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sabraeal · 1 year ago

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The Strong Pack Thrives, Part 2

[Read on AO3]

Obiyukiweek 2023, Day 7: Consummation

Fuck, but he’s an idiot.

His hips grind into the mattress, but there’s no relief to be found there, not when down gives so easily beneath the weight of his thrust. And yet, Obi still rubs himself against the sheets, the pillows, trying scrub the shivers from his bones. Sir told him once that a dying man could take poison for water if thirst is what held the knife to his throat, and ah, he’s starved enough that silk could be taken for skin. Especially when her scent still lingers on his, when all he needs it is to close his eyes and he can remember her taste.

Haah, that carriage— that had been a mistake. To have let himself scent her so deeply it sunk into his bones, sinking his teeth so close to where instinct begged him to bite— that perfume might have brought him to the edge of a rut so heady it took every last ounce of his willpower to not take his relief in the first willing body, but that doesn’t excuse that. Not when he’s been courting this rut for months now, ever since he’d come back from Sereg. Ever since she let him pull her close, burying his nose in her throat, right over where her scent lay thickest. Ever since she clutched him just as tight and murmured, welcome home.

Ah, if she had only known how close he’d come that morning on the road to Wirant. She’d slipped into his room smelling like she was fresh from the oven, apple and spice and vanilla all over, standing too close and speaking far too kindly to a mutt like him. It’d been Master who made the difference then, just one wall away, close enough that even Obi could bring himself to heel. By the skin of his teeth, but it was enough.

She wouldn’t have sat so close then. Wouldn’t have allowed him to talk her right onto his lap. Wouldn’t have let him put his fingers in her, bringing her right up to that sweet edge he knew she’d been skirting. To let him soak his cock with her slick and tease her right over it.

Stupid of him to think he could be playful about this, to think he could saunter right up to the cliff's edge and then walk away unscathed. To think that there would be no consequences for tempting his own worst nature. They’d been sitting in that parlor tonight— no, last night, now, from the way light spills from the edges of his curtains— Miss among all those males, sitting next to Kiki radiating satisfaction and frustration in equal measure…

It had done something to him. Awoken it, dark and ugly. All he’d been able to think about was snatching the plate from her hands and feeding her himself. About how her legs would dangle from his lap when he dragged her into it, pliant as he tore each tender morsel between his fingers, shoving it between her lips and showing all these males just whose mate—

Obi springs himself free with a shuddering gasp, cock jutting up from the mess of the sleep trousers Eisetsu left for him, so hard even the air makes him hiss. He’s only rutted the once, back when he was little more than a boy, hardly old enough to know alpha from omega, but it'd taught him that there’s no relief to be found in his hand. And yet, it’s all he has. That, and the memory of how Miss had stared at him across that carriage once all was said and done, eyeing his cock like she would swallow it whole if he gave her half a reason—

Ah, well, he’s happy enough to give her one, even if it’s only in his head.

There’s an irrationality that comes with heat, an all-consuming urge to hide and breed that tends to make those who suffer it irritable— and in the worst cases, paranoid— in the days leading up to its onset. An urge to nest too, even suppressed, to cozen themselves in warrens so dark and humid that clothes quickly become oppressive inside them. Tight too, like being in the womb again; only enough room to sleep and breed and maybe eat, if its occupants remember.

At least, so she’s heard. Betas don’t suffer them with any regularity. Maybe once or twice in a lifetime, and mostly with mates who fall to either side of the more extreme inclinations. Shirayuki’s experience only comes second hand, through patients, mostly, though Yuzuri had let herself have that one, disastrous heat a winter or so back, leading to a bunch of Lilias scholars having fisticuffs out on the quad while she and Suzu wearily watched, just so they could report back who had won.

Fought best, Yuzuri insisted, curled up in a half dozen blankets, flushed from the excitement. It’s okay if they aren’t the last one standing.

It’s enough though, to know: that isn’t what’s happening to her. With her head buried between her knees, skirt so full it casts the chamber her body forms in full darkness, the air inside humid from her tears, all Shirayuki can think is that it smells wrong. Not unpleasant, like turned milk or some of Suzu’s more poorly tended experiments, but different. The way it is when she first walks into her dormitory after a long trip, and she can suddenly smell her own scent. Only—

Only it’s too much. Not just an everyday scent uncovered, but stronger, louder. The way it had been when Wistal had switched from packing their bedding with sprigs of lavender instead of lilac. Only it’s everywhere, in every room she enters; as if the whole world was yelling at a frequency only her nose could perceive.

And more than that, there is this…this rage within her now, simmering beneath the surface of her skin. No, a hunger, one that goads her to claw and tear and bite, to fill up this gaping hole within her with something, anything so that it might finally be sated. If instinct compels omegas to hide, then she must be what they hide from, since all she wants is to hold down and take.

It gnaws at her now, growling at her to get on her feet. Get up, it tells her, roiling deep in her stomach. Get up and go back to those fools. Rend their curtains. Smash their fine platters. Let them all know that he belongs to—

Her breath catches, nails digging deep into her kneecaps. That’s not— she isn’t— he doesn’t—

“Shirayuki?”

Her head jerks up from where it rests, gaze skittering over the hall until it falls on where Ryuu lingers a few strides away, uncertain.

“O-oh, Ryuu!” It’s on trembling legs she tries to rise, and she gets no farther than hiking her bottom and inch off the carpet. Ah, for as much as that strange anger in her whispers its promises, it seems her body isn’t in any rush to rise to the occasion. “Did you leave breakfast to check on me?”

“No.” His eyes dart guiltily to the wainscoting. “I wasn’t hungry.”

Impossible. At his age, Ryuu could probably eat most of Eisetsu’s breakfast spread and still have plenty of room for seconds. And he’d fallen into a stupor last night before the staff coulds even roll out a dinner cart, refusing to be roused. His stomach must be a growl away from falling in on itself like wolves in the lean season.

“How thoughtful of you to look after me.” Her praise paints a streak of pink across the pale stretch of his cheeks, his eyes skittering down the hall to fix on something, anything other than her. “But I promise, there’s no need to worry. I think I was just…”

If Shirayuki is honest, she has no idea what she was just, but that’s hardly a problem for Ryuu to solve. “…Tired, I think. It was a long night.”

“I wasn’t coming out because of…” His mouth furrows into a tangle, unable to work itself past the lie. “I wasn’t hungry,” he tries again, frustration sharpening the syllables. “So I thought I might bring Obi his sandwich.”

He shifts, arm swinging forward at the same time his hips turn, giving her a glimpse of two plates, edges arranged to kiss so that the dip to their respective feet makes a small chamber. Where Obi’s sandwich resides, she presumes.

“I thought he must be hungry,” Ryuu explains evenly. “Since…”

He hesitates, stiff as a deer caught in a wolf’s stare. Of course, because if Obi is hungry, it’s from last night’s adventure. And for all the fear and urgency that had churned in her breast, as palpable a pressure as a hand on her neck, Ryuu—

Ryuu had lived it. Been battered and bruised, mistreated like precious cargo in an uneven cart, a burden until the knife had been pressed to his neck, making his life a thing to be bartered on good behavior. And worse still, when the threat had switched to a stranger’s throat, her life in his hands as firmly as if he held the blade himself.

There had always been risk in their line of work. Benign as Lilias’s pandemic had been, it brought home a simple truth: any patient that walked through the door might be the one who dealt them their death. The winter flu took a handful of lives each year, as did infection; all things a pharmacist could catch and carry and take to bed with in short order. But there was a difference between a gamble stacked in his favor, undertaken willfully, and—

And to be kidnapped from a place he thought himself safe, separated from any presence that might give him comfort, and then forced to choose between what he knew to be right and a woman’s life.

“Here.” Concern steadies her, rising to her feet with only the barest sway. “Let me.”

His eyes pulse wide, arm curling protectively around his plates. The faintest, astringent scent of fear curls off him, itching her nose. “I-I’m not sure that that’s…er…”

“You didn’t get to eat last night.” With an encouraging smile, she holds out her hand. “It’s really no trouble at all.”

In fact, now that she’s offered, that hungry part of her quiets. Instead, satisfaction takes its place, thrumming and warm where it curls in her belly. It would be nice to take that food to him, to know that both boys were taken care of. That she had arranged it so they were.

His jaw works, body curling around his prize. “I think it would be better if I went to see him. It’s…ah, he…mm…”

Impatient cracks through her, as quick and unstoppable like lightning to a weather vane. “Ryuu, give it to me.”

He flinches hard enough the dishes rattle in his grip.

The thunder that rolled through her leaves as quickly as it came, leaving only shame and smoke behind. “Oh, Ryuu, I…I’m so sorry. I didn’t to…to speak to you like…”

Like he was a threat. Like she might take her teeth to her throat and tear, if he stood in her way a second longer. She shakes herself, hands trembling where they press to her cheeks.

“Ah…” A laugh scrapes up her throat, humorless. “See? I’m not fit for company. If I can’t sit at breakfast, I might as well do something useful.”

His straight brows draw down, dubious. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“If anyone can tolerate me like this, it’s Obi.” Her mouth tips into a rueful curve. “He never complains, not even when I’m at my worst. Besides” — her smile bends to a brighter inclination— “I know you have to be hungry. You look like you’ve grown three inches in a single night!”

“No, really, I’m—”

His stomach growls, loud enough that there’s no denying its source or its cause. He grimaces, reluctantly thrusting the dishes toward her. “If you’re sure…”

“Of course.” She hefts them between her hands, heavier than she expects. Ryuu must have been generous with his portions. “It’ll be nice to feel like I’m helping out, even if I can’t seem to keep myself civil.”

His mouth pulls thin. “Shirayuki. Be careful.”

She blinks. “I know I can be a little clumsy, Ryuu, but even I can handle a couple plates.”

“I…” His frown furrows deeper into his cheeks. “That’s not what I meant.”

Ah, of course. That last time they separated…

“Don’t worry,” she tells him, so soft. “I’ll be with Obi. How much safer could I be?”

“That,” he mutters, turning his back to her. “Is exactly what I’m worried about.”

Fingernails prick where palms press to his hips, her small hands holding him firmly against the mattress, denying him the relief of rising up into her touch. After years of only his own, hers brings him close to the edge just from novelty of it all, and her mouth, her mouth—

Fuck, it’s so warm. Not as sweet as her cunt would be; just the thought her little fingers holding herself open for him, inviting to take her inch by inch, flushed flesh yielding to the barest nudge of his cock— haah, it brings him so close he has to clench to keep from spending himself like an alpha in his first rut. But her tongue is clever, teasing at the slit in his head before sweeping down the vein, coaxing him toward a height that's got his vision blurring at the edges, body so hot he’s sure he’ll burn her.

His Miss is hardly experienced; in her eagerness her teeth scrape, dragging a hiss from between his teeth. But he can hardly care when she moans, the sound vibrating through his cock, setting a rhythm that leaves him gasping, near begging for relief. Obi’s never got to his knees for anyone before Master, but fuck if he doesn’t want her to bring him to his, to draw from him all the ragged vows he swore to himself he would never speak.

His hips snap up, hard enough that she can’t hold him still, and ah, the way she whimpers around his cock has him seeing stars, his climax torn from him in a growl. It’s good; so good that he forgets.

The Miss catches in his teeth as his spend spurts from him, the first splatter on his hip reminding him there’s only his hands on his cock now. Ones that scramble to cover him far too late, painting his belly and thighs with a thick gloss before he clamps a palm over the problem, most smearing cum than catching it.

“Damn,” he slurs, glaring at the shimmer across palm. For all the mess, there’s no relief, his cock still hard where it juts out from his trousers. It’s a miracle they’re not ruined, nor the sheets. With the bare bit of sense he’s left with afterward, he shuffles over to the basin, cleaning up the evidence of his stupidity.

He pulls up his trousers— they’re riding low on his hips after all the cleaning and writhing— but he can’t find it in him to struggle against nature to button them. He tucks what he can, but it’s not much, all in all; he’s rather hang out than have these pants strangely stretched after all this. And considering how he’s not planning on visiting anywhere but his bed and the privy, it’s more than enough.

Obi dozes, sometime after that. Tangled up in the sheets, time grows hazy, and when he rouses it’s only because other parts of him have, becoming pressing, an ache that no amount of sleep will dull. He sighs, snaking a hand down to grip himself, trying to summon up another fantasy so familiar that the reality can fade away, if only for a little while.

And so, when that soft voice first calls out, “Obi,” he’s sure it’s wishful thinking. That the rap on his door it just part of the delusion his rut help him scrounge up, like all the times his dreams have started with her drumming her fingers on the door between their rooms, a prelude to slipping through and—

The doorknob turns, too loud, too metallic, too obvious for fantasy. His breath catches, hearing her murmur outside the door. Can’t understand a word, but he knows that pitch, that worry that pushes her through poisoned caves and swings her up onto horseback in the dead of night. She’s coming in, and he—

He can’t have her see him like this. Smell him like this, rutting and stupid, desperate for her touch. To let their scent even mingle the slightest bit in his nose…

“Miss,” he manages, more moan than word. “Don’t…”

Obi may be both her favorite and worst patient, but if there is one thing he is not, it is silent. Which is what follows when she calls his name, unexpected and unwelcome.

Shirayuki shifts, tucking the dishes beneath one arm, and tries to ignore the worry pricking at her. He’d lived two nights in the span of one, fleeing the Alpha’s Masque with Liera’s drug in his veins before flinging himself straight into Ryuu’s daring rescue. It’d been hard enough for her to drag herself from the comfort of her silken cocoon this morning, and she had only been a passenger, a veritable bystander in what proved to be one of the most trying twelve hours of her life. So for him to sleep, to be so deep in his dreams that not even his name could rouse him— well, it was hardly strange.

Or at least, it wouldn’t be if she hadn’t woken him with the barest footfall after Tanbarun. Or hadn’t seen the bruises beneath his eyes when she roused in Lilias’s infirmary, their beds so close she could have reached out and touched him. Obi doesn’t relax when all is said and done. No, he’s more vigilant, running himself until he’s too thin to survive even the gentlest breeze before his begrudging collapse.

She should have barely scuffed the carpet before he called out, tired and still teasing, I thought you said betas didn’t live to serve. Or whined as he heard her plates shift, what does it take to get a nice strong alpha over here to take care of a perfectly submissive omega like me?

But for her to come so far, to call his name and hear nothing more than his labored breaths through the door? Her knuckles blanch white where they grip the plates. Something must be wrong.

“Obi,” she says, firm enough she’s certain it can pierce through the wood, “I’m coming in.”

Dishes braced against her hip, the door swings open, far too late for her to do anything but hear, “No!”

It stops her, one sole jerking short of the jamb. But it’s too late; his scent rolls over her like a wave, smoke and salt and spice threatening to drag her down into the undertow. Heat floods her, filling the space between her thoughts as thoroughly as the one between her legs. Breathless, weak-kneed, the dishes clatter to the floor.

“Obi,” she gasps, gripping the sideboard, knuckles white. “What…?”

He’s there on the bed, tangled up in his sheets, the whole lean length of him bare down to the waist, sweating as if he’s in a fever. Concern spikes in her, driving her a step closer, one hand raised, but—

But then he turns his eyes to her, molten and dark, and haah…

“Are you…?” Her mouth no longer knows how to make words, all that scrapes up from her throat is a rasp, a whisper, and he— ah, he whimpers, hips grinding into the mattress.

“Miss,” he groans, weakly waving her away. “You have to…go. Get…out.”

“You need help,” she insists, watching as a bead of sweat traces over the strained muscles of his stomach. “I can’t…I can’t leave you.”

He laughs, low and deep, and oh, something throbs between her thighs, empty. He’d helped her fill that place before, two of his fingers spreading her before he plunged deep, showing her how it would feel to be full, and she— “You can’t help me when you smell like that, Miss.”

Her cheeks flare, as hot as the rest of her, but he’s not wrong, not even a little. Wet as she is, even a beta could smell her, let alone an alpha’s keen nose.

“But, if you’re…” She can’t bring herself to say it. “I can’t leave you alone.”

His chest shudders, so slick it might well have been oiled. “I can’t ride this out with you here. Not—“ his nostrils flare, and she knows he’s scented her, that this awful arousal of hers is what makes him bury his head in his pillow— “Not if you…”

She shakes her head, willing her legs to hold her, to attain that calm she has in the face of a half dozen other ruts she’s witnessed in her tenure at Lilias. “There’s got to be another way. You can’t just…suffer.”

“There isn’t,” he grits out. “Or at least” — his gaze scours her over, scorching, until he drags it away— “not one that’s…available.”

He offers one, guilty glance toward the basin, skin flushing deeper before adding, “But I guess…I’m not really an…expert on this kind of thing.”

“Really?” The question tips out of her before she can catch it, but she hardly minds when pink spreads from his neck to his chest. “I mean, I only thought…well, the guardsmen would always talk about, um…”

“I’ve warmed my fair share of beds in my time,” he says, utterly shameless. “Loads of them. But never a nest. I don’t do…this.”

Breed, he means. An alpha can assure that sort of thing, if he’s careful. “You were on an inspection.”

“Miss?” he groans, the smooth skin of his brow furrowing.

“When Yuzuri had her heat.” This time she meets his eyes, heart pounding triple time in her chest. “Makiri sent you on a special inspection at the checkpoint. It lasted almost a week.”

“I requested it.” His teeth flash, half hidden against his pillow. “Had a hell of a time coming up with reasons not to get sent back.”

“But…?” Yuzuri would have been happy to spend her heat with him, if she’d known. It’d be fun to have an alpha once, she’d sighed, wistful, if only I could trust them not to be weird about it after.

Gold lingers at the corner of his eye, steady as she watches her. “I couldn’t do that with Yuzuri, Miss.”

But he’d risked it with her, rubbing his cock against her until she’d come shuddering against it. Let her get up and walk away too, never pressing her for more, even when he must have ached to take her. So much that he’s here, hips rocking against the mattress for relief instead of— of—

Shirayuki steps closer, well within arm’s reach. “Maybe I can help.”

His eyes her warily, gaze raking over her like coals. “Miss…”

“Not— not anything like that,” she says, flushed. “But in the carriage…you said my scent helped. Couldn’t I…?”

He groans, leaning into the pillow. “I don’t have control…” His fingers claw at the sheets, as if it might steady him. “I can’t promise…”

She reaches out, fingers brushing over the long bones of his hand. A spark races up her arm, leaving her skin tingling in its wake. “I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t” he tells her, gruff. “I shouldn’t. As your knight, I…haaah..”

His breath hitches when she traces down to his wrist, hips grinding down into nothing but feathers. “Obi,” she murmurs, brushing back his soaked hair. “Let me be your knight, tonight.”

“If that's what you want, Miss.” His eyes flutter shut on a groan. "I'm in no place to deny you..."

#obiyukiweek23 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #lemon #my fic #abo au #ans #welcome to the obi suffering hour #where obi gets everything he wants in the exact way he never wanted it #beggars can't be choosers my friend 🤣

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the-untamed-obsession · 4 years ago

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When Someone Flirts With You!

Hello! Little disclaimer: This is the same format used on two different blogs, they’re both mine (if you’ve seen them). This is just a really fun thing to do, so I always try to do them for new fandoms I join and whatnot. I hope you like it!

Sidenote: Normally, I have banners just cuz they look nice but I’m not sure if I wanna make em for this blog, yet.

Includes: Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, Wen Ning, Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng, Xiao Xingchen, Song Lan, and Xue Yang.

Come one, come all! See what happens when someone flirts with you in front of your mans!

Wei Wuxian:

One day, you were at a tavern waiting for your boyfriend to get back. He had left for only ten minutes and someone had already swooped in to bother you. No matter what you said or did, they just wouldn’t back off.

Like people don’t know who he is-

Normally, he won’t jump in immediately. He’ll stay back and just let you handle it if you can. If you can’t handle it, just look at him. He’ll know the second you make eye contact.

He prefers to stand next to the person and joins them. Of course, they’re uncomfortable and ask what he’s trying to do and he’ll respond with something like “flirting with my partner, they’re cute, aren’t they?”

Yeah, that usually doesn’t work. Unless people KNOW him and are scared of him, they would just brush him off.

He doesn’t like that. Not one bit, especially when you’re getting more uncomfortable by the minute.

He’ll try to do the same thing again, but the SECOND someone tries to touch you, he slaps them with his flute. No, he ain’t playing it, he’s swinging it. In one whole second, he’s in front of you and the person is most likely on the floor. 10/10 would recommend.

“Don’t ever touch my (y/n) ever again, ok?”

Lan Wangji:

You followed Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji on their adventures often and always tried to stay close to the duo. The ONE TIME you decided to go off on your own, you found yourself cornered. Thankfully, both Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were just around the corner.

Oh dear.

He glares. He just idles at glaring at everyone. So even before you ask for help, he’ll just glare at the person. But if you need help, feel free to call him.

He’ll immediately stand between you and the offender. He’s not scared, he’s not arguing, just glaring silently.

50/50, he’s actually pretty scary so most people are freaked out.

In the unlikely event it doesn’t work out and they continue to push you, he’s fighting. But it’s Lan Wangji, he doesn’t have to try. It’s just… smack and they’re down. 10/10 would recommend.

“...”

Wen Ning:

During his adventures with Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, Wen Ning often tends to go off by himself. You always followed him, trying to keep as close as you could. There was one day where you were hungry, so you went to buy some snacks. Wen Ning didn’t come with you and you definitely regretted not asking him to join you. Someone had cornered you and they just wouldn’t let you leave so you had to call out to your boyfriend.

Even as fierce corpse, he’s pretty hesitant at times. So normally, he’d just wait it out to see what you do, mainly because he doesn’t want to be THAT boyfriend... you know the one who just does too much.

If you need help, just call him or look at him. He’ll be in front of you in a second, hiding you behind his form. He’ll at first just ask someone to leave you alone.

0/10. Never works, he just LOOKS nervous. So people will either try to push him out of the way or just roll their eyes and ignore him, while still trying to talk to you.

Wen Ning doesn’t care if people ignore him, it’s not the first time. What does really bother him though is when people can’t take a hint. He hates when you’re uncomfortable, so if someone is making you feel like that ON PURPOSE, he hates it.

The thing is, they can’t shove Wen Ning out of the way. He’s actually pretty strong and so the second they try to (especially after they ignore him), he just grabs their arm and twists it, holding them in place until they apologize to you.

8/10, usually very effective but if it still doesn’t work, he’ll just throw them out of the establishment. He warned them TWICE, he ain’t doing it again.

“Are you ok? I’m glad... I was worried I was too late.”

Lan Xichen:

He had invited you to an event with him, one where you did your best to stay close to him. You’d already seen some weird stares, ones that made you very uncomfortable. Unfortunately, Lan Xichen was called away for one second, but that’s all it took for someone to immediately come bother you.

He’s very observant, so he’s always got his eye on you. He worries more than he likes to admit, only because he doesn’t want to overdo it. You’re an adult, who can handle themselves.

However, if you do need help, just call for him. He’s on his way. He’ll immediately stop them by grabbing their arm and pulling them away, claiming they’re making you uncomfortable.

50/50 and it depends on whether they know him. Most don’t so they’ll kinda brush him off, which he doesn’t appreciate.

He’ll try again, not wanting to resort to violence. There are times where people just quit, finding him bothersome, but there’s always ONE person who wants to try again.

One person even tried to touch you once, roughly grabbing your arm and yanking you away from Lan Xichen.

Oh boy, he had his sword out faster than you’d ever seen. The person immediately let you go and you hid behind your boyfriend.

“Do not touch people without their permission.”

Jiang Cheng:

You were with Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, and Jiang Cheng on one of their numerous adventures. They had left for maybe thirty minutes and you were keeping busy doing your own thing, when you felt a hand grab you. You thought it was Jiang Cheng, but boy were you wrong. However, your boyfriend wasn’t too far away.

He is PROTECTIVE.

The last thing he wants to see on your face is discomfort, especially when it’s caused by some creep.

He’s in front of you in a second and he’s usually pretty aggressive. The last thing you want to see is him fight, so you often just grab his arm and hide behind him.

Just that alone, usually makes people back off. It’s kinda obvious you’re already his. BUT. There’s that one fool…

They often move closer to you, ignoring Jiang Cheg, and ask if you’d like to “upgrade” to someone better. Before you can even answer, they’re on the floor.

“Yeah, like you’re any better. Come on, (y/n).”

Xiao Xingchen:

Normally, you’re glued to the hip with Xiao Xingchen, since you two were so close. There was one occasion where you stepped away from him to gather some flowers. He wanted to talk to someone about something, nothing you often concerned yourself with. That’s when someone took their chance and swooped in.

So he can’t see you, but he can hear you. All you gotta do is call for him and he’ll be at your side faster than the speed of light. He’s not immediately jumping to fight and often prefers to talk things out, instead.

0/10. It never works. Not one time has that ever worked. People just don’t back down, especially those who tend to bother you.

They usually just shove Xiao Xingchen aside, thinking he’s just a blind man who can’t do anything.

This is one of those things that just… bothers him. Xiao Xingchen can’t understand why, but when someone bothers you, it really makes him upset.

He’ll once again try to stop the offender through a more pacifistic way, but there was one time when someone roughly grabbed your hand and yanked you away from Xiao Xingchen. The squeal that left your mouth was something that just made him draw his sword.

It really was an accident. No one was hurt, but the person was scared away. 69/10 would recommend.

“Are you alright? Good, I’m sorry they hurt you.”

Song Lan:

You had often followed him and Xiao Xingchen on their adventures, doing your best to stick close to them both. One day you saw a flower that intrigued you more than it should have. So you walked over to it and you were gone for maybe ten seconds, but when you turned around, you couldn’t see Song Lan or Xiao Xingchen, but you did see another person blocking your path. He found you pretty quickly.

He’s usually always on high alert. He’s extremely protective of you, sometimes surprising himself.

He’ll usually step him, keeping you hidden behind himself so the other person can’t see you. If someone is holding your wrist, he’ll use his sheathed sword to separate you two. He mentions you’re uncomfortable and tells the person to leave.

2/10, it’ll work sometimes but rarely. Usually offenders shrug him off and just pretend as if he’s not there. Even if you hide behind him, they’ll walk around and try to get at you that way. If they touch you, it’s almost as if they touched Song Lan and he really doesn’t like that.

The second they try to grab you, they’re on the floor unconscious. They don’t stand a chance.

10/10 works every time. They’re not unconscious EVERY SINGLE TIME it’d about 90% of the time.

“Let’s go. No they’re fine, don’t worry about them.”

Xue Yang:

Xue Yang is obviously protective and he doesn’t like it when people touch/bother you. You belong to him, nobody else. There was one day you strayed too far and got in some trouble with 4 people.

LMAO

Xue Yang usually laughs when he steps in, telling everyone they should leave before he kills them.

Of course people don’t listen. Usually, they just brush him aside and go back to “impressing” you.

Xue Yang warns people ONCE. One warning and that’s IT. If they don’t listen, their funeral. Literally.

The worst occasion was when someone shoved Xue Yang away and pushed you against the wall. You screamed and felt something touching your chest. When you looked down, it was Xue Yang sword poking you which had been stabbed through the offender’s chest.

10/10 they’re literally dead?

“I warned you about touching what belongs to me.”

#mdzs x reader #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan zhan #lan wangji #mdzs headcanons #lan xichen #wei wuxian x reader #lan wangji x reader #lan xichen x reader #wen ning x reader #jiang cheng x reader #xiao xingchen x reader #song lan x reader #xue yang x reader #mdzs reader insert #mdzs wei wuxian x reader #the untamed x reader

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sierraraeck · 3 years ago

Text

Control

JJ x John B

Masterlist

Summary: JJ likes losing control, and there is no one safer he can do that with than his boyfriend, John B. But after a particularly awful week, JJ just needs something he can be in control of.

Category: Smut, angst

Warnings: Cussing/slurs, JJ’s home life so abuse and violence, allusion to sexual abuse, rough sex, choking, safe word used. Look, this gets dark, so this is your warning.

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: I agree with a lot of other people that in their relationship, John B is usually the dominant one because JJ likes losing control, but I’m convinced that after a really fucking bad week, he just loses it and needs something he can control. This is what I imagine that would look like.

•••

It had been a bad week. It felt never ending, getting roughed up by the Kooks, running from the cops, taking the fall for Pope, and now this.

If you keep going down this road, you’re going to end up just like your dad.

Maybe his best friend, and within the last year or so his boyfriend, was right. Maybe he, and everyone else on the island who constantly reminded him of his blood, was right. Maybe he was destined to be a complete fuck up with no future other than three cement walls and a grid of bars. Not like JJ’d ever imagined his life going any differently.

We’re sick of your shit.

Those were the words echoing in his head as his feet made the decision before his mind did.

You are a worthless piece of shit.

He remembered something Pope had told him once, that the brain can’t differentiate between the truth and something that has been repeated to you over and over.

You’ll be back here one day. You good for nothing piece of shit, that’s why your mamma left. Stay down, boy. I don’t care where you’ve been. Really living up to your name, Maybank. You’re just like your daddy. Fucking bastard. Worthless.

Must be true, right? If everyone is saying it, including the only people he’s ever really thought cared about him, it must be true.

As he opened the door to the run down shack, he already knew what he’d see, but a shutter of fear still raced down his spine. His dad was sitting on the couch, all kinds of beer and pill bottles scattered around him.

“What the hell you doing back here, boy?” the gruff voice of JJ’s nightmares asked.

“Dad, I-”

“The least your worthless ass could do is get me a beer.”

JJ complied, because, what else was he going to do? Weak.

As he walked over to his dad, the smell of beer was overwhelming. It always was, but the smell seemed stronger than he remembered. His dad's tolerance must be higher than it was a few weeks ago.

“Open it,” Luke demanded.

JJ tried, he really did, but his hands were shaking too damn much. Come on, don’t be such a pussy.

Apparently he couldn’t do it fast enough, so Luke ripped the bottle out of his hands, causing it to shatter on the floor. JJ flinched at the sound.

“What are you, retarded? Can’t even open one goddamned bottle!”

JJ didn’t even try to duck. He felt Luke’s knuckle make contact with his cheekbone, head whipping to the side. We’re sick of your shit, JJ.

“Dad-”

“Don’t fucking beg you weak, worthless piece of shit!”

Flames enveloped his gut, followed by another fire lit over his ribs. We don’t want you around.

The voice he was hearing sounded an awful lot like John B’s.

“Fucking pathetic! Just like your mother!” JJ was on the floor now, not completely able to remember how he got there. As his body screamed in pain with each new kick, his mind was getting farther and farther away from where he was.

Our lives would be better without you in it. I would be so much happier if I had a boyfriend who wasn’t such a burden, such a fuck up. Someone without so many fucking issues.

He could feel the blood dripping down his face and leg, but refused to make himself consciously aware of it.

This is what you deserve, JJ.

This is what you deserve.

•••

Twenty-eight hours. That’s how long it’d been since John B last saw JJ. The moment he walked out the door John B kicked himself for it.

He couldn’t believe he’d actually said that to JJ. ‘You’re going to end up just like your dad.’ He couldn’t think of a worse thing to say to JJ.

It’d overall been a shit week, and John B knew that he was sleep deprived and irritable from everything that’d gone on, not like that was any excuse for what he’d done.

As time ticked by, John B just kept going over everything he’d done wrong in the past week.

You’re going to end up just like your dad. We’re sick of your shit.

Not to mention the time he grabbed JJ by the collar of his shirt and shoved him up against the wall. The way JJ flinched and seemed to shrink into himself, immediately casting his eyes down, was an image John B couldn’t get out of his head. He knew better than to touch JJ without explicitly asking or giving him plenty of forewarning, let alone grab him out of nowhere while he was angry.

God, JJ looked so scared in that moment, and John B couldn’t even believe he’d just made the person he cared about most in the world feel threatened by him. And JJ didn’t even look like he’d fight back. He looked like he was bracing himself, ready to take whatever harm was to come to him.

JJ put so much trust in John B, letting him be in control of their most intimate time together. JJ once told him that he felt the most safe when he was around John B, and he heard all of the words not said in that one sentence. I trust you. I trust you to have power over me, emotionally and physically. I trust you enough to be vulnerable, knowing that I won’t get hurt. Knowing that you won’t hurt me.

And John B felt like within the span of a week, he’d destroyed all of that.

Just come home, just come home, just come home. Please, JJ, just come back to me.

The sun was starting to set, and John B was getting even more antsy. They’d never had a fight that kept JJ away for longer than a day or so, which meant that John B already knew where JJ was, even though he didn’t want to believe it.

Shit, shit, shit…

John B headed toward the door of the chateau, flinging it open on a mission to save JJ when he looked up.

Oh thank god.

JJ was standing on his porch, hand clutching his side and a couple butterfly bandages over his eyebrow and cheek. His shirt was torn, displaying the three developing bruises John B could see, meaning there were probably at least twice as many he couldn’t see.

John B’s mouth was hanging open, stopped dead in his tracks, unable to find the words to tell JJ how sorry he was and how much he wished he could’ve been better and how-

But his train of thought was cut off when JJ took two big strides towards him, smashing their lips together like it was the only thing keeping him alive. His hands were gripping onto John B’s sides, wadding up the cloth in his fists, and moved the pair of them back into the chateau, kicking the door shut with his foot.

JJ backed John B into the nearest wall, the intensity of the kiss momentarily distracting John B from the bigger situation at hand. JJ tugged John B’s shirt up, helping him out of it.

As they parted to remove the garment, John B tried to get JJ’s attention. “JJ-”

He didn’t let him get any more words out, though, pressing their lips back together the moment he could.

John B knew that JJ had a lot of pent up anger toward his father, toward the kooks, toward the world. He knew that JJ put on a show of being powerful, untouchable, even. JJ wanted others to think he was always in complete control, and while unhinged at times, a force to be reckoned with. JJ wanted others to think he was strong, and John B knew that was because of how frequently he was told he was weak.

John B thought JJ was as tough as they came. He was sure that if anyone else had been dealt the hand JJ had, they’d be doing a hell of a lot worse, and was impressed by his boyfriend on the daily.

But John B always thought JJ was the strongest when he was the most vulnerable, when he was with him, making this new dominant side of JJ concerning. JJ liked losing control and letting his guard down when he was with John B, letting John B take the lead. Right now, though, JJ was putting his walls back up, the tough act coming out. That’s how John B knew shit had really gotten bad, and he couldn’t help but blame himself for it.

John B tried again, “JJ.” He got the same reaction he did the first time, a non answer. John B delicately placed his hands on JJ’s shoulders, creating just a few inches of space between them as he finally got his attention. “JJ, JJ, slow down. I’ve been worried about you. What is going on, what hap-”

“John B,” JJ cut him off with a low, abnormally calm voice. John B stared in silence, growing even more concerned and confused by the look of intensity in his eyes. “Shut up.”

John B knew that at the end of the day, he’d do whatever JJ asked of him, but it didn’t stop him from trying to get more information. “JJ, I just-”

“Please,” JJ almost pleaded, gazing deep into his eyes. “Give me tonight.” John B stared at his boyfriend for a few more seconds before nodding his head. “Tell me if things get too-”

“I know,” John B assured, remembering the safe word they’d established early on in their relationship, South, and the one time JJ had to use it. He’d had a panic attack, mumbling something about a flashback, but John B had never gotten anything more than that.

With the green light, JJ slipped his tongue back into John B’s mouth, cool rings on his hand pressing into his neck, using his body to push John B back against the wall.

JJ was running his hands all over John B’s exposed chest, John B slowly moving his hands up to place on JJ’s waist. The moment he made the slightest contact though, JJ flinched away, grabbing both of his wrists and pinning them to the wall.

His grip was unfaltering, and stronger than usual, and JJ held his wrists there as he started kissing down John B’s body, pausing to suck and graze his teeth over a few spots.

Reaching the waistband of John B’s shorts, JJ moved his grip from John B’s wrists in order to yank his shorts and underwear down. John B’s hands started to tingle, unaware until just then that JJ had been gripping so tight it started cutting off blood flow.

JJ, now on his knees, started pumping his hand slowly up and down John B’s half-hard shaft, the contact sending a shiver down his spine.

At one point, John B couldn’t stop the small jerk of his hips toward JJ, which was the wrong thing to do, as JJ’s crushing grip was back, both hands holding onto his hips and slamming them back into the wall. JJ resorted to using his mouth instead, lips wrapping around the tip and hollowing his cheeks. John B tossed his head back, harder than he intended, making a somewhat painful contact with the wall. JJ started bobbing his head up and down at a faster pace, only breaking contact once to wet two of his fingers which he circled around John B’s hole.

John B could see the contractions of JJ’s biceps, and almost felt his fingers shaking against him. He was confused at first about what it meant, but soon figured out that he was holding back. JJ had always been the dominant one in his flings with girls, but had never been in this position with John B before. He could tell that JJ wasn’t going as far as he wanted to, that he was restraining himself from taking what he wanted.

John B wanted to know everything that JJ had to give, and acknowledged, in almost a challenge-like way, “You’re holding back on me.”

Within a flash, JJ stood up, threading his fingers through John B’s hair to yank his head back, his other hand keeping it’s harsh grip on his hip. John B whimpered at the sensations.

Looking down on him, JJ demanded, “Is that not what you want?”

John B thought it wasn’t, but seeing him now, and knowing how much darkness he has, there was a fraction of a second where he wanted to change his mind. But the second passed and John B still wanted to see all of JJ, every dark and twisted corner, everything he hadn’t seen before. And he could tell that it was taking a lot of effort for JJ to restrain himself, too much effort. John B wanted him to let go.

He shook his head, voice coming out as only a small whisper, “It’s not what you want either.”

It was like flipping a switch. With force, JJ dragged him by his hair to the bedroom, and once inside, threw John B onto the mattress.

It felt a little unfair, John B completely exposed in front of JJ while he still had his shorts and shirt on. It was getting dark now, the sun having completely set over the water, leaving only the light of twilight to illuminate JJ’s face as he climbed over John B.

He quickly coated his fingers with the lube from the bedside table before shoving them into John B. With his other hand, JJ was tugging his own shorts down and reached for a condom. He had to remove his fingers from John B to put it on, causing John B to squirm in his absence.

Without any forewarning, and barely any time to adjust, JJ was pushing into John B, drawing a small whine from his kiss-swollen lips.

JJ set a bruising pace, leaving John B gasping for air. “JJ-” he choked out.

“Is this what you wanted?” JJ hissed, hand snaking up to wrap around John B’s throat. “You wanted to see just how fucked up I am?”

JJ’s grip was getting tighter, his pace faster, as he kept talking. “Well, Maybanks are only good for one thing, so you’re right. I will end up just like him some day. I already am like him. A fucked up monster.”

“J, no, that’s not-” John B started to say, as he reached a hand up to grab JJ’s wrist in an attempt to loosen his grip.

“Don’t touch me!” JJ yelled. John B removed his hand like he’d been burned. “Don’t you get it? I ruin everything I touch!”

John B’s face was starting to flush, his head getting fuzzy. He could only concentrate on the cool rings digging into his neck and the words JJ was saying, sounding farther and farther away.

“Have you ever experienced death before?” JJ whispered like a threat next to his ear. “Because I have. I can show you.”

“Jayj-” John B pleaded, using his last reserve of breath. “S..so-south.”

And just like that, JJ was off him, backing himself against a wall as far away from John B as possible. John B took a deep, shuddering breath and swallowed, closing his eyes until the fuzziness in his head subsided.

When he felt like he could think again, he sat up and looked around the room for JJ. He was crouched in a dark corner of the room, head in his hands, knees trying to block his face.

“JJ,” John B said with a scruffy voice, standing up to walk over to his boyfriend. He slid down the wall until he was seated next to JJ, sure to leave enough room for him to move without touching him. JJ curled into himself even more, leaning away from John B. “JJ, please look at me.”

JJ did as he asked, alluring blue eyes shimmering with tears, a dramatic difference from the dark, intense orbs of only a few seconds before.

“I’m okay,” John B assured.

JJ shook his head, eyes roaming over his hands, and hiccupped, “I hurt you.”

“You didn’t, I promise. I’m okay, I’m right here,” John B told him.

JJ’s eyes were panicked as he scanned over John B’s body. John B followed his gaze, evaluating the already forming marks on his hips and wrists. He was sure that JJ’d left a handprint on his neck, too, which was where JJ’s gaze lingered the longest. “No. I hurt you. I need to leave.”

JJ stood up, making a noise of discomfort as he did so, and hurried toward the door. John B was behind him in an instant and put his hand on the door. JJ stopped in his tracks, taking a step back from John B and looked back at the ground.

JJ was shutting down, John B knew that, and he knew that he had to reach him fast before he went completely under. “JJ,” John B whispered, “Can I… Can I touch you?”

JJ didn’t answer, but he didn’t back away or say no. John B slowly raised his arm, hovering his hand before JJ. “Is this going to be okay?”

JJ nodded, and before John B could fully process it, JJ was throwing himself into his arms, clinging to him like he never had before. He started sobbing, forehead pressed against his chest, and John B couldn’t hold back the tears that slipped down his own cheeks.

“How can anyone ever trust me if I can’t even be trusted around you?�� JJ choked out. John B wasn’t sure if he’d heard him right, because he was speaking so quietly, but he thought he heard him ask ‘how can I trust myself?’

John B walked the two of them backwards toward the bed, sitting down as gently as possible. He attempted to pull away from JJ, but JJ held onto him. Tilting JJ’s head up, he pressed a kiss to his forehead, then promised, “I’ll be right back.”

John B walked over to put on a new pair of boxers before grabbing the first aid kit, and returned to where JJ was on the corner of the mattress. He lifted JJ’s shirt over his head, tossing it aside.

It hadn’t been this bad in a while. There were four purple, fist-sized bruises littering JJ’s torso, a yellowish one on the back of one of his shoulder blades, and a cut along the top of JJ’s shoulder down his tricep, not to mention the cuts he’d already bandaged himself over his eyebrow and cheek. John B coaxed JJ out of his shorts, which displayed something even worse.

There was a giant stack of gauze covered by a poor wrap job below JJ’s hip, reaching down the side of his thigh. “J… what… what happened?”

“He uh… he um… uh,” JJ trailed off, swiping at his nose. John B stayed silent, giving JJ time to put the words together in his head. “He called me… he said I was a dirty fag and that anyone who wanted to be with me was lying and using me because who would ever actually want to be around me? And then he made me…” JJ shuddered out a sigh and shook his head. “And then he tore his beer can in half and jammed it into my leg.”

“And you tried to bandage this up by yourself?” John B asked, concern dripping from every word. They both heard the real question, ‘You didn’t come to me?’

JJ shrugged. “I don’t know, I thought… I thought you might be getting tired of having to deal with this.” Having to deal with me.

“I will never get tired of being around you,” John B guaranteed. To emphasize his point, John B placed a kiss on JJ’s lips, then both his cheeks, his closed eyelids, down his neck. “I love you, JJ. There will never be a moment when that is not true.” Kissing across JJ’s cut shoulder and down his shoulder blade, John B felt him start to relax. He brushed his lips as delicately as he could over the bruises he found there, then traveled down his torso to do the same. “I love every inch of you. Every corner of your mind.”

“That’s the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard,” JJ said with a small laugh.

John B smiled, looking up at JJ through his eyelashes. “I know. Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

JJ brought John B up to kiss him, a finger under his chin, pulling him as close as he could.

When they parted, JJ whispered, “I love you too.”

They stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at each other with small smiles for a while before John B said, “Let’s get you patched up.”

•••

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you thought, feedback is appreciated. :)

Find me on AO3 at the same username.

#jj outer banks #obx fanfiction #outer banks imagines #jj maybank imagine #jj x john b #outer banks #jj maybank x john b #john b routledge #outer banks imagine #obx #jj obx #john b obx #obx imagine #jj maybank #john booker routledge #john b outer banks #smut #angst

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taetaesbaebaepsae · 4 years ago

Text

Break My Heart (myg)

Summary: It’s over, and both you and Yoongi think about the past.

A/N: Thanks to @taegularities and @casuallyimagining for betaing this for me!

Warnings: angst, alcohol used as a coping mechanism, some making out and nipple play but this is mostly sad

Rating: Mature

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 5221

You try to push past him, but he throws you over his shoulder and you don’t even fight him, let him take you to the bed. His eyes are wet and his hands are soft on your skin.

“Don’t,” he starts, but you’re not listening. You’ve listened too much over the last year.

“Yoongi.”

He makes a whine in the back of his throat, hides his face in your neck. Your hands come up to rub his back - it’s like a reflex - before you push him off, head toward the door.

He won’t follow you. He never does.

You’re wrong, though. You’re wrong about so many things. He follows you into the hallway, into the elevator, keeps the door open with one foot while you try to shove him back out into the hallway. Finally, you end up fuming at the back of the elevator, arms crossed over your chest, glaring at him.

Yoongi’s trembling, you can see his hand shaking as he holds it out to you. He says your name, his voice hoarse and quiet.

“You wanna break my heart?

Your breath hitches in your chest as you’re catapulted back a year, two years, 5 years. You can see yourself then, your hair shorter and blonder, his hair darker. He was skinnier, then. Hell, so were you.

You were sitting on a curb, half crying and all drunk after a night out, trying to forget a recent breakup, when Yoongi sat down next to you, offered you what at first you thought was a handkerchief, but what ended up being a simple bar napkin.

“Hey,” he said softly, giving you a crooked smile and a tilt of his head. “Don’t cry. You wanna break my heart?”

It started so innocently, you and Yoongi. You were friends first, best friends even. He sat next to you on that curb, rubbed your back until you stopped crying, and you explained the whole situation to him, barely registering that he’d draped his jacket over your shoulders. He didn’t speak, just listened and nodded in the right moments, and when you were done, your cheeks hot from embarrassment of spilling out everything in your mind, he made this little hum in the back of his throat.

“So you need something to get him off your back,” he said thoughtfully.

You looked at him for a moment, stunned. “Uh, yeah. I guess.”

Your ex had been relentless in his pursuit to get you to talk to him after he’d cheated on you, and you were well and truly not interested. That night, you’d been sure you’d be free of him because he’d always been the type to go away for spring break, but he’d been there after all, chasing you around the clubs downtown.

Yoongi (you remembered his name, he’d told you as soon as he’d sat down and introduced himself while you were crying), hummed again.

“I have an idea.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Trust me,” he said, and gave you this open, gummy smile.

You did trust him, somehow, even though you didn’t know why. He leaned in close, whispered his plan in your ear, and even though it sent a shock down your spine, you nodded. Maybe you were drunk. Maybe you were just being curious. Either way, it started this thing. Started this slide, like a mudslide down the longest mountain.

You jumped in, with your eyes wide open, trusted him from the jump, and maybe you’d been wrong. Maybe you’d been wrong about a lot of things.

You were 20 when Yoongi had leaned in closer, just below your dangling earring, and planted the softest, most open kiss on your neck. Goosebumps pimpled your flesh, but you didn’t move, in fact, tilted your head to give him better access.

Seconds passed before he swept your hair from your shoulder, his fingertips brushing your skin, and you let out a breath with a little whine. He murmured something when he kissed you there again, this time sucking at your skin, almost roughly.

“Pretty,” you think it was what he said, but as important as that moment was, with all the things it started, that part was fuzzy because your head spun at the softness of his lips on your skin, the sting when he’d marked you there.

“There,” Yoongi said, still half mumbling, and you wondered how much he’d drunk.

His eyes were clear and warm when you looked at him, though, although his cheeks were dusted rose.

“Uh, th-thank you,” you muttered, feeling small and embarrassed now after it was over.

Yoongi gave you that gummy smile again, and you felt better almost instantly.

You didn’t know it then, but Yoongi always had that effect on you...until he didn’t. Until he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes. Until you stopped counting the hours he spent away from the bed you shared. Until it was over.

Yoongi stands next to your car, hands on your hood, tears streaming down his face and his eyes pleading with you. But you block it out, look straight ahead, start the car and rev the engine until he moves.

At first, you’re not quite sure he will, but finally he steps back, shoulders slumped, defeated. You manage not to cry, at least not until you’ve pulled over on the interstate, cars whooshing by you as you cover your face.

It isn’t as if you hadn’t tried.

You know how important Yoongi’s music is to him, you know he’s been working on getting an album produced and you’re proud of him, you really are, but...

But: you have barely seen his face in three months. But: you keep sleeping on one side of the bed because it’s cold on his side. But: you fucking miss him.

You want to talk to him about it, but how can you? How can you when you know this is everything to him? Even when you’d been kids in college, he’d dreamed of producing an album and this opportunity hadn’t just dropped in his lap, he’d worked for it. You’re supposed to be supportive, but all you can do is wonder how long it will be before you see his gummy smile again.

But: when he is home, he’s barely there, drinking too much coffee or scotch, depending on the time of day, barely looking at you, barely talking to you, grunting at you in response, mechanically eating the dinner you’d prepare.

One night, you’d push back from the table, frustrated, and it’d hit the counter with a thud.

Yoongi had looked up from his food, blinked at you as if he was waking from a dream.

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

“No,” you’d answered. “I’m not.”

You’d stormed off to the bedroom, and he hadn’t followed you. Hours later, he’d slid into bed next to you, his lips on your neck, the same spot he’d kissed that first night.

“I’m sorry,” he’d mumbled against your skin, words slurred around the edges just like the night you'd met.

You could smell the red wine he liked at dinner on his breath when you turned, and they’d been on the tip of your tongue, the words.

"What's wrong?" you’d wanted to ask. "Is it me?"

That las thought had kept you from speaking, allowed those words to die in your throat as you’d looped your arms around his neck, tasted the red wine on his tongue.

Because: what if it was something big, something you couldn’t fix? Because: what if it was you? What would you’ve done, then?

After the night outside the club, after Yoongi's mouth on your throat, you woke up the next morning and thumbed the mark he'd left while looking in the mirror.

Thinking about it made your face heat and it got worse when you saw him on campus, big gummy smile and looking a lot less hungover than you, his bleached bangs in his face.

"Hey, you," he said in this low voice, and you couldn’t help smiling back.

It went on like that, you and Yoongi, for months, and then a year, and then eighteen months. He walked you to most of your classes, bought you lunch, once or twice made you laugh so hard you'd snorted banana milk out of your nose. Things became easy with him, and it was so much like a friendship that you barely noticed when you began to fall in love with him.

Falling was easy, but gradual. By the time you realized it, he was graduating and you were a junior and you had no fucking idea what to do about it. You stood at the corner of his best friend's apartment, where there was booze and balloons and about 20 people, and sipped some foul smelling punch that someone had handed you, and looked for him.

You wondered how often you'd done this, looked for him in a crowd, felt your heart swell inside your chest when you found him, when he broke into that familiar gummy smile. You wondered how long you'd been in love and not known it, when he suddenly slid up behind you, his fingers light on your hip.

"Hey, you," he murmured, and you tilted your head back to look at him.

You smiled, just a bit, and he took this comical hitched breath.

"Y/n," he said, as if scolding you. "Don't look at me like that. You wanna break my heart?"

To this day, you aren’t sure if it was that he might’ve been leaving the country or that awful hunch punch, but your heart pounded against your chest too hard, and all you could think to do was to kiss him.

Quickly, without much thought, your lips pressed against his. It had been almost chaste, really, but Yoongi made this low, surprised sound in the back of his throat, his arms going around you and cinching at your waist, tightly, in this near possessive gesture that made your stomach tighten.

And that was it, at least for you. He’d kissed you back, and you’d been all but lost.

Yoongi didn’t leave the country, despite his plans. Later you wondered if that’d been your first mistake: not being strong enough to let him go.

It’s raining now, the sound of it thudding on the roof of your car louder than your heartbeat, and you can’t stop crying, gasping in these hitching breaths every few minutes, your stomach clenching from the force of your sobs. You know it’s dangerous here, on the side of the road and you can’t even remember if you’ve turned on your flashers but that doesn’t seem to matter, all that matters is that you can’t breathe, something viscous and rotten in your chest and stomach, something like all the mistakes you’ve made and all the regrets you have, maybe all those words, those questions you should have asked but didn’t. They’re choking you, poisoning you from the inside out and it’s flooding, but you fumble with the door handle, push the door open and swing your legs out, putting your head between your knees.

When you lift your head, finally able to breathe again, wanting to feel the rain on your face, there’s the bright glow of headlights, and then a blissful black fades over your eyes. You’re almost grateful.

Your dreams are almost all memories.

It’s disjointed, at first, but then you know where you are. Yoongi’s loft apartment back in college, and you know you’re dreaming but you can feel his hands on you nevertheless. You remember them being cold, clammy almost, and he was trembling as if he was nervous.

You laughed at him when he fumbled with your bra strap and he made this grumble in the back of his throat that made you laugh harder.

The laughter died in your throat when he pulled your breasts out of your bra impatiently, dragged his thumbs across your nipples. Your skin felt hot, like you were fevered, when he leaned forward and marked that spot below your ear again, harder, his teeth grazing against your skin.

When you were bare and arching your back beneath him, he sat up on his knees, his eyes dark and hungry looking down at you.

“God,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly. “You are gonna break my heart.”

It’s starts to rain when Yoongi watches you drive away, and he looks down at the pavement and thinks about the first time he saw you, head in your hands, sitting on the curb with your legs crossed like a child.

Something about the way your shoulders had slumped tugged at his heartstrings, drew him to you, and when you looked at him, eyes big and wet, it had been alarming how much it made his heart ache.

He always hated to see you cry.

You weren’t even crying much when he’d pinned you to the bed, hoped he could make it okay with kisses on your throat and chin, make you smile again. Not even when he begged you to stay in the elevator, in the parking lot, banging his hands uselessly on the hood of your car.

“You’re a million miles away, Yoongi,” you’d said, drying your hands after loading the dishwasher, throwing the cloth with more aggression than he’d expected.

“I’m right here,” he’d said easily, and you let out a long breath and he knew that was the wrong thing to say. Knew it was wrong because it was a lie and you fucking knew it. You knew him, better than maybe anyone else in the world.

“You act as if I don’t fucking know you, Yoongi,” you’d said, something vicious in your voice and he stayed seated at the table as you glared at him, stunned that you’d said almost exactly what he’d been thinking.

He doesn’t know why he’d been surprised. You’d always seen right through him, from the first night.

Yoongi remembers the night he’d finally confessed, after two years of watching the line of your neck, wishing he could kiss it again, leave his mark there, after two years of watching other guys flirt with you and pretending it didn’t make his skin heat up, something buzzing under his skin like a beehive.

He remembers, suddenly and painfully, the way you’d tilted your chin up, turned your head to face him at his graduation party, remembers how full his heart had been, how joy had shot through him like lightning when he’d put his arms around you and you didn’t pull away, how just one corner of your mouth turned up.

He remembers wanting to tell you, wanting to tell you just how much he felt, how he felt full to bursting with you, like you’d burrowed under his skin. He remembers wanting to tell you how he planed every day around you, how the things he’d do almost scared him, the things he’d sacrifice, to keep seeing you smile every day.

Yoongi hadn’t known how to explain it so that you’d understand, so instead he’d done his best to press it into you with his hands and his mouth, like you’d somehow be able to feel it through osmosis, and maybe you had, because after that first night, things had caught on like wildfire.

He’d never told you, really, never actually confessed, and maybe that had been his first mistake.

Yoongi knows that you’ve been drifting apart for weeks. Months. He knows that he’s been absent, not you, knows how hard you’ve been trying but he can’t bring himself to talk to you about it.

What would he say? That he has this opportunity, that he has this once in a lifetime thing and he has to move thousands of miles away for it? That he can’t bring you with him, that they’ve made that crystal clear?

Yoongi is still just as afraid as he was all those years ago, about what he’d sacrifice for you, because half of him wants to give it all up, tell them to fuck off, he’ll make music in a den in your little one bedroom apartment just so that he can be with you every day. Nothing has ever meant more to him than music, but you. You.

Yoongi can’t tell you that he has this choice to make, this fucking impossible choice but instead of making it, all he can do is try to push it away, ignore it, put it off another week and keep drinking too much when he’s home because he can’t bear the way your eyes plead with him to be with you, to be present and in the moment like the two of you always had been. He can’t bear to think of what it’d be like to not see your purple coffee mug on the counter in the mornings, to not be able to roll over and kiss that hallowed spot below your ear that he’d first marked all those years ago.

Yoongi hadn’t responded, looked down at the table until you’d slammed your hands down on it, angry, your eyes bright.

“Are you fucking someone else?” you’d asked, your voice eerily calm despite how angry you looked, and it was like a spear through his gut.

He’d scoffed, because that was ridiculous. I It wasn’t even worth a response but you stormed towards the door and his breath caught in his throat like a wriggling fish and he tried to stop you but you were absolutely fuming now, angry in a way he’d rarely seen you.

He braced his back against the door, thought that at least he could stop this, at least he could calm you down but he couldn’t get the words to come out.

Yoongi had ended up here, head spinning with the three glasses of wine he’d had at dinner and chest feeling , like you’d ripped his heart out when you’d gone away.

He stands there as it starts to rain, breathing hard, half dressed, and wonders where you’ll go. To your best friend’s apartment? Your mother’s? They’ve both always hated him, anyway.

Maybe all the time he’d spent away at the studio, those nights you’d come home late, maybe...maybe there was someone else. The thought makes his breath hitch in his chest, makes him stumble backwards as if someone has punched him in the stomach, before he turns to go back inside.

The thought sticks in his brain like a fishhook. You’d ask if he was fucking someone else. Is that because you were? At the very least, maybe you’d met someone. Someone who was attentive, someone who listened to you. Someone who was there.

Yoongi isn’t used to this feeling. He’s never been the possessive type, always had an amount of confidence that kept him from ever feeling too jealous. He remembers clearly the last time he’d felt this way, and of course, it was you. Wasn’t it always?

You’d never dated much, always been focused on your studies. Yoongi never even thought about what would’ve happened when you’d start seeing someone.

He’d been your best friend for six months when you started dating a lacrosse player, a big guy (bigger than Yoongi), and even then, Yoongi shrugged off the slight irritation he felt when you canceled a dinner with him.

It wasn’t until he was sitting on a bench under a tree, studying before an exam, that he saw you with your new beau. You were laughing, piggybacking, your arms braced on his considerable shoulders.

Yoongi’s skin prickled, like he had a chill or a fever. He felt angry, suddenly, and couldn’t put his finger on why. He sat there, fuming, unable to take his eyes off you, until your boyfriend slid you down, turned to lean down and kiss you, and then Yoongi couldn’t look anymore.

The anger roiling in his gut turned to something else, something worse, something that dug in and festered over the next few days. He saw your laughing mouth behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes, the way you were still smiling when your boyfriend kissed you.

He wondered late at night when he couldn’t sleep, if you were being held or, even worse, being fucked. It made something vile rise in his throat, like he’d had too much to drink and needed to purge it. It was another agonizing month before he realized he was in love with you, and another month after that before you and your boyfriend broke up.

He curses himself for drinking so much, wishing he could just get in his car and come after you. He fumbles with his phone, the screen swimming in his vision, and he wipes at his eyes angrily. You don’t answer, and he isn’t surprised, leaves a voicemail in a broken voice that he’d be embarrassed about if he had any dignity left. He hates feeling like this, out of control, as if there’s nothing he can do to quiet the madness in his head and his heart.

Yoongi presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, pressing in until he sees spots dance under his eyelids, breathing in deep to try and control his emotions. His mind is racing, thinking of what happens now, all the possibilities of the coming days and weeks and months and years.

You move out, he supposes. Come and get your things, take away all the pieces of you that have accumulated in the apartment over the years. He wonders if you’ll leave something behind, a piece of clothing, maybe that purple mug you like so much. Something he can keep, look at later and remember you.

What happens to all the pictures of you, online? Would you delete them? Block him on everything so that he can’t see your face even on a screen? Panic rises in his throat when he realizes you were always the one taking the pictures, posting them on social media, and he isn’t sure he has many saved.

Yoongi feels like he’ll surely go crazy if he doesn’t have some part of this relationship, something he can look back on that isn’t just memories, because it’ll feel like he made it up, like it was always one sided, from the moment he’d sat next to you on that curb.

Without something, how does he convince himself it was real, that you’d loved him?

On the other hand, what if you didn’t get your things? What if you left everything behind, kept being active on social media, moved on? Started living your life without him, moving on with a new apartment, a new partner?

Yoongi chokes back a sob, alone in the apartment but still holding back, still hiding, and he hates himself for it. When you don’t answer the second, third, fourth time he calls, he curls up on the couch, hoping that he’ll pass out, stop thinking, because it’s like his brain is vibrating in his skull with all the racing thoughts he has, a headache forming between his eyebrows.

After some time and a few deep breaths, he fights the urge to upturn the second bottle of wine in the cabinet and thinks that there’s a possibility, however slim, that you might be back when he wakes up, tear streaked and soaked from the rain but still his, and the thought comforts him enough that he’s able to fall asleep.

He has these dreams, vivid and disjointed, where he’s reaching out to you and he keeps getting further and further away. Another, where you won’t even look at him, no matter what he says, no matter how much he begs.

When he wakes, it’s cold in the apartment. You are, were, always the one who’d turn on the heat, and he knows you’re still not home the second he opens his eyes.

Yoongi feels antsy all day, full of nervous energy, and he can’t stop himself from calling you every couple of hours, leaving text messages and begging you just to answer once, to let him hear your voice.

The second day is when he starts to panic in earnest, and he’s about to bite the bullet and call your mother when his phone rings.

The oxygen filters out of the air as he listens, and his heart starts pounding in his ears as soon as he hangs up the phone. He’s out the door wearing nothing but a pair of sweats and a tshirt, cursing and returning for his jacket when he realizes it’s still raining.

The hospital hadn’t said much, just that you were there, that he was your emergency contact, and he breaks all manner of traffic laws to get to you, trying not to think of what might have happened, of how it might be his fault.

When he arrives, it’s both better and worse than he’d thought - you’d been found on the highway, unconscious, and god knows how long you’d lain there in the mud before a passerby had stopped and taken you to the hospital.

Pneumonia, they say, telling him that you’ve been in and out of consciousness throughout the night. Yoongi had been your emergency contact. You hadn’t been taking care of yourself, and a night in the rain and in the elements hadn’t helped. Of course he hadn’t noticed. Of course he hadn’t seen how pale you were, how gaunt your cheeks were.

Yoongi stands there, wondering if the doctor can tell that all the blood has drained from his face, his heart thudding hard and useless against his chest plate.

He nods where he’s supposed to and when the doctor leaves the room, Yoongi sits down hard on a nearby chair in the waiting area. He can go in now, they’d said, but how could he? How could he go in there, see you hooked up to IV antibiotics, know that it’s his fault? People die from pneumonia, don’t they? His throat closes up with panic and he has to draw in a long breath through his nostrils to calm himself.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, his forearms resting on his thighs, hands clasped together. There’s this series of memories rushing through his mind, like snapshots.

Your mouth pressed against his, soft and almost chaste, his arms locked around your waist. He wanted to twirl you around to face him, kiss you hard and dirty in front of all his friends, mark that spot just under your ear again. Not to show them that he possesses you, not to show them that he can kiss such a beautiful woman, but to show everyone how much he loved you, how his every thought was tinged with you.

Instead, he kissed you back just as chastely, stuck to you like glue all night despite it being his party with many trying to come and congratulate them. He had his hands on you all night, at your lower back, sometimes just lightly on your hip, sometimes intertwining his fingers with yours.

And when he walked you back to your dorm, he shuffled his feet at the door, puffed out his cheeks and blown out a breath and looked up at you.

“Yoongi,” you said, and God, he loved how his name sounded on your lips, this lilt like you were always teasing him. “You wanna come in for a drink?”

His cheeks were already flushed from alcohol and he probably shouldn’t have, but you took his hand and he would’ve followed you anywhere, to hell if you’d asked him.

Yoongi had so many plans on how to confess to you before he’d leave the country to go back home, to try and work on music like he’d always planned, most of them some grand romantic gestures, but instead, he stood with his hands shoved in his pockets just inside your door, and called your name.

You turned, standing in the kitchen, and his eyes followed the line of your throat, the curve of your cheek.

“I’m gonna stay,” he blurted out, and he already had a very expensive plane ticket in his wallet but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Yoongi stands up, heads toward your hospital room but he stops at the doorway, hears the beep of the machines and it makes his heart stutter.

He stands outside the door, unable to look inside. More snapshots float through his mind as he leans back against the wall, breathing hard.

“Yoongi,” you breathed, right into the shell of his ear and it made him shiver. He was standing so close to you, one hand on your hip, the other braced on the counter as if he’d fall against you, fall into you.

“Mmm,” he managed, leaning forward, as if you’d beckoned him, and every inch of his skin that touched yours felt heated.

“What’s happening right now?” you asked, and he wanted to laugh but he couldn’t, looking into your wide eyes. You’d been best friends for two years, seen each other at your worst. Now all he could do was think about how much he loved every part of you, good and bad, inside and out.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, and leaned down to kiss you, his hand moving to your lower back seemingly of its own volition, pulling you closer so that your breasts pressed against his chest.

His tongue slid against yours and his heart seemed like it might thud out of his chest.

When he pulled away from you, breathless, you let out a whine from the back of your throat, just like that first night when he’d marked you, and he couldn't stand it, the way it felt, how much he felt.

He wanted to run but something was pulling him toward you instead of away and instead, he kissed you again.

You pulled away this time, trembling in his arms.

“Yoongi,” you said again. “Are we doing this? Are you-”

“Am I in love with you?” he asked, chest heaving, it was as if he couldn’t catch his breath no matter how hard he tried.

You nodded, slowly, your cheeks flushed.

Instead of speaking, Yoongi nodded back, slowly, and a small smile spread across your lips.

“Yoongi,” you repeated, his name from your lips his favorite sound. “Kiss me again.”

That memory forces Yoongi to enter the room, sit by your bed. You look sick and gray and he wants to take your hand but something stops him.

He thinks now that it’s settled, that he’ll talk to you, that he’ll rework his contract, do anything to make things better. Maybe it won’t work, maybe you’re done, but he can try. He has to try.

Your eyes are closed, lashes fanning across your cheekbones and when Yoongi reaches out to touch your face, he sees that his hands are trembling.

When you do wake, a few moments later, Yoongi wants to crawl under the bed and hide, knows that he’s probably the last person you want to see.

“Yoongi,” you call, and your voice is hoarse and confused but tears stream down Yoongi’s face because it’s still his favorite melody.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and that little smile spreads across your lips again.

“Baby,” you say, and his heart clenches in his chest as you take his hand. “You wanna break my heart?”

#min yoongi x reader #btscreatorscorner #bangtanheadquarters #noonasinnetwork #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts imagine

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

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Dragon Bakugo's darling escaping to the forest where a Fae Shouto awaits....

I went with more of an Elf!Todoroki, for the sake of AU differentation, but I’d like to think any variation of Todoroki is an awful variation of Todoroki in their own, special way. And Bakugo… I don’t have to say anything about him, right? He’s his own problem, in any scenario.

Title: Lost and Found.

TW: Mentions of Captivity, Blood, Dehumanization and Mentions of Bodily Harm.

At the time, you’d been sure that no place in the world could be worse than Katsuki’s den.

Getting away was all that mattered. You didn’t have a destination, you didn’t plan, just a window of opportunity and enough food scrounged away to last you a little over a week, the time it’d take to walk to the nearest village and beg for hospitality, whether or not you were marked by a beast. Even if they cast you out, you were sure it’d be an improvement. Even if you were a starving, filthy nomad, you’d be a starving, filthy nomad who wasn’t another gold coin in a dragon’s hoard - you’d be a monster, but one that didn’t belong to another. You wouldn’t be Katsuki’s mate, you wouldn’t be his captive. You would be free, and in the moment, that was all that mattered to you.

But, that was before the village did cast you out. Before you realized that you wouldn’t just be a starving nomad, but an exhausted one, too, a freezing one. Before you learned that there were monsters who wanted to do far worse things than collect you out there, monsters that didn’t look like what they truly were.

Monsters like Shoto, and his sharpened, true, frustrating arrows.

You barely recognized him, like this. You’d only seen him on the rare occasions when Katsuki (a royal in his own right) chose to host company, inviting diplomats from the harpy flocks and the wandering tribes of satyrs, from the merfolks in the South and the elves, like Shoto, in the North. You’d never spoken to him, never shook his hand, but you’d recognize those mismatched eyes anywhere, the graceful way his hair cascaded down to his waist, uninterrupted save for the occasional braid to keep it away from his face. His decorative sword has been traded for a bow, his hand-crafted robes and jewels for furs and faded fabrics, but there wasn’t much you could do but look at him, stare up as you desperately tried to pry his arrow from your sleeve, where it kept you pinned to a tree that refused to let you go despite your silent prayers and weak kicks to the trunk. If Shoto noticed your distress, if he cared, he didn’t make an effort to show his concern. He didn’t make an effort to show much of anything, as he came to a stop in front of you.

“You’re not a stag,” He said, his monotone drawl portraying nothing, save for the barest hints of disappointment. Your fear dissipated in a matter of seconds, lax caution and irritation taking its place. “I wasn’t hunting human.”

“And I wasn’t trying to be hunted,” You replied, giving another futile jerk to the arrow shaft which, yet again, refused to budge. Shoto watched as your body slackened in defeat, but he didn’t move to help, his eyes only widening a fraction when you threw him a glare and a snarl more befitting of your former captor than yourself. “If you don’t mind, I need to keep moving. I don’t have time to be…” You trailed off, trying to find the words for your current problem before failing, simply gesturing vaguely in his direction, instead. “I don’t have time for this. If you’re going to slow me down, you might as well put one of those arrows in my head, too.”

At that, Shoto let out a soft chuckle, as if your panic was something irrational and unreasonable you were foolish for putting on display. But, he stepped forward all the same, running his fingertips idly over the engravings scrawled into the wood of the arrow, every rune glowing with a faint, silvery light as they made contact his skin. For a moment, his touch did nothing, but a second later, the point dulled and retracted, the weapon falling into his waiting palm without the slightest bit of resistance. “They’re enchanted,” He explained, taking your hand, helping you to your feet as he spoke. “Once they find their target, they’ll only release when prompted by their crafter. It doesn’t make the injury any more fatal, but the blood trail is useful.” He paused, scanning over you slowly. Taking in your tangled hair, your bruised skin, your tattered clothes - once flawless silk degraded into something rough, something primal, a material that hung off your form as lifelessly as a funeral shroud. Taking in you, and the fact that you didn’t belong in a forest so pristine, so picturesque, it could only be elven. “But, you were not my target.”

“You better fucking hope they weren’t.”

Instantly, you went rigid, your grip tightening around Shoto’s hand and your body fighting the urge to press itself against his side, but Shoto remained unaffected by the abrupt gust of wind, the sound of heavy footsteps, the sudden intrusion to your conversation. Rather, he merely glanced at Katsuki - awful, terrible, monstrous Katsuki. Shoto’s inhumane traits were subtle, hidden, found in only the furrs of ears and the points of fangs and the whispers exchanged between him and the animals, but Katsuki’s were blatant, apparent for the world to see and cower beneath. He didn’t try to hide it now, either, his golden scales flickering in the sunlight and his wings flared out behind him, each twice the length of his arms and spread in a clear sign of aggression, one you’ve had the chance to see far too many times. One you’ve had to be far too scared of for far too long.

“If there’s a mark on my mate that I don’t remember putting there,” He went on. “Assume you won’t leave these woods alive. I don’t take kindly to other people trying to tarnish the things that clearly belong to me.”

Idly, Shoto glanced between you and Katsuki, between the victim and the supposed victor. “I was under the belief that a dragon’s mate was something to be safe-guarded,” He started, his grip tightening around his bow. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but we’re no longer in your territory, are we? I can hardly say this human looks very guarded, either.”

“(Y/n) got away from me.” It was a minimalistic excuse, one that accepted blame as much as it denied it. He edged forward, crossing his arms, and Shoto was quick to react appropriately, tucking you behind him in a single swift, continuous movement. “They got lost. No one would wander into your domain out of their own volition. Return them now, and you might still have a domain for your prey to wander into, when we finish speaking.”

This time, Shoto adressed you, his tone bordering on bored. “Does he always make this many threats?” He asked, throwing you a glance over his shoulder. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were beginning to sound rather hollow.”

Katsuki bristled, baring his teeth at the insult. Rather than continuing to hold himself back, he allowed himself a long, ragged breath before his expression hardened and he approached Shoto in earnest, barely bother to meet the man’s eyes before pushing him aside with one clawed hand and taking up your wrist with the other, dragging you from behind your protective barrier and against his warm chest, his pulse beating heavily enough for you to feel through layers of muscle and bone. His anger was still focused on Shoto, on the threat, but his nails bit into your skin, drawing blood and earning a swallowed down scream you nearly failed to suppress. There’d be more later on. You’d run away before, but never for so long, and Katsuki wasn’t going to ask for an apology and shove you back into your gilded cage without another word. You’d be lucky to see sunlight in the next year, let alone retain enough strength to seek it out yourself.

He’d always said he wanted to protect you, that you needed him to protect you, and you’d gone against that, you proved you could survive without him, even if his looming presence had made it difficult to thrive. You proved you didn’t need him, and already, Katsuki seemed prepared to make it so you would.

So wrapped up in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice Shoto shift, his posture straightening and his bow rising, barely giving Katsuki the time to wrap an arm around your waist before three arrows were knocked, pulled back, and aimed, ready to find their home in Katsuki’s eyes and stomach and lungs, not fatal wounds for a creature so strong, but ugly ones, even for Katsuki. “I want to keep that,” He muttered, his tone as apathetic as you’d come to expect. “And unlike you, I don’t let my toys wander beyond my reach.”

There was a growl on Katsuki’s part, a scowl on Shoto’s. You weren’t sure which to be more unnerved by. “You’re making a very, very bad decision, Todoroki.”

All he did was cock his head in response, perfecting his aim by less than a hair’s width. “At least I’ll be alive enough to make it.”

Without further argument, Katsuki released you, but you didn’t turn, didn’t run, didn’t think until you heard his wings clap against the air, until you were sure he was gone and he wasn’t coming back, not right now. As soon as you could no longer feel his heat on your skin, you collapsed, Shoto letting his bow slacken and catching you before you hit the ground, hardly batting an eye at the effort. You couldn’t bring yourself to resist, to fight, only burying your face in his tunic and thanking him, words of apology and gratitude spilling over your slips as he merely hummed, brushing your hair out of your face, his smile coming to press against your scalp. “It’s alright,” He whispered, his thoughts just barely loud enough for you to hear.

“I’ve always wanted my own pet.”

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guro-giri-letters · 4 years ago

Text

It ain’t easy : Spinner x reader!

- By Guro. ♡

/While you and the League try to survive the summer heat in your new hideout, you and Spinner have a heart to heart. This is a longer one! Posted it on Ao3 but it’s another nice wholesome one (a little flirty) so thought I’d post it here too. Enjoy! ♡/

/Tags l Tw ; No warnings, flirting, Spinner is cute and kind of clueless. ♡/

Spinner isn’t fond of the cold but God damn, he wished your current hideout wasn’t quite so hot.

Dabi groans aloud as he peels his coat off, ducking through the only window in the entire building he and Twice had managed to shove open. “Damnit, I’m cooked,” he grits out, and then shoots both Twice and Toga a look when they snort in response. The current Hotel de League is the shell of an old apartment complex, all sealed up and stuffy from prolonged disuse. None of the windows open. Nothing electric works. But it’s dark and built strong, and far enough on the outskirts of the city that they aren’t likely to get caught squatting.

So here they’ll stay, for hell knows how long. The window they’ve found and forced open gives way to a decent sized balcony, more than big enough for most of the League to lounge on.

Toga sits happily, her legs dangling through the gaps in the bars that act as a safety railing. Dabi moves to crouch next to her and light a cigarette, rolling his eyes heavily and handing the box over to Twice when he motions for it enthusiastically. Spinner sits at the other end of the balcony, giving one of his many blades a much needed sharpening and watching the distant city. Despite the heat he feels quite content today, almost enchanted by how small everything in the city looks from here. Like he could lift it up in his hands, like a sword-wielding Godzilla.

“I’m back guys!” There’s a general murmur of greeting as you climb through the window and onto the balcony to rejoin your group, smiling at Toga as she twists around to wave at you enthusiastically. You nearly trip on your way in, planting a very warm hand on Spinner’s shoulder to steady yourself. As you straighten up, you give him an all too pretty smile in the way of thanks. Spinner can feel himself flush instantly but he tries to play it off, giving you a simple nod as you turn away and delve into the convenience store bag on your arm. Since you’re the newest member of the League, it’d been you who’d been sent out to buy some essentials to keep you all going.

“Here’s your cigarettes Twice, so you can stop stealing from Dabi.” Tossing the little cardboard box, Twice catches it with a blink, the line of his uncovered mouth twisting as Dabi gives him an accusatory scowl. “Oh, here Toga,” you chirp, handing over a strawberry ice pop to the younger girls' complete delight. She thanks you loudly, tearing the plastic packet open with her sharp teeth.

You continue chattering casually, giving out the things you’d retrieved on your short trip. Spinner watches you idly, his blade forgotten as his eyes follow you moving around in the warm sun. You’re such an easygoing person, he thinks. It’s one of the things he likes about you. You just look like you’re enjoying every moment of your time, even as you lean through the window to hand the bag and the rest of its contents to Shigaraki. Your leader takes it with two hooked fingers, blinking at you behind Father before retreating into the safety of the shadows wordlessly. For his part, Spinner looks away pointedly while you’re bent over.

“I wasn’t stealing from you!” Twice is retorting when you return and drop to sit by Spinner, snickering to yourself at the sight of Dabi leaning over the masked man, threatening. “And I’ll do it again!” Toga giggles too, and Dabi grumbles something Spinner doesn’t even hear because you’ve turned to look at him, earning his full attention instantly. Laying one of your hands over his own, you squeeze it gently.

“What are you thinking about, Spinner?” The gentle tone of your voice is enough to muffle the sound of your allies still bickering. Shifting, he moves around to face you better, watching with a blink as you take a small bite of your own ice pop. Noticing him watching you offer it to him, licking your lips. “It’s apple.”

“No thanks,” he can feel himself getting flustered again as you shrug, removing your hand from his in the process as you get comfortable. Taking another bite of your cold treat and leaning back against the bars, you squint up at the unforgiving sun. With the heat beating down you feel so warm against Spinner’s side, your legs stretched out and leaning against his own as you relax fully, humming quietly and rolling your shoulders back. “I wasn’t thinking about anything, really,” he adds to fill the silence. To his surprise you actually snort at this, letting out a quiet giggle. “What?”

“Spinner, you’re always thinking,” you reply easily as you take another bite of your ice pop. You reach into his lap, making him jump involuntarily at the sudden move, but you’re only looking for his hand again. This time you slide your fingers through his own and squeeze lightly, your smaller palm feeling so different in his reptilian one. Spinner swallows and tries to appear aloof and unaffected, stoic, but he can’t not stare at your joined hands. The soft slide of your skin against the rougher texture of his own, it makes him think of the rest of your skin, soft and sleek. Coughing, he instantly pushes down those feelings because what the hell is he thinking? Sure you’re about his own age, but you’re so pretty, so nice.

Damnit, he likes you doesn’t he?

Forcing himself to relax, he wonders vaguely if you might like him too, or if you ever could. It’s not that Spinner thinks himself undateable or anything, but… the villain has never been great with girls, knowing how they feel or what they’re thinking. And it’s not like he’s had much experience with flirting or anything, either. Who’s he gonna practice with? Twice? He snorts to himself inwardly at the thought. But… but you’re a pretty laid back person, right? Laid back and nice and honest. If he asked you you’d just tell the truth, wouldn’t you? Considering this possibility gives him a small burst of hope, and he turns his head to look at you again. You’ve just finished your ice pop, and you’re chasing melted drops that have ran down your wrist with your tongue, licking your lips when you’re done. Like your ice pop, the bit of courage Spinner has worked up melts away in seconds and he’s left hot-faced and fidgeting. You catch him looking, grinning instantly. “What? Is it on my face?”

“Oh, no- no, you’re good,” he replies surprisingly evenly, and then jumps when you scoot a little closer to him, tilting your head.

“Did it turn my tongue green?”

Spinner really thinks he’s going to freak out, his tough guy act is doing nothing here. Your tone has gone all soft and silky, secretive almost, sticking your tongue out at him with a playful grin. Of course it’s turned your tongue green, and you smell like apples and sugar. His eyes dart from your open mouth to your bright eyes, glowing under the rays of golden sun.You look pleased with yourself as you draw your tongue back in, your thumb running over his scaled knuckles.

“Yeah, it did,” Spinner breathes finally, mind blank of anything else to say as you somehow draw in even closer. Your hand leaves his and moves up to rest on his bicep, firm with muscle, your free hand coming up to cradle his jaw. Did you- were you going to kiss him? No way. “Y/n?” He murmurs, quietly, like the two of you are telling secrets.

“Spinner?” It’s an outright purr. He’s pretty sure he’s going to die under all of your attention. Jerking, his hands fumble and land on your waist to keep himself from toppling over as you pull him in close. You don’t mind the contact though, uncaring of your companions so close by as your nose moves in close to his snout. You smile, warm and sweet. “Are you really going to make me ask you to kiss me? Such a tough guy, Shuichi.”

The series of unfortunate events that takes place in the next few seconds happens way too quickly. You tilt your head up, like you really are asking him to kiss you. And he’s only just decided that he is in fact going to kiss you when a leg suddenly emerges from the window, nearly standing directly on top of you. You let out a yelp, darting forward and knocking against Spinner’s firm chest just as Mr Compress stumbles his way out onto the balcony. He almost falls right onto you, standing on Twice’s ankle and sending the masked villain into a flurry of contradictory yells that in turn causes Dabi to jump in surprise, cigarette flying out of his hand and dying in a melted puddle of ice pop left by Toga. A moment of silence fills the balcony, all of you glancing between each other in clear expectancy of someone completely losing it. It drags on a moment, and then Dabi growls, head thumping back against the railing. “I’m not even getting mad, I’m too hot.”

With that, the momentary bubble of tension burst with ease.

“My popsicle melted!”

“Mr Compress stood on us!”

“How inelegant of me, I must be getting out of practice! My apologies, dear,” Mr Compress lays a gloved hand on your shoulder, bending down to you as he straightens his hat. “I did nearly step on you.”

“It’s okay, Compress!” You haven’t moved from where you ended up, an arm around Spinner’s shoulders and your other hand on his chest to steady yourself. He hadn’t even realised he’d grabbed onto you, one of his arms locked around your waist to trail you out of Mr Compress’ way. Tangled together with you, in front of everyone, the heat outside, it all feels a little too much all of a sudden for Spinner. Without a word the scaled villain untangles himself from you, stands, and bee-lines straight for the window. “What- Spinner?” You call after him, getting up to your knees with a frown.

He looks back at you before he climbs through, a pang of guilt hitting his chest at your confused expression, like you think you’ve done something wrong. Sighing, Spinner forces himself to look away. “I’ll be back,” he says, like it could be directed at anyone on the balcony. Twice and Compress both murmur their farewells but you don’t say anything, sighing and drawing your knees up close to yourself… Had you been too forward? You didn’t think you would scare him off but maybe you had.

Spinner doesn’t come back in the next hour. He doesn’t come back for the rest of the afternoon either. By the time the gecko-quirk villain does step back out onto the balcony it’s late evening, and everyone has already made their way back into the complex. Well, nearly everyone. The blue glow of Dabi’s flames catches his eye a second too late and the pair share a vaguely awkward glance as Dabi lights his cigarette. Shaking his wrist, the burnt man extinguishes the flame and exhales a cloud of smoke. “You ran off fast earlier, lizard.”

“Shut your mouth, ash-tray,” Spinner grumbles in return, planting his elbows on the railing and staring out at the now-dark, distant city. “I wanted out of the sun.”

“You wanted out from under y/n.” Spinner glares at the jab. Dabi huffs smoke at him through his teeth, the corner of his stapled up mouth turning up. “You’re not denying it,” he rasps in that rough, odd tone of his. Spinner hates it. He almost hates Dabi himself, but not entirely. After all they’d joined with much the same intentions, hadn’t they? They had some similarities, but he definitely hates Dabi’s attitude. “What’re you so scared of, huh?”

“I’m not-” The window creaks again and both men turn their heads, watching as you climb through the window back onto the balcony. You’re wearing an oversized shirt and your feet are bare; you actually look like you’ve just woken from a nap. Blinking sleepily, you notice the pair after a moment and smile, stretching your arms above your head.

“Why’re you two awake?” You ask through a yawn, dropping your arms and moving to seat yourself by the railing.

Dabi ignores your question, flicking his cigarette and choosing instead to make direct eye contact with Spinner. “Can’t sleep, y/n?”

“No,” you reply wistfully, tilting your head. “I can never sleep in new places, Unfamiliar, you know?”

“Hm…” Dabi murmurs in return, narrowing his eyes. Was he trying to get a rise out of Spinner? Anger him on purpose? Just when Spinner thinks this Dabi grins, his teeth flashing white in the dark. He looks right at you, tilting his head and scratching at the back of his mess of dark hair. “You want some company?”

Oh.

He gives Dabi a disbelieving look and Dabi smirks back, as if challenging him. You’re blissfully unaware of the silent battle going on between them, a content smile crossing your face as you watch the sky changing colours, turning darker. “That’d be nice,” you nod, glancing back at them and then back over the city. “A late night chat is always nice.”

“I’ll keep you company,” Spinner says quickly, not willing to let Dabi continue his meddling any longer. You turn to him quickly with a smile he swears looks relieved, nodding your head. “Come on, y/n,” he takes your hand, soldiering through his nerves and moving back towards the window with you in tow. You go with him happily, turning back and giving Dabi a small wave. He simply nods in your and Spinner’s direction, the tip of his cigarette glowing in the dark the last you see of him before climbing through the window. You don’t bother speaking as you take the lead, pulling Spinner through the darkened hallways of the apartment complex and to your room. It takes a few minutes to find the room you’ve claimed as your own but when you do you beam back at him, pushing the door open and quickly shutting it behind the pair of you.

Alone in your room with you, Spinner instantly feels a bit nervous again. He hesitates a moment, but follows as you pull him over to the creaky, understuffed bed in the corner. You’d patted the dust off of some sheets earlier and thrown them over the mattress to act as a temporary bed while the League stays here. Climbing up to the head of the bed you put a hand out, motioning for Spinner to join you.

“You- you want me to get in with you?”

“Where do you want to lie, on the floor?” Spinner laughs a little at your reply, but you can hear the nerves in it. You lean forward and take his hand again, and this time he moves forward with your encouragement. There’s a moment of shuffling as he works his boots off and then squeezes onto the mattress with you. Getting comfortable takes a moment too, both of you working out where to put your limbs and how close to lie to each other. In the end your faces are mere inches apart, lying on your sides with your head pillowed on Spinner’s arm. “You should take your mask off, get comfortable.”

“I thought you wanted to chat,” he replies half-jokingly, shutting his eyes but not objecting as you slip his mask up and away from his eyes. Instantly you run your hand through his lilac hair, giggling at the way he inadvertently relaxes into your touch. The pair of you lapse into comfortable silence, listening to the far off buzz of city noise and the odd groan and creak from the apartment complex.

“...I’m sorry if I freaked you out, earlier. I guess I came on a little strong,” Spinner looks surprised by your words, tilting his head as you glance away from him. A faint blush rises on your cheeks and he blinks, realization hitting him like a train.

“Oh- Y/n, you didn’t freak me out. Well, no. I was freaked out but not because of you, I just…” he sighs, trailing off as he looks for the right words. “...I just don’t know what I’m doing, with any of this. And everyone was there. I just-” You cut him off by laying your fingertips over his lips lightly, surprise and hope in your eyes.

“So… you didn’t mind me flirting?” You can’t even contain the smile that stretches your lips, fingers moving from his mouth along the line of his jaw, entranced by the bump of scales beneath your fingertips. “You liked it?”

Spinner almost laughs, unsure whether he should be shaking his head or nodding. “No! I mean- yes, yes I liked it. No I didn’t min-” You kiss him, closing the gap between you both and cutting off his words before he can get lost in his thoughts again. You like Spinner. You’ve liked him since you joined the League and to think he liked you too is such a relief. You just can’t help yourself, your hands curling over his strong shoulders as if he might disappear again and leave you alone. He has no intention of going anywhere, though, his hand that isn’t trapped beneath your body moving to hold you by the waist. The way he kisses you back is shy, and when you pull back you’re both blinking slowly, a curious smile pulling up one corner of your lips.

“Was that your first kiss Spinner?” Redness creeps over his green skin at your question. He clears his throat, choosing instead to pose his own question instead of answering you.

“Shuichi is alright with me, if you want?”

Your heart feels incredibly warm as you nod, pulling him in by his shoulders and kissing him again. “Okay, Shuichi,” you beam, giddy and delighter as you press your face against his chest. The old, unfamiliar building has no chance of keeping you up now, not with Spinner’s strong arms linked around you.

You’ve never felt safer.

#spinner x reader #spinner fic #shuichi iguchi #spinner #spinner mha #bnha #mha #my hero academia #lov #league of villains #fanfic #x reader #cute #fluff #wholesome #first kiss #I LOVE SPINNER #guro writes #(yells)

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clanoffetts · 4 years ago

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someday. | paz vizsla x fem!reader

Chapter II

masterlist

synopsis: Paz Vizsla finds himself stuck on Dantooine with a broken ship and no credits. Luckily, he finds you, a mechanic that will fix his ship for passage to Hosnian Prime. Over the course of your time together, a courtship blossoms.

warnings/things to note: star wars swear words; reader has hints of PTSD that will be expanded on in further chapters (and those will be tagged with stronger warnings); no use of ‘Y/N’

word count: 7.3k

also I guess this is now an AU where Grogu becomes a foundling and Din and Paz are besties.

You woke the next morning fairly early but nowhere near as early as yesterday. The sun was already high in the sky.

You showered and dressed for the day, and then began deciding what to pack. You had a fairly large backpack, and decided that’s what you’d pack in. You shoved the few shirts you had into the bottom, followed by a pair of leggings, then your coveralls. On top of those went the holopad and a few holo photos of you, Aliria, and a few of your friends you’d made on Dantooine. That was all you cared to bring, really. Everything else had no importance, and you didn’t have the room to bring it.

“Whoever you sell it to can have the stuff that’s in it,” you tell Aliria over breakfast. “Or you can have it. I think I’d prefer it if you have it.”

Aliria wasn't going to sell your stuff, even if you told her to. “I’ll keep it, dear,” she said as she poured you some tea. “I’ve been eyeing that sofa since you got it.”

“Oh, trust me,” you said. “I noticed.” She laughed, her eyes lighting up with almost as much life as her voice.

You looked at her, taking her presence in. “I’m scared, Ali,” you said. She cocked an eyebrow and put her hand on yours, asking why without words. “I forgot how scary it is to start a new life.”

“You’re strong, dear,” she squeezed your hand. “Your General Organa will take care of you, not as well as me, of course, but I’m sure she will.”

You rolled your eyes. “Always so confident, Ali.” You sat in a gentle silence while you ate, lost in thought.

You said goodbye to your mentor in private, embracing her tightly as she reassured you that you were strong, you were capable. When you emerged from Aliria’s house it seemed like the whole town was waiting for you, even the Mandalorian, though he stood quite far off.

“We’re going to miss you, you know,” Tom, the mechanic, said.

You smiled at him. “I’ll miss you too, Tom.”

“What about me?” Zenith said.

You pulled him into a hug. “You’re a good kid, Zen,” you tell him. “Keep it that way, yeah?” He nodded. You felt your eyes well up as you pulled some of your closest friends into hugs.

Eventually, you’d hugged everyone at least twice, and there was no way around leaving. It was time to go. “Alright, Mando,” you called to him, trying to keep an air of happiness in your strained voice. “I’m ready!”

You slung your bag over your shoulder and he came to walk beside you. You couldn’t bring yourself to look back, knowing everyone was standing there. The Mandalorian put a big hand on the top of your back, some kind of gesture of comfort, you thought.

He cleared his throat under the helmet. You’d been walking a little while, the town was no longer in view, and the ship was starting to take form in the distance. “You ok, kebiin’ika?”

“Not really, Mando,” you say. “But I will be.” His hand had not wavered from your back, and you were glad. His touch was soft, despite the thick gloves and his intimidating demeanor. As his touch burned into your back, you thought of Aliria’s words: I’ve always thought you’d like a warrior husband, she’d said. Maybe she was right, you’d thought, allowing your mind to wonder what it’d be like to come home to the Mandalorian. This is silly, you scolded yourself. You don’t even know his name. Stop it.

The Mandalorian was thinking about the same thing. Wondering what’d it’d be like to introduce you to the covert, to court you in the proper Mandalorian way, to watch you meet the foundlings. He, too, stops himself. He isn’t naive.

Finally, the two of you arrived at the ship. The Mandalorian’s hand hesitantly left your back, and he motioned for you to board ahead of him. “Go ahead, kebiin’ika.” You felt your feet leave Dantooine’s soil and felt your heart get heavier. Still, you pushed forward onto the ship. It wasn’t the biggest craft, but it had a refresher, a bedroom, and one bunk out in the open.

“The bedroom is through there,” the Mandalorian said, gesturing towards the back of the ship. “You’ll sleep in there, I’ll sleep out here.”

You shook your head. “I’m not taking your bed, Mando.”

“You are,” he said. “I don’t mind the bunk. It’s really not that bad.”

You sighed. “I have a feeling you won’t take no for an answer.”

“You have good instincts, then, kebiin’ika,” he replied and made his way to the cockpit. You went the opposite direction, towards the bedroom. The door slid open with a woosh to reveal the room. Room was a generous word for the bed that was shoved into what was probably a storage compartment. The bed took up most of the space but there was one little nightstand that was no wider than a foot. It was just large enough for a chrono and a glass of water.

The bed itself had a quilt on it, made with all different colors and different sized blocks, and was obviously hand sewn. It reminded you of the quilt in Aliria’s living room that stayed folded on the back of her chair. Another pang of sadness in your heart. The pillow was flat and bare, you’d probably have to fold it in half to get some semblance of comfort from it. You dropped your backpack onto the bed, and left the room.

Entering the cockpit, the Mandalorian was pressing buttons on the ships dashboard, and you silently prayed to whoever was listening that the rust bucket of a ship would get off the ground. “Everything look ok?” you asked.

“So far so good,” he said. “Now sit down and buckle up, we’ll see if it’ll fly.” You obeyed, sitting in the chair next to him and fastening the clasps of the seatbelt. When you looked back up from the clasps, the blue helmet was staring right at you. “Are you sure about this, kebiin’ka?” he asked. “I’m not trying to break my end of the deal, but you don’t seem like you want to leave.”

You nodded. “Yes, I have to do this. It’s important,” you told him. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t be sad.”

“Alright, then off to Yavin IV,” he said, and began initiating take off protocols. You lifted out of the clearing in the trees slowly, and as you got higher up you could see the town. The people were still congregated in the middle of town from the good-byes.

Eventually, you were out of the atmosphere and into space. The journey was going to be short, especially with the hyperspace jump. Just under 12 hours and you’d be on Yavin’s fourth moon.

“Jumping in 3, 2, 1,” he said and the ship jolted and the ship became shrouded in the swirling blue light of hyperspace. “Have you ever been to Yavin IV?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah, I lived there for awhile.” You loved Yavin IV when you’d lived there, despite the circumstances of your residency. The forests were beautiful, the climate was lovely. You remember watching Leia presenting medals to the newest heroes of the Rebellion.

“Oh,” he said. “Why’d you leave?”

You looked at him. “You ask a lot of questions, Mando. And I’d answer if I knew you’d answer my questions.” Why were you even trusting him? You knew nothing about him, but there was just something in the way he carried himself that made you believe he would never harm you and would never let anyone else harm you, either.

“I don’t mean to offend you, kebiin’ika,” he said, hardly phased by your hostility. “My religion, kebiin’ika, it’s binding. I don’t want to break the resol'nare.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Resol’nare?”

“The tenets of Mandalorian life.”

You nodded, trying to understand. “That’s why you can’t tell me your name?”

“Kind of,” he nodded. “We have to be strict with the Resol’nare. A big part of it is our armor and protecting our tribe. We keep the armor on, we protect our tribe. We keep our secrets, we protect our tribe.”

You remembered hearing about the Purge of Mandalorians. That’s probably why they lived all the way out on Yavin IV, and why he was having to get so many supplies before he goes back. “I’m sorry,” you say. “For getting hostile. It’s just...hard. You want me to open up to you but you won’t do the same,” you say. “I’m not saying you have to open up to me. I just want to explain myself.”

“No, I understand,” he said. Then his visor turned back forward, staring into the blue blankness of hyperspace. “Would…” he began. “Would it help if I told you my name?” He was still staring straight ahead, hands gripping the arm rests of his chair.

You looked at him, shocked that he’d offer this. “I wasn’t trying to guilt you into telling me about yourself, Mando,” you tell him.

“I want to tell you my name, kebiin’ika. I’m asking you to trust me and you don’t even know my name,” he said, finally looking over at you. “That’s a bit unreasonable I think.”

You took a deep breath. He was right. It was unreasonable. “Alright then, Mando,” you say. “If that’s what you want, then I’ll happily learn your name.”

“Paz Vizsla,” he said. “Clan Vizsla.” After the fact he realized that his clan wouldn’t mean anything to you, but it felt weird to introduce himself without saying it.

“Paz Vizsla,” you repeat. “I’ve heard the name Vizsla before, I think.”

He nodded. “Vizslas were important on Mandalore. But that was a long time ago.”

“I like your name,” you say. “Paz Vizsla.” Paz smiled under his helmet. He liked the way his name sounded coming out of your mouth. He hadn’t heard his name spoken without a vocoder since he donned his helmet all those years ago.

“I like when you say my name,” he says before he can stop himself. Maker, you must think he’s strange. But you smiled a toothy smile at him, and said his name again. “You know, I haven’t heard my name in awhile,” he says.

This made you sad. He hadn’t heard his own name in Maker knows how long. “You don’t speak your names at home? On Yavin?”

“Sometimes. But often the kids just call me ba’vodu and the adults call me vod.” He noticed the confused look on your face. He wasn’t used to speaking this much with people who didn’t know Mando’a. “Vod means sibling or close friend. Ba’vodu means uncle.”

You smiled. “That’s sweet, Paz,” you say. “I like Mando’a. It’s pretty when you speak it.”

His heart swelled with pride for his people. This was what the Resol’nare instilled in him, a pride for his people and his language. And the fact that you loved it was amazing to him. “We’ll have a long ride to Hosnian Prime, maybe I can teach you some?”

“I’d love that, Paz,” you say. You could tell he loved talking about his people, you wished he was able to tell you more. He seemed so happy.

You now sat in your room. His room? Your room? You weren’t sure. But you were sitting on the bed nonetheless, reading on your holopad. You had a few more hours of your journey, and you felt like you were in Paz’s way if you weren’t in this room.

Your thoughts had long drifted from the article you were reading. They’d drifted to Paz. You thought of how happy he was that someone was interested not only in Mando’a but interested in him. How willing he was to share his name if it made you more comfortable. There was something in the pit of your stomach that started to swell. Those feelings you’d felt when his hand guided you to the ship. No, you scolded yourself. Not him. You can’t start crushing on him. But he was just so kind. So gentle despite being so utterly terrifying with his height and his armor.

Paz sat in the cockpit, staring into hyperspace. Mandalorians were a patient people, they had to be. Especially now, living in the shadows. Waiting their turn to be the one who emerges from their hideouts. But, truthfully, Paz wasn’t utilizing his Mandalorian patience, the meditation that all the young children are taught. His mind was racing with thoughts of the girl who lay on his bed right now. Thoughts of how kriffing interested she was in the little bits of Mandalorian culture he’d introduced her to.

Paz had never really thought what his ideal riduur was like. He knew he wanted her to be smart and to be able hold her own, but that was as far as he had gotten. But now, now he saw the shape of his ideal riduur begin to form in his mind: the shape of you. When he was younger, he’d imagined marrying a Mandalorian, but with so much of the Tribe gone now...he just didn’t see that happening. He still couldn’t believe he was this entranced by you, a shopkeeper turned mechanic from a village on Dantooine, of all places. He didn’t like the feeling of not having control over these emotions, no matter how hard he tried. He didn’t like how he didn’t know if you felt the same way, and if you did he had no idea how to go about courting you. You’re getting ahead of yourself, Vizsla, he thought. She just learned your name a few hours ago.

“Kebiin’ika?” He called gently from the other side of the door. He knocked as gently as he could and repeated, “Kebiin’ika?” A sleepy hmm? came from the other side of the door. “We’re almost there. Just dropped out of hyperspace.”

The door wooshed open, and you were standing right in front of him. Close in front of him. You rubbed sleep from your eyes and stretched in the doorway. “Already?”

He wished you could see his smile under his visor. He usually cherished the blankness of the helmet, but in this moment, he wanted nothing more than to smile at you. “Yeah,” he said. “Surprised the drop didn’t wake you.” He was staring down at you, something that normally intimidated people, but you just stood there, looking up.

“I’m a deep sleeper,” you say. “Do you have any food? My breakfast has worn off.”

He nodded. “There’s a little kitchenette through here.” He led you through another a little farther up on the ship. It certainly was small, a tiny conservator under one of the cabinets that you doubt housed much, a stove, and a microwave. “There should be some stuff in here. It might not be the best, but it’s something.”

“Do you want me to make you something, too?” You ask.

He shaked his head. “I’m alright, kebiin’ika.” He made a mental note to ask you what foods you wanted so he could pick up groceries on Yavin IV, but for now he needed to land the ship and you needed to eat.

When the ship landed, you were both in the cockpit. You were munching on a ration bar, as most the things in the kitchen were expired and the things that weren’t wouldn’t make a meal. You’d told Paz just to get whatever for the kitchen, that you’d eat just about anything.

“Ok, kebiin’ika,” he said as the ship’s main systems shut down after the landing. “I’ve got to get these things back to the covert, and you’ll have to stay here.” He saw the flicker of disappointment on your face. Maker, how he wanted to take you to the covert and introduce you to everyone, but that couldn’t happen. While he trusted you, he knew not everyone would, and it would be frowned upon to bring an outsider to their secure location.

“Ok,” you replied. “Do I have to stay on the ship?”

“You don’t have to, but I’d prefer it. It’d be safer, and the town is a good hour’s walk from here,” he told you.

You nodded. “Ok, I’ll stay here.”

About that time, you heard the woosh of what you thought to be jetpacks. You followed Paz to the ramp, stopping in the doorway as he continued down. There was one Mandalorian down there, on a speeder bike, towing another behind him. His armor was unpainted, just pure, bright beskar. He greeted Paz with a hug and followed him to the cargo hatch. The visor of the new Mando’s helmet met your eyes with what you thought was probably suspicion, but he continued on.

They’d expertly tied all the goods onto the speeders, and the new Mando sped off, and Paz turned around and gave you a wave before following his friend.

“Who’s the girl, Paz?” Din asked as they stopped in the bay of the covert’s new home.

“A new friend,” Paz said. Din wasn’t satisfied. “My ship stopped working back on Dantooine, and I didn’t have any credits. She said she’d fix it if I took her to Hosnian Prime.”

Din was shocked, but with his helmet on Paz couldn’t tell. “Maker, Paz, we need you here. Not on kriffing Hosnian Prime.”

“I know. But we needed these supplies, too, and if it weren’t for her I don’t know what I would’ve done,” Paz said. Eager to change the subject, he said, “How’s your foundling?”

“Grogu?” Din asked. “He’s good. Eats all the vermin. He’s like a Loth-cat, Paz,” Din laughed and Paz joined him. The little green toddler had made a big impact on the covert, specifically with how adorable he was. Grogu was Clan Djarin, but he was everyone’s family.

Paz was greeted in the hallways of the covert almost immediately, his vod emerging from the rooms they were working to make their homes, and the young children coming from the school room. Shouts of “Ba’vodu!” filled the halls. Paz was beaming under his helmet as he knelt down to hug all the children.

“You’ll have to excuse me, everyone,” he said. “I’ve got some business to attend to.” The children groaned, wanting fun Uncle Paz rather than the stern man in front of them. But they got the hint, and backed off back to the schoolroom. Paz went to the workshop first, where he knew he’d find Bezza. And he did.

“Bezza?” He asked, walking into the almost empty room. She sat at a workbench, hunched over something. “I’ve got something for you.”

The young girl looked up. She had a helmet on. She hadn’t had that when Paz left. “Paz? You’re back?” She jumped up from her seat and rushed into a hug. Their beskar sang when they collided. “I walk the way of the Mandalore now,” she said when she backed away.

“I can see that,” Paz laughed. “The armor of your clan?” He asked. She nodded. Paz couldn’t see her face, but he knew it was solemn at the memory of her fallen buire. He pulled the journal out of his pack, “I got you this on Dantooine.”

Paz wished she had waited to don her helmet, just so he could see the way her face lit up when she saw the leather journal. “Ba’vodu,” she was breathless. “It’s gorgeous. On Dantooine? Why’d Dantooine have this?”

“It’s a long story, Bezza,” he replied. “One with crazy old ladies and me making friends with pretty mechanics.”

Bezza’s head tilted. “Uncle Paz finally smitten? Wait until Armorer hears. The whole covert will be on the edge of their seats.”

Paz immediately regretted the ‘pretty’ remark. “Bezza, you wouldn’t dare,” he said. Gossip traveled fast, especially amongst the older members of the covert who ached for their best warriors to bring more younglings into the tribe.

“No,” Bezza said. “Especially since she's on Dantooine and not here.”

Paz spoke without thinking. “Well, she is here.”

“Here? At the covert?” Bezza looked behind Paz frantically searching for the pretty mechanic.

He shook his head. “No, Bezza, not here,” he laughed. “Armorer would kill me if I brought her here. But she’s on my ship.”

“Uncle Paz...I know you didn’t leave a girl you have a crush on alone on your ship,” Bezza said.

“First, I don’t have a crush on her. Second, should I not have?”

“Kriff, men really can be clueless,” Bezza sighed. “No, Paz, you shouldn’t have. Not if you’re thinking about courting her.” Bezza's voice drifted into a singsong for the last bit.

Paz tilted his head down in a stern manner that Bezza recognized from her days as his student. “I'm not thinking about courting her,” he said. “Besides, I’m an old man compared to her.”

“Maker, ba’vodu, you’re not old. And, that doesn’t matter,” Bezza said. “But what does matter is that you left her on the ship alone in the middle of the forest. Poor thing.”

Paz rolled his eyes beneath his helmet. It couldn’t have been that bad.

It’d been three hours since Paz and his friend rode off into the dense forest. You were bored. There was no service for your holopad to pick up on, and you’d walked the layout of the ship a million times. You were mad at yourself for napping when you did, because if you hadn’t you’d still be on Dantooine time and would be fast asleep. But you had napped, and now you’d be on Yavin IV time, and it was midday here.

You were back on the bed, unpacking your backpack. Your credits jangled at the bottom. I could go get some clothes in town, you thought. Maybe some nicer shoes. You definitely had the credits for it, and you didn’t want to meet with Leia in your old, tattered clothes.

You figured out how to engage ground protocols from outside the ship, and then slung your backpack onto a shoulder and set off walking. You realized you should’ve tried to leave a hint to Paz that you’d gone into town, but it was too late for that now. Surely he could figure it out.

The town came into view. It wasn’t a big place, and it was fairly new. It hadn’t been here when the Rebellion had. A few chain stores and restaurants were littered between mom and pop places. You entered the chain fashion store, knowing their prices would be the most reasonable for the budget you’d set.

All kinds of clothing were scattered over the store. A section of jackets and headwear for Togrutas and Twi’leks, shirts with varying numbers of sleeves, and pants for varying numbers of legs. You got yourself to the two-arm and two-leg section fairly easily, picking up solid colored tees and a sweatshirt of dark green. Just the staples. These were softer than the t-shirt you had on now, and thinner than the coveralls in your bag. Good for Yavin’s climate, and easily layerable for whatever Hosnian Prime had in store. You picked up some jeans and sweatpants as well, might as well build up a wardrobe here. You knew the prices on a popular planet like Hosnian Prime would be outrageous.

“Can I take those up to the counter for you?” A teenage girl asked. She had blindingly neon pink lekku that caught you by surprise when you turned around.

“Sure,” you said, handing her your goods. “Thank you.” She turned to walk away, and you continued looking around. There were gorgeous dresses towards the back, most likely for the local teenagers to buy when school dances came around. You ran your hands over all the different fabrics, your eyes taking in all the colors. They looked utterly expensive. You caught a glance at the price tag and yanked your hand back. You couldn’t risk harming one of these gowns, or you’d have to tell Paz you ran out of credits and needed to go back to Dantooine instead.

You paid for the items, the Twi’lek girl giving you some kind of discount since you were a first time customer, and then walked out with the bag of clothes at your side. You wandered around for a bit, eventually finding yourself in some tech store being held up by a protocol droid. You’d made the mistake of telling it you were visiting from Dantooine, and now you were getting an extensive history of Dantooinian/Yavinian relations. Anything beat being bored on that ship, though.

Paz sat alone in his quarters, sipping on a broth. His helmet stared at him from the other side of the table. The chrono on the wall indicated he’d been gone from the ship for almost five hours. Then he thought back to what Bezza had said. He felt guilt, similar to the guilt he had felt when he realized he should’ve offered to walk you home after your first day of working on his ship. But this was more intense. He cursed at himself for not realizing how rude that was. He needed to get better at that, he decided. I’ll go meet with Armorer, he thought. She can advise me.

Paz’s heavy knocks landed on the door of the armory. Seconds later, the door opened, and Armorer allowed him in. They sat at her meeting table together. “Tell me about your mechanic.”

Paz groaned like a frustrated child. “Bezza tell you?”

Armorer shook her head. “Bezza told one of her friends, who told their father, who told a member of the council, who told me.” Of course. Everyone here was a gossip. They had to be, after all, because where else would their entertainment come from? “Tell me about her, Paz. Bezza said you seemed quite smitten.”

“I am not smitten,” Paz said, and then proceeded to tell the Armorer how you became a passenger on his ship.

“You left her alone on the ship? For all this time?” Armorer asked.

Paz sighed. “Why does everyone keep saying that? She’s a grown woman, she can take care of herself.”

“I’m sure she can,” Armorer replied. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t rude. Especially if you want to court her.”

“I never said I wanted to court her.”

“You didn’t have to,” Armorer replied. “I have counseled members of this tribe for many years. I can just tell.”

Paz leaned back in defeat. “Well it’s not like I could bring her here.”

“You don’t trust her?”

Paz sat up, quickly, defensive. “Of course I trust her. But I didn’t think you would be too happy.”

“I wouldn’t be,” Armorer replied, voice unwavering.

Paz’s face contorted in confusion under his helmet. “Then why is me leaving her on the ship alone such a big deal? What was I supposed to do?”

“It’s a big deal because we want more children running around, Paz,” Armorer said, humor ringing through her voice. “But seriously, Paz, you’ve been gone for how long? Five hours? That’s a long time on a foreign ship alone. You won’t be leaving until tomorrow, you can come back then for supplies and fuel. For now, go be with your mechanic.”

Paz obeyed, standing from his spot at the Armorer’s table. “Thank you, Armorer.”

“We care for each other,” she said. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.”

Paz had said his goodbyes for the evening and walked with Din back to where they left their speeders. Grogu, clinging to Paz’s chest plate, was saying something that neither of them could understand.

“Is that so, kid?” Din cooed at the foundling. Grogu laughed. “So, Paz,” Din’s voice had returned to its normal pitch. “You gonna court this girl?”

Paz sighed. “Why does everyone think I’m going to court her?”

“You don’t usually act this way towards anyone, especially not an outsider,” Din replied. “And we all know you’ve been looking for a riduur.”

Paz’s eyes rolled under his helmet. “I don’t know, Din,” he said. “Maybe. She’s nice, a hard worker, but she probably sees me as an old man. She’s probably still in her twenties.”

“Maker, Paz, you’re not old,” Din told him. “Just think about it. You seem quite...taken with her.”

Paz nodded as they neared the speeders, handing Grogu back to Din. “Trust me, Din, she seems to be the only thing I can think about.” Din gave a smug laugh and sent his vod on his way.

Paz wasn’t a reckless driver per se, but he certainly was fast. He neared the ship in half the time it took him and Din earlier. Secured safely on the back of his bike was a thermos of broth for you. Dusk was on its way to Yavin IV, it was dinner time.

When Paz got to his ship, he was confused. Everything was shut down, and locked up from the outside. Once he was able to get in, he called for you. No answer. Surely you didn’t just up and leave him, right?

“Kebiin’ika, this isn’t funny,” he said as he opened the door to your room. But there was nothing there. Not even your backpack or your holopad. He feared the worst, that you’d been taken, but he knew it was irrational. Still, he rushed back to his speeder bike.

The townspeople of this particular town of Yavin IV had never seen a Mandalorian arrive in a fury like Paz did. Or, at least what they thought was fury. The dirt of the ground kicked up beside him as he stopped and dismounted. He scanned the town, people were going into shops or homes, fearing this was an attack of some sort. Everyone, all over the galaxy, had heard stories of Mandalorian warriors.

Paz sometimes forgot how terrifying he looked, and in this moment he wished he didn’t. He went into the first store. No luck. The diner. No luck. He began thinking you’d been taken. He stood in the middle of the town and bellowed your name.

“Paz?” A voice behind him said. Your voice.

He whipped around to see you, shopping bags in one hand, ice cream in the other. “Maker, kebiin’ika,” he said, walking up to you, looking you up and down to make sure you were ok. “Thought you were gone. I thought you were hurt.”

You winced at his words, wishing you had turned back to leave a note. “I’m sorry, Paz-”

“Don’t call me that in public,” he said, his voice taking a bit of a mean tone. But then he said, softer, “Sorry, I shouldn’t be rude. You didn’t know. It’s part of my religion. Don’t use my name in public.”

You nodded, and then moved on. “I’m sorry, Mando, I just got so bored and figured I could use new clothes and here I am. Ice cream?” You offered the unlicked side of the cone.

He pointed at the helmet. “I think I’ll have to decline.”

You nodded. “Can we go back to the ship now? I don’t like all these people looking at me.” Paz hadn’t noticed, but you were right. Everyone in town was looking at the two weirdos in the middle of the town.

“C’mon,” he said, placing a guiding hand on your back. “Got a speeder bike over there.”

You got on the speeder behind him after he’d secured your shopping bags to the front. One arm wrapped firmly around his waist, the other holding the half-eaten ice cream. “Go slow, Mando, I paid good money for this,” you told him, and he did. You cruised back down the path towards the clearing in the woods that held the ship. “How was your family?” you asked.

“Good,” he said. “I gave a girl in the covert that journal, that candy to the kids, I love to see their reactions. Makes me happy to make them happy.”

Your heart warmed, you could tell that he enjoyed making others happy. That’s what he seemed to live for. “I didn’t know people even used journals anymore, especially not younger people.”

“She’s sixteen,” Paz told you. “She lost her parents recently, and she’d been talking about a journal since she knew what they were. It felt right to buy that for her.”

You laid your head against his back, and brought both hands around his waist, as you’d finished your ice cream. “That’s sweet,” you said. “I’m sure she’s strong, after going through all that.”

“She is,” Paz agreed. “I told her about you.”

“Good things I hope?”

He laughed. “Of course. But everyone told me I shouldn’t have left you on the ship alone. That you’d get bored.”

“What do you mean ‘everyone’? Who all did you tell about me?”

Paz wasn’t sure if he made a mistake. “W-well, you know, just my close friend and Bezza, and of course I told Armorer. That’s all though.”

“Who’s Armorer? I mean, besides the armorer.”

Paz stopped the speeder as you got to the ship. “She’s our leader, our counselor, and our armorer. She’s the backbone of the Tribe.”

You hopped off the back of the bike, hands leaving Paz’s chest. “She seems important,” you said and Paz hummed in agreement. He was untying your bags, and the soup from the back. “Why’d you tell her about me?”

“Needed to know if my friends were right about leaving you alone on the ship,” he laughed. “Seems like they were.”

“You weren’t wrong to leave me, Paz. I understand that Mandalorians are very secretive,” you say. You hated to think he felt bad about a protocol that kept his Tribe safe. “Don’t feel bad.” You took the shopping bags from him and then followed him up into the ship.

“Still, I’m sorry,” he said. “Wasn’t very...gentleman-like.”

You let out a loud laugh, and he turned around to face you. “Sorry,” you said between laughs. “You just don’t strike me as someone who cares about being a gentleman. Not that you aren’t one, of course,” you cringed at yourself. You didn’t want him to think you didn’t like him or found him rude. Kriff, he was a caring Mandalorian, and those were rare.

“I usually don’t,” he said, motioning for you to sit at the table in the common area of the ship. “But I’d like to be a gentleman for you.” Maker, Paz, could you not be more subtle? he thought. Not wanting to give you any time to respond, he continued, “This is some kind of broth they had for dinner tonight. Brought you some back.” He poured the soup into the lid of the thermos and handed you a spoon.

You took the spoon slowly, looking directly into the black of his visor. Somehow, you knew he wasn’t looking back. He was looking above you or over your shoulder or something. “What do you mean you’d like to be a gentleman for me?”

Paz sucked in a strained breath. Suddenly, the beskar that had always made him feel free and safe felt like a prison that suffocated him. “I just care about you,” he said. “You know, like, you’re trusting me and so I care about you. I should protect you.”

“I can take care of myself,” you said. “And I think you know that. That’s not what this is about, is it?”

His head shifted slightly. Now you knew he was looking at you. Then it was your turn to avoid his gaze, looking down into the soup and taking a bite. “No,” he said. “It’s not.”

“Then what is it, Paz?”

Now or never, he thought. “When I was back home, everyone was asking me if I was going to court you,” he started. “I thought about it. A lot. All day.”

“And?”

“And I think I’d like to, if you’d let me,” he said quietly. You had a Mandalorian wrapped around your finger.

You looked up from your soup at him. “What even is Mandalorian courting? Is it like normal dating?” He noticed the lack of answer, silently cursing himself for bringing this up too early.

“Well, kind of. Lots of symbolism,” he said. He pulled a vibroblade from his belt. “Like, I would give you this, as a gift, an offering, if you said yes to a courtship. To mark me giving a piece of myself to you.”

You looked at the blade in his hand. “I don’t have a weapon to give you.”

“That’s ok,” he said. “You don’t have to give me anything. It’s my tradition, not yours.”

You smiled, he was so willing to accommodate you. But you knew this was a traditional man, deep down. “But you’re giving me a piece of you, I should give you a piece of me.”

“You don’t have to kebiin’ika,” he insisted. He sat the vibroblade down on the table, and he watched with wide eyes as you picked it up.

“You’ll have to teach me to use this, Paz,” you said. “But yes, I will court you.” You swore you could feel the relief that washed over his body as you spoke. “But I do want to give you something.” He tilted his head, questioning. “I don’t have anything like this to give you, but I can still make myself a little more vulnerable, like you have.”

Paz smiled under his helmet, glad that you picked up on the message of the blade. He was giving one of his weapons to you, one of his ways to defend himself, and that was deeper than the surface level for a Mandalorian. “How?”

“Ask me all those questions you’ve been dying to ask,” you said. “I’ll answer them. Besides, you should know what you’re getting into with me.”

He nodded. “Where are you from?”

“Alderaan,” you reply. You wanted him to move on to the next question quickly, so you didn’t have time to think about it.

But he didn’t move on quickly. “I’m so sorry, kebiin’ika,” he said, a gloved hand reaching out at one of yours that lay on the table. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s not like you blew it up,” you said dryly. An attempt at humor that usually only worked with other Alderaanian survivors. “Any other questions?”

“What’s on Hosnian Prime? Who’s the friend?”

You smiled at the thought of Leia. “Princess Organa is my friend on Hosnian, or I guess she’s Senator Organa now. When the Rebellion became the New Republic, she told me if I ever needed work I could come see her and she’d find me something.”

“You were a part of the Rebellion?” There was some surprise in his voice, but he’d had an inkling that you’d been involved. Something hardened you, something gave you your skills.

You nodded. “I was here on Yavin when Alderaan was blown up. Fixing up an X-wing when a pilot ran in and told me.”

“Maker,” he said. “I can’t imagine.” He’d known what it was like to lose a lot of people, but never your entire homeworld. Yes, he’d lost Mandalore in some ways, but at least it was still there.

“I thought about abandoning the Rebellion after that. I thought we couldn’t win,” you said. “But when Leia came back with the plans for the Death Star and Luke blew the damned thing up, I couldn’t leave. I was doing the bare minimum, I was just fixing ships.”

“But without you to fix the ships, the Rebellion would’ve been done for,” he said. “Armorer always says that the Tribe is a machine, and we’re all the parts. If one of us is gone, we wouldn’t function,” he says. “I’d bet that’s how the Rebellion was.”

“I guess so,” you replied. “But, kriff, some of those droids I had to fix were annoying.”

He chuckled. “We don't have droids in the covert.”

“Then count your blessings, Paz,” you said, remembering a protocol droid that talked your ear off while you fixed an astromech. “But, if we’re courting, are you coming with me to Hosnian Prime? Your part of the machine would be gone.”

He hadn’t thought of that. “Well, I don’t know. Are you still wanting to go to Hosnian Prime?”

“I kind of have to, right? If I can’t live with you in the covert,” you said. And that was part of the reason, but the other part was that you deeply missed Leia. As daughters of Alderaan and daughters of the Rebellion you’d formed a strong bond. One that you had cut yourself off from when memories of the war became too much.

He nodded, thinking. “You don’t have to, but I think you want to. If not to stay, but to at least see your friend.” Was this man a mind reader?

“Yeah, you’re right,” you agreed. “I want to see Leia. I’ll comm her in the morning, tell her we’re coming.”

“You haven’t told her? You just planned on showing up on a Princess’s doorstep?”

You nodded and shrugged. “Haven’t spoken to her in a long time. Thought it might be best to just show up.”

“You’re very smart, kebiin’ika, but that’s not the brightest decision you’ve ever made.”

You two sat at the table talking for a few more hours. The conversation came with ease as he told you stories of his bounty hunting and of Clan Vizsla’s greatest warriors. But when you yawned, he said, “You’re getting tired. You should go sleep.”

“What about you?” He pointed to the tiny bunk. “No,” you said. “You’d hardly fit in that thing! You’re too long for it!”

He laughed. “I told you earlier, I’d manage.”

“I don't know if this goes against any of your courting rules,” you started. “But you could always sleep in the proper bed with me.”

He thought about it for a moment, he really did, but he shook his head. “Gotta keep the helmet on, kebiin’ika. This is the Way.”

“It gets pitch black in there and I have a sleep mask. I wouldn’t see your face even if I tried,” you said. “And I wouldn’t try.”

Finally, after a lot more convincing, he gave in. You took a shower in the tiny ‘fresher, and came out in pajamas you had bought earlier that day, matching eye mask in hand. “Your turn,” you said, gesturing him into the ‘fresher.

When he emerged, you weren’t ready. The woosh of the door startled you and you clamped your eyes shut, slapping your hands over them. A low chuckle rang through the room. “I’ve got the helmet on, kebiin’ika. Open your eyes until I tell you to shut them.”

You obeyed, and you took him in. He was in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, and even without the armor, he was one huge man. His helmet still sat on his head, looking out of place with his loungewear. He made his way to the other side of the bed, and situated himself next to you.

“Alright, kebiin’ika,” he said. “Time for lights out.” You nodded, shutting off the lamps and then placed the mask over your eyes.

“Ok, I can’t see,” you said. And then you heard the helmet hit the floor on the other side of the bed.

It was a bit awkward at first. Both of you, just laying on your backs in what was relatively a small bed. But eventually, his hand found yours under the covers. “I wish I could show you the covert,” he said. “Introduce you to my family.”

“Is there any chance you could?” you asked. “I mean, before we leave for the Hosnian system?”

He pondered for a moment, not wanting to make an empty promise. He thought of what Armorer and the council might say. “Maybe,” he replies. “Maybe not before Hosnian. Someday, though.”

“Someday.” you repeated, and then you drifted off, hand in hand with your gentle warrior.

#paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizla #paz vizsla #the mandalorian

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

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Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1

- Chapter 2 -

It turned out that the party had been a meeting of important cultivators, sect leaders, and that meant, of course, that his father had been there.

His father. No wonder his mother had been so excited!

And even knowing that nothing had come of it, that his mother had returned empty-handed, despite himself, when he heard it, Meng Yao was excited, too, feeling a frisson of hope run down his spine. He regretted, now, that he hadn’t been able to go to the party as a server, thinking of the might-have-beens if he’d gone, if he’d done something to impress the man, if his father had finally decided to take them away from this place –

“He was too drunk to recognize me,” his mother said, sad and eyes distant. “And some of the younger girls had gotten to him first…I couldn’t catch his eye, and in the end they sent me away with one of the other sect leaders.”

As a joke, she didn’t say, an old whore with a man too drunk to tell the difference, but Meng Yao wouldn’t guess at that truth, the source of so much bitterness, until much later.

“Not Wen Ruohan, right?” Meng Yao asked, and breathed a sigh of relief when she shook her head.

“You shouldn’t refer to your elders by name, A-Yao,” she reminded him, always trying to teach him etiquette – though now that he thought about it, Nie Mingjue had used the man’s name directly, too. Maybe it was his way of trying to make the man seem less scary. “It would be ‘Sect Leader Wen’…and how do you know any of the sect leader’s names, anyway?”

“A cultivator came here last night,” Meng Yao explained. “He gave me a qiankun pouch, and some money –”

“In return for what?” His mother’s voice was sharp. “A-Yao, I told you, you’re not allowed to make deals with people –”

Meng Yao’s shoulders went up by his ears. He knew what she really meant, that he wasn’t allowed to sell himself or his body because it’d give him a bad reputation in the future; he wasn’t allowed even if it meant the difference between a hungry night and a full one, a freezing one and a warm one.

“I didn’t do that,” he muttered. “I just –”

“There’s no just. No deals at all, A-Yao; if you get into the habit of seeing everything as something you can buy or sell, then it’s only a matter of time before someone buys you.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Meng Yao protested. “He gave me a pouch, and he said –”

It was the wrong thing to say, especially after a disappointment like last night, and his mother started scolding him fiercely, alternating with tears, and in the end he decided it was better to say nothing.

Nie Mingjue would come back with the manual, the way he’d come back with the money, or else he wouldn’t, and either way there was nothing Meng Yao could do about it.

And anyway, after a few months, he realized he had bigger problems.

It started pretty unnoticeably: a tightness in his mother’s face, an unusual refusal to take on clients for the more lucrative type of engagements, spending more on food than usual…at first Meng Yao thought that it was only that she was happy to have money again, even if it spilled through their fingers like sand on getting her new clothing and better make-up, larger shoes for Meng Yao and a warm coat, only slightly torn from previous use.

He’d been worried, although not unduly so, when she’d started being sick sometimes – she’d claimed it was food poisoning, and they had been eating more meat than usual, so maybe…

Foolish.

One of the other ladies called it out one day in mockery, not a single doubt in her voice, and his mother didn’t deny it. Meng Yao’s stomach dropped, his heart frozen in terror.

Pregnant.

Again.

And she hadn’t taken any steps to get rid of it, the way she should have – whores had their ways, even if they weren’t perfect, and his mother knew enough of them. He knew that she would have been acting very differently if she intended to abort, would have been less cautious, less resistant, less –

She’d bedded a sect leader at that party, he remembered, doing the miserable math on his fingers. Not his father again, no, she wouldn’t make that mistake twice - would she? She’d gone there to see him, after all.

No, in the end, she was still counting on Meng Yao to earn his way into his father’s graces on his own, for the sake of both of them. But she had gone to bed with another one, and if it had taken…

Meng Yao knew his mother loved him, but for the first time in his life, he feared losing that love.

He tried to keep his fears to himself, tried not to burden her, but in the end he was a child and not yet good enough at hiding his expressions; she spotted him soon enough, took him into her arms and coaxed his fears from him.

“You silly goose, A-Yao. Don’t you know it’s for you?” she whispered in his ear, putting his hand on her belly. ��I’m too old and sick to have a strong child, all the doctors said so; even if this one is born, he’ll be weak and sickly, likely to be swept away by the first chill of winter. I don’t need that sect leader to support me – we know already that they won’t do that. I just need him to feel guilty enough to take you with him back to his sect as recompense for having burdened me with a child that was lost.”

Meng Yao felt a touch of ice run down his spine. “But...what if the child lives through the winter?”

“There are many ways for a child to die,” his mother said, and her voice was calm and gentle, a pool undisturbed by the ripples beneath, just the way she’d always taught him. “Only some of them are winter.”

Meng Yao knew his mother loved him, but for the first time in his life, he feared what that love might mean.

His mother had grown cunning since his birth and more cynical since his father’s most recent rejection. She decided not to write to the sect leader with the news at once – that would be risking a rejection, a dismissal, an accusation that the child could be someone else’s son, or worst of all a blow to make her miscarry. She planned instead to wait until the child was almost here and only then she would summon him, knowing he would come to check just in case it was true. It was said that cultivators had a means of testing birthright, the way regular people didn’t, and that they were very cautious about such things.

That way, when the child died at birth or immediately thereafter, there would still be enough time for the sect leader to feel guilt and to be coaxed into taking Meng Yao in as a disciple, and once Meng Yao had learned the basics of cultivation, he could make his way to his father’s place to prove to him that he was worth taking in, that it was time to make good on all the old promises he’d made.

It was a good plan, if a cold one.

It would have worked, too, if Meng Yao hadn’t blundered his way into something better.

Perhaps that was giving him too much credit: he wasn’t the one who did the blundering. That was all Nie Mingjue, who six months after he’d made a crazy promise to return had actually gone and done it.

“You live in Qinghe,” Meng Yao said accusingly instead of greeting him, because he’d gone to listen to the gossips talk until he’d managed to figure out where the cultivation sect surnamed ‘Nie’ resided. “That’s not even in this part of the country; how can you be back so soon?”

“I promised you I would, didn’t I? I keep my word,” Nie Mingjue said with a smile, as if it was that easy – as if a child could make decisions like that, ones that involved crossing mountains and rivers and going deep into another sect’s territory, when Meng Yao couldn’t even walk too far down the street without the brothel owners cursing him out as a would-be runaway. “Don’t worry about it. The Jiang sect doesn’t really pay attention as a general rule, and even if they did their current leader’s too busy with his angry wife to care about who’s traveling through his domain.”

Meng Yao rolled his eyes - he’d heard that gossip, too. But he didn’t care, that wasn’t what mattered; there were more important things to focus on. “Did you bring it?”

Nie Mingjue produced a manual out of his sleeve. The quality of the paper was far better than any of the ones Meng Yao’s mother had bought for him, and he knew at once by looking at it that this was no fake. He tried to grab at it with both hands, but Nie Mingjue pulled it back.

“Cultivation is dangerous,” he warned. “You need a guide, at least at first, to make sure you don’t make any mistakes – it’s easy to make mistakes, especially at the beginning, and that can lay the groundwork for a qi deviation in the future. I’ll let you read it, but you have to promise that you’ll only practice with me for the first week or so, okay?”

“You’re staying a week?”

Nie Mingjue’s cheeks flushed red. “Uh, well – I was planning on two, if you don’t mind…”

“Of course I don’t mind! You can stay with me in my attic.”

“I brought enough money for a room at an inn –”

“We can use the extra to buy more meat,” Meng Yao told him, already pushing and shoving him, and Nie Mingjue was easily convinced.

He was easily convinced to follow him back to the brothel, too, which was a little frustrating: how could anyone be that naïve? If Meng Yao had wanted to sell Nie Mingjue, he probably could do it, cultivator or no; there were a hundred things to fear in a brothel, hidden in the tea or the incense or the smiles of seemingly friendly strangers.

Nie Mingjue was lucky that Meng Yao had longer-term goals in mind for him.

They passed the day quite pleasantly, eating meat skewers and dragon’s beard candy and discussing the basics of cultivation – Meng Yao read the book (his book!) and asked questions, and Nie Mingjue did his best to answer them – and then in the latter part of the afternoon the women at the brothel roused themselves, coming out to prepare for their nightly work, his mother included.

She was fairly heavily pregnant now, but there were men who liked that sort of thing, as long as there was something she could do for them, and the brothel owners wouldn’t waste their money by kicking her out no matter how annoyed they were at her for keeping the child. She wasn’t allowed to roam too far out of her room, being as she was a specialized service that might frighten regular customers, and so it wasn’t until she came to find Meng Yao to make sure he was all right that Nie Mingjue saw her for the first time.

“This is my mother,” Meng Yao said, his back stiff with expected insults even though Nie Mingjue hadn’t said a single word about Meng Yao living in a brothel so far.

Nie Mingjue stared at her with eyes so big and round and surprised that Meng Yao irritably wondered if he’d never seen a whore before, or perhaps it was the idea that one might be stupid enough to get pregnant and keep it. Maybe he would save his insults for that, instead, and Meng Yao would be forced to try to break his handsome face…

“You’re the lady they sent to my father’s room,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice faint and shaking with shock. “You’re – is that my brother?”

It turned out that the Nie sect, unlike the Jin sect, cared a great deal for matters of blood and children born of it; Nie Mingjue didn’t even demand a test or anything before he’d insisted that they come back to Qinghe with him, both of them, absolutely certain that his father would be overjoyed by the news.

Meng Yao and his mother exchanged looks, each of them skeptical and cynical to the core, and tried to convince him to slow down a little. To write a letter, perhaps –

“No! You have to come right away,” Nie Mingjue insisted, his cheeks pink with excitement. “We have doctors to care for you, and, oh, he’ll need a saber, someone will need to start on that right away – and anyway, a Nie should be born in Qinghe.”

“There’s still some months left to go,” Meng Shi said, though Meng Yao could see that she was a little amused by Nie Mingjue’s earnest enthusiasm. “Tell your father to come here and take me away, if you’re sure he’ll care so much.”

“I am sure,” Nie Mingjue said. “He’s just busy at the borders again, with Qishan Wen causing trouble all over; who knows how long it’d take for him to get word? Why do we have to wait for him to come in person anyway?”

“Because we can’t leave,” Meng Yao said, finally condescending to point out the obvious. “Mother belongs to the brothel, and we haven’t saved up enough to buy her freedom.”

Even an old whore was an expensive proposition, especially if she knew skills like singing and dancing and playing instruments the way Meng Shi did – and one with a burden like Meng Yao could be exploited to do all sorts of things that a normal woman might refuse. It would be costly to redeem her, more costly than anything a young sect heir might have expected to buy.

Meng Yao had expected that to be the end of it, but he’d apparently underestimated Nie Mingjue’s stubbornness: he went to the market and sold every last piece of metal he had on him, right down to the silver crown off his head, and was about to go try to barter away his clothing or sell his strength to a dockworker when Meng Yao shoved the money he’d so carefully saved up into his hands.

“With this it might be enough,” he said, biting his lip with guilt as his mother gaped at the glittering gold in his hand – he hadn’t dared tell her about it, about the fact that he’d been saving up again. She’d told him before that there was no point in buying her freedom, that she had no other skills to sell and a bad reputation to boot; they would live free for a single summer only to have to sell her back again in the winter, and the brothel owners wouldn’t be pleased at all by that.

“It will be,” Nie Mingjue said. “Even if I have to buy the rest on credit, it will be!”

“At least be clever about this,” Meng Shi sighed, giving in even though she clearly didn’t think it was a good idea. Meng Yao supposed she figured that if it came down to it, there were brothels in Qinghe, too, and at least she’d be something new there with her soft Yunping accent and manners. “If they think you’re desperate, they’ll raise the price – you should be more arrogant. Act as if you were doing them a favor by taking me off their hands.”

Nie Mingjue’s nose wrinkled.

“Pretend they’re surnamed Wen,” Meng Yao suggested, and that did the trick: Nie Mingjue’s lip curled at once, vicious and angry (and a little scared, but only deep down where most people wouldn’t see it easily). He marched right inside the brothel and demanded they sell Meng Shi to him, flaunting himself as the son of what he called a Great Sect.

It might not have worked except that he made such a fuss that people started to gather, including a passing cultivator and his wife – a much more respectable-looking pair than gawky too-tall-for-his-age Nie Mingjue with his hair now bound only by a ribbon, with a horsetail whip in the hands of the woman and swords on both of them – and the man’s eyebrows had gone up as high as his forehead. “Nie-gongzi,” he called, and even saluted properly and everything. “What are you doing so far from home?”

“Trying to complete a transaction,” Nie Mingjue growled, glaring at the brothel owner even as he saluted back. “I think he doesn’t think I’m good for it.”

The female cultivator snorted, shifting the baby she carried on her back from one side to the other. “That’s brave of him. Doesn’t your Nie sect like to break things that disagree with you and pay for the damages later?”

“He’s too young for that,” her husband told her. “Look, he’s not even carrying his saber yet.”

“I wasn’t talking about him,” she said. “I was talking about the retainers his father almost certainly sent to track him down – didn’t you say you saw some very angry-looking cultivators entering town not long ago? They looked fit to slaughter.”

Nie Mingjue blanched, suggesting that he hadn’t expected company quite this early – or perhaps hoping that he could hide away from them – but the cultivators’ words had made the brothel owner quite contemplative. He finally agreed to sell him Meng Shi’s contract for all the money Nie Mingjue had and a letter of promise for that amount a second time over, an outrageous price even after they’d used all of Meng Shi’s tricks on him, but Nie Mingjue had agreed to it in a heartbeat.

“Won’t your father be angry at your spending?” Meng Yao asked, wondering. It was so much money.

“I’ll make it up to him,” Nie Mingjue said dismissively. “As soon as I get my saber and start night-hunting, money flows free and easy. It’s hard to explain, but you’ll see what it’s like once you get there.”

Meng Yao blinked. “What?”

“Aren’t you going to be a cultivator?” Nie Mingjue asked, blinking at him. “You’ll be part of my Nie sect, of course, so the same rules that apply to me will apply to you.”

“No,” Meng Yao explained. “I’m going to be part of –”

His mother pressed down on his shoulder. “You’d be willing to accept A-Yao into your sect?” she asked, her gaze sharp and penetrating.

“Of course,” Nie Mingjue said, sounding puzzled. “I was willing to do it before, just for helping me out, and now, well – he’s the brother of my brother, isn’t he? That makes him all but family directly, especially if you marry in as a concubine.”

They both gaped at him.

“…do you not want to?” Nie Mingjue – hapless idiot, fulfiller of dreams – asked, actually sounding worried. “I just assumed you would, to make sure the child isn’t born a bastard…”

“I wouldn’t object,” Meng Shi said, her voice full of rich irony that only Meng Yao understood. “But I think your father might.”

“You don’t know my father,” Nie Mingjue said simply. As if it was simple, as if people were like that. “He’ll do the right thing.”

#mdzs #nie mingjue #meng yao #jin guangyao #nieyao #meng shi #my fic #my fics #three gates

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umikawa · 4 years ago

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Comfort Headcanons

This is primarily for Non-binary/gender non-conforming etc. readers, AFAB in this scenario. Forget that things they do post... forget it, it never existed. Also, I can make one for AMAB if you would want them, would probably make them either way once i do more research :))

Warnings: Unsupportive peers, borderline transphobia (NOT from characters), gender dysphoria, gender envy, periods, top surgery, injections (T), coming out (?)

Characters: Yukie, Watari, Daishou, Daichi, Suna, Iwaizumi, Kita, Yamagata, Mika, Bokuto, Sakusa, Matsukawa.

Not proofread, sorry, was going and didn’t stop.

YUKIE

It’s that time of the month, she can tell by the way your shoulders slouch and the depressed look on your face.

Doesn’t think twice about rushing to your side, shoving food at your face as she hugs you. Yes, it's uncomfortable because she shoved an entire onigiri in your face then immediately hugged your shoulders.

At home she’ll pull you between her legs and rub your stomach, she probably has one of those stuffed animal heating things.

If you start feeling/having gender dysphoria during your period, she’ll start kissing your face all over while whispering she loves you over and over again.

WATARI

Gender dysphoria, biggest enemy in my eyes.

He’s concerned right off the bat, he noticed the way your behavior changed the moment your ears picked up on murmurs about your outfit. He doesn’t understand why people bother talking about clothes, clothes have no gender so why is everyone talking about you?

He’ll pull you away from everyone and hug you under a tree, rubbing your back to calm you down. “I don’t get it Shinji, do people just- do they still see me as a girl?” His heart breaks at your tone, you sound so defeated.

He’ll tell you to ignore them but he knows it's hard to. Tells you everyday he loves you and that he’ll be there for you always. Though if there were a crowd of people saying things and he’s feeling bold, he’ll press his hands against your ears and kiss you in front of everyone.

DAISHOU

Starting T, scary.

Whether it’s the injection, patch, or gel, daishou is there to help. While he won’t be doing it for you he’ll hold your hand the entire time you do it, if you do the injection he’ll ignore the strong grip you have that nearly breaks his hand. (me bye.)

During the physical and mental tests you’d have to take beforehand, he’ll be the one taking you, of course unless you start this before you’re 18, he’ll tag along.

He’d take process photos for you so that once there’s a significant change, you two can watch how far you’ve grown together.

DAICHI

Top surgery. Gosh so expensive…

He’d take you there if you ask him, though if you ask your legal guardian he’ll just tag along and hold your hand whispering you’re gonna do great.

After the procedure he’d tell you you did so well, and if you start crying he’s kissing your tears away. He’ll take care of you so well but he’d sleep on the floor because he’s scared he might make you uncomfortable or touch your wounds too soon.

The first time you take off your shirt so freely, he almost cries at the way you smile. Pulls you by the waist to kiss your scars and lets a few tears slip from his eyes.

SUNA

Wearing a binder, comfortable yet also uncomfortable!

When you first get it he’s sitting on the bathroom counter as you put it on, cackling loudly once you look at yourself in the mirror. (me)

He’s reading the instruction card that came with it and he may or may not have stolen the sticker too but besides the point. “Work on better posture.” Cackling stops and you just blink at him, “Rin, if i have to work on my posture so do you!”

If you’re forgetful don’t remember to take breaks, he’s calling you to scream at you for not remembering. Suna, be my personal reminder.

IWAIZUMI

TransTape.

He looked into another option for you, if you didn’t necessarily feel comfortable with a binder and found it. He read through everything, warnings, reviews, how it began, nearly emailed the founder too.

He’d help you put it on, asking if it felt okay, if you were fine and if anything was bothering you, all of that. Supportive all the way through. When taking it off he read that it could hurt, so if you need to hold his arm or something he won't mind the death grip.

His heart swells when you get out of the shower with a grin in just his sweatpants, not even missing the sight of you in his shirts.

KITA

The haircut.

Now if your hair was already short to begin with (pixie, bob, shoulders.) but you wanted it shorter, he just flat out says, “why not shave your head.” But if you have long hair, he asks if he can cut some of it before you go somewhere professional.

He’s supportive, everyone is. If you get it without him knowing and show up to his house or school with your hair shorter or in a “typical men's haircut” he’ll suppress that feeling of wanting to jump on you. (ik in Japan it's normal for women to have short hair shh.)

I know he’s stoic most of the time but he’s a big goofball, at home he’d keep trying to use an absurd amount of hair gel to give you a mohawk.

YAMAGATA

The tuxedo. As you can see I've run out of ideas.

Listen, the first time you brought up going to mens warehouse to get fitted for a tux, he’s been drooling.

Tugs you to the store and keeps shaking his head at the suits you’ve tried on, babe, just tell them you want them to wear an all black suit. He does.

Will get on his knees when he sees you, probably makes a red carpet from construction paper.

MIKA

Gender Envy. Ha, i forgot about this one. (i switched tabs to go to crunchyroll and miyuki chose violence)

Anyways, You two are watching some show, anime, attack on titan because i make the rules, howl’s moving castle if you relate. Boom that one guy comes on and she’s whipping her head to you wondering why you’re crying.

“I wanna look like him so bad it hurts.” Pulls you into her chest, and just tells you you’ll be okay, she doesn’t know how to react in these situations, but she’ll look up on what you’re feeling and try to help in any way she can.

Will buy you a wig, actually, she’ll make you an entire cosplay dedicated to that character but it's so spot on. Screaming when you start crying and ruin the makeup she spent so much time on. Cries with you.

BOKUTO

Coming out to him.

At first he won’t understand why your hands are shaking so much when you sit him down to talk. Then he just starts getting worried you’re going to break up with him which makes the situation so much worse in your head.

And when you tell him you’re non-binary/gender non-comforming/transgender/etc. He lets out a breath because he thought it’d be a break up. Quickly regains his composure to hug you tightly and reassure you he loves you and every aspect of you and that he’ll be your number one supporter.

Makes sure everyone knows your new pronouns, new name, if you’re okay with it. Fends off people who try to criticize you for making a big decision like that, doesn’t hesitate to tell them he wants to spike a volleyball in their face for that comment.

SAKUSA

Change of name.

Another person whose initial thought is that you’re going to break up with him and is relieved when not. At first he didn’t understand why you were so hesitant to tell him but then he remembers that something like that isn’t easy at all.

Corrects anyone and everyone when they get your name wrong, so ready to defend you. He’ll hesitate to throw hands but if someone is still trying to pick on you, he’ll provoke them enough so they throw the first swing, then use the self-defense excuse. (go omi omi!)

If you decide to change your name again, he’ll do the same thing all over again. He knows it isn’t easy to choose one so if you’re indecisive he’ll test with you.

MATSUKAWA

Pronoun change.

You’re just in his room, laying on his bed when you bring it up. “Issei, can you refer to me with they/them pronouns?” his head just whips over to you but he tries to calm himself and says yes.

If you continue to question it and go from she/her to she/they, he’ll stare down anyone who gets it wrong. When you finally go to they/them, he corrects people when they’re wrong, doesn’t matter if they’re still talking, you can hear his monotone voice just saying “they.” while they’re talking.

Always says that comment that's pretty popular. “Their pronouns are they/them but i wanna be they/theirs”

#hello again.#NYAHAhAh #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu headcanons #so many characters to tag oh no #yukie shirofuku x reader #watari shinji x reader #daishou suguru x reader #daichi sawamura x reader #suna rintaro x reader #iwaizumi haijime x reader #kita shinsuke x reader #yamagata hayato x reader #mika yamaka x reader #bokuto kotaro x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #matsukawa issei x reader

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pinkmingi · 4 years ago

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Reaction To: S/O Begging for Thigh Riding

Hongjoong:

*the instant you caved in to your needs and asked Hongjoong if he’d be willing to try something new with you, a smile would break out across his face as he leaned in and wrapped his hands around your face, planting a kiss on your lips and whispering gently*

“Of course, Jagi- what did you have in mind, hmm?”

*blushing as your hand ran across his strong thighs, biting your lips softly as your gaze found his*

“Uhm, I-I was wondering if I could...ride you?”

*chuckling softly as he brushed a strand of hair from your face*

“Baby you know I love when you ride me, is that really new though?”

*shaking your head as you placed both of your hands on his thigh this time, letting him know that you meant a different kind of riding*

“Not like thaaat, Joong...I meant, here. I wanna ride your thigh.”

*his eyes growing wide as a small nervous laugh left his lips*

“I-I’ve never done something like that before...”

*his gaze falling to your hands and watching the way you gripped him, his breathing becoming heavier as he tried to imagine you getting off on his lap, smiling to himself*

“Why don’t you show me?”

Seonghwa:

*he wouldn’t catch on to exactly what you meant right away, but as the question fell from your lips his curiosity would immediately spike*

“I...I really wanna try riding your thigh, babe...”

*giving you a quizzical look as his hand found your cheek, running his fingers into your hair softly*

“What do you mean, princess?”

*blushing softly as you attempted to explain it to him*

“Uhmm, well I just, think it’d feel really good, we don’t have to I just-”

*pressing his thumb over your lips firmly to silence you, eyeing you sternly as he pulled you from your seated position onto his lap*

“I never said I didn’t want to, baby. Don’t ever assume that I don’t wanna watch your gorgeous body on top of me, ok?”

*giggling as you felt your cheeks tinge red, shaking your head as you shoved him playfully*

“Stooop, I- I was just asking you don’t have to if you dont w-”

*pulling you against him roughly, his lips finding yours as he once again cut off your protests, his hands running up under your skirt as his fingers easily found your already soaked panties*

“Don’t test me, y/n. I want to...right now.”

Yunho:

*he knew the moment you started playing with the sleeve of his hoodie that you were feeling needy for him, but you were at the dorm with all the other members so he’d be doing his best to keep composure and not crack at all the cute little hints you were throwing his way- until you decided to whisper in his ear exactly what you wanted*

“Yunho, pretty please let me ride your thighs...? Please?”

*Your soft whisper always had a way of getting to him as his eyes grew wide at your request- he’d always wanted to see you in that position but the two of you hadn’t tried it before, at the same time however, he’d be frustrated that you chose to bring it up while you were with the other guys*

“Are you serious right now, princess?”

*scolding you quietly as his eyes fell on the other members engaged in their own conversation, making sure they hadn’t heard the sinful request you’d just made*

“Please, daddy? I-I wanna feel how strong your are...”

*pouting softly as you knew it’d make him cave in a heartbeat, his gaze darkening as he looked from you over to the members, and then back to you before leaning in slightly and letting his thumb graze your lips gently as he whispered*

“Go to my room, I’ll be there in 10 minutes- and if you’re not naked I swear Daddy won’t touch you for the rest of the night, ok?”

Yeosang:

*you knew as soon as the words left your mouth that you wouldn’t have to ask twice, when he felt your hand gently squeezing his thigh and heard the way your voice softened he could already tell you were about to ask him something dirty*

“Yeosang...? I, uhm...I think I wanna try riding your thigh. I’ve seen some things and it just looks really sexy so I thought maybe-”

*cutting off your rambling by placing his hand on top of yours, still palming his thigh as he smiled sweetly and eyeing you with a gaze that you knew was filled with dark intentions*

“Y/n, baby, come here...”

*patting his lap as he gently pulled you up from your seat beside him, letting your fall down against his lap as you let out a small gasp, making him smile even wider*

“I-is that a yes? I...I didn’t mean we had to try it now I just-”

“It’s a yes, sweetheart,”

*his gaze drifting down to your lower have that was now straddling him as he whispered in your ear lowly*

“Now tell me, was wearing this pretty little skirt intentional?”

San:

*the two of you were laying in bed together snuggled up perfectly when you felt yourself growing needy, something about his body being that close to you and the fact that you were wearing so little already set something off inside of you- as he adjusted his legs innocently and found his upper thigh sliding in between yours, you couldn’t help but moan*

“Y/n? Is everything ok?”

*his eyes widening slightly as he glanced at you in confusion, watching as your blushed and buried your face in his chest*

“I...I want to ride you, Sannie.”

*his hand sliding down to your chin, pulling your head up to face him as he stared at you for a moment, trying to process what you’d asked him until he felt the way your hips were moving slowly against his thigh, trying to hold back a smirk as he began to understand what exactly you wanted*

“Ahh, my baby wants to get off on my thigh? Is that it, jagi?”

“Y-yes.”

*his eyes becoming lustful and heavy as he flexed his thigh against your core, pressing up into you at a painfully slow pace, causing you to moan*

“Do it then, love...I know how badly you want to feel my underneath you.”

Mingi:

*you’d been extra needy for him all day, but the two of you had been with the other members and you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable in front of them so you’d waited until you had a moment alone together later that night, walking up to him and tapping his shoulder softly as you worked up the courage to ask him for what you’d been craving*

“M-mingi? Are you busy right now?”

*smiling softly up at you from his seated position, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your lower stomach which only made your aching needs grow stronger*

“I’m not busy baby, what’s up?”

*blushing as you ran your hands softly up his forearms and biceps, gripping his shoulders as you leaned into him*

“Mmm, I was wondering if...well I just- can I please ride y-your thigh?”

*as soon as you blurted out your desperate request, Mingi’s eyes would darken as a wide smile spread across his face, chuckling softly as your cheeks flushed*

“Yahh, y/n how long have you been waiting to ask me that?”

“U-uhm..well, I didn’t wanna ask you when the guys were around so...”

*gripping your hips tightly and puling your down onto his lap, his laughter gone as he flashed you a small smirk and leaned in slowly to whisper in your ear*

“Don’t do that again, angel...I don’t like the idea of you being needy and not telling me, ok?”

Wooyoung:

*wouldn’t even have to ask, Wooyoung knew from the way you bit your lip softly and stared at his thighs in the tight denim of his pants that you wanted him- and he had a pretty good guess as to what you wanted to try*

“Jagi, come here...”

*patting his lap as you sat down on your boyfriend, blushing at the way he eyed your body*

“I...I like sitting like this, Woo...”

*the corner of his lip pulling up into a smirk, nodding slowly as he ran his hands up and down your thighs, gripping your ass and pulling you closer to him*

“I thought you might, baby- but why don’t you spell it out for me, hmm? Tell me exactly what it is you need...”

*your cheeks flushing as your gaze fell, he knew you too well but he wasn’t going to let you off that easy without begging*

“Please, Woo...please let me ride your thigh, I can’t stop thinking about it...”

*brushing a strand of hair out of your face gently as he pulled your face up to meet his gaze*

“Take off your panties, baby girl. Now.”

Jongho:

*he’d know something was up when you intertwined your fingers with his, squeezing his much larger hand and wrapping your free arm around his bicep, smiling softly as he glanced over at you and patted your head lovingly*

“Are you tired, baby? I promise we’ll be done with the photoshoot soon and then we can go home- or should I call a car for you now? You don’t have to stay if you’re tired I can meet you back at the dorm after or-”

*shaking your head before he had a chance to ramble on further, laughing softly as you pressed a small kiss on his cheek*

“I’m not tired, Jongie..I-I wanna try something...you look so good in this suit*

*your eyes trailing down his long frame as you bit your lip, your eyes lingering on his strong thighs as he stepped back from you slightly, his eyes widening softly as he tried to meet your gaze*

“Yah, what do you mean try something?”

*his tone was playful but you could sense the confusion in his voice as you wrapped your arms around his torso, standing on your toes slightly as you pulled him closer to whisper in his ear*

“I wanna ride your thigh.”

*giggling as you leaned back, watching his reaction as he became flushed, stuttering slightly as he looked around to see if other were in earshot*

“Aisshh, baby...you can’t just ask me that in public you know...you know it does things to me...”

*smiling proudly as you gave him your very best pouty face, knowing it never failed to work on him, watching his face darken slightly as he pulled you against him*

“I’m calling a car for you now, jagi...I won’t be able to focus otherwise. But when I get back, you better be ready.”

requests open !

~admin liese

#ateez reactions #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #kim hongjoong #park seonghwa #jeong yunho #kang yeosang #choi san #song mingi #jung wooyoung #choi jongho #kpop reactions #requests open

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fatiguing-thoughts · 4 years ago

Text

“Natural” - Chapter 18 - Embry Call x Reader

Campsite

I woke up to a slight commotion around me. I look around to see Sam, Jacob, and Embry running around, trying to get everything together for our departure.

“Good morning.” I whisper, sitting up and rubbing my eyes.

“Morning, babe.” Embry walks over, helping me up.

“What can I help with?” I ask.

“Well, we’re just packing your car right now. So if you want to help with that, you can. We did most of it already.” Jacob smiles softly.

“Alright, what can I grab?” I look around.

“Just grab someone’s backpack or something. Maybe some of the water, it’s up to you. We’ll get the heavy stuff, though.” Sam smiles.

I nod and grab a few backpacks, bringing them out to my car.

Embry pulls me aside outside, grabbing me by the waist.

“I love you, bean. I just want to let you know that.” He says, tears brimming his eyes.

“I love you too, Embry. Please don’t be upset, we’re all gonna be okay. Nobody is going to die. Please don’t say it like that.” I look up into his eyes, mine growing teary as I spoke.

“No, I know. I just wish you weren’t put into this situation. I just, I want you to know that one day, we won’t have to worry about this kind of stuff.” He presses a kiss to my forehead.

“I know, but for right now let’s be strong about this. We’ve been strong this whole time.” I smile up at him.

“I know.” He smiles.

“Now, let’s go wake everyone up.” I say, grabbing his hand and leading him back into Sam’s house.

We walk back into the living room to see that Jacob took care of that, he got everyone up except for Paul.

“Jacob, I swear if you don’t give me five more minutes I will actually break your arm.” Paul mumbles into the pillow.

“Paul, I gave you five more minutes twice already. Get your ass up, we have to leave in ten minutes.” Jacob says in an annoyed manner.

“Great, so I can have another five minutes.” Paul grumbles.

“Paul, get up.” Jacob tries again.

“(Y/N), maybe you should try after it went so well last time.” Quil suggests with a chuckle, earning a curious look from Embry and Jacob.

I roll my eyes and walk over to Paul’s sleeping body, sitting down next to him.

“Paul, you gotta wake up. We gotta go.” I shake him lightly.

“Ugh, (Y/N)... just give me one more minute, please?” He says in a much kinder tone.

“You’re kidding, right?” Jacob asks in an annoyed tone.

“Paul, every minute counts. We gotta get to the campsite.” I plead.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road.” He mumbles, getting up.

“Why do you listen to her, huh? I’ve been trying to wake you up for twenty minutes!” Jacob hisses with a slight chuckle.

“Well, I can hit you. I can’t hit (Y/N), she’d snap in half.” Paul raspily laughs.

“Okay, first of all. I could absolutely take you. Second, you gotta be less of a grouch in the morning.” I scold, laughing.

“Alright, boss.” Paul rolls his eyes, walking past us.

“See? We should just make (Y/N) do it more.” Quil laughs.

“I mean, much safer.” Embry laughs.

“Alright, it’s time to go.” Leah says, walking in from the kitchen.

“Okay, let’s hit the road.” I smile softly, following her.

We all walked outside to my car when I suddenly realized that my car only fits five people. Sam must’ve known that I began worrying about that by the look on my face.

“Two of them will go to the site first, to ensure that it’s clear. I’m sending Quil and Jake up there first. The rest of you will drive there and meet them.” Sam instructs.

“That’s a good idea. You guys already picked a site?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’s one we found on patrol. We know it pretty well.” Embry rubs his hand on my arm in a comforting fashion.

“Okay, great.” I smile.

“Alright, come give me a hug.” Emily says, opening her arms wide.

I walk into her welcoming arms, accepting her tight hug.

“Everything will be fine, don’t worry, honey.” She smiles and presses a kiss to my cheek.

Seth then walks over to me, giving me another tight hug, much tighter than Emily’s.

“I wish I could come, I really do.” He whispers in my ear.

“I know, Seth. I do, too. But you gotta let someone else have a turn stopping some vengeful leech from killing me.” I chuckle.

“I guess so.” He gives a somber laugh.

“Bring it in, guys.” Seth says, not loosening his grip on me.

Suddenly, they were all hugging me. Brady, Collin, Jared, Sam. All the ones who wouldn’t come with me.

“Thank you guys, I’ll see you in a few days.” I smile as everyone pulls away.

“We’ll see you soon.” Sam nods.

I hand my keys over to Embry who would be driving my car to the site.

“Paul, do you want the front seat? You’re like eight feet tall, too.” I joke.

“I mean, if you don’t mind…” He smirks.

“You got it.” I smile, getting into the back seat with Leah.

As he starts the car and drives off, I can’t help but look back at everyone staying back. I thought about how much I needed to come back, how I want to see them again.

I thought about my dad. I know that they’d routinely check on the house, making sure everything was okay… but how could I not be worried?

I’m sure Billy would hang out with him, he’d invite him to the reservation to get him out of the house. I was sure that they would protect him.

I was sure that my friends would protect me. I knew that was absolutely certain.

But who would protect them?

My thoughts drove me to the point of exhaustion, though I’m sure my lack of sleep was of no help. I soon felt my eyes droop and I fell asleep.

By the time I woke up, we were almost there.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Paul teases.

“We’re almost there, babe. Five more minutes.” Embry smiles.

“Alright.” I smile, looking to my right, noticing Leah was asleep.

“Just so you know, the road doesn’t continue to the site, so we’ll be doing some off roading in your car.” Embry chuckles.

“Please don’t break what you can’t fix.” I groan.

“I won’t. Jake and I can fix a lot.” He smirks, looking back at me in the mirror.

I shake my head, softly laughing to myself.

After a bumpy few moments of driving on the grass, we made it to the site. I look and see Jacob and Quil waiting for us.

“Took you long enough.” Quil jokes as I get out of the car.

“Nice to see you, too.” I chuckle.

“(Y/N), you put the tent in the trunk right?” Jake asks.

My stomach dropped.

“What? I didn’t have the tent. Nobody told me…” I say, panic ensuing.

“I’m just messing with you, I put it into the truck.” He laughs.

“Screw you, Jake.” I stifle my laughter.

“Alright, let’s set it up.” Paul says, getting out of the car.

Embry opens the trunk and the guys begin unloading everything, setting the site up.

It was my job to go wake Leah up.

“Hey, Leah. We’re here.” I say softly, gently shaking her.

“Alright, I’m coming.” She blinks herself awake.

We make our way back to the guys, offering to help.

After about a half an hour or so, everything was ready to go.

“This tent is huge.” I say, walking inside.

“Because you’re the only one in it right now. After we’re all in it, it’ll feel a little smaller.” Quil laughs.

“Maybe.” I shrug.

“Did you guys pick up on anything on your way here?” Embry asks Quil.

“Nothing. Which is a good thing.” He tells him.

“Yeah, let’s hope it stays that way.” Embry huffs.

“Well, how can we pass some time?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

“We could play cards or something.” Jacob shrugs.

“You brought some?” I ask.

“I did, I knew we’d get bored.” He laughs.

And so we did, we played a few different games. War, go fish, and spit. Things got pretty competitive and we killed some time. Overall, it was still pretty early.

“Well, I am starving.” Embry announces.

“Me too.” Quil whines.

“We could eat, we have food.” I laugh.

So we did, Quil and Embry had too much fun making their sandwiches, though.

“If you throw jelly one more time, I will hurt you.” Leah warns.

“Alright, alright. We get it, you hate fun.” Quil teases.

“No, I just hate the feeling of sticky jelly on my arm.” She laughs, playfully shoving him.

That shut them up for a few minutes.

“So, how’s Alyssa?” Jacob asks.

“She’s good.” Leah answers him, a bit thrown off by his question.

“Does she know what’s going on?” He asks.

“She knows the jist, she knows we had to go away. Seth is going to check on her for me.” She takes a sip of her water.

“That’s good.” Jacob smiles softly.

“How are you, are you okay?”

“I’m alright, I’ll be okay. I just have to accept what is, I guess.” He looks down at his hands.

“You’ll be alright.” She comforts him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I hope so.” He scoffs.

“Jake, I know you’ll be okay. We missed you, we’re here for you. Every step of the way.” I assure him.

“Thank you, I missed you all, too.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent chatting, trying to have some fun.

Jacob and Paul were wrestling, all of us taking bets on who’d win.

I sat in Embry’s lap, listening to his heartbeat thump against his chest.

Quil and I played slaps, I soon learned that playing with Quil was no fun. As it hurt me far too much and he felt no pain whatsoever. He was a real cheater.

“Quil, want to play 52 pick up?” Leah asks.

“What’s that?” He asks.

“Don’t do it, you’ll never win.” I tease.

“I will so win.” He scoffs.

“Alright, whatever you say.” I roll my eyes.

Embry chuckles behind me, laughing at his friend’s naivety.

“Alright, Leah. Show me how to play.”

She smiles, dropping the cards in front of him.

“Pick them up.” Her grin stretched ear to ear, trying to control her giggles.

“What?” Quil asks, astonished.

“You have to pick them up, that’s the game.” Embry laughs.

“This is not right. This is messed up.” Quil huffs, bending down to pick up the cards as we all laugh at him.

“Alright, who would win in a fight: Batman or Aquaman?” Quil asks.

“Is the fight underwater or on land?” Embry asks.

“On land.”

“Batman, for sure. No question.” Embry laughs.

“Alright, so what about… Deadpool or Captain America?” I ask.

“Asking the real questions here.” Jacob laughs.

“I’d say Deadpool.” Paul remarks.

“No way, it’d absolutely be Captain America.” Quil argues.

“He can’t kill him.” Paul argues.

“But he’s stronger and faster. He might not be able to kill him but he can knock him out or something.” Embry interjects.

“I mean, I don’t know. Deadpool fights dirty. He’s got a good chance.” Jacob shrugs.

Well, low and behold-- this turned into a screaming match that lasted about an hour and a half. It ended with Quil and Paul going at it for another fifteen minutes, Paul dislocating Quil’s shoulder.

“Damn it, Paul!” Quil winces.

“You’ll be fine in like fifteen minutes, it’s fine.” He laughs.

Eventually, it became dinner time. Not that they weren’t snacking every half an hour anyway. Dinner brought upon many different conversations; cars, music, and well that one other thing.

“I just wonder when she’s coming.” I push my fork around on my plate.

“Well, Sam told me that Alice said it would be our third day here. So the day after tomorrow, I guess.” Jacob sighs.

“But we’ll be ready.” Paul assures me.

“We got you, babe. Don’t worry.” Embry presses a kiss to my temple and wraps his arm around my waist.

As we all finished eating, I took it upon myself to start the fire.

Leah came over and helped me while Paul and Jacob went to go get firewood.

Quil and Embry joined us, making small talk while we waited for Jacob and Paul to return.

“How big do you think we could make this?” Quil asks.

“We’re in the middle of the woods, I don’t think that’s something we should test out today, bud.” I laugh.

“Good point. I’m sure we could make it pretty big.” He looks at the flames.

“Yeah… we could. But we won’t.” Leah looks at him, raising an eyebrow.

I watch the shadows on Embry’s face. How the orange illumination from the flames casted those shadows on all of his features.

“What’s up, bean?” He asks as he catches me staring.

“You’re just beautiful.” I blush.

He smiles, leaning his face into the crook of my neck. I rake my fingers through his soft, black hair.

Listening to the crackle of the fire was something that always put me at ease, and it almost did. I would’ve felt completely at ease if there wasn’t someone out there who wanted to kill me. I would feel more at ease if I wasn’t worried for the safety of those I held closest to my heart.

I look around our fire, admiring everyone’s faces.

Leah’s strong cheekbones illuminated from the flames, her soft eyes were ones that always brought a sense of calm to me.

Quil’s curly hair that tickled the sides of his face and his forehead was something I always enjoyed. Quil’s curly hair was a staple. An impish grin always plastered on his face.

Jacob’s wide jaw was hit perfectly with light from the fire. His softer facial features contrasted from his large, toned build. A small smile rested upon his face.

Paul’s chiseled face shone beautifully in the fire. His skin reflected the orange light, complimenting his complexion. His face looked at the fire with a harsher expression than everyone else’s, though his eyes remained soft and happy.

All my friends were so beautiful.

I loved them more I could put into words, they were my family.

After our long day, it was seemingly expected that everyone grew tired earlier than usual.

I pull out my phone to check the time, a little after 11:00. I decided to send my dad a goodnight text.

“I think I’m gonna call it a night.” Leah yawns.

“I think we all should.” Jacob agrees.

“Come on babe.” Embry mumbles sleepily on my shoulder.

And with that, we all went into the tent.

Despite my best efforts and everyone else around me falling asleep, I was still wide awake. I grew restless and decided that I wanted to go and sit by the fire once again, knowing that the woman wouldn’t be of concern for another two days.

I slowly get up and try to unzip the tent as quietly as possible, as I didn’t want to wake anyone up. They’ve had a long day and have a few more ahead of them.

I finally get outside the tent and sit down by the fire when I hear the zipper behind me.

“Fancy seeing you out here.” Paul whispers as he zips the tent closed behind him.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to wake you up. I’m sorry.” I watch as he walks over, taking a seat next to me.

“Nah, no worries. I wasn’t even asleep.” He chuckles.

“Oh, why not?” I ask, looking up at him.

“I don’t know honestly. Just had a weird feeling. Guess it’s good though, because you ended up sneaking off alone. Why are you up?” He smirks at me.

“Sneaking off? I stepped like fifteen feet away from the tent to sit by the fire, I’d hardly call that sneaking off.” I playfully shove him.

“But, I can’t sleep. My mind is racing.” I shrug.

“Ah, that’s fair.” He nods.

“I really want to thank you, all of you, honestly. You guys really don’t have to do this, protecting me all the time. I know Embry, Jake, and Quil will always do it, but I really am grateful.”

“(Y/N), we do have to, but we also want to. You’re important to all of us, we’ve known you since we were kids.” He says, putting an arm around me.

“I guess. I just, I know a lot of it is because Embry imprinted on me, but I really love how close we all are.” I smile.

“Well, even if Embry didn’t imprint on you, we’d love you all the same. You’d probably just be way less informed, unless you figured it out somehow.”

“That’s true. Thank you, Paul. You’re really good at this whole comforting thing. You should be more open to everyone else about it, though.” I chuckle.

“Eh, maybe one day. I have a bad boy reputation to uphold.” He teases, playfully nudging me.

“Yeah, you’re right. You were always a pain in the ass as a kid, you still are. But it’s great, don’t change it.” I tease.

“I’m really happy you came back, (Y/N). You were always able to keep up.” He laughs.

“Yeah, I’m happy I’m back, too. Someone’s gotta put you in your place sometimes.”

“Very funny.” He rolls his eyes.

“But honestly, Paul. I do really want to thank you. You really do protect me more than I could ever ask of you. At the training sessions when Emmett got too close, when Embry and Jake duked it out, you just always keep an eye out for me. I appreciate it, a lot. Thank you.”

“Of course, any time. Some things never change.” He laughs.

And then I flashed back to some other childhood memories. When someone was being mean to me in school, if Embry, Jake, or Quil weren’t around, Paul would kick their ass. Even if my other friends were around, Paul would find them later and kick their ass. Anyone who gave me a problem dealt with Paul.

“You’re right.” I laugh. “But why?”

“Well, I didn’t think it was much of a secret but I used to have a crush on you.” He shrugs.

“What? You had a crush on me?” I ask astonishedly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks with a smirk.

“I just mean, you’re you… and I’m me. You had options, a lot of options. I was less than favorable to most.” I laugh.

“What? Is that really how you think it was? You’re definitely favorable to most. You’re awesome. You’re so nice, funny, cool, and beautiful. Don’t say that about yourself.” He says, face contorted in confusion.

“I mean, it is kinda how I viewed myself, and sometimes I still do feel that way. But thank you, Paul. That’s very sweet of you.” I blush.

“Of course, I just speak the truth. I was excited when you came back because then we could spend time together, but then if I’m honest-- it was really bittersweet when Embry imprinted on you. On one hand, we didn’t have to hide anything from you, you could be around us as much as you’d like, and you guys would be happy. You were always in love. But the selfish part of me was a little disappointed at first. But I grew to love and appreciate you as a good friend, so don’t think I’m being weird or trying to push any boundaries. I’m not, I respect you guys and your relationship. I’m really happy for the both of you.” He smiles softly at me.

“And all that time I thought you were flirting with me as a joke!” I chuckle.

“But honestly, Paul… I’m glad you can be honest with me. I appreciate your friendship a lot, I’m glad you feel that way, too. Thank you for being so supportive of us, despite your feelings.” I give a soft smile.

“Of course, I’m happy for you guys. I knew that he would imprint on you, that was kind of out of the question. Though, I will say when you told Quil you thought I was cute when we were 13, I never let Embry hear the end of it.” He laughs.

“How did I know you’d do such a thing? So Embry knew?” I ask.

“Yeah of course he knew, it drove him nuts.” Paul smirks.

I roll my eyes and laugh at his cockiness.

“Thanks for understanding, (Y/N). It feels good to be honest with you, but I won’t make things weird. I promise, I’m not trying to do anything. I really do care for you as a friend.” He smiles.

“I know, Paul. I appreciate your honesty.” I smile.

“I appreciate you listening.” He chuckles.

“Any time.” I wrap my arm around his shoulder, giving it a small, comforting squeeze.

We sat and talked for a few minutes, until I began to yawn.

“Alright, get to bed.” Paul instructs, standing us both up.

“You got it, boss.” I chuckle, walking into the tent.

And with that, I plopped myself down next to Embry. His arms snaked around me, pulling me closer into his side.

“Hey baby.” He mumbles.

“Hi Em.” I whisper, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck.

“I love you.” He presses a tired kiss to the top of my head.

“I love you, too.” I say, closing my eyes, soon to fall asleep.

When I woke up, nobody else was awake. I was really struggling to stay asleep. I check my phone and see that it was 5:00 in the morning, just right before sunrise.

I sigh, sitting up to rub the crust out of my eyes.

“Why are you up, babe?” Embry mumbles sleepily.

“I can’t sleep, I’m gonna watch the sunrise.” I whisper.

“Ok, I’ll come out in a minute.” He grumbles, beginning to stretch himself awake.

“Wake everyone up, it’s gonna be beautiful up here.” I smile, unzipping the tent to observe the sky.

Though the serene feeling I expected to feel wasn’t what I was met with… no I felt an overwhelming sense of dread.

I look around, observing my surroundings. I felt every bone in my body tingling, but I couldn’t quite grasp why.

“Embry…” I whisper, unable to actually speak.

And then I saw her. She was a couple hundred yards in front of me. She wore a malicious grin on her face, staring me down.

“Why are you so scared?” She taunts, walking closer.

“You should go, you’re going to die.” I warn.

“They’re all asleep, you’re all alone.” She moved about fifty feet closer to me.

“You won’t win. This isn’t worth it. We both know how this ends.” I try to reason.

“It doesn’t matter. They took the one thing from me that mattered most. It’s my turn to do it to them.” She sneers, moving closer to me.

I back up, falling into the tent.

Her laughter echoed my ears, overtaking the rest of my senses. It was all I heard.

I began to run, right to the treeline.

I felt her ice cold hands grab my arm.

“Let go.” I warn.

“No.” She smiles, tightening her hold on me.

I felt something pop and I let out a scream, in excruciating pain.

It was then that I finally realized that some of them were phased, running towards us. She must not have noticed at first either, as she didn’t turn around and realize until my attention was to them and not her.

It was then that I felt her bite my bicep, where she was holding. Soon after, she was ripped off of me and I fell to the ground. Jacob, Quil, and Paul were tearing her apart about a hundred feet away.

But all I felt was burning. Fire surged within me, spreading throughout my entire body. I felt myself thrashing around, my body uncontrollably spasming. I couldn’t control anything, I felt like I was screaming my lungs out, though I had no idea how loud I was. This pain was… unimaginable.

Embry and Leah ran over to me, Embry immediately grabbing one of my hands.

I couldn’t make out what they were saying exactly, everything was so cloudy. The pain searing through my body was too intense. It felt as if acid was flowing through my veins, no words would accurately describe this pain.

“Where… Carlisle?”

“Changed… last… decision…” I think that was Alice.

“Fix… take… out…”

“Too late…”

I couldn’t make out anything anymore, my vision was fading to black.

__________________ Word Count: 4151

I II III IV V VI VII VIII VIIII X XIR XIE XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII XIIII

#embry call #embry call x reader #embry call fanfiction #embry call imagine #leah clearwater #seth clearwater #jacob black #quil ateara #jared cameron #sam uley #paul lahote #wolf pack x reader #twilight #twilight x reader #twilight imagine #twilight fanfiction

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orangeoctopi7 · 4 years ago

Text

Fighting for the Future

I’m a little late, but @stanuary is extending into February, so I’ve still got time to post this!

Sequel to “The Good Old Days?”

* * *

Stanley Pines sat in a bright white, featureless holding room next to his brother, trying vainly to rub the dull, persistent ache out of his back. Just a few minutes ago (but also several thousands of years ago? Time travel was confusing) he’d been back in his teenaged body, and it’d been great! All the aches and pains of old age, gone! It’d been well worth the price of the emotional instability that came with the late stages of puberty. Then the time cops had to come along and drag them back to where-ever and when-ever this was, putting the elderly twins back in their 63 year-old bodies.

The worst part was, they were expected to battle for their freedom in some sort of gladiatorial deathmatch called Globnar. Stan had heard Mabel mention it in passing a couple of times, and from what he understood, they’d be better off in young, limber bodies.

Ford was slightly more anxious about the whole thing. The old researcher had been thrown into a couple of actual gladiatorial rings while he was trapped wandering the multiverse, and he was not looking forward to doing it again, even if Stan did have his back this time. Stan, on the other hand, was hardly concerned. This was the kind of deathmatch that a couple of twelve-year-olds could win. It was going to be a cinch.

The brothers looked up when one of the time cops that had arrested them, Dundgren, appeared in the cell.

“Ok, it took us a while to find someone willing to go up against the guys who defeated the great and terrible Bill Cipher, but we’ve finally found you an opponent for Globnar.” He pressed one of many buttons on his gauntlets and a hologram projected out of his cybernetic eye. “Behold, Dohs Hunthou! The defending Globnar grand champion, with more wins to his name than any other in all of time!”

“You want us to compete against the grand champion for our freedom!?” Ford protested. “Isn’t that a bit unfair?”

“It’s two against one.” Dundgren pointed out.

“Yeah it’s two on one, but we’re old!” Stan countered. “‘Course, if you let us use some time-travel stuff to not be old…”

“De-aging and rapid-aging power-ups are available in several rounds of Globnar.” the time traveler assured them. “It will be up to you to use them as you wish.”

“Power-ups? Seriously? What is this, a video game?” Stan rolled his eyes.

“No. It’s the future.” Dundgren said solemnly. “... By the way, before I go, could I get an autograph for my kids? They’d be really disappointed if I met the guys who defeated Bill Cipher but never got any proof or anything.”

“Um… ok?” Ford agreed, pulling out one of his fountain pens. “W-what do you want us to sign?”

Dundgren’s cybernetic eye focused in on the elder twins, there was a flash, and a little polaroid picture popped out of the time cop’s breastplate.

“Could you make it out to Bobitha and Towch?”

* * *

It wasn’t long before the elderly twins were brought before the Globnar Stadium. Hundreds of people cheered from the stands, all of them wearing ridiculous black clothes with glowy, colorful lines all over them. Stan decided he hated this place.

Standing before them was their opponent, Dohs Hunthou, and he wore the most ridiculous get-up of all. Stan wouldn’t place the guy’s age over 35, and he was jacked. He had a sort of fancy ponytail at the top of his head, a close-cut beard, and a scar across his left eye. His sleeves were ripped off, and his boots reached all the way up to his padded knees. He had spiked gauntlets and only one shoulder pad. Basically, he looked like one of those over-designed muscle-bound guys from one of Soos’s 90’s comics.

“So, you two are the ones who dare challenge me, Dohs Hunthou, the greatest Globnar Champion of all time?”

“Buddy, we didn’t challenge you. You challenged us.” Stan pointed out.

“Our battle will be legendary!”

“Is he even listening to us?” Ford muttered to his brother.

“Yeah, I get the feeling this guy’s a little detached from reality.” Stan nodded.

“Hey!” The time gladiator snapped at them. “Take this seriously! I’m not some push over like that loser the 21st Century children faced! I am the greatest Globnar Champion of all time!”

“Yes, so you’ve mentioned.” Ford said flatly.

“Forgive me for not taking the death-match set up like a video game seriously.” Stan rolled his eyes. “Can we get this started?”

“This is the first Globnar match we have held since Time Baby was disintegrated.” A robot informed them. “Normally he would have started us off, and been the time keeper. Now, we must rely on the Time Board.” It gestured up to a huge scoreboard that towered over the stadium.

“You mean, like, a normal sporting event?” Stan asked.

“We have not had what you would consider a normal sporting event in over sñeventy hundred years.”

A bell rang out across the stadium, signaling the beginning of the match.

“Alright, where are the gladiator weapons?” Stan rubbed his hands together excitedly.

“Oh, we’re not starting with the hand-to-hand combat round.” Hunthou corrected them with a smirk. “The Time Board will determine what our first round is!”

A seemingly endless list of events scrolled across the screen at lightning speed, before randomly stopping on “Clean Their Clock”.

“Gladiatorial Time combat involves washing timepieces?” Ford asked in confusion.

“Not exactly. It’s derived from an ancient idiom!” Hunthou raised his arms in the air. With a zap a strange costume formed around him. It was like he was in a small, grandfather clock-shaped mech suit. His head and torso were visible through the window where the pendulum would normally be, with black mechanical arms and legs sticking out of the clock’s tower. Another zap placed the elder twins in the same costume.

“This is stupid.” Stan grumbled as he looked down at himself.

“Yes, that’s one constant I noticed while traveling the multiverse. The more technologically advanced a society becomes, the more they use it for really stupid things.” Ford agreed.

“Now, I’m here to clean your clock!” The time gladiator lunged at them.

The brothers stumbled out of the way. Stan tried to follow up with his own left hook, but the awkward mech suit restricted his movements, and he whiffed the blow. Ford’s attempt to grab their opponent in an arm-bar didn’t go much better. Hunthou jabbed his mech’s elbow into Ford’s gut, winding him. A little cuckoo bird with glowing blue eyes popped out of a window above the clock face of Ford’s suit. A buzzer sounded from the Time Board. Stan growled and charged at the time gladiator, body checking him to the ground.

Hunthou pushed himself back up, letting his momentum catapult him back into Stan, kicking him in the face. Stan’s cuckoo sprang out too, and the blue and green lights around them turned red.

“Dohs Hunthou wins round one!” The robot running the show declared.

“How many rounds are there, exactly?” Ford asked.

“As many as the Time Board decrees.” The robot answered.

The brothers shared a grimace. They’d already taken some hard blows just in the first round. How long could they keep this up?

* * *

The list of events were scrolling by on the board once again. This time it stopped on “Time Dogs”.

“Alright, leave this one to me.” Stan assured his brother. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of angry guard dogs.”

A platform raised before the combatants, stopping at about table height. A couple of blue disks appeared on top. Stan raised an eyebrow. Was he going to have to play frisbee with a vicious Time Dog?

Then a heap of foot-long hotdogs appeared on the disk. Or, as it turned out to be, plate.

“Oh, that kind of dog.” Stan smiled. “I think I’m still the best man for this job.”

“You said it, not me.” Ford replied sardonically.

Dohs Hunthou stood over his plate like a man about to spring off the high-dive.

“Begin.” The robot declared.

Stan began shoving hotdogs into his mouth, barely taking time to chew. Hunthou picked up his plate and tilted his entire pile of hotdogs into his gaping maw.

Oh, two can play that game! Stan thought as he observed his opponent’s tactics. He opened his mouth as wide as it would go and leaned over, bringing the pile of hotdogs right to him.

It was a close match, but after a couple of minutes, it was clear that Hunthou was slowing down, while Stan was still going as strong as ever. Still, the time gladiator refused to yield, slowly slipping one hotdog after the other into his mouth.

Ok, time to start playing dirty. Stan ballooned out his cheeks, not a difficult task when they were overstuffed with meat and bread, and turned to his opponent, rolling his eyes and wiggling his ears.

Hunthou choked, whether from shock or laughter was hard to tell. It didn’t really matter, as long as it got the guy to stop eating. A buzzer sounded, and a robot came forward to give the time gladiator the heimlich maneuver.

“Pines twins win round two!” The head robot declared.

“Yeff!” Stan cheered through a mouth-full of food. He swallowed it all with a big gulp. “Never have an eating contest with a former homeless guy! Pines! Pines! Pines!”

“Pines! Pines! Pines!” Ford joined in his chant.

* * *

The next round was “King of the Clock”, which wasn’t too different from a game Stan and Ford used to play as kids, “King of the Hill”. The main difference was, the high place you were trying to claim was the top of a giant rolling clock, and you won by rolling over your opponent.

Just trying to get on top of the giant rolling clock seemed impossible to Stan. It was at least twice as tall as he was, and it didn’t sit still either. Hunthou did some sort of fancy parkour jump up the side and onto the top, his legs running backwards as he began to roll the clock in the twins’ direction.

“Stan, give me a leg up!” Ford directed him.

The old con man gulped, but interlaced his fingers, giving his brother a place to step. Stanford dashed forward, springing up from the platform of Stan’s hands, and lunging to the top of the clock, where a well-timed somersault kick managed to knock Hunthou from his place and help Ford balance himself as the clock continued to roll forward. Stan dodged out of the way as Ford did his best to change the clock’s direction. The old scientist managed to swerve the clock to the right, and into Hunthou’s stunned body.

The buzzer sounded again, and the clock disappeared before it could completely crush the time gladiator. Ford fell to the ground with an oof.

“Pines twins win round three!” Their robot host announced.

The Pines brothers gave a High Six and started chanting “Pines!” again.

Behind them, Dohs Hunthou growled dangerously.

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #My Writing

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kieraelieson · 4 years ago

Text

Centaur AU 5

To say Thomas worried the rest of the day would be an understatement. He tried to keep it to himself, but it must have been palpable, since Roman came into the stable bright and happy, and his smile dropped immediately. His eyes went wide, clearly sending messages to the others, but he didn’t say a word until his jockey was gone.

“What happened?!”

“It’s not that much to be concerned about,” Logan said. “My legs are hurting, nothing more.”

“The vet has been called at least!” Roman said, a flash of anger in his eyes. “If—“ his words fizzled out as he turned to see Thomas.

“No, no, Thomas called the vet. She’s coming tonight to help,” Patton said, his tone calming.

“Well,” Roman looked like the wind had been taken out of him. “Good.”

And that somehow reminded Thomas. The very visit probably wouldn’t be over in a few minutes, he would be late to get home again. He was now Extremely glad he’d gotten a cell phone for Remy. Perhaps after a month or so he could afford one for Emile too.

He went to the phone, ignoring the quiet talking from the others.

Remy didn’t pick up right away, and Thomas called a second time.

“Look, I don’t know who you are—“

“Remy, it’s Thomas.”

“Oh. Sorry, this is a weird number. Wait—- don’t tell me you got lost this time!” Remy laughed. “Emile! You’ve got to hear this!”

“No, no, Remy, I’m not lost, I’m still at work. I just called to say I’ll probably have to stay late again.”

There was a vague, displeased grunt. “What, overtime twice in a row? You did negotiate for overtime pay, right?”

Thomas sighed. “No, I’m not sure I’m even getting paid at all for it.”

“What?!” Remy yelled. “Thomas, you are A Doormat!” The sound went a little fainter. “Emile, tell him! He’s not even getting paid for staying late!”

“Really, Thomas, you do need to stand up for yourself in terms of fair payment,” Emile said.

Thomas chuckled slightly, sighing. “I know. I really do. This is just more important than that. I’ll explain when I get home, and I’ll even try to figure out a way to renegotiate.”

“We’ll hold you to that,” Remy promised.

“Be safe and reasonable,” Emile said. “If you get very tired, it may be better to quit before your task is complete or to stay the night there.”

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” Thomas said. “Love you guys.”

“Yeah, yeah, all the mushy ‘we love you too’,” Remy said distantly before hanging up.

Thomas smiled a bit. He really missed them, even though it’d only been a few days, they seemed really long.

And then he heard a car stop and a door shut. Hopefully that was the vet.

He turned to offer his most reassuring smile to the centaurs before going out to meet her.

“Oh, hello, are you Thomas?”

“I am, yes, and I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Dr. Avery. Would you help me carry some things?”

“Of course.”

“I’m not surprised something finally happened,” Dr. Avery said, her tone rather annoyed. “I’ve been saying all you recent grooms are lazy and uneducated.”

Thomas tried not to take offense, but really, he was undereducated. He hadn’t had barely an idea of what to do.

“For a centaur like that one you need to be applying liniment all the time, and keep support for his legs between, and he really ought not to be sleeping standing.”

Thomas nodded, extremely glad for the information, though a part of him grated against the tone it was delivered in.

“And he really needs some kinds of exercise other than those competitions. Without the variety, eventually he’ll be unable to do anything else. Maybe it’s even too late already.”

Thomas nodded again.

They entered the stable, and the silence was almost oppressive. All four centaurs stared intently at them, very still, and not making a single sound, not even in response to Thomas’s small smile.

Dr. Avery went right into Logan’s stall, and he narrowed his eyes at her slightly before moving into the middle of the stall, crossing his arms and staring firmly at the wall. It somehow cut into Thomas to see it. As if the vet visiting was something that had happened long ago, and ended very unpleasantly, and this was some sort of unpleasant truce. But he didn’t know what to do about it. He, they all needed a vet, and he strongly doubted he would be able to call his vet. There would be so much paperwork, even just to begin, and Logan was hurt now. Not to mention that the owners might well hate the idea of switching vets.

Dr. Avery unwrapped Logan’s legs and ran her hands carefully over them, making small displeased noises as she found… whatever she was finding.

“Thomas, go out to my truck, there’s a portable x-ray machine. Bring it here.”

Thomas ran to obey quickly.

The vet examined each of Logan’s legs very carefully, and then studied the x-rays, frowning intently, but not saying much. Thomas felt like his breath was held the entire time, waiting on the professional judgement.

“Well, first of all,” she said, still staring at the papers.

Thomas nodded quickly. “Yes?”

“This is going to be expensive to treat,” she said, her tone sour. “There are a number of faint cracks in the cannon bones. I’m quite frankly shocked he hasn’t broken his legs. He needs to stay off his feet as much as possible, and his legs need support, as well as dietary supplements to build up the bones again. He will not be able to participate in any of those competitions whatsoever for 12 weeks at the very least.”

Thomas nodded firmly. He was sure… well, he was desperately hopeful that the Authiers would pay for it.

“But on top of that the mental aspect cannot be discounted. I’ve known this centaur for quite a few years. It will be a long, and painful recovery, if it’s handled just right. I don’t think he’ll pull through it. Centaurs are finicky like that once injured.”

Thomas felt as though she’d managed to slap them all in the face, and Logan at least twice. He wasn’t sure if he was more shocked or angry.

“Add all that to the likelihood that he won’t be able to do many competitions afterwards even if he did somehow pull through it, and from the inactivity his muscles will be atrophied, he won’t be the same for… perhaps six months or more. I don’t know that you’ll, or rather, that the Authiers would find it worthwhile to keep him around anymore.”

Thomas felt like he might fall over. His voice came out squeaky and faint. “Are-- are you seriously suggesting that---”

“Putting him down. Yes.”

There was a choked sound from Patton, who looked both absolutely terrified and like he might throw up. Thomas wondered if he looked the same way. There was suddenly a scream.

“NO!” Virgil had reared up and kicked the door, hard.

Dr. Avery paled. “Why is he loose like that?! That is a violent centaur!”

Thomas, in what was probably a powerful move Emile would berate him for later, managed to shove everything down all at once and put on a conciliatory smile.

“Thank you so much for coming. I will talk to the Authiers, and call you again with their decision. If you leave, it will be easier to get him under control again.”

Virgil was still screaming, the sound more animal than human, and the stall door would not hold much longer.

“That’s at least a three man job! I’ll get the tranquilizers.”

“No.” Thomas said firmly. “Please leave. Now.”

Dr. Avery shook her head like he was crazy, but grabbed her stuff and left.

Thomas shut the stable door, and then heard a cracking of wood. In seconds Virgil was in front of him, rearing up threateningly. If he hadn’t already so far detached himself from the situation, Thomas might have screamed. And then he would have most assuredly died. But he didn’t, he raised his hands slowly and silently in surrender.

“You won’t touch him!” Virgil screamed.

“Virgil, please. I swear to you I will never let anything like that happen to Logan. I swear. I will do everything I possibly can, and if that doesn’t work I’d kidnap him before I let someone kill him. I promise Virgil, everything I can, I will do to make him safe. I promise. Please. Please walk back to your stall. Or to Logan’s. I’m sure he would appreciate you with him.”

It was as if dark clouds started to be blown away as Virgil stood down, taking a step back and turning to look at Logan.

Thomas collapsed to his knees, suddenly sobbing.

Something was going on, but he didn’t know what, only that his breath was coming short and he couldn’t stop himself, nearly curled up in a ball, heavy sobs wracking his body. And then strong arms picking him up and holding him in a hug.

“It’s alright. Everyone’s safe for now.” Someone said. “You did the best you could.”

Thomas tried hard to stop crying. He needed to be the strong one. He needed to fix everything. “I’m so-sorry, I’m trying.”

“It’s alright. We’re all alright for now. Let it out now.”

Thomas slowly managed to regain some kind of composure, and realized that Roman was holding him, knelt down on the floor with him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. You- you shouldn’t have to--”

He was cut off and surprised by Roman squeezing him in a tight hug. “Thomas, you’re giving us the best you have. Thank you. It’s enough.”

And somehow that made him want to cry all over again. Not the same desperate sobs, but it still made him sniff, and quite a few more tears ran down his face. “Thank you, Roman.”

“I’m sorry,” Virgil said, his voice quiet and low. “Did-- did you mean what you said?”

Thomas nodded firmly. “I’ll never just stand by while they kill someone. Especially not for being hurt.”

Patton burst into tears, which, judging by his wet face, were not the first by far.

“Is Logan ok?” Thomas asked.

Virgil looked up at Logan’s face, which he could see from his place snugged up against his side. “He’s out.”

It took Thomas a second while his brain screamed ‘he passed out???’ to realize Virgil probably meant he was heavily dissociated. Thomas couldn’t blame him. But… this was probably what the vet meant about centaur’s and their minds once they got injured. It wasn’t their fault, it was a whole life long of trauma. But for Logan to get well again he would have to be present.

But not yet. He deserved to calmly make his way back. He deserved… anything, after being talked about like that. Someone literally threatened to kill him while he stood there listening! Thomas felt anger rising up in him, bringing with it a rush of heat and energy. He was calling the Authiers. And he was not taking no for an answer.

He took the phone with him into the closet, where he couldn’t be so easily overheard. None of them deserved any more bad news.

“Hello?” A familiar voice asked, with loud music in the background. It was the woman who had hired him, and he felt bad to say, he didn’t remember her first name.

“Hello, Mrs. Authier, it’s Thomas Sanders.”

“Oh, Thomas! Do you need something?”

He was going to have to phrase this right if he had much hope. “I’ve been looking into the things that the other grooms did, and I’ve found several problems.”

“Uh huh. Well give me the quick version, I’m a bit busy.”

Thomas took a deep breath. “One of the centaurs needs medical care, and I need more time here. I’d like to be hired full-time, and be able to bring things over here to stay.”

“Oh, that was excellently quick. Is that everything?”

“Um, yes?”

“Great. I’ll give you an empty check for the medical care, and send my lawyer to talk with you in the morning about rearranging the schedule. Are we good now?”

“I… yes. I think so.”

“Great! There’s a party up at the main house, and it’ll go most of the night if you want to join.”

“Uh, thank you.”

“Call anytime, you’re a good summarizer!”

And then she hung up. Thomas was dumbfounded. It was entirely not how he’d expected it to go at all. He was wondering more and more what kind of crazy people he was working for.

He called Dr. Avery, and went to voicemail, which he preferred quite a bit. “Mrs. Authier approved the medical treatment. If you can come in the morning and give me care instructions, I’ll do my best to be sure they’re followed.”

And then Thomas let out a long, relieved sigh. He came out of the closet to many tense faces.

“She said yes. We’re going to treat Logan, and help him the best we can.”

Roman and Virgil sighed in relief, and Patton nearly cried again. “Oh, thank goodness!”

“And,” Thomas said, and suddenly had all eyes fixed on him again. “I think, I might be moving to stay here. Would that be alright with you guys?”

There was a strange silence.

“Well, what we think about it wouldn’t really change anything,” Roman said.

“Of course we’d love to have you!” Patton said, overlapping Roman’s words.

Thomas nodded solemnly. He could understand if they didn’t want him here. They barely knew him, and it’d take away the privacy they had at nighttime.

“Well, for tonight then, I need to wrap up Logan’s legs again, and probably after all that mess Virgil at least could use a brushing down. Would that be alright?”

Thomas looked mostly at Virgil, who nodded, but reluctantly, and didn’t meet his gaze.

And Thomas had to admit, even with the exhausted numbness settling over him, he was scared to be between Logan and Virgil, even though he knew, and they knew too, that he was only trying to help. Logan was still almost frozen, a glazed look in his eyes as he turned lazily to watch Thomas.

Thomas ran a hand gently over Logan’s flank, and over again. He didn’t know if Logan would appreciate petting or if he’d be annoyed or insulted by it. He just wanted to find some way to help, and to perhaps comfort and reassure a bit.

“I’m really sorry. If I’d known what she was going to say I would’ve had her outside to talk.”

Logan didn’t respond at all.

Thomas tried giving a rather wry smile, but it fell a bit flat.

“If you’d come out of this stall, Virgil, it’d be easier for me to brush you,” Thomas said, turning and going back to the closet to get a curry comb.

Virgil was standing in his own stall when Thomas came back out, and he was standing stiffly, his eyes darting around a bit, though he turned his head away to make it less obvious. Thomas wasn’t sure what was wrong, but he didn’t blame him. He felt antsy and jittery himself, and just wanted to get done and get home.

But as he entered the stall Virgil stepped away from him. “I’m sorry. F-for earlier. I-I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s alright,” Thomas said, raising the brush. “Just stand still now and we’ll be good.”

Virgil flinched back and away, holding his arms close to his chest, a wide-eyed scared look on his face. It finally registered to Thomas that something more was wrong than just fading adrenaline.

“Virgil, I’m tired and kinda crashing, it’s making me kind of dumb, and I’m gonna need you to communicate here with me, ok? What’s wrong?”

Virgil’s eyes flicked to the curry comb, but he didn’t say anything. A tremor started and ran over his body.

Patton came to the rescue, leaning over the walls.

“Virgil doesn’t like that brush.”

Thomas frowned down at the innocent curry comb. “It’s no worse than any other brush, Virgil.”

“It hurts! Especially when you’re mad or tired.” Virgil blurted out, shutting his mouth immediately after as if he’d said something bad.

The only way this kind of brush would hurt was if it was practically slapped against…. who was Thomas kidding, with the rampant abuse, it was incredibly likely that exactly that had happened.

“It wouldn’t hurt if it’s done properly,” Thomas promised. “Would you let me try? If it hurts you I promise I’ll go back and get your favorite one instead.”

“You promise?”

Thomas nodded firmly. “I promise.”

Virgil shook his head, a tremor running down his whole body. “Promises break.”

Thomas thought about it for a minute, and then went out and grabbed a lead rope, tying one end around his wrist.

“Do you trust Patton? The whole time I’m brushing you he can hold the other end of this rope, and the instant it hurts you he can pull my hand back.”

Virgil looked to Patton, who seemed more than a little nervous about the idea, but still nodded and accepted the end of the rope.

“O-ok.”

Thomas gently set the brush against Virgil’s side, waiting for the flinch and shiver to die down a little before he moved the brush at all. Virgil was all covered in sweat, and Thomas tried to move just right to get it off without moving too quickly and startling him.

He was a little surprised, but also a little not, that by the time he’d finished one side Virgil was relaxing into it. It must feel good to finally reach through all the hair and get properly brushed, and to get really clean.

He’d just wanted to get home a bit ago, but this was more important. It wasn’t just brushing down a centaur, it was getting Virgil to trust him, to trust brushes. It was healthy for Virgil’s coat too. And probably it was helping relax a lot of stressors for him. He needed it, far more that Thomas needed to get home. So he took his time, did it the best way, which also happened to take a long time.

And once he was done Virgil was so relaxed his eyes were drifting shut.

“There. You did very well, Virgil. And thank you for helping, Patton.”

Patton smiled and yawned. “You’re welcome, Thomas.”

“I’ll probably head home now. Is there anything else any of you need?”

“It’s nearly midnight,” Logan said, startling Thomas by speaking.

“Yes?”

Logan just gave a small nod, as if that meant something to him. “Thank you.”

Thomas nodded. “You’re welcome.”

He closed stall doors and turned off all the lights but one, finally leaving. When he got home, for some reason, he didn’t go into the house, he went into the stable. Only barely awake, he dropped onto the hay next to where Emile was stretched out, laying prone.

“Thomas?”

Thomas gave a weak grunt in acknowledgement before falling asleep.

#centaur au #my own work #sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #character!thomas #death mention #past abuse

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yandere-daydreams · 5 years ago

Note

Kirishima’s s/o hiding from him bc the smothering is too much

I wanted to take this in so many different directions, but I’d like to think this one came out the best. Kirishima’s just so naturally *overbearing*, any prompt with him should feel as smothering as this one.

TW: Emotional Manipulation and Mild Physical Intimidation.

You didn’t mean to be so distant. You really hadn’t meant to be.

It was like hiding in your own home, honestly. Whichever room Kirishima was in, you weren’t. If he wanted to stay in and relax, you’d made plans you couldn’t cancel. Hell, you tried to miss your late-night train once a week, just for an excuse to spend the night anywhere but pressed into his chest, not daring to close your eyes in fear that a stray nightmare could lead to your unceremonious suffocation. You didn’t cheat on him, in your defense, and you never doubted your love for him.

You wanted to be with Kirishima, but you didn’t want to be with him all the time. You thought that it was reasonable, and you did try to explain yourself. At first, anyway.

Now, evacuation seemed like a much less draining tactic. You’d rather spend a fortune on hotel rooms and ‘security cameras’ than have another argument that… emotional.

Still, even with your mastery of aversion, you couldn’t stop yourself from freezing as familiar footsteps approached, going motionless just as your fingertips brushed against the doorknob. You let your arm fall as soon as you could hear the sound of his clothes rubbing against his skin, the small creak of your apartment’s flooring under his weight, the helplessness as ingrained into you as the utter dread, bubbling into your throat in tandem with the excuses. They collided violently, leaving you in cold, bitter silence. One you relied on Kirishima to break.

“Are you going out?” The question was innocent, it was asked innocently, and the guilt hit you like an oncoming freight train. Again, you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, letting Kirishima wrap his arms around your waist without complaint, your boyfriend easily slotting himself against your back. “I don’t think you told me, (Y/n). I can get dressed, if you want, Mina knows this great place downtown--”

You went tense as you cut him off, your nails digging into your palms. “I… I’m only going out for a few minutes! I promised I would meet someone at that new coffee shop down the street, it’s nothing important, you don’t have to...” You forced yourself to pause, to calm an ounce of the panic in your words, but your success was debatable, at best. “I should really get going, Ei, I’m already late.”

“Then I’ll come with you!” His hold on you grew more snug, a tooth grin spreading into the crook of your shoulder. Tugging at your hips, he made another attempt to move you towards the bedroom, but you didn’t budge, your heels planting themselves in the hardwood instinctually. You knew he would never hurt you, he’d never make you do something you didn’t want to, but with his strength and size and determination, you couldn’t seem to soothe your nerves. Kirishima only pouted, slumping against your smaller form. “Your friends love me,” He whined, his warm breath sending a chill across your skin. “It’ll be fun! Just give me a heads-up next time and oh, who’s going to be there? You’re always so pretty, I can’t even tell when you’re trying, anymore.”

“No.” It came out involuntarily, slipping from your lips before you could stop it from doing so. Kirishima pulled away instantly, drawing back and letting you turn around, watching as you leaned against the closed door. Refusing felt wrong, bad, but you two had gone out last night and eaten breakfast together that morning and you’d stopped by his agency for a visit and you wanted an hour to yourself, even if all you were going to do was remember how to take a step without his help.

“I’m sorry,” You apologized, more out of habit than anything. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together, and I was just hoping I could do this alone. You know how I get when I don’t have space.” You forced yourself to laugh, even if the sound was more cracked than joyful, dissolving into the silence as abruptly as it’d been shoved into it. “It won’t take long, I promise. I’ll be back before you can even miss me!”

Kirishima blinked. Once. Twice. “You don’t love me.”

You cringed, already knowing where this would lead. “I never said--”

“You don’t have to be nice about it,” He reassured, putting on a shaky smile and running his fingers through unstyled hair, the gesture as practiced as it was pitiful. “It’s my fault, I should’ve seen this coming. You were always out of my league, I’m still not sure why you put up with me for this long. It’s fine, I can help you pack if you want.” You tried not to fall into it. He was being overdramatic, you were being reasonable, there wasn’t another way to look at it! But, you knew Kirishima well enough to be sure his display was genuine, just like it was the fight before this one and the one before that and every time he did this.

That might’ve been the worst part.

He believed his own bullshit.

You opened your mouth, but he went on before you had a chance to speak. “I’m too clingy, I know. I just get so worried when I don’t know where you are… it’s like I can’t think about anything else when you might be in danger. Is that bad?” His shoulders squared, defensively. It took a moment for you to realize he was mirroring your own rigid pose. “I could… fuck, that’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m always trying to do things for you, it must be annoying.”

You managed to grit your teeth, to steel yourself and stay strong, but your resolve wasn’t impenetrable. The moment Kirishima bowed his head, letting overgrown bangs cover his face as a hand came up to wipe at his eyes, you broke. He didn’t have to reach out, this time, your arms were around his neck in a second, willing him to melt into you. It didn’t take much more than that, not really, Kirishima burying his face in your shirt, sniffling and leaning against you, acting more like a kicked puppy than a Hero. But, you pushed the thought out of your mind with a sigh, too quiet for him to hear.

“Don’t say that,” You mumbled, willing yourself to put some emotion behind it. “I’m stressed out, I shouldn’t pin that on you. Why don’t we rent a movie? I could use some cuddling, right now.”

Despite your dryness, he was beaming in the blink of an eye, holding you close and pecking at your lips and smothering you, no evidence of his despair remaining. You went along easily, chucking as you swatted away his affection, but Kirishima caught your wrist easily, pressing your palm against his cheek, leaving his own arms free to reclaim their former territory. The kiss that followed was sweeping, passionate, Kirishima lifting you off the ground and never letting you get more than a hair’s width away, not until he was panting and you were flushed. Even then, he let his forehead rest against yours, not daring to separate, as if he thought you’d shatter as soon as he let go. You kept your eyes closed, but you could feel his happiness, a smile stretching at the corners of his lips. If you hadn’t seen it, you wouldn’t have been able to tell he’d been crying. Like his tears had dried the moment you touched him.

Like they’d never existed at all.

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pikemoreno · 4 years ago

Text

colors

pairing: catfish morales x reader

summary: a summer with frankie, as told by colors

word count: 5k

warnings: mentions of drug use (but no actual use!), talk of frankie’s past (so there’s some violence, death, ptsd), there’s some fluff, some angst, what can ya do!

a/n: an idea brought about by a similar fic i’d written for another fandom + talking about what summer with frankie is like with @lesqui.

i liked it for a while. now i’ve stared at it so long that i kinda hate it. but hopefully you enjoy it at least a little!

( @hdlynn, this is me tagging you as requested. ily.)

Summers with Frankie were green.

Frankie was ever the outdoorsman. He would spend every single hour of the warm days outside if he could, sleeping with the canopy of leaves as a ceiling, the soft grass as a floor, and a hammock strung between trees the only thing separating him from either. He did it on multiple occasions over the warm days: spending the night in the backyard. The less-than-luxurious sleeping arrangements weren’t exactly doing wonders for his aching, overused joints, but it did wonders for his mind. Disconnecting like that calmed him in ways nothing else ever could. Sometimes he’d go by himself to get away, but he didn’t like it nearly as much as when you or Santiago went with him. (He had found too much time in complete solitude outside had the opposite effect; too much time to think.) You were, of course, more than happy to oblige and go with him.

“It includes a nice view. And you... An even nicer view,” you would tell him, “Of course I wanna join.” That always sent warmth right to his cheeks.

The views were nice: wispy clouds and darkening skies interrupted by the trees that stretched overhead, their colors muting as night overtook the forested backyard; and beautiful Frankie, setting up his hammock. You watched from your hammock as he pulled his own taught, admiring the muscles in his back that were visible beneath his henley. You didn’t think you were staring that hard but then...

“Admiring that view, sweetheart?” he asked as he turned around, pleased with his work and the way your gaze rested heavily on him.

“Mhmm… Why are you bothering with that one anyway? You know you’re not gonna be using it. You’re gonna be over here in mine--” You didn’t finish. He’d sauntered over, hands resting on the fabric on either side of your head.

“Go on. What am I gonna be doing instead?” he breathed, teasing.

“Probably me.”

“You think so?” he hummed, “Maybe I should be bringing you out here more often.” His arms still supported him as he hovered above you just out of reach. You were growing painfully impatient

“Oh, just shut up and fucking kiss me already.” You swatted at his arm to get him to come down to your level and he took no more time in-- finally-- meeting your lips. You snagged the cap off of his head, letting it fall to the grass below. He was already too entranced to notice, but he certainly did notice the way your fingers tangled in his hair, the way your lips parted upon contact. He deepened the kiss in response, shakily getting himself onto the hammock to kneel over you and free up his hands. The kiss only broke when he let out an:

“Oh shi--”.

In a split second, you felt the hammock tip precariously to one side before it returned to normal. You opened your eyes to find Frankie, still hovering just above you, looking as though he’d just escaped death: wide eyes, heavy breaths, hands gripping the edges of the hammock’s fabric. You felt the breath of his laugh against your lips and a mumbled:

“Whoops.”

You laughed too. The kissing resumed, full of life and breath and utter joy, eventually travelling to your jaw and neck, hitting every spot he knew so well. Both of your hands travelling lower, lower…

You were right, of course. There was absolutely no need for the second hammock. It hung lamely from the two oak trees, moved only by strong breezes and not the shifting weight of a body. As expected, Frankie never left yours.

“I almost died getting up here. There’s no way I’m pressing my luck by trying to leave tonight,” he argued as he pulled you in to himself.

“Sure,” you quipped back, letting your head rest on his chest. The henley had long since been discarded, laying on the grass with the cap. You sighed at the closeness: legs tangled; an arm, gentle, but strong around you; fingers drawing light patterns on your own bared shoulder. The trees above you and the stars just past them seemed closer too, all wrapping you up in serene safety as you drifted off.

Summers with Frankie were green. Green like the trees and the grass that surrounded you that night. Green like the feelings of safety and harmony that bloomed in your chest.

Summers with Frankie were blue.

There was a creek near the house Frankie grew up in. It was the last stop of many on the grand tour he had taken you on through his old childhood haunts, and it was probably the one he was most excited for. Sure, he was excited that you’d gotten to meet his parents for lunch and see his old house and all of the memories with it, but his old creek. This was hallowed ground.

He led you over rocks and down slopes to the “best spot” on the creek. Despite the way the creek you sought was rushing mere feet away, you continued farther and farther down the cragged, unforged path.

“I promise, this other spot is way better. It’s calm and it’s not as rocky and there’s this rope swing we put up one summer and--” He went on and on, praising the place of his childhood. You didn’t understand the difference between here and there, but you trusted the enthusiasm in his eyes and his years of experience, which he obviously had. Frankie’s feet still knew every step as if he could see a trail where you couldn’t. With every “careful here” and “hold on let me go first,” as he slid down a steep slope, it was as if he’d carved the path into the earth himself. He pointed out memories to you as you walked on.

“This scar here?” he briefly pointed to a raised mark on the back of his calf and then a boulder more than twice your height to your right. “My best friend in 5th grade dared me to jump off it. Fell on my ass and a rock stuck in my leg at the bottom.” You winced at the thought. “Yeah, it felt like it sounds. Cracked my tailbone too, couldn’t sit right for a month.” He fell into step with you and laced your fingers together. “But... “ He turned toward the river now, taking you through the patch of trees to where the forest floor sloped down to meet the bank.

It really was better here.

The harsh rocks gave way to soft, silty ground and then quiet, lapping waters. It really was the perfect spot for a lazy swim and a jump from the rope that hung from a solitary tree, grown sideways over the bank. Otherwise, the tree canopy fell away here to the brightest skies that warmed the current-smoothed rocks further down the way. It took your breath away, not the way the Grand Canyon does, or the beautiful clear seas of some far off island paradise, but in its own little way, especially as you saw it through Frankie’s eyes. It was the rose-colored view of a boy grasping onto memories that were kinder to him than these recent years had been. You memorized the brightness of his face, the glow had little to do with the summer sun warming his cheeks and everything to do with worlds colliding: the pure joy of bringing his favorite person to his favorite place, like a child dragging you to the toy store window. You ran down to the water like those children, leaving socks and shoes and cover-ups strewn in your wake.

Your newly bare toes sank into the muddy, silty bank. It squished in a gross way, but the cool earth felt so good. The light waves lapped against your toes and little minnows swam up to check you out, darting away in scaly flashes when you took a step. Frankie was quick to get right into the water, testing his old beloved rope swing. The branch creaked with the unfamiliar weight, but held strong as he flung himself into the water, creating unnatural waves in it that raced all the way to you, where you were thigh deep in the cool depths now.

Five seconds… Ten… Then twenty. You looked a little nervously to where the rings had now diminished, but you were looking in all the wrong places. Frankie had swam over to you, using the opacity of the water to sneak up on you. You were none the wiser when he grabbed your ankle, causing you to gasp with a few choice expletives as you fell into the water with a splash. You could hear Frankie’s muffled laugh as he rose from underneath the surface as you became submerged in it. You shot back up, spluttering.

“What the hell, Frankie?” He was still laughing.

“Sorry,” he managed to wheeze out. He wasn’t. You narrowed your eyes playfully as he finally calmed down. “Really. I didn’t think it’d scare you that badly.” He wrapped his arms around your waist and you wrapped yours around his neck as you both drifted further into the water.

“What did you think would snatch you in a 7 foot deep creek? A shark?”

“A catfish?” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him. “I guess one did.”

“I’ll always snatch you up.”

“Nerd.”

“Dork.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You couldn’t tell if the kiss or the creek made you feel like you were floating.

After fingers and toes turned pruney you laid out on the pleasantly warm, almost unnaturally smooth rocks to dry. The deep sky above went on forever and left you with eyes half-lidded, warm and happy.

“You know, I had my first kiss on this rock,” Frankie broke the comfortable silence.

“Is that why you brought me here? This where you bring all the girls, casanova?” He gave you a little shove.

“Jealous?”

“Of your, what? 9th grade girlfriend? Absolutely not.”

“8th grade, actually.”

“Was that before or after your 5th grade best friend stole your date to the 8th grade dance?” you teased, turning on your side to look at him, head resting on your hand.

“After.” he grinned at the memory, “It was Sally Mason. My rebound,” he teased.

“An 8th grade rebound,” you mused.

“Yeah, not much to be jealous of. The kiss was pretty bad anyway. We knocked our teeth together, eyes open,” he shook his head, “I’ve gotten a lot better since then.”

“Oh have you?” He gaped.

“Have I not?”

“You should probably remind me.”

“Not after that comment.” He pouted, but the dimple that rose in his cheek ruined the act. He couldn’t stop the grin.

“Come onnn, don’t you wanna take this old rock for another spin?” you crawled over until your face was hovering above his. You kissed either cheek, then several more pecks in quick succession when he didn’t respond. He broke, pulling you down to bring his lips to yours.

“Much better,” he murmured against your lips before leaving another quick peck.

Darkening skies eventually sent you home, delightfully tired. Frankie was quiet on the way back, but you chalked it up to the exhausted bliss you also felt. The long day in the sun had you passing out immediately after falling into bed. You were so utterly dead to the world that you didn’t notice when Frankie didn’t immediately join you.

***

He sat on the edge of the bed for a while, hoping your soft breathing behind him and the darkness and the comfort of the mattress would bring some semblance of peace.

It didn’t.

His thoughts were so very loud they woke him right back up; and worrying about sleeping made him spiral that much further, just another thought racing around and around with the others. He needed to be busy, to work himself into exhaustion like forcing a computer to power down. He moved to the kitchen to pace without disturbing you.

He hated what life had made of him.

He hated how his favorite place had seen him like this. The place he spent all of his school years living and breathing in had seen an entirely different man than what he had remembered. It had remained the same: steadfast, reliable, safe. Every tree and hill and hole was exactly the same.

But it felt so different, foreign. Like the woods he loved didn’t quite recognize him the way he recognized them.

It was hallowed ground and he was a sinner.

He’d seen war and death-- caused war and death--, and he still saw it everywhere he went. The creek looked red with the blood he spilled.

Not its fault, but his.

He hated how different it was. This was supposed to be a special day, sharing a place so full of fond memories with the person he wanted to make a life’s worth of new memories with. Instead, it left him wanting, wishing he was still the person he was: a little older, sure, maybe a little smarter, but with the same curiosity and innocence and joy, the same zest for life. Not this man who was so hurt and untrusting and angry. He wanted to be like that boy again. He wanted it for her, she deserved better. For his favorite place, so that it would remember him the and, he guessed, for himself too.

His hands rested on the cool countertop, trying to get his breathing under control, willing the threat of tears away. This was bullshit. Things were how they were, he was who he was, and it was just a fucking creek. He shouldn’t be fucking crying.

He’d be fine in the morning, he decided, but for now, he needed to numb it. He debated for a moment, fingers gripping onto and then relaxing against the edge of the counter before he pushed away from it and to one long-forgotten little cabinet in the kitchen.

He’d fully kicked the coke habit months ago. After coming back from South America for the last time-- the actual last time-- it just didn’t matter so much anymore. Being that close to his death once again reminded him just how fragile his life was and how much better he could be doing.

In its wake, it left a lot of problems that he didn’t know what to do with. You were always there; and it meant more than you could ever know, really. But even your soft touches and listening ear-- and some well-placed tough love-- could not drown everything out.

He needed to be numb again.

If he remembered right, he had the tiniest amount of the substance left in the back of the cabinet. There wasn’t really a reason to keep it, but just knowing he had it if he needed it made him feel safer in some crooked, fucked up way. He didn’t tell you about that part.

He had barely begun to walk away from the cabinet when he heard footsteps on hardwood. He met sleepy eyes that looked between the clear bag in his hand and his grim face. He watched the heartbreak take root in those eyes he loved. Your shoulders slumped a little and your hand gently, sleepily reached out to him,

“Cat,” you whispered. You were so clearly disappointed. You had been his biggest cheerleader in this and now he was going back to square one. He was such a screw up. All at once he realized what he was doing. The baggy fell to the floor and he crumpled onto his knees behind it, sobbing into his hands in a way he hadn’t done in months.

“I can’t do it,” he mumbled. He felt your presence now on the floor next to him, felt your hand as it lovingly rubbed his back.

“What can’t you do, my love?”

Anything.

He didn’t respond. He just cried as your hand kept rubbing soothing circles. You were too good to him. You knew exactly what he needed, of course. He didn’t need overbearing attempts at comforting, he didn’t need a solution, he just needed a comfortable, patient presence until he could figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffed, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” you pressed a feather light kiss to his hair, “You have nothing to be sorry for, you hear me? You’re ok, baby. Just take some deep breaths for me.” He did. “Good, that’s good. You’re alright, Frankie.” His breathing evened and the two of you sat on the floor, backs against the counter. You gently played with his fingers as the last remaining sniffles subsided.

“I-- I’m,” he started trying to explain, but there were no words.

“Shh,” you soothed, “Not a conversation we need to have tonight. Let’s go to bed, yeah?” You stood with him, arms around each other as you walked back to bed.

When you were both laid down, lights off, your back against his chest, his arm laying over your waist, you whispered his name.

“Hmm?” he answered, dreamily.

“You know that I’m here for you right? For whatever you need. You don’t need to try to get rid of it with that shit? I’m here to work through anything with you.”

“Yeah, I know.” The silence after demanded more be said, but nothing more came.

“Yeah, I know.” I know you’re here, but I don’t want your help. The quiet taunted you.

He finally let sleep take him. Yours came uncomfortably.

Summers with Frankie were blue.

Blue like the easy lapping waters and the blazing blue of the sky on a sunny, lazy day. Blue like his memories, now tainted with time. Blue like the sinking feeling in your chest when you realized there was nothing you could do about it.

Summers with Frankie were red.

You woke up groggily to beaming light and an empty bed. As the memories of the early morning hours flooded back, you panicked, wondering if he--

Fear won out over exhaustion and you ran to the kitchen.

The bag of white powder was gone from the floor. Frankie was at the sink, scrubbing fiercely at a mug. That couldn’t be good.

“I took care of it,” he stated blankly over his shoulder. He was already so embarrassed, so angry at himself. He didn’t want to have this conversation.

“Took care of it, how?” He all but slammed the mug down. That was the wrong question right about now.

“I didn’t use it, if that’s what you mean.” There was an unmistakable bite to his tone. It startled you a little. Frankie was as mild-mannered as they came. You’d seen him angry, sure; no one was perfect. But it had never before been directed at you. It stung.

“Frankie, I-” you tried to backtrack

“You think I’ve been using again?” He was turned fully now to face you, but his fingers gripped the edge of the counter behind him, knuckles turning white with the pressure: angry, panicking.

“And what the hell am I supposed to think after last night? Hmm? I found you in here taking--” you froze then bolted to the cabinet. Frankie tried to argue, to stop you, but it was too late. You had the offending substance in your hand, and your frustration was burning as hot as his now. You stomped to the bathroom.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“What you should’ve done months ago,” your tone was poisonous.

“I need it!” He tried to yank it out of your hand.

“No you don’t!”

“I need it! Just in case. Just in case I-”

“Why am I not enough Frankie?” you finally yelled out. He dropped his hold on the bag. It fell back into your hand. It felt so incredibly heavy. You dropped it.

“What?” All of the anger was gone from his voice. It was light as a whisper. “Shit, do you think that’s what this is? That it’s your fault?” His expression grew softer, contrasting the prominence of the crease between his eyebrows as he tilted his head at you. You ran your hands through your hair in frustration, walking out of the bathroom. He followed.

“We’re not done here, baby. Don’t walk away from me.” The hallway had never felt more constricting. His hands came to your waist, spinning you to face him. Eyes searched your face, waiting for your answer

“Yes, Frankie. Yes. I feel like I failed you. I feel like I haven’t helped you like I should. That’s how most people deal with their problems: they talk to someone, they work through it. Obviously I’ve done something wrong here because that’s not what happened. You shouldn’t have to turn to drugs instead of me.” You shook your head, trying to clear your watering eyes. “You got help. You don’t need this anymore.” The breath he took in was sharp.

“I know… I know.” Hands squeezed lightly against your waist. “But what I was feeling yesterday. I- I can’t put that on you. What I’ve seen and done and how that affects me… It’s not always something I can just talk about. It’s a lot, it’s heavy. You haven’t experienced it and I don’t want you to, even second-hand. It’s not a you thing. It’s just a-- thing.” Your eyes went to the floor, but he lifted your chin back up to meet your eyes. “It’s not on you, you got that? You’ve done so much for me. More than you know. Sometimes it’s just… Too much for either of us. It can’t be solved that easily all the time.” You nodded.

“It still doesn’t mean that should be your go-to instead, Cat.” He sighed.

“You’re right. It shouldn’t. I gotta find a better coping method when I can’t talk to you, or it’s too late to call one of the guys about it. But for now,” he punctuated by taking you by the hand, walking you back to the bathroom, and picking up the bag that started all of this. He held it up, presenting it to you before flushing every last bit of it. He smiled back at you. He looked so proud of himself. The weight that he carried on his shoulders looked as if it’d become twenty pounds lighter.

“That’s for you.”

“No…” Your arms went around his neck and his found your waist once again. “...It’s for you. That is the best thing you could’ve done for yourself. Proud of you, Cat.” You brought your foreheads together, resting there a minute.

“I love you.” It was so lightly whispered that you might’ve missed it completely if you hadn’t felt it on your lips. “And I’m sorry I got angry. It wasn’t at you.”

“I love you. I’m sorry I got angry too.” You stole a quick, forgiving kiss, then pulled back. “Now, I don’t know about you, but my sleep last night was terrible.” He nodded in agreement. “Care to join me for a nap?”

“Yes please.”

The rest of the afternoon was full of soft embraces and apologies for misunderstandings. You floated in and out of consciousness, broken up only by instances of “more strenuous activities”, quick kitchen runs for snacks, and one shared shower.

Day blended seamlessly into night until your dreams were interrupted by a far off whisper and a vague feeling of being shaken. You blinked awake and met Frankie’s grinning eyes. It was still pitch black outside.

“C’mon,” he whispered, clambering back to the edge of the bed to lace up his shoes.

“What time is it?” you murmured.

“Late,” you heard the grin in his voice. “Well, early, actually, I guess.”

“What are we doing?”

“Don’t worry about it. That’s my job.” He looked back at you, “Hungry?” You considered a moment.

“Yeah, actually. Is this a Hal’s run?”

“Shhh.. You’re ruining it. What are you still doing in bed? Go get ready!”

“Alright, alright. Sheesh. Wakes me up at,” you finally looked at the clock as you crawled out of bed, “4am and now he’s all bossy.” He threw a pillow at you; you laughed.

Twenty minutes later you were sitting in Frankie’s pick-up, windows down as he drove. The rush of wind against your face brought the smells of the fields you passed: grass and wildflowers and something distinctly summer. The crickets were chirping loud and proud, a perfect compliment to the soft music from the radio. There was no talking, but it was a comfortable silence. The most comfortable you’ve ever felt. Sodium vapor streetlights intermittently interrupted the darkness behind your eyelids as you closed your eyes to take it all in.

“You ok?” came a whisper as light as the breeze.

“Never been better,” you whispered back. You heard him chuckle as musical as the crickets.

The best diner in the city coming into view was by far the most beautiful sight you’d seen in weeks. You’d seen it often during the evening hours, as the sun went down and the last remains of the “dinner rush” finished (which consisted of fifteen parties in the tiny place instead of the usual five). It was kind of beautiful like this. Hauntingly beautiful. It looked like one of the places where time doesn’t exist. Its neons flashed between “Hal’s Diner” and “Open 24 hours” in gaudy fashion for no one in particular-- there were no cars in the lot and none on the road at this hour

You liked to think Hal’s single handedly proved the theory that hole-in-the-wall places always serve the best food. The sign on the window read “Hal’s: Since 1962.” You thought it should read “Hal’s: Has not updated since 1962.”

But none of that mattered once they put down that plate of just-greasy-enough diner food. As you popped a fry in your mouth you decided that if torn and re-taped leather booths and old light fixtures meant they could keep serving food like this, then that is perfectly fine with you.

You really tried to keep your voices hushed in reverence of the graveyard shift employees who looked utterly exhausted, but you couldn’t contain your laughter as you watched Frankie bang on the back of a ketchup bottle, only to have nearly a quarter of the bottle splatter onto his plate. He gaped at it as you cackled.

“Gee, Frankie, want some fries with your ketchup?” you teased once you had control of yourself again. You dipped one of your fries in the pile.

“It’s too early for this shit,” he muttered to himself, closing the bottle and putting it back. But the grin you shared told you he wouldn’t give up these silly little 5am moments for anything.

When you’d devoured all of your food-- and some of the ketchup-- you left a generous tip on the table for the poor waitress and headed back out into the balmy summer air. The clock on the dash read 6:15am and you found yourselves passing the beginnings of morning commuters. You looked at him as you passed by the road to go home, about to question him, but he only smiled back at you with a look that said “trust me.”

Summers with Frankie were red. Red like deep hurts and anger at what can’t be changed. Red like danger signs. Red like diner neons and a gratuitous pile of ketchup. Red like love blossoming after a harsh storm.

As Frankie drove up a mountain pass at 6:45 on one of the last summer days, you thought about the summer spent with him. It was all of those colors: harmonic greens, calming blues, and overwhelming reds; and as you looked at the man next to you, putting his pick-up into park and telling you to “c’mon”, you decided he was too. He was all of those colors.

He was softly green. He preferred to be surrounded by green, after all; it was no wonder that it bled into him so effortlessly. He was so easy-going and mild-mannered, seeking peace and happiness with those around him. To you, he was safety; reliable as the grass beneath your feet.

But he had his blues. He was calming and joyful, free as the birds in a light blue sky. You saw that in him as you watched him tumble off of the rope swing or crack jokes with his dad. It was light and breezy, but too soon followed by blues of darkest night. You wished you could take the dark blues right out of him. Someone like him should never have to face dark blue feelings and dark blue memories. All you could do was stay with him in the storm.

But he was red too and it was a double-edged sword. He was one of the most passionate people you’d ever met, for better or worse. His usual mild-mannered attitude could not hold its own against the fury of injustice or bitter wishes that the world be different or, heartbreakingly, unbridled anger at himself for the pain he’s inflicted. But oh was he just as passionate about you: loving you, laughing with you, making things work with you. That passion that lead to anger was the same passion that loved you more deeply than anything.

But then again, no.

You sat in the truck bed with your Frankie, watching the sun rise over an untouched valley. The view was absolutely breathtaking. All of the sunrise’s swirling hues melted together so they were inseparable from one another, making a new color all its own. You decided it then:

Frankie wasn’t just green, blue, and red, all separate and incompatible with one another.

He was so much more, a swirling shade all his own.

Every bit of it was him, and it was your favorite color.

(Moodboards by @aerynwrites)

#frankie morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #bri writes

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