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on-the-shelves · 1 year

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on my shelf: soundtrack to MA year 3 - summer (a.k.a. the finale)

And so it comes to an end. I handed in my Master's thesis (topic: Emancipatory Potential of Girl Teen Film) about a week ago, so now I'm just waiting for it to be graded and also I have to find a job or something now... The thing I have been dreading most for like 10 years...

ANYWAY so I was super busy this summer with the thesis and going to a Japanese film festival for a class (I mostly saw very emotional movies (oops) and one very good comedy (Mondays: See You 'This' Week)), going to concerts (Red Velvet!!! Odd Eye Circle!!! Twice!!), going on vacation but still spending at least 3 hours every day working on my thesis, keeping up with the BTS members, seeing literally every BTS/TXT/IU concert or documentary they showed in cinemas, etc. etc.

So here we go into the final list of albums/songs that soundtracked my studies (it's been almost exactly 6 years since my first post in this series!!):

The Jazz Hop Café: (anything with "jazzy lofi" in the title)

So this one's not really an album, I know, but I wanted to mention this YouTube channel and their compilations of lofi songs because on many days, playing one of their videos was the only way I could get focused on the work I had to do. Using a video was also much more helpful to me than that famous lo-fi livestream because it helped me track how many hours I had been working. Truly a life-saver. And the music just sounds great too. They found some real gems!

Agust D: D-Day (2023)

What a perfect finale to the Agust D trilogy. While all three albums, Agust D (2016), D-2 (2020) and now this one, deal with anger and fear, there's a clear maturation in how these subjects and emotions are approached. On D-Day, Agust D is speaking to the world and breaking free - in openly and honestly sharing his struggles, his pain, he hopes others can feel comforted. The album literally begins with the line "Future's gonna be okay" ("D-Day"). The theme continues throughout the album, most prominent in "Amygdala" and "Snooze", a beautifully cinematic track featuring the late Ryuichi Sakamoto that is dedicated especially to everyone working publically in the music industry and struggling. He has been there, he knows what it's like and he is sincerely cheering you on. In the last years, Yoongi has emphasised again and again how much he wants to help out others and this album showcases this desire the clearest out of all of his albums. He's also pushing himself to try out a variety of new styles without losing his identity: "People Pt. 2 (feat. IU)", "SDL" and "Life Goes On" showcase his warm singing voice, while "Snooze" is the grandest he's gone musically, filled with strings, guitars, piano, and so much emotion. "Haegeum" takes a leaf out of "Daechwita" from D-2's book by incorporating a traditional Korean instrument in a novel way, while using the lyrics to speak of the hypocrisies plaguing society today. The music video for that one is like a movie, too. All in all, the album is hopeful while being emotionally heavy - and in that way, it allows a feeling of catharsis. How desperately I wish I could've gone to a concert on the tour...

fav: Life Goes On; People Pt. 2

Jimin: Face (2023)

So this was not at all what I would have expected from Jimin's first solo EP, considering the types of songs he had released before. Especially the first single, "Set Me Free, Pt. 2" came busting down the doors and demolishing all those preconceived expectations with it's assured declaration of wanting to break free from them. The other tracks are more intimate but just as interesting. The album opens with clown-like music before morphing into a very different sound and the opening line "All right, I guess the blame is on me" - brilliant. The album feels very visual to me because it's full of this kind of 'sound painting', like the clown music or "Interlude : Dive", which tells a whole story of Jimin reminiscing about the BTS concert days and the frustration and sadness of not being able to do that right now. Jimin has said he worked through his feelings from the most difficult times of the pandemic in these songs and you can feel that frustration all over these tracks. For example: Lead single "Like Crazy" really makes you feel like you're not fully sober, just trying to ignore all the bad feelings but struggling to do so. Jimin uses his already unique voice in a variety of new ways throughout the tracks. And added to that, there are quite a few interesting moments on all these songs - like the long-ish musical interlude after "Like Crazy"'s first chorus or the way the music stutters after the "Lie lie lie lie lie lie lie" line in "Alone". An added bonus, lovely moment is the hidden track on the physical album, which is more like what I'd have expected from Jimin, and is a beautiful guitar ballad for ARMY.

fav: Face-off

V: Layover (2023)

After years and years of V promising that his mixtape/album would come out soon, just for him to reveal that he's scrapped everything and started over, it's finally here and it's everything I could have ever hoped. One of the first BTS songs I heard that made me fall into the rabbit hole was his "Singularity". The R&B, more laid-back sound suits his vocal tone so perfectly, and that's exactly what runs through all of these new songs. One thing that stands out is how much room is given to the instrumentals: "Slow Dancing"'s second half is just a flute/piano solo with no vocals. It really boosts that laid-back, dreamy feeling that runs throughout the EP. Lyrically, all the songs are about missing someone and wanting them back, which V conveys very convincingly. The music emphasises this feeling in different ways - from the slightly off-key (?) moments in "Rainy Days", to the jazz and soul inspired free-ness of "Slow Dancing", to the key change via pitched-up vocals in "For Us". Generally the sound also fit in perfectly with all of that jazzy lofi I'd been listening to while writing, which made it feel instantly familiar and cozy. My favourite part of the promotions were all the live band sessions that really added so much to these songs.

fav: Rainy Days; Blue

Jung Kook: "Seven" (2023)

Song of the Summer!! I literally couldn't stop listening to this song all summer, seven days a week (ha). To be honest, I was shocked when I heard the lyrics the first time because Jung Kook just had a much more innocent (?) image, but actually this vibe suits him perfectly. He is such a quintessential pop star - vocals, dance, looks, charisma: he has it all in abundance. And on top of that, he lacks the cheesy insincerity or even low-key misogyny that I get from a lot of the pop boys historically. The lyrics to "Seven" are sexy, especially because of how loving they seem: "I kiss your waist and ease your mind"! "I must be favored to know ya"!! It's just so very Jung Kook. And I really enjoyed the remixes of the song, too, in a way I haven't enjoyed remixes since BTS' "Dynamite". Especially the "Island Remix" was fun for me, since I was on holiday on an island when it was released (Mallorca - the same island where V also shot some videos for his album this year!!).

Kep1er: LOVESTRUCK! (2023); Magic Hour (2023)

Both Kep1er EPs this year have had some of their best non-single tracks so far, with generally better line distribution among the members than their lead singles/title tracks. They have been leaning more into a groovy, light sound, and allowing more space for individual vocals and harmonies. By Magic Hour, it feels like they are starting to find a good niche for themselves, musically. "Galileo" is my favourite title track of theirs since "Up" (2022) and this might be the first time I truly like every song on an EP. Hopefully this doesn't turn out to be their last album, since they're a project group with a limited contract which is supposed to be up after two years (meaning end of this year)... They're only just starting to find their feet as a group! What a strange system...

fav: Back To The City; Why; Galileo; The Door

Odd Eye Circle: <Version Up> (2023)

After the chaos on Loona island that started at the end of last year, all the members got out of their contract this year!! And then went on to several different new agencies. They do keep mentioning that Loona is not broken up, so there is still hope for an OT12 reunion at some point. For now, the first group to have released new music is the second Loona sub-unit Odd Eye Circle, who just so happens to be my favourite sub-unit. And they truly delivered once again. Maybe it helped that they're working with their original producer again, but they really do showcase an upgraded version of themselves on this new album. Every song is such an earworm, but not annoying in any way. And I really enjoy the little references to the Loona discography and first OEC EP - the introduction track often brings a little tear to my eye. I have barely listened to Loona in the past year because of the ongoing boycott and this EP filled that void a little. Plus the girls were AMAZING in concert, I literally cannot believe I saw them live in a tiny venue in Berlin and got to see all of their solo songs, duets, and of course OEC songs. And even "Hi High"!

fav: Je Ne Sais Quoi; Love Me Like

Loossemble: Loossemble (2023)

Speaking of Loona: The five members who went to a different label recently released their own EP under the name Loossemble, which stands for Loona Assemble (so cute). Even though this was literally only released two weeks ago, I've been listening to it constantly. First of all, we finally get to hear the five members who usually get the least amount of lines in OT12 songs - and they sound so good! I especially love all of the harmonies on the album. This EP also really still feels like a Loona (sub-unit) album, especially from the fan-favourite earlier days, not straying too far into unknown territory (yet?) but not boring in any way because they do get to showcase new things, like ViVi's lower register on "Sensitive". I also find it very cool that all of the members have at least one writing/composing credit on the EP, which is something they've never gotten to do before but are really good at! And "Strawberry Soda" was even written for them by fellow Loona (but not Loossemble) member Yves! They're really still carrying the OT12 agenda. Fingers crossed Loossemble also decides to tour in Europe at some point!

fav: Strawberry Soda; Sensitive

NewJeans: Get Up (2023)

It's really amazing how NewJeans keep upping their game with every release. This EP is more summery again, but again in a way that's very atypical for K-Pop, drawing on various styles of dance music as well as R&B. It's varied and fun and has quite a few interesting elements, such as the unusual sparse sound of "ASAP" and the horns in "ETA".

fav: Super Shy; Get Up

BTS: "Take Two" (2023)

Of course they recorded a song to be released around their 10-year anniversary when they weren't all able to celebrate together. Of course they did. And of course it's such a warm, embracing hug of a song. 2025 can't come soon enough.

And here are some more albums I enjoyed:

Colde: Love Part 2 (2023)

Twice: Ready To Be (2023)

Fifty Fifty: The Fifty (2022)

Fall Out Boy: So Much (for) Stardust (2023)

j-hope: Jack In The Box (HOPE Edition) (2023)

STAYC: Teenfresh (2023)

Le Sserafim: Unforgiven (2023)

Viviz: VarioUS (2023)

Itzy: Cheshire (2022)

the BTS discography remains on repeat as well, of course

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

A final note: I'm really proud of myself for keeping this series going all this time. I already sometimes look back on older posts and it's so interesting to see how my taste in music and my way of writing changed through the years. Sometimes the music you listened to at a certain time in your life will always remain connected to that time for you but sometimes that connection weakens. So having these posts to look back on is like having all these little time capsules, which is nice. I don't know if I'll keep doing something similar now that I'm out of school, but it could be nice... We'll see what happens next (I have 0 plans for my future :D)!

#on my shelf #soundtrack to university #bts #agust d #jimin #v #jungkook #newjeans #loona #odd eye circle #loossemble #kep1er

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alostwanderernotfound · 1 month

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Hostile Power Takeover? Learnings on Urban & Domestic Warfare I :

Covering the dreaded & borderline sacred building: the hospital.

This is not an exhaustive list, but it covers some very important points about the selected topic.

———-

Hospitals when used correctly can be beautiful places of healing, but when studying military history & warfare it’s important to remember that these special qualities are ALSO the reason hostile powers like to abuse this trust. It doesn’t mean all hospitals are bad, it just means people should be aware of how some very harmful people think.

One of the biggest resources that this type of Hostile Power would want to dominate would be hospitals. This is a method already done in the modern day during land warfare that we have see practiced even as recently as Hamas taking over Palestinian hospitals.

Hospital offer many benefits. The biggest obstacle is usually resources & staff. But, once you are able to front these types of costs then it’s an incredibly difficult type of practice to root out.

—-

>The first advantage is medical care that can be provided to injured members of your group without anyone else being aware. When this is done on “enemy” territory and you are providing medical care for spies then it helps avoid a chance for this individual to get caught.

> But a lot of this information can be found through public record or through insurance companies or other ways, right? Nope. The second advantage with this type of system is that you have let’s say for example 100 spies. If 100 spies have 100 different names & like 100 different lives with 100 different medical conditions, if you have the ability to move consciousness into different bodies you could effectively move 1000 people in and out of the country with your 100 spies in the hospital through rotating. Rotation of people allows seemingly silent movement in and out of countries that could bypass customs & immigration. Things we currently consider to be unhidable unique identifiers per person, like let’s say an allergic reaction, can actually be explained very easily. If an entire body is organic except for “consciousness”, everytime you are in a new body then you’d really have those new diseases and those allergies. This is because your bone marrow & immune system is determined by the organic tissue/body you occupy. With an advanced technology like this, the allergies & diseases you currently have would only be experienced when inside certain bodies. Foreign spy agencies do elements of this practice already CONSTANTLY. Using fake identities that are established in a country since birth & rotating people through them is a foundation of spy culture since its very beginning (they just used costumes & disguises instead!) “well they ask you what your name is and all this other information! How would they know” Please reference the FBI’s investigation on Russian telepathy/Havana syndrome weapons. Unfortunately there’s technology to speak to people inside their heads & they are being disoriented & then fed information.

> The third advantage would be as a “pit stop”. This means you could transfer someone into a new body without their awareness & then transport/human traffic them to the location you need them to be at as a patient. They would wake up drugged & disoriented & there is a high chance they would just go along with it. This allows movement of people without the ability to track.

> The fourth advantage if you are a hostile power that produces half robot/half organic beings is that you can potentially siphon resources. This means organic materials hard to manufacture, such as blood, can be covertly stored. Lab draws & wasting blood is a process that could harvest blood, which then can be sent to a lab or other area, & then traded out with a blood substitute. For example, This doesn’t necessarily mean this type of hospital wouldn’t be seen giving blood- they could give the equivalent of IV fluids/plasma with dye & thickener that is just labeled blood. ***This is a rough example to display its possibility & not necessarily an exact replica of how this process would work***. This could be done with multiple organic materials. If this hostile power also produced fully mechanical bodies with synthetic skin then a blood transfusion that you were to give on another patient would potentially be going into the equivalent of a reservoir for storage instead of into the circulatory system of a body. As long as you have the capacity to physically move people around, two people that look alike could occupy a bed at different times. This type of system actually could have quite a few ways to avoid detection & accomplish its goals.

> The fifth advantage is that you can control/alter scans to prevent detection of body modification. Any potential media/news/investigative service would have to use that building as their point of contact to access medical records. If they thought there was some sort of body modification occurring then imaging would have to be used & if taken to certain hospitals then it would be continuously covered up until the hostile power eventually controlled all the hospitals. Another important reminder is that other methods to avoid detection exist. Imaging on scans is not 100% accurate & there would be ways to hide things on scans that you’d only be able to actually see by cutting open inside someone’s head.

> The sixth advantage is if you control at least an entire unit of a hospital, you’d be able to use it to get away with various crimes with a built in coverup system relatively undetected. Screaming, blood, bodily fluids, messes, & privacy are all common place in these types of areas. Screams with no response are common. Lots of irregular behaviors are a lot more common in these types of places & allow lots of people in and out at all times of day & night with a reasonable explanation. This is a highly volatile mix that can be abused. Unfortunately this type of system can lead to very horrible outcomes.

> The seventh advantage is unfortunately another horrific one. The actual patient’s bodies could be used as torture apparatuses. Instead of GITMO, your torture would be *having a specific medical condition*. It’s actually one of the most gut wrenching on the list in terms of what that means for the people that would have to endure this. An exhausting & emotionally draining thought.

>The eight advantage is the ability to constantly be aware of pathogen strains with production of blood cultures & the ability to produce super pathogens. There are certain practices that encourage the development of antibiotic resistance bacteria & novel viruses like COVID- it is currently NOT that difficult to encourage pathogens to develop to be more harmful. THERE IS ALMOST NO OVERSIGHT IN AMERICA IN REGARDS TO THIS FOR ALL HOSPITALS. There is currently NO federal organization or law that does universal & consistent oversight on this topic. Without that oversight or enforcement, pathogens will continue to get worse & we are all going to get sicker… this is perhaps one of the most scary. But it’s probably the most reflective of how serious & deadly things can spiral out of control without regulation, oversight, & the proper safety mechanisms.

Almost always when these types of events occur vulnerable & innocent people get hurt. Exhaustive systems & bureaucracy exist to help prevent these abuses. Illicit practices almost always are rampant with abuses because they fundamentally lack those protective elements by their very nature. When life & death hangs in the balance, desystemization can lead to catastrophe.

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uzumaki-rebellion · 2 years

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“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Volume 4, Chapter 37″

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

youtube

"I hope that you're the one

If not, you are the prototype

We'll tiptoe to the sun

And do things I know you like

I think I'm in love again

I think I'm in love again"

Outkast – "Prototype"

Erik wished Yani could see herself the way he saw her in the maternity hospital.

Confident, beautiful, knowledgeable, gentle, warm… inspiring.

She moved around her station with a self-assuredness that belied her humble beginnings. This was not the same girl who used to scrub floors and toilets for dangerous mercenaries. This was an intelligent woman who brought life into the world and taught new mothers how to bond with their babies. She was so polished with her staff interactions that he knew she would run the entire wing one day. Her co-workers treated her with high regard. Not one time did he sense they looked down upon her as an outsider or the dreaded foreigner. The only thing that made her stand out as a non-Wakandan was her reliance on her language translator bud, and the accent she had when she spoke their language on her own.

Dr. Lekota kept Erik occupied with the grand gestures she made while whisking him through Yani's floor and leading him to other sections. The hospital was quite lavish compared to American ones, and the tone the staff gave off was that the patient was the expert, and the doctors, nurses, midwives, and doulas were only there to assist the mother-to-be. Quite a different attitude from Western medicine, where doctors were the boss and patients were at the mercy of whatever care they could afford. If they could even go to a doctor without going into debt.

She led him to the new children's wing that was marked off by signs with a giant holo of what it would look like floating in front of an indoor water fountain. Erik admired the expansion as Mpilo kept the staff from ogling him in a crowd, desperate for glimpses of the rogue prince. His intern took pride in keeping others away from royalty, his narrow chest puffing out each time he returned to Erik's side after asking people not to take photos with kimoyos. PR training taught Erik that positive images were needed to feed the public, and there had been plans to have him conduct an in-person tour of the country, so he took time to pose with a select few doctors and nurses. He made sure to have Mpilo stand next to him so the young man could have some bragging rights among his peers. Apparently, Erik's social media presence was the highest trending topic on the intranet right behind the bombings.

They went into building one of four round, cornflower blue structures that were interlinked. The buildings circled around a spiral Zen Garden and a small lake with seating for pregnant mothers to relax next to. Even the smell of the hospital was different. There were no strong disinfectant odors, and some rooms used aromatherapy for women and children. They used the first building for immediate maternity care/neonatal care, the second building was for obstetrics, the third was for pediatrics, and the fourth building was for family members to stay overnight for the birth and the aftercare training. Erik appreciated the holistic approach and let Dr. Lekota know how impressed he was. He spoke to new mothers walking in the halls with their babies, and some were so awestruck by him they could barely speak. One woman simply shoved her son in his arms and covered her mouth with her hand. It let him know how distant the royal family kept themselves from the common people. He wondered to himself how much the people really knew about his fight to use weapons to free his people. The expected pushback from some members of society never emerged in front of him. There had to be more people who resented his role in the civil war. Or had the royal family covered it up with a clever ruse to shield the public from the full extent of his brief takeover? Mother after mother stared into his face with curiosity and admiration for him being there in person. Even the fathers present wanted to rush over to him and stare into his eyes.

"Dr. Lekota, were people able to see my cousin on this floor?" he asked when they went to the third building and peeked in on toddlers getting check-ups.

"Oh. No. King T'Challa stayed in building one. He visited two floors before he left for the Zana Hospital. Yesterday was his first visit here since we remodeled five years ago."

Erik spent a half hour more with Dr. Lekota before he asked to go see Yani again. As they walked with the preening hospital director, Mpilo's mood dimmed.

"W'sup?" Erik asked.

Mpilo kept his focus on the sights in front of him.

"Mpilo, talk to me man."

The intern stepped closer to him as they walked.

"May I speak freely, Your Highness?"

"Go ahead."

"I think we should leave the hospital and go to your new office now."

"Why?"

Nervous tension settled in Mpilo's eyes.

"I said you could speak freely," Erik encouraged.

"I have the impression that Lady Galiber would be upset if she saw you again."

They rounded a corner, and Erik stared at his intern.

"Upset?"

"Yes, Prince N'Jadaka. How can I say this without being disrespectful?"

"Say it straight up."

Mpilo sighed.

"You were a bit overbearing with her. I think she would prefer that you allow her to work without crowding her with your celebrity and personality."

Erik stopped walking. The entire entourage stopped, too.

"Is something wrong, Prince N'Jadaka?" Dr. Lekota asked.

She had walked a few feet ahead of them to prepare the sections for his final sweep-through.

"Nah, give us a minute. I need to check something with my intern. Some scheduling conflicts."

Erik raised his head higher and Mpilo shrank into himself.

"I'm overbearing?" Erik asked.

" A little bit. In a good way, to everyone else, Prince N'Jadaka, but to Lady Galiber… I think you make it hard for her. She seems like a delicate woman who wants to blend in. She cannot do that with the most famous man in the country breathing down her neck."

"Breathing down her neck?"

Mpilo lowered his gaze.

"You smother her, I think."

"Ain't nobody paying you to think for me—"

"I receive no pay for my duties. This internship is part of my pre-university training. It is a highly competitive assignment and I am not here for financial gain."

"But ya here to get in my personal business."

"Apologies, Prince N'Jadaka. You are so out in the open with your business. It cannot be helped."

Erik threw back his head and laughed. He slapped Mpilo's shoulder to loosen up his grief-stricken expression.

"I like you, son. How old are you?"

"Just turned seventeen."

"I'll let you make it to eighteen."

Mpilo glanced behind Erik, and the prince turned to look out of the window too. Down below in the Zen Garden, Yani held the arm of a heavily pregnant woman who kept rubbing her belly and puffing her cheeks. She was in labor.

"I smother her, huh?" Erik asked.

"You have a great affection for her."

"Does she have the same affection for me?"

"That I cannot say."

"You like her a lot?"

"I do. I admire her and Lady Abdullah. Lady Galiber is the first outsider I have ever met in person."

"What about me? I thought I was your first."

"You are Wakandan."

"Half."

Mpilo shook his head.

"Royal blood runs through your veins, Prince N'Jadaka. It overshadows anything foreign in you. But Lady Galiber… she is nothing like I imagined."

"How did you think she was going to be?" Erik asked.

"Mean."

"Mean?"

"No offense, Prince N'Jadaka, but any woman who can be with you has to be tough. She is so sweet, and she sounds like a little flute when she talks…"

Mpilo's eyes became dreamy and his voice floated away as he gazed at Yani.

"She is a beautiful flower," Mpilo finished.

Erik's flower walked and soothed her patient, rubbed her hand on the woman's belly, and held onto her arm for support. Mpilo was right. He was overbearing. Erik couldn't help himself. He loved Yani so much, and he was terrified of losing her because he adored Disa too. It was like being asked who he loved more, Riki or Joba. Impossible to choose one over the other. They were simply his. If he smothered Yani, it was only because he knew his days were numbered with her. Like Disa before her, she would bounce if he didn't give her what she wanted. He knew what that was. It didn't have to be spoken out loud. Monogamy. With her.

His greatest desire was to show both women that he could love, cherish, and adore each of them equally if given the opportunity to prove to them how life could be. All of their needs would be met. Emotionally, mentally, and physically. He was an outstanding father and supported Yani and Disa in their career choices. Disa was the more sovereign of the two, and also the most open to new ways of being. Yani was stubborn like him, but he also knew her pain ran deep. Coming on strong to her wasn't the way to go, but his heart ached too, wanting her in his life as his woman. Just not the only one. He owed Disa so much love and pampering for what he put her through, too. Fuck! If only they could see his way of loving. They were both made for him, and he could make them happy. The one thing he refused to do with Yani was walk away from her. He wouldn't leave her again. But he would give her space. He glanced over at Mpilo. The first day on the job and the kid was reading him from jump. Sometimes it took a stranger to see the truth that was right under his very own nose. Yani deserved better from him.

"Let's go," Erik said.

He walked over to Dr. Lekota.

"Thank you for the wonderful tour. Unfortunately, I must return to the palace," Erik said.

Dr. Lekota held her hands up to him in the way citizens did whenever a royal left their presence, thumbs close together and palms facing outward. Erik had minimal interactions with the public and still had a long way to go, getting used to all the deference to his status. There were subtle rules to all of it, and he made a show of acknowledging it without acting weird about it. Disa used to tease him about carrying a hard swagger around the M.I.T. campus like he was a king, even before she knew he was a prince, and he stayed true to that energy by moving past the doctor quickly with his intern and security. They reached an elevator that would take them back up to the roof, but a vid screen caught his attention, and Erik strode over to it with a few nurses and Dr. Lekota to watch T'Challa address the nation.

Yani helped Nks. Iziduko back into her maternity room to prepare for the birth of her child. Her contractions were coming every fifteen minutes and lasted for over a minute. Nervous hands clutched Yani's as she led the woman around the peaceful Zen Garden until she had a better handle on her discomfort. Nks. Iziduko was in her early thirties and it was her first child. She moaned about the pressure in her lower back and even the sensation pushing down on her rectum. Yani cooed soft words to her and sang a gentle lullaby she used to sing to Riki when he was fussy, and the woman calmed down.

"Let's get you ready," Yani said as they went up a people mover escalator.

Inside, people faced vid screens at the chief nurses' station. Dr. Lekota stood near Killmonger and Mpilo and listened to T'Challa speak in forceful Wakandan about what was being done to protect the citizens. Hushed whispers abounded and Yani guided Nks. Iziduko to her spacious room where her personal nurse prepared to rub her down with a calming body butter that would help get her mind ready to face labor.

Yani slipped back into the hallway and listened to the last part of T'Challa's speech. He told the nation that suspects were being questioned and there were some leads. The king mentioned Killmonger and how the prince had helped with leads. People inside the hospital murmured and snuck glances at the royal in their midst. In the end, T'Challa didn't bother to stick around to answer reporter questions. The hospital staff and patients clapped. Things were being done, and T'Challa showed confidence in handling it all. The bombings were the first major stress on the country since Killmonger's arrival.

Yani looked at the prince as he bid Dr. Lekota farewell. He strode her way to leave from the rooftop exit again and she squirreled away behind a nurse to stay out of proximity. Surprisingly, he didn't even make eye contact as he swept past with that arrogant walk of his. She stepped from the nurse's side, and Killmonger still paid her no mind as he waited for the lift to take him back to the Scorpion Fighter. Only Mpilo looked at her and waved behind Killmonger's back. Yani held a hand up to the intern and thought maybe the prince would glance back her way.

He didn't.

Even though she told him to stay out of her way, it felt a tad bit strange when he did it. She at least expected him to sneak a look back at her and give a head nod or something. She was curious to know what he felt about T'Challa's speech. Heading back to Nks. Iziduko's room to check on her contractions, Dr. Lekota stopped Yani. The doctor had the widest smile on her face.

"Such an exciting morning!" Dr. Lekota said. "The king said things will be back to normal soon, and the prince is helping him. This is a great day, Lady Galiber."

"Exciting, yes," Yani said.

She moved away from the woman before she became inundated with questions about Killmonger. Another nurse approached Yani instead.

"Lady Galiber, could you please go to room sixteen and check on Nks. Hadebe? Her son is not latching very well, and she keeps asking for you," the nurse said.

Yani washed her hands before going into room sixteen. The young mother held her newborn son close to her naked chest and her eyes were swollen like boiled eggs from crying.

"He won't drink from me," Nks. Hadebe said.

Her breasts were out and fattened with milk, and her distended nipples looked raw and red from the baby, trying his best to suck milk out. Poor thing. Yani sat next to her on the wide, comfortable bed. The baby squirmed in the mother's arms. Yani softly touched the baby's head.

"What did you finally agree to name him?" Yani asked, to distract her from her immediate angst.

Nks. Hadebe, Duzile, ran a nervous finger over her son's cheek before staring at Yani.

"Kagiso. My husband and I finally figured it out after I woke up this morning," Duzile said.

"Ah, little Kagiso, we have to get you eating well, little boy. Here, Duzile, I want you to rub your nipples like this," Yani said, demonstrating on her own chest.

She lifted Kagiso from Duzile's arms and the new mother rolled her fingers around her nipples, and then did the same around her areola.

"Sometimes Mama has to get the water from the well by pumping it first," Yani cooed to the baby.

The child had one tiny dark strip of a Charlie Brown curl at the top of his bald round head. His dome was so big that Yani had to assist with giving Duzile stitches when he was born the night before.

"Keep rubbing, just like that," Yani encouraged, as she rocked Kagiso in her arms.

"It does not work! I feel nothing coming down," Duzile whined.

"Keep going. Do not give up on yourself," Yani said.

Tears sprang in Duzile's eyes, but Yani kept right on talking her through it.

"Oh! I feel something!" Duzile cried out, her bright shiny eyes going big and round.

Yani handed her the baby, and Duzile tucked him under her left breast and placed the nipple in Kagiso's eager mouth. The baby puffed his cheeks and sucked with tiny lips until yellowish milk spilled from his greedy lips. His mother proudly wiped away the excess and secured the nipple better. Her shoulders relaxed, and she closed her eyes for a second.

"I was so scared," Duzile said.

She reached out and grabbed Yani's hand.

"Ngiyabonga," Duzile said in her River Tribe dialect.

"Wamkelekile," Yani said in her best Wakandan without her translator.

Duzile's eyes became coy.

"Lady Galiber—"

"No, no, here I am Midwife Yani. That Lady Galiber is for the palace. I am in a hospital working," Yani said.

"Midwife Yani. I saw him, Prince N'Jadaka."

The grin on Duzile's face made Yani smirk.

"Oh, yeah?" Yani said.

"He saw my baby and said he was a handsome boy. Eh, he is so big! He took up the entire room! I could not breathe!"

Yani laughed at the exaggeration.

"It is true! I saw his teeth too, and I was so nervous! What is he like when you are alone with him?"

"It is rare to be alone with him in the palace."

"Is he kind? He was kind to me. My husband's uncle said he saw him in battle on the Bashenga Plateau and he was so powerful. That uncle ran away because he was so scared to face him. But Prince N'Jadaka was in front of me and once I got past my nervousness, I felt… peace. Is that not strange? He held my son and my baby looked like a tiny yam in his hands!"

"Prince N'Jadaka has his moments," Yani said.

"I cannot believe that is the same man they called Killmonger. He looks like he can take out a city with one hand, but those same hands… cradled my Kagiso like a soft bed. The world is a strange place."

"Yes indeed."

Yani stood up.

"I think you have this under control now. Feed him well, and I will check on you later."

Duzile nodded and stared down at her baby. Yani walked out of the room and finished her rounds before her lunch break. Turning toward the nurse's station to check on any scheduling changes for the rest of the afternoon, she felt her kimoyo warm up on her wrist. It was Killmonger's signature. She opened the message, and it was a holograph of a bouquet of flowers and four words, "I'm proud of you."

She smiled and wished she could smell a real bouquet.

Erik swiped his fingers across the new office door entry avatar and pushed the heavy copper-red metal door with the platinum inlays wide open. The entrance to his office had a spacious reception area with textured walls burnished in copper and bronze colors that had layered diamond shapes embedded all over the ceiling, too. Dark currant-colored wood floors were polished to a slippery shine with a few area rugs of fancy animal skins placed near a dark stonewood desk. The room had a delicate mix of classic Wakandan elegance and a post-modern feel. Ancient and futuristic was the theme Disa ad Yani put together for him, with Umama's guidance.

Erik touched the desk and was about to plop down in the elegant executive chair with the beautiful window view behind it when Mpilo stopped him.

"This is your personal assistant's desk," Mpilo said, rushing Erik out of the seat.

"I thought you were my personal assistant," Erik said.

"No, Your Highness, I am."

A young woman with slicked back hair and daring dark brown eyes stepped into the space with a comm tab and a silver gift bag in her hand. A low-cut black dress and smart-looking onyx high-heeled boots gave her a stylish, pulled-together appearance. She had a dancer's body with small breasts and a lean, athletic physique. Lowering her head slightly in his direction, the woman presented herself by stepping a few feet closer to him and Mpilo.

"I am Tlotliso Qhobel and the king hired me to assist with your transition into Wakandan society. I am trained in PR management and I have worked with many nobles over the last ten years. My resume is extensive and my references are impeccable," she said.

Erik moved closer to her, and she lowered her eyes.

"I thought I could pick my people," he said with a hint of irritation in his throat.

Tlotliso curled her lips into a smile.

"Queen Mother Ramonda felt you were too preoccupied with pressing family matters to worry about that task. She had the Council of Elders vet the best potential candidates that fit the responsibilities needed. King T'Challa chose me with the tacit approval of your aunt."

"You're the best one, huh?" Erik asked.

"Would you like to check my credentials and references yourself, Prince N'Jadaka?"

Her eyes didn't back down or waver from his. That was a good sign. He needed someone who wasn't afraid of him or overly nervous. Erik discerned a bit of tension from her, nervous energy not from his presence, but from not being acceptable to him.

"You'll do for now, until I decide if I want to keep you," he said, looking around. "So where's my spot?"

Mpilo looked over at Tlotliso.

"I can show you the rest of your office," she said.

He brushed past her, eager to see the rest of the spread past the reception area. Stepping through a narrow hall, he peeped a large vestibule that housed a small office desk set up with a nice window view of the outside.

"This is where I will be," Mpilo said proudly, showing off his floating viewscreen for his desktop computer.

The layout was comfortable, and his intern had his own personal items decorating his space already.

"Damn," Erik said when he finally entered his own private office.

The color scheme and interior design were similar to the front reception area but even bolder and richer with a half skylight that infused natural lighting to bring out the saturated reds and browns of the walls and furniture with the dome-like high ceiling. There were hanging light fixtures that flickered like actual flames from ancient times. His mahogany brown desk was narrow, with a matching antique wooden chair that he was afraid he would break until he sat in it. It was a strong and regal seat, like his very own throne. He liked how it held his weight. Across from his desk was a carved layout of the entire country, with clever detailing etched in the yellow wood. It sat on a low platform that showcased buildings, terrain, and other natural geographical features.

Tlotliso stood on the far end of the mini-Wakanda and directed his eyes toward a ceiling-to-floor painting of a bald, dark-skinned woman decorated with white body paint. A silk multi-colored cape sat draped along her right arm and billowed out behind her. All the colors of the cape matched the colors of his office.

"Damn," he said again with reverence.

Tlotliso grinned and stepped aside so he could appreciate the full painting without partially blocking it.

"Queen Shuriya. Head of the Panther Clan," Tlotliso said.

She pointed to another painting that adorned the other wall. It was an illustrated drawing made with pen and ink.

"Your grandfather, King Father Azzuri made that piece. It is Queen Shuriyah at fifteen with her favorite war bull. Ubhuti."

"She called her war bull Brother?" Erik said with a grin.

"Yes. She had him for thirty-five years. He was her closest companion next to her twin husbands and her many children. See here?"

Tlotliso pointed to another painting of a man on a war bull holding a shield and spear.

"This is Prince Fezile Dumisani—"

"Dumisani? That's my father's middle name," Erik said, jumping up from the chair.

He walked toward the painting Tlotliso admired.

"He is your grandfather. One of Queen Shuriyah's husbands. He is the firstborn of the twins. Prince Fezile fought beside her in the Niganda wars."

"Wars?"

"More like several skirmishes for us compared to them," Tlotliso smirked. "No country could defeat Wakanda. She made sure of it with both of her husbands by her side at various points. With each battle, she left a husband behind to protect their children while she fought with the other by her side. Trading off with each war until the Nigandan's finally gave up trying to encroach on our land."

Mpilo stepped into the room and whistled at the surrounding splendor.

"Classy Your Highness," Mpilo said.

"It sure is," Erik said, taking in the grandeur himself.

He sniffed the air. The odor of sweet incense enticed him to explore more. He walked out of his office and followed the hall down further from the reception area.

"Well shit, they weren't playing about hooking me up!" Erik shouted.

More rooms with more breathtaking views. A personal bathroom with a sunken tub and sauna. A gym room with all types of workout equipment. A dressing room with suits and shoes already hanging up in case he had to change quickly for an occasion and didn't have time to run back over to his east palace suite. A private sleeping area to take catnaps and a full kitchen commons area for him to share with his small staff of two. Food and libations were already stocked in the fridge and slick silver hideaway cupboards.

"Do y'all see all of this shit?" he said.

Turning around, his intern and PA waited for him in the hallway down by his office.

"Oh, my bad… y'all are free to roam around with my full permission," he said with a dramatic flourish of his hands.

He checked his kimoyo.

"I'm hungry. I know it's early," he said, opening his fridge and taking out pre-made snack containers.

"I ordered your lunch to be brought up thirty minutes ago when I knew you were on your way," Tlotliso said. "I also made sure this kitchen provided your favorite food and drinks from the list that Lady Galiber and Lady Abdullah provided me with when I asked for it."

She handed him the silver bag held with her slender fingers.

"What's this? An office warming gift?" he said.

"Lady Abdullah asked me to deliver this to you when she stopped by this morning before your arrival."

Erik opened the bag and pulled apart the decorative tissue.

"Wow," he said.

He couldn't hold back the grin on his face. Sitting the bag on the commons lunch table, he pulled out his old friend, Ogum.

"My play cousin Marisol gave this to me. Y'all have Bast and Sekhmet, I have the orixá Ogum."

Mpilo and Tlotliso admired the precious reclaiming of his orixá. Erik headed back to his office and placed Ogum on his desk. He pointed to the painting of Queen Shuriyah.

"You see her Baba Ogum? That is who I come from. It was already in me," Erik said.

He touched the tip of Ogum's sword and admired the beauty of his office. His family hooked him up righteously. Mpilo knocked on his door.

"Tlotliso said our meals will arrive in ten minutes. She will place your meal in your private dining area near the gym. Is there anything you need from us before we break bread, Your Highness?"

Erik took a deep breath. His day was going well. He thought of Yani.

"Would it be too overbearing to send Lady Galiber a little note and holo flowers to let her know she's doing a great job at the hospital?" he asked.

The intern gifted him with big, bright teeth.

"A brief note and holo flowers are a nice, safe gesture, without overdoing it," Mpilo said.

Erik typed in the words "I'm proud of you," and showed it to his intern.

"Classy, short, and sweet," Mpilo said.

"Smart ass," Erik said.

He sent the message quickly, then regarded the miniature carving of Wakanda.

"Call me when the food is here… and tell Tlotliso she can stay," Erik said, looking over the expansive country he was now a part of.

He swiped a side panel on the miniature country, and a holographic 3D version of the nation floated above the tabletop one. Moving his fingers across the holographic Wakanda, he was able to manipulate some image features, and whatever he moved at the top was projected onto the bottom. Erik nodded his head in approval. They gave him his very own war room. Glancing over at his grandmother Queen Shuriyah, he plucked a holographic war bull with long curved horns from a glowing pasture near a herd of rhinos and held it up to the painting.

"I get one of these and I can be like you, grandmother," he said.

"The food is here, Your Highness," Mpilo said over a general intercom system from the commons.

Erik put down the holographic bull and swiped the images away.

Chapter 38 HERE.

A.N.:

So about the war bull picture with the Black girl representing Shuriyah at 15... One of my favorite Sword and Soul authors is Charles Saunders who passed away two years ago. I used to text chat with him over on The Black Science Fiction Society website years ago before I became a more strident writer. Anyhoo, he has this awesome book series called "Dossouye" about a fictional African woman warrior that I adored so many years ago. I just remembered she had a kick-ass war bull. The first time I read about her was in the book "Dark Matter" one of the first ever collections of Black Sci Fi ever. Mr. Saunders had a short story about her in that and I never forgot that idea of a Black woman wandering some mythical African country with her war bull. The picture with the girl and war bull is from an illustration from one of the books. I think they are out of print now. If you can find some, grab them. They are priceless to me. I just wanted to pay homage to Charles Saunders by giving Shuriyah a war bull and prepping Erik to have one of his own too! (Also, get the "Dark Matter" book. There is a sequel called "Dark Matter: Reading The Bones", too!)

CHARLES SAUNDERS, the man! Rest in power and thank you for being a mentor to so many!

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some-kindofgnome · 4 years

Text

for auld lang syne

“And then I woke up in the hospital alone, and I saw the doctor alone and took a taxi home alone. I went to physical therapy alone and saw my counsellor alone. Whatever you thought, Katsuki, whatever you believed made me spend six months staring at my phone and thinking I’d ruined everything.”

It’s time for your agency’s extravagant New Years’ Eve party. But after a little sabbatical, there are some things you’re not ready to come back to.

characters: katsuki bakugou x f!reader

wc: 7.2k

warnings: smut (18+ please!) aged-up characters, pro hero!bakugou and pro hero!reader, mentions of injury, near-death experiences and gunshots, smoking, drinking, angst with a (filthy) happy ending, me being a whore for glamorous new years’ parties

notes: This fic has been dragging me across the coals since Christmas- I could not get it out of my head, despite how much work I knew it would be to get it out on time. Still, it feels supremely worth it. I have a metric ton of love to give to @hoe-doroki for beta-ing this mammoth on such short notice (I dumped it in her lap at 4am) because she really helped me whip it into shape. As always. 💖

Happy New Year, everyone.

(MASTERLIST)

“Won’t be long now.”

Anxiety bleeds into the already-nervous voice of your driver, muffled by the plexiglass divider that separates you. You’ve been sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic for the past four red lights, barely inching toward the intersection with every green.

You’re well past fashionably late at this point. You’re sure that the commissioned driver’s fearing for his job at this point, knowing exactly how long ago you were supposed to have arrived at your own party.

But you couldn’t care less. The longer it takes you to get there, the better. The vodka you’d downed neat, standing over the bar cart in your polished apartment, sours in the pit of your stomach. And the fact that your outfit barely allows a spare breath isn’t exactly cooling your nerves, either.

You’re draped over the door, resting one elbow on its edge to cushion your jaw as you lay your forehead against the chilly glass. Outside, the crowded traffic casts a golden warmth over the bluish urban night, betraying the slow swirl of fluffy snowflakes that drift lazily into the street.

Tonight has all the makings for an ideal, albeit bitterly cold, New Year’s Eve. But if it were up to you, you’d be watching all the wonder unfold from the comfort of your own bed.

You’ve been away long enough, though, says your agent. It’s time, says your manager. You stay away from the spotlight for too long and we’re going to forget about you, says the Internet.

The glittering gold fabric your stylist presented you with would’ve swelled your heart on any other occasion. He knows your taste to the button. And after breaking into exhausted sobs at your first fitting together, you’d been able to tell him that the outfit was perfect.

At long last, the glossy windows of your agency loom outside. You push the backseat door open before your driver can even kill the engine, stepping out as gracefully as you can muster and pulling the folds of your designer coat demurely closed around your glamorous party clothes. You’re greeted by swaths of flashbulbs and determined shouts of your hero name, and suddenly the practiced gracious smile that you’ve always saved for the cameras is stretching your lips one more time.

You used to love something about this. But you’ve almost never had to face it alone.

Inside, the party’s taken off without you. Your coat’s taken before you can even see who’s hands are slipping it deftly off your shoulders, but by the time you’re ushered into the elevator and sent all the way to the top floor, you’re already sweating with the anticipation of all that’s waiting for you.

The doors open to a rush of guests, each noticing you simultaneously and pushing in to greet you.

Arriving late does absolutely nothing to dissolve the grandness of your entrance. Your attention is immediately pulled in a handful of different directions as celebrities and dignitaries and politicians shake your hands and congratulate you. People you’ve never met are telling you how good it is to see you on your feet again and, despite the overwhelming distractions, you can’t stop searching the crowd.

You don’t want to let yourself search for somebody in particular, but you spot him long before your shame catches up with you.

It’s not a glimpse of his mussed hair you catch, bobbing through the crowd. Nor is it a slip of the edge of his suit, the most devastating shade of midnight blue you could have possibly imagined.

Your eyes, like magnets, are drawn right to his crimson gaze. Lightning shoots through your chest, and you look away so fast you nearly pull a muscle in your neck. You cast your gaze immediately to the red-faced MP in front of you and let yourself stare. Still, from the corner of your eye, you can see the way he lingers, still facing you.

You haven’t seen Katsuki in months. Luckily, your ability to multitask has not faded, and you make easy small talk with the mayor and his wife while you sense him, in all his midnight splendor, disappearing into the crowd again.

A close call. Too close, in fact, not to warrant a drink. You excuse yourself kindly from the mayor’s attention, cutting through the glamorous partygoers until you reach the bar at the center of the room. It’s crowded, but you grab the bartender’s attention quick enough and order the first of many glasses of Dom Perignon.

The agency knows how to spend, for a special occasion.

It’s while you’re trapped at the bar, waiting for that imperative first drink, that he corners you. You spot him an instant too late, sidling between two dancing couples and crossing the short distance between you. There’s no way to skirt subtly away from him now. Instead, you lean more fervently across the bar and immerse yourself in an intense examination of the liquor, shelved decoratively behind the working bartenders.

He hesitates—possibly for the first time ever—but you’re determined not to watch as he searches for the right way to bridge the silence. You spot the way he stuffs his hands into his pockets, and when he finally speaks it’s low and sharp and bitter.

“That’s a nice dress.”

He has to lean too close to make his voice heard, speaking low and gruff to you in a way he never used to. You’re too anxious to care whether he sees the way you close your eyes to dull the fervent ache that flares in your chest.

He’s not allowed to say things like that to you. Not now.

“Listen.” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, pushing ahead.

In the throes of closeness, it’s easy to pick up the tremor in his voice. That kind of shake used to scare you. It’s the way he’s always spoken to you when he’s keeping his temper at bay in public.

He’s opening his mouth to say something else, something deeper and far more expository perhaps, but your champagne arrives with no moment to spare. You pluck it eagerly from the bartender’s fingers with an exceedingly gracious smile and turn quickly in the direction you swear Katsuki’s not blocking.

“Watch it.” He grabs your wrist to keep you from sloshing half your fresh champagne down your front. His touch sears hotter than you’d dreaded, and you can’t stop yourself from flinching at the rough brush of his calloused fingers over your tender inner wrist.

Fuck.

“Don’t run off,” he insists, squeezing your wrist just a little tighter. Your entire body is drawn tight like a bow, but you’re not actively searching for an escape route at this point. Sensing this, he slowly unwraps his fingers, dropping your hand and letting you down half your drink in a couple of parched gulps.

“You look…” you start to say, letting your eyes wander his immaculate form one more time. Whoever cut that suit for him knew his shape well. It fits perfectly. Contrasts his golden hair like the night behind a harvest moon.

Absence has not culled your feelings for him. Especially not when he comes back to you like this.

You take another long, slow sip, ignoring the way Katsuki’s brows shoot toward his hairline when you nearly empty the glass. His gaze darts to the narrow flute in your hand, the prints of peachy lipstick that mar it.

With your heart beating a touch slower, you try again.

“You look good.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes.

“I can’t—” he starts, shaking his head as his eyes swim the crowd. “I’m not doing this.”

“What?” Your stomach drops. When he looks at you again it’s dead straight, burgundy and blazing in that way that used to make you molten.

Now it makes you want to cut and run.

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ play nice, like this,” he pushes. He takes a step toward you, letting your name—your real name—fall from his lips as tender and soft as a prayer. “Explain to me why my agent had to tell me you were gonna be here tonight.”

“Katsuki,” you plead quietly, backing away from him a touch. “I don’t want to—I can’t. Here. Please.”

For a million other people he might press on. He might get angry and demand an answer, threaten anything it takes to solve the puzzles in his brain. For you, his strong jaw ticks and he shoves clenched fists back into his ironed pockets.

“Let’s just,” you begin, “make it through to midnight, okay?”

“Fine,” he bites, but he doesn’t like folding to you. He gets you back by clearing his throat and extending you a palm, drawing the attention of the people around you. They turn, charmed by the agency’s finest reappearing as the duo they’ve always adored.

There’s a glint of something in his eyes as he gives his chin a little jut toward the dance floor.

“Dance with me, then.”

You’ve been to hundreds of opulent agency spectacles together. Charity benefits, galas, holiday parties and the like have always been studded by your presence. But no matter how many times you’ve entered the party together, you never managed to get him onto the dance floor. Despite your whining and pleading and fussing, he’s never ever let you drag him out there.

So this feels like a particularly low blow. But the orchestra’s struck up a dreamy rendition of The Way You Look Tonight and there are too many people watching for you to turn him down.

Instead, you down the rest of your champagne, set it on the bar behind you, and slip your hand defiantly into his.

“Fine.”

His fingers close gently around your palm and he gives it a lingering squeeze that turns your blood to venom.

You’re already racing through a complex plan to survive this attention as he walks you onto the dance floor. Some of the other couples pause in their swaying to send a smattering of applause over the crowd. You can feel the winning smile tugging at your mouth, forcing you to swallow the panicked ache in your chest.

Katsuki pauses at the center of the dance floor and pulls you slowly closer. The low dip of your gown places his warm hand on bare skin when he settles it in the small of your back, and you’re sure he doesn’t miss the sharp little suck of breath that you’re not prepared to hide.

He does not try to speak, so you’re silent as you settle a shaky hand on the shoulder of his perfect suit. He’s as perfect a dancer as you’ve always known he’d be, and he leads you into a smooth little sway that’s easy enough to navigate in your precarious gold heels but sweeps you into the music like a scene from years gone by.

“Hey,” he grunts a few bars in, ducking a little closer as his fingers press into the bare skin of your spine. He pulls you against him, forcing your tense body against his. The gentle dip of his hairstyle brushes your temple as he leans forward to murmur in your ear. “You’re holding your breath.”

You deflate against him, letting your eyes fall shut. When you take your next careful inhale, your head is filled by the heady, smoky scent of him. Your heart pounds so forcefully it’s practically blinding you. But above all else you hate yourself for still feeling all of this, after so many months of promising to force it away.

Katsuki knows you well enough not to try and trap you in conversation in public. But he doesn’t pull back any further, continuing to hold you flush against him, letting your soft cheek brush his with every couple of steps.

Despite your best efforts, you’re drowning in him: the strength of his touch, the fluidity in his movements. His thumb strokes the base of your spine with an easy rhythm that you’re trying hard not to notice. It’s becoming too much. He’s holding you closer than a colleague should, tucking his nose too attentively against the side of your head for a courtesy dance. You’re overthinking too many of the signs. You’re letting yourself believe what should have been thoroughly dashed to pieces so many months ago.

It’s when tears well behind your glittery eyelids that you put a stop to it.

“Katsuki, I—” You can’t finish, pushing yourself sharply away from his chest. Whatever expression of dreamlike peace that had touched his eyes fades quickly as he sees the telltale wet sparkle in yours, and he reaches for you an instant too late.

He calls your name softly, fingertips brushing the edge of your upper arm. But your tears are spilling over and you’re backing away and you cannot be here anymore, not when people are starting to see.

“I can’t do this,” you plead. “I can’t pre—I’m sorry.”

With a final shake of your head, you turn and hurry clumsily from the dance floor, pulling up the beaded skirt of your heavy gown and sweeping, as quickly as possible, to the glass doors shut tightly against the imposing snow on the terrace.

It’s bitterly cold, nearly fifty storeys up, and the wind whips mercilessly past your bare arms with biting chill. You can’t stay out here long, but it still feels better than the alternative.

With shaking fingers, you dip into the tiny bag you’ve been wearing over one shoulder. You’ve stashed exactly one emergency cigarette in its silky depths. You haven’t smoked in weeks, but something told you that tonight would beg one.

You have to back away from the railing to even light it in the wind, but you’re barely two puffs in before the door behind you opens carefully.

It’s the last person in the world you hoped for. And the only one you can imagine finding you out here. He’s got a glass of something neat in each hand—amber in one, clear in the other. He spies the cigarette in your fingers and his soft, concerned expression melts into a scowl.

“You’re still smoking?”

You take a defiant drag, blowing the smoke in his direction. The wind catches it, carrying it in a sharp curve back over your head. Katsuki licks his lower lip, but you can tell by the way his nose twitches that he’s trying not to chuckle.

You nod toward the whiskey in his right hand. “How many of those have you had tonight?”

“Not enough,” he quips. He nods toward the cigarette. “Put it out.”

“You don’t get to order me around anymore.”

“I said put it out.”

Your livid soul wants to defy him. You’re craving the conflict that inevitably comes when you both dig in your heels. But you’ve got no energy left to fight, so you flick the smoke dejectedly onto the wet pavement and crush it under one delicate pump.

“Better?” The attitude cuts cruelly through your voice. Katsuki just pushes the other glass into your hand and you know that it’s gin before you even have to smell it. You roll your eyes.

“The healthier alternative,” you snarl, but he’s finished with your games.

“Come inside,” he prompts. “You’re gonna lose your nose out here.”

“I’m not sure that’s your problem any longer.”

“What the hell’s wrong with you? Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what? Katsuki, I wanna hear you say it.”

He’s throwing back an irritated slug of his drink, but he bristles, gesturing wildly with the cup.

“Like we’re not gonna be partners anymore.”

His voice is punctuated by a horrible, involuntary sob that breaks from your lips. He’s always been able to read you so well, picking up on things that you’re not even ready to acknowledge. But he’s right. That is how you’ve been speaking, because you can’t even imagine standing next to him in a photo right now, let alone letting him take your life into his hands.

Katsuki moves forward, shocked by your tears, but you hold your empty palm out straight and, like he would only for you, he relents.

“Because I don’t think we can be anymore.”

“Shut up. Look at you. You’re fine. You look…” his eyes cast briefly over your form, “fine.”

You clap a hand protectively to your abdomen, remembering the painful tug and knowing that he’s missing the point.

“That’s not why,” you snap through your tears. “That’s not even…close to why. Katsuki, don’t be dense.” Your voice is breaking because you’re about to say it, the thing you couldn’t even bring yourself to feel as you were zipped into your gown earlier tonight. And if you’re going to say it, there’s no point in doing it with gusto.

Might as well go out like the whimpering fool you are.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whine, “because somehow, despite my best efforts, Katsuki, I fell fucking in love with you, so hard, and you knew I did, and so you…you don’t. You don’t, and I’ve ruined everything, and that’s fine, but I—”

He pulls your name from the very depths of his chest. If you were expecting fire and brimstone, you’re met with an even more harrowing sight—soft, somber, remorseful Katsuki, looking at you like he’d stop the world on its axis if it would make things better.

The memories are too easy to reconjure, and the sunshine of that sticky summer afternoon that changed everything lights up behind his gaze.

There was a crime syndicate you’d been uprooting for months. An underground hideout tucked well away from the prying eyes of hero society. A stray spray of bullets—bullets, of all things, finding the gaps in your shattered armour and nearly taking you from him.

You’d been sure. Both of you. There were too many shots. There was too much blood. The hideout was too well-hidden for anybody to find you in time. Your vision was bleeding out around the edges, and you saw Katsuki cry real tears for the first time.

In a slurred heap of breathless prose, you’d unloaded everything. The most important secret you’d ever kept from him came spilling from your blood-tinged lips.

You were glad to go, if it meant you never had to lose him. Glad to be the one to selfishly leave him behind. You were going to be okay if you never had to face a world without him in it. Because—and you’d choked this on a fresh wave of blood and ungraceful spittle—you’d loved him as long as you’d ever known him.

Six days later, you woke up alone in the ICU. And that was the last you’d seen or heard or known of the man who’d once promised to have your back, always.

Katsuki silently finishes his drink. His cheeks and nose have flushed deeply from the ruthless chill, and he turns to give the city one last glance before moving toward the door.

“Come inside,” he gruffs. Deep shivers have broken out along the column of your spine, but you wrap your frigid arms around yourself in protest.

“I’m not going back in there.” Not like this.

“Idiot,” he snaps softly. “Look at you. You’re gonna die for real if you stay out here.” He tightens his jaw and slams the empty glass down on the windowsill. Then he looks at you with all the lights of the night blazing in his crimson stare.

“Let me take you somewhere quiet. No one’s gonna see.” His chest rises and falls with a deep breath and he reaches carefully for your arm. “I promise.”

Even with a breaking heart, you’re a fucking sucker for him. Your voice is teary and pathetic but pinched by cold.

“Fine.”

He slips an arm around your shoulders—making your chest lurch—and you duck back inside. Immediately he takes you to the wall, putting himself between you and the rest of the party. With the breadth of his chest he shields you from prying eyes that grow drunker by the minute.

You skirt the edge of the party, making it to the stairwell door on the opposite wall. Somebody by the bar looks up just in time to see Bakugou tugging fiercely down on the handle, but you slip onto the fluorescent-lit landing and the silver door falls shut behind you without consequence.

You’re turning around to grab for the door that isn’t closing fast enough as he slips through it, colliding gently with his chest. Bakugou grabs your wrists to stop you, and for an instant you’re nose-to-nose, smelling him and the whiskey on his breath and the faint odour of paint that never quite faded from the concrete walls.

If not for the tears leaving streaks in your makeup, you might let yourself believe he’s lingering in front of you on purpose.

You pull from his grip and turn back toward the stairs before either of you have the chance to imagine more.

Your office is at the end of the hall on the next floor down. It’s a corner office studded with windows, far too lovely for someone who spends as much time in the field as you do. But you’d worked hard to make it a personable space, with plants and artwork and a couple of very comfortable guest chairs in emerald velvet.

Katsuki rolls his eyes every time he has to wave off the odour of your favourite scented candle, but you’ve caught him admiring what you’ve done with his office, too.

Now, the space is too tidy for either of your tastes, a little dusty from so many months of neglect. You’ve been out of commission for six months, and nursing a heartbreak far too immense to allow any casual visits to the agency.

He closes the door behind the both of you. Locks it, just in case. You’re already pacing across the rug and perching on the edge of the desk, gratefully taking some of the weight off your aching feet.

He keeps his back to you for a long moment, fingers lingering on the brass doorknob. His shoulders bob with a deep, harrowing sigh.

“You were dying.”

He turns around, and in the quiet dark of your office his eyes are lit up with a deeper fear than you’ve ever seen in him. He comes toward you and sits in one of your squishy little chairs, steepling his fingers and settling his elbows on his knees.

“You don’t–” he shakes his head and lowers it, pressing the heels of his hands to his forehead. “You don’t understand. You weren’t making any sense.”

“I was,” you bite back, gripping at the edge of your desk. “I meant everything I said to you, Katsuki; I remember every word.”

He flinches. He looks so sorry it’s starting to genuinely scare you.

“That’s not it,” he demands, straightening. “You didn’t. I did.” He slapped a hand against his chest, the dull thud reverberating through your own heart.

“You said those things and I didn’t believe you. They couldn’t have been true. Not when I’d spent so much fucking time wishing they could be. I couldn’t tell myself you felt that way about me. I couldn’t hope. Not when I’d come so fucking close to losing you so easily, I—”

His voice breaks and he looks away, and you might be crazy but his chin gives a telltale little shake like he’s holding back tears.

“So you thought it would be easier to what? Fucking ghost me like a bad Tinder date?”

That hurts more than it should. You’ve seen Bakugou at his very worst, bleeding and soot-streaked and showing you feelings he never means to. For a very brief period in your lives, you believed yourself to be special.

“Don’t play the innocent,” he snarls. “You never talked to me, either. I had to find out from my fucking manager that you were outta the hospital.”

“So you never thought to drop by? Bring some fucking… flowers?” You can feel the venom filling your mouth and you’re not altogether certain you’re strong enough to swallow it this time.

“And tell you what? That I was in love with you and, maybe I heard you wrong, but you said something while you were dying in my fuckin’ arms and I was hoping for some goddamned clarification?”

“Yes!” You sob, the word ripping itself from your chest and landing wet and heavy on the floor between you. “That! Anything would have been better than radio fucking silence. Katsuki, I was sure you hated me.”

“Well I fucking love you, okay?” He rises from his chair, taking one step forward. It lands him almost right between your thighs and you hate how close he is, but you have no power to pull away. He cups your jaw in strong, gentle fingers, forcing your eyes to his.

“I fucked up,” he presses. He leans down and presses his forehead to yours and this time his proximity is on purpose. You drink it down in eager gulps.

“I missed you,” he murmurs. Despite your tears and the ache in your heart, you give a wet little laugh and nuzzle your nose against his.

“I missed you, too.”

He takes your hands and pulls them both to his chest. And for a long moment you just sit there, curled over one another in the dark and growing accustomed to the idea of being okay again.

“Did you just…” you start after a long moment of silence. His eyelashes flutter against your cheek as he tucks his cheek against yours, but the grin that pulls your mouth is enough for him to stand back and look at you.

“Did you just admit to making a mistake?”

You’re laughing at your own joke before Katsuki can even roll his eyes. But he’s scowling good-naturedly and tugging himself against you by the hips.

“C’mere, you brat.”

He’s leaning in to close the distance between you when muffled chanting from upstairs makes you pause. You tilt an ear toward the window and light up, easily recognizing the five, four, three, two, one as the magnitude builds.

Bright flashes of gold and red light up the sky outside your window in a brilliant display. And all at once the lingering ache drains from your chest and you shoot Katsuki a fond little smile.

“I guess it’s midnight.”

“We missed the fireworks,” he notes, nodding toward the window as he edges back toward you.

“Not really,” you confess, and the first real big smile breaks through the pain when he steps up between your knees again, nice and tight and deliberate.

He cups your jaw in one hand again, settling the other palm on your knee, where it peeks through the golden slip of your dress.

“Happy New Year,” you whisper, eyes falling shut. You hear the way he smiles, that bare little chuckle that used to make your heart light up like stars.

He leans in and kisses you without another word. It’s soft but firm and so loving, so much better than any brush of the hand or lingering glance. Better, even, than the way he danced you into a stupor upstairs. This is yours and nobody else’s.

And you’re not letting him go anytime soon.

You let the kiss deepen as naturally as you can, dropping your jaw and letting the bare press of his tongue roll against your teeth. You reach up and grab his jacket by its lapels, hitching him even closer as the fireworks die out behind you.

He’s not backing down, either. Katsuki draws his hands from your body to unbutton his jacket, shrugging it away easily without breaking the kiss. He’s pressing his mouth to yours in long, lingering spells, tasting you eagerly while his hands have to stay busy. But as soon as he can he’s touching you again, teasing his fingers under the slit of your dress and brushing them over your bare thighs.

“Katsuki…” you whine into his mouth, turning your head to gasp and fill your empty lungs. He finds the next bare patch of skin, kissing down the side of your jaw. He finds your earring where it lays against your tender neck, sucking the crystal into his mouth and giving it a gentle tug.

“Fuck,” you gasp, and he grins into your skin.

“Don’t tell me you’ve had enough already.”

“Not a chance,” you growl. There are millions of questions flooding your subconscious. But years of tension and desire spiral more fiercely between you. It’s energy that demands release. And you don’t want to wait another second.

“God,” he groans hard, collapsing gently into you. As he presses forward against you, the twitching swell of his erection pushes into your bare thigh. You slide your palms down the meat of his chest and find his mouth again, kissing him with searing intent.

“Look at you,” he rasps into your mouth, gripping hard at the weighty skirt of your beaded gown. “You’re a goddamned vision in this, you know that?”

You pull back to look at him, raw sexual energy briefly dispersed by his tender confession. For a long moment you sit there, panting at each other, remembering how much this is about to mean.

Fuck it. If he’s in, so are you.

“Help me get it off.”

You slide to your feet, pushing him back a couple of steps to accommodate you. As soon as you turn around he’s sliding a palm up your side, thumbing at the fabric to find its zipper.

“God damn,” he growls, leaning in to kiss a path down the column of your spine. He drops to one knee as he works the zipper down the back of the dress—sitting low, thanks to its open back—letting his mouth trail all the way to the waistband of your underwear. All the while, you brace a palm on the edge of your desk, trying your best not to implode.

This is more attention than you ever could have prayed for.

He peels the thin straps down your arms and shoves the whole mess to your feet. You’re bending down to unbuckle the straps on your heels, but he stops you with a hand on the back of your thigh.

“Leave ‘em on.”

His voice sends a sharp pang of arousal through your entire body. When he stands, trailing his fingers all the way up the back of your naked thigh and over the swell of your ass, the arousal disperses into a dull ache that settles in the pit of your stomach and throbs incessantly.

He digs his fingers into the flesh of your hip and turns you to face him. Your nipples are already peaking in the chill of your office, and he sucks a deep breath through his teeth as he slides his palms up your tummy.

There’s puckered scar tissue and new ridges on your abdomen, but there’s no pain when he traces brushes over them.

He pauses, looking down with dull shock tugging his brow. You’re holding your breath again, watching him circle the roughest part of your new scars with one tender thumb.

“It’s okay,” you plead, cupping his cheeks and forcing his eyes back to yours. There’s pain littering his gaze that you’re determined to dissolve, and you lean in to kiss him until he’s groaning into your mouth and drawing his hands toward your chest.

“God,” you breathe, goosebumps betraying you as they race beneath his fingers. Katsuki watches your face as he dips his head, pushing your breasts together and laying kisses between them.

“Please,” you whimper, reaching forward and settling a hand over the front of his pants. You palm the shape of his cock through the pressed wool and he flinches, biting gently into your tender flesh.

“Katsuki,” you pant, squeezing and rubbing the hard swell in a gentle, heady rhythm as you set your ass on the edge of your desk again. “I need you.”

“Jesus,” he curses, dropping his hands and reaching desperately for his tie. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me before I even get my cock out, sweetness.”

It’s the dirtiest thing he’s ever said to you. And it shows. You’re a shivering, lustblown mess already, but the petname that falls from his lips is enough to make you whimper.

He shrugs out of his shirt and pushes you further onto the desk, dropping to his knees in front of you and pushing your thighs apart with strong fingers.

“Always kinda wanted to do this in here,” he confesses with that cocky smirk that’s always made a hummingbird out of your heart.

But Katsuki doesn’t give you too much time to swoon over his pretty words, kissing a path up the inside of one plush thigh and nipping at your sensitive flesh. He helps you brace your heels against the rug and lift your hips, peeling your underwear off and rucking it down your knees. There’s something very naughty about the way it feels to settle your bare ass on your polished desk.

But there’s something even naughtier about the way it feels to have Katsuki on his knees in front of you.

He pushes your thighs apart again, harsher this time, and settles your knees over his shoulders. You’d like to ride the wave of self-consciousness that threatens to crest when his breath ghosts over the folds of your heated sex.

He pushes higher for a moment, taking your sides in his hands and drawing lovely little kisses down the rough length of your scar. You push self-consciously at his head, making him pull pack and settle a hand over the flesh instead. He tilts his chin up, shooting you a look so filled with guilt and sorrow it nearly shatters the moment.

He wasn’t there for the pain. And as he kisses back down to your hips and thighs, you let yourself hope that this will be enough to make up for it on both sides.

But then he leans in and licks a long stripe up your cunt and the groan that echoes from his chest makes it hard to do anything but cum on the spot.

“Fuck,” you sigh wantonly, letting your head fall back as you brace your palms on the wood behind you. Your fingertips dig into the surface and he settles into an easy rhythm, slipping his arms under your thighs and tugging you tight to his face.

He’s not shy with his voice, either, grunting and sighing into your pussy with every stroke of his tongue. The noises double your pleasure almost immediately, coupled with the obscene slurps that vibrate all the way up your spine.

It doesn’t take long at all for him to find that tender little spot, the perfect direction from which to swirl his tongue against your clit. It’s obvious in the way your legs go tight around the sides of his head, the way you shiver and cry and clap a hand to the back of his head.

He grunts hard into your body when your fingers rake through his hair, harder still when your tense thighs press the narrow points of your heels into the flesh of his back.

“Katsu,” you whimper, already fucked out and tender like you’ve never been for him, “I’m gonna cum. Fucking shit, I-I’m gonna…”

He takes your warning like a hit, leaning more fiercely into you, keeping his rhythm with intense precision. Later, you’ll try not to think about why he’s so good at this. But right now, all you can think about is the way your pleasure rears up and crashes over you, sending loud gasps and breathy mewls of ecstasy from your chest as you squeeze his head and pull his hair and roll your hips shakily into his persistent mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” he snarls, sitting back on his haunches and swiping a palm over his flushed lips. He looks up at you, rubbing your thigh with one free hand as you come down panting from your ecstatic high. Between his legs, his cock juts obscenely down one thigh of his suit pants, and he palms himself shamelessly as he gets to his feet, taking in every inch of your pleasure-soaked self.

“You’re gonna make me cream my fuckin’ pants someday,” he chides, fumbling with his belt and impatiently shucking his pants. His undershorts follow closely, and you’re barely on your feet again before he takes you by the shoulders and turns your back to him.

“C’mere.” He slides a hand under one of your thighs, hitching it gently onto the edge of your desk and coming up tightly behind you. The brush of his knuckle against your ass proves that he’s stroking himself, and the tip of his stiff cock leaves a little print of wet precum on the back of your leg.

“Please,” you moan, still hazy and shaken from your first orgasm. Still endlessly needy, though, when Katsuki’s involved. “God, baby, just fuck me already.”

“Fuckin’ hell, you can’t say shit like that,” he groans, twitching behind you. “It’s like you don’t know how fuckin’ sexy you are.”

He braces a hand on your bare hip and then you feel it, the tip of his drooling cock pressing up between your slippery folds. It’s enough to make you whine and arch your back, wiggling your hips impatiently against his.

It’s enough to make Katsuki lose it.

“Shit,” he growls, gripping the fat of your hip and pushing forward, sliding home with one smooth thrust. He bottoms out inside you right away, buried perfectly in your belly and making you feel every inch.

“Baby—” you start to breathe, but he doesn’t waste time. Katsuki reaches around and lays his palm flat on your sternum, pulling you back against him. He keeps his other hand braced on your hip for leverage, dropping his mouth to the crook of your shoulder while he starts to thrust.

All you can do is keep your knee planted on the edge of your desk and try not to scream as he fucks you in steady, long thrusts, lapping and sucking all along the side of your neck while his hand roams over your chest and thumbs your nipple. Whatever hairstyle you’d left the house with has come long undone by now and you’re sure that if your makeup wasn’t smudged before, it’s certainly not going to survive the drool and sweat and heat that he’s forcing through you with every push of his hips.

The slap of his body against yours fills the space, punctuated only by your harsh pants and quiet whines of pleasure. Katsuki’s fingers dig harshly into your hip, gripping you tighter each time he anchors himself back into your fluttering cunt. Your walls are clamping ruthlessly around him, but he doesn’t miss a beat, slipping that free palm away from your nipples and down your belly to strum rhythmically at the swell of your stiff clit.

“I love you,” he grunts breathlessly behind you, and the raw truth behind it brings a rush of warmth to your chest you can’t ignore. You turn your head sharply towards him, pushing your forehead to his and feeling every beat as his breathing becomes laboured.

His body’s growing tight behind yours, his thrusts losing some of their impeccable rhythm as his brow knits against yours. He’s concentrating hard—holding back, you realize—and you reach down to cover his hand that braces your hip, giving it a relenting squeeze.

“Baby,” you plead. “Let go for me, baby, I can feel it.”

“God,” he mutters. “No—fuck, gonna make you—with me, sweetness.” Your body is clenching in preparation for your own climax already, and the fact that he can even pick up on it shouldn’t surprise you.

“I’m there,” you promise. “I’m there, Katsuki, fuck, just cum for me. Please.”

His arms tighten around you, seizing you hard against his heaving chest. You lean forward and seal your mouth against his, kissing him as he loses control and cums with a shout that echoes at the back of your throat.

He grabs your ass in one hand and fucks madly into you, spurting warm handfuls of cum into your belly and biting down hard on your lower lip. The erratic twitch of his fingers on your still-aching clit and the warm release inside you is enough to bring you to another tight, simpering little peak—not as powerful as the first one, but just as significant.

He stays behind you for a long moment, pinning you to the desk while he goes soft inside you. Finally he peppers kisses down the back of one shoulder and steps away from you, already smoothing his hair and taking in the image of you, in nothing but your heels, dripping with his cum.

The first of many, you let yourself hope, as you turn to carefully face him.

“I guess we missed the countdown,” you quip, reaching for your discarded panties. Navigating the strappy thing seems a great deal more complicated now that it’s not Katsuki tearing them off you.

He smirks at you in a way that does not make it easier to concentrate on the task at hand. Especially since he’s watching you struggle, easily buttoning himself into his now-creased shirt.

“I didn’t miss a thing.”

He’s already half-clothed by the time you get your underwear on again, stooping to collect your delicate dress from the floor and thumbing the sequins that pepper its surface. His smirk has dissolved into another pensive look as he examines the cloth.

“If I’d known,” he tells you, pressing the scratchy fabric into your hands, “I never would’ve—”

You lean up and push your mouth to his, soft and loving and just enough to silence him.

“I know.”

Once Katsuki’s got the rest of his clothes on, he helps you carefully into your dress and gets behind you one more time to help you zip it. He can’t stop kissing you even for a minute, peppering his lips over your back, neck, arms. He turns you around and takes your hands, kissing the backs of each palm with devotion that, if you stop and think about it, you’ve seen in his eyes a thousand times before.

“You’ll make it up to me,” you promise good naturedly, letting him slide his arms around your waist. He looks at you again, diligent and honest.

“I will.”

“Good.”

You slide your hands up his sleeves of heart-stealing midnight blue, smiling so big it ought to hurt. You tilt your head toward the door, giving your chin a little jerk as you squeeze his biceps through the pressed wool.

“For a start,” you say, daring to lean a little closer while he’s still feeling tender, “how about another dance?”

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha x reader #bakugo katsuki #bakugo #my hero academia #bakugou #bnha #bnha bakugou #bnha bakugo #it's new years eeeeeeve and i am not #spending it with him #sigh #;.;

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bellakitse · 4 years

Text

When the world throws you off the track (I have your back)

“I’m just glad my son’s tender heart didn’t cost him this time,” he finishes with a half-smile, looking at TK like he’s waiting for him to agree. Instead, TK frowns at the words and the tone with which they are said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he questions, feeling his hackles rise as the man gives him a confused look.

Gabriel stops by Carlos' place and finds TK, they have a conversation about Carlos' decisions.

Warning* there is a passing line about police brutality

TK is lounging around on his boyfriend’s couch, resting like he promised he would, while Carlos is at the market when the doorbell rings. He frowns slightly at the sound. He and Carlos aren’t expecting anyone. The team had wanted to stop by, but Carlos, being overly protective after his latest accident and head injury from just two days ago, had pushed them off till the weekend.

He gets up slowly from the nice cocoon Carlos made him before he left, figuring that maybe his boyfriend needed help with the door. Carlos only went to get a few things for dinner, but TK knows how he likes to wander the shops, always coming home with more than he set out to buy.

“Did you buy out the market again, babe,” he asks as he opens the door, coming up short when it’s not his boyfriend struggling with groceries, but instead his boyfriend’s father standing on the other side, eyebrow raised at his greeting. “Mr. Reyes,” he stammers out, caught by surprise at the man’s presence. “Uh, hi?”

The man gives him an amused half-smile in return. “Hello TK, may I come in?”

“Oh!” TK exclaims, feeling himself blush, rushing to answer. “Um, yes, of course. Please come in.”

Gabriel tips his hat at him, taking it off once he steps into the living room, looking around as he stands in the middle of it.

TK fidgets behind him quietly as Gabriel’s gaze pauses on his little nest on the couch before turning to look at him, his lips twitching as he looks at him up and down. TK follows his gaze, his face growing hotter as he remembers that he’s wearing one of Carlos’ old APD shirts and sweats, both a little too big for him.

“Carlos is at the market,” he blurts out, feeling off-center as Gabriel studies him. “He said he was gonna make chicken tortilla soup?”

“Sopa Azteca?” Gabriel questions with a smile. “His mama would make it for him when he wasn’t feeling well as a kid. He better make the tortillas fresh, or Andrea will have words with him if she finds out.”

TK chuckles, feeling some of the tension leaving his body. “Carlos makes pasta from scratch because from a box is a crime – his words. Pretty sure he feels the same about store-bought tortillas.”

Gabriel huffs, his amused expression letting TK know he’s familiar with the argument. “His mama will be proud. Those two take cooking very seriously.”

TK lets out a snort at the understatement. “Oh, I know. I’m not the greatest in the kitchen, and as a result, he doesn’t let me in there without supervision.”

Gabriel lets out a chuckle at his words, helping TK relax further.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he offers, remembering his manners.

“Water, please.”

TK nods, quickly making his way over to the fridge as Gabriel sits on one of Carlos’ love seats.

“So, TK, how are you feeling?”

TK pulls out two bottles of water, turning back towards the living room. He hands Gabriel one of them before sitting across from him, trying to tidy up his blankets. “I’m okay. I had a headache for the first day, and I’m still a little banged up, but mostly I’m fine.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Gabriel tells him. Silence settles over them after that. TK picks at a loose thread of the blanket as he tries to think of what to speak about. Noticing this, Gabriel puts him out of his misery. “So you’re probably wondering why I’m here?”

“Yes – no,” TK stumbles over his words. “I mean, this is your son’s home. I’m sure Carlos has told you, you are welcomed any time you want to come over.”

“But you’re surprised I’m still here when he’s not,” Gabriel finishes for him with a grin.

TK gives him a shrug, not bothering to correct the man when he’s right. He is curious.

“I came to tell him that the case against him is officially closed, and he’s been taken off suspension,” Gabriel informs him, pausing when TK lets out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank god,” he says with a smile of his own at the good news. “I’m glad that’s settled.”

“Me too,” Gabriel answers before shaking his head softly. “I’m just glad my son’s tender heart didn’t cost him this time,” he finishes with a half-smile, looking at TK like he’s waiting for him to agree. Instead, TK frowns at the words and the tone with which they are said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he questions, feeling his hackles rise as the man gives him a confused look.

“It means that he’s lucky it worked out in his favor,” Gabriel frowns back at him. “It could have blown up in his face if he had been wrong.”

“But he wasn’t wrong,” TK shoots back tightly, his skin feeling tight with irritation. He recalls Carlos’ face as he told him everything that had gone down between him and his father, his hushed words as he confided that even though his father said he was proud of him in the end, he didn’t entirely feel it was true. He remembers his boyfriend’s hurt face, and it makes him angry.

“TK, this could have gone really badly for him,” Gabriel argues, his frown deepening.

“Yeah,” TK agrees sarcastically. “If he hadn’t trusted his instincts, if he hadn’t led with his kind heart, that man would have blown up. Not could have, would have. I spent time with the psychos that strapped the bomb to that victim; they killed one of their own right in front of us. They would have set that bomb off if Carlos arrested him, killing that poor man, Carlos, and his partner. Carlos’ compassion saved them all, as well as my team and me. And here you are acting like it’s a weakness, a failing of his, when if more cops were like Carlos, then maybe the public wouldn’t have to take to the streets every other week in this country,” he finishes hotly, all but shouting by the end.

He’s breathing hard as he tries to rein in his anger. Looking over at the older man, he finds him looking stunned.

“Well – “ Gabriel clears his throat. “You certainly have strong opinions.”

TK closes his eyes for a moment, taking a long slow breath and then another. “I would apologize,” he starts, his voice calmer even if the rest of him isn’t. “But I’m not sorry,” he says bluntly, pressing his lips together. “Your son is incredible, as a person and as a cop. I’m not saying that because I’m his boyfriend. I work with Carlos. I see how good he is at his job, and a big part of that comes from being one of the most compassionate people I have ever met.”

Gabriel says nothing to that. Instead, he watches him, studying him, and even though TK knows he should probably stop now, he has one more thing to say and can’t hold it back.

“I love your son, Sir,” he says quietly, his heart beating so loud it echos in his ears. “I love him, and I have made it my job to protect and defend him from anything and anyone who would cause him pain, and if that includes you too, so be it.”

Gabriel opens his mouth, and TK braces himself for his response, only for the door to open again as Carlos walks in.

“Babe, I found those tangerines you like on sale,” he says with a smile, stopping short when he sees they’re not alone. “Dad?” he questions, shooting him a look. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

Gabriel looks at him for a moment before standing up and turning towards Carlos. “I came to let you know the investigation’s done and stayed to talk to TK for a bit.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Carlos smiles softly, first at his dad and then over at him. TK tries to return it, but the conversation he’s just finished makes it difficult. Carlos gives him a questioning look, but TK turns his focus back to Gabriel when he clears his throat.

“Well, I should get going,” he says, focusing on his son. “Your mother is making ribs tonight, and you know I don’t like to be late to those.”

Carlos nods, giving his father a slight nod, but his attention is still on him.

“TK – ” Gabriel starts, and TK braces himself. “It was...interesting talking to you. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow at that, the questions clear on his face.

“You boys have a good evening,” Gabriel finishes as he heads for the door. He stops by Carlos and claps his shoulder. “We’ll talk later, mijo.”

“Yes, sir,” Carlos nods, holding the door for his father, closing it behind him. He turns back towards him, brow still raised. “Wanna tell me what happened here?”

“I may have told your dad off?” he says hesitantly, letting out a groan when Carlos’ eyes widen at his words. “Oh my god, I told your dad off,” he repeats, mostly to himself as what he’s just done catches up with him. He drops his head into his hands and lets out another whine. “I can’t believe I did that.”

Carlos moves; TK can hear him walking towards the kitchen, placing the groceries on the counter before making his way over to TK. He feels the couch dip next to him with Carlos’ weight, but he doesn’t look up at him. He only lifts his head when Carlos places a hand on his neck and gives it a comforting squeeze.

“He’s gonna hate me now and tell you to break up with me,” he tells Carlos, only half-joking, dread quickly spreading through him.

“My dad doesn’t hate anyone. I’m not sure he knows how, and he sure as hell will not hate the man I love,” Carlos answers thoughtfully. “But even if he did, I’m not going to break up with you because my parents want me to. You’re stuck with me, baby.”

TK smiles, letting out a huff of laughter as Carlos smiles back at him.

“Tell me what happened,” he asks softly, taking TK’s hands in his.

TK leans back on the couch, letting out a sigh before he speaks. He starts from the beginning of Gabriel’s visit and how awkward it felt. He’s honest about what he said, giving Carlos’ hand a squeeze when he makes a face at his dad’s words. He bites down on his bottom lip as he recalls his reaction, feeling embarrassed by his outburst but even now not feeling sorry about it. He meant what he said; he’s going to do his best to protect Carlos, even if it means from his own family. Wrapping up, he holds his breath as Carlos stares at him, mouth open and eyes wide.

“You really did that,” he whispers, his disbelief clear; it makes TK cringe.

“Yeah,” he whispers back, remorse slowly starting to set in. So much for Carlos’ parents liking him. “Fuck, Carlos, I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help it. He started talking, and I saw red – “

TK stops explaining. He can’t speak when he basically has a lap full of Carlos. His boyfriend all but crawling into it as he wraps his arms around his shoulders and hugs him for dear life. TK instinctively hugs him back just as hard. His hold tightening when he feels Carlos shake.

They stay like that for a few minutes as TK runs his hands up and down Carlos’ back. When Carlos pulls back to look at him, he’s thankfully not crying, but TK can see the emotion in his big brown eyes.

“Thank you,” he says softly, and TK feels overwhelmed by the love he feels for the man in his arms.

“Anytime,” he answers, his voice rough from his own emotions. He takes in the gratitude and love he sees in Carlos’ expression and swallows hard, feeling overwhelmed by it himself. “I love you, Carlos. I’m always going to have your back no matter what. We’re a team.”

Carlos smiles at him. It’s a little wobbly, but it’s tender, and it’s there. “A pretty damn good one too.”

TK grins, a chuckle passing his lips as the tension inside him dissipates at Carlos’ words. “Yeah, we are.”

֎֎֎

Hours later, when they find themselves once again on the couch after filling up on Carlos’ delicious soup, his phone rings.

TK holds his breath as Carlos shows him the ID that says it’s his mother. He doesn’t understand as Carlos speaks rapid Spanish with her, but he lets out the breath trapped in his lungs when Carlos starts to laugh, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he looks over at him.

“Si, Mami, he’s a firecracker,” he says into the phone, his smile teasing when TK looks at him with wide eyes, realizing he is the topic of conversation. “I’ll ask him and get back to you, okay?” he says to his mother, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “Okay, I’ll call you back–love you too, Mami.”

Carlos hangs up the phone. He doesn’t speak for a moment. Instead, he throws his head back on the couch and lets out a chuckle. TK waits despite being on pins and needles.

“Dad told my mom about your conversation,” he starts, lifting his head to look back at him with a smile that is both surprised and happy. “They’re both impressed with my protective boyfriend, and mom is feeling left out on getting to know you,” Carlos continues with a twinkle in his eye, his smile only growing as TK stares at him. “So she’s inviting us to dinner at the house this weekend if you would like to go.”

“They don’t hate me?” TK can’t help but ask, shocked at the request.

Carlos’ expression goes soft at his question. He leans in, giving him a gentle kiss. “Hate someone who obviously loves their son?” he questions, shaking his head. “No, baby, my dad doesn’t hate you, and my mom sounds like she’s ready to adopt you into the family,” he continues with a quirk of his mouth. “How do you feel about being a Reyes?”

TK blushes at the question. He knows it’s said in jest, but he can’t help the way his heart speeds up at the thought of him sharing Carlos’ last name.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” he answers honestly with a small smile of his own when he hears Carlos’ breath catch. “In the near future,” he finishes with a shrug he pretends is casual.

“In the near future,” Carlos repeats, amazement coloring his words. He looks at him for a moment before shaking his head, the smile on his face bright and beautiful. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You do that,” he answers smartly. He gives Carlos a kiss on the cheek before he cuddles back into his side. “We should get a pie from that bakery we like on Winston for dessert.”

“Is that yes to dinner?” Carlos questions into the side of his face.

“Of course,” he answers, his focus on the tv even though his heart is racing. “If I’m going to be a Reyes someday, I should probably make nice with the in-laws.”

He feels Carlos smile against his skin. “Not nervous?”

TK lets out a snort, turning his face to look at his boyfriend. “Scared shitless,” he says with a wry grin, but it softens after a second. “But you’ll be there, and I can handle anything with you by my side.”

Carlos smiles at him. He leans in, pressing his forehead against his. “We’re a team.”

#911 lone star #tarlos #911 lone star fic #tarlos fic #tk x carlos #my writing

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ithehellisbucky · 3 years

Text

forget me not

spencer reid x reader

Request: No

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Kidnapping, torture, drowning, murder, drug mention, etc

Summary: You and Spencer don't realize you love each other until it's almost too late

Author's Note: First thing in like fucking forever, so yeah. This was originally a request and then I was at school and I couldn't look at my request so it was way off script, so I just did my own shit, this also takes place in the 5th season, in the middle just after hayley dies.

"The unsub is a white male between the ages of 35-45. His modus operandi is drowning in the great lakes, he's already struck Superior, Michigan, Ontario, and Huron, so we expect Lake Erie to be next." Hotch says, glancing at his phone every minute or so. It's his third case back since Hayley died, and he's picked up a habit of waiting to hear bad news.

"This unsub has recently developed a hallucinative disorder where every face he sees has an emotional connection. There were no discernable connections between his victims which leads us to believe that his mind is filling in the gaps at random." Reid says, gesturing abstractly at nothing at all in particular.

"This disorder was likely triggered by a recent brain injury connected to the Great Lakes so keep a lookout for any recent accident victims. He was very social until the accident, and after it he immediately became anti-social. He was probably in a relationship recently, but then broke it off, he is not married, but possibly has children, which he will not shy away from using in a hostage situation." Morgan exclaims as he leans against a desk.

"His victims are all over the place, so we advise everyone to be on high alert. There is no pattern to the murders, from a 51-year-old single mother of two to a 14-year-old on vacation." You pause and take a breath, looking back down at your notes. "Someone out there knows this man, so we implore you to tell as many people as possible, our Media Liaison Jennifer Jareau will be setting up a press conference, and it is very important to get this out to as many people as possible."

"Won't that just spook him more?" One of the sheriff's deputy says, with a concerned look on his face.

"Yes, but at this point, he will kill again no matter what, it's better to have the public be informed because he will take another victim, whether we find him during or after is up to us."

He nods, and looks down at his notepad, badly masking his disturbed grimace.

"Thank you and let us know if you have any leads," Hotch exclaims, closing the meeting.

You walk up to Spencer "I bet we're their favorite people right about now." You say, sipping on your coffee.

Reid avoids your eyes and continues to fidget with the chess piece that he probably stole from one of the officer's desks. "What's wrong Reid?"

"I dunno, I just have a really bad feeling about this one," He picks up his cane and walks away. When Spencer has enough he needs to walk away, and as long as he wasn't hurt that was fine with you.

"Reid, y/l/n, Garcia's got something." Morgan raps his knuckles on the doorway and calls you into a conference room. "Hey babygirl, what do ya got for us?" He exclaims, shifting the call to speakerphone.

"A luscious blonde mane and an intense yearning to hold you." Emily giggles a little bit and Garcia can probably feel Hotch's glare "oh come on Derek."

"Sorry baby, keep goin'."

"I have a name. One Larry Todd. 3 weeks ago he was in a boat accident in which he had a severe concussion and was unconscious for 3 days. He immediately broke up with his girlfriend Shelby, which she was very angry about, adieu to her Facebook page. His ex-wife reported that he missed his last two visitations with his daughter Amelia." She takes a pause "he owned a bait shop that's been closed since his boat was destroyed in the accident, and it's listed as his last residency.

"Fits our profile to a tee," Emily exclaims.

"Thanks, Garcia," Hotch says, hanging up the phone call. "Emily, JJ is in the conference so run out and let her know. Morgan and Rossi, go to the bait shop with SWAT, and Reid and y/l/n go to the ex-wife's house; Emily and I will stay here and see what else we can dig up."

Everyone goes their separate ways. The sheriff takes the driver's seat, with you in the shotgun seat and Spencer in the back. You can hear the clang his leg makes against his cane and his foot bouncing.

"I'll take the daughter, and you can have the ex-wife."

"Okay," responds Spencer.

The ex-wife Miranda opens the door sobbing when you knock on it. "Excuse me, ma'am, my name is Agent y/n y/l/n and this is my partner Dr. Spencer Reid, do you mind if we ask you and your daughter a few questions about your ex-husband?"

She continues to sob but lets you in. You look back to see the sheriff playing video games on his phone and you scoff.

Spencer sits down with the crying woman and you politely ask if you can speak to her daughter. She tells you yes and that Amelia is around back.

"Bye, Reid." You blow a kiss to Spencer and walk out the door, shaking a sinister nagging feeling itching at the back of your neck.

You walk across the pavement and open the gate to enter your unsub's former backyard. "Hi Amelia, my name is y/n, I'm a friend of your mommies."

Beginning to grow more suspicious, you pull out your gun and triple-check to make sure it's on safety. If Todd is there you know that he would be fine with sacrificing his daughter for his own goals and you wouldn't let that happen "Amelia? Is your daddy here."

"Boo!" A little girl with pigtails holding a stuffed rabbit jumps from behind the recycling bin and you chuckle, putting your gun away in your holster. "Did I scare you?"

"You sure did!" You laugh. "Wow, that's such a pretty bunny, where did you get it?"

"My daddy got it for me." She said, showing off her gap tooth.

"That's so cool! Do you remember what it was like when he gave it to you?" You kneel to be at eye level with the child.

"Yeah, he was super cuddly, now he's a little more pokey, but that's okay." She says, playing with the bunny ears.

"When did he get pokey, Amelia?" You hesitated, something was off "I just want your daddy to be cuddly again."

"A little bit ago. He used to tell me stories till I fell asleep eeeeeverynight, but then he stopped for a week and when he came back he was like a big lion."

You had a growing sense of paranoia budding in your spine, why was she telling you all this so fast? "What type of stories?"

"He used to tell me princess stories, but after he stopped for a week he talked all about ones about the scary lady who tried to take me away, but then he stopped her! And the boy who was being dangerous so he had to make sure that she didn't hurt me." She exclaimed absentmindedly.

You start to pull your phone out of your pocket until Amelia starts talking again "and just now, he was talking about the bad knight who tried to take me away."

Your jaw dropped and you tried to find the best course of action, but by the time your brain started working it was too late. He walked up behind you and whispered into your ear "Nighty-night."

And then everything was black

~~~

"Hey, mommy."

"Yes, sweetheart?" She quickly wiped the tears off of her face to turn to her daughter.

"Can I have ice cream?"

"Of course sweetheart" she gives me a small smile and gets up towards the kitchen. "Where's that nice agent that came here with Dr. Reid?"

"They weren't a nice agent, they were a bad, bad, bad knight, and they were trying to take me away, so daddy took them instead."

No.

Oh no.

No no no no no no no no.

Where were they? Where was y/n?

I pulled out my gun without a second thought and left my cane behind, I ran as fast as I could without it, and by the time I was in the backyard my knee was burning and they were gone.

~~~

You woke up halfway through the drive. The road switched from smooth the bumpy a million times over, and it smelled like bees. Not like honey, not like pollen, like bees. Just bees. It smelled nice, but you don't want to die smelling bees.

You wanted to move. Move your body, move your head, move your eyes, move anything, but you couldn't move. Nothing could move. There was a sweaty tv shirt shoved between your teeth. Your hands were bound with bristled rope and there was metal all around you and you were certain that this was the back of a van. At first, you thought there must be a blindfold over your eyes, and then you realized that they were just too tired to open.

There was an old country song playing over the radio, a love song about a family in a house. The truck stopped shaking and he pulled the ignition. A growing sense of dread filled your stomach as he walked around towards the back of the truck. He opened the door and you saw his face.

That could only mean one thing- you weren't leaving here alive.

~~~

Within minutes crime scene techs were on the scene, but I knew they wouldn't find anything useful. The only thing that was there was the absence of y/n and our distraught profile.

"They were right here, right here, they were- they were right here, right here." Hotch looked at me somberly, and Morgan rubbed my shoulder with sympathy.

"We need to update our profile," Emily said, there was no time to waste, "we know what this guy does to people, and if he would risk abducting an armed federal agent in front of his daughter there's no doubt they in danger."

"We know Emily," Everyone looks at me kind of funny like I've said something wrong, but at this point, I don't care what anyone thinks of me, "His reason for doing this was for his daughter, he took out anyone he saw as a threat, a motherly figure, someone who could be her older brother, anyone who was a threat and wanted to take Amelia away from him.

"His disorder is fairly undocumented, being exactly the opposite of prosopagnosia, where patients disassociate faces from their loved ones, causes him to feel emotions about people he's never seen before, and his subconscious is assigning meaning to them at random, picking up anyone shows the slightest twinge of distaste.

"y/n picked up more than a twinge, they were there to take his daughter away, so he likely believes they're the mastermind." Everyone looks at me and waits for me to say the thing we all know is coming "he's not going to kill them before they suffer."

As we hitched a ride back to the station my leg was bouncing like crazy and my fingers were tapping the numbers of pi into the leather of the car door. Emily put her hand on my shoulder but I couldn't feel her, y/n missing was the only thing I could feel.

"Garcia I need you to check if Larry Todd owns any vehicles large enough to hold a person, trunks, vans, trucks anything," Morgan says into his speakerphone once we get back to the station.

"Oh god it's true, he really has them?" I can hear the distraught coated thick on her voice "do you think they're in pain, do you think he-"

"Garcia we don't have time for this, does he or does he not have any vehicles in his name." I snapped, I could apologize later when y/n was in a hospital bed.

"No, but you know I'm never one to go to bed early, and it turns out his great uncle died a year and a half ago, but his van was pulled over and given a speeding ticket a few months ago, how much do you wanna bet that's our guy and not a psychopath's uncle."

"Thanks, Garcia," Rossi hangs up the phone and turns to one of the sheriff's deputies in the room, "put out an ATB on that van."

"Okay, I'm gonna go through the medical files again, see if there's anything I missed," Hotch catches my arm.

"There isn't, right now all we can do is wait and look." He pauses "we've sent out patrol cars to look for the van, go out with Morgan, and circle around Lake Erie."

"Hotch, what if- what if we don't find them, or we find them and it's too late, or we find-"

"Right now she's alive, you said it yourself, he's not gonna let her die so easy."

As disturbing as it is hearing that someone you love more than anything is being tortured, I found it strangely comforting. They're alive. They are alive. They are prepared. After Tobias took me they brought me to a CIA torture seminar, just on the off chance that anything happened, I wouldn't break again.

I stared out the window of the passenger side of the SUV. Morgan wasn't talking, he knew what I was feeling, because he felt it before, when it happened to me.

"We've got a report of the vehicle going down sunmist lane" the scanner jumps to life.

I had memorized the map the second we landed; "we're five minutes away" and then, quietly under my breath, I whispered, "I'm coming y/n."

~~~

He held your head underwater for the 7th or the fiftieth time. You can't remember. You can't remember. You can't remember anything other than the water under the dock filling my lungs.

"What do you want with my daughter?!" He screamed at you as he pulled you out again, You vomited up all the water that my body could muster. You didn't know he had a daughter.

You forgot everything you learned to do. You forgot to pretend it was affecting me, You forgot how to hold my breath, You forgot. You forgot everything.

Except for Spencer, Spencer's smile, Spencer holding you, Spencer missing you until that was gone too.

Everything went away but the water.

He kicked you back off the dock again, and for a second you gasped for air, and then you sank, nothing even mattered anyways.

The man pulled you out again and kicked you in the ribs; you felt something rip inside of you and you screamed as loud as you could, which was more like a whimper.

"Larry Todd put your hands up!" Two men came behind the man who drowned you, you couldn't remember them, but you could remember the rip in your ribs filling with water.

He shoved you back into the water and you didn't even try to fight this time, you just sank, feet after feet after feet of water. You didn't hold your breath, you didn't care.

A figure appeared above you, and you saw the angel. He had a shimmering brown halo and a beautiful bright face that looked terrified, just like an angel.

And then he pulled you up.

~~~

This might be heaven, but it might be hell. You can tell the room is white without opening your eyes. There's a steady beeping sound to your left and it smells like chlorine.

When you finally manage to open your eyes you wished you hadn't. All you see is lethargy around you.

JJ is drooling in her sleep while Emily is asleep on her shoulder, Garcia is snoring in the corner with her knitting in a pile next to her. Morgan and Rossi are nowhere to be seen, but you can't blame them, seeing people they love getting beat up over and over again never gets easier. You can hear the faint sounds of Hotch arguing with someone over the phone in the hallway.

But worst of all is Spencer. He's wide awake and his foot is tapping like crazy on the ground. There are deep and dark eye bags surrounding his eyes and hints at a beard forming on his face. His cane is tossed uncharacteristically on the ground, and he pays it no attention whatever.

You open your mouth to speak, but when you do a stabbing pain shoots through your diaphragm and you gasp. The second Spencer hears you he shoots up and kneels next to the bed, which must be no easy feat.

"Hey, how are you?" He strokes your hair as gently as he can.

You try to speak but no words come out.

"Do you want some water?" You nod, trying to not feel pathetic. The second the glass of water comes into your eye line you knock it out of his hand and it goes shattering onto the floor, waking everyone else in the room up.

You start to cry, feeling guilty and scared about why a glass of water could've terrified you so much. "Hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay, it's just a bunch of sand made into something you can drink out of, it's not a big deal, don't worry." That calms you down a little bit.

You look around to see the rest of the team cradled around you. "How are you feeling honey?" Garcia whispers as if speaking too loudly would mortally wound you.

You reach up and touch your throat, and it burns. There's more confusion, and then JJ is getting her hand cut on the glass she was cleaning, Garcia was whispering too loudly and Emily was touching your arm, and Hotch and Morgan and Rossi were walking in the room and Spencer was pushing a button on your bed and the monitor was beeping and then you were screaming.

Screaming so loudly, screaming in pain, screaming in fear, screaming in confusion, screaming because you were overwhelmed and sad and scared. "Everyone gets out," Spencer says, and everyone quickly does, he knows you best, and right now, everything was too much.

"Wh-what happened" you whisper, throat and lungs still hurting but since you had screamed the worst part was over.

"The unsub kidnapped you, and tried to drown you, your heart stopped in the ambulance, but they brought you back." You remembered "You had been dunked in the water and brought back up at least 15 times, not including when I brought you out.

"You needed 53 stitches and had a punctured lung when we found you." He pauses "You're safe now, we have him in custody and he can never hurt anyone ever again." You let out a breath that you didn't know you had been holding.

"I'm so sorry," You were crying "I forgot you, I'm so sorry. He made everything go away but the water I'm sorry that I forgot you."

"It's okay, it's okay, you didn't do anything wrong, you were trying to stay alive." He stroked your hair and held your hands gently "He tortured you, when Hankel tortured me all I could think about were the drugs and the pain, you didn't do anything wrong, you survived."

"I survived?"

"Yes."

"Can I tell you something?" You chuckled, your tears had stopped but it was still wet on your face.

"Anything."

"I thought you were an angel when you saved, and now I realize that you weren't my angel, it wasn't magic, and it wasn't godly." Spencer looks puzzled, and you paused to take a deep and painful breath "It was the fact that I am so deeply in love with you, that seeing you love me back felt like heaven.

Spencer stares at you, his mouth closed and his mouth on the floor "You don't have to say anything, just know that-"

His lips are on yours before you can finish your sentence. For a moment you forget about the pain in your throat, the burn in your lungs, and the agony all over your body; it was just Spencer.

You pulled away for breath, your breaths dancing with each other.

"I was so scared" he whimpered in fear.

You stroked his hair gently "I was more terrified than I had ever been. I was so horrified that I would wake up tomorrow and my reason for living would be dead. I was more scared than I had been when I thought my dad killed a kid, I was more scared than when Hankel tortured me, I was more scared when I realized that I loved drugs more than my own life.

"You were the person that held my hand when I was hurting so bad I would forget to breathe, and then you weren't here because you were the person in pain and I realized that I loved you because nothing hurt me more than the fear that I could lose the one thing in the world that made me feel okay."

He takes a deep breath and looks at you as deeply in your eyes as you thought could ever be possible. "I love you too, and I promise you I'll never let you go."

His lips meet yours, and through a kiss, you whisper "I'll never forget you again"

And you knew that you had Spencer and everything is going to be okay.

My Masterlist

Requests are open!

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whosscruffylooking · 4 years

Text

The Purest Things- Repeating History

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Brief mentions of murder and alcohol. Canon typical violence.

A/N: this takes place during season 3 episode 11, birthright. i had a lot of fun studying this episode and making it my own. i have changed certain dialogue and who says what for the sake of the story. please enjoy!

The Purest Things Masterlist

(my gif! please credit if you use.)

january 2008

Syd Moore said, “Disregard for the past will never do us any good. Without it we cannot know truly who we are.”

+++++

Your alarm is often hushed before it even has an opportunity to set off nowadays because you usually wake up before it even has the chance.

4:25 A.M.

You groan and toss your pillow over your face. Maybe, just maybe, you can will yourself to sleep for a little longer. As if someone heard your pleas for slumber, your phone starts buzzing on your bedside table. Of course, it is unnecessary for you even to read the messages. There is a case.

+++++

"Last night in Fredericksburg, a 20-year-old woman, Molly McCarthy, was abducted," J.J. begins, "She's the third to go missing in the last 6 weeks. All disappeared from public places. No one's seen them since until now. A couple days ago, body parts with cigarette burns were recovered from a national park that was once the site of the battle of Chancellorsville."

"Were they able to make an I.D.?" you and Hotch ask simultaneously. Your eyes meet, but he breaks the contact abruptly. Flustered and insecure, you bury your focus deep into the file in front of you. The group discusses the case for a couple of minutes, but you are so concentrated on the papers that you hardly absorb any information they've shared.

There is something familiar about this case to you. Suddenly, realization strikes.

Rejoining the discussions, you say, "I remember reading about a case like this in Spotsylvania county. Similar markings on the bone. It was the winter of 1980, also in Fredericksburg. There were 5 women aged 16 to 24. They were buried in pieces."

"Same markings. Same civil war battlefield," J.J. responds in agreement.

The team agrees that this could be the works of the same killer. There are aspects of the more recent killings that would be impossible to copycat since those details had never been released to the public. But, if this is the same unsub, what's he been doing for the past 27 years?

+++++

Hotch focuses on the road while you watch out the window of the passenger seat. Occasionally, you sneak the odd peek at him. His stoicism is alluring, and you find yourself drawn to this demeanor like a moth to a flame. Piecing together the tiny glimpses you've collected thus far as if working on a mental puzzle, you scrutinize his attributes. His eyes bare the beginnings of crow's feet. Only his sideburns tease the speckling of salt and pepper undertones. His lips turn downwards at the corners, no doubt from years of scowling at unsubs.

Reid speaks up from behind you both and breaks your train of thought. Probably for the better, there's no reason why you should examine your unit chief so intently.

"It's funny--he always dumps the bodies in this battlefield, no matter what the risk."

"It's a respected landmark. He's flaunting," Aaron reckons.

"It makes him feel important," you say in agreement.

Once you have arrived at the crime scene, you follow Agent Hotchner closely. Reid trails ahead, most likely trying to keep up with his own train of thought.

"How does someone not see or hear them?" You ask the sheriff.

He turns to you with a defeated expression, "It was dark. He had the advantage. Molly's boyfriend was the last person to see her. He said she was alone for a minute, maybe less."

Hotch surveys the surroundings, "He's patient and works fast."

"He's perfected his M.O.," Reid states while looking around.

You cross your arms as a wave of unease gets the best of you as you envision the moments leading to Molly's attack.

"If our unsub's pushing 60, he's gotta be strong enough to carry her a long way without her struggling," you bring out.

Hotch looks to you with a concerned squint. You shake your head, signaling to him that it's nothing you can't get under control. He nods in response. The sheriff agrees to point out the various entrances to the park.

"I'll catch up with you," your Unit Chief states. He motions for you to step aside with him, and you comply.

"You know, ever since my wife and I had our son, I dread receiving cases involving children," he discloses to you.

Tears well up in your eyes, "I can't even imagine, but sir, why are you telling me this?"

"This job will inevitably strike close to home on some cases more than others. It's okay for you to feel overwhelmed by it all every once and a while," he assures you.

"You never lose it, though."

He sighs heavily, "Maybe I should have."

Shortly before you joined the BAU, Hotch's wife Haley left with their son Jack. You never ask questions or stick your nose where it doesn't belong. It isn't your place, and you can't blame him for not wanting to bring his family struggles to work. He deals with enough broken families on the job as it is. Mixing his own personal life into the field would only make it more challenging to prioritize. Despite all this, you cannot help but wonder what exactly led to his and his wife's separation. You hope that they can find their way back to each other. The crimes you investigate do not need to claim the Hotchner's as victims as well.

+++++

"I'll let you talk to Chrissy Wilkenson," Hotch directs you towards the kitchen. You wipe your sweaty palms against the fabric of your pants and make your way into the kitchen, Hotch following closely behind you.

"Mrs. Wilkenson," you say gently, "My name is Y/F/N. I have just a few questions about your husband. Where does Charlie usually go when he's stressed?"

"The barn," she stutters. You can tell she's anxious and afraid for the well-being of her family.

"Anywhere else, Chrissy?"

Hotch is called into the other room, and you continue questioning Chrissy. She's becoming overwhelmed, so you guide her to the dining room.

"I know this is difficult, Chrissy."

"Did the father of my child really do that to those poor women?" She cradles her baby bump.

Your heart breaks for her, and you choose to remain silent. Sometimes saying nothing speaks louder than words.

Footsteps bound throughout the house, and Hotch appears in the doorway, "The sheriff will stay here with Mrs. Wilkenson. We need you with us."

Standing up from your chair, you place your hand atop Chrissy's, "History doesn't have to repeat itself." It is almost as if she could tell you were reading her thoughts. The endless whispers that cloud her mind making her feel like she's left with only one choice, but there's always another option. That is all you are trying to remind her of.

+++++

As you and your team trek through the forest, you see a clearing.

"Hotch, this way," you beckon him to pursue your course.

Suddenly, a gunshot rings out, and you stop in your tracks. You make eye contact with Hotch and mirror each other's actions, dashing towards the opening in the trees. Your heart pounds in rhythm with your footsteps colliding against the ground. It is clear to you from your exchange with Chrissy at the house that the origin of the gunshot will shock everyone but yourself. As you reach the clearing and rush down the hill, your speculation is validated.

Chrissy Wilkenson is standing over the body of her husband, the unsub. A traumatized young man haunted by his father's past and plagued by the idea that children are trapped in the endless cycles created by their parents.

I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Jesus. Now is not the time for that.

The newly widowed woman claims self-defense, yet the cops handcuff her anyways. Inside, you feel conflicted while watching her get into the back of the squad car.

Hotch appears by your side but remains silent. Again, sometimes silence speaks louder than words. You bit your lip, attempting to hide the fact that it is trembling.

"What did you say to her as you were leaving the dining room?"

"I told her that history does not have to repeat itself. I wanted her to know that even when it feels like you are backed into a corner, there is always another way out. Sometimes people don't know where to look for their out thought," you quiver.

He lightly touches your arm and gives you a reassuring tilt of the head, "Just know that you did everything you could. We will never do this job perfectly. Doing the right thing usually costs more than it pays. You did your part. I'm not a saint, and I am far from a hero, but I have integrity and honor, and I do this job to the best of my ability."

"If you can leave a case with a clear conscience," he continues, "you know you did the best you could. Any other thought process will eat away at you slowly but surely, and ultimately, it will result in the demise of your career and destruction of yourself."

+++++

After a seemingly neverending day, you all arrive back at Quantico.

"I could really go for a drink, guys. What do you say? Newbie's buying," you wave your wallet around frivolously.

"I could go for 5 drinks!" Prentiss exclaims.

"Count me in," Morgan winks at you. He never fails to make you blush.

Reid hesitates and you pout your bottom lip, "Please Reid! How could you not want a repeat of Dolly Parton night last month?"

Hotch comes down the stairs, "Dolly Parton night? Do I want to know?"

You and Derek snicker to each other as Spencer attempts to diffuse his own embarassment.

"9 to 5 is an iconic female anthem that certainly has a rather bewitching affect on a man when mixed with alcohol."

"You only drank Diet Coke that night," you roll your eyes at him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Hotch forcing his way through the small group formed around the desks.

Making your way over to him, you invite him to join, "Want a beer?" You second guess yourself, but it seems as though his rather stern expression softens ever so slightly when he pivots on his heels to look at you.

"I would like that," he answers softly.

He immediately returns to his original path and hovers near the glass doors. You casually make your way over to him, joined by Dave and Emily. A man barges in through the glass doors announcing Aaron's name.

"Agent Hotchner?"

"Yes," the subject in question breaths out almost defeatedly.

The yellow package he holds in his hands is all too familiar and instantly churns your stomach into knots. You gnaw at your bottom lip, drawing a metallic taste that causes you to cringe.

"What is it?" Emily speaks up.

There's no question as to what it is. Oh Hotch. I’m so sorry.

Hotch's eyes trace the package from corner to corner in disbelief, "Haley's filing for divorce. I've been served."

When he eventually takes his eyes off of the lettering, his eyes meet yours. They lock onto you and it is in that moment that you feel as though you have been given the key to unlock his soul. His eyes are so unusual at this moment; they are more vulnerable than you have ever seen. The stoic man is gone, and instead, it is the eyes of one who is in tremendous pain. You had mistaken his bloodshot eyes for physical fatigue on the plane, but now you see that it is emotional exhaustion as well.

If only you knew how badly I want to hug you and tell you that you won't be swallowed up by this darkness. There's a long road ahead, but you have so many people here who love you and are here to support you through this. You aren't alone. Trust me, I know.

In some way, you pray that he can read into your soul and see the pain you feel for him. Once more, your shared silence proves to speak for itself.

At last, he breaks eye contact with you and finally releases the breath that you had been holding in. Dave grabs onto your arm, seeing the clear impact Hotch's news has on you, no doubt having also noticed Hotch's immediate response in looking at you.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can join you tonight," he excuses himself and escapes to the seclusion of his office.

Maybe history does have a way of repeating itself.

Tag List:

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seeuonadarknite · 4 years

Text

good girl -- yandere dazai + chuuya x f. reader

request: Hey! Can I get a Dazai and Chuuya sharing darling noncon and punishment + I was the one that asked for Dazai and Chuuya! Is it ok if you add breeding kink please. 🥺

❀ yes ofc bby :) this has been in my drafts FORVER.. i just never got to formatting it :’)

warnings: noncon, spanking, fingering, facefucking, breeding kink, implied kidnapping

"Oh? And where do you think you're going?"

You really messed up this time. Something must have possessed you for you to believe that trying to sneak out of the house these two ruffians confined you in whilst they were home was a good idea. Sure, they left you unrestricted during the times that they were home, but that didn't mean you weren't being supervised.

In a sense you were like an unleashed dog running off from its owners on a walk around the block. Although it would be a hassle to take time out of their day to retrieve you, they'd still do it in a heartbeat because you mattered to them. That didn't mean that it wouldn't still entail punishment; they couldn't just let you off the hook after pulling an immature stunt like that.

And the worst part was that you weren't surprised that you were caught red handed whatsoever. Dazai had eyes and ears everywhere. How foolish could you possibly be thinking that he wouldn't catch on with your little escape plan? Hell, you didn't even manage to make it past the welcoming mat before you were stopped dead in your tracks.

It was frustrating beyond belief how nonchalant he seemed about it, because you knew damn well that he was just as livid as his partner, Chuuya. Only difference was that Chuuya was visibly smoldering with anger, whereas Dazai just sported a condescending grin that had vexation written all over it.

Stood at the bottom of the stairs near the door, you cowered away from the two seething males like a cat, coincidentally backing yourself into the nearest wall. Good going. It felt like your heart was pounding out of your chest with all of the nerves you were feeling, because you knew you were royally fucked. These two certainly didn't play nice, not even with their beloved girlfriend.

It was hard to shake off their blazing glares burning holes into your figure. You couldn't tell if Chuuya was about ready to either eat you alive or tear you to shreds. Either way, he'd at least be quick in his movements; it made him the lesser of two evils. Dazai would probably take his sweet time in tearing you apart, relishing in the way your face would contort in agony. It really shocked you that people called this man a masochist.

"I-I'm sorry! Please, don't hurt me.." You whimpered, hugging your body as if it would provide protection from the two males staring you down like a piece of meat. It really sucked that you were even stuck in this position in the first place. Your relationship with the two boys started off pretty innocent, but there was a point in time where they lost trust in you for whatever reason. Their insecurities poisoned your "unbreakable" bond, driving them to lock you up and hide you away from the public eye.

The mischievous pair both shot each other a look, before Dazai calmly approached your cowering figure. He wrapped his slender fingers around your wrists, forcefully pulling them off of their spots on your sides. "Dear [y/n], you're not gonna get out of this with just a tap on the wrist.." Dazai trailed off, giving his partner a chance to finally butt in. "We've been way too fucking lenient with you. It's about time you learn your place." The hotheaded male barked, watching as you automatically flinched at the increase in volume. However, it wasn't as if you could instinctively hide your face in your hands. Not with Dazai forcefully prying them apart with his iron grip on each wrist.

Before you could retaliate, Dazai was already carrying you bridal style towards your shared bedroom with Chuuya hot on your trail. Yeah, shared bedroom. With all three of you. Every single night you'd be sandwiched between the two, with Chuuya hugging you from behind like a teddy bear, and Dazai with his lanky arm draped over your side and head sitting atop yours. Even without any technical forms of restraint, they still offered you no opportunity to slip from their grasps whilst they slept.

After taking a seat on the edge of the king bed, Dazai bent you over his knee within a fluid movement. Meanwhile, Chuuya sat adjacent to Dazai in order to wrap his fingers around your jaw and forcibly tilt your head upwards towards his. You could feel your blood rush to your cheeks in embarrassment. The fact that there were two of them getting off to this only added insult to injury.

"Ahh, I'm going to have to take your bottoms off, my darling. You've been quite naughty, haven't you?" Dazai purred into your ear, unable to contain the smirk that stretched across his face at the sight of his partner glaring you down. His snarl made him look like a feral animal foaming at the mouth. It almost tore your attention away from Dazai wrapping his lengthy fingers around the elastics of your shorts and panties, pulling the clothing articles right off of your body with one harsh tug.

"Osamu please—" Your pleads were abruptly cut off by Chuuya's free hand swiping across your cheek, causing an ear deafening smack to echo through your ears. It took a second for you to process the stinging sensation left on your skin.

However, before you could really brood on it, Dazai's calloused hand was already gently rubbing on the skin of your lower cheek. It may have seemed like a loving gesture, but you knew all too well what it entailed. The way he ran his hand over your rear rivaled the way a nurse would wipe your arm before injecting it with a needle. It was merely preparation for the real thing.

Words couldn't describe how agonizing it was anxiously awaiting Dazai's next course of action. It wasn't as if you could anticipate when it would come, not with Chuuya forcing your head in place with his fingers digging into your jaw. All you could do was pathetically stare into the shorter male's eyes as you idly stood by.

Chuuya, however, had a perfect view of your rear end and could easily predict when Dazai would finally begin your dreadful punishment by watching him finally swing his open hand down towards your ass cheek. "Count." Chuuya's stern voice overlapped with the sharp sound of Dazai's hand delivering a hefty smack to your rear. A shrill yelp escaped your lips at the all too familiar burning sensation.

"O-One.." You stuttered, feeling slightly intimidated with Chuuya's gaze burning holes into you. There wasn't anything you could do to avoid it with the way his hand locked your face in place. You had no other option other than to stare into your tormentor's eyes as his partner assaulted your rear end with his large hand.

By the time that Dazai had delivered the final blow to your rear, you felt hot, salty tears pouring down your face and onto Chuuya's hand. Nine spanks must not have been enough for him, judging by the way he made you count to ten. The reddened skin of your ass cheek felt like it was on fire with the burning sensation Dazai had inflicted upon it.

A small smirk tore across Chuuya's face as he finally let go of your aching jaw, diverting his attention towards your previously assaulted cheek. The way your skin rose ever so slightly in the form of a vibrant, red handprint left his cock twitching in his pants. It seemed that Dazai for once shared the same mindset with Chuuya, seeing as his clothed bulge was poking onto your bare leg. They had to be joking. Wasn't humiliating you by holding you down and bruising your ass under their scrutiny enough of a punishment? Your body would probably give out if they kept going at this rate.

Unfortunately for you, these two men were insatiable and held absolutely no regard for how you felt. They'd dish out any type of punishment that they deemed necessary; you did this to yourself, anyway. They weren't holding you at gunpoint when you pathetically tried scampering away from them. Everything that you did was all on your own accord.

Dazai ran two fingers along your folds from behind, tracing the sensitive skin in a V motion. Meanwhile, Chuuya was unbuckling his trousers whilst staring you down with a menacing grin tearing across his face. This was just great; your most sensitive parts were being rubbed and prodded at like a toy, and your mouth was about to be used as a fuckhole. That damned smile on his face told you everything you needed to know.

Whilst you unintentionally rubbed yourself against Dazai's thigh in order to create friction, his slim fingers dipped into your needy hole, automatically evoking a sharp gasp from you. Chuuya took advantage of your parted lips and slipped his erect cock into the warm, wet caverns of your mouth. His lengthy cock felt foreign in the confines of your mouth; his length never looked like something you'd be capable of taking without gagging, but the aching pains he left on the back of your throat after bruising you with his tip proved otherwise.

"Take it like the good little whore that you are. You like that, gagging on my fat cock while getting your pretty little cunt fingered at the same time?" Chuuya grunted, tangling his fingers into your sweat permeated hair. Your lack of responsiveness seemed to tick Dazai off, because he suddenly began pumping his fingers in and out of you at a hostile pace, sporting a distinctive glare that would most definitely send chills running up your spine had you been able to see it.

What were you supposed to do? It wasn't as if you could speak with a massive cock stuffing your mouth full and a pair of fingers knuckle deep inside of you. All you could really do to help your case was focus on breathing and try not to gag. Chuuya was already infuriated enough.

It was when Dazai began palming your clit and curling his fingers on that spongy spot inside of you that you began to feel the coil in your stomach begin to grow tight. It was unbelievably difficult to contain yourself with Dazai's fingers continuously curling up against your g-spot, and Chuuya's swelling tip hitting the back of your throat at a bruising pace.

Tossing all rational thoughts to the side, you felt yourself clench tightly around Dazai's nimble fingers. However, once your hips stilled on his hands, preparing to release your juices on his fingers and coat them with your slick, his movements completely ceased. What?

"Aw, [y/n], did you forget? Bad girls don't get to cum." He mockingly cooed into your ear, watching as Chuuya forced your head in place in order for him to shoot ropes of cum into your wet cavern. Thanks to the sticky substance flooding your mouth, rendering it impossible to breathe, you weren’t given a chance to sulk on the absence of Dazai's fingers.

You did, however, notice him abruptly drag your hips towards the center of the bed with him, forcing you to release Chuuya's cock from your mouth. It barely gave you enough time to frantically swallow his seed. But you knew damn well that if you spat it out on the sheets, Chuuya would simply make you lick up your mess like a mutt.

This was all your fault. None of this would have happened if you had just stayed in your lane and knew your place. If you had just been obedient from the start, you wouldn't have to whine at the feeling of Dazai's tip prodding against your weeping hole. You wouldn't have to cast your eyes towards the floor whilst Chuuya jacked himself off at the sight of his partner slowly easing himself into your tight hole. Hell, you'd probably be cuddling up with the two on the couch right about now if you had just listened like a good girl.

"Fuck, look at you. Do you like getting used like a fleshlight? Because that's all you're good for." Chuuya spat into your ear with malice lacing his tone. If you weren't so hung up on the feeling of Dazai vigorously pummeling into you from behind, you would've been hurt by his harsh words.

"O-Osamu— please, slow down!" Asking him to stop was out of the question. The most you could do to defend yourself was to at least try and get him to alleviate his bruising pace. If he continued at this rate, his palms would end up leaving dark contusions on your hips and his ferocious thrusts would weaken your lower body strength, immobilizing for who knows how long.

Alas, your pleads fell upon deaf ears as Dazai only fastened his feral pace. "Ahh, keep singing for me, my darling!" The bandaged brunette practically moaned, relishing in the lewd mewls and keens that fell from your lips. Within every moment that passed, your walls would hug around his cock even more tenaciously. It would only be a matter of time until his end neared.

The once silent room was now filled with the obscene sounds of skin slapping, synchronized grunts, and pathetic whines. Chuuya finished himself off a lot quicker than Dazai, as he pumped his throbbing cock one last time before spilling his seed. However, this time his aim was towards your face, his fluids permeating your skin and a bit of your hair.

"Lick it off." Chuuya ordered in a stern tone, admiring his grotesque handiwork from afar. He made a complete mess of your face, his cum smudging your makeup and dribbling down your chin. You made a pathetic attempt to stretch your tongue out and lap up whatever remaining cum you could reach on your face.

It wasn't easy to pretend that you couldn't see the triumphant smirk etched across Chuuya's face as you halted your movements, overwhelmed by the feeling of Dazai's tip hammering your cervix. If it wasn’t for your cervix blockading your womb, he'd probably be fucking that as well. With each bone breaking thrust, it felt like he impossibly reached deeper into the constricting walls of your cunt.

It was when Chuuya forcibly melded his lips with yours in a viciously hungry kiss that you finally broke, your cunt clamping around Dazai's cock, lubing it up with your slick. As you rode out your long awaited orgasm, Chuuya swallowed your gasps, exploring your wet caverns with his skillful tongue.

"Are you trying to drain me dry? Very well, you call the shots, [y/n]. I'm sure you would look a lot cuter with my baby in your arms." He cooed, training his eyes on Chuuya's contorted expression as he rapidly rocked his hips against yours, almost as if aiming to shoot his seed as deeply as possible inside of you. "You shithead! I'll cum inside 'er too once you finally get off!"

In any normal case, you would've tried stepping between them by now. But their clashing of heads meant nothing when Dazai's twitching cock was readying itself to empty its contents inside of you. God, you weren't ready to be a mother. You didn't deserve this. You didn't—

"Osamu, let me go!" You began wailing and screaming, but it was to no avail. It wasn't hard for Chuuya to shut you up by forcing your face down into the mattress with the simple shove of his hand.

With one last hostile thrust, bottoming out inside of you, Dazai shot his load into the fluttering walls of your cunt, completely draining his balls directly into your womb. He painted your insides white with each thick spurt of cum. "Ahh, sorry, what was that?" He taunted before reluctantly dragging his cock out of the twitching walls of your heat at an agonizingly slow pace. Once he finally pulled out of your weeping cunt, he watched with utter bliss as his semen began pooling out of your quivering hole.

Without another word, Dazai tucked his cock back into his pants and began to retreat from your trembling form. However, before he stepped out of the room, he shot Chuuya one last glance, watching him flip you over and throw your useless legs over his shoulders. "Try to make it quick. I know you have the freakish stamina of an animal but I'd like to feed our [y/n] some dinner before bed, okay?"

"I'll do what I want, shithead!"

Good luck catching a break between these two.

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xwing-baby · 4 years

Text

Impulse: Part 1 (Javier Pena x Reader)

Summary: Top of your class, the DEA have sent you to Colombia to be the poster child for their new ‘placement program’. You’re thrown in at the deep end into the drug war. With Agent Pena as your mentor, what could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: ANGST! Explicit drug and alcohol abuse from the beginning, depressive thinking/intrusive thoughts, swearing

Word Count: 4.8k

A/n: My first ever Javi fic, of course I had to make it the angstiest thing I’ve written in a long time!! This is part one of the first part of the story which is also the end of the story... just had to make it confusing for you.

Disclaimer: I do not have any experience with cocaine or addiction, all writing is based on my own research and is not a good representation of how it really is! Don’t do coke kids, it’s never good.

Part 2

---

Four in the morning, the sun was just above the horizon and you were stumbling home from yet another party. Enough tequila swam through your system that you didn’t really think about the wellbeing of your neighbor when you tapped on his door. You wanted to keep going. Javier, you decided, would make the perfect company. And maybe you could continue that kiss you had not stopped thinking about since it happened four months ago! You grinned devilishly at the thought and knocked harder on the door.

“Javi! Javier!” You rapped on the door. “Javier Peña, abra la puerta!” You sang, leaning all your weight on the door as your world span fast around you, “Javi,”

“What?” Javier opened the door suddenly, causing you to fall into him. You laughed as you caught yourself on his arm. You had woken him up, he was dressed in a wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants with his hair bushy and wild.

“Hola!” You grinned up at him, not hiding the way you checked him out. You were obviously drunk and high, eyes red and shining brightly even in the dim light of the apartment block hallway. Javi wrinkled his nose as the smell of you hitting him, tequila and cigar smoke clung to you.

“Again?” Javi sighed heavily. This was the third time this week you had woken him up, accidentally or on purpose, coming home drunk. He was starting to worry about you.

“Si,” You grinned from ear to ear, You were in more of a state than last time. For one you were still speaking Spanish, something Javi had rarely ever heard you speak. You must have been with your local friends, he surmised. “No lo siento Javi. ¡Es divertido!”

“It’s not fun, you’re a mess. Get in here,” He pulled you by the arm into his apartment, shutting the door behind him.

“Eres enojado?” You asked, still grinning. You walked backwards into his apartment, tripping down the step and landing with a thud on his leather couch. You cackled with laughter.Javier frowned and put his hands on his hips, of course he was annoyed at you! It was four in the morning and you both had work the next morning. You dramatically flopped back on his couch and huffed at his grumpy attitude, “It’s only polite, Javi! They gave it to me!”

“It’s poison!! He exclaimed, “Why would you do that to yourself?”

“It’s helping,” You proclaimed.

“It’s not helping anyone, you’re gunna fuck up sooner or later.” Javi warned, as he had done many times before.

“I got that list,” You protested, “That was helpful!”

“And what will you do when they work out that you stole it?”

“No lo sé,” You shrugged. You reached into your pocket and grabbed the last of the coke you had been given. You wanted a little more. You pulled the tin out of your pocket and placed it on the coffee table at your feet.

“You-,” Javi started before he noticed what you were doing, instantly he was on you, “Para!” He exclaimed as he snatched the coke from your hand before you had time to open it.

“Necesito!” You whined, pouting at him. You were lying, you didn’t need it. You wanted it, a lot.

“No,” Javi snapped.

“Lo siento, Javi,” You pleaded with him, eyes locked onto the packet in his hand.

“You’re not though, are you? Fucking look at me!” He yelled. You startled and looked up at him as tears pricked your eyes. “Quit it. Now. You know what this shit does, stop it. Whatever you think you’re doing is not worth it, okay?”

“Pero-“

“No. Me vale!” He cut you off. “You’re better than this, Y/n,”

You sustained eye contact for a moment. The room was deathly quiet, he glared at you with fierce intensity. You had never seen him so angry, if you weren’t so drunk you would have instantly buckled under the pressure. The only thing your drunk brain could think of was how hot he looked, you wondered how rough he would be with you if he was this angry. You couldn’t help the snigger that crept up in your throat at that thought. You clamped your hand over your mouth to stop the laugh, Javi rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry!” You laughed, “It’s just you can’t look at me like that and not fuck me!”

“Jesus christ,” Javier pinched the bridge of his nose. What little patience he had for you was running out fast. You continued to laugh.

“Can I stay here?” You asked.

“Take the couch,” Javi waved you off, his back turned heading back to his bedroom.

“I can’t sleep with you?” Your voice was laced with innuendo, he knew what you wanted. A part of him was tempted, your dress left very little to the imagination, but he knew he couldn’t do it.

“You’re drunk and high,” Javier said plainly, “and we’ve spoken about this before. No,” He was firm with you. He hated having to reject you for a second time but he wasn’t a complete monster. He wouldn’t sleep with you in this state.

“Worth a try,” You laughed, thankfully giving up quickly. Javi shook his head and walked away again, “Muchos gracias, Javi,” You called after him. He shut the door.

You woke up as the early morning sunlight pushed through the windows. You groaned and turned over, finding you were not in your bed but on a couch. Startled, you sat up and nearly screamed when you recognised the apartment as Javier’s. Luckily you were still fully dressed with your shoes still on, nothing had happened. Memories of how you got there were blurry, you remembered knocking on his door but had blacked out after that.

The clock on the wall said it was six am. You could go upstairs to your own bed clean up and hope that maybe Javi wouldn’t hear you and confront you about it.

You stood up from the couch, trying not to think about all the things the man had done on it, and grabbed your jacket from the ground. As you stood up the strength of your hangover kicked in, you grumbled. That was when you noticed the discarded coke packet on the counter. You stopped. You knew you shouldn’t pick it up, you didn’t need it. But the taste caught at the back of your throat and you found yourself wanting it. It was undeniably addictive, you had promised yourself you wouldn’t take it this far but the foul substance had made its bed.

“Go home,” Javi’s voice broke you out of the trance. He was only wearing sweatpants, hair mussed up from sleep that you had most definitely disturbed more than once. He pulled the cocaine off the table and threw it into the trash before you could reach it. You gulped, shame rising like hot steam through your lungs. You grabbed your things and left, running straight upstairs to your own apartment.

It was still early but you knew you weren’t going to be able to sleep again. Shame was swirling up in your throat. How ironic that a DEA agent was addicted to the thing she was meant to be stopping? But you weren’t addicted, you reasoned with yourself, you were fine. This was no different to when you lived off Redbull for a month during finals, it was a matter of changing some coping mechanisms. It was a reaction to the stress of being so close to Escobar yet so still so far. You could change it, you had control.

You made a coffee, instant and black. It was bitter and disgusting but it would keep you awake. You collapsed onto your tired old couch and flicked on the tv to a telenovela rerun. You barely understood what was going on but the hilarious overplayed drama was light enough to stop you swimming into the depressing pool of thoughts currently threatening to drown you.

Eight o’clock came and you were ready to go to work. You were used to this routine now, hungover and tired, you knew you weren’t at your best but until this morning nobody knew about your slow descent into chaos. You weren’t surprised to find Javi’s truck gone without you. All you could remember from last night as how mad he was, and his face this morning only proved it. You dreaded seeing him.

Luckily, you were spared the hassle of public transport by Steve who trundled down the stairs after you and offered you a ride. The conversation was light and everything seemed normal for a moment. You got to work, Steve ran off after a call from Javier leaving you with a mountain of paperwork to hunt through. For once you didn’t care, paperwork didn’t judge you.

A few hours passed and the boys returned. You did your best to ignore them while they bickered, hoping that you could melt into the background, until someone tapped on your desk.

“Hey, I’m talking to you Rookie,” Javi’s voice made you look up. “Come on, we’re going,”

Before you could say anything he threw your jacket at you and you had no choice but to follow him outside. You tried to rack your brain for why Javi would be taking you anywhere today, especially after this morning. You had expected him to ground you, to be impossibly angry at you, not take you out. You climbed into the passenger seat of the truck and Javi didn’t say a word. He didn’t look particularly angry, he looked stressed but he had looked like that since the day you got down here. He was silent, letting the radio play between you, when all of a sudden he reached over and turned it off.

You looked over at him, expecting him to start his lecture but he didn’t. He let the silence sit between you for the rest of the journey. Somehow it was worse, you’d rather he got mad at you and shouted. It was just unsettling.

Finally you pulled into the embassy, you flashed your badges at the gate and parked. Fear was starting to grow now. Was he going to get you fired? He wouldn’t bring you down here for that surely? He would have called and said what he wanted, he hated coming down here unless he had to. You stayed quiet, too scared to ask, and followed him inside.

Javi greeted the assistant at the door, as smooth as ever somehow managing to melt her in her chair in five seconds. You smiled and waved to her, she scowled at you as soon as Javi had turned his back.

“He’ll be in a minute,” The girl called after you as you entered the Ambassador’s office. You took one chair, Javier took the other, in front of the large mahogany desk.

Unlike Steve and Javi you didn’t see the ambassador often, often left in the office while they had meetings about things higher than your post. Your heart was beating so hard in your chest you thought it might burst. You rubbed your hands on your jeans and fidgeted in your seat. Why in hell were you here?

Before you could bring up the courage to finally ask Javi the Ambassador walking into the room. You stood up immediately to shake his hand, Javi stayed seated.

“Y/n, nice to see you again,” The ambassador smiled kindly as he shook your hand. “Agent Peña,” He greeted the agent next to you, who nodded casually.

“You too, Sir,” You tried your best to sound confident. The Ambassador sighed heavily as he sat in the leather chair, took a sip of the water at his side and began the meeting.

“So, I got the call from your coordinators this morning, they’re coming down on Monday for the review. I thought we should have this meeting together to discuss things before they come down,”

Your six month review! That was what you had forgotten. Half relieved that your mentor hadn’t brought you down here to completely humiliate you, you smiled and nodded. With everything going on you hadn’t noticed the months fly past so fast, you barely remembered what day it was anymore.

The Ambassador carried on with the meeting, unaware of your panicking. You nodded along, answering his questions in short yes or no answers, he then moved to Javier. As your mentor he was the one in charge of delivering your progress onto your coordinators. You watched him speak, sound not registering anymore. You hoped to god that he wouldn’t throw you under the bus and tell the entire truth, he knew how much this meant to you surely he wouldn’t.

Nervous, you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your jacket. You almost had a heart attack when you felt something inside. A small metal tin, rounded and rusted. You immediately knew what it was and froze. There was coke in your pocket. Javi gave you a sideways glance, as he noticed you stiffen up suddenly.

You wracked your mind for where the hell the tin had come from, until you remembered. This wasn’t your jacket, Maria had given it to you a few months ago and never asked for it back. You hadn’t worn it before today and had no idea that your friend’s stash lay inside the pockets. You tried to stay rational, tried to listen to the important conversation happening around you but your hand stayed clamped around the drug in your pocket. It would help you concentrate, it could calm you down. You could take it and nobody would notice.

“I- I’m sorry can you excuse me for a moment?” You blurted out, interrupting the ambassador. He frowned at you, surprised by your interruption. You had gone white with panic, obviously clutching at something in your pocket but he didn’t think anything of it. He nodded and you ran out the room before he could verbally release you.

You tried to remain calm as you ran through the halls of the embassy, it seemed like everyone was watching you. They knew exactly what you were doing, they were judging you. You ran into the first women’s bathroom you could find, quickly checked nobody was in any stalls, and locked the door behind you.

Throwing the package on the sink like it was burning through your hand, you stood over it, watching it intensely like it could jump away at any moment. The voice in your head kept tempting you, calling you weak and useless, to do it to get rid of it. Nobody would know if you took it. You’ve given in this far why not do it. It will help you calm down. Take it.

As if you were possessed, you unwillingly opened the tin and poured the powder onto the surface. There wasn’t much there, barely a pinch full, hardly anything at all. You couldn’t just leave it there now, someone would definitely know it was yours. They all knew why even bother hiding it anyway. You should take it. You were too weak to resist it. Take it.

And you did. The chemical shot straight to your brain giving you the brilliant feeling you had been missing. You sighed in a relief as you felt every anxiety fade from your body. It wasn’t that bad, you feel better with it, the voice in your head said. You weren’t wrong. You did feel better. You looked it too, your cheeks had colour again, you smiled and laughed to yourself as it took hold.

You brushed away the excess powder and unlocked the door. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Javi leaning against the opposite wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, judging you with a cocked eyebrow. He had been waiting for you. You sighed and rolled your eyes immediately walking away from him.

“Don’t stand outside the women's bathroom’s Javi. It's creepy,” You snapped as you passed him.

“You missed a bit,” Javi commented, following closely behind you.

“Fuck off,” You grumbled. Despite yourself you wiped your sleeve over your nose. He was right.

“Shooting up in a bathroom is real low, Rookie, even for you,” He snarled. You continued walking down the hall, ignoring him. You were as angry at your actions as he was but you didn’t have control anymore. You couldn’t stop yourself, “Hey! I’m fucking talking to you,” Javi grabbed your arm and sharply pulled you backwards, pressing your back into the wall and trapping your body between his.

“You’re hurting me!” You complained, shoving him off you with as much force as you could give. It didn’t get you far as he pushed you to the wall again with as much force. Your back slammed against the cold stone hard, no doubt bruising it.

“Then listen. What the fuck is the matter with you?” He snarled, “Doing that shit here? Or anywhere in fact! You are completely out of control,” You ground your teeth, seething with anger, “Do you have no respect for yourself?” You struggled against him, trying to get away again to avoid the question, Javi held you in place. “Not going to say anything?” You looked away, purposely turning your cheek to him, “Get a fucking grip or I’m sending you home,” He growled.

You didn’t answer, staring at the patterned tile floor. Finally he gave up. With a grunt he let you go and stalked away down the corridor.

As he disappeared around the corner, a tidal wave of anger and frustration flooded your system. You kicked the line of chairs next to you, crying out curses as you sent them flying across the corridor. The metal clattered against the stone drawing people out of their offices, they all stood from their doorways and watched you, judging you. You heart hammered in your chest, chest heaving for air and you glared back at them all. You let out a deep breath and turned on your heel, leaving the mess behind you, and walked outside.

Despite himself, Javi had waited for you in the parking lot. You jumped into the passenger seat without a word, slamming the door hard to get your point across. You couldn’t tell if you were sweating from anger or the drugs coursing through you. Neither of you said a word for the journey. Javi had said he needed to, and you weren’t able to string together a coherent sentence for everything you wanted to scream at him yet.

You were too focussed on the music playing from the stereo to really notice where you were going. The rhythms and lyrics seemed to float around you and soak into your skin. You didn’t see Javi’s furious scowl when you unknowingly started to dance in your seat, something you couldn’t help but do when listening to Columbian radio no matter your mental state. You were having a good time until the car stopped and the music was cut abruptly. Snapping out of your trance you looked around and realised you were at your apartment.

“Get out. You’re done for today,” Javi said, his voice was eerily calm and you knew to be terrified. Quiet Javi was always the angriest.

“What?” You asked dumbly.

“Get out!” He leant over you and pushed the door open. You frowned, but slipped out the truck and did as you were told. Javi pulled the door shut behind you and rolled away, leaving you standing on the sidewalk opposite the apartment building completely dumbfounded.

You were stuck to the sidewalk, staring at the building. The sun beat down on you, scorching your skin yet you couldn’t feel it. You were numb to everything.

Your first thought was to find Maria and get more coke to hide further into yourself and avoid the awful shame creeping up your neck. The speed the thought entered your head petrified you. Your control was slipping through your fingers like sand and your body was screaming to move. Everything inside you told you to give up, that this was the tipping point and you might as well jump because what was the point in pretending anymore. If Javi knew what was the point in trying to cover up how much that narcotic had taken over your life. There was no point at all, you might as well enjoy the feeling whilst you could.

You turned to leave, letting go of all self control. Your legs knew where to take you, you didn’t even need to look where you were going. But you did, when three steps from your original position you crashed into a woman carrying a bag of groceries. She yelped, the sudden sound snapping you back to reality.

“What are you doing standing out here? Shouldn’t you be at work?” Connie startled you when she touched you, you had barely noticed her approaching. She frowned, concerned, when she took in your glazed appearance, “Sweetheart?”

“I’m okay,” Your voice cracked as tears filled your eyes.

“Oh darling, come inside. Come on,” Connie walked across the road, expecting you to follow but you didn’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to move, you wanted to run in the opposite direction. You knew if you went inside you would have to tell her what was happening, you didn’t want to make her as mad as Javi was already. “Y/n? Sweetheart you’re scaring me, what’s wrong?”

“I fucked it all up,” You whimpered as you began to cry.

“Come with me, I’ll get you some water,” Connie bartered, still you didn’t move. Too scared to admit to her what was going on, “Just come inside, please,”

Finally, you nodded and followed Connie into the building. She walked you into the apartment, sat you on the couch and left to get a glass of water. You hadn’t stopped crying, everything in you was telling you to go and get more to calm yourself down again. You knew not to believe the thoughts but they scared you tremendously. You have really gone too far now.

Connie passed you the water, and you drank it gladly. She crouched down in front of you, pressed a hand to your forehead and checked your pulse trying to work out what was wrong with you.

“Did you take something?” She asked. You tried to shake your head and deny it but the way she’s looking at you, sternly but with so much care in her eyes, you couldn’t lie to her. Your no turns into a yes and you instantly recoil from her each touch, hiding in your hands. “What was it?”

“It was only meant to help,” You cried into your hands.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened,” She pressed.

“Maria gave me some coke, and it was fine and fun and it helped me get that list from them,” You started to babble, all your words tumbling from your mouth before you could get them into any sensible order, “and everyone was so excited and then I went out kept doing it and then yesterday I ended up at Javi’s and I was tired and-,”

“Slow down,”

“It’s my six month review, and I got so worried then I found it in my pocket! I didn’t know it was there and I just did it! Then Javi caught me again and he kicked me out here!”

“Do you know how much you took?”

“Like a tiny bit but I’ll be fine in an hour but-,” Tears slipped from your eyes once again, “What am I going to do?”

Connie didn’t know what to say. She knew you had been going out more with some new friends, Steve had complained because he was always woken up by you when you came back drunk from a party. That's all she thought was going on, you were partying, drinking, like you should at your age. But as she had come to learn, a lot of things in Columbia were not what they seemed. It seemed the darker side of life here had managed to get it’s claws well and truly into you. It broke her heart to see you like this, so broken up.

You stayed with Connie for the rest of the afternoon, sat on the couch riding out the end of you high. TV kept you company and Connie chewed her nails trying to work out what to do. She thought should call Steve, but if Javier was the one to drop you off here, he probably already knew. She wondered how long it had been going on for, she didn’t get to see you as much as her husband and his partner, whenever she’d seen you you seemed fine, if a little hungover at times. When she thought about, all three of you had taken on destructive habits to cope with the hell you saw every day. Steve was becoming more aggressive by the week, while she knew she was safe she didn’t like what she saw when he flipped out. Everyone in the building knew about Javier’s escapades and now you. It was upsetting to watch from the outside, she couldn’t imagine what it was really like to go through.

You woke up half an hour later, muddled and more tired than when you’d fallen asleep.

“Feeling better?” Connie asked with a sympathetic smile.

“Feel like shit,” You muttered. Your head pounded and the heaviness still sat in your chest. That was the kicker, the coke could mask feelings very well but every time you sobered up they were still there waiting. You sighed heavily, pushing yourself to sit up where you’d slumped over, and rubbed your face with your sweaty palms. “What am I going to do?”

“I don’t know sweetie, but I’ll be here to help you,” Connie said kindly, as she sat on the couch next to you. You felt awful for dragging her into all this, yet another person you had let down, ”I think you should tell your boss? Or you’re coordinators, maybe they’ll help,”

“I’ll be sent home!” You protested, tears filling your eyes once again, “I don’t want to go home, not now!”

“You can’t keep it to yourself, it will only get worse,” She said, you nodded sadly and cried on her shoulder as she pulled you in for a hug. “I suggest a hot bath, watch some cheesy movie- I managed to find that Indiana Jones movie on tape. I know you love Harrison Ford,”

“That sounds nice,” You smiled weakly. Connie let you go and grabbed the movie along with a bottle of wine for you. You gathered yourself together, enough to get yourself from Connie’s couch to your own at least.

“I’m sure Steve won’t notice it’s gone. Go and chill out and watch the movie, have a bit of normality for a change. You’ll feel better I promise,”

“Thank you Connie, you’re a really good friend,”

“It’s no problem sweetie, like I said I’m always here for you,”

Connie gave you another tight squeeze before you left. Iin the hallway you heard the clatter of Javi’s keys in his door below. You wanted to apologise to him, you wanted him to help you! You wanted things to go back to how they were before all this but you knew Javi wouldn’t talk to you. He’d displayed his distaste for the people that fell under the powder’s spell before, he wasn’t going to help. He had trusted you to sort it out yourself but now it was abundantly clear you couldn’t.

Once again your brain reminded you how easy it would be to get some more coke to cheer yourself up. You could go downstairs and walk down the street, find one of your friends and be happy again so quickly. You didn’t have to feel this pain.

This time, you ignored it and locked yourself in your apartment. You took yourself to bed immediately, not even bothering to turn on any lights along the journey through the tiny space. You fell on the bed face first. As soon as your body hit the soft material you curled up as tight as you could and began to cry.

You had failed. You had let your team down, let your coordinators down, let your classmates down and let your family down. You didn’t even want to think about the conversation you would have to have with your mom as to why you were coming home six months early from a placement you fought so hard to get. You thought you could handle it, but you couldn’t. You failed.

Part 2

Translations (disclaimer I'm sorry if these are wrong I've been learning Spanish for all of 3 months hence the limited use)

Abra la puerta - open the door

No lo siento Javi. ¡Es divertido! - I’m not sorry Javi, it’s fun!

Eres enojado - are you angry?

No lo sé - I don’t know

Para!- stop!

Lo siento- I’m sorry

Pero- but

Me vale - I don’t care

The next part will be out next Friday! Want to get tagged? Let me know!

Tag list: @beskar-tano @buckysbeloved @beskarbabs @all-hallows-evie @harrys-stan @browneyes-djarin @themidnightsun-12

gunna be cheeky and tag some mutuals i think may be interested? @ithinkwehitametaphor @wille-zarr

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sofwrites · 3 years

Text

Each other's biggest ally

Polin Week Day 1: Favorite Quote

“No, his method of attack was a lazy smile, a well-timed joke. If Colin ever lost his temper...

Penelope shook her head slightly, unable even to fathom it. Colin would never lose his temper. At least not in front of her. He'd have to be really, truly—no, profoundly —upset to lose his temper. And that kind of fury could only be sparked by someone you really, truly, profoundly cared about.” - Romancing Mister Bridgerton, pg. 64

The one where Colin profoundly cared and had no choice but to lose his temper.

Type: One-shot, angst, sentimentalism, protective/mywife!Colin, protectective/myhusband!Penelope

Length: 3.3k

Read on ao3! Or continue under the cut

In the late months of the year 1825, Penelope Featherington Bridgerton published her debut novel titled The Wallflower. And in the early months of the year 1826, she relished in the praise of her work and suffered in the consequences of her now-public identity.

The response to her book was generally positive. Whether or not they were willing to admit it, the members of the ton were eager to uncover the scathing details surrounding Mrs. Bridgerton’s former pen name. They devoured the secrets hidden between the lines of the pages- forming their own conclusions and theories of what was fact and what was fiction.

It seemed that after many years of Penelope appearing to be invisible, the gravity of her voice was finally truly understood.

But as in all life, there were complications as well.

One gentleman in particular was quick to make his discontent known, and it was all due to just one short excerpt.

Although Beatrice did not befriend even half of the ton, she had made the acquaintance of nearly everyone at one point. And though they never realized, she scrutinized them almost as much as they disregarded her.

Even with her close examinations, she generally liked the people she met. There were bores, many in fact, as well as those with whom conversation could rarely be carried, but most were reasonably pleasant. There were exceptions, however, as there always are. One such exception was as follows:

It is an earlier season for Beatrice, one still full of wonder and disillusioned hope. She looks at the dancefloor with wistfulness in her eyes, dreaming, praying that her prince charming will notice her from across the room and ask her to take his arm.

He does not, of course. His mind is still focused fully on the small group that surrounds him, drawn to him like a shining star amongst the thinly veiled candlelight. Although the music is certainly too loud and the conversations too many, our heroine can perfectly hear his laughter through the crowded ballroom. She can hear it because she knows it better than she knows her own.

Later that evening, he’ll ask her to dance. He’ll remember her minuscule presence in his life, likely prodded by a sharp finger to his spine and a voice carrying a gentle reminder. And even though she knows why he will do so, knows that it is due to a kind sense of duty rather than true desire, she will cherish it all the same.

Right now, however, Beatrice remains at the edge of the dancefloor, her silent woes interrupted by the familiar voice of her mother.

“Beatrice, dear, this is Mr. Wetherden. Mr. Wetherden, I present to you my daughter, Beatrice Harpenton.”

Another bachelor, this one ranking second-tier rather than third. Her mother seems to have given her more credit this evening, Beatrice thinks as she looks at the familiar face.

The introduction is an unnecessary formality, of course, as are many of their rules; they were made acquaintances during her first season. Nonetheless, society calls for her to curtsy and give a gracious smile, and she obliges.

At the same time, he assesses her similarly to how he did so a few years before. And she sees it immediately, the dismissal that passes over his eyes even before he fully bends into his low bow.

Her mother leaves them to it- the stifled conversation in an even more stifling ballroom. The unfortunate girl in the canary-colored dress stands on the sidelines, trapped in conversation with yet another uninterested bachelor who is just as much forced upon her as she is on him.

He speaks endlessly, unquestionably more for his benefit than hers. He spends fourteen minutes explaining the difference between rugby and football. She suppresses three yawns and is interrupted twenty-six times throughout the topic, clearly expected to be an audience member rather than a participant.

At this time, she thinks this is Mr. Wetherden’s worst offense. Later on, when she is years older, Beatrice discovers that she was sorely mistaken in her youth. That without the cautionary lights of London (albeit often cloudy and forgiving), he is much worse.

She later on learns about his propensity to unwilling women. To frightened young housemaids who are often not given the options that women of a higher class are granted.

Our heroine also finds out later exactly how commonplace such a tendency is. And with it, her vision of social seasons- the one with balls and picnics and musicales- begins to splinter.

Penelope hadn’t named him, of course. She hadn’t named anyone directly.

She couldn’t publish a memoir, not really. Even though she was related to a fine variation of important characters in society, she couldn’t put such a strain on her family, and particularly not on her husband. Her husband, her lovely, amazing husband who supported her through the entire process even despite the fact that so much of their own private history was laid out in the pages of her novel. Penelope had written the truth, which hadn’t been entirely pretty. But Colin had agreed with her that the truth was more important than sheltering their secrets.

But even though she couldn’t publish a direct recounting of her life and experiences with the ton, she’d been unwilling to just hide behind fabricated stories.

Penelope’s telling of that night at the ball wasn’t completely factual. She did not know how many times Phillip Cavender interrupted her during their conversation, nor whether or not Colin had even been present that evening. But the details of the matter weren’t as important to her as shedding light on the entire situation.

She’d been young and naive during her first few seasons, believing that a few nasty comments and looks were really the worst of what society had to offer. Later on, she’d found out that she had been wrong, and that there was much worse than she’d ever known. And when her sister-in-law, Sophie, had recounted the night she and Benedict had met (well, met again), Penelope knew that she had to shed light on the matter. She had to make it clear what happened outside of the fancy dresses and giggling parties.

But as mentioned, such decisions did not come without their objections.

“Thank God, they’re leaving.”

The words came from just a few feet behind them, full of indignancy and bitterness. The couple had been walking together, arm-in-arm, towards the door, quite eager to return home for the evening.

They’d been attending an intimate house party at the request of the gentleman’s mother. She’d been unable to make her attendance that evening and had asked that her son and his wife go in her stead. They hadn’t been particularly excited about the prospect, but they’d agreed for her.

The party itself hadn’t been bad. The food was good, the music was pleasant, and almost everyone in attendance had offered the woman praise for her work. Though they hadn’t exactly been excited to attend, the evening hadn’t been at all poor.

That was, until they’d been nearing the exit and heard the troublesome remark behind them.

Colin glanced down at his wife, who grimaced, her nose scrunching as her eyes closed. They’d been met with a number of sneers and snide comments in the last few weeks, but they never became easier to hear.

With a small sigh, he turned them both around, looking directly at the man holding a glass of port too large and wearing a lip too curled.

Colin gave him a smile, the familiar one he used whenever he was looking at something that both irritated and mildly amused him. “Didn’t see you there, Cavender. So nice of you to offer us a sendoff.”

The opposing man’s mouth turned downwards, a stark contrast to the grin still on Colin’s face. Penelope swallowed, quickly cutting in. “We really must be getting home.”

With a pointed look directed towards her husband, she began pulling him back towards the door. Though Penelope would have loved to see Phillip Cavender get put into his place, she knew far better than to spar with a man holding a petty vendetta.

But before they’d even fully turned around, there was a mocking bark of laughter, followed by a slight slurring of words. “You do everything she tells you then? Follow her around like a lapdog?”

This time, Colin’s brow lifted ever so slightly, the same half-smile still imprinted on his lips. Penelope felt an uncomfortable heat rising up her neck as she reluctantly turned from the door again.

“If it means getting to share my life with this incredible woman,” Colin sent her a small wink before shrugging, “Then, by all means, call me a lapdog.”

There was some tittering around them by the small audience they’d attracted. With a quick glance, Penelope could see the angry lurch in Cavender’s throat, the narrowing of his eyes, the twitching of his fingers as they tightened around his glass.

Please, just let it go. Let us just leave and go home.

But he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

“I know what lies she’s spread about me.”

“Oh?” Colin’s face took on a thoughtful expression, one that might have been convincing in any other circumstance. “I don’t recall ever hearing my wife mentioning you.”

Cavender’s glare deepened. “In that bloody book of hers.”

Penelope cringed inwardly as she felt the twitch of Colin’s hand in hers. Her eyes darted around the room as an overwhelming sense of dread engulfed her. The ballroom was small and the guests were bored, and a public row was certainly enough to draw a crowd- one that was full of prying eyes and listening ears.

Colin’s face remained the picture of serenity even though Penelope could sense the angry heat rising from him. It was something she could feel in him that others always missed, a secret fire that he did so well in masking.

Looking at the other man, Colin let out a sigh, one that was forcibly tired, as though he were speaking down to an overly emotional child. “I can assure you that all the characters in my wife’s novel were fabricated. And if you saw yourself in one of the less attractive personages, then I’d venture to say that such is simply a reflection of your own self-image.”

The whispers around them grew, and Cavender sputtered for a moment, clearly caught off guard by the easy taunt. But his surprise only lasted a moment before he hardened once more.

A man with a petty vendetta did not often allow himself to be diverted.

His eyes flickered to Penelope before they returned to Colin and he sneered. “You realize that she’s made you out to be an ass, don’t you? You can act high and mighty, Bridgerton, but the wife you so proudly boast has fashioned you into the biggest fool in all of London.”

It was at this jab that Penelope frowned, feeling her own prickle of anger. And for the first time in the nasty exchange, she turned directly to their shared foe, a hard, determined look set on her face. “Excuse me, Mr. Cavender, but I must ask that you don’t speak to my husband that way.”

She could almost see his eyes flash in fury as they set themselves on her. But before he could give the biting retort that was no doubt resting on his tongue-

“And I’d suggest that you consult a dictionary to properly understand the concept of fiction.” Colin’s tone was relaxed, just a sprinkle of mocking mixed into it. But Penelope could feel the tension in him, the protective edge that mirrored her own.

Cavender’s gaze shifted back to Colin, his rage appearing a bit more controlled as they listened to the snickering that surrounded them. Slowly, his mouth thinned into a tight line, and he took a step closer to the couple. By instinct, Colin angled himself in front of Penelope as her grip on his hand tightened.

He was just a few feet away from them when he finally spoke, a voice so low that it was barely audible over the murmurs. “And I’d recommend that you consider taking yourself and that bitch of a wife,” his eyes darted to Penelope for a moment, “out of town.”

And it was this comment that wiped the smile completely off of Colin’s face, along with any attempt of levity.

It was as if a chill had passed over, one that was both icy and burning at the same time. He stiffened like a board, a wave of unmistakable anger coming over him. And when his words came, they were low and even, colder than anyone had ever thought possible from Colin Bridgerton.

“You would do well to avoid threatening my family, Cavender.”

Though there was a slight tinge of red on his face, Phillip Cavender did not retreat. Instead, he took another step forward. “And why is that, Bridgerton?”

Penelope could see the muscles in Colin’s jaw moving from where she was angled, could practically feel the heat radiating off of his body. She’d seen him angry before, furious even, but this was different. This was so much more.

She wasn’t frightened, not by Colin nor by the man standing across from them. Fright was not why she wanted this to stop.

She didn’t want her husband’s anger to be made into a form of entertainment at a party. For him to have to serve the role of gallant protector whenever she upset someone. So, she attempted to silently will him to calm down, running a featherlight thumb across the surface of his hand.

But Colin wanted to finish what they’d started and instead let go of her and took his own step forward, almost shielding her completely.

“I think we all know that I have more than enough relatives to run you out of town,” he said, eyes locked on Cavender.

There was a flash of worry that crossed his face, but it was quickly forced away by a snort. “Is that meant to scare me? The threat of a duke and a viscount?”

Colin didn’t falter. Instead, his head tilted as he considered the man, considered the shaking fingers and the smell of alcohol on his breath. He’d never been a violent man by nature, even having grown up with two older brothers. He preferred words when he fought, and they almost always gave him his victories. He wasn’t opposed to physical repercussions, but he knew that a private gathering was not the place or time.

He looked Cavender directly in the eyes, speaking in a low, clear voice. “I will ensure that you are ruined, that is a promise.”

And because he couldn’t help himself, “And if that is not enough, be rest assured that we will do worse. My only qualm in doing it myself is that my brother would be disappointed he wasn’t able to help.”

There was a silence in the room that followed as Cavender glowered at him. His eyes darkened in fury as his face reddened, trying to figure out how far Colin could really go.

But there was something in Colin’s threat that didn’t allow for any consideration that he might have been exaggerating. Perhaps it was the definitive and resolute tone in his voice, or the strength behind his gaze, or the tight set of his jaw.

Or perhaps it was because Colin Bridgerton wasn’t the type to quicken to anger. Wasn’t the type to have a temper or even hint at unpleasantry.

Whatever it was, it made Cavender finally break eye contact and step back. He turned away, taking another large swig of port.

Colin could hear the pounding in his ears as he looked at the pathetic man, anger still coursing through him. But then he felt a warm hand lace through his, and the red glare of the world began melting away. Penelope was whispering something, her voice calm and soothing. He squeezed her hand in understanding but kept his gaze on Cavender.

There was a familiar casualness when Colin spoke this time, but it was threaded with venom. “Do not forget what I’ve said.”

And with that, he turned to his wife and pressed a kiss into her hair.

“Good night,” Penelope nodded to the remainder of the crowd, who finally had the decency to look away.

A few minutes later, when they were finally in a carriage returning to their home, Penelope sighed. With her eyes glued to her skirts, she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Colin.”

He looked at her thoughtfully, taking in a deep inhale of breath.

He’d been scared after the reveal of her identity, terrified even. There were evenings where he’d lie awake in bed and imagine all of the awful things that could happen to the person who was his entire world. And though they never spoke of such worries aloud, he knew that she was just as aware as he was.

Italy had been like taking a deep breath after being underwater for too long. There, no one cared or knew, and the only threat they faced was the harsh sun.

And then Penelope was pregnant, and a new light was added to his life, one that shifted his fears elsewhere.

Then they became a family of three, and Colin was thrilled. He still worried, of course, but his joy outweighed everything else.

Old wounds had been reopened in the recent weeks, that was for certain. But it did not mean that he blamed Penelope for them.

So, Colin pulled her into his side and tucked her head under his chin. “You have nothing to apologize for. We both agreed that you did the right thing.”

For a few moments, she said nothing, just listened to the sound of his heartbeat and the wheels on cobblestones. And though he couldn’t see her, Colin could sense in the silence that she was crying. Wordlessly, he handed her a handkerchief.

Penelope dabbed at her eyes a few times before leaning back to look at him. “I didn’t want to force you into this position.”

He smiled and lifted a hand to stroke her cheek, feeling the familiar warmth of her skin. “I watch you every day with nothing but awe, Penelope. I love you, I’m proud of you. And I will gladly stand by you through anything.”

Her eyes moved slowly as they crossed his face, searching for any hesitance. There was none, not even a hint of resistance.

Instead, there was so much love that it overwhelmed her, struck her with the same shock that it had years before. It was a love that mirrored her own, a fierce desire to protect and support another with as much reverence as one did for themself. It was one that never faltered even in the most difficult of times.

Her eyes were glossy when her hand reached up to meet his, and the smile on her lips was weak but true. “I love you so much. And I can’t believe that I’ve become so lucky in my life to have you by my side.”

And with that, they settled into their drive home, sharing whispered conversations and watery chuckles.

They still had a long road ahead of them, of that they were sure. But they knew that they would cross it together.

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softomi · 4 years

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happier

lyric prompt: then only for a minute, I want to change my mind, cause this just don’t feel right to me.

song: Happier (Stripped) by Marshmello and Bastille

pairings: oikawa x reader, osamu x reader

general taglist: @graykageyama

special mentions: @peachysatoru

Thank you for calling Engineering The Mind, please listen to the following options and select the option that applies to you. press one if you are inquiring our Love services, press two if you are inquiring our Mental Health services, press three if you are inquiring our Synaptic Pruning services, please stay on the line for a representative to assist you.

You’ve pressed three, please stay on the line and one of our representatives will be with you shortly.

“Good morning and thank you for choosing our Synaptic Pruning service, could I get your name and date of birth?”

“Actually, I have a question?”

“Yes?”

“If I wanted to erase someone from my memory, am I able to do that?”

“Yes! As long as there is consent from both parties.”

“But can I do it myself?”

“Unfortunately, the procedure requires both parties to consent and participate, the new law states it is considered illegal to synaptically prune another person from your memory without the other party’s consent.”

“Is there a way I can notify the person without personally contacting them?”

“Of course, as long as you know their name, date of birth, and social, then we can reach out to the other party to inform them that you have started the forms for a synaptic pruning procedure and they will have 30 days from the day of their notification to begin their forms.”

“What happens if they reject?”

“If the other party rejects, then unfortunately we cannot move forward with the procedure.”

“Okay. I’d like to start a form and have them be notified.”

“Perfect, let me just quickly get the information of the other party. What is their relationship to you?”

“Ex-husband.”

“Name of the other party?”

“Oikawa Tooru.”

His luggage drags against the airport’s floor, the sunglasses on his face protects against the amount of camera flashes. Oikawa waves to the cameras, waving to fans, momentarily stopping to take in the bustling Japan airport. Home felt so distant for him.

“Is it true you’re here for a procedure?” A reporter is walking alongside him.

Oikawa merely smiles, “No. I’m just here on vacation, I missed Japan so much, the last time I was here I wasn’t able to do many of the things I wanted to. I’d appreciate it if I am treated as any other citizen.”

“There’s rumors that you’re in Japan to possibly be scouted for one of the Japanese teams, care to explain?”

Oikawa stops, staring directly at the camera, “Like I said, I’m here on vacation and on my own dime. I’m here to attend a wedding of a very close friend and have no plans on looking into other teams, but I can assure you, I plan on playing for the Argentinian team for as long as I can.”

“Do you think your previous injury will affect your current position on the Argentinian national team?”

Another reporter manages to squeeze in, “It’s been almost a year since your injury, are you considering retiring your number if your injury doesn’t improve?”

Oikawa laughs. The television screen cuts off. He’s been in Japan for almost a week now, at least that’s all you know of since he had texted you once he had arrived. From what you can gather through social media, he wasn’t in town. He was frolicking through his childhood neighborhood, meeting friends and family who haven’t seen him since the Olympics.

It’s early morning in your home, the sheets hug you with warmth, you’ve been awake for some time and if you were honest, you didn’t think you slept at all. Ever since he’s stepped foot back into the country, you haven’t been able to sleep properly.

The head on your chest stirs and the male’s breathing falls steady back into slumber. His body is entangled with yours, body weight practically all on top of you, and his breathing brings a sense of dread in you for a moment. It feels similar to him.

You lift your arms, holding out your hands in front of you to gaze at the small diamond. It’s tucked between your pinkie and middle finger, it’s bright and beautiful just like he was promising your future with him would be.

He, your current lover; the man you absolutely loved and adored. The man who spent the last five years keeping you sane.

“Osamu.” Your fingers tugged his hair lightly, “It’s time to wake up.”

“Five more minutes.” He tightens his grip around your waist, “I just want five more minutes with you.”

Your finger drags along his spine, “You say that every morning.” You slap your palm on his back and he groans, “You have to open the restaurant soon.”

He hums, eyes blinking, trying to adjust to the darkness. It’s too early in the morning, “You’re going in for a check up today?”

Your fingers that play with his hair stops, “Yes.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

It was your decision, something Osamu had reminded you a hundred times. The decision to try and erase someone from your memory; he always found it to be a hard pill to swallow. But it was something you thought about a million times, it kept you awake at night, and even when you called a few weeks ago to start the process, it felt surreal.

Osamu lifts himself, leaning on his forearm to peer down at you, his beautiful bride to be, “I can still close the shop and come with you.”

He was an absolute sweetheart, “I told you I’ll be fine. And you can’t close the restaurant every time I go to the hospital?”

He brings his lips to meet yours, “Is that a challenge?”

You laugh against his kiss, “Go get ready or else.”

“Or else what?” He straddles your legs, pressing kisses on your neck to your chest. His fingers ride up his shirt you’ve declared yours, pressing his lips along your abdomen, “Good morning.”

“Call me if anything happens.” Osamu presses a chaste kiss to your lips at the doorway, “I like you.”

Your lips are in a grin, “and I like you too.”

The door shuts behind him and you’re left alone with your thoughts. If you were correct, you’d be seeing him again. Oikawa should be meeting you at the hospital. You’ve texted him a reminder. It’s marked as read; he doesn’t bother to respond.

The sound of a buzzer makes you jump, it draws you to the look at the video cam that views the front gates. You’re grinning thinking Osamu has forgotten something, but the smile gets wiped off when it’s him. Oikawa Tooru is standing at the gates of your home.

“What are you doing here?” You speak into the microphone.

Oikawa seems to have discovered the camera, “Can’t visit anymore? I thought we could catch up.”

What reason would there be to catch up? If everything goes smoothly, you’ll be without a thought of him in the next few days. You’re reluctant to let him in, you want to tell him to go away, but you’d have to meet him later any way. The gates buzz open and Oikawa enters the front yard of the home.

It’s exactly the same to him, after all, this was his and your home first. The Oikawa residence. He bought the house without your knowledge, saved up as much of his paychecks could get him.

“May I come in?” Oikawa smiles upon seeing you.

You’re holding the front door, still small as ever, like you were guarding the home with your life, “Yes.” Your voice is tiny, giving him room to enter the house.

Oikawa takes in the smell of the place, still the same, still has your scent and he concludes you’re probably still lighting the same scented candles he liked. He wonders if he should be flattered by the information.

“Do you want something to drink?” You inquire, pulling out a mug to pour yourself water and another mug for whatever Oikawa wanted, “Peach tea?”

It was his favorite; you can remember it as clear as day. He’d drink it breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He said it paired nicely with the milk bread and he called it sweet; just like you. You shake the memory as you pour the hot water.

There was nothing but awkwardness between the both of you. You’ve distracted yourself with your morning routine and Oikawa silently sits. If he’s going to fantasize for a second, he’s pretending you’re still his wife. Shamelessly daydreaming like you were his.

“We have to be at the hospital by noon.” You say without looking at him, your head dipping back as you slip the pills into your mouth.

“Sounds good to me.” Oikawa taps his fingers against the dining table.

It brings back memories of dinner with you, on days when he would be able to find a week off practice to see you. You’d eat with him until two in the morning, trying to squeeze in as much time with him as possible before he hopped on a plane back to Argentina, and he would pretend as if he didn’t hear you crying while washing the dishes.

“So how have you been?” Oikawa asks innocently.

You drink the rest of your water, a simple nod of your head, “Fine.” Your gaze falls briefly on his knee, “And you?”

Oikawa instinctively puts a hand over his knee as if that could hide the ache, “Fine too.”

Yet Oikawa and you know, everything was far from fine. It was the same way towards the end of the marriage, communication was blurred, there was too many missed connections, and the only news you’d get of Oikawa was from the sports channels.

“Do you still work at the public library?”

You tilt your head at him, “You mean the university library? When I was doing work study?”

“Oh.” Oikawa rubs the back of his neck, “Guess you’re not”. He’s trying to think why it feels so hard to talk to you again, “How are your parents?”

You freeze and he realizes his mistake. He remembers the arguments, the sadness of the conversations, the way your parents loathed him for proposing so early. Oikawa married you fresh out of high school, he promised you happiness and yet towards the end of the marriage, he shattered your heart.

“They’re great!” You smile, “They really love my fiancé.”

You were purposely trying to hurt him.

“What’s he like?” Oikawa was curious or was he jealous?

“What do you want Tooru?” Your voice is sharp as you set down your mug, “Why are you here?” You know him too well, he doesn’t do things just because; he always has a motive, “Are you here to try and stop me? I want to move on.”

“Then why can’t you do it yourself? Why do you feel like you need to erase me?” Oikawa, he was sad. He had never felt more crushed than when he had received the phone call; you were requesting to remove him from your mind and he’d only accepted to see you again. He wanted you to look him in the face, feel the hurt that he had, “Did you not think of my feelings?”

“No, you didn’t think of mine when you naturalized as an Argentinian citizen.”

It was always the same argument, Oikawa stares at you, it wasn’t that different from years ago. When he blinks, he’s transported to seven years ago. Your eyes red as you looked at him, the fighting was reaching two hours and the bags in Oikawa’s hands signals he’d be leaving for another few month. But this day was different, the fight was wearing you down, especially when you read news of Oikawa becoming a naturalized citizen. Oikawa blinks and he’s back to the sun lit room.

“This isn’t how you move on from a relationship?” Oikawa says, “It takes time.” Time was seven years, since the divorce seven years of broken hearts have passed. Oikawa knows deep down that you still loved him and he knows in his heart that he wants to ask you to run away with him, “You know that this is wrong.”

“But it’s my choice.”

Oikawa’s eyes begin to water, “And you’re making me choose too?” Tears fall from his cheek, “It’s your choice but you’re forcing me to choose also.” His chest becomes heavy, “Please don’t do this.” He openly sobbing in front of you, “I don’t want to stop.” His wail makes your heart clench, “I don’t want to forget what it was like to love you.”

“Tooru.”

“I don’t care.” Oikawa blubbers, “I’m not going to do it.” A pit grows in your stomach, “All I ever did was love you.”

Your eyes glossy, it was like you were going back to the worst nights of your life, “You stopped caring about me.”

“No, I didn’t!” Oikawa stands, “I never stopped. I was doing everything for you!” He was a tearful mess in front of you, “You left me! You abandoned me!”

“You can’t say that when you were halfway across the world!”

“For you!” Oikawa screams, “If you had waited one more year, I could have brought you over.”

You wipe the tears from your face, a sigh on your lips, “Why didn’t you just ask me to go with you in the first place?”

It was always the question that nipped at you. When he was confronted with the opportunity of staying in Japan or joining an Argentinian team, he never hesitated and you waited for him to ask you to go with him; but he left you behind with the house, sending money every two weeks like you were an afterthought.

“It was complicated.” Oikawa’s eyes soften, “I just, I didn’t want you to leave behind your life here. Your friends, your family. You would have had to quit school to come with me, to a place where you didn’t know the language or the place, and with me practicing, you would have no one.”

You shake your head, “No. You were worried about yourself. You made the decision to leave me behind without a second thought because you wanted to focus on volleyball and where has that gotten you; injured.”

Maybe that was why you wanted so badly to erase him from your memories, you still clung to the thoughts of him. Still stayed updated on his life, still worried about his health, still wondering on the what ifs with him. What if you had just left with him? What if you hadn’t gotten married to him? What if you weren’t so hopelessly still in love with him?

“Just let me be happy.” You whisper, “Just let me forget I was ever in love with you.”

The ride to the hospital ached. The cab silent and melancholy. It was only a consultation and yet it already felt like the end of everything. The waiting area didn’t make it any better, the air was thick with tension from other couples. Oikawa’s status had the two of you placed priority and it didn’t take long for a doctor to come into the room.

“I would like to inform you that we use the term ‘erasing memory’ loosely. Our procedure merely detaches you from the other party. You’ll still have the memories, but you won’t feel anything, and you won’t remember them as much as you might today.” The doctor hands you and Oikawa separate forms, “If you both sign the consent forms, we can schedule the procedure as soon as possible.”

The pen in Oikawa’s hands hover over the signature line, he can hear you scribbling against the paper and his heart is shattering. Sloppily, he signs his name on the line.

“Sorry, I forgot to ask.” You look at the doctor, “Is the procedure safe for pregnant women?”

Oikawa’s world crumbles.

“The procedure is set for tomorrow morning.” The receptionist is talking.

You smile, “Perfect, thank you.”

She prints out two different instructions for you and Oikawa to prepare for the procedure. You overlook the instructions, no longer sparing a glance to Oikawa as you walk away.

“Hey.” The voice makes your head snap up. Your fiancé walking towards you.

Instinctively, your arms wrap around his neck, “What are you doing here?”

Osamu presses a kiss to your temple, “I came to pick you up.” He looks over your shoulder, spotting the man he knows too well from various photos, “Hi.” He reaches out to Oikawa, “I’m Miya Osamu.”

Oikawa grips Osamu’s hand, “ Oikawa Tooru. It’s nice to meet you.” Oikawa says bitterly.

Osamu’s hand rests on your hip, in a matter of seconds, he’s leading you away and Oikawa is left to stand all alone.

The night is restless. It’s instructed that you and Oikawa get a good night’s rest, but who can rest soundly the night before a procedure. You sitt on the edge of your bed, your fiancé sleeping soundly, and you stare at the moon. You play with the ring on your finger and a tear lands on the back of your hand. You suck in a heavy breath, trying to quell the sound of sobs.

Oikawa sits knees to his chest on the couch of Iwaizumi’s who was gracious enough to let him stay at his place. The moon is bright, and it shines a spotlight on Oikawa. His eyes are tired, but he stares at the screen of his cell phone, finger swiping continuously through the photo album. Your smiles reflect in his eyes and even when Iwaizumi snags the cell phone from him; Oikawa looks up at him bawling.

Six in the morning, you’re sitting on a hospital bed, Oikawa laid next to you. The silence is deafening.

“I hope you know.” Oikawa whispers, “I’m very happy for you.”

You look at him, taking in what might be the last time you feel love for him, “I love you.”

Oikawa smiles, “No you don’t,” He’s tricking himself, believing that you loathed him, that this was the better option for you, “but I love you too.”

They say, the longer the relationship, the longer the procedure takes. Similarly, the more you loved, the harder it was to subdue the memories. It required patients to stay awake, to go through every little detail, to talk about everything from the beginning to the end.

Your fingers were initially interlocked with his, something to help the anxiousness, or was it to cling to him for a moment.

“I met you when you came to cheer on the volleyball team in high school.” Oikawa stares at the white ceiling, he hears the machinery, the typing of a computer, “You looked so pretty.” The memory becomes hazy.

“He kissed me on the school’s rooftop.” Your lips curved in a smile, “He kept asking me if it was alright.” Your smile slowly falls to a thin line, “I suddenly can’t remember what I said back.”

“It took me a week to find the perfect ring.”

You laugh, “You got impatient, proposed with a paper ring on the school’s rooftop after we snuck into the school after dark.”

It feels empty, your heart feels a weight lifted. Your fingers slowly let go of Oikawa’s. He begins to weep.

“Why are you crying?” You ask.

He sniffles, “Was that the last time you felt happy with me?”

“No.” Your voice soft, “I was always happy when you came home.” There’s another weight off your heart, “You always came in running, always excited to see me. Sometimes, when the front door opens, I think it’s going to be you.” You’re hit with relief.

Four weeks pass in a blur. You honestly don’t remember much of the week after the procedure, but you stare at your loving fiancé. A hearty giggle on your lips as you move to straddle him on the bed. Your palms are squishing his cheeks and Osamu is chuckling. His hand resting on your small baby bump.

“We’re getting married!” You’re kissing him, excitedly jumping on him as though you weren’t knocking the wind out of him.

“Alright.” Osamu sits up, lips stealing your breath away, “by the end of the day, you’ll be Mrs. Miya.”

You laugh into the kiss, “I can’t wait.”

The wedding venue is bustling, everyone is itching to take a picture with the bride and groom. You’re grinning widely at the way Osamu bickers with his brother, the photographer taking photos despite the twins poking at each other.

“May we take a picture with the bride?”

Your smile grows; four men dressed in their best suits approach, “Is this a high school reunion?”

One man lingers briefly behind, your husband presses a hand to the small of your back before leaving. Oikawa takes over the place of your spouse.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Oikawa tilts his head with a beam.

You roll your eyes, “At my own wedding.”

His voice falls to a whisper, “Are you happy?”

Your eyes stare in the direction of your husband and you nod, “Yes.” When you look at Oikawa, there’s a small tug in your heart, it’s tiny enough that it disappears within moments, “Thank you.”

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #oikawa #oikawa scenarios #oikawa tooru #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu angst #hq #hq scenarios #hq oikawa

361 notes · View notes

punkpoemprose · 3 years

Text

A Convenient Arrangement Part 10

Universe: Canonverse Arranged Marriage AU Rating:T Length: 8805 Words A/N: Long chapter-- distance makes the heart grow fonder, fluffy date time, questions answered, and Kristoff definitely finds his wife attractive.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9]

The week was a long one. They both would agree when or if asked, but if it wasn’t related to festival plans, no one was asking either one of them anything. When they rose in the morning, they scarcely had time to greet each other in the hall or over breakfast before knocks at the door would pull them each their own way.

Kristoff spent most of his days with Kai, learning all that he could about royal manners, the history of the kingdom, peerage, and the other pertinent information and skills required of a prince consort. He’d be the first to admit it, most of it went over his head. Sometimes when Kai spoke to him he thought that he understood the words well enough individually, but when they were strung together as they were, they may as well have been in French.

He really had no real interest in knowing whether it was more appropriate to bow or be bowed to when he met other members of the aristocracy which he was now technically a part of. He was doing his best to absorb what he could for Anna’s sake. He hated the idea that his lack of knowledge would reflect poorly on her because at the end of the day, even barely seeing her for a week, he cared deeply for her. He knew that part of making their marriage work was putting the effort in to understand her world.

When the lessons ended for the day, he would sometimes, but not always, have dinner with her. It felt like a small blessing to just be in her space since the announcement of the festival celebrating their engagement. He thought that it might be prudent to spend more time with her given that they were meant to at least appear a happy and doting couple to the public, but that detail seemed to be moot to whoever had decided to plan their days apart.

He supposed that he would seem in love with her regardless because he did have a fondness for her. He was beginning to understand the meaning of “distance makes the heart grow fonder” with each passing day. Every time they managed to dine together, he could often barely calm the racing of his heart while watching her enter the dining room, watching her sit across from him, close enough to look, but not to touch.

She’d ask him about what he had done each day and would share, in return, the plans she’d been making with her sister and the staff for the festival. He’d watch her carefully as they dined, noting the exhaustion in her posture that kept them from discussing much of anything past that. It was usually his only interaction with her each day, and it was always entirely too short.

Every night since the start of their overscheduled days, he’d slept in his room alone. Anna was usually needed elsewhere after dinner, attending to decisions and meetings that had been pushed late into the night. Sometimes she was being stolen for a fitting for her festival gown, other times decoration choices, and at least once she’d been taken for a chocolate tasting. That at least seemed to be the least objectionable way for her to spend her evenings of the lot. Each night he’d waited for her to return in vain, and each night he’d eventually headed to bed alone.

It had become strangely lonely to climb into his bed at the end of each day, knowing that she would do the same on the opposite side of their shared door. He’d slept alone for his entire life, but after only a few nights with Anna in his arms, he hated the way it felt to lay in the large empty bed without her. Some nights he would stay awake a short while, expecting to hear her knock or laying there wondering if she wanted him to knock. He’d never heard her knock though, he’d just hear the opening of her door, the soft thuds of drawers and doors as she prepared for bed, and then silence.

From across the room, the small chest he stored his things in would taunt him with the memory of something she’d said just a few days before. A crystal sat amongst his belongings, untouched, waiting for him to work up the courage to remove it from its wrappings.

It would make things so much simpler.

Or infinitely more complicated.

He’d fall asleep like that, wondering whether he should knock, whether he should bring her the gem, whether he should just let things be, or whether he should just go spend the night in the stables with Sven and his worries.

At least then I’d have someone to talk to. I don’t even care that he doesn’t speak back.

He slept in his bed each night, and when he woke each morning, he’d feel like he’d barely slept. By the end of the week, he could see the bags under his eyes when he shaved. Only two weeks living in the lap of luxury and it was already exacting a price from him.

At this rate I’ll be grey in a month.

When the knock came again, he sighed, cleaned the remaining soap from his face and shouted for the knocker to enter. He assumed that Kai was arriving with another of his famously packed schedules. While Kristoff rather liked the man, he’d begun to dread his morning arrival. He’d lived his entire life unscheduled, never bothering to pay much attention to the calendar or clock, and he wasn’t particularly thrilled by the concept of time being his master instead of he being the master of it.

The door swung open behind him with only a light sound of protest from the hinges that were still getting used to the room having an occupant. It had been unoccupied for many years, and the door seemed to have enjoyed its time off as even oiling it hadn’t stopped its protest. The soft click of its closure came immediately after, and Kristoff awaited the address from Kai that didn’t come.

There was, instead, a soft clicking of heeled shoes on the wood floor behind him as he wiped the water from his face. He didn’t think much of it or course, not until he heard another familiar voice that made his heart race.

“Kristoff?”

Anna’s voice startled him. Of course, they usually had a quick morning conversation over breakfast, but she hadn’t been in his room, nor he in hers, in a week. He turned to see her, red faced and staring at his chest.

She looked tired as well and there was a sort of tearfulness to her eye that made him nervous. She clearly hadn’t been sleeping well, and he wondered if she had been upset by something. He could admit to being a little more emotional than usual when he was tired, so he could relate, but he couldn’t quite read what was going on with Anna as she stared at him.

He tossed the towel aside. His hair, which he had been about to comb, was still wet and he could feel rivulets of water dripping down his back and over his chest. Despite the warmth of the sun through his window, he felt cool, hairs standing up on his arms as he closed the space between them in long strides.

As he approached, she was still staring at him, her face flushed, and her lips parted slightly as if she were about to say something. She said nothing though, and he started to understand her expression a bit better. There was exhaustion there of course, but it was only serving to exacerbate the absolute frazzled countenance and posture she was currently performing.

It made him relax a bit. She didn’t look upset per say and he did know that his wife was not a morning person. He also had the sneaking suspicion that there was a small tinge of embarrassment in her eye and that it could explain the flush on her cheeks.

She blinked after a moment and looked up from his chest to meet his eye. He started to get the sense from as quickly as she looked away and to the floor that he understood.

Embarrassment.

It was a feeling that he had become remarkably familiar with in the last couple weeks. He’d spent years of his life half or completely naked in the woods, not knowing what it was like to worry about how he looked or sounded, but the castle was quickly making him aware of just how embarrassed he should be about, well, everything.

It was a feeling that he wasn’t particularly fond of in any way shape or form, but it was something he was getting used to. There was something at least a little bit reassuring in being comfortable with discomfort, knowing it was part of the process. Kai had been kind enough to show him that in their lessons, telling him that he was in the perfect position to always act as if he’d done nothing wrong even when he slipped up, and that if he didn’t react it didn’t give anyone else the room to do so either.

“I’m…” she started to stretch her hand out, reaching for him like she was going to press her palm into his chest.

He didn’t back away or shift from her reach, but her hand fell anyway.

“Sorry. I’m… I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting you to be… well that is… I didn’t know you were still getting ready. I’ll, oh gosh. I’ll leave.”

It all clicked into place then, and Kristoff couldn’t help but feel oddly amused. He felt a smile creeping to his face, completely unbidden, for the first time in a long while. He shook his head.

“No, you’re fine. I just finished up. I just need to put a shirt on and comb my hair. Did you need something?”

She seemed to collect herself somewhat as he responded. He watched as she nodded in return, still flushing, but focusing a bit more on making eye contact with him despite it.

“I thought that we could, um, skip the meetings today? I had Kai clear your schedule. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought it would be nice to just get out for the day.”

Her voice went soft when she added, quietly, “I’ve missed you.”

He felt like she’d just handed him the most perfect gift he’d ever received. There was nothing he could imagine ever wanting more than spending time away from the castle with her. There was no greater gift than a break from the frustrating monotony of lessons with the built-in bonus of having her at his side.

“I’ve missed you too.”

He turned from her for a moment, crossing the room back to his dressing table. It was a motion with a twofold intention, allowing her to flush again without the scrutiny of his eye, and allowing him to dress and get ready as soon as possible. He could all but feel her relax behind him once his shirt was on, and it almost made him chuckle.

He remembered her sleeping against his bare chest, her face smushed against him as she slept in the most ridiculous and endearing way possible. It was a happy and sad memory, still fresh in his thoughts from how recent it had been. He’d enjoyed feeling her against him, but still remembered what it had felt like to have her shaking, crying into his shirt just before they slept. He pondered why seeing him without a shirt in the light of day was somehow more blush-worthy but decided that he’d rather not dig too deep into it. He’d be happy if they saw a day where she wasn’t embarrassed around him at all. She had no reason to be.

“You look nice,” she said after a short time.

He’d felt her eyes on him as he’d finished readying himself for the day. He walked over to her, tying his sash around his waist as he went.

He hadn’t been convinced by Kai to change his style of dress, and he had been grateful that the man hadn’t really tried to convince him to do so at all. As a result of this, he was told that he had more clothes coming to him than he’d ever owned before, and that they would be in finer fabrics than he’d ever ben about to afford. He was grateful though that they would mostly mimic the styles he’d always worn, and that they would fit. He couldn’t ask for a better outcome to his tailoring situation than that.

He would have locked himself in the palace’s dungeon before he would have worn all the frills and layers of other men of station. He understood the need for a good suit but would never quite be on board with lace. He evidently had a set of formalwear arriving soon, and while he wasn’t particularly excited about it, he had been promised that his daily wear would not be nearly so embellished and that what he had coming was downright innocuous compared to the season’s fashions. Kai had called it “timeless” and he hoped that what he meant by that was “simple”.

Anna seemed cautious when she walked to his side after offering the compliment. Kristoff held his breath when she reached out a hand and gently smoothed a wrinkle in the front of his shirt with her palm.

Having her hands on him always felt good. There was no denying the fact that he enjoyed her attentions, and he couldn’t help but grin when her touch lingered a little longer than strictly necessary. He’d been longing to see her for days, to hold her hand, to even stand near her side.

“Thank you,” he said quietly after he allowed himself to breathe again.

He turned his attention to what she wore. It was perhaps the simplest dress he’d ever seen her wear, save of course for her nightgowns. It was dark green with some small embroidered details around the neck. It looked a bit like little flowers and birds, though he didn’t dare dip his head down towards her neck to investigate further. He didn’t think he could keep himself from pressing a kiss to her neck if he did. Even without further inspection, the fabric seemed light, like if he touched her waist while she wore it, she might be able to feel the roughness of his fingers through it.

“You look beautiful.”

She grinned at the compliment and he couldn’t help but feel grateful that she was happy to hear such a thing from him of all people.

“Thank you.”

He watched as she laced her fingers together behind her back and fidgeted a bit. Her nervousness came through when she spoke again.

“Since we’re going out I didn’t want to wear anything that would draw too much attention. I’m glad you still like it.”

He almost laughed, but held the reaction in. He wondered how she could ever be nervous about her appearance, as if she weren’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. As if he wouldn’t have thought that she was gorgeous even if they weren’t married. As if every man with eyes in a mile wouldn’t notice her even if she wore rags.

“I’ve told you before Anna, you’ll still turn heads. It has nothing to do with what you wear.”

He meant it, and he was rewarded by a shy smile and the unlacing of her fingers from each other, only to slip between his. The way his heart raced from her simply holding his hand made his face red.

Does she know how easily I’d fall apart for her?

He had to chase the thought away. He had to focus on the moment they were in before he said something he shouldn’t, something they weren’t ready for yet.

“So,” he asked, “What are we doing today?”

She shrugged a bit, then started to pull him toward the door to the hallway with her. He didn’t resist, letting himself be tugged along at her mercy.

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

Every time she smiled, with every moment he spent holding her hand, he fell in love a bit deeper.

***

Anna’s morning had, thus far, not gone according to plan. Of course, there had barely been a plan to begin with, but blushing like a schoolgirl over seeing her husband shirtless and having her sister find out about her intentions to leave the castle weren’t exactly indicative of what it was that she’d had in mind.

As a consequence of the latter unplanned component of her day, she now found herself and her fortunately-and-unfortunately-fully-dressed husband being followed by a royal guard in full uniform. She felt like she was thirteen, being chaperoned on a date instead of being an adult woman out on a walk with her husband.

It’s not like I’m planning to snog him in the middle of the market.

Then a more judicious thought.

Of course, I didn’t plan a lot of things that have been happening lately.

She shook it off and instead focused on her recollection of her conversation with her sister.

“There’s still some unrest amongst the people Anna, what would you do if someone decided to take their anxiety out on you?”

She’d wanted to respond in several ways, most of which were incredibly sarcastic, but the forerunners had been each unique in their ability to elicit a response from her sister.

I would survive. You’ve taken your anxieties out on me twice.

From Elsa: Sadness.

I would fight them.

From Elsa: Long suffering exhaustion.

I would let my incredibly big and strong husband take care of it for me while I ogle him from the sidelines because while I love to fight my own battles, I also think it would be nice to watch him fight someone for me so I could watch those biceps flex.

Embarrassment on both of their parts.

Anna had, in the last week of barely seeing him but at meals and in passing, taken a particular interest in her husband’s physique. The morning’s events were not even close to the first time she’d looked at him and thought about what it would be like to be in his arms again, to have his large hands spanning her waist, lifting her off her feet and up closer to him.

So close that we could kiss.

She’d been longing for his touch since the first night she’d slept along. All week, once she managed to slip into a fitful sleep, she’d dreamt of him kissing her. She could still remember how real it had felt in her sleep, not that she knew what it would really feel like. They’d kissed at their wedding, her first and only “real” kiss, but the sort of deep, attentive kiss she’d received from him in her dream was something she’d never experienced.

I want to. I desperately want to.

They were in the residential district of the city. The cobbles of the path were fairly worn, but even below her feet. There were places here and there that she was already mentally noting needed improvement. A few lamps had cracked glass that likely made them unreliable on breezy evenings, some places in the road were low and held water that didn’t drain off easily. She would tell Elsa and ensure that a more formal investigation of the city and national infrastructure was eventually made. Personally, she thought that such a thing might be the better way to improve public opinion of the monarchy than a grand display of power and wealth, but she couldn’t pretend that her wedding hadn’t improved things.

Every now and then as they walked, she’d catch someone looking at her twice. Most people were away from home, working or learning at school, but a few people were home or in the area. Older people and young mothers mostly looked at her with recognition, and she did her best to give them a shy smile without giving the indication that she was available to stop and chat. It was a delicate dance. She liked to speak with her people, of course, but she truly just wanted to spend some time with her husband. One tagalong is already bad enough.

She’d wanted to go to the market. She’d thought it might be enjoyable to see the wares she’d only watched traded from above, but her unwanted guard had insisted that “her royal highness and her consort refrain from entering any highly trafficked and indefensible zones” which had, essentially made a trip to the market impossible unless she wanted a full guard detail.

That would certainly inspire confidence in the monarchy. Hello peasants, we don’t trust you to not murder our Princess, don’t mind the platoon of men you may or may not know who are, at any moment, prepared to stab you!

She’d all but felt Kristoff rolling his eyes in response to the guard’s words. It was like she sensed the expression he was making at her side before she’d even caught him actually making it.

“It’s just a little further… I think,” she said a bit nervously, squeezing Kristoff’s arm as they walked down the street together.

There were a few specialty shops that weren’t housed in the market district, and while she hadn’t visited any of them in many years, she thought that she’d recalled the location of the shop she was after. Thought, of course was the appropriate term given that nothing looked exactly as it had the last time she’d been in the area. The years had a funny way of changing things, and she hadn’t been to the shop without her mother which was indicative of the time that had passed since she’d seen it last.

Kristoff didn’t seem to mind the somewhat aimless walking they were doing. Anna suspected that if she told him the locations she desired to reach, he’d have an answer for her, but she liked keeping it a secret. It gave some small crumb of fun back to the adventure which had been intended to be more daring before their escort had been assigned.

“I bet you know these streets better than I do,” she said after a few more moments of walking, giving voice to her thoughts.

Mostly she was just endeavoring to break the silence between them. He’d seemed rather thrilled to leave the castle, but he’d been quiet since they left. She had a feeling that their unwelcome follower was making him as uncomfortable as it was making her annoyed.

“Not so much in these side streets,” he replied.

He pulled her ever so slightly right as they walked, helping her to avoid a puddle she hadn’t noticed until he was steering her around it. It was sweet, she thought, that he was saving her shoes from getting damp. She also didn’t mind how easily he’d pulled her even closer to his side with the gesture, putting her even more in his space.

“I do know the market fairly well though. When I sell ice I tend to stay over that way.”

Anna nodded and gave him an appreciative squeeze for the assistance with the puddle. He was absolutely the helpful sort, but somehow she doubted that he advertised himself that way. She got the distinct sense in his interactions with the guards, the staff, and anyone else she’d seen him forced to interact with, that he’d rather be seen as gruff and unapproachable. He wasn’t overly so with her, but she sometimes felt that he acted like a grump when in reality he just felt awkward or uncomfortable.

She tended to talk a lot when she felt the same way. It was something she knew about herself, that she dealt with anxiety with exuberance and self-deprecation. She was trying to get a better handle on it, and now with Kristoff at her side she found that it was easier to lean on him for support when she was feeling out of control. She hoped that he’d find he could do the same with her.

When she noticed the shop she was looking for nestled between two houses to their left she excitedly tugged Kristoff in return. She hadn’t been there in a great many years, but the old building still looked the way she remembered it as a child.

Oaken’s Thrifted Goods, Antiques and Consignments.

She’d traveled there every now and again with her mother who, despite being the Queen of their nation, was practical and more interested in the old than the new. They’d always looked for things there that reminded her mother of her youth, little things that were made by hand that reminded Anna that while few knew it, her mother had been common as well.

She sometimes wished that she had asked more questions of her mother, that she had learned the story of how she’d met her father and how they’d come to be wed. All Anna did know was that Iduna wasn’t born in Arendelle and that she was not royal by blood. There were some records somewhere in the archives about her being given a duchy somewhere in the direction of the hinterlands, and with the suddenness that she’d shown up in her father’s public life, she supposed that everyone must have assumed that she was born noble and had simply spent her whole life in the hills.

Maybe, she thought, Kristoff wouldn’t feel so out of place if he knew that he was not the first consort to Arendelle royalty to have been born common. She wondered if he would take comfort in the fact that the nation’s Queen hadn’t had an ounce of royal blood and that it had been purposeful. Marrying for love was not common for aristocracy, but her parents had done it.

“Oaken’s?”

Kristoff seemed confused, staring at the sign for a moment as if in disbelief.

“Yes?”

Anna stopped short of the door, feeling as confused as he was, her confusion having everything to do with his confusion and nothing to do with the shop before them. She didn’t think that the shop had ever moved. It might have changed hands in the years since she’d been there last, the owner had been an older man so she supposed it was possible that the shop was now run by someone who was not an Oaken. She wondered if that was the point of confusion for him, maybe he thought that the business had been renamed or something.

“There’s an Oaken who owns a trading post up in the mountains. It couldn’t be the same guy, right?”

Anna shrugged; she really couldn’t say for sure. She was glad to understand why he was confused, and she couldn’t help but try to recall whether or not the last name was terribly common.

“Because uh…” he looked back toward the guard, and then back at Anna seeming a little sheepish.

He ducked down and whispered in her ear, “The Oaken I know, he and I occasionally get into arguments over pricing. We’ve mostly worked it out, but I thought you should know in case we walk in and I get the stink eye.”

Anna tried to hold back her laugh, but to no avail.

He gave her an exasperated look when she walked them through the door, turning back to tell the guard he wasn’t needed indoors.

“Yet.”

***

Kristoff was grateful to know that the Oaken inside the shop was not the Oaken he’d recently had some “pricing debates” with. They rarely really argued, but he’d felt on one or two occasions that his arguments with Oaken brought the usually even-tempered man to the point of anger. They’d always sorted it out of course, but he was still waiting for the day that the man would throw him out on his rear over a debate.

No, this Oaken was much older, possibly the father of the man he knew, or some other elderly relative given the similarity of their faces and builds. He seemed similarly even tempered thus far, but perhaps a bit less enthusiastic. He’d been pleasant with Anna of course, recognizing her as the crown Princess and evidently a former customer, but he’d also told them in no unspecific terms that he was too old to help them and that if they had any questions, they should come to him because he was not going to them.

“Isn’t it so neat in here?”

Kristoff couldn’t help but smile as he saw Anna taking in the many items packed into the small building. They were arranged neatly, everything from old steamer trunks and hand-crafted furniture to piles of old keys and shelves of dusty books.

Anna grinned at all of it, openly gazing about the space like it was full of gold instead of second and third hand items. He thought that it was charming in a way, that the practical used items of the people who lived in her kingdom were of interest to her.

“My mother and I used to spend hours here when I was a little girl. She taught me how to sew using old tablecloths we bought here… not that I’m particularly good at it, but I can put a button back on if I need to.”

He couldn’t help but find her excitement at least a little bit contagious as he gazed upon the shelves and tables of items with her. There was something about the well-worn tools and broken in chairs in the space that spoke to him in a way that the fancy spotless trappings of the castle just couldn’t. He’d always been practical, and the items here were nothing if not sensible.

“It’s strange for me to try to imagine a Queen here,” he said, hoping that she took no offense to his saying so.

He was happy when he noticed Anna smiling fondly.

“My mom wasn’t really the royal type… not that she didn’t act like a Queen, because she did. She just never saw the point in waste, and she liked simple things. I have a shawl of hers that she had since she was a girl, a pretty handmade thing that she mended herself. That’s how I usually remember her; warm and pragmatic.”

“I’d probably describe my mom the same way,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet yours.”

Anna looked sad for a moment, but Kristoff could tell that it wasn’t his fault. The space brought it out of her as much as it brought her joy. He knew it was her first time here without her, and he was glad that they were talking about it. He was glad that she’d brought him somewhere so important to her.

“I’m sorry too,” she said before taking a deep breath and adding, “she would have liked you.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he just gave her what he hoped came off as an appreciative smile and squeezed her hand.

When she squeezed back and leaned into this side, for the first time in a week, he felt like he could truly relax.

“I thought we’d look for some things for your room?”

There was a bit of trepidation in her voice that he registered as nerves coming through. He wondered how long they would be nervous when they spoke to each other, how often they’d be walking on glass with one another. He already trusted her, and he desperately wanted to show himself to be worthy of her trust in return. Testing the already tenuous bonds of their fledgling relationship was understandably nerve wracking.

“I don’t really need much… I brought most of my things with me.”

He didn’t want to shut her down. He didn’t want to say no when she clearly wanted to do something with him. He just was unused to the idea of buying things for himself. He usually only bought what he couldn’t make or find himself

She’s trying.

“I… I know, it’s just… I know the room isn’t probably the way you want it to be. I remember your cabin being a lot cozier and I thought that maybe we could find some things here to make it a little more like that. Elsa suggested we get a decorator for you to consult with, but I kind of thought you’d hate that so…”

She let out a sort of nervous laugh and he felt his heart racing in his chest.

She’s been thinking about this. She’s been thinking about you.

“I… I’m not used to buying things… or having things bought for me. It just feels strange I suppose.”

Anna’s fingers slipped from his then, and the loss of contact was immediately distressing until she felt them tentatively shifting up his arm and wrapping around his bicep. She stepped in front of him and gave him a soft smile before pulling him in the direction of the nearby bookshelves that separated the front and back of the shop, forming an archway between them.

Once they had slipped past the shelves, she pulled him into a smaller alcove in the shop filled from floor to ceiling in small, labeled drawers. According to their labels they held everything from furniture hardware to saltshakers and children’s toys. She leaned into him once they were in the space, hiding them away in the already empty shop save for its owner.

“Please,” she said softly.

She wrapped her arms around him and looked up at him. He thought that she looked a bit determined despite the hesitancy she’d shown a few minutes before.

“I know this is all new and strange to you, but I really just… I want to do something for you. Please? I wasn’t even able to get you a wedding gift, and frankly if you’re worried about money… I guess no one told you about my dowry?”

He blinked for a moment, trying to focus on what she was saying when all he could think about was that she was hugging him. A week away from her touch, and only being somewhat familiar with the feeling of having her wrapped around him was taking its toll on his mind. He was already frazzled, just by the way it felt to have her against him again.

He wrapped his arms around her in return and noticed the way she melted into him a little more as he did so. He did his best to catalogue all the ways in which she was making him feel, and he flushed a bit when he realized that the embrace, combined with the doe eyed gaze she was giving him, was causing a very specific sort of reaction in him that he’d thus far been managing in her presence.

His wife was beautiful, he was getting a very good view of her freckled decolletage, and he was very much a man. He could feel his face going red again.

“I’m sorry,” he said a bit nervously realizing he hadn’t really heard what she’d said, “What?”

“I want to get you some things as a wedding gift, but if you’d prefer… I guess no one told you about the dowry, but there’s…” she cleared her throat, seeming embarrassed to be discussing money with him, “there’s a lot there. I think you have an account with the treasury, maybe Kai was going to tell you later, but anyway… you can afford to purchase things on your own if you want… I just, I really wanted to do something for you today. I wanted to do something with you.”

He almost asked about the dowry, the heart attack that revelation gave him being enough to distract him from the line his thoughts had been running in, but he could tell the discussion was making Anna uncomfortable. He didn’t exactly feel like telling her in this fraught moment that he wanted no bride price from her, and that certainly didn’t need the sort of exorbitant amount of money she was implying.

“If you would enjoy it,” he said after a moment, clearing his throat when the words came out a bit muddled, “I’m sure we could find something. You’re right, the room isn’t exactly cozy.”

I can’t tell her that I prefer her room over mine.

She smiled then and leaned her head into his chest. He felt the tension leaving both of their bodies when he pulled her closer.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He pressed a kiss into her hair and reveled in the soft sound she made in return. He longed for the day he’d kiss her properly.

***

Anna had almost felt bad relegating their guard to purchase handling duty.

Almost.

Of course, it hadn’t been his fault that he’d been sent to mettle in her day plans, but she was still a little miffed that he’d prevented her from taking Kristoff into the market to pick out some new things for his room. She knew that it was because Elsa had been the one to insist upon his guarding, but Anna wished that sometimes people were more amenable to bending her sister’s rules. She certainly was herself.

It didn’t matter now though, not when she felt Kristoff’s hand at her back, supporting her on the ladder they’d requested be brought up to his room so that Anna could hang the sage green curtains they’d managed to find at the shop.

He’d laughed at her glee over finding them, and she’d felt genuinely happy to be laughed at. She liked that her enthusiasm brought him joy, and truly she hadn’t felt like she was being laughed at by him. The better term would be that he was laughing with her, and she thought that if it was something that they could do together every day, their marriage would be exactly what she’d always wanted.

All I’ve ever wanted was for someone to love me.

She saw it in his eye when he helped her off the ladder. The joy of sharing the domesticity of the day with her, the spark of something that she might dare call like if not love. She held the joy it brought her in her heart, locked it up tight so that nothing that might occur in the next week leading up to the festival might steal it from her.

“You’re right,” he said warmly, “They do make it feel less…”

“Formal,” she finished.

The curtains were simple, a plain sage green with some small vines at the very top and bottom embroidered in white thread. Had she been any good at it, or had she had the patience for it, she liked to think that it would have been the sort of thing she would have made for him.

He nodded, and she felt his hands linger at her waist even when she was standing back on solid ground.

They’d shared lunch when they’d returned, eating it at the table in his room that was now decorated with a small candle holder she’d found that reminded them both of Sven’s antlers.

“When they bring the high back chairs up from storage, I think that’ll help too. We can have them put by the fireplace.”

She’d insisted that since he hadn’t allowed her to purchase any furniture for him, even used, that he select some furniture from the castle storage to improve the comfort of the space. He had selected a few items from a list she’d sent for while they were dining and she was rather pleased by his choices.

Making his room more comfortable for him was something that she was taking great enjoyment from.

That I’m also making it more comfortable for me is just a bonus.

She couldn’t really lie to herself. It was, in part, by design that she had insisted on two chairs instead of one, and that she’d encouraged him to pick a lovely quilt from the shop that made her think of the one they’d been wrapped in at his cabin. She couldn’t deny that she was thinking ahead to a time where perhaps she’d spend more time in his space, though she could hardly dare to think about a time beyond that, a time where his things would blend together with hers and where they would spend every night together. A time where the door between their rooms wouldn’t be needed.

Her heart raced every time the thought crossed her mind.

He lifted up the last remaining item they had to find a home for, a small wooden trinket box that he’d taken an interest in early on in their search. It had been amongst a pile of tools but had not been large enough to hold any of them. It was simple, smaller than her jewelry boxes, but roomy enough to fit a few small objects. The top had a line of trees burned into it but was the only decoration on the piece.

“I think I know what belongs in here,” he said after a few moments of looking it over.

I think I do too.

Her heart raced when he crossed the room to his chest and kneeled to the floor to open it. She’d been hoping, quietly, almost secretively to even herself, that he would want to show her the crystals again.

What did it mean? Why did he nearly kiss me after I told him about the glow?

***

The crystals were wrapped loosely in scraps of fabric, protecting their rough natural edges from chipping and breaking. He could feel the soft hum of magic inside each of them, even through the cloth. His parents had taught him how to feel it, encouraging him to focus on it and to guide the magic into his hands. He would never be able to control it as they did. Magic didn’t run in his blood like it did theirs, but as Anna approached behind him, he made the choice to show her, at least as much as he could, the importance of the gems.

He patted the floor beside him and was grateful when she didn’t hesitate to sit at his side in front of the box. He watched as she quickly settled herself to his side, her knees bumping into his gently as she sat.

“I think they deserve a special home,” he said, gesturing to the box he’d already set on his other side.

One deserves a very special home. It belongs with you.

The thought didn’t exactly catch him off guard as much as it slipped through the cracks of the wall he’d been holding it behind. He couldn’t admit to himself that he had a great deal of hope about what Anna had said before about the crystal, because to admit that would be to invite disappointment when the outcome was decidedly not what he was hoping for.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because I love her. If it’s not by fate it’s at least by choice.

He took some small comfort in it as he unwrapped the gems and lifted out the yellow one first.

“This one,” he said, focusing on the way it felt warm in his palm, encouraging it to give off a light glow, “is a fire crystal. They come in a few shades of red and orange and yellow. The trolls can actually start fires with them, but I can get it to warm up a little if I really focus on it.”

After a moment of quiet between them he heard her gasp as the crystal began to glow a pale yellow. He couldn’t help but grin when he handed it to her and let her watch the glow fade. He noticed the way she hovered a hand above the stone feeling the slight warmth radiate off of it from above as she felt it in her palm. She seemed thoroughly impressed and he couldn’t help but feel a bit proud to have been able to show it to her.

He handed her the small box and watched as she carefully set the stone inside. Once she was finished, he pulled out the next crystal, the blue one. He’d never had quite as much luck getting an effect with it, but he could make it glow.

“This one is a water crystal. The trolls can get them to make rain, but I’ve only ever been able to get a little condensation on the outside and I’m not convinced it wasn’t just sweat from my hand.”

When she laughed he felt light.

It’s easy to feel hopeful when everything she does makes my heart race.

The gem let off a light glow, but little more. She seemed impressed nevertheless and when he handed it to her, she focused on it in her palm for a short while before setting it too into the box with great care.

He had to remind himself to breathe watching her look from the box to him. When her eye met his, a strange knowingness there, he felt fear leave him. They were so close that he could easily kiss her, just by leaning in. He let the cloth fall away from the last crystal and forced himself to inhale deeply, breaking their eye contact to turn his attention to the pale pink gem.

She’s my wife. I love her.

“This one,” he began, lifting it from the fabric with his other hand to show her better, “This one is special. Every man in my family receives one when they reach adulthood, and they guard it closely. Its magic is special because it’s tied to the heart. I never really listened to everything my father told me about it because I never thought I’d have a reason to show it to anyone, but…”

She was looking at him intently, her eyes meeting his and then glancing to his lips. He felt his heart racing.

“Why doesn’t it glow when you hold it?” she asked, breaking the long silence where he’d let his speech drop off.

He gave her a soft, almost rueful smile. She felt like there was a joke there that she didn’t understand.

“Because it’s mine,” he started, then after a moment’s thought, continued, “It’s confusing and hard to explain if you weren’t raised knowing about it, but essentially the trolls think that everyone has a fated partner, a second half. You know they believe in fate, we discussed it when you met them, but this is the ultimate show of that belief. The only person that is supposed to make your gem glow is your soulmate.”

She flushed and he longed to give her a better reason to do so than a crystal. He wanted to scoop her up into his arms and tell her that it didn’t matter whether or not it glowed when she touched it. He wanted to kiss her and show her how little it mattered to him, but it would be a lie.

It does matter. I love her. I want her to see that I will only ever love her.

He knew she’d be crushed if it didn’t.

He watched as she extended her hand to him slowly. There was a shine to her eye that he understood as nerves. She’d told him before that the gem had glowed when she’d touched it, but he had thought about all the things it could have been, and was sure that she was worried about it as well.

A trick of the light, a fluke, a misremembrance from a day where she’d been given shock after shock.

“You don’t have to.”

She gave him a soft smile in return.

“I think we both know that I do.”

There was a finality in the way she cautiously uncurled her fingers, insisting that he deposit the gem in her hand. He wondered if she truly believed what she had seen before, or if the nerves he had seen in her were from the concern that it wouldn’t react to her touch.

He dropped it into her palm and felt the racing of his heart reach a crescendo.

Pink.

***

Anna felt her heart racing as he handed her the gem. She could see in his eyes that this meant even more than he was saying.

Soulmates. The glowing means we’re soulmates.

She’d spent her whole life wanting to be wanted, wanting to be someone’s everything. She tried to shake off her concerns that she’d been seeing things before when she’d made the gem glow in his cabin, but it was hard to believe that she had always been meant for someone, that she and Kristoff had been fated to be together.

She saw the shakiness of his normally steady hand as he held the gem over her palm, and she had to remind herself to breathe in the moments before he released it into her hand.

She gasped when the cold gem hit her skin and immediately sent a bright pink glow across her palm.

Fate.

Soulmates.

She’d already known. Something inside her had known since their wedding night, even before the trolls, that with Kristoff was where she was meant to be. The confirmation had her joyous.

He wrapped his hand over hers when he recognized the light, squeezing the gem between their palms and doing nothing to dampen the glow. If anything, Anna thought that it might be glowing even more under the combined touch of their skin. She didn’t have long to notice whether it was true or not though, because her view was quickly blocked by Kristoff entering her space.

Her eyes fluttered shut as he wrapped his free arm around her, pulling her to him enthusiastically. She let an appreciative, borderline needy, sound slip from her mouth and was rewarded by the press of his lips to hers.

It was a remarkably different kiss to the one they’d shared at their wedding. It wasn’t quick, it wasn’t chaste, and it wasn’t required.

She took the hand that was not entwined with his and let it slip up to his hair naturally. She’d wanted to slide her fingers through his hair for well over a week, and now it felt instinctive to do so. Her hand squeezed a bit tighter against his as she deepened the kiss, feeling the way he drew her in even closer as she did so.

She didn’t try to tame the soft sounds of pleasure that slipped from her mouth and into his, she didn’t fight it when he kissed her breathless. She simply forged ahead, feeling safe and loved in her husband’s arms, kissing him with love and appreciation.

My husband. My soulmate. How could I ever have doubted it for even a moment?

***

He hated to be the one to break the kiss, especially after being the one to initiate it. Unfortunately, what he could remember of his family’s tradition dictated that he stop kissing her at some point. He had work to do now, and there was only one place he could do it.

He let his free hand slide up from where he’d been holding her, to her cheek, cradling it. Her eyes were still half lidded and showed pleasure in their darkness as she looked from his lips to his eyes. She was glowing as much as the gem was, and he couldn’t help but to take a moment to just stare at how beautiful his wife was.

She leaned her head into his palm lovingly, almost nuzzling him. He thought that someday if she allowed him to, they’d sit just like this again and he’d count each and every freckle on her nose and cheeks. It was a scene that played out nicely in his thoughts, giving him the strength through promises of the future, to pull away.

“I’m sorry Anna, but I have to leave for tonight. I have to go do something… I have to tell…”

“You have to tell your family,” she said matter of factly, understanding in the face of his uncertain apologetics.

“It’s okay,” she added after a moment, “I’ll still be here when you come home.”

What she didn’t say, but what he heard in her tone was the “I love you”.

He leaned in again and when she kissed him, he felt the words in the act. He tried his best to give it to her in return.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Anna, my wife, my soulmate, I love you.

Someday soon he’d say it out loud.

#kristanna #frozen fanfiction #A Convenient Arrangement #Arranged Marriage AU

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spotofimagines · 3 years

Text

Rivals Last ~ Jadon Sancho

A/N: So I had this in my drafts before he signed with man united but that's fine, we move, we adapt. A third piece for the @footballffbarbiex summer challenge. Hope you enjoy it :)

Warnings: none - reader is female

Summary: You love both your brothers dearly, but being in the football world with them can make some things a little complicated.

gif by @archivesbvb - gif by @ermuellert - gif by @italynt

Being a footballer meant living in a special world. Being in a footballing family meant living in a special world too. Being the younger sister of Lucas and Theo Hernandez meant living in a really special world. But nobody told you just how crazy it would be for all three of those things to apply to you.

You truly love watching your older brothers play football. They teach you something new during every match you see; even though you play as a striker, their movements and handling of the ball always inspire you to play better. After all, it was their defensive skills that helped you become a good goal scorer growing up since they never let a tackle go unchallenged in the park and you had to find out how to manoeuvre around them. A lot easier said than done.

Currently Lucas is signed with Bayern Munich. In his time there so far, he has learnt the heritage, history, and importance of wearing the badge and defending its honour in every match they play, especially derbies. Having supported Lucas, it quickly became easy for you to support Bayern Munich too and celebrate their victories like it was your own team. You'd always managed to do it with the clubs both your brothers played for, letting the atmosphere of the fanbase carry you away.

You have just finished your second season in England with Manchester City women's team. You'd settled in nicely now, having learnt a lot of the English language and culture already. The experience was made so much easier because of the help given by your welcoming teammates and the staff that translated things into French and Spanish during your first months there.

Fans were a little disappointed during the 2019 summer transfer window when it was confirmed all three Hernandez siblings would be leaving Spain to play separately in England, Germany and Italy, joking that no one could know what might happen with you all so far away. However, to you, it made things easier, as Lucas and Theo would stop making so many awful jokes about each other's clubs, only to join forces to diss your club even more afterward. Now the only connection you have to the clubs you all play for is the want for your sibling to win with them. And it is a great feeling. A welcome change of pace.

But no new change to your life felt as good as your blossoming "relationship", situationship, whatevership, you have with Jadon Sancho.

It all started with you flirting back and forth on social media, which turned itself into countless hours of DMs no one else could see. You congratulated his goals and he congratulated your wins. All the light-hearted teasing and the warm-hearted compliments stayed in your own little bubble. The only thing peeking out was your silly inside rule that if you were going to comment on a post, it had to be emojis only, stretching to a few words if you really couldn't help yourself - but it would earn you taunts from the other for the rest of the night.

Some eagle-eyed fans noticed how you'd been liking each other's posts every time they appeared for a while now, but it just added to the fun and thrill you got from flirting with him so much.

You weren't meant to be forming a bond with Jadon. He played for your brother’s rival. He was supposed to be the enemy. Someone you should dislike with a snap of your fingers. Certainly not a boy to fall for like you have.

You couldn't help yourself. Lucas and Theo had helped you since you moved to England by being the steady rocks they always were, cheering you on from afar. Your new teammates had helped you since you moved to England by introducing fun things for you all to do together and taking you under their wings. But Jadon had helped you in a different kind of way. He gave you a new kind of comfort and reassurance when you talked. He became someone to turn to with all your interesting news and your curious problems. He told you the good places to visit around the city that he remembered from his time there and taught you English slang to make your teammates laugh. You spoke three languages to varying degrees now, and you'd managed to pick up more German vicariously through Lucas in two years faster than Jadon had done living in Germany in four years, so you'd clue him into rude German phrases you had asked Lucas about, alongside the French and Spanish swear words he used more often than English ones now when you text.

Even though a language barrier comes up once in a while, you have both learnt behaviours from each other and crave the contact you share. Jadon was starting to drop everything to send replies to you, a change his teammates have noticed and jokingly mock him for. Little did they know the unknown girl they joke he is smitten over is the sister of their rival.

Theo is the one in your family you usually tell about the boys you go out with; boyfriends and dates have been shared with him since you were 13 and doting on your first crush. He does the same with his girlfriends; asking advice and telling you more than you need to know at times. So, when you all went home for a bit of family time around Christmas, nothing could stop him from noticing the tell-tale signs that you had something going on. He already figured out through persistence that it was another player you were getting involved with, and his insistent questioning hasn't stopped in his search for who the player is.

But you keep it hidden from Lucas, and you don't know when you'll tell him. He has been your protector since you were kids, comforting you on sad nights when no one else was there, teaching you little secrets about how to navigate through the world, he even punched a boy who teased you once at school. The idea of telling him you were chatting romantically to another player would be trouble enough, but telling him it was a Dortmund player might just end up in another schoolground incident. You hadn't wanted Theo to know for fear he'd go dishing your dirt to Lucas, but he discovered it on his own and there was nothing you could do.

Who knows what might become of this thing you have with Jadon, and lord knows your eldest brother owns a hard as nails death stare that just might do Jadon in, but for now you actually quite like having the secret. A little mystery tucked away up your sleeve.

The rush you always get when Lucas calls your phone as you're typing a text to the Englishman, feeling as though the first words from the other end will be shouts of how he knows everything and he'll never speak to you again for keeping it a secret, fills you with dread at times. But it never is the reason he calls, and it turns out he is just making plans or has something funny to tell you. But the way your heart thumps as you go back to texting Jadon, that is part of the chase you have to admit you enjoy.

Hardcore fans online have noticed the past few months that when you do interviews in English, the odd slang term comes up during jokes - terms you hadn't used before and stem more from London boroughs than northen towns - so speculation of how you'd learnt these things easily coincided with dating rumors.

Lucas had seen the speculation online; seen fans trying to put your interactions with the Dortmund player together through both your instagram stories and comments and the tweets you both had liked about the other. Lucas had even grown suspicious of the little questions you asked him about Germany, German phrases and his lifestyle there, not knowing why you would need nor want to know those things. But Lucas doesn't believe it. He knows that you know better to mix with a Dortmund boy.

Sometimes an older brother just doesn't get it quite right…

Soon, the chance will come to really see if your connection is something you can build on. Jadon's new signing with Manchester United has been confirmed and he will be moving back to England. It is a great opportunity to get to see him more often, rather than the odd rendezvous point or clandestine trip during small breaks in the season. You'll spend more time face to face instead of over the phone. You'll get to wake up in his bed and him in yours, without needing to sneak away from hotel rooms afterwards. You'll maybe even get to go on a proper date, just the two of you, where you can flirt across the table your joined hands rest upon. Hanging out with Jadon won't be the first time you've spent time together in person. However, getting a full day with only the two of you where you won't have to pretend you hardly know who he is, and you won't have to pretend your eyes aren't meeting across the group of people you're in - it fills your stomach with knots and butterflies.

A certain pressure has fallen off you now Jadon has no growing rivalry with Lucas, but not completely. You won't be able to take back the way their teams made the other feel in the past, but the fact there won't be more of it next season comforts you a little. The biggest thing that will hold you back from going public before the new season starts will be the media, but that is an issue you can't even begin to worry about yet. You are too caught up in the excitement of being in the same town as Jadon to care. Rumours are spinning crazier than ever about you two as some of your liked tweets about his move got reposted by sports pages and fan blogs - now joking about him being your rival instead of your brother's - and yet it didn't stop you, no longer all that bothered about keeping a low profile now you both will be living away from Lucas. If he gets mad, all he will be able to do is shout down the phone, and whilst you never want that to happen, you know the time to flourish with Jadon and capitalise on the foundation you have already built is better than ever, brothers be damned.

There are big changes coming for the both of you, yet one thing will remain the same no matter the outcome of your relationship. You can't quite stop being football rivals.

#jadon sancho #lucas hernandez #theo hernandez #jadon sancho imagine #jadon sancho x reader #football #football imagine #oneshot #my fic #my og post

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thedistantdusk · 3 years

Text

Arcadia, Chapter 2

Here we gooooo :) Thanks again to @secretkeeper13, @accio-broom, @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey, @remedialpotions, @not-steve42, @jamezbot, @gryffindorhealer, and the majority of the HG server for their help <3

If you’ve just arriving, here is Chapter 1. :)

_____________________

D A Y + T W O

He’s driving her mad. Absolutely fucking mad.

Ginny grips the hose in an attempt to water the rose bush outside their window, but her eyes are unfocused, unseeing.

This entire thing was such a terrible idea.

She should’ve insisted on another Auror as backup on her first solo mission. Someone less attractive. Someone she hadn’t shagged up one side of the Burrow and down the next.

But the request was difficult to grant in the first place. It took Ginny a full year of documentation to prove this was a necessary use of resources. Attica (and Unspeakables in general) don’t tend to be well-liked by the older Aurors, which made Harry the best fit. The only fit. Everyone— from Kingsley to Attica to even Hermione— agreed. And even aside from the sheer convenience of it all, Ginny’s years of experience with the Thought Chamber and Harry’s ability to sniff out trouble like a niffler after gold made them a brilliant combination to tackle… this.

It’s just a pity, then, that she still finds him so bloody attractive. Even though he’s become a bit of a brooding, sarcastic mess.

Ginny blinks down at the bright pink petals, their leathery flesh beaded with water droplets. Maybe the problem’s that she hasn’t spent much time around him since then. He still comes around for Sunday roast, of course, when his work schedule permits. In spite of what Mum went through, she’d never allow Harry to feel unwelcome. It’s his house as much as theirs— and yes, Ginny still lives at home. It’s the least she can do to maintain a degree of normalcy, even though everything irrevocably changed when It happened.

Ginny’s hands begin to shake around the hose; her brain starts to spiral. The Burrow is less welcoming now. Their hugs are more forced. Their family more distant. And although everyone functions on a basic human level, Ginny knows in her gut that the remaining Weasley siblings — Harry most certainly included — are still going through the motions to cope.

And maybe it’s because she really hadn’t had a libido in nearly five years, but fuck, it hasn’t taken much to come rushing back. Her thighs press together as her head fills with another series of intrusive thoughts instead. But she can’t suppress the memory of Harry emerging from the shower this morning, his top-half dripping, his bottom-half toweled. Not that it matters much, not when she knows every fucking inch of—

“I think that bush is good now!”

Ginny jumps, a string of swears springing to her lips. “I— fuck.” She turns to the unexpected voice. “Sorry! Let me—”

But Oliver from last night merely leans over to turn off the hose. “You’ll quickly learn that sort of language isn’t great for Arcadia, Jen,” he intones, finger wagging.

Years of training allow Ginny to blush in chagrin. To shove aside the telling-off she’d have provided a long, long time ago. “Sorry.” She winces. “It’s just a habit, leftover from—”

“—London, right,” he finishes, his eyes never leaving hers. “Anyway. Listen. Sharon and I would be honored if you joined us for dinner tonight.”

“Did I hear something about dinner?” Harry strolls out of the house, the door shutting behind him with a satisfying thump. “Goodie! As my wife knows, dinner is my favorite word.” He rests his chin on her head, sliding his thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans. Ginny’s heart clenches in familiarity even as her face remains placid. They agreed to all of these terms beforehand… to feign public affection. To seem utterly smitten. It’s just funny how they’ve both relied on old habits.

Ginny reckons that makes sense, though. After all, it worked for them once.

She turns towards Harry with a pout. “But Pookie Pie, I thought your favorite word was snuggles! We certainly did enough of that last night.”

Harry’s chuckle rings out with false bravado as he tucks her hair behind her ears. “We did something, all right. Not sure if snuggling is the right word for it. What do you think, Oliver?” Harry whips around to face him. “What’s your favorite word for… marital relations?” His eyebrows waggle suggestively above his glasses; Ginny stomps on his foot to keep herself from laughing.

Oliver, however, does not find them delightful. “I think this is for you. From Mike.” He points to a box that he apparently rested on the ground while Ginny was drowning the roses.

Harry bends over to pick it up. This does nothing to distract her.

“Couldn’t Mike erm…” Ginny shakes her head to clear it. “Sorry. Couldn’t he bring it over himself? He lives just—”

“Out of town on business, I’m afraid.” Oliver’s voice turns cold as he peers at Ginny again. “He won’t be back for weeks. Months, maybe.”

Ginny makes a noise of concern and rests a fist on her hip. “Huh! That’s funny. What out-of-town business could a primary school teacher possibly have?”

Oliver’s eyes narrow, but his grin remains. “Teacher business, I guess.”

“When can we speak to someone about the trampoline?” Harry blurts, slicing the tension. “I’m missing my exercise, Ollie. It’s how I stay fit. You won’t like me when I’m not exercising!”

With that, Oliver’s grin finally fades. “Well, you can ask Mr. Gogolak, but I don’t think anything will come of it. He’s available tonight from 5 o’clock to 6:13, on the dot. He lives just up there, on the corner. Anyway, I’ll be off.” He gives a parting wave and turns to walk up the drive, but Harry isn’t done.

“Not sure how we’ll manage to make that and dinner, though,” he calls. “Don’t we have to be indoors by six?”

But it seems Oliver is absolutely intent on being elsewhere, because he opts to walk backwards and yell from the street. “Of course not!” he shouts. “Six is only the move-in deadline.” Then he barks out a cruel laugh, throwing his hands in the air. “Any idiot knows that dinner starts at 7!” With that, he sends them a final glare before lumbering away, his brown loafers crunching on the pavement.

Harry and Ginny snort in unison; if Oliver hears them, he doesn’t engage.

“See you later!” Ginny confirms, ensuring it’s loud enough for him to hear. Then she drops her voice to a stage-whisper and cups her hand into a regal wave. “Hope Sharon removes that stick from your arse before dinner tonight, you miserable sack of shit. Suck my dick!”

Harry laughs. “As much as I appreciate the support, Muffin Cakes, that’s one insult that just doesn’t work when you say it.”

And Ginny doesn’t know what comes over her next… she really, really doesn’t.

Because in the blink of an eye, she’s pushed Harry against the front door with a petulant pout. The pulsing between her legs returns with humiliating swiftness; it’s a blessing, really, that Harry’s dreadful at flirting and picking up on cues. They’re in public, but this is the furthest thing from acting.

Nonetheless, Harry’s Adam’s apple bobs as her arms drape around his neck. She watches, rapt, as his eyes darken. Apart from that one slip-up last night, he’s excelled at his job… and as she leans into his hard chest, she realizes how she really feels: she's jealous. Dreadfully jealous.

How dare he be better at this? What in hell gave him the right to soak her knickers with a single look? She’s had years of professional training and a lifetime of practice, but it comes naturally to him— this pretending shit.

And for fuck’s sake… he’s a lot better at it.

“But it’s been ages since you’ve been in my knickers, Baby Bear,” she croons, batting her eyelashes. “How would you know?”

She intends it playfully. A gentle way to put him in his place. But to her surprise, something stinging and sober crosses Harry’s face.

The moment’s over… absolutely over.

In a flash, he pushes her away and gestures at the door. After you. She nods, still turned on but now confused. The whole thing reminds her of ancient history, where she waited for him after each quidditch practice and thought, wished, prayed that he’d touch her… all while hoping to God he wouldn’t.

It takes until they’re inside for her to figure out why he’s upset.

He locks the door behind them with a wave of his wand— and when he whips around, his face is twisted into such a brooding scowl that it pins her on the spot. Shit.

“It goes without saying,” Harry mutters, voice dangerously low, “that there are some things a bloke just doesn’t forget.” He lets out a deep breath, his eyelashes fluttering. “Ok?”

Oh.

Ginny’s cheeks flush as it all comes rushing back. She’s honestly forgotten how… attached he was to that ability. How much he prided himself on being able to please her. How he worshipped her body with such respectful, hushed reverence that it still features in her fantasies.

It seems there’s a limit to his acting skills, after all. A line that he just won’t cross. She should be chuffed that she got what she wanted. Instead, her stomach throbs with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, biting her lip. “I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it.” He waves his hand over his shoulder and trudges upstairs, leaving her in hollow silence.

Right.

_________________________________

Mr. Gogolak crosses his left leg over his right and swirls his brandy tumbler. Between the ruddy patches on his cheeks and the way his words slip over each other, it’s not his first of the evening. Harry’s reminded of Slughorn. In the worst possible way.

“Anyway.” Gogolak waves at the massive tabbed binder to his left. “As the rules clearly stipulate, a trampoline would lead to other things. Unsavory things.” He raises his eyebrows and takes a sip.

Harry’s eyes flit around the room, trying to take it all in. The decor is… nice, he supposes, if you want every guest to be aware — beyond a shadow of a doubt— that You’ve Been Abroad, thanks. Multi-colored felt flower vases dot the floating shelves above Gogolak’s head, each a pop of color in a room that’s otherwise painfully beige. Scrolls hand-painted with renditions of Buddha and Lokta hang on the far wall. And above them… Harry cocks his head, puzzled, and tries to place where he’s seen that particular mask before.

“Of course,” Ginny agrees with a fervent nod. “We understand the need for decorum and cooperation, don’t we, Hen?”

“Where‘s that mask from?” Harry blurts, nudging his chin up.

Ginny rubs her temples in frustration, but if anything, Gogolak seems flattered.

“Oh! That.” His face flushes with pride as he takes another drink. “That’s a wrathful Mahakala mask. From Tibet! I bought it cheap off a street orphan during my last trip. Can’t say he had much need for it, what with being starving and living in the street.” His laugh booms over the sitting room.

Harry tries to focus. He’s there for Ginny. He’s there for Ginny. He’s only backup. But ah, bugger, after the other shit today it’s too much, and—

“Ha!” Harry returns his humorless laugh. “Isn’t poverty hilarious, Jen?”

There’s an anxious pause.

Ginny ends it with a fake giggle of her own. “As you can see, Mr. Gogolak, my husband is growing a bit testy without his exercise!” She nudges Harry in the ribs— hard enough to make her point, but not hard enough to hurt. “So if we could only have the trampoline, then—”

“‘Fraid not,” Gogolak slurs, peering down at his brandy again. “See, there’s a reason Arcadia has been named Best Village for so long: People simply love to live here!”

“Oh?” Ginny returns her teacup to the table. “Everyone loves to live here?” She rests her elbows on her knees, her voice dropping to a discreet whisper. “What about the people who’ve gone missing, then?”

At first, Gogolak is unperturbed. Then his smile deepens, his eyes traveling from Ginny’s face down to her chest. For fuck’s sake. This arsehole can’t be serious! Harry’s gut swirls with something visceral and protective. He wraps his arm around her shoulders as his hand inches for the wand in his back pocket. Ginny catches his hand on the way and interlaces their fingers with an almost imperceptible, “Shh.”

“Well, well, well,” Gogolak drawls, leaning back to full-on leer at her. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you? Should’ve known. You’re a ginger, after all.”

Wrong answer.

“Not sure what the color of her hair has to do with her question,” Harry says stiffly. It’s the politest thing he can manage. Ginny squeezes his thigh.

Gogolak faces Harry instead, his face a mask of delighted malice. “Your wife is very beautiful, Mr. Petri,” he drawls. “You must forgive an old man for noticing.”

“Pee-tri,” Harry grouses.

Is it possible to accidentally Avada Kedavra someone with your eyes? Surely he’d be forgiven for that, yeah? He counts five deep breaths, his face burning, as he waits for Ginny to take the lead.

He’s still a bit taken aback at how quickly things changed. He thought he was irritated with her earlier, but now he realizes that frustrated is a better word. They haven’t been together in ages, but she has to know what she still does to him. It wasn’t like she’d grown less beautiful. And while he’s not proud of how things ended, he’s spent the last five years taking pride in knowing her. In being her first, as primitive and knuckle-dragging as that sounds. Because no matter how bad things were, he was always able to make her…

Yeah.

He bites the inside of his cheek. Had he deluded himself into thinking it was as good for her as it was for him?

Ginny clears her throat again. “But what of the people?” she prompts. “The missing people? Like Eric Highland, who lived in our house until last August, when—”

“Oh, him!” Gogolak booms out another uncomfortable laugh and drains the rest of his tumbler. “Well, don’t tell anyone I told you this, but—” He makes a slitting motion across his throat and pours himself another drink. “Committed suicide. Quite a mess.”

Then Gogolak stills, his eyes widening; for the first time this evening, he looks vaguely embarrassed. “Oh, but not in your home, of course!” He waves his hand dismissively. “We’d never, you know, let someone move in after that. Would affect property values, you see.”

Harry’s heart pounds in his ears as Ginny clenches his hand, for once. He wonders if he’s ever given less of a shit about property values.

Another span of uncomfortable silence stretches between them… but this one grows more furious and heated with every second. The version of her he knew before would have Bat Bogeyed this wanker before she took a breath. But everything’s different now.

“That’s… not the preferred term,” Ginny finally manages, her voice strained. Harry grips her hand more tightly; that odd rush of pride returns. He knew she’d say something. There’s not a single version of her that would let that go.

Gogolak’s brow furrows. “What do you—”

“—Took his life,” Ginny interjects, her voice ringing with the righteousness Harry only dimly recognizes from the woman he knew before. “Or died by suicide. Or had terminal depression.”

He holds her hand even tighter as she draws a deep breath, shifting in her seat. Get him, Gin. Get the bastard. Whatever you need, I’m there.

“Committed is a word that… implies a crime,” Ginny finishes. But her words sound careful now. “It just adds to the stigma that people with mental illness are problematic. Words mean things. So.”

Gogolak presses his lips into a thin line. “Forget I brought it up.”

“I will,” Ginny says coolly.

Ginny hadn’t thought much could be worse than the meeting with Mr. Gogolak. Unfortunately, dinner with Sharon and Oliver is proving her wrong.

“This is free-range chicken, of course,” Oliver drawls, gesturing towards their plates. “Got them at the organic market. Anything for health!”

They’d already been treated to iceberg lettuce salads and glasses of generic Merlot. Perhaps she should have anticipated chicken breast and rice as the thrilling main course.

Harry cuts his chicken breast with a sigh. “That’s a pity, Oliver. We all know that caged chickens are tastier!”

Ginny muffles a snort with a cough and reaches for her glass of wine.

Sharon pauses, fork mid-way to her mouth, to peer at Harry, bleary-eyed and confused. Oh, for fuck’s sake; what was it about suburbia that removed one’s ability to recognize a joke?

Oliver changes the subject before Ginny gets the chance. “Where did you two meet, anyway?” he grunts. “And how long have you been married?”

Ginny smiles, preparing the canned response they practiced for months. They met in uni through mutual friends. They both work in computers, and last year, they finally realized it was time to leave the big city.

Harry shatters all of that with three words.

“Magic camp, actually!” he announces, throwing an arm around Ginny’s shoulders.

Fuck. She analyzes her chicken with newfound intensity and tries to imagine something sad.

“Huh,” Oliver says flatly. “Wouldn’t have taken either of you for magicians.”

Sharon has the grace to act embarrassed. “Now now, love,” she chides, reaching for the breadbasket, “I’m sure people have loads of hobbies that aren’t always obvious to everyone!”

“Exactly!” Harry grins and reaches for a piece of baguette. “Besides, it’s mostly Jenny who’s mad for it. Card tricks, pulling bunnies from hats, sawing women in half. Even—” he pauses for a dramatic gasp— “magic wands! You name it, she loves it.”

“Well!” Sharon raises her eyebrows; it’s clear she’s feigning being impressed. “If I’m ever in need of disappearing something, I’ll know who to call!”

Aha! The perfect opening!

“Speaking of disappearing,” Ginny starts, as casually as possible, “we checked with Saint Julian’s Primary. It’s not true Mike left on business.”

Sharon’s smile freezes and melts with such speed that Ginny feels a pang of sympathy. Poor Sharon. She’s really just doing her best to be a pleasant hostess. It’s Oliver who has the clear ulterior motive.

The man in question takes another sip of wine, unfazed. “And why did you have interest in contacting a primary school in the first place? Bit weird for a grown adult, that.”

Harry releases another fake chuckle. “Oh, Oliver, you’re such a prankster!” He bites off some bread. “Surely you’re not turning the tables on my wife and accusing her of being the weird one. After all, all she did was ask about the whereabouts of a lovely member of our community. Right?”

He gives Oliver such an exaggerated wink that even Ginny almost believes him. “And besides…” Harry’s hand wraps around her shoulder again. “Do you reckon we should tell them?” he murmurs, voice laden with his expectation.

Ginny rolls her eyes, fully intent on a thin-lipped, silent warning about making shit up… but Harry’s earnest expression stops her. His green eyes blink behind his glasses, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned. Before she knows what’s happening, one of his warm hands cups her chin while the other comes to rest on her stomach.

Oh. She sucks in a breath, her heart pounding— because for a moment, she forgets where she is. She forgets they’re faking. She forgets they split up and chose separate paths, that they weren’t looking through a portal of what could have been, should have been, before their lives turned to shit.

“Not yet, of course,” Harry murmurs, appearing for all the world like he’s drinking her in as his fingers tap at her stomach. “But soon. We hope.”

And with that, he abruptly clears his throat and turns back to the Skinners. “Anyway, that’s why we called Saint Julian’s,” Harry adds, nonchalantly as you please. “Always good to be prepared, eh?”

“Oh, how exciting!” Sharon cries, clasping her hands together. “And yes, I agree— preparedness is key.”

“Knew you’d be happy for us,” Harry says with another wink. “Quite an exciting time, I’m sure you understand.”

It’s then that Ginny finds her voice. “So. Erm,” she starts, trying to focus. “They hadn’t heard from him. Mike. The school, I mean.” She takes another sip of wine to get her bearings back. “Any idea where he could’ve gone? You understand why we’re a bit worried, especially if we’re planning to—”

“No,” Oliver snaps, nostrils flaring. Sharon’s fork clatters to her plate; if swearing were allowed in this house, Ginny’s confident she would’ve let one slip. “I don’t understand, and you’ll find that snooping isn’t a past-time I appreciate,” Oliver finishes, drawing himself up taller to puff out his chest.

Ginny lets out an incredulous chuckle. “But Oliver… this is a matter of safety. We’re worried about our neighbor.”

“Yeah, Ollie-O!” Harry clucks his tongue, relaxing further into his chair. “Perhaps Arcadia isn’t as perfect as we were led to believe.”

Oliver just fixes them both with a stern glare. “Nope,” he says flatly. The p pops. “You’re wrong. Per usual.”

For six seconds, the four of them sit in painful, frigid silence. Ginny feels Harry’s hand reach behind him… inching closer to his wand...

“Jenny!” Sharon finally chirps, her voice a falsetto. Oh, thank fuck. “I need to walk the dog. Would you join me?”

___________________________

Captain Bone’s toenails tick on the pavement as Sharon holds his lead. Ginny peers at him with unexpected affection as he prances beneath the street lights. Dogs are too high-maintenance for her to even consider, but something about this one is undeniably appealing. As if he hears her, Captain Bone turns to Ginny with a slobbery grin.

Sharon laughs. “He likes you. He’s a sucker for a pretty girl.”

Ginny scratches beneath the thick leather collar with Captain Bone emblazoned on a bronze plate. He throws his head back for more access. Poor Captain Bone. The whole collar looked horribly uncomfortable. “I like him too,” Ginny agrees as he flounces away. “I’m afraid work keeps me too busy for a dog, though.”

Sharon waves this away. “Nah. I’ve seen the way Henry stares at you.” She flashes a knowing smile as they continue strolling, side-by-side. “I reckon if you really wanted a dog, he’d oblige.”

Captain Bone halts, mid-step, and picks up his leg. Sharon removes a waste bag from her pocket.

“You’re probably right,” Ginny mutters. She’s not sure why that feels like admitting to a scandal.

Sharon sighs. “The way he looks at you. The way he touches you. Like he’s holding the whole world in his hands.” Her voice grows wistful, distant; Ginny has a feeling she’s not actually talking about Harry at all.

“Well, we are newlyweds.” Ginny mashes her kitten heel — a clothing acquisition specific to this assignment — into the pavement. “I’m erm. Sure that’ll change.”

But Sharon just stares at Captain Bone as he does his business. “Maybe,” she says softly. “But I don’t reckon Oliver ever looked at me quite like that.”

Ginny blinks at Sharon beneath the streetlight, the fluorescent throwing her features into sharp relief. Wrinkles fold the corners of her eyes. Bits of gray sprout at her scalp beneath the warm chestnut color. Her smile may have been natural once, but now it’s forced. Uneasy. Ginny grimaces. This poor woman… imagine thinking you couldn’t do better than a wanker like Oliver.

“Shit!” Sharon swears, ripping Ginny from her reverie— and soon, she sees why. Captain Bone charges down the street, his lead scraping the ground like a limp noodle. “I wasn’t holding him tightly enough,” she whispers, horrified. “I’ll have to—”

“No,” Ginny says, taking off her heels and thrusting them into Sharon’s arms. “Let me!” And with that, she’s off, bare feet slapping the pavement.

“Don’t blame you for trying to get away,” Ginny mutters, rounding a corner. “The place is bloody creepy. But next time, Captain Bone, could you do this in broad daylight? Nighttime ‘round here is—”

Wait.

Ginny stops, dead in her tracks. A weird sensation creeps over her, crawling against her skin. All the street noise vanishes. Crickets stop chirping; wind stops whistling. She looks around, panic rising in her throat, but nothing looks amiss. She can’t shake it, though… their eerie, numb ringing that fills her head, and—

Like a thunderclap, it all comes back. The faint wind returns. Bugs resume their buzzing. The electric lamppost makes a dull crackling just above her.

Weird. Very fucking weird.

Luckily, Ginny specializes in weird; in the aftermath of whatever the hell that was, she’s more confused than frightened. She takes a few more shaky steps, making every observation she can (temperature, cloud pattern, weather conditions, insect movement)... and that’s when she spies something glinting to her left. Something golden and stuffed in a storm drain.

No. Ginny’s heart pounds as she rushes over, sinking to her knees. It can’t be…

But the closer she gets, the clearer it is: Mike’s chain necklace… the medallion of Saint Julian. Right beside Captain Bone’s pretentious leather collar. For the first time, fear floods her stomach. She surreptitiously reaches for the wand tucked into her waistband. “Accio necklace.” It soars through the gate and into her hand just as Sharon’s footsteps round the corner.

Ginny shoves the necklace into her bra— and it’s only then she realizes that there must’ve been something strange and slimy hanging from it, because whatever the fuck that was is now pressed to her right nipple.

Blech. It takes every bit of her willpower not to shudder and gag. She manages to school her features into innocent concern as Sharon finally catches up.

“Well,” pants Sharon, hands on her thighs, “did you find him?”

“No,” Ginny laments, genuinely upset. She gestures towards the storm drain. “But for some reason, his collar’s down there.”

Even beneath the streetlamps, Sharon’s face turns white.

______________________________

Harry’s back muscles contract in agony as he hunches over the laptop. This whole assignment is a painful reminder that he’s not as young as he used to be. How many hours did he spend snoozing on the lawn at Hogwarts without so much as an ache? But a single bloody night on these shit couches, and he’s popping Paracetamol like sweets. He shifts in place; must be time for another dose.

“Hear anything?” Ginny emerges from the walk-in closet in a towel turban and fluffy white dressing gown, two evidence bags in her hands.

Harry glares at the laptop screen and tries very hard not to remember that one of those bags contains a lacy black bra— one he definitely hasn’t seen before. For the past hour, he’s been in an envious haze of wondering if she bought it for the mission or bought it to wear for someone else.

Either way, it consoles him that deep down, she’s still Ginny; she took this necklace and shoved it into her bra without letting on that something vile and gross was pressed to her ti—

He shakes his head to clear it, but that hurts his neck. For once, though, he embraces the pain. Anything to shift his focus.

“From the props department? No.” Harry sighs and retrieves the medicine bottle from his luggage. “I swear, I have no idea who they got to make the moving boxes and pick the couches, but I’m fairly sure Victoire could do better.”

Ginny scoffs at this. “Well, of course Vic could do better. She’s the most perfect, adorable human alive,” she says fondly, tossing the evidence bags in the transporter box.

It’s plain cardboard, easily disguised as a standard moving box. But with three taps of her wand, the bags evaporate, presumably materializing in a Ministry lab somewhere. Not that Harry cares about the specifics. This is a key example of the sort of detail that’s less and less intriguing the longer he holds this job.

“But I was actually asking if you’d heard anything about Mike and — hey, what are you doing?”

“Paracetamol,” Harry mutters, popping open the bottle. “I’m getting old, Ginny,” he warns, rising to his feet with an exaggerated grimace. “Dunno why you thought it would be a good idea to go on a mission with an old man.”

She rolls her eyes and walks into the bathroom. “You don’t need to be so bloody noble. Please join me on the bed. We could make it longer, even, if you—”

He clears his throat to cut her off. That would be a terrible idea on all counts. Silence on the other side of the door tells him that Ginny either realizes this or chooses not to press the issue. Good...

“Erm. There’s no hits on Mike,” Harry calls into the bathroom. “I reckon he’s dead, Ginny. Credit cards and car haven’t been touched.”

The tap turned on behind the door. “Can’t say I’m shocked,” Ginny admits, voice muffled, “but— holy hell, who taught you how to squeeze toothpaste?”

Harry smirks and returns to the computer. “Myself, probably.”

Ginny lets out another irritated groan. “And the toilet seat’s up!” She strides out of the bathroom. “Strike two!”

Harry hears the distinctive sound of clothing hitting the floor beside her bed but wills himself not to turn around, not to turn around, not to—

“Well.” Ginny sucks her teeth as the bedding rustles. “I suppose I should take all of that as a good sign, really. You clearly don’t have girls in and out of your flat.”

Oh?

Harry’s heart thunders in his ears, his stomach flipping in hope. She takes that as a good sign? Really? He glimpses over his shoulder before remembering he’s not supposed to look.

And just as quickly, he regrets it.

Because Ginny’s sprawled back against the bed, her face so white that she nearly blends into the linens, but his eyes aren’t too focused on her face. They’re drawn down, down, down… down to her creamy chest, dotted with chocolate freckles. Down to her breasts, which he definitely still knows every inch of, even as they rest beneath a black lace vest he hasn’t seen before. Down to the shorts that hug her hips and graze the tips of her thighs… the same thighs he spread open and dipped his head between as she tugged on his hair, her cries breathy and panting in the garden’s evening mist.

Ah, fuck. That one does it. Harry adjusts his basketball shorts as discreetly as possible, but another glimpse at her face tells him he didn’t need to worry.

“I can’t believe I said that,” she whispers, eyes filled with horror.

Harry clears his throat. He honestly forgot she said anything. Now he just feels guilty for eyeing her up while she spiraled.

“I’m so… fuck. This is so unprofessional.” She sinks her head into her hands. “Please, Harry, forget that I said anything. I’m so sorry. That was—”

“It’s forgotten,” he rumbles, his voice deeper than he realized. “Legitimately. I’ve already forgotten it.”

She shoots him a weak smile through the slits of her hands. “I know you haven’t. But thanks for saying it.”

Harry offers his best expression of bafflement as he picks up a pillow from the end of her bed. “Haven’t a clue what you mean, Unspeakable GW. See you at 0-700 hours.” He stops halfway out the door and gives her a military salute. “Unless, of course, you decide to start a bit later,” he adds seriously, “in which case I’ll see you… erm. 0-whenever-the-hell-you-wake-up-hours.”

Ginny giggles, settling against the pillows again.

“Thanks,” she says after a moment, peering at her cuticles. “For… everything. And especially for forgetting—” She makes a vague hand gesture as her cheeks flush the most fascinating shade of pink.

Harry stills, one hand on the doorknob.

He wants to make her feel better… but really, it’s more than that. He wants to tell her that his heart still jumps into his throat when he hears about an Unspeakable being injured on the job. He wants to admit that he avoids Sundays at the Burrow not because he stopped caring, but because he cares too much. He wants to confess, in a rush of passion, that she wasn’t just his first: she’s his only. That he reckons she’ll always be his only. That exchanging work for Them was the stupidest thing he ever agreed to, regardless of the circumstances.

Oh, and of course, that he still fucking loves her. Harry rubs his forehead, frustration gnawing at his stomach. Why in hell did he admit that to himself? You never admit that to yourself. What an idiot.

Still, they have a mission… a moronic, suburban mission filled with every literal and metaphorical breed of Karen imaginable. But as worthless as Harry considers this whole assignment, her neck is on the line if they come up empty-handed. And she values her assignment— and her neck, he reckons— quite a bit.

So he makes the choice to both reassure her. And to be foolishly honest.

“Erm… for what it’s worth?” Harry croaks, staring down the dark corridor to avoid meeting her eyes. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever wanted in my bedroom, anyway.”

Before she can reply, he closes the door and walks away. His cheeks burn as he pads downstairs, but Harry knows it’s best to leave it, really. To save them both the awkwardness.

Even if it means sleeping on this shit couch forever.

#harry/ginny fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #x-files #canon compliant #au

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