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massivewaffle · 3 years ago

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One Way to Defeat A Wither (Chapter 1)

Paring: GoodTimesWithScar x Female Reader Word Count: 4718 Rating: Chapter 1 is PG. Chapter 2 is EXPLICIT Warnings: Nothing for this chapter aside from Minecraft in game death mechanics. Chapter two will have explicit smut, so be advised if you follow the story.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39187023

Summary: When Grian jokingly unleashes the forces of the Scar Wither upon spawn, no one bats an eye. That is until GoodTimesWithScar suddenly becomes a very, very Bad Scar indeed.

AKA “The one where Scar gets possessed by a Wither and fucks reader”

A/N: This fic will be 2 chapters. This chapter (Chapter 1) is purely flirting and set up. All smut will be contained within Chapter 2, which I hope to have out by the end of the week if everything goes well.

The beginning of a new Hermitcraft seed is to you what Christmas Day is to others. There are always some residual feelings of melancholy when it comes to leaving the old world behind and, with it, all the beautiful things the Hermits have created. That being said, memories live on, and as you age, you realize how important it is to reset yourself both physically and mentally once in a while. You can only grow if you keep pushing yourself to try new things, and everything you’ve learned in your first season on the server makes you ten times more determined to improve all of your builds for your second.

The start of a new seed also brings the promise of change, and it is so rare for all the Hermitcraft members to be on equal ground. Elytra's are the first sign of the shift, so these early days of resource gathering feel special and warm in your heart. As usual, Joe is at spawn, collecting materials for Hermits Helping Hermits as the chaos reigns around him.

You’re not entirely sure where you want to build your starter home yet, content to wander around the general spawn area to gauge what others are doing and whose bases are already growing exponentially. These Hermit’s do not mess around.

Wandering up to the space Joe has dictated for material collection, you drop off a few stone swords and pickaxes to donate to the cause. You metaphorically struck gold earlier with not one but two iron veins on your first resource run, so you’re already decked out in full iron. Your items barely make it into the shared double chest before Scar barrels up, muttering to himself. While Scar is clumsy and death prone on the best day, today seems to be his absolute nightmare. Everyone’s communicator goes crazy with notifications on day one because of all the advancements, but Scar’s consistent death messages seem to be taking up a distressing amount of space. Respawning hurts. It’s not the worst pain you've ever experienced, but it’s not something you adjust to easily.

Scar strides up to yourself and Joe, a jovial look on his face despite the pain you know he’s holding back. Though he’s hiding the pain, you can see him wince just a bit as he steps toward you and Joe.

“Hey there, Scar! Take whatever you need!” Joe says. You know Joe well enough to deduce he purposefully doesn’t inquire immediately regarding the mass amount of death messages in the chat.

“Thank you, Joe! I might sell you out, though; this hasn’t been the best day for me resource-wise.” Scar admits, opening the shared chest and equipping some of the stone tools you had dropped off minutes before.

“Yeah, so I noticed. You doing okay, buddy? Can I assist with anything?” Joe asks with genuine kindness.

“Aw shucks, thank you, Joe, but I’m alright. It’s mostly been a combination of my own clumsiness and Mumbo and Grian knocking me into the “Boatem Hole 2.0.”

You chuckle, catching Scar’s eye in the process.

You’ve always found yourself inherently drawn to Scar; his personality and sense of humor spills from every pore. You find yourself attracted to his specific brand of genuine kindness and dedication to his craft. Those traits, paired with the glint of mischief behind his eyes, lead you to believe there are so many things about Scar you’ve yet to discover. Scar is attractive, there’s no denying that, and you find something about his smirky, knowing eyes and smile that is undeniably sexy. It’s a pretty open secret that you’re interested in him, you’ve never said anything about it explicitly, but you do see the knowing looks that others give you when you chat with Scar.

Ever since you first arrived in Hermitcraft, you’ve never heard about Scar openly dating. You’re not even sure what his orientation is, but he flirts back with you often enough to indicate he’s at least a bit interested. That said, you’d never make a move or be too bold with him. Typically, you’re one of the most social server members, but you have to draw a personal boundary somewhere. There’s too much to lose this early in your Hermitcraft career if outing your crush leads to being alienated. If he’s interested, he can reach out; otherwise, you’re satisfied with this current relationship.

“Well, if you’re looking for a bodyguard, I’m available.” You offer. You love Mumbo and Grian dearly, but there’s nothing more fun than a taste of revenge.

“Why, that would be ah-may-zin! Those two hooligans won’t know what hit them if they come at me again!” Scar exclaims, ending his statement with a wink.

“I need to scope out base locations anyway, so this works for both of us,” you admit digging through your inventory and equipping your sword to your back.

Joe hands Scar a few cooked pork chops with a knowing smile.

“Just in case you need them. Try not to get tossed in any more holes.”

“Believe me; I’m steering clear of holes for a while! Unless, of course, I get lucky.”

Joe chokes on a cough upon Scar’s words, and Scar’s eyes widen as he processes his statement.

“FOR A BASE. IF I FIND A HOLE FOR MINING!” Scar clarifies, stuttering as he waves his hands back and forth, hoping to magic himself away from his self-caused awkwardness.

Joe’s eyes shift to you, sending you the same look all the Hermits give when you find yourself partnered with Scar. You roll your eyes in response and wave goodbye as you follow a flushed Scar further into the woods behind spawn.

“Everyone knows how my season has been so far; what’s going on with you?” Scar asks, walking a few steps ahead. Scar remains keenly aware of the world around him despite his devil-may-care nature, navigating over root-filled terrain and holding back branches for you to step around unharmed.

“Not too bad,” you admit, slowing your steps to allow him to catch up to your pace. “Went out exploring for a bit, got a solid amount of materials, but that’s about it. I scouted around with Peal and Gem for an hour or two, but I’m not really feeling the birch vibe this season, so I’m still looking for a place to call home.”

“Ah yes. The first-day location struggles; I can relate. I’m building near Grian, just behind that little river, but I’m already contemplating my megabase spot.”

“Of course you are.”

“Oh? And what is THAT supposed to mean? Hmm?”

“Sorry, mister ‘non-stop grind,’ I know how you operate! If we’d allow you to pick a location on the first day, you’ll have your megabase half-built within a week.” You retort, smirking. Scar blushes, rolling his eyes as he shifts his gaze from you.

“...well, that may be true. I don’t have a way to defend myself against that argument!” Scar admits, chuckling to himself. “You know me too well, hotshot; I can’t deny it!”

As you reach a small clearing, you can make out the silhouettes of Mumbo Jumbo and Grian in the distance. Scar goes running to scream at them, as is his way, but you grab at his sleeve, pulling him back to a secluded spot under a large tree. Scar stumbles as you pull him, losing his footing and tripping on an exposed tree root. Careening forward, he puts his hands up to catch himself. While safe and sound, his hands land on the tree behind you, effectively pinning you against it with a hand on either side of your head. Scar surrounds you, so close you can smell the woody scent radiating from his long, shiny elven locks. Scar stares down at you, eyes gleaming with mischief. From those green eyes to his all-knowing smirk, he's so incredibly handsome, his looks only enhanced by the scars littering his face, hinting at his life story. He leans in and you clench, overwhelmed by all of him surrounding you. His face passes, cheekbone grazing yours as his gloriously smooth voice purrs into your ear.

“Wanna play a prank?”

The nerves surging through you expel with a nervous giggle. Of course pranks would be at the forefront of Scar’s brain.

“When have I ever turned down the option to prank?” You ask, keenly aware that Scar’s mouth is within inches of your ear, your neck; all the places you’ve dreamed of Scar trailing over with those honeyed lips.

Scar smiles a wide-tooth grin that occupies half his face as he pulls away, making sure he’s firmly planted on the ground before speaking.

“See, that’s why I adore you. You always have your priorities straight!” Scar jokes, turning his back to you and squatting down to peer over at your fellow Hermits across the clearing. Your face blushes at his words, but you shake his kindness off as you lower to your knees to crawl next to him.

“I’m thinking arrows. A surprise attack; Hawkeye style!” You offer, knowing how much Scar loves summoning his inner Hawkeye.

“I’ll go chat to them, and if they start getting that feral look in their eyes, you pepper them with arrows since you’re the bow god around here. They won’t know what him ‘’em!”

Scar seems dedicated to keeping the blush on your face, but you can’t give yourself away.

“Bow God is ready for action!” You proclaim with a wink, digging through your inventory to switch from your sword to bow and arrow. Scar rifles through his own, dropping a few extra arrows for you before army-crawling away to a small path, making it look as though he was following the boys the entire time.

As Scar steps into the light and heads toward Grian and Mumbo, you shift into position, rolling your shoulders a few times to loosen up before lining yourself up for a shot. Mumbo and Grian seem to be chatting with Scar, who deliberately stands at the edge of a cavern. Scar’s more self-aware than he seems, knowing Grian can never turn down the urge to shove Scar directly into danger. The moment Grian lifts his hand, you know he's planning to slap Scar off the edge. Your first arrow flies straight into his shoulder within the blink of an eye, shocking him but not resulting in death.

“What the…” Grian yells, jumping back and wincing from the pain.

“Was that a skeleton?” Mambo asks, hair flopping as he flails side to side, looking for the offender.

“It’s broad daylight, Mumbo!” Grian fires back with annoyance.

“Well, I don’t know! What am I supposed to think?!” Mumbo retorts, snapping back at Grian.

In the time it takes for Mumbo and Grian to snip at one another, you’ve managed to shift from your crouched position and traverse through the woods to shoot at Mumbo from a new angle. In all the confusion, neither Grian nor Mumbo notice Scar step away from the cavern and back into the woods, shooting an arrow past Grian to confuse him.

At this point, Mumbo and Grian have panicked, running in circles and dodging arrows. You look across the clearing and catch Scar’s gaze, smiling widely and gesturing with your arms to direct his arrows to the cavern opening where he was previously standing. Mumbo and Grian have backtracked to the cavern's edge without realizing it. Two well-shot arrows later spook them enough to trip over one another in their haste, tumbling down the hole. According to your communicator notifications, both die from the fall, which means you and Scar have gotten away scot-free.

The moment the deaths populate in chat, you dart from your covered nest, sprinting toward the cavern and, more importantly, their dropped inventories.

“Holy moly, that worked even more perfectly than I planned!” Scar exclaims, gabbing your hand as you descend the stone. “They were so lost it was incredible! Let’s scoop up all the good stuff!”

Scar releases your hand as he crouches to pick up one of their discarded iron pickaxes and immediately tucks it into his inventory.

“I’ll take it and drop it off at your base,” you say, bending down to compare the swords the guys have left behind. “They’ll assume you’ll have it all, so I’ll grab the good stuff and stash it in a chest, so it looks like yours.”

“Keep some for yourself too! And a few things to make them think the rest got destroyed in the fall.”

“Good call!” You reach into your inventory and pull out a bucket of lava you hung onto just in case. Tipping it down the cavern, you watch with a smirk as it burns up a few of the garbage items and flows down one side.

“Believability.” You say, turning to make your way to climb back up the stone walls.

“Genius!”

Scar’s lankiness allows him to reach the top before you. He grabs your hand again once he’s safely out, helping to pull you from the hole with one arm, the other typing into his communicator.

Grian and Mumbo are screaming in the chat, and Scar casually mentions it was indeed a skeleton but don’t worry, Hawkeye took care of the threat. He asks if they would like him to collect what items he can, smiling at his ingenuity.

Grian mentions he and Mumbo are on their way back, and you wave goodbye to Scar as you duck back into the woods and make your escape. Climbing a few branches up from your original hiding place, you watch with amusement, forcing your hand in front of your mouth to contain your giggles as Mumbo and Grian return in a fury. Scar makes himself out to be the hero of the village, regaling them with the tale of mighty Hawkeye taking down a ferocious beast. As he distributes what little of their items he could salvage, you slide your communicator out and send Scar a private message.

“Nice acting. I’ll leave everything in a chest under your starter tree, dig down one block, and you’ll find it x”

You wait for a moment, hidden in your tree-dwelling, as you watch Scar receive the message. He fishes his communicator from his pocket, smirking while Grian and Mumbo argue as they head to salvage their remaining items. Your cheeks burn as you see him smile at your message, glancing up to the trees to see if you’re still there. He types something before shoving it back into his pocket and turning to the cavern, yelling as Mumbo inquires if the lava had been there the whole time. Your communicator vibrates in your hand, and you open the message as fast as possible.

“I’ll expect my Oscar by midnight; I’ll stop by to pick it up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, your back is sore, fingers lightly blistered, and you can feel the effects of a bit too much sun on your shoulders. The sun is fading fast around the starter village, and most of your fellow Hermits have begun packing up their supplies for the night, content to mill around the spawn area for a chat. Although you have so much more to finish, you decide to join them, tossing your extra items into your starter base's mini-chest monster that has begun to populate the area. You’ve chosen to build further into the woods than most, a quick walk to many of the Hermit’s starter bases but far enough to get peace and quiet when the building inevitably starts with the morning sun.

Stepping inside your very humble starter abode, it seems fitting to finally discard the clothes you’ve toiled in all day in exchange for some clean ones. Tossing your soiled garments into a chest in the corner, you leave them to be dealt with tomorrow when you have the energy. Quickly you freshen up, wiping the residual sweat and dirt from your face and arms, and toss on a pair of comfortable pants and an old tank top to relax in. Although the sun is receding, it’s still a warm day, and the last thing you want right now is to continue sweating in the same outfit you’ve spent all day wearing while building.

Content with the new feeling of cleanliness, you head out, following the loud laughter and trails of smoke that lead to where your fellow Hermits have set up for the evening.

Welcoming cries ring out as you approach, waving excitedly to the rest of the group.

“There you are! We were wondering if you were going to join us tonight. What’s happenin’, baby?” Ren asks, tossing another log onto the campfire as you find yourself claiming an empty log bench.

“Not much! I wanted to take a few minutes to get organized before I headed over to mock all your bases.” You joke.

“Wow. Woooooow. Here we are aiming for friendship, and you have to shame us. And to think I have all these Giga Pies I was going to offer you….” Cub trails off, doing his best to cover the delight in his voice with authenticity.

“Cub, where’s your house?” You ask, knowing the answer already.

“...okay, so I technically live in Ren’s basement, but-”

“I REST MY CASE!” You exclaim to a chorus of laughter.

Cub rolls his eyes but laughs along with the group. “You’re so cruel.” He says, sighing. “But you’re not wrong.”

“Hand over the pies, pretty boy!” You order, reaching forward to take one from his outstretched hands. You must admit, Ren’s grandma’s secret recipe, or whatever story he’s telling, is bang on the money, and the pie is easily the most delicious thing you’ve tasted in ages.

Ren and Cub distribute pies as other Hermits come and go, exhausted from a day of building, planning, and mining. Stress and Iskall join, taking the empty spaces to your left as Ren and Cub occupy the seats across. Impulse, Tango, Gem, and Pearl arrive just as the sun dips to the skyline, casting an orange glow across the faces of your fellow Hermits.

Discussion flows freely as you regale one another with tales from the day. The series of events expressed by the group that took on the Woodland Mansion sets everyone into a fit of giggles, Gem blushing and smacking Impulse repeatedly after he discusses her lack of spacial awareness. You can already tell this will be a running gag, and poor Gem will be constantly fearful of things behind her for the coming weeks.

It isn’t long until the group expands once more as the bickering voices of Mumbo, Grian, and Scar begin to fill the air surrounding the camp.

“...if you had just seen the skeleton and taken it out in the first place, we wouldn’t have had to mine for 3 hours, Grian.” Mambo huffs faintly, voice barely traveling through the trees.

“Oh sure, Mumbo, it’s all my fault I didn’t see a daylight skeleton take a shot at me before I was SHOT IN THE SHOULDER! My mistake, how silly of me.” Grian fires back, voice rife with sarcasm. Their squabbling reaches a fever pitch as they approach the fire, jostling for the first warm Giga Pie.

“Oh my word, are you two still arguing over that stupid skeleton? That was hours ago!” Pearl questions.

“It was hours ago. Imagine the day I’ve had!” Scar says with a huff, lifting the back of his tunic to comfortably flop down next to you as Mumbo and Grian settle into the empty log to your right.

“No one said you had to stick around, Scar,” Grian interjects, mouth half full of pie.

“Somebody had to keep you two safe! I’m not sure what was more of a threat to you both; rogue skeletons or one another!”

Grian sticks his tongue out at Scar, blowing a raspberry at him before turning to start a conversation with Ren.

“I swear those two are turning me grey. Look, look, can you see any? Am I prematurely aging? It’s such a struggle taking care of toddlers all day.” Scar gives you the biggest puppy dog eyes possible as you giggle, looking up at him to spot a stray grey hair.

Scar’s eyes catch yours as his face visibly softens. Your eyes travel across his face, taking in the specks of gold the glow of the campfire highlights in his green eyes. His hair, usually perfectly styled and cared for, has developed a wave during his day out, cascading down his shoulders and behind his ears. You admit you can’t see a grey hair among the bunch, but you were never really looking, if you're honest. Though lightly chapped from a hot spring day in the sun, his lips remain as enticing as ever, and your eyes feel forced to follow the scar that begins at his bottom lip and curves down, leading to the gloriously tempting expanse of his neck. You thank whatever deity brought about dusk as the dim light conceals the increasing beat of your heart and blushing face as your mind presents you with the visual of what Scar would look like under you, neck and throat arching to give you all the space you need to nip, bite and kiss every inch.

“Well?”

“Hmm?” You’re aware you’ve made a noise, not entirely aware of what was asked.

“Do you see anything? Any grey hair I should be worried about?” Scar asks, eyes shifting from earnestness to something you can’t pinpoint, but it’s more mischievous.

“No.” You quickly respond. “Nothing grey at all. You look…fine. Good. Still…young?” You offer, unable to find a way to talk yourself out of the awkwardness.

Scar laughs, tossing his head back to tempt you yet again.

“I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever described me as young, but I’ll take it!” He exclaims.

You share a warm smile, completely unaware that the Hermits around you are once again sharing that look, which only exists within the context of you and Scar.

As conversation passes the time, the temperature slowly drops, and you find yourself wishing you had thought ahead to bring a sweater along. Scar notices your light shiver, asking if you’re feeling cold. Scar has nothing to offer you, his elven garb not structured to be shared, but before he can offer to grab you something or warm your arms with his hands, a hoodie is tossed directly into his face.

“Oh geez. Sorry man didn’t mean to hit you with that. But if you’re cold over there, feel free to use it; I’m running a bit hot myself!”

Thanking Ren for his kindness, you nab the hoodie from Scar’s lap and tug it over your head. Instantly you feel better, sighing as you shiver in the fabric. Scar tenses next to you, and you allow yourself one minute to daydream that he’s jealous. You seriously doubt the possibility, but for a moment, the thought of Scar being envious that you’re not wearing his sweater warms you up in a way the sweater will never be able to. While you pontificate over Scar’s imagined jealousy, Grian has again gotten up to cause some mischief. While discussing his nether adventures to the others, including a tale about a Wither fight, he retrieves some soul sand from his inventory, setting it up as though he is moments from summoning the deadly creature.

“Oi, Grian! Not all of us have a death wish, love. Keep your withering to yourself, mate!” Stress cackles, grabbing at Iskall’s shoulders to use him as a human shield.

“Don’t worry, everyone; I promise I won’t summon a Wither. It’s too early in the season.”

Several sighs of relief pass over the camp, lasting five seconds until Grian speaks again.

“This is much, much worse.”

Without a second to react, Grian places three heads on top of the formation, and several Hermits, you included, duck down in fear of what hellish idea Grian has unleashed. Scar tucks you under his arm in anticipation, turning to be ready to position himself in front of you if need be. Luckily nothing happens; no fire, no dreaded fear. Looking up, you indeed see three heads on top of the soul sand—three Scar heads, to be exact.

“TA-DA!” Grian yells, cackling. “The fearsome Scarther!”

“Hey now!” Scar yells, laughing as he does so. “Is that why you two kept killing me?!”

“Not at all,” Mumbo adds through his own belts of laughter, “but I must say this is a pleasant turn of events.”

“What’s the Scarther’s attack?” Cub asks, leaning back onto the grass behind him. “Will we wake up to a house full of cats in the morning?”

“The dream!” Pearl exclaims with a wistful sigh.

“No, my friends, it’s far worst than that. When the Scarther reaches its full potential, it will unleash the deadliest and single most annoying attack in history.” Grian pauses for a moment, reveling in the dramatic quiet. “It shows up while you’re asleep, takes all your items, and creates a chest monster, so unruly, so unbearable to conquer; you eventually have to abandon your base and move to escape.”

“Noooooo!” Ren yells.

“Anything but that!” Tango wails, grabbing onto Impulse for support.

“How dastardly!” Gem adds, hiding her face behind her hand to control the giggles.

“Aw, c’mon guys, it’s not THAT bad! I’ve managed it for years!”

The group boo’s at Scar before laughter takes complete control. You elbow him in the side as the group pulls themselves back together. It’s ridiculous to imagine Scar, the kindest, most thoughtful person you know, having any commonality with a Wither.

“Better stay ahead of your chest monsters this season, pretty boy. Otherwise, everyone here will be on the lookout for BadTimesWithScar to make an appearance.”

Scar looks down at you, catching your gaze and holding it. It’s truthfully annoying how much power he wields over you with just a glance, just a quick minute of eye contact. You’re sure he could convince you to do anything, and you wouldn’t bother resisting if he’s looking at you like this. His smirk reaches his eyes, one side of his mouth curling dramatically. You’d think he was a cartoon villain if he wasn’t so damn attractive.

“Well, we couldn’t have that, could we?” Scar asks rhetorically. You’re not sure if he has purposefully dropped his voice a few octaves or if it’s a side effect of the smokiness surrounding you, but something in the air feels different. Somehow, something feels dangerous.

Scar brakes his gaze as he notices the others begin to collect their belongings, heading out for the night. You do the same and begin to remove Ren’s sweater before he tells you to keep it for the walk home. He’ll be around anytime you want to exchange the sweater for some Giga Pies. As people peel off into groups to head to their homes, Scar waves for Grian and Mumbo to go ahead. They send him a look, knowing exactly what he’s waiting around for, and he sends one back, communicating silently.

Turning to head down the path that leads to your humble starter base, you find Scar standing, waiting to escort you home.

“Scar! You don’t have to wait for me! I can make it back just fine.” You plead, not wanting to feel like a burden to him.

“Oh, I know you’re more than capable, but any good elf worth their cookies knows there’s safety in numbers!”

The joyful, honest look on Scar’s face is more than you can bear. You scoff but ultimately sidle up to Scar, slipping your arm through his outstretched one and allowing him to lead you up the path to your home.

As you and Scar turn down the dirt path, the moon crests over the tallest mountain ridge at spawn. The illumination from the moon rains down upon the area, casting everything in a gorgeous other-worldly glow. Light tendrils of smoke begin to rise as the moonlight touches upon the Scarwither, a low sizzle permeating the air. It’s impossible to tell if it’s the soul sand or the extinguished fire producing the noise, but the Scarwither evaporates into a mist within minutes. As if it was sentient, the mist begins floating through the air as if looking for something. A host.

#goodtimeswithscar x reader #badtimeswithscar x reader #hermitcraft x reader #wafflewrites #GoodTimesWithScar x Original Female Character

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

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Murder, He Wrote

Part 7

Summary: Ransom makes good on his promise and your parents arrive for dinner. But then, you discover something that brings your entire world shattering down around you once more…

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap and violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So here it is, the last chapter to this series! I can’t believe all this spun from @jtargaryen18‘s Halloween challenge last year, and here we are 6 months later! Of course, I’d love to thank my writing partner from the earlier chapters, but sadly she’s no longer on Tumblr. Without her none of this would have been possible. I love you SG wherever you are. Thank you to everyone who has read and engaged so far and I hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing. The Epilogue will follow next week and trust me, you do NOT want to miss that!!

In this, the reader has a sister, however feel free to interpret the Y/S/N element as sibling instead, if that appeals to you.

Word Count: 8.5k (I’m sorry I don’t do short fics, really I am!!)

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ me if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 6

“Will you relax?” Ransom drawled from where he sat, sprawled back on the sofa in the main lounge of the house, his denim clad legs crossed at the ankles, his black cashmere sweater torso melting against the cushions. “It’s just your parents, what’s the big deal?” You weighed your reply but instead smiled, he couldn't possibly understand. He wouldn't. "Let me just have this moment, please." He looked at you, his eyebrow arched before he scoffed, “whatever, Sweetheart. But if you’re gonna keep pacing up and down, can you do it in the hallway? The wood flooring is a lot more hardwearing.” With a roll of your eyes you left the lounge, wringing your hands together. This was the first time in months you'd be seeing your parents and it wasn't lost on you the charade you'd have to keep up despite wanting to somehow plea for a rescue. It was also worrying how they were going to react. Especially following the call you’d made a week or so ago, just before New Year’s Eve.

When you’d dialled the number you knew off by heart, your mother had answered. And upon hearing your voice she had shrieked and then the line had gone quiet until your father had spoken your name with a trembling voice. You’d been unable to answer straight away, your own voice catching, before a sob had burst from your throat and the tears had poured down your face. You’d managed a few, choked words of apologies until Ransom had pushed himself up from the seat he had been perched in, silently observing. He curled his arm over your shoulder, giving you a squeeze as you composed yourself. Eventually, you’d managed to calm yourself down and thankfully your dad hadn’t asked too many questions but had accepted your invite to dinner.

And now, here you were, nervously awaiting their arrival.

It wasn’t lost on you that, in their eyes, the fact you had cut them off was your decision, not forced on you by the man you were now sharing a bed with. And that was your other worry, you had no idea how he was going to behave. If Ransom showed your family the same contempt he displayed to his own, your dad wasn’t the type of man who would stand for it. And then what? But you had zero time to think on it as the doorbell rang. Your heart leapt to your throat and your stomach turned acidic. Ransom poked his head out of the lounge and looked at you expectantly, like you were to answer. Adjusting your sweater dress for the millionth time, you walked to the front door and reached for the knob with a shaky hand. You steeled your nerves and blinked hard to dissipate the tears, and opened the door. For the first time in months you looked back into the familiar eyes of your parents. Your mom’s face was pinched, as if she was chewing the inside of her cheeks and as you glanced to your dad you already noticed the daggers he was shooting at the man behind you. To anyone else it would be enough to make them quake in their shoes, but not Ransom. “Mom, Dad.” Your voice sounded alien as you spoke quietly, your fingers grabbing at the bottom of your sleeves as one of Ransom’s hands curled over your shoulder. "Y/N," your dad replied, and the awkwardness officially set in.

"Aren't you going to invite them in, Sweetheart?" Ransom's voice made you jump a bit.

"Yes, please, come in," you stepped aside for them to enter. "Welcome to, erm, our home."

Calling it that felt all sorts of wrong, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it. Besides, it wasn’t like you could call it what it was, your prison. Your father stepped inside followed by your mother, the foyer now feeling a little crowded. Your mother was quick to pull you in for a hug. But it was brief and not the way she used to hug you, no, this hug felt like it came from a stranger. Your dad’s embrace, however, was everything you remembered. Safety, strength and love and you felt yourself melt into his arms, choking back a sob as you pressed your face into his chest. "We appreciate you coming to dinner," Ransom spoke, breaking the embrace you shared with your father. "It's nice to finally meet you both. I'm Ransom." Your dad looked at you as you nodded, wiping the tears from your eyes as he looked to Ransom. “We know who you are. With the news, the papers and Y/N's article, we've probably become more acquainted than you're aware.” He spoke calmly but cooly, gripping Ransom’s outstretched hand with a less than friendly shake, one that would make a lesser man wince. Instead, you saw what you thought was a flicker of amusement on Ransom's face before your dad released his hand and you introduced your mother. She didn’t offer her hand. Instead she gave a sniff and took a deep breath, getting straight to the point as she always did. “Well, this is all very nice and everything but what the hell do you think you’re playing at, Y/N? You disappeared with no trace, we thought you were dead, and then we find out you're not. Instead you’re, with him, choosing not to contact us or speak to us? Forgive me for the brash and abrupt approach, but before we sit down for dinner, we deserve some answers.” Her voice gathered pace and volume as she continued to rail at you, telling you how worried and sick the entire family had been, how thanksgiving and Christmas without you had been awful and whatever else she had on her mind as she spewed her words at you, her face an eyes blazing with anger. You felt sick, never had you meant for any of this to happen, clearly. And you'd secretly hoped Ransom would have seen the devastation he'd caused by his actions, however you knew that was an ill-fated hope just as well. You struggled to speak, the words jumbling around in your head and your mouth bone dry. "I'm so sorry," Ransom sighed. "Why don't we come into the lounge and have a drink or two and we can talk all about it? I know that Y/N was looking forward to your visit and clearing the air."

He looked at you as he ushered towards the lounge, a hidden smugness to his face that only you could detect. He thought he'd just played the hero, the prince saving his distressed princess. “Good idea,” your dad nodded, his hand gently on the base of your mother’s spine, “come on, Honey.” “Straight down, second on your right.” Ransom informed as your parents headed off a little ahead of you.

“Now, remember, what you tell them has to match what you said to Blanc.” Ransom took your hand in his and spoke quietly as you both began to follow your parents. “I. Know.” You grit though your teeth and jerked your hand free of his. He stopped dead and turned to face you, and for the first time ever you saw something akin to fear on his face, you were resisting that much anger. “Y/N...” he started but you shook your head. “You have no idea how much you’ve hurt them or me do you? That or you simply still don’t care.” You hissed before you took a deep breath and drew yourself up tall. “But, we’ll just go in there, spin a load of more lies and that’s it, all done isn’t it?” He blinked before his jaw set and he shook his head. “I’m warning you...” “What else is new?” You sighed. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything and I’ll still be here when they leave.” You stepped a pace or two in front of him and entered the lounge. Your parents were sitting on the couch you'd become very familiar with while Ransom moved straight for the drink cart. "Mr. Y/L/N, can I interest you in a top shelf scotch?" "Mom," you said softly as the conversation between your dad and Ransom faded out, "Ransom and I have a great white wine if you'd like or..." "Scotch is fine," she interrupted you, a stone cold look to her disappointed face. Ransom served the drinks, handing you your preferred wine with a kiss to your head. You watched how your parents interacted with him, the way your father watched every calculated step, the way your mother shot daggers in the two of you as you sat opposite them on the love seat. You leaned forward so as to move a bit away from Ransom, however, he was quick to put his arm over the back of the love seat, his hand able to still touch you. “So, erm, how’s....” “Your sister? Nanna? Granddad? Who would you like to start with?” Your mom took a sip of her drink and you dropped your eyes, your gaze focussed on your hands as they rubbed together.

"I'm sorry, okay?” You stuttered, shaking your head. “I know you’re angry and upset and you have every right to be but... I didn’t do any of this on purpose.” “That detective man, Blanc, and the police... they said you didn’t want us to know where you were...” “I didn’t.” You choked on the lie a little. “My head was a mess and...” you sniffed as you felt Ransom’s fingers graze the skin on the back of your neck as you looked at your mom. “Mom, please, please don't make tonight continue with vicious jabs and vile glares. I'm sorry, to you, to everyone. I was...." you stopped and centred yourself. "I was lost and I didn't know what to do." "Why don't we just get this out of the way then maybe we can move on with our evening?" Ransom suggested and your father nodded in shocking agreement. "Let's let her explain, Dear. She said she made a mistake and there were good reasons she couldn't come to us, I'm sure. Let's just hear her out." Your father was always the more sensible one. You mother took a shaky breath and looked at you and you swallowed before you started to talk, the lie you had rehearsed in your head slipping from your lips. “I erm, I was having a bit of trouble at work and everything just got too much and... well, I don’t know what happened, a breakdown or whatever,” you took a deep breath, “I just needed to get away, from everything.” “Including us?” Your mom asked and you shook your head. “I wasn’t thinking straight, I just...” "You know, it doesn’t matter what you say to explain because frankly, I won't understand but I do hope that you never have to experience what we went through. Ever." She deadpanned. "I do believe that is my fault, Mrs. Y/L/N. I encouraged her approach and didn't discourage the fact that she wasn't contacting you or anyone she was close with." Ransom sighed, feigning concern for your parents.

You knew what he was doing, the Master Manipulator was coming out in him and you knew there was no going back, no. It was as if Ransom said 'challenge accepted' in winning your parents over. Just, so you assumed, the night would end and you'd be happy in his arms and they'd never think twice about your brief disappearance again. “We hadn’t been seeing each other that long, and my reputation isn’t the greatest. But I should have put my own concerns aside and seen that the way we were going about things was wrong and I should have insisted she reached out. You see, me and my family aren’t close and I sometimes forget that we’re the ones that aren’t normal.” "We hadn't known she was seeing anyone," your mum stated. She was out with her claws, not going to let Ransom nor you off so easily.

"Well, I'm not like Y/S/N, Mom. I don't just bring home whomever I'm taking to bed that month." You'd said it before you could stop it. Never had you said something like that before about your sister, nor spoken to your mother like that. And you didn't miss the twitch of a smirk to the corner of Ransom's lips, telling you he was a bit proud. Surely, you didn't want him to be rubbing off on you in that way. "I'm sorry, that wasn't how I meant it. I just knew I had to be more careful in sharing everything. Like he said, he's not got the best rap, but, after my interview on him, well I guess I just found him intriguing and-“ “Ah, yes," your father now spoke up, cutting you off, “the smear and redact. Believe me, Ransom, we're very familiar with your reputation and our daughter's initial thoughts on you. Which is why you can see how we were a little surprised, once the initial shock of her supposed death wore off, that the two of you were... together." “I understand.” Ransom nodded. “And I would feel the same in your shoes. But, well, I guess after the interview things just kind of spiralled from there. I don’t really know how it happened myself, to be honest, I’m just glad it did.” As if he was sealing the deal, he leaned toward you and pressed his lips to your temple. You sighed and gave him a smile. This bastard was smug enough to start shifting the tone in the room with a metaphorical snap of his fucking fingers and you watched it work on your parents. The ice slowly melting away, the glacial peak softening around your mother. And then the metaphorical snap became a real one as he moved his arm from round you, clicked the fingers of both hands and then slapped his left palm with the underside of his right fist with a flourish as he flashed a smile round the room. “Okay, so....who’s hungry?”

Your parents both raised their eyebrows and as your mom looked at your dad, you saw him shake his head ever so slightly and she took a deep breath, before she turned back to Ransom and you, a small smile on her face. “Dinner sounds great.” "Sweetheart, after you," Ransom politely shifted to the side so you could rise and lead the way. He turned back to your parents, "we wanted to make sure we were able to spend as much time together without the chore of preparing and cleaning up after so we had dinner brought in. Y/N had it all set just before you arrived." You shot him a glare as you moved by him, your mother and father behind you, Ransom pulling up the rear. Sure enough, still warm and catered were four place settings at the table in the large dining room across and down a bit from the lounge. Your parents sat down across the table from where you and Ransom stood, silver dome lids obscuring your eyeline as you sat. Oddly, you'd never eaten in the dining room before. It was your room in the basement, the kitchen table or the coffee table in the lounge. Red wine and cutlery were already set along with water. Your parents and Ransom set their scotch glasses near the wine. Your dad arched an eyebrow at the ostentatious nature of it all and you caught his gaze as he gave you a kneeling smirk. With a laugh, you realized that someone should at least remove the lids, and since you were the host, you rose from your chair and bent over the table a little, reaching for the knobs of their domes. You stacked them together and sat back down, pulling yours and Ransom's as you went.

As you settled down to eat, your parents both complimented the food before a little silence fell as you all ate, the occasional clanking of cutlery against the porcelain plates ringing out across the large room. Ransom made a few comments here and there about the food from the company you’d ordered from being good, as usual, your parents agreeing before a light conversation struck up about the holidays and various other mundane topics, all as if you were close and the conversation prior hadn't happened. Like it was a regular Sunday family dinner. All the time, you spotted your parents growing more and more comfortable with the situation, and you felt yourself relax a little, hoping and praying that things would keep amicable.

And then, after another spell of silence you heard your mother clear her throat. "So, Ransom, what is you do? I never gathered that from…well, from…” she trailed off and Ransom took a dep breath. “To be honest with you, Mrs. Y/L/N, not a great deal until recently. Just another way Y/N managed to help me change my life around." He looked at you with appreciation. "She made me see that living my life riding off people’s coat tails wasn’t really anything to be proud of.” He paused to take a sip of his scotch before he cut another piece of his steak. “Now I’m writing. I have a couple of things on the go and a few from my grandfather that he never finished so, hopefully, they’ll take off.” This bastard! You could not believe the bullshit that so easily sprang from his mouth. It was fascinating and yet absolutely disgusting at once. You found yourself convinced, and not for the first time, that he actually believed the shit he talked. "What's your book about, if you don’t mind me asking?" You father queried, after swallowing down his steak with his wine, saving his scotch for after. “Not at all,” Ransom swallowed his food. “Another area I’ve taken inspiration from, it’s based on a private detective.” He gave a chuckle. “I’ll be handing out a lot of royalties and dedications at this rate.” "Just a private detective?" You pressed, having wondered yourself as he'd told you once before you were an inspiration. He looked at you, smirking a little. “I’ve told you, Princess, I’ll let you read it when the first draft is done.”

Your father eyed you as Ransom spoke of pet names and inspirations. Your eyes flitted away from his gaze, entertaining Ransom's portion of the conversation but you found them quickly fluttering back to those kind eyes that matched yours. At that point, your dad shot you a sweet father-like wink before clearing his throat and speaking. "So, let's not beat around the obvious, this is awkward." He paused to emphasize his point. "I'll just come right out with it. What could your future intentions be with my daughter?"

"Jesus Christ, Dad!" You surely hadn't seen that coming. Ransom blinked a little before he cleared his throat. “I’ll keep her as long as I can, Sir.”

At that, his hand curled over your knee, giving a gentle squeeze and you took a deep breath, drawing your back up straight as his hand gently started to trail further up towards your thigh, fingers still hot on your skin through the layer of your thick tights. You cleared your throat, and moved a little, and Ransom removed his hand, a smirk blatantly evident on his face.

“Good to know.” Your dad reached for his wine again, a teasing smile on his face. “I mean the lease has gone on her apartment now and we turned her room into a gym the moment she moved out.”

“Oh purlease!” Your mom scoffed, “a gym. By that he means he has a rowing machine and a bunch of weights that serve as nothing more than expensive door stops.”

At that Ransom gave a full belly laugh, his head tipping back with just the right amount of humour. Not too much to appear fake, but enough to seem like the exchange had genuinely amused him. He almost had you fooled too.

Bastard.

The rest of the dinner past with fairly amicable chat, the ice well and truly broken. Ransom and your father struck up a pleasant conversation about football and then baseball, Ransom confessing that he hadn’t been following either sport much recently but also nodding when your dad suggested that perhaps they could catch a game sometime soon, in a bar. At that you had smirked into your glass, as you knew the thought of going to a place surrounded by a load of loud, drunken members of the public would be Ransom’s idea of hell. The idea that he might just have to follow through on your promise amused you, a lot.

Eventually, your parents both announced that they should be going, and the warmth and happiness that had descended on you began to slowly seep away as you hugged them both good bye. As they headed down to their car, you stifled down a sob as you waved them away, realising you had no idea when you’d be seeing them again. That was on Ransom, for him to decide when and if you deserved it.

But, you’d played his game. You’d behaved. He said he wanted you to trust him, to be content with him. Surely, he would realise that this was the happiest you’d been since he snatched you, and if you continued to behave then he would have no reason to keep you from seeing them for so long again.

With a sigh you turn away from the door and step back inside, Ransom just behind you. You stopped and waited for him to close the door and lock it. He gave you a little twitch of a smile.

“Well, that wasn’t as painful as I expected.”

You rolled your eyes.

"You were great, Sweetheart."

"Yeah, well, you won them over. I doubt they suspected anything by the time they left." Your words didn't cut him, they cut you. You cleared your throat and shook your head, "anyway, I'm going to go clean up. I'll meet you upstairs."

"What, no 'thank you'?" He piqued.

You turned back to him, "Thank you, Ransom. For allowing my parents to come over."

“That wouldn’t be sarcasm, now would it?” He arched a brow, his arms folding across his chest.

"Oh, no, not at all," you overly pouted, stepping up to him, running your hands over his chest to seal your own sarcastic ploy.

His hands were quick to grab your wrists and oddly there was an air of excitement to your eyes.

“What on earth is there to possibly be sarcastic about?” You continued and he scoffed.

“It’s a good thing I kinda like your sass.”

You simply quirk your eyebrows and give a small shrug before attempting to turn away. However, Ransom still had a hold of your wrists and he kept you rooted near by.

“Ransom, what...”

“Leave the dishes, the maid comes tomorrow. I pay her enough, she can deal with it.”

You scoffed, “you’re such an asshole.”

"Come to bed with me," he asked more than suggested.

Since your little tryst in his precious car a week ago, he'd been far more touchy-feely, needy even. And in your eyes, Ransom Drysdale didn't do needy. However, this neediness served a purpose. You were able to keep him soft in all but one place, manipulating his needs for your own.

“You want me to come to bed with you?” You playfully quipped, cocking your head to one side.

“You want me to beg or something, Y/N?” His voice lowered as he narrowed his eyes. “Because I can make it a demand not a request.”

“Not beg, no.” You ignored his threat. “But a please wouldn’t go amiss.”

His controlling hands moved your arms around his neck before they fell away to your waist. His forehead bent into yours and his nose brushed against the tip of your own. "Please, come to bed with me, baby," he whispered against you.

You were smirking inside as his lips met yours in a deep kiss, his tongue gently flicking through your lips and sliding against yours.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

It was a quick swoop, one that completely caught you off guard as he pulled you off your feet, his arm around your back while the other was hooked under your legs. His lips were on yours as he carried you to the staircase, not ever missing a beat or step, his tongue gliding over yours as he walked.

You didn't know how the two of you had made it up to your bedroom, and without incident but, the next thing you knew, you were led flat over your bed, his body caging you in.

“You said I did well.” You looked at him and he blinked, his brow furrowing a little. “How well?”

Silently as you waited, hoping he would take the bait.

And he did.

“Very well.” his eyes searched yours and you bit your lip.

“Well enough for me to see them again?”

"If you want, maybe lunch with your mother," he answered, kissing over your jaw and down your neck between each phrase.

You stilled, shock hitting your system and just how easily he had offered that up, you hadn’t even had to try. Noticing your change in body language Ransom paused and looked at you. “What? Don’t you want to?”

“No, I mean yes, of course I do. I just wasn’t expecting you to say that. I mean...” you stopped yourself short of saying what you had been about to, that you were his damned prisoner and until a week or so ago hadn’t left the grounds at all in months. You swallowed as Ransom sighed.

"Trust, remember, baby," he leaned back on his knees between your legs. "Call her in a couple of days, set up lunch."

“And you trust me to do that?” You swallowed. “No stupid tricks or mind games?”

"I won't be far behind." There it was, the stipulation. That silent warning heeding a tone left unsaid. “That said, I’m kinda hoping we’re past the point of me having to remind you about certain things to make you come back.”

"I understand."

Ransom shook his head, licking his lips. “No, I don’t think you do.”

There was a tone of sadness almost to his voice and you watched him, his eyes locked onto yours and then you understood.

This went right back to the core of all this. He wanted you to want to come back. Not to simply do it because you have to. It was the ever present chink in his armour, the one thing you’d been able to exploit.

And, if you were being totally honest, could more than likely learn to live with the situation if you could have some kind of grasp and control, because that’s what this was about. That ever present power struggle and desperation he has within him to be more than people simply assumed him to be.

In a twisted way, you were almost proud to see the difference in his behaviour over the last few months was insurmountable. Whether that was directly down to you or not, you couldn’t be sure, but something had made him tap into that part of himself that could show reasonableness, rationality and, dare you suggest it, compassion.

Whilst you knew you’d never forget how he had taken you, against your will, or the pain and violence he had inflicted upon your body, maybe, in time, you could forgive.

Because he simply hadn’t known any better.

"I'm not going anywhere," you spoke softly, sitting up to caress his cheek. His evening stubble scratched at your palm.

His eyes squinted shut, holding back an emotional response to her promise. There was so much he wanted to say but he couldn't. He physically could not bring the words out from his throat. So he did what he had always done, or thought he could, and that was to show her. Show her what he wanted to say. His lips pressed into the palm of her hand and as her fingers rubbed along his ear and behind his head, his lips travelled the length of the soft skin of her forearm until he pressed a delicate kiss to the crook of her elbow.

Turning his head, he caught her lips in a soft kiss which grew deeper as he pressed his body into hers, grinding his hardness against her groin. He felt the exhale from her nose against his cheek as his tongue muted the groan from her throat. His free hand skated up her thigh, to the hem of her sweater dress, bunching it in his fist. At that point, her hand gently wrapped around his wrist and he stopped, pulling away to look at her, his brow creased in puzzlement.

“Let me.” She whispered.

He swallowed hard and gave a short nod. She sat up and he leant back as she did, her hand against his chest, guiding him how she wanted him. As her hands fiddled with his flies, his eyes never left hers. When she tugged on the waistband of his jeans, he raised his hips slightly to allow her to pull them down, taking his boxers with them and he gave a slight sigh at the relief his rock hard dick was now free from it’s constraints.

“Feel good?” She smirked at the sound he made.

He nodded, “yes”, his voice gruff and gravelly.

No sooner had she said it, she’d taken him in her mouth. Instinctively, he bucked upwards, his hands settling in her hair, head falling back against the pillow as he hissed.

When his hips rutted upwards a second time, she moved back, releasing him with a pop and he glanced down at her, his face full of frustration but she simply smirked at him.

“Stop moving."

The control of the situation wasn't his, it was hers and he was fully aware of it as she changed her pace, quick-quick-slow and if he squirmed she stopped.

A roll of his balls between her hand made him shudder. “Jesus Christ,” he groaned, “fuck, Y/N!”

She responded by taking him to the back of her throat, and the noise that came from his was halfway between a growl and a whimper as it stumbled from his mouth.

On and on this went, and every time she brought him to the edge and he couldn’t control his movements she stopped. It was a delicious torture, but one he was fast reaching his limit with.

“Fuck, baby, I…” his hands raked through her hair as she bobbed up and down on his shaft, her tongue pressing against the thick vein on the underside of his cock. He moaned loudly, “I gotta…”

"No," she purred, kitten licking the slit in his head, the precum dripping onto her tongue. Her lips enclosed over him again, short bobs until she was making long strides at deep throating him.

She squealed as his hands tightened around her hair, squeezing at the strands to pull her back but she kept her pace, his hips giving way to a violent thrust to the back of her throat as he came hard, his spend shooting deep, coating her inside. His chest heaved as he came down from his high, not letting up on his grip until he was done trembling in euphoria.

Then in a beat he flipped her to her back and hand his hands over the waistband of her tights, "that wasn't smart, Sweetheart," he growled.

His eyes flashed in challenge as she giggled and whispered, "I thought it was."

The force of him tearing her tights as he pulled them away from her legs bothered neither of them, her thin panties soaked and leaving a wet trail down her leg as he removed them, had him salivating.

"You think it's funny? I'm gonna see how you like it," he challenged.

Ransom wasted no time in taking a fast swipe at her leaking cunt with his tongue and Y/N cried out as he flicked the tip of his tongue over her swollen and throbbing clit. Her hands went straight to his hair, her knees practically boxing his ears as she curled her body towards his ample assault.

His long arm slid up her body, over her tummy between her beasts as his splayed his fingers open across her skin, trying to press her back into the mattress. As she complied, she gave a gripping tug to his longer locks and Ransom emitted an elicit growl against her pussy.

"Jesus Christ," she cried out, the sound sweet in his ears.

"You taste so fucking good, baby," he spoke against just above her mounded flesh, whilst his fingers sought a wet refuge. He wasted no time in sliding two in, middle and ring fingers, slipping in a first, then second knuckle deep then scissoring inside her until they were all the way in.

His lips curled around her clit as hers had done to his head, humming over the bud of pleasure, a pressure she nearly exploded over.

"Oh, no, you don't get to do that yet," he stated firmly. The command made her twitch under him, her breath audibly hitching in her chest. "You're gonna cum on my cock as I fill that pussy up."

"Fuck, Ransom, please," she begged.

"It's not funny now is it?" He slipped away from her body, sitting back on his heels and removed his own sweater. "Get naked, Princess."

He watched as she struggled to strip of the heavy sweater dress she wore, a stark difference to the fearful prize he had to himself months ago. Now she was his and he loved every single moment of it. From her sassy, smart mouth to the way she took his dick on demand. Ransom slipped his pants away, the two of them both naked and awaiting what was next. He wanted to flip her onto her tummy, rail her from behind while she took it on her hands and knees, keening at him as he thrust into her.

But instead, he spread her legs wide and slotted his thick cock between her legs, her ankles locking around his narrow hips as he thrust in and gave a naughty twist of his hips. Slow, deep, nasty ruts into her core bounced her tits just a little and he found the wanton cries of her need to be enticing enough to lap at her nipples and breasts, licking and nipping at her skin. Grinding into her as he licked and kissed his way up her neck to that spot that made her cave in at the base of her jaw, jointed just below her ear.

Her hands wound their way into his hair again and she gripped the strands, giving a pull back, restraining his neck a bit before she let up, allowing his head to drop a pinch.

Chills covered his sweat sheened skin as she whispered, "harder" into his ear. His body quivered and his stomach fluttered.

"Fuck, yes." He pulled out and flipped her to her tummy, like he'd wanted to do before. "On your knees, baby. Let me see that pussy."

She positioned like he demanded, a little sway of her hips telling him she was ready. A swift spank to her rounded ass and she cried out as he slammed home.

"Oh, baby," she mewled as he filled her from behind, bruising fingertips pressing into her hips.

Her lips praising him, using his nickname for her on him ignited a fire in his belly, his hips snapping harshly against her, his balls slapping against her clit. But it wasn't his pace and the pressure building in his body that was causing him to bury deep inside her, his head rubbing that g-spot that was making her moan filthy words. No, it was the look she gave as she turned her head to just peer over her should the same minute he was throbbing to cum inside her.

"I'm...fuck, fucking cum, baby girl," he whimpered, desperately holding back so she could cream over his cock.

And cum she did, her pulsating walls gripping him in a tight squeeze as she pulled him in with a force, literally crying out his name as she came. Her body practically convulsing in pleasure as he filled her up with his seed. The two of them collapsing against the expensive sheets, his body led over hers, still sheathed inside her as they both sagged and panted.

As if high on the throws of their ecstasy, Ransom kissed along her back with heavy lips and hooded eyes. He could taste the saltiness of her skin, the dampness of sweet sweat a leaving a wet coating over his lips. And when he could feel the blood return to his extremities, he ever so gently pulled out of her, his body sore and tired. She whined at the feeling of his weight escaping her body, but he was quick to fill that void, replacing it with the heat of his frame as he pulled her close, allowing her head to rest against his bare and sculpted chest. He pressed his lips onto the crown of her head.

"Sleep, baby," he whispered. "Just relax and sleep."

***** For weeks things were good, maybe even really good. Ransom was giving you more freedom, not yet unattended, but you weren't locked away. He'd made do on his promise.

You had a great lunch with your mother, at the Country Club, in which he'd set up. He'd driven you there, waited in the bar but could easily keep an eye on you. Whilst he might have had ulterior motives that were slightly more sinister than merely being there to keep an eye on you in case you had a panic attack (the excuse you gave to your mother), all in all you didn’t mind. You, too, didn't doubt he paid the waiter a hefty tip to stay nearby as he'd checked on your table more often than most or necessary, again, you didn't mind.

But despite his hovering, a point you'd made when you'd returned, he promised he trusted you so to save the pains of an argument, you let it go. You'd kept your own promise, never to drop a hint to your mother or anyone else that you weren't less than a free woman.

As the days neared Valentine's Day, Ransom seemed to be more touchy than usual and more than once you'd caught him softly staring at you. His eyes conveying more emotion than they did. Not unlike the first few nights when things had drastically changed between you in November. And when the day arrived, you both exchanged gifts after an early morning wakeup call that you most certainly did not mind. Ransom seemed genuinely pleased with the new silk scarf you’d ordered, having thought it would be a nice replacement for the one he had left at the mansion and point blank refused to return to collect.

For your gift, he handed you a small white envelope. Giving him a puzzled look, you opened it and pulled out a small card.

‘In our favourite room you'll find, your gift my beautiful Valentine.’

Instantly you felt an uncomfortable cold feeling in the pit of your stomach and you swallowed a little. It was a clue, exactly like the ones he had set for you all that time ago on Halloween the previous year. But, as you blinked and looked at him, you saw the expectation on his face and had to remind yourself that this was different.

This was not the same man.

"Is it at least wrapped in a bow, so I know it's mine?" You asked and he smirked a little, leaning back against the headboard of the bed.

"Trust me, you'll know when you see it."

With a final look at him, you climbed out of bed and pulled on your silk slip before you headed down the stairs. As soon as you’d read the clue, you knew he meant the study. But, when you opened the door, you started to wonder if you’d made a mistake as there was nothing there jumping out at you, at all.

You started rummaging through the stack of things on the desk, looking for anything that resembled a gift. In your haste, you accidentally knocked small stack of notebooks over the edge of the desk. You rushed to get them and straighten them up, hoping not to mess up the order of things he'd had piled together. The moment the leather-bound journal like book touched your fingers, a jolt of curiosity ran through you.

You opened the cover and ran your fingertips over the dried ink that sat engraved on the pages, a bold and all capitalized print to the handwriting. Not a surprise from a man who's harsh overture played constantly on the surface. Your eyes scanned and scanned the scroll, a frown creased your brow as you registered the meaning of all his notes.

These weren't just any sort of notes, these were his footnotes for his book. And that now disorganized stack of papers that moments ago littered the floor, you looked at them again and realized there among the typed and printed pieces of paper, was his manuscript.

Hesitating, you picked it up. The front page was plain bar the words. ‘Murder, He Wrote’ and you scoffed at the fact that was the title of the article that had gotten you into this situation in the first place. Mind you, he had said you were a muse of sorts so maybe that was his way of tribute.

You flipped through, skimming the pages, finding yourself strangely proud if you will, that he’d actually finished it, well what appeared to be the first draft anyway. It was indeed about a private detective, by the name of Arnie Bronze, who was hot on the tale of a missing woman called Lucy Roberts who had vanished in mysterious circumstances.

You skipped on a few pages, the narrative shifted to that of focussing on the so called killer, a man named Riley, and you realised that Lucy wasn’t dead as anticipated, she was being held captive.

In Riley’s basement.

You felt your stomach clench as you focussed in on a small snippet of dialogue, one that was extremely familiar.

‘I like this,’ Riley toyed with the straps to the bra Lucy was wearing, his middle finger tracing the outline of the strap against her skin before his lips followed the same path.

‘You should, you chose it,’ her voice was quiet, but still there it was, that unmistakable undercurrent of disdain she carried for him visibly present, as always.

Riley merely chuckled, ‘like I chose you, huh.’ At that, she blinked and looked at him, and he flashed her a smile. Oh, if only she understood exactly why…

What. The. Fuck?

Was he writing about you? Or had he already written this and was merely acting out his sick fucking fantasy. The answer to that became apparent when you tossed the manuscript down and reached for his book of notes.

It was littered with note after note, graphic accounts of the things he’d done to you, along with little questions and observations, how he could turn that into passages for his book. Your breath began to quicken and you turned the pages faster and faster, not needing to read his notes in the slightest as you could remember every sordid little detail for yourself.

Eventually you found the last page. This one contained two simple lines, the first from the night of Harlan’s memorial when he’d arrived home completely soaked.

Memorial was a shit show, as anything is when the fucking Thrombey’s are involved. Y/N made hot chocolate. Held a conversation I actually enjoyed.

This contained no side note as to how this could be used within his book, almost as if it was simply a journal entry, but you didn’t really have time to dwell on that, as your eyes flicked to the line underneath which carried no date.

Original plan changed, no longer going to get rid of when purpose served. Storyline of book will diverge at this point.

'When purpose served'. Well, it didn’t take a genius to work that out.

You threw the book down onto the desk, the room swimming around you as both your hands covered your mouth in shock and horror. You were sick to your stomach, the bile acid in your stomach turning acrid, and you wanted to wretch.

He’d meant to kill you.

“So, do you like my gift?”

The voice made you scream and you jumped, turning to face the doorway where Ransom was stood, his sweats hung low on his hips, arms folded over his bare chest as he leaned against the frame.

“What?” you blinked, swallowing, the word nothing more than a trembling whisper. “You mean you wanted me to find this?”

“You asked me about being my muse.” He shrugged. “As you can see, you were much more than that. Happy Valentine’s Day, Sweetheart.”

You couldn't hold back the gag in your throat and you quickly turned into the waste bin by the desk, spewing your empty stomach into it. The bile burned your throat as it came up. With a shaky back of your hand, you wiped away the remnants of your episode and leaned forward on the desk, your free hand palm flat against the mahogany.

You were disgusted, that much was painfully true, but you were now terribly afraid for your life. A feeling that hadn't come over you in four months. You felt just as you had that very night, terrified, alone, and fighting a sense of chill that crept through your body and deep into your bones. Your eyes, big and brimming with tears looked up at him and your mind went numb in processing the situation. No quicker than you had just vomited, you felt a pang of hurt, your heart ripping from your chest as everything settled within you. You had accepted this, this fate that had been laid out for you. You were accepting him and the life you were being forced to live. You accepted the beast that had begun to care. But he was merely a wolf in sheep's clothing, the true monster you'd always known to lie in wait just under the surface.

Your brows creased and your heart raced. You felt the bubbling of a scream start deep in your churning belly, your own monster vying to climb its up your chest and out of your throat. You were angrily screaming on the inside long before your voice sounded to the outside, piercing the room in a shattering, blood-curdling banshee cry of anger.

“This…” you picked up the notebook in your right hand, throwing it at him violently, “this is the reason you took me?”

“Yes.” He didn't even dodge the thickly bound object as it hit him square in the chest before falling to the ground.

“You...fucking asshole.” You spat, angrily swiping your arm across the desk. The neatly stacked piles of papers scattered like leaves falling from a tree as they fluttered to the floor. “And to think, I actually started to believe myself that there was more to you than everyone said, that underneath all of that bravado and narcissistic, downright nasty bastard exterior there was something or someone that maybe, just maybe was worthy of caring for! ” Your voice was loud, echoing off the wall of his study as you screamed at him. “But you kidnapped and raped and hurt me in ways I never thought possible for what? So you could write a goddamned book?”

Hot tears coursed down your face as you trembled, staring back at the utter monster who stood before you, his face stony as you wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand. “And then you planned to kill me once I no longer served a purpose? Well, tell me, how long have I got?”

“It’s not like that anymore.” Ransom took a deep breath as he stepped forward. He was calm, too calm and instantly you took a step back. “That was my initial plan, yeah, but what I wasn’t banking on was how being around you would make me feel.” He swallowed as he licked his lips. “I couldn’t get rid of you like I originally planned once you served your purpose. Because I love you.” Your mouth dropped open at his confession, utter horror coursing through your veins as you realised what he was saying. The chances of you getting out of this were depleting by the second. He really was completely fucked in the head. “No, no you don’t!” You shook your head, “this...is not love, Ransom, this is obsession, it’s...” He cut you off as he surged forward, his lips pressing to yours. You placed your hands on his chest, shoving hard as you turned your face away, screaming loudly at him to leave you alone. In an easy movement he spun you round, his arms clamping around yours pulling them behind you as he held you in place, your back pressed to his chest as he pressed his lips to your neck. “I know deep down you love me too...” his breath was hot on your neck, voice still eerily calm as his hips pushed forward and you could feel his erection digging into the curve of your spine. “Fuck, this is what you’ve done to me, feel that, Sweetheart? You wrecked me, and now I need you. It’s that simple.” At that he pushed you forward, harshly bending you over his desk, one large hand securing both of yours being your back, your body twisted in a warped recreation of that time he’d used your sweater to restrain you all those months ago. You struggled but he simply twisted your arm further, causing you to cry out in pain and desperation as his other hand roughly hoisted up your night-dress. “You’ll say it eventually.” He stated calmly as you heard that tell-tale rustle of fabric as he pushed down his sweats. “It might take another spell in the basement to make you realise, but you’ll come round.” “It doesn’t work like that.” You sobbed, your voice cracking as his hand let go of your arms and slid up to your neck, reaching round your throat. His fingers curled round your neck as he pulled your head back, his mouth nipping at your neck before he pulled back, his face inches from yours as his icy blues stared locked onto your eyes. They were cold, dangerous and you shook your head, tears pouring down your face. Your lip trembled as you closer your eyes, taking a deep breath before you opened them again, resigning yourself to the fact that this next line might just seal your fate and wind up with you losing your life. But right now, that would be a blessed way out. “I can’t love you simply because that’s what you want.” “Oh Sweetheart,” he chuckled, his lips ghosting over yours, “I know that. I know I can’t force you to feel something you don’t, but the only person you’re fooling is yourself. I just want you to admit it.”

“I won’t.” You stuttered, “never, Ransom.”

“Oh, Y/N. Haven’t you learned by now? I always get what I want, including this, you’ll see.” With a harsh thrust forward he pushed inside you, making you scream at the burn thanks to the fact you weren’t ready for him, at all. He gave a groan as he grabbed at your hips, your pelvis jolting painfully into the edge of the hard wooden desk you were bent over. “As my granddad used to quote,” he pulled back before delivering another deep thrust harshly into you, his fingers digging into your flesh as you closed your eyes, scrunching them shut as your cheek rest against the desk, tears leaking from your eyes, “we all become stories in the end.”

He gave another deep rut forward as he ground into you, his breathing deep.

“Now it’s time to rewrite ours, Princess.”

*****

Epilogue

#murder he wrote #dark ransom drysdale #dark ransom x reader #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #chris evans #chris evans characters #knives out

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angeaxil · 3 years ago

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Lens of Truth

(A Barok x S/O)

This was something I decided to write in a whim because I was feeling like it! I was aiming for a hurt/comfort fic, but decided against it to focus more on Barok’s observation skills and his concern for his (not as of current) S/O’s mental state!

Author’s note: S/O is defined as gender-neutral (pronounces are Them/They)

Word count: 815 words

⚠️Content Warning ⚠️: Slight TGAA spoilers, expressions of worry/ concern, S/O’s mental health is down in the dumps T~T

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It wasn’t a regular occurrence for the legendary British prosecutor, Barok van Zieks, to be heavily preoccupied with thoughts that refused to detach themselves from his mind.

His perception and emotional intelligence were this man’s sharpest and most trusted tool; cold, composed blue eyes always watched for signs of a person lying, rarely held back his tongue when the truth was compromised, and offered careful pearls of wisdom appropriate to each person-- He knew exactly what people needed to hear to reflect on their conduct, get them to speak up or give gentle encouragement. Truly, his presence was a fearsome and awe-inspiring thing.

It just so happened once upon a time that he met face-to-face with a most fascinating individual in one of the trials he prosecuted as the opposing counsel. a practitioner of law new in the field, he came to conclude as he twirled the crimson contents in his hallowed chalice. It took him aback for a bit, he realized, when he first saw them, that their eyes manifested what looked like...a brief sadness, distress, and grief. There was no mistake about it; the person before him must have undergone their own personal trials and tribulations.

Despite that, however, they maintained a solid, calm mask shrouding those emotions, and performed their role with elegance, for they knew that emotions have no place in the court.

It wasn’t until after a while from that memorable meeting that they initiate a conversation with him, fully knowing about his infamy among the judiciary as “The Reaper of the Old Bailey” and the bad omen it accompanies without showing even the slightest fear and intimidation but rather curiosity and wonder, accompanied with a hint of shyness. It was something that caused him to be noticeably perplexed, his head tilted upwards as he eyed them for any notions of insincerity; his interest, he admits to himself, was piqued. He has not shunned them away--to the bafflement of both-- and with hesitance, accepted their initiation.

It took an agonizingly slow process for the bond to grow, but they showed respect in that regard and gave him however long it took for him to gain trust, to which he was immensely grateful. Slowly but certainly, he had come to understand that allowing this chance of friendship to blossom was worth it; on top of their kind and good-natured character, they had interesting opinions regarding law, politics, and philosophy. Barok was thrilled to enjoy spending time in their company instead of the tedious aristocrats he regularly meets, amongst other bull-headed fools and some such.

So, when he started to see that same emotion that he first detected in their eyes that day clearly, if not more apparent than before… he was concerned. Dark prominent shadows underneath their eyes that he was certain wasn’t there before... was. Their gaze, that once a bright twinkle sparkled therein, now reflected nothing as they take comfort in studying the patterns of the floors they stood on. Broken eyes spoke of a silent scream that never failed to cause his beating heart to tremble. Their genuine tender smile as of present seemed forced, more crooked in appearance, and the only thing they seemed to muster altogether.

It brought the man in regalia back to a time when he had noticed a dear relative of his who exhibited all those same signs, and recalled how he have once suspected him and asked about his well-being out of concern and worry, only for it to be brushed aside as the other laughed, stating that it was nothing. And look at how that turned out! This proved to be the most hurtful of lies ten years later... when Pandora’s box was open for all the people present in that fateful closed trial to see... Barok shook his head several times to push that painful memory away from what’s currently gnawing at him.

And now it’s happening again! When he had asked them, they assured him that they are okay and that he needn’t worry about it, which was of little consolation to him still.

the Lord of van Zieks manor rested his pen on his signature quill marked by the van Zieks crest and took a deep breath. He decided to arrange a meeting with his close associate at a later time. He will be careful not to break their spirit— after all, his intentions were not for that and for him to even suggest that, was unacceptable to him. However, he will be firm and solemn enough to get to the bottom of this matter should they try to deflect the issue. To obtain the truth...

Because it pained him immensely to see such a kind individual suffer in silence, no matter what it was that bothered them, and no matter how insignificant it may seem.

Because he could not stand it when others that he cares for hid their pain in quiet, in the same manner, he did. for ten long years.

Because he cared.

#not a request #Angie’s pen 🖋#barok x ors #barok van zieks #dgs #tgaa #the great ace attorney #ace attorney #the great ace attorney chronicles #CW: worry?

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roseabelle21 · 4 years ago

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Sypnosis: You have waited for him. For years you waited for him. Waiting for the time that he'll look at you the way you look at him, to see you the way you see him, to love you like how much you love him. As days bled into years, you accepted the harsh reality that all those things are only forever daydreams. All those years chasing has left you numb, tired, pain, so you stop. Stop, and then turn away from him, ready to start anew. But he doesn't want you to go.

Status: Unedited

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x female! Reader

Genre: Angst

Part 2: In Another Life

Why?

Why now?

You looked at the sullen face of the man you once loved in front of you. Five feet away from you, so close yet so far. There Bakugou Katsuki stood, hands clenched on his side, teeth gritted, his usually spiky hair has flattened down as if it reflects its owner's emotions. And his eyes, god, you used to love staring at those eyes, always determined and filled with a burning passion, and now you can't recognize them.

They were pleading, aching, distress; they were in agony. It doesn't suit your eyes, you thought. Never in the years you've been with him would you have imagined that they are directing at you.

For you.

You wanted this to be a dream, no, a nightmare. Yet as you both stood at the pouring rain, the cracking of thunder, the rain hitting your skin and dampening your clothes, confirmed that this is all true. It is happening to you right now.

"What?"

You whispered in disbelief, heart pounding in your ears as you clenched the collar of your dress for stability.

You looked at him, disbelief, hurt, anger, sadness, and confusion all simultaneously. "I-I don't understand?"

He ran his hands through his hair angrily, gripping on them in frustration as he looked down at the ground. He can't stand this, you looking at him like that, in pain, but he knows he caused this.

The timing is awful, and he didn't think this through. When Mina told him you wanted to give Inasa a chance to go on a date, the guy that had his eyes on you ever since the Provisional License Exam, something in him snapped.

Katsuki can't stand it, just imagining you holding someone else's hands, holding you, making you laugh, tell your problems to someone else, kissing you.

His blood started boiling at the thought, sparks unintentionally popping out of his hands, sending his teammates in panic. No, all of those are the things that you should be doing with him.

Before he knew it; he was running, begging, praying that he wasn't too late. But he already is.

"I fucking like you! I'm sorry I took so long to realize it, I'm sorry for confusing you now, and I'm sorry-"

"Stop!"

You shouted, causing his eyes to widen, and he raised his head to look at you. The sight of your face broke his heart.

"Please," you begged, holding your collar ever tighter as tears streamed down your face.

Katsuki took a step forward, reaching his hand towards you, wanting desperately to hug you, and you took a step back. He stopped his actions.

Dammit, that stings.

"Why?"

He looked confused; first, he opened his lips to answer when you asked again.

"Fucking hell Katsuki why now?!"

Katsuki's taken aback by the sudden raise at your voice, albeit it's not his first time seeing it, this is the first time it is directed towards him. He knew he fucked up big time when your eyes, full of hatred, stared at him. Those eyes that are shining with love and adoration for him, now gone.

He's ashamed, humiliated, furious, loathing at himself right now that he caused you this much pain. The dress you wore that hugged your curves perfectly, flowing around when you spun now clung to your body like a sponge. Your hair that framed your face like a goddess now stuck at your beginning, damped and ruined, face smudged with mascara, made you look like a hot mess. Still, you look beautiful in his eyes.

You've always been beautiful, he knows it; he just chose to ignore it.

"I have been by your side for years, Katsuki," you started, bringing him back to reality. "I was with you at your best, and I was with you at your lowest. I was with you when you started achieving your goals. Katsuki," you looked at his eyes, "I have always been by your side when you were too blind to notice."

He ran, he ran towards you and took you in his arms., holding you tighter when you started resisting, punching his chest, pushing him away, trying to pry his arms off of you. Despite the cold rain that soaked his shirt, he is so warm.

You gave up it was futile anyway, but you didn't wrap your arms around him. They fall limp at your sides, sobbing even louder when he whispered in your ear, "I know."

Both of you just stood there in the pouring rain. It's like the weather is sympathizing along with you, crying because you no longer can hold the pain.

If he confessed to you a year ago; you would have flown over the moon in joy. And now that he is revealing to you when you are ready to move on and find someone new, you feel numb.

"Was it obvious that I liked you?" You asked, not looking up at him. You wouldn't have been able to see his face as he buried it in your hair as he confirmed your answer and ignored your usage of past tense.

"Am I necessary to you?" You questioned, another batch of tears stinging your eyes when he answered.

"More than you know."

Katsuki's hold on, you loosened even if he wanted to hold you longer, so you took that chance to detach yourself from him, wiping your eyes as you took a step back.

The rain has calm, till it stopped altogether.

Realizing the time, you straightened your posture and looked at him dead in the eye, void of any emotion.

"Do you want what's best for me?"

He nodded his head frantically, eyes lighting up for a second, "of course I fucking do-"

"Then leave me alone."

Katsuki felt his heart stop, and the air around him grew colder. He wanted you to admit that this is just a suck prank, a horrible nightmare. Would you please say anything to make his heart stop aching?

"W-what? Stop shiting with me (Y/N)-"

"What makes you think I am?" You replied instantly. He physically froze at the tone of your voice.

You took a step towards him, him taking action back this time.

"It's not my fault that you just realized your feelings for me when I'm ready to move on."

Step.

"It's not my fault that you chose to ignore your feelings for me."

Step.

"It's not my fault that after all these years of chasing, something you knew but chose to ignore that I grew tired."

Step.

"It's not my fault that I'm willing to choose someone else who can treat me better

then you can."

Step.

Stop.

"It's my choice when I want to stop loving you." You drew a shaky breath afterward.

Katsuki's ears are ringing. He was so pale that he looked like he had seen a ghost. He stared at you, shocked, upset, unbelieving. He wanted to deny it. Deny the fact that he was too late. He knew that there was still a chance, but deep inside, he knew that you were right.

You stared at each other one last time before you turned your heel and walked away.

A fresh batch of tears now rolled down your face, heart-clenching, and longing, wanting to give the man of your dreams a chance to be with him and hopefully a start of a beautiful relationship. You almost gave in, but your mind stayed firm.

No. Enough.

No more chasing.

No more longing.

No more fantasizing.

It's time to start a new leaf. Give a chance to others who are willing and trying to be with you, to make you happy, to treat you like you deserve. Who will love you back just as unconditionally as you do?

Katsuki Bakugou watched as you turned the corner, out of sight but still in mind.

Memories of you replayed in his mind like a movie: your first meeting, your first duo activity, when you saved him from the villains, when he opened up about his insecurities to you, your late-night talks, your blatant flirting, your smile, your laughter, your tears, your confession, you supporting him achieving his dreams, you walk away. Just you.

You.

Him losing you.

He fell to his knees and let out an anguished scream. Tears are falling like a waterfall and heart-shattering in a million pieces. Katsuki didn't flinch when someone wrapped their arms around him. He didn't push him away because he knew who that person was.

The Bakusquad watched him pour his heart out. They warned him about this, warning him ever since that if he doesn't make a move soon, she's going to slip away from him.

And she did.

Kirishima held him; he didn't know what else to do. Telling him that everything will be okay is a lie. Katsuki wished upon the universe to bring you back to him. This time he will treat you right. This time, he will cherish you never like before; he will show you how much he loves you.

He will do anything, anything. Just don't tell him that your love is gone.

A/N: Hello and thank you for reading! This is my first fic on tumblr and I hope that you enjoyed it. Reblogging and liking my fic if you liked it will be appreaciated.♥️♥️♥️

#katsuki x you #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou imagine #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki angst #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x you #bnha angst

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min-yunki-agustd · 3 years ago

Note

Yoongi having ahdh, or being Asperger's or ocd, being neurodiverse, has his effects.

He is affected by sensorial perception, so one day that music was loud, lights were awful shiny, his concert cloths were to hard, and the shouting and flashes from the army were too much, he finds himself having a bad meltdown, he is so distress he locks himself after the concert in his hotel bathroom, he has a migraine and his stomach hurts so bad from nerves, is turning upside down, and he began vomiting, the pain is so strong his already overstimulated senses and body can handle and he began crying.

Hoseok goes in and finally Yoongi unlock the door for him, and only him, Hoseok knows how to calm him, until Yoongi ends up resting on one side in bed in his pajamas tht didn't cause his skin to itch as those are cotton and comfortable.

Hands wrapped around his awfully painful abdomen, his nerves had caused havoc, his gastrointestinal functions clearly affected by his neurodivergent mind, his tummy hurts so much, he is crying silently once his meltdown was over.

Hoseok is sitting beside him on the edge of the bed, rubbing his back gently, until Yoongi turns his cute fluffy tummy upside so Hoseok would rub it

Hoseok understood the assignment and he start massaging his Hyung really upset poor tummy.

This calms him down but the pain is still there

Finally Yoongi falls asleep, and while he sleeps Hoseok place a warm heating pad at the sick stomach, then he rest beside his upset little seeping Hyung and he falls asleep too hugging him .

I feel very uncomfortable writing this fic. It seems like you get a kick out of neurodivergent people's struggles. I'm neurodivergent, that's why in my older works you can see so many mistakes in my writing. It's something I struggle with a lot. The emeto you asking for is fine but trying to add a disorder to a man that does in fact have OCD and ADHD seems.. weird to me. Maybe you just want representation? I want to give you the benefit of the doubt but I still feel uncomfortable writing this fic. In my conclusion, I apologize but I'm not going to write this, if it were one about yoongi's struggles as a person with OCD and ADHD then maybe I would have written it. But it appears that you're using symptoms of a disorder that you commonly see on tv. I really am sorry that I won't be doing this request but I, just feel uncomfortable doing so. I am happy to do a different request from you anon.

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lets-get-kraken-boys · 4 years ago

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Fantasy AU! Dragon Master! Katsuki Bakugou X Witch! Reader: Hot Damn, Dragon Man~!

(Description: I don’t think anyone has written a story like this before with this particular backstory, but if someone has please let me know right away! With that out of the way, this was just a fun little idea I had that I hope you all enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing! Also, I aged up both Bakugou and Kirishima in this story to around their early 20s, though this isn’t really important or relevant to the fic, an adult, hunky Bakugou and Kirishima is a treat I think we should all indulge in~! I might make a Part 2 to continue the story depending on how you all like it, but we’ll see! I hope you enjoy and thank you for your time. // PS: Quirks still exist in my version of the Fantasy AU! //)

Fanfiction Lingo

(Y/N) - Your Name

(L/N) - Last Name

(N/N) - Nickname

(H/C) - Hair Color

(E/C) - Eye Color

(F/C) - Favorite Color

“Normal speech.”

‘Inner thoughts.’

Requester: No One!

Reader Gender: Female (She/Her)

Style of Story: Aiming for a multiparter, but who knows! // Fantasy AU! Hope you’re as excited as I am!

Word Count: 6.4K Words

WARNING(s) / NOTE(s): Aged up characters but this story is NOT NSFW, Quirks still exist, cursing (it’s Bakugou in a fantasy world, he’s going to call you some offensive stuff), and a little bit of blood but no real harm is done to (Y/N)!

“Man, I have got to work on my cardio! Ughh…,” you huffed out as you took the last few steps to be on top of the hill you had just hiked up. Stopping for the air you desperately needed, you sat down on the mossy ground below and leaned against a nearby tree, taking deep breaths. As your previously foggy brain became clear again, you noticed the purples and pinks of the dawning sky peaking through the tree’s leaves and smiled, springtime weather had always been your favorite kind. The dewy mornings, sunny afternoons, and clear nights were always a welcome change to the drab winter days. Though, being a Green Witch did make you favor specific seasons more than others.

“Sorry, my lord Hades, but I must admit that I’m a little happy your lovely wife is back with her mother again. Nothing can compare to the plants and herbs that grow back in the Spring. Though, do not fret, my lady Persephone will be back with you sooner than you think.” you spoke to the stillness of the forest, but you felt their presence and knew your gods heard your message.

Looking in your wooden basket, you inventoried the goods you had collected near your secret cove to harvest ingredients. You found the cove three summer’s ago while looking for shelter from a storm that rolled in quicker than expected. You were lost and couldn’t find your way home but the kind nymphs that lived in the area offered you a place to stay that night. In exchange for them sheltering you, you made them a few miscellaneous potions as payment (even though they hadn’t asked for any). Ever since that day, you have been friends with them and are allowed to freely take any of the resources that grow in the area with their permission and in turn you trade them any potions or spells they ask for. Of course you’ve found other places to harvest rarer ingredients for specific creations, but with such a bountiful place so close to your home it is your go-to spot.

“Wicker mushrooms, a bunch of Lavender, Yarrow, Thrumdells, could always use more mint sprigs, Merryquil, Heron’s feathers, I have the mermaid’s bubbles and crystals at home...I think that’ll about do it! Great haul today, (N/N)!” you praised as you set down your basket and stood up. You brushed off your flowy, (F/C) ankle-length skirt and smoothed out your poofy shirt and cloak, straightened the potion holder belt strapped to your hip, picked the basket back up, and continued on the path back to your cottage hidden deep within the forest.

“What should I make for dinner? Zeks enjoys sweet things but I don’t know if Zazel--!” Without warning, a booming roar shook the leaves off the trees, causing you to stumble back in shock. You shot your hand on the dagger strapped to your belt while your eyes darted back and forth through the surrounding terrain, trying to locate where the sound had come from and if there was any immediate danger near you. Shortly after the cry, a loud crash sounded like something smacked the ground hard and caused a tremor that knocked you clean off your feet with a yelp. The shaking lasted for only a moment before everything went still once more as if nothing out of the ordinary had even occurred.

Still in shock from the bizarre situation, you sat on the grass for a little longer, listening to the oddly quiet atmosphere, before another cry shot through the hush of the land and nearly scared you out of your boots. Though, instead of what you thought was ferocity in its tone, it seemed closer to a wail of pain than anything. You stood on shaky legs and took deep breaths while staring into the distance where the noise came from. You wanted to turn around and run to the safety of your home, to go back to the warmth of your cottage and just pretend that this whole instance never happened, but something was pulling you towards the creature. Maybe it was the whines and whimpers that it made, the curiosity caused by something that could make lands quake with the strength of its voice but instantly become like a meek puppy was truly intriguing, but that wasn’t quite it. Maybe you wanted to check if anyone had been hurt by the monstrosity but that didn’t seem right either.

You let out a quiet gasp as one thought in particular struck your mind...could it be...Fate? You cursed yourself, wishing you had brought your tarot cards to check for any possible signs, but you didn’t have time for that right now. You considered your options; be a coward and leave whatever the hell just fell out of the sky alone, abandoning it to most likely die, ignoring the call of Fate, and continuing about your day or appeasing that pesky gut feeling, finding the beast, and seeing what was the matter.

You growled as your legs began to move toward the epicenter of the sound, hating how you can never turn down someone in need of help.

~ Timeskip to a short while later ~

“Where in the fresh hell is that stupid beast?!” you cursed as you trudged through the spongy moss and bushes covering the forest floor. After running for a bit in the direction you had thought you heard the wail come from you had found no evidence of anything out of the ordinary which pissed you off to no end.

“You couldn’t shut your trap earlier, why are you having such a hard time now?” you mumbled to yourself, pushing past a few bushes in your way. Your next few sassy words became caught in your throat as you heard a low growl erupt a few yards away from you behind the bush directly to the right of you. Suppressing your urge to scream in surprise, you composed yourself and poked your head through the shrubbery, only for your jaw to drop at the sight before you.

An enormous creature was laying on its side in the middle of a small clearing of trees, peacefully sleeping in the early morning sunshine. Its horned head and long neck were stretched out while the rest of its body curled around itself in a cocoon like position. The beast took steady breaths, its lungs filling up and stretching its stomach to show off the breath-taking, fiery red scales that coated its entire body. The tail lay still wrapped around the body and reminded you fondly of a litter of kittens your old master cared for. But probably the most beautiful part of all were the magnificent wings that draped over the serpent’s body like a protective barrier from the outside world. You saw the muscles of the appendages and knew that this creature was not one to be messed with. Right there, such a short distance away, was what you could only describe as a humongous, red dragon!

You couldn’t believe it, you almost wanted to pinch yourself to see if you were really awake but you ignored the feeling in favor of watching the sleeping beast in awe. Sure, everyone around knew that dragons existed and heard the legends about them, but it wasn’t like you got to see them very often. The kingdom to the South was well known for its coexistence with dragons but rarely anyone except those in a higher position of power or people who lived in the tribes actually got to see and interact with them.

Judging by the diagrams you had seen drawn of dragons, you guessed that it wasn’t extremely old based on its size and bodily markings, making it less of a threat. As you examined more it led you to notice the reason for the creature’s moans of pain. A huge gash was carved on the right side of the dragon’s chest, dripping with fresh blood. It was so deep that you could actually see bits of the beast’s rib cage. Wincing at the sight, you inspected further and saw the scales surrounding the wound were a contrasting dark black to the shiny red ones all over the body, almost like they had been scorched by a tremendous flame. Either way, if the serpent did not receive some kind of immediate help with that large of a wound, it would surely bleed out within the next few hours or somehow be injured even more. After contemplating, you sent a quick prayer, took a deep breath, and shuffled your way out of the bushes and into the open for the creature to easily see you.

You expected that such a powerful beast in this state of physical distress would not let its guard down so easily, so when its golden eyes shot open to glare at you with its teeth bared in snarl you were not in the least bit startled. You smiled sweetly at the dragon, lowered yourself closer to the ground, set your things down, and averted your gaze as to not cause it anymore stress or let it think you were challenging it. You kept your hand visible as you reached for the knife on your waist, even as the beast hissed at your movements, and threw it far away from your reach to show respect.

“Hey there! I’m not here to hurt you, I’m here to help,” you spoke loud and clear so it could hear you, but even if it didn’t understand your language you still wanted to get your point across, “I heard you fall awhile ago, that must have hurt, huh? I came to check up on you, see if you were okay, but then I happened to notice that nasty gash in your side and figured you needed my help!” you gulped with the smile still on your face. You heard another growl before it was cut off by a sharp whimper of agony and that noise alone made your heart drop to your stomach. The smile on your face faded into a frown but you quickly perked back up and continued.

“I promise, I just want to check out that wound and get you healed up. Help you get back in the air again. Please, I don’t want to have to leave you to suffer like this.” you finished as you looked back at the dragon with a desperate look in your eye. The dragon wasn’t snarling or glaring at you anymore, which was definitely a good sign, but as you looked deeper in its eyes it was almost like you could feel the pain radiating off of it. After a brief moment of hesitation, the beast lowered its head back down to the ground in defeat, a sign for you to come closer. You gratefully smiled and picked your things back up, got up, and scurried on over.

When you got close enough to where you could press your palm flat to the warm scales and feel its strong heartbeat, you kneeled and examined the bloodied gash. You first ran your fingers along the outskirts of the wound and the dark marks smudged onto your fingertips and palm, confirming that the dragon had been severely burned by something or someone. The actual slash was about five feet long and two feet wide that dug deep into the body, like something had pierced it rather than just nicked it. You looked closer at the blood dripping from the injury and noticed pine needles stuck in the dragon’s flesh, not just on the surface but deep in the wound as well.

You gasped and looked up at the beast who was already gazing down at it with you to ask, “Did you hit a tree during the fall?” The serpent nodded its head with discomfort and flopped it back down onto the soft grass. A pitiful sigh slipped from your mouth as you explained what you were going to do now knowing it could understand you.

“Okay, first off we need to get these pesky pine needles out of the wound. Then, I need to slow the bleeding and somehow dress it. I do have the right ingredients on me to make you a healing cream but I do not know how I can…,” you stopped and glanced at the cloak draped from your shoulders and smiled, “I know! I’ll use my cloak to soak up the blood!” The dragon shot its head up in alarm and looked at you with a gaze of what seemed to be guilt. You tilted your head in confusion before looking at the cloak now in your hand, back to the saddened serpent, and connected the two together with a laugh.

“Oh, are you worried about dirtying this old thing? Pssh, don’t even concern yourself! It's to help you survive, so it's being used for the greater good either way! Between you and me, I was planning on treating myself to a new one anyways, so who cares if a little blood gets on it!” you joked, trying to calm the dragon’s nerves. You washed your hands with the clean water from your canteen strapped to your hip and shook them dry.

“Let’s do this!” you cheered, readying yourself for the crazy afternoon ahead of you.

~ Another timeskip to later in the afternoon ~

“I must say, you are certainly one of the best patients I’ve ever had, my scaly friend! You’ve been so good letting me take out all those nasty needles and clean away the charcoal and blood from your pretty scales! Thank you for being so sweet.” you praised, scratching the dragon’s chin, behind his horns, and belly as he let out happy grumbles and chitters (Dragon Kiri LOVES belly scritches, and you cannot convince me otherwise) at your kind words. His head was now curled up next to you, watching you clean and disinfect his wound with the utmost care, with him enjoying the pets he got every time you hit a sensitive area or made him hiss from the pain.

You were diligently working at patting away the blood with your now sopping cloak, trying to cease the liquid dripping out of the dragon. As you worked, you made sure to give the creature lots of encouraging strokes and belly rubs to help ease the pain, but whether it was more to help it through this endeavor or to get to pet a living dragon was uncertain. Either way, the job was getting done, and so far no big issues from either party.

Yet.

“Awesome! It looks like the blood flow has slowed down a lot now. Thank the Gods, I don’t know how much more my poor coat could have taken,” you joked while setting the crimson-soaked material to the side, “Now, I’ve got the healing cream prepared for you but how the hell am I going to bandage--AH!” you shrieked as you were suddenly shoved away from the dragon and thrown further back into the field.

You heard the beast let out a concerned roar as your back met the dirt ground with a loud THUD that knocked the wind right out of your lungs. You closed your eyes in pain and gasped, desperate to get the lost air back in your system, but you were stopped as you felt a heavy weight slam on your chest, a hand grab your wrists and pin your arms to the ground above your head, and someone lean over you to block out the sun. Even though your head was spinning with confusion and adrenaline ran a marathon through your veins, your eyes shot open when you felt something sharp press into your neck.

“What the hell are you doing to my dragon, fucking maggot?!” the man on top of you yelled in your face, but you could hardly comprehend his words due to the abruptness of the situation. You wish you could say that you hated him from the moment your eyes landed on him, you wished you could have ignored the way your gut did cartwheels as if the Fate of a lifetime had been completed, but god was everything hard to ignore when he looked so fucking hot. His blonde, spiky hair exploded messily around his chiseled face to give him that ‘I didn’t even try to look good today’ natural beauty. From his striking jawline, cute button nose, strong neck, and those striking crimson eyes, he was just insanely good looking. Even as he glared at you with his eyebrows pulled down in a scowl, you couldn’t help but blush at the intense way he looked at you. Not even mentioning what you could see of his bare torso that was every bodybuilders’ dream, you inferred that he was around the middle of his twenties. His attire was composed of a few pieces of jewelry, colorful arm bands, a blood red cape completed with a fur-lined neck piece, and other things you couldn’t quite see from your position under his knee pressing hard onto your sternum. That pain was actually what brought you back from “(Y/N)’s Hot Guy Dreamland” to realize admiring his looks wasn’t exactly the main issue right now. To be honest, he’d be even more hot if he wasn't pressing that sharp scimitar threateningly to your neck, but sadly even that was sexy.

“I...I...well--,” you stuttered in shock, looking for the right words to spit out to appease the barbarian on top of you.

“EH? Out with it, whelp,” he growled, pressing his knee even harder into your chest to get his point across, “What were you doing to my dragon, dimwit?! Did you try to hurt him?”

“What? No, never!” you defended yourself while weakly struggling to free your arms from his vice grip.

“Did you plan to kill him and skin him for his hide! You sadistic monster!” he roared, pressing the blade closer to your neck, causing your skin to break and bleed. You yelped when you felt the burn of the slice but swore you could smell the scent of burning caramel drifting off of his body that hadn’t been there before.

“I would do no such thing, you creep! I was just--,” you were interrupted yet again by your own whimper as he leaned closer to your face. His frown deepened as you felt the blade press even further into your delicate flesh.

“You know what? I don’t even wanna hear your shitty ass excuses, I might just kill you right now and be done with you,” he smirked as your face significantly paled, “Unless you did something to my partner, then you’re gonna explain what you did, fix it, and then I can take my time slicing--,” the madman was cut off as another voice cut into the conversation.

“Bakugou, stop hurting her!” a masculine voice bellowed from a distance away. The sound of steam expelling filled the tense air as a hot gust of wind swiftly blew over the two of you. Shortly after you felt the man, who you now know his name is ‘Bakugou’, unlatch his grip on your hands and draw his sword away from you neck. You let out a sigh of relief and gawked as he completely abandoned from practically sitting on your chest to sprinting in the direction he had pushed you away from.

“Kirishima!” Bakugou shouted as he ran head first into the warm fog the steam had created. You sat up from the ground and pressed a hand to your neck to stop the light bleeding as deep gasps filled your lungs to contemplate what in the fresh fuck just happened in the time span of maybe a minute. You heard mumbling from the fog and, being the ever curious (N/N), decided to get up on wobbly feet and trek into the steam after the brute of a man.

“This is not how I planned to spend my Wednesday.” you murmured to yourself, walking blindly forward in the mist until you found your assaulter and your lizard patient except...not? No, instead of your new found scaly friend, you saw a red-headed man with horns and scales peppering his body leaning against the bully, Bakugou. His hair was spiked up to incredible heights and it blended seamlessly with his red curly horns hidden within. His face was scrunched up in pain but he still held a brave face as he grinned with teeth that were fit for a dragon. He, too, was around the same age as the blonde, and shirtless with the same body sculpted by the gods themselves, but on the right side of his torso was the same gash your dragon friend had. If the smaller, but still powerful, human sized wings on his back and thick scaly tail weren’t enough to convince you, then the wound confirmed that this indeed was the red dragon from before, now known as Kirishima. And, thankfully, he was nearly fully clothed too.

“Kirishima, don’t be an idiot, de-transform and get some rest, dammit.” Bakugou grunted at the man, causing the spikey haired fellow to laugh.

“Aw, I thought we weren’t partners, Bakugou! Now here you are, caring about some lowly warrior? You flatter me!” Kirishima joked as he coughed into his gloved hand while trying to sit up properly but utterly failing.

“Stupid! Just because I don’t want you to be fucking idiotic and die doesn’t mean we're partners!” he barked, his teeth growing sharper like he himself was a beast. Kirishima chortled and looked over to you. When he noticed your dropped jaw and wide eyes he coughed and looked you in the eye.

“What’s up, dudette? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” he joked.

“I...what...the HELL?! What even...I don’t understand…,” you paced in circles before looking at the two with (E/C) eyes full of confusion, “Who and what the heck are you two?!” Bakugou looks taken aback so he growls, reaching for his sword again, but Kirishima slaps his hand away from the weapon with a grin.

“I’m so sorry for not introducing myself to you earlier, I was in a lot of pain and plus I didn’t know you that well, so I hope there’s no hard feelings,” he smiled while pointing his thumb to himself, “I’m Eijirou Kirishima! And that is my friend, Katsuki Bakugou!”

“You lizard brain! Don’t just give random strangers our names!” Bakugou bared his teeth but Kirishima chose to ignore him.

“I never caught your name before, what was it?” he asked with a sweet head tilt that reminded you of a concerned puppy.

Suppressing the way your heart clenched at the adorable sight, you stopped nervously pacing and spoke, “My name is (Y/N) (L/N), it’s nice to meet you.”

“Such a manly name! It’s nice to meet you too! Hey, I just wanted to thank you for all the help you provided me today. It’s totally not manly of me to ask for that much assistance, but even I knew that I needed it then more than ever! Who knew the perfect person for the job was just an acre away! Ha!” Kirishima laughed as he struggled to stand but fell back down again onto his tail with a groan of distress.

Bakugou had only barely caught him before you rushed over and kneeled down to check his tender wound. Kirishima flinched and flushed red at your fingers traced along his bare abdomen but you were too worried to care. Bakugou openly glared at the way Kirishima blushed at you, but stopped himself short when he realized what he was doing. Why did he do that? He had only just met you, you were a fucking nobody in his eyes! You hurt his friend! Who you choose touch and don't touch wasn’t his problem! Then again, he glanced at your concerned face and noticed the way your soft features shown in the light, how your (H/C) hair framed you like an elegant oil painting in a museum, how your eyes glistened with the rays of sun, how your lips moved with each word spoken. He blushed at that last thought and shook his head. What the fuck? No, he was too great to be dragged down by silly puppy love! But...you did seem nice and strong too...Wait, no! He looked away from the two of you and tried to compose himself as you and the redhead spoke back and forth.

“Woah! Kirishima, what are you doing? I haven’t finished treating your injury yet! Take it easy on your body.” you scolded like you were his own mother, placing a cloth you had fished out of your pocket onto the leaking wound.

“W-Wait...you’re not done?” he stuttered out, thankful the blush on his cheeks was slowly but surely melting away.

You looked up at him in shock, “You thought I was just gonna leave you like this? No way! You still need that healing cream, stitches, and bandages to cover it up so it won’t get infected!”

Bakugou interrupted Kirishima before he could even protest, “Hold on, you weren’t hurting him?” He looked over to the bloody cloak hastily tossed on the ground and scowled at the memories of his actions a few minutes prior.

“No! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, pinhead! I’ve been healing up your dragon while you were off picking flowers in the woods to make friendship crowns! Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to finish treating him so that you two can head on your merry way and go back to wherever you popped out from, got it?” you shot at the brute, causing him to flinch at your harsh words.

“No way am I letting a weakling like you--,” cutting Bakugou off, Kirishima spoke over the next few words Katsuki said, which most likely saved him from a beating by your hands.

“Actually, he doesn’t get a say in this. I would love for you to finish, (Y/N)! Thank you again for great care!” he quickly said, shoving Bakugou a few feet away so he could lay flat on the ground. You balled up the fabric lining the bottom of your foraging basket and placed it under the dragon boy’s head so he could be more comfortable as you got to work again.

You carefully cleaned, sanitized, and tried to get Kirishima back to his peak performance and he took the pain like a champ, but Bakugou on the other hand was getting a little out of hand. He insisted that he keep a close eye on you to make sure you didn’t hurt his “not friend” in any way, shape, or form, and that was fair, but you didn’t like the fact that all he was doing was squatting next to the two of you and just...staring. Not saying anything, just scowling with those pretty eyes of his. What? Just because the man was a bit of a hard ass didn’t mean he wasn’t damn fine eye candy.

“Are you gonna sit there all day and just glare at me and my handy work or are you going to say something, Mr. Negative?” you snarked, watching from your peripheral vision as he jumped at the sudden intrusion of your voice. You smirked as Bakugou scoffed and leaned further in your line of sight to make you acknowledge him.

“Who are you?” he said with a stern tone.

You raised an eyebrow as you added more of the cream onto Kirishima’s wound, “I’ve already told you, my name is--,” Bakugou quickly hushed you.

“Not in that way, moron! I mean as in what are you? Some kind of mage or something dumb like that--,” you swiftly hit Bakugou on the shoulder for his rude remarks but before he could retaliate you flipped the question onto him.

“Don’t call people stuff like that, didn’t your mother ever teach you manners? I’ll tell you what I am after you tell me what you two are.” you countered.

“Bullshit! I’m the one asking the questions here! I ain’t saying--,”

“Bakugou and I are from a Southern Hemispheric tribe called the The Kin Born of Flame,” Kirishima explained as Bakugou’s jaw dropped, “He is actually the son of Chief Mistuki, leader of the Bakugou Clan! How cool is that? As for me I’m half dragon half human, but I’ve started to call my species Dragon Shifters.”

“Wow, not only a dragon but a Dragon Shifter too? This is incredible!” your eyes sparkled as you grinned down at Kirishima in delight.

“I know, right! If you think dragons are rare, try finding more than a dozen Shifters, we’re even harder to come by! Yeah, I’ve been Soul Bonded with Bakugou ever since we were fifteen. He may seem tough on the outside, but once you get to know him he’s really a huge softy!” he laughed as the barbarian cussed him out.

Your heart sank a little as you heard him speak so fondly of the man but the term he used confused you, so you just had to ask, “Soul Bonded? What’s that? Are you two in a romantic relationship?”

“What? Oh, no way! We’re just close buds is all,” Kirishima snickered, “I don’t think I could ever stand to be in a relationship with someone who's so hot headed! But he is still on the market and up for grabs, if you know what I mean~!” Kirishima wiggled his eyebrows at you while you blushed but played it off with a wave of your hand and a teasing giggle.

“What’s that supposed to mean, you hair-for-brains loser?!” Bakugou fumed, his hands twitching at the thought of grabbing the dragon boy’s face and blowing him to bits.

“So, what is Soul Bonding?” you redirected the conversation once again away from the agitated blonde and left him to stew in his frustration.

“Right! Soul Bonding is when a dragon and a human basically become partners, or friends, for life. Bakugou’s people have such a close relationship with my kind that every year a ceremony is held for all the unbonded individuals to try and find their other half. During this process, the human doesn’t get to choose the dragon and the dragon doesn’t get to choose the human, the feeling is sort of hard to describe but you’ll know when you’ve bonded when you see the other and think ‘They’re the only one I can ever fly with again’. Once you’re bonded, you cannot become bonded with another of the opposite species for the rest of your natural life, so if something unfortunate happens to your other half you don’t get a redo. That’s why the practice is so sacred. Some see it as romantic, others see it as a platonic engagement, so Bakugou and I have chosen the latter! Plus, I already have my eyes on a different person~,” Eijirou swooned with a flutter of his scaly wings.

Bakugou groaned, “Please spare us the two hour long declaration of love for another time, idiot. My question still stands, whelp, what are you?”

You huffed, “Well, since you asked so nicely, princess~, I’m a witch,” Kirishima and Bakugou gasped at the answer and glanced at each other nervously, but you raised your hand to stop them from jumping to conclusions, “but if you’re assuming I’m one of the evil witches that only uses black magic and practices necromancy, you’re wrong. I’m actually more of a Green Witch on steroids. I make healing and protection potions, work together with the nymphs who live down by the mountainside, open up my home all the time to the neighboring normal and mythological wildlife, encourage the growth of new, exotic kinds of plants to sprout in my backyard, and more. That is how I was able to make that cream so powerful for you and I, thanks to your guard dog, Kirishima.” you rubbed your neck where the slice had been that had long disappeared from the magical antidote and glared at Bakugou who simply grumbled and looked away in embarrassment.

“Woah, that’s amazing! I was wondering how you made it feel like it wasn’t even hurting anymore! You’re amazing.” Kirishima awed with wonder as he lightly patted the strips of bandages strapped to his side.

“Awe, thank you so much! I’m glad you’re feeling better,” you gave him a scratch behind his horns and his tail began thumping the ground like a dog as you became serious once more and turned to Bakugou, “But I have to ask, what caused Kirishima to get such a huge injury?”

Bakugou froze and let his head dip a bit towards the ground. You looked over at Kirishima who, for the first time, had a truly pissed off glint in his eye. You were taken by surprise at the silence that overcame them and considered taking back the question you had asked but stopped short when Katsuki began to speak again, this time his voice was just a gravely grunt.

“Ever heard of the Dark Kingdom?” was all he had to say as the mood became sinister and heavy.

Your eyes widened and you let out a brief shutter of a sigh as chills swept over your body, “Of course I have. Who hasn’t been affected by them in some way or another?” a grimace filled your now hushed voice. After all, how could you forget the ones who imprisoned your dear instructor?

“Kirishima and I had just made a trade with that damn Prince Shoto in the Todoroki Kingdom to the North last night and we were flying on our normal route back home when all of a sudden this huge blast of blue flames came hurtling towards Kiri. It came out of nowhere, no warning given. I don’t blame Kirishima for not being able to avoid the fucking sneak attack, but I do blame myself for being ignorant enough to not think that an assassin from the Dark Kingdom would try something on our only route home.” Katsuki closed his eyes as his eyebrows furrowed further.

“I should have expected it too, Bakugou. You’re not the only one who wasn’t thinking the smart way.” Kirishima tried to take some of the blame but Bakugou only continued.

“I got a brief glance at the attacker before Kiri fell. While he was falling, he managed to hit a rather large pine tree and instead of breaking it he impaled himself directly on it like a dumbass and further hurt himself. We hit the ground, I checked to see if Kiri was even alive and if I had anything broken, and once I confirmed he was breathing, I ran after the fucker who did this to give him a lesson like a jackass. I ran and ran, but the bastard got away and when I came back to help Kiri I saw you poking and prodding at his flesh and I just...saw red. Look, I’m sorry I jumped your shit and nearly killed you. Just don’t be such a weirdo and don’t go poking your head in business that doesn’t concern a dummy like you!” Bakugou finished while crossing his arms over his chest.

“How did this turn into my fault?” you rhetorically asked the air.

“Well, it’s because--,” Bakugou started.

“Didn’t need an answer on that, dunce,” you rolled your eyes and stood while looking over at Kirishima, “Well, to end this on a happier note, my medical work here is done, boys! You’re all patched up, Kiri!”

“Seriously? Freaking awesome!” he jumped up from the dirt and almost nearly collapsed again if it weren’t for you and Bakugou rushing to help him lean his weight on you two.

“You didn’t let me finish, you overgrown lizard! You’re all patched up, but there is only so much that cream can do. I wanted to say the both of you can come back to my cottage and you can rest up awhile, rehydrate, get some energy back. Plus, I can see about making you a potion that can fully heal that wound for you too!” you finished with a grin.

“Oh yeah? What’s the catch, bitchy witchy? Turning us into frogs to keep as pets?” Bakugou sneered.

You giggled with a smirk, “I haven’t thought of the price yet, but if you’re offering that sounds like fun! I bet you two would be the cutest frogs in the land! Maybe I could as far as cursing you to need a princess to kiss you back to your handsome selves again~!”

The two of them gasped at your cruelty, but you laughed, not noticing the blush on Bakugou’s face, “I’m kidding, guys! You don’t think I’m actually that mean, right?” you teased.

“O-Of course not, (Y/N)! Ha ha! Pleasedon’tturnusintofrogs!” Kirishima stuttered out with a paled face, which made you laugh.

“You worry too much! Let’s get you boys somewhere safe to hang out! Ooo! I have to show you guys everything!” you skipped down the dirt path that ultimately led to your house and you rambled on about your own little world as the two of them shambled close behind, one of them wondering what the hell they just got themselves into getting stuck with a cutie klutz like you and the other way too excited to help these two lovesick fools navigate their way through the world of romance.

~ The End ~

~ Extra Bonus Ending!!!! ~

The figure hidden in the shadows of the trees watched with a smirk as the beautiful young lady led the two idiots further into the forest and away from the clearing where the beast had sadly not bled out.

“Wow, what an interesting turn of events, chiefling,” the blue-eyed figure snickered as they incinerated the bloody cloak of the young maiden previously used to clean the dragon’s wound, “Let’s see how long your princess in shining armor can keep you safe~!”

~ To Be Continued… ~

#mha #bnha #mha oneshot #fanfiction #fantasy au #adventure #romance #katsuki bakugou #bakugou #x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #fantasy au katsuki bakugo #fantasy au katsuki bakugou x reader #kirishima #kirishima eijirou #fantasy au kirishima #fantasy au kirishima eijirou #witch #witch reader

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god-of-dust · 4 years ago

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i recently remembered that my fic Liminality was actually part of a bigger story; it’s old and don’t think i will ever complete it, but since @thetpot left me a lovely comment i thought that i could share some of the parts i had written, as a treat.

the story is set in the post-canon world. aang is in his twenties, dealing with grief, ptsd and depression and his avatar responsibilities. on top of that, he realizes that he’s fallen in love with zuko and this causes him to break up with katara; a lot of angst and self-hatred follow, because he feels like he’s breaking the heart of the woman he loves and betraying his best friend too.

so, here are some snippets! note: they’re unedited and also not in chronological order.

[Aang speaks with Avatar Yangchen in the spirit world]

“Avatar Yangchen?”

“Hello, Aang. It seems I'm the one you turned to in your moment of need, this time.”

“Why, though? I didn't think about you, I just... needed someone to talk to, I guess. Someone who has nothing to do with all this.”

“You don't want to have this conversation with any of your friends.”

“They're too close to Katara and I don't want to force them to pick sides.”

“And Fire Lord Zuko is, of course, out of the question.”

“If I saw him now, I wouldn't be able to keep my mouth shut and I'd spill my guts and it would be embarrassing for both and that would only make things even worse... he doesn't deserve this. I'm the one who messed up.”

“Why do you think you messed up?”

“Why? I fell in love with my best friend! I hurt Katara and I'll hurt Zuko too if I don't learn to keep my feelings hidden! I should have hidden them better from the start!”

“Is this what would make you happy? Learning how to hide your feelings, having no one the wiser?”

“I wanted to marry Katara and make her happy for the rest of our lives, and now I ruined our relationship because I just had to be like this! My life couldn't be simple, oh no, I couldn't just be with her, I had to want more—of course I hurt her!”

“I see now the reason you chose me instead of Avatar Roku or Avatar Kyoshi, whether you were aware of it or not. You're missing something crucial... something that not even they would see.”

“What is it?”

“You're an Air Nomad, Aang.”

Aang waited. Since no explanation came, he spoke. “Well, yeah, that's kind of hard to miss.” He gestured at himself, “orange robes, bald head, tattoos—you know, the whole package. I don't see how it should change things, though.”

“You know that, but you forgot what it means. The love you carry in your heart is the truest expression of our heritage. You can't love like Katara does, because you were raised in the Air Temples and your heart knows no boundaries or shame. Most people would consider things like distance, social status, race or gender, but you never put meaning in such limitations. That's the way of Air Nomads, Aang, our way.”

“But Katara loves me too, who cares if she's not an Air Nomad!”

“While her love for you runs deep and fierce, she has a different understanding of what it means. Sometimes, as you experienced, this can cause conflict. Katara expected you to have romantic feelings for her and her only. You certainly love her and did your best to grant her wish in full, but by doing this you failed to see that chain for what it was and how it would hurt you both.”

“This sounds an awful lot like 'you're destined to hurt everyone and you better not try to have a relationship ever again'.”

“I'd say it's more like 'you seem to be naturally inclined to love more than one person in a romantic sense and your culture never repressed this attitude like others would have'.”

“Am I really not capable to feel romantic love for only one person? I think I can learn. I learned a lot of difficult things that opposed my Air Nomad nature, so why not this one? I want to be with Katara. I miss her so much...”

“But you also want to be with Zuko, don't you?”

“I... I can't be with him. That wouldn't be fair.”

“Why not?”

“I don't want to push my feelings on him. I never asked for this and he certainly didn't either!”

“It seems our conversation has come full circle. You insist that Zuko will reject your feelings, that they will cause him distress and pain, but that's an assumption on your part—quite the heavy one, at that. Do you trust your best friend so little?”

“Of course I trust Zuko, I trust him with my life! It's myself I don't trust, and I don't want to jeopardize our friendship!”

“And yet, you treat him like a fragile glass sculpture. The bond you share has weathered way worse than a love confession gone wrong. Zuko himself has weathered worse.”

[Zuko’s pov, reflecting on something that had happened with Aang. i don’t remember if i had a plan for it, but it’s possible that it was actually the Papaya Incident from another fic of mine, He gives me the holiday I needed all the time]

Pebbles lay scattered on the sand, round and shiny from the waves. He picked one up and rolled it between his fingers; it was black, a solid weight, and smooth to the touch when he ran his thumbs over it.

His mind wandered, lulled by the sound of the wind and the sea.

Things with Aang were going well. After the initial period of embarassment on both parts, they'd eventually reached a new stability and stopped obsessing over every little thing they did and said. The hot springs accident had helped a lot and Aang's sun-kissed nature had done the rest; Zuko'd let himself be led, knowing that his friend was the most vulnerable, not to mention the one he trusted to make the right decisions—way more than he trusted himself.

He remembered what the old ladies had told him years before about the Island. Without consciously realizing it before, those words were the reason why Zuko was there—sitting on the beach by himself, holding a rock and waiting for the magic to happen.

A tingling in the back of his head reminded that he didn't know what the water would bring ashore this time. There were still so many sharp angles in him for the sea to smooth over, so many questions that may or may not be best left unanswered.

Nonetheless, he stayed. He'd always been too stubborn for his own good.

He threw the pebble over the water and watched it skirt on the surface. One, two, three, then down with a small plop.

Things with Aang were going well, and yet Zuko was antsy. He'd adapted and was comfortable in their situation, but something had irremediably shifted the night before. Something that was probably brewing slow and deep since Aang's confession.

They weren't kids anymore. It used to be a nostalgic thought for Zuko; it reminded him of how many years had passed already, of the responsibilities on their shoulders. The difference in their ages didn't feel like a chasm anymore, especially since their roles put them on equal ground; they'd matured, losing a big chunk of the recklessness of youth. Zuko'd learned to hold his temper (most of the times) and Aang'd learned to be serious and diplomatic (when needed).

Now, though, their adulthood also held a different kind of weight and Zuko was running out of excuses not to notice.

The arch of Aang's impish grin, the vibrations of his laughter, the scratch of his beard on Zuko's cheek as he hugged him... they pulled at strings that any other friend couldn't reach. Aang had always been special. This was another layer of Zuko's defenses slowly being peeled away, another way in which Aang was turning his life upside down to make him discover new paths and new meaning.

Zuko had never been attracted to a man before, which meant that of course Aang had to be the exception.

There, he'd admitted it, in the privacy of his own head, with the burning circle of the setting sun as a witness. He was attracted to Aang. He was charismatic and funny and handsome and fuck if Zuko hadn't wanted to kiss him the day before.

[more flirting]

“I never noticed that the tattoos on your arms are separated from the one on the back... and I guess the ones on the legs are separate too,” Zuko pondered, lazily following the blue line that traced Aang's spine and disappeared under yellow fabric to reappear again on both of his thighs.

“You've seen me half naked a million times and you're noticing it now?” Aang asked, all cheek and impishness.

“Well, yes, I wasn't really looking though.”

“You weren't, but now you are?” Aang's smirk turned almost lecherous as he wiggled his eyebrows in the most theatrical flirting in history. “I'm flattered, darling, but if you want me to take my clothes off to, ah, 'see the tattoo' you have to wine and dine me first.”

“...you just said I've already seen you half naked and I certainly didn't wine and dine you first.”

“Ah, but that was different—now you're looking!”

“What if I was only pretending not to look?”

“Then you already owe me the wine and dining, even though proper behaviour would have been asking me out before the ogling. I'd say I expected better from the Fire Lord of all people, but I understand the irresistible appeal of my toned, hot body.” He stroke some poses to show off his muscles and Zuko busied himself with a thorough examinations of his own fingernails. It was nothing he hadn't already seen anyway, no need to stare while his friend acted like a dork and interpreted what seemed airbending forms with abandon, since he already knew how Aang looked, thank you very much.

Which is why he was completely unprepared for the sulking, cross-armed Airbender hovering so close that he could taste his body heat.

“Stop ignoring me! Rude!” Aang lamented as a truly wounded man.

It should have been exhausting to deal with all that unbridled shifting energy contained in a single person, the constant pull that kept Zuko's attention inside the vortex that was Aang... and yet, it wasn't, because Zuko wasn't alone in this. Since that day a lifetime ago under the fiery eyes of Dragons, they'd never stopped dancing—they danced and pulled at each other's strings, dug in deep darkness and broke down walls to let the light in.

No force on the Earth could have stopped the blush rising to Zuko's cheeks as the split-second realization brushed his thoughts and exploded with bursting colors.

Spirits, he loved Aang.

Of course, this wasn't exactly new. However, it was the flavor of it, the quality of the burn, hot and vibrating and fierce, the senses amplified by the proximity of the wonderful man before him.

[Aang is acting strangely (bc of depression and all the rest) and the gaang notices]

Toph's inquisitive eyes didn't bear anything good for Aang. Her abilities always allowed her to slip into people's spaces, more often than not in a way that let her obtain blackmail material galore; his heartbeat quickened and he cursed himself because that was just what he needed, another incriminating piece of evidence in her probably already long list... for whatever his crime was.

Katara, Sokka and Suki stared at both of them, unsure of the meaning of their silent conversation.

Aang silently begged for some of his enemies to sweep through the windows and try to kill him. He would take them on all together if needed, as long as he could avoid hearing the next words out of the earthbender's mouth. Could he take a quick trip to the Spirit World? It seemed a nice option, to leave his unconscious body and his friends entirely behind.

Then, Toph opened her mouth.

“Out, Twinkletoes.”

She stomped a foot and raised her arms. Aang was catapulted out of the door, quickly and brutally, before he could realize that she was, in fact, being considerate and granting them privacy. Small mercies, indeed.

“Don't think I don't know that you know I know,” she announced as he pulled his arm until they entered the adjacent room. The ominous echo of the door closing made Aang discover that, mildly considerate Toph or not, in no way did he want to have this conversation.

“So, what's with you and Flame Boy there? Did he ask you to kill him again?”

Subtle as a ostrich horse mating call... or a boulder to the face.

“He didn't do anything, Toph,” Aang answered, trying to cover the giant tangle of mess in his chest with exasperation.

Toph, of course, wasn't fooled. “Makes sense, since he was acting normal—well, normal for his overdramatic royal ass.” She put her hands on her hips, legs apart in her best rooted stance. “So you're the one with the problem, and I bet he doesn't even know.”

“Please. I don't feel like talking about this.” The tiniest crack in his voice, as the surface of an iced lake that could break and swallow him up for a single misstep. His hand found his prayer beads and caressed them.

“Spill,” Toph ordered.

“I said no!” Aang shouted, “leave me alone!”

“While it's nice to meet your backbone again, I'm not going anywhere. Spill.”

Aang's blood was boiling. A distant part of him wondered if he was actually firebending from every pore of his body, like a human torch of anger. She taught him to stand his ground, didn't she? He was going to show her how good of a student he was. He didn't own her any explanation for anything. “Why do you have to be like this? It's always a game to you, poking and prodding at things that are not yours to know! Can't you see that I'm already miserable enough as it is?”

“I can see it quite well and I'm blind, Aang—that's exactly why I'm doing this! You've been moping anxiously and hiding it from everyone for months. I'm sick of your shit, you're obviously not managing to fix whatever the problem is, and you're going to tell me what's wrong right now!”

“Moping anxiously?” He laughed, an ugly sound, like scratching the bottom of a barrel. “So if I don't act all light-and-laughter every single moment of my life, you get 'sick of my shit'? How about you let me live and have emotions like a normal human being?”

“I would have bashed any other human being's head in for being so infuriating. You're lucky I'm trying to help you, though you don't seem to give a shit!”

The echoing silence constricted his chest. His temples pulsed. His eyes burned. They weren't getting anywhere, it was exhausting, he just wanted it to end.

“It's not just Zuko, isn't it?” Toph said too softly, after a too long pause. That gentleness didn't belong on her voice and Aang hated it.

“This isn't any of your business. I'm leaving,” Aang spat out.

He turned, ripped the door open and disappeared into the corridor; Toph didn't feel his footsteps—he'd probably airbended his way out of the building.

She shook his head, wide eyes staring into nothingness. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Twinkletoes?”

[follow-up to the previous scene]

“So, I may have royally fucked up,” Toph announced, spreading her arms in a dramatic fashion.

“What did you do to him?” Katara asked sharply. Toph registered her body humming with pent up energy, coiled and ready to snap.

“Yeah, what did you do? I haven't heard Aang raising his voice in years. You must have delivered some serious ass kicking,” Sokka added. At least it seemed like he wasn't sharpening his sword—not yet.

“I asked him what the hell's wrong and he blew up on me.”

Katara's eyebrows furrowed and she slowly asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Toph enunciated, “that he's acting weird. Weird as in he's got issues and he doesn't want to acknowledge them and he's shutting us out because he thinks that pretending to be fine is serving some sort of purpose when obviously it doesn't.”

Katara wasn't a ball of menacing vibrations anymore. In fact, she was unnaturally still—hesitating. “What do you mean, 'issues'?”

“Does he seem okay to you? Don't tell me you, of all people, haven't noticed! His responses are off, he speaks like he's reading from a script, he pulls out his magic avoidance tricks whenever we try to have any sort of meaningful interaction with him!”

“Of course I noticed,” Katara sighed. “I've been worried—really worried—since Bumi's funeral. I know that everyone mourns differently, but... he buried his friend and the next day he was already busy with some ambassador duty for the Northern Water Tribe. When I offered him support, he smiled and changed the subject. I thought that maybe Air Nomads have a different understanding of death, that this detachment is part of his culture. I should have trusted my intuition from the start instead of letting him sweep everything under the rug.”

[Aang and Katara break up]

“It's Zuko, isn't it.”

Aang squeezed his eyes shut. There was no hiding this. “Yes.”

“You clearly love him—it's so obvious now that I let myself see it.”

“Katara... I'm so sorry.”

“Please, don't. This is... I don't know what to say. Just—go to him, be happy together, whatever you need to do. Just go, Aang. I can't do this.”

He couldn't do this either. To see Katara, his strong, fierce Katara, with trembling lips and wet eyes was torture.

“I'm sorry,” he repeated, “I'm so sorry.”

He broke her heart. He loved her. He hurt her.

So he did what he always did: he ran away.

[Aang’s confession, first version]

“Aang, why didn't you tell me?”

“Tell you?” Aang questioned.

“About you and Katara,” Zuko answered. “I mean, you don't have to tell me, but apparently everyone else knew and I was the only one left out of the loop. Did I do something wrong?”

��No, Zuko. It's just...” Aang gestured weakly, like he was trying to conjure the right words from thin air.

Zuko waited for Aang to elaborate. It didn't happen. They kept feeding the turtleducks in silence, Zuko sitting cross-legged with his back propped on the tree and Aang with his pants rolled up and his feet in the water.

“Aang, I didn't want to pry or make you uncomfortable. It's your business—and Katara's, I guess... anyway, not mine. So, uh... sorry.” He scratched the back of his neck, self-consciously.

Silence, again, thick and full of undecipherable things.

When their eyes met, hundreds of lives dwelled behind Aang's gaze, heavy with unspeakable burdens. The eyes of the Avatar, reflections of a long, unbroken line of heroes and protectors. They had lived, they had seen.

Too much for Zuko, whose chest tightened in the struggle to catch his breath. What was happening? This Aang was so vulnerable, so... raw. Rarely had he seen his friend so close to unraveling.

“You don't have to apologize. You're right, I didn't tell you, but it wasn't because of something you did—it's because you're you, and I couldn't deal with it.”

“I'm... me? What is that supposed to mean?”

“I love you,” Aang said. “That's why Katara broke up with me, why I couldn't tell you. I love you and it's a mess.”

Aang's words might as well had been shouted, for how they left Zuko stranded and grasping at something, anything that was supposed to make sense of what he'd just heard. Because surely there was an explanation. Aang loved Katara to death and beyond. This was some kind of elaborate joke that Zuko hadn't caught up on.

“Come on, what really happened?”

Walls shut off any reaction from the Air Nomad. He was in business mode—imperturbable, collected, the perfect picture of the perfect hero; his smile was so fake it gave Zuko the creeps as he said: “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have burdened you with this. I'm leaving.”

This wasn't supposed to happen. It was happening all the same, though, and this was the crossroad where years of friendship could slip like water through Zuko's fingers if he didn't do something to stop it.

He was still petrified.

His hand moved and grabbed Aang's wrist and made him turn. They were face to face, touching yet almost unreachable. Almost.

“Don't go. I don't want you to—” leave me.

No flicker of acknowledgment from under Aang's façade of rocks and hollowness, though he'd stopped in his tracks and now stood there, staring, with Zuko still holding his wrist.

“I don't know what to say. This is... unexpected and I will probably need time to digest it, but please, don't go like this. We can talk.”

“I betrayed you.”

“What are you talking about?”

The façade was starting to fall apart.

“We were friends and I fell for you. You trusted me and I had to ruin everything with this. I'm sorry.”

What the hell? “Okay, you know what? Now I'm getting pissed,” Zuko growled. “You didn't ruin anything! Stop this fucking ridiculous guilt-trip right now!”

“This isn't a ridiculous guilt-trip!” Aang yelled, and there it was, the fire that burned down the walls.

“I'm shocked to discover that my best friend's in love with me since I had no fucking clue before this conversation, but guess what? It's not the end of the fucking world! You should know better, since you saved it once already!”

“How can you be okay with this?! It's creepy and it's wrong!”

“Do you want me to hate you? Because it seems like that's what you're waiting for, and you refuse to accept that I don't hate you at all!”

[Aang’s confession, second version]

“Why didn't you tell me that you and Katara broke up? I had to hear it fom Suki, of all people!”

“Oh. That. I, uh... kind of didn't want to tell you.”

“So it was on purpose! And you're evading my question.”

“It's... um. Complicated?”

“Did you cheat on her with Mai? I might have to challenge you to an Agni Kai for that.”

Aang choked on air, which made Zuko's eyebrows rise. “Please don't tell me you did it for real.”

“I didn't cheat on Katara, and especially not with Mai.”

“Thank Spirits. I wouldn't be able to win in a duel against you. So, what happened? Suki said she didn't know and she seemed sincere.”

“No one else knows, just me and Katara.”

“Is it a secret? I won't pry if it is.” He was so very curious, though—it was clear as the water from the pond in front of them.

“Definitely something that I wouldn't want people to know, yeah,” Aang said. He fidgeted, playing with his necklace and stroking its wooden shapes. “But you probably should.”

“I should?” The conversation was becoming weirder by the minute. “Well, tell me then.”

Zuko turned to face his friend and—was Aang blushing? The back of Zuko's neck prickled, a familiar yet undecipherable sensation. What was going on?

“Look, Zuko, I... uh...” Aang stuttered. He covered one of his eyes with a hand and took a deep, steadying breath, then muttered: “Ugh, it's like pulling teeth. Worse than learning Earthbending.”

Lacking a decent answer to that, Zuko waited for Aang to catch his thoughts, whatever they were.

Aang tried again. “You know we're friends, right?”

“Yeah,” Zuko replied, hesitant.

“I'm in love with you.”

“...what?”

The can of worms had been opened and Zuko could only listen and stare, mouth agape, as the Air Nomad barreled on. “One day I realized that what I felt for you was different than friendship and—I'd always chalked that up to you being you, you know? You've always been special to me, but it's such a tender feeling and it scared me a little, and when I talked about it to Katara she got mad and cried and broke up with me. So, uh, that's what happened.”

Turtleducks paddled happily on the water, the mother guiding her little offspring in swaying curves to peck at the breadcrumbs the two men had thrown for them. There was so much green in the garden, so much peace and sweet birdsongs. Time had no weight nor shape here.

It was Zuko's turn to be utterly uneloquent.

“That's... not what I was expecting. At all.” A memory suddenly surfaced and his face coloured. “Wait, so that time at the hot springs—you did it on purpose?”

“What? Spirits, Zuko, no!”

“Well, what should I think? You come here and you tell me that you're in love with me since who knows how long, I'm sort of freaking out right now!”

“Nothing changed! If you didn't realize before I told you, why are you so worried?”

“I—it's weird, okay?” Zuko bellowed. “And you can't say nothing changed, you've been in love with Katara for so long, and now you're not, and you love me!”

“But I do love Katara.”

“What? How?”

“What do you mean, 'how'?”

“Well, it's either one or the other, no? You must have a... preference or something for her or me.” He paused. “I can't believe I'm having this conversation.”

The sky was immensely blue, the perfect day for a ride on Appa, and Aang, too, couldn't believe he was having this conversation—but, surreal as it was, it was also necessary. Zuko was proving the point Avatar Yang Chen had made to Aang years before: Air Nomads had a particular outlook on life and love that clashed with the other cultures'.

So, it was the moment where Aang had to explain love to his (other) beloved all over again.

“I don't have a 'preference', I really love you both... there's no way to compare because you're not Katara and Katara isn't you, and in any case I don't care because you're both fundamental, irreplaceable elements in my life. I'm not expecting you to love me back, but it's very important to me to be your friend.” He touched Zuko's arm softly, a question for reassurance, and his voice was clear but low. “Can we be friends? You know—after this?”

The stutter followed by a lack of words, Zuko's averted eyes... they fed the pit in Aang's stomach, a slime-covered, abyss-dwelling monster, but he couldn't—wouldn't—force his hand. This was it, yet another crucial moment in their lives that made them or broke them.

“Your friendship has survived worse,” Avatar Yang Chen had said, so Aang closed his eyes and waited for the monster to strike or leave. I've survived worse, too. I'll be okay.

When Zuko got up and started pacing, Aang decided that focusing his own attention on something else was the best way to leave him space. It's a good sign that he didn't punch me in the face, right? He wouldn't still be here and pacing if he hated me. That doesn't sound like Zuko, he's way too impulsive to not explode in a situation like this. He's probably confused, and stuff. Yes.

He let his eyes wander, a bit more hopeful. Focusing on something else... like the turtleducks, who looked inviting indeed, all tiny and fluffed up and cute.

He took a piece of bread from the satchel and spread the crumbs in the grass in front of him with all the art he could muster; satisfied, he watched and waited. C'mon, there's food here! Delicious bread, just for you! Momo would have been on the loaf way before it was pulled out from the bag. They barely deigned him and his prize a glance. Rude! But he still wanted to pet them, because they were adorable. Making sounds to attract them would interrupt Zuko's brooding.

What to do?

Perhaps they wouldn't shy away if he got closer.

A man on a mission, Aang creeped towards the edge of the pond, slow and silent like the trained monk he was. One of his targets seemed to notice him and tilted its head curiously. Hello, little one. By some miracle, it started to head in Aang's direction.

[Bumi’s funeral]

It was more of a drizzle than rain, really. Tiny, steady droplets of water pelted softly Aang's smooth head and bare arms. The sky was partecipating in their mourning like the kind old friend that it was.

Omashu's mail service wasn't operative; a gentle stream slid down the railing instead. Bumi would have loved to slide on the now wet road—he probably did it every time the occasion arose, Aang mused.

Except now Bumi rested, too still, in an elaborately carved yet solid wooden box and wouldn't go sliding in the mail system ever again.

The King of Omashu was dead.

Bumi was dead, and with him the last person who'd survived from Aang's life before the iceberg. Now he was with the others, and they weren't gone... but they weren't with Aang either. They were spirits now. No one, not a single one would walk on Earth anymore—they would play in the crowded, sunny courtyard in the Air Nomad's memories, to be remembered and cherished with smiling faces and bright hearts.

[Aang and Aunt Wu aka the fortuneteller]

“First Katara, then Guru Pathik, then you! Why is everyone like this? Why can't anyone just give me a straight answer for once, instead of acting like my life is a series of riddles to solve? This 'fated Avatar' thing's gotten old and I'm tired of it!” He can barely breathe, his own element betraying him, and his voice cracks as the wood of a funeral pyre as he goes on. “Is this what I saved the world for? Giving everyone else a future where they belong, by sacrificing mine?”

“An interesting question, Avatar.”

“MY NAME IS AANG!” he yells, desperate, selfish as the day he was born, when all he cared for was survival; he feels stripped as raw and defenseless as then, tender skin in a world too bright and big, unable to carry himself through it and crying his heart out to fill his lungs with life.

He grits his teeth, suffocating the instinct to spill more useless words that he won't be able to take back.

#zukaang #this is so old but it's still kind of good #so i'm sharing #avatar the last airbender #fanfic #yay writing

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thecipherlegacy · 4 years ago

Text

Comfort and Confessions

A short fic of when Noiren finally confesses to Kenaas. I've been in the mood to write these two lately 💛

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Noiren clung to his glass as if it were a lifeline. His ruby fingers curled around it, shaking, which caused the amber liquid inside to ripple as if there was a ground quake.

Some thing odd was happening, leaving him confused and distraught. The Jedi he had taken in and began to teach the ways of the sith to, he had really gotten under his skin. Not in a way that made him angry, oh no. Quite the opposite, really. He adored him, trusted him with his life. He had never had a good track record with trusting others, which was why the only two in his ship before the small nautolan showed up was his brother and an HK unit. But he felt this connection, this bond in the force that grew stronger and stronger with this nautolan every passing day.

"Are you going to actually drink that? Or are you going to stare into it until you get a premonition?" The alien in question broke through the man's thoughts. Noiren jumped and made an unflattering sound. He thought he had been alone at the table. But he supposed in a small ship someone would find him eventually. The sith lord straightened back up and re-wrapped his left lekku over his shoulder comfortably to once again hide the scars around his neck.

"I thought you were asleep" he responded cooly. "It's late"

"Hm. Says the man sitting alone in the dark with whiskey" the other man's brow raised at him. His large dark eyes were shining with worry. "I woke because I could feel your discomfort. Your brother felt it as well, but I insisted he sleep."

The twi'lek huffed. "I'll be fine. I'm simply nervous about trying to track down this republic captain I've been ordered to look for." He lied. In response, the small nautolan looked unconvinced and unimpressed.

"You know that I know when you lie, right?" He asked flatly as his fingers drummed in the table, as he tended to do when he got frustrated or impatient. "You've been acting oddly toward me lately. Why? Have I done something wrong?"

Noiren shook his head "No. You're perfect" he sighed, then his cheeks deepened in colour and he tried to correct what he said. "I mean fine- well… not fine, but- ugh. You know what I mean."

The other male giggled wildly at his fumbling. "My goodness, how many drinks have you had?" He asked.

In an instant the glass was up to Noirens lips and he downed the liquor inside. "One, officially" he muttered. "So were you coming out here to actually help me or just make me wish I was drinking alone in the dark in my room?"

The laugher died down and Kenaas pat his arm. "Aw Noiren, I'm sorry. Your fumbling was just adorable." He admitted "talk to me, what's eating you?"

Why did he give him that option again? HE was eating him. Every thought of the small nautolan man was eating away at his body and mind. His heart skipped beats when he was around and his mind clouded. He felt a connection to him in the force as strong if not stronger than his familial bond with his brother. Those big black eyes, vast as the night sky, stared up at him as he awaited a response.

"I'm not sure" came the lie after a seemingly endless and tense silence.

A hand covered Noiren's to attempt some comfort. Such a small hand felt so heavy on his own, and he tore it away quickly as if he had been burned by it. His regret for the action was immediate when he saw those soulful eyes turn away in hurt.

"Ah- I see. I'll stop bothering you, my friend. When you're ready to talk you know where to find me."

Noiren screamed at himself internally to say something, anything, to stop Kenaas from leaving. But instead he sat quietly while the other man left the room with a dejected slump in his walk. He hurt him. "Coward…" noiren scolded himself and poured another glass of whiskey.

This glass went down as quickly as the first. Liquid courage, he thought. After his fourth time pouring a new glass a yellow colored hand gently slid over the rim of the cup to keep Noiren from drinking from it. "I can't sleep while my brother is so distressed." Aidesan's kind voice filled the room. "What happened?"

The sith lord sighed and looked up at his brother. His head was fogged, but he wouldn't say he was drunk. "I upset Kenaas. I don't know what's wrong with me." The older man groaned and hid his face in frustration. "I haven't been able to keep a clear head around him and I feel this weird connection with him, in the force" he sighed. His brother started to chuckle.

"You really don't know whats going on?... Noiren… you're in love with the little jedi" Aidesan stated matter of factly. "Your fumbling, your staring, your-"

"No. No no, that can't be true. I… I can't be in love." Noiren denied quickly. "I swore I wouldn't."

"Wouldn't love? Or Wouldn't love him?" His brother raised a brow at him "you love me don't you? You're kid brother?"

"Yes but that's different! You're family. Romantic love leads to pain. I would be putting down my shield and letting him see my weaknesses. Weaknesses he could easily exploit later." Noiren began to pace, albeit a little crooked and wobbly since the alcohol had made him less stable.

"Brother." Aidesan stopped him with a stern tone. "Do you really think that sweet nautolan would harm you? He apologizes for squashing bugs. Give him a chance. And more importantly, give yourself a chance."

A deep sigh escaped the older one's lips, then he slowly turned to face the other man. "He deserves better. He's pure and gentle. Passionate. He's a healer and a fixer. My soul purpose is to break things and kill people."

As he finished speaking, two gentle hands rested in his shoulders. "Noiren… you're so much more than that, and even if that is partially true, he's a fixer and you're a breaker. You complete each other, right?"

This earned a chuckle that came out as a scoff. "Maybe." He muttered softly as he crossed his arms as if they were a protective barrier.

"Noiren… Go talk to him. Don't let him go to sleep feeling this way."

The older twi'lek sighed dramatically and glanced into the dark hall. "Alright. You need to get some sleep, though." He frowned.

"I will, brother. Let me know how it goes" the younger gave him one more smile, then retreated back to his own quarters on the ship. Noiren sighed again and went to Kenass's quarters nervously. He stared at the closed door. It shouldn't have been that hard to just knock, but that durasteel sheet between himself and the other force user felt heavy and intimidating.

Suddenly the door slid open, startling the sith, and the younger male was looking up at him from the other side.

"Noiren. I can feel your presence you know, we share quite the profound bond" he said as he turned to go back to his bed. "Is there something I can help you with? You reek of whiskey."

"I want to talk to you" The other mumbled. He watched the nautolan sit upon the bed gracefully. Everything he did always looked so beautiful. How had he not realized that before?

"Then speak, my friend. You know I'm always here to help you. I was hoping you would come to chat. You need to get quite the weight off your chest."

Noiren nodded before sitting beside him. "Kenaas…" he sighed as he prepared himself to speak. "when I was a child, on Ryloth, I had two brothers and a twin sister-" he started from the beginning. The younger one's dark eyes widened as he listened. Noiren had never opened up before, at least not to this extent. He always refused to talk about his youth.

"You know my brother, Aidesan. I also have my youngest brother Orcra, who was put into Imperial intelligence, and my poor sister, Arianness… she was sold as a slave. We were taken by the imperials when we were just kids. I watched them execute my parents." As Noiren spoke he attempted to not show how hard it was to talk about his family, but he didn't have to. Kenaas could feel every emotion the other man was feeling. His emotions hit like a wave in the force to the jedi and his own eyes shimmered with tears from the intensity.

"What happened after you were separated?..." Kenaas worried and gently touched Noiren's hand. This time the other man didn't pull away. He knew he was vulnerable. He needed the contact. Noirens chest rose and fell with a sputter after their hands connected. It was as if a direct link was made between them and it hit him like a brick. All of the feelings he had been suppressing, all of the feelings in his companion, the power they both held in the force. It all melted together instantly and he had never felt anything like it.

Once the shock of the new feeling passed he finally answered. "I stopped trusting people." He said. He hadn't realized that he had gotten a little closer to his friend. "The only people that mattered were my siblings. I did as I was told just so I could stay alive and keep my brother alive. That is…. Until I ran into you on Tatooine."

A small smile played the nautolans lips "you imprisoned me on your ship" he reminded him.

"But even then I felt…. Something. Something new, something strange. Something I only share with my family. It was like I knew you. But I had never met you before. And it's gotten stronger and stronger. I can feel where you are in the ship. I can feel what you feel."

Kenaas squeezed his hand a little "I know." He mumbled, then placed his free hand on Noiren's cheek "Even when we first met I felt your sorrow. Your pain. We both needed someone that could understand our hardships. The moment we met a bond was struck in the force. I may not understand why, but I refuse to question it."

The sith leaned into the gentle touch, desperate for any sort of comfort or affection. "I'm sorry I shoved you off earlier… I was afraid" his words came out as nearly a whisper. Admitting to fear wasn't easy for him.

Their foreheads gently made contact. "Hush. It's alright, it stung but I knew you would come to me when you were ready."

There was a brief silence as Noiren took a deep breath, then released it. His nerves were calming under the feeling of his companions gentle and kind aura. For every tidal wave of broken emotions he would send out, the other man's healing soul would calm and help control it by blanketing his fears and doubts in reassurance and compassion. He was the calming moon to the sith's roaring ocean.

"I love you…" Noiren let it out, a broken whisper riding a shaken breath. He hadn't realized his eyes had been closed for so long until he opened them finally to see the beautiful nautolan looking back at him with a smile and blush dusting his freckled purple cheeks.

"I know" he replied gently and caressed Noirens cheek with his thumb. "I love you too."

They sat in a comfortable silence before finally meeting for a gentle kiss. It was inexperienced, but soft, and filled with every unsaid word and emotion Noiren wanted to give him. His whole heart overflowed with his feelings for the grey force user, who could sense every ounce of it. When they parted Kenaas had to wipe away tears that had finally spilled.

"My goodness- you're so emotional and-" he chuckled happily "I never thought anyone would feel so strongly for me" he continued to try and wipe away the waterworks "I'm a mess"

Noiren could feel himself calm down fully now. Everything was out in the open. He hugged Kenaas close and buried his face in his neck. "Most beautiful mess I've ever seen" he sighed. "Would it be appropriate for me to sleep here tonight?"

A hand gently stroked his lekku "please, make yourself comfortable" the other insisted. Once they fully parted, the pair got comfortable in Kenaas's bed. For the first time since his childhood Noiren felt at peace as he clung to Kenaas and drifted off into a blissful sleep.

#mox's ocs #my ocs #my art #mox's art #mox writes #oc: noiren #oc: kenaas #oc: aidesan #nautolan #twi'lek #sith warrior/jedi counselor #swtor ocs #alcohol tw #drinking tw #this one turned out cute im very excited to finally post it #that arts a little old but thats okay

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princeanxious · 5 years ago

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Part One; “A Wounded Snake Lies Still”

A continuation fic in the au i built from this art piece I did and this post that I’d written that inspired this whole idea. I don’t know how many parts there will be, but the plan is for it to be hurt/comfort? It’s just that the comfort comes in small increments, but I promise the ending will be happy!

Fandom: Thomas Sanders Sides

Ships: mentions of past healthy Anxceit, start of story begins w/ analogical, end goal is analoceit! Side royality, Remus is lowkey Aro.

Minor Trigger Warnings: in no particular order.. brief mentions of painful memory loss, brief food mention, Remus and Deceit as sympathetic characters in general, accidental revealing of a secret-Remus feeling awful about it and Deceit being completely forgiving on it. Deceit being sorta selfish but also being very selfless without realize it. Deceit lying when he speaks/ backwards talk.

Serious Trigger Warnings: (slight spoilers) Deceit ignores his own distress in favor of keeping up a nonchalant act around the others, and doesn’t process his inner emotions in a healthy way. Deceit repressing years of his own resurfacing emotional trauma that originally came from his separation from Virgil, Deceit also briefly relives said trauma in the fic and pretends nothing is wrong even though something Really Is. Patton has minor empath abilities in this au and accidentally gets hit with a ride of very negative emotions that Deceit is already internally feeling when he touches Deceit.

(Let me know if I need to tag something else!)

Summary: Virgil’s missing memories have always been a touchy subject. After Remus and Deceit gain their acceptance of from the Light Sides and Thomas, Deceit still seems to have a few secrets to hide. If you asked him, he’d tell you it was for the best that he kept them. Partially concealing the truth was a slippery slope, indeed. But, could you really blame him? When Virgil was dating Logan and finally seemed happy again? To him, All the repression of his own trauma was worth Virgil’s happiness. Their years of love were lost with Virgil’s memories of the past, and there was no way in hell Deceit was about to jeopardize Virgil’s current stability now, not when the only person at fault for losing was Deceit himself.(or, was it? He’s never sure anymore. Trauma is a fickle beast.) Well, one slip up from Remus is all it takes before Deceit finds himself faced with that exact dilema fast approaching, and he finds he is less than prepared to face the music..

[[MORE]]

“Ugh, gross. In front of my deodorant?? Could you guys like. Not?? Be romance-y in the living room?? You two remind me of when Dee and Virgie were dating.” Remus grumbled offhandedly, too tired to deal with his twin’s particularly loud and loving attention directed towards Thomas’s literal representation of the heart this late into the afternoon.

They’d been loudly and shamelessly flirting back and forth from across the room while everyone set up for movie night, Roman in the living room with the others and Patton in the kitchen with Deceit making snacks. It was only seconds later that the duke realized his slip up as everything and everyone around clattered to a halt, the other sides turning stare at him in confusion.

Three years. It had taken Deceit three long, painstaking years and counting to distance himself from the years of memories he’d spent in bliss, to separate his mind from the heartbreak of losing his only love. Three years to come to terms with the fact that his only love now held no memories of the time they spent together, to accept that his love now deeply loved another.

Three years to come to terms with the fact that Virgil would never know what it was like to watch helplessly as his love writhed in pain. To watch as The Line ripped the memories from his love’s very being, forcing Virgil into a clean slate. Three years to come to terms that Virgil would never remember.

Three years of patience and heartbreak and anguish and lies, telling himself that it’d be okay, telling himself that he would move on and heal eventually. Three years of painstakingly separating himself from the narrative he and Virgil used to share, and ensuring that Virgil never had any inkling to what had been of his past. It was the only secret Deceit ever asked Remus to keep.

Rest assured, he’d tried to respark Virgil’s memories many times in the first few months after Virgil crossed over The Line from Dark side to Light, having ultimately crossed for good. It’d only led to fight after fight, driving a wedge further and further between them with each escalated argument. With a bleeding heart, he’d eventually given in, and stopped any further attempts. After all, each attempt only seemed to fuel Virgil with irritation. It had been clear then, that whatever they’d had, was never going to be again.

Three years it’d been. He thought he’d nearly healed, really. Most days he found he could exist and interact with the others and not be reminded of the past, and be comforted that he himself would not be a reminder to the past. Repression had always been his strong suit, though, conciously or not.

The Line had diminished as of late, after Thomas had really begun accepting Deceit and Remus. They could cross The Line for long amounts of time now, and mostly be fine. Occasionally they suffered from a bout of fatigue when disagreements with the others briefly turned sour, feeling The Line tugging back at them insistently. It never lasted for long, but there was always that underlying worry that The Line would finally snap them back into the dark for good if one of them made a final wrong move. The Light Sides didn’t know about The Line, not even Virgil remembered stumbling away from it after all that had happened. And well, if it were up to Deceit? They would never find out about it. Too many questions, too many messy answers.

Three years later, Deceit finds his heart splintering once more, an ache sinking into his chest that he knows Patton feels as they stand nearby one another. Memories flood in harshly, a deep painful longing resurging from the depths of his mind as it always did when faced with his reoccurring trauma sinking its claws into his psyche.

It’s only been seconds, but the silence is starting to feel heavy. Instead of moving on from the previous comment, Remus glances to Deceit, eyes pleading and devastated by having made his mistake, breaking the only promise to Dee he’d ever been seriously asked to keep. And Deceit knows he must do what he does best to save face, there is still time to redirect the carnage.

“Remus, please don’t refrain from spreading lies, that’s certainly not my job, after all.” He teases lightly, keeping his tone precisely on the edge of amused confusion, though his eyes hold an understanding none of the others know to read for. “Next you won’t be telling me that your favorite animal is a squid, not an octopus. Not your worst try at shock humor, yes?”

Remus catches on after a millisecond, drawing out a full cackle. “Sorry, not sorry! You should’ve seen the looks on your faces though! Priceless!! Who knew a shitty joke falling so flat would shock everyone so good!”

Their reactions held the desired effect. Quickly, everyone around the room seemed to relax, Roman even firing back his own playful quip to further lighten the mood. In the end, it was just a bump in conversation, something Remus caused every once in a while as everyone adjusted and Remus learned. Not a single step amiss that wasn’t already expectedly out of line.

Still, he’d have to talk to Remus in private later. Remus was just as sensitive to rejection as Roman was, and paired with his inherently intrusive thoughts, it would come to no surprise if Remus already thought Deceit now hated him. He didn’t, it’d been an accident, and Remus’s first ever slip up in three years since making the promise. Even if Dee had been mad about the slip up, he wouldn’t have had any right to be. He’d be sure Remus was the first person he sought to soothe when they got a free moment alone, it wasn’t right to let those kinds of thoughts fester.

Remus first, Virgil next, as it wasn’t quite crisis averted. He could feel Virgil’s eyes on his back from the living room. He denied his bleeding heart the closure of meeting Virgil’s gaze, of sharing his expression. He was too vulnerable, even now the anxious side could read his tells far too well, often without even realizing why. There was no doubt Virgil would try and talk to him later about it, and no matter how good the terms they were on with each other now were, Deceit knew the conversation would be a rough one. Virgil knows he has missing memories, and only recently had he accepted Remus and Deceit’s vague answers when he’d asked lightly about his past. It was at least him acknowledging they had the answers to the past he doesn’t remember.

If he wasn’t careful, each and every brick in the wall that Deceit had carefully worked to build up in the past three years could crumble right before his eyes, leaving him stripped emotionally defenseless, his trauma bared for all to see. And who knew what the others would do if they knew so much? What would they think of him then? Deceit inwardly shivered at the thought. It would not come to that.

Slipping into the nonchalant act was an easy card to play, it being his strong suit and most comforting form of security, a version of his own little lie of omission to soothe the bumpy situation over.

What he didn’t account for, was Patton gently reaching to touch his arm when everyone else had settled and their attentions returned to their tasks at hand. Deceit fought against his immediate urge to pull away, knowing the moral side just preferred connection through touch when addressing another, and instead looked up to meet Patton with a questioning gaze.

Whatever Patton was about to say died on his lips as he suddenly seemed to reflect an absolutely heartbroken expression, tears welling up in his eyes. Pain and sorrow and surprise seemed to seep into the other’s expression, warring for dominance amongst the primary confusion. It was only then that Deceit realized that Patton was still touching him, his bare arm with an equally bare hand, to be exact. The memory that Patton bore minor empath abilities that were tied into his existence as the representation of Thomas’s morality and feelings sunk in two seconds too late.

Direct skin to skin contact, something Deceit sought often to avoid in general nowadays anyway, was a direct way for Patton to tune into another's current feelings through said abilities, often by accident. There were limits that Patton could control, of course, and Patton only ever seemed to struggle coping with that ability when faced with an overwhelming swell of emotions from the other side. And, well.. Deceit’s mind certainly hadn’t taken well to being reminded of his repressed past, seeping through his protective mental walls with all sorts of roiling negative emotions.

From self-loathing, to dread. From anger, to guilt. From longing, to grief, then to depression, and finally apathy. It just couldn’t be helped that Deceit, a master of disguise and deception, had had three whole years to perfect the act that hid it from the outside and controlled it all from within.

Carefully, Deceit pulled Patton’s hand from his arm, and gently tucked it against the moral side’s chest. Still, he keeps his gloved hand there, letting Patton grasp it with both hands to ground himself after such an emotional ride.

“Deep breaths, dear Patton. Whatever isn’t the matter?” He asks gently, still playing into his act but his eyes plead a different story. ‘Not now,’ they say, ‘I will tell you, but not here,’ they beg. Patton nods slowly, and Deceit carefully wipes away Patton tears. In a move he knows he might regret later if it raises questions, he slips his hat off to gently plop onto the moral side’s head, and gently presses against the others clothed shoulder with his own in a show of comforting affection. It has the desired effect of distracting Patton and lightening his mood, Patton’s lingering upset masked by a watery smile only they can share. Deceit silently mourns the loss of his safety blanket, but accepts that a few minutes of feeling vulnerable while comforting Patton is a good trade to escape having his distress found out. He couldn’t have the other sides cornering him into explaining why Patton had suddenly begun crying without reason. It certainly wasn’t the fact that he felt guilty for Patton having experienced second hand an echo of his painfully raw emotions, no, not at all.

Thankfully their little scene goes unnoticed by the rest of the preoccupied sides, who are far too busy bickering over the movies they want to watch. Well, unnoticed by all but the one who sits to the side. Said side keeps an unconcerned but intrigued eye on the two in the kitchen, glancing over every time he adjusts his glasses to avoid suspicion. Logan says nothing, but knows he has questions for his dearest Virgil when movie night is over. He can only hope that the answers Virgil gives will not raise more questions.

(..Unfortunately, they do raise more questions than answers.. However, they now know exactly who has the answers they seek. It’s only a matter of getting those answers that is a task far harder than they’d ever expected it to be.)

To be continued..

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overclockedroulette · 3 years ago

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AYO HERE WE GO AGAIN procrastinating essays for fic purposes anyway anyone want some more hurt/comfort?

~~~

In his time in Redglass, Vega had developed a habit of neglecting to knock on Avarice’s door. It was mostly a karma thing, since he was pretty sure Avarice hadn’t given him polite notice for entering his room once the whole time he had been here; in fact, ‘polite’ and ‘Avarice’ didn’t even belong in the same sentence. So, when he wanted something (in this case, the extra test tubes that he had stolen for gods-know-what), he just announced himself and swung open the door without a second thought.

Amazingly, the first thing that concerned him wasn’t the smell of burning feathers, or the fact that the thieving bastard was kneeling shirtless opposite a full-length mirror - no, what concerned him was the fact that Avarice jumped when he walked in, so much so that the metal tinderbox in his hand fell to the floor with a clatter so loud it made Vega wince. It’s not like he’d never seen Avarice startled before - sudden loud noises in particular tended to have an effect on him - but he’d found out the hard way that Avarice reacted violently to being surprised (he’d had a knife pulled on him several times for some relatively harmless pranks), and almost jumping out of his skin and singeing the carpet was anything but in character for him. So, clearly, something was wrong.

And that was when he clocked the tinderbox.

To his credit, Avarice gathered himself so quickly that Vega could almost ignore the situation, switching to a cross-legged position and sweeping the firestarter under one leg. He raised an eyebrow curiously, entirely ignoring Vega’s (completely justified) incredulity. “Any particular reason you’re here, or do you just like looking at me?”

“Why do I smell burning?”

“Why are you here?” he repeated, a little more firmly.

“Something about those test tubes you stole, but now I’m more concerned that you’re conspiring to commit arson, or something.”

“Ah.” He paused, then waved a hand. “Well, you aren’t getting them back, so you might as well just-”

“Turn around,” Vega sighed, clicking the door shut behind him. “I’m not stupid: burning skin isn’t hard to recognise. Turn around so I can see how much damage you’ve done.”

Avarice glared at him for a moment, although Vega’s expression was completely unchanging aside from the expectant raise of an eyebrow. He sighed, and - wordlessly - he turned around and let Vega do… whatever he was hoping to achieve with that request. (It wouldn’t hurt that much, would it? And he really couldn’t be bothered arguing.)

He flinched when Vega drew in a surprised breath - trying very hard to conceal the disbelieving sympathy he absolutely did not feel (Avarice was notoriously difficult to pity: although, who wouldn’t he feel bad for after seeing this?) - and ran his fingers lightly down the ragged line of blackened skin spanning a majority of his spine. His voice softened.

“How’d this happen, puppy?”

“You might want to clarify.” Avarice shrugged, his voice tense and deliberate, and clearly trying very hard to force out a sense of nonchalance about the whole situation. “There’s- ah-”

“A lot, right. I can see that.” He pressed down just a little harder on the long, jagged

line of burns, noticing with alarm that some were still warm, and tried to ignore the sharp intake of breath that the new pressure prompted. “Let’s start with the burns.”

“I don’t think I have to tell you- ah-!”

He cut himself off with a sharp exclamation of pain, clearly far louder than he had intended, as Vega pressed significantly harder on the affected area than the last time. He felt bad, sure: as satisfying as it was, hearing Avarice in pain was never particularly comfortable. It was always… incongruous. It didn’t sound right. But Avarice’s willingness to talk about himself tended to be directly proportional to his mood: which is to say, he didn’t talk about himself at all, so - as guilty as he, admittedly, felt - his concern regarding the frankly disturbing amount of scars spanning Avarice’s back outweighed that guilt. (Because, really, without regarding him as infallible or boosting his ego more than necessary: it was difficult to imagine something that could get away with hurting him the way that sheer quantities of scars indicated).

“Fine,” he relented after a long period of motionlessly glaring so hard at the wall that Vega could swear he saw it smouldering. “The burns were all me. They’re intentional. Can I go now?”

Vega blinked. “All of them?”

“No, only a few- yes all of them, moron. That’s what I said.”

“And- uh- why?”

Avarice just sighed impatiently, fidgeting with his hands. “I don’t have to tell you-” his voice broke off into a high-pitched yelp as Vega briefly pressed down on his burns in warning - not enough to significantly hurt him, of course, but just enough to cause a little discomfort. His shoulders dropped, and he let out a small, relenting exhale. “You’re aware of my... ancestry, correct?”

“What, that you’re part-”

“That, yes,” he interrupted. “And as such, there are certain… manifestations of that lineage that I would rather not be a part of.”

“Like?”

“Not important,” he dismissed, “but either way, they grow far too quickly unless I do something about it. So…” he kicked the tinderbox out from under his leg and waved a hand vaguely in its direction. “This is the best solution I could find.”

“Gods, is that why I could smell burning feathers?”

He didn’t answer.

“Just- just clip them off, or something! I’m sure it would hurt less.”

“They grow too quickly,” he muttered under his breath. “Killing the skin slows it down a little.”

“A little? It’s a miracle anything can grow at all!”

“Thank you.” And Vega could tell he was smirking even without looking at his face. “Can you go now?”

There was a long pause.

“Those look like whip marks,” Vega finally pointed out, tracing a thumb along one of the thin red lines that defiled the large majority of Avarice’s back. Avarice scoffed as if his breathing hadn’t hitched up the second he touched him, making some lighthearted comment about how it was obvious they were whip marks - what else would they be? - and entirely ignoring the implicit question. Vega sighed. His hands found another line, long and cutting so deep he winced just from looking at it, spanning a diagonal across his whole back - and Avarice let out a small, involuntary hum as he ran one finger down its length. “Feel like explaining, pet?”

“Not in the slightest,” he shot back, his tensed-up position entirely unchanging as he spoke.

“Avarice,” he warned.

“No, really, I don’t owe you anything. I don’t have to explain-”

“Avarice.”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you,” he snapped, and was that a tremor in his voice?

“Sure, maybe not, but you’ve got to explain it to someone.” He rolled his eyes. “And - knowing you - you probably haven’t, because you’re an emotionally stunted jackass, right?”

“Piss off, Mochizuki.”

“You haven’t, right?”

“You don’t know me.”

“That means you haven’t, right?”

“Fuck off.”

“So you-”

“Fine!” he caved. “No, I haven’t talked about it. And I don’t plan on starting. So kindly piss off and leave me alone, sweetheart.”

“What if I told you,” he ran one finger down the length of a particularly deep red mark, furrowing his eyebrows and graciously pretending not to hear the high, almost whimpering noise Avarice was trying very hard to conceal, “that I’m not leaving until I get answers?”

“Then I suppose we’d be here for a while, wouldn’t we?”

They stayed like that for a while, Avarice remaining as stubborn as ever while Vega tried every approach he could think of to coerce him into talking; none of it worked, of course, because - for some reason - he was far more tight-lipped about this than the blatant self-mutilation. In fact, at some point during Vega questioning him, Avarice stopped speaking entirely. No snarky insults, or one-liners, or denials, just… nothing. Long, one-sided silence. Although, to be honest, Vega barely noticed until he broke it.

“I don’t want to think about it,” he muttered, although his voice didn’t sound quite right: quiet - timid, even - somewhat reminiscent of a child caught in a lie, and self-contradictory coming from Avarice’s mouth. “I would tell you, sure, but there’s a lot, and my head hurts when I think about it, so I’m sure as hell not going to start explaining things out loud.”

And, despite everything, Vega’s heart ached. Watching him explain things so casually, as if it was normal, as if it wasn’t the same reasoning that made Vega so terrified of his god, as if forcing himself not to think about something for twenty four hours a day wasn’t difficult and distressing and awful. He hated Avarice, sure - Avarice was difficult not to hate, the arrogant prick - but nonetheless he couldn’t stop himself from sympathising.

“Is that enough? Can you go now?”

He wanted to say no. He so badly wanted to say no: make him talk it out like he knew from experience he so desperately needed to do.

But forcing him wouldn’t get them anywhere.

“Sure, fine,” he relented, ruffling his hair teasingly as he stood up. Avarice pretended to be annoyed. “But if you ever do feel like talking-”

“You’ll be the last person I go to,” he affirmed, standing up and turning to face Vega, mildly irritated - although he rolled his eyes and softened a little when he saw his face. He lowered his voice. “Thank you, Mochizuki.”

Vega almost choked. “I’m- I’m sorry, what was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Fuck off.”

“Alright, fair.”

He chuckled and turned to leave, pausing with his hand on the doorknob.

“Oh, and, mutt?”

Avarice raised his head.

“If I don’t see those test tubes on my desk in two days’ time, you’re dead.”

#tw self harm #tw implied abuse #tw injury #hurt/comfort #whump #oc whump #vega uses dog-related language in a way that would sound like they were dating to ANYONE else #really it's mostly teasing #avarice kiriatta #vega mochizuki

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littleoddwriter · 4 years ago

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You’re Alright (Part 3) | Roman Sionis x Male!Reader

I’ve had a terrible day and an even worse evening, so I finally got around to write the third part of this vent fic/series that I’ve been meaning to write since the Holidays, lol. I hope those, who actually read it, enjoy it! Part 1; Part 2.

summary; You’ve been having a terrible day and your shower made it a whole lot worse.

notes; TW // Contamination OCD; BPD; Intrusive Thoughts; Thoughts of Self-Harm; Description of Injuries/Wounds that reader has (open wounds, which are bleeding and oozing puss). Male!Reader; Hurt/Comfort; Fluff; Roman is trying y’all; Feeling extremely bad and overwhelmed by it; Being taken care of.

Part 3

All day long, you've been feeling awful. You were in physical pain, due to a headache and the wounds that not only littered your hands and wrists, but your forearms up to the elbows, by then. Because of that, you were also in an emotional state of distress. It was tiring and as soon as you had woken up, you couldn't wait for this day to just fucking end. Naturally, when you finally decided to go for your daily shower, it all got even worse. Over the past week and a half, a lot more wounds had appeared on your hands and wrists especially, making them stark red and bleed and ooze puss constantly. It was upsetting and nothing helped. Yet, you tried to just keep going despite the utter pain and helplessness you felt. By then your chest had also started to get wounded, which you thought had healed again, because that was a spot you've been dealing with for years, so you knew what to do and how to help it. For some reason, it didn't work out quite as well. After your shower, when you had dried yourself, you took a peak at your chest, just to check if you had to apply any products to it again, before dressing. When you looked down, you choked. There was blood. Wounds that haven't bled before now have. At the same time, you also saw your wrists, angry red and oozing puss and blood and hurting so badly. It was incredibly upsetting. Immediately, you averted your eyes and turned your head to the side and up to the ceiling. You breathed in and out deeply, a pathetic whine stuck in your throat. The distress was overwhelming, the urge to cry and harm yourself startled you, choked you, made your chest feel tight and heavy. Without realising it, you have started to shake your arms and hands, flapping them to try and make way for the emotions, to make them pass. At the same time, you wiggled your legs, bouncing up and down, and back and fourth. You just wanted to stop feeling like that. You didn't want to give into the urges, the thoughts that plagued your mind now. You just wanted it to fucking stop! It only got worse each fucking day. It only got more and more painful, more exhausting, more frustrating. You had no idea what to do. You were a burden to Roman. Of all things that upset you about your situation, this might actually have been the thing you felt most distraught about. The knowledge that Roman saw how it progressively got worse each day. That he knew how much it upset you, how much it put you in an emotional low each and every day, and how it was only getting worse. The fact that he couldn't do anything annoyed him, you knew that. It made you feel bad. You wanted to get better. You wanted it so much. Yet, you kept scratching yourself open. You kept waking up to new wounds. You kept making new ones during the day. He's tried to stop you from scratching several times, verbally and physically. It didn't help. It only made you angry. So he stopped. When you had calmed down enough, you quickly put on your shirt, breathing heavily. You got dressed in record time and finished your routine just as fast. Afterwards, you finally left the bathroom, still trapped in the prison that was your own mind. On one hand, you were glad that it was already in the late evening, but on the other hand you cursed that because you were feeling in such utter distress now that you weren't sure as to how you were supposed to be able to sleep later on. At the same time, your elbows were itching and burning so badly, so that you couldn't help yourself and started scratching them until you bled and they felt like they were on fire. You startled, when suddenly two strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you against a warm, solid body. Closing your eyes for a moment and just inhaling his scent, you relaxed a little into Roman's embrace. You loosely grasped onto his shirt with your hands, making sure your wrists stayed away from it, as you were still oozing whatever it was now and you didn't want to ruin his shirt with it, of course. "Are you alright, my sweet boy?" Roman asked, pressing his masked face into your wet hair, as he stroked your back gently. "Not really, no," you mumbled into his chest. "Is it the usual? Did anything happen?" "Yes, and hmmm, kind of? I don't know. It's just... Nevermind, it doesn't matter. Sorry. It's nothing new." You squeezed your eyes shut, willing down the urge to cry once more. "If you don't want to talk, that's fine, I don't mind that, but don't hold back just because you don't think it's worth hearing, alright?" Roman spoke so gently. He was so patient with you, it made your breath stutter. You couldn't possibly understand what you've done to deserve his patience and understanding, his love, of all things, when everyone else always just received his utter disdain and rage. "It's just... Well, I've kinda been shocked after my shower? My chest was all bloody and gross, just like my wrists and stuff. And now I've scratched open my elbows, too. I'm just frustrated, really. And in pain. Always in pain," you chuckled self-deprecatingly at the end. "Aw, my sweet boy. Frankly, I don't know what to do anymore. We've tried so much now. This is really frustrating, you're right. Is there at least anything we can try to ease your mind a little, hm?" "I don't know, I'm sorry. I'm just so tired, you know? I kind of just... want to disappear, really." "Don't say that, sweetheart. If you'd rather just go to sleep, we can do that. Alright? I'll just get myself ready for bed and we can go, eh?" "Yeah, okay, sounds good. Thank you, Roman, so much." In answer, he squeezed you tightly for a moment and then let go of you to vanish into the bathroom himself. Meanwhile, you lay down on the bed and pulled up the blanket to your chin. You were hurting, your wounds were throbbing, stabbing, burning and itching. It was hell on your skin. It was terribly hard to resist to make it worse, too. You were baffled by your mind as it saw making it all worse as the only logical solution to relieve yourself of the pain. It was bullshit. Yet, it seemed so very tempting. Not much later, Roman finally came back and lay down beside you, as he got under the blanket with you. He wrapped one of his arms around your shoulders, as you cuddled into his side, putting your arms around his middle and laying your head on his chest. "I hope this is going to find an end soon, sweetheart," Roman whispered, while stroking over your back gently. "Thank you, me too. And I'm sorry for causing you so much trouble with it, I---" "Ssshhh, no. You're not. So don't apologise, alright? It's fine. You're alright, my sweet boy. You know I could easily just... not care. I could just get rid of you. But I'm not doing that, now am I?" "No, you're not. I don't understand why, but I'll take it." "Trust me, for a huge part, I don't really understand it either. I just know that I care a lot more than I'd like to, or am used to, really," he said, pressing his masked face against your hair again, in mock of a gentle kiss. It made you smile and you proceeded to kiss his chest in turn. "Try to sleep now, hm? I'm here and if you should need anything or not be able to sleep, we'll find something." Yawning, you nodded, squeezing Roman tightly. "Thank you. I love you, Roman. Good night," you mumbled sleepily, the exhaustion of the day and especially night suddenly catching up with you. "I adore you too, my sweet boy. Good night," Roman replied, stroking your hair gently, while your breaths slowly evened out.

#Tw contamination OCD #tw bpd #tw open wounds #tw blood mention #tw intrusive thoughts #tw mentions of self harm #x male reader #x male!reader #male reader #male reader insert #roman sionis #roman sionis x male reader #roman sionis x y/n #roman sionis x you #roman sionis fanfiction #roman sionis imagine

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alolowrites · 4 years ago

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On The Run

Summary: Staying in one place was never a good idea. It was risky and only caused more problems for you. However, an exception was made for Minato—a city under Shinsou’s watch.

Author’s Note: Hello everyone! I’m happy to share my sixth story for @bnhabookclub‘s Hero Camp Bingo event. This story is by far the longest fic I’ve ever wrote. The bingo prompt I used was “Pro Hero AU”. This story is also part of the club’s Weekly SFW Prompt and the prompt used was: “I think I’m in love with you, and that terrifies me.”

This story wiped me out. I think it’s because of the sheer length and the action scenes. However, I am very happy with this story. Hopefully you all enjoy it as well!

Please note that the reader is a villain and there is an itty-bit of angst...

Word Count: 4.6K+

“Well, well, well…”

You were slammed against the brick wall, letting out a painful groan. Unfortunately, it was drowned out by the rowdy bar filled with boisterous drunk men. A large shadow loomed over your hunched figure, the raggedy boots stomping closer to you. One hand seized your jaw and forcibly made you look up.

“If it ain’t Vanisher herself,” he sneered, his mouth reeking of low-quality vodka. You almost hurled when his nasty breath hit your nose. The wretched stench of someone’s vomit flowing from the dumpster smelled better. Two of his buddies stayed behind him, their snickers echoing down the dirty alleyway. “You’re a pain in the ass to find, y’know that?”

“What the hell do you want, Takeshi?”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” His grip tightened, and you yelped; that’s going to leave a bruise. Takeshi’s face inched closer as you glared at the disgusting henchman. “Our boss wants all the money you stole from him. Down to the very last yen.”

“Aw! Is the old fella still holding a grudge on me?” You clicked your tongue like a disapproving parent. A playful glint flashed across your eyes. “I won that money fair and square. Not my fault he’s a sore loser.”

“You swindled him with those rigged poker cards!”

“A gal’s gotta survive in this world, my friend,” your voice was sickly sweet, but also dangerously cold. Takeshi growled as you cackled at his annoyed expression. “If that means playing a little dirty with suckers like him, then so be it. Now, if we’re done here—”

The air escaped from Takeshi’s lungs when your right knee landed a harsh blow in his groin. Without stopping, you snatched the arm holding you and twisted it with brute force; he howled, not seeing the swift kick that knocked him off balance. You needed to flee quick. As you dodged the other goons’ attacks, you immediately had a place in mind and extended your palm.

A golden circle started opening in the distance. Your legs were on fire like Ingenium, and your lips nearly tasted sweet freedom when a long, slimy tongue smacked your neck. You collapsed on the pavement, the bright circle fizzling away. An unsettling feeling brewed inside your head when you couldn’t move at all. Every muscle was numb despite your brain sending SOS signals to get up.

Fuck! I forgot about his paralyzing quirk.

Heavy footsteps shook the ground. You were rolled onto your back and panicked when Takeshi’s wild eyes shamelessly raked along your body. He dared to plop himself down, his sandbag like weight crushing you with no remorse. His chapped mouth stopped near your ear and snarled, “You ain’t goin’ nowhere. I know the boss wants ya’, but he’s just gonna have to wait until I have my way with you first.”

“Aye yo, Takeshi, guess what!”

“What?” He snapped his neck over his shoulder, annoyed at being interrupted. A dazed sensation overcame him, and he stayed motionless. You cursed to yourself when you realized who was responsible for this—Shinsou Hitoshi, aka Persona Hero: Mindjack.

“Get off her and walk toward me.”

Yup, it was definitely him. You tried wiggling your fingers or toes, but to no avail; you were deadweight and glared at the dark sky. If there was anything you hated more in the world, it was being a hopeless damsel in distress. A few minutes passed until you hear Shinsou’s light footsteps approach your pitiful state.

“Well, isn’t this a sight,” he snorted at your heated face.

“If I could flip you off, I would.”

“This is the thanks I get for saving your ass?” You averted your eyes, begrudgingly waving the imaginary white flag. Shinsou bit back a grin as he kneeled beside you, checking for any injuries. “But seriously, are you okay?”

“Why do you care?”

“I'm a hero. I make sure people are not hurt,” Shinsou answered sincerely. His hand lingered above your shoulder as violet eyes stared at you. The corner of his lips curved ever so slightly when he said, “Even if the person happens to be a villain like yourself, Vanisher.”

“Well, I’m fine. Just paralyzed.” Your muscles were still frozen. Shinsou hummed as he glanced at the three men sitting obediently by the dumpster. Their hands and feet were tied, Takeshi being the only one still in a daze. The other two guys were knocked out thanks to Shinsou’s precise attacks. You let out a relenting sigh, “Thanks for…saving me. Damn pig hit a new low for pulling that shit on me.”

“He’s a coward.” You were taken aback by the venom in Shinsou’s voice. Coincidently, your fingers and toes twitched, a small sign that you were regaining control again. “It seems that he’s done it before. I’ll make sure assholes like him are off the streets permanently.”

“For once, I actually support your heroic actions,” you grinned, your entire body waking up from the not-so-peaceful slumber. Pushing yourself off the floor, you rubbed the back of your neck and felt the tiny lump where Takeshi hit you. Shinsou offered his hand, and you suspiciously glanced at him. The underground hero gave you an exasperated look. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed it and Shinsou helped you stand up.

He turned away and reached for his phone. “I’m calling the police. You should get out of here.”

“Wait,” you stepped forward, a bit confused, “You’re not turning me in?”

“You were being attacked and used self-defense,” Shinsou shrugged as he made the call. A minute later, he hung up and went to tighten the knots on the ropes. You were skeptical, wondering if this was all a trap. When you didn’t leave, Shinsou sighed and peeked over his scarf. “Look, you had a rough night. Just this once, I’m giving you a pass. Don’t be an idiot by staying here until the cops come.”

“Hmph, fine.” You opened a portal behind you. The golden sparks lit up the dreary alleyway, and one leg stepped on the other side. You paused, staring at Shinsou and murmured, “I owe you one.”

Shinsou nodded.

You disappeared just as the police sirens rang down the streets.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Staying in one place was never a good idea. It was risky and only caused more problems for you based on past experiences. From a young age, you’ve learned to fend for yourself while on the streets. Sure it was exhausting looking over your shoulders, feet ready to bounce if the scene got too chaotic. But you sucked it up if it meant avoiding jail or facing Mr. Death himself.

Neither of them was in your deck of cards called life. And your life was undoubtedly precious, so why waste it away in a rotten jail cell or cramped coffin?

You arrived at Minato City roughly eight months ago, and it was the longest time you ever stayed in one spot. Usually, you dipped by the second month, but that wasn’t the case for Minato—a city under Shinsou’s watch.

The first time you crossed paths with him, it was ironically in a back alley nestled in between two rundown buildings. You preyed on a rich salaryman with an unmistakable narcissistic attitude; he was an easy target, and it didn’t take long to get him stumbling over his feet. After knocking him out cold, you rummaged through his belongings until you sensed a shadow lurking in the darkness.

Your eyes landed on the stranger’s bizarre getup. An air of mystery surrounded him thanks to his unruly scarf and metal mouth-mask. Stranger danger indeed, you mused while taking a step back; your survival instincts urged you to leave. The man quirked an eyebrow when he asked a question, and you foolishly answered it.

You walked forward despite your inner protests; it was as if you were under some weird spell—his quirk perhaps?—and you couldn’t break free. The stranger placed handcuffs on you and checked on the unconscious man. All your escape plans were useless until a miracle happened: an ashtray fell on your head. The glass shattered on the floor, and you let out an annoyed groan; you realized the mysterious spell was broken. Not wasting another second, you summoned a portal behind you.

“Neat trick, but I’m not a big fan of being someone else’s puppet!”

You disappeared before his scarf could capture you. The next day, you did some research on the guy and learned he was a pro hero named Mindjack, his actual name Shinsou Hitoshi. You blamed yourself for not brushing up on this information before arriving at Minato City, a rookie mistake indeed. He was trouble, and you barely escaped his grasp last night, yet you were intrigued by him. His quirk was unique, almost villain-like if he wasn’t such a goodie-two-shoes.

Since then, you had some run-ins with said hero, whether intentional or not.

At first, you kept your guard up around him. Shinsou taunted you to speak, but you hilariously whipped out a mini dry erase board in return; it amused him. He heard about you, an infamous thief named Vanisher who frequents the underground scene.

After two months of playing the cat-and-mouse game, you settled on befriending him; he grew on you with his deadpanned statements. One night you found Shinsou crouched on the roof’s edge, yawning as if he hadn’t slept in days. You smacked an energy bar on his head and shoved a black coffee in his hand with a perky smile. Shinsou was thrown off by your gesture, but threw a curt “thanks” your way.

It was an odd dynamic brewing between you both. Some nights Shinsou shared a quick bite with you, and other nights he tried, for the billionth time, to rein you in. For Shinsou, you weren’t a huge threat in his city, just an annoying thorn. He disapproved of your nightly shenanigans with a dry, “Stop stealing stuff from unconscious men.”

“Oh please, he’ll survive without his precious Rolex watch!”

You enjoyed the friendly banter, and you knew he did to by the mischievous glint in his eyes. Even his tone sounded playful, betraying the serious facade during his patrols. Of course, you trod the tightrope carefully with the lone hero. A small slip and you’ll fall. However, it was a risk you took every night for the last eight months. Besides, Shinsou was extraordinarily handsome, and the whole dark aura vibe suited him well.

He was the first reason why you decided to prolong your short stay in Minato City. The second reason was well—

“Hmmm,” you savored the gin cocktail, soaking in all the information with deep thought. The room was cramped and had poor ventilation. Your nose inhaled the musty odor lingering in the air, the stench making you silently groan. A single lightbulb hung above the round table and barely illuminated the man’s wrinkled face, partially hiding in the shadows.

“So…what do you say?” Mamba’s guttural voice broke the silence. Two grimy nails tapped the table as he watched your throat bob. You caught his tongue hungrily licking his lips. “Think you’re up for it?”

“A heist, huh?” You lowered your drink, and casually swung your arm behind the chair. “You sure your guys scoped out the place?”

“Down to the smallest detail.”

“Hmm…I want forty-five percent of the cut.”

He smirked, “As you wish. After all, you are valuable to us.”

“Well, don’t you know how to charm a lady,” you teased, crossing a leg over the other. “I’m in. I’ve been meaning to spruce up my dull routine. Conning rich suckers might be fun and all, but this heist sounds ten times better.”

Mamba signaled for his drink. Your glass cups clinked as the deal was officially closed. He shifted in his seat and drawled, “A pleasure having you on board, Vanisher. You’ll be in good hands with my men. I give you my word.”

“I’m sure I will.”

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

“Ready to go?” Voltage gruffed from behind you. He was an enormous man who stood as tall as an electric tower. Tiny sparks bounced in his yellow eyes. The stoic man was the driver, and he lead you to the back of the van parked outside.

The plan was simple. Voltage will drive the van to an alley that was close enough to the bank. Someone from squad B would shut off the entire security system to avoid alerting the police. You will then summon a portal that connects to the vault. From there, two men will slip through and break the metal door. They’ll pack approximately 100 million yen in large duffle bags, throwing them back through the portal.

It sounded easy enough…after all, that was the plan for today.

“Really?” You huffed, annoyed at the henchman man-spreading on your right. His twin sat across from both of you with an unreadable expression. Voltage and his partner, Benzo, ignored your complaints. Casting a glare at your ‘teammate,’ you snapped your head to focus on the road. That’s when you noticed something strange.

Benzo discreetly pushed aside his coat to take out his gun. It was common knowledge for criminals like Mamba’s soldiers to arm themselves despite having quirks. However, why did Benzo have a tight grip on his weapon now? You narrowed your eyes when Voltage took a left turn instead of right, fueling your suspicions even more.

“The GPS broken, Voltage?”

Silence.

And then…an attack.

You dodged a crystal dagger that came from your right. Only his hand was crystallized and you twisted his arm, the henchman howling like an injured wolf. His twin lunged forward with the speed of a bullet train. Your back slammed against the van at the guy’s sheer force. With wide eyes, you felt his vice-like grip crush your throat. The air was being sucked right our your lungs, and your fingers frantically scratched his skin.

Not giving up, you delivered three harsh blows to his groin. He stumbled back, but refused to let go of you. A growl escaped your lips when you kicked his ribs; with his grip gone, you charged at him, striking a pressure point by his neck—he was out like a light.

Out of the blue, Man-spreader caught you in a chokehold. He was noticeably weaker due to the injured right arm, and you took advantage of this. Benzo, however, shifted his body in his seat while snarling, “Keep her still! I’m gonna knock her out with this sleeping bullet! Viper wants her alive!”

Viper?! Damn it!

You elbowed man-spreader’s chest without stopping; an intense head-butt was your final move. Hearing the gun click, you swiftly used the unconscious stone block as your human shield to avoid the bullet. Tossing the guy toward the front, you activated your portal and rolled down the street. There was no time to think of a safe place, just that you needed to get out that hellish van.

A few scratches marked your cheek. The sound of wheels screeching against the concrete forced you to leap on your feet and run. You didn’t have enough energy to summon another portal, the fight draining almost everything in your system. But you still had some power left, and you’ll use it as your last resort.

For now, you settled on running the hell out of the van’s sight. Voltage and Benzo were hunters who wouldn’t rest until you’re captured. But there was no way in hell you were facing Viper again. Damn old geezer was still holding onto a deep grudge with that poker game. You gritted your teeth, the metallic taste of blood overwhelming your mouth. This might be a problem you couldn’t easily vanish away from…but it didn’t hurt to try.

All the buildings blurred as your feet pounded against the pavement. You skidded around the corner, the van right on your tail. A shot rang from a distance and you hissed; the bullet grazed your thigh. When you glanced up, your mouth dropped as a blue truck pulled out into the street.

Your only warning was: “Get out of the way!”

The driver, plus his companions, scurried like frighten mice when they noticed the white van dashing down the road. You slipped underneath the vehicle, but wasted no time staying on the floor. A loud crash roared from behind. You never looked back and arrived at a busy pedestrian street, bulldozing through the crowd.

Where’s a good place to hide?!

A piercing shriek ruined the city’s peaceful scenery. You peeked over your shoulder and screamed when an electric whip hit the lamp-post. The sudden attack made you lose your footing. More people yelled and rushed away from the danger, ignoring you in the process.

“I had it with this stupid chase, Vanisher!” Another whip crushed the window from a residential building. Voltage charged up his arm, the electric sparks spazzing out of control. He had you in his sight. “You’re coming with me, dead or alive!”

“Oh yeah? How are you gonna do that?” That wasn’t me…

“Why you little—”

Shinsou grunted as he lashed out his binding cloth to ensnare his target. Voltage’s power weakened once in a trance state, and the pro hero tugged the villain to the broken road. Shinsou kept the man tied up with his scarf, realizing it was the only thing strong enough to keep him immobile. You struggled to sit up. Shinsou demanded someone to call the police as he rushed toward your injured body.

“Hey, don’t move,” Shinsou gently held you in place. There was a purple bruise forming around your neck and a little bit of blood trickling down your chin. Shinsou frowned at what he saw. “What the hell happened?”

“Just got some bad blood with a sore loser,” you flashed him a crooked grin, the pain finally settling in. A cry for help interrupted your conversation, and Shinsou’s head snapped up. The building was on fire; Shinsou let out a curse. He couldn’t wait for other pro heroes or the fire department to show up. With no choice, he carried you away from the danger zone. “H-hey, what are you doing?”

“Stay here!”

Shinsou ran into the flaming pits of hell. You slowly rose to your feet, swaying back and forth on the sidewalk. Right now was the perfect opportunity to flee the scene. There were no cops or other pro heroes around, and Voltage was brainwashed. Yet, the deadly flames bursting through the shattered window paralyzed you. The only thing on your mind was Shinosu risking his life to save those people without any backup.

Damnit! Ugh…just this once!

You summoned a portal and stepped inside. The black smoke clogged the apartment, making everything harder to see or breathe. You covered your lower face and searched for anyone in this furnace. You stepped into another room, and your eyes spotted four figures huddled in the corner. Shinsou stood in front and tried thinking of a way out.

“Hey!”

“I told you to stay put!”

“Not gonna happen,” you shouted, opening a weak portal by the family. “Run toward it now! I can’t hold it for too long!”

The family escaped unscathed. However, Shinsou refused to leave without you. Always the hero, you huffed at his stupidity. Through your blurred vision, you watched as he trudged forward. Unlike you, Shinsou had his mask, which acted as an impromptu breathing apparatus. But it hardly kept the thick smoke from invading his lungs. You extended your hand, and Shinsou’s fingers stretched as if his life depended on it.

A cracking noise skittered across the ceiling with a piece falling on Shinsou. You screamed, jumping over a line of fire to rescue him. Your throbbing arms lifted the broken piece off the hero’s back. His pulse was dangerously low, and you slung his limping arm over your shoulders. The flames kept growing, consuming everything that stood in its path. If you didn’t act quick, it would eat you and Shinsou too.

Your hand created a portal close enough to where you both stood. The distorted golden ring fizzled, a sign that your body was at its limit. But you wouldn’t give up. Fives steps were all you need to get the heck out of here. The fire roared in the background, furious at your disobedience for trying to escape the madness. Except when did you ever listen?

You dragged Shinsou through the portal and collapsed on the sturdy sidewalk. The ring closed in seconds. Your lungs inhaled the delicious air with immense gratitude. You ripped off Shinsou’s mask and repeatedly slapped his stubble cheek. “C’mon, c’mon! Wake up!”

A cough made you relax. Shinsou’s eyelids were barely opened when he croaked, “W-why?”

“I owe you one, remember?”

The corner of Shinsou’s mouth curled, a gurgled chuckle greeting your ears. You stifled a laugh and rolled on your back, staying put until the emergency response team arrived.

You remained in Minato City for eight months. Another couple of days wouldn’t hurt.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Minato City’s nightlife was buzzing with excitement, and there were no signs of stopping. People flocked to their favorite bars, hoping to let loose after a stressful week at work. Salarymen drowned themselves in alcohol and cigarettes without a care in the world. It was the perfect recipe for you to con another unfortunate victim, but you decided to sit this night out.

You gazed at the city’s beautiful skyline. The lights twinkled like precious diamonds on display at a high-end jewelry store. However, you admired the sight from afar since tonight was the last time you’ll see it. By tomorrow, you’ll be in another city to lay low for a while. Keeping yourself off the grid was the best option to throw off your scent from Viper’s nose.

A pebble rolled beside your boot.

“Surprised you’re not down at the bars preying on your next money target.”

“Not really feeling it tonight,” you yawned, sparing a glance at Shinsou. He was wearing his usual hero attire, the mask resting underneath his chin. It gave you a perfect view of his chiseled jawline. You returned your sights on the bright streets and ignored the fluttering feeling in your heart. You coolly remarked, “I see you’re looking well.”

“Injuries weren’t so bad; I experienced worse ones before.”

“I don’t know about you, but it sounds like you’re trying to impress me.”

A deep chuckle was his only response. You raised an eyebrow when Shinsou stood beside you, almost too close than the previous encounters. Your hand clenched inside your coat pocket. Tonight’s weather forecast called for temperatures hovering just above the freezing point. Yet, your skin was feeling hot, and it wasn’t because of the black wool keeping you warm.

“The police interrogated the guy who attacked you,” Shinsou shared, making you still for a second before relaxing. “Heard his name is Voltage with connections to the underground crime lord called Mamba. So far, he’s not giving anything up.”

“And he won’t,” you sighed, watching a drunk guy whistle at a woman who passed by. “Viper and Mamba: they’re brothers who control the drug trade in their respective territories. I guess someone tipped Mamba off that I was in Minato City, and he lured me in with a false heist scheme.”

You leaned against the roof’s edge. “If I didn’t think so quick on my feet, I probably would have been in Viper’s clutches by now.”

“You should speak with the police,” Shinsou ignored your loud snort and pressed forward, “If you cooperate with the investigation, they’ll help you. Maybe place you in a witness protection program—”

“Don’t be so stupid, Shinsou. This is a highly organized crime ring we’re talking about!”

“The police can protect you!”

“No, they can’t.” You raised a finger at the hero, wagging it as you predicted his next response. “And neither can you. Besides, I don’t need someone protecting me. I’ve lived my entire life fending for myself, and I know what I’m doing.”

“And how has that worked out for you, huh?”

“Pretty fine until I made the stupid mistake of staying here!” You jabbed his chest before growling away. Two hands raked through your hair as you paced back and forth. You stopped, shooting daggers at Shinsou. “Like I said, I got bad blood with a few people. I’ve done shit I’m not too proud of, but that’s just life on the streets. You do whatever it takes to survive, even if it means constantly being on the run.”

You spun away from Shinsou, your back straight as a rule and body visibly closed off. Puffs of white smoke slipped through your lips. The wind chill was not very merciful tonight as it froze your poor ears. You closed your eyes and heard Shinsou shuffle closer, his presence growing stronger by the second. His hand was gentle on your shoulder, almost as if he didn’t want to frighten you with the sudden touch.

Your mouth clamped shut when he whispered your name into the brisk night. You clenched your hand tighter when he pleaded, “You don’t have to keep running.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then why did you stay here?” You bristled at the question, and Shinsou noticed. “Why didn’t you run away like before?”

“Because of you.” Shinsou’s hand twitched at the answer. Releasing a shaky breath, you turned around with conflicted eyes. For the first time in your life, your walls were crumbling down—the same ones that shielded you from the cruel world since childhood. It was too late to take back what you said, so you choked out, “I didn’t leave because I think I’m in love with you…and that terrifies me.”

A feathery thumb brushed your cheek. You gazed into his violet eyes; they were striking, yet carried a sense of fondness you’ve never seen before. He never said a word, but you were under his spell. Shinsou’s warm breath caused your entire face to flush once you realized how dangerously close he was in your bubble.

He admitted, with a raspy voice, “I feel the same way about you, except I’m not scared.”

“You’re stupid to think that way.”

“So be it.”

Time slowed as Shinsou lowered his lips and pressed them against yours. The kiss was sweet. Gentle. Innocent. You forgot about everything that was stressing your mind out. All your focus was on his lips—they were incredibly warm and soft and moved in a tender pace. You reciprocated the kiss with a tiny smile, your left hand clinging on his scarf. Shinsou grinned at your impatient tug; you were always so demanding.

However, after months of inhaling his rich scent, you were eager to taste him. You weren’t disappointed when you caught the sweet blend of dark cherry and black raspberry sprinkled along his mouth. A fresh jolt of excitement traveled down your spine. Shinsou’s arm wrapped around your waist, securing you in place. For a moment, you did not want him to let go—you didn’t want to run away from this safe haven.

If only the circumstances were different.

“You know I can’t stay…”

Shinsou didn’t say anything. His eyes, however, spoke volumes of how he felt about your decision. As much as it pained him to do so, he loosen his grasp on you. A portal opened not too far from where you both stood. You squeezed Shinsou’s hand and gave him a sad smile, the corners of your lips barely reaching your eyes.

The golden sparks lit up the dark rooftop, and one leg stepped on the other side. You paused, staring at Shinsou one last time, whispering, “Goodbye.”

Shinsou nodded mutely.

You disappeared into the portal, going on the run once again.

Sixth prompt is crossed off. Which one will be next? Stay tune! Thank you for reading!

Previous prompt: Boy Next Door

Hero Camp Bingo Masterlist

#shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou x reader #bnha imagines #shinsou hitoshi #bnha x reader #bnha shinsou #bnhabookclub #hero camp bingo #pro hero au

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imthedoctorlove · 4 years ago

Text

The Virgin and the Violinist - Count Orlo x Reader.

My first Count Orlo fic - enjoy. Thanks to @13atoms for proofreading for me. 😊

Warnings - bullying.

Word count- 1686

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You were one of the court’s musicians; a violinist. A position you were grateful to have as it kept you from living your life as a serf. You still couldn't believe how lucky you were; a woman being a part of the Emperor's orchestra. You were sure that when you were caught playing in the forest you were as good as dead. Although you were privileged, you were lesser than the lords and ladies of court because after you had serenaded, you shuffled back to the servant quarters where you could feel hateful glances burning in the back of your skull. It was as if you were in limbo because you did not belong in either world and by playing your music, you were able to walk the thin veil between the two.

Your instrument was precious and the only thing of any value in this wretched hell. No, you mustn't think like that. Your mind tended to drift when your fingers glided over the finger-board of the violin's sleek neck as you tried in vain to drown out the howls and screams of the rowdy court. Why did you bother? It wasn't like they actually listened to you as you played.

You gritted your teeth as you packed away your violin and you prepared yourself to navigate through the drunken nobility. You clutched the instrument case close to your chest as you made a beeline for the door, but your foot suddenly caught on something and you found yourself hurtling to the floor. You closed your eyes and waited for the hard floor to smack you in the face, but it never came. A groan of pain from beneath you caused your eyes to snap open. Yours were met with dark orbs.

It was Count Orlo. Your breath caught in your throat.

Count Orlo had cushioned your fall.

Count Orlo was beneath you.

A chorus of laughter brought you to your senses. You scrambled off him mortified. There was a mass gathering around the both of you. Their bodies acted as walls around you with no way of escape.

Orlo tried to offer a reassuring smile, instead, it formed into a grimace.

You were trying to catch your breath as the collision had knocked the air from your lungs - and the corset you were wearing wasn't helping matters.

Your heavy dress weighed you down as you tried to pull yourself off the floor. This seemed to spring Orlo into action as he hauled himself off the floor and offered you a hand which received cat calls from those around you. He was surprisingly strong and managed to tug you off the floor. The both of you stood frozen as the wall of bodies constricted around you with Lady Svenska as the ring-leader.

"Look what we have here - the violinist and the virgin!" The group erupted in a chorus of laughter as each person took their turn to throw jibes. You bit your lip to try and silence the burning words that sorely wanted to leave your lips, but you knew that you must hold your tongue and take what they threw at you. The price to pay in order to walk along the veil. You were trying so hard to block out their words you failed to notice Orlo had yet to let go of your hand. Your grip tightened when you noticed an opening. It was now or never. With the violin case held close to you in one hand and Orlo in the other you bolted through the opening and ran out the door and into the corridor. Your body turned towards Orlo as you readied an apology, but it died on your lips when you saw the blush that dusted his cheeks. It was then you realised you were still holding his hand. You let go and brought your hand to your chest to try and calm your erratic heartbeat.

"Count Orlo, words cannot express how sorry I am for any distress I may have caused you from my clumsiness."

Orlo swallowed when he heard you use his full title and felt something stir within him.

"There's no need to apologise." He said earnestly as he straightened out his waistcoat to try and hide how shaky his hands had become. "I do not hold you responsible for what happened back there."

You both stood there in silence for a few moments as you both tried to come up with something to say to each other. The shouts of "huzzah" and glass breaking made the both of you jump and stare towards the now-closed door warily.

"Perhaps we should leave." You started.

"Good idea." Orlo opened his mouth to say more but thought better of it. Instead, he gestured for you to follow him. Curiosity guided you as you trailed behind him to the other end of the palace. It was only when he opened the door you realised he had led you to the library. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. A small part of yourself thought you had been led to his apartments. You lingered on the threshold as you debated whether or not to venture inside. Orlo noticed your hesitancy and stumbled over an apology which was enough to coax you inside.

The room was dark and the smell of musk met your nostrils as you fought the urge to sneeze. It was evident that this place was not often frequented as many of the books were covered with dust and cobwebs. The sound of Orlo striking a match caught your attention as you admired his soft features in the candlelight.

"I'm sorry about the mess. I don't tend to see anyone else in here apart from the Empress on occasion." He said as he busied himself with clearing the area around a worn armchair. You took a step closer to him and he instinctively tried to distance himself from you which caused him to knock over a large stack of books.

"Shit." His hands shook as he scrambled to pick them up. You placed your violin case down.

"Here, let me help." You left no room for arguments as the two of you made quick work of the pile of dusty old paperbacks.

"Thank you." The Count said quietly as you placed the books in your hands on top of the pile. You smiled and clasped your hands in front of you as you tried to think of something to say. Your eyes were suddenly drawn to a book on a nearby desk. You walked over and ran your hand over the worn binding.

"You know of Jonathan Swift?" Orlo inquired. Surprise was clear in his voice.

"Why is that such a surprise to you? Do I not look refined enough to know of his work?"

"Oh god no! That is not what I was implying - I can assure you. It's just that I have never met another person who knows and loves him as much as I do."

You took the book in your hands and walked over to him. You held it out to him.

"Gulliver's Travels holds a special place in my heart. Would you possibly read for me?"

Orlo was taken aback by your request, but accepted. Your eyebrows raised as he scurried away and returned with a velvet stool. He placed it down and gestured for you to take a seat on the armchair. You went to protest, but he insisted.

You sat in awe as you listened to him cite the words to you as if they were written to be declarations of love. The emotion that was wrapped in every word and syllable made your heart race.

"That was beautiful." You whispered when he finished. He blushed under your gaze.

"Thank you, but I believe that Mr Swift deserves all the credit."

"Yes, but you filled his words with such life. It was if a symphony was playing in my ears."

"On the subject of symphonies - you played beautifully tonight. It was by far my favourite composition you have played so far."

It was your turn to blush.

"Forgive me, but I did not realise you had been listening to me play so often."

Orlo fiddled with the book on his lap.

"I tend to linger at the back of the room."

You nodded. "It is a wonder you were able to hear me at all. I can barely hear myself think when amongst those animals." You bowed your head. "My apologies for speaking out of term."

Orlo laughed. "Believe me, I have called them far worse things."

"I could play for you now if you like?" Your hands began to sweat as you waited for him to decline your offer.

"That - that would be magnificent." He replied with a grin.

You breathed out a laugh before jumping from your seat and in your hurry, stumbled over your skirts. A hand wrapped around your arm stabilising you.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, quite. Thank you." You became hyper aware of how close he was to you. How warm his hand felt over your clothed arm. How you were so close you could feel his breath tickling your cheek, and how his eyes seemed to glow like fireflies in the low candlelight. You felt yourself leaning closer to him and expected him to pull away, but he didn't. Instead, he seemed to mirror your actions. His lips felt soft on your own as you hesitantly led the kiss. The hand that was on your arm trailed up and came to rest behind your head; the other gripped your waist and pulled you closer as he gained confidence. You gasped when he bit your bottom lip.

He pulled away.

"I'm so sorry - I don't know what came over me - did I hurt you?"

"Quite the opposite." You said trying to catch your breath. "Where on earth did you learn to kiss like that?"

"There's more to learn from books than academics."

"Really? Perhaps you could teach me sometime?"

"How about right now?"

He pulled you back into a searing kiss.

#the great #count orlo #orlo #count orlo x reader #sacha dhawan

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jawritter · 5 years ago

Text

You and Me...

Chapter 14

***SERIES WARNINGS**** Rape, non-con, male!rape, injury, violence, description of injury caused by rape, nightmares, self-harm, panic attacks, implied female non-con, language, ass hole Jensen, hurt!Jensen, dark fic, smut. If there is anything else I will add it as I go.

***Chapter Warnings*** Smut, unprotected sex, mild panic attack, trauma-based anxiety, language probably because it’s me, angst, some fluff, I think that’s about it for this chapter.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 2597

A/N: Anyway, all mistakes are mine, please don’t copy my work, Feedback is golden. If you want to be added to the series tag list, or my tag list just let me know! I hope you enjoy this one. This is something I actually did and witness, and I realize this one might be hard to read because it is a little heavy.

Summary: It’s funny how one choice you made can change your whole life. One mistake can alter your course, and set you on a path that forever will haunt you. Two people find themselves getting through one of the hardest trials of Jensen’s life, on just one small promise. You and Me. We’ll get through it together…

Want more? Check out my masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***YOU AND ME MASTERLIST***

Jensen's POV:

The sound of rain hitting against the windows and deep rolling thunder pulled Jensen from his deep sleep. At first, he wasn't sure where he was, It felt like an eternity since he'd woken up in his own bed, and to be honest it felt a little foreign to him.

The more awake he became he could feel the warmth that was surrounding his body. The warmth of another person wrapped tightly in his arms. Looking down he could see Y/N nuzzled into his chest sleeping soundly.

He ran his fingers gently through her hair, moving it out of her face so that he could see her fully, enjoying the warmth of her body pressed to his. The scent of her shampoo filling his senses with each deep breath took, as her bare chest rose and fell against him. Her warm breath fanned over his throat in a way that had his body tingling under his skin. The feeling of her silky skin under his fingertip was almost mesmerizing. It was all overwhelming, and comforting at the same time.

He had no idea what time it was, but he was thankful that he'd made it through the night without those awful nightmares. He didn't know what he did to deserve her, but he did know he needed her. He needed this…

He laid there enjoying every moment, he didn't realize that he craved her contact this way, and for the first time in years, he was content. This was something he’d been missing even when he was married to Danneel, and he hadn’t even known it.

Laying here with her next to him last night really did help, and he felt like maybe, just maybe he could overcome his mind now. In fact, he was sure that he'd be able to overcome it now, even if it was a little bit at a time. Step by step. This was a big step for him, one he felt like he was making in the right direction for the first time since Supernatural ended.

He needed her.

He didn't realize it, but now that he did he couldn't imagine waking up and her not being wrapped in his arms.

The longer he lay there, playing with her hair, and touching her skin, the more his body started to respond to Y/N’s presence. It was something that honestly surprised him. It was the first time that had happened since his attack. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face at the relief that washed over him. He decided today would be the day. He had to at least try…

Your POV:

The sound of the shower running woke you from your deep sleep. It took a moment to place your surroundings, everything was foggy, and sleep blurred as you struggled to come to grips with where you were.

The bed was cold when you reached over to see if Jensen was still asleep. He must have been up for a little while now, which explained the shower running.

Stretching your muscles you figure that you had at least another 15 minutes before he gets done in the shower. So you roll over and try to go back to sleep. You can now hear the storm rolling outside. So that tells you that neither of you will probably be going anywhere today.

You must have successfully fallen back to sleep, but it felt like you had just closed your eyes when you felt someone playing with your hair. Looking up you see Jensen laying on top of the covers next to you, hair still wet from his shower, wearing a dark green T-shirt that makes his eyes stick out more than usual, and a pair of black running shorts loosely hanging on his hips; the line of his black boxers peeking out around the waist.

How did he look that damn good first thing in the morning?

"Morning beautiful," he said when he saw you looking at him.

"Morning," you grumble, rubbing your face. His arm wrapped around you and pulled you as close to him as the covers would allow.

You nuzzled yourself into the bend of his neck, which was quickly becoming your favorite spot. The scent of his body washed, mixed with a hint of his cologne, and something that was just Jensen made your knees weak.

"Someone's in a good mood this morning,” you mumble against him, and you could feel him chuckle a little.

"Yeah, I guess I am,” he said, placing a light kiss on the top of your head. “It's pouring outside. We ain't got nowhere to be. We got all day just to ourselves,” he says, running his fingers lightly along what part of your back was exposed.

"Well, let me get some coffee, then I'll fix you some breakfast," you tell him, sitting up and holding the covers over yourself.

"S'okay. I've already eaten a bowl of cereal," he said with a shrug, sitting up a little with you, his hair sticking up at random ends. He looked good this morning, calm.

You grimaced a little. "Sorry. I should have got up while you were in the shower and made your breakfast so you wouldn't have to eat cereal," you tell him.

He laughs a little, grabbing your hand in his and playing with your fingers.

"It's okay, you deserve to sleep in sometimes too," he says, suddenly sitting up next to you, kissing you on the forehead. “I’ll go start some fresh coffee,” he winked at you over his shoulder as he closed the door behind him, giving you some privacy.

You couldn't help but smile at his good mood. It was the best one he's been in sense...well now that you think about it, you've never really seen Jensen in a good mood.

You quickly jump in the shower, throwing on some shorts and an oversized shirt. You throw your hair into a messy bun, and you make your way toward where you smell coffee coming from. You still couldn't get used to this house. It was gorgeous!

Seeing you coming, Jensen pours you a bowl of cereal and sits the milk down on the counter for you next to your coffee. "I didn't know you knew how I drank my coffee," you tell him, pouring milk into your cereal.

He sits down next to you at the bar with a proud smile on his face. "I pay attention to more than people usually give me credit for," he says, pulling out his laptop, and checking his emails, letting you eat your breakfast.

Once you were finished he put your bowel into the dishwasher for you, then grabbed you by the hand.

"Come on, according to the weatherman it's gonna be raining all day. I got something in mind," he said, pulling you into what he called the family room last night.

The room is dark except for what little light was coming from the dim sky outside through the glass french doors. He had put a bunch of pillows and blankets on the floor. The TV. was on Netflix waiting for the two of you to pick something to watch. He had really put some time into this, and it made you smile more than a little.

"Netflix and chill Jensen?" Was all you could say, making him throw his head back in the first real laugh you had ever heard from him. You loved the sight of his smile and his laugh was contagious. You could get used to seeing him like this.

"Yeah, if I'm lucky," he said, winking at you before flopping down on the floor, and patting the spot next to him; shedding his shirt before looking at you like a little lost puppy who needed it's ear scratched.

"Okay, okay," you roll your eyes, teasing him, making him laugh again as he held up the cover for you could crawl under with him.

He flipped through Netflix before you both settle on the walking dead, and he pulls you into his chest, laying on his side he started to run his fingers up and down the exposed skin of your upper thigh, causing an involuntary shiver to rip through your body.

When you felt his lips brush over your neck slightly you freeze, not wanting to scare him away, just letting him do whatever he felt comfortable doing. Finding your pulse point he nipped at you gently. You were surprised at how well he was doing this morning but afraid to jinx it.

Slowly, almost painfully slowly, he kissed his way up your jawline, finally finding your lips, kissing you sweetly yet passionately, sending sparks through your body. You really don't think he understood just how easily he took your breath away. Taking a break, he puts his forehead against your forehead, both of you are breathing a little heavily as he brings his hand to rest on your hip, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

"Babe, I think I'm ready," he said, playing with the waistband of your shorts.

"Ready for what?" you asked, more than a little confused.

He took your hand in his and slowly placed it over his already hard length covered by his shorts.

Your eyes widened in surprise, and you froze on the spot.

"Are you sure?" you ask him, searching his eyes for any sign of hesitation or distress.

"No," he said with a nervous chuckle. "But I'm willing to try. She said yesterday that this was the only thing that was going to get me better. Even if it wasn't so great the first time," he said, moving to hover over you.

You tried not to get too distracted at the way his muscles moved just under his skin with every moment he made. His tick, solid chest and shoulders cover your view of the TV completely as he places himself over you.

"Okay, if you think that's what you want to try to do," you tell him, reaching up and touching the side of his face softly.

He says nothing, just lowers his lips to yours again, placing little light kisses there as his hands explored a little more of your body. Moving his way to your jawline, finding the sensitive skin behind your ear and sucking lightly. He was being overly gentle, taking his time, not rushing himself, and you were going to let him have complete control of this situation.

He kissed his way down our neck to your pulse point and paused there for a while, pulling at the hem of your shirt, giving you the hint to shed your shirt and throw it into a nearby chair. Reaching behind your back, he quickly undoes your bra and slides it down your arms, throwing it with your shirt.

Sitting up a little more for a better view he stops and looks at your bare chest, taking his time, touching you softly, so softly that it was driving you crazy. Running his thumb over one of your nipples lightly and making it stand up for him, then moving over to the other side.

"You're beautiful," he says before he slowly puts his mouth on our nipple, sucking softly and licking at the sensitive skin there, causing your back to arch into him. Once he finally had enough there he moved over to the next one, being just as gentle as he could, taking his time, running his hand up and down your skin on your side.

Finally, he pulled at the hem of your shorts, taking down your shorts and your underwear in one smooth pull, leaving you exposed before him. He started to kiss his way down your stomach, stopping right before he got to the top of your quickly dampening folds. Taking a sharp breath he pulled his head back up to your shoulders, hiding there for a moment, burying his face in your neck, and breathing deeply.

"I'm sorry. I can't do that yet," he said, hiding his face from you. You run your fingers lightly across his shoulders, trying to be comforting but also not wanting to throw him into a full-blown flashback.

"It's okay. We'll only go as far as you're comfortable with going," you try and assure him.

Shaking his head he sits up and rid himself of the rest of his clothes.

You were surprised to find he was still hard. You thought that he'd lost steam when he stopped a few moments ago. Taking a few deep breaths he brings his lips back to the soft spot behind your ear, taking your ear lob in his teeth gently, bring a slight moan from you.

He positioned himself between your legs, already lining himself up with your dripping center. Bringing his lips to yours he kissed you again, more need presents this time, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth.

"You ready?" he asked, breaking for air, his eyes searching yours. You nodded at him, wanting him to feel like he was completely in control. So much so that you were afraid to say too much.

Slowly he slipped his full length inside you, both of you moaning against each other's shoulders. You look up at him, and his eyes were closed tightly. You placed your hand on the side of his face, letting him know it was okay, and praying this wasn’t a bad idea.

Slowly at first, he thrust into you, testing the waters, trying to see just how far he was willing to go. Quickly both of you became lost in the sensation. He was hitting your g-spot with every deep thrust, quickly pulling you to titter on the edge. Gradually he began to build speed, nearing his own end as well. Every time he fully seated himself inside you, you couldn't help but moan a little. You had been with plenty of men before, but never one like Jensen, you’d never felt so full, so stretched, and so perfectly content before. You watched his eyes roll, he was really, getting close, so much so that he was shivering slightly with each shakey thrust.

"Baby I'm gonna cum," he said, voice deep and thick and strained.

You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him close as he buried himself into your neck.

You didn't have time to respond before he came undone deep inside you, pushing you over the edge as white hot ropes of cum painted your clenching walls. Both of you were moaning loudly, pawing at whatever you both could reach, riding out your highs together.

Finally, when it was all over, he slowly pulled out of you, curling up into a ball with a very distant look on his face, shaking slightly. A single tear slipping down his face and you reach over and wipe it away. He looked at you and then pulled you to him, holding you tightly.

"I did it," he whispered against your hair.

You unwrapped him as best you could from himself, and pulled him close to you, placing a kiss on the side of his forehead as he nuzzled himself into your neck. “You did it, Jensen. You did it.”

You laid there rubbing his back trying to bring him down from whatever he was seeing, you could tell he was on the verge of a full-fledged panic attack. He was still shaking slightly. The therapist said that the first time would be hard on him. You could see that it was. Jensen likes to hide how he was feeling when it came down to it. He'd downplay it so as to not worry you unless it caught him off guard like the nightmares did. This time though he wasn’t hiding anything, all his walls were down, and finally he seemed to be letting you fully in.

Thankfully it didn’t last long before he was able to calm down and relax into your hold, wrapping his arms around you tighter and keeping you as close to him as possible.

The two of you lay there the rest of the day like that. Just enjoying each other's company. Kissing each other. Letting him explore your body with his callused hands that never failed to leave a trail of fire under your skin. Snuggling as close as you could with each other.

Deep down you hope that today he made a big step in his recovery process, not a step backward. As you watched him nap next to you, you couldn't believe this beautiful, strong, man was yours. Even if he didn't see himself as perfect, and thought he was damaged beyond repair, you wished he could see what you saw.

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