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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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Omertà👄18

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rap, fingering, blow job, blood, violence, death, some elements may be untagged.

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit (with sides of dark!Steve and dark!Thor). Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: Did I write another ending? You’re damn right. Enjoy another finale as I try to decide what I’m doing next because I dunno...

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

masterlist

The red dress slid up on your thigh as you crossed your legs. You tapped your bottom lip with your fingertips. The radio buzzed with some British punk group you’d never heard of as Thor gripped the wheel and reclined. You sensed his quick peek over at you and looked back from the corner of your eye.

You were anxious even if you were confident. You had no idea what Bucky had planned but you knew that this trip wouldn’t go as smooth as expected. You sighed and leaned back as you dropped your arm and uncrossed your legs. You had to get Thor off-guard, it was simple enough to distract him.

You let your hand trail along your thigh and took a deep breath so your chest rose. Your hem slipped up even further and you closed your eyes. He hummed and you tried not to grin. You knew he was fighting to watch the road and not you. The moment you appeared in the short red number and matching lipstick, he was on the hook.

“Long ride,” he said coyly, “it’ll be nice to get away, eh?”

“From those two? Any day,” you answered as you opened your eyes, “I’ve just been so…” you let your fingers dangle down between your thighs and quickly retracted it as if it wasn’t at all deliberate, “tense.”

“My brother can be a handful and that American,” he said, “I can see how you’d be so worked up.”

You squirmed and pushed your knees further apart. His hand suddenly clapped down on your thigh and he squeezed. He glanced in the rearview and you bit your lip. You rested your hand on his and felt his fingers go rigid.

“Loki--

“He doesn’t know about before, he won’t know now,” Thor growled as he kneaded your leg.

“I don’t know…” you let your voice trail off, “he’s already so mad at me--”

“I won’t say a word,” he purred.

You swallowed and watched your own fingers. You had to do it. It would dull his defenses. You urged his hand up your skirt and pushed your pelvis forward on the seat. He barely kept the car steady as he felt your bare cunt.

“Oh, honey, you want it badly, don’t you?” he pushed between your folds without hesitation, “no panties…”

“Habit. Your brother demands it,” you rasped as he rubbed your clit. You couldn’t help but quiver.

He was quiet as he kept his fingers moving and listened to your shuddering breaths. You played them up with moans and groans as you arch your back and gripped the door.

“If you prefer me, I could…” his fingertips slickened as they explored further and he prodded along your entrance, “I could take you away. You’ll be far enough before he even knows.”

“Oh…” you gasped, “but… why would you… do that?”

“Look at you, honey,” he taunted, “that cunt--” he shoved a finger into you as he leaned awkwardly over the space between your seats, straining to keep his gaze on the road, “I can’t even fault my brother for his distraction.”

“God,” you squeezed his hand between your thighs as he pushed another finger into you.

It became less of an act as you latched onto his wrist and rocked your hips. His thick digits filled you and curled as the tide rolled through you. You were close to cumming, all the better as he had to buy into your desperation.

“You’ll really take me away?” you whined, “really? I have no other way out but-- you.”

“If you fuck me like you fuck my hand, I’ll keep you forever, honey,” he snarled.

You exclaimed and covered his hand with yours as you tilted against him hungrily. You dug your heels into the floor and lifted your pelvis slightly as you came against his palm. He snickered at your delight and let you ride his hand until you finished.

You fell back limp and he reluctantly removed his hand from your cunt. He reached blindly up and pressed his fingers against your lips. You braced yourself and took in his fingers and sucked your taste off of them. He drew away and sat back in his seat as he rubbed the front of his pants.

“Did you mean it?” you asked as you felt between your legs.

“Fuck my brother. We’ll leave right now,” he said, “I always did like his toys better.”

“We should stop by the shop,” you murmured, “I know where he keeps his stash.”

“His stash?”

“You could have everything that’s his,” you whispered, “everything.”

He considered the suggestion and exhaled. His squinted through the windshield and groaned.

“When we get to the shop, I want you on that desk,” he said as he continued to play with himself, “can’t wait to fuck you in that little dress.”

“I can’t either,” you reached to his lap and he caught your hand.

“No,” he said, “I want to see it all.”

You retracted your arm and pouted. You hugged yourself and shivered dramatically. He glanced over at you again.

“That day in the office, I haven’t stopped thinking of it,” he said, “I can see you’ve suffered just as much as me.”

Your smirk was interrupted by the sudden veering of the car at the impact of another. You cried out as the rubber screeched over the road. The car skidded over the lanes and turned horizontal with the rest of traffic. Another bump on the tail and you were rolling. The airbag deployed and blinded you as the glass and metal crunched past the railing and into the ditch.

You panted in shock as the vehicle stilled at last and you felt along your face and body. There was blood dripping from your hairline and some aches in your neck and back, but you could move and you were alive. You put your palm against the roof and unbuckled the belt and kept from falling on your head. The welts of the restraints burned at your chest and waist.

You squatted and looked over at Thor. He hung from his seat but there was much more blood on him and his blond hair was stained with it. You crawled out through the window and fell into the dirt.

You heard footsteps as they carefully descended the incline and you looked up as a silhouette neared and came clearer. Steve approached the other side of the car and bent to look in the driver side. You heard his voice as he poked the unconscious man inside and he stood again.

“Get up,” he demanded as he came to you, “no time to waste.”

“What?” you let him pull you to your feet, “you were supposed to be at the shop--”

“We’ll get there,” he dragged you up to the rail and stepped over.

You struggled to get over the metal barrier yourself and he nearly had you off your feet as he thrust you towards his waiting car. He opened the passenger door and pointed you inside. You dropped into the seat and touched your sore neck. He closed the door and rounded to his side.

“What’s going on? Bucky said--”

“Bucky wants to make sure you’re not fucking with him,” Steve interrupted and his eyes fell to your skirt. You barely realised how high it was as you were still spinning from the crash.

“You could’ve killed me--”

“You’re a smart girl. You had your seatbelt on,” he said as he bent between the seats and fixed your dress, his fingers lingering on the fabric, “we’ve got a whole day… we get the money and have some fun while Bucky takes care of that other moron.”

“Money?” you asked.

“You’re his little bookkeeper, I’m sure you have the combination to that safe he keeps nestled in the back of the shithole,” he turned the engine and pulled out from the gravel, “a healthy price for your… defection.”

“Fine,” you said coolly, “I’ll help you get it. But what about Lopez?”

“I’ll take care of that fat fuck but that’s another debt,” he replied.

You were quiet as you rubbed your shoulder and tried to clear your head. You were slightly dizzy but fought through it as you tried to redirect your plot. There was still a way out of this. You just had to deal with this idiot instead.

“That day in the club… Fucking Buck, he can be so selfish but I think I’ve waited long enough,” he hissed, “you don’t even know what you haven’t had, sweetheart.”

You looked at him and he met your eyes briefly. You fought not to show your disgust and just batted your lashes.

“Do we have to wait?” you asked as you shook off the cobwebs.

“Hmm--” his voice caught in his throat as you stretched between your seats and touched the front of his pants, “oh.”

He squeezed the steering wheel as you leaned over and rubbed his crotch until you felt it harden. “We’re not far,” you said and held in a grunt as a pang stabbed your neck, it wasn’t as intense as before, “but we have time.”

“Sweet--”

“This is what you wanted… Bucky won’t like it--”

“He won’t know,” Steve interjected, “shit, I can’t--”

You unzipped his pants and he went silent. You slipped your hand down his boxers and pulled out his dick. You stroked him as the noise of the traffic flowed around the car. You held him firmly and moved your hand. It would end soon enough.

He groaned and tensed as you worked him steadily. You’d learned to read men, to use them. They did the same to you but they taught you just as much. The only way out was their own tricks. As you sensed him nearing his release, you placed your lips around his tip and swirled your tongue.

He gasped and his foot pushed down the pedal. You moaned around him and moved your hand faster and faster. It sickened you but you had to commit. You couldn’t let him see through the cracks.

He came in a hot spurt and you struggled to swallow it down without gagging. You sank until he poked at your throat and drank him in. His legs shook and he swore as you lapped up the last of his cum and pulled off of him with a pop.

You sat up, dizzier than before and wiped your lips. He shifted in his seat and brought one hand away from the wheel to zip himself back up. He sniffed and rolled his shoulders.

“That was fuckin’ good,” he said, “I see why Bucky didn’t give up.”

“You know what he’ll do if he finds out,” you said sharply.

“Oh, you can keep me quiet, sweetie,” he said with a crooked grin, “just like that.”

You closed your eyes and collected yourself as he took the ramp and you readied yourself for what came next. You didn’t know if you could do it, if it would work at all. You’d come this far though and couldn’t turn back. If you failed, with all that happened, it would only be worse than before. So you couldn’t.

You watched the streets of New York and as you got closer to the antique shop, you had to keep your hands from shaking. The adrenaline buzzed inside of you. Your mouth was dry and your limbs felt numb. You peered over at Steve as he pulled up to the curb and he looked over at the façade.

“Stay behind me,” he winked as he reached to his belt and unholstered his gun, “I got Lopez. You head for the safe.”

He got out and you did the same. You circled the car as he headed for the front door with his gun low against his thigh. He grabbed the handle and pulled. He raised his hand before he entered and you stayed back as the gunshot echoed from inside. You felt a twinge in your chest; you liked Lopez but he was one of them.

You followed and let the door fall closed behind you. Steve laughed to himself and nodded you ahead of him. You went silent, past the chipped statue and that old grandfather clock.

The office was stolid and still. It brought back a sense of nostalgia and yet felt like a prison. Steve entered behind you as he tucked his gun away.

“Better hurry,” he muttered, “too bad I made so much noise or we could stick around… maybe you could finish what you started.”

“We’ll go somewhere else,” you shrugged as you looked around and went behind Loki’s desk.

You pulled out the drawers and pretended to search. Really you were wasting time, trying to put Steve off alert. He watched and crossed his arms.

“What are you doing?” he grumbled.

“Just making sure we’re not missing anything,” you slid shut the drawer, “whatever, nothing there.”

You went to the cabinet and rolled over your office chair. Steve sat in Loki’s cushioned leather seat and leaned back as you opened the cabinet and bent behind the door and began to wind the numbers. He put his feet up and tossed around a glass orb that usually sat on Loki’s desk.

You turned the handle and the loud metal clank filled the office. You reached inside and pulled out a money bag and loaded it up with the stacks of bills within. You zipped it up and tossed it over the door and it landed on the desk heavily.

Steve sat up as he smiled at the thick pouch. You shoved your arm back in the safe and pulled out the gun on the higher shelf, stowed with the priceless Victorian pocket watch and a pair of diamond cufflinks.

You stood as Steve took the bag and sat straight. His face paled with surprise as you pulled the trigger and the bullet opened his chest. The chair wobbled under him as he dropped the money and gave a brittle croak.

His hand went to the wound across his front and you kicked shut the safe. You swept around and bent to pick up the money bag. Steve trembled as the blood pulsed from him and the chair creaked.

“Pity,” you said with a smile, “looks like you did miss something.”

You angled the gun and admired it as you hugged the cloth pouch under your arm. You shrugged and left him to his death thralls. You went out into the front room and stopped at the rack of gauche vintage coats. You pulled one on and hid the gun in the inner pocket as you secreted the money in the sleeve.

You exited and stepped out onto the sidewalk. You blotted away the dried blood along your forehead as your heels clicked and you blended into the steady New York foot traffic. You were done running from behind. You would be out of the city before anyone thought to look for you and with the bulk of Loki’s savings you would always be a step ahead.

👄👄👄

End

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hournites · 3 years ago

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Hands Off the Wheel

Hournite fluff ~ ❤️

~.~

When she gets there, Yolanda shoves his bag on the coffee table over to dump her own, giving Rick the boot on the sofa to make room for her.

“Where’s Beth?” She reaches for the blanket throw, tossing it over her legs and pulls out her phone.

“Library.”

Yolanda glances up from her Instagram feed.

Rick scowls, her unsaid words irritating him. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“I know,” Rick bites out. “I mean it this time.”

“You can’t hide this forever.”

“I can, actually.”

Courtney walks in with the cookies from her mom. Yolanda picks a soft one from the corner while Rick scoops up five at once.

“Are we talking about what I think we’re talking about?”

“Yes,” Yolanda says at the same time Rick says, “No.”

The girls share a look.

Courtney teeters on the arm of the sofa, something she’d been scolded not to do five hundred times by Pat but has yet to listen. “We can help you if you want.”

Rick stops eating cookies to lick at his chocolate-stained thumb. “How?”

“Well…” Courtney crosses a leg over the other. “We can drop hints about it, warm her up to the idea…”

Rick leans back against the sofa and closes his eyes with a soft groan. “You make it sound like it’s something she needs to be warmed up to.”

“No!” Courtney backtracks when Yolanda lets out a little laugh.

“No! That’s not what I mean!”

“It’s what you said, Court.”

Courtney throws a half-moist cookie at Yolanda, earning a high shriek in response as she wipes chocolate out of her hair.

Rick lets out a weary sigh, palms still pressed over his eyes. “Maybe I’m overthinking this and it’s just something I’ll get rid of. I don’t need to tell Beth at all. We can forget it ever happened.”

“Tell me what?”

They all jump.

“Jesus!” Rick yelps as his face warms. “How long have you been there?”

Beth stands in the doorway next to Pat, Chuck perched on top of her coiffed hair. She slides her backpack down her arm to smile confusedly at her friends. “A few seconds?” She looks up at Pat. “My bike had a flat. Pat drove me in.”

“A flat!?” Courtney exclaims. “Are you okay?”

“She’s fine,” Pat says, heading into the kitchen for the source of the cookie scent, the plate between the teens empty with crumbs.

Beth waves off her concern. “Yeah, I’m fine. What does Rick want to tell me?”

Yolanda looks at Rick who looks at Courtney who looks back at Rick.

“Um,” he says.

“He likes your outfit?” Yolanda fills in. She gets up and leaves the awkward room.

Beth doesn’t buy it, folding her arms over her blue striped blouse. “What’s so odd about that?”

“Nothing,” Rick reassures her, wiping his sweaty hands against his jeans. “It’s um. Can I talk to you, outside? Alone?”

Beth tilts her head at him. “...Why?”

“Because I want to tell you that thing. That I need to tell you.”

Courtney stares at them, fixated.

“It’s nothing bad!” she blurts out when Beth catches her eye.

Her shoulders relax and she agrees, walking back out with Rick.

“Did I say something to bother you or something or maybe Chuck went out of line? Because obviously I’m missing something and everyone else knows and I get that I usually miss some stuff sometimes but this feels really weird and I’m sorry if I—”

“I built you a car.”

Beth blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

Rick swallows. “A car. I fixed one up for you. I know you didn’t ask but you’ve been studying for your license and then I had a few parts and then a few weeks went by and suddenly I had a Dodge Challenger in my driveway...”

Her expressive eyes are round and wide, Rick can’t tell what she’s thinking when her mouth parts like that. He shifts his weight from one foot to another, trying not to panic. “Look, Beth, I know you didn’t ask for a car, certainly not from me, but it just sort of happened, so....”

The gears turned slowly in her head. “You built me. A car. From car parts. For me.”

“...You don’t have to accept it. I can probably sell it off or something—”

Beth’s hands are in her afro, processing Rick’s words at last and shrieks. Rick startles, taking a step back. “Are you kidding?” She cries. “You built me a car?!”

“I’m sorry!”

“You’re sorry!?” Beth launches at him, hugging him hard enough for Rick to stumble backwards. “Don’t be sorry!”

Rick wasn’t yet prepared to have her in his arms, but she’s squeezing so fiercely he can’t help but hug her just as tight. “So you’re not weirded out?”

Beth laughs and pulls away, staring out across the street before turning back. “I don’t know what to say!” She hits his arm excitedly. “Rick!! That’s crazy! You’re amazing! Why would you do that for me?”

“You’re the only one I ever really want to make things for,” he answers honestly.

A huge grin breaks across her face and then she’s reaching up to hug him again. “What colour is it?”

Rick fights back his smirk. “Green for Dr. Mid-Nite? It matches your suit.”

“Riiiiick!” She squeals, jumping up and down in an exuberant happy dance and puts a hand to her face and sits down. “I need a second.”

Rick watches as she stares wide-eyed at her shoes, processing the information.

“It’s just a car.”

“It is not just a car and you know it! It’s a car!” She slaps her hands over her cheeks. “Oh my gosh!”

“Do you wanna see it?”

“Yes!”

They get ready to go. Courtney and Yolanda peek out the front window of the living room with a second batch of cookies, giving Rick very annoying, very knowing looks.

Yolanda’s nose scrunches up with amusement when Beth runs out with her purse and straps herself into Rick’s passenger seat, honking on the horn to get Rick to pick up the pace and drive her to West Farms.

“Sounds like she’s pretty happy ‘bout that car,” she says.

They toss his keys through the window. Rick twirls them around his hand with a half-hearted eye roll when Courtney starts making kissing noises at him.

~.~

“You pushed the seat up!” Beth palms at the steering wheel as she gets a feel for the make, grinning from ear to ear.

Rick watches with his chin propped up by his hand, elbow over the black horizontal stripes on the hood with an easy smile. “Course I did. You’re tiny.”

He’s rewarded with a splutter behind the dashboard. “And it’s safe?”

“Pat looked it over after I did.”

She checks for herself anyway and Rick is proud of her for it, scanning the interior, exterior and engine with the X-Ray vision mode of her goggles.

They go for a test drive around the wide roads of the Farm Lands, Rick answering her questions as they pop up. She still needs to pass her final test for her licence next month, but he’s not worried about that. Beth had a round of anxiety behind the wheel when she first started learning, but with Rick and, surprisingly, Mike’s encouragement (definitely not Courtney’s), she managed to push through. Beth parks along the dirt stretch of Rick’s property and sighs like a dream.

“You were great. You looked comfortable.”

Beth ducks her head with a timid smile at his praise. Her hands fall to her lap and she squeezes her fingers together over her navy blue flared pants. “I can’t believe you did this all by yourself.”

Rick shrugs, somehow more embarrassed now than before trying to choke the words out on Courtney’s front porch. “It’s just a 2008. It’s not fancy.”

All of the parts might’ve come from Zeek’s junkyard but Beth doesn’t seem to care how it was made by her reverence. “Yes, it is.” Her hand runs along the leather seat and rests it on the centre console. “It’s beautiful, Rick.”

She laughs. It’s contagious and strings him along until her giddiness simmers down and looks at him some more with that appraising eye of hers. Rick wants to look out the window to diffuse the sudden heat when she does that. He can’t. He wants to suffer in it.

“I think I’m in love.”

Her smile is soft and light and as the sun sets orange outside behind her, Rick is compelled to agree.

“Good. I’m glad you like it so much.”

Beth bites her lip and nods. Her fingers start to tap, and Rick frowns at them, wondering why she’s picking up the tick she developed before she was at ease in the driver’s seat.

“What?” he prods when Beth goes silent, concerned. “Beth?”

“Yeah, um…” Beth looks out the window, at Rick’s house and his yellow Mustang a little further ahead. The expanse of field and the dusk horizon overhead. Beth meets his caring gaze. And the power in it pulls him forward unwittingly. Her intensity has him breathless.

She takes his hand to squeeze. “I’m not talking about the car.”

~.~

“Did it work?” Court cajoles when Rick comes back through the front. “Did Beth kiss you?”

He blushes, moving past her to get his bag.

“That’s not why I built it,” he complains for the hundredth time.

“She kissed him,” Yolanda decides without even looking up from her phone, still snuggled into the spot she stole from him on the couch. “Beth just posted the relationship on Facebook.”

Court sticks out her tongue and fake gags. “Beth still uses Facebook?”

“Hey.” Rick swipes the final cookie from the counter as she continues with her theatrics. “Pat uses Facebook.”

Courtney groans. “That’s my point!”

Rick walks out. “Later.”

Yolanda sits up straight. “What? Where are you going?”

“Well...Beth took the car to her house so....” Rick stops at the doorway, donning a stupid smirk as it properly sinks in. “I gotta drive my girlfriend’s bike home.”

#beth chapel #rick tyler #hournite #rick x beth #hn fic #hournites fic #fluff #stargirl

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tooweirdforyou · 4 years ago

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Intense Training Session With Zoro - F! S/O

A/N : if you think I wasn’t going to make a steamy nsfw post for Zoro, especially based on this? Then you’re wrong. lol

Warning : SMALL NSFW AHEAD!

Summary : Asking Zoro for some advice and tips on training, leads to a different kind of lesson. Not good with summaries—

“Hey, Zoro?”

Emerging from below and helping yourself up from the ladder that lead up to the crows nest, you smile at Zoro.

The swordsman stops his lifts for a brief second to glance at you, nodding his head to acknowledge your presence before continuing his lifts. “Oh, [Name]. What’s up?”

“Nothing really, I just have a favor to ask.” You say cautiously, smiling more at him as you walk towards him and then took a seat on the couch by the window.

Zoro grunts a bit as he sets down the barbell and picks up his towel to wipe his sweat a bit, glancing to you from the corner of his eye.

“What is it?” He asks suspiciously, his eyes narrowing at you and your awkward, shifting figure.

“Uh, nothing much. Just, do you think you could...” You slowly stood up, walking around side to side, back and forth slowly.

Zoro raises a brow at you before you finally blurted it out.

“Can you please train me? Let me join your training sessions. Give me some lessons to get stronger!” You stop in your tracks and bowed a complete 90° to him.

He was pretty taken back, not expecting you to be so forward as he clears his throat, his cheeks a bit pink as he furrows his brows.

“W-Why me?” His tone sounded a bit harsh, but it wasn’t his intention.

You stand straight and look at him confusedly. “Because you’re the strongest one in the crew... you’re really strong, and I figured if I want to get stronger, you’re the best person to ask. But if you don’t want to, it’s fine! I can ask Sanji or-“

“It’s fine.”

You widen your eyes at Zoro, who was turned away and still holding the towel up to his face. “We’re starting in 20 minutes. Get changed and come up here by then. I’ll teach you some lessons.”

You smile brightly and grin at Zoro. “Of course. Thanks, Zoro!” With that, you’d head down from the crows nest, careful not to fall from the ladder as you made it to the main deck and went to change.

Zoro continued to hide his pink cheeks behind his towel as he exhales softly, wiping the rest of his sweat away.

He felt a bit surprised that you thought of him to train you, and that he was the strongest one in the crew. ( other than Luffy. )

He felt a bit embarrassed hearing that from his crush and couldn’t help the warm cheeks of his.

He was contemplating answering you, but mostly just thinking about how’d he feel, but after hearing you mention the stupid love-cook, it made him annoyed and he spoke without thinking.

He wasn’t sure if he was going to regret this or not, but regardless, you asked him to help you train so that’s what he was going to do.

Why did he agree to help you?

Currently doing some stretches as you were told, he couldn’t stop his lingering eyes from wandering all over your body, your curves being accentuated by your spandex shorts and tight tanktop.

It didn’t help you were in the middle of toe taps, bending over each time and showing off your ass directly in front of him.

Zoro shifts a bit uncomfortably, clearing his throat as he averts his eyes. “Alright, that’s enough stretching. Let’s get started.”

Standing up straight, you turn to see Zoro heading over to the dumbbells and you nod, following after him.

“Let’s start off with something easy. Grab a dumbbell and do a 100 squats with 100 lifts.”

You did a double take, widening your eyes. “T-that’s easy?” You ask, clear disbelief in your expression.

Zoro raises a brow and nods. “Of course. If we’d been doing this for a while, I’d make you do five hundred or more.” He says, as if it was obvious enough.

Giving a small hum, almost a whimper escaping your lips, you sweatdrop a bit.

‘Perhaps I asked the wrong person to train me..’

Seeing his skeptic look, you sigh and grabbed the lightest dumbbell you could find, before going over to the center of the room and positioned yourself.

Then, gripping the dumbbell tightly in your hand and into a lifting motion, you spread yours legs and began to squat.

Zoro made his way over and watches as you begin to squat and lift in unison, walking around you in a circle. His eyes glossed over your figure to make sure you wouldn’t hurt yourself with any bad form you accidentally had, but he was quick to be distracted by the sight of your ass.

Imagination was quick to take over his mind, letting himself see that you were bouncing yourself up and down on an imaginary dildo, with the heavy pants from you being heard as you picked up the pace to get it done quicker.

Biting his lip, Zoro slowly walks around to look at you from the front and stare at your big breasts bouncing with each quick squat you made.

His mind let himself imagine his hands squeezing them, one for each hand and let his ears be filled with the sound of your sweet moans as he pinches your buds.

Then he started to imagine you were bouncing on his semi-hard cock, that he hadn’t realized was forming.

With each big bounce you made on his cock, he would harden and let his arms and hands roam your ass and then up your curves.

“Zoro~”

He’d shut his eyes tightly, small grunts escaping his lips and right into your ear as he huskily spoke into it.

“You wanted this to happen, didn’t you? You purposely asked me to train you because you knew it’d lead to this, so you even wore such clothes in front of me..”

“Zoro..” was all that could be heard from you as he pulls you close and thrusts up into you, breathy loud moans filling the room.

“Zoro!”

The way your walls tightened and clenched around him would make him groan out, even more so at your nails clawing at his back and pressing his face into your breasts as you rode him hard.

Zoro would growl a bit and just as he began to thrust roughly, he’d—

“ZORO!”

Widening his eyes, Zoro snaps to reality and sees you standing in front of him with furrowed brows. A bit of sweat could be seen on your forehead as you wiped it away and stare at the green-haired swordsman.

“You okay? I’ve been calling you for a while, you just stood there with your eyes shut.”

Zoro blinks a bit as he takes a look at your body before his own. Slowly, a blush rose to his cheeks as he turns away from you, scoffing.

“I’m fine, did you already finish the 100 squats and lifts?” He says, turned away from you and you nod, a bit confusingly. “Yeah, I did.”

“Good.. do 100 more.”

Pouting, you huff and went towards him, moving so you stood in front of him and disregarded his red face.

“Come on, training isn’t just squats and lifts— I-I’m sure anyways. Let me do something else!”

Zoro looks down at you, and felt his cheeks warm further when he caught a glimpse of your cleavage. He scratches the back of his head before exhaling heavily.

“Fine, we’ll spar a bit. Grab a staff.” Pointing to the stacked bo staffs on the shelf against the wall, Zoro went to his own that was on the ground and picked it up.

Smiling in satisfaction, you nod and went over to the stands and picked a light staff up. Though it was wood, it was smooth and had rounded ends. Gripping it allowed you to not have to worry about splinters, so that was nice.

Walking over to the mat where Zoro stood, you showed him the staff and he nods.

“Good, now try and hit me.”

Humming a bit, you didn’t waste any time to start swinging the staff towards him, charging towards him with each swing but Zoro merely blocked and dodged with ease.

Each lunging towards him let your breasts bounce and Zoro was slowly becoming distracted again. His erection was still there from earlier, and if you stopped and looked closely, you could see the bulge in his grey sweatpants.

Biting his lip and watching the way your legs move since you were quick on his feet, made him so distracted that you managed to get a hit on him in his gut and the action startled him enough to knock him down.

“Ugh-“

You quickly used this to your advantage and jumped over to hover on top of him and held the bo staff horizontally over his neck, ready to press down but instead just held it above him.

Slowly, a grin took over your lips as the realization settled in. “Hey, I did it!”

Overwhelmed with your victory, you hadn’t noticed you were straddling his hips and more specially, ass pressed against Zoro’s crotch below you.

It wasn’t you sat up straight, panting a bit, did you realize what you were sitting on and what was poking you.

Glancing down at Zoro, you see his eyes shut tightly as he quietly grunts and panted a bit himself. His face was flushed.

Tilting your head innocently, you swayed your hips up and down and the softest moan was heard.

“O-Oi, what are you doing?-“

“Did you even try to hide it?”

Chuckling at Zoro, you began to grind onto him a bit, feeling his bulge grow beneath you. “It was visible as soon as you started staring at me while I was squatting.”

Zoro widens his eyes as his blush deepens, him scoffing a bit. “Shut up, I can’t believe you decided to wear this instead of something else.”

You simply roll your eyes. “Would you have become aroused if I wore a hoodie and some sweats like you?” You cheekily question, grinding against his crotch harder.

As you said this, you hum and began to reach for his hand and bring it up to your breasts, letting him grasp it.

“Come on, tell me what’s distracting you from your teaching. Is it my outfit? Because any other woman could wear it... or is it just me in general?”

Zoro bit his lower lip as his eyes began to fill with lust, watching you smirk at him and tease him.

He growls lowly as he forces himself up and turns so you were now on the ground and he hovered above you, hands pressed on the floor on either sides of your head.

“You think you can tease and play around with me like that?” He scoffs, his eyes shining a dangerous glint in them.

Quickly, he plasters a devilish grin and leans down to your ear, hands making their way to the hem of your spandex shorts, gripping the waistband between his fingers.

“Looks like you need to be taught a different kind of lesson.”

A/N : this has been in my drafts for so long ( 2 months ) and it’s so old and like, this is just a little something and I know it’s not great but it’s something ;-;

This is completely different from how I wanted it when I first started writing this and because I can’t remember, I changed it that’s why it’s a little messed up, weird, rushed and doesnt match the title nor summary at all.

#tooweirdforyou #one piece #one piece x reader #op x reader #x reader #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #one piece writing #ns.fw #op #scenario

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seiin-translations · 4 years ago

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2.43 S1 Chapter 3.4 - The Dog’s View and the Giraffe’s View

4. CHILD OF VOLLEYBALL

Previous || Index || Next

In the week before the ballgame tournament, practice for the tournament took priority over after school club activities. On Monday after school, it was the first day of team practice for Team F.

“I’m not the manager for the boys’ volleyball team. I’m just here to help out.”

“It’s totally fine! We have twenty-four people and only one manager currently. How many does boys’ volleyball have? Huh, eight? So little. One per twenty-four people and one per eight, don’t you think that’s a weird ratio? We’re going to need three managers, you know? That’s why, please be our manager.”

“Look…you haven’t listened what I said at all, have you. I don’t know how you think that logic is going to convince me.”

When he went to the gym, he immediately came across a scene of a row of four muscular boys were sitting on their heels and making supplications to one girl. The girl they were supplicating to was the second-year Suemori, who came as a helper from the girls’ volleyball team.

For today’s practice, it was arranged that the two teams would each use one half of the court. The teams were Oda’s Team F and Team B, which had the corps from the aforementioned rugby team. The rugby team was the third great power among the boys’ sports clubs in the school after the soccer and baseball teams, but because rugby wasn’t included in the events of the school’s ballgame tournament, they appeared to have discovered their raison d’etre in the ballgame tournament by dispatching members to each event and having them run wild. As if to tout their club, all four of them were wearing those characteristic horizontally-striped shirts, and the pattern made their upper bodies look even squarer and burlier. I’m pretty sure the temperature in the gym went up one or two degrees because of those four… Though it was already the season of high humidity, it really was sweltering in there.

“This isn’t the time for scouting. Scram.”

Oda raised his voice and cut in front of Suemori.

“Suemori is our important charge from girls’ volleyball. If anything happens to her while she’s with us, I’ll get throttled by them. If you wanna poach her, talk it over with the girls’ volleyball captain.”

“Aaah? What’s your problem?”

One person among the four talked back in a boorish voice. His height approached Aoki’s when he stood, and unlike Aoki, he had a width and thickness, so his weight was completely different. He felt a feeling of oppression like he was being crushed just from standing in front of him.

This man was a second-year from the rugby club, Okuma.

“This ain’t the place for a first-year runt to show up. Get outta here.”

The moment he said that, his temple started convulsing, but it would never end if he flared up at every single thing.

“I’m the captain for boys’ volleyball, Oda from 3-F. I’m in charge today.”

“Heh? A third-year? You serious?”

Okuma’s eyes widened, and he confirmed with Suemori over Oda’s head instead of with Oda himself. Standing in a position to protect Suemori, she was taller than him. Oda’s existence was no obstacle for Okuma.

When they were convinced that he was really an upperclassman, Okuma and the other three changed their attitude more or less, and they followed his orders without disturbing the progress. First, the two teams took the time for a joint orientation. There were three to five students from each grade per team. There would be no more than twenty-five people in two teams. Three times the usual number of eyes during regular club practice watched him and listened to him seriously. He was a little nervous and cleared his throat several times.

He didn’t see Haijima there. He wondered if the positions were assigned just for the sake of adjusting the numbers. If that was the case, then excepting Suemori who was a girl, Oda was the only one who had volleyball experience between these two teams.

In the volleyball division of the ballgame tournament, all six teams would be divided into two groups of three teams, and after a round-robin competition within the group, the first-place team in each group would play the deciding round. The group league had a total of six games, and adding the deciding round, that would make a total of seven games. The regular rule was to get twenty-five points first, but they eased that so that it was now a three-set match where the team that got fifteen points first won. Although, if they were to pull off seven games without a hitch, it was going to be a dizzying day for them on the management side.

“I’m sure we’ve all did it before in gym, so you’re alright with the basics, right? The rotations might feel complicated, but well, don’t take fouls down to the smallest detail, just three people in the front row and three in the back, and make sure to serve in the right order. Once you got it, you’ll be divided into teams to practice. I’m in Team F, and Suemori’s in B, so take a look. If there’s anything, call us immediately.”

“Hey, Captain!” Okuma raised his hand when he was about to tell them to split up.

“I’m not your captain, but…what?”

“It’s boring to practice separately. B and F should play a game. I think that’ll help us learn the flow of the game better.”

“A sudden game?”

Is he the type who loves playing games but hates practice? Oda didn’t like people who neglected basic practice. He frowned and said, “You can play games on the day of the tournament. Why do I have to teach your team our plays?”

“You don’t mind showing just a little, do you? Don’t tell me you’re gonna lose to a bunch of rookies like us? You can jump about two meters, right Captain? If you can’t do that much, then we’d be able to knock you down without jumping.”

I thought he’d become obedient, but he was thinking about things like that…I’m not going to be taken in by such a cheap provocation. I should just ignore it and move to practice as planned. He was thinking that, but he couldn’t help but feel a boiling feeling at the pit of his stomach. No, Aoki’s not here today, so I have to be the one to keep calm.

“Senpai, let’s do it. Why don’t we just do one set?”

Right when he was working hard to restrain himself, he was unexpectedly spurred on. He turned around in surprise and Suemori was standing firm with an expression that was even more indignant than Oda’s.

“Suemori-san, you sure are brave. I want you to be our manager more and more.”

Suemori gave a sharp glare at a grinning Okuma before whispering into Oda’s ear. “Oda-senpai, aren’t you angry? I can’t stand it. Making fun of volleyball…Let’s break his nose.”

“No, even if you say that…”

“If you don’t have confidence in yourself, then I’ll join.”

Suemori started taking off her jersey on the spot, so he immediately stopped her with “Wait. It’s better for me to play than you.”

His voice was a grade lower, becoming insecure. Suemori’s face immediately reddened and she looked down, saying “No…sorry.” I might have said it too harshly. But, more than being made fun of by an amateur like Okuma, my pride was hurt by the fact that I was even looked down on by someone from girls’ volleyball.

He did have confidence. He wasn’t about to be beaten by an amateur who was just huge. He honestly even agreed with the idea of knocking him down a peg. However, it would be a problem if a girl was put in and got injured. Although Okuma was an amateur at volleyball, he was an athlete who did ball sports, and there was an insurmountable wall between men and women in the power of the ball.

But, it was true that there wasn’t even anyone who could set by themselves. If there was just one more person with experience in Team F…

…We do.

The figure entered the corner of his field of vision as though it was timed. They were standing at the entrance to the gym with a suspicious face, perhaps feeling that there was something off—Haijima.

“Suemori…can you go get Kanno?”

“Huh?”

A dispirited Suemori raised her head and blinked.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

The reason he called Kanno was trivial, he just wanted him to be the referee. Suemori was in charge of displaying the points. It would only be one set where the first to get fifteen points won. If he considered this a sideshow, then this would be a good amount of time to devote to it.

He looked at Haijima, who was doing some light stretching in front of the net. Anyways, it was a piece of good luck that he was able to pull him up to the court before he could say anything…he might have to thank Okuma for that.

There were many people present in their gym jerseys, but Haijima’s equipment gave him a different vibe from the amateurs. He wore long underpants that reached his ankles beneath black shorts, short socks, and volleyball shoes that looked worn in. That Mizuno was the same model as Kuroba’s. And the taping that was tightly wrapped around the fingers of both his hands gave off an aura of something different.

When he thought that he had a different impression of his face than when he saw him in the school building, it was due to the presence of his glasses.

I see, so he switches to contacts when he’s playing.

When he was in his school uniform and wearing his glasses, he had the impression of a moody, literary-type of boy, but now suddenly he seemed like an athlete. There were also sports glasses, but sports glasses for volleyball inevitably took the shape of goggles due to the nature of the sport, and perhaps because it narrowed the field of vision and honestly didn’t look good, but Oda had never seen a high schooler use them.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t had much good will towards Haijima after the April incident. It wasn’t that he hated him, but he was completely in the category of people he didn’t like dealing with. It was creepy that he couldn’t read what he was thinking about at all, even now. A simply neutral expression with no enthusiasm or nervousness. I wonder what kind of play would actually be created by standing on the same court as this guy. Oda was the one who was made considerably more nervous.

However, on the other hand, he also felt excitement. ——He was looking forward to it.

“Then, the person doing the serve receive should try to return it to Haijima as much as possible. That’s our setter, Haijima.”

The other four people on the court are have some experience from gym class. He decided to try using them all first while alternating them.

“Haijima, are you fine with being the setter? Are you up for it? You haven’t done it for a while.”

Haijima, who was relaxing his shoulders, gave him a sideways glance and looked offended.

“What’s your highest jump reach height?”

He was suddenly asked a straight-to-the-point question. Without asking about the circumstances that led to this match, without saying a word of greeting like “Sorry I’m late” or “I’ll be in your care,” that was the first thing out of his mouth after he came here.

“For spikes, these days it’s 315.”

“You can jump for someone of your height.”

Haijima said and narrowed his eyes. It was a completely disparaging tone, but wait, was I praised just now? I feel like asking someone to interpret for me.

The height he could reach after doing a run-up and jumping was the highest point for a spike jump. In Oda’s case, his finger height (the height he could reach with his hand while standing) was 215 centimeters, so his spike jump was up to one meter. The two meters Okuma instigated with was of course an impossible figure—the height for a male high school volleyball player would be from around 70 to 90 centimeters. He thought that one meter was a figure to be considerably proud of.

From the start, Team B had three rugby team members in the three front row positions. He wasn’t sure if they were thinking up their own strategy where they were going to knock down the first of their attacks with a block and kill their momentum.

Kanno, who found himself in the role of chief referee, blew the whistle, and the game started with Team B’s serve. Since the server was an amateur, it was a simple underhand serve. However, because their receivers were also amateurs, it was difficult for them to cleanly return it to the setter, and the ball was greatly repelled.

Oda was about to jump out to cover for them, but…

…What!?

Haijima was already underneath the ball. So fast!? He didn’t just move fast. His reading of the ball’s course was fast as well. While in an overhand stance, his eyes swiftly scanned the entire court and he signalled Oda with his eyes for a moment. Oda, who had unintentionally stopped in his tracks, quickly rushed to the front of the net. A set was released from Haijima’s fingers with much faster timing that he expected. He was sure he didn’t make such a fast set when he saw him at the prefecturals. It was a confident set from a distance where normally a safe four set would be the only way to go.

So fast—no, rather than fast, what’s with that trajectory!?

He managed to reach up in the midair and hit it with his hand. He didn’t exactly hit the ball squarely, but the three blockers that marked Oda didn’t keep up with him at all.

The ball fell to Team B’s court over the head of the blocker who only jumped halfway. Oda himself felt like he was bewitched, and he landed with the pit of his stomach feeling somewhat weightless.

The view was wonderful. He could see the opposing court, which was usually always blocked by a wall, well. It wasn’t every day he got the chance to spike over the head of a tall blocker, so he had completely forgotten—was going over a block this exhilarating? He felt ticklish on the inside. He felt good…

With a backwards glance at the astonished opposing team, Oda ran up to Haijima.

“Oi, what’s with that set?”

Even so, it was a complaint that came out of his mouth first. He had just barely kept up, but it wouldn’t be strange if he had struck and missed.

“I can’t hit anything if you just set it without warning.”

“That one just now was lower than 315. As expected, I’m rusty from not playing for a while. My perception is dull.”

Haijima said, tilting his head to the side as though he wasn’t satisfied. He was going to make me hit it at three-one-five because I said that was the highest point I could jump? Is he a demon?

“It’s the same with the height, but it’s more a problem of timing. There’s no way I can hit the ball at that tempo if I don’t have anything to match.”

The basic set was called an open set, and the attacker must time the ball as it rose high and fell in a parabolic path and hit it. A spike that is hit at the slowest timing was called a third tempo.

Even so, Haijima’s set was a set that made the attacker hit the ball at the peak of the parabola. As a result, the trajectory towards the hitting point was short, in other words, “fast.” From the point of view of an attacker, it looked like it was flying “directly” at them. The attacker was pulling off the transcendental thing of smashing in the top of the set at the moment they swung at the highest point, but there were many demands on the attacker’s part as well. What kind of nerve did this guy have to set something like that to someone he’s matching with for the first time?

Haijima looked away from Oda, who was snapping at him, and looked as though he had lost interest in something.

“Kuroba can hit it.”

I see, I couldn’t see that high-speed setting at the middle school prefecturals because Kuroba wasn’t there?—His competitiveness was slowly rearing its head. Do you expect me to keep quiet when I’m told that me, a third-year, can’t hit what a first-year can? I know he can evade high blocks at that speed. If he could make that hitting position and speed into a thing…

“…It’s fine. Don’t change what you’re doing. I’ll match you with all I got next time.”

Haijima blinked, and then let out a short breath and squinted his eyes. …He laughed? Maybe?

“Senpai, it’s your team’s serve. You’ll be taking a delay penalty.”

Kanno called out to him in a mild voice. The rotation turned once, and then it was Haijima’s serve.

“You don’t need to match me. I’ll be the one matching you. You seem like you still have a lot more in you, so could you please give a little more? You can go up to about 320, right?”

Calmly leaving that extremely brazen and shameless statement, Haijima turned on his heel and walked to the service zone.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

His initial goal of breaking Okuma’s competitive spirit was blown out of his mind. He wanted to get Haijima to acknowledge him. That was all he could think about starting from midway through the match. He was so absorbed in it that he even forgot that this was practice for the ballgame tournament and was very ashamed to find out later that Kanno and Suemori were supporting the first-timers from off the court. It was a bad habit of his to lose sight of his surroundings when he got passionate. He had his hands full with what was before his eyes.

“Haijima, next time you get a chance, send it to the center.”

In the final stage of the set, the back row demanded a back row attack from Haijima. He was thinking of that high-speed center back Kuroba tried to show on his first day joining the club. If Kuroba could do it, then he wanted to do it himself as well.

“Oi, ref! Ain’t that what they call a delay? They’re just whispering to each other over there. That’s a foul, a foul!”

Okuma raised his voice from the other side of the net. He seemed to be pretty irritated with getting fouls many times when blocking. It was Haijima who incorporated the ingenious technique of playing right at the edge of the net to tempt his opponent into reaching over the net or touching it. He truly was a frightening first-year.

The B-team’s court got the serve, and Okuma jumped to spike it with a beast-like roar. However, Haijima moved in front of it with nimble steps and blocked it. Oi oi…Oda grumbled in his mind. Is he fully ready to end the game with block points? I just said that I wanted to do a back-row attack. Read the room.

Okuma was taller, but Haijima stopped the course with the precise way he moved his arms. It was a form he wanted to use as a model for first-years who were bad at blocking.

Oh…I’m looking at someone who has received the favor of volleyball up close right now… He was given every sense from the god of volleyball…

Thump. A different sound from the sound of a ball being hit was heard. From Oda’s position, it was a blind spot, so he couldn’t immediately grasp what had happened.

Rather than landing on the floor, Haijima dropped. Kanno immediately blew the foul whistle.

“Haijima!”

He rushed over to him in fright. Haijima was pressing his hand near his right eye, squatting and gritting his teeth. Was it his eye? His forehead? Kanno and Suemori also ran over, and the court was in disorder for a short while.

“Hey, what the hell were you doing? This isn’t rugby!”

He barked across the net, blood rushing to his head. Okuma made excuses with a slightly frightened look on his face.

“It, it wasn’t on purpose, captain. I only hit him by accident.”

“Don’t lie to me. If anything happens to our members, I’ll make you…”

“Senpai. I think he’s probably telling the truth. It wasn’t intentional. Please calm down. I was watching.”

He was clenching his fists and half-rising to his feet, but Kanno held down his shoulders. Admonished calmly by his kouhai, he reluctantly got back down while clenching his teeth.

“I’m fine…My contact just slipped.”

Haijima slowly got up. His voice was somewhat hoarse, but his articulation was clear. Oda was relieved that it didn’t seem serious.

“I’m removing myself from the game. Ow…”

After Haijima staggered out of the gym while pressing his hand against his right eye, the atmosphere immediately became like the closing of a performance. The decision was that Team B committed a foul, and Team F won 15-10, but they didn’t really care about winning or losing anymore.

The turmoil from the trouble caused everyone to lose concentration, so they decided to call off the rest of practice today. Oda’s concentration was more scattered than anyone else’s. He was in a position where he had to have more composure, but the role of captain was something that he was unequal to from the start. I don’t have the qualities to lead a team, I’m just selfish, I just…wanted to be a hitter. I just like getting to a place as high as possible above people and making them surrender.

The pleasure of being in a duo with Haijima still lingered. It was a feeling like a slight numbness that spread from the core of his body to his right fingertips.

I want him—A small but concentrated amount of fuel was thrown down onto his feelings of tiredness after losing in the prefectural tournament.

Practice was cut early and they dispersed, with Okuma and the rest of the rugby corps also leaving. When he was looking at the court thinking that it suddenly cooled down when those guys were gone, he saw Haijima standing before the net, staring fixedly up at it for some reason.

“Are you feeling okay? If you still feel like something’s off, go get it checked out. If you don’t know the hospitals around here, I’ll go with you.”

“I’m pretty familiar with it.”

“You don’t see rough play like that in volleyball a lot, do you?”

“No, I mean outside.”

“…?” Oh, he means outside the court? Hey, you need complete your sentences over here to have the conversation connect well.

In his case, no matter how you think about, the way he speaks is causing trouble. It’s no wonder Aoki went off at me about inviting him—he got him to lay a hand, I mean, foot on him.

“This is 2.43, eh.”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah it is, how did you notice? I told them to put it up at 2.4 since we’re not doing club practice today… I guess we’d been playing at 2.43 all day.”

At the ballgame tournament, the boys would be playing with the net at 2.40 meters. The same height as the official matches within the prefecture. When it came to tournaments that were above prefecture-level like regional and national tournaments, they were treated the same as general boy’s volleyball at 2.43 meters.

“Do you usually practice at 2.43?”

“Yeah, it’ll be at this height for Spring Inter-High, anyways.”

Haijima gave him a sideways glance, looking slightly shocked.

Following Inter-High in the summer and Nationals in the fall, the tournament that filled in the last piece of the three major national volleyball competitions was “Spring Inter-High Volleyball”. This tournament, which was held in a particularly spectacular manner among the three major competitions, was a grand stage that could be compared to Koshien for high schoolers who played volleyball (as for Oda, he didn’t want to use this metaphor. Even if you didn’t use baseball as a reference, Spring Inter-High was still Spring Inter-High). It used to be held in March but has now been moved to January, so third-years could participate as well, making it the last tournament that all three school years to face together.

Even at Spring Inter-High, the net was 2.40 meters at the prefectural qualifiers, but 2.43 meters at the main national competition in Tokyo.

“Is it funny? A tiny team like us talking about Spring Inter-High. That might be so, but I don’t think I said anything embarrassing.”

Even if people would think he was conceited, Oda was serious. If Haijima joined their current members, it wouldn’t be a pipe dream in the least. It was a realistic goal.

Haijima’s eyes returned to the net again.

“…I think that kind of thing is okay.”

He muttered. He stretched one hand and touched the top tape of the net. 2.43 meters was, if one were to give an easy-to-understand example, about the height of the ceiling in a house. For the 163 centimeters Oda, it wasn’t a place he could reach just by stretching himself. He envied his ease with which he could put his fingers on it and, it might sound strange, to fix his eyes upon it.

“Is this…the height for Spring Inter-High?”

Oh, he smiled… His face was purely radiant, a complete change from the previous arrogance and impudence, and he was shocked to see that he could make an expression like that. It was by no means a frank and open smile. Like a strong light covered by a thin curtain and gently diffusing through it…it overlapped with Kuroba’s face when he looked up at the same thing with sparkling eyes on the first day of practice in April, even though the vectors were completely different.

His feeling that Haijima would be hard to deal with had, before he knew it, faded through the match.

“Hey, you know, I had a great time playing with you today. You had a little fun too, didn’t you?”

“Oda-san has good reflexes.”

Unused to hearing himself be called “Oda-san,” he felt itchy. What’s more, he was using standard Japanese, so it was like he was being addressed from the TV. But, it’s nice, being called that by him.

“What you don’t have in height, you make up for with being athletic. You have power too. Stretching your body in midair, I like that.”

Even though he lambasted him two months ago, he easily reversed that and acknowledged him. Is he arrogant or honest…what a weird guy.

Just as I thought, rather than trying to do something with words, it might be better to invite him to the court first. What the hell, I feel kinda happy when I’m acknowledged by him… Pride filled his chest. He was able to believe that he hadn’t been continuing to do something meaningless.

“Will you join us, Haijima? It’ll be boring if you wanna do it by yourself. You chose volleyball for the ballgame tournament too, right?” There was no doubt that he continued to practice even though he wasn’t a part of the club. There was no way a guy who had a gap period since last summer could move like that.

He expected him to nod, but Haijima dropped his gaze to the court at his feet with a sullen look on his face. His childish action of poking at the ground with the toe of his shoe made Oda feel impatient and irritated. There was also envy. Why the hell is a guy who, unlike me, can just go on with volleyball without thinking about anything, hesitating here?

“I’m sure you’ll change your mind, Oda-san. I’m not very well liked. As long as I’m a setter…”

——“Why are you clinging to that position?”

It suddenly occurred to Oda that those words that were spat at him before might not have been contempt towards him.

Is it possible that it’s something Haijima himself has been thinking about…? Even the personification of volleyball sense who seems like he was chosen by the god of volleyball thinks that way?

“Hmm? Why are you guys hiding?”

Suemori’s voice echoed in the quiet gym.

Suemori and Kanno, who had spread out a piece of construction paper in a corner of the gym and working hard on creating a records chart, looked up and turned their heads to the doorway. The two heads that were peeking in from the shadow of the iron door shook with a start.

“Did you guys come to help clean up? If that’s the case, hurry up.”

Suemori briskly stood up, and Kanno followed quietly. Though the two timidly showed themselves, they stopped at the door like they had trouble getting in. It was Kuroba and Nagato. The air Haijima wore around him instantly stiffened. Were they all from the same middle school volleyball team?

“Senpai, is it true that Haijima is joining the club?”

It was Nagato who asked that. His face was unwelcoming without even having to say it aloud. He pulled on Kuroba’s elbow as if to tell him to say something as well, but he looked away with an ambiguous look on his face.

“I’d like to have him join. I’m in the middle of persuading him, though. If there’s something bothering you, speak up.”

Oda didn’t really hide his ill humor, and he raised his voice to highlight his captain’s dignity. One of Oda’s biggest aggravations was the behaviour of trying to get rid of people in a roundabout way.

“I’m not joining, so don’t worry.”

However, Haijima himself interjected from the side. His tone, which had begun to soften, had returned to being curt again. “I don’t think I’m obligated to join in the cleanup,” he rudely excused himself and turned towards the metal door without bowing. It was towards the other metal door, clearly avoiding Kuroba and Nagato. Oda wanted to tear off his head, as just when he thought he closed the distance a little, he was back to square one.

“I understand Nagato’s point of view. What about you, Kuroba?”

“Huh?”

Kuroba jumped and took on a posture of caution.

“I…I…”

He awkwardly peeking sideways at Haijima, and then cast his eyes down, looking a little bit like he was about to cry. Even though he was so big, he sometimes made expressions like those of an elementary school student, much less a middle school student. Haijima, who had stopped for a moment, started walking again. It was at a quicker pace than before.

After that gangly body disappeared behind the metal doors, Nagato opened his mouth as though he couldn’t bear to wait for that.

“Oda-senpai doesn’t know anything. If Haijima joins, then Yuni really won’t participate in any official games. In a way, we lost that other time because of Haijima…”

“Ryo, stop it. I told you that has nothing to do with it.”

With his face bright red, Kuroba stopped Nagato. However, his voice was weak and it didn’t sound like he was seriously denying it.

Making his voice stern, Oda asked them a question.

“What do you mean?”

Previous || Index || Next

#2.43: Seiin Koukou Danshi Volley-bu #2.43 book 1 #2.43 translation #2.43: seiin high school boys volleyball club #2.43

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capricornus-rex · 4 years ago

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Someone Left to Save (11)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

A/N: @glxy-otter Well, here’s a chapter where they meet but... I don’t think it’s not the way you expected it to be ;;;A;;;

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 | Previous: Part 10 | Next: Part 12 | Masterlist

11 of ?

The TIE Fighter sits on the western ridge.

The transmitter is set to its maximum range of reception, in case you pick up something interesting; at the edge of the ridge, the lone city intrigued you a lot and you have the strongest feeling that Cal may or may not have been there a time or two.

Putting your new helmet to the test, your fingers search for a particular button. When you found it, the visor’s scanners zoomed in and a reticle bounces back and forth within the narrow frame, leaving a piece of information whether in writing or in images before ricocheting to the next corner.

So far, you’ve seen most of what you saw in your vision—the barren wasteland, the lone city. However, the statues you saw were nowhere in sight… yet. You hummed while reviewing the data flashed on the surface of your visor. To the ordinary eye, it may be just another stretch of mountains, but you heeded to your feelings. Your eagle eye caught something else.

“Hell-o,” you cooed in a curious, singsong tone. One press of the button and the jittery reticle visits your visor again. “What do we have here?”

At the end of the mountain range, a pair of boulders peek out of the rim, though these particular boulders seem to be a little too symmetrical and clearly round for it to be any ordinary rocks. Squinting your eyes, you had a feeling something was up, and decided to explore it.

Not even the Inquisitorius killed off your curiosity.

“Okay, let’s tick statues off the checklist,” you mused to yourself.

Your eyes wandered, searching for an optimum landing spot. When you pictured that one exact spot in front of the statues--or their feet at least—you took five paces back to give yourself momentum. One big breath to calm down the nerves in your shivering legs, you clench your fists hard until the skin over your knuckles have turned white. The balls of your feet propelled you, kicking up the dust as you bolted through, and just at the very split second—when your toes barely sat on the edge of the cliff—you sprang away from the rock and plummeted down.

The two hundred feet felt only like two the moment you landed. Light as a feather, the sand wafted just at the height of your ankles. You erected from your crouched position and faced the entrance—nothing much than a portal of darkness that leads to who-knows-what. The mouth of the cave was seething with so much of the Force that it’s overwhelming, not just for you, but perhaps for any Force-sensitive.

“It’s a temple…” you gasped.

You held your head high up to take a good long look of the statues, the unmoving and unwavering guards, perhaps a millennia old.

Taking the first steps into this grand structure, a wave of calm washed over you—it didn’t give you peace though, it only made you feel more suspicious and a bit spooked about this place. Little did you know that it was the Light Side if this temple—long dormant and untouched until you came along—and the Dark Side in your clashing against one another. You begin to explore the temple; finding yourself in what ought to be a lobby or foyer of sorts, you stopped in your tracks at the very center of it and attempt to concentrate.

You feel like you’re not alone in here…

Because Cal is in here too.

—

“Bee…?”

“I don’t know, BD, it’s a strange feeling—familiar but eerie,” Cal thought aloud. Surveying the high ceilings of the temple, adorned with a strip of ancient runes much like most Jedi temples. “I don’t think we’re alone here.”

“Triiiil!”

Cal chuckled, “Haha! No, not ghosts, little guy. Another person, maybe, or an animal. But not ghosts, they don’t exist.”

The boy’s smile melted, his anxiety and uneasiness returned. The farther he goes in, the more he uncovers. Limestone parapets meld together with the stone of the caves—it reminded him of the inner chambers of the Zeffo tomb—and the rustic chimes of all shapes and sizes dangle at the slightest draft.

“Sure is spooky in here, though,”

BD-1 cooed a soft, almost-quiet chirp in agreement, folding his legs in as he hides behind Cal’s shoulder. Not even his own flashlight could torch the way ahead. The boy and the boy have comes to what ought to be an open antechamber, the features reminded Cal of the gardens in the temple in Coruscant—except this one is smaller, possibly twice the size of the entrance at the Vault in Bogano.

The extravagance astonished the boy, BD-1 showed the same sentiments in the way he knows best—hop down from Cal’s shoulder, scamper left and right, forward and back to scan every imaginable thing present in the room.

“Don’t wander too far, BD!” called the young Jedi.

Cal follows BD’s general direction, all while gawking at the design of this hollow, ancient chamber. Despite his great fascination at the beauty of the ruins, the looming uneasiness that he’s been feeling all day finally took hold of him.

And it took form in the shape of you.

At the insidious roar of a saber’s ignition, a bloody red glow illuminated the shadows and highlighted your silhouette. The shadowy sight frightened the poor, tiny droid, leading him to skitter back to Cal for safety. You step into the light, out into the antechamber, holding your saber low—the tip hovering beside your ankle—a menacing stride carried you forward to your now-enemy.

“Figured I’d find you here,”

The distortion in your voice, thanks to the helmet, made for an excellent guise. The storm inside Cal’s heart aroused you. You smiled beneath the mask, satisfied. It’s hard to deny that you truly missed him, but seeing his face reminded you of the things that your brother and sisters fed you—lies born from poisonous clairvoyance, until those said lies became the truth in your mind, and it is what you have accepted as reality.

The faint, fluttering feeling that used to exist in your stomach—all from missing him so—was replaced with an aching rage in your heart; because in your eyes, all you could see of him is the corrupted truth. Your grip around your saber tightened so hard that the metal sleeve was almost crumpled.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,”

You chuckled sinisterly, though amused, it seems that his roguishness didn’t die off from his depression of grieving for you.

“Oh?” you bobbed your head. “Then why don’t you get to know me?”

You brandished your saber horizontally, at the press of a well-hidden button, the half of the halo became a whole and along with it a second blade emitting out of the other end. Cal ignited his own, his own response to taking on the challenge. You softly chuckled and made the first move—lunging towards him like a dart, saber over your head. Landing on his block felt off and different—it was sloppy, loose, and less lively. You sensed the weakness of his body reflecting on the strength of his deflect.

At this point, you’re still quite generous. You voluntarily pulled away to let him reset his stance—also for you to quickly scrutinize his disposition. Your eyes examined his entire person: flimsy grip, poor footwork, and a weak core. You squint with suspicion.

Hmm, something’s up with him.

Cal remains at the mercy of the new Inquisitor: as lethal as a dagger, fast as lightning, and quick-witted. Her speed was almost impossible to keep up with.

He blocks and deflects your every strike, but barely affords a moment to counterattack. For every landed block, you felt how feeble his handling was, almost as if he’s crippled in the arm. You exploited that weakness and sent out a hail of slashes in his way, when Cal finally manages to lunge forward, you denied him an opportunity—darting to the far side of the space and attacking him from behind, similar to what you did to the Inquisitors weeks ago in your initiation duel.

The boy blocks it in the last minutes and then dodge-rolls to the side. He tries to stiffen himself up, but you sense that this is a façade he’s trying so hard to maintain. You can practically see right through his bluff.

“Seems like you’ve lost your touch, Jedi,”

“That’s perceptive of you,”

“Thank you,” you squeaked. “I get that a lot!”

Again, you thrusted yourself towards the boy. He’s slowly catching on in terms of strength. Looks like his focus has gotten back to him. After an intense exchange of blades, you flipped away from the clash and literally swept him off his feet with a single kick. His body met the floor, but quickly scrambled back on his feet; making him feel like he had no chance of the upper hand infuriated him, and this reflected in the way he moves with the saber. His technique was easily countered with a dash of elusive acrobatics mixed in with your own fighting style. You can sense the growing anger and the hate in him, though it’s no surprise that he’d succumb to it.

“You mistake your rage with sadness!” you snarled and then continued. “That anger, hate, and suffering. You don’t use them at all. Pity.” You scoffed as your blades are locked together.

A kick to the abdomen staggered him away from you, another brief moment to recompose himself. You spun your saber, the swordpoint facing Cal a few inches away.

“You know, you were never really good in hiding your feelings.”

And at the moment, Cal’s heart skipped a beat. Surely, this was a taunt most Inquisitors do to Jedi to catch them off guard, right? But no, there’s something else lingering in that Inquisitor’s words. Cal could barely breathe when he was beginning to become familiar with his opponent’s voice and the answer was whispering itself in his ears—though he refused. He tightened his grip around the sleeve.

The uncertainty from the boy reached you, another emotion to exploit within your grasp. It was almost a guilty pleasure taunting him; the climax being his melting point. You decided to while away the time bantering instead of fighting, which proved to be more entertaining—at least, for you.

“Don’t talk like you know me!”

“Oh, I’d bet my entire fleet for that,” you sniggered.

“Who are you, really?”

There was a pause. You tilted your head pensively.

“Oh, they call me the Twelfth Sister, but…” with a push of a button on your helmet, the front plate that masks your face retracts into its frame. You greet him with a malicious grin. “I guess you can call me [Y/N].”

Cal felt his strength ebbing, whatever life essence residing in his body has now departed, the saber fell from his hand—the clattering filled the entire antechamber until the only noise filling the place was his rapid, shallow breathing. He could feel his heart about to fail and he’ll just drop dead.

“No…!” he gasped.

You were ironically thankful to see the look on his face with your own eyes, without the visor. O, that multi-million credit expression was simply divine! So divine, in fact, that your grin stretched wider than an Acklay’s jaws.

“No, no…” he panted, until the whining evolved into a bellow. “NO, NO!!! It can’t be true! You’re not real! I’m just in a-a-a… dream! Or a trance! Or something!”

You scoffed, “Is it so hard to believe, Cal?”

“It can’t be… [Y/N]…”

“You abandoned me, Cal, and in turn, they found me. Made me stronger… much stronger. Enough to make you atone!”

“But I didn’t abandon you! I was about to come and get you!”

“LIAR! Because if you were, you would’ve taken me out of the rubble soon.”

“But I looked for you… I looked everywhere for you. I even waited when they were telling me to leave.”

You shake your head solemnly, “That’s not the way I see it.”

“Who told you all these things?”

“Does it matter?!” you raise your voice and readied your sword arm. “I’m going to make you pay anyway!”

Your frenzy overwhelmed Cal, indeed, but he was able to regain his bearings in the split second you darted through the wind in his direction. Another exchange of blades, only this time, oozing with a wildness borne of rage and hate—regardless if the root was corrupted and false. It is what the Grand Inquisitor would have designed in the first place. It’s what he would’ve wanted.

“[Y/N]…!” Cal pleaded in the middle of attacking. “[Y/N], please, listen to me!”

“I’m done listening to anyone!! All I could ever hear are lies!”

Cal made a quick scan of the area and spotted two balconies connected by a bridge overhead. He withdrew from the fight, hopped from one parapet to another until his feet were planted on the limestone. Of course, you didn’t want to be outclassed by the Jedi—you practically wall-ran until you’re at the highest of highs, propelled yourself off your feet, somersaulting in the air and landed in a graceful cat-like crouch.

“[Y/N], look, I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Sweet of you, honey, but you’re gonna have to come with me!”

It has become a battle of balance, dexterity, and strength. The bridge was just as wide as the walkway of a Star Destroyer’s hyperdrive pillar. The flurry of saber attacks remained frenzied and intense, the red gleam of your saber highlighted Cal’s freckled yet sullen face as you bore your weight down on his blocking, shining over the gloss of his teeth, and mingling with his jade irises encircled by dark rings. Ignorant of the imperfections brought upon by grief, you looked past them and still see the Cal you clearly remember in your memories.

“Oh, how I missed that handsome face,” you cooed.

That took him off guard, but only for a short while, he pressed him in closer to you which gave him enough momentum to pull away and take you by surprise—pushing you to the farther end of the bridge with the Force, causing you to stumble and land on your back and into this smaller chamber.

“I said, I don’t want to hurt you!”

When he saw that you were inside the smaller chamber on the other end, he focused the Force on the middle of the bridge—practically breaking off a large piece of the walkway like some crumb of bread—and sent it flying to the open archway of the chamber! That wasn’t enough though, he looked for every conceivable object within his reach to block your way, though he knew that you can easily break through it, doing so would buy him enough time to escape.

The next thing he used to block of the archway was the spherical chandelier, large enough to fortify the chunk of the bridge he initially put there. He could feel the resistance from the other side, you were doing the same thing he’s doing except to push your way out; but he persisted and focused harder on the blockage. Finally, that large “crumb” of the bridge was lodged harder into the archway, locking it in place before the chandelier.

Cal felt sure that he’s closed you in, but he’s perfectly aware that you won’t stay there for long.

“Come on, BD!”

“Woooo!!”

He ran, although in no particular direction, he simply ran away.

Air filled his lungs for every step he took. He just couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed.

He’ll have a difficult time accepting this new reality. As a matter of fact, he will never accept this reality.

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crystalninjaphoenix · 5 years ago

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MerMay Day Twelve Upstream

The transition from saltwater to freshwater was not always pleasant one, but it was doable. If Jack had to describe the feeling of being in freshwater, he would say it was almost like being too wet. Or some kind of bloated, sluggish feeling, as if he’d been eating too much. But he’d make the journey upstream anyway. Marvin was a friend, and if the two of them ever wanted to visit each other one of them would always be out of their home waters.

Jack entered the lake, hugging the rocky bed of the river until it fell away. “Hello?” he called, despite knowing that Marvin probably wasn’t close enough to hear him. And it seemed he was right, because he got no answer. So he decided to head deeper, swimming towards the floor of the lake. He skimmed along the sandy bottom, following it as it sloped downward.

Suddenly, something on the floor started to move. The sand shot up in a cloud. Jack yelped, backing up. A pair of blue eyes glared at him. Jack blinked back, taking in the image of another merm. “Um...hi?”

“Hello!”

Jack looked up, seeing Marvin approach. “Oh hi, Marv.”

“Hi. I see you’ve met my new apprentice.” Marvin ducked down to the lake floor. “Jack, meet Jameson, Jameson, meet Jack.” Marvin turned his attention over to the other merm—Jameson. “Jack’s a friend of mine. I sent a message to him last week, remember?”

Jameson nodded, seeming to relax a bit. He shook himself out of being buried in the sand, swimming up to be level with Jack. Marvin followed.

“Oh, hi, Jameson.” Jack waved. “New apprentice, huh?”

Jameson nodded again.

“He’s picking it up real quick,” Marvin said proudly. “Hey, did you bring the thing?”

“Oh, right!” Jack was wearing a human-made backpack (Chase had told him the name for it.) He pulled it off, undid the zipper—that was a fun word—and reached inside, pulling out a stack of preserved kelp, bound together with string in the style of a human book. He thumbed through the pages. “You’re so lucky I found this in the first place. Here.” He tossed it over to Marvin. The book floated through the water, and Marvin caught it easily. “So you’re learning MSL?”

“Yeah, we both are.” Marvin gestured at Jameson as well. “You guys should, too, if you’re gonna keep coming up here.”

“Really? Why?” Jack asked, intrigued. “Something happen?”

Jameson waved cheerfully. Marvin chuckled. “Yeah, Jamie happened. He can’t talk, figured this would help.”

“Oh.” Jack went quiet for a moment. How would someone respond to that? Should he say sorry, or something? Just move on? Ask what happened? “I see,” he finally decided.

Marvin handed the book to Jameson, who began flipping through it. “You need anything, Jack? Want to stay for a while? Eat something?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” Jack perked up. “I haven’t seen you in a bit, and then you just send me this magic message asking me to get you something? God, I’d think you only talk to me because I can get you ocean stuff. By the way, you still have that knife?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I can message any of you for that. And yeah, it’s come in handy.” Marvin flicked his tail, heading back towards the center of the lake. “C’mon, we can hang out by the hot spring.”

They settled down onto a group of rocks deep in the lake. Or, well, Jack and Marvin did. Jameson preferred to settle down on the sandy floor. “So, how’s Sam doing?” Marvin asked. Then he looked at Jameson and explained, “That’s Jack’s pet, she’s a discus fish. They’re flat and round, like those things called pancakes.”

Jameson had grabbed a stylus and piece of preferred seaweed back at the house. I’m a pancake, too, he wrote down, smiling.

Marvin burst into laughter. “Yeah, you are. Except discuses are more colorful. Imagine Jack, but flat vertically instead of horizontally.”

Jack chuckled. “Yeah, Sam’s doing good. You should come out to see her some time. Anything new been going on here?”

“Other than Jamie? No, not much.” Marvin flipped through the book again. “Man, why’d they stop making these?”

“They still make them, it’s just that there’s not a lot of people who do,” Jack sighed. “It takes a lot of work to write a whole book. Y’know, humans have figured out how to mass produce them? Chase told me that there are so many out there that everyone has a few.”

Lucky, Jameson added.

“I know, right?” Jack exclaimed. “Meanwhile, the closest bookbinder I know lives a few hours’ swim away—which is why you’re doubly lucky that she had one you were looking for on hand—and I have to circumvent that trench from two months ago to get there. I told you about that, right? When I ran across the giant squid and the eel merm?” Jack leaned back and stuck his tail into the water above him. “You can still see the marks from where he grabbed my tail and lightning’ed me.”

“Yeah, you told me,” Marvin said, grinning. “Jamie, you want to hear the story?”

Jameson frowned. The eel shocked you? He asked.

“Yeah, it was crazy!” Jack said.

That seemed to confuse Jameson further. You met him in an ocean trench?

“Yeah...why?” Jack asked.

Electric eels are river merms, Jameson explained. How did you find one in saltwater?

Jack paused. “I...didn’t know that. I’ve never seen one before, so I guess I just assumed...that was where he was supposed to be.” He paused. “I mean, is it that bad for one of you freshies to be in salty water?”

Marvin hissed sharply, inhaling water through his teeth. “Well, yeah. A little. It’s not like, bad for visits, but it sounds like this guy is living there...so it would be like...uh…” He flailed his arms about, fins flying as he looked for the right words. “Uh…”

It feels a bit like drying out, Jameson said helpfully, to be in saltwater. Like your skin is too tight.

“Huh…” Jack shivered a bit. “Y’know that puts a different angle on it, if this eel guy is just drying out the whole time.”

“Yeah…” Marvin nodded. “I mean, he’s still a dick for attacking you.”

Jack laughed. “Oh yeah, totally. But I mean...come on. Why would he even hang out there, if it’s uncomfortable?”

Marvin shrugged. “Sometimes people are just stupid. Speaking of all this talk about not being in the right water, do you want to head back anytime soon?”

“Hmm…” Jack considered this. Sam might be worried, but on the other hand. “I don’t know, maybe I’ll just stay here and steal all your hot spring water.”

Jameson promptly reached over and smacked him.

“Hey! Ow!” Jack laughed. “Alright, I’ll leave. But not yet. I don’t see you often, Marvin, and I’d like to get to know you better, Jameson.”

Marvin stretched out. “Alright, greenie boy. Suit yourself.”

They spent the next hour or so chatting the afternoon away. By the time Jack decided he should go, the issue of the eel was all but forgotten.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #marvin the magnificent #jameson jackson #brigid writes fanfiction #mermay snippets

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wilwywaylan · 4 years ago

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The Artist above and the Revolutionnary below - Part 4

Fandom : les Misérables

Modern!AU, Enjolras x Grantaire, 3473 words

Last part of the fic for the Same Prompt Challenge ! Finally, it’s done !

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Also on AO3 !

Step one : wash self. It would do no good to present himself to Enjolras looking like some kind of cave troll. So Grantaire took a shower, taking great care to wash his hair and untangle the curls. Once mostly dry and dressed in clean clothes, he aimed for the kitchen. Not for the coffee, even if he started by making himself a nice cup, but for something far more ambitious : he was going to cook.

Four hours later, his kitchen was a mess, every horizontal surface was covered in flour and there was even some sticking to some vertical parts, the sink contained more dishes that he believed he owned, and he was in dire need of another shower. But there was a whole plate of cookies in the oven, and it smelled quite good. Not that Grantaire wanted to brag, of course. He didn't have any time for it, anyway, he was way too busy watching the biscuits by the small window. He didn't want...he couldn't mess them up. He didn't have the courage nor the ingredients to start again.

But luckily for him, the cookies got out deliciously golden, and absolutely perfect. He transferred them into a metal box, resisting the urge to eat one himself. After a second shower that got rid of most of the flour, he went to sit at his easel. Now came the third, and most important part. Cookies were a nice touch, but he wouldn't be forgiven just with this, Bahorel's super secret recipe notwithstanding. No, he needed to find the perfect present that would melt Enjolras' anger like a cube of ice during summer. And nothing could be more of a perfect present than something handmade, or in his case, hand-drawn.

The white page was almost intimidating, at first, more than during one of his assignments, even. Assignments, he could bullshit his way through them if inspiration didn't strike. But this.... this was way more important. Okay, no, maybe not. He couldn't claim a cute boy was more important than his studies. It was important in a different way, but he couldn't just pretend he knew what he was doing. He needed to know. He needed to make it perfect.

The first strokes were hesitant, almost shy, barely scratching the surface. But as he went, the picture in his mind grew clearer, his gestures became more assured, and he started working faster.

When he finally moved, the sun had set, his neck was sending jolts of pain up his skull, his fingers hurt, and his hoodie had lost all pretention to be an actual color. He stretched, sending his arms above his head, only realizing now that his stomach was growling. Probably loud enough to wake his neighbors up. But he didn't care. He felt well. The painting on his easel was probably one of his finest works since... oh, several years. Enjolras stood in the middle of it ; Grantaire had painted him dressed in a XIXe century style, with a red jacket with a cockade pinned on the lapel, a black cravat resting undone on a white shirt under a black waistcoat. There was a smudge of blood on the cheek, but he was brandishing a red flag above his head. The whole sky behind him was a brilliant whirlwind of pink, orange and yellow, and a timid sun was stroking Enjolras' face with gold rays. Any critic would have dismissed the piece as "overly pompous" and "pretentious", but Grantaire felt a mix of pride and anxiety watching it. It certainly was fine, but didn't he exaggerate, making Enjolras' face softer than it was ? Maybe his eyes weren't fierce enough, not full of fire enough ? And what if Enjolras didn't enjoy a portrait of himself ? Oh well, too late now, it was done. Tomorrow, he would make his move. But for now, he wanted nothing more than sleep. He made his way to his room, abandoning his clothes on the way, and dropped on the bed. The remnants of Bahorel's impromptu breakfast were still on the nightstand, and he devoured the rest of the croissants. Once sated, he wrapped himself in the blankets and just laid there, content and sated, for the first time in days. Maybe things were looking up, after all.

~*~

Next morning saw Grantaire up earlier than he'd been in months. He'd woken up almost with the sun, and had been since tossing and turning under the blankets, trying to keep himself busy until it was a decent time to put his plan in motion. He didn't know about Enjolras' sleeping habits, and didn't want to wake him up. That wouldn't put him in good dispositions. So he browsed the internet, trying to distract himself until it was time to move.

At around 10 AM, he decided to act. He rolled out of bed and got ready, going through the motions with application, concentrating on each gesture to ignore the way his heart seemed to try to get free from his chest. He took the box of cookies, the painting, and snuck out into the hallway. It was dark and deserted. Perfect. He went down the stairs, his socked feet silent on the tiles. Still no one. He managed to reach door 32 without a hitch, without any nosy neighbor opening their door to see who was playing spies in the hallway. He carefully put the painting down, put the box beside it, with a small message he'd spent at least fifteen minutes writing. Nothing fancy, just a heartfelt "I'm sorry I've been an ass". No need to start babbling on writing. Good.

He rang the bell... and ran away, up the stairs, almost falling down and hitting the ramp in his hast. He had barely reached his story, when he heard a door open. There was a moment of silence. And a thought hit him right between the eyes : what if Enjolras decided to climb here to see who put the presents on his doorstep ? He'd see him crouching behind the railing like an idiot. He dashed inside his apartment, closed the door, then opened it a tiny sliver. No Enjolras materialized on the landing, but there was a rustling. Like things being picked up and carried inside. So he had found the presents. Very good.

Grantaire retreated inside, pondering on the next move for a second. He could start working on his assignments again, clean a bit of his flat, maybe scrub his bathroom. Things would go back to how they were before all these guitar shenanigans. But that wasn't what he wanted, right ? So he needed to follow the plan.

He needed to rummage a little (a lot) through the mess accumulated under his bed and in his cupboard, but he finally unearthed an old, battered case. The guitar inside had lost a bit of its shine, but the intricate patterns on it, flowers and clouds, were still as vivid as always. He took it back to his window and sat as comfortably as possible. It was out of tune, of course, after so much time in storage, but the gestures came back to him easily, and soon, it was fit to play. He stroked the strings, just enjoying the sound for a few seconds, then started to warm up. The notes flew by the window, carried by the wind, soft and round at each vibration of the strings, climbing the scales up and down. His fingers were dancing, almost on their own, modulating the melody almost perfectly.

Under him, a window opened. He didn't hear footsteps, but he imagined them all the same. Time to go to step five. Or six, he didn't remember. He abandoned the scales for real melody. Still no noise coming from under him. Oh well, he could still play for himself, couldn't he ? After all, he did like this song. And so, he started singing softly, almost under his breath.

Lay down in the stars, my bonny lass Lay down in my arms, we'll make it last The senses aspire to this far greater time As the rivers flow your heart will be mine

He played the song from start to finish, enjoying how easily it was all coming back to him, the lyrics and the melody, how delightful it was to play again. The last notes fled outside, fading slowly as the strings stopped singing. Grantaire leaned on the guitar, feeling the vibrations stop under his fingers. The silence after a song always had a special quality, soft and serene, like it was another part, something that completed the song.

- Are you there ?

Enjolras' voice cut the silence, made him jump so hard that he almost dropped the guitar. He did call for him. Enjolras wanted to talk to him ! Do not ruin this, play it cool. He walked to the window and leaned out. Enjolras was peering up at him, and Grantaire's heart gave a little tug at the beautiful eyes fixed on him, so large and so blue that they seemed to hold the whole sky. He also noticed that he didn't look as angry as yesterday. Or perhaps he was very good at hiding his feelings. Grantaire composed himself a friendly smile, and answered :

- I am, yes. Hello, Enjolras.

- Hello. I heard you playing, so I wondered....

- If it was me, or the ghost of Christmas past ?

Enjolras frowned, and Grantaire remembered that he was supposed to be nice and friendly, not rile him up again by making fun of him.

- Sorry, he added. What can I do for you ?

- Someone put a box of cookies and a very nice painting on my doorstep, and I was wondering if you knew something about it.

The urge to roll his eyes was stronger than ever, but he refrained heroically.

- Why yes. Do you enjoy cookies, at least ? Because I didn't really ask...

- Oh, so it was you ?

- Yes ? I mean, I signed the note, so....

Enjolras frowned again, more perplexed that angry this time.

- Yes, but.... you.... didn't really introduce yourself. Your friend called you "R" that time, but I didn't know that it stood for "Grantaire", so...

This time, Grantaire facepalmed. Count on him to be so stupid he forgot to officially introduced himself.

- Sorry. I'm Grantaire. Pleased to meet you.

- Pleased to meet you too.

Grantaire tried not to smile too wildly.

- So, what do I owe the pleasure ?

- I heard the guitar. Were you playing ?

- Ah yes, I felt like getting it out of storage and tickling the strings a little.

- That was really great ! I didn't know you were such a good player !

He really needed to stop complimenting him, because Grantaire wasn't sure he was going to maintain his composure for long.

- It's been a while since I've played, but....

- Do you think you could... come down, and we'll play ?

What ? Did he hear right ? Was he....? This was a dream. This could only be a dream. Did Enjolras really ask him to come back ? But he was watching him with his beautiful eyes, and still looking expectantly up at him, and pinching himself didn't suddenly wake him up. That was reality.

When the information reached his brain, Grantaire grabbed his guitar and, once again, ran all the way to Enjolras' door. As he knocked, he suddenly realized that he had bypassed shoes entirely. Too bad, Enjolras was already opening the door, his cat in his arms. Grantaire scratched the little head between the hair, refrained from doing the same to Enjolras.

- So, he said instead, I heard you wanted to play ?

Enjolras lead him to the balcony again, where two cups of coffee were waiting, smoking quietly. Grantaire was both oddly touched by the welcoming gesture, and impressed at how Enjolras seemed to be sure that he would come done. But then again, maybe Bahorel was right and his crush *was* visible from space.

- Anything you want to play ? Grantaire asked once he’d sat down on the rickety chair.

- Can you play Wonderwall ?

- Of course, I taught you. Together ?

Enjolras picked up his own instrument. He carefully placed his hands as Grantaire had shown him, tuned it a little, then turned to face him. Grantaire counted the rhythm as he had taught it, careful of not going too fast.

It was weird, playing together like this. Enjolras did lack a bit in rhythm, forcing Grantaire to adjust, but nothing he couldn't deal with. He didn't dare sing at first, rather enjoying Enjolras' voice, but after the first verse, he just let himself get carried away. It was great, moving like this, in unison, almost like they were two halves of the same thing. Grantaire didn't want to read too much into the situation, but it was... exhilarating. It felt like flying. Like being, for a few seconds, at the top of the world, with him.

It ended, because of course, it had to end, leaving Grantaire disoriented, and a little breathless. Probably the singing, of course. But Enjolras looked as affected as him, so maybe he hadn't imagined the connexion they shared for a minute or two. He tried to play it cool, picking at the keys to retune the strings. Enjolras watched him do with interest.

- Can you play something else ? he asked suddenly.

- Of course. What do you like ?

- Anything you want.

Anything ? Grantaire didn't have to pick his brain to find a song. Of course, that would be a very daring move, but Fortune favored the bold and all that. What did he risk, except a slap and being thrown over the balcony rail ? (probably not). He started playing the chords, softly at first, then seeing that Enjolras didn't run away, launched into the song.

Wise men say only fools rush in But I can't help falling in love with you...

It was a good thing he knew the words by heart, because Enjolras was so close their knees were brushing, and Grantaire had great trouble stopping himself from jumping each time he touched him. His heart was beating fast, so fast, and he was sure he could hear Enjolras', beating in tune. Or that may just be wishful thinking.

He didn't know how he got to the end of the song without running away or bungling anything. He was ready to jump out of his skin at each light touch. And as he lifted his head, it was to discover the beautiful blue eyes set on him, pinning him in place. He couldn't turn his head, he couldn't say anything, he could just look at him, and hope his eyes would do the talking.

Suddenly, Jude jumped on his master's lap, almost knocking the guitar over, breaking the spell. Enjolras patted him as he kneading his pants, and asked :

- This song...

- Yes.... Did you like it ?

- A lot... It's very pretty.

- Very, yes.

Perfect. When did they land in a potboiler and get turned into shy teenagers ? Grantaire would have slapped himself if he didn't fear looking like an idiot. He'd always hated that genre, so to suddenly find himself like this, babbling and muttering, incapable of speaking his mind... They'd never get there, not like that. Someone needed to take the reins of the conversation for something to happen, anything. He opened his mouth, but Enjolras beat him to it.

- Did you choose it for a reason ?

Ah, short and to the point. Enjolras certainly didn't embarrass himself with subtleties. But now, he was expecting an answer. And this meant Grantaire needed to think very hard about the answer he was going to give, and quick. And Enjolras was still looking at him, so he needed to focus extra hard to not say anything stupid or incriminating. And he needed to think, and to think quickly, instead of being sidetracked like this.

- I....

Great start, Grantaire. Now say something, or he's going to lose his patience, and maybe his temper. But what could he say ? That he really, really wanted to kiss him ? Hold his hand and the rest too ? Set his life at his feet ? Well, yes, this was what he wanted. But he couldn't say it, or Enjolras would run away. But he needed to say something now. Anything.

- I like it.

Oh great. This time, he hit his head against the guitar, lightly, of course.

- Is that the only reason ?

Grantaire took a deep breath, lifted his head. There they were. No going back now.

- I....

It didn't want to come. He was ready to say it, that was the best moment, the only moment, it was perfect, the atmosphere, the guitar, everything, and he couldn't say it. Count on him to be so stupid he couldn't confess his feelings.

A hand closed on his and squeezed gently. He looked down at their fingers, then back at Enjolras' face, who kept his eyes down.

- I don't want your whole life, he said, but I could... take your hand, if you want.

Grantaire was a bit tempted to laugh, but he refrained.

- Would you, really ? He asked, very low.

- I want to try, at least. If you want to.

He was looking at him, now, with such an open expression that Grantaire almost wanted to scream and tackle him. But no. Act like a normal person. He lifted the hand Enjolras wasn't holding, stroked his cheek, very slowly. His movements were measured, to give him all the time he needed to move back. But Enjolras didn't move back. Not when Grantaire bent down, very, very slowly to kiss him. It was soft, almost too much. Clumsy, too, like Enjolras wasn't used to being kissed. They just kept like this for a moment, barely moving. Not enough for Grantaire, he wanted more, way more, he wanted to ravish him, to leave him red, breathless, to hold him tight and never let go. But it was perfect none-the-less.

They parted for breath, and because Grantaire's neck was starting to hurt. Enjolras was looking at him, his cheeks a little red, his smile a little shy. Positively adorable. Without letting go of Grantaire's hand, he moved his chair a little closer, until he could lean against his shoulder. It was not the most comfortable way to sit, but Grantaire wouldn't have let go for anything in the world. Still, he felt compelled to ask :

- Are you sure you want this ? I mean....

Enjolras moved a little, and he wanted to hold him back, but he didn't step aside, not even a little.

- What do you mean ?

- Well... I'm me, and....

This time, Enjolras shifted to be able to look at him without leaving his shoulder.

- Yes, I know.

- Are you sure this is what I want ? Because....

- I am sure, yes. I know what I'm getting, and what I don't know, I will discover. And I'm sure I will like it.

A very large emotion got stuck in Grantaire's throat, effectively cutting all the words he could have used. So he just held Enjolras' hand tighter, and twisted a little to be able to lay a kiss on his forehead.

They sat like this for a moment in silence, watching the sparrows fly by. Grantaire's thumb was stroking the soft skin on Enjolras' hand, very gently. Suddenly, Enjolras asked :

- It wasn't... too awkward, was it ? When I said... (He gestured vaguely with his free hand.) About your life, and....

- It was, Grantaire chuckled, but that was adorable. It's very... you.

Enjolras laughed a little.

- You better get used to it, it seems that I'm very clumsy at speaking my feelings.

- Don't worry, I like it a lot.

- Good. Now would you maybe play that song for me again ?

Grantaire let go of Enjolras' hand with a hint of regret, and took his guitar back. Immediately, Enjolras settled back against his shoulder. Grantaire didn't know if he could play with someone against him like that, but he certainly wasn't going to ask him to move. Certainly not. He stroked the strings again, and started the song a second time. Enjolras was warm and heavy against him, and it was perfect. The notes started to fly above the roof, to tell everyone listening that they had finally found each other.

Songs are True Life Song by Jon Anderson, and Can’t help falling in love with you by Elvis Presley

#les miserables #enjolras #grantaire #enjoltaire #same prompt challenge #dorks #such dorks #they are so dorky #I love them

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in-class-daydreams · 5 years ago

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Parlay (Kuroo x Reader) | Ch.2

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader (ft. Roommate Kenma)

Word Count: ~1,000

Genres: Fluff, angst if you squint, general buffoonery

CW: Some swearing, but otherwise none!

Summary: (Y/N), a first-year student attending Tokyo U, is living with her best friend, Kozume Kenma. Little did she know, her life would be turned upside down after being exposed to Kenma’s volleyball teammate and close friend, Kuroo Tetsurou. One wrong move, and the parlay’s stakes only get higher each time.

Chapters: First | Previous | Next

‘What the hell is he talking about?’ Kenma thought. (Y/N)’s face was contorted into a bewildered expression mirroring his own.

“Kenma!” she exclaimed, “Did you tell Kuroo-san we were dating for some reason?”

“No. Kuroo just jumps to conclusions sometimes,” the boy said dismissively. Making his way towards the kitchen, he poured some dish soap into the basin and ran the hot water. His roommate trailed after him with a thoughtful expression. The chair made a quiet scraping sound as she plopped herself down into it. When Kenma glanced over, her chin was propped up on her hands. Her brow was furrowed so deep, Kenma worried she’d be stuck like that forever. She was overthinking again, but Kenma had been friends with this girl for quite some time. He knew it was better that he let her mental rambling run its course. Finally, she straightened up and stared at Kenma pointedly.

“Do we act coupley?” she asked him.

Kenma’s groaned, knowing she was firmly locked onto this trivial topic. Though, he did take a second to ask himself the same thing. (Y/N) was a pretty touchy person, and he surely wouldn’t like it if anyone else called him “Ken-Ken”, but with her he couldn’t bring himself to mind very much. He knows he puts a lot more effort into making her happy than he would for normal people. Then he supposed to Kuroo, the hopeless romantic, his softness on his roommate could seem more romantic than platonic.

‘But he doesn’t have to make wild assumptions like that.’

“I guess I’m just nice to you,” he replied simply. Even without looking, he could feel her tilt her head in confusion.

“And that’s enough to make him think we’re a couple?” she asked, incredulous.

Kenma shrugged noncommittally. Used to his reticence, she continued.

“I guess we seem kinda domestic, but we don’t do anything genuinely romantic,” she reasoned.

“Kuroo’s already decided we’re dating. If we don’t say anything, he’d never notice,” he deadpanned. (Y/N) barked a laugh. Shaking her head, she got up and made her way over to Kenma’s side to dry the dishes with a nearby rag.

“Give your friend some credit, Kenma! No one’s that oblivious,” she defended the taller man, to which Kenma snorted.

“You are,” he teased. (Y/N) squawked in offense.

“What? No way, I’m not oblivious!” she vehemently insisted. Kenma’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly. He turned the sink off and turned to her.

“Remember when you burned instant ramen because you forgot it needed water?” he ‘asked.’ They both knew the other remembered that whole debacle well. Vividly, even. She grimaced at the memory. The girl set down the bowl she was drying - though not as gently as Kenma would have liked - and brandished her wet rag at him menacingly.

“Look, I didn’t ‘forget,’” she made quotes in the air, “that it needed water. I’m perfectly aware how to cook ramen, I just thought I had already added water to it.”

“And how does that prove your point?”

“...’Kay, fine, but that’s, like, basic, everyday stuff! I’d totally notice something like this if I were in Kuroo-san’s spot!” she concluded, to which Kenma shook his head again.

“No, you’re both about equally oblivious. If he doesn’t get it, then neither would you.”

“Then, he’ll get it very soon!”

“Not likely.”

Huffing, the girl leaned all her weight against the sink and her brow furrowed once more. Her ‘thinking face,’ as Kenma called it. He sighed and realized she’d soon have another questionable idea of hers. While she was off in her own world, he sat on the floor in front of his laptop. As he scrolled through his Scheam account looking for something to play, he vaguely registered her rapid footsteps. By the time he’d finally mustered the courage to take a crack at Five Nights again, (Y/N) had run up to him.

“Let’s make a bet then!” she challenged. He groaned internally and she took his silence as an invitation to continue, “If Kuroo-san and I are both the same level of obliviousness, then he’s not oblivious at all! I bet that he’ll eventually figure out we’re not actually a couple. If I win, you… uhm… Oh! You go on Tuwuitch--”

“No.”

“--in front of all your subscribers and say, ‘ (Y/N), my bestest friend and most delightful roommate, is super smart and definitely not oblivious,’” her lips stretched into a self-satisfied smile.

‘So childish,’ Kenma thought. He took a deep breath before shooting back, “Oblivious isn’t even--”

“I’m not oblivious, though!” she cried.

“Whatever. Alright, I take the bet. But you don’t have anything I would want.” He had faith in Kuroo’s spaciness.

She thought for a second, then snapped her fingers in realization, “I can just owe you a wish!

As long as it’s something I can actually do, I’ll do whatever you ask of me! ...why are you looking at me like that?”

Kenma was staring at her silently. Suddenly, she smacked his shoulder in outrage.

“Get your mind out of the gutter! I won’t do that,” she gasped.

‘I wouldn’t want it,’ he said internally. He wordlessly stuck his hand out for her to shake. They sealed their deal and the subject dropped for a few rounds of Five Nights.

Around 12:20 am, Kenma shut off his computer. He dragged himself to a standing position and cracked his back. The movements woke up his roommate. She had fallen asleep against the couch beside him.

“Mm, goodnight,” she rasped and spread out on the floor. Despite his own grogginess, her friend nudged her with his foot. On the edges of her consciousness, she heard him saying something about back problems and catching colds.

“--and you’ll never stop complaining about it,” Kenma finished. For the sake of her sweet friend, she dragged herself up as well, whining all the while. They sleepily walked down the hall together.

“Goodnight.”

“Mm.”

They went to sleep that night unaware of just how out-of-hand their seemingly harmless bet would become.

(A/N): Hey everyone! Thanks for reading another chapter of Parlay, and yes, things are going to get spicy very quickly (evil smirk). I’m also working on the cover, which will be updated soon (hopefully!). See you soon!

- Admin Kiwi-Chan

Not sexy spicy! More like juicy. Yeah, neither of us know enough about the horizontal tango to write about it, so in this fic, it’ll be implied, if mentioned at all lol. Thanks for reading, and you can expect the next chapter real soon. Be sure to tell us what you think!

- Admin Mango-Chan

#haikyuu kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kozume kenma #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #bokuto kotarou #bokuto #oikawa #oikawa tōru #iwaizumi hajime

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alliswell21 · 5 years ago

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This was a prompt I saw @lovely-tothe-bone had posted. You know me, I suffer “shiny-red-ball syndrome” or actually “puffy-tail-plot-bunny Syndrome”

Anywho... Rated M for language and adult situations. Modern!Everlark. Also, I stole a line from @mega-aulover and I’m not sorry! 🙃

The Garage

The Panem Mockingjays were in the Super Bowl for the first time in history, a true Cinderella story of perseverance and teamwork that brought them to play against none other than the legendary Capitol Mutts, who were getting the beating of their life! 27 to 3 with only thirteen minutes on the clock and one timeout left.

The trophy was in the bag, and it was beautiful!

The Mockingjays were in possession; the Mutts ran an aggressive defense, but the Mockingjays’ quarterback sidestepped a tackle and scored a 30 yard touchdown.

The whole room in the Everdeen home exploded in cheers!

Katniss had been squirming half the evening in the loveseat she occupied with her best friend, Peeta Mellark, and decided she couldn’t take the tension anymore. She had to do something about it.

Looking around, Katniss stood up and motioned Peeta to follow her. She put a finger to her lips to shush him, then wrapped her hand around his, and pulled him out of the den, where their families were celebrating raucously the victory they could practically taste.

“Where are we going?” Peeta whispered harshly, trying not to trip over his feet.

“Somewhere quiet, where we can be alone for a minute.” She responded in a similar tone. “Now, stop walking so loudly, would you?”

“Sorry.” He said sheepishly, and really tried to step lightly on Mrs. Everdeen’s pristine hardwood floors.

They made it to the kitchen, but instead of turning left, to the staircase leading upstairs to the bedrooms, Katniss went straight, out the kitchen door to the backyard, and on to the detached garage.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Peeta asked nervously.

The garage was Mr. Everdeen’s pseudo mancave, complete with a mini fridge, a rickety couch and an ancient TV set on top of his work bench. Their fathers hung out there for hours drinking beer, working on projects, deploring sports statistics and generally gossiping about whatever it was grown man gossiped about.

Katniss winked and closed the garage door with a click behind them.

"Our parents are so drunk, they won't even notice we left. Calm down." She told him as she fell to her knees, making quick work of his fly and undershorts.

Peeta tried to argue— honest! but Katniss was fast with those clever fingers of hers— her mouth on his cock shut him up quickly.

Peeta stood there uselessly, struggling between watching her suckle his dick while pumping the parts of him she couldn’t fit in her warm little mouth, and letting his head fall backwards and enjoy the ride until it was his turn to reciprocate the favor; and Lord in Heaven, did he wanted to reciprocate!

She had really gotten good at this, he thought when feeling the telltale tingling at the base of his spine. He was so close!

He couldn’t help his slow, whiny moan, “Katnisss… fuuuuck!” His eyes squeezed shut, his hands grabbed onto some surface he’d knocked his ass against when he started coming into Katniss’ gloriously wet mouth.

It wasn't until the door opened, that his eyes were able to focus again... on the angry face of Mr. Everdeen as he took in the sight of his daughter’s full mouth.

“What the fuck is this?!” The man slurred loudly.

Katniss scrambled to her feet, somehow blocking her father from seeing Peeta tuck himself back into his pants. But nothing prevented the man from watching his daughter wipe the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.

It only took the man a surprising two steps to cross the garage and reach his child. He was about to grab her upper arm when Peeta pushed her behind his broader frame.

“I can explain!” Peeta shouted fanning out his arms to shield the girl.

“You can explain? What, how the two of you stabbed me and everyone else in the back by sneaking around like this?” Mr. Everdeen’s bloodshot eyes were crazed, spittle flew everywhere out of his mouth. “You can explain you disrespected my home and my daughter by taking advantage of her under my nose?”

“He didn’t take advantage of me!” Katniss protested ducking under Peeta’s outstretched arm to face her father. “I wanted to do it. I brought him out here ‘cause we like each other… a lot!”

Sensing danger, Peeta grabbed Katniss by the waist and shoved her out of the way. “Sir, I swear is not like—”

“You little shit!“ Mr. Everdeen took ahold of the boy’s collar and yanked him away from Katniss.

She leapt forward, scratching at her father’s wrist. “Stop it! Let him go!”

“What’s going on?!” Another man’s voice boomed in the chilly room.

As if the situation wasn’t mortifying enough, everybody spilled out of the house and crowded around the garage’s open door, watching the scene with wide eyes.

Mrs. Everdeen rushed forward to pry her husband’s fingers from Peeta’s crumpled, stretched out shirt.

Mr. Everdeen rounded up on his neighbor and best buddy, “I’ll tell you what’s going on. I caught your back-stabbing son defiling my daughter!”

“What? That is preposterous. Our Peeta is a good boy. He would never do such a thing. It was probably that wild child of yours that threw herself at him.” Said Mrs. Mellark in that condescending tone she liked using even on her own family.

“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Everdeen dusted her slacks exaggeratedly. “Katniss isn’t wild!”

“It’s that boy of yours! I knew his innocent, helpful, quiet kid next door facade wasn’t to be trusted! He better not had gotten my baby pregnant, or there will be hell to pay!”

“First you’ll have to prove it’s his. I’m more worried my son could’ve contracted something!”

“How dare you insinuate—“

“Enough!” Bellowed uncle Haymitch, whom usually had his moments of deep wisdom when really inebriated. “Y’all are acting like a bunch of morons! All you’re accomplishing with this yellin’ is making your kids even dumber than they already are.”

Ouch!

Everyone stopped bickering at once, looking rightly shamed and partly stunned by Haymitch’s outburst.

“Now, there ain’t enough booze in this house to make freezing my ass out here, worth watching y’all bitch over two fucking 18 year old college students who’ve been glued at the hip since I can remember, doing the horizontal lambada together.”

Nobody argued, so Haymitch continued.

“I’m not saying what the Boy and Sweetheart did was smart, it was in fact pretty stupid. But you too did dumb shit as horny teenagers,” Haymitch glared a both sets of parents, now blushing. “Give the kids credit, they’re legally adults. You’re blind if you haven’t noticed them making puppy-dog eyes at each other. Is sickening!

“I’m starving, and it’s too cold for this shit!” Haymitch burped, “I’m going inside now.”

Peeta and Katniss were wrapped around each other during the hullabaloo. But slowly loosen their hold to face their family.

“I’m not… pregnant.” Katniss squeaked. “Not even a small chance.”

“Neither of us has any diseases.” Muttered Peeta scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Not much chance for that either.”

“How can you be so sure?” Mr. Everdeen snapped, still not ready to let his anger go.

“What are you using for birth control? You can’t depend on condoms alone,” Declared Mrs. Everdeen.

“Mom!” Exclaimed Katniss scowling, “Geez! We are not actually doing it! What Daddy walked in on— and believe me, I wish he’d never seen that— is as far as we’ve gone.”

She peered up at Peeta and he smiled down at her, squeezing her hand in his.

“Look,” Peeta exhaled and then faced their parents. “We are sorry we didn’t say anything before, but we knew you guys would react… exactly like you did. We can assure you, nobody has anything to worry about. But just to put your minds at ease...” He took a decidedly shaky, deep breath and confessed, “We are still… virgins.”

“TMI, dude! Nobody needed to know that!” Called Peeta’s middle brother. His girlfriend’s bulging eyes followed the shit show with interest.

Peeta threw his brother a withering glare, but it was Katniss’ fourteen year old sister, Primrose, who answered.

“Oh please! Why the Hellman’s real mayonnaise are you here then, Rye?! You didn’t protest our parents belittling Katniss and Peeta in front of everyone, when Daddy interrupted their private moment! Grow up!” The teen crossed her arms over her chest petulantly.

Maybe Prim felt a tad jealous and kinda out of sorts seeing her secret crush’s girlfriend at her house, but nobody messed with her sister and brother-in-law on her watch! The thought made Prim looked guiltily at her parents; but then she remembered how they’d been screaming, blowing things out of proportion, and felt smuggly vindicated. She could still hold a couple of secrets for her sister without blabbing.

“Everyone should be happy Katniss and Peeta are together. They love each other and will keep each other safe! Uncle Haymitch’s right, you guys are just selfish.” Primrose turned on her heels so fast heading for the kitchen, her long, blond braid smacked Rye on the chest with a dull thud.

Mr. Everdeen sighed. “I’m still angry with you both. And I still think you were disrespectful. But I guess Prim’s right. We’re lucky Katniss is not bringing home some lazy hooligan with a criminal record. I just wished…”

“I know, Daddy.” Soothed Katniss still holding Peeta’s hand. “I’m sorry. We both are.”

“We, all are.” Said Mrs. Everdeen sidling with her husband. Then she turned to the Mellarks, “I think we all owe the kids an apology. And each other.”

Everyone apologized for the things they said and promised to be more supportive and less reactionary, despite still being disappointed Katniss and Peeta hid their relationship from them.

“Well, that was terrifying.” Peeta whispered shuddering when their families finally left them alone.

Katniss chuckled. “I know. I wonder if we should’ve told them this all started ‘cause we got shit-faced and eloped two weeks ago?”

Peeta smiled wryly, wrapping an arm around his “for-now” wife. “Nah. My mom would’ve gotten an aneurysm. She’d probably drag us to the hospital to get tested for STDS, pregnancies and DNA. In that order.”

“Yeah but, they would’ve calmed down when we told them we were getting an annulment.” Katniss said a little unsure.

“About that…” Peeta trailed off catching Katniss’ curious eyes peering up at him from his chest. “What if… we just kept… married?”

Katniss bobbed her head, although there was nothing to consider, really. “We could apply for housing together.” She offered.

“Share expenses.”

“Go further... than oral?” The question came out high pitched and ragged.

Peeta breathed out a sigh of relief, he wasn’t the only one thinking about it.

He nodded readily. “Together?” He bit his lip, and pulled a black pouch out of his pants pocket. A ring with an iridescent pearl on top spilled into his open palm.

Katniss’ eyes widened, but she lifted her left hand, spreading her fingers apart so Peeta could slip the ring in place.

Admiring her new jewelry, Katniss smiled.

“Together!” She confirmed rising on tiptoes to kiss her “for-Always” husband in the lips.

#everlark fanfiction #my fics #modern #fluffy ending ‘cause I cant help it

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spine-buster · 5 years ago

Text

Alone, Together | Chapter 30 | Morgan Rielly

A/N: We are officially in the thirties in terms of chapters...CAN YOU BELIEVE?! I can’t. Let me know what you think of the chapter!

Bee looked at herself in the mirror, smoothing out her spaghetti strap dress striped with pink and green and navy. She’d curled her hair slightly and wore some bright coloured lipstick to reflect the great weather and the happy event: Aryne’s baby shower. She was having it at McLean House within the Estates of Sunnybrook, and Bee couldn’t be more excited. Ashley had just had her own baby shower last weekend, so for a solid week, Bee was occupied with all things baby. She stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom and took a picture of her complete outfit, sending it to Ashley to make sure it was okay (who replied with emphatic and all-caps “HAWT” and “WERK IT” texts) before texting it to Morgan.

Before she was even able to grab her Chanel bag and make sure everything she needed was in there, her phone began to ring and Morgan’s name flashed across the screen.

“You look beautiful,” he said, not bothering with saying hello after she did. “You have Aryne’s baby shower today, right?”

“Yeah. And thank you. The dress looks good?”

“The dress looks amazing,” he stressed. “You know I think you look beautiful in everything.”

Bee couldn’t help but blush. “What are you up to today? How was Andy’s birthday yesterday?”

“It was fun! We played a round of golf in Whistler in the morning and then went to Blue Water Café in Yaletown to have dinner. He got a little drunk off the wine,” Morgan laughed slightly. “Haven’t seen him drunk in years.”

“Did he like my gift?” Bee asked hesitantly, referring to the coffee mug and tie she bought for him. Morgan had taken it to Vancouver with him already wrapped when he left.

“He loved it. They missed you last night.”

“They know I’ll be there at the end of July, right?” she asked, referring to the two week trip to Vancouver she and Morgan had planned for her two weeks vacation. They had decided on it before he left and had booked the tickets already. Bee was excited to go back.

“I’m keeping it a surprise from them,” he said. “He’s coming back from the washroom right now. I’ll talk to you later okay?”

“Okay. Tell him I say hi,” she said. “I love you. And I miss you.”

“I love you and miss you too, Bumblebee. Have fun today. You look beautiful.”

Almost immediately after hanging up, her phone buzzed for a text from Ashley saying she was waiting out front. Bee rushed in packing some last minute things into her purse before strapping on her heels, grabbing her present, and meeting Ashley outside. She slid into the passenger’s seat and kissed her across the console. In the backseat, she saw Sydney Esiason quickly typing away on her phone before setting it down on her lap to smile at her.

“You look adorable!” Ashley exclaimed as she drove away, taking another look at Bee in her dress. “Sydney, you remember Bee McTavish?”

“Of course! The one who works!” Sydney smiled from the backseat. “It’s…TD Bank?”

“Scotiabank,” Bee corrected her politely. “It’s nice to see you again Sydney. How’s the wedding planning going?”

“All done! Just a few weeks to go,” she smiled. “It’s too bad this one can’t fly to the Hamptons to be there,” Sydney nodded her head towards Ashley in the front seat. “Everyone else is going to be there.” Morgan never received a wedding invitation, even though other members of the team had. Bee figured it was because he and Matt never became close during Matt’s time on the Leafs. Not that Bee cared – she had no idea who these people were besides her brief encounter with Sydney months ago during lunch with Aryne.

“I can’t fly!” Ashley defended herself. “My doctor said it’s way too risky.”

“I know, I know,” Sydney rolled her eyes playfully. “How have you been, Bee? How’s work?”

Bee couldn’t help but notice the way Sydney kept saying the word ‘work’, but she tried not to think much of it. Bee wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Work is great, actually,” Bee said. “It keeps me busy, that’s for sure. But I love the team I work with, so it’s all good.”

“I bet you wished you could have quit for the playoffs,” Sydney commented. “How hard was it to travel to Boston with your work schedule?”

Bee tried not to make a face or furrow her brows. “I didn’t go to Boston.”

“Oh, you didn’t?” Sydney asked. She seemed genuinely shocked that Bee couldn’t travel, that she couldn’t follow Morgan regardless of how important the game way. “Hey Ash, where are we picking up Alannah?”

“Just at her hair salon on King. We’ll be there in like two minutes.”

Bee began to feel self-conscious. Morgan had never expressed that any WAGs would ever travel with the team during the playoffs. She assumed that the boys needed to stay focused, without distraction, and that significant others weren’t allowed to travel with them. Why did Sydney make it seem like it was so out of the ordinary that Bee didn’t go? Even if she could go, even if the significant others were allowed to travel with the team…she had work. She had a job. Responsibilities. She couldn’t just follow Morgan wherever he went because of hockey. She had a life too, and a career she was building – one as important as his – and she didn’t take that lightly.

When Alannah got in the car, the girls settled into a comfortable conversation – Ashley, Alannah, and Sydney more so, with Bee contributing every now and then – as Ashley made her way towards the Don Valley Parkway, the highway she’d need to take to get to the northern part of the city. As she turned on to Queen Street, driving through Moss Park on the east side of Toronto, Bee felt a sense of familiarity. Despite her circumstances now, she would never forget where she came from. These were the streets she grew up with – the streets that raised her, to an extent. The schools she attended. The apartment buildings she lived in. The parks she wandered through when –

“I don’t think I remember driving through this part of town! Ghettoooo!” Sydney giggled jovially from the backseat. “We heard so much about it when Matt wanted to go to that trendy restaurant but we never ended up coming ‘cause I convinced him not to.”

A shiver ran up Bee’s spine at Sydney’s comment. Yeah, it was the ghetto. It was one of the most depraved areas of Toronto. Public housing buildings dominated the neighbourhood. May families were low-income or relied on public assistance – like Bee and her mother had been. There were a lot of homeless shelters – many that Bee stayed in at some point in her young life. Bee was torn up at how out of touch Sydney made herself seem with that comment, so completely unaware of the area despite living in Toronto for two years…Bee didn’t know if it was a shock to her, or if she expected it.

And the fact that she had called it the ghetto with the tone of voice that she did. Like it was a joke.

Bee was quiet as they pulled up to a light. She looked towards Ashley in the driver’s seat before pointing to a building across from them that very much looked like public housing. “You see that building over there?” she asked. Ashley nodded her head, and Bee looked in the rear-view mirror to see Sydney and Alannah from the backseat looking as well. “I used to live there.”

Bee could see Sydney’s body stiffed in the backseat. “Ohmygod, you used to live here?”

“Yeah,” Bee nodded her head, trying to handle this with as much grace and maturity as she could even though Sydney had said what she said. “I grew up around here. I’ve lived in a couple of the buildings.”

“Well thank God you got out, huh?”

Bee bit her tongue so she wasn’t snippy. “Yeah. Thank God.”

***

“Oh my God Bee, your dress is sooooo cute!” Aryne exclaimed as she waddled over excitedly towards Bee with her arms stretched out, giving her a giant hug as she always did. “And your lipstick! That colour! I feel like Nigel from the Devil Wears Prada – my job here is done.”

Bee couldn’t help but giggle as she hugged Aryne back. “You’ll always be my fairy godmother, Aryne.”

“Good. Come on. Let me introduce you to my mom and some of my cousins.”

After a flurry of introductions, polite handshakes, small-talk, fruity drinks and some canapés, Bee let Aryne greet the next batch of guests who arrived as she re-joined Ashley, Alannah, and Sydney. Monique and Christina had joined, and Bee made sure to greet them. “That dress looks so cute on you, Bee!” Christina smiled as she went in for the hug.

“Thank you! God, I think I should wear it more often! I’ve been getting so many compliments,” she giggled. “I fell in love with the colours of the stripes.”

“It does look great,” Sydney agreed. “It's good you chose vertical stripes. They're slimming which is why it looks so great on you. Horizontal stripes are a big no no."

Bee’s breath hitched in her throat. Monique said something immediately after that made them switch subjects, but Bee was still stuck on the comment. She wished she wasn’t. She wished she could let it go and not care about it, but she couldn’t. It was like her Instagram DMs had taken a human form and she couldn’t get away. In front of her was a walking, talking embodiment of everything those girls wanted her to be, everything they thought Bee should be, and everything that she so clearly wasn’t. Sydney didn’t need to wear anything that was slimming because she was already slim. She didn’t need to think about what would look good and what clothes would flatter her body because everything would look good – with her blonde hair, perfectly plumped lips, cheekbones to die for, skin as clear as the sky, she looked like a fucking model.

Bee tried not to let it get the best of her as the baby shower went on. Everybody sat at their designated seats and munched on Caesar salad, a choice of either salmon filet or mushroom ravioli, and a peach and blueberry crumble. They played games, guessed the gender, and opened presents to much oohing and awing over how tiny everything was. Aryne seemed to appreciate Bee’s gift of a plush elephant and small collection of books to add to the baby’s library.

As the ladies ate their dessert, from beside Bee, Alannah nudged her gently. “Lucy texted me, told me you got a good deal on yoga pants. Lululemon?” she asked, forking some crumble into her mouth.

“Old Navy, actu--”

“Are you looking for a studio?” Sydney imposed on the conversation. Bee looked at her across the table. “I used to go to Moksha Yoga on King for hot yoga. And Jessica recommended this amazing personal trainer who works out of a gym on Adelaide. If you tell them my name, they’ll definitely help you with everything you need done.”

“Sydney,” Alannah stressed. So it wasn’t just Bee who was picking up on these things. Alannah had been listening for a long time too and, well, hell – Alannah was a lawyer. Reading between the lines on every single little thing said was practically her job. “I’m just asking about a deal on yoga pants.”

‘Do I look like I need to be helped? Do I look like I need everything done?’ Bee wanted to desperately to ask, but decided to hold her tongue.

“Listen, we can all tone up a bit,” Sydney shrugged her shoulders. “Like, I’m taking a boxing class right now to tone up before the wedding. We’ve had to take in the dress a bit more and my seamstress sort of hates me for it, but…it’s my wedding! I need to look my best, right? You understand, Alannah,” she tried to play it off, smiling and giggled and making it into a joke. “We all want to look good on our wedding day! Those are photos we’re going to have forever.”

“I get what you’re saying, Syd. I just wouldn’t advertise gyms or personal trainers to people unless they explicitly ask for it,” Alannah said.

“I don’t think Bee is offended, Alannah,” Sydney said as if it was the most ridiculous notion in the world. Bee was highly offended. “She knows how long and stressful the wedding planning has been.”

“She does?” Alannah asked.

“I do?” Bee asked, speaking for the first time in the entire conversation.

“Of course you do! Remember when we first met at lunch? I mentioned the second dress and the flower wall and the veil,” she said. Bee looked at her wide-eyed, shocked that Sydney would assume Bee would remember any detail about her wedding when she, nor her boyfriend, were even invited in the first place. “It was like, after the All-Star Break. When I was in town for my dress fitting on Valentine’s Day,” Sydney said. “I know you and Morgan were in Vancouver around that time, but you must remember.”

The fact that Sydney remembered, or even knew, that Morgan and Bee were in Vancouver during the All-Star Break was one thing – she must have seen the stolen pictures reposted on NHL WAG Instagram accounts. But at the mention of said All-Star Break, Alannah got physically uncomfortable. “Syd--”

“I’m sorry, I just remember that we met. I don’t remember the details. I must have forgotten about it,” Bee shrugged her shoulders, trying to drop it.

“How could you forget?” Sydney pressured.

“Sydney --”

“Because my mother died during the All-Star Break in January,” Bee revealed as calmly as she could, biting her tongue and looking Sydney dead in the eye, watching her squirm in her seat, the discomfort and the realization finally dawning on her. “Now can we drop it?”

A loud clink of a glass. Everybody settling down and silencing themselves. Aryne standing up from her spot at the head of the table, a giant smile on her face as she started her speech thanking everyone for coming and for all their gifts. Polite rounds of applause as she thanked her mom and her mother-in-law for hosting. Another polite round of applause when she finished her speech. A strained smile on Sydney’s face as she listened and clapped along. Side-eyes from Alannah, watching the space between Bee and Sydney, before focusing back on Aryne.

“I’ll be right back,” Bee said to Alannah as she stood up from her seat, making her way towards the bathrooms. Noticing that it was empty when she entered, Bee took a few seconds to look at herself in the mirror. The dress did look nice, and it did look cute on her, but because there were spaghetti straps, there was some underarm flab that the other girls didn’t have. If she was strategic, her hair could conceal it. Bee wondered if that’s what set Sydney off.

Bee was only human. There was only so much negativity she could take until she began to wonder if the words that constantly followed her around were true. She knew she wasn’t perfect – far from it – but she didn’t need her imperfections and insecurities pointed out to her at literally every given moment of the day. The Instagram DMs were a part of her life at this point – she’d never be able to get rid of them, and she made her peace with that long ago. They didn’t affect her as much, mostly because these girls didn’t know her, or Morgan, or anything to do with her life. But to hear similar comments coming from the mouth of someone in a similar situation, someone who knows this world and who has been in it for a while…it was different. Bee was taking her comments to heart, even though she knew she shouldn’t be. It was a rare moment of weakness for her – a moment of weakness she tried to desperately to overcome when it was anonymous random messages.

But in that moment of weakness, her thoughts and impulses got the best of her. She could only be so strong. She was only normal. She remembered what those girls said to her in the bathrooms at Scotiabank Arena and opened a new tab on her phone. ‘tumblr puckbunny Sydney esiason cassie’ she typed the random array of words quickly into the search bar, the first link giving her exactly what she wanted. An anonymous ask sending in screenshots of a Valentine’s Day post on someone’s profile and a comment thread below. The original comment on Instagram read ‘Fangirls in Toronto didn’t like Syd bc she called them out on their bullshit. The amount of girls trying to hook up with players there is ridiculous. They have no shame. So many succeed bc the guys are young and dumb. They’re all work as waitresses or bottle girls at clubs.’

Innocent enough, Bee thought. She was intrigued to know that Sydney had apparently called girls out. When the whole mess happened with Morgan, Bee distinctly remembered Steve Keogh telling her not to engage. She wouldn’t have put it past Sydney to not listen to him.

But then, Sydney’s response to the comment: ‘Girls in Toronto love to pretend to work only to quit when the playoffs come around’

Bee locked her phone as an automatic reaction because she couldn’t believe the words she’d just read. She unlocked her phone again. She read over the comments and noticed the answer written by the owner of the blog. ‘That’s definitely about Cassie, anon. Don’t know where u get off thinking it’s about Mo’s girl just bc that other anon sent in proof Bee got a job at Scotiabank. Everybody knows Cassie is a wannabe model and only got hired by that modelling agency bc her dad is friends with the owner. Cassie doesn’t work and comes from money but wants to be a ‘model’ and ‘influencer’ bc she’s barely literate.’

Bee felt like flushing her phone down the toilet. She felt like burying it in one of the flowerbeds outside so she could never see it again. She felt like taking the streetcar all the way down to Lake Ontario, attaching concrete blocks to her phone, and tossing it into the lake. ‘Girls in Toronto love to pretend to work’ repeated over and over in her head.

She couldn’t do this. She didn’t want to engage. Not today, at Aryne’s baby shower. Not ever.

She exited the stall, flattening out her dress and putting her phone back into her Chanel bag before the door opened again out of the corner of her eye. “Hey,” Sydney’s voice shocked her momentarily. Bee watched as she entered the washroom clutching her bag, letting the door close behind her. “Are you alright?”

Bee had held her tongue for most of the afternoon. She had tried to remain calm and quiet, stoic, and unbothered. But she couldn’t anymore. Not after Alannah heard it too. And now, with the two of them alone in a bathroom, she was finally going to use her voice. “Is there…I mean, is there a reason why you hate me so much?”

“What?” Sydney asked.

“All you’ve done today is insult me in every way possible.”

“Well I didn’t mean to.”

“But you kept doing it!” Bee stressed. “Every conversation we’ve had today, I felt like you were trying to undermine me somehow or make me feel like complete shit. And like…listen,” Bee took a deep breath. “I don’t need you to like me. Quite frankly, I don’t care if you do. You don’t mean anything to me and I don’t know you. But you need to at least respect me. And you weren’t even doing that.”

“I was trying to help you--”

“How? By insinuating I was fat and needed to lose weight?” Bee demanded. “By making me feel bad for having a career away from hockey?”

“Listen, I think you misunderstood--”

“Don’t take me for a fucking idiot, Sydney,” Bee spat, not even bothering to hold back the venom in her voice, looking her dead in the eye. It shut Sydney up really quick. “I’m sure you already know what comments I get regularly from girls in Toronto. It’s white noise at this point for how many I get. Every. Single. Day. You’ve been in this world for much longer than I have and you should know better. I really don’t need those types of comments from you too.”

There was a moment of silence between the two women as Sydney lowered her eyes and looked at the floor. Bee couldn’t help but cross her arms over her chest, waiting for a reply. “Listen…” Sydney began finally. “I’m sorry if you were offended--”

“I am offended.”

“Well I’m sorry,” she stressed, her voice more firm this time. “It’s just a really stressful time right now and I guess I said some things that were misconstrued. You don’t understand because you aren’t getting married or planning a wedding.”

Bee couldn’t help but roll her eyes. If a half-assed apology and some lame excuse were all she was going to get from her, then so be it. She would have to accept it. She wanted to end the conversation right there because she didn’t want to hear Sydney blame it on anything besides her sour attitude. “I’m sure you’re going to have a beautiful wedding and you’re going to look absolutely stunning, because you are. You just don’t need to insult other people, whether consciously or unconsciously, in order to do that.”

Bee made her way past Sydney, opening the door to the washroom and re-joining the baby shower. By this point, the wait staff was clearing the dessert dishes from the table. She settled into her seat, eating the last of her crumble. Alannah looked at her wide-eyed. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Just don’t say anything to Aryne,” Bee implored, and Alannah nodded her head.

***

“LET’S GO RAPTORS!” Bee shouted along with the rest of the fans, clapping and smiling as she looked between the jumbotron and the action on the court to see what was going on. Basketball was easier to understand than hockey for most things (although fouls still confused her – they could be called for the slightest of things, whereas in hockey it often seemed you needed to guillotine a guy to get a penalty called), so she was able to pick it up quicker. The energy inside of Scotiabank Arena was different than a Leaf game, that was for sure. The buzz that the Raptors could bring a championship to Toronto fed that feeling.

Bee sat with Morgan, munching on the last of their popcorn. So many of the boys – Naz, Patrick, Travis, Zach, Mitch, Connor, and Trevor – and their significant others were there cheering on the Raptors from an executive suite and the accompanying seats. Morgan had the free t-shirt they were given wrapped around his neck, and Bee had hers around her neck as well, not wanting to cover the brand new Raptors jersey Morgan bought for her when they got to the arena.

“Are you liking it so far, Bee?” Naz asked her as Morgan escaped to the washroom in between plays.

“I’m loving it,” she smiled. “No offence but it’s so much easier to understand than hockey.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Naz smiled. “I think it helps that they might fucking do this tonight. The city is going to go apeshit.”

“If they do, we have to be out there with them,” she said. “I think the last time people partied in the streets for a championship was when Team Canada won the gold medal in Vancouver, right?” she mused. “But I was only fifteen then. Couldn’t exactly party.”

“Even then. It was Team Canada, but it wasn’t a Toronto team,” he said. “It’s gonna be nuts. And if we win it at home it makes it that much sweeter.”

As the play resumed, Morgan still hadn’t made it back to his seat. Bee and Naz watched intently as the Raptors began a play that ended up in a pretty awesome shot by Kyle Lowry. Though Bee was focused on watching, she noticed Naz look behind him out of the corner of her eye and yell ‘Hurry up bro!’. After a few more back and forths, Kawhi Leonard shot an incredible three-pointer, giving the Raptors the lead. Everybody went crazy – Bee and Naz stood up from their seats, throwing their hands up in the air. Bee looked to her right to see Morgan doing the same, an excited smile on his face before he went in to give Naz a giant hug. They began jumping together with excitement and Bee couldn’t help but laugh – they looked like little boys, especially Morgan with his backwards cap on. He managed to shuffle past Naz and hug her too, squeezing her tightly and lifting her up off the ground. After he set her down, he kept his arms around her as he kissed her.

“They’re gonna do it! They’re really gonna do it!” he screamed.

But they didn’t. After a last minute surge, the final score was 106-105 for the Golden State Warriors. Another heartbreak. The series was 3-2, and the Raptors would be heading back to California. Despite the loss, everybody seemed in generally good spirits, given the score. Considering it was so close, and considering the Raptors were still up a game, there was a major hunch that the Raptors would end the series next game, in Golden State’s arena.

“So what did you think?” Morgan asked as they got into his car in the Scotiabank Arena parking lot. “Your first basketball game. Sorry they lost.”

Bee snorted. There was no reason for him to apologize. He wasn’t even on the team. “It was a blast, Morgan. I’m going to have to write a thank you note to Kyle and Masai for the tickets.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said absent-mindedly.

“Of course I do. It’s polite,” she countered. “Tickets for this game were going for thousands of dollars. And we were in a private box with catering. It would be impolite not to.”

“Okay, okay,” he smiled, grabbing her hand across the console as they drove out of the parking garage. “You look cute in that jersey.”

She smirked as she gave him some side-eye. “Oh yeah? How so?”

Morgan shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. You just do.”

“Do you prefer a Raptors jersey on me or a Leafs jersey?” she asked.

Morgan gave her a look, causing her to giggle. “I think you know the answer to that question,” he said, his voice low. “Never saw the number 44 look so good, that’s for sure.”

“You’re lucky blue goes with my eyes better than red does,” she said, giving him a wink. “I think blue is my colour.”

“Oh, blue is definitely your colour.”

***

“Come up baby. Come up,” Bee cooed as she patted on the couch. Bruce looked up at her, meowing as he finally jumped up. “Hi baby! Hi Brucey,” she scratched underneath his chin. “You wanna come cuddle with us?”

Instead of cuddling into Bee like he usually did, Bruce began to climb on top of Morgan, exploring and even falling off of him before jumping back on. Morgan watched with an amused look on his face despite being focused on the hockey analysts on TV just moments ago. He had decided he wanted to watch the Stanley Cup Final game – Boston versus St. Louis – if only because his old friend and teammate Tyler Bozak was playing on St. Louis now and Morgan wanted him – and only him – to win. He made that abundantly clear. He only wanted “Bozie” to win.

Bee knew there were going to be a lot of emotions that night. She knew they would be thinking that it could have been Morgan and the Leafs in this position, so she made sure to prepare accordingly – extra buttery popcorn, chocolate chip cookies, and Sweet Chili Heat Doritos were already in bowls in front of them on their coffee table, just in case. And because she knew he would need it, she designated herself to be the big spoon. As they cuddled on the couch, Morgan laid his head on her chest instead of the other way around, like it usually was. She was already running her fingers through his hair gently as he had watched the pre-show.

“He’s definitely his mother’s son,” he commented as Bruce meowed, participating in a delicate balancing act of walking along Morgan’s legs.

Bee gave him a playful side-eye. “Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?” she asked.

“You decide,” he winked. Bruce meowed again. “He definitely has Springsteen’s voice, that’s for sure,” Morgan giggled.

“He wants the world to know he has something to say,” Bee said. “Don’t you, Brucey?” Another meow as he walked back up Morgan’s legs, causing them both to laugh. “Come cuddle, Brucey. Give us a concert another time,” she patted the spot on the couch in front of her again.

“Maybe he’s trying to say he wants St. Louis to win,” Morgan mused.

“Maybe he’s telling Nick Kypreos to shut up,” Bee mused as well, garnering a snort from Morgan. “Then he’d really be his mother’s son.”

“You’re something else, Briony McTavish,” he said, leaning his head up to kiss her before snuggling it into her chest again. He let out a content sigh as he continued to watch the analysts speak. “I love this,” he said quietly, almost a whisper.

“You love what?”

“This. Us being like this. Me, you, Bruce,” Morgan said as he scratched Bruce’s ears.

Bee couldn’t help but smile. “Me too.”

The game was decent. Boston lost, which Bee was happy about, and Tyler Bozak won the Stanley Cup, which Morgan was happy about. Bee got to watch Brad Marchand cry – a true highlight – and Morgan texted Tyler’s wife Molly a congratulations message, though he was sure she wouldn’t be checking her phone for hours. As they watched the presentation of the Conn Smythe Trophy to Ryan O’Reilly and the official presentation of the Stanley Cup to the St. Louis Blues, Morgan didn’t take his eyes off the screen. Bee made sure she kept running her fingers through his hair. She made sure that her body was as close to his as possible, that his hand keeping warm between her thighs was held on to.

As they watched each of the players scream in pure elation as they hoisted the Stanley Cup, Bee placed a gentle kiss on Morgan’s forehead. “That’ll be you and the boys one day,” she whispered against his skin.

“I know,” he said softly, not taking his eyes off the screen. “One day. And you’ll be out on the ice with me.”

154 notes · View notes

kpopisthereasonihavenolife · 6 years ago

Text

Retracted Claws | 02

BTS

Kim Taehyung/Reader [F]

Genre: Hybrid/Mafia AU, Violence, Dark Themes, Fluff- Tae is soft for Reader

Warnings!!: Implications of past abuse (Mental/Physical/Sexual)

Words: 11k

---------------------

Thrown out again. Sitting on the sidewalk, not having a place to go back to once again. So helpless and fragile, a hybrid made stray again. You sat, knees tucked to the chest and your body placed between bushes to hide. From what though, are you hiding from? The eyes, the world, the people, the segregation, the hateful attacks. You wished to hide from simply everything.

You felt like someone was watching you. Lifting your head, you looked up to, what you thought was a man. Where the face should be, was entirely black. You at first thought it to be a mask, but it seemed almost attached. No eyes, nose mouth, nothing. Just an uncertain, unpleasant black ‘face’. The lower part of the ‘face’ opened into a perfect, pure white oval.

“Are you lost?” The voice was distorted. Almost too painful to listen to. Like white noise drilling into your ears. “Have you lost your home?” You didn’t answer, throat constricting like the air was warping around your neck and choking you. “Come with me.” The white oval thinned into a wicked smile.

Next thing you knew, a collar was strapped around your neck and a door was slammed shut. Red eyes from the black mask the only thing remaining in the suddenly pitch black abyss.

XXX

You jerked awake. Body jolting from your position sleeping on your side. You sat up, mind whirling as you collected yourself. The room was warm, calm and quiet. The bed you were tucked into was the most comfortable cushion and topped with the warmest blankets you’ve been able to sleep with before. You let out a shaky exhale as you slowly slid out of the bed.

Legs shaky and the remnants of fear still at the forefront of your long tormented mind. Wearing only a long, blue nightshirt easily twice your size. You ambled to the door, exited the room and moved to a different door a few feet down and across the hall. You knocked light thrice.

“Yes?” A deep voice called from inside. You gently pushed the horizontal door handle down and slowly peeked your head into the room.

A man sat at his desk, laptop in front of him, his back to your half-in, half-out body in the doorway. He stopped his typing and turned to look at who had entered. The room was dark, save for the illumination of the one standing lamp at his desk side. His face softened as he saw you.

“Did you have another nightmare?” You nodded as he got up. You heard him pad over to you, but you were afraid you were still sleeping. What if you looked up and his face was nothing, but black? You felt him cup under your chin as he shut the door behind you, coaxing you fully inside. He gently tilted your head, raising your head. “Kitten?” His voice pushed the doubt out of your head as you visibly relaxed once more.

Taehyung’s scrunched face filled your vision. You unconsciously touched your throat and smiled. Taehyung wouldn’t put you in a collar. He couldn’t stomach it, so he’s promised you. Taehyung grabbed your hand from your throat and looked at the discolored, scarred skin from your previous collars in your past.

“Does your neck hurt again?” Occasionally you swore you could still feel the raw material of rough leather choke you. Taehyung took your silence as a confirmation.

He slowly leaned and tilted your chin up further, exposing your neck before lightly kissing at it. You flinched at his lips on your throat, but not out of fear. Taehyung slowly pulled away and stood back to his full, towering height. He smiled at you as he put his hand atop your head, filtering his slender fingers through your hair. Giving your fluffy ears atop your head affection as well. He almost chuckled at your minuscule purr. “Would you like to sleep beside me tonight?” You felt guilty, pulling him away from his work.

“I don’t-” you were ready to refuse him, but he only tapped at your nose and put a finger over his smiling lips.

“I won’t take no for an answer, Kitten.” All you then did was a single nod. He plucked at your shirt. “Now, take this,” he pulls the comfortable sweater he was wearing off and handed it to you, “and go change.”

“What’s wrong with my shirt?” You tilted your head. He leaned closer to your face, hands on your hips as he mimicked the tilt of your head with his own and smiled.

“What’s wrong with it? Well, it’s not mine.” You looked down at his bare chest to keep from looking at his eyes. He chuckled as he turned you around and gave you a pat on the rear towards the washroom. “Now, go on. I’ll be out here. I’m not going anywhere.” You nodded as you trotted into the washroom to change while Taehyung returned to his desk. A few minutes more spent working and he’d wrap it up... hopefully.

Hardly moments later, you stepped out, shirt in hand and sweater handing off your shoulders. He turned at the sound of his washroom door shutting and smiled.

“Um, my shirt?” You asked, not knowing where to leave it and not wanting to make a mess in his room. He stood from his desk chair and took your shirt, folding it and placing it on top of his dresser. The dresser that was full of anything but clothes. He’s asked you before not to trifle through the drawers. You didn’t argue, having a vague idea on what they held. He ticked his head towards the bed behind him.

“Go on and head over. I’ll be there soon.” You nodded and headed over, crawling underneath his covers. He took a seat back in front of his laptop and flicked off his standing lamp. You watched his shoulder twitch as he typed over his keyboard.

“Um, Taehyung?” He hummed as you gained his attention, at least a moment of it. “Don’t rush your work. I’m alright waiting or going back to my room.” He stopped typing and turned in his chair. Arm hanging off the back of it.

“Nonsense. I’ve almost finished today’s logs. Keep your cute little behind in that bed and rest. I’ll finish. You’d be upset if I didn’t, right?” He was right. You’d feel awful if you pulled him from his work. You nodded as you slipped on your side and he turned back trying to finish up quickly.

Taehyung was at his desk 10 more minutes before he shut down his laptop. He stood and stretched as he looked at the outline of your back and body under the covers in the dark room. He smiled as he tiptoed his way over and put his hand on the mattress and leaned over you slightly. His face softened at you sleeping.

You’ve only been here- with him- coming morning, a week. It’s been change after change with you suddenly standing at his side with him. Still clutching his sleeve when you're uncertain. You were a soft spot, a crack in his position as the leader of something as dangerous as the mafia. You quickly became something of a weakness for him.

He brushed your hair from your ear and watched your eyes flick under their lids. He frowned. You’ve been having nightmares every night. You seem to nap just fine, but getting a full night's rest isn’t as easy to come by. He wished he could help. You’ve told him before that him just being there, lying beside you, was help enough. Yet, every night you retreat to your room and try to sleep on your own. He wished you would just confine in him and let him care for you.

Taehyung hadn’t cared for someone in so long. He wanted to relearn, reteach himself and show that his heart could still beat for someone else, not just for himself. He wanted to help you, heal you. Make you who you wanted to be, not the shadow of your past you can’t let go of. He wanted to make you stronger.

He rounded the bed and slowly, without disturbing you, climbed into his bed at your side. He tucked one of his arms under his head and used the other to stroke at your cheek as you slept. Hopefully, you could sleep through the night.

He tucked you into his chest as his hand cradled and pet at your hair, your ears twitching every now and again. Hoping to keep you sleeping by the physical, non-threatening touch. Resting his head closer to yours, he decided he ought to get some rest himself. So, his eyes drifted closed.

XXX

“Kitten. Hey, it’s time to wake up now. We have errands to run today.” You groaned as you rolled onto your side. You didn’t want to wake up just yet. It was far too early for the late night you had. You heard Taehyung behind you chuckle. He rubbed at your arm, trying to earnestly coax you awake. “Come on now. Up, little one.” You rolled on your back as you squinted at him. He smiled as he looked at your eyes.

When you first wake up in the mornings, your eyes take that of a cat. Glowing an earnest gold with slights that will soon form into their human-like pupil and the color will fade back out. He pushed your bangs off your face as he tapped on your forehead. You flinched, still have asleep as you blinked and those cat-like eyes disappeared for the day. Your cat ears twitched as you finally sat up. You rubbed at your eyes, his sweater hanging off one of your shoulders.

“Why did you wake me up so early?” You yawned as he looked at your fondly. He reached and pulled the sweater back up your shoulder, hiding your exposed collarbone and flattened out your hair.

“We’re going out today. Besides, it’s not that early.” You looked over to the clock on the wall. 9:36 AM. It was early enough. You only nodded as he got up and took your hand, slowly dragging you out of bed. He, just like when he first brought you home, spent the next 20 minutes cleaning up and getting ready for the day. Sharing a bath and running to your room to grab your outfit. You didn’t have much of your own clothes. Just hand-me-downs from other female mafia members.

That’s one of the main parts of the little excursion he had planned for the day.

Returning to you sitting on his bed, towel around your torso, he watched your slightly shiver from the chill in the room from after your warm bath. He walked to you and set your clothes in your lap as he walked to his desk and turned his back so you could change in at least some sort of privacy. He listened to the sounds of fabric moving about in his room as he tapped on his desk, controlling himself not to turn around and just sneak a peek.

He didn’t know why he felt so embarrassed at the idea of you changing behind him. He just fucking bathed with you. He saw you literally completely nude, but the idea of you being in the midst of changing and still partially clothes- fuck him. He cradled his forehead in his head as he sighed to himself. He’s starting to really want to whack himself in the head with a damn stick.

He was so caught in his own head that he jumped when you tapped his shoulder lightly with your finger. He turned around and nodded with a smile at you. Dressed in a gray tee and simple jeans with white socks. He stood and took the front of your shirt in his hands.

“Pardon me, Kitten.” He tucked the front of your shirt in, smoothing out the folds and made sure it wasn’t wrinkled or bunched. He put his hands on his hips as he saw the new style. He nodded. “There we go.” He turned and took hold of his jacket, moved back to you and slung it over your shoulders. “Now, topped off with this, you looked rather charming if I may say so.” You slipped your arms through the casual jacket, a rare one he owned among all his fancy, designer names.

You waited outside his door as he changed. He stepped out of his room, ruffling his hair into place. A pair of black jeans and a rather odd looking button up. Red, white, blues, greens, all into small squares across his shirt into an inconsistent pattern, yet still charming on him. The front just tucked in enough to let the shirt hang loose still. He had decorated his fingers with rings and even looped a simple chain around his neck that fell on his chest. You wondered if the metal was cold.

“You look good,” you commented offhandedly and he smiled as he looked down at you. He didn’t have many opportunities to just dress casually. He didn’t have a reason to before. Leaving the house for him meant work. Now, with you, leaving the house could mean just spending time with you while running seemingly mundane errands. It was a change he had been craving for a long, long time. Now he finally had the chance and he wasn’t going to waste it.

“Alright, you ready to go?” He inquired.

“Are you done putting on jewelry?” You, without thinking, shot back. You quickly covered your mouth as Taehyung stared blankly at you. He blew his lips before erupting into laughter. He kept laughing as you pouted in embarrassment at him when Jimin rounded the hall’s corner. Seeing his friend busting up in laughter, he obviously became curious.

“What’s the fuss about this early in the morning?” Taehyung was calming down as you just looked away silently.

“It’s nothing,” Taehyung replied. “Just felt like laughing.” Jimin rolled his eyes. He was rather tired, too busy to properly rest last night. So he didn’t feel like urging Taehyung for a proper answer like he normally would.

“Whatever you say. You two heading out?” Taehyung nodded.

“We have to make some shopping trips.” You looked up at him.

“Shopping? What for?” He put his finger over his lips.

“Secret.” What a way to blow you off. Jimin smiled, already assuming your plans for the day that Taehyung had up his sleeve. He reached out and scratched at your soft tiger ears. You purred at his actions.

“Just be safe out there, yeah?” He took his hand back and went on his way. You both watched him go, seeing his back grow ever more distant.

“He looked really tired,” you mumbled.

“Jimin is an amazing worker.” His face was pulled into a small frown. “He works all the time, always around when he’s needed without much rest.” You knew that Jimin had a second job he didn’t like talking about. One that you knew was tied tightly to Taehyung and his business. “Let’s pick something up for him at the mall.” You nodded. His hard work deserves something after all.

Then, you had been dragged down the hall, down the staircase and out the door to one of Taehyung’s car. It wasn’t the Benz he had found and picked you up in before, but a deep blue tinted Cruise. Not fancy. In fact, it was rather ordinary. You noticed he was taking quite the ordinary route today. You had grown so used to see his black leather and belt bound get-up and floral robe he always dressed in for work. It was a good change.

As he started his car, he watched your reflection in his mirrors as he adjusted them. You buckled yourself in and sat straight, looking out the windshield. So prim and proper. He pulled out of the driveway and put a hand on your head.

“Relax,” was all he said as the two of your now cruised down the road. Next destination: the mall.

XXX

You felt nervous awe bubble up inside you. The mall was huge. Giving Taehyung’s properties combined a run for its money. As he slowly drove through the parking lot, you watched people go in and out. Children, teenagers in huddles, couples and even older generations. You even spotted hybrids tailing behind a few groups.

Taehyung watched your ears twitch up in alert and flick around back and forth. He managed to find a free parking space that wasn’t a mile walk from the entrance. Wordlessly, you unstrapped your seatbelt and got out of the car even before he did. He clambered out and locked up his vehicle before coming to stand at your awe-stricken side. He put a hand on his hip. It really had been a while since he’s been to the mall.

He reached over and tapped the back of your head.

“Don’t just stand and stare. Come on, we have shopping to do.” You nodded as he took off, you trailing right behind him.

The mall was like a whole new world to you. Shops of all kinds of genres, with their own flare of character. From bookstores with coffee shops in them, shops for makeup enthusiasts, tech shops, overseas merchandise, even hybrid necessity shops. Which is where Taehyung was first leading you.

He crossed the threshold bounder of a hybrid shop. You could see the collars on the walls, the tracker tech on shelves, the clothing on hangers. You almost feared going inside. Taehyung noticed you weren’t following his steps anymore and stopped to turn around. Seeing you mentally battle on if you should enter hurt him. He came back to you and rubbed your arm.

“Hey, it’s alright. I have a friend who runs this business. It’s totally safe.” You nodded as you grabbed his hand. He wouldn’t deny your active seeking for comfort. He would like a shop like this if he were a hybrid either. Especially from the bits and pieces of your past you’ve shared with him.

He pulled you in and began walking around. You gasped as you caught a glimpse of the back walls. Filled with sex toys and clothing. Easily opening old wounds and resurfacing fears you wish would go away. Taehyung covered your eyes and lead you away from the sights in the back. He only pulled his hand away when he started speaking, but not to you.

“There are you. I swear, stand at the desk like any other owner would.” There was a man in front of you two. A young man, yet older looking than you or Taehyung. You didn’t think eyes could ever possess a shimmer in them so genuinely, but this man’s eyes had that exact shimmer. With his shine, it only shone through more in his amber eyes.

“Listen,” the man started playfully, “I’m a busy man. I can’t just stand around all day.” Taehyung rolled his eyes.

“Uh-huh. Right. So that’s why you're understaffed. You do everything yourself and turn every possible applicant away.” He shook his head and clicked his tongue.

“Yoongi works here!”

“Yeah, because you know him. You’ve been pinning after his dick since sophomore year of high school, Hoseok.”

“You have no idea what it’s like dude.”

“Correct. Seeing as I’m not into guys.” Hoseok hopelessly shook his head.

“I’ll never understand straight men.” The two continued talking back and forth while you observed Hoseok. A cap on his head with black jeans, nice white button up and shoes that shine. However, something about him was strange.

“You smell weird,” you whispered to yourself. The conversation was brought to a halt and the attention of both men shifted to you. You hid behind Taehyung when you realized you were heard. Though, oddly enough, Hoseok didn’t seem offended or angry. Instead, he just smiled and put his hands on his hips.

“I certainly hope I don’t smell bad at least.” You shook your head. No. It wasn’t a particularly bad smell, just different. Taehyung looked over his shoulder down to you.

“Maybe he smells weird because you’ve never met another hybrid before?” You looked up to Taehyung shocked. Then, adverted your widened eyes to hoseok. This kind, human-looking man, is like you? Taehyung smirked. “Hoseok, this is Y/n. Y/n, I’d like you to meet a good friend of mine. His name is Jung Hoseok and he happens to be a hybrid.” You looked at him as he took off his hat and your mouth opened in a small gasp.

There on his head were miniature antlers. Antlers of a buck. He tilted his head up as if proud.

“These babies finally broke through about a week away. Soon, I’ll be showing off high-grade antlers fit for a king!” As he gushed about his future, Taehyung whispered to you.

“Do you know the expression, ‘a deer in headlights’?” You nodded. He smirked as he grabbed his phone from his pocket. “Watch this,” he giddy sang. “Hey, Hoseok!” He called. When his friend turned, he flashed on his bright flashlight before shutting it off a few seconds later.

Hoseok was frozen. Mouth slightly open, hands partially lifted and mid-step backward. Quite literally, frozen from light. Taehyung laughed as Hoseok snapped out of it fairly quickly. Bringing his foot up and planting it firmly against Tae’s gut. He groaned, annoyed at his longtime friend.

“How many time do you plan on doing that!”

“As many times as it takes for it not to be funny anymore. So, I’m never going to stop.”

“I seriously hope you didn’t drag you and your hybrid’s ass all the way up here to stun me.” Hoseok crossed his arms, losing his patience.

“No, no. Sorry. Onto business. We need identification.” Hoseok rose his brow.

“So, a collar?” You flinched. No. Please, no. No collar. You can’t stand the thought of one of those around your throat again. You touched your throat, getting lost in your head. Taehyung noticed. Seeing you panic rose his temperament.

“Y/n will not be put in a fucking collar.” He didn’t mean to come across as rude. It was just instinct. Luckily, Hoseok understood where the younger man was coming from.

“I see. Let me look around. Maybe Yoongi has been tampering around with gadgets again. Stay here.” He relocated himself elsewhere as Taehyung turned to fully face you. Your hand still covering your throat, eyes wide in fearful memories. He wanted to help, but how could he? How could he calm you down?

Taehyung dropped to his knee, looking up to you from your stomach’s height. His first thought: drop down in height. The past humans who harmed you must’ve been averagely taller, so he had to appear different. Thought process number two: be gentle. He slowly caught your free hand that clutched at your jeans. Your hands grasped onto his own, your sharp claws digging into his skin. But, he still didn’t let go. Third: speak to you like you were a child and show you he meant absolutely no harm.

“Y/n, no one is going to hurt you. I’m not going to put you in a collar, I won’t. I promise. If Hoseok doesn’t have anything, we can try somewhere else. And if all else fails, we’ll make our own. So, calm down.�� He soothed you and watched as your hand on your neck fell and you looked down to him. Eyes cloudy, almost dazed. He smiled up to you as you looked at his hand. Small indents in his skin from you, even small beads of blood lining your sharpened feline claws.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed as you pulled your hand away from his. He just kept smiling and stood back up, taking both your hands and raising them to his lips. Kissing the back of them before he tucked you into his chest.

“I think I’ve told you before not to apologize for things that aren’t your fault.” You nodded as your ears twitched at the sound of Hoseok returning. He was talking on the phone with someone, his cell pressed against his cheek with his shoulder as he held something in his hand. Taehyung let go of you and turned around to see his friend, but still held your hand with no intent on letting go.

“Yes, I know that. Honestly- no just- now, wait a- just- Yoongi, let me talk for fuck's sake!” He rolled his eyes as he took his phone in his hand and put it on speaker. “There, your out loud of the whole world to hear you.” Taehyung chuckled at his tantrum as the voice of Yoongi played through the phone’s speaker.

“Taehyung, you have a hybrid now?” He sounded even older than Hoseok did. A low, drawl of a voice. With a small hint of a very slight lisp. Perhaps he just woke up. “Since when did you decide to be responsible with another being?” Taehyung rolled his eyes.

“If you’re just going to sit on your ass in your home and mock me through the phone, I swear to god Yoongi.”

“Ooo, big bad maf. boss is gonna get me,” he mocked. So, they knew about Taehyung’s work too. You were beginning to think that it would be more surprising to learn that someone didn’t know who he was or what he did. It seemed like everyone you ran into or everyone who spared a glance in his direction instantly knew who he was. It was like he had some sort of crown on his head, and people know he was of a higher power.

“Oh my god.” Taehyung rubbed at his face as Yoongi spoke again.

“And, I’m not at home thank you very much.” Now, Hoseok was shocked.

“Wow, you normally chill when you have the day off.” You picked up a new scent enter the shop when you tapped Taehyung’s arm and pointed at the entrance where a mint haired man just stepped inside. Jean jacket, ripped jeans and a white tee with short, biker boots. It was a look to be certain. He had a phone to his ear as he looked at the small group of you three.

“Jimin told me you’d probably stop by with your hybrid, so I decided to stop by and meet the newest addition to the circle.” He took the phone away from his ear and hung up, the call on Hoseok’s phone cutting as well. So, he was Yoongi. He waltzed over to Hoseok’s side, stopped as he watched you at Taehyung’s side. “So, this is her then?” Taehyung nodded as you seemed to shrink.

He didn’t blame you. Yoongi gave off a superior aura, even he still has time talking back to him sometimes. Though, as mean and strict as he may seem, he isn’t a bad guy. He just had to convince you of that fact.

Taehyung nodded as he let go of your hand and put his hand on your lower back instead.

“Yes. This is Y/n.” You slowly bowed your head to him as he pulled a sucker from his pocket, unwrapped it and placed it in his mouth. He swirled it around as he cupped his chin and inspected you. He could easily see the scars, hidden or not, from your previous homes. “I took her off the streets, so could you maybe not scare her by scanning her like some sort of robot.” Yoongi raised his hands in defense.

“Sorry, sorry. I was just looking.”

“Well, look less.”

“Touchy.” He turned to Hoseok. “You have the box, right?” Hoseok nodded as he handed it over. Yoongi took it and opened it up. A small box, just small enough to barely overpass his palm. Inside were two things. A thumb drive, and an earring cuff. Long and grey, with pins to pierce the cuff in place as opposed to normal cuffed that one can take on and off without a proper piercing. “You said you’re looking for a form of proper identification and absolutely refuse a collar.”

“That’s right. I’m against making Y/n feel like she’s a prisoner in a place she should be calling home. Collars are completely out of the question.” Yoongi looked at the younger man.

“Good answer.” He looked at the two of you as he turned to Hoseok. “I’m going in the back. I need to use the computer security system on the desktop.” Hoseok nodded. Yoongi turned back to Taehyung and you. “You two, please follow me. I’ll get all the identification taken care of, I’ll just need information and input from the hybrid becoming identified and their caretaker.” Taehyung nodded as he leads you back with Yoongi, Hoseok smiling and waving you off as he finally started taking care of his shop in some way.

Once in the back, Yoongi pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked a door that read ‘custodian’ on it. You were quite confused and even more so when he opened the door and invited you both inside with him. Yoongi noticed your furrowed brow and smirk, jerking his head towards the dark room.

“It’s bigger than you think. Come on, in you go.” You cautiously followed behind a confident striding Taehyung as Yoongi followed last and shut the door. It was dark, that is until Yoongi flipped the lights on. This was not at all a custodian’s closet.

Computers, towers, routers, hard drives, laptops, keyboards, tablets, and cameras all lay across a long L shaped desk pushed against the wall. Books, files and small knick-knacks filled shelves and bookcases. Filing cabinets sat tucked into corners and TV screens with waiting screens or camera footage all adorned some part of the wall. Along the desk were three chairs. Obviously one for Yoongi and another for Hoseok, but who was the third for? Taehyung put his hand on his hip as he whistled low and impressed.

“You’ve added more monitors. Good to know you do actually listen to my advice from time to time.” Yoongi rolled his eyes as he sat down in a chair and activated a tablet, connecting it to a vacant screen that wasn’t busy. You looked to tAehyung as Yoongi worked.

“So, you knew this was back here?” Taehyung smiled down at you and put his hand on your head, poking at your ears.

“Of course I did. I supplied most of the technology in this room. Yoongi not only happens to be employed with Hoseok as a regular shop employee, but he worked under me as an agent.” You shifted your gaze to the ever busy Yoongi as he worked and prepped something up. “He keeps me up to date on public affairs. And there's no better place to listen and learn about any and everything that a mall that constantly has people in and out the door.”

You slowly nodded. That made enough sense. You would’ve never figured he was anything more than a bored, everyday citizen just trying to get by somehow. Just how many other people are like him? How many people did Taehyung have connections with? How many people had two lives just like Yoongi did, and how many were working against Taehyung rather than with him?

Taehyung leads you to sit on the chair next to Yoongi as he sat on the last one next to you. Taehyung had already been expecting you to answer some questions of his and have him run some tests for this latest gadget he decided to boredly fiddle with. Whatever it may be. Yoongi tapped through different applications on his tablet as he attached a keyboard to it, ready to input information. He turned to you.

“You’re alright answering some questions, aren’t you?” You nodded. “Alright. Then, let’s begin.” He seemed to pull up a document on his screen. “Have you been under ownership before?” You shook your head.

“No... Not officially.” You hesitated. “I did live with others though, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It… was a complication silent agreement. I worked for them.” Taehyung bit back his urge to butt in and give his opinion. But had had to let you talk for yourself. “There was no paperwork involved, and I ran away from there often.” That Taehyung didn’t know before.

“Wait, so it wasn’t the first time when I found you?” You shook your head.

“Yet, you kept going back?” Yoongi asked and you nodded. “Because you had nowhere else to go to? Why not go to a shelter? Surely it would’ve been a better alternative.”

“Just because it’s called a shelter, doesn’t mean it’s a safe place for my kind. They can be just as awful as prisons.” Yoongi only nodded as he took in and wrote word for word your responses as you spoke. Able to type and listen without any distractions.

The quickfire and longer questions continued for sometime before Yoongi was finishing up. Name, birthdate (which was unknown to you so you just went with the date that Taehyung picked you off the streets) and Taehyung’s information were the last of the information he required.

He took both the thumb drive and ear cuff from the small box he received from Hoseok out and plugged the drive into his computer, where he was busy transferring data. The cuff reacted to the sensor activation Yoongi had modified it with and the ends of the cuff began glowing a soft, electric blue. He moved and copied files as he turned to Taehyung.

“Tae, I’ll need to input your fingerprint. It’s a security measure.” Taehyung shrugged and nodded as he stretched out his hand and Yoongi pressed his finger against the chilled metal of the black cuff. The blue ends flickered before stabilizing again. Yoongi then took the cuff and looked at you this time. “Pardon me,” he said as he leaned towards you.

He took hold of the back of your head, having you lean towards his chest as he got a clear view of your ears atop your head. He took the cuff, looping it around the side of one ear and pressed it. You winched and hisses you felt the needles of the cuff piercing into your ear, holding now securely in place. The blue lights once against flickered and then once more stabled out, now attached to its new owner.

“You couldn’t have warned her she was going to get a needle shoved through her ear?!” Taehyung argued as Yoongi leisurely leaned back into his chair. It wasn’t that big of a deal to him. Soon the initial pain faded, replaced with a very slight stinging sensation and the foreign feeling of a weight attached to your ear. Soon, the cuff made 3 repetitive dinging sounds before the electric blue softened to look nothing like mere paint now. Almost disguising itself along the dull black of the rest.

“What is that? You never actually explained it to me before you latched it onto Y/n’s ear.” Taehyung asked, just a tad vehemently.

“Well, from anyone else's standpoint, it’s just a simple cuff Tae. Come on, you have eyes.” Taehyung’s brow twitched.

“Let’s not forget who your real employer is.”

“Hoseok.”

“Yoongi, I swear to god,” Yoongi smirked, having enough fun.

“It’s her identification. You refused a collar, right? This cuff is a prototype of mine. It’s a Bluetooth identifier. It’s connected to this thumb driver with all of her up to date information. Even if she gets stopped on her own sometime, when someone goes to scan her the cuff with deny the scan and there’s the proof of ownership. This keeps her from getting hiked to the pound and without the usage of a collar.”

“You're good with technology,” you whispered as you touched your new cuff.

“Only the best, sweetheart.” He then ejected the thumb drive and tossed it to Taehyung, who easily swiped it from the air. “You best not want to lose that, sir.” Taehyung rolled his eyes as he stood up, you mirroring his actions. “Oh, only your print is uploaded into its system, Taehyung. Thus, only you are capable of removing it, not even Y/n herself can take it off.” Taehyung nodded as he put his hand on your lower back.

“Come on, I’m sure Hoseok wants to put you in some new clothes. Your tail must be uncomfortable by now.” You slightly nodded at the feeling of your soft tail wrapped around your waist under your baggy shirt. He pushed you out once the door was opened.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi called. “For what it’s worth, I like her.” You peeked over Taehyung’s shoulder, enough to see him smile to his friend.

“Me too.”

XXX

You’re not entirely sure how you managed to let yourself be persuaded by Taehyung to wear a new outfit out of Hoseok’s shop. Shorts and a sweater tucked into the front of them. Not to mention the new black, buckle ankle boots, matching ankle socks and even the small, silver band wrapped around your pinkie. Your tail swung freely behind you as your ears twitched with their new ID cuff. You eyed the oversized bag of clothes, shoes, and accessories that Hoseok and Taehyung both claimed you needed.

You couldn't help feeling a little bit guilty at the memory of the ring up price. Yet, Taehyung seemed overly thrilled as he carried around your new things. Unknown to you, he was so planning on buying you more stuff.

You both ended up leaving with 4 hefty bags from different shops and fully stomached as he basically forced your butt into a chair at a table in the food court. It may not have been fancy food per se, but mall meals are always overpriced to societies taste. Though guilty, you were grateful too.

You really felt like Taehyung cared for you. Not to say you didn’t before, but now it was almost so blatantly obvious you felt like you might matter to someone. You've never mattered to anyone before now. You smiled as you and Taehyung walked back to his car. He looked at you and smoothly took your hand, swinging it up to kiss the back of it.

“What’s my Kitten so smiley about?” He practically sang. You reddened as you looked around. Publicly showing anything more than dictation for a hybrid is highly unsought by public eyes. You almost tired yanking your hand away, but he held it too tightly.

“Um, maybe you shouldn’t do that,” you gestured with a jolt of your hand and turned your gaze down. Taehyung rolled his eyes as he made sure to tightly hold your hand in his palm with no chance of escape.

“Why is that, hmm? I thought it would take more to make your cheeks redden.” You didn’t know how to respond. You really didn’t. Taehyung is an oddity. Doing what he wants, when he chooses. He certainly didn’t act like he had a higher form of power above him. That was true though. His strutt-like disposition perfectly reflected the confidence a leader of the mafia should have.

Nonetheless, you were still just a hybrid. You didn’t know how to say that without angering him by implicating you're of lower status. Even though society deems this true, Taehyung would absolutely not stand for that kind of thinking anymore.

Taehyung saw your unspoken words figuratively scribbled on your forehead. He released your hand only to place it on your head and pet at your hair with the softest of touches he’s capable of. You nearly let your eyes roll and purr in content, but held back. He leads you to his care when a passing by, silver SUV caught his eye. He quickly opened the back door, as opposed to the passenger seat door. He put his hand on your lower back.

His demeanor completely changed. At the drop of a hat, he was showing and presenting himself as of how he would in front of, or towards his subordinates.

“Taehyung?”

“Get in the car, Y/n.” His voice was cold, harsh, demanding. You were, of course, going to listen to him. He sat your bags of newly purchased possessions in the back seat floorboards as you stood at his side, waiting to climb in without question. Your ears twitched at the squeaking tires that didn’t sound so far off from the two of you.

“Um, Taehyung?” You started to panic when the window of the SUV rolled down and a gun appeared, barrel pointing out. You grabbed his shirt, pulling him up and around. “Taehyung!” You screamed as the first round was shot off.

Full on chaos ensured in the mall’s, public parking lot.

Taehyung pushed your head down against his chest as he practically folded you in the back seat.

“Stay down and cover your head,” he commanded as you nodded, folding your arms over your head with your chest and face against the seat’s bottoms.

Taehyung slammed the door shut, cursing to himself. Couldn’t he just have one, single goddamn day?! He growled as he was quick to climb into the driver's seat. Locking the door was only for your security, should these pompous assholes chose to get a bit more ballsy. Popping open the glove compartment, he firmly latched onto his car designated pistol, more than a little ready to shoot a few cocksuckers.

“Cover your ears!” He shouted back at you as his car roared, tires screeched and when his window was rolled down, shots were fired.

Firing round after spot on round, until he ran out of ammunition in his magazine, the SUV took quite a beating. Windows busted, car exterior dented and damaged, tires whistling with tears and bullet holes. The only sign he got off a successful retaliation was their retreat and him not being a fucking corpse on his wheel. On normal circumstances, he would have most definitely chased them down until they were backed into a frenzied corner.

But, he couldn’t.

Just having the view of your hunched over back in the seats behind him through the reflection of his rear-view mirror made him roll his window back up and toss the gun into the passenger seat, forgotten and speed home. No, he couldn’t choose them over you. He wouldn’t risk putting you in any further danger.

Taehyung reached behind him, touching your back. You were quick to twist around and grab the hand he offered and tug it to your face. Clutch almost painfully onto it. The pain didn’t concern him, however; it was the tears that did. He clutched the steering wheel and stepped on it. He needed to get you home.

As he, more or less, made black on the otherwise gray driveway of his home, he stopped at the front doors. He pulled his hand away from you slowly, which you had clung to and held the entire time without yielding since he offered it. He jumped out of the car and came to the door in which your head faced. He folded in and grabbed your arms, helping you to sit up, scooch you over and get you out. You were attempting to stand on your own, try and shake off your shock, but Taehyung quickly picked you up instead. Hugging you to him, still shaking like a leaf, he entered his manor.

Jimin ran into the two of you. Seeing you curled and shaking, then seeing Taehyung pissed and frowning, he thought before speaking.

“You have bags in your car I’m assuming?”

“Don’t worry about them. I’ll get them, I just have to-”

“Ah-ah. Go take care of Y/n. Leave the rest to me.” He pats his friend on the back. “On you go,” giving him a little shove, Jimin almost put a smile back on Taehyung’s face.

“Thanks, Chim. We’ll talk later.” Jimin nodded and headed out to Taehyung’s car to both retrieve the bags and park it where it should be (which isn’t directly out front). Meanwhile, Taehyung carried you up to his room. Lifting his knee, he unlatches his door and nudged it open before stepping inside and kicking it closed behind him. He carried you to place you on the edge of his bed and knelt before you, taking your hands firmly in his own.

You looked… he didn’t know how to describe it. Your eyes were so red and distant like you weren’t really here, you were something else. Your body was so slack he had to feel for your life. Watch your chest rise with breath and feel your pulse under his fingertips. Your blood was pumping in rapid beats, a contrast to your almost frozen body. He could only imagine your mind’s film and what was zooming through your head. He could imagine, but never understand. He was far too used to this by now. The violence.

“Y/n,” he cooed as he saw your eyes flicker slightly. “Y/n, listen to me, please. I have to go take care of some work. Can you promise me to stay here until I come back?” You slowly nodded. He softly smiled to you as he stood up, placing your hands in your lap and kissed your forehead. “When I’m back, we can show Jimin all your new stuff. Plus, you have to give him his gift you picked out after all.” You almost smiled, he saw and it made him feel a bit better. “I’ll be back real soon, Kitten. Rest now.”

You were quick to fall asleep that afternoon. Resting in Taehyung’s bed as he tucked up under the blanket. He turned from you as he strode over to his wardrobe. Stripping free of his mundane clothing, he changed into his work-equse attire. Lacing his boots and tugging on his robe, he took his mask into his hand. Grabbing extra ammunition and his personal favorite firearm- his rose gold Desert Eagle- he strapped a holster to his thigh and placed his gun inside; strapping it down securely. He glanced once more to you before leaving the room.

Robe fluttering in his strides at his ankles, boots clapping against the floors and hand firmly grasping his pure white mask, he made a phone call.

“20 men. 20 Minutes. Warehouse 13, or so help me god I’ll fucking shoot anyone who is late.” That was all he had to say before he hun gup. He- once again- ran into Jimin. Jimin stopped him, seeing both the look on his friends face and hearing the news of events that happened not so long ago now.

“You're going after that SUV, aren’t you?” The look Taehyung gave him was almost answer enough.

“I’m going to fucking kill them, that’s what I’m going to do. End of story.” Jimin didn’t know what he was expecting. They shot at him and Y/n. Of course, he’d come to that decision. Thought wasn’t even needed to fire back at those who shot first. Jimin sighed.

“Just be safe. Act rationally.”

“Roger,” and no sooner was Taehyung going to warehouse 13, where exactly 15 cars sat parked and 20 men all waited inside. Armed and ready for their leader's unquestionable orders. “Let’s get to work,” he smirked, “shall we?”

The white mask now slipped over his face.

XXX

It was 3am when you woke up. Sleeping completely through the afternoon and nighttime. Sighing at the complete mess of your future mental schedule, you sat up. You were still dressed in your new clothes from the mall as you looked around. Your head was fuzzy, not remembering much of yesterday at all. You still had a rather annoying, lingering headache, however.

You can’t remember much after seeing the SUV. Just gunshots and Taehyung shouting. It was all a blur. Maybe it was better that way. You jumped when the lock to the room you were in clicked open. Did Taehyung lock it before he left? You slung your legs over the mattress side and your ears flattened, twitching along the top of your head in your hair. They shot up when the door opened revealing Taehyung as he stepped inside.

“Oh,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t expecting you to be awake.” You got off the bed and ran to his side as he shut the door behind him. He smelt like sweat, gun, metal, and blood. You knew something was wrong when he leaned slightly too much to his left side when he was normally pretty equally balanced. You grabbed his arm as you looked at him. He was a mess.

His shirt was wrinkled, buttons missing and strings hung around off the seams. His pants starting wearing thing at the knees and a few belt loops were ripped, or torn clean off. It was miraculous his robe was in decent condition. Perhaps he removed it at some point to keep it from being ruined like his clothes. His hair crossed over in messy, tangled layers. A split lip, small cuts on his hand and a strong scent of thick, rustic blood that refused to fade was all on him. You feared the scent was his blood, rather than another's.

“Are you okay?” He softly slurred to you as he pets your head, letting go of the mask he carried. The red blotched white mask clattering to the floor.

“I should be asking you that.” He smiled.

“How sweet you are.” He was acting strangely. You touched his side, going to lead him towards the bed to change then rest when your palm hit slick fabric. The intense scent, you knew instantly what it was. You flicked back the side of his robe to see a hole in his shirt side, underneath his skin stained with blood. You gasped lightly.

“Oh my god,” you hooked his arm over your shoulder and practically dragged him to his washroom. You both flinched when the light was flipped on, a great contrast to the early morning darkness of his room. You moved him to sit on the closed toilet seat as you walked and scrambled around to look for the things needed to treat him.

His legs sat apart, knees pushed opposite as his heels dug into the tile, toes lifting off. His back was against the tower of the seat and his neck craned upwards as his arms hung lazily to his side. He was very close to playing dead it seemed. His chest heaved and hitched occasionally with certain intakes of breath.

You rushed around the washroom and soon collected a first aid kit, hand towels (you’d have to stain treat later), gauze and a flexible, tanned hook bandage wrap. You pushed his robe off his shoulders and let it pool around his thighs, not having the heart to have him move to unwedge it from underneath his rear. You unbuttoned all of the buttons that weren’t already torn off and Taehyung stared down at you the entire time.

This was so foreign to him. Having someone treat his injuries, take care of him. Having- seeing you worry and care for him. If you hadn’t been with him the past week he would think of you as a hallucination caused in the recesses of his brain by pitiful pain. But, when he reached and wisped his fingers under your chin, he knew you to be real. 100% fundamental and absolutely real.

You shrugged one of his shoulders of his shirt off as you inspected his wound. A large wound, a gash tore into the soft flesh of his side. Blood still bubbled and rolled in small waves down his side and seeping into the black of his pants. It was an ugly part of your ever beautiful Taehyung.

“It.. needs to be stitched,” you whispered. “Maybe Jimin can do it?” You questioned to yourself as you stood up, or tried too. You barely straightened your legs from kneeling in front of him when he reached and grabbed your arm, stopping you midway. His eyes that peeked from under his bangs looked up at you, his mouth hung open.

“Don’t leave,” he pleaded.

“But, you need to be stitched. I’ll go call Jimin and he can-”

“No.” He was awfully persistent. “You do it.” You blinked incredulously at him. Was he serious?! You couldn’t handle your own handwriting even with him teaching you, yet he wanted you to sew into his side?! That’s insane! But.. you looked down at the wound. If he kept bleeding, it would get worse and you’d run out of time. You swallowed.

“I- I can’t. I don’t know how. I might mess it up.” Taehyung chuckled, followed by a winch as a fresh wave of crimson seeped from his body.

“Anything is better than having a hole in my waist. Please, Y/n.”

Truth be told, he didn’t care if you properly did it or not. He’s done it himself plenty of times, but he just didn’t want you out of his sight. He was so delusional, so scared that if you left the room you wouldn’t come back. Even if it was to go and call Jimin, or see if he was still wandering around the manor, he didn’t want you a single foot from him. He saw the unsure look in your eyes as you kept looking at his side.

If you didn’t make a decision, it would only get worse. If he was so insistent, maybe you could at least patch it up enough for the night. Jimin or someone else more experienced could fix it in the morning. All you had to do was clean it and get it stable enough to stop bleeding until morning. You took a breath and nodded.

“Atta girl,” he slurred lowly as he craned his neck back again, his head hitting the back wall slightly. He was tired, exhausted not to mention he hurt. You agreed to sew him up, but he knew you had no idea what to do and where to start. With his head still craned and eyes closed, he spoke instructions to you. “First, you’ll have to clean it. Then get my needle. A few things need to be done before the actual procedure, but I think you can handle it.” You nodded as you got a rag and rinsed it with water before dabbing at his injury. He winced as you applied pressure on it, making you have to grab his hips and force them down so he didn’t squirm away. No matter how many times he got hurt, he always flinched away. Pain isn’t something he takes well, contrary to popular belief.

He felt your hands on his skin, the feel of your fingers pushing into his hips and your breath fan over his stomach as you got close to inspect the blood sight that is his body. Your touch and the way his body felt like it was on fire from your fingers almost made him completely ignore the pain. Your presence, your care, and your touch all were like a giant drug; an anesthetist that was available only to him.

After 4 rags had been soiled and stained, you went to the drawer that you knew Taehyung kept needles in and took the longest, thickest one you could find; one someone as clueless as you could easily use. “Grab the lighter in there too,” he said as you did so and ran back to his side. He moved his head to face you and open his eyes again. The light being uncomfortable for this growing headache. “Light the end of the needle, let it burn after you thread it.” You nodded, threading a hefty amount of thread braided together in micro-threads of silk and nylon through the eye of the needle. Then, as instructed, set torch to the tip of it.

You didn’t know anything about medical procedures are all. You knew there had to be other steps of precaution before the actual sewing of his skin, but he didn’t seem bothered. You assumed he just wanted to get some sleep, but it didn’t stop you worrying over messing something up.

“Um, Taehyung. I’m going to start now, okay?” He only nodded as you placed your hand on his side, and slightly pushed his skin together and began sewing. You had watched him sew up his shirts before, so you just tried your best to copy the over-stitched v fashion.

You spent an endless amount of time stitching and soon you were taking scissors and cutting the thread after tying it off. It was far from pretty and you were 100% sure it was completely wrong, but it was at least close- to an extent. You hopped up and cleaned the stitches once more before putting a piece of gauze over the wound and then began to wrap the bandage around his waist. He watched you finish up and saw the way his blood stained and coated your fingertips.

When you finished up, you hooked the bandage and sighed. You filled the sink and dropped the needle in the water. You knew it probably wasn't the proper way to clean it, but you figured you’d ask Jimin about that tomorrow too. You looked at your fingers, the blood on it. It was strange seeing blood on you that wasn’t your own. Taehyung peered through lazy eyes at you stare at your hands.

“Y/n,” he called and you looked over your shoulder at him. “I need some sleep.” You smiled as you nodded and quickly washed off your hands and then went back to him. You took his arm and got him off the toilet and lead him back into his room. You navigated the room and soon set him on his bed. You had half a mind to just let him sleep, but you figured he needed to change. His pants were stained and surely can’t be comfortable to sleep in.

Now that you were in the bedroom, you looked around. Surely you could call Jimin now? You walked to the door where Taehyung’s mask lay on the floor. Beside it, his phone sat on the ground. You picked both up and looked at the mask. It was covered in anything besides white anymore. It needed to be cleaned. You walked over and set it on his desk as you flipped on the dim standing lamp and tried your best in working his cell.

You hadn’t learned much about cell phones in the last week, only seeing Taehyung work with it occasional like he knew how to program a motherboard coming out of the womb. You somehow came to a screen with names and icons beside it. You couldn’t read or recognize the names well, but you were able to see a picture of Jimin and without thinking, tapped it.

The screen changed to see a picture of Jimin on the entire screen and you heard a dull ringing sound from the phone. PUtting it to your ear, you heard it ring more before a click and a voice.

“Taehyung?”

“Ah, um Jimin?”

“What- Y/n? I didn’t know you had Tae’s phone.”

“I was wanting to know if you were busy? It’s just- Taehyung came home and he’s super tired, but he needs to be changed, but I-” You burned. You’ve seen him nude, sure, but you didn’t feel right changing him. When he was so delusional and so out of it, changing his clothes felt like you were violating some law. You couldn’t do it, you just couldn’t. You heard Jimin chuckle on his line.

“I’m down in the foyer now. I’ll be up in a bit, just leave the door unlocked. I’ll take care of the oaf.” You smiled and nodded. The line hung up as you saw the screen change again and you just set the phone on his desk.

Moments later, you heard Jimin knock on the door and you let him in. He saw his friend, laying back first on the bed half shirtless and rather worse for wear. He swept back his hair and looked at you.

“He was a wreck, wasn't he?” You nodded. You explained how you sewed up his side and told him you didn’t do a very good job. He’d take a look at it tomorrow or have him to the hospital at the worst, but for the night it should be alright. He went to his dresser, grabbing random articles of clothing as you stopped by his desk, grabbed his mask and shut yourself in the washroom where you would wait until Jimin finished.

You cleaned off his mask the best you could. Scrubbing the dried blood and dirt off, and trying to crust and rub off the scuff marks with your nails. You would smile with the occasional sound of Jimin struggling or scolding Taehyung in the other room. All the sound from them was drowned out when you turned the sink faucet on to finish cleaning.

“Where is she?” Taehyung slurred as Jimin tossed his leather pants into a heap by the mattress.

“She’s in the washroom. She’s waiting in there for you to change.”

“Bring her back.” Jimin rolled his eyes.

“When you’re done she’ll be in here. Be patient and cooperate with me and this whole process will be a lot smoother.” He all but groaned as Taehyung kicked at his back when his back was turned. Jimin turned to scold his friend, but stopped at the look of distance in his dimly lit face.

“I fucked up. I let her see me.” He threw his arm over his face as he sighed. Jimin only sighed and helped his friend into a pair of sweats as he gathered up his dirty, torn clothing.

“What’s so wrong about that? Having someone see your vulnerability isn’t so bad when that person is someone you care about.” Taehyung knew that, but he still felt awful.

“I feel pathetic. I hate this.” Jimin knew he did. He hated his job, hated this life. He never wanted this to begin with, he wanted something normal. Something solid, but ever since he was a child, he knew he couldn’t ever have that. He would never get what he truly wanted, and that was just this he cruel reality. Maybe, that’s why Jimin works so hard for him.

Because Jimin has a life outside his work, he has other friends, he has a family. He has a choice. He had the one thing Taehyung wanted, but couldn’t get. Choices. He sighed as he sat on the bed beside his best friend.

“You know, she was really worried. I’m surprised she managed to use your phone, though there’s no telling how long it took her to figure it out.” The thought of you foundering with his phone did make Taehyung smile. Jimin nudged his friend with his leg. “It’s not so bad. She doesn’t think any less of you.”

Taehyung uncovered his eyes as he sat up, with Jimin’s help because sitting up with a hole in your torso really didn’t work out as a single person job. He leaned onto his knees as he looked at his feet. All he wore was his sweats, but that’s nothing new when he was changed for sleeping.

“Can I see her now?” He asked tentatively. Jimin got up and nodded, heading to the washroom door and giving it a few knocks. When he opened the door, he saw you holding both his mask, freshly cleaned, and his robe that you had left in there before. You looked around Jimin as you saw Taehyung sat up on the bed. You then looked at Jimin.

“Thank you, for helping. I know your busy.” Jimin just pets your head and shook his own.

“Nah, it’s nothing. Take care of him for me tonight. I’ll come to check in tomorrow and check up on him. Okay?” You nodded as you watched him bid goodnight to Taehyung and then walk out, taking the soiled clothes with him. You flipped off the washroom light and went to his desk to set the mask down and put his robe over his desk chair. You didn’t want to open his wardrobe right now, just seeing the inside of it would make your skin crawl.

“You cleaned my mask?” His voice slurred behind you as you nodded.

“It had a lot of blood on it.” He winced as you said that, and the image of your hands with his blood flashed in his head again. He hated it.

“Y/n, come over here.” You walked over to him and when you got within his arms reach, he grabbed your hip and dragged your forward. You stood between his knees, hands on his bare shoulders as he pushed his head into your stomach. His large hands help your hips and they almost felt like they were trembling. Was he alright?

You moved a hand to filter through his hair. Watching the blond strands overlap, catch in your fingers or stay sticking up until you flattened it back down. He felt like he could easily sleep just like this. Your fingers in his hair and his hands on you. It was then he realized you were still in your clothes from earlier- rather yesterday now.

“You should change,” he muttered into your stomach. You nodded as you detach yourself from him, much to his discretion, and grab the sweater you had worn the night prior that still sat on the bed’s foot. Quickly changing, you then focused on getting Taehyung to lay down.

It didn’t take much of a fight, pushing his back and moving him to lay under his blankets. Though he refused to relax until you got into the bed next to him. He clung to you again, much like a child would. Slipping his leg between yours and wrapped it around your knee. Holding you around your waist and pushing his face into your chest. He was content, the sound of your heart more effective than any drug he could’ve taken.

Once again, you were carding your hands through his hair. He hated being weak, being injured and open to enemies like this. Should something happen, he wouldn’t be much help in the condition he is in, but for once he didn’t care. He didn’t care that he was hurt, he didn’t care he was being doted on and cared for, he just didn’t. He didn’t care because it was you offering comfort. He didn’t care because it was you laying at his side and taking care of him.

The clock ticked past 4am as he slowly decided that being weak, wasn’t all such a bad thing. At least, for the moment. At least, with you.

Pt. 3?

2K notes · View notes

chisie12 · 5 years ago

Text

Gency Week Day 2: Heliotropes/Eternal Love

I’m posting this at 2.48am. I’m dying. Excuse my mistakes and hope you enjoy reading!

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19071907/chapters/45324415

Day 2: A Second For Eternity Dear reader, I wish I could tell you that it ends well.

That I found her after two weeks, that nothing had actually happened to her, that it was just a simple misunderstanding. Perhaps, she had gone on an impromptu trip to the Arctic to see the penguins and polar bears, to be surrounded by all the fluff and majestic wonders of life in the ice and snow, doing all those research and contemplating on medical magic like she normally would.

Because last night, I dreamt that I woke up after lying asleep on her lap — one of my favourite moments in life. I closed my eyes and drew in a lung full of air, letting out a contented sigh. I focused on her fingers in my hair, the sound of paper rustling and smelled the alcoholic coffee wafting in the room. A few minutes stretched out like an eternity, a blissful eternity. Outside the room, the pitter patter of rain began to fall.

“Oh, it’s raining.” A whisper barely audible tickling my ears.

“Mmm, it would seem like it is.”

There was silence when she spoke again. “If I recall, it was raining when I found you too.”

My body stiffened at her words and my eyes finally cracked open, falling first on the ever present smile, and I instinctively relaxed. “Yeah, it was raining just like this at that time.”

She hummed and went back to her book, and I went back to enjoying her warmth. These moments were just short intermissions from the daily hecticness of our lives, but it was all we needed at times.

“I’m glad that I did though.”

“Huh?” My eyes flew open.

She peeked over her book, her gaze glinting in amusement from behind the glasses. “It allowed me to meet you.”

I shifted on her lap so that I fully faced her and I chuckled when she jumped at my hand touching her cheek. With her attention stolen from the book, I gazed at her as the world around me fall away.

I vividly remember my lips parting as I wanted to tell her — tell her things that I left unsaid, but when I saw the dull white ceiling of my single bedroom dormitory, I was slapped in the face, back into the harsh reality; That I still haven’t seen her in the past two weeks, of neither hide nor hair. Not even my calls or texts were going through. I initially thought that she hadn’t texted me in that week I was away because she hadn’t wanted to disturb me during the mission, but even two weeks later? It’s been a long time… And the worst is not even seeing her in the office.

I stared at the door to her office from the corridor when a couple of men appeared and entered. Confused, I walked forward, only to stand there with mouth agape.

“What are you all doing with Dr. Ziegler’s possessions?” I fought the urge to raise my voice and tried to stay calm. But everything was a bubble of a mess inside me. Why were they taking her things away? Those are her books! Wait, stop! Why are you packing them away!

“Stop blocking our way. Please move.” One of the men stood before me and groaned. In his hands was an archive box filled with Angela’s papers and I wanted to reach out and grab them when I heard his partner’s voice.

“Hey man, be careful. That’s the cyborg the lady doctor was working on. Don’t piss him off.”

I turned back to the first man, watching him freeze and stiffen up like a statue. His face paled and he took a step back. “S-Sorry! I didn’t mean to be rude. We’re just hired to clean out the office.”

I shook my head and asked calmly, “On whose orders?”

I watched him visibly swallow the lump in his throat before gathering the courage to reply, “A Jack Morrison hired and authorised us for this task.”

Jack Morrison? Commander? Why?

Despite the anger and shock, I nodded and slipped to the corridor, watching the men strip the office bare. The other agents walked past me whispering under their breaths and I resolutely walked away when the men finished the last bits of the packing. Fists clenched and lips tightly pursed.

I had to get to the bottom of this.

…

“Thank you. We’ll send a team out on that mission too. This should finally attract the head guy to appear.”

“Yes, sir.”

Commander Jack Morrison looked through the intel report on his desk, skimming through the details as he decided on the agents to send when a knock came on his door.

“Come in,” he said without looking up.

“Sir —”

“Oh, Genji. Perfect timing. I was just thinking of looking for you. I have here another mission to send you on. McCree and Tracer will be going with you.”

My mouth hung open and I forcefully swallowed the words lodged in my throat. Straightening myself, I subjected myself to his command before heading out the door. Looking at the copy of the mission details, I gritted my teeth and the paper crumpled from under my fist. Endure, I just got to endure.

‘Endure till I see you again. I just owe you too much.’

My footsteps brought me down the corridor, muscle memory serving its purpose as I was led back to my room. Dropping the missions papers on the table, I walked over to a thick journal by my bedside table, picked up the pen beside it and opened the book. Neat handwriting was scrawled across the pages and I relished in the small reprieve the flipping of pages gave me, until it stopped. Wedged in between were three roses, dried and flattened, with stems cut till only a couple of inches left. As carefully and gently as I could, I slipped the dried flowers off the pages and set them on the table. I sighed deeply, the flames in me dying into ashes as I lightly traced the petals before turning back to the book.

‘Just where are you, Angela? Are you well?’

There’s so many things that I left unsaid. If I knew you were going to disappear on me like this one day, I would have told you everything. The agony was eating away inside me, like a parasite latching onto my veins for life.

Do you think that I’m ungrateful? I wished you knew that I wasn’t. I really do owe you so much… You came and made me who I am, and I remember when it all began so clearly.

With shaky fingers, I removed my mask and buried my eyes in my hands, ignoring the wetness that dripped through the cracks and stained the pages.

‘You know, I really wanted to tell you so many things.’

Thank you for saving my life.

Thank you for talking through my agony and pain, my anxieties and depression, for smoothing out the mountains in my mind, for reassuring me when I’m overwhelmed.

Thank you for loving the parts of myself that I hate, and for helping me love them too.

Thank you for giving me so much to look forward to.

Thank you for being you.

~*~*~

“Incoming suspect, guys,” Tracer called over the communication earpiece as she tailed the suspect from behind. “He’s rounding up the corner 200 meters ahead of me. He’ll be coming up your way, McCree.”

“Copy that, Tracer. I’m in position.”

I shared a glance with the cowboy who nodded his head. Returning his nod, I leapt away and scaled up the walls of an alleyway opposite his position.

“Incoming!”

I turned my head away with eyes shut at the signal just as the flashbang exploded. Amidst the blinding white light, tyres were screeching like panicked banshees when a heavy crash boomed. Opening my eyes, I flexed my muscles, feeling the blood rushing through me as I gripped the handle of my usual katana strapped across my back. Without the suit would it then call for my dual dagger-katana.

“Argh! Who are you guys! Don’t think that you’re going to get out of here alive!” The suspect, Jax raged.

At his words, I began to see shadows approaching from the distance on the rooftops. We were currently in a rural location. Buildings were old and rundown with walls filled with colourful graffiti. Ladders lined the walls of the alleyways and I watched as a few snipers began to take point on the roofs. Lips pursed, eyes sharp, I dashed forward a few meters and jumped off the ledge, silently landing beside one who immediately turned.

Bang!

At point blank, his shot would have landed but —

‘Denied.’

With two hands on my sword, I held it in front of my chest as the sword gleamed green when it deflected the bullet. Stepping forward, I slashed out horizontally in a wide arc, the blade cleanly slicing through his neck and I quickly ducked down low behind the ledge. A .300 caliber sniper rifle bullet instantly whizzed past my head, just shy of my hair by an inch, and I tugged the dead man’s sniper rifle out of his hands. Anchoring the rifle on the crook of my arm, I swiftly pulled the bolt out of its battery with my right arm before feeling the brass underneath my left hand’s fingertips. With a bullet in the chamber, I rested the sniper rifle on my shoulder as I took a deep breath in.

‘From the trajectory of the .300 caliber bullet, the enemy is most likely… !’

Strong and steady, I peeked over the ledge with the sniper rifle aimed and just as I deduced, there was a peach coloured ball just above the ledge some meters away, his sniper rifle trained onto me.

Bang!

I pulled the trigger just like he did, but unlike him, I was a trained ninja; A cyberised, enhanced ninja. His bullet neared me as mine neared him, but in my eyes, the silver sheen slowed to the point that its blurry silhouette sharpened. I could see the contours and metallic shine of its body, and it was in that split second that I picked up my dropped katana with my left hand and brought it before me.

Cling!

As I deflected the shot, I dashed towards my next target, pure confidence oozing out because I knew — I will never miss. Running along the ledge, I spotted the next marksman a couple of ten odd meters away, his sniper rifle aimed at my team below. Unhesitantly, I threw out a shuriken without a pause. The gun was knocked aside as he cried out and I jumped over to land onto the other side with quick lightning steps. Spinning on my heel, I stabbed my blade through and through his neck, severing the trachea and spine. Seeing no other shadows perched on the rooftops, I stood there silently with a frown. There was a prickle in my neck that told me: This wasn’t all.

“Have you secured Jax yet?” I asked the team.

“Just — about! The guy’s as slippery as an eel!” Tracer cried out over the rain of bullets.

“Affirmative.” I swept my gaze across the roofs before it sharpened.

He only saw the figure blurring into nothing the very next second and he felt the panic multiply. ‘Who the hell is he? He’s not human!’ His chubby fingers trembled against his gun, the metal rattling against the cement ledge. This wasn’t something he signed up for! He was only told to escort some old dude and that the danger was minimal, that it was only for show! ‘What is this! Those people are clearly some next level shit! Mummy!’

A gust of wind assaulted his face and he shrunk back in fear, trying to make his larger frame as small as he could. A shadow loomed overhead and he slowly craned his head up. From staring at the uneven surface of the rooftop and yelping as the sight of a pair of metal boots, before trailing up the slender, muscular body and finally fainting at spine-chilling figure fully cladded in metal who stared at him coldly through the green visor.

I lowered my katana while my frown deepened. I ignored the wet patch by the man’s pants and promptly took a step back while picking up his gun… or not, but yet I had to, because if the grass wasn’t cut and roots not pulled, it would grow back and possibly become a bigger problem in the future. Sighing, I ultimately removed his gun and made sure he was well unconscious before scouting the area. With no other enemies around, I circled back to my team, seeing them capturing and securing Jax. And that came to our prelude of luring the snake’s head out.

Upon returning to base, I was about to drag my feet through the doors when McCree pulled me back by the shoulder, trying to charm his way with that lopsided grin of his. “Hey, Genji. Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“I heard that there was a newly opened cafe not too far from here. Did you want to go and check it out?”

“No.”

“Oh, did I hear a YES? Alrighty, howdy hoo. Let’s go! Lena, you’re coming along too right!”

“Of course. Count me in!”

I groaned at my predicament.

But… I’m glad McCree dragged me there. Because there hidden away, was the one person I was looking for.

~*~*~

Ding!

“Good afternoon! Welcome to Mercy’s Apothecary! How may I help you today?”

A smile as beautiful as I remembered, dazzling and blinding in my eyes, and I stood there, mouth agape in shock like a green coloured goldfish. I lifted a shaky finger at her, lips quivering. I blinked, hard. But she was still there, standing in all her glory before me. Her blonde hair was not in her usual ponytail but hanging loosely around her neck with a slight curl at the end. Her glasses sat comfortably atop her head, and with her standing in a white blouse and black pencil skirt, she looked as fresh as a white lotus in full bloom.

I turned to look at McCree and Tracer, eyebrows furrowed into a deep ‘V’ as my fury was about to materialise when I saw their stunned expressions as well.

It would seem like they hadn’t known either.

“Pardon me. Is everything all right? Is it a table for three?”

I turned my head back towards her, my eyes zoning in onto her nametag. Sure enough, it did read ‘Angela’, but was it our Angela Ziegler? Taking a step forward, I summoned the courage to ask, “If I be so rude as to ask, would your name be Angela Ziegler?”

“Huh? How do you know my name?”

And it was that one sentence that shattered my hopes. With a bitter smile on my face, I shook my head and said, “It was just a lucky guess.” But how many people were actually named Ziegler? “And yes, a table for three, please.”

A tense silence pervaded our table as us three watched Angela’s back disappear behind the counter after handing us the menus.

“Was that really Dr. Ziegler?” Tracer asked incredulously.

“It… would seem so.” McCree laid back on his chair with his mouth slightly open. “Why is she here?”

The both of them trained their eyes on me simultaneously and I raised my scarf to cover my mouth. “I don’t know.” I glanced at her happily working by the counter. “She looks happy.”

The two chorused their agreements.

“Anyhow, let’s just order something first!” Tracer chirped.

Awhile later, Angela came back with her pen and pad. “Are you ready for your orders?”

I faintly heard both McCree and Tracer ordered a meal each, but I couldn’t stop staring at her. The way her hair bounced with her steps and the pearly whites peeking beneath her pink lips. I saw her head turn towards me and I panicked, instantly sitting straight and forcing on a smile.

“And for you?” she asked.

“Surprise me.”

With a nod, she noted everything down and left. At that point, I finally relaxed and slumped against the car. Why? Just why?

Did she really not remember anything?

When she returned, I smelled the familiar scent of green tea pervading my senses and I looked up at her. Pointing at the cup she placed before me, she introduced, “That’s Antibiotica. A special blend of green tea leaves for you.”

“Thank you.”

I couldn’t help the soft smile that sneaked onto my face, even if it was hidden behind my scarf. Even though it was not the usual alcoholic coffee, holding the familiar green tea was enough to relax my senses. Pulling my scarf down, I took a sip. “It’s delicious.”

I watched her stare at me silently and I quirked an eyebrow. Catching my stare, her smile widened as she flushed red. “Perfect. Call me if you need anything else.”

“Will do.”

Looking down at my tea, I gently swirled it around as I recollected my thoughts. Was she well? What happened to her that caused her disappearance? And all my plans of asking her out had just flown out the window. She didn’t even remember me. She will most definitely not even remember any of the times we’ve spent together… No more sneaking through the windows, no more dinners with coffee… And she was definitely not there to watch my back out in the field either.

I flinched when a pang attacked my heart. It was a pain that I’m so familiar with yet wished I wasn’t.

Watching Angela laugh with her colleague, all thoughts blanked out. Her colleague was a short Asian girl with similar designed spectacles and hair styled in an updo, and Angela really did look happy working here.

I suppose, it didn’t hurt to visit more often.

…

And that I did.

For the next three weeks, I frequently visited the cafe and today, it was fully decked out with bouquets in hues of purple and white. The buds were small and dainty with leaves larger than a whole stem of them.

“Good morning, Genji,” Angela beamed. “The usual today?”

“Yes, please. Good morning to you too, Angela.” In these three weeks, I’ve finally accustomed myself to never being remembered by her and I’ve accepted that fact. But no, I’ve not given up. If I could make her care for me before, I’m sure I can do it again. “What’s the theme today?” I motioned towards the flowers.

“Heliotropes. Ana just harvested a fresh bunch of them this morning and so I bought them and decorated the cafe like this. They have a special meaning of eternal love. Lovely, aren’t they?”

“Mhmm, they are.” I thanked her and accepted the cup of Antibiotica as she also placed a sandwich before me.

“On the house. It’s always good to eat breakfast to start off your day.”

Grinning, I leaned forward and said. “Then I should come here more often in the mornings. Feed me so that I stay strong throughout the day.”

Her laughter sounded like a love song in my head and it brought upon a wave of laughter from myself too. “You’re already strong. Even without my sandwiches.”

“But yours are naturally the best.” I winked and took a bite. “Absolutely the best.”

“Haha, they’re just simple ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches.” As her giggles died down, she continued, “But I’m glad you love them.”

The cafe was quiet today with only a couple of other patrons drinking their coffee and reading the papers. We continued in silence for awhile and I ignored her staring in favour of my sandwich. It’s been like that for some time now. I wonder if my scars irked her. Did she find them ugly? After all, she’s no longer the same Dr. Ziegler that saved my life.

“Say, Genji…”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

My hand flew to my mouth as I nearly spat my tea out. Coughing, I felt the burn in my throat and nose as I patted my chest. I was definitely not expecting that! “N-No, I don’t. Why?”

“Hmm… Oh, nothing.”

But I could tell from her voice that there was something. With a sigh, I traced the rim of my cup. “I wished I did. Do you want to hear a story?” Seeing her eager nod, I bitterly chuckled and stared at my hands before pulling at my long sleeves to cover them up, the sight somehow suddenly ghastly and nauseating. “I used to have a crush on this woman. She was beautiful — inside and outside. She was so kind and caring. And she was a great doctor.”

Angela nodded her head as I spoke, yet I saw nothing but flashbacks of my memories. From the time in the pattering rain of when she found me, bloodied and about to die, to the fury and denials I held in Blackwatch, to then the soft, tender memories of dinner and coffee.

“You know, I wanted to ask her out. Like formally ask her out. But one day, she just disappeared.” I lifted my head to look at her before quickly turning away, afraid that she’d see the agonised love I had for her through my eyes. It felt like I’ve loved her forever and despite her memory loss, I’ve not lost one bit of it.

“You must really love her.” She softly whispered, just barely audible for me to hear, even with my enhanced hearing.

“Yeah,” I breathed out. “Forever, if I could.”

On that very same day, I found myself returning to the cafe before it closed. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt like I had to come. I just had to.

“Genji?” Angela walked over with another cup of Antiobiotica. “That doctor lover of yours couldn’t have been a Ziegler too right?”

Thunder struck me. Jumping out of my seat, I held her shoulders as desperation shone. “You remember? Did you finally remember?”

I deflated when she refused to say a word while stubbornly staring at the floorboards, causing me to reluctantly release my hold and staggered back to my seat. “O-Oh. I’m sor-sorry. I thought you did.”

Seeing no other customers coming in, she took the seat next to me and gingerly held my hand. I relished in her cool fingertips tracing the scars of what was left of the human part of me when she suddenly lifted it to her lips. Shivers trailed up my spine as heat crept onto my cheeks.

“It was nice remembering you.”

I gulped. “So you do remember me?” Fear was evident. Ugily mashed with hope and desperation.

She shook her head. “No, but I remember loving you.”

Eternal love? But how long was forever? Sometimes, just one second.

#gencyweek #gency week #gw5 day 2 #overwatch fanfic #gency fic #gency au

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ancientbooshartifacts · 5 years ago

Text

A Couple of Gofficks

Author: The_Leechwife

Year: 2006

Rating: PG

Pairing: Vince/Richmond

Tonight, his jeans had clearly been painted on, and his hair back-combed to such staggering proportions that there had been reports of a localised eclipse over Camden, yet despite this, the girls were paying him very little attention. Anthrax and Ebola lounged against the bar, their languid eyes glazed with the usual expressions of stoical boredom. Their indifference to Vince Noir was quite inexplicable, he was looking ravishing; he knew it, everyone else clearly knew it, what was going on? Clearly they had developed an irreversible taste for undersized shamans and their simian sidekicks, or they were lesbians. Without a backwards glance, the girls wandered off towards the dance floor, where they began a sort of hypnotic shimmying routine around one another, evidently designed to make Vince as frustrated as possible. He turned back to the bar and called to the rubber-clad creature of indeterminate sex who was serving that night. “I’ll have… woah, I’ll have whatever he’s having!” As he was leaning over the bar, Vince had caught sight of an elegant, Byronic figure leaning over the other end of the bar almost like a mirror image. The vision in black wore a silk top hat and intricate eyeliner, and clutched a long cane topped with an alchemist’s skull; he was the second loveliest creature Vince had ever seen. Their eyes met for a second and widened in mutual astonishment. Vince collected his drink and checked his hair (flawless, of course) in the mirror over the bar before he navigated his way through the pallid crowd and sauntered over to the fine piece of gothic booty he had sighted. He was slightly taken aback when his new quarry, upon observing his approach, struck a bizarre pose of exaggerated surprise, but Vince decided that was probably just how they did things in these places. He decided to present himself all the same. “Obsidian. Obsidian Blackbird McNight.” He delicately offered his hand to the man, who took it and executed a hesitant bow. “Um… Richmond. At your service.” Richmond straightened up and smiled sheepishly. “Erm… I love your hair, Obsidian.” “Thanks.” Vince patted his barnet, “I like yours too. It’s not as good as mine obviously-“ Vince had to consciously stop himself from going off on a hair tangent. “You come here often?” “Actually I don’t, I’m normally quite reclusive, but I pop in occasionally. Not sure about the music in here, do you think they do requests.” “Yeah, probably. What do you fancy?” “Might go and ask for some Cradle of Filth.” “Cradle of Filth?” “Oh yes, it’s mainly just screaming over guitars, but there’s a brutal poetry to it that’s really quite moving.” “You can’t really dance to it though, can you.” “I wouldn’t say it’s for dancing, so much as inducing a painful catharsis.” Vince concluded that this Richmond character, though undeniably very pretty, had been out of society a little too long. He decided to take it upon himself to reacquaint the gentleman with the concept of a good time. “Tell you what, why don’t you go and ask for that, and I’ll get us some drinks?” “Oh, thanks.” Vince watched Richmond drift off to the DJ booth. He downed the drink he had ordered only moments before and called to the bar-creature again. What was the most goth drink in existence? Of course! “Absinthe!” Richmond glanced over his shoulder at the back of Vince’s head. Had he just pulled? Working nights, he didn’t get out much, and had half forgotten how these things were done. It made him nervous. He looked round at Vince again as the goth fairy shifted his weight from one leg to the other. It was like two peaches fighting in a denim bag, a very tight denim bag. He could go for some of that. When he returned to the bar he found Vince holding four shot glasses precariously and beckoning him to a booth seat in a discreet corner. “… And I’ve been languishing in that basement ever since.” Richmond finished his slurred lament and found that Vince was actually still listening, even though perhaps he wasn’t that interested. This was new. “You’ve got to, y’know, make your presence felt a bit more. Self-promotion, y’know?” Vince had slid down in his seat slightly and his eyes were misty with intoxication. He had plenty of practice when it came to listening to people going on about stuff he wasn’t really interested in, and it was almost a pleasure with this guy because he was so open; he wasn’t hiding something with all this make-up, really, he just wanted to be understood. It made Vince feel slightly guilty about giving his ‘goth’ name. “You don’t think it was making my presence felt too much that got me down there in the first place?” “No, ‘course not, look at you. Nothin’ wrong with that.” Richmond might have blushed under the white foundation. “'Tell the truth,” Vince went on, “you’re not my usual type, but you’ve got it, y’know?” Richmond hadn’t giggled in about two years, and quite startled himself when he realised he’d just done it. The music and drink had muffled everything in his head so that his own voice sounded strange, and he liked it. Coupled with Obsidian’s overwhelming presence it was almost as if he was alone with him, despite the packed room. “That’s exactly what I thought about you, but I couldn’t have said it.” Then as an after thought, he added, “What is your usual type?” Richmond was taken aback again when he saw how shy Vince looked when he answered. “Sort of, tall… and preferably with some sort of moustache going on.” “Me too!” “Wow!” Vince leaned closer and let his fingers creep across the table to rest on Richmond’s hand, smudging the stamp of ink the barman had put there when he decided he couldn’t legally give them anymore absinthe. “Anyone special?” “Well, there is this guy I work with.” “Me too!” “It’s uncanny!” Richmond leaned closer too, expectant. -It's cold outside And the paint's peeling off of my walls Vince’s eyes suddenly cleared as familiar synth notes permeated the layers of hairspray and alcohol that protected his brain. “This is my song!” he cried, grabbing Richmond’s hand and pulling him to the dance floor. Richmond drew a few stares of derision from the other dancers when he immediately began to pull a truly bewildering array of shapes, but Vince looked on with renewed respect. Here was a man he could really dance with. Before long, the floor had all but cleared to make room for the two of them, who had launched into an impromptu dance-off, busting moves for all they were worth. The room was divided into the awed and the resentful, but Richmond and Vince were oblivious as they threw a series of extravagant and potentially lethal poses. The song changed, but they were too busy digging each other’s moves to stop, and kept it up for eight more tracks, including the entire extended version of Temple of Love. Eventually they bought more drinks and sat down again, sweaty and breathless. Richmond’s makeup had run slightly, giving him a sultry, smoky-eyed look as he gazed at Vince over his glass. Vince was shining and flushed, and adorably tousled. “You can dance, I’ll give you that.” Vince beamed. Richmond smiled modestly, “You’re not so bad yourself.” “Comes of growing up in the jungle, I’m a natural mover.” Emboldened, if a little dizzy, Richmond snaked his arm along the back of the seat and brushed his fingers against Vince’s earlobe. Vince in turn stretched his legs across Richmond’s lap and took hold of his lapels, pulling him closer. “Obsidian…” Richmond whispered. “Please, call me Vince.” They leaned close, smiling, and sank into a heady, aniseed-flavoured kiss. Vince was pleasantly surprised to find that some of Richmond’s skills weren’t quite as rusty as others, as a pale hand worked its way up his thigh. He deftly unbuttoned Richmond’s dapper jacket and slipped his hands inside his shirt, eliciting a soft moan as Richmond gently lowered Vince backwards, caressing his lustrous hair with inquisitive fingers. The pair were almost horizontal on the seat when they became aware of someone shouting Vince’s name impatiently. Reluctantly, they pulled away and looked up to see Anthrax and Ebola glaring down at them. “Can I help you?” Vince asked, a wide grin on his face. “Who’s this? I thought you were here with us?” Ebola wore an indignant expression, clearly more used to being the one who did the brushing off. Richmond’s face fell when he saw a probability of not being able to take Vince home. “Anthrax, Ebola, this is Richmond, who I’ll be leaving with tonight.” “Really?” Richmond broke into a smile again. “Of course, you daft bumbaclart.” Vince took hold of Richmond’s cravat and kissed him hard. “Well, we might just go home with each other then.” Anthrax rested her had on Ebola’s hip. “Good. Do.” “Fine. We will.” The boys barely noticed them leave as Vince pulled himself astride Richmond and began to unbuckle his belt, heedless of the club now emptying for the night. Richmond’s hands wandered from Vince’s hips and up under his tight black t-shirt, sending shivers across his slender torso. "This is neither the time or the place, boys, save it for later." Richmond peered round Vince to see a surly-faced bouncer staring them down. They stumbled to their feet and, throwing a coquettish smile to the bouncer, Vince took Richmond's arm and led him out of the club. They could barely take their hands off each other long enough to get into the taxi. When they got back to Richmond’s house, Vince discovered that, though you couldn’t dance to Cradle of Filth, there were other things you could do.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #the it crowd #it crowd #vince noir #richmond avenal #vince noir/richmond avenal

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ewze · 6 years ago

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@mushroomminded i hope you will accept this humble offering, and also wow, i am sorry for how little Matt there is. i don’t know what happened, Edd just decided he wanted Attention. D:

(hostage video from my whump bingo)

smile for the camera, part 2 (ao3)

Matt’s been gone for eight days.

They hadn’t noticed, not at first. Not until the sun had set and Edd was making dinner, and Matt’s seat was empty and vacant, and that’s when the worry had started.

It’s been eight days.

Eight days of searching and talking to the police, of putting up missing posters and talking to the neighbours, and Edd is tired.

It’s been eight days, when the doorbell rings.

Edd’s splayed out on the couch, Ringo curled up by his side, and a part of him doesn’t want to move- Tom’s upstairs, locked himself away in his room, and the house is quiet and hollow.

The doorbell continues ringing.

“Fine,” he mutters, raises his hands to press them against his eyes. Ringo trills, raising her head to peer up at him, and even now, the sight makes Edd smile.

“It’s okay baby” he says, gently scratching her head. “Just the door.”

The doorbell rings again, loud and annoying, and Edd rolls his eyes, forces himself up: “I’m coming!” he shouts, and Ringo curls her tail around herself, watches him pad to the door with half-lidded eyes. “Calm down, jeez.”

He opens the door, a greeting half-formed on his tongue, and goes stock still when he sees who’s behind it.

It’s Tord.

It can’t be anyone but Tord- swoopy hair and flat eyes, and a stupid anime-esque coat, and for a long, long second, Edd can’t do anything but stare.

The right side of Tord’s face is a mess of straggly scars and torn skin, and there’s a clump in Edd’s throat, emotions he can’t quite pin down churning in his gut.

Anger. Relief. Something sharp and bitter, that cuts at his chest and wraps its claws around his heart.

“Tord,” he says, and it comes out flat, hollow.

Tord inclines his head. “Edd.”

For a while, they just look at each other- there’s a tension between them, something palpable Edd doesn’t particularly want to face.

“It’s a bad time,” he says instead, and Tord nods, like he knows.

“That’s why I’m here,” Tord says, and looks over his shoulder- it’s the first time Edd really registers that Tord’s not alone. That there’s another, vaguely familiar looking guy there, clad in the same uniform Tord is wearing, a cigarette unlit between his teeth. “It’s about Matt.”

Edd snaps his eyes back to Tord. Feels a rush of something acid well up in his gut, swell up in his throat like bile.

“What did you do,” he snarls, and he’s stepping forward, closing in- he itches to curl his fingers in Tord’s uniform, to shake him, to peel away this- this imposter and get the real Tord back, and that’s the mess of it, isn’t it?

Tord stabbed them in the back, and Edd still misses him.

“I-” for a second, Tord looks genuinely surprised at the accusations. And then it’s gone, back behind a flat expression, like there’s nothing in his head, and Tord straightens his spines and says: “It would be easier to show you, than try and explain it. May we come in?”

No, Edd wants to say. Except this is about Matt, so Edd forces himself to step back, to let them in.

“I’ll get Tom,” he says, and doesn’t look back as he hurries up the stairs.

Getting Tom down takes nothing more than a “it’s about Matt,” and then they’re all collected in the living room, and it’s familiar, painfully so.

All they need is Matt, and it’d be like it used to be.

“What is it,” Tom says, hunched in up himself, all prickly and sharp. His eyes are glued to Tord, and it’s not a good kind. It’s the kind that’s the uptick to a storm, to a fight- and normally Edd would have broken that up, but why should he do that now? What does it matter?

He sighs. Leans back in the couch, and wishes Matt was here- wishes Matt hadn’t disappeared at all, because then Tord wouldn’t have been here, and everything would have been fine.

Tord and the guy trades glances. Their faces are grim, serious, and Edd hadn’t really thought about that, but now it’s-

“Tord,” he sits up, and there’s a twist in his gut again, something not related to Tord at all. “What’s going on?”

Tord sighs. His shoulders drop, his face softens into emotions. He looks haggard, looks worried. And the twist in Edd’s gut worsens into something live and sick, heavy with dread and threads of fear.

“Seven days ago, I got a picture.”

Tord looks away from them. Looks out the window, at the streets, and Edd knows, suddenly and clearly, what’s happened to Matt.

“It was Matt. He was- he was bloodied and bound and I didn’t-” Tord’s voice breaks.

He shudders in a breath, closes his eyes. There’s smears of shadows beneath his eyes, lines on his face.

“Yesterday, we got a video.”

The guy steps forward; holds up a disk, and inserts it into the video player, and there’s a whirr of electronics, a flutter of movement as he turns on the TV and then it hisses on, and there’s Matt.

Tom jolts- nearly launches himself off the couch, and there’s a heavy, prickling feel to the air around him, something angry and protective and worried.

Because Matt is a mess.

His nose is broken, twisted to the side, and there’s dried blood stained all over his hoodie, lining the shapes of his face. His eyes are blown wide, and there’s a fear in them that makes Edd’s throat close up, makes his tears sting.

“T-t-Tord,” Matt says, and his voice is stuttering, falling over itself. He’s missing a tooth, and he winces, like speaking is physically painful. “He isn’t, uh, happy, with you ign-ignoring him. Please don’t-” he shudders, blinks his eyes. There’s tears gathering there. “Please. You ha-have to respond, plea-please, Tord-”

A shadow falls over Matt- who flinches, an actual violent give of his body, and he holds up his hands, shaking.

“S-s-ssorry, sorry, please d-d-on’t-” there’s blood stained along his hands too, and the shadow steps into the camera’s view, and takes the form of a tall, dark-haired man, who’s smiling almost amicably.

The video pauses.

“His name is Jason,” Tord says, voice quiet and empty once more. “I don’t know exactly what his issue with me is, but he has Matt.”

The video doesn’t start again. Instead silence stretches out, and Edd realises his hands are curled so tightly together there’s half-moon marks in his palms.

“That’s not the end of the video,” Tom says. There’s a thick strain to his voice, like he’s trying to reign himself in.

Like he’s trying not to launch across the room and beat Tord into a pulp.

Tord hesitates.

Trades another glance with the other guy, and then slowly shakes his head.

“It’s- you don’t want to see that.”

“Turn it back on,” Tom says.

“Tom,” Tord steps closer, and his face is- it’s open and bare, and there’s something there, something horrified, and it’s like he’s trying to protect them. “You don’t want to experience that. Trust me.”

And Tom is up- is moving, and he’s in Tord’s face in the blink of an eye, hands fisted in his uniform, teeth bared. “Except I fucking don’t!”

“You betrayed us, Tord!” he snaps, and they’re nose to nose. “And don’t think I didn’t hear what Matt said- you ignored it, didn’t you? Ignored him when he needed you, so tell me-” he lets go, abrupt and sudden, so angry he’s shaking. “Why should I trust you?”

Tord can’t answer.

“Just play it,” Edd says, and he knows he sounds faint- sounds scared. “Please Tord. We need to see it.”

And Tord gives.

Edd can see it, in the way his shoulders slump and how he looks away; how he presses a hand to his mouth, and it’s the first time Edd realises his right hand is mechanic, is a prosthetic, and that’s just another thing, isn’t it- another wound to hide and ignore.

“Okay,” Tord says, and gestures to his soldier.

The video hiccups back to life.

The man- Jason- rounds Matt’s side, claps a hand on his shoulder; Matt flinches, breath strangling in his throat.

“That was good,” he says, and he sounds upbeat. “But it’s not over yet.”

And just like that he hauls Matt upright, and Matt whines, fear clear on his face, and he’s being dragged off camera, and he’s begging, Edd realises. A stream of panicked words, stumbling into each other, and Edd can barely hear it over the rush in his head.

“Now!” Jason proclaims, and there’s a rustle of movement- Matt, begging and whining and sounding so fucking terrified. “You might be wondering what I’m doing. But, you see-” and there’s a patter of feet, and the camera turns. “There must be a punishment for your mistakes, Tord.”

Matt’s laid out on a table. A clean, big, steel table, and his right arm is stretched out horizontally, buckled down with tight straps. All of him is buckled down, in fact- his legs, his other arm, his throat and midriff. He’s completely strapped to the table.

“What is-” Tom’s voice is faint. Horrified.

Jason steps back into the camera’s view, and he’s holding a saw.

“No,” Edd says, below his breath, the word taken out of him. “No, no-”

But there’s no stopping this- Jason doesn’t pause, doesn’t drag it out. He just walks right up to Matt, brushes his knuckles across his cheek, and then grips the flesh just above Matt’s elbow with one hand.

“Not gonna count to three, pretty boy,” he says, almost fondly, and Matt sobs, shakes his head, and Edd can see the frantic twist of it, strands of hair tangling together.

And without warning- without preparation, Jason places the saw at the place just below Matt’s elbow, and cuts.

Matt screams.

He screams, toe-curlingly and hoarse, and Edd claps his hands over his ears, hunches down, because this is sick, this is horrible-

Matt is screaming, and it’s ringing in Edd’s head, in his bones, and Matt’s voice is shaking, and Edd can’t-

He looks up.

Matt is trying to arch his back off the table, and there’s blood running rivets down the table, and there’s a noise- the sound of cutting into meat, of flesh tearing and breaking, and bile burns in Edd’s throat.

Jason laughs, and he leans back slightly, grin so wide it fills his face with teeth. “Wow, this is- a lot harder than I expected!” he says, and lifts his hand from Matt’s flesh.

He reaches out, pats Matt’s cheek- leaves smears of fresh, red blood on his face, and Matt is sobbing, gasping for breath.

“How long?” Edd forces out, throat tight with horror and the need to vomit.

Tord looks at him- Jason goes back to sawing, and this time there’s the sound of actual sawing, and Matt makes a weird, strangled sound, like the scream is catching in his throat.

“Not long,” Tord says, and Jason laughs- he’s cutting into bone now, and Edd can see the flash of white beneath red and pink, and the table is wet with blood, and it’s dripping over the edges, splattering across the ground.

Matt stops screaming. Instead he just makes strangled, choking noises, and his left hand is clawing at the table- his nails are missing, Edd realises, almost emptily, and Matt’s leaving red streaks along the table, long claws marks from his fingers.

Edd feels numb.

Tom is quiet beside him, and Edd knows that he’s tense as a spring, is digging his claws into the couch and ripping it up.

He can’t really care.

There’s a- snap. Or a crack or something, and Jason pulls back, laughs loud and bright and-

It’s over.

The bone saw clatters against the ground as Jason throws it aside, and then, like it’s funny, he reaches down to pull up Matt’s arm.

He waves it at the camera.

“Don’t ignore me again, Tord boy,” he says, smiling, and Matt isn’t making any sound, is just lying there, bleeding out on the table, and the video stops.

Just like that.

Edd lifts his hands. Presses them to his mouth, and he can barely feel the touch of it; can barely feel his palms against his lips, can barely feel anything.

“This is your fault.”

Tord doesn’t even flinch.

Tom draws himself up- slow, fluid. His presence is heavy, thick. He’s angry. Furious. Edd should stop him.

Edd doesn’t, because he’s too busy hunching over his knees, breath shaking in his chest, shuddering in his ears.

“This is your fault!” Tom screams, and launches himself clear across the room, collides with Tord in a flurry of movement- the soldier draws out a gun, quick as the blink of an eye, and Edd can’t breathe.

“You did this!” Tom’s got Tord on the ground, has him pinned down, and he’s not even hitting him- just screaming in his face, tears dripping down his face. “You killed Matt, you killed Jon, you- you’re toxic! This is your fault!”

Edd can feel the warmth of his breath against his palms, can feel the rise and fall of his chest- but there’s no air, nothing but empty space and Matt’s dead.

Matt’s dead.

There’s a strangled sound in his chest, a pitch rising in his bones. He’s crying, he thinks, because there’s wetness on his knuckles, and Edd feels the way his mouth shapes itself into a scream.

“Edd-” there’s a hand on him, an almost-familiar voice in his ear. “Edd, breathe.”

He shakes his head. Wishes he could tell the stranger that he can’t- that there’s no air, that his lungs aren’t working. That Matt’s dead.

“Tord,” the voice says, and it’s sharp, serious. “Edd’s having a panic attack.”

“Fuck- I can’t move, Paul-”

The hand on his shoulder leaves, and for a second Edd is lost- there’s nothing there, just him and the lack of air, the great emptiness ballooning out in his chest and eating him whole, and-

Then there’s two hands on his wrists, a gentle murmur in his head.

“It’s okay,” the voice says. “You need to breathe, Edd- you’re having a panic attack.”

He shakes his head. “C-c-can’t-”

The hands on his wrist gently tugs his palms away from his mouth, and he shudders, vaguely aware of his body hitching around him.

“Can you try? You need to breathe in for four seconds, Edd. I can show you.”

His hand is pressed up against someone’s chest, and he knows this- he knows what he’s supposed to do, he-

He nods his head.

“Okay. Follow my lead.”

And he breathes in- the chest beneath Edd’s hand rises, slow and steady, and Edd tries to copy it, to follow along, and it burns in his chest, hurts-

The chest beneath his palm falls, and Edd exhales, shudders.

Inhale.

Exhale.

He doesn’t know how long it takes. His world fades out into nothing but this; but breathing, in and out, and eventually there’s air in his lungs, and cotton in his head, and Edd sways back into awareness, a palm on the soldier’s chest.

He blinks.

The soldier looks back at him, steady as can be.

“You’re Paul,” Edd says, vaguely aware he must sound woozy and disoriented. Which works, because that’s how he feels.

Paul snorts. “Yeah,” he says, and lets go off Edd’s wrist. “Nice to meet you, Edd.”

Edd almost smiles, almost feel a brush of something content, when he remembers- the video, the blood, Matt-

“Matt-!” he strangles out, and he stumbles upright- nearly falls right back again, if it weren’t for Paul surging up to catch him and steady him. “What- is he-?”

“Matt’s alive.”

Edd peers over Paul’s shoulder, and stares, almost surprised but too tired to really feel it, down at Tord and Tom.

Because they’re still on the floor- Tord sitting upright, a palm against the floor, and Tom is curled up in his lap like a child, back curved and shoulders to his ears, fingers buried in Tord’s uniform.

Edd blinks.

Tord looks evenly back at him, and his uniform is torn with claw marks, small holes where Tom dug in his claws and tore- but there are no bruises on his face, no blood, and Edd can feel the barest brush of bemusement, hidden beneath the turmoil in his gut.

“How do you know that?” he asks, because Tom and Tord’s weird cuddle adventure isn’t particularly important. “The video-”

“Jason assured me,” Tord says, and it sounds flat. “Sent another picture and all.”

Edd bites his lips.

Tord sighs. His face softens, and there’s genuine sadness there, now. Regret.

“Edd, we’re going to get him back.”

Edd looks away. Thinks of the way Matt had flinched, had looked- thinks of the noise he had made, there at the end, and he doesn’t say anything, because it doesn’t matter.

“Okay,” he says, and it’s soft and sad, and Edd knows they won’t ever really get Matt back.

Not after that.

#eddsworld #badthingshappenbingo #myfics

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