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keilemlucent · 4 years ago

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So I saw that your requests were open and was wondering if you could do some aftercare with Hawks? Like after a really intense scene and the reader is out of it for awhile so Hawks just patiently helps them come back into reality?

ugh anon, you got me on this one. i truly love a good aftercare fic, and i really love reading fics with bdsm elements!! i combined a bit into here <3 there may be some inaccuracies, but nonetheless, enjoy this little number!!

word count: ~2.4k

warnings: bdsm scene, a bit of degradation, praise kink, aftercare, fluff, fluff, avian keigo (think ‘best nest’-verse)

scene & stop:

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Keigo had set a brutal pace long ago, as he usually did. Twisting, pulling and pushing you faster than you could fathom or keep track of. You’d stopped trying to make sense of it all when Keigo had hauled you up by your feather-bound wrist, arching your back into a painful curve and stuffing you full of his cock to the point where it was almost difficult to breathe.

You loved every moment of it.

“Oh baby,” Each rhythmic slap of skin seared across your gooey mind. Keigo’s voice, sweet despite the force of his actions, washed over. “Look at you, always such a good cock sleeve for me when I ask, huh?”

You could only make yourself whine, any answer feeble and small in the back of your throat. Most of your conscious effort was going into bracing your thighs, keeping yourself upright and poised against Keigo’s grip and the feather nearly vibrating on your sore clit.

His wings beat the air with each thrust, filth slipping from his lips, long-since saturating your psyche. It was nasty, undeniably, all of the words dripping over you in time with Keigo’s harsh breath and bites over your shoulders.

“Come on, dove, use those pretty lips to tell me how good my cock feels,” Keigo growled against the shell of your ear. “I know they’re more useful when my cock is down your throat, but I guess I’ll settle.”

You swallowed, shuddering a particularly harsh thrust that hit your deepest insides, “I-It feels really good, sir, v-very good.”

“Oh, ‘sir’? How polite.” A laugh colored his tone, mocking and high. You whimpered, lost in the speed of sensations, almost drowning in it if not for Keigo’s constant touch and words. “You really are just a fucked-out, fuck toy, huh?”

His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing the sides of your neck with just enough pressure to make you go nicely hazier. You were quickly shoved into the bed, back still arched, hands still bound, but this time with your face smushed against the sheets, whimpers and mewls muffled by the silks and satin. All the aches and pretty cruelties went right to your cunt, spent and dripping.

Keigo’s pace turned harsher, faster even still. You drank all of it in, feeling your whines break into cries and sobs as the sheets below you soaked with tears and spittle.

“Awwww, is my needy birdie crying?” Keigo sneered above you, a sharp slap coming down on the flesh of your ass. It stung, burned through you like a divine iron. “That’s cute. Too bad.”

He had warned you he was in a particularly nasty mood-- not that you minded too much. The pain and aches mixed with the hot pleasure over your body, stripping you down to just raw nerves.

You both loved it.

Keigo had to be getting close, the feather circling and lapping at your clit getting more erratic and shaky with the pace of Keigo’s hips. You vaguely recognized it through the fog, a new stream of tears dripping down your cheeks. The bruising of Keigo’s cockhead against your cervix was almost too much, but you held out.

It all ended abruptly.

Keigo dragged your weeping face from the duvet, almost contorting your body with the amount of pressure and strength he was exerting. With a few pointed thrusts, you shuddered and screamed through your last orgasm, a slow rolling thing after so many other ecstasies preceded it. Keigo came moments later, the shuddering of your gooey cunt around his girth undoubtedly pushing him over the edge.

While he’d been keeping your cumming and cumming and cumming for what had to have been hours, he’d been edging himself, saving his load for when you were completely rung out.

Oh, and you were.

You felt his absence more than you felt him inside you. As he pulled out of you, cooling cum dripped along your inner thighs.

And moments later, you were boneless.

You slipped down against the sheets, feathers and hands removed. You were spinning, high, light and floating. It felt a bit too high, consider you couldn’t feel or hear Keigo.

A new wave of sputtering cries got muffled into the sheets.

“Hey, hey, dove, I’m right here,” Keigo’s voice was so soft compared to the grating cruelty from just moments before. Arm loop around your waist, his face buried into the crook of your neck from behind. “I’ve got you, let me hold you.”

You slowly turned, just enough to bury your face in his chest, and nestle into him the best you could. Keigo linked your sticky legs together, pressing a few kisses to your hairline.

“Gimme some taps, dove,” Keigo urged, nosing into your hair and pulling a thin sheet over the two of you.

Your fingers twitched against his clammy back.

One tap. Two tap. Three tap. Four taps.

Keigo hummed, “Got you, dove. Thank you for showing me. I’m so proud of you.”

The praise crashed over your melted mind like weighted, lavender-smelling blanket, something grounding and soft to safely hold onto.

Keigo tended to get particularly tender during aftercare, no matter the scene. It soothed both of your mental aches.

“You did so good, dove,” He purred against your ear, all warm and solid like you needed. You squeezed him, a silent ‘thank you, you too��.

Keigo blanketed you in sweet everythings, little kisses and the most gentle touches he could muster. You kept your face tucked into his chest, the aftershocks of it all making you shiver against him. It felt safest to keep your face hidden from view.

Though, with each passing moment, you felt yourself floating less and less.

Keigo, surprisingly, was patient, particularly in moments like these, with you, that required the mutual bearing-of-souls.

You slowly peered him up him, hardly pulling away much. Despite how clammy and sticky you felt, being near Keigo meant you were safe and okay.

“There’s my dove,” Keigo beamed down at you, giving you the sweetest, warmest type of smile. He peppered kisses across your face, kissing away the few stray tears that remained. “You’re beautiful, you know that? Especially when you’re all marked-up and sweet for me.”

You rolled your eyes, not ready for any sort of words yet, but you have just enough spunk to nose at his jaw, nipping near his stubble. He’s quick to rub his hands up and down your sides, trading your little teasing for a whole heap of kisses and squeezes.

“I love you, dove, god, you did so well,” Keigo crooned, nearly crushing you against him. “Can I help you out a bit, clean you up a little? We can take a bath after, use one of those bath bombs we got?”

You nodded, tucking into his neck again to speak, voice hoarse and dry, “Please.”

He squeezed you, giving a happy nod.

Keigo’s feathers fluttered off, a tap running in the nearby bathroom. There was a water bottle, chilled, pressed into your hand, already opened.

You tipped it back, drinking down whatever your dehydrated body would take. Keigo’s hand stayed over your own, keeping the bottle to your lips and then pulling it away, “Little sips, love. Don’t want to hurt your tummy.”

True, your guts were more than rearranged, your insides definitely feeling a bit out of wack. You were sure they’d settle, especially after some more water, time, and a nice bath. Keigo would always treat you to your favorite delivery takeout when you were done with scenes. The thought set you smiling, nuzzling into the side of his neck to show what you felt, even if you couldn’t say it quite yet.

The water was taken away, placed on a bedside table. Keigo kissed the tip of your nose, “Just give me some taps if you want more.”

You nodded, leaning back into the comfort of his embrace.

Keigo took a soft looking towel from a returning feather, repositioning you to lay as he wanted. It was a bit too exposed, but you kept a solid hold on his shoulders.

Gently, he wiped away the cum and slick that stickied your thighs. He cooed some praises as he idly talked through the scene as well, his own form of aftercare. You listened the best you could, humming and pressing harder against him to show you’d heard him.

He knew you well enough to know that that was your best way to show love in such a state.

After cleaning you, Keigo paused, tossing the dirty towel into a hamper, “Would you like to take that bath still?”

You nodded, sitting up, though Keigo was quick to assist your, wings fluttering and settling, tucked into his back. It was clear why he did as you winced, muscles across you body burning hot with new, bright aches.

“Aw, dove, I’ll carry you, ” Keigo cooed in the back of his throat. Quickly sliding and scooping you into his arms. “Don’t strain yourself.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, tucking you against his chest and carrying you to the bathroom.

Setting you down, you lingered around his neck. Lacking that grounding physical was always scary after a scene, especially one that was so long and intense.

Keigo, ever-observant, caught your hand to squeeze it, “Do you want a feather to hold onto while I set things up, love?”

You nodded, a feather quickly coming to rest on your bare lap. Your own nakedness, the awareness of it, surprised you.

You looked to Keigo with glassy eyes. He flashed you a sympathetic look, squeezing your shoulders, “Just gotta grab the bath stuff, then you’ll be getting all the cuddling in the world, angel.”

You trust him.

He was as fast as possible, darting into a bathroom drawer, dubbed the ‘aftercare drawer, for a few supplies. As promised, a few colorful, fragrant bath bombs, a bottle of luxury bubblebath (somehow, you had no idea, fused with Keigo’s calming avian pheromones), a bar of warm-smelling, skin-softening soap, along with a few different bottles of massage oil (and, of course, Keigo’s bottle of wing oil if he was in that particularly mushy mood).

Carefully, he brought an armful of supplies back, feathers carrying the rest to the thick rim of the massive soaker tub. It was opulent, pretty marble that might as well have been the size of hot tub. It was made specifically to accommodate Keigo’s wings, long before you were in the picture. Still, the two of you fit well in it, snug together in your precious moments.

You chose one of the bath bombs from the stack, one that you spit rainbows across the bathwater as you unceremoniously plunked it into the tub.

Keigo snorted from the bathtubs edge, checking the temperature with his hand, “Nice toss.”

“Thank you,” Your voice was quiet again, but not as meek. You squeezed Keigo’s feather in between your hands.

Keigo could, of course, do most of what he needed to with his feathers. But, with you, especially in these softer, slower moments, he wanted to do them on his own, with his own hands.

It was a sweet gesture, all for you.

Keigo dumped in a few healthy gulgs of a bubble bath, foam rising on the top of the water. You watched, mesmerized by the colors and textures.

So mesmerized, you hardly noticed Keigo leave the room and return, kneeling down in front of you and offering the water-bottle once more.

You stared at for a moment, slowly taking it from his hand, softly speaking once more, “Little sips.”

“Perfect, dove, perfect,” Keigo shined you the sweetest smile as you took a few little sips, the feather from your lap darting to turn off the bathtub’s faucet. His wings were settled against back, desperately need a bit of preening, but still happily twitching and vibrating with Keigo in his own relaxed state.

You set the bottle down, Keigo kneeling in front of you to scan you down, “I don’t see any places where I broke skin, but once we get in, tell me if anything stings, okay?’

You nodded complacently. Keigo, ever-dutiful, cupped your cheeks and gave you a quick smattering of kisses before helping you into the frothy bathwater.

The water was hot, maybe a little too hot, but you didn’t mind. The heat rolled against your aching muscles, soothing you.

Keigo slipped in the tub behind you, wings extended out and up to avoid the suds. It was the usual routine, Keigo immediately pulling you to his chest, toned thighs framing your own while his arms made their home around your mid section.

You leaned into him, all of you, mind, body and spirit. Cheek against the dew of his chest, you let your eyes go half-lidded, slowly but surely allowing the heat of Keigo’s touch and the comfort of the water around you bring you back to lucidity.

Sometime later, you weren’t sure how long, you finally spoke.

“Love you, Keigo, thank you,” Your voice was still scratchy, overused with tears. It was a bit endearing, apparently, based on the way Keigo chuckled and squeezed your waist.

“Anytime, dove,” Keigo hummed against your ear. He rocked you two slightly, little ripples hitting the sides of the tub. “Do you want a massage after this? I can imagine you’re a little bit sore, huh?”

“‘A little bit’?” You craned your neck to frown at him. “I dunno, Kei’, I think I can confidently say you’ve made good on your promise that I ‘won’t be walking straight for a month’?”

Of course, Keigo had his rougher moods that left you more than sexually wrecked, sore in new, deep places, but he had plenty of softer ones as well. He was adaptable and fickle, and you were happy to ride the waves of his preferences as he harmonized with your own. Sure, that meant that sometimes, you were wordless for an hour or so, needy and burning, but god, you fucking loved it.

Keigo squeezed you, burying his face into your neck, and whispering a few small words, “You okay?

You just had to reassure Keigo, as quietly insecure as he was.

“More than, it was really, really good,” You sighed against him, littering his stubbly jawline with kisses. “You just gotta carry me around a bit. A massage might be in order. I can preen your wings, if you’d like?”

The extended feathers shuddered in a wave as Keigo nodded, any of his own subtle shyness fading as he returned your affections.

You fell into each other, far differently from your recent hours of hot pleasure and pain, satisfied and safe in each others arms. Keigo cooed and hummed a simple melody as you let your pains begin to fade, lulled, safe, and sated.

#Anonymous #salem answers #salem writes #drabble #but its a lil longer #this turned into its own thing lol #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks #takami keigo #mha smut

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bangtan-madi · 4 years ago

Text

Year of the Rabbit — Seven: Priori

Pairing — Jungkook x Reader, Hoseok x Yoongi, Taehyung x Jimin

Tags — best friend!Jungkook, non-idol au, flower shop au, gym au, florist!MC, gym owner!Jungkook, brother!Namjoon, friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining

Genre — fluff, angst

Word Count — 4.3k

Summary — Blame it on the storm or the secret feelings or the snow-in, but one thing is for sure: a lot can happen to two best friends when they're confined to their stores overnight.

Warnings — language

Part — 7 / 7 (Outro still to come!)

Previous — Next

It takes the length of the call ringing for you to totally digest what just happened. Eventually, Jungkook's name fades from the black mirror, and the soft lullaby of "Yellow" fades away. You're left gripping the phone between pale fingers, desperately waiting for him to say something else.

When he speaks again, his tone is soft, barely audible, the most tender-sounding thing you've ever heard. "You're the one I love."

Lowering his phone, his hand reaches for yours. You allow him to use gentle pressure to pry your fingers away, and he tosses them both to the side.

Despite the blood pulsing in your ears, your breath is steady. Disregarding the way your hands tremble when he links his pinky with yours — something you two often do to silently show the other you're there — your mind is blissfully peaceful. Every worry, all your anxieties, the pile of bittersweet emotions you'd kept inside all this time, it's faded like mist.

Jungkook loves you.

You.

Not some other girl, not the one he broke up with over Christmas, not one of the many that come into his gym just to flirt. Of all the lovely women in Seoul that he could've fallen for, he didn't mention their names. He didn't call their number. He didn't spend his New Year with any of them.

He said your name. He called your number. He spent the holiday with you, alone and snowed in, cold and dark at the supermarket.

And suddenly, your eyes are damp and ever-so-slightly burning. Not in any way that allows sadness, but in every way that brings you joy. Your pinky curls around his, but you can't bring yourself to speak or meet his gaze. The boy you adore, standing silently beside you, gives you the time you need. More than anything, you want to throw your arms around him and confess your concurrent feelings. You want to hold him closer than you ever have before. But if you move now, you feel the thin glass pane of the confession will shatter and reality will be the solid stone wall behind it.

Almost as if sensing your disbelief, Jungkook leans closer and tucks a stray strand of hair from your face and behind your ear. "You're my priori," he murmurs, a soft smile visible from your peripheral vision. "My one true thing."

Of all the things you thought having your unrequited love confirmed would feel like, you never thought it would be this. You thought it would feel like flying — or maybe falling — like stepping off the edge and having all the love around you carry you to a new world. You always dreamed it would be like riding a rollercoaster with hands held high, heart racing, screaming at the top of your lungs from euphoria. Surely love feels exciting and thrilling and new, like one adventure after another.

Never in any of your daydreams or sleepless nights did you think love would feel so much like a sentimental song playing in the room beside you. Not unfamiliar, something you know from the past — perhaps even a lifetime ago. But it feels right to your soul, and you can't help but walk towards it. And finding that one you love feels like finding your home, and finding out that they feel the same way is like being handed the keys with the words, "It's yours now."

Love feels settled and secure and safe. It's constant and sure and tender, and you're surprised to have already had those things in your friendship with Jungkook. Then there comes a sense of relief when you see that very little will change between you two — but now you don't have to live with secret feelings and unacted-upon adoration. He's your one constant thing, your one true thing; that much you already knew.

Yes, priori is the perfect word.

"Jungkook..."

"Yes?"

Blinking away the tears from your eyes, you thread your fingers with his and finally raise your head. As your eyes meet, you offer a smile. Instantly, Jungkook's worry fades. Your grasp tightens, and you lift your other hand to tug on the edge of his shirt, prompting him to come closer.

"I think...I love you, too."

Jungkook's dimples pop out as he grins, and something like a squeak slips out beyond his control. His giddiness is infatuating, causing you to giggle alongside him. Suddenly, he's the one pulling you into him. The hand-holding turns into warm-embracing. His arms find their way around your waist and back, his hands gripping you closer. You make a sound of surprise when his cold nose buries into the crook of your neck.

You're just as quick to return the affection. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, and your face nuzzles into his wavy hair. As one fist grips the soft material of his top, the other weaves through the silky locks. Having him this close is nothing you haven't done before; somehow this time feels different.

Just as you start to settle into his embrace, Jungkook's shaking his head against your neck, laughing softly to himself. "What's so funny?" you ask.

"I was so fucking scared you were going to freak out and run away," he chuckles against your skin. "Horrified I was going to lose you."

"Is that why you didn't say anything?" He nods. "How long?"

"Um...years?"

"Jeon Jungkook—!"

"—But especially ever since you left to study in the U.S.," he interrupts, explaining further. "For the first time since I met you, I thought I was going to lose you. Then I realized my feelings were way more than friendly, and that I'd do just about anything to get you back."

You heave a sigh and run your fingers along the exposed skin at the top of his back. "Then why didn't you tell me when I came back? It's been six damn months..."

"Because the fear of losing you was still there," he admits.

"And now?"

Jungkook shakes his head, then presses a kiss against your shoulder. "Not anymore."

"Well, if you're as brave now as you say you are, when are you going to kiss me?"

The brunet pulls away, swift and with wide eyes. He observes your expression for any sense of a trick or joke but finds nothing other than your teasing smile. Your eyes flicker down to his mouth, which only encourages him more.

When you graze your fingers across his shoulders and pull your lower lip between your teeth, he snaps. Closing the distance in seconds, his eager mouth presses to yours. He's soft and gentle, but also excited and insistent. You move with him, your hands cradling his face. One hand remains at your waist as the other migrates to your hair. Neither of you can hide the smiles that slip in between kisses.

"You're actually a really good kisser," he giggles.

"Was there ever any doubt?"

Jungkook pecks your mouth again before responding, "Nope, but I had imagined it so many times I was starting to wonder if anything could live up to the moment in my head."

Your heart skips a beat at his confession, and it doesn't go unnoticed that the tips of his ears turn scarlet. "You imagined us together?"

He nods, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. "More than I should've."

Heart full enough to burst at his adorable nature, you tug him back to you, tugging softly on his lower lip as you kiss. Jungkook takes advantage of the chance to slip his hands under your shirt, earning a yelp from you.

"Wai—Wait," you state, unable to hide the intrusive thought that occurs. "Is this why you broke things off with your ex?"

He groans and pulls away from you, putting mere millimeters between you. "Are you seriously bringing her up right now?"

"Maybe..."

Jungkook rolls his eyes, obviously annoyed with your timing but indulging your curiosity with a smirk just the same. "Yeah. I think she knew I loved you, and we broke it off because of it. But that was a mutual choice."

"And my partners?"

"Oh, they've known since high school."

"What the hell," you scoff with mock horror, bringing his face back towards yours. "You're unbelievable, Gym Bunny."

His grin is wide, showing the very reason for the nickname. "I would say I try, but I don't."

"Shut up and kiss me, idiot."

"You're the one asking ques—!"His complaint is stopped short by your mouth on his, and you press the boundary a little more as you nip at his bottom lip, requesting entrance. Jungkook's lips part, and he steps forward with hands on your hips. Following his lead, you shuffle half a step backward before feeling the sofa put an abrupt stop to your path. Careening off-balance, the pair of you topple over, you barely landing on the cushions before Jungkook awkwardly stumbles and follows suit.

The unexpected puff of air from your lungs has him pushing off of you as much as possible, as soon as possible. Eyes wide, his expression is one of pure shock. Going from an intimate moment to an awkward one is right on par with your relationship. Between that thought and the look on his face, you burst into laughter, throwing your head back as giggles wreck your body.

"Why are we like this?" Eventually, you're able to spout the words.

By this time, Jungkook's concern has faded, and he's chuckling with you. "It's been this many years of a habit," he shrugs. The brunet pulls his upper body up as to perch on his elbows, which are on either side of your torso. As he gazes up at you, he rests his chin on your chest, looking more adorable by the second, though he's not even trying. "Why change anything now?"

As your laughter settles down, you move a hand playfully through his unruly hair, admiring the fact that it's longer than he usually lets it go. He leans into your touch, clearly enjoying the way your nails graze his scalp.

"Kiss me again?"

Jungkook doesn't wait for you to ask twice; in a heartbeat, he's propped himself up on his forearms, leaning over you, and pressing kisses all over your face. Your eyelids, your forehead, your nose—not one section is left untouched. Well, none except for the place you want to be kissed.

"Your aim is shitty."

He pulls back with raised eyebrows, voice sarcastic. "Oh, I'm sorry, are those not good enough for you?"

You shake your head with a smirk. "Nope."

"Mmm, fine. I'll relent."

He closes the distance and molds his mouth to yours. Not even a second later, the whole world lights up. Not in the typically cheesy romantic way, but in the very literal way. The lights in the supermarket come to life, and the machinery keeping everything cold whirs softly as background noise. The streetlights outside shine through the frostbitten windows, and the heat begins to pump warmer air into the space. To your elation, the generator in the back room shuts off, having done its duty to keep everything running as much as possible during the blackout. Even the lights of the storefronts outside the supermarket light up once more.

"Power's back," you murmur, realizing that the night snowed in is coming to an end, and reality will slowly follow suit. Turning back to face Jungkook, you see his face equally as downcast as yours. "I guess that's a good thing, right? At least we can go home and get some actual sleep."

He chuckles, then rests his cheek against your chest. "I slept just fine, thanks."

You bury your nose into his hair and sigh, recalling what you were doing the night prior before the power shut off. "Or I can get to work. I still need to get everything done for that wedding. I just hope the order went through before the outage..."

Jungkook sighs, lifts his head, and mutters, "Can you do me a favor?" At your nod, he continues. "Leave the shop for a few hours. Spend some time with me in a place that's actually warm. Let me get you that shitty takeout I promised you and just...be with me for a while. No work. No worries. Just us." He brushes his fingers against your ribcage, barely under your shirt. "Can you do that?"

Seeing the puppy-dog twinkle in his eyes, you roll your eyes with playful abandon. Your best friend grins, knowing he's won. "Fiiine. But Natsukashii is anything but shitty."

At your promise, Jungkook is eager to return to the flower shop for the bike he arrived on. Step by careful step, you make your way into the storage room, up the ladder, and across the attic overhead. Once down the hatch and into the shop, you're taken back by the shiver down your spine. You can only hope that the handful of hours without power didn't take too harsh a tole on the floral displays in the windows or horticulture pods in the back room.

Jungkook tosses you his sweatshirt, remaining only in a long-sleeved T-shirt. You open your mouth to protest, but he shoots you a glare that says, "Just put the damn shirt on already."

If you thought the interior was chilly, the walkway out front is bitter cold. Jungkook mounts the bike with ease, and he nods for you to hop on the back. After scooting onto a seat probably, no definitely, not made for two, he takes off in the direction opposite your apartment.

"Where are we going?"

"My place, it's a lot closer than yours," he says, glancing over his shoulder for a moment. "If that's all right. I already fed your cat, so she's fine."

You flash a small smile, nodding your approval. "That's perfect."

The ride is thankfully short, and less than five minutes later, Jungkook is pulling up to the front of his apartment. It's inconspicuous, near the edge of the neighborhood, and a perfect length away from his gym. As he parks it at the biking rack outside, locking it in place, you shove your hands into the pockets of the oversized sweatshirt, marveling at how it smells so much like him.

"Isn't Jimin home?" you inquire.

Jungkook scoffs and shakes the snow from his hair. "Not a chance. He spent the New Year with Taehyung. I'd bet money that they're nursing a hangover at the latter's place right now."

"True, and I'll double that bet and say they're not even up yet."

As he joins your side, Jungkook slips his hand around yours and tugs you towards the entrance. "C'mon. It's fucking cold outside and someone stole my sweatshirt."

"You're not playing fair, Gym Bunny."

"That so, Flower Child?"

Once you both push through his front door, gleefully sighing at the warmth the room provides, you're rubbing your numb fingers together. "Can we promise to never do that again?"

"Which? The freezing bike ride or the freezing sleepover?"

"Both!"

Jungkook pokes your cheek as he passes you, a loving smile on his face. "Go change. The snow is melting and you're just about soaked. I'll order the takeout."

Nodding your head, you turn for his bedroom, knowing the way by memory. This is far from the first time you've been over at Jungkook's place, but it's never been like this. It's always been under the guise of being best friends. You never thought you would be sifting through his clothing as someone who's kissed him, held him, or spoken the words "I love you" as a lover would.

A small smile crosses your face when you think back to high school and college. Those times were especially close to your heart. Knowing what you know now — that Jungkook has been hiding these feelings for basically that entire time — it makes certain moments especially hilarious. All those awkward situations, those teasing comments by Hoseok and Yoongi, those embarrassed expressions from your best friend: suddenly it all makes sense.

You pull a different, but somehow still similar, black sweatshirt from Jungkook's closet, chuckling softly under your breath at his lack of variety in loungewear. To pair with it, you find a loose pair of sweatpants and fuzzy socks. Despite tying the drawstrings to a certain length, rolling up the sleeves and pant legs, you still feel drowned by the overly baggy clothing; even on him, this is a few sizes too large.

Just how he likes it.

When you make yourself as presentable as possible, you return to the living room on quiet feet. Jungkook's voice is soft, barely audible from the hallway, but you remain silent as you recognize the voice on the other line.

"You told her?" Yoongi says in shock. "Actually told her? For fucking real?"

"You're joking!" Hoseok exclaims, his voice a little farther from the phone.

Jungkook laughs. Seated on the sofa with his back turned to you, he nods his head once. "Yeah, actually did it, Hyung."

"About damn time! How long have you been friends? Ten years? More? I can't remember, to be honest— Point is, it's been a long time coming."

"How did it go?"

He pauses, running a hand through his hair, before responding, "She...She likes me, too. You were right."

"See—!"

"—and we might've kissed..."

It's nearly impossible to resist the urge to giggle as Yoongi and Hoseok lose their minds over the phone. Half cheering, half screaming, Jungkook's shoulders shake with laughter as he holds the device away from his ear.

"We told you, you idiot!" Hoseok exclaims, his accent coming through. "She's liked you for a long-ass time, you both were just too dumb to see it."

"Yeah, yeah, aish. I get it, okay?" Jungkook's words are snide, but his tone is playful. "I owe you a case of soju."

"Oh, you owe us way more than that for leaving you two alone over New Year's." Yoongi scoffs. "I mean, not that we don't love vacationing in Hawaii, but I was starting to worry you would chicken out."

"I did," Jungkook laughs. "And then [Y/n] kept pressing and asking who I was interested in and eventually..."

"Yeah, she's good at being nosey."

"But honestly? I'm glad she did. I would've stayed quiet, just like all the other close calls before." Your best friend sighs, but the sound isn't sad like you'd imagine. It's more like a breath of relief, as if this is a weight he's been shouldering for a while. "And now I feel like things are changing."

Yoongi hums, instantly picking up on the younger's tone shift. "Does it scare you?"

"A bit?" he replies honestly. "I'm not sure..." After trailing off, he straightens up and rubs the back of his neck. "Hey, I gotta go, Hyungs. She's gonna be back any second. Thanks for everything, even if Hobi-hyung was threatening to spill to [Y/n] over the holidays."

"You had it coming, Jungkookie!" Hoseok snickers from somewhere in the background of the other side. "But I swear to god, if you break her heart—"

"—Bye!" Jungkook hangs up with a giggle, clearly amused by Hoseok's ever-present extra-nature. He tosses the phone onto the sofa beside him and leans back onto the cushions.

You slip into the room, clearing your throat to announce your entrance, before wrapping your arms around Jungkook's shoulders. Resting your chin on the crook between his shoulder and neck, you murmur, "You okay?"

Jungkook nods, leaning his head to the side so that it rests against yours. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Just the very end," you assure. After a beat of silence, you give his shoulders a squeeze. "Nothing's going to change. I promise."

"Yeah, maybe I was wrong about that." He pulls away from your grasp and turns around, arms braced against the back of the sofa so he can meet your gaze. "What if I want things to change? For the better."

You'd be lying if you said you weren't taken aback by his suggestion. All this time, the fears inside you both had been that a step forward in your relationship would mean leaving something behind. Or losing something you love. It's one of the hardest things in the world, to face the romantic feelings you have for someone you've called your best friend ever since you were in school. You know Jungkook feels this way, or at least you thought he did.

"There's no way we'll ever stop being best friends," he continues after you say nothing. He tugs on the edges of your, or rather his, sweatshirt, playing absent-mindedly with the loose string on the hem. "We both know that. But maybe now...maybe we owe it to ourselves and these things we feel for the other to see where this leads? Maybe we should give us a try."

Eventually, you find your voice again. "What are you saying?"

Jungkook closes his eyes and runs his other hand through his wavy hair. The crease between his brows deepens as he struggles to find the correct words. "I was so worried about change because I never considered that it could be good. But maybe it can be. There's nothing that says we have to stop being each other's closest friends if we wanted to give us a try."

"Us...as in dating? Like fancy dinners, movie theaters, non-best friend sleepovers kinda dating."

Heat rises to his cheeks, and suddenly he's stumbling worse than he was before. "I mean—yeah, that's what I was... But only if you wanted to. I was going to ask but—"

The clear embarrassment on his face, paired with the disjointed sentences he never finishes, has you laughing and pulling him to you. Your arms circle around his neck, and you press your lips into his hair. It's been a long time since you've seen him this flustered, and to know it's because of you, how could you not be amused?

"I mean, neither of us are fancy dinner, movie theater kind of people, but I can guarantee I'll take you up if you ask me out to, say, beat your ass at an arcade or out-eat and out-drink you at an all you can eat barbeque and soju night, I would definitely take you up on that. No questions asked. You're my boyfriend now and I will annihilate you without mercy."

Jungkook bursts into laughter at your response, arms wrapping around your middle as his shoulders shake. "In that case, why not do both!"

Pulling back so you can grin down at him, you snicker, "Oh, you're on, Gym Bunny."

Jungkook grins, cups your face in his hands, and pulls you back to him. His lips mold to yours in a sweet and tender kiss. Both of you are smiling into it, and he's nearly about to lift you up and over the back of the sofa and onto the cushion with him before the door buzzer interrupts you both. He pulls away, groaning to himself.

"That's probably the takeout," he says. He presses a second, swifter peck to your mouth before letting you go in favor of the door. "Tonight, we eat takeout and play Call of Duty. Tomorrow, I help you with your order so you're not so stressed?"

You hop onto the sofa, shaking your head as you retort, "Oh, no, you don't have to do that—!"

"—I want to, no buts," he interrupts with a grin, signature bunny teeth pulling at all your heartstrings.

How can you say no to that face?

He backs up towards the door, holding up a finger as if telling you to wait. "One second. I'll be right back with food."

You give two thumbs-ups, returning his cute enthusiasm. "I'll be here."

After he leaves, you shake your head to yourself, wondering how in the world things could shift so much in less than a day. Twenty-four hours ago, you were cooped up at the flower shop, trying to handle a plethora of last-minute tasks, knowing that you wouldn't be home for much of the New Year at all. Your partners on a well-deserved holiday, your parents back home in Ilsan, your brother god only knows where in some random city, you were alone. The flowers were your only companions, and somehow you had come to terms with being okay with it.

You never could have dreamed up a snowstorm, a power outage, and a supermarket adventure with Jeon Jungkook. While it had started out as an inconvenience, now you look back on last night as a welcome turning point. The events that had transpired had been building up for almost a decade. Despite you making a mental reminder to harass Yoongi and Hoseok for keeping things from you when they returned, you find yourself satisfied with how things have unraveled. You hadn't been alone for the holiday after all — far from it.

As Jungkook returns with the door — spouting in an adorable Busan-accented lisp about the overcharge for the extra sauces he knows you love — you can't help the smile that spreads across your face or the love that blossoms in your heart.

Maybe the Year of the Rabbit wasn't going to be so bad after all.

Taglist — @kooala

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dragonswithjetpacks · 4 years ago

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Fic Back Friday

I’ve been tagged by @noire-pandora! Thank you! It’s a bit late but I’m still doing the thing!

Take an older fic (or art for our artist friends) from about a year ago or older even and talk about it, show it off and hype it up.

So uh. I have way more fics written from a few years ago than I do within just the last year. I’ve really become more productive and public with my writing just within the last oh I dunno six months? Most of what I have on Ao3 is a collection of what was left of the last eight years? I think. It was hard to pick what to post. But I decided to go with the first thing I ever put up here on Tumblr. Which ... for some reason, it isn’t pulling up the actual link. It’s just pulling a reblog I had. Guess.... I’ll just... post the whole thing?

Just A Dream

-dragonswithjetpacks

Notes: So this is some of the first writing I ever did for Aeva. It’s about a dream she had after Trespasser.

A Walk Through the Forrest

The land is green. The trees are not wanting. They reach to the sky. Their branches show blossoms. Their trunks are wide. She wanders among them. Her hands are stretched across. She has never witnessed such greenery. Flower petals touch her fingertips. Stems graze her palms. The sunlight skims her wrists. The songs of birds and the chatter of fennecs echo through the trees.

Everything Falls Silent

But then all falls still. Her footsteps cease. The air grows thin. The temperature falls. There is a sudden breeze. It brings grey clouds and a stench she is familiar with. The word leaves her and she cannot remember precisely the thought she seeks. Trying to grasp it, she ventures forward, hoping the smell will trigger a memory. It does. And the image becomes clearer. An image of tooth and claw. An image of blood. An image of thick fur and a haunting voice.

The Wolves are Stray

The Wolves. She will not fall back. Not now. They know she is present and they will turn on her. Their fur is not black like the ones back home. They are white. They are white and stained with blood. One lifts his giant head and his yellow eyes pierce straight through hers. The wolf licks his lips before lowering his head. She cannot look any longer. The pool of blood rippling beneath them made her stomach churn. The sound of their teeth gnashing against the innards made her head ache. A sudden crunch sounded as a wolf shook his head and a leg detached from the body. A gasp escaped her lips. And the wolves all lifted their gaze.

Feeding on the Innocent

She saw beneath them was once a creature of light grey fur. It would have been unrecognizable if it were not for the horns. The wolves were feeding on a halla. Terror took over as her body turned cold. The hair on her skin rose, but her wits became about her. And she remembered where she was. The wolves would not venture into the forest for a halla. They remain in the plain where the larger heards are known to graze. For a pack of this number to take down a large, stronger member of a heard would mean the wolves would have to be cunning. They would have to be...

Their Leader Rises

Their leader steps forward. But their leader is no animal. The alpha rises on two legs. And his face is familiar. Breathing becomes more difficult as she watched his shoulders flex. Her fists clench tightly, digging into the palms of her hands. He is dressed in white clothing, embroidered in gold. His brow is stern, just as before. But his eyes are cold. And his lips...

A Mouth Full of Blood

His lips are covered in blood. The pack proceeds to ignore her, resuming their meal without the lack of crunching as they enjoyed their fast. But he... he gazes at her. He watches for her reaction. Though there was none, she still felt him pry. He lifts his hand to his jaw and guides down the line until he reaches his mouth. He uses his hand to wipe blood. But he only smears it.

A Smile Filled with Pride

And then he smiles. He smiles so wickedly, so perversely, she let's out a horrifying. Not of fear, but of anger. Only the beginnings of it make it out of her mouth. She feels she can hear it. But the only thing she truly feels is the darkness surrounding her as she falls through the earth. And the only she sees is hid red smile with an echo of a howl in the distance.

She is Bathed in Regret

Falling back into a tangent place, she finds herself in a bath. Without truly knowing what has awakened her from her dream state, she grasps the edge to pull herself free. But she cannot. The water she was soaked in felt thick. It felt warm. It felt wrong. An awareness enlightens her senses, and as he vision clears, she can see that blood surrounds her. Recalling the scene from before, she swallows the start of a scream.

Surrounded by Emptiness

Then they appeared. Men and women of the Inquisition come drifting from the shadows to her side. They are all dressed in uniform, or else she would not even know who they were. Some she knows by name... but these followers... have no face. She cries out, but like before, only the first bit escapes. They reach to their sides and bring up a wooden buckets with a jingle inside. The buckets are emptied into her tub. And golden coins fall onto her body.

The Weight of Gold

The blood rocks back and forth, spilling onto the floor. She can taste it in her mouth. Feel it burning her eyes. The weight is crushing. She can feel her spine pressing into the bottom of the porcelain tub. She scratches at the side, but to no avail. The treasury will drown her. And her comrades will watch. Thrashing about, she hopes to shake loose. But the relief of pressure does not come from above. It comes below.

A Sound of Resolution

The tub cracks, pulling her through to wherever she must go next. The gold disappears and for a moment, her body is weightless. And then it is cold. So terribly cold. The darkness brightens, but the light is so bright. Her eyes sting from the sudden burst and her body falls almost numb. She gathers her courage to rise from the broken tub. There is no blood but once again, there is the color of white. The color of snow.

An Answer on the Horizon

As her eyes adjust, she can make out something in the distance. It is grey, only slightly darker than the landscape. She moves towards it, the only thing she has to fixate her eyes upon. The only destination. As she draws closer, she knows the shape. The shape of a wolf. But this is a sight she has already seen. Tears fill her eyes. Should she be frightened? Because this is not what she felt. Only sadness. Only anger. Only the realization. Fen'Harel was watching.

The Shrine of Fen'Harel

Ruins suddenly began to appear around her. She does not recognize them. Or this feeling they gave. Emotions suddenly faded as she held her breath. They were replaced a desire. A need. She did not worry that the Betrayer would take her. No... she begged. She prayed silently because she could not speak. She prayed as she reached out with her bare hand. She prayed as she felt her fingertips graze across the wolf's mouth.

The Dread Wolf Howls

Hearing her lament, his eyes burst open. Not only the two, but several more across his twisted face, all burning with red flame. They all turned down to her, witnessing the elf for what she truly was. They judged her. Knew her crimes. Knew her to the very core. She fell to her knees, her body tensing with guilt and rage. This was her fault.

She Feels His Hands of Mercy

There is a sudden warmth across her chest. Two hands creep up to the tops of her shoulders. They pull her hard, into something solid. Something warm. It took away the fear. The cold. The hatred. It brought the comfort. Forgiveness. And she could smell something that she knew very well. It was sweet, but strange. Like an incense in a shop she had browsed in long ago. It was ancient. But it was new, like a parchment unrolled for the first time. It was Solas.

Of Love and Comfort

The statue disappeared, leaving a black abyss surrounding them. She pushed back, shoving him away. He did not belong. He was no help to her. She wanted to tell him, to shout. But there was nothing that would come from her lips. The look on his face told her that he was aware of how she felt. But it wasn't enough. She screamed. And though she couldn't hear it, she could feel the depths of her soul flaming in her belly as she let out a silent roar.

Ma Vhenan ...

But his words were clear. They were so sharp in her ear that she swore she heard them on the edge of the bed. She shot up, the sensation of his breath on her earlobe bringing her heart to an alarming rate. There was no one there. There was only the light of the stars and the moon. The sound of the breeze nestling up to the slightly cracked window in the far end of the room. But there was taste of blood in her mouth from where she bit her lip in her sleep. She wondered who exactly had visited her that night...

#solavellan #dragon age inquisition #trespasser #solas #inquisitor lavellan #aeva x solas #solas x lavellan #fen'harel

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random1imagines3 · 5 years ago

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Kisses [Kakashi/Fem!Reader]

Kakashi/fem!reader. Just fluff.

The first kiss was almost an accident. Kakashi had walked her home after a night of Guy challenging everyone to a drinking contest, Choji eating all of the bar food, Naruto almost destroying the whole place and Kurenai drinking everyone under the table. She was a bit intoxicated, having made the mistake of participating in the contest, but in all honesty she was using it as an excuse to hold onto Kakashi’s arm.

He was hyper aware of her breasts pressing against him as she hugged his arm close for support, grateful that his mask covered most of his expression. He did his best to stay professional; she was drunk, beautiful, and too kind for him to take advantage of.

When they reached her door, he offered to help her inside, but she shook her head and detached herself from him and went to unlock the door. She paused to turn around and give him a breathtaking smile. “Thank you for bringing me this far. I appreciate it.”

With that, she leaned up on her very tippy toes and placed a kiss aimed for his cheek. He knew it was his moment but he couldn’t bring himself to kiss her while she had no sense of consent. He caught himself before turning his head fully, but it was just a little too late, her lips catching the corner of his covered mouth, just barely.

Her cheeks flushed slightly, her eyes wide and looking up at him with a mix of embarrassment and desire. His gaze turned down to her, his hand reaching up to rest on her cheek, and she could barely breathe through the smouldering fire in his one exposed eye.

But he couldn’t, it wouldn’t be right, and he simply lifted his head and kissed her forehead tenderly. “I’ll always be here when you need me.” He murmured against her skin, before stepping away and giving her his signature closed-eye smile.

She was simply grateful he hadn’t pushed her away, because that would have been mortifying. Content with the knowledge that he wanted her too, but his honour wouldn’t allow him to take advantage of her half-drunk state, she simply loved him more.

She returned his smile, before turning and opening her door. She stepped inside, her soul screaming to invite him in, but she respected his decision. “Goodnight, Kakashi.”

The second was gentle and reassuring.

He had returned from a mission that needed the use of his Magenkyou Sharingan. As usual, he was hospitalized after, and she rushed to him when Tsunade informed her that he was home.

Carrying a basket of fruits, she knocked on the hospital room door, entering when she heard him call out. She let out a sign of relief when she saw him sitting up, reading some volume of Icha Icha, instead of laying there connected to an IV, unable to move or eat solids. She placed the basket on the table next to him.

“You know, if you had let me come with you, I could have helped, and you wouldn’t be in this mess.” She nagged, a hand on her hip and her eyebrow raised. He gave a nervous laugh, knowing she was hiding how worried she was, before holding a hand out. “Come, sit.”

She sighed again, deciding to put her annoyance to the side and be grateful he was still here with her. As she sat on the bed next to him, she realized that was a bad idea, because without her anger, she was just scared. Tears filled her eyes slowly, and she tried to wipe them away, but they simply continued to her horror.

Immediately, he went rigid, panic setting in his heart as he quickly reached out to take one of her hands, his other resting on her cheek once more. “It’s okay, I’m here. It’s okay.” He whispered, wiping her tears and tilting her face up to look at him.

“Don’t cry. I won’t ever leave you.”

Her heart slammed in her chest as she gazed up at him, her eyes fluttering between the shape of his lips under the mask and his own charcoal orb. She found herself leaning closer, her hand leaving his to reach up to his mask, slowly.

He didn’t move to stop her, in fact, he leaned into it, his gaze never leaving her, giving her silent permission. With all of the care in the world, she gingerly pulled the mask low, drinking in the sight of the man in front of her.

She knew he was handsome. Even Guy had admitted it; Kakashi won that challenge every time. But she wasn’t prepared for just how soft his skin was, how sweet his smile, and how delicious his lips looked.

With one more glance up into his eyes, experiencing that fire again, he didn’t even give her a moment to think before his lips met hers. Her eyes slid closed as they melted into each other, their hearts becoming one, and her hands cupped his face to pull him deeper into it.

His words were one thing, and it reassured her, but not to the extent of this display of emotion. He poured in every inch of his love, and his promise, to never leave her, to always come home to her.

A few more tears slipped past her, but they were of relief, her arms weaving around his shoulders as his slid over her waist. They broke for air, resting their foreheads together. He pulled her as close as he could without hurting himself, letting her nestle into his arm next to him on the bed.

Lady Tsunade would probably scold him for moving so much, he pondered absent-mindlessly as he curled into his lover and pulled the sheet over them. A nap sounded good... right next to her.

Their favourite kiss came after everything had settled. They never even mentioned it to each other, though they definitely thought about it. The two of them were being dragged somewhere by Naruto, his grip on their hands tight, but he refused to tell them where they were going.

"Its a secret!"

Kakashi simply laughed and went along with it despite the way his stomach turned in anxiety. Oh no... what did Naruto do now?

He led them into what was usually a quiet, peaceful park; she recognized it as the place Kakashi took her on their first official date as a couple, causing a blush to colour her skin a deep pink. Kakashi's breath caught in his throat as he gazed upon the rows of friends gathered by... a makeshift altar?

Sakura was the first to speak up. "We know you two would have probably forgotten about it or something, with how airheaded you both are," she teased, "so we... decided we would help you guys out. You deserve this."

She was already hiccuping back her tears as she held Kakashi's hand, looking up at him expectantly. Before she could say that it was okay if he wasn't ready, he tightened his grip around hers and shifted so his back was to the others. He pulled his mask low before gathering her in his arms and kissing her with his heart and soul.

She melted into the kiss, her arms around his shoulders as they pressed flush against each other. There were a few cheers, a few groans and a stray, 'they didnt say 'kiss the bride' yet!'

"I love you. Will you marry me?"

They would never forget that night, with their friends who were more like family, with each other, and the knowledge that they would be together for the rest of their lives.

#kakashi hatake #kakashi x reader #reader insert #naruto #x reader #kakashi imagine #kakashi imagines #kakashi kisses #naruto x reader #sfw #fluff #kakashi fluff #naruto fluff

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the-everqueen · 6 years ago

Note

asw meme: 48? any pairing/'verse is cool, but i first thought of ghosts?

48. life would be easier if i were easier (fact)

He comes to her after he dies.

It is not a tearful reunion or bittersweet goodbye. There is screaming, fumbling in the dark, coldness so severe and steep it makes Eliza’s heart seize in her chest. Alexander cries out, his voice wavering between banshee wail and please, Betsey, it’s me. It has been a week since the funeral, the first night Eliza managed to fall asleep in their bed rather than with one of the children, rocking them through their furious, uncomprehending grief. She could never stop being a mother, not even to mourn the loss of being a wife. But loss is lost as Alexander floats above her, his face rendered familiar through pain, as he tries and fails to grasp at her wrists.

Eliza thinks, I cannot go mad. The children can’t lose us both so soon.

She pulls the covers over her head, squeezes her eyes shut tight tight tight, like a child hiding from monsters. He wails, sad or enraged or desperate, plunging the room into a frost that makes her tremble beneath the blankets. Or maybe it’s terror. She grits her teeth and presses palms against her ears. There is no rest for the widowed.

Alexander isn’t the first.

She remembers when he got the letter, the one that informed them John Laurens had been killed in action. A waste, everyone said, as though he were a bank note foolishly spent and not a man half-mad with fever. Alexander was inconsolable. He threw himself into the Annapolis Convention, and then the Philadelphia Convention, and then the Federalist essays — must there be another one this week, what happened to twenty-five, I thought this was a collaborative project, you have to sleep, Alexander. And his eyes bright with exhaustion and fervor as he insisted, I just need to write something down, one more thing. Back then, when she left him in his office, making the careful trek upstairs to bed alone, she saw the figure in the corner of her eyes, hovering by her husband’s side. She never met John Laurens, but she recognized the leonine eyes and wild curls from the miniature Alexander had shown her — and even if she hadn’t, the uniform would have been a clue.

He appeared at intervals until the Constitution was ratified. That night, as Alexander collapsed on the bed like a puppet cut from its strings, Laurens came to his side with an expression of both fondness and disappointment. His ghostly fingers brushed at a stray piece of hair over Alexander’s slack mouth, the gesture familiar even if it had no material effect. Eliza watched him, motionless as a doe that’s heard a twig snap. For the first time, he met her gaze. He mouthed something she did not understand.

“What was that?” she whispered.

He repeated it.

Eliza swallowed hard. She felt a sudden, shameful gratitude that there was the ultimate barrier of Death between her and John Laurens. “I’ll tell him,” she said. She hoped that would be enough, but Laurens watched her for another moment, as though weighing the worth of her soul. Then he faded, leaving a breath of cool air in his wake.

When Alexander comes back to her, she realizes she never told him Laurens’s last words.

“I’m sorry,” Alexander tells her the second time. “I should have realized it might be a shock. But you have to understand, I had to make sure you were okay and assure you that I was okay —”

“Alexander, please.”

“Right.” He drops his gaze contritely. His long, dark lashes fan over his cheekbones but cast no shadows. There is a general translucent quality to him that’s hard to ignore in the afternoon light; Eliza can see the parlor settee through his shoulder. She concentrates on that, instead of the familiar twist of his mouth as he bites his lower lip.

Her husband is dead. Her husband is dead.

Her husband is standing in the parlor, wearing the same black suit she peeled from his body as Doctor Hosack worked to staunch the bleeding. Eliza recalls the iron sour smell of blood and feels as though she might faint.

Of course, Alexander cannot be silent for long. “You got the letter?”

She lets out a hysterical laugh. “Yes, Alexander, I got your letter. I suppose I should thank you for sparing me the wait to see you in a better world.”

He winces. “I just meant —”

“Oh, I know what you meant. You only ever mean anything.” Her voice is pitching higher and sharper with the anxiety splitting her carefully constructed seams. “When has your so-called honor changed my opinion of you? How dare you justify yourself to me after the fact! When you know I couldn’t possibly hate you for it because you’re dead, you’re gone, you left me and the children for your stupid honor…” She bursts into tears, hands coming up to cover her face.

“Shh, shh, oh Bets.” Flutter touches of cold raise goosebumps on her arms, shoulders, the back of her neck. Without looking, she knows that Alexander is hovering around her, eyebrows knit together in desperate resolve to Fix Things. “Hey, you’re all right, it’ll be all right. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“I don’t want to be strong,” she sobs, but her tears are ebbing. She cried for so many nights, alone in their bed, face muffled in the pillows, that now she can only weep in short cloudbursts, as sudden as a summer storm and just as quick to evaporate. She lowers her hands, and Alexander gives her a tentative smile. “There we go.”

“This is your fault,” she says. His smile slips away.

“In my defense, I didn’t think Burr would shoot me. I thought he’d dither over it like everything else in his life.”

“This isn’t a courtroom, you don’t have a defense.”

“Darling, if I’d known —”

“Don’t pretend. Don’t pretend that would have changed things. You’ve always prized your reputation, as though that’s ever mattered to me. I married you when you had nothing but your brilliance and ambition.” She swipes angrily at the wetness on her cheeks. “I fell in love with you. And I knew you’d go far, because how could you not, but all I ever wanted was to be your peace of mind.”

He reaches for her. She jerks back. “No, it’s — you died. You’re not here.”

He looks more hurt at that simple statement of fact than her previous accusation. His face falls, his shoulders droop. He becomes so transparent he seems little more than an outline, a preliminary sketch over the carpet and wallpaper.

There’s a knock on the parlor door. “Ma’am?” the maid’s voice calls, quiet and trembling. “Are you — is everything all right?”

“I’m fine,” Eliza says. Isn’t she always? She turns back to Alexander, but he’s gone, the slight shiver in the closed parlor the only sign he was here. She feels a burst of nonsensical panic — what if those were her last words to her husband? What if he thinks she doesn’t miss him so terribly sometimes it’s hard to breathe? But those questions fade, replaced with a calm certainty.

Alexander will return.

“Have you seen them? The others who have…passed?”

Eliza does not say Philip’s name, but she relies on Alexander to know what she means. Over the years their conversations have taken on the faintly surreal air of a guessing game, or riddles, both of them circling around the topics that weigh on them the most. Alexander’s visits have become shorter and less frequent — she can’t be sure whether he’s losing his tether to this side of eternity, or whether he’s reaching some limit on crossing over. Eliza has been Dutch Reformed from childhood, but encountering her dead husband makes her wonder whether her theology might need revision. Maybe his soul is passing into Heaven, out of some Purgatorial state. Maybe his visits are just a more painful and protracted goodbye, as he watches her and the children keep on living without him.

Alexander frowns. He watches as she tallies numbers in the Society’s paybook, her pen scratching neat figures in their proper columns. She feels a shiver of frisson at their reversed positions: how many times did they have conversations while he labored over their finances or scribbled down another idea? But she doesn’t give it words, not even in teasing.

She pauses. “Alexander.”

“Mm? Oh. I — I can’t say.”

It is Eliza’s turn to frown. Alexander is never at a loss for words; even on his deathbed, he managed to keep speaking, until the sight of the children all lined up at the door overwhelmed him. She wants to ask whether he’s all right — but what can she do if he isn’t? A chill washes over her arms.

A moment later, she realizes it’s Alexander, embracing her from behind. His mouth gives a puff of cold air when he murmurs in her ear, “It’s not what I imagined. There are rules about what — but I didn’t expect this, getting to see — You’ve done so much. I’m so proud of you, Bets.”

Cool lips brush a kiss against her cheek, turning her tears to brittle tracks of frost.

She’s never understood Alexander’s sense of running out of time. There is so much to do, yet the years stretch on, no fin in sight. If Alexander’s personal Hell is to be cut short, obscured, forgotten, hers might be to outlive everyone she’s loved, unable to cross over to the Other Side.

“I’m so tired,” she says. “I want to see Hamilton.”

He comes to her before the end.

She doesn’t know what woke her until she sees him at her bedside. He smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. The moonlight brings out the greyish streaks in his hair. “Hi, darling,” he murmurs. He looks, impossibly, both like the dashing young Colonel she fell in love with and the older, more subdued figure she kissed on the night he wrote his last letter to her. “It’s time.”

She takes his hand. It’s warm and solid in hers.

#my fic #hamliza #i'm not entirely satisfied (ha) with this #if i had endless time i'd probably have weird ghost sex in this #with meditations on longing and desire #but here!#happy christmas eve?#idk how to tag this for warnings #ghosts tw #death tw

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dancer4813 · 7 years ago

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helplessly hoping

Pike & Percy, semi-platonic Words: 1.4k Note: This just kind of happened. AO3

Just after they'd met him, Vex and Pike keep watch together, discussing this new member of their party. How broken he looks, how handsome he looks (once he’s cleaned himself up, of course), how desperate he seems to feel, how reserved he is....

They agree, together, to do what they can to help him. Pike has always had a giving soul, and she's never been one to leave a stray out on their own. Vex is both intrigued by money, and by the look in his eyes. She hasn't known Pike long, but admits that she can see him trying to fit himself into a world he doesn't feel like he belongs in.

She knows all too well how that feels.

Pike does too, remembers hanging back from her family’s schemes and trying to make reparations for everything they did. But she keeps that to herself.

But together they help him – they do what they can. He smiles more, starts laughing. He takes watch with Keyleth and the two of them find their similarities and when the girls next have a night together it's all of them talking about him: his hair, his turn of phrase, his brokenness, so hidden and yet so recognizable.

The three of them help him grow.

And Pike, in the midst of it all, realizes how much she wants to take him in, to give him her own sort of second chance, more than the one they provided in rescuing him from prison. She's not sure how she’ll manage it, but she starts spending more time with him, wanting to see that smile, to see him peeking out of his shell. She does her best not to take up too much of his attention – Keyleth is his best friend, after all, and he and Vex connect in their distaste for hand-to-hand combat, spending plenty of time discussing the benefits of long-ranged weapons now that he’s come out of his shell a bit more.

Pike wants him to be happy, and yet... she never finds the time to let him know her feelings. There’s too much going on, and never enough time to tell him.

First there was the whole debacle with Grog and the lich that needed to be dealt with, and then the Drez Vina and the white dragon, and then the Clasp and Brimscythe, then finally rescuing Emperor Tal'dorei and his family from demons resulting in… death, for her.

When she comes back she feels unsteady. Lost and alone and all too crowded at the same time. People asking if she needs anything, if she’s all right. It’s frustrating, but she would do the same for them, and can’t bring herself to push them away.

They restore the Tal’dorei family’s souls to their bodies and spend a few more days in Emon, taking a brief respite from the previous weeks.

It’s their first break in a very long time.

But, without anything else to occupy her, Pike finds her dreams troubled. Visions of claws snapping above her head, the feeling of her muscles spasming as they catch her, breaking her ribs and tearing through her chainmail. Pike hates how small she feels when she wakes up in a cold sweat, heart racing, beating almost out of her chest in its frenzy. She hates that the holy symbol that has brought her so much comfort in the past feels too big for her hands, its well-worn grooves unfamiliar, as if her sense of touch has changed. She hates the white hair that distracts her if not pulled out of the way, and tries to smile when Vex jokes that now she matches Percy.

The third night after her resurrection she wakes in the middle of the night, a scream stuck in her throat. After breathing heavily into her pillow, trying to muffle the sound to avoid waking Keyleth in the other bed, Pike has the distinct realization that she won’t be getting any more sleep that night.

She quietly makes her way down to the tavern’s common area, only to find Percy awake, the only inhabitant of the inn besides the barkeep who’s not lost to sleep.

Pike approaches from the front so he can see her, though she’s not sure he does. His eyes are lost in memory, clouded over as she’s seen before, and despite her own anxiety she can't help but feel drawn to him, her heart reaching out. She’s wary of startling him, but he comes back to himself in a rush, blinking frantically as his eyes clear themselves of their far away expression. Her heart aches fondly, and instead of sitting across from him as she had intended, she gestures for him to scoot over and they end up on the same bench in the semi-private corner of the tavern.

"You should be asleep."

She looks up at him and struggles to keep her arms at her sides. If only she could so easily chase away the what remained of the emptiness.

"I could say the same to you, you know."

"Touché," he murmurs, a pained sort of smile flashing across his face before it flees. "Though you need rest more than I do."

Pike stares at him for a long moment, taking in his sunken eyes, the tired slope of his shoulders, as if he can't quite keep up the veneer of authority in his current state. She silently measures it against her own lingering aches and shakes her head, reaching out to place her hand over his on the table, giving him plenty of time to pull away.

He doesn't.

"I might have died, but you all had the harder task. Going to the temple with me- with my- and the resurrection-"

She cuts herself off, the words stuck in her throat for a horrible moment, choking her off. He places his other hand over hers, and her lungs feel like they are freed from a fetter tied around her chest as she inhales sharply. It's enough to break the spiral her mind had nearly been forced into.

Taking a deep breath, then a second, Pike nods. Percy leaves his hand over hers in the quiet of the inn until her heart has slowed its frenetic pace and she finds the words to break the silence.

"You don't have to pretend it wasn't hard," she says finally, and he looks up from their hands, meeting her gaze with bright blue, piercing irises that make her heart skip a beat.

"Pretending is all I have."

Then give yourself a break. You can't always be unflappable and unmoved. Let yourself... Let yourself feel. Let yourself go, just for a little while."

"I could say the same to you, you know," he says, echoing her earlier words, and she feels her cheeks darken.

“Touché,” she echoes, and Percy laughs, running a thumb over her fingers, dwarfed as they are by his own.

They sit in silence together for a long while, Pike trying to sort through the feelings within her, trying to reconcile them with the warmth of his hands around hers.

“I’ve been pretending for almost five years,” he says finally. “I’m not sure I know how to stop.”

A look at him tells her his gaze is focused on the movement of his thumb, the steady back and forth motion, the simple movement so steadying for both of them.

“It’s hard,” she says without thinking, but with that admission she realizes just how much she herself has been tucking away. Her eyes remain dry, but she feels a sob rise in her throat, and it escapes before she can swallow it down. “It’s really hard,” she says, trying to recover herself, pulling her hand away and almost immediately missing the warmth of his skin against hers.

“I can’t deny that. But Pike?”

She looks up at him, even as she considers fleeing back upstairs. “Yes, Percy?”

“Could you do me a favor and take your own advice?”

He holds out a hand, palm up, and Pike can’t bring herself to refuse the invitation. She takes it carefully, and finds herself pulled closer, into Percy’s side as he draws his arms around her.

This time, she’s the one who’s stiff in an embrace. Her face grows hot again and the tears that had been rising up in her since waking break forth.

Tears soak his coat as he holds her, steady against her as Pike lets herself fall apart.

Tomorrow… Tomorrow she’ll get stronger. Tomorrow she’ll be the one to hold him, to start his walls crumbling down, to help him recover.

Today, she’ll let herself be selfish and curl into his arms, solid and comforting as they tighten around her.

#critfic #pikeval #pike trickfoot #percival de rolo #critical role #these kids #ashley's reveal gave me a lot of feelings #unrequited love #semi-fluff?#mostly angst #kinda cute #pre-stream #spoilers in the tags #cr spoilers ?#megan writes

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dothewrite · 8 years ago

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Ringleaders - Chapter One.

Here is the original ask for this prompt. Here is the announcement for this project!

Prologue. Chapter Two.

It feels fucking fantastic. To him, his face is perfectly stoic, perhaps with some degree of manic, but he hears, in the thudding emptiness of his own ears, the echoing sound of exceptionally happy laughter and a part of him knows. He hears this laughter every time, and although his blood sings from the contagious joy that seems to permeate the very air of this back alley behind a line of brothels, the stench of fresh blood mixed with sweat and matting iron shocks him back each time.

It’s his own laughter, Kuroo knows. It barely phases him anymore; the energy to fight and laugh at the same time, and it only gets louder, or the occasional hitch of a breath when his knuckles meet a face, or when his feet cracks against a rib, or when sometimes, if he’s lucky, he takes long enough for there to be a harmony accompanying him. It’s a symphony of punches, pain, shouts, screams and begs for mercy that always drags itself out near the ending, no matter how strong the opponent. His laughter is the main chord that ties it all together, and when the final gasp of air is crushed out of a man’s lungs, the orchestra dies down into agonized chokes, pleading, sobbing, and then silence.

If there was applause, he would bow to his waist. His flowers for the evening is the pristine state of his coat, shorter today, but reckless enough for it to be suede and not the protective edge of leather, and he pulls out a packet of tissues he’s swiped from a lady with a huge ass earlier to wipe his fingers. His knuckleduster he can’t quite wipe, but waiting a bit longer to scrub it clean with disinfectant in the safety of his own home is a small price that he’s more than happy to pay for this evening’s entertainment.

Maybe, in a parallel universe, he’d have been arrested long ago. Labeled a psychopath, or at the very least a sociopath, but he’s not quite. Kuroo is unfortunately sane, and in his humble opinion, he thinks that violence is a far safer addiction than drugs- none of that shaking, sniveling shit that comes with withdrawals. In fact, he’s perfectly fine even without his fix, but being responsible for such a large, illegal organization does take his toll- you can’t have so much without giving something back. Luckily he has friends who understand, friends who send him such assignments in his spare time, and he’s appreciative for Ushijima’s silent offering by being absent tonight. The cleanup’s going to be much harder tonight for the follow-up crew of kids because Kuroo’s not a fighter. He’s nothing like Ushijima, or even Oikawa, who takes out their targets with robotic precision. No. Sometimes he thinks, when he needs to, when there needs to be a message personally sent. Then there are times like these, at two in the morning, when he simply feasts. It’s a horrendous mess, bones and fingers and blood on the graffiti covered brick walls, and Kuroo lets himself feel liberated by his labour of art.

In this world controlled by the minority, oppressed by the rich, threatened by the paranoid, this is the best rebellion there is: brains, entrails, and disfigured policemen, bought out by the corrupt. One day, he knows, one day he’ll bring it to their doorstep. And there will be hell to pay.

It’s been a few minutes, and the high’s starting to wear down enough that the shit-eating grin on his face has faded into a dull hum of contentment, and the tension in his shoulders and his fists begins to unravel itself. Kuroo takes a deep breath of the filth in the air, letting it flow through his lungs, covering his insides with the scent of the bodies he’d desecrated, and starts to make his way back into the street. That is, until he hears some loud grunting that most certainly doesn’t belong to him (too rough, too strained- Kuroo enjoys his fights; he doesn’t suffer through them like this poor soul) and he follows the sound like a hound offered a scent. Wariness controls him now, his mind given back to him from his release, and any curiousity is squashed underneath the iron gates of training.

One step at a time, silent and predatory, he traverses the maze of the homeless and the illegal, until he reaches the commotion only a few streets over. The gay bar district, he notices wryly, the most peaceful area out of this entire shithole that the government had created for ‘sins’, and here was a fight brewing between a group of thugs, and a single woman. Kuroo peers in more closely from his shadowed corner, and notices two prone bodies lying on the floor.

She’s protecting them, he realizes, although what good that’d do he didn’t know. There’s just one person, fighting against four others, and there’d be more unless she took them out within the next few minutes. He rests his chin on his propped-up knee and watches with a morbid fascination belonging to only the truly disenchanted.

He watches each movement- brilliant and wrathful, there’s nothing controlled about her movements, only the reckless fling of each punch, the shattering kick of each leg and he can barely catch her face; her black tufts either stuck to her face from exertion or they’re flipping around in the air with each whirl she makes. Truly, Kuroo feels almost lacking in the hair department, someone could make a video out of it. It’s impossible for him to tear his eyes away- for anyone to tear their eyes away, because there’s fighting, and then there’s struggling. She isn’t being overwhelmed, as a solid backwards punch over her shoulder sends a man bleeding into the wall behind him, making a small dent and even from his distance Kuroo can hear the crunch of something breaking. As someone who does have fun, he can tell that she isn’t having any. This isn’t about living the life, for her, this is about survival, and with each solid heave of her lungs, gasping in what air she can in order to fuel her next brash move, he can tell that she’s fighting to get out. Her motive is to live, is to make it out, and in order for that to happen, she needs to win.

There’s another crack that comes, and somehow Kuroo is instantly certain it didn’t come from one of her opponents. Dropping down from his strangely elevated position, he wanders into the fight like he’s merely a stray cat passing by, and slams his knuckleduster into the lower curve of a man’s spine. He does his best to keep the satisfied smile at bay; this isn’t the time to be smug. Kuroo Testurou’s senses are wholly back, and once again his actions are measured and calculated, enough for him to slam down one and a half men within a minute. He wonders if she’s noticed him yet, with her raging, wild eyes and uncontrollable gasping, but when all the men fall, she doesn’t move to attack him. A comforting sign, for now.

“You fight like you’ve nothing to lose,” he comments, sliding his bloodied knuckles against the crumpled tissue in his pocket. She still isn’t looking straight at him, but he can feel her gaze regardless underneath the mess of her hair. There’s blood trickling down her neck, dissolved in sweat, and a sudden urge to smudge it away with his fingers surges up in him.

She opens her mouth slightly, and Kuroo thinks he’s going to get a sharp comeback because that wasn’t exactly a very friendly thing to say as an introduction, but she lurches forwards, a great heaving cough shoving itself out of her body and he can smell the fresh blood that splatters onto the shit-stained floor.

He has a tissue to spare. He hands it over with a slow, arching hand, like he’s offering a beast a piece of meat as a peace offering, but she takes it, delicately, and then covers her face with it.

“Ribs, probably, I think you might have broken one.”

She looks at him like he’s both a miracle and the stupidest thing to have ever walked this earth. Kuroo laughs.

“I’m just saying. You’re coughing blood, so I’d get that checked out if I were you. Might puncture something.”

He starts to walk away before she can summon up enough oxygen to say anything. Not a move he’d recommend, anyway, and for a moment he debates on calling an ambulance for her friends, but he sees her steely gaze fixed on him, and he shrugs.

“Good fight anyway, you’d be fine on your own if you controlled your movements a bit more.”

To his surprise, she nods, slow and considering, and for once it brings something other than a sardonic smile onto his face. This one’s genuine, and Kuroo feels like he hasn’t talked like a normal human being a human in far too long.

His genuine smile is appreciated from the way she slumps tiredly against the wall, and he offers a little wave before he walks back out into the flashing lights of purchasable sex. Oddly enough, despite his sore fists, this is one of his better nights yet.

Kuroo is generally as good a sport as any other, but occasionally there are days where they just aren’t his days. These arrive more often after a night of utter abandon, be it violent or sexual- to him, there isn’t much difference. His minds shuts down on him either way, just for a few hours, just as a release from the sheer amount of responsibility he embodies on a regular basis.

In a way, his day job takes even more from him. Let nobody ever say that being a student is easy, let alone a graduate student, and Kuroo is forced to become a walking irony; the antichrist of law and order while donning his reading glasses and slicking his hair back as a successful member of society when the sun shines. It’s been his mistake, to date people in the same program as him. Of course, he can still meet their eyes and smile like he means it whenever they cross paths in the pristine, white halls in the direction of the bathroom, but he can’t always hide the bruises. The purpling underneath his collar, or along his wrist, maybe sometimes his shirt rides up when he leans forward- all those things, he can’t bear to have people who think they know everything about him fixated on those little marks that his conviction leaves him.

How do you explain to a week-old relationship that you can’t tell them what you’re up to, because it’s illegal? Bruises and scars are only sexy when they’re relics, examined in the evening light in bed. Not so much when there are new ones every two nights, and he shows up to his dates with a cut lip and scraped knuckles.

Besides, if he’s learned anything at all, it’s that people like to stick to their so called ‘moral code’ more than to brush aside that murky little curtain called social constructs and risk their necks to see how the other side lives. They always blab, in the end. Their little girlfriends around cups of vanilla frappes, their parents over dinner, their one-night stand that they’re cheating on him with- nothing’s new that he hasn’t weathered. He’d rather keep his position in the university; it pays his bills well enough as the occasional TA, and his professor likes him, which is more than what he can say of his list of romantic encounters. This job is an escape of sorts, but one that has its share of costs as well as benefits. It’s a close tie between having to hide his night job from his day job, and his day job from his night job, and both sketch their grey circles underneath his eyes when they’re over.

That’s why, when he shows up to lead the new student orientation this morning in the empty courtyard, it’s like his multiple worlds he’s balanced like a fruit on his head in front of a hundred throwing knives seems to align, and suddenly that knife point is aiming right at his face. The stars conjunct, so to speak, and everything crashes as all the traffic lights turn green.

“Morning guys,” he’s just a student, he reminds himself, “new year, new faces, new level of suffering, am I right? I’m Kuroo Tetsurou, a third year candidate in particle physics. I’ll be the one to show you around and introduce you to the different profs. If you’d all follow me, I’ll give you a run down of your day while we walk.”

Although these days aren’t any easier than his nights, it’s a godsend that he knows he’s just Tetsu here. He’s allowed to be the nerd with crap hair who likes to chew on the back of his pens and throw rubber apples at his friends for points when he’s bored. He’s 25, not dead, and when he smiles here, he does his best to damn well mean it.

Usually. Today his face is strained, as is his muscles with each step he takes, and not even his new sneakers can ease the tension in his calves. He’s unsure if he’s walking too fast for the first years to really take in the sights, because all he can really feel is the intense stare at the back of his head from the small group. Two more steps, and she’d be right next to him, the girl he’d sacrificed his last tissue for just the night before.

His lips are itching to say something, but they feel sewn shut by the pressure, and she’s not saying anything either, just quietly walking several steps behind him and ignoring the new campus for the view of his back.

“Right, this is the most important room for all of you- the pantry. Well, it’s more like a common room that’s been turned into a pantry because everyone’s too lazy to get up to get their own food next door.” There’s a collective murmur of laughter that brushes through the group and Kuroo grins. “Fridge space is first come first serve for week one, then it sticks. I also highly recommend none of you touch the small one under the sink. The fourth and fifth years won’t be happy if they find some of their emergency booze is gone.”

Another wave of laughter, several knowing nudges, and Kuroo’s relieved that some of them have found fast friends among each other already. It can be a soul-sucking environment, and sometimes only strong bonds forged through the fires of intense suffering can save you from the abyss that is research.

He ignores the small smile that’s growing on her face, he also ignores her gaze that’s almost trying to make eye contact, and clears his throat to continue.

“You’ve all done pretty good as an undergraduate, blah blah blah. You’ve heard it all, you’ve probably said it all during the interviews.” They all grin again, rolling their eyes, and Kuroo’s eyes twinkle. “But here, this is new territory. This is George Eliot’s Wasteland, and there isn’t such thing as people graduating on time.” He can hear the rumble of dissent, the confused looks, and the distrusting ones. “You might make it in two. You might make it in three. Maybe your friends make it in six. Providing you’re not drowning yourself in debt or cooking meth at your desk to pay for your tuition, you go at your own pace. I know what everyone else says, what the world says, but fuck them all. Support each other here. Friendly competition is great, but this isn’t high school, and we don’t tolerate people being excluded because they’re four months late for their meeting with their PI, got it?”

Now there’s silence. He takes it for what it is, better thoughtful silence than someone shouting out in plain disagreement, and Kuroo allows the kind smile to make its way onto his face again.

“This is going to be hell, ladies and gentlemen, with regular trips to the surface. And if there’s one thing about hell that’s different than real life, it’s that everyone’s equal- plus it’s damn fun- so let’s keep it that way.”

He hears a muffled ‘what if I really like research’ from the back, and everyone bursts into laughter. She’s laughing too, he allows himself a quick glance, and a rush of relief courses through him. Maybe today won’t be so terrible, and a guy can hope.

Two and a half hours later with an extremely weary and fidgety group, his job’s done and all’s that left is to release them into the wild and back into their respective departments. He watches them with a strange fondness brewing in his belly, and makes to return to his office, a small, private area that had been gifted to him by his oddly flippant professor instead of having to cram all his things into a small cubicle. A small part of him aches, like a badly infected wound, to turn around and see if he can catch which department she belonged to- or even for a sliver of communication between them, but he doesn’t. His hand turns the door handle and he crumples into his leather chair and drops his head into his hands.

He tries to cut out his pervasive curiousity like a tumour with a butter knife over the course of several days. Kuroo doesn’t mind being the responsible one very much, and although he walks into the sparsely decorated living space of his headquarters for the several evenings to come, he doesn’t let himself feel any disappointment when Oikawa starts his daily reports and hands all the physical operations to Ushijima. The only thing that unnerves him a little is how their best fighter keeps his stare fixed on Kuroo the entire time, a soft sort of understanding in the undercurrents of his sentences and it makes Kuroo feels ashamed of something he hasn’t planned on doing in the first place.

Oikawa, much to his surprise, hasn’t noticed anything at all, and is still flipping through the pages of his reports like his life depends on it, those brown glasses perched on his nose. Kuroo always thought they rather suited him, but he’d been scoffed at more than once whenever he brought it up. He didn’t mind. He knew that Oikawa knew it was true, and it most certainly wasn’t Kuroo’s approval that he was seeking, and the knowledge of that was enough to make him grin madly, which had earned him another scoff.

“Nothing big’s popped up the past week,” he says when everyone turns to him for his contribution, and he looks at Kenma quickly for confirmation before continuing. “If everything on Tsukki’s and Akaashi’s side are calm, then the government shouldn’t be noticing our recruitment efforts just yet.”

“Your banners are pretty big,” Nishinoya pipes up from his sprawl in his usual chair, and Kuroo shares in his grin, “I doubt officials haven’t noticed them.”

“There isn’t much buzz about them yet at the office,” Akaashi assures, “mostly people think that it’s a move of desperation, like we’re running out of members or the like.”

“These guys really like reading between the non-existence lines, don’t they?”

Tsukishima shrugs, “it makes my office job easy, so I’m not complaining.”

“Ahh, what an enthusiastic staff I have,” Kuroo smirks, and everyone just shrugs in unison, which is precisely how their work ethic had developed. Maximum chill, maximum efficiency. Kuroo reckons if they had been some secret police instead of a simple anarchy group, it would only take a few weeks for them to rule the modern world. It would be unlikely for Oikawa to settle for less, besides. “Well, we’ll keep up the good work. Slow and steady, or some bull like that. The only major ops upcoming are Ushijima’s, as usual, and thanks to Kenma’s tip, I’m going to pick up a group of kids on Friday with Sawamura. That’s about it, I think.”

“Right then, meeting adjourned,” Oikawa announces briskly, and everyone hides a small eyeroll and a smile at his undeniable authority over everyone’s schedules. “What?” He prods when he catches Kuroo’s sly grin.

“Nothing,” Kuroo laughs, and dives away after patting him on the shoulder, narrowly avoiding a swipe to the head.

It’s a night for avoiding, when he notices Ushijima start towards him for a small second before letting his arms fall back to his side. Kuroo knows that contemplative look on his face even if there’s radio silence from the man, and the best he can offer is a slow nod. A small exhale and a solid stare returns it, and Kuroo can’t help but feel like he’s holding a man’s trust delicately in his two hands. He’s going to try harder to not let his curiousity get the best of him, he swears, and he’s so busy talking himself into dropping the baggage that he misses Nishinoya’s own look entirely.

It’s a small allowance, he convinces himself, when he comes by her nametag by a door on accident the next day. For someone so violent, he’d never expected that she’d be a comparative poetry candidate, but then he remembers the way she had nodded, and leaned against the wall like it was her very spine. Kuroo pushes his glasses further up his nose and walks away, Ushijima’s nod still hovering in his mind, and his hands still feeling heavy.

#kuroo tetsurou #oikawa tooru #nishinoya yuu #ushijima wakatoshi #sawamura daichi #tsukishima kei #akaashi keiji #kozume kenma #female original character #sfw #ringleaders #anarchist au #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu #i writes the haikyuu #project fic

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dragonswithjetpacks · 8 years ago

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Just a Dream...

I’ve been wanting to post some of my stuff on here for awhile and I thought this little thing would be a good start.

Aeva Lavellan x Solas

A Walk Through the Forrest

Everything Falls Silent

The Wolves are Stray

Feeding on the Innocent

Their Leader Rises

A Mouth Full of Blood

A Smile Filled with Pride

She is Bathed in Regret

Surrounded by Emptiness

The Weight of Gold

A Sound of Resolution

An Answer on the Horizon

The Shrine of Fen'Harel

The Dread Wolf Howls

She Feels His Hands of Mercy

Of Love and Comfort

Ma Vhenan ...

#solas #dragon age #DAI #Aeva Lavellan #Solavallan #just a dream #long post #fen'harel #dragon age fanfiction #dragonswithjetpacksao3 #aeva writing tag #dwjp writing tag

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