle that she won’t come up with something nearly as creative as he can. Besides, she knows that the Family likes to take their time in dealing with anyone that’s threatened one of their own, and Natasha doesn’t want to waste another ounce of her energy on Yuri if she can help it. And she’s willing to bet it will drive him crazy to be told that he’d gone through all of this effort to come after her himself when she doesn’t even want to be there to watch while the Family has their fun with him.

“I know today has been exciting and all, so I thought I’d make one of your favorites,” her father says, and it’s almost instant, the grin that pulls at Natasha’s lips when he slides over a double shot of vodka poured into a wine glass. Part of her wonders if she should find the choice of alcohol ironic, all things considered, but as she picks up the glass, swirling it around as if it were actually wine, she doesn’t think of sharing shots of vodka with Yuri in that hotel suite. Instead, she thinks about the first ever time her father had poured her vodka in a wine glass just like this, when she first moved into this apartment out of college and her parents had come over to help her get settled in.

He’d joked about it being a celebration of both of her heritages, when in reality, they simply hadn’t wanted to open every box until they found her shot glasses.

“How sentimental,” her mother notes, amusement pulling at her own smile.

Her father tips his head, considering this. “I have my moments,” he admits, reaching into his pocket, and Natasha watches as he pulls out the thin, silver necklace that she’d held earlier that night, setting it carefully on the kitchen island between them, his expression softening.

Melina picks it up gently, threading the chain through her fingers and lifting it to let the engraved bar dangle for her to read.

Natasha watches her mother, remembering the way she and Alia—Natalia—had looked in that photograph she and Steve had found among his father’s things. It had to have been taken after Joseph Rogers, Alia, and her mother had joined the mob since Alexi was in the photo, too, and yet, Alia looked content. She looked happy because she was with the people she loved most, and that was enough to make her feel as carefree as she’d looked in that photo, even if her life had been anything but that because of Ivan.

“Is there any truth to that?” Natasha asks gently, nodding at the necklace in her mother’s hand, though it’s not really a question. The expression on both of her parents’ faces is more than enough proof.

Her mother catches her gaze, her smile soft. “Yes,” she answers simply, reaching over to tuck some of Natasha’s hair behind her ear. “You’re my last piece of her.”

Natasha feels something warm tug at her chest, and then she turns to her father. “How did you all meet?”

“Because of Joseph,” her father replies. Natasha lifts her eyebrows slightly in surprise; she hadn’t expected that. “By now, I assume you and Steve both know the truth about him and Alia and your mother?” her father asks.

She nods, glancing at her mother. “We found an old picture of you with some of his things.”

Her mother’s smile widens just a little as she sets the necklace back down, untangling the chain from her fingers. “The three of us had known each other since childhood,” her mother explains. “Alia had the biggest heart and wore it on her sleeve, but that was a dangerous thing in our world. Ivan wanted her the moment he saw her, but it was clear to everyone that Joseph and I were the only ones she cared for. She always blamed herself for Ivan wanting to get rid of Joseph, and she was never the same after he left.”

“Joseph was the reason your uncle and I went to Russia in the first place,” her father adds. “He couldn’t risk going back, but when Howard and Maria were having problems and needed space, Joseph asked Howard and I to go to Russia just to check on his old friends. He never stopped worrying about them, but also, he could tell that Howard needed some objective to keep his mind busy.” Her father’s eyes shift to her mother’s, his lips quirking. “Your mother was actually the one to introduce me to Alia,” he says.

Natasha turns to her mother, her own amusement tugging at her lips. “Really?”

Her mother chuckles. “He and your uncle didn’t quite do a good job at hiding how they studied us at the bar,” her mother tells her. “I didn’t know at the time it was because of Joseph. I just knew that Alia had been having a particularly hard time lately and could use a charming stranger to comfort her.”

“We actually left Russia shortly after, but your mother tracked us down when Alia found out she was pregnant,” her father continues. “She hadn’t been engaged to Ivan by then, and your uncle and I snuck the two of them away. But Ivan was far too possessive to let Alia go, and Howard and I hadn’t been prepared to handle this kind of threat away from home.” His eyebrows furrow, the frustration of the memory flashing in his eyes. “Alexi was able to warn us that Ivan finally found her after Alia had given birth.”

“She wanted your father to take you to keep you safe.” Her mother gives her a small, wry sort of smile. “She wanted me to go with him. Ivan only wanted her. He stopped searching for Joseph because he was no longer in his way, and he wouldn’t care if I was gone, either. If she had come with us, he would’ve stopped at nothing to find her and drag her back. She didn’t want to put anyone through that, and she absolutely didn’t want you to be raised like that, always on the run, hiding. She begged us to save you.”

“The moment we brought you home, Joseph recognized her in your face,” her father says, voice soft. “Everyone says how much you look like me, but you look like her, too. You just have to know where to find it.”

Natasha feels herself smile, feels a warmth fluttering in her chest as she thinks back to the photograph they’d found among Joseph’s things. It’s a little odd to think that she hadn’t recognized her own face in Alia, even when Alia had been so much younger in that picture, but part of her liked that it hadn’t been something so obvious. Her likeness to her birth mother, just like the secret itself, was something you have to know to see—something that makes a difference but doesn’t change everything about Natasha’s life.

It doesn’t change who her mother is. It simply gives her another woman to admire.

“I wish I could’ve met her,” Natasha says quietly, and her father comes around the island, cups the back of Natasha’s neck as he brushes a kiss to her forehead.

He doesn’t say the words – neither of her parents do – but Natasha knows the feeling is mutual. She also knows that there wouldn’t have been a way for that to happen, even if Alia was still alive. Not as long as Ivan was alive, too.

A knock at the door makes her father draw away slightly, glancing at Natasha, and, despite everything, she feels her lips twitch in a grin. The only people other than her parents who have ever had her codes to the apartment before are Uncle Howard and Tony, and neither of them would’ve let themselves in at the lobby only to knock on her front door. Then her father blinks, amusement glinting in his eyes as he realizes who it could be, and she rubs her lips together to fight off a smile as he goes to answer it.

And no, she’s not at all surprised when Steve is in her kitchen a moment later, his gaze finding hers within seconds.

“Nat,” he breathes as he crosses the distance to her in a few steps, cupping her face with his hands as his eyes flit over her, checking for himself to see that she’s alright.

Then he exhales a sharp breath, his body easing in relief, and Natasha feels herself smiling as he slants his mouth over hers. The kiss is hard and deep in an instant, and she almost feels herself swaying back atop the barstool with the force of it. He sucks on her bottom lip, thumbs brushing over her cheeks, down the line of her jaw, drawing a soft noise from her throat, and then she hears someone (likely her father) clearing their throat. Steve chuckles as he eases his lips off of hers, parting their kiss and pulling back.

“I’m alright,” she reassures softly, reaching up to wrap her hands around his wrists, giving him a gentle squeeze as if in emphasis.

Over his shoulder, she catches her mother getting up from her barstool, walking toward the threshold of the kitchen – and that’s when she notices Joseph Rogers filling the doorway, reaching for her mother and pulling her into his arms in a hug.

Natasha feels her chest flutter, the warmth of relief at seeing Joseph Rogers alive and home mixing with the bittersweet twinge of knowing what he and her mother are offering each other comfort for. Natasha’s throat tightens a little, her chest tightening, and then Steve is stroking his thumbs over her cheeks in slow, soothing strokes, and her eyes flit up to his. She doesn’t have to ask to know that his father must’ve filled him in on the truth of her and Alia because she can see it in his eyes, just as she knows that the empathy there isn’t just for her. It’s for his father and for her parents, and for Alia, for the hope that they could’ve reunited one day, no matter how slim the chance.

“Come here,” Steve murmurs, pulling his hands from her face so he can wrap his arms around her, drawing her close—and she doesn’t quite realize how overwhelmed she is until her eyes are closed and her face is pressed against his chest, blocking everything else out other than his steady breaths and the soothing circles he rubs over her back.

... ...

It’s late by the time they make it back to his place, but he’s still wide awake as he lays next to Nat in bed. She’d come back with him rather than the two of them crashing at her apartment since they were already there, and he knows it’s because she wanted him to be close to Pietro, just in case. His brother is supposed to be watched for the next few days, anyway, and since Wanda and Pietro had already taken to sleeping at his brownstone rather than their own apartments for the last few days, Steve doesn’t see a point in switching things up. It’s hardly a bother to have them under his roof, and after having the place all to himself for so long, he likes that it feels less empty these days.

He starts to slip out of bed when he feels Natasha reach for him, her fingers curling around his forearm as he’s sitting up, and he smiles down at her in the dark. Even though he’s not tired, he knows she is, because she’d passed out almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. Still, part of him had expected her to wake up as soon as he moved.

She’s always been attuned to him like that.

“I’m just going to drink something warm to help me sleep,” he tells her softly, leaning over to brush his lips to her cheek, running a hand over her side through the duvet.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks, her voice heavy and a little raspy with sleep, and he feels his smile widen as he peers down at her in the dark. She’s practically still half asleep, but he’s not surprised at all that she still offers to get up with him. He knows she had quite a day, but she knows he did, too.

“No, it’s okay,” he reassures, sliding his lips lower, pressing a kiss to the spot along her jaw that always, always makes her shiver, and she makes this little noise from the back of her throat. “Sleep,” he murmurs against her skin, and she chuckles softly, barely above a whisper, as she curls into herself a little more and hums in reply.

He clicks his door shut softly behind him when he steps out into the hallway, quietly padding past Wanda and Pietro’s doors as he heads downstairs. He can see that the kitchen light is already on, which likely means his father is still up, and, sure enough, Steve finds him sitting at the kitchen island with a mug of tea sitting on the counter in front of him. His father has his head bent over his phone in front of him, but considering the screen is off when he lifts his head to look at Steve, he was probably just lost in thought. Steve doesn’t blame him. It’s probably the reason the man is up at all, just as Steve is, which is likely why his father doesn’t seem surprised to see him up, too.

The kettle is still hot when Steve picks it up, so he pours some in a mug and grabs a packet of chamomile tea from the box that Wanda keeps stocked in his pantry.

“So, you and Nat, huh?” his father asks once Steve is sitting in the barstool next to his, and a laugh bursts from Steve as he tears at the packet, dunking the tea bag into his mug. His father chuckles, too, shaking his head a little at himself, and maybe also at the strangeness of the moment. Not because it’s the two of them talking alone, when that hasn’t really happened much before, but because, out of all the things he could’ve asked about after the last few hours – hell, after the last few months – this is what he picks.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and maybe he should feel like an idiot for smiling so widely, but he honestly doesn’t care and he knows his father doesn’t, either.

In fact, his father’s mouth hitches as his smile widens a little, too. But his eyes soften a little as he asks, “How’s she holding up?”

Steve pauses as he considers this, toying with the string of the tea bag hanging over the rim of his mug. He thinks about the way Natasha had held onto him in her kitchen when he’d pulled her against his chest, squeezing him close but yet not quite clinging to him, either. “I think maybe it hasn’t entirely hit her just yet,” he admits, because he thinks that’s the truth. She hadn’t seemed particularly shocked when they had dinner at her apartment with their parents; she simply seemed tired, and maybe a little distracted, like she couldn’t help her thoughts pulling her away from the conversation every now and then. “But I don’t think her entire world has been knocked out of place.”

His father nods at this. Considering he’s known Natasha her whole life, he’d probably know how to interpret her reactions pretty damn well, too.

“Honestly, I didn’t think it would be,” his father tells him, rubbing a hand over his hair. “But we didn’t want to minimize how big of a secret it was to keep from her, either.”

We. As in, him and Melina and Edward, maybe even Howard and Maria, too, since Steve doubts Howard would’ve kept this from his wife this entire time.

“Why did you and Melina pretend not to have known each other from before?” Steve asks. It’s not an accusation, and he knows his father won’t take it as one, and though Steve already has an idea of the answer, he figures he might as well ask, anyway, now that all of this is out in the open.

“I think it was instinct, mostly.” His father’s smile turns a little wry as he looks at Steve. “We’d gotten pretty good at downplaying how close we were with each other and with Alia back in Russia, even before Ivan started actively threatening me. When Edward brought her to New York and I saw her again after all those years, it was like a reflex. I’d missed her—missed both of them—but there really wouldn’t be a reason for me to have known a woman who’d never stepped foot in the States before. The Family knew I was adopted, but not from where. Your grandparents kept it under lock and key because Ivan was on a manhunt, and even after he’d stopped, we didn’t want to risk any slip ups.”

Steve nods at this. “Did you ever plan on telling her, or any of us?”

“We debated on it for years,” his father admits with an exhale. “It made sense not to when you were all younger, but there were several times later on that could’ve been right that we just didn’t say anything. I don’t think it was any one thing or any one reason. But it was more about how we felt about it and about bringing it up. You all had the right to know the truth, especially when it could’ve put you in danger, just like Natasha had been today. That’s on us,” his father adds, swallowing roughly with a shake of his head.

“Dad,” Steve says, his voice low and a little rough, too. “It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault.”

He’s not just saying that to comfort his father, but because Steve genuinely believes it. Yeah, his father had a point; if he’d never sent Yelena to warn them before Yuri got to New York, they wouldn’t have had an edge over him.

But the truth had come out when they needed it, not when it was too late to help anyone, and it was so much more than just keeping Natasha’s birth mother or keeping his father’s past a secret from their own children. His father had to flee the only home and the only family he’d ever known at only thirteen because a man almost twice his age was threatened by his friendship with the girl he wanted, and Melina had to leave her best friend behind, knowing she would’ve likely been dead once Ivan found her. And it wasn’t just that, either. Melina must’ve been terrified of what Ivan would do to Alia for running in the first place, but Alia begged her to keep her daughter safe, and so Melina honored her plea. Even Edward, who had only known Alia for a short while, had to have been affected at leaving the mother of his child behind right after she’d given birth.

If telling the truth meant having to relive those memories, Steve would’ve been incredibly hesitant of it, too. That’s not something he or Nat, or Wanda or Pietro, would hold against their parents.

“Your mother knew, though,” his father adds after a moment, and Steve feels his heart trip in his chest as he stares back at his father. “She was the first to meet Melina.”

Steve feels his eyebrows furrow at this. He’s a few years older than Natasha, but not by much, which meant… “I thought you’d stopped seeing me and Mom by then?”

His father nods. “I had. We thought it would be safer, not just because of the Family, but also because I never knew for sure if Ivan was still looking for me. I also knew it was a lot for your mother to take in general, even if she’d never say it. She never would’ve asked to keep you away from me, but I knew she needed it to be that way, at least for a little while.” He rubs his lips together, looking Steve in the eyes as he adds, “I know that wasn’t a choice I should’ve made for her, for you. And to this day, I still wonder if it was the wrong one. I knew your mother was a tough person, tougher than both of us, but maybe I’d underestimated what she was willing to bear for me,” he admits quietly.

Steve doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until it comes out in a sharp exhale. “You thought she wouldn’t want to handle this life?” Steve asks.

His father rubs at his jaw, seeming to contemplate this. “I wondered a lot of things. Your mother was too good for this world from the beginning, but she’d also known who I was when we met. She’d chosen to trust me, and I respected her and her choice. I loved her. But I knew it all bothered her to some extent, especially when you came along.”

Steve swallows lightly. He’d like to believe his mother could’ve handled anything, but he also knows firsthand that this world is a lot at first glance. It’s still a lot once you’re on the inside, too, but his mother had been young and had her child to think of. She genuinely loved his father, but that didn’t mean she had to love his lifestyle, too.

And he knows his mother. If she let his father convince her that keeping Steve and herself from him and the Family was for the best, it was because part of her had believed it, too. If she wanted to raise Steve in this lifestyle for whatever reason that may have been, she would’ve fought her father like hell to stay and she would’ve won, too.

Like he said: she was tougher than both of them.

“How did she meet Melina, then?” Steve asks after a moment, already feeling a smile tug at his lips. He knows without a doubt his mother probably loved Melina.

She would’ve loved Natasha, too.

“By pure chance, actually,” his father answers, his own smile widening, too, as he glances down into his tea at the memory. “Your mother recognized Melina from the photograph I had and knew of her from the stories I told her, and we happened to run into each other in Brooklyn. It was the one and only time your mother and I had approached each other since we agreed to keep our distance. And they loved each other, of course, but I knew they would. You’d think they were the childhood friends.”

Steve chuckles at this, feeling a warmth squeeze at his chest. Somehow, he could almost picture the memory perfectly.

“Your mother and Alia would’ve loved each other, too,” his father adds, his smile softening as Steve stares back at him. “And Alia would’ve loved you.”

Steve reaches over, placing a hand on his father’s shoulder, and his father lifts his hand to grip Steve’s. “I would’ve loved her, too,” Steve says, giving him a squeeze, and his father lets out a breathy laugh as he nods.

... ...

She can feel Steve’s hand at her hip, his fingers calloused yet gentle and teasing as they toy with the hem of his shirt on her. Natasha had rolled onto her back sometime during the night, her shoulder practically pressing against Steve’s chest, and she feels her lips pull into a soft smile as he inches her shirt higher up her body, making her stomach flutter just under his palm when he splays his fingers over her skin. Then he dips his head to press a kiss to her cheek, her jaw, the column of her neck, feeling her pulse thrum under his lips, and she makes a soft noise when he hand dips down, fingers slipping under the waistband of her panties and pulling them down over one hip.

“Steve,” she breathes, feeling his mouth curve into a grin against her collarbone, and then his fingers hook under the other side of her panties, too, pulling them down her legs and then off entirely.

“Good morning,” he says into her skin, and she feels her smile widen, feels him nudge her legs open as his body slides down hers. He pushes her shirt up a little higher, kisses over one of her ribs, brushes his lips against an old scar on her other hip, and then his face is pressed against the inside of one of her thighs, lips quirking into a smile.

Her eyelashes flutter open as she lifts herself up on her elbows, glancing down to where Steve is settled between her legs, pressing one into the mattress as he pulls the other over his shoulders. She can already feel her breaths coming in a little shorter and shallower, feel her heart beating a little faster, even as a slow, almost lazy sort of smirk pulls at her lips as she meets his gaze. His mouth is hitched in that crooked, boyish sort of smile she’s come to love, but there’s nothing teasing about the heavy look in his eyes.

Under the darkening arousal, she can see the pure adoration in his gaze, reflecting her own. She knows, realistically, it’s only been a few days—but she can’t really remember what it was like to wake up without Steve beside her, to fall asleep to his large, warm body curling over hers, and she doesn’t want to remember, either.

“Good morning,” she breathes, reaching down to cup his jaw, rubbing her thumb against the corner of his mouth as it widens just a little more.

Then he’s dipping down, licking into where she’s warm and already a little wet for him, and she sucks in a breath, trapping it in her chest as her eyelashes flutter. She keeps her hand on his jaw, rubbing the budding stubble there, feeling it flex with every pass of his tongue against her, every little groan and lick and nibble, and it almost makes it feel heightened, somehow. She’s not quite holding onto him, but still, it feels as if he presses in closer at the exact moment her fingers twitch to drag him in, feels as if his licks linger when his tongue slides over a particularly sensitive spot that has her hand trembling to twist into his hair. She keeps her gaze on him as her vision grows blurry and her eyelids grow heavy, and then his eyes lick up to hers, sucking at her little bundle of nerves, and her head almost falls back as her body gently arches off of the bed.

He sucks at it again, her elbow nearly sliding out from under her, and then his tongue dips down and into her, and her lips part in a soft moan. And then his lips slide back up before she can find a rhythm, teasing her, tongue flicking against her hard bud right before he sucks it again, and she twists her neck to press her face into the pillow.

Again, and again, and again he works his mouth over her, groaning with her every little shift, sending delicious vibrations everywhere as she arches and rolls her hips—

And she doesn’t know if this morning feels different because of what happened yesterday, or if they feel different, but already it feels like too much, too fast, and she practically smothers herself with his pillow to muffle her voice as she bursts apart at the seams. White-hot pleasure crashes over her, rushing through her as he holds her to him, and she twists one hand into his sheets, the other braced against his headboard as she rides out her high and he coaxes every last drop of it out of her with a long groan.

Then he eases his mouth off of her, sliding his hands gently up and down her thighs, over her hips, almost soothing her as she shudders delicately from the pleasure. He kisses up her flushed skin, his lips brushing against almost every inch of it along the way, letting her catch her breath as he settles back over her.

He presses his face into her neck as she wraps her arms around his torso, kissing her there, too, and she lightly digs her nails into the muscles in his back.

“Good morning,” he says again, drawing a breathy chuckle from her that quickly dissolves into moan as she feels him between their bodies, hard and pressing right against her little bundle of nerves. His hand curves over her hip, gripping as he presses at her entrance, and then her body arches as best as it can under his as he slides in. She sinks her nails into his back a little harder as he sinks into her a little deeper, pausing as he slips all the way, and then his other hand is braced against the mattress, his mouth slanting over hers as he starts to move, and she very nearly whimpers into the kiss as he sweeps his tongue into her mouth at the same second he snaps his hips harder against hers.

They try to be slow at first, to savor it, but within seconds their kiss quickens, and then so do their bodies as they move against each other. Her chest squeezes, her lungs starting to sting just a little bit because she needs to take a breath, but she doesn’t pull away, not yet.

Not until a few moments later, when her second orgasm bursts through her, almost taking her by surprise as she twists her lips away from his to suck in a shaky breath. Pleasure rushes through her again, a little harder and a little faster now, her lips parting in a moan that seems trapped in her chest as she shudders under the white-hot waves crashing over her. He kisses her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, groaning words into her skin that she can’t quite hear over the blood pounding in her ears, but then she feels his body growing taut above hers, his hips growing more urgent, until he stiffens and buries his face into her neck, teeth sinking into her skin as his groans out in his release.

It’s a long, few moments before Natasha feels her breaths finally start to even out, feels his body finally start to ease above her, and then his tongue darts out, licking at the indent of his teeth in her skin before he lifts his head to peer down at her.

“A girl could get used to a wake-up call like that,” she breathes out, and even though her voice is light and teasing, she knows there’s something more in her own words.

And she knows that Steve can hear it, too, because the warmth fluttering in her chest is reflected in his eyes as he smiles down at her. He replies with a teasing, “I’ll keep that in mind,” but she can hear the promise in his voice, and she’s smiling when he dips his head down to kiss her.

... ...

“Hey, soldier,” a voice whispers in his ear, warm and teasing, and Steve feels his lips twitch into a grin as Natasha slides onto the stool beside his, setting an empty glass on the bar counter. He spins his barstool to face her, rubs his lips together in vain to hide his amusement, but even if he could manage a poker face around Nat, she’d still see it in his eyes that he doesn’t find her new little joke as annoying as he sometimes pretends. Somehow, she’d decided that his father being back to take over as head of the Family meant that Steve was no more than a soldier now, or less, considering he wasn’t technically a “made” man, and honestly? Steve is far more amused by how much delight Natasha takes in her own joke than the actual joke itself. “Can I buy a man a drink?” she asks, setting her hands atop his knees to lean in and brush a kiss to his lips.

“The drinks are free,” Steve points out, arching an eyebrow, and Natasha smirks, her eyes bright with amusement.

He remembers how she’d had that same twinkle in her eyes when they first met right in this restaurant, almost at this very spot at the bar just a few months ago. The place had been closed that day, too, though rather than catching it between the lunch and dinner rush, the restaurant is closed for the rest of the night.

And technically speaking, it’s closed for them, though Steve is starting to realize that the Family will find any and every excuse to gather together and celebrate.

“Shouldn’t you two be over there?” Pietro chimes in from behind the bar, pouring more water into Natasha’s empty glass before gesturing at the dining room filled with the rest of the Family, loud with excited chatter and the sound of the kids screaming. “Of course, if Howard is retelling how he kicked Anton’s ass, I’d be hiding here, too.”

Steve breathes out a laugh. Over a month later and both Howard and Tony still manage to bring up the story of officially kicking Anton and Ivan out of the state—hell, damn near out of the country—but then again, considering Anton had been a fundamental part of Stark Industries from the ground up, Steve doubts Howard will get over it anytime soon, or ever. Even if Howard had only really tolerated Anton these last few years, knowing that he had been betrayed for so long was a hard thing to get over. Howard may be more pissed than anything else right now, but some part of him is upset, too, just as Odin and Frigga must have been upset that Hela had been behind all the ambushes.

Steve half-expected Odin to argue against banning Hela from New York, but he had practically demanded to do it himself. Odin had been furious with his daughter, but at the end of the day, she’s still his daughter, and it’s probably easier for Odin to focus on her betrayal and her recklessness more than anything else.

“It’s a good story,” Sam comments, dropping into the stool on the other side of Nat, pulling Maria between his knees as she sips on the tumbler of rum in her hand.

“You only like it because you’re in it,” Maria retorts, and Sam hides his grin against her shoulder as she rolls her eyes, her lips twitching at the corners in a smirk. “Although, it does make for quite a tale. Two cops joining in on an old-fashioned mafia shakedown and chase? I still say you should let me publish an anonymous article on it.”

Sam just chuckles, knowing there’s no genuine threat behind her words, and then something catches his eye that makes him sit up a little straighter, flashing his teeth in a smile as he asks, “And where might you two be coming from?”

Steve turns to look over his shoulder as Wanda and Bucky step out from the kitchen, his sister tucked under his best friend’s arm. He has his head bent close to hers, likely to whisper something in her ear, but he straightens up at Sam’s comment, pressing his lips together as he shakes his head. Wanda’s cheeks are flushed, and yes, maybe Steve would feel wary about that, except he already has a pretty good idea on why Bucky might’ve wanted to steal Wanda away for a little while. He’d come to Steve and his father earlier that week about wanting Wanda to move in with him, not because he had been asking for permission or anything, because in the end, whatever she wanted was what he was going to give her, even if her father and brother were wary of it. But he’d wanted their honest opinion on whether they thought it would be too much, too fast for her.

Had it been a few weeks before, maybe it would have been. Steve still remembers how his sister sat in his kitchen and admitted that she didn’t see things going further between them. Even if he didn’t care about her being a mafia princess, she’d been worried about the Family never quite accepting him. But if Sam and Bucky helping to protect Wanda hadn’t been enough to earn the Family’s good graces, the evidence that they gathered against Anton, Ivan, and Hela to prove their betrayal would have.

“Pay attention to your own girl, Wilson,” Bucky counters, brushing a kiss to Wanda’s hair as she giggles. She pauses their stride as she turns to them, stretching on her toes to whisper in his ear, and he dips his head to kiss her, quick and hard, earning a half-hearted noise of protest from Pietro that has Wanda pulling away with another giggle.

Then she glides over to Natasha, taking her hand and giving it a tug. “They’re about to start slicing and serving cake, which means we need to do a toast!”

Natasha catches Steve’s gaze as Wanda starts to pull her onto her feet, her eyes sparkling, and Steve gives her a grin, grabbing their glasses as they all head back into the main dining room. It’s louder and warmer, and little Morgan Stark and Nathaniel Barton nearly trip him over as they run by, but it only makes Steve’s grin widen.

He joins Natasha where she’s standing at the head of the long table in the middle of the room, a few dozen faces staring back at them as they take their seats. He peers down at Nat as he hands over her glass, catching the way his mother’s ring twinkles on her finger under the bright glow of the chandeliers. Then he glances around the room, finding his father sitting further down the table, smiling at him from his seat between Howard and Melina. Across from them, Peter nudges Bucky with his elbow as he and Wanda sit with him, Peter whispering something that makes Bucky hide his laugh with a cough, and on his other side, Pepper and Tony laugh as Morgan practically climbs into Sam’s lap.

It quiets down as Steve lifts his glass, curving his hand over Nat’s hip and drawing her close as he thanks them for celebrating with them tonight, asking them to raise their glass in a toast to his father coming home safe, to Pietro’s quick recovery, and to his and Nat’s engagement.

“And to Family,” he finishes, peering down at Natasha.

“To Family,” she echoes, and there are cheers and clinks of utensils against glasses of wine right before his mouth slants against hers in a kiss. Then he feels Natasha smile against his mouth just as she parts their kiss a moment later, turning his head to bring her lips near his ear. “And when exactly do you want to tell them the Family is about to get a little bigger?” she whispers, and Steve breathes out a chuckle, pressing a kiss against her neck. If he thought he could get away with touching her stomach, he would’ve.

“This is the Family we’re talking about, Nat,” he points out, drawing back to catch her bright eyes, a warmth squeezing at his chest. “They probably found out a week ago.”

#romanogers #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #chanty writes #mafia 'verse

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